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tarjapearce · 11 days

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Chapter 8: As it Lies Severed All Ties With It's Kin

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Violence, physical aggression, mentions of blood, character background, depictions of therapy, emotional distress, mentions of cheating, Strained family dynamics. Character study and introspection, no proofread.

Summary: The last blow is delivered. A new step is given.

AN: So nervous for this chapter. And Ahhh, finally hehe 🤭. Hope you like!

—Hey

The seen icon had remained there, unchanged within Peter's chat log. It had been a month and a half since that unexpected confrontation happened back at Peter's home.

And a month and a half since silence kept stretching between them.

It was clear he was ignoring him, and even more obvious his now ex best friend didn't want anything to do with him. Not after he disrespected his wife. His beloved MJ.

After that night, Miguel left the house with a powerful slam that could only rival his heart's frenetic beats.

He had been ambushed, attacked and mauled by a woman that not only was his friend's wife, but also your best friend.

How fucking good was that?

Life was surely proving him a point, yet he refused to believe in such nonsense.

Karma wasn't ruining his life. His bad decisions were, he acknowledged much.

Trusting the wrong people, saying the wrong things at the wrongest of times, had only earned him to be in the black book of everyone around him.

No longer being perceived as that reliable man that focused on his work and loved his fiancée, but a cheater, a liar and abusive man that had been causing so much pain it was hard to believe.

Consequences were hardly a thing on Miguel's life, since he always behaved, hubristic as he was, but he behaved. Until that fateful night at that damned Alchemax party.

His temper had been teased enough by Dana, and it all took a one night stand with a gorgeous stranger to have life setting it's eyes on him and finding the perfect chance to charge him for every bad thing he had done.

All his life was sent spiralling into the void of chaos cause of you. If he hadn't met you, he'd still have his annoying fiancée with him, he'd still have his routine and home; his friend and possibly an even better position at his job. He'd be hurrying Delgado on his project advances, not backwards.

Ever since you showed up, things had gone incredibly sour for him. He didn't know what kind of bad luck charm nested and irradiated from you, cause things worsened.

With a heavy and irked sigh he downed the glass of whiskey in a go, letting the liquid burn his throat deliciously before serving himself another.

He didn't turn to alcohol often, in fact, he barely indulged the habit, unless stress and anxiety were making him their personal toy.

And he hated this never ending play date with them. He didn't want them anymore. He wanted everything to go back to normal and keep his routine. Sudden changes alarmed and made him severely uncomfortable, even though he always ended up adapting.

Cause every time he thought something was going back to normal, life made sure to surprise him with something new that only added more weight to his falling facade of a good man.

At first he thought nothing but a little stress coming his way as Aaron Delgado was elected as his new boss. And the man surely enjoyed putting everyone's nerves on edge, his specially.

Delgado didn't take him in count with the new projects, including one Miguel had prepared himself.

How dared him to cast him aside from his own creations and things? How dared Delgado to call him subordinate to then assign him into another group of tyros that had no idea on what to do?

Miguel downed the whiskey in a gulp and served yet another shot. His resented eyes darted to Peter's log once more.

Nothing had changed. And by the looks of it, it'd remain like that.

A clear 'Fuck off.' from that goof he had for a friend.

He had to admit, that Peter's bravado had surprised and caught him off guard.

The years he had known the man, truly couldn't prepare him for that display of sudden and righteous anger.

Miguel had underestimated Peter and his life choices so far, even going at such extent as to call him a clown when drunk, that couldn't truly swot on whatever thing the family man spoke. His brain turned stupid the moment his friend punched him with his words.

Every single one of them, hitting and berating with unforgiving and brazen truth, turning them harder to accept and swallow.

Part of him was too proud to acknowledge that disrespecting MJ was a bit too much, but the woman had come for him, straight for his jugular and her kill, that left him no chance to prepare his ammo against her and Peter.

But they were too set into marring and scarring him like predators, waiting for him to weaken down so they could finish what they started. Defending their territory and their own like a matter of death and life. You included.

The thought of MJ going for him to slap him or cause any sort of physical damage, amused him to no end. It was like everyone that night had taken a double shot of bravery.

But she didn't waver, he had to admit it. The way she executed his own public hanging, was flawlessly achieved on her end.

And it all resumed into one person. You.

The one that ignited the spark of that roaring and blazing fire within the Parker-Watson realm.

He growled while his nostrils flared angrily, his hand grope the glass tighter. God, you infuriated him to no end.

You and your stupid righteousness to accept whatever shit life threw at you, were the main culprit of his current state. Disregarded by his peers at work, friendless, fiancée-less, living in a bare and big apartment that needed to be cleaned up and refurnished as soon as possible, wallowing into his poor choices and actually consider them for a minute.

But of course, to Miguel O'Hara is was rather easy to put half the blame on others. The weight of being an asshole sometimes hurted his back and he was generous to share that burden with the rest.

To his surprise, the main door of his apartment rattled softly as Gabriel pushed the keys in and opened the door.

And to the young O'Hara's surprise his brother was there, sitting in the breakfast island, sulking and drinking his problems away.

"Migue! ¿Qué haces acá, cabezón?" (What are you doing here, big head?)

Miguel chuckled at his brother's puppy- like excitement. At least he could feel a bit of that tension disappearing before downing his third whiskey shot.

"I live here, cabrón." he grunted while Gabriel laughed and pulled him for en embrace, before Miguel shrugged him off. "What are you doing here?"

"Was picking up some stuff before going to Kasey's. Have a date night tomorrow." His younger brother fetched some small boxes from one room, and closed it's door.

"Why don't you tell Dana to join us? We could make it a double date."

Miguel's frame went rigid and he exhaled deeply.

"We broke up."

The words came out off him, rehearsed and terse, as if pronouncing them alone was more than enough to scrape his tongue.

Gabriel went silent for a moment and rubbed his neck awkwardly.

"Shit, I forgot about that..."

Miguel's head snapped his head softly to him, fiery eyes pinning Gabri on the spot, suspicion and mistrust rising.

"What do you mean? You've talked to her?"

"She called me."

Another wave of uncomfortableness washed over Miguel. Anxiety rose heavenwards in matters of seconds. Both O'Hara's remained there, looking at each other. And by the sudden cold stare from his baby brother, his mind intuited Gabriel was already acquainted with the situation.

Gabri's face fell and looked away, his cheerful demeanor long gone. He was good a pretention, and wanted to see how much the nothing is going on here facade lasted on Miguel. Gabriel wanted to see if Miguel took initiative to tell him the truth.

But his brother failed in such a simple task. He didn't have the intention of sharing his secret either. Although the situation wasn't that much of a secret anymore. At this rate the only people left knowing were his coworkers and the city.

"Do I know the woman?"

Miguel shook his head and served himself another drink. His suspicions confirmed in that phrase alone.

Gabriel's body shook ever softly with an underlying sort of anger.

"You know... even though I'm happy she's gotten a taste of her own medicine for cheating on me with you a while back, this... is different."

Miguel refused to talk or face him, and just heard him.

"Why'd you do it?" Gabriel asked

The question often popped in his mind, and in everyone's mouth that found out about his doings and the answer still remained the same. He didn't know.

But Gabriel's question was different, his overall demeanor was discomfitting at best. Eerily calm and collected. Like him.

"I don't know. I was pissed and-"

"So... you just cheated on Dana cause the hell of it." He crossed his arms and quirked a brow.

It was more a statement than a question. Yet Miguel just nodded. Tired of repeating the same answer to the same question over and over.

"Pretty much." he shrugged and slicked his hair back. Tired of trying and defend himself.

"Hmm..." Gabriel put the boxes down and rubbed his face, "You know, I could give absolute zero fucks on what you do with your life. But being a complete dick about it isn't the solution."

"I'm not denying shit, am I?" Miguel's brows furrowed, completely peeved.

"True, you're not. But you're not being responsible either." Gabriel's hands gestured

Miguel groaned annoyed.

"Ya estoy harto de la misma cantaleta. Contigo, con Dana, con Peter, con todo el pinche mundo que se entera de lo que hice." (I'm so sick of the same shit. With you, Dana, Peter and everyone that knows what I've done)

And Gabriel's mocking laugh didn't help to wane his rising anger. The neighbor's aggressive and upbeat music, filtered through the walls, seeping ominously through the genius' apartment. Polluting the air with its own chaotic beats.

"Bueno, Migue, ¿Qué esperabas, cabrón? For everyone to pat your back and feel sorry for you? Don't be stupid, man." (Well, what did you expected?)

"Can you leave now? Not in the fucking mood. And I'm not stupid."

"You are." Gabriel nodded knowingly, while tossing some of hid belongings in the box he put aside, "Pretty stupid actually. But it's even more moronic to believe that people won't give you shit for the things you've done," he shrugged, " And for you to act like a boy when you're soon to be a father."

Miguel's whiskey glass couldn't stand the match against the wall. Obliterating itself within seconds as the reluctant daddy hurled it against it. Shards flew to the floor and part of the kitchen Island Miguel was sitting. Some pieces rested a few inches away from his trembling and rabid frame.

"Kinda reminds me to someone." Gabriel murmured with derision. Unable to hold back the anger caused by his stupid brother's poor decisions.

Miguel's eyes screamed murder when gazing at his brother, as if daring him to say the words he could sense forming in his mouth and mind.

"But of course! Like father, like son." Gabri squared his shoulders, as if readying himself for the upcoming blow, and tilting his chin up defiantly.

The chair fell to the ground, as Miguel was already pouncing on him, the latter didn't hesitate nor wavered in keeping himself grounded with his stance. It was the younger O'Hara's turn to get everything he carried within, out of him.

As soon as Miguel's hands grabbed him by the collar, Gabriel wasted no time into connecting the perfect punch on Miguel's livid face, breaking his plump lip in the go. It stunted his brother for a minute.

Miguel remained nonplussed, brown eyes widening in shock. It wasn't a you punched me, but rather a how dare you fight back sort of shock

Who was him to put him in his place?

None of his intimidation worked on Gabriel, none of his mean and scary dog privilege served against his brother.

"You're just like him!" the latter hissed the accusation, "Didn't you learn shit about what Ma told us about him?!"

Miguel butt headed Gabriel and both landed on the floor with a loud thud. Miguel's fists didn't fear to collide against Gabriel's torso, knocking and forcing the air out of his ribcage.

But if there was something Gabriel could outmatch him, was his temper. Irish blood ran through his veins after all. And it was rare when it soared alive.

Gabriel connected another punch on Miguel's nose as he pulled his luscious hair, earning an enraged groan, but the older O'Hara didn't quiver, if anything the punches had sparked that fury within and returned the punch on Gabriel's cheekbone. Marring him as well.

This wasn't like the usual quarrel they used to fight as children, where Conchata would separate them and spank them afterwards. This was pure anger manifesting itself through their fists, hair pulling and cursing words.

Finally unleashed to tear each other apart, and making up for every single fight left without an apology or unfinished; for every urge to punch each other by the naughty things they got blamed for as youngsters.

But also, revenge for an innocent life that would bare the burden of having Miguel as a father.

Gabriel achieved what neither Peter or you wanted to do but were unable to do.

"Cállate!" Miguel roared and he punched again, earning a whimper from Gabriel.

"You're exactly..." Gabriel panted, "like Tyler." to then seethe and Miguel's chest constricted painfully. And he hated the feeling.

His enormous fists tightened their grip on his beaten brother's shirt collar, but refused to keep punching, instead, Miguel's hips weighted Gabri's torso down. Keeping him still.

It took Conchata a while to come clean to both their children regarding their parents. To Miguel it remained an open gash, and this situation did nothing but add salt to it, even worse when Gabriel now held that piece of information against him. Gabriel's words kept flowing, like the coppery taste in his mouth.

"You've already abandoned your child." Miguel couldn't help but punch again, furious for the comparison he was being subjected to, but Gabriel didn't have intentions to stop.

"And got mom's cheating side!" Miguel punched harder, tired and peeved that he had to shut his brother like this, but again, how dared he compare him to those that had hurt him the most?

"Congrats, cabrón, you're the worst of both worlds."

Miguel held his fist in mid air, trembling, panting the rage and need to beat his brother to bloody pulp, off his body. Just cause he told him the truth.

The guitar riffs died down, like the strife between them. It had served as an angry metronome for their beating.

Gabriel pushed him off his body, staggering away from him, panting like he had run a marathon. He spat the accumulated blood on the floor and stood with a pained groan.

"A fucking Tyler wannabe"

Miguel's lip twitched as he also spat blood.

"Leave."

"From all the things you could've learned from that piece of shit and mom... you picked the worst."

Gabriel shook his head, disappointed as he mumbled, and Miguel looked at his brother from his spot.

He was no longer that little boy that hid in the sheets with him after a thunderstorm, or cried whenever George threatened to beat him if he failed at school again.

His little brother had grown, beat him with his bare fists even, only to prove him he wouldn't tolerate his shitty attitudes. Gabriel was no longer afraid of him.

"And you know what, Miggy?" Gabriel panted before wiping his mouth and touching the throbbing and swollen cheekbone, "I hope that child never finds out who you are, and that woman makes her life away from you. Cause you're not worth the trouble."

"You done? Fucking leave." Miguel nearly roared again through raged breaths.

"You're not worth anything good they have to offer. Nor their time, nothing." Gabriel sniffed and wiped his nose.

Miguel growled as he rose, shaking with the remnants of his misdirected anger, supporting himself in the nearby chair.

"Hope you get to see how other man takes your place and raise your kid."

Shut up

"Cause I wouldn't want to be associated with a coward like you neither. I'd be too embarrassed to say you're my father."

Cállate

"Why the fuck you're still here then?!"

"Just came to pick up my stuff, genius. Don't want you to dirty them with your shitty ass attit-."

"Te me largas a chingar a tu-"

"Oh, shut the fuck up and man up." Gabri growled before standing up. Bloodied and beaten, but it didn't matter. He had given Miguel a lesson.

With pained steps, Gabriel left him with a loud slam on the door.

Not only Miguel O'Hara was now minimized at his job, friendless, fiancée-less, but now, with one of his favorite shirts stained in blood and a busted lip and brotherless.

The latter however had wounded him enough to drown a shaky exhale as he blinked away the bloodshot tinge within his eyes. But as he rose completely on his feet, so did his wounded pride.

He didn't need Gabriel, neither Peter or anyone that was on his side first. He didn't need anyone. They'd come to him eventually, like they always did.

They always do.

With bruised knuckles, he took another glass from the shelf and served it full this time.

They fucking always do

Your hands clutched tightly at your tote bag's handles, letting the rough material to soak up in the faint sweat of your hands and constant rubbing.

Here we go

The first appointment had arrived and certainly that ever familiar tingling sensation upon facing the soon not-so-stranger's door, buzzed through your body. The protocols were something you were well versed in.

Introducing yourself, sharing pleasantries and exposing your deepest traumas to a total stranger that at the end of the session, would take a cut of your already reduced paycheck.

But doctor's and MJ's orders, were orders.

Your thighs spreaded a bit more and your hands went immediately to your abdomen, letting a soft exhale to leave your lungs. The belly's weight was starting to slowly but surely sink in your body. A hand rested ontop of it, caressing in tinny circles those pressure points that caused mild discomfort.

Your fingers relished in the warmth of your skin for a minute, and your stomach fluttered. The anxiety crawling back on the surface had your knee bouncing, eyes darting to the crisp white door, that matched on your baby blue two piece comfortable outfit. zthe soft smell of jazmine flooded that zone of the clinic.

And now I need to pee, great.

Your throat dried as minutes kept on ticking and ticking. Dragging the imminent vis-a-vis meeting with the professional.

Although your medical records showed a couple of psychiatrists and therapists listed, meeting one since... well, forever, always made your nerves to juggle in a deathtrap.

Nevermind. Just focus.

Some had been good, others bad an unprofessional. Imposing their beliefs and going ti the extent of condemning you for such thing as focusing on yourself rather than your mother's forgiveness. Some people were weird like that.

But they all mattered little to nothing, not when the new addition to the list was about to introduce themselves and sojourn into your life for a bit of time, enough to give you the right tools to set your life back in track.

Or so you hoped.

Your breath hitched as the receptionist called your name a couple of minutes after, and opened the door for you. Your brief grip on the tote bag's handles grew impossibly tight.

Everything will be fine.

In a few strides, you entered Dr. Graham's office. Her polite smile immediately met you and coaxed you to take a seat before her.

A silent sigh escaped your mouth and soon, you accommodated in the seat, the main door clicked as it closed, leaving you, your simmering anxiety with the doctor alone.

"Nice you meet you, Miss Primrose."

The surname still sent uncomfortable jolts through your body. As pretty as it was, it was the only tie that kept you tied to Mother's memory. Sadly, you couldn't turn into an Aster or a Jameson since none of your progenitors were nowhere to be found to relinquish them your rights. So a Primrose you stayed.

"How are you doing today, Miss?"

A nervous smile crept on your lips as you acknowledged the question with a nod.

"I'm alright."

"I can see your belly is causing a bit of discomfort. Would you like an extra cushion?"

You blinked a couple of times and nodded faintly. The doctor passed the cushion and you placed it right in your lumbar area, relishing the much needed support. Your eyes darted through her desk and the several papers scribbled with yout name on them. It was your medical record. All of it.

"Thanks."

"So, What can I help you with?"

Dr. Graham spoke as she pulled the most recent papers from the unwilling visit to the hospital and your new meds prescription.

"In all honesty, I haven't visited a therapist in years. But I know how this will go." The health professional raised a brow at your words, "You'll ask me questions I'll have to answer if I wanna have at least some sort of... control on my life back."

"So you feel you're not in control?"

"At all..."

"What about the pregnancy?. Would you say it helps to keep you grounded?"

You sighed, a prick of upset rising through

"It's the reason why I'm here, doctor." You murmured almost bitterly, and the doctor just watched for a moment in silence, pondering and thinking her next words to thread carefully.

She gave you a bit of space and pulled a box of tissues out and write some notes afterwards

"I know you might know this questions, but it's unavoidable for me to ask, how does that makes you feel?"

If it wasn't for the routine interrogation you would've already broken down. Instead, your hands clasped before you, resting some inches away from your belly.

"Scared to no end. Terrified of a shit ton of things. Sorry for my language."

"It's alright." She wrote some more and sighed, "What would you say it's your biggest fear at the moment?"

"Not having enough to keep up with all these future demands this baby girl will do, even after adopted I know that it'll be a bit crazy."

"I see. You're worried that you're unable to provide for your child in the meantime and afterwards birth."

You nodded, looking at your little belly poking out.

"That and... that I might hurt her."

"Hurt her?"

Your fingertips tapped nervously on the flat of your thighs, a tad uncomfortable with the first share of true personal details.

"I'm afraid to... hurt the baby once she's born. My eh... Mother had this thing. Postpartum Psychosis. It wasn't even depression, just... her and her need to hurt me."

"And you believe you might have it? or would suffer from it in a future?"

"I hope not." a nervous chuckle flew out of your mouth to then clear it softly, "I really hope not."

"Although your fears are completely valid, Postpartum Psychosis is a rare condition, Miss Primrose. It's not hereditary."

"It's not?"

Dr. Graham shook her head with a small smile at your confused face.

"No, dear. Sadly we haven't found a true reason why it shows up. It simply does."

You gulped and bit the inner flesh of your lip.

"But rest assured, you're in good hands. I promise."

So far you weren't a potential candidate for it, but it's prevention turned into a priority, specially with a medical record like yours. Meds were just the tip of the iceberg.

Again, you nodded

"May I know about the baby's father?"

"I'm on my own." Your borderline snappy remark made Dr. Graham to scribble some more on her notes.

"I see. May I know how was your relationship with him?"

"I... don't feel comfortable speaking about him."

More goddamned notes.

"Alright. Tell me about the baby. Is everything going good?"

"A little underweight, but healthy."

"I see. You must be proud of it, doing it all on your own."

A weak smile donned your lips as she spoke through her praise.

"Thanks, though... I... I initially wanted her gone. And... I tried to get rid of her." Your fingers fiddled against each other, upset and impatient. Unable to look at the professional in the face. Too ashamed to withstand her piercing yet non-judgemental gaze.

"But I couldn't. And here I am."

"You coming here to try and get the help you need for you and your baby, is one of the most selfless acts a future mother can do."

"Even if I'm giving her up for adoption?"

"Even that, yes. You're doing it for her best of interests. You're loving her by seeking that baby's wellbeing as your main priority."

"I don't know if love actually is the right word for it."

"It is love, even though it does not looks or feels like it to you. Love can manifest itself through so many ways, not precisely only on the platonic and romantical aspect of it." Dr. Graham nodded with a patient yet caring smile.

"However, perpetuating guilt over initial choices is just another trauma response, Miss Primrose. I understand that your initial choice couldn't be achieved. May I know why?"

Your throat turned drier than the desert. Too arid and scrapped to rebut. But with a deep inhale, you finally gathered the courage to muster

"I didnt... I don't want to be like my mother." A pause, and then you spoke again, "She was always complaining about how much she wished to... abort me when she had the chance. Selfish... I know."

The annoying sound of her scribbling pen was chipping at your patience. But you also understood it was protocol.

"I see. And is why you've decided to giving up the baby for adoption?"

"Mainly. But it's a money wise sort of thing for me. Sure, I did... want kids but much much more ahead. Not right now, not when my paycheck keeps growing shorter and shorter each month. But the baby is here so..."

"If the circumstances of having the baby would be different for you to keep her, would you?"

"I guess so? I don't want to have kids in an unsafe or stressful environment or a place that is prone to be one."

"Why?" Dr. Graham secured her notes and looked at you, expecting your answer. She had nailed one of the many roots of your problems.

"Because... It-." You voice trailed off, and the doctor pushed the box of tissues before you as your throat swallowed the thick lump with difficulty, "It reminds me too much of my messed up upbringing."

"And if you could resume it, how would you do it?"

"Social services were my friends, Different foster homes, not all of them loving, failed adoptions, that sort of thing." You chuckled nervously, trying to sound as calm as possible, but your heart was beating like a rabbit's.

The doctor nodded and took a look at your med prescription. Dr. Graham asked about the meds and how it made you feel. But also noted that no matter how personal the question, you refused to break down. Too used to violence and harmful situations. Something to not be proud of.

Questions kept coming, mostly regarding your pregnancy since you rejected talking about Miguel. What would you have to say about him anyways? It was about you and the baby. There was no space in here for him to also pollute it with his poisonous violence.

The therapy kept stretching until time was up.

"I'll recommend some mood stabilisers once you reach your twenty weeks, the Zoloft is a must. So keep taking it. And if possible, I'd encourage you to talk to the baby."

She chuckled at your confusion for a moment and nodded.

"I know you don't wish to grow attached, since adoption is on the way. But creating a bond, even if temporary, is vital for your and the baby's health. Same as sleeping properly."

"Oh... Alright."

"If there's nothing else to discuss, then I'll see you within two weeks."

Supermarket shopping was one of the things you'd never expected to require assistance with.

The clerks were kind to fetch you things you couldn't reach from the top shelves, and gave you tissues after a wave of sudden nausea and retching at the bathroom.

Once at home you'd finish the paperwork for government aid, and looking into the adoption programs MJ suggested.

In the meantime, you got into the line and waited your turn. A couple of groceries and vegetables nested in a side as snacks and other little indulgences rested on the other along some new slippers.

The beeping machine echoed constantly, marking your products, and when the woman stopped and dictated a total, your chest felt a bit constricting.

"I'll return the snacks and will keep the slippers."

Shame didn't do your face justice, as you avoided seeing everyone directly in the eyes. Maybe it was a miscalculation on your budget or prices had gone up, but not having enough to pay for some simple snack bags, added yet another toll on your already loaded brain.

You quickly paid for whatever you could and left the super, face and mind awash with embarrassment. With a sigh you looked at the curve of your belly.

"Nothing personal, but you're not exactly cheap to feed." You mumbled while rubbing your tingling belly, at the fluttering sensation blooming from within.

"But can't really blame you" You patted the curve softly, "I like eating good stuff too."

Once the groceries were secured, you drove home.

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#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #of flowers and hummingbirds 🌼🐦#miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara angst

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coloricioso · 1 year

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How modern retellings are delegitimizing Clytemnestra:

Something I hate from modern retellings turning Agamemnon into "the worst man who ever existed" to "justify" Clytemnestra's actions is that, by doing so, you're erasing Clytemnestra's power and complexity.

It goes like this:

When you make Agamemnon a greedy man who doesn't care about his daughter, or even hates her, then the entire point of the sacrifice loses all meaning and sense. If for Agamemnon, sacrificing Iphigenia makes no difference from sacrificing any animal, where is the tragedy? Why would Artemis, the goddess, ask for the maiden's sacrifice if she was meaningless to the king? If Agamemnon feels and believes that Iphigenia's life is just like killing a goat because he doesn't feel anything for her, then there would be no dilemma and no trouble in making a decision, there would be no grief and no mourning. What the goddess demands from Agamemnon would be as easy and simple as slaughtering a goat or a bull, so what's the point of Artemis asking anything of Agamemnon? And eventually, why would Artemis bother to save the girl at the last moment if her life was meaningless? When you ignore the original sources and change the story to villanize Agamemnon, you just changed the myth into a thing that no longer makes sense. [Also, the sources themselves say he loved her].

Then, again, the sources don't portray Clytemnestra and Agamemnon being a bad marriage. So, when you villanize Agamemnon and turn him into an abusive husband (who beats, rapes, and mistreats Clytemnestra in every possible way) you're doing two things: a) You're erasing and ignoring the sources that stated just the opposite. b) And, you're ultimately stating that Clytemnestra's motive for killing Agamemnon (Iphigenia's sacrifice) was not enough on its own, and therefore the crime is not justified. Even in the worst version, absolutely made up by Euripides -not canon, not existing before him- where Clytemnestra was married before and Agamemnon killed her husband and baby, EVEN in that version, Clytemnestra says she "reconciled" with him and was a very good wife (Iphigenia in Aulis, 1146).

If for you, the story in the way it was depicted by the ancients is not enough, and you go in to add extra violence, then you're delegitimizing Clytemnestra. You're basically saying that it's not possible that a woman who had a happy family and loved her husband, could become a murderer after her oldest daughter gets sacrificed. According to your logic, more violence and an entire dehumanizing background are needed to explain why she acts the way she does!

I don't like Clytemnestra, but for those who do like her, wasn't her daughter's loss sufficient motive already? Wasn't that enough grieving and trauma?

But no. You need to twist the story and make it go like Agamemnon beat her, raped her constantly, humiliated her, insulted her, and all extra non-sensical mistreating like being buried alive* (and all that was done in public??) because ONLY then, according to you, Clytemnestra would be "justified" to murder her evil husband. Do you see how wrong this is?? How bad it is?? You claim to love your "girl boss Clytemnestra" while unempowering her and diminishing her psychology. 3) And ultimately, it's like failing history lessons. The Iliad is supposed to take place in a historical time when women were meaningful in society. So, depicting Clytemnestra (and Helen) as having a slave-like life is historically inaccurate too.

If people are unable to depict Clytemnestra as a complex character who loved her family and yet did terrible acts after a change of fate, and need to change her story turning her into a victim of domestic violence and sexism so, ONLY then, she will be "justified" to kill Agamemnon, it's saying she was not justified in the first place as the original story goes.

Although this might not be new, the oldest sources (Iliad, Odyssey, Cypria) don't have Iphigenia killed (which was introduced by Aeschylus and later used by Sophocles and Euripides -who, by the way, has different plays that contradict each other on this matter).

If you wanna know which books I'm talking about? Electra by Jennifer Saint, Clytemnestra by Costanza Casati, House of Names by Colm Toibin (*), Ithaca by Claire North, Daughters of Sparta by Claire Heywood, A Thousand Ships by Natalie Haynes, and others.

#every modern retelling I read keeps making me more and more angry #clytemnestra #agamemnon #Like friends one of those books has Agamemnon ordering that Clytemnestra IS BURIED ALIVE for DAYS while they sacrifice Iphigenia #Another book has Agamemnon raping and abusing Clytemnestra or beating her all in public #tw sa #tw rape #tw domestic violence

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helenarasmussen87 · 1 year

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Sasuke and Naruto thoughts

I've been re-reading the series and I also got some of the novels so I'm just rambling about Naruto so just putting that under the cut.

I was talking to a friend about how Naruto and Sasuke are the true love story of the original and how it was choreographed and telegraphed no matter what. Sasuke knew he loved Naruto earlier, because Naruto needed to grow in that area and the last fight was their realisation.

I've read meta explaining this and maybe it's my background (I teach English and Literature) and the points are well thought out and make sense. But for the het ships, I just can't find compelling points unless it is a retcon, or things like the Retsuden novels.

And I am in the process of reading them and...Yikes. Especially Sasuke's story...which sadly reads like a fanfic of someone who didn't get what they wanted, so they're going to impose their own version and push for it being canon.

I guess what kind of scratched at my brain was that even in fanfiction, you still work from the canon motivatios and then go to town. At least, that's how I view it and you build it up from there.

Sasuke doesn't feel *real* in Retsuden. Yes, people can change, but with both Sasuke and Naruto...They are twin flames. Whether they meet up at the Shag Shack once every two weeks while they take care of the village is beside the point. They both come first in each other's lives.

(And it is heavily implied even in the new canon that's always the case. I think Sarada and Boruto have stated this in so many words. And their wives know, but they want their men (prizes, status symbols), so they adhere to this, even though everyone is pretty miserable no matter what way you paint it)

But all of Sasuke's actions, like the ring and being all over Sakura don't work due to what we see of him before. There's no building up to him getting to that point. He has a thing with Naruto because they grow together. Sakura and Sasuke don't. Naruto and Hinata don't.

There's never this separation between them, like in other media where the partners establish they're done with each other. Or not.

And it reminded me of the 2003 Battlestar Galactica, where despite Starbuck and Adama trying to leave each other, and marrying other people...The tie was always strong between them. No one ever loved them like they loved each other.

Lee Adama's wife knew this and tried and he did too. Starbuck and her husband too.

Adama and Starbuck basically show everyone how strong that tie is when they get into a ring and end up going from a friendly boxing match, to them beating each other bloody and then both acknowledging what is between them.

And I immediately thought of Valley of the End. Because it was exactly that.

There is no real defining moment for the het couples in Naruto like that. It's all very "Yes, well get the epilogue cleaned up" and go on to the sequel.

Like no other scene with the canon couples lived up to that intensity and that love. Both declarations of love were ignored. Domestic life is distant and cold and there's no real connection. Like when Sakura buys flowers for when Sasuke comes home as if to erase all of his absences. Or how Naruto falls asleep watching a romance with Hinata and his son is there playing video games...together, yet apart.

Yet we get time and time again, proof that Naruto and Sasuke's connection that is still thriviing despite the burdens they each shoulder. They are connected and meet frequently and still just come alive when they are together.

They parent each other's kids! Naruto mentors Sarada and Boruto is Sasuke's apprentice. Talk about setting up the blended family here.

So that's why the Retsuden was so jarring because one, Sasuke went on a mission to help heal Naruto's illness. That was his main reason. The other stuff is so discordant with what we've been presented with.

And it's mostly in this one, since the last Sasuke novel emphasized how much Sasuke valued Naruto over everything. The about face is not set up for showing that. Or for him to play happy families and be some sort of prize for Sakura to show off.

I thought about it and I know this is why I am annoyed. It's not the story, but the poor story telling and shoving elements which do not belong in it and sell it as a love story.

It is worrisome because these couples are the textbook example of "We married young and now that the flush is gone and reality set in...We have nothing in common. And we're staying together for the kids"

Whereas Naruto and Sasuke grew into their relationship and that's why them being apart doesn't matter. That thread is always there and that's why they work as lovers and a couple when these other ones don't.

Temari and Shikmaru, Ino and Sai, and Asuma and Kurenai as well as Minato and Kushina work, because we see the organic growth and how they support and mutually respect each other. Ino has emphatically stated that she wouldn't stand for that kind of marriage if it were her. Shikamaru and Temari both train with their kid and work together. Asuma and Kurenai were never really shown together, but there were enough hints to show their love for each other. Minato and Kushina had history from since they were kids.

Even Fugaku and Mikoto had a relationship that was believeable.

So it can be done. But not with this and that's why it feels like cheap writing. And why it fails.

#meta #naruto uzumaki #sasuke uchiha #storytelling #meta naruto #character meta

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the-shepherds-flock-blog · 1 year

Text

Part 2 - The Story

Story Beats

1) A stony shepherd named Aymer (56M), walks his flock of 20 sheep north, their village fading into the background.

2) He wanders through the foggy Ancestors Path, the desolate spring blooming as he heads deeper into the mist.

3) Days pass, Aymer makes his way into the Valley of The Titian’s Teeth, a staggering mountain range.

4) A band of Adventurer’s wave to Aymer from a mountain path, they get no response.

5) Aymer settles down for the night, a small fire burning low as he drifts off.

6) Sheep squeal and Aymer jolts awake.

7) A massive fire lights the night sky, the entire flock within the flames.

8) Three dragons burst from the fire, claws full of carcasses.

9) Aymer falls to his knees, letting out a roar of anger.

10) Aymer, in the early morning light still on his knees, hears a bleat.

11) Swinging around, he spots a newly birthed lamb covered in ash.

12) Still upset, Aymer pays it no heed and angerly leaves the camp.

13) The lamb follows him anyways.

14) Aymer ignores the lamb, but it starts to try to eat the tassels on his pack.

15) Aymer yells at the lamb, upset at the world but taking it off on something he can see.

16) The lamb slightly cowers before softly bleating and collapsing.

17) Aymer sighs and realizes that the lamb is too weak to keep up.

18) Aymer takes his pouch and through a montage, tries to collect milk from various animals, until he’s successful after arriving to The Gray Sea.

19) Aymer stands at the edge of The Gray Sea looking out clutching his necklace.

20) The flash of a woman.

21) Lost in his memories about to step into the sea, Aymer is jostled out of them as the sheep bumps him, he looks away.

22) A montage begins of them walking across the mountain range, summer fully brightening the land.

23) The lamb starts to grow as it interacts with Aymer and the world around it.

24) They cross the Giant’s Pass as the trees gain color into fall.

25) A storm cloud rumbles in the distance and Aymer looks up.

26) They stand in front of a farmer’s cottage drenched in rain.

27) The lamb pushes his knees and forces Aymer to knock on the door.

28) The door opens, and they’re swept in.

29) Later that night Aymer rests in the loft starring at a corner.

30) A wood crib sits vacant, bathed in moonlight.

31) Getting up, Aymer places his hand on the cradle and is tormented by visions.

32) He escapes the house into the rain and watches as his wife and child die in childbirth before being lit on a funeral pyre.

33) Aymer, despondent, slowly comes back to himself, the lamb (almost full grown) sits by him.

34) Aymer collects the lamb into his arm and lets the tears fall.

35) Their journey continues as winter breezes in over Salamander Lake.

36) In a montage, they cuddle up against one another and build snow people, telling stories in the fire light.

37) They make their way down the rocky foot hold of Troll’s Garden as a blooming spring starts to peak out of the melting snow.

38) Aymer comes to rest on top of a cliff looking down at his village.

39) The lamb, full grown, bleats with happiness.

40) Aymer smiles.

Treatment

Beginning

During a bleak spring, a shepherd named Aymer, sets out from his village to start his year-long journey with his flock of sheep. Distant and stoic, his sole purpose is to complete his journey. He makes his way through ancient lands, towering stones decorating the landscape as spring finally begins to bloom. He enters the valley of the Titan’s Teeth, a staggering and imposing mountain range. A band of adventurers spot him on a quest of their own and wave, but they get no response. Dusk settles in and the shepherd’s fire burns low as he drifts off. The smell of smoke is in the air and the sound of crackling permeate his consciousness. Aymer bolts awake and is cruelly greeted by his flock of sheep encased in a burning inferno. He helplessly watches as they squeal before it goes quiet. Suddenly, a roar sounds from the pile and three pairs of eyes open. Bursting from the flames, three dragons soar upwards, their claws grasping the dead sheep. Aymer staggers before collapsing on his knees. He stares at the dragons as they vanish into the night, and he lets out a roar of his own.

Middle

The dull morning light filters over Aymer, still on his knees, hours later. The inferno nothing more than a smoking pile of ash and bone. Listlessly starring at nothing he hears a soft bleat from his right and swivels around. From the brush, a lamb, newly birthed and covered in ash, stumbles out. Aymer stares at the lamb before he nearly growls in anger and stomps out of the campsite, ignoring the lamb. It can die for all he cares. Better off with its family than him. Aymer lost in his head doesn’t notice the lamb following him. He’s jarred out of his mind when he feels a tug on his pack. Swinging around he spots the lamb trying to eat the tassels on his bag. Aymer yells at the lamb to scare it off. It bleats quietly and collapses. Aymer pauses, then sighs. The lamb, too weak to move, urges Aymer to help it. Over the afternoon, Aymer takes his fabric flask and tries to collect milk for the lamb from several uncooperative animals before he’s finally successful. Sated, Aymer and the lamb have arrived at the Gray Sea. Aymer looks across the water, peaceful and calm. He’s hand sneaks towards his chest where he grabs his necklace. A flash of a smiling woman assaults his mind. Unaware, he makes to step into the ocean but is bumped aside by the lamb. He looks down at the lamb and turns away from the shore.

Their journey continues as they walk across grassy mountains, summer finally breezing in. The lamb beings to grow as the weeks pass. It hops around Aymer and interacts with the world. They cross the Giant’s Pass, a massive stone bridge that connects the other side from the chasm below. The greens of the trees around them gain color as fall seeps in. A thundercloud rumbles in the distance and Aymer looks up. Now standing in front of a farmer’s cottage, he and the lamb are drenched. The lamb pushes him forward and he begrudgingly knocks on the door. It opens and he’s swept in. Later that night he rests in the loft of the cottage. Basked in moonlight, a wooden cradle stands out. Aymer slowly gets up and lightly places his hand on the rim of the crib. He’s assaulted by memories and gasps clawing he way out of the house. A pregnant woman. A brand-new cradle. His younger self. Bursting out of the house Aymer collapses to the ground. Looking up he stares at the sky and lets him memories flow. A worried soothsayer. A silent child bundled in cloth and blood. A scream. Darkness consuming everything. Two funeral pyres burning. Aymer sits listlessly in the rain, masking his tears, until the lamb trots up. He looks at the lamb and collects him into his arms realizing that this is his chance for fatherhood that he never thought he would get again.

End

Aymer and the lamb continue the last leg of their journey. Winter blows in as they cross Salamander Lake. They cuddle up to one another at night in front of the fire, Aymer smiling and telling stories about beasts and monsters. They make snow people and creatures as they continue on their journey. They make their way to the mossy foot holds of Troll’s Garden as spring sprouts out of the melting snow. Aymer and the lamb, now fully grown, come to a rest at the top of a hill overlooking their village. The lamb bleats, bounding forward before looking back. Aymer lets out a breath and smiles.

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theshelbyclan · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the chaos, little one

Summary: Giving birth is never easy, especially when it’s a Shelby x Solomons baby…

A/N I’m so slow with requests but a while back the lovely @fandom-puffrequested: Omg sorry to be a pain but I’m a sucker for Shelby chaos 😭😭😭 can I request something linked to A Very Shelby Christmas where the labour of baby Solomons is just as chaotic? But it could also be sweet like the bros finally accepting Alfie bc they all care about YN so much and can’t stand to hear her in pain, all while YN is screaming that she’ll cut off more of Alfie’s dick than his rabbi would even dare to if he ever tried to bed her again 😭😭😭 omg the chaos 👉👈 ily 💓💓 Here we go! This is part 2 to the story A Very Shelby Christmas

Words: 1638

***

“Not now, Y/N,” Arthur groaned. Ada rolled her eyes, remembering keenly when her brother had spoken those iconic words before. “It’s not like I can help it, Arthur,” you spit.

Polly grabbed you by your arm as you doubled over again, “Alright, sweetheart, it’s time. Come with me…” “Not yet, Aunt Pol,” you panted, “It’s too early.” “The baby doesn’t have it’s own pocket watch yet,” Ada commented matter-of-factly, as she took your other arm. “Fuck!” you called out again as another contraction set in, “Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck!” “Nice.” “Oh, piss off John, you want to try this?” “Not really…” “Tommy!” you turned to the one family member who hadn’t said a word yet, “Get him.” “And who would that be, eh?” he replied in a low voice. “Thomas…” Aunt Polly warned softly. He raised his eyebrows, “Finn? You want Finn at the birth?” “WHY WOULD I WANT MY FUCKING BABY BROTHER HERE?!” Tommy waved a vague hand, “General comfort?” Now Aunt Polly’s eyes flashed with anger, “Thomas! Go get her husband, right now!” Tommy sighed deeply, still trying to ignore the fact that his little sister was now Mrs. Solomons, and said, “Come on boys, let’s get them all together and wet this baby’s head! Leave the women to it.” And you groaned, “Thank you…” Once Alfie would be here, everything would be easier.

*** “Solomons!” “No need to shout, mate, I’m right here, ain’t I?”

Slowly Tommy lit a cigarette and started smoking it, “It concerns my sister.” “You mean the glorious creature that made me the luckiest man on earth by marrying me? My wife? Mrs. Alfie Solomons?” A small twinkle appeared in Alfie’s eyes as he saw Tommy’s jaw tense up just a little at his words. “Yes.” “How is the old lady doing?” Alfie asked conversationally. “In pain,” Tommy replied, “She’s in labour, more to the point.” “You fucking what?” “She’s with her aunt Alfie, she’ll be fine.” Alfie blinked a few times, “Tommy I swear to God if you’re playing some fucking game with me I will shoot you between the eyes right here and now. You’re telling me my wife is in labour and you’re standing there casually smoking a cigarette, waiting for some fucking woman to tell you it’s done?” “Yes,” he nodded, “Well, I was about to go the Garrison. Thought we might bury the hatchet and you could join us.” “Have you lost your fucking mind…” Alfie said slowly, while rubbing his chin. Tommy cleared is throat and with a slight hint of uncertainty in his voice said, “It’s tradition.” “Well, if you’ll pardon my French, fuck your fucking heathen traditions, I’m going to my fucking wife and you are fucking coming with me. And bring your fucking family while you’re at it!”

*** “Why are we here?” John leaned in to Arthur slightly while asking the question in a hushed voice. “Alfie insisted.” “Why?” Arthur raised his voice, “Ask Tommy, alright? I don’t bloody know! I’m guessing it’s another Jewish thing…” On the other side of the door, you were most definitely in labour now. The pain was worse than anything you’d experienced before and you were seriously questioning your sanity at this point. “Aunt Pol?” Ada asked carefully after about an hour. Polly moved over from your side down to your legs and said, “What is it?” “Something’s wrong.” “THOMAS!” Polly bellowed as soon as she had taken a look, “Get me some more towels.”

“What’s happening?” A panicked Alfie asked from the hallway. But Polly pushed him aside and started ordering Finn to boil more water. “Woman!” he demanded, “You fucking tell me.” “She’s bleeding,” she answered quickly, “and I can’t see why.” “What can we do, Pol,” Arthur asked, wild-eyed. “Get a doctor. One we can trust.” Arthur dragged John with him, even before Polly had finished her sentence. “What about Sabini’s men?” John asked, “We were supposed to deal with them tonight. What if they come here?” “Shoot them,” Tommy said simply, as he lit another cigarette in a nervous manner. Inside the room, you were now screaming your head off. Of course you had realised giving birth would be painful, but not like this. The sight of Ada going slightly pale didn’t help either and panic had started mixing in with the general anxiety of the process, so your screams got louder and louder. “Pol…” Ada called out again, “What do I do?” In that moment, Alfie pushed passed her and fell down by your side, “I’m here,” he said softly. “I can see that,” you panted between shouts, “but why? You’re not supposed to be here.” “Out,” Aunt Polly said strictly, “This is no place for men.” And then Tommy walked in as well, averting his eyes and grabbing your hand at the same time. “What?” he said when Polly send him a death-glare, “If Alfie gets to stay, so can I!” “Fucking children…” “Alright, sweetheart,” Polly focused on you again, “This baby needs to come now.” Your eyes grew wide, “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” Alfie replied for her, “You’ll be fine. You’re doing brilliant, babes.” “How the fuck would you know!” you shouted out. He shrugged, “Educated guess?” “Had a lot of experience with this, eh?” Tommy grumbled sarcastically. “This,” Ada pointed at the both of them, “This is why men shouldn’t be in here.” “I’m not fucking going anywhere, especially if my wife is in danger.” Tommy just shook his head in reply. “Danger?” you asked suddenly, “What does he mean in danger?” “No danger, love,” Ada soothed you, “if you just push.” And so you pushed, with every bit of strength you had in you. But then a gunshot sounded outside, followed rapidly by another two. Everyone looked up. “John,” Tommy clarified with a single word. “You’re being awfully cavalier about baby brother John getting shot there, Tommy…” Alfie commented. Tommy looked at Alfie with a frown that spoke volumes, “John just shot Sabini’s men. I told him to.” “Oh, good. Saves me the bloody trip.” “I can see some hair!” Ada called out suddenly. “What colour?” Alfie replied at once. And John stuck his head around the corner of the door, “Took care of them.” “We heard,” Aunt Polly grumbled. He hopped from one foot onto the other uncertainly, “Anything else I can do?” “Yeah, you can fuck off mate!” “Alright, I’ll stay, since you asked so nicely.” “John, just get the fuck out!” your sister shouted. The birth was chaos enough as it was and now all these boys were only adding to it instead of helping. And on top of it all, Finn stumbled in practically falling over his own feet with a bucket of water, splashing Aunt Polly in the process. This was more like a madhouse than a family occasion. But John pointed at Alfie indignantly, “He gets to stay!” “Push, Y/N,” Polly urged again, and so you did. “Nice one,” John laughed at Finn, “you literally had one job, mate.” “Mrs. Gray?” Alfie asked carefully, “Sorry to interrupt you there, alright, but I just wanted to quickly check, because you mentioned the hair, yeah? What colour? Because I’m sure I’ll love my son all the same if he’s blond, but I might just need to mentally prepare myself…” And then you finally burst out in anger, “Can you all just shut the fuck up for a second! I’m actually trying to have a fucking baby here!!” “Right, sorry about that love,” Alfie moved closer to you and grabbed your hand again, “Please continue. You’re doing brilliantly, even if he is blond…” Tommy chuckled lightly in the background, which made you even more angry somehow, “Alfie, I swear to God or Adonai or whatever you want to call him, do nottouch me again because remember how you said you couldn’t remember your circumcision?”

“Yes,” Alfie mumbled in mortal fear.

“You will remember when I do it. Remember how you told me of your rabbi doing it when boys are eight days old, because then it heals faster?”

“Yes...” he gulped.

“I’ll make it slow sweetheart. Really fucking slow.”

“Right,” he said with big eyes, “What exactly would you have me do then except for just standing here like some great big bloody useless piece of shit?”

“Shut up!”

“Noted.” *** You weren’t sure what had happened exactly in that last hour. Apparently you’d lost a lot of blood and things had gotten hazy very quickly. Ada and Aunt Polly had stopped talking altogether and they had managed to save you, despite the bickering men in the background. You did remember that Alfie and Arthur had gotten into a fight at one point, but apparently they managed to resolve it quickly when the doctor arrived and they took turns in beating him up because he was no longer needed. Anger really does bring people together.

Of course, none of that really mattered now, because you were now holding a perfect baby right there, in your arms. Finn just stared at the baby, completely in awe. “Not blond…” John sounded a little disappointed. Arthur grinned, “But bloody perfect.” “Gorgeous, just like the mother,” Polly hugged you carefully. “Shelby good looks.” Tommy nodded slowly, with a sense of pride in his voice. “Any names yet?” Ada asked, “I bet you’ve picked them out ages ago, haven’t you?” “I have,” you smiled, “but couldn’t say them out loud yet, so we didn’t really discuss it. It’s bad luck.”

Uncharacteristically, Alfie hadn’t said a word yet.

“Mr. Solomons?” you said, gazing up from your one love to the other, “I believe you have a daughter.” And finally he smiled, deeply and incredibly in love as he held her tight with both hands. And in the most tender way possible he looked at you, grinned and said, “Fucking hell!”

***

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recycledmoviecostumes · 3 years

Photo

Goodness do I have a treat for all of you today. Larry McQueen, owner of The Collection has sent me a lovely sighting filled with detailed information. Because the detail is frankly incredible, I decided not to edit it and present Larry’s notes in full below:

In 1936, Travis Banton, head designer at Paramount Studios, began work on the last film he would design for his favorite clotheshorse, Marlene Dietrich. The duo had worked closely together on all her films at Paramount and created the “Dietrich style”-- a look of lavish, smoldering, hard-edged sophistication that was instrumental in creating the Dietrich legend.

Dietrich had one final film to complete her contract at Paramount and was cast in a typical Dietrich vehicle Angel, a sophisticated Lubitsch melodrama with her in the role of an ignored wife of means who has an affair with her husband’s friend. Banton designed the most opulent dress he had ever created for the star for the under-five-minute opera sequence and preceding scenes in the film. The ensemble was to become known as the “Faberge” gown and consisted of a fitted long-sleeve bodice with peplum, a matching long skirt with train and a six foot stole bordered with sable. The fabric was solidly embroidered with gold beads, pearls, rhinestones, gold bullion, gold sequins and faux ruby and emerald stones in geometric designs. According to W. Robert Levine in his book “In A Glamorous Fashion,” the costume was cost-listed on the wardrobe records at $8,000.00, an exorbitant price in the post-depression era and a price that would be over $100,000.00 by today’s standards. The expense must have caused stirrings in Paramount’s upper management in a time when the government was asking the studios to scale back the unnecessary lavishness in costume design. Banton himself once said it was the most expensive gown he had ever designed.

The ensemble is given credit in many film costume books as the most spectacular gown ever created. Diana Vreeland, one-time curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art said of the costume in the book “Hollywood Costume– Glamour! Glitter! Romance!” “When I think of detail, I think of Travis Banton’s marvelous beaded dress for Marlene Dietrich in Angel—like a million grains of golden caviar. That is one of the most beautiful dresses ever…”. Margaret J. Bailey in her book Those Glorious Glamour Years describes the dress “It was simple in lines, of Persian design, and looked like a piece of woven jewelry…” and “… caused no little trauma on the set when producers refused to give it to Dietrich for her private wardrobe.”

Dietrich had loved the gown and asked the studio if she could keep it. It is said she was so angry of being refused by the company she help save, she stormed off the set. The incident no doubt added to her disharmonious departure from the studio. She left the studio and did not return until a decade later. Acquiring gowns and props from her films- by whatever means- was a general practice of Ms. Dietrich. After her death, The German Film Archive Foundation (die Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek) and The Berlin Film Museum acquired her estate in 1993, which consisted of five different storehouses in Europe and the USA. In the collection were thousands of items from her career including fifty of her most famous film gowns. Her daughter, Maria Riva, once told the curator of the Frankfurt Film Museum, her mother was always in constant fear the studios would someday try to take back her collection and had kept the fact of its existence well hidden.

Paramount, however, retained the piece and began to put it to use. Re-using costumes was a common practice by studios to maintain an opulent look to secondary and background characters without the expense of making new ones. It is unknown exactly how many films the Dietrich gown was used in, but from photos found, it is obvious it was put to work and went through many transformations in the process. Mary Astor wore it, without the stole on the set of Midnight, 1939. The front was reworked and worn by Rose Hobart in the film A Night at Earl Carrolls, 1940. It was used in publicity photos as in that of Loraine Day circa 1944. With the sleeves removed, the stole without the fur was added to the front of the bodice as draping, it was worn by Felicia Atkins in The Errand Boy, 1961. The stole was cut in half to be used as a turban and worn with a sleeveless altered bodice by a model in A New Kind of Love, 1963. In 1974, the bodice was put back together and used by Diana Vreeland in the MET exhibition of films fashion and in 1985, the gown and stole was returned to its original configuration and worn by Barbara Hershey in the TV movie My Wicked Wicked Ways.

With all the different uses, the pieces took a beating. Many of the “re-workings” were fast and crude and some of the attempts to repair the gown involved covering damaged areas with large gold sequins. One previous ‘restoration’ involved applying glue to areas and pushing the beads back together and letting it harden. The fine chiffon backing was weak and starting to split and the patterns were separating. The costume was so fragile, it could never be worn again, but it is amazing the pieces stayed together.

In December of 1990, Paramount put the gown up for auction at Christies New York as part a larger collection of ‘star wardrobe.’ Larry McQueen and his late business partner, Bill Thomas, who were respected experts in the field of film costumes and had compiled one of the finest collections of the medium under the name “The Collection,” were retained to help inventory, authenticate and price the collection and were overwhelmed to see, what they believed to be, the most exquisite film costume ever created. They were successful in purchasing it for a total cost of approximately $23,000.00, one of the highest prices at the auction. As excited as they were to own the gown, the reality of its condition soon set in. Due to the age of the garment, poor storage and multiple alterations, it could never be dressed on a mannequin because it would not support its own extreme weight.

In 1999, four years after Bill Thomas died, Larry McQueen began the process of restoring the costume. Museum experts in preservation and restoration were consulted and much debate occurred as to whether the integrity of the gown- however poor that integrity was- should be tampered with. It was finally decided by Mr. McQueen that instead of leaving it as it was- a box of un-showable beads- the ensemble should be restored. Getson/Eastern Embroidery, who was then owned by Annie Dernderian, was approached with working on the gown. The firm had worked on the original costume and luckily had many of the beads, sequins and stones used on the original construction.

But, restoration of the garment proved far more difficult than planned. Even though the gown had only taken weeks to create, it would take years to restore. Every inch of the beadwork would have to be attached to new chiffon backing and the patterns pulled into shape and lightly tacked. Then the patterns had to be permanently hand stitched, replacing any missing stones or beads. Previous poor repairs would have to be removed. Missing areas or areas that had been glued would have to be replaced. Many of the original silk threads that attached the beads were breaking and would have to be reinforced with new silk thread. The stole, which had been cut in half and then stacked on top of its self and re-sewn, had to be taken apart, attached to a new backing and the beading attached and corrected. Photographs of Dietrich wearing the costume were enlarged to determine what was an original pattern and what had been changed. Luckily, the patterns did repeat themselves, so where a pattern was missing, a template of an existing pattern was made to re-create the missing one. The task would involve going inch by inch and would involve thousands of hours and great expense. But, determined to see the gown restored, Larry McQueen had the work begun.

The gown could not be taken apart and beaded flat as it was originally constructed, so a special frame with a sling had to be constructed to allow access to the inside of the garment to work from the front and the back of the fabric. Beads and sequins that had to be removed were sorted and reattached in to same location if possible. Only a four-inch area could be worked on at one time and each area was photographed before and after to document the work done. The project was daunting.

The entire fabric of the costume is composed of repeating geometric shapes somewhat like a paisley pattern. Each shape is outlined with small pearls or faceted rhinestones. Beads, pearls or sequins in different combinations fill the center portions of the design. Throughout, are patterns that contain a small grid work of bullion threading and each square filled with small pearls, sequins or a combination of sequins and gold beads. The background is of solid gold rocaille beads and the gown is sporadically studded with emerald and red glass beads. Literally millions of beads were used to create the fabric of the ensemble.

After one year, only the bodice was approaching completion, most of the work done by Annie Denderian. But the expense was mounting and it was becoming impossible to find qualified people who had the patience and time to spend on the garment. Mr. McQueen decided that if the costume was to be completed, he would have to take over the bulk of the hands-on restoration. Having the background and more importantly the motivation to see the gown completed, he was mentored by Ms. Denderian, learning and perfecting the techniques to painstakingly re-attach the patterns and began work on the dress. Almost one year to the date of beginning the work- working faithfully five to eight hours a day- the skirt and the stole were completed. To add strength, bias tape reinforcing and a new silk chiffon lining was added by the costume house of John David Ridge and the stole was re-bordered by using existing sable by Judith Moss at LA Fur Center.

McQueen stated that he probably would have reconsidered restoring the gown had he know the time, patience and expense it was going to take, but then quickly adds that he would have done it anyway. It was just too important. In working that closely with the piece, McQueen was amazed how in touch you get with the people who originally created the garment (a process difficult to understand unless you have restored someone else’s creation). You could tell when someone was having a bad day and cutting corners. You could tell when someone was struck with genius. You could see the differences in workmanship and technique between the various beaders. You could see the time spent on details in areas that no one would ever see. You become very close to the garment and understand it.

The gown is truly a testament to the artistry of early Hollywood. Mr. McQueen is confident the care, attention and over 3000 hours spent in its restoration would make its original creators proud. He hopes that if he leaves any legacy to the field of film costumes, one of his main accomplishments will be the “Faberge gown” survives in the splendor it was originally created and will be shown and appreciated for generations to come.

Costume Credit: Photos, copy and all the above incredible info provided by The Collection of Motion Picture Costume Design: Larry McQueen

E-mail Submissions: [email protected]

Follow: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest

Note: If you’ve not checked out Larry McQueen’s The Collection, I highly suggest you do so. It’s incredible!

#Marlene Dietrich #travis banton #mary astor #larry mcqueen #the collection #costume drama #costumes #period drama #fallen angel #midnight #a new kind of love #the errand boy #my wicked wicked ways

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literatigifs · 2 years

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anonymous asked: You know the most baffling thing about seeing Jess hate in the tags is when you immediately find out that the same people that hate him as a character and love Logan or Christopher or Dean then say something like "sure, Jess had it rough, but that is no excuse for how he behaved!" and yet they seem, completely fine?? With how the rest of the men in this series behaved?

I gave up on going into the main tags for this exact same reason because once one of them starts complaining, an entire league just picks up the pace and you get the same old points be regurgitated by the same 3 people over and over again. It's just boring at this point, like they spend so much time obsessively hating Jess and yet they can't even make up new reasons for it? I know that going as far as saying shit like "he probably sold meth as crystal candy to underage toddlers in New York in order to make some money in season 5" takes a lot of creativity but if you can't beat that, then your obsession with this character seems pretty pointless lmao.

And it's always the same with their reasons for liking Logan and Dean or preferring them, too! There's literally zero substance or interesting takes being given about these characters from their fans and it's so baffling to see at times?? Like the reason I love Jess is because his familial relationships, and even his ongoing connection with Rory are ripe for analyzing and talking about. I would extend this favor to Logan to a point because while his rich boy background is overwhelmingly generic (emotionally absent father who drinks habitually and cheats on his wife, mother who is a nervous wreck and the stereotypical wife of a rich man who married him for his money), there's still some aspects you could lean into and even dissect like how his destructive tendencies can be easily paralleled to his father's behavior AND to their relationship with each other. But again, nothing is done with this by his fans! They just repeat the same shit over and over again about how Logan was "the most perfect husband material to ever exist", despite the fact that there's various red flags given throughout the series even in season 7 where he goes back to his old habits and doesn't even communicate with Rory properly before he abruptly proposes, then ditches her. If they would at least admit that the so-called "ignorant writing choices" are also part of a larger pattern with his character and embraced his faults I'd get it, but they don't?

The same thing goes for Dean's fans. Dean has frankly nothing to credit him as being an interesting character because he practically exists to be Rory's first boyfriend (and then first experience in being the other woman 🥴). Every other relationship we see him in like with Lindsay, Luke or even Lorelai border on embarrassing to incredibly frustrating and negative, given how Dean seems to be completely fine with demeaning Luke's relationship with Lorelai because of his own personal history, or freely taking part in an affair despite being married to Lindsay. Like, he literally gives Lindsay more consideration only AFTER he has cheated on her and publicly humiliated her with that fact. I'm truly confused as to how Jess antis go on to say that even Dean was better than him when he willingly ruined his marriage with an affair by sleeping with Rory, an act that neither Jess or Rory ever did when she was with Dean. Last time I checked, Rory didn't try to sleep with Jess multiple times in season 3. And of course his fans just vaguely say they don't support that before then going on their 500th tirade about how Rory, an average high-schooler who's only dated one guy in her 17 year life by that point, had the audacity to develop a crush on a guy who liked her back and just wanted to spend time talking to her. Their reasons are frankly predictable at this point and honestly for all their complaining about Jess fans, the ones I see in the tags don't come off this obnoxious and holier-than-thou as they do.

#gilmore girls #jess mariano #anti dean forrester #anti logan huntzberger

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

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i have a mad thomas x reader request where reader is forced to marry thomas (idk how just-) and is disgusted about it but eventually ends up liking him.(? idk how to explain myself:’)

No one look at me,,,,,,,,,,also this is heavily inspired by the Scarlet Letter and was supposed to be a tad darker but I copped out (also someone asked for a pregnant reader recently so this + that = this fic)

A Lie They Would Believe (Mad Thomas x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: dark themes, 1600 standards, values, and laws, affairs/cheating, ex-relationship with the pastor is mentioned, Thomas is Thomas, mentions of drinking, webs of lies, public humiliation, AFAB and Fem reader, pregnant reader, pre-marital pregnancy solved a la shotgun marriage, twisted win-win situation turns into love?, slow burn(?),

Word Count: 3.7k

You could accept your punishment with a turned cheek, you told yourself over and over again.

You could stare out at the audience of towns people, even as the sun beat on your face. You could stare out into the angry faces of the elders, into the pitying faces of your friends. Into the ashamed faces of your parents. But, you could not look at Cyrus Miller.

You'd missed your blood two months ago. You'd begged, prayed, everyday that it would come. But, the only thing that came was the morning sickness. You'd tried to hide it, tried to think of what to do. But, when you placed your hand over your stomach, you couldn't bring yourself to find the hag in the forest. And, when your mother held your spotless, white sheets in your face, you'd crumbled. You confessed in the privacy of your room as if you were confessing in church. You told her everything.

Well, almost.

"Tell us his name!" Cyrus said, a voice that you couldn't force to fall into the background. "Tell us the name of your accomplice and you shall suffer no more." He said, and you wanted to believe him. You let your eyes close for a moment, but your lips did not move. Your mouth did not open. "Tell us the father's name, so that your baby will not be born a bastard!" He said, and his hand reached out to grab your arm. His grip was strong and tight, unlike the caresses you'd become so accustomed to with him. While his words begged you to say the name, his name, the action spoke differently. You peeled open your eyes and looked up at him, at his raven hair and kind face. His dark, soft eyes. Tears pricked the corners of your own eyes, hard and glassy as you looked up at him. But, you were silent. Even as some of the townspeople yelled for you to confess.

But, how could you tell them that it was your persecutor who was the father of your child? That your pastor, the leader of this town, had sinned so egregiously? He had a wife, a daughter. You'd known both of those things when you'd fallen for him, but it was harder to ignore in the harsh sunlight. When both of them stood in front of you.

You knew you'd have to face punishment. Sex before marriage was a crime after all, completely forbidden. To think they didn't know you were an adulterer also. You didn't know what it'd be, but you knew you'd have no option but to accept it when it came. You'd already made your peace with it, made your peace with whatever God could condemn you to. Perhaps, you'd have to live alone, wear a scarlet letter on your breast. Perhaps, they'd cast you out completely, and you'd be shunned. Perhaps, they'd hang you. You touched your stomach at that thought. Perhaps, there were certain punishments you couldn't bear.

Your lips only fell open when a voice yelled,

"It was I." And a gasp fell from your mouth. Your head turned, snapped towards the voice. Towards the sea of faces that was the crowd. But, you knew that voice. "It's my child." He said, and your eyes fell on a face you knew all too well. And, at that moment, you knew exactly what type of punishment God had set out for you.

Mad Thomas.

***

The day had gone by in a blur.

Over and over in your head, one question repeated itself. Why? It was almost loud enough to drown out the constant whispers, the stories being spun by every person who seemed to have a tongue.

Union couldn't seem to stop talking about it. Of when it started, how long it'd been going on, when the pair of you had even had time to sneak off. You'd even heard a young Constance Berman whisper about how she'd always known something was going on between the two of you, only to be shushed by her older sister as you passed. As you'd been let free of the top of the church steps.

You'd been left outside, left out in the sun. Inside the church went your father, the pastor, and Thomas. You had no idea what Thomas was going to say, what lies he was going to spin.

You couldn't bring yourself to leave, to speak. You felt as though a blanket of white noise had covered your ears, covered your mind. You were surprised, to say the least. You'd thought a wave of devastation had washed over you the first moment you'd realized you were with child, but this? It made it seem like ripples in a pond. The only thing you could do was stare at the church door and wait for them to come out. But, you felt a warm arm wrap around your waist and you turned to see the face of your mother.

"Come," She said, and you looked back at the door blankly. You didn't want to leave. You wanted to be there when they came out. But, you couldn't find the words to say or the strength to keep your feet firm. So, you let her guide you away from the crowd, and towards your house.

It was only later that you were told you and Thomas were to be married by the end of the month.

***

You and Thomas were never allowed a moment alone. You didn't know whether to be relieved or not, but Thomas, a man who you quickly found was far more confusing than you thought, was playing a charade. He brought you flowers, carried your water pail for you, and even took you on chaperoned walks. You, however, were stony and stiff, barely able to contain your disgust for him. It was on your first walk that you whispered,

"Why? Why are you doing this?" And, for a moment, the incorrigible man seemed to pretend not to hear you. He glanced over his shoulder, as if the wind was at his ear instead, and you saw him cast a sly glance to the man behind them. It was one of your father's friends, walking only about two yards behind you. Finally, when he decided he was far away enough, he responded,

"Would you rather I had let them cast you out? Let you and your child starve in the woods?" Thomas said back, the most sober you'd ever heard him. It seemed that apart of your father's deal with him was that he cut back on the drink. He didn't even stumble as he walked.

"Don't pretend you did this out of charity. Why, Thomas?" You asked, and you, for only a moment, reached out to touch his arm. You pulled it back just as quick, hoping that your chaperone hadn't seen. Thomas looked down at the action, before he smirked and shook his head.

"Aren't we a perfect match?" He asked, and you gave him a look of confusion. He continued with, "You think I don't know what people say about me? Don't you see, girl? It doesn't matter if your father is the best woodworker, or the richest in Union anymore. No one would have you, or your bastard child. Except me." He said, and you almost couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. He continued, his words a whisper now, "Besides, it's a lie they would believe." You stared at him, flabbergasted by his words. Flabbergasted by how right he was.

Thomas had, well, a reputation. It wasn't out of character for his wedding to be one out of necessity, and perhaps it earned you some pity from the townspeople. How many women had Thomas seduced? And how many of them could truly judge you? Not to mention, his words left one thing clear.

So, it was my dowry, you thought. It wasn't an unheard of reason, and it made sense given the man you were talking to. Your father had been avoiding selling you off, even as you reached far into your womanhood. And, surely, your father would never have considered him under any normal circumstance, but now...You didn't seem to have much of a choice.

Thomas paused, picking up one of the wildflowers and handing it to you. You took it, knowing now that you had to play along. That you had to act as if he truly was the father of your child, and not someone as foreign to you as the land outside of Union.

"Your father was going to start building us a house. I was thinking right here," Thomas said, his voice only slightly louder for the chaperone to hear, but you barely paid attention. You were staring down at the yellow flower in your hands, before you glanced up at the man in front of you.

He was tall, but his hair was lighter. His cheeks were stubbly and his eyes- They were a clear blue. Almost the same shade as the sky above you. You watched as he talked, as he laid out his plan. And, while the idea of being married to anyone that you didn't love sickened you, you tried to tell yourself that it wouldn't be as terrible as you felt it would be.

***

You and Thomas sat out in the sun, where you were making a flower crown and he was rambling about one thing or the other. You'd gotten very good at pretending to be in love, even in the span of only a couple of weeks.

You gave him smiles and laughter, and he gave you gifts or stole a caress. It was enough to stir the people of Union so no one would be the wiser. And, with your father at his station a short way across the field, the pair of you could be somewhat alone. But, still within viewing distance.

"You're not listening." Thomas said, and you smiled to yourself for a moment. You looked at the finished crown, before you looked up and reached over to where he was laying on the blanket. He was half-sitting up, and you placed the flower crown atop his head as you said,

"Yes, I was." You replied simply as you adjusted it, and Thomas stared at you and gave a small scoff. He caught your hand as you went to pull it away, his grip loose. He held it almost gently, and said,

"Then kiss me." And your brows drew together. A quick,

"What?" Fell from your lips, and you watched how Thomas smiled. He laughed, letting your hand go as he said,

"So, you weren't listening-" But you were quick to interrupt him.

"Why would- Why?" The idea- the simple idea was preposterous. Why would you kiss him? In broad daylight no less? The suggestion made you nervous, made a weird feeling start in your stomach. And, you ignored how this feeling wasn't entirely unfamiliar.

"They're going to expect us to kiss on our wedding day, girl. Shouldn't we have some practice?" He said, and you thought perhaps the first time he proposed it had been kinder. You stared at him, thinking over his words. Thomas waited, reaching out to touch your skirt. It was only to pick at it for a moment, before he drew his hand away.

You couldn't tell if that was the only reason Thomas wanted to kiss you, if there wasn't some ulterior motive somewhere. You wouldn't put it past him. But, really, he was right. Not to mention, while the pair of you had been affectionate, had you been affectionate enough?

That's what was so aggravating about Thomas. He was always right. He saw clear through whatever facade anyone put up, and saw the truth. Perhaps, that's why he was such a good liar.

Perhaps, that's why he was staring at you.

"Fine." You said, before you looked over your shoulder. You were in the field, but you were more or less a public spectacle. You could hear Thomas draw closer, feel the warmth of his hand reach for your arm.

"Let them look." He said as he gave a tug on your arm, and you turned back to face him. It was strange to hear him say that, such a stark difference from what you were used to. To have him so close was different than before, but Thomas didn't close the gap. You supposed he was waiting for you to do that. He whispered, "Well?" And, finally, you did. It was a short kiss, a quick stolen one. Still, it made Thomas smile. "So chaste." He let out a small laugh, and it was your turn to scoff. "Are you sure-" And you could guess what he was going to say. You kissed him again, if only to silence him. It was deeper, firmer than your last had been. And you hated to admit that you didn't hate it. Thomas was well-practiced, and the feeling of his thumb grazing your cheek was nearly as warm as the feeling of the sun on your back. It made another feeling start, one that you tried to stamp out that very second. You pulled away again, cutting it short. Thomas, for just a moment, tried to follow you before he pulled back. He had a small smile on his face, one he didn't try to hide as he pushed his hair back.

"You're practiced." You said quietly, the closest thing to a compliment you could give him. You'd heard rumors of him galavanting with the likes of Abbi Berman and some of the others. Perhaps, there was some truth to them. Thomas glanced over, and returned the words,

"Aye, so are you." When he smiled and glanced down at your belly, you knew the jab had been intended. And, unfortunately, he'd managed to make you laugh.

***

You knew it was coming. You had prepared yourself for it. Before the wedding, the pastor would counsel both of you. And, he was going to counsel you first.

You stood in a dress your mother had made, with your corset done loosely as not to press on your stomach. You'd been staring out the window, at the cloudless day and the happy faces of your town. Why shouldn't they be happy? It was the day for a celebration.

You'd even caught glimpses of Thomas. Your mother was fussing over him, and Issac had swiped his pouch. He looked- Well, you could tell he'd been scrubbed down. Most of his teeth were still black, but in clean clothes and with a clean face...Perhaps, he didn't look terrible. You tilted your head, and, almost as if he could feel you staring, Thomas' head turned. He caught your eyes, and reflected your posture with a tilt of his own head. It made you smile, something you found was less forced the more time you spent with him. Your head turned from him when you heard someone come in.

"Wonderful day for a wedding." Cyrus said as he closed the door to the chapel, and you tried to manage a smile. "Sit." He said, and gestured to one of the pews. You did, and you both kept your distance. The chapel was dim, only lit by the light outside. The pair of you were silent for a moment, before Cyrus said, "The magistrate is here. He seems eager to start. Do you," He paused for a moment. "Do you have any doubts?" And you felt that the question was not quite as empty as anyone else would think.

You'd been staring at your hands, and you finally lifted your gaze to him. To his deep, dark brown eyes. After a moment, you found your voice.

"None at all. Thomas is- He shall be the father to his child, and he shall be my husband. I shall do my duties, and, I- I love him." It was hard to say, at least when Cyrus sat in front of you. "What is there to doubt?" You asked, your question equally as heavy. While none of you would say it plainly, you knew from the way he looked over your face that he understood you perfectly. The pair of you would never confess your secret, and you'd let the hatchet be buried. Forgotten.

"Does he know?" Cyrus asked, and you knew what it sounded like. In case any of the others were listening. Like he was asking if your soon to be husband knew you loved him. The question couldn't be more disguised. Really, his eyes said, Does he know about us?

"Yes. Or, I think he does." You replied, and you watched how Cyrus reached to touch his clean-shaven face. His face was half hidden by his hand, but you could see his eyes were disturbed. A secret was harder to keep the more people knew, but you said, "And he loves me. He'd do anything to keep this union." You told him, and you hoped he got your meaning. When Cyrus glanced at you, you guessed he did. Silently, your eyes said, If he does, Thomas won't tell. And, after a pause, Cyrus let out a sigh.

"Then, there seems little I have to counsel you on."

***

"Have you thought of a name?" Thomas asked you, and you hummed.

You were picking at your sheet, looking towards the window. It had been months, five if not nearly six. Your baby was due in only a few weeks now, and you still hadn't decided. Your husband, a word to describe him that didn't seem so weird now, laid besides you facing up towards the roof.

Thomas, well, he was not what you thought. He had a good, if not sometimes strange, sense of humor, and did not bruise easily from even the harshest words. He could take care of himself, after years of doing so, and, subsequently, you as well. Your mother and the mid-wife still came by to make sure you were in good health, but Thomas had most of it handled. He was a little lazy when it came to work, especially the work your father tried to give him, but he seemed to find that the work that came with having his own house agreed with him. The pair of you had become- Well, familiar. That was the word you would use. You couldn't say, nearly six months later, that it was still just pretending.

Still, Thomas didn't touch you in any way you wouldn't want him to, and you had to lift your head to throw a glance back to him.

"I have some ideas. Perhaps, if it's a girl," You paused, a sly grin coming to your face, "We could name her Abigail." And you watched him scoff and roll his eyes, even lift his head off of his arm for a moment as he said,

"Absolutely not." And you snickered to yourself as you went back to facing away from him. It was just a jest, a reference to an old dalliance of his, but Thomas, if anything, was fun to tease. The only issue was that Thomas was just as sharp when it came to his wit. "Y'know- Fine. Then, if it's a boy, we shall name him Cyrus." And you let out a noise of protest. You tried to roll over, declaring,

"No!" And now it was Thomas' turn to laugh. He placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to ease you back down. You let him, and even reached to hold his arm. To pull him closer. He followed, and you guided his hand above your bulging stomach as the pair of you adjusted. "Fine- Neither of those names. But, we must think of something." You told him, feeling as he stretched his fingers over where your baby grew. He held you, his warmth against your back. His hand rubbing your stomach lightly.

It made a strange sense of warmth fill you, one you couldn't blame from body-heat. And, it wasn't so terrible that you tried to push it, or him, away.

***

"She cries like no other child in Union." Thomas said as he climbed into your bed. You were supposed to be resting, healing, even weeks, nearly two months, after your child's birth. You felt like you'd been confined to your bed for so long that you were starting to become a part of it. Thomas was only here for the break your father gave him half-way through the day. Still, you smiled to yourself from where you laid on your side, and said,

"Perhaps, it is your smell that disturbs her." You said, your voice thick with sleep but a cheeky grin working onto your face. You shouldn't have prompted him, because he took the opportunity to drape himself heavily over your back.

"Oh, should I sleep outside tonight then?" He asked, and you giggled when you felt his stubble tickling your cheek.

It was already long into the day, and you'd become lazy from bed-rest. It felt far too nice to have his warmth wrapped around you, to where you nearly wanted to fall asleep. You had grown too used to it now, and you could barely imagine a night without it.

"I never said that." You responded, and turned your face back towards the softness of your pillow. You felt Thomas' hand raise, his fingertips brush against your cheek. He was being brave, especially when you felt his lips brush against your neck. It made you bite your lip, a twinge of something not so unfamiliar swirling in your belly. You wondered if he would continue. Hell, you wanted him to. But, it was nothing more than that.

Thomas, to your surprise, had more restraint than you would've assumed. He kissed your cheek, went to stand, and excused himself with,

"Your father will begin to wonder where I am." And you lifted your head to watch him step away, before you settled back down. He was clean, cleaner than he had been when he'd been sleeping in the outhouse. His hair was softer and longer, tied away from his face. And his arms seemed stronger, perhaps from the days of working with your father. He was, if you dared to think so, a kind sight to your eyes now. "Sleep. I'll be back by the time you wake." He told you, and, as he left, you found yourself hoping he was right.

#fear street #fear street 1666 #mad thomas #mad thomas x reader #thomas slater #thomas slater x reader

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lubdubsworld · 3 years

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物の哀れ ( ‘the sadness of things’.)

Characters : Alpha! Jungkook x Omega ! OC.

Genre : Arranged Marriage / Temporary contractual Marriage.

Warnings : Non- Con/ Extremely Dubious Consent . High functioning alcoholism. Genre related consent issues. Implied suicidal thoughts.

Summary : A recently widowed Jungkook agrees to a contract marriage to keep his company afloat. His grief overwhelms him and it is hard to look at his new wife as anything other than an intruder .

[ Author’s Note : 物の哀れ ~ Mono no aware can be translated as ‘the sadness of things’. It comes from the words 物 (mono – thing) and 哀れ (aware – poignancy or pathos). The ‘sadness’ in question comes from an awareness of the transience of things, as taught by Zen Buddhism. When we view something exceptionally beautiful, we might feel sad because we know it won’t stay so beautiful forever – but appreciation only heightens the pleasure we take in the beautiful thing in that moment. ]

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3

“Yoongi left a bunch of painkillers for you. He said you can take up to three per day.” Jin said calmly , carefully slipping the sleeves of my t shirt over my wrist as i held my arms out for him. He slipped the shirt over my head gently but his arms hit my shoulders, jostling me. I swallowed the whimper of pain that shot through me at the movement. Mina was now awake, happily wiggling around on her rocker.

It was a little past seven in the evening and Jungkook wasn’t due to arrive for another hour .

“I could sleep on a bed of rusty nails right now. I’m so tired and i don’t know why. “ I whispered, staying still as he carefully drew the fabric down over my ribs, before stepping back.

“I’ll sleep in the nursery with her. You should take the bed. You’re in no shape to be up and taking care of her when she wakes up. Jungkook’s asked me to stay here during the day because I’m not going to be performing for a couple months anyway and I’ve been losing my mind, rattling around that huge ass mansion all by myself. ”

The phone rang, startling both of us.

I groaned before moving to get up but Jin oppa held a hand up.

“Stay in bed. I’ll go see who it is.”

I watched him disappear out of the room, settling back against the pillows and reaching for the ice pack in the small cooler by the bed. I had to ice my ribs every hour or so and while it didn’t seem to be helping much, I definitely appreciated the temporary numbness it offered.

Jungkook’s guilt had driven a new wedge between us and he hadn’t so much as looked at me in three days.

I wasn’t sure entirely if this was a good or bad thing. The fact that he seemed to be considering that he had to get his emotions under control to stop hurting the people around him was a welcome change. But the idea of going back to being ignored and treated like furniture , wasn’t really all that appealing.

“Jungkook’s parents are on the way.” Jin’s voice broke through my reverie and i jumped.

I resisted the urge to sob out loud .

Mr and Mrs. Jeon were on the opposite side of the grief spectrum and just as annoying.

Where Sooah’s parents were intent on making Jungkook remember their daughter as often as possible, Jungkook’s parents were intent on making him forget her.

The only thing the two of them had in common was a burning hatred for me.

Jungkook’s parents had wanted him to quit the company and sell it when it went into loss but Jungkook had categorically refused because that would result in all of his employees getting laid off, and back then Jungkook had been nothing if not ridiculously compassionate. Jungkook’s parents firmly believed that if it hadn’t been for me, their son would be back in Busan, letting them raise their granddaughter.

“Great, that’s great. Did you tell them their son is not around?” I grimaced. I’d only met them three times in total and the last time was in the hospital two months ago when Jungkook had crashed in the middle of a board meeting, weeks of starving and dehydration catching up to him. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience, getting cursed out in front of the doctors and nurses and it probably won’t be any fun in the privacy of my home either.

Jin gave me a sympathetic smile.

“He’s already told them he’s on the way. I’m going to take Mina out on a walk. Give you guys some privacy. Shoot me a text when they leave.” he said gently.

“Can’t I come with?” I begged and he laughed.

“That would be a bad idea, even if it weren’t for the cracked rib. Just relax. Smile and nod and let them spew whatever nonsense they want and then they’ll leave. ”

I opened my mouth to tell him how many flaws there were in his plan when the doorbell rang.

“And that’s my cue. Text me, yeah?” Jin moved to pick Mina up from the rocker before reaching for the baby carrier on the table.

I debated the pros and cons of staying in bed and finally decided against it, gently throwing my legs off the edge and raising myself up to a sitting position. I heard vague voices by the front door, Jin’s sweet tones mingling with Jungkook’s slightly gruffer ones.

I heard the door close and the stillness of the apartment was as oppressing as ever. I could hear him quite clearly though. The clink of the keys as they hit the bowl, the small click of the door as he locked it.

i could imagine him, exhausted from the day’s work, briefcase held in one hand while the other tugged on the knot of his tie.

I imagined for a second, what it must have been like for him with Sooah. She was a bright , incredibly cheerful person. Everyone kind of faded into the background when she was around. Sooah had always been the first to smile at a stranger, the first to laugh even if the joke wasn’t funny. The first one to stand up to help someone in need.

I swallowed, clutching the sheets to ground myself.

I guessed that she must’ve always rushed to greet him at the door. I could imagine him wrapping both arms around her waist, drawing her into a hug or even a kiss.

How was your day, Kookie? (I’d heard her call him that, once when they had been at my father’s house for a charity dinner. )

I wondered if perhaps the very sight of her would have taken away all of the day’s exhaustion from him. Perhaps, he would forget all the ways his company had been failing back then at the sight of her beautiful laughing face. Perhaps losing his company hadn’t been as terrifying as losing his job.

And perhaps once he lost her, he just couldn’t bear the thought of losing his life’s work too. And so he’d agreed to meet my father’s demands.

My fingers began trembling a bit .

I could imagine her moving around the house, pregnant and glowing, laughing as he nuzzled into the curve of her belly. Had he perhaps pressed his lips to her skin, whispered sweet endearments to his daughter through the fabric of his wife’s clothes? Had he perhaps loved Mina, deeply? WAs it just his grief that made it hard to be near his wife. Or was it perhaps me? Me holding the baby that should have been in his beautiful wife’s arms.

The wife he had been so madly, deeply in love with.

Love, I thought vacantly.

It wasn’t something I had ever felt, for anyone until I’d began caring for Mina.

But what Jungkook had with his wife was something different wasn’t it?

The love a man had for a woman. Laced with desire, longing and passion. A love that made you put their happiness over your own.

Love like that had never been in the cards for me.

Ever

I was an Omega. Rare and hated and known for being selfish and greedy. People didn’t love my kind. They avoided me. They always assumed I would take advantage of them. My peers growing up had treated me with so much contempt.

The girls would whisper how I was trying to seduce their boyfriends. The boys would call me a tease, even when I stayed far away and did nothing to attract their attention. I’d gotten used to it. It didn’t bother me. it was the way of the world for me. Ad it wasn’t like I could honestly deny some of it.

I looked at handsome alphas and wanted them. I wanted to be held and cherished. To be bought pretty things and cared for. It had taken decades for me to beat that part of mine into submission. To remind myself that if I ever let that part of me out, it would destroy me.

But love? Being in love with someone?

I didn’t know what that could have been like for Jungkook.

Or maybe I had but I couldn’t recognize it because I’d never received it myself. Whatever the cause, it was for me, a fairytale. It was hard to imagine people loving each other so much, to the extent that they would die for each other. ( Jungkook’s words still hung in the back of my mind : that he had wanted to follow her even in death )

Jungkook was right.

I could never know what his loss was like.

Because I would never know what he had lost.

It felt a little like being dipped in an ice cold lake in the middle of winter. My skin broke out in shivers, hair standing on end and I felt my throat go dry so swiftly. I’d never wanted to run away so much. I wrapped a hand sound myself, scooting back on the bed again. I reached for the blanket, wanting to pull it over my head and curl into a ball.

Shut out the world and all the things that didn’t make sense.

“Are you alright?” Jungkook’s voice broke through the haze in my head and I swallowed. He had an alpha’s voice and my body responded even if my mind resisted. It didn’t happen all the time. Jungkook couldn’t control me. But sometimes when I was feeling vulnerable, instincts took over . I was already dropping the blanket and smiling softly.

“Mina’s out for a walk.” I croaked out, surprised at how awful my voice sounded.

I felt the press of something against my fingers and I blinked, staring at the glass of water Jungkook was pressing into my hand.

“Don’t worry, I called them and told them not to come over.” He said quietly , watching me drink with still trembling fingers.

I swallowed and stared at him.

“I... Thank you. “ I said fervently, feeling a few knots come undone in my gut. I couldn’t really stand up to Jungkook’s parents the way I did with Sooah’s parents. Because Jungkook loved them deeply and hurting them would be the same as hurting him.

“There’s a party in a couple of days. It’s my birthday. I’m turning 34. Yugyeom’s organizing the whole thing, so I’m going to hire a babysitter for Mina, because Jin hyung will be there too and you need help caring for her anyway. You can stay home and rest. ” he said .

I scoffed.

“I’m going to come with you.” I said firmly.

Jungkook frowned.

“What?”

I glared at him.

“I’m not letting you go to a party organized by your shit for brains friend, Jungkook. You’ll probably end up getting drunk out of your mind and killing someone and I’m not going to hang around to clean that up. I’m coming to that party and I’m making sure you don’t have more than one drink. “

Jungkook’s frown deepened into a scowl.

Did you ever look at your wife , like this? With so much loathing? I thought stupidly. Or did she only ever get to see the sweet and wonderful side of you? Did she ever annoy you the way i seem to every second of the damn day ? Did you hate certain things about her too? Or was she so perfect that you could only feel love ?

“ I can take care of myself. Its my birthday , I can do whatever the fuck I want.“ He snapped.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“Not unless you’re a five year old kid in the sandpit, which you’re not. You’re an adult and when you make stupid decisions as an adult, very real people end up paying for it. You’re old enough to know this Jungkook and for once, just listen to me. You can drink, fine. But I’m going to be there and if I see that you’re getting drunk, I’m going to bring you home. You either agree or I’m going to call Yoongi oppa .”

That made him pause.

“Fine. Fuck you.” He snapped, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room. A few seconds later I heard the door to the shower slam shut.

I wanted to follow him and shake some sense into him but before I could decide if it was worth jostling my body, when another sharp pain lanced through my ribs.

Oh great.

I took deep breaths the way Yoongi had taught me. Apparently, pneumonia was a thing that could happen, so i had to breath carefully to reduce the risk of that happening.

The birthday party organized by Yugyeom was going to be a whole entire migraine inducing disaster. I could already feel the headache come on. It still amazed me that Jungkook was friends with him and his cronies.

Yugyeom and his friends were the typical; brain dead alphas who thought themselves superior to all other ranks. Even worse, they viewed omegas as objects: fucktoys to be more precise and I bristled when i remembered the way he had always stared at me.

Well, if he stepped anywhere near me, I would kick him in the teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Jungkook’s mother turned up at home the next day, I wasn’t entirely surprised. I wasn’t surprised but it didn’t make things any more pleasant.

“We’re willing to take Mina for a couple of days if you would both need time to prepare for the party. This is the first big event Jungkook’s holding after Sooah’s passing and we want it to be perfect. As his wife, i hope you’ll do your part.”

Mrs Jeon’s pinched face did nothing for my already frayed temper.

“There’s not much i can do with a cracked rib, mother.” I said politely. It stung, having to call this bitter, cruel woman mother but then, such was life. It was late afternoon and Jungkook was probably sitting in the comfort of his air conditioned office, being flattered and doted on by his smitten secretary while I sat here entertaining his vicious mother.

“Nonsense, you’ve probably just scratched it. I know how you omegas like to exaggerate. “ she waved off my injury easily. “ There are so many details that need to be decided on and its unfair to drop all of those responsibilities on poor yugyeom’s head. Why don’t you go with him and help out a bit?”

The idea of going anywhere with Kim Yugeom was easily the most repugnant thing to me.

“I’m sure he knows Jungkook much better than I do. If i interfered, I’d only be getting in his way.” I said politely.

Mrs. Jeon hummed.

“Well, its good that he’s agreed to the party at least. That woman never let him meet with Yugyeom or his friends when she was around.”

That woman being Jungkook’s late wife.

I felt a sudden fondness for her. Clearly she had also recognized Yugyeom for the absolute pig that he was and kept her husband away from his rotten influence . But unlike with her, Jungkook didn’t actually care about me. So I had no way of stopping him from meeting the idiots. Yugyeom’s family was rich and reputed and it was clear that the Jeons wanted the friendship and the connection. Why else would they keep pushing for it so much?

“Is there any particular reason you’re here, mother?” I said finally, after hearing her babble on and on about caterers and invitations and what not.

“I was hoping to meet Mina...why isn’t she here?”

“I’m not able to care for her well, what with the rib. The doctor has advised me to rest so Jin oppa takes care of her during the day. Jungkook picks her back up on his way back from office. I can send her over to your place with him this weekend.”

“That would be fine i suppose. Have you spoken to the decorators about changing the portraits put up in the house?”

I blinked.

“Sorry?”

“The penthouse, we’ve got it back now right? why don’t you move there. We have a cook and a housekeeper .”]

“this is closer to Jungkook’s office.” I had no idea where the penthouse was and could only hope it was farther way.

Mrs. Jeon frowned.

“This apartment is too small. Not to mention, you still have Sooah’s photos everywhere in this place. Surely that’s not healthy. Get rid of them and put up pictures of you and Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s parents didn’t know that our marriage had an expiry date. i wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad thing. But they saw me as nothing more than a way to get rid of Sooah from the deepest recesses of Jungkook’s mind.

“I’m sure, with time...Jungkook can make that decision by himself. When he’s ready for it.” I said gently, beginning the fresh throb of pain near my temple.

“Nonsense, Heejin. Men won’t ever move on until you force them. Have you considered getting pregnant?”

I jumped about a foot into the air.

“I...what.” I croaked out.

“You need a child too. He mated you. He owes you that. I’m going to tell him that he better do his duty by you.” She said firmly.

“Please don’t.” I shouted, stunned out of my mind. Was this woman even sane?

“Why not?” She frowned looking at me like i was the one being unreasonable.

Why not? Because its barely been four months since he lost his wife of seven years to childbirth. Surely, you don’t think the remedy to that is to have him go through it all over again.

“ Mina is still small, mother. I’m sure we can wait a while. Maybe after she’s one or two.”

Jungkook would probably move on by then. Of course he would. Grief was overwhelming but it was also finite. It did get smaller over time. Easier to cope with. Jungkook would eventually be able to navigate his life around his grief. He would learn to make new connections and who was to say one of those wouldn’t be a compatible match?

So two years from now, there was no reason Jungkook shouldn’t meet another lovely woman, a beta maybe and eventually expand his family. Of course i would be nowhere in the picture at the time. But that was fine.

I remembered something I’d read somewhere, a while back.

If two people are like ships that pass in the night, they meet by chance for a short time , then do not see each other ever again.

Like ships passing by each other in the night, I reminded myself. That's what Jungkook and I were.

“Well, if you think that’s wise.... fine. But now that Jungkook’s doing well, why don’t you entertain people more often? You haven’t had a dinner party here yet, have you?”

And so it went on, over an over for a whole two hours until I was wrung out from sheer exhaustion, my head throbbing and nails having dug half moon indents into my palms from fisting my hands too hard.

By the time i finally closed the door on her face, I couldn’t help but sag against the door, sinking to the floor in a heap, cracked rib be damned.

I glanced up at the solo portrait on the wall. The one my mother in law had wanted gone.

“She must’ve really hated you, huh?” I said casually pulling myself up to my feet and moving to the dining space to stare at her face more closely.

She was dressed in her wedding gown, a fitted mermaid dress with lace and satin detailing. She had a bouquet of white lilies in one hand, elbows bent and the blooms resting on her shoulder while her other hand curved around her slender waist.

Beautiful was an understatement, I thought vacantly.

“ You look like you didn’t put up with people’s bullshit. That’s cool I guess.” I smiled a little. “ You know in another world, we may have been friends.”

I bit my lips.

“Yugyeom was shitty to you too huh? He seems the type. i’m glad you kept Jungkook away from him. I wish you’d somehow help get him away again. He doesn’t listen to me. Thinks I’m trying to control him or something. ”

It was ridiculous. What was i doing.. Why was i talking to a framed picture on the wall. God.

But now that I’d started, I couldn’t quite stop.

“About what happened with Jungkook... I don’t want you to think i was seducing him or anything. And when i said that I hated him calling your name when we... well you know why i said it right? It wasn’t anything personal...i was just pissed. I don’t enjoy the sex by the way... I don’t think he does either but he’s an alpha and you know how it is…they need that release or they kind of lose their mind .. So trust me we both hate the principle of it.... but at least he cums and well I don’t. He’s never made me cum. That should say something about how we feel about each other.......”

“Uh.. Should I come back later?” The voice near the doorway was so unexpected my heart jumped right to my throat and I screamed, stumbling a bit to the side.

Min Yoongi stood framed by the door, one hand wrapped around a bouquet of flowers and the other clutching his bag and stethoscope. He still had his white coat on over his shirt and slacks, hair mussed like he’d run his finger through it.

It took me a second to remember that Yoongi had a key to the house.

Another second to remember exactly what I’d been doing when he came inside.

Good God.

Had he heard the part where I’d talked about Jungkook not making me cum? Surely not? Oh Please no.

“Jungkook told me to check on you. That you couldn’t sleep last night? Are you in a lot of pain?”

Jungkook and I had shared the bed in his room last night and I had apparently, tossed and turned and whimpered through the night in pain. Or so Jungkook claimed.

“Uh... I’m not sure. He said so... so..”

“you guys sleep together right?” Yoongi asked casually, taking his coat off. I stared at the way the material of the shirt strained over his shoulders, my throat just a little dry.

Yoongi smelled so ridiculously good. He was a doctor and he was so handsome and kind to me. The attraction would have been there even if i had been a beta but as an omega, the urge to just fling myself at him and beg him to make me his, it was kind of horrifying.

Tamping down that part of me, I gave him a casual shrug, heart still pounding.

“Yeah. There’s just two bedrooms here and one is Mina’s nursery. So ...” I finished awkwardly, watching him move around and place his bag on the table before unwinding the stethoscope, placing it around his collar.

He gave me a small smile.

“I’ll just take a quick look and check how your breathing sounds. that okay?” He asked gently.

“Oh... sure. You need me to take my shirt off?” I asked curiously.

He gave me a quick little smirk.

“Not for medical reasons no.” He winked.

I felt blood rush to my face along with guilt. What was I doing? This was Jungkook’s best friend!! His hyung. Someone he trusted and I was his....

His what?

Nothing. I was Jungkook’s nothing. When was the last time someone had flirted with me . Someone who wasn’t a grade A creep.

Yoongi moved closer, sitting down on the kitchen stool and beckoned me to come stand between his thighs. i moved, achingly aware of how much more potent his scent was up close. He looked up at me through sooty black lashes, a small smirk on his lips, feline eyes warm and open .

“Put your hands on my shoulders, yeah?” He prompted.

I hesitated, fingers shaking just a little before reaching out to rest on this shirt. I kept the touch feather light , the softness of his shirt the only thing I could feel.

He hummed and bending down to lightly tug the hem of my shirt out of the waistline of my jeans. I bit my lips to stop myself from squirming.

He glanced up , eyes meeting mine and holding my gaze.

“You good?”

“Uhuhbuh.” I stuttered and he grinned wider, pulling the fabric up to the curve of my breasts. He lightly ran his finger tips over the bruised skin , humming thoughtfully .

“You’ll be fine in a few weeks. Hang on.” He pulled back, plugging the steth in his hear before holding the other end up to my chest. He pressed it against my skin, just before the underwire of my bra and it was unexpectedly cold .

I jumped, fingers curling on his shoulder and squeezing down.

“Hey.. what’s wrong?” Yoongi whispered, hands reaching for my waist, gently holding me steady and I flushed. He looked genuinely worried , lips turned down and brows furrowed and i felt absolutely stupid.

“Sorry. Sorry.... It’s nothing.. i just.. it’s a little cold.” I laughed nervously and his gaze softened.

One hand still curved around my waist, he brought the diaphragm up to his mouth, holding my gaze as he gently breathed warm air all over it.

My throat went instantly dry and i had to swallow. He pressed it against my chest again and this time it was so much warmer. .

“Better?” He prompted and i nodded, guilt and discomfort churning in my stomach. What was i doing? I had no business indulging him. i had no business indulging any man. Ever.

I looked away, pulling my hands up off his shoulder, pushing his hand off my hip as well . He didn’t say anything his shoulders stiffened at the subtle rejection.

A mantle of awkward tension settled over us, a small thundercloud of regret and that threatened to rain misery all over us. I wanted to kick myself. He was older than Jungkook by four years. Thirty eight years old.

Did he have a girlfriend? Oh god, what if he was martried?

Nausea threatened.

“Your breathing sounds fine. Are you practicing those breathing exercises , I taught you?” He asked casually and I nodded . I couldn’t trust myself to speak.

“Hey...” He said gently and I flinched.

“I’m sorry.” I blurted out. “ I didn’t mean to lead you on or tease you in any way and I’m sorry if i came on to you ...”

“What?! Heejin, stop. That’s bullshit. You never did any such thing. This was all me.” He said firmly.

I stared at him.

“I know you’re married but... your marriage, its going to end right? Eventually.”

I made to step back but he grabbed my waist again, this time a few inches over my jean and his fingers on the bare skin of my midriff made me want to melt. He had long slender fingers, a surgeons hands, and the press of it on my skin felt so foreign and gentle and different and good.

“We don’t have to do anything. I just... I thought we could get to know each other. Over coffee or dinner.”

I wanted to sob at the unfairness of it all.

Because Yoongi was beautiful and handsome and so good and so much more than I could ever even dream of, but he was and would always be so intricately woven with Jungkook and with Jungkook’s life. And I couldn’t imagine anything more messy than sticking around and watching Jungkook and his daughter forget me and move on.

“It’s.... probably a terrible idea. “ I said roughly, shaking my head. “ Its the kind of idea that would never end well.”

“Are you sure? Because unlike Jungkook, i could probably make you cum.” He winked and I felt my face flame red.

“Oh God...” I hissed, stumbling back. This time he let me move away, merely chuckling and reaching for his coat and bag .

“I won’t bother you again. But the offer’s always open, yeah?” He smiled again. “ You need me to send over more pain meds?”

I shook my head mutely, begging him to just leave already.

He nodded and held his hand up in a casual wave before walking out of the door. I collapsed on the stool and dropped my head into my arms , groaning.

What had i gotten myself into.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn’t actually see Jungkook for a couple of days. The meds knocked me out and he worked overtime, only arriving after I’d slept off and leaving before i woke up. Jin brought Mina around everyday and there was something absolutely exhilarating about watching her clutch at her little teething toys and rattles, gummy smile peeking out every few minutes.

On a whim, i told Jin what had happened with Yoongi and much to my surprise he actually laughed.

“About time . He’s been pining for what three years now?”

I gaped at him, completely thrown.

“I..he.. what.” I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around what I had heard.

“He saw you at that art exhibition you put up in the Hyatt . By the way, don’t you paint anymore?”

I flushed.

I had no proper response to that. What could i say? That my painting had just been yet another way to control me, only appreciated by father when he could use it to make more money. And that part of my marriage contract included that I wouldn’t paint or make any money off my art for the duration that I stayed with Jungkook.

It was just yet another way my father reminded me that he controlled him. I didn’t fight him because he would win anyway. And the only thing he loved more than controlling people was winning battles that were always rigged in his favor. i wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. I would soldier through this awful marriage and at the end of it , i would disappear without a trace.

I shook my head vaguely and Jin hummed.

“Yoongi doesn’t understand art but he hung around the entire nine hours , morning to night . Three whole days of him just pretending to look at the artwork while secretly making moon eyes at you.”

I could only stare in sheer disbelief.

“i... i never knew.”

“How could you? Yoongi’s idea of courting is pretending he doesn’t exist and fading into the background. “ Jin rolled his eyes. “ He tried approaching your father to officially court you but your old man shut that down rather brutally.”

I swallowed .

“I... I’m sorry.” i said feeling foolish. Three years...what? I couldn’t think beyond the shock of the information.

“Does Jungkook know?” I asked , scared.

Jin shook his head.

“Like I said Yoongi never made it known . He was afraid it would make life difficult for you. He didn’t want any rumors around because everyone knew your father was looking to offer you to someone rich and young. Yoongi was what , fifteen years older? That’s quite a difference.”

“Thirty eight isn’t old.” I said sharply and Jin’s brow went up.

“Oh?” He questioned teasingly and I flushed.

“Jungkook is eleven years older. What’s another four more years?” I shrugged.

“You’re interested then.” Jin said thoughtfully. I recoiled, shaking my head quickly.

“I...what? No. No I’m not. “

“Why not? If it isn’t the age, then there’s no reason to say no. Yoongi is handsome , settled and a great guy all around and besides, your time with Jungkook is finite right?”

“I... I won’t cheat on him.” I said firmly. “ i can’t... I... besides, Jungkook and I... we’re... we have sex.” My ears turned red, “ I can’t do that with two guys... I’m not like that. “

Jin nodded.

“Its alright.. Heejinah ...I’m sorry if i pressured you or anything. You don’t have to do anything. I know you have a lot on your plate right now. Yoongi probably got carried away . More than likely he’s going to panic and avoid you for a year just to recover.” He laughed and I smiled reluctantly.

“He’s nice I don’t want to hurt him. “ I said softly.

“ Sometimes that’s just inevitable . People get hurt no matter what we choose.” Jin gave me a sad little smile. “ Jungkook is just as nice a gy as Yoongi. If not better. He’s just...not in the right headspace to show that side of himself to you. I wish you’d known him before Sooah. He used to be this...playful and funny kid. We all went out of our way to keep him safe. Sooah was just as amazing. Usually , we try to find flaws in people our friends date right? Well trust me Sooah was hard to dislike .” He laughed, eyes misting over as his gaze landed on her portrait over the mantle.

I followed his gaze and swallowed.

“Do you think Jungkook will ever get over her?” I asked simply.

Jin hesitated.

“Someday? Probably yes. But it won’t be easy. He’s ... He feels things deeply. He always has. He loved her deeply, he cared for her deeply and so its only obvious that he’s going to feel the loss of her presence very deeply too.”

I nodded.

“Its his birthday tomorrow.” I said softly. “ I have a gift for him. Well its not a gift from me, but a gift nonetheless. But I’m not sure if I should give it to him.”

Jin gave me a surprised look.

“What do you mean?”

I smiled bitterly.

“Just that sometimes fate can be very cruel when it chooses its players. I’m forever wondering if he would be better off or worse without me in the picture and I just can’t decide.”

“Different. He would just be different.” Jin said calmly.

There was nothing else i could say to that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yugyeom had rented out the rooftop restaurant in one of the poshest Hotels in Seoul and although the party was a pool party, I hadn’t bothered dressing for it. I wore a plain sequined top and burgundy skirt that fanned out around me knees.

The place was teeming with people his age , friends acquaintances and business partners. The women had changed into bright , skimpy bikinis and lounged about in the brightly lit pool tossing a ball around .

The older people were being hosted by the Jeons on the lower level of the restaurant in a posh ballroom. Jungkook and i would have to visit them later but for now I was content sipping a mocktail, leaning against the bar while Hoseok and Lisa flanked me on either side, pointing out who was sleeping with who.

Jungkook was in the pool with Yugyeom and Jimin and it was impossible to tear my eyes away from him. He looked happy almost, laughing and shaking water out of his hair as he moved around with the strength and agility of an Olympic athlete. Yoongi was in the pool as well and on the opposite team with Jin and Namjoon....and it was increasingly obvious that the half a dozen bikini clad women were there simply for an excuse to touch the handsome alphas as they worked up a sweat.

“Jungkook is such a competitive bastard.” Hoseok laughed. “But I don’t know what’s gotten into Yoongi today. i can’t believe he’s in the pool. “

“Of his own volition. “ Lisa added. “ usually someone has to strip him and toss him in.

Yoongi kept glancing at me every few minutes. It was impossible to miss. It was also impossible to miss that at least three of the six women in the pool were trying to get into his pants.

I sighed and turned back to the bartender asking for a refill. when i turned back around, Jungkook and Yugyeom were climbing out of the pool and Jin was moving to the opposite side to take their place with Jimin.

“Jungkook and i are going to go get a drink. Anything for you , beautiful?” Yugyeom reached out to touch me and I almost fell in my haste to get away from him.

“Keep your hands off me.” I snapped . Jungkook frowned.

“No need to be rude, Heejin , he was just being polite.” He said softly and i smelt the alcohol on his breath.

“Don’t drink too much Jungkook.”

“Oh come on, beautiful., Its his birthday let him live a little...” Yugyeom laughed and I glared at him.

“I’d rather have him live longer “ I snapped. “ And that can’t happen if you keep trying to give him alcohol poisoning.”

Yugyeom rolled his eyes.

“Is she always this dramatic, Jungkook-ah.” Yugyeom laughed. Jungkook didn’t laugh but he gave me a look that said, ‘ please don’t make a scene’ and I bit my lips.

I didn’t want to ruin his night. He looked ....so close to a normal person tonight and whether I liked it or not Yugyeom had contributed to that. The music was apparently Jungkook’s favorites only, the pool because he loved volleyball in the water and the buffet had all his favorite foods. Yugyeom had gone out of his way to make the party perfect and i suddenly felt like the troll stomping on Jungkook’s happiness.

Swallowing my own instinct to drag my husband away from the alpha who had his arms around him, I turned away and walked off to the pool. Yoongi’s face lit up when he saw me.

“Hey there, angel. Here to watch me kick some ass? “ He cupped his hands in the water, before tossing a handful of water at me. I blinked in surprise, laughing a little.

“I’m just here to cheer Jin oppa. “ I said impishly, moving over to the lounge chair near his side of the pool. Yoongi’s pout was adorable and I couldn’t help but laugh.

Maybe I could stop worrying about Jungkook for a while. Yugyeom wasn’t dangerous. Even if he got a little drunk, I was still here. So were all of our friends.

It would be fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

it wasn’t fine.

An hour later, I found Jungkook in a room filled with cigarette smoke and light music, yugeyom and his friends scattered around the place with a few beautiful women lounging about on their laps.

“You said one drink Yugyeom...he’s completely out of his mind.” I said shrilly staring at where Jungkook sat on the couch , shirtless and laughing as some girl in a bikini ran her fingers up and down his arm. She had one leg draped over his thigh. I felt sick at the very sight of it.

its because he’s drunk , I told myself. He’s drunk and can’t consent, that’s why you feel sick, nothing else.

Yugyeom gave me an easy smile.

“Guy just wants to have some fun. Reina’s a friend of mine. She’ll take good care of him don’t worry. She’s the birthday gift i got him. “ He leered.

I resisted the urge to punch him in the face.

Glaring at him,

“Jungkook, we’re leaving. Come on.” I made to move towards him but a hand shot out, gripping my wrist like a vice.

“Not so fast baby.... I already paid for her. You can’t just waltz in here and take away her livelihood.” He sneered. “ Unless you want to take her place. This is a special bar you know. All these lovelies, they have something in common with you.”

I stared at him frowning.

“What does that mean?”

“I hired them from an omega escort agency...you know because that’s all you omegas are useful for anyway.”

I rolled my eyes, yanking on my wrist.

“You and your medieval ideals can go to hell. I’m going home. Jungkook!!” I yelled again and this time Jungkook turned eyes landing on me.

“Heejin?” He slurred.

“We need to go home, Jungkook.” I said firmly.

“Now?” He blinked. I nodded.

“Yes now.” I made to move away but this time Yugyeom wrapped both arms around my waist, pinning me to his body. Pain , sharp and unbearable shot up my ribs and I whimpered. He was squeezing too hard and God what if the cracked rib just snapped?

Panic began setting in and I yelped.

“Let me go you bastard.” I struggled to get away, staring in disbelief at my husband .

Jungkook was standing but he swayed dangerously. There was no clarity there and his eyes were hooded. He was drunk. Really, really drunk.

“Jungkook tell him to let me go!!” I yelled , trying to tamp down the panic that was rising up my throat.

“Don’t worry Kook. Just gonna ask her to wait outside for a while. Why don’t you finish your conversation with Reina.. i’ll entertain your wife for a while.” He drawled and i felt my entire body go ice cold at that.

Jungkook was blinking rapidly, the words clearly not registering and genuine terror began to bleed into my veins. Jungkook couldn’t even fathom that i was in genuine danger here, let alone help me. Oh God, why had i come alone? Where were the others??

Yugyeom held me tighter and i swallowed a groan . My ribs felt like they were on fire.

“Let’s take this somewhere private, Heejin?” He whispered into my neck and i couldn’t believe it. Yugyeom was drunk yes, but was this idiot also insane?

“Wait...no.. Yugeyom don’t be a fucking idiot. If you touch me, that’s fucking rape...You can go to prison for that .” I shouted, trying to drill some sense into his head. He wasn’t going to risk prison to make a point was he??

“Not if you seduce me angel...and you’re going to... Or I’ll just tell people you did...same difference , right?” he whispered.

And then he began dragging me off to the corner and my eyes fell on a side door leading out of the room .

If you let him take you there this is going to become frighteningly real, a voice screamed in my head and I inhale deeply, ready to scream loud enough to get the attention of everyone in the damned building.

The door opened just as I opened my mouth and I froze, watching Mrs Jeon walk into the lounge, looking lost.

“What is this place?” She muttered out loud looking around and the arms around me fell away so fast, I crashed to the floor.

“Heejin-ah!” Yoongi’s voice came from right behind her and I flinched, willing my shaking legs to stop trembling.

“Mrs. Jeon...” I muttered, voice strained and ribs throbbing.

“Heejin? What is going on here? Where’s my son?”

“Fuck... Jungkook-ah...” Yoongi moved to get him and I took a deep steadying breath.

Years ago , I’d taken a self defence class and one thing i’d definitely enjoyed learning was how to throw a punch. And It wasn’t something i’d forgotten.

Planting my feet firmly , i lightly rotated my hips, a subtle shift, before engaging my core , drawing all the fury and helpless rage inside me into my fist. I pulled my shoulders in and took a deep breath. Punch past your target , i told myself. You’re not just going to break his jaw you’re going to put him in the hospital tonight.

“Mrs. Jeon, Jungkook had a great time toni-” His voice was all i needed to hear to know exactly where his mouth was behind me.

i relaxed my muscles as i threw the punch, contracting them just as my fist landed on Kim Yugyeom’s face.

The satisfying sound of flesh on bone felt like music to my ears and Yugyeom’s sharp cry of sheer agonizing pain even sweeter.

He crashed to the floor in a heap and I could feel my fist throb like hell. I was going to bruise so badly. But it was worth it.

“That was for telling me that you were going to rape me and tell everyone that i seduced you.” I said calmly.

Yoongi let out a noise of disbelief.

“What the actual fuck.....” He shouted.

“Yugyeom what the fuck man? Are you out of your damned mind?” One of his friends yelled. Yugyeom merely groaned.

He couldn’t answer, blood trickling down his chin and hands cradling his jaw, whimpers falling out of his mouth. My own fist throbbed like hell so the damage had to be significant.

Mrs Jeon looked horrified and when she opened her mouth i quickly held a hand up.

“I’m not doing this. Not tonight. “ I said calmly. Jungkook was quiet, the way he always got when he was drunk and I groaned.

It was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We need to talk.” I said calmly and Jungkook swallowed.

“Heejin, I’m -”

“Hear me out first Jungkook.” I said sharply. “ I don’t need your apology, it means nothing to me because it means nothing to you. You’re not sorry that you didn’t help me last night. You’re just angry that you had to help at all. You don’t give a fuck about me. I know that and I’m okay with that. What I’m not okay with is you getting drunk to the point that you don’t even recognize that someone’s in need of help. “

I took a deep breath.

“If you did it to me, you’ll do it to your daughter too. Yugyeom is going to get you drunk someday when you’re taking care of Mina by yourself and then when she needs you, what are you going to do?”

“You’re right... I shouldn’t have gotten that drunk -”

“I’m only here , talking to you , because of your daughter. If it was just you, I wouldn’t give a damn because you’re an adult and if you make your bed , you can just lie on it. It wouldn’t bother me. But Mina...she’s not capable of making the right choices. She need a father who can make the right choices, because whatever shitty choice you make, your daughter is going to be there along for the ride whether she wants to or not. You drive your car off a cliff tomorrow , she’s going to be there in the car seat laughing because she doesn’t know the consequences of your choices. “

I clenched my fists to keep my voice even. To stop myself from yelling.

“I have something for you. “

I grabbed the brown paper wrapped canvas from under the table.

“It’s a painting . Your wife commissioned me to make this a year ago when she got pregnant.”

He froze so eerily still that it made me nervous.

“At first , i wasn’t sure if i should be giving it to you because well... because i was marrying you ... I wasn’t sure that it would be right, coming from me ...because I was taking your wife’s place after all...”

i laughed.

“Now I know that's just bullshit. I don’t have a place in your life. I’m a nobody. This isn’t about me. This is about you. She told me back then that you were nervous about being a father. That was all she said. And she wanted me to pain this. “ I held the canvas out to him.

“You can see it. I’m going to go stay with Jin oppa for a few days. I want you to see it. It shows how your wife saw you. The kind of father she hoped you would be. I want you to see it and make a choice. You can either get the help you need. “ i took a deep breath, “ Or I’m going to tell Yoongi that you’re incompetent to be a father. He’ll file charges , “ I had to close my eyes to get the next words out, “ and you will lose custody of your daughter.”

Jungkook inhaled sharply, hands curling into fists on his knees.

“i hope you make the right choice.”

I wrapped both my arms around myself and walked out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s note. :

I’m so exhausted I’ll tag people tomorrow!

.@girlinthemikrokosmos @xius-exos @sugainfireslex @yunkichiee@kpopstudybee @ephyraaaa @peachoney9795 @ggukkieland @veronawrites @blr1004 @tinyhoagiepartylover @btsis7okay@squishyjk @itsdingdong @emmmui @honeeybunneey @yeonkiminnie

@just-me-and-myselfs @delicate-snow-flake @kpop-lore @beautifulvirgobutterfly @sumzysworld @btsmylife21 @teresaisla

.@melrosaeparker @taestannie @dchimminie @ meraki--life @somewhereinthestarss @mawwnsterr @kookiesbreaky @chimchoom

#jungkook smut #jungkook fics #jeon jungkook #bts fanfics #bts smut fic #bts smut #bts fics #bts #jungkook #bts scenarios

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thyshadowwriter · 3 years

Text

Lost & Found. Chapter 3.

Ivar Ragnarsson x oc.

Summary: being rescued by Helga in one of the raids and reluctantly tolerated by Floki, a young girl finds herself amidst a strange place with strange people, but if adapting to the cultural shock wasn't hard enough, catching the attention of the volatile and beloved son of the Queen would soon prove to be the ultimate proving. That is if she realizes just how much being around prince Ivar is walking on thin ice.

Author's note: family dynamics and fluff.

Tagging: @youbloodymadgenius

Understandment is hard when you can't speak to each other, but gestures may reach further than words.

--------

A few weeks after they returned, Floki's home had fallen into a strangely peaceful routine.

Floki would do his work, busy with Bjorn's request, while Helga would teach Revna their language for hours a day, every day, their voices being background noise for him.

Helga was radiant with joy. She loved taking care of Revna, spending a lot of time combing the long hair and doing beautiful and intricate braids while talking to her, to which Revna would sometimes reply and even if they couldn't understand each other an odd sort of dialogue would emerge.

While this arrangement made Floki uneasy, he could be thankful for his wife's happiness, she hasn't been happy in a long time. Even if happiness was a passing moment, it hurt him that Helga carried so much sorrow, most of which, if not all, he knew to be his fault.

Now, Revna was sitting on the chair shaking her leg and looking down, Floki occasionally looked at her and he didn't need to understand her words to understand her lately. She wasn't allowed outside yet and that was getting to her.

Helga came with a bowl of stew for Revna and tried to hand it to her.

"Here, I brought you food." Helga said to Revna.

She looked at the food then turned her head away to the floor and continued shaking her leg.

"You need to eat to get better, please." Helga tried to reason with her.

Revna answered with a small grunt, resting her head on her hand.

"What is it, my dear? You were doing so well." Helga said to her stroking her hair.

The girl didn’t answer, but Floki did it for her:

"She's bored, Helga. I think she wants to go out."

The realization dawned on Helga, making her smile kindly to the girl, carefully caressing her head. Poor thing, she had every right to be bored, but Helga wanted her to get stronger before facing the city.

Helga sat behind Revna and cupped her face, making the girl look at her. She spoke softly, trying to make her understand:

"I know you're bored, but you need to get strong before I show you Kattegat" she gestured to the door "I'll show you everywhere, but please, keep eating well and get better."

The girl studied her face for a while, then gave her a pout but accepted the food. She ate slowly and in small portions, an empty stare in her eyes.

That was good, Helga thought, that was great. She begged the gods for another child and they gave her one, a beautiful girl that she had already fallen in love with and would do everything in her power to protect.

Not long after, the door swung open and Ivar came into their room, dragging himself until he was inside and on his usual spot like that was his second home, which has been since the day his mother brought him there.

"Hello, Floki. Hello Helga." Ivar greeted them.

"Ivar." Floki greeted him back, spotting right away the faux innocent smile the young prince had whenever he was up to be a pain in someone’s ass.

Ivar turned his attention to the girl, who was eating and either uncaring or ignoring his presence.

"Revna." He said her name with a slight pitch to his voice and squinting at her. He had her name memorized from the odd fit it made for her, but mainly it was for the fact she slapped his hand. No one in their right mind would dare to do it, and no one that ever as much as said something wrong to Ivar got to live much longer, let alone someone stupid enough to try their luck against him, those he took delight in dealing with. Though to Revna, he probably was just a harmless cripple. Ignorance is bliss, he thought.

Revna, apparently taken back from her thoughts, looked at him. Her dark eyes gazing upon him with a spark of curiosity and interest. She had memorized his face after his first visit, how could she not? The complete stranger with very blue eyes, pale skin and a fingertips rough and calloused like the ones found on peasants, slaves or warriors. This complete stranger that touched her like it was normal or acceptable, the nerve!

The voice in her mind screamed: ‘Was it normal to him?’, “Is this normal these strange people I’m living with?’, ‘Was that how he acted around outsiders?’, ‘What am I even doing here?’, ‘What will they do to me?’ Questions, questions, they came and went in circles for all these days.

But she put a stop to them for now, like it or not, for good or ill, he was the only other sight she had other than the couple, she could indulge in a quick distraction from the walls of the home she was living in that were starting to feel smaller by each day.

"Ivar." She said, looking straight at him, trying to pronounce what she inferred to be his name as best as she could. Adding a pitch to her pronunciation, just like he did, just because she could.

His eyes widened and he tilted his head to the side, stare fixed on her and her every minimal movement. He was sincerely surprised that she actually spoke directly at him.

His name on her lips was carried by a foreign accent, it sounded different, almost like it belonged to someone else, but her gaze on him, with expectancy in her eyes and a hint of pride on the corners of her lips turned slightly upward left no doubt she indeed meant him.

Ivar heard her before, annoyed and agitated at his first visit, so he hoped to have the same effect, but now that she spoke camly, trying to pronounce his name correctly and seemingly proud of herself for it, she threw him off balance. He had expected the annoyance she had from before, he expected her disgust at him as she wasn't pleased with his touch, why would she want the hands of a cripple on her? He even expected fear from her, but he didn't expect to hear his name slow and soft on her lips, he didn’t expect to hear her trying to reach out for him and how his own name would sound so foreign coming from her lips.

He wanted her to say it again, wanted to hear the strange way his name sounded from her, but he didn’t know how to demand it, so he nodded at her, not really knowing what to say, not that it would matter. She probably wouldn’t understand him anyway.

Revna smiled proudly to herself, a beautiful smile, if he had to say anything, he mimicked her smile shyly, though he quickly felt self conscious under her gaze and looked away, trying to find somewhere other than her eyes to look at, but nothing seemed to quite hold his attention.

Ivar felt as Revna looked away from him and continued to eat, he glanced a few times at her, the shy smile he held gone as she paid him no further attention. He noticed, however, how her legs began shaking in a slow, lazy rhythm. A stream of thoughts began in his mind: ‘Is she playing with me?’, ‘Is she bothered by my presence?’, ‘Does she pity me?’, a frown forming on his face with each thought.

He turned his attention to Helga, who was distracted with the girl's hair:

"I haven't seen her around yet. Why? When are you going to show her off?” he made a pause before adding the last part venomously “Unless she is to be a house slave."

"She's no slave, Ivar. We're adopting her." Helga corrected him, a tad annoyed at the slave mention.

"Then why haven't I seen her outside, hm? If she's to live here as a free woman, then she needs to know her way around."

"It's too soon yet. She doesn't speak our language."

"It’s not too soon, it’s been weeks! And if all the problem is that she doesn’t speak our language, then it’s another reason to do it. She'll learn much faster by experience."

"I'll take her out when she's ready." Helga answered a bit tense. She didn't want to go into detail of why she was so careful but she also didn’t want to lie to Ivar, who by the frown seemed to be growing angry.

"She seems ready enough." He said pointing to her legs.

Revna stopped shaking her legs, staring at Ivar wide eyed and lips slightly parted as she just took the spoon from her mouth. She arched an eyebrow looking lost as a puppy in the forest. Good, Ivar thought. Revna then looked confused from him to Helga, who caressed her face reassuringly.

"So, why don't you take her outside?" Ivar insisted.

Helga couldn't find an answer to stop Ivar's questioning and looked to her husband for help. Floki seemed entertained, holding a smile of his own, but as soon as he felt his wife’s eyes on him and her silent plea he intervened.

"Since when do you care about things that don't involve you?" Asked Floki.

"What?" Ivar countered astonished, "What do you mean by it? Of course it involves me. I was in this home before her, I have a say in whether she can stay or not."

"Is that so?” Floki said amused, “In this case what your mighty self has to say?"

Without missing a beat and with a self assured tone that didn’t transpired his shyness just a moment ago, he answered:

"I say this girl better adapt to our ways else she brings the wrath of the gods down on us..."

"The gods love her, Ivar. They gave her to me." Helga interrupted him. She realized the mistake as soon as the words left her mouth.

"How can you be so sure?" He inquired, renewed curiosity in his eyes.

"I just know it."

"If you say..." he eyed her suspiciously, before continuing to Floki, "...I say she better learn manners. No one should dare to hit a prince and go off unscathed."

Floki chuckled from his spot then said:

"You deserved that one. You could have used some other way of introducing yourself rather than touching someone you’ve never seen before and is not here as a slave. However, I thank the gods for letting me witness your face that day."

"You old fool..."

"Ivar. Be patient with her." Helga said to Ivar softly. She was very aware of how badly he took insults, even when none existed.

"I am patient,” he countered, “but the girl needs manners."

"Ivar..." Called Floki.

Ivar sighed before continuing:

"However, I am willing to forgive her for you,” he said looking at Helga “and an apology from the girl, once she learns how to speak our language, of course."

"Ivar, she's just a child, give her some time, I'm sure she'll adapt." Said Helga, looking at Ivar while she tied the end of one of the braids on Revna's hair.

Ivar lived with them long enough to see she truly wanted that girl to be part of their lives. He had seen the glimpses of sadness throughout his upbringing, the lost gaze Helga had when she thought no one was looking, the unsettling feeling that lurked under the surface when she saw mothers with their newborn babies. Perhaps the surprise wasn't that she took a girl to raise, but that she took that long to do it.

But he loathed the idea that in Floki’s home would live someone that would regard him in the same way the rest of Kattegat did, an outsider to add insult to injury.

"If you say, I'll try to tolerate her. If at least she can pretend to not be annoyed whenever I’m here.” Ivar said as he pointed to Revna.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what about her shaking her legs was irritating him. If it was the repetitive pattern, the slow rhythm, the proximity of her feet to him, or what was to him, a clear display of her displeasure with his presence. Though why would she have smiled at him with that beautiful smile if she was annoyed by him?

‘She’s playing you’, His own mind answered the question.

Both Helga and Floki looked to each other confused as to what he meant, Floki being the one that asked:

"What do you mean by that? She doesn’t even know who you are to be annoyed at you."

He pointed to Revna’s legs, this time the girl didn’t even bother to look at him and continued eating as if there wasn’t an annoyed young man pointing at her for no reason at all. Which bothered Ivar even more.

Floki couldn’t help but laugh. It was like he was a naughty child again that got all pouty and angry until he got things his way. At least he didn’t scream anymore. Not as frequently at least. His boy was maturing.

"She's bored, Ivar. Been like that for a few days, it has nothing to do with you." Floki made a point to emphasize the last part.

Ivar stared at Floki speechless. His eyes open wide, darting from Floki to the surroundings as his lips parted, which pretty much told the boatbuilder that the young prince hadn’t considered a possibility that didn’t involve him. He then rolled his head before asking:

"Then what have you been doing with her all this time?"

"We’ve been taking care of her, Ivar. Teaching and getting her used to us before she faces the others." Answered Helga.

Ivar pondered her words for a while, then agreed with her.

"What does she do in her spare time?"

Floki was quick to answer that one:

"Snoops around the house, messes up my tools… Oh, she also has a fondness for magic tricks, they make her happy like a child."

"Really?”

“Yes. I’ve done a few for her and it never fails to get her attention.”

“That’s childish.”

“She is a child, Ivar. It’s no surprise at all.”

Ivar looked like he just realized what Floki said to him. Turning his attention back to Revna as she looked around the house with that same little pout on her lips. He had of course noticed she was young when he first saw her and when he touched her face. Younger than him, in fact. Skin too soft and face still with some roundess to it, but he didn’t stop to consider what that would mean. Of course she would be like that being so young and housebound, he knew the feeling all too well from the days and days and more days he had to be inside his home because he was too sick to go out without serious risk of breaking his bones.

Looking to Helga, who hadn’t got her hands away from Revna, he knew that was her doing. ‘Why won’t she let the girl out? She’s not crippled.’ was what he thought. He knew it was her because she had the same look his mother had when she would smother him with her love as if he was still a baby and not let him do anything food himself, which only got worse when his eyes would turn blue. He loved his mother more than anyone and anything else, but he hated feeling useless.

Maybe that was what Revna felt. He was strangely relieved to not be the reason for her annoyance. At least not this time.

Then a silly idea crossed his mind. He reached for a pouch of leather he carried and took a coin from it, he then got a bit closer to Revna and touched her foot. The girl gasped startled but relaxed when she looked down at Ivar, who expectantly tried to measure her reactions to him. She tilted her head and arched her eyebrow inquisitively at him, which coupled with the cute pout on her lips made for an adorable sight. He beckoned her to come closer to him.

“Go on, my dear.” Said Helga to Revna as she looked to Helga for permission.

Revna got off of the chair and sat on the floor close to Ivar, close enough to be within arm’s reach, but not close enough to accidentally brush her legs against his, she then rested her hands on her lap and looked at him with curiosity. He studied her expression carefully, searching for the all too familiar signs of pity and disgust but found none of those. Even though he noticed she kept a distance, he was pleased she sat near him.

He then showed her the coin, playing with it between his fingers deftly, she giggled, trying to follow the coin with her eyes and relaxing a bit from her position. He then halted his movements, holding the coin between his index and middle finger, Revna froze in her position as soon as he stopped and looked from the coin to his very blue eyes. There it was, that beautiful smile together with an innocent shine in her eyes.

He then put the coin flat against the palm of his hand, closing both of them into fists and bringing them close to his lips, he didn’t take his eyes off her, enjoying her full attention as she looked from his fists to his eyes. He blew air against his fists and slowly opened them, showing her the palms of his hands, the coin nowhere she could see.

Revna looked at him, giggling happily with a wide smile, a smile Ivar found to be quite beautiful and contagious, making him smile himself, although more reservedly. When she calmed down and silence fell between them, they were looking at each other’s eyes, hers filled with joy and his with pride for being the reason for it.

He soon felt self conscious again and looked away.

#ivar x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #vikings fanfiction #ivar x oc

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tiesthatbind-tf · 3 years

Photo

I sell the things you need to be I'm the smiling face on your T.V. I'm the cult of personality I’d exploit you, still you’d love me I’ll tell you one and one makes three I'm the cult of personality

An unrepentant, manipulative schemer and a social chameleon with the gift of gab, Stefan Scavarro or ‘Starscream’ as he’s become known in the Decepticon ranks was never meant to rise above his station as a military-commissioned Cold Construct, but through wit, determination, and questionably-underhanded tactics, managed to claw his way up the political ladder and eventually, the Decepticon chain of command.

Most will tell you to never take his words at face value and to listen, and listen carefully, because he’ll tell you first and foremost that he doesn’t stoop so low as to lie to your face—-not outright anyway, no.

Despite all this, it would surprise people to find that everything he did to tear his way out of the box society had set for him, and behind every whispered threat, is the genuine desire to do good for those under his jurisdiction and to make a better world than the one that created him.

He just knows from first-hand experience that not everyone has the privilege to do that from a position of playing by the rules and keeping their hands clean—-If the deck is stacked against you, you’d bloody your hands by breaking the legs of the ones doing the stacking.

It’s complicated, he’s complicated, is what he’d say, and he’d leave it at that.

(More under cut)

Stefan started out his life as a Cold Construct made for the Italian Air Force and was raised from childhood at a military academy. Here, he was trained to be a government asset—-taught to shoot, to fight, to fly in jet simulations.

It was a cutthroat environment, with young Cold Constructs who didn’t preform to expectations being pulled out of the academy to be ‘conditioned’, and his fear of seeing what they became when they came back—-emotionless, monotonous machines—pushed him to excel in what he did beyond his handlers’ expectations.

He learned to ignore pain and abuse as much as he could—-he would heal they said, and they were right; he healed faster than anyone else, and he prided himself in it. He learned to read people to know who he had an ally in or who could be easily manipulated for him to benefit from—-everyone here was either someone he could use or a rival and he was hell-bent, in knowing that Cold Constructs like him were often expected to die on the field, on getting through this ordeal in one piece.

Despite all this, he still couldn’t break away from the military chains until he found out that class exemptions existed as ‘gifts’ for those in the lower classes who rendered exemplary services to the government or someone of importance. However he knew that his superior had become too comfortable with his presence at their beck and call to let him go, and so began scheming to buy his freedom.

He took action the next time he was on the field during a skirmish with insurgents at the border, deliberately sabotaging his superior’s intercom prior to taking flight so it would only page to him when they needed help and he laid in wait for them to be cornered by enemy forces. At the most critical point, he swooped in to make the dramatic save and managed to save them when they were shot down. While they were hospitalized for their injuries, he spoke to their wife and children, painting himself as a humble pilot whose only thought was of saving their captain during their skirmish.

As he expected, they became his advocates and combined with his superior’s sense of gratitude, he walked out of the Air Force base a free man at 20.

He enrolled in a night class at a community college, studying political science part-time while working manual jobs in the day time to support his education, and it was in this period that he became involved in unions and working class movements. He felt a powerful sense of solidarity with their struggles and made it his mission to put his knowledge of people and politics to good use, by taking their fight to the Senate.

He decided to run as the district’s younger senator, riding on a wave of grassroots support as a charming, affable man in touch with people with a wining smile, and won enough votes, beating a government-favorite to represent them on the Senate floor. (This remains his the proudest moment in his life for a very long time)

At the Senate however, he faced pushback and classism from the old vanguards who were career politicians taking umbrage with his youth, ‘lowly’ background and lack of polish. Here, he was a fox among wolves for the first time and he truly realized why it was so hard for changes to be made. His first attempt to pass a bill to push for more rights for Cold Constructs failed miserably, but his earnest attempts to fight for a cause no one else would caught the attention of Senator Shockwave, who saw a kindred spirit and decided to take him under their wing.

With Senator Shockwave who was the first true benefactor he’s ever know, he found a noble, caring figure as beautiful inside, he thought, as they were out, and the two of them spent more and more time together doing legal research to introduce reforms and looking for legal loopholes to use to fight for the working class. At this point, he grew to love Shockwave although never admitted it to the man.

When the Decepticon movement began growing and two Senators who were openly supportive of their cause were murdered, which lead to whispers of corruption within the Senate traveling around, he became Senator Shockwave’s trusted confidante and followed then man on the ground as they touched base with ‘Orion Pax’, a former cop now-dockworker who had been running an underground publication spreading Megatron’s samizdat writings ‘Towards Peace’ which was fostering a revolution around the world, and Megatron himself.

He formed a friendship with both and all four men began working together to uncover the depths of the Senate’s corruption, all while staying one step ahead of an increasingly-oppressive Clampdown.

When Megatron began resorting more and more to violence however, Shockwave and Orion Pax began distancing themselves from the man’s rhetoric and Starscream sought to follow them even as he took with him Megatron’s warnings that they had to ‘speak the Senate’s language’.

His uncertainty fired up into rage however when, during a mission which he couldn’t be part of due to his presence being required elsewhere, Shockwave surrendered to government agents to save the lives of Orion Pax and members of Shockwave’s institute.

In that moment he decried Orion Pax as weak and unwilling to do what it took to get the job done (he had made Orion promise prior to the mission that Orion would not leave Shockwave’s side) and went to Megatron’s side, seeking for a way to rescue Shockwave and enact vengeance on the Senate for the full extent of their crimes.

If he was to speak the language of the Senate to the, he would make sure they were floored (in a pool of their own blood) by the time he was done with his soliloquy.

(And then of course, a certain delegate from the Caminus colony came around and made things interesting for him)

#maccadam #humanformers #starscream #transformers #tw: injury #tw: blood

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imagineyourworld · 3 years

Text

Peer Pressure

Kix x Fem!Princess!Reader

Summary: Kix finds himself giving the princess medical assistance, and even though the two of them hit it off, no one else seems to like the two of them together

Warnings: Mention of blood, mention of a bombing (happened prior to the story), people being a-holes towards the clones

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The first time Kix sa you he could have sworn time stopped for a moment. All his bleeding brothers, the destroyed droids and remains of the palace faded into the background the second he laid eyes on you. And when you ended up walking straight towards him his heart skipped a beat. Though he soon scolded himself for this when he saw that you weren’t exactly walking, but rather jumping on one leg, trying your best not to put any pressure on the other. Kix hurried over to you and without either of you having to say a single word he put his arm around your waist and guided you over to one of the makeshift beds along the tent walls. “Thank you”, you said. Those two words made Kix turn his attention away from your leg and to your eyes. Even though they haven’t been on this planet for very long, everyone in the 501st could tell that the inhabitants were not big fans of clones, most of them ignored them altogether while others were nothing but mean and cold. Your words might have been the first friendly ones he had heard since their arrival that didn’t come from one of his brothers. “You’re welcome”, he replied, trying his best to focus on your leg again and not your gorgeous eyes. “What seems to be the problem?” You shrugged. “I’m not quite sure. I was with my family, trying to escape the palace as soon as the alarms went off, but then there was this loud noise and next thing I knew I was all alone and the walls around me were nothing more than dust and pebbles. Kix nodded along while you talked. “Do you mind lifting your dress so I can have a closer look at your leg?” You did as you were told, lifting the hem of your dress inch by inch until Kix told you to stop. He could now see that your knee was at a weird angle and there was a long cut along your calf, which was still bleeding. He studied the dark fabric of your dress for a moment to see if there was any indication as to how much blood you’ve lost, but all he noticed that the dress, though now dirty and torn in some places, seemed incredibly expensive. You must be a very high up servant, or maybe even some kind of noble woman. “Your knee is dislocated and you have a cut on your calf. It’s bleeding a lot, but not deep, so you should be on your feet in no time”, he explained as he began to disinfect your wound before wrapping it up. “Try not to put too much weight on this leg the next couple of days, a day or two of bedrest would help as well, if that’s possible. And the bandages should be changed once a day until the wound is closed. As for your knee, this will hurt for just a second, you can squeeze my arm, it might help with the pain.” Once again you were a model patient and did as told while Kix tried not to let your warm hand on his arm affect him. He had put off parts of his armour a while earlier due to the hot climate and now there was only a thin layer of fabric between your skin and his. “What’s your name?”, you asked as Kix put his hands on your knee, whether because you were really interested or to distract you Kix didn’t know, but he found that it didn’t really matter to him. You had asked for his name, not his number as the few other people he had spoken to on this planet, one of whom had only asked so he could report him for daring to touch him while placing a bacta patch on him. “Kix. My name’s Kix”, he said and quickly followed up by asking for your name. “I’m (Y/N)”, you said, though you rather screamed the last syllable in the short moment it took Kix to relocate your knee. “It’s very nice to meet you, Kix. And thank you so much for your help. What can I do to repay you?” Kix, now finished with his work, looked at you in shock. Surely you had to be joking. “I... “, he began, not sure what to say. In all his time as a medic, this was a question he had never heard. “Maybe we could meet again for dinner and you could tell me what you’ve thought of”, you suggested with a bright smile on your lips that made Kix’s mouth dry. Did you just ask him on a date? Were you flirting with him? “I’d like that. Especially after the day I’ve had”, he finally admitted. Still smiling you leaned forward, placing your elbows on your legs and your head in your hands until your face was only inches way from Kix, who was still kneeling in front of you. “Go on, tell me about your day.” Kix scanned your face, looking for any trace of irony or cruelty, but when he didn’t find anything that might lead him to believe that you weren’t sincere he began. “Well, it was a long day and a short night. Jesse, that’s one of the brothers I’m closest with, woke me at the crack of dawn because Hardcase had dropped his caf and cut himself on the broken cup trying to pick up the pieces. Once his hand was bandaged Echo and Fives came running through the medbay, trying to hide from Dogma, who they had pulled some sort of prank on. And before that could be settled Rex commed us to get us over here because the palace was under attack.” Kix surprised himself with how much he had told you, how easy it was for him to talk to you and that you were smiling and laughing as he told his story. “That sounds like an eventful day, much better than mine. Maybe I’ll get to meet your brothers one day”, you said wistfully. Before Kix could reply to that he heard voices from the other side of the tent. As he looked over he saw you rolling your eyes out of the corner of his eyes. “Where is she? Where is our daughter? I demand you bring us to her?” He saw Rex trying to calm the screaming man down, but the woman next to him then began to yell at the Captain. Luckily just a moment later General Skywalker intervened and much to Kix’s dismay lead the couple over to him. “Kix, the King and Queen say that their daughter was admitted to the medical tent. Have you by any chance seen the princess?” Kix shook his head. He was pretty sure he would have noticed if anyone like the two monarchs in front of him would have been anywhere near the tent. “There you are! (Y/N), we were so worried. What are you doing here? You should be with our own doctors, not this... clone”, the Queen exclaimed while, to Kix’s surprise, put both her hands on your cheeks. Though he didn’t hear your reply, since his attention was now captured by the King who had picked up his wife’s yelling. “What do you think you were doing with my daughter? Were you trying to kidnap her? You better hope for your own good that you didn’t touch her, or else-”, he began before being interrupted by both you and Anakin. “Dad!”, you yelled while Anakin told him not to speak to his men like that. Though neither the King nor the Queen paid any attention to either of you. Instead they both took one of your arms and basically lifted you off the bed. All you could to before they all but carried out the tent was to turn around to look at Kix and mouth a single word. “Sorry.” All Kix could do was stare after you, standing completely still and not registering anything around him until he suddenly felt Jesse’s hand on his shoulder. “Well done, vod. That’s the princess you were just flirting with.”

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A short while later you were sitting in an armchair in the one part of the palace that, by some miracle, was still mostly intact. The room was smaller than what you were used to, and the clothes you were wearing were a lot less elaborate than your usual dresses, and yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead it felt rather like you weren’t yourself at all, like you could do things you usually couldn’t. The thought brought an idea to your mind. You looked very different in this simple black dress, with no makeup and unstyled hair, if you were to leave the palace no one would stop you, they wouldn’t even recognize you. Without thinking further about your idea you jerked into action, packing the small dinner on the table next to you in a basket you had found earlier and making your way out of the room and through the halls. No one stopped you, no one even bothered to look at you until you arrived at your destination. “Who are you? What do you want?”, a clone with the number five tattooed on his forehead asked. Though his voice was similar to Kix’s, he sounded a lot less friendly. “I’m looking for a medic. His name is Kix. We met earlier today and I-” “What? You’re gonna yell at him some more?”, another clone, this one without visible tattoos asked. You shook your head and lifted the basket in your hands. “I’m bringing him dinner as a thank you for helping me. And an apology for my parent’s behaviour.” It seemed to dawn on the clones who you were once you mentioned your parents. “You’re the princess!”, the tattooed clone exclaimed, though the other elbowed him in the side a moment later. “Kix should be in the mess. That’s the third door to the right”, the other clone said, his voice a lot friendlier now, before the two of them let you pass onto the ship. You soon found your way to the mess, though only once you stepped inside did it occur to you that finding Kix amongst all the other clones might be a bit more difficult than anticipated. As you began to look around the room you realized that one after the other all the clones had stopped eating and were now looking at you. You felt heat rising to your cheeks. Maybe you should have thought this through instead of assuming Kix would be around, waiting for you. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of you looking around the room and every single men inside staring at you, one of the clones walked up to you. He obviously wasn’t Kix, but introduced himself as Jesse, a name you were at least familiar with. “You must be the princess. If you’re looking for Kix, he just left for the barracks. Down the corridor, then left. If you might still catch him before he hits the ‘fresher.” Relief flooded through your body. “Thank you”, you called over your shoulder as you headed out the door to finally find Kix. You saw him just as he was rounding the corner and called his name. Though you hadn’t expected him to stop dead in his track because as soon as you ran around the corner you ran right into him. Luckily Kix had quick reflexes and caught you before you could fall down. “You weren’t just running, were you? What part of ‘don’t put weight on your leg’ didn’t you understand?”, he sighed, though there was a grin on his lips. You shook your head as you tried your best to catch your breath. How dare he talk about your leg now instead of appreciating your grand gesture? “I know, I’m sorry”, you said, even though you weren’t really, not if running was your way of catching Kix. “And I’m sorry for earlier. My parents... they’re... they can be... I’m sorry. I’m nothing like them, I promise. And look, I even brought the dinner I promised you as proof.” Without hesitation you thrust the basket in Kix’s hands. He looked inside before turning back to you. “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to have dinner. Clearly there are a million reasons you should stay away from me.” You shook your head. How could he say that? Didn’t he notice how much you’ve grown to like him after spending just a few minutes with him and how that could easily turn into something more if he’d just agree to have dinner with you? Hadn’t he felt the sparks earlier? “Maybe I don’t want to stay away. Maybe I want to have dinner with you, no matter what anyone may say or think.” Kix simply handed you the basket, but before he could say anything else you tossed it to the side and stepped closer. “Tell me you don’t want to spend time with me and I’ll leave, but don’t blame it on other people. This isn’t about what my parents think, what your brothers may think, this is about you and me and the fact that I’ve never felt about anyone like I feel about you.” A loud sigh left Kix’s lips. He reached to take your hands in his and gently stroked along your knuckles. “You don’t even know me, mesh’la.” You spoke enough Mando’a for that little word to give you a bit of hope. “We can change that. We can take it slow, no pressure, no expectations. Just one question: Will you have dinner with me?” Kix looked deep into your eyes as his answer, one single word, left his lips.

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I might write two seperate part twos to this story, one in which Kix agrees to dinner and one in which he doesn’t, if that’s something you’d like to read.

As always, I’d love to hear some thoughts and feedback <3

#kix x reader #kix x you #kix x y/n #kix imagine

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ouyangzizhensdad · 3 years

Note

Perhaps you'd like a an ask that's not discourse related? If so, then I wanted to ask you if you know what jin zixuan thought of jin guangyao?

Hi anon,

I appreciate your non-discourse-related ask 😉. Your question made me realise that the novel seems to explicitly avoid giving us any real sense of what Jin Zixuan thought of Jin Guangyao, or how he reacted to the ways other people treated JGY. It seems that JZX remained unaware at the time that Meng Yao came on his birthday--and literally got kicked out. At Phoenix Mountain, JZX stops being mentioned after JGY appears and while his mother mistreats him--he’s only brought back into the narration at the very end to scream at JYL. JZX is also absent the night that WWX goes to Jinlintai to confront the Jins about Qiongqi path and in the direct aftermath. But let’s dig for crumbs and make sense of gaps, and let’s see what we can infer from them.

We know that, originally, Jin Zixuan was the epitome of the proud Jin: “The ways of the Jin Sect were proud, and Jin Zixuan inherited every single drop of this. With his high standards, he had been unsatisfied with this engagement since a long time ago.“ We could wonder if the circumstances of JGY’s birth would have been something JZX would have judged him for. We know that he took offense to WWX’s persona, although it is not spelled out exactly what offended him specifically: “Because of this engagement, Jin Zixuan had no positive impressions of the YunmengJiang Sect, and had frowned upon Wei Wuxian’s behavior since some time ago.“ However, it’s unclear whether the circumstances of WWX’s birth influenced how he perceived his behaviour. All we know for sure is that two other Jin family members--his father and Jin Zixun--never forgot about it and brought it up. We also know that in the past, JZX felt comfortable ignoring people’s good will towards him if he felt he was motivated in his view of them, as he did with JYL in the past:

Jin-furen had brought him to Lotus Pier a couple of times. Neither Wei Wuxian nor Jiang Cheng liked to play with him; only Jiang Yanli wanted to feed him the food that she made. Jin Zixuan, however, didn’t really like to pay her any attention.

At the same time, we do know that JZX had a sense of righteousness, what with him standing up against Wen Chao at Dusk-Creek Mountain. Likewise, we see with the soup incident that at least when it comes to a low-level cultivator who is a servant, a good deed done towards him without trying to gain his gratitude is enough to earn his respect, and for JZX to take action to raise the standing of that person:

Cleverly, the woman never acknowledged anything, but instead denied it ambiguously, her cheeks flushed, making it sound as though she was the one who did it, but didn’t want Jin Zixuan to know how much trouble she went through. And thus, Jin Zixuan didn’t force her to admit it any longer. However, in action, he had began to respect the cultivator. He began to pay attention to her, even raising her from a servant to a guest cultivator.

JZX even tells JYL: “Don’t think that just because you come from a powerful sect that you can steal and trample other people’s feelings. Some people, even if they come from poor backgrounds, their character are much better than the former’s. Please watch your conduct.” This underlines that, regardless of his upbringing, and perhaps even views that he might have held at some point in his life, at this point JZX seemed to want to judge others based on their character rather than their background. Of course, we can wonder if that reserve of good will would have extended to his half-brother, especially one that could try to take his place as the heir. However, considering the circumstances, from JGY’s birth to JGS’s decision to give him a name that did not align him with the same generation as JZX, we can wonder if anyone ever perceived then JGY as someone who could potentially become the next sect leader, as seen in this exchange between WWX and JC:

Jiang Cheng smirked, “Don’t carry your sword, then. It doesn’t matter. But don’t provoke Jin Zixuan from now on. He’s Jin Guangshan’s only son, after all. The future leader of the LanlingJin Sect will be him. If you beat him up, what should I, the sect leader, do? Beat him up with you? Or punish you?”

Wei Wuxian, “Isn’t Jin Guangyao here now? Jin Guangyao seems so much better than him.”

Jiang Cheng finished wiping his sword. After he scrutinized it for a while, he finally put Sandu back into its sheath, “So what, if he’s better? No matter how much better he is, no matter how clever, he could only be a servant who greets the guests. That’s all there is to his life. He can’t compare with Jin Zixuan.”

At Phoenix Mountain, while we do not see JZX say anything out of line to JGY, he is present while his mother and Jin Zixun disrespect him: and we get no reaction written for him while that takes place--he’s mostly licking his wounded pride. We also know that this disrespect by his family towards JGY was the norm, so we have to assume that JZX would have been a witness to it in other situations. In the context of that specific scene, it’s difficult to to infer something concrete from that silence: is it agreement? complicity? a certain indifference to JGY’s situation? an unwillingness of rock the boat or to seem to publicly challenge his mother? or simply him just being too self-absorbed by his romantic woes?

The next scene that would have made for an interesting case study is the night WWX comes to confront the Jins about the camp at Qiongqi Path. However, JZX is absent that night. Conveniently, or as a means to maintain a sense of ambiguity between him and WWX, we thereby do not know how JZX feels about what happened. He is also absent during the aftermath: “At midnight, in the Golden Pavilion on JinlinTai sat over fifty sect leaders from sects of all sizes. Jin Guangshan sat in the foremost seat. Jin Zixuan was away [...].” (interesting that CQL added JZX to that scene). Which means he is not there to react to the mistreatment of JGY by others or to react to the way JGY is clearly lying for the purposes of manipulating the general opinion on WWX and save the Jin’s reputation.

We also do not get to witness the conversation that leads JZX to come to Qiongqi Path to try to stop Jin Zixun. All we get is a sentence of dialogue from JZX explaining that he thought JGY looked strange which prompted JZX tp questioned him questions (we of course know that JGY was purposefully acting that way to get JZX to go to Qionqqi Path, so it’s hard to take that as a sign of clear familiarity between them that would have allowed JZX to read hidden emotions from him). Did JZX ask out of specific concern for or suspicions of JGY? We don’t know! It is interesting to note though that, in this scene, Jin Zixun refers to JGY as “A-Yao”, which the narration contextualises by telling us that Jin Zixun started calling him in a more intimate manner despite the original contemps he had held for him. However, when JZX mentions JGY to Jin Zixun, he calls him “Jin Guangyao” (for reference, Jin Zixun calls JZX “Zixuan”).

All in all, we get very little from looking at JZX. However, there is something to be said in the absence of any specific grievances expressed by JGY towards him in terms of framing how JZX may have acted towards him when they were both at Jinlintai. Indeed, when Jin Ling asks JGY why he arranged for his father to go to Qiongqi path, meeting his death, JGY mentions the unfairness of the situation of both sons, but never brings up anything JZX did specifically to him. And we know that JGY has a great memory which allows him to hold grudges.

Suddenly, Jin Ling screamed, “Why?!” He stood up from beside Jiang Cheng. Eyes red, he rushed toward Jin Guangyao as he shouted, “Why did you have to do this?!”

Nie Huaisang hurried to pull back Jin Ling, who seemed as though he wanted to fight with Jin Guangyao. Jin Guangyao returned the question, “Why?” He turned to Jin Ling, “A-Ling, then could you tell me why? Why is it that even if I face everyone with a smile, I might not even receive the lowest form of respect, while even though your father was extremely arrogant, people flocked to him? Could you tell me why we were born from the same person but your father could relax at home with the love of his life playing with his child, while I never even dared be alone for long with my wife, shivering out of fright at first glance of my son? And I was ordered to do such a thing by my father as if it was natural—to kill an extremely dangerous figure who could flip out and conjure up a bloody massacre with his corpses anytime!

“Why is it that even though we were born on the same day, Jin Guangshan could host a grand banquet for one son, and watch with his own eyes how his subordinate kicked his other son down Jinlintai, from the first stair to the last!”

He finally revealed the hatred hidden deep within him. It wasn’t directed at neither Jin Zixuan nor Wei Wuxian, but rather his own father.

As a result, we might infer that, at the very least, JZX never directly acted towards JGY in a way that reflected how JGS or Jin Zixun (at some point) treated him. At the same time, it’s difficult to suggest that he stood up for him when other people disrespected him, and we know that JZX’s mother disrespected JGY in lieu of directing her anger toward the real culprit, her awful husband. Little seems to suggest that they grew intimate after JGY came to Jinlintai. It’s really hard to divine, as a result, what JZX might have thought of JGY.

The most interesting thing to take away from this is that it seems absolutely deliberate on MXTX’s part to show us as little as possible in terms of interactions between JZX and JGY. We can speculate as to why that is: to separate JZX from the machinations of this sect? to avoid giving us more ammunition to guess that JGY was behind JZX’s death? to ensure that WWX remains ambiguous towards JZX? or just as a means to avoid having to figure out how to work this dynamic into already complicated scenes and character relationships? etc.

#mdzs meta #mdzs #jzx #jin zixuan #jgy #jin guangyao

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house-of-galathynius · 3 years

Text

Only You ~ Rowaelin

A Rowaelin fanfic, set if Aelin’s parents had lived and she had met Rowan under normal circumstances, if Erawan and Maeve weren’t threats. Hope you enjoy!

I would also like to apologise for how long it has been since I have updated this! I have been busy moving and also been having a bit of a bad time mentally and lost a lot of motivation to write. But I’m hopefully back and will be updating more frequently from now on!! Thank you for all being so patient and I’m sending lots of love to everyone who is still reading <3

@jesstargaryenqueen @sailorsassley @sjmships @tomtenadia @endlessdaydream @aflickeringsoul @tillyrubes10 @fredweasleyhasadhd @rowaelin-cressworth @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @rowaelinismyotp @rosegoldannie @maryberry @viajandosinalas @becarefuloflove @allthebooksunderthemoon @sheharahu @swankii-art-teacher @superspiritfestival @becarefuloflove @tanvee1231 @viajandosinalas

Chapter Seventeen ~ Heavenly

Chapter Sixteen ~ Chapter Eighteen

Aelin scrambled off of Rowan, practically diving to the floor to retrieve her clothes that had been thrown there. Rowan did the same, fumbling to the side of the bed to pull on his pants.

Her heart was beating a million miles an hour as she hurried to dress and place herself on a chair near the window. Rowan strode to the desk and sat himself back where he had been and finally answered.

“Come in.”

A young male hesitantly stepped into the room, Aelin grimaced as she realised what it must smell like in here. Not only that, but the scent that her and Rowan must be giving off.

“A letter arrived for you from Doranelle.” He moved across the floor to hand Rowan the letter. Quickly retreating back to the door to bow and hastily exiting the room.

Aelin let out a sigh and readjusted her blouse, straightening it up slightly and pulling her tangled hair over a shoulder.

Neither of them said anything, Rowan silently reading the letter.

Aelin didn’t know what to say to him. What had happened was unexpected, after the conversations she had had with Rowan about this exact thing… she shook her head slightly.

Aelin had lost control and Rowan wasn’t able to help himself either. The fact that they had managed that long without getting that far was a surprise in itself, Lysandra had said as much a couple of weeks prior. Exclaiming to Aelin that most newly mated pairs would hide themselves away for weeks, even months, to get the rawness of the mating out of their systems. Aelin had to then explain that it wasn’t that neither of them didn’t want to go there… but that there were rules and etiquette in the royal family, and they couldn’t be ignored because of a mating bond. Although when had that ever stopped her?

Aelin was brought out of her thoughts when Rowan cleared his throat and stood from the chair.

She hesitated slightly before speaking. “Is… is everything okay?”

Rowan nodded. He held the letter in his hands, his face furrowed slightly.

“It seems there has been some unrest in Doranelle, a few groups who had supported Maeve are causing trouble.”

Aelin nodded. “Do you need to go back?” She stood from her chair, stepping towards him. “I’m sure we can postpone everything.”

Rowan shook his head this time. “I’ll have some of the others go to check. I’m needed here.”

He made towards the door, Aelin grasping his hand before he could walk away completely. “I’m sorry… I know you wanted to wait until we had made everything official.”

Rowan shook his head slightly. “Can I be honest?”

Aelin let her grip on his wrist fall and nodded once.

“Your father and Orlon asked me not to let things go too far.”

Aelin was the one to shake her head this time. She stood there speechless for a moment before returning her gaze to Rowan.

“Did they say why?”

Rowan shrugged. “They were just concerned about the image of the royal family.”

“The image?” She blew out a breath. “They’re— we are mates!”

“I know. But I wasn’t about to argue with the king and your father.”

Aelin huffed. “It’s stupid.”

Rowan pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her and placing a kiss on her head. “I know, Fireheart.”

“We’re okay?” She murmured into his chest.

“Of course.” Rowan let her go and stepped back into the hallway. “Don’t forget dinner this evening.”

She smiled lightly at him and nodded as he strode away.

Aelin loitered in his room a moment longer, collecting herself before she headed down to the library. It didn’t give quite the same comfort as what being at Sam’s had given, but it would do. She breathed deeply, taking in the smell of the old dusty books that lined the shelves. A fire crackled away in the background and a warmth spread through her.

It felt like an age since she had been in here properly. When she had been with Sam she had not needed to come in here, nor had she wanted to… the librarians were still unsure of her after the accident in the Library of Orynth. Despite her many apologies and gifts of rare books from the continent, they had shunned her and made a point of not wanting her here. Although, in their defence, they had eased up in the last couple of years.

Aelin found a corner, close to the fire but hidden from anyone entering the library. She had piled some books into her arms as she had walked through the towering shelves and snuggled down into a leather armchair. She didn’t immediately reach for the books, instead she let her head fall back against the chair and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the librarians shuffling around, the crackling fire and the low howl of the wind from outside.

Her mind wandered a little. It was a little jarring how much had happened already today… first Lysandra, then Sam and then what had happened with her and Rowan.

She didn’t regret it. In fact, she felt relieved that he had wanted her as much as she wanted him. But she knew that he would be kicking himself for letting things go as far as they had, especially as it had been the middle of the day, in a bustling castle where she had no doubt people would be able to hear or scent what was going on. Still, she felt oddly relaxed… and excited. In one week she would be alone with him for real, and there would be no one to interrupt them.

But as her mind thought of her aline time with Rowan, she started to think of Lysandra and the position she was now in. Things had been so hectic that Aelin hadn’t thought of what the future would now look like. If things went well, Lysandra could very well be engaged to Aedion, they would likely move into one of the private houses nearby and raise their family. Aelin didn’t want to think of what could happen if things didn’t go well.

And then in one week she would be officially mated to Rowan. In less than three months she would be married.

Aelin was surprised by the shiver of anticipation that ran through her at the thought of being a wife. She had of course known that one day she would be married… but to be married to her mate, her soul-bonded— it brought a whole new element to it. And to know that he would be by her side through whatever difficulties came their way— it comforted her in a way she could not explain.

Aelin must have dosed off as she woke to someone lightly tapping her shoulder. Aelin blinked, adjusting to the light.

Orla, one of her ladies in waiting was loitering in front of her.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but Prince Whitethorn asked us to help you get ready for dinner. The time is fast approaching.”

Aelin sat up in the chair, unfurling her legs and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She glanced to the window on the other side of the library and noticed the darkened sky. She had been asleep for much longer than she thought.

She stood from the chair, feeling guilty that she would have to leave the books for the librarians to clear away. She mentally reminded herself to return tomorrow with baked goods for them.

Aelin followed Orla through the palace, winding up the stairs and into her rooms. Several others waited for her and they immediately pulled her down into a chair, brushing through her tangled hair. She didn’t protest when they dabbed some red onto her cheeks and some tint to her lips. She silently dressed in a velvet gown of deep blue, her sleeve ends rounded with gold. The dress was beautiful and one she had not seen in her wardrobe before. She mentioned it to the girls helping her.

“Prince Whitethorn had it delivered from the seamstress in the city.”

Aelin smiled to herself. Rowan was full of surprises it seemed.

She stared in the mirror, smoothing the dress and admiring the way she looked. She supposed she should get used to dressing up more— with a mating ceremony, a wedding, and not too long away a coronation, her coronation.

Orla came to stand beside her, smiling at Aelin. “Beautiful as always.”

Aelin nudged her. “I could never look this nice without you.”

They both turned when the door clicked opened and Rowan strode in. Aelin felt her stomach do a flip as she took him in.

Dressed in white shirt and black pants, his jacket matching the colour of her dress, he looked… princely. Which was a good thing she supposed, as he was in fact a prince. It took her a moment to regain her thoughts. She had only seen him dressed like this when they had first met, his usual attire being lose tunics and grey pants— clothes for comfort.

“Are you ready?” He was smiling at her as he spoke. The way he was looking at her set her alight— his easy smile and wandering eyes that were taking her in. She felt beautiful.

Aelin stepped forward and linked her arm through his own. She turned to smile at the girls behind her, who were grinning from ear to ear as they waved her and Rowan away.

The hallways were silent as they meandered through them. The only sounds coming from their footsteps and the howling wind outside. Aelin would always be grateful for her fire during the winter months, never having to go cold was a blessing.

Rowan did not speak as they made their way to what was normally the morning room. Rowan slipped his arm out of her own, his hand squeezing hers as he stepped to the doors.

“Lysandra warned me you might laugh… but I’m asking you to reserve any snarky comments until later.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “I promise not to laugh.”

Rowan gave her a hesitant smile back, but opened the doors.

Aelin could have cried— either from the overflowing amount of love she felt for Rowan in that moment, or utter bewilderment.

The room which was usually plain and frankly, rather boring, had been transformed. The long dining table that took up most of the room had been replaced with a circular one, covered in a light linen cloth. Atop the table were candles and a bottle of what looked like a fine Terrasen wine. It didn’t end there; candles were dotted around the room too, flickering lightly, whilst vases of winter flowers bloomed on the end tables.

Aelin turned to Rowan. He stood behind her, his cheeks slightly reddened, but his eyes on her. She shook her head slightly, going back once more to gaze at the scene before her. Never in her years had she had a partner do something like this— not even Sam.

“Do you like it?” Rowan rested his hand on the small of her back and led her further into the room. He pulled her chair out and guided her down.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I recall promising you dinner in the city. But with the weather and everything with Lysandra… I thought staying here was easier for now.”

He took the bottle of wine and poured her a glass.

“I know it isn’t much—“

“It’s perfect. You don’t need to explain yourself, this is utterly perfect.”

A couple of the fae that worked in the kitchens scurried into the room and placed a plate of what Aelin only hoped were the traditional Terrasen delicacy. Small pastries filled with herbed meat and potatoes, drizzled with a heavenly sauce.

Aelin thanked them before they ran off again.

“I don’t know if I mentioned how beautiful you look?”

“I think it may have slipped your mind.” She laughed and took a sip of the wine, letting the alcohol warm her. Rowan followed suit and they sipped in comfortable silence for a moment.

Aelin set her glass back on the table and admired the room once more. Noticing new details as she did; like the chess set positioned between two armchairs, a bottle of whisky placed just behind it.

She turned to Rowan. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

Rowan chuckled lightly following her gaze to the whisky and shook his head. “I just asked Lysandra if she would give some suggestions. She said it was your favourite whisky to drink.”

Aelin gave a hum in response. “I think I’m going to go see Lysandra tomorrow. I’ve got a couple of meetings with various people and then my mother wants to have lunch to discuss wedding preparations.”

“I should probably see Sellene tomorrow. She’s been asking after me and I’ve been putting it off. I should also check that everything in Doranelle is fine… the message from Fenrys this morning was worrying.”

Aelin saw his shoulders sag, his brow furrowed as he thought.

“If you need to go back, we can arrange something.”

He shook his head. “I have some… friends, I suppose, who I can call on if things get worse. I need to be here.”

Aelin studied him a moment before responding. “Doranelle is still your home, I won’t make you stay here.”

Rowan took a long sip of his wine, twirling the dark liquid in his glass a couple of times before he swallowed. “I don’t miss Doranelle if that is what you’re thinking. I simply do not need to be there right now.” Another sip.

Aelin narrowed her eyes. “There’s something else. What is it?”

Rowan narrowed his eyes right back at her, earning a smile from Aelin.

“You’re going to laugh at me.”

She placed a hand over her heart as she spoke. “I promise I won’t laugh at you.”

“I can’t leave you. I don’t want to leave you. I’ve said it before, but the first months or years of mating are the hardest and being apart, even just for a day…”

As he spoke she felt the bond unfurl and spread over her, then the tug of that the line between them.

Before Aelin responded, the doors open and the palace staff came in carrying trays of food. They placed them on the table and Aelin listened as they explained what they had brought out. It all sounded mouth-wateringly good, and she thanked the Gods that Orlon loved good food, only employing the best cooks on the continent. She had only ever tasted something better when she had been visiting the Southern Continent, where the food had tasted divine and she left with the desire to return as soon as possible for more. Although many years had passed since she had been there— a trip was overdue.

Still, she dug into the food that had been laid out in front of her. Rowan followed suit; piling roasted vegetables lathered in butter, roasted chicken which was seasoned to perfection, then soft, fluffy potatoes and a thick flavoursome sauce that Aelin poured generously over everything.

Rowan seemed to do the same and the two of them filled their mouths, the only sounds came form the clinking of their cutlery on the china plates and the occasional moan of delight from Aelin.

She had practically licked her plate clean, Rowan laughing at her as she attempted to get every last drop of gravy from the plate.

“If you want more, I’m sure they can bring some up.”

“I want to save room for dessert, but this is so delicious.”

Rowan laughed again, reaching for her plate and stacking it onto his own.

“It’s not very princess like.”

She huffed, but sat up further on the chair and took the napkin to wipe her mouth., whilst also giving her dress a once over to ensure she had not spilt anything on it. Pleased that she had avoided ruining another dress, she placed her napkin down and took a sip of wine.

“What was the occasion for this? I’m not complaining, it’s really wonderful to spend time with you like this… but I’m just curious.”

Rowan shifted in his seat and reached to the inner pocket of his jacket.

Aelin sucked in a breath as he placed a small octagonal box in front of her.

“I know we’ve been doing things a bit backwards.” He stood from his seat and rounded the table to stand in front of Aelin.

“Rowan…”

He knelt down on one knee, one of his hands grasping her own and the other reaching for the box that he had placed in front of her.

“I wasn’t sure how to do this properly. Fae traditions are different from human ones; but I had some help from—“

Aelin interrupted. “Can you please open the box? I am dying to see it.”

Rowan beamed up at her, but did as she asked. He slowly flicked the lid of the box open to reveal a stunning gold ring. The band was intricately engraved with little lines and swirls, all leading to the middle where a raw emerald rested in the centre, encircled by another thin ribbon of gold.

Aelin thought she might cry at the sight of it. At the sight of Rowan on his knee in front of her, presenting her with a ring. She was taken aback.

“The band was my mothers. When I left… after that evening with Sam, I went back to Doranelle and found it amongst my mothers things that she had left for me. I took it to a goldsmith in Orynth to get it fixed, and I added the emerald— Terrasen green.”

“It’s where you went today?”

He nodded. He was still on his knee, still holding the little box open to her.

“Are you going to ask me?”

Rowan looked confused for a moment before he realised what she meant.

“Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, will you do me the greatest honour, and marry me?”

She felt her heart burst at the words, at the promise of their future. She nodded once, and then again and then she slid off her chair, now knee to knee with Rowan.

“Of course I will marry you.” She barely got the words out before she was grabbing his face and placing her lips to his own. “I love you.” Another kiss.

He murmured his love back to her before he pulled away and held her left hand in his. He gently removed the ring from it’s resting place and grinned at her as he carefully slipped the ring onto her finger.

It was heavier than she anticipated, but it was beautiful. She stared at it for a moment, smiling.

“So this was the occasion.”

She admired the ring for a few seconds more before the two of them relocated to the armchairs in the corner of the room. Rowan poured them both a glass of whisky and Aelin savoured the taste as she sipped on the dark smokey liquid.

“In all honesty, I had not thought about doing this. Like I mentioned, Fae traditions are different and most couples will never marry in the human sense. And mates will usually just have a ceremony for the mating. Many feel that marriage feels insignificant in comparison to the bond.” He gazed down at her hand, which she had purposely rested on the arm of the chair, showing off the ring.

“I thought you said you had been married?”

Rowan thought for a moment. “In a sense, yes. But it wasn’t quite as official as what humans do.”

She was silent a moment. “We’re technically already engaged, you didn’t need to do all this.”

He sighed quietly. “I didn’t think it was important either. But Lysandra gave me a lecture about how it was important you knew I wanted to marry you and that I should honour the human side of you by proposing properly— even if we were already engaged.”

Aelin huffed a laugh. “Typical Lysandra.”

“She was right. There’s something quite satisfying seeing that ring on your finger.” He grinned at her.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “You Fae males are insufferable.”

“But unfortunately you’re stuck with us.”

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