#she could of gone to a shelter for it or giving to the lesbian anything

[mikhailoisbaby]

I might get hate for saying this but I'm not a fan of Fiona Gallagher...

Early season love her! has my heart ! until like season 3/4 she goes downhill to the point where she just annoys me.

Maybe it’s the constant cheating on people and then being shocked when someone does it back to her

Or how she dealt with the whole pregnancy Debbie and baby Franny situation.

or the fact she left to go to Florida when Liam was only a real parent and saw her as a mother more than any other Gallagher children as well as the fact he never got to say bye.

Or THAT SHE LEFT THE LITTLE WHITE DOG AT HER APARTMENT COMPLEX THAT WAS GETTING KNOCKED DOWN ( that dog 100% 💀 in the rubble )

[spidermilfpussy]

Escape (Part 1)

We'd been talking about running away for a while. But it was always too big, too scary. We were always just a little too comfortable. And then one day, you had just had enough. I don't know if it was that one coworker whose white cis/het male privilege made it impossible for him to see you as his better, or the car breaking down again, or that the anti-trans laws had finally come to our state, probably all of it and more. To be honest, I'd been ready for this day for a long while. It always took you a little longer to reach your limit. You were so good at giving everyone but yourself the benefit of the doubt.

When you walked out the door that morning, heading to what would ultimately be your last moments with any other person besides me, I knew it was the end. I'd had the most incredible dream that night. We were wild cats, living the best lives I could have imagined, not easy, but so much less stressful than the realities of our last 20 years together. So when you came through the door early, throwing your keys across the room, uncharacteristically violent for you, and said flatly "It's time", I was not even a little surprised. I had already made my peace and started preparations.

The last couple of years had been so hard. Too much loss, far more than anyone should ever have to suffer. The way both of our families rallied around us after we lost the twins, we thought we’d always have their support. But time revealed the truth, that like so many of that generation, they loved money more than even their own children. Slowly but surely, then kind of all at once, we lost touch with all of them, and honestly considered it for the best. But fucking hell did it hurt. There may be no pain worse than isolation.

Running away from it all had never occurred to us until our friends Sam and Vanessa (the only friends we’d managed to make and hold on to) told us they had a plan. They'd worked out all the details. As a lesbian couple, they couldn't bare the thought of their marriage becoming illegal again, they wanted to be together more than they wanted anything society could offer them. One night, one of our board game hangs, they laid it all out for us. Vanessa had been learning how to improvise shelters and make a fire with whatever could be scrounged from different terrains, and Sam had been meeting up with a local foraging group for months. Together, they'd been pouring over maps of the region, creating and memorizing routes that would keep them the safest.

It had all started with a story Sam had heard on This American Life or something. A man had evaded arrest for 20 plus years by living in the woods and never staying in one place for more than a couple of nights in a row. And they thought they could do it too. So they had started saving up money so they could quite their jobs and maybe not raise too much suspicion. Slowly but surely, they cut contact with almost all of their friends and family. When they revealed their plan to us, Sam had just left her job "to focus on starting a family", and Vanessa told us she would be quitting hers in a couple of months. Then they would wait just long enough that people stopped checking in, and they were gone.

Sam and Vanessa had left almost two years ago to the day. Of course at first we had thought they were insane. We gave them a month at most before they were back, telling us how much harder it was out in the wild than they thought. But as life dragged on, now minus our only real friends, we wanted to go, we needed to go too. And now we were.

to be continued...

[borderlinemediocre]

TW for… everything

Those visceral body reactions to flashbacks and triggers, the dead inside feeling when you think about the extreme abuse and neglect you suffered, the weight of healing yourself because no one before you could be bothered to heal themselves. I’m exhausted and fucking pissed off.

Growing up we were shamed out of calling anything “mine”, including body parts. For example I couldn’t say “my arm”, I had to say “the arm.” I couldn’t wear a neckline below my collarbone, or wear shorts. When I was a toddler my mother would call me a slut because of what my father would do to me. She would call me disgusting and say I should marry him. He would say I was perfect and no boy would ever be good enough for me while sleeping naked in the same bed with me. He would tell me to sleep without underwear. He would beat the shit out of my brother and burn him with cigarettes. My mother would smoke around us as punishment because we both had asthma and it would give us asthma attacks. We were homeless and slept in abandoned houses or at shelters. I got lead poisoning. If we’d cry they’d lock us in a room and drive away. My father made me watch horror movies from a young age because it was “funny” that I was so scared.

My mother would rock herself to sleep every night and once when I was 7 I asked why. She said her older sister used to be raped by her dad every night, and rocking back and forth is how she could comfort herself to sleep. I assume she did the same when it was happening to me.

My father got arrested multiple times for domestic violence. I remember once, one of the cops found me cowering in a corner and went out to his car to get me a stuffed animal to comfort me while my father was screaming and resisting arrest in the basement. The next day some different cops came to confiscate the guns my father had.

But they pulled it together every time CPS investigated. Our parents told us not to say a word to anyone about what our life was like. They’d clean whatever space we were living in and put us in nice clothes. They’d stop drinking for the day. One of the days, though, after CPS left and determined everything was fine, my father had a grand mal seizure from not drinking for 12 hours. My mother attempted suicide three times in front of us. When I was in my early teens and was physically assaulted at a concert and was at the hospital while they checked for internal bleeding, I called my father and told him what happened. He laughed and said “cool.”

In college I was the only one working, and I worked every hour I could so we could eat and I could afford gas for my old, broken down car, and books for school. I applied to every scholarship I could find and took out as many loans as the government would let me so I could finish school. I was so brainwashed that I felt the need to support them, like they deserved to be taken care of. And it was all my responsibility.

My father’s father raped his daughter (my aunt) because she came out as a lesbian and he told her she’s not gay, she just wants to be with him. My lineage is full of and tainted with this trauma and abuse and it’s all gone unchecked, ignored, hidden. Until me.

I go to twice weekly psychotherapy, have meds that help, a much needed support system, a chosen family who loves me and who I love more than I can put into words. But this shit is so fucking hard. I made it out, got a degree, make good money, bought my own house. And this shit is still so fucking hard I can barely hold it together sometimes. Everything is a fucking trigger. Everything feels dangerous, and I still never feel clean. My husband has to come to the bathroom with me as a support because it’s scary to be in my own bathroom. I was misdiagnosed with OCD because of what my coping mechanisms look like. I have an ACE score of 10. I’m just. Fucking tired. I want to move on, focus on my life and how great it is now.

But what I need to do is tell my story to family and friends, and stop covering for my abusers. They deserve to be seen for what they are. Telling the truth is cathartic, but also fucking sucks and is draining and painful. It’s a long process and not fucking fair.

[therealvinelle]

Hi, your metas are super interesting, and even if I really enjoy fanon twilight, it's really cool to read opinions based only on canon too!

So my question is about the sexual orientation of the Cullens, do you think they all straight?

For example i saw someone saying that Edward maybe was demisexual and it left me thinking, so i just wanted to know your opinions about it :)

In short, no.

In alphabetical order:

Alice is with a man, but without getting into the mess that is Alice/Jasper here, I don’t think theirs is a particularly physical relationship. I mean, if Alice wanted to get laid, she could just decide to fuck Jasper, enjoy the vision, and bam. Itch scratched. Thanks, Jazz. Alright, I’ll be serious. Alice and Jasper are with each other because the other represents salvation, not so much because of a personal or physical attraction but because of mysticism. So to me that doesn’t really say much about Alice’s preference. All the same I can’t see Alice having a particular preference, she’s too... Alice. Although it is easier to picture her with women. She is also the second half of the Alice/Bella homoerotic extravaganza, which makes heterosexual Alice even more farfetched to me. So, bisexual or lesbian Alice.

Bella shows clear attraction to women as well as men. She’s attracted to Rosalie, Alice, Edward, and Carlisle. I’ll just give you guys quotes: Of the three boys, one was big — muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students. The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixielike, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and pointing in every direction. (Twilight, page 9) This is the Cullens’ introduction. I won’t spend much time on it, just notice the difference between Rosalie and the others. Rosalie is highlighted in a way Alice is not, and Edward is at first glance only the boyish one of the guys. Rosalie was the Cullen whose beauty immediately stood out to Bella. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful — maybe the perfect blond girl, or the bronze-haired boy. (sic.) Bella has realized by now that Edward’s a grade A hottie, but she’s still torn between him and Rosalie. Bella then gets to know Alice, and they become friends who take showers together(!). Rosalie may be the most attractive Cullen woman, but Alice is the one Bella gets emotionally close to. We get this in New Moon:  UNNATURALLY STILL AND WHITE, WITH LARGE BLACK EYES intent on my face, my visitor waited perfectly motionless in the center of the halt, beautiful beyond imagining.  (...) I locked my arms around her, gasping to inhale as much of the scent of her skin as possible. It wasn't like anything else—not floral or spice, citrus or musk. No perfume in the world could compare. My memory hadn't done it justice. (New Moon, page 191) Bella never thought she’d never see any of the Cullens again, so for her to be hysterical and ecstatic upon seeing her second favorite is not by itself damning. I’m sure she’d be ecstatic to see Emmett too. It’s that fact that she’d missed Alice’s scent that’s interesting. The scent of her skin was something Bella was aware of before they parted. And while it may be tempting to say “it’s because they’re vampires, Bella’s admiring them like she would a work of art!”, Bella never dwells on Esme, Jasper, or Emmett in this way. Jasper and Emmett especially are not admired beyond the introduction of their characters. We never hear about what any of them smell like, nor does Bella remark upon their beauty after waking up a vampire. Carlisle and Edward, by comparison, are men she keeps noticing. Bella finds Carlisle blindingly beautiful when she first sees him as a vampire, and there’s this from New Moon: Though it erased the sting, it reminded me of the gash, and I watched Carlisle's face carefully to distract me from what his hands were doing. His hair gleamed gold in the bright light as he bent over my arm. (New Moon, page 18) There’s thinking someone is pretty, and then there’s gazing lovingly upon their face instead of pain killers. Bella is bisexual.

Carlisle moved in with a very gay man, had a close relationship with him, lived with him for the sake of his company for decades, and only left because of dietary differences. We don’t know for sure whether they actually had an affair or not, but the fact remains that of all the Cullens, Carlisle is the one who is implied to have had a homosexual relationship in canon. He loses his straight card based on that alone. Also gonna link this clip, because I’m Mac listening to Edward talk about how young Carlisle lived with this sexy Mycenaean Greek for a few decades when he was young. Aro is all the santas. Carlisle is bisexual.

Edward... oh boy. His brain is supposedly seventeen, and yet this very interesting thing happens in his relationship with Bella where he never notices her body. Not ever. By body I mean curves. Edward notices Bella’s skin, her frailty, her humanity. He praises her blushes, her doe-like eyes, her warmth, her softness, her swan-like neck, her delicious scent. The feminine aesthetic. He does not once notice her tits. The only tits he is on record noticing belong to Siobhan, and it’s because she has an impossible to ignore rack: She was profoundly female in shape—aggressively, forcefully female. (Midnight Sun, chapter Probability) It’s one thing for him to be old-fashioned and too quintessentially Edward to even think the word “boob”, but in 700+ pages of Midnight Sun there’s just this absence of this seventeen-year-old noticing her curves. More damningly, when seeing Alice’s vision of vampire!Bella, Edward is horrified at the sight of his love cold and hard. He doesn’t describe vampire!Bella by any of the positives, like “flawless”. Edward is attracted to the human, not the woman. What that means for his sexuality... well, I’m going to go ahead and point out that he is very weird about Carlisle, and it’s damning that the personality he projects onto Bella is so similar to Carlisle. I hesitate to apply a label here, but in my own, personal, headcanon we’re veering towards homosexual. Deeeeeeply closeted homosexual.

Emmett is straight. Straightest guy ever to straight.

Esme is pretty clearly taken with Carlisle. Though if she were to feel attracted towards another woman, I imagine she’d have no idea what to make of that, if she even recognized it for what it was. She’s from a very different time and still living in that time, and she continues to be very sheltered. Still, as per my personal headcanon, I see her as straight.

Jasper, who knows. Though if he’s into guys, he has probably gone for it in the past. I suppose I should write a meta on vampires and sexual norms in general, but in short I don’t think they all live monogamously like the Cullens. STDs and pregnancies are unheard of, as is social ostracizing. Vampires are hedonistic, Twilight vampires more so than any other. Which in turn means I don’t think Maria and Jasper were monogamous. A couple, sure, but I don’t think Maria would say “oh noes, I can’t, I’m with Jasper!” if someone she was attracted to made an overture, and same goes for Jasper. So, if Jasper was into guys, then sure. I can see Jasper/Peter happening, or even Charlotte/Jasper/Peter. Jasper is certainly into women, with the possibility of guys as well. And if so, then it’s probably happened.

Rosalie I’m shocked is with a guy in the first place, everything about her screams lesbian. However, she’s clearly into Emmett, so apparently she’s bisexual.

(I’m not including Renesmée in this, since she’s three months old by the time the series conclude.)

This all being said, several of these people are from very different times and wouldn’t have the same concepts of sexuality internalized as we do, so how they’d identify is a very different matter.

[yayteaberry]

*SFW* Sunflower (Momo)

In retrospect, you may have had a crush on Momo from the moment you officially met her. That would’ve been your third year of school, when you came to Japan.

You were born in America but the hero programs in any state didn’t compare to UA, so your parents moved to Sakai to pursue your education in the hopes that it’d give you an edge. And that’s how you met Momo, instantly making friends with her as she seemed like she needed one.

Naturally you’ve always been extroverted, Momo being a more reclusive child meant that it was a perfect contrast of excitability to her peacefulness.

For some reason you were enamored with her, you’d follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked it of you. A strong bond formed that way, that promise to be there for each other goes both ways. Honestly you might be in love with her at this point.

It’d be difficult to say you weren’t, everything she did seemed perfect to you. She’s incredibly smart, adorable near constantly, admirable in her goals, there isn’t a thing you would change even if you could.

Today has gone the usual pace, extremely boring until combat training, and extremely boring after. Taking English seems a little unnecessary to you right now, but you do understand that a large part of marketing depends on western audiences since they’re the ones who tend to go overboard on obsessing over such things.

All in all, you find it worth it since Momo loves the current unit studying the Shakespeare play ‘romeo and juliet’.

“It’s just so romantic!”, Momo gushes before taking a sip of tea, “I can’t stop thinking about that quote, ‘A rose by any name would smell as sweet’.”

You nod, “It really is.”

The both of you are relaxing in the dorms common room, idly watching a show you’ve never seen before on TV. She’s sat next to you on the couch, legs crossed with her plate for her cup resting on her upper thigh, you sitting as unladylike as humanly possible per the usual.

“Roses are romantic in general, I’d hope to encapsulate their atmosphere of love and dedication. Maybe someday I’ll remind someone of one.”, she says wistfully.

You shake your head with a chuckle, “Well you’ve never reminded me of one, I think they’re overrated. You remind me of a sunflower.”

“Is that a crack at my height?”, she quips dryly, putting her cup down with a quiet ‘clink’.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure I’m an inch taller for one,”, you say passively as you sit up, invested in the fight scene playing out, “and for two it’s because of who you are as a person. They’re tall, sure, but nobody really thinks of that first when they think of one.”

“Well what do they think of?” She asks curiously, more focused on you than the TV.

“Warmth. Comfort. Strength. A rose is delicate, they need a specific type of dirt, a specific allotment of water per day or they’ll wilt and die. Sunflowers are resilient and function with anything thrown their way. They root themselves in rocky soil, they withstand hostile wind, it’s common for them to be the only sunflower in that particular spot despite all those aesthetic pictures of ‘em in fields.” You aren’t thinking about what you’re saying, just letting it all flow freely without the usual censoring you do. “They’re a beautiful flower no matter what, but they handle themselves with a composition that roses couldn’t ever hope to achieve. When I think of a rose I think of a borderline sickly and needy little thing, when I think of a sunflower I think of tenacity and adaptability.”

Too absorbed into the show, you don’t see the pink across the bridge of her nose or the way her eyes are wide open, unsure of how she should respond, so she doesn’t. You barely remember you’ve said anything at all, time passing smoothly for you.

Though you lose interest once all the action is over, turning to see what Momo is up to since she’s been quiet for a while. Like she usually does when lost in thought, she’s got her eyebrows knitted together as she stares a hole into the carpet, drumming her fingers along her cup.

“Whatcha thinkin about?”, you ask as you scoot closer to her, breaking her out of her mental labyrinth.

She blinks a few times and offers an odd laugh, “O-Oh! Nothing, just… Nothing! It’s nothing.”

“Okay?”, you say with a drawn out O, “You absolutely sure it’s nothing?” 

With a nod she stands, dropping the cup's plate onto the floor. She swipes it up before you can even bend over for it, hurriedly shuffling off towards the dorm kitchen without another word.

You just sit in place, seriously confused over the abnormal behavior.

… Did what’s playing on TV bother her? Sometimes she thinks about the logistics of certain things too hard but there’s nothing that happened that should upset her like that.

After a solid ten minutes passes and she doesn’t return, you follow her into the kitchen to see if she’s still there.

She is, just as you suspected, leaning against the counter with a hand at the side of her face as she’s gotten lost in thought again.

"Hey?", you say to announce your presence, which doesn't work to get her attention so you stand beside her and give a concerned hum, "Momo?"

That works well enough, her jumping slightly. "Y-yes?"

 "Are you okay? You're not usually like this, what's wrong?", worrying for her well-being leaks into your words, tone drenched with it.

"... It's just...", she pauses to give a frustrated grunt at her inability to express herself how she internally wants, "Just, I can't stop thinking about what you said."

Your heart sinks into your stomach at that, what did you say to her!?

"I guess I didn't see how much I feared that I was fragile, I tend to stiffen up sometimes and I'm more sheltered than others because of my well off background. It means a lot that you said what you did, validates me more than I thought I needed." She smiles and sighs, "More so, I don't understand why it's making me react like this." It's now that you notice how her cheeks are tinted pink, her awkward posture adding to her cute appearance.

"Huh, I'm glad I could help you feel better then.", you say as you force your eyes off of her and onto the coffee pot across the room. 

"Hearing that was nearly hypnotizing, I couldn't stop staring at you!", she giggles as she speaks, "It's like that made me fall in love with you even more!" At first you were going to laugh with her but that second sentence has you frozen, sight locked onto her as you turn bright red. 

She meets your eyes and neither of you can do anything now, locked into a standstill as her words hang in the air. You're looping it over and over in your head already, only able to remember bits and pieces of what you'd said to her earlier despite how desperately you're tugging at your memory.

Does... She feels the same..?

You open your mouth to speak but only huff with a nervous chuckle, rubbing at the back of your neck as your brain turns to mush. A second attempt proves just as successful, until you decide to just go for it. Fuck it, you've been holding back on this for years now.

"Momo," you say tenderly as you take both of her hands into yours, "I think... N-No, it's definite, I know that how I feel about you is concrete."

Her eyes glance down to your lips briefly, tempting you to do the same, finding that it makes you light headed to indulge in thinking about how plush her lips are. She takes care of herself extremely well, her skin is always so ungodly soft and you know those lips have to be the same, it's a guilty pleasure of yours to daydream about what it'd be like.

Here's your chance.

Taking the lead, you lean in close with hesitance, gauging her reaction. Like a deer in headlights she stands in place, though when you stop moving you notice that she'd been leaning in too. Your heart feels like it might pop from the tension, her hands squeezing yours in anticipation.

"Heya, kero.", chirps Tsuyu as she wanders into the kitchen innocently, not noticing the moment she was now a part of because she's making a line straight for the fridge, unaware of the position you're in.

Just as your lips brush against hers you recoil to turn towards your friend, letting go of Momo as you turn tomato red, ears burning with embarrassment.

"Hi!", you nearly shout back with way too much volume, smiling tensely, taking a step away from Momo.

Tsuyu grabs a can of soda and closes the fridge, opening it as she looks directly at you both. "... Is everything okay here?"

"Yes! Perfect! Couldn't be better!", you nearly cut her off with your over-enthusiastic response. You go to spare Momo a glance only to watch as she flees the scene, making you jealous and lonely at the same time.

Tsuyu hums sarcastically, “Sure. Better go say something to her before the moment passes.”

“What moment?” Even you have to admit that you’re a terrible liar.

She rolls her eyes as she pops the tab on her can, calmly walking towards the common room.

You give yourself a second to panic before you lightly jog towards the girls wing, knowing she’s likely smothering herself in her bed right now.

When you get to her door, you find yourself hesitating.

She’s your best friend! You can totally talk to her about this!

… Except that you just confirmed your feelings for her, something you’ve never talked about in any way.

Neither of you have ever discussed having a crush with one another, it just didn’t happen intense enough to merit a conversation. You make a jokes about how you’re likely a lesbian, does that count?

Ah why is this so difficult! She was about to kiss you, she feels the same way you do! Unless she didn’t… Oh god what if she wasn’t doing anything because she wasn’t into it. Oh god! How can you ever be near her again if she actually did mean that comment as a joke?

Is that why she ran off? Does she need time alone? Would you be intruding? Is this crossing a line?

In the middle of your anxiety digging a hole into your brain, her door opens, snapping you out of it.

There she stands, as pink as ever, fidgeting with her hands as she keeps her sight firmly on the floor. You try to say something but your words catch in your throat, rendering both of you useless for the moment.

“I-I think I’m in love with you!”, in blurt-mode you say that at an unacceptable volume for such a phrase, hands balled at your sides to help you force it out. “No one compares to you in my life, t-there’s never been anyone like you that I’ve even heard about! And, and I just, god, Momo I wanna kiss you so bad it’s stupid,”

Like a caveman pouring her heart out, you put it all on the table, awaiting the response of the potential love of your life. She’s not fragile physically but emotionally she really can be, for a moment you contemplate whether you ruined everything by being so upfront.

Though it’s all dismissed when she surprises you by closing the gap and kissing you, grabbing at your forearms to keep balance. Your eyes are wide, secretly enthralled by how determined her expression is, her eyes tightly closed.

When she pulls away you follow closely to give her one of your own, face aching from the continual blushing you’ve done for the last ten minutes. She doesn’t stop you, soft hands cradling your jaw as you wrap your arms around her, her knees going weak prompting you to take a few steps into her room to keep her standing. 

This time you allow her to pull away, heart once again dropping to see that she’s on the verge of tears. “Are you okay?”, you ask as you loosely let go, not moving any.

“Y-Yeah! I um…”, she clears her throat, blinking away at the water blurring her sight, “For so long I’ve been so scared you didn’t feel the same, a-and I got scared I was projecting onto you. But, this is happening, and… It feels really good…”

You’re moved by that, sniffling with a wide smile. “Jeeze, and here I was thinking the exact same thing. Kinda dumb of us both, huh?”

From the doorway Mina laughs, “We’re lesbians, I think it comes with the territory to be stupid.”

“God damn, is every girl here gay? My gay-dar doesn’t work at all.”, you ask yourself with a huff, pinching at the bridge of your nose.

Momo shoves her face into your shoulder and mumbles to herself, “Why can’t we just be alone…”

“Wait! How long have you been there!”, you ask with confusion, turning to look towards your pink friend.

“Like two seconds, I just sensed something happening when I heard yelling and had to come see! I’m so glad you two talked things out, it was so intense waiting for this.”, she says with the usual excitement reserved for a reality show.

“Are - were we that obvious?” Incredulous, you raise your eyebrows as you sift over what this all must’ve looked like from a distance.

“Mhm”, she takes her cellphone out as she talks, “I thought you guys were already dating until I found out you weren’t! Everyone is gonna be psyched!”

“Everyone!?”, both you and Momo exclaim, filled with dread at the prospect of becoming a piece of gossip to be spread around. Well, spread around for the second time apparently.

[monstersandmaw]

Female vampire x female hunter (sfw) - Streaming story

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Hey folks! Here’s the edited version of the story I wrote with your input on my Twitch writing stream. Names were suggested in the chat for Olena (the vampire), our huntress, and the black cat, so thank you! I hope you had fun watching the stream and watching how I write and work, and maybe we can do another one in the future if there’s enough interest.

This feels like a part one to me, so maybe we can continue it together? Also Olena is basically Striga from the Netflix Castlevania series...

Content: (POV vampire) snow, scheming cats, grumpy lesbian vampire, slightly daffy huntress, and a teeny bit of sass. Wordcount: ~2.7k

She’d seen a hundred winters like it, but the sight of dancing snowflakes as winter really sank its teeth into the landscape never failed to ease something inside her. The summers here were intense and hot, but in the dead of winter the sun barely managed to haul itself above the tall row of looming elms on the horizon and everything lay muffled beneath dense blankets of pristine snow.  

Her breath fogged against the leaded panes of the mullioned windows as snowflakes flailed around the dark courtyard beyond and she found her thin, dark lips tugging into a wry, private smile. Yes, winter was her time; it was a time of wolves and hunting; of long nights, solitary stars, and gusting winds.

As she shifted her weight - on the point of turning away from the worsening storm - her light, soft-soled fur boots sounding barely a whisper on the smooth, time-worn flagstones of the bastion which she’d called home for the past two centuries, a movement in the barbican gate caught her sharp eye. Scowling, she focused her gaze on the distant, shadowed arch below. Squinting past her own severe, pale reflection and the flickering of the fire behind her, her heavy, dark brows knotted a little more tightly together when she figured out exactly what she was seeing.  

“No,” she breathed, astonished. “No fucking way. A human? Out in this weather?”

Easy pickings, perhaps. 

It had been long enough since her last feed that the thought of hot, fresh blood straight from the vein enticed her out into the cold.  

With a grunt, she turned away from the window and stalked through the castle on long, lean legs, fur-trimmed cloak swirling behind her like pirate’s sail. It didn’t take much effort to haul open the monstrous, iron-studded castle doors, and the blast of icy air that hit her in the face barely registered. Narrowing moss-green eyes against the biting wind, she stepped out into the drift-riddled courtyard.  

Up ahead she thought she could make out the figure of a young, human leading a horse. “The fuck?” she snarled. While her body didn’t particularly need blood at the moment -  no burning thirst prickling the back of her throat - as she neared the human and caught the faintest traces of her scent on the wind the instinctive urge to feed sparked a dull throb in her canines. It didn’t help that the woman’s pulse was rabbiting, but she could ignore that for now.  

The next scent she caught was the sour tang of horse, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. Still, the human seemed to have noticed her at last because a voice that would have been too faint for human ears rose above the yowling of the wind a moment later.  

“Oh by the gods,” the young woman practically whimpered, staggering a little into the body of her chestnut horse who seemed to be a little lame on the nearside fore, head nodding with each step. The syncopated motion set a nicely-made, tooled leather quiver rocking on the saddle, revealing a decent number of arrows. The woman was a hunter then, and either her horse had gone lame before she’d managed to shoot anything, or she wasn’t very good.  

Olena stilled and let them approach her, a single, incredulous eyebrow raised.  

“I know it’s late!” the woman continued, tugging fruitlessly on the reins of the mare who had planted her feet and refused to take another step.

Animals could usually sense the supernatural, and this mare clearly had more sense than her owner when it came to marching up to a predator uninvited and introducing itself.  

“But, Buttercup here threw a shoe about half a mile back and it’s twisted the clenches a bit, and I didn’t want to keep riding her with one shoe off, so I got off and walked, but then it got late, and dark, and the snow started to worsen and…”  

Olena remained perfectly still, wondering how the woman’s mouth could be moving so quickly when the rest of her seemed half frozen.  

“So… uh… any chance we could find some help here? At least a roof over our heads til tomorrow? I don’t mind sleeping in the stable with Buttercup. Well,” she added tilting her head a bit and patting the mare’s shoulder, “Maybe not with with, because I don’t want to get crushed, but… you know… On a hay bale or something.”

After a brief pause while Olena’s brain tried to catch up with the sheer speed of the woman’s speech, she said, “I think we have a spare trough for you.”

For a split second, the human didn’t react and Olena wondered if she had, finally, frozen in place. Her eyes were wide and brown, somewhere between the colour of honey and hazel, and she blinked a few times before spluttering, “Wait, are you serious? You’re gonna offer me a fucking trough?”  

A tiny smile played at the corner of Olena’s mouth but she resisted the urge to let it blossom into something more expressive. With a quick jut of her chin, she indicated the stable block - mostly disused these days - and muttered, “Stable the mare in there. When you’re done, come up to the castle.”  

Without checking to see if the human had any more questions or spontaneous monologues to spout, Olena turned on the spot and left her to it.  

As she paced steadily through the falling snow, the vampire’s keen ears caught the soft sounds of the hunter nattering on to the horse - something about creepy castles and grumpy noblewomen - followed by the raucous squeak of the stable door as it opened, the clop of the mare’s hooves on hard stone, and then she was back at the castle doors herself and passing beneath leering carved gargoyles and grotesques.  

She debated fleetingly with herself as to whether she should close the doors again, partly so that the drifting snow didn’t pile up in the hallway again, but mostly so that Luna didn’t decide she wanted to go out all of a sudden, and then disappear for hours, only to turn up in the middle of the day, mewling to come in with something unmentionable dangling from her needle-sharp teeth.  

“Bloody cat,” Olena muttered fondly.

It had been a while since she’d been in any real position to gauge a human’s strength - in any context - but she had the feeling that this woman was probably stronger than her slim build suggested. Perhaps she was wiry rather than slender. A life where someone needed to come poaching deer in the forest, rather than having fine meals made, had a tendency to tip a person towards a leaner constitution. It was a build that had always appealed to her, despite certain expectations that someone as tall and muscular as Olena would prefer someone softer and altogether more delicate. Not that she’d given herself the slightest occasion to sample any kind of pleasure from any kind of woman in the past century or so, but that was on her.  

Despite the thickness of the castle walls between the entrance hall and the kitchens below, Olena could still make out the stump of the woman’s boots as she kicked off the worst of the snow before slamming the doors closed behind her with an echoing boom that shattered the stillness of the castle.  The vampire only realised once she was standing in the empty kitchen that she had no food fit for humans whatsoever. Perhaps there was a solid wheel of what had once been cheese lurking in a far corner of the cellars, but other than offering her a freshly-caught mouse, courtesy of Luna, there wasn’t much to bring up other than a pitcher of water.  

She shook a jar of something that could have been black tea a hundred years ago, but given that it resembled little more than mouse droppings, she returned it to the shelf and left the kitchens with the jug of water and a small earthenware cup. The human would have to be grateful for the fire and the shelter, if not the food.  

With footsteps quieter than even the cat’s, Olena’s progress along the stone corridors was unmarked by any eyes, save for perhaps a stray spider lurking in the vaulted ceilings. It hadn’t been until the strong heartbeat of another being had entered the halls that she’d appreciated quite how alone she was here. Memories, distant and dusty, of parties and gatherings filtered back to her through the layers of dust that seemed to cling to every surface of the castle, and something old and stale and painful stirred inside her at the sound of that new, fresh heartbeat.  

Mixing gradually with the steady rhythm of the new heartbeat came another sound. A soft voice, hoarse from the cold, hummed an old melody from the region that Olena was certain no one alive still knew, and the force of it hit her squarely in the chest. The last person who had sung that in her presence had been gone for nearly two centuries now.  

From her abrupt halt in the corridor, she caught the faint thrumming of another heartbeat. A moment later and Luna coiled softly around her ankles in silent greeting before fluffing up her tail and pricking her black ears forwards, suddenly alert. Then, bold as brass, she trotted into the drawing room, taking a direct path over the rug in the centre of the room, and introduced herself to the hunter without preamble.  

The human’s gentle warbling cut off the moment she spotted the cat, and she let out a little chuckle, crouching down into a childlike pose that almost drew a smile from Olena. She’d clearly been drying her russet-brown hair in the heat blasting off the fire in the grate, and Olena’s green eyes darted instantly to the soft curve of her now exposed neck.

Unconsciously, she licked her lips.  

The colours of the flames glimmered enticingly on the sliver of bare skin, dancing first gold then to a deeper amber.  

Her pulse beat steady and strong.  

Olena blinked and licked her lips again.  

Concentrating harder on her senses, she realised that the ferrous tang of blood tinted the air, and she deepened her habitually stern scowl. The hunter hadn’t seemed hurt. Honing her focus still further, it was with a strange sense of relief that she realised that the blood was not human. A second later, she spotted the source. A tiny mouse had been deposited on the hearth rug, and she grimaced. Luna had clearly been hunting and had left a present there for her on her return.  

The human, upon spotting the grim little offering, pulled a face and then, to Olena’s surprise, laughed. “Well, you did better than me,” she said, scratching the cat under the chin as Luna tilted her dark, fluffy face upwards for a moment before coiling languorously around the stranger’s ankles like a shadow come to life. “So far I’ve caught absolutely nothing.”

It wasn’t until the raucous purring of the traitorous cat reached her ears that Olena realised she’d been standing there staring like a suit of armour for too long.  

The human finally noticed her presence, jumping quietly and gasping, which startled Luna a little. In rebuke, the cat bristled and stalked away. She was acting as if this new arrival to the utter stillness of their castle meant nothing at all to her, though Olena could see that she was secretly fascinated with the human. Remembering how long the cat had taken to warm up to her in the first place brought a fresh sting to her chest and a bitterness to her mouth.  

She rolled her green eyes and shot the cat a look, but Luna just ignored her.  

“Cute,” the human grinned, and Olena frowned, swivelling her gaze to the human and pinning her to the spot with a well-practised glare.  

“Excuse me?”

“Your cat,” the hunter said with a surprisingly girlish giggle for someone dressed like a soldier in supple leathers. “She’s cute.”

Olena had only the merest grunt in answer to that. “I can’t offer you anything to eat, but if you’re thirsty, there’s water. Or wine.”

The hunter tilted her head slightly, more curious than offended. “No servants to cook for you?” she asked archly. “Did you send them all away for the winter festivities and now have no one to feed you?”

She felt her features tighten in response - the urge to flash her fangs at the sheer audacity of this frail little human surged hot and bright in Olena, almost blinding her for a second before she reined herself in.  

The human, however, was apparently not finished. “Or perhaps you rely on the scraps your cat brings you?”

She was the next thing to letting her eyes flare red. Instead, she ground her jaw and set the pitcher of water down on the table near the fire without a word, and left the room.  

Luna, clearly unused to all the drama, let out a soft ‘mrrrp’ from the depths of the squashy chair where she’d apparently set up camp for the evening, and the hunter looked over at her. “I know,” she grinned. “These aristocratic types are so touchy.”

Olena’s last thread of patience snapped and she whirled on the spot. “What would you know?” she hissed, voice low and dangerous, and for the first time, she saw the spark of apprehension begin to kindle in the human’s eyes. The reason this castle was echoing and empty made her insides ache. “Perhaps you should have stayed in the stables if you’re so picky…”

The hunter’s mouth opened and shut a few times before she finally croaked, “Look, I’m sorry. I was out of line. You didn’t have to let me shelter here for the night.” She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, Olena’s eyes instantly tracking the movement, before adding, “I’ve got some supplies in my saddlebag. I can eat those.”

And with that, the human turned on her heel and left the room.  

The absence of her heartbeat in the vacuum left behind left Olena reeling.

In the days of the castle’s former life, no one would have dared to speak to her like that, and yet, in the snows of winter, a desperate and chilly huntress had just talked back at her like they were village teenagers scrapping over nothing at all, and had abruptly flounced out. If she’d known what Olena was - who Olena was - would she still have been so bold?

Feeling petulant, Olena just let her go, but once she’d heard the doors slam, she slumped down into a fire-warmed chair and let out a long breath and did her best to ignore the nagging sensation at the back of her mind, and forget about the human altogether.  

Luna, however, had other ideas.  

The cat refused to settle, and eventually she trotted from the room and disappeared with a flurry of her black, fluffy tail. “Oh you too, huh?” Olena growled at the cat’s retreating back. The wind had picked up, tugging at the turrets of the castle and battering the glass of the windows with a steady hail of ice and snowflakes, and with a deep, regretful sigh, Olena stood.  

“You’re right,” she grumbled to the memory of the cat who was now nowhere to be seen. “I wouldn’t leave a dog out in this weather…”

The wind caught her full in the face as she cranked the castle doors open one more time, and almost all evidence of their earlier journey across the courtyard had been obliterated by the fresh, gusting snow. The main doors to the stable block had been battened down against the weather, but she had no difficulty in opening them.  

A warning whicker from the mare - who names a horse like that Buttercup anyway? she mused - alerted the human to her approach, and Olena caught the rustle of straw as she stood, heartbeat ticking faster. She could taste the woman’s fear on the air now.  

By the time she reached their stall, the human was on her feet, expression set in a wary glare.  

“You shouldn’t sleep out here.”  

The hunter blinked. “Where else am I supposed to sleep? I’m not staying up in that creepy castle with you.”

Olena almost admired her guts. “Well, it’s that or frostbite. Your choice.” And with that, she headed back to her ‘creepy castle’ alone. Let the stubborn human freeze if she wanted.  

However, she was gratified to hear a short squawk a few seconds later, followed by the crunch of boots in the snow as the human barrelled after her at an unsteady run. “Wait!” she yelled over the fierce wind. “Wait…”

Olena’s footsteps halted and she half turned to look over her shoulder. The human’s cheeks were flushed with the cold, and her breath swirled upwards like campfire smoke before the wind whisked it away.  

“Wait,” the human panted, heartbeat thundering out now despite the noise of the wind. “What’s your name?”

“You can call me Olena,” she replied, setting off again.  

She didn’t have to ask for the human’s in return because the audacious young woman just blurted, “I’m Annika. Please don’t call me Anni though. It’s just Annika.”

“Annika,” Olena murmured, finding that she rather liked the shape of the name on her tongue. “Annika.”

—

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[mollymauk-teafleak]

whose brow is laid in thorn (chapter five)

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Sorry this took so long! Online teaching is...well...

Huge thanks to my wonderful friends/betas @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian who are so endlessly supportive and wonderful.

Please reblog! Please leave a comment over on Ao3!

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Caleb watches his prince flounder through this war he didn't start and, as things go from bad to worse, he  realises the only way he can truly help him.

TW: I feel like the mentions of violence increase in this chapter. I mean, Lorenzo's here now. so. you know.

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The forests were as silent as they had been the last time Caleb went through them. A fierce wind was whistling out on the moors and there was even some snow on the air just beyond their close knit embrace but, under the thick canopy, it was as if it didn’t exist. It was as if the world didn’t exist. The bitter air and slate grey clouds, it had all been swallowed by the leaves and the bark.

Caleb remembered how they’d swallowed his sobs the same way, the last time he had passed through here.

He stroked his horse’s neck as he rose further up in the saddle to look ahead through the trees. Though he hated leading Mollymauk’s side, his prince had insisted he be part of the scouts, saying he had the best eyes in the company. And anything Caleb could do to help right now, he would not leave it undone. They couldn’t afford to.

It was peaceful, at least. He had lost the hour in the silence, it was all just darkness and quiet and the beat of his own heart in his lungs. Even his horse’s hooves made no noise in the soft forest floor, carpeted in moss and pine needles. He would never have even known an entire company of armed warriors shared these trees with him. He could have been the only person on the planet.

Which meant no threats in sight as well, nothing his eyes or ears could pick up even in the stillness. Caleb cast a searching spell forward just to be sure but the only sparks of life were the nests in the boughs up above and a family of foxes curled up in their den. No hidden enemies to speak of. Not a hidden archer in the leaves or a sword wielding scout behind a trunk.

Which, inexplicably, didn’t sit well with Caleb. 

He frowned and passed a hand over his horse’s neck again, to comfort the animal and, partly, to comfort himself. Unease had settled heavily in the bottom of his stomach on the very first day they’d ridden out from Asarius, a weight that had only grown as this campaign went on.

They’d all flashed so prettily in the sun that day, as the light had caught and turned to red silk pennants on the tips of their spears, Mollymauk in a suit of plate enamelled in purple and looking more a god than a prince, though a god that stopped to wink at maidens and accept flowers from their hands, who ruffled the hair of children who ran alongside their column, who passed jokes back and forth with common tradesmen. It had been more like a fair than a force riding out to war, Molly had known his role and he’d played it well. Caleb must have looked like a sour spirit, haunting his left shoulder all in black, but something had just felt so wrong that day and it felt no better now, a week on.

He sighed, his breath misting in the damp air. No one but a Volstruker would be morose at not meeting a single enemy yet.

Maybe it was just being here that put the tension in his stomach. This was the path they’d taken back into the empire ten years ago, after his...his disgrace. The word didn’t come to him as easily as it one had, the shame wasn’t so quick to rise. It was an old misery he felt, the memory of the loss and despair, how it had opened a pit inside his younger self to think he’d never see Mollymauk ever again. He ached for that young wizard, in pain and confused and so scared, chained in the back of a cart and bouncing painfully along to a fate he didn’t want to imagine waiting for him in Rexxantrum, crying to a love that couldn’t hear him and trees that paid no mind.

He deserved it, a voice that sounded like a whip crack hissed in the back of his mind, curling Caleb’s lip, he deserved that awful fate.

But the voice was distant, like it wasn’t coming from inside him but behind him. Caleb swallowed down a faint taste of bile and answered it vaguely it certainly was an awful fate. That would satisfy it for now.

He was getting better at it. Feeding the thoughts that had been placed inside him to fester and grow, giving them just enough and no more, aware of the distance between them and his own. It was a difficult game, one that could hurt him very easily, one he had to play with steady hands and cautious nature. Two things that Volstruker training had, fortunately, gifted him with.

Caleb took a deep lungful of the air and thought of that boy again, weeping softly and steadily in the back of that cart, unable to stop no matter how many blows his tears earned him. Unwilling to stop.

I’m getting better at it, he promised the boy.

Caleb patted his horse’s neck and turned back towards the column. He’d seen enough.

The tents had sprouted up like strange canvas mushrooms under the shelter of the trees. Good, flat ground was scarce so they were more scattered than Caleb would have liked, clusters of them growing together rather than as one cohesive unit. Too much space for any intruder to thread through and reach the heart of the camp.

But the tents were already coming down as he rode hard back through the outer ring of defences, the company waking up to begin another day of marching. Perhaps there would be better ground up ahead. Perhaps they would finally break through the trees.

And what would be waiting for them when they did?

No one called out to Caleb as he dismounted by the hastily strung up horse paddock, no one offered a greeting or asked about his ranging. Soldiers merely talked around him, laughing and joking and grumbling to each other as they woke up and rubbed the sleep from their eyes, acting if he wasn’t there. Caleb didn’t mind, he was used to it and there was no real malice in their disengagement. Something about his black uniform of office and the rumours that clung to it turned idle conversation away, it was the whole point of wearing it. That was the whole point of being Volstruker.

“Rest now, Frumpkin,” he murmured softly to his horse, patting their neck, “I need to go make my report but I’ll come back and see you get a good rub down before we have to set off.”

“Gods, you’re not still calling the poor animal that name, are you?”

Caleb turned to see Beau leaning against one of the posts hastily driven into the forest floor, smirking at him. She was dressed in a cold weather version of her usual monk robes, more parts reinforced with leather for better protection. No one was taking any risks on this campaign but it was still strange to see the old friends he’d last known as children dressed for war.

He was glad they hadn’t had to grow up as quickly as he did, that they could still be considered too young for this.

“Why would I call him anything else?” Caleb answered smoothly, “It’s his name.”

“One of the finest horses I’ve seen come out of the palace’s stables and you saddle him with a name like Frumpkin. It’s an insult.”

The corner of Caleb’s mouth twitched into a smile that he dampened. He didn’t need to smile around Beau, he never had. She’d always taken him as he was and was the first of them all to slip back into doing so after he’d come back. While the others were still unsure how to fit him back into the place the old Caleb had occupied in their lives, Beau was cursing him and scowling at him and punishing him in the training yard like she always had done. Perhaps it was easier when what you had wasn’t the conventional idea of being friendly.

Whatever the reason, Caleb was grateful for it.

“Thank you for keeping him for me all these years,” he said quietly, putting a gentle hand on the horse’s flank.

“Stubborn beast wouldn’t take anyone but you,” Beau shrugged, “Like rider, like horse, it’s the same as ever.”

Caleb grunted, “Where’s the prince?”

“In the command tent,” Beau rolled her eyes as she said it and for good reason. The idea of the Mollymauk they all knew in charge of armed soldiers was absurd, however good the act he’d been putting on for everyone else was, “Anything to see out there?”

“Nothing,” Caleb said, “Nothing but the wildlife whose homes we’re trampling through.”

“I’m starting to think the Jagenoths keep their brains in their damn swords,” Beau frowned, “Did they seriously send out an invading army but didn’t think to put at least some force on the borders?”

“The Jagenoths don’t,” Caleb said, voice flat and serious, “And they wouldn’t.”

“So we’re missing something,” Beau followed the thread of his thoughts easily and liked it no more than he had.

“We are. And we will not be ready for it when it comes.”

With that grim assessment, he began walking through the croppings of tents, making for the one at the centre with the royal standard looking rather forlorn outside it’s entrance, no wind to lift it. Caleb did not want to scare his friends and doubt his prince but his strategic mind was in despair at everything he saw around him. They were nearly as short on weaponry as they were the hands to wield them, food as the mouths to eat it, the bulk of the royal army’s resources having gone with the king to meet the main Jagenoth force.

Or, as it appeared at the moment, the only Jagenoth force. Caleb would have loved to believe that.

He’d wanted to be back before his prince woke up but he’d not been sleeping well and was already up and at his desk when Caleb ducked under the flap. When Molly saw him standing there framed in predawn light, the frustration and helplessness in his red rimmed eyes eased into relief. He knew he didn’t need to pretend in front of Caleb.

“It’s good to see you back,” he exhaled, “Any news?”

“Nothing,” Caleb put his hands behind his back, standing tall and drawn, “The forest ahead is clear, no sign of any enemy out postings or even anything to suggest a large group of armed soldiers are approaching from the border. No smoke, no hoofprints, not so much as a flattened fern.”

Molly frowned, setting down his quill, “The border? How far did you ride out, Caleb?”

“Three hours out, your majesty.”

Molly groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Gods, Caleb, that's so far. If you’d gotten into trouble, no one would have seen your signal, you’d have been on your own!”

“If I had the enemy would be down as many as they’d seen fit to set against me,” Caleb said evenly, “And we would know more about what they are planning than we do know.”

Molly didn’t seem to think that justified the risk, still frowning down at the map in front of him, eyes tracing the path Caleb must have taken on his scouting run.

“Just...don’t do it again. Please. I know we’ve not run into any trouble yet but if the first time we did was you getting hurt or...just don’t, please.”

Caleb felt a stab of guilt, not the sort that came from disappointing a liege he was sworn to or disobeying an order, the deeper sort that came from causing a friend to worry.

“I’m sorry. It just frustrates me, still knowing so little about what they’re planning. We should have at least met border patrols by now, if the Jagenoths are half of what they’re rumoured to be. If Lorenzo truly is at their head.”

Molly grimaced, standing and moving to where his armour waited on the stand by the cot he slept on. He always waited until the very last moment to put it on while simultaneously knowing he couldn’t let any of their soldiers see him without it. Before long the captains of the night guard would be coming to give him reports and he’d run out of time to move freely and breathe comfortably.

If they saw him without the gilded plate and the glittering swords, they might remember that they were being led by their scandal sodden rake of a prince. That act had kept Mollymauk going after Caleb had been taken from him, it had been all he’d had through his darkest moments. And now it had to be packed away like a winter coat in spring, now its absence was all that kept this company together.

He was doing his best to hide it from their friends but the nakedness Molly felt without it, the vulnerability, was painted across his face when it was just the two of them.

“Perhaps their bloodlust has made them stupid. Perhaps this isn’t an invasion at all, just a tithe taking. Perhaps all Lorenzo wants to see is my father’s head on a bloody pike.”

Caleb winced internally at the defeat in his voice, “Your highness…”

“Caleb, I just…” Molly shook his head, the frantic, panicked edge fading from his voice, “I’m under no illusions about what will happen when we finally do encounter enemy forces. Let me have every moment until then. And...gods, please don’t let it be you in their way.”

Caleb exhaled, finally bowing his head, “As you wish.”

There was a long moment as Molly held his lobstered gauntlets in his hands, staring down at them like he was holding hands with a stranger. He was clearly rolling something around in his mouth, words he wanted to say but couldn’t. Caleb merely waited, patient.

“Has it been getting better?” his prince eventually murmured, pitching his voice lower as if Caleb’s intrusive thoughts were a physical presence with malicious ears, “The avoidance strategies, have they been helpful? I did worry coming through here again might be difficult for you.”

Caleb softened, managing a smile even as he still had to answer carefully, “I have found the last few days more comfortable than I expected.”

And he wasn’t lying. Feeling pity for the boy he’d been, as painful as it was to remember that hurt, it was so much better than hating him. It was such a delicate business but having Mollymauk quietly cheering for him, listening to him as he tried to work out what sentences were acceptable and what would make his old wounds throb with remembered pain, holding him when he slipped and stepping back when the intrusive thoughts roared too loud to allow Caleb any comfort.

In some ways, the close proximity of the camp, so much more intimate than that castle with its stone memories, was a blessing. Not many ways, but some.

“I’m pleased, Caleb,” Molly turned away from the armour and smiled back at him, expecting nothing, just genuine in his relief, “Help me into this damnable oven of an outfit?”

“Of course,” Caleb stepped forward gladly. If any part of him were to wonder why he took so much comfort and delight in being close to Mollymauk, he would answer it smoothly and confidently. He was Volstuker, why would he not hasten to armour his prince and be certain that he was as closely protected as possible?  

Why would his heart not quicken as he slide a shirt of fine mail over Molly’s head, so carefully and deftly making sure it didn’t catch on his horns, as he sank down on one knee to carefully lace each fitted plate into place, working from the ground up until they were nose to nose?

Molly cleared his throat as they realised neither had spoken for some time, that silence had settled in now the sounds of metal scraping on metal had silenced. He fixed a playful smile onto his face, “Now, go tend that horse of yours. If you went that far before the sun’s even in the sky, you must have ridden poor Frumpkin hard. After everything that poor boy does for you, keeping his head high with a name like that.”

Caleb chuckled, a brighter sound than any he’d made all morning, “The name suits him, as I’ve told you all plenty of times…”

Molly nudged him gently towards the tent door, grinning, “It’s very you, I’ll give you that. I’ll see you when we ride out.”

Caleb gave him a quick bow in answer, striding back out into the gathering dawn. His stomach felt lighter than it had since he woke.

The days crept by with a maddening slowness as they skirted along the border of the kingdom. It was the same flat, barren landscape with it’s cropped dark grass and those black mountains in the distance cutting a ragged edge on the grey sky. It was impossible to tell what thin, pebbled soil was theirs and what was the Empire’s, the bleak sameness of the landscape doing little to honour the people who’d shed blood to forge it centuries ago.

Caleb wondered why all his training had neglected to mention that war was an awful lot of tedious plodding forward.

They poured over maps, they talked in the command tent long into the small hours of what would have been the morning if any of them had any concept of time anymore, debating in endless circles what the Jagenoths were planning, how the king was faring, what to do next. Molly would listen, unafraid to look exhausted and worn down in front of his friends, and eventually bring his hand down on the table for silence and give them the same, flat answer. They would do exactly as they were instructed. They would push on until they either met his father’s forces flush with victory or discovered their corpses mouldering in the dirt.

Birds would take wing, messages would be ferried along by magic, the same report would fly every day. And every day there would be no answer.

Caleb could tell Mollymauk felt abandoned. But he also knew it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling to his prince.

Not that it made watching him go through this any easier. In fact, it was more of a sting, as Caleb would sit by Molly’s cot and stroke his heaving shoulders as he twitched and moaned through more nightmares. That he was having to go through this at the king’s command, after everything he’d done to him. That there was so little Caleb could do.

That same sense of frustration and helplessness drove him on that night, scouting again. He moved quickly over the short bursts of open ground, keeping low to Frumpkin’s neck and trusting his magic, his horse’s dark coat and his uniform to keep him cloaked in the shadows. When in the smatterings of trees, he walked him slow and steady, knowing the damage a hoof or boot crunching down on a stick at just the wrong angle could do. Moving like that, he very quickly lost sight of the company behind him, lost their slow creeping mass and the lights of the outer torches over a rise in the landscape.

Before too long, it was him, the wind and what stars could be glimpsed through the clouds. The whole plain seemed to open out, something inside him itching at the thought of the answers that could lie out there beyond the next rise of shadow. All he would need was a glimpse, one raiding party, one enemy torch in the distance, one footprint in the grass to tell him who had passed this way and when.

Caleb felt a tug in his chest and remembered his promise to Mollymauk. He’d reached the outer limit of what could reasonably be expected of him as a scout, more than halfway through the time his ride was supposed to take. If he went any further, he would be coming back after dawn and it would be impossible to hide the fact that he’d disobeyed. If he really pushed it, he would have to camp out here or risk Frumpkin coming up lame.

But then he would think of the exhaustion in Mollymauk’s eyes, the way his shoulders slumped when he turned to his armour and faced another day of wearing this personality that didn’t fit him. He would think of his prince, his friend, crying hoarsely into his pillow and not hearing Caleb as he tried to comfort him, sounding for all the world like a lost child unable to understand why his father had left him behind.

Caleb took a long slow breath of cold night air and pressed his heels into Frumpkin’s side, urging him forward. Just a little further, he would return just shy of dawn. After all, his only promise to Molly, technically, was that his blood wouldn’t be the first spilled. And if his training was worth anything, it wouldn’t be.

More bursts of frantic speed across the hills bracketed by near silent creeping through copses of trees. Caleb poured all of his energy into his senses, hearing everything from a mouse skittering down by Frumpkin’s hooves to an owl’s call from high above his head, seeing every shift in the texture of the darkness around him, even smelling deeply to try and pick out the sour scent of unwashed solider from the bite of night air. If he was going to disappoint Mollymauk, he would at least be as careful as possible.

Hours slipped by unnoticed, he lost himself in the glut of information flooding through him and the regular rhythm of his ride. It was tasks like this that brought him the most peace, when he could fully give himself over to his magic, float along through repetition and the hard drag of air in his lungs, when he could feel purposeful while disengaging entirely from the tangled magpie’s nest that was his brain. Times like this, Caleb could remember why he’d always had this ravenous hunger for magic, why he’d loved it so much.

He remembered why he’d fallen prey to Ikithon so easily.

But right now, it was his and no one else's. He was pushing forward to save his home, to help his prince.

The border with the Empire was the clean kind, the neatly cut kind formed by politics rather than geography. With the land changing so little, the only reason Caleb realised how far he’d actually gone was when the sky shifted from black to the hazy grey of dawn.

Guilt stabbed through him at the sight, the only thing in hours that had jolted him out of his razor sharp focus. He brought Frumpkin to a halt in the middle of a collection of trees that couldn’t even be called a wood, only now realising how his poor horse was breathing hard underneath him. He patted his neck, pulled an apple from one of his many pockets and murmured softly, knowing that Mollymauk and his friends wouldn’t be so easy to forgive him. They must be worried sick about him, he was meant to be back at camp hours ago and it would be half a day yet before they knew he was okay.

He couldn’t hear the whip crack, not quite, but his scars prickled with a heat the cold morning couldn’t possibly hold and there was a sharp echo reverberating between his ears.  

Cursing himself for a fool, Caleb slid from the saddle, pulling the aches and strains he felt closer rather than pushing them away and knowing he deserved to feel every one. He pulled his water skin out from the saddle bags, letting it trickle out in a steady stream so Frumpkin could drink first, their breaths misting in the clammy dawn.

“I am a pig headed idiot, Frumpkin,” he sighed, pushing fingers through his horse’s mane, “All this effort and I don’t even have anything to show for it. I was just so certain…”

Just as he was about to rest his forehead against Frumpkin’s nose and let himself have a moment of self pity before getting back into the saddle, he felt something shift on the very edges of his magic. It was like seeing a shadow flicker in the corner of your eye, a second’s movement that threw everything off balance but was so hard to catch.

But there was very little faster than Caleb. He’d been through Volstruker training twice.

He left Frumpkin to crop at the carpet of leaves underneath them, moving forward on foot. All doubt, all emotion of any kind was locked down tight as he broke through the tree line and slunk forward in the direction of that single vibrating thread. It led him forward, over to the next ridge, though the closer he got the more some instinct pressed him down further into the shadows until he was crawling on his belly to peer into the bowl of the hills.

And when he saw what was cradled there, hidden down where it would be hidden from any view but the one Caleb now had, made him glad he’d hidden. What he saw was an army.

Not a raiding party. Not a band of cutthroats sent to harry the border towns. Not a company like theirs. He saw a full, broiling Jagenoth army. He saw racks of arms ready to slice the air in two, along with whatever stood in their way. He saw mercenaries with smiles as dangerous as the swords at their hips. He saw slavers, spearmen, archers, crossbowmen, rank upon rank of soldiers who fought at their masters command. He saw twice, three times, four times their own numbers and, in the middle of all of them, a standard that was rarely seen outside of Shady Creek Run but, when it was, brought blood and terror.

And, out at the edge, where no eyes but his own would see it, he saw a collection of black clad figures sparring against each other with blows that even from here looked brutal, the weapons they trained with had real edges on them. The smell of magic that came off them was thick and smoky like gunpowder, though heavily masked. Masked to everyone but those whose own skin reeked of it.

They were Volstruker.

Caleb felt no surprise, he was sunk too deeply into battle mode for that. He simply inhaled slowly and steadily, very deliberately not looking for any familiarity in the way they moved and struck out. Another moment to make sure he’d catalogued absolutely everything that lay before him while feeling absolutely nothing, then he slipped back down the hillside. Back to Frumpkin, kicking himself into the saddle and riding out without another moment’s pause.

He had to get back to his prince, his friends. He had to tell them their doom lay less than a day’s ride away.

Mollymauk’s hair ached deep at the roots by the time he heard those hoofbeats, the ones he knew immediately belonged to Caleb.

He hadn’t allowed the camp to break, insisting they stay exactly where Caleb would know to find them, refusing them even an inch until he was back and safe. Later, he would realise that his fit of pique had earned them all another day to live.

But not that moment. That moment had been nothing but relief as he’d pushed past Yasha and burst out of the command tent, seeing a lathered, wrung out Frumpkin drawing to a halt right in the centre of camp. An equally exhausted Caleb slid from the saddle, thin shoulders heaving and wiping spit from his cheek. He came down so heavy that Beau had to jump forward and catch him, barely keeping him on his feet.

Molly couldn’t even muster any anger, it was just joy to have him whole and back in the fold of his protection. He ran up and took him from Beau, gripping his shoulders tight, and grinning like a fool.

“Thank all the gods, Caleb! You must have ridden halfway across the kingdom, look at you! Come in, we need to get you something warm to eat, I-”

His mildly frantic relief died as soon as he saw Caleb’s eyes. Even as the rest of him was exhausted and ragged, his eyes were alert and hard like chips of ice.

“Molly,” his voice was low so it wouldn’t carry amongst the tents, to the many eyes that were on them, warily curious as to why the prince’s Volstruker had been gone all night, “We need to talk.”

Once inside the tent, Caleb wouldn’t so much as look at the broth Caduceus was determined he drank, standing stiffly in the centre with his hands wrapped around the bowl. Molly searched him up and down for any signs of injury but the only thing that was troubling him was clearly the weight he carried behind his eyes.

“Your father will ride out to the north and find nothing. The Jagenoth army is here, every man of them not a day's ride from where we sit. Lorenzo’s standard flew outside of the largest tent, though I didn’t see him personally. Their numbers outstrip ours by far and they are better outfitted, by what I could see in the torchlight. I’d estimate just below ten thousand warriors, a third of them mounted, another third with some kind of long range weapon. And…”

He seemed to steel himself, something like shame creeping into his eyes, “They have Volstruker. Five of them by my count.”

His words drew soft curses, widened eyes, stiffened shoulders as the shock rippled outwards. But Mollymauk turned inside himself and found nothing, only a bleak kind of amusement. It seems your pet monsters have gotten loose, Father. I hope it tastes bitter.

Caleb bulled on before any of them could ask him how he was feeling about that, “We have no hope of defeating them in battle and we are too close to skirt them. Our only hope is to turn now and ride hard back to the capital or even try and make it to the King’s army. Even then, we will still be short of numbers and exhausted but it is all we have.”

“We can’t lead them back to the city,” Caduceus shook his head, usually placid face tight with anxiety, “It is practically undefended and full of innocents.”

“Without that option, we have nowhere to run even if we do manage to get clear,” Yasha’s voice was tense, “And if they catch us in a full retreat…”

“It would be a bloodbath,” Beau finished shortly, her arms folded so tight it was like she was embracing herself and trying to give some comfort.

“A bloodbath from the rear or a bloodbath from the front,” Fjord snorted, tapping his foot as he always did when he was stressed, “Those are our choices, then?”

“Is there any way to get a message to the king?” Yasha’s brow furrowed as she thought, unused to being trapped in situations she couldn’t maneuver herself out of either with her mind or her greatsword, “Surely he’ll have noticed by now that he’s riding to meet an enemy that isn’t there?”

“His Volstruker will have some kind of magical manipulation to bait him on,” Caleb’s voice was still flat, even when he spoke of people who were supposed to be his, “An illusion or a mirage of some sort, torches in the distance, flattened land to suggest they are withdrawing perhaps . And you can be sure any messages we send out will be noticed from this close, as powerful as they are. Even if we could, there would be no time for his forces to reach us.”

“Then why didn’t they notice you?” Beau countered tightly, “If you got that close? If these are your people, isn’t there some secret way you know that can take them down?”

“I know the same tricks they do,” an edge of emotion entered his words now, a tension that threatened to snap, “I know the same magics. But I am only one against five, weaker than they are into the bargain, less firm in my faith. I am not enough.”

“That’ll do.”

Molly spoke for the first time, voice calm and commanding the way he’d been practising since he was a child. He rose from his camp chair, drawing every eye to him, trying to stand tall enough to shoulder their fears and doubts.

“I’ve made my decision. We are going to ride out and we are going to meet this army.”

“My prince, there is no way-” Yasha started to say but Molly shook his head.

“We’re not going to give battle, not at first. I’m going to do the one damn thing I’ve ever been good at with this job. I’m going to call for parley and I’m going to talk to Lorenzo. Whatever rotten deal my father made that has gotten us into this mess, maybe there’s something I can offer the Jagenoths that will make it right again. Gold or wardship or...or a marriage contract with some Dwendalian countess, I don’t know…”

He daren’t look up at Caleb in the beat of cold, heavy silence that followed those words.

“But there will be a price and that price may not necessarily be blood.”

There was a collective intake of breath, whether it was admiration or despair Molly daren’t ask.

“And...if Lorenzo isn’t the type to be bartered with, your highness?” Yasha asked evenly, letting the ‘which you know he isn’t’ go unsaid but lie underneath her words.

Molly hardened his eyes and gripped the swords at his sides, “Then we take as many as we can down to hell with us. Every Jagenoth that falls will be one less to threaten our city walls. Caleb?”

“Yes?” his friend sounded so much further away than the tent would allow.

“If it comes to that, your job is to kill Lorenzo. Not to take out the other Volstruker, not to protect me. If we must fight, he does not walk off that battlefield alive, understand?”

He wasn’t used to ordering Caleb around, the words felt sour on his tongue as did the silence that followed. It was only a moment, barely a heartbeat, but from a man that had been trained to obey it was an eternity that very clearly showed his upset.

But finally, his Volstruker murmured, “I understand, my prince.”

“Thank you,” Molly let his sincere gratitude show in his voice and that crack let the emotion start to bleed in, let his shoulders start to tremble, “All of you...you’re all my dearest friends and you’ve done so much for me. If any of you want to turn back now and leave this company, you go with my blessing. Asking you to die for me...I refuse to do it.”

Beau was the first to answer, giving a derisive snort and coming up to nudge him sharply with an elbow, “We’re not dying for you, idiot. That murderous asshole is standing in our home thinking we’ll just roll over and give it to him. Seeing the look on his face when Caleb spills his guts? That’s worth dying for.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to put it quite like that,” Yasha gave Beau a fond roll of her shadow ringed eyes, “But the sentiment is the same. This will be something we finish together.”

“However it ends,” Fjord nodded firmly, loosening his blade in its scabbard.

“And you are rather convincing when you want to be, Mollymauk” Caduceus chuckled, “Perhaps it will come to peace after all. Stranger things have happened...like us all standing here facing impossible odds with smiles on our faces.”

That broke the lingering tension, making them all giggle helplessly like they were children again, facing their first time sneaking out of their bedrooms after dark. Like this was the start of some grand adventure rather than the end of one. Molly felt such a rush of warmth in his chest as he met Caleb through teary eyes and saw him chucking too, for a moment there was nowhere else he’d rather be than in this cold, filthy tent facing death.

“Well then,” he eventually sighed, jaw aching from grinning so hard, “Let’s put this silver tongue of mine to the test.”

Mollymauk tried so hard not to appear afraid. He really tried.

For once he was glad of his ridiculous horned helmet and the way it shielded his expression from the soldiers around him.

The Jagenoth army came into view over a rise in the landscape, a neat, black row of ants in the distance marching towards them in perfect step, banners snapping in the wind and sun catching on the deadly points of their weapons. They came in perfect synchrony, row after row of them, one two, one two, one two, devouring the distance between the two forces.

And they just kept coming.

Yasha and Fjord held the enormous black banners high, where they couldn’t possibly be missed, but as those soldiers came on and on and on, as Molly’s tongue dried to a desiccated fruit rind in his mouth, he couldn’t suppress the certainty that this lot of trained killers would just ignore their request and plow right through them, trampling them into the dirt without even a pause.

But finally, at the last possible moment, the Jagenoths halted. There was a thin strip of land still between them, less than a league separating him and his friends, the soldiers who followed in devotedly, from death. The silence that fell was broken with the snorting of horses and the restless clank of people shifting nervously in suits of armour but it still weighed heavily.

After a moment, Caleb spoke softly at his side, eyes filmy with magic, “He’s beckoning you.”

Mollymauk didn’t need to ask who he meant.

“Well then,” his voice cracked on the very first word and he had to hastily clear his throat and start again, come on you fool, you’ve been an actor more than half your life, you won’t flub your lines now, “Well then. Yasha, Caleb, Fjord, with me. Beau and Caduceus, hold the army. If you see anything done that breaches the terms of parley, attack.”

With that, he urged his horse on, never daring to look back and see if his friends would actually follow him. When they did, of course, he’d hate himself for doubting them.

The fact that only one rider broke from the mass like a droplet of black oil, ploughing forward to meet them, showed exactly what Lorenzo thought of the threat they posed to him. As the formless shape of hulking iron resolved itself into a vaguely humanoid silhouette, Molly took a meagre scrap of comfort from the fact that he was at least in his human form. When he was coming for their blood, he would look much different.

They stopped their horses a few metres from each other and walked the rest of the way, Molly flanked by his friends, Lorenzo needing nothing but his bristling carapace of sooty metal, swathed in hooks and cruel leather straps, and the glaive stowed at his back. The closer that got, the more Molly realised how his pretty, glistening armour with all its jewels and shine made him look like what a foolish boy would dream a prince wore to battle. He was a tawdry illustration from a fairytale. Lorenzo was an experienced killer.

“Well, well, well…” Lorenzo spoke first while he was still loping up, hailing them as if they were friends, his voice a low pitched drawl in an approximation of a nobleman’s polite tones that showed how he’d risen from dirt to lead his army on the backs of slaves, “It’s awful decent of you to come offer yourself on a silver platter. Saves us the trouble of carving those pathetic excuses for soldiers I see behind you into meat.”

Molly swallowed hard and drew himself up, acting as if he hadn’t heard the insults, “Lorenzo. I assume you speak for the Jagenoths?”

“I’m killing for the Jagenoths, boy,” Lorenzo removed his warhelm so they could see his lazy grin, the anticipation in his eyes, “But aye, I speak with their voice in this matter.”

“Then I offer this to you,” Molly kept his firmly on, “Whatever wrongs my father has done to you, whatever snags there have been in your business dealings, surely all out war is not the best way to seek repayment?”

“Depends on what you’re repaying,” Lorenzo sneered, “And I bet you don’t know half the mess your daddy’s gotten himself into. Allow me to educate you instead, gold don’t pay some debts, boy. Sometimes blood’s the only way to tip the scales back.”

“Then you and your kingdom are fools,” Molly replied, letting some contempt creep into his voice as the insults rubbed some already frayed nerves raw, “Out there in Shady Creek Run, you have no resources of your own. Your crops file nine harvests out of ten, there's no metals of any use in those mountains of yours, no lumber, no gems. Hence why you trade in flesh, a commodity most kingdoms turn their noses up at. Think of what I’m offering you. Money, trade, the chance to rise as a kingdom by marrying its crown prince to whoever you choose. I’m offering you the chance to actually see your people grow, rather than scraping out a living in the swamp and selling their children to you when they can’t make their rent.”

There was a moment’s pause after he finished before Lorenzo burst out laughing, showing rows of plaque chewed teeth as he guffawed.

“By all the gods, boy, haven’t they trained you up nice, eh? Got you all dressed up and taught you the right words to say, just like a pretty little parrot. Convinced you that you were a prince.”

Molly felt Caleb shift beside him, magic crackling in the air. He shot him a desperate glance, pleading with him from behind the metal slits in his helm. They absolutely could not afford to be the ones to break the peace here.

He swallowed hard and tried to put some more measure in his voice, “Perhaps if you brought my offer to your lords and let them decide whether they would rather see profit or-”

“You don’t understand, do you, boy?” Lorenzo was still chuckling like this was the funniest thing he’d seen all day, “What my good lords of Jagenoth want isn’t profit or trade or to see some pretty tattooed whore of a prince in their daughter’s bed. What they want is to see your father suffer. What they want is your head.”

That struck Molly somewhere just below his chest, “Mine?”

“Yes,” Lorenzo nodded idly, eyes creeping up the length of Molly’s body like he was deciding where to make the cut, “Your daddy stiffed them once too many times so they’ve decided his son and heir will be their price. However unimpressive that son may be.”

Molly hated the fear that chilled his bones at those words, that strangled the words in his throat as he tried to speak.

“Why’d you think we went to all that trouble to fool your daddy, get him to ride out on a wild goose chase after our shades and set you off on some busywork? It were never him we wanted. We wanted you, just as you are now with a handful of farmhands at your back and a pretty piece of glass for a sword. And didn’t it all work out so nice?”

Molly’s mouth twisted, “I see Ikithon has been giving you more than just Volstruker.”

Lorenzo spread his mailed hands and gave a wry smile, “You’re the losing side, boy. Got to expect the smarter rats to jump ship.”

“So…” Molly shook himself, forcing the words up, “If I let you take me, do whatever you want with me, that will be the end of it? My people go free?”

He’d expected the sharp, poorly concealed hisses of rage and dismay from his friends, the hands flying to weapons. He was ready with a raised palm, willing them to hold themselves, praying their loyalty outstripped their love for him.

“How very noble of you,” Lorenzo cooed in a mocking tone, before his voice turned to iron again, “And maybe that was the plan my lords gave me. But now I’m here...now I see that rabble you call an army...now I have your capital city just a few days ride from here...maybe now I want more? Maybe now I’ve got me a thirst.”

Molly felt sickness roil in his stomach, “You’d go against direct orders? You’d start a war that would cost you hundreds of soldiers without their permission?”

“Do you think they’ll give a flying fuck about permissions when I hand them the crown of Dosal still red with your family’s blood?”

“Dawn,” Molly croaked, “Give me until then and I’m yours. To kill or to carry back to Shady Creek Run, whatever you wish. On your word that that will be the end of it.”

Lorenzo smiled, a thick and nasty smile, his hand flexing, arm raising, “Do I look the patient type to you, boy?”

Molly saw how it all would happen. The barest second and that glaithe would be free, the blade would come swinging with it’s sharp whistle, no time to dodge, no time to free his own scimitars, all his hours of training meaning less than nothing as that razor edge bit into his neck and severed his head neat as snipping off a stray thread.

He saw it all. But it didn’t happen.

“What in the fuck-” Lorenzo grunted, his arm stilled in the air, muscles tight as iron chord but unable to move.

Beside Molly, Caleb had his hand out and his eyes were hard, the smell of magic rising off him like steam, “Drop your arm. Turn and walk back to your own. This parley is done, you have your terms.”

“You godsdamned pup-'' Lorenzo spat, eyes full of hatred as they fixed on the source of the magic holding him back. His face reddened and the smell of his own magic began to rise.

“Lorenzo!” Mollymauk raised his voice, the sickness turning to panic as he realised that the glaive was now fixing to whistle out at Caleb instead of him, that if it did battle would erupt and so many would die, “This is a parely for gods’ sake. We’re under a peace banner. You’ll get to kill me in less than a day, let it be enough.”

“Molly!” Caleb groaned, pained, his magic starting to slip in his distress and letting Lorenzo’s arm move an inch more.

“No,” he snapped, voice firm and tone hard, “Both of you, stand down. Lorenzo, you want it to get back to your lords that you can’t even keep to terms of parley? How long do you think they’ll keep feeding an oathbreaker?”

Lorenzo’s lip curled but at the very last second it became a sneer rather than a roar of rage. He relaxed his muscles and Caleb dropped his spell.

“I ain’t no oathbreaker, boy, but pay mind to which oaths I made and which I didn’t. Dawn it is then, you come out weaponless and alone before the light touches the base of that hill there. And be warned. You know my trade. You see my ink. You know that I can make you pay hard for every second you’ve made me wait.”

“And that will be the end of this?” Molly pressed, feeling strangely little for someone who had just signed away his life.

At that Lorenzo only smiled and let his eyes roll over to Caleb, poorly concealed hatred crackling in his gaze. It was clear that this wasn’t a man accustomed to being bested, even in the smallest ways. Caleb had dared to stay his hand and now Molly suspected he’d slipped down one place on the list of people Lorenzo wanted to kill tomorrow.

“Well we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

At that he turned and strolled lazily back to his horse, never once giving them so much as a glance.

It was odd, to feel so alone in the midst of other people.To feel like the only person in the world when your friends were at your elbow.

They’d fallen back a little ways to set up a camp as best they could in the windswept plain. There was a hush about the company now, a dismay like they were all reeling from what just happened. Seeing the hope on Caduceus’ face fade, seeing the bitter anger flare in Beau’s eyes as she realised what had happened, it was all too much. Not waiting for permission, Caleb had rode Frumpkin past them, unable to bear it.

And now he stood alone at the paddock, running a brush over and over across his horse’s black coat even after it did nothing, just needing to do something. His duty pulled him towards the command tent, towards Mollymauk, but the thought turned his stomach. How was he supposed to watch his prince, his friend, retreat further and further into himself, dull his eyes and shut himself down as he waited for death? How was he supposed to stand by and watch it happen and know he could do nothing at all?

So instead he hid. He was ashamed at himself for it but at this point it was like pouring a flagon of water into the sea.

He replayed the parley over in his mind, turning it over to look at it from different angles, even when it’s sharp edges cut into him. He saw everything he could have done differently, all the ways he could have turned the tide. He could have snapped Lorenzo’s arm, found the strength from somewhere. He could have slipped into his mind, changed his words, made him take it back. He could have cut him down where he stood.

And it would change nothing, you fool.

Hopelessness crashed over his head like a tide again and it was all Caleb could do to keep his feet under the weight of the myriad ways he’d failed and everything it would cost.

Still wallowing in self pity instead of doing something useful I see.

At first Caleb thought it was just his own mind berating him as it often did. But then it sunk it, a moment too late, that the voice was so much clearer and sharper than it usually was. And it wasn’t his own.

An overpowering sense of revulsion filled him as his mind was invaded, enough that he couldn’t fight back. He’d felt it before but the sensation of someone else seizing control of your brain was so awful, so gut wrenchingly wrong in every way, that having it done brought him to his knees every time. Helpless, alone, no one around to see his distress, all Caleb could do was bend double and retch into the grass while his master slipped into his mind as easily as sliding on a well worn pair of boots.

I would have hoped to find you stronger, Bren. This is the Volstruker’s element and yet you are here whining instead of glorying in it.

Caleb could only moan thinly in response, mouth full of bile. His master only used his old name when no one else could hear them, they were supposed to shed them, burn them away, when they joined the order. But each of them knew that the master kept them carefully catalogued, ready to be used to hurt them as effectively as any torture device.

Well, at least you now have a chance to please me and show me you remember who you are...and who your master is.

“I don’t...please…” Caleb whispered, tears running from his cheeks to soak into the ground below.

Silence, Bren. Listen. It appears our relationship with Babenon Dosal has reached the end of its life. You are to defect, immediately, and present yourself to Lorenzo of the Jagenoths. He will find a use for even such as you.

Caleb’s brain could hardly take in what was being said to him, every inch of him shaking like electric currents were running under his skin, “No...no, the prince is my-”

The prince is what I say he is to you. And now he is nothing. I appreciate that you can, at least, summon some loyalty to your former position but I am hereby changing your directive. You serve Lorenzo now. Leave immediately. Do not let me down, Bren. You know the cost.

The revulsion fled as quickly as it had come on and Caleb was left to slump on the ground, tremors still running through him, stomach still painfully contracting as his body tried to remember what it was like to master itself.

It was a long time before he could rise, before there was enough strength in his limbs to hold him. His mind was a flurry of whip cracks, his back burned as if the wounds were minutes old rather than years, his fingers itched to tear his shirt away and find some relief in the night air.

You know the cost.

It was only an echo but upon hearing it, Caleb’s jaw clenched. He forced himself to hold still, he dredged up every scrap of training he could remember, filling his nose with the smell of smoke and burned wood to remind himself who he was and what he was.

Just once, he turned back and looked at the command tent, glowing with warmth at the centre of the camp just a few meters away from where he stood.

“Molly,” he rasped, voice raw and pained, “I’m so sorry.”

He knew his prince couldn’t hear him and saying it out loud brought him no comfort.

Caleb left Frumpkin tied where he was.

It would be easier to approach the Jagenoth camp on foot.

Molly paid little attention to the hours in between hearing Lorenzo’s last words and ending up back in his command tent, slumped down onto his cot while his friends sat around him, too stunned by dismay and grief to even argue much. All he could think of was that smile Lorenzo had worn as he’d turned away, what the cost of that smile could be.

I’m going to die, he thought vaguely, trying it on for size, trying to get his brain to accept the fact. He found he could muster little in response to it.

“We cannot let this happen!” Beau raged for the third time in the last half hour. And just like the other times, no one had anything to say to her.

“It’s our one chance,” Molly found himself saying, hearing the exhaustion in his own voice, “If he can have me, he might leave the rest of you alone. He might leave our people alone.”

“Might,” Yasha repeated, her voice bleak and hard like ice.

“Yes, might,” Molly sighed, “Might is better than nothing.”

“So you’re just going to give up?” Beau snapped, tight and tense as a drawn bow as she paced back and forth, “You’re just going to walk up to them like a lamb offering itself up to be slaughtered?”

“It’s the only thing I can do,” Molly leaned back against the canvas, eyes closing though all he saw behind them was that smile again and the image of his father’s crown covered in his mother and sister’s blood, “I can’t fight him. I can’t lead you all to some insane one in a million victory. I can’t talk to him. But I can let him have me and then...then maybe…”

He trailed off, shaking his head, unable to muster the energy to even find the words. Beau’s anger ebbed, showing the fear beneath.

“I’m a terrible prince,” he eventually murmured, eyes opening to not even meet their eyes, voice low and thin as a candle nearly out, “I can’t lead people, I can’t sway people or save them, I can’t ease their hunger or soothe their worries. I thought...I thought maybe I had enough base cunning and enough patter to act like a prince but...that’s all it's ever been. An act. A role I never even wanted. And now...well it’s all caught up with me, hasn’t it? The best hope I have is to die with some dignity and hope it's enough to save all of you.”

“Molly…” Yasha groaned, her voice a soft, sad whisper but it couldn’t reach him.

“An hour before dawn, all of you are going to retreat,” he continued, “Before that even, if you can manage it. I’m putting the lives of the company in your hands, save as many as you can.”

“Molly!” she was exasperated now, her usual calm completely fractured.

“This isn’t a debate anymore,” he shook his head, making himself stand though it was like moving a puppet with half its strings cut, “Just do as I ask. Let me try and accomplish something good with my death. And...if you ever get the chance, if the gods allow it, drink to my name.”

They had no answer to that. It was something of a relief.

“I’ll say my farewells in the morning,” he waved them out limply, “Just send in Caleb and…”

Finally, something pierced through the fog. Frowning, he lifted his head.

“Where is Caleb?”

“After the parley he, uh…” Fjord shrugged helplessly, “He was upset. I think he went to stable Frumpkin, you know how he does.”

“That...that was some time ago,” Caduceus put in slowly, “Hours.”

“I’ll go get him,” Beau shrugged, “Whatever…” She disappeared through the flap, still stomping, shoulders tense and face flushed. Yasha looked after her with soft, sad eyes but didn’t follow, she knew her well enough.

Molly expected the fog to close up around his head again but it didn’t. Something ran around under his skin, a sensation that something was wrong. Which was laughable, seeing as he was about to be killed as soon as the sun came up and possibly all of his friends alongside him at the whim of a madman.

Still, it was there and it irritated him just enough to keep him alert and frowning as more time than should have passed by.

And it was enough that he wasn’t surprised when Beau walked through the tent again, all of her anger replaced by complete and utter shock.

“A messenger,” she said, voice hoarse like the words surprised her even as they left her lips, “A messenger from the Jagenoths, she had the insignia and everything. She gave me this, said it was for your eyes only and just...left.”

This was a piece of paper, folded and sealed with a clumsy black seal like a smear of soot. The design was a crude hook shape. As Molly took it the feeling got worse until it was buzzing like an insect trapped in his skull. It was enough that he hesitated before breaking the seal but their eyes were on him, wary and hesitant and needing to see their prince be brave.

The writing was done in a hurry, the ink splotchy and smudged. Molly had one of those moments where complete insanity threatened to take the place of dread as he imagined Lorenzo’s huge oni fingers trying and failing to hold a quill but it died quickly.

When he read the words, there was no more fog and no more distance. Everything was real and close and far too much, pushing the air out of his lungs and constricting his chest until he couldn’t breathe.

Boy, I accept your challenge. Single combat it is, me against the little pup who thought he could snap at me and not pay for it. If I lose, my army turns heel and goes home empty handed. If I win, I kill you and we consider the debt repaid. I was so looking forward to slaughtering every last one of you but your pup made a good point. I get to hold faith with the Jagenoths while my steel gets to see true battle. I’ve never tried a Volstruker before but I’m looking forward to tasting the tears of grief on your face as I push my blade through your heart.

Lorenzo.

“Molly? Molly, what does it say? Hey, it’s okay, just breathe…”

Yasha had taken his arm but Molly barely noticed, he only looked up and found Caleb’s eyes there to accept his own. Of course he’d slipped in while they’d been distracted, of course he chose now to return. At least he had the grace to look ashamed.

“Caleb...” Molly rasped, tears running down his cheeks and dripping from his jaw to strike the letter, obscuring the words as if that would mean they’d never been.

The man he loved could only meet his eyes and smile sadly.

“Oh gods, Caleb, what have you done?”

[exhaustedfander]

Drown Me If You Must

A word of warning: This one’s incredibly sad. There is major angst in this one, and the ending can be viewed as suicide, though it’s up for interpreation. 

This oneshot is a rewrite of an original short story I wrote a while back. Originally, the married couple are lesbians and the ocean is personified as a man, but sense it’s moceit, that gets flipped around the ocean’s personified as a woman. This is sad, but I’d love to hear what you think. 

Word Count: 1,916

a03 link

He stared out an open window, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the sea. He watched the water, the foamy waves lapping at the ankles of the last beachgoers of the day as seagulls scoured the beach for crumbs. It was a pleasant, picturesque view, one that most people would tend to enjoy.

Janus didn’t.  

Years ago, the sea took something from him. Something irreplaceable. No, she didn’t take him, people told Janus. It was an accident. A tragedy that could’ve happened to anyone. But Janus knew better. The ocean, for whatever reason, had a burning desire to take away the man that he loved more than anything else in the world, carrying out irreversible cruelty.

Maybe, Janus thought to himself sometimes when he was alone and the house was too quiet, the sea saw how wonderful Patton was and selfishly wanted him for herself. Or maybe he was always hers. Janus had watched the capture, had seen from this very window the beast that she truly was open her gaping maw and swallow his lover whole.

Janus had warned Patton about a million times not to go out that night.

“It’s dangerous,” he’d cautioned nervously, “What if something was to happen? There wouldn’t be anyone to help you.” Janus was by no means a nervous person, but for Patton’s safety, he was always cautious.

“I’ll be extra careful,” Patton promised, “I always am.”

“Be that as it may,” Janus said, eternally weak to the gleam in his husband’s eyes, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. You could get hurt. It’s risky…” Patton grinned, wrapping his arms around Janus and pressed his lips to Janus’s ear in a caressing whisper.

“I live for danger.”

This was a blatant lie, so much so, Janus couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Patton was by no means a daredevil. He didn’t enjoy the more dangerous activities life had to offer, instead enjoying tending to potted plants and baking an array of pastel frosted pastries. He worked as a kindergarten teacher who volunteered at the local Animal Shelter on the weekends. He apologized when he bumped into objects and insisted on petting every cat near to him, despite his allergy. Patton was about the least risk-seeking person Janus knew.

But he loved night swimming. Patton adored the ocean and everything about it, swimming in the evening a “wonderfully calming experience,” as he once explained it, but Janus couldn’t understand it. Why was Patton so compelled to put himself in such a situation, at the mercy of the current? What was calm relaxation for Patton petrified his husband.

Janus was terrified of the water and had been since he was young. Swimming in general, especially in the ocean, frightened him so much so that he struggled to stomach the thought of so much as attempting. It’s ironic to think that he moved to a house right by the sea, but he’d done it for Patton.

His husband made him deliriously happy, he had since the day they met. Janus was not a glass half full kind of person. He liked to think he looked at things as rationally as possible, always keen to look out for himself. He’d grown up in a family where it was every man for himself, being provided very little in the ways of affection. Janus had to be tough and watch his own back because as far as he was concerned, no one else was going to do so.

And then he’d met Patton. Bubbly, pun-loving, affectionate Patton, and all semblance of what he was convinced he was destined to be shattered into a million pieces. Janus didn’t think it was possible for him to fall for someone, to give into such intense, emotional feelings. It was dangerous to let his guard down, even a little bit, and yet Patton saw through his hardened exterior with ease. He saw the person Janus was inside, the person he hadn’t been allowed to be for so long, and for the first time in his life, Janus felt nothing but love.

So he moved there for him, so Patton could always be close to the sea.

“Oh you certainly live for danger,” Janus said sarcastically, finding it impossible to smother his smile, despite his nerves. “Do you promise you’ll be cautious?”

“Absealutely,” Patton said with a grin, earning a half-hearted groan from his husband, “I promise, Janny.”

“Okay,” Janus said with a sigh, trusting that things would work out, just as they always had.  What a mistake that had been.

Of course, Janus had run down the beach, barefoot and screaming the name of the man who had stolen his heart as he watched him disappear under the waves. Of course, he had screamed for help, for someone, anyone who could rescue his husband. And of course, it was far too late. Patton was already gone, the sea stealing him away.

Maybe it was ignorant to continue living in that house, watching the very thing that had taken his love away day in and day out, but Janus couldn’t leave. He was bound to this place, no matter how sick with grief it made him. “What if Patton comes back? He won’t know where to find me.” The belief that somehow, in some form, Patton would be back with him someday had remained in his mind every day since the capture.

It had been five long years since that night. Janus cut ties with the few other people he’d been close with, unequipped to deal with their false sympathy any longer. Even Remus, someone who Janus had considered his closest friend had given up after a few years. Janus didn’t make any effort to maintain the relationship; what was the point?

Loneliness commanded his fragile heart most days, leaving Janus in an ever-present state of mourning. The house, after all this time, had remained relatively the same. Every photograph that was hung up was still there, all of Patton’s things still neat on the shelves. Janus hadn’t bothered to change any of the furniture around, either. The only thing that was strikingly different from that house that was once a home was the absence of Patton.

The breaking point came on a particularly cold, lonesome night. Janus hadn’t slept well in years; being awake late was nothing new. He tossed and turned sleeplessly, desperate for the rest he’d sought for out for too long.

It occurred to her suddenly, realization washing over him like the unrelenting crashing of waves. It didn’t matter how long time stretched on or how desperate he was to wipe Patton from his memory. The gaping hole in his chest where a heart once beat would remain empty without his husband by his side.

The epiphany set him into motion.

He rose slowly from the bed, pushing the blankets off and standing up uneasily. The wood floor groaned beneath his feet as he walked out of his bedroom, the house so dark he could barely see. He didn’t bother to turn on a light.

Janus wandered through the house, head thick with fog, and stopped just short of walking out the front door. Janus hesitated for the briefest moment, his hand grazing the door handle before he took a deep sure, deep breath and opened it, stepping out into the night.

The sand was cool under Janus’s bare feet, ivory moonbeams illuminating the waves. The smell of sea salt hung in his nostrils and suddenly, he’s back to that night, Patton’s echoed screams replaying again and again. Panic buzzed through Janus’s body, all instincts telling him to go back inside, crawl under the covers and pretend tomorrow would be better. He let a sigh roll past his lips, toes curling in the sand as he stared determinedly at the rolling waves.

No. He couldn’t turn back. Not now.

He plodded slowly down the beach until freezing foamy water was grazing over his feet. Janus felt his fear crippling him, weighing him down like a stone tossed into the water but he stood tall regardless, rebelling against the sinking feeling. He’d do this for his husband.

Janus stood still for a moment, feet soaking in the biting water before shouting in the loudest, most accusing voice he can muster: “You!”

The waves, as if paused by some god above, ceased their crashing the water stilled. All was quiet.

“You took something from me. Something irreplaceable!” He shouted despite the fear bubbling in the pit of his stomach and the shivers that racked his body. It didn’t matter that Janus was as terrified as he had been that night. He’d get his husband back one way or another, in this world or the next.

Janus swallowed down whatever remaining hesitations and continued, his voice quavering with grief.

“And now I want him back. I’m not afraid of you, not anymore.” Janus had always had a talent for deception. It wasn’t something he used against his husband, and he was calculated with his implementing of falsehoods, but it was a tool he found to be useful. The same was no less true now; terror coursing through his veins. Even so, he relieved the sentiment with such courage even the likes of the sea herself might believe him. Still, the water remained unmoved.

“I don’t care what you do to me.” Tears tumbled down Janus’s cheeks and there was a deep, haunting sorrow to the way he spoke, “You can kill me if you’d like. No one will believe it, regardless. It’ll be another ‘tragic accident’.” Janus slumped to his knees, teardrops dripping into the water as granules of sand stuck to his skin. This is how it was meant to go; Janus knew that now. “Drown me, if you must. I just want to see him again. I just want my husband back.”

The haunting quiet that had drifted through the last several minutes shattered as the tide was quickly sucked in from under Janus, sweeping him deeper into the water. Janus didn’t struggle, didn’t fight it, instead going limp.

He allowed the current to carry him far enough to a point he was no longer able to stand, beginning to flounder as the waves crest not far off. The sound was more peaceful than anything he’d ever heard and the impending sense of dread he’d expected never came. A final exasperated smile graced his face as a wave of considerable size and power swept him under, showing no mercy as she drove him down and Janus’s lungs filled with water.

The moon illuminated the otherwise black sea that Janus descended into. Years ago, a death such as this was Janus’s greatest fear, but now all it brought on was calm and peace. Finally, peace. Janus closed his eyes, letting go as he thought of finally seeing Patton again, a vision of his smile warming Janus’s frozen body as everything faded to black.

Maybe he was the one who the sea had claimed, the one destined to be taken, not Patton. Maybe it was both of them, two prisoners for the price of one. Or perhaps Janus was just a man so sick with the loss of his husband that he did what was necessary to finally see him again. Regardless, Janus found the peace he was searching for, a beauty that far outshined a sunset out an open window that captured a scene he was too tormented by to live with any longer.

=+=

Taglist:

@nadiestar, @unoriginalgayboyalex, @maryann-draws, @bella-in-a-bag, @igonnatalknothing, @elizabutgayer, @wishthefish916

Let me know if you wanna be added to my general taglist! I’d be happy to add folks. 

[scarletjedi]

Sangcheng Time Travel Fixit Outline Part 1: The Cloud Recesses

I finally figured out how this (17 page!) outline ends! Now posting can begin! Every day until I’m finished, I’ll post the next section of the outline. The goal is that it reads as, like, not!fic - and if you’ve ever chatted with me about fic, this format will be *very familiar* to you. There’s nothing explicit, though there is (semi)detailed references to *how* I’d write sex between two characters (Sangcheng, Wangxian)

Both narrative pieces that I’ve written and posted also have their homes on this outline. You can find them linked below. (Links are currently to the original tumblr post. AO3 links will be added once I’ve posted)

Enjoy!

This fic takes place in the Untamed/CQL verse with some minor details cherrypicked from the books - namely the fact that Wangxian are not only deeply in love, but very horny for each other. 

We begin immediately post-canon, when Jiang Cheng drags Nie Huaisang back to Lotus Pier from the events of the Guanyin Temple.

This scene establishes where their relationship is, currently: two friends who had crushes on each other during their time in the Cloud Recesses, who drifted into a loose friends-with-benefits situation that petered out around the time Nie Huaisang became sect leader.

There were moments over the years where it might have happened started up again, but Jiang Cheng was grieving and has never met an honest emotion he couldn’t turn into anger and Nie Huaisang had begun to plot and couldn’t risk anyone being that close to him. There was mutual pining, but I’m not sure either of these delightful idiots knew recognized it in themselves

Jiang Cheng has *questions* and Huaisang has *answers* and he will get them…tomorrow. He’s tired and mostly just wants to drink with a friend he thought he lost - actual friends being a bit thin on the ground for both of them.

They are both tired, raw, and a bit bloody. They both need a night to lick fresh wounds (of both kinds). Jiang Cheng is reeling from purging (mostly) the poison from his relationship with Wei Wuxian (which might have left him with no relationship, and he doesn’t know what to DO with that), and Nie Huaisang has just completed a grand plan a decade in the making in a bloody, terrifying way that nearly killed everyone. It could have gone so wrong, but it worked, but people know and he doesn’t know what to DO with that, but he’s coming to realize that for all of his planning, he never figured out what to do *next*

They fall into bed together, for that kinds of “I need to feel something and you’re alive but also here but also hot” sex. Never underestimate the inherent homoeroticism of wound care

I feel like their relationship could be, like, reverse wangxian in that they fuck BEFORE *I would happily die for you but instead I will live for you* love

“Sangcheng Time Travel Fixit Chapter 1” (Tumblr | AO3) 

They wake up the next morning…AT THE CLOUD RECESSES (bum bum BUM)

I thought about having them wake up in Lotus Pier/Qinghe but then I decided to limit their emotional upheaval – in other words, Jiang Cheng needs some therapy before he meets his parents again, and I like the drama of Nie Huaisang having to spend the summer in Gusu while his (still living!) brother is back home…with MENG YAO still a trusted aid!

Jiang Cheng is conflicted because his brother is his brother, right there, 16 and carefree and concerned because Jiang Cheng is staring at him and it’s freaking out and he’s beginning to “worry, Jiang Cheng, do you need to visit the infirmary?”

His core is his own, weaker than it was the night before, but stronger than he remembers and *familiar* which makes him wonder if he was as weak as he thought he had been. He then stops thinking that way, because it raises more questions that he’s not ready to face yet.

He knows Jin Ling doesn’t exist yet, and his hand feels *bare* without Zidain, but if he doesn’t have it, it’s because his mother *does* and that means Lotus Pier hasn’t burned, they haven’t fallen to war and *A-Jie is alive!* and he had grieved for all of them, moved on, but none of that matters when she’s sleeping in the girl’s dormitory!

Nie Huaisang wakes and *screams* into his pillow because he had *passed* these courses, damnit, was this his punishment for the lengths he went to avenge his brother? Then, of course, he realizes the that not only is Mingjue alive, but (since this is CQL canon), Meng Yao is *right there.* He didn’t even have a full day to process everything he’d done, and here the universe was, throwing Meng Yao in his face, and one that had not yet done any of the terrible things that eventually lead to his downfall. 

It doesn’t take long for him to adapt, thinking “well, I wanted a new project.”

He is nearly late to class because he’s caught up in his initial scheming – there isn’t much he can do while stuck in Gusu, but he can begin building a network, making connections…

I want a moment later when Jiang Cheng is concerned that the scheming isn’t actually good for Nie Huaisang because it’s not giving him a chance to process anything, but the plan will also hopefully keep Jiang Cheng’s family alive, so he’s not going to look too closely at that. He’ll be there to help Nie Huaisang pick up the pieces, after. He was *good* at rebuilding, after all.

Nie Huaisang meets with Jiang Cheng an Wei Wuxian, slipping easily back into the role of his flighty teenage self, but lets the mask slip when he sees Jiang Wanyin watching from behind Jiang Cheng’s eyes. He’s not surprised when Jiang Cheng corners him after Wei Wuxian is dragged off by Lan Wangji for punishment. 

Obligatory observation of how oblivious they all were to WangXian’s whole deal, with a side of “man everyone is so damned young. We were children!” 

They disappear into the backwoods to talk away from possible prying ears and agree to do what they can to make things better. This will, later on, be something cited to convince people (perhaps even themselves) that they were dating for longer than they realized. 

Jiang Cheng has a moment’s doubt about taking a more active role in Nie Huaisang’s plotting because he has a tendency to break delicate things, but then Nie Huaisang points out that he didn’t break Lotus Pier (not delicate) or Jin Ling (debatable, he’s as angry as I am), and Nie Huaisang trusts him, so he can trust himself. (which may be the moment when Nie Huaisang realizes Jiang Cheng’s desperate need for validation. This absolutely gets brought back during sex becuase Jiang Cheng’s praise king is visible from *space*)

Nie Huaisang rolls out the broad strokes of his plan, and Jiang Cheng is appalled that it will take years. “Wanyin, I waited ten years to kill one man that I knew personally. This is a *lot more complicated*”

Jiang Cheng agrees to it, because of course he does, but also because there really isn’t much they can do right now (Because Jiang Cheng doesn’t view “making connections” as a *thing* to be done. It’s something that happens or doesn’t. Nie Huaisang looks very sad when he admits that, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t quite understand why).

This means, of course, that they have an excuse, nay, a *reason* to act like the teenagers they *look* like rather than the grown men they *are.*

“You were an old man when we were teenagers the first time, Wanyin. You know what’s coming. All the more reason to have fun *now*” 

“What’s coming is why I – and you – need to train. Don’t make that face at me. I’m not your brother, those puppy eyes won’t save you. I said don’t-- *sigh* fine!”

The plan is, of course, to unite the heirs of the sects as best they can to give Nie Huaisang connections he can manipulate later for information, moves, etc. Which means making real friends. Which means befriending Jin Zixuan. Lan Wangji (with bonus get-WangXian-together-now-because-13-years-of-pining-was-painful-to-witness). And Wen Qing/Wen Ning. I’m also going to include MianMian and Jiang Yanli because there needs to be more  girls in this story. Girls who *live*

There could be some drama of the “does Jiang Cheng like Wen Qing??” variety, but I think that’s mostly something the others speculate on. I think by this point in his life, he likes Nie Huaisang more. Wen Qing is okay with this, as I stan lesbian Wen Qing.

During this time, they begin an actualfax friend group.

Wen Ning blossoms with friends his own age. This goes a long way with bringing Wen Qing to their side, and will lead the way to her going to Nie Huaisang for help later rather than Wei Wuxian. He’s smart and wise, just shy

Jiang Cheng looks at Jin Zixuan and realizes that the boy is a lot like Jin Ling in that, being raised in Koi Tower means that he doesn’t actually know how to person – it’s all artifice. He realizes that Jin Zixuan’s disdain about his A-Jie has actually nothing to do with her personally, and he’s mostly terrified/angry about an arranged marriage and doesn’t want to become his father. Behind the front, he’s actually romantic and thoughtlessly kind when he’s allowed to be, just a little dim/sheltered

“Why Is He Here” (Tumblr | AO3) 

Jin Zixuan knows about Meng Yao – it caused an argument big enough for him to finally notice, and tells them that he’d like a brother – and it’s so wistful that it has Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian looking at each other, and Nie Huaisang contemplating adjusting his plans to *rehabilitate* rather than *kill* Meng Yao. He’d killed him once, after all, and it didn’t feel exactly like he’d expected it to

Jin Zixuan does not know about Mo Xanyu, who had just been born. Nie Huaisang basically tells him (where there’s one, there’s many) and Jin Zixuan is officially looking so he can offer assistance. 

Lan Wangji is clearly sublimating his epic boner for Wei Wuxian into anger/self-flagellation, and for the first time since he was a child, he’s questioning the rules and it’s not a comfortable process (hence following it more severely in self-defense). He doesn’t know how to bend the way Lan Xichen doesm and the subject of his gay awakening is *oblivious.* Still, once he’s nudged in the right direction (and Wei Wuxian is hit by a clue-by-four) he does begin to walk that single-plank bridge with Wei Wuxian, he shows a very critical view of blindly following orders (what is black, what is white?), a bitchy/wicked sense of humor, and a softness for fluffy things. In other words, we get a Lan Wangji more willing to buck convention earlier in life. 

Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng also spend time together – at first it was because of planning/being the only adults in their group, but then it was because they really, actually like each other. They begin “dating” without quite realizing it – studying together, painting and poetry and fashion (look at JC’s clothing, he’s as much of a clothes horse as Nie Huaisang. I want them to go shopping together, wearing jewelry and lacquered nails. Bonus points for Jiang Cheng in makeup, even if it’s just because Nie Huaisang wants to paint him), sparring (Nie Huaisang has to basically relearn how to fight with his fans as he picked it up later in life) – but also kissing.

Like lots of kissing. A lot of it is surprisingly chaste because I’m keeping the whole “savor your childhood” thing, but I think once they cross back over into mutual orgasms, that tends to take lead. 

This includes praise kink, service top!Huaisang, power bottom!Jiang Cheng, topping from the bottom (Huaisang). Why? Because Jiang Cheng needs to let go and Nie Huaisang needs to have control.

I also like “weak for a Nie” Huaisang, so there might be some of that surprising!strength. 

Wei Wuxian clearly finds out (about the kissing), but it leads to them being an authority he actually listens to when they tell him “you want to bug Lan Wangji so much because you want to kiss his face.” (so, When Lan Wangji listens to Jiang Cheng and flirts back rather than getting angry – WangXian may actually fuck in the library)

This means, of course, that Wei Wuxian doesn’t punch Jin Zixuan and get sent home. This means the engagement stays (and may get pushed forward because of the looming war). This means Lanling Jin is better allied with Yunmeng Jiang and (at the will of the first Madame Jin) the Jins will march if Lotus Pier is attacked.

Of course, Wangxian are hardly discrete. They are found out and *WANGJI ADMITS THAT THEY’RE ALREADY MARRIED* because they still wind up in the Cold Pond Cave. Even Nie Huaisang is taken by surprise as that’s not something that ever went public. (This has the benefit of also putting the Yin Iron into play because action plot!). This leads to the announcement of Wangji’s public wedding to Wei Wuxian at the end of summer, which means Jiang Fengman (and Yanli) arrive not to take Wei Wuxian home but to negotiate the marriage contract.

This brings the Clan Heads together (all but the Wens – Wen Qing is already there, after all, and the Wens are less concerned with keeping up appearances.)

Nie Mingjue brings back Meng Yao, which means Jin Zixuan sees when their father snubs him, so Jin Zixuan steps up and makes an overture of friendship. For the few weeks that they’re there, Meng Yao is brought into the friend group (Jiang Cheng always forgot they were about the same age) which limits his exposure to Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen is fine with this because it means he gets Nie Mingjue all to himself. That’s right – this is also a Nielan fic. Boom.

Meng Yao has already been snubbed, and is desperate to prove himself (and failing that, make Jin Guangshan eat it), but he’s taken aback by Jin Zixuan’s earnestness. He’s also not yet released Xue Yang – the wedding interrupted those plans. 

Nie Huaisang all but throws himself at Nie Mingjue, who is a bit confused because Nie Huaisang *passed* Lan Qiren’s lessons, so there’s no reason for him to act a fool. (He hugs him tightly anyway. He’s his baby brother, after all.)

Nie Huaisang teases Nie Mingjue about Lan Xichen (he’s going to encourage that relationship) and introduces him to Wen Qing (which goes less well, but it is a wedding and Mingjue is in a good mood. It helps that they bond being older siblings).

Before they leave, Mingjue asks Huaisang if he should be sending a formal proposal to Jiang Cheng Lotus Pier on Huaisang’s behalf. Huaisang is shocked that Mingjue would even consider such an outrageous— “besides, Wanyin is to be sect leader, Da-ge. The proposal should come from him!”

(Part 2) (Part 3)

[punkbuttt]

I may be just shouting into a void right now, but I’m very much not ok. I know no one is and no one has been for a very long time, but I just need to talk about it in a judgement free zone and I have basically no followers here or anyone that pays any attention so this feels safe.

I grew up in a small town. Very sheltered and conservative. There wasn’t anything around except for grocery stores, fast food chains, one movie theater that popped up when I was 16. To be very clear I grew up in Amish country. Everyone was white. I can recall maybe three students of color in my schools from kindergarten to senior year. I never really paid much attention to politics until maybe my senior year of high school. And even then, I didn’t really give it too much thought. We as a family never talked about politics. My parents are very religious so I have very clear memories of going to mass, CCD, first communion, confirmation. But we never talked politics.

I was a freshman in college when Obama was elected. I very much remember my mom asking if I had gotten an absentee ballot, since this would be my first election and I had just moved out of my home town but hadn’t been able to change my address before moving. I had gotten it, and my mom asked me who I voted for, so I answered Obama and she was shocked. That was when I first realized we were not on the same page when it came to politics.

The first time I can really remember getting into an argument over politics was right after Michael Brown was killed. My mom and I got into it over how Michael Brown didn’t actually attack that cop (won’t use his name) and my mo believes deadly force was justified. Then of course we had multiple arguments when Trump was elected. And I was getting so much blow back from so many family members for going on Facebook and saying “America was never great”. I got phone calls, Facebook messages, texts, and at one point my aunt cornered me at my parents house to tel me how wrong I was and ask me if I was a lesbian. And obviously this year, I got the same treatment once the BLM protests began. I’m very vocal about my support of the movement and again, I received much criticism from my family for it.

But the one person I never really heard from was my dad. It was mostly two of aunts and my mom who would confront me about political views. But my dad never did. Like I’be always known he shared the same views as my mom, I just always thought that it never mattered to him as much. But recently I’ve realized how wrong I was.

At one point this past September I think, a good amount of black owned business owners, mostly women, received very threatening emails saying that their businesses would be burned to the ground and the owner would be horribly murdered and worse. I posted a link to an article about it, saying that we should show these businesses a little extra support. My dad takes so much offense to this, that he sends his first ever Facebook message to me saying that “while it’s sad that this happened, other businesses are suffering too that are owned by whites, Asians and Latinos” so we get into it through Facebook about that. Then, my brother texts me a picture of my dad learning how to shoot a handgun at a shooting range and my brother says he’s feeling really uncomfortable about it. My dad also has a book on how to use a handgun. He’s never really expressed any interest about learning how to shoot, at least to me. My mom seemed very surprised by it too. My dad also bought 2 months worth of MREs to “prepare for the government comes after us” He won’t watch Fox News anymore. I’m not sure what was the last straw, but it’s scary to think that Fox News isn’t conservative enough for him. Now he only listens to talk radio. People like Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity. And watches their stuff online too. To a point where if he has to leave the room, he puts whatever program on his phone so his viewing/listening won’t be interrupted. And he also believe that the pandemic isn’t serious, that businesses should be allowed to stay open and that our constitutional rights are being infringed upon, so much so that he gave all of us pocket sized constitutions to refer to when “they” come for us. He’s not really an anti maskers because I know he doesn’t fight anyone when going to the grocery store or anything, but as soon as he’s out of the door, he all but rips the mask off his face. And he (nor my mom for that matter) seem to care much about the fact that my coworker and two of my friends’ parents have died from Covid.

And now, he’s posting things on his Facebook (which he used to never do! He would only every like or comment on his children’s photos!) In defense of Trump. He posted a video that claims trump asked the terrorists to go home and that the media will never let anyone see it. But trump made that video hours after that rally. And he fully believes the election was rigged. Part of me is wondering if he had the chance, would he have gone to DC today? Would he have been there? It just seems very likely to me and it’s just... devastating.

The point of this whole post is to say that I’m afraid my dad is beyond reason. I was talking to my sister today and she’s ready to cut him off. I’m not ready for that but I feel like I may have to. He’s defending terrorists. How can he not see that? I love my parents so much, and they’ve done so much for me, and I know that they’re good people. But they’re sheltered. They grew up in a white, small towns and then chose to live and raise a family in another very white and small town. They don’t travel. They’ve only been out of the country twice and both times it was just to Niagara Falls. I could have easily gone the same route but I’m so grateful that I managed not to. It would have been very easy.

I feel very alone right now. I live alone, in a city that even before the pandemic my family didn’t really want to come visit me in. And the pandemic has made it worse, but knowing that my dad and possibly my mom are this far gone just really make me feel so isolated. Like I said my sister wants to cut my dad off, but it’s easy for her because she’s married. So is my brother. They have their spouses and in laws at least. I don’t have that. I have friends yeah but that’s just different. I don’t really know how to describe that difference though. I still miss my family. I still want to see them for the holidays and birthdays. But it’s so hard to go home now. I feel like I can’t even call my parents’ house home anymore. It feels tainted.

If anyone has read this, and made it this far, and is experiencing or has experienced something similar, I hope we can talk. I don’t know anyone who is at this point so I just feel even more alone. I don’t think anyone I know really understands how I’m feeling. And if you can relate, I’m sorry. This sucks. So much. So so so much. I know not everyone has a great relationship with their parents, and while I wouldn’t said me and my parents were BFFs, I know that they love me and want the best for me and would do anything for me. But I can’t take their borderline extremist conservativeness anymore. It just goes against everything that they raised me to be.

All of this is to say I’m just really fucking sad and I don’t know what to do about it.

[nicostolemybones]

Amber Valentine

Tw: minor character deaths (referenced), mentions of homophobia, ambiguous rejection (purposely left unanswered so the reader can choose which they want it to be)

Nico woke up. Nico didn't like that. He tried to sleep again but no, sleep was impossible, because today was a bad day and his brain hated him. He wanted compensation from life for waking him up today, on Valentine's day of all days.

He huffed, dreading the day more and more as the heavy weightlessness of sleep left his bones to be replaced with a dull ache. He didn't have the strength to get out of bed yet, and to be quite honest, he didn't really want to. 

So he opted to angrily stare at the ceiling like it personally offended him. The one time he wakes up before breakfast, and it's on the one day he wishes some kid would whack him round the head and put him in a coma for the day. He bet Will was already out on his morning run. He'd wake at the ass crack of dawn like a heathen and exercise like a heathen and glow like it didn't fucking give everyone a headache like a heathen.

But he was cute, so Nico forgave him.

Cute didn't really describe it. Will was a beautiful. Nico wondered what it would be like to wake up in the morning to the sight of Will sleeping beside him. He could imagine it- Will laying on his stomach with his head on his arms, golden blond hair fanning out onto the pillow, his skin glowing softly in the morning light. Nico wondered if Will had freckles on his back too, and if Will would let him paint them, like angel wings and constellations.

Stupid cute boy making him have emotions this early in the goddamn morning on the worst day of his life. Should be illegal. Nico forced himself out of bed and prepared for the day before opening the door- and the offending boy was stood nervously on his doorstep, freckles glowing a light yellow whilst his skin glowed soft amber. He had such a pretty smile and pretty eyes and Nico absolutely despised him for being so cute and making him blush in public by being so goddamn cute. 

"What do you want Solace? You see the sky? You see that giant orb of radiation and death? Yeah? Well that means it's way too fucking early to be awake."

"Nice to see our resident vampire is already in full brooding mode! That must mean you're awake enough for a hug!" Will beamed, and gods Nico couldn't breathe because… holy shit. His smile was so beautiful and he was glowing sunrise yellow and he had dimples okay and his nose was scrunched and Nico forgot how to breathe. He was so pretty.

"Don't you dare, Solace!"

"But hugs," Will pouted, his glow slowly turning sunset yellow as Nico tried to resist. Nico couldn't resist because his boyfriend looked like a kicked puppy and he gave good hugs. 

"Okay, fine, hugs," Nico relented with a sigh. Will's glow was back in full force, sunrise yellow with a warm amber undertone, and he was practically throwing himself at Nico, wrapping him up in a warm hug. Fuck, Nico was gonna die like this and go to Elysium, he couldn't function because the cute bastard was hugging him and he was warm and he smelled gorgeous, like lemons and antiseptic and cinnamon and sandalwood and sunshine and sweat and boy. Then Nico realised he hadn't been hugging back- he could tell by the way the heat from Will's glow changed slightly, nervous heat, that he was shifting back into a sunset hue, and that kickstarted Nico's brain to hug back, and Will's warmth grew comforting again. 

Nico didn't want Will to ever let go.

If he was honest, he was kinda touch starved. He may have been touch averse, but that didn't mean he didn't need affection from time to time, and Will's hugs made him feel safe and sentimental and fuzzy. And Will was taller than him so his face was met with a wall of muscle and fuck Nico could die because that was his man and he was a fucking snack. Between feeling sentimental and flustered, Nico felt overwhelmed- the touch starved side of him wanted to cry and the teenage side of him practically wanted to consume Will and the conflicting emotions were too much for him to process at once. 

He reluctantly let go, noticing Will's hesitation in the way his arms twitched as he let go, like his body didn't want to let go and Will had to fight it. Nico wanted to hug him again, but he knew if he hugged Will again he'd grow deeply uncomfortable and want to rip his flesh off. Sometimes physical contact was like that feeling when a bug flies into your face and you can still feel it twenty minutes after it's flew away. But ten times more intense and distressing to the point it made Nico want to scream and cry and rip his face off, but apparently, that isn't what physical contact felt like and Nico was being over dramatic so naturally everybody would pull him into hugs or headlocks and Nico would freeze or bolt. Except for Will. Will may have been very huggy, but he never tried to force Nico into physical contact. He didn't question it if Nico pushed him away sometimes and he didn't take it personally. 

"So uh…" Will began, his freckles a nervous pale amber, which Nico knew meant he was anxious. He didn't finish his sentence, picking at the bandage around his hand instead. 

"It's Valentine's day," Nico said quietly, and Will nodded awkwardly. 

"Yeah…"

"I already told you, I won't celebrate it."

"I know," Will said quickly, and the amber of his freckles was almost a dark chocolate gold, "I wanted to talk. Can we- can we go somewhere?" He looked just about ready to cry, and Nico's concern was able to quickly override his aversion to being seen. 

"You look terrified," Nico noted, and Will nodded, not moving. Nico started to walk, and Will followed him. Nico could feel the heat radiating off him, so Nico walked him to a far spot through the forest- walking helped anxiety by tricking your brain into thinking you were running away- fight or flight. And for a short while, Will seemed less anxious, but the closer they got to their favourite talking spot, the darker Will's glow got until he was a dark sunset orange. Sunrise colours were good- sunset ones were worrying. "Will?"

"I really wanna tell you something but I never talk about it and I'm scared to talk about it because I like running away from my feelings and I need to talk about it and I trust you the most to understand how I feel so can we talk about it?"

"Of course," Nico said gently, guiding Will to sit down. He looked on the verge of tears.

"I hate Valentine's day," Will said quietly, "I hate it so much."

"Glad we're on the same page," Nico said quietly, and he knew that Will would catch his meaning: I'll understand, you can tell me anything.

"You already know I'm from Austin, right? Well I come from a super nice area, y'know? My school had a gsa and the local church I went to as a kid was super accepting and had rainbow flags and funded a shelter for lgbt youths. My grandma was a lesbian and her wife made me my very first punk jacket when I was six. So uh… I grew up in a super nice place. So I knew quite young that I weren't straight, you know? I hadn't really had crushes yet but I remember we all used to play kiss chase at recess and I always wanted to kiss the girls and the boys. So I knew I wasn't straight. And I came out to my mom on Valentine's day because young me was making Valentine's day cards for all the boys in my class. Except for John. He was a cunt. I didn't like John. But anyways um- I ran downstairs and I yelled at the top of my lungs 'mama I'm gay!' And she looked really awkward and just replied 'that's nice, honey,' and I thought maybe she thought I was joking so I was like- 'no mama, I wanna kiss all the boys and all the girls,'- I didn't know what bi was, by the way- and she just gave me this really awkward look and said we'd talk about it later, and then she went to hang the washing. I didn't know if she was awkward because she didn't accept me or just the way I came out, and I still don't know and-..."

"Will?" He was crying by now, a sunset red undertone to his sunset amber glow, pushing the ball of his palms into his eyes to try and stop the tears.

"I never got to ask if she was okay with me being gay because a few minutes later I heard scary noises so I hid under the kitchen table and the scary noises sounded like a really big lion and I heard mama scream so I went out and I screamed because she was dead and bleeding and eaten and then it tried to eat me too but a goat man grabbed me and ran and took me to camp, and that's why I'm an all year round camper…"

"Will…" Nico began gently, before reaching out and holding him in a strong hug. "I wish I could tell you if your mom accepted you or not… and I wish I could make all your pain go away…"

"I always thought mama got killed because of me. Because if I didn't say I was gay she wouldn't have gone outside. So I didn't wanna tell anyone I liked boys ever in case they died, and I spent all these years so sure that she rejected me that day because she looked uncomfortable and sad and I felt like nobody loved me if my mama didn't love me and Valentine's day reminds me of all that and… it hurts… rejection hurts..."

"How long have you been holding all that in for," Nico asked softly, rubbing comforting circles on his back and gently carding his fingers through his hair. Will's hair was dry and floofy but it never seemed to knot. 

"Since forever," Will sniffled, "and I felt bad because I could never celebrate Valentine's day without being real sad and thinking about rejection."

"Please don't feel bad," Nico said softly, "it's okay. We never have to celebrate it, it reminds you of your trauma."

"I didn't think anyone would understand…"

"My mom died too," Nico said quietly, pulling away from Will so he wouldn't overwhelm himself too much. "I watched her die too. But it wasn't a monster, it was Zeus."

"I- I didn't know, I'm so sorry," Will whispered, and Nico shook his head.

"I lost a sister about two days before Christmas. Bianca. Which is why I got upset when you wanted me to wear the Christmas jumper. But- my point is I understand how it can ruin a holiday, and I want you to know that I understand, and you're not alone because I relate."

"I'm sorry," Will said quietly, "I'm really sorry." Will moved to hug Nico, but Nico gently pushed him away. As usual, Will didn't protest or try again.

"I hate Valentine's day because I was outed," Nico began after a deep breath. Will's glow was sunset orange and yellow with concern. "I was outed by Eros to Jason. I had a crush on Percy in the past, and Eros made me tell him. Jason, I mean. He shot me with an arrow and everything. I wasn't ready to come out- I hadn't accepted myself yet. I wasn't comfortable. When I was a kid being gay would have got me killed. And after Eros made me come out it felt like suddenly everyone knew. And I even accidentally outed myself to an entire Roman Legion thingy. Then when you made me come to the infirmary I felt obliged to tell Percy. All my life I'd seen myself as creepy, and everyone else thought I was creepy, so I felt like I had to tell him. Like he had a right to know. I still wasn't okay with myself and I didn't want anybody to know, and I still struggle sometimes with internalised homophobia. Or at least a fear of being outed or being seen or being attacked. I can't handle hearing slurs or judging looks or bigoted preachers without breaking down in tears because I didn't ask for this and it feels like I'm constantly being punished when I didn't even do anything wrong. I'll just be minding my own business and some asshole tries to ruin it, because somehow, people just know."

"I understand that," Will said softly, but Nico felt scared- Will had an angry sunset red undertone to a near white yellow sunset glow. He thought Will was mad at him for being a coward. "I'm gonna smash every last Cupid statue and heart card I see dotted around camp. You shouldn't have to have your triggers and your trauma shoved in your face any day."

"Will don't," Nico said softly, reaching for Will's hand, and a sunrise orange began to seep through the darker undertones, like he was trying to reassure Nico that it was alright. "They don't know, and I don't want to ruin their day. I was gonna stay in my cabin, but… I'm glad I'm out here with you. I feel safe here with you."

"I feel safe with you too," Will said softly, and his glow radiated a warm sunrise amber with yellow undertones- fondness, golden. 

"Maybe we should reclaim Valentine's day," Nico said quietly. "Make it ours. As a fuck you to all our trauma, y'know? Avoid all the traditions and just snog the fuck out of each other until we both turn blue then do whatever the fuck we want. We have each other now."

"So… celebrate Valentine's day to spite Valentine's day by making it our own? Not romantic, just spite?" Will seemed amused, a thin smile on his lips making one of his dimples prominent where the corner of his mouth turned upwards to form a lopsided smile. 

"I'm powered by spite and I'm tiny so yeah," Nico replied, bumping shoulders with Will. "Hey… maybe one day when you're ready for answers, I can summon your mom," he suggested gently.

"Maybe," Will replied softly, "I love you."

"Ti amo."

So they kissed, and they kissed until Will's glow was golden and bright and encompassing Nico in warm rays, and the shadows were dancing around Nico and holding Will close. They kissed until they felt fuzzy and hot, and they kissed until things would have got real awkward if they would have continued. When they pulled apart, Will's cheeks were a ruddy pink to the tips of his ears and blotchy, and Nico was sure he was puce. Fuck Cupid and fuck manticores too. Nothing could take this love away from them.

[marvinswriting]

Meeting  borrower art freaks au

Fuck.

My head hurt so bad.

The world was spinning.

I'm gonna die.

I know that much.

I think I sprained my ankle.

I'm not stupid. Weeks without water, proper food, or shelter doesn't bode well. 

Has it even been weeks?

Maybe its only been days.

I don't know anymore.

"Janis, while you were borrowing we came to a conclusion."

"What conclusion, Regina? Did I do something wrong?"

I laugh bitterly to myself at the memory. It was slowly becoming day as I pushed myself through the tall grass. A new day, with the sky turning beautiful blues with some pink far off. Just like the day my roommates kicked me out.

"We think you're a lesbian. We can't live with a lesbian. What if you do something?"

That accusation made me feel dirty. I'm twelve, why would I even think of something like that? It didn't matter to Regina. 

"Gretchen and Karen agree. You need to leave. It shouldn't be too hard to find a new house."

Regina was my childhood friend. We were taught how to borrow together. Everything I learned Regina learned too. We found Karen and Gretchen together, we picked a house to live in together. I've never been alone before.

Until now. 

My stomach growls, it feels like its caving in on itself. 

My throat is dry but I know better than to drink from the dew on the grass. 

I'm following a fence. Don't know how long I've been but I am.

I need to lean on the white painted wood to walk.

My movement is sluggish and my limbs are heavy. 

My ankle is killing me.

Birds fly overhead and I freeze. If one of them were to swoop down I'd be done for. 

I don't have the weapons to fight back, let alone the energy. 

The fence ends.

Where do I go now?

There are two houses. Neither looks appealing. Besides, how would I find a way in?

Regina and I got lucky last time.

I'm out of house hunting practice.

I just want to lay down.

The word sways again. I'm gonna die.

I know a lot of borrowers don't live till old age. But I always thought I'd at least make it to my teenage years.

The sky is total blue at this point. The night time creatures are gone for the night but I don't feel safer.

There's a willow tree in front of me, I don't see it through the grass but its flower clumps are scattered around. 

Are they edible?

I don't test it.

Maybe it'd be easier to just give in to the exhaustion.

To fall asleep and not wake up.

Maybe an animal will find me. 

Maybe a human will and I'll be an internet craze for a bit as people try and debate what I am.

I push a clump of grass to the side. The tree.

It's huge, as most things are to me. I look up, ignoring the way the world spins, at the trunk that seems to go up for miles. There's moss at the base of the tree, in between the roots. 

I give into the exhaustion and sit down. It's soft. 

I lay on my side letting my eyes close.

I've reached the point of fatigue where my eyes burn when I close them. I squeeze them shut anyway. 

My body seems to catch onto the fact that I've given up.

Everything is numb, I don't even feel my ankle anymore.

"I'm sorry this had to happen, Janis."

No, you weren't, Regina. My health was never your priority. 

My limbs feel heavy as the need for sleep sets in. 

The rustling of plants around me is almost calming.

My brain is no longer worried about what caused the noise, or what potential danger I could be in. 

The calm I felt should be worrying. 

It wasn't.

There were footsteps. Not heavy ones like humans. Like a borrower.

Oh cool. I feel like that should connect in my brain, warn me of danger, tell me to get up and fight, but it doesn't. I don't have anything world stealing. If they want to kill me, they can.

The footsteps seem to walk past before halting. "Hello?"

Its a boy. He sounds young. Maybe my age. 

I don't respond. 

I don't even move.

"Are you okay?"

No.

I don't say it though.

I don't want to de, I've just accepted the fact. 

I'm alone. My roommates kicked me out. My childhood best friend though I was a creep who would do something. Just the thought of the memory makes me curl in on myself tight.

The movement from me is all mystery boy needs to know I'm alive.

"Do you need help?"

He's walking closer.

I don't respond.

I can feel myself drifting into sleep. I don't think I could move if I tried. 

There's a muffled hello?

Is this what dying feels like?

It's peaceful. 

Arms are scooping underneath me, lifting me up. 

I can't fight it.

I don't try to.

The boy is warm. 

I'm cold.

This feels nice.

-

The first continuous thought I have is, I'm not fucking dead.

Too much pain to feel dead. Everything is sore. My head hurts.

My eyes are still shut.

I don't try and open them yet.

I try and remember what the fuck was going on.

Regina cut me out.

She made it clear I wasn't wanted.

I was left for dead.

That boy-

I sit up suddenly, my hand shooting to my head in a vain was to stop the world from spinning. I was in a bedroom. The matchbox underneath me was soft and the room looked decently lived in. 

Was I- in the boy's house?

Did he save me?

He didn't have to. 

"Hello?" I called out tentatively.

My voice sounded as awful as I felt. I froze, listening. Footsteps approached the room as a boy with brown hair stepped in. He looked my age, maybe older. 

"You're awake." He states. It's not a question but there's disbelief in his voice like he unsure it'd happen. "I'm Damian."

"Janis." I say, watching Damian hoover in the doorway. Was he scared of me? Or did he not want to scare me?

"You were unconscious for just under a week," Damian explains stepping into the room. "It's about eleven at night right now, sixth day."

Six days?

No wonder he was surprised to see me awake.

"Oh," I say softly. We kinda just glance at each other for a while. Damian's hair falls slightly over his eyes. His clothes look well taken care of, which is a sign of living pretty well as a borrower. I used to look like that. I probably look like a fucking mess now.

Damian coughed awkwardly. "Well, I gotta go borrow now. I'll make it quick but in the meantime feel free to explore around the area. I'd stick close with that ankle of yours though."

That ankle?

I watch as Damian leaves without waiting for a response. It's quiet for a while, and I just lay there.

Why did Damian make sure I was okay? 

He could have just walked away and let me die.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and I'm instantly reminded why Damian mentioned my ankle. 

I hiss, immediately lifting the pressure off it. 

It's banged which- it definitely wasn't before.

I only knew this boy for five minutes but- if he didn't have good intentions- then why go through all this to make sure I'm okay?

I leave the bedroom, using the wall to support the other half of my weight.

Damian is right, I don't make it far before collapsing on a chair in what looks to be the kitchen/storage area. I was still concerned about Damian's motives, but I wasn't exactly nervous. 

Why not just leave me for death if you don't care.

I sit in silence for a while, the sounds outside the walls and occasional creak keeping me company.

It's been a while since I've been inside. Damian's space was about the same size as my old one. But he lived alone and I lived with four other girls. 

"I'm back!" A voice calls.

"In here," I say. I can talk easier now.

Damian enters the room. "Ankle okay? I didn't want to mess with it too much before you woke up. It felt weird to like-" He turns up is palms but I get what he's saying.

I was unconscious and he was a stranger.

"Thank you," I say softly. 

Damian nods and begins unpacking his supplies. "Ever since I've found you, I've had one question. What happened to you? You're clearly dressed as you lived comfortably. So how do you end up on the verge of death at the base of a weeping willow?"

I shrug. A total stranger doesn't need my sob story. I can tell him later if it comes to it. "Long story short, I was house hunting. Roommates decided they didn't need roommates anymore. After almost a year together. It was sudden and I wasn't prepared to be outside with no food or water."

Damian's mouth forms an 'o' but he doesn't say anything. He silently passes me what I think is part of a grape from where he was cutting food. "Well, if you want- and feel free to say no, you can stick around here for a while. At least till that ankle heals. I wouldn't mind a roommate, it gets quiet around here. Even if it's temporary."

"Until my ankle heals." I agree.

-

I smile at the newly placed bed. 

After four months of carefully dancing around the topic of if I'll be staying, Damian and I finally agreed to officially be roommates. I bounce on my toes, ankle fully healed, as Damian pushes the matchbox into place.

"Ta-da!"

"Yes!" I cross the room, throwing my arms around his neck. "Thank you."

Damian ug me back, his arms squeezing around my sides. "Of course. I'm glad to officially have a new roommate."

Even in four months, Damian has shown me more love and support then Regina had done since birth. The second my ankle was healed we started borrowing together. The arguments and tension I had borrowing with my old roommates was gone.

Damian could do a simple wave of his hand and I knew exactly what he meant.

I hug him tighter. "No, really. Thank you."

fun fact: i was writing this while giving bear ides for her most recent fic @realmisspolarbear @smallsoysauce @musicallygt @sourishlemons

[saltybaltic]

Natasha Romanoff X Reader - GETTING SERIOUS

Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow X FemReader Fanfic

Synopsis: After dating Natasha for a while now, you suggest maybe it’s time you got a pet together.

Warnings: Language

Words: 547

So this was written for @wxntersoldiers writing challenge using the prompt “Adopting a pet with the love of your life”. Congrats on 5k, and thanks for letting me participate. Any opportunity to write a shameless soft Nat fic tbh. Hope you all enjoy this ✌️❤️

“No.”

“But Nat ...”

Natasha rolled her eyes and chuckled quietly at your whining tone, “Never mind the puppy dog eyes and the ‘but Nat’, you know we don’t have the time for a dog.”

“We so do have time.”

“When?” Asked Natasha, looking up from her plate and sliding a mouthful of food from her fork, “I already have to get up at sunrise every morning and I work all day. Now you want me to walk a dog on top of that?”

“I’ll walk the dog.”

Natasha snorted, “Cause you’re so much better at looking after things. What about that plant you killed last month?”

“Trial run!” you argued, throwing your hands up in the air and staring back at your girlfriend pleadingly from your side of the kitchen table.

“We can’t get a dog babe, it’s a terrible idea.”

The way she said it told you that the arguement was over. Partly because you knew she was right and you actually didn’t have time to look after a dog. The biggest problem with dating one of the Avengers was that Natasha could be gone for days at a time and even when she was home she was always busy. Mission reports. Strategy meetings. Training sessions. So many training sessions. And even though your job might not be quite as demanding, you certainly didn’t have the time to take on the commitment alone. Unfortunately the decision had been made and there was not going to be a fluffy addition to your weird, little family.

You dropped it for a couple of weeks after that until one evening when the pair of you had a rare moment to relax. Lay across the length of the couch, Natasha had her feet in your lap as she half paid attention to the television show on the screen.

“You know what I was thinking would be cute?”

At your words Natasha turned her head to face you, an amused expression on her face as she humoured your question, “No, what were you thinking would be cute?”

“Imagine this exact scene, but, sitting on your lap is an adorable little kitten just purring away.”

Natasha sighed dramatically and threw her head back with a small laugh, “No, not this again.”

“Just picture it!” you insisted, gesturing enthusiastically to where the imaginary kitten could be, “We’d have a little cat and it would be so cool.”

Running a hand through her hair, Natasha groaned and looked back down to meet your eye. The smallest curl to her lips told you that she actually didn’t hate your idea, “We talked about this. We don’t have time to care for a pet. And I don’t see why it’s so important we have one anyway.”

“It’s not important.” you mumbled unconvincingly, looking down at her feet and running your hands gently over the top of them, “I just think it would be nice.”

Natasha leaned an elbow against the back of the couch so she could rest the side of her head against her hand and study you properly, “What’s the real reason?”

“What?” you asked, looking up from your hands to frown at her, having not been expecting her question.

“Why is this so important to you? It’s obviously not just about an animal.”

“I ...” for a brief second you considered just blurting out the first lie that came to mind, but the look on Natasha’s face told you that she wasn’t going to let this go, “Nothing about our relationship is normal.”

Reaching for the remote on the coffee table, Natasha muted the sound before throwing it down again and turning her attention back to you, “Explain.”

“Okay... look, I love our life together. I love you. I love that you do all these amazing things and what you do for a living. It’s one of the many things that made me fall in love with you and you know that. But it gets hard sometimes, Nat.”

“Right ...” for once Natasha actually sounded nervous, eyebrows already knitting together in worry at what you might say next.

“I don’t want a normal life. Our life is exciting and different and it makes me so happy. But sometimes it would be nice if we had something normal every now and again. We don’t get to take normal vacations. We can’t go on normal dates. I dread to think what kind of things are hidden in our apartment.”

Natasha pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise being with me was so difficult.”

There was no malice to her tone but you could hear that she was trying to hide her annoyance and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at the predictability of it, “Don’t do that, don’t just focus on the negatives. You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“You’re saying that dating me is a pain in the ass.”

“God, you are a pain in the ass sometimes.” you scolded, slapping her leg gently, “But dammit if I didn’t still fall madly in love with you anyway.”!

Natasha wet her lips to try and hide a smile, “I don’t want this to be hard on you. I know I have a lot of baggage.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all. I don’t mind baggage, baggage is good. Honey we’ve all got it.” you reassured, reaching up to grab one of her hands and give it a squeeze, “I just thought ... we’ve been together a while now and it could be nice to mark it with something. Maybe something that shows we plan to be together for a long time.”

“I do plan to be together for a long time.” insisted Natasha, squeezing your hand back in return, “Let me think about it.”

A sound similar to an excited squeak escaped you before you could stop it and Natasha merely smirked at your response before picking up the remote to unmute the television, her other hand remaining linked with yours.

You hadn’t expected her to make the first move but if Natasha was honest your words had gotten to her. She didn’t like that you felt like your life wasn’t normal. She’d never wanted the fact she was an Avenger to have a negative implication on your relationship and the idea that you possibly felt like you were losing out on having a normal girlfriend was something she didn’t like the thought of. So naturally she had to do something. Of course it was in the most Natasha way possible.

Walking through the door to your apartment after work, you hadn’t expected to see your girlfriend already home. She was doing a good job of hiding it but you could see there was a kind of giddy excitement to her body language and the sight made you smile.

“You’re home early.” you observed, throwing your bag down by the door and walking over to press a kiss to her lips, “And obviously have something to tell me.”

“I did something.” stated Natasha simply, fidgeting with her hands as you gave her a curious smile.

“A good something or a stupid something?” you asked, pulling off your jacket and throwing it over the back of the couch.

Natasha shrugged bashfully, “Jury’s still out.”

“Okay, now I’m worried. Cause if even you think it might be stupid, it’s gotta be bananas.”

Swatting at your arm playfully, Natasha gave you a scolding look, “Do you want your surprise or not?”

“Well I’m not sure now.” you teased.

“Fine. I guess you don’t wanna know why I’m covered in animal hair then.”

Frowning at her words, you scanned over your girlfriends appearance to see that was was telling the truth and her black jeans and tank top were in fact covered with short, light coloured hair. Your eyes widened in realisation and you had to stop yourself from getting prematurely excited, “You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what? Go to the animal shelter today and get crawled on by a bunch of needy little animals?”

“You didn’t!” you repeated, slightly louder this time as your excitement started to get the better of you.

Natasha couldn’t stop a smile, “Oh I did. And I’ll say this, it was loud.”

“Yeah, yeah yeah, cool. Why did you go there?!”

Her smile grew at your question, unsurprised by your obvious enthusiasm, “I thought about what you said a few days ago. And you were right. You should be able to have normal things and we should get to do normal stuff in our relationship.”

You went to interrupt her but she stopped you by raising her hand, pausing to make sure you would stay quiet before beckoning you to follow her with her finger as she started to walk towards your bedroom, “So the next day I rang up the local animal shelter and asked about any animals they might have that needed homes. I put in some references, I signed a few forms, I held a lot of cats and at 2pm this afternoon ...”

Natasha paused as she pushed open the door to your bedroom with a grin, “We became just another lesbian couple with a cat. Welcome to normal.”

You were torn between wrapping your arms around your girlfriend in a hug or just bolting forward to get a proper look at the small, black cat that was curled up on the foot of the bed. Eventually you decided on the latter, dashing forward and squatting down by the mattress as she stroked a thumb over the top of his head, “What’s his name?”

Natasha shrugged, “I figured we could pick a new one. He’s only a kitten.”

“He’s amazing..”

Heart warming at the sight of how pleased you looked, Natasha walked further into the room and sat down gently at the foot of the bed next to the cat, “You’re happy?”

“So happy.” you answered, looking up at the other woman with a fond smile, “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” chuckled Natasha, reaching forward to play with a strand of your hair, “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

“I know that, Nat.” you insisted, resting a hand on her thigh, “And I don’t want you to worry ... I love you and I knew what I was getting myself in for. I wouldn’t change anything, I promise.”

“Good.” answered Natasha, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips with a grin, “Because the adoption fee is none refundable so we’re stuck with him.”

You laughed, “Like I’d let you take him away! He’s mine.”

“I think you’ll find he’s ours.” teased Natasha.

With a laugh, you stood from your crouched position so you were able to reach forward and kiss her, a wide smile on your face at her words, “Even better.”

[theresnourieandme]

Him and I.

Buffy stopped suddenly. Her sneakers stopped creaking on the wet sidewalk chalk, and the headphones slipped from her ears, clanging against the pink jersey.

She couldn't believe her eyes. Cyrus, who for a few days had been behaving in a rather strange way – all too strange, if it was Cyrus Goodman – was now quietly sitting on the swing. He would write something on the phone, and then, at some point, he would look around, maybe looking for someone.

When a blonde who Buffy didn't recognize approached him, Cyrus stopped swinging, stood up, approached him with a smile, and threw himself into his open arms. Buffy was even more surprised when Cyrus raised his head and stood on his tip toes to kiss the boy.

"W-what?" she whispered to herself. By now the distance she had self-imposed to reach in that small training had totally lost importance. She decided to hide behind one of those flowerbeds on the side of the road, from which she could see the two very well, who continued to make out without shame, while a woman with a little girl a little further was looking at them quite badly.

So... Cyrus had a boyfriend? Buffy just couldn't understand why he didn't tell his best friends. They said everything to each other, didn't they? Andi had told them about Jonah, Walker, and even Amber. And Buffy about Walker, who then refused badly. Anyway, Cyrus told them about his crush on Jonah, too. But this? This was totally another speech. Cyrus Goodman, who hadn't even come-out to his own parents, was kissing a boy in public. It was like discovering that a civilization that had just invented the wheel was building a steam locomotive.

But what baffled her was not so much the fact that Cyrus had a boyfriend, but that he didn't tell her. They had known each other for a long time – for ten years and ten months – and they said everything to each other, even the least relevant things. How could he hide this from her and Andi? After all they had gone through together, after all the laughter and sad moments. How could he? She felt betrayed, that's all. Like Cyrus preferred someone else over the two of them. And maybe he did.

Buffy didn't break down and tried to quell the tears that wanted to get out at all costs. Crying was a stupid thing, and it certainly wouldn't fix anything at that time.

Now Cyrus and that mysterious guy were sitting on a bench not far from her flowerbed, and they were talking about who knows what. When the blonde looked in her direction, Buffy lowered her head and prayed she hadn't been seen. When she looked up, the two had returned to speak quietly.

To avoid other inconsistencies like that, Buffy decided it was time to look for a new hiding place, and spotted the closed slide pipe, on which she went as a child and that it could be a good observation point.

She rose cautiously and fled there quickly, hoping not to be noticed by someone nearby. When she came to the shelter, she turned around and...

"Hey! You’re covering my view. Move over."

Buffy blinked repeatedly, surprised and indignant. "What, sorry?" she said when she found the words. "You can't give me orders, and even if you could I wouldn't follow them."

A boy her age was sitting cross-legged near one of the cracks in the game and looked at her quite annoyed. Buffy didn't break down and turned her gaze back with challenge. He passed his hand between the tuft held together by a little gel and sighed, as if he knew full well that there was no hope that she would leave. "Listen, I don't know you and I don't want to know who you are. I just want you to move just a little bit to my right so that I can see," he said in a calmer tone than before.

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same question, you know?" he replied, this time looking into her eyes and standing up.

"All right, it means I'll answer it first. My best friend is here with a guy I don't know, and I want to know who he is."

"It's amazing."

"That I look like a stalker?"

"No, I mean... We’re here for exactly the same reason!"

Buffy sat cross-legged and he imitated her, returning to the same position as before. "So, I would propose an exchange of information. What's the blonde's name?"

"TJ." Buffy raised her eyebrows, unconvinced. He put his hands forward as if to protect himself from her gaze that demanded an explanation. "Don't make that face! His name is TJ Kippen. It's short for something, but he won't want to tell me what, so don't make that face."

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "The moor with him is called Cyrus Goodman. Actually, Cyrus didn't tell me about a boyfriend."

He shrugged, frowning his forehead. "Neither did TJ to me. He didn’t even tell me about… yes, you know, him being gay."

Buffy nodded. "Maybe he doesn't feel ready to let you know yet."

He gestured for a few moments, perhaps looking for the right words. He then pointed to an unspecified spot in the park. "It's out there. Kissing a boy!" he exclaimed whispering, his brown eyes looking almost frightened.

She shrugged and peeked into the park through one of the many cracks. "Now not anymore."

"What?! Are they gone?" he asked, surprised, approaching another crack near hers.

"It seems so. Maybe one day we will see them quietly entering the Spoon hand by hand as if nothing had happened," she joked, chuckling softly.

He looked up. "You go to the Spoon?"

She nodded. "Very often. With Andi and Cyrus, and sometimes even with Amber."

"Amber? The same Amber who works there? Blonde, not very tall, blue eyes, pretty smile, quite lesbian?"

"Do you know each other?" Buffy asked, frowning, this time, her forehead.

He nodded. "She's TJ's older sister. And she dated Jonah Beck for a while."

"Oh yes, I know Jonah, though not very well."

"We haven't introduced ourselves yet," he pointed out.

"I'm Buffy." And she held out her hand towards him.

Soon after, he squeezed it. "Marty."

[alegotic-twelve]

You don't need to read this post if you don't want to ... I just need to do a little venting, I've been under a lot of stress

I live in Mexico, since August 28, 2019, but things have not been easy, I was living with a family member, who was only a swindler, he took money from us and during the time I lived with him I had to work in stores horrible, where they did not pay me more than 30 dollars a week, I suffered harassment at work, and I was exploited, then we ended up in an immigrant shelter when we ran out of money and our relatives threw us out, there I thank ACNUR for He gave us a lot of support in everything, even monetary, with his help for the middle of November we were able to rent a small room, a room that ... I was not paying, what the aid organization gave us was what we paid the rent, We ate a little with the passive income that kept earning commissions. We were lucky to have a very kind and charitable renter, who took care of us until we left the capital on February 2, 2020, again, the organization helped us with the trip, I was promised a job in the capital of Guadalajara , but a month later, the company fell after the owner began to make poor corporate decisions, and they could not and did not want to hire me. on top, the Codvi19 quarantine only caused more problems and the income was even lower, and without my mother cooperating and I earning at most 50 dollars a month (even a month without being able to collect anything) there was a lot of stress on my shoulders I can't be able to force my mother to look for a job, my family exploited her labor since I was 14 years old, without a salary and ruining any opportunity for entrepreneurship, I feel like a monster every time I ask her to look for a job. ..

right now I can only remember a good time where I was earning very well, even in a matter of a week I could buy my new tablet, that time, I remember having two friends who now ... I remember that terrible bitterness One, older than the other, was a girl who ... in simple words, kept me in a toxic relationship Can you imagine someone with whom they argue up to 6 times a week, someone who cries and victimizes themselves with the simple idea that you are going out to see other friends, who gets mad because you have other friends, who does All a montage so that you do not have a little recognition, that manipulates you to leave your partner and even psychologically manipulates you to become a lesbian and be your partner? I imagine that maybe, we have all gone through an experience with someone toxic, I was not the exception, it was very difficult for me to realize what I was in ... At that time, I wanted to have that other friend but ... it turned out i was alone Before I realized the horrible person I was with, this other friend that I had, appreciated her a lot, made me improve my art and she and I did great things together, you think that maybe she is the good one in history but. .. in my stories they are all bad, I am not the exception Suddenly one day I wanted to do something on my own, and I don't know why, perhaps because of someone else's belief, due to delusions of greatness, I don't know ... I was accused of copying her character My decisions at that time were pure bitterness, created by the first friend, who kept whispering in my ear that I didn't need anyone but her, when I realized what I did, it was late, but I wanted to fix everything, I wanted apologize and seek help, feel that I really had not made mistakes in choosing friends but ... but I was wrong She treated me so coldly, even if I explained everything, all the friends I had stayed away from me because she did it, nobody turned to see me, despite the terrible situation I was in, despite the fact that I was willing to please her and make her happy ... I lost everything, just because she turned her back on me my status, my followers, my economic stability, my friends, everything it felt so unfair, I felt so frustrated that I said things that I shouldn't have, that I regret ... I understood that apologizing doesn't fix anything and I learned it over time, I wanted then, months later to talk to her again, not to seek her friendship, I wanted to just ... end the year well, feel that there were no resentments but again I was only wrong once more I remember that I apologized again, that I was not looking for friendship, I just wanted us to talk, to clarify everything and to allow myself to be a fan of yours once again ... and even that was denied me, maybe I would not have cared, and I would have accepted it but ... I remember a phrase that said to me, with such clarity, that I feel it burn my insides and give me migraine"I sacrificed a lot this year ..."Even remembering that, I feel my blood boil with anger ... that girl has absolutely no need in her life, she lives comfortably, in a house, with a loving family, full of everything she wants, including well-paid art classes , 3 meals a day, without losing anything, and even paid university And I'm not saying this just because if ... I knew her well, knew about her life, what she lived, and those words made me understand that this girl was not willing to put herself in the shoes of others, that girl who proclaims be very moral, very politically correct, who shouts to the four winds that he would give everything for the less fortunate ... I rub in the face that his life was more difficult than mine ... after leaving venezuela, after living horrible famines, living a month without light, distressed in the dark, after praying to the god and crying that please you did not want to die in that country, that you wanted to know the world and fulfill your dreams after all that she came to tell me that ...I do not know what is hers now, I really do not care, but I will never forgive those words, and I hope that someday, I will learn to see through the eyes of others, I am aware that my situation is not the worst, but if she could not be able to see in my small problems, how will I be able to have empathy for people who have a worse time? no, she will not she and all the people who crawl where she walks have no idea what it is to respect the pain of others, I am not perfect, but I know that they are less than good people, that they could never have empathy or be able to do good actions , Because the fact that they commit the commissions of others or the donations of a child with cancer does not make them better, they are only hypocrites who seek the acceptance of others to feel good about themselves

[mollymauk-teafleak]

A Gentleman’s Guide to Dancing (chapter two)

For the ever wonderful @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian

Chapter One

Please leave a comment on Ao3! 

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“And where do you think you’re going at this time of the day, young lady?”

It was their little joke, between the two of them, one that wouldn’t get old. Taako knew fine well where his sister was going when he caught her at the door, in her nicest day dress with her hair done up in elaborate braids protected from the wind by a silken scarf that had been a gift from their aunt, with a basket hanging from one arm that was emanating a distinct, sweet sugar smell.

“None of your business,” she told him primly but with a wicked grin, one that lifted her freckled cheeks.

Taako leaned in the doorway, eyeing his sister with his best impression of a stern older brother, “Definitely not going to meet that scoundrel of a blacksmith in town?”

“I’m sure I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Lup checked her hair in the silvered hall mirror, “The only scoundrel I know is you.”

Taako had to laugh at that, rolling his eyes, “Well, give Barold my best. Tell him I hope he enjoys the cookies I spent all of yesterday making…”

His sister turned a pleading look on him, delicately moving the basket behind her back, “There were only ten left anyway! And he does really like them.”

He waved her off with a dismissive hand, “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll just make more. Or starve, whichever. Have fun.”

Taako expected to hear the door open and shut in quick succession, Lup as eager as ever to go do whatever she did with her gentleman caller that he definitely didn’t want to think about. But instead she lingered, eyes now on him rather than her reflection though there were enough similarities between the two.

“Taako…”

He stifled a sigh. He knew this as well, as familiar as their joke, though this was starting to grate on him more. Lup gazing at him whenever she would leave to meet Barry, guilt and a little bit of pity in her eyes. Like she was tensing the bond between them, putting strain on it and felt like she should apologise.

Taako couldn’t stand that. He couldn’t bear the fact that his sister felt she had to apologise for being happy.

It was true that for years they’d had nothing but each other, knowing each other inside and out, forming shelters for each other when nothing else made sense. But the older they both got, the more he realised Lup needed more than him. She needed someone dependable and brave, who went around fixing problems. Someone she could build something with, rather than hide in.

Lup needed Barry in a way she’d never need Taako again.

He knew that. He just didn’t like being reminded of it.

He loped forward, meeting her in the square of morning sunlight coming in through the leaded glass, reaching forward and tucking a loose strand of golden hair back into the safety of the silk.

“You never do braids as neatly as me,” he smirked, patting her cheek before stepping back, “Go have fun, Lup. Don’t you dare come back before midnight.”

Lup looked as if there was more she wanted to say but eventually sighed, a small smile that was sad and grateful all at once, carrying the weight of everything they hadn’t said, “I love you, Koko. I’ll see you later.”

“Same to you, Lulu,” Taako fixed a smile on his face that carried nothing but what it was, quite deliberately, “Love ya.”

The house did feel so much emptier when she was gone.

Taako sighed softly, suddenly not wanting to go back to his book. He had the restless, fidgety energy that he sometimes got, the prickling under his skin and the swimming in his vision. He either needed to fire off some spells as quickly as possible or he needed to cook something.

Seeing as Lup had just made off with the last of the cookies he made the other day, he chose the second.

Taako was well aware that young men of his station were supposed to never set foot in the kitchen. But he was already clinging to said station by the very edges of his fingertips and cooking funneled his restlessness into something tasty and useful so he saw little harm in indulging himself within his own home.

He’d always loved it, in fact, and illuminating the manor’s kitchen with a wave of his hand brought a rush of fondness and, just for a moment, made him five years old again. Tiny and slight with ears so big he couldn’t hold them up and a broken heart in his little chest, still expecting his mother or father to walk through the door at any moment. Sitting at Auntie’s feet because he didn’t know how to be alone but for the first time Lup didn’t want him near. Finally getting himself absorbed in what she was doing, how she turned separate ingredients into something else, something new. If he followed her hands, became fascinated by the hidden, subtle magic of it all, then he didn’t have to think about why his sister cried all the time, why she seemed to have given up on mama and papa ever coming back, why they lived here now instead of their old house.

Even years later, when he and Lup found each other again, when they learned how to function with the raw, broken edges of their family, Taako still cooked. He bought books, telling anyone who gave him strange looks that it was for his Auntie, when really he would stay up all night making notes in the margins for possible amendments and sketching out presentation ideas. It was like his magic in a lot of ways. Taking separate things and making something new, something that hadn’t existed before and now did because of his efforts.

That was all Taako wanted. Making cakes out of flour and eggs and sugar. Making illusions out of simple electrical charges in the air, the patterns and eddies he could feel with his fingertips.

Making a future for his sister out of the mess he’d been up until now.

Taako gave a soft sigh and tied back his hair into a messy bun, a bastardised version of the neat queue it was normally in. He tugged on his apron, so faded it was hard to see it had ever been blue and white striped. Already his blue mood was fading, shaking off his hands like irritating droplets of water as he gathered bowls and ingredients from the pantry.

Lup had taken the last of the cookies but he found himself gathering sugar, the scalloped tins from the very back of the cupboard and some of the wildflower honey from Merle’s bees. Madelines it was then. Sometimes his hands made decisions before his brain did.

His ears twitched when the early afternoon sun fell on them, as if feeling the warm weight of it. The window, slightly ajar, let in nothing but a fresh breeze and birdsong. He settled into familiar actions and rhythms, certain in his actions, doing everything by eye with a sense of pride. And slowly, surely, like the honey running from the spoon, Taako felt himself again.

He whistled as he worked, summoning lemons right into his hand, tossing it from one palm to the other playfully. It wasn’t until the bowl was filled with perfect butter yellow curls of zest that Taako realised he was humming the song from the dance. The song that had carried him and Kravitz in a mad dance around the entirety of Countess Raven’s manor in a fit of burned frustration, wine and mania.

The thought brought a rush of heat to Taako’s freckled cheeks and the now waxy white lemon slipped through his fingers and bounced to the tiled floor. He retrieved it as quick as he could; with their funds the way they were, he couldn’t afford to be wasting ingredients. He’d lost the song but it still played in his head, as muffled as it had been that night, a counterpoint to the winter wind and the night owls that gathered in the woods.

“Come on,” he muttered to himself in irritation, continuing the stirring with magic alone just to have something to focus on. Something that wasn’t Kravitz or the way he’d smelled of polished oak or how cool his hands had been in the few times they’d ghosted over his own as they’d danced.

That wasn’t going to get him anywhere. It had been a nice wild moment, a release of the anxiety and frustration of a boring party, but he couldn’t see it existing outside of that night, like a flower that could only grow in a certain place with just the right soil. He wasn’t expecting to see Kravitz again. Now that the cold light of day had reminded them both who they were and what they were and just what was appropriate for them to be doing.

Taako began to spoon mixture into the scalloped impressions, lined up neatly like the world’s most orderly beach. Soon each one had a thick golden puddle in the centre, speckled with bright yellow. He took a moment to feel proud of himself and admire just how neat they all looked before banging them in the ancient, cast iron oven. He and Lup would scarf them down within two hours for sure. If any survived, he’d take them to Merle and Magnus in town.

He didn’t take off his apron or loosen his hair, not quite sure if he was finished yet. He simply magicked up a cup of tea and sat on one counter to rest his ankles, enjoying the kitchen filling with the smell of lemons and honey.

And suddenly it turned bitter in his mouth as a thought struck him, like his brain had just decided he was far too content and needed to be knocked back.

This could be the last time you get to do this.

Taako’s hands tightened around the mug, magic suddenly pulsing through his fingertips and leaving a hairline crack down the side. When he finally found a wealthy heiress willing to marry him- if, the sly voice corrected- it would hardly be proper for him to haunt the kitchen any more. He’d be expected to do whatever gentlemen did with their free time, probably hunt or drink brandy or scoff at poor people. A lifetime of pretending, of wearing a mask and hoping it eventually just fused to his face so he could forget there’d ever been anything underneath.

And that was if things went well. If they didn’t, in two months they wouldn’t have a home, let alone a kitchen. Destitution or a complete loss of the very few things he liked about himself. Those were his choices.

Auntie had sickened and gone so quickly there had been no time to formalise anything, to fill in the gaps that hadn’t been filled. Neither he nor Lup were officially recorded anywhere as her heirs, given that they weren’t her children, that she’d taken them in out of the goodness of her heart after not speaking to her twin since they were the age of the two children she’d suddenly acquired.

Taako tried to remember how he’d felt this time last year. Young, free, invincible. Able to outrun or outsmart anything that would dare try and trip him up. Unaware that life was just around the corner and it would always be faster, smarter and crueller than him.

If you weren’t the way you are, it wouldn’t have happened. Of course Auntie didn’t put anything in writing, she didn’t want a fuck up like you as her heir. If you were better, if you were even halfway decent, Lup would be safe.

Taako slammed the mug down on the counter, completing the destruction his magic had already done, though he didn’t stop and look back to see. Almost frantically he threw himself at the cupboards, pulling out whatever ingredients weren’t already assembled, anything he could get his hands on. He found more bowls, more spoons, his magic reaching out and grabbing whatever his hands couldn’t. And then he was moving, following a set of instructions that came from nowhere, latching onto them desperately so he wasn’t at the mercy of the rest of his mind. He didn’t care what he was making, as long as he could add something to the world in a manic attempt to prove his own worth in some small way.

And then there was a knock at the door.

Taako cursed under his breath, trying to steady his hands and dissipate his magic and his anxiety just as he’d done before, though this time it was like oil, just clinging tighter for all his efforts. As he went down the hall he did quick mental maths, trying to juggle in his head while moving his feet. If it was the milkman,they should have just enough spare silver rattling around to pay him, if it was the butcher he would take an IOU if Taako batted his eyelashes enough…

If it was a bailiff…

Taako shook that thought out of his mind and opened the door before he could lose his nerve

“Oh hello! I was hoping you’d be in,” Kravitz stood on the doorway, framed in winter sunlight, as effortlessly neat as he had been that night.

“I...yes, I’m in,” Taako said, apparently thinking that the only thing to do when stood in a doorway with the most idiotic gaping expression was to say something equally stupid.

There was a pause while Kravitz shifted his weight and cleared his throat, though he took the fact that Taako’s brain had apparently fallen out of the back of his head with good grace.

“I...I’m sorry if it’s a bad time or I’m interrupting,” he said with an adorably coy smile, “I was just going insane stuck inside of the mistress' mansion all by myself and had to get some air and, well...I don’t know anyone else around here?”

Taako relaxed a little. Maybe the honesty and openness from the party had survived, if only for a while, like a good kind of hangover.

“Well, you know me,” he flashed a smile, “And that’s really all the interesting people who live around here anyway.”

Kravitz laughed, a pleasant, deep, laugh with just a little rumble around the edges, “May I come in?”

Taako stepped to one side and gestured down the hall, though now thinking of the many jobs that needed doing since they’d had to let the staff go, the dust gathering in the corners and the grime on some of the windows where neither he nor Lup had got around to cleaning them.

But Kravitz’s eyes passed over all of that as if it wasn’t there, hanging up his coat on the stand. He was wearing a similar colour scheme to what he’d worn at the party, all black, but this time a loose everyday shirt and waistcoat, dark trousers with a high waist. Taako wondered if the Countess made black mandatory or whether her ward was consciously trying to fit in. Or maybe he just liked black too.

“Are you working on something?” Kravitz asked delicately, apparently paying as much attention to Taako’s dress as he was to Kravitz’s.

Taako looked down at himself, only just managing to bite back a curse. He’d left his apron on without thinking, still dusted with flour and a few golden honey stains.

“Oh, um…” his mind raced for an excuse as to why he’d be dressed this way, each wilder than the last. Rehearsing a play? This was the new men’s fashion for elvenkind? The flour was actually ground bone or some equally grisly spell component?

Kravitz seemed to sniff the air a little, the scent of lemon and sugar and lavender escaping from the kitchen, “Are you baking?”

Taako swallowed, hoping he wasn’t blushing but the burning in his cheeks said otherwise, “Yeah, just...just a little…” He searched Kravitz’s expression for any disdain, confused when all he saw was a polite interest. Maybe even fascination.

“It smells divine! I’d never have thought you would be interested in something like baking but you’re clearly something of a genius.”

Now Taako was blushing for an entirely different reason, “Well...it’s kind of you to say so. I’m interested in all kinds of cooking really, not just baking. I always have, since I was small.”

Kravitz just looked outright impressed and not even in a feigned way. Taako actually didn’t think his face could hold an insincere expression.

“That’s amazing. If I were left to my own devices with no servants or cooks or anything, I’d starve before the day was through.”

Taako’s lips quirked upwards, “Well, if that ever happens, just come knock on my door. I’ll keep you going.”

Kravitz’s eyes brightened, “That’s a comforting thought.”

Taako gave a slight chuckle, tucking loose hair back behind his ears, “Why don’t you come through? I can make coffee and the madelines should be ready soon.”

And that was how Taako ended up with the heir of one of the richest and most mysterious families for miles around leaning against his kitchen counter, drinking coffee and pouting adorably when he was informed that the madelines needed to cool before they could be eaten.

“Believe me, it’s worth it,” Taako grinned, after discreetly vanishing the shards of broken mug from his outburst, “When the sugar cools and hardens around the edge and you get that snap when you bite into it...that’s magic right there.”

Kravitz seemed to accept that, eyes wandering, “And what were you making over there?” He indicated the half finished mess of Taako’s frantic baking frenzy just before the bell had rung.

Looking at it now, Taako had to suck a breath in through his teeth and admit, “I...have no idea. I was kind of...improvising?”

“Oh,” he nodded, looking like he might have sensed the hesitation under the elf’s words and was deciding to ignore it, “So...if I was going to learn to bake, just in case I’m shipwrecked on a deserted island or something of that nature and I can’t get in contact with you...what would I start with?”

Taako smirked, “Does this deserted island have a fully functioning kitchen?”

“Let’s say it does.”

Taako puzzled it over for a moment, wandering over to the shelf where all his recipe books were haphazardly piled, no attempt made to keep them neat with how frequently he pulled them down and juggled them around. Most were dog eared, either from use, being second hand or a combination of both. Some, Auntie used to say, were from generations back, hand written in crumbling scrawls.

“Do you like sweet or savoury things?” he hummed, fingers walking over some of the spines.

“Sweet,” came the almost shy reply. Taako hid a smile, it was a little unusual that someone who dressed entirely in black and lived in a mansion decorated with black feathers and even some skulls would have a sweet tooth.

“Well then, let’s try cookies. We can throw some nuts in, islands have nut trees, right? Do nuts grow on trees?”

“Some do,” Kravitz sounded like he was reciting from a textbook, like he was a schoolboy facing a tutor and eager for a gold star, “Tree nuts like hazelnuts and pistachios and pecans. All others aren’t actually nuts, they’re legumes or seeds.”

Taako lifted an eyebrow. Someone clearly didn’t go outside enough as a child. He hopped up onto his knees on the counter so he could reach far enough back and snag the ingredients.

“Right, well, tree nuts it is. And plenty of brown sugar, the good sticky stuff that goes like molasses when you bake it…”

“You’re so knowledgeable about this,” Kravitz’s voice suddenly sounded so much closer than it had before. When Taako turned, he saw that he’d moved right up beside him and was offering out a hand to help him down.

Stunned, Taako found himself blurting, “I could float down. If I wanted to.”

He immediately felt a pang of regret as a look of hurt flashed across Kravitz’s face for just a moment before smoothing out into his usual polite smile. The hand snapped back to his side, “Of course. I should have known better, I’m a magic user myself.”

Taako’s guilt crystallised into sharp edges in his chest as he recognised an obvious attempt to change the subject. But still he nodded, playing along, as if the jar in their conversation had never happened, “I can sense it. What school of magic do you study?”

Kravitz stepped back to let Taako hop down, “Ah, I haven’t studied a lot, if I’m honest. I’ve never had a magical tutor of any kind, just my...just my mistress.”

That did give Taako pause, though he covered it with busying himself at the mixing bowl. Innate magic was a rare thing, not taken from any book or school but from the user’s own blood. It had a reputation for being incredibly powerful but, as a side effect, very unstable. Unstable wasn’t exactly the word Taako would use to describe his new neighbour but he had to wonder what had come first and what had followed, out of his wardship to the countess and this newly mentioned magic.

“Lucky,” he finally said, playing it off lightly as always, “All my lessons were painfully boring.”

Kravitz gave a soft, easy laugh, though he’d clearly been watching very carefully for Taako’s reaction.

Usually Lup was the only person ever allowed in the kitchen while Taako worked and even then she risked a slap with a wooden spoon if she got in the way. But seeing as this was a lesson of sorts, Taako swallowed his usual protective bossiness and gave Kravitz odd tasks to do, carefully talking him through the steps for each one.

And each and every time, he regretted it.

“I think you were a little hasty when you said you’d starve in a day,” Taako eventually snorted in exasperation, “I don’t think you’d make it until the early afternoon.”

Kravitz, now wearing a grey suit rather than the black one he’d entered with after the sack of flour he’d dropped had ignored his aesthetic, gave him a wounded look, “I could eat stale biscuits from the pantry…”

“The second you’d touch them, dear, they’d probably spontaneously combust.”

Kravitz’s hurt pantomime cracked and he gave a bark of laughter, “Fine, I’m hopeless. But I tried and, therefore, I should still get some of the spoils.”

Taako smiled at the neat tray of seven perfectly round balls and four misshapen blobs of cookie dough. Even with operating around a one man disaster zone, they hadn’t done a bad job. Sure there was flour piling up in drifts on the floor and it had taken them two sets of mixture after Kravitz had poured buttermilk into one rather than actual milk but he had a good feeling about them.

“Sure, I’ll take pity on you.”

In the fifteen minutes they took to bake, they magically cleaned the kitchen and sat talking, drinking the last of the now lukewarm coffee and eating madeleines. Despite some careful questioning, Taako learned very little about Kravitz in that time. Just that he’d been working for the family business in the city and had a passion for music almost as precious to him as Taako’s love of cooking. Still, the conversation was as light and comforting as any he’d had with his sister or friends, in a way Taako just hadn’t thought was possible.

Almost as if the gods had known he’d needed a friend right now and had dropped one on his doorstep.

It was evening by the time Taako had Kravitz back on the doorstep with a basket full of still warm, still delicious smelling nut cookies and madeleines. He was still apologising about having to leave, saying his mistress would be expecting him back before eight.

Taako shook his head, “I told you, it’s fine. I’ll come see you next time, you can show me some of your pieces.”

Kravitz’s cheeks seemed to colour a bit, “Really? You’d be interested in that?”

“I made you cookies,” Taako leaned in the doorway and smiled crookedly, “I’m going to need something in exchange.”

They both laughed companionably at that, though there was something more serious in Kravitz’s expression afterwards.

“I had a really good time today, Taako. I’m glad I came over.”

Taako shifted, not liking the way that comment made butterflies wake up in his stomach, as nice as the words were, “Sure thing. It’s nice to have friends, right?”

Something changed in his expression then, something Taako couldn’t place in the second it was there before disappearing. A hesitation of some kind.

“Yes. It is nice to...to have friends.”

After exchanging goodnights, Taako watched Kravitz walk off into the gathering dusk, quickly becoming invisible as the sun disappeared behind the hills. He found himself nursing a small smile.

Even if it had been the last time he ever got to be himself, it had been a pretty good last time.