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jessbakescakes · 3 years

Note

I wish you would write a future fic where Josh and Donna kind of argue about future careers and Josh tries to convince Donna he has a whole plan laid out for her future in politics (because I’m convinced he does).

This took forever and I'm so sorry! This was from the 'I wish you'd write a fic where' game that I started over a month ago and then... didn't finish. Anyway. This is a post-series fluffy future Josh/Donna fic.

May 2014

“I think I need a vacation to recover from our vacation,” Donna says, pulling the nearest child-sized duffle bag toward her and unzipping it.

Josh laughs. “Leave that until tomorrow. Seriously.”

“I do feel compelled to at least check to be sure one of the barn kittens didn’t accidentally hitch a ride back with us,” Donna says, employing air quotes around the word ‘accidentally’. “Nora was a little too fascinated by them.”

Josh, Donna, and their three girls spent Memorial Day weekend with the Bartlets on the farm in New Hampshire. It had become a tradition during the first year of the Santos administration, a way for Josh and Donna to get out of the city away from the fireworks and relax on an otherwise difficult weekend. Donna had always welcomed the opportunity to escape for a little while, and she was incredibly grateful that the Bartlets continued to extend the invitation as their family grew.

Abbey and Jed rolled out the red carpet for their honorary granddaughters on this particular weekend. They introduced the girls to the Bartlet Farm barn cat and her kittens, let them play in the sprinklers until they were pruny, and kept them busy while Josh and Donna relaxed. The entire Moss-Lyman clan had a great time, and the weekend came to a close with only a few minor hiccups.

“I checked as I loaded the car,” Josh reassures her. “Nary a kitten crossed state lines.”

“Okay, good,” Donna says, moving the bag back to its place by the wall and leaning her head on Josh’s shoulder. It was a nice weekend, but going anywhere with their three girls always manages to be exhausting somehow.

“I am intrigued by this ‘vacation from a vacation’ business, though,” Josh says, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

She curls up close to him, closing her eyes. “Well, coming from a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘vacation’ until he was forced to take one, I can understand how the concept is nebulous to you.”

“Donna.”

Donna sighs. “I just… I like my job, Josh. I do. But sometimes it’s a lot of… I don’t know. I feel like I’m not making much of a difference.”

“Of course you’re making a difference. But if you feel like you’re not, then it’s time to move on,” Josh says. “Shake things up.”

“Josh.”

“We haven’t had this conversation in several years,” Josh starts, “and the last time we did, you tried to convince me that you could get your master’s degree in the one-year accelerated program while working and raising two kids under three.”

She remembers this conversation well. After President Santos lost his re-election bid, she was feeling a bit unsure of what to do next. Being Chief of Staff to the First Lady was an incredible honor, but it took her some time to figure out her next move. She’d finished her bachelor’s degree while she was Chief of Staff, so she eventually decided to get her master’s degree from Georgetown, then took a job with the Women’s Leadership Coalition.

Josh, of course, was incredibly supportive, taking on the duties of primary caregiver while doing some teaching at the adjunct level on the side. He did his best not to offer his opinion on her career moves unless he was asked directly, but sometimes, he had to remind her that she could only do so much. Talking her into pursuing her degree on a part-time rather than full-time basis was one of his smarter ideas.

“Okay, yes, doing it in two years was the better decision, but I ended up graduating when I was, what, seven months pregnant with Leah? I’m a very powerful and capable woman, Josh,” Donna says.

Josh stands up from the couch and pulls a binder off of the bookshelf in the corner. “I have never once doubted that. In fact, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Thank you.” Donna pauses, watching as Josh flips through the binder. It occurs to her as she watches him leaf through the binder that she has no idea what he’s referring to. “Wait, what do you mean?”

Josh opens the binder and pulls out two sheets of paper. “Each of these pieces of paper contains a timeline for your future in politics.” He taps the page in her left hand. “This one right here is an accelerated version, but I think you could easily manage either one of them.”

She glances down at the pages, a little intimidated by the idea that Josh has planned out her entire career path. Donna can feel the anxiety building as she reads. Words like campaign manager, senior political advisor, and Congresswoman, Wisconsin 2nd stand out in bold font. “Josh? What is this?”

“Which one?”

Donna points to the line that says Congresswoman, Wisconsin 2nd. “This.”

Josh laughs. “Oh, yeah. You’re running for Congress in 2024. Sam’s going to be elected President in 2022, so we’ll have to slip you in at midterms to make sure you can boost his numbers in the second half. At least he’ll know he can count on your vote.”

She smiles to herself. Josh has such high hopes for her. He’s been telling her she should run for Congress since they got married, even going so far as to occasionally send her Zillow listings for properties in the Congressional district. But he’s always done it in his Josh-like, half-joking way. She’s never really taken him seriously when he’s suggested it.

For one, she’s not really given much thought to the idea of being the ‘face’ of the political process. She’s always enjoyed the behind the scenes work, and the idea of campaigning on her own behalf sounds daunting at best. The idea of leaving Josh and the girls behind to spend time in Wisconsin without them immediately makes her a little nauseated. “I don’t know how I feel about all of this.”

“About what? Donna, you can do this. You’re so great at it. And you’d be able to make a difference the way you want to.”

There’s something about the idea of Josh’s enthusiasm toward the idea of her advancing in politics that will never get old. The fact that they’re past the days of being boss-and-assistant and nearly seven years into a marriage and almost eight into a partnership where Josh puts her career first is almost unbelievable. “It’s way too early to be talking about any of this,” Donna finally says, handing him the papers.

“It’s almost too late to be talking about this,” Josh counters. “If you’ll look at 2014 on the timeline…”

Donna leans forward and interrupts him with a kiss. When she pulls away, she gently removes one of the papers from his hand and folds it in half. “You can get rid of this one. I’m not going to be President, Josh.”

Josh looks at her for a moment, then lets out a sigh. “Good. I was trying to be supportive there, but I wasn’t so sure about the idea.”

“You don’t think I could be President?” Donna asks, taking the binder from his hands and putting it on the coffee table.

“You could absolutely be President,” Josh says. “That’s the terrifying part.”

Donna leans forward for another kiss, but stops just short of his lips. “I’m a very powerful and capable woman, Josh,” she says before giving him another kiss.

“Don’t I know it.”

#josh x donna #my fics #hufflepuffhermione #sorry this took so long!#the west wing #fics i wish you'd write game

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booksarelife-stuff · 3 years

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Lily Enchanted-Chapter 1

Lily of the Valley was given a gift of obedience. In her adulthood, she’s on a quest to have the gift taken away… and maybe save her Prince and kingdom as well.

An Ella Enchanted AU.

Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans

Word Count: 1,645

Read on Ao3 Next Chapter Series Masterlist Masterlist

At six years old, Lily was all smiles as she maneuvered her doll around. In her head was a fantasy that her doll was fighting a mean dragon to get to its hoard of gold to help the people back in her small village. All around her were the other children in her small school, chasing each other with squeals of delight.

Her epic battle was interrupted by a young boy with long black hair that was greasy and never had anyone talk to him since he was new to the school unless they were throwing insults at him. He was just walking past her when a loud voice crashed the fantasy around her.

“Why don't you go back to whatever cave you crawled out of!” The pale blonde schoolyard bully Lucius Malfoy called out towards the boy.

Lily threw down her doll and stood up.

“Stop being mean to him!” she yelled back. The boy sneered.

“Oh, bite me!” Malfoy spat.

She had no choice in the matter, as she marched towards him, grabbed the boy’s pale arm, and bit down hard.

The boy cried and pushed Lily away. The school teacher seemed to be paying attention and grabbed Lily by the arm and ordered her to write 100 lines.

When school was out, Lily started down the lane, her small brown boots crunching on the rocks. She had no issues with what she had done, despite the aching in her hand from handwriting the lines. After all, it was Malfoy brat who told her to bite him.

She felt a small tap on her shoulders. Lily stopped and turned, coming face to face with the greasy boy from earlier.

“I wanted to say thank you,” he said, his dark brown eyes watery. “For earlier.”

Lily smiled. “It’s no problem. Malfoy is just a bully.”

They started down the lane together and Lily found she liked having a friend next to her.

~~~

At eight years old, Lily grabbed onto her mother’s clammy hand, and as she took breaths that rattled her chest. Minerva stood on the other side of the bed and carefully pressed a cool wet cloth to her mother’s head.

Violet turned her green eyes to her daughter. The mother was scared. Not of her impending death, but how her daughter was going to navigate this world with little to no free will.

Violet knew how stubborn Lily was. How opinionated she could be, even at eight years old. But all it would take is for the one wrong person to find out about her gift. One wrong person and could ruin Lily’s life. And she didn’t even know.

“Lily,” Violet spoke, her voice raspy. Lily perked up from her stool and squeezed her mother’s hand. “You have a gift.”

Lily’s brow furrowed and the frown tugged on her lips.

“A gift?”

“When you were born,” Minerva piped up. “A wizard came and gave you a gift.”

“Obedience,” Violet rasped. Minerva’s lips pinched and nodded.

“You have to do whatever someone says,” Minerva finished.

“I don’t believe you,” Lily said. “No one has to do everything they tell them.”

“Throw your doll on the ground,” Minerva said.

It was the first time Lily noticed the little jump that seemed to happen when someone gave her a command. Her left hand grabbed the doll from under her arm and tossed it to the ground. It was like she had no control over her limbs.

Lily looked up at her mother and governess in fright. Violet looked so sad and Minerva looked like she was trying not to blow up in anger.

“You must never tell anyone of your gift,” Violet said. “Only Minerva and I know. Not even your father or sister.”

Violet started coughing and Minerva went to help her, but Violet waved her away.

“The necklace, Minerva,” Violet rasped once the coughing had stopped.

Minerva reached into the bedside table and pulled out a silver chain with a heavy heart-shaped locket attached to it. Violet took it in her hand and then handed it to Lily.

“No matter what anyone says or tells you to do, look to yourself, Lily,” Violet said as the locket was placed in the child’s hands. “What’s inside of you is stronger than any spell. And I will always be with you.”

~~~

She’s 18 when her father dies and Petunia, her insufferable husband, and his little sister move into the family home. Petunia had married shortly before Lily’s mother’s death. Lily had seen her sister only a handful of times until their father passed. Lily was handed to Petunia’s husband as a ward, along with the family cottage and all the possessions in it.

Lily watches with her arms crossed as Vernon Dursley starts yelling about how ugly the cottage is.

“Your father always took such pride in his home, but look at it!” Vernon says as the footman started bringing in their luggage from their carriage. “Positively medieval.”

“I cannot believe you grew up in this kind of squalor, Petunia,” Marge said, frowning at the antique vase by the hearth, her little dog yapping by her feet.

“It’s bigger than what you had,” Lily mumbled under her breath. Minerva, who was behind her, squeezed her shoulder. Whether to silently reprimand or in support, Lily didn’t know.

“Lily,” Petunia snapped as she pulled her gloves off her fingers. “Show Marge to her room.”

Lily felt the jump happen and her feet started moving of their own accord. She tried to dig her heels in because if the cottage was so small, Marge should have no issue finding her own damn bedroom, but her feet kept moving.

“Take one of her bags, too,” Petunia called, causing Lily to lurch in the opposite direction and grab a luggage case that was far too heavy for her.

It didn’t matter that Lily’s arms were screaming in pain at the weight. She had tears in her eyes as carried it up the steps to the upstairs room across from her own. She dropped the luggage the second she was on the threshold of the room and let out a little noise of relief.

Marge stepped in behind her, pushing Lily forward, almost falling over because of the suitcase. Marge made a tsk-ing noise as she looked around the room, putting the small dog she held in her arms.

“It’s so small,” she said, frowning at the space in her room. “Is that the wardrobe? It’s tiny! I won’t be able to fit my summer gowns, let alone for every season!”

Lily rolled her eyes as Marge turned around. She eyed the blank walls of the room with a scowl on her face. “I suppose once I put my pictures of Prince James up, it’ll feel more like home.”

Lily tried not to make a face at the mention of the absent prince, but Marge still noticed it.

“Not a fan of the royal family?” Marge asked, her eyes narrowed towards Lily. The little dog decided to let out a pathetic growl.

She wasn’t. Especially the Prince. He had been away at the boarding school for the last five years but was still somehow on the cover of every paper and magazine here while the King reagent, Riddle, started segregating all of the communities in the kingdom of Hogwarts.

How could she be a fan of Prince James when he was complacent in all of that?

“Not really,” Lily answered politely, not willing to elaborate. If Vernon was her caregiver then Lily could make an accurate guess at what Marge felt about the discrimination.

Marge turned away, once again assessing the room.

“I’m the president of the prince’s fan club,” Marge said, proudly. Lily almost laughed out loud.

Having had enough, she went to turn out of the room but was stopped by Marge.

“Show me your room,” she demanded.

The jump happened and suddenly Lily was leading Marge to her room across the hall.

Lily’s room wasn’t any bigger than Marge’s. Lily had her small bed pushed to one side against the wall to make more room. There was a small writing desk and chair that she used to write letters to Sev when they weren’t in school. Marge looked at her wardrobe in the corner of the room.

“Can I use your wardrobe as well?” Marge asked, stocking across the room to run her hand over the door.

Lily rolled her eyes at the audacity of her request. “No,” she said. “I need it for my clothes.” Marge let out a tiny whine and opened the closet, peering at the few dresses Lily had hanging up. “There is more than enough room in here for me to put my summer dresses up. Let me have your closet.”

The jump once again. “Okay,” Lily said, the words leaving her mouth without her consent. Lily then swore under her breath.

Marge looked at Lily in surprise but shrugged it off. She continued her inspection of the room, scowling constantly at Lily’s things. She made a particularly nasty face at the stack of books Lily had on her bedside table.

She finally turned her gaze towards Lily, eyeing her up and down like she was a stain. Her eyes caught on the heart-shaped locket that was against her collar bone.

“Pretty necklace,” Marge said, stepping closer.

Lily’s heart twisted as she closed in, knowing the route this was about to go. Lily crossed her arms defensively.

“Thank you,” Lily said. “It was my mothers.”

“Give it to me,” Marge said, her watery blue eyes looking at Lily.

Lily’s hand reached up and snapped the necklace off, handing it to Marge.

Marge took the necklace in her pudgy hand, her eyes a bit too knowing.

#jily #jily fic #jily fanfic #James Potter #Lily Evans #Lily Evans Potter #James Potter/Lily Evans #James x Lily #Harry Potter fanfic #marauders era #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Ella Enchanted AU

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voiceless-terror · 4 years

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Hey!! For your prompts, would you mind doing one from a while ago (the questions one) where it says "do you ever stop talking?" with Jon?? Thanks!!!

Hello there anon! Here is your fic- I let this one sit for a bit, but I’m certainly liking the finished product. Hope you enjoy!

“Do you ever stop talking?”

Jon has been asked this multiple times, though the phrasing and methods always differ. His grandmother used to tell him to keep his thoughts to himself, which wasn’t necessarily meant to be rude but was privately devastating coming from his sole caregiver. He stopped talking at dinner shortly after that. They got on better.

The second was from his teachers, at basically any age. If he knew the answer to a question he had to share it, especially when someone else was getting it wrong. This earned him the title of “know it all” from his classmates, and his teachers often wrote the same sentiment in his progress reports, though in kinder words. He began to write all of his answers on paper instead. This brought on another host of issues- he wasn’t paying enough attention in class, his papers were overly-long and wordy.

So Jon often hovered between silence and overwhelming chatter. It swung more towards silence as the years went on.

But then he met Georgie, and his second year they got an apartment off campus. He’d been in therapy, finally gotten on medication that helped him. Though taking it was another matter. His mind was often scattered, as was his schoolwork, and he knew how grating he was when he didn’t have his shit together.

One night he was surrounded by notes and books, deep in his latest research project for history. He was petting the Admiral and chattering excitedly to Georgie- finally something he was interested in, even had a professor who wanted to hear his opinions. This paper had to be excellent, top-notch, and then maybe he could ask him for a letter of recommendation for graduate work and have someone in his corner-

“Christ, Jon! Can you please shut up?”

Georgie apologized of course, though it wasn’t necessary. Jon’s prattling could get intense and rather annoying, he knew that. It’s just that Georgie never seemed to mind. Or maybe she did, and never said anything.

Jon never did get that paper done. Couldn’t summon up the motivation after all. Just another failed attempt at excellence to add to the pile.

He’d been in an odd place when he accepted the job at the Magnus Institute. Fresh off a break up, recently moved, completely and utterly broke, not going to any sort of therapy. And yet his application was pushed through speedily, quick enough that he found himself at an interview with Elias Bouchard just a week after applying. The man was intimidating, that’s for sure. But he looked at Jon like he was something, like he was excited to hire him. He nodded in all the right places, listened when he went off on a tangent and shook his hand at the end. He was to start the following Monday.

Sasha James trained him. He’d felt comfortable with her from the start- she had organized binders of easily-laid out instructions that were simple to follow. Jon liked having a to-do list. She made a special copy for him when he asked and didn’t mind his inane questions. She smiled at him in the morning. Traded theories with him well into the night. And helped him with the more difficult researchers, ones that admired his thoroughness and dedication but did not like the rest of the package. That had earned her the nickname of ‘Jon-Whisperer’ which both embarrassed and pleased him. Embarrassing that he needed the help in the first place, but pleasing that someone cared enough to help him succeed. There aren’t a lot of Sashas in the world.

Tim arrived two years after him, fresh from the publishing industry with an easy smile and a boundless charm, but Jon could sense an intensity and purpose thrumming under his skin. Jon has that same drive as well. Tim recognized him as a kindred spirit, and the two struck up an unlikely friendship. They work well together, despite their friction over Tim’s more...creative methods. They work even better with Sasha, and the three of them are soon the busiest researchers in the institute. Jon felt more at ease than ever and he let his guard down, contributing more to conversations and getting lost in the easy camaraderie.

One day he makes a breakthrough on a particularly difficult case. He doesn’t realize he’s flapping his hands until he accidentally flicks a pen off his desk. Shit. He hopes no one is around to witness his behavior, but no such luck. Tim ducks down to fetch it and Jon grabs it out of his hand with a mumbled thanks. But Tim doesn’t tease or laugh. He just smiles.

“I’m more of a tapper myself,” he drums his fingers on the table in a quick example. “Just tell me if it bothers you.”

It does irritate Jon on more than one occasion.

He never says anything though.

When he gets promoted he is instantly overwhelmed. He’s that child in the classroom again, writing down his thoughts and filtering them as best he can. He agonizes over what should go on the tapes and what shouldn’t. He finds himself re-recording the bits he doesn’t like, where he stutters or his voice goes too high or he pauses for too long. The parts where he needs to catch his breath after talking too quickly. It can’t get back to Elias how panicked he is.

It’s Martin's birthday. Jon is reluctantly dragged out for ice cream he neither has the patience nor the appetite for. He picks some random flavor and instantly regrets it, choosing instead to nervously inform the rest of the table about emulsifiers. It takes him five minutes to realize he’s been speaking for far too long and his speech begins to trail off, his gaze turning down at the melted ice cream in his cup. Yes, this is exactly how Martin wants to spend his birthday. Listening to your inane drivel. Stupid, he chides himself.

“And?”

Jon looks up to see Martin gazing at him quizzically. “Sorry?”

“Why did you stop?” he asks. Jon blinks. “It’s just- well, you weren’t done. I’m not a big fan of cliffhangers, to be honest.” He inexplicably blushes and looks down at his lap, fingers fidgeting.

Jon scoffs but feels a warmth bloom in his chest. “Ah- okay, alright-” and off he goes, Martin nodding and smiling in encouragement. It turns out to be a nice outing after all, Tim and Sasha exiting the shop a bit sooner, giving some excuse about a deadline. Jon doesn’t recall giving them any pressing deadlines, but that probably speaks more to his forgetfulness.

Martin is up at the counter again, looking down at the ice cream. He gestures for Jon to come over.

“Do you want some more?” Jon asks. He’s not going to fault the man for another round. It is his birthday after all.

“No,” Martin shakes his head. “But I think you should. You didn’t really want rum raisin, did you?”

“H-How could you tell?” Jon stammers, embarrassed at being caught. He’d choked down at least a few bites.

“Nobody likes rum raisin, Jon,” he says with a chuckle. It takes a few more nudges, but Jon ends up picking a scoop of cotton candy. It is childish and overly sweet and delicious. He gets a cone and Martin uses that excuse for a walk in the park.

They arrive at work over a half-hour later than planned. Tim and Sasha begin to tease and Jon immediately barricades himself in his office. He’s got so much work to do, after all. But he thinks he’ll leave on time tonight.

He deserves one good day, right?

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26584141

Next in Series:

What Makes a Home

My Dearest

The Weight of Love

#prompts #my writing #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #jonmartin #jon's canon info-dumping!!#Anonymous #adhd jon au

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cuddlepilefics · 3 years

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Snow Angel

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie/Little: Minho (age 4-5)

Caregiver: Stray Kids

Noone’s POV.:

The Christmas holidays were officially over and the stores opened again. Running out of food, Stray Kids decided to let a game of rock paper scissors determine which member had to go grocery shopping today. None of them were very fond of having to go out at the moment. There might not have been any snow but the temperature was still below zero degrees. The choice fell on Minho and the second oldest cursed his luck. He complied anyways, bundling up in a thick coat to keep himself warm. The store wasn’t too far away, so he walked there. A short walk couldn’t hurt after days of just eating. The wind picked up, ruffling the young idols hair and forcing him to huddle deeper into the warmth of his coat. By the time he made it to the store, the first few snowflakes were floating down.

The dancer took his time at the store, not really wanting to exit the shelter and warmth of the building while it was still snowing. He kept texting his members to tell him when it would stop snowing, while he strolled the aisles. As soon as Chan texted him that the coast was clear, Minho headed towards the checkout. He zipped up his coat and slung the bags of groceries over his shoulders. Exiting the store, the dancer was met with an entirely different sight than before. The snow didn’t melt, it instead covered everything in a thick white layer. He couldn’t help his lips forming a small ‘o’, as he admired the changed scenery. With a smile and a little bounce in his step, Minho started his walk towards the dorm, enjoying the way the snow crunched under his feet. He giggled as he jumped into a larger pile of snow. Only then did he realize he was slowly slipping into headspace. Yes, Minho was a little. He had told his members about it and they had accepted him, doing their own research on it, despite Minho telling them he didn’t plan on regressing around them.

Feeling himself slowly slipping while being out in public alone, the dancer started to panic. He was fighting to stay big, at least till he made it home but it was getting harder with every step. When he was absolutely sure he wouldn’t be able to make it, he pulled out his phone, calling the only hyung he had. It didn’t take long for Chan to pick up. “H-Hyung?” – “What’s up, mate?” – “I-I feel weally, I mean really small Channie-hyung” – “Wait! You mean you’re slipping into headspace? Like… right now?” – “Sowwy hyungie, MinMin twied to stay big but thewe’s so much snow” – “Minho, stay right where you are, ok? Hyungie’s coming to get you. Just stay where you are.” And with that the leader ended the call. He had heard the lisp getting progressively stronger as he talked to Minho and when he heard the other giggle at the end, he was certain he had lost the fight and slipped fully into headspace. “Guys, Minho slipped into headspace. I’ll go run down the route to the store and pick him up, he has to be there somewhere between here and the store”, Chan yelled, putting on his coat and boots and dashing out of the dorm.

The other members were pretty stunned, heading out as well. They had no experience with taking care of a little and were really caught off guard because Minho told them he didn’t want to slip around someone. They took off running and soon caught up to a breathless Chan. They’re fast, fearing for the safety of their regressed and making it to the store in no time. Nowhere along the way had they seen any sign of the dancer. Still panting and out of breath, the leader ordered them to split up and search the area around the store and around the dorm, as well as walk the stretch in between again, slower and more attentive this time. While seven Stay Kids were worried out of their minds, the mentally youngest Stay Kid was having the time of his life. Minho had found a lawn next to their dorm building which was covered with a thick layer of snow. He put down his grocery bags at the edge of the sidewalk and made his way to the center of the lawn, throwing himself into the snow sprawled out like a starfish. After a while of just lying there giggling to himself, the little started moving his arms through the snow creating a snow angel. He got up to look at his art work and disappointedly had to admit that the long coat he was wearing had ruined the shape.

However, Minho didn’t cry, he had a better idea. He took off his coat and placed it over the groceries before giving his snow angel another try. The dancer kept making snow angels, never really satisfied with the way they turned out. Soon his thin sweatshirt and jeans were soaked through and there was barely any spot left to make another snow angel. That was when the two maknaes stumbled upon the coat and groceries on the sidewalk. Recognizing the coat, they repeatedly called their hyung’s name. Soon they saw a figure without a coat running towards them, which quickly clung to Seungmin’s side, hugging the young vocalist tight. “Hyung, what are you doing here. We were all so worried about you. Look at you! You’re soaked like a drowned puppy, not even wearing your coat. Are you trying to get sick?”, the second youngest scolded. The dancer flinched at the use of honorifics, pouting at his members with a wobbly bottom lip: “H-Hyungies mad?” The pair stood there dumbfounded at their hyung’s little voice and being referred to as hyungs by the physically older boy. The maknae was the first to shake off the shock. “Oh no MinMin. We’re not mad. We were just scared because we didn’t know where you were”, Jeongin assured, petting the little’s head. Seungmin nodded, feeling the boy at his side shiver. Now that he wasn’t running around anymore, the dancer realized just how cold his wet clothes actually were. “Let’s get you home, kitten, hm?”, Seungmin hummed, scooping the freezing little up who quickly cuddled into his member’s warmth. Minho rested his head on the vocalist’s shoulder, who pretended not to hear the teeth chattering right next to his ear while he carried the little back to the dorm. Jeongin collected the groceries and the little’s abandoned jacket, taking them back to the dorm as well while texting the groupchat that they found Minho and calling a panicking Chan.

The trio were the first to arrive at the dorm, the others coming in soon after. By the time Chan was there, the two maknaes had already convinced the dancer to remove his icy clothes and had prepared him a warm bath with lots of bubbles. While Jeongin stayed with the little and entertained him with a small rubber duck, Seungmin threw the clothes into the wash, hung up the coat to dry and stored away the groceries. The leader was still out of breath when he shrugged out of his coat and hurried to the bathroom to find a giggly little playing with their maknae. “Oh, thank god, Min, you’re ok”, he sighed breathlessly. “Hyungie ok? Face all wed”, the little giggled. “Of course, my face is red, I’ve been running around looking everywhere for you. What do you think ‘stay right where you are’ means?”, the leader scolded. Chewing on his bottom lip the dancer announced proudly: “Me made snow angel!” Chan chuckled at his cuteness, unable to stay mad. “Alright, just warm up. Do you maybe have some little stuff that we can prepare for you when you get out of your bath?” – “Me have pink box in closet”, Minho squealed, remembering his things and getting excited at the thought of being able to use them soon. Chan smiled and left the bathroom to hunt down the box his dongsaeng was talking about.

Sure enough, the oldest found it under piles of clothes and took it to the living room, setting up pencils and a coloring book on the coffee table, placing a small cat plushie onto the couch and filling the baby bottle he found with warm honey milk. The members were all gathered in the living room as well, curious to meet their groups little. About ten minutes later Minho waddled into the living room holding onto Jeongin’s hand. The maknae had helped him put on an oversized sweater, leggings and fluffy socks. Immediately getting shy at the attention he was receiving, the little hid behind Jeongin, causing the others to laugh at his antics. “Oh my gosh, he’s soo cute”, Felix squealed, getting slapped on the shoulder by Changbin who warned: “You’re scaring him.” Gathering his courage, Minho stepped out from behind the maknae and waved cutely at his ‘hyungies’. Then his eyes fell onto his little gear, all laid out nicely, and he waddled over to the couch to hug his plushie. “Min, I made you a bottle. Thought it could help warm you up some”, Chan explained. “You made Min milky?”, the little stammered, not quite believing it since he never had a caregiver and to this moment had believed he wouldn’t want a caregiver. That opinion changed pretty fast when a warm feeling of being cared for spread over his chest. “Milky always *hhuh-kchoo* - always makes MinMin sweepy *sniff*”, the little mumbled, refusing to look up at his friends and admiring his plushie instead. “Aww, is our MinMin catching a cold”, Hyunjin cooed. “Nuh-uh, Min no catch cold!” – “It’s okay Min. It’s only afternoon but if you get sleepy you can take a nap, alright?”, Chan comforted, sitting down on the couch. His dongsaeng nodded and crawled into the leader’s lap, cuddling his plushie while he allowed the other to feed him his bottle. The others stayed quiet, only sneaking a few pictures here and there since they didn’t want to disturb the little. When Minho finished the bottle, Chan took him back to his room, tucking him in for a nap as promised.

An hour later when Jisung walked past the room to get to his own room, he heard small whines coming through the door and decided to check on the little. As expected, he found the dancer awake, sitting on his bed. The rapper sat down next to him, booping the pouty little’s nose. “Hey there, kitten. Done napping?”, he smiled. “ouchie”, Minho whined and gave a small cough before pressing himself into the other’s side. The rapper frowned studying the dancer’s face: “Sweetie, what’s ouchie? Where are you hurting?” – “Head’s ouchie”, the little sniffed pitifully, prompting his friend to rest his palm against the little’s forehead. “Min, you have a fever”, Jisung cooed, “Should we go and look for Channie-hyung? He might have some medicine for you.” – “Nuh-uh, no wan medicine but wan Channie-hyung.” – “Ok let’s lo find him”, the rapper decided, bundling the little in his blanket and carrying him to the couch. “Guys, our little kitten here is sick, I have to find Chan-hyung”, he announced, placing Minho down in Felix’ lap, who was sitting on the couch playing video games but immediately dropped his controller to snuggle the little in his lap. “You stay with Lixxie, ok? I’ll go and get hyung”, Jisung ordered and gave the little a small kiss on the forehead before disappearing down the hallway.

“Hh’ktCHhsx! H’iKTsh! ’tsh! H-’khSHt’NGsT!” – “Oh dear. Bless. Our little snow angel really caught himself a cold”, the young Aussie cooed, grabbing a tissue to help the little clean himself up before pulling the blanket a bit tighter around the other dancer’s shoulders. He gently rocked the little in his arms, mumbling sweet nothings in a low voice till he could hear soft congested snores coming from the blanket bundle. The boy was also quick to shush his members when they came in to check on their sick friend. Chan carefully felt for a fever doing his best not to wake the little because sleep was always the best medicine when someone was sick. “Lix, keep Minho asleep for as long as possible, ok? I’ll fetch some medicine for him to have when he wakes up but for now I think rest and warmth is what he needs the most”, the leader hummed and went to the bathroom to roam their medicine cabinet. The entire group was gathered in the living room after overhearing Jisung telling Chan about Minho being sick. Glancing around the room in search of something he could busy himself with, Changbin’s eyes landed on the little’s box with little gear or more accurately on a sippy cup printed with a bunch of cats. The rapper picked up the cup and went to the kitchen washing it out before filling it up with cool water.

Chan’s plan of letting the little rest for a while longer failed when Minho startled himself awake by sneezing not even five minutes later. “hh’txCHH’ hh’txCHH’uh!” Felix was quick to comfort the startled little by stroking his messy hair, while the leader crouched next to the couch. “Hey kitten, I heard you weren’t feeling so great?”, the oldest whispered sympathetically. The dancer shook his head, flapping the blanket around a bit as he tried to free his arms so that he could make grabby hands at the older. Cooing the leader took him into his arms and sat down next to Felix. “Hyungie, icky!”, Minho cried, rubbing his face against his hyung’s shoulder. “Oh, I know sweetie. Let’s get some medicine into you.” – “Nuh-uh, medicine icky too.”, he whined into the thick material of Chan’s sweater, muffling a weak “N’gsCH!” against the leader’s shoulder. That’s where Jeongin stepped in. The maknae had already measured out an adequate amount of medicine, holding the small plastic cup. “It’s ok, MinMin. It’s doesn’t taste to great but it will make you feel soo much better and look! Binnie-hyung already has some water for you to wash the taste away. That’s a cute sippy you have there”, he praised and stroked the little’s cheek to make him raise his head from Chan’s shoulder. Not being able to resist the maknae’s cute foxy smile, the dancer accepted the medicine and Changbin hurried to replace the small measuring cup with the teat of the little’s sippy.

Minho soon realized how good the cool liquid felt on his swollen throat and greedily drank it down completely, making his members laugh. At least the wouldn’t have to worry about him staying hydrated. Chan stayed on the couch, rocking the little just like Felix had done before, while the rest of the members gathered pillows, blankets and plushies, setting up camp in the living room. Changbin refilled the sippy cup before getting comfortable as when. When everyone had settled they turned on the TV, allowing Minho to choose his favorite cartoon. They watched cartoons for hours, not complaining once. This was not how they had imagined their first time caring for ‘MinMin’ but they were in total awe at their regressed member. Minho realized something too. All these years that he had been regressing in secrecy, he had told himself that he didn’t want a caregiver. Even when his friends had offered to help him out, he had turned them down, only to involuntarily regress in front of them and to enjoy the love and attention they were giving his little self. It’s safe to say, he didn’t mind being sick and snuggled all that much.

#sick #sickfic #fanfic #skz #stray kids #lee minho #lee know #headspace #little space #little #snz #fluff #comfort #snow #cute #whump

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years

Text

After Each Midnight Begins A New Day

[Extra #8 - Lan Qiren’s visit to the Xuanli Child Horde(tm) at Jinlintai. This can be read as running parallel to Part 9 - Lan Xichen and Qingheng-Jun briefly discuss Lan Qiren’s return the previous evening from this particular visit while they have tea in the Gentian House.]

[Masterpost]

A quick brief on the children’s names and ages (now with courtesy names for the three brothers):

Jin Ling (金凌 - rise above) - First son, 20 // [Rulan (如兰 - Orchid-like)]

Jin Fei (金飞 - to fly) - Second son, 17 // [Ruhao (如昊 - as the limitless sky)]

Jin Yu (金雨 - rain) and Jin Yan (金焰 - fire) - First and Second daughters, 14

Jin Zhuang (金庄 - solemn) - Third son, 12 // [Ruhai (如海 - as the sea)]

Jin Lu (金露 - dew) - Third daughter, 7

Jin Ye (金烨 - breathtaking/blaze of fire) - Fourth daughter, 3

Lan Qiren can’t exactly fault his brother for not leaving the mountain. It is, after all, better than a lifetime of genuine seclusion, and in Lan Qiren’s opinion he’s really not missing much in the wider world that he couldn’t live perfectly happily without in Cloud Recesses. And he’s missing out on quite a great deal of headache as well.

It’s a well-known fact that Lan Qiren is often unhappy with the state of things in the other Sects that he visits, though he is of course nothing but polite to his hosts unless they ever do something to earn his vocal displeasure. He has had fewer and fewer causes to express such displeasures over the last few years, however, and he’s not willing to look too closely to see if it’s because the general population is altogether becoming more tolerable or because he’s growing softer and more tolerant as he ages.

If anyone had told him 20 years ago that Lanling Jin would be his preferred Sect to pay a visit to, he - well he wouldn’t have laughed in their face, of course, but he certainly would have doubted the soundness of their mind - perhaps to their face. Even after watching Jin Guangshan’s paper-thin reputation crumble like so many well-placed tiles (which had been immensely satisfying to watch) before his passing and his children (then just the eldest two) rising up to take his place, he never could have anticipated the sort of changes they would make - or how much he would come to appreciate their righteousness and fairness.

He had only had the opportunity to properly instruct Jin Zixuan during the summer lectures at Cloud Recesses when it had been his generation’s turn, but over the years he has, of course, gotten to know the rest of Jin Zixuan’s siblings - Meng Yao in particular, naturally, thanks to his courtship and subsequent marriage with Lan Xichen - and he has found them to be good, solid people. Even young Mo Xuanyu, though his eccentricities are..numerous.

The responsibility for Lan Qiren’s immunity to Mo Xuanyu’s strange behavior is to be laid solely at the feet of Wei Wuxian. When the child had come running into Cloud Recesses as a boy and loudly declared himself married to serious little Lan Wangji - who had agreed - he had cemented a permanent place in Lan Qiren’s life, whether he liked it or not. He’s immune to quite a bit more impropriety these days than he would have ever expected for himself as a younger man.

“Grandmaster Lan,” Qin Su says now with a smile where she’s waiting to greet him at the base of the steps up to Koi Tower and he returns it with a twitch of his lips that’s hardly visible through his beard. She seems to see it all the same as her polite smile grows into a grin as she reaches out to take his arm - quite improperly, though he’s long learned not to comment on it. The atmosphere at Lanling Jin in terms of familiarity and joyful disregard for formality of any kind in familial circumstances is rivaled only by Yunmeng Jiang these days.

“Qin-guniang,” he replies as they start up the steps. “I trust everything is well.”

“Of course! I wanted to see you when you arrived, that’s all. I’m leaving in a few hours to visit my parents and I won’t be returning until after your visit is concluded - I’m glad I could be here to greet you!”

Lan Qiren has never put much store in small talk. He tends to find it unnecessary, particularly when it’s unwarranted. Should anyone ever ask him, that is still the case. He isn’t quite sure, himself, why it doesn’t seem to apply to the Jin family anymore.

“Great Uncle Lan!!”

Lan Qiren doesn’t jump at the small voice shrieking his name when they reach the top of the stairs, nor does he startle when a small gold and teal blur comes streaking out of the Fragrance Hall to clamp thin arms around his legs. He looks down to find little Jin Lu giving him a gap-toothed grin as she squeezes her arms more tightly around his knees. A nurse comes running out of the hall a moment later looking a bit harried and Lan Qiren offers her a nod as he drops a hand down to ruffle Jin Lu’s hair.

“You are not to run away from your caregivers, Jin Lu,” he admonishes with his typical stern frown. She pouts up at him instantly, eyes wide and pleading with her little bottom lip jutting out so far he wonders how it’s possible. Lan Qiren heaves a put-upon sigh that makes Qin Su giggle softly at his side before he reaches down to dislodge Jin Lu’s arms from around his legs so that he can scoop her up and place her on his hip.

“Oh! Master Lan, really - you don’t have to,” the nurse starts, already reaching for the girl.

“It is fine,” he replies before she can fully voice her protest. “I imagine this will be easier in the end than attempting to keep her away. Could you tell me where it would be best to take her?”

The relief on the nurse’s face is palpable as she tells him she was on her way to take the child to her father in the family gardens for a lesson. He nods along and dismisses her with his thanks and then turns to the child in his arms once she’s gone.

“A-Lu.” The girl in question just grins at him around her fingers in her mouth and glances sidelong at Qin Su beside him, uncaring of his admonishing tone. “You frightened your nurse by running away from her. You shall apologize when you see her next.”

“Yes Great Uncle Lan,” she takes her fingers out of her mouth to reply dutifully, still grinning, and Lan Qiren sighs with a shake of his head.

“Let’s go find your father, you troublesome child,” he mutters and Jin Lu lays her head down on his shoulder as a giggling Qin Su tucks her hand into his elbow again, redirecting their steps towards the family gardens instead of the guest pavilions. They exchange a few more pleasantries as they walk, Jin Lu a silent audience on his hip, until they’re interrupted by the sound of wood clacking on wood. They turn the corner into the gardens to find Jin Zixuan sparring against his second son, Jin Rulan an attentive audience at a safe distance from the practice circle.

“Stop! Dad, A-Fei tapped your forearm, you’re injured.” Jin Zixuan nods and tucks his arm close to his chest as Jin Ruhao takes up his ready stance again, a grin on his face.

“You’re getting too slow for your strapping young sons, dad,” he teases with a laugh just before Jin Zixuan lets loose with a flurry of quick stabs and sweeping cuts, perhaps overcompensating ever so slightly for the ‘loss’ of the use of his left arm. It works anyway though, likely due to Jin Ruhao being the less-skilled of the two of them, and Jin Rulan calls out to award another injury - this time to his brother - within moments.

“What’s this, then?” Lan Qiren asks Qin Su as they draw closer slowly.

“A training game Jiang Wanyin taught the children the last time he visited with Nie-Zongzhu,” she replies with a fond smile. “The boys have progressed far past being content with only practicing their forms and training with the other disciples. They still do, of course, but to continue actively improving they must spar either with each other or with A-Xuan. They fight with wooden practice swords and treat it like a real fight with a spectator to keep track of ‘injuries’ that will hamper their ability to keep fighting. The bout is over when both parties are too ‘injured’ to continue or one is disarmed.”

“I see. The boys are improving quickly if they are ready to train personally with their father.”

“I don’t like it,” Jin Lu declares from where she’s hiding her face in his neck. “They shouldn’t hurt each other!”

“I agree wholeheartedly, A-Lu.” Lan Qiren infuses his voice with as much solemnity as possible. “Your brothers should not harm your father. Are you worried that his skill is inferior to theirs?”

“No!! Dad’s the best!!!”

“He is very skilled, that is correct. Therefore it will be nearly impossible for your brothers to hurt him as they are still learning, and your father will be merciful and refuse to hurt them in turn. Is that not so?”

“Hmmmmm. Yes,” she finally relents, grumbling about it but willing to accept it for now. “Down please, Great Uncle Lan,” she adds with a squirm and he bends to set her down.

“Stop!” Jin Rulan calls as soon as her little feet touch the ground, leaving plenty of time for Jin Ruhao and Jin Zixuan to disengage so that Jin Lu can run safely right into Jin Zixuan’s waiting arms.

“Jin Rulan has excellent awareness of his surroundings,” he notes just loudly enough for the boy to hear as he and Qin Su follow after Jin Lu at a much more sedate pace. Jin Rulan’s pleased smirk is visible even from so far away.

“Who won that round, A-Ling?”

“Who do you think, stupid?” Jin Rulan snarks back and Jin Zixuan shushes them with a tired look on his face.

“Boys, honestly. Don’t make your Great Uncle think that I raised you without manners. A-Fei, I won but you’re improving quickly, it’s becoming more difficult for me to win each time. We have to work on your tendency to step back too far when you block. A-Ling, your observational skills are improving as well, I expect to see that in our sparring. Good job both of you, go wash up and have tea with your mother, it’s time for Lu-er’s lessons.”

The boys bow first to their father and then to him and Qin Su at his side before they turn to head towards the path that leads to the inner family residences, nudging and shoving at each other as they go.

“Grandmaster Lan,” Jin Zixuan greets with as good of a bow as he can manage with Jin Lu perched happily in his arms to play with one of the thin gold chains in his hair. “I apologize I wasn’t able to welcome you properly.”

“Training the children is more important,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “What is Jin Lu’s lesson this afternoon?”

A look crosses Jin Zixuan’s face that Lan Qiren doesn’t have time to interpret before the man is responding, perhaps a bit slyly, “Calligraphy. Mine is adequate but...would you perhaps be willing to teach her? She has passed the basics for her age and is improving quickly.”

Lan Qiren clears his throat as Qin Su raises her sleeve to cover her mouth at his side, the movement delicate and graceful, but it does a poor job of hiding that she’s trying not to laugh at her brother’s shamelessness, shifting the duty of teaching the child to him knowing he won’t be able to resist.

“Great Uncle Lan can teach me?!” Jin Lu gasps with wide eyes, looking up at her father in awe. “Please?!”

“Yes, yes, alright,” he agrees with a harrumph and Qin Su doesn’t even bother to hide her tinkling laugh.

“I am afraid I must return to my preparations for my trip so I will leave you here, Grandmaster Lan, it was lovely to see you. A-Xuan, I’ll inform you or Li-jie before I depart.”

Lan Qiren accepts her departing curtsy and turns his attention back to Jin Zixuan and his daughter just in time to catch Jin Lu’s arms as she leans away from her father’s chest to reach for him. The handoff is seamless, and then Jin Lu is on his hip again as Jin Zixuan rotates his right arm slightly to loosen up his shoulder.

“I admit I’m envious of Lan arm strength,” he says ruefully as they begin heading to the guest pavilions at slightly less sedate pace than Qin Su had led him. “I worry for the day xiao-Ye will be the last of her siblings to grow too big for me to carry.”

“Time passes whether we will it or not,” he replies quietly, his thoughts turning to the day he had finally been forced to concede that Lan Wangji was both too old and too big for him to carry through Cloud Recesses anymore. “It is inevitable, but there is the hope of future generations to provide further chances.”

“That is true. My children have certainly had no shortage of family members ready to carry them everywhere rather than tire their feet,” Jin Zixuan teases, reaching over to pinch Jin Lu’s cheek that isn’t smushed against Lan Qiren’s shoulder. She giggles and turns her head the opposite direction to hide from his pinching and Lan Qiren hopes that his smile is tucked far enough in the opposite corner of his mouth not to be visible. Jin Zixuan glances over his shoulder as he chuckles and he pauses on the path. “Ah it seems we’ve picked up an extra pair of shadows, Grandmaster Lan.”

Lan Qiren turns to look as well to find Jin Zhuang following behind them, far enough away to muffle his near-silent footsteps, with little Jin Ye’s hand in his own.

“Jin Ruhai, Jin Ye,” Lan Qiren greets as Jin Zixuan waves for the children to approach so that Jin Ruhai can bow.

Lan Qiren truly doesn’t have a favorite grand-niece or nephew, he finds them all quite charming and wonderful in their own ways, but it’s been obvious since the boy was quite young that Jin Ruhai is surprisingly calm and even-tempered, so much so that even as a baby Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan had affectionately decided his name would be a character for ‘solemn’. It’s a fitting name, though as he grows older the boy typically radiates a sense of contentment and satisfaction under that serious facade. So much like a young mirror of Lan Wangji.

The boy lets go of his youngest sister’s hand to offer an absolutely perfect salute - quite impressive for his age - and the girl rather adorably leaves her hand extended straight out for him to take again once he’s straightened.

“You two are supposed to be eating your afternoon snack in the Fragrance Hall,” Jin Zixuan points out with another weary sigh. Lan Qiren remembers the days of attempting to keep track of Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji as children (the former of whom was quite fond of sneaking into the kitchens at random times throughout the day and the latter of whom seemed to always slip away at the first opportunity to play with his rabbits or tuck himself into a comfortable corner of the library to read things far beyond his age level). He truly doesn’t envy his nephew-in-law attempting to keep track of seven strong-willed, free-spirited children.

“Ate,” Jin Ruhai says almost too softly to hear with a resolute nod. He looks at his second youngest sister perched in Lan Qiren’s arms and then back to Jin Zixuan with a stubborn set to his jaw. “Great Uncle Lan,” he continues with a pointed glance at him again.

“You can wait until he settles in to visit with him, Zhuang-er, he just arrived.”

The look on the boy’s face grows so morose that Lan Qiren can’t resist clearing his throat a little and adopting his sternest tone as he says, “It is fine, Jin-Zongzhu. I am not so frail as to need to sleep after taking two days to travel comfortably, let the children come along.”

The glint of moisture in Jin Ruhai’s eyes is promptly replaced by a smug sort of satisfaction as he tugs Jin Ye gently forward to fall into step behind them as he and Jin Zixuan turn back in the direction of the guest rooms.

They finally arrive at his usual quarters without further interruption. Lan Qiren is pleased to see the doors to the gardens for this section of the complex - the Lan rooms - have been left open, the scent of peonies and the magnolia tree in bloom nearby suffusing the space, a pleasant breeze fluttering through the wall hangings.

He sets Jin Lu down on her feet and she promptly darts away from his side to begin investigating the room for anything new since the last time the space had been open for her to explore.

“I have some correspondence I need to reply to,” Jin Zixuan says apologetically from outside the threshold. “Zhuang-er, Lu-er, xiao-Ye, be good for your Great Uncle Lan please. I don’t want to hear later that you need discipline.”

“Yes dad,” the two older children chorus - Jin Lu from where she’s sticking her head under his bed and Jin Ruhai from right next to his elbow. Jin Ye only reaches up to tug on Lan Qiren’s belt to get his attention and then she sticks her arms up to be held now that her sister has gotten down. Lan Qiren waits until Jin Zixuan turns away from the open door to head back towards the more official buildings before he reaches down to oblige the toddler, lifting her up and holding her securely perched in front of himself so she can reach out to pat a little hand against his cheek.

“Xiao-Ye,” he greets and she slips her hand down to tug on his beard with a clear, happy little giggle that makes him smile. “I believe it is nearing time for you to nap.”

“Wanna play,” she pouts instantly with another tug on his beard.

“I have been asked to teach your sister her writing, and Ruhai will observe. You will nap, we will wake you to play when the lesson is finished.”

Lan Qiren can tell instantly as a whine builds in her throat that she’s used to fighting against this particular part of her schedule, but no child in the world is capable of being more stubborn than him. He pulls back the quilt on the bed just enough to set Jin Ye down on it and he wraps her up tightly, elbows bent so her hands are poised up near her shoulders in case she should need to pull herself free. He indulges in a few passes of his hand across the top of her head and almost instantly her whining is cut off by a wide yawn and some long, slow blinks.

“Go to sleep, child, we’ll be here when you wake up again,” he soothes and she relents to close her eyes.

“Wow. She usually only goes to sleep like that for mom and dad,” Jin Lu breathes when he rejoins the other two children on the other side of the space, sitting at the desk where Jin Lu has busied herself laying out some of the paper left in the room for him to use alongside ink and brushes for two.

“I have experience,” he replies simply. “Ruhai, you will grind ink for your sister and then observe her practice.”

The boy nods and leans forward instantly to begin the process with his usual care, moving slowly to ensure he doesn’t splatter anything. Lan Qiren watches carefully, silently correcting the boy’s posture and form with gentle taps of the end of a brush before he’s satisfied enough to begin grinding his own ink. He takes time to show Jin Lu how to properly hold her brush before he lets her touch it to paper. She still moves with some of the natural clumsiness of childhood, but it quickly becomes clear that Jin Zixuan had been telling the truth when he said she has mastered the first set of skills typical for her age group.

Jin Ruhai is an attentive audience as Lan Qiren guides Jin Lu through her practice, settling comfortably into the familiar role of a teacher. He becomes absorbed in it, watching Jin Lu’s hesitant strokes become bolder, more confident as the lesson progresses. So absorbed, in fact, that he’s startled to look up near the middle of the hour to find Jin Yan and Jin Yu flanking the door, arms crossed over their chests as they watch on. Not for the first time he wonders if they will ever be sent to Meishan Yu for training with the Spiders like their grandmother’s Jinzhu and Yinzhu. They would be excellent fits for it, the way they move silently when they want to and always seem to work in tandem, always on their guard.

They offer him a respectful bow - more respectful than he ever sees them offer anyone else in the extended family - and only step further into the room when he waves them in.

“Hi Great Uncle Lan,” Jin Yan greets as she steps forward to sit beside her younger sister, careful not to jostle the girl or the table as she folds her legs neatly underneath her.

“Wow - you got xiao-Ye to take her nap,” Jin Yu marvels as she approaches the bed where the toddler is still sleeping, tiny snores escaping her parted lips.

“Indeed. I do not recommend waking her yet, A-Yu.”

“Yes, Great Uncle Lan.” The girl backs away from the bed immediately to join her sisters, sitting on Jin Lu’s other side to peer down at her work. Jin Lu ignores them to stay focused on her work, Lan Qiren is pleased to see, continuing to practice the new character he had shown her with the tip of her tongue just barely poking between her teeth as she concentrates.

“Hey, this looks great, Lulu,” Jin Yan praises and Jin Lu’s concentration breaks just enough that she grins, tongue still out. “A lot better than ours was at her age, don’t you think Yuyu?”

“Better than ours now,” Jin Yu snorts as she leans back on one hand to lounge, the opposite knee propped up to support her extended arm.

Lan Qiren is just opening his mouth to admonish her posture (it’s far too improper even though she wears trousers) when there’s suddenly the sound of running footsteps on the path outside and panting. All eyes - except for Jin Lu’s - turn to the door to find the swordmaster of Jinlintai leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath. He sketches a hasty approximation of a bow.

“Yan-guniang, Yu-guniang,” he manages after a moment. “Your afternoon training is not yet over, I have promised Jin-Zongzhu to instruct you-”

He cuts himself off as Lan Qiren holds up a hand to pause him. “My grandnieces are attending a lesson with me,” he says smoothly. “I will inform Jin-Zongzhu of the change in their schedule, you need not worry.”

The man seems about to argue for a long moment before he seems to think better of it. He sighs and nods, retreating with a quick bow.

“What are you two training with now?” he asks as he turns his attention back to watching Jin Lu’s brush.

“Uncle Sang sent us new knives made by our favorite bladesmith in Qinghe, but we decided we want to wait to really practice with them until Uncle Jue can show us how,” Jin Yan replies while Jin Yu nods her emphatic agreement, still looking down at Jin Lu’s paper. “If we’re going to fight with Nie blades then we want to learn how the Nie would do it.”

“It is good to seek a well-rounded education in any area of study. Variety is invigorating to the mind,” Lan Qiren replies with a glance up to find the twins practically preening under his approval. “I am sure Nie Mingjue will be pleased to demonstrate to such enthusiastic students.”

“Done!” Jin Lu states, setting her brush on its holder and crossing her arms resolutely, a proud, lopsided grin on her face. Jin Yan and Jin Yu instantly lean closer, crowding and jostling the younger girl between them until she giggles as they look over the page. Even Jin Ruhai leans in, eyes scanning the page from his sideways perspective.

“Beautiful,” he praises gently with a smile and Jin Lu positively beams as the twins nod and start pointing out particularly pleasing lines, chattering over each other easily.

“You have improved,” Lan Qiren cuts through the chatter to agree before turning to his nephew. “Ruhai, have you practiced the score I left with you two months ago?” The boy nods quickly, his eyes wide. “Would you like to show me?” Another nod as his hands come up to rest on the table as if already resting on his instrument, though he frowns after a moment. “You may use my guqin. I will prepare what is needed.”

There’s a quick flurry as Jin Yan helps him clear the table of the calligraphy supplies - Jin Lu’s practice sheet gets safely set aside to be shown to Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan later - and Jin Yu follows his nod towards the bed to go wake Jin Ye from her nap. With the table clear, Lan Qiren calls his guqin from the pouch in his sleeve and settles the instrument on the surface next, Jin Ruhai swapping places with Jin Lu so that he is now in place to be instructed and she can sit to the side to observe.

Lan Qiren watches Jin Ruhai check the tuning of the instrument with careful brushes of his fingers and then he looks up to check on Jin Yu and Jin Ye. He can’t help but smile ever so slightly as he watches the teen pinch her younger sister’s round cheek, bearing faint creases from the blankets that had been pressed into her skin. Jin Ye is still sleepy and not willing to do much work to support her own weight as she sits like a sack of potatoes in her sister’s arms and so Lan Qiren holds his hands out to take her and settle her in his lap while she rubs her eyes and yawns, trying valiantly to wake properly.

The twins settle back into their spots on either side of their brother, clearly enjoying their position so close to the source of the afternoon’s entertainment. The boy seems to steady with their presence at his sides and Lan Qiren watches his hands settle firmly on the strings. He takes a deep breath in and then begins to play, his fingers sure on the strings despite his moment of nerves.

An unusual stillness accompanies his playing. Jin Lu stops fidgeting with her fingers, the twins slip into the perfect stillness of those who are utterly aware of themselves at all times - a trait he’s noticed in every skilled fighter he’s ever come across - and even Jin Ye relaxes, slumping further and further backwards until she’s slouched down against his stomach, legs dangling over his crossed shins.

The piece isn’t a terribly long one, nor as complex as the next score Lan Qiren intends to teach the boy, but Jin Ruhai’s mastery of it is impressive. Again, Lan Qiren is forcefully reminded of Lan Wangji, always most at peace when behind his instrument to play with and/or for the people he loves.

There’s silence in the room until the last note fades with a shiver into the air and Jin Ruhai pulls his hands back from the instrument. The stillness lasts for one more moment before it’s interrupted by Jin Lu sneezing suddenly and her siblings laugh as the quiet breaks.

“I had to hold that in the whole time!!” Jin Lu laughs as she rubs her sleeve under her nose, one eye screwed shut as she giggles. “I didn’t want to mess up A-Zhuang’s song, it’s so pretty!”

“Is that what you practice in your room after dinner every night?” Jin Ruhao suddenly calls from the door and Lan Qiren looks up to find that the two eldest boys have found them, clean and dressed in fresh clothes and apparently done visiting with Jiang Yanli. They step inside the room and move to sit at the table - which is quickly becoming very crowded - on either side of Lan Qiren, directly across from the twins.

“That’s a song from Gusu isn’t it, Great Uncle Lan?” Jin Rulan asks as he and his second brother settle into their spots.

“It is. It is a traditional folk lullaby.” Lan Qiren hesitates for the briefest moment before he adds, “It was your Uncle Ji’s favorite as a boy.”

“Did Uncle Chen have a favorite?” Jin Yan asks curiously and Lan Qiren nods.

“It is the next piece I would like to teach Ruhai, you will hear it when he has learned it.”

“Maybe you can play it for them as a gift the next time they visit, A-Zhuang,” Jin Ruhao suggests and Jin Ruhai visibly perks up at that idea, eyes going bright and his entire expression resolute as he nods. Lan Qiren doesn’t even have to ask to know that he’ll devote himself wholeheartedly to learning the next song until he masters it as soon as he can.

“Oh, my heart!!” A sudden cry from the door has all the children sighing with varying degrees of fondness and dismay as Mo Xuanyu swans into the room. “All the children sucking up to their Great Uncle! How come I never get a cuddle pile, huh? You don’t love your poor Uncle Yu!”

“We hang out with you all the time, Uncle Yu,” Jin Yan sighs heavily, tipping her head back to look at Mo Xuanyu upside down. “What are you doing here? We’re busy hanging out with Great Uncle Lan.”

“Ungrateful child,” Mo Xuanyu chirps with a smile and a tap of a fingertip to the underside of Jin Yan’s chin before he flicks her throat in retaliation.

“Mo Xuanyu,” Lan Qiren greets and warns simultaneously - the gesture was clearly teasing and it couldn’t possibly have hurt his grandniece, but Lan Qiren is protective, he has never once claimed not to be.

“Grandmaster Lan,” the man returns with a nod, hair ornaments tinkling softly as he moves. “I was asked to round up the children for dinner which usually takes the better part of an hour, thank you for corralling them all in one place for this poor tired uncle.”

“Children, go prepare for dinner,” Lan Qiren instructs and everyone but Jin Ye gets to their feet, stretching stiff limbs and nudging each other playfully as they file out of the room. Their laughter echoes in the courtyard as their voices rise, jokes and good-natured chatter filling the air.

“Uh-oh, you’ve got a little bug stuck on your robes there,” Mo Xuanyu chuckles with a nod to Jin Ye. “Never fear, Uncle Lan! I’ll save you from this awful creature!” Jin Ye giggles as she holds her arms up to be swept into Mo Xuanyu’s embrace with a twirl for an extra flourish, the skirts of his robes swishing around his ankles.

Lan Qiren sniffs a bit as he gets to his feet and straightens out his own robes, readjusting his belt to its proper place and brushing himself off as Mo Xuanyu rubs his nose against Jin Ye’s in an affectionate gesture, both of them smiling. He clears his throat next and Mo Xuanyu glances over at him as Lan Qiren settles his arms behind his back, tipping his chin up ever so slightly.

“I spent this morning traveling and this afternoon teaching the children. I also need to prepare for dinner.”

“Ah of course, of course. I’ll just deliver this little bug to her mother, see you at dinner Uncle Lan!” He calls that last over his shoulder as he sweeps out of the room again and Lan Qiren stands in the still silence for a long few moments. He shakes himself out of his reverie quickly enough and begins the process of getting bathed and changed into fresh clothes for the evening spent happily with his family.

Perhaps it was once a surprise to realize that the Lanling Jin is his favorite sect to visit, but now..though nowhere will ever match the love he has for Cloud Recesses, anywhere that contains so much of his family will always come very close to it.

#the untamed fanfic #Lan Qiren #Jin Zixuan #Qin Su #Mo Xuanyu #Jin Ling #Jin Rulan #and allllll my Jin baby oc's lol #also a little author's note - I used the boys' courtesy names (which I didn't do in the last Jin extra)#because I think that's how LQR would think of them #you might also notice that he uses more informal names for the children when there aren't other adults around to hear #that was intentional #he tries to maintain this reputation that he's a hard-ass around the adults but he's justso soft for kids man #last note - the training that JL and JF are doing with JZX is not my own idea!#I got it from one of my favorite fantasy trilogies #idk if any of y'all will know what I'm talking about but it's the Obsidian Trilogy by Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory #don't ask me about it if you don't want to hear about it for hours

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nerdybookworm25 · 4 years

Text

Rambling about Katara and Zutara

Ok so I’m going to kind of just put my two cents out there on this stuff. I joined the ATLA fandom this past summer and just started watching TLOK (my brother and I just finished Book 2 yesterday). This is a hot debate and I just want to ramble on about my opinions on this stuff. A lot of this will focus on Katara’s perspective because I can understand her better than Zuko or Aang due to personal experience. Im just... gonna... get into it now...

I’ll give you some background on me so you guys can understand where I’m coming from. I’m a 15 year old girl with abandonment issues caused by multiple deaths of close friends and family at a young age (my uncle when I was 4, a grandmother like figure when I was 7, my dad’s mum when I was 9 or 10, my great grandma when I was 11, a close friend of my dad’s when I was 13 and many others). I also am the Mum Friend (my friends literally call me “Mum”). I’m the caregiver of the group- the glue, the harmonizer, the therapist, the teacher, the good advice giver etc. (This stuff actually hot me in trouble as a kid and it kind of messed me up). My friends who have seen Avatar have compared me to Katara on multiple occasions and say I’ve got the temperament of a waterbender. You can kind of see where I’d relate, you know?

I do ship Zutara. My brother turned to me during the Book 1: Water- Episode 9~ The Waterbending Scroll and asked, “What if Zuko becomes a good guy and ends up with Katara?” From then on I was on the Zutara hill and I’ll probably die there. It limited ships that I loved from childhood and I thought it would hav been really cool- it would have fit the themes of the show, it would have been a cool thing to see grow and blossom, etc. It had nothing to do with Katara and Zuko being attractive at all- not in the slightest. It also wasn’t me projecting onto Katara. I didn’t really care to notice any major similarities between us until Book Three: Fire- Episode 7~ The Runaway. It was this exchange that changed Katara from my favorite character to someone I could heavily relate to.

Toph: [Sarcasically.] Oh really, Mom? Or what are you gonna do? Send me to my room?

Katara: I wish I could!

Toph: well you can’t! Because you’re not my mom, and you’re not their mom! [Extends her arm at Aang and Sokka, who are sitting on a ledge.]

Katara: I never said I was!

Toph: No, but you act like it! You think it’s your job to boss everyone around, but it’s not! You’re just a regular kid like the rest of us! Stop acting like you can tell me what to do! I can do whatever I want!

I remember bursting out laughing when I heard this. My brother asked me what was up and I paused it and explained that that was a lecture I revived so regularly when I was younger. It really really ended up messing me up. It’s not like I tried to mother anyone- it just happened. I wasn’t controlling it. I didn’t notice I was doing it and I got in trouble. Now things are different and I’ve embraced the fact that I am the designated Mum Freind. Still working on getting over being told off about it in therapy though. Anyway, I think you now can understand where I’m coming from with this “analysis.” Now I’m going to get into it (for real this time lol).

I think I’m going to start with the caregiver stuff. Katara’s mother died when she was very young. It was a very traumatic death. We can infer that Katara blamed herself for this death because the Southern Raiders were looking for the last waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe- her. That’s a lot for an 8 year old to try to process. Here’s the kicker: I don’t think she ever fully processed it until after Book 3: Fire- Episode 16~ The Southern Raiders. She almost immediately helped her grandmother take up the roll as the woman of the house. She probably didn’t feel like she had anyone to talk to about what she was feeling however true or false that’s what she most likely perceived this to be. When Hakoda leaves for war with all of the men of the tribe, Kanna might be the matriarch and help raise Sokka and Katara but even Sokka admits that Katara became a pseudo-mother for him. Taking care of others doesn’t leave a lot of time to deal with your own issues. Sometimes it feels easier to help others face their demons than face your own.

We continue to see Katara become the glue of the Gaang as the series progresses. She keeps them together in the Si Wong desert after Aang leaves her, Sokka, Toph, and Momo. She’s always the one cooking, cleaning, and mending not because she wants to, but because she knows no one else will do it and it needs to be done. We see her try to coax Toph into helping out around camp when she firsts joins the Gaang. It doesn’t work and this conflict continues for most of Book 2 and the beginning of Book 3. All of this time, she’s making it a point to take care of everyone. When the adults show up after the Boiling Rock, she’s still the one making the dinner and probably does a lot of the other chores as well (except for tea making- this will come into play later).

There’s a running joke about Katara being “Momtara” within the ATLA fandom (more the Zutaraians in the fandom than anything else but it’s a pretty well known concept). We continue to see this when the Gaang is on Ember Island. She brings them all drink during training sessions, watches said training sessions in case someone gets hurt and they need her, wrangles Sokka to the best of her ability, and just generally looks out for everyone regardless of age gap. It’s her natural instinct to be motherly. She retains this quality even after she finds Yon Rha. (Getting closure on her mother’s death doesn’t mean losing what had become a major personality trait).

Let’s unpack that now, shall we? Kya dies and Katara thinks it’s her fault. She doesn’t really talk to anyone about it. A few years later, Hakoda leaves to fight in the war. The Southern Water Tribe recives no letters or news about what happened to their warriors at all. Katara felt like she lost another parent. She nearly says as much during Book 3: Fire- Episode 1~ The Awakening.

Hakoda: You’re taking about me too, aren’t you?

Katara: How could you leave us, Dad? [She attempts to wipe away the tears.] I mean, I know we had Gran-Gran, and she loved us, but we were just so lost without you.

Hakoda moves to comfort her as she turns away.

Hakoda: I’m so sorry, Katara.

Katara: [Embraces Hakoda.] I understand why you left. I really do, and I know that you had to go, so why do I still feel this way? I’m so sad and angry and hurt!

The thing that sets off this exchange is Aang running away for the third time since Katara has known him (the fourth time in Aang’s lifetime). The other times he ran were when confronted by the rude fisherman in Book 1: Water- Episode 12~ The Storm, then again during Book 2: Earth- Episode 11~ The Desert. Aang has a, for lack of a better word, chronic running away problem. I’m not mad at him for it. It makes him an interesting character and shows that he too has flaws (even if they aren’t always addressed but that’s an issue with Bryke). When Aang flys away after waking up during 3.1, Katara is distraught.

Katara: He left.

Hakoda: What?

Katara: Aang. He just took his glider and disappeared. He has this ridiculous notion that he has to save the world alone, that it’s all his responsibility.

Hakoda: Maybe that’s his way of being brave.

Katara: Its not brave, it’s selfish and stupid! We could be helping him and I know the world needs him, but doesn’t he know how much we need him, too? How can he just leave us behind?

Katara feels abandoned by Aang. This is completely understandable. She has every right to be angry at him and feel sad that he flew away. He comes back every time but I feel like if I were in her position, as much as I’d hope my friend would come back and I’d tell everyone that I knew he would, I’d still be afraid that there was an off chance that he doesn’t. This is a natural human reaction to this situation. People were seemingly constantly fading in and out of Katara’s life and that just wasn’t good for her mental health. It couldn’t have been. This also raises the question of if someone has a very serious fear of abandonment, would it be healthy to be in a romantic relationship with someone who consistently leaves? Personally I don’t think so. Be friends? Sure. Date? I don’t know. It doesn’t quite sit right with me.

Katara probably feels abandoned by Zuko too. During the Book 2 Finale: Crossroads of Destiny, Katara and Zuko bond in the crystal catacombs under Ba Sing Se. They relate over their shared fear of being abandoned by those they love (yes I think Zuko has abandonment issues too- among other issues/fears). When he turns his back on her, she doesn’t live him (obviously). She has cared about him enough up to that point to offer to use what is arguably her most powerful possession to heal his scar. She cares. Because she cares about him then, she is downright livid when he betrays her. (Of course the difference between Zuko and Aang with this is Zuko leaves once and comes back and he doesn’t leave again. Aang leaves and comes back over and over and over again).

Katara: I thought you had changed!

Zuko: I have changed!

Katara carries the weight of his betrayal on her mind until she and Zuko go on their life changing field trip to confront the man who killed Katara’s mother. This was her time to finally get closure. She had probably had these feelings bottled up for 6 years and didn’t act on them. When she finally had the chance, her best friend and brother tried to stop her. She lashed out.

Katara: We’re going to find the man who took my mother from me.

Sokka pauses and stands up, surprised.

Zuko: Sokka told me the story of what happened. I know who did it and I know how to find him.

Aang: Um ... and what exactly do you think this will accomplish?

Katara: [Shakes her head in dismay.] Ugh, I knew you wouldn’t understand. [Begins to walk away.]

Aang: Wait! Stop! I do understand. You’re feeling unbelievable pain and rage. How do you think I felt about the sandbenders when they stole Appa? How do you think I felt about the Fire Nation when I found out what happened to my people?

Zuko: She needs this, Aang. This is about getting closure and justice.

Aang: I don’t think so. I think this is about getting revenge.

Katara: [Angrily.] Fine, maybe it is! Maybe it’s what he deserves!

Aang: Katara, you sound like Jet.

Katara: Its not the same! Jet attacked the innocent. This man, he’s a monster.

Sokka: Katara, she was my mother, too, but I think Aang might be right.

Katara: Then you didn’t love her the way I did!

Sokka: [Hurt.] Katara!

Katara gets a lot of flack for this interaction. She says Sokka didn’t love their mother like she did and Sokka I’d understandably hurt. It doesn’t excuse what she said, but people do lash out when they are feeling a lot of emotions and they get defensive when they feel like they’re being ganged up on or attacked (I myself am guilty of this sort of thing). What Katara said was wrong but I have no doubt in my mind that she didn’t apologize to Sokka when he and the rest of the Gaang arrive on Ember Island later in the episode. She is seen walking over to him after she hugs Zuko.

Zuko and Katara go after Yon Rha anyway. For once in her life, Katara is feeling emotions and no one is trying to get her to stop or to push them aside. She doesn’t have to be constantly taking care of someone so she can focus on herself. Katara trusts Zuko more than I think she realizes. I mean she trusts him with a lot and he follows through on a lot of unspoken/subconscious agreements and promises.

Zuko is looking out for her. Zuko has her back. Zuko is allowing her to feel all of these emotions and work them out of her own accord. Zuko isn’t telling her to feel one way or another. Zuko isn’t going to judge her for whatever she decides to do when they find Yon Rha or what she does in order for them to get to that point. Zuko ensures she gets the closure she feels she needs.

When he sees her bloodbend, he’s surprised, but he isn’t appalled. When he thinks she’s going to run Yon Rha through with a giant shard of ice, he doesn’t try to stop her. He lets her be her. He sees a dark side of her in a way that no one else in the Gaang has seen. It’s strangely intimate. Clearly it has enough of an impact to make her forgive him. She knows he isn’t going to abandon betray her and her friend again.

Once they become friends, and even before that, Zuko starts to help out with small things here and there. We see him making tea for all of the kids at dinner. He tells jokes to make them laugh. He teaches Aang firebending. He goes with Sokka to the Boiling Rock to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed or in a prison cell for the rest of his life. With all of this, “Dadko” is born.

If you strip away Zuko’s anger, he just becomes the awkward-turtleduck-first-time-father that we all know and love. There’s more balance in the Gaang with him there to help and become an “authority” figure with Katara. They become the parents of the other members of the Gaang. It’s an interesting shift in their relationship- enemies to unsteady acquaintances to enemies to frenemies to friends. They’re close enough that they show small signs of physical intimacy and they tease each other.

Also if you look close enough when the Gaang walks into the “seedy Earth Kingdom tavern,” Zuko and Katara appear to be holding hands and are near each other from then until the finale episodes. They are clearly just great friends by the end of the show. I mean Zuko also takes a bolt of lightning to the chest for her...

Zuko doesn’t leave when his life gets difficult- not after he joins the Gaang. He made that mistake once and he won’t make it again. Aang was always part of the Gaang but continued to leave (again, I’m not mad at him for it but he never seems to realize the effect it has on the people around him- especially Katara). Zuko also doesn’t all but forget Katara and continue to run around the world. When Zuko fully decides to stick around, you best believe he is sticking around.

This works really well for Zutara. They’re both each other’s rock. They support each other and help each other in times of trouble. Do they argue? Yes. Is that a normal part of a healthy relationship- romantic or otherwise? Yes. Do they take care of and look out for each other while also not smothering or suffocating each other? Yes. I don’t know about you but this sounds stable and healthy to me. They balance each other out so well (I’m not going to get too into that because if you’re reading this you probably already know with the whole Tui and La, Yin and Yang, Oma and Shu thing).

Now, this is a big deal for me and it makes me furious, but Katara is forgotten by history. She has no statue. She is reduced to a housewife and healer- things our wonderful water feminist was afraid of becoming as an adult. I mean this girl

This girl

THIS GIRL

She becomes nothing but a housewife stuck in a healing hut who gets forgotten by the world and left behind by her family just... let’s all of that happen? Yeah that’s pretty unrealistic. I think about this frequently and with starting TLOK I have formed even more opinions and have a little thingy (I don’t know what to call it) for what happened to her.

Kya II is everything Teenage Katara wanted to do and be before settling down. Old Katara is everything Teenage Katara was so afraid of become reduced to/becoming.

It’s an interesting way to think about it and I thought I’d share. Now if Katara was Fire Lady, she wouldn’t end up like that. She’d have the power to change the world and continue to fight for what she believed in. She could have helped with the trail with Yakone. Katara has so much potential to not be forgotten or brushed aside and somehow it happened. It makes me so sad. The potential Zutara had to make sure Katara had a genuine legacy was right there at their finger tips and they didn’t use it. What a shame. What a shame.

With all of the things I’ve talked about, I just feel like Zutara would have been better for Katara than Kataang was. I think that’s more Bryke not developing the relationship well enough and instead choosing to be sloppy and selfish in the way they structured the relationship. Yeah this is my rambling on about the issue. Hope it was mildly entertaining! If you want me to write something about how Zuko would have benefited from Zutara, let me know!

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msmkcreates · 3 years

Text

A Second Chance at a First Impression Ch. 9: The One With the Croissant

Boss may be taking care of Stretch, but he still has therapy of his own to attend, and therapy always digs up the root of the problem.

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I know it's been a while, but I've had so much going on these last few weeks, some very good (like a promotion) and some very bad,, including dealing with a death of a family member recently so all of my works have been inching along slowly in my documents.

I hope everyone is having a Happy New Year

Warnings: therapy, imposter syndrome, anxiety, working out Boss' issues, discussion of consent and power imbalances

Read on Ao3 with the above link

-or-

Read here on Tumblr

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The clinic was always empty this time of day, the sun sinking down beneath the surrounding buildings, but Boss quite prefers it when there's less people cluttering the lobby and the waiting room.

His therapist was an aging man named John, with kind eyes and a weathered wedding ring polished by worrying fingers over the years. His office was decorated simply with a handful of pictures of his wife and nephews. No children, he had told Boss once, though the why had never quite come to him. In Boss' opinion it was really none of his business, but he did wonder what could stop someone with so much kindness from passing it on.

"How are things with your new job?" John asked, looking over his glasses at him. "I know you've been struggling with your inability to join the workforce, has this helped the negative thoughts go away?"

"It helps to have another income," Boss agreed, his hands folded neatly in his lap. "And it helps that it's family, and so close to home. It isn't what I expected, though."

John hummed, leaning back in his own chair. "How so?"

"Well, to be frank, I expected it to be a nightmare," he chuckled. "Stretch and I get along like baking soda and vinegar on the best of days. Or at least, we used to...it seems like we get along better than he and his own brother now. He's kind, and thoughtful, a little naive but also startlingly wise at times."

"A good change, then?"

Boss hummed, looking down at his hands. "...I'm not sure. It's nice that he usually does what I ask, and it's nice that we don't fight all the time. But I worry that maybe...he still feels the same, deep down."

"As if maybe, he is keeping it to himself out of a sense of duty and gratitude?" John asked. "You worry that he is only this way because you're caring for him."

"...right on the money, as always," he chuckled.

It was something they'd discussed before, the fear that any kindness shown to him was out of a sense of duty, fear, or propriety. When he'd begun his sessions with John, he'd resisted the idea that he treated Red badly, only to find that was exactly what he had done and Red had only gone along with every horrid word because Boss provided protection, safety, and home. With Red's HP he had always just taken it on the chin for the sake of surviving, something they have been parsing out in small quantities and group sessions over the years, limited by Red's stubborn insistence that Boss has nothing to apologize for.

The fear was there, that Stretch was only pretending to like him because of the inherent power Boss holds being his caregiver. He worries that fear rules their relationship, that Stretch is only being kind because Boss is helping him.

"Is it wrong of me to assume that you might hold feelings for Stretch?"

Boss felt his face flush as he looked up swiftly, bristling slightly in embarrassment. "I, well, that is...I don't know what you mean."

"Correct me if I'm wrong,but every time we talk about Stretch recently, it's all very positive. Your posture changes, and you smile more. Before the accident, any time we spoke of him it was as if you'd eaten something sour, but now it's like I've just offered you your favorite candy." John leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling knowingly. "Is it fear of your power in the relationship that keeps you from recognizing these feelings?"

Boss hummed, looking out the minnow over the nearby park. Stretch sat there, on a bench where he had left him to wait, and he got up to walk over to the window and pulled the sheer curtain aside to look at him more properly.

He'd bought him a croissant, in the hopes he'd eat it, but looked like the soft-hearted man had felt bad for the birds with little food, as he was tearing pieces off it to feed to the growing number of cardinals and winter wrens surrounding him. They pecked at the snowy ground and hopped around his feet, and Boss could almost hear him talking to them, telling them to wait their turn as if they understood English, and he chuckled.

"Feelings are irrelevant. I only want him to get better. I want to see him smile more, to see him happy." Boss let the curtain fall back into place. "I'm his friend now, but I'm also his caregiver. If I made a move on him, wouldn't that put pressure on him to say yes, even if he didn't want to? Would he feel as if he owed me? As much as I may want him, I don't want that."

"Consent is very important, and being on unequal footing can compromise it," John agreed. "Have you spoken with him about these thoughts? Being clear in your motives and your wish for consent?"

"Heavens no," Boss chuckled, grasping his hands together as he turned back to the couch. "I think I'd much rather eat a cactus than talk about my feelings. As you know."

"Do you think that's very fair?"

"To him?" Boss asked.

"To yourself."

Boss paused, squeezing his hands together as he thought on that. "...I'm not sure. I'm not even sure what I feel for him is romantic or platonic. I can't tell if it's happiness at finding a true friend or...something more. Or if it's just the amount of time together, or just guilt. I think it'd be a disservice to tell him how I feel if it turns out I'm wrong."

"That seems sound," John said, leaning back in his chair. "Perhaps you should explore your feelings deeper?"

Boss shook his head. "I'm not so sure I want to."

"And why is that?"

"I...I'm not good for him. I'm dangerous, my LV is... so high, and only one hit from me, even with higher HP that he has now, would destroy him. What if I lose myself one day?"

"Do you think knowing you cared for him would increase the chance of that happening?" John asked. "Currently you are spending about as much time together as any married couple. Do you still thinks he is in danger from your presence?"

"Well...I guess you have a point." Boss fidgeted with his fingertips. "Maybe I was the wrong person to look after him."

"That isn't what I meant," John chuckled, standing from his chair. "I think all feelings are worth exploring, Papyrus. If you understand yourself, you can begin to make the changes you want to see. It's worked thus far with your brother, hasn't it?"

Boss smiled wryly. It was true, his relationship with Red was leagues better now than it had ever been, just from understanding and changing his behavior.

"...I will think on it." He reached out to shake John's outstretched hand. "Thank you again, John. Have a lovely weekend and say hello to the missus."

"I gave you that croissant to feed yourself, not the birds."

"I always do," John promised.

--------

Stretch looked up at Boss with bright eyelights, smiling wide from beneath the many birds perched on his outstretched arms. And legs. And head. And any semi-flat surface they could sit on.

"but it's so cold! where are they gonna get their food?"

Boss chuckled, the puffy jacket he was wearing rising and falling with his shoulders in a shrug. "They're winter birds. They eat nuts and berries and whatever else. They know how to get what they need, unless people keep feeding them so they never learn how to do it themselves."

Stretch smiled sheepishly. "...oops?"

Boss stepped closer, and in a flurry of wings, all his new bird friends took off into the chilly winter air. He watched them flutter off, scattering into the sparse park trees.

"I suppose I'm too scary for your birds," he sighed, sitting beside him on the bench. "And you? Am I too scary?"

"too scary? no, you're the best!" Stretch answered, and Boss noted the lack of hesitation with faint pride before he even registered the compliment. "who else is gonna buy me croissants to feed the birds with? blue just says i can't live off bread and gives me something lame, like a salad or green beans."

"Hmm, so I shouldn't make shepherd's pie for dinner tonight?" Boss asked, smirking over at him as he gave a look of disbelief. "Well, since you've decided to live off croissants…"

"noooo! i want the pie!" Stretch whined, leaning on him and tugging on his sleeve. "please! you cook so much better than blue!"

"Don't let him hear you say that," Boss laughed, gently removing his hands from his arm. "If we want shepherd's pie, we need to go to the grocery store. Are you up for it?"

"...can we also get some more honey?" Stretch asked, standing with him and trying his best to look cute. Looking cute seemed to get him what he wanted with Boss, and to his delight he got an amused smirk.

Boss turned, jerking his head so he would follow. "If you're good, we can get whatever you want. Come on, then."

#ascaafi #a second chance at a first impression #spicyhoney #papcest #finally figured out the readmore eeeyyyy #amnesia fic

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smallheathgangsters · 4 years

Text

The girl in the yellow dress.

A/N: I’m like the cavarly. Late as usual. But in the end, better late than never, right?? Sophie @maggiescarborough, I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to post this on your birthday! I still hope you enjoy this little piece of writing I did for you! 💛 And a big thank you goes to @hecohansen31 for organising all of this!

Personalised Shelby!sis fic

Word Count: 1330

Type: just some fun and laughter

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Sophie wasn’t one to go out socialising and drinking very often. The noise and the drunk people just simply didn’t appeal to her at all. But today as an exception. It was Ada’s birthday and there was absolutely no chance of Sophie missing out on her favourite sibling’s party.

Ada and Sophie were only two years apart, giving them the strongest bond two sisters could have. Even though Polly had taken over the motherly role after her real mother’s passing, Sophie had always seen Ada as her protector and caregiver. And Polly had eventually accepted the fact, that she literally had no saying when it came to the younger girl.

It was almost seven when Sophie stepped into the packed Garrison. There was music playing and guests talking and laughing, glasses being clinked together while toasting to a great evening. On any other, Sophie would’ve wanted to turn around and leave the pub immediately, but today she was excited.

“Sophie!”

Ada’s voice was bright and happy and maybe already a little tipsy.

“Oh my god, you look amazing!” Ada exclaimed when she had pushed through the crowd and grabbed her little sister by the upper arms. “Where did you get this dress from?”

Sophie looked down at herself, examining her flowy, yellow dress. “I bought it today, just for tonight.”

Ada pulled Sophie into a big, warm hug. “You’re the cutest! I’m glad you’re here, it wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

“Of course, I’d come,” Sophie responded, almost slightly offended by the fact that her sister thought she would ditch her on her birthday.

“I know you don’t feel comfortable at parties,” Ada mumbled. “So, I really appreciate you being here.”

Then, Ada grabbed Sophie by her hand and dragged her towards the bar. Without asking what she wanted, Ada ordered two gins and while Harry prepared their drinks, Sophie let her gaze roam the room. Her entire family was here. John and Arthur were clearly already intoxicated, slurring and singing some songs together, having a blast. Polly was in the corner flirting with a man obviously quite a few years younger than her, while Tommy stood behind the bar, leaning against the wall, observing the festivities.

Suddenly, Sophie felt an arm wrap around her shoulders. “What is a lovely lady like you doing here?”

“Shut up, Isaiah,” Sophie giggled, pushing his arm away from her. She and Isaiah had a great friendship and his favourite activity was to wind her up. And it often worked.

“Trying to get all the male attention in the room, aren’t you?” he teased, pocking playfully into her sides. Sophie quickly grabbed his wrist and gave him warning glace. “Stop it, you know how ticklish I am.”

“Let her be, Isaiah,” Michael chimed in, pulling his best friend away from his cousin. But before he could add something more, Ada cut him off. “She can fend for herself, Michael. And I’m sure she doesn’t mind a little male attention, right sis?”

Sophie rolled her eyes and tried to suppress a scoff. “You are all making it very hard for me to enjoy this evening and you’re not exactly doing a great job convincing me that parties are fun.”

“Oh, come on!” Ada whined, handing Sophie her glass of gin. “Take a sip and your opinion will change soon.”

Sophie let out a chuckle, before moving her eyes away from her sibling. She scanned the groups of men and women gathered around the tables, when suddenly something in the corner or the pub aroused her interest.

“Is that a piano?”

Ada threw a glance over her shoulder towards the object Sophie was so intrigued by and nodded. “Yeah. I was told that some guy found it on the streets somewhere and decided it would be a good idea to bring it here.”

The last part she said in an ironic tone, clearly not very fond of that man’s thought process. But Sophie thought it was amazing, a lovely accent to this mostly rather boring décor.

“Let’s go try it out,” Isaiah, who had been listening to their conversation, suggested with a wide grin on his face. Then, he snaked an arm around Sophie’s waist and guided her to the other end of the room. He sat down on the closest chair to the instrument and moved closer, before propping open the piano top.

In retrospect, Sophie didn’t know what else she should have expected, but Isaiah, being the goofball he was, started hitting on the keys like a maniac, trying to compose the worst sounding melody ever. She knew he was simply trying to annoy the guests, but he especially wanted to press his friend’s buttons. And it worked. Again. After only thirty seconds of pain, Sophie pushed Isaiah off the chair and sat down instead. With the awful sounds he’d created, Isaiah had attracted all the attention of the people in the pub.

“You’re making everyone’s ears bleed,” Sophie commented, while placing her fingers on the white keys.

“Oh, as if you know any better. Or are you like a hidden talent that nobody knew of?”

Isaiah crossed his arms and cocked his left eyebrow.

“I think you’re in for a surprise, Isaiah,” she said with a cheeky tone in her voice. With that, she played the first tone. And then another one. Countless tones followed, slowly creating the most beautiful tune probably anyone in the pub has ever heard.

And while Sophie transformed the room into a fairy-tale, Isaiah stood next to her, his mouth agape, absolutely speechless.

“What the fuck?” she heard him whisper, making the corners of her mouth dance.

The singing had stopped. The drinking and shouting and laughing had stopped. Every single pair of ears and eyes were on the young Shelby girl in the flowy, yellow dress.

Too soon, her song came to an end and she pressed down the last key, letting the sound fade out. Still, everyone and everything was quiet.

“Sophie!”

Ada’s voice was high pitched. And loud.

“Where the bloody hell did you learn that?”

While playing, Sophie felt confident and on top of the world. The way she always did when she sat down in front of a piano. But after, when noticing that she was being pestered with stares, she became a bit shy, feeling the heat crawl up into her cheeks.

“What are you blushing for?” Ada asked, cupping her sister’s face with her soft, slender hands. “That was incredible!”

Little by little her whole family had gathered around Sophie, bombarding her with questions. The one about where she’d learned how to play being the most repeated one.

“You still haven’t told us,” Arthur said, raising his eyebrows.

Sophie sighed and eventually gave in. “A few years ago, I went to school with this boy, Christopher. He started inviting me over to his house from time to time, because I told him about my interest in music and he had a piano at home.”

“Wait–“ John interrupted. “You were seeing a boy without us knowing about it?”

“John, it was all about the music, he had no other–“

“I’m going to kill him.”

“John, you’re not going to do anything,” Polly intervened, placing a warning hand on John’s shoulder.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Sophie sent a helpless look towards her sister and Isaiah, making them both shrug in sync, before moving her eyes back at her older brother. “You’re overreacting. That was like five years ago.”

But John just drunkenly shook his head and kept on murmuring something about how he was going to strangle that poor boy to death.

Sophie let out a laugh, got up from the chair and joined her sister. Before returning to the bar and ordering another drink, she turned to Ada and grabbed her hands lovingly. “Happy Birthday, Ada. I hope you enjoyed my present.”

“Oh, Sophie! How could I not?” Ada replied, quickly blinking away tears of joy.

#shelby!sis #shelby sister #peaky blinders #maggiescarborough #sophie

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elmswritinghouse · 4 years

Note

You wanted submissions on discord soooo Little Jan hiding his regression during a video and Patton and Logan picking up the signs that he might be regressing, but they have never seen Jan regress before

Thank you for requesting something! Here you go!

TW!: Slightly unsympathetic Virgil, he's not really bad just slightly mean at the moment

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Words: 1.562

Characters: 8,298

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Janus was tired. He was unbelievably tired, and he so badly just wanted to go to his room and take a damned nap but knew that for the sake of the video he couldn't. They were in the middle of a big video, the first video with every single side making an appearance. He was standing next to Patton his eyes tired as Virgil and Roman bantered, Patton and Logan tried their best to break up the fight while Remus made crude commentary.

Janus tried to speak up, to be heard and to silence them so they could come to a good conclusion but no one seemed to be listening. Why weren't they listening? He closed his eyes shut tightly and fiddled with the hem of his caplet trying his best not to regress despite his frustration he sighed and opened his mouth to try and speak, try to defuse whatever was going on.

"Virgil you can't-"

He started simply trying to keep his voice level until Virgil turned to him, a fire in his eyes that almost made him flinch. Logan noticed the flinch and looked at Patton who glanced back at him with a concerned expression, Janus was never one to flinch at anything much.

Patton gently brushed his knuckle against the snake's glove but the other man didn't seem to notice his full attention on Virgil and Roman as Virgil stared at the snake in frustration. Patton tried to give a father-like glare but Virgil didn't seem to be listening he was frustrated and his voice was echoing around the room. Remus had stopped making comments to stare.

"I can't what? I can't what Janus? I can't state my opinion because you oh so hate me so much?"

He spat in the snakes face making the boy tremble just a bit. Everyone was watching Janus now, waiting for his reaction and what he'd say. The deceitful side took a deep breath closing his eyes with a small exhale before opening them again and trying to reason with Virgil, taking Romans side.

"You cannot expect Roman to not want to do this. He is our dreamer and what Roman is trying to do for Thomas is the most beneficial to him overall I know yours scared-"

"No shit Deceit, I'm Anxiety"

He full-on flinched at that, shuffling his feet and trying to come up with something to say that wouldn't upset Virgil more. He wanted to talk but he was so scared he'd be yelled at. He knew Virgil didn't mean it and that he was just frustrated but it hurt.

"What Janus? Got nothing to say anymore?"

Janus' lower lip trembled just slightly and he shifted his feet trying his best not to cry. Patton tried to take the boys hand but the snake flinched away quickly he was regressing in the middle of a video if this was just normal regression he could wait and try to push it down but he was upset and he was dropping fast. He bit down on his lip gently and opened it to speak again but the only thing that came out was a shaky sob.

The entire room froze at the broken noise and Janus just collapsed onto the floor in tears. Logan quickly moved to snap away from the cameras and go to the deceitful side's side along with Patton who were trying their best to figure out what was wrong with the boy.

Virgil's heart dropped at the sight and he took a step back looking horrified. He didn't mean to make the other boy cry but that's what ended up happening. He tried to come up with something to say but just ending up opening and closing his mouth multiple times looking like a mortified fish. Janus sobbed loudly and clung to Patton's shirt as soon as the other man squared down to try and calm down the boy. That's when things clicked for Patton and he immediately looked at Logan who took a second to get it but once he did his eyes widened and he wrapped the boy in his arms. Patton stood up quickly after Janus focused his interest on holding onto Logan.

"Thomas? I'm super sorry about this kiddo, but is it okay if we record this video another time?"

Thomas nodded and went to his computer to delete the footage they had of what just happened while Logan and Patton quickly sunk out with a baby in their arms. He glanced at Remus who had been oddly quiet and was staring at Janus with concern. It wasn't like his intrusive thoughts to be quiet and when he noticed Thomas he flushed a bit before speaking

"I-... I need to go feed my dismembered frogs"

He said simply before sinking out, he had known of Janus' regression but wasn't his caregiver. Sure he could help the boy when he needed it and such but he wasn't a good caregiver and could probably never be one. Roman and Virgil stared at his sunken out spot in concern and nodded at each other.

"Thomas I'm so sorry my dear fellow but I'm afraid I and Virgil will have to sink out."

He said his voice full of concern for his brother Virgil shifting slightly wanting to sink out and check on his boyfriend as soon as possible. Thomas nodded at the two and gave a sigh.

"I'm just gonna take a nap upstairs"

He said as he moved to go upstairs to his room. Where he promptly sat down on his bed and looked at his phone for a bit before laying down and taking a nap.

Logan and Patton came up in Logan's room a sobbing baby in their arms. Logan holding the kiddo tightly as he sobbed loudly.

"Janus?"

Logan asked softly watching as the teary eyes boy looked up at him with a small sob and questioning look up at the other boy before he sobbed louder again when he saw the look the other man had in his eyes. They had found out.

Patton shushed the baby quickly and quickly summoned a wet cloth to wash off the boys sticky and tear-stained face, he hushed the baby quickly and kissed all over his face

"It's an okay baby it's okay. Everything's okay Janus"

He said gently as he carded a hand through the regressors hair. The boy's lip trembled slightly but most of his tears had stopped slow fat droplet falling out of his eyes every so often that Logan wiped away with his thumb

"How old are you, honey?"

He asked gently watching as Janus bit his lip and stick up a single finger making Patton give an exaggerated gasp

"That's so big!"

He said, a large smile making its way into the face when the baby giggled before he squinted slightly in Logan's lap making the logical man give a look of confusion

"What's the wrong Janus?"

He said confused before Janus started taking off his hat and trying to get off his gloves. Logan's eyes widened before they softened and he smiled softly.

"Do you wish to change into comfier clothes, Janus?"

He asked the baby who looked up at him for a few seconds before giving a small nod. Logan smiled at the boy and nodded glancing at Patton who was already making his way towards Logan's closet. You would be confused at how well they knew regression if you didn't know their dynamic. Patton and Logan were both regressors but also caregivers. They were switches simply. Patton didn't regress often or for long but he did regress and Logan regressors often for a few hours up to a few days.

He quickly pulled out a space onesie from the other boys closet watching as Janus' eyes quickly lit up and he leaned forward to try and grab at it. Luckily Logan had a tight hold on the babies torso and the baby didn't fall out of his grasp

"Janus, be careful "

He reprimanded though he only earned absolutely adorable babbles in response. Logan blushed slightly at just how cute the boy was and tried his best to keep his composer despite himself. Patton took the baby from Logan's arms and quickly set him into the bed taking off his clothes one by one till he reached his pants.

"Hey, Janus?"

He asked earning a confused look and a head tilt from the baby before he tried his best to respond

"Yeth?"

He askes back his voice high and his speech broken. Patton smiled and kissed the snakes head gently.

"Do you think you'll be able to go to the potty or do you need diapers?"

The baby flushed and squirmed slightly seemingly against the idea before looking up at the other boy and nodding slightly. Patton gave a soft sigh his eyes holding a tender fondness as he gently took off the boys pants and got a pull-up from the closet. He took off the boys underwear and quickly slide the pull-up on before getting him dressed in the onesie. The boy babbled happily and immediately hugged the other man's torso happily. Patton laughed and glanced at Logan who rolled his eyes slightly and shook his head with a small chuckle. Logan could feel deep down this was going to a be a good day overall.

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blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years

Text

23. Journey to Maternity

Word Count” 6861 This is the longest chapter since The Apex is Falling, and is actually longer so to all appropriate - either I’m sorry or you’re welcome for the length of this one. Trigger Warnings: I don’t honestly know at this point in the story. I feel like we simply revisit old trauma of the characters that were previously outlined. So, any triggers concerning Simon or Hazel of this AU may be ones to watch out for in this installment. Also, violence towards the end.

The legal team behind Simon was very adamant about the contents of that recording never seeing the light of day. Grace was fine with it, because she hadn’t wanted him to be seen that way either, falling apart in her arms and whatnot, but she did want to keep it as proof that Simon’s stories contradicted the truth. She needed it, even. Working on seeing Hazel more was becoming a struggle the more that her name kept coming up associated with Simon’s, so she wanted to be certain to detach herself from that, altogether, if she could.

Her parents seemed interested in seeing what he had to say. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to discuss most of that with them, yet. They just... weren’t there yet. Grace had yet to apologize to her mother for attacking her, and didn’t think that she would be ready any time soon, as in her mind, her mom earned what she read she did to her. Nearly 5 years later and she never recalled, only read about it in her file when trying to digest it with her therapist. Until she was ready to face it, she couldn’t say that she was ready to face her mother... but her mother seemed ready to face her, and she didn’t seem as standoffish as she had been the previous time that they had been face to face. Grace didn’t know if she could say that the woman was trying, necessarily, but she seemed to be at least thinking about things.

She wanted to know how Grace was doing. Not what she was doing. That, in and of itself, was a huge difference in their previous relationship. Whenever her parents visited New York, they took her to a Broadway show, went to museums, the opera - things that they enjoyed and wanted to share with her, and some things that she enjoyed that they hadn’t previously made time for. Her father was especially overbearing, she figured from the guilt of pushing her into Simon’s arms, now having learned of all of the things that Simon had put her through. She had halfway expected him to make excuses for Simon, to somehow blame her for not being tamed by him or whatever. But, he seemed to be working on not only that mode of thinking, but things with his wife as well. Grace was shook by how... affectionate they seemed these days.

Long story short(er), she told them about Hazel and how much she had been working to be able to see her. She told them about Simon even sitting down with the DCFS to clarify a character reference for her and how they said that they would keep this in mind, but the home that Hazel was currently at was growing weary of the girl’s “situation” and she was truly afraid that if Hazel was moved again, there would be no way that she would ever find her again, and even if she did... what if the next family wasn’t as understanding or cooperative? What if the next judge didn’t grant her the same sort of access after the caregiver changed?

“Why don’t YOU just adopt her, Honey?” Her father asked.

“Honey? And... WHAT?” Of course, Grace was way ahead of him. That was her ultimate goal, day by day, she was getting closer to being brave enough to go through with it. But, her parents hadn’t thought her capable of responsibilities since she was a kid. “Dad... You can’t be serious? You think that I could actually take in a child?”

“You love her, you work hard to make sure she has all the support you can give her, you give her things and look out for her. I think you’re more capable than what she’s had so far,” he said. Her mother was quiet, so she knew that she didn’t agree. But, for argument’s sake, she wanted to hear in what way.

“What do you think, Mom?”

Her mother sighed and said, “I think that your father wanted you to start a family by now and he’s being a little bit presumptuous to think that you want that for yourself.” She looked at her husband to add, “She’s been through enough. Raising a child isn’t easy. Even with help... Even... with the help doing most of the work...” She looked guilty when she said that. “It’s a huge responsibility. Grace is a young career woman, moments away from a degree from Julliard, living out her dreams as a musician and dancer in the big city. To just stop that and become a mother sounds far-fetched and idealistic. Just loving a child doesn’t make for a good mother.” Then, looking right at Grace, she finally admitted, “You didn’t... have any... role model in this field...”

“There’s books for that,” Grace said, repeating something Hazel once told her. But, it put her mind and heart at ease to finally hear SOME type of accountability from her mom, even that small step.

“Are you saying that you WANT to adopt this girl, Grace?” Her mother asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m saying that... I want her to have the stable home life that she deserves.” She laughed and said, “But, I’ve actually already looked into trying to adopt her and it hasn’t gone right.”

Mr. Monroe gave his gasping wife a smug grin. “You’ve... already tried, and you let us have an entire debate about the matter?” Her mother confirmed, mildly insulted.

“Yeah. I wanted to see what you’d say... what you think about my ability to be able to do it. You two would probably know best. I mean... You did some parenting, despite things I’ve said in the past. I never wanted for anything. I may have needed a few less tangible things, but that’s fine, because so far, where I felt like I lacked in getting, I feel like I’m able to fulfill with Hazel. We’re so good for each other.”

Mrs. Monroe growled, “Then, what’s the problem? Surely the state of California doesn’t think you’re unfit?”

“I think that they do, Mom. And... I can see why...”

“Nonsense. We’ll take care of this,” Mr. Monroe said.

Grace laughed and shook her head, “You two always think that puffing your chests and throwing money at things will somehow fix them.”

“It does,” they both said, in unison. One of the RARE occasions that those two saw eye to eye. Grace shrugged her shoulders. If her parents thought that they could somehow help her, she wasn’t going to turn them down. But, she wasn’t going to get her hopes up, either.

Mrs. Monroe’s team was in full effect, partnering with Grace’s representation to fully utilize Grace’s current public opinion, recent events, her recovery record, and maintained health and wellness to campaign for her as a fit adoptive parent. No information was put out about Hazel during that time, as to be sure not to violate any of her privacy, but people knew from the times she had spoken of her exactly what child she meant and Hazel’s current caretakers even spoke in favor of Grace.

People were sending emails and adding departments to “at” for her journey to motherhood. Her parents were putting a lot of money into getting her an approved space that would check all of the boxes better than her current college girl place or even the properties that she generally borrowed from them to host her visits with Hazel. She and Hazel would most likely be traveling because of Grace’s career as an entertainer, and the Monroe’s seemed to be trying to fill in some of the blanks they realized they caused in Grace’s development the only way that they knew how. So, they were granting her properties for the traveling that she would have to do and making certain that every space Hazel would occupy exceeded the legal requirements.

Within 6 months of getting her parents into the groove, something that she had been trying to finesse for the past few years was settled! Grace didn’t often like to take a look at her financial privilege, but in this particular case, she was extremely grateful that her parents were wealthy and that she now had someone for whom she could pass some of that down to.

The. Very. Day. that she was able to finalize her paperwork, her mother had ordered a “maternity shoot,” for them. There were huge announcements of the date and a big name photographer to drop the images, now that she could publicize whatever photos of Hazel that she wanted. Grace wasn’t 100% sold on this, but she knew how her mom was and after all of her help, felt a ping of obligation for this ONE thing... Mrs. Monroe would NOT be involved in her parenting decisions and she clarified that each chance that she could over those months of work.

The maternity photos were similar to how a pregnant woman might pose, cradling her own womb, but each one of that type was her embracing Hazel to herself, then there were simply several gorgeous shots of them together and some with Hazel’s “GlamMother.” The woman and Hazel had settled on it when the former refused to accept anything with the preface of “Grand,” and Hazel didn’t like the options such as “Matriarch” or “Forerunner.” Those sounded too formal to Hazel like, “The villain in one of those movies where society has to like pay for air and the hero has to topple the evil queen hoarding it to enslave mankind. Oooh, or... like something you’d call the Highest Queen in the Book of Esmoroth!” Grace cringed at the semi familiar word, but wasn’t positive why at that moment and didn’t take note of it either.

For now, Grace reminded her mom, “It’s meant to be an honor, not an insult, like a Grand Chancellor, or in your case, The Grand High Witch,” she joked and smiled cheerfully, very pleased with herself for it.

Her mother narrowed her eyes. Grace loved her new ability not to shiver at the woman’s little glares and her mother seemed far more fond of a Grace that didn’t cower before her (as long as she cooperated). “Cheeky little...” she’d mumble with the slightest hint of a grin. It wasn’t the healthiest arrangement, necessarily, but considering their past, it was healthier than Grace thought that they would ever get, and she couldn’t help but feel like Hazel’s presence and the process of getting her there helped to make she and her mom closer... or whatever this was that they were now.

The next generation of House Monroe, Hazel Doe Monroe... Hazel had wanted to keep Doe as her middle name. “You know, you don’t have to change your last name if it’s something that you’d like to hold on to, Hazel.”

“I know. You’re very nice about our rules. I just like it because I have beautiful doe eyes and it seems fitting to keep. I’m DEFINITELY a Monroe. Look at me there. I am serving Blue Ivy Carter vibes...” Grace smiled and squeezed her... daughter close. Daughter. That was so weird to her. She had considered Hazel a friend, a little sister type, surely, but somewhere along the way, she found that she couldn’t let that kid stay in the system, being bounced around, never knowing a real home or lasting love. So... now, she had a whole ass daughter.

An heiress, her mother would remind them both. Grace had mixed emotions about that one. Anybody you selected could be an heiress, if you intended to pass something down. She couldn’t tell if her mother was excluding Hazel from the family by using that placeholder, or if she was simply so proud to be a “matriarch” that she was being overly fancy. Knowing her mom, it could very well be the latter. She would wait until Hazel seemed to feel something about it. Right now, all the kid had was excitement and culture shock. She had waited her entire life to be in a family and as far as she was concerned, her family was the greatest one in the world!

There were a few critics of Grace’s “Journey to Maternity,” claiming that it was such a publicity stunt and that she was exploiting this child and using this adoption “for clout.” She... didn’t even know how that was a feasible conclusion, but her only announcement on the matter was, “I have been trying to build a family with Hazel, specifically, for several years now. Hazel never had a mother and now she does. She didn’t get maternity photos and birth announcements. She didn’t get a lot of things that babies and kids get by her age, and I want to make sure that she gets everything that I can give her and more. Our relationship is just as valid as any in which birth was given, because we needed each other and now we have each other and I’m going to love MY DAUGHTER the way that any loving mother would. Peace and many blessings to everyone out there. Please, use the energy that you have to attack me as a new mom figuring out the best ways to show my child that she matters, to go love on your own families. Our world needs more of that and less of this. This space is sacred, as a dedication to my daughter.”

While she used to be stressed out about how she was perceived on her platform, she now had a better handle on when to pay attention, when to ignore, when to block, when to engage, and she trusted her team and regularly spoke with her therapist and workers for Hazel, as well, about navigating these things. After the initial announcement, she and Hazel decided as a family that they didn’t need to do anything else so big, but they would post whenever they wanted to, since before, there were so many limits.

Mostly, they liked doing mother-daughter choreography and sometimes, Hazel posted funny things, because she was truly a hilarious girl, at 9, nearing 10. Grace spent all of her time invested in being what Hazel needed and Hazel, as much as she loved Grace and loved having a new mom took some major adjustment getting used to having one. Sometimes, she feared that it would end and Grace, like everyone else might give up on her and “give her back.”

Sometimes, she was so petrified about it, she turned into her turtle persona without any particular prompt. Those were hard nights/days. Grace would have to collect her turtle and care for her and coax her back into comfort so that she could become Hazel again. The doctor discussed some potential medication options, but because Hazel was not a danger to herself or anyone else, Grace denounced that idea at this time. When Hazel was back, she would simply reinforce that she loved Hazel, but in the moments where it was too scary or hard for Hazel to feel like herself, she’d love her turtle, too. Little by little, it seemed to be at least comforting enough where Hazel could sleep most nights without night terrors, though sometimes whenever Grace would check in (as she did, she realized probably an unreasonable number of times), Hazel would be curled up as she slept - in her shell - they called it. So, she wasn’t sure if she was making the best decisions yet.

But, Grace felt remarkably capable... silently thanking Simon for putting her through some of the most volatile emotional spikes not even realizing the type of resolve he was building for her to be able to endure loving a child who was just too scared right now to believe it was possible...

Simon was able to complete his Master’s degree on time, with Amelia admitting that she didn’t believe at all that he purposefully harmed her, but that he made a critical error while mentally distracted. If he wanted to work on his NEXT degree, he would have to do a lot that he was uncertain that he could handle at the moment. He thought of trying to start his own business, but his reputation was not stellar, so he held back until he could get a better grip on his pitches. His nights were generally forcing himself to continue routines that felt empty now that Grace had seemingly forgiven him and moved on.

His days were just as structured, with his only deviance being that he had numerous projects he was still working on at the tech company he worked at. He was one of the top employees and had been there a while, so they knew a little bit about his personal issues, but he was an asset to the company, so, so far, so good on not being canned over the past year’s scandals... not many people realized that he was affiliated with his job, thank goodness, or he was certain some of those rabid SJWs would have doxxed him by now. His book sales spiked, but his trilogy deal had fallen through after only the first book had been published, and nobody was yet picking up any of his other works, so he leaned hard into his technological engineering.

Whenever he was at his day job, working on some software edits, someone mentioned, “Aye, Si - your prototype is reproducing now?” To which, he glanced up from his computer screen in confusion and saw Grace on his associate’s. They called Grace his prototype, because he’d often use an avatar or model or figure of someone closely resembling her and he got irritated whenever they would call his prototypes, his “ex.” Somehow, it didn’t bother him as much for them to call Grace his prototype. It bothered him, but not as much as the suggestion that everything he created was an effigy to her... whether or not that was the case (or whether or not it was unintentional/reflexive half of the time). “She’s got a kid now. Showed up in my entertainment news.”

Simon got up and came over, read Grace’s statement, scrolled through these photos of her and this beautiful kid that... looked honestly like she could be theirs, now that he was seeing her entire face clearly. He took a deep breath, with furrowed eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders, “So, they gave her the kid, finally. Good for her,” he said and returned to his desk, shaking and turning red. His coworkers all stared at him, expecting more. He sent a very quick email to his therapist and tried to ignore the wandering eyes. He also tried not to give them what he knew that they wanted to see... him lose his shit over Grace in real time. He couldn’t let this take over his professional life as well. It had cost him enough last semester and made him have to put his academic goals on hold.

Eventually, though, he had to cut the day short. Fortunately, his therapist could squeeze him in. He signed out of everything, images of Grace on his desk that he now hid away, for when he would next need them/could stand them (it was up and down for him, so he just kept them near now) and put them away at times like right now. Times whenever, for no reason whatsoever, seeing her upset him again. As he got onto the elevator, he heard one of them say, “I’m telling you, he’s gonna snap.” Sounded like they were making whispered bets on the matter.

His mind was filled with Hazel’s smile, the way Grace glowed with her in her arms, how they looked at each other with love and admiration, how EVEN Mama Monroe seemed enamored... while, he knew could just be one of her acts, but she genuinely seemed fond of her new family dynamic in those photos! “What is the point of me paying you when you are not fixing my brain?” Simon asked in frustration, glaring at his therapist, almost violently.

“That’s not what we do here, Simon. You know that. Fixing your brain would be something that a neurologist does and you saw a neurologist a few months ago. What they suggested was for you to continue therapy.” The man was always alarmingly calm. He knew that Simon had violent outbursts in his record, but he also knew that Simon wanted to try to be pragmatic. Simon was a scientist. He wanted to handle things maturely and intelligently. His violent outbursts were generally a result of him feeling attacked. If the therapist kept things level and sensible, he didn’t expect more than a few bouts of yelling and flailing arms from Simon, on a good day.

“I know that therapy is supposed to help me to feel the way that I’m supposed to feel about Grace again, and it absolutely is not doing that for me!” He was huffing. The therapist remained calm. Simon noted that and tried to join him. He folded his arms, “I’m still thinking things about her that make no sense. Like today, I found out that she finally got approved to adopt that girl... And... it’s a really cute girl. She looks... like she could’ve been ours. She’s really precious and brown and beautiful with this long, thick head of blond hair. Proper blond hair, and they gave her an elvish hairstyle for the shoot... And my immediate thought was to wonder if Grace did this on purpose, to spite me? This blond kid that looks like us? The fantasy core hairdo? Is Grace manipulating me from across the country, on the Internet for every fan to see?” He scoffed. “Why? Why, would I think that?”

“You tell me, Simon.”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Simon was red in the face and breathing too hard.

The therapist shifted slightly and redirected the conversation. “Okay, well, let’s think about it all, and talk through it. Maybe I can help you find out what your true feelings are, then we can unpack them together.” Simon hated that word. The sorting through baggage, taking a long hard look at things, figuring out where they went. He HATED it. “Why do you think Grace might want to use a child in order to spite you?”

“Wow, well, who’d have thought that two minutes ago when I said that I didn’t know, that you paraphrasing it would give me the solution?” Simon’s sarcastic question and animated baffled face were calms before a storm. The storm had to be appeased.

“I’m asking you to think about why Grace would ever do that to a child, instead of wondering why she would be manipulating you? She would be using that child, of your thoughts are right, and maybe thinking through why she would do such a thing could help you get closer to why you rationalized this accusation against her. Do you feel like she’s trying to fill a hole she believes you caused and replacing the child you could have had together?” Simon froze for a moment to consider this, then scoffed, rolled his eyes and shook his head. That wasn’t it. ”You said the child looks like she could be yours. Maybe Grace was drawn to her for that reason. Maybe it had nothing to do with spite at all and everything to do with love or even simply familiarity. Grace may have chosen a child that reminded her of her first friend, her first love. Maybe... the child doesn’t even actually look like she could be yours, but you’re projecting yourself into Grace’s family because you miss being a part of it..”

“No!” Simon fussed and pulled out his phone to pull up the image of Hazel. He showed it to the doctor.

“Well, you were right about a couple of things. She is a very beautiful child and she is blond. Besides that, Simon, I don’t see any resemblance, and lots of people are blond, some of them are even... Black or Biracial... I’m not sure of this child’s exact makeup, but she’s blond. Why did that upset you so much, if it’s not because you were thinking about maybe what you and Grace missed out on when she gave up the child you might have had.”

“Stop right there. Yes, I think about what might have become of that. Grace once did this dedication thing that was like mapping out when she might have been due and how old they might have been, and stuff. She was going through her own things and I found it interesting, but I know a little about biology. The time that she went in... she was about 2 to 3 months... that’s not a baby. That’s not a kid. That’s something an inch long or maybe a small bit bigger. A collective of tissue...” He shook his head. “I’m not lamenting over a quarter sized bundle of genes!” He shuffled his legs around. “I mean... She said that she would’ve called them Ivory. That’s a pretty name, I think. It’s unisex and elegant... Then she had all this ivory themed jewelry and color scheme for her kid’s coronation or whatever the fuck. It did sort of feel insulting, but I think she just fucking likes ivory, I don’t know! She was gonna name a kid that. She just likes it.” He frowned and looked towards the window.

“Did you feel like she thought about that whenever she made the party for her new child?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t been cool in so long, I don’t know her like I used to. I used to know her like... she was an art form that I was the master of, a science that I was most prolific in. I... don’t even know if she hasn’t become a completely different person. One thing that’s obvious. She still craves love and adoration and she’ll have it to her heart’s content now that she has a kid. That girl is going to give her all the praise and worship she’s been craving since we were kids. All that I couldn’t give her... I don’t even know why work so hard to be better...” He sighed.

“Simon, if you’re only working on yourself in order to impress Grace, then that could be the reason that you aren’t feeling any results. Grace can’t be the compass for which you try to find your life’s direction.”

“But something has to motivate me. I don’t care about much else. Not like it matters at this point, now.”

“Why? Because Grace has a child now?”

“She has everything that she needs from someone else. That kid beat me to it. I didn’t get better quick enough... I just...”

“Simon, I think we’ve finally arrived at today’s problem. Do you see it?” Simon frowned harder, tightening his mouth shut.”Would you like for me to tell you what it seems like to me?” Simon furrowed his eyebrows deeper. “I’ll go, and if I’m wrong, I know you’ll chime in, as you do enjoy proving others wrong...” Simon smirked a little. “It isn’t that you feel like Grace has replaced an unborn, never fully formed child that the two of you might have had. You feel as though Grace has replaced you.” Simon’s breath sped up and he blew out of puckered lips with puffed cheeks. “Simon. Surely, you must realize that your relationship with Grace is not the same as what her relationship with her child is.”

“Of course!” He stood up and leaned forward on the desk, “But, I’m sure YOU know that my relationship with Grace was never reasonable and that’s why I’m here!”

“Simon, please sit down.”

Simon paced, instead, complaining. “I don’t have relationships with people. I cling to people, then they leave me. I clung to Grace for so long and I didn’t give her the chance to leave. I was scared, like a little boy being given a responsibility way too great. I messed up! I can’t FIX it! I’m supposed to be able to fix anything! I fix the bugs in multi million dollar making computer systems. I fix equipment that helps to save thousands of lives! I fix software, and robotics, and 90% of my coworkers’ interpersonal issues by being practical and telling them to dump people, but I can’t fix this! I can’t fix ME. I’m the problem!!!” He slammed his fist on the desk. “All I had to do was trust her. We might still be together. She might not have ever been in that place to meet this girl whose stolen her heart.”

“Simon, please consider the way you’re speaking about an innocent child who was in need of a home.”

“Yeah. It’s fucked up, just like the rest of me.” Simon covered his mouth and nose with his cupped hands. sighed and suddenly stopped moving anxiously. “You know what? I’m not at MIT at the moment. I don’t have any reason to keep this up.” This was indicated by him waving both hands back and forth between himself and the therapist.

“To get better, Simon. We’ve made several breakthroughs together. All of the things that you were holding inside... Those aren’t resolved overnight. Remember whenever we discussed your first sexual experience?” Simon sat down, his face wanting to believe Dr. Richard could do something about his growing despair. “You found out that you did feel something for Grace, but you blocked it out, denied yourself, made the act a challenge in which you won if you could separate yourself from your feelings... That’s your MO, Simon. You fear feelings that you think won’t be reciprocated and you punish those who didn’t reciprocate them before they have a chance not to.”

“But, I only did it to Grace...” Simon said. “My mom didn’t reciprocate and I moved on. My dad didn’t. I moved on. Grace... did... and I punished her anyway, for the CHANCE that she might not. And I did it to everyone I’ve met since, even though I don’t even let them get close to me, because I can;t even stand the thought of somebody getting that close to me again... The thought of the loss, when they finally see me and realize that I’m... This. Just... Tell me what to do to fix that in myself?”

“We’re doing it, Simon. It will take time. You made a difficult to breach barrier on purpose and it’s even hard for you to let it down. Until you’re ready to try, it will take us chipping away at it with these sessions.”

“I don’t want to do that, Dr. Richard. Thank you for your time.”

“Do you remember when you decided to see me again? Our first session went poorly. You at some point referred to it as an interview. You thought that I asked you questions and you gave the answers that made you look the best.”

“I decided to see you again because I thought I was going to be going to prison or be kicked out of my very prestigious college. But, I looked at the face of a little girl today and I felt my future die in her smile...”

“How do you know that a better you can’t mean better for Grace AND this girl?”

“I was with Grace for years and I ruined her, if you think I’m gonna go anywhere near her kid, near any kid, you’re the one that needs a doctor.” Simon got up. “Time’s up. Thank you for seeing me today. Wish me luck.”

“Simon. Please don’t miss your scheduled appointment.”

“Cancel it. Cancel them all.”

“Simon.”

“I won’t need them. I’m... I’m the best I’m going to get. I see that now, but I appreciate what you were trying to do for me.” He left the office, glanced at MIT’s campus as he headed for his apartment. His cell phone buzzed and he looked at it. It was from work. A list of things for tomorrow, when he got back in... He threw the phone into a trash bin without even so much as trying to aim. He fought the urge to turn to grab it. You’ve worked really hard Simon. You can be better. She told you to get help. To be better... Yeah... But, not for her. She doesn’t need you. Nobody does. They never did. You did it for yourself. You made something of the mess that they gave you. You can still change...

“Maybe. But, probably not for the better.” Face it... My peak was when I was an absolute piece of garbage. My best is to be horrible. What kind of an existence is that? No saviors. No Grace. Just me, being violent and sinister? I’m the Void. I would only take everything from them. I need to be voided out...

Grace had not anticipated how being the 24/7 guardian of this child was going to be so drastically different than before. She tried to mentally prepare for that obvious reality, but nothing really prepared you for some of this stuff. It was challenging, to say the least. Grace’s life was in New York. It felt unkind to uproot Hazel and just bring her there, but she knew that it would be much more difficult to try to start rebuilding an entire life in California to keep Hazel in familiar settings.

Hazel hadn’t had a home-home, but San Francisco was as home as she had, and wasn’t far from where Grace grew up. Still… Grace had been in New York for years for school, fell in love with the place, had friends and work and hobbies there. Hazel could fall in love with it too and if she couldn’t, then they could revisit that topic. But, they were going to begin by settling in New York.

“We’ll at least visit GlamMother and Grandest Father, right?” Hazel wondered.

“Did… Did my dad tell you to call him that? Because I’ve got to draw the line…”

“No, it just sounded best with GlamMother. I like them. They speak really fancy and have a lot of nice stuff. I feel bad that we buried them in the bush that time.” Grace laughed and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as they headed home. She didn’t want to visit TOO much, but her parents were willing to foot the bill to see their granddaughter.

Grace was a little bit scared of them being around her too much. She worried that if Hazel felt scared or nervous and reverted to “the turtle,” her parents would handle it in an unsavory way… and then she would be forced to wreck them. It was just easier to try to stay away when she could. But, she had to stay at least until Hazel’s last day of school, as to not mess up her transition. So, Hazel’s birthday was spent in Cali and whenever the school year ended, they were going to be in New York.

Things happened. Firstly, the weeks leading to the summer vacation, Simon had not been seen or heard from. Grace didn’t realize this at all (as she hadn’t been checking for him for months) and was focused on going back and forth during the process of adopting Hazel, staying in a Monroe property to finish the school year and trying to adjust to a life of single motherhood… she just… did not have the time or concern to check up on anything Simon related. So the fact that his workplace didn’t know where he was and tried to contact his family, since it was so not like him to not show up at all - that was backstory she got.

Secondly, Simon “resurfaced.” No, not in her life, not at all. But, he was on the internet a lot more. There had been several sightings of him and none of them were good. He would either be in an altercation with someone or a full on fight. Most of these sightings he appeared to be baiting people into fighting him. There began to be chatter that he’d spent a little time in jail! She only caught wind of that after the third, and most severe thing took place...

Thirdly, Simon had been reported missing for weeks whenever several of the media outlets began running a clip of a person that many believed was Simon - Grace had been tagged to it multiple times, but hadn’t clicked on it, as it tended to have some type of generic title like, “Is that you, Simon Laurent?” or something that she didn’t have time for. The people jumping into her comments while she tried new dairy free froyo to ask her what about Simon’s spiraling was enough Simon content for her at the moment.

What she did have time for?: “Simon Laurent left for dead after brawl…”

She gasped and clicked on the video. It was definitely Simon. She knew his mannerisms. She knew his fight style. That was most definitely Simon kicking someone in the face right before someone else - a friend or something of the person hit him in the back and ribs with a board and he fell. She covered her mouth and through teary eyes saw him falling and being repeatedly hit, up until what very much looked like one of the fighters was stabbing him… Grace let out a scream, without realizing it. She began to try to search for more information, but the only thing that she could seem to find was that nobody knew his family or where he was or if he had been helped…

“Grace?” She heard Hazel call from the doorway. She looked up and the girl was worried, “You’re crying really loud…” Grace shook her head, unable to form words as she continued to search, until she FINALLY found a story that appeared to be paparazzi capturing photos of Simon being rushed into a Massachusetts ER and old faithfuls of the Apex casting a net for blood donations. She saw Hazel freeze and sit on the floor. God, not now… Hazel was a turtle. Grace had frightened her.

She tried to collect her without hyperventilating as she called information. If the Laurents were anything like her parents, that man still had the same phone number. If he was still anything like he used to be, he never got onto the internet and might not know where Simon was or what condition he was in.

Grace had Hazel in her lap, cradling her and rocking her to try to lull her out of her habit. “Mr. Laurent? Simon’s Dad?”

There was a long pause and then he said, “Yes, this is he… Have you found my son?”

“I know where he is. I saw on the Internet that he’s been seriously hurt and is in need of blood, but I don’t know how accurate that part is. I remember him saying that you two had the same type, some years ago. Even if not… Somebody should be there, I think… Do you have a way to get to Massachusetts?”

“No,” he said with a sniffle.

“That’s okay. I can get to him quicker, because I’m in New York, and I can even take you to him, but… I have to tell you… This is Grace Monroe.”

“You…”

“Mr. Laurent, right now, Simon needs either medical and divine intervention or potentially next of kin. I have a daughter and I can’t endanger her. Can we truce or whatever?”

“Yes. My son is all I have left.” She wasn’t going to argue with him. “I live in the same house if you remember where.”

“I remember. I’m going to send for you. I’ll have a car grab you and get you on a plane. My daughter and I will rush there now and meet you at the hospital, okay?” She groaned to get Hazel up and put her in the car. “We’re going to go on a trip, Hazel, okay? Whenever you come back out of your shell, I’ll be right here. I’m sorry that I scared you. I saw something really scary…”

“Is that man gonna be okay? The one that used to be your friend?” Hazel asked. Grace let out a sigh of relief that she had come out of it sooner rather than later.

“I don’t know, but if not, I think his dad should be with him. It’s a kinda long flight for him, so I don’t know if he’ll be okay. But, I’m going to go... just so that if something happens, he’s not alone. It’s scary when stuff happens and you’re all alone.”

“That’s sad. His dad shouldn’t have to see him be hurt.”

“No... but, that’s where he would want to be, near him, in case he can give him some comfort. Some help...” She told Simon that she couldn’t be the one to save him, and she meant that, but this was different. If something happened to Simon... and he was all alone... she just didn’t know how she would handle that in the future.

#If They Didn't Get on the Train #AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics

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the-homicidediaries · 3 years

Text

Mary Bell

The Tyneside Strangler

TW: child death, sexual abuse, genital mutilation

•

Hello! So I’m back with another horrible story because people keep asking for them.

SO HERE WE GO

This is the story of Mary Bell, who is one of only a handful of the youngest murderers.. EVER.

Mary Bell was born to a 16 year old prostitute named Betty in Newcastle upon Tyne, England in May of 1957. (Yeah, this didn’t happen that long ago. Horrifying.)

Now, no one is entirely sure who Mary’s father is, but Betty made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with Mary from the very beginning, telling doctors, “Get that thing away from me.”

And the best thing the doctors could come up with was to continue to let Mary live with her mother.

Perfect. What could go wrong?

Well, a lot.

Things got way worse. Betty was away a lot in Glasgow for her “business trips”. When she wasn’t away, she subjected Mary to physical and mental abuse.

Betty’s sister testified that she once saw Betty try to give Mary away to a local woman who was unsuccessful in her adoption journey.

Betty’s sister also noted that Mary was very “accident prone”; i.e. “falling” down the stairs and “accidentally” overdosing sleeping pills.

After Mary’s “fall”, it was reported that Mary suffered horrible brain damage in her pre-frontal cortex, the part of the brain that deals with decision-making and voluntary movements.

(Richard Ramirez, John Wayne Gacy, Fred West, David Berkowitz, Ed Gein, Albert Fish, and several other serial killers also suffered brain injuries as they were growing up.)

(I want to mention here there is a bit of a debate amongst experts whether to Betty wanted to get rid of Mary because she wasn’t fit to be a mother OR Betty had Munchausen by Proxy, which should all know is my favorite mental illness. 😬

Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy (MSBP) is a mental health problem in which a caregiver makes up or causes an illness or injury in a person under his or her care, such as a child, an elderly adult, or a person who has a disability. The most famous case was Clauddinea “Dee Dee” Blancharde abusing her daughter Gypsy Rose Blancharde.)

Back to Mary.

According to family members, Betty began prostituting Mary out by the time she was four years old. (That’s hideous. That’s a year younger than Shiloh, my baby baby. I hope it isn’t true.)

I also read that by the time Mary was five, she had already had a brush with death, watching her five year old friend being run over and killed by a bus.

By the time Mary was ten, she was quiet, manipulative, and isolated herself from everyone.

In May 11, 1968, just weeks before her first murder, Mary was playing with a three year old neighbor when he was horribly injured from a fall at the top of an air raid shelter.

His parents deemed it an accident.

After this, though, a few of the neighborhood mothers came forward to the police and said Mary had tried to choke their young daughters. No charges were filed, however.

On May 25, 1968, one day before Mary Bell turned 11 years old, Mary strangled four year old Martin Brown in an abandoned house. Mary fled the scene and returned back to the body with her friend Norma Bell, (no relation), but found they had been beaten by two local boys who had been playing in the abandoned house and stumbled upon the body.

Police were baffled by what they saw. Besides a little blood and saliva on Martin’s face, there were no obvious signs of violence. There was, however, an empty bottle of painkillers on the floor near the body. This led police to believe Martin had swallowed the pain pills and his death was deemed an accident.

Mary might have gotten away with this had she not gone to Martin’s family’s house and asked his mother to see Martin. She explained to Mary that Martin was dead, and Mary said she knew, she wanted to see the dead body in the coffin.

Martin’s mother slammed the door in her face.

Shortly after, Mary and her friend Norma broke into a nursery school and vandalized it with notes taking responsibility for Martin Brown’s death and promising to kill again. Police assumed the notes were a morbid prank.

The nursery school installed an alarm system shortly after and Mary and Norma were caught at the scene of the crime but were later seen as loitering and let off the hook.

Just.. YA KNOW!? All the signs are pointing to this girl.

Mary even told her classmates she had murdered Martin Brown.

It’s aggravating as hell.

BUT I DIGRESS

On June 31, 1968, Mary Bell, now 11, strangled three year old Brian Howe to death in the same area where she strangled Martin Brown.

She later went back to the body and carved an ‘M’ onto Brian’s chest with a razor and mutilated his thighs and penis with a pair of scissors.

In a sickening twist, Mary and Norma offered to help Brian’s sister look for him when his family realized he was missing. Mary even pointed out the cinder blocks where his body was, but since Norma said it wouldn’t be there, Brian’s sister dismissed it and looked elsewhere.

Y’all. I cannot.

When the coroner’s report came back on Brian, police were shocked to find the ‘M’ carved onto his chest and the coroner reporting this death was most likely caused by a child due to the lack of force used during the attack.

MORTIFYING

Mary and Norma were not conspicuous at all; they were interviewed by the police and excited to learn new news pertaining to the case.

Mary was spotted lurking outside of Brian’s house the day of his burial. She was laughing and rubbing her hands together when she saw the coffin.

The police called Mary in to be interviewed a second time and Mary made up a story about an eight year old boy she had seen hit Brian, (police knew she and Norma had seen him the day he died), in the head and that he had a pair of broken scissors with him.

The 👏🏼 police 👏🏼 hadn’t 👏🏼 disclosed 👏🏼 anything 👏🏼 publicly 👏🏼 about 👏🏼 the 👏🏼 scissors. 👏🏼

This is where Mary done goofed. Only investigators and the murderer would have known about this clue.

Upon further questioning, Mary and Norma broke down and began blaming each other for the murders.

During the trial, which took place in December, the jury agreed that Mary had committed the murders.

Did she receive a murder charge, you may ask?

Absolutely not.

While the jury did find Mary Bell guilty, a manslaughter charge was given because Mary’s lawyer and the court psychiatrists argued Mary suffered from psychopathy, and the court agreed she was not fully responsible of her actions.

😐😐😐😐😐😐😐😐😐😐😐😐

Norma Bell, however, was regarded as an unwilling accomplice and was acquitted.

Let’s look at the difference between manslaughter and murder charges and why this is so important.

man·slaugh·ter

/ˈmanˌslôdər/

noun

1. the crime of killing a human being without malice aforethought, or otherwise in circumstances not amounting to murder.

mur·der

/ˈmərdər/

noun

1. the unlawful premeditated killing of one human being by another.

I obviously haven’t gone to law school, but I would argue that the little neighbor boy’s “accidental fall” and the mothers coming forward about Mary choking their young daughters could be viewed as premeditated. She was trying to kill them, she just managed to kill two little boys instead.

Yes she had a brain injury, but giving her a manslaughter charge is offensive to me. Offensive for the families who lost their sons. If she has a brain injury and there were several cases documented where she was hurting other children, she should have been locked away forever. Just my opinion. I agree with medication and therapy, but anyone could relapse at any time and I don’t think that’s a risk anyone should take. Again, just my unprofessional as h*ck opinion.

(Ed Kemper went to a mental institute and tricked and lied his way into letting the psychiatrists let him leave after he had killed both of his grandparents at just 15 years old. They assumed he was rehabilitated; he just learned the right answers to their questions. He later killed eight more people, including his mother.

Just an example.)

(Another example, they medicated Richard Kuklinski after he was arrested and did not feel the need to release him even though he showed signs of improvement.)

Moving on.

The judge concluded that Mary was a dangerous person and a serious threat to other children. She was sentenced to be imprisoned “at Her Majesty’s pleasure,” a British term that basically means the powers that be would release her when they felt she had been properly rehabilitated.

Apparently, they were very impressed with Mary’s treatment and rehabilitation and felt like it was appropriate to let Mary Bell out in 1980, T W E L V E Y E A R S after Mary committed these murders.

She was put in very strict probation but was able to live amongst her community as a normal person.

The cherry on top?

Mary Bell was given a new identity to offer her a new chance at life and to be able to avoid the press.

She had to move several times because the press kept tracking her down, however.

Today, Mary Bell and her daughter are in protective custody at a secret address no one knows.

Norma Bell passed away in 1989.

Do I feel Mary Bell needs court ordered protection and should be able to hide her identity? No.

Do I think they released her far too early? Yes

Do I think Martin Brown and Brian Howe got justice? No.

Does this story anger me even though I’ve heard it and read about it fifteen million times? Yes.

Her mother should be responsible. She should be responsible instead of hiding. The victim’s families deserve better.

Below are pictures of Mary Bell aged 11, Martin Brown, Brian Howe, and Mary Bell aged 51.

#true crime

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littleredroseonthevalley · 3 years

Text

The Grave of the Butterflies

Summary: She is reborn in California. She is Morgan Garrity, she is her own person, responsible for her own choices and this is her pride and joy. Here, she is only but an ex.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 2900

Notes: Here we have. The sequel. I hope you enjoy it.

She thought about wearing black, and though few would believe it, her closet does contain one dress that would have been appropriate. It is colourless, characterless. It is just a black dress, so she is wearing something else, a statement about herself.

While the idea seemed natural when she was at the small room at the hotel, now she is not so sure. Her outfit is all conspicuous clutter, satsuma orange overlapping stark tribal reds where the purple does not blotch, and she usually likes when people stare. She is used to it, but not like this. These people stare and see tainted flesh, not a dress.

She is reborn in California. She is Morgan Garrity, she is her own person, responsible for her own choices and this is her pride and joy.

Here, she is only but an ex. An ex-neighbour. An ex-wife. An ex-mother. An ex-person, almost. Someone to be forgotten or scorned.

Her own mother is in her head, reminding her to walk tall, to never let small people upset her over small things, but her shoulders keep slouching. This community has power, and they know it. They always knew how to make her feel pathetic and not good enough.

She always knew how to fake it, though, so she forces the smile and flutters from group to group, leaving indignant anger and dredged-up memories in her wake.

"Jacob Calhoun!” She greets with pep. “It's been so long. How's Juliette?"

She died. Cancer.

He does not want Morgan to say she is sorry. He wants her to be the monster who abandoned not just her family but also left her friend behind when she needed her most, and she can do that. She can be dumb and selfish for him, anything to make Juliette’s husband feel better. Juliette was one of the few who urged Morgan to go, who never judged her.

Her tilted head and wide, blinking eyes imitate innocence, and she can feel him laughing, trying not to let on that he knows she is acting. The timbre vibrates on her skin, almost under it.

It is not hard to remember how that laugh used to be enough to warm her. That was before she demanded the western sun.

He is moving toward her, and she feels the gravity, the steady. It was always constant with him, and ignoring it was futile. She had been drawn in, and as the moth with the flame, she had found that her own desires could engulf her. She could lose herself.

She still thinks she was lucky to escape with her life.

"Sawyer." She smiles.

He is the same, always the same. Even at their daughter’s wedding, not two years ago, he had been exactly how he was when she had met him, when she had left. She was surprised and could not help but comment on how good he looked.

It is easier to remember him as small-town nothing in her memories, but he has never been that.

At first, he had been enough. Finally, a good enough of a man, of a living person, for her. Despite the rushing, the fact neither of them had even met Sawyer before, her parents were pleased. Her father nodded his approval, and her mother shook her head, this might be the one to keep her.

Morgan did not know why that was exciting, but it was. It said something to his power that a brush of his fingertips along her wrist or the gentlest incline of his head was enough to balm the crackling energy that exhausted her day in, day out.

“What do you do with it all?” He had asked once as they lazed on a sunny afternoon, Sawyer fishing and Morgan just being. “With all this energy? With all this life?”

“You wake up in the morning, and it's like you're buzzing with the desperate need to move.” She explains it then. “Then I see you like this and have to wonder where all that energy went.”

She had stretched her feet a little further into his side of the small boat, her dimples showing when he made no comment about her encroaching on his space, and made a show of luxuriating just a bit more in the Sweetridge’s extensive sunshine, of letting him know what she hid beneath the tied flannel shirt she wore.

Morgan had shrugged then, dismissed the concern, deeming those thoughts required to answer the question not worth spoiling the lazy peace that hung between them.

Now she knows it is all very simple. It all went to him, always him. It gave him the will to smile wide, laugh deep, and dare to be more than happy, to be blessed. To leave for the rodeo circuit.

Emotions and adventure wore Sawyer out, probably still do, but she had had enough for the both of them. She was strong and could manage the loneliness and the doubt. She was sure.

So Goddamn young and sure.

Morgan is no longer so positive about anything. She was lucky to receive an email once a month from her daughter once she let her go, once that she let her get to know the father she barely ever met, and then she is a stranger to her whole life.

She cannot match faces to names of schoolmates. She does not know who went out of their way to be here today. She definitely does not understand what her baby girl was doing driving down that winding, snowy road without guardrails at night.

And she definitely does not have a clue who picked out Sawyer's tie.

Someone did. It is silk, classic and purple. Purple, for Christ's sake! A woman was involved.

Does she love him right?

“Will you love me right?” Her voice had trembled.

It probably should have been romantic when he fell to one knee, but Morgan had honed in on the crunch of bone meeting gravel and was having a hard time finding the ambiance.

“There is no doubt.” He assured her.

She still was not convinced. “For always?”

It was cruel to draw it out, she had known, but she needed his love for her, not for her energy, her beauty or the fact she helped him with the ranch. The proposal had needed to be for Morgan.

If it was not, she had been sure she would not hesitate. She would take the drive back to Boston, her mother would begrudgingly take her back and help smooth things over with her father. Morgan and Sawyer would have waited until it could be about them.

She knew then and now: it was so, so wrong of her.

“I don't understand the question.” He had said, and his lips twitched at the corners. They'd played out the same conversation so many times. “Is there another answer than for always?”

No, there was no other answer.

Sawyer tugs at his tie in sharp, awkward jerks, and Morgan is distressed to realize she still has the suffocating urge to fix it for him or to smooth back the fly-away strands of his hair. She still loves him.

She thought she stopped. She thought she made herself stop.

"Morgan." He greets, a resting scowl gracing his face. "I am glad you could make it."

It is not a jibe, but more like praise. They have never been the type of people to dance around her nature. Everything else, but never that.

Morgan does not want to think of her daughter as dead, just gone. She is just off with her rich pretty boy, gallivanting around Europe and living it up as the young should. Not dead. Not in the ground.

He was the son of a senator from Helena. They met in college, fell head over heels for each other, married as soon as they graduated. She was happy, hosting stately campaign dinners and flouting wealth through the city streets. Now, like a spell, she is just gone. Now, her son-in-law is there, looking straight ahead, black suit and sunglasses, speaking to no-one, acknowledging no-one.

Sue her for not wanting to face this. They can just go ahead and call her immature.

She is still brusque with Sawyer, still on the defence. "Of course, I'm here. Five years of her living up here didn't make me forget about her."

He just nods, holds a hand out. She wants him to argue with her. She has to be above everybody else, tell herself that their opinions do not matter, but his does. She can be offended. She can cry.

However, as if to spite her, he is just standing there, palm up, waiting. He always knows.

"That suit looks good on you." She tells him, and he half-shrugs, and then grins wryly.

"Always the surprise." He responds, as if incredulous with what she said. He is not.

"Can you blame me? My memories are of flannel and fishing gear. The silk's an interesting touch." Her focus narrows in on the scrap of violet again, and he's blushing. He looks like their daughter.

It is interesting. A week ago, Morgan would have said that she took her traits from Sawyer, not the other way around, but God, all she can see is her daughter.

They were so alike, both a blessing on her life, something she was never quite sure she deserved. Morgan had a lot of energy, she had a lot to give, but sadly not enough for both of them.

You need to stop crying. The baby had begun to shriek more, louder, higher. When had she started referring to her daughter as "the baby" and not by her name? She did not remember.

Probably when she first began crying. Morgan did not remember how long ago that was either.

Please, please, please. Shhh. She was supposed to be the girl that liked havoc, why should the chaos of children bug her? Yet, babies were proving to be different. They got to be a mess, and she needed to be constant; the young expected schedules and order from their caregivers. She had tried and tried, but she was always falling short, falling out of step.

Baby, you have to cut it out now. Your mommy needs her sleep. Morgan had been working hard in California, to make enough to keep a roof over their heads and food on their table. Her parents and Sawyer sent her money, of course, but it was not enough to cover everything, especially in such an expensive place like Berkeley.

Her parents lived in Boston, and her ex-husband was back in Montana. If she went to either of those places, she could have a respite. She could breathe easy, with the knowledge that, if she stumbles, there will be someone, anyone, to pick her up again. She does neither of those things. She grits her teeth and carries on.

She wanted to be independent. To be the ruler of her own life. To show her daughter she needed nothing and no one, just her own intrepid spirit. It had not worked out.

To be completely fair, Sawyer was not a bad husband, he did not actively oppress or mistreat her. He tried, he really tried, but he was still demanding. He would take care of the cattle, sure, but had Morgan washed his clothes? No? Didn't she usually do that? The flowerbeds looked neglected, and the apples needed to be boxed. Had she handled the phone bill? He could take care of it if she wanted, but she'd always said it was no trouble before.

So, she left. When she found out she was pregnant, she packed her bags and left without looking back. She wanted her freedom, she wanted to give a life full of opportunities, and not the dullness of country life, the weight of the responsibilities she herself did not want to take and certainly did not care for her baby to be thrust upon.

Then, she came back.

Honey! Shut. Up. Now.

Before, before, before. Before it was just him, and she had gestures of adoration to spare.

She eventually had started to hate "the baby".

Morgan still shudders. Maybe she does not have all the maternal instincts she should, but she is still human. She had hated herself for hating her daughter.

That only made things worse.

I'm sorry! I just don't know. I don't know what to do! She had done as all the books had instructed her. She had cleaned the scrape on her daughter's knee with hydrogen peroxide, and she had followed that with ointment and a colourful band-aid, but her baby had still cried.

Morgan had not made it better.

Sawyer had received a call with them both in tears, his wife near-hysterical. “Calm down, Morgan. She is only upset because you are.”

He had not been there. He had not seen how utterly useless she had been. He just walked in and summarized, he just swooped in and saved the day. He was, after all, the town hero.

She had been the villain. She was a tragedy of a mother, and everyone knew it. She could not cook a proper meal to save her life, all the other children could talk before her daughter, most of the women were able to contribute to craft fairs and bake sales. Morgan just cried.

Depression, her nanny had said.

Stress, added the doctor.

Reality, her mother summarized.

There had been nothing physically wrong with Morgan. She had just given everything she had to Sawyer without a thought, and she did not know how to ask for it back now, and the many miles between them did not restore it to her. Then she had to draw on her own stores to nurture her. She needed those reserves. She was selfish, she is selfish.

That is why her following relationships worked. They did not need her love, and she did not care to give it to them.

She had the love to madness with Sawyer, and it had become vital that he know the extremes of her devotion, an addiction. The early days of their relationship found her peeling back layers of herself, rejoicing at each new discovery of how much she had to give. They had plateaued eventually, found a comfortable amount of love for her to shed.

Then, she became pregnant, and the baby would need more. She had a lot of love, but just not enough for both of them.

The casket is closed, and Sawyer assured her over the phone last week that it was with good reason. He had been to the coroner's office. You don't want to see her like that, Morgan. She is not sure about that. It might haunt her, but it would make it real.

"You're sure?" she asks him again. "It's her? Without a doubt?"

"No doubt." He's abrupt, gruff, and anyone else would pass it off as just his character. Sawyer Oakley does not show emotion anymore.

Except he does. Morgan knows that, knows him. He cried right along with her at the wedding, even if he hid it well.

"But how can you know?" She presses. "If the remains are truly that bad, she…"

"Morgan." He's looking at her with pity. "Don't delude yourself."

Delude?

This from the man who helped her construct an elaborate life for their daughter’s pet dog because it was just too sad to think that she figured out that it died? From the man who kept quiet about his father's death, has yet to this day to acknowledge it, since it was easier to pretend that he had never had one than to deal with it?

Sawyer was never told her to put away her rose-coloured glasses before. It is her defence mechanism. He did not want her hurt, and he let her have it.

"Sawyer, you're telling me everything?"

"Of course. All there is to tell."

Final. Curt.

Lies.

"What are you lying about?"

"What?"

"Lying, you're lying. There's something you're not telling me."

"I think you're just a bit distressed right now."

"Of course, I am. You're hiding something."

"Morgan…"

"You have to tell me. She was all I had, Sawyer. I couldn't have you both, and I chose her. So, I need to know. You have to tell me."

"Is everything all right here?" The hand that the woman places on Sawyer's shoulder is thin, bony and possessive.

Morgan knows those hands knotted a purple tie earlier that day.

She is crying, near-hysteria, and useless all over again. She does not know anything about her life, but she chose her daughter. She is supposed to know. Morgan was supposed to pour everything into her after it was just them and she could be the sole focus of her affections. That was what would happen when she left Sawyer, she had been sure.

So Goddamn young and sure.

She spent two years of her life frantic over the idea that there just was not enough of her to go around, and she knows she will spend the next fifty wishing she had just let them take it all.

The citizens of Sweetridge watch the flighty woman come home and sob over the casket of her only child, just to remind themselves they are not sympathetic. She is an ex-neighbour. An ex-wife. An ex-mother. Just an ex.

*_*_*_*_*

BSC Materlist

Series Masterlist

#Big Sky Country #sawyer oakley

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diyunho · 4 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “Queen Of The Damned”

In the whole eternity, The Queen of the Underworld only loved once: he was mortal and died shortly after she gave him a child. So when The Joker says he’s a Prince, he’s not actually lying or being a presumptuous lunatic: the green haired man is in fact royalty and sole heir to The Realm Below.

“Stop fidgeting!!!” the nurse admonishes. “This is a new experimental drug and it will help you, OK?” she tries to reason with the patient confined inside a straitjacket, heavy chains bounding him to the metal table.

“Let me go!” he hisses and tries to bite her as she checks his neck for pulse.

“I can’t let you go, Mister Joker. We’re trying to make you better, alright?” the caregiver dodges his teeth before J can sink them in her flesh.

“If you don’t untie me, my Mother will come!!! She doesn’t like it if I’m in danger!”

“Shut the hell up, you insane bastard!” the attending physician can’t hold in his bitterness while mixing the serum.

“Doctor Reeves!” the woman raises her voice. “That’s not the way we talk! I know you are new at Arkham Asylum, but I would really appreciate it if you treat our cases with respect!”

“I’m sorry,” the physician apologizes for his unprofessional remark. “He gets on my nerves!”

“Yes well… Please keep your personal opinions to yourself because they’re not doing any good! The patient is very agitated; would you like me to take over?” she offers and gets cut off.

“I don’t need your expertise, I’m a doctor for God’s sake!”

“I wasn’t implying otherwise,” the nurse sighs at his obvious crankiness; why does she have to be stuck during the night shift with Reeves?! Arkham’s South Wing is already harboring the worst criminals and a psychiatrist that took the job for the thrills can’t possibly render assistance to the troubled convicts incarcerated here.

“I’m done,” he taps the syringe and approaches The Joker when the lights suddenly flicker. “Another power outage?! The storm is not that bad!” the guy rants and doesn’t realize the prisoner is not struggling to escape anymore.

“My Mother’s coming!” the most demented smile flourishes on The Joker’s lips. “I warned you!” he maniacally starts laughing with delight. “You should have listened!”

A low rumble shakes the immense building and the convoluted hallways fill up with mist: the Queen of The Realm Below steps in the world of the living again, surrounded by her loyal army of twisted warriors.

“Protect The Prince!” the invisible wraiths shriek, crawling on the walls in order to destroy the cameras. Some fly through brick and metal with the sole purpose of fulfilling their ruler’s command: no greater honor than aid her son trapped in the human kingdom.

He often gets in trouble and somehow miraculously vanishes or avoids hazardous situations; this is his first time at Arkham and the authorities will believe tonight’s events are an inside job or simply an elaborate breakout plotted by The Joker’s team.

Ironically enough The King of Gotham is not even crazy: his mind works on a totally different level due to the unearthly heritage. There is no cure for a person that’s not sick, no medicine or therapy allegedly mending something that’s not fractured.

“Why isn’t the generator kicking in?” Reeves stares at the ceiling and the nurse carefully listens, pointing out a disturbing detail:

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” the doctor crinkles his nose. “It’s silent.”

“Exactly,” she mutters. “Why is it so quiet?”

“I have no idea,” he prepares to poke The Joker’s arm when the halogen bulbs instantly go out. “Ana, can you…” the psychiatrist mumbles as the lights turn back on. “Finally!” he turns towards the woman and gasps at the frightening apparition standing next to him. Your sword whooshes in the stillness and the corpse falls to the ground, abruptly followed by the caregiver’s: both didn’t have the opportunity to process what they saw by pure coincidence. It was gone in a second along with their existence.

The Queen towers over the medical ward, slowly taking off her helmet; her hair intensely burns, eternally fueled by the fires of The Underworld.

“You came!” The Joker face brightens up with pure happiness noticing the creatures’ claws release him from his constraints: they grumble, coo and chirp seeing The Prince is safe and sound; he pets a few kneeling at his feet while rushing in your arms. “Mother!” J sniffles and you hold him tight until his body relaxes a little bit.

“Are you hurt?” you whisper and your son pouts, burying his cheeks in the cold silver of your plated armor.

“No,” the muffled word prompts a kiss on his forehead; The Joker lets go, unwilling to watch his mother depart: he’s aware she can’t linger for too long, yet the desire to stay close to her never fades. “When are you going to take me with you?” the piercing blue eyes inherited from his father glare into yours.

“Soon,” the elusive reply makes him frown.

“You promised and I’m always left behind!”

How can you explain why he’s still here?... J wouldn’t comprehend what coming with you to The Realm Below means: he would have to get rid of his mortal shell and you just don’t have the strength to witness him die.

Despite the horrifying moniker, The Queen of The Damned is neither good nor evil; her actions are invariably guided by circumstances.

She takes care of lost, damaged spirits and although powerful and feared, Y/N is also the recipient of her legions’ constant devotion, for no other Monarch of The Underworld ever enjoyed being cherished by its subject as much as you are.

The abomination born from her love with a human didn’t diminish the horde’s allegiance: it actually made them adore The Queen more because affection is desperately craved in The Realm Below and they can’t wait to have a Prince willing to share his Mother’s duties!

But The Joker’s arrival keeps on getting postponed…

“You know what I’ll do?” J mischievously snickers. “I’m gonna call my crew and tell them to pick me up. The mystery of how I’m able to walk out of this place without their intervention will drive them nuts! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” his sinister chuckle resonates in the room; he feels such gratification thinking about it one could presume he’s in a cheerful disposition. “Did you clear the path for me?” The Prince inquires and the entities snarl, excited he’s paying attention to their mighty deeds. “Perfect!” your son praises. “I’ll signal when to open the gates, ok?”

They growl at his approval and you have to interrupt the joyful mood:

“I have to go…”

“Is dad waiting for you?” J asks, already guessing the answer.

“Yes,” you nod and reassure: “Don’t worry, I’ll return when you need me!”

Before the sentence ends The Queen disappears, abandoning her descendant inside the Arkham Asylum. The Joker sulks, upset he can’t follow you and gets distracted by the commotion created on the other side of Block H: apparently some guards weren’t annihilated as expected.

“You said you cleared the path!” he scolds and picks up the phone, dialing Frost’s number. “No matter, I’ll get reinforcements and we’ll make this a party on our own, hm?” the silver grin widens at the concept of fighting his way out himself.

In the meantime, J’s mother materializes by the Endless Wall that separates The Realm Below from The Realm Above: its transparent, glass like composition is meant to keep you apart from the man you love. Why?

The response is easy: The King reigning over The Realm Above always craved your fondness and felt betrayed when you gave your attention to a mere human; deciding to give Kai a child was the epitome of mockery for the jealous emperor. He never accepted your choices had nothing to do with him. Thus he took the matters in his own hands and ensured Kai’s demise, making certain you won’t be able to save him: the mortal you loved was killed in a car crash and went to The Realm Above, which was the plan all along. Since The Joker’s father was at peace when he passed and not a lost, broken soul, he didn’t wind up in your kingdom; The Emperor sealed the borders as soon as Kai appeared on his domain, making sure you won’t touch or hear each other again.

You tried to break the spell without success: only the one that casted such magic could reverse it and The King has no intention to do so. He likes torturing The Queen of The Damned and her beloved, that’s why he lingers in the shadows to glutton at their agony every time they meet.

Today is no exception and it sure brings The Emperor great comfort to view the aftermath of his revolting actions: it probably hurts because you’re unable to do more than gaze at the man you love. Such a fit punishment for a stuck-up Queen rejecting his proposal. You sure got what you deserved! All the powers you possess are useless against his impenetrable curse unleashed out of pure resentment.

Hmm… what’s going on?... You suddenly seem flustered and The King is trying to estimate on the motive; Kai keeps on calling your name, yet you can’t discern the sounds anyway. You swiftly fade in a hurry, neglecting to wave goodbye for a valid pretext: the sharp ache in your chest alerted that something awful happened to your son.

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

The Joker is lying on the floor, almost unconscious from the blood loss. The red stain under him is growing bigger and bigger, reaching the collapsed security officers that stood between J and his freedom. He was overly hyped and decided to create mayhem: being reckless provoked the dark side of his personality and he didn’t wait for his gang nor allowed the wraiths to intervene.

The Clown Prince of Crime definitely counts on his Mother’s aid, therefore he doesn’t have to worry about consequences to his endeavors. He trusts you won’t fail to show up and get him out of messy situations like this one.

“M-mother…”, The Joker wheezes as you hover over him. “Mother… h-help me…”, he begs and your hesitation puzzles your heir; his father distracted you and in exchange J got severely injured.

“… …. …. I won’t… I can’t have your father, but I’ll take you…” The Queen confesses, adamant to overcome her delay in fulfilling his wish for years. Maybe she won’t be determined like she is now if another chance will arise in the future.

“Really?...” the hope in his tone makes you sadder. “Mother…” he winces in pain, trying to touch you. “Please h-help me…It…it hurts…”

You grab his fingers and squeeze them in yours, pecking his tattooed knuckles.

“I know…I’m sorry…”

“W-why won’t you…” and he pauses, taking a last labored breath, “…help m-me?!...”

His eyelids are closing, the individual labeled as one of the worse criminals lastly fleeing the prison of his mortal half. The Joker is dead and The Prince of The Realm Below emerges from his remains, stunned to wake up next to you.

“Mother?...” he blinks and you cup his face, relieved you had the courage to do what you deferred in the past.

“It’s ok,” you smile. “You’ll get used to the sensation, give it a few moments,” you pass your hand to his burning hair, amazed at the terrifying beauty he was blessed with thanks to his ancestry.

“Boss!!!”

“Mister Joker!!”

“Mister J, where are you?” the questions echo in the deserted Block H: his henchmen finally infiltrated the area, spooked at the unnerving feeling that something is shady. When they arrived, the Asylum’s gates were open; nobody around on the street, no guards, no medical personnel, nobody they could spot anywhere on their way to pick up The Joker as instructed.

“Over here!” Frost shouts and rushes to The Joker’s corpse, swiftly taking his pulse. “Shit!” he mumbles when he detects no heartbeat.

“What the fuck?!” Panda is the second to stumble on the scene, baffled to notice his employer covered in blood wearing just a pair of sweatpants.

“We need to get out this instant!” Frost commands as the others join the small group. “Help me carry him!”

“J?..” a woman’s voice emerges. “J?” the visibly pregnant Ava runs on the empty corridor. “Oh my God!” she panics when she sees them trying to lift him up. “J?” she gently caresses his face, panicked when there’s no movement. “Is he dead?” she presses on his wounds and starts crying since the guys are quiet. “Aren’t you going to do anything??!!” she screams, desperate to acknowledge not too much can be done.

“… Mother…” The Prince articulates and you already predict his request: “… Can I stay?”

Who else understands him better to begin with? He loves the mortal and you can relate to his anguish. Of course he wants to go with you also, yet there are things that are holding him back in the human world.

“I suppose I’m condemned to ages of loneliness…” you utter and give him a violent nudge before you change your mind.

The Prince falls back into his body; The Joker gasping for air makes Frost and Panda almost drop him on the marble floor.

“J!” Ava exclaims in disbelief. “Baby??!!” she brings her ear to his lips because he’s saying something.

“Mother… Mother…” J faintly repeats and the woman misinterprets. “Yes, I’m going to be a mom and you’re going to be a dad. You already know this, hm?” she caresses his face. “Be careful!” Ava reprimands as they wrap Richard’s jacket around The Joker and Panda drags a stretcher next to them.

“Jesus boss, we thought we lost you!” Jonny adds and barely deciphers his reply:

“You’re not that lucky…”

The Joker keeps staring at The Queen and the army hidden to the rest of them: she’s leaving and although weakened, he wants to apologize for generating more sorrow when she doesn’t deserve it.

“Forgive me…” J whispers and your last words only he can discern give him unexpected bliss:

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

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

You come near the transparent wall, seeking to find consolation even if it’s impossible: Kay is on the other side, the palm of his right hand against the invisible barrier. You cover it with yours, wishing you could tell him so much but what’s the point?... He can’t hear you.

“I couldn’t bring him with me,” The Queen whispers nevertheless. “He wanted to stay… and I couldn’t force him…”

Something is trickling down your face and you touch it, confused.

What is this?! Tears don’t exist in The Underworld; a few drip on the barrier and it starts sizzling to your legion’s dismay. They sniff the bubbly fumes, curiously scratching at the expanding chain reaction: the wall is melting.

You and Kay watch the gap becoming larger and larger until there’s enough space to fit. Is this real or an illusion?!

I guess you’ll have to find out so you take a few shaky steps towards him, not being able to suppress your astonishment when he yanks you in his arms.

The Emperor is lurking in the shadows, furious his unbreakable magic is dissipating with each passing moment. Your warriors are granted free passage again and they spill inside The Kingdom Above, howling while awaiting orders.

As she hugs the man she loves, The Mother of lost spirits sneers through her clenched teeth:

“Attack!”