leem419

[robininthelabyrinth]

LXC is the legal guardian and adopter for LSZ or LJY, and NMJ has questions.

part 2 of the LJY-adopted-by-LQR fic (now also on ao3)

-

“So, did I knock you up before I went to war or something?” Nie Mingjue asked. “Because I feel like you should’ve mentioned it if that was the case. Possibly in a letter.��

Lan Xichen was so tired that it took him a solid minute to parse what was wrong with that sentence and how to respond, and it was not by following his first instinct to apologize that he should’ve written better letters.

“Stop making fun of me,” he said instead, groping towards some measure of dignity.

Sadly, dignity was in very short supply when you were taking care of babies. Multiple babies. Well, one baby and one toddler, which was somehow worse?

Lan Xichen was pretty sure they’d figured out how to time their crying off each other.

“I would never,” Nie Mingjue said, like a liar, and then he picked up little Jingyi and – Lan Xichen simply cannot find another way to put it – shook him, in a manner not unlike testing a melon for freshness.

For some reason, this made Lan Jingyi stop crying and start making snuffling little giggles instead.

“How did you do that?” Lan Xichen asked, eyes wide.

“Do what?” Nie Mingjue tucked the baby into the crook of his arm and scooped up some food off the table, offering it to him, and Lan Jingy actually ate it. “Xichen, are you feeling all right?”

“Shhh!” Lan Xichen hissed, eyes fixed on the baby, which was neither spitting up everything nor wailing as if his heart was broken. “No unnecessary noise during meals.”

Nie Mingjue snorted in amusement. “Sure,” he said amiably, in the tone Lan Xichen had long ago learned meant ‘nice rules you’ve got there, it’d be an awful shame if someone found a loophole in them’. “This isn’t a meal, though; it’s just a snack.”

Lan Xichen eyed the still-not-crying Lan Jingyi and decided that now was not the time for a spirited debate on the virtues of discipline and fulfilling the merits rather than the word of a rule.

“Where’s monster number one gone?” Nie Mingjue asked abruptly. “He must be very good at hiding, because I looked away for a blink of an eye and he was gone.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes slowly dropped down to where a cloth-covered lump was not-so-sneakily edging towards Nie Mingjue’s foot.

Nie Mingjue was one of the foremost front line fighters of their generation, and possibly the previous one as well. His physical ability was matched only by his incredibly keen senses.

There was no way he was not aware of the lump.

“It’s a real shame, too,” Nie Mingjue continued. “I was planning on doing a test of how far you can throw children, but I think monster two here’s a bit too small to make the test worthwhile. But I guess it just wasn’t meant to be –”

You can’t throw children, Lan Xichen was about to say, except Lan Sizhui was tearing off the tablecloth and jumping up in excitement, shouting, “Here! Here! I’m here! I’m big enough! You can throw me!”

“Why does he want to be thrown,” Lan Xichen murmured, bewildered. He’d never wanted to be thrown around as a child. Had he?

In fairness, he wasn’t sure. No one had ever offered.

Apparently, though, Lan Sizhui did very much want to be thrown around, and Lan Jingyi even condescended to allow Lan Xichen to hold him while he watched.

“Higher! Higher!” Lan Sizhui shouted.

“Really? Is this high enough?” Nie Mingjue held him up at eye level.

“Higher!”

“Like this?” Above his head.

“Higher!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

“All right. How about –” Baxia slithered out from her place by the door, zipping over until she was right in front of Nie Mingjue, allowing him to step onto her like a stair, and then zipping upwards to about hip-height, lifting Nie Mingjue and Lan Sizhui with her. They very nearly hit a tree branch with their heads. “– this?”

Lan Sizhui shrieked with laughter.  

“It’s too early to introduce them to flying,” Lan Xichen objected, because it was. “Mingjue-xiong…”

Nie Mingjue hopped down with a laugh. “All right, one last toss,” he told Lan Sizhui. “Then you nap. Okay?”

“Okay!” Lan Sizhui, who had never once willingly succumbed to naptime in the entirety of the time that Lan Xichen had known him, promised earnestly.

Back into the pile of soft grass he went, giggling the entire time, and amazingly enough he really did fall asleep afterwards. Lan Jingyi, too, had fallen asleep at some point.

“I’ve decided that your brother needs more experience running a sect,” Lan Xichen told Nie Mingjue, who raised his eyebrows. “Starting immediately. I promise to allow you to leave when Jingyi is, oh, shall we say five years old..?”

You could reason with a five year old. 

Nie Mingjue laughed.

It was a type of laugh that suggested that he thought Lan Xichen was making a joke. This was incorrect.

“You’d be amazed at how serious I am,” Lan Xichen told him threateningly, “I’m sect leader here, this is my territory, I can have you arrested any time –” but by that point Nie Mingjue was already bundling him off to bed, too, combing out his hair and plying him with snacks and –

This was not helping his argument that Lan Xichen should be allowing him to leave rather than keep him trapped in the Cloud Recesses as a babysitter-slash-love-slave. 

Well, he wouldn’t really do that, of course. He’d let him go. Eventually.

It’d probably be good for Nie Mingjue’s stress levels, honestly.

“Seriously, though, how did you do that?” he asked, his head on Nie Mingjue’s lap. “They didn’t cry once.”

“I’m good with kids,” Nie Mingjue said, his fingers digging into Lan Xichen’s scalp in just the right way. “Now can you explain to me how exactly you ended up with them? Two, no less?”

Lan Xichen groaned and covered his eyes with a hand. “Sizhui’s Wangji’s,” he explained. “Not biologically, but he’s put his name down in the family register under his own. But, you know…”

“I know.”

Lan Xichen appreciated that he didn’t need to go into it. The doctors had estimated that Lan Wangji would regain full mobility within three years, so that was the period the elders had mandated for his so-called ‘seclusion’, but with Lan Wangji being locked away like that – even with visitors, even though he was trying his hardest to care for the child from where he was – meant that someone had to care for the child’s day-to-day life until his brother was ready to resume the role.

“Jingyi is a cousin, I think,” he continued. “His parents are dead, and uncle accepted guardianship for him…I think he’s going to adopt him, actually.”

“Then why is he with you?”

“I volunteered.”

“Xichen, I say this with a full heart of affection and tremendous respect for your capabilities,” Nie Mingjue said. “But why in the world would you go and do a stupid thing like that?”

Lan Xichen sighed. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue that it wasn’t stupid – he was, quite obviously, terrible with children.

“Uncle’s still injured from the war,” he admitted. In fact, his injury was probably even older than the war, dating as far back as the burning of the Cloud Recesses – his uncle had never been much of a fighter, his impressive cultivation strength stemming almost entirely from gentler arts like music and learning and meditation, but when his home and his family and his students were at risk, he’d fought, while Lan Xichen ran. Not just fought; he’d kept fighting long past the point that his body allowed. It only made sense for the bill to need to be paid. “He had a recurrence of an old complaint, not long ago; he started coughing up blood. The doctors insisted that he try to avoid anything that might cause him  stress.”

“Stress. Like, say, a rowdy infant?”

“Exactly like a rowdy infant,” Lan Xichen agreed, glad that Nie Mingjue did not mention that what had happened with Lan Wangji was also likely a source of stress. At least the two of them had slowly started to repair their relationship recently – the heartbreak would kill their uncle sooner than anything else, and Lan Xichen might be weak, but he really couldn’t tolerate the idea of suffering any more loss.

And also, if Lan Wangji could see his way to forgiving their uncle, he might one day agree to forgive Lan Xichen, too.

“I see. So you ended up with the little one, too.”

“Yes. And they hate me.” Nie Mingjue coughed a little. “No, don’t deny it. They clearly hate me. They always cry and spit and yell -”

“They’re children, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue said. “Traumatized children. They do that.”

Lan Xichen didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Nie Mingjue was frowning in memory of pain long past. Lan Xichen remembered, with painful clarity, how young Nie Huaisang had been when Lao Nie had died, how badly he had taken it.

There’d been a lot of crying and vomiting and yelling there as well.

“You’re good with kids,” Lan Xichen said instead of commenting, trading delicacy for delicacy; he would not touch Nie Mingjue’s still-bleeding wounds just as Nie Mingjue avoided his own. “Very good.”

“Well, I like to think so, anyway.”

They remained in blissful, comfortable silence for a while.

“How would it have even worked?” Lan Xichen finally asked. His eyes were still closed, Nie Mingjue’s fingers running through his hair; he never wanted to move again.

“Hmm?”

“If you knocked me up before you went to war. I mean, they’re not even the same age.”

“Well, one of them’s from the affair, obviously.”

“I’m sorry, am I cheating on you now?” Lan Xichen opened an eye and pinned Nie Mingjue with a fierce look that instructed his lover to reconsider.

“Of course not,” Nie Mingjue said, mock-solemnly. His eyes were dancing. “You were so distraught after receiving incorrect news of my untimely demise that you conducted a ghost marriage with my spirit, and then went and had a child to continue my name.”

“…they’re both surnamed Lan.”

“So what? Are you saying I’m not good enough to marry into your sect, is that it?”

Lan Xichen’s cheeks were hurting from trying not to laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of implying such a thing.”

“There you go, then.”

“Can I ask why I felt the need to have a child to continue your name if I had one already?”

“…well, fuck,” Nie Mingjue said. “I’ve got nothing.”

Lan Xichen burst out laughing.

[lesbianlotties]

What if when Deena kills Goode and the Shadyside curse is broken, all of the victims finally get to rest in peace, and they are all reunited?

Starting with Sarah, waking up to meet Hannah again. All the killers waking up, reunited with their loved ones. Everyone from 1666, 1978, 1994, waking up in some perfect place and then meeting each other and...

okay i wrote it

Sarah…

Sarah…

At first, there was only darkness, calling out her name.

“Sarah?”

The darkness started to bleed. Black gave way into powerful red. It was a familiar voice calling out her name.

“Sarah, dearest, wake up.”

Light started breaking through the red. A blue sky above was revealed, and then, the loveliest of faces. The woman she’d loved and died for.

“Hannah?”

“There you are,” Hannah smiled, as she continued to lovingly brush away the red moss covering all of Sarah’s body.

Sarah gasped for air, and jumped to a seated position. She took a deep breath. It felt like being born again. Soon, it registered there wasn’t an ounce of pain in her entire being. In fact, all she could feel was the warmth of the sun, the softness of the moss around her, and the tenderness of Hannah’s eyes.

“You’re finally here,” Hannah whispered in awe, placing a gentle hand in her bewildered lover’s cheek.

“Oh, Hannah, my love,” Sarah returned the gesture.

Then before wondering at all about explanations or reason or logic, Hannah pulled her in for a kiss. It felt exactly as Sarah remembered, and even better. Better than life itself, Hannah Miller’s kiss. When they had to pull away, due to Hannah’s growing smile and Sarah’s overwhelmed tremble of her entire body, they continued to rest their foreheads against each other until their breathing calmed down. “Hannah,” Sarah said, pulling back a little more to look around them, “What is this place?”

“Peace,” Hannah replied.

“What?” Sarah frowned. She stared at the ground, covered in that recognizable red shade as far as she could look. The trees, the large rock beside them, it was all familiar. “Where are we? Is this Union?”

Hannah shook her head softly. “It’s just… peace,” she insisted. There was no other way to explain it.

It appeared Sarah didn’t need to hear more. She exhaled a sigh of relief. Then her eyes met the love of her life again. “I’m so sorry it took me so long,” she apologized.

For the first time since their reunion, Hannah looked slightly less than blissfully happy. “It was nothing, Sarah. Time was meaningless without you,” Hannah stated with loving fierceness, “Eternity begins right now, with you, and only with you.”

Simultaneously they moved in for another kiss. Sarah’s instincts told her to keep kissing her lover. Danger could be around the corner. Threats. Neighbors. Evil. They had to make the most of whatever time they had. But… hadn’t they left all of that behind? Didn’t they win? That victorious feeling blossomed inside her chest and soothed her fervor. As the kisses slowed down, they found the strength to pull away from each other.

“Who did it?” Hannah wondered as her hands caressed Sarah’s hair. “Finally, who managed to break the curse?”

Immediately, Sarah grinned. “Two girls. Two wonderful, wonderful girls. I am sure you would have loved them. And their marvelous friends. And I pray we won’t see them around here for a long, long time.”

The two girls shared a blissful chuckle. “Good,” Hannah nodded.

There was a brief moment of silence then. Hannah studied Sarah. How terribly she had missed her all this time. How long had she waited for her lover to achieve her well-earned peace. And Sarah Fier wouldn’t have let herself rest until her entire land had also reached equal freedom. Sitting beside her, Sarah took a moment to look around them again.

“This is pretty,” Sarah commented about the red moss that covered the entire ground. She ran her hand over it and marveled at the lovely, perfect softness of it.

“You’re welcome,” Hannah replied with lips pursed into a playful smirk. It was true she had been the one to place the crown of red moss on her fallen savior’s head.

“The afterlife has made you even more playful, love,” Sarah lovingly accused her.

Hannah looked nothing but proud to hear that. It wouldn’t be paradise if they weren’t there laughing together. Suddenly, Hannah’s visible joy increased, and she turned eager to be on the move. “Follow me,” she said, standing up and offering her hand to the other girl.

“Where, my darling?” Sarah asked, despite the fact that was already standing up and willing to follow Hannah anywhere, to the ends of heaven and hell if necessary.

“There’s a lot I want to show you,” Hannah smiled. “They’re all coming here.”

“Who?”

Sarah was being led by the hand. Hannah looked over her shoulder at her with a brilliant smile that had been the light to inspire Sarah’s fight and therefore became the miraculous force behind the ultimate liberation from the curse. Hannah was all light, and hope, and love, and good news, for eternity.

“Everyone,” she replied.

--

Sarah and Hannah knelt behind a rock and looked on at the most wonderful sight.

“Henry?” Sarah exclaimed in a breathless whisper.

Hannah was holding her hand, and Sarah’s grip was so strong it nearly hurt, if they could hurt in that place. “And my dad,” Hannah added, “and everyone else.”

It was true. Not everyone had made it, but a group from Union was right there, happily wandering around the woods, stepping on the soft moss, exchanging fresh, delicious fruits, and talking to each other. Henry looked perfectly healthy and happy. He was talking with Lizzie and Isaac, the pair of friends were smiling brighter than ever. Pastor Miller looked as happy as a man could be, surrounded by children that looked all healed, that couldn’t feel nor remember any pain. The Berman sisters were there too. Abigail cried in relief and Constance made fun of her for it, while eagerly returning the embrace. A few feet behind them, the widow Mary was dancing with her husband and child.

“Look at them!” Sarah sighed, there were tears shimmering in her eyes. Joyful tears.

“You made this possible, you know?” Hannah told her.

Overwhelmed by her emotions, Sarah wrapped her arms around Hannah’s waist, and held tightly, perfectly safe and comforted by her lover’s arms wrapped over her shoulders, holding her close.

“What did you do?” Sarah wondered after a while of the two of them simply holding each other. “After… what happened with you?”

“I left,” Hannah replied simply. “I left, and Union separated in two. I was a widow, I decided, and our friends weren’t many, but eventually, we made a place for ourselves.”

“Shadyside,” Sarah smiled.

“Oh, have you heard about it?”

Sarah laughed at Hannah’s playfulness once more. “I have seen glimpses of it.”

“Then you will love what’s next.”

--

Hannah hadn’t been wrong. The more they walked around the woods, the more Sarah’s heart overflowed with joy. Everywhere around them were victims of the curse coming home, families reunited, lovers embracing, kids being kids.

A tall man taking off his mask, breathing freely for the first time in too long. A little boy being picked up by his loving parents. A man throwing his arms around his friends. No weapons on sight. Nobody a killer. They were who they always had been. Their loved ones remembered them as such. Forgiveness filled the air. They were free, and loved, and at peace. And there were more of them.

“Ruby!” Sarah exclaimed. It was her turn to drag Hannah by the hand as she rushed to take a closer look at the young girl. “She was so strong,” Sarah praised her, her voice trembling with emotion. The young Ruby Lane was running into the arms of her friends. There was no need to forgive. There was only forgetting the bad things that happened, things that weren’t the killer’s fault, for they weren’t killers but the first victims each time.

“Where’s her mother?” Hannah wondered.

“Not here yet,” Sarah replied, “By now she has probably heard the good news, I am sure. Last thing I heard, she has a good friend.”

“She will be welcomed by her daughter when her time comes,” Hannah added. “They will be eternally happy.” After thinking about it for a long moment, she looked at the love of her life with a proud smile. “You were looking after them, weren’t you?”

“I did my best,” Sarah looked down bashfully. “I’m not as strong as the curse. But I could nudge certain things to go the right way here and there.”

“You’re mistaken, my heart,” Hannah fondly shook her head. “If anything, you have proved you are stronger than even the Devil.”

Silently, Sarah lifted their joined hands to leave a kiss on the back of Hannah’s hand. She faintly wondered if this entire experience would consist of always being overcome by emotion. Her angel. Their friends, their people, the Shadysiders.

“This is... incredible,” Sarah sighed.

“It’s all thanks to you, Sarah Fier,” Hannah said.

“No…”

“Yes, of course it was you,” Hannah looked at her earnestly. “You kept your promise. You haunted the Goodes until you found someone that could help you break the curse. They couldn’t have done it without you.”

“And I couldn’t have done it without you,” Sarah replied with a trembling voice.

Hannah wouldn’t let her remain wistful too long though. “There’s more,” Hannah said, lighting up smiles in both their faces, as they resumed their journey across the woods.

--

“Oh! Hannah, look!” Sarah exclaimed, hurrying her pace as the couple neared the next clearing in the woods.

“Calm down, Sarah,” Hannah laughed fondly. When they were close enough, she stopped her, and wrapped her arms around her to keep her still. “We can’t meet them yet.”

“Why not?” Sarah wondered. She turned her face slightly to look at her lover, and seeing her face so close over her shoulder, she couldn’t help but place a sweet kiss on that inviting pair of lips.

Hannah blinked slowly. Life, death, and beyond, she would never be unaffected by Sarah’s affection. Finally, she smiled. “You will be famous, dear,” she said, “And I am not ready to share you yet.”

The two of them shared a laugh. Sarah seemed to accept that answer, and relaxed in Hannah’s arms. They rested their foreheads together and basked in the silence for a moment. It didn’t last long though. A loud yelp of surprise coming from somewhere nearby startled them.

“Oh, I’m happy to see her,” Hannah chuckled as the two of them moved closer and hid behind a tree to watch the scene in front of them unfold.

Cindy Berman stood up from the ground with a gasp, staring at her somehow not pristine polo shirt. “There’s still moss?!” she nearly yelled.

“Seriously, Berman? Even here?” teased a voice from behind her.

“Alice!” Cindy really yelled then. She jumped in the arms of the other girl and started peppering her face with kisses while Alice laughed loudly and happily, holding her close.

Observing them from a safe distance away, Sarah and Hannah shared an amused look. “They are a lovely pair,” Sarah whispered.

The blonde girl nodded, then asked Sarah, “How is her sister? The younger one?”

“Older now,” Sarah replied with an affectionate smile. “She is fine, and she will be doing better.”

“I hope she won’t be here any time soon. But that will be a reunion I will love to see,” Hannah added. They were watching as the realization dawned on Cindy Berman’s face. Her younger sister wasn’t there. Ziggy was alive. It was the best part of this entire moment for her.

A few steps behind Cindy and Alice, Arnie affectionately slapped Tommy Slater’s back. “Don’t worry man, you’ll get a hug too,” he said.

The blonde guy chuckled. He glanced at his hands, as if expecting an axe to still be there. Seeing himself free, he took a look around. They were surrounded by a group of children in their blue t-shirts. At first, they looked confused, dazed, but they quickly gained their footing. They started running around, openly laughing while a couple of teenagers almost chased after them to protect them, carrying the instinct of old camp counselors with them. They weren’t in danger though. There was nothing to fear. Everyone greeted each other with smiles, and Tommy smiled the brightest.

--

“Oh…” Sarah breathed out. She was delighted to see so many people reunited, but it didn’t come without a heavy weight on top of it. “So many children…”

“I know,” Hannah agreed. She kept a hand on Sarah’s shoulder, offering silent support. Noticing this, Sarah placed one of her hands atop Hannah’s. They’d missed each other. She felt she needed to be touching the other girl at all times.

“Why… How was so much cruelty possible? So much horror,” she wondered out loud.

“It was the devil’s work, Sarah,” Hannah did her best to reply. “It wasn’t human. Nobody here was ever cruel. And the horror is all over now.”

“It is?”

“It is,” Hannah promised. Her hand had moved to Sarah’s face, and with the back of her fingers, she tenderly caressed the girl’s cheek.

Sarah took her time breathing in and out. Staring at the love of her life, as alive as she ever knew her. Breathing in and out. The ethereal world around them, perfectly real. Breathing in and out. Her racing heart had barely calmed down enough when she was startled by a sound of rustling leaves coming from behind her. “What was that?” She asked in a tense whisper.

“Do not be scared, Sarah,” Hannah replied quickly. “There is no evil here. nothing to hunt us anymore.”

“No threats?” Sarah wondered, staring at Hannah with a small frown on her face.

“No fear,” Hannah reassured her.

“No hate?” Sarah inquired, though this time a small smile was growing on her lips.

“Nothing but peace.”

“And joy?”

“And love,” Hannah grinned. Then, seeing as she couldn’t find a reason not to, she leaned in forward quickly to steal a small kiss. “And friendship,” she playfully added. She took Sarah’s hand in hers once more to lead her to a new spot. “Take a look.”

--

There, with his hands behind his back as if afraid of himself, Ryan Torres was repeatedly apologizing to his friend. Heather was tearing up, shaking her head and dismissing his apologies. Her hands had been on his shoulders, but she soon pulled him into a warm hug. Nervously at first, he eventually reciprocated the embrace, carefully holding her close as she whispered soothing words to him. A few steps away from them, staff from the mall, and the hospital, and the police station were sharing awe-struck conversations. The heavenly spectacle of watching old friends come together, victims open their eyes again, friendship being born in the afterlife… it was all a mesmerizing sight. Sarah believed she could have spent a good portion of eternity simply staring at the people around her.

That’s when Sarah and Hannah were startled by a pair of voices coming from nearby. They simply had to move closer to get a better look at them.

“How does my hair look?”

“Aren’t you dead?”

“Yes, idiot. But how’s my hair?”

“It’s fine!” Simon laughed, accepting the hand Kate was offering him to pull him up from the ground.

He didn’t waste a single second wrapping his arms around her and holding her as closely as possible. Kate pressed her face to his chest, closed her eyes tightly, and didn’t even try to hide her smile. The two best friends enjoyed the embrace for a while, and eventually pulled away slowly. They brushed away the red moss that lingered on their clothes and slowly started taking a look around them.

“Where are we?” Simon wondered.

Kate didn’t really hear him, though. She’d seen something that stopped her in her tracks. “Deena?” Kate blurted out.

“Sam?” Simon exclaimed, equally as surprised.

Realizing they’d been caught, Sarah and Hannah hid behind a tree. They shared a look, wide eyes, and guilty smiles. A second later, they were running away, hand in hand, to avoid causing a confusion, for the time being. When they were safely away from most curious eyes, right in the middle of their gorgeous, red-tinted forest, they stopped. They had been laughing the entire time. They came together at once for a new kiss, familiar and exhilarating at once. Their hands lovingly cradling each other’s faces. A perfect embrace. A love that resisted life and death and three hundred years in between. They could kiss forever, until the end of times, and even then, with souls intertwined, their love would last longer than time itself.

All around them, love continued to blossom. There was the red moss, spreading further and further away from the spot where they stood, welcoming more and more souls. The freed victims were starting to leave the spots where they woke up, they were starting to explore. All over there were stories intertwining, timeliness melting into one, friendships being born. People were confused, and shocked, and fascinated by everything around them. Cindy Berman met Abigail and Constance. Tommy Slater shared a hug with Ruby Lane. Heather started a conversation with Alice. Pastor Cyrus Miller carried Billy Barker on his shoulders. Ryan Torres shook hands with Harry Rooker. Isaac met Simon, and Kate met Lizzie. Ruby Lane’s friends joined the Camp Nightwing’s counselors. Parents found their children, friends were reunited, lovers found each other, everyone searched and found new friends and people they had lost, and some of them patiently waited for the distant future where they’ll meet again the ones they left behind. Tales from the seventeenth century met myths from the eighteenth, legends from the nineteenth, and songs from the twentieth century. Every now and then, somebody made a joke about a certain family that wasn’t present, and would never be. Even the trees, the leaves, and moss at their feet seemed to laugh and rejoice in the Goode’s absence.

At the center of it all, Sarah Fier and Hannah Miller remained. They kissed, they laughed, they danced, they held each other, and their love continued to shine strong enough to sustain a land of pure and absolute peace that would last forever.

[rosesgonerogue]

Let the Sunshine In - Prologue

It’s here! This is the prologue of the Jasonette fic I’ve been promising to celebrate my 100+ followers. I’m going to apologize in advance, this particular section is kind of angsty. I recently watched Under the Red Hood, and I’m in the middle of Violet Evergarden and I HAVE EMOTIONS. 

***********************

Ladybug collapsed in an empty alleyway, her entire body screaming from the latest akuma attack. She desperately wanted to cry, but she couldn’t give Hawkmoth any reason to try to akumatize her. Besides, in this state, she might just agree to his demands. 

She still had a few minutes before she transformed back, and in desperation, she flipped open her yo-yo. “I know the Justice League told me to stop ‘prank calling,’ but… I just need to feel like someone cares about this city. Please find me one person who is willing to help.” 

Jason should have been at school, but after getting in a fight he’d made the executive decision that he was taking the rest of the day off. He knew Alfred was planning on cleaning the mansion that day, so he found himself loitering around the Batcave when a call came in.

He was already in costume for… training, so Jason just had to slap on his Robin mask before answering. “Hello?” 

On the screen was the most beautiful girl that Jason had ever seen. She looked around his age, wearing a red-spotted suit and a matching domino mask. However, her mask didn’t obscure the clearest blue eyes that Jason had ever seen. They were entrancing, but also a bit broken, like him. She had seen too much, done too much. 

“Hello?” she said in heavily accented English. “Who is this?” 

“You’re calling a super-secure super computer, sweetcheeks. I believe that’s my line,” Robin said with an impish grin. 

He immediately regretted his statement when the girl looked close to crying. “I-I’m Ladybug, one of Paris’s heroes.” 

“But Paris doesn’t have--”

“Obviously we do have heroes,” the girl--Ladybug--snapped. “I’m not just a child pretending like the Justice  League accused me of. Our heroes are real, and our villain is very real. Hawkmoth is getting better and more dangerous as time goes by. I don’t know how much more our city can handle.” 

Jason straightened, somehow already sold on this girl’s story. “Do you have any photographs or footage of any of the events? I can talk to Batman about it--or at the very least irritate him until he listens.” 

Ladybug’s eyes widened, a glimmer of hope lighting up her face. “Batman? That means you’re--”

She was cut off by a beeping noise that made her curse softly under her breath. “I have to go, but I’ll call again. Thank you for listening, Robin.” 

“I’ll do what research I can, Ladybug. We’ll help you out,” Jason promised earnestly. 

Marinette smiled, the first genuine smile she’d had for days, possibly longer. Probably since she had become the Guardian of the Miracle Box. “You really don’t know how much I needed someone to care, Robin. Thank you. Bug out.” 

From then on, Ladybug fought with the knowledge and hope that people could and did care about her city. She called Robin on and off to plan how to convince the League that the situation in Paris was very real. He was brilliant, although it was obvious that everyone could see it except Robin himself. They even got to the point that Marinette would call them friends. There were a lot of things she couldn’t tell him and he couldn’t tell her, but they learned to ease one another’s burdens in whatever ways they could. Robin made her feel like Marinette could handle being the Guardian, and Ladybug made Jason feel like he was more than a street kid who couldn’t fill Dick Grayson’s shoes.

Things seemed to be looking up for Marinette on all accounts--schoolwork seemed easier, she had just the perfect number of commissions, and Lila had at least temporarily directed her attention elsewhere. 

They had set aside a time to plan every week, but one week Jason didn’t answer right away. Marinette didn’t think anything of it at first, he was probably busy. But when she tried again, it wasn't Robin that answered, but Batman. 

“How did you get this channel?” he demanded in a voice gruffer than Marinette thought was possible for a human being to produce. “Who are you?”

“L-Ladybug. I’m Ladybug, sir, and I was calling for Robin.” 

At these words, the man’s face distorted into the embodiment of distrust and rage. “You think this is funny? Because I will--”

“What’s wrong?” Marinette asked, dread curdling in her stomach. “Did something happen to Robin?” 

She couldn’t see his eyes from behind the cowl, but Marinette knew Batman was glaring at her, the singularly most terrifying moment of her life. “Robin is dead, because that’s what happens when children try to play hero. Leave that kind of thing to the adults, little girl, unless you want to end up the same way.” 

Robin is dead. 

Robin is dead. 

Robin is dead. 

Those three words pounded through Marinette’s head like an inescapable drumbeat. At some point the yo-yo had fallen out of her hand, and Batman had hung up with the strict instructions never to call again. 

The world felt fuzzy, not quite real to Marinette. In an unexpected moment of clarity, though, Marinette realized: strong emotions were coming. She knew she wouldn’t be able to deny Hawkmoth, not with the fresh grief coursing through her. Right now, even if it was just a short time, she needed to be able to feel. 

Marinette swung herself through Paris’s streets faster than ever before, launching herself at her balcony with desperation. Her transformation timed out just as she landed, making it easier to slip on Kaalki’s glasses. 

She had transformed with Kaalki once or twice before, and for some reason this kwami always made her feel a bit antsy. The second that the transformation settled, Marinette opened up a portal to the first place in her mind that was both out of Hawkmoth’s range, and secluded enough that she wouldn’t have to worry about being seen or heard. 

It was too much, losing Master Fu and then Robin. They had been the only things keeping Marinette sane and grounded, and she couldn’t talk about them with anyone else. That combined with the pressure of being Ladybug made Marinette feel like she was going to explode. So she screamed, she screamed until her voice broke, dissolving into pathetic sobbing as she collapsed in on herself on the forest floor. 

One by one, the kwamis emerged and surrounded her, concerned. 

Tikki was the first to speak. “Are you alright, Marinette?” 

“How did he die?” 

The kwamis traded uneasy glances. “What?” 

“Robin. Can you tell me how he died?” Marinette asked, clutching her knees to her chest. “I just… I need to know.” 

“Marinette, I don’t think--”

“She deserves to know,” Wayzz said, interrupting Tikki. “Marinette is no child. SHe’s already had Master Fu taken from her, but she can’t grieve with anyone. She can’t even speak to anyone about it but us. She needs this closure, even if it’s heavy to bear.” 

Tikki reluctantly agreed. “This would be easier if Plagg were here, but we can probably show you an approximation of what happened to the boy.” 

The kwamis present circled around her, a soft magic glow spreading across all of them. A series of images flashed through her mind, each worse than the last: the glint of a raised crowbar, a pale face with a maniacal grin, blood spattered across grimy floorboards… The worst of all, however, was the image of Robin’s face as the bomb counted down to zero, the hopelessness that came from knowing that no one would come to save him. 

Logically there had been no way for Marinette to know that any of this was happening, but she knew she would never be able to forgive herself. One of her only allies in the entire world had died scared and alone, and there was no excuse for that. 

She allowed herself to cry for a while longer, the torrent of emotions too much. But alas, negative emotions, and often emotions in general were a luxury that Marinette Dupain-Cheng could not afford. When her tears ran out, Marinette simply straightened up, fed Kaalki a sugar cube, and went back to Paris. 

From that day on, Marinette never spoke of Master Fu or Robin again, even to the kwami. She locked them deep in her heart where they could stay until Hawkmoth had been dealt with. As both Marinette and Ladybug, she devoted herself to ensuring that no one would ever feel as alone and afraid as Robin had. 

Ladybug was stronger, better at her job than before while Marinette was kinder, more helpful, and more generous than ever. To some it seemed like it was the same as always, but those that really knew her had noticed: her smile was never the same. It was… damaged, somehow, something like seeing the outline of the sun through a veil of clouds.

**********************

This fic is NOT going to be like this most of the time, I swear. I have a good friend that I swap story ideas with named Kit, and we have a lot of fluffy nonsense ahead, with the occaisional splashes of angst. This is actually going to take place a few years in the future, when Marinette is starting college. Just as an FYI, I write fanfiction because it’s fun, but also because it gives me a medium to get feedback and improve my writing. Let me know what you guys think, and if you have any questions or suggestions. This is a side blog, so just know that when I reply in the comments, it’s under the username rogueptoridactyl. Just let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, and hopefully you guys like it! 

Taglist:  @slytherinsheashire @cravethosecrazysquares @krispydefendorpolice @thesunanditsangel @sonif50 @kris-pines04 @persephonebutkore @tbehartoo @corabeth11 @caffeinetheory @drarryismylife101 @bluerosette23 @weird-pale-blonde-person @mystery-5-5 @heaven428 @thethirdwheelfriend @thetinymoonflower @interobanginyourmom @chocolate1721 @akana-sama @skyel0ve @katiegardneriscoolerthanyou

[nad-zeta]

Hi can I please have a ikevamp matchup? I'm goth/emo and pansexaul. I dislike rude people, too much social interactions, people harming animals and loud children. Often can be found listening to music, playing games or with animals ao reading. I'm mostly a loner, have major trust issues, can be cold and vindictive, sarcastic to the fullest, insecure when people point out the scar over my right eye and notice my selfharm scars, tend to observe more than speak. Number 1, will send in nr 2-anon🐺

Number 2, people say I'm polite and wise and tend to notice smaller details and conversations more than others and also say I'm kind as long as people don't get on my bad side upon first meeting. I can hold a grudge but can also easily forgive and have an unhealthy obbsesion with drinking black bitter coffee. Hobbies are drawing, reading, writing, listening to music, chatting with my bestie, playing with animals, gardening and daydreaming.-Anon🐺

Hi hi, love! 😊I hope you are doing well. 🙌Thank you so much for the request and sorry for taking sooooo long with this!😱🙈❤ I hope you have a super good day and enjoy this!❤❤ 

So I match you with.................. Arthur

The first time you meet Arthur, he was hella intrigued. 

You couldn't sleep that first night you came to the mansion due to some crazy scary nightmares. You made your way down to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee. As you entered into the dark kitchen you noticed a figure by the fridge, it was the mystery writer himself. At the sound your your footsteps entering into the kitchen he promptly shut the fridged and closed the distance between the two of you. He stared down at you with his ocean blue eyes gleaming in the darkness. That is when Sabastian joined the two of you in the kitchen carrying a clear crystal bottle with what appeared to be a thick red liquid inside. You eyed the bottle curiously, and that's when Arthur had revealed the Mansions secret to you as he downed it. You were honestly pretty shocked, but when Arthur got up close to you, you instantly believed him as staining the collar of his shirt was undeniably the crimson red colour of blood. 

You rushed back to your room freaking out, coffee long forgotten and somehow throughout the evening, you managed to pass out. You woke up to Comte sitting beside your bed with some breakfast. He spent the morning telling you all about the residence and the exact situation that you had managed to find yourself in. As Comte continued to explain the situation to you, you drifted off into a world of your own, replaying the previous night's events. You thought about Arthur and decided to low key forgive him for scaring you that previous night, as he was simply being honest, even though he could have done it in a less dramatic way.

You spent the day in your room, reading and writing. You didn't exactly feel like interacting with the residents, not cause of them being vampire but simply because you just didn't like social interaction in general, plus it had been a while since you last had time to completely relax. 

The next morning you woke up and made your way down to the kitchen. You started a fresh pot of bitter black coffee, just the way you like it and who should walk into the kitchen and steal the very cup of coffee you had been excited to drink…. Non-other than Arthur himself. "Hey, that's mine, if you want coffee, then I suggest you make your own," you scolded the author with a frown and grumbled sarcastic remarks at him under your breath as you move to make yourself a fresh cup. Arthurs's eyes gleamed in excitement you certainly were a feisty little creature. The two of you took your sarcastic banter to the dining room as breakfast was being served. You weren't really one for social interaction, but you did enjoy the back, and forth you had with Arthur. Usually, no one could keep up with your quickfire of witty remarks and sarcastic comeback, but here Arthur was, holding his own against you. 

When the next morning rolled by the exact same thing happened, Arthur yet again stole your freshly brewed cup of coffee, you let the first time slide but this time you narrowed your eyes at him plotting your revenge. Little did this mystery writer know, you were a rather vindictive kind of person. The next morning just as you predicted, Arthur showed up to steal your morning cup of coffee, except this time it wasn't coffee that he found himself drinking but a concoction of warm sludgy, muddy water. He spat it out and started rinsing his mouth under the kitchen tap, "serves you right," you legit couldn't hold back your laughter and hosed yourself laughing, watching the expression of disgust form on Arthur's face, "oh revenge certainly is sweet." This, my dear, is how the revenge war started between you and Arthur. Since that day, he would pull small pranks on you to get revenge, and you would plot a prank twice as good to get him back. You honestly enjoyed this little game the two of you played and even though you never like social interaction if it was with Arthur, you honestly didn't mind.

Speaking of games, one day, you walked into the game room to find Arthur and Isaac battling it out over a game of chess. You stood in the doorway next to Theo to watch the intense match between the two. Theo had warned you never to play a game against Arthur unless you wanted to lose, as he had never lost a single game in his life. You low key scoffed and laughed as it seemed he was losing at your little game of revenge, as his pranks were becoming more and more predictable. Issac hung his head in defeat, having lost yet another match against Arthur and now earning himself the nickname A-chan. You patted Isaac on the back and challenged Arthur to a game, winner takes all loser takes non. He simply shook your hand and smilingly accepted the bet

You challenged him to a game of rummy, and for the first time in Arthur’s life, he was sweating. You were definitely a tough opponent, and your observational skills were like his, second to none. The game had ended in a draw, so the two of you played another round one which you had managed to win by the skin of your teeth. You stood up, smiling triumphantly, and that's when he challenged you to a rematch. The two of you spent the afternoon playing various board games and trash-talking each other. You honestly loved playing games and playing against someone who could provide you with a good challenge definitely made it more enjoyable. You and Arthur actually added this to your list of fun activities to occasionally do together. It was always something which both of you looked forward to as it was always filled with laughter and witty banter.

Arthur quickly realized that you were incredibly smart and had a keen sense for picking up on finer details. So he invited you to tag along and play detective with him, helping him to solve some cases around town. TBH he pretty much pestered you into helping him, until you finally cracked one day. However, after having so much fun using your combined skills to solve a case you and Arthur teamed up and became the towns mystery solvers. Two of you work many a case together. Arthur legit loves working on various cases with you as this means he can spend more time with you and get to know you even better. 

You guys stumble on a case where the owner of a beautiful Germain Sheppard had kept the poor dog chained up in the backyard. As Arthur chatted with the owner, you went over to pat the dog, and that's when the blood drained from your face in horror. The poor dog was incredibly thin, and you could see scars all over his body from being abused. To top it all off there had even been fresh wound on his leg. You looked over to see that the poor had no access to fresh clean water, and looked incredibly thirsty. You opened your bag to retrieved your bottle of water, you poured some water in a small dish for the dog. The poor thing must have been incredibly thirsty as he drank up every last drop of water. Your heart broke in two, and you didn't want to leave the poor animal in this cruel man's care. Just then, the man came out with Arthur and was incredibly rude with you telling you to get away from his dog. That afternoon as you and Arthur walked back home, the poor dog had been on your mind. Arthur stop abruptly and stared down at you curiously, "you know luv, I would do anything you ask, all you have to do is say the word. I do hate to see you looking so down. So tell me what is it I can do to bring that beautiful smile back to your face." You had never seen Arthur look at you with so much love and worry before, he had always been a bit of a pain in the ass, but during the past few weeks, you couldn't help but fall in love with him. And at the moment with him staring at you so earnestly, you had realized you really had fallen for this man standing before you. 

Once the two of you got back home, you made your way to Arthurs room where you poured your heart out and told him that you hated rude people and you couldn't stand it when animals were being abused. Arthur simply nodded and smiled, "well then, what do you say we go and rescue that sweet dog from the clutches of the evil villain." You nodded and rolled your eyes slightly, trust the writer to create a story out of every situation. The two of you now sat side by side at the dining room table, each with a cup of bitter coffee in hand, planning the poor dog's daring rescue.

That night the two of you had successfully managed to save the poor dog. It took no effort at all for you to convince Comte to let you keep the cutie. After speaking with Comte about keeping the pet as your own, you walked back to your room, smiling at the memories you had created that night. Not only had you managed to rescue an animal in need, but after your daring rescue, you and Arthur were so excited at a job well done that he kissed you. On the walk home, you and Arthur had confessed your feeling for one another, and thus a new chapter in your life had officially started.

Often you could be found in the garden playing with your new pet. The second Arthur would hear the excited barks of the two dogs, he would put his pen down and rush downstairs to join the fun. He couldn't help but smile like a fool at the scene before him before joining in. The two of you would spend most afternoons playing with the animals while laughing and just having the best time together. 

You had actually been the one to introduce Arthur to gardening, as a therapeutic way for both of you to relax and unwind. Plus this pale British boy had never seen a drop of sunshine in his life, thanks to always being cramped up in his room writing, so it did him a world of good to get out of his room once a while to soak up that sweet vitamin D

Arthur, like you, has had to deal with a lot of pain from the past, so he never ever did mention anything about your scars to you. He knew that if you wanted to talk about them, you would. And you did, one day after he had told you all the traumas of his past and why it had taken him so long to confess his feelings for you, you told him about your past. That day the two of you completely let your guards down and let each other in. Arthur did everything in his power to be by your side whenever you were feeling insecure about your scars. You best be sure this boi will hold you tight and tell you how perfect and beautiful you are. If that doesn't work to quieten down your insecurities he will show you with action how much he loves and adores every inch of you.

Often the two of you cuties can be found just chilling together in Arthur's room. He would be slouched over his desk, writing the newest chapter, and you would be cuddled up on his couch reading about the latest topic of interest. When Arthur discovers that you also dabble in writing, he was legit over the moon. He would always insist you read your latest piece of writing to him as he rests his head on your lap, while you lazily pull your finger through his ocean locks. The two of you cuties would also sit and talk and talk for hours in deep conversation about anything and everything.

If the two of you aren't engaged in some kind of battle of wits, you are nestled in Arthur's arms as the two of you just enjoy a peaceful moment together wrapped in each other's warmth, each in a daydream of their own. Don't be surprised if this playboy drops a few sneaky kisses on your face as you comfortably rest in his arms, daydreaming away.

Other potential matches................. Vlad 

I hope you enjoyed this dear and I hope you have a super good day!❤❤😊🌻

[tiaragqueen]

Could you do a Tsukiyama (tokyo ghoul) obsessing over a fem human who is a bookworm, please?

Under Control

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Tsukiyama Shuu x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,7k

✂ Trigger Warnings: Mention of depression, killing, cannibalization, objectification, obsessive and possessive behavior, slight malnutrition, manipulation, yandere theme.

[Edited]

***

I’ve used every drop of what little knowledge I have and Google translate regarding other languages, so I hope it doesn’t end up weird.Oh, and this is set before :re.

If you like mywriting, please support me on ko-fi!

“The one who loves the least, controls the relationship.” - Robert Anthony

You should’ve known that something was wrong the moment a flamboyant man with vibrant clothes approached you in that book café. And you should’ve known that something was wrong the moment your closed ones started to die one by one.

But it was too late to regret it now, wasn’t it? What happened had happened. There was no need to think about it, especially if the past only brought pain to your already depressed self. You should move on. You should get out of your head more often. You should start seeking help. You should allow yourself happiness. You should allow him to make you happy.

At least, that was what he said.

The truth is, it wasn’t that easy. It would never be that easy to forget that you were the one who had dragged them into your little drama. Them; your family, friends, colleagues, acquaintances. Heck, even your boss! Sure, it wasn’t your fault, to begin with. You didn’t even know that Tsukiyama was a ghoul in the first place.

Had you were a bit more observant, perhaps you would’ve noticed the hints. The way he occasionally licked his lips whenever you spoke about something, the way he studied your face and all the expressions it displayed, the way he checked you out (it wasn’t really discreet, but you’d learned to ignore it), the way he often complimented you whenever you wore clothes that accentuated your figure perfectly, and the way he tended to sniff your neck as a form of ‘greeting’. You’d assumed he was being attentive and considerate, yet it wasn’t all that far from the truth.

Attentive because you were his prey, and considerate because he wanted to make you feel more at ease around him.

But somewhere along the way, he began to change. He became more gentleman-like and… possessive. For example: how he wrapped an arm around your waist whenever you walked together, how he glared at anyone who talked or looked at you for too long, how he bought you some expensive presents regardless of the day and its importance, how he often invited you to his mansion and vice versa, and how he relished in reading books or do some particular gestures to you. Actions that seemed too sweet to be directed towards mere friends, and things that would spark a sense of intimacy between you.

You were a bit caught off guard, to say the least. The furthest things he’d ever done were light flirting and occasional yet lingering touches. But it was a rather nice surprise, you had to admit. Therefore, you’d decided to not to overthink it too much. Again, you’d assumed he was being a good friend. This was probably how he usually showed affection towards his close ones. And besides, you were quite flattered by the amount of attention he’d put on you. So, there was nothing to be suspicious of, right?

Right. Due to how often you both spent time with each other, he might have felt more comfortable now. Tsukiyama had always been extra when it came to you, anyway.

Just like how extra he was when he introduced you to his father.

The last note echoed in the spacious room as Tsukiyama withdrew his fingers from the ivory keyboards. His room. There were paintings of you hung on the wall, each depicting different expression and different attires. You didn’t know when he’d taken up a lesson for painting, but apparently, he’d worked hard to perfect every single frame.

That was what he’d told you on that fateful day, where you’d stupidly visited him because he was ‘sick’. You weren’t aware that ghouls had impressive healing ability, and sickness was probably impossible for them to get in the first place.

“How was it, Mi Amor?” he asked gently, affectionately, lovingly. He caressed your hair, and you sensed love – sincere love – pouring out from his fingertips.

How could a ghoul, one that had killed and eaten many people with another excuse besides hunger, could love someone so earnestly? It was illogical. It was preposterous. It was shocking. It was downright terrifying.

“I’ve composed this song since our first encounter,” he said, droopy eyes admiring the gloss of your crown. His servants have done a good job at taking care of your appearance; from the top of your head to the tip of your feet. All of them were clean, fragrant, and resplendent.

Just like what he had always desired.

“I know this is nothing but I hope you can feel my love, Ma cherié.”

Guilt couldn’t even describe what you were feeling right now; this stomach-churning feeling that told you that you would never loved him the way he wanted you to. The way he loved you. Because he was your captor – your kidnapper – and to fall in love with him would be a sin. A crime so unforgivable no matter how many times you begged for forgiveness.

You weren’t sick like him. But you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him, either.

Because he was your friend. You might have even considered him as your best friend; your confidant. He was your go-to person whenever you wanted to vent out, sharing crazy theories that had taken up almost all the spaces in your brain, asking nonsensical things, have a philosophical debate, or just someone to accompany you.

Because you were lonely. Nearly everyone that you’d befriended was superficial, or at least didn’t pay much attention to the details. You didn’t have anyone who you could truly connect with. You didn’t have anyone willing to wake up at ungodly hours and listen to your rambling. You didn’t have anyone who could see behind your quiet yet friendly facadé.

Because you yearned for a friend. And he… He had been perfect. He was everything you ever wanted; everything you ever wished for in a friend. Tsukiyama was, although eccentric, the only friend you could connect with. He was sophisticated, he understood your feelings, he entertained your strange ideas, and he always kept his promises. Never once did he let you down, and never once did he interrupt you when you talked about something.

Because you were hopeless. But it was all just a facadé, wasn’t it? In the end, you’d never truly meant anything to him aside from being a pet. A treasure. A possession he could never let go. A doll that, despite her master’s declaration of love, could only wait until the day he grows bored and throw you away. Which, in your case, throwing you into the chasm of his stomach.

Were you destined to end like this? Did God hate you or something? Because if so, then this was the cruelest punishment you’d ever gotten. It almost felt… unfair.

You hated this, though. You hated how you could do nothing but sit obediently on his lap. You hated how he dressed you up in fancy dresses and accessories as though you were a fucking mannequin. You hated how he always spoon-fed you. You hated that you had to spend the majority of your time waiting for him to come; to take you out of this hell disguised as a beautiful room decorated with your favorite flowers. You hated that the garden was the only place where you could breathe the fresh air. You hated that his servant – Kanae, was it? – seemed to hate you. You hated how his father immediately took a liking on you. You hated how he had suggested Tsukiyama to just marry you already, and you hated how Tsukiyama had the guts to accept it eagerly. He even promised to do so as soon as you were a bit more familiar with your new life.

You hated this; your predicament. Everything. And most of all, you hated your life. You didn’t think it was possible to loathe something abstract before. But now, you knew.

Pushing your glasses, you nodded. This was probably the least expensive thing that you had, and the only thing that you owned from your old life. A reminder that you used to be an ordinary woman with an ordinary house and ordinary life before you became a lovely lady with a lovely mansion and lovely life. “It was superb. Thank you, Tsukiyama-san.”

The warm smile immediately disappeared as a cold frown settled on his face. “What did I tell you about formality, hm?” he asked, warning laced his pernicious words.

You stiffened on his lap, mentally berating yourself over a little slip that could’ve been easily avoided. “A-apologize, Shuu.” you stammered stoically, albeit with a fearful hint. “I wasn’t… in my right mind just now. Forgive me.”

“There!” Tsukiyama beamed, his mood changed so quickly you weren’t sure whether to be relieved or not. “Isn’t it much better? After all, we’re lovers. It’ll be odd to call each other with such stiff nicknames.” He cocked his head and regarded you with those gleaming purple eyes.

You recognized that look. You fully comprehended what it meant. He was searching for another mistake; the slightest error that he could use against you. Internal panic aroused bile to leave your mouth – to empty your stomach from its nutrients because it wasn’t as if he would give you another, right? Tsukiyama didn’t want you to weigh more than necessary. Your current weight was enough. Not too skinny yet not too fat, either.

It was a perfect body.

“Don’t you think so, Tesoro?”

“Right, of course.” You sucked in a deep breath and nodded dutifully. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“It’s alright, Miele. Mistakes happen.” You looked away, trying to ignore the irony of those words. He must have been in a good mood today if he didn’t start punishing you. Thank goodness. “Just promise not to repeat it, okay? I’d hate to ‘lecture’ you again, Chérie.”

Tears stung your pupils as you dipped your head. You didn’t want him to see you were crying. No, not again. It was enough to display weakness in the past. You couldn’t afford to be weak. You had to be strong. You needed to be strong.

For him or yourself? You weren’t sure. You refused to think about it, either. As long as you were still alive, although not necessarily well, you would be fine.

“Yes, I promise.”

At least, this bittersweet affection was better than be a part of himself. Literally.

Translations

Mi amor (Spanish): My love

Ma chérie (French): My darling

Tesoro (Italian): Treasure

Miele (Italian): Honey

Chérie (French): Sweetheart

[knifeshoeoreofight]

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Sidney’s wedding day dawns iron grey, the sky heavy and threatening. Far out on the horizon, there are already misty curtains of rain painting the sea underneath the thickest cloud banks, as the storm drags itself closer and closer to land.

Sidney tries not to be susceptible to belief in omens and ill portents, but he cannot help but wish that it was sunny and mild today. As Jake fusses with the last touches to his wedding attire, Sidney comforts himself with the thought that it’s not unfitting that as he arrived in a storm, so shall Evgeni be joined to this place, and to Sidney, in a storm as well.

As Sidney descends the stairs he can see that Evgeni is already waiting in the foyer. He’s pacing a little, cutting a striking figure in the new bottle green coat and snowy white linen shirt and cravat Sidney had insisted he accept. He’d sent him to his own tailor’s shop in Truro with Letang, who had an eye for these things, and Letang had outdone himself. The green of the coat looks well against Evgeni’s pale skin and and brown hair, and he looks like a gentleman from the toes of his polished boots, to his close-fitting breeches, to his beautifully embroidered waistcoat. Letang told Sidney that it was the only article of clothing that Evgeni had chosen explicitly for himself, without self-effacing reluctance.

If he wants it. Sidney will buy him a hundred waistcoats, each more brilliantly decorated than the last. Sidney himself was unable to resist a lilac waistcoat under a more subdued grey coat. He enjoys the color, and seldom has the excuse or opportunity to wear it.

Evgeni spots him when he reaches the bottom of the stairs. His shoulders relax and he smiles at Sidney. It relieves Sidney more than he can say to see it. The cold weight of guilt has not left him entirely since the moment he first claimed Evgeni as his fiancé.

“Are you still willing?” Sidney has to ask, for his own peace of mind.

Evgeni’s brow furrows. “You?”

“Of course,” Sidney says quietly. Evgeni’s eyes search his face, but finally he nods.

“Yes,” he says, and ducks his head, pink blooming on his cheeks. It is an arresting sight, and Sidney, to his chagrin, gapes at him until broken from his reverie by the noisy arrival of Baronet Letang and his family.

Letang gives Sidney a long, assessing look as Evgeni goes to say hello to Alex and little Victoria. Sidney knows his friend likes Evgeni but is not certain that Sidney is being wise.

Sidney gives him a firm nod. His friend shrugs, and says nothing more.

***

It is strange to be in the church on a weekday. Their words echo against the stone as young Father Murray gravely shakes their hands and precedes them to the front of the church. They’re early, but Julie and Caro are already there, as well as a goodly number of those servants and villagers not needed in preparing the wedding breakfast.

He feels a pang at the absence of his sister. There had not been time, however, for her to make the journey, and truthfully, he wants to wait until all is said and done before he tells her of it. Maybe she will forgive him for it in time.

The importance of their haste is underscored by the late arrival of Magistrate Bettman. Uninvited, he nonetheless sits himself in a back pew to scowl at the proceedings. Sidney sees Evgeni’s eyes dart nervously to Bettman, and he squeezes his soon-to-be husband’s hands. When Evgeni looks at him, Sidney leans close and says, too low for anyone else to hear: “I promise you. I will not let him touch you.”

Evgeni closes his eyes for a moment, but nods.

The sun comes out from behind the clouds just as the vicar calls out the words, “dearly beloved.”

Later, what Sidney remembers most from the ceremony is that soft morning light, falling in shafts front the clerestory windows, and odd little details, like how the sun made a glowing shell of one of Evgeni’s ears, and threw glimmering reflections from the font onto the grey stone walls.

Evgeni’s hands tremble a little in his own, or maybe Sidney’s hands tremble, he isn’t sure.

Father Murray pronounces them married in the eyes of God, and Sidney blinks away sudden tears from some indescribable emotion. His wedding. His husband. He’d tried to imagine this day in the past but those boyish fancies have nothing in common with the reality: Evgeni’s dark eyes fixed on his, the soft, hesitant brush of his lips when the vicar tells them that they may kiss each other.

They sign the register, Sidney’s narrow, looping script above Evgeni’s blocky Cyrillic.

“Congratulations, Lord Crosby, Lord Evgeni,” Father Murray says, and Sidney has to laugh softly at the startled look on Evgeni’s face.

“Had you forgotten that you’d gain a title today, my dear?” Sidney says. His face flushes— the endearment had slipped out without his permission, quite naturally. For Evgeni is already dear to him.

Evgeni shakes his head, wonder writ across his expressive face. “I’m forget.” He shakes his head again, and offers his arm to Sidney. Sidney takes it.

“It’s going to be very noisy in a moment, are you ready?” he warns, and they step outside into the late morning chill as cheers break out from their assembled people, and rice is flung with cheerful abandon into their faces by the children.

Sidney had elected to walk to the church, in concession to Evgeni’s discomfort with horses and his own dislike of the fanfare and ostentation of a coach. It was not a far distance, but their way back leads them through the village, where everyone is assembled in gleeful enjoyment of their holiday, all work in the mines and fields halted in honor of the day.

The wedding party is met with shouts and cheers. Every woman and girl in the village, it feels, wants to come curtsy at them and extend their well-wishes, every man and boy to earnestly doff their caps to Sidney and “‘is new Lordship.”

They shake hands and bow and accept congratulations nearly all the way to the gates of Ydhyn Dhu, where a hubbub of a different sort awaits them.

Long tables have been laid, decorated with fragrant fir boughs and and bright sprigs of holly. If they’d been married only a month or two from now there might have been early spring flowers but Sidney finds he likes the greenery just as much.

A busy swirl of guests and servants enliven the ofttimes quiet rooms of the great house, with Mrs. Bullano presiding over all. Sidney had told her to try and enjoy herself but she remains convinced some calamity will befall the family silver and hovers vigilantly, keeping a weather eye on the serving maids as they work.  

Dumo has outdone himself, somehow managing a wedding cake of sorts in so short a time, white with costly sugar on the outside and rich with dried fruit and brandy on the inside. He’d been cautioning everyone all morning that it wouldn't keep like a proper wedding cake, since he hadn’t had the time for the usual days and days of tending and soaking it in spirits.

“We will just have to enjoy it all today, Dumo, and give out any remaining to our tenants,” Sidney had placated him.

Sidney can hardly believe it, sometime later, that he’s sitting at the head of his table with his husband next to him. He keeps finding himself staring at Evgeni’s profile- his strong nose and generous mouth, his sharp jaw, the tiny scar high on his cheekbone.

Caro has to say his name a few times to get his attention at one point, resulting in laughter and much sly teasing about how taken he is with his bridegroom. Sidney turns scarlet and attempts to move the conversation on as quickly as possible. He cannot allow their perceptive teasing to make Evgeni uncomfortable.

“So, Evgeni,”Julie says, leaning forward, eyes sparkling wickedly. “Tell me. What is your favorite thing about your husband?”

“Is it his a-” Letang gets out before his wife elbows him to remind him of his manners.

Evgeni is blushing now as well, but he doesn’t duck his head or mumble anything noncommittal. He turns in his seat to regard Sidney steadily.

“Heart,” his says simply, and Sidney’s friends coo at them.

But Evgeni isn’t done. “Never meet anyone like Sidney,” he continues, drawing himself up as if to defend Sidney from the teasing. “Where I’m come from, no дворянин like him. They use-- “

He pauses, and turns to Sid, hand patting at his own waistcoat over his heart. “What’s part you can’t see, vicar talks about?”

“A soul?”

He turns back to the others, tone deep and serious. “The знать use people bodies and souls like wood.” He makes a motion like throwing kindling on flames. ”On a fire.” He shakes his head. “Sidney is different. He’s take care. Like whole village is his family.”

He reaches over and takes Sidney’s hand where it lies on the table. Gazing at him, he says firmly,”Want to be good family for him, too.”

Everyone is quiet for a moment, then Caro says, “Here, here. To Lord Crosby and Lord Evgeni, may your family be happy and blessed indeed.” There are sincere murmurs of agreement from all. Sidney cannot speak, his heart too painfully full.

***

It feels like the sky darkens and the day dwindles much faster than Sidney is ready for. He nurses a glass of port in the library with the other gentlemen until Letang kicks at his chair and jerks his head towards Evgeni.

“You should see to your husband, before he falls asleep right here.”

Sidney ignores the ribald waggling of Letang’s eyebrows and looks over at his husband. Evgeni is leaning against the high side of the wingback chair he’s sitting in, eyelids drooping as he gazes into the fire. His glass of Madeira looks ready to slip from his fingers.

Sidney feels a fresh stab of guilt join the rest that has taken up permanent residence in his stomach. It has been a long day. Heaven knows he feels as exhausted as Evgeni looks.

He stands, and rests a hand on Evgeni’s shoulder. “It’s late,” he says quietly, and Evgeni starts, turning wide, velvet-dark eyes to Sidney’s face. He follows Sidney from the room in silence.

***

Jake is waiting outside the door to Sidney’s private rooms, knuckling his eyes and yawning. Sidney sends him away to bed, and they go in alone.

After Sidney ushers Evgeni inside, he turns to close the door. When he turns back around, Evgeni has not moved, so close Sidney can smell his sandalwood shaving soap.

He reaches for Sidney’s hands, raising them to his lips and pressing a warm, lingering kiss to his fingers. Shame and heat flare together in Sidney’s middle. He wants that soft mouth all over his body, but he would never be able to forgive himself if he allows Evgeni to do this for him. Out of some sense of gratefulness or duty.

“Good day,” Evgeni says softly. He slides down one of Sidney’s cuffs and Sidney has to bite his lip to hold in a wanton sound as Evgeni kisses the sensitive skin of his wrist. “Nice party.”

“Yes,” Sidney manages, hoping his want isn’t conveyed in his voice. “Evgeni.”

Evgeni hums, fiddling with Sidney’s cuff and eying his cravat as if he’s strategizing at a chess board.

“Evgeni.” Sidney says, and something in his tone makes Evgeni’s hands still, and his gaze meet Sidney’s.

“I don’t. I do not expect this of you. Your-- favors, I mean. I would not. Tonight we must share a room so that the marriage is considered legitimate and unable to be annulled, but. You will not have to in future.”

Evgeni’s hands fall away. “You...don’t want?” He asks.

“I—“ Sidney shakes his head. What he wants is immaterial. His wants have been indulged enough.

Evgeni nods sharply and turns, striding to the glass to start tugging at his cravat like it will strangle him if he doesn’t get it off immediately.

“Here, let me,” Sidney says, and moves to untie it for him. He makes the mistake of looking up into Evgeni’s face. His eyes are intense as they bore into Sidney and his mouth is set in a firm line. Can he tell how badly Sidney wants him? Sidney wills his hands not to tremble as he unties the white linen from around Evgeni’s neck, his eyes not to linger on the sweet hollow at the base of his throat that he wants to—

No.

“I would never do anything to hurt you,” he promises, hoping Evgeni believes him.

“Can’t hurt me,” Evgeni says shortly, and Sidney shakes his head. The type of power he has over Evgeni has nothing to do with physical strength, but of birthright and wealth. And, even, Evgeni’s own sense of fealty or honor.

“Yes,” Evgeni says darkly after a long moment, as Sidney moves to the many tiny buttons of his fancy waistcoat. “Maybe, you can.”

Sidney masks a flinch. But it’s good that Evgeni is being reasonable.

“As I said, I will strive with everything in my power to see that you are protected.”

Even from myself, he thinks.

“Thank you, мой господин” Evgeni says woodenly, and the stiff address falls upon Sidney’s heart like ice.

“I said, you can call me Sidney,”

Evgeni just nods, and Sidney leaves him to undress the rest of the way himself.

As he rinses his face at the washstand. Sidney catches sight of Evgeni in the mirror, the fine cloth of his nightshirt made sheer in front of the firelight.The breadth of his shoulders, the graceful lines of his torso, the startlingly sweet curve of his ass. It’s almost worse this way than seeing him naked. He turns to hang something or other over a chair and Sidney’s breath catches at the pronounced swell of—

He tears his eyes away and splashes his face again. Enough.

Sid banks the fire, and goes about the room extinguishing all the candles his servants had lit in an endearing but unnecessary effort to make the room softly lit for a wedding night spent in the more traditional way.

Evgeni is hovering near the bed, glancing between it and Sidney. It pains Sidney to see. Only one night, he tells himself. Evgeni may not like it but it has to be done.

“What is it?” Sidney asks, keeping his voice low, as though soothing a nervous horse.

Evgeni’s face is still set blankly as he motions to the bed. “Which side you like?”

Oh. Sidney hasn’t gotten to the point of considering the practical details of two people sleeping in the same bed.

“Left?” He indicates the side nearest the door. Evgeni nods, then turns down the coverlet on the right. He curls up, surprisingly small for so large a man, with his back to Sidney, as far to the right as possible.

With a painful throbbing of his heart, Sidney gets into bed as well, doing his best not to disturb his husband. He takes his cue from Evgeni, and turns away.

He can still feel Evgeni’s warmth at his back. Evgeni’s breathing is slow, and Sidney can hear the moment it deepens into the unconscious rhythm of sleep.

He closes his eyes, but it is a long, long time before sleep claims him, too. Just before it does, he dimly hears the storm out to sea make good on its threats, heavy rain beginning to pour outside the curtained windows as it makes landfall.

Part 7

[of-muppets-and-men]

The Truth

A Hummingbird thing I wrote for no reason.

It was far too perfect a day for what was about to transpire. The winter storms had finally subsided, letting the sun shine brightly on Patch for the first time in weeks.The blanket of fresh snow remained pristine upon the ground; as if no creature, big or small, wished to break its surface. The surrounding forest laid decorated by ice and frost, the gentle light turning it into a magnificent sight to behold. But even on such a beautiful day and warmed by a crackling hearth, the Xiao Long household remained uneasy.

Summer rose stood alone once again in her friend’s kitchen, solemnly staring out the window to picturesque wilderness. She held a fresh cup of hot cocoa in her off hand, patiently waiting for it to cool. As the minutes ticked by, Summer delicately caressed her ever growing baby bump; doling out a heavy breath with every stroke. It amazed her how much she had swelled since that passion fueled night 3 months ago. What amazed her even further what that Taiyang hadn’t noticed it yet. Guess they’re more benefits to wearing a cloak than meets the eye.

Everything about her pregnancy thus far had been surprisingly manageable. The morning sickness, the aches and pains, all child’s play by comparison to her life as a huntress. Hell, even Professor Port’s lectures had been much worse. No… it was the anticipation that fueled her dread. To finally come clean to Taiyang and tell him the truth. About Qrow… and how she was carrying his child.

The sudden creak of the front door opening drew her gaze away from the window. For a moment, she panicked thinking it was Tai, but was instantly relieved when Qrow stepped into the kitchen. The two shared a warm smile before Summer decided to break the silence.

“Want some cocoa?” she asked lovingly “Water’s still hot.”

“I’d love some” Qrow answered jovially. “Thanks, Smallfry.”

“No Problem Beanstalk.” Summer fired back.

Summer then began darting around the kitchen, fetching what she needed. Qrow took the opportunity to waltz on up and embrace her from behind. He wrapped his arms around her small frame, perching his chin on the top of her head. His hands found themselves nuzzling their baby to be. Summer was pleasantly surprised at how warm her man was, despite him being out in the cold no more than a few minutes ago. She beamed radiantly and let his warmth envelope her; stroking the length of his forearm.

She very much wished this moment could last forever, but knew the world wasn’t so kind. Summer let out a shaky breath and began to pull away. Puzzled, Qrow tugged on her arm.

“Hey, What’s wrong?” He coaxed preemptively.

“Tai’s gonna be back soon.” Summer said bluntly “We probably shouldn’t… at least not until after we tell him.”

The silence that followed seemed to fill the entire room. It was a day they hoped would never come, but Summer’s pregnancy had seen it rushed forward. Now they were mere moments before Tai walked through front door; mere moments before their lie came undone. Summer trembled at the thought. She rushed back into Qrow’s embrace and squeezed him tight, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I’m scared, Qrow. For the first time, I don’t know what to do.”

It was quite the role reversal indeed. Normally it was Qrow stressing over every little thing his semblance could entangle itself in, but now it was his fearless leader coming apart at the seams. The young man took his partner’s hands in his own and did something he never expected from himself: he acted as her emotional support.

“Shhhh, It’s gonna be okay. We’ve made through tough scrapes before. This is just another in a verrrry long list.”

“But he might never forgive us. And Yang, she still needs a mother, Qrow. He might never let us, might never let ME see her again.”

“Hey… Breathe a little. Sum, we owe him the truth, but that doesn’t mean he’s obligated to like it. Tai can push us away all he likes, but that doesn’t change the fact her still needs… well, you. Trust me, we’ll get through this, I promise.”

“That’s not super reassuring.” Summer joked snidely “Especially coming from you.”

“Hmph, Well I guess your optimism is starting to rub off on me.”

His endearing confidence was remarkable comforting to her. In the years being together, Qrow had seldom shown any of the sort. It was nice to know her constant encouragement was paying off. No more Cursed Qrow.

“Summer?! You home?” a voice called from the foyer, “Hello?”

The all too friendly voice made Summer’s heart nearly pop out of her chest. She instinctively reached or more like scrambled for Qrow’s hand. Her tiny hand clenched his as a shaky breath escaped her lungs. Her grip was tight, but Qrow didn’t mind. They two looked at each other one last time before they took the plunge. Their eyes said the same thing; This was it, no more lies. With one last deep breath, Summer found the resolve to speak.

“I’m in here, Tai!” she replied, letting go of Qrow’s hand.

The jovial young man practically pranced into the kitchen, wearing his trademark dopey grin across his face. It somehow managed to stretch even further when he laid eyes upon his best friend, whom he hadn’t seen in ages. Tai nearly tackled Qrow when his leaned in for their “bro-shake” then casually wrapped his arm around Summer.

“Jeez, man why didn’t you tell you coming back?” Tai inquired cheerfully “I would’ve bought beers.”

“It was a pretty sudden thing for me too. But Y’know how Oz is.” Qrow answered stalely, trying to ignore Tai’s arm draped over Summer’s shoulder. “Plus, I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well considered me surprised. How long do you plan on staying?”

“A week or two depending. Oz hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay til he does.”

Each and every word Taiyang spoke felt like a gut punch. He had no idea how much he would regret saying that. Both Summer and Qrow shifted uncomfortably. Reading the situation, Tai grew more and more suspicious of his teammates. In his own unique way, he pointed it out like it was nothing.

“You guys alright? You’ve both been strangely quiet since I got back”

Shit. The one time Tai had to be observant they both thought. Qrow was about ready to conjure up another bullshit excuse, but before he could even open his mouth, Summer had pushed him aside. She shot him a look he’d seen too many times; a look he knew meant ‘let me handle this’. Summer’s fingers began to tremble so hard she clenched them til they went numb. Tai, still waiting on an answer, grew more confused as his friends continued to fumble over themselves.

“Tai.” Summer announced shakily, looking in her friend square in the eye. “I’m pregnant.”

The words echoed off the walls, through the corridors, and in and out of Taiyang’s ears. He just stood there like a stump, the shock sucking the air out of his lungs. Even Qrow wasn’t expecting her to so blunt; given her way of sugarcoating everything, almost literally. The two young men blankly stared at each other for moment, then turned their gaze towards a now sobbing Summer.

“But Sum… we’ve never even… how? … Who?” Taiyang mumbled, still attempting to find his voice.

“I’m sorry, Tai. It’s…”

“Mine.”

Taiyang’s shaky vision shifted towards his best friend. The young crow’s eyes could not do the same as he moved to stand by his lover. Only as he took her hand, did he find the resolve to return the favour. And what he saw would likely haunt him for the rest of his life. His upbeat best friend looked as if he’d been stabbed in the heart, his face drifting between rage and despair. Finally, Taiyang just snapped.

“You fucking piece of bandit shit!” Tai roared while charging at his supposed ‘best friend’. “I TRUSTED YOU!!!!!”

Qrow didn’t even move when Tai slugged him in the jaw. It was no more than he deserved, or at least so he thought. The punch sent Qrow halfway across the kitchen, smacking his head against the wall. The sound of him crashing in the wall reverberated throughout the entire first floor. Thank the Gods Yang was a deep sleeper. Qrow hadn’t bothered to engage his aura, so the impact stung him pretty bad. Everything had happened so quickly, Summer barely had time to react. Snapping back into reality, she rushed to her boyfriend’s side.

“What the shit Tai?! Gods Qrow, are you okay?” Summer said to him, frantically checking his face for bruises.

“Ah god Sum. SUM! Ease up, I’m fine.” Qrow complained, gently batting her hands away.

All the while Summer was tending to a reluctant Qrow, Taiyang fell silent once more. In the singular moment he saw them together, Tai began to understand why Summer never went all the way with him. Reaching into every memory he had with her, it was clear her heart had always belonged to someone else. He supposed the reason why it hurt so earnestly was because he never anticipated it to be his best friend. Now there was just one question left to ask.

“So… how long have you guys been… Well… Y’know.” Tai asked, defeated but curious nonetheless.

“Since Third Year.”

Slipping into an adjacent chair, Tai buried his head into his arms. This was too much. It was like losing Raven all over again. His mind raced, his heart beating out of his chest. He was angry, but couldn’t decide what over. That they’d lied? Kept this from him and Raven for YEARS. Or how they likely would’ve kept it if Summer hadn’t gotten pregnant. Watching him stew over their relationship was heartbreaking. Summer hadn’t stopped weeping the whole time; Qrow hadn’t looked his best friend in the face since the whole ordeal began.

Summer walked over to give a much needed hug, but Tai refused, not wanting to be anywhere near them. With a single word, he ushered his teammates away.

“Leave.”

Summer wanted to object but before she could, Qrow laid his hand on her shoulder.

“C’mon Sum, we should go.” He whispered into her ear “I think he needs to be alone for awhile…”

She hated it when Qrow made a point, but it was true. As much as she wanted comfort him, it wouldn’t do their strained friendship any favours. The pair made their way out the front door, gently shutting it behind them. Leaving Tai to his thoughts and anguish.

The couple walked to their favourite spot in the forest; an old and massive Weeping Willow they’d found after graduation. They often napped in it together, letting the wind set their troubles at ease. Boy, could they use that now. Summer clung to Qrow’s back as he climbed to their usual branch; her half-dried tears rubbing off on his cape. Being the gentleman he was, Qrow let Summer climb on first, then moved to situate himself between her and the trunk.

He rested his hands delicately over her baby bump, while she nuzzled her head into his chest. Summer wiped away the remainder of her tears and sighed loudly.

“Well… That was shit.”

“Hmph, you said it.”

“What? No witty response.”

“Nope. That was about as bad as I expected it to be. Just my luck, right?”

“Our luck.” She corrected.

They chuckled for a moment. It wasn’t often they joked about his semblance together. But back to the more pressing issue of Tai.

“So now what?” Summer asked tentatively.

“No clue.” He answered “I guess we’ll have to wait and see. I doubt he’ll stay mad at you but he might never talk to me again.”

Summer didn’t know if that comforted her or not. But things were already set in motion. Tai knew now, and she had every intention of keeping her baby, regardless of how he felt about it. As much as she cared for Tai, for Yang; she loved Qrow just as much, perhaps even more. Once again her boyfriend was right.

Only time would tell.

[breakdown-impending]

Once and Future Kings and Queens

A young man weaved through the busy streets of London Finchley. He kept his head bowed low as usual harsh whispers followed him as he made his way through the crowds. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when he pushed open the door to the thankfully empty pharmacy. The bell above the door chimed and a voice called out from the back of shop.

‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’  

He pulled a crumpled list out of his pocket and tried to smooth it out against the counter, until he heard the sharp clicking of heals coming closer.

‘Hello, what can I help-’she froze as soon as she saw him her demeanour suddenly became guarded as she eyed him from head to toe. Despite knowing his shirt collar was straight and shirt tucked, her gaze made him feel sloppy and he had to resist straightening his collar again. He could be wearing a crown and she still wouldn’t see past the colour of his skin.

‘I-’ he coughed ‘Sister Joan sent me, from Nazareth House, she sent me to collect Sister Margaret’s usual prescription as well as- Um she gave me a list.’ He held out the list, which she eyed with distain.

Feeling the back of his neck heat up uncomfortably, he placed the list on the counter. She eyed him sternly before picking up the list to examine. ‘Nazareth House?’ she questioned.

‘Yes Miss.’

‘Fresh off the boat are you?’

‘No Miss. I was born here.’

She almost snorted with disbelief. ‘Sister Helen usually comes to collect prescriptions.’

‘Some of the hospitals are short of staff so a few of the sisters have left to volunteer.’

‘And there was no one more suitable to collect these, was the there?’ she sniped.

‘I’m afraid everyone is busy Miss’ he told her honestly.

‘So it seems.’ She scorned. ‘That will be £2 and sixpence.’

Placing the money on the counter, which she snatched off, keeping a stern eye on him she collected the medicine on the list, placing it all into a paper bag, before sliding the bag toward him. He took the bag eager to leave.

‘Young man I’m not sure how things work in your country, but over here we say thank you.’

He swallowed harshly ‘Thank you Miss.’ He told her unable to say anything more before walking out of the store. Sighing, he made his way back through the busy streets.

It was a fair walk back to Nazareth house but once he found himself back in familiar territory he felt he could walk straighter. He knew the people on these streets as well as he knew himself.

He grinned when he saw the children laughing, swinging around the lamppost using skipping ropes they had lashed together.

‘Hello Peter!’ one of them shouted.

‘Jeremy!’ he hollered back grinning.

‘You done with your chores yet?!’

‘Just a few odd jobs still to go.’ Peter replied gesturing to the bag under his arm. ‘I’ll catch you guys later!’ he carried on walking until he reached a familiar building. Nazareth house had certainly seen better days despite the best efforts of the nuns who called it home.

Nazareth House was an orphanage and sister house for London Finchley. There were currently twelve children in care of four sisters. (Well three really Sister Margaret was no longer able to take care of herself never mind anybody else.) There were nine girls and three boys, including peter.

Peter hopped up the steps and shoved the old stiff door open hard with his shoulder.

‘Sister Joan!’ he called out to the head nun of Nazareth house.

It did not take long for her to appear. Looking older than her years Sister Joan was a kind woman who took on responsibilities often larger than her shoulders. None the less she greeted Peter with a smile. ‘Peter did you get everything on the list?’

‘I think so Sister, but I think that pharmacist was ready to lynch me if I stayed much longer to check.’ He handed her the bag which she took frowning.

‘I’m sorry Peter I did not imagine Mrs Tishelle would be hostile.’

‘No more so than anyone else.’  He muttered. ‘But I don’t think I would be welcome back there.’

Sister Joan sighed ‘Well none the less Peter, thank you. Your help has been indispensible these past few months.’

‘It’s really no bother sister.’ Peter mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. It was true that with many of the sisters called away he had taken up extra chores in their absence. But as eldest he felt it was his duty, he was fourteen after all, nearly a man.

‘Still, praise where praise is due Peter.’ She told him with a smile. ‘I better see to Sister Margaret, before she starts looking for me.’ She left in hurriedly in attempt to find the old sister before she became agitated.

Peter turned hoping to catch Jeremy and a couple of the lads. When a screeched made him Jump, spinning around he spotted Sister Bertha storming through the halls. Sister Bertha was not a woman you wanted to cross, with a fuse as short as her stature she didn’t exactly have the virtue of patience.

Unfortunately for Peter she spotted him before he could escape.

‘Where is he?!’ she thundered.

There were only two boys other than Peter and there was only one who dared to test the Hun nun.

‘Edmund?’ he asked cautiously.

‘Yes Edmund!’ she snapped. ‘Who else would have the gall to steal my biscuits!’ she continued to screech.

‘I don’t where Edmund is Sister.’ Peter swore. ‘I’ve been out on errands all morning.’

‘He better hope I don’t catch him. Sister Joan may be soft hearted. But I know that what boy needs is a good thrashing.’ She raved, before storming off in search of her nemesis.

Peter let out the breath he was holding. If Edmund continued pushing his luck, Sister Joan will no longer be able to protect him.

He turned again, hand on the door handle when-

‘Peter!’

Well looks like I’ll see Jeremy tomorrow Peter thought wirily, although this interruption was far more welcome.  

‘Lu!’ he called, spying the bright blonde hair on the upstairs landing. The girl beamed down at him and began to trundle downstairs. Her leg braces squeaking as she went. Out of all the children at Nazareth house, Lucy was his hands down favourite. All the other children who had come through these doors and all been wary of him at first, and sure most of them warmed up to him eventually, Lucy an exception, he could remember her asking him with watery blue eyes to read her a story on the very first night she stayed here. They had been fast friends ever since.

She stumbled slightly on the next step and Peter rushed forward to catch her, only for her to right herself and huff ‘I don’t need help.’ as she continued unaided down the stairs. Lucy was a kind girl who all the sisters (bar Sister Bertha, but there really was no pleasing her.)

When she reached him she threw her arms around him and muttered darkly into his shirt ‘You have to save me from Susan.’

‘LU!’ he guffawed. ‘Is she using you as a life-size doll again?’

‘Worse’ she told him seriously. ‘She’s trying to get me to tidy our room.’

‘The nerve of her.’

Lucy giggled. ‘It will just get messy again tomorrow.’ She tried to reason.

‘You know Susan likes everything in-, order.’ Peter told her ‘Just let her get on with and keep your things tidy as best you can.’

Susan was Peter’s oldest friend; they had known each other since Susan was five and had found a bond with each other. Being the only two children who looked different to all the others they shared an understanding. Whereas Peter was dark of skin and hair Susan was of Vietnamese decent. (Not Chinese as she loathed reminding people.) Neither fit the ideal of an average British family, hence why the pair were the oldest children of Nazareth house.

Susan was a clever girl, although she struggled with school work, and very pretty with long dark hair that never seemed to fall out of place. She could be terribly bossy but it was usually done with the best of intentions, so was easier to forgive.

‘I’ll try Peter.’ Lucy told him earnestly.

‘At a girl! Come on let’s see if there’s anything good on the wireless.’ She nodded following him to the small lounge. Unfortunately for Peter as soon as he opened the door a trap was sprung.

A bucket of water that had been left on precariously just above the door tumbled down clunking him on the head and soaking him through to the skin. He growled, shaking his arms in attempt to somewhat dry himself.

‘Peter, are you alright?’ Lucy asked worriedly, having been behind Peter she had been spared the brunt of it, with only a few splashes of water on her skirt.

‘I’m fine Lu.’ He muttered pushing his dripping wet hair back.

‘What’s going on?’ A voice called from behind them. ‘Oh Peter you’re dripping water everywhere!’ Susan scolded.

‘Edmund’s been very busy today.’  That was all the explanation he needed to give her.

She huffed ‘Go get changed, Lucy and I will clear this up.’ She ordered before marching off, leaving Lucy no choice but to scamper after her.

Peter huffed and was about to do just as Susan ordered, when he spied something on the floor. Kneeling down he examined it more carefully, just as he thought biscuit crumbs.

‘I know your there Edmund.’ He called out to the seemingly empty room. ‘You would never miss the chance to watch one of your horrible tricks in action.’ Peter stalked the room peeking around the curtains and under the sofa. ‘If that had fallen on Sister Margaret you could have really hurt her.’ There was no sign of the freckled boy and Peter was running out of places to check. There was only the dresser left, throwing open the bottom cabinets he was disappointed to find them empty.

Slamming the doors shut, Peter stormed off. If only he had looked up he would have seen the freckled boy munching away on the last digestive on his perch on top of the large cabinet, wearing a triumphant smirk.

[creativity-is-rebellion]

The First Chapter of My Novel, “Sunshine State Limbo”

The longer you stay in one place, the greater your chances of disillusionment

     -Art Spander

Chapter One - Same Place, Different Year

     The outside air of the day was unbearably stifling, with the searing mid-February heat bearing down relentlessly and crushing me under the denseness of its touch. My heavy fringe clung stubbornly to my forehead in drenched, jet-black clumps, assisted by the several beads of sweat that had already accumulated there. My whole body, languid with exhaustion, felt as if it were ready to melt into a watery puddle on the university side-walk, and then evaporate into thin air with one last sullen and defiant hiss.

     Yawning sleepily, I scanned the lively campus with my jaded green eyes. There now seemed to be such an endless conflagration of first-year students cluttering the sidewalks, grass areas, and building entrances that it reminded me of being in the midst of a river where the salmon are haplessly attempting to swim upstream. High up in the birch trees that formed a circle around the courtyard I was seated in, cicadas sung their mating calls in rhythmic, droning sounds, as if daring me to lie down, close my eyes, and shut out the world.

     “Check it out, Tanya,” one of my best friends, Miranda, who was seated next to me behind the booth, leaned in and hissed vehemently, interrupting my private reverie. She ran her hand through her brightly-dyed red hair and shook her head disapprovingly.

     “What is it?” I questioned, alarmed by the thinly-veiled sound of contempt in her voice.

     “First-years everywhere,” she continued, gesticulating to the burgeoning crowd. “It’s unbelievable, they’re just like rats. Where’s the Pied Piper when you need him?”

     She let out a dark laugh.

     I glanced around slowly at the array of well-dressed adolescents stretched out before us in a steady line, and then back at Miranda, making a face as I did so. I had to admit that it was a typical orientation week here at the University of Queensland, and exceedingly boring on account of it being the fifth one in a row I had now attended. But at least now I had something to distract me from my drowsiness.

     “I know,” I agreed. “It’s like I’ve just entered the Seventh Circle of Hell. The stifling heat here today just makes it even more official.”

     Miranda’s dark brown eyes lit up warmly, appreciating my sardonic reply.

     “Oh, come on, you two, what did you expect?” Kit, my other best friend, who was standing under an umbrella to protect her alabaster skin from the blazing sun, queried in her strong, South-London accent. She glanced up from her phone, which she had been staring at incessantly, alternating between Instagram and Facebook. “I mean, it is, after all, orientation week.”

     “I know, I know,” Miranda insisted energetically. “It’s just that I despise first-years. They’re always so well-dressed, and come in this neat, labelled eighteen-year-old package, fresh from mummy and daddy’s house. It annoys the crap out of me.”

     She started scratching distractedly at her bright blue, chipped nail-polish, letting the shards fall carelessly into her lap before sweeping the contents onto the gravelled ground, a mass of blue speckles forming around her feet.

     “Well, at least we don’t have to do another year after this one. I can’t imagine how it must feel to have to repeat a year,” Kit responded thoughtlessly.

     Miranda’s almond-shaped eyes widened as I fell into a stony silence and Kit realised what she had said.

     “Shit, sorry Tanya, that wasn’t a dig at you, I promise. Sometimes words just come out of my mouth before I have a chance to think. Forgive me?”

     After a moment I nodded wordlessly, even though I was still troubled by Kit’s words. First-years annoyed me too, but mostly because I felt that my perceived failures were drastically accentuated by their overall sense of promise. I’m a psychology student who should have graduated from my degree last year; however, due to having experienced my second quarter-life crisis at the ripe old age of twenty-two (and much to my parent’s chagrin) I’m still here. At the end of last year, I had to watch people I had known since the beginning of my degree graduate, while I languished in academic limbo. The only reason why my friends are still here is because all their degrees take five years to complete, which is a small mercy, as it would be doubly as awful if I had to make new friends at this late stage in my university career. I had to admit I felt incredibly disappointed in myself, especially because it wasn’t always like this. I have always felt with every fibre of my being that I was destined to really do something atypical with my life. That’s why I have always felt the urgency of now. But I’m so keyed up all the time, hampered down by things big and small, significant and trite. I feel torn in so many directions at once.

     When I was younger, people always said that I was the person that was supposed to “go places”. I grew up in a quiet little town and went to a small school, however, when we graduated, it was my seventy other class-mates that voted for me as the person most likely to succeed. I had felt stifled in so many ways at school, and as such had believed that at university, I could finally embrace my destiny. I had convinced myself that success and recognition eagerly awaited me. Each of these triumphant words had resounded in my head like some awe-inspiring choir, singing exaltations of my promising future.  It was my fate. However, I could now feel myself collapsing under the pressure of these expectations, with so many metaphorical opportunities slipping through my fingers like so much water. As such, I irrationally half-expected all these first-years that were here today to leave this damned place before me as well.

    “Could it be that you’re all just a little bit jealous?” Miranda’s boyfriend, Hamish, broke his silence, regarding us earnestly with his large, hazel-green eyes. “There’s no reason to be too critical. You have to remember that you were probably just like them when you first came here.”

     Miranda whacked Hamish playfully on the arm, but with enough force that he flinched, and Kit chuckled quietly to herself, before exchanging a meaningful glance with me.

     “Excuse me, but I was never like them!” Miranda exclaimed, clearly insulted. “I can’t really imagine that you were either, Hamish. So, save the pep-talk, okay?”

     Her dark eyes glittered dangerously, a clear signal that she was ready to pounce at the first sign of protest.

     “Okay, point taken,” Hamish conceded, after a moment of thought, clearly choosing the safer path. “But if you don’t like first-years, then why’d you sign up for this gig?”

     “For the same reason everyone else here today did. Twenty-five dollars an hour, baby. For six hours. Who wouldn’t? Nothing else is going to pay my share of the rent this month.”

     I smiled and shook my head. Miranda always had a very direct way of putting things. This was one of the many reasons she was my closest friend.

     At the end of last semester, we had all signed up to work in an information booth for the entire duration of orientation week, distributing catalogues and advice to new students about the various sports and social clubs that the university encouraged students to sign up for through their union. They offered everything, from the tennis club, to the medieval club, to the underwater hockey club. Hamish had worked here three years in a row, and, according to his experience, the majority of students signed up for these clubs eagerly enough, but after a few weeks, when their fervour had died down, most tended to quit, even if they had paid a substantially high fee to join. Last year, there was approximately a sixty percent drop-out rate, which was the equivalent of how many students actually deferred their degrees that same year. Logically, this year would be no exception, for, as we have all agreed, and as so-called experts have discussed, people around our age did not seem to be widely known for their tenacity.

     I myself am a member of the philosophy club. We meet up once a month and discuss various prominent philosophers, both past and present. Initially, I joined not only because I enjoy discussing numerous philosophical ideals, but also due to the fact that, when I arrived as a new student, I wanted to be a member of at least one club in order to reduce my feelings of isolation and make some friends, but I was quite short on money. Their entry fee, however, was the cheapest on campus: one cask of cheap red wine. Since then, though, I’ve come to really enjoy myself during their lively once-a-month meetings, and recently became the club’s vice-president.

     The unforgiving heat of the day continued on as I downed my fifth glass of water. Deciding I needed some shade from the blazing sun, I slumped down into the nearest deck chair, which was situated under the large blue beach umbrella, emblazoned with the university’s monogram, which Kit had been pacing up and down under. Shading my eyes, I turned to Kit, who was now perched daintily on the top of the drink cooler, and was visibly bored, staring absent-mindedly into space.

     “Where’s Scott?” I inquired, somewhat half-heartedly. Even he had graduated before me, I thought, depressingly.

     I felt a little ashamed to admit that I had only just noticed he wasn’t there. Scott was Kit’s boyfriend, and my least favourite person in our group. His father was one of Brisbane’s foremost property developers, a point he endlessly bragged about. As such, Scott was a spoilt rich kid who had always gotten what he wanted. He was a year older than the rest of us, and had graduated from a double-degree in law and business management the year before, with dreams of one day sitting at the head of his father’s company, which had now expanded to Tokyo in Japan. Furthermore, he always flirted outrageously with any pretty girl who so much as glanced his way, and had cheated on Kit several times. Needless to say, Scott was, in my general estimation, a complete arsehole. In fact, no-one in our group, apart from Kit, obviously, really liked Scott. We tolerated him at best, and avoided him at worst. Both Scott and his father spoke fluent Japanese, even though they were both white Australians. I personally felt that this trait was Scott’s only redeeming feature, which didn’t really say much. In any case, he was probably just as unlikeable when he spoke Japanese as he was when he spoke English. Jerk is decipherable in all languages, and rarely needs translation.

     “I told you several days ago,” she said, with a hint of frustration entering her usually calm voice. “He has to sit in on a meeting with his father’s company because his dad’s on business in Sweden. He keeps complaining that he won’t be able to see me again for at least another three weeks, as he must oversee the company’s affairs.”

     Miranda, Hamish, and I all exchanged dubious glances.

     “It was so sweet when he spoke to me on the phone last night, he said he missed me so much,” Kit continued happily, before adding, “Three weeks is just too long.”

     On a point that had been much debated-upon within our clique recently (obviously when Kit was not present), Hamish, Miranda, and I had come to the conclusion that the main reason Kit stayed with Scott was because she felt so important talking about him. She was clearly in awe of both his position and wealth, perhaps because she herself possessed neither of these attributes growing up. Sometimes, the way she talked about him made you half-wonder if she was actually dating the Australian-Japanese-Swedish-whatever equivalent of the future president of the United States of America.

     While Kit wasn’t looking, Miranda and I exchanged glances, with Miranda mouthing “Bullshit” to me mutely. Unable to keep silent, I laughed audibly.

     “What?” Kit questioned, raising one arched and defiant eyebrow in my direction. “It’s true,” she insisted.

     “Oh, I don’t doubt you,” I said, trying to come up with an alternative reason for laughing. “I was just laughing at....at Lukas,” I stammered.

     Lukas was a post-graduate law student, and our supervisor for the day. As he had been bestowed with such an honoured title, he had taken it as a cue to run the program like a Gestapo agent. Kit arched her eyebrow at me even more dubiously. Miranda and Hamish chuckled at what was quickly turning out to be a failed attempt at recovery. Nevertheless, I pushed on.

     “He looks so humorous when he’s solemn, don’t you think?” I queried.

     Lukas was busy standing with his hands on his hips at the booth set up opposite ours, making sure the free pizza and soft drink was being dispersed amongst the growing queue evenly and in an orderly fashion, his face wearing a look of pure concentration.

     It was working. Phew, I thought to myself, I was lucky with that one!!

     Kit glanced over and smirked, hiding the obviously-upturned corners of her mouth behind her dainty hands. “That’s hilarious and sad at the same time. He’s taking his job waaaay too seriously.”

     I turned away, but it was already too late. He’d spotted us while we were doing next to nothing.

     “Shit, here he comes.”

     In saying that, everyone looked over at Lukas, who was marching toward us, his thick, dark eyebrows creased into a deep frown.

     “Oh great,” Kit muttered. “He looks like a thunder-cloud.”

     Lukas stopped right in front of our booth, wearing a look of complete exasperation.

     “Why are you guys slacking off?” he yelled. “It’s not the end of the day yet. The university doesn’t pay you twenty-five dollars an hour to just sit there and do nothing. Look busy! Now!”

     We all sat in stunned silence for a minute. I was the first to speak.

     “C’mon, give us a break, Lukas, it’s so freakin’ hot today. I’m dy-iiing,” I emphasised dramatically, sinking further down into my chair.

     My gaze was met with a hard stare. “It’s Brisbane. You’ve all been here enough summers by now to know what it’s like. Get used to it already. Everyone else is working.”

     Miranda’s eyes widened in disbelief. “So, like, we’re not even allowed a mini-break?”

     “That was what lunch was for,” Lukas stated coldly, before adding in a dangerously low voice, “Listen, it’s like this: you can all either get up off your chairs, tables, or whatever else you have chosen to park your arses on, and start handing out the pamphlets that were given to you at the beginning of the day, or you can all go home, and you won’t be paid for the full day, are we clear? It’s as simple as that.”

     After Lukas finished his tirade, he straightened up and folded his arms, clearly feeling triumphant. I saw red. My initial reaction was that I wanted to permanently wipe the smirk that was lingering at the corners of his crooked mouth off his face, however, after a second, I thought better of it, and instead exploded by unloading a barrage of words.

     “Fine! We’ll all just leave, then! Screw you and your unfair working conditions.”

     “Oh, Tanya, when are you and your friends going to grow up?” Lukas sneered condescendingly.

     “Being ‘grown up’ has got nothing to do with it,” I stated fervently, emphasising the ‘grown up’ by using my index fingers as inverted commas. “We are entitled to a break. It’s the law. You of all people should know that. My friends and I won’t be treated like garbage just because we need the money.”

     I promptly rose from my seat and stormed off, leaving behind a stunned, spluttering, and red-faced Lukas. I guess I just really don’t respond well to people who like to throw their weight around.

     My friends also got up from their resting places in quick succession, pushing past Lukas and following after me in stunned silence.

     “Great,” Miranda grumbled, breaking the silence after they had finally caught up with me. “What are we going to do now?”

     Hamish shrugged. “I don’t know. Hopefully there’ll be another way to pay the rent this month.”

     Miranda let out an exasperated sigh. “Not about that, genius, I mean what are we going to do with the rest of our afternoon?”

     Kit grinned, looking down at the ground. “And they say the longer you’ve been together as a couple, the more likely it is that you are on each other’s wavelengths. By the way, I guess you resigned us from that job, Tanya.”

     I shrugged my thin but broad shoulders. “I guess I did.”

     Hamish and Kit laughed.

     “I guess ‘they’ say a lot of things,” Miranda ranted, ignoring the last two comments. “Who would have thought ‘they’ could be so wrong? I think if you paid me to do research like that I could come up with better results than ‘they’ ever did.”

     “Perhaps,” Kit stated, by way of gaining a painless closure. She knows from past experience that Miranda and Hamish’s frequently obvious lack of compatibility is a sore point in their relationship.

     “Yeah. So what are we going to do now?,” Miranda repeated.

     All eyes turned to me.

     “What?”

     “Well, you were the one who quit first,” Kit articulated all too correctly.

     I sighed. “Good point, but, to be honest, I don’t know. It’s not exactly like I planned this thing out. It was kind of an impulse thing”

     “Let’s go to the mall,” Miranda suggested.

     “Yeah,” Kit said, her ice-blue eyes suddenly brightening. “It’s Friday night. Which means only one thing: late night shopping.”

     Hamish made a face. “Queen Street? The only thing worse than first-year university students has got to be idiotic high school students, and there are plenty of them there.”

     I didn’t really feel inclined to go, either. Being in a mall when you haven’t got any money makes you feel rather like a lactose-intolerant person that has been invited out to an ice-cream parlour. You can look, but you really, really shouldn’t touch.

     Miranda turned to Hamish again, clearly aggravated. “Well, do you have any better suggestions?”

     Hamish thought for a second and shook his head, his wavy, dark blonde hair sweeping away from his face.

     Miranda held her head up in victory. “So, it’s decided, then.”

     Kit nodded her head vigourously, while Hamish and I exchanged glances and finally consented, albeit reluctantly.

     “Okay,” Miranda asserted. “But we should leave my car parked here; it’s too expensive to park in the city.”

     “I know,” Kit agreed. “I once had to pay $50 for two hours because I was parked at the casino.”

     “And that was before you lost $300 at the Black Jack table. What a rip-off,” I continued, grinning mischievously.

     “What was that?,” Kit said, clearly not catching my joke.

     “Oh, nothing,” I said, still smiling to myself. “Let’s go.”

     And with that, we all headed off in the direction of the university bus-station, talking non-stop as we walked.

    Ah, I thought to myself as we made our way to the campus bus terminals. Same place, different year.

[quiltdeer52-blog]

Cranberry Bliss Bars

Tis’ the season for Cranberry Bliss Bars! So first of all let me preface this blog post by mentioning that I could house an entire box of Starbucks Cranberry Bliss Bars to myself. In one sitting. They are one of my all-time favorites. So I decided to make a gluten-free, grain-free, copycat version because why the hell not?! It’s Christmas!

Okay so another thing I should maybe mention is that I’m obsessed with Christmas. Like OBSESSED obsessed. I put my tree up the day after Thanksgiving and I’ve had eggnog in my fridge since late September. What?! I can’t help it. Christmas is the best. Mainly because everything is covered in lights, Uggs are acceptable footwear, scarves are the best accessory, and the baking is on point. Oh man is the baking on point. Not only is baking so fun and delicious, but then you can also use the heat from the oven to heat your house, so it’s kind of like you’re saving money. Is it? No, it’s not, but just go with it.

So I also have been meaning to write a follow up to my July blog post about how I quit drinking for 8 months. Oh, you haven’t read that post yet? Well let’s go ahead and pause here so you can get caught up. It’s fine, I’ll wait…

And we’re back. So lots of you wonderful blog readers have reached out wondering, “What the heck Vanessa, are you a full-blown alcoholic again after your Honeymoon, or what? The people are dying to know.” So let’s go ahead and get right on into it, here’s my recap: I drank on our Honeymoon, I had champagne, piña coladas, dirty martinis, the works. I really enjoyed myself and I was surprisingly not hungover at all. I think the most drinks I had in one day would be about 4 though, so it’s not like I was a college girl after finals or anything.

I definitely felt and still feel myself sliding back in though. As I type this it’s only be 6 days since I’ve had a drink. After vacation ended I stayed sober until I visited a friend in San Francisco for my birthday (about a month total) and then I didn’t drink at all the month of October, I did a “Sober October” to try and get my sh!t together. Then November came in hot! I’ve basically drank every weekend in November, usually 3-4 drinks, sometimes in one day, sometimes over the whole weekend. We visited family in Tucson earlier in the month, then I had a friend in town, and then it was Thanksgiving…blah blah blah excuses, excuses. So I basically feel like someone who is walking up a steep hill and then every few feet or so, I slide back down part of the way. I believe “a slippery slope” is the easier and technical way to say that right? Ugh. See. Alcohol makes you dumb. Even after 6 days without it.

The original plan was to only drink on Holidays, special occasions, or when it’s really worth it. That plan has proven much harder to stick to than I originally thought it would. I think I just want to be one of those “in moderation” people so bad that I’m like, “Oh yeah, totally, I can make that work.” I’m still going to earnestly give that route a try because it makes the most sense to me. So the goal now is to make it until Christmas Eve without a drink and then start fresh in the New Year and go as long as I can again.

Each time I drink now I make a conscious effort to really ask myself, “What is it about this that I think I like so much?” because to be completely honest, the last few times I’ve gotten buzzed, it’s given me a sort of nervous paranoid anxiety that made me feel like, “I don’t like this, I feel uncomfortably fuzzy, I can’t articulate what I’m trying to say to this person, and I feel like everyone knows I’m drunk.” but then I still continue to do it anyway.  Why? Is it to just check out of reality for a second? Or make things more challenging just for the fun of it? What is it? I’m still trying to figure this out.

On our 6 hour road trip to Tucson, Brad and I played the New York Times 36 Questions to Love which you are actually supposed to play with someone you’ve never met, but I thought it would be a good way to kill time. We’re married, so obviously we already knew a lot of the answers to the questions about each other, but it was still fun and there were actually quite a few that we didn’t know about each other. Like Question 1. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest? He said me! Isn’t he the best?! That’s why I married him, but then I made him pick someone else besides me and he said Jesus. Which I thought was strange since he doesn’t believe in God, but anyway that’s another blog post for another time.

Fast forward to Question 12. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be? His answer was amazing, he said, “I’d wake up without any vices.” Well, wow, that got me thinking (mainly because my answer was something dumb like be invisible or be able to sing) what causes us to have vices or need vices? Is that why I think I’m entitled to a drink whenever I want one? Is it because we live in a world where we feel entitled to our vices? Like we’ve earned them?

So I guess the Cliff’s Notes version of this blog post is I’ve realized I don’t particularly enjoy drinking that much anymore, but I’m still doing it anyway, and I have no idea why. Maybe I need therapy?! Or maybe I just need to read This Naked Mind again. Then the other part of me is like, who cares, YOLO, just drink and be merry. It’s the quintessential angel and devil on each shoulder.

So knowing what I know now, would I have still chosen to drink on my honeymoon or would I have continued my non-drinking stretch? The answer is yes, I would have still drank regardless. I enjoyed having piña coladas in St. Barth’s and having expensive champagne on my wedding night in St. Maarten, and drinking a cocktail as I watched the sun set over Anguilla. Yes. I’d do it again and again. It was part of the experience for me, and while it’s true that I know I would have had just as much fun without it, I still liked the feeling of just letting my hair down and completely indulging with no guilt. Just like you’re supposed to do on vacation.

As someone who rarely lets their hair down, meaning that figuratively rather than literally, because I’ve actually been wearing my hair down a lot lately, as I feel a workout bun is just not an appropriate way to present myself to society, no matter how convenient it may be and I spend way too much money cutting and coloring my hair to just throw it up so no one can see. I’m rambling aren’t I, where were we again? 

Ah! Letting my figurative hair down felt really nice and carefree. And since I’m an abstainer, it’s hard for me to get out of the drinking cycle, if I’m still drinking on weekends. Are you as confused as I am? It’s hard getting all of your random thoughts and feelings into one concise point or blog post, so forgive me if this post seems scattered. I blame the alcohol obviously. 😉

I’m excited to see what 2018 has in store! I’m excited to get off the drink again and get back to that place where I was living my best life and things weren’t so foggy. As much as our society worships alcohol, I think there is really something to be said about living an alcohol-free life. It’s charming almost, simple and charismatic.

So anywho! That’s that. The married life rules too in case you were wondering. I love it! Everyone I tell that to says, “Oh well enjoy it while you can, that will change real soon!” Um, excuse me, that’s not nice. Be nice. Speaking of being nice, you absolutely have to make these copycat Cranberry Bliss Bars because they are just too delicious not to, they are very nice. So nice in fact that I think Santa took them off the ‘Naughty’ list just for you.

12 tablespoons (170 g) salted butter, browned

2 cups (184 g) sifted fine grain blanched almond flour

1/4 cup (40 g) coconut flour

1½ teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon cream of tartar

¼ teaspoon fine-grain sea salt

¼ teaspoon ground ginger

1 cup (135 g) sifted maple sugar

2 large eggs, room temperature

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup (6 oz./180 g) white chocolate, chips or chopped

½ cup (70g) dried cranberries

16 ounces (452g) cream cheese, softened (see Notes for dairy-free option)

8 tablespoons (112g) unsalted butter, softened

1 cup (115g) (70g) powdered sugar, or sifted maple sugar

¼ cup (60ml) light-colored raw honey

1 teaspoon orange extract

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

½ cup (50g) finely chopped dried cranberries, for garnish

½ cup (90g) white chocolate, chips or chopped, for garnish

Brown the butter by placing it in a medium-sized heavy-bottomed saucepan (2.5qt./2.3L) and cook over medium-low heat. Stir intermittently using a rubber spatula. As the butter melts it will start to bubble and foam. As the butter continues to brown, the color will turn from lemon yellow to amber and go from a loud bubble to quiet simmer. When the butter is ready, brown specks will have formed at the bottom of the pan and some will start rise in the foam. The butter will also have a very pleasant nutty aroma. Remove from the heat and let cool for about 15 minutes. While butter is cooling prepare other ingredients.

In a large mixing bowl combine the almond flour, coconut flour, baking soda, cream of tartar, ground ginger, and salt. Stir together using a fork until well combined; set aside. In a separate medium mixing bowl add the maple sugar.

Once the butter has cooled, use a rubber spatula to transfer it into the maple sugar bowl, use the spatula to scrape in the browned bits as well. Beat together the butter and sugar with an electric mixer on low speed until combined, about 1 minute. Once the butter and sugar are mixed together, add eggs one at a time, mixing well after each, and then add the vanilla. Increase mixer speed to high and continue to beat until smooth bubbles appear on the surface, about 1 minute.

Transfer the wet egg mixture to the dry mixture. Use the spatula to scrape out any remaining liquid in the bowl. Beat on low until thoroughly combined. Then mix in the white chocolate and cranberries by hand. Scrape the dough down into the bowl and cover with plastic wrap, pressing directly on the surface. Place in the freezer to chill for one hour.

About 15 minutes before the hour is up, adjust oven rack to the middle position. Preheat the oven to 350°F (177°C). Line a 9x13 quarter sheet pan with parchment paper; set aside.

Once the dough is chilled, use fingertips to grab some dough and spread the dough evenly across the pan. Place a piece of parchment paper over the dough and roll out until the dough reaches the edges of the pan. It will rise during baking. Bake for 22-25 minutes or until browned on the top and edges and a toothpick comes out clean. Make sure the middle is cooked through completely. Cool completely before frosting.

Add the cream cheese and butter to a large mixing bowl or to the bowl of a stand mixer. Beat together using a hand mixer or stand mixer set on medium speed until fluffy and combined. Gradually add the sugar, beating well after each addition. Then add the honey, vanilla, and orange extract and continue to mix until smooth and creamy.

Use an angled frosting spatula to spread the frosting across the cookie layer. To garnish, sprinkle the dried cranberries across the frosting.

Melt the white chocolate in the top pan of a double boiler over simmering water. Stir until smooth. Another method is to place the white chocolate in a large glass or metal mixing bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water. Stir intermittently, using a rubber spatula, until the white chocolate is completely melted. Once melted, let slightly cool, then transfer to a piping bag or re-sealable plastic bag with the corner cut off. Drizzle across the top of the frosting.

Use a sharp large chef’s knife to cut into 12 squares, wiping the blade after each cut. Then cut each square in half diagonally. Serve immediately. Store any leftovers covered in the refrigerator for up to 4 days.

To make these dairy-free, sub ghee for the butter (I recommend Tin Star Browned Butter Ghee or 4th Heart Ghee) and sub dairy-free cream cheese for the cream cheese in the frosting. Kite Hill makes a great dairy-free cream cheese and you can find their products in health food stores across the country. Omit white chocolate chips or use a dairy-free version.

Clean Eating with a Dirty Mind http://cleaneatingwithadirtymind.com/

December 1, 2017 | 17 Comments

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Tags: Bars, Cookies, Eggnog, Holidays, Paleo Desserts

Source: http://cleaneatingwithadirtymind.com/2017/12/01/cranberry-bliss-bars/

[drakefridge44-blog]

Cranberry Bliss Bars

Tis’ the season for Cranberry Bliss Bars! So first of all let me preface this blog post by mentioning that I could house an entire box of Starbucks Cranberry Bliss Bars to myself. In one sitting. They are one of my all-time favorites. So I decided to make a gluten-free, grain-free, copycat version because why the hell not?! It’s Christmas!

Okay so another thing I should maybe mention is that I’m obsessed with Christmas. Like OBSESSED obsessed. I put my tree up the day after Thanksgiving and I’ve had eggnog in my fridge since late September. What?! I can’t help it. Christmas is the best. Mainly because everything is covered in lights, Uggs are acceptable footwear, scarves are the best accessory, and the baking is on point. Oh man is the baking on point. Not only is baking so fun and delicious, but then you can also use the heat from the oven to heat your house, so it’s kind of like you’re saving money. Is it? No, it’s not, but just go with it.

So I also have been meaning to write a follow up to my July blog post about how I quit drinking for 8 months. Oh, you haven’t read that post yet? Well let’s go ahead and pause here so you can get caught up. It’s fine, I’ll wait…

And we’re back. So lots of you wonderful blog readers have reached out wondering, “What the heck Vanessa, are you a full-blown alcoholic again after your Honeymoon, or what? The people are dying to know.” So let’s go ahead and get right on into it, here’s my recap: I drank on our Honeymoon, I had champagne, piña coladas, dirty martinis, the works. I really enjoyed myself and I was surprisingly not hungover at all. I think the most drinks I had in one day would be about 4 though, so it’s not like I was a college girl after finals or anything.

I definitely felt and still feel myself sliding back in though. As I type this it’s only be 6 days since I’ve had a drink. After vacation ended I stayed sober until I visited a friend in San Francisco for my birthday (about a month total) and then I didn’t drink at all the month of October, I did a “Sober October” to try and get my sh!t together. Then November came in hot! I’ve basically drank every weekend in November, usually 3-4 drinks, sometimes in one day, sometimes over the whole weekend. We visited family in Tucson earlier in the month, then I had a friend in town, and then it was Thanksgiving…blah blah blah excuses, excuses. So I basically feel like someone who is walking up a steep hill and then every few feet or so, I slide back down part of the way. I believe “a slippery slope” is the easier and technical way to say that right? Ugh. See. Alcohol makes you dumb. Even after 6 days without it.

The original plan was to only drink on Holidays, special occasions, or when it’s really worth it. That plan has proven much harder to stick to than I originally thought it would. I think I just want to be one of those “in moderation” people so bad that I’m like, “Oh yeah, totally, I can make that work.” I’m still going to earnestly give that route a try because it makes the most sense to me. So the goal now is to make it until Christmas Eve without a drink and then start fresh in the New Year and go as long as I can again.

Each time I drink now I make a conscious effort to really ask myself, “What is it about this that I think I like so much?” because to be completely honest, the last few times I’ve gotten buzzed, it’s given me a sort of nervous paranoid anxiety that made me feel like, “I don’t like this, I feel uncomfortably fuzzy, I can’t articulate what I’m trying to say to this person, and I feel like everyone knows I’m drunk.” but then I still continue to do it anyway.  Why? Is it to just check out of reality for a second? Or make things more challenging just for the fun of it? What is it? I’m still trying to figure this out.

On our 6 hour road trip to Tucson, Brad and I played the New York Times 36 Questions to Love which you are actually supposed to play with someone you’ve never met, but I thought it would be a good way to kill time. We’re married, so obviously we already knew a lot of the answers to the questions about each other, but it was still fun and there were actually quite a few that we didn’t know about each other. Like Question 1. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest? He said me! Isn’t he the best?! That’s why I married him, but then I made him pick someone else besides me and he said Jesus. Which I thought was strange since he doesn’t believe in God, but anyway that’s another blog post for another time.

Fast forward to Question 12. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be? His answer was amazing, he said, “I’d wake up without any vices.” Well, wow, that got me thinking (mainly because my answer was something dumb like be invisible or be able to sing) what causes us to have vices or need vices? Is that why I think I’m entitled to a drink whenever I want one? Is it because we live in a world where we feel entitled to our vices? Like we’ve earned them?

So I guess the Cliff’s Notes version of this blog post is I’ve realized I don’t particularly enjoy drinking that much anymore, but I’m still doing it anyway, and I have no idea why. Maybe I need therapy?! Or maybe I just need to read This Naked Mind again. Then the other part of me is like, who cares, YOLO, just drink and be merry. It’s the quintessential angel and devil on each shoulder.

So knowing what I know now, would I have still chosen to drink on my honeymoon or would I have continued my non-drinking stretch? The answer is yes, I would have still drank regardless. I enjoyed having piña coladas in St. Barth’s and having expensive champagne on my wedding night in St. Maarten, and drinking a cocktail as I watched the sun set over Anguilla. Yes. I’d do it again and again. It was part of the experience for me, and while it’s true that I know I would have had just as much fun without it, I still liked the feeling of just letting my hair down and completely indulging with no guilt. Just like you’re supposed to do on vacation.

As someone who rarely lets their hair down, meaning that figuratively rather than literally, because I’ve actually been wearing my hair down a lot lately, as I feel a workout bun is just not an appropriate way to present myself to society, no matter how convenient it may be and I spend way too much money cutting and coloring my hair to just throw it up so no one can see. I’m rambling aren’t I, where were we again? 

Ah! Letting my figurative hair down felt really nice and carefree. And since I’m an abstainer, it’s hard for me to get out of the drinking cycle, if I’m still drinking on weekends. Are you as confused as I am? It’s hard getting all of your random thoughts and feelings into one concise point or blog post, so forgive me if this post seems scattered. I blame the alcohol obviously. 😉

I’m excited to see what 2018 has in store! I’m excited to get off the drink again and get back to that place where I was living my best life and things weren’t so foggy. As much as our society worships alcohol, I think there is really something to be said about living an alcohol-free life. It’s charming almost, simple and charismatic.

So anywho! That’s that. The married life rules too in case you were wondering. I love it! Everyone I tell that to says, “Oh well enjoy it while you can, that will change real soon!” Um, excuse me, that’s not nice. Be nice. Speaking of being nice, you absolutely have to make these copycat Cranberry Bliss Bars because they are just too delicious not to, they are very nice. So nice in fact that I think Santa took them off the ‘Naughty’ list just for you.

12 tablespoons (170 g) salted butter, browned

2 cups (184 g) sifted fine grain blanched almond flour

1/4 cup (40 g) coconut flour

1½ teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon cream of tartar

¼ teaspoon fine-grain sea salt

¼ teaspoon ground ginger

1 cup (135 g) sifted maple sugar

2 large eggs, room temperature

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup (6 oz./180 g) white chocolate, chips or chopped

½ cup (70g) dried cranberries

16 ounces (452g) cream cheese, softened (see Notes for dairy-free option)

8 tablespoons (112g) unsalted butter, softened

1 cup (115g) (70g) powdered sugar, or sifted maple sugar

¼ cup (60ml) light-colored raw honey

1 teaspoon orange extract

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

½ cup (50g) finely chopped dried cranberries, for garnish

½ cup (90g) white chocolate, chips or chopped, for garnish

Brown the butter by placing it in a medium-sized heavy-bottomed saucepan (2.5qt./2.3L) and cook over medium-low heat. Stir intermittently using a rubber spatula. As the butter melts it will start to bubble and foam. As the butter continues to brown, the color will turn from lemon yellow to amber and go from a loud bubble to quiet simmer. When the butter is ready, brown specks will have formed at the bottom of the pan and some will start rise in the foam. The butter will also have a very pleasant nutty aroma. Remove from the heat and let cool for about 15 minutes. While butter is cooling prepare other ingredients.

In a large mixing bowl combine the almond flour, coconut flour, baking soda, cream of tartar, ground ginger, and salt. Stir together using a fork until well combined; set aside. In a separate medium mixing bowl add the maple sugar.

Once the butter has cooled, use a rubber spatula to transfer it into the maple sugar bowl, use the spatula to scrape in the browned bits as well. Beat together the butter and sugar with an electric mixer on low speed until combined, about 1 minute. Once the butter and sugar are mixed together, add eggs one at a time, mixing well after each, and then add the vanilla. Increase mixer speed to high and continue to beat until smooth bubbles appear on the surface, about 1 minute.

Transfer the wet egg mixture to the dry mixture. Use the spatula to scrape out any remaining liquid in the bowl. Beat on low until thoroughly combined. Then mix in the white chocolate and cranberries by hand. Scrape the dough down into the bowl and cover with plastic wrap, pressing directly on the surface. Place in the freezer to chill for one hour.

About 15 minutes before the hour is up, adjust oven rack to the middle position. Preheat the oven to 350°F (177°C). Line a 9x13 quarter sheet pan with parchment paper; set aside.

Once the dough is chilled, use fingertips to grab some dough and spread the dough evenly across the pan. Place a piece of parchment paper over the dough and roll out until the dough reaches the edges of the pan. It will rise during baking. Bake for 22-25 minutes or until browned on the top and edges and a toothpick comes out clean. Make sure the middle is cooked through completely. Cool completely before frosting.

Add the cream cheese and butter to a large mixing bowl or to the bowl of a stand mixer. Beat together using a hand mixer or stand mixer set on medium speed until fluffy and combined. Gradually add the sugar, beating well after each addition. Then add the honey, vanilla, and orange extract and continue to mix until smooth and creamy.

Use an angled frosting spatula to spread the frosting across the cookie layer. To garnish, sprinkle the dried cranberries across the frosting.

Melt the white chocolate in the top pan of a double boiler over simmering water. Stir until smooth. Another method is to place the white chocolate in a large glass or metal mixing bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water. Stir intermittently, using a rubber spatula, until the white chocolate is completely melted. Once melted, let slightly cool, then transfer to a piping bag or re-sealable plastic bag with the corner cut off. Drizzle across the top of the frosting.

Use a sharp large chef’s knife to cut into 12 squares, wiping the blade after each cut. Then cut each square in half diagonally. Serve immediately. Store any leftovers covered in the refrigerator for up to 4 days.

To make these dairy-free, sub ghee for the butter (I recommend Tin Star Browned Butter Ghee or 4th Heart Ghee) and sub dairy-free cream cheese for the cream cheese in the frosting. Kite Hill makes a great dairy-free cream cheese and you can find their products in health food stores across the country. Omit white chocolate chips or use a dairy-free version.

Clean Eating with a Dirty Mind http://cleaneatingwithadirtymind.com/

December 1, 2017 | 17 Comments

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Tags: Bars, Cookies, Eggnog, Holidays, Paleo Desserts

Source: http://cleaneatingwithadirtymind.com/2017/12/01/cranberry-bliss-bars/

[myrish-lace-love]

Mirror of the Sun - Sansa/Daenerys Fanfiction

Summary: Daenerys arrives at Winterfell to attempt to treat with Jon Snow. She's immediately side-tracked by her fascination with Sansa Stark, and the two grow closer.

***

Sansa greeted Daenerys with icy courtesy that left no room for offense, and precious little for friendship.

“Winterfell greets you with open arms, your Grace.” Sansa gave Daenerys the slightest curtsy. She spoke the words “your Grace” with a careful inflection that left Daenerys with no illusion Sansa had accepted her as her queen.

What Daenerys heard was: This is my house, and you do not rule here. You are dragonless in the stronghold of the Starks.

Read more below or continue on AO3

She wore her courtesies like armor, Daenerys thought, held tight around her. Sansa was a lady through and through. She glided through Winterfell in simple, beautiful gowns. Daenerys wondered if she'd ever donned a pair of pants.  

She gave Daenerys and Tyrion a tour first of Winterfell on their first day, but it wasn't until two weeks later that they toured the forces Sansa and Jon had amassed, including the wildlings who'd fought for Winterfell.

Daenerys heard the wildling camp before she saw it – the easy shouts between friends calling from campfire to campfire, and the whinnies of horses accustomed to being kept outdoors. The fire pits and tents reminded her of the Dothraki, but the bold stares from men and women alike reminded her that these people were proud to call themselves the Free Folk. They were a rowdy group, full of frank curiosity. As Daenerys was examining a bow made horn, one of them tried to pluck a bell from Daenerys's hair.

She spun around, furious. “Touch me again, and that hand will never touch anything else.” She heard Tyrion sigh behind her.

“You're not our queen,” the young wildling man said, laughing. “And I don't see your dragons wit' you. So who's to stop me?”

Sansa stepped between the young man and Daenerys. “She's here as our guest, Durmond. Leave her be.”

Durmond stalked off, muttering, but Daenerys could tell his heart wasn't in it. She was impressed. It was also not lost on her that she now owed Sansa a favor.

“Shall we eat?” Tyrion said, rubbing his hands together. “It's as cold here as it was at the Wall.”

On the walk back Daenerys had a moment alone with Sansa. “Thank you, Lady Sansa. For your assistance.”

Daenerys expected Sansa to preen a little. Instead, she simply nodded, curtly. Winterfell loomed nearby under the grey sky. The group trudged alone in silence. The snow was piled in high drifts on either side, as if they were walking through a wintry tunnel. A crew of men worked day and night to keep the path to the castle clear. It was still a losing battle. The snow reached Sansa’s ankles, and Daenerys was up to her shins.

Just before they reached the courtyard, Sansa hesitated. She turned to Daenerys, speaking so that Tyrion could not hear.  “I know...what it's like, to be touched against your will, your Grace. I won't stand for it.”

"Well, that makes two of us," Daenerys said. She saw Sansa start to retreat, her expression like stone. Be gracious, for once in your life. Daenerys took a deep breath. “Wait. I am grateful, Lady Sansa. I just don’t–“

“Need me to protect you.”  Her eyes were blue, and piercing, and Daenerys thought she might get lost in them. “I know, your Grace. I will do it all the same.”

***

The following morning, Sansa stopped by with a cloak in her arms.

"Forgive me, your Grace, for not bringing this sooner. I wanted to welcome you properly with a gift.”

Daenerys held the cloak up to the mirror. The three intertwined dragons embroidered on the back were a deep red against the black wool, and their eyes glittered with onyx stones. It was exquisite work, finer than she’d seen in Qarth, finer than any gift given to her as tribute before she came to Westeros.

She turned to Sansa.  “I thank you, Lady Sansa. I have never seen its equal.”

Sansa inclined her head.  “You’re welcome, your Grace.” A tiny lined creased her forehead. “Wait – please, might I have it back? I think there’s a thread loose. I must have missed it.”

“Did you – this is your handiwork? You have a true gift, my lady.”

Sansa brushed off the compliment. “It gives me something to do at night,” she said, focused on fixing the thread.

Daenerys smiled to herself. A perfectionist. She'd seen how Sansa ran the castle with efficiency and attention to detail. While Jon was certainly handsome and good with a sword, Daenerys was beginning to think Sansa outshone him when it came to tactics, strategy, and diplomacy.

When Sansa placed the cloak back in Daenerys’s arms, the sleeve of Sansa’s dress rolled up. Daenerys saw shiny, pink, ugly scars criss-crossing the length of Sansa’s arm. She could not keep from gasping. She was thrown back to memories of Viserys striking her cheek, the sound like the crack of a whip.

The fear of waking the dragon.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

“You see them,” Sansa finally said, steady, not even close to breaking. “You think they mean I am weak.”

Daenerys took a deep breath. She was hazarding a guess, but it came from years of experience. “I do know one thing for certain, Lady Sansa. I know that the man who did this to you is dead.”

Sansa's mouth turned up ever so slightly. “It is not only Targaryens who take what is theirs by fire and blood.”

***

That evening, Daenerys was seated next to Sansa at dinner. Sansa looked tall and regal, and Daenerys experienced yet again the uncomfortable sensation of not being the center of attention.

The food was meager, a product of the kitchen stores in winter – stews and soups designed to camouflage the withered carrots and onions that remained. They'd slaughtered a goat for Daenerys's arrival, but that was the last time fresh meat had appeared on Daenerys's plate. Sansa apologized for the fare.

“I lived on grass and horse meat for years when I was with the Dothraki, Lady Sansa.” Daenerys said. “There is food, and enough of it to go around.” Sansa looked slightly uncomfortable, but nodded. They made innocuous small talk while Sansa ate her stew in delicate bites. Something seemed to be troubling her. Finally, Sansa said in a low voice that did not carry, “What are they for?”

“I don't understand. What do you mean?”

Sansa made an elegant gesture towards the back of Daenerys's head. “The bells in your braids.”

Daenerys touched one reflexively.

Sansa seemed nervous for the first time. “Forgive me your grace – I didn't mean to pry.” She was building a wall again, but Daenerys seized on the chance to get through her armor.

“No, I don't mind,” Daenerys said, more forcefully than she intended. “The braids are for each of my victories in battle. A custom from my time with the Dothraki. The bells let everyone hear how many you’ve won.”

Sansa looked intrigued despite herself. “Truly?”

“Yes.” She was about to say more when Tormund loomed behind Daenerys's shoulder. The giant man with the red beard had made an impression on Daenerys right away, and Sansa seemed to give his counsel more weight than most.

Tormund was clearly drunk tonight. Daenerys could smell the ale on his breath. He swayed towards Daenerys.

"What is it, Tormund?" Sansa sounded amused.

Tormund looked as contrite as Daenerys had ever seen him. “Came t' apologize. To your guest here.”

Daenerys patted the seat next to her. "Sit, please. Join us."

Tormund looked to Sansa first, and only pulled up a chair next to Daenerys after Sansa nodded her assent. They're certainly keeping me in check, Daenerys thought. She was so used to giving commands that it was an irksome feeling to not being obeyed immediately.

“Sorry about Durmond,” Tormund said, putting town his tankard with a loud thunk. “Can't teach him anything. You'd think he'd learn not to grab at girls. Women, I mean,” he said hastily, seeing the look Daenerys gave him. “Got three scars already from trying it.”

“Your men punished him?”

Tormund laughed, a big booming sound. “The men? No, the women did, right enough. They've all got knives, and know how to use 'em. He'll lose a finger or worse one of these days.”

“Tormund, that's terrible.” Sansa's smile was warm, and Daenerys felt a strange flutter in her stomach. Sansa was lovely, there was no doubt on that score. But when she smiled, she was radiant, shining like the sun.  

Tormund tipped his tankard to Sansa in a salute. “Aye, they're almost as fierce as you, lass.” Sansa shushed him. “No, it's true and you know it.” He nudged Daenerys. "We’d all be dead if it wasn’t for her and her army.”

Daenerys was curious. “What do you mean?”

Tormund grunted, looking over at Jon. He'd come in earlier looking harried. He’d greeted Sansa and Daenerys briefly, and made straight for Ser Davos. The two were still deep in conversation. "Lord Pretty Face over there decided to run straight into the enemy’s arrows, when we took back Winterfell.”

“Ramsay taunted him with our younger brother,” Sansa interjected. “It was a difficult situation, Tormund.” She defended Jon faithfully, at every opportunity.

“Aye, bloody well difficult for those who rode in after him and got hacked to pieces,” Tormund said. “No, you saved us. You won’t talk about it, but you did.”

Sansa cleared her throat. “Jon ended Ramsay Bolton's life.”

Tormund squinted. “Aye, Jon handed ‘im off to you after he’d beaten him to a pulp, and a good thing, too. If I’ was you I’d want to ki–“

Sansa's glare silenced him.

“Anyways the prick’s gone, that’s what matters,” Tormund grumbled.

“And what of his family?” In Daenerys's experience, the death of a son rarely ended a war.

“They’re gone too,” Sansa said. “All of them. There are no more Boltons left.”

And yet here you are, thought Daenerys.

Tormund looked at Daenerys earnestly. “Look, all I’m saying is, you want a sword to rally ‘round, get Jon out there. You want a level head – “Tormund jerked his chin towards Sansa “– keep her counsel.”

“I think I will, Daenerys said, attuned to the flush on Sansa’s cheeks.

***

Daenerys and Sansa had to wait until the end of the meal to learn the topic of Jon and Davos's conversation.  The servants were clearing away the last of the dishes when Davos approached Sansa. “My lady, a word if I may?”

“Of course, Ser Davos.”

“There’s a girl lost,” Ser Davos said. “Looked a little ragged ‘round the edges last time Jon saw her. He's out looking for her now, with some of the men. Packed a tent. He's checking the woods, and wanted you to know he might not be back till tomorrow.” Davos's voice was clipped, but Daenerys could see his hands trembling. Daenerys had overheard Davos telling Tyrion about Stannis’s daughter, burned at the stake by a kind of sorceress, and how close Davos had been to her.

“Who is she?”

“A girl from the village, here as a servant.” Davos managed a smile, likely trying to calm Sansa's fears. “Don’t trouble yourself about it Lady Sansa, we’ll find her, sure as sunrise.”

“Thank you Ser Davos, I am sure you and Jon are more than capable.” Daenerys wasn’t convinced, and she thought Sansa might not be either. She knew the reasons a girl might hide, and knew many of them would mean avoiding men at all costs.

Davos gave Daenerys a curt nod and left. He’d acquiesced to Daenerys’s visit, but he had not approved of it.

Daenerys tried to identify the emotion in Sansa’s eyes. Worry. “Do you trust him?”

“Ser Davos? With many things.”

“But not with this.”

Sansa paused. “No. Not when she might...”

“Be hiding from men in particular?”

Sansa looked at her, relieved, and nodded. “Yes.”

“Where do we look first?”

“Come with me.”

***

Sansa eased open the door to the kennels. Only a few shafts of light illuminated the room. Sansa seemed uncomfortable, and Daenerys wondered fleetingly if she had a fear of dogs. But Sansa greeted the hounds like old friends, heedless, for once, of the mud on her dress. Strange.

The faint sob Daenerys heard at the end of the rows of cages had her running to find its source.

There underneath the straw, well-hidden, was the outline of a young girl.

Daenerys knelt. She reached her hand through the bars. “It’s all right, it’s all right now.”

One brown eye peeked at them suspiciously. ”Who’s with you?”

“No one,” Sansa said gently, kneeling next to Daenerys. “No one at all.”

The girl raised her head slowly. She rubbed her dirt-smudged cheek.

“How long have you been here?” Sansa asked.

The girl was still wary. “I...would you take off your hood please, milady?”

Sansa's brow furrowed, but she did as the girl asked. Daenerys saw some of the tension lift from the girl's shoulders. “It is you,” she said in a small awed voice. “Milady Stark.”

Sansa looked pleased. “Yes. You're safe now.”

“Your hair, 's like copper, like my mum said.” The girl ducked her head. She looked to be about eleven years old, Daenerys thought. “Been sleeping in here a few days now. Figured if the dogs were warm enough, I’d be all right.”

Clever girl, Daenerys thought. “Are you hurt?”

The girl looked down, and lifted one shoulder. “Think so. He's gone now anyway. Ran when I bit him in the kitchens.”

Daenerys was about to ask another question when Sansa squeezed her arm, briefly. Daenerys closed her mouth. Sansa was right. Best not to pepper the child with questions.  “Let's get you inside, all right?” Sansa said. “We'll get you dressed, and warm. And if you tell me who did this, I promise you, I'll make sure he never sees Winterfell again.”

The girl sat up straighter. “Yes, milady.”

They bundled the girl up and took her to Daenerys's chambers. She only told them her name – Reya – after Missandei arrived with fresh clothes, and took her aside to speak to the girl alone. Even then, her story came out in fits and starts. A man who worked with her in the kitchens, making bread, had given her trouble. He'd leered at her too long, and grabbed her now and then when he thought no one would notice.

“And then one day he tried to 'take what was his.' At least that's what he said.” Reya spat the words out. She was sitting at Daenerys’s solar table, wearing clothes that were too big for her. “But I wasn't. I wasn't his. I wasn't anyone's. Except mine.” She looked up at the three women plaintively. “Wasn't I?”

Missandei broke the long silence. She spoke formally, as if she was addressing a queen. “Yes, Reya. You are no one's but your own. Always.”  Reya started to sob, throwing herself into Missandei's arms.

Daenerys wiped her eyes, and she and Sansa gave the pair some space.  

“I felt like that sometimes at King’s Landing,” Sansa said quietly. “Like I wasn't my own. I was a hostage, a pawn to be married off. I was the value of my claim.”

Daenerys put a hand on Sansa’s sleeve. “Forgive me for being bold, Lady Sansa.”

“No, it’s all right, Daenerys.” Daenerys felt a rush of warmth in her chest at Sansa's use of her name. She liked the way it sounded when Sansa said it.

"In King’s Landing, that is all they saw. It is not who you were. Missandei said it – only you know that, and no one can take it from you. You, and whoever you choose to tell. No one else has the privilege of knowing.”

Sansa pressed her hand briefly, before returning to Reya’s side.

***

Sansa knocked on Daenerys’s door that evening. Daenerys was thankful for the distraction. Though Reya had looked much better as Missandei ushered her out, her story had shaken Daenerys, and she was having trouble getting to sleep.

“I'm sorry to disturb you. I only wanted to see if the girl was all right.” Sansa was luminous in her white dressing gown, and her red hair was unbound. She was beautiful as the dawn. Daenerys was momentarily stunned – a rare feat.

“She – she is. Missandei’s taken her into her care. She could have no better protector.”

Sansa seemed reluctant to leave. “May I sit?”

“Of course.” Daenerys patted the furs next to her, and the mattress dipped under Sansa's weight. Daenerys was acutely aware of how warm she was next to her.

Daenerys cleared her throat. “Has Jon returned?” Daenerys still thought it odd Jon had left without a word to his sister.

“Not yet.”

“Why did he not speak to you before he left?” Daenerys winced inwardly. Hardly her most tactful question.

“Jon does not owe me an explanation of his whereabouts.” Sansa sighed. “Besides, he knows I wouldn't mind. Would have wanted him to go quickly, in fact. We...lost our sister, years ago. There's still a hope of finding her.”

But it's fading, Daenerys thought. She saw now why Jon left.

“Anyway, if we could save one child, he knows it would be worth it to me that he go.” Sansa plucked at the hem of her dress. “And there must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” she added as an afterthought.

“A Stark, always stationed here, every day, no matter the wind or weather?” It made a certain kind of sense, Daenerys supposed, thought it seemed a bit silly.

Sansa's mouth quirked, and Daenerys felt a burst of pride at making her smile. “An old family saying. A true Stark must always stay within the walls of Winterfell.”

“Or the walls will come tumbling down?”

“Perhaps,” Sansa said, her smile dimming. “Though I will not be a Stark for long.”

Daenerys was nonplussed. “But you are no longer a Lannister.”

“No. Lord Tyrion made that clear when your party arrived.” In truth, Daenerys had argued against it on the ride across the Narrow Sea. Why release a valuable claim before knowing all the circumstances? But Tyrion had been adamant, and now, knowing Sansa had been freed from that burden, Daenerys was glad of it.

“It won't stay the same, though, when I marry. My name, I mean.” Sansa twisted her fingers together, the first real vulnerability she'd shown, and Daenerys wished she could reach out and lace their fingers together.  “It's funny – when I was a girl I couldn't wait to take my husband's name.  Now all I want is to keep my own.”

Daenerys blinked. She'd never thought about that dilemma. First, because her fate had been to marry Viserys, another Targaryen, and then because her titles were as natural to her as breathing. Her stomach turned at the thoughts of slipping off her name as if it were an old cloak, and putting on a new one. I'll always be Daenerys Stormborn, of the House Targaryen. And why should it be different for her?

Daenerys knew it wasn't that simple. Targaryens were a special case. Her people had ruled the skies for thousands of years. Still, there might be a way. She'd think on it.  

“You have the Stark name, Lady Sansa. It's engraved into who you are. And you've earned it more than many lords before you.”

“That's kind of you to say.” The tremor in her voice made Daenerys reach out and take her hand after all. She felt a jolt of electricity go through her, and Sansa's small intake of breath told her she wasn't alone.

“Might I braid your hair?” Daenerys blurted. “It helps me think,” she said quickly, seeing how cautious Sansa was. “Missandei’s kind enough to let me, but she’s with Reya tonight.” She was certain Sansa found her mad now.

Sansa’s blue eyes softened instead. “It can be lonely, can’t it?”

Daenerys let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “Yes. Yes it can.” Daenerys stood next to Sansa. She let the silky strands pour through her fingers. She tried not to let the soft scent of lavender she caught every time Sansa was in a room distract her. She chatted lightly as she worked, hoping she was taking the right risk.

There, she thought, as she bound the first braid back, and soon four braids wreathed Sansa’s head.

Sansa was smiling when Daenerys led her to the mirror. “What is it?” She deserves more levity in her life, Daenerys thought. More affection. More love.

Daenerys skimmed the first braid gently, letting her finger trace the shell of Sansa’s ear. “Your victories.”

Sansa flushed. “Daenerys–“

She wouldn’t be deterred. “This, for outlasting King’s Landing.”

She touched the second braid, and let her fingers rest on Sansa’s collarbone.

“For reclaiming Winterfell.”

Sansa’s breathing quickened. Daenerys ran her thumb over the nape of Sansa’s neck as she skimmed the third braid.

“For the end of House Bolton.”

Sansa’s eyes fluttered shut as Daenerys caressed the fourth braid.

“For the name Sansa Stark.”

They sat that way for a long time.

“Thank you, Daenerys,” Sansa said.

“I only read the pages. You wrote the book.”

Sansa started, and stopped, and started again. “Do you think we could write together?”

She tilted her head to meet Sansa's. Her lips were soft, softer than any man's. Sansa overwhelmed her senses and the sound she made had Daenerys reaching for her, pulling her closer. She was falling fast, and this was freefall, this was madness, but love could not wait for times of peace in the Long Winter.

[cafecitowriter]

36 Part 3 (Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader)

A/N: Well here it is! This part was a lot longer than I was expecting it to be but I’m super excited for everyone to read it :) If you have any feedback or more requests, please let me know! :) I will try to get through more writing but with school picking up I make no promises, except to do my best :)

Part 1  Part 2 

Masterlist

After you had left, Lin looked at the time to see that it was barely 6:30am. Not knowing what else to do, he hopped in the shower to try and clear his foggy mind. A few hours ago he was certain that he had ruined everything. He had wanted to call you immediately and apologize, knowing that it would be more effective than running out after you and trying to find you by sheer will. It was then that he had noticed that you had left your phone behind, and there was no way to contact you. Lin panicked, and he prayed with everything he had that you wouldn’t get hurt. Well, more hurt than what he had already caused.

He mentally kicked himself for not realizing sooner what he was doing. Of course this musical was incredibly important to him, and Alex and Tommy were getting on his case now more than ever to finish writing, but he had let you slip through his fingers as a result. He had neglected you, and you had blamed yourself. He couldn’t help but remember your last words to him before you left.

“Well then please forgive me for wanting to be enough for my husband.”

In his eyes, you were more than enough. God you were everything. But his ignorance had made you believe that you weren’t as incredible as he knew you were.

…

You were pacing the floor in anticipation. Lin was watching from the couch.

“You know I think just one more hour of this and you’ll create a rut in the floor worthy of a Looney Tunes cartoon,” Lin mused.

“Lin this isn’t funny,” you sighed.

“Cariña, everything will be alright-” he started.

“What if it isn’t? If I don’t do well enough on these exams, then no matter how good I did in my practical I won’t be able to be a doctor!” You covered your face with your hands and all but screamed in frustration.

Lin got up from the couch and pulled you into his arms.

“I just wanna help people, Lin,” you muttered into his shoulder. “I’m so close but what if it doesn’t happen?”

“Hey, stop that. We both know you did fantastic. You know why? Because you worked your ass off and you learned everything, and even when you thought you knew it, you reviewed it. Hell, you even made some of those concepts simple enough for me to understand! You got this.”

You smiled into his shoulder and were about to reply when your phone went off. You quickly looked at it, then at Lin.

“The grades are posted. Oh my god the grades are posted. Oh my god this is it. Oh my god. Oh my god what do I do?”

Lin smiled softly at you. “Well, go ahead, look at them.”

You took a deep breath and gripped Lin’s hand as you used your other to open up your grades.

“Oh my god,” you whispered almost inaudibly.

“What?”

Lin looked like he was ready to burst with the anticipation.

“I did it. I get to be a doctor!,” you grinned.

“Yes! Yes I knew it!”

He began peppering your face with kisses and you laughed when he picked you up and spun you around. You took advantage of this new position and wrapped your legs around his waist, giggling as he kissed you gently over and over.

“Cariña, this calls for a celebration,” he stated as he began carrying you over to the bedroom.

You two celebrated all night.

…

He didn’t even want to think about when the last time you two had made love was. Too long, but again, he only had himself to blame. As he got out of the shower, he tried to think about how he had let it all get so bad.

…

“Tommy, I know the songs aren’t coming as fast as you want them to, but I just need more time.”

“I know Lin, but we’re at a point where we’re gonna need new material to rehearse soon.”

“Just give me more time,” he pleaded.

“Lin, I hate to be the bad guy, but we’re running out of time,” Tommy deadpanned.

…

Lin got dressed for the day, and he couldn’t help but long for the nights that he held you until you both fell asleep. It seemed like ages since you two had gone to bed together, and he wasn’t even thinking in the sexual sense anymore.

…

“You know if you keep staring at me like this, I’m gonna have to do something about it,” you teased him as you slipped on your pyjamas.

“You know depending on what it is I might be completely up for this punishment,” he smirked at you from where he was laying on the bed.

The next thing he knew, you had thrown your shirt at his face, causing him to laugh.

“If I didn’t have to work in five hours I would show you just what I would do to you,” you replied as you laid in bed beside him.

You smiled as he wrapped his arms around you to pull you close to him.

“Raincheck?”

“Definitely,” you murmured as you rested your head on his chest.

“For now you’ll just have to settle for this.”

“That’s more than enough.”

…

Lin froze as an idea hit him. He ran to the piano and started writing.

Forty-five minutes later he had tears in his eyes, smiling as he played the song the whole way through. It was perfect. He made sure to save the demo he had created, and took the liberty to attempt a very rough draft of sheet music - in case they liked it, and in case they wanted to start using it today. Lin then realized that it was time to head to rehearsal. Gently putting the papers in his bag along with his laptop, he made sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, and walked to the subway. There was a new spring in his step as he walked into the rehearsal hall. Lac, Tommy, and of course Scott, the stage manager, had all beat him there.

“Lin, how- shit you look like a mess,” Alex greeted him as he looked up upon his arrival.

“I know, but that doesn’t matter,” Lin promised. When the three men looked at him dubiously, Lin sighed.

“Okay, maybe it does, but it’s too much to explain. Anyway, I figured out what the issue is! - With Eliza I mean - You were right Tommy, she was missing something. This is what she was missing.”

Lin pulled out his laptop and set it down on the table. After he handed the copy of sheet music to Lac so he could take a look at what he had in mind, he clicked play. He carefully studied the three men as they listened to the demo. They had remained with neutral faces until the very end, where they all broke out into grins.

“Lin this is fantastic!” Lac praised him.

“He’s right. This is exactly what we needed,” Tommy agreed.

“You’ve really outdone yourself now,” Scott smiled.

Lin let out a relieved breath, smiling.

“Wait, is this why you look like you haven’t slept all night?” Tommy inquired.

Lin’s breath hitched but he was saved from having to answer with the arrival of Jasmine, Renée, and Pippa.

“Moooorning boys!” Renée greeted surprisingly cheerfully and musically for 9:30 in the morning.

“Good moooorning!” Jasmine harmonized.

“Morning to youuuu,” Pippa added her own vocals.

“I love it when they do that shit,” Oak said as he walked in, still half asleep and clutching his coffee like a lifeline.

The girls laughed.

“Our pleasure to be of service to you,” Jasmine winked.

Anthony walked in next, immediately finding his place next to Jasmine. Daveed and Leslie followed, Daveed looking about as awake as Oak.

It was then that Lin noticed Pippa was looking at him closely, as though she were analyzing him, and he came to the realization of where you had went the night before. With the commotion of more people arriving, they gave each other a knowing look and distanced themselves from the crowd.

“Thank you, for taking care of her last night,” Lin said gently.

Pippa nodded. “Have you talked?”

“I- no. She had to go into work. But I swear I’ll make things right tonight.”

“Good. Because I care about you Lin, but Y/N and I have been best friends since we were six, and I swear if you hurt her like that again-”

“I won’t,” he cut her off firmly.

“Good,” Pippa smiled. “And you know, despite the overprotective sister thing, I am rooting for you two.”

“Thanks Pippa,” Lin replied earnestly. “Oh! Also here’s something you might like,” he said as he grabbed the sheet music where Lac had left it on the table.

Pippa’s eyes lit up as Lin handed the papers to her.

“What is this?” She asked with curiosity.

“I wrote a song for Eliza,” he said with the most excitement she had heard from him since their first greeting this morning.

She looked through it and her smile slowly turned into a grin.

“Well played, Mr. Miranda.”

…

You groaned as you trudged your way up to your apartment. Twelve hour shifts were the worst. They were long, and today you just couldn’t catch a break. You were on your feet for nearly your entire shift, save the ten minutes you got to sit and eat a granola bar. Walking down the hall to your door, you wanted nothing more than to fall into bed, but you knew that you still had to talk things out with Lin. You didn’t even know what you could say anymore, but you hoped the words would come when the time came, which would be any minute now.

You opened the door and smiled as you smelt fresh cooking. You could hear a salsa song being played in the kitchen and you grinned widely, entering as quietly as possible. Leaving your bag and shoes by the doorway, you then walked toward the kitchen. The sight before you made your heart skip a beat. Lin was dancing around the kitchen while cooking, swaying his hips to the music. You watched him adoringly as he cooked intently. You hadn’t seen him like this is months.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” You mused.

Lin nearly tripped over himself as he spun around to look to where you were standing at the entrance to kitchen, leaning against the wall. You giggled as he tried to compose himself.

“Y/N, cariña, you’re home,” he smiled, though he looked slightly flustered at being caught dancing around, though it was definitely not the first time it had happened.

“You are too,” you noted, though your voice was gentle.

“Of course. God, of course. And I made dinner!” He beamed, looking proud of himself.

You grinned and made your way over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Lin was taken aback, not expecting the sudden display of affection, but it was only a moment before he had wrapped his arms around you. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, just needing to be close to him again. You felt him place a kiss on your head, and you sighed contently, allowing your eyes to close. Pulling back after a few moments like that, you looked into his eyes, those beautiful eyes that had made you lose your breath when you first saw him.

You felt Lin lean in for a kiss, and you hesitated for a moment before you pulled away.

“Lin, wait. I- We need to talk first.”

“I - fuck, sorry, I know, I just - I got carried away and-”

“Shhhh,” you silenced him by cupping his face in your hands. “I understand. And it’s not because I don’t want to, god I want to… It’s because if I kiss you right now, I’m not going to want to stop,” you admitted.

Lin relaxed and nodded.

“Me too,” he said quietly.

He pulled away to take dinner off the stove and then looked at you when he was certain that everything was done and nothing would be left to burn.

“Before we talk,” he started, “can I show you something?”

You nodded, and then followed him to the piano. He pulled up a stool and motioned for you to sit. You did so that you were facing Lin, looking at his profile as he took a seat on the piano bench. He took a deep breath before playing the opening notes.

“Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now. Look around, look around.”

You recognized the words that your husband was singing. Those were sung by Eliza in the other song he had written months earlier. He said that to himself more times than you could remember. One day you jokingly said to him that it was a miracle he hadn’t put it in one of his musicals yet. When he played The Schuyler Sisters for you a month and a half later, you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered at him taking your suggestion seriously.

However, the melody was slower this time, and there was vulnerability to it. You listened to him play a few bars and the sing the dialogue before singing the next “Look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now.”

“Will you relish being a poor man’s wife? Unable to provide for your life.

I relish being your wife. Look around, look around.”

This little segment caught you off-guard. You swallowed hard as he began to sing the rest of the song, becoming emotional as he did so. The lyrics were gentle and vulnerable, but firm enough to make it seem like a point was trying to be made. Like Eliza was trying to get Alexander to understand something. Like Lin was trying to get you to understand something. He looked up briefly while singing about their soon-to-be-born son, and your heart ached.

…

“Oh my god I want one,” you said excitedly as you saw what was most likely the cutest baby ever pass by you and Lin in a stroller.

“Cariña, you say that every time you see a baby.”

“Not just babies, puppies and kitties too. So I mean, basically babies, but you get the point.”

You grinned as Lin rolled his eyes playfully.

“Yeah yeah. Either way, when we have our own baby, they will be the cutest baby ever.”

You looked at Lin hopefully.

“You really want kids with me?”

“God, of course, cariña.”

“Good. And the world better watch out because our kid will be the best.”

“Damn right,” he said before kissing you gently.

…

“I don’t pretend to know the challenges you’re facing, the worlds you keep erasing and creating in your mind.”

You really didn’t. Try as you might, you had lost touch with your husband’s world weeks ago.

“But I’m not afraid. I know who I married. So long as you come home at the end of the day, that would be enough.”

…

“Lin, where are you?” You asked your husband over the phone.

“I just had to take a walk after rehearsal to get some inspiration. And it wasn’t what I was expecting, but I think I almost got the final lyrics for You’ll Be Back down!”

“That’s incredible, Lin”

He managed to notice how your voice faltered ever so slightly.

“Cariña, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just thought you would be home for dinner tonight.”

“I-shit. Look, just let me finish writing this piece and I swear I’ll be home soon. Te amo.”

“Te amo.”

As you hung up, you sighed and started to pack away the food, so you could save it for later. A part of you wanted to wait, but you knew that it would be hours before he would come home, even if he said the word ‘soon’. You had only hoped that he would’ve remembered your plans, but hey, you couldn’t control when inspiration struck.

…

“We don’t need a legacy, we don’t need money.”

…

“What about our legacy?”

“I - our..?”

“Yes, Lin. Our legacy. I… We always talked about starting a family and well…”

…

“If I could grant you piece of mind, if you could let me inside your heart. Oh let me be a part of the narrative, in the story they will write someday. Let this moment be the first chapter, where you decide to stay.”

…

“Don’t.”

“No. No, you don’t get to cop out here.”

“Just wait until the musical is done, okay?”

“We’re talking about this now. Please.”

“And how do you think we’re gonna be able to take care of a kid with how our lives are right now?”

“Well maybe if you cared enough about me to spend more than-”

“This again? I can’t believe you. How can you be so selfish?”

…

“And I could be enough.”

…

“Well then please forgive me for wanting to be enough for my husband.”

…

“And we could be enough. That would be enough.”

At the end of the song, both you and Lin had tears streaming down your faces. He looked at you apprehensively and you sniffled.

“Lin… It’s beautiful… But… This- it’s Eliza singing to Alexander, yes?”

He nodded.

“I don’t understand… Is this what you want me to say to you?”

“No! God no. It’s what I’m saying to you. Cariña, come here.”

You moved to sit beside him on the piano bench and he held your hands tightly in his.

“Words cannot express how sorry I am for how I’ve been acting lately, nor can they excuse them. These words I just sang to you is what I wish you would understand. You are everything, and I am the one who doesn’t deserve you. Through everything you have been there, supporting me, forcing me to take breaks, even when I wouldn’t listen. You never made fun of the idea of writing a hip-hop/rap musical about a founding father. Hell, you’re the reason why most of these songs got written, because you have given me so much inspiration, and dedication and you paved the path when I felt lost. Somewhere along that path though, I lost you. I neglected you and pushed you away and words can’t describe how terrible that is, and how much I regret it. Nor can I ever reiterate how you are more than enough for me, more than you know. When my ambition began to take over me you reigned me in. You are truly the Eliza to my Alexander. This song is my love letter to you in this musical. This is what I want you to always remember - that I’m the one who’s helpless and will always be working toward being the best husband I can be to you, and because just as Eliza deserved to have a voice, you do too.”

You gave Lin a loving smile and hugged him closely to you. He held you tightly and stroked your hair.

“Te amo, Lin.”

You heard him let out a soft squeaky laugh and you held him tighter to you.

“Te amo, cariña.”

[christianpublishinghouse-blog]

  What does it mean to receive Jesus Christ? It means to take Christ to be to yourself all that God offers Him to be to everybody. Jesus Christ is God’s gift. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life” (John 3:16). Some accept this wondrous gift of God. Everyone who does accept this gift becomes a child of God. Many others refuse this wondrous gift of God, and everyone who refuses this gift of God perishes. He is condemned already. “He that believeth on the Son is not condemned, but he that believeth not is condemned already because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God” (John 3:18).

What does God offer His Son to be to us?

First of all, God offers Jesus to us to be our sin-bearer. We have all sinned. There is not a man or woman or a boy or a girl who has not sinned (Romans 3:22, 23). If any of us say that we have not sinned we are deceiving ourselves and giving the lie to God (1 John 1:8, 10). Now we must each of us bear our own sin or someone else must bear it in our place. If we were to bear our own sins, it would mean we must be banished forever from the presence of God, for God is holy. “God is light and in Him is no darkness at all” (1 John 1:5). But God Himself has provided another to bear our sins in our place so that we should not need to bear them ourselves. This sin-bearer is God’s own Son, Jesus Christ, “For He hath made Him to be sin for us who knew no sin that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him” (2 Cor. 5:21). When Jesus Christ died upon the cross of Calvary He redeemed us from the curse of the law by being made a curse in our stead (Gal. 3:13). To receive Christ then is to believe this testimony of God about His Son, to believe that Jesus Christ did bear our sins in His own body on the cross (1 Pet. 2:24), and to trust God to forgive all our sins because Jesus Christ has borne them in our place. “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned everyone to his own way, and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all” (Is. 53:6). Our own good works, past, present or future have nothing to do with the forgiveness of our sins. Our sins are forgiven, not because of any good works that we do, they are forgiven because of the atoning work of Christ upon the cross of Calvary in our place. If we rest in this atoning work we shall do good works, but our good works will be the outcome of our being saved and the outcome of our believing on Christ as our sin-bearer. Our good works will not be the ground of our salvation, but the result of our salvation, and the proof of it. We must be very careful not to mix in our good works at all as the ground of salvation. We are not forgiven because of Christ’s death and our good works, we are forgiven solely and entirely because of Christ’s death. To see this clearly is the right beginning of the true Christian life.

God offers Jesus to us as our deliverer from the power of sin. Jesus not only died, He rose again. To-day He is a living Savior. He has all power in heaven and on earth (Matt. 28:18). He has power to keep the weakest sinner from falling (Jude 24). He is able to save not only from the uttermost but “to the uttermost” all that come unto the Father through Him. (Wherefore He is able to save to the uttermost them that draw near unto God through Him, seeing that He ever liveth to make intercession for them.—Heb. 7:25, r. v.) “If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed” (John 8:36). To receive Jesus is to believe this that God tells us in His Word about him, to believe that He did rise from the dead, to believe that He does now live, to believe that He has power to keep us from falling, to believe that He has power to keep us from the power of sin day by day, and just trust Him to do it.

This is the secret of daily victory over sin. If we try to fight sin in our own strength, we are bound to fail. If we just look up to the risen Christ to keep us every day and every hour, He will keep us. Through the crucified Christ we get deliverance from the guilt of sin, our sins are all blotted out, we are free from all condemnation, but it is through the risen Christ that we get daily victory over the power of sin. Some receive Christ as a sin-bearer and thus find pardon, but do not get beyond that, and so their life is one of daily failure. Others receive Him as their risen Savior also and thus enter into an experience of victory over sin. To begin right we must take Him not only as our sin bearer, and thus find pardon; but we must also take Him as our risen Savior, our Deliverer from the power of sin, our Keeper, and thus find daily victory over sin.

But God offers Jesus to us, not only as our sin-bearer and our Deliverer from the power of sin, but He also offers Him to us as our Lord and King. We read in Acts 2:36, “Let all the house of Israel know assuredly, that God hath made that same Jesus, whom ye have crucified, both Lord and Christ.” Lord means Divine Master, and Christ means anointed King. To receive Jesus is to take Him as our Divine Master, as the One to whom we yield the absolute confidence of our intellects, the One whose word we believe absolutely, the One whom we will believe though many of the wisest of men may question or deny the truth of His teachings; and as our King to whom we gladly yield the absolute control of our lives, so that the question from this time on is never going to be, what would I like to do or what do others tell me to do, or what do others do, but the whole question is what would my King Jesus have me do? A right beginning involves an unconditional surrender to the Lordship and Kingship of Jesus.

The failure to realize that Jesus is Lord and King, as well as Savior, has led to many a false start in the Christian life. We begin with Him as our Saviour, as our sin-bearer and our Deliverer from the power of sin, but we must not end with Him merely as Savior, we must know Him as Lord and King. There is nothing more important in a right beginning of the Christian life than an unconditional surrender, both of the thoughts and the conduct to Jesus. Say from your heart and say it again and again, “All for Jesus.” Many fail because they shrink back from this entire surrender. They wish to serve Jesus with half their heart, and part of themselves and part of their possessions. To hold back anything from Jesus means a wretched life of stumbling and failure.

The life of entire surrender is a joyous life all along the way. If you have never done it before, go alone with God to-day, get down on your knees and say, “All for Jesus,” and mean it. Say it very earnestly; say it from the bottom of your heart. Stay there until you realize what it means and what you are doing. It is a wondrous step forward when one really takes it. If you have taken it already, take it again, take it often. It always has fresh meaning and brings fresh blessedness. In this absolute surrender is found the key to the truth. Doubts rapidly disappear for one who surrenders all (John 7:17). In this absolute surrender is found the secret of power in prayer (1 John 3:22). In this absolute surrender is found the supreme condition of receiving the Holy Ghost (Acts 5:32).

Taking Christ as your Lord and King involves obedience to His will as far as you know it in each smallest detail of life. There are those who tell us that they have taken Christ as their Lord and King who at the same time are disobeying Him daily in business, in domestic life, in social life, and in personal conduct. Such persons are deceiving themselves. You have not taken Jesus as your Lord and King if you are not striving to obey Him in everything each day. He Himself says, “Why call ye Me ‘Lord, Lord!’ and do not the things that I say?” (Luke 6:46).

To sum it all up, the right way to begin the Christian life is to accept Jesus Christ as your sin-bearer and to trust God to forgive your sins because Jesus Christ died in your place; to accept Him as your risen Saviour who ever lives to make intercession for you, and who has all power to keep you, and to trust Him to keep you from day to day; and to accept Him as your Lord and King to whom you surrender the absolute control of your thoughts and of your life. This is the right beginning, the only right beginning of the Christian life. If you have made this beginning, all that follows will be comparatively easy. If you have not made this beginning, make it now.

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Beginning the Christian life Right What does it mean to receive Jesus Christ? It means to take Christ to be to yourself all that God offers Him to be to everybody.