#but makes other fand upset

[confusedkittensposts]

Antis are like, 'Misha? posting? interacting with fans? making them happy? Yeah, he is horrible human'

[novabl]

I honestly feel so bad for doumeki and how people disregard him, alot of people forget that D is also human, he feels pain, he gets angry, he feels joy and he also bleeds like a person but people just think his some kinda robot that isn't meant to feel any kind of emotion.

A perfect example of this is people's reaction to doumeki and how he is treating yashiro at this moment ( I love my boy yashiro and I understand why he did what he did) but that doesn't excuse his actions towards doumeki and doumeki has every right to be pissed with him, but people still feel that he doesn't have the right to be mad because he was the one following yashiro like a lost puppy and that he deserves what he got.

No one deserves to be treated like that, that was just so damn painful to watch and the fact that doumeki doesn't even hold that against him shows just how pure he is, he only ever gets upset when yashiro sleeps around partially because he gets jealous but mostly because he doesn't like the fact that yashiro sees himself as nothing but a sex doll, even now he's sleeping with him partially because of jealousy but mostly because he's protecting him....he loves yashiro so much that he's willing to sacrifice his own happiness just to always be with him to protect him, doumeki isn't as complex as people think he's a pretty simply guy he never does anything without a reason and his only reason for still because in the Yakuza world is because yashiro is in it, I just hope they sort themselves out and finally admit their love for each other because yashiro is at a breaking point and the next time they meet he may snap and not in a good way.

What do you think about this? Am I reading too much into this?

First, I want to reiterate that people can have whatever opinion they like. It is important to have diverse opinions in fandom to get all different kinds of perspective. That being said I do wish there were more Doumeki defenders out there but it is what it is. I have noticed an uptick in people who want to defend Doumeki based on the asks and comments I get and hopefully one day they’ll make posts themselves. I don’t see myself as a Doumeki expert or anything like that. i just try to see things from his pov in an empathetic light but I am sure I get things wrong since it is all a guessing game. I also do criticize Doumeki myself a bit. I don’t think it is his right to decide who Yashiro has sex with and I wish there was less dub con in the sexual emconuters he initiated but I also think at times I criticized him based on my real life morals instead of through a saezuru lens. But I also criticize Yashiro as well because no character is above criticism to me. What Yashiro did in volume 6 was wrong and he knows it was wrong. He purposely acted in that way so Doumeki would leave him so he was well aware that he was being an asshole to Doumeki even if he has an excuse for it. But I disagree that Doumeki follows him around like a puppy just to be by his side. In volume 6, he follows Yashiro around to keep him from committing suicide!!!! I feel like that is glossed over a lot for some reason and Doumeki is just reduced to only caring about being with Yashiro even to the detriment of Yashiro. I also am not a big fan of the take that he deserves whatever since he sticks around because as I have said before, the same can be said about Yashiro. Yashiro isn’t Doumeki’s hostage and like I mentioned is getting quite a bit of space from him and is still choosing Doumeki. I actually think Doumeki is a very complex character (as complex as Yashiro) and he does seem to harbor resentment towards Yashiro at times. But so what? Why do his negative emotions get demonized so much? Why is he not allowed to have his emotions cloud his judgement at times and get forgiven for it (of course based on what he does) just like Yashiro or really all of us in real life? At the end of the day, I hope to see more Doumeki centric posts but until then I am just going to enjoy the fandom. It is only a manga at the end of the day.

[theoceanfaewriter]

Nerves and Heirs: A Jurdan Baby

I close the lid of the suitcase and call for Fand to strap it to the bag of the ragwort pony. I’m ready to go visit Vivi and Heather in the mortal world to celebrate Oak’s 10th birthday, but Cardan is a whole other story. I have no idea where he is, but if he doesn’t turn up soon, I’m leaving without him. As it is, I’m uncomfortable with leaving Faerie for a whole weekend without its rulers. I may just leave him behind.

Even as I fantasize about this, I hear footsteps from behind me and turn. Cardan appears, looking tired and cranky, dragging a haphazardly packed suitcase behind him. I’m surprised. Almost every time we head to the mortal world, it’s me who has to pack his clothes and make sure they actually will pass for mortal attire.

Fand sidles alongside me and tugs the suitcase from Cardan’s hand, then moves to secure it along with mine. I roll my eyes at Cardan and hop onto my pony, as he gets onto his with a grumble, muttering under his breath about how getting up at 9 o’clock in the morning is soon going to be illegal.

I kick off and feel the familiar rush of exhilaration at being in the air. My loose sweater whips in the wind, hiding the fact that I have a knife strapped to my hip, and the slight bulge of my stomach. I’m hoping to tell Cardan soon, but I’m incredibly nervous. Perhaps even more so than when I cut off his head. Although sometimes I fantasize about doing it again. But that’s only when he’s driving me crazy. So often, I guess.

I found out a month ago. The only one who knows is the Bomb, who has become one of my closest friends and confidantes. When I told her I thought I was pregnant, she immediately rushed to the mortal world and stole me a test. Most people would have bought one. 

But, I couldn’t exactly go to the doctor with no medical records or anything.

When I saw the two little lines, there was a whole jumble of emotions inside me, and sorting them out is something I’m not exactly good at. I was excited, nervous, afraid. I’m still worried that Cardan will be disappointed or angry, which is why I’ve been hesitating on telling him. I have to soon though. I’m about three months along and starting to show. Because I’ve been trying to hide it from him and the court, I’ve started to wear billowing dresses, and we haven’t slept together in over a month. My excuse is not feeling well, which is entirely true. I’m tired, cranky, hungry and nauseous all the time.

But I have to tell him. I have no idea how he’s going to react, and I’m terrified, but he needs to know. This weekend. I’ll tell him this weekend.

We touch down in the front garden of Heather and Vivi’s newest house. They got married last year and moved here a couple months ago. Vivi’s quest to win back Heather was successful. Turns out she was worthy of her heart after all.

I stumble off the pony as it collapses back into limp ragwort stalks. Cardan rushes to catch me. “I’m okay,” I say, fending him off with one hand, meanwhile trying not to be crushed to death by Oak, who has suddenly appeared at my side with a hug rivaling a snake’s.

Vivi smiles and comes forward to embrace me as well. I feel Oak’s arms release me and see him hurtle towards Cardan and envelope him in a bone crushing hug. I smile at a surprised looking Cardan over Vivi’s shoulder. Perhaps I’m over thinking this. Cardan will make a great father. It’s me I’m worried about. What if I’m a horrible mother? For heaven’s sakes, I thought about killing Cardan before he made me love him.

Oh god. I can’t do this.

The small breakfast of pears and toast I had this morning threatens to make a reappearance. I break free from Vivi’s arms and run into the house, as quickly as I can. Stumbling blindly into the bathroom and hanging my head over the toilet. I should never have eaten anything this morning.

I sit there until my breakfast has all made a glorious reappearance nd sink weakly onto the bathroom floor. I hear Vivi calling my name from the front hallway and a soft knock on the door, then the click of the doorknob. It’s Cardan.

He kneels on the floor beside me. “Jude, are you alright?” he asks softly. “You haven’t seemed exactly well recently.”

I shake my head. And lie. The mortal power slips easily to my tongue. “I’m fine,” I say, pushing myself up off the floor, dusting off my pants and heading out the door. “Must have just been something I ate. I’m all good now.”

I brush Vivi off as I emerge into the living room. “I’m good. Just something I ate.”

She gives me a look but doesn’t press it.

I settle down on the couch, hands locked over my belly in what I hope is an inconspicuous way.

Cardan emerges from the bathroom, looking concerned, but heads outside to grab the suitcases from the grass.

I clamber out of the shower and feel a sudden overwhelming wave of dizziness sweep over me. I clutch the wall, hoping it passes soon and desperately hoping this is normal. I have no idea what I’m doing.

I stand in Heather and Vivi’s kitchen, measuring out pancake mix the morning after Oak’s birthday. It’s the one thing Cardan insists we have in the mortal world. In fact, it’s turned into almost an addiction.

Cardan enters the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He walks behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, dropping a light kiss on my head. I tense, wondering if this will create an opening for me to tell him that I’m pregnant. But no. He moves away, stealing a drop of raw batter out of the bowl and slowly licks it off of his fingers, smirking at me as he does so.

I glare at him. Damn him.

I pour a cup of batter into the pan, wincing as some hot oil splatters my hand. Cardan catches it, looking at me with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It was just a drop,” I reply, going to pull my hand out of his grip. If anything, his hand tightens on mine, thumb going to my ring finger. The one that no longer has my wedding ring on it.

I look up at him, my face pale.

“You’re not wearing it.” His voice is flat, devoid of emotion. I stretch out my hand to touch his face, to interlace my fingers with his, to explain. To explain that I stopped wearing it to prepare myself. That it’s not what he thinks. That I thought that he would be so upset he would exile me again. He pulls away.

“Cardan, wait.” My voice cracks, on the verge of tears. A rare occurrence for me, but I’m guessing it’s because of the hormones. He shakes his head, turning away from me, long legs striding away. Out the door, away from me.

I chase after him, blinded by the tears pooling in my eyes. I stagger out the front door just in time to see him climb onto a ragwort pony and fly off.

A/N Oh boy... I went back in my mess of posts to find this, and then ultimately died of shame that I posted this in the condition it was in. My fanfic skills have definitely improved. I hope. Anyway, I’ve edited and glued all these scraps together for a first chapter of this fic. I’m not sure how far I’ll go with it, but it’s a fun little thing to write. 

[clockworkgraystairs]

O.M.G!!! I loved your recent jurdan fic sooo much!! Can you write when she tells Cardan she’s pregnant?? Can Cardan get emotionally excited??I love their softness and excitement... love you 😍

Hello dear!!! Thank you so much for your words! 

I’m sorry it took me long but my job is a pain in the ass and I don’t have as much time as I would like to write. Buuut here it is!

It also came out longer than I expected bc apparently I can’t keep things easy.

Anyway, ENJOY! LOVE U TOO!

~~~~

JUDE TELLS CARDAN SHE’S PREGNANT

Jude had spent half of her life learning how to face danger.

Years and years of training, creating strategies, fighting and even killing when she needed to.

 Gods above, she was the Queen.

 The High Queen of Elfhame, and she was shrinking on one corner of her sister Vivi’s bathroom; staring at the little pharmaceutic device, the third one, showing the result.

Jude carved her face with shaking hands.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She muttered, her breathing harsh.

 This was supposed to be an ordinary weekend.

 One year had passed since her official coronation and occasionally she liked to spend a day or two at the human world with Vivi, Heather and little Oak. Sometimes Cardan came with her, partially she suspected, since he’d caught some fascination for Sephora stores and some human customs, he claimed, he wanted to experience.

This time though, he’d stayed back in Elfhame, to attend some meetings Jude didn’t want to be part of.

Everything was going fine, they went to the park, to the movie theater and at last to the pizza place near her sister’s house, where Oak asked for Jude’s favorite to honor her visit. What she didn’t expect, was the sudden nausea that crept up her stomach as soon as the pizza arrived, making her ran to the toilet in a couple of seconds.

 It didn’t take much time for Vivi to suspect what was going on, even with Jude’s insistence on it probably being a stomach bug.

On their way back to her apartment, she bought Jude three different pregnancy tests under the argument that “one could never know”. Then filled her with orange juice and waited. And waited.

 So here she was. With three positive results. Pregnant.

 A loud knock on the door made her jump. “JUDE? Is everything alright?? You’ve been there ages! Are you done??”

 “Let her be Viv, don’t make her more nervous than she already is…” That was Heather.

 “What? I’m not. I just want to know if-”

 Jude stood and opened the door stopping her mid-sentence.

Two pairs of eyes stared at her expectantly. She pursed her lips and took in a deep breath.

 “So, apparently I’m pregnant.” She said to no one in particular. The words sounded strange in her mouth, as if she wasn’t the one saying them.  

 “Are… are you sure?” Viv’s face had lost all track of emotion. Jude quirked an eyebrow and handed her sister the pregnancy tests.

 What came next was a bunch of screaming and “oh my gods” and Heather swearing she’d dreamed about it a few nights ago. Maybe something else about a bet between her sister and Madoc.

 Jude was only hearing half of it. Instead her mind was worrying about one thing only. Cardan. How in hell was she going to tell him? How was he going to react?

 She didn’t even know how she felt.

They didn’t talk much about the subject. Some comments from the Court members about them providing heirs had quickly turned into inside jokes she and Cardan occasionally teased each other with. But joking about it was very different to this. To actually being pregnant. To carry life inside her that someday would become a baby, a child. For her to become a mother. For them to become parents.

 How was a parent supposed to be to begin with? She’d grown up with her kidnapper, a cold-blood murderer as the only parental figure. Her husband didn’t have a better role model.

And now they’ll have to raise a new creature into this world. It was too much to digest in one day.

 The next morning, she returned to Elfhame. Still with no clue of how to tell Cardan the news.

 She found their chambers empty, and took the chance to take a bath and put on her queenly clothes before going to search for her husband. She needed to tell him immediately, before her sense of fake bravery vanished.

 “Last time I saw him, Your Highness, he was on his way to his mother chambers.” Fand told her. Jude rolled her eyes and groaned, that was the last place where she wanted to go but her hands had already started to tremble, if she waited more time she wouldn’t be able to do it.

 One step away from Asha’s door she hesitated. Jude had meant to knock, but the door was already half-opened and she could hear voices coming out.

 “Seriously Cardan, how long are you going to keep this up?” Asha sounded annoyed. “You had your fun with the mortal girl, why keeping her at all?”

 “She is my wife.” Was all he answered.

 Jude leaned just a bit so she could peer inside the room. Cardan stood before his mother, who rested on a pile of cushions. His back faced the door so she couldn’t see his expression.

Asha sighed.

 “That didn’t stop you from vanishing her once. And we are not at war anymore so I doubt her fighting skills are needed much.” she shrugged. “Aren’t you just bored already?”

 Jude could see Cardan’s fist tightly closed. “I don’t see why my personal decisions affect you mother, nor why should I explain them to you.” His voice sounded strained. “As for Jude, she is no weapon just designed for war, and her staying is not for you to decide or even mention.”

 Asha’s lips quirked just a little. “Ah, I see now. My dear son, are you not capable to see all of the pleasures you are denying yourself just for a whim?” She raised to her feet and rested one of her perfect hands on Cardan’s shoulder. “It is not rare for Kings to take mistresses, and let me tell you, I know several beauties who would do anything for the opportunity.”

 Jude’s ears were ringing with rage. How dare she suggested such thing? To even consider the possibility of Cardan taking some vulgar… she shook her head, not even finishing the thought of it. She was so focused in her desire to take Asha’s head and slam her into the floor she couldn’t hear his answer.

 Asha laughed in a cruel way that make Jude’s stomach turn as she came back to reality. Oh gods, was she going to be sick again?

 “You ought to think of the future of your people too, you know. Elfhame will need an heir someday. And do you think the folk will not prefer a precious pure fae, instead of some half breed…” Asha’s eyes darted to the side and locked with Jude’s, making her heart skip a beat. “With filthy human blood?”

 Jude took a step back, feeling tears stinging behind her eyes. She knew what Asha was doing, that bitch, knowing she was listening behind the door. But it didn’t matter, not as her heart hammered with such intensity it was starting to hurt. Not as her throat closed in anger and impotence, making her hard to breath.  

So she just turned and rushed far from there.

 Somehow she reached one of the back balconies and stood there, staring at the sea under her. Jude knew she would be a filthy human for some of the folk for the rest of her days. She’d grown with that knowledge and she didn’t care anymore. But now, it was not only her. It would never be only her ever again. Was she really that stupid for allowing this to happen to someone else? Not only someone else, but her own child? Would Cardan even agree to the idea?

 Minutes passed. Even hours maybe, but she didn’t move. She felt as if she’d forgotten how to.

 Light steps sounded behind her.

 “Jude?” Cardan’s voice somehow filled her with something between peace and anxiousness, remembering why she was searching for him in the first place.

 She didn’t answer, so he continued. “I ran into Sir Fand a while ago, she told me you were looking for me. I should have been there when you arrived, I am sorry my love.”

 Jude shook her head, “It’s okay.” Her voice was faint, almost a whisper. She still didn’t dare looking at him.

 “Jude, is there something wrong?” He came closer to her, now standing by her side. Cardan searched her gaze but she looked down. “Have… Have I done something to upset you?”

 Jude’s heart hurt at his tone.

 “No, no you didn’t.” She wanted to tell him everything was okay, that he didn’t do anything wrong, that she was perfectly fine. Except she was not. She just didn’t know what to say first or how. “And yes, I was… looking for you.”

 She felt Cardan’s hand take hers, soft as a feather. “And you were looking for me on the sea? Unlikely, but I appreciate the effort.” He chuckled for a second, and then went back to his worried voice. “I am here now. Will you tell me what is that troubles you? You look as if you just had a nightmare.”

 That wasn’t unusual. More than once Cardan had woken her up from some bad dreams, usually ones in which he didn’t return after Jude cut off the snake’s head.  It always left her pale and shaky. Sometimes it happened the other way around, but they always found comfort in each other’s arms.

 She bit her lip and took a deep breath.  “I don’t think your mother would appreciate being called a nightmare, even if she usually is.”

 He gave her a wide grin before furrowing his brow in confusion. “Funny, I was just with her right…ah.” Realization crossed his eyes, Jude watched him clench his jaw. “You went to my mother’s chambers. You heard us.”

 Jude nodded and held his hand tighter. “I heard some of it. Many of the folk will always find me to be inadequate, that’s nothing new. But I hadn’t heard any mention of it in so long that, for a moment I, I let myself believe that-“  

 “Jude, stop, you cannot possibly think you are not good enough. Look at what you have done for Elfhame; anyone could see that!”

 “That’s not it. I know I have done things for them, saving some of their asses and stuff.” She shrugged.

 “Then I am not understanding, Jude-“ With his free hand he reached for her cheek and cupped it, tugging her into a hug.

 “I’m pregnant.” Her voice was almost a whisper, but she felt him froze.

 Without letting go of her, he leaned back, wide eyed and openmouthed. “What did you just say?”

 “Cardan I’m,” She closed her eyes and said louder, “I’m pregnant.”

 She didn’t open her eyes, afraid to see his reaction. But instead of saying anything he just gasped and pulled her back into his arms. Jude felt his heart beating fast against her hands.

“When did you find out?”

Now it was Jude’s time to chuckle. “Yesterday, even though I was feeling odd for the past days. Oak invited me a pizza but it made me sick, Vivi guessed the rest and I took some tests.”

Cardan didn’t say anything letting her continue. “When I came back I looked for you to tell you, mostly because if I didn’t right away I would be too scared to do it after. But…”

 “But you found me with my mother,” He sighed. “And what she said…gods, Jude I am so sorry. I ought to throw her back to the Tower of Forgetting.”

 She couldn’t say the thought was not appealing.

 “Every day of my life since I got here I was reminded of how I was different. Sometimes in the cruelest ways.” Cardan started to say something but she continued. “I am over it now, I know who I am, and I am happy with it. With you. But the thought of my own blood going through the same thing is… I am afraid of it being as hard as it was for me. I am afraid of not knowing how to make it different. Of not knowing how to be a mother. And most of all, I am afraid of not knowing how you feel about this.”

 There. She’d said it. She felt herself shake, but it wasn’t until a few seconds had passed, that she realized it wasn’t her. “Cardan?”

 He let go of the embrace but raised his hands to cup her face. His eyes were shimmering… and wet. He was smiling in a way she’d rarely seen, leaving her breathless for a moment.

A tear escaped his right eye and Jude quickly caught it with her thumb, still puzzled about what she was seeing.

 “My love, I feel nothing but happiness at this moment.” He kissed her forehead. “I know we usually joke about this but, one part of me always wished for it to became true one day. To love and raise as we weren’t. Giving us the chance to become better than the ones who should have taken care of us.”

 Jude didn’t realize she had started to cry too until he kissed her cheeks and felt them cold. Cardan looked down at her belly hesitantly, “Can I?” He asked.

 She nodded and pulled his hand to where someday she was going to be the size of a watermelon. He touched her with such delicacy and devotion she almost couldn’t believe this was happening.

 “We are going to have a baby.” It seemed as if he said it in order to really believe it.

 “We are going to have a baby” She repeated. Beaming with emotion. “I don’t know about you but, I think the first one who should hear the good news is Asha, hopefully she’ll have a heart attack and let us be.”

 Cardan laughed and shook his head. “You are insufferable, my sweet villain. But this time, I am afraid I agree with you.” At that, he took her hand and guided her back inside.

Maybe, just maybe, she shouldn’t be afraid at all.

[cruelduarte]

Pregnant Jurdan, part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

“Cardan, I swear if you even breathe in my direction I’ll strangle you.” I rub my fingers against my temple. A headache is ripping itself through my skull, and every single sound seems way louder than they used to be. Whatever stage of pregnancy this is, I hate it.

Cardan lets out a breath that he makes purposely loud. I shoot him a look that I hope conveys I would like to ring his neck. He just laughs.

“It’d be an honor to have you kill me, my love.”

I consider it, but then I’d have no one to threaten. He removes my hands from my face and replaces them with his own. This is the only reason I haven’t killed him yet, I’ve decided.

For the last week my days have been filled with migraines and a short temper. Maybe the latter isn’t that abnormal, but the migraines make everything else seem so much more unbearable. Only Cardan, the healer, and Fand know of the reason for recent irritability so I’ve had to pretend like everything is fine around everyone else.

“I’m going to go train with the Ghost,” I say suddenly, standing up from where I sit in our parlor. I need to do something other than let me mind wander and worry.

Cardan is blocking me in less than a second. “Oh, no you’re not.”

“Are you commanding me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Jude, you’re pregnant. I know you don’t care about getting yourself hurt, but I do and I care even more because you’re holding our children.”

I flinch. Of course that’s a logical reason for why I shouldn’t be training or doing anything that could cause physical harm. It’s not just about me anymore. That’s not what bothers me though. What bothers me is that I didn’t think of it. I had to be reminded that I was responsible for two tiny lives now.

It feels like there’s an ogre sitting on my chest. I can’t breathe, and I don’t know why. I try to say something but can’t so I probably look like a fish out of water.

“Jude?” Cardan asks, slowly lowering me so I’m sitting again. “Do I need to get a healer?”

I think I shake my head because Cardan sits on his knees in front of me and holds my hands. I focus on that. I focus on the way his rings sparkle in the light, and the way his long fingers hold my much shorter ones. His thumb is rubbing circles on the back of my hands. I count the number of jewels he has on his fingers (it’s 12) before I find my voice again.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I confess. “You’re already thinking about their safety, but I hadnt even considered it until you did. What kind of mother does that?” It’s not like I had many examples growing up. I’m sure my mother was lovely, but my memories of her are fleeting. I’m also slightly upset that instead of protecting us she ran away which just ended up getting her killed. And Oriana was never motherly towards us either. Fate didn’t seem to be on my side.

Cardan brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear, gently running his finger down my cheek. “You’ve spent your whole life looking out for yourself to survive. That kind of instinct isn’t going to disappear any time soon. Let yourself grow.”

Instead of that being comforting, my mind imagines the worst. I forget to watch them, and they end up drowning in the sea. I forget to lock away my sword, and they accidentally cut themselves. And it’d be completely my fault.

I put my head in my hands. “Cardan, my ineptitude could cost them their lives. I don’t trust myself.”

“I do.” He forces me to meet his eyes by placing a finger under my chin. I’m often perplexed by his strength because he doesn’t have to work for it like I do. “And it won’t all be on you, Jude. You’ll have me and Taryn and Vivi and our entire Court. I think you’ll surprise yourself.”

“How?”

“Who’s going to teach them to defend themselves better than anyone? Who’s going to teach them to be kind to human and fae? Who’s going to give them so many second chances that they don’t deserve but you keep giving them because you love them? You are, Jude. No one else can do those things better than you.”

I don’t know what to say. He’s right. I will absolutely make sure my children are at least adequate at defending themselves if not more. I will not tolerate any faerie snobbishness or air of superiority. I do give too many chances to those I love. Is that what makes a good parent? I’m not sure either of us are able to answer that.

I lean forward and kiss him gently. No matter how much I want to kill Cardan most of the time, he’s always been the one to bring me back to myself. To make everything else seem less scary. Maybe it’s because I used to be scared of him and learned I didn’t need to be.

“How’re you so calm?” I ask. 

“I’m not. I’m terrified. For us. For them. For you.” He kisses my hand, keeping my palm pressed to his chin. “But I know that together we can figure it out. We might make a lot of mistakes, but together we’ll hold each other accountable.”

For some reason I feel like crying. Probably another thing to blame on pregnancy. “Look at us. Head of a kingdom but scared over some babies.” I laugh, but it comes out with some sniffles. 

“I think if we weren’t scared it would be worse. Being scared means we know how serious this job is. We know being parents isn’t anything to take lightly.” Cardan smiles, slightly devilish like the Cardan I’m used to. “We better take advantage of our freedom before it’s too late.”

Before I can ask what that means he’s picking me up in his arms and carrying me to our bed. We don’t often agree, but I agree with him on this.

We definitely need to take advantage of our time together now.

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

wooo sorry it took so long to do part 2 but i hope it was worth the wait!!!

@gloriouspalacebakerylawyer @bookwyrminspiration @fallingstarsandeagles @darkerstars97 @hizqueen4life @booklover41802 @wickedqueenoffantasy 

[chrisevansluv]

Unfortunately if chris did in fact follow that girl intentionally she will be attacked by trolls. But I'm still betting on it being an accident but who knows. And I think alot of fans are probably upset because of the image of chris they created in their heads but at the same time I can't blame them he's made himself out to be the type guy they think he is with everything he has said in interviews but this is also a wake up call to them chris is just like every other single guy out there

Is he really the one to blame (partially) for what these fand have created in their heads? I've read and watched the same interviews as them probably, and I still believe he's this good nice guy, who doesn't leave the house but likes having "his fun", too.

If fans get mad because he followed a hot woman or because she's younger than they assumed he was into, it's on them (and no, I'm not saying this "because I'm 22 and that'd mean I stand a chance" like some anons told me yesterday). I'm sorry, but they got this on themselves because they really tried to make Chris this cinnamon roll, who doesn't leave the house because he's waiting for "the one" to pop up right at his door.

But even then, it's just a follow 😬

[courtofjurdan]

One chance part 7

Jurdan College AU - previous chapter

masterlist

*I hope you enjoy!! feel free to tell me anything you would like to see. I did change the title because the other one was to plain and I hated it. btw I know nothing about law so bare with me. I’m trying.*

Warning: Mention of nonconsensual touching

Jude started to feel guilty. Guilty that she didn’t believe Cardan. Guilty that she didn’t know if she could believe him. She didn’t know what to think or believe. So she let herself reminisce on that. Her final decision was to start over with him. She saw him not hanging out with his friends like he used to. He has been reserved, away from people. Maybe he was truly upset about his ruined one chance. 

She let a couple of days go by before she texted him. 

J: Hey Cardan, it’s Jude. Ummm, can we talk one day when you have a chance. 

Not too long after that-

C: Yeah, of course. Today?? 

J: Sure. 

They ended up meeting at this little place on campus. It had a bench and not many people went there. Cardan was there first. He didn’t want to be late and upset her. Jude got there about 10 minutes after he did and she sat on the bench. 

They sat there in silence. They were pretty sure the people some ways behind them could feel the tension between them. Jude was the first to speak. 

“I’m going to give you your chance back.” She said this quietly.

Cardan’s eyes went wide with shock. “Really?”

“I mean if you want it.” 

“Yes of course, Jude, this is all I want.” 

All I want- Jude thought. All he wanted was that chance back. Such a little thing and that’s all he really wanted. 

“Let’s start over to before the-” she stopped and looked down. “The situation. I shouldn’t have blamed you for your friend’s sin. It wasn’t right.”

Cardan put a wry smile on his face, “It’s okay, Jude, you were only trying to protect yourself from more pain. I get it. How are you doing with the situation?” 

Oh no. Should I tell him. Jude had a plan - like always - she is going to report it at the police station. She thought about it for days and she doesn’t want this to happen to anybody else so she hopes she can get him locked up or some kind of deserved punishment for what he did. 

“Well, actually Cardan, I’m going to bring it up to the police. I don’t want this to happen to anyone else. I have the proof of it on my phone. So I’ll go down and see what they can do.”

He was again shocked, but he knows Valerian deserves this. 

“Okay, that sounds like a good plan. Do you want me to go with you? I can go tomorrow if you want. If you want to do this alone I understand.” 

“Sure you can come.” She lets out a shaky breath. “I need all the support I can get.” 

Jude gets up and turns to him, saying, “Okay well text me when you're ready to go tomorrow.” 

“Yes ma’am, I will.”

She starts to walk away with a small smile on her face at the “yes ma’am” he gave.

“Oh and Jude?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you” he said with the most sincerity in his voice. 

 “No, thank you.” Jude is still weary of Cardan so she is not putting all her trust in him but she wants to get to know him better. He seems like he is really trying to change. 

The next day rolls around and Jude is up and ready for Cardan to text her at any time. About an hour later he texts her.

C: Hey I’m up and ready. You?

J: Yep. Come pick me up. 

C: 👍

He picked her up as close as he could get with his car, blaring his music. It only made her smile and shake her head. But then Cardan laughed at that and her heart almost couldn’t take it. He was trying to make her feel less tense, even at the loss of his own dignity. 

“Hey Jude, are you doing okay?”

“I should be asking you that.”

They just laughed at each other. There was a peaceful silence about them, but Cardan could tell Jude was tense. He laid a hand right above her left knee as he said, “It’s going to be okay.” 

Jude flinched at the touch. He forgot. His eyes went wide, “I’m so sorry, Jude. I- I forgot. How stupid of me. I’m sorry.”

Jude replied back quietly, “It’s not your fault. It's okay.”

He gave a small breath of relief that Jude didn’t totally blow up on him. They sat in silence the rest of the way to the police station. 

When they walked into the police station, there was a front desk and a waiting room. Cardan went and sat in a chair as Jude went up to the front desk to talk to one of the officers there. 

“How can we help you, miss?” A female officer asked. 

“Umm, well, I would like to give a report about someone.”

“Yes, we can do that. Follow me.” She said with a smile on her face. 

Jude followed her into this small private room with no one around. This was perfect. It was just the officer and her and nobody else had to know. This calmed her nerves a bit. The officer got her personal information and wrote it down on the report paper in front of her. 

“I’m officer Fand McConnell, what would you like to report?” 

Jude took a deep breath in and held her chin up high. “I was sexually assaulted about a month ago by a man at my college campus. He locked me in the women’s bathroom, and-” it was still hard to say this part even though she practiced what she would tell them. “Touched and kissed me in ways that I did not give permission to.” 

The officer looked concerned, “This happened a month ago? Why didn’t you report this sooner?”

“I was… ashamed. Ashamed that it happened to me. But I don’t want other girls to go through what I had to do that’s why I decided to report it now.” 

“Okay, well do u have any evidence? It would be our word against his if you don’t.”

Jude grabbed her phone. “I do have evidence. He caused bruises all over my body because he would push me against the wall by my neck and squeeze very hard on my arms and legs. And give me hickeys as you can see.” 

“It’s good that you took pictures of that. I will need a little bit more evidence so I am going to go through the security footage of the campus to see if I can prove that he went into the women’s restroom. If he did and with that evidence, he will be in some serious trouble. He can be charged with sexual and physical assault with the bruises he gave you. Will you give me his name?”

“His name is Valerian Mills.”

“Is he in any of your classes?”

Jude chuckled without humor, “Well, actually, he was my childhood bully. He has made fun of me since first grade and has never stopped. He just took everything to the next level now. But to answer your question, yes, we share two classes together.”

“Okay.” She was writing all her needed information down. After she was done writing, she clicked her pen. 

“Okay. Is that all you need right now?”

“For now, I will call you with anything else.” 

“Thank you very much.” Jude walked out feeling hopeful. Hopeful that he would get the punishment he deserves. 

She walked back to the waiting room and met Cardan. She nodded her head to the door, meaning let’s go to the car. He got and opened the door for her and they walked to his pretty black mustang. 

Once in and settled, Cardan said, “It’s really none of my business but did everything go ok?” 

“Uh yeah, they are going to look into it.”

He took the short sentence of hers as a sign that she didn’t want to reveal anything else. Jude didn’t quite trust him to tell him everything yet. He didn’t need to know details. He was just along for the ride. 

He ended up taking her out to lunch anywhere she wanted to go. She picked this expensive steak house place that she loved. Cardan was happy to take her there. He has noticed her thinning so he didn’t mind taking her anywhere. He really didn’t mind when one of the brightest smiles he has seen in a while lit up her face at the granted request. 

It was nice. You could still feel the tension and the lack of trust but at this point, Cardan would just about take anything from her. If only she would realize just how desperate he is. 

They ate in peace and were stuffed as they walked out. Cardan, of course, paid for the whole thing. The drive back was also quiet. He could tell her brain was just thinking. Going through whatever possibilities. He dropped her off at her dorm soon after. Jude went to bed that night thinking about what her life would be like without Valerian in it. And it looked much more peaceful. It’s kind of rude to think like that but it’s the least he deserves. 

Jude woke up the next morning having to run to the toilet to throw up. She doesn’t think she has ever thrown up so much in her life. By the time she was done, she was weak. Her legs wobbled beneath her. She just thinks she has a virus so she just has to let in run its course. Luckily, it’s a Sunday so there are no classes today. She lays in the bed and takes it easy. 

The next day, which is Monday, she got up in the middle of the night and threw up again. She thought it was done with but nope, what a surprise. Maybe it’s all this Valerian stuff that’s making me uneasy, she thought. 

By the time her first class starts, she feels better. So she gets something to eat because she is starving from the lack of food in her system, and goes to class. She is much more happy today. Happy that she is getting her revenge on Valerian. She goes through the rest of that with no problems. 

She gets a call Tuesday afternoon from the police department. 

“Hello.” Jude said that with a high confidence voice, trying not to show her nervousness through her voice. 

“Hello, is this Jude Duarte?”

“Yes ma’am, it is.”

“Ok Hello Jude, this is officer Fand McConnell. We went through the security cameras in the hallway near the women’s bathroom and it did indeed show him go in there before you. And he came out before you came out which inspects that what you said is true. It also showed you coming out crying which also makes us suspect the same thing. We are going to interrogate him, and see if he will cough anymore information up.”

“Okay, that sounds like a plan. When will you interrogate him?”

“Oh we will do it today. The officer on campus will bring him here. I will call you with what was said.”

“Ok. Okay yeah that sounds good.”

The officer hung up and Jude closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It’s actually happening. It’s not a dream. All those years of torture will finally be paid back. Hopefully.

Jude waited and waited and waited till her nerves couldn’t take it anymore. Until at about 9 o’clock. She was almost to give up on her calling. 

“Jude Duarte?” 

“Yes this is her.” 

“We interrogated him and he slipped up and then asked for a lawyer which then indicates that he did do it. He will be locked up until he has a hearing with the Judge. You have to be there for that. The appointment for that is Thursday at 2 o’clock. You will have a lawyer talking for you about the case. I’m no lawyer, but I think you will win it.”

Jude breathes a sigh of relief, “Thank you. I will be there.” 

She gave her all the information about Thursday, and she set up an appointment for Wednesday which was tomorrow to talk personally to her lawyer before the hearing. Jude was nervous and excited at the same time. 

She wanted to tell someone but she didn’t know who. She could call her friends but then she looked at the time and it was 11pm and she knew they would probably be asleep so she decided to call Cardan. She wouldn’t feel bad if she woke him up. 

“Hey Cardan, are you awake?” 

“Um yeah, I am now. Is there anything wrong?” 

“No, no I just got a call from the police department and they have Valerian.”

She went on to tell him the information. She talked to him like they have been friends forever. She almost forgot that she is still a bit mad and aggravated at him because she can’t forget that if Cardan hadn’t entertained the bullying his group of friends did, then this probably wouldn’t have even happened. But he had one chance, and one chance only. 

next chapter

masterlist

Taglist:

@newwifeyy | @mi-mavencalories | @roseygirl25 | @spideygirlstuff | @afexiss | @aelin-queen-of-terrasen | @deargreenbriar

[caemthe]

Love & Romance.º

     Despite how much I love those slow burn tropes and the like, in a manner, Cú is the exact opposite of that. It’s not ‘difficult’ for him to fall to in love in the sense that it only takes him a couple interactions/situations/signals/etc. for him to ‘know’ that he truly loves that person and would do everything for them. Though, I think that’s more canon than a headcanon because: 1) Cú and Emer got engaged after 10 minutes of talking in riddles to each other on their first meeting. 2) Cú and Fand had one of those ‘love at first sight’ moments and, after the month they spent together, Cú was willing to leave EVERYTHING to run away with her. 3) It’s less specific with Ferdiad but from Cú’s laments after his lover’s death, we know they had the deepest bond and did many things together, which would’ve been difficult to happen if they had taken things ‘slow’.

     In general, Cú’s kind of love (at least in his myth) is awfully similar to how he lived his life: Intense, burning fast, consuming all around and then gone in a blink of an eye.

     He’s painfully aware of the fact that his life will be a short one so, for him, love isn’t something that he can give to another person in terms of quantity or time, nor is something that can be constructed over time (because he doesn’t have much time left to live). For him, love is those brief and specific moments in which his heart beat with passion, with fury, with happiness, at the same rhythm of that person’s, and will remain as a memory he can look back with fondness. Which, as romantic as it may sound, means that he’s got an awfully rushed way of doing things and makes it difficult for him to truly get to know the other person unless said person is just as rushed as he is (you know, like Emer and Ferdiad) and can end in catastrophe (which, in fact, did, in many occasions)…

     Before I get to mention said catastrophes, I need to remind everyone for the 23457890 times that Emer and Ferdiad (and Fand) were the great loves of his life. They were the only persons Cú allowed himself to love without restrictions. Falling for them was like jumping from a precipice without thinking of the consequences or even phantom that he could get himself or them hurt, or even imagine that something could go wrong… BIG. FUCKING. MISTAKE. Each ending of those stories deserve their own post but to summarize how much they affected him, he sunk into depression two times. After Ferdiad’s death, Cú lost all will to live and put to effort in trying to heal from his wounds (not to mention that Ferdiad’s death is also read as the symbolic death of Cú Chulainn), only ‘moving on’ because he still had to complete his duty as a warrior. And after Fand’s death, Cú secluded himself and refused to sleep or eat, the only reason he didn’t starve himself to death was that he got tricked into drinking a potion that made him forget everything related to Fand (as if they never met), which is rather… :)))

     So those events left their scars on Cú. And it doesn’t get better once he became a Heroic Spirit and participated in the Tokyo HGW of 1999 because he ended up having to kill Misaya (which whom he had a connection, actually understood each other and most likely developed feelings for) because of their promise. Sometimes it really is like that…

     After all that, it’s not surprising that Cú developed a couple trust issues and unwillingness to reveal much of himself to another person. He hasn’t shut down the possibility of falling in love again because he thinks that lying to himself is stupid and a waste of time, and still has some pieces of the kind of love I described at the start, but… it’s just not the same anymore. He refuses to open up or rely on others when he’s upset or not feeling his best. Doesn’t matter if the person trying to help is a bond level 10 friend or his significant other, he would rather be left alone and not be asked what’s wrong. He’s pretty good at diverting the topic when he doesn’t want to talk about something that bothers him and tries to compensate for with great displays of affection so he feels a bit relieved in that aspect.

    Though, did I mention that Cú is pretty intense when he loves someone? Because he is. He’s not romantic in any way and his speech can come off as harsh, but he’s the type to just speak his heart out, he’s honest with his feelings and damn he must really hold lots of intense feelings inside of him because his exchanges with Ferdiad, aka his heart-companion, aka his loved one, aka his dearest one, aka for whom he ‘would rather face a thousand fights, Ferdiad, than this fight with you’ in the in the Táin Bó Cúalnge. Can’t really put all of Cu’s lament on Ferdiad’s death here, but just going to throw an extract of Cu’s words to Ferdiad before their battle to show just how goddamn intense this guy is when he talks:

     We were heart-companions once;      We were comrades in the woods;      We were men that shared a bed,      When we slept the heavy sleep,      After hard and weary fights.      Into many lands, so strange,      Side by side we sallied forth,      And we ranged the woodlands through,      When with Scathach we learned arms!

[caemthe-a]

Love & Romance.

Cú is quite the mystery when it comes to writing anything that’s related to his love life, but here are a couple headcanons that have been crossing my mind for a couple months:

Despite how much I love those slow burn tropes and the like, in a manner, Cú is the exact opposite of that. It’s not ‘difficult’ for him to fall to in love in the sense that it only takes him a couple interactions / situations / signals / etc. ( I’m supposed to be the mun but I’ve yet to understand Cú’s logic in this aspect. ) for him to ‘know’ that he truly loves that person and would do everything for them. Though, I think that’s more canon than a headcanon because: 1) Cú and Emer got engaged after 10 minutes of talking in riddles to each other on their first meeting. 2) Cú and Fand had one of those ‘love at first sight’ moments and, after the month they spent together, Cú was willing to leave everything to run away with her. 3) It’s less specific with Ferdiad but from Cú’s laments after his lover’s death, we know they had the deepest bond and did many things together, which would’ve been difficult to happen if they had taken things ‘slow’.

In general, Cú’s kind of love ( at least in his myth ) is awfully similar to how he lived his life: Intense, burning fast, consuming all around and then gone in a blink of an eye.

He’s painfully aware of the fact that his life will be a short one so, for him, love isn't something that he can give to another person in terms of quantity or time, nor is something that can be constructed over time ( because he doesn’t have much time left to live ). For him, love is those brief and specific moments in which his heart beat with passion, with fury, with happiness, at the same rhythm of that person’s, and will remain as a memory he can look back with fondness. Which, as romantic as it may sound, means that he’s got an awfully rushed way of doing things and makes it difficult for him to truly get to know the other person unless said person is just as rushed as he is ( you know, like Emer and Ferdiad ) and can end in catastrophe ( which, in fact, did, in many occasions )...

Before I get to mention said catastrophes, I need to remind everyone for the 23457890 times that Emer and Ferdiad ( and Fand ) were the great loves of his life. They were the only persons Cú allowed himself to love without restrictions. Falling for them was like jumping from a precipice without thinking of the consequences or even phantom that he could get himself or them hurt, or even imagine that something could go wrong... Big. Fucking. Mistake. Each ending of those stories deserve their own post but to summarize how much they affected him, he sunk into depression two times. After Ferdiad’s death, Cú lost all will to live and put to effort in trying to heal from his wounds ( not to mention that Ferdiad’s death is also read as the symbolic death of Cú Chulainn ), only ‘moving on’ because he still had to complete his duty as a warrior. And after Fand’s death, Cú secluded himself and refused to sleep or eat, the only reason he didn’t starve himself to death was that he got tricked into drinking a potion that made him forget everything related to Fand ( as if they never met ), which is rather... :)))

So those events left their scars on Cú. And it doesn’t get better once he became a Heroic Spirit and participated in the Tokyo HGW of 1999 because he ended up having to kill Misaya ( which whom he had a connection, actually understood each other and most likely developed feelings for ) because of their promise. Sometimes it really is like that...

After all that, it’s not surprising that Cú developed a couple trust issues and unwillingness to reveal much of himself to another person. He hasn’t shut down the possibility of falling in love again because he thinks that lying to himself is stupid and a waste of time, and still has some pieces of the kind of love I described at the start, but... it’s just not the same anymore. He refuses to open up or rely on others when he’s upset or not feeling his best. Doesn’t matter if the person trying to help is a bond level 10 friend or his significant other, he would rather be left alone and not be asked what’s wrong. He’s pretty good at diverting the topic when he doesn’t want to talk about something that bothers him and tries to compensate for with great displays of affection so he feels a bit relieved in that aspect.

But a healthy relationship isn't built on keeping so many secrets and feelings to oneself, which really makes the mun worry and wonder if this dumbass will ever be happy or...? The irony of the situation is that Cú is the type to worry and try to do everything he in his power to make the ones he cares about feel better. Which is rather hypocritical because he refuses to show any kind of vulnerability. It would take something incredible to happen for him to allow himself to act and love like his former self. But if the reaction he gets in return is significantly underwhelming than the one he hoped for or feels like he isn’t reciprocated, then he’ll be the first one to leave. Nope, he’s not sinking with the ship again.

I don’t know, sometimes I think of how much Cú loved Emer and Ferdiad ( and Fand ) and then realize that that sort of honest and unrestrained kind of love will never happen again and... It feels bad man...

Other headcanons that I have related to the topic is that, for Cú, sexual attraction =/= romantic attraction. He might confuse the first with the later at first but he’s quick to tell them apart. And then there’s the fact that sexual attraction doesn’t equal any willingness to fool around. I've got that one better explained over here! 

[nunonabun]

The Family Look [1/2]

Steaminess will return tomorrow or the day after (as this fic will have 2 parts), I promise (and thank you to those who sent prompts for that!), but today I thought I’d work on more of a family fic (partially because I saw an old pic of my aunt with the most fabulous 60s glasses and couldn’t let it go).

“Don’t you ever look like your Mummy!”

It was such a simple, commonplace phrase. Shelagh had heard it hundreds of times, and likely said it about as often, given her line of work. Yet now she heard in it a myriad of subtexts and assumptions that she never would have assumed before her marriage; before she and Patrick had adopted the little girl they were blessed to be able to call their daughter.

—[ 3 days earlier ]— 

How much allspice is the proper amount? Lucille had loaned her an old family recipe for a dish called ‘jerk chicken’ which her mother had mailed over and Lucille had made for luncheon at Nonnatus last week. Though Lucille had helpfully pointed out the difference between British allspice and Jamaican allspice, as with any family recipe, the measurements were vague, maintained by the current cook having cooked alongside the writer of said recipe. Shelagh supposed she could just add to her taste and then further adjust it based on her family’s reviews.

As though thinking of them had summoned them, Shelagh heard the click of the door that signalled that Patrick and Angela must be home.

“Hello dears!” She called out, correctly assuming they would come to her.

However, she hadn’t guessed the tears that would accompany her daughter’s greeting. Instead of her normal cheerful hello, Angela had simply run over and hugged her mother’s leg.

She immediately bent down to enfold her daughter in her arms. “Sweetheart, what ever is the matter?”

Angela simply shook her head and buried it in the crook of her mother’s neck.

Shelagh hear the crack of Patrick’s knees as he bent down to rub his daughter’s back and explain the situation.

“Apparently Miss Lang asked her to read from the board, and that was something of a tricky request.” He paused to see if Angela would elaborate further.

Comforted enough to have regained her vocabulary, she did. “The words were all fuzzy and I tried but…” the tears were starting to well up once more. “I guessed wrong and then everybody laughed.”

Shelagh met Patrick’s eyes over Angela’s head as she pressed her face back into her mother’s shoulder. To her surprise, he looked confused about the incident, though naturally also frustrated and sad about the reaction of the other children.

But of course he would be, he was looking at the situation through different eyes. Angela had been a wonderful reader, quickly progressing whenever her parents asked her to read the next bit of her bedtime story. Thinking back on that, Shelagh did remember Angela looking very closely at the pages, and kicked herself for not realizing the problem sooner.

Yet at the same time, Angela’s story rewound time for her, to almost thirty years beforehand when another little girl had cried over her inability to read the chalkboard.

She sat in the bricht licht i’ the humble East Window i’ St. Andrew’s, the queart of the kirk always a balm tae her hairt. Ma and Da had tried, but they didnae ken any better than the teacher why she warslt sair wi the reading. It wis anely in class; on Sundays she could read the hymns jis fine.

A saft vice interrupted her thoughts.

“I’m aye sorrowed tae hear greeting on sic a lovely afterneen.” Sister Catherine settled herself beside her.

Shelagh wiped her tears an keeked up at her douche, bespectacled face, an it aa cam pouring oot.

“Everyone’s lauchin at me an Mr Wilson’s getting feejee kis Ah cannea read in skail.”

Instead i’ the worrit look Ma and Da had gien her, Sister Catherine seemed tae un’erstn an she felt a wecht lift fae her hairt.

The auld nun took aff her glesses an placed tham on the bridge i’ her neb. Suddenly the Sister’s face became clear tae her. She luikit aroon an fand the kirk transformed.

Yon same afterneen, her mither teen her tae see the ee doctor. The neist day, naething cwid bring her doon, even fin the ithers caad her a wee owl. The wardle wis a newly magical placie tae her noo, an she wis fair-tricket wi it.

Mimicking Sister Catherine’s actions all those years ago, Shelagh took off her specs and gently pulled her daughter back from her so she could set them on Angela’s face. Alarmed by this development, Angela abruptly stopped crying, and Patrick’s confusion turned to comprehension.

“Darling, could you try reading what the tin on the counter says?” Shelagh knew her glasses were probably a lot stronger than the ones Angela would need, but if this was indeed her problem, they would at least be of some help.

Angela hopped in excitement as her world changed just as Shelagh’s had when she’d been of a similar age.

“All spice!” She exclaimed, “All spice all spice!”

She took off to the living room to further explore her newfound abilities, alarming her little brother out his concentration on what appeared to be a game somehow involving a doctor and a fire truck.

“Magnavox!” She shouted. “The… Lanket!”

“Lancet!” Tim corrected from upstairs, where he was sequestered with his books.

Shelagh and Patrick laughed and turned back to the neglected dinner preparations.

“Would you like to take her to the optometrist tomorrow or shall I?” He asked, wrapping his arms around her.

“Hmm let me write Miss Lang a note explaining why she ought to be excused from reading tomorrow and then I’ll take her after school. Choosing your own glasses is such a big moment…” Patrick placed a kiss over the temples of her own specs, and she knew he was remembering when she’d changed her old round frames for the new horn-rimmed ones he loved so much. “Indeed it is.”

—

“These!” Angela announced confidently as she tried on what must have been the fiftieth pair of glasses that day. Shelagh and Dr. Adams exchanged a look of amused relief.

“That’s a lovely choice, darling.” The pair in question sported a warm amber cat-eye frame with three little rhinestones in each upswept corner. Predictably, they looked absolutely darling on Angela.

“You look just like your Mummy!” Dr. Adams agreed, and Shelagh felt a warm glow of pride settle in her chest.

The rest of the transaction proceeded swiftly, and Angela practically dragged her mother home so she could show off her new glasses to Daddy and Tim, both of whom were suitably admiring.

Unfortunately, the next day did not go as smoothly. Once again, Patrick came home with a teary Angela, but this time his face was like a thunderclap. She didn’t have to ask.

“The other children must have said something truly cruel, and I’ll be having a word with their parents about it.” Patrick said angrily.

Shelagh nodded in assent, but bent down to speak to her little girl. “What did they say sweetheart?”

Angela shook her head, unable or unwilling to speak.

“I’ll make you some nice cocoa, and then you, Daddy and I can talk about it. How does that sound?”

Angela agreed, looking a smidge more at ease, and Shelagh set of to prepare hot beverages for the family, making extra cocoa in a spare cozy-clad teapot to set aside for Tim and Teddy when they eventually came in from Teddy’s makeshift cricket lesson in the back yard.

A sufficient quantity of hot cocoa ingested, Angela explained what had so upset her. “Claire said my glasses were pretty, and that I looked like you, Mummy, but Doris said that I was just pretending, that I couldn’t look like you because… because you’re not my real mummy.” Her tears were flowing freely once more. “And Charlotte and Anne agreed.” She concluded, before the floodgates opened in earnest.

Shelagh and Patrick both wrapped her in their arms, silently communicating sharing a look of knowing distress overtop of her small head. They had been open with her about her adoption for as long as she could understand it, both feeling it was important that it not be a shock to her, and knowing that if they didn’t tell hear early on, she was likely to hear it from a third party. Yet neither of them were naive enough to believed they had headed off all future challenges.

“Darling, it’s absolutely not pretend.” Shelagh spoke gently but firmly. “You’re my real daughter, so I’m your real mummy, and Daddy’s your real daddy.”

Patrick kissed the neat part in her hair to emphasize the point. “You remember how you grew in another lady’s tummy, like Teddy grew in Mummy’s?” He asked. Angela sniffled in acknowledgement, remembering this conversation. “Well some people don’t understand that even though you came from another lady and man, you’re our little girl.”

“But then why did Teddy come from you and Mummy?” Angela asked quietly, still shaken.

“Because sometimes different people in a family come from different places.” Shelagh explained. “But what truly makes them all a family - what makes us a family - is that we love each other, not whether or not we look like each other.”

“And if we do happen to look like each other,” Patrick added, Angela quickly interrupting to add detail, “like how my hair and glasses are like Mummy but my eyes are the same colour as yours and Timmy’s?”  

“Exactly,” Patrick agreed. “And that’s just chance. Your looks are a gift from the man and lady who made you, and even if you had turned out to look nothing like us, you know we would love you just as much, don’t you?”

“Mmhhm.” A small smile broke through Angela’s tears as she agreed.

Shelagh felt the need to add one further clarification. “There are ways you’re like me and Daddy that aren’t chance; that are because you’re our daughter.” Angela turned her big, curious eyes to her mother.

“Like right now,” Shelagh said. “That wee expression, and the way you tilt your head, it’s just like Daddy when he’s confused.”

Patrick grinned. “And when Teddy or Timmy are naughty, or when something needs to be done, your voice and posture - that’s the way you stand - is just like Mummy.”

Angela was practically beaming now, her worries assuaged for the day as pulled her parents closer for another hug.

My sincere apologies if the Doric is terrible. I used a site that had an extensive dictionary and translation tool, but it may be Google Translate quality. I wanted to get across my headcanon that Shelagh grew up speaking Doric, so her memories of her childhood could also be in Doric (as I find when I remember events that happened in French, my memory of the whole event, including descriptions is in French). If anyone speaks Doric and notes anything wrong with my translation, please tell me!

[English translation of the Doric part:

She sat in the bright light of the humble East Window of St. Andrew’s, the quiet of the church always a balm to her heart. 

Ma and Da had tried, but they didn’t know any better than the teacher why she struggled sorely with the reading. It was only in class; on Sundays she could read the hymns just fine.

A soft voice interrupted her thoughts.

“I’m always sorrowed to hear crying on such a lovely afternoon.” Sister Catherine settled herself beside her.

Shelagh wiped her tears and peeked up at her kind, bespectacled face, and it all came pouring out.“Everyone’s laughing at me and Mr Wilson’s getting angry because I can’t read in school.”

Instead of the worried look Ma and Da had given her, Sister Catherine seemed to understand, and she felt a weight lift from her heart. 

The old nun took off her glasses and placed them on the bridge of her nose. Suddenly the Sister’s face became clear to her. She looked around and found the church transformed.

That same afternoon, her mother took her to see the eye doctor. The next day, nothing could bring her down, even when the others called her a little owl. The world was a newly magical place to her now, and she was delighted with it.]

[araneaes-order]

Angels We Have Heard Ch. 1

Last Herald-Mage Fanfic

Follow up to In the Bleak Mid-winter my “fix-it” rewrite of the canon ending. (’Cause, C’MON!!!) This is several months later, because no way these two aren’t gonna meet up again. 

In the Bleak Mid-winter | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Visit my master list

Word Count: ~4025

Rating: Mature for themes of suicide and substance abuse and stuff, I don’t know, I try to err on the side of caution, I think it’s fairly fluffy really

Tags: Canon mm, ^attempted suicide, ^substance abuse, comfort, mourning, singing

On AO3.

Chapter Synopsis: After several months at the border, recovering enough to be transported home, Vanyel hasn’t been back at Haven for a fortnight when he hears the song.

He’d lost a stone in his recovery and it was chaffing him. He needed to get back up, back out, to the salle, to his duties, to his life. Lying in bed, withering away—:Getting stronger, love,: she kept reminding him, as if she was one to talk—was making him crazy.

He’d been carried back from the northern border in a cart. Like an invalid. It was galling, no matter that everyone kept telling him how grateful he should be to be coming back at all. He wouldn’t say it, but he wasn’t, particularly.

His mother had wept copiously over his bedside, his father had grunted, impressed. Even, and Vanyel tried not to be shocked since they’d already come so far, but, proud.

Tran hovered like a nervous mother hen, almost as bad as his real mother, but at least he spared him the tears.

Jisa—now Jisa left him feeling guilty. She’d been crowned queen consort in his absence, her acknowledged parents dead while he’d been off facing down a lifetime of nightmares and trying to get himself killed at practically the same moment. He hadn’t been there for her through that, and could only be grateful she’d at least had Treven, now the king, the very man he’d bristled at her marrying. At least when he could subsume his own shame, the two of them could mourn those deaths together.

Because that was truly the worst part for him, coming back: the people who weren’t there at his sickbed. Randy and Shavri. Kilchas and Lissandra, Jaysen, Mardic and Donni, hells, all the other Herald-Mages.

And Savil. Gods, Savil, who had always been there for him at Haven, since Withen had foisted his hopeless heir off on her, a lifetime ago. Even if he’d been able, he could hardly stand the thought of leaving his rooms for the empty halls where he knew they’d never meet again.

In his bed he could pretend the mother-of-his-heart was still out there, just on the other side of his door. She was on her way to check on him; at any moment there would be a knock.

But when there was, it was never her.

His nephew Medren was by far the most cheerful of his visitors. A bardic student at the collegium, he was never without his lute and made it clear his plan was to help his uncle pass a bit of his convalescence with songs, upbeat, happy, often bawdy songs.

Songs about Vanyel himself, when the scamp was feeling particularly cheeky, and gods knew there were plenty to choose from and a good number of them were completely awful. It had given his nephew the idea for a game: guess which terrible song was real and which he was making up on the spot.

“No, no, I swear that one was real, Uncle Van!” Medren chortled. “I heard it myself in my journeyman year, being sung in a tavern not far from Forst Reach, as a matter of fact.”

Van’s face hurt from laughing. It was nice, a different sort of pain. He rubbed at his cheeks, fighting for breath. “I don’t believe you. There’s no way—” Talk about bawdy! And if ever a song had been more off the mark than to feature him, ‘courting’ some doe-eyed maiden from the Lakes…

Medren’s laughter faded but his smile didn’t and he continued to strum absently on his lute, going softer, but still cheerful enough. “Games aside, Uncle, I did hear a new one about you today.”

Vanyel groaned. “Oh gods, don’t tell me, was I making my way through the royal court of Rethwellen, one fair maid at a time?”

Medren had visited with him every evening since he’d returned, and although he’d never have said it, and probably didn’t have to, the young Bard was his favorite nephew. He could tell that the boy had something on his mind, though he was playing coy.

“Not quite,” he grinned. “—But I will say I thought this one was surprisingly good. Would you like to hear it?” More coy yet.

He couldn’t deny his curiosity was piqued. What was Medren sitting on? But, playing along— “You tell me?” he said, archly, folding his hands on his stomach.

Medren smirked and shook back his hair. “Oh, I suspect you would. Here—”

The boy adjusted his fingering, testing it for an unfamiliar song, striking a few tentative notes and then slipping off…

—To the north. To an icy guard post at the northernmost edge of Valdemar’s border, wrapped in unnatural winter, where a grim-faced, determined man in white came hunting the enemy of his kingdom. A beautiful man, a living legend, with silver eyes and silver in his hair.

Van shifted uncomfortably.

There was only one person who could have written it, there were details even he didn’t know, things about the bandits, things about Leareth.

And the bits about Vanyel himself were—far too flattering. Even Yfandes…

:Huh,: she mused, clearly surprised, and more than a little flattered.

He’d written himself out almost entirely, with just a passing mention of that betrayal early on, making it sound like Van had been saved from the bandits by the healer and the brigand boy. Like he’d infiltrated his enemy’s stronghold on his own and faced his fate on the mountain peak as alone as he’d always feared he would.

As if the Bard himself hadn’t been right there, lending his own magic, his own life-essence to the blow that had killed the dark mage and brought the pass down. As if he wasn’t the reason it had been possible.

And every word, sung in his nephew’s Gifted voice felt as if it was coming from him. Every chord, as if it was the Bard sitting beside his bed, playing it for him, at least until the last sweet note died away.

Medren was watching him intently, but Vanyel was too stunned to offer much of a reaction. The last thing he would ever have expected was to find himself transported back north to that terrible quest, or to find the Bard that had left him there sitting with him in his very room, crooning a song about it into his ear.

Medren cocked his head, laying his lute across his lap, and leaning forward over it. “So, it’s all true then? At first I was upset that you’d have shared so much with someone else when I’ve been here for you every day. But—it was that Bard you told me about, wasn’t it? He wrote himself out for some reason, but he wrote the song?”

Vanyel swallowed heavily and nodded, staring down at his hands, white-knuckled with his grip on the coverlet.

Medren grinned. “What was his name? Stefen, you said? He’s very good, Uncle. I look forward to meeting him.”

He tried to shake it off, and Medren seemed to think it was just embarrassment and was kind enough not to tease—too much—but a feeling had taken root in Vanyel when he’d heard the Bard’s song.

His tribute. His goodbye.

Dread. Vanyel felt dread, a bleak hopelessness, radiating from that bond that connected them.

:’Fandes—: He started, as soon as Medren had taken himself off, gloating for having gotten one over on his uncle.

:Yes,: she answered, simply that. And he knew she understood.

Valdir had never looked more the part of the scruffy, starving minstrel. He only hoped no one took it into their head he looked too bad, like he was carrying the plague or something like it, and tried to run him off.

He’d taken his lumps as Valdir, sure enough, but he never turned back.

:Even when you should.:

She worried him though, more than anything.

:Are you sure you’ll be alright, love? I don’t like leaving you like this.: Like him, she’d been slow in recovering. Slower even, he thought. She still wouldn’t tell him what had happened when Leareth’s men found her, or exactly how she’d deceived them into thinking she was dead. There was a distance between them still that had never been there before, not since he’d accepted the responsibilities of his Whites and fully opened himself to her as her partner.

He didn’t want to push—she was always in his head, she would know his concern—but…he worried.

He felt her wordless affection, deep and constant. :I’ll be fine, beloved. Don’t worry about me. Find the Bard.:

Keep him from doing whatever he has planned. That part remained unspoken but he felt it in her thoughts.

What do you have planned? he wondered.

It was a pretty, prosperous town, at least by the front gates and the main thoroughfare that led from one gate to the other, funneling travelers and merchants through the good part of town, full of cheerful, smiling people.

Watchful people, who smiled a little less and stared a little harder at a scruffy fellow like Valdir, in his ragged clothes and his misshapen hat pulled low as though he had something to hide.

Herald Vanyel had often ridden through the town of Tithes, or Tides, depending on the thickness of the accent that was saying it, heading south from Haven, occasionally stopping for a rest in one of the public houses or taverns. Valdir on the other hand usually ranged farther afield than this, where there was less chance Vanyel would be known. But needs must.

He clutched his beat-up lute case closer to him and ducked away from the main road, down a side street, to the part of town the rest wasn’t so proud of. It was more Valdir’s sort of place, and he relaxed a bit to leave behind the sharp eyes of the merchants and city guard.

Not that the merchants here weren’t as canny or as sharp-eyed, just that to them, his coin, if he had any, was as good as anyone else’s and they cared less how he might have come across it. There were still guards here too, but they knew there was less to guard, if not less to guard from, so there were fewer and their patrols were more leisurely.

Valdir avoided them anyway.

He paused on a street corner and looked around. Too much to expect to catch sight of that tell-tale head of bright auburn curls. He sighed heavily and didn’t have to feign the defeated, weary curve of his shoulders.

This wasn’t the place anyway, not quite.

The street here was paved, even if the stones were uneven, and sometimes cracked or missing. The road he was on led to a bridge and he could see that the stone didn’t go much past that side of the river. Crossing it, a fancy-dressed man on a well-formed but ill-tempered horse nearly ran him into the rails, and barked at him for being in the way.

He cowered and groveled, but the man ignored him, sneering and continuing past into the crowd. He was the one who didn’t belong on this side of the river and this side of town, but Valdir knew that when you had the sort of money that fancy man probably had, you were welcomed anywhere, whether you belonged or not.

Valdir sighed with relief as he looked around on the other side of the bridge. No one here cared about him at all, his thread-bare clothes and ragged boots, his scruffy face and dirty hands—he fit right in.

He checked his coin purse, wincing at how light it was. He’d been worse off, sure, it had been empty probably more often than not lately, but—he took a steadying breath and crossed the street to an old produce stand.

“Hale and well met, friend,” he said, wincing at how weak his voice was.

The merchant turned and shot him a surprised and then a dubious look, wiping his hands on his apron. “‘Hale.’ –Not from around here, are you? ‘Friend?’”

He pretended not to hear the mockery. “No. I’m from—I’m traveling from up north. I’m a minstrel.”

“That right?” The merchant was already bored and had gone back to restacking potatoes.

This wasn’t going well. He thought frantically. Hesitantly he reached into his coin purse and pulled out one of the two coppers there, holding it up. “Might I trouble you for an apple or two?”

The merchant looked at him again and took the coin, not bothering to hide it as he checked to make sure it was true. He smiled, a little, and pocketed it. “A copper gets you three of my best. Friend.” He gestured at the pile of bruised apples.

Valdir carefully picked out three that didn’t look too bad.

“Actually, I’m looking for someone. Fellow I met on the road? He said he was from around here. Good with a gittern, excellent voice…”

The merchant glanced at him again but didn’t look any more interested now that the copper was gone.

“…not as good as me, of course!” Valdir added hastily.

“Huh,” the merchant grunted, disinterested.

The man might have had more to say for Herald Vanyel and a fatter coin purse but that might have scared the Bard off. He was here somewhere, he could feel him.

He took a bite of one of the apples. Not bad. Only just past ripe and still sweet for it, bruises aside. Gods knew he’d had worse. He gestured over his back. “Anyone have rights to that corner? Would I be stepping on any toes, setting my hat there?”

The merchant snorted. “This side of the river? Be our guest. Might have to tithe a bit to the street toughs if you actually get anything.” He looked him over critically and snorted again. “Would probably be worth it to you. Look like you could use the protection.”

It didn’t sound like anything Valdir hadn’t dealt with before. He went to the corner, a pawn shop behind him, the river to his right, set down his hat and pulled out his lute.

It was a poor instrument, past its prime and past what any amount of normal care could’ve made decent again, but it played as gamely as it was able and Valdir was fond of the tired old thing. It fit comfortably in his hands and for all its age and wear, it had a heart to it.

Feeling a kinship, he started singing.

Valdir’s repertoire was somewhat like his instrument, somewhat like him too, though he’d’ve been hurt by the comparison: old-fashioned, worse for wear. Slow, sweet, carrying the memories of a better, easier life, but with a certain practicality now for the world as it was. He knew where he stood, but he hadn’t always been there, and he hadn’t been born there.

There were some who fell for the melancholy mystery of it and he managed to scrounge up a few coppers from hard-hearted folk who didn’t have much to spare.

“—you’re not very good.”

He broke off, in surprise and some offense.

A street boy was standing in front of him, glaring in a way that didn’t seemed warranted. An extra pair of scrawny, dirty legs were almost hidden behind him, a smaller sibling too shy to step out in front of the stranger like his brother.

“Suppose you can do better?” he said.

The child scoffed, all wild hair and big eyes and suspicion. “Not me. But we got better here. Don’t need you.”

Valdir took his hands off the strings. “Do you?”

The boy looked him over, head to toes, a look of utter contempt on his young face that would have done a court dowager proud. He spat. “Aye. Better’n you. You should move on.”

Valdir set his lute down in his case but didn’t put it away. He pulled out the last of the apples and shined it. “Maybe I will. Tell me about this better minstrel you have.”

The street boy wasn’t that simple. He crossed his arms and cocked his head, catching wind. “Don’t have to tell you nothing.” He hadn’t moved but Valdir could feel him slipping away. He was losing his chance.

He crouched, gave the apple one last swipe against his sleeve and held it loosely in his hand. “Of course not. You don’t have to tell me anything. You’d be wiser not to. Everyone knows you don’t spill your all with strangers.” He tried not to let the irony color his voice but the boy narrowed his eyes. Probably beggars weren’t raised to avoid strangers. Anyway. “But if I were to…share my apple with your friend there, we’d all be friends, wouldn’t we? You could talk to me then?”

The boy’s mouth was still set in a mulish line, even as Valdir held out the apple. He’d give them all the coins he’d gathered too, if they’d tell him what he wanted to know, but he knew better than to be too generous upfront. If the boy let his brother take the apple at least they might stay and he could continue his pitch.

A small, pale face peeked out from around the boy’s back. Not brother, sister, he realized. Like her brother, she was all eyes and hair, but less suspicion, though not much. She looked at the apple first. It was the least bruised of the lot, mottled yellow and red with only one really bad brown spot. She licked her lips and he could see her hands tighten on her brother’s jerkin.

Gods, he wanted to just give her the apple, and the coins. Someone that young shouldn’t look that hungry.

She looked at him then, straight in the eye. It was disconcerting for her age, how clear and calculating her gaze was. But suddenly she cocked her head and gave him a sharp once-over like her brother had. She didn’t seem to come to same conclusion about him.

“Fretr—” she whined, tugging at her brother’s shirt.

“Have it if you want,” he grunted, not taking his eyes off.

“No, Fretr, that’s him! That’s the man from Stef’s song—”

“Shut up, Stenna!” Suddenly the canny young boy sounded so young—and looked like he was about to backhand his sister. She scampered away from him, just out of reach, which wasn’t far since her brother didn’t have much of a reach at his age.

Valdir flinched.

But the little girl didn’t back down. Planting her feet and glaring and pointing at Valdir, who cast a nervous glance around. But in places like this people minded their own business, even when grown men were talking to two small children on a street corner. It would be noticed, but no one was likely to interfere unless he did a lot more than wave an apple.

“Lookit him! Silver eyes and silver hair, like Stef’s been singin’ about. And he’s asking for him. It’s because he’s the man from the song!”

The boy scoffed and crossed his arms, meeting her glare for glare. “The man in the song’s a Herald, stupid. He ain’t no Herald.”

“How would you know? How many Heralds’ve you seen?”

“’Cause if he’s a Herald he’s one of the king’s men, and he’s probably here to take Stef away.”

Valdir blinked, finding himself the focus of the boy’s ire again.

“He wouldn’t do that,” the girl said softly, taking a step closer and looking up at him in a way that made him profoundly uncomfortable. “The man in the song’s a hero. Stef said. He wouldn’t take him away.”

“Ah—”

The boy came closer too, bristling. “Well? What are you? Are you a Herald?”

He looked between them, debating. They knew the Bard—

Trusting his instincts, he turned to the girl and offered her the apple, looking at her earnestly and pressing one finger to his lips.

She took the apple and broke out into a beaming grin.

Stenna insisted on leading him by the hand. Her tiny hand in his reminded him so much of Jisa, who’d led such a different childhood, that it hurt. The Bard was living in the house behind theirs, she told him. He was nice. He paid their da every week in advance and when their da wasn’t around he shared with them, a coin sometimes, or food, and he’d let them sit and listen to him sing some evenings. He made his money singing, on the other side of the river, when he wasn’t too tired—

The children shared a glance. ‘Tired’ wasn’t quite the word, apparently.

Fretr never did let down his guard, and Van understood why, now, if Stef was a source of coin and food in a life where both of those things were uncertain.

“There!” Stenna said, bouncing on her bare feet, pointing to what was more of a shed than a house, though in fairness, the ‘house’ that was in front wasn’t really much better. “Can we come with you?”

It would have been a relief to have them there, he was a wreck of nerves, but there was still such darkness seeping across the mental link. Innocent might not have been the right word for the children—if the boy had been just a little more subtle he might have succeeded in picking his pocket when they crossed that street, not that he’d have found anything if he had—but he couldn’t take them, not knowing what he’d find.

“Better not,” he said, patting her hand with his free one. “Stefen and I need to talk.”

“You won’t take him!” Fretr said, a command, not a request. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

He shook his head. “I promise. I’m not here to take him, I don’t have the authority for it. You’re right: he’s done nothing wrong.”

The boy’s hard gaze didn’t waver.

Knowing a lost cause, Van went to one knee before the girl and playfully kissed the back of her hand. “I thank you, my lady.”

She giggled and grinned, looking every bit the child she was—but she made the coins he’d passed her, all he’d had, disappear without blinking, so smooth he didn’t think her brother had caught it.

He smiled his nervous farewell, and tried to still his churning stomach as he went to knock on the door of the little shack.

There was no answer, and no sound, and no visible light from inside.

He tried the door, surprised to find it opened easily—letting out a cloud of thick smoke that made him cough, his eyes watering. Dreamerie.

He peered through the darkness, the only light was the failing evening gloom he’d let in through the door. There were two windows in the place, but they were shuttered.

The Bard sat cross-legged on a pallet under one of the windows. Hunched forward, his hair fallen in front of his face. His head shifted but he seemed incapable of figuring out what was going on until he managed to rake some of that hair away with one hand, holding it back while he blinked owlishly up at the doorway. He didn’t look much better than Van, for all his youth. Too thin, patches of red, scraggly stubble on his jaw and the hollows of his cheeks. He was still beautiful though.

For a moment, he didn’t seem to recognize Vanyel.

Then his eyes widened in fear, and he made a brief, aborted motion to stand, before sinking back where he stood. His hands shook when he brought out a small flask, not like the ones Van had seen him with before. This was a small glass vial, the sort you’d get at an apothecary.

He uncorked it and licked his lips. “Fuck you,” he said, hoarse.

Without thinking Van reached out and used a little mental nudge to knock the vial from the Bard’s trembling hand. The youth didn’t have the coordination to catch it, and it only took a little more flexing of his Fetching to shatter the bottle before the Bard could save it.

Continued in Chapter 2

Or on AO3

[topconfessions]

[Ask] I feel really sad knowing that Tabi's not gonna put out an album before leaving Big Bang. I always hated that he didn't put out his first solo album when he released Doom Dada cause that would have been a really good single to promote it. I feel like the songs he has released as a solo just isn't satisfying enough. I wish he would have been a solo artist (and not under YG lol) and had been just friends with the other BB members. I wanna know what he has to say/thinks through his own lyrics

Honestly TOP got me into kpop and when I first discovered him through Turn It Up I thought TOP was a solo artist. No lie I didn’t know anything about idol system or groups, I thought he was a solo rapper who did movies on the side but when I found out he was in BIGBANG I was happy, amazed, but also put off. Not a negative put off but I felt like he wasn’t really like...meant to be there at that point. I felt like he was essential to the group to some degree and gave the group a unique color no dobut, but he was seriously not reaching his true potential and living up to all that he preached he was through his lyrics by not going solo. Maybe I sound harsh but because he was my ultimate bias (still is) I am hard on him out of tough love...I feel top should have invested himself in his solo career more and then left BIGBANG Either after Alive Era or After MADE.

TOP is a sweetie pie but doesn’t have all the answers and self awareness that he thinks he has. If he was truly matured and well a rounded like a man his age (even back then) should be he would have made all the moves he should have. I am happy for all we have gotten out of TOP, but honestly, I don’t get disappoitned by it cause I could always see and feel TOP never truly intended on putting out a solo album nor wanted to.  That is something that he would have done when he was mega young during BIGBANG’s rise. But everything changed and his true interest in art started kicking in.

I know he had to do a solo work caus it’s sorta required of him but I would have top just stopped at Turn it up or release doom dada and been extremely honest that he only releases singles and doesn’t have true desire to do solos.  All he has done is show us facets of who he truly is and what he experiences sometimes through his lyrics, not 100% how he feels as a person or his colors. Turn it up is a fave of mine and he managed to make a very relatable, easy to understand, and very safe version of who he is. Doom Dada is more abstract but I can only see his works becoming more abstract.

For myself I won’t say he doesn’t have the power to stand alone but like..I can’t imagine him alone I just can’t.  Funny enough if he did a solo album he’d have more support and better treatment than Seungri, who never really gotten half of what others got unless he did it himself. Anyways funny enough...

I mean Kim Kardashian is my mascot for when I communicate ask wise and I can even admit that as her long time fan, she has not did some things to her true ability. You see where Rihanna is with fenty beauty? That SHOUULD have and COULD HAVE been Kim. She had the beauty industry on lock even on social media before instagram was even created back in the day. She like TOP isn’t connected and paying attention to herself and is looking for short cuts or just doing the expected work and not going beyon that. I know top is a perfectionist but not in the long term process. He is perfectionist with details. Like I see Kim K could have made a very solid brand before Kylie Jenner even hit puberty but she has her mom in her ear and wants $$$ fast. Kinda like how TOP has YG and wrong people in his ears and he not focused like he should be. Too much external throwing true talent off it makes me so upset. 

plot twist: If he leaves bigbang but signs an individual contract staying within YG he could release that overdue solo album and a soloist from now on. That is one way to keep himself going in this music industry if he truly wants it. But no, that is long dead and won’t happen. He can’t tolerate it as a BB member and he sure as hell won’t endure it on his own.

Top really should have left the Group, stayed within YG or moved to a simialr agency then became a solo. Drop that album then go do whatever he wants while occasionally releasing albums. Or leave BB after MADE then do whatever. But because TOP has turmoils within himself and so much mess sometimes he wasn’t and is able to do things this way. I know that would have crushed the fandom cause BB never had member changes but you tell me..

you’d rather top be in suicide and thot scandal or top announcement of leaving bb and living a life private to himself?