#feeling very uncharitable and grumpy this morning

[veliseraptor]

re: that post i just reblogged about 'cozy horror'...i know better than to expect anything approaching decent commentary from the mary sue these days but this article really is just. sending me this morning. (thank you for sharing, @bereft-of-frogs! this was a good diversion from being angry about work stuff to being angry about something else.) starting off strong with:

local writer has been introduced to novel concept of broader horror genre!

ah yeah that instantly makes sense to me particularly as a segue after mentioning midsommar and the witch, two movies that i would definitely describe as "cozy"

the cozy horror novels of t. kingfisher, like the one with the description of an animated deer skull hovering outside a window at night that still freaks me out to remember? those ones?

my favorite part though might be the author's confident assertion that this is all about gender really:

because boys like icky bad horror that's difficult and intense and girls like nice cozy horror with happy endings and low stakes. ah yes. feminism!

if this becomes a thing i am going to perish. isn't taking over the sff environment with cozy feel good fluff enough, must the world take this from me too, it's hard enough to find horror i like already

[kageygirl]

also on ao3

part 1 here

"Tell me he'll be all right, Roach," Jaskier says softly, but Roach is a clever lady with her own will who doesn't hold with such foolish thoughts, and therefore ignores him, continuing to nibble at a bush.

"I know," he sighs, and shifts to get a bit more comfortable. It's late, and he should just get to his bedroll, instead of curling against the log he'd been using as a backrest, but his crossed arms atop the log make a fair enough pillow. And it would be downright unchivalrous to abandon a lady like that. "I know it's just a ghoul, I know he can handle that, they're probably in a book somewhere with horribly colorful illustrations. A Witcher's First Monster."

Roach snorts, and he mutters, "Yes, well, you're hardly keeping up your end of the conversation, you've no right to criticize my jokes. Put in some effort, why don't you."

It's not that he truly doubts Geralt's abilities, any more than he doubts that the sun will rise in the morning. But sometimes when Geralt goes off alone and it's too quiet, no music or laughter or people to distract him, he thinks about how witchers never retire and his mind runs off into the dark thickets beyond the firelight where all but witchers fear to tread.

He'd been told as a child that his vivid imagination was a curse; it took him years to understand how that could possibly be true.

"I'm sorry, my lady, I shouldn't have said that. You are truly the loveliest of company," he says, resting his cheek against his arm. She's glossy in the fire's reflection, all combed out by Geralt before he left. He would dare anyone to think witchers have no feelings after seeing the care Geralt lavishes upon her. "How about a song, Roach? To lift our spirits?"

She whuffs at her name, and he takes that as assent. Quietly, barely vocalizing at all, he begins an old Redanian pastoral that he hasn't sung in years.

~

He wakes to the smell of leather and oil and sweat, and a tingling at the crown of his head, as if someone had run their fingers through his hair.

"'M awake," he mumbles blearily.

"You shouldn't be," says a low voice. Gravelly voice. Good voice, goes with the smell, and it's... not really a good smell? But it's a particular person's smell, and that person is very good, so: good smell, after all. "Were you bothering my horse?"

"I provided her with" -- he's ambushed by a yawn, cracking his jaw cruelly -- "only the finest entertainment." He rubs an eye with the back of his wrist, trying to wake himself up, but his eyelids have been heartlessly weighted down by some unknown blackguard. "She's a paragon of taste and sophistication. I can tell she appreciated it."

"Mmm."

There's something faintly mocking about that hum, and he's considering mustering the energy for outrage. Any minute how, it'll be right along. "Wanted to wait for you," he says, and sleep's lingering grasp makes it come out more grumpy than he intended -- and more plaintive, too. Bollocks.

His cheeks are just starting to burn, and he's clinging to the possibility that Geralt will just somehow fail to notice, because sometimes one just really needs the gods to give them a break, just forgive all the blasphemy, and --

-- and there are careful fingers trailing through his hair, now, definitely, and oh, he must have been a very good bard indeed. Somehow.

The fingers comb delicately across his scalp, fingertips teasing the fringe away from his face, dipping to curve around the curl of his ear, trailing the warm humming feeling of being cared for behind them. It's the kind of gentleness Geralt never gets to show, because no one ever wants him for that.

Damp-headed fools, the lot of them.

All the tension sighs out of him, and he raises his head a bit, nudging against Geralt's hand. "Feels nice," he murmurs. His cheeks are still prickling with the embers of his embarrassment, but perhaps Geralt will let him blame the lateness of the hour for his dozy neediness.

He's honestly not expecting a reply at all, so when it does come, it burrows that much deeper into his heart. "For me, too," Geralt says, the faintest hesitant rasp, just louder than the crackle of the fire.

The thrill that gives him is the strength he needs to open his eyes.

Geralt is crouched beside him, whole and hale and well. The cheeky firelight makes his pale stubble shine in the dark as it licks at his jaw, and Jaskier is far too well acquainted with the urge to do the same.

He notices the moment Jaskier opens his eyes, because of course he does, and Jaskier only gets the teeniest sliver of an instant to appreciate the soft look in his eyes before his jaw works and he angles his face away. His fingers make one last pass through Jaskier's hair, and then cup the back of his neck. "Get to your bedroll, bard. I'd rather not hear about your back all day tomorrow."

"Fine," he grumbles, just to watch the smirk play at the corners of Geralt's mouth. Then he sets about the monumental task of figuring out where all of his limbs have wandered off to and how to convince them to work together once more.

Like most group endeavors he'd had at Oxenfurt, getting himself to his feet is a qualified success. He stumbles at the finish line, and doesn't mind the mixed metaphor so much when he's saved from falling into the fire by a solid wall of witcher.

It turns out that having his hands unexpectedly pressed against Geralt's chest is a shockingly effective wake-up call. He'd somehow managed to sleep through Geralt getting out of his armor and cleaning himself up and taking care of his swords, and he feels like he's in danger of being chided for that inattention. He can't really worry about that, though, not when he can feel the steady rise and fall of Geralt's muscley chest through a thin layer of cotton, the wolf medallion half-hidden under a fold and winking at him.

He probably spends a bit too long appreciating it, but what is he supposed to do? It's a very nice chest.

He glances up, and Geralt's watching him. Not humorlessly, not sardonically, not any of the other uncharitable adverbs that Jaskier would never put into a song but sometimes considers ever so briefly, just to make a point... but with a patience that feels almost indulgent.

To someone not nearly so fluent in Witcherese, it might not seem like much. But it's such a change from having to scrabble around for (and possibly invent) meagre scraps of affection, so much so that the guards at Jaskier's heart are momentarily laid low.

"I'm glad that you're all right, Geralt." It comes out softly, plainly, in a way he rarely lets himself be. No artifice or dramatic hyperbole, no ironic detachment or invoking an imaginary other. There's an icy coil of panic in his throat after it's out, but he swallows it down; Geralt came back to him unscathed, and he deserves to know that it means something to Jaskier.

"It was only a ghoul." He says it with the supreme unconcern of someone who's dispatched far worse creatures, which is… true. But there's a searching look in his eyes, as if he can't understand why anyone would bother to be concerned about him.

"Yes, well, you're not 'only an' anything," he says, a little hotly, and it's partly about the parade of idiots who've failed to appreciate the witcher, and partly about the idiot in front of him who thinks Jaskier would be one of the former. "You're one of a kind, White Wolf."

Geralt blinks, and then says blandly, "There are other witchers."

Jaskier takes a breath to begin to address that nonsense, and then registers that even for Geralt, that was too bland -- that even with the firelight, his golden eyes are glinting a bit too much. "You know, Geralt -- fine, you're right, you win." He drops his hands and steps back, muttering, "Yes, you're all inter-bloody-changeable, it's ridiculous that I care so much about this witcher in particular..."

He tromps over to his bedroll -- which is nicely laid out already, with a waterskin beside it that he's betting is full, and there probably aren't even any rocks or twigs under it to poke him in the night, and he turns to glare at the witcher who ever so occasionally makes it difficult to remain mad at him, and yes, he appreciates the irony, thank you --

-- only to find that Geralt is in the same spot he was, watching Jaskier, and he looks a bit… lost.

Jaskier caves like a -- whatever it is that caves, he's tired and has other things to worry about. "Geralt?" he asks, stepping back over to him. "What is it?"

"I--" Geralt says, and then drops his chin to stare down and away. When he returns to meeting Jaskier's gaze, only his eyes move. His voice is raspy again when he says, "Thank you."

He has to wind the conversation back a bit -- and skip past the parts that only happened in his head -- but then it hits him, reminding him not a little of once taking a very jarring tiny cannonball to the forehead. "Geralt… that's not a surprise, is it?" he asks, as gently as he knows how. "That I care about you?"

Geralt doesn't answer, just gives him that not-quite-direct look, which is more than answer enough.

"I'm sorry, I -- I always thought you knew," he says, around the lump in his throat. It hurts, to think that Geralt can spot a lie at a thousand paces and hear all the signs that a man's preparing to attack him, but even when it's staring him in the face, he can't sense…

Well. It's just sort of a different language, isn't it? And if a talented and charismatic bard can teach a room full of drunks the history of their realm with a catchy little rhyme, then surely that same bard can handle a single, much more important learner.

He's caught unawares by another yawn, and he blinks back from it to find Geralt facing him again, a somber look in his eyes. "You should rest."

"I should," Jaskier agrees, and he dares to circle his fingers around Geralt's wrist, tugging lightly. "And so should the witcher who made sure there's one less ghoul in the world."

"Three less," Geralt says, and oh, that's new information, but for a wonder, Geralt lets Jaskier pull him towards the bedrolls, so he chooses not to let it upset him. (He'd noted Geralt's bedroll was next to his earlier, of course, but ignored it on the grounds of it not fitting into the narrative of pique he'd been building.)

"Braggart," Jaskier says only, and Geralt breathes out a laugh.

It's right about then that his body decides his borrowed time is up, and he all but collapses into his bedding. He drifts a bit as Geralt goes through his own routine, but stirs himself to roll and face the witcher once he's settled.

"If you wake up before me," he says to Geralt's profile -- as if it happens any other way all that often -- "feel free to play with my hair. If you want."

Geralt snorts, but his mouth curves up, just a bit. "Noted."

Then Geralt reaches over, drawing his thumb and forefinger gently down Jaskier's eyelids, and he's out like the proverbial light.

[quickspinner]

MLHolidays2k19 1. Snowflakes

I was gonna sit on this a little longer but @the-shem-lynnie and @semi-slaughtomatic were so nice to me this morning I have to send some love back <3 Mwah. (Not to leave anyone out, I love all my followers and everyone who leave notes, but today I actually have something to offer back)

"Oh, it looks like we're going to get a big snowstorm tonight," Marinette said, looking at her phone.

“No way,” Luka groaned, grabbing the phone from her and and staring at the forecast. Then he winced in embarrassment  and handed it back. "Sorry. It's just...I hate snow."

Marinette took the phone back mechanically, staring at him. "Hate snow? Why?"

Luka gave her a rueful smile. "Downsides of living on a boat. Too much snow on the deck makes it top-heavy and affects the stability, so Juleka and I are stuck shoveling it off until it stops. Not to mention my mom's uh, pro-mess philosophy means there's a lot of crap to collect the snow, and we have to knock it off that and then shovel it off the deck..." He sighed. "I'm sorry Marinette, I'm having a great time, really, but I'd better go home, the more I can get off the deck before the snow starts, the less stuff will be in the way for us later."

"Oh," she said, and her disappointment made it even harder for him to leave. He'd finally gotten a real chance to take her out, and now the stupid weather was out to get him. He took her hands and squeezed him.

"I'm so sorry. I hope we can do this again really soon," he said, hoping she would see how much he really meant it. She was good at understanding him.

"I hope so too," Marinette smiled, and his heart stuttered because it looked like she really meant it too.

***

"This sucks," Juleka complained.

"Shut up and shovel," Luka grumbled.

"Someone's moody," Juleka huffed.

"You mean besides you for once?" Luka shot back, and then sighed, straightening and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, let's just...work on opposite sides for a while?"

There were just things you got used to coping with when you lived in such close quarters, or else they would have all murdered each other long ago, so Juleka didn't put up a fight, just grunted assent and clomped off towards the front of the boat.

Luka took a couple more (very cold) calming breaths, and started working again, thinking very uncharitable thoughts about snow and boats and sisters and mothers with weird hangups about getting rid of useless crap.

He snapped upright at the sound of his name being called from the shore, whipping around to find the source of that familiar voice.

"Hi," Marinette waved from the far end of the gangplank.

"Marinette?" he said, going to the rail. "What are you doing here?"

"I just thought--maybe you could use some help?" When Luka didn't answer, she added, "I brought stuff to make hot chocolate for after. The good stuff." She hefted her shopping bag. "Can I...come aboard?"

Luka snapped out of his stupor, leaving his shovel leaning against the rail. "Yes, of course, please come on, just hold the rail and watch your step, the deck gets kind of icy in this weather." He met her halfway across the gangplank, giving her his hand to make sure she got across safely--just in time, as it turned out, because one foot went out from under her and he was just in time to catch her around the waist, the ice grips fastened over his shoes giving him just enough traction to keep them both upright. He walked her the rest of the way onto the deck with one arm around her waist.

"Sorry," she said, clearly embarrassed. "I came to help and here I am making work instead."

Luka took her bag and ran it down to the kitchen, popping into their winter supply chest for another pair of ice grips, which he adjusted to fit over Marinette's shoes. "There," he said, helping her stand. "That should be a little better."

"Thanks," she said gratefully. "So um--can I help?"

Luka looked her over. She seemed dressed warmly enough, with a jacket and gloves that seemed like they would hold up well enough against even wet snow. He smiled at her and handed her a large brush. "Can you brush the snow off the crates and tables? I'll come behind you and shovel it over the side."

It was really cute, the way she brightened up, excited to be of use. Luka stretched his back for a moment and then picked up his shovel with a resigned sigh, but it was hard to be grumpy with Marinette around. And it had to mean something that she was here even after he'd had to cut their date short, right? She'd gone to a lot of trouble to come spend more time with him.

Then again Marinette was kind and helpful by nature, and the thought of he and Juleka shoveling snow all afternoon might have been enough incentive on its own. He shouldn't read too much into it.

"Wow, this is heavy," Marinette gasped as she kept sweeping the various clutter they hadn't managed to move off he deck. "No wonder you're so strong."

Luka blushed, though when he glanced at her she wasn't paying any attention, and didn't seem to realize she'd said anything worth noting.

"There's always work on the boat," Luka said as casually as he could. "It's a pretty good workout. Kind of like hauling flour sacks, I imagine." He grinned at her and she looked up to smile back at him.

She was beautiful in the snow. The white all around them seemed to make her eyes bluer and her cheeks pinker and her lips--he looked away quickly, swallowing hard, mentally cursing the snow again as he shoved his shovel under it. If it hadn't been for this damn snow he'd have spent the last hour showing her a good time and maybe he'd actually have had a shot at kissing those lips sometime tonight. At least it seemed like the snow falling had lightened up; it had been building up faster than he and Juleka could get rid of it up until now, but maybe they had a chance of getting ahead if the snowfall was starting to slacken.

Marinette yelped and danced in place for a moment. Luka looked up at her and she gave him a rueful smile. "Sorry. I swept some right onto my feet and a little went down inside my boots. I'll be okay."

"You sure?" he asked, shoveling on autopilot. "If you're cold, you can go below. Not that it's especially warm down there, honestly."

"Really?"

He glanced up at her and shrugged. "It's not too bad. We have a lot of blankets." He winked at her. "And a really cute girl brought hot chocolate makings by, so there's that to look forward to."

She blushed and it was adorable. He shoveled his way to her and then straightened and leaned on his shovel for a moment, just smiling down at her. "I know this isn't the most fun thing you can be doing tonight," he said, "But I'm really glad you came, Marinette. I was really looking forward to going out with you and I hate that we had to call it early."

"Me too," she sighed regretfully. "But at least I get to spend time with you, even if it is a little cold."

He licked his lips nervously and parted them to speak, but instead he found he was leaning into her, eyes fixed on the curve of her lips. Luka caught himself and straightened. "Ah, sorry."

"No, what were you going to say?" she wanted to know, and Luka couldn't keep back a surprised laugh. She was just too cute. When she tilted her head in confusion, he just couldn't resist.

"I wasn't going to say anything, Marinette," he smiled, tucking a piece of hair back behind her ear, letting his fingers linger on her cheek, bending over her slightly. Her eyes widened and he thought she understood. He started to turn away to get back to work, but Marinette caught hold of his jacket and pulled him back. Her lips parted for a moment, and then pressed together, and then she rose up on her toes, pulling him down, and kissed him.

Or rather, smushed her lips against his. It was clear she didn't know what she was doing, and though he was touched that she would choose him for what had to be one of her first kisses, if not her very first, he couldn't help chuckling against her lips. She pulled back, clearly embarrassed. "I'm sorry--" she began, and Luka could sense the babble coming and put his hands on her face to stop it.

"You're fine," he told her, amusement and affection in his voice. "Just...slow down a bit." He showed her what he meant, leaning in with his eyes locked on hers, closing them only at the last second, letting her angle to meet him, pressing his lips to hers and then sliding them softly to press a slightly different spot.

Her eyes stayed closed for a moment and the now thickly-falling snowflakes gathered at the ends of her lashes and in her hair. "Oh," she said faintly, opening her eyes.

"You want to try again?" he offered, trying to contain laughter that wanted to bubble up from pure joy.

"Yeah," she said, and then added, "If you don't mind. But um, could you--could you bend down?"

He did, gladly, and she leaned up, and she was so close he could feel her breath across his lips when suddenly every nerve in his body yelped COLD and he gasped, eyes flying back open to see Juleka standing there with an annoyed expression, holding the snow shovel she had just emptied over the two of them.

"Shovel now. Smooch later," she said grumpily, and then stumped away.

Marinette whimpered, scraping snow off the back of her neck where it was bare between her pigtails. Luka moved quickly, trying not to think about the trickles of ice water sliding under his hoodie as he unwound Marinette's scarf for her and shook it out, but it was already wet and starting to refreeze. Looking at the suddenly shivering girl, Luka gave up and sent Marinette downstairs to take off her wet things and start the hot chocolate, while he finished clearing the deck and contemplated pushing his sister into the Seine.

When he finally did get to kiss her again later, curled together under a blanket below deck on the couch with no grumpy sister in sight, she proved she was a fast learner, and she tasted like chocolate.

[satonthelotuspier]

❄️ Untamed Winter Fest 2019 ❄️

Day 18 - Sweet - 1.9k

This piece follows on from my Day 1 and Day 11.

The oranges were perfectly in season and particularly sweet and juicy at that time of year, which was why for every segment Jingyi had succeeded in peeling free he only managed to eat half for himself.

The other half was subject to an oppressive tax levied by the Jin Clan Sect Leader. Oddly though, the reason for the tax changed with every segment he extracted.

The first was a Jin Sect tithe, the second a future cultivational partner dowry, the third a most accomplished archer in the room tax and so forth.

As Jin Ling had taken some minor wounds in their latest night hunt however, Jingyi was in the mood to pamper and spoil him. Which was how they’d finished up with Jingyi sat on Jin Ling’s bed, with Jin Ling’s head in his lap, feeding him half the oranges he was currently peeling.

Lan Jingyi felt that this was probably the most relaxed and carefree Jin Ling had been in a long time so he continued to feed him oranges and they continued to talk about nothing of any great importance.

Some time later, heralded by a knock on the door, the other juniors came to visit to check up on Jin Ling.

They’d shared their relationship with their friends a few weeks ago, and as expected they’d been on the receiving end of teasing ever since.

It didn’t really bother either of them though; Sizhui, Zizhen and the rest didn’t do it out of malice and they were genuinely happy for them.

Although Jingyi and Sizhui had had a heart to heart on the subject afterwards and Sizhui had good naturedly reproached him for not trusting Sizhui enough to talk about his feelings for Jin Ling, even before they’d started a relationship.

It was something he’d had no excuse for except he had been far too embarrassed about having feelings for the grumpy boy who apparently hated him.

Jin Ling sat up as they were joined by everyone else, assuming a lotus position next to Jingyi.

He was fussed and cooed over by the others and honestly he looked a little overwhelmed by the attention.

He proudly showed off his injuries, however, and they all swapped excited stories of their own adventures and near brushes with disaster during the recent night hunt.

As was quite usual for them they chatted into the night, pausing only to order the evening meal.

The Lan disciples conveniently forgot their clan rule of silent mealtimes when they were out on night hunts together with their friends, and they joined in all the laughter and talking over dinner.

The one thing they couldn’t control however was their bodies’ conditioned adherence to the schedule of sleep by nine wake by five as there weren’t any adrenaline filled adventures occurring to counteract it. Yawns began to spawn around the room and the merriment wound down.

Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi were soon the last two left thanks to the not so subtle manoeuvring of the rest.

“So obvious” Jin Ling groused but he still moved over to wrap his arms around Jingyi and hug him close. Jingyi had noticed he’d still paused briefly before making his way over; it took effort for Jin Ling to overcome his natural temperament but he was trying.

“I don’t mind” Jingyi laughed and leaned in slightly to rub his nose against Jin Ling’s.

There was a flash of disappointment cross Jin Ling’s face but it vanished quickly, and Jingyi didn’t question it.

“I don’t mind either, but they’re still obvious” Jin Ling told him with a mocking curl to his lips. “You should go, you’ll be falling asleep on your feet soon if not, and if you do I’ll leave you on the floor”

“I believe you” Jingyi responded, squeezing him once, half in censure half in comfort, “Get some rest” and he went to join Sizhui in their inn room.

***

As was to be expected the Lan disciples were the first up the next morning, they had woken, breakfasted and were practising sword drills in the inn garden before any of the others began to put in their morning appearances.

As the night hunt was over everyone would start making the journeys back to their own sects later that day, but obviously no one wanted to leave without saying goodbye to the others. Their group had been through quite a lot together ever since Yi City when Hanguang-jun and Senior Wei had saved them, and it had made for close bonds between those juniors who’d been involved. Especially once they had become more used to Jin Ling’s personality quirks (the temper) and stopped taking his words at face value so much.

The fact everyone would be leaving shortly was why it was a huge surprise to Lan Jingyi that when Jin Ling joined them in the garden so did Wei Wuxian and Hanguang-jun. From Jin Ling’s look of surprise their arrival at the same time hadn’t been planned.

The Lan Sect disciples all stopped their sword drills to salute the new arrivals.

Wei Wuxian had an unusually stern look on his face and he didn’t wait long for the niceties to be over before he asked Jingyi and Jin Ling to come with him.

Jingyi could see Jin Ling wanted to argue but Wei Wuxian didn’t pause long enough to let him.

“Which are your rooms?” Wei Wuxian asked as they climbed the stairs and they pointed out either door. Wei Wuxian entered the first room.

***

Jin Ling was prepared for a battle. It didn’t take a genius to work out what Wei Wuxian wanted to talk about having demanded both his and Jingyi’s presence.

Subconsciously they’d moved to stand shoulder to shoulder in front of Wei Wuxian, almost close enough that their fingers brushed.

“You were wounded in the night hunt?” Jin Ling started, honestly he hadn’t expected that  to be Wei Wuxian’s opening gambit.

“A little. It’s fine” Jin Ling dismissed, “I’m almost fully healed already”

Wei Wuxian looked at him for a few more seconds as if judging whether he was speaking the truth or not before deflating and letting out a sigh of relief.

“Good” he nodded, folding his arms across his chest. Then, just as Jin Ling thought he hadn’t had any ulterior motive in demanding both of them be there, “So, you’ve finally told people?”

Jin Ling straightened defensively, “So what? It’s not your business” and his chin went up in defiance.

“Jin Ling, I’m your double uncle, I gave you your courtesy name, show me some respect” Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes.

“You can’t just make up types of relatives, double uncle” Jingyi mocked with a snort.

“I am too” Wei Wuxian poked Jingyi in the chest with the end of Chenqing, “I’m his mother’s adopted brother on one side, and this body is half brother to his father. I’m his double uncle. The best kind of uncle I might add” he folded his arms again, Chenqing’s tassel swaying in the air. “Anyway, I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you hurt my nephew” he threatened Jingyi good humouredly, not that Jin Ling didn’t think for a second he wouldn’t lose all good humour if Jingyi did hurt him.

It was odd really, whilst he resented his so-called double uncle sticking his oar into his business it was also quite nice to have someone express concern over his welfare like that. He didn’t doubt his jiujiu was also concerned about him, but Jiang Cheng was so  abrasive about it his concern was like a double edged sword.

Ironically it was his surly uncle he most took after in temperament. He was lucky Jingyi was willing to even entertain a relationship with him if he was half as difficult to deal with the Jiang Sect head.

“Oh, I should probably have told you this first, but Jiang Cheng is on his way to give you the same talks. Probably with a lot more broken bones though” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully as he headed for the door.

***

Logically Lan Jingyi had known he’d have to deal with the uncles from hell sooner or later; they were Jin Ling’s family and cared deeply for him. What he hadn’t expected was it to be so soon, before he’d even had chance to discuss strategy with Jin Ling, and for them to be lining up outside the door taking turns one after the other.

As the door shut behind Wei Wuxian he turned to Jin Ling with a look of panic.

“I’m dead” he exclaimed.

Jin Ling took his hand and squeezed, “This changes nothing, does it? He was always going to hear about it sooner or later. Might as well deal with it all together and get it out of the way”

There was pure sense in what Jin Ling said. It didn’t make Lan Jingyi feel any less apprehensive.

Really, he had to fall for the boy with the scariest uncles in the world. One was the Yiling Patriarch, once thought of as the most evil villain of his generation, and the other the extremely bad tempered Sandu Shengshou, a fierce sect leader with a reputation for cruelty.

Then Jingyi looked at Jin Ling, who was looking back at him worriedly.

Sad he might have to mourn a boyfriend when his uncle killed Jingyi dead?

But no, that was uncharitable and he was glad he hadn’t voiced it; none of this was Jin Ling’s fault. He couldn’t help who his family were, and they’d managed to ruin enough of his life between them so far.

Jingyi smiled at him and returned the squeeze of the hand in his.

***

Jin Ling could taste the sour tone of panic on his tongue, almost sure Lan Jingyi was reconsidering their relationship; who wouldn’t with a set of crazy uncles like his? Running around making threats and acting like a gang of thugs.

He was going to have some strong things to say to them both if they spoiled this for him. Finding out Jingyi loved him in return was the best thing that had ever happened to Jin Ling and despite the fact they’d had to take advantage of every second they could eke out to spend together, it had been the happiest time of his life.

Jingyi managed to make him feel safe and loved at a time in his life when he had very little of either available to him.

And he’d actually thought Jingyi was going to kiss him last night and his heart had nearly stopped beating in his chest; sadly he’d been mistaken.

And now his uncles managed to stomp in and trample all over his feelings and the boy he loved, and the boy he loved was probably having second, third and fourth thoughts over whether a Jin Ling who was going to be very hard work without any external influences was even worth it.

He could feel the need to beg Jingyi to just stay with him rising up his throat.

And then Jingyi smiled into his eyes, and Jin Ling’s world stopped.

“I don’t care who your stupid uncles are Jin Ling, they aren’t you, and you are worth it. I like you so much it doesn’t even matter, let every uncle in the world come, we’ll deal with them together”

Jin Ling thought his heart would explode in his chest at the surge of emotion Jingyi’s words caused. He launched himself at the other, arms around his neck and pressed his lips against Jingyi’s in an awkward, clumsy but heartfelt first kiss, sparked by the sweetest words he’d ever heard.