#nothing is sacred between us anyway and anything of significance that could be will never fucking happen no matter what i suggest

[xbabyxghostx]

lol

#i found a message from back when you were begging me to stay when all the cheating stuff came to light #in it you claim you love me SO MUCH that youd even changed your stance on starting a family with someone all because of me #yet here we are years later and im mourning all i could have had and all that was ruined by one night #im so tired finding lies i was stupid enough to fall for until it was too late #even today everything ive been promised just to get me to stay or stop complaining all lies #things you promised were true and turned out to be more lies #things you promised youd do and wouls happen and im still sitting here waiting like an idiot #im so tired and back at square fucking one #i cant stop thinking weve just been wasting both our times all these years #weve never progressed or when we did it was only temporary or the absolute bare minimum #id rather mourn the two events that ruined me so much alone at this point #nothing is sacred between us anyway and anything of significance that could be will never fucking happen no matter what i suggest #or how i hint or how fucking easy im trying to make doing things that would actually make me feel like its JUST us and its JUST ours #but i wont force you to do anything so maybe we just need to.... stop faking. #i dont think i can get over you and her anyway #and i know everyone just wants me to forget it since no one has ever even spoken to me about it but i wont get over my baby either #i should be completely alone. everyone just wants me to forget but i cant so i should just be alone. #word vomit #bad dreams make me not sleep but my mind fucking race #one day I'll shut my brain up forever.

[chenle-dressed-in-black]

I was wondering if you could write NCT 127 being caught making out reaction, like you did with Dream..

✰ 𝕟𝕔𝕥 𝟙𝟚𝟟 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ✰ | you two get caught making out

     I remember having so much fun writing the one for the dreamies, so I’m excited for this one haha. I’m trying to post semi-regularly, but I am still a full-time student so there will be days that I can’t. Also, Mark and Hyuck are included in the dream version! Please enjoy~

m.list

Taeil

     Most of the time, your boyfriend is extremely careful not to let others see you two kissing or anything like that. He’s a private person.

     “I want to keep it between us,” he always says, smiling shyly. “It’s just for me and you to know. Let them wonder. Let them make jokes about how we never get close to each other. They don’t know a thing.”

     Because cuddling and other displays of affection are something he holds so sacred, you hardly ever do more than hold hands or put an arm around each other in front of anyone. You think it’s insanely romantic, because the second you’re alone, he sweeps you off of your feet. They don’t know a thing, you echo in your mind with a smirk. You think of long, slow nights.

     Nothing is worse than the way boys talk about girls when they’re not around. You know boys tell each other everything they do with their significant others. Taeil doesn’t speak of what happens between you to his members or anyone else. It’s only yours.

     His members weren’t supposed to come back to the apartment for another thirty minutes, so when they arrive early, the two of you are caught up in one another on his bed. You’re sitting in his lap, hands entangled in his hair. Taeil’s speaker is playing a Cigarettes After Sex song for background noise. It must be louder than either of you realized, because you barely hear the door opening.

     Then Yuta’s talking. “Oh—sorry, guys. Sorry. Have fun.”

     Taeil pulls away, but doesn’t make you get off him. Although he gives Yuta a nonchalant nod, the second his friend is gone his face turns bright red, stretching all the way to his ears.

     “Oh, god,” he says, trying to shake it off. “That was embarrassing.”

     Your face is smug as you lace your fingers through his hair. “Now we have as much time as we want.”

     You worry for a second that he’s genuinely upset by the fact that someone saw you two making out, but his face has returned to its natural color and he seems just fine now.

     “Nope. Yuta killed my mood. I don’t want to give them time to gossip about it. Wanna go out and get lunch?”

Johnny

     Okay, you’re absolutely willing to admit that choosing the van to make out in when you knew everyone would be coming back eventually isn’t the wisest choice you and Johnny have ever made. Still, you did it anyway.

     He’s leaning over the middle seat between you two, one soft hand on your chin. Your kisses are slow and non-urgent. Until the sound of collective laughter starts from outside the van, you’re hopelessly caught up in him.

     “What’s that?” you ask as you pull away, noticing it at the same time he does.

     He points to the windshield, where his members are gathered and laughing at the two of you. When you guys finally look their way, they go wild—whistling, cheering, and clapping. You shake your head, rolling your eyes and trying to hold yourself together. Johnny, however, eats it up.

     The smile on his face as he waves back to them, bowing slightly, makes you burst into laughter. “Thank you guys. I know I’m great. If you like it so much, why don’t you join us sometime?”

     “You’re ridiculous!”

     “Hey,” he says, “they caught us fair and square.”

     Hyuck throws open the door, looking smug. “Did we interrupt your fun?”

     “Don’t be silly,” Johnny says, grinning like a devil. “It’s more fun with you here.”

Taeyong

     In your defense, you thought the door was locked. In fact, you swear that you locked it. Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore because you’re looking Taeyong’s mom in the eye after she walked in with him on top of you in his childhood bed. The second the doorknob twisted, he was flying to the other side of the bed, but neither of you are sure if it was fast enough.

     “Hey, mom!” he says, unsuccessful in regulating his facial expression to something normal. He ends up with an odd grin. “What’s—uh—what’s up?”

     His mom is staring at Taeyong like he’s grown a second head. “I wanted to tell you two that lunch is ready, so come eat.”

     “Okay,” he manages through an abrupt laugh, face like a cherry. “Be there in a sec.”

     “Why are you being like this?” his mom asks. “You know what, never mind. I don’t want to know. Just come eat.”

     You seize your moment. “Thank you so much for having me! I’m excited to finally try your cooking Taeyong talks so much about.”

     “Thank you, darling. I’ll pour some water while my son remembers how to speak.”

     Once she’s out of the room, he lets out a huge breath. His face is even more red, somehow. “I am so embarrassed.”

     “Really? I couldn’t tell,” you say. “I don’t think she saw.”

      Taeyong shakes his head, putting his face in his hands. “She did. I know she did. Oh, God. How am I supposed to go eat lunch with her? When you leave, she’s gonna ask me about it.”

“Relax, it’s gonna be fine.”

“Easy for you to say—it’s not your mom.”

Doyoung

     One moment you’re watching a sappy movie that he loves while cuddling in his bed and, in the next, you two are entangled and in the middle of a heated make out session. Your legs are intertwined underneath the covers. His hands are going up and down your back. Yours are in his hair. Doyoung’s lips on yours are soft but urgent.

     The movie is all but forgotten.

     You give in and get lost in the moment, so you don’t notice approaching footsteps in the hallway. When he pulls his mouth and body away suddenly, you frown. He wraps his arm around you like before, settling back to watch the movie once more.

     “Why did you—“

     The door opens, revealing Johnny. “Hey, want to play monopoly with us? We’re doing it in teams of three.”

     Doyoung, giving away nothing on his face about what you two were just doing, looks at you with a question in his eyes. You nod, so he turns back to Johnny. “Yeah, just give us a minute and we’ll come play.”

     “Aight, cool,” says Johnny as he starts to close the door. He pauses. “Hey, Y/N? Why is your face so red?”

     “I, um—“

     Doyoung grins evilly. “Your face is really red. Are you okay? Should I check your temperature? Johnny, can you get me a thermometer?”

     “I am fine!” you cry, getting out his bed. “It’s just hot in here. Right?”

     “Actually, I thought it was kind of cold,” says Doyoung.

     “Johnny,” you say. “Please tell me I don’t have to be on Doyoung’s team. I want to beat his ass.”

Jaehyun

     He finally brought you to the park where he used to play basketball growing up, before he moved to the States. Because you guys didn’t want to risk anyone spotting you, you waited until the middle of the night. However, that meant it was technically closed and you would have to crawl over a chain link fence to get inside. No big deal.

     So you got inside with most of your dignity and now you’re trying to score a goal, but Jaehyun keeps blocking you. You know it’s how the game works, but you’re getting really frustrated. He’s taller than you, so you’re stuck. Your face must give away your feelings, because he chuckles, flashing his beautiful smile.

     “Y/N,” he says. “Are you mad?”

     You cross your arms, ball still in hand. “No.”

     “Yeah, right.” He’s still grinning at you as he swipes the ball out of your hands. “You’re totally upset.”

     “Am not.”

     Effortlessly, Jaehyun tosses the ball into the net. “Are too. Let’s play another game.”

     “What’s the point!” you say. “You always win, anyway.”

     He sets the ball down on one of the benches beside the goal and comes to you, pulling you close to him by your hips. “You’re so cute when you’re mad at me.”

      “I’m gonna punch you.”

     “Go ahead,” he says through a laugh, leaning closer. Then your lips are touching. You press into him, wanting the moment to last forever. His tongue swipes across your lip, and a bright light illuminates the both of you.

     Squinting away from the light, you pull away from Jaehyun. “What the—“

     “Excuse me!” someone says. “You need to leave. This facility closes at sundown and, as you may have figured out, it’s far past that now.”

     “Yeah, no problem!” Jaehyun calls, pressing his lips together tightly. His eyes are bright.

     The two of you move toward the light, where a security guard has opened the gate. “Are you . . . still laughing right now? We’re getting kicked out of a park at one in the morning.”

     “I can’t help it,” he whispers back, “we just got caught making out like teenagers.”

     “Less chatter, more walking!” 

     “Yes, sir!” Jaehyun calls, bursting into laughter with you.

WinWin

     It’s his birthday, and the two of you have slipped away from the crowd of boys, escaping to his room. When you plop down onto his bed, he follows, climbing on top of you and holding tight.

     “Ow, you’re kind of crushing me.”

     He crawls up until your faces are close. “Sorry.”

     “Did you have a good time?” you ask, stroking his hair softly. He lets out a sigh at the feeling, nodding. “That’s good. I’m glad it wasn’t too much.”

     “Thank you for putting it together,” he whispers. “It means a lot to me.”

     “You mean a lot to me, Sicheng.”

     He smiles at you, leaning forward until his lips are on yours. The whole thing takes off pretty fast and soon, you’re in the middle of a full-fledged make out. Sicheng’s hand cups your neck. Your hands are in his hair. He’s on top of you. Moving away from your lips, he turns his attention to your cheek, jaw, and down to your collarbone.

     That’s what Ten sees when he opens the door, more people behind him. Sicheng lifts his head off your neck, lips swollen and red, as Ten tries to close the door back, but the others don’t get it.

     “What—why are closing the door? Ask them if they want anymore cake before we give it to the dreamies.”

     “I really don’t think they care,” says Ten, trying to appease them, but the push forward into the room, seeing Sicheng still on top of you. To your surprise, he doesn’t move, but he looks like he’s trying to hold in a nervous giggle.

     “Oh, sorry, guys,” Doyoung says. “We just wanted to know about the cake.”

     “It’s all theirs,” Sicheng says, blushing profusely.

     “Great,” Hyuck says. “We’ll let you get back to . . . whatever you’re doing.”

     “Oh,” says Sicheng, “we’re just . . .”

     “No need to explain, really. Bye.”

     When they’re gone, he lets himself fall on top of you, no longer holding up his own weight. You burst into laughter and he follows, giggling.

     “Are you embarrassed?”

     “No,” he says. “We’re in a relationship. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

     “So you’re only a little embarrassed?” 

     “Maybe,” he says sheepishly. “But it’s just because, you know.”

Yuta

     Although he knows he should be more ashamed that you two have just been found in this position, he’s feeling rather smug. You’re sitting on the kitchen counter and he’s standing between your legs, hands running up and down your thighs as he kisses you.

     But your roommates—also known as your very best friends—just got back from a shopping adventure. Both of your lips are so swollen you couldn’t hide what you’d been doing if you tried, but Yuta doesn’t try very hard. He pulls away slowly and nods at your friends.

     “Did you find the leather pants of your dreams?” he asks, entirely nonchalant.

     “Yeah,” one of your roommates says, lifting up her shopping bag. “I did.”

     “That’s great,” you say, trying to flatten your hair. “I’m happy for you.“

     Your other roommate puts down her bags and points to where you’re still sitting. “I hate to be this person, but you guys weren’t doing anything that required body fluids to be spilled on the counter, were you? Because we cook our food there, so . . .”

     “What!” you cry. “Of course not. We’d never—“

     “Do that so early in the day,” Yuta finishes with a smirk that cracks into a grin when you swat at him in disapproval. “I’m kidding. Kidding. Jeez.”

     “You’re lucky we like you,” your roommate says.

     “It’s only natural,” says Yuta. “Who can resist my charm, after all?”

Jungwoo

     It’s just not a very big deal, honestly. His members walk in on the two of you kissing. He pulls away and starts talking to them. They shouldn’t be surprised to see you doing this, because you’re literally in love. It’s not like they caught you undressed and doing something more. Now, that would get Jungwoo feeling embarrassed. 

     “How was the live?” he asks. 

     Jisung shrugs. “Fine, but I’m so hungry.”

     “Me too,” Chenle adds.

     “We should go out somewhere and get dinner,” Jungwoo says, nudging you. “The four of us.” 

     “That’d be awesome,” Chenle says, frowning. “Y/N, why are you being so quiet?” 

     Jisung makes the same face at you. “And why is your face red like that?”

     “Nothing,” you say too quickly. “Nothing. I’m fine. Let’s go find a place. I could eat, too.” 

     As the younger boys pull out their phones and start searching for a restaurant, Jungwoo’s eyes meet yours. He smiles at you, and you smile back. I love you, he mouths.

#nct #nct 127 #nct fanfic #nct reaction #nct 127 reaction #moon taeil #johnny suh #johnny seo #kim jungwoo #jeong jaehyun #winwin #dong sicheng #kim doyoung #kim dongyoung #lee taeyong #nakamoto yuta #kpop #kpop reaction

[therenlover]

In Sickness And In Health (An 18+ James Patrick March/Reader Oneshot)

This is 18+ content! If you are a minor, this work is not for you !!!

This fic is a sequel to my oneshot Heartsick, but it can be read as a standalone oneshot!

Synopsis: Normally people don’t have their wedding and funeral on the same day, but you and James don’t quite have a normal relationship, do you? Besides, you wouldn’t wanna go any other way.

Tags: Smut with Plot, Weddings, Fluff, Ghost Smut, Cunnilingus, Sick!Reader, Obnoxious Titanic Knowledge

Rating: E, 18+

Warnings: Swearing, Major Character Death, Romanticization of Death, Murder, Unsafe Sex (it’s with a ghost, but just to be safe...), Mentions Of The Reader Having A Long Term Debilitating Illness

Word Count: 5500~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3 under the same title

-------

“How are you feeling, my darling?”

James’s voice was soft as he entered your suite, slipping off his shoes before joining you on the bed. He smelled like antiseptic, hair and hands still damp from a recent wash. Underneath, though, was the sharp, coppery tang of blood.

You stretched as you answered, weak muscles shuddering with effort. “It’s a good day. Not great, I still feel like absolute shit, but I don’t feel like I’m actively dying anymore,”

“Well, that’s certainly an improvement,”

Your fiancé offered you a rare, genuine grin. Seeing him smile made the lie worth it.

In truth, you still felt truly terrible.

It had been almost three weeks since Mr. March had proposed, and true to his word he had been glued to your side helping you recover ever since. He helped you bathe, fed you meals, gave you medication, kept you entertained; days with him were filled with small, simple pleasures. You had never experienced anything like that attention before. Unfortunately, though, the time spent with James only seemed to help your mind, and not your body.

After close to two months of bed rest, your muscles were weak. It still took significant effort to do simple tasks like walking to the bathroom or using cutlery. Some days were better than others, but everything generally tended to end up as part of the indistinguishable haze of pain that clouded your memories lately. If nothing else, at least the fevers were less extreme.

The only light at the end of the tunnel was your wedding. It was still two weeks away, (“That’s plenty of time for you to recover fully, my dearest,” James had insisted) but once you were married that meant you could die. Oh, what a happy day that would be. There would be no more sickness, no more achy muscles, not another day of forced bed rest, just peace and quiet and plenty of sex. God, how you missed the sex…

Every day was another day closer to your peaceful end, and yet they seemed to stretch endlessly. Deep down, you worried that you might not even make it long enough to walk down the aisle alive. You shuddered at the thought. If James ended up having to carry you down the aisle you might just die of embarrassment before he had the chance to kill you.

“I can’t believe you killed someone without me,” You huffed, reaching out your shaking arms and inviting James to lay with you. He happily obliged.

“Would you have preferred me to let him live?” James pulled your torso gently onto his chest, letting you rest against him.

“No, but you could have at least let me watch. I’ve been stuck in here for weeks, James. I get bored,”

He ran a hand through your hair. “Perhaps next time darling, but hopefully, you will be well enough to join me before our next victim walks through the door,”

“Who was it this time?”

“A florist. Liz invited him to bring over a few samples before hiring him to do arrangements for the wedding, but they were atrocious. You should have seen them, my love, they were simply grotesque, not to mention that the color schemes didn’t even slightly match the carpets in the entrance hall. Who puts pink and yellow tulips in a wedding arrangement at a hall filled with reds and oranges?”

You gave a soft hum. “Were they all really that bad?”

“Well… perhaps I was a bit harsh, but can you truly blame me? I want our wedding day to be perfect. There shouldn’t be a single flower or ribbon out of place,” He emphasized his question by gently squeezing you to his chest.

“Is it really that important?”

James went still. “What do you mean by that, dearest?”

A sigh pushed through your lips, your chest aching from the effort. “I just don’t understand why we have to wait for this perfect wedding when we could just get married now. I’m not saying I wouldn’t enjoy a big ceremony, I’m sure it would be wonderful, but I’m just so tired James. Why does it matter if we say our vows in front of other people? There’s not gonna be anything legally or religiously binding between us anyway. Getting married to you, in my mind, is just promising to be by your side forever, so why does anything else matter besides you and me?”

Looking up, you noticed that Mr. March seemed to be deep in thought, lips pressed into a line as his thin eyebrows furrowed together. Your heart sank. Did a wedding ceremony really mean that much to him? In an instant guilt began to flood your stomach. You were really ruining a special moment in his life to die faster? Hell, did he even really want you to die? He had always relished in your warmth, enthralled by the thudding of your weak, living heart. Of course, he would hate you for rushing into marriage just to throw your life away. Or maybe he was stalling because it would be too much for him to kill you himself…

“James-” you placated, lifting a hand to his face, but he quickly snapped out of his thoughtful haze.

He gazed down at you with love in his eyes and a wicked grin on his lips. “You’re right! We shall be married this afternoon!”

A jolt of shock ran down your spine.

“What?”

“As you said, our wedding is a binding of souls, my darling! Our love is sacred, withstanding time and mortality, so who are we to bend to the rules of the common man? If an intimate ceremony for two is what you desire, I shall not deny you,” In one smooth motion, James rolled on top of you, arms boxing you in as he loomed above. He looked absolutely unhinged, eyes glinting wildly in the yellow lamplight.

You knew then that there would never be anyone else. No one could compare to James, your James. He would devour you whole and you would thank him all the while. With a sudden burst of energy, you reached up and pulled him into a scorching kiss.

It was sloppy, all battling tongues and clashing teeth, nothing like the soft pressing of lips that you had been sharing lately. How had you gone almost two months without this? Your heart felt like it was about to burst right out of your chest. As James bit down hard on your lower lip, you pulled fistfuls of his pinstripe suit into your hands.

After a few more seconds of desperate, breathless kissing James pulled away. You panted for air below him. “Why’d you stop?”

To your dismay, he climbed off of you. His hard-on was fully visible through his thin dress pants as he stood. “As much as I would love to ravage you now, dearest, I believe we have vows to exchange,”

“Can’t we just do them in bed? I want you now,”

He chuckled at your whining. “I may be willing to compromise on many things, but this is not one of them,”

“Please, Mr. March,” Your words were loaded, innocent doe eyes boring into his very soul, “for me?”

You could tell it was a difficult decision, but James stood strong. “I can’t say you haven’t thoroughly tempted me, but I’m afraid not darling,” he said firmly, “Forgive me?”

With a sigh, you nodded. “Of course,”

The instant you gave in, he beamed. “Splendid! Now, it’s a shame that we don’t have your dress, but I believe I have given you several gowns that would serve nicely,”

“You’re not gonna let me get married in my pajamas?”

“Would you prefer that to wearing a dress?”

The genuine concern in James’ voice was enough to make you fold. The things his voice did to you….

“Darling,” you groaned, fighting your weak muscles as you pulled yourself to the edge of the bed, “look in the closet. There should be a black zip-up garment bag in there,”

He quirked up an eyebrow.

“Just do it,”

“As my bride commands,” James rushed to the closet, thumbing through gowns. By the time he found it you were on your feet, leaning on a nearby wall for support. “This one, darling?” he asked, pulling it from the rack.

You grinned. “That’s the one. Open it up for me?”

James undid the zip quickly. Once he saw the contents, he gaped. “You know it’s bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding,”

Slowly, you made your way to James and hugged him from behind. “Well, it’s a good thing the wedding is happening now... can you help me get the dress on?”

He happily obliged.

In less than 15 minutes you were laced into your wedding dress and sitting at your vanity. James was by the phonograph looking at records while you finished pinning up your hair. It was finally time.

“What would you like me to play, darling? We don’t have the wedding march, but there are some decent options. Let’s see… The Swan? You always have loved Saint-Saëns. Or perhaps Songe d’Automne?” James asked. He had been strangely lenient; bending to your will on the wedding, letting you pick the music, allowing you to tease him with no repercussions. You shrugged it off.

“You would really play the song that played as the Titanic sank at our wedding?”

“I find it strangely fitting,”

With a soft laugh, you put the last pin in place and turned to your groom. “And so it is. I’ll compromise. We have Mon Coeur S’Ouvre A Ta Voix, don’t we? You’ll get your morbidity while I get my romance,”

“That sounds delightful, my dear. Good choice,”

James found the correct record and set it on the phonograph, placing the needle and cranking the arm with a well-practiced hand. Then, as the music began to play, he stood. It was like he was devouring you with his eyes, drinking in every detail of you as he approached. He offered you his hands. “Shall we begin, my darling?”

You joined him in the center of the room without hesitation, taking his offering with a smile, “I think we shall,”

“I admit,” James said, voice sweet and low, “that I am well out of my depth here, but before we begin may I say that you, as you are now, are more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you?”

Your face flushed. “What’s gotten into you, James? Are you getting soft on me?”

“We can only hope not, I have a reputation to uphold you know! I just can’t help but think…” his sentence drifted off as his gaze fell on yours, “I am a hard man, one of custom and habit. My life has been filled with monotony for as long as I have lived. Even killing has become commonplace for me. Things do not phase me the same way they phase you, darling, in all of your softness and perfection. I wonder if this is what will truly make you happy,”

“James!” you dropped his hands in order to cup his face, “I love you. I want to be with you. What would make you think I’m unhappy here?”

He covered your small fingers with his own, voice wistful. “I love you too, Y/N. Don’t misunderstand me, this wedding brings me more joy than you know. I simply wish to say that you will only get married once and I want it to be exactly to your liking. I have been engaged thrice and married once before, all of the pomp and circumstance is old news to me. For you, though, in all your youth…”

In a rare moment of openness, James bared himself to you. It was only right for you to do the same.

“I have never been more sure of myself than in this moment,” you whispered, leaning to let your forehead rest against his, “You are enough. I don’t need guests, or flower arrangements, or a cake to know I love you and I want to spend the rest of eternity at your side. You’re right, I’m young and I’ve made a lot of dumb choices in my life, but loving you isn’t one of them. Take me, James, make me yours. This is where I belong”

As you spoke, you felt him relax against you.

“Well, you’ve certainly convinced me,” he murmured before pulling back and bringing your hands to his still, unbeating heart, “now, on with the show… my queen, the woman who has tamed my heart, you are the only one of your kind. No one else could move me the way you do. The moment I saw you walk into my hotel I knew that you would be mine, but I had no clue of the things you would do to my heart. You have changed me, mind, body, and soul. I can only hope that I’ve changed you in similar ways,”

While he was speaking, it suddenly hit you that this was it. Usually, brides had months of build-up to their weddings, filled with cake tastings and dress fittings and family and friends. You, though, had had only a few weeks to prepare, most of which were spent on strict bedrest while James took care of the planning. Even then, you had disregarded the plans. Tears of joy began to roll down your cheeks. Nothing had ever felt so right in your whole life.

“Oh darling, don’t cry,” he cooed, wiping your tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m just so happy!”

“And you shall continue to be happy. As long as you remain by my side, you will want for nothing! I shall be with you in sickness and in health, through life and through death,” Suddenly, his voice lowered to almost a whisper. “You, Y/N, have captivated me. I wish to never be without you again,”

“You never will be,”

James smiled, squeezing your hands. In an instant, you realized it was your turn. You hadn’t given much thought as to what you would say, but as you gazed into his dark, hopeful, hungry eyes the words came to you as clear as day.

“James Patrick March,” you said, “I have never met anyone quite like you. When I first saw you, I had nothing. I was destitute. The Hotel Cortez was my last hope in life, but then, I spoke to you in the Blue Parrot Lounge and I suddenly knew exactly what my purpose in life was. Somehow, someway, I realized that I had been made to find you. You’ve given me so much, James. You showed me that life was worth living. I can’t think of a future for me that doesn’t include you. From this moment on, once I’m finally Mrs. March, we can finally be what we were made to be… one heart, one mind, one soul. I’ll never let you go. Marry me, James? Stay here with me until the world ceases to turn?”

“I will, darling. I do,” while he spoke, he reached into his pocket. “I had hoped that this ring would be sitting on your finger sooner. It belongs to the woman of the house, the holder of my heart… you, my dearest Mrs. March. Please say you love me, and that you’ll stay with me until nothing of this world remains?

You responded with a grin. “I love you, James… I do,”

Slowly, he slid the ring onto your finger. It was the first time you’d actually seen it up close, and it was more stunning than you remembered. A large, square-cut diamond sat on a bed of smaller rubies, and it was all held together by a delicate silver band that fit your finger perfectly. The red stones were a new addition. Had James had the ring altered just for you? You were about to ask when you caught his gaze.

“May I kiss the bride now, my darling?”

Instead of responding, you surged up and kissed him yourself. It was like none of the kisses you had ever shared before.

There was a passion to it, but it wasn’t desperate. It was more of a low, roiling thing, a time-bomb ticking down to explode. In seconds James’ cool hand had found its way into your hair, pulling you closer and messing up the pinned curls you had put in earlier. You found you didn’t quite care.

Your limbs were beginning to feel weak as you ran out of air, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of your long-forgotten illness or if it was just the power James held over you. Part of you didn’t care anymore. As you pulled back for air, your husband reached around to the lacing at the back of your dress and began to pull at it, earning a few giggles as he loosened it enough that it fell from your body, leaving you almost bare in front of him.

“How I’ve craved you, my lovely wife,” he growled, palming your breasts through your bra, “it’s been far too long,”

His touch felt electric against your thin, soft skin. “Please, Mr. March, more,” You pressed yourself against your husband, feeling how your words affected him. He was rock hard. Something about that satisfied an ache in your heart. Even with you sick and weak, he needed you as much as you needed him.

In a swift movement, he scooped you up and carried you to the bed, setting you down gently before settling himself between your legs. You whimpered as he sucked a deep bruise into your neck. He was an expert with his tongue, licking and sucking the skin like a man starved. It felt delightful, but you couldn’t help but think about how it would feel elsewhere.

As if he could read your mind, James grinned.

“All in good time, you little minx,”

Ever impatient, you fisted a hand into his hair in an attempt to get him to move lower. He stayed put.

“Does my lovely wife want something from me?”

You groaned as he wrapped his teeth around your bra strap and tugged before letting go, the elastic snapping against your already sweat-slick skin. “James, please,”

“Ah, ah, ah! Use your words, dearest. What do you want?”

His tutting made you flush from your cheeks to your chest. There was only one way to get what you wanted, and you knew exactly how to do it. With as much innocence as you could muster in your debauched state, you whispered, “Please sir, will you eat my pussy?”

James couldn’t hold back as he snapped his hips against the sheets. “That’s it darling! How could I say no to such a polite request?”

You released a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. In a blink, your husband was undoing your bra and pulling it off, working his sinful mouth down to your breasts. His teeth grazed your nipple, drawing a high-pitched whine from your throat as your back arched, pushing you up towards his touch. It was like your body was a live wire. Every nerve was alive, buzzing at the slightest touch. Still, it wasn’t enough.

Thankfully, he was quick to move once again. He left a trail of gentle, sloppy kisses down your ribs and stomach before arriving at his desired destination. His hot breath against your soaked panties fanned the flames of arousal building within you. Once again, you whined.

Your husband had always loved eating you out. He never seemed happier than when he was buried between your thighs with his tongue buried between your folds, and once again he was faced with his favorite activity. The hungry look in his eye told you that he wanted it as much as you did.

“It’s a shame I didn’t get to remove your garter in front of the hotel. I would have so enjoyed showing them all just how lucky of a man I am. Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise though… I do hate to share” he murmured, pressing a few torturous kisses to the hot skin of your inner thighs as he skimmed your panties with his fingers, “I suppose these will have to do,” Then, in a sudden movement, he was dragging them down your legs by the lace with his teeth. Once they were removed, he tossed them aside to be collected later. The way he looked at your wetness was reverent. It only made you wetter.

“What do we have here,” he muttered, letting the tip of his nose just barely brush your core, “what could possibly be making you this wet, my darling?”

His taunting was, surprisingly, less severe than usual. On any normal day, it would have taken a good 10 minutes for him to be anywhere near your heat, but you could tell he was obliging your whims as a treat. It was a special occasion, after all.

“You,” you groaned lowly as his breath ghosted over your pussy.

“That’s right, my dear heart, me,”

In an instant James had buried himself in your lower lips, suckling your clit with vigor as your hips bucked to meet him. For once, he let you chase your pleasure with reckless abandon. It had been months since your last proper orgasm, so you were extra sensitive as he licked long stripes up your slit. Soon enough you were keening as you teetered on the edge of pleasure.

“James- James, please!” you shouted as he finally worked a finger into your tight, wet hole, his tongue lazily circling your clit as he gazed into your eyes across the planes of your body.

He pulled off momentarily, making you groan. “Please what, dearest?”

“I wanna cum! Please- OH!”

His lips were back on your clit instantly, his eyes smiling as he pumped in and out of you with his fingers and sucked with reckless abandon. Every muscle in your body felt poised for action, your hands gripping James’ hair at the roots with enough force that you were surprised it was still attached to his head. You tipped over the edge into pleasure the second he curled his fingers upwards, roughly pressing into your sweet spot as he hummed, his voice vibrating against you in the most heavenly way.

Your orgasm was like a wave of pure bliss rolling over you as James pleasured you through it, milking you for everything you had. Only once you stopped convulsing did he remove his mouth. Even then, he continued to fuck you gently with his fingers. “Did that feel good, my love?” he asked, rubbing circles into your still-shaking thigh with his free hand.

“Yes, James! Your mouth is perfect,” you whimpered.

He seemed to enjoy your answer because he slowly pulled his fingers from your sensitive pussy before climbing up your body and rewarding you with a passionate kiss. You enjoyed it thoroughly but suddenly became aware that he was still fully dressed. “James,” you whined against his lips, “you’re wearing far too many clothes,”

He tasted like tobacco and absinthe as he kissed you again, guiding your hands to the buttons on his suit jacket before tugging at his cravat. “Perhaps we should remedy that, darling?”

You were quick to undo each button before ripping the jacket from his body and tossing it on the ground. His dress shirt and cravat were quick to follow. He focused on undoing his pants while you relished in his bare chest, running your hands down the firm planes of flesh. “God, you’re gorgeous,” you whispered, biting down gently on his collarbone.

“No need to call me God, dearest,” he chuckled, shoving down his pants and boxers to free his leaking cock, “though I don’t oppose to it,”

He was a big man, long and thick enough that fitting all of him in was just slightly painful but more than enough to make you feel deliciously full. You drooled as you reached between your torsos to stroke him, but surprisingly James caught your wrist before you could touch him.

“I appreciate you taking my pleasure into consideration, my love, but I won’t last long as it is,” he crooned, holding your wrist to the bed with one hand as he lined himself up against your dripping heat with the other. He ran the head of his cock against your folds a few times, gathering up your wetness in the hopes that it would ease the stretch when he finally pushed in. To you, though, it was just torture, and how James did love to torture his victims.

“Please, fuck me, Mr. March,” you groaned, “I need you! It’s been so long,”

“Such a good little minx,” his voice rolled low as he smiled down at you, “using your words just like I taught you. Perhaps you deserve a reward,” Then, as he locked his hungry eyes with yours, he pushed fully into your heat.

You cried out in ecstasy the second he filled you up, your head lolling back against the headboard as he rocked in and out, letting you ride out the initial pain as he warmed you up for the main event. It wasn’t long before the sting was gone. It was replaced with a dull ache, but that was mostly overshadowed by a sweet, building fire spreading through your abdomen again as James pounded into you with reckless abandon.

Every muscle in your body felt weak, loose and slack as your husband found that spot inside you. Each thrust was a shock through your overstimulated body. It was like you were toeing the line between pain and pleasure, always an instant from falling fully into one or the other. When James picked up his speed once again, you started to lose yourself to the pleasure.

“Mr. March!” you wailed, body jolting as he released your wrist and instead used his hand to steady your thigh and hold you wide open, “ Mr. March! Oh god, please let me cum!”

Surprisingly, despite the fact that he was dead, James seemed almost as breathless as you while he purred into your ear. “Close your eyes, Y/N. Let the pleasure take you. Cum for me, Mrs. March,”

With one last sharp stroke from James, you wailed and let your orgasm overtake you. This time, though, it wasn’t a wave. Instead, it hit you directly like a ton of bricks. The feeling was heady, a high derived from the shockwaves of pleasure mixing with the sweet pain James always provided when he lost control. Distantly, you could feel your thighs covered in your wet essence as your husband gripped them and drove himself into you ceaselessly, quickly reaching his own climax.

Maybe it was that you hadn’t been satisfied so thoroughly since before you were sick, but you felt absolutely exhausted as the last remains of your release drained from your body. Perhaps you had gone too far with the enthusiasm after being on bed rest for so long… Something deep inside you felt whole, like a piece of you that had been missing all your life had finally slotted into place. You fell into a dreamless sleep as that satisfaction resonated through your thoroughly fucked-out body.

When you woke, you almost felt disconnected from time. It was like waking up from an unexpected nap that went on longer than you had intended it to. Your eyelids felt heavy, but the familiar ache in your lungs and muscles that had been your constant companion was gone, replaced with a cool, tingling numbness. You chuckled a bit to yourself. Had sex been the answer to your problems all along?

Slowly, you rolled onto your side, stretching out your arms and legs before curling up in the sheets. Five more minutes of sleep wouldn’t hurt anybody.

Unfortunately, your plans for rest were foiled as you felt the bed dip beside you.

“How do you feel, my darling?” James asked. His voice was soft. If you didn’t know him better you would have thought he sounded frightened.

You smiled, letting your eyes flutter open as you took in his face. “Surprisingly, I feel great. I don’t think I’ve felt this good for a long time,”

James smiled back at you, his brown eyes glimmering with some distant emotion. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re starting the road to recovery,”

There was something strange about your husband, you noticed as you sat up, looking around. You definitely weren’t in your own bedroom anymore. Instead, you were tucked nicely into a four-poster bed with soft, red sheets, surrounded by dark wood and art deco accents. Distantly, you touched your chest and registered that you were wearing one of James’ shirts.

“You brought me to your room?” You propped yourself up on his headboard as you took in your new surroundings, watching the golden evening sun filter in through the gap in the heavy velvet curtains.

“Our room, my sweetling,” James corrected.

You hummed thoughtfully. “I like it. I know I’ve technically been here, with Devil’s Night and our little trysts and all, but I’ve never slept in your bed before. It’s soft… nice,”

He offered you a tinny false smile, his hands fidgeting nervously with the edge of the bedspread. “I’m glad you think so, dearest. What’s mine is now yours,”

Distantly, you smelled the faintest traces of the antiseptic soap James used to rid himself of blood. You raised an eyebrow. “How long was I out?”

“Just a few hours. I took the liberty of calling Mrs. Evers to turn down your sheets while you rested,”

“You had time for a kill in just a few hours?”

“Y/N, I-”

As he spoke, you reached out to touch his fidgeting hand only to yank your fingers back to your chest. No… this was wrong.

“Y/N, please, stay calm-”

“Why are you warm?” You asked, breathing heavily, “James? Why are you warm?”

James steadied himself with a deep breath before reaching over to rub gentle circles into your thigh above the blanket.

“I… I may have taken the liberties of… Y/N, please understand that I only did what I must. You were wasting away! And a promise is a promise…. What I’m trying to say is-”

“You killed me?”

“Precisely,”

Your husband bit down on his lip, averting his gaze in the hopes of avoiding your wrath. To his surprise, though, you threw yourself into his arms, peppering his face with kisses as you laughed joyously. You were free! Free from pain and sorrow and th e endless trappings of mortality. And James was the one to free you.

“You brilliant man!” you shouted, excited giggles escaping from your lips as you squeezed his frozen body to your own, “I didn’t even notice! Oh my god, and on our wedding night too? That’s so romantic! How did you do it? Did I have a heart attack and die from the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my whole damn life? Well… existence. I’m not quite alive anymore, am I? What did you use? Did you send me down the body chute?”

As you babbled, James slowly began to function again. You truly were his perfect match. “I slit your femoral artery just as all your muscles began to contract,” he explained, reaching up a hand to cup your cheek, “and I came to my own climax as you showered me in your blood. You didn’t feel a thing,”

You happily settled yourself against James’ chest. “You’re right. If anything, it felt kinda good…” you paused, “What about my body?”

He grinned. “You’re dead now, darling, we can revisit killing you during your little deaths at any time you like. As for your body, I didn’t put you down the chute. I cleaned you up, retrieved your ring, and took you to your casket. It’ll be bricked up in a wall within the week,”

“Aw, James, you had a casket ready for me and everything!”

“I commissioned it the day we first met. After we slept together and I led you to your suite, I went right to Liz and had her make an order. I spared no expense. Dark wood, red velvet lining…”

“Mmm,” you hummed, “It’s a shame we’ll never get to christen it… unless…”

“Darling, you cannot truly be thinking what I presume you are thinking,”

You giggled, pushing James flat onto the bed. Slowly, you leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Wanna go fuck over my dead body?”

James Patrick March had never gotten hard quicker in all his 126 years of existence.

-------

a/n: Welp! That’s the first smut I have ever written in my entire life. I hope it wasn’t terrible! This oneshot was great practice for a future instillation of Till Forever Falls Apart, so look forward to that lol. Let me know if you liked this and what types of oneshots you’d like to see next! Also, I love comments, so feel free to comment if you feel so inclined.

Please do not upload my works to other sites, thank you!

#james patrick march #james march #james march x reader #james patrick march x reader #evan peters #evan peters x reader #ahs #ahs hotel #smut #ahs smut #fanfic

[txtdreamss]

the boy who has everything// [f.w.]

Summary: Fred and you have been secretly going steady since the end of your fifth year. Now that he and George are making their grand exit to follow their dreams, you are struggling to come up with the perfect parting gift.

Inspired by: https://open.spotify.com/track/37hblhCnC5YzhDQH58Rgpi?si=0EISnLcTRE2mctlIXNObTA

Warnings: Angst, Malfoy!Reader, difficult home life, neglect mentioned

A/N: Currently going through a bit of a writers block that definitely came from school, but I thought something to do with my fav boy would help clear my mind. Just want some input from ya’ll, would you be interested in me starting to take requests? Also, low-key miss having mutuals before I decided to completely start over lol. Also, why does ‘each other’ look wrong to me? Like I am a native English speaker but the words just like sus...

Word Count: 2.2k

    The numerous differences between your childhood and your boyfriend’s were anything but subtle.

    Growing up, you felt as if you were a puppet being dangled for the world to see. Your mother, Narcissa Malfoy, was a complex woman; She obviously loved you very much. She held you, but never longer than it took to keep your tears at bay. Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, was your father in blood only. His disdain for your lack of enthusiasm regarding blood purity was obvious. He had never once in your 18 years on Earth said ‘I love you’, or even a simple ‘I’m proud of you’. Until the day came where you were willing to take the dark mark and fight on behalf of Lord Voldemort, you would be nothing in your parents’ eyes besides a test child before Draco’s birth.

    Now, from what Fred had told you, his childhood was seemingly filled with sunshine and rainbows. He spent his summers wading in the pond near the Burrow, listening to the chirp of crickets and giggles of his numerous siblings. The entire family was open about showing their love in words and actions. Molly and Arthur, despite not being particularly rich, would give the clothes off their backs if it meant their children would never have to experience fear in any capacity. Fred always had a playmate, and never did he have to go through life fearing being expelled from the family home for his opinions.

    In the simplest of terms, Fred and you were complete opposites. Your similarities were found in the small things; the way you both were headstrong and loyal, and most of all...

   You both despised Filch. Fred had saved your butt from being caught in the halls after dark at the beginning of 5th year. He had decided then and there that despite the fact that you were in a different house, you simply had to be more than another member of the besmirched sacred twenty-eight. He knew from the second you were taking his outstretched hand in the dimly lit corridors that no matter what, you both were destined to be in each others’ lives. As he led you down a secret passage to the sound of Mrs. Norris’ eardrum-rattling mewls, you knew that the idea that he was just another impoverished ginger from the Weasley family was anything but true. Despite all the odds, that night was what laid down the foundations for you and Fred to become more than just another member of the family feud.

    Going on almost 2 years later, and your relationship had shifted from what was a slightly odd friendship to an unexpected relationship. Fred and George were now planning their grand escape for sometime after the Easter holidays, but you had a totally different date on your mind; April 1st.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

    “Oi, Weasley! You are a whole 42 seconds late!” You giggled, and Fred simply chuckled before dropping his books next to yours.

    It was rare for Fred to be on time, but he always made an effort (and usually succeeded) for you. Due to your obvious difference in house loyalty, the easiest way you found to spend time together was to carve out 2 afternoons each week to just bask in each others’ presence. Every Monday and Friday (unless there was a quidditch match), you would meet Fred in a secluded corner of the courtyard. The two of you would goof around study, snack on some treats from Honeydukes, or simply lie back and enjoy the sunset while talking about whatever came up.

    “So, anything big happen today, love?” Fred pecked you on the cheek quickly before dropping his head on your shoulder.

    “Just the usual. Apparently, my mother has finally given up on sending me howlers to come home.”

    “Y/N, mum already said she would love for you to come and stay with us during the holidays. You could come get a feel for the family over the holidays next week, and you would finally get to see what the Weasley-Twin-Birthday-Bonanza is like!”

    “You mean watch your aunt call you George for a whole evening while asking why you aren’t a prefect? Oh, I am so in.” The ginger made a face of mock offense while dramatically huffing into the shoulder of your robes. “That reminds me, will you finally cave and tell me what you want for your birthday?”

    “Love, I don’t want anything at all. Having my gal be there for the big one-eight is more than I could ever ask for.”

    Money was no issue; Your mother had continued sending you a small allowance, most likely in the hopes that it would sway you to ‘do the right thing’. Fred had always made an effort to get you a new charm for your bracelet for your birthday, which most likely cost him a few weeks in sales, so of course you wanted to return the favor and find the perfect gift. Last year, you had crocheted him a plush lion wearing a Gryffindor-themed scarf and he had loved it. For some reason, though, you couldn’t help but feel like you needed to find him something bigger and better for his final birthday as a Hogwarts student.

    “If you say so, Fred. Just don’t complain when you open my gift and it’s a pair of socks embroidered with little kittens.” Fred simply smiled and grabbed your hand that was previously tapping on the edge of your potions textbook.

    “I’ll wear them with pride.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

    “Ginny, please tell me you have some amazing idea for a gift that I haven’t thought of....” Ginny grimaced as you sunk into the wooden chair, obviously aware that this meeting you had called in the library wasn’t just to give her some advice in terms of course selection.

    “Well... um... maybe you could bring him some muggle joke products? He really gets quite a kick out of them.” The apples of Ginny’s round cheeks became rosy, and she awkwardly rubbed at the back of her neck. “I mean, no offense, but couldn’t you just ask him?”

    “I tried that already. At this rate, he will be turning 19 before I figure out what to get him...” A puff of air escaped your chapped lips, and you once again found yourself nibbling on them in thought.

    “Well, here you are, big sis! Trying to figure out a gift for your git of a boyfriend?” Draco’s familiar greasy head popped out from behind the shelf before the young wizard marched up to you directly. “Do us all a favor, give him a little ‘life sans Y/N’... Merlin knows his parents probably don’t want a child of dark lord sympathizers at their shack anyways.”

    “Shut up, Draco...” Before Ginny could attempt to soothe your anger, you had up and left the room.

    “Psh, serves her right anyways...” A resounding smack was heard as Ginny wacked the platinum-headed goon on the back with the heaviest textbook lying nearby.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

    It wasn’t like doubt surrounding your relationship had never been an issue before. You often found yourself wondering if your company was putting Fred in danger, especially considering the current climate surrounding the resurgence in death eater activity. Fred had always tried to quell your worries, but sweet words and gentle kisses could only do so much. You and Fred knew how you both felt towards each other, but it seemed like the world was against you some days.

    Maybe Draco is right, he could get out of here and find a nice girl with normal parents to settle down with. After all, who wants to be known as the significant other of a Malfoy?

    A single tear slipped out of the corner of your eye, but you quickly dabbed it away with the edge of your sleeve to avoid grabbing attention from any of your housemates. The only perk you found that happened to come with being sorted into Slytherin like the rest of your family was that it was far enough away that you knew Fred wouldn’t find out if you spent any time sulking about your common room. For once, the slam of the heavy dungeon doors brought you comfort instead of a nagging chill.

    Fred isn’t like me. He has everything he could ever want... All I do is create more stress for him.

    Ignoring the harsh gaze of your housemates, you slipped into your dorm and found yourself slinking to bed without so much as slipping off your robes. Pulling the emerald comforters over your head, you let yourself slip into a restless sleep.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

    It was finally the day before the Easter holidays, and Hogwarts was more alive than ever. Young couples were spending their last day on campus wandering the corridors, groups of friends sat laughing and promising to write letters on what they each planned to bring back, and even some people that swore they were enemies seemed to be acting more hospitable. It must’ve been nice to not be spending the morning trying to calm your beating heart and convincing yourself that what you are doing isn’t wrong.

    “Hey Lovey! Have you finished packing yet?”

    “Well... not exactly, Freddie.” Fred’s face dropped, and he took your hand in his.

    “Is this about my aunt? I promise you won’t even have to say more than a simple ‘hello’ to her.” The mere mention of Fred’s Auntie Muriel almost cracked your tough exterior.

    “I can’t come home with you, Freddie. There is no way your family wants to spend their holiday break with the daughter of Lucius Malfoy. Look, I mean... here’s your gift. Just please promise to wait till you get to the station to open it.”

    Fred opened his mouth to argue, but you had already turned away as to avoid him seeing hot tears trail down your cheeks. You would have to be insane to go and willingly spend your holiday alone in the Malfoy Manor. There would be no family meals, especially now that all your parent’s energy went towards providing shelter for the death eaters. As you stumbled away to make your way back to your dorm to finish packing, Fred’s warm hand grasped your shoulder.

    “Please. Y/N, all I want is to be able to spend every day of this holiday mucking about with you. I know why you want to go home, and I’m telling you as your boyfriend and best friend to not do it. Just please, grant me a birthday wish... come home with me.”

    Fred drew you into his chest, and you found yourself clutching onto his striped button-up as if it would save your life. His larger hands rubbed across your back, and he pressed a small kiss on the top of your head.

    “Are you really sure about this, Fred? I wouldn’t want to make your mum and dad uncomfortable, or even your older brothers for that matter.”

    “Y/N, my love, the light of my life, just come home. If you can manage to get George to like you more than he likes me, I promise you the rest of my family will love you.” His signature smirk spread on his freckled face, and he pressed a quick peck on the tip of your nose.

    “Now, let’s go get you packed, Y/N.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

    “Oi, Fred, what’s in the box?” George elbowed his brother while somewhat attempting to be quiet. The train ride was almost over, and you had resorted to using the seat opposite to the twins as a temporary napping spot.

    “I nearly forgot I had it on me to be quite honest. Do you think I should open it even though she is coming with us?”

    “She said to open it at the station, but we are obviously past that point, so please just open it!” George bounced in his seat, and Fred gave in to temptation. He unwrapped the ribbon holding the small box shut, opened the lid, and discovered a dainty chain with a circular pendant hanging on the end.

    “Is that a size reference for your-”

    “George! Shut up, you dimwit. I think it might be a mirror-glass type thing, but I genuinely have no idea...”

    “Freddie, bring it to your eye and look through it.” The twins both jumped as you rolled over, clearly no longer asleep.

    Fred brought the pendant to his right eye, squinted, and his immediate smile couldn’t be contained. When held at the right distance, he could see a small picture of you and him from your first date at Hogsmeade. He was much more lanky and awkward looking, and you were almost matched in height. The smile you both shared in the photo warmed his heart to no end, and Fred found himself having to gather his emotions from the memories he had of that day. 

    The ginger all but leapt to your side of the cart, and he wrapped his arm around your still-sleepy figure. He squeezed you tightly to his side before leaning in to whisper something in your ear without allowing George to hear.

    “It’s perfect, my love.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

~Post-fic A/N: I hope this was a good read for you guys! I am definitely on the verge of passing out, but proofreading is superior to sleep (jk). Anyways, if anything comes to mind, don’t hesitate to reach out or send in an ask! I love interacting with you guys, even if it is just a brief hello! :) ~

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred and george #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #fred x reader #fred weasley imagine #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #angst #malfoy reader #reader insert #weasley supremacy #txtdreamss

[dramionediscussion]

I have a concern about Dramione fandom, which has been slightly troubling me lately. I am not saying that this is something that is going to happen, or is happening already. Naturally, I don’t think this is entirely unfounded either (hence why I am writing this), but I am just one Dramione shipper. If this doesn’t resonate at all, that’s totally fine! We are all aware of extremely boorish and fatuous anti-Dramione people, who troll, defame and accuse Dramione of being all sort of things. We are also probably all quite familiar with their claims about the ship and its shippers. You know, Dramione promotes racism, sexism, classism, unhealthy and abusive relationships, it’s all about bashing Ron, it’s just cuz actors are hot, we should all pay homage and tribute to canon relationships (and their shippers naturally), and offer respect and fawn over everything “canonical” for gracing us with all this HP bounty, and so on. This time I am not going to try to offer rebuttals, or deconstruct their arguments, or even psychoanalyze them more than absolutely necessarily. I am not even particularly upset about them (anymore). They are categorically wrong, their arguments are never insightful or thoughtful. Most importantly, they are disingenuous in their argumentation and especially about their own motives. I believe, the best course is ignore them totally. What I am afraid, that these endless arguments, relentless belittling, and even harassment of which they never seem to grow tired off actually might change Dramione shippers and community as well. Not in a conscious way, but constantly being on a defense can make people internalize some of these arguments. Or rather their premises and assumptions on which they are based upon. I don’t mean it, that Dramione shippers will suddenly wake up, and shout out that Dramione was actually all about abusing women all along, or anything like that. What I mean is, that people rather internalize certain assumptions, framing and logic chains, which are build into those arguments. In a defense, they start define what Dramione really means, what is ideal Dramione, what is acceptable or desirable in Dramione fics, in accordance of these attacks, by unconsciously defending their ship from slander. As an example, Romione people constantly accuse that Dramione is either all about mindless “Ron bashing”, and Dramione shippers rightly say that it’s not what Dramione is about at all. What I am afraid, that people might internalize the point, that “Ronbashing” is something truly heinous, and what should be avoided at all cost. And as a corollary to that, ideal Dramione fics are those in which there’s no conflicts between Ron, Draco and Hermione. Or the very least they are resolved in a conciliatory and harmonious manner. Or it is lazy Dramione writing, when Ron is “villainized”. Or another thing they say is, that Dramione just about glorifying and eroticizing abusive relationships. This might lead that some of us accept the framing, that describing or narrating something is totally same as promoting and celebrating it. If they accept it, then it’s quite easy to logically infer, that if Dramione is not defined by Draco abusing Hermione (it’s not), then it must be defined negatively as its opposite. Meaning that something cannot be genuine or accepted Dramione, if it contains an abusive Draco. Or as an induction from that, if a fic has an abusive Draco, it also must contain a redemption arc, and Draco has to change and make amends, and redeem himself as a person. That we start to define Dramione being really about redemption or redeeming, forgiveness, changing oneself for the better, etc (as contrary to their claim that its about abuse). Don’t get me wrong, I’d say the majority of Dramione fics contain a redemption story arc, and Draco either has changed or actively changes his views and behavior. It’s a common and wonderful theme, and almost all my favorite Dramione fics have those, and I like just for its own skae. Yet it’s not something what either makes or unmakes Dramione. There’s a minority of fics, in which Draco is never truly redeemed (usually a lust-filled obsession, with many many cognitive dissonances, which he never solves), and they are as Dramione as anything else, and some people enjoy writing them and some people reading them (or at least some of them). Also, a lot of gray areas, which can be quite delightful, thought inspiring and invigorating (and hot!).  Speaking for myself, I’d say maybe 1/20 of my favorite fics have this dynamic or something close to it. Maybe 33% are more in that gray area. It doesn’t do any harm, there’s nothing ethnically wrong about it, I never idolize that behavior. If Romione stans have problem with that, they can go away, cry and tell that Rupert Grint body pillow all their troubles, because I don’t give a damn. People don’t emulate or model their behavior or preferences from YA fanfics or smut in that sense in any significant numbers. If someone does, I am sorry to say, but you probably weren’t going to make it anyway. It’s the irl version of getting a comedy death in a video game, like if a smarter-than-average mushroom hypnotizes you and makes you walk into a bottomless pit, or something like that. Your problems are deep seated and numerous, which unless dealt with, will be triggered by just about anything. Its pure happenstance whether it will be Harlequin novels, Dramione fanfiction, urban legend your cousin told you, or whatever. This could go on, but seriously, Dramione shippers have nothing to prove or even argue with those antis. It’s just bottomless pit of resentment, what they twist into moral arguments, which they think will signify us as the worst kind of people, and they themselves as the most virtuous. Their antipathies are petty and personal concerns, in which they feel like the universe and the abominable cabal of Dramione shippers have cheated them out of all that attention, writers, fans, fics, and deference they feel entitled to. It’s natural for humans to cloak often even most pettiest and nonsensical slights and resentments into whatever moral or ethical language and arguments the society they live holds sacred. If we would be living in the 1600s, they’d be scouring the Bible for anti-Dramione arguments, and denouncing Dramione as unchristian and sinful. By their stated “moral standards”, there are a lot more “vile” and “harmful” ships out there, but they aren’t functionally bothered by them at all. So, unless really prompted, they don’t even bother to denounce them, little alone wage this never-ending crusade against them. That’s because they aren’t popular enough to trigger that envy and resentment (Hermione with basically any of the worst Death Eaters). Or they feel that they don’t compete in the same niche as their ship does (Drarry as an example). I wouldn’t be writing this, if this discourse with Antis hadn’t affected me as well. There was a time, I wanted to understand what they were about, and I read a lot of their grievances and internal discussions. While reading I couldn’t help but to be on a defense all the time. Sort of refuting and counter-arguing against their points in my mind, while reading their diatribes (I tried to start a dialog couple of times, but I was always totally ignored, which I am thankful for them in retrospect). Conditioning myself with that for long enough, I did notice that I started to feel a bit hesitant about certain tropes and Dramione fics I hadn’t before. I was thinking about Dramione like a defense attorney, excepting to be attacked from all directions. It actually took me quite long to figure this out, and how the bile of HP fandom had in subtle ways affected my sense and tastes without my really noticing.

Anonymous submitted: P.S. I wrote that previous submission, and I have to add, that I am not trying to say this is happening or pointing any fingers at anybody. There’s perfectly good reasons to not like any Dramione fic, as a Dramione shipper, in which Draco is irredeemable or evil. There’s perfectly legitimate reasons to prefer fics, which Ron is portrayed as a positive influence for Dramione. People can arrive to same conclusions or tastes from countless different routes and reasons. The negativity that the HP fandom and Romione shippers especially grace us just got to me in a way, that I wasn’t even cognizant about. It might be the case for others as well, if their own self-reflection so deems (or not).

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

I agree with every point you’ve made. While it’s obviously okay to discuss why you like Dramione (or any other pairing), people also need to remember that they don’t have to justify why they ship Draco and Hermione together or prove (especially to haters as they’re not worth anyone’s time) that their OTP makes sense because even if it makes no sense whatsoever, it’s still fine to ship it as long as you can differentiate between fantasy and reality. I don’t know about you, but when I started shipping Dramione, it was like love at first sight. I didn’t think if they made sense, didn’t spend hours trying to make a list of arguments for Dramione, I just suddenly loved the idea of them together, believed they belonged together, and that was and still is enough. I don’t need to justify why I ship them, and neither does anyone.

It’s true that in most Dramione fics, Draco gets redeemed. It’s also true that most shippers prefer fics in which Draco gets a redemption arc, but we have to remember that there’s nothing wrong with enjoying fics in which Draco’s irredeemable or his relationship with Hermione is toxic. I myself read such stories from time to time. I like a good Ron bashing fic every now and then as well, and there’s nothing wrong with that either because it’s all fantasy, it’s all fiction, which, I believe, most Dramione shippers are aware of and accept. Hopefully, it won’t change, and no one will ever try to tell others what should and shouldn’t be written or what is and what’s not allowed in a Dramione fic.

- AgnMag

#dramione #anonymous #HP Fandom #submission

[hacawijo]

Azriel never said he was entitled to/deserved to be with Elain, those were Rhys’s words. Azriel said it didn’t make sense for two of the brothers to be with two of the sisters and not the third. Obviously it’s not the healthiest reasoning, but I think he’s reasoning in order to explain his strong feelings for Elain and to make sense of the powerlessness and envy he feels. Imagine pining after someone mostly unavailable and ultimately uninterested in you for 500 years, then finally finding someone else who makes you feel a lot of things and gets you better than maybe anyone else AND who is into you just as much as you are into them (he smells her arousal folks, Elain is super into Azriel and has been forever - literally fight me, I will give you receipts) and then to be forced to watch that person be essentially claimed, against their own preference, by someone else. Also, since when is it not absolutely certain that a fantasy romance ship is happening when someone expressly forbids it for political reasons??? That is such a classic trope!!

Azriel can’t catch a fucking break. How could you not have all of those feelings and then feel like fate screwed you when that person’s two sisters are destined for your two brothers? It’s a rationalization ADDED ON to the feelings he already has for Elain, he doesn’t have feelings for Elain because he thinks he’s entitled to her, he hopes that fate is showing him that his feelings are not in vain (AGAIN).

SJM herself said that she’s sprinkled breadcrumbs about Azriel’s story for a long time, which also makes me think Gwyn isn’t endgame because she’s such a new character. The moment between them in the bonus chapter actually reminds me a lot of Cassian’s moment with Emerie in ACOFAS. A lot of people predicted that he might be torn between her and nesta, but really it was just a way to flesh out that character outside of Nesta’s narrative. It seems more like SJM is trying to incorporate Gwyn into larger parts of the story and as more than just nesta’s friend. Perhaps what we need to glean from his interactions with Gwyn are the things Azriel values, and the personal growth he might go through, in a vocational sense, in the next book.

It makes him happy to make Gwyn happy because he ultimately cares very strongly for people who have suffered and survived and thrived. Cassian cares about what happens to the illyrians, Azriel doesn’t - the Valkyrie (to an extent) and the illyrians are Cassian’s mission, Azriel doesn’t have anything like that, yet. Azriel doesn’t like the violent things he does for the court, and that is probably part of why he feels so unfulfilled and lost. The most valuable things he has done have been the type of thing he did in saving Gwyn at Sangravah and training the priestesses with Cassian. This is all rooted, of course, in the suffering he witnessed his mother go through. All three of the illyrians are defined by the violence and wrongs done to their mothers, and two of them have found ways to make relative peace with those wrongs. Azriel has begun to and has done much to help wronged women and children and people, but I don’t think he’s had his Aha! Moment yet in the way that Rhys and Cassian have. His interaction with Clotho feels like an indication of his greater purpose, an alternative concern to his romantic woes re: Elain.

I’m not saying this means that Gwyn ISNT involved in a romantic way in the next book, but I think it’s hasty to assume it’s romantic just because Azriel has a meaningful, connected moment with her. Think about Manon and Elide or Feyre and Lucien, two friendships that bridged a lot of characters together and that could have gone in a romantic direction but didn’t. She tends to do that more with friendships than romantic relationships I think. I also think there was a clearer indication of Emerie’s interest in Mor than Gwyn’s in Azriel (I know there’s more interaction between Azriel and Gwyn, but Emerie is clearly into Mor when she says she doesn’t come around Windhaven anymore), and it seems almost as tidy to have Azriel and Mor end up with the other two Valkyries as for Azriel to end up with the third sister. Azriel, Mor, and Cassian are very nearly as much a sacred trio as the Illyrians. Also, I think it’s more likely that Mor will end up with Emerie because she hasn’t had a real romantic interest be yet revealed (the only thing I can think of is Viviane’s younger sister, but that was also superrrrrrrrrr subtle and I might have read too far into the text) and SJM pretty much never decides to start those in the course of one book (of which this extra Azriel POV chapter would be a part).

I also just want to say that Elain has been consistently uncomfortable with Lucien. He gets her the gloves for solstice, and it’s because he has a fundamental misunderstanding of her as a person. He sees her as something delicate to be sheltered and protected from thorns and elements, but that’s actually one of the things Elain loves most about gardening, and is probably how she wishes she could live her life if given the freedom and confidence. In the Feysand chapter, Feyre specifically mentions the gloves that Lucien got Elain and the consequences of Elain not wearing them. On the surface it seems silly because she hurt herself, using the gloves makes total sense, but Rhys and Feyre are actually talking about Elain as someone who is growing and who actually likes to get dirty and FEEL things. It would make COMPLETE sense for Elain to be with Lucien, he’s her mate and he’s courtly and traditional (for a high fey, anyway) and it would be very politically tidy. But maybe this new, changed Elain just doesn’t want that anymore. Maybe she thinks Azriel’s scarred hands are beautiful because they’re nothing other than what they are, and she’s not afraid of having her own scars (I.e. the thorns).

I don’t know for sure that it’s a great sign that Azriel got Elain jewelry. That could be an indication that he sees her beauty and delicacy similarly to the way Lucien does, and certainly he is protective of Elain. BUT think it could mean something different because it was juxtaposed with the pearl earrings that Lucien gave Elain. They were plain, we’ve never had any indication that Elain is interested in pearls or even regular jewelry. SJM OBVIOUSLY put much more thought into the description of the necklace and AZRIEL OBVIOUSLY put much more thought into his gift for Elain than Lucien did. He thought about Elain and what she means to him and gave her something that appears gently beautiful and informal but is even more lovely when someone PAYS CLOSER ATTENTION TO IT, as Azriel always does with everything, and especially Elain.

just can’t imagine SJM having anything that is awkward and at best uncomfortable and uncommunicative turn into an endgame relationship. Elain and lucien have no passion, neither sexual nor antagonistic nor romantic. All of her relationships tend to involve a pretty instant attraction and ongoing tension with tiny little moments sprinkled in from the get. Elain is only ever uncomfortable around Lucien. On the other hand, she is innately comfortable with Azriel pretty immediately (again ask for receipts and I will give them).

They also meet each other pre-cauldron, Lucien is literally like, “she’s my mate!” During one of the most traumatic and dissonant moments of Elain’s life. Remember how much Rhys DIDNT MAKE FEYRE’S LIFE OR TRAUMA ABOUT HIM???? He waited FOREVER to tell her about the bond, was pretty certain he could never be with her, would have been happy to never tell her and just have her be happy. Cassian was pretty sure of the bond with nesta and did not come close to mentioning it until they declared themselves together forever. Rowan and Aelin were also terrified to admit to each other that they were mates, again because they worried what it might do to negatively affect the other. But there’s Elain, fresh outta the cauldron, they all heard her screams and saw her terror and despair, and the first thing he says is “she’s MY mate.”

Also want to be clear I’m not trying to hate on Lucien. I mentioned above that Lucien is used to being pretty courtly and traditional, I think he was raised in the autumn court and has a very traditional understanding of what the mating bond means. I don’t think he is ever trying to claim Elain because he’s inherently trying to ignore her wishes or control her, but because he feels that bond and believes in the fact that it is sacred. Elain was born human, doesn’t really understand the significance of mates the way Lucien does. Of course she wouldn’t have a matching reverence. Elain is used to love and building trust and a relationship with someone over time and with patience. Which is exactly how her relationship with Az progresses.

Really think about Elain and Lucien, what about them seems compatible? He plays the game, he’s clever, his specialty is in people and he likes to have repartee with those he’s close to. Elain is pretty much always herself, she doesn’t change to suit her company, and she frankly doesn’t seem to love figuring people out. She loves being with the people she loves, but the politics of people don’t interest her - nature interests her. She’s kind in a way that Lucien would probably probably find boring in someone who isn’t his mate. In ACOSF, nesta is constantly thinking about the difference in her relationship with her mother from the relationships her mother had with her sisters. She makes it really clear that Elain never knew how to handle people in the same way as nesta or any courtier, and that she wasn’t really all that interested in intrigue or politic (which is why their mother was never interested in Elain). Elain and Lucien do not understand each other and do not understand the other’s passions or motivations. I like Lucien, I don’t love him the way that some folks do, probably because I never really got over his failure to feyre in ACOMAF, but I do want him to be happy. I think he can’t give Elain what she wants or needs and vice versa.

Lastly I want to talk about symmetry and fresh narrative. At this point, mating bonds are pretty played out. SJM has set a lot of groundwork re: the fact that mating bonds are NOT always perfect, and are NOT always happy. Rhys talks a lot about his mother and father. They were very unhappy together; they did not understand each other. It sounds like Rhys’s father was a politician and Rhys’s mother was wild and raw and genuine. This is part of the reason he waits so long to tell Feyre about the bond (and obviously he doesn’t even get to tell her, she finds out on her own). I am definitely not trying to say that Lucien is like Rhys’s father, he’s not, he’s a much better person, but I do think that the differences in Rhys’s parents’ values and passions mirror the dissonance that can be felt between Lucien and Elain as well. I think all of the wind was taken out of the relationship before it started because Lucien named Elain as his mate so quickly- it was really unearned. It is so EARNED in Feyre and Rhys’s story and Aelin and Rowan’s.

I think the idea of choosing love over nature is actually extraordinary. Elain, who has never really had a choice in her whole life, will make the most subversive and difficult choice of the series by rejecting her mating bond. And Azriel, who has never believed himself worthy of good things, will be chosen over a mating bond because he is so extraordinarily deserving of happiness and love and to be truly chosen as someone else’s paramour even beyond the influence of a mating bond. Is there any greater narrative validation of Azriel than that???? SJM writes grand, dramatic cosmic payback for her characters, and this would be a crowning achievement in that vein.

As for Lucien, what he has needed is a way out of the lines he’s always been expected to live in. He was never at home in the autumn court, he was never truly at home in the spring court, and despite Elain, he is definitely never at home in the night court. Lucien’s love, the thing that made him more happy than anything else in his life, was inherently unconventional, and then the convention he lived in destroyed it. Letting go of Elain and the mating bond will be the best way for him to reject the rules that have confined him for his entire, mostly miserable life. Elain will choose Azriel, and Lucien will choose to let her go, not just for Elain but also for himself. I’m willing to bet he might even give up his immortal life to be with Vassa and Jurian. Obviously that whole trio’s dynamic is still pretty murky, but I THINK he seems to be into Vassa (hell who knows - maybe he’s into jurian). Certainly he is happier with them than he has ever been anywhere else (tamlin was Lucien’s dear friend, but Lucien was also fucking terrified of him), and maybe it’s not and will never be about romantic fulfillment for him. That being said, that seems unlikely given SJM’s tendency to pair off her characters.

As for people being mad about the sex stuff...... have we not been reading the same books? Cassian and Rhys have both made it clear to Feyre that Az can get it, he hasn’t been chastely pining for Mor his whole life. Nesta also specifically confirms in this newest installment that Elain is not a virgin, hello bread crumb set up. Elain and Azriel are both sexually active adults who are sexually attracted to each other. Why should they not be able to have agency over their own sexuality in the same way as all of the other characters? Because they’re shy? Because they seem nicer and gentler?

I think it’s actually really infantilizing to make Elain a victim/inactive participant in her solstice interaction with Azriel. Sure, narrators aren’t always reliable, but SJM always uses the fey scent as a story device to confirm sexual interest and initial/general consent for the reader without suspicion or misinterpretation. I. E. Nesta and cassian both had really warped understandings of how the other felt about them for a lot of ACOSF, but they always came back to knowing for certain that they were sexually attracted to each other. That is something that SJM makes pretty freakin clear in most situations. I don’t think that Azriel thought anything that was darker or dirtier than anything Rhys or cassian has thought about feyre and nesta. In fact it was definitely less kinky than how cassian and nesta often thought of each other sexually before they really got together.

Also, a lot of elain’s reactions to Lucien in ACOWAR remind me of mor’s reactions to Azriel throughout the series. You could tell she was feeling some type of way, but in reality it was guilt and sorrow that she couldn’t return his feelings, not that she was tortured by her love for him. I feel like when Lucien goes to the continent and Elain displays emotion about it it’s more about the fact that she feels bad she doesn’t feel more for him even though she does feel the bond. I’m sure it was really confusing for her. Elain’s reactions to Azriel, though, remind me more of the little snippets of interaction between Aedion and Lysandra before they had more POV in the ToG series and also those between cassian and nesta in ACOMAF and ACOWAR before THEY had POV chapters.

Wow so yeah here’s my dissertation. I hope someone out there reads this and is like YES THIS IS WHAT IVE BEEN TRYING TO SAY, because I love when I find posts like that.

#azriel #elain archeron #acotar #a court of silver flames #elriel #elucian #nessian #nesta archeron #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #morrigan #aelin fireheart #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #theories #sarah j maas #azriel bonus chapter #azriel pov #acomaf #acowar #throne of glass #azriel and elain #analysis #literary analysis

[smallblip]

Yellow chrysanthemums

Mikasasha (they’re bffs here) + a side of Jeankasa | Rated G for ‘Goddamn I’m sad’

It’s on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/29415435

(Spoilers for S4E9)

Little gold flower.

Her mother used to tell her. This little gold flower, perfect like the sun. It’s the symbol of our people, of nobility, of beauty-

And of grief, of sorrow so great your heart shatters into a million pieces. Like petals so numerous they’re only significant as a whole.

It represents both beauty and grief? Mikasa had asked.

Her mother had shrugged. That’s just life isn’t it Mikasa, there’s always got to be a bit of both.

But Mikasa thinks her mother is wrong. There’s nothing beautiful about grief. Nothing beautiful about the endless rows of grey headstones, of the fog that seems to cling to the cemetery, heavy like its own atmosphere. This life leaves much to be desired, but there’s nothing beautiful about death.

Not even when day is breaking and the light catches the dew on the untrimmed grass. Mikasa wonders why the grass is so long. Wonders if death is as unkempt, or if it’s pristine as white walls. She can’t figure out which she’d prefer. And already the day is breaking, and the sun- a little gold flower- tries to tear through the fog.

“Wake up Sasha...”

She says, so quietly it settles atop the fog.

She thinks about the room they share and the turmoil on Sasha’s side- clothes strewn everywhere, sweet wrappers thrown in the mix, her bow and arrow tucked under her bed. Somehow, she manages to navigate her way around the mess. “Mikasa! Can I borrow your shirt? I don’t have a clean one!” Sasha would say. “No.” She would reply, but Sasha would help herself anyway. They would talk about breakfast- it’s the same gruel every day. But somehow thinking up possibilities with Sasha made gruel more bearable.

But today, like most days, Sasha doesn’t stir.

“Wake up Sasha...” Mikasa tries again, a little harsher this time. If they don’t get going soon they’re going to get scolded again. And Mikasa will have to think up some stupid excuse.

No response.

She wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hands. But the tears keep coming. She pulls her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms. Mikasa closes her eyes, wishing for some kind of respite- in what form she isn’t sure. Sleep, perhaps? And when she wakes up, it will be to Sasha’s incessant snoring. It’s just a dream Mikasa... A bad dream... It isn’t real...��But it’s so quiet, and Mikasa has never felt more alone.  

“Mikasa?”

It’s Jean, with Connie. Now there are a few loose stalks of carnations beside her little gold flowers.

“I’ll leave you two to it...” she murmurs, there’s no point hiding the fact that she has been crying. Her reddened nose and wet cheeks are testament. It has always been the three of them- Sasha, Connie, Jean. Always. And Mikasa is already on her feet, making space. All of a sudden she feels out of place, a little stone in the shoe, a splinter in the trinity.

“No, stay...” it’s Connie. He offers a little smile and Mikasa stays, hands clasped in front of her. So this is what a person looks like when he loses part of himself.

“I’m sorry Connie... Jean...” Mikasa blurts. It seemed like the right thing to say.

There’s a smile again, this time from both of them.

“I’m sorry too Mikasa...” Connie says. And they sit around the headstone in ritual silence. For a moment it’s the four of them, and Mikasa feels young again. She remembers meeting them for the first time, she would have never expected this back then. Falling in love with people just means the inevitable heartache. This Mikasa knows from experience. And yet she does. Maybe this is what makes life beautiful- its capacity for happiness and sorrow so great it fucking breaks you.

They sit and talk until the sun dips, casting pinks and oranges through the fog. In all its muted glory, Mikasa wants to be selfish, to think this is all for her, to think it’s Sasha’s way of telling her everything is fine.

“Should we get going? It’s getting late...” Connie says. And it’s a wise choice. They all have paperwork to fill in and it’s the beginnings of a terribly long week.

But Mikasa shakes her head, she’ll stay a little longer. Just a little longer. There’s still so much she wants to tell Sasha.

“Hey...” It’s Jean. Jean with a look of resignation that he wears when he grieves.

“Hey...” she replies, smiling at him. She shifts to make space and he takes the cue and sits beside her.

It’s quiet for a while, and Mikasa wants so badly to apologise again. But what would she be apologising for? That they had to go to Marley? That she feels guilty for. The loss they both share? The fact that Mikasa couldn’t save her? The fact that Jean couldn’t save her?

But it’s Jean who breaks the silence first.

“Sasha loved you...” he says with difficulty, like he’s trying his best not to conjure up more memories than he can manage, “she talked about you a lot...”

Mikasa pulls her scarf over her chin, withdrawing further into herself. Maybe it would have been better if she had been shot instead. One moment you’re laughing, and the next there’s crimson and everything fades to darkness. And maybe Sasha would remember the little gold flowers Mikasa told her about and they would appear by her headstone.

“I remember when you two were first announced as roommates... Connie was very convinced you were going to kill Sasha one day in her sleep...” Jean chuckles.

There’s a smile that pulls at Mikasa’s lips, “I did want to kill her...” she tells Jean about the mess in her room, about Sasha’s loud snoring, about the balls of knotted thread when Mikasa had tried to teach her how to sew. And she tells Jean about their secret food stash that Sasha maintains religiously, about the things Sasha had taught her about the forest, about her dream to have a cattle ranch after the war. She leaves out their conversations about the young Marleyan chef, the one who has his eye on Sasha. The one they giggle about in the darkness of their room. She leaves out letting Sasha sleep in her bed when she gets nightmares. And that one time Sasha did the same for her. It’s just a dream Mikasa... A bad dream... It isn’t real... she had said, carding her fingers through Mikasa’s hair more expertly and with more tenderness than Mikasa could ever manage.

“What are we going to do...” Mikasa says, more rhetorical than anything, and the dam breaks. She cries so hard that her lungs scream for air. Jean wraps his arms around her. It’s okay Mikasa... It’s okay... he leans his head against hers and there are tears falling from his cheek to her hair- tears that he would sheepishly apologise for later.

The walk back to their bunks is quiet. And with every step, it gets a little easier to breathe. Mikasa’s hand is in Jean’s, and she feels like a child, spent from crying, happy to be safe and walked home. Except this little thing they have between them happens too often, and she almost prepares herself for Sasha’s teasing later. Almost.

It’s almost too soon when they arrive at Mikasa’s door and Jean senses her hesitation.

“You don’t have to be alone tonight Mikasa... You can come join Connie and I...” Jean flashes a grin, “we have alcohol...”

Mikasa smiles, squeezing Jean’s hand before letting go. Maybe some other time. She needs this tonight. And Jean understands, “you know where to find me...” he says, pulling her head against his chest. She breathes in deep. He smells of fresh laundry and bergamot. Mikasa snakes her arms around his waist. She knows, she’s looked for him before in the dead of night.

And then she’s alone again. There’s a trail of mess where Sasha has been and Mikasa is careful not to disturb it, as if it has been arranged in some sort of sacred way. She changes, and crawls into Sasha’s bed in anticipation of a nightmare. Too many things have happened in Marley- a potent concoction for bad dreams. The sheets smell like her- a mix of the forest and something sweeter- like lilies.

It’s just a dream Mikasa... A bad dream... It isn’t real...

But between the wetness on the pillow and the silence that shrouds the room, reality is stark.

But when Mikasa closes her eyes, she sees a field of chrysanthemums. She’s running through the endless gold fields, feet bare, heart racing.

Mikasa keep up! She hears somewhere in the distance. It’s Sasha. She’s always been a fast runner.

Wait! Mikasa shouts after her, there’s a panic that courses through her blood. Sasha is going too far away. She feels small again, a child waiting to be swallowed up by the world. Sasha wait...

She’s tired of running after people. Tired of falling in love with people. Tired of hurting. Tired of grief.

I’m here... It’s just a bad dream Mikasa... she hears from past the field of little gold flowers. It feels so real that Mikasa screws her eyes shut. Please don’t go... and Sasha is there again, lying beside her in the field of chrysanthemums. Sasha is smiling at her, that stupid smile she always has on her face that comes with the promise of something good, something beautiful- like roast beef on a platter, or like a field of little gold flowers, each as perfect as the sun.

Goodnight Sasha...

#mikasasha #mikasa ackerman #Sasha blouse #sasha braus #jeankasa #shingeki no kyojin #my fic #mine #jean kirstein #connie springer

[alpaca-writes]

Mystics, Chapter 32

Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by the strange shopkeeper Lyrem Nomadus, and everything seems to be going well. In fact, their life nearly becomes perfection; no more bullies, better grades, and a lot less stress. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems and that Lyrem has been hiding a very dark, and troubling secret…

Oooh I have to say I’m pretty proud of this chapter. I had to wrestle with a thousand and one plot-holes to make it work and it’s almost 2:30am but it was all worth it. Enjoy!

MasterList 

Taglist: @myst-in-the-mirror & @livingforthewhump

CW: Gore, body horror, creepy whumper, swearing, there’s one bad pun this time. I lol’d about it for arguably too long.

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

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: CURTAINS

         Paimon whistled an old tune through his lips as he stepped across the hall. The knives had been placed away, and in speaking with Apollo, he had come to a startling revelation about himself and his goals.

         It was Arthur’s turn to be strapped down to the table and this time, it wouldn’t be in a dining hall. Before long, Paimon had the room transformed into a stage, with dining chairs to line the one and only audience row. There was no need for a large gathering. Paimon had a very limited guest list. He had sent invitations with some poorly thought puns just for the fun of it, and had no intention of being stood up. This would be a performance of a lifetime and as director, Paimon wouldn’t dare to have a single aspect go awry.

         He clucked his hooves down the darkest hallway by-passing Apollo’s chamber for the one with the two sorry humans. It seemed they were cut off from a sour discussion when they heard his steps through the corridor.

         “-it really shouldn’t take too much effort”-

         “How would you know?” Lyrem hissed.

         Paimon smiled, glad that the two prisoners were making nice with each other.

         “Big plans, my boys?” he sauntered through, making eye contact with Arthur, who rolled his eyes away from the creature to avoid looking at him fully. “No? Not a fishing trip or some good old mountaineering? I hear Colorado is gorgeous this time of year.”

         Paimon tapped a chain with a fingernail to produce a clinking sound near Arthur’s wrist. The chains began lowering themselves down at the behest of an invisible, magical force. The moment he had slack, Arthur wrapped a loop of chain around Paimon’s neck and pulled it taut against his forearm. He had the upper hand, and there was nothing that Paimon could do to affect him.

         “Agree to let Arch out of this deal right now, you”-

         Paimon grinned and vanished into a plume of black smoke. Arthur stumbled from the release of pressure against the beast.

         Paimon stalked up behind him, enjoying the little act of defiance, but he had to be stern. He wagged a finger at the human and tutted.

         “You know better than that,” Paimon exclaimed. “I may not be able to hurt you with magic, but I can certainly still use it to get myself out of a sticky situation.”

         He kept himself to a distance as not to get tied up twice, and glanced toward Lyrem, who seemed to be keeping to himself and was intentionally avoiding eye contact by turning his head away.

         “So emotional… Don’t worry old friend, you’ll get your chance as well,” Paimon noted. He returned to Arthur with a renewed interest in his eyes. “Now, you listen. We have quite the performance ahead of us and you’re already busted up enough as it is. I don’t want to make it any worse. That’s for Arch to do.”

         Arthur glanced from Paimon to his way out into the hall and then back again.

         “Clear terms,” Arthur began, “Arch is given five minutes to carve out my heart, and if they fail, they are free from all bonds, any agreements, including any signed ones they had with you. And if you use even one ounce of your power to force them”-

         Paimon nodded, “I don’t know why you need to specify it, Arty, truly. Arch will do splendidly and you’ll never see the light of day again. It’s a winning situation all around.”

         “If you try to force them into doing anything at all,” Arthur insisted. “Then Arch is released, agreed?”

         Paimon scoffed, and nodded, “Agreed! For goodness sakes, were you a lawyer in a past life? Clearly not, I think. The lawyers I know wouldn’t come to an agreement like this unless it was in writing- they’d also think of themselves first. Do you have any clue what will happen to you, Arty? What will become of you if Arch is released?”

         As Paimon rambled, he tapped the shackles again, and this time with severe discipline, Arthur refrained from trying to strike at Paimon a second time. His shackles were joined now; morphed from a joint in the wall to linking together from his wrists and his ankles with hardly a sound to it.

         “I don’t care what happens to me,” Arthur declared, “as long as Arch is free from you.”

         “Such a sweet thing, caring about your Arch so much. I doubt that feeling will last for very much longer.” Paimon ushered Arthur forward. He was unable to teleport him anyway. The Abysmal Flame prevented Arthur from being controlled by any force placed upon him that was not physical in nature. “Move along now, we don’t have all day. Our guests will be arriving shortly.”

         With a final glance to Lyrem from across the room, Arthur followed Paimon out the door and through the halls.

         The hall lit itself as Paimon took his hoof-steps through, avoiding the empty souls lurking between shadowed pillars. Arthur moved slowly, feeling tired and sick from his lacking energy.

“What guests?” Arthur inquired.

         “Did I not tell you earlier that it was a performance? I invited several guests to have front row seats… my uncle Hades, my half-sister, and oh, of course, your dear sister Charlotte as well.”

         Arthur’s blood ran frigid. The tense, shaky breath that followed made Paimon smirk with delight.

         “Ah yes, I’ll be sure she is there to watch her child to carve out the heart of her dear little brother. I couldn’t pass up that opportunity.”

         “But you’re also releasing Hades? And Persephone?” Arthur asked with a puzzled look as they ascended the stairs.

         “You mistake me for a fool?” Paimon challenged. “They will be bound to obeying me and my laws the moment they enter through the door I’ve created for them. Don’t think they’ll be there to do anything more than watch you suffer.”

         Paimon led Arthur up to a small door that opened to the dining hall- now a stage with some seating and a table for Arthur to lie on.

         Arthur stood at the head of the table as Paimon motioned for him to climb up. Shaking his head regretfully, he pulled his hand from his pocket, hoisted himself up and spun onto its surface. His chains were tapped again, and obeyed Paimon perfectly. They fastened themselves into the table until Arthur’s arms were taut to his side and his hands had just a little wiggle room near his hips.

         Arthur stared up at the satyr, feeling more vulnerable than he ever did before, and watched Paimon lean over eagerly. His pointed beard draped across Arthur’s shoulder and touched the tabletop.

         “This is a good look for you,” he mentioned with a deadly grin.

         Feeling humble, Arthur looked away, seeing the chairs that would soon be filled with spectators; one of which would be his sister. Suddenly, he wasn’t so concerned for himself anymore.

         “Don’t make Charlotte watch.”

         “Hmm?”

         Arthur blinked slowly, knowing that Paimon had heard him clear as day and yet pretended not to. This was all part of the fun. There was no point in repeating himself.

         From the back wall, behind the chairs, a bright light glowed where three outlines stood, waiting to make their entrance.

         “Ah, here they come.” Paimon smiled and offered Arthur a wink. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

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

Earlier,

“What are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to create another portal.”

Lyrem sighed. Arthur’s efforts were admirable at least.

“The chains will prevent you from crossing through,” he said. “Besides, I’ve already explained to you once that the only way out of this is to go through with the deal you made”-

“I’m not trying to make a portal for me,” Arthur spoke exasperated. “I’m trying to create one for you. I know how these things go down, alright? You get into a deal with someone and then they change the rules, they raise the price because they know what you need from them. Once Arch is out of their deal, Paimon will use them against me. Arch might end up back at square one if we don’t have a significant amount of leverage.”

“Life as a junkie has certainly prepared you for this moment, hasn’t it?”

Arthur stared at the old man incredulously at the sudden unloading of baggage, and shook his head.

“My apologies” Lyrem corrected himself and cleared his throat. “You hope to release me, which won’t work, and then expect me to… do what?”

“Release Apollo. Find your friend Hekate… I assume you are resourceful enough to figure something out so that we can finally end this nightmare. It really shouldn’t take too much effort.”

“How would you know?” Lyrem hissed.

Falling to a sudden silence, Lyrem made a quick glance to Arthur as Paimon entered. Paimon addressed Arthur first.

Arthur was in no condition to create portals. Lyrem could see that he was in pain enough already as it was, but even so, Arthur’s eyes locked with his for the briefest of seconds when the chains became loose. Arthur had directed his eyes to Lyrem and then nodded toward his left hand.

The smallest of voids had formed behind his hand and into the metal piece that held his wrist up. Before Paimon could pay any significant attention to Lyrem, Arthur had wrapped a chain around his neck and started to threaten him.

Perhaps Lyrem had misjudged Arthur’s capacity to be clever, but it was still only one small portal; a gap in space and time where his wrist could pass through. It wasn’t quite enough to set Lyrem free; not yet, anyhow. Lyrem took the distraction as an opportunity to recite a mantra respecting the sacred geometry; one that would hopefully allow him to multiply one portal into four.

“Ek mein do, do mein chaar,” he whispered. The power flowed through him like water; out of earshot from Paimon, who hadn’t even realized that Lyrem was reciting ancient magic that no one had any claim over.

“So emotional… Don’t worry old friend, you’ll get your chance as well.”

Lyrem ignored Paimon’s words, still concentrating on himself instead. Soon, the other two exited the room, and Lyrem recited his words one final time before falling completely forward onto his hands and knees.

“Even as a dead man, I still feel pain,” he muttered bitterly. “How is that fair?”

He grunted, lifting himself to his feet and turned around, noticing the shackles were still intact and the voids still existing on their metal cuffs. In a spark of light, the four voids collapsed into themselves and left nothing behind.

“Must learn how to do that one day…” Remembering the task at hand, he rubbed his hands together and made his way through to the hall. “Now, to find our… leverage.”

Paimon and Arthur were gone from the hall, and it was left in darkness. The decrepit beings that roamed the halls there ignored him as he followed the corridor down to where he knew Apollo would be kept as a prisoner. The light still poured from beneath, leaking out into the hall. Lyrem took a quick glance from side to side and opened the door.

Lyrem forced himself forward towards the Sun God with his eyes squinting through the brightness. The light dimmed as the god awoke, exhausted from his half-brother’s brief visit. Lyrem started on one of the shackles holding Apollo in place around a wrist but realized soon that they were clearly the same as the ones he had only just escaped from, one room over and wouldn’t be able to get through them without help.

“Shit,” Lyrem muttered. Apollo did not look surprised or like he cared.

“Controlled by Pan, for Pan, I’m afraid,” he managed. “Did you, a silly little mortal, really believe that you could release me? There was a good reason why I sent that call through to you. I wanted to reach Persephone, or Hades.

You are useless.”

Lyrem backed off from Apollo, put on edge from the insulting remark.

“I’ll have you know I contained a great amount of magical prowess before I met your brother! Now, help me find a way to release you before”-

Apollo chuckled tiredly.

“What? What is so funny?”

“You,” Apollo answered. “You are a fool! The reason I am here at all is because Pan convinced you to tear out your father’s heart. I couldn’t give him what he wanted when I lost. I bet on the wrong horse’s conscience, didn’t I? And now, you are here, trying to right all the wrong you’ve done at the behest of Pan and oh… it just makes me laugh. It’s practically poetry.”

“Well, then,” Lyrem didn’t have time to explain himself, nor should he have to at all. His life was just laid out before him once again as a used chew toy on the ground. Now Apollo was the one judging him for his decisions. Lyrem looked to Apollo’s chest that was opened and bore a golden heart, still pumping. It was the source of the light. Paimon had left the clamp on to hold the gaping wound open. Lyrem touched the metal handle, and jolted back as it was very hot- as though it had been sitting in the heat of a flame. He quickly soothed his hand, weaved a protection spell through his fingers and promptly tried a second time. He gripped it, loosened the bar, and pulled.

Apollo screamed. The release of his wound was more painful than either of them had expected it to be. Lyrem tossed the metal bar to the ground and raised a brow. The light faded more and more as the wound healed over in record time.

“How was that?” Lyrem sniffed, wiping the golden blood off of his hands and onto his pant leg. “Was that a good enough deed for you? Or should I have torn your heart out for fun? Believe it or not, I am capable of making rational decisions- even those where my dear dad was involved. If you had known him, you’d have ripped him apart too.”

Apollo had no choice but to listen to Lyrem as his body recovered quite painfully.

“Maria once told me that I was too passionate- too emotional for her. I tried to rectify that, in order to please her, to please Pan, and everyone else I had come across in life thinking that I was always doing something wrong. But, I see now, emotional is part of who I am. Doing things out of emotion does not make me any less rational- on the contrary I believe it has made me much more productive.” Lyrem stopped speaking as Apollo met his eyes. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

The god exhaled, thankful that his chest had closed up completely. The light in the room had gone out, leaving the ambient glow of the bulbs along the wall. Lyrem stood along the ledge, searching for any portion of chain that might be weak enough to sever. There wasn’t. If Lyrem remembered correctly, Paimon had once boasted about acquiring them from Ares, the God of War and he wasn’t anything, if not particular about securing prisoners. But Ares hadn’t met Lyrem Nomadus, and Lyrem Nomadus wasn’t planning to leave Apollo chained up in the basement of the Underworld without trying a few tricks of his own. Unbound by the chains and without Paimon around to interfere, Lyrem was much handier than any god would expect. The chains began to lower, releasing slack to Apollo until his bare feet rested on the floor.

“How are you doing that?” Apollo asked. He turned his head. Lyrem hadn’t done visibly, anything to warrant the lowering chains. Their lengths clinked to the floor.

“A calming chant, a song of innocence- although…”

“What?” Apollo asked, impatient in Lyrem’s pause. The cuffs hadn’t released.

“To release you, would mean you would have to give Paimon what he was owed,” Lyrem said. “What do you owe to him?”

Apollo grunted, “he doesn’t deserve what I owe him. Not after everything he has done to our family and to me.”

Lyrem raised a brow in mild confusion, “then why stick by his side? Why play his games at all?”

“Because I care about him,” he growled back. “Like an idiot. I humored him because I felt like I had to- like I could make him better if I gave him my attention. He’s my family, and one of my closest kin. And… He’s a lost cause.”

Out of habit, Lyrem reached for his stopwatch, which had been destroyed long ago, just to see how much time had passed them by. Such an indication only told him that they would be running out of time soon enough.

         Arch would be carving into Arthur at any moment now.

         “What did Paimon want?”

         “He wanted a Sun for his realm, the Labyrinth.”

         “Give it to him.” Lyrem ordered. “And when he goes back, you will lock him in. Can you manage that?”

         “Lock my brother in his own realm?” Apollo looked skeptical, but nodded. “I’ll do what I can. But truthfully, there is no guarantee”-

         “And we’ll have to remove one of the Labyrinth’s inhabitants first. A little girl. Maybe a year old,” Lyrem added.

         “There is a child in the Labyrinth? Why?” Concerned, Apollo watched Lyrem gulp slightly.

         “I’d rather not say.” Lyrem gestured for Apollo to open a door to the Labyrinth. “But you could take her out of there, couldn’t you? And she would be… fine?”

         “I believe so,” Apollo pushed his hands together in concentration, and then pulled them apart until a void grew in front of them. “Once the Sun is delivered there, I should be able to remove her quite easily.”

         “Good, good…” Lyrem muttered. “Well? What are you waiting for? Give him the Su”-

         They were no longer in the basement area. Instead, Lyrem was seated in a chair from the dining hall and staring out at a familiar set of faces. One was on the table, trying to speak to the shorter one standing over them with a jeweled blade; Arthur was pleading with them to listen- to hear them. But Arch was in the middle of a sweet guitar lick and couldn’t hear anything happening, even if it was only a foot or two away. They were waiting to the next song before they started their five-minute carving challenge, just as Paimon asked them to. Charlotte sat beside him on one side and beyond her, Persephone and Hades. All watched on, not paying mind to Lyrem and Apollo’s sudden arrival. Paimon found his own seat between Lyrem and Apollo and sat himself down.

         He chuckled looking from one disappointed face to the other and handed each of them a pamphlet. Grinning, he patted both of them on the shoulder.

“Glad you both could make opening night.”

#whump #whumpblr #writeblr #writing #creative writing #Mystics by Alpaca #Arthur oc #Lyrem oc #Paimon oc #Apollo oc #urban fantasy #greek gods #greek god fiction #mystics chapter 32 #fiction #original fiction #Alpaca writes #horror #body horror #gore #gore tw #whump blog #whump fiction

[boxoftheskyking]

Something Good, Part Ten

More like part 9.5 but at least there’s Information here.

In which Wen Qing says Fuck

(In which Jay is too much of a playwright but it is what it is)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine

Wen Qing finds him beating out rugs in the laundry yard. It’s not technically his job, but he can’t sit still after the day he’s had so he’d volunteered. He’s having a nice chat with Wang Xiaolu, but she suddenly stops in the middle of a story and stares over his shoulder, bowing deeply and scurrying out of the courtyard. He’s half expecting Lan Xichen until he turns around, grinning in surprise.

“Isn’t it after curfew?”

“I’m not a Lan,” she says dryly.

“Not yet.”

She surprises him by stepping forward and hugging him tightly around the waist.

“Ah, Wen Qing,” he sighs, leaning his cheek against her hair.

“I thought you’d died for so long. And then you were back but I wasn’t allowed in the dungeon or in the trial, and they had A-Ning and I couldn’t—”

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I promise, it’s okay.”

She sniffs but doesn’t let go.

“They said so much, so many horrible things about what you’d done. Everyone, my uncles, all the disciples, the Sect Leader. And it was all fucking lies, and I knew it—”

“Whoa, Wen Qing!”

“—but I said nothing and I did nothing, and—”

“Wen Qing, please. It’s okay. Let go now, or I’ll get in trouble.”

She pulls back, wiping at her eyes. “I never thought you’d be here. They wouldn’t tell me anything, and it would be suspicious if I’d asked too much.”

“I know, it’s a surprise, isn’t it? Poor Gusu Lan, what did they ever do?”

She doesn’t smile. “The same as the rest of us. Didn’t stand up to Wen Ruohan. Playing for power, like everyone else. Why else do you think I’m engaged to Lan Wangji?”

“Because you’re the two most beautiful humans on the planet, and it just makes sense?”

That at least gets him an eye roll. 

“You know,” he leads her to a bench, rolling his stick between his hands, “I used to talk about marrying you.”

She snorts.

“It’s true! I did. Mostly to piss off Jiang Cheng, but it still counts.”

That gets a bit of a smile, fond. “He’s doing well.”

Wei Wuxian taps his stick on the stone. “Good. And shijie?”

“Also well. Lanling took them in; Jin Guangshan is helping finance the rebuild of Lotus Pier. Of course Wen Ruohan praises him for it.”

“Is she going to marry that peacock?”

Wen Qing nudges his shoulder. “Jin Zixuan has been good to her. After everything with you, it was a risky move for the sect. He spoke for her and for Jiang Cheng.”

Wei Wuxian taps his stick harder. “Jiang Cheng’s core?”

“Healthy. Strong.”

“Do you see him often?”

“Now and then. He’s kind, always polite.”

He laughs. “Jiang Cheng? He must really like you.”

“He misses you. And Yanli—”

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. “Tell me more about the big world. Two minutes. What’s happening with the clans?”

Wen Qing grabs the stick out of his hands. “They say that outlaw, Xue Yang, has attacked some of the lesser clans. It’s Wen Zhuliu all over again. Wen Ruohan gloats when he thinks no one is listening, weeps tears of vinegar in public. But Lanling is growing restless—they’ve always been power hungry. Jin Guangshan is not going to be told what to do for much longer, and everyone knows it. And if Yunmeng comes back in any meaningful way, that’s an alliance that can’t be ignored. Nie is staying out of it for the moment, but Wen Ruohan needs this union with Gusu Lan. Just fostering A-Ning isn’t enough. So here I am.”

“And then they’ll move on Lanling.”

“I’d start with Qinghe, but yes, then they move.”

Wei Wuxian chews a hangnail. “Who else knows?”

“They all must suspect. But no one’s saying anything, at least not where they can be heard. It’s suicide to speak against His Excellency. Literally, these days.”

“Do you think— Ah, no. that’s two minutes.”

“Wei Ying—”

“It’s not my place. It’s better if I don’t— I can keep an eye on Wen Ning for you, when you’re gone. That’s what I can do.”

“Wei Ying.”

“He’s wonderful.”

“Wei— Yes, of course he is. He’s always been wonderful.”

“Ah, you are soft.”

“Wei Ying.”

He sighs and leans against her. “It’s a good life here. It is, Wen Qing, I’m not lying. It may not be significant, but it’s a good life.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“I think it’s significant.”

“Well, yes, the dishes must be done. No rats in the Cloud Recesses! Just rabbits, ha!”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, hmm, you sound like your intended. So contemplative you’ve become!”

Wen Qing gives him a little glare. “I just mean, when I had dinner with Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, they had quite a bit to say about you.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, elbowing her in the ribs. “You didn’t think I’d completely stopped causing trouble, did you?”

“That’s not what they said. They were quite complimentary about your work with the young ones. Especially Lan Wangji.”

“Complimentary? You’re hilarious.”

“I don’t lie, Wei Ying. You’ve impressed them. And taking care of children is never insignificant. Caring for my didi is not insignificant.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, hmm,” she teases. 

“It's good for me, I think.”

 “Wei Ying, you don’t have to be noble. I’m not actually Lan Wangji.”

“No, I mean it. And I don't mean good for me like it makes me happy. Although I am, I think, happy. Happier than I deserve. And I don't mean good for me like it gives me status, advances me in the world. The things that used to matter. But I am better here. Not here in Cloud Recesses. Here, in this courtyard, with this stick and these rugs. You see?”

She rolls the stick between her fingers and hands it back to him. “What’s your greatest fear? No thinking.”

It's a game they used to play. The mysterious “Baoshan Sanren” had told Jiang Cheng he must stay on the sacred mountain while he healed, giving Wei Wuxian time to heal himself down in town before his brother saw him. Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian spent those weeks shut up together in an inn, with Wen Qing stealthily leaving supplies up the mountain where they’d be easily discovered. 

You know me more intimately than anyone ever will, Wei Wuxian had said, weak and feverish and flirting a little. You could at least tell me a secret. No thinking.

“Worst fear?”

She nods. “I know what it used to be, but I haven't seen you in two years.” 

“Fear of something to happen to me or fear of something I'll become?”

“Stalling.”

He clicks his tongue. “To be useless. Knife with no blade, stove with no fire, bucket with no bottom. Scrap heap.” He laughs, with effort. “I’m too old to be back on the scrap heap.”

“Hmm.”

“What about you? Worst fear, no thinking.”

“Watching the world burn. No hands, no tongue, just eyes.”

“Do you think that will happen?”

Wen Qing sets her jaw. “I’ll burn first. I may burn anyway, but I know I won’t watch.”

Wei Wuxian has to look away. You already burn, he doesn’t say. You’re the only true Sun in Qishan.

 He rises and goes back to his rug. “I’m glad you’re here, anyway. Not just because it’s nice to see you. Though it is.” He tosses a grin over his shoulder. 

“It’s safe here, I mean, and Lan Wangi will stand by you. Alliance or no alliance, you can trust him. Whatever happens.” 

“Wei Ying, will you . . .” She trails off. 

“I’ve got a few more hours of work here, Lady Wen. I’ll most likely see you in the morning.”

He doesn’t hear her rise, step close to him, but he feels her whisper ghost over his neck as he shifts the rug along the line. “Good night, A-Ying.”

When he turns back, she is gone.

Part Eleven

#assorted writings #something good #the untamed #cql #mo dao zu shi #I know there's not a lot of content here but I'm trying to stick to some kind of schedule

[ayawriter]

Surprise

Character: Naib, Jack, and Friends

Plot: The manor is plotting something, and Naib is suspicious. And there may be a confession at the end of it all.

WARNINGS: TINY NON-GRAPHIC MENTIONS OF PTS/ANXIETY/MURDER, JACKNAIB AT THE VERY END

It was a normal morning. Or at least, that’s what it was supposed to be, according to Naib. But as he wandered the halls on his way to breakfast, he noticed a strange tension in the air, especially whenever he was present. It wasn't a bad tension, but it put him on edge nonetheless, the way the others kept whispering and planning something behind his back. At first, it didn’t bother him as much, but when hunters started letting him go, he began to get suspicious. 

“What is going on…”

The match this time was with the Ripper. His teammates this time were the Mind’s Eye, the Priestess, and the Cowboy. However, with Ripper spinning around so merrily, it seemed that he wasn't looking for a serious fight that day, so while everyone was busy decoding, Naib decided to take it easy and spend some time with him. 

“I don’t have a bad feeling so much as a feeling that they’re planning something...Even the hunters. No matter what, I’m always let go or ignored...It’s not so bad sometimes, but when they spare me after slaughtering the rest of the team...well…”

Jack nodded his head, humming in acknowledgement. The two were currently hanging out on the second floor of the Sacred Heart Hospital, with Naib sitting on one of the beds and Jack leaning on another across from him. It was no secret that the two were close. It still baffles many residents how the two became as close as they were, despite the rocky start the two had, with Naib’s complete distrust over the hunter, and Ripper mistaking the Mercenary for a child. Yet, when Naib had succumbed to the pressure and memories of his past during a match, it was Jack who had ultimately helped him through his panic, and occasionally kept him grounded when his friends were unavailable. They were also able to connect through the fact that both of them had a significant body count. Now they could be found spending time together even outside of matches, something the others rarely see him do, except maybe with the Seer, Embalmer, and Forward, and occasionally the TonTon duo. 

“You don’t happen to know anything do you? It’s not often you decide to take things easy either.”

Jack gave him a look through his mask, pausing his fidgeting with his claws. 

“You...Don’t know what today is?”

The Mercenary tilted his head in confusion. 

“Is today some important event or something?”

The Hunter merely sighed and shook his head.

“No, it’s nothing....”

Naib hummed, suspicious. He’d have to check his calendar once the match was over. Right on time, the last cipher had popped, yet Jack’s eyes had yet to flare up. 

“I see you took off Detention.”

“Of course. I have no need for it if I’m planning on letting you all go free anyways.”

“Hah, fair point.”

He extended a hand towards the Mercenary with a gentlemanly bow. 

“Well, aren’t you being a gentleman today,” he remarked, taking the hand that was being offered, blushing slightly when it was kissed.

However, instead of being helped down, he was swept upward into a bridal carry, something Jack rarely ever did, unless it was a special occasion. Naib’s face was red in embarrassment, and could practically feel the smirk that was permeating through his mask. 

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“I try.”

And Jack proceeded to carry Naib to the gate, where the others were waiting. 

“Thank you very much, Mr. Ripper,” Helena bowed politely, her can gripped close. 

“I’m not one fer friendly matches, but thanks.” 

“Yes, it’s nice to be able to have some time to relax, even within matches,” Fiona agreed. “And I see you two have been having fun while we were out decoding.” 

The priestess had a knowing smirk, eyeing the mercenary being carried by the Ripper, making him blush brighter. 

“I-It’s not like I’m being carried like this because I like it!”

Kevin laughed heartily, “Yet yer not even strugglin’! Actions speak louder than words,kid.”

Jack put him down, as a flustered Naib tried to defend himself to his team as they left one by one. Once Naib was the last one left, Jack took off his mask, a privilege he gave only to Naib on the survivor’s side. He always did enjoy seeing Naib get all flustered, and because of him no less. No matter how many times he sees it, Naib’s cheeks always gets dusted in pink whenever he sees his face uncovered. With a shy wave of thanks and goodbye, he leaves. 

Jack sighed, staring at his hand. Today, he was going to do it. He had an inkling Naib felt the same, but even if he didn’t, he wanted to clear the air before continuing their current relationship any further. They’ve had their moments, but he wanted to make sure. So he was going to test the waters tonight. After all, what better day is there to confess than today?

---

Naib stood frozen in front of the calendar. July 23rd. His birthday. How could he have forgotten? No, it wasn't that he had forgotten. He just hadn’t celebrated it in so long, he simply forgot the importance. And to be fair, there was never any reason, nor was there time to celebrate it. War was no place for personal celebrations, especially as a Gurkha. 

At the same time, Naib wasn't stupid. The way the other survivors kept hiding something behind his back, the hunters letting him go free even if it was their loss. He should have noticed the patterns. Heck they did something similar for Servais’ birthday not too long ago. But since birthdays were things he didn’t deem necessary to celebrate for himself, he never stopped to consider how the others might view it.  A sigh escaped his lips as he combed his hand through his currently loose hair. But even with this newfound knowledge, he didn’t want to raise his hopes up. After all, despite his suspicions, there could always be the possibility of a different celebration. But in that case would the others be keeping it secret from him? 

A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. It was Eli, one of his closest friends within the manor. 

“Good evening, Naib. I was just calling you down for dinner.”

“Yeah, sure. Gimme a sec, I’ll be right down.”

Since he was in his room, he had left his hair down and taken off his green hood. Once he deemed himself presentable, he left the room and headed towards the dining hall with Eli. But when Eli had walked straight past the hall, Naib couldn’t help his growing suspicions. 

“Hey, where’re we going exactly?”

Eli merely smiled mysteriously. “You’ll see.” 

They stopped in front of the garden entrance. Naib was confused. What were they doing at the garden? He was about to ask, when Eli opened the door. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY NAIB SUBEDAR!”

Naib was greeted by excited shouts of congratulations and birthday wishes. The garden was brightly lit with paper lanterns courtesy of Michiko, Xie Bian, and Fan Wujiu, and there were tables set with food and sweets, complete with a huge birthday cake, courtesy of Hastur. Naib couldn’t believe the scene before him. For a split second, he was no longer at the manor, but at home, with his mother smiling warmly at him. For some reason, it filled him with a strange sort of happiness that was almost painful. He hadn’t even realized he was crying until his usual friends were surrounding him, and Jack was wiping them away, and the others became quiet. 

“S-Sorry,” he quickly wiped them away but the tears wouldn’t stop. “I...It’s been so long...I guess I forgot…” Despite the silent sobs that wracked his body, Naib made the most genuine smile, something he felt he hadn’t done in so long. “Thank you, everybody...Thank you so much!”

The worried faces quickly melt away to smiles. 

“It should be us who should be thanking you,” Eli spoke up. “You’ve done so much for us already, both in and outside of matches, this is the least we could do.”

Naib nodded, grinning at them wide despite the tears. William returned Naib’s smile with his own and a pat on the back, declaring with a loud voice, “Alright, what are we waiting for, let’s PARTY!”

Everyone cheered, and the party was a success. Naib was given many gifts, mostly handmade and small, due to the limited supplies in the manor, but to Naib they were something he would cherish forever. The festivities lasted long past midnight, till everyone just passed out in various parts of the garden. Only a handful of people were awake, helping clean up the mess in the garden. Naib was in the middle of taking the trash back inside when he was stopped by Jack. Michiko, with a knowing smile, just nodded at him, and took the bag inside for him. 

“This was honestly really nice. It was a bit overwhelming at first, but I’m glad nonetheless.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Jack and Naib were sitting on one of the benches that was a bit more isolated and less brightly lit, so that they could see the stars clearer. Jack had his mask discarded by his side while Naib settled his head on the taller man’s arm, since he couldn’t reach the shoulders, much to his annoyance. 

“Thanks, Jack.”

“I didn’t do anything. It was more of everyone’s ideas, but, you’re welcome.”

They sat in silence. Jack took a breath. 

“Naib.”

“Hm?”

Without another word, Jack’s lips found it’s way onto Naib’s forehead. 

“Happy Birthday.”

Naib was frozen, wide-eyed, a bright blush dusting his cheeks. 

“You--”

“Sorry,” Jack immediately pulled away. “I should have asked permission first. You were just so cute, I couldn’t resist.”

Silence reigned between the two, awkward and thick.

“You could’ve just asked…” the mercenary mumbled.

“Hm?”

Naib sighed. “I said...You could’ve just asked...I wouldn’t have minded…”

Jack smirked. “Oh?”

Naib was now a very deep shade of scarlet, his eyes refusing to meet the Ripper’s own. 

“And...next time…”

“What was that?”

“...’

Jack’s smirk grew wider. He absolutely loved teasing the mercenary. “I’m sorry, Naib, you’ve got to speak up.”

“I said...Next time...You can do it on the lips.”

Naib was blushing deeply, while this time it was Jack’s turn to be caught off guard. Slowly, his shock faded into a more genuine smile, his long arms snaking around Naib and hugging him close to his side. 

“Thank you, Naib. Happy Birthday. I love you.”

“...Yeah. I love you too, Jack.”

#identityv #idv #naib subedar #Mercenary #jacknaib #HAPPY BIRTHDAY NEEB #MY BEAUTIFUL (NOT) BALD SON #I LOVE YOU #first birthday fic I've ever written #haha i tried to fix the plotholes #but if there is still any i apologize

[save-the-spiral]

Hey, I know you have a lot of asks, and I really hate to back it up so feel free to ignore this, but would it be possible to have some fluff featuring Fledge? Any scenario is fine!

This. Got out of hand. And I do not apologize. Welcome to an in depth dive into a side headcanon I have as well as my development of Grizzleheim in Fledge’s timeline(s).

(Fledge’s tag) Content warnings for civil war, violence, blood, weapons, animal violence, child neglect, child abandonment, child endangerment, faking child death, arguments, cultures being disregarded and/or mocked.

Fledge had a good start to their childhood, actually.

They were one of those rare, irresponsible cases from those who inhabit the Spiral. They send their baby, all bundled up in a basket, through the Spiral Door. Many do this in the secrecy of night, they fake the death of this small being and send them off, trusting in the love of another world.

And the Door does send the child wherever they will grow up happy, healthy, and alive. This happened with Irisi as well, just sending a baby away and hoping for the best, and she appeared, so small and precious in a maroon blanket and woven basket, in the warm pyramid of Krokotopia where the Spiral Door rested, where the Door knew someone in that world would take her in and love her.

But Fledge was sent in a ragged baby blanket, pale patches of soft sheep worn from their pastels into white though still stained, frayed stitches and moth eaten holes throughout. It was a small threadbare quilt, barely covering Fledge’s swaddled body, and the rush of a fresh breeze startled Fledge from their sleep, causing them to cry out in distress.

Grizzleheim was not a peaceful world at this time.

The Bears were a prosperous people, their trading culture expanding across the Spiral, their invented Common language becoming a staple of all questing wizards, all of their fellow merchants as well. Their monarchy was strong, centralizing their trading into coffers for the entire society to thrive. Their strongest warrior, Valgar Goldenblade, had recently ascended to the throne, his teeth sharp and gilded blade sharper.

The Wolves were an instinctive people, focusing on what it means to be one with nature, their healers fundamental to their community. They favored the environment around them most, finding solace and meaning in the trees, the waterfalls, the rivers, the genuine and unapologetic nature of nature itself. Their land was encroached on, their trees felled with no regard for their funeral practice of planting a new sapling. The Bears cut down the strong, aged trees of ancient Wolf ancestors for timber, for their new cabins and ships, and that was cause for the Wolves to fight back. They sharpened their claws and gritted their teeth, and their healers prepared to work long days.

The Ravens were an intellectual people, focusing on philosophy and the meanings of what people think and do. They created vast libraries of knowledge, compiling it and trying to find the significance of the everyday aspects of the Spiral. Trying to find deep magic, how it interacted with wizards, exploring what history was recorded, interpreting a history that is not theirs. The Ravens were called pedantic by the Bears and Wolves, in far less kind words. What the Bears and Wolves also suspected was how the Ravens would hide and plot in secret, stealing what little recorded histories and academic texts the other two cultures had. The Ravens knew they would be found out one day, and so they kept their talons sharp and quills sharper, prepared to fight and then record their victory, as all histories are written.

And so, claws screeched against the metal and wood of finely crafted shields. Talons scraped and knocked against horned helmets. Blades cut into flesh, whether it be furred or feathered, the tool itself tasting blood, uncaring of its use.

All anyone outside of Grizzleheim knew was that trades were stopped, and merchants had gone to their home world, and nothing more.

Why, then, did the Spiral Door send an infant into this world?

Why, then, is anyone brought into such a cruel world, one might as well ask. The Spiral Door was not truly given a sentience, only as much as any tool of destiny or fate has.

But what right does any tool have to make a decision without a master to guide it? When does the hammer gain some sliver of sentience and smash the priceless crystal of its own accord?

Largely, people believe the Door itself cannot think, cannot reason, and does not decide where lost infants go. That is the only reasoning the young wolf had when she found this swaddled lost child, cold, afraid, and alone. A battle ended a day ago, and she had planned to sneak away, back into Wolf territory.

Her name was Eir, and she was first and foremost a warrior, no time or need for any kind of romance, though her friendships ran deep, and she had never thought of bearing pups of her own, too intent on being another pillar of support to her community. But Eir was a Wolf of duty, of protecting the weak with her own compassionate strength.

So this large armored woman, pale grey fur matted with blood and dirt,  set aside her spear coated in the flaking dried blood of those who destroyed the land the Wolves saw as sacred, and she carefully lifted the young human with her large paws, her sharpened claws causing more tears in the fabric. It was reminiscent of how her claws so easily raked through thin, feathered flesh...

Eir’s eyes widened, her breath catching in a rough puff of air, the flash and recollection of how the civil war was progressing sinking into their mind. This, Northguard, was no place for a child.

But then, where was there a place for a child? The pups of the Wolves’ entire society were all hidden deep in the caves of Mirkholm Keep, but any fortress could fall, and that was so very far away from the Spiral Door.

She quickly, automatically, set the child aside for merely a moment as she discarded her armor, laying it aside to rest with her weapon. She wore only a woven tunic colored a deep blue, coppery brown designs to match her eyes in runes of strength and protection weaved throughout it, alongside her leather skirts to protect her. Eir gathered the infant in her arms, only to swaddle it clumsily in her warrior’s tunic, leaving her furred back bare, cold wind already rustling her fur and seeping into her flesh.

Eir knew she would do anything, anything for this child. So she wrapped them in her tunic and held them close, attempting to soothe their whimpers with soft croons of song as she began to walk the rainbow bridge, the bifrost sparkling and tinkling musically. The soft chimes of the bridge seemed to soothe the child, for which Eir was grateful, but then she was in Northguard proper.

There was only one choice. She would not gamble with the child’s life, would not expose it further to the elements to avoid conflict. Eir always preferred to face problems head on, anyway, and keep hope in her heart.

It was with that hope that kept her head held high as she surrendered to a pair of bear guards that held their blades to her throat.

The only defiance Eir showed while imprisoned by the enemy was in the care of the child she held in her arms. She insisted on keeping them at her side always, on never letting them out of her sight. Soon the child grew hungry, thirsty, and dirty, and thus the guards were forced to bow to her demands lest they sit and hear endless wails of an infant and know it was their fault.

They knew of Eir. Of her prowess in battle. They knew that even without a spear or armor, to truly fight her would result in many deaths, and the bears would not stand for that needless bloodshed when they could simply assist in the care of a child.

Then a council was held, because word escaped and spread through Grizzleheim that a child was being held alongside a war prisoner.

The oaths of peace and pacifism, just for this meeting, were held on magic and blades, the knowledge that breaking those vows would result in painful death sending shivers down every oath taker’s spine. And then they all sat, outside, in the emptied marketplace of Northguard.

Three groups sat there, tension rising.

The Bears, at a well crafted table, the redwood’s varnish shining in the weak winter sunlight, the carvings’ depiction of violence causing others to scoff. The king himself, Valgar Goldenblade, sat between his advisors and weaponless guards, his chair just slightly more intricate, facing his own stronghold where the famed warrior would come.

The Wolves, on woven mats and rough rugs, furs as well, all sat on the well trodden ground. All of them were slight, with keen eyes, smelling of herbs and spices, obviously healers. They were wise almost to the point of cynical, the war sharpening them into fine, dangerous points. They awaited Eir’s arrival with bated breath, the warrior a friend, a pillar to their community.

The Ravens brought their own table and chairs, spindly things, old and used with no thought for upkeep. Some of the Bears sneered at the poor craftsmanship, the crude make of their furniture, treating it as another tool as opposed to a facet of a home. The Ravens sat, curious about the child, wondering how it appeared in Grizzleheim at all.

Eir was brought forth from the stronghold of the Bears, and the Wolves murmured in discontent, lips pulling to reveal teeth without them thinking of the threat.

She was hunched over a bundle in her arms, her large form conveying a weariness everyone could see. Her fur had patches matted and encrusted with blood and dirt. Her coppery brown eyes were anxious as she quickly gazed at those gathered in front of her, though she obviously found solace in the sight of the elder healers from the Wolves.

“The child?” The leader of the Ravens croaked as Eir approached, standing in the middle of the semicircle of gathered people. “Is it truly a human?”

Eir clutched harder at the swaddled form in her arms. “Yes, and they are healthy and safe in my care.” She stared hard at the leader, fur bristling.

“The warrior is truthful. She has only requested or spoken on the behalf of the child, and has been almost fervent in her care” Valgar spoke, face passive.

“Yet still, a human child does not belong with the Wolves.” A raven spoke.

“And yet it belongs with you birds?” A wolf healer spoke, his nose scrunching with distaste. “For what purpose, to examine them, to experiment on someone with so much potential yet no bias of race?”

“How dare-“ The same raven spoke again, standing up abruptly.

“Calm yourselves!” Eir snapped, her voice a stage whisper, as she rocked the baby back and forth, intent on soothing the child who had awoken.

“Forgive me, Eir.” The wolf healer said with a bow of his head.

“Forgiven, Helge.” Eir answered absentmindedly.

Words were paused as the child still fussed in her arms, and everyone witnessed one of the living legends of the Wolves coo and rumble to comfort a human infant, mumbling in a sing-song with kind, gentle eyes.

“We... must decide the child’s fate.” Valgar spoke again. “The child was left at the Spiral Door... correct?”

“Yes.” Eir did not look away from the baby’s swaddled form. “The poor pup was left in rags, I could not leave them to freeze, so I gave them the clothes off my own back for their safety.” She did not appear to notice how jaws clenched, how they all knew what it supposedly meant for a child to be sent through the Door.

“But still...” Valgar’s voice became firmer, more insistent. “We cannot allow for the human child to be raised as a Wolf. It would be far better to have the honor of a Bear.”

“A Bear’s honor?” The Raven’s leader exclaimed. “What use is honor? Why not the safety of becoming a Raven? We could teach them magic, we could-”

The eldest wolf, fur greyed and eyes milky with blindness, scoffed loudly. “Besides. Saying a Bear has honor is an oxymoron. Since when has a Bear possessed the amount of honor I have in a single claw?” The wolf raised their paws, showing some missing digits, but still wiggling them mockingly.

“We have honor! Just due to your Wolves’ jealousy we have-“ A bear advisor snarled.

“Jealousy! Jealousy?!” The elder spoke again, spitting at the ground. “Jealous of what? Gold? Bowing to the whims of others who demand your goods? Or maybe, maybe jealous of the sacred trees you callously felled and carved into what, a bookshelf? Another pretty table? Bah, jealousy.” They spat again. “The nerve.”

“What?” Valgar stood, pressing a hand on the angered advisor’s shoulder. “Sacred trees? I was not told of any sacred trees.” 

“The Wolves plant trees to mourn their dead, and to imbue life in the world where death has touched. It is common knowledge.” A raven piped up, then bashfully turned away once attention was on them.

“Yes. Everyone knows of the significance, yet you Bears chopped down our most ancient of trees.” Eir spoke again, voice soft in its reprimand.

Valgar looked around, mouth open slightly. “We... did not know...” He sat back down hard, a paw to his face. “I cannot believe...”

“You truly did not know?” Eir asked.

“No.” The helpless, almost vulnerable tone caught everyone off guard. “No, we would never! As far as I knew, that land was in our territory!” The king gestured widely in the direction of the Wolves’ land. “And yet, my ignorance deceived me, and I have ruined... oh, to imagine if the tables were turned, and our stones were desecrated...”

The Wolves were almost statues, the eldest of them shaking.

“Aside from that, we had no quarrel with the Bears.” Eir’s soft, forgiving tone was simply another blow to Valgar. “Everything since has been a result of that, retaliation for and unknown slight...”

“Did you Ravens do this?!” A young bear guard growled. “Manipulated us into war?”

“No- we were caught in the middle of that as well... simply nearby, collecting artifacts.”

“Artifacts?” Another Bear sneered. “You mean stealing from us? Our masterpieces and treasured items?”

The Raven’s eyes widened. “They were untouched for decades! Artifacts!” She insisted.

“They were kept safe! To be used is an honor, but some are so old to use them would be to ruin them, and thus they are kept secure and isolated! And you stole them!” Valgar’s voice was stern, as if he had come back to himself.

“None of this matters!” Eir’s voice flared into a yell, unrestrained. “The war is nothing, apparently, built on lies, yet still that does not matter!” She gestured forward, displaying the now awake and staring young human. “They matter! This child! And all the others that we dared endanger in our foolishness! To argue of artifacts and territory is to ignore the youth who cry for warrior parents gone for months, for homes that are ruined, and empty bellies neglected. You all must come to a compromise. Now.”

With that, she walked purposefully to the Wolves’ area, where the healer Helge had set up a soft nest of furs and woven fabric for Eir and the child. With a nod of thanks, Eir sat with legs crossed, settling the child with a large paw gently supporting their head.

“... She is right. A compromise, and peace, must be made. Today.” Valgar’s determined tone washed over the rest, conveying the need and trust that they could reach peace in so few words.

“We shall.” The lead raven nodded sagely, leaning forward, now eager.

The peace was almost laughably simple, once met.

Eir sat, letting words pass over her tired mind in a low rumble, her eyes only for the child in her arms.

They were so small. So soft, fragile. They had bright brown eyes, dark brown skin. They had two little hands, terrifyingly small in her large paws. They had a little nose, its bridge wide, and it was so much more charming than any human trader she had seen, she wanted to prod at it with dulled claws and cause them to laugh like she did at times for the pups at home.

This child deserved a world to grow up in, a peaceful, kind world.

And they got it.

Fledge had three names, really. As part of the peace treaty, they moved from pack to stronghold to roost, rotating around and learning the ins and outs of every culture, of what it meant to be a Wolf or Bear or Raven. Their three names were simple, just called Pup (sometimes Puppy, by a teasing Eir), Cub, and Fledgling. 

They changed who they were with ease, happy and content with the shifting, asking to be a girl or boy or neither when it suited them, and their families complied. Almost every citizen of Grizzleheim had housed them at one point in their life, had seen how small and charming and wonderful this strange child was.

They were allowed to speak as much or as little as they wanted. They could spend weeks only communicating in the broad, blunt gestures of the Grizzleheim sign language, or more nuanced of Common sign language. Then other times they would grow excitable, teeth bared as they rambled on to their friends and fellow wolf pups as they played in the creek, talking of their studies with the Ravens and the honor code of the Bears.

They learned the ancient runes, their own strange passion that few understood, but they allowed it, they encouraged it, because to see their Pup or Cub or Fledgling smile like they were given the world was enchanting.

They were a natural fire wizard, as well.

The destructive magic would usually be a worry, but they were taught control of their strength with the Bears, and an appreciation for wild untameable things from the Wolves, and an understanding of magic itself from the Ravens.

And so their fire magic was life, was what kept people warm in the harsh winters. It was the necessary burns to control the forest and keep it from destroying itself later, it was the cauterization of a bad wound to keep someone alive. Their fire grew so quickly, still in control. It was a spark that quickly flared and crawled each kindling of knowledge and passion into a bonfire, something to be loved and celebrated.

Just as Fledge had been loved and celebrated.

Whether she was their Cub, or he was their Fledgling, or they were their Pup, they were loved so very much, and always cared for, and always warm.

So the Spiral Door made the right choice, if it can do such a thing.

#ask #emmpresivelydone #wizard101 #fledge #writing #headcanon #wizzy101 #wiz101 #w101 #ocs #irisi #grizzleheim #hi hello tell me what u think or PERISH i must know this got so out of hand but its amazing

[rootfauna]

Loss of the chance of life

A while ago I found out my grandmother was one of the many native american women who were forcibly sterilized. I wrote this article.

In 1972 Janet Clifton, an Osage woman, walked into the IHS in Clairemore, Oklahoma. For years she had been having severe pelvic cramps and they had become too much to bear. She was put in a gown and lead to a room in which sat the dreaded stirruped chair many women have despised since it’s invention. The anxiety is understandable even in modern times when women’s healthcare is arguably the most advanced it’s ever been. It’s frightening, then, to imagine approaching that chair in the 60’s and 70’s, when modern women’s healthcare was in it’s infancy, and for a Native American woman, it could be absolutely terrifying.

When Janet signed in to the clinic, she’d been asked the usual questions, one of which was ‘are you married’, which she was, and was asked if she had any children, which she did. Three to be exact. She was only twenty-five and all her children were born just under three years, so it is no surprise that when she was asked if she was religious she replied that she was Catholic. Christianity and native Americans have a strange relationship. The religion was used to justify atrocities done to us too numerous not only for this paper, but for anyone to ever list. Arguably it’s greatest crime was to mold itself into a cardboard beacon, offering native Americans sanctuary from it’s own ugliness. For centuries Native American men made the decision to convert for the rest of the family. The rules of life changed for them, but it’s unclear if they realized the changes it meant for their wives. Their roles in many nations were reduced, as was their agency over their bodies. Contraceptives in their earliest days were known throughout the world, including the Americas, yet now they were forbidden. As ridiculous and ineffective as they could be, they at least offered the illusion of body autonomy, mostly for women.

When Janet went to the IHS the Women’s Health Movement (WHM) had only recently begun, along with second wave feminism. It spoke loftily and justly about abortion rights and about changing the traditional maternity ward practices into more family oriented ones, with the fathers allowed in the delivery room. There was a resurgence of midwifery. However, these improvements did not scratch the blood soaked surface of Native American health care. As Janet lay in the chair, three white doctors entered the room. The Indian Clinic did not have any native doctors, so doctors were driven in from nearby Tulsa Oklahoma, thus continuing the tradition of white doctors working with an exclusively non-white clientele. “I felt like I was being experimented on,” she would later say. She would be in good company. A Google search of “experiments on native women” will instantly bring up several articles about the forced sterilization of Native American women, and many give examples of experimental procedures that were performed in front of many doctors under the guise of research. Janet, who only wanted treatment for what we now know as polycystic ovary syndrome, never knew she would join their ranks. “One of the doctors told me that they were going to burn the cysts off. The procedure was never really explained to me and it was probably a combination of me being a woman and being Native American. They thought I was too dumb to understand anyway.” Had she known more on the subject she might have thought he was referring to a ovarian wedge resection, a common treatment at the time. It involves opening the patient up in an operating theater and exposing the ovaries. The cysts are then carefully removed with a cauterization tool not only keep the cyst from bursting, but to ensure the ovary heals properly. Instead of doing this, Janet and her doctors remained in the exam room where he gave her a local anesthetic, inserted a cauterizing into her vaginally, and performed what was most likely a tubal litigation. This is the most common form of female sterilization and only severs the fallopian tubes. My grandmother’s painful ovaries would remain untouched and untreated.  

“I remember smelling something burning,” recalled Janet, “I looked down and saw smoke.”She was sent home directly after the procedure, unaware of what had actually happened to her and uninformed of the possible side effects. There was pain, of course, and in a candid moment she also confessed that she was never able to feel sexual pleasure with her husband again. Worst of all, because there had been no attempt to treat the cysts, and the pain that started the entire ordeal returned within weeks.

Pain seems to be woven into the fabric of every Native American woman’s life and this has not gone unnoticed artists, native and non-native alike. When native women are not posing nude on a biker’s bicep, we are huddled into blankets, riding our horses, our backs bent and heads hung low. Sometimes we stand on hills, gazing at nothing with blank faces and sometimes we kneel by our tipis and look at the ground. Though the past few decades have brought forward more animated depictions of Native American women, my grandmother’s house was filled with the old fashioned kind. As a child, I thought they were pretty, if boring. I never perceived any greater meaning than a woman simply looking down. Maybe she was watching a bug. As a child I was also blissfully unaware of the majority of the atrocities faced by our people and what I did know, I largely new in name only. It wasn’t until I grew older that I’d look at these paintings and think ‘huh, she actually looks kinda sad’. Now I look at these paintings and think ‘she looks utterly defeated’. Knowing what really happened to us makes me notice details I never had before, like how so many of them have textbook thousand yard stares while portraits of chiefs and warriors in the same stye still seem to have fire in their eyes. The men are also more likely to be depicted upright, whether standing or on horseback, still tall in some way or another. The woman have deflated. We slump over our horse’s necks, we kneel, we sit. It seems as though these women have accepted that pain is just something they must endure silently and with dignity, whatever the source. My grandmother is not like these women, so when the pain that had sent her to the doctor in the first place returned, so did she.

The doctors made little effort with pretense this time - she would have a hysterectomy and that was that. At this point there was no reason to try and treat her as Janet could no longer have children, and in the end her hysterectomy would succeed in ridding her of her pain. Why then does it seem to hold so much more significance? European invaders managed to erase many aspects of various indigenous cultures, but some roots run too deep to be completely torn out and in so many of our cultures it was the female ability bring forth life that created the world. The association with women and new life was so strong that even in some nations it was observed that women sewed the seeds for the new crops and tended to them, but it was the men who reaped them. Their reasoning was that women brought life, and men took it. Some Lakota Sioux would not acknowledge a girl’s transition to womanhood until she has had a child. This doesn’t mean that a woman’s only value was her ability to have children and in many nations women held high political power, were religious leaders, and even warriors. Still, it is virtually impossible to completely separate a woman’s potential reproductive capabilities and how she was viewed in societies that place more value on the concept of new life, birth, or rebirth. So many Native American nations fell into this category, and on some level or another, a woman’s womb was sacred. In 1972, at age 25, my grandmother’s was ripped from her body.

From an outsiders perspective, it seems as though these sterilized women have become those broken women from the paintings. In doing research for this paper, I found very little. The ambiguity is unsettling. Is the near total absence of initial medical documentation a result of apathy towards Native American health, or an intentional coverup? Did the women affected not speak out about this at the time because of the taboo around reproductive systems? Was it shame, or a feeling that no one would listen anyway? I have to wonder, too, how many woman are like my grandmother who only now realizes what was done to her. Whitehorse also did not realize what happened to her until later. “I was trying to have more babies, but was having trouble getting pregnant, so I went to the IHS clinic. That’s when they told me about what they did to me,” She said. She had been sterilized during a previous surgery.“I was in so much pain when I went in for the appendectomy; they gave me a bunch of papers to sign. They never explained anything to me; I had no idea I was giving them permission to sterilize me.” she said. It wasn’t only abdominal pain that allowed doctors to trick women into sterilization. One of the more famous cases of sterilization involved two girls, both under fifteen years old, who were sterilized during surgery to remove their tonsils. It’s been estimated that between 1960 and 1970, for every seven native babies born, one woman was sterilized, culminating in roughly 25% of the potentially fertile female population. Even this was not enough of an attack on the Native American woman. Native American boarding schools, run by the BIA (Bureau of Indian Affairs) where still common in that era. A 1971 census stated that approximately 35,000 Native American children lived in boarding schools rather than at home. In these schools, children were stripped of their language, their culture, their religion, their names, and often, their sanity. Abuse was rampant and the chances of escape were bleak. While non-native children were begging for bell bottoms and watching t.v, two native boys fled, only to freeze to death in their attempt to return home. Suicide rates amongst teenage boarders could reach as high as one hundred times the national average. The rest of the nation, if it noticed, soon turned away and continued to focus on disco. Native mothers could do little to stop the abuse of their children, but a growing number were being offered a choice. If they agreed to be sterilized, their existing children might be allowed to stay with them. It can’t be said if it was in defeat or defiance that a mother made her choice, whichever it was. It would a lie to say that no woman was defeated, and sat slumped over a bottle of whiskey rather than a horse.

However, when my grandmother was wheeled into the recovery bay, she discovered that she was not the only woman who refused stoop down and be silent, though she did not yet know what bond she shared with these women. They were a small group, all in various stages of recovery. They smiled and chatted if and when they could, and because the nurses were about as helpful as a match under water, they tended to each other. The women adjusted each others hospital beds by hand, fetched each other glasses of water and just as importantly, they kept each other in good spirits. Decades later, Janet will still smile and laugh when she remembers a woman that was truly fed up with the barely edible hospital food. “You guys want some pizza?” The woman had asked, and then she got up and climbed out the window. A while later she returned the same way, pizza in hand. They might have been neglected and in pain, but in that moment they were normal women diving into a pizza and giddy with their own mischief. It seems like such a small gesture, valuable in that it’s a light hearted tidbit from an otherwise tragic story, but it is so much more than that. Expand the perspective and you’ll find it’s really the story of how a Native American woman was had her reproductive organs seared into oblivion against her will by white doctors, was neglected by nurses in a recovery room filled with strangers, and this woman still had the strength and spark to climb out a window and return with pizza to share with her sisters. Our solidarity is our fortitude. Native women have an incredible ability to come together and to accomplish incredible things. One of they key elements that allows us to do this is our ability to communicate with each other, and despite what modern white hippies may think, we can’t do that with telepathy and talking animals. I would not have been able to tell my grandmother’s story without calling her and having several lengthy phone calls. This chapter of our history is in danger of being forgotten. It’s imperative we learn as much as we can, but that is not enough. It’s through communication that bond over our people’s losses and triumphs and encourage others to learn along with us. If I am to end this essay with one request, it is that when you read this chapter of our history, please read it out loud.

—- This essay is dedicate to Janet Stork, I cannot give enough thanks to my grandmother for letting me interview her. Rather than mourn her loss, she seemed happy throughout every conversation, as if she was glad that someone wanted to hear what she had to say. This is such a sensitive topic, one that would make many young students here cringe and shy away from, but my grandmother made every conversation a comfortable one. No question was off limits, there was no withholding of details. I feel so lucky to have a grandmother like her, and I’m amazed that it’s through her strength I exist today.

[promiscxous]

Anonymous asked: how does Koui show his love? can he really differentiate it from obsession? can he control totally control his powers? do they influence his love in any sort of way?

{ Okay, since you’ve asked me a multitude of different things in your question, Imma separate my responses into little sections because I know for a fact this is going to get long. So with that being said, I’ll get right into it:

1.  How does Koui show his love?

Koui shows his love in a variety of different ways whether it’s through words or actions. He will go unmeasurable lengths for someone that he loves, often making whatever problems they have his own even if it’s dangerous, especially if it’s dangerous actually. Despite being probably one of the weakest children out of all his siblings, he will never allow this to stop him from helping the one that he loves and cherishes. If he loves you, or you’re his significant other, Koui will undoubtly risk his own life to keep his love interest alive, even if he dies in the process of it because of two reasons; a) he’s never received any sort of positive affection from anyone other than his mother and siblings so he really takes such things to heart and b) he is absolutely desperate to find someone that can make him feel like nothing in the world matters so long as he has that one person in his life, so once he’s able to have that he’d be more than just a little overprotective of them; especially since the creatures that live in the world of Mir Ender all search for a mate of some kind. Oof- I got a bit off topic... anyway, Koui will often bring/purchase/craft a multitude of different gifts for his significant other on random occasions just because he feels as if he is either neglecting them or simply because he wants to smother them with love/affection. He also has a tendency to stick by his lover’s side during any kind of situation, be it during an issue or during a simple walk down to the lake, he always wants to be in their presence.

2. Can he really differentiate it from obsession?

Koui can indeed tell the difference between love and obsession, but in truth, because he has been deprived of any kind of positive affection (both by his abusive ex-fiancée and some of his abusive clients)... he has a tendency to allow his love to slowly become an obsession without really realizing it. Of course his affections for someone start off both pure and innocent (just like his intentions) but over time, depending on how attached he gets in a short amount of time, that innocent love can take a quick and steep nosedive into obsessive/possessive territory. Once it becomes obsessive/possessive, Koui tends to get extremely jealous of anyone that comes near his significant other even if they don’t really have any ill intentions (it’s just that he’s not hostile towards them, he’s only hostile towards the bad ones). This obsession also stems from the abuse he’s suffered from the time he was younger due to the fact he was always told that he wasn’t good for anything other than sex due to how small and frail he is (mainly because he was born three months premature so he was born with an incurable illness).

3. Can he totally control his powers?

Koui can completely control his powers so long as he doesn’t become extremely enraged to the point he throws away all of his morals. This is something that all the siblings suffer from throughout the story of Cipher. Despite Koui being extremely difficult to anger/work up, it isn’t impossible. In fact, it can be fairly easy if you know how to. Koui can actually suffer from burnout if he uses too much of his power and it really shows too because there are visible cracks that form on his skin (like a porcelain doll) and he starts to actually bleed through said cracks (though his blood isn’t red when he suffers from burnout, it’s purple). His illness also plays a large part into his ability to control his powers. If he is too ill, or is suffering from a sudden fit of fatigue from his illness, he can’t control his powers all that well because he often spends a majority of his time choking up his own blood until he’s soothed with a special tea that his mother concocted (though it doesn’t cure his illness, it helps to calm it down). Said tea is called Sacred Tea. If we leave out his illness and the option of making him angry, there really is no way to make it to where he can’t control his powers. Both him and his siblings have been honing their skills from the time they were small children, being trained by their mother (of whom used to be a holy knight before having children and becoming a shrine maiden) to control their abilities (in case they ever have to fight) and hide their powers from the masses so their existence remains a secret (in order to keep them safe from the bounty hunters).

4. Do they influence his love in any sort of way?

I suppose that you could say Koui’s powers do have an influence on Koui’s love in a way? Considering how Koui is affiliated with the deadly sin of lust, it’s only natural that it would have some kind of influence. In fact, one could probably say that most of the more negative sides of Koui’s love/affection comes from that affiliation he has with the deadly sin of lust. After all, he was cursed with the deadly sin for a reason, so it’s not supposed to help him, but it can if he manifests it properly. More often than not, it’s that sin of lust that makes him so eager to jump someone’s bones when it comes to his line of work, but at the same time... on the inside he can’t help but feel like he’s got no control over his own life because of the curse (which is a feeling that all the children share when it comes to their powers mainly due to the fact they didn’t even get a real chance to do what they wanted since Heiliger never wanted them to exist in the first place). Koui’s power also sometimes (though this is rare) even makes him fall in love with people that he doesn’t even like or know. Like Raphael Gwyneth for example. Raphael is someone who is downright abusive and torturous to Koui whenever the two are near each other, but despite this Koui craves his attention because of his lust power. While this is a difficult thing to break, it is possible for Koui to go against his own abilities, like he does once he realizes that he’s genuinely fallen for Crystal despite what his body is screaming at him (it doesn’t help that said power actually stems from another being that’s living within him — a being known as Eros of whom Koui is actually named after but instead goes by the name his mother gave him).

#anonymous #{ Woo this was a lot of typing and information dropping! } #{ Thank you so much for sending this though! } #{ Getting this ask made me really happy! } #{ I only get questions like this every now and then. } #{ So thank you for making my day! } #♡ [ ' 𝕳𝖔𝖜 𝖋𝖆𝖗 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖞 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖑 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐? ' ] - ✡ 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘 ✡ #♡ [ ' 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖉𝖔𝖔𝖗𝖘. ' ] - ✡ 𝕺𝖚𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗 ✡

[twinflameshardcore]

Nothing new, almost

I haven’t written for a long time because there have been no improvement between us, and what’s more, I lost my interest in him. It’s too far, too expensive to make it. I sent him gifts, lent him the money, I never got anything from him on a distance or got the money back when asked for the return. He tried to talk to me but I won’t sacrifice anymore. He may be beautiful, kind, and helpful but I don’t understand his ways of acting towards me, it’s kind of bipolar. Besides it was always too emotional between us, too much drama made out of nothing and I don’t want it anymore, it destabilizes my inner peace. So I keep 2 versions of who he may be for me. 1) he is either a twin to only wake up each another (we did in 2012) and accompany for a short time during the Earth first big vibrational rise, and go separate ways, or 2) a man who killed my twin in a past live and had to experience the uttermost importance of such a connection in the cosmic sense in a real life and what harm one can make by separating the halves through causing death, killing or other violence. I was once shown a vision of me being a Mayan woman, some sort of a sacred person coupled with a sacred partner (the one I met 2 years ago, more below) and him, the supposed twin being a conquistador who comes to kill one of us or both because he serves another and follows orders. So if it was a re-memory, it could be true that I was not supposed to be with him in this lifetime, just teach him a few lessons and become matched with the one I was coupled in a Mayan village.

Moreover, in 2018 I met somebody who vibrationally feels even closer to my heart and soul, the astral connection is also very significant, telepathy, the heart connection and so on so I would consider him the ‘second’ twin (because the former ‘failed’ to fulfill the promise, if it applies) but the trouble is the other has been married for the last couple of years, has young children and so on. Which, the funny part, makes him the best candidate for a twin as it seems they’re all mostly married yet unhappily but they say they won’t divorce for the fear of loosing what they established. ;] The Universe will force them to look and see their lives through their unsupported needs. Things are changing, we are changing, and men will have to clean their brain programs they’ve been stuck to. Plus, I never looked for another guy after I met (and was abandoned) by the 1st twin because even if I shine as an angelic being, no man shone for me equally strongly to get interested in. The other appeared to buy things from me in person and then we clicked instantly, he was coming back just to be around me pulled the same way, talking, meeting, shopping and so on. After 2 years we’re still deepening it very slowly and infrequently due to his family situation. I keep myself away from pushing too hard because it never works, but I don’t hold my feelings either. I’ve kept myself single for over 5 years now, including having sex. It probably was very important to stay clean of other people’s energies and karma before I make love with the one who is for me to connect with the biggest love and bliss ever experienced on a cosmic level, that what has been planned in the Universe when things finally align on a bigger scale.

I’ve dealt with a stunning number of my own mind programs and I’ve been turning them off. When you feel anger give a direct order to your body/mind/consciousness - ‘turn off anger’. ‘Turn off jealousy’. ‘Turn off suspicion’. ‘Turn off xyz’. It works like charm! It’s incredible how many triggers can turn on the conditioning and evil responses. Assumptions based on something learnt from lives of others before are the worst kind. Generalizing. Blaming. Feeling guilty of not doing things as they ‘should be done in your age’. Self-criticism and so on. We all live individual stories, none repeats when looked into details. We have to monitor these reactions and thoughts daily as they are triggered by bad energies to make us get further from our lives improvement when we’re already there.

I also started noticing how things work in 5D world. There’s no more hard work needed but visualizing instead which we always knew how and tried to utilize in 3D but then we were failing as the layer of vibration wasn’t supporting that. So many of us abandoned such an activity to replace with hard work and struggling but it’s worth of bringing it back. For example, I sell some used stuff online and for a month nobody buys. So I then look or touch a thing or two and I ask them to be sold. ‘Hey, sell yourself, find a person who needs you’. Or I think of an item in a box. Then I forget about it and move on. Then surprisingly within hours to days somebody buys these items! And it happens more and more as I’ve been observing since 2018, yet I need to practice how to do it because it’s usually spontaneous. It’s like a need meets another need somewhere in the space-time and when they click together, they materialize.

So basically, I’m much eager to follow my twinflame path with another matching man than wait for somebody who can’t decide what they want in life and are not very communicative either. I have to talk. I’m Mars in Gemini and in my 40s. I need action and I can’t delay my own progress while waiting for somebody’s awakening. I studied, corrected, improved, purged, jumped into any transformation I could make, I even became more selfish than before which suits me better as nothing bad happened. Service to self is necessary to keep boundaries and inner harmony, because we always help other people anyway if we only have enough of resources and wish to share.

Numbers I’ve been seeing lately a lot are: 11:11, 23, 33, 44, 55, 56 and 1,2,3,4,5,6,7 through 13:24 (234), 15:46 (456), 17:56 (567) and doubles like 16:16, 12:12, 13:13, 22:22 so on. Some of these are of the Fibonacci sequence, the perfect harmony of evolution and expansion. So even if you feel stuck, all is in motion in the background and the Universe has been building a new base for everyone.

Happy New Year to you all. Things will be clearer from now on and rewards are coming for all hard work we’ve done. Focus on yourself, then those similar in vibration will follow to meet you.

#twinflames #self-discovery

[nadziejastar]

In a lot of your posts, they have a lot of the texts from the novels and manga. If you were to go off of ONLY the games, would Subject X still be hinted? I think yes, but I'm a casual fan.

Well, I developed my opinion on Subject X based ONLY on the games. I played all the games as soon as they came out. So, that would be many years ago at this point. I didn’t read the novels or the manga until after I beat KH3, which was relatively recently. My opinions on the story/characters were quite solidified by then. I actually read them because I thought KH3′s story was so inconsistent with the previous games.The novels/manga simply reinforced the opinions I already had formed after playing the games. I felt validated by them, but they had nothing to do with my opinion on Subject X. 

Now, are you are asking me if I think Subject X—the way it was written in canon—was hinted at in the games? A mysterious time-travelling girl that Lea and Isa were looking for the whole time they were in Organization XIII? LOL. Hell no. Absolutely not. She was never hinted at even once, not even vaguely. And the way Axel and Saïx were written was never consistent with that motivation at all. If you mean Subject X as a concept? Xehanort’s lab rat? Yes, definitely. That was pretty much EXACTLY what I always expected Isa’s backstory to be, based ONLY on the games. I thought Lea and Isa were set up perfectly to be test subjects. When I play the older games, I’m still unable to see them as anything but test subjects. That’s how much support there was for that idea and how little there was for anything else. 

I was VERY confused when KH3 did feature a character who was Xehanort’s lab rat. But instead of being Isa, it was a random girl he never mentioned before (but apparently was obsessed with). Them being apprentices was something so farfetched, it never even once crossed my mind. I didn’t understand how anyone could give that girl the backstory that seemed 1,000 times more suitable for Lea and Isa. How could the person writing the story not see that? How do they expect the fans to not see it, either? How dumb and/or incompetent do you have to be to write the story that way? How did that even get approved by a whole team of people? Those were my thoughts when I played KH3, based ONLY on the previous games.

That is NOT how someone will feel if a story is well-written. Some people act like Nomura made the story up as it went along, with each individual game. But that wasn’t the case for the games building up to KH3. Re:CoM and KH2FM+ were released together. And BBS, Days, and Coded were being developed simultaneously. These were all part of one big master plan. The way Saïx was written in Days was connected to how Isa was written in BBS, etc. Isa was planned to be a good guy MANY years in advance. IMO, him being the real Subject X was hinted at MANY years in advance. If you think anyone else was foreshadowed to be Subject X, let’s look at the games one by one. 

Kingdom Hearts 2 Final Mix+

In all the games building up to KH3, the only person from Axel’s past that had any relevance was Isa/Saïx. They could have hinted at Subject X any time they wanted to in ALL these games, but they never did. In KH2FM+, all the new scenes with Saïx involved his relationship with Axel. Saïx seemed to be conflicted about Axel’s elimination. Xemnas made a comment to Saïx about Axel chasing the illusion of friendship. This scene hinted that Axel wasn’t really obsessed with Roxas like people thought. He was really just trying to recover his lost friendship with Isa. I had always suspected that Axel’s “obsession” with Roxas was due to his troubled past, so it didn’t surprise me at all. And Nomura loves twists like that.

They were setting up Isa’s relationship with Lea to have significance, not his relationship with anyone else. It’s absurd for me to think that they were trying to track down a girl they didn’t even know existed. They had real problems to worry about. KH2FM+ also introduced the Chamber of Repose and the Cavern of Remembrance. This all suggested that the experiments on the darkness of the heart would be very important and explored in much more depth. Xigbar seemed to have heavy involvement in these experiments, since he didn’t want to go down into the castle basement. And he’s the one who taunted Saïx about not being able to see Xion and not having a heart.

Kingdom Hearts Re:Chain of Memories

Castle Oblivion is all about recovering forgotten memories. The other most important recurring theme in Re:CoM was reuniting with people you miss. Pretty much every Disney world incorporated this theme. This was the perfect opportunity to hint at Subject X, but they didn’t do that. Instead, they chose to keep the focus on Axel’s relationship with Saïx.

Days made a big point of showing that Axel changed a LOT after coming back from Castle Oblivion. Saïx said this to him on Day 193, called “Memories”. He also asked Axel if the past meant nothing to him. Axel said he missed what was gone between him and Saïx. He didn’t mention missing anyone else. There was also a new scene where Axel acted extremely cold to Naminé because she was making two childhood friends fight. Isa was the only childhood friend we ever saw, and he later became an enemy. In every game building up to KH3, Isa was set up to be the most important character to Lea. Subject X? Crickets.

Kingdom Hearts 358/2 Days

Axel said in his report that he forgot what friendship felt like after becoming a Nobody. That was the whole point of him befriending Roxas and Xion. He was not focused on friendship until he met Roxas. And Saïx was always cold and indifferent towards everyone, even Axel, who was his best friend that he was inseparable from. They’ve been together for 10 years in the organization. I’m expected to believe that Saïx was able to care about some imaginary girl, but not his best friend? To be honest, I thought that the writers had to be drunk if they thought that was believable or realistic. Or that it made Saïx more sympathetic.

Even in Days, I could tell that Axel had a lot of baggage from his past. He always treated his memories of the past like they were sacred. Day 150 is about having something you can’t bear to lose. He said that for Nobodies, it was their past, because that’s all you have to remember the pain of losing something. Perfect time to mention Subject X. After all, her disappearance was Axel’s motivation, right? But the story made it perfectly clear: Axel was heartbroken over the loss of his best friend. Nothing else was ever mentioned. Axel was good friends with Roxas, but I got the sense that he was much, MUCH closer with Isa. 

Personally, I thought Axel was a former test subject ever since the original KH2. It fit him perfectly. He was a sad, lonely, dysfunctional person. When Days hinted that Axel had a tragic past and dark secrets that he didn’t like to talk about, I was not at all surprised. He suffered from something way more traumatic than someone he barely knew disappearing. And it never seemed like he chose to be in the organization. That’s why he was always yearning for his childhood with things like ice cream and summer vacation. My personal belief is that Axel was always written with the backstory of a former test subject in mind. They came up with Saïx‘s backstory later, though I suspected he might have been a test subject too, due to his scar and his berserk state, which made him seem kinda freakish. We always knew that Xigbar and Saïx were unique due to them having gold eyes and pointy ears.

Kingdom Hearts Birth By Sleep

When I played BBS, I knew that something horrible must have happened to Isa to turn him into someone like Saïx. The difference between Saïx and Isa was like night and day. None of the other Nobodies were THAT different from their human counterparts. BBS also confirmed my opinion on Axel/Roxas/Xion. Lea was WAY closer to Isa than he was with them. Isa seemed like a shy kid. But he was very comfortable with Lea. And Lea acted much more naturally with Isa compared to Roxas and Xion.

After BBS, it was obvious that Isa was not a villain, and that he was going to be on the good side at the end of KH3. This was the game that was supposed to show you who the organization members were as humans. They showed that Braig was always evil. Lea and Isa were only in one single scene, other than the epilogue. So, why would they choose to show him as an innocent kid who was Lea’s best friend? Obviously, all of this was to show that he was the polar opposite of Braig. How is that consistent with his canon characterization? He sold his soul to Xehanort, did icky jobs for Xemnas at a pace Axel couldn’t keep up with, and tried to murder Axel. Why would anyone in their right mind choose to write Lea’s best friend that way, if he was not possessed? Especially if they wanted him to appear in future titles?

In the epilogue, they showed Lea and Isa eating ice cream together. Sea-salt ice cream was VERY important to Axel’s character. Axel defined friendship as people who eat ice cream together. I knew that Isa was very special to Axel if he was the origin of his addiction to ice cream. They also showed Lea and Isa trying to sneak into the castle. This was BEFORE the experiments took place. So, Subject X had nothing to do with why Lea and Isa were originally trying to sneak in. They wanted to sneak in because it sounded like fun. Not because they thought people were being tortured in there. There’s no evidence the mystery girl even existed back when BBS was written. The apprentices were not recruiting kids to be apprentices, they were kidnapping kids. What reason would Ansem have to let them be apprentices anyways? It makes no sense.

Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance

In KH3D, Lea was recompleted. Xehanort was gone. He could have used that opportunity to look for information on Subject X. But he didn’t even mention her. He immediately set off to look for Isa. That was his main priority upon being recompleted, not finding Subject X or Roxas, who had gone back to Sora. Lea wasn’t even concerned that Saïx was trying to hunt him down in KH2. He was happy to look for him, even when he was putting himself at risk using the dark corridors. He used the same lines he did for Xion, which had huge narrative significance. It was clear that he was dead set on bringing Isa home. If Subject X was important, Lea didn’t act like it. KH3D sent the message to me that Lea was VERY devoted to Isa. Why even write him this way if he wasn’t supposed to rescue him eventually? Why make it seem like Isa was kidnapped if he was supposed to be looking for Subject X?

Lea and Isa were also the only two who were wearing the black coats when they were recompleted, which gave me the impression that they were test subjects. The apprentices never wore the black cloaks. And of course, the big revelation in KH3D was that Isa was a vessel. Unlike Xigbar, he seemed like he was being controlled, like a puppet. Lea awakened his Keyblade, the Flame Liberator, immediately afterwards. Xemnas also mentioned mind control experiments in this game. Why bring this up if Subject X was only experimented on for her memories. NONE of the games gave me the impression that Lea and Isa were apprentices, that Isa willingly joined the bad side, or that there was some mystery girl that he was looking for. They gave me the impression that Isa was one of the many characters who needed their hurting mended. That was supposed to be the main theme of KH3, after all.

Birth By Sleep Final Mix+

Xemnas may have called Aqua’s armor “friend”, but that was only because he had access to Terra’s memories. He tried to manipulate Aqua by impersonating Terra in KH0.2. And I got the impression that a similar idea was behind the relationship between Axel and Saïx. In the secret ending of BBSFM+, the camera zoomed in on Master Xehanort’s eyes when he said he had many other roads open besides Terra. Then they zoomed in on the amnesiac Terranort’s eyes, showing that they were brown. They zoomed in on Ansem the Wise’s eyes afterwards, showing that the were orange. And finally they zoomed in on his eyes again when he was in the Realm of Darkness. The implication was that Master Xehanort had so many options because of these experiments. His goal was to create vessels, not learn about the age of fairy tales.

Ansem put his research results in Sora to atone for all the lives he ruined. It can be reasonably discerned that Ansem Seeker of Darkness and Xemnas had orange eyes because of Ansem the Wise probing the depths of Xehanort’s heart, to restore his memory. He gained all of Terra’s memories in the process. And in the games building up to KH3, they specifically changed Saïx’s eyes from gold to orange. This implies that the same thing was done to him as well. We know Subject X was also an amnesiac and that Ansem the Wise hid them away when he released the other subjects. It makes sense that Isa was the same as Terra.

Kingdom Hearts 0.2

When Riku told Kairi that she was going to be training with Lea, she was shocked. She later admitted in KH3 that she was afraid of him, because he kidnapped her. But she said that she found it hard not to like him because all he ever wanted was to help his friend. That’s exactly what I expected to happen. My impression after playing KH0.2 was that Axel’s relationship with Roxas and Xion was meant to provide him with character development. This would allow Lea to fulfill his TRUE purpose in the story: becoming a Guardian of Light and rescuing his real best friend from Xehanort. Axel’s friendship with Roxas was supposed to carry over to Ventus because they both had a friend who was a vessel.

Axel’s friendship with Xion was meant to carry over to Kairi specifically because they were going to be training together in KH3. Kairi awakened her Keyblade because she wanted to bring Riku and Sora home. Lea and Kairi were planned as friends because he also wanted to bring his friend home. Axel’s friendship with Roxas and Xion played an important role in Lea’s development. But my impression was that getting Isa back was the ultimate goal of Lea’s character arc, not Roxas or Xion. And especially not Subject X, who is irrelevant to the Xehanort Saga.

Saïx could not see Xion for some reason that was never explained. He has a large Recusant’s Sigil scar on his face which was never explained. Axel said Saïx’s personality changed drastically, while he stayed more or less the same. This was never explained. Saïx had orange eyes like Xemnas, but this was never explained. Subject X does not explain ANY of these things. But Isa being experimented on as the REAL Subject X just happens to explain ALL of them.   

Kingdom Hearts 3

When Lea said he’d always be there to bring his friends back, Xehanort got a really nasty smirk on his face and sent Isa to attack him. It was just to punish him for ruining their plans. Xehanort knew exactly why Lea was there, and how to hurt him. Then during the final battle, it was a repeat of what happened in KH3D. Lea was ruining their plans yet again and Xemnas wanted to punish him. He was so confident that he had Isa under his full control, he thought he could murder Lea right in front of him and he wouldn’t do anything. He turned his back on Isa, literally and figuratively. Isa was positioned to be directly behind Xemnas’s right hand. He was his right-hand man, after all. Everything was all set up perfectly for Isa to finally betray Xemnas. That’s what being a recusant means in the first place.

Lea’s reunion with Roxas and Xion didn’t even feel like an organic or natural development in the story. It felt like shameless pandering. Subject X felt even more unnatural than Roxas and Xion did, which says a lot. Then there was Saïx’s transition into a “good guy”. If they wanted a character like Saïx to be redeemed, they would need to give him an actual redemption arc. Axel was always sympathetic and likable, and even he needed a redemption arc spanning multiple games. Saïx was WAY nastier than Axel. It would take a LONG time to redeem him. But…he was never humanized. The games went out of their way to depict Saïx as inhumanly cold as possible.

It was a deliberate CHOICE not to humanize him in ALL of these games. Yet there he was in the ending, chilling and eating ice cream, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Now, this would make perfect sense if his backstory was a nice kid who was kidnapped, experimented on, then got possessed. He wouldn’t have needed a redemption arc in that case. So it makes perfect sense why one was never planned for him. In every game, the emphasis was NEVER on Saïx being redeemed, but on Lea saving Isa. The power of waking was the main goal of the story. Isa was introduced in the game called “Birth by Sleep,” which IS the power of waking. 

Lea and Isa being test subjects would have made the story far more interesting for 99.9% of players, I guarantee it. But it’s not even just that. Every game since KH2FM+ was written to give the impression that they were test subjects. There’s no way the writers weren’t aware of that. They knew exactly what message they were sending to people. And it makes waaay more sense than them being apprentices. I could not understand why anyone in their right mind would waste all of that foreshadowing and change their backstory to something FAR less interesting and also not very believable. If something doesn’t make sense it’s usually not true. I’m no detective or anything, but the only thing that makes sense is that Isa was planned to be Subject X for well over a decade. Then at the very last minute it was changed to this new girl. 

There’s three reasons I could think for someone to believe that Subject X made sense the way it was written in canon. They are either:

A. Not looking at the story very closely. Probably a casual fan.

B. A blind Kingdom Hearts fanboy/fangirl who will defend anything in the story.

C. Not very intelligent or perceptive. 

#KH #kh saix #kh isa

[uncommonfauna]

In 1972 Janet Clifton, an Osage woman, walked into the IHS in Clairemore, Oklahoma. For years she had been having severe pelvic cramps and they had become too much to bear. She was put in a gown and lead to a room in which sat the dreaded stirruped chair many women have despised since it’s invention. The anxiety is understandable even in modern times when women’s healthcare is arguably the most advanced it’s ever been. It’s frightening, then, to imagine approaching that chair in the 60’s and 70’s, when modern women’s healthcare was in it’s infancy, and for a Native American woman, it could be absolutely terrifying. 

When Janet signed in to the clinic, she’d been asked the usual questions, one of which was ‘are you married’, which she was, and was asked if she had any children, which she did. Three to be exact. She was only twenty-five and all her children were born just under three years, so it is no surprise that when she was asked if she was religious she replied that she was Catholic. Christianity and native Americans have a strange relationship. The religion was used to justify atrocities done to us too numerous not only for this paper, but for anyone to ever list. Arguably it’s greatest crime was to mold itself into a cardboard beacon, offering native Americans sanctuary from it’s own ugliness. For centuries Native American men made the decision to convert for the rest of the family. The rules of life changed for them, but it’s unclear if they realized the changes it meant for their wives. Their roles in many nations were reduced, as was their agency over their bodies. Contraceptives in their earliest days were known throughout the world, including the Americas, yet now they were forbidden. As ridiculous and ineffective as they could be, they at least offered the illusion of body autonomy, mostly for women. 

When Janet went to the IHS the Women’s Health Movement (WHM) had only recently begun, along with second wave feminism. It spoke loftily and justly about abortion rights and about changing the traditional maternity ward practices into more family oriented ones, with the fathers allowed in the delivery room. There was a resurgence of midwifery. However, these improvements did not scratch the blood soaked surface of Native American health care. As Janet lay in the chair, three white doctors entered the room. The Indian Clinic did not have any native doctors, so doctors were driven in from nearby Tulsa Oklahoma, thus continuing the tradition of white doctors working with an exclusively non-white clientele. “I felt like I was being experimented on,” she would later say. She would be in good company. A Google search of “experiments on native women” will instantly bring up several articles about the forced sterilization of Native American women, and many give examples of experimental procedures that were performed in front of many doctors under the guise of research. Janet, who only wanted treatment for what we now know as polycystic ovary syndrome, never knew she would join their ranks. “One of the doctors told me that they were going to burn the cysts off. The procedure was never really explained to me and it was probably a combination of me being a woman and being Native American. They thought I was too dumb to understand anyway.” Had she known more on the subject she might have thought he was referring to a ovarian wedge resection, a common treatment at the time. It involves opening the patient up in an operating theater and exposing the ovaries. The cysts are then carefully removed with a cauterization tool not only keep the cyst from bursting, but to ensure the ovary heals properly. Instead of doing this, Janet and her doctors remained in the exam room where he gave her a local anesthetic, inserted a cauterizing into her vaginally, and performed what was most likely a tubal litigation. This is the most common form of female sterilization and only severs the fallopian tubes. My grandmother’s painful ovaries would remain untouched and untreated.  

“I remember smelling something burning,” recalled Janet, “I looked down and saw smoke.”She was sent home directly after the procedure, unaware of what had actually happened to her and uninformed of the possible side effects. There was pain, of course, and in a candid moment she also confessed that she was never able to feel sexual pleasure with her husband again. Worst of all, because there had been no attempt to treat the cysts, and the pain that started the entire ordeal returned within weeks. 

Pain seems to be woven into the fabric of every Native American woman’s life and this has not gone unnoticed artists, native and non-native alike. When native women are not posing nude on a biker’s bicep, we are huddled into blankets, riding our horses, our backs bent and heads hung low. Sometimes we stand on hills, gazing at nothing with blank faces and sometimes we kneel by our tipis and look at the ground. Though the past few decades have brought forward more animated depictions of Native American women, my grandmother’s house was filled with the old fashioned kind. As a child, I thought they were pretty, if boring. I never perceived any greater meaning than a woman simply looking down. Maybe she was watching a bug. As a child I was also blissfully unaware of the majority of the atrocities faced by our people and what I did know, I largely new in name only. It wasn’t until I grew older that I’d look at these paintings and think ‘huh, she actually looks kinda sad’. Now I look at these paintings and think ‘she looks utterly defeated’. Knowing what really happened to us makes me notice details I never had before, like how so many of them have textbook thousand yard stares while portraits of chiefs and warriors in the same stye still seem to have fire in their eyes. The men are also more likely to be depicted upright, whether standing or on horseback, still tall in some way or another. The woman have deflated. We slump over our horse’s necks, we kneel, we sit. It seems as though these women have accepted that pain is just something they must endure silently and with dignity, whatever the source. My grandmother is not like these women, so when the pain that had sent her to the doctor in the first place returned, so did she. 

The doctors made little effort with pretense this time - she would have a hysterectomy and that was that. At this point there was no reason to try and treat her as Janet could no longer have children, and in the end her hysterectomy would succeed in ridding her of her pain. Why then does it seem to hold so much more significance? European invaders managed to erase many aspects of various indigenous cultures, but some roots run too deep to be completely torn out and in so many of our cultures it was the female ability bring forth life that created the world. The association with women and new life was so strong that even in some nations it was observed that women sewed the seeds for the new crops and tended to them, but it was the men who reaped them. Their reasoning was that women brought life, and men took it. Some Lakota Sioux would not acknowledge a girl’s transition to womanhood until she has had a child. This doesn’t mean that a woman’s only value was her ability to have children and in many nations women held high political power, were religious leaders, and even warriors. Still, it is virtually impossible to completely separate a woman’s potential reproductive capabilities and how she was viewed in societies that place more value on the concept of new life, birth, or rebirth. So many Native American nations fell into this category, and on some level or another, a woman’s womb was sacred. In 1972, at age 25, my grandmother’s was ripped from her body.

From an outsiders perspective, it seems as though these sterilized women have become those broken women from the paintings. In doing research for this paper, I found very little. The ambiguity is unsettling. Is the near total absence of initial medical documentation a result of apathy towards Native American health, or an intentional coverup? Did the women affected not speak out about this at the time because of the taboo around reproductive systems? Was it shame, or a feeling that no one would listen anyway? I have to wonder, too, how many woman are like my grandmother who only now realizes what was done to her. Whitehorse also did not realize what happened to her until later. “I was trying to have more babies, but was having trouble getting pregnant, so I went to the IHS clinic. That’s when they told me about what they did to me,” She said. She had been sterilized during a previous surgery.“I was in so much pain when I went in for the appendectomy; they gave me a bunch of papers to sign. They never explained anything to me; I had no idea I was giving them permission to sterilize me.” she said. It wasn’t only abdominal pain that allowed doctors to trick women into sterilization. One of the more famous cases of sterilization involved two girls, both under fifteen years old, who were sterilized during surgery to remove their tonsils. It’s been estimated that between 1960 and 1970, for every seven native babies born, one woman was sterilized, culminating in roughly 25% of the potentially fertile female population. Even this was not enough of an attack on the Native American woman. Native American boarding schools, run by the BIA (Bureau of Indian Affairs) where still common in that era. A 1971 census stated that approximately 35,000 Native American children lived in boarding schools rather than at home. In these schools, children were stripped of their language, their culture, their religion, their names, and often, their sanity. Abuse was rampant and the chances of escape were bleak. While non-native children were begging for bell bottoms and watching t.v, two native boys fled, only to freeze to death in their attempt to return home. Suicide rates amongst teenage boarders could reach as high as one hundred times the national average. The rest of the nation, if it noticed, soon turned away and continued to focus on disco. Native mothers could do little to stop the abuse of their children, but a growing number were being offered a choice. If they agreed to be sterilized, their existing children might be allowed to stay with them. It can’t be said if it was in defeat or defiance that a mother made her choice, whichever it was. It would a lie to say that no woman was defeated, and sat slumped over a bottle of whiskey rather than a horse.

However, when my grandmother was wheeled into the recovery bay, she discovered that she was not the only woman who refused stoop down and be silent, though she did not yet know what bond she shared with these women. They were a small group, all in various stages of recovery. They smiled and chatted if and when they could, and because the nurses were about as helpful as a match under water, they tended to each other. The women adjusted each others hospital beds by hand, fetched each other glasses of water and just as importantly, they kept each other in good spirits. Decades later, Janet will still smile and laugh when she remembers a woman that was truly fed up with the barely edible hospital food. “You guys want some pizza?” The woman had asked, and then she got up and climbed out the window. A while later she returned the same way, pizza in hand. They might have been neglected and in pain, but in that moment they were normal women diving into a pizza and giddy with their own mischief. It seems like such a small gesture, valuable in that it’s a light hearted tidbit from an otherwise tragic story, but it is so much more than that. Expand the perspective and you’ll find it’s really the story of how a Native American woman was had her reproductive organs seared into oblivion against her will by white doctors, was neglected by nurses in a recovery room filled with strangers, and this woman still had the strength and spark to climb out a window and return with pizza to share with her sisters. Our solidarity is our fortitude. Native women have an incredible ability to come together and to accomplish incredible things. One of they key elements that allows us to do this is our ability to communicate with each other, and despite what modern white hippies may think, we can’t do that with telepathy and talking animals. I would not have been able to tell my grandmother’s story without calling her and having several lengthy phone calls. This chapter of our history is in danger of being forgotten. It’s imperative we learn as much as we can, but that is not enough. It’s through communication that bond over our people’s losses and triumphs and encourage others to learn along with us. If I am to end this essay with one request, it is that when you read this chapter of our history, please read it out loud. 

—- This essay is dedicate to Janet Stork, I cannot give enough thanks to my grandmother for letting me interview her. Rather than mourn her loss, she seemed happy throughout every conversation, as if she was glad that someone wanted to hear what she had to say. This is such a sensitive topic, one that would make many young students here cringe and shy away from, but my grandmother made every conversation a comfortable one. No question was off limits, there was no withholding of details. I feel so lucky to have a grandmother like her, and I’m amazed that it’s through her strength I exist today.