#gets easier to recite alongside it every time

[dullahandyke]

save me 20 minute baron from the baronies compilation

[sapphosremains]

Hi! I’ve been religious my whole life, but I’ve been feeling the urge to become more dedicated lately. I pray most nights (sometimes I forget) and I feel I have room in my heart and life for Jesus. I was wondering if you have any tips for ways to incorporate faith into your life in more tangible ways? Like, ways that are harder to forget. Like a prayer book or anything like that. Little ways, you know?

I’m sorry if this was too vague!! I can elaborate if it’s helpful.

hey anon!

that’s so lovely, i’m so glad to hear it, and it sounds like you’ve got amazing practices already. if forgetting is an issue (definitely was for me), it’ll definitely get easier with routine as you build a habit, and also as you grow your relationship with God it’ll become something you feel that longing to do, so you’ll forget less. for now, reminders could definitely help if praying every day is a practice you want to start.

i’ll answer this as non-denominationally as i can - also as i’m anglocatholic i'm a lot more varied in my practices, so take what you want and what works for your faith, and don’t worry if something doesn’t work at all!

in terms of daily prayer, i would really recommend the book of common prayer! different denominations use different editions - i go to a church of england church, so i use the same BCP edition as the cofe, which is the 1662 version, for example. that version, and a contemporary version, can be found in an app called ‘daily prayer’, as well as on the cofe website, and i’m sure other places. apps and websites like that find things like the psalms, lessons, and collects for you, otherwise you can use a physical or digital bcp alongside a bible, lectionary, and collect book to find the appropriate things to put in. it sounds complicated but if you start with an app or website that does it for you you’ll understand quickly! i like to read the psalms and readings from my bible, just using the app to find them, because it feels best for me. eventually i’ll graduate to using a physical bcp book when im brave enough! if you’d like more info on praying the daily office using the bcp or other material lmk bc i spent ages researching trying to understand how to pray with it :)

another thing i do is keeping a bible on me 99% of the time. as i used to go to an anglican school, we received the new testament and psalms when we started secondary school in a tiny little book, which is super easy to carry around.

if you’d like to incorporate prayer into your life more generally, i’d suggest improving your instinct to turn to god. one thing i’ve always struggled with is blaspheming, always going ‘oh my god!’ whenever something went wrong. i saw a really good tip (please shout anyone if you know who said this!) that suggested to turn any ‘oh my god’ etc of anger into a genuine prayer. instead of frustration and blasphemy, use that opportunity and reminder of Him to pray for the situation that is aggravating you. another thing is crossing yourself whenever feels right - maybe if you need support, or are struggling, or want to make a quick prayer for a passing ambulance etc. it’s a nice habit to be in.

i also learnt some short psalms, or declarations of faith like the Nicene creed and Apostles creed. these are quite soothing and if you’re in a difficult situation and need a second to calm down, just quietly reciting a psalm is a prayer to god, gives you the space and time to calm down while focusing on something else, and use His Word.

the other thing if you’re more catholic leaning could be a rosary! if you’re not catholic and a little uncomfy with the hail mary’s, swap them out for a creed, the lord’s prayer, or the jesus prayer, or something else. sometimes i pray the catholic rosary, other times my own version using the creeds, the lord’s prayer, glory be’s, and the jesus prayer, using the same method as the catholic rosary. otherwise you can make a shorter rosary. it’s a nice physical reminder that you can carry with you, or just do in your head.

a cross, crucifix, medal, or other religious necklace is also a nice reminder. it reminds me of my faith, my commitments, and i also hope that it’s a message to others that i am a safe loving person who they can turn to in times of need, although not sure that’s what people take from it now unfortunately :(

that’s all i can think of for now, but do get in touch again if you have any questions! i'll be praying for you.

may the Lord bless you and keep you x

[tipsycad147]

Plant Allies for Ancestral Healing

October 25, 2023  /  Alexis J. Cunningfolk

I remember sitting alone as a kid, with my well-loved books on working with herbs open in front of me, and feeling like I was being gathered up not just by the stories of the plants themselves, but by something else alongside the green wisdom I was so eager for. I couldn't tell you what half the ingredients were in the botanical skincare book I was reading or yet identify a Peppermint (Mentha piperita) plant from a Sage (Salvia officinalis) from my gardening book, but I could tell that this feeling of being held was a good thing, a needed thing, a healing thing. I now reflect on these moments, where I experienced respite from the loneliness that can haunt strange kids, and recognize my ancestors drawing near and sheltering my curiosity of my plant kin so that it might grow into the life I live now. The books I was reading weren't full of ancestral magick (except for the occasional mention of "ancient people believed this plant to protect against lightning"), but reciting the names of plants worked like a spell, calling forth my ancient people, who understand the power of knowing a plant's name.

While I feel fortunate to have been introduced to working with ancestors as a path of healing early on in my life, I am fascinated and filled with hope by the ways that modern therapeutic practice is embracing the need to heal our ancestral lines, whether we call it epigenetics, inherited trauma or that story our great grandma used to tell. Of course, healing the ancestral line is not a new practice - this is an old path of healing, that some of us have been lucky enough to be raised in and others of us are getting to experience through renewed traditions. It makes my work as an herbalist easier, too, when folks come to me with some familiarity to the idea that the fears and anxieties their ancestors felt, especially from big traumatic experiences, have shaped all of us in all sorts of ways.

Before I was ever introduced to the concept of inherited trauma and epigenetics, however, I understood that some of the plants I was using today had been used by some of my ancestors for hundreds of years, and while I couldn't, as a child, give you a complex explanation of what that meant, I knew it was meaningful. While there is healing that takes place on a physical level through mediums like surgical interventions, appropriate medication, the tending of wounds, the healing that takes place on an emotional and mental level needs, amongst other things, meaning. It is meaningful, even if we don't know our ancestors' names, speak their language or have been offered any of their stories, to work with plants that our ancestors would recognize and feel at home with.

Working with plants has always felt like ancestral practice because I started working with herbs as a way to reclaim and reconnect with the ways my ancestors. When I began practicing as an herbalist, and especially when I started working with other people of the global majority, especially mixed folks like myself, ancestral work and healing became increasingly centered in my work. For me, ancestral plant work starts with honoring plants as our ancestors - plants having watched our species evolve - so that every cup of tea can be a way of acknowledging the presence of and welcoming our ancestors in. One of the simplest ways to start an ancestral healing practice is to set out a cup of tea for your ancestors, inviting them in to enjoy it with you, every time you make a cup for yourself. 

If you are interested in developing an ancestral healing practice with plants as your allies, the following suggestions come from the plants themselves, my own experiences, and from plant folk who've shared them with me. I share them with you now in hopes of inspiring your own ancestral healing practice, as well as supporting the ancestral healing work of the communities you serve.

Work with ancient plants as your ancestors

If you feel called to honor plants as ancestral spirits, you can work with ancient plants. A few years ago I was in a particularly hard stretch of examining, trying to name, as well as make sense of some of my family’s inherited trauma. I held a complex pain as I sat with these stories of knowing they were incomplete, that I didn’t know many of my ancestor’s names or where even where they came from. I had started working with Rose (Rosa spp.) daily around this time and at one point felt a very clear sense of Rose as ancestor, helping to fill in those gaps of knowledge with their gentle wisdom. I later learned that Rose is an ancient plant species, having been around for millions of years before our modern human species. This experience with Rose changed my relationship with plants within ancestral healing as not just herbs that our ancestors used, but as ancestors themselves, having evolved before and with us as a species.

I consider ancient plants to be species that we know have been with us for millions of years or plants that are particularly long-lived. Ancient plants include Rose (Rosa spp.) and Ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba) both of which you can work with as ancestor spirits to help you connect with your own ancestral line. There is something powerful about sitting in deep reverence with a plant like Rose who has watched us grow and evolve as a species. You're essentially connecting with Rose as the Mighty Dead in order to seek out your known and unknown Beloved Dead. Long-lived trees like Oak (Quercus spp.), Yew (Taxus spp.), and Redwoods (Sequoia spp.) are also good options as well as the ancient plants of folklore such as Mugwort (Artemisia spp.) which is known as the oldest of herbs in Anglo-Saxon lore. 

Working with ancient plants can include using them internally (i.e. teas, tinctures, food, and so on) and externally (i.e. baths, incense, herbal oils, and so on), creating altars, charms, and talismans featuring your ancient plant ally, writing poetry, creating art, journaling with them, dancing and singing with them, and whatever else you're called to do. As I mentioned in the introduction, you can leave out a cup of tea for your ancestors whenever you make one for yourself as a way to invite your ancestors into your home, your practice, and to offer them to participate in healing your ancestral lines (or just have a bit of a chat). You can make this into a deeper practice, by choosing to do this everyday, combined with some sort of meditative activity, for a few days to a full cycle of the Moon.

What I love about working with plants as ancestors is that it helps those of us who do not have direct connection with our ancestral lines or complicated ancestors who we are struggling to connect with, to still work with ancestral healing. Working with ancient plants is a wonderful community practice, especially when working with a group of folks from a mix of ethnicities.

Work with plants within your heritage

Another way to approach ancestral healing work is to work with plants that you either know for certain or can make an informed guess that your (cultural, ethnic, and/or spiritual) ancestors used. This idea is part of many modern Pagan traditions which encourage practitioners to connect with their ancestors through plants, places, food, songs, and anything that would be familiar to their ancient people. Where this idea of ancestral plants for present-day healing really became centered for me was when I was during my training as a doula (birth labor assistant) and my teacher spoke to the healing that can happen when you use foods and herbs with your pregnant client that would be familiar to their genetic line. She spoke of it as a way to help a birthing person connect with the lineage and strength of birthing people before them through inviting ancestors in through the food and herbs they eat during pregnancy. It is a view of healing I've carried with me throughout my herbal practice.

Besides explicit exploration of your own or a client's ancestral and plant medicine heritage, if I have a few similar plants that I am considering offering to a client, sometimes I end up choosing one that is an ancestral plant for them. I've seen a lot of magick happen between plant and person when the story of how this plant has been working with their family and cultural line for generations is finally able to be told and heard. Reintroducing Turmeric (Curcuma longa) to someone as not just a plant they saw their dad cooking with as a child, but a plant with deep-rooted ancestral meaning can be powerful stuff. Working with plants that your ancestors would've known can be one of the ways of addressing epigenetic trauma as you're partaking in a medicine that is familiar to your body and the bodies of (at least some of) your ancestors on a genetic level. 

Work with trance plants

You can also work with plants that help to induce transcendent states to help you connect with your ancestors more directly. I'm not speaking about entheogenic plants, but herbs that are often classified as dream plants in traditional western herbal and magickal tradition. Plants like Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris) and Yarrow (Achillea millefolium) are good options. For example, I use Mugwort to help bring about dreams where I connect with my ancestors or to deepen my meditation, divination, and/or trancework practice where connecting to my ancestors is the goal. I do think that these herbs work best when you already have a meditation and/or trancework practice already in place and if you're looking to develop either or those, breathwork is a good place to start.

᠅

I hope you've found some inspiration for your ancestral healing practice. To be perfectly honest, it doesn't matter what plants you are working with - I think the most powerful way of working with plants in ancestral work is to view them as partners in calling in and making space for your ancestors.

If you're looking for more inspiration for developing a herbal healing practice, come this way. You can also peruse my collection of plant profiles to see if one speaks to your ancestral line. If you want to not only connect with your ancestors but your ancient self, I have a tarot spread for that. And if you want a classic, Samhain-inspired ancestor reading, I have a tarot spread for that, too. If you’re looking for a collection of Moon-centered rituals to support your ancestral practice, check out The Moonfolk Book of Shadows.

May your explorations of ancestral healing bear fruit while healing your roots.

[jdgo51]

10 Tips for Memorizing Scripture

Today's inspiration comes from:

The Joshua Code

by O.S. Hawkins

"Believe it or not, our brains have an almost unlimited capacity for remembering things. Research by Paul Reber, professor of Psychology at Northwestern University, shows that our memory storage capacity is about 2.5 petabytes (or a million gigabytes).

This means that, theoretically, humans can memorize large portions of the Bible (if not the whole thing). Famed hymn writer Fanny Crosby could effortlessly recite the Pentateuch, the Gospels, most of the Psalms, and Song of Songs. In fact, she worked at memorizing five chapters a week!

For the Spirit to use the Bible to transform us, we need to know what’s in it. And memorization is an incredible way to make us intimately familiar with Scripture. Making memorization a discipline can have a life-changing impact on our spiritual maturity.

For the Spirit to use the Bible to transform us, we need to know what’s in it.

Here are 10 Tips for Committing Scripture to Memory

Start small and memorize incrementally

As the old saying goes, “How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time, of course.” It’s the same thing for memorizing passages of Scripture. If you want to memorize a chapter of Ephesians, start with two verses. When you have those down, add two more. You’ll have the chapter memorized in no time!

Say it out loud

Nothing helps you memorize like recitation. Throughout the day, recite the verses you’re memorizing to yourself. Sometime during the week, take a walk and recite longer sections you’ve memorized to keep them fresh in your mind.

Write it down

Keep a notebook and handwrite verses multiple times. Handwriting helps to cement things in your mind. Alternatively, you can also open up a Word or Google document and type out what you’re memorizing, too.

Draw it

If you’re an artistic Bible journaler, you already know how conceptualizing and drawing out a verse can help you understand and internalize it. The time you invest in drawing, shading, and coloring a verse is time spent meditating on it. The Beautiful Word Bible Coloring Bibles and Scripture coloring books are a great way to memorize verses as you color!

Listen to it

Hearing things repeatedly can aid memorization. Listen to recordings of the Bible, or create your own recordings of verses you’ve memorized and listen to them regularly.

Take it with you

Some people swear by the Post-It Note® method. Write the verses you’re memorizing on notes, and put them up everywhere: your bathroom, fridge, car, desk, and computer monitor. You could even make it the background on your phone!

Use flashcards

Students have used flashcards for memorization for decades—because they work. Create some of your own with the verse numbers on one side and the actual verses on the other. You can use these to quiz yourself, or invite someone to help you.

Get a memory partner & find accountability

Memorization takes a lot of work, and it can be hard to stick to it without discipline. Having someone else memorizing with you will provide the motivation you need to see it through. It’s helpful to work alongside someone else. Try practicing as if you were running lines for a play.

Translate the verse into another language

If you’re bilingual, translating verses from the language you’re memorizing into another language can be a fun way to become more familiar with what you’re memorizing. And the more acquainted you are with a passage, the easier it is to remember.

Find the right resources

The Joshua Code: 52 Verses Every Believer Should Know by O.S. Hawkins is our bestselling book on Scripture Memorization!"

[thenovelartist]

Burned Beginnings, chapter 1

Novel decided to do Adrienette April on a whim. Each post until the end of April (or such is the plan) will have 3 prompts in it.

She also discovered she’s very rusty. Bear with me here. XD

Next>>

1. AU

Marinette had thought she’d grown used to Chloe’s bullying, having to had endure it since they were little. However, with high school came a new name that became a regular part of Chloe’s vocabulary, alongside “hot” and “sexy” and “dreamboat”.

“And Marinette would never catch the eye of someone so perfect.”

Honestly, Marinette had thought she was over it, but on a particularly bad day, she’d snapped back at Chloe.

“Well, clearly he isn’t that perfect if he fawns over someone whose only redeeming quality is pretending to be pretty.”

That had led to a fire alarm getting pulled and Marinette left to blame for it. Anyone who tried to come to her defense was shut down, and Marinette had been suspended.

Which had started an all-out war.

After being stuck at home, wrongfully, for three solid days, Marinette had snapped. She’d decided that if Chloe was going to build a bonfire and poor on the gasoline that she would be there with a match. By senior year, Marinette’s record had taken a hit for it but Chloe’s reputation was in the toilet.

Marinette would take what she could get.

However, she supposed she hadn’t fully thought out the consequences. As much as she played with fire, she should have realized she’d get burned sooner or later.

And she did. Third degree.

We regret to inform you your application has been denied.

Those were words she grew tired of seeing yet came back from every school she applied to. With that in mind, she’d called up her girl friends to tell them what had happened.

“Hey, Marinette,” Alya had said upon seeing the letters. “Don’t get me wrong, I feel really bad for you. But… I did warn you—”

“I get it,” Marinette had surrendered, knowing that Alya was completely right. “You tried to warm me of the consequences, and now I’m paying for them.”

The girls had slipped into a moment of silence before Alix spoke up. “Hey, I can ask Max if he can do a little digging so you at least know why, yeah?”

Marinette had raised a brow but agreed. “Only if he’s not busy with his own college stuff.”

“Oh please, he’s too smart for college. He started up some robotics company in his free time and is already making bank on it.”

It took a week for Max to come back with a full report. Marinette had to give him props for working fast as he did.

“Hacking into the system was the first thing I could think of,” he’d explained. “In the side notes, there was mention of your attendance record and suspensions.”

“They were all wrongful suspensions,” Alix had countered.

“Doesn’t matter to the school,” Max had said with a shrug. “But even then, I thought there had to be more to this than just attendance. There were other students who had the same notes yet were accepted. So I shifted focus to digging up background on all the directors of the school. After hacking a few emails, I discovered Audrey Bourgeois happens to know a lot of directors or administration members in all the fashion schools of France. Considering the contents of most of those emails, it has become clear that Marinette was wrongfully barred from every school she’d applied to. And that there’s nothing that can be done about it because we only discovered such scandal through highly illegal means.”

“So…” Alya had begun, turning her attention to Marinette. “Where does that leave you, M?”

Marinette’s lips had pursed in thought. It was funny how things turned out, because despite her anger, she somehow had been peace with what she was faced with. “I think that the last place I want to be is in an industry full of liars and people who use their words to manipulate anyone they damn well please.”

That was how she ended up working full-time in her parents’ bakery. They never said a word about it, but she knew they were disappointed. Of course they weren’t mad about her still being here and working in the bakery with them, and she knew her parents still loved her more than anything.

But she knew that with as many dreams as she had and had shared with them, they were disappointed on her surrendering it all.

“Sorry, Maman, Papa,” she whispered into the empty kitchen as she plopped the baguettes she formed onto a baking tray. “Just give me a little time to figure things out. Seems like lofty dreams are a lot easier to crush than I realized.”

 2. Rebellion

A son can only bear the world of their parent’s expectations for so long. He wasn’t Atlas, but after a few years of acting like him, Adrien decided to dump the globe. To hell if it broke. He’d smirk in satisfaction at his father’s disappointment.

At the very least, the fact he no longer had the weight of the world of his shoulders made the far-too-common disappointment lecture easier to bear.

His strategic rebellion had started harmless enough. At sixteen with a rapidly growing forced modeling career, he’d given his father an ultimatum: he gets to grow out his hair, or it all goes. It had been shocking the amount of power the razor in his hand had given him. It was the perfect harmless threat. His father had been furious, throwing a fit about Adrien acting like a child, but after being gaslit for so long, Adrien had finally come to realize the abusive techniques for what they were. And he wasn’t going to roll over and take it any longer.

That day had ended with Adrien being grounded but ultimately the victor of their stand-off.

After that, he’d begun ditching certain events. He’d always liked fencing, so he never ditched those lessons, but attendance for his home-school lessons, mandarin lessons, and piano lessons had all been decided on a whim. His father had hardly been pleased by this, but to Adrien, that was the point. The lectures soon washed into one another so much that Adrien could practically recite the words that roll off his father’s tongue verbatim. He’d come to realize they were strategically meant to hurt. To humiliate. And as such, he’d stopped taking them personally.

Then came the fun part.

He got earrings. Honestly, Adrien hadn’t really cared for the piercings one way or another. In one way, there were a hassle, and caring for new piercings was a pain in the butt. However, they had been worth it to see his dad so royally pissed off.

Then came the ditching of certain photoshoots. There was a reason Adrien had held off on this one for so long: he cared about the people running the shoot. There was no reason they needed to be collateral in this battle between him and his father. After all, they were just employees doing their job; Adrien didn’t want them to suffer for his rebellion. With that in mind, Adrien had planned out his absences of these photoshoots. Again, he didn’t want to drag anyone else into his mess, so he had always organized a replacement model. Shoot would always go on, just not as planned.

And that was enough to drive his father mad.

It always put a smile on Adrien’s face.

The last touch was an unexpected one. He hadn’t even thought about going this far. Yet, a friend of his not only put the idea in his head, but gave him the art to go with it.

“Is that a tattoo?”

Oh, how he wished he would have taken a picture of his father’s face. The large black cat surrounded in a green, wispy smoke that wrapped around his forearm was truly a work of art. He’d had to think carefully about this decision, but in the end, he quite liked it.

“Yeah. I’m eighteen; I can ink myself if I want to. Why? Is that a problem?”

Adrien might be wearing a cat on his arm, but the grin on his lips was downright wolfish.

Eventually, it all had come to a head and blew up in his face. Adrien couldn’t say he’d been surprised. In fact, he had been fully expecting it. He’d already found an apartment to rent and had begun sneaking most of his important things over there before his father could kick him out. So when Adrien found himself kicked to the curb as soon as he was handed his general education certificate, Adrien had been prepared.

But mostly, he was free.

What a joyous day it was.

However, now that he was free, he knew he needed a job. Not because he needed the money, per se, but because it was time he started acting like the average adult. He never got to go to school, so now, it was time to pick up a mundane, first job that everyone hated but would “serve him well later in life”. Mostly, it would just be something normal.

The easy places to apply were food shops and retail stores. He’d work one for a while before deciding what his next life step would be. Chloe had been quick to offer him a job at her father’s hotel, but Adrien was vehemently against the idea. Over the span of his rebellion, Chloe’s behavior and attitude towards him had grown notably worse, and he had a feeling cutting ties with her would be his next step in life.

In the end, he’d scored a job he definitely was underqualified for. He’d applied partly out of spite and partly because ‘why not?’ He’d heard about this bakery enough times from Chloe to know the “cruel bitch who did nothing but mercilessly harass her” lived here, and that was enough to pique Adrien’s curiosity. At a bakery as popular as that, though, he hadn’t been sure he’d get a call. And when he did, he knew he would do everything he could to present himself as a reliable and respectable man eager to work, but he never thought he’d end up hitting it off with the owner.

Which somehow ended up with him agreeing to work at Tom and Sabine’s Patisserie.

Going into that job, he swore to himself he would do what he could to prove himself worthy. He knew there had to have been better applicants, so Adrien didn’t want to disappoint the very kind owners who dared give him a chance. Soon, his days were spent working hard while covered in flour and surrounded by bread all day. Well, bread and all the sharp and hot objects in your average kitchen.

He just didn’t think that would include a wicked sharp and smoking hot young lady that happened to be his bosses’ daughter.

 3. Game Night

“Mama, Papa, please go. You two hardly ever get out of the house.”

Marinette watched her maman put a hand over the mouthpiece of her phone while her papa turned to her. “But I’ll be busy that night. We have a massive order scheduled for the next day.”

“I can handle that,” Marinette quickly countered with a grin. “You know I’m a night owl, anyway. I’ll get it done, and you two can go enjoy game night with your friends.”

Her parents spared each other a glance. “Are you sure about that, Marinette?” Maman asked.

“Positive. Papa already talks to the bread too much, so he really should talk to people for a change. And while you have to deal with people all day, I know you want more than to just have short conversations filled with small talk. So please, go out and have a social life for once.”

With one last look, her parents relented. With a smile, her mother took her hand off the phone. “We’ll be there.”

Papa turned to her with a grin. “I was going to spend that time teaching Adrien how to handle those orders. I can leave teaching him in your hands, right?”

Her grin fell. Adrien Agreste. What the hell a washed-out model was doing working at her parents’ bakery was beyond her. Admittedly, over the last month she’d been working with him, the most she’d say is that maybe he wasn’t too bad a guy. Papa certainly sung his praises. But that still didn’t answer the question of why he was working here of all places. After all, he was Chloe’s friend and suspected lover.

“Don’t think I don’t see that look on your face, Marinette,” her maman chastised. She’d hung up and set her phone down already, fully giving her attention to her daughter. “No matter your personal feelings, you really should give him a chance.”

“He’s a good kid,” Papa said. “Maybe a little rough around the edges, but I can tell he really does want to learn and do his best.”

Marinette sighed. This wasn’t the first time this talk had happened. She remembered having a talk with her parents after his first interview. There were a few other people who were far more qualified for the job, but Papa said he liked Adrien’s personality and spirit the best. So in the end, all Marinette’s objections had fallen upon deaf ears.

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll give him a chance.”

With a smile that made Marinette loath to disappoint him, her papa patted her head affectionately. “Thank you, Marinette. I think you’d like him if you got to know him.”

Not likely. “I’ll do my best, Papa.”

“Really, Marinette,” her maman warned. “Unless you have a valid reason, you need to put aside your feelings for the sake of the bakery running smoothly. Can you manage that?”

Appropriately chastised, Marinette bowed her head in embarrassment. Maman brought up a good point: Marinette shouldn’t let her anger towards Adrien affect the bakery. Her parents didn’t deserve that. “Yes, Maman. I’m sorry.”

With a smile, her maman came up and wrapped her in a hug. “Thank you, Marinette.”

Marinette hugged her back. “No, thank you, Maman and Papa, for everything. I won’t let you down.”

Papa wrapped his arms around both her and Maman. “Thank you, sweetheart. We love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[jingabitch]

Let Love Be Enough

SUMMARY: On the day of your daughter’s wedding, you can’t avoid Taehyung.

PAIRING: ex-husband!Taehyung x reader

GENRE: angst, smut

RATING: E

WARNINGS: angst | infidelity | arguing | smut | unprotected sex | use of flashbacks im not sure about | emotional sex | crying during sex

WORD COUNT: 9.4k

A/N: i hope you guys like this!! i was pretty uncertain about posting it because it’s not really like my other work, and I wasn’t sure if i was doing the flashbacks well. Thank you to my lovely betas @taetaesbaebaepsae​ @detectivebts​ @sweetnspicy93 and @moonmintrails​, @dreamystuffers​ for the banner and @kigurumu​ and @jkeuphoriadreamland​ for encouraging me to post it!! Without them the preview wouldn’t even have made it onto Tumblr.

“You look beautiful today, baby.” You were barely holding it together at this point, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling and ruining your makeup. In all fairness to you, your baby girl was getting married. Sunmi looked resplendent in her designer dress, and the entire ceremony was amazing. No expense had been spared – after all, it wasn’t every day that Kim Taehyung’s only daughter got married.

“Thank you, mom,” Sunmi said, squeezing your hand, her own eyes looking a little glossy.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart, and I love you so much.”

Your heartfelt moment with your daughter was interrupted by her father knocking and entering the door. Even after all these years, Taehyung was handsome and stately, and looking at him made your heart skip a beat. The graying of his hair didn’t detract from his attractiveness, giving him a distinguished air, and the crow’s feet had the same effect.

It was really too bad he was your ex-husband.

The thought made your expression tighten, although in the name of maintaining a cordial façade, you kept the smile on your face. “Taehyung,” you greeted coolly. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” you said, turning back to Sunmi and squeezing her shoulder. Normally, you’d have kissed her on the cheek but you didn’t want to mess up her makeup or yours.

“Y/n, please stay.” Taehyung tried to stop you, but you were insistent, stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind you. Leaning your back against the solid wood, you let out a gusty sigh, his words having brought back memories you’d really prefer to leave behind.

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

“Y/n, please stay,” Taehyung begged, both hands grabbing yours as tears streamed down his face. You were equally determined to leave, though – the room, the country, the marriage you’d just witnessed imploding in front of your eyes.

Why, why had you thought that it would be a good idea to come surprise Taehyung on the last day of his tour? Your eyes met the gaze of the other woman in his hotel room over his head. She was perched on the bed, watching with rapt attention at what was happening, and you could just hear the thoughts going through her head.

So this is what Kim Taehyung’s fabled wife looks like, you could see it written all over her face. She’s nothing compared to me.

And she was right, you knew. She was in her early twenties, perfectly made up and coiffed, wearing a tight miniskirt you could have poured yourself into ten years ago but couldn’t anymore. In the teddy you’d bought specially for tonight, you knew she could see every tiny detail of your body, even the bits you didn’t really like, like the stretch marks visible under the sheer fabric of your belly and the thighs that weren’t as firm as they’d been when you first started dating Taehyung.

“Taehyung, let go.” They were the first words you’d said to him tonight, and they just made him cling to you harder as he sobbed. You gritted your teeth and pulled your hand back. If you didn’t get out of here soon, you would burst into tears right alongside him, and you didn’t want to show him that side of you. Not anymore.

Not after he’d betrayed your trust so completely with another woman.

He shook his head frantically. “No, please, please.” You could barely make out the words, he was crying so hard. Part of you wanted to drop to your knees next to him to comfort him, pull him into your arms and rock back and forth. You’d been together for twelve years, after all, and old habits die hard.

But another glance at the hookup he’d brought back to his hotel room made up your mind. He certainly hadn’t cared about your relationship or his vows tonight, finding another girl to warm his bed. Sure, your relationship hadn’t been great for a while, and you took full ownership of your part of the blame for the state of your marriage, but you’d wanted to work on it. You’d flown to the States tonight to make it up to him, show him that you still cared, that you loved him and wanted to put in the effort to make things right.

Instead, you’d found him blowing up your marriage.

“My lawyers will contact yours.” It was the last thing you said before making your escape, the tears falling down your face the moment the door swung shut after you.

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

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Sunmi said, taking in the dejected slant of Taehyung’s shoulders. The two of you had divorced when she was seven, and she’d never gotten the full story, but you could barely stand to be in the same room as your ex-husband. You were civil when necessary, but you avoided him as much as possible. It was such a far cry from her memories of when you two were together, when you’d been so close and happy.

“No, it’s okay.” Taehyung waved it away, forcing a smile out even though Sunmi could see that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Today is about you, my love.” Turning to her, he pushed thoughts of his troubled relationship with you out of his mind so that he could pay his daughter the attention she deserved.

Sunmi still watched her father with concern, though, knowing how he got around you. It was a melancholy he wasn’t able to shake until hours after the fact, and it didn’t seem like it had gotten easier for either of you in the twenty years since you’d split up. Sure, you were able to put up a nice front when you couldn’t avoid each other, like at her dance recitals and graduation, but it was clear that neither of you had gotten closure from the divorce.

“Daddy…” Sunmi started, but Taehyung cut her off before she could say anything more.

“You’re so beautiful today, love. You look just like your mother.” Leaning in, he pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you, daddy,” Sunmi said, starting to sniffle a little.

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

From the moment Sunmi had entered this world, Taehyung had known two things: that she was the spitting image of her mother, and that he was, from that moment, irrevocably wrapped around her little finger.

He’d laughed about it with you, too – how much he loved spoiling her, how hard a time he had telling her no. Taehyung was a devoted father, had been from the start. He’d taken a year off from performing and promoting when she was born so that he could stay in Korea with his new family, especially after the difficult birth you’d had.

You both agreed that you would wait a few years before having more children. Pregnancy and childbirth had been difficult for you, and you weren’t quite ready to go through it again, especially now that you had a young daughter to look after. Still, you were equally committed to having a large family, something you’d been talking about since before marriage.

It was a shock, therefore, to find out after a year of trying for your second child that apparently it would be almost impossible for you to conceive and carry another child to term. You were devastated and so was Taehyung, and, admittedly, neither of you had handled it in the best way.

You could barely stand to look at Taehyung for months after, the guilt of not being able to give him what he wanted and the weight of your own disappointment too much for you to bear. You focused all your attention instead on the daughter you already had in a bid to avoid your husband, and you’d be the first to admit that that hadn’t been the best way to deal with things. Not when Taehyung was grieving the loss of his dream too.

With his wife slipping, it seemed, further out of reach every day, Taehyung did the only thing it felt like he could do. He threw himself into his work, which was made easier by the fact that Jungkook was away serving in the military and Namjoon’s wife had just given birth to the couple’s first child.

By the time he left for that world tour, you were barely speaking to your husband and it felt like you were roommates and acquaintances more than husband and wife. He wanted to fix it, but he didn’t know how to, and you were stubbornly resistant to any attempts to reconcile. It was frustrating, to say the least – he wanted to be there for you, but he didn’t know how to help.

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

Taehyung, seated at the table with his family and former band members, watched wistfully as you stood up to toast the happy couple. He didn’t think he’d seen you smile so happily since before the divorce, back when things had been good between the two of you.

“Sunmi and Michael,” you started. “I want to start by congratulating you both. Today has been a beautiful day, and the love you have for each other and for everyone here today is so evident.”

“I remember when Sunmi told me that she was dating Michael – she was only a freshman in college in a foreign country, and I was excited and supportive, but at the time, I had no idea that this relationship would go so far. You have overcome so many obstacles to be together, some of which I’ve witnessed, and many, I’m sure, that I haven’t. Nevertheless, I can see that what you two share is a deep, strong love, that will withstand the test of time.

“If I may, as a mother, offer some advice – although I might not be the best person to give relationship advice,” you added wryly, to chuckles from the crowd, “I know you have the basics covered. Be slow to anger and quick to forgive and remember that you’re a team. But,” you went on, your eyes flicking to Taehyung just for a second, “marriage is difficult, and it takes work. Trust that you’ve got each other’s backs, and communicate about everything, no matter how hard it seems at the time.”

Taehyung’s gaze softened, knowing that it was an implicit apology for your role in the breakdown of your marriage. He was the one who’d ultimately blown it up, something he’d accepted a long time ago, but neither of you had acted like model spouses.

“I believe with all my heart that this is a relationship that will go the distance, and it is my honour to make the first toast to the happy couple!” You concluded, raising your glass of champagne. Everyone in the room followed suit, and you smiled again at them before sitting down.

Jimin leaned over. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung replied quietly. He was better than okay. In fact, he felt lighter than he had in years.

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

“Are you sure this is okay?” you asked for what must have been the hundredth time today. Taehyung couldn’t quite blame you – when you’d gotten married, you’d given up your dream of a family picnic along the Han River Park. There was no way in hell Kim Taehyung wouldn’t be recognized in a public place like that, so it wasn’t feasible at all.

It wasn’t like you were giving up a whole lot – he could afford to take your whole family to resorts, safaris, you name it. Still, the little girl in you that had so many precious memories at the Han River Park with your own family and friends wanted to recreate it with your own children.

Which was why he’d made this plan for your fifth anniversary. He’d called your assistant to let her know to cancel all your appointments today and booked out the entire park so you could finally have the family picnic you’d always dreamed of. It wouldn’t be exactly the same, of course. The rest of the park was basically deserted. But this was so much more than you’d expected, and you almost couldn’t believe that he’d managed to do this.

When you expressed this to your husband, he just smugly noted that you continued to underestimate him even after eight years of being together.

“Of course,” you noted drily. “You are the very epitome of extra.” Still, you leaned over Sunmi’s head to kiss him in a manner that suggested that you’d be doing a lot more if not for the child sitting between you.

“Mommy!” Sunmi cried shrilly, and you broke away from your husband to give your daughter the attention she demanded.

“Yes, baby?”

“I wanna ride the bicycle!” Sunmi told you, pointing out the car window at the bike rental shop.

“Okay, baby,” you agreed easily.

After the bicycle ride, you settled down for a picnic, letting Sunmi gorge herself on fried chicken and delivery food that she rarely got to indulge in because you were all about feeding her a nutritious, balanced diet.

By the time you left the park that evening, Sunmi was fast asleep in her daddy’s arms while you cleared your picnic area and walked next to Taehyung back to the car. The sunset painted the sky bright pink and orange, the fiery ball of the sun disappearing behind the bridge.

“Thank you for today, Tae,” you said, resting your hand on the small of his back as you stretched up to kiss him.

“It was my pleasure. Happy anniversary, my love.”

“Happy anniversary, Tae. I love you.”

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

Watching from your table as the happy couple enjoyed their first dance together, you reached for your glass of wine. Being the mother of the bride was hard work, and you were taking the moment to appreciate that everything seemed to have gone off without a hitch. You had to give Taehyung credit where it was due – he’d always been a good father, and despite everything that had happened between you, he’d never let anything get in the way of his responsibilities as a dad. He’d truly spared no expense when it came to the wedding, and it showed.

After the first dance, the rest of the guests were invited to dance too, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You hadn’t brought a date to the wedding, not wanting to cause any drama with your ex-husband, his family and band members, and it seemed like he hadn’t either.

You didn’t make a habit of prying into his personal life – ever since the divorce, your interactions had been solely about Sunmi. You regretted it a little now, realizing that you’d lost your husband and best friend in one fell swoop, but back then, you’d been so hurt and angry, wanting to punish him as much as you’d needed the space to heal. In fact, this was the longest you’d been in the same room with him since the divorce proceedings.

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

It was cold in the meeting room, and the air conditioning unit was incredibly loud, you noted mechanically. You looked around anxiously, picking at the skin around your nails – an awful habit that Taehyung had tried without avail for years to get you to quit. It was just you and your lawyer in here right now, since you’d come a little early to discuss the case with her, but you were expecting Taehyung to come in any moment now.

He didn’t want the divorce, you knew that. You could still hear his sobs ringing in your ears from the last time you’d met, when he chased you back to Korea and tried to apologize, explain, grovel.

When Taehyung and his lawyer came in, you stood up out of politeness, shaking hands with the lawyer.

“Taehyung,” you greeted tightly, your body wound tight. Your fight-or-flight instinct was already activated, and you were ready to throw down if necessary. Not that you really thought it’d be needed, but you really didn’t want him trying to cajole you out of this. Your mind was made up. How could your relationship continue if you couldn’t trust him anymore?

“Y/n,” he replied. You could hear the slight wobble in his voice, and for just a second, you felt bad. Despite everything that had happened, you still loved him, and some part of you didn’t want to hurt him. In fact, you had to fight the urge to round the table and pull him into a hug, like you’d used to when he was upset.

Swallowing hard, you took your seat instead, clasping your hands tightly together in your lap. You’d lost that right when you decided to end the marriage, you reminded yourself. It didn’t matter how much you wanted to comfort him. You couldn’t anymore, not when you were the cause of his pain. You’d never wanted to be that to him, but that was neither here nor there – you hadn’t wanted to catch your husband hooking up with another woman in a random hotel room either.

To your surprise, the division of assets went more smoothly than you’d expected. You’d heard horror stories of ridiculous fighting over every last penny and had steeled yourself for that. After all, despite your own professional success it was clear to everyone that the bulk of your combined income as a couple came from Taehyung. It wasn’t that you wanted to take him through the wringer or anything like that, but you didn’t want to be left out on the streets with Sunmi either.

There was no question that you would be awarded primary custody of your daughter – Taehyung’s job took him overseas for extended periods of time, even taking into account the fact that the group was slowing down now as the demands of real life grew.

The division of assets was challenging, but you ran into the opposite problem from what you had feared. Taehyung, once he’d accepted that this divorce was happening, seemed intent on heaping wealth on you. He tried to offer you the house – which you rejected, instead asking for an apartment that you jointly owned instead. The house would be difficult to maintain, you reasoned, which led to him offering to pay for all maintenance and even for cleaners. You also had to bargain the alimony payments down, to the surprise and amusement of your lawyers. You didn’t need any money from him, you maintained, though you did accept child support.

Still, because there was so little fighting between the two of you, it was over quickly, and the one meeting was enough to settle everything. The lawyers excused themselves, telling you that the final divorce agreement would be sent to you both to sign, and then you were alone.

“Y/n…” Taehyung’s voice was filled with anguish and sadness. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you acknowledged, swallowing back the tears.

“Do we have to do this? You know I’ll do whatever it takes for you to forgive me,” he pleaded. “I’ll quit the band, we can go for couples therapy… please, just don’t leave me.”

“Tae…” It was the last time you would call him that. “I can’t trust you anymore, you know that.”

“I understand.” It didn’t mean he liked it, though.

Reaching over, you squeezed his hand. You withdrew more slowly than was strictly necessary, but still too quickly for him, and he felt the loss of the warmth from your hand as if in slow motion, fighting back the almost desperate urge to cling to you and never let you leave him, because when you walked out the door, it would really be over.

But you didn’t want him anymore, and nothing he said could change your mind. He watched quietly as you left, taking in every detail of your departing figure before the closing door obstructed his vision, before he broke down in tears.

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

With enough time and distance, you could admit that Taehyung was the love of your life. You’d had boyfriends before and after him, but no one had ever made you feel the way he had, like you were soaring above the ground, but unafraid because you knew he would be there to catch you.

Maybe that was why you’d fallen so hard, been hurt so badly. The betrayal coming from the person who’d sworn never to dishonor you had cut you open, and you’d never healed right.

Everyone at your table had gotten up to join the dance floor now, and you were sitting alone, watching.

Looking around, you signaled for a waiter to top up your glass of wine. Now that everything was pretty much done, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to get a little drunk – just to take the edge off the day you’d been having. As nice as the day had been and as proud as you were to watch your baby girl getting married… these events were difficult for you.

You kept remembering your own wedding day, when you’d been so incandescently happy to be marrying Taehyung. Back then, you too had thought you were entering a union that would last a lifetime. But your marriage had been unable to withstand the challenges that life had thrown at you, and all you’d been left with at the end was the broken shambles of a life to pick up and try to piece back together even though there was a giant hole in it.

You were frowning into your glass of wine when Taehyung came to sit next to you. “Hey,” he said quietly, and you turned your head to look at him.

“Hello,” you responded, your voice polite but cold, hoping he’d take the hint and leave you alone. You’d truly had enough, and you didn’t have the emotional strength today to sit and make small talk with Taehyung. Even after so many years, the wounds were still raw and painful.

If your ex-husband was anything, however, it was persistent. “It was a beautiful ceremony,” he pressed on.

“It was,” you agreed coolly. Your hands were resting on the table, and you moved them into your lap, fisting them in the fabric of your dress.

“It made me think of the day we got married.”

Before you knew it, you’d shot out of your seat, the visceral distress at hearing him say those words giving you a jolt of adrenaline. You had to get out of there. “Taehyung, please stop.”

“Y/n, please. You’ve basically ignored my existence for twenty years. I miss you. If you won’t give me anything else, at least let me talk to you tonight.”

When you opened your mouth to speak, your throat felt tight, and you knew you were going to cry. “I—I can’t,” you choked out, before bolting. You streaked out of the ballroom, your body on autopilot, the only thing on your mind getting out of there.

Taehyung watched as you ran from him, guilt stealing over his features. He’d never meant to cause you pain, now or then, but it seemed that was all he was able to do. All he’d been doing for a long time.

He looked around, wondering if anyone had noticed your disappearance and was going to go look for you, but it didn’t look like it – Sunmi and her husband were still wrapped up in each other, as they should be, and almost everyone else was either dancing or at the bar, already drunk.

Sighing, he got out of his seat. He was reluctant to chase you down since his insistence on speaking to you was what had upset you in the first place, but there was nobody else to do it. He just hoped that he would be able to hold it together to actually help you.

You might have let your body carry you wherever it wanted to go, but Taehyung walked with purpose. He had a pretty good idea of where you were, and his hunch was proven right when he saw you pacing by the pool. For some reason, you’d always had an affinity for pools.

“Y/n,” he called out, and you stopped your pacing to turn around.

“How did you find me so quickly?” you asked with a frown, and he shrugged.

“You haven’t changed much in twenty years.”

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

Taehyung swallowed hard as he looked up at the house. For almost ten years now, this had been his home. But now as he approached, fishing his keys out of his backpack, he couldn’t help the trepidation that filled him, making his hands shake and his heart pound.

He didn’t know what to say to you, didn’t know how to fix this. With his heart sinking into his stomach, he admitted to himself for the first time that maybe this couldn’t be fixed.

God, he didn’t even know why he’d done that, gone out to get drunk and find some other girl to hook up with. He’d just been so lonely, and it had been so long since he’d had sex. Even before the tour, which had been nine months long, you two had been on such bad terms that you hadn’t slept together in months. It didn’t excuse his appalling lapse in judgement, though.

With a sigh, he opened the door and stepped into the house, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw all your shoes, still lined up neatly on the shelves. So, you hadn’t left, then.

Dropping his things on the floor, he made his way through the house. At the beginning of your relationship, he might have checked the bedroom or the couch – any of the usual places where someone might be moping – but now he knew better.

Just as he’d expected, you were sitting in a lounge chair by the pool out back, a bottle and a single wine glass on the side table next to you. You turned your head when you heard the sound of the door opening, though you didn’t bother greeting him. The pool area was dark, lit only by the moon and the light shining through the windows in the house.

As he drew closer, he saw that your face was stained with tears, but your eyes were dry.

“Y/n,” he greeted uncertainly, drawing closer.

“You’re here,” you observed, your voice impassive. No hello, no welcome home.

“I had to talk to you, to apologize. Please, Y/n, I—” In his desperation, his voice grew louder, and in response you drew back, folding your arms across your chest and pulling your legs in, turning your face away from his stubbornly.

“I think everything there is to be said has been said.”

“No, Y/n, please, it was a mistake, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” Taehyung sat at the edge of the lounge chair, and your shoulders hunched over more tightly, betraying your discomfort.

“Well, you did. Please leave,” you requested.

“Y/n, please, talk to me,” he begged, reaching out to put his hand on your knee, before thinking better of it and pulling back. His fists clenched in his lap.

“I said everything I had to say last night. I don’t want to see you right now.” Your voice was tightly controlled. You didn’t want him to see you falling apart. He didn’t get to know how heartbroken you were, how he’d destroyed you.

“Divorce?! Y/n, please. I made a mistake and I know it was bad, but we can get through this, can’t we? We can figure it out. I’ll do anything, I swear.” His voice trembled helplessly, and he felt cold all over. It felt like he was falling to pieces in front of you, and you wouldn’t help. “I’ll work to earn your forgiveness, I swear.” You could hear the earnestness in his voice and knew that he was telling the truth. If Taehyung was anything, it was a hard worker, and you knew he would dedicate himself to this task like he’d never done before.

But it wasn’t enough. “I can’t. I can’t get past this, Taehyung.” With those words, you got up and walked away from him again, leaving him in the dark. By the time he managed to marshal the strength to move his body, you were gone from the house. He didn’t see you again until the division of assets.

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

“Taehyung…” Your voice trailed off, your shoulders hunching around your ears uncomfortably. You knew you were both recalling that night, when he’d begged you to forgive him, or at least give him a chance to earn your forgiveness, and you’d rejected him flatly.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” His next words surprised you somewhat. You’d been expecting him to continue with your earlier topic of conversation. This, though, wasn’t necessarily better. The words echoed in your head and turned into his desperate, sobbed apologies of twenty years ago. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You inclined your head in a stiff nod, grudgingly accepting his apology and hoping he would leave you to your thoughts. Why did he still do this to you? He’d been your ex-husband now for longer than you’d been together, and yet you remained so easily affected by him.

Damn Kim Taehyung, you thought suddenly, viciously. He’d sunk his claws into you thirty-two years ago and had never let you go. With the sudden flash of anger and resentment fueling you, you bit out, “You never do.”

Right in front of your eyes, Taehyung seemed to deflate. His shoulders slumped and he put his hands in his pocket, head bowed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. When you made your speech earlier, he’d genuinely thought that you were extending an olive branch to him. It was why he’d tried again to talk to you. It seemed like, not for the first time, he was wrong. “I’ll leave you alone, then.”

With that, he turned and started to walk away. Cursing your inability to let him go, you called out to him. “Wait, Taehyung.”

He spun around so quickly you felt a little dizzy on his behalf. “What is it?” he asked earnestly, his eyes wide.

“That was mean of me to say, and it was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged awkwardly, scuffing his shoe on the floor. “Don’t be. I understand that you still hate me. I would too.”

Since it seemed like tonight was a night for spilling secrets, yours tumbled out of your mouth thoughtlessly. “I don’t hate you. I couldn’t.”

His reaction was so dramatic it was almost comical. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and he took a half-step towards you before stopping short, not sure what to do with that information. “But—but you…”

Cringing as awareness of what you’d told him filtered back into your brain, you turned away, trying to hide your embarrassment.

“Y/n, talk to me, please,” he pleaded. “I just want to understand.” You could hear from his voice and footsteps that he was approaching you, and he stopped just a few paces away, wanting to be closer but trying not to overcrowd you.

“Stop it, Tae,” you said, the old nickname slipping out in your distraction. It didn’t even register with you as you grappled with your emotions, trying to rein them in, but he had to moderate his voice to stop the joy from coming through.

“If you tell me to go I will, Y/n, but I’m just curious. I’ve spent the past twenty years thinking you hated me for what I did. I mean, you’ve barely been able to look at me for all this time.”

“Taehyung…” You turned back to him, then noted the intensity of his gaze with some surprise. It compelled you to speak, like it always had. “I never hated you. I couldn’t. I can’t.”

“Then… then why?” His voice broke on the last word, his voice filled with hurt and confusion.

You gave him a small shrug. “I couldn’t trust you anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand why I didn’t think you were trustworthy after finding you about to hook up with a girl while you were on tour?” You rolled your eyes derisively. “It’s not rocket science, Tae. Was that even the first time?”

“What—Yes!” he yelled. “I swear to God, Y/n. It was a mistake. A shitty, terrible mistake, and one that I apologized for a million times. But you wouldn’t even listen to me, and I thought it was because you hated me, but now… we could have worked this out, couldn’t we?” The raw longing in his voice made you look away from him, because your eyes were filling with tears.

“Stop it,” you choked. “This is ancient history. There’s no point in bringing it up.”

“Y/n, it may be ‘ancient history’ to you, but there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about it. I love you, and I never stopped, even though everything went so wrong. I know you don’t have to do this. You can walk away right now, and I won’t chase you, I swear. But if you don’t mind, I really, really want to know what was going through your mind then.”

You bit your lip, your face still turned away from him, as you thought about it. For twenty years you’d hidden your tears from him, but if you decided to accede to his request, that ended tonight. Were you strong enough?

“Love… isn’t enough for a relationship, Tae. How was I supposed to trust you after what I saw?” You picked at an imaginary loose thread on your dress.

“Love? You still loved me after that?” Incredulity coloured his voice. You didn’t blame him – you hadn’t exactly shown it, instead pushing him away relentlessly.

“Taehyung…” Your voice caught. You’d always known, intellectually, that you’d hurt him, but seeing his anguish written all over his face made it real. “You’re the love of my life. I could never stop loving you.”

“Y/n…” Taehyung felt like his soul had left his body. Moving completely on autopilot, he took a step forward, then another, until he was standing right in front of you, one hand on your waist. “Please,” he whispered, his other hand cupping your cheek, before leaning down to kiss you.

You wanted to push him away and run off, screaming, but instead your eyes fluttered shut as he brushed his lips against yours gently, your hands reaching out to grasp his shirt. “Tae,” you said, your voice basically a wisp of air, when he pulled back.

“Thank you,” he rasped, starting to step back. As pathetic as it sounded, that tiny, chaste kiss was enough to last him the rest of his life.

It wasn’t enough for you, though. You’d forgotten – forced yourself to forget – what it felt like to have him pressed against you, towering over you, worshipping you with every caress. All of that had been tainted when you saw him with that other nameless girl, but having him here with you now, twenty years later, you felt the first inklings of doubt. After so much time and everything that had happened, he was still here with you, begging you to talk to him. It was clear that he loved you and you certainly felt the same way about him, and for the first time, you asked yourself – could love be enough?

When he made to move away, you tightened your fingers in the fabric of his shirt, holding him close. Taehyung looked down at you with surprise. “Y/n… what is it?” he asked.

Instead of answering him in words, you pulled him flush to your body and kissed him again, releasing his shirt in favour of winding your arms around his neck as his body collided into yours. Unlike the last one, this wasn’t a gentle, chaste peck. Your kiss was filled with all the longing and passion of the past twenty years, and Taehyung couldn’t help but react, his hands gripping your waist as he deepened the kiss hungrily.

You moaned into the kiss, a high-pitched, needy sound, as your arms tightened around his neck, pulling him yet closer to you. Hearing it, Taehyung tightened his grip on your waist, shuddering as he rolled his hips helplessly against you.

Breaking away from the kiss, Taehyung rested his forehead against yours, your breath mingling with his in the small space between your faces. “Y/n,” he panted.

“Tae,” you whined, your arms dropping to your sides as you hooked your fingers in his belt loops. “I missed you so much.”

He swore under his breath. This seemed like the reconciliation he’d dreamed of for so many years, but something was off. He’d always been able to tell with you, and he knew he didn’t have the whole story yet. It would be irresponsible and selfish for him to pursue this while you were clearly still in a fragile state, and as much as some dark part of him wanted to, he couldn’t do that to you.

So he took a step back and sucked in a deep breath to regain his composure – then almost lost it promptly when he saw you staring at him with that dark, intense gaze that haunted his dreams. “Stop looking at me like that,” he grumbled, ducking his head to hide his flush. “I’m trying to be good.”

“Could have tried that twenty years ago,” you muttered, but Taehyung, being so close to you, heard. The words cut through the haze in his mind like a knife and he dropped his arms to his sides immediately, turning away from you to hide how much your words had hurt him. He knew he deserved it, but the pain of hearing how much you hated him, dashing the new, timid hope growing in his chest like grass in the spring… it devastated him.

“Y/n… I’m sorry,” he choked, his hands balling into fists. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for doing that, and for hurting you, and if there was one thing in my life I could take back, it would be that. I’ve apologized a million times over; I’ve offered to leave you alone tonight. You were the one who initiated that kiss. I just—I don’t know what you want from me.

“I can’t do this anymore. I love you so much, and even though you say you love me, you’ll never forgive me. It just… it hurts so much, knowing that nothing I say or do will ever be enough to make it better.”

His words tore through you, shredding your anger and resentment like tissue. Your hurt may be old, but his… it was fresh, and every time you rejected his company or made a snide remark, it was like rubbing salt in his wounds. You knew he was sorry, that he regretted it, and sometimes even you wondered why that wasn’t enough for you.

Darting forward, you grasped his large fist, cupping it between your hands. “Taehyung, I’m sorry.” Your words were sincere and heartfelt, and you gripped his hand tightly, like you were afraid he would leave – and why wouldn’t he? He’d made you feel like you weren’t enough once, and you’d walked away from him. Really, how could you blame him for doing the same thing?

“I know I wasn’t a perfect wife.” It was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud. “It doesn’t excuse what you did, but learning that I couldn’t have more children was heartbreaking for me.”

Taehyung stopped short. You’d never acknowledged this before. Without thinking about it, he uncurled his fingers to hold your hand, giving you what support he could as the confession spilled from your lips.

“I know you wanted children, a big family. Finding out that I couldn’t give you that…” Your voice broke, and Taehyung reacted, turning to draw you into his arms. You nestled in his embrace like you’d never left, your body fitting perfectly against his.

“I felt like I wasn’t enough.” You’d been carrying this secret hurt inside you for so long, and to say it out loud gave you a sense of relief, as if a crushing weight had been lifted from your chest.

“Y/n…” Taehyung’s voice was thick with emotion. He wanted to tell you that you were wrong, that you’d always been enough for him, but he couldn’t find the words.

“And seeing you with her… it just made it so much worse.” You were sobbing now, your fists clenched as you cried into his shirtfront, reliving the anguish you’d felt at believing yourself inadequate, how much you’d hated him even as you loved him like you’d never loved anyone before or since. How could someone you’d let into the deepest recesses of your soul use that power to hurt you so badly, you’d wondered. That night had been a confirmation of every secret fear you’d let fester for a year, and you’d run from the hurt as fast and as far as you could.

As much as he wanted to sink to his knees, Taehyung forced himself to remain standing, so you could lean on him. It was the one thing he could offer you, and even though it was laughably insufficient to fend off the wave of guilt that crashed over him, he forced himself to, tucking your head under his chin and gathering you up like he could shield you from the pain.

“Y/n… you’ve always been enough for me. Only you could be enough for me. And I’m sorry.” His voice broke on the last word. For the first time, words couldn’t capture the depth of his remorse, how fucking bad he felt. He would gladly tear out his heart and present it to you if it made you feel just a tiny bit better. It had always been yours, anyway.

Even though Taehyung had apologized to you countless times before, this was the first time you truly believed it, and the sorrow and remorse in his voice filtered through the haze of hurt and anger that you’d been living under for decades. He held onto you like you’d evaporate if he let you step out of his arms, like he was going to hug you for the next twenty years, for all the time he had missed.

You stayed like that for five minutes, just soaking in each other’s presence and comfort, but eventually common sense began coming back to you. “Taehyung,” you sniffled, wriggling slightly in his grasp.

“Just a little longer, please,” he begged, the words whispered into your hair.

“Taehyung, we can’t stay out here.”

He whined, sounding incredibly childlike and not at all like the distinguished middle-aged man he was. “I don’t want this to end,” he pouted.

“Tae—”

He cut you off by squeezing you so tightly you squeaked as the air left your lungs. Rolling your eyes fondly – some things never changed, it seemed – you squirmed determinedly until he had no choice but to let you go, and he stared at you with a bereft gaze.

“Come on, you drama queen,” you said, holding your hand out to him. He perked up visibly and put his hand in yours, not even questioning where you were taking him.

Taking him to your hotel room felt familiar, but new and exciting at the same time. It brought to your mind memories of sneaking around back when you’d first started dating, when he would come over to your apartment in the middle of the night, and you’d smuggle him in, giggling the whole time.

It wasn’t like you were necessarily doing anything wrong – both of you were single, adults, and this time, there weren’t any pesky contractual obligations to keep all relationships out of the public eye. Catching the divorced parents of the bride sneaking off together might raise a couple of eyebrows, though.

Taehyung wound his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder to watch as you fiddled with the key card. Now that you were back in his arms, he found himself basically unable to give it up, hungrily soaking in all the physical contact he’d dreamt of for so long. When you managed to get the door open and stepped through, he refused to let go, instead doing a strange crab-walk while still clinging to you.

“Tae,” you giggled, your hands resting on his arms. “You need to let go.”

“Never,” he insisted, burying his face in your neck. “Not letting you go again,” he said, his voice muffled.

“Tae…” your voice trailed off as you focused on taking off your shoes, which was made more difficult by the new limpet you’d acquired. Now a few inches shorter, you turned in his embrace and tilted your head up to brush your nose against his. The cute gesture was somewhat undermined by the way he immediately claimed your lips in a torrid kiss, his large hand splayed across the back of your head, and you knew that if not for the updo your hair was currently welded into, he would already be tugging on it.

“I missed you so much,” he groaned, his hand sliding from your head to the top of the zipper on the back of your dress. Instead of sliding it down, though, he paused, fiddling nervously with the tab.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, opening your eyes as you pulled back slightly.

“Are you sure you want this?”

You took a step back, out of his grasp, so you could get a better look at him. “Are you?”

Taehyung hesitated. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous about this. It was what he’d wanted for years, right?

“Tae…” As always, you could read him perfectly, and you held out your hand to him. “Come talk to me. What’s bothering you?” You led him to the couch, sitting down on the mattress facing him. He refused to let go of your hand, and you had to lean forward awkwardly.

“You won’t leave again, right?” he asked anxiously, and your brows shot up in surprise. His gaze continued darting around the room, refusing to settle on you, and you got up, closing the distance between you as you sat sideways on his lap.

“Tae, what are you talking about?” you asked, your fingers winding into the short hairs at the nape of his neck and stroking softly, the way you remembered he liked.

His lip wobbled, and you wanted to kiss it better. “I don’t want you to leave me again,” he confessed.

“Tae… this is my room. I’m not going anywhere,” you pointed out, and the slightly exasperated side-eye he gave you had you biting your lip to stifle a smirk. Becoming serious now, you added, “I promise I won’t disappear, okay? We can take things slow, and see where it goes,” before you pulled him close and gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek.

This wasn’t exactly what Taehyung wanted, but he supposed it was reasonable. Acquiescing, he turned to kiss you properly, allowing it to grow heated. You moved to straddle him, but the long dress made it difficult, and you hiked it up around your hips impatiently. Taehyung ran his tongue along your bottom lip and you moaned, heat pooling in your lower belly.

The sound spurred Taehyung to drag you closer to him, his hands kneading the flesh around your hips hungrily. You felt a flash of self-consciousness – the last time he’d seen you naked was decades ago, and your body had definitely changed since then, and not for the better. The greedy way he felt you up with the same hunger as he had back in your twenties when everything was new and exciting, though, banished the insecurities from your mind quickly.

Still kissing him, you ran your hands up his chest, delighting in how firm and solid he still was, before tugging his tie loose and dropping it carelessly somewhere. You attacked the buttons on his shirt impatiently, almost too excited to work them properly. Taehyung wasn’t faring any better, having roughly pulled your zipper all the way down – you gave a silent prayer for the nice zipper on the expensive dress, because if it had gotten caught, he would probably have ripped the whole thing.

You let go of him just long enough to allow him to push the dress off your shoulders so it pooled around your waist, and shivered as he put his hands on your bare skin, running them up your back to pop open the clasp of your bra.

“Tae,” you whined, tugging on his shirt, and he chuckled as he moved to help you with the rest of the buttons while you shrugged the straps of your bra off, tossing it behind you somewhere. His undershirt went the same way, and you moaned when his bare chest made contact with yours, kissing him frantically as you squirmed on top of him.

Taehyung wasn’t unaffected – you could feel his hard-on pressing against your thigh as he fondled your breast, rubbing his thumb against your pebbled nipple. “Fuck, Y/n,” he groaned in that deep, raspy baritone that you’d missed so much, his hands dropping to your thighs as he held you against him, standing up and depositing you on the bed. You gasped in surprise – you’d always enjoyed being manhandled by him, and were impressed that he was still able to lift you up so easily.

Instead of joining you immediately, he yanked your dress all the way off, letting it pool on the floor, before reaching for his belt. He wasn’t able to get it off before you hooked your fingers in his belt loops and yanked him towards you impatiently, causing him to lose his balance and fall on you. “Y/n,” he grumbled, though there was laughter in his voice. He pushed himself up on his hands, looking down at you, and you undid his belt with far greater dexterity than you’d handled his shirt buttons.

Pulling the leather through the loops – and shivering at the whistling sound the belt made, a familiar one from your more adventurous romps from days past – you dropped it beside you before working on his trousers.

“Someone’s impatient,” Taehyung teased, and you scoffed at him.

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted, and he didn’t respond immediately, but that might have been because you plunged your hand into his underwear to grasp his hard cock. Taehyung had always been big, and you clenched on yourself as you remembered what it had felt like to have him stretching you open. God, how you’d missed him, pined for him on those long, lonely nights.

You pumped his cock slowly, running your thumb across the head to collect the pre-cum already beading there and listening to him growl and pant above you, long fingers diving into your panties to stroke you eagerly as his lips returned to yours. He found you wet and sticky already, dipping his fingers in the orifice before returning to circle your clit with all the expertise you’d come to expect after almost a decade of marriage. Some things were embedded in your muscle memory and being with each other felt like that.

Because you knew it would drive him wild, you released his erection, causing him to pull away to look down at you questioningly. With a smirk, you raised your hand to your mouth, dragging the pad of your thumb across your tongue. “Hmm,” you cooed, your eyes fluttering shut. “You taste just as good as I remember.”

“Fuck.” The expletive punched out of Taehyung with the last of the oxygen in his lungs, leaving him breathless. You were so flawless, perfect for him in every way, and he couldn’t wait anymore. He pulled your panties off so hard that they ripped before pushing his own boxers down just far enough to release his painful erection. The head was flushed bright red, the veins standing out along the length, and your mouth watered, but that wasn’t what he was going for right now.

As he pushed your thighs apart with his own, one hand snaked around his cock, stroking it a few times to take the edge off. You both watched, enthralled, as he slid the head of his erection along your slit, gathering up the wetness, before pressing into you. The stretch was immediate, tears springing to your eyes as you tensed up in response.

“Fuck, Y/n, you’re so tight,” Taehyung gritted, leaning down to kiss you. His tongue slid against yours filthily, making you moan, as his fingers reached between you to rub your clit. “I missed you, I love you, I love you,” he groaned as he sank into you, your heels pressing against the small of his back and egging him on. You’d half expected him to pound you into tomorrow after the urgency of the foreplay, but he seemed content to take it slow, kissing you and caressing your side as he thrust almost lazily. He buried his face in your neck and you stroked his hair as your breath caught on the pleasure.

“Taehyung,” you breathed, your voice hitching as he brushed against your g-spot. Of course he remembered exactly where it was, you thought fondly. “I love you so much,” you confessed, the words hanging in the air. He didn’t respond to you, continuing the smooth motions of his hips, and you wondered if he was even listening to you, but then you heard it.

A sob, muffled against your neck. The sound made you panic, and you pushed at his shoulders so that you could look at him. He resisted a little, but you kept stroking your hands down his sides to reassure him. “Tae, are you okay? Is this okay?”

Finally, he lifted himself off you, but immediately went in for another kiss, this time tender and sweet, his lips moving gently against yours. “Say that again?” he requested, and you could see the tears shining in his eyes.

“Tae, I love you,” you moaned as he drove into you harder, gripping your thigh as he angled himself to hit your g-spot again. He was rushing for the finishing line now, you could tell, as he reached back down to thumb at your clit with unerring precision. Your confession had done it for him, but he would not cum before you. It had to be perfect, the best beginning to your future together.

“Again,” he breathed, needing to hear the words from you once more, and you acquiesced, repeating it with each thrust, until the pleasure grew too great and you just gasped and moaned instead, spelling your love for him out in the scratches on his back and the way your heels drummed against him, begging him to get closer, deeper inside of you, to never leave.

“Tae—fuck,” you cried out as you crested, clenching hard on his cock in you as your arms and legs tightened around him. In that instant, as close as he was to you, you needed more, tears springing to your eyes at the feeling of his hands and mouth on you after so long, gentle but sure, reverent yet debased.

Feeling you orgasm around him was too much for his already faltering restraint, and with a final thrust, he came, shuddering in your arms as he shot ropes of cum deep inside you.

In the aftermath, Taehyung sank down on you, and though you knew you wouldn’t be able to stay like this forever, you welcomed his weight pressing you into the bed. He almost surrounded you, his warmth comforting, and you stroked his back as he caught his breath.

A moment later, he lifted himself off you, seeking another kiss which you happily gave him. He tucked an errant strand of hair that had stuck itself to your sweaty cheek behind your ear, and you smiled up at him, eyes shining. As amazing as the sex was, Taehyung had always shown the extent of his love for you through those tender, soft touches that came like second nature to him.

“I love you,” he told you again, emotion shimmering in his eyes. You were tempted to be cheeky and say I know, because he’d told you so many times tonight, but you could sense the vulnerability radiating off him and knew this wasn’t the right moment for your sass.

“I love you too,” you told him instead, reaching up to cup his face and brushing your thumb against his cheekbone to wipe the tear that escaped. There was so much more you had to talk about – establishing boundaries and rules for this new old relationship, clearing the air between you. Hell, after twenty years apart, who knew if you were still compatible with each other?

However, you pushed all those thoughts away as you hugged Taehyung’s sweaty, exhausted body closer to you. Just for tonight, you promised yourself, you would let love be enough.

[stillgirlfrommars]

you’ve got news

So, I already talked about this with @missmorwen​ and I know I don’t have the time to draw and make an actual comic out of it, BUT I cannot stop thinking about this SamSteve-post-engdame-fix-it story (with a dash of BuckyNat, ‘cause that’s just who I am) which is kinda crack and very rom-com (a bit you’ve got mail) inspired and doesn't make much sense, because... PLOT HOLES but * sigh * I kinda wanna share at least the idea so - bear with me:

So, instead of Nat dying, Steve sacrifices his Captain America powers on Vormir and comes back as Skinny!Steve and starts running a political blog called you’ve-got-news in secret, uncovering all kinds of shady business/corruption and becoming the bane of existence of every politician and greedy CEO - but it takes a while for his friends to figure out it's him who’s running that increasingly popular blog (which the new Captain America is actually a big fan of ;)). And the way that happens is as follows:

So, Steve almost died at the end of Endgame. The idiot (affectionate) of course still wanted to fight Thanos, but even with Thor’s Hammer, he took some serious, serious injuries which led to a tough talk with Sam, Nat and Bucky

Like I imagine, that while Steve would not have any regrets whatsoever about giving up his powers, he would still need some time to come to terms with the fact that he won’t be able to participate in the action like he used to. Even though, he actually wants and knows... it’s time to ... start something new, it’s still a process. So, there he is, trying to figure out who he is without the mantle of Captain America, re-defining the way he can and will fight against bullies in the future (cause there is no way he’s gonna stop that).

And to the surprise of everyone, Steve actually doesn’t press for participating in Avenger-style-fights anymore (he still does some of the practical mission planning and shit like that) but most importantly, he starts taking up new hobbies, like cooking or old hobbies like drawing - and he seems happier than he has in a long time, and yeah maybe it’s a bit too good to be true, if Sam starts thinking about it. But, hey, Steve finally seems to be happy so -

Meanwhile, Sam still becomes the new Captain America, and Steve is there while he is adjusting, finding himself in that role. He is there when Sam needs to talk things through, and yeah, it would still be a process like in tfatws series, but ... a little bit less alone, I guess. 

So, the new Captain America fights alongside Nat and Bucky - and it’s good, they work surprisingly well together, but also: those two are stuck right in the middle of a weird assassin!flirting situation (I’m imagening a lot of veeery intense staring at the other while cleaning their weapons or beating someone up, innuendos en masse, dark humour etc.). And frankly, it’s getting on Sam's nerves because they seem to be so oblivious about the whole damn thing. Neither of them is actually admitting to anything, no, they are too busy teasing him about the ‘crush’ he has developed on that mysterious dude who is running the famous political-youve-got-news-blog that gained momentum a while ago and is currently keeping all the corrupt politicians and CEOs on their toes.

So, yeah, Sam might have been caught a couple of times reading or reciting from that blog because - it has actually turned into a pretty efficient way of mobilising people to demonstrate for change and it did give him some tip-offs in regards to who the bad guy really was and yeah. But it’s not a crush... Sam just really likes reading the blog posts, okay. That dude seems pretty cool and they share the same moral code, so... whatever.

What Nat and Bucky and Steve don't know (and he’ll never tell them), is that Sam is actually kiiiiinda already frequently talking with the guy who runs the blog. Anonymously on both ends, of course (because for good reasons both of them are pretty careful about giving away information concerning their identities). And in a way that whole anonymity-thing makes it a lot easier to talk about stuff he finds harder to admit to the people who he knows directly. So, you could say, blog-guy has kinda become Sam's internet friend, but not his crush, no.

Honestly, the crush he is more concerned about (that he also isn't planning on telling anyone about any time soon, cause Bucky would just tease him and Nat would start scheming) is, well, it’s Steve. Because, damn, he likes their get-togethers a lot, the meals Steve's cooking are honestly to die for. They watch baseball together, they do museum-trips... And the way they can talk about (almost) everything... He just feels understood and... yeah, loved (maybe not in the way that he wishes for, but still) and it’s nice to see Steve so happy and okay, maybe it’s getting a bit out of control because Sam took Steve with him to visit Sarah and his nephews and Sarah kinda saw right through his act of ‘hey, this is my best friend’ and ‘what do you mean, I don’t have feelings- okay. Yeah maybe I do’ and told him in no uncertain terms to fucking do something about it and get his shit together.

The thing is, he’s got it bad. But Sam is also torn, because this is the best fucking friendship he's ever had and he does not want to jeopardise that. So, in the end he ends up talking about this with his Internet friend... about how he kinda has this huge crush on his best friend, and his Internet friend is like, ‘TELL ME ABOUT IT, big fucking same here UGH. And I feel like I’m being SO obvious about it all. It’s honestly embarrassing. My other best friend keeps teasing me ‘bout it and tells me to just go for it, but that guy still hasn’t managed to ask out the girl he’s interested in, so, what does he know, right?’. And Sam laughs - at least he’s not alone.

So the days go by (Sam’s pining only increases, Steve took him to a wine tasting the other night and he almost... in his drunk state... almost... but he didn’t) until one day, while blog-guy and Sam are chatting, all of the sudden the blog-guy is like, ‘Shit, I think someone's breaking into my apartment’ and then like, ‘Okay, yes they are’ - and Sam's like, ‘call 911′, and blog-guy writes back ‘mmh think I can handle them’ (and Sam’s like ‘WTF... I know way too many people with zero regards for their own well-being, myself included’)

But then blog-guy is not answering anymore, so Sam frantically calls up Nat who rushes to his flat and Sam says: ‘You need to find out where that IP adress is located ASAP - the dude with that famous blog is in danger.’

And Nat does that multitasking thing where she’s working on the problem while ribbing Sam about the fact that, apparently, Captain America's Internet bestie is that famous blog dude, and- 'Are you sure it’s not a crush?'

But after another minute, Nat sighs and is like, ‘I can't find the location, this thing is encrypted af, it’s impossible.’ Suddenly, she notices something about the setup of the encryption and-, ‘Hang on a second, it was me who set this up for someone back in 2011.′ And as she slips on her jacket, she says to Sam, ‘Come on. I know where we have to go!’

So they make their way to what turns out is Steve's (!!!!) apartment and find him in the middle of a fight against over half a dozen heavily armed people, and yeah - he’s actually doing pretty okay for himself ‘cause he outsmarted a couple of them, but also- they kind of outnumber him, so Nat and Sam get to work.

And Sam doesn't even have time to fully register what that means re:blog-guy until they have successfully defeated the bad guys. After that's done, Steve is like, ‘Thanks guys, but how the hell did you know I was in trouble? Nat... you didn’t bug my apartment, did you??’

And Nat tstsk and then she just laughs because this is priceless and OF CoURSE it is Steve who is behind that blog... (she's a bit mad at herself for not figuring it out sooner, and a bit sad that Steve didn't feel like he could tell her, and that he assumes she has is flat bugged but, also,... kinda impressed.) But then she looks at him with a warm smile on her face, shaking her head, saying, ‘No, I didn’t, Steve.’ Her gaze wanders back and forth between Steve and Sam and she humms- 'That actually makes so much sense oh my god.' So, she leaves them ‘to talk’ ;) and for Sam to explain everything’ - and then it’s just the two of them.

And Sam does explain everything and is like, 'So you're that Blog dude, erm...' He's scratching the back of his neck, cheeks flushed, 'Turns out, we've been talking for months over that blog of yours. I'm (insert-Sam’s-username-here).'- and Steve's eyes go wide and you can literally see him processing that information right then and there and he's sputtering out a light laugh, and he's like 'Hang on a second... I... umm, okay, I gotta ask. So, that best friend you've got a crush on...' Well, it’s now or never -'Is you, yeah..', Sam admits and starts, 'and....' They both laugh again and Steve nods and just says- 'yeah, it’s you, too.'

And then they kiss and yaaay, happy ending!!!

And then the epilogue would be about them having a nice dinner with Bucky and Nat a couple of months later, and the whole time, Sam and Steve are being very much in loveTM. The three guys are standing in the kitchen, while Natasha is in the bathroom and Bucky's making a funny quib about how sickeningly cute Sam and Steve are together - and Sam, well, Sam just raises his eyebrows and is like, 'You know what, you're not allowed to say anything bout that, you and Romanoff have been acting waaaaay worse over the last year. At least we got our shit together in the end, what's your excuse, you are obviously absolutely in love with her!', and of course Nat chooses that exact moment to enter the room, hand on Bucky's waist, dropping a kiss on his cheek and is like, 'What do you mean, we've been dating for 6 months?' And Steve laughs and Sam groans bc .... he loves his friends, he does, but clearly, CLEARLY they ALL have to work on their communication skills!

The End.

[ask-fantasy-sanders-sides]

So, wait, toes Remus know that Virgil is a dragon too?? if he does, did Virgil tell him or did he just figure it out?

It wasn’t too long after their escape from the prison complex that Remus got irritated.

He didn’t regret dragging the strange assassin along — after all, Remus probably wouldn't have been able to escape without him — but he was getting more and more frustrated with his lack of response to...well, anything.

Remus has attempted more than once to scare and/or gross the stranger out with diatribes of gore and violence, but that hasn't phased him at all. Really, Remus thinks he probably should have expected that response from a dark-elven warrior, but it was a little jarring to have his usual monologues accepted with little more than a cursory glare. It didn't help that he had to speak to the soldier in the goblin language, which neither of them knew well enough to share many complex ideas.

Then, there were his rages. Remus wasn't really himself in that state, and he knew he was quite the sight to those who had never heard of a barbarian. He's pretty sure that if he had some foggy awareness of the assassin being disgusted or even mildly intrigued by his berserk mode, he would have remembered them. As it stands, nothing.

Then, there was his trump card: The first time Remus let out his true form and went berserk on a few guards, the assassin barely even noticed the difference. Remus dismissed it at the time, assuming they had just been busy doing their thing and hadn’t seen him do it. But, as they were sneaking away from the castle spires the next day and he had to dispose of some noble-looking witnesses, Remus definitely saw the assassin look at his wings.

Still he made absolutely no reaction! He doesn’t seem to react to much of anything, unless he’s being mad at Remus for yelling too loud or missing a swing. Admittedly, being able to spark annoyance in the stuck-up soldier is a little fun, but even his moments of anger are few and far between.

This is the first and only time someone has seen Remus’s kick-ass undead angel wings and not had a damn thing to say about it, and Remus can honestly say he hates it.

So, now that they’re finally outside of the Colony walls (and Remus doesn’t have to worry about the assassin chewing him out for making a scene,) Remus smirks deviously at the unsuspecting drow.

“Hey! Watch this,” Remus shouts, then closes his eyes to focus.

He reaches deep inside himself to connect with that boiling mass of discordant energy — a frothing core of divine light that’s spoiling rotten and necrotic, burning away the mold, healing, and then spoiling again, over and over with each beat of his two hearts. As he’s practiced ever since he was a child, Remus grabs that energy and pulls it out, dismissing a weight in his stomach that he hardly notices until it's time to let go.

The instinctual protective glamor that hides his true form dissolves in the firelight of his true essence, as bone-like angel wings, void-like eyes, and a tidal wave of smoke pour out of Remus like air from a popped balloon. A sickly green glow outlines his irises, his scars, and emblazons the emblem of a sword over his chest. He can feel it as the energy unfurls, how the world spins and sears into focus, how his senses grow sharp and breathing is suddenly so much easier than it’s ever been before. This is what he truly is, how he really looks, and it is a figure that strikes fear and awe in every creature who has the misfortune of seeing it.

All except one. Apparently.

The assassin simply stares at Remus, stone-still as Remus’s whole fucked up magical girl cutscene plays out point-blank in front of him. The fear-inducing necrotic gas rolls past the assassin's feet and into his lungs, but nothing happens. A few seconds pass, and he still hasn’t moved, but he’s clearly not gone into shock or anything of the kind.

Eventually, the assassin gets the impression that Remus is expecting a response. So, he cocks his hip out to one side and folds his arms, mimicking the facial expression that he’s gathered humans make when they’re confused: a pointed eyebrow raise.

(Given his usual glowering expression, it comes across more like sass.)

The minute passes, and though Remus feels the smoke dissipate and his eyes and scars return to normal with a sinking feeling in his gut, the wings remain. Instead of dismissing them, Remus throws his arms out wide with a growl,

“Seriously? That’s it? You’re not scared!”

“Scared?” The assassin parrots lowly.

A wide smile stretches across his lightly-freckled face. In the space of a blink he’s behind Remus, gently peeling the barbarian’s tattered shirt away to get a better look at the base of his wings.

He lays one ice-cold hand against the divot between them, touching him clinically, like he’s trying to figure out how solid Remus's wings are. His hand smooths gently across the stump where flesh gives way to semi-transparent bone before Remus's brain catches up. He shrieks and jumps away from him,

“What the shit are you doing?!” Remus squeaks, eyes wide as saucers. He would be more embarrassed by how absolutely unthreatening he sounds right now if he didn’t still feel the shape of that hand on him like a brand.

(He decides that this is more because of the supernatural nature of his wings, and not because Remus hasn't been touched that carefully by another person since he was like eleven. He doesn’t have time to unpack that feeling whatsoever.)

“You told me to look.” The assassin teases, openly laughing at Remus’s expense.

Then, — and Remus could swear he’s doing it slowly just to make sure Remus sees him — the soldier takes a deep exhale, and his purple eye flashes a soft glow. Suddenly, his body evaporates until he is a cloud of shadowy smoke. This smoke quickly blends in with the surrounding darkness of the cavern, and before Remus can get a word in edgewise, the assassin has re-solidified and is poking his back again.

“StoOOP TOuching me!” Remus yelps and spins around to face him, face red as blood and hands up in a defensive position, “Since when could you do that?!”

The assassin rolls his eyes at this, his hands falling to his sides. Now he takes a moment to think, before reaching down to untie his dagger belt and pull his tunic loose.

“What are you doing?” Remus protests louder, covering his eyes with his hands.

The assassin doesn’t respond.

Though he’s reciting curses in his head and trying very hard to respect this stranger’s privacy, Remus’s curiosity quickly gets the better of him.

He peeks out between his fingers to find the soldier shirtless, his white hair parted and pulled over his shoulders. He looks up at Remus with a completely unimpressed stare.

The assassin reaches out to grab one of Remus’s hands, then turns to show Remus his back.

Remus stares for a moment, eyes tracing the thin, ragged lines of a latticework of scars. They stretch across and around the assassin’s back, some older and some deeper. Most seem to have been inflicted by animals or monsters rather than weapons.

Remus feels no sense of pity at the display — he’s got his own patchwork of scars and his own complicated relationship to them, but over all he sees them more as a mark of survival, as stories to tell. But, he is definitely curious, and his mile-a-minute brain is already spinning outrageous tales to match each and every mark.

Then the assassin guides his hand up towards the top of his back, just alongside his spine. The skin there feels leathery, and significantly warmer than the skin of the elf’s hand, though the heat seems to be emanating from someplace lower on his spine. It’s also slightly off-color, a bit lighter than the skin around it. Whatever this is, this scar is old.

Remus traces the outline of it up, then off to the side as it tapers to a thin line between his shoulder and the base of his neck. The assassin’s ears twitch at the gesture, and Remus’s hand flinches away.

He turns to look at Remus over his shoulder, his neutral grimace returned.

“We are the same. Shadow and wings. You are kitrye'maelthra, right?”

“I don’t know what that is.” Remus frowns, always frustrated when the assassin sneaks an elven word or two into their rare conversations,

“I’m not super good at reading energies, but you don’t feel like an angel… You have wings??”

“No.” He frowns, his gaze becoming soft and distant, “Not anymore.”

“Oh.” Remus sighs, now reeling at the possibilities.

What sort of dark elf grows wings, and how can they be removed? He winces at the phantom pain to his own wings as he parcels through every guess. Did a monster tear them off? The scar was so smooth, it seemed more like they had been burned away with acid. Did he fall into the pit of a living ooze, or maybe it was a punishment from some cruel cultist—

“Yours are broken.” The assassin pries, still staring at him while Remus zoned out.

“Broken? No they're not!”

“You have no skin.” The assassin remarks, like that should have been obvious, “And you look like a ghost.”

“Wait, skin? Like a bat?” Remus laughs, imagining it. He shakes his head, “I’m not supposed to have skin! —Well, I mean, I am, but also feathers. Y’know, like a bird?”

“Bird?” The assassin repeats, like he doesn’t understand the word. He probably doesn’t, goddamn Underdark.

“...Ehh, forget about it. I’ll show you one when we get up there.” Remus shakes his head.

The assassin pulls his tunic back up and re-ties it. While he waits, a sudden thought knocks Remus out of his gruesome imaginings.

He thinks he probably shouldn’t ask, but it takes him all of three seconds to snap and say it anyway,

“Hey,” Remus hums offhandedly, like he’s not extremely invested in knowing the answer, “If you could ‘go ghost’ or whatever this whole time, why didn’t you just poof yourself out of that cell?”

(“And why did you stay to help me?” Remus refuses to add, because he is not that attached to his little stray-criminal monsterboy, goddamnit. He refuses.)

The assassin doesn’t answer or turn back to him, simply staring off in the direction of their path.

Remus huffs and rolls his eyes,

“Fine, damn, keep your secrets. Bet you just can’t hold it that long~”

“Don’t xhandal me, lotha mal'dhalaruk. Usstan orn da'urzotreth dosst et'zarreth.”

“Again, I do not know what the fuck that is.”

[starfoam-archive]

December 1st, Saturday. I’ve been in Gotham for about a month now, and I’m terrified.

It’s raining outside, and the window panes shake under the downpour. The light filtering through is scattered and dim, but it’s enough for Lo to write without struggling to see.

I’m not sure if I’m doing this right. It was easy in Lanai, but everybody knew each other in Lanai. People knew my face so well I didn’t even need a mask, let alone a different name. A city is so much bigger and stranger- like I’m an uninvited and unexpected houseguest, breaking every rule that wasn’t explained to me and everyone’s waiting for me to leave.

Is this the right thing I’m doing? I want to help people, but I don’t know how to do it besides this. This city’s pain seems to run so deep it’s part of the foundation, and I know I can’t do everything that’s needed to fix it. But am I doing enough?

Upstairs, Lorelei hears a baby cry. She hears it often when she’s home, alongside a couple voices that sound like teenagers, very rarely a mom. The baby keeps crying.

It’s funny - I’m one of the lucky ones. This apartment isn’t great, but it’s clean, and it isn’t freezing - from what I can tell, that’s considered pretty nice in this part of Gotham. I wish I could put into words what brought me here, but I still haven’t got a clue. I could have gone anywhere after my apprenticeship, so why Gotham? It wasn’t any one person, for once, no matter what the press says about Bruce Wayne. I didn’t even know that was him at the garden that day.

She pauses and sighs. Benji is asleep at her feet, and another light comes on outside. She can’t remember the last time she’s seen stars here without flying over the city.

I’m supposed to be using these journal entries to record my ‘mental health journey’, as my doctor puts it, but I find I can’t focus on anything that’s just me right now. There’s just too much going on. I told one of the girls at the shop about my routine, and she said it sounded easier to just be depressed.

I won’t lie, it is. The journals, the exercise, the recitations and schedules and meds... it’s a lot of work and I haven’t really relaxed in a long time, not as myself. Luminous gets to have a lot of fun, but the doctor says I need to give myself more attention.

How can I possibly do that, though? This isn’t about me anymore, not when there’s so much misery around me. I don’t think it’s been about me for a long time.

- Lo

She signs off on the page in her spiral-bound notebook and stares at it for a long time. It seems to stare back at her, purple gel pen doing little to alleviate her nausea about what she’s put on the page. She’s going to have to turn this journal in next week for her doctor to review. She stares at it for a moment, and the baby cries.

She tears out the page. It goes onto a pile of others on her secondhand coffee table, stained with rings of brown and splotches of black.

December 1st, Saturday. We’re gearing up for the holiday season down at the boutique...

[seokiloquy]

Game Cartridges - Kenma Kozume

Au: Regular/Gaming

Requested

Tags/Warnings:  GN! Reader, short and fluffy, Time Skip spoilers

Word Count: 2.1k+

"Lev, are you almost done?"

A deep raspy voice echoed into the gym, loud and authoritative, startling the volleyball players. Once all eyes turned your way, you laughed, letting your natural voice still the silent atmosphere. Your hand smacked the metal door as you hunched over, gasping for air between each series of laughs. 

Lev, who had just landed from a spike, opened his mouth in a loud cheer at the sight of your slumped form in the door. “(Y/N)!”

You straightened your spine, sighing as you watched Lev’s nose get caught on the mesh net as he tried to limbo under it. He looked like a pig for a moment, before the bottom of the net snapped and Lev ungracefully fell on his face.

“Ow.”

As he laid flatly on the gym floor, Kuroo —who you managed to identify based on Lev’s description (though you did expect a comical beak to be attached to his muzzle)— walked over, thumbs playing with the waistband of his shorts. Before he started to talk, you leaned over, looking behind him to see a partially blond boy dig the toe of his shoe into your tall friend’s side. Kozume Kenma.

The rooster in front of you started to speak. “You sure gave us all a shock. Thought you were a janitor coming to kick us out,” he chuckled, lifting a hand off his hip to scratch the back of his head.

“Ya sorry, Lev just finds that voice creepy so I use it every now and then to scare him.”

Kuroo sidestepped as his hand moved to gesture you inside. “So, you’re a voice actor?”

“That’s the plan at least.” You bowed and walked to the bench that was pressed against the wall, a small bag swinging over your shoulder. The old man, Nekomata, gave you a wrinkly grin as you sat next to him, watching your hands as you pulled out a DS from your small bag.

Kuroo smiled, snapping his head to the clock before looking over his teammates.“Nekomata, should we start cleaning up?”

The couch hummed thoughtfully, turning his attention away from you and onto the team captain. “We still have a half-hour before our practice is officially over. How about we do 3 vs 3, to, ah, 7 points?” He then turned his attention to Lev, who was rubbing his nose as he got to his feet. “Pair up evenly for the beginning, the odd player out will be keeping track of scores and rotate into the next team. Got it?”

Lev raised his hand. “Can you explain the rotation again?”

You looked up from your handheld console to give your friend a deadpan look. Nekomata laughed before answering, “The odd player will take out a player of the next team and so on to keep teams fresh. Got it?”

The Silver hair boy hummed, standing to his full height. “Got it.”

As players dispersed randomly, not selecting any teammates, in particular, to play with, you were vaguely aware of the new bodies that came to sit alongside you on the bench. Instead of looking up to whichever boy had chosen to take the spot next to you, you kept your head down as you played on your DS.

“Ah.” Quiet

“Um.” Again.

Sighing you turned your head on a swivel to the blond boy who sat next to you. His head was downcast but through the dyed strands, you could see his eyes flicker from his fidgeting fingers to the device in your hands. His eyes shot up to meet yours before quickly turning away.

You wore a kind smirk. “Need something?”

Kozume turned his head slowly, pointing to your small bag that was laid open, exposing the variety of games you owned. In a calm voice, “You have lots of games, why are you playing Nintendogs?”

You laughed looking back down at your small virtual pet. “Well, a lot of those I haven’t started yet, Lev gave them to me yesterday as a gift. And well, I’m only going to be waiting for about 30 minutes for you guys to finish before we leave, so I don’t really want to start something new.”

You heard the clicking of the plastic game cartridges as Kozume riffled through them. He pulled out one, a Pokemon game you had yet to touch. “Play this.”

“But my dogs.” 

“They aren’t real. Play this, it’s fun.”

Nekoma called for the teams to switch. Kozume stood up but waited for you to take the game out of his hand before he left for the court.

You sighed, pulling Nintendogs out of the DS and putting the Pokemon game in, Pearl, apparently. 

“Your name is (Y/N), right?”

“(L/N) (Y/N), ya.”

Kozume hummed, before stepping onto the court, letting a sweaty Lev fall into the spot he had previously occupied.

Another day, another practice and you were back to sitting next to Nekomata, waiting. Occasionally, you looked up from your DS to see the two setters toss a ball up for the players to hit, watching as the players ducked under the net to collect their balls. 

Once their final water break came around, Kozume, who had been eyeing your DS since you sat down, shuffled to sit beside you. “Ah, use the water attack.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, head tilting as you showed him your progress.

“Hmm, gym battles are mostly element-based, you want to use mostly water attacks for this one.”

Nodding, you clicked the option Kozume had so helpfully pointed out. “I know nothing about how to play this.” The battle ended, giving you a pretty badge, to which you realized there were more empty slots to fill. “Damn it.” You turned to see partially bleached blond chugging back his water. “Kozume, could you help me with the other gyms?”

“Kenma is fine. And I could, but you’d probably have to be here for that, you have to find the other gyms after all.”

The wince you wore caught his attention. Hissing you dropped your hands into your lap, still holding the sides of your plastic game. “I’m not sure how possible that would be. My luck is just running out isn’t it.” He kept watching, half-listening to Nekomata as he explained the cooldown drill before practice ended. You pulled out your little red flip phone from the side pocket of your back. “Put in your email. I’ll message you and give you my contact.”

Taking the device from your hand he quickly typed out his address before dropping it unceremoniously into your bag and running onto the court with his teammates. You smiled at the sight of his hair bouncing before your smile dropped and your head lowered to look back down at the game in your lap. The colours on the screen seemed a bit dimmer.

Where did the Pokemon go?

Kenma had quickly become your go-to Pokemon consultant. Always there in your time of need.

Which one?

He responded quickly, which helped.

Uh, one of the three ones? I was trying to catch it but it’s not there anymore. I tried dropping revival items and stuff but it’s not there.

(Y/N) did you kill it?

….Maybe?

Reload the game.

I’ve done that.

Did you save after you defeated it?

Messages with Kenma typically surrounded classes and videogames, more so the latter. With that though, came a sense of consistency with messages outside of active school hours and giving your mind a constant timeline to follow throughout the chaos that surrounded you.

Ya, I had to save my progress.

It took a minute for him to respond, but you could feel the sorrow radiating off him through the screen.

You’re going to need to restart the game if you want to continue.

Shit. Well then, got any other recommended games? Ideally RPGs.

Plenty.

After many practices with your presence sitting silently against the wall, Kenma was surprised when the end of practice came around, and you were nowhere in sight. Kenma pushed the rolling basket of volleyballs up next to Lev as they gathered up all the equipment.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” he asked, crouching down to pick up a stray ball.

Lev lowered his chin to see the setter clearly. He hummed, “Ah, I think it was called, New York?”

Kenma paused, dropping the volleyball into the basket with cold hands. “What?”

“They moved to the USA. I don’t think that they’re going to be there forever though. But Mr. (L/N) got a job there from what I remember. They were staying with my family before they moved.”

Kenma’s nose scrunched. “Why did I have to make friends with someone who was moving away? You’re terrible, Lev.” He gripped the blue fabric of the basket a bit tighter and began pushing it into the storage closet, grumbling.

“What did I do?”

After practice, Kenma quickly got to his phone, typing away as he walked home alongside Kuroo.

Your response, despite being in a different time zone, was quick.

IM SO SORRY I TOTALLY FORGOT!!! I just liked talking to you and it slipped my mind whenever you were around

Kenma sighed, washing away the anxious feeling in his chest. 

Another email came through.

I’m only going to be here for a couple years, then I’m going to come back. Messages may be slow because of time and all, but I’ll always respond.

You didn’t lie that day. You were always quick to send a message back, but over time those messages stopped coming and you didn’t have the heart to send anything in return.

You’d ponder on it occasionally, hoping that all it was, was forgetfulness, or a changed contact. But after a couple years, it was easier not to think about it, and go on with life and pursuing your passion.

“Stop spamming the chat guys, please,” Kenma grumbled, wincing at the repetitive notifications that rang in his ear. Turning to look at the live responses, he paused the stream of messages to read over a few. “You’ll stop once I start playing? Fine, fine. Let me get it booted up.”

As he pulled up the Japan-made open-world RPG that had been released for Beta earlier that week, the chat went into a flurry of excitement, with various images and repetitive cheers rolling by.

Kenma turned to face his main screen as The main intro to the game played with a flurry of colour. The chat increased in speed as the two-player options appeared on screen, ready to be selected. When his mouth moved over one of the characters they moved, reciting a line.

“Oh they’re voices are nice.”

The chat exploded again.

(Y/N)

(Y/N)’s voice is great!

They do both of the MCs voices

All the talent 

Selecting the male character, Kenma listened to the boyish tone, furrowing his boy as he caught sight of the name being repeated over and over again in the chat.

“(Y/N)? That sounds familiar, are they in an anime?”

The chat responded with a list. 

Tilting his head, Kenma pulled out his phone as the game began to load, talking out loud for the viewers of his stream.

“(Y/N). that sounds familiar.” He entered the search for the game’s voice cast. Immediately seeing a familiar portrait at the top of the list.

The chat quickly caught on to Kenma’s look of surprise and started spamming again.

“(Y/N)?! Ah! I know them! It’s been years!”

Ignoring the chat and fully loaded game for a moment, Kenma smiled at the image of an older you on his phone screen. Putting down his phone and sitting straighter, he looked at the camera that was focused on his face.

“Hmm, this makes me want to play Pokemon. Maybe later. Time to start this.”

I was going to write a full-length fic with this au but…. You know how it goes.

Short and fluffy cause I have to get back into the groove of writing after 2 months. Ahaha. I finished all of One Piece this week (when I wrote this), 966(now 971) episodes thus far and all the movies. Makes me want to write for it. Maybe If Kiwi watches it I will. 

….If I do, it’ll probably go on Ao3… but if you’re reading this and want me to…. Let me know… I’m tempted.

Kiwi. Watch One Piece so you can edit One Piece fanfiction that I’ll probably never write…. Unless. - Bacon

Maybeeee I can still edit without watching it thoughhhh. I’d edit whatever you’d me too - Kiwi

Unless!- Bacon

Posted: 25/04/2021

[terminallydepraved]

Beyond the Pale (JayTim Vampire au)

Yo! My contribution to the @batsandbeasts Batman zine is now up on ao3 for your reading pleasure.

Read on ao3 here.

The sharp silhouette of Drake Manor against the pale, full moon cut a suitably somber visage against the autumn sky. A pervasive wind was blowing through the trees surrounding the overgrown ground, whispering like a poorly kept secret. Jason Todd lifted the collar of his coat out of habit, shielding the vulnerable flesh of his neck from its bite. He stared at the once-grand home while he let the wind claw and tug at his clothing as if in hope of beckoning him through the battered doors.

 In that regard, the wind seemed to be the most welcoming thing about the place. The windows had long been boarded up, the brick facade a patchwork of lichen and ivy so dried and desiccated that it looked black in the light of the moon. A once-impressive turret rose up to spear the bloated clouds overhead, appearing desperate in its struggle to stand straight while it slanted dangerously askew. Brittle, dead grass crunched beneath his heavy boots. No flowers grew in the planters by the wrapping porch. Only weeds that whispered alongside the breeze.

 If anything had lived here, it would have been decades ago. To an observant eye, that supposition would be the end of it. Drake Manor had been abandoned for years, the place left to rot and molder alongside the family that had owned it up until tragedy took them from splendor to the sepulchre nestled just behind the building’s sprawling expanse.

 “The whole family passed one by one,” echoed the memory of that old woman’s voice in the lilting chill on the wind. “It was… sudden. First the mother. Next, the father.”

 “And the son?” Jason had asked as he sharpened the stake by the hearth, staring at the small woman from across the tavern floor. She had kept her distance from him, like a rabbit smelling blood in the air. Everyone had. They might not have known they had a dead man walking among them, but something within them warned them of the danger of lingering too close to a Hunter seeking fresh prey.

 Wizened hands wound themselves with rosary beads. Jason’s eyes tracked them like pearls, reciting the words of her prayer silently out of a habit that hadn’t managed to die even after he had. Her eyes turned towards the rough wooden beams above their head. “We do not speak of it,” she said, talking to God more than the one that used to preach his word. “It is not the boy it once was.”

 No one would say what the boy was now, but that was fine. Jason had spent the bulk of his life—      both    lives—exterminating things better left unsaid. His hands roved over the holsters on his hips and the belt that held his stakes. Vials of holy water—freshly consecrated earlier that evening—studded the inside of his leather jacket. His shotgun was a reassuring weight between his shoulder blades. The small blade tucked inside his right boot pressed against his calve, more soothing than rumors could ever be.

 That woman had warned him to be careful; Jason had to think that the creature skulking away inside those dilapidated walls could use that warning more.

 The grass crunched beneath his boots as he moved towards the front door. In the dead of night the sound seemed deafening. Still, Jason didn’t try to muffle his approach. It already knew he was coming— in fact, it likely already knew he was here. A vampire couldn’t hope to steal six villagers from their beds and remain unnoticed in its lair. Humans were fragile, weak, and easily made victims to the shadows beyond the firelight— but that was where Hunters came in, evening out the playing field.

 Jason, for one, had long outgrown his fear of the dark.

 Pulling his shotgun over his head, Jason held it at the ready as he made his way up creaking, splintering steps, eyes narrowed for any sign of movement. He took care to keep his finger off the trigger; any other time he would prime himself to fire first and ask questions later, but the bodies of the stolen villagers hadn’t been found yet. Slim as it was, they could still be alive. He’d been trained too well to write off the possibility entirely, so his finger stayed flattened against the stock as he kicked down the front door with a resounding      bang!  

 The sound reverberated through the entry hall like a crack of thunder. Motes of dust rose in the air, stirring the spider webs hanging from the eaves and edges of practically every available surface. Jason resisted the urge to close his eyes as powdery flecks settled in his hair. It was quiet in the dead space, stagnant air heavy with the silence. Every step Jason took cut tracks into the layer of filth blanketing the wooden floor. If something had been in here, it hadn’t left a trail for him to follow. The dust was undisturbed as far as the eye could see.

 First course of business was to locate the missing villagers. They had been gone for at least a week, some of them closer to three. Vampires that took to creating larders tended to store their human pantry staples somewhere secure, contained, and without many options for escape. A place this big... no doubt it had a basement, maybe even a few cellars. He would need to find it before he went hunting for the vampire. Once the captives were out of the picture he’d be able to fight without holding back.

 Of course, that was all easier said than done. This place was enormous. Cavernous even, and Jason had spent a large part of his youth in a manor not that dissimilar from it. Maybe it was the lack of life in the place that made it seem so empty. The portraits on the walls had eyes, but their dead smiles were fixed in place, like spectral guides that escorted him through the halls. He paused outside a dark, rusted kitchen. Memories of his childhood flickered among the shadows.

 A board creaked behind him. Jason swiveled smoothly, body moving independent of thought. He pointed the barrel of his gun in the direction of a set of descending stairs just visible through a nearby doorway. His heart beat a little faster. That door had been closed a moment ago, hadn’t it?

 “Show yourself,” he called out. An old house like this would creak and groan naturally, but the timing was too perfect, too planned. Jason bared his teeth as he looked down the line of his gun. “I know you’re here. Stop hiding and let’s get this over with.”

 Another creak, this time further down the hall. Jason shifted without thinking, but this time he caught sight of movement just as it evaded his peripherals. A cold sweat began to bead on his forehead, the tiny hairs on his body rising in the wake of instinct telling him that he was sharing breathing space with a predator. It was in the area with him; of that there was no doubt. Hiding in the shadows and among the eaves above his head… Jason fought the urge to look up, knowing through experience that keeping his eyes forward gave him the best chance of reacting quickly when it inevitably came for his throat.

 Jason slowly backed into the kitchen, preferring a wider space for the fight that was soon to follow.

 “I’ve never met a hunter before,” a quiet, lilting voice remarked just as the silence began to weigh on Jason like lead. Again, he moved to face the direction of it, his shotgun slicing through the air with whisper. He found himself moving yet again though when that same voice spoke again from a different direction, “Are you truly as strong as the stories say?”

 “Stronger,” Jason grunted, knowing this game after playing it so many times. It would try to get close next, and he readied his finger on the trigger. “Even death didn’t stop me from killing your kind.”

 The words had barely left his mouth before the vampire made its move. Jason reacted with practiced grace, giving himself to his instincts as he twisted at the waist and fired at the pale blur rushing towards him through the kitchen doorway. The gunshot went off like a thunderclap, deafening in such a dead space. A spray of lead burst through a section of the door frame, ruining an enormous family portrait mounted in the hallway behind it.

 “Close,” an icy voice whispered in Jason’s ear. A pale hand wrapped around the smoking barrel. “But no cigar.”

 Jason recoiled, warning bells ringing like a cacophony of the damned inside his head as the gun was snatched free from his hands. He let it go without a fight—the creature could overpower him easily, so there was no point in wrestling for it—and darted back, hand reaching for a vial of holy water and lobbing it in the direction of the figure now standing in the middle of the manor’s kitchen.

 Jason’s eyes closed as the glass shattered; when he opened them again, the figure was gone, its voice still echoing around his head.

 The eaves. It’d gone for the eaves again, or maybe to the tops of the large shelves and cabinets scattered around the room’s upper edges. Jason scanned the ground for his gun, spotting it towards the door he had come through.

 “I know who you are, hunter,” the vampire crooned, smooth and melodic, the only warning Jason had before a pale hand descended from the dark to grab him from behind. Those lips met his ear once more as it hissed, “I know      every    trick in your arsenal.”

 White hot anger tore through Jason, overpowering the fear throbbing in his veins. “Oh yeah?” he spat, tearing free two more vials and crushing them in his bare hands. The glass tore through his palms, but that hardly mattered. Blood and holy water both sailed over his shoulders as he cast his hands back. The vampire let out a pained shriek, and the pressure on Jason’s back abated.

 The creature didn’t retreat far this time, giving him a chance to look, if only briefly, at his quarry. Even crumpled on the ground he could tell that the vampire was young and far more intelligent than the majority of the blood-starved prey he’d hunted in the past. Jason couldn’t look at him dead on for fear of being caught by that gaze, but what he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye was enough to tell him that the refined beauty spoken about in most vampire stories wasn’t a lie this time around, even with holy water burning black spots into his perfect, blood-flecked skin.

 That must be the boy. The woman from the tavern hadn’t spoken his name, but Jason had done his research, had seen that face staring back at him from the portrait sporting buckshot behind him. Timothy Jackson Drake, last of his line. He had been on the cusp of adulthood when he went missing, and it was clear now that he’d stayed there for decades after.

 Jason dove for his gun. Dust rose in the scramble, the vampire darting forward to cut him off. Inertia carried Jason forward as he committed to the move, his shoulder bearing the brunt of the impact as he slammed into the vampire and sent them both tumbling through the doorway and back into the hall. Sweat stung Jason’s eyes but he didn’t dare close them, not this close, not as he fought with every ounce of strength he had to pin the slighter body to the floor.

 “What did you do with them?!” Jason grunted, forcing his forearm against the vampire’s throat until there was no way for Drake to bite back. “Where the fuck did you put the villagers, Drake?!”

 Cold fingers wrapped around his arm, holding tight but not as tight as Jason knew he could. “You can call me Tim,” whispered the vampire through a smile. His eye teeth curved over his bottom lip, ruining whatever charm the expression might’ve held once upon a time. “Can I call you Jason?”

 Jason couldn’t smother his reaction, his shock. It widened his eyes, slackened his grip. Drake— Tim—      the vampire    took the chance it was, pushing hard and rolling them over, pinning Jason to the floor like a butterfly to tack board.

 He had to look at Tim now, and God, the stories had never been so true. Pale skin, startling blue eyes, and lips like roses, blood red and temptation incarnate. Those shy lips curled back into a revealing smile, but even that barely shattered the illusion. Jason shut his eyes as quickly as he could, scrambling for one of the stakes at his waist. He shoved upwards with every ounce of strength he had and barely,      barely    managed to roll them over.

 His elbow clipped a door frame, warning him too late that he should have aimed better. Jason lost hold of the vampire as they both tumbled ass-over-tea-kettle down a flight of rickety steps. The stake in his hand was lost along the way. Jason felt a few more splinter by the time he reached the floor.

 It wasn’t a graceful landing, and he knew without looking which of them would recover from it first. Jason hit the ground hard, his breathing rushing out of him upon impact. He forced himself to keep moving, rolling onto his knees as his hand reached for the knife he kept in his boot. The air was heavy and dank, his surroundings as black as pitch once the sound of a door slamming shut cut off the sliver of light just above his head. The dirt beneath his feet told him well enough that he had fallen into the manor’s lowest level, but without moonlight or a torch his options on finding his way back upstairs were worse than limited.

 “I waited for you, you know,” came that voice again. “Did you think it was strange how loudly that village called for you? I knew you would come, Jason. I know everything about you.”

 “You don’t know shit,” Jason snapped, swiping his knife into the empty air. The vampire was pitching his voice somehow, projecting the sound so it echoed all around him. Without light there was no way to tell where he actually was. A burst of paranoia had Jason twist on his heel, slicing wildly at the space behind his back. He met nothing but nothingness, and it pissed him off even more.

 “Jason Peter Todd,” recited Timothy Jackson Drake, last of his line. “Street rat turned hunter. Made apprentice to the best and fell victim to the worst.”

 Jesus Christ. “What the fuck do you want?” Jason snarled. He couldn’t smell any rot or blood, and this had to be the basement. Where were the villagers?

 “You said it yourself; death makes things stronger.” Something cold brushed Jason’s neck. Jason tried to lift his knife but a slender hand wrapped around his wrist, squeezing like a vice until he was forced to drop it. “I waited for you,” Tim whispered, soft hair and cold breath ghosting across Jason’s cheek. “I used to watch you, before. I watched you, and then you disappeared.”

 Right. Jason had died, slaughtered by that monster just to come back as one thanks to elements far beyond even his ken. The struggle had left his body, telling the logical part of his brain that Tim must be staring into his eyes right now, mesmerizing him through the darkness. He never should had let the vampire get close to him. He never should have come here alone.

 “The… villagers…” Jason forced himself to ask, even as his knees gave out beneath him. “What did… Where…?”

 When Tim laughed, it sounded like bells. “Back in their beds. I only needed a story to get you here. But that’s okay, isn’t it? You’re here, and you’re tired, aren’t you?” Jason felt an unnatural exhaustion begin to seep into his limbs in time with the lilting words. His eyelashes fluttered; he couldn’t seem to make his arms move. “Don’t you want to sleep now, Jason? You can sleep. I’ll watch after you.”

 That voice was just a whisper. Icy fingers ran through Jason’s hair. Lips as cold as death brushed his cheek tenderly as his body settled on the floor.

 “And don’t worry,” Tim breathed, those lips ghosting over his throat. “Even death didn’t stop me from wanting you.”

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

Hark the Angels sing; It’s MORE Random Mary Grayson Headcanons!!.....I have apparently lost control of myself but hey these are fun XD 

Some of these are ones that focus on what can possibly fit into proper DCU canon while some are from AUs I have in mind (prominently, ‘What if the Flying Graysons all survived yet their son still became a Robin and eventually Nightwing?’ or ‘What if Mary was resurrected as a Talon for the Court of Owls yet was her personality more or less got brought back to normal?’)  

 I appreciate any to all feedback from replies to likes, but ESPECIALLY Reblogs  and more so, Reblogs with additional headcanons 

Either way, enjoy this nonsense 

- (Flying Graysons Alive AU)  Mary is perhaps one of the very few people alongside Batman, Red Arrow, and Lian Harper who can actually eat Green Arrow’s infamous chili recipe. Not even her husband can do it, with the latter having to chug two whole gallons of milk to soothe the burns. 

- One of her favorite hobbies whenever not practicing on trapeze is reciting and acting out Shakespeare plays. Her favorites being Romeo & Juliet, King Lear, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Macbeth. Most of the time, John and her often love playing the final scene in Romeo and Juliet as the titular characters respectfully. Apparently Mary has a hidden natural skill of playing dead so well it looks convincing to anyone who doesn’t know better. 

- (Talon!Mary AU) Upon regaining her memories and most of her personality back, one of the first things Mary asks is naturally of who was it that raised her son while she was gone, especially since this person was apparently the one that taught Dick into honing his acrobatic skills into crime fighting. When learning it was Gotham based billionaire Bruce Wayne, Mary made a briefest of stops to Wayne Manor to confront him about it. On the one hand, as a mother, she was all too commonly concerned and a bit baffled about this acquaintance of her husband and her being the one to do this for Dick without their permission. On the other, had it not been for Bruce as Alfred rightfully points out, Dick’s fate could’ve been far worse given the care system Gotham had him or even the Court of Owls double crossing their deal with her and making Dick a Talon anyways. Also, Bruce explained indeed it was ultimately Dick’s decision to swear an oath to crime fighting and his choice to avenge what happened to John and her, finding the thugs responsible for it. She acknowledges this and rather than have any animosity, Mary thanks Bruce for doing what he can and helping her son becoming the young man he is nowadays, a leader of the Titans, defender of Bludhaven and generally probably her greatest wish, a good person int he end. She declines Bruce’s offer to stay in either Gotham or Bludhaven but does say if a Crisis get too much for him and the Batfamily to handle on their own, she’ll more than willing to lend a hand. Such irony, an owl being a friend with a bat. 

- Being a Catholic, Mary often prays the Rosary prayer every Sunday at night before bed and especially during Holy Week. Dick carries on this tradition when moving into Wayne Manor and even nowadays in either his Bludhaven apartment or his room in Titans Tower since that’s what his Mother taught him. 

- Mary firmly understands the general fear of clowns some people tend to get. She firmly understands of the numerous unfortunate implications that come with the bright make up, goofy antics and general oddness clowns exhibit when being approached by casual folks. But thankfully, she definitely knows plenty of good clowns that are among her closest friends at Haly’s Circus and can say for certain they are the norms, not this Joker and his partner Harley Quinn everyone keeps paying attention to instead. Mary generally dislikes Joker and Harley and for good darn reasons.  

- She designed almost all of the Flying Graysons uniforms for each and every one of their tours and shows. They usually depend on the types of performances they perform for the night on their tour maps, helpfully categorized by John with colored pins on said maps. If the show’s a blue pin (safest of the stunts, safety nets set up), Mary and her family are wearing an all blue outfit with disco-esque collars and bird motifs (New 52 Nightwing origin ones); on red pins (larger crowds,bolder stunts yet safety nets still set) an green sleeveless bodysuit with a giant yellow stylized G on the torso (All Star Batman and Robin and Nightwing [2018-] Annual #2); and finally for Black Pins (Largest of crowds, most bold of stunts, no safety nets, example being Gotham) a green scaly leotard with a red tunic, green pixie boots and a pre show yellow cape. Said tunics having a black and yellow letter on the right side meaning their first names for example ‘M’ for Mary on hers and an ‘R’ for Richard, or as she calls it, ‘Robin’.  

- During tours in Japan, Mary always insists to bring with them before they leave an entire week’s worth of the dish called Katsudon, beef or pork cutlet on top of rice along with other ingredients. It’s basically a buffet dinner in one bowl.  

- In terms of music, Mary likes rock n roll in almost all of its subgenres. What she listens too depends on her mood at the time of the day. For instance when cleaning their trailer on bright sunny day, The Beatles are likely being blasted on her record speakers. Conversely on rainy nights with the trailer to herself and in the mood for something a bit heavier, Black Sabbath and Metallica are what’s pumping out in her headphones, performing air guitar like crazy without noticing John or Dick walking in to see that, much to their amusement. Dick actually bought those same songs his mother plays on his phones when moving to Wayne Manor. Bruce actually liked a lot of the stuff Dick played, in particular Black Sabbath......except for any songs by the Ramones, the Misfits or any hardcore punk rock. Bruce just wasn’t a fan. 

- (Flying Graysons Alive AU) Mary and John, after the events of the Circus and settling into a decent apartment in Gotham with Mr Wayne as their landlord, take jobs at a nearby fitness center. In particular, they are trapeze teachers for anyone willing to give the ropes a try. No matter the students they get, both Graysons are given the opportunity to impart their skills and their amazing acrobatic prowess to a new generation beyond their son. It probably helps that since they’re at said fitness center until it’s closing hours, they arrive home at almost the same time their son barely comes back from his Robin patrols. 

- (Flying Graysons Alive AU) Mary ADORES her grandchildren Mar’i and Jake. She is almost THE go-to babysitter for them whenever her son and his wife Kory are away on a very intense Titans and/or Bludhaven mission. Though it must be said, watching over two Tamaranean-Human hybrids proves no easy task since either one or both of the two rascals can accidentally do some damage to the apartment with their starbolts or enhanced strength when not carefully. Perhaps the trickiest period was when Mar’i was barely coming out of her toddler phase but still had their stubborn temper that can ignite said starbolts. Thankfully as Mar’i got older and her baby brother Jake proved on being far more relaxed and chill than his older sister at his age, watching over the two of them became far easier. Whenever, the three interact in small talk, they all speak primarily in lovari Romani Chib. Sometimes when reading them Tamaranean bedtime stories, the kids help with Mary’s Tamaranean since she’s always curious to learn new languages. More often than not, whenever getting a call for Dick to help watch Mar’i and Jake,the first thing she does almost immediately is check their mustard supply given what her grandchildren drink. Overall, Mar’i and Jake are a joy when they visit Mary and John and she can’t be any happier than that. 

[beaubokuto]

━ iii. what you broke

pairing: tobio kageyama x f!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, royal!au, angst

summary: prince tobio kageyama is cruel. he was known to be vindictive, revengeful, other synonyms for anger’s embodiment. you were not quite as interesting: a simple village girl with a knack for stealing things and a wish to kill the prince.

a/n: criticism is always appreciated <3 this one was fun to write

tags: angst, royalty, swearing, medieval, fantasy, enemies to lovers, all characters are aged up, minor depictions of violence (dueling, sparring, no major bloodshed)

glossary

previous chapter  ━ next chapter

“I would have the opportunity to duel the prince?” You asked. You felt eagerness creep into your skin. It was your dream for years.

“You would be best not to sound that excited.” The flame boy said with a smile. “He would be king by then, but yes. You would have the opportunity to duel him, if you wished to do so. I am coming to you directly with an offer. Accompany me to the castle tonight in preparation.”

“I have the money.” You reached for your bag. “I planned to speak with General Shimizu today.”

“No need.” He waved you off. “Keep the money. You can find an excellent sword with... what is that? A moonful?” You wished you could wipe the look off of his face. “As I said, I came to you directly. Allow me to introduce myself.”

The orange haired boy stood and bowed only slightly with his his chin, hair creating a halo of light around his head. He was much shorter than you remembered, perhaps it was because your attention was focused on the prince. You mentally reminded yourself to be aware of your surroundings.

“I am Shoyo Hinata, son of the Flame and best mate of crowned prince Tobio Kageyama.” He recited. When he brought his burnt orange eyes to yours, he seemed to glitter. “And I am appointing you a training knight, if you wish to accept.”

“Why?”

“Hm?”

“Why?” You did not bow. You did not move. Your eyes flickered to the general’s, who still sat at the table. “Why are you appointing me directly? What is the trick?”

“There is no trick, only treats.” Hinata joked. “You have peaked my interest. I believe that you peaked the prince’s interest as well.”

He brought his hand forward to allow a flame to dance around his fingers. It was a small fire ball that circled his palm and twirled through each digit as if it were a real person.

“Besides, I think it would be fun, would it not?”

You agreed. How could you not?

Hinata gave you an explanation as to how everything would work, and you listened. It was a simple process: you would live with other training knights in a wing of the castle, you would spar and train and prepare for the duels at the end of each week with them and some of the actual knights, and you would either proceed or you would fail.

Not everyone would become a knight, even if they paid their dues. You were determined to become one. You were brilliant with a sword, even the daughter of the general thought as such.

You had to think of a plan. You had weeks until your duel with the prince.

And you decided that your duel with him would finally be his end.

“I cannot believe you are leaving me here to dwell by myself.” Kiyoko complained as you readied yourself. 

“You have plenty of other friends.”

“None that will spar with me.” She sighed. You gave her a look, and she shrugged. “None that are a good duel, rather.”

“Speaking of other friends.” You pulled the parcel out of your cloak. “This is from Tanaka.”

“If it is from him, I do not want it.” Kiyoko waved it off as if it were a bug flying too close to her face.

“He claims it to be an apology.”

With that, Kiyoko lifted a brow. She reached from her sitting position on the edge of her bed. Her bed was rather soft, so she had to physically move up to reach you. You wondered what that was like, to sleep on something that squishy. Perhaps you would know soon.

You handed her the gift.

Her nimble fingers untied the knot and tore the paper off, revealing a white box with a note.

She read the note in silence and proceeded to open the gift, revealing a beautiful necklace made of blue and silver. You couldn’t tell exactly what it was made of, but you knew it was as beautiful as she was.

“Wow.” You sighed before you could hold yourself back. “That’s gorgeous.”

“He thinks he can simply purchase his way through an apology.” Kiyoko tossed the necklace back into the box. You almost reached out to make sure it was all right. “He is mistaken.”

“Kiyoko...”

“If you are to tell me to accept the gift and a note claiming what I already know, you are a fool.” She turned to you. “Now, let us get you ready to leave. You cannot wear the same thing every day in the castle as you do here.”

Shoyo Hinata waited for you.

You had only your clothes, a small bag of clothes that Kiyoko gave you (easy to move in and comfortable sleepwear, she told you), your sword at your hip, and your pouch of coins. 

General Shimizu nodded goodbye as you headed for the door. You turned to thank him for his kindness, to which he said “I cannot wait to work alongside you weeks from now.”

It made you grin.

Hinata attached your bag to the side of his horse, aware of how you watched his movements with intensity.

“I am not here to kill you. I would have done it by now.” Hinata told you. He still stared at the task at hand. You looked at the back of his head, his hair looking like hair rather than fire. 

“You watch as I disrespect the prince only to appear at my best friend’s house to offer me an amazing opportunity.” You crossed your arms. “There is a saying about things being too good to be true.”

“You know, you should work on your trust issues.” He said as he hopped onto the horse. “It will make your life so much easier.”

His informality made you blink in confusion. You barely ever heard someone talk without honorifics, even Kiyoko talked to you in formalities most of the time. You thought it was simply because she was a bit older than you, but hearing someone the same age as you speak with the tongue of friendship was strange.

“What?” Hinata looked down at you. “Are you coming on or what?”

“You speak as if we are friends.” You finally said. You climbed onto the horse to sit behind him. 

“Oh right, sorry!” He giggled and sent you a smile. “I forget sometimes that we are supposed to talk formally. Which do you prefer: commoner, my lady, knight?”

“Why is my name not an option?”

“Because isn’t calling you by your name a bit informal, my lady?” He looked over his shoulder one last time before giving the horse a nice pat on it’s head, making it move towards the castle.

“I want you to repeat yourself.” Tobio Kageyama sighed with a pinched brow. 

“She’s in the training quarters now.” Shoyo Hinata said without missing a beat. He stood in front of his best friend with a huge grin and fire in his eyes. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”

“You witness this girl have blatant disrespect for me and for the crown, yet you bring her to my home with an offer of free training and living.”

“That is exactly what I did, yes.”

Kageyama sighed once more, attempting to push back the anger that resonated in his chest.

“You should see her with a sword, Tobio.” Hinata continued once he realized just how angry he was. “Watch her first duel in three days time. I promise you, it will not be in vain.”

“And how do you know of this talent?”

“I watched her and Sir Shimizu’s daughter practice together.” Hinata said. “I talked to the General himself, and he claims that she is excellent and had been saving up for years. She will be great, I promise you.”

“And her duel with me?”

“You may want to practice a bit harder. No offense.”

The Knights Quarters sat in the left wing of the castle. The darkness of the castle only seemed to get darker as you made your way through the hallways, mentally noting where you had been. 

There were four rooms for the men training, all full with at least ten beds. There were only two rooms for the women. As it turns out, you were only one of three females who were training.

The rooms were dark, only two lights along the ceiling and small windows. The beds were spread along both walls, totaling to ten. Each bed had a hanging piece underneath for storage and a dark wooden bedside table. 

One of the girls seemed to had been training for a while, sprawled out in her claimed bed. She had short brown hair and piercing light brown eyes. She had a scar along her shoulder that you took notice of. The other had long light brown hair tied into a plait, freckled skin, and blue eyes that gleamed at the sight of you.

“Welcome to Knight Training!” The blue eyed girl greeted with a smile. “I am Yua Ito, daughter of the Hunter. This is Akari Yamamoto, daughter of Sir Yamamoto.”

“Hello.” You placed your bag on an empty bed. You introduced yourself, adding, “Daughter of a merchant.”

“I heard Shoyo Hinata offered you this position directly.” Akari spoke up. She lifted her head only slightly from the pillow. “You must be good with your weapon.”

“I plan to get better.”

Akari smiled, though it felt melicious. “How ambitious. Cannot wait to see you in action, chosen one.”

Yua smacked her thigh, but Akari only rolled her eyes and closed them again. Yua turned to you, smile back onto her face.

“Do not pay attention to her attitude.” Yua waved it off as if it were an annoying fly. “She’s naturally like that.”

Before you could reply, the door to the room opened.

Your name was announced by the man at the door. He was of a large build, with thick armor and you could count at least four knives in plain sight. He must be a soldier, or a body guard of sorts.

You hadn’t even sat down yet.

“I am she.” You said, with as much formality as you could. 

“Your presence is requested by the prince.”

masterlist

tag list: @immxnty @elegantlykpop​ @thechaosoflonging​ @starryparkrr​ @cosmotoic​

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone -Chapter 26

Title: Preparations

Warning:  it’s filler.  I figured we needed some cute daddy Tyler. lol

Tagging:  @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @alievans007​, @miss-smutty​, @tragiclyhip​

“When you met mumma, you guys were working together, right?”

Addie poses the question as she sits atop the kitchen island; legs swinging back and forth as they dangle over the edge, the heels of silver and gold glitter infused jelly sandals lightly thumping against the wood. She insisted on bringing one of her favourite pairs of shoes from home; arguing that she didn’t care that they were ‘out of season’ and that she would wear what she wants, when she wants, and no one could tell her otherwise. In the end they’d gone perfectly with the new ‘Christmas’ dress she’d picked out Bloomingdales; a vibrant yellow concoction with capped sleeves embellished with strips of lace, a sash around the waist that ties in an enormous bow at the back, and an elaborate tulle skirt several layers thick that shimmers in the light. Forgoing all the burgundy, emerald green, and red dresses that had lined the regular priced racks in favour of an outfit from the leftover and highly discounted summer section. It was a hill Esme hadn't been willing to die on; preferring that Addie showcase both her independence in choosing her own outfit, and being proud of her personal style and preferences. And it suits her; as bright and adorable as her personality with just enough ‘no fucks given’ sprinkled on for good measure.

While tiny and seemingly fragile, she can be extremely assertive and adverse to any form of compromise; tenacious to a fault and digging her heels in and sticking to her guns when she feels she’s one hundred right about her stance. Even if there’s mountains of proof to show that she is, in fact, completely wrong. Someone so stubborn and feisty lingering inside that cute, wee package; able to hold her own while out playing with her older siblings and not afraid to get a bloody nose or a fat lip or a black eye. And not deterred in the slightest when she DOES get injured; right back to what she was doing only hours after getting stitches or a cast removed. Not shying away from climbing trees or splashing in mud puddles or helping muck out the goats stalls while wearing clunky rubber boots paired with a Disney princess dress. Very much like her older sister had been at that age; enjoying being physical and active and playing sports and rough housing one minute, then showcasing her more ‘girly side’ the next. Loving trips to the salon with mummy for manis and pedis; enjoying picking her own shade of polish and then getting to sip orange juice from a champagne glass while getting a facial and her hair trimmed. Collecting dolls along with various rocks and shells and beach glass. Superhero figures taking up residence on her bedroom shelves right alongside stuffies of her favourite animals -koalas, sloths, and kangaroos currently at the top of the list- and snow globes from different parts of the world. Her closet filled with not only frilly dresses and sparkly leggings and colourful sweaters emblazoned with unicorns and french bulldogs and flamingos, but old hand me downs from her brothers; ripped and faded jeans and tattered t-shirts and board shorts.

“Right,” Tyler confirms, as he tends to running a brush through her waist length hair; damp from misting it down with a spray bottle in order to easier part it into sections.

It’s a far cry from his old life; his beaten and busted up hands with their multitude of scars and calluses once used to being soaked in blood and caked with dirt. Large and weathered with misshapen knuckles, they’d long ago gotten accustomed to hard, manual labour and the brutality that he’d had to inflict on others; fists that pummelled bodies and faces and fingers that pulled triggers and wrapped around throats and choked the life out of combatants. And while they still get caked in mud from working around the house and they’re still entrusted to load magazines and are capable of taking a gun apart in thirteen seconds flat, they’ve morphed into other uses. Beginning with diapering babies and tending to the impossibly tiny snaps on jumpers, buttons on little sweaters, and zippers on sleepers. Moving on to tying kid sized shoe laces and cleaning and patching up skinned knees and elbows. Advancing to far more difficult hair styling techniques than the simple ponytails he’d began affixing on Millie when she was a toddler; various styles of braids adorned with ribbons, and snapping barrettes and clamping clips into place.

Being a girl dad is unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. The six short years -despite the little time he’d actually been home- he’d spent with Austin had prepared him for raising boys. His son, when healthy, had been extremely active and fearless and full of curiosity and energy; getting as messy and as dirty as possible and loving every second of it. Obsessed with superheroes and sports and always clad in clothing that displayed his favourites; football jerseys and baseball caps and sweats emblazoned with Superman or Batman logos. He had been terrified twelve years ago when the news had come in that Millie was in fact going to be a girl; not only envisioning frilly dresses and a closet full of pink and those ridiculous headbands parents insist on putting on their infants, but thinking back to his own treatment of women. The days when he’d used them for nothing more than sex; random strangers picked up in bars or that he’d meet on the street in whatever city a job sent him to. A failed marriage; putting more of a priority on the military than he did on treating his wife properly. And all he could think about was how having a daughter was somehow a punishment for the bad shit he’d done. A little girl that he’d have to protect from guys like him.

It was hard to get used to; big fingers having to master putting in tiny earrings and tending to impossibly small zippers and buttons , getting comfortable with the amount of pink and purple in their rooms and closets. Eventually graduating into attending tea parties and playing with Barbies and helping make crafts; getting used to paint on his palms and between his fingers and glitter stuck under his nails and in his hair and beard. Determined to be a hands-on father even if its activities are way outside of his comfort zone; gymnastic meets and dance recitals as opposed to lacrosse matches and football games. Being a girl dad isn’t for the weak; having to worry about your little girls’ hearts being broken and if the guys they pick will treat them right and if they themselves will make smart and responsible choices as teenagers. And the hormones; the up and down emotions and the drastic switch from bitchy to overly sensitive. Having a wife go through it once a month is enough. never mind the thought of three other girls. The worry of how he’ll handle not only the emergence of puberty, but if all four female ‘clocks’ decide to sync up. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle THAT; all the women in his life going through the cramps and the moodiness and the demands to be coddled and babied one minute and left the fuck alone the next.

“Does that mean mummy beat up and killed bad guys too?”

“No. She never did any of that stuff. That was my job, not hers.”

“What did she do?”

“She tracked down the bad guys. And where they were doing mean things to good people. Then she told me...or guys like me...where they were so we could go and take care of things.”

“So you could go and kill them?”

“You don’t always have to kill people. Sometimes it’s enough to just rough them up a bit.”

“And other times they fight back and try to hurt you and you have to hurt them first?”

“Pretty much.”

“Have you killed a lot of people?”

“Not that many," he lies. It's actually a staggering amount; the death toll -from his hand alone- in Dhaka putting the count well over three hundred.

“How many is ‘not that many'?’”

“I don’t know, Peanut. I’ve never kept track.”

“But you’ve helped more people than you’ve hurt. That’s what mummy said when I asked if it was true. If Tyler was lying when he told me you kill people for a living.”

“That’s a while ago. That you asked mummy that.”

“I was three. That’s a whole two years ago. But sometimes I think about it. Especially when you go away. I think about you having to kill people.”

“And what do you think WHEN you think about that? About what I sometimes have to do?”

“I dunno know,” Addie shrugs, and then lifts the spray bottle clutched in both hands and holds it towards her face; giggling when she pulls the trigger and catches some of the mist in her mouth.

“Does it bother you? When you think about it? That I’ve killed people? That sometimes I still have to?”

“Why would it bother me?”

“Kind of a hard thing to hear, don’t you think? That daddy has to do stuff like that?”

“It’s your job. It’s what you do. You have to hurt people to save other people. And sometimes, if they try and hurt you first, you have to kill them. Because if you didn’t, they might kill you and then you never come home and we never get to see you again. It’s not THAT hard to hear. I’d rather you kill someone and come home than never see you again.”

“You know,” he plucks the spray bottle from her hands and dampens a section of hair. “You’re pretty smart for only five.”

“Smart like mummy.”

He leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Cute like her too.”

“Are you going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Who would I get in trouble with?”

“God. Isn’t that one of the things we’re not supposed to do? Kill people?”

“How do you know about that? We don’t talk about that stuff at home.”

“I hear things. At school. Some of the older kids talking. Are you? Going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Probably,” he admits. “I’m sure I’ll face some kind of judgement for it. When my time comes.”

“But wouldn’t it be okay ‘cause you only kill bad people? That were hurting good people? Wouldn’t that be allowed? And if you had to kill someone so you could come home to us, wouldn’t that be okay too?”

“I don’t know,” he snags a yellow cloth ribbon off the island and begins braiding a section of hair around it. “I’ve never thought that far ahead about things.”

“It would suck if you got in trouble for helping people. That wouldn’t be fair at all. If you got sent to hell for doing stuff like that. I mean, you were doing something GOOD. You weren’t doing something bad. You HAD to kill evil people to help good people. And to make sure you come home to mummy and us kids. I can’t see you getting in trouble for something like THAT.”

“Doesn’t make much sense to me either. But not a lot does anymore.”

“I’ll be really mad if you get in trouble and sent somewhere different than me. I don’t want us to be in two separate places. I want us to be together. All of us. You and mummy and all us kids. I don’t want us to all be separated. Well, maybe Millie could be. Because she’s mean to me. All the time.”

“Millie is going through some stuff. She’s going to be a teenager soon. A lot of drama leading up to THAT.”

“She says I’m annoying. That she used to really like me when I was a baby and couldn’t do anything. But now I can do lots of stuff and I can talk and she says that pisses her off. That I’m a bratty little sister.”

“You are NOT bratty.”

“Right? That’s what I said. She’s bratty if anything. Am I annoying, daddy? Don’t lie. You can tell me the truth.”

“You are not annoying. If anyone is annoying, it’s Millie.”

“I said THAT too! But she’s mean. She even threatened to cut my hair off. Shave it. Because I couldn’t find my brush and I borrowed hers and she didn’t like that. So you know what I did? While you were gone?”

“What did you do?”

“I took the tops off two Oreo cookies and I ate the middle and then I put in mayonnaise and I put the tops back on and gave them to Millie. I told her I was being a good little sister and bringing her a snack. And she put a whole one in her mouth! She almost puked!”

He can’t help but chuckle. “You actually did that?”

“Yup. It was awesome. I laughed so hard, I almost peed! But then she started chasing me around the house threatening to kill me. Mummy was screaming at her to lighten up, that it was just a joke. And then she told mummy to shut up and Tyler got mad. REALLY mad. He tackled Millie and grabbed her by the hair and pushed her face into the carpet. Then he put her in a figure four leg lock and made her cry.”

“Millie told your mom to shut up?”

“Oooops…” Addie tilts her head back to look at him, a sheepish smile curving her lips. “....I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part.”

“Who told you not to tell me? Millie?”

The five year old shakes her head.

“TJ?”

Another shake, followed by a tiny “No.”

“Addie…”

“It was mummy! She said not to tell you because you’d get pissed off and you didn’t need to. Because she took care of it right when it happened. Well, Tyler did. He was really, really, REALLY mad. She learned her lesson. I’m sure of it. He made her cry. Lots.”

“Did that happen a lot? Millie getting mouthy with your mom?”

“Not really.”

He stares pointedly down at her.

“A few times,” she reluctantly admits. “She said some things that were really mean. To mummy. And she said the F word once, too. Mixed with the B word.”

“She said that ? To your mom?”

Addie chews nervously on her bottom lip. “Yeah, she called her an f-ing B word.”

“What did mummy do?”

“She didn’t get a chance to do anything. Desi freaked out. And he’s really big and he can be really scary when he wants. Like you. Desi told her that she should never, ever talk to her mum like that. And that you’d be really mad if you found out. And that she’d rather deal with him than you. Which is true. Desi might be bigger than you, but you’re definitely tougher. I mean, he doesn’t kill people for a living. You do.”

“Things were pretty bad, huh? While I was gone.”

“A little. Millie went off the reservation. Big time. She’s lucky she’s even breathing. ‘Cause Tyler was ready to kill her. And I don’t blame him. You’re mad, aren’t you. Are you mad, daddy?”

“A bit.”

“You know how I can tell? That you’re mad? Your neck moves. Right here,” she reaches up to press to fingertips against the side of his throat. “Where the bad guy shot you a long time ago.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Mummy told me. I asked her how you got that scar. She said that a long time ago, her and Ovi were in trouble and you had to get them out of a really bad place. And then you made sure they were safe and sound, but a bad guy shot you. In the neck. And that’s why you have the scar there.”

“Did that scare you? Hearing that?”

“A little, I guess. I mean, you could have died, right?”

“I could have, yeah.”

“And then you and mummy never would have gotten married. And had kids. Millie would be the only one to exist. None of us would. So yeah, that part scared me a bit; that the bad guy could have killed and none of us ever would have been born. Did you kill him?”

“Eventually.”

“Mummy said she stayed with you. After it happened. And that she went back to Australia with you and that’s how she ended up there. It’s where you guys got married. And had Millie and me and Kota and Brookie. That we were the ones born there. So we’re REAL Australians, like you. Everyone else is American.”

“Everyone else WAS American. You’re all Australian now.”

“How does that work?”

“A lot of papers you have to fill out. To become a citizen. But you all are. Mummy and I made sure of it.”

“Is mummy an Australian too?”

“By marriage, yeah.”

“It’s a good thing she married you. You’re a lucky guy, daddy. That someone like mummy fell in love with you.”

“I am,” he confirms. “Very lucky. She’s a pretty good mummy, huh?”

“She’s the best mummy EVER. If we could pick our mummies, I’d pick her. Because she’s nice and she gives good cuddles and kisses and she tells the best silly jokes. And she’s super smart and really cute too. And little! Like me!”

“That’s where you get from. Being so cute and wee. You’re just like your mumma.”

Her eyes sparkle as she smiles broadly up at him; the corners and the bridge of her nose crinkle. “And that’s a good thing, yeah?”

“A very good thing,” Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he brushes the tip of his nose against hers; smiling at the way she throws her head back and giggles.

He’s seen her mother do that exact movement and expression a number of times; excitement while on the rides at Disney World with the kids, when she’s had one too many glasses of wine and even his terrible ‘dad jokes’ are suddenly hilarious, when they’ve been on one of their ‘mommy and daddy’ vacations and she’s gotten up the guts to try something new and exciting; emboldened by his encouragement and forever feeling safe and secure as long as he’s by her side. So much of Esme in the tiny little girl in front of him; tenacious and ferociously intelligent and loving deeply and fearlessly. Knowing the darkness and the horrors that exist in the world but not allowing herself to be tarnished by it; always finding ways to smile and laugh and find the beauty in every day.

“What do you think mummy would have done if she didn’t do the job she did?” Addie inquires, when she finally drops her head back down and he’s able to return to tending her hair.

“I don’t know. Teach? Be a nurse? Maybe a doctor?”

“How would you have met her? If she didn’t do her old job?”

“Maybe I would have met her on the beach. In Australia. Maybe she would have come there on a vacation.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you would have gone to where she used to live. In Chicago.”

“She used to live in Colorado. That’s where she was born and where she grew up. Chicago is a totally different place.”

“She used to live by the mountains. When I was in her tummy, you guys lived on a hobby farm. And you had goats and chickens. Mummy says we still own that house.”

“Yup, we do. We rent it out.”

“Can we go there one day? I’d like to see it. I’d like to see where you guys were living when I was in mummy’s belly. Is that where I was made?”

“We’re pretty sure that’s where it happened. Not many other places it could have been.”

“Maybe we can go and visit. And I can see where I was made. That would be fun. I want to see the mountains.”

“Maybe one day.” He finishes up the first braided pigtail, securing it with an impossibly small elastic before turning his attention to the other section of hair.

“If you met mummy a different way, would you have still liked her? Would you have still fallen in love with her?”

“Yup. Why wouldn’t have I? She still would have been mummy. She still would have been the same person. Still would have been the most beautiful girl ever.”

“Do you think she still would have fallen in love with you?”

“I sure as hell hope so. Would sure suck if she didn’t. Your mumma is pretty special, Peanut. She’s the love of my life. Took me until I was thirty five to meet her.”

“You were married before, though. To Austin's mom. You didn’t love her?”

“I did. But not in the way I love your mum. Your mum? That’s who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Grow really, really, REALLY old with. It’s a whole other kind of love. And you know what? It’s not easy to explain. You just know what you feel.”

“Imagine if things were opposite? If you went to Colorado and met mummy instead of her meeting you in Australia and working with you? And then you would have stayed there; where the snow and the mountains are instead of the beach and the ocean. How come you moved? Why didn’t you guys stay? Where the mountains are?”

“Things changed. We weren’t happy there anymore. We needed to get away. Go back to the place where we were the happiest.”

“In Australia?”

“Yup.”

“That’s where I’m happiest too. I love it there. I love how warm it is; the sun and the sand and the water. I like the sound it makes; listening to it when I’m trying to fall asleep. And I like how the beach feels; between my toes and when I let it run through my fingers. And I love my room and my toys and my school and my friends and all the goats and our pigs and our chickens. And Charlie. I love him the most. I love making him peanut butter sandwiches. I’d miss him the most. If we had to leave. We won’t have to leave will we, daddy?”

“I don’t see why we would have to.”

“I don’t ever want to leave Australia. It’s perfect there. It’s where I was born. And where you were born too. We have that in common. We were BOTH born there.”

“Yeah…” he grins, and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “...we were.”

“I mean, we have other stuff in common too. Because you’re my dad and that means you helped make me so that means half of me is half of you. The other half is from mummy. And we both love surfing. And animals. And Vegemite. I LOVE Vegemite. It’s sooooo good.”

“Speaking of Vegemite, was it you that left the Vegemite and Nutella sandwich for Santa?”

Addie giggles. “Maybe…”

“Why would you ever put the two of those together?”

“Tyler made it for his school lunch once and he let me try a bit and it was really good! So I thought Santa might like to try it. Part American, part Australian.”

“You know, that’s pretty genius. And it worked. I tried a bit and it wasn’t bad.”

“Right?! You wouldn’t think it would work, but it does. Somehow. Kind of like you and mummy.”

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?”

“You and mummy are so different. You’re really tall and big and she’s really short and small. Like, you know how mummy is a morning person? She’s always really cheerful and smiley? And you’re not? You’re moody and miserable. A total grump face! And you don’t like to talk until you’ve had your first coffee. With three shots of espresso in it.”

“You notice all that stuff?”

“I notice everything. Mummy says I’m very observant. And that I have really good instincts. Like you. She says ‘cause my tummy tells me if something is right or wrong. And yours does too. You know how else you and mummy are different?”

“How?”

“Mummy talks to everyone! She’s very talky talky. A chatterbox.”

“Geez,” Tyler grins, and tugs playfully at the completed pigtail. “I wonder who ELSE is a chatterbox?”

“She’s a social butterfly. She makes friends everywhere she goes. People like her. Because she’s so bubbly and cute and she makes peoples hearts feel warm because she’s so nice to them. You’re more serious. You don’t talk a lot. At least not to people you don’t know. People are scared of you sometimes. Because how big you are and because you got all the drawings on you and the scars and stuff. They think you’re mean. ‘Cause of all that.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think you’re just daddy. I KNOW you’re not mean. I KNOW you’re a nice guy. I KNOW you give awesome hugs; your arms are big but they feel nice and they wrap all the way around me! If people really paid attention, they’d see that you’re nice. You have soft eyes. They’re blue and they’re pretty and they’re kind. Especially when you smile and they go all crinkly. If people really gave you a chance, they’d see you’re not scary at all. You’re only like that if you HAVE to be. If bad people are near mummy or us kids.”

“Are you ever scared of me?” It’s a recurring thought; if his children ever pick up on the worry and the tension and the fear that comes with his issues. It’s a feat some days; forcing himself out of bed and putting one foot in front of the other. Wanting nothing more than to stay under the covers and surrender to the exhaustion that comes with doing battle with his own mind every day. But his family is his number one priority, whether it’s a good day or a horrible one. And he’ll ‘fake it until he makes it’ as long as his children and his wife know that they’re loved; provided and cared for and made to feel safe and protected.

“Why would I be? Why would I be scared of my daddy?”

“Well, you know what I do for a living. You know what I’ve had to do to people. Does that scare you?”

“Nope. Because that’s just your job. It’s not who you are. When you come home, you’re just daddy. You take us bike riding and hiking and swimming and surfing. And you help us find rocks and shells and you let me sit on your shoulders when we walk on the beach or go into town. And we take naps. On the hammock. I love our naps on the hammock.”

He smiles. “So do I.”

“Sometimes I get a little worried. When you get upset. Or you and mummy argue. I don’t like when you guys argue. I always worry that you’ll hate each other. That you’ll get a divorce. And then you won’t live with us. It makes me sad when I think about that.”

“You don’t need to be sad, Peanut. That’s never going to happen. I’m never going to go and live somewhere else. I’m going to stay right where I am; with you guys and your mumma. And just because we argue? That doesn’t mean we’re going to hate each other. I could NEVER hate your mum. And I’m pretty sure she’d say the same thing about me. We love each other. Very much. Divorce is NOT something you need to think about. But do I ever scare you? Have I ever?”

“I don’t have a reason to be scared of you. Because you love me. You’d never hurt me. I never worry about that. Not even when you yell and your voice gets REALLY loud. I know you’d never do anything mean to me. Just to bad people. And I’m not a person. I’m a GOOD person.”

“You definitely are. You’re a VERY good person. An amazing little person.”

She smiles. “Like mummy.”

“Just like her. More than even I ever realized.”

******

“Addie…” TJ singsongs as he saunters into the kitchen, both hands tucked behind his back. “...what are you doing?”

“Tyler!” She cheerfully greets, and excitedly waves to him with both hands. Her entire face lighting up at the sight of her second favourite male in the house

She’s become extremely close to her oldest brother during her five years on earth; idolizing him and turning to him for help and comfort when daddy is either caught up with one of the other kids, tending to work related matters, or out of the house -and sometimes even the country- all together. And TJ dotes on her in return. Spoiling her and babying her ever since she was an infant and he was always more than willing to help change her diapers and give her feedings. In awe of how tiny she was and how she’d look up at him with so much adoration. He’s the quintessential older brother; patient and loving and ready to kick anyone’s ass that dares messes with her.

“Look at my dress! It’s the one I picked out when I went shopping for mommy. That I kept a secret. Isn’t it awesome?”

“Awesome just like you. It’s really pretty, Ads. Your favourite colour too!”

“Yup! Mummy bought it for me. She said it’s perfect for me. For my personality. It reminds me of Belle’s dress. From Beauty and the Beast.”

“Looks a little like it, I guess. But you know what? It’s even prettier. And you’re more beautiful than Belle. WAY more beautiful.”

“Really?” she gasps, and a noticeable blush creeps into her cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. “You really think so?”

“I REALLY think so. Belle has nothing on you. You’re the prettiest princess EVER. Way prettier than ANY of them.”

“Oh goodness!” She clamps both hands over her mouth in embarrassment, then giggles into them. “Like mumma? Just as pretty as her? Mumma is the prettiest EVER.”

“Just a smaller version of her.” TJ leans in close and presses the tip of his nose against hers. “Guess what I have? What you forgot in my room?”

“Adeline!” she cries, when he reveals the item he’d been keeping behind his back. And she snags the doll from him and showers its head and face with kisses as she clutches it tightly to her chest. “Adeline! I’m sorry I forgot you! I didn’t mean to!”

“I kept her safe for you,” TJ says. “So Declan wouldn’t grab her. You know how he likes to get a hold of dolls and torture them. I didn’t want him getting her. She’s way too pretty and I know how much you love her.”

“He’s mean to my dolls! He’s always taking their heads off and putting their arms where their legs should be and crazy shit like that.”

“Hey,” Tyler frowns, and tugs on the half braided pigtail. “What did I say?”

“No bad language. Especially on Christmas Day. I can’t help it though; sometimes it just slips out. If you didn’t swear so much around us kids…”

“That’s it. Throw me under the bus.”

“You swear A LOT, daddy. Especially in the car. When other people don’t drive fast enough or use their blinkers. If mummy knew exactly how much you DO swear around us, she’d be mad. REALLY mad.”

“Your mum has a worse mouth than I do.”

“As if!” Addie scoffs, and he can’t help but smile; easily hearing Esme’s voice and picturing the expression on her face; the corner up her mouth and her nose scrunched up in disgust, eyes slightly narrowed. “Thank you, Tyler!” She curls an arm around her brother’s neck, squeezing as tight as she can. “You’re the best! Thank you for keeping her safe from the Ginger. You’re the best brother EVER! I only trust you with her. And daddy. That’s it. You guys are big and strong and will keep her safe no matter what.”

“What the hell are you wearing?” He addresses his son as the latter moves to the fridge, pausing in the braiding of Addie’s hair to survey TJ’s wardrobe a pair of ill fitting and impossibly baggy jeans, an enormous untucked dress shirt with its sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a loose pink, purple, and grey striped tie.

“Your pants. And one of your shirts.” TJ reaches into the fridge and grabs a carton of chocolate milk and a jug of white. Closing the door with his hip and carrying them to the counter by the sink; pouring a mix of both into a plastic tumblr retrieved from the dish rack and then snagging two straws from the cupboard. “Mum told me to. She said none of my clothes were good enough for Christmas dinner. All my jeans have holes in them and all t-shirts have to do with surfing. We’ve never had to dress up for Christmas dinner before. Why do we have to start now?”

“Your mum’s trying to make things perfect. To avoid drama. With your grandmother.”

“Too late. Grandma brings drama with her. And drops it on everyone else.” He drags a bar stool across the floor and places it in front of his little sister. “Here Ads,” he holds the cup in front of her. “A yellow straw just for you. So you don’t have to share my germs. Let me hold it; so you don’t spill anything on your dress.”

Giving a delighted squeal and a smile of appreciation, she takes a pull from the straw. “I think you look handsome, Tyler. You’re growing up. You’re going to be as big as daddy soon.”

“It’s going to be a while before I’m THAT big. But I’m going to work on it. As soon as I’m allowed, I’m going to lift heavy too and put on ALL kinds of muscle.”

“Then you can go after bad people too. And beat them up and kill them when you have to.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Tyler suggests. “Something tells me mummy might have an issue with that.”

“Why doesn’t mum just tell grandma to get lost?” TJ inquires. “It’s not like they like each other. They never have. They’ve always fought. I remember how they’d get into it at Christmas. When we were still living in Colorado. Grandma would get drunk and she’d pick fights with mum and mum would fight back and cry and then you’d go off on grandma. Is that going to happen this year? ‘Cause it’s been nice and quiet at Christmas. Do we HAVE to listen to grandma's shit?”

“What did I just tell your sister? About the language?”

“She’s five, but she’s right. It IS hard to stop and it does just come out. But do we, dad? Do we really have to put up with her?”

“It’s one night. I think you can manage. If I can grin and bear it, so can you. Suck it up.”

“If she starts in on mum about ANYTHING, I’m going to lose it. That’s my mum. No one talks to my mum like that. I almost taught Jacobi a lesson. For calling mum cute and wanting to ask her out. I’ll teach grandma a lesson too. I’m not afraid of her.”

“If anyone is going to teach her a lesson, it’s going to be me. You stay out of it. Your mum wouldn’t want you getting into it with her. You’re TEN.”

“Doesn’t matter how old I am. That’s MY mum. And no one is going to treat her bad. We’re supposed to protect her, remember? You and I.”

“You’re supposed to be a kid and stay that way as long as you can. I’M supposed to protect your mom. And I think I’ve been pretty damn good at it for the last twelve and a half years. And if your grandma starts? I’ll stop it. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why does she hate you so much anyway? Is it still the same crap? How she’s pissed because you stole mum away from her family and moved her all the way to Australia? ‘Cause you got her pregnant before you married her?”

Addie scowls. “Who cares? Lots of people have babies and they aren’t married. And so what if mummy didn’t go back home and she stayed with daddy? She’s an adult. She can do what she wants. And she wanted to be with daddy. None of grandma’s business. I’mma tell her that too. If she starts saying mean things about daddy or mummy. I’mma tell her what for.”

“You’re not going to do a thing,” Tyler informs her. “You’re going to leave all the telling off to me, got it?”

“I don’t like her,” Addie says. “She’s not a nice person. She has a mean smile. And her eyes are empty. They don’t sparkle or anything like that. Are you sure that’s mummy’s mummy? Because when mummy smiles, her eyes sparkle. She LOOKS happy. Grandma? She just looks mean.”

“No one likes her,” TJ grumbles. “Best thing we ever did was get away from her. But IS that why, dad? Is that really why she doesn’t like you? Because she still thinks you stole mum and took her all the way to Australia?”

“It’s a few things.”

“I bet it’s the job too. I bet she really has a problem with THAT.”

“Again…” Addie huffs dramatically. “...who cares? So what if daddy kills people? They’re BAD. They deserve it. He helps good people and sometimes when he’s helping them, he has to kill the bad guys. I don’t see a problem with that. If they try and hurt him or kill him, he HAS to kill them first. So he can come home. To us. And mummy. It only makes sense.”

“If Ads can get it, ANYONE can,” TJ says. “She’s only five. What’s grandma? A hundred? If a five year old can get it…”

“Daddy makes the world a better place because he gets rid of the bad people,” Addie continues, as she takes another sip of the drink her brother offers her. “If we had less bad people, everything would be great. There’d be less wars and less people getting hurt and everyone would love one another and be happy. Daddy’s doing a good thing. By sticking up for people. Like you do. At school. You beat up the bullies when you have to. Remember the older kid that tripped me and shoved my face in the mud? Remember him? He’s in grade eight AND you kicked the crap out of me. Because he picked on me.”

“You’re my sister. It’s my job to protect you.”

“And remember that other guy? On the playground by mummy’s store? The one that pulled my hair and told me I was adopted because I’m small and I don’t look like any of you guys. You freaked out on him and made him apologize and scared him away. He’ll cross the street now if he sees you coming.”

“You can’t let bad people get away with doing bad things,” TJ reasons. “If you don’t stop them, they’ll just keep doing bad stuff.”

“Exactly! So it’s a good thing that daddy goes after the bad guys. Grandma needs to learn. And she needs to learn TODAY. You should tell her, Tyler. You should tell her off. You’re not scared of anyone.”

“Not being scared of anyone or anything is not always a good thing,” Tyler informs her. “If you’re not scared, you don’t take a situation or people seriously. That’s when you get hurt. And you know what? No matter how big of a bad ass you think you are? There’s always a bigger one out there somewhere. Believe me. I’ve learned THAT lesson the hard way.”

“The guy who shot you just got a lucky one in,” TJ reasons. “You were already hurt. You weren’t one hundred percent. Some guy had already shot you, hadn’t he? A sniper?”

“What’s a sniper?” Addie inquires. “Is it like Swipper on Dora? Something like him?”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Tyler says. “You don’t need to know that stuff. Not until you’re older. WAY older.”

“A sniper’s a guy that hides somewhere and shoots you,” TJ replies. “Somewhere where no one sees him. It’s why they’re so dangerous. You don’t even know where they are. They just shoot you. And they kill you before you even know what happened.”

“But daddy didn’t get killed. If a sniper shot daddy, shouldn’t he be dead?”

Combing his hand through her bangs, Tyler tips his daughter’s head back. “What did I just say? About you not needing to know about this stuff?”

“I’m curious now. Tyler said they hide and shoot people and kill them. How come you didn’t die? If a sniper shot you?”

“I guess he didn’t manage to get a good shot in.”

“It was the other guy that almost killed him,” TJ says, and takes a sip of the concoction in his hand. “The one that got him in the neck. That’s when he almost died. Mum saved him.”

“How? How did mummy save daddy? Daddy…” she swivels around in her stool to face him. “...how did mummy save you? Did she shoot the bad guy back?”

“Mum stuck her fingers in his neck,” TJ says. “To stop the bleeding. Or he would have bled to death.”

Addie’s eyes widen. “She DID?”

“When you’re older, MAYBE I’ll tell you more more about it. But for now…” Tyler places his hands on her shoulders and gently turns her back around. “...you don’t need to know this stuff. And you…” he stares pointedly at his son. “...don’t talk about this around her. She doesn’t need to know about this. She’s a baby still.”

“I’m not a baby!” Addie objects. “I’m five! I can almost ride my bike without training wheels. Babies can’t do that.”

“Just don’t, alright?” He addresses TJ. “Don’t talk about this stuff around her. Because she’s going to repeat all of this and she’s going to repeat it to your mum and that won’t end well. For you OR me.”

“It happened though. I mean, it’s part of how you guys met and got together and ended up getting married and stuff. It’s your history. I don’t see why…”

“I said ENOUGH. No more. Not around her. Got it?” He’s on edge; the mere mention of Dhaka and the incidents on the bridge playing straight into the anxiety and the panic he’d felt the night before; when he’d woken up from the nightmare and been on the verge of losing control and had turned to the fentanyl for relief. And it scares him; how easy it had been to not only access the powerful med, but actually take it. He’d encountered no resistance or hesitation; remorse and guilt not setting in until the following morning when he’d woken up and it had been the first thing on his mind. It’s alarming how quick things can return; an addict’s mind and behaviour.

Nodding, TJ holds his hands up in surrender.

“You’re both going to be nice tonight,” he says, and finishes Addie’s final braid. “To grandma. Because your mum is already stressed out enough and we don’t need to make it worse for her. So if the best you can do is smile and nod, just do that. I’m not asking you to kiss her ass. I’m just asking you to be civil. Can you handle that?”

TJ nods.

“You?” He tugs on one of Addie’s pigtails. “Can you do that? Be civil?”

“Do I have to be near her? Or sit on her lap? ‘Cause I draw the line there.”

“You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just don’t be a little asshole, alright?”

“Me? I’m Mary Freaking Sunshine, remember? That’s what Grandpa Koen calls me.”

“Well then live up to it and be nice to your grandmother. Smile until your face hurts, got it?”

“What do I get out of it?”

He smirks.

“Mummy says to always negotiate. Never settle for the first offer. Can I sleep in the big bed tonight? For being nice to grandma?”

“No.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he lifts her off the stool; pressing a kiss to her cheek before setting her on the ground.

She turns to face him. Head cocked to the side and one hand clutching her doll, the other planted firmly on her hip. “Can I have ice cream for my bedtime snack?”

"Maybe."

“Maybe isn’t good enough.”

“You ARE just like your mom, aren’t you.”

“I’ll be nice if I can have ice cream for my bedtime snack and you snuggle with me and draw on my back for half an hour. And that’s after FOUR stories.”

“You're bossy, you know that? Two stories.”

“Three. That’s as low as I’ll go.”

“I will give you two stories, ice cream for your snack, and forty five minutes of snuggling and drawing on your back. Instead of half an hour. We got a deal?”

Her eyes narrow as she considers it; nibbling on her bottom lip and swishing her hips back and forth. “You’re good at this.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Peanut. I’ve dealt with tougher than you. What do you say?” He offers a hand. “Deal?”

“Deal!” she agrees, his hand easily swallowing hers as they shake on it.

Grinning, he runs a hand over the top of her head and then drops a kiss on her hair. “You really DO have a lot of your mum in you.”

“Great things come in small packages,” Addie reasons, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down and pecks her lips. “Thank you, daddy!” she chirps. “My hair looks beautiful. You always do it perfect.”

“Pretty hard not to when my subject is so cute. Good thing I married your mum, huh? So I could have a kid as cute as you?”

“You really are a lucky man!” she declares and then cheerfully skips out of the room.

“I hope grandma is on her best behaviour,” TJ says, as he finishes the drink in his hand and then slides off the stool and returns it to its place at the island. “Because if she DOES start on mum, it’s going to be a wild night. I really hope she watches her step.”

“My too, kiddo,” Tyler sighs, and reaches out to tousle his son’s hair. “Me too.”

[skywalkersapprentice]

fic: a time to say goodbye

summary: Ezra isn't the only one facing the temptation of change in the World Between Worlds. Just minutes after facing Vader, Ahsoka falls through a portal seventeen years into the past and must relive her final encounter with her former Master without drastically altering the future.

But Anakin Skywalker taught her many things. How to push her luck was one of them.

relationship(s): anakin skywalker & ahsoka tano

word count: 2233 words

rating: t

(read on ao3)

Note: This started as a slightly incoherent tumblr post this weekend, but I’ve added many more words and most of them hurt. If you’ve read the original, hello, I’ve made it better.

Ahsoka runs through the stars after a boy seeking his Master and all she can see is gold.

The crack in the mask. The Sith-gold eye. That voice, once so familiar, now hauntingly twisted beyond recognition.

Her failure stabs at her like a second heartbeat with every step she takes.

Anakin.

Reconciling the man she knew during the war with the terrifying Sith lord she’d heard stories of had proved near impossible for months. The dark side had taken Anakin Skywalker and twisted him into something unknowable. In the Force, he burned like a terrifying slash of red-hot anger. When he spoke, it was cold and slow. He was nothing like the Anakin of her memories, who was bright in the Force like a star, enthusiastic and kind. She was grateful for the mask that Vader wore. It was easier to lift her blades against a faceless man.

But then, a strike to his mask at an opportune time, and-

He’d looked at her with Anakin’s eyes. He’d said her name in Anakin’s voice. It had been enough to make her reckless.

I won’t leave you, not this time.

She’s not so different from Ezra, running blindly after a voice and a chance to save his Master.

Ahsoka won’t get a second chance. Ezra won’t either. But if she were 17, with the opportunity to make things right…

The thought has barely crossed her mind when below her feet, a circle begins to glow. A voice from the stars stands out from the rest.

Ahsoka!

Ahead, Ezra is still running to find his Master. For the second time in a day, Ahsoka has been frozen by the voice of her own.

How are you? Where are you? Are... you okay?

In the space of a blink, the world between worlds dissolves around her in a rush of stars. When reality rebuilds itself, Ezra is gone and a shuttle ramp is opening ahead of her.

Something’s not right. Her skin feels odd, like she’s wearing it wrong. Her clothes fit differently than they had just a moment ago. She brings a hand up to her head, only to flinch at how small her montrals are. And her lekku-

She closes her eyes before the ramp can lower all the way and reveal their welcoming party. Her lekku are short.

They are seventeen years too short.

Of course the ancient plane of all worlds and times would bring her here. The day she spent so many years replaying in her head, wondering what she could have done differently to avoid the horrors to come.

Ezra runs toward his temptation, and she has fallen into her own. But just as Ezra cannot save his Master, there is nothing she can do here. It’s too late for Anakin, for the Republic. It is too late to right any wrongs, to prevent order 66. Any dramatic modifications would have consequences.

Why?  she asks the Force. Do you think this is a kindness? To watch and do nothing?

The Force, calm and silent, has no answers for her.

Always in motion, is the future, Yoda used to say. And many possible futures, there are.

“Let’s go,” says Bo-Katan from behind her. “We don’t have much time.”

One foot in front of the other. She keeps her eyes on Artoo, waiting happily at the bottom of the ramp for her, takes perhaps a moment too long stroking his dome. But she can’t delay forever.

She looks up and there they are.

This Obi-Wan, a little greyer and sadder than he had been before she left the Order, but still with a gentle smile and nod for her. And next to him...

Blue eyes. A smile. Barely contained eagerness. Something in her chest cracks open.

This is not a vision, or a holocron, or a sliver of a man staring at her with Sith eyes. This is familiar. This is who she has been missing for nearly two decades.

“Ahsoka,” Anakin Skywalker from half a lifetime ago says, sincere and heartfelt, “I’m so glad to see you.”

She’s supposed to rebuff him here, to silence him and tell him of “another time” that can never be. There’s nothing in her that wants to.

It was foretold that you would be here. Our long awaited meeting has come at last.

Ahsoka decides. She’s carried regrets about this for too long. If this is a test of the Force, she’ll fail right here to keep him smiling.

“It’s good to see you too, Anakin,” she tells him. A deviation from the script, but the world hasn’t collapsed around her. The Force is calm.

Anakin Skywalker taught her many things. How to push her luck was one of them.

-----

In the war room, Ahsoka recites the information about Maul to Obi-Wan and Anakin from memory.

“I was able to obtain transmission codes from the Pykes on Oba Diah.” This time, she’s prepared for the wary look Anakin throws her way.

“What were you doing on Oba Diah?”

Then, she’d been defensive, thinking he was about to try and lecture her as a Master would. Now, Ahsoka takes the concern for what it is.

“Nothing you wouldn’t have done,” she assures him. A small grin tugs at the corners of her mouth at the familiar exasperated look she gets in return.

The confrontation between Bo-Katan and Obi-Wan goes about as well as it had the first time, which is to say, not at all. Ahsoka of seventeen years ago had carried deep-seated resentment towards Anakin’s former Master for his loyalty to the Council before anything else. She’d seen him as a representation of everything the Jedi were doing wrong, and it had infuriated her. But it doesn’t matter now. Just a few days from now, there will be no Council to be loyal to, no Jedi to protect the galaxy from anything. There is no point in resenting a man who is days from losing everything.

She never did find out what happened to Obi-Wan, beyond what was on Kanan's holocron. Given what she now knows about Anakin, she no longer wants to.

You wouldn’t, would you Anakin? Surely not him, too?

She knows the answer. It’s not something she wants to dwell on.

“You two certainly haven’t changed,” Ahsoka tells Anakin when Obi-Wan and Bo-Katan have left. This time, she means it not as an accusation. Stagnancy is a compliment when you come from a time where everything has changed for the worse.

-----

She falls into step alongside her old friend as he leads her to her surprise and wonders how, how can he be this happy, when his fall is imminent? Reports of Darth Vader were elusive, but could be traced back to the very beginning of the Empire. How is the man at her side mere days away from becoming the monster she met on Malachor?

But- it’s something she never noticed the first time around. The mania around the edges of his happiness. The shreds of normalcy that he clings to like a lifeline. A euphoria born of desperation. Ahsoka understands now, as they walk the corridors of the Resolute. For very different reasons, they’re trying to pretend they’re still the same.

When Anakin unveils his “surprise” for her, she walks around, looks at all the clones wearing her face that will soon be dead. The ache in her chest grows at the sight of a youthful Rex.

He really never learned how to stop calling her Commander. This time, she doesn’t bother telling him not to.

The sirens blare overhead, scattering everyone. To everyone else, they're a sign of an emergency. To Ahsoka, they’re a sign that she’s running out of time. Obi-Wan rushes in with news of the Coruscant attack, and she knows she has just minutes left.

“What about the Chancellor?” Anakin immediately asks. It takes everything in Ahsoka not to react to that because now, more than ever, temptation eats away at her.

She could do it. One sentence to start a chain reaction. The Chancellor is a Sith Lord, she could say, and everything would change. They would know, they could take action, they could-

The Force roils uneasily. No. This is not why she’s here. She is here perhaps as a cruel punishment for failing to stop Vader, but she has not been given a chance to fix this.

She bites her tongue, and stays quiet.

“We can be there within the hour,” Obi-Wan is saying. Ahsoka frowns. She has no desire to argue with Obi-Wan, who she will never see again after this, but she needs to get troops on Mandalore. Perhaps it’s time to take a page out of the Negotiator’s book.

“Master Kenobi,” she says, careful to keep her tone neutral. “Bo-Katan and her people are counting on the Republic.”

Obi-Wan has always been one to react to the tone in the room. Then, he'd met her accusing tone with condescending defensiveness. Now, he replies with a calm, “Ahsoka, surely you understand that this is a pivotal moment in the clone wars. The people of Coruscant need our help.”

Ahsoka thinks but doesn’t say, no. The Chancellor does.

“I understand,” she counters instead, “that Coruscant and Mandalore need help from the Jedi.” She turns to Anakin. “Aren’t there enough forces on this ship to handle both?”

Anakin narrows his eyes in thought. “I’ll…. divide the 501st! Make a new division under Ahsoka’s command.”

There you go, she thinks. They can sort out the rest from there.

Obi-Wan still makes his quip about Maul never staying dead as he heads out, and Ahsoka privately, fervently agrees.

And then it’s just the two of them, for the last time, in a moment she wants to freeze forever.

Perhaps it’s selfish. She knows exactly what this man is capable of. She could strike him down where he stands right now and alter the course of history. She could warn him of what he will do, in the hopes that he won’t fall this time. But the Force has not brought her to change the future.

She understands now. This isn’t a punishment, or even a test. It is a chance to say goodbye.

When Ahsoka faces Anakin for the last time, she gently inclines her head. Not quite a Jedi bow, but respectful all the same. “Thank you. For everything.”

He’ll take it to mean for the clones, the lightsabers, for having her back. She means it to encompass more than that.

That grin again. “That’s what friends are for.”

Friends.

Then you will die.

She can’t look at him like this, exactly as she remembers. She can’t look away, either. There’s an ache in her ribs as she carefully accepts her old lightsabers- they were blue for a time, a detail she’d nearly forgotten- and when she looks back at her former Master, everything she wants to stay gets stuck in her throat.

I miss you. Every day. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry it can’t be different now.

“I have… so much to tell you,” she says softly.

“Me too,” Anakin says. There’s an excited glint in his eye that breaks her heart. “You capture Maul, I’ll take care of Grievous, and with any luck, this will all be over soon.”

“Master Kenobi always said there’s no such thing as luck,” she makes herself say.

“Hmm.” His eyes are still kind. “Good thing I taught you otherwise.”

He begins to walk away- and this is it. In her memory, she quips a “good luck” for old time’s sake, gets one more smile, and then she loses him forever.

You abandoned me. You failed me. Where were you when I needed you?

“Anakin!”

This time, when he turns expectantly, Ahsoka takes five steps and flings her arms around him, lightsabers still in hand. He lets out a quiet oof, then a little laugh and his arms come up over her shoulders.

“Good luck,” she says into his tunic, and gives herself three selfish seconds.

One- to reach out for a Force presence she’s been missing for seventeen years, to find not a slash of anger and fear, but something bright and intense and, for the moment- happy.

Two- to let her expression finally break where he can’t see her, and finally grieve for the loss of one of her oldest friends.

Three- to convince herself to let him go.

When she steps back, she’s smiling again. Anakin hesitates for a moment. His brow furrows. But then he gives her that one last crooked grin.

And she loses him a final time.

In the space of a blink, the world shatters, rebuilds itself into a vast array of starry paths and she’s herself again, running after Ezra through the World Between Worlds as he seeks closure with his own Master.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do!” he chokes out when she finally catches up to him.

“Yes, I do.” A kind smile. A cruel gold stare. Both a pain as fresh as an open wound. “You can’t save your Master… and I can’t save mine.”

One last thing she learned from Anakin- teaching a lesson often requires holding your student to higher standards than you hold yourself.

With the knowledge that she’s holding him to a standard she herself might never reach, Ahsoka tells Ezra, “I’m asking you to let go.”

[ivy-kissobryos]

hi, im kinda new to witchcraft and i dont really know anything (prayers, rituals, beliefs, etc), plus there's a lot of contrasting info online so i don't know what i should go with. could you please briefly explain how you view witchcraft and what you do? i'm going around asking this to a lot of other blogs to get a general sense of things. thanks!

Before we begin I just wanna point out that when you say prayers and beliefs, I think of paganism. When I hear ritual and witchcraft, I think of magic.

Religion and magic is intertwined but you do not have to be pagan or wicca or whatever to be a witch, or vise versa. For me, a witch is someone who practices magic, whether it be simple things like jar spells or folk magic or traditional witchcraft or anything ceremonial or ritualistic (although some ceremonial magic practitioners prefer the term magician over witch, which is up to them). A diviner is someone who uses divination tools such as tarot or pendulums to seek knowledge (and again, you can be a diviner without ever touching witchcraft). Spirit work and hedge work is also another area for you to look into.

You can be a pagan - lighting incense, praying and making offerings - without being a witch either. Some say there is inherent magic in worship, but personally, if you just worship but don’t practice witchcraft (do spells etc) then you’re just a follower of a pagan religion. And there is nothing wrong with that. Of course, you can also be all that I mentioned above simultaneously too, but there is no hurry to quickly define yourself when you’re starting out. Changing the way you label yourself or your craft as you grow (or foregoing a label in the first place) is equally valid too.

More info on some beginner tips + my views on witchcraft below.

If you’re starting out some times I’d give are:

Learn how to protect yourself. Energy work and shielding techniques is how I started, or calling on Archangels if you believe in them. Once I was more comfortable I began learning how to use witch bottles to defend myself, how to banish (look up the LBRP) and more.

Read and read and read! Not on Tumblr but actual books (the legit ones, not the trendy money-milking ones) and historical sources. If there are contradicting sources, use your gut and your brain. Check for author bias and cross-check with other sources. Listen to your intuition yet use critical thinking and discernment too.

Record and test your divination and spells. See if a prediction comes true. Test if a spell manifest the desired result within the given time frame. If you do a wealth spell, then the spell’s success will be confirmed by increased wealth. Try altering your methods, and note if you become more successful or accurate and adapt accordingly.

Don’t be pressured to spend loads of money on your craft especially when you’re starting out. Of course, you may want to give fancy wine as an offering to your god, but if that isn’t feasible then a home cooked meal alongside traditional offerings such as bread would be alright too. Also with books, of course it is good to support occult publishers but try borrowing from libraries, find e-books and use your university account to borrow them, or find PDFs of them online.

Personally, it may not be suitable for complete beginners but I recommend books by Troy Books for witchcraft info. For learning Lenormand, the Complete Lenormand Oracle Handbook by Caitlin Matthews is the best. I know it’s 600+ pages but I swear it’s so good.

For me, witchcraft is about power. When you feel like there isn’t anywhere else to go, when your friends seem distant or unable to comprehend what you’re struggling with, when the law has failed you and corruption has won, witchcraft is a way to redirect your life and regain your sovereignty. Which is why I also believe in hexes and, in some context, curses (although I know it’s a can of worms to open and I’ll make posts on hexes and curses one day).

Divination is used to give you guidance and insight into something that may take you forever to figure out by yourself. It is also a way to communicate with the divine. What I am against though, is using divination to spy on others, as you’re essentially destroying other people’s rights to privacy. Claiming 100% accuracy is also an act of hubris, which is why I always say that my readings are reasonably accurate because in the end, free will triumphs over all and even the strings of fate has many threads.

If your relationship with a deity is rooted in transaction, then it can be said that you are working with them, not worshiping or devoting yourself to them. A devotional pagan relationship between oneself and one’s deity can be transactional too (eg: I worship Dionysus and he helps me with giving me opportunities to grow, along with giving guidance on my path) but what is more important is the devotion - the love and bond - you have with said deity.

Where the line between witchcraft and paganism blurs is when you involve deities in your spell or divination.

When I was young I used to dismiss the incantations that the monks in my country use. However, one day I went to a ceremony where almost a hundred monks gather and pray, casting their spells in unison, and even with my initial derisive views towards conventional Buddhism I felt something that day. Now, I realize when certain words have been spoken and imbued with power and continues to be recited with fervent faith for hundreds or thousands of years, power becomes inherent in those words. The same goes for rituals and spells.

This is why a beginner who had never managed to manifest anything properly can screw up when doing ceremonial witchcraft and end up bringing misfortune into their lives. Those ceremonies are meant to be performed that way, invoking those gods, for a reason. Best case scenario when you mess up is they don’t work. Worse case is they bite you back. Same goes for spirit work and especially so regarding demon work. I was curious about the Ars Goetia in the past, and I am immensely grateful that my naive, idiotic past self had enough brains not to attempt any summoning. If you want to prove to yourself that the magical world is real, there are better ways to do so.

Do I believe the gods are literally real? That Buddha walked his first step and a lotus flower bloomed under his feet? That Dionysus wrapped a ship in vines and turned the disbelieving pirates into dolphins? I don’t think so. But I have faith in my gods the same way one can be a Christian without believing that the Earth is 9000 years old. And I believe in magic because I have felt it and observed the evidence.

Maybe it was easier for me to believe because I grew up in an animistic and spiritual country, where things like divination and spirit work is ‘normal’ (although people do fear and respect the supernatural). Making offerings to household spirits is something my family does weekly. Hell, almost every family has a mini spirit house in their property that hosts the spirit of land guardians. Going to shrines and praying to our local version of ‘dryads’ and ‘tree ghost’ is common for if you want good luck or a bargain.

Messing with corpses is now outlawed, but witch doctors in my country have been known to make consecrated oil from the corpses of women. As recent as 2012, stillborn fetus had been used in ceremonies which turn them into household spirits to bring luck - if they are pleased and fond of you. Of course, magic of these types are against the law because the actions required to perform them are illegal, but the point is, it shows that magic is very real and still believed in where I come from.

If you’re coming from a western worldview where all of this is ‘weird’ or ‘primitive’ or ‘crazy’, it might feel difficult to trust in your supernatural senses, to have faith or to find your path. But if you keep practicing and refining your skills, you’ll find that magic is something that will always draws you back to it, that it is something you cannot live without.