#[ Reaching a Verdict - Open Thread ]

[timelostobserver]

"Hmm.. It's been a long time since I got my old scythe out and actually brushed the dust off of it." Hades mused as he relaxed at his desk.

"Been a long time since I've actually had to drag a soul down here manually too, now that I think about it.. Hmm." He sort of missed doing that, to be fair.

#[ The Judge of the Underworld - Hades | Hazbin Hotel ] #[ Reaching a Verdict - Open Thread ]

[diejager]

How would each of the monster 141 react if hunter were like- straight up killed in front of them. Like no wiggle room “oh they might be alive and just unconscious” but just straight up dead. Sorry I am a sucker for angst and I feel like this would be a fantastic read considering how bonded and feral they all are to protect hunter. Thanks in advance! Love the blog! Keep it up 👍

Are you trying to get me killed? Do you want me to have a heartattack?

End of the line Cw: death, suicidal thoughts, angst, mention of suicide, blood, injury, tell me if I missed any.

It had been a mistake, a costly one, but still a mistake. In that moment, everything had lost its point, the mission, the goal, the enemy and the celebration were pointless, forgettable. Time slowed, lagging behind in minutes when the shot rang out, booming in your restless minds until all they could hear was a loud thump, a body slumping down.

It was a rookie mistake made by their eagerness to return home, bodies bruised from the last deployment and still sore, skin painted in black and purple, but you pushed on, being sent from one end of the planet to the other. They were hanging on a thin thread of perseverance and training, practiced to live on perpetual soreness and exhaustion.

But that didn’t ease the pain, the open wound in their hearts. They watched you slump over, blood pooling from the wound in your chest —shot center mass. They dropped everything, Rudy rushing to turn you over, hands shaky and eyes blurry, he choked down a sob and a tear slid down his cheek. You were unresponsive, eyes glazed and dull, the light that they all loved gone in a breath. You upper torso bled, a bullet pierced through your kevlar vest, the bullet’s calibre higher than anything they expected.

Ghost joined Rudy, desperate to see if there were a chance to resuscitate you, to bring you back to them. His hands were frantic, tremors wracking his whole body as he loomed forward, trying to find a pulse, hand pressing against your still warm throat. He felt his fears surging forward, the dark voice at the back of his mind grinding out words, terrors that followed him at every step. It was like the last Christmas, when Tommy and Beth died, when Joseph and his mom were shot, when the people he cared for were killed.

Ghost felt his voice leave him, croaky and dying, it made him unable to utter a single word, and so was Rudy, mind blank. So Alejandro was the one to tell the verdict, but they hadn’t needed him to tell them to know. Soap, König and Horangi heard your heart stop, the powerful muscle in your chest explode from the bullet and grow silent. The pain clawed at their hearts, the overbearing weight on their chest made their retreat harder.

However much Price wanted to cry, to fall to his knees as cradle your body against his chest, he was the TF’s leader, he had to bring the rest of them back home. He ordered Gaz back from his perch for the sniper after he dealt with it, Gaz’s advanced sight catching the glint of the scope. Holding the title of a Task Force’s captain meant a lot, it placed a certain amount of responsibility on his shoulder and he couldn’t let his men down. Price could let a few tears slip, but he had to hold it in until he had a moment to himself in the silence of his office.

Gaz was silent during and afterwards, watching your limp body being carried in König’s arms until you reached the aircraft piloted by Nikolai who shared an equally heartbroken and saddened expression as them. His voice died with you, unable to voice his mind or his sorrows, confining himself to his room in silence. Although he lost himself, he had the others to bring him back like you did when Ghost wandered too deeply into his mind, bringing back up memories.

Soap did what he knew best, throwing himself into the fray, overworking himself with solo mission and spearheading other joint work. He almost worked himself to the bone until Horangi pulled him back, scuffing him and beating your wishes into his mind, telling him that you wouldn’t want them to break away like this, to wither away as if they were never here.

Despite helping Soap, Horangi suffered the same as the werewolf did, silently crying himself to sleep, fingers clawing at his head in desperation to quiet down the loud screeches in his mind, degrading words thrown at himself for failing you. He knew you didn’t want him to hate himself, but how could he quell the bleeding wound in his heart when you weren’t here to ease the pain away? The memory of you did.

Alejandro tried his best, acting and trying to feel better until it ultimately failed, he wasn’t in the right place to see you nor talk about you to others, murmuring your name when he slept and woke up with a start. He wasn’t as lost as Ghost was, didn’t shut the world around him down and closed in on himself, but he was following closely behind if he didn’t have the Task Force.

Rudy was the most human out of them, he felt more strongly but couldn’t cry. His mind was blank, the beat in his chest loud and erratic, yet his mind was silent, a ground of deathly quiet. He couldn’t do anything, work became hard, waking up exhausting, and taking care of himself harrowingly difficult. You’d scold him if you saw how he was behaving, how little care he had for himself —to near hunger and insanity. He hung onto your words, your confession, the three words you gave them as a parting gift, that’s what forced him out of his shell.

While the rest worked through their pain, to reach a stalemate together, none fell as hard as Ghost and König, both having a difficult childhood and a harder time following their enlistment. The lost themselves easily, becoming much more violent and deranged in their kills, ripping men in half and swallowing them whole, leaving all but a puddle of blood behind. The only thing that stopped them from ending their pain, to reaching out towards the knife that hung on the side of their thighs were your words, the handwritten words on your will and a message for everyone.

You wanted them to live, to be happy without you being there and that you’d be waiting for them on the other side until eternity. You were patient after all. At least a part of you hung from their necks, your ashes shared between the eight men and your items spread equally.

“I love you.”

Tag list: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel

#x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #konig x reader #gaz mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap x reader #price mw2 #captain john price #john price x reader #mw2 alejandro #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo rudy parra #rudy x reader #rudy parra #kim horangi hong jin #horangi x reader #konig mw2 #könig mw2 #könig x reader #tw: angst

[bobfloydsbabe]

checkmate | jake seresin x oc

a turning tables fic

SUMMARY: Jake comes to the infirmary needing stitches after an encounter with Jas' ex-boyfriend.

WARNINGS: incorrect medical stuff (not explicit), blood mention, talk of slut-shaming.

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

TURNING TABLES MASTERLIST

JOIN THE TGM TAGLIST (google form–no personal info required)

A/N: I haven't written for Jake and Jas for a while and I missed them, so I dug this out of my drafts and finally finished it. I forgot how much I love writing their dynamic, so I hope you like this little drabble.

There was a knock on the door and Jas looked up from the computer screen to find Martha in the doorway. She held a chart in her hands and had an annoyed look on her face.

“There’s a lieutenant here who needs stitches,” she said.

Jas furrowed her brows, glancing at the clock on her computer. “Stitches?” she questioned. “Usually you take care of stitches.”

Martha sighed, offering the clipboard with the intake form to Jas, who stood to accept it. Flipping the page, her breath hitched at the name. “He’s asking for you.”

Jas held back a groan. “Of course he is,” she muttered and followed Martha out to the reception area.

“Watch out for him,” she said as she situated herself behind the desk. “I remember him from when he was at TOPGUN.”

“Let me guess,” Jas said, heading for the exam room. “He was as much a pain in the ass then as he is now.”

She didn’t wait to hear Martha’s response, but opened the door to the stark white exam room. Jake Seresin sat on the exam bed, holding gauze to his left eyebrow.

“Who punched you this time?” she asked, closing the door behind her. He was in civilian clothes. Dark jeans, black boots, and a white t-shirt sprinkled with blood from his split eyebrow.

She expected him to grin, to make a quip, but nothing came. He looked defeated and a little angry.

“Met an ex-boyfriend of yours,” he said nonchalantly. Jas frowned at that, not remembering that any of her exes lived or worked in the area. She supposed a trip wouldn’t be out of the question, but it seemed unlikely.

She put the clipboard down on the bed next to him. “Yeah?” She asked and reached for a pair of gloves from the dispenser on the wall. “Which one?”

“Connor, I think his name was,” he said and removed the gauze at her indication. 

Jas chuckled. “Please tell me you threw the first punch,” she said, but caught herself. “Was it a punch that did this?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed with a shrug as Jas inspected the cut running through his brow. “Didn’t know you were into bodybuilders.”

Jas frowned at that. “He was scrawny when we were in med school.”

“Not anymore,” Hangman stated. “What’s the verdict?”

“You need stitches, so I’m going to numb you up and get started, okay?”

He nodded with another shrug. Silence fell over the room as Jas worked, finding a thread and needle, scissors, and tongs to hold the needle with.

“Tell me to stop if you feel any pain, okay?”

Jake hummed his acknowledgement, and Jas got to work putting him back together. He flinched a couple of times, but took it mostly in a stride.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend, you know.”

“What?”

“Connor,” Jas clarified as she tied up the last knot. “We went on two dates and had very boring, unsatisfying sex once.”

Jake frowned. His green eyes darkened, confusion overtaking his stupidly handsome face. “He wasn’t your boyfriend?”

Jas snorted so hard her nose hurt. “No,” she answered, discarding the gloves in a nearby trashcan. “He’s lying if he said that.”

“He did,” Jake said, as his feet hit the floor with a soft thud.

“So,” Jas began, looking over his intake form. “Why’d you punch him?”

Jake hovered near her shoulder, watching as she added her own notes, and she felt the intensity of his gaze. He was all body heat and tension and his cologne invaded her senses, making her head feel heavy.

“He’s an idiot.”

She looked up from the clipboard. She watched him put his balled up fists in his pockets and the way his jaw clenched. “I can’t put that in your chart,” she replied, straightening her back.

“It’s the truth.”

Jas nodded. “I’m sure it is, but I still can’t put that in your chart. So, what’d he say, Seresin?”

He looked around the room, avoiding her eyes. He clearly didn’t want to tell her, but she would pry it from him if she had to. She had her ways, especially with him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally replied.

Stepping forward, she came into his space, ignoring the electricity that burst to life between them as they breathed the same air. She could smell beer on his breath, and found that she didn’t hate it. “Come on, Seresin,” she coaxed, running a fingertip along his left bicep. “It can’t be that bad.”

Jake clenched his jaw again, turning his gaze to the ceiling as he let out a long breath. When his eyes returned to hers, he looked like he wanted to punch the man all over again. “He said you were an easy lay.”

Jas snorted again. “Did he now?”

“Yes.” Jake’s tone was harsh. Voice deep and hoarse.

“So you defended my honor?”

His eyes narrowed. “I–”

“I don’t need you to defend me, lieutenant,” Jas interrupted, squeezing his arm before taking a step back. “Certainly not to a guy who couldn’t even get me off.”

“He called you a slut,” he protested, clearly taken aback by her response.

She chuckled. “He’s not the first one to say that, and he won’t be the last. It says more about him than it does about me.”

Picking up a pen, she noted the reason for his trip to the infirmary, but left out some key details. No one needed to know that he’d started a bar fight.

“You’re not upset?”

She turned back to Jake, who looked as confused as ever. It was cute. “That he called me a slut, or that you punched him?”

“The name.”

“I don’t like it,” Jas relented. “But he’s just some guy I went to med school with. He’s an idiot.”

At that, Jake smiled for the first time. A small smile, but it the made the skin around his eyes crinkle in that way she loved so much.

“You’re not mad,” he said, sounding relieved, making Jas smile.

“No,” she said and stepped into his space again. “But if you still wanna make it up to me, come to my place after my shift.”

Jake’s eyes widened. When he opened his mouth to reply, Jas cut him off with a searing kiss to his lips that he returned with fervor, hands on her waist immediately.

They broke apart, and Jas leaned in, brushing her lips against his earlobe to whisper only a few short words.

“Get me off like the idiot never could.”

likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are golden

TAGLIST: @joaquinwhorres, @fantasias-creativebubble, @lostinwonderland314, @luckyladycreator2, @blue-aconite, @cherrycola27, @flashyourgreeneyesatme, @wordspin-shares, @atarmychick007, @lewmagoo, @yanna-banana, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @ereardon, @wkndwlff, @t-nd-rfoot, @sylviebell, @bobfloyds, @thedroneranger, @soulmates8, @withakindheartx, @eternallyvenus, @kmc1989, @bcarolinablr

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman #jake seresin x oc #jake hangman seresin x oc #hangman x oc #oc: jasmine lane #otp: jasman #fic: turning tables #fic: motion sickness #motion sickness universe #msu #top gun maverick #tgm #helena writes #mywriting #writtenbyme #madebyme

[inmyfxith]

How they would react if... you accidentally pull on their queue

Including -> Neteyam, Neytiri, Tsireya, Aonung, Tonowari & Tsu'tey (might make the others later)

-> Requested

Non-romantic relationship -> If you accidentally pull on Neteyam’s queue, he would be upset about it because he would see it as a violation of his personal boundaries and disrespect his feelings. However, Neteyam wouldn’t be violent or aggressive, he would try to resolve the situation peacefully by expressing how he feels and seeking an apology. He may also withdraw and avoid further interaction.

Romantic relationship -> If you accidentally pull on Neteyam’s queue, he would prioritize preserving the emotional bond with you over the physical discomfort of having his queue pulled. He would express his disappointment or hurt feelings to you in a gentle, understanding, manner, hoping to find a solution that works for both of you. Neteyam would also try to understand why the pulling happened in the first place.

Neteyam stood still as the delicate threads of his being were disturbed. You, unaware of the fragility of the bonds that held him, pulled at his queue. A wave of sensations flooded through him - the sharp pain, the disappointment, the hurt.

He drew upon the depths of his composure and turned to face you, the one who had caused the disturbance. You looked at him with a mixture of guilt and confusion, your eyes not comprehending the weight of your actions. Neteyam could feel the warmth rise in his cheeks, but he kept his voice gentle and understanding.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft and concerned. "I know you didn't mean to pull my queue, but it still hurts. Can we talk about it?”

You were taken aback by his kind words, tears welling up in your eyes. "I am sorry, Neteyam. I did not know it would hurt you so," you said, your voice quivering.

Neteyam reached out and took your hand, pulling you close and wrapping you in a warm embrace. "It's okay," he whispered, placing a kiss on your forehead. "I am not angry, just seeking understanding. Let us explore this together and find a solution that suits us both."

And so, you sat and spoke from the depths of your hearts, delving into your emotions and finding common ground.

Non-romantic relationship → If you accidentally pull on Neytiri’s queue, she would be angry at you for not understanding how important the queue is for her people and her culture. As she views humans as threats she would take offense at any actions that show disrespect. Neytiri would give you a stern look, trying to keep her emotions in check in order to avoid a confrontation.

Romantic relationship → If you accidentally pull on Neytiri’s queue, she would react with annoyance, but she would be tempered by her affection for you. She may express her feelings to you about the situation, and take the opportunity to have an open and honest conversation with her partner about boundaries.

Perched atop her abode in the boughs, Neytiri gazed upon the verdant woods. But her peaceful reverie was abruptly disturbed, as a sudden yank on her queue incurred. With a fierce scowl, she spun to face the perpetrator, ready to defend her sacred honor.

Yet what she saw was not a foe, but the countenance of her beloved. You, her human lover, stood before her with a mixture of remorse and fear. Realizing your mistake, you hung your head in guilt, awaiting her verdict.

But Neytiri's wrath was soon assuaged, as she beheld the apology in your eyes. With a sigh, she approached and took your hand, her gaze softening as she spoke.

"To touch a Na'vi's queue is a sacred bond," she chided, her voice firm yet gentle. "Only those closest to our hearts may hold it in their hands."

"Forgive me, Neytiri," you replied, contrite. "I never meant to cause offense, only to bring joy to your day."

Neytiri smiled, her hand lifting your chin to meet her gaze. "I know your heart is true, and so I will forgive you," she said, her eyes shining with love. "But in the future, let us be more mindful of our actions, for the sake of our bond."

With a smile, you embraced her, your arms encircling her waist. Resting your head upon her belly, you whispered, "I love you, more than words can express." And Neytiri held you tight, her love for you confessing.

Non-romantic relationship -> If you accidentally pull on Tsireya’s queue, she would react with patience, asking you to be more careful or even why you pulled on her queue. She may try to explain to you the cultural significance of her queue and how it represents a deep connection to the natural world and her ancestral spirit.

Romantic relationship -> If you accidentally pull on Tsireya’s queue, I feel that she would respond with understanding and maybe even forgiveness. But that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t feel hurt or bothered. Tsireya would communicate her feelings to you in a gentle and non-confrontational way. She may even express the importance of respecting her queue, and how it is tied to her spiritual identity.

You were strolling the sandy shores when you suddenly spotted a beautiful blue-skinned woman. Her hair flowed like a river, a brilliant shade of indigo.

Unthinking, your hand reached out to touch the braid that wound its way down her back. But as your fingers brushed against it, your grip tightened and you pulled, causing her to wince.

She turned to face you, her eyes reflecting surprise and sorrow. "Why did you tug on my queue?" she asked, her voice a soothing melody.

Embarrassment flooded through you as you realized your mistake. "I apologize, I didn't mean to," you said, flustered. "I was simply curious."

Tsireya took a deep breath, her body calming. "My queue is a symbol of my bond to the natural world and my ancestral spirit. It's a sacred part of me and tugging on it disrupts not only the balance within me but also the harmony of the world around us."

She gazed into your eyes, her voice filled with grace. "Though I know your actions were not intentional, I ask that you be mindful and respectful moving forward. If you have questions, I would be happy to answer them."

Her words were gentle, and you felt a wave of remorse wash over you as you absorbed the weight of your mistake. Her words were gentle, and you felt a wave of remorse wash over you as you absorbed the weight of your mistake.

Non-romantic relationship -> If you accidentally pull on Aonung’s queue, he would react with surprise, annoyance, and maybe even hostility. He would see your action as a disrespectful invasion of his personal space. This would trigger an emotional response, which could range from surprise to anger. At first, he may step away from you to express his discomfort toward the situation. This physical distance would help him regain control of his emotions, he may then verbally express his anger, or even use physical force to make his point, such as pushing or hitting you.

Romantic relationship -> If you accidentally pull on Aonung’s queue, he would feel angry at first but he would probably forgive you. He would likely react with a harsh reprimand and a cold demeanor, showing you that he takes his queue very seriously. However, after a moment of reflection, Aonung would likely soften his demeanor, as he realizes that the act was accidental. Aonung might show you a small act of affection as a way of saying that your relationship is still intact despite the mistake.

Amidst the lush and verdant forest of Pandora, Aonung and you strolled hand in hand, basking in its beauty. But a playful tug on his queue brought your blissful stroll to an abrupt halt.

Aonung spun, his eyes afire with anger, his expression stern. He pulled away, his voice a low growl as he spoke, "What do you think you're doing? My queue is not something to be toyed with."

Your expression changed from playful to worried as you realized that you had upset him. "I'm sorry, my love," you said, your voice trembling. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I was just trying to get your attention."

Taking a deep breath, Aonung's scowl faded as he looked into her eyes, filled with regret and fear. He spoke, his voice firm, "My queue is a part of who I am. You must understand the significance of it. I cannot simply forgive your actions without a proper apology."

You nodded, understanding the weight of her actions. "I am deeply sorry, Aonung. Please forgive me."

In that moment, Aonung's demeanor changed, his anger dissipating. He stepped closer, placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "I forgive you," he said, his voice warm and loving. "But please, be more mindful in the future.”

He leaned in and gave you a soft kiss on the cheek, showing you that your relationship was still intact despite the mistake.

Non-romantic relationship → If you accidentally pull on Tonowari’s queue, he would react with both surprise and gentleness. He would be quick to undestand that your action was accidental and not intended to cause harm or discomfort. He would gently ask you not to touch his queue as it is a significant part of his culture and holds spiritual significance. Just as his daughter, he may also try to educate you on the cultural importance of the queue and why it is disrespectful to touch it without permission. Tonowari might also try to make sure that you not feel embarrassed or ashamed about the situation.

Romantic relationship → If you accidentally pull on Tonowari’s queue, he would be patient and would not take offense to your action. He may want to make sure you are comfortable and happy, so if you’re feeling guilty or apologetic about pulling on his queue, Tonowari would reassure you and try to make you feel better.

Admiring the intricate tattoos that adorned Tonowari's skin, you couldn't resist the temptation to play with his flowing queue, like silken strands blowing in the wind. Your playful touch turned to a gentle tug, a mistake that caused Tonowari to flinch.

But his eyes softened as he gazed upon you, noticing the guilt and fear that etched upon your face. With a warm smile, he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and whispered, "Do not fret, my love. Such a small thing cannot diminish my love for you."

And so, he pulled you into his embrace, wrapping you in a cocoon of comfort and security. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, reminding you of the love that bound you together.

"You are the light that illuminates my soul, the beat that stirs my heart," he whispered. "Never should you feel guilty or ashamed, for I love you just as you are, always and forever."

All your worries dissipated, replaced by a serene calm that only comes from being loved and cherished. You melted into Tonowari's embrace, feeling safe and protected. All your worries dissipated, replaced by a serene calm that only comes from being loved and cherished. You melted into Tonowari's embrace, feeling safe and protected.

Non-romantic relationship → If you accidentally pull on Tsu’tey’s queue, he would react with anger and frustration, seeing it as a personal affront, as a sign of disrespect not just to him but to his entire culture. Tsu’tey would instantly confront you, demanding an explanation for your action. Depending on the situation, he may also try to challenge you to defend his honor.

Romantic relationship → If you accidentally pull on Tsu’tey’s queue, he would be surprised first and maybe react with discomfort. Just like the others, he would see it as a violation of his personal space but would also understand that it was an accident. So he may end up forgiving you, and try to move past the incident after helping you understand and respect his beliefs and customs.

Tsu'tey sat in quiet contemplation, beside the flickering fire pit, when a sudden tug disturbed his peace. He spun around, a scowl of anger painting his face, to see you standing before him, with apologetic eyes.

"What act of disrespect is this?" he boomed, his voice echoing with fury.

"Forgive me, my love," you stammered, taken aback by his wrath. "I meant no harm."

"No harm?" he spat, disbelief tainting his tone. "Do you comprehend what this symbolizes to me? My queue is a testament to my heritage, my culture, my very identity. To tug it is to spit in the face of all I hold dear."

Your heart ached, seeing the pain in his eyes, as the magnitude of your mistake dawned on you. You begged for his forgiveness, but he would not be swayed.

"I demand an explanation," he growled, his voice a low rumble of menace.

You gathered your courage, and shared your intent, explaining that it was a playful pull, devoid of any offense. But he would have none of it. He felt that his people, his very soul, had been insulted, and he would not rest until justice was served.

The night passed with a tempestuous exchange, as he sought to educate you on the severity of your actions, and you sought to appease him with remorseful pleas.

#avatar #avatar the way of water #awow #avatar headcanon #avatar headcanons #awow headcanon #awow headcanons #headcanons #preferences #avatar preferences #neteyam #neteyam headcanon #neytiri #neytiri headcanon #tsireya #tsireya headcanon #aonung #ao'nung #aonung headcanon #tonowari #tonowari headcanon #tsu'tey #tsu'tey headcanon

[dahliarosebud]

omgomgomg billy hargrove enemies to lovers, the whole "i didnt know where else to go" trops

- Billy Hargrove x Reader

• Angst

• Part 2

• MAIN-MASTER-LIST

Warnings: implied abuse, bruises, mentioned guilt and fear

Synopsis: you show up on Billy’s doorstep

A/n: it is up to you what happened to y/n, implied enemies to lovers, part 2 can be requested in comments

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

I swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in my throat from over half hour ago. I breathed in deeply, my chest stuttering uncomfortably. I have been stood here for what feels like five minutes. I raised my balled fist ready the knock, yet every time I hesitate.

God this is so stupid. What am I even doing here? We don't even like each other. He's a dick.

And, yet I signed my sentence. Gently I knocked on the wooden door. My stomach sank as the house remained silent, no light, no movement. A chill ran down my spine as my hair grew heavy with water, my top soaking and sticking to my skin.

The rains persistent mockery drenched me as I stood here like some fool. My patience thinning to the last thread, shifting from one foot to another. Then finally. Finally a light flickered on. The orange illuminated the house and sprayed distorted light across my face.

Heavy thumping steps made their way to the door, the only thing separating me from further humility. I chewed the inside of my cheek until the familiar metallic taste spilled onto my tongue. The door was angrily yanked open, causing me to jump.

The orange light spilled out, but a large figure blocked it from hitting me. "What?" he grumbled out. Always so angry. "What the fuck could you possibly want?" He questioned annoyance growing.

"Are you deaf? I said what do you want?" I took another deep breath, my chest still stuttering in a strange fear of rejection. He stared at me. My head down, ashamed. I watched as his fists clenched into a short fuse of rage.

I felt my eyes sting, as I heard his chuckle. "You're the one that showed up at my house, and you just stand there." he chuckled, "do you know what fuck this." I felt the lump return as I was now staring at his back.

"Wait." I whispered practically to nothing. "Wait please, Billy," I spoke louder this time. Reaching forward I grabbed his wrist tugging him back. He turned around quickly, breathing heavily with anger, fists balled and knuckles white. I closed my eyes ready for the pain.

But then he stopped. I cracked my eyes open, looking up at him. His body was still tense, but his fists were unclenched. "What the fuck. Who did that to you?" He spoke, in this weird soft gruff voice.

He reached towards my face his thumb ready to swipe under the swollen eye. I batted his hand away, my eyebrows creased. "Listen," I sighed, "I know we don't like each other, but Billy we both know I have seen the bruises and.." I looked down.

Guilt choked me, it's deathly grip keeping me from admitting the humiliating words. "I didn’t know where else to go...I have no one." He breathed, plucking the cigarette from his mouth. He threw it next to my shoes, breathing the rest of the smoke from his nose.

I stared up at him, my heart thundering in my chest as I awaited his verdict. I held my breath as I watched him flicker his gaze over my soaking form until it reached my swollen eye once again.

Cold air flooded through to my lungs as his hand pushed the door open further.

Part 2 ???

#x reader #billy #billy hargrove #hargrove #abuse #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #x y/n #x you #stranger things #billy stranger things #billy hargrove stranger things #request #dahliarosebud

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

When you were liveblogging DGS2/GAA2 over on your sideblog (which I was sadly not following along with since I was gladly playing the game myself and didn't want spoilers) you made a post on this blog about imagining more shenanigans for the modern day/bullshit defense au. Since the game has now been out for a month I was wondering if you would be interested in sharing them? (Please tell me Someone regrets his new white suit when he gets a stain)

I figured there would be some people who dropped away for that liveblog because hey, they had the chance to easily play it themselves now, and I'm just happy that it is so easily available to play now. They're good games!

Anyway, blanket spoiler warning for both DGS/The Great Ace Attorney games below. So many spoilers.

So my initial scenario that I mentioned when playing the first game was Ryuu, Susato, and Kazuma shadowing van Zieks, and that's been made hilarious given the entire situation with van Zieks and his apprentice in the second game. I'm keeping that scenario and just expanding on it, because it works even better with the second game's context.

-

London Study Abroad, Day 1: a man burns to death in an uber that was simultaneously the crime scene and evidence and no we still don't know how they got it into the courthouse.

London Study Abroad, Day 2: Ryuu and Susato are studying over in the corner of Barok's office while Kazuma is on the phone and Barok is at his desk ignoring all three of the students, when suddenly Kazuma walks over to the desk and slaps one hand down on it, his other hand holding his phone back a little bit from his mouth.

"Hey, Prosecutor van Zieks," he says. "My dad says to stop being so rude to us."

"No, he doesn't," says Barok without looking up.

Kazuma hands him the phone. Ryuu and Susato are watching now, and are very surprised to see Barok actually take the phone and answer with a deadpan "Yes?"

"Barok," says Genshin Asogi, on the other end of the phone, on the other side of the world, "why does my son tell me that you are currently drinking wine, in the office?"

It is 11:17 am GMT and Barok is indeed drinking wine. "I don't know," he says. "Why did your son tell you that?"

This is the first time that Barok and Genshin have spoken in like three years.

-

Now this is less shenanigans and more me laying out some complex groundwork that I have overthought because what else do I do! I hope that's nonetheless acceptable.

Since this modern AU is adjacent to the Bullshit Defense AU, that means we are allowed to resurrect at least one dead parent. I have chosen Genshin Asogi for this honor and add him to the ranks of Gregory, Byrne, Misty, Metis, and Dhurke.

So for the incidents a decade prior, the same situation carries over from the game, initially. Genshin, Mikotoba, and Jigoku are all studying in London, and while Mikotoba is running around solving crimes, Genshin becomes very good friends with Klint van Zieks, and Barok. Klint still ends up a killer; Genshin still ends up discovering this, but instead of them handling this with a duel like idiots in 1899, Genshin ends up finding evidence and gets Klint arrested on suspicion of murder. Before his trial, though, Klint mysteriously dies in prison of "Mael Stronghart tying off a loose end who could reveal him to be a blackmailing piece of shit" disease.

Genshin and Barok's friendship is...understandably strained by this. Barok finding out his brother who he so loved and idolized was a murderer, but that matter wasn't even resolved in court with a verdict, it's just hanging open forever now, and this all about Klint having been brought to light by Klint's best friend, who Barok also admired... Barok does not take it very well. And while Genshin wants to look out for Klint's little brother, for Klint's sake, there's only so much he can do, and it's even harder once he returns to Japan. He still reaches out to Barok on occasion, and Barok would sometimes briefly respond, but that line of communication has slowly died over the years. Both of them think there was some sort of foul play involved in Klint's death, and both of them think that there are loose threads, but neither knows what to do with it.

Then one day, a memo goes around the Prosecutors Office asking for someone to mentor two Japanese exchange students by the names of Kazuma Asogi and Susato Mikotoba, and Barok reads the first of those names and remembers that his brother's good friend Genshin Asogi had a son named Kazuma and just thinks. huh. Knowing that he is going to immediately regret it, Barok volunteers to mentor the exchange students, wondering maybe if there's some way he can uncover more information about Klint's crimes and death.

Kazuma, for his part, knows that his father has an old friend who is a prosecutor in London, who went through some rough stuff, but maybe you can see how he's doing now, and Kazuma meets Barok and is like "wow my father didn't tell me that you were a complete jackass."

Susato and Ryuu, meanwhile, didn't even know about Genshin and Barok's old friendship, and so the phone situation just leaves them beyond confused as they watch the frightening and cold Prosecutor van Zieks grow progressively more animated in a phone conversation with Kazuma's father. This is still their second full day in London. Everything happens so much.

Anyway, eventually, with help from Sholmes and after a bunch of increasingly wild scenarios, they end up discovering the full truth of what happened with Klint, and revealing Stronghart's role in his crimes, which allows Barok and Genshin to return to good terms with each other.

Also yeah Kazuma manages to wear white for 2 hours before he gets wine spilled on him. What did he expect when this office is more a wine cellar than an office!

#ace attorney bullshit tag #bullshit defense au

[alpacaparkaseok]

Lost & Found - 3

Pairing: Park Jimin x soulmate (oc)

Warnings: Insecurity, anxiety, abandonment

Word Count: 3.4K

**read this first!**a/n: be sure to read the newspaper article at the end of Jimin’s POV, it’s important to the story! if you’re unable to see the words b/c they’re too small, please comment/let me know and I’ll fix it! If you’re on mobile, you should be able to click on it and flip it to horizontal. That should make it easier to read.

Chapter 3. Fake Smile

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Jimin fiddles with a loose thread hanging off the end of his sleeve, minding his business as hushed staff members bustle around the room. He’s wearing a pristine white jacket over his button down shirt. It feels like it’s been years since he’s last dressed up for anything.

“Ok, we’re ready to go,” someone in the distance says. Jimin sits up a little straighter, trying his best to look overjoyed to be here. A familiar makeup artist rushes forward, dabbing at his face and giving him a warm look.

“Oh, let me get this for you,” she mumbles, noticing the loose thread that Jimin keeps twisting and pulling. Taking a pair of small scissors from the bag around her waist, she goes to cut the string.

Jimin tenses up, a strangled noise coming from his throat. “No, leave it,” he mumbles. The makeup artist doesn’t hear him, thinking he’s just being polite.

Suddenly Jimin jumps up, backing away as fast as he can. “Leave it be!” He sobs, bringing his hand close to his chest.

Everyone freezes, looking to the idol with a mixture of worry and confusion. The makeup artist from before is the first one to put two and two together, bowing low and profusely apologizing.

It takes a few minutes for Jimin to come back to his senses, finally going through some breathing exercises and assuring the worried staff that he’s fine. When he finally settles back on the stool, the same makeup artist hurries over, keeping her eyes averted as she hurriedly touches up his makeup.

The guilt hits Jimin like a brick wall. “I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes perfectly reflecting how horrible he feels for his outburst. “You just took me by surprise. Please, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s my fault,” the young woman mumbles. “I should have known better.”

Before Jimin can respond, the woman scurries away and it’s time for Jimin to film his short message to be shown at the concert.

Jimin has worn a few fake smiles in his lifetime, however as he lies straight to the camera, claiming that his muscle spasms have returned and that he’s working toward a speedy recovery, he can’t recall the lies ever hurting this much.

“Please wait for me,” Jimin says, his close-lipped smile hopefully countering the look in his eyes. “Enjoy the concert! Fighting!” He goes to raise his hand in a fist, but stops as he catches sight of his red thread in his peripheral.

Once the video is cut and Jimin is given the OK to head out, he slips out of the room immediately. A part of him would love to just go ahead and disappear into one of the empty rooms within the Bighit building, but he knows that he has to attend the meeting that Bang Sihyuk called for him and all the members.

By the time he makes it into the conference room everyone else is already there. He feels a bit more relieved when he enters the room and they don’t immediately halt in their conversation. Instead, Taehyung pulls Jimin to sit down beside him, giving him a boxy smile.

“Alright,” Bang Sihyuk sits at the head of the table with a soft look in his eye. “Are we ready?”

A round of agreement goes around the table, Jimin folding his hands on the table and doing his best to keep his eyes on the wall behind Hobi’s head. He definitely was aware of the line of red threads that trailed into the conference room, fighting the pang of hurt that was bound to arise.

The meeting starts off normally enough, going over a quick review of their upcoming schedule and making sure everything is prepared for their next concerts in Japan. The boys occasionally make comments or express concerns with the schedule, and everyone works together to resolve any issues that may arise.

For the first time all week, Jimin feels...normal.

That feeling comes crashing down when Bang Sihyuk’s voice rings out, calling Jimin’s name.

“We have a few options for how we can move forward,” he begins. “But I just want you to keep in mind that we’re in this together. No matter what.”

“Thank you,” Jimin mumbles.

Sitting back, Bang Sihyuk claps his hands. “That being said, we have a few options. I’m not sure what you would feel best about, so please weigh in with your opinion.”

With that being said the entire room begins to delve into the separate ideas. Of course the company sending out a statement is one of the first ideas to be discussed, however Jimin can’t shake the uneasy feeling that accompanies it.

“I know that we can’t just pretend that nothing happened,” Jimin states, sitting forward in his seat. “But isn’t there a way that we could just...I don’t know…” He trails off, unsure of what he was even trying to say in the first place.

Namjoon, who Jimin notices hasn’t even looked at him in the eye during this entire meeting, clears his throat. “We can always just take the ‘no comment’ route. I mean, there’s sure to be a lot of rumors that accompany that, but there’s going to be rumors no matter what.”

“No comment?”

Bang Sihyuk nods. “That’s basically just us refusing to ever shed light on the situation. Honestly...we might have to take that route anyway, because we really don’t know what happened. Instead of scrambling for some sort of explanation, we could just allow people to wonder. I’m not sure if Jimin would feel comfortable with-”

“Sounds great.”

All eyes turn to Jimin, who is sitting on the edge of his seat, fiddling with the severed thread.

“What?”

Jimin shrugs. “Like Namjoon said; there’s going to be rumors no matter what. Let them wonder. Frankly the idea of offering up some sort of patched together explanation every time people ask me about this,” he holds up his hand for emphasis, “sounds exhausting and never ending. Which, all of this will be, but I’d like to just keep this for myself.”

It’s quiet for a moment while everyone takes in this information, and Jimin waits with bated breath for the verdict. In the end, it’s Jungkook who ventures to speak first.

“I think you have a point,” he says, shooting his friend an understanding look. “People are going to be asking about it nonstop and spreading rumors, so I’d feel better if what we answer is on our terms. People can so easily twist our responses.”

After a couple more minutes of discussion and debate, they settle it. Deciding to take the ‘no comment’ route for now, Jimin feels a wave of relief come over him. Namjoon, too, appears to be relieved with this decision.

Once the meeting is over, Jimin doesn’t miss the way Namjoon practically hurtles out of the room.

“Where’s he headed to?” He asks the others. Jin shrugs.

“I think he said he had to meet with Chung-hei.”

There’s a pang of pain at the mention of Namjoon’s soulmate, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as it might have the day before. “Oh.” Before the others can dive in to make him feel better, Jimin changes the subject. “Have you guys already eaten?”

Taehyung’s eyes light up at the possibility of his best friend joining in on a meal with them. “Nope. Let’s go!”

The boys surround Jimin as they head down into the small cafeteria area, a few staff wandering around. The makeup artist from this morning keeps her head down, shooting Jimin a sheepish smile before scampering off. Jimin winces, recalling the events of the morning. How he’d lost complete control-

“Who even reads the paper anymore?” Jungkook asks aloud, grabbing an abandoned article from off a table. “I didn’t realize that they still delivered hard copies.”

Jimin wanders over, forcing a half-smile to his face. “Is it a real newspaper?” Before he can grab it, Jungkook drops the paper almost as though it burned his skin.

“Er, no,” he stutters out, earning a confused look from everyone around the table. “I think it’s a fake, I’ll just throw it away-”

Jimin reaches out and grabs the newspaper before Jungkook can do anything, eyes widening as they glance over the front page. Everyone else gathers around, falling eerily quiet. In the end, it’s Taehyung who breaks the silence. 

“I’m sure it’s just some dumb misunderstanding,” he mumbles. “You know how reporters get.”

Jimin can hardly find it in himself to nod, rereading the article again and again. 

For the first time in his life, Jimin wishes that the gossip column were true.

✂

Typically, the second I’m done with work, I do my best to not think of bread for the rest of the day. Today, however, is different.

My tiny apartment has been transformed, the kitchen dusted over with a thin layer of flour. On the counter sits an old wooden slab, a chunk of dough sitting atop it. And then there’s me.

Hands cracked to oblivion, hair pulled back in what can only be identified as a bird’s nest, panting as I flatten the dough again and again. It’s the same process that I’ve been doing for years, my shoulders hardly aching anymore with the constant practice.

Punch.

Press.

Repeat.

The sound of me beating the dough to a pulp is ringing in my ears, and when I finally step back with a huff, it takes me a moment to hear something scratching at the door. Shaking my head to rid myself of the ringing noise, I listen closer.

“Who’s there?”

A quick glance out the window shows my empty porch, however the scratching continues. Now that it’s steadily growing darker, I can’t tell if there’s anything out there.

Am I being haunted? Is this my punishment for cutting the thread?

Slowly, I open the door, wincing at the white mark I leave behind from my flour-heavy hands. “Hello?”

I get a meow in response.

Looking down, I meet eyes with a pristine white cat that sits on its back legs and looks up at me with unwavering annoyance.

“What?” I ask the cat, that simply blinks up at me. “What are you so annoyed about? You’re the one that knocked, not me.”

Nearly rolling its light colored eyes at me, the cat stretches before looking back up expectantly. From the white fur that doesn’t have a single spec of dirt, to the look it’s giving me, I feel like I just stumbled upon the queen’s cat.

“By all means, come in,” I croon, stepping aside and watching with no small amount of amusement as the cat leaps inside. It immediately heads toward the couch, jumping atop it. “Make yourself comfortable,” I mumble.

Ignoring my visitor for now, I go back to the counter and stare down at the dough. I’ve been kneading this for a while now, it’s flat enough that it might never rise. That’s not what I got it for, though. There’s already some bread baking in the oven.

Half-heartedly throwing one fist at it, I find that I’ve completely lost any energy. Instead I just stare down at the wooden slab, and wonder.

It’s the same thing that I’ve been wondering about all day. My thoughts go in endless circles, always coming back around to the same thing.

Park Jimin.

After Chung-hei appeared at the shop a couple of days ago, I’ve been unable to stop thinking about what I’ve done. When I told her my reasoning, recalling the awful experience she had and admitting that I was a coward and didn’t want to go through the same thing, Chung-hei looked at me with something akin to realization.

“Jolie,” she had muttered, stopping me from hitting the dough again. “You know that he would love you, right? You’re enough. More than enough.”

Which led me to this moment, pulling out the wooden slab and spending my entire evening beating some dough and trying to beat out my emotions as well. It still hasn’t worked.

“What’s your name?”

The cat’s ears twitch a little at my sudden question, however it just continues to stare at me like I might be insane. Judging from my recent actions, I’d say it isn’t wrong.

“Are you planning on staying the night, or…?”

A swish of its tail and the cat is sinking lower into the couch.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Finally abandoning the dough and washing my hands off, I meander over to my new roommate. “What should I call you? I have a feeling you won’t take kindly to just being called ‘cat’, right?”

The cat gives me a death glare, confirming my suspicions.

“That’s what I thought,” I say, raising my hands in innocence. Settling down beside the white cat, I admire its fur. “But I wonder why you’re here? You look like you’re well taken care of. And no collar?” Hesitantly reaching out, I double check that there is no collar hidden in its long fur. “Don’t think so. I’ll let you stay the night,” I concede. “But tomorrow you’ve got to find your way back home, ok?”

The cat swivels its head to look at me, looking offended that I would even say such a thing. It lets out a woeful mewl.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?” Another mewl. “Huh.”

Running my hands through its long fur, I lean my head against the wall, watching the evening turn darker and darker. The cat also joins me in my silent watch, never moving an inch as it emits a soft pur.

“I’m lost, too.” The words tumble from my mouth, a little broken. I keep my eyes ahead, watching the outside as though it will disappear at any given moment.

From the corner of my eye I see a bundle of white fur scooting toward me until the cat lumbers up into my lap. Chuckling through the unshed tears, I sniffle and adjust so we’re both comfortable.

“Should I call you ‘L’ for lost?” I ask abestmindely. I nearly jolt out of my skin when the cat hisses up at me. “Ok, ok. You’re a lady, I get it. What about ‘Elle’? You know, e-l-l-e. That’s like a princess name. Very pretty. We’ll be the only ones that know what it really means. ‘Elle’ for lost.”

I receive no further objections.

Snuggling down into the sofa, I keep my eyes open for as long as I can until they drift shut against my will.

✂

When I awake, the world is still dark. Not unusual, considering that I tend to wake up around this time everyday, but something is off-

“Elle!”

The cat in question jumps off my lap, bolting toward the door. Groaning, I rub at the back of my neck.

“Good morning. What time is it?” A quick peek at my phone that’s nearly dead has me groaning a second time. It’s already time to get up. Waddling toward the bathroom, a loud meow makes me pause.

“What?” Elle scratches a little at the door, giving me a withering gaze. “Oh. Right.” I hurry over to open the door. “Well, thanks for visiting, feel free- aaand she’s gone.”

Laughing quietly to myself, I head into the bathroom to get ready. Making sure to not even look at the mirror until I’ve scrubbed my face, I get straight to it.

I’m nearly running late when I finally leave my apartment, but thankfully the shop isn’t far from here. It allows me to walk there most mornings.

The world is still asleep as I walk down the street, admiring the dull grays and blues of the early morning. There’s a hint of a chill in the air, but it’s nothing that a brisk walk won’t take care of.

It’s in these moments of quiet that I feel like the world is pressing down on me so heavily. Unafraid of people gawking and seeing my cut thread, I let my hands hang out of my pockets.

There’s nothing to be afraid of this early in the morning. It’s only when the sun begins to rise is when trouble begins to stir up. So I take advantage of the peace that settles over me as I make my way to work. No doubt my shoulders will resent me a bit today as I spent all of my free time yesterday beating dough.

As the sleepy world continues in its quiet vigil, my thoughts return to the exchange I had with Chung-hei a couple of days ago.

“You told me you wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.”

Chung-hei sighs, suddenly looking utterly exhausted. “I was foolish. It sucked, of course it did. Suddenly I had a target on my back. But that’s not the point.”

“Then what-”

“The only way I was able to get through that and am still able to, is because of the people I have surrounding me. I have you! I have Namjoon! As far as I’m concerned, that’s all I really need. It was difficult, but I learned to quit worrying so much about what other people expected or wanted from me. I know who I love, and that’s all that matters.”

“Good morning sleepy-head.”

Nearly jumping into the street, I can’t help but yell a little as Chung-hei appears before me. She’s standing in front of the shop, a sly smile on her face.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, clutching my chest. “Why are you trying to scare me so much?”

My friend laughs. “It’s too fun, honestly. What? I can’t come to visit you at work anymore?”

“Weren’t you just here a couple of days ago?”

Chung-hei clears her throat. “Ah. Right.” She rubs at her arms. “Should we go inside, then? Fire up the oven? It’s chilly.”

Giving her a long look, I glance down at my thread. Despite being fully aware of my decision, it still shocks me a bit whenever I see the frayed end. Still a dull red, the thread looks so out of place now.

“Sure, I guess.” I grab my key out of my pocket, heading toward the front door. “Actually, I could use some help. I think I nearly beat the life out of some dough yesterday, I can hardly move my arms now.”

“Yeah. Namjoon can help.”

I stop with the door halfways open. “What do you-” Glancing over my shoulder, I nearly lose all ability to speak as I watch my friend rounding the corner of the building with none other than Kim Namjoon in tow.

He’s taller than I imagined.

And somehow able to make me what to run for the hills.

I stare at the man, forgetting all sort of courtesy or manners as he looks down at the ground sheepishly. Slowly, I turn to my friend.

“What.”

Chung-hei has the good sense to look a little apologetic. “I...you never got to meet him.”

I stare at her a moment longer, struggling to read whatever emotions are in her eyes. My heart catches in my throat. “He knows, doesn’t he.”

At this, Namjoon looks up with wide eyes. He opens his mouth, but I beat him to it.

“Don’t even try to lie,” I hiss out. “I’ve known your soulmate for much longer than you have, and I can tell when she’s trying to fix all my problems. Looks like she brought some help from the outside this time.”

Namjoon’s mouth snaps shut, but he doesn’t lower his gaze. I turn back to Chung-hei, who looks like she’s fighting against chewing me out for insulting her soulmate. Despite feeling a little bad for being so rude, I can’t help the anger that boils inside me.

My best friend, I realize, is no longer my confidant. It’s something I thought of before. Once we found our soulmates, it was only a matter of time before those roles shifted. However it doesn’t stop the pain that comes with seeing it firsthand.

The urge to turn and lock them out of the shop is overwhelming, but I stand still for a moment longer. The blue of the early morning is turning gray, almost matching the dark circles under Namjoon’s eyes. I see now just how much he must have gone through to get here.

Regardless of the circumstances, I still cherish my friendship with Chung-hei. Years of experiences and heartbreak can’t get washed away so easily.

“Can you work the dough?” I ask a little roughly, fighting against the lump in my throat. Namjoon blinks, looking shocked.

“Ah, see. I told you she’d come around.” Chung-hei drawls, grinning at me. I can’t quite find it in me to return her smile just yet. “I’ll help him,” she promises.

Sighing, I nod. “Come in, then. I hope you can talk and work at the same time. I have a feeling you prepared a speech.”

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[hopelikethemoon]

Moros (Ezra x Reader) || {Moonbeams} || [smut]

Title: Moros  Rating: Explicit Length: 3,900 Warnings: Mild angst, pregnant!reader, and light sexual content in the form of masturbation.   Notes: Honestly, I think the first half of this is some of the best writing I’ve ever done.  Part thirteen of the Moonbeams series.

Taglist: @princessbatears @djarin-junk @absurdthirst @hdlynn @legally-a-bastard @opheliaelysia @heather-lynn @sabinemorans @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @pedrospunk @maybege @chews-erotically @katlikeme @lose-eels @youmeanmybrain @theindiealto @irishleesh93 @seawhisperer @hdlynn @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol  @grapemama @roxypeanut @kochamcie @kiwi-the-first @hellomothermoon @soft-fanfics @spacegayofficial @storiesofthefandomloversreblogs @kindablackenedsuperhero @goblinqueen95 @nominalnebula @wheresthewater @letmybabysleep @hayley-the-comet @corrupt-fvcker @i-ship-it-ironically @mrsparknuts @the-feckless-wonder @gamingaquarius​  @findhimfives​

Despite how disparagingly Ezra often spoke of Lykaios — as far as moons went, it was actually beautiful. It had a lush forest, rolling meadows, and at least two seasons. 

If that was where you would have to call home for the foreseeable future, you weren’t going to complain. You just had to look past the trio that wanted to hurt you and the semi-feral werewolves that also called it home. 

Arcadia, on the other hand, was surreal. Even from above the planet during your descent, you were struck by the planet’s beauty. There were snowcapped mountain peaks, expansive fields cut through by wide rivers that led to the sea, and waterfalls.

It made your heart hurt to think that just beside Lykaios was a planet that had everything Ezra’s heart longed for. How many times had he told you that he missed the sea? 

You landed in an open meadow and armed yourself with your stun gun and a long armed blaster loaded with the silverline Shiva had given you. Proctor had made numerous visits to the planet — it couldn’t be that dangerous, right? 

Though you did wonder why Sybil didn’t know about it. What was he keeping from her?

You ventured out towards one of the rivers you had spotted from above. There appeared to be an outcropping of rocks that looked similar to lunaxium deposits you had seen on Lykaois. That was the key — you just had to find out whether or not the planet could sustain Ezra’s need. You hesitated to call it an addiction, because he did actually need to take the substance. 

But sometimes it reminded you of Ay-7 and the illicit affairs that could be found in the back rooms of popular cantinas. That blissed out, out-of-body look. At least Ezra came down off of it fairly quickly, though you sometimes wondered if he only took enough to bide himself through the discomfort until you were gone. 

You trusted Ezra with your life, but you didn’t trust him to not lie about his own life. And maybe that had nothing to do with being a werewolf and everything to do with being a drifter. You had to build up walls to keep yourself safe. 

You wore your heart on your sleeve, but you weren’t afraid to do what had to be done. 

Sometimes you caught yourself wondering if you would’ve even liked Ezra if you had met him on a prospecting venture. He could be grating at times — especially if he knew more about a topic. He’d go on and on about it until you forgot what had sparked the discussion at first. He hated being wrong, but he was quick to apologize. Plus, you knew he had a long list of dead partners which made you wonder if that would’ve been you too. 

It stung to even think of that because you knew what it was like to stare down the barrel of a blaster held by someone you loved. And that was why Alia was never discussed. 

But Ezra wasn’t Mars or Alia or anyone else that you had given misplaced emotions to. As irrational as it seemed — Ezra didn’t seem like the type to pretend, even if he was just lonely. He was too brutally honest to mislead you. 

You holstered your stun gun on your thigh as you approached the river. It must have rained recently because it had risen up over the edge of the bank, running rapidly downstream towards the sea. The water was a vibrant shade of blue, a mirror reflection of the brilliant sky above and the shiny stones that lined the riverbed. 

You knelt down and dipped your fingers into the water, wiggling them in the current as it flowered around them. There were fish — which was a welcome surprise. Lykaois had no major water sources, aside from the occasional shower or snow. 

You pulled your fingers out of the water and watched your reflection in the smooth surface of the water. Your face was distorted by the current and the edges bled out into waves of darkness that seemed to sink into the riverbed. 

“What the—“ You murmured to yourself as you reached out and dipped your finger into the water, watching as it cut your reflection in two but the darkness seemed to pulse with life. 

You stood up abruptly and took a stumbling step away from the riverbank. The darkness seemed to rise up and out of the flow, before fanning out across the ground beneath you. 

You scrambled to your feet, spinning around to look for the darkness but it was gone and all that remained was your own shadow. 

You grabbed your longarm off your shoulder, aiming it at the ground. “What are you?” You questioned, keeping your finger trained on the trigger. 

Your shadow expanded across the ground, growing upwards before it spoke. “I have encountered many mortals who have found their way onto this planet, yet not one that came before you tried to shoot their own shadow.” The rich masculine timbre of the figure’s voice made something quake within you. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” You retorted, not letting up on your aim. 

The shadowy figure chuckled lowly as it moved beyond your shadow, stepping to the left and shifting into a new shapeless form. “I am only what you make of me. What do you see when you look at me?” 

“I see…” You squinted as you tried to focus on the darkness, but every time you thought it came into focus it transformed into something unrecognizable. “I don’t know.”

“A path unset. Fascinating.” The figure stretched out across the ground, before rising upwards and taking on a new form. The darkness was thick and yet you could see straight through it. 

“You came here seeking answers,” The voice questioned, turning an accusatory tone towards you. “You think you can defy the verdict of the fates because of love.” 

You took a step backwards, glancing behind you towards the river before looking back at the figure. “I didn’t come here to defy anyone. I came here because someone I love was unjustly cursed because of the actions of someone centuries ago. I just want to find somewhere we can go together safely.” 

The figure must have noticed the way you unintentionally passed your hand over your stomach. 

“A child.” He spoke, moving towards you. “One of the few creatures in the universe that spring up with an unknown future laid out before them. Born innocent, clean… No other offspring have such autonomy. Seedlings sprout up, destined to nourish the earth. Mice are born to feed the snake and hawk. But a baby…” A hand stretched out from the darkness, reaching towards your stomach. 

You took a step backwards, teetering on the edge of the riverbank. Trapped between the darkness and the rushing water. “Don’t touch me.” 

The voice laughed harshly. “You have already been touched by me. These hands have wrapped themselves around you, around Ezra, and around the star in your belly. Everything that lives has been touched by me.” 

The shadow grew, the transparent tendrils knit together into the flowing robes of a physical being. But before you could wrap your head around what you saw the riverbank beneath your feet gave way and you sank into the mud. 

You braced yourself to be swept away by the river’s flow, but instead you landed on smooth stone. You opened your eyes, heart beating rapidly as you took in your surroundings. 

Grand columns sprang upwards with roots winding around them. The columns shimmered blue like the river stones you had marvelled at. The walls were chiseled out of stone, covered with brilliant murals and intricate designs. Depictions of epic battles and tender moments. 

“Hello?” You called out, slowly walking through the cavernous space. Your voice echoed off the stone, rippling through the emptiness like a pebble skimming the surface. 

The path you took wound its way towards a narrow corridor. Within the corridor — suspended between the darkness at either end — was a thin red string that was drawn taut. 

Something told you not to touch and you heeded that quiet warning. You took a step backwards, despite the desire to step into the corridor and follow the thread. 

The darkness seemed to swell, engulfing the thread as the stone wall sealed the narrow passage closed. 

“You are steadfast.” 

You spun around to face the figure from before. The dark robes billowed out over a transparent shadowy form. 

“I have seen the bravest warriors succumb to the temptation of knowing. How quick the threads were cut.” The shadowy figure beckoned you closer and you obeyed. “There is a way to break the curse that has become a plight for the one you love. But it won’t be easy. It won’t be free.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” 

“You don’t.” His voice dripped with amusement. “The one before you — Bernard. He was close. A breath away from knowing the taste of freedom,  but there were debts that had to be repaid.”

“Are you the reason he died?”

“No. That was the folly of man. Only a fool thinks he can outrun fate.” The figure traced his tendril like fingers over your forehead. “They tried to pry him from your mind, didn’t they?”

“Yes.” 

“But you resisted by sheer power of will.” 

“I guess you could say that.” 

“I have a proposition for you.”

You arched a brow, “I’ve made a lot of bad deals in my life, but making one with a shadowy figure seems like a mistake.”

“It could be. That’s the beauty of choice. You can walk away now. Or it could be the answer you seek.” The figure told you briskly. “I could untether your beloved from the moon and he could float far beyond your reach…”

“That doesn’t sound like a deal I’m interested in.” 

“But how sweet would it be to know that he would still choose your company if he were no longer bound to Lykaois. That’s what you want to know, isn’t it?” 

You swallowed thickly, “And what would I have to do?” 

The shadow chuckled darkly, “You would have to keep our secret. You would come to me on each departure and do my bidding as I please. Once you have done all that I desire, I will release him from the chains.”

“What about my child?”

The shadow seemed to consider that, “I cannot interfere with a life not yet known. A pity, truly. But perhaps I will feel munificent when we part at last.”

Were you really going to do this? 

“So in exchange for Ezra and our baby’s freedom from Lykaois, all I have to do is keep a secret and spend time with you once a month doing what you tell me to do?”

“Indeed. The tasks you find here will not be simple, but you will find yourself better for them. Choice has a way of bolstering mortal morale.” 

The dark shape extended its hand to you, “Do we have a deal?”

You hesitated for a mere second, before reaching out to grasp at the hand. Your palm burned, white hot heat searing through the lines in your palm as you sealed your fate. 

A beeping sound cut through the darkness swimming in your mind. You opened your eyes slowly, taking in the dim light of your quarters. You were in your bed…

The mechanical whir of your ship’s engine caught your attention. 

And the beeping. 

“Shit.” You mumbled as you snatched up your datapad and tapped the notification. It took a second for the connection to go through, “I’m so sorry, Ezra… I must’ve fallen asleep.” Had you though?

“I was worried,” He drawled out. “You said you would check in once you got into orbit and that should’ve been… ten hours ago.”

Ten hours?

You clicked off the connection channel and looked at your call log. He’d tried to connect with you a dozen times over the last ten hours. 

“I must’ve laid down to rest my eyes and… ten hours?” You rubbed at your eyes as you moved to get out of your bed. “I didn’t mean to worry you, Ezra.”

“Don’t apologize, moonbeam.” Ezra assured you. “I am just relieved to hear your voice. Your condition has changed, it’s expected that you would need to sleep more…”

Ezra continued rambling and you tuned him out momentarily as you made your way to the cockpit to check the systems. There was no trace of your landing on Arcadia. 

“Moonbeam?”

“Sorry, sorry!” You told him quietly. “I sat my datapad down to check on the flight path. I didn't intend to fall asleep that long.”

“Are you well, little lamb?”

“Just groggy.” You assured him. “How are you?”

“Better now that I can hear your voice.” Ezra drawled out warmly. “I thought the worst.”

You frowned as you looked at the datapad, “I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t know what happened.”

But the tingling in your palm reminded you of what did happen. The secret you had to keep from him. The choice you made that could’ve been a mistake of epic proportions. 

“I can’t say we got much sleep your last night here,” Ezra pointed out with a short laugh. “You were probably fatigued.”

You felt your cheeks warm as you sank back in the jump seat. “I think you’re right. You wore me out, Ezra.” 

Silence lingered between the two of you for a moment, before Ezra spoke again, “I miss you.” 

“It’s only been half a day.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” He retorted smoothly. “The second your ship departs this moon, I feel the ache of your absence.”

“You should try your hand at writing poetry.” You teased, “And then tell me how you pine for me.” 

“I do pine for you, moonbeam.” Ezra assured you, his voice like honey and easily melting away your worries. “I sit here in this metal coffin and count the seconds until I’m not alone without you.”

“I’ll be back before you know it.” You reminded him. “I just need to see the medic, handle a few things with Shiva, and then I’ll be on my way back to you.” 

“I wish I was there with you.”

“So do I.” You sighed quietly, flipping a switch in the panel before heading into the living area. “Do you want me to bring anything back?”

“Just you.” 

You snorted a little as you stretched out on the sofa, “So no food, huh?”

Ezra grumbled, “I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to more honeysticks.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You laughed softly, propping the datapad up against your legs. “I can’t imagine you turning down sweets.”

He hummed, “You can always surprise me, moonbeam. I think you know what my tastes are. It’s often difficult to know what I miss when it’s been so long.” 

“I’ll see what I can bring back for you.” You assured him, already thinking about what you could track down for him on the Block. 

“Where are you in the transport?”

“On the sofa.” You told him, “I go from one soft surface to the next.” 

He chuckled heartily, “Still groggy?”

“A little.” You chewed on your bottom lip, “I don’t know if I’m just hyper-aware of my condition or things are starting to change.” It wasn’t much, but you definitely noticed that you felt different and that had nothing to do with what happened on Arcadia. 

“Just take care of both of you,” Ezra said with an edge of emotion in his voice that made your heart hurt. “It is still a surreal event to know that I have brought life into this world.”

“Tell me about it.” Your hand went to your stomach. “I still think it’s a dream.” 

“A good dream?”

“The circumstances may not be ideal, but it’s still a good dream.” You told him warmly, wishing you could reach out and smooth the worry line between his brows. You could picture him so clearly, that swirling look of concern in his kind eyes. “Have you used your lunaxium today?”

“Yes.” He huffed. “I am fine, little lamb. The beast has been sated for now.”

“I bet the beast misses me too.” You teased.

“You have no idea.”

You blinked slowly as you stared at the datapad. “Oh?”

Ezra chuckled, “You know how the beast feels about you.”

“Do I?” 

He groaned, “Don’t be cruel.”

“You’re right.” You said with a put-on mournful tone. “But I’m just laying here on my sofa thinking—”

“That you’re going to drive me mad?” Ezra questioned, breathing heavily. “Fuck. I think about that night whenever we’re apart. Five years I went without feeling another person’s touch and then there was you… I tried to ignore how it felt to have you in my arms — you were injured, you needed my help.”

“I remember laying in your bed and marveling at your book collection.” You mused quietly, listening closely to the raspy sound of Ezra’s breathing on the other side of the com. 

“You marveled in my bed.” He retorted, a quiet groan escaping him. 

“That’s it, Ezra.” You drawled out, knowing exactly what he was doing right now. “Are you picturing that it’s my hand?”

“Mouth.” His voice cracked.

You smirked to yourself, “Look at you, letting me take care of you.” 

He swore under his breath. “I love your mouth.” 

“I love your cock.” 

Ezra hissed out your name and you knew he’d reached his end. He was quiet, but you could hear his labored breathing as he came down from the high of the moment. “Moonbeam, I—“

“Go to sleep, Ezra.” You told him softly. “You’ve been wound up worrying about me and you should relax.”

“I’m very relaxed right now.” 

You laughed softly, “I bet you are.” 

“When you get back to the Block, call when you can.” He urged. “I want to know how your appointment goes.”

“I’ll try to call you every night.” You promised him. “Take care of yourself during the full moon.” 

“I will.” Ezra sighed softly. “I love you, moonbeam.” 

“I love you too.”  

“Do you have something to say?” You questioned as you stepped around Shiva to get to the display of hyper cables. “Otherwise that look is starting to creep me out.” 

“I have a lot to say.” Shiva retorted, pointing at the white cables, “You’ll want those.” They gave you another lingering look. “Unfortunately the surplus merch doesn’t carry common sense.” 

You rolled your eyes as you snatched two of the cables off the rack. “Is this about what I think it's about?” 

Shiva lowered their gaze to your stomach, “I clearly don’t know Ezra. A few days camped out on the moon with him and I thought he was the pragmatic sort, but nooo.” They folded their arms across their chest. “You’re really going to keep it?”

You shrugged a shoulder, brushing past them in pursuit sealant tape to repair some of the damage to the hull of Ezra’s transport. “It wasn’t a decision we came to lightly. Ezra wasn’t thrilled at first, but…” You looked back at Shiva. “It’s something we decided together.” 

They narrowed their eyes at you and dropped their voice low, “You don’t even know if you’re carrying an actual werewolf.” 

Quinn popped his head over the top of the shelving unit, “Did you say you needed the aero rustant?” 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Did you find any?”

“No.” He snapped his fingers, “But I did decide I’m going to call it puppy.” 

You glared at him, “You should be so thankful that I’m unarmed right now. You have such a pretty face, it would be a shame to see it ruined.”

Quinn looked to Shiva, “Did you hear that? She called me pretty.”

“Find the aero rustant.” Shiva said dryly, jerking their head in a “get lost” motion. Quinn’s interference didn’t get you off the hook, however. They turned to look at you again, “I just worry about you. We don’t know what you’re actually having, he could change his mind, something could happen to you again…” 

“Trust me. We’ve considered all of it.”

“I mean, what if those guardian people get ahold of you?” Their hands went to their hips, “I’m not going to put up with you not remembering who your child’s father is. Especially if it’s going to come out furry and canine.”

“Kevva preserve me.” You hissed, stepping around Shiva. “Can I please just look for what I need in peace?”

“No. Someone has to be the voice of reason around here.” Shiva insisted. “Just don’t get your heart set on this. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I get that.” 

Quinn strolled down the aisle towards the two of you, “I found the rustant.” 

“Thanks.” You held out your hand, but he didn’t pass it to you. 

“The warnings say pregnant individuals shouldn’t use it.” 

“Quinn.” You snapped.

He grinned cheekily and tossed it to you, “Feisty. I always liked that about you.”

You brushed past him and headed for the clerk towards the front of the store to purchase everything. 

“When’s your appointment?” Shiva questioned, leaning against the counter beside you. 

“Three days.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Right now? Pissed off.” You shrugged. 

“I just want to make sure you’re thinking everything through.” They insisted. “I’ve seen you after heartbreak and it isn’t pretty. It’s not too late to walk away.”

“I can’t Shiva.” You took your parcel of goods from the clerk and started out of the store where Quinn was loitering. “This isn’t like before. Ezra and I have a deeper connection.”

“He definitely loves you,” Quinn pointed out. “As much as it pains me to admit it, but I actually liked him.” 

“Yeah, I liked him too.” Shiva admitted dejectedly. “He wasn’t what I expected.” They looked at you, “The way the two of you seemed in sync with each other was surprising.” 

“So does this mean you’re going to eventually become like him?” Quinn questioned. “How does it work?”

“That’s not something either of us want for me.” You made a face. “I’m still trying to find a way for us to have a normal life… Keep researching for me. Anything you can find on Arcadia… the curse.”

Quinn smiled a little, “I can do that. Actually meant to have more for you, but those damn debt collectors wouldn’t leave me alone. Finally got that settled.”

“Who settled that for you?” Shiva slapped the back of his head. 

You arched a brow, “You gave him money?” 

“Quinn’s a useful idiot to have indebted to you.” They shrugged. “I was mostly doing it for you. He’s got good connections and you need them.”

“Shiva—“

“I don’t have to like this, but I do have your back.”

“Thank you.”

They shrugged, “The only thing I ask for in return is that you take care of yourself.”

“I’m trying.” 

You fell into stride beside Shiva and Quinn as you headed back to the shipyard. You were trying to take care of yourself. And Ezra. And your baby.

The line on your palm tingled and you wondered if you had blindly thrown yourself into a debt that no one could help you get out of. 

#ezra (prospect) #ezra x reader #pedro pascal ezra #ezra (prospect) x reader #pedro pascal x reader

[fondnesses]

nie huaisang, jin guangyao, self-concept, and culpability

This is an archive/repost of an analysis thread I posted on twitter. 4,600w behind the cut, open the readmore on your phone at your own risk.

[ED: I was not expecting this post to get traction in any way and was just typing up a bunch of loose thoughts from Twitter on someone’s request; I would amend several of these statements now, especially re: gender politics; it’s also moderately shipping-brained because these are things that came into my mind while working on fic; it’s much more CQL-informed than MDZS (because NHS has significantly more interiority in CQL); take all with a large grain of salt]

This is an attempt to synthesize and condense a bunch of rants I've gone on at different points in time about Nie Huaisang’s character arc and some of his notable relationships. First, a preamble to my actual points: I find litigating around which bad deeds of fictional characters are excusable vs. which aren't to be pretty tiring, because I don't think trying to quantify fictional characters' ethical responsibility is a particularly interesting way to engage with narrative. I say this because I think a lot about Ethics when I think about Nie Huaisang, but don't want to come across like I think The Point of this post is to reach a fixed verdict on which individual actions are justified vs. which aren't. 

One of the major Themes in CQL/MDZS—or at least one I think is particularly compelling—is the relationship between trauma and agency, in the sense of exploring what "fault" actually means when characters are faced with situations in which there are no "good choices", or where the "good" option is either not clearly visible or would involve significant personal loss/risk, especially when characters are entangled in cycles of violence/abuse which make the possibility of taking alternate routes appear even more foreclosed. This is what I find particularly tiring about character analysis that revolves around "well if [x] had simply NOT DONE [y]—" because outside of a handful of specific choices, there are few circumstances in the story where a sympathetic character makes a choice that was obviously wrong or where there was nothing to be lost by taking the other option, and I don’t get the impulse to flatten the stakes by making circumstances more straightforward than they actually are in the interest of soapboxing. 

This also works in the other direction, in that "did nothing wrong" readings are a snooze to me. I’m not interested in apologism in the sense of vindication, but am interested in it in the sense of dissecting why characters do the things they do, and laying out the internal logic that lets them rationalize it within their own minds. So the position I arrive at re: most of these characters is, "They did a lot of things wrong but it would've been borderline impossible for them to have done everything right and if they had there wouldn't have been a story so why bother getting mad at them for it. (Also because they aren’t real.)"

This is part of why Nie Huaisang + Jin Guangyao + Jiang Cheng are the characters I think about the most, because I'm interested in the way they justify their actions to themselves in relation to all of the above; to varying degrees, I think each of them thinks some form of "I had to do things this way and there was no alternate option for me" to be true re: various things they've done, & I'm interested in the conditions and personality traits that had to be in place for them to believe that. Related to this is the secondary theme that all actions have widely-reverberating consequences that even best laid plans can't predict, and that choices made in your personal/family/etc life have ripple effects that go beyond those relationships into the lives of others. Once again, this ties back to the significance of intergenerational trauma and cycles of abuse/violence/loss. 

In my opinion, Nie Huaisang's character arc is largely about these themes. To start with, I want to speculate for a minute about Huaisang + Meng Yao's relationship back in the day at the Unclean Realms.

A lot of people have talked about the visual similarity between Huaisang and Meng Yao in CQL's costuming; both on an at-first-glance level, plus things like the infamous headpiece as seen in Meng Yao’s Nie-furen days and Huaisang's Fatal Journey childhood flashbacks. 

They’re styled and framed together in such a way as to clue the viewer in to the fact there are connections between them that go beyond just "the only two twinks on Qinghe grindr". (Meng Yao isn't the only one who gets this treatment, though, because it happens with Huaisang and all of 3zun at various times. We’ll get to it.)

Thinking about Huaisang's relationship to Meng Yao obsesses me, because it doesn't seem to have any one relationship model it falls into above all others... it's this weird familial relationship/mentorship/friendship, despite in practice being a dynamic between a young lord/clan heir and his family’s retainer. I can't imagine Huaisang had many friends his age prior to the lectures, so there's that element to it, but practically it's also a master/servant dynamic where Meng Yao is obliged to defer to Huaisang and take his commands—except, in practice, Huaisang seems to defer to Meng Yao in serious situations, like the arrival at the Chang mansion. It’s undoubtedly Meng Yao who leads the party into the Unclean Realms, not Nie Huaisang.

The way that Meng Yao responds when Huaisang tells him to keep an eye on XY is really fascinating to me, because it has the energy of taking an order from someone you're babysitting, with the mixture of indulgence and irritation that you would expect. So Meng Yao has this ostensible (and literal) role as Huaisang's inferior within the hierarchy, but he's also Huaisang's caretaker (he says as much explicitly when Nie Mingjue banishes him), who's positioned as having a much higher level of maturity and life experience despite not actually being that much older than Huaisang, as far as I can tell.

(There's a universe in which their relationship at this point in time could come across as brotherly, but it isn't this one. The stepmom/governess energies are pretty overwhelming, probably because NMJ and MY read so… like… that in the drama, but this isn’t a Nieyao post, so I’ll leave it at that.)

I imagine Huaisang was at times jealous of Meng Yao for being valuable to Nie Mingjue for his skills and personality traits, while—love aside, and I think pre-sunshot Huaisang probably at times had that teenage mentality of “[Nie Mingjue] doesn’t even LIKE me!!” due to lack of maturity/perspective on love and Life—Huaisang was valuable to him just for being his heir, which has nothing to do with Huaisang as a person and is also something he actively doesn’t want for himself. 

(Huaisang’s insecurity around his brother reads very differently than the way Jiang Cheng says that his father doesn’t like his personality. Though we see him get scolded and avoid NMJ’s eyes at times when NHS knows he’s been shirking his obligations, the majority of the instances of the two of them together pre-Collection of Turmoil, they seem very comfortable in each other’s presence. I tend not to think Huaisang ever truly believed, deep down, that Nie Mingjue didn’t love him; overbearing/short-sighted pseudo-parenting strats=/=consistent patterns of emotional neglect and abuse.)

The skills and interests Huaisang sees as important are where he and Nie Mingjue run into conflict with each other, so to have someone enter their family dynamic (see that thread I linked earlier re: the hairpiece for some analysis on the significance of Meng Yao wearing the family braids) who appears to be more of a kindred spirit to Huaisang than anyone else around, who’s a couple years older than him at most, and who enters Nie Mingjue’s high regard (Huaisang is the one to tell WWX and JC how much Nie Mingjue respects/admires Meng Yao, after all) not because of how well he can swing a sabre around or direct troop movements, but for soft skills that Huaisang could theoretically acquire as well: this could be a blueprint for Huaisang to grow into his role as his brother’s heir, except it never happens, because by the time Huaisang really needs those skills Meng Yao has been banished. The ways Huaisang ends up adopting Jin Guangyao’s blueprint are exclusively in ways that wouldn’t have resulted in Nie Mingjue respecting him, lol. 

The difference between the two of them—one of the differences—is that Meng Yao learned how to think and act this way to survive much more challenging life experiences than Huaisang has ever had at this point. Meng Yao’s childhood innocence was never protected, while Huaisang has enjoyed a perpetual extended adolescence. 

This leads to contemplation of the other side of this relationship. I assume Meng Yao must have felt a lot of contempt over the way Huaisang, in his eyes, is essentially pissing away all the opportunities life gave him—which is a completely understandable way to feel, considering that Huaisang was born into conditions which Meng Yao has been desperately crawling his way towards his entire life, and has none of the desire to make himself someone who Matters in the way that's deep in Jin Guangyao's bones. Jin Guangyao’s drive for recognition is a response to his circumstances, obviously, but he's also just one of those people who wants to be a mover and a shaker, to be valued and appreciated for his skills, and that's not inherently bad; ambition isn't inherently bad. If Meng Yao was born into Huaisang's position in life I think things would have been very, very different. 

This isn't to say that Jin Guangyao is just a poor woobie who didn't have a choice to do bad thingsss (there's always a choice, just not always a good one; themes, innit), but just on the most basic level, a lot of Jin Guangyao's negative or harmful qualities are pretty obviously learned behaviours he picked up in response to things that have happened to him. This Guy Is Just A Guy Who Sucks is not interesting and misses the point on like, 15 levels. But at the end of the day Meng Yao and Huaisang are very different people with different priorities; “not like Nie Mingjue” doesn’t mean they actually have that much in common re: their goals or personalities, and Huaisang doesn’t want the things Meng Yao wants except in the broadest senses (personal security and comfort), which he already has and has no reason to believe are in jeopardy.

To go on a tangent for a minute, I've been rereading ASOIAF with PGOT bookclub & it has me thinking about the way that dynastic models of wealth/power are inherently traumatizing, which is something I don't see folks talk about very often, probably because of not wanting to seem like they're playing tiny violins for rich people, to which I can sympathize. However, I think it’s something worth dwelling on in this context. Familial relationships are warped when high-stakes inheritance, succession, etc. baggage is thrown into the mix; it's not that gentry have it "harder" than commoners (fucking obviously), but relating to your family primarily through a frame of property inheritance and dynastic maintenance and only secondly as actual family members is inherently harmful to the ability to have healthy relationships. Not to mention, it's harmful to one's sense of self to have one's choices and personal development be so scrutinized and hyper-determined, which is concentrated in a particular way when one is part of a succession hierarchy. Again, I don't mention this to be like "poor little rich boys are the REAL victims in society", it's just a thing that I don't think paying attention to the trauma of poverty and exclusion means we need to ignore completely. Being poor means not having agency; being born into an institution of extreme generational wealth/power means having a lot of agency on paper that's nonetheless very predetermined based on social+familial expectations. (Jotting this down for my nonexistent Sangcheng manifesto.)

On that note, the extent to which Meng Yao seems to have invested in building a solid relationship with Huaisang attests, one can speculate, to his awareness of how Nie Mingjue's likely early mortality could put Meng Yao in an intensely precarious position if he was still with the Nie sect at that time. The old clan leader’s up-jumped right hand from outside the clan, with poor cultivation, an unsavoury background, and an inflated sense of importance? Without the favour of the new clan leader (and, being Huaisang, Meng Yao could sensibly assume he would be in need of advisors), forget about it. By extension, Huaisang had to have factored into Jin Guangyao's much later decision to kill Nie Mingjue; Jin Guangyao knows Nie Mingjue has no heir but Huaisang (and has more context than most as to why that is, based on his understanding of the sabre spirits and the inherent precarity and strife of being a Nie sect leader), and clearly believed that Huaisang would be completely malleable as a clan leader (and had every reason to believe this.)

(Sidenote: this is the real tragedy of Nie Mingjue. Not just is he murdered, but he fails to accomplish many, many things: preventing the sword spirits from hurting people, preparing Huaisang to lead the sect, or being able to overcome the effects of his cultivation on his personality, until he’s become someone he would’ve once been appalled by. What good is being the general of a successful campaign if you can't even leave your clan in good order when you die, or protect your only living family from dealing with the same burden? Not to mention that your oldest friend clearly favours your ex, who unbeknownst to you is killing you, so you're alone at the end of the day, except for the little brother who never wanted the power he's going to be given in your absence. That sucks buddy! Watch out for that resentful energy!)

So we have Huaisang as clan leader; obviously this position isn't something he wanted, but I think a lot about how the interactions we see on screen/page paint a pretty inaccurate picture of his day to day life at this point in time with regards to where he stands in relation to other people. His cultivation is weak, he presents himself as ineffectual, & his primary living peers are 2/3 of the Venerated Triad, Hanguang-Jun, and Jiang Cheng—all pretty heavy hitters—, but he's actually had a massive amount of social power for the last decade, whether or not the audience gets to see him use it. Everything about this relationship is pure speculation, but this line of consideration veers into fridge horror territory when one contemplates the role Huaisang had in what happened with Mo Xuanyu. The power dynamic is clearly HEAVILY slanted in Huaisang's direction based on age and social status, on top of the other factors at work. It's. um. terrible! 

Relatedly, something I wonder about a lot is the degree to which Huaisang is high on his own supply—he’s obviously presenting a front for strategic reasons, but I wonder a lot about the degree to which he believes the narrative about his own incompetence and powerlessness even in the face of evidence to the contrary about both. The only area in which his power is actually constricted is with regards to the Jin Guangyao/Nie Mingjue situation; no one is stepping in and controlling him actively or telling him what he can and can't do as a sect leader otherwise. One of the big differences between Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao, in my opinion, is that I think Huaisang's self-esteem issues are very genuine while Jin Guangyao has a high opinion of himself that he's shored up as a self-defense mechanism against a world that's constantly telling him he ain't shit. 

I don't think Huaisang is An Actor like Jin Guangyao, who has entire fake personalities; the raw material of Huaisang’s persona is there. The Huaisang we see at Cloud Recesses is as much the “real” him as at Guanyin Temple. Why create an elaborate web of lies when he could just amplify and intentionally demonstrate certain existing qualities in order to give people a convenient idea of who he is? The part in Fatal Journey where Huaisang is lost in the Qinghe Nie crypts and he's hallucinating his ancestors' disapproval tells me a lot, in this respect.

Jin Guangyao is willing to grovel and prostrate himself as a last resort, but I think fundamentally Jin Guangyao's motivated by the desire to get to a place where he never has to stoop that low again. He'll do it as many times as he needs to preserve himself! But he hates it, and he longs for dignity and respect. Huaisang is able to performatively debase himself for a decade and a half because his ego is already pretty shit. The flipside of all this, though, is that I think it functions as a rationalization/excuse with regards to whatever unsavoury methods NHS might employ. Positioning himself as relatively weak and helpless within his own mind, to whatever degree he’s doing so, is a disavowal of choice/agency/responsibility, as I was talking about at the beginning of the thread. To paraphrase, if you’re a 38 year old who has snorted ketamine in a Carp Tower bathroom and are the ruler of a major cultivation sect, it seems that you are not, in fact, “baby."

I have no doubt that Jin Guangyao thinks of his weaponization of other people's perceptions of him as exactly that, and for the most part I think he sees what others think of him as fundamentally incorrect. With Huaisang, the degree of separation is a bit less clear to me.

(Aside: Jin Guangyao's approach is informed by literally not having had the opportunity to become a strong cultivator and exert power in a more traditional way. I doubt that a Meng Yao raised in the Nie sect would abstain from pursuing cultivation the way Huaisang does, even if he knew the cost, because his mentality is to use any and all resources available to him. The tradeoff would be worth it in his eyes, imo anyway. Thinking about a Meng Yao who practices full-blown sabre cultivation... hahaha wow. What a nightmare!)

It's crucial for me to be able to enjoy the conclusion of the story that Huaisang is the one who Gets Jin Guangyao in the end, and by methods that largely aren't related to cultivation. The thing that does Jin Guangyao in isn't his social climbing, his “unsavoury” background, or his weak cultivation—though these get mobilized against him after the fact—but his vindictiveness, his obsession over past slights, and the other character traits that led to his killing Nie Mingjue. I doubt Huaisang would ever have lifted a finger against Jin Guangyao were he not his brother’s killer. It’s a personal vendetta undertaken in response to another personal vendetta, & rather than being punished for his ambition* by a righteous man who's done all the "right" things, his undoing comes from underestimating someone who has socially "failed" as a cultivator and a leader.

[YMMV & debatable on a metatexual level, but purely speaking to in-universe causation logic.]

I'm pretty haunted by the way that the moment Jin Guangyao realizes what Huaisang's done is surely the most Jin Guangyao's ever respected him, while the question of what Nie Mingjue would have thought of it hangs over Huaisang for the rest of his life. Out of 3zun, the one who would’ve been the most sympathetic in the abstract to Huaisang doing Alla That to make Jin Guangyao pay is... Jin Guangyao.

The betrayal of realizing Jin Guangyao is the reason Nie Mingjue died is arguably as traumatic for Huaisang as Nie Mingjue's death itself, because the situation becomes, "Not only is my only living family member prematurely dead in horrific circumstances but the one responsible is someone I thought of as my protector." Rightly or wrongly, he believes there's no human being left in the world he can trust or who actually cares about him, and this is how you get to the point of... That. it's grief over Nie Mingjue but it's also grief over... feeling connected to the broader human race?

And, in fairness, Huaisang has reason to be paranoid. Nie Mingjue is dead for crossing Jin Guangyao; WWX is dead for going against the status quo; LWJ was punished severely for supporting WWX and has receded from society completely (and they were never really friends anyway); JC has become completely irascible; Lan Xichen is devoted to Jin Guangyao. He doesn’t have much of a reason to believe that trying to seek justice in a straightforward way by reaching out to others will work out in any way but getting himself killed. It’s also how you arrive at a place of not only seeing everyone around you as a potential tool, but of systematically degrading yourself and rejecting the possibility of anyone around you being able to support you or know you in a genuine way.

I mentioned earlier that Huaisang gets styled, at various times, after each member of 3zun; his robes here are a clear match with the pattern and style of Xichen’s robes in a much earlier episode. This is my segue into talking Xisang for a bit.

I want to know at what point he decided Lan Xichen was a lost cause. Immediately? Or did he try and feel it out cautiously before deciding Jin Guangyao had his claws in him too deep to be convinced otherwise by Huaisang himself? Did he ever give Lan Xichen an opportunity to prove him wrong?

I doubt Jin Guangyao would've died at Guanyin Temple if Huaisang hadn't intervened via Lan Xichen, and there’s a way in which Jin Guangyao’s final decision to spare Lan Xichen at the last moment, which in my opinion came both out of love and out of a desire to leave something behind—someone who would remember him as he wanted to be seen, despite everything—plays off of Huaisang using Lan Xichen in this way. They both choose to let Lan Xichen live in his grief and guilt for the rest of his life, for one reason or another.

I think the cruelty and apathy Huaisang has towards Lan Xichen’s emotional well-being as shown by using him as a weapon comes from deep sadness and jealousy for what he represents to Jin Guangyao: specifically that despite all he’s done, Jin Guangyao still has someone who loves him that much. Huaisang doesn’t and probably believes he never will, that he’ll be alone with this forever. 

The through-line of all of this is Huaisang’s social isolation, low self esteem, and (familial, inherited) fatalism. There’s also something to be said for his understanding of justice, & being motivated by justice, in a way I assume he connects to Nie Mingjue—I think the clothes Huaisang wears from Bicao and Sisi’s testimonies through Guanyin Temple point in this direction.

Huaisang has never applied himself more than he does to avenging Nie Mingjue, and I can’t help but think it comes from guilt, from wondering whether he could’ve done something sooner to protect Nie Mingjue had he been less carefree and naive. (It’s guilt both towards Nie Mingjue on a personal level as well as his generalized guilt towards his ancestors and the clan.) Of course, everything about Huaisang’s approach is antithetical to Nie Mingjue’s mentality, but rather than the subterfuge in and of itself, it’s Huaisang’s willingness to use others that Nie Mingjue would’ve recoiled from. This is what Nie Mingjue can’t forgive Jin Guangyao for—why are the lives of others more important than his own?. Huaisang and Jin Guangyao both sacrifice others in their pursuit of what they believe is a justified higher goal, with the implication that, rightly or wrongly, they believe they themselves need to live because they are individually too valuable to the cause; in their own minds, they aren’t expendable, while others are.

On the flipside, I think Huaisang’s attitude towards Lan Xichen re: culpability in the Jin Guangyao affair bears some resemblances to Nie Mingjue’s attitude towards Jin Guangyao’s responsibility for his killings at the Fire Palace; Huaisang measures Lan Xichen against a standard of what Huaisang believes he would’ve done in that situation and refuses to entertain the possibility that Lan Xichen could exist in a position between guilt and innocence. Huaisang is justified in holding Lan Xichen accountable, but that’s the problem; he doesn’t ACTUALLY hold Lan Xichen accountable, because that would require Huaisang confronting him & being upfront with Lan Xichen in the form of a conflict in which Lan Xichen could defend himself and possibly achieve closure. I think Huaisang looks at Lan Xichen and thinks, "This was all happening in front of you and you let it happen, which makes you complicit.” Is he right? Maybe, but Lan Xichen is emotionally and financially indebted to Jin Guangyao and was saved by him in the worst circumstances of his life! And more to the point, “if i were a member of the venerated triad i wouldve stopped it”/“rip to lan xichen but i’m different” is very funny considering Huaisang also did not realize anything was happening until it was too late, and was also on warm terms with Jin Guangyao just before Nie Mingjue’s death.

(Lan Xichen absolutely engaged in willful blindness for years, particularly in the face of Nie Mingjue’s clear concerns about Jin Guangyao that Lan Xichen did not want to believe, and consistently pushed at Nie Mingjue’s boundaries re: JGY, and i think ought to shoulder some blame. This thread makes good points about it. But, again, Huaisang himself was on good terms with Jin Guangyao prior to Nie Mingjue's death, so selectively assigning Lan Xichen guilt by proxy is, um, questionable.)

But I come back to the difference between Jin Guangyao’s last conversation with Lan Xichen, while he’s actively dying, where I think he’s being as honest as he’s capable of being—and, to be honest, I wonder whether Jin Guangyao really even knew how much he loved Lan Xichen until he was dying at his hands—as well as to the last conversations Huaisang has, with Lan Xichen and WWX, respectively. Even after it’s over, he won’t give a straight answer about his culpability or intentions, and won’t give Lan Xichen the most basic level of closure by telling him the truth. It’s very, “Here we are, the last two living people who loved them both, and if I have to live this way you do too." It’s crueler, to me, than making Lan Xichen stab Jin Guangyao in the first place, because it’s unnecessary. It's emotional cowardice, as well as profoundly sadistic. Which is all well and good, I guess, but I doubt he even really enjoyed any of this, stonewalling Lan Xichen included; for the love of god, at least Jin Guangyao experienced some sadistic pleasure at times. Please, someone, ANYONE, have fun with this wretched state of affairs.

Some part of Nie Mingjue still loved Jin Guangyao at the moment Jin Guangyao caused him to qi deviate, and some part of Huaisang still loved Jin Guangyao at the moment Nie Huaisang had him killed. Huaisang certainly isn’t going to get back the parts of himself he had to destroy to get there, and now he and Lan Xichen get to live with it.

To borrow from Louise Gluck: “Then I looked down and saw / the world I was entering, that would be my home. [...] And I said again, 'but the light will give me no peace.'”

#nie huaisang #jin guangyao #cql #the untamed #meta

[timelostobserver]

"The sheer amount of humans who no longer seem to fear death has become.. staggering." An exhausted sigh, closing the Book of the Dead as he relaxed back in his chair. So many souls argued with him today, it was draining on the fallen angel's mind.

More so for the exhaustion.

"Perhaps I need to fix that..It's been so long since I actually got to drag some soul, kicking and screaming into the life beyond." Pursing his lips, musing aloud as he spoke.

It has been a long time since he's gone to Earth, hasn't it.

#[ Reaching a Verdict - Open Thread ] #[ The Judge of the Underworld - Hades | Hazbin Hotel ]

[crowshallow]

Fruits of Your Craft Day 15

What has been your experience with the magical community thus far? What was good about it, and what was bad?

As stated previously I used to go on forums back before social media was ever a thing and it had been fascinating to see the different topic threads and discussions. There wasn't this constant looking for information when it was just right there and you could go into the archives. Not only that, but because the forums weren't an instant thing, it was easier to think about what the topic was and allow yourself time to think. It was also a lot easier to store information so one wasn't constantly making new threads about it too.

The issue is, is that when social media became instant, it's like every single thread is happening every single time. Want to know how to build a circle? There's fifteen people that made that thread. Want to know color correspondences? More people than you can count have made that thread. It's an abundance of the same information over and over again.

Because of the constant same information, the lacking is in the new spells that can be shared and the community's opinions on certain topics. I have mentioned before that the Christan vs. Witchcraft conversation that this media platform likes to devel is the very same conversation we of the old have had plenty of times. It's the same conversation and sadly it's only coming about with the same result which means that the cycle of the conversation will continue.

That doesn't mean that these conversations aren't supposed to happen. It just means that we have to go about it from a different angle. The issue is that no one knows how to go about doing this angle because they're afraid of offending others. Conversations aren't soft touches. Sometimes in order to get to the depth of a problem, you have to tear at some wounds and bleed. Only when we see where the problem is, then we can stitch and heal. Otherwise, the wound just scabs over, and we pretend not to see it fester with infection.

The other issue that I see in this community is that this lack of conversation and the need to divide the community so that it's "safe", makes it easier for those who have bad intentions to come in and do something to this community. Making cults for example. There is a reason a lot of us say to be careful about picking teachers. In fact, some of us even say not to find one because if they're teaching then they may be in a cult or trying to get you to be part of a cult. My advice is that a teacher comes exactly as a teacher will, and leaves when a teacher's duty is done. It's your choice whether you want a teacher.

We need to be more open with the harder conversations. I also think that we also need to start being aware that not everyone who is on this platform is aware of the next big drama or the next worse thing or whatever because of how the threads circulate on Tumblr. Just because one reblogs doesn't mean it winds up on every pagan's dash. Just because this is "something big we all must talk about" doesn't mean that everyone goes searching for that information, nor does it always fall into our lap.

We can't find this information if we don't know what we're looking for, and yet we're treated as though we're deliberately not looking for it. We have to be mindful that again Tumblr is not a forum, and looking through everyone's archives and posts is just not a productive way of trying to find information. Also if one "popular" thread is reblogged about, many different sides of the story are also lost because chances are that "popular thread" doesn't have all the reblogs and comments that are circulating on it.

We must be eager to look at every single angle. Otherwise, we do nothing more than become an echo chamber and ignore the other side who may have valid points as well. Compromise isn't about catering to one side, and justice never just listens to one side of the story. Everyone must tell it in order for a verdict to be reached.

#fruitsofcraft #day 15 #pagan #witchcraft #book of mirrors

[deedee-sims]

Okay, just one more from me! The scene where Rhett first sees Oliver with his hair let loose from chapter 3, please :)

I didn’t want to do the whole scene first... but it was too much fun lol

Warnings: injury, peas, Ollie’s hair

Ah shit, I really have to pee.

Okay, maybe not that much, but a visit to the bathroom wouldn’t hurt. I have to brush my teeth anyway, my mouth feels like alcohol and death.

I’m about to reach for the doorknob, when the door opens all of a sudden.

I only have time to let out a surprised yelp, before it connects with my nose.

Fucking hell! I think I just lost a nose. Why did the door hit it first? I don’t even have a big nose!

… Do I have a big nose?

“Watcher, I'm so sorry, I didn't think you'd be there!” I hear Olls’ blabbering. I look up to see him watching me with worry.

“It's fine, but I think you broke my nose.” I tell him.

“Let me see it!” he demands.

“It hurts like hell,” I whine, when I show him the damage. “Do you think crooked noses are sexy?”

He doesn’t answer, just leans closer, narrowing his eyes in concentration.

His hair is let loose. He has a lot of hair. And he looks cute.

“It doesn't seem broken,” he says his verdict. “No sight of blood-“

“Thank Watcher!”

Then he lifts his hand up to touch my nose. His fingers are warm, and so careful. I need to force myself not to lean into his touch.

And his hair. It looks so soft. My fingers itch to touch it. We look into each other’s eyes. His eyes are very pretty.

My fingers are still itching.

That’s when he breaks the eye contact and turns away. I quickly lower my hand that was about to do something stupid without my permission.

“Maybe you should put some ice on it or something,” he suggests, and I force myself to calm down.

Huh.

We enter the kitchen, and he hands me a bag of frozen peas of all things. At least I don’t have to eat it.

“Fuck, that's cold,” I curse, when the bag touches my nose. “My face is freezing.”

“I'm sorry for hitting you with that door, I swear -“

“Nah, I should've known you're awake, the lights were on,” I admit, and show my frozen nose to him. “How does it look?”

“A little red?”

I stop myself from singing Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, and drop the fucking peas instead.

“Eh, I'll survive.”

When I look back at him, my gaze is instantly drawn to his glorious hair once again. I think my brain also froze, not just my nose.

“Is there something on my-“ he starts, confused.

“You never have your hair like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this!” I point to him. “You always tie it up and stuff!”

Understanding reflects on his face. “Yeah, I don't want it all over me, and in my food. Especially in my food.”

“You have nice hair,” I tell him, honestly.

And the itching is suddenly back to touch it. To thread my fingers through it. To wrap a red strand around my finger. To grab it and pull it.

Fuck, that would be hot.

His face also looks hot. Are we… thinking about the same thing?

I shake my head, and decide that I’m still too drunk to think straight. My gaze lands on the damn frozen vegetables.

“Why do we even have peas? I hate peas!”

“Well, I don't.”

“You have strange taste,” I tell him.

He raises his eyebrow. “In peas?”

“In everything! Are you still listening to that garbage music of yours?”

“If you mean metal, then yes.” He rolls his eyes, cutely.

“See? Now I'm wondering… what's your taste in men like?!” I tease.

“Well, I like the ones that come home at a reasonable time, so I don't accidentally de-nose them with the bathroom door!” he grunts, which gets me as a surprise.

I’m trying to contain my laughter, but it blurts out of me. He blinks a few times, then starts laughing too.

“You're a little shit, Oliver.”

“Why, thank you. Now, can I finally get back to bed, as I intended to before you snuck up on me?” Oh, I like him when he’s sassy.

“Yeah, of course. Thanks for the disgusting peas, and everything.”

“Anytime,” he says, walking up to me and pats my shoulder. That’s when I notice the purple mark on his arm.

“Wait, what's that on your elbow?”

He looks down, confused. “It's just... I hit it on the bed or something. I was having some kind of nightmare.”

“Fuck, you're a dangerous one!” I chuckle, then reach for the peas. “You should put these on it, no?”

“No, I already washed it and everything.” Of course, he doesn’t need the disgusting peas. Hypocrite.

Suddenly a brilliant idea strikes me. “Then, should I give it a healing kiss or something?” I grin.

He turns a bit red again. “N-no, thanks, it'll be fine,” he blabbers.

“Alright, but next time you need it, I'll charge for it!”

He rolls his eyes again. He always does this. Olls-rolls.

“I'm going to bed,” he announces, finally.

“Good night!” I say, still smiling, while I watch him leaving the kitchen.

Would he notice if I binned these peas?

#episims #story +1 #+1 alt pov

[gingerpeachtae]

Strings of Suffering

masterlist

Pairing: seokjin x reader

Words: 3.2k

Genres: ANGST, a n g s t, soulmate!AU

Warnings: pain, self loathing, sadness 😀

Summary: The Judges believe ugly souls don’t deserve peace. Jin may have been beautiful, but his soul wasn't... at least, it hadn’t been while he was alive.

A/N: short stories really ain’t my thing but it was an assignment and I’m glad I gave it a whirl! I hope you engoy! 💙

The room was crowded, hot, and stuffy from hundreds of people milling about and shoving forward in the minutes before the show started. A woman with black hair loosely tied into a knot at the top of her head sucked in a breath as she tried to squeeze through a group of friends to reach a better spot before the lights dimmed. Pulling her body through a gap between shoulders, she gasped as her sweaty arm stuck to the leather of another woman’s purse and pulled it to the floor.

A few rows back, all Jin could do was watch the event unfold at a distance with regret and sorrow and knowing in his brown eyes. He had stopped walking behind the woman when the thin red string that gently looped around her wrist began to glow and pulse with soft garnet light. It was the sign she was moments away from meeting her soulmate, and that was the very thing Jin had been dreading for the past four months. The string that seemed to endlessly stretch out before the woman tightened and brightened in anticipation, making Jin’s feet falter and his breath hitch. The woman continued to maneuver through the mass of people, completely unaware of what was about to happen. Of course, Jin was the only one able to see the phenomenon of the light, as soulmate strings were just as invisible to mortal eyes as he was. But they were real. He was real. And so was the pain blooming in his heart.

The black-haired woman’s eyes widened when the bag plopped to her feet and she instantly dropped to a crouch to retrieve it with an apology on her tongue just as the purse’s owner, who also had a taunt, glowing red string tied to her wrist, knelt down. Reaching for the leather bag at the same time, the women’s hands grazed each other and the garnet light morphed into a golden aura that caused Jin to stiffen as pathetic melancholy surged within him. A sharp pang in his chest, a lump lodged in his throat.

All he could do was watch. Watch as his heart broke yet again. Watch them smile at one another. Watch as the woman he loved met her soulmate.

All he could do was watch while he slowly faded from the world. The job was complete, so he was forced to return to his prison… never to see her again.

Because this was his punishment.

Jin had been an utterly selfish and narcissistic person while alive; relishing in the praise his handsome looks garnered and never caring or loving anyone more than himself. He was beautiful… but his soul wasn’t. A car crash had ended his life early, only several weeks before his 29th birthday. After his death, the five judges of wherever he was now had reviewed his life and decided his soul did not deserve peace after death. They declared he would spend the rest of eternity as a Connecter - someone who brought soulmates together, which were rare. One pair every five years. When not connecting soul strings, he would be left in an empty room where the floor, ceiling, and walls were comprised of mirrors.

All the Judges agreed to the verdict and while they stamped the decree over his heart and locked a metal bracelet around his wrist, Jin had snickered and pulled his plump lips into a smirk. A room filled with mirrors? He thought he had received a wonderful sentence and couldn’t see how it wouldn’t bring him peace.

But he had been wrong. So so wrong.  

At first, it was because he had hated receiving assignments and being forced to spend time on Earth. Nobody could see him there. Nobody could praise his handsome features or fawn over his deep, soothing voice. His beauty was concealed from the world and he couldn’t even see his own reflections. It was devastating. While on Earth, all he wished for was his mirrored room. But as the decades passed, he slowly changed. He no longer viewed the mirrored room as a comfort but rather as a prison because no matter where he looked, all he saw was himself staring back with tired, sad brown eyes. All he saw was a man that never cared for anyone. A man that never opened himself up to another. A man that was forever alone and unloved.

As even more years passed, Jin began trying to delay connecting together his assignments. Just so he could have more time with someone besides his own pitiful self in an empty, cursed room. He was never able to refuse doing his job for very long, though, as the metal bracelet suffocating his wrist would send increasingly stronger flashes of immense pain into the very core of his being. Then came the day the Judges advanced his punishment. They began to select assignments they knew would bring hurt to his heart. Purposefully choosing pairs where Jin would inevitably fall in love with one of the soulmates.

And he did every single time.

By now, he’d lost count of how many times he had been in love and had his heart ripped out, shattered, and cleaved apart. Sometimes, when he would watch the person he ached for going about their lives, he thought of being selfish again, of not connecting them with their soulmate and just enduring the bracelet’s pain to spend forever with them. But in the end, he always chose their happiness at his detriment, just as he did with the woman with the black hair tied into a knot.

The next five years passed by excruciatingly slow. A mixture of tucking his head down to avoid the reflections surrounding him and staring at the man in the mirror with a deep self-loathing. Sometimes, when the rage inside him became too much, he would scream and punch the mirror in an attempt to rid himself of the demon gazing back at him. The glass never fractured or broke, not even the slightest of cracks. Other times, he would simply crumple to the cold floor, squeeze his eyes shut, and helplessly tug at his metal bracelet while hot tears poured down his cheeks. Memories of how meaningless his life had been and recollections of all those he loved would play like a movie reel in his mind, adding to his miserable pain.

No matter what, every day was full of ache.

Looking forward with disconnected eyes, Jin clenched his jaw and clawed at the metal bracelet again. Today, whatever day it was, he felt numb and disconnected. The skin at his wrist was burning red from where his nails dug in around the metal, and he sighed in defeat when the bracelet didn’t budge a millimeter. Just as it never did. Suddenly, a familiar dinging sound reverberated throughout the room, which caused Jin to freeze and hold his breath as a voice echoed out.

“New assignment. Y/F/N Y/L/N and Choi San.”

And just like that, the mirrors holding Jin captive dissolved into white light as he was sent back to Earth.

The first thing that materialized before Jin’s eyes was soft orange sunlight filtering through window panes. Spread out splashes of green from an abundance of plants in the room came into focus next. It was a bright, open space that connected to a kitchen. It seemed to be an apartment, most likely in a city, if Jin had to guess from the muffled sounds of traffic coming from outside. While the connecter blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes to rid himself of disorientation, a door opened behind him and you walked out. Dressed in loose shorts and an oversized t-shirt, you yawned as you entered the living room and swept your hair over a shoulder, the action bringing attention to the thin red string looped around your wrist. Sleepily, you murmured a ‘good morning,’ causing Jin to suck in a sharp breath, stiffen, and widen his brown eyes, but you only approached the nearest plant and tenderly stroked one of its leaves before waving to its siblings. Letting out a long exhale that was coated in self-deprecation, Jin watched as you, who he deduced must be Y/F/N Y/L/N, turned on the coffee maker with drowsy movements.

As you began to ready her breakfast while lowly humming an unknown tune, Jin took a deep breath, nodded to himself, and lightly treaded over to where you were standing. For someone having been in isolation for the past five years, the connecter was captivated by your movements, as ordinary and normal as they were. Entranced, Jin gently reached out his hand toward your, and sunlight refracted off his bracelet. The glinting of the metal brought him back to reality. He was only here for a job. Don’t get attached. Deflating slightly, Jin decided that while you were getting ready for the day, he would go meet your other half. Shifting his hand to touch a fingertip against the red thread of your soul string, which caused a shiver to travel down your spine, the world once again melted away into a white brightness as Jin traveled along it to your soulmate.

Three weeks later, the connecter had learned a lot about his assignments. You were a kind-hearted girl who found happiness in the smallest of things, like a child eating an ice cream cone with most of the treat smeared across their face. You worked as a marketing specialist in Chicago and had a habit, or perhaps more of a tradition, of making conversation with the plants in your apartment and any other greenery you found curious. You were quirky, honest, and radiated a playful but genuine aura.

San was a florist residing in Los Angeles, and nearly every day he was busy running the successful flower shop he had opened a few years ago. The man, whose hair was dyed ultramarine that was reminiscent of the ocean, had a bubbly personality and a positive energy that could only be described as warm and infectious. Every person who walked through the door of his shop was met with a sea of colorful, fragrant flowers and a smile that could easily rival the florets in beauty and brightness.

You both had vibrant, lovely souls, and Jin could see why the universe decided you belonged together. You would be good for each other. But he was also torn, hesitant, and unsure because he could see himself being pulled in by either of your soft and joyous hearts. Should he protect his own heart and connect your souls as soon as possible? If he completes his job quickly, he may not fall in love. He may avoid being hurt again. Yet… it would also mean he would return to his prison faster, and he wasn’t sure his heart could handle going back to that pain so fast.

Some more time passed, and Jin was having difficulty figuring out how to bring you and your soulmate together. You both worked long hours most days of the week, and that might not have been too much of an issue if not for the fact you lived on nearly opposite sides of the country. San only closed his shop on Mondays and you worked every weekday, and because living in the city was expensive, neither of you could afford to make expensive weekend trips or take time off for vacation.

Jin was stumped, and today it seemed he wasn’t the only one struggling. He silently trailed behind a fuming you as you stomped into a bar after a bad day at work. After being scolded by her boss for a report error that wasn’t even your fault, he didn’t blame you for needing a drink.

After two hours passed, however, Jin grew concerned. You, usually so strong and filled with eagerness, gloomily sat at the bar and continued to drink… and drink… and drink. Jin himself was perched on the stool next to you as the ever-growing amount of tequila numbed the frustration, anger, and embarrassment you felt. It took away those feelings until you could barely feel anything at all. Jin’s heart ached at the sight.

Stumbling home, Jin was worried you would fall or walk into the street, so he gave you guiding nudges that you wouldn’t notice in your drunken state. When finally at your apartment door, you breathed heavily while struggling to get your key into the lock, so Jin tenderly steadied and guided your hand. Your inhales grew more laborious and you clumsily waltzed to the couch. Collapsing on top of the cushions, you suddenly broke down, sobs racking your body as the numbing effect of the alcohol morphed into empty sadness. Freezing at the sight, Jin’s chest tightened and he silently cursed his own helplessness. The invisible man crouched beside you and prayed you could feel his presence, feel that he was there for you… but he knew you couldn’t. There was nothing he could do but watch in sorrow until your tears stopped then dried on your cheeks. After you eventually fell asleep, Jin retrieved the blanket from the back of the couch and gently draped it over your exhausted form.

In the days following that night, Jin felt joy and relief flood through him every time you laughed and danced around your apartment. You seemed better and full of life again, and Jin decided that’s how you deserved to be all the time.

He was behind you as you hurriedly walked through the streets of Chicago, your hair flying about in the brisk wind. Suddenly, whilst in the throng of hundreds of other people, you paused and tilted your head to take a moment to say hello to the flowers recently planted along the sidewalk. Your sweet greeting to the florets and the light shining in your eyes made Jin smile fondly, a warm feeling spreading throughout his body as he gazed at you. He thought of how happy you’ll be when you walk into San’s shop.  How happy you’ll be to talk to the many flowers budding and blooming there. How you’’ delicately run a thumb over their petals and ask how their days were going. How you’ll turn your head and call for your… your soulmate…

Jin’s smile slowly faded as you continued moving forward and the man quickly reached out for your soul string and traveled along it. He spent the next week with San.

His days surrounded by soft petals made Jin realize there was no way to get the florist to close shop longer than a day to make a trip to Chicago. The man loved his flowers too much to take a random vacation. Seeing no other choice, the connecter came to the conclusion that he had to get you to Los Angeles somehow. He had no idea how, so he needed to go back. But… was he ready to face you? Was he ready to face the feelings he knew had slowly and subtly developed for you? No, but he had to. Reluctantly, while San snipped the stems of some pink camellias to arrange with red carnations, Jin stepped forward and placed his fingers against the soul string. The smile he saw as soon as he arrived on the other end made all his hesitations disappear instantly.

A month later, Jin was gasping in pain as the bracelet sent another agonizing pulse into his very soul. Curled in on himself on the floor, Jin grit his teeth and once more tried to claw off the device enslaving his wrist but he could barely move, barely even think.

Your boss had chosen you to represent the company at one of the upcoming marketing seminars across the country, and it had been all too easy for Jin to manipulate the feed on your phone to show countless posts from Los Angeles to influence your decision on what city to go to. The plane had landed at the start of the week and now it was Friday, which meant you and San had been in the same city for five days without being brought together. Hence, the unbearable pain surging through Jin’s body and soul.

He knew the pain was the result of not doing his job. He knew that. He knew that and hated it. The bracelet tore into his soul, searing it apart and into small fragments with white-hot heat before mending it together… only to rip it apart again. He just wanted more time, just a little more time with you, the girl that was so bright and made him feel not so alone. The bracelet refused to give it to him, though, so he had no choice but to do what he was sent there for.

When you woke up, he would manipulate your phone once more to show San’s shop in the recommended posts on Instagram. You always scrolled through that damn app while eating breakfast. Then, he would take in as much of you as he could before the inevitable.

Your hair was blowing in the warm breeze as you excitedly skipped to your destination once the seminar’s final presentation concluded. The destination being the place that had popped up on your Instagram feed this morning. The flower shop that looked so invigorating and calming. After almost forty minutes of walking, the very place came into view and Jin slowed as you dashed forward with more enthusiasm.

The red string at your wrist began to glow and pulse.

With a jolt, Jin forced himself to approach the familiar shop as you entered. Peering through the large front window, he watched you. Memorizing your movements, actions, mannerisms. The way your hair fell against your shoulders, your lips as you whispered ‘hellos,’ your hands as you caressed the blossoms. He watched you and waited with shallow breaths. You admired the colorful flowers that covered almost every inch inside the shop, and took a deep breath of the fresh fragrance of the enveloping you. Twirling around, your eyes lit up as you spotted the burning orange and welcoming yellow of marigolds in the corner. Hurrying over, you traced your fingertips over the collection of tiny petals that reminded you of a scorching sunset.

The back door opened and a just-as-familiar man came out of the back room.

Jin’s lower lip quivered as the man with ultramarine hair and a smile like the sun strode toward the woman he had come to love. Your soul string glowed even brighter, casting a ruby light on the florets as the two of you made eye contact. Jin glanced down at his own wrist. A lone tear leaked down his face as the metal of the bracelet flashed in the hot sunlight, as if it was teasing him, taunting him. Reminding him that he would never have a soulmate. Never have someone that cared for him. That he was forever alone and unloved. More tears followed and trailed down his cheeks as he returned his gaze to the soulmates and tried to conjure a smile. You deserved this. You deserved to be held and cherished and given fresh flowers in the morning. He could love you but… he could never do any of that.

He tried to smile. For you. But a broken sob made its way past his lips instead.

He watched you come together. He watched as San lifted his hand to pick out the marigold stem you were admiring. He watched as your hands lightly grazed. All he could do was watch.

Then golden light filled his eyes.

#strings of suffering #seokjin x y/n #seokjin x reader #seokjin x you #jin x you #jin x reader #jin x y/n #seokjin angst #jin angst #kim seokjin angst #bts angst #seokjin fic #jin fic #bts fic #seokjin #jin #kim seokjin #bts kim seokjin #bts soulmate au #seokjin soulmate #jin soulmate

[searchingwardrobes]

Priceless: 9/9

Here it is, finally, the long-promised happy ending! This chapter varies the most from the movie because I felt that it left a lot of questions unanswered. Mainly, how Joel Smallbone's character managed to avoid going to jail. I've also worked some canon CS into this chapter, which required changing things up.

Is Regina's legal strategy for Killian realistic? Well, I'll confess, I'm not a lawyer, but I figured if John Grisham can write a bestselling book that became a hit movie in which a main pleads not guilty to murdering his daughter's rapists in cold blood, in broad daylight, in a crowded courthouse, then I can damn well write this fic the way I want to.

Thanks once again to my beta @xhookswenchx​ for looking this over!

Summary: Summary: Desperate men often find themselves in places they never thought they would go, but for Killian Jones it would finally force him to be the hero his daughter always thought he could be. The job was simple: drive the truck, don’t open the back, don’t ask questions. But Killian Jones has never followed instructions very well …

An AU of the movie Priceless starring Joel Smallbone of For King and Country.

Rating: M for themes

Trigger warnings: This story is about human trafficking so there are discussions of rape and non-con, some of it involving minors. None of it is portrayed as positive nor is it graphically described. If you have any specific questions or concerns before reading, feel free to message me.

***But this chapter we finally leave all of that behind for the happy ending - whoop, whoop!***

Words: A little over 4k in this chapter

Also on Ao3 and a part of my series Captain Swan is My Favorite Rom-Com: 2nd Edition. This chapter ends that series! There’s also a First Edition.

Tagging: @snowbellewells​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @thislassishooked​ @welllpthisishappening​ @bethacaciakay​ @teamhook​ @let-it-raines​ @wellhellotragic​ @winterbaby89​ @kday426​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @shady-swan-jones​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @shireness-says​ @spartanguard​ @superchocovian​ @scientificapricot​ @stahlop​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @vvbooklady1256​ @tiganasummertree​ @nikkiemms​ @jennjenn615​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @shipsxahoy​ @cat-sophia​ @artistic-writer​ @thejacketandthehook​ @hollyethecurious​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @branlovestowrite​ @dassala​ @allofdafandoms-blog​ @snidgetsafan​ @pocket-anon​ @optomisticgirl​ @flslp87​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @courtorderedcake​ @distant-rose​ @lfh1226-linda​

Three Months Later . . .

My hands were sweating, and I wanted to rub them on my dress pants, but Regina was adamant that I wasn’t to show any signs of nerves today. Yesterday when Emma took the stand, I had been unable to keep the emotions at bay, especially when the DA cross examined her like she was a criminal and not a victim. Yet my bloody brilliant lass hadn’t let him rattle her for a second.

I knew what a gamble this all was - pleading “not guilty.” Yet Regina thought it was my best shot at avoiding prison, and even one day back in that place was the last thing I wanted. I couldn’t be away from Alice again, and the sentence for pulling out a firearm in public was three months to a year plus a thousand dollar fine. Yet with my record, a judge could have levied an even harsher sentence if I pled guilty.

The DA was giving his closing arguments - a passionate speech about the dangers of vigilante justice and of the innocent lives that could have been lost. It sounded pretty convincing, even to me, and I worried that the jury was swallowing every bit of it. I glanced back at Liam, and he gave me the smallest of nods and smiled. Regina nudged me with her knee. Don’t look at your family and friends had been her other order, one I continuously had a difficult time obeying. Liam’s arm was still in a sling from the gunshot wound in his shoulder, and I knew he was sometimes still in pain. Yet here he was, supporting me. Elsa sat next to him, squeezing his hand comfortingly. They had both also taken the stand yesterday.

Once the DA took his seat, Regina Mills stood regally and smoothed her sensible business skirt. I had learned over the last few months that though she was no-nonsense and a bit snarky at times, she had a passion for justice and truth. The girls were in the US legally now because of her, with Anna enrolled in the local high school.

“Ladies and gentleman of the jury,” Regina began, giving them a confident smile, “I ask you to contemplate something for a moment. Why is my client on trial? First of all, he didn’t even fire his gun. That violence occurred because of the criminals he was trying to thwart. So again I ask, why is he on trial? For ensuring that Robert Gold, the head of a massive human trafficking ring, is in jail? For helping the Nevada Bureau of Investigation bring down that ring? For saving the lives of three innocent women, one of them a minor? If that’s why he’s on trial, then I’m confused. Aren’t you? Didn’t he do all he could to do the right thing, even at risk to himself? Is this behavior our society should punish?”

Regina paced for a few moments, probably to give the jury time to mull over her questions. Then she drew closer to the jury box.

“The DA says my client is a vigilante. He says my client should have gone to the police, but my client DID go to the police! It ended up that the police were involved in the trafficking ring. What was my client supposed to do? He could have walked away. He could have forgotten all about these innocent victims. But he didn’t. Instead he did the same thing that many of our forefathers did during a different era of slavery. Just like those who worked the Underground Railroad, he broke the law. He broke the law to free slaves. He knew the risk he was taking, but he took it willingly to help the oppressed. Will you join him? Will you do your part to end slavery today? Will you stand up against even our own justice system that so often looks the other way? Stand up with my client. Find him not guilty. For he isn’t a criminal - he’s a hero. Thank you.”

Regina barely glanced my way as she sat, cool and composed. It was quite the speech, though I wasn’t sure I was as noble as she had led the jury to believe.

The jury filed out of the room to deliberate, and the rest of the courtroom was given a recess by the judge. David and Mary Margaret paid my bail when I was arrested, so I didn’t have to go back into custody. Instead, I embraced Emma and squeezed her hand as she smiled tremulously up at me. Liam came over and clapped me on the shoulder. Even Tiana had come all the way from New Orleans to support me. Mary Margaret was babysitting Alice, however. We didn’t want to expose her to the details of the trial.

“I don’t know why the jury even has to discuss anything,” Emma told me as she took both of my hands gently in hers.

“It was an amazing closing argument, Regina,” my brother said, squeezing my shoulder and beaming at Regina.

“Well, let’s not celebrate yet,” she cautioned, “you never know how a jury will go.”

“I thought you said this was my best chance!” I exclaimed.

Regina waved her hand dismissively in the air. “Oh, it is, but we discussed the risks, remember.”

“Way to build my confidence,” I grumbled.

“Hey, none of that,” Tiana admonished, placing a hand on my forearm, “everything Regina said is true. You deserve thanks, not punishment. Alice is so proud of you, and so am I.”

I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat at her words. Tiana didn’t give forgiveness and second chances easily, and I was humbled to have received both from her in the past few months.

Emma still hadn’t released my hands. If anything, she was clasping them harder. I suddenly realized she was trembling.

“Emma?” I asked gently, tipping her chin up. I was alarmed to see that she was crying.

“If they send you to jail for this -”

“Hey, hey,” I soothed, bringing her closer and wrapping my arms around her, “it’s going to be alright. I’m a survivor, love.”

She turned her face into my chest, and I felt her tears wet the fabric of my shirt. I wished I could promise her that they wouldn’t find me guilty, but how could I? I pulled out a gun that I didn’t even have a permit for in a public park. A man died because of me. I may not have pulled the trigger that sent the bullet through Neal Cassidy’s heart, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have a hand in his death.

Although I’d be lying if I said his death was heavy on my conscience. It wasn’t. I couldn’t muster a modicum of remorse for him. Emma was safe and alive, so was Elsa. We had gotten Anna out of there before her innocence was shattered forever. I would do it all again if I had to, even if I went to jail for the next three years. It would shatter my heart to be away from Alice, but at least I could look her in the eye without shame.

Much too soon, the jury filed back in, and the judge called for everyone to take their seats. I wanted to ask Regina if a short deliberation was good or bad, but my nerves were too on edge. I clasped my hands in my lap and stared at them, unable to gather enough courage to look at the jury.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have your honor.”

I held my breath.

“We the jury find the defendant . . . not guilty.”

Behind me, my friends and family cheered. I felt Liam’s good arm come roughly around my shoulders, and he shook me in an exuberant hug. Overcome, I lifted both my trembling hands to my face and couldn’t stop the tears of relief.

It was over. Finally.

On shaking legs, I rose and turned to those who had supported me so well throughout this entire nightmare. Emma let out a cry and flung herself into my arms, peppering my face with chaste kisses. I cupped the back of her head, threading my fingers through the strands of her ponytail. I was pulled from her arms, however, by first David, then Tiana, then Elsa. Even Regina embraced me. But my mind was never far from Emma and the future we could now have together.

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

I knocked on the door frame of Emma’s room at the Nolan’s, but she didn’t even turn to look my way. I hadn’t pursued anything more than friendship with her for the past three months. For one, I wanted her to heal from her trauma, and for another, I knew my future was uncertain. Even now, I didn’t want to rush her, but I also couldn’t hold back my feelings any longer. My love for her had only grown as she had supported me through the trial.

“Come in,” she said softly, her gaze focused on her hands clasped in her lap.

“What do you think?” I asked as I gently eased down on the bed next to her. She turned her face further away from me.

“I think it’s great.”

“Great? The Nolan’s are perfect for this kind of work, and so is this land.”

“It’s been nice of them to put us all up here.” She finally shifted towards me, yet her head was still down. “I think it’s time for me to move on, though.”

I frowned. “Move on? But didn’t you hear them? Didn’t you look at the plans? They plan on building two dormitories on the old grazing land,” I took Emma’s hand gently in mine and added softly, “and several family homes.”

“I know,” she told me, finally lifting her gaze to mine. Tears were welling up in her eyes, but I couldn’t figure out why.

“One of them will be Elsa and Liam’s, you know.”

Emma finally smiled. “Yes, I know. She loves him so much.”

“And he loves her,” I infused emotion into my voice and stroked Emma’s knuckles with my thumb, hoping she would catch my meaning.

She lowered her eyes again and stared at the motion of my thumb. “And Anna will be living here with the Nolans until she graduates at least.”

“Aye, as she should. The Nolans have been named her legal guardians, and it won’t surprise me if they adopt her.”

Only half of Emma’s lips turned up in a smile. “I’m so happy.”

“You don’t sound happy.” I lifted her chin so she would look at me again. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. “My love,” I whispered, brushing at her tears with the pad of my thumb, “what’s wrong?”

“I’m happy for my sisters. Ever since this whole thing started, that’s been my only goal. Get them out, help them start over.” She took in a shaky breath, then let it out slowly, as if gathering her strength. “But it was never for me - starting over. It was too late for me; I’ve always known that. I don’t want their pity, or yours, so I think . . . I think it’s best that I move on. Find my own place.”

Her words were like a punch to the gut. I thought we had grown closer as the weeks had gone by; I thought she shared my feelings. Had I read her completely wrong?

“Emma, none of us pity you. Your sister’s love you. I love you.”

She rose from the bed and stepped away from me, hugging her middle. “I know you all do, and I appreciate all you’ve done -”

I cut her off, “I don’t think you understand me.” I rose and went to her, gently turning her to face me. “I love you Emma, with all my being - body and soul. My heart belongs to you Emma, and I want nothing more than to always, always be by your side.”

Her eyes widened, and she choked on a sob. I cupped her face in my hands and pressed my forehead to hers.

“You deserve so much more, Killian. You deserve a happy ending with Alice.”

“No, love, don’t you understand? It’s you, always you. There’s no happy ending without you as a part of our lives.”

I tried to pull her closer, wrap my arms around her, but she backed out of my embrace. “Killian,” she choked out, pressing her fist to her mouth, “I’m . . . I’m pregnant.”

Sobs overtook her body then, and she pressed her hands to her face. I deflated then, understanding flooding through me. I pulled her tenderly to me, letting her tears wet the front of my shirt as I stroked her hair.

“Regina thought it best I do a paternity test, just to be safe. It’s crazy, but . . . rapists can ask for custody rights.”

My jaw tightened so hard, I felt a headache radiate up to my temple. “Over my dead body,” I vowed.

“Don’t make threats like that, Killian Jones, they aren’t funny anymore.” She chuckled wryly, but I heard a hint of sincerity in her voice.

She stayed there in my arms, accepting my comfort, and I brushed my lips against her temple. She sighed in contentment and snuggled closer.

“It’s Neal’s,” she finally whispered.

Relief rushed through me. I had wondered where Regina would have found DNA samples. She must have suspected - hoped even - that Neal Cassidy was the father. There was no one to threaten Emma and the child, thank God. Emma let out a long, shuddering breath, then gently pushed me away from her. Unable to speak, she backed towards the door behind her, shaking her head. It suddenly dawned on me that this was about more than her pregnancy or even Neal.

“I understand. I can’t expect your love after what I did.”

At first, her brows knit together in confusion. Then she laughed sardonically. “We both think we’re not good enough. But Killian, you can’t possibly want this - want me.”

“There’s nothing in this world I want more than you! But if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be in this situation at all. You wouldn’t be in therapy for ptsd, you wouldn’t be carrying that bastard’s child. How can you ever want me, Emma?”

Her eyes widened at my words, her lips parted in wonder. The heaviness that had darkened her face for so many weeks, suddenly cleared. A single tear rolled down her face, but it was different than her previous ones. She crossed the gap between us and took my face gently in her hands. I closed my eyes in shame.

“Look at me,” she ordered in a soft voice, and I reluctantly opened my eyes. Her thumbs caressed my cheeks, and for the first time that day, she smiled. “Let’s say you didn’t take the job to drive that truck. We still would have been in it. You were meant to drive it, Killian.”

Now it was my turn to gaze at her in wonder. I let her words wash over me, the truth of them seeping into my soul. Emma rose onto her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. She pulled back, her smile brighter as she traced my jaw.

“Killian Jones, you’re so -”

“Handsome?” I interrupted her with a teasing smirk. “Especially when I’m angry?”

She swatted my chest gently and rolled her eyes. “How long are you gonna tease me about that?”

I pulled her close and wrapped her up in my arms. “If I have my way, for the rest of our lives.”

I bent my head, pressing my lips to hers for the first time. My heart nearly burst when she responded with urgency, parting her lips and dragging her fingers through my hair. I felt her tongue swipe against mine, and the taste of her nearly did me in. As much as I wanted to carry her to the bed and make love to her, I broke the kiss, wanting to cherish every step she allowed me to take in our relationship. I would let her take the lead. I rested my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling.

“I love you too, Killian.”

I thumbed her chin. “You are absolutely priceless, Emma.”

Three years later . . .

I saw the girl standing on the sidewalk, clad in a skin tight, animal print skirt. I motioned for Will to pull over, and I rolled my window down. She came closer, leaning against the open window to give me an ample view of her cleavage.

“Looking for some fun?” she asked me.

“I sure am,” I replied. I handed her a slip of paper. “Meet me here? Room 112?”

“I will for two hundred bucks, handsome,” she replied with an arch of her dark brows as she took the paper.

“Sounds good to me.”

She backed away from the cab, tucking the slip of paper into the dip of her low cut top and winked at me. I motioned for Will to drive on.

Fifteen minutes later, I was waiting in a dingy motel room when there was a knock at the door. The exotic brunette was on the other side, and I motioned her in. She retrieved a condom from her tiny purse, then tossed it on the room’s nightstand.

“Okay, what are you into?”

I gestured to the bed. “I’d like to just talk, if that’s okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “So you’re one of those. Whatever, it’s your money.” She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back seductively, crossing one long leg over the other.

I stepped to the door and opened it. I leaned out and called for Emma. When I ushered her into the hotel room, the girl’s eyes widened. She sat up abruptly and for the first time looked nervous.

“What the hell is this? If you want a threesome, you gotta pay extra!”

Emma shook her head as she sat down slowly on the opposite bed. I stayed near the door, which I left cracked open so the girl wouldn’t feel trapped.

“We don’t want anything like that,” Emma explained gently. “I only want to talk to you.”

The girl’s nerves only seemed to grow as her gaze bounced from Emma to me and back again. “Oh my God, are you two cops?”

“No,” we both assured her softly.

“Religious nuts?”

We both laughed and shook our heads.

“What’s your name?” Emma asked her.

The girl shifted nervously. “Jade.”

Emma shook her head gently. “What’s your real name?”

The girl bit her lower lip, but I noticed it tremble slightly nonetheless. “Jasmine.”

“They called me Swan, but my name is Emma.”

I watched Jasmine’s expression change as realization dawned. “No one’s making me do this,” she told Emma firmly.

“That doesn’t mean you chose it, though,” Emma said softly. “I mean, when you were a little girl, was this your dream?”

Jasmine’s head dropped and she clasped her hands together. “This world is no place for dreams.”

“There is hope, Jasmine, I promise,” Emma said. “Could I tell you a story?”

It was silent in the room for a long, pregnant moment. Finally, Jasmine raised her head to look Emma in the eye and then slowly nodded.

“I came to the US illegally. I trusted these men who said they would help me, but they lied. My sister’s and I were in the back of this truck. It was dark, and we were hungry and dirty . . . “ Emma turned to me and held out her hand. I took it and sank onto the hotel bed next to her. “Then the light flooded in . . . “

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

I was awakened by Emma’s cold feet sliding between my calves. My eyes fluttered open to find her nuzzled against me, her hair tickling my nose. I wrapped my arms more tightly around her and sighed in contentment. It had been another long Saturday night, but a satisfying one. Jasmine had come home with us, and Mary Margaret had wasted no time getting her settled in the women’s dormitory. Tiana had been alerted, and she would make sure Jasmine met with her for counseling over the next few days. Elsa and Liam had been less successful, unable to get two teenage girls off the streets. They were too afraid of what their pimps might do to them if they left. The work was never easy, and we had to focus on the positive or the enormity of it would become overwhelming.

One of the positives was here in my arms. I would never stop feeling awe over the gift of her love. My hand drifted down to rest upon the swell of her stomach. Emma hummed in contentment against my collarbone and pressed herself closer to me. My body responded to her as it always did, and I lowered my lips to her jaw. She gasped and tilted her head back to give my better access. Her fingers began to scratch at the nape of my neck.

“I’ve got morning breath,” she giggled breathlessly.

“Then I’ll kiss you in other places,” I teased.

She gave out a little mewling sound that made my body thrum even more. Her morning sickness had passed, and in her second trimester she had become a quivering mess of desire. She’d been the same with Henry.

Before our morning activities could go any farther, however, two small bodies hurled themselves onto the bed. Ten year old Alice, all gangly arms and legs, sent Emma and I sprawling apart as she wedged herself between us. Three year old Henry crawled over his mother, dragging his favorite stuffed bear behind him. Emma laughed and rolled over, cuddling Henry close.

“You two still don’t understand how late we have to work sometimes,” I grumbled.

Next to me, Emma only laughed more brightly as she tickled Henry’s tummy. The boy wriggled away, crawling over his big sister who complained loudly as she swatted at him, then straddled me and started bouncing as if I were a horse.

“But we’re supposed to go riding today, Papa,” Alice reminded me, “you promised.”

“She’s got you there,” Emma put in.

“Horsey, horsey, horsey!” Henry cheered, bouncing even more enthusiastically. “Horsey, Papa!”

“I didn’t mean in the morning,” I moaned.

“It isn’t morning,” Alice countered, “I just made me and Henry peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. It’s after noon already.”

Emma slid up against the headboard and opened her arms for Alice. The girl grinned and cuddled up next to her mother, a sight that would never fail to warm my heart. Emma ran her fingers through Alice’s hair while our daughter rested her hand against the swell of her mother’s stomach. Suddenly, Alice gasped.

“She kicked me!”

“She did!” Emma exulted, resting her hand next to Alice’s. “She must want to say hello to her big sister.”

Alice grinned and leaned over Emma’s stomach. “Hello, Hope, I can’t wait to meet you. We’ll have so much fun playing together.”

Emma’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she caught my gaze, but I knew they were happy ones. The same joy she felt was flooding my own heart. Our family came about in a crazy way, but we were more than blessed with what we’d built together.

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

Emma and I walked slowly across the grass, hand in hand. Ahead of us, Alice and Henry raced to the corral. They scrambled up the fence to lean forward and feed the horses carrots they had brought. Their Uncle Liam and Aunt Elsa were on the other side to greet them, their two year old cousin Ian astride a dappled pony. The curly headed boy had a tiny helmet strapped to his head, making an absolutely adorable picture.

Next to me, Emma sighed in contentment as she wrapped her arms around my waist. I lowered my head to brush a kiss to her golden hair. The picture in front of us: our family, the horses, the mountains in the distance, and the bright spring sunshine filled my chest with unexplainable joy. I looked down into Emma’s face; her emerald eyes sparkling in the early afternoon light.

“I love you more than I could ever say,” she told me.

I turned her towards me and cupped her face in my hands. “Emma, you are more precious to me than all the treasure in this world. I have my happy ending now because of you.”

She shook her head gently. “That isn’t what this is.”

My brow furrowed. “It’s not?”

“It’s a happy beginning.”

I lowered my face to kiss her deeply, knowing down to my very soul the truth of her words.

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs movie au #captain swan is my favorite rom com #cs priceless au #angst #angst with a happy ending #brothers jones

[jafndaegur]

That Day We Met, It Snowed Too

Jumin x MC

°.*~*.°.*~*.°.*~*.°.*~*.°.*~*.°.*~*.°

a/n: This is based off the Japanese folk-tale the Crane Wife (particularly Rin & Len’s version in Seasonal Feathers). This was inspired by and made as a companion for @anon-drabble’s take on Orihime and Hikoboshi. Yes, this is male!MC.

°.*~*.°.*~*.°.*~*.°.*~*.°.*~*.°.*~*.°

Nimble fingers worked the loom, and MC looked up from his whittling to watch Jumin work. They were both talented, but his husband took craftsmanship to a level like no other. Beautiful blue and silver decorated the woven cloth, the threads going back and forth and back and forth as Jumin added line after line. The motion was hypnotic. He couldn’t help but be drawn in.

His chest clenched, and MC bent over, coughing wracking his frame. The loom carrier clattered when it hit the floor, Jumin suddenly at his side. Steel grey eyes searched him in panick. MC tried to control his breathing through the thick hacking veil.

“The cold does my lungs poorly,” he admitted, covering his mouth afterwards. His forehead touched the floor and his body spasmed violently with each cough.

“Once this blanket is done, you will have better warmth, my love.” Jumin’s touch was a steady and gentle reassurance on his back.

MC tried to hide the blood seeping through his fingers as he slowly sat back on his heels. “You’re too good to me.”

Panic fueled every ounce of Jumin’s body as he rushed for the doctor on the otherside of the village. The snow was cold. The world frozen. But neither of those things stopped him from dragging the old healer back to his home.

Who knows how long it took, but his body paced aimlessly. He trudged back and forth in front of the door, waiting on the verdict. Little by little, Jumin’s patience began to seep away into a thin frail line. He was half tempted to barge in on the exam when the doctor emerged with a grim expression.

Jumin felt his stomach rise to his throat.

“He will die,” the doctor murmured. “You’re lucky the cold season is almost at its end. He will have some good weather to see him off.”

Jumin grit his teeth. “Is there nothing I can do?”

“Well…” The doctor scratched his chin and gave a huff. “There is medicine.”

“Where can I find it?” Jumin demanded. “I will pay anything. I will do anything. I need the medicine.”

Humming darkened in the doctor’s throat. “I can order it…however, it is a western remedy. And therefore far more expensive than either you or he can offer.”

“How much?”

The doctor mentioned very vaguely his guess of the cost.

The storm in Jumin’s eyes darkened. He barely managed to thank the old man, barking out a reminder to order the medicine, before storming back into the hut. MC slept soundly on a futon, his breath rasping with every rise and fall of his chest. He had only until spring…

Jumin walked over to the loom, staring fully at the half-finished blanket. They would need high price and high quality in order to afford the elixir for MC. But it didn’t matter. He could afford any price if it was for his beloved. Nails shredded into skin, and Jumin tore the top layer of flesh off his forearm. Blood dripped onto the floor and splattered onto his feet. But no longer did he hold human skin. Instead in his grasp was a patch of ebony fur.

He began to weave his pelt into the cloth.

…

MC trudged onward, limbs numb and skin freezing. The weighted pack on his back made him want to just give up, however he was so close to home. Just over the ridge. Just over the ridge and onto the next plateau—he would be able to see his hut.

But the overnight snowfall had brutally hindered his progress. Knee high, he hadn’t brought the right tools to make the trek.

Snowflakes clung to the fringe of his bangs and his eyelashes. The white puffs dampened his clothes and froze his skin.

A distressed yowl paused him and he felt his body grow rigid. Not from the biting cold, however. The pit of his stomach heated and he felt his nerves spike through his throat to his jaw. He clenched his hands.

Again another howl, followed by another and another. And as MC listened, he realized that it wasn’t a cry of hunting or anger—but of pain. Fear.

His own. Its own. Whatever it was.

He crept closer to the sound, the snow crunching underneath the soles of his feet. Trying to keep his teeth from chattering, his jowl muscles pulled taut. He inhaled deeply.

And exhaled.

A large feline thrashed and scattered mounds of snow as it tore and tore and tore at a hunting trap which had snagged its paw. Deep red stained the snow, and as MC snuck closer he could see the gouges that marred the creature’s limb from all of its escape attempts.

“What a painful death for a beautiful creature…” MC stared ruefully at the animal. It was large, far larger than any cat he had seen. With long pointed ears and a wavering fluffy tail, the creature was all ebony fur and rippling muscle underneath.

A hunter. A predator. A carnivore stuck in a trap.

Swallowing slowly, MC stepped close, carefully and tediously. All the while he called out gently to the creature, trying to calm it.

The animal whipped around and faced him with a snarl before giving pause and staring almost incredulously.

Beautiful steel eyes observed him, and he was almost taken aback at how much knowing was hidden behind the glassy surface.

“I’m going to get you out,” he murmured, never breaking the contact.

The cat’s lips pulled back and it bared it’s teeth while it hissed. But MC crouched lower, came closer, made himself smaller. He reached for the iron cord, a simple deer trap designed to tighten with continued struggle. He had no idea who left a trap like this out on such a terrible day…but he loosened the knot, undid the chord—and screamed when the cat pounced on him and dug its claws into his shoulders.

It growled and snarled,and he squeezed his eyes shut. Alarm coursed through every vein and artery when he realized that this animal almost the size of his upper body was going to kill him. But a moment passed, and then a breath, and a second, and a minute. Nothing else transpired.

He opened his eyes, very warily. The animal observed him with a narrowed curiosity. He blinked. It blinked.

Then in a sudden whorl of fur and snow, the creature bounded away—leaving MC flat on his back.

He picked up his hat and flattened out his robes, wobbling the rest of the way home. When he arrived and put down his pack at the front step of his hovel, he tried to ignore the raven-haired man sitting at the stoop. The stranger radiated magic, not that he would say out loud that he had noted such.

“Won’t you invite me in? It’s rude to make a visitor wait,” the man rumbled, his arms still crossed over his chest and his eyes still closed.

“I don’t make it a habit of inviting odd people into my home.” MC raised his brow but opened the door.

The man looked up with a slight, Cheshire smirk. “My name is Jumin. And now we are not unacquainted.”

“Well… how long do you plan on visiting?”

“However long you’ll permit my presence. ”

MC smiled.

...

Claws grew from fingertips. Fingers hardly moved. Arms and legs were wrapped tightly with bandages.

Jumin curled up beside MC’s side, his wrapped-up hand brushing along a gaunt cheek. His husband was fading, and he couldn’t even feel the fluttering warmth beneath the layers of cloth that bound his wounds. The blue and silver blanket, Jumin clutched that with his free hand as his bottom lip wobbled.

“Would you still love me,” Jumin whispered and his voice cracked. “If I were no longer human—if I turned into a monster to protect you?” His fangs poked painfully inside his mouth.

MC’s every inhale and exhale wheezed past dry lips. His eyelashes fluttered.

Gripping his creation, Jumin stood on one quavering leg and then the other. His body rocked violently back and forth but he forced himself to take a step after step after step until he was sprinting. Flying across earth and fresh breathing grass as if he were weightless. His first task was to sell the blanket, the second to get the medicine.

Hurry, hurry, there’s no time left.

He skidded through the merchant’s plaza, begging for anyone to take a look at his work. A few glowered at him while others showed concern. It wasn’t until he reached the closest stall that he garnered the attention he needed.

“Young man, let me look at your wares.” A trader called. He was dressed finely in gorgeous robes, his pale blue hair pulled back in a ponytail. An envoy for the royal household.

Jumin stumbled hopefully towards the vendor, all but shoving the blanket into the stranger’s hands. The appraising look and guarded touch that skimmed over the cloth set his stomach on fire with anxiety. But he kept quiet and observed. Fleeting hints of smile, a small twinge of the eyebrow—the vendor was at least pleased.

“I buy and sell high quality art,” the seller explained. “Our rulers are quite the fanatics when it comes to such, so I’ve seen my fair share of well-made pieces.This, however, is the most beautiful tapestry I’ve laid my eyes upon.”

Jumin shook. “That. That is my life’s work.”

There was a brief flicker of understanding on the other man’s face, before he lightly brushed his hand along the surface. The cloth rippled with an opalescent shimmer, as if made of gemstone. Displaying flashes of blue, silver, and ebony at their finest.

“I can see the story you’ve so painstakingly woven.” The merchant dug into his coinpurse. “Ten gold pieces.”

“Twelve.” Jumin leaned forward, his face seriously drawn.

The man nodded. “Fair and deal. Your price, my friend.”

Jumin couldn’t find the words to thank him. So he promised more business. He promised more cloth. He took the money and bolted for the doctor’s. Bandages were beginning to unravel. Fur and blood were seeping from skin.

“Medicine!” Jumin all but screamed when he arrived.

The doctor retrieved the item, a small parcel, and handed it to the incensed man. Jumin shoved the gold into the old man’s hand, and ran away.

Fur and blood, fur and blood, all of it staining further.

Jumin’s feet flew over freshly reborn land, spring entering her height of season. Flowers bloomed and trees blossomed, yet he could only muster the strength to make it home.

Time was up, for both he and MC.

He could see the hut in the distance. His heart thundering in his chest. Feline eyes narrowed and angular face scrunched in determination. But he fell. His body collapsed as his wounds reminded him over and over, tying him in crimson threads and restricting every movement.

He yowled out in pain, his voice the furthest from human. Please…please…I’m so close.

Jumin sobbed.

“Did you know,” a frail and familiar voice whispered.

His vision snapped up to see MC crouching down before him. A healthy glow warmed his husband’s cheeks, and his body looked strong and sturdy.

W…what?

“Don’t you know,” MC gathered Jumin into his arms, burying his face into the crook of his neck. “I will love you whether you are human or not. I have since the day I first saw your ebony pelt against the bleached snow, your form flitting when you ran free.”

His arms smudged and smeared blood and fur and human life between them as he drew them together, held them together.

Jumin grasped onto to the embrace—trembling—the medicine safe in his hold.

#jumin x mc #mysme jumin #mystic messenger #mysme #mysme jumin han #au: fairytale #male!mc #jumin x male!mc #seasonal feathers #i really loved rin and len's take on this story so i tried my own version of theirs #angst #mostly angst #sorry y'all #i hope you enjoy #hahah did you catch that jihyun cameo?

[volturialice]

well since you ask so nicely

it’s rated uhhhh T+ I guess? bordering on M but there’s no actual smut so. here you are, 100% raw and unbetaed. warnings etc in tags

read on ao3 or ff.net

1949

When Jasper was a sixteen-year-old human, he stood opposite the army recruiter and told him he was twenty. The man squinted at his face. “Not much of a beard on you, son,” he said, scratching at his own patchy muttonchops. “But I reckon you’re taller than half the officers. Mind you don’t scrape your head on the ceiling, now.” And Jasper was waved on to the examining surgeon without ceremony, because he was tall.

When Jasper was a twenty-year-old vampire, he stood opposite a stocky, bull-necked newborn from Laredo in a life-or-death battle. The woman had forearms like saplings and radiated so much aggression it was palpable. She lunged, lightning-fast and lethal, and her head flew from her shoulders before she could land a single blow. Jasper had snapped her neck without much difficulty, because he was tall.

When Jasper is a mature and worldly vampire of one hundred and five, he stands opposite Alice in the lobby of a hotel in Atlantic City and decides to kiss her. She’s wearing red heels and a pearl gray dress she likes and her customary knowing smile, the one she reserves for whenever he’s about to do something stupid, or clever, or endearing. She tilts her face up and Jasper bends down to brush her lips with his—and bends down some more—and still more, and at last kisses her with burgeoning frustration because he is too damn tall.

Alice must know what he’s about to say, because she laughs.

“What?” he demands through a laugh of his own as she tucks her hand through the crook of his arm.

“You are not too tall,” Alice insists. “You’re just right.”

“If I’m not too tall, then you must be too small,” counters Jasper as they step out into the bright gray afternoon.

“Hmm. Now I know you don’t mean that,” says Alice, waving a dismissive hand as she tugs him toward the streetcar stop.

“Do you indeed. How?”

The knowing smile turns slightly wicked. “You like that I’m small. You have a”—her forehead furrows, vocabulary not quite measuring up to her ideas—“a thing.”

Her meaning is about as clear as the foggy gray sky above them. “A thing?”

Alice detaches from his arm and pulls a delicate silver bangle, the kind with no clasp, from her pocket. “You know,” she insists, sliding it ostentatiously over her fingers. But even Alice’s dainty knuckles are too big to slip through, and she stops, careful not to damage the metal. It’s oddly engrossing to watch as she works the fragile thing over her hand: slowly, gently, pushing her way in a few millimeters at a time until—snick!—hand, wrist, and forearm are through in a harsh instant, the gesture reminding him of nothing so much as—

“A thing,” repeats Alice, gazing up at him with satisfaction.

Jesus Christ. How long has she been carrying that bracelet around, just waiting for the moment she’d need to illustrate her point?

Jasper can hardly make his mouth form words. “That’s—I don’t—”

He looks around wildly, paranoid that some passerby might have witnessed her little display, but the only feelings of unwelcome arousal he picks up on are coming from within. Stop. A deep breath of bracing sea air is enough to restore some composure. He forces himself to meet Alice’s eyes like normal. It’s only a bracelet, for Heaven’s sake.

He grits his teeth. “I do not, as you so eloquently put it, have a thing.”

She doesn’t answer, as the streetcar has just arrived. Jasper helps her on, deftly taking the hand without the bangle. He’s forced to hold his breath in the proximity of so many humans, and Alice settles against his side in comfortable silence, not petty enough to keep slinging accusations when he can’t respond. But he knows better than to consider the conversation over. She’ll pick up the thread when it suits her next.

They make it three blocks before a few anemic sunbeams start to pierce the clouds. The streetcar stops by the boardwalk, across from a café with wide, blue-and-white striped umbrellas over little white tables. It will do for a temporary refuge from the sun.

Alice waits until he’s lifted her down from the streetcar to ask,

“how big is Maria?”

Jasper holds back a groan. How has she managed to make the subject of Maria even more distasteful? He’s grateful for the interruption of the humans at the café, who seat them at the table with the most shade and the best view.

“How big?” demands Alice again, as soon as the waiter who’s delivered their coffee is out of earshot.

Jasper crosses his arms. “I’m not answering that.”

Alice’s eyes narrow. “So she’s small, then.”

He shakes his head, half disbelieving at the direction the conversation has taken. A stab of irritation pierces Alice as something else occurs to her.

“As small as me?” she demands.

He sighs. “No.”

Definitely not. He has yet to meet a vampire as small as Alice.

“Good,” she says, radiating smugness.

“Why should it matter?”

She clambers to her knees in the chair, leaning precariously forward to rest her chin in her hands and her elbows on the table.

“Because if you have this thing—”

“Which I don’t—”

“—then I have to be better than her,” Alice insists.

“Ridiculous,” says Jasper flatly. As if she isn’t already better than Maria in every way that matters. The thought of any sort of competition between them is…bizarre, to say the least. The suggestion that they are in fact similar in some ways—however arbitrary—verges on disturbing. And the idea that he might rank them by relative smallness? Ludicrous.

Alice gazes up at him as though, with the revelation of Maria’s size, some decisive verdict has been reached. She’s massively irritating, but it’s difficult to stay irritated when he’s looking at her face. He resolves to never, ever tell her that her lips are prettiest when she’s smug.

He turns to look out across the empty beach, the ocean a deep gray-green now that the sun has slipped back behind the clouds. “Size has nothing to do with why I love you,” he grumbles.

Alice nods. “But it does have something to do with how you love me,” she points out.

“Does it?” He would love her just as much if she were taller.

Her mood turns thoughtful. She climbs back down to sit properly in the chair, scooting closer so she can take his hand and face it, palm out, toward her. She brings her own hand up, concentration never wavering as she stretches out her fingers as far as they’ll go, still nowhere near the span of his. She stops, palm hovering a hair’s breadth away.

“I like when you open doors and carry things for me,” she says, “and help me onto streetcars even though I don’t need help.” She bites her lip, still intent on their not-quite-joined hands.

“I like that you have an excuse to touch me all the time, that you can lift me down and no humans question it. I like how your hands reach all the way around my waist. I like that when strangers look at us, they wonder how on earth we fit together—and I like that they’ll never know.” Her eyes flicker up to his. “I like that you have to work to fit inside me. I like feeling so full of you I can hardly breathe. I like that I have to use both hands to—”

“Stop, stop.”

Jasper claps a hand over her mouth. If she keeps talking, he’s going to crush the table to splinters between them. His hand on her face looks enormous, a reminder of exactly what she’s talking about. He jerks away, fingers clenching and unclenching.

“I’ll stop if you admit it,” says Alice sweetly, all innocence again. She recaptures his hand and kisses his knuckles, making him shudder.

“Yes. God. Yes. You win. I have a thing. I have a thing so badly that I am seconds away from indulging it right here in the middle of all these humans,” he warns.

Alice’s tongue darts out to wet her lower lip. “No need for that.” She shifts in her chair.  

The frustration in his chest—and elsewhere—is reaching critical mass. “Alice, so help me—”

The sly glance through her lashes nearly does him in. “There’s an abandoned cinema around the corner.”

She gets up, tosses a few bills onto the table.

Her delicate hand is engulfed in his large one as she pulls him to his feet.

#twilight fanfiction #alice cullen #jasper whitlock #jasper hale #jalice #maria #fic: mine #mentions of past jasper/maria #unsafe for work text // #long post // #if you liked the stupid innuendo about frogs you'll like this stupid innuendo #lmk if you find typos/mistakes I'm not kidding when I say this is unedited #height difference tag #size kink //