#this is an excruciatingly Simple piece but the point still Stands

[qourmet]

¿Rendezvous?

#i'm Back on my Bullshit of putting vocaloids with my current obsession #mdzs #wangxian #matryoshka #wei wuxian #lan wangji #fanart #my art #i listened to different versions all day til i found the soraru one again #& then listened to that for hours #i can finish pieces in hours again guys do you know how relieved that makes me!! #hours!! #not days!! or weeks!! #this is an excruciatingly Simple piece but the point still Stands

[bloodycassian]

“research” Rhysand x reader - reader is a Peregryn descendant from Dawn court acting as Emissary. Rhys takes reader to a museum.

Rhys’ approving stare burned into your back as you stood on the balcony, wings flared. Your Peregryn feathers were a lovely contrast to his dark Illyrian like bat wings. He often muttered his envy about them to you, especially after being intimate. He loved to stroke them and admire the softness and his muttered approvals soothed you to sleep. 

Maybe his approval was coming from the sight of your naked body in the silver moonlight. You felt a swell of heat rush to your cheeks as he approached, his wings also extended. They flared as he reached the open air on the balcony. The shimmering lights of velaris in the snow far, far below. The magic of the House retained the slight wind that blew through, but warmed it instantly. 

“Quite a fancy house for one cruel high lord. I imagine most would think that the Night Court would also be cold.” You remarked, tucking your wings in slightly so he could stand next to you. He tucked in his as well, understanding the sensitivity of such a part being touched. 

Rhysand knew how such a simple touch of a wing could be the undoing of many different feelings. From the pain of them being bent wrong, or pleasure of them being toyed with exactly right. Toying - for research he had called it. Figuring out which form of wing was more sensitive.

“Cruel or no, most of us here have spent far too much time in the cold of Illyrian mountains to settle for less. Azriel usually says if he wasn’t aligned with me, he’d move to the Summer court.” He leaned over the railing, taking in a deep breath of the fresh air. Something in his eyes gleamed, and a small smile appeared. 

“Seeing the master of Shadows in a place so bright would be quite the contrast.” You grinned, gripping the railing tight. The urge to jump off and fly was nearly overwhelming. Your wings extended, craving the cold bite of the wind. Despite being such a small heritage, your instincts were sometimes overwhelming. You felt the corners of your lips fall, the memories of your few cousins falling to enemies during the War coming back.

Rhys tucked his wings in, turning to you. Something like sadness was there in his eyes, making you nervous.  “You may leave when you wish. I only ask that you give me...a warning. So I can have a story ready for my court when you go.” He said too formally, as if he had practiced this. After the months of you visiting as a communication link with Thesan, you knew you would have to leave at some point. But you had yet to hear the order to do so. And you much preferred the scenery of Rhy’s court than the safe harbor home Thesan kept sunny constantly. It was… refreshing. Much like Rhy’s presence. 

“Are you telling me to go?” You nudged him slightly, knowing it’d rattle him. His eyes shot to you, and he nudged you back. “Never. I just… wish you could stay.”

He had more to say than that, and you knew it. “Then why ask me if I need to go?”

“Because the longer you stay the less I think I will be willing to let you go.” He wrapped his arms around you, the evidence of claim apparent through his thin cotton pants. “Even if Thesan is one of my closest allies. I may just have to keep you for myself.” His head lowered to your ear as he said it, his lips grazing your skin. You felt your core tense and heat.

“I dont know what you’re talking about. I am merely a communicator between two courts.” You grinned, nipping his ear. His low growl was anything but agreeing. His hands were on you, slowly palming your sensitive areas, lighting your insides on fire. He gave you a lingering kiss before pulling away. He eyed you suspiciously, seeming to deliberate to himself. 

Then, he snapped and suddenly you were fully clothed, and he was standing on the balcony railing. The silver light painted his hair and wings in a dull blue hue. “I have a different idea for us tonight… if you can keep up that is.” His wild smile told you all you needed to know. He leapt gracefully, before catching the wind below with a fading laugh. You cursed quietly to yourself, hauling your body up to the pillar and sending yourself soaring. 

+

“Dont tell me this is some kind of Illyrian initiation.” You chided, matching his pace as best you could. It was hard to not outpace him as he glided, his enormous wings gliding on the cool air. 

He laughed, banking slightly as you approached the small city below. Nestled into the mountain side along the sea, it didnt seem as harsh as the Illyian camps he had showed you from afar. Your mind flashed to those camps, the tents and the tooth chattering cold. No, this place was much too homey for such a camp. 

“This is… a gallery of sorts. Not many come here, but I thought it would also be nice for you to be able to tell Thesan about such a place.” He slowly began descending as he explained, and indeed the location seemed to have many large ancient looking items outside. 

As soon as you landed you were taken aback. The sight of an enormous, dark stone that took up the majority of the space outside the carved entrance to the gallery. A path had been worn around it, as if the spot had many visitors. You doubted many but Rhys even knew about the place. 

“It’s- it reminds me of you.” You were in awe. The stone glittered in the torchlight, but remained dark where the light wasnt refracted. It was smooth as well, besides the jagged and pointed edges. 

Rhysand turned from the mountain entrance “The rock? Darling just wait until you see inside.” He smiled, waving you over. With a wave of his hand, the door opened, pulling back then sliding away. Faelights slowly hummed to life inside the cavernous space. You couldnt see the entire room but the area must have been enormous. No way to see all of the things held inside in one day. Not even multiple days you were willing to bet. “Priestesses are the only others allowed here besides residents of Velaris, but not many of either ever visit. He explained, sending more faelight into the dark cavern.

“There are a few things in particular I wanted to show you.” He took your hand, guiding you to the right down a large archway. The lights bobbed and followed, casting strange shadows along the uneven cave walls. 

The sound of water flowing at a trickling pace filled the new, smaller room. The sight of the armor before your took your breath away. Ancient, well kept and utterly deadly looking. You felt a thrill of panic, as well as pride at the sight of it. “How-” You stammered, covering your mouth with a trembling hand. 

The white and silver plates were excruciatingly detailed, the sword beside the set a shining silver, as if freshly forged by the sun itself. Thesan had no armor of this quality still available at the Dawn court. The quality, the beauty of such a piece was exquisite. “If Thesan wishes to have this back, please feel free. But let him know that we have only recently acquired it. We have not been hoarding.” Rhys spoke from behind you, his voice soft and patient. 

Memories of being a child and playing with wooden swords flashed into your head. Envisioning such perfect armor like before the War fitting you, guilding you, marking you as the highest of warriors among the Dawn court. 

“W-who is we?” Was all you could manage as you reached out to touch the solid breastplate. Memories of parades, children cheering and high fae clapping as generals in shining armor marched home from the War. Centuries had passed since such armor was needed, thus they began to disappear. 

Rhys took your hand again, rubbing a thumb over yours. “A few high priestesses found it among their… storage. Closer to an abandoned temple but - I had Cassian clean it up for me a few weeks ago.” He chuckled before saying “I almost had to threaten him to get him to give it back to me. He was in awe and wanted to keep it for himself.” 

Your lips curve upwards, heart hammering. You pulled him in quickly for a tight hug. “Thank you.” You said deeply, wishing you could put the thoughts you were having directly into his head. Wishing you could tell him how much this meant. 

He pulled away from you, his callused hands going to cup your face as he pulled you in for a kiss. “Maybe I wont tell Thesan… and I’ll have to come back more often to take a look at the rest of this place.” You bit his lower lip and grinned at his darkened eyes.

“For research purposes only, surely?” He began kissing down the column of your neck, biting playfully. 

“Research, of course.” You sighed as his hands began tracing over your body. 

#RHYSXREADER #RHYSAND X READER #READER INSERT ACOTAR #ACOTAR #ACOTAR FIC

[chaoticdean]

Do you believe the SPN writers owed us the "right" ending? (This is a serious question!) And if so, what was it? Would you require a "happily ever after" for all the characters involved? Is the mental health of the audience a priority when creating a story? I know, a lot of thoughts, but I'm v curious!

Well, I think any writers of any show owe their audience the “right” ending. That being said, I still firmly believe that what we got as an ending (that englobes 19 and 20, btw) resulted from corporate fuckery rather than from the writers shooting themselves in the head with their own gun. If you’ve been attentive enough for the past few seasons, you’d have noticed the theme and the clear meta storylines being laid out by the writing team, and the way season 15 all up to episode 18 was absolutely, utterly, completely following that path. The way both episodes 19 and 20 can be separated from the rest of the season is a clear hint at what happened, and that’s also why it can be this easily disregarded.

Now, back to your question. To me, the right ending involved several things.

Dean getting to speak his truth: not only did that involved the situation with Cas needing to be addressed in any way, but that also involved getting Dean to let go. To me, Dean was always going to die at the end. What I didn’t picture was his death being this meaningless, on an insignificant hunt, only with Sam by his side, delivering a 5 minutes speech that could’ve been avoided in favor of calling a goddamn ambulance to save his life. I expected something along the lines of Sam and Dean raiding Heaven in their final battle against Chuck, and at the end of it Dean choosing to stay behind, choosing the Afterlife and having something with Cas while Sam went back to Earth to live his life as the Leader he was always supposed to be. Which brings me to my second point.

Sam rising up to the leadership position he was always supposed to get: I think I made a post sorely for this at some point, but long story short Sam’s storyline has been carefully crafted since season 1 to end at a point where Sam was supposed to become the leader of this big old hunter family in America. Yet, he ends up closing up the bunker (effectively turning down everything he’s worked for for the past 3 decades of his life, everything Dean, Cas and their entire extended family fought for), and runs off to live a meaningless life with a blurry wife and a proxy kid he names after his brother. This is nowhere close to anything they’ve ever laid out for Sam’s path, and I don’t even understand how Sam stans can be okay with where he ended up. He spends the last 4 decades of his life mourning his brother and turning his back on everything the show made a point of crafting for him. He never becomes the leader he was supposed to. He never gets back to Eileen. He apparently forgets everything about the past two decades of his life. Again, the show makes a point of telling us “you thought what we showed you for 15 seasons was real? Well, here’s our #1 character turning his back on everything we made a point of carefully tell, because non of it mattered”

Cas’ place in the finale: Parts of what makes no sense is the fact that Cas disappears in the Empty after ep. 18 and nothing about it gets addressed later on. I’m not even talking about Misha being in the episodes, because if Covid really was the excuse here (hint, it’s not, but bear with me regardless) there were SO MANY easy ways to explains this storyline without needing Misha to be on screen. You’re telling me there was no way to grab an extra to wear one of the trenchcoats and sit next to Jensen in the Impala? You’re telling me there was no way of adding ADR at the end of 20 to add a simple “Hello Dean” to the scene, before Sam appears in Heaven? You’re telling me there was no way of having a Winbros conversation about what happened? Castiel’s absence makes no sense, if not for the fact that he’s been a core character of the show for 12 years, and not having him at the end felt like a punch to the guts. Castiel was also deeply linked to Dean’s character arc, and his absence leaves Dean’s storyline entirely incomplete (which, I may have to add, is completely hysterical judging by the fact that he’s literally the second main character of the show). I’m not gonna go on and on, but basically I pictured Castiel being there when Dean came along, and being part of the reason Dean makes a choice of staying instead of going back. 

There are a lot more things to say. The complete disappearance of Eileen in favor or Sam getting a blurry wife. The complete erasure of the Found Family angle they made a point of cultivating for so long. Basically, 19 and 20 felt like the whole series being ripped away to pieces and the show telling us that it was all a lie. The “right” ending, to me, involved Sam and Dean finally being at peace. It involved Sam finding Eileen again and working up to the leadership position he was always supposed to get. It involved Dean finally making a choice for himself instead of thinking as a 2-unit with Sam. It involved Dean speaking his truth to Cas. It involved the co-dependence finally being bid goodbye.

Would you require a "happily ever after" for all the characters involved?

No, because at the end of the day this is Supernatural, this is not necessarily the picture-perfect show for a “happily ever after”. That being said, you can have a satisfying ending without it being happily ever after. Dean choosing to stay in Heaven is essentially Dean choosing to metaphorically die. Sam and Dean finally going their own way in different realms is fulfilling and satisfying, but doesn’t really qualify as a happily ever after either. 

Is the mental health of the audience a priority when creating a story?

Good fucking lord, YES. It SHOULD BE a priority. I assume this is in relation to something I wrote a while back, where I basically said that the ending they wrote was dangerous. And I stand by it. This ending sent so many wrong messages to the audience of a beloved 15-year-old show. “We made you think that family didn’t end in blood? Well, we lied, and that’s why the ending of Supernatural will consist of sorely Sam and Dean, with the meaningful appearance of OG Bobby at the end of it”; “Speak your truth and you will be silenced”; “you’ll never be free from trauma so it’s better to just choose to bleed to death and die”. I think I could go on for hours, but you get the idea. This ending was dangerous, and I wish they’d considered the trauma that would unleash on their own fandom because it’s making me insane. I’m glad I’m at a point in my life where I can take care of myself, but a couple of years back that would have been enough to set me back on my own destructive path. And it’s making me sick to think that it probably did put many fans down to the point where it fucked with their sanity. 

Yes, it should be a priority. Obviously, it wasn’t a priority when crafting an ending for Supernatural.

Sorry, that got excruciatingly long. I hope that answered part of your questions, but feel free to reach out for more!

#at this point i feel like this ending is going to drive me insane for years #corporate fuckery #spn finale #finale fuckery #is this meta? #idk #jus.meta #spn 15x19 #spn 15x20

[intubatedangel]

Cold Snap: Chapter 2

Chapter 1|

 *******

Dave was driving the ambulance down the towards the river road, approaching from the center of the city, when the call came through.

"All available units, major incident on river ferry, requesting all available units respond to docks nearest Tippers Point and North Inglebank." There was a pause as the technician dialed in straight to them. "3008, you're closest. Can you initiate triage protocols on scene?"

Dave looked at Lucy, who simply nodded, then picked up the radio receiver.

"3008 to control. We can do that. Do you have further details?" she asked.

"Not yet. You are to liaise with river patrol and assess the situation on scene. Use your judgement." The radio goes silent.

"That's a lot of help." Lucy sighs. The ambulance reaches the outskirts of the business district, turning onto the river road. Without skyscrapers in the way they can see the expanse of the river, the black plume of smoke clear and obvious, below it the water taxi, limping across the surface of the river. From this distance they could just make out people on the upper deck, waving their arms, and a speedboat, a red and blue strobing light flashing from a pole. Dave guided the ambulance between the traffic, which thankfully relented easily with everyone aware of their destination. He guided it off the road, onto the small dock.

They jumped out, already hearing other sirens approaching. Dave grabbed his radio, tuning to the emergency channel. "This is 3008, taking control of Inglebank incident." A properly trained team would be on their way, but that would be ten minutes. "All units report in upon arrival."

Lucy was looking out the imperiled boat. "I don't think she's going down. She's taken on water, but I don't think its totally fatal, not soon anywhere." She paused. "I should go out there."

Dave looked at her, seeing that she had thought it through, then simple raised the radio again. "Calling all river patrol, please divert 1 to North Inglebank Dock to take on medical passenger."

* * *

 Jones held tight to some of the hand holds on the rim of the patrol boat as it bounced and skipped along the river towards The Beetle. He was able to make out the design of the boat. It was long, with a stepped profile. The passenger compartment rose two levels, to better look out across the river. Towards the front, he could see a wide interior staircase leading down to the proper deck, flanked by doors to the lower level. Towards the rear, a number of windows had been blown out of the lower deck, with smoke billowing forth. The smoke was thick and black, and also running into the upper deck. The product of incomplete burning. If there was a fire, it was most likely just smoldering the oils and grease that must have been within the engine bay. Fuel would be burning much hotter, and would have taken out much more of the boat. That didn't mean it couldn't change.

With the smoke filling the interior, all the passengers had escaped to the front deck. It was crowded, and agitated, but not a complete panic. Yet. As the patrol boat eased up next to the taxi, close to an access ladder, Jones threw out a rope to a man in a high vis jacket, expecting it be one of the crew. The fact he immediately tied off the rope was a decent sign Jones was right. Winton was talking on the radio, so he climbed the metal rungs, and pulled himself onto the deck, appealing for calm as he tried to make sense of the situation. He approached the crew member, seeing that he's an older man, with a white beard and matching hair.

"You are?" He asks.

"The captain, sir."

"Good. I’m officer Jones, what's the situation?"

"Catastrophic engine failure. Couldn't get eyes on but I don't think it's fixable. We're dead in the water."

Jones bit back a flash of anger. "Is the boat sinking right now?"

The captain sighs. "Yes, but slowly as far as we can tell. My lads are trying to get access, find out more, but as it stands, she'll stay on the surface for plenty long enough."

"Ok." Jones turns to the crowd. "Help is coming, so please stay calm, we'll get everyone to safety." He scanned the crowd, seeing plenty of bloodstains and dazed looks, but nothing too major.

* * *

  Lucy had made a quick boarding onto the patrol boat that pulled up at their dock. Sirens had been approaching, but she trusted Dave to organise everything on this side. She double checked her bags as they skimmed across the surface, effectively deputising the one of the cops on board the patrol boat. She showed him a set of large colour coded tags. "We tag everyone!" She shouted over the sound of the motor. "Green for no signs of injury. Blue for cuts and scrapes. Yellow for broken bones, burns, anything you would expect to need treated." She explains each colour.

"Purple for conscious head injury, right?" The cop checked, having been part of major incident responses before now.

Lucy nodded in reply. "Anything worse, you point to me. Those will be priority one, understand?"

The cop gave her an acknowledgment, pocketting the stack of tags, and they made the rest of the journey in silence, both thinking about what they may find onboard the damaged vessel.

 A few short minutes later they pulled up alongside The Beetle, other patrol boats backing off to allow them access to the ladder. Lucy climbed up first, not hesitating for a moment. Reaching the deck she saw that things were not as bad as she feared. There were plenty of injuries, but the fact everyone seemed to be sitting or standing, and no one immediately tried to grab her, suggested there was nothing critical.

She waved the cop she had commandeered towards the crowd of passengers, who she noticed were mostly organised into the correct categories anyway. She spied one cop who seemed to have taken charge, on the opposite side of the deck, marshalling kids onto a patrol boat, and headed over.

* * *

Shona’s ears rang. Her nostrils were filled with smoke. Where....What....

Sensation began to return. Her whole body ached with pains and pressure, but one pain kept growing and growing. Her leg. Her leg felt like a constant sharp pain, like a spear was jammed in it. She tried to open her eyes, but her vision swam, and a wave of nausea crashed over her.  I took a moment for it to pass, before Shona tried to open her eyes again.

It was better, not by much, but not sickening. She was looking at whitewashed, decades old wooden boards. The ceiling of the lower cabin of the water taxi, and the doorless frame of the luggage compartment. That answered the where.

She started to look around, there was smoke, a lot of it, thick and black, flowing up the stairs. Something seemed off though. The smoke was rising at an angle, heading to the wall first. The boat wasn't level. It was tilted to one side. Which must mean. Sinking. The boat was sinking.

Instinctively she tried to move, to flee. But the pain seared through from her leg, and the rest of her could barely move either. She looked down, having avoided doing so up to now, only to see a whole luggage rack lying across her legs, pinning her, with smaller bags from the sides scattered over her top half. She could just see which bag was on her excruciatingly painful, almost certainly broken, leg. She almost laughed hysterically. It was her own.

The case prompted more details to came to mind. "Jack?!" She shouted, pushing away a couple of the smaller bags, trying to get a clearer view of the nearby floor. She saw him, crumpled in a heap, not far from her. They must have both been thrown down the stairs when the engine exploded. He wasn't pinned, but a trickle of blood ran from a cut in his scalp and he was clearly unconscious. "Jack!" She shouted again, grabbing a lighter bag, and throwing it at him. It had the desired reaction, he stirred, moving slightly and groaning.

His groan grew to a shout of pain as he pulled himself up. Shona watched him as he turned slightly, and she saw his right arm. More specifically she saw the bone sticking out of the skin above where he held it. She realised the implication immediately. There was no way he could help her remove all the bags. Especially not her own. "Jack!" She shouted again, trying to get his attention. He looked up, squinting slightly as he looked for who shouted his name. He was clearly dazed, working through things just like she had.

He looked around and Shona could see him piecing things together, before his head snapped back to her direction. "Shona? That you?" His voice was a little slurred

"Yes. Jack. Listen. I'm trapped. I need you to get help, to get these bags off me. I think the boat is sinking, so please hurry."

He squinted at her, shuffling forward on his knees. "Trapped?" He asked. "I..er...I can." His voice was off, still feeling the effects of the head injury.

"You can't. Your arm. Just go. Up the stairs, get help. Please!" Shona pleads, using short phrases in the hope it might help.

It seemed to work. Jack nodded. "OK... OK." He took a few deep breaths, reaching out with his good arm, grabbing the door frame of the luggage area. He pulled himself up, hissing with pain as he did so. His eyes found hers. "Hold on." He said.

She nodded. "Hurry..." She whispered. He nodded, then turned, stumbling towards the stairs on the listing floor, but reaching the stairs. He gripped the rail, then began to climb. A moment later he disappeared into the thick smoke, leaving Shona alone.

* * *

  "Ok Winston, that's all the kids." Jones looked to the small faces, many with tears rolling down their cheeks despite reassurance their parents would be with them soon. "Winston here is going to take and nice and steady for you guys! If you ask nicely he'll tell you about all the fish he knows!" Jones looked pointedly at one of the older kids, a girl, maybe 15, who nodded at him.

"I think thats a great idea!" She said loudly."What's the biggest fish you've ever caught Mr. Winston?"

Winston gave Jones a quick salute, before setting the patrol boat in motion. "Well, that is a story! Have any of our been out to west? Into the lakes? It's be, oh, 10 years ago..." Jones turned away, almost colliding with the paramedic.

"Lucy Branthwaite. You in charge?" She asked, rather abrupt, an annoyed look on her face.

"Apparently. Matt Jones." He held up a hand, forestalling her. "I know what you're going to say. We checked them for injuries. Greens and blues only, but i've directed them to the triage dock anyway. There should be enough time for your people to give them a once over before we make them busy."

Lucy's stony gaze on him held for a few moments, then softened. "Ok," she said. "What else have we got?"

"Mostly minors, a few bumps to the head though. I want to send those next with your permission, then work our way through the rest. We don't have safe capacity for everyone in a single go, but the captain says we should have plenty of time, before the boat becomes dangerous."

"Ok, agreed. Do all your boats have spineboards?" She asked, recieveing a nod in reply, get them all on deck, I'll assess the head injuries, immobilise those that need it I can have some of your man power."

"I wouldn't call them mine, but I'll spread the..." he's cut off by a shout, as crew members come running out onto the deck. "Hold!" Jones shouts, bringing them up short. "Report!"

"Fire! Fire in the engine bay, we couldn't put it out." The crew member shouted, causing a ripple of alarm through the crowd of passenger.

The captain came closer. "Quiet you fool. How bad is it?"

"Caught a fuel leak sir. We managed to clamp the lines before we got out, but its burning in that direction."

"Officer Jones, our time just became more limited. If the fuel tank blows we'll be under within ten minutes."

* * *

 The officer looked at her. It was hidden, but she could see the panic in his eyes. "Can we send the head injuries without immobilisation?"

Lucy ran her hand through her hair, looking at that small cluster of passengers, then she nodded. "I think so." She pointed to one bag, there's a dozen neckbraces in there, they'll have to do. I'll go with them in one boat, slow and gentle. Can your other boats handle the rest?"

"They'll have too." Jones replied. Before turning and barking orders, the air of command returning as soon as the decision was made, getting the less injured onto the first available boat, making best use of time.

Lucy made her way to the head injuries, and began fixing the collars, before handing them off to some officers who were helping them into the patrol boats as gently as they could. Lucy finished with last one, and looked around for Jones to tell him they were going, when she saw a new figure stumbling down the stairs inside. She saw the gruesome spur of bone sticking from his arm and rushed forward, pulling the door open for him. He almost fell into her arms.

"Help her...Plea..."

 The fire reached the fuel tanks.

#medical drama #Anna Swift #cpr #Defib #resus writing

[absoluteham]

18, 3, 4

So it’s three in the goddamn morning and this week’s episode broke me so bad I literally had to write an immediate reaction fic to it. IT’S ANGSTY. I’M SORRY. It’s been lightly proofread but not meaningfully edited. It’s sad. READ AT YOUR OWN PERIL.

Spoilers, obviously, for Wynonna Earp Season 4, Episode 2.

EIGHTEEN MONTHS, THREE WEEKS, FOUR DAYS

The first day wasn’t so bad.

They got out of the BBD facility by the skin of their teeth. Her leg wasn’t so much broken as it was shattered, and getting out was a humiliating and excruciatingly painful process. The doctors somehow pinned it back together, and even though it hurt like hell, they seemed confident that it would heal in time.

And the whole time in the hospital, she waited for two people to walk through the door— her best friend, and the love of her life. The pain hung over her like a red haze, but she knew that once Waverly got there, she would be very pleasantly distracted and fussed over, and if Wynonna wanted to draw dicks and swear words all over her cast, then so be it, as long as Waverly kissed her the whole time.

She knew that everything would be mostly fine, the same way it was always mostly fine. They always took their knocks and kept going, but they did it together, as a family, and so whatever this new craziness was, they would get through it, as soon as Waverly and Wynonna showed up.

Only they didn’t.

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

The second day was still okay.

Her leg hurt, but between the crutches and the painkillers, she could hobble around a little.

Purgatory was in chaos. She wanted to help, but she was still woozy, and with her leg, she was all but useless. Part of her just wanted to go home, but her house was too close to the action, and besides— when Waverly and Wynonna got back, they would go to the Homestead to regroup. So that’s where she went, too.

She didn’t really expect them to be there, but it wouldn’t have been the strangest thing to ever happen. Even though she knew better, it was still a little disappointing when she shouted their names in the hallway and only heard her own echo reverberating in the walls.

She wanted to go upstairs and collapse into Waverly’s bed and smell their familiar, comforting scent, but there were a lot of stairs and her leg really hurt. She stole Wynonna’s bed instead. It smelled like leather, with hints of smoke and whiskey, and underneath, something a little more feminine.

If they returned while she slept, she would probably wake up from the sound— neither of the sisters were especially quiet. They could help her up to Waverly’s room and from there, everything would fall into place. If Waverly was hurt, they could take care of each other. And if she wasn’t, then she could fuss over Nicole’s leg and they could have that talk about their future together.

As she drifted off to sleep, still half-listening for the door, she hoped she wouldn’t have to wait very long— she really wanted to go upstairs to their real bed.

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

The third day was… a little harder.

She awoke dry-mouthed and with her leg practically on fire with pain. She hadn’t thought to leave any water by the bedside, and there was only a quarter-full bottle of whiskey by the side of the bed. Against her better judgment, she used a tiny swallow of it to chase the painkillers down.

With her leg taking her out of the action, all she had to do at the Homestead was wait. She tried to text the others for updates, and occasionally got answers back, mostly brief and confusing. Mostly, she just rested her leg and listened for the sound of the door opening. After awhile, she moved to the porch and sat there instead, hoping to see Wynonna and Waverly’s return even a moment sooner. She was worried about them, and she missed them.

It was cold on the porch, but that was okay. The warmth of that first hug would chase it all away, and then she would feel better.

When the sun set, she went back inside.

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

The seventh day was harder.

Her leg still hurt, and her nightmares were back, and she’d really expected Waverly and Wynonna to be home by now. She was tired, and everything was strange, and Purgatory was in some state of chaos, and she really wanted Waverly to walk through the door, healthy and happy and carrying her father’s ring. As much as her leg was bothering her, she was sure that a few good hours of cuddles and a good night of sleep would make her feel completely better.

She kept waiting on the porch, but the isolation was starting to get to her. She wanted to do something. If the town was in trouble, she wanted to help. If Waverly and Wynonna were in danger, she wanted to save them. But she could barely walk.

So all she could do was wait.

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

The thirtieth day was so much harder.

Her leg still hurt a little, but she could tolerate it better now, at least enough that she could go to town sometimes and help where she could. Truth be told, that pain was nothing compared to the ache in her chest. Sleeping was getting harder and harder. She was still in Wynonna’s bed— she could climb the stairs now without any trouble (thank goodness, since the Homestead’s one bathroom was annoyingly up there), but she was afraid of what it would do to her emotionally to go back to Waverly’s room.

Would the sheets still smell like her? Smell like them? Or had she waited too long? Would she wake up confused, reaching out for the body that was supposed to be next to her? Would she roll over after a nightmare, looking for a warm embrace to snuggle into? Or would it just be a cruel reminder, as soon as she opened her eyes, that they still weren’t back?

She felt touch-starved and cranky, but she couldn’t help it. She missed them. She missed Waverly. They hadn’t been separated for this long since they’d met, and it was torture. She wanted to talk to her, to see her face and hear her voice and process her reactions. She wanted a big, tight hug and a long, deep kiss, and one decent, dreamless night of sleep.

Sometimes she caught herself daydreaming about simple things— the sound of Waverly’s laugh, or the tone of Wynonna’s voice as she made a joke. She thought about how soft Waverly was— her skin, her lips, her hair— and the way they all felt under her fingertips. She remembered the sounds she made when they made love in the upstairs bedroom.

She still waited on the porch sometimes. But not as often.

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

The hundredth day was the hardest yet.

She was getting used to waking up screaming or crying. She didn’t even reach out anymore, no longer half-expected Waverly’s warm body next to her. She just already knew she was alone.

It was somehow worse that way.

At some point, she had given into temptation and gone into Waverly’s room. She had waited too long, but sometimes she would catch the slightest whiff of her scent in a pillow or in the sheets, and her heart would give a huge, embarrassing leap at the reminder. She started using it as a sort of reward, or a rare source of secret comfort. If the day had been bad enough, or the nightmare upsetting enough, she would crawl into Waverly’s bed and remember their sweet shared moments there and just imagine that someday, eventually, her family would come back for her.

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

The two-hundredth day was pretty bad.

Purgatory was still a mess, but they were all doing what they could. She saw the others only rarely these days, and though they were all bonded by the intensity of the situation, they all mostly had to lie low, isolated in their own little bunkers. Nicole stayed at the Homestead, convinced that if— no, for God’s sake, when— Waverly and Wynonna came back, they would want to go home. So she kept it safe, and kept it in one piece, and shot at anyone who stepped foot on the cursed Earp land.

Her hair was visibly growing out, and she let it. She had too many other things on her mind to worry about, and it didn’t seem important. Besides, Waverly had always liked it long.

The cast had come off her leg, and it was such a relief, even if the muscle had weakened from its time in the cast and would take some time to build up again. She had felt a weird pang as it came off, struck by the thought that Wynonna had never gotten the opportunity to scrawl lewd drawings onto it. She couldn’t quite explain to the doctors that she was upset by the lack of dicks on it.

Some days, she would stand around the Homestead, looking at the pictures hanging on the walls or propped up on tables, making sure she still remembered their every feature. Waverly’s smile, Wynonna’s smirk. Waverly’s long, beautiful hair, Wynonna’s top-shelf ass. (She laughed at that, even alone in the empty house.)

Daydreaming became a full-fledged hobby. It was bittersweet to remember the days they’d all spent together— sometimes fighting evil, sometimes just… living. Coffee in the kitchen in the morning, and sitting around the fire at night. Her focus was usually on Waverly, but she missed Wynonna, too. They were her family, and she hadn’t seen them in the better part of a year.

It was getting harder and harder to hold onto to hope that they would return. Something had obviously gone wrong— terribly wrong. But she had to believe that they were still out there somewhere, trying to get home. What other choice did she have?

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

Christmas sucked.

Her birthday sucked, too.

Both times, she clung irrationally to this strange, desperate thought that maybe that would be the day they turned up, that her present would be an end to the endless waiting. That she could wrap Waverly Earp up in her arms like a gift from the universe and never let her go again.

After that, she tried not to hope so much.

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

The three-hundred-sixty-fifth day was horrible.

She baked herself a cake.

It didn’t help.

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

The five-hundred-seventy-second day was… cold. And empty.

She hadn’t seriously thought about them returning in months— not really, not in any real, hopeful way.

After all, after all those months, after a year, after five hundred and seventy two days… why should any one day be any different?

Time barely meant anything anymore. They still fought to keep Purgatory intact, she still guarded and maintained the Homestead, and all the days sort of blended together. She fixed a broken part of the fence. She shot a demon trying to raid the Homestead. She rehung a crooked door. She ate. She slept— sort of. She made sure all Wynonna’s precious throw pillows stayed intact and all of Waverly’s favorite blankets stayed clean and cared for. She left Valdez carved into the wall as a tasteless memento of that fateful day.

Nights were still terrible most of the time. She sort of remembered what it had been like to sleep next to Waverly— she remembered the blankets, there were so many blankets. They had been too warm for her, so they couldn’t always sleep right next to each other. But first thing in the morning, there had been sunrise cuddles and lazy smiles and gentle, affectionate teasing. And sometimes, there would be hands sliding under clothing and hot, panting breaths, and burning, sensual touches, and cries of release.

She never reached out anymore, except after the worst nights, where different layers of nightmares— Bulshar’s massacre, the widow’s bite, free-falling down that damn grate— left her brain so scrambled that for a second after waking up, some long-buried instinct still thought she was entitled to a hug of comfort. In her weaker moments, she fantasized about warm arms encircling her, and a gentle voice telling her that she was safe and that everything was okay. But she tried not to think about that so much anymore. It helped, but at a cost.

Her leg was back to being as strong as it ever was, but she felt like her heart had hardened. Every day, for five hundred and seventy-two days, she had waited for her family to come back to her. And every day, for five hundred and seventy-two days, she had been let down. That push and pull of hope and disappointment had left her raw at first, but now the wound had long since callused over. She refused to move on, she refused to give up on them— but she was getting too exhausted to really hope anymore.

She still stood on the porch sometimes. She told herself it was just to keep watch over the lands. She didn’t let herself admit that there could be any other reason, any hope lingering under the callus.

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

On the five hundred and seventy-third day, Nicole Haught stood on the Homestead porch, just leaning in the doorway. She kept her shotgun with her, but didn’t really expect to need it. It was a cold, snowy day, and she rubbed at her eyes. She’d had strange dreams all night, the good and the bad all tangled together, and it left her feeling twitchy and on-edge.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, standing out against the snow. She raised the shotgun and gave a warning shot.

“Eat shit, shit-eater! I’m warning you, no trespassing!” she shouted in that direction, hoping they wouldn’t bother putting up a fight. The figure ducked behind a tree, then emerged seconds later.

No.

No way.

It couldn’t be.

After all this time, these months, these years, after everything…

“Waverly…”

It was her, standing against the rising sun like a vision.

She fumbled the shotgun as she set it against the wall, the shock leaving her numb. She didn’t wonder if it was a trick. She didn’t wonder if it was a dream, or a lie, or a hallucination, or an imposter.

Nicole had thought that her heart had hardened, that it had built up a layer of armor around it, but it all shattered like ice the instant Waverly Earp flew into her arms.

“It’s me.”  The impact, physical and emotional, nearly bowled her over. Waverly held her tight, then pulled back enough to look into her face. “It’s me. Oh God, it’s you!” She was beaming, and the sight of her smile nearly dropped Nicole to her knees. “We’re home…”

“Are you… real…?” Nicole stammered out, the words tumbling out of her on sheer instinct.

“Are you?” Waverly countered, half-laughing.

“Get in here and check,” she choked out, and Waverly surged forward. Their lips connected, and everything else fell away.

Without breaking apart for even a second, they staggered their way into the house, and then, layer by layer, clothes fell away. They needed to see each other. They needed to feel each other. It had been eighteen months, three weeks, and four days, and it was over. The time had finally, finally come.

Nicole tried to steer them up the stairs, but it was hard to focus on the task when Waverly was soft and real and here, here, here. They kissed like it was the end of the world, and like it was the start of a new one. Every touch, every kiss, was a new revelation, a reminder of what she had lost, of what had been returned to her.

Their clothing dropped to the floor piece by piece, a trail of love leading straight to where their bodies paused— here against a wall, here on the floor, here on the stairs, inching their way up to the bedroom with agonizing, delicious slowness.

The stairs turned out to be as far as they got. If anyone had asked Nicole what she thought about having sex on the Homestead stairs, she would have laughed in their face and pointed out the bedroom a ten-second walk away. But here in this moment, ten seconds was far too long to stop, far too far a distance to travel. Waverly was in her arms, naked and real, and she wasn’t going anywhere.

They paused in a moment of afterglow, not fully separating, just breathing, just staying close, just looking at each other in amazement.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” Waverly said, and Nicole’s heart soared, almost two years of fear and sadness and loneliness pouring out of her in sweat and heavy breaths and small, involuntary laughs. “So why do I feel like bawling?”

Nicole pressed their noses together, smirking at her and feeling more like herself than she had in… oh, about nineteen months, give or take.

“Well, after what we just did, you’re probably pretty dehydrated,” she teased, drunk on the lightness she felt.

Waverly laughed, giggling against her, and something broke anew in Nicole’s chest. She basked in the sound, letting it wash over her.

“Your laugh…” she breathed, closing her eyes for a second to drink it in. “…is like… Christmas.” She shook her head even as she said it, refusing to remember what last Christmas had been like. There hadn’t been a lot of laughter. She kept going, instead, washing the memories from her mind with another kiss. “Your lips are so soft.”

“Are you going to spend all day listing all the things you like about me?” Waverly asked.

“More like the rest of my life,” Nicole said, and meant it.

Waverly seemed to search her face, silently asking if that was the answer to a question asked so long, long ago.

“I love you,” Waverly said, breaking Nicole’s heart open anew. And then, as thought that were too much, too real, too serious, she gripped the ends of Nicole’s hair, tossing them in her hands. “I’m also loving the Little Mermaid vibes.” She looked at it like there was something funny about it, and Nicole wondered if she’d expected her to keep it the same length this whole time. “So, what, you just zipped into the Ghost River Triangle and got extensions?”

Nicole gave her a strange look, trying to understand her confusion.

“I just grew it out,” she said, hoping that they could return to the rest of my life and I love you part of the conversation, which kept tugging at her soft, soft heart.

“What?” Waverly asked, her voice puzzled and oddly serious. Nicole shook her head, nuzzling closer as tears encroached.

Somehow, her confusion, this focus on such a pointless thing, just made the moment seem all the more real. In Nicole’s dreams, even the best ones, Dream Waverly could only speak on her script, but here… now… she was her own person, thinking her own quirky thoughts in her own beautiful brain.

It was Waverly. Her voice, her face, the crinkle of her smile, the light in her eyes. She was here. She was really here. She felt real, and she smelled real, and she tasted real, and it was all just… so much. A feast after a famine.

“Sorry, I just… I just missed you so much.” Overwhelmed, she buried her face in Waverly’s shoulder as the tears forced their way out, and Waverly held her close, cradling her head and gripping her hair like she really wouldn’t let go.

“Wait… How did…” Waverly pushed her gently back after a few seconds, her brow furrowed and a confused frown on her face. “How did you grow it out?”

Nicole couldn’t understand how they were sitting there, together, naked on the Homestead staircase, and Waverly only had questions about her hair, of all things. She chose to take it as a larger question about what had happened while they were separated.

“I broke my leg, and I came back to Purgatory, but I had to retreat to the Homestead. I did everything I could to keep it safe for you.” Desperation rang in her voice at the last part— she wanted Waverly to know how hard she’d tried, how she’d wanted to do it, all for her. How she’d waited. How despite everything, she’d never really lost hope, not completely.

But Waverly still looked serious.

“Nicole, wait, just tell me. How long have I been gone?”

“Don’t you know?” Waverly didn’t answer, so Nicole continued, not even needing to think about it. The clock in her head had never stopped ticking, the mental calendar had never lost a day. “You’ve been gone… eighteen months, three weeks, and four days.”

#wynonna earp #wayhaught #nicole haught #waverly earp #fanfiction #reaction fic #wynonna earp season 4 #angst #wynonna earp spoilers #spoilers #i'm not kidding #I HAD FEELINGS ABOUT THIS EPISODE #AND I CANNOT SLEEP UNTIL I RELEASE THEM INTO THE WORLD #I may or may not post this on AO3 later or delete it entirely

[drabbledragon]

Linktober: Dark

Next up is day 10: Dark! I just wanted to thank you all for the likes, reblogs, and follows, and that I wish you all a very happy new year! 

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749021/chapters/69732201

Summary: There are circumstances that may lead one to take certain risks, and sometimes those risks lead to disaster.

Warnings: (Temporary) character death, mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, and swearing.

Day 10: Dark

Wherever Time was, it was dark. There was not a single ounce of light here, and no matter where he looked or where he took a step forward, he was always met with pitch black. The darkness was suffocating, and he could feel his breath start to pick up once his hazy mind realised that there was no exit, that there was nothing to see, that there was no one else here to help him, and soon the whole room was starting to feel like it was closing in on him even though there were no walls and he suddenly couldn’t tell left from right or up from down or whether he was sitting or standing or lying down - it was all just dark, and it was slowly eating away at his sanity.

“You … out … right now …”

His breath caught in his throat. That fiery tone, that sweet, beautiful voice … that was … Malon, right?

Yes, of course. How could he forget the love of his life? The one he decided to settle down with on a small, peaceful ranch in the middle of Hyrule Field? The one who sang along with him whenever he played his ocarina and the one who watched beautiful sunsets with him as the last minutes of the day started to fade away? She was a constant soothing presence in his life, and he would never forgive himself if he ever forgot about Malon.

He stood still, hoping that in some way, listening to his wife’s voice could somehow lead him out of the darkness. It was strange that Malon’s voice was echoing from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, and whatever she was saying was so choppy and fragmented that Time could barely make out the syllables of each word, but her voice was like a lifeline to him, and he was willing to try and latch onto it no matter how distant it was.

“What makes you believe that I should? I have not finished killing all the enemies here, nor have I finished correcting the mistakes in this timeline.”

This voice was deeper, colder, and more unforgiving than Malon’s, and each word rang out unnervingly clear in Time’s mind. The being’s tone was indifferent towards the words it was saying, as if the very notion of killing monsters and fixing mistakes in a timeline was just another mundane task that anyone could do. Time would’ve chuckled if the situation wasn’t all so disorientating. As if fixing something so complicated as a timeline was simple, he should know; he’s been struggling with trying to correct his mistakes for years now, and all his attempts have either led to the eventual destruction of Hyrule or to the creation of more timelines, which would only make his hair turn greyer from the added stress. Honestly, at this point, he was sure that only Hylia herself or some other god could fix this.

Wait. Another god. 

Another god.

His heart was suddenly racing, the thumping in his chest and the rush of blood in his ears getting overwhelmingly loud. Had he really put on the Fierce Deity mask and become that soulless, heartless god? What were even the circumstances that led him to do that? He swore that he would only use that thing if the situation at hand was nearly hopeless - if his or his loved ones’ lives were practically hanging by a thin thread - but surely it hadn’t come to that, had it?

Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t really remember what had happened. The latest memory he had at the moment was having to buy a new shield for Wild because he broke it while shield - surfing, but that was nearly a day ago - or was it just a few hours ago? Or a couple of minutes ago? Or maybe weeks ago? For someone renowned as the ‘Hero of Time’, his namesake was definitely failing him.

How long had it been since he had given the Fierce Deity control over his body? How long had it been since he last saw light? How long had it been since he’d last seen Malon, or any of the other heroes for that matter? Where were the other heroes? Where was he? 

“He … kill me … let … go.”

He lifted his head up at a dizzying speed and his eye widened with fear. No, what was Malon talking about? Why was she suddenly talking about ‘killing’ of all things? She knew so much about the Fierce Deity mask and its bloodlust so why in the world was she tempting that thing?

He sucked in a sharp breath. 

He needs out. He needs out right now.

“Let me out!” Time yelled out to no one, but even if it seemed as such, he knew that the deity could hear him. “ Let me out right now!”

“Link … enough … let … go.”

“I know you can hear me! Let me out right now!”

“... Dead … stop … enough.”

“I will burn you to ashes if you lay a single finger on Malon! You hear me?! I’ll kill you!”

Together, he and Malon pleaded from two different sides, the latter’s coming out in careful demands and the former’s coming out in harsh screams. It was impossible to know what was going on outside, and it made Time feel all the more fearful because he didn’t know if he was off simply killing a few Moblins and Lizalfos, or was about to stab a sword through his wife’s chest. He needs to know what was going on. He needs out.

After what felt like an eternity, he felt the floor tilt from beneath him when the Fierce Deity finally nodded and said, “ Very well.” Time’s world was suddenly flooded with light.

His body was already pitching forward before his mind could even register it, and the feel of strong arms coming to wrap around his chest was barely felt through the numbness in his body. His head lolled wearily onto the person’s shoulder, and he didn’t even bother to move the locks of hair that pressed haphazardly against his face. His whole being was sagging with both fatigue and relief, and when he was finally able to make out the white dress underneath his chin and the sight of ginger locks, he used all his remaining strength to lock Malon into a tight hug.

“Link!” She shouted in surprise, but he only squeezed harder, refusing to let her go as if she would disappear without his hold. He buried his head further into her neck and breathed in the familiar scent of hay and home - cooked meals, slowly easing his shoulders when his mind finally registered that he was free from the deity’s hold, he was able to use his own body again, and that he was back home, safe and sound. He pulled away for a second, ready to scold his wife for even attempting to do something so reckless as standing up to a god, but froze when he saw the state of Hyrule Field.

The field - his home -  was littered with bodies: those of monsters, humans, and Hylians all strewn about like tossed ragdolls. Blood coated the ground in dark, messy paint splatters on a grassy canvas, and the weapons and armor of the multitude of soldiers that came here were all broken into pieces, destroyed with clean and powerful slices. The whole place reeked of death, and it was nothing like the beautiful plains he was used to seeing.

What had the Fierce Deity done?

He didn’t even realise he was staggering until he felt his wife’s arms around him again.

“Link!” A frantic voice called out, and Time was barely able to recognize it as Malon’s. “ It’s going to be alright!”

He would’ve laughed if his throat wasn’t so tight. ‘Alright’? ‘Alright’? There was nothing that could be ‘alright’ about this situation; the Fierce Deity had killed innocent people - he had killed innocent people - and there was no magical way to grab all their souls and force them back into their respective bodies. They were dead, plain and simple.

His wife was leading him towards their home with one of his arms wrapped firmly across her shoulders and another arm delicately pressing his side to hers. Time could barely keep his heavy steps in time with Malon’s strides, and the right side of his face burned hotter than the flames on Volvagia’s back, but he tried to focus all of his attention on the determination etched onto Malon’s face, hoping vainly that he could draw some sort of hope from that.

His wife was settling him on their shared bed before he was even able to register it, and the soft plush of quilts and blankets did nothing to quell the massive pit in his stomach. Neither the sting of alcohol on his skin as his wounds were cleaned nor Malon’s gentle reassurances did nothing to bring him out of his shock; his mind was still lost in Hyrule Field, looking upon the corpses that littered the green like blooming weeds.

He wondered how long he had been gone for. Minutes? Hours? It could’ve very well been days if he was being completely honest. From the time he put on the mask to the time the Fierce Deity took it off, the Hero of Time was stuck in a dark limbo, where neither his senses nor time itself existed. He surmised that the only reason he was even able to rouse was because of Malon’s voice piercing through the darkness like an arrow to the heart, and he used that opportunity to frantically regain control of his body; otherwise, if he just let that chance flitter away, then he was sure the deity would just kill her along with everyone else.

He startled when a light touch settled on his shoulder, and his eye fell onto an anxious redhead.

“Malon?” His voice trembled like that of a fearful child, and the ranchhand smiled sadly at him.

“That’s right, Fairy Boy. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to the market to fetch some more supplies. I’ll be back in ten minutes, so don’t even think about moving, alright?”

With a tight nod, he watched her move towards the door leading to the hallway, but after a sudden thought came to mind, he quickly blurted out, “ The boys?”

He held his breath as his wife paused in the doorway, and he felt each second tick by excruciatingly slow. Finally, after what felt like years of waiting, she finally turned back and quietly said, “ It’ll be alright.”

The Hero of Time’s stomach dropped. The forced smile on his wife’s lips, the way she dug her nails into the wooden doorframe, the reassuring words she uttered trying to get him to relax even though his subconscious was telling him that he shouldn’t get such a luxury - he should’ve known that something was wrong. Something worse had happened while the Fierce Deity had possessed him, and the little child within him was too scared to find out.

The time between Malon coming home and tending to his remaining injuries was an absolute blur. He remembered her walking back into the room with a myriad of potions and bandages in her arms, and the idle small talk she tried to make as she immediately got back to work. Her voice was soothing, and Time did his best to listen to what she was saying but his mind refused to budge from the topic of the Fierce Deity and death, even long after his wife had left. He was just … numb; his body, his senses, his emotions, were all just numb, all because of a memory he could not remember.

A few harsh knocks pulled Time out of his thoughts, and the visitor didn’t even bother to wait for an invitation. Warriors came barging into the room within seconds, with Wild slowly trailing in behind him, his face well - hidden beneath his signature cloak. They stood together at one side of the bedroom, and the Hero of Time couldn’t even muster the courage to look either of them in the eye.

“What did you do?”

Every bit of Warriors’s words were filled with unadulterated rage, even if they were just barely above a whisper. As the seconds ticked by without an answer, he yelled out louder, “ Tell me, Time, what the fuck did you do?!”

The Hero of Time flinched at the words, and could only muster out a small, “ U - Um -.”

“Can you even begin to understand the gravity of your actions?!” And the Hero of Warriors didn’t even concern himself with formalities anymore. “ You killed hundreds of innocent people just for your own sick enjoyment! They were here to help us - sent graciously by the queen herself - and you just slaughtered them as if they were nothing more than pigs and cattle! And the way you killed Legend and Sky … exactly how long were you waiting to do that?”

No - Time’s breath caught in his throat - no, no, Hylia, he didn’t -.

“Are you happy that two of Hylia’s Chosen Heroes are gone now, with two others well on their way? I’m sure Hyrule loves being in a coma, and Twilight is just absolutely thrilled about bleeding to death!”

Time didn’t miss the way Wild stiffened at the mention of his mentor, nor the shuddering breath he took.

Warriors took a step forward as to shield the champion from Time’s gaze and growled out, “ Those four trusted you - we all trusted you - and you stabbed us in the back like the fucking traitor that you are.”

The Hero of Time flinched at the words. Traitors were the thing that their captain hated the most, and when he said that someone was a traitor, he wholeheartedly meant it. 

His fingers twisted harder into the sheets underneath him. As pathetic as it was, he was scared. He was too terrified to ask the dreaded question of how he killed Legend and Sky, too terrified to see how bad off Twilight and Hyrule were, and too terrified to explain that he was under the control of a deity whose powers he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. He betrayed those young heroes who he had considered him as a leader and family, and he had undoubtedly shattered any chance of regaining their trust; all he could do now is wither under the captain’s denouncement and apologize for something that couldn’t be forgiven.

It was Warriors who finally broke the tense silence by sharply turning on his heel and leading the Hero of Wilds and himself out. “ You’re a filthy disgrace to the Kingdom of Hyrule,” He spat out. “ And if I find you anywhere near me or any of the other heroes, I’ll kill you.”

The slam of a door marked their exit, and the Hero of Time was left alone again. 

The room was filled with a warm glow from the fading sunset, and all the small picture frames and knickknacks scattered about the place were highlighted in a beautiful orange - red. He would usually appreciate the breathtaking scene, happy that his cruel and demanding adventures had led him to living on a peaceful farm with his loving wife, but he couldn’t this time, not with the knowledge that this field was stained with the blood of innocent soldiers and heroes long before and after him.

He messed up - he fucked up - and he didn’t even bother to hide the small tears that dribbled down his face and onto the beautifully - quilted fabric. He worked so hard to keep the Kingdom of Hyrule at peace, and did his best to help those in need regardless of how demanding they were, but no amount of good deeds could ever bring back any of the people he mercilessly slaughtered. Who would he even blame for his actions? Hylia? The Fierce Deity? They were both deities that obviously didn’t care what a Hylian said about them; they would just go on with their respective existences, not even batting an eye at the millions they had killed for the sake of getting what they wanted.

But Time wasn’t like that: he was a person with feelings, limits, traumas, and regrets, and no matter how immune he thought he was to the problems of this world, he would always come tumbling back down from his high horse as soon as he couldn’t take being the Hero of Time anymore. He had become arrogant, the years of saving people and being a beacon of hope finally getting to his head and allowing him to take the risk of letting the Fierce Deity have control over him, thinking that in some way, somehow, he could finally regain some resemblance of control and transform back into his usual self. He was beyond stupid to think that such a simple Hylian like him could take on an otherworldly god, and he was beyond stupid to think that his plan, no matter how well thought - out, could outsmart anyone that had existed for millennia. What a terrible decision that was, allowing something as powerful as a deity to keep him in the dark while it went on doing whatever it pleased. If only he could turn back time and - .

He stilled for a second before his head shot up in an instant. He was stumbling to his feet before he even knew it, and was eagerly making his way over to wear his item pouch resided on the dresser. His hand dug greedily into the bag like a hungry wolf, and he didn’t stop until his fingers brushed against a familiar ceramic. The item came out with little resistance, and he couldn’t help but stare as the sun’s rays bounced off his ocarina’s blue shell. 

He could do it: he could turn back time and prevent any of this from ever happening. The instrument was at his lips within milliseconds, his breath already ready to blow out the familiar tune, when a sudden thought came to mind:

What would happen to this timeline? Time knew for a fact that timelines don’t just disappear, if Legend’s and Hyrule’s, Wild’s and Twilight’s, and Wind’s eras were anything to go by, so what exactly would the Malon here be left with? Would the Link she knew just cease to exist? Or would a carbon copy of himself still exist with memories only the past him would know? And what about the other heroes? Would they go on in their travels with only four heroes instead of nine, significantly reducing their manpower and chances of success? And what if they failed to take care of the overarching threat? He could be leaving behind millions of distraught people to a dismal fate with no Hero of Time to blame.

But he couldn’t remain here; not when Sky, Legend, Twilight, and Hyrule were so close to an untimely death, if not already dead. So he would go back in time, prevent the Fierce Deity from ever having any control over him, and make sure that no one died at his hand.

With his mind made up, he blew into the Ocarina of Time, and watched as the seconds ticked backwards.

Time jolted as he was thrown back into time, and anxiously looked at his surroundings: it looked like he was outside a small tavern … yes, the one he and the Links had stumbled upon two days and 16 hours ago, and judging by the moon’s high position in the sky, it appears that this is the time they were about to leave. As if on cue, an irritated Legend groaned out,

“Ugh, does he always do this? I swear, Cityboy is going to drink himself into a coma one day.”

Warriors, the person in question, directed a dramatic pointed look towards the former and slurred out, “ Hey, I’ll go into a coma whenever I want to, thank you very much.”

A cheery Sky readjusted his grip on the captain’s arm and nervously laughed, “ It’s okay; I’m sure he’s a responsible drinker and knows when he’s reached his limit.” But then added in a smaller voice, “ But I don’t think drinking this much in one sitting is a good idea.”

“No, it’s fine! I’ve seen Wars drink a lot more than he did tonight! And the stuff they had here wasn’t even that strong anyways.” Wind chimed in, and Four from beside him could only stare in exasperation at the unlabeled bottle hidden behind the sailor’s back.

Wild jogged to the group seconds after and asked, “ Hey, are we gonna get going soon? Because Twi is rounding up all the dogs here again, and we don’t want another incident like last time.” And as if to emphasize his point, he jabbed his thumb towards the direction where his mentor was busy playing with a large number of said canines.

Hyrule regarded his travelling companion with an empathetic smile as he answered back with, “ Yeah, I think we were about to leave, right Time?” And when he looked to the group’s leader, he asked in a more concerned tone, “ … Time?”

The Hero of Time didn’t even realize he was staring at each one of them until a majority of them were staring back at him, each regarding him with a curious gaze. He quickly shook his thoughts away and said, “ Yes, we should get going before morning comes.”

So the group began to trek forward towards the inn they would eventually settle into approximately an hour later, all the while bustling about each other’s actions. Time smiled warmly at the group’s antics, but quickly set his jaw in a show of determination. He had another chance to set things right, and goddesses - be - damned if he let this opportunity just slip away.

He won’t let anyone die this time.  

#linkeduniverse #LU Malon #LU Time #fanfic #linktober2020

[johannesviii]

So I guess I’m hyperfixating on Death Stranding at the moment

And since I’ve finally finished the story after playing it for like 100 hours over the course of seven months or so I guess I have Opinions(tm) about things I didn’t like in the game

They’re eating at my brain so I’m gonna put them all in a single post to get them out of my system once and for all so I can enjoy the rest in peace

Spoilers, obviously

Hi welcome back to ‘Johannes is obsessing over yet another video game with horror elements in it’! I guess!!

Our latest entry in that category was Until Dawn but since UD can be played in like 6/7 hours and I spent 100 hours of my life on DS, as you can guess we’re talking about a full-blown hyperfixation, the kind that physically hurts because I can’t focus on anything else even after having finished the storyline

But it was super gradual. Again, seven months. I barely made any progress from December to May because I was only doing side-deliveries at the beginning of Chapter 3 instead of... you know... advancing the plot. It became an honest-to-god special interest about two months ago, then 6 days ago while playing chapter 10 it reached hyperfixation levels and now I am in PAIN

I hate my brain

Anyhow

At first I wanted to list the good and the bad hings in it but there’s too many good things to list them all in full, excruciatingly long details, so

Very Quick And Very Incomplete List Of Good Things That I Love

It’s a post-apo game based on travel, logistics, and good will, and it straight up goes AGAINST the whole ‘survival of the fittest’ trope that SO MANY post-apo things try to push!! YES

I insist but it’s built on helping each other and keeping everyone alive, seriously that is my shit right there!

The online community is wholesome?? People leave stuff everywhere, you never see anyone but people put little helpful signs and send you likes, and in my game we almost managed to repair all the roads together

There’s so many new & strange allergies and disabilities and phobias in this post-apo world and? nobody is trying to ““fix”“ anyone?? Like Heartman with his padded floor and his little box that brings him back to life constantly. He’s just... living like that. Nobody’s going “hey maybe you should get another heart operation buddy”

The hero and his phobia of being touched. I. Loved. That. The quiet scenes when he was just talking with Fragile, sitting next to her. In any other context this would just be two people sitting next to each other and talking but it always feels so soft and intimate everytime he allows another human being to just. be next to him. I love it. I love them

Everyone crying constantly because of chiral allergy!!

I loved all the important characters bar one (Bridget/Amelie)!

Why is this walking simulator so enjoyable why am I enjoying the fact that holding L2 + R2 while walking feels like holding your backpack and that you have to relax at times just like you’d have to if you were actually holding a backpack

Seriously. Why

The atmosphere was so great, the music was fantastic and the visuals were on point. A E S T H E T I C

The ghosts!! The giant Beached Things!!! Chiral crystals look! like! creepy hands reaching for the SKY!!

THE RAIN DESTROYS THINGS AND KILLS PEOPLE BY ACCELERATING TIME THIS IS SO COOL SHUT UP

Everytime the game got surreal it was electrifying

THE SURREAL WAR SCENES ON CLIFF’S BEACH

Everyone is using emojis

There’s guys addicted to delivering packages in that game and they’re trying to steal our stuff and we’re like “haha they’re dumb” but we’re basically addicted to delivering packages as the player. So yeah that was pretty fun

Terrorists thinking humanity isn’t going extinct fast enough and wanting to just rip the bandaid and speed things up. Simple but effective concept

People ask for SUPER VITAL ITEMS right next to completely trivial stuff and I’m LIVING for it. “Please fetch my toy dinosaur”. I feel you dude

The most isolated characters are like "LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THIS THING I LIKE" in your emails because they haven't had contact with other humans in years, it's super relatable

There’s a farm where people use the fact that Timefall rain accelerates time to grow food super quickly in one (1) Timefall and harvest everything just before it starts to die and I LOVE that detail of worldbuilding so much

YOU’RE FIGHTING BEACHED THINGS WITH YOUR OWN BODILY FLUIDS IT’S SO STUPID BUT ALSO SO COOL?? I love yeet-ing my own blood at eldritch entities

THE T W I S T S

All the fanservice (bar one detail that I’m gonna complain about later) is on dudes. This game reeeeeeally likes to show dudes naked or somewhat naked. Mostly the main character but this mocap also L O V E S Mads Mikkelsen and there’s a shit ton of homoerotic shots in there

I love Sam the antisocial papa wolf delivery man and if someone touches him or his baby again, I will cry

LOU. LOU LOU LOU PRECIOUS BABY I’D DIE FOR YOU. Wait I did

I love Fragile and how brave she is and how she keeps helping people even if most of them wrongly think she’s a terrorist and yes I will eat this cryptobiote thank you

I love soft science boi Heartman who keeps dying again and again and is a bit too much interested in bodily fluids

I love garbage man Higgs and how complex, funny and still somewhat tragic this memelord actually turned out to be in the end

Seriously I want to stop fixating on this character but you can’t give me YET ANOTHER character who wants to die but at the hands of someone else, that is unfair to do that right after my fixation on the new Doctor Who Master

So yeah Higgs is yet another character who makes me want to grab him by the lapels and shake him and yell WHY! ARE! YOU! LIKE! THIS! STOP! BEING! LIKE! THIS!!

Cliff broke all three of my feelings beautifully and in excruciatingly well-acted scenes that transcended the sometimes lackluster dialogue

John made me cry during That Scene

Mama your background was tragic and terrifying and you didn’t deserve any of this shit and I love you

Deadman was more funny than anything, really, but I still liked him even if he had no sense of personal space whatsoever and it clashed horribly with Sam’s phobias

The ending had some sad parts but was mostly positive, thank goodness

Now I’m gonna explain things I dislike and this looks long but it’s actually only 5 main things so I bolded them to avoid confusion

Things I really disliked (and could have been handled wayyyy better)

We all know it but Kojima isn’t a master of subtlety and some parts of the dialogue kept repeating the same informations again and again AND AGAIN and I was like “ok ok I get it”

The dialogue can be so bad at times seriously

Kojima is a bad writer there I said it

It was particularly annoying with Amelie/Bridget and the fact she’s a horrible person trying (and failing) to justify her actions wasn’t helping

Bridges protocols are incredibly intrusive. All of them. I know it’s framed as bad and Sam hates being spied on all the time and in the end he destroys the device that does that, but I wish someone else would openly criticise it in-game

I guess Deadman sort of did but still

Also I know the whole BB technology was Bridget’s idea, and since she’s the actual villain it’s framed as a twisted, evil thing during the ending, but I wish that had been framed like that much earlier ; a lot of Bridges employees just... seem to accept the idea that their employer is using premature babies and their dead mothers as useful, if disturbing, devices. They seem to justify it by “uh we stole that technology from terrorists” to try to cope with the idea but... yeah.

I mean, one of the points being made very early on is that Sam sees his BB as his child who must be protected at all costs instead of a detection device, but I really wish he wasn’t the only one to object to that thing

Again, the game DOES frame "using babies and their dead mothers as tools” as evil and twisted, I just wish it was given a lot more weight and way sooner

Now let’s talk about the Token Straight(tm) in this game

In any other kind of context it would be a joke! But Death Stranding literally has a Token Straight Guy!

I mean, there IS a few hetero couples among the Preppers. Not a lot, mind you. Like, there’s the Montaineer and his wife for instance. But they’re just there and it’s not what their side plot is about

No I’m talking about this piece of shit right there

This f█cking Junk Dealer guy complains the girl he loves is dead because of Bridges and emotionally blackmails us by sending us old holograms of her before her supposed death (somewhat disturbing holograms too because she looks... pretty young in them), then he sends us on what’s essentially a suicide mission in a BT infested zone, THEN when we give him proof she’s still alive and living in another bunker nearby, he won’t go there himself to check??

But SHE’s like “ok, bring me to him, then!”

He doesn’t deserve you, girl

I’ve already seen several people pointing out that carrying a woman as cargo on your back is... debatable at best and sexist at worst, but that part didn’t really bother me to be honest? She asked to be carried to him and it’s her choice. She was talking to us the entire way too, so that made things a lot less awkward. Also Sam has this phobia of being touched by other people so I bet carrying another human being on his back isn’t fun for him. It was also super stressful to do, to be honest.

And then there’s this EXTREMELY AWKWARD scene when they’re reunited and decide to get married, and thankfully Sam finds it just as awkward as we do because he’s standing super far away from the bunker in a “can’t they talk about this later - I’m right there” way. And I’m under the impression it was intended as cringy, in a “yeppp young people in love are Like That” sort of way, so I can accept that, to be honest. If you don’t take that scene seriously, it’s pretty fun in, again, a cringy sort of way

BUT

Then you receive more emails later and this piece of shit guy complains about her and he’s like “ugh WOMEN” or “marriage is the worst” and they end up divorced in record time and she goes back to her bunker

Which isn’t my problem with this subplot either, I promise I’m gonna explain myself eventually but this context is important. It’s okay to have characters who are pieces of shit like this guy who reeks of incel cologne. It’s alright. Not every character has to be a role-model. It’s good to have characters you can hate.

BUT THEN they get back together later to try to patch things up and you learn he was part of a gang who murdered her parents even though he protected her against the rest of the gang and that’s what I hated about that storyline. I guess if you squint it can be read as “this woman is making REALLY BAD life choices” but I read it as “he saved her so she owes him something, he can’t be entirely bad” and y i k e s this left such a bad taste in my mouth, good lord.

But yeah miss Chiral Artist you’re making really bad life choices please get away from this dude as soon as you can, thank you

Also don’t do this ‘sending Likes’ pose ever again, it was hilarious but also you made me use the word “cringy” several times in this paragraph even though I absolutely hate cringe culture, look what you made me do

Now I have to talk about a scene that was intentionally disturbing as hell but ONE (1) detail in it was disturbing for the wrong reasons

To be honest, I really don’t like the Metal Gear Solid games and one of the reasons is the rampant sexism in them so I... was kind of bracing myself for Death Stranding and expecting it to have at least SOME really bad fanservice with a woman at one point or another but to my surprise?? There was none? All the fanservice is on dudes??? Hello? I really liked that (well at some point Fragile takes a shower in our room but we see literally nothing except her shoulder and then Sam looks away)?? What a refreshing change

THAT BEING SAID

And if you played the game you know exactly what I’m about to talk about

Yep this is the part where Johannes complains about how the bomb flashback was shot

Ok so I guess I should also give some context in case someone is reading this but hasn’t played the game, but the deal with this scene is that our friend Fragile was betrayed by her colleague Higgs who used to be a porter but became a terrorist after meeting the “main“ villain of the game. First he secretly put a thermonuclear bomb in one of her deliveries so she’d nuke an entire city without even knowing it, and everyone after that thought she was a terrorist. And then he tried to do that shit A SECOND TIME, but she noticed and decided to toss the second nuke into a bottomless lake of tar. But he caught her just before she reached the lake and he decided to give her a sadistic choice, which was “teleport away and the bomb stays there and nukes the city, or carry it to the lake but only in your underwear under this rain that speeds up time and it will do enormous damage to your health and your body”

And of course being the hero she is, she decides to take the second option

And it’s an incredibly disturbing scene and it’s genuinely hard to watch

But it’s also the ONLY time a woman is in her underwear in this entire game and there’s A COUPLE of shots that were male-gaze-y at the beginning before she started to run and the really horrific part started.

So in a way I guess it could have been worse? way worse, even

But it still tarnishes an otherwise disturbing (and harrowing at times ; seriously I know I’m oversensitive but it was physically painful to watch) scene with unnecessary shots

We know Fragile had a young body before this happened, this isn’t the point of this scene, guys

Whoever decided to keep these shots (probably Kojima let’s face it), that is bad and you should feel bad

Idk how to do a visual transition for that next one because I do not want to screen that memo

So here’s a screenshot with a nice landscape instead

tw: acephobia

Now I have to talk about something I like the GENERAL IDEA of, but not how the IN-GAME MATERIAL ABOUT IT was written

Because I have to talk about that “asexual world” memo

First I have to say that I absolutely love the fact that a mainstream game openly says in-game “this future is full of asexual people" and?? it’s just that, it’s a part of this world. That’s just how things are. It’s normalised. I love it. For crying out loud this memo has the word demisexual in it. I can’t think of any other mainstream game that had this word in it so far.

It should have stopped there and let me enjoy that in peace but it didn’t

THE MEMO ITSELF WAS CLEARLY WRITTEN BY SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO HANDLE THESE CONCEPTS and there’s some really bad stuff there. I’d say it’s accidental acephobia but it’s still there. I’m not the best person to talk about this because I’m bi, but it still rubbed me the wrong way

The words this memo uses near the beginning are “"sexless lifestyle” among young people” and yikes, my dude. “Lifestyle”, uh? Really?

And then it goes on about how these new labels were already more and more common “among young people before the Death Stranding” and it also rubs me the wrong way, in a “wow young people and their weird labels lol” sort of queerphobic way?

However I’ve seen a post pointing out that the line “One theory posits that the Stranding accelerated the proliferation of these sexualities” was maybe a way of saying ‘yo asexuals are causing the end of the world’ but... I don’t see it, tbh? In the context of the game, society is extremely divided and a lot of people live in complete isolation and social norms have heavily shifted and it’s kind of normal that there’s queer people visible everywhere now, aces included obviously, because nobody’s bothering to hide it anymore. It’s a post-apocalyptic world! People are just being themselves! A lot of characters also seem to be bi/pan! They’re just vibing ok

At least that’s how I read that part, I can understand if someone had a problem with that bit but I didn’t

BUT! THAT’S NOT ALL because the memo concludes (I’m paraphrasing) “the birth rate has dropped, which might be a problem, but harassment and assault have also dropped, which is good, so idk it’s 50/50″ and. like. I get the intention. But it’s clumsy as hell and very bad. Please don’t confuse abuse of power and attraction. They don’t go hand in hand. Don’t do that. Please. And you know that aces can have kids if they want to, right. Come on. It’s 2020 my dude. This shit is harmful

Also. Like. It’s the end of the world in this game. People don���t want kids. It... has nothing to do with aces. Reality itself is crashing down. People are reluctant to have kids because reality.exe might f█cking crash down at any given moment!

Or a Beached Thing could VoidOut their city!

Or someone might send them a nuke, not naming names!!

Anyway!!!

It’s really badly written and whoever wrote it should educate themselves and maybe get an ace to re-read their stuff next time??

Again I’m not the right person to talk about acephobia and I bet an actual ace would have plenty more to say about this

Thankfully it’s a memo written in-game by a random Bridges councellor and NOT by any important character that we actually know

"I must preempt myself by admitting that I do not have any empirical data" yeah so, f█ck off maybe

So I’m just gonna call that guy “another piece of shit character” but it still doesn’t excuse the fact that the memo was written by someone who thought it was a good idea to put it in the game

Just let me enjoy my super queer post-apo world in peace and don’t write shit like that in your game thank you and goodbye

Minor stuff I also disliked but it wasn’t as awful

I get that Sam is upset at the end because Lou is dying but the way he said goodbye to Fragile broke my heart. It was abrupt and you KNOW he’s upset and wants to have nothing to do with Bridges anymore and that’s very understandable but it isn’t her fault

Seriously I want them to be friends again

I’m gonna pretend they’re friends again after Lou is saved and that Sam is a freelance porter again and sometimes their paths cross and they just talk together in the middle of nowhere and share cryptobiotes

The pacing is weird, there’s this deluge of plot in the beginning and the end but not much in the middle?

The BT boss fights could have been these epic Shadow of the Colossus showdowns but no, they were relatively standard boss fights. Wasted opportunity

The running on the Beach scene sdfghjhgfdsdfghjhgf that was... dumb

A lot of preppers are interesting in one way or another but some are just boring. Also I wish the design of their bunkers was more varied

Amelie/Bridget’s motivations are all over the place, both creating Bridges AND the Demens is... a lot? I know she both WANTS and DOESN’T want the actual, final end of the world to happen but that is a lot to take in and it’s all very confusing

Who the hell cares about ‘rebuilding America’ I just want to build a network where people can help each other

The ‘likes’ are fun but don’t make much sense

In conclusion

Death Stranding Good

Some stuff Bad

Some stuff Very Bad (but it’s just one memo out of 100+ memos, thank god)

I’m still hyperfixating

Send help

#death stranding #long post #eye contact tw #acephobia tw #from a minor unamed character but still it's there

[allicekitty13]

With Friends Like These

Read On Ao3

Read On FFN

Alice is forced to spend Thanksgiving with her father's family for the first time since he and her mother were divorced four years ago. Can an emotionally exhausting day be improved when she runs into Jasper and Rosalie while Black Friday shopping?

Part 2 of Jalice- Holidays an ongoing on short stories taking place on every holiday/special day of the year. I want to make sure everyone’s favorite day is included so feel free to send me a message if there’s a day you’d like to see on the list <3

It was the most uncomfortable Thanksgiving Alice had experienced since the divorce. She hadn't wanted to come, begged her mother to let her celebrate the holiday with The Cullen's as she usually would have and allowing Cynthia to travel to their father's residence in Seattle alone. Alice wasn't a big fan of thanksgiving. Still, spending it with her Aunt Esme, Uncle Carlisle, and even her moody overdramatic cousin Edward would have been much preferable to being stuck with her father's side of the family all day.

The morning had been spent with Anna-Marie, her soon to be step-mother who'd made it a goal to bond with the girls. They'd baked multiple pies and prepared enough side dishes to feed a small army. It was rather bothersome how, despite tearing her family apart, the woman desperately wanted to be a part of Alice and Cynthia's lives. She'd spent quite some time that morning trying to convince the youngest Brandon to call her 'mom.' If this was a day for being thankful, Alice would count the girl's outright refusal as one of the few blessings of the day.

The woman's awkward efforts at girl talk as they paid half-attention to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade were almost tolerable compared to the silent treatment Alice had received from her Aunt and uncle. From the moment they had arrived, their father's sister and her husband had pointedly ignored Alice's presence going out of their way to shower little Cynthia with adoration while pretending Alice wasn't there.

In all honesty, as she sat pushing around the turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing on her plate, she decided that having people pretend you didn't exist was much preferable to the barrage of questions her grandparents threw her way. They wanted to know about her grades, where was she planning on going to school after graduation, did she have a boyfriend.

Alice didn't want to answer any of these inquiries. Her response about her mediocre grades in English and history earned her a look of satisfaction from where her Aunt sat across the table. She didn't have an answer to the other questions having no current plans to go to university.

The boyfriend question, in particular, gave her pause. She'd been seeing Jasper Whitlock casually since Halloween when he'd finally confessed his mutual crush. She was enjoying the relationship, letting a sweet smile slip at the thought of the boy, but they hadn't had that conversation yet. She couldn't honestly say if he was her boyfriend or not, though she was definitely open to the idea.

In response to her grandparents, she had offered a simple no. Even if she did have a legitimate answer to their question, in all reality, it was none of their business. Over the past four years, there hadn't been a single birthday card; they hadn't given Alice or Cynthia so much a birthday card. Every one of the relatives on her mother's side already knew all the answers to these questions, had her grandparents made any effort to remain in her life after the divorce, they would as well.

The barrage of questions, the silent treatment of her Aunt and uncle, Anna-Marie's ever frequent attempts to include her in conversation, and of course, the dirty looks her father kept shooting her way was almost too much to handle. She wanted to yell at her grandparents to shut up, to stand up and storm away from the table, to hop in her car and drive straight back to Forks. But as she looked to where Cynthia was sitting on her grandfather's lap sharing a piece of pumpkin pie, she knew she had to stick it out as always Alice needed to be the adult. In due time, Cynthia would learn the cruelties of the Brandon family. For now, it was best to sit back and allow her younger sibling to enjoy the innocence of her youth.

With an internal sigh and a quick glance at her watch, curious as to how much longer she would have to endure her extended family Alice turned her attention back to her grandparents. She continued to politely answer the increasingly invasive questions as she waited for the meal to end when she could go upstairs to her old room and hopefully contact some of her friends over Zoom. The thought of flirting with Jasper, explaining the complexities of contouring to Bella, or discussing baseball with Emmett was enough to keep her powering through the meal.

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

Once the extended family had said their goodbyes and made their way back to their own homes, Anna-Marie had the fantastic idea of trying to bond with the girls some more before they returned to Forks later that night. The idea was that the  family , for lack of a better word, would head to Target for some early Black Friday shopping.

Cynthia had taken to the promise of new toys quite easily, rushing for her coat as soon as the idea had been proposed, bouncing with excitement as she waited for Alice to end her Zoom call with Emmett. He'd been the only friend available when she'd sent out a group message. Bella was busy watching football with Charlie and Edward, who'd apparently left his own home to join them. She'd gotten a chuckle out of her cousin's response to her text on how football was pointless and boring; it was sweet, though, how he endured the game to please his girlfriend. To Alice's disappointment, neither Jasper nor Rosalie had responded to her message; she understood they were likely spending quality time with family, but it would have been nice to see their faces, specifically the former.

Emmett's presence was a godsend though, he was always good for a bad joke and discussion of something nonsensical. He was good at distracting people from matters at hand, precisely what Alice needed after the excruciatingly long afternoon and the tedium of her old room. It made sense that the space wouldn't be the same after four years and with most of her belongings back in Forks, but she hadn't expected it to feel so... foreign.

With some words of encouragement from Emmett, a quick reminder that it was only a few more hours before she would be allowed to make the return trip to Forks, Alice ended the call with her friend and begrudgingly made her way downstairs.

Luckily, she had been able to convince her father it made the most sense to drive herself to Target. After all, she'd driven both she and Cynthia to Seattle that morning, and by the time they'd finished shopping, it would be time to make the return trip. As she directed her sister into the beat-up Lumina and proceeded to buckle herself in, she wondered if Edgar's easy acceptance had been due to the logic of the statement or in an excuse to spend less time around his children. Watching her father and his future wife throughout the day had made it abundantly clear that the siblings were not there because he missed his children; rather, their presence was a concession to Anna-Marie's misguided desire to be a part of their lives.

Once at the store, Edgar had made halfhearted attempts to point out things his fiance thought Alice might enjoy. Books on subjects that might have interested her four years prior, records that may have held her interest before the divorce. Anna-Marie had likely gone through the few belongings left in Alice's room in an attempt to form a bond between the eldest daughter and her father. The effort was, however, far too little and far too late.

It took less than an hour for the two adults to give up on trying to placate Alice turning their undivided attention instead to her easier to please younger sister. Too young to recall or understand exactly what the pair had done, Cynthia  seemed  fine looking at toys with Edgar and Anna-Marie. So, when all three backs were turned to examine a doll the youngest Brandon daughter had pointed at excitedly, Alice ducked out of the aisle headed for the store's makeup section.

As she looked over a new line of palettes from Stila, a favorite brand of hers, she thought to herself that there was no way she could afford the still-high price even at the significant Black Friday price slash. Making a move to put it back, she jumped in fright as a pair of hands covered her eyes, only relaxing when the familiar voice of Jasper Whitlock whispered "Boo" in her ear as the hands dropped from her field of vision.

With a delighted chuckle and the first genuine smile she'd exhibited that day, she turned around, leaning in to hug the first friendly face she'd seen since leaving home for her father's that morning, allowing herself to relax in his presence. Even before they'd entered into whatever their relationship was now, Jasper had always been one of her closest friends. His presence was calming and safe. As she peeked around his arm, her happiness rose at seeing yet another friendly face standing back, looking over a rack of lipsticks.

Rosalie, who's long luscious curly locks were usually the same honey shade of blonde as her brother, had dyed her hair with what was meant to be temporary black dye to really get into the part of her Halloween costume. Unfortunately, the coloring hadn't washed out completely, leaving her hair stained a silvery grey color. To her credit, Rosalie had chosen to embrace the new look rather than freak out about the mistake. Always the drama queen, she had leaned into it, cultivating a vastly different style choice choosing slightly edgier black outfits over the past few months.

"What are you guys doing here?" Alice asked, pulling back from the hug, curious as to the circumstances bringing her two friends to a Target in Seattle when there was a location closer to Forks in Silverdale.

"Mom and dad wanted a new sectional for the living room, and this was the closest Target that has the one they're looking at." Rosalie commented as she placed a few lipsticks from the display into her shopping basket. "I'm glad we ran into you. Jas wouldn't shut up in the car about how 'Alice is in Seattle with her dad. I wonder how her day's going. Should I text her, or is that weird? What if she's also at Target? Wouldn't that be fun?' Gotta say, I really wasn't looking forward to that dialogue on the way back."

Rosalie's direct response caused both of the other teens to blush, looking away from each other. "Whatcha' looking at?" Jasper asked, snatching the shadow pallette out of Alice's hands in an attempt to change the subject.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just some new makeup; I'm thinking of seeing if mom can pick it up for Christmas." She the inside corner of her lip as she spoke, not wanting to let on that her mother would not be spending fifty dollars on makeup for Christmas or that there was no way she could afford it herself. "So, do you guys have time to hang out for a bit?"

"Avoiding your dad?" Jasper asked, eliciting a sad nod from the short girl. "Well, anything for you. Right Rose?" He looked over his shoulder at his sister with a mischievous grin.

Rosalie, who now bore an identical expression, agreed with enthusiasm. "I'm sure we can find some ways to keep you entertained."

Jasper quickly tossed something into his sister's shopping basket before grabbing Alice's hand, dragging her off into the heart of the store, followed by a giggling Rosalie.

The trio found various ways to entertain themselves, such as; sword fighting with wrapping paper; Rosalie had picked up a copy of Candyland with the suggestion that they play it ironically in the cady aisle. Alice had agreed on the condition that they purchase it and give it to Cynthia.

Rosalie and Alice had held a competition to see who could put together the most ridiculous outfit strutting through the clothing department. At the same time, Jasper filmed their antics to share on TikTok.

It had been a fun few hours of chaotic activity ending in a trip to the instore Starbucks to reenergize with pumpkin spice as they wandered around trying to decide what to do next. Eventually, they ended up sitting in some camping chairs set out on display in the outdoors section watching the throngs of customers fighting over merchandise. Alice and Jasper sat drinking their Starbucks as they brainstormed what to do next.

Alice had been sitting back, enjoying the pleasant turn her night had taken, when Jasper stood up with an excited look on his face. "I've got it!"

"Please," Rosalie responded. "Do elaborate."

"Okay, the game is hide and seek with a twist. You can hide anywhere in the store; if you're found, you can run and hide again. But if you're tagged, you're done. Any questions?"

"I'm in, but you're it." Alice stood, pulling a cloth headband from her bag. She stepped up onto a decorative stump that made up part of the camping display and tied the fabric around Japer's eyes. "Count to twenty-five and come find us."

She looked over at Rosalie, who nodded, counted to three, and shouted, "GO!" As she took off down the aisle in search of a hiding spot.

Alice followed suit with a light giggle, rushing instinctively to the juniors section ducking under a clearance rack hiding behind the markdown fall jeans and dresses.

It wasn't long before she could see Jasper coming from between the clothing items, stifling a giggle in anticipation, prepared to run as he looked through every rack looking for the girls. It didn't take long for him to reach the spot where she was hidden, laughing out gotcha as she ducked to the side, making a break for the seasonal section. As she chanced a glance behind her to see if he was on her tail, relieved to see the coast was clear, she slowed to a walk only to be surprised when Jasper jumped out from the aisle in front of her.

He reached out, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her forward into a hug. "Got ya, for real this time." He laughed as he held her close, gazing down at her with affection.

The air felt thick with a comfortable tension, her heart thumping hard at a slow, steady rhythm. "We should probably go look for Rosalie." She spoke softly after a moment.

"Yeah, you're probably right." He didn't immediately release her, pausing with an expression that made her wonder if there was something he wanted to say but was holding back.

With a slight shake of the head, Jasper released his hold on her waist. "Would you like a ride, milady?" he asked, gesturing to a discarded shopping cart off to the side, causing Alice to break down in giggles. He lifted her up, placing her delicately into the empty cart, proceeding to push her down the aisle in search of his sibling.

Rosalie wasn't hard to find, having gotten distracted by a bin of discounted Nintendo games and forgetting about the game. The trio decided to wander about the store once again. Distracted by pleasant conversation and a game of walking charades. They didn't notice when they Edgar, Anna-Maria, and Cynthia spotted their group or how Alice's father was storming directly toward them.

"Mary-Alice, who are these people." Her father looked on at Rosalie and Jasper in disgust. Although she didn't particularly care about her father's opinion, it would have been nice to introduce Edgar to Jasper under better circumstances, maybe when she had a clearer idea of exactly what he was to her. At the very least, not while he was pushing her around a Target in a shopping cart.  

"That's Jasper!" Cynthia piped in, unaware of how their father would view the situation. "He's Alice's boyfriend. And Rosie!" The little girl's face lit up upon seeing her favorite of her sister's friends standing off to the side. Cynthia instantly released her hand from Anna-Marie's and bounced over to give the woman a hug. The woman seemed slightly dejected at the action, realizing that the child had been placating her all day, happy to receive any sort of attention. Whereas upon seeing Rosalie, she had been genuinely excited, immediately beginning to chatter about her day at top speeds.

Alice's attention was focused on her fuming father expecting the worst. There wasn't much he could do; after all, they were in a public location, and he'd lost all control he had over her when Alice had moved out with her mother in the divorce. Still, that fear remained ever-present as she unconsciously scooted back further into the cart.

"Get out of that cart and act like a lady! You're embarrassing yourself and my name!" The man seethed, hissing the words through a clenched jaw.

Alice stood, trying to figure out how exactly she was going to get out on her own when Jasper picked her up again. He placed her back on the ground gently before both turned once again to face the angry Edgar. Jasper never once removing his hand from the small of her back; she was grateful for this, the touch keeping her calm and grounded.

Edgar opened his mouth, presumably to order his daughter to say goodbye to her friends when a familiar voice sounded from behind the group. "There are my children," Alice turned around to see David Hale striding over to the group. "Alice and Cynthia as well, what a pleasant surprise."

David offered both girls a warm smile before turning his attention to Alice's father. "And Edgar, I'm shocked I never made the connection before.  Brandon,  you must be the girl's father, such a small world when the daughter of one of my suppliers happens to become such close friends with my children without either of us knowing. Jasper, Rose," He looked over his shoulder at the twins, "Your mother is out front in the van; we're ready to leave. You should take Alice and go check out while I catch up with Mr. Brandon for a moment." He then turned his attention back to Edgar with an incredulous expression.

Not needing to be told twice, the three teens left the adults to talk, making their way to the self-checkouts located at the front of the store where Rosalie began to scan her purchases. Alice zoned out as the twins discussed the matter of an item Rosalie hadn't recalled placing in the basket; not wanting to involve herself in their argument, she instead thought back to the confrontation with her father. The gravity of Cynthia's words suddenly hitting her with full force; the eight-year-old had called Jasper her boyfriend. She'd been too preoccupied in the moment to notice, but now that she'd come to the realization, she was suddenly anxious. She looked over at the guy in question; he was smiling at his sister in triumph, having apparently won the battle.

She wondered what he had thought of Cynthia's statement as Rosalie paid for their items, slipping her brother a bag before they wandered out into the parking lot. Had he even noticed, or had he been just as distracted as she had been by the uncomfortable situation?

"What's on your mind?" Jasper asked once outside, motioning for his twin to go on ahead as they walked over to where Alice's Lumina was parked. "You're doing that thing where you're thinking too hard and start chewing on the corner of your lip."

"I do that?"

"Nope, don't change the subject, missy. What's wrong?"

"Okay..." She opened nervously. "You didn't correct Cynthia when she called you my boyfriend."

"Well, you didn't either." His response came with equal trepidation.

"I guess I didn't."

"Did... did you want me to?"

Alice shook her head, furiously at the question, "No! I just... wanted to be sure what was going on here."

"Oh Alice," Jasper chuckled as he bent down to please a kiss in her temple as he shoved a Target sack into her hands, "Happy early Christmas,  girlfriend . I'll see you on Monday." He tucked a stray hair behind her eat with a smile before venturing over to where Rosalie as waiting with their parents shooting Alice a final glance before climbing into his family's van.

She leaned against her own vehicle with a dopey smile. That had been as clear an answer as she could have asked for. Looking down into the bag, she pulled out a single item, the same Stila palette she'd been looking at earlier. She held the eyeshadow in her hands, tightly filled with joy. Of course, he'd noticed her every expression and caught onto her lie. That was just like Jasper, to do something so sweet on the spur of the moment.

Alice tossed the gift into the backseat of her car before making her way back inside. Prepared to endure the rest of the obligatory time with her family. Her Thanksgiving might have started out terrible, but with friends like Emmett and Rosalie and a boyfriend  like Jasper. She really couldn't complain.

#alice cullen #jasper hale #Jalice #Twilight #rosalie hale #happy thanksgiving

[queenjunoking]

Wolf Taming Pt 17

CW: Noncon - Shock Collar - Pain - Petplay - Drugs - Kidnapping  - Manipulation

Sasha just sat there looking wide-eyed at me, she was so adorable. She was so quick to anger, I loved watching her go on a tirade. But it was fun seeing her in a stunned silence. She was getting used to the low powered shocks enough not to yelp or cry from them, but I took the highest output this collar was capable of over 5 seconds instead of the simple zap her collar gave her. It wasn’t the first time I had been hit by a jolt of electricity like this, but I certainly didn’t think it would ever happen again.

“I think I’ve given you enough leeway for now, I think it’s time to start. No more talking for a while, stay on all fours and do what I say. Give me one final ‘yes Master’ and we will begin.” My muscles ached, I wanted to relax and rest. But I couldn’t give up this momentum.

“Yes Master…” She was quiet, barely audible. But it was good enough. I changed a few settings and Sasha was now stuck having to be silent and couldn’t stand upright at all.

“You know I already have certain expectations of you. There are two things I want you to do first if you want to go outside. First you’ll have to do is eat everything in your food dish, you need to eat something and it’s all I’m giving you for now. Second…" I looked at her litter box. "Well, I'm sure you know what I'm expecting of you. You've already done it once so I'm hoping you won't make a fuss about it. Consider this a morning routine, we'll go into what else I want when you finish with these two things."

I sat in front of the cage as Sasha awkwardly crawled away. I’d have to get her some knee pads, unfortunately the ones I had ordered hadn’t made their way here yet. It would make crawling much easier for her. Any amount of comfort I could give her while she had to do this was worth the price. Well, I told myself that. I didn’t pay for the express shipping for them so I guess it wasn’t worth any price.

Sasha leaned over her bowl and stared at the contents for a bit. I was having a harder time reading her emotions now than I had been. I thought I generally understood her moods, but in moments like this I couldn’t get into her head. Was she upset over what I was asking her to do? Sad that this is what she got? Was she angry about what I was doing?

“It’s food Sasha. Just eat. There are certainly worse things that people in your position get fed.”

It was a lot nicer than some got. I didn’t really understand what the problem was, Penny ate it. She had already eaten a piece earlier, why not just eat if you're hungry?

She looked at me, gave a small sigh and looked back to her dish. I waited patiently for another minute or two before she finally gave in. She bent down and took a small mouthful and began chewing. I’d never tried it myself, it was for pets obviously, but I’m guessing she found it less than adequate based on the grimace on her face as she slowly chewed it. I’m sure she’d get over it as the days passed.

The hesitation was growing after that first mouthful, but she’d have to get used to it. It was what she was getting for awhile. “There’s still more left in the bowl, clean your plate.” She gave me the side-eye and just stared at her bowl again. “Don’t you want to be a good girl? You’ll eat it eventually regardless, you may as well just do it.” She huffed at me and struggled to take a drink of water from her bowl. I’d be replacing it with a bottle that attached to the side of the cage, but it was good for her to have to get into the headspace of her role. Unfortunately compromises had to be made. Despite how good of a wolf Sasha was, she couldn’t really drink out of bowls on the floor very well. Realism tempered by visions. I didn’t want to be like some other owners that played out their fantasies that their things weren’t able to actually keep up with. I had realistic expectations. But I needed to establish the correct headspace first.

She ate a second mouthful, clearing the bowl. She should be happy I didn’t top it off this time. She swallowed and just stared at the empty bowl. I thought it went pretty well all things considered.

Then the waterworks started. Sasha had cried in front of me before, but she had always saved the full body ugly sobs for when she thought she was alone. Apparently this is what finally got to her. I was surprised to be honest, there were so many other things to reach the breaking point over. I had to navigate this carefully, if this was her breaking point I had to handle this with care to keep her in one piece.

“What’s wrong Sasha? Speak.” I suppressed a sigh. So much for momentum.

“I should be in class right now. Or practicing with my team. Or studying in the library. Not eating dog food so I can see some sunlight. What did I do to deserve this? I had to have done something wrong, what was it? Horrible things like this shouldn’t happen to people without a reason.” She wasn’t looking at me, she was just looking at the dish as she wept. If she thought this was a horrible fate I’d hate to see her reaction to the other things that were actually suffering. They’d kill to be in Sasha’s position.

I tried going for the soft angle. “Sweetheart, how many times are we going to go through this? Your old life doesn’t matter. You're here now and you are with me. You cannot go back. Even if I let you go for some reason, you’d just be taken by someone who is much worse than I am.”

“I-” she flinched as the shock hit her. She was getting very comfortable talking without permission. I’d have to correct the course on that.

“Speak.”

“I don’t think there could be anyone more mean spirited than you.” She finally looked at me, her eyes red.

“Oh sweetheart, I’ve already shown you a picture to prove that isn’t true. No one else is ever going to give you the level of freedom I have.” I looked at Sasha and could see her visibly biting her tongue. “Speak.”

“At least they wouldn’t pretend to care about me.” It was barely a whisper, but she may as well have screamed it at me. That hit a sensitive spot.

I let that hang in the air between us. There was no need to respond to the mindless whining of a caged animal. I was nice and I did care about her. She just didn’t get it. She still didn’t understand what a mean person would do to her. I’m not sure she ever would if she still didn’t get it after last night.

“Well we have some more things to do before you get your chance to go outside. We aren’t moving on until you use the litter box and you’ll see why soon enough.” I motioned to it and watched her face turn a bright red. I didn’t really get what the big deal really was, she was naked all the time and had already humiliated herself in front of me by doing it before. It’s not like she’d ever have another choice in the matter. 

She crawled over to the box and closed her eyes. I was really used to the things I worked with obeying me much quicker. On one hand her being slow to listen was always what I wanted. I liked watching her inner torment as she lowered herself to doing humiliating things. On the other hand it was excruciatingly painful for me to sit there without anything else to do. I couldn’t play on my phone, it drained the battery. I was stuck doing nothing which was the worst thing that could be happening. “Time is ticking away Sasha. The longer you take the less daylight you get to see.”

Her eyes opened a little and a small, irritated growl escaped her throat. I couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the portrait in front of me. A woman growling at me as she tried to use the bathroom. New activities were always fun, these moments would start slipping away as she got used to her new life. A few more minutes passed before I heard the tell-tale hiss. The fight fell away from Sasha again once she was done. She sulked away from the box and refused to make eye contact, waiting for me to say something.

“Such a good girl Sasha. You’ll get over your stage fright soon enough.” She didn’t respond to what I said. I was hoping for a glare or something fun.

“So, I said before I wanted you to do that before we got to the tricks. That’s because of one simple thing. Believe it or not, the cage is supposed to be a place of comfort for you. It is a place to relax. To eat and sleep. To recover. You should feel safe. You looked very relaxed when you got to leave, which means I messed up. So I decided I needed to change something.”

I pressed a button on the app and there was a click. Sasha looked up to see the cage door swinging open.

“Ready to learn some new tricks?”

[dansiere]

FIVE SONGS

list five songs associated with your muse and its meaning to them as a character, or to you as the writer. this can be applied in-character or out-of-character. it can go as deep as looking at the song’s real-world origins or meaning along with the themes it carries to the muses’ story, values, or experiences, or as simple as if your muse would listen to this kind of music, or even if you just listen to these pieces for inspiration.

TAGGED BY: @handspoken, who kinda hates me? Just kidding I love you okay. TAGGING: @rosiqe, @citialiin, @absolutia, @huntershowl, @blossomingbeelzebug, @foxcharmed, @noirtux, @hiskniight, @ndeavor, @kissafist, @ahsterism (muse of your choice!), @carvedbones, @enshijou & @ettards. -- steal it, honestly. It is a great meme.

01. Both Sides Now - Joni Mitchell Moons and Junes and ferries wheels, the dizzy dancing way that you feel as every fairy tale comes real. I've looked at love that way. 

I have probably talked about this song so often already but BOY where do I start? I was watching “Love Actually” & Both Sides Now started playing; it’s the scene where Karen (Emma Thompson) almost breaks down & cries while realizing that her relationship is a farce, that she has been foolish & blind & delusional. It continues with her doing her absolute best to calm herself down, to not collapse but function instead; she pretends she is fine, fearing that she might ruin her family’s Christmas party otherwise. It’s a raw, emotional scene unfolding itself while Joni sings about how she came to realize that everything has two sides; the very thing we dream off, aka we imagine / how we wish things are & the harsh reality. No song could ever express Pearl’s delusion with life & love [but also realizing one’s naivity] better than this one; the aspect of pretending that she is fine in order to not ruin her family’s lives with her agony fits excruciatingly well too. -- in fact, the stanza “I have looked at love from both sides now, from give and take & still somehow it’s love’s illusions that I recall. I really don’t know love at all” has been my blog description for months & I won’t change it any time soon. Additionally, this song is about growth & personal change sung with a certain candidness that words can’t really describe  -- this song single-handedly inspired me to create this blog, ngl.

02. Dernière Danse - Indila Oh my sweet torment, no point in fighting, you start again. I'm just a worthless being, without [her] I'm troubled. I wander around alone on the subway, a last dance: To forget my great misery. I want to get away, everything to start again.

Number two on my list is a bit of an oddity; it is the song that inspired me to change my URL & bottom header quote. I have always related this song to Pearl basically because it SOUNDS cheerful, has a more upbeat melody & seems positive enough on the outside; however, upon looking at the lyrics & understanding what the artist actually sings about you may or may not get chills. It’s literally a song about losing oneself, misery & the horrid feeling of loneliness after loss all wrapped up in some funky & cheery melody. It seems rather SURREAL at first & upon translating the lyrics you might believe Google is messing with you but... no. The cheery intro fools you, just how Pearl fools everyone in believing that she is a-okay. -- the song grows more & more serious / dramatic with the melody / beat becoming “heavier” over time. While still rather peppy, you can tell that something is wrong the second the background choir kicks in. -- needless to say, I consider the lyrics to be a reference to Pearl’s extreme directionlessness, her lack of purpose, severe lethargy & how she lost herself in her misery.

03. Dark Paradise - Lana Del Rey And there's no remedy for memory your face Is like a melody, it won't leave my head. Your soul is hunting me and telling me That everything is fine, but I wish I was dead.

At first, I wanted to use this meme as an excuse to gush on & on about It’s Over, isn't it? but then I remembered that Dark Paradise is a thing. Lana Del Rey simply had to be on here due to her habit of utterly & completely romanticizing tragic romance & death to an almost unhealthy degree. Pearl is guilty of the same issue. -- glorifying things you should absolutely not glorify. Dark Paradise deals with the loss of true love & the trauma that follows; not being able to move on, not being able to let go, blind devotion, stuck in the same grief, the same melancholy, the same subtle craving for death (through drowning). It’s haunting really, but these are topics that not only fit Pearl aesthetically but also motif wise. The largest part of her season 1 - 3 arc dealt with her grief over losing Rose & her inability to overcome her trauma in that regard. Dark Paradise strikes that nerve & expresses that despair rather accurately. 

04. Blinding - Florence and the Machine And I could hear the thunder and see the lightning crack All around the world was waking, I never could go back Cause all the walls of dreaming, they were torn wide open And finally it seemed that the spell was broken.

I wanted to add a song that might describe Pearl’s mentality more; something from Sleeping At Last, Aurora or Sia maybe, but given how I have been gushing about Florence & the Machine lately, I felt like I had to include them because of their extreme Pearl-esque aesthetic alone. Blinding is massive. It shakes you to the core & drags you along, whenever you want it or not. Its heavy percussion & lyrics, the REALIZATION hit you like a truck; I have always associated this song with the moment Pearl realizes who she is. May it be before the war or after "Now We Are Only Falling Apart". It has a revolutionary feeling to it: she wakes up from her Homeworld induced trance & breaks her conditioning, she wakes up from her lethargy & takes a stand for herself. It works either way, really. 

05. The Fantasy - 30 Seconds to Mars Do you live, do you die, do you bleed for the fantasy? In your mind, through your eyes, do you see? It's the fantasy Maybe, tonight we can forget about it all: it could be, just, like heaven. I am a machine: no longer living, just a shell of what I dreamed.

I needed a renegade song; something fast & aggressive; this one had the perfect vibe. The Fantasy it is loud, emotional, gritty & chaotic; it’s fast-paced, it’s desperate. It opposes all Past Pearl is supposed to stand for. It builds up, it swells, grows more & more apoplectic over time. -- “Dying for the fantasy” is another big motif on this blog; in fact, her dream / fantasy controls most of her early life to the point where it becomes an obsession. -- this song embodies the very compulsive drive she had, once. Reaching for a Golden Future that eventually turns out to be “just a shell of what she dreamt”; the fairytale that almost cost her her life in the end.

06. Honourable Mentions songs I need to list somewhere or I will burst.

Running Up that Hill - Kate Bush, Eight & Three - Sleeping At Last, Falling Infinite & Strangelove - Black Math, Everything I wanted - Billie Eilish, Send in the Clowns - Barbra Streisand, Bird Set Free - Sia, God is a Woman (cover) & Infections of a Different Kind - Aurora, Love is a Battlefield - Pat Benata,  Beautiful Lie - 30 Seconds to Mars, Love Lockdown (Cover) & Pork Soda - Glass Animals,  One Match & Romeo - Until the Ribbon Breaks, Over the Love & Hardest of Hearts - Florence & the Machine, Beautiful Crime - Tamer, Truth Is a Beautiful Thing - London Grammar, Diary of Jane - Breaking Benjamin, Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys, Far too Young to Die - Panic!At the Disco, Cut the Cord - Shinedown, The War - SYML  & Reborn - Talos.

#[[ This took me years istg #I kept changing the songs around like a madwoman because I wanted to pinpoint a specific part of my portrayal? #Does that make sense? #I tried to pick songs I haven't rambled about yet. If I had the time I would fill twenty more meme templates of this kind ngl #hence why I attached the Honourable Mentions section. I just had to. Probably forgot half of my playlist BUT WELL ]] #vii. 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲.

[mintymiknow]

Scintilla - exordium | Bang Chan

summary & more info | masterlist

Characters: Stray Kids (minor appearances from reader)

Summary: Exordium (ex·or·di·um) noun: the beginning or introductory part, especially of a discourse or treatise ↠  This is a filler chapter/shorter piece for the Scintilla series. This side story basically deals more with the Newbloods’ perspective, specifically Chan’s. This side story leads up to the original prologue towards the end.

Genre: Royal fantasy [Red Queen AU]

Word count: Approx. 3.2k

Warnings: none

A/N: Side story for Scintilla! (Ch. 3 will be up by next week or the week after. I just have a ton of papers to finish). This has no spoilers for the main story. If you think anything here is a spoiler when you read it, it’s not :) I’ve mentioned it in the main story or in the character profiles! Also, Changbin is hinted to already be friends with the Newblood gang here, but I don’t explain how. Same with Jeongin. Those happen in the main story. Also take note that you’ll read mentions of televisions being present here (you might think “how are there TVs in royal fantasy settings?”) Despite the setting being royalty, Scintilla is also dystopian-ish, so it’s basically like The Hunger Games (like imagine The Capitol as Miroh except that it’s ruled by royalty and not a president, and the other cities like Elysium and District 9 are like Panem’s Dictrict 4 and below). Anyway, apologies for the wordy note. Enjoy and don’t be afraid to send an ask for any questions or just blabbing!

↠  12 years ago

Two 10-year-olds pace District 9′s marketplace, walking without a care in the world as vendors were bustling and mothers were haggling for vegetable prices. Woojin pulls his friend aside to a stall that was selling freshly baked bread. In a usually cold city like District 9, warm bread was almost like tasting heaven itself. “Chan, this looks good.”

Chan nods and pats his stomach playfully, “You know my stomach would happily accept anything edible.”

Woojin asks for four pieces of bread, two for the each of them. After he pays, the vendor hands him a bag of warm goodness. The two continue to walk, looking for a nice, quiet area to enjoy their simple meal. Woojin gestures to the city square, “There isn’t much of a crowd there.”

Chan simply nods, mind to preoccupied with thoughts of biting into the bread. He follows his friend to the city square, both sitting on the old fountain’s ledge; it never ran with water anyway. When Woojin pulls the bread out of the bag, the aroma and steam waft around the males, tempting them like some sort of spell. Chan takes a deep breath before chuckling, “Bread will never betray you.”

“I second that.” Woojin laughs.

The two dig into the baked delicacy, both sighing in contentment as the warmth hugs them from within. Miroh may have had luxurious meals of only the finest, most expensive, and exquisite kind, but there was something about homemade food – even the bread – that gave Chan and Woojin a sense of comfort. Mouth still full of food, Chan asks, “Why are there so little people in the square? Aren’t there usually like…huge crowds in here?”

Woojin nods, “I heard everyone’s flocking to the city hall to watch the news.”

“What news is there to be so excited about?” Chan muses, looking at his bread rather lovingly.

“The appointment of a new ruler.”

Chan stops chewing, body suddenly freezing as stiffness takes control over his nerves. He gulps, turning to his friend, “What makes everyone think that whoever is selected will actually do something worthwhile?”

For a child, Chan’s words held more bitterness than any other 10-year-old would normally have. Woojin sighs, “I heard the Seo guy has the most chances of being appointed as ruler. Well, since the previous king had no more heirs.”

Chan laughs at the thought, “When that Seo guy wasn’t a king candidate and was merely a High Council officer, he kept promising to unite everyone to bring about peace and all those fancy words whenever there was a hearing for Council plans and proposal.”

When Woojin puffs his cheeks before releasing a deep sigh, Chan continues to speak, “That was years ago. Mom and Dad bought it. And look where that got them.”

“Yeah,” Woojin starts, “I know. It was the same with my parents.”

Chan sighs, kicking the ground with his worn-out shoes, “Let’s check the city hall.”

Without another word, Chan stands up and makes his way to the city hall with Woojin. The two boys arrive and see a huge crowd or Reds and Newbloods watching the television. On the screen, several Council members make announcements and get the crowds riled up with suspense. A few Newbloods murmur things like “hurry up” and “we wanna know already”, but Woojin and Chan watch with nonchalance.

When a Council member finally declares the new king – King Seo – the shouts of Silvers from the television could be heard, but it was nothing compared to how the citizens of District 9 reacted. Reds and Newbloods usually couldn’t care less, but for some reason, these people were cheering and clapping.

Woojin turns to this best friend who simply shrugs. It’s all too deafening for him; the simultaneous shouting, cheering, hooting. He blocks it all out, silencing the voices of each and every person except Woojin’s. His friend tilts his head in curiosity. “Well, that’s new.” Woojin says in reference to the people’s reactions.

Chan’s eyes are glued to the screen, watching the new king shout with joy as he holds up his two children in each arm while his wife claps. “No matter who they put up there, it’s not going to change anything. It’s not going to bring them back, even if it was their fault.” he says.

↠  3 years ago 

“Miroh is in an uproar.”

Chan and Woojin, who are seated on one of the thick, fallen tree trunks in Yellow Wood, turn to the source of the voice. Jisung happily walks to the two older males, a smile on his face. The two didn’t know whether Jisung was smiling because he liked the fact that Miroh was in chaos. “How so?” Chan asks.

Jisung stands on the trunk, balancing himself. “Haven’t you guys heard? King Seo is dead. Some Silvers are saying it’s murder, some are assuming it be a natural death.”

“Yeah, he died like two days ago, my condolences,” Woojin nods, “but Miroh usually has procedures for when that happens.”

Jisung wags his finger in front of them, “Not this time. His death was so sudden, so the Council isn’t prepared. Plus his heirs are only 18 and 19. The Council doesn’t think they’re ready to take over.”

Chan shrugs, “What Miroh does is none of our concern. I appreciate what the king has done, but if he’s gone, he’s gone. Miroh should deal with it.”

A few weeks after the king passed away, a wave of darkness – gloominess rather – washed over the whole of District 9. The city, though still mysterious, used to be much livelier and cheery when King Seo was ruling. With his death, the city of rebels returned to its dreary state.

And Miroh continued to flourish.

Later, Chan, Woojin, and Jisung stood next to other on the sidewalk with a few other Newbloods and Reds as several Silver knights – the Royal Guard – marched through their streets. “Monthly progress inspection”, they would call it, but Chan knew it was because they wanted to make sure that no one was staging rebellions against the ruler-less kingdom. “Just weeks ago, they were mourning ‘the loss of a great king’, saying stuff like they were so depressed with his death.” Woojin whispers to his friends.

Jisung adds, “And now, it’s like nothing happened. In fact, they tore down everything he worked for by getting rid of all the decrees and laws he implemented.”

Chan smirks, but nothing about it was haughty or mischievous. It’s bitter and poison-filled. “I told you. Once a Silver, always a Silver. Did you really think that the people of Miroh, especially their elites, liked the idea of abolishing their hierarchy of an elitist system?”

Jisung’s lips protrude in a pout, “You have a point.”

Woojin nods, “With the king gone, the Council has all power until an heir is appointed. It’s almost as if the Silvers never believed in the king’s decree and were just waiting for him to go.”

“Yeah?” Chan nods, “The Silvers didn’t believe it, but we were stupid enough to.”

Before Jisung or Woojin could respond, a young male’s voice pierces the silent city, “Wait, wait stop! I didn’t mean to!”

The three Newbloods carefully approach a large crowd surrounding a few Royal Guard knights, gathering around near a run-down tavern. “Shut up, kid! Filthy pigs like you don’t get to reason out!”

The Royal Guard kicks at the young male who simply shields himself with his arm. A few onlookers try to stop the guard, only to be pushed or shoved away. The young male, grunts in pain as another kick hits his bruised arm, “I get it, I get it. I’m sorry, ok?”

“That’s not how you apologize to a Silver.” the guard smirks, “Get on your knees and beg for mercy.”

The young male looks up in disbelief and shock, mouth agape. “Now!” the guard screams.

Chan’s eyebrows furrow in disgust. Without any hesitation, he shifts his attention to the guard. Within seconds, the guard feels a pain in his ear – an excruciatingly annoying pain that wouldn’t stop no matter how many times he hit his ear. “Wha – who’s doing this?” he growls, bending over with his head clutched in his hands, “Quit it!”

To avoid any more embarrassment and disgrace to their name, the other guards usher him away from the crowd. Everyone else disperses, leaving the three with the young man. “You ok?” Chan asks, helping him up from the ground.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “it’s gonna bruise real bad though.”

Woojin calmly smiles, giving him a pat on the back, “We’ll take care of it.”

“You will? I mean, thanks.” he chuckles before gesturing to the long-gone guards, “Did one of you do that?”

Jisung beams, “Yes, but shhh. He can control sound.”

He points at Chan whom the younger male looks at with awe before breaking into a grin, “I appreciate it…”

“Chan.” he smiles, “I’m Chan. And this is Woojin and Jisung.”

Jisung smiles, happily patting the male’s back, “And you are?”

“Oh, I’m Felix.”

“What did you do to the guard?” Woojin smirks.

Felix panics, “I didn’t do anything on purpose. I can teleport – or jump, as I would call it – and I can teleport other people too, so I wanted to see if I could teleport objects. I was experimenting on some soup this old lady gave me from the tavern and well…I can’t control my powers that well when it comes to jumping people other than myself…”

“So let me guess,” Woojin laughs, “The soup teleported directly on the guard.”

“Exactly.” Felix sheepishly grins.

Jisung bursts out into laughter, “Damn, I like you. That was hilarious!”

Felix initially has a look of shock plastered on his face, but when Woojin laughs with Jisung, Felix starts to smile wider, accompanied with a giggle. Chan throws his arm around the younger male’s shoulder, “I think you’d get along pretty well with us.”

↠  1 year ago

Jisung and Felix are busy browsing for snacks in the food alley of Elysium while Chan and Woojin watch over them, making sure they don’t over-spend. With Elysium being a rare mix of Newblood, Red, and Silver inhabitants, the food and delicacies were just as varied. As the two argue on which pastry to purchase, a few Silver males pass by. “My father just came back from Miroh. He says that the Council is appointing Seo y/n as future ruler.” one male says.

“Seo y/n? The daughter? Guess Changbin didn’t want to rule. I understand if he didn’t want to.” his companion adds.

Another one nods, “So that means we’re getting a queen to rule in the near future?”

“Can a queen rule as efficiently as a king?” one asks.

A feminine voice breaks the argument as a girl butts in, “What makes you think a queen can’t rule well? Queens are just as capable as kings.”

One male chuckles, “It was just a question.”

“I’d like to see you try ruling in her place when the time comes.” the girl places her hands on her hips.

The group of males mumble and trudge away with the girl smiling – smirking – victoriously. Jisung gives her a thumbs up, “Good on you for speaking your mind!”

“Thanks.” she grins.

But when the female winks, her body suddenly transforms into a male who seemed slightly younger than Felix and Jisung. Jisung watches in surprise as the now-male stands taller than him. He offers them a gummy smile, “I like putting people in place.” he laughs, “And people’s reactions to my shifting are always funny to watch.”

“You trickster!” Jisung fake gasps.

Chan chuckles, “Good to see you, Jeongin.”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Jeongin smiles at Chan and Woojin.

“Oh, you know each other?” Felix asks innocently.

Woojin nods, “We met Jeongin when he was around…5 years old. It’s a long story, but we helped him with some stuff.”

“Yeah, and then I had to return here to Elysium for personal reasons. I only get to see Chan and Woojin rarely.” Jeongin explains, “But now that my personal obligations are done, I’m going back to SKZ.”

“As long as you don’t shift into some sketchy people and play pranks on us, we’d happily welcome you.” Jisung teases.

“No promises.” Jeongin grins once more.

At a nearby tavern, murmurs from individuals fill the streets as they watch the television. “They’re officially announcing the ruler-elect!” one woman exclaims excitedly.

Chan and his friends remain in their spots, but he increases the sound around them so they could hear better. “Seo y/n is officially Miroh’s rightful ruler!” a Council member shouts from the castle’s balcony.

“Hmm.” Felix tilts his head, “The rumors were true.”

Jeongin states, “Well, I heard that Changbin relinquished all royal rights. As in all rights. He has no rights or anything to do with the throne now.”

“That’s odd.” Jisung’s eyes widen, “People would kill to be crowned king. What a royal life!”

“Not everyone wants that life.” Woojin smiles at his friend, “I know I wouldn’t.”

Chan hums in response to Woojin’s statement as he watched the events unfold on the television screen. It felt all too familiar – much like when the king was appointed years ago. This time, it was the princess. Though not yet officially the queen, you were the princess who would start your reign in just a few years. Chan watched as you smiled and waved in a manner that seemed rather practiced. On your side were Changbin, the infamous rebellious prince, and Lee Minho, the Silver elite’s trump card.

But despite the smiles and charismatic glances, Chan could clearly see one thing in your eyes: uncertainty.

He guessed, perhaps, that that was the reason why you weren’t queen just yet.

↠  1 month ago 

“Isn’t it funny how Miroh is usually closed off to outsiders, but since they announced the princess’s engagement to Lee Minho, they opened the gates just for today? Like…is it that big of an event? Why didn’t they open the gates when they crowned her?” Felix asks question after question with Jisung fervently nodding next to him.

As the group walked around the perfect streets of Miroh, Chan answers, “The princess isn’t crowned just yet, hence why she’s still referred to as “princess”. That announcement last year was simply stating that she will inherit the throne, but not just yet. It’s like an advanced notice. When she actually becomes queen, I’m sure they’ll open the gates of Miroh to outsiders.”

“Ok…” Jisung trails off, “but why now as well? It’s just an engagement announcement. The world doesn’t care who she’ll be married off to or what.”

“People kind of care.” Woojin laughs, “Especially if they’re marrying her off to an elite who belongs to one of Miroh’s most powerful households. It’s a social class thing.”

Jeongin shrugs, already munching on a luxurious-looking dessert, “Well, I’m just here to have a good time.”

“Don’t forget the other reason we’re here.” Chan chuckles.

“Right. There’s that…and there’s me having a good time.” Jeongin smiles.

The group spends the whole day exploring the vast city of Silver elites, and while several of them threw dirty and venomous looks at the group, they went on with their little adventure. Jisung was rather disappointed that they couldn’t try all the food – Miroh’s food was worth a fortune – but he was content with being able to try at least three.

As night fell upon the city, the Newblood friends found themselves snaking around dark alleyways. The other Silvers were much too busy partying and flaunting their riches to pay attention to a group of nosy guys “exploring” the streets. “The bottom of the castle is here.” Felix whispers as he suddenly teleports in front of the group.

Chan nods, and they follow Felix to an alley closest to the base of the castle. “Well, this place isn’t as guarded as I thought.” Woojin slowly nods his head, “Getting into the castle from here would be a piece of cake.”

“Unless there are guards somewhere on that balcony.” Chan points up. “According to our spies, that balcony is closest to Changbin and the princess’s bedrooms.”

“Ah.” Jisung clicks his tongue, “That’s true.”

“Shhh.” Chan suddenly shushes the group, “I hear people talking there.”

“Well,” Changbin, says, “I’ll be by your side always, so don’t worry.”

You laugh, “I love you too, baby bro.”

“You’re just two years older, sis.”

“Still older.”

“Whatever, I’m going to get some sleep.” he chuckles.

“Seo siblings.” Chan whispers. “But I think Changbin left.”

Woojin motions for the others to follow him to the alley opposite of the one they were in, “Felix, Jeongin, with me.”

Felix teleports Woojin and Jeongin to the other alleyway, scouting other parts of the large castle from afar. Chan and Jisung continue to observe the balcony for anything else that may be informative to SKZ. Meanwhile, you eye the whole kingdom, gaze shifting from one city to another as if memorizing every detail. After a moment, Chan and Jisung notice an orange glow illuminating the balcony – fire. The Royal Family was composed of Burners.

Jisung assumes you were going to throw a blast of fire at him and Chan. Before the older male can stop his panic, Jisung charges himself and uses his lightning to aid him in zooming off at a very high speed. That, however, causes a spark of green light which catches your eye. The orange glow disappears, but only for a second as you ignite a smaller flame. Instead of running or scurrying away, Chan looks up to meet your inevitable gaze.

Chan doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. When you put out your flame, the orange glow illuminating your face is replaced with the glow of the moon. He finds himself staring at you, not for the reason anyone would expect, but because he saw something different about you. When you were first revealed to be the queen-elect, uncertainty prospered in your eyes. Right now, only a hint of uncertainty was present as it was overtaken by an intense blaze. Amused he was, unbeknownst to him that you were just as amused. Chan breaks the silence, but only between the two of you as he mouths a few words only for you to hear.

“Look the other way.”

When you tilt your head to the side inquisitively before putting a finger to your lips, Chan tries his best not to smile to himself. He sees the warm spark in your eyes – a rather odd thing, considering most Silvers he’d encountered had indifferent eyes. He finally smiles, barely visible, but it’s there nonetheless. Before you can react, however, the male hears another voice coming from the castle.

“Seo Y/n, come back inside right now, you child.”

“Yes, Mother Minho.”

You turn around to exclaim your response, and Chan takes the opportunity to sneak away. He knew the other boys, especially Woojin, were going to assail him with questions and lectures, but Chan found his lips curling into a bigger smirk. You were truly amusing to him.

#stray kids #bang chan #chan #chan scenario #chan imagine #bang chan scenario #bang chan imagine #stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #skz #imagine #scenario #skz chan #skz scenario #skz imagine #chan x reader #bang chan x reader #red queen au #fantasy #au #red queen #scintilla #series: scintilla

[shipping-receiving]

Fictober 2019 Day 21: “Change is annoyingly difficult.”

Rating: T | Word Count: 1673 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones Relationship: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth Tags: Alternate Universe – Retail

(read on AO3)

//////

Brienne has always prided herself on her ability to present a veneer of patience. She had cultivated this ability through all her years of working in retail—she’d been doing it on and off since she was a teenager—and once she had mastered it, it had always served her well. Don’t react to the bullies, her father had told her, when she was a child, it only encourages them. And so she dealt with any uncomfortable situations at her various jobs with the same principle. Patience. Non-reaction. A smile and a nod of understanding. A firm but kind tone of voice.

That’s not to say she’s patient at all on the inside. On the inside, she could be a wellspring of irritation, and indignation, and sometimes even rage. Working in retail does that to you too.

But on the outside—patience. That very specific kind of patience you need to deal with particularly difficult customers. And it’s a patience she hopes she will only need to practice for the rest of this summer, before her final year of university. Three days a week at an internship, three days working at the biggest megastore just outside King’s Landing. One day to recuperate from them both. Just for the rest of this summer.

Of course, no matter how practiced her patience is, there are always those customers that just get under her skin.

Such as the man standing on the other side of her cash register, who has been counting coins out from a small leather pouch like some kind of medieval travelling merchant, for what feels like the past two hours.

“Change is annoyingly difficult, isn’t it?” he says, as he drops coin after coin in her hand.

Brienne tries to give him a conciliatory smile in response, but she can feel the muscles in her face straining to present any degree of sincerity. Change really isn’t difficult. It’s simple mathematics, and there are only so many coin denominations.

It only becomes difficult when you insist on paying for your entire purchase in change.

Normally, she wouldn’t be too upset by this sort of thing. He’s not the first customer to attempt to do this, and his purchase isn’t even that big to begin with. But the thing that confuses her is—she knows this man has a credit card. She knows because for the past few times she’s been put on the register, he’s somehow managed to find his way into her line, and he’s always paid with a credit card that looks far too fancy to be used in a store like this one.

In fact, he looks far too fancy to be in a store like this one. The first time Brienne saw him—and she remembers, because you don’t forget a man like that in a store like this—she thought to herself: this man is lost. This man, in his well-tailored coat and his shiny leather shoes and what she assumed was a very expensive watch, must have wandered in by mistake. This man is not a man who even does his own shopping, unless it’s to walk into some high-end boutique to buy—with a too-fancy credit card—other well-tailored coats and shiny leather shoes and very expensive watches that would then be organised neatly in a walk-in closet the size of the apartment she shared with her three roommates.

For once in her life, she actually wishes there were other customers waiting in line behind him. She could have maintained her veneer of patience, while gesturing at their annoyed faces and saying, “Ser, please, if you could step to the side and count your change, I promise I will ring you up as soon as you’ve got the full amount.” But as soon as any of the other customers had spotted him and his silly leather pouch, transferring coins one by one into her outstretched hand, they had immediately made a beeline for another register. Registers with longer lines, but shorter waits.

And now Brienne is trapped here, with several piles of change on her counter. Piles that are increasing at an excruciatingly slow pace.

“It’s Alayne, today, I see,” he says, interrupting her thoughts.

Brienne just stares at him blankly. First of all, she has no idea what he’s referring to. Second of all, he really shouldn’t be making conversation while he’s counting out change.

“Your name.” He lifts a finger at her nametag. “It’s Alayne, today. It was Jeyne, I think, last time I was here. Lyonel, the time before. You’ve liked the names with Ys in them, lately.”

Brienne’s free hand immediately whips up to cover her nametag, though of course the act is pointless, considering he’s already seen it, and considering she never puts her real name on it. She doesn’t like the idea of strangers calling her by her name without any proper introduction. But now she can’t decide which is worse—a stranger knowing her real name, or a stranger who seems to be keeping track of her fake ones.

Oh gods, he’s a stalker.

“I swear I’m not,” he replies, as if in response to her thoughts.

Oh gods, I said that out loud.

“Yes you did.”

“You remember all my names,” she blurts out. It sounds nonsensical, like she’s some kind of spy with multiple identities.

The man just shrugs and smirks. “I think it’s hilarious.”

“How did this—why do you—” Brienne stammers.

“Well,” he begins, as if she’s even asked him a complete question. “First time I was in the store, there was some argument between a couple of customers. You were trying to defuse the situation, I believe, and you handled it well. Really impressive. I think I would have screamed at them if I was in your position. Then I happened to glance at your nametag, and it said ‘Jaime’—that’s my name. So I thought that was funny, since my name isn’t all that common, and you handled that situation in pretty much the opposite way that I would have.”

Jaime, of the well-tailored coat and the shiny shoes and the expensive watch, doesn’t even pause to contemplate the irony of suggesting he might ever work in retail. “But the second time I was in the store, I think your nametag said Damon, or Damien, or something like that? And then the next time, it said Walda, I think. Or Walder. I think you’ve done both of those before.”

“So you’ve been coming in the store—lining up at my register—just to check my nametag?”

“Well, when you put it like that—”

“You are a stalker.” So much for her veneer of patience. She just called a customer a stalker to his face.

Jaime looks like he can’t figure out whether to be offended or horrified. “I swear, I’ve just been trying to figure out how to speak to you, that’s all. Also, I’ve never stepped in here until a few weeks ago, and—it has so much stuff. I keep finding something new to buy, although I don’t really need half of what I’ve bought, come to think of it—”

“Wait. You’ve been trying to speak to me?”

“Look, um, Alayne,” he sighs. “You—you’re very efficient with all your… scanning. Before I’ve ever had the chance to say anything, everything is already bagged up and paid for.” He lifts up the leather pouch sheepishly. “I thought I’d buy myself some time.”

“Why?”

“Well, for various reasons, I find it difficult to strike up a conversation with strangers I’m attracted to—oh, alright, I hear it now, it definitely sounds creepy. Gods, I’m so sorry. This hasn’t even happened to me before.”

This is it. Brienne has always known this megastore is really some portal into some alternate dimension. She must be in the alternate dimension right now.

“Hold on—could you repeat that?” she asks, slowly.

“It hasn’t happened to me before?”

“No, the part before that.”

“I find it difficult to strike up a conversation with strangers I’m attracted to?”

She points a finger into her chest. “You’re referring… to me?”

“Yes?” Jaime looks at her with a clueless expression on his face. “You seem very nice. And you have, you know, the height, and the eyes.”

According to this man, she is nice, and tall, and also, very crucially, has eyes, and therefore she is attractive. That settles it, Brienne thinks, I’ve crossed over into an alternate dimension.

And then she hears the cacophony of many tiny pieces of metal hitting the floor. Fuck.

Wherever she was before, she’s definitely back in reality now. Or in some kind of even weirder sub-dimension constructed specially to torture her, because she’s knocked practically all the piles of change off the counter.

“Oh gods,” they both say at the same time.

Brienne looks up at Jaime, trying not to notice that he too has ‘the eyes’. “Ser—”

“Jaime.”

“Ser,” she stresses, “I’m so sorry, I’ll pick all of this up—”

“No—I’ll help you—”

Brienne holds a hand up, and Jaime stops. “In the meantime, ser,” she says, as calmly as she can, “would you like to use another mode of payment?”

“Yes. Gods yes.” Jaime fumbles for his wallet and fishes out his credit card. “Please.”

Once everything is paid for, Jaime comes around to her side of the register and squats down alongside her. As they pick up the change, dropping each coin into his leather pouch—oh, she can see now that it’s monogrammed, J.L.—he clears his throat.

“So,” he ventures, though he’s speaking into the floor. “I know I’ve probably ruined everything. But is there any chance I could at least get your real name?”

Brienne considers his request as she attempts to sweep the coins on the floor into a single heap. She supposes there’s still the off-chance that he’s actually a stalker, but he does seem nice enough. Better to be on the safe side, though.

“Hmm. Maybe next time,” she replies cautiously, even as she tries her best to hide a smile. “As long as you pay with your credit card.”

#fictober19 #jaime x brienne #braime #my fic #i really... wrote an entire fic based on a pun. #and it was far more painful than anticipated.

[heyhyunjiin]

You Didn’t Know (Inmate!Hyunjin AU)

Pairing: Hyunjin x You ft. minor appearance from Changbin

Warnings: mentions of death and violence.

Genre: ...Angst?

A/N: hello my loves. today we’re gonna cRY!!! this fic was inspired by the song, “kiss it all better,” by he is we. i’ve linked it below! I don’t plan on doing a part 2 to this because I feel content that this should end here.

SONG TO LISTEN TO WHILE READING THIS!!

It was already eleven o’clock in the evening, but he wasn’t counting on getting much sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, the blood from that horrible night seemed to find their way to his hands again, his palms feeling like they were coated with the sticky substance, and the echoing sound of the gun firing makes his ears ring. His breathing would become unsteady and he’d have to remind himself that the event was over. It’s been like this for weeks since his arrival. It wasn’t like he could just go out and find ways to distract his mind from the haunting flashbacks. You could only go so far in a 6 by 8 cell.

Usually, he’d let the night drown on with hardly any sleep; counting the amount of drips his leaky faucet made, squishing the small bugs that crawled around, and even tracing all the cracks on the walls as far as his tall frame could reach them. Anything, he would do. Just as long as he didn’t fall asleep. It seemed like the more hours of rest he got, the knife of guilt and frustration would delve deeper into his heart. With every minute of sleep, he was reliving the night, over and over again. Not missing a single detail. Your last words, the kid begging for his life, the blood — oh god, the blood; it stained his clothes from head to toe, your white sweater was drenched with it, and his face was splattered with it.

Sometimes, he spaces out so much that he doesn’t even realize the sun is up until the morning guards are barking at his unit to rise and shine.

The warden, Mr. Park Joohyun, always paused by his cell during roll call, asking if he’d gotten any sleep or how he was doing.

“Not much, sir.” Hyunjin replied blankly. His answer to the man’s questions were the same everyday but still, Mr. Park asked.

He was lost as to why the older gentleman kept trying to initiate small talk or express concern about his wellbeing because after all, he was still an inmate.

Changbin, a boy he had made acquaintances with at the court yard suggested, “Maybe it’s because you look like his son. I saw a photo of them together once in his wallet and you resemble him… like 80%.”

Hyunjin stopped tossing the tennis ball in the air and said, “I didn’t know he had a son.”

Changbin nodded and replied, “Yeah, he doesn’t talk about the son too much. Probably still pretty painful.”

“Why?” He questioned.

The other boy shrugged and answered, “I heard he died trying to go after some perp who shot at Mr. Park.”

His confusion only spiraled further on after dinner one evening, when a guard led him to a office space with a big metal door to separate it from the general front desk of the prison. In gold plated letters, “Warden, Park,” decorated the door.

It surprised him even more when the warden asked the guard to remove the cuffs that Hyunjin had grown accustomed to when he was moving from place to place in the jailhouse. The guard was taken back at the request, but nevertheless followed orders and left Hyunjin and Mr. Park alone in the office.

“Please, sit.” The man motioned to the velvet chair.

Hyunjin was a bit hesitant, because this wasn’t exactly a normal interaction between someone so high up the prison food chain and a silent inmate.

“...Am I in trouble, sir?” He asked the question gnawing at his mind.

An airy laugh left the warden’s throat and he shook his hands in dismissal.

“No, absolutely not,” Mr. Park reassured, “I just… wanted to know something about you.”

Hyunjin shrugged and mumbled, “Go ahead and ask.”

The warden took a seat on the edge of his desk, eyes burning holes at Hyunjin’s face. The inmate felt like a lab rat being observed for genetic mutation after some sort of experiment.

“I read your file. 2nd degree murder charge. It said you didn’t even want to go through trial. Came up to the judge and admitted plain and simple that you did the crime.” He said while removing some strands of lint from his khaki pants.

“Yes, sir.” Hyunjin confirmed the information.

“But, it never went into detail of what actually happened. I mean, your case was broadcasted all over the news for a couple of weeks but even the press struggled with getting to the nitty gritty on what went down in that coffee shop.” Mr. Park went on.

Hyunjin visibly tensed up at the mention of that night.

“What was it that you wanted to know so badly then, sir?” He asked the man, getting a bit testy at the sudden prodding.

The warden chuckled and clapped his hands together, “I wanna know from your own mouth what happened.”

Hyunjin bit his lip, the feelings of anxiety and panic bubbled in his chest. Could he really do it? Just tell the warden all about how he landed himself a 25 to life sentence in one evening? His throat felt very dry and sweat started forming at his hairline.

“Go ahead. Just take your time. I already told the guards that you won’t be abiding by bed time tonight. You’ve got as many hours as you need.” Mr. Park further encouraged.

Hyunjin took a shaky breath and began.

It was the mark of your four year anniversary being together. You’d been a coffee addict for as long as Hyunjin could remember and what perfect way to enjoy a warm summer evening then drinking a cold brew at your favorite café? All was going well until a scrawny boy with hardly any muscle busted inside the shop with a loaded pistol and a reusable grocery bag. There was a total of six people inside the shop: an elderly woman with a toddler, a middle aged man, the employee behind the counter, Hyunjin, and you.

This was the boy’s first robbery and he was evidently nervous because his hands were shaking as he demanded the employee to fill the grocery bag with money from the register. He yelled at her to stop crying and load the bag faster if she didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Hyunjin gripped you tightly against his chest, and you could feel how hard and fast his heart beat was going. The robber’s attention drifted towards the other people in the shop, waving the gun in their direction for added emphasis. The toddler began wailing and the tension in the room became even worse. Now, the robber was having more difficulty focusing on his crime because of the child’s cries.

“Make her shut up!” He faced and ordered the elderly woman.

The girl behind the register accidentally knocked over a glass cup out of nervousness which shattered in numerous pieces. The sound of glass breaking startled the robber so much, his finger pulled the trigger.

After that second, everyone’s ears were ringing. It felt like time had ultimately stopped and everything was going in slow motion.

Your knees felt weak, your vision was going in and out, it became excruciatingly hard to breathe, and your chest felt a throbbing pain. At some point, your body caved and fell. You’d braced for impact but was instead cradled in the arms of Hyunjin who was kneeling on the floor. Tears were streaming down his face, some landed on yours and he repeatedly shouted something. You were able to make out a few words from his sentences.

“I’m so…. sorry….all my fault... I suggested….Never should have went here,” were all you pieced together.

Even if your hands felt so heavy, like they were being held down by a thousand pounds of lead, you cupped his face and used your thumb to wipe away the tears.

A weak smile was on your face as you said in a voice almost above a whisper, “It’s okay, baby. Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. You didn’t know that this would happen.”

He was applying pressure to your wound, but it wasn’t enough. Your white sweater was turning crimson. Hyunjin’s body was wracked with sobs as he desperately tried to keep you alive.

He called out for someone to call an ambulance but nobody made a move. The middle aged man had fainted, the elderly woman weeped into her sleeve, the toddler was still wailing, the employee was letting out ear-piercing screams, and the robber had dropped his gun, just standing in shock.

Hyunjin’s hands were shaking as he watched the color from your face drain.

“No, no, no! Stay with me, babe. Stay. With. Me!” He exclaimed.

This wasn’t fucking fair. You two had made so many promises: to graduate together, get married, have children, and grow old together. Fate was being so cruel as to tear that all away from Hyunjin’s hands in a matter of seconds. The statement of, ‘till death do us part,’ was becoming a reality too fast.

Police siren sounds and an ambulance were getting closer and closer to the shop.

“Help is almost here, love. Everything will be alright. Don’t you dare leave me right now!” He said, stroking your hair in attempt to calm himself down.

You giggled. You actually had the audacity to giggle. If he wasn’t in so much stress, he’d think you’d gone crazy. Your body began to feel cold in his touch.

“They may be almost here, but I’m already a goner, Jinnie. We both know it. I hope you know that I love you very much. Don’t forget that. Remember that this isn’t your fault either,” Your eyelids were beginning to shut, “You didn’t know,” were your final words.

The moment your body completely slumped in his arms, Hyunjin felt his entire universe fall, crash, then burn. His eyes weld up with more tears and his attention landed on the gun that laid mere inches from him.

The robber, who finally snapped out of his daze, made a run for it in the kitchen of the shop.

Hyunjin’s emotions were filled with complete and utter rage. He grabbed the weapon, set you gently down on the floor, and dashed after the boy.

The backdoor leading to the garbage cans was locked, leaving the scrawny robber with no means of escape. He hastily turned around to face Hyunjin with his arms raised in a surrendered position.

“I’m so, so sorry, man! I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, really! I just wanted the money. Please, let me go.” He pleaded.

Hyunjin raised the firearm, which was now coated in your blood.

“You could’ve let us go, but you didn’t and now because of that, you killed the one person that I treasured in life.” He said.

“I’m sorry!” The boy pleaded one more time.

“...Me too.” Hyunjin said before firing one shot at his chest, directly into the heart.

Blood splattered the kitchen walls and Hyunjin’s face. He heard the door to the kitchen swing open.

“Freeze! Hands up, now!” The police officers ordered him.

Hyunjin tossed the gun toward the dead boy’s feet, turned around, kneeled down, and put his hands up.

The warden crossed his arms as the inmate finished.

“So, that’s it, huh? That’s the story.” Mr. Park said.

Hyunjin was visibly on edge, his eyes had glazed over with tears, threatening to spill at any given second. His fists were clenched tightly and his lips were in a thin line.

“My turn to ask you something, sir.” He finally spoke after a minute or so.

The older man cocked his head to the side, a bit surprised at the boldness but still urged him to continue.

“Ever since I’ve arrived, you’ve always treated me… like a human. Even though what I did… it’s one of the worst crimes anyone could ever commit. Why is that?” He questioned.

A small smile lingered on Mr. Park’s face as he answered, “I’d like to think it’s because you remind me of Minwoo,” the man walked over to his desk, pulled a photograph from a drawer, and placed it in front of Hyunjin.

A teen boy with black hair and dimpled cheeks was standing beside Mr. Park in the photo. The resemblance between him and Hyunjin was uncanny.

“I’m sure you’re aware of what happened to him because of all the talk that goes around here; shot trying to go after some on-the-run criminal who fired at me.” The warden stared off into some distance, as if he was remembering the sudden demise of his son.

Hyunjin scratched his neck, and asked, “Aside from appearances, how are we the same?”

Mr. Park’s gaze returned to Hyunjin and he answered softly, “You both made it your duty to get justice for someone you deeply love. The difference between you two is: my boy was killed before he could finish his.”

A guard from the outside knocked and peeped his head inside to announce, “Sir, your wife is outside, asking what time you’ll be coming home.”

The warden nodded and replied, “I’ll be out in a sec, just tell her to wait in the car.”

With that, the guard left.

The warden put his hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder as he was walking out.

“If you stay on good behavior, you’ll be out in 5 years. The judge at your case agreed that what you did was understandable, but it still broke the law. So, try and get some sleep to stay sane, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said before leaving.

The guard from the outside escorted Hyunjin back to his cell and he allowed himself to plop down on the stiff mattress. Maybe, just maybe, he could sleep tonight.

#KPOP #stray kids #scenario #scenarios #reaction #reactions #imagine #imagines #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #fic #ff #angst #fluff #au #prison #criminal #lee know #lee minho #bang chan #jeongin #i.n. #woojin #changbin #seungmin #jisung #han #felix #skz #jyp

[inquisitorhotpants]

The Knight and the Prince

This remains one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. Takes place after Aberration but before chapter 47 of Chaos & Opportunity. Kryn has a massive romantic streak and makes her sister cry. (the kinda-sequel, where scourge finds it, is here. the collection of kryn’s fam!fic is here)

-

Once upon a time…

in a land torn by war and strife and suspicion, there lived a brave knight named Semiri, with shining ebony hair and piercing sky blue eyes. She was bold of spirit and noble of heart, a wandering adventurer who valued freedom and justice above all other things, a welcome sight both to the weary and downtrodden, and on the field of battle.

One day, she chanced upon a glade surrounded by tall, sinister trees, untouched by the sunlight. In the center of the glade was a tower, its stones black as a moonless midnight, and it loomed over the too-calm clearing with a palpable air of malevolence. Semiri took a deep breath, drew her sword, and approached it, determined to face whatever evil surely lay within before it could wreak havoc on the peaceful village nearby.

The ornately carved wooden door swung open with a tortured groan from its rusty hinges, and a chill breeze rushed over Semiri, making her skin prickle. She crept through the deep gloom, tensed and waiting for a confrontation.

“Why have you come?”

She spun around, sword extended. In the central room, lit by candlelight, stood a beautiful man, strong and strapping. “Who are you?”

He offered her a courtly bow, but made no move to come closer. “I am Prince Scourge.”

“I … don’t think so," Semiri scoffed. "That's impossible."

The man blinked, nonplussed at her reply. “What?”

“Prince Scourge is nothing more than a story. The legend says he was sealed away from the world by the mad king Vitiate, who wanted to keep him all for himself. The cursed prince was made immortal, but doomed to an immortality of solitude, never knowing the small joys of the world or the love of another.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “That’s an excellent summation of my current situation, yes.”

Semiri stared at him for a long moment, dismayed to find that she was more smitten by the minute. “And no one’s rescued you?” Her brows knit together as her outrage grew at this blatant miscarriage of justice. "You've stood here for centuries alone?" She drew herself to her full height, her voice cutting through the surrounding darkness. “Well, I, Semiri, vow that I will find a way to release you! Await my return, for it will herald your freedom from this horrific curse!”

She traveled the length and breadth of the land in her search. In each village she visited, she heard tales of the mad sorceress Kryn’la, said to be extraordinarily gifted, even in the obscure and forbidden arts. An aged hermit with a shock of snow-white hair, living on the edge of the Plain of Sorrow, told her of another like himself residing in the Seething Swamps, there to direct the true-seeking supplicant toward the sorceress. The second hermit, a veritable copy of the first, sent her to traverse the Lightning Lands, insistent that she would find the sorceress there, if her intent was pure enough and her need great enough.

At long last, after Semiri felled a great nightmare beast of horns and teeth and thunder and knelt gasping for breath upon the loamy ground, the sorceress’ home revealed itself, tucked into a nearby cliffside. The sorceress herself was seated on her porch, preternaturally youthful and ravishing, with vibrant scarlet hair and a sardonic smile. She looked up from her tome as the warrior approached.

“Ah, so you have come, Semiri of the Sentinel Blade."

Semiri stopped a short distance away, hands on her hips. "Sorceress Kryn'la, it is whispered far and wide that you are a master of arcane arts both common and inscrutable. Following the directions of your acolytes, I have sought you out to petition for your assistance in rescuing a man sorely cursed."

"Will you not bend your knee?" The sorceress rose from her chair, ebon robes flowing behind her as she closed the space between them. "Will you not prostrate yourself before me? Are you not frightened that I will also curse you?"

Semiri, being of stout heart, did not move, did not even flinch. "No, my lady. You will help me, or you won't, and I do not believe any amount of bowing will change what course you have likely already decided upon."

The silence spun out as the sorceress regarded the knight, the slightest of smiles curling her lips. "It is as I foresaw. If you can pass the trials, I will give you what you request, Semiri of the Sentinel Blade." She pointed toward an opening in the cave. "Your first trial awaits. Do not keep the Apprentices waiting." Without waiting for Semiri to move, she strode back to her seat, resuming her reading.

Semiri battled the fierce Apprentices to conquer the Trial of Strength, defeated the cunning Pirate at dice to win the Trial of Luck, impressed the learned Scholar with her careful reasoning to succeed at the Trial of Knowledge, and withstood the punishments of the stalwart Guardian to persevere through the Trial of Endurance, returning to the sorceress in high spirits. “My lady, I have passed your trials." She proffered her hand, revealing the tokens she had received. "I offer you the proof of my success.”

The sorceress turned from her workbench, pleased. “I knew you would.” She held out a vial, full of violet clouds and brilliant white lightning, a violent, twisting storm in a bottle. "Take this. He must consume every drop. The pain will be fearsome, nigh unbearable, for the curses of the Mad King are not so easily broken. But if he can endure it, and you can endure standing by as he bears this writhing agony, he will be free."

Semiri reached for the bottle, then drew back her hand. "And the catch?"

A wide, genuine smile graced the sorceress' face. "Clever girl! Such a simple and obvious thing, yet so many do not think to ask. There is a possibility the the curse will not be broken, but rather transferred to the nearest person."

"Me," Semiri whispered.

"Are you willing to pay even this price for your prince's freedom, Semiri of the Sentinel Blade?" Kryn'la asked solemnly. "Will you take his place, eons passing you by as you languish in the candle-filled room, the world's pleasures lost to you for eternity?"

There was not even a moment's hesitation. "Yes, Sorceress. I vowed to free him, and I will, even if it comes at the cost of my life and freedom."

"I expected as much," Kryn'la said, studying Semiri's face. "Perhaps what you are feeling is True Love, and it will aid in your endeavors." Her expression softened for the briefest moment before resuming its usual sternness. "Now begone, I must resume my studies and you have a prince to save."

Semiri thundered across the countryside, the vial strung on a length of leather and cradled against her chest, and last she arrived at the tower, unchanged from how she left it many moons ago. She leapt off her horse, heaved open the door, and strode into the oppressive gloom. "My prince!"

Scourge appeared in the same room he'd been in last time. "Semiri?"

She extracted the vial, cradling it gingerly in one palm. "I have acquired a potion that can break your curse. But the sorceress informed me it will be excruciatingly painful. Do you still wish to be free?"

"No pain can be greater than an eternal solitary lifetime. I will bear it, if it means being able to leave this room again."

She crossed the vestibule and handed him the bottle, then stepped back. He stared at it for a long moment. "Something so simple to destroy this curse," he marveled. "I would never have dared dream such a thing even existed." His hand paused on the stopper. "Will you keep watch, Semiri? If something should go wrong, for you never know with magic of this nature, will you end it?"

She took a deep breath, then unsheathed her sword and assumed her ready stance. "I will."

He uncorked the vial, the unmistakable smell of lightning filled the air, and he tilted it up, the last of the storm disappearing from the bottle.

Silence fell, briefly, over the tower.

Scourge's hands began to shake, and the vial fell to the blackened stones, shattering into a million pieces all winking in the candlelight. His hands tightened into fists, and he fell to his knees, arms wrapped around his chest as though to hold himself together. A stomach-turning wail rent the unnatural quiet of the tower, bursting forth from his mouth like a loosed monster.

Semiri gulped, but stood her ground, when she saw the dark tendrils snaking out of his body, writhing, curling around each other, pausing to scent the air. She steeled her nerves, head held high, and silently reaffirmed her vow to take his place if that was what was required of her.

A keening, so high-pitched as to be on the very edge of hearing, filled her ears, and acrid smoke billowed out of the candlelit room as the tendrils withered away into nothingness. As it cleared, she saw the prince prone on the cold stones, and rushed to his side, relieved when she could tell he was still breathing.

"I think 'excruciatingly painful' was something of an understatement," he muttered weakly, opening his eyes. "But I'm glad you were here."

She smiled and extended her hand. "Shall we leave this awful tower?"

Outside, the door to the tower firmly shut behind them, she turned to look at him, grinning when she saw him standing with face upturned toward the azure sky, smile on his face as the breeze caressed his skin. "What will you do with your newfound freedom, Prince Scourge?"

He held out his hand to Semiri, pulling her close when she took it. "I will cross the land with a brave and beautiful warrior, and see what adventures await us." Their lips met as the sunlight broke through the trees for the first time in centuries.

--

"Hey, boss." Kira drops down on the couch and nudges Semiri. "What was in that package you got?"

"Oh!" Semiri starts, hurriedly swipes at the tears on her cheeks. "Just a fairy tale, that's all."

Kira's eyebrow shoots toward her hairline. "Someone sent you a fairy tale?"

Semiri nods. "It's a silly thing, really. My sister always has had a flair for the dramatic and ridiculous." She cradles the datapad to her chest. "I'm going to go put this away."

#OTP: Once Upon a Dream #jedi knight #lord scourge #swtor #i just love it

[banshee-cheekbones]

hi here’s a random prompt for you: standrew + slow dancing. do with that what you feel inspired to do!

thank you for this prompt (and also for betaing this fic, oops), you’re an absolute angel! 💖

set in the midst of filming for the s5 premiere, here’s some established relationship + fluff without plot!

~1.8k, on ao3 here.

go spin circles for me.

By the time they finish filming for the day and head back, BuzzFeed headquarters is quiet.

There are still a few people lingering around, hunched over their laptops with headphones clapped over their ears, but for the most part, the desks and pods are unoccupied and darkened. Steven’s footsteps, asynchronous with Andrew’s as he trails after him, seem too loud for their surroundings, especially once they reach the narrow hallway leading to the expansive equipment closet.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen the New York office this subdued. Even in the dead of night, there’s always something going on, some conference call spilling out into the hallways, some video being filmed or a party wrapping up on the roof. It’s always louder, more vibrant, more alive.

Normally, Steven thrives off that ever-present buzz of activity, but right now, when it’s just him and Andrew dropping off their equipment, Adam and Annie having already gone home for the night, it’s hard to miss it.

They idly talk as they put everything away, go over the plan for tomorrow’s filming at the mid-range restaurant, and discuss an idea Adam has for season 2 of Eating Your Feed. After everything has been carefully returned to its proper place in the closet, they stop back at Andrew’s desk so he can quickly check something on his laptop. Automatically, Steven slides up onto the edge of Andrew’s desk and gently plucks one of the plushies out of the overstuffed box Andrew keeps beside his monitor. It keeps his hands occupied, keeps him from leaning forward and trailing his fingers up the inside of Andrew’s arm, from the curve of his wrist to the bend of his elbow, keeps him from brushing at Andrew’s hair or fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

He’s done all of that and more, since his flight arrived early yesterday morning, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. Even though they spent the entirety of last night alone, wrapped up in each other on Andrew’s bed, his hands itch to wander and re-familiarize and hold on tight. There are still so many days that he has to make up for, so many days where they were apart and the only way he could touch Andrew was by stroking his fingers against his phone screen when they were video chatting.

With a soft click, Andrew shuts his computer off, and he reaches out to place one hand on top of Steven’s, where it’s still wrapped around the plushie.

“Sorry about that. You ready?”

Steven nods and takes his hand away from Andrew’s just long enough to replace the plushie before he slides off the desk and slots his fingers back between Andrew’s.

“Ready when you are.”

The sun is in its last throes of the day when they return back outside to the parking lot, and the sky is transitioning from deep orange to navy blue at the edges. It was a lovely day, warm without being stifling, and it looks like the night is going to be just as beautiful. There’s a hint of a breeze winding through the air, carrying the smell of the ocean with it, salty and clear, and Steven inhales deeply.

Much as he may love New York, there’s absolutely no comparison between the polluted waters of the Hudson and the everlasting stretch of the Pacific.

“Do you want to head back to my place?” Andrew asks as they cross the asphalt, slowly walking in the direction of his car. It looks almost lonely, surrounded by empty parking spots on either side. His thumb is dragging back and forth up Steven’s finger, following the same path over and over again, like an artist redoing a single stroke of paint until it reaches the point of perfection. It’s really a simple touch in the grand scheme of things, one that Steven has felt over and over again, but a gentle shiver still travels up his spine when he focuses on it.

(He’s missed a lot about Andrew in the time that they’ve been apart, but it’s the little things like this that he most acutely feels the absence of when they’re on opposite sides of the country - things like the way Andrew smiles at him when they’re alone, the way he can still Steven’s racing mind with a single, carefully chosen touch, the constant stream of tiny gestures that show that he cares.)

Going back to Andrew’s place is certainly a viable option, but it would be a shame to waste such a beautiful night, especially since they spent most of the day looking out at the sunshine from the window of a car or the plate glass of a restaurant. Besides, if they go back to Andrew’s, there’s about an eighty-five percent chance that he’s going to fall asleep in front of the television with his head cushioned against Andrew’s shoulder as soon as he changes into his sweatpants, and while that certainly isn’t a terrible way to draw the day to a close, he wants to savor every single moment he has with Andrew, wants to make their limited time together something to remember.

“Can we go for a bit of a walk?” he asks, squeezing Andrew’s hand gently. Andrew nods and smiles.

“Sure, Steven. We can do that.”

They pass Andrew’s car and keep walking, until the parking lot and BuzzFeed headquarters are both blocks behind them. The wind picks up slightly, ruffling the downy hairs on Steven’s arms and tickling the back of his neck, and even as he shivers, he sighs contently and lets his eyes closed, just for a few steps.

He loves New York, utterly and truly, feels more at home there than anywhere else in the world, but it’s been a long time since his mind felt purely and completely content.

For long stretches of time, while the world around them exists in a fine layer of intertwined sounds, of traffic and footsteps on concrete and wind, there’s silence between them. There’s no pressure for Steven to shove that silence aside, no pressure for him to say anything at all; he allows himself to talk when it feels organic, when something pops into his mind. At one point, he finds himself making an excruciatingly bad pun, and while Andrew groans theatrically at first, the laugh that follows is warm, and Steven feels like he could simply melt into the pavement.

Eventually, he realizes that there’s a new sound drifting through the air, something that feels out of place given the fact that they’re in the middle of the city. As they walk further, the sound grows louder, until Steven realizes that it’s coming from the park across the street, tracking alongside them in a slash of greenery and wrought-iron fence.

Classical music. More specifically, classical music being played live, not just being piped from the window of someone’s home or car.

“Wanna check it out?” Steven asks, using his free hand to point across the street. “Might be some kind of festival.”

“Sure,” Andrew says. “Maybe there’s food. Could grab something for dinner.”

“How are you still hungry?” Steven teases as they cross the street. “I feel like meat is going to come out of my nose if I sneeze.”

“That’s easily the most disgusting thing you’ve ever said to me,” Andrew laughs, leaning over and pressing a messy kiss to the side of Steven’s neck.

They end up in a debate about whether or not that’s true, because Steven is positive that some of the phrases he’s used in the past are far more graphic and descriptive, but the debate doesn’t last for long. It trails off as they head further into the park, following footpaths of crushed stone that wind between the trees. The music gets louder the further they go, until the source of it suddenly appears, nestled in a slight dip in the land that acts as a natural amphitheater. There’s a small, lit-up dais set up in the center of the dip with a string quartet nestled on it, filling almost every available inch of space. Surrounding them on all sides are onlookers, some stretched out on blankets spread out on the grass, others perched on lawn chairs, still others standing mere inches off the footpaths, like they were lured away in mid-step by the music. Steven doesn’t recognize the piece of music, but it’s absolutely beautiful, too beautiful, almost, for the city they’re in.

Before he can ask if Andrew wants to sit and listen for a while, Andrew uses their intertwined hands to gently lead Steven away from the path and into the deep shadows between two trees. Settling his free hand on Steven’s hip, he pulls him even closer, and Steven’s breath hitches as he curves his own hand around Andrew’s waist.

“What are we doing?” he asks, unable to stop himself from breaking out into a laugh. It’s not that the situation is funny, but he has a hard time believing that it’s actually real; this is the kind of thing that happens in the movies, not in real life.

“I don’t really know,” Andrew answers with a slight laugh of his own. His breath tickles against Steven’s ear as he steps in closer. “Is it okay?” Immediately, Steven nods; he may not have much of an idea what he’s doing, may not be sure of his footing on the slightly uneven ground, but he does know that he doesn’t want to pull away.

“Yeah,” he answers, twisting so that he can press his mouth to the first part of Andrew he can reach, which turns out to be high up on his cheek, almost at his temple. “Definitely.”

As far as dancing goes, it’s a spectacularly terrible effort. They quickly fall out of step with the music, and their feet tread the same spots over and over again as they sway back and forth without anything approaching a sense of rhythm. When Andrew attempts to turn them into a small spin, Steven trips over his own feet and nearly yanks them both down to the ground.

As a moment of joy, on the other hand, it’s absolutely perfect.

As the string quartet transitions into another song, something slower that makes Steven think of fireplaces and mansions and snowdrifts, Andrew pulls back slightly and presses a kiss to the corner of Steven’s mouth, soft and lingering. Both of his hands, the ones clutching Steven’s and the one wrapped around his hip, tighten incrementally.

“I missed you so much,” he murmurs, deep voice barely audible. Another shiver travels up Steven’s back, and a flush spreads out across his face, warmest in his cheeks.

The world could end in the next hour, and so long as he had this memory to cling to, he’d go out happy.

“Yeah,” he answers, tightening his grip on Andrew’s waist, closing his eyes and letting a heavy, warm wave of contentment wash over him. “I missed you too.”

#devilstrip #standrew #mine #mine: fic #it's been too long since i've posted a fic #i feel rusty #let's see if this can get me back into it

[demonsonthemoon]

Scars

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist Pairings: N/A Word Count: 2005 Summary: Edward Elric has more scars than he wants you to think about. More scars than he wants to think about himself, but he doesn't really have a choice in the matter, most days. Note: This is one of those fics that masquerades as a character study but is really just an excuse to share my trans headcanons and talk about trauma. It's one of those fics that you hate because they're the only ones in the trans tag but you still read them because they're the only ones in the trans tag. I'm sorry.

Also available on AO3.

Edward Elric has more scars than he wants you to think about. More scars than he wants to think about himself, but he doesn't really have a choice in the matter, most days.

The ones most people know about, the most obvious ones, are the automail scars. And even then, a lot of people can't even fathom the extend of them.

Ed guesses a lot of people have a very vague idea of what losing a limb means. They imagine a stump as a clean slab of flesh hanging off one's body. They don't realize what that stump implies, what it means for a limb to be torn off, sawed away, crushed and destroyed. They can't begin to imagine what it feels like to have one's skin gape open, one's muscles sliced into, to feel one's bones crumble. Those people don't know shit.

And Ed hasn't fared the worst. Far from that. His arm and leg were torn off, but – small blessing – at least the fucked up dimension behind the door meant it happened cleanly. They weren't shredded off bit by bit. They were there, then they weren't. But even that leaves scars.

And then there's the automail itself. The thing sure looks clean when it's on. Winry is amazing at what she does, and so the metal limbs seem to grow organically out of his skin, but it's all a lie.

The prosthetic has to be linked to his nervous system, which means it can't just slot over his shoulder. It has to go in. Into the mess of scar tissue and flesh where the wound had first healed.

It figures that losing something happens so easily. But gaining things is usually messy, slow, and excruciatingly painful. Equivalent fucking exchange, Ed guesses.

Ed has lost an arm and a leg, and then he had gained new ones, and he had scars for every screw and rivet, for every wire connected however indirectly to his brain.

Most people don't think about all of that, and if he was a better peson, Ed would be fucking happy for them.

He has other scars, with other stories. Most people don't know about those.

He has one on his left elbow from a bad fall when playing with Al in Resembool. He had slipped when running by the river and scraped his arm on some rocks. Alphonse had screamed and cried. It had all seemed very dramatic they day it happened, although now Ed thinks of the memory fondly. It brings back the image of his mother teaching them how to clean a wound and then holding him and his brother in a tight hug. When he thinks about it, Ed can almost imagine he remembers the smell of her hair.

He has a knife scar on his side. There's not much of a story to tell when it comes to that one. It's pretty much what people expect from him. He got in a fight, and then he wasn't careful enough and the other guy gave him a souvenir to remember why he should.

(Of course there was a longer version to that story. It involved someone almost falling to their death and Ed feeling like it would be better to have them in prison than buried, and that one thought almost costing him his life. Kindness is dangerous in this world, and Edward knows that better than most, but he's learned to be even more dangerous than kindness itself.)

And then there are the scars on his chest. Ed doesn't usually let people come close enough to notice, but those are far cleaner than the other ones. So much so one might call them unnaturally clean. And if one did so, one might start asking inappropriate questions.

Those scars are the ones Edward resents the most.

Not because of what they stand for. Not really.

He used to have breasts, big fucking deal. That was never really Ed's problem. Or at least it wasn't anywhere near the root of it. He had been fine with the fact that he had breasts. A little bit freaked out when they had started growing, sure. Especially because he'd been precocious. But he had been fine with them. They were just pieces of fat attached to his body, like so many other parts of him.

What he hadn't been fine with were the things those breasts seemed to imply about him. What he hadn't been fine with was being called a girl, a young lady, Alphonse's sister. He had avoided it for what little childhood he'd had, because mom and Al and Winry and Granny Pinako all called him what he wanted, and he always wore his hair short and never put on dresses, so most people just assumed that he as a boy anyway, no questions asked.

But then his breasts started becoming noticeable. He could lower his voice all he wanted, but people took one look at the little nubs peeking out on his chest and they got it wrong. And then either Ed played along and pretended to be something he wasn't, or he got pissed and caused a scene and brought trouble to Al and their teacher, and despite that the people would keep on getting it wrong, only on purpose this time.

All of that, Edward had a problem with. So that was why Izumi had offered to get him something to bind his breasts with, on the one condition that he never wore it during training.

Of course Ed had said yes. And soon, the binder had become a second skin to him. Admittedly, an uncomfortable, itchy one, but it was better than the alternative. Izumi's house was still a sanctuary where he was free to wear whatever he wanted and still be acknowledged for who he was. For that he was grateful.

Up until the moment where he left it behind.

The army was something else. The army meant paperworks that Edward had filled in in a not entirely legal manner, because there wasn't really any other way.

So Edward had started wearing his binder all of the time, physical training included, not wanting anyone to notice anything that could give them an excuse to kick the 12 year-old genius out of the army.

But of course someone had to notice at some point. Someone had to notice his shortness of breath after too physical a fight, they way he pulled at his clothing even if if was loose. Someone had to notice at least one of the thousand of clues Ed couldn't help but leave in his trail.

And of course that someone would be Colonel fucking Mustang.

And the Colonel had had one simple solution to what he felt was Edward's problem.

And that solution had been alchemy.

Specifically, highly-specialized medical alchemy. Of the kind that involved a lot of money and got put down under a fake name on the paperwork.

When he offered to have the surgery paid for by the military, Mustang was not expecting to receive a negative answer. This was supposed to be an offer you couldn't refuse.

Except Ed had said no. Categorically. He knew what happened when you tried to pretend the rules didn't apply to you, when you tried to play god. He knew what happened when you used alchemy to mess with human life. He had all the scars he needed to tell that story, thank you very much.

Mustang didn't understand that. He didn't understand that Ed didn't give a shit about how many people had been satisfied with a specific doctor's services.

Ed also didn't give a shit about how Mustang even knew about all of this. The only thing he cared about was the promise he'd made to Al and himself. They had made the mistake once. They weren't ever attempting human alchemy again.

And that oath had been all good and well in theory. But in practice things had been more complicated. Ed had turned fourteen and had started getting pain in his back on a regular basis, cursing the fact his chest had developed so early.

In practice, he couldn't bear to see Al so worried about his health, couldn't bear the few but cutting comments about how he was throwing his body away, even though he should know how lucky he was to have one.

(And Al only said that because he knew there was another option possible. He only said that because he knew there was a way for Ed to feel better, even if he had rejected it.) (And whatever people said, it wasn't just about principles. It was about not inflicting his pain on another human being. It was about not being the excuse another person needed to get a taste of power and want more, and get punished for it. It was about not letting himself go through that hell again, because he didn't know if he would be able to look away from the abyss this time.)

Alphonse only said mean things to him if Ed needed to hear them.

So one day, Ed mustered up enough guts and stupidity to go knocking on Mustang's door and not puke all over his perfect uniform as soon as he opened the door. And when Ed asked him if the offer was still on the table, Mustang only made one tiny sarcastic joke, and it was about the money, and he was a gentleman about the rest of the whole fucking affair.

And so Ed found himself in a medical cabinet, having to face the fact that maybe a big part of his reluctance to do this was due to his unadulterated fear of losing any new part of his body. Hadn't he given enough? Would he even be able to recognize himself in the mirror if more of him went missing in this way? How much of yourself did you need to keep to be considered a human being?

But if he told himself it was too late to change his mind – even if that wasn't true, even if he still had a few minutes before they drugged him to alleviate the pain, even if Al would make all hell rain down on whoever tried to touch him if Ed just said a word – if he told himself it was too late, he might just manage to stick things out and get through this. And then no more binder, less back-ache, less skin irritation. No more wondering what someone would say if they found out.

Ed could breathe again, if he thought about it like that. And that was all he needed in order to nod to the doctor assistant that he could put him under, and then his thoughts were starting to slip from his grasp, and everything was much simpler like this, wasn't it?

Then he had woken up, still woozy and confused, and Al had been there to take his hand and tell him some stupid reassuring gibberish and that had felt so good Edward had almost cried. And of course he had blamed it all on the drugs, and Alphonse had indulged him even thought he knew damn well that his brother was a fucking sap and loved him so much it filled his entire world.

And when the drugs' effects had faded away, he had looked down at himself, at the gauze around his chest, and he had felt something hollow lodge in his throat. They were gone. They were just gone. And Ed was still here, still... whole somehow. He didn't actually feel like anything was missing, he was so used to the sight of an artificially flat chest. But he knew it was different now. Although nobody else would. Nobody but him and Al, and Colonel fucking Mustang, for some reason. That wasn't something Ed wanted to think about. There were a lot of things related to Roy Mustang that Edward actively tried not to think about. It just made his life a lot easier.

#Meeni writes fics #Fullmetal Alchemist #Fanfic #Edward Elric