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untaemedqueen · 1 year

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Finding My Pack

Alpha!OT7 x Omega!Reader

Genre: Fated Mates, Omegaverse, Smut, Angst, Fluff

Series Warnings: Omega Abuse (Not By OT7), Fated Mates/Soulmates, Scent Sympathy, Sunshine!FMC, Knotting, Smut, MMMMMMMF, MMMF, MMF, MF, Breeding Kink, Cursing, Dom!OT7, Sub!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Omega Abuse

A/N: This will be the only chapter posted to Tumblr. All future chapters can be found on Patreon~! See you there!

Chapter 1.

"You do not lock the goddamn doors in this fucking house."

The sentence was thick with a growl, one that if I was born correctly wouldn't have mattered in the slightest. Just hearing the sharp hit of his words, my insides clenched and coiled, dying to listen and make sure that he wouldn't be mad at me again.

"Sorry," I whispered softly, looking down at my bare toes that curled awkwardly under my gaze.

"You need to put on your scent blocker and try a little bit harder to fit in here. You're making all your brothers crazy with that fucking smell."

Swallowing thickly, I grabbed the bottle from him with a nod.

If my scent made my brothers crazy, they made me out of my fucking mind with sickness. Every one of them smells like acidic garbage with a hint of overpowering sweetness, y'know, like the way too fake soaps or body lotions you find in those hoity toity stores.

"You're a fucking Pangborn. Please act like it," my father grumbled, wrinkling his nose at the smell of my nervousness. "Jesus Christ. I can't believe your mother made you."

His words were a low blow but nothing I wasn't used to hearing now. Nothing any of the pack said got to me as bad as it used it.

Liar.

Okay, a lot of it hurt but I tried not to think of it all the time. It was my fault, really. I wasn't born right.

To be a Pangborn in Cypress City, you have to be an alpha. The Pangborns breed for one purpose and one purpose only, to give the city more alphas then they know what to do with.

Every Pangborn is expected to be a boy, to be an alpha and to take on the numerous betas that are practically beating down the door for them to be let in. So when I was born, disappointment was ripe in the air. It still is.

A small female omega with no qualities and no purpose.

I'm nothing.

Oh that's fun, what a great thought to have. Even if it hurts, it's true.

Since I was born I've been kept hidden like a secret. There's no fairytale here, there's no pack of alpha princes waiting at the bottom of my incredibly sterile, sad tower. There's no one that cares. Well, maybe Brady and MacKenzie but they pretend I don't exist half the time.

Looking down at the bottle of scent blocker, a sob threatened to well up in my throat.

"Weak omega bullshit." That's what my father would say.

It's so fucking annoying to be different. It's so painful. But the hope that one day I'd be accepted never ceased to creep into my thoughts.

So I sprayed the spray on even though it makes me feel sick.

I could smell him before my door opened. His alpha pheromones were bleeding throughout the long hallway that lead to my room.

He smelled of garbage, lemon juice and the slightest hint of boysenberry. Although the boysenberry is not his own smell. It's a betas.

"Oy!" MacKenzie booms, shoving open the door.

His bright red hair and forest green eyes searched the mostly barren room until he found me in the corner.

"He cornered you again?" he asked softly, stepping into the room like he's witnessing a hurt animal.

"It's okay!" I tried to beam a smile for him but it fell flat into some kind of grimace.

MacKenzie wasn't really my brother, he hailed from the Alban Pangborns so he's more like my very distant cousin but he's pack and that makes him my authority regardless. If he barked at me, I'd end up doing his bidding. Just like all my other brothers do. I'm grateful he doesn't do it but he still could nonetheless.

"You sprayed on the right amount," Kenz praised, giving me a small smile.

The praise made me want to preen, made me want to jump and shout for joy that I did something right but I kept it locked tight within me.

"You'll be pleased to know that your father and some of the others are going on a business trip soon. It'll just be some of us left in the house. You won't have to smell all this alpha shite around, you ken?"

His thick accent made me smile then. When he first came over from Alba I had not a fucking clue what he was talking about but now it almost feels like a secret language we speak.

"I ken," I nodded, setting the spray down on my dresser.

"Just wait a while to come down to get your dinner. The boys and I have been having a beta fucking feast," he wiggled his eyebrows and left the doorway without so much as a goodbye.

I wish I was a beta.

No, actually, I wished I was an alpha. I wished I was born an alpha so that I didn't have to be a disappointment and left out of everything.

Sitting down on my bed, I fluffed the uncomfortable comforter around me to no avail and since I know I'm alone I let out the most pitiful of whines. Whining wasn't allowed. My father told me that alphas hate whining more than anything.

Once I whined during dinner with the Landons and their alpha son looked like he wanted to tackle me from across the table. It was the one and only time I was able to go to dinner with my family. They never let me go again.

I apparently ruined their business merger dinner.

My family made a fuck ton of money. Too much money to count on your fingers, not that I'd ever see a cent. I wasn't worth a dollar to them. They own a vast majority of land across the globe, mostly farms or patches of free wilderness that people are begging to buy from them.

If only those vast patches of land would be able to buy me a soft comfortable comforter. This one is rough and itchy and I don't like it. I don't know much about being an omega but I do know that I don't like the blankets I own.

You see, omegas are rare. Like one in one hundred is an omega rare. Somewhere in history omegas just became a rarity and as such they're terribly hated.

Whenever I tried to ask the pack any questions they all shut me down with a growl and told me to go back to my room.

"Y/N!"

My father's bark was sharp and I tightened my terribly uncomfortable blanket over my shoulders at the noise.

If they are having a beta party downstairs I most certainly wouldn't be welcome to interrupt it. All the beta females that came into the house hated me. I tried to be friendly and smile, tried to make friends with other girls but they didn't want anything to do with me.

Probably feeding into the whole hate omega-kind thing, huh?

When my father shouted my name again, I had no choice but to get up. It was an alpha command now, filled with bite and fury.

If I saw one bare tit I was going to lose my goddamn mind. I'd been having these awful urges these past couple of months. It felt like something was boiling in my gut and itching beneath my skin, just begging to get out of me. What it was, I wasn't sure but it feels fucking awful and devastating just the same.

When I was starting to run a fever, my father would give me a few pills and lock me up in my room until the fever had passed and I was able to carry on with my chores.

My feet took me without thinking. The large home I lived in with the twelve others in the pack passed by in a blur. I tried not to look up from the wooden floorboards, I really didn't want to see anyone mating out in the open like I know my brothers loved to do.

I could hear the audible moans of the betas, probably in various states of undress all around me as I made my way to my father's office.

This had always been my home but I'd always felt like a stranger here. It's not just because my family wasn't welcoming, it just felt wrong. Nothing in this place is where it should be. The pictures on the cabin-like wooden walls weren't at all in the right order, the couches in the sitting room weren't staged properly, even the wood that goes into the fireplace smells horrendous.

Everything about this place made me feel sick.

That includes my father's office.

Once I stepped inside I was immediately smacked with pheromones, ones that made my stomach roll with nausea. I wonder if that's how everyone felt. I wonder if betas got nauseous with their families too.

My eyes scanned the room which was terribly out of order and then they caught on the one picture that sat on my father's desk.

It was her.

My mother. Whom of which I've never met. She was a beta that my father never bonded with but got pregnant anyway. He loved her…I think. But when she had me and I was an omega she was disappointed and left me here. She left me here alone. With these people.

Family.

She left me here with my family.

I hadn't realized I whined until my father cracked his hand down on his desk with a fierceness. "What did I say about that shit?!"

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"Not that she ever does, eh?" my brother Riley laughed, elbowing me in the ribs as he passed.

Riley was an interesting case of smells. There's the cedar which makes sense because he spends a lot of time outdoors, there's the sharpness of spearmint like a powerful gum that makes your nostrils burn and…boysenberry?

He and MacKenzie have been sharing again. Definitely not uncommon for those two.

"Close the doors. She's gonna scare all the betas away. I'm not waiting another round for Hunter to have an alpha son of his own."

"Keep the lineage alive." That's the pack motto. What a terrible fucking bumper sticker that would be.

I stood there, looking down at my toes as my father and Riley talked and laughed with one another. Probably forgetting I was even in the room. Which happens sometimes.

"Alright, little O?" Kenz cheered, entering the office.

"Don't call her that," my father snapped, finally remembering I was around.

MacKenzie held his hands up in a gesture to soothe any frayed nerves and he sat down with a groan on the couch closest to father's desk.

"Y/N," my father began, not even offering the kindness to look at me. "Your brothers and I are going on a business trip outside of the city. Some of your brothers, like MacKenzie, are staying back because they have a dinner meeting at the house while I'm away."

My head lifts in surprise. Will I be allowed to go?! Can I eat dinner with my brothers?!

"There's many alphas in the pack, we can kill two birds with one stone. This business meeting is incredibly important for us."

My smile was megawatt and I nodded instantly. "Sure, of course! I can–"

"You can," my father interrupted with a sneer. "Make sure you stay in your room, take your pills and keep your scent blocker applied when the Euphoria Pack comes to the meeting. This contract will be our biggest one so far and I will not have your omega bullshit fuck it up for the rest of us. Do you understand?"

The disappointment and sorrow that swirled through me almost knocked me off my feet. "Oh, I see… I understand."

"See that you do. I won't stand for losing this deal because you couldn't handle yourself."

God, I wanted to curl up and die. I'm so pitiful. What a fucking waste. I wish I was never born an omega.

Trying to bury whines and suffering hurt sometimes and in this instance it felt like a red hot poker was shoved down my throat.

"She stinks like sadness," Riley chuckled, shaking out his long brown hair and looking me over with disdain dripping from every pore.

"Lighten up, brother. She's only human," Kenz laughed, stepping in front of me and waving his hand behind his back.

Get out.

That's what he was telling me.

"Dinner will be brought up to you. If you're feeling hot then take your pills. We're leaving in the morning and we won't be back for a few weeks."

Oh, thank God, I could do without seeing my father and half of my brothers for weeks on end. Maybe finally I would be able to walk around without getting yelled at.

Three days of the freedom I thought I would be acquiring went by too fast. I'd been left with my brothers that were the easiest to deal with. Brady, Ronan, MacKenzie, Dash and Hunter were, of course, the easiest to deal with because they never nagged me and they were always too busy fucking betas to really give a shit what I was doing.

The house stunk of sex and carefree fun but more importantly it smelled of my freedom. I was able to go out in the garden to read, to sunbathe, to smell something that wasn't garbage. It was heavenly.

I'd seen flowers I've never seen before, ones that weren't there the last time I was in the gardens. Apparently Leticia, one of the pack chasers, suggested sprucing things up. When I suggested it to my father I got sent up to my room with no dinner and pills because I was acting 'out of order.' I'm a person not a goddamn machine. How could I possibly be out of order?

But now with the three days of freedom gone, I'm once again left up in my room without a single thing to do. Defiance curled in my bones and I narrowed my eyes at the white little pills on my bedside table.

My father wasn't here, he wouldn't know if I took them or not. I'd rather get a fever then take them and feel even sicker than before. Those pills made me nauseous and I felt like reality was so far out of touch that I'd never get back to it. I did end up spraying the scent blocker, though. Just one little spritz, just enough to save the visiting alphas downstairs from my monstrous odor.

They shouldn't be subjected to a disgusting omega. An embarrassment to the family.

The sprawling cabin estate was large before our eyes but it pales in comparison to the mansion we just created on the outskirts of the state.

"I don't like the smell," Jin murmured to us.

The smell was honestly horrific. These alphas seemed to stew in the scents of sex and their own pheromones. You could smell the female betas like they were throwing out a wide casting net to repulse everyone around them.

"Why the fuck did we agree to this?" Taehyung grumbled, folding his arms.

"Because although they're disgusting, they're rich as fuck and they have the land we need to start up the center," Namjoon replied evenly, fixing his tie.

I couldn't seem to take my eyes off the enlarged wooden cabin in front of us. That's exactly what it was: a large, gigantic wooden house. It would be almost comical if it wasn't very real.

"I don't even wanna touch the door," Hoseok hissed, taking to kicking the front door insead.

Even in this day and age everyone lives with the one soul purpose of finding their person, their omega but this pack didn't seem to care about finding one. Not with the way their lodgings smelled.

Now, of course, finding an omega that's right for your pack is like finding a unicorn or finding gold at the end of a rainbow but packs do it. Not all the time but enough to keep packs hopeful, at least.

Once the door swung open, a red headed alpha before us smiled widely. "Gents, welcome! The Pangborn Pack is happy to have you!"

Namjoon gave him his typical killer smile and the alpha seemed to relax at it. Our pack leader was all killer charm and easy going… until you fuck with his pack.

The seven of us have only had each other for quite a few years now and our family depends on one another more than most.

"Thank you for having us," Jimin smiled, stepping into the home first.

His eyes bounced around the interior before nodding. Once I stepped into the entryway behind him, the need to look at the inside faded. In the air, apart from the alpha scents were the scents of dinner and something so deliciously sweet that it made my mouth water.

Fuck! What is that smell?!

"Made us dessert?" Namjoon inquired with a laugh.

So he can smell that too.

The scent was warm and sugary like a fresh out of the oven sugar cookie with vanilla ice cream slowly melting on top.

Why the fuck was I about to nut over dessert?

Casting my eyes to Taehyung, I could see him tugging at the collar of his expensive dress shirt.

It was getting increasingly hot in here, that I could guarantee.

The scent was so thick and practically viscous I could feel it wrapping around my cock and tugging sensuously. My knot was two seconds from expanding and the desire to rut until I was sated was pressing indecently on my brain.

"No dessert here, lads. The betas can barely cook a steak without it burning! We ordered out for dinner tonight! Dinnae ken billionaires like you would be opposed to that, eh?"

"Dinnae ken means didn't think," another alpha offered, slipping in beside the redhead. His hair was long and brown, shaggy even with a boyish smile that could probably charm anyone he laid his eyes on.

"That sounds great," Jin replied, unbuttoning his suit jacket and cracking his neck.

Whatever that fucking scent is, it has us all by the balls.

Namjoon gripped his hand into a fist, eyes glazing over all of us. "To the dining room, then?"

"Getting right down to business! I love that! We have betas to look after anyway," Red chortled, wiggling his eyebrows at us.

When the group of us moved with the two other alphas, my heart started to hammer as the smell became stronger.

I tried to temper my growl that wormed its way up my throat but Joon caught it. "I don't know what it is but fuck, I want it so bad," he agreed.

"Alright there, lads?"

"Just have to use the restroom. Would you mind sending me in the right direction?" I inquired, needing to find the words through a thick haze of want.

"Bathroom on the first floor is occupied for the betas. Second floor up that staircase there," Red pointed to the staircase from where the scent is strongest. "Fifth door on the right."

With a nod, I set off trying not to falter and stumble from the exquisite smell.

"We'll be waiting in the dining room. The pack is excited to make this merger," the brown haired man smiled.

Once they were out of sight I took the stairs two at a time, eyes searching for any indication of where the scent came from.

I let my senses guide me. Following the smell took me past the bathroom and past any rooms that smelt of the alphas. Stopping at the end of the hallway, the door before me was completely different from the others. It was metal, almost sterile in a sense. But the scent was there, it was so heady and present that my cock stood to attention.

"Oh fuck," I grunted, shoving open the door and barreling up the stairs.

The hallway I rushed down was bare of anything home-y and it looks like some sort of clinical hospital ward.

The door at the other end suddenly opened in a flourish and the sweetest little thing I'd ever seen stepped out with curious, glazed eyes.

"Omega," I groaned long and low, stepping toward her.

She was the maddening scent. She was what my pack was going crazy over.

"Oh! I'm so… I've never–" the sweet thing whispered, looking me over with hunger.

The perfect woman. Right before my fucking eyes. Those lips, those sweet eyes, that adorable, if not a little scared smile, that fucking body. Built just for me and my other pack brothers.

Mine, mine, mine! Every cell in my body screamed it with frantic need.

"Why do you smell so good?" she whimpered, lifting a hand as if she wanted to touch me.

Please fucking touch me. Holy shit, I was going out of my fucking mind from this perfect little thing.

"What do I smell like, sweetness?" I inquired, stepping closer.

"Like warm hot chocolate and marshmallows. Not like garbage at all!" she gasped, looking up with wide, innocent eyes.

A laugh tumbled past my lips. What an innocent creature.

"Does everyone smell like garbage to you, sweetness?"

"I just want to…" she groaned, a whimper slipping past her lips.

A purr started in my chest, rattling my bones with how thick and heavy it was. Oh fuck, I'd never purred for anyone before.

"What do you want?" I asked softly, holding my hands up to show her I mean no harm.

She gripped my wrist with a dainty hand probably thinking it had a fierceness she didn't embody. She lifted my hand to her soft cheek and my purr started up once more.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized, not taking her eyes off mine. "I know omegas are disgusting. I shouldn't bother you."

The sweet purr she pulled from me turned to a growl in an instant. "You could never be disgusting. Omegas are precious. Didn't your alphas teach you that?"

She stared up at me, eyes starting to brim with tears.

Oh my God, she was everything I could have ever wanted. My pants were so fucking tight, my heart feels like it was gonna combust and I'm pretty damn sure I just met my fucking mate.

"They're not really my alphas," she whispered softly, keeping my wrist close to her nose.

I wanted to take this gorgeous woman and lock her away where no one but the pack can find her. Holy shit, my brain was turning to fucking mush.

"What are they then if not your alphas?" I asked, stepping closer.

When my chest brushed against hers, she perfumed the air for me and another purr ripped from my chest like it was an instrument being played purely for her.

"Brothers, father," she mumbled, lost in a haze of our own making.

"So you don't have a pack of your own, sweetness?" I whispered, coursing my thumb over her cheek.

"No one would want me. I'm useless," the omega replied so softly I might not have heard her if not for her keeping my attention ensnared.

"I highly doubt that, pretty girl. What's your name?"

"Y/N…"

Beautiful.

"I'm Jeongguk. It's nice to meet you, sweetness."

"I can't take it. I can't take it. I can't take it!" Jimin chanted, rushing into the hallway.

The omegas gasp was loud and frightened for only a moment until she laid eyes on the other alpha. I purred for her, watching her instantly relax at the noise.

"This is Jimin. He's a part of my pack. The Euphoria Pack."

"Oh no, I've…I've ruined dinner. My father will be so upset with me," she groaned, sounding not as upset as she probably would be if I wasn't purring up a fucking storm.

"Scent sympathetic. I thought it was like a fucking myth for people like us," Jimin laughed, stepping up beside me.

He didn't seem jealous or upset at all that my hands were on her. We've never tried for an omega, not really. Unfortunately, most omegas wanted us for our money and not for the connection. Not to mention most of the omegas we met smelled so cloyingly sweet that it gave us headaches for weeks. Most omegas wanted just some of us but not all of us and that doesn't bode well for a pack.

"You smell like calming tea and blueberries," Y/N breathed, blinking up at him.

"And you smell like a yummy dessert, sweetheart. How's such a pretty omega like you hidden up here away from everything?"

"Why are you being so nice to me? I'm just an omega," she whimpered, looking between us.

"'Just an omega'? Don't you know your worth, pretty girl?" I scoffed, tilting my head.

She opened her mouth to reply, only to shut it and furrow her eyebrows.

"I want to introduce her to the pack. I think this is it. I think we found our girl," Jimin beamed at me, allowing her to pull him closer.

She seemed to be a needy little thing. One we certainly wouldn't mind doting on. She also seemed completely out of touch with reality and it wasn't just because she was obsessed with our scents.

"Do you have a nest, sweetness? Would you care to show us?"

A nest is very sacred to omegas, it's one of the only places they can find comfort during heats and in times of stress. It was incredibly forward for me to ask but I wanted to know what she liked. I knew my hopes might be high but I wanted to set up the nest in the new mansion how she would like it. Because she was mine. She was ours. She belonged with us.

"I– What's a nest?" Y/N asked, eyebrows pinching innocently.

"Do not fucking tell me you're kept in the dark up here," Jimin growled deeply, his scent turning acidic.

Instead of turning tail and running, she started to… climb him?

She climbed him like a fucking tree. And the good looking bastard was all for it.

One arm snaked around her waist to keep her up and the other ran up and down her back in soothing motions.

She nuzzled his cheek and neck, whimpering and begging for his scent to be all over her.

"Good girl," Jimin cooed, purring for her. "Take what you want, sweetheart. We'll gladly give it."

There were rules to getting an omega, courting before mating and making sure your omega was happy and well looked after. In some cities omegas even went to Help Centers to find their perfect pack but Cypress City had no such thing. That was what we were trying to change. That was why we needed this deal with this pack.

"I don't know what's happening! I'm so sorry! I just feel so…"

"Overwhelmed?" Jimin offered, pulling back to look at her.

She nodded, whimpering and tucking her face into the crook of his neck.

"We need to talk to the pack," I told him, pressing my chest to her back and purring. I drifted the back of my hand over her bare arm and she seemed to thrive on not only praise but physical affection.

"I can't leave her," Jimin hissed over her shoulder, hugging her tighter at the thought of having to part.

"I don't want you to go! Please! I'm so tired of being alone! Please don't go!" she sobbed into his neck.

A growl ripped from my chest at her sadness and I was storming off before I even knew what was happening.

She's mine. She's mine. She's mine.

"Guk!" Jimin called but I was already barreling down the stairs with a fierceness building in my chest.

They kept that precious omega in a sterile fucking ward like she was some sort of disease. She didn't even know what a nest was! It was a disgrace! She'd been abused without even understanding anything!

She's mine!

If one more sob of hers entered my ears, I thought I might burn their oversized camp cabin down and dance on the embers.

Shoving open the dining room doors, I glowered at the pack that sat high and mighty at the end of the long dining room table. Once they saw me and smelled me, they all stood.

"Been wandering around our home, have you?" Red asked with the tilt of his head.

"Stupid girl can't do anything but get herself in trouble!" one of them sneered.

The insult made a growl rip from my throat and they all stared long and hard at me. I wouldn't stand for this. I couldn't stand for this.

"She doesn't even know what a fucking nest is. How dare you all treat an omega like this! This is abuse!" I boomed, widening my eyes at them.

My packs jaws fell open in shock and suddenly they were standing to surround me, to have my back.

"She's scent sympathetic with us," Jimin assured, entering the room with her still cradled to him.

I was happy she liked him. He's far more easy going and carefree then most of us and she'd enjoy his company.

My pack stepped toward her and she cried sweetly at all of their scents. They purred for her and my heart expanded. No one was left out and she locked eyes with all of them. She jumped ship from Jimin to Namjoon and he nuzzled her hair. He wrapped her legs around him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Would you like to leave this place, pet?" he inquired.

“She'll do no such thing!" Red boomed.

When she whimpered at the alpha bite, we growled in defiance.

"You think your bark is bad? Mine was given to me by the devil. If I have to force you to obey, I fucking will. It's the omegas choice. You can't keep her here like a fucking prisoner!" Joon boomed.

"She's not a part of the deal," one of the Pangborn's hissed through his teeth.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she gasped repeatedly, trying to set herself down.

"Do you want to get down, pet?" Namjoon asked, tilting her jaw to look up at him.

She reluctantly shook her head, burying her face back into his neck.

Oh fuck, she's so perfect and sweet.

"Then you stay exactly where you are," the pack leader whispered, giving her his wrist to be able to tilt his head and glower at the Pangborn pack.

"You expect me to pay? For a person?! Are you out of your small alpha minds?" Namjoon bit out, sneering at her brothers.

"MacKenzie… Dad is gonna flip," one of them breathed.

"I'm tired of always having to sneak Juliet around. Just be rid of her. Omegas are nothing but trouble."

Hoseok growled so loudly, something he never does, that it almost made my chest rattle.

"I know you don't know us very well," Seokjin breathed slowly as the other pack continued to argue. "But if you feel safe with us we'd like to take you somewhere you can be yourself and be happy. How does that sound, princess? You deserve much better than this shithole."

"I won't feel sick?" she inquired, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Oh, she's killing me here.

"Do you feel sick in this house?" Yoongi growled, narrowing his eyes at the other pack.

Her nod was slow and sad.

"I'm getting her out of here. Now!" Namjoon boomed, pressing her face into the scent gland of his neck.

She seemed to love being held. We could do that for her. We could give her anything and everything she wants. We could be good for her.

"Give us a million!" Red or MacKenzie called back but Namjoon was already heading for the door.

"Get fucked!" our pack leader growled.

"Wh-Where are we going?" Y/N asked, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

"Home, sweetness," I promised. "We're going home."

#ABO #Finding My Pack #Chapter 1 #Chap 1 #Omegaverse #ot7 x reader #alpha!ot7 #omega!fmc #omega!reader #jeongguk #jungkook #fic #bts fic #yoongi #seokjin #namjoon #jimin #hoseok #taehyung

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a-certain-romance · 1 year

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sharing more housewife reader and making people happy fr

this time we got ladies w dicks to make it more intesting

dehya loves her house wife after awhile of being a merc and not being able to see her housewife and catching her ass in the kitchen she just has to bend you over and pull you head a bit while her dick is deep in you doggy style

then we have candace who would be falling inlove with the scent you bring to her house and cooking and cleaning whenever the villiage needed to be proctected just makes her want to 69 with you just so you cna enjoy her dick while also being pleasured at the same time<3

beidou and house wife reader mean that their gonna be dealing with their drunk wife(beidou) 24/7 beidou apperciaite whenever you take care of her while shes drunk and she loves her hard working wife so hard she hates the fact shes been ignoringnyou for drinks so in the small wave riders she fucks you deep and content letting you cock warm her and move your hips against her to just sob and beg her to just doggy style you instead of driving the boat but you arent lifting a finger till your at the island shes gonna fuck you at

jean and lisa w house wife reader is magical like lisa is very teasing and makes you moan every single time she slowly gropes you however for jean you can lay on her lap for hours being cormftable on her thigh without her knowing sometimes (but she does notice and kinda finds it cute) whenever yohr truly all in the mood lisa is on anal while jean just rubs infront of you so you can slowly suck on her sadly jean is a bit rough she doesnt it mean it tho!!:(( lisa always cormforts her by giving you or a her soft kiss and kissing your tears away whenever jean pounds you they can be so rough sometimes

ngl next is teacher reader and a kid falls inlove w them so jealous jealous jealous!!

A/N: I. Love. Long. Asks. Housewife anon ily & u read my mind I was just about to say u need a name atp! This is the most tags I’ve ever used on a fic haha. Also my tumblr is acting weird and I can’t see the words I pasted so pink font here we go.

Warnings: Smut written by a minor, anal (Deyha)(Beidou)(Lisa), Hair pulling (Deyha), 69 position (Candace), Oral R giving (Candace)(Jean), Confined spaces (Beidou), Creampie (Beidou), Cockwarming (Beidou), Plug w/ cock (Beidou), Spanking (Lisa), Pet names (Lisa:Kitten), crying (Jean), fluff (all)

Link to Pt1, Pt2, & Pt4

- The thing about Deyha is that she’s big

- Rather than shoving it as far as she can she eases into you slowly. And when her front meets your ass she’ll start playing with your clit to pass the time as you get used to the size.

- When she starts to thrust she’ll make you take her cock all the way to the hilt, back to the tip and all the way in again. Every time she moves it touches your inner walls in all the right places.

- Although she starts out gentle she will slowly begin to lose it. It’s been so long since she’s had your sweet cunt wrapped so tightly around her. She just can’t catch a break with being a merc and a bodyguard, so in this moment she just need to fuck your hard

- As your tongue rolls out of your mouth and drool starts to pool down to the marble countertops. She’ll stick 2 fingers down your throat and chide you for making such a mess so as she pounds away.

- You were a spice trader before you settled down in Arue village with Candace.

- Every time you came into her home you smelled like a blend of cinnamon and calla lillies. And now she gets to wake up to that scent every day.

- Your knowledge of spices leads you to always cook the most delicious meals and bake the most flavorful delicacies. Your reputation has made its way across your travels and Candace couldn’t feel any more lucky.

- On the days that a heavy sandstorm hits, you toil away in the kitchen baking batches upon batches of sweets to feed the entire village. You learned quicker that your dishes create a calming affect and it helps those with anxiety over the monsters in the sand.

- She’ll catch you handing them out after the sandstorm dies down and helps hand out the rest. Once everyone’s had their share you pack up the leftovers as Candace showers. Most times when Candace is out fighting for her village you welcome her back with soft sex. Everyone looks up to her for protection, and there’s so much on the line when she ventures out, not fully knowing if she’ll come back in one piece. Having you in her arms makes her believe she can withstand anything that comes her way.

- She’s so worked up this time around. She wastes no time in practically dragging you to the bed. She doesn’t know if she should pleasure you first or the other way around.

- So of course the only option was to set your pussy down on her face as you drop your mouth down to the base of her cock. Candace loves the feeling of your weight on her. It doesn’t matter if you feel you’re crushing her, your closeness is a reminder that you’re safe and sound, and going through all the scars and sandstorms are worth it if it means she gets to protect you.

- You finally let her cock enter your mouth, your thumb running up and down the length of the shaft and occasionally gripping it. At the same time Candace rolls her tongue into you further, and in seconds your cum starts to drip down her face.

- You pull your mouth out when her cock starts to twitch and you know her climax is coming. Ropes of her cum shoot out and paint your face, neck and breasts white

- Beidou drives the waverider far out onto the water but stops halfway to the island.

- You’re confused at first, why would she stop the boat in the middle of the water? She hops out from the drivers seat and pulls you down, now knowing that the reason she stopped was so she can fuck you without any distractions.

- Being in a such a small waverider gives her no other choice but to fuck well and deep, your panting even starts to fog up the windows with how rough she’s being. She doesn’t stop until her hot, thick cum is gushing out of you and dripping down your thighs.

- And she still feels so guilty for choosing drinks over you, so she keeps her dick plugged into you and has you cockwarm her until you reach the island. She just wants to be closer to you for as long as your here with her. Neither of you are fully satisfied, but she doesn’t let you ride her, not yet at least. Beidou knows she’s being a bit rough this time so she’s intent on focusing all her attention on you.

- When you get to the island she abruptly pulls out and guides you (and your wobbly legs) to a nice picnic laid out on the beach, blankets and baskets and everything. And there isn’t even any alcohol, only a sweet Sunsettia and Lavender Melon juice blend that she promises is worth dying for.

- Despite your pleas, she avoids anymore sexual contact until you’ve had your fair share of food and drink. Conversations with her flow freely, but you can just ignore the want between your legs.

- After you both packed up the remaining leftovers, she’ll shove you to lay down with your knees under your stomach, roll down your pants, and take you from behind. “This is what you wanted wasn’t it?” She grunts out, “You were just begging for me to ram my cock into you doggy style barely an hour ago”

- You should get rewarded like this more often

- Lisa’s groping you anywhere, and that doesn’t stop at just your body. No no no Lisa will take any chance to tease you whether that’s behind closed doors or against the Library stacks. It’s all worth it for the small noises you make, like you’re just a tiny little kitten under her.

- When she gets behind you she traces the curve of your ass before delivering spank after spank to hear your cries. Lisa might not admit it often, but hearing you beg really gets her going. There’s just something about your voice that makes her want to hear you reach your limits.

- Jean loves having you around! She’ll take up any chance that has you by her side, doesn’t matter when or where. She’ll tell you you’re cute plenty of times but she wholeheartedly believes that words can’t encompass how she feels about you.

- Jean’s sorry about being too rough with you, she really doesn’t mean it! It’s just that when she looks down on you and sees those needy, teary eyes obediently sucking on her length she can’t help but shove the rest of her cock farther down your throat. You always feel so filled and so content with the both of them.

- But let’s be honest, despite how rough they can be, aftercare with them is heaven. Lisa holds you in her arms while Jean draws a bath. When you all get in the tub Jean massages shampoo in your hair while Lisa sensually washes your body, not ever missing a single patch of skin.

- Lisa is always the he first to get out. Jean kisses every inch of your skin that she can reach as she wipes the suds off your body. When you and Jean finish drying off Lisa has prepared a tray with tea and scones for all of you to enjoy

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aceofwhump · 7 months

Text

Hi everyone! Welcome to my blog!

I decided to make a new pinned post with all the information that is available on my desktop site but that will be more accessible for mobile users. Plus a few extras 😉

So an introduction.

I'm Ace. I started this blog back in February 2018 after seeing a post that referenced the whump community. I had no idea there was such a large community here on tumblr! As soon as I saw that making a whump blog was an option I immediately made one. And I haven't regretted it since. I love this blog, I love this community, and I'm thrilled to be here three years later!

Here on this blog you'll see lots of gifsets both reblogged from wonderful creators and gifs made by yours truly. I also write fanfics on occasion. You can check out my work on AO3 under the name "aceofwhump" or you can look under my tag "ace writes stuff". That tag will have some stuff not on AO3 too. I also do whump lists for certain characters, trope lists, video clips of good whump, and fanfic recs.

Click on the read more for even more information and important links to things like gifmaking tutorials, my trope tag list, my show/movie tag list, my fanfic masterlist, and more!!!

My favorite tropes are:

Emotional: panic attacks, nightmares, insecurities, feeling inadequate, fear, grief, flashbacks, flinching, emotional breakdowns full of sobbing, emotional outbursts, scar reveals, anxiety, self hatred

Environmental: accidents, natural disasters like earthquakes or storms, hit by a car, collapsed building, falling through ice, heat exhaustion, hypothermia, falls, burns, infected wounds from lack of medical equipment, sickness, being unable to breathe, drowning

Small moments: limping, feeling weak and seeking support, breathing through the pain, moving wrong in a way that aggravates the pain, and the sudden seizing of his body, shaking hands, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple because of a headache, taking a moment to close his eyes because he’s light headed/exhausted/has such a bad headache

Sci-fi: space illness, oxygen deprivation, isolation, being locked in the brig, hull of the ship getting damaged, alien attacks

Injuries: broken bones, gunshot wounds, hidden injuries, bruises, beaten, concussions, collapsed lung, slings, casts, crutches, knocked unconscious, blood loss

Torture/Captivity: Being strung up by their wrists from the ceiling, drugged, chained up, caged, tied to a chair, handcuffed to a pole, interrogated

Comfort/Caretaking: hugging, “Are you okay?”, “You’re safe now”, “I’ve got you”, hand holding, helping to walk, ice packs, covering someone with a blanket, a cool cloth on their forehead to help with a fever, a fever check, touching their face to offer comfort

Magic: magical healing that causes pain, draining of powers, powers that are painful to use, curses

Stoic or defiant whumpees

Team whump

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Long detailed look at how I make my gifs

Gifmaking tutorials:

Gifmaking for Begginers: my ginormous all you need to know tutorial

Another look at how I make a gif

Tips for beginners

Tips on brightening dark scenes

How to get into gifmaking

Photoset dimensions

How to make a layout gifset

Gif speeds

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Links from my desktop blog for mobile users:

My gifs

My whump videos

Ace writes stuff

My Writing Masterlist

Trope tag list

Show list

My Whumptober Masterlists

Fanfic Rec Lists

Blog Archive

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Introducing…

ACEOFWHUMP’S FANFIC MASTERLIST!!

This has been a massive, ongoing project of mine for a while now in which I am endeavoring to catalog and categorize every fanfiction I’ve ever bookmarked. I fear this project will never be complete as I'm always reading and bookmarking new fics but I’m going to share it anyway.

Inside, you will find links and summaries to the fanfictions I’ve read over the years on both AO3 and FF.net. Each fic is sorted by the specific whumpee that they center on. So there’s a page for Danny Williams, for Mike Warren, for Lucifer Morningstar, and many many more. The fics are 90% whump with a touch of fluffy ones thrown in too. This list is based on the fics I’ve read and bookmarked so it leans heavily on my favorite whumpees and my favorite tropes.

I’ve been working on categorizing every fic by its tropes (so theoretically you could search for say seizure fics or sick fics) but that’s taking me a loooong time because I have to reread every fic in order to determine what kind of categories to make and to look for the specific tropes. So for now you’ll have to make do with the fic summaries and using the search function. When it’s done, each whumpee will have their specific trope categories so you won’t necessarily find the same tropes in each category but it should help narrow down the fics better once I’m done. This is an ongoing project for me.

The list gets updated all the time so check back in every now and then. There might be something new.

I do take suggestions of fics to add to this masterlist but please keep in mind that it may not end up on the list. It's nothing personal I promise. I just can't add every single fic in the world.

Here's the link (note that it opens best on desktop browser because it is large):

#pinned post #mod post #tags #links #blog links

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haesunray · 3 months

Text

FINDING MEANING — l.dh, s.hb (PREVIEW)

PAIRING: (mainly) haechan x fem!reader, best friend! sung hanbin x reader

GENRE: major angst, eventual fluff, classmates to lovers, super slowburn.

PUBLISH DATE: to be determined.

WORD COUNT: to be determined.

WARNINGS: contains heavy and triggering topics. self-reflection, grief and unhealthy representations of mourning, character death (hanbin), reader goes through grieving process, self-harming behavior and drug abuse. A few sentences in the beginning about weight insecurity, fat-shaming, and weight loss. If any of these topics are triggering for you, please proceed with caution, or skip the fic. You are responsible for what you choose to read. Because this fic has pretty dark and serious topics, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Due to the nature of the fic, it will take a while to get into the Haechan x reader part, so if you’re looking for something lighter, this might not be the fic for you hehehe

SYNOPSIS: you had never been good at dealing with loss. with the passing of your best friend still a fresh wound in your heart, you find yourself alone in the dark, left to pick up the pieces of your grief.

then one day, against all odds, you find something that might just be your compass, in the shape of a boy named lee haechan, who swears he will stand by your side to navigate the storm.

And though the pain in your chest makes you struggle to breathe, he chooses to stand with you under the rubble of your broken world, and he shoulders some of the weight.

NOTES: a good friend of mine passed away very recently and I needed to write something to get it off my chest. Maybe this will help me process my grief, or maybe it won’t. But i found the process of this very therapeutic. I sobbed a lot while writing this, just because the main character is a reflection of how I’m feeling currently. It’s mainly a self-indulgent piece. I’ve experienced so much loss in the past few years, and this is a cathartic piece for me.

(Side note) I’m actually kinda nervous to post this since it’s literally my first fic on tumblr but I hope it goes well!

THEY SAY HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS, and you suppose they are right.

For your home had been left a heaping swelter of smoke and ash, doors torn from hinges and paint scraped from walls. There were no remnants of the solace you once held in your sacred home, now reduced to gunpowder and gasoline, and all that is left is a house that isn’t quite a home, leaving you feeling a stranger in your own house—an alien in your own body—and you can’t help but curse the very person who created that quote because how dare they make you feel so powerless, knowing that you had lost the very one who held your heart, and now you will never get it back.

The irony of the quote is not lost on you. The positive implications; that a home has no bounds, that four plaster walls and a shingled roof don’t fit the criteria. That instead, a home is made of flesh and blood and sweat and tears.

You found your home when you were six. You found him in Mrs. Park’s kindergarten class in the shape of a round boy named Sung Hanbin, with grubby glue stained fingers and paper cuts from the broken origami butterfly he had made you. Your home had a gummy smile and eyes that reminded you of summer days in Busan, and a heart so big, it made your home feel like a castle of gold and ivory. He invited you in and you made it your own, and the origami butterfly was the first decoration you placed on the shelves of your newfound house.

You protected your home when you were ten, earning a month of detention when you used a pair of your mother’s favorite kitchen scissors to cut off Sophie Jung’s long ponytail on the playground after she made him cry by calling him a ‘chubby potato,’ (and at the smile he gave you as you wiped away his tears, you realized you’d gratefully take a year of detention if it meant he’d smile at you like that again).

You’re fourteen when Park Jeongmin spreads rumors about you to your whole grade because you rejected him, and when the whispers start to crawl up your back and dig holes in your mind, Sung Hanbin is there to walk with you and defend your name. He pulled you into his warm, enveloping arms and told you not to listen to the whispers, and yet he was the one who seemed to be stewing in anger. It was the first time you had seen Hanbin angry, and it was the only time he had ever gotten in trouble at school (and after punching Park Jeongmin straight in the nose and getting cleaning duty for the whole spring semester, he told you that he’d do it again if you asked him to).

You both were eighteen when he grew into his body and his beauty finally became noticed by more than just you. You protected him when he overworked himself over and over and over again, when he would run until his knees buckled and his chest collapsed, chasing an unattainable goal built on a road of the insecurities you tried to convince him were his own perfection. You held him when he refused to eat and sat with him when he cried, and you tried to hug his demons away even when they told him he wasn’t trying hard enough. You whispered in his ear that he was worth every bit of love you held and more, that every inch of your home was worthy of being lived in and loved, that it doesn’t matter what shade the walls are or how expensive it was, he was your home and you would never change a thing about it. And that no matter how many people looked at him now that he was conventionally attractive, you had always seen him as beautiful.

It’s New Year’s Eve of last year, and you both are twenty-two and more than a little drunk when you share a kiss. Had you both been more sober, it probably wouldn’t have happened. After all, at a Christmas party a few days earlier you’re sure you saw him ogling the boy from your poli-sci class, Zhang Hao—who had been taking up more and more of Hanbin’s time these days—but yet here he was, the boy who was nothing less than perfect in your eyes, pulling you by your flushed cheeks as the timer ticked down to one, and when the world erupted in cheers as the new year emerged, your ears fell into a calm hush, because Sung Hanbin’s gleaming eyes had fluttered shut and his lips finally met yours.

It was the one and only kiss you guys shared, and yet, despite the alcohol in your system, it was committed to your eternal memory, a vivid painting you had framed and hung in your home.

As the night came and went and the morning took its place, he woke you up how he usually did after a night of drinking; with a cup of coffee, a few ibuprofen, and a plate full of food, and no matter how much you wanted to say something about what happened the night before, you didn’t. And he didn’t either.

Maybe you both were pretending it didn’t happen. Or maybe he didn’t think it was important enough to bring up. Hell, maybe he didn’t even remember it. All you knew was that you were too chicken shit to open a can of worms that shouldn’t even be opened, because you thought it was better to keep your mouth shut if it meant keeping him.

Minutes turned to hours and hours turned to nights. Your calls going unanswered and rain checks from him created a monster inside you named jealousy. He was slipping through your fingers, opening the doors of your house to someone new. You hated the person it made you; hated the person you became. You locked the doors and chained him up. You protected his gold-filled heart because it was worth more than money, worth more than jewels, worth more than anything because he was your home and you couldn’t bear to open the doors to someone he might just like living there more.

Maybe it’s the vile, bitter taste of regret that runs through your veins right now, thinking that maybe if you had told him earlier about how you felt, it wouldn’t have come out sideways. Maybe if you had been less pathetic and scared to let him know, he wouldn’t have walked out the door last night. He wouldn’t have gotten in his car and left. Maybe he’d be in your arms right now, and you’d be joking about how silly Ricky’s hair looked or bickering over what to make for dinner tonight. Maybe if you had said something earlier, an unresolved argument wouldn’t be the last conversation you’d ever have.

They say home is where the heart is, and you suppose they are right. For your heart is ripped out of your chest, artery from artery and vein from vein, placed in the cold, unmoving hands of the boy who you would have died for, and now you’re left with the words you wish you had said, because you could have protected him and you didn’t.

This is your fault. You made him leave.

There’s no recovering from this. There’s no feeling better, because your home currently lies in a coffin, cold and breathtakingly beautiful as ever, and you see yourself lying right beside him because he had taken the part of you that was worth living for. The truth was impossible to reckon with, a bitter pill that you would never, ever be able to swallow down.

Sung Hanbin had died, and he took the world and everything good in it with him.

#haechan #lee donghyuck #nct #sung hanbin #kpop #zerobaseone #zb1 #nct x reader #zb1 x reader #nct haechan #haechan x reader #haechan x y/n

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perhaps-in-anotherdream · 9 months

Text

[CN] Victor’s Luolan Date (Eng Translation)

“It appears I’ve already found the rose from the legend, one that will never wither.”

⌚Warning⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 楼兰之约, that is yet to be released on the global server! ♡

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

【Subbed Video】

[Anika's Notes]: tbh ig the VAs were told to soften their voice 10x than usual for this event LOL. The amount of nonverbal sounds—— 😩 also, since Tumblr wants to reduce my workload LOL and won’t allow more than 30 pics, PLS DO WATCH the video for the god-tier voice acting, new bgs, the bgms and sprite alterations too~💕

youtube

───────

【Transcript Version】

【Chapter 1】

Victor: If you keep crying for any longer, your eyes might become swollen.

MC: [sobbing] The ending was simply too unfair. Who can resist crying…

Through the hazy veil of tears, I see the lights in the living room flicker on.

The time-traveling drama I’ve been following all summer aired its series finale tonight. Victor even joined me in watching the web series together after getting off work.

We were chatting about the storyline just fine, until the final scene when my tears began streaming down uncontrollably––

Upon returning to the present day, the heroine enters Luolan once again, only to discover that the once prosperous city has eroded into the long river of time.

But the rose that the Prince of Luolan had carved outside the palace walls still blossoms on the crumbling ruins, quietly awaiting her for a thousand years.

Victor places a towel, radiating warm steam, over my eyes, gradually soothing my emotions.

MC: Don’t you find it beautiful?

Victor: Carving a rose into a stone is quite romantic. I can understand why you like it.

MC: I see absolutely no hint of being moved on your face…

He slightly furrows his brows in response to what sounded like an odd statement to him.

Victor: You’re not expecting us both to cuddle up and cry our eyes off, are you?

A rather peculiar image flashes through my mind, and I can’t help but burst into laughter.

Victor: Crying one moment and laughing the next. Your emotions are truly fickle.

MC: Precisely. Compared with my vivid and overt emotional display, this audience member’s emotions are too composed.

Victor: The selling point of all time-travel dramas mostly revolves around the theme that love can transcend time and space, with endings that can either be joyful or sorrowful.

Victor: This ending was predictable.

MC: But this series is adapted from the legend of the last prince of Loulan!

MC: Additionally, in the last century, a foreign explorer claimed to have seen flower-shaped carved patterns on the stone tiles at the Luolan ruins.

Victor listens quietly, then turns his gaze to me after a brief pause.

Victor: So, is this why you want to visit the Loulan ruins?

MC: Well, it’s not the sole reason. The legend of Luolan’s overnight disappearance has been widely known as a mystical tale. I was originally–– hang on, how did you know I wanted to go there?

The answer to my question is a document he hands to me. Upon closer look, I realize it’s actually the official permit granting access to enter the Luolan ruins.

MC: Why do you have this document too?

Victor: …dummy, it’s yours. Could they have sent it to the wrong person?

I flip through a few pages, and sure enough, find my full name written in the applicant’s box.

MC: I had just woken up when I filled in the address… I guess I subconsciously thought it would be safer to have it sent to you?

Victor: Sweet talker.

He raps my head.

Victor: But I heard that it’s no longer open for public visits.

MC: Yes, indeed~ Currently, only teams on scientific expeditions or those with permits are allowed in.

MC: The conditions for obtaining the permit are so incredibly stringent. I even tried leveraging all my connections, but still couldn’t succeed!

Hearing my words, he gives me a sidelong glance but doesn’t interrupt my unceasing torrent of complacent monologue.

MC: Luckily, I was able to negotiate a documentary collaboration with the local government and received an invitation for sightseeing~ I even signed multiple agreements to protect cultural relics.

Victor: No wonder a certain dummy’s tail is raised high into the sky; it indeed was no easy feat. However––

Victor: [sulking] You just said you had leveraged all your connections. How come I don’t remember myself being among those connections you leveraged?

MC: Because this was meant to be my Qixi Festival surprise for you…

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 2】

Victor: Is this abrupt emergency break also a part of the surprise?

He pinches up the coffee-spattered shirt clinging to his body and stares at me sitting in the driver’s seat, lost for words.

MC: That pit just now was really too tricky…!

Just a few short hours ago, we landed at Luolan Airport. However, upon arrival, we were informed by the airline that our checked luggage had been delayed in the transit city and wouldn’t be delivered until two days later.

To avoid delaying our itinerary, we agreed to deal with the matter of collecting them on our way back. With that settled, I confidently got into the driver’s seat of the RV, and alongside Victor, embarked on a self-driven journey into the desert.

Yet, as expected, things aren’t as uncomplicated as I initially thought.

Looking at his shirt– practically soaked through and with coffee still dripping from it– I promptly grab some tissues and wipe it off for him.

The next second, my gaze suddenly falls upon the carry-on suitcase on the luggage rack. My eyes light up, leading me to pause in my actions.

MC: Why not take it off and wash it immediately? Although, while waiting for the clothes to dry, it seems like you’ll have to either be completely naked––

Unsurprisingly, as I deliberately prolong the final note, his reaction of furrowing his brows is true to my expectations.

MC: Or you could wear the couple’s outfit I packed inside the carry-on luggage for taking photos~

Victor: It seems like occasionally; one can still count on––

However, as soon as I take out two sets of lavish Western Region attire, his voice ceases to be heard.

The gold-plated ornaments chime with a delicate tinkling sound, aggravating the crease between his brows.

Victor: What are these?

MC: Compared to my dancer’s attire, yours is actually a collaboration with the museum, an exact 1:1 replica of the half-sleeved garment worn by the Prince of Loulan back in the day~

Victor: So?

Seeing that he is unmoved, I extend my hand and point to the sign denoting the “uninhabited area” by the roadside.

MC: There’s no place to purchase clothes around here. If you don’t change soon, that coffee stain won’t come off. And then, regardless of what outfit you wear on the return trip, it’ll end up on the news––

MC: 《The CEO of LFG’s Grand Cosplay Elevates Airport Fashion》 or 《The CEO of LFG Spotted in Stained Shirt - Speculations of Bankruptcy》. Your choice?

After quite a while, he compromises with a sigh, taking the clothes from me and walking towards the bathroom at the back of the RV.

Not long after, the sound of water seems to quiet down. In anticipation, I turn my head––

The soft crimson robe barely conceals the glimpses of sculpted and muscular contours underneath, complemented by intricate gold ornaments that adorn him with an air of regal nobility and grace.

Faced with my unblinking gaze fixated on him, he displays a somewhat unnatural expression, which is rarely seen on his face.

Victor: Why aren’t you changing?

MC: [still busy gaping] What?

Victor: Why am I the only one wearing the couple’s outfit?

MC: Okay, okay, I’ll “accompany” you.

Watching the awkward expression on his face, I can’t contain my laughter and let out a chuckle. Just before his gaze can shoot my way, I hurriedly grab my attire and head to the bathroom.

The desert weather is always fluctuating and unpredictable. Right after I finish changing my clothes, I notice a sudden sandstorm brewing outside the window.

Seemingly catching a sound, his gaze lingers on me for a brief moment, and an almost imperceptible tenderness crests on the arches of his brows.

With the scope visibility diminished, Victor assumes control of the steering wheel, deftly maintaining a steady distance from the swirling sand and wind.

After who knows how long, we finally spot a single-story house coming into view at the end of the yellow sand. Brimming with excitement, I tap the navigation icon to zoom in and get a closer look.

MC: It’s the cultural relics preservation station!

—

Initially, our intention was only to charge the RV. But with the yellow sand swirling around, we find ourselves invited by the stationed personnel, Maizi, to come inside and rest for a bit.

Just as we step inside, a dense mass of sand and stones outside the window surges forward, closing in rapidly.

The sandstorm has begun.

Thoughts of how an entire kingdom was once buried under this very sand spring to mind, and an instinctive fear begins to loom large within me.

The delicate brick house trembles subtly amidst the raging wind, and at this moment, a crisp sound resounds in my ears.

Several pairs of shimmering gold-plated earrings illuminate my dusky field of view. Taking note of my reaction, Maizi places them in front of me.

Maizi: Don’t be scared. Here, we’ve been wearing these kinds of earrings since childhood. They’re like protective charms for children in the desert.

As Maizi speaks, she turns slightly and shows me her earrings. The luster has dimmed a touch, suggesting she’s been wearing them for a long time.

Maizi: These are the ones I made for my kids. If you don’t mind, would you guys like to choose two pairs?

MC: Thank you, but it’s alright.

With a hint of bashfulness, I gesture with my hand and point at Victor’s ears.

MC: Besides, my boyfriend doesn’t have ear piercings.

Maizi: It’s no problem. My eldest son doesn’t have ear piercings either.

With a smile, Maizi offers me a pair of clip-on earrings.

Maizi: Consider them as a wish for your safety and well-being. Take them.

—

As the sandstorm eases up, not wanting to impose any longer, we say our goodbyes and ultimately accept the two pairs of earrings before returning to the RV.

Perhaps due to how terrifyingly unnerving the sandstorm was, Victor doesn’t refuse when I offer to help him wear the clip-on earrings after he’s put the earrings on me.

I take up the clip-on earring and carefully trace my finger over his earlobe to figure out its placement. However, after spending a good amount of time, I still don’t find the ideal position I’m entirely satisfied with.

Victor: Still not done?

MC: Have a little patience. I don’t seem to recall rushing you when you gifted me earrings for the first time~

–

[Tidbits]: AHHH YESSS the call back to their first “kiss” kiss date– “Dazzling Date” 🥺

–

At long last, I find the right spot and fasten the clip. Following this, I can’t help myself and imitate the past actions in my memories, gently cradling his face and leaning in to take a closer look.

The glistening golden pieces dance softly. However, in the next second, a subtle blush at the corner of his eyes captures my attention.

Seeing this, I mischievously continue leaning closer and closer to him. As I catch a momentary hitch in his steady breathing, I deliberately reach out to stroke his earlobe.

MC: Oh gosh, could you be allergic to metal? The corners of your eyes have turned red. Maybe I should take them off…

Before the words fully leave my mouth, I find myself abruptly pulled into his arms.

Victor: They’re on just fine, don’t mess with them.

His arms tighten around me a little more, and I obediently nestle into his embrace, letting the cocoon of safety enfold me.

The swirling underlying tension caused by the dreadful weather finally dissipates, akin to feathers drifting in the air. As drowsiness slowly sweeps over me, I register the sound of my last question being put into words.

MC: Victor, what if we can’t find the remains? What should we do then?

Victor: If we don’t find them this time, we will come back next time.

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 3】

[Anika’s Notes]: While I’ll talk about this later, just wanted to say— that the way we get a mere glimpse into how extreme level of PTSD this man has given MC from the main story like— I’m counting fingers for the number of times she got nightmares when he isn’t next to her— (⁠〒⁠﹏⁠〒⁠)

—

A man sits in solitude beneath the palace walls, gazing towards the east for a long, long time.

He has probably repeated the act of carving a million times before. It seems as if the carving knife in his hand has a soul of its own now, each stroke finding its mark with precision, etching deep scars.

Fresh blood trickles down along the blade’s edge, staining the rose with a blood-red hue. Yet, he appears unresponsive to the pain, persistently carving stroke after stroke.

Only when the red headscarf is lifted by the wind does a familiar face emerge before my eyes.

MC: Victor!

I reach out in a panic to touch him, but a sudden onslaught of sand and wind surges forth, engulfing him in the blink of an eye.

–

Startled awake from the nightmare, I instinctively reach my hand to my side, only to find nothing but an empty space.

Victor is not in the car.

Amidst the boundless silence, a distant chime of camel bells suddenly reaches me. Compelled by the sound, I push open the car door––

The sandstorm has ceased at some point, revealing a sky that’s now crystal clear and brilliantly bright.

The curtain of dusk hangs low, but the luminous moon has already ascended in the vault of the heavens, radiating its brilliance alongside the sun.

Among the endless sand dunes, Victor, attired in exquisite garments, guides a pure white camel through the terrain, advancing his way through the light.

Stretching behind him, across the infinite expanse of Lop Desert, stands several silent, solitary, and enigmatic remnants of ancient civilizations.

The breeze dances by, causing his knuckles to gently clasp the upper garment brushing against his grave and stern visage, setting the accessories on his splendid attire to chime with delicate, tinkling sounds.

Perhaps dazzled by the light, he squints his slender eyes and immediately spots my presence. He appears slightly taken aback, but then quickens his stride as he approaches my direction.

In the boundless landscape, with each step he takes toward me, I feel as if he is crossing through a thousand years to reach me.

The scene from the dream resurfaces in my mind once again, and before I can even fully comprehend it, I’m already sprinting toward him with large strides.

I practically crash into his arms.

Victor: [breathes sharply] Running so fast––

Seeing that I’m breathless and staring fixedly at him without even blinking my eyes, he freezes for a moment. Then, as if realizing something, he envelops me in his arms.

Victor: The Luolan ruins we are heading to are in that direction. We can’t drive there, so I borrowed a camel from Maizi for transportation.

Victor: It was released to wander in the desert, and I needed to go and guide it back myself. You seemed to be sleeping so soundly, so I didn’t wake you up.

His words are extremely slowed, spoken one at a time. Listening to him, rather than an explanation, it sounds more like he is comforting me.

MC: You weren’t here just now and… I had this strange dream.

With his questioning eyes upon me, I feel compelled to respond honestly.

MC: I dreamt that you turned into the Prince of Loulan and were swept away by the sand...

Victor: [sighs with infinite indulgence and helplessness] …

MC: You find this amusing?

Hearing my grumbling, he finally can’t hold back a muffled chuckle, drawing his arms around me a little tighter.

Victor: Have you confirmed it now? – that I haven’t been swept away by the sand?

MC: Who knows, maybe you had gotten swept away! And it was this camel that rescued you and brought you back.

I huff angrily and bicker with him, effectively dispelling the uneasiness that the nightmare had triggered.

However, the camel seems to have caught on something, suddenly swaying its head and coming closer to me.

Momentarily taken aback, I then laugh in spite of myself and reach out to pat it. This gesture seems to act as a signal of some sort, prompting it to obediently lower itself to the ground.

MC: Huh, could it be that I have a natural talent for taming camels?

Victor: It’s more likely a stroke of luck.

As he speaks, he nimbly mounts the camel’s saddle and reaches out to hug me, lifting me up onto it alongside him.

The camel stands up in due course and suddenly leaps into the air, prompting me to let out a subconscious cry of exclamation.

MC: Whoa!

Victor: Hold onto me firmly and sit tight.

After he tugs on the reins, the camel pivots to change its direction and heads toward the ruins.

Probably due to Victor’s presence, I swiftly adapt to the bumpy ride. I even begin swaying my ornaments to create a pleasant sound, echoing in harmony with the camel’s bells.

MC: I feel like I’m a dancer being offered to the Prince of Luolan~

Victor: How come I’m not aware of any dynasty where a prince would rush out of the palace to welcome a dancer?

His teasing leaves me momentarily dumbfounded. It takes me quite a while before I open my mouth to speak, unwilling to resign myself.

MC: I never said the Prince of Luolan is you.

For an instant, Victor seems to stiffen up. When he speaks again, his tone takes on a slight rigidity.

Victor: [sulking] Who is he, then?

MC: …that’s not the important point!

MC: The important point is that you’re the Mr. Husband of my dreams– whom I’ve long set my heart on, and now you’re stealing me away to elope.

Victor: Childish.

A gentle tap lands on my head, and as I tilt my head up, I find myself ensnared by the light of his tender eyes.

MC: You clearly look really happy~

He doesn’t banter any further and only gives a tug on the reins, prompting the camel’s steps to become a bit brisker.

Receding into the distance amid the boundless expanse swept by the northern breeze, the glory and decline, the prosperity and withering of ancient Luolan have long frozen into eternal slumber.

MC: How wonderful!

Victor: What’s got you so moved again?

MC: The weather has cleared, which is wonderful. We’re heading to the ruins without any hiccups, which is also wonderful. But the most wonderful thing is having you by my side, chatting about all sorts of nonsense.

MC: No matter what, everything is wonderful as long as Victor is around.

The jingling tinkle of camel bells accompanies his gentle laughter close to my ears.

Victor: It’s only possible with a certain dummy around.

As the outlines of the ruins become distinct, I turn my head back in exhilaration.

MC: Even if I have to turn this place upside down, I’ll find that stone-carved rose!

His gaze lingers briefly on my arms waving around in excitement, and then he arches an eyebrow.

Victor: It appears crucial for me to remind you that you signed agreements for the preservation of cultural relics. If you do turn this place upside down––

Victor: I won’t be able to save you, even if I were to sell LFG.

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 4】

MC: …it’s all completely weathered away.

As I look at the historical ruins of the ancient kingdom before my eyes, which have gradually been devoured into nothingness by the endless expanse of yellow sand, I can’t resist pouting my lips.

MC: Locating the ruins of the imperial palace itself is akin to a far-fetched tale, let alone finding the stone-carved rose.

Victor: Why are you so hung up on that legend?

MC: Just a bit of anticipation, you know. After all, you see, If I were in that position, I’d surely leave behind some traces for you.

MC: The speculation is that the woman in the tales possessed an Evol similar to yours, which led her to go there. But, due to certain factors, she had no choice but to leave.

Victor: It won’t be the same.

He softly counters my statement, his gaze filled with seriousness.

MC: Hm?

Victor: With me, those factors you mentioned won’t come into existence.

A warm and fuzzy feeling suddenly envelopes my heart. I grin, drawing closer to him.

MC: Guess there’s no way around it. It seems I have no choice but to concede that the legend is, indeed, bogus.

He pauses for a moment, and his lips twitch. But in the end, he doesn’t say anything. Soon, a glimmer of a smile sparkles in his eyes, and immediately after, he tightly clasps my hand.

—

While I’m still in the midst of my puzzlement, a sudden glaring sunlight makes me reflexively squint my eyes. And then, a hot and humid breeze, carrying an exotic fragrance, hits me in the next moment.

After struggling to open my eyes, I curiously peer in the direction of the light, only to find myself frozen right where I’m standing––

Before my eyes lay a quaint-style courtyard adorned with fragrant blossoms. A flowing river winds its way through, its glistening waves reflecting in the sunlight with water that is clear and pristine, hosting schools of fish swimming within.

Compared to me who is filled with utter incredulity, Victor’s expression remains unchanged as if the current sight before us holds no element of astonishment for him.

Could this be a mirage? Puzzled, I gingerly brush the river’s water with the tips of my toes. The cool sensation of the flowing stream leaves me bewildered, prompting me to lift my gaze to the person next to me.

MC: Victor, am I dreaming again?

Victor: Just earlier, didn’t a certain someone say that she wanted me to take her away to elope?

He smiles as he looks at me, and in his eyes, the magnificent beauty and grand scenery of an ancient landscape are reflected.

The lofty dome of the circular palace hall is embellished with ceramic glazed tiles on its overhanging eaves, each detail unmistakably declaring the opulent and prestigious nature of this place.

Atop the roof stands a wooden pagoda reminiscent of those unique to ancient Luolan, and a lush canopy of greenery veils the gray-red palace walls I’ve seen in the drama.

A somewhat daring conjecture surfaces in my mind.

MC: This wouldn’t be the Imperial Palace of Luolan, is it?

Seeing the originator of all this noncommittally raise an eyebrow, I feel my heart tighten and rush to examine him thoroughly, circling around him.

MC: [anxiously, PTSD x2] A-are you feeling any discomfort?

Victor: [?? laughs helplessly. *screams* DO YOU SEE HOW BADLY YOU GAVE HER AND US MAIN STORY PTSD––] Dummy. I’m not that fragile.

Victor: As long as we manage to sidestep the butterfly effect and avoid impacting the course of history––

Probably noticing that I’m tensely staring into his eyes again, he slips my restless hand into his palm and gives it a gentle squeeze.

Victor: Don’t be so anxious. There won’t be anyone else here for the time being.

Hearing him say this, I poke my head out and gaze at the rare and magnificent view that lay before me.

MC: So, can we take photos?

Victor: Ask your phone.

But I soon realize that my phone is entirely frozen on the lock screen interface and is refusing to respond whatsoever, leaving me with no choice but to resentfully lower my hand.

MC: The phone says it’s not possible…

Victor: That being the case, simply keep your eyes wide open and commit it to your memory.

I let him lead me toward the depths of the courtyard, and along the way, we see the flowers bloom all the more luxuriantly. Unwittingly, I find myself mesmerized by the vista.

It’s not until a glazed table adorned with delicacies and fine wines appears amidst the blossoms that I stop in my tracks in astonishment.

–– Everything unfolding before my eyes is gradually starting to align with the scenes from the time-travel drama in my memories.

MC: It turns out that the drama is actually so detailed. It seems that I, who diligently watched every episode without exception, am about to become a walking encyclopedia of Luolan––

From the garden on the other side of the wall, there suddenly comes voices of conversation. I hastily hush and excitedly prick up my ears to listen to their dispute.

However, all that reaches my ears are unfamiliar and garbled sounds, and soon I start feeling my head beginning to spin a little. Once the women have walked farther away, I find I’m already frowning without even realizing it.

Victor: Looks like a certain encyclopedia trained through time-travel dramas is really just a half-filled bucket of water sloshing around.

MC: Says who!

–

[Anika’s tidbits]: HAHA as you guys know, I’ve long stopped explaining the thousands of idioms and intricate phrases Li Zeyan writers use unless they’re absolutely necessary/ crucial– or else my translation notes would be bigger than the content itself LOL– and this is one of those and it’s one of my favs 😂 the full idiom phrase is “一桶水不响，半桶水晃荡” – it literally means while a full bucket of water doesn’t make noise as it is heavy and stable, a half-filled bucket sloshes around– i.e. those wisest among us prefer being quiet and are self-confident, while those who are in the less wise/ smarter group often try to compensate their lack of knowledge/ understanding by asserting that they do~ 💀

–

Displeased with his jest, I swiftly focus my gaze on a copper utensil.

MC: Believe it or not, this was designed for storing spices, and it’s a very rare and expensive item.

I open the lid as I speak, and sure enough, a strong and fragrant aroma assails my nostrils. I can’t help but lift my chin complacently.

Victor: [laughs indulgently] Alright, I underestimated a certain dummy.

I vaguely feel that the aroma is somewhat familiar, so I lean in to take a whiff, and a powerful fragrance of mugwort instantly invades the tip of my nose.

MC: [sneezes] Ah-choo!

I rub my nose and look up, only to find that I have blown most of the scented powder onto Victor’s body, causing his figure to be coated with a drizzle of white.

The next second, he narrows his eyes and swiftly scoops me behind him. The smell of bone-chilling danger subtly spreads through the air.

MC: You’re not angry––?

Victor: Hush.

Looking in the direction of his gaze, I instantly become dumbstruck where I’m standing.

A massive leopard is peering at us from beneath the poplar tree, its face obscured by the shade of the tree, its pupils gleaming with an eerie and chilly light.

MC: L-Leopard…

Victor: [smiling] I’m familiar with it.

Despite being faced with a ferocious beast, this man actually still has the mood to crack jokes!

MC: But according to historical accounts, this should be one of those leopards raised in captivity by the royals and aristocrats. It’s probably quite docile… it wouldn’t eat us, right?

Victor: [still smiling] Being raised in captivity doesn’t mean it has lost its ability to hunt.

Seeing the leopard arch its back, fear grips me so hard that I cling tightly to his arm.

MC: Do we still have a chance to slip away secretly?

Victor: [still smiling] We’ve already made direct eye contact within its territory. Stay calm for now.

Pressing my hand against my wildly thudding heart, I raise my gaze to see it take a whiff of the air and then proceed to saunter leisurely in our direction.

After a while, it approaches Victor and sniffs gently. My heart leaps to my throat, but leaving me stupefied, it actually lays down, its shape reminiscent of a fluffy cushion. It even nuzzles him affectionately with its head.

What follows is a fuzzy ticklish sensation, and I stare in startled shock as the leopard’s tail merrily swishes against my lower leg.

MC: …didn’t we just make eye contact with it? Yet you’ve actually managed to tame it?

I cast an incredulous glance at Victor, while he is staring at the incense burner with furrowed brows.

Victor: This scented powder probably isn’t intended for human application.

The enormous creature rolls over, laying bare its soft belly, exceedingly similar to the way Pudding behaves coquettishly after sucking on catnip.

Victor: It might not necessarily be us who drew it here. This fragrance is not just on me.

It’s only now that I realize a subtle aroma of mugwort is also lingering in the air. Following the fragrance, my eyes land on one side of the path lined with densely grown nepeta herbs. I immediately heave a sigh of relief.

At this moment, the leopard flexes its limbs in an inviting gesture, signaling for Victor to pet it. As I watch his rare expression of being at a loss for what to do, I can’t help but break into laughter.

Victor: [laughs helplessly] …look at what good deed you’ve done!

MC: Being approached by an imperial leopard is a rare blessing that can never be obtained even if one beseeched it.

–

[Anika’s tidbits]: ANOTHER ONE OF MY MOST FAV PHRASES EVER! The term MC uses here is 求都求不来 (qiu dui qui bu lai), which is a play on this phrase: 可遇不可求 (ke yu bu ke qui), which means “can only be obtained (serendipitously) but not be sought after” – which paints the perfect imagery for “destiny, sth/sb being destined for someone”~ and a very important thing to note, which I’ll come back to later. 🥺

–

Likely attributed to my overly bright gloating, Victor curls his fingers as he pinches up a small amount of the scented powder, which he then dabs on my face.

Sure enough, the leopard turns around and nuzzles against me. Seeing that I’m not putting up any resistance, it then straightens itself up and buries me completely in its soft fur.

MC: …ngh, Victor! Save me!

Victor: Nope. This “rare blessing that can never be obtained even if one beseeched it” is now being given to you.

Nudged by the leopard, I’m prompted to draw a few steps back, and as I let out a startled cry and tumble backward, I find myself landing in a soft embrace.

Amused, Victor pats the leopard on the head, and it obediently sits back down on the ground, reminiscent of a docile house kitten.

–

Even as he enfolds me in his arms and sits us both down on the grassy lawn, I remain a bit indignant.

MC: Why does it only listen to you! We both clearly have the same scent.

At this moment, I happen to glimpse at the golden silk embroidery on his clothes shimmering in the sunlight. I then contemplatively look at my own dress, which is somewhat plain.

Victor: You don’t think it’s because of the clothes, do you?

MC: …who can say, perhaps its owner has clothes identical to yours.

Victor: Well, a certain someone must be thinking to herself, “Had I known earlier, I would’ve chosen a fancy princess gown for myself.”

Seeing me choked silly by his spot-on guess of my thoughts, he studies me with even more and more interest.

Victor: [IN THE MOST DOTING AND ADORABLE VOICE EVER] But however you slice it, a certain dummy still looks like a certain dummy.

Disgruntled, I lean closer to the water’s surface to check my reflection. A pouty face suddenly jumps out at me, which indeed is in disharmony with the dancer’s attire.

However, when I turn around and notice the wine cups on the table, an idea immediately strikes me.

I pick up a cup and lean in to bring it to his lips, working hard to make my voice sound soft and enticing as I speak.

MC: Your Highness~

He pauses for a brief moment, almost imperceptibly, before swiftly locking eyes with me.

Victor: There’s no wine in the cup.

MC: …you spoilsport!

Huffing, I sit up straight from his arms and shoot him a glare.

MC: Isn’t it because I’m afraid that if I spill the wine just like I sneezed earlier, it could result in altering the details of the history!

Victor, however, lightly quirks the corners of his lips, pours the glass to the brim with wine, and once again draws me closer to his side.

Victor: What did you want to do to me? Go on.

MC: You…

Before I can fully comprehend why he is being so cooperative at this moment, I feel a gentle force gripping my chin up.

I find myself falling into those serenely deep and unceasingly approaching pupils, and my breathing becomes rapid, beyond my control.

Victor: Weren’t you quite bold just a moment ago?

Victor: Seeing how you’re being so tentative like this, do you want me to teach you how one should drink this wine?

My slightly trembling hand is gently lifted by him with an irresistible force, and the small wine cup is soon raised to the level of my eyebrows and then even higher.

His fingers trace a slow path from my wrist to the palm of my hand, making the wine in the cup ripple, mirroring the swaying of my heart in tandem.

Just as his waywardly mischievous fingers are about to enter between the crevices of mine, he applies a slight pressure. The teetering fine liquid finally spills out, and the cool sensation quietly trickles down my forearm.

Along with the soft sensation, a rush of warmth suddenly washes over me. I stare wide-eyed, completely unguarded, and am rooted to the spot.

That pair of deep eyes, which has been fixed on me all along, makes it clear that he has no intention whatsoever of letting me go.

The scorching tip of his tongue gently licks and sucks on the continuously dripping nectar-like fine liquid, sending a wave of tingling shivers coursing throughout my entire body.

The incessantly rising, delicate sensation of itchiness makes me a bit restless. I have the urge to escape, yet simultaneously, I can’t help myself from pandering to it.

He looks at me with slightly half-lidded eyes, his lips curling up into a triumphant arc of someone getting their way.

Victor: Have you learned it now, dummy?

MC: !

I suddenly snap back to my senses and hastily pull my hand back, tossing the ceramic glazed cup back onto the table as if I were holding a hot potato.

MC: W-What am I learning this for…

Victor: Clearly, it was a certain someone who started it first––

Before the words even leave his mouth, I notice a skylark swooping down. Seeing this, he swiftly pulls me to the side to dodge.

While I’m still amidst my puzzlement, a black shadow suddenly flashes before my eyes. Much to my astonishment, the leopard has scampered into the air to catch the bird.

“Clang” –– the table is abruptly turned upside down by it, sending fruits and vegetables tumbling and leaving the cups and dishes in a complete disarray.

When I see him calmly looking at the spilled wine, as if he’d already foreseen it, I realize where his confidence in pouring the wine earlier came from.

And also, the uniqueness of this “trip.”

Looking up at this world that doesn’t belong to me, I can’t bear to tear my eyes away from the courtyard blooming with vibrant and luxuriant flowers––

The abounding blossoms of crimson pomegranate adorn the trees, while the light purple clovers form dense clusters, and the red lotus stretches wantonly by the riverbank…

MC: I’m still finding it hard to believe that I’m able to see the ancient Luolan with my own eyes…

Victor: So, have you found what you were searching for?

At his reminder, I belatedly recall the original purpose that I had cast to the back of my mind.

After casting a surveying glance all around, I don’t find that rosy color I was expecting to see and can only gaze at him with a sense of bitterness.

Victor: During this period, roses hadn’t been cultivated yet.

As if he can sense what I’m thinking, he explains in a calm tone.

MC: So that means, the stone-carved rose doesn’t exist either… Since you knew this all along, why did you go through such great pains to bring me here?

Victor: Compared to simply answering you whether the legend is true or false, bringing you here to see for yourself is more just.

Victor: In this boundless universe, there will always be a kind of beauty worthy of a certain dummy’s pure yearning.

Only at this moment do I realize that this voyage across time and space is precisely his answer.

MC: You… don’t you think it was quite naïve of me?

Victor: I do. But it’s also a precious trait of a certain dummy, and I think I can help you maintain it in moderation.

My heart suddenly turns into a mush. I settle my gaze on the edge of his lips before lifting my head and kissing him.

The aroma of wine and fragrance of flowers gradually fade away, and I find myself drenched only in his pleasant scent. Amidst our closely interwoven breaths, time seems to slow to a crawl, stretching ever so slowly.

It’s not until the familiar dryness lingers around the tip of my nose that I slowly open my eyes, slightly gasping for breath. What greets my eyes is the view of the endless sand dunes.

Apt to the occasion, my phone starts vibrating and powers up automatically. Only ten minutes have passed.

I feel as if I have just woken up from a dream. I gaze at Victor in a trance, and the rose-colored kiss mark on his lips enters my field of view, making me unable to help the smile spreading across my face.

MC: It appears I’ve already found the rose from the legend, one that will never wither.

In those eyes, brimming with unending tenderness, I see him lowering himself——

Victor: Then, allow it to bloom for a little while longer.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

[Anika’s Analysis & Ramblings]

twitter thread link: ♡

—

#DUMB. I CALL DUMB. THE SHOCK AND CONSTANT PAINED FEELINGS THIS BROUGHT BACK—#DO NOT EVER FREAKIN' DARE CALL ME A DUMMY WHEN YOU'RE THE BIGGEST DUMMY AND LOVE-BRAIN IN THE UNIVERSE #HE IS JUST UGGHHHH i empathize with MC so much like if i were her i too would keep this silly man under 24 hour surveillance like!!!!#mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc #mr love victor #mr love queen's choice #李泽言 #恋与制作人 #love and producer #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc translations

93 notes · View notes

neechees · 10 months

Note

Hello, I’m Ameera a 23 years old Muslim lesbian who is trying to come out, I’ve been in the closet with my girlfriend for way too long, because of how dangerous and hard it is to come out as a lesbian to a religious Muslim family, but me and my girlfriend have decided to do whatever it takes and risk it all to come out, do you mind supporting and encouraging us?, though I know we all have what we dealing with, so I’m not imposing we just need all the support and encouragement we can get, check my pinned post for more information on how you can support, if you are a Muslim queer and you are out, please help with tips on how to make it less complicated, any word of advice is also really needed, we really wanna come out but we need y’all 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ pride please come through for us, I believe pride is for all

Hey I find this blog highly suspicious of being a scam because

This blog has only appeared & existed since towards the end of June, aka pride month. It's common for scammers to pretend to be lgbt and then make up a sob story about escaping homophobia during pride month, or pretend to be Black during BHM, or to pretend to be the victims of a recent event or tragedy. Generally it is suspicious when new blogs suddenly appear with little to no info and start asking for money

There's almost no info or other social media besides tumblr and ko-fi

They have no proof anything that they're saying is true

They literally use stock images in their ko-fi, and the ko-fi was made in 2023

The images they use in their ko-fi background show up in reverse image search & seems to be from a news report of some kind (that below)

#i also dont buy this story because if its so dangerous for you to come out to the point you have to move out afterwards #then WHY would you bother coming out at all #justin's scam list

64 notes · View notes

lovertate · 2 years

Text

close to my heart

hii

it’s been a long time since i’ve posted anything, and i think i went all out for this

this one shot has two versions, this is the sfw one

Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

cw: none, lots of fluff, kinda angsty? ghost misses you, a lot, written from his POV, no specific gender mentioned for reader, no use of “y/n”

not beta read.

also posted on ao3

Ghost’s heart thrums in his chest as he carefully makes his way to the Church. His feet leave hardly any noise as he creeps through the Shadows that litter the streets. Killing those who pose a threat, or are in his way, and sneaking past the others. If they see him, they're as good as dead. He heard one of them say that. As his hand reaches for the wooden door leading through the wall surrounding the Church, he checks his surroundings. No one is following him. Good.

He doesn’t know where the sergeant is. After telling him to run, he did too. He should radio for him soon, he thinks. Just to make sure he’s not dead. He was shot in the arm. Nothing lethal, more than likely just a graze.

The church is silent. Almost eerily so. No Shadows are in sight, or in earshot. Still, Ghost sweeps the place. Starting with the foyer and then moving into the main hall. Clear. He lets out a silent sigh, his shoulders sagging for a moment before tensing up again. He stares at the ornate architecture of the place. It’s beautiful. Before he can think, he’s taking a seat at the end of a pew. He flicks through the stations on his comm device, hearing the Americans call out towards each other on most of them. He finds a silent one, pausing on it and letting his hand fall to the pocket under his tuner.

The church is silent. He tilts his head down, ripping open the velcroed pocket and carefully plunging his gloved fingers inside. He pulls out a sad, worn piece of paper. The flooded edge has gone soft from use, so fragile Ghost fears it will tear every time he handles it. He gently unfolds the paper anyway, both of his hands gently cradling it. His face contorts under his mask, his eyebrows pinching together. He stares at the face printed on the paper.

“God- fuck,” he mutters out, his right hand coming to cup around his mouth. It drags against the rough fabric of his balaclava.

At this moment, Ghost is not Ghost anymore. He is Simon. Simon Riley. He only feels this when he’s with someone he trusts. The only one he loves. He only feels this when he’s with you. And, although you are not physically with him, the picture of you smiling and laughing as you play with your dog is enough for him.

Simon exhales heavily through his nose, the sound reverberating against the walls. The church is silent, apart from the sound of your voice. It’s in his head, Simon knows. You’re not actually with him, although he wishes so desperately that you were. Not in the field, no, just… with him.

Simon wishes he could feel you, hold you. Wishes to be held. He wishes he could bury his face into your neck as he quietly sobs after waking up from a nightmare. Wishes to feel your hands running through his hair, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp as you soothe him, make the bad thoughts go away. Simon wishes all the bad people in the world would just stop being bad so he could be with you forever.

“This is Bravo 7-1, in the blind… how copy?”

The sergeant’s voice pulls Simon away. His mind blanks for a moment, eyes lingering on your face for a few seconds longer before he gently refolds the picture and places it back in the pocket on the left side of his vest. The one closest to his heart.

“Ghost, this is 7-1, do you copy?”

Simon takes in a deep breath, his eyes shutting momentarily.

Ghost presses the button on his comm device with his thumb.

“Soap. This is Ghost, how copy?”

do not rewrite, translate, repost, or steal. original work by lovertate on tumblr.

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #call of duty mw2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #fluff #simon ghost riley fluff #i love him so much #he deserves everything #my bbygirl ghost #lover t's stuff

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moodymisty · 1 year

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❀ Misty's Follower Milestone Event ❀

EDIT: Event is finished!!! Thank you so much to everyone who's sent requests or kind words, it's been a blast!

Wow guys, thank you!! It means so much to see people enjoying my writing (and my silly chatting), and I hope to continue making you all happy <3 Deciding to come back to tumblr was the best choice I made last year.

I don’t really talk to much about myself on here, but I'll give a tiny bit of backstory. I’ve had this exact same blog since around 2011, it's seen so many fandoms, but I purged it in 2018. After that I completely quit posting online; Until last year when my depression decided to come back hard because of some irl issues, and I ended up going back to Star Wars and Darksiders as a comfort. Posting again was incredibly nerve-wracking as it had been so long since I’d written anything beyond silly personal drabbles, but I’m incredibly happy to see even one person enjoy what I make. I have zero shortage of self doubt for everything I create, but even if it sounds cheesy, nothing makes me happier than knowing something I created has made someone smile.

But wah wah enough sob story, onto the event! A sentence prompts list! I tried to make a good amount of spicy ones, some sfw ones, and even one or two angsty ones. Feel free to take any sentence(s) or prompts from here and send me a character in my ask box! Or multiple, if it strikes your fancy? Any Star Wars or Darksiders character is welcome, and I'm more than happy to stretch my legs and do a character I don’t do as much, or haven’t before.

I'll accept asks for this for around the two weeks or so give or take, so feel free to send something in if you'd like!

(I won’t be using my tag list on these posts just to avoid spam)

All the prompts are under this readmore, to avoid having a super long post.

↳Sentence prompts

“ I can’t stop thinking about you. ”

“ You really need to shave. ”

" I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t distract me. "

" Where do you think you're going? "

“ You should go. ”

“ You have no idea how much I want to kiss you. ”

" Never tease me like that again. "

" Kneel. "

" Sorry, couldn't sleep. "

" I want to do bad things to you. "

" Do whatever you want to me. "

" I want you in my mouth. "

" Quit looking at me like that. I know what that look means. "

“ I just don’t like the way he/she/they look at you, that’s all. ”

“ You don’t own me. ”

" You don't have to be gentle with me. "

" I'd cut out that attitude. "

" I'm not letting you out of my sight. "

" You really want me? "

" I, didn't know you liked that. "

" Ask nicely. "

" I can't stop thinking about you. "

" Want to sleep in my bed tonight? "

" Can you teach me? "

" Keep talking. "

" You look so hot when you do that. "

“ Can you help me? ”

" Um... I'm stuck. "

" Were you crying? "

" I hate you. "

" You're so fucking cute. "

" Why do you never talk to me? "

“ I, I think I’m pregnant. "

" You need to choose. "

“You're shivering... do you want my (clothing here)”

↳Scenario prompts

Needing something off the top shelf and needing to ask for help to get it down

Finding out they have a momento of you somewhere on them they bring everywhere

You or them saying a petname by accident

Soothing you or them after having a nightmare

Caught partly undressed or totally naked

Sharing food

Having to bathe together

Sending or saying something naughty to them during an inopportune moment

Accidental(?) flashing

Stealing a piece of their(your) clothing

Patching them up after a fight

Cuddling up for heat

Making them(you) blush

Giving them a nice (sexy) surprise ;3

Being given/getting flowers

Secret relationship

Reading together

Getting caught/catching them during a 'private' moment

And again, thank you all so much!!!

#mywriting #writing game

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nanamiya3 · 2 years

Text

hello! it’s been so long since i last saw u guys! i’ve been super busy but anyways..

i started writing this over a year ago as a way to get some stuff off my mind, so it’s kind of self indulgent in that it’s a classic hurt/comfort trope where the reader is in danger & the other mc has to save them. i’ve been writing it on and off for so long: id pick it up and write like four lines and then let it sit for weeks. this fic is a bit dark at the beginning, though the comfort is very sappy at the end. please read the statements below on specific triggers, thank you! also, i lowkey forgot how to use tumblr so if i don’t do something right tell me!! also also,, this is very not proofread so please ignore any mediocre writing or plot holes.

naoya x fem reader - very obvious allusions to sexual assault - reader is referred to as naoya’s wife - some misogyny (not really from naoya) - reader has PTSD as a result of the SA - hostage situation - hurt/comfort - wc. 4.5k

- please do not expand the post unless you are okay with topics such as sexual assault, violence, and PTSD -

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” The barrel of a gun lay flat against the dark strands of your hair.

A tear fell past your lashes, tracing the paths left by tears long shed. The watery, winter sun cast your face in a pale, ashen light, and the light breeze rustling the cold clover at your feet forced a shiver from your body.

The Zen’in estate faced your back, as did your captor. In front of you stood Naoya Zen’in, your husband.

You had been wed to the heir of the Zen’in clan three months ago, your hand in marriage gifted as a means to improve relations between yours and the Zen’in clan.

The wedding ceremony was a quiet affair; Naoya was not one to stall, and there were few attendants -- your own parents had quickly left upon your successful engagement.

Consummating the marriage later that night had left quiet tears in your eyes, Naoya’s sticky seed slipping onto your thighs, a light smattering of blood speckling the pale sheets.

The two of you were not in love. You could count on one hand the number of proper conversations you’d had in the three months since your union. Your communication was limited to murmured thank you’s at dinner -- when plates of steaming foods were passed, when your cup was filled with warm tea by his steady hand. When the sun shied and the moon rose and hushed moans and whispered names were exchanged.

Beyond your lewd, nighttime tumbles, Naoya didn’t pay you much attention. Your obedience was not a courtesy, it was required -- expected. Your job was simply to sit at his side and look all the bit the demure, quiet wife; to lay there as Naoya fucked a son - an heir - into the soft curves of your body.

When you sit up in bed, panting and shaking from a nightmare, quiet sobs racking your body because you believe Naoya to be asleep, he does not lower himself to comfort you -- does not bother to give any indication that he is, in fact, not asleep. When you trip over your pretty, patterned kimono, obediently walking three steps behind your superior husband, he does not look back or help you up.

The union that joined you and the heir of the Zen’in clan was not one born of affection; it was a union of convenience, service.

As your mind raced with fleeting thoughts of your marriage, you did not believe that Naoya would make an effort to save you. You had a multitude of reasons to believe so. Reasons that involved the origin of the predicament you were currently in.

Naoya had left the grounds two nights ago on a mission at the request of his father. The guards had been excused: after all, the heir to the Zen’in clan, the one to be protected, was no longer present.

Three months of sleepless nights and you had nothing to show for it. You bore no heir. Your life held no value. If you died, Naoya could always take another wife. The security was unneeded - not for you.

So, someone had taken advantage of your state of unprotected solitude.

He’d made quick work of the remaining help: the chefs who prepared the meals you shared with your husband, the maids who kept your kimonos pressed and clean.

The unnatural stillness that had fallen over your home following the murders of the staff was quickly interrupted by the piercing of sharp screams, the thud of muffled kicking, the rip and ruination of hand-stitched seams.

And so, Naoya returned home, exhausted from his mission, ready to be greeted by a sweet smile on your face, a shy, soft kiss waiting on your lips, a tray of warm food resting next to you on the bed.

Instead, he had walked into the eerily quiet residence, no wife in sight. What he’d found was a trail of bodies, tracks of mud bleeding into the plush greenery behind the manor. He’d followed it, circling around the property to avoid detection, until the house crested in his view once more and a man stood in the backyard, a large hand wrapped around your throat as he waited leisurely for Naoya’s arrival.

Naoya had paused for a moment before walking closer, weighing the scene. His eyes slid across your body, cataloging the bruises on your neck that looked suspiciously similar to handprints. He noted the patterned kimono that he’d secretly grown fond of; the small rips decorating the length of the familiar fabric, the way it seemed messily thrown onto your trembling body.

And Naoya knew you. Three months of sharing a bed had allowed him to learn your habits well enough -- more than well enough, if he was being honest with himself. Naoya knew you in the hushed way that only a silent lover would. Naoya knew that you took great care in dressing yourself, keeping clean. Naoya knew that you scrubbed under your fingernails, bathed with a strict routine, avoided messy activities, took care to never wrinkle your—

Naoya knew because he’d paid attention and wanted so badly to show it, the words crawling out of his throat and the air being torn from his lungs at the same time. His arms ached to hold you and his hands dreamt of yours and he wanted to sweep you into his arms and never let you go—

Naoya knew that you would never allow your kimono to be worn in such a state of disarray. For the seams to be ripped as such, the fabric scrunched and messy… No, you had not dressed yourself.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

Had you… Were you…?

The thought played in his head and Naoya’s stomach turned as he watched helpless tears dribble down your cheeks.

“N… N-Naoya…” Your voice had been reduced to a crushed, desperate whisper.

Did he care? Did he care about the gun against your head? Did he care about Death reaching His hands towards you, glee-filled with the promise of another companion?

You hoped he did.

If you were being honest with yourself, you had developed… feelings… for Naoya. You couldn’t be blamed; not when you spent your nights warming his bed and your days admiring his features from afar.

By all means, Naoya was not a kind-hearted man. He carried a weighty reputation, one that spread talk of his demeaning, dismissive, and impatient attitude. However, on occasion, you’ve deluded yourself into thinking that he might care for you as well -- that he could grow to love you, just as you felt yourself beginning to love him.

You’ve noted that Naoya was… softer towards you -- if Naoya could ever be described as “soft.” He never snaps at you like he does most others. He swallows his sharp tongue and holds back his poisoned words, trading them for small pleasantries - calm silence.

You’ve noticed your heart acting strange around him. You will it to be still, to calm, but when the moon hangs high in the night sky and his lips move up your neck and his murmured praise brings a flushed heat high up to your cheeks--

Your heart can’t help but stutter.

But now, standing in front of Naoya, pinned to the front of a cruel man and trapped by the cold metal of a gun, you feel nothing but shame course through your body as you watch your husband put the pieces together. As he connects the skewed kimono, the bruises on your neck.

You knew that, no matter how many sweet nothings he had once breathed onto your skin under the veil of nightfall, you were ruined.

Perhaps the praise, the validation, had meant something in the moment, when Naoya’s mind had wandered with drink and good food and all he wanted was to take a warm body to his bed; but in this moment, they meant nothing. Why would he want a wife sullied by another man, in his own home, no less?

Yes, you were done. Ruined.

Though you desperately wanted Naoya to care, to prove that your pining was not one-sided by saving you like a knight in a storybook, you understood that he probably did not care. Your captor could scatter your brains across the extensive patchwork of clover beneath your feet, and your husband, you supposed, wouldn’t bat an eye.

Your crying intensified as the panic set in. Your captor would kill you to prove that he could, to mock the Zen’ins, and Naoya would either be too tired or too apathetic to stop him.

You were going to die.

The man ran a hand down the slope of your breast, spanning your stomach, tossing Naoya a sleazy smile, daring him to do something.

The guards had not yet returned, and the three of you were the only ones on the property. Naoya knew he was fast, but was he faster than a bullet? Did he have enough cursed energy -- or even just regular energy -- to save you?

Unbeknownst to you, Naoya did care. Naoya admitted to himself that he liked you, that he cared about you. He just sucked at showing it.

So, he schooled his features into a stoic and bored mask. He dragged his gaze away from where you were held captive and swept it around his surroundings. The man frowned at Naoya’s impassive and unfocused face, bringing his hand back up to your shoulder so he could rest his chin on the top of your head, trying to rile him up. “How did an ass like you marry such a lovely girl?”

Now, it was Naoya’s turn to frown as he directed his attention back to where you were being held hostage.

This hostage guy seriously needed to reconsider who the ass in this situation was.

“You Zen’ins are always so stiff. So… self-absorbed… Stuck up. It makes me want to teach you a lesson…” He trailed off, his hand reaching up to trace your jaw, damp from the tears still rolling down the apples of your cheeks.

The possessive caress didn’t seem to bother Naoya. He knew that the man wouldn’t kill you yet; not when your murder would mean his own similar end. But, Naoya wasn’t too keen on the idea of you dying. So, he stepped forward, stopping a few feet away from where you stood. He inspected your panicked face as his own stayed harsh and cold and unamused.

“You can take her,” Naoya’s frigid voice cut through the chilled air like a whip. His frown deepened. He hoped you wouldn’t take this to heart -- that you’d forgive him after it was all over. “She’s barely fit to serve as my wife. Take her and leave.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Apparently, Naoya didn’t care.

You couldn’t breathe.

Your pining was one-sided; three months of marriage, and you were, in the end, replaceable. The man behind you would steal you away, and if he didn’t kill you he’d keep you to--

Two sets of equally surprised eyes lifted up to meet Naoya’s, and with a whimper, your knees crumpled. The man lost his hold on you, your limp body slipping through his fingers.

Naoya’s eyes narrowed, watching the finger on the trigger lose its place.

As soon as the man’s hands were off you, the gun slipping from your hair as you dropped to the floor, Naoya lunged forward, using his technique to slow time around him, moving faster than should be possible.

Naoya made a mental note to apologize to you for the emotional distress he’d caused. He didn’t mean what he said -- it was just a ploy to derail the man’s attention for a fraction of a second -- but, you had clearly taken his bitter words to heart.

The damp feel and the sweet smell of the clovers beneath you were all you could focus on as your eyes struggled to acknowledge the too-fast fight, the crumple of a black-clad body.

Too much had happened in one day and all you wanted to do was curl up and cry. You were tired and lonely and felt so heartbreakingly empty—

Familiar arms wrapped around your body, picking you up.

A blink, and you were inside, a familiar room around you, so warm in his arms. An exhale, and hands -- so gentle, loving in a way you’d never experienced -- were easing the torn garment from your body.

Averted eyes, a steaming bathtub, peaceful silence.

Hands in your hair, gently cleansing more than physical hurt.

You were quiet. You had nothing to say.

A new pattern swathed over your now-clean body, crisp and unfamiliar.

You felt dizzy and overwhelmed, fingers poking at the red patches fading into purple blooms against your skin.

Big hands guided you into bed, a hushed, “I’ll be back soon,” floating gently into your ear. The soft sheets and plush blankets smothered your skin, and your eyes began to droop.

Everything was okay. Those familiar hands were stroking your cheek, and through your deliria, you reached up to grab one, wanting to know if it was real. A quiet laugh -- no more than a huff of air -- sounded from somewhere above you.

You felt warm and safe.

Tucked into bed - soft blankets pulled up to your chin - hand peeking out to grab your husband’s. You let your mind quiet, breathing deep and succumbing to fatigue.

-------

When you woke up, the room was empty. You pulled yourself to a sitting position, wincing at the ache in your legs. You scanned the room, slightly confused. There was something wrong with the room - like something was missing.

What was wrong? You had closed your eyes for just a second while holding Naoya’s hand—

Naoya.

Where was he? Hadn’t he tucked you in and promised to be right back?

The unease in your chest grew and panic spread through your body. Your eyes darted to the windows, the door. You didn’t feel safe alone.

The sound of maids and other help bustling throughout the house - setting it to rights - reached you, and you fumbled out of bed on tired, clumsy limbs.

Stepping into the hallway, you looked around in confusion at all the new faces.

Oh. Right... The maids you’d grown fond of were gone, their blood likely being scrubbed out of the carpets as you stood there, eyes darting and searching for your husband.

“Excuse me,” you spoke quietly - hoping to minimize the scratch of your throat - to the maid closest to you. “Do you know where Naoya-sama is?”

The young woman bowed low. “He should be in a meeting with the Zen’in clan heads right now, miss.”

You passed her a tired smile, murmuring your thanks as you moved in the direction of the meeting room.

You walked in silence to the end of the hallway, trailing down the stairs, turning past the entryway. You stepped shakily around the living room, doing your best to ignore the dark red stains being worked out of the tiles, as one last turn led you down the hallway that housed the formal rooms: offices, meeting rooms, libraries, and family weapon troves. Months of lonely wandering meant you knew exactly where Naoya’s meeting would take place, but as you approached the door, your steps began to falter.

Why were you even headed to see Naoya? You shouldn’t be interrupting him, especially when he was in a meeting. What would you do if you entered the meeting and made a fool of yourself in front of all of the clan heads? Naoya likely wouldn’t want his wife behaving so out of line in front of his clan leaders. Meeting aside, you weren’t even sure what you’d do when you saw him. You wanted him to comfort you like he’d done earlier, but what if that was just a fluke? What if he had just pitied you in that moment? You shouldn’t test your luck by trying to get him to be sweet with you twice in one day. What if he thought you were too clingy and annoying, always seeking out his attention? You should turn back now - head back to your shared room and ignore your anxiety. You were overthinking it; this house, and you in it, would be safe, safer than ever. Nobody would dare attack with so many sorcerers and guards crawling the property. You didn’t need to hover by Naoya’s side to feel safe, this place was safe enough, and your memories of earlier today were just getting to you.

You knew, logically, that you would be just fine if you trekked back to your room and stayed there, alone for a bit. However, that pit of paranoia illogically embedded itself in your head, and you remained frozen in the hallway.

Naoya had been so kind to you earlier; drawing you a bath, washing your hair, dressing you for bed, tucking you in and holding your hand… Maybe… Maybe he wouldn’t mind your intrusion. Maybe he would be glad to see you awake, even though he was in front of the clan leaders. Maybe he would be sympathetic towards your worries and fears, reassuring you that everything was okay. After all, he’d chosen to save you when he very well could have walked away and let you be killed.

You drew in a deep, steadying breath and knocked on the door.

A few seconds passed.

“Come in,” called an old, stern voice.

You stepped inside, head bowed towards the floor, eyes subtly shifting among the gathered men for Naoya. Having so many important clan members watch you, likely with disdain, made your body tense with fear. Your hands trembled, eyes averted towards the ground. You needed to apologize for the interruption, explain your intrusion, but your throat had closed up all of a sudden.

Naoya stood, addressing the room, “Excuse me.” He walked up to you, took your shaky hands in his own, and led you out the room and into the hallway for some privacy.

“As we were discussing, security has been far too lax—” The door shut, leaving you alone with Naoya in the hallway.

“Sorry for barging in,” you said quietly, staring in front of you at the hands covering your own.

“It’s fine.” He dropped one of your hands as his own ran through his hair. “You’re not interrupting much, just a lot of arguing.”

You nodded, pulling your hand from his and wrapping your arms around your waist. Silence filled the air.

“I… woke up and you were gone.” Realizing how accusatory that might have sounded, you scrambled to explain. “N-not that that’s a problem! I just thought I heard you saying you’d be back, before I fell asleep…” You trailed off, feeling like you were wasting Naoya’s time. You stared at the floor, nervous to avoid eye contact with him. “I woke up feeling kind of… scared, about…” Your hand came up to your neck, fingers tracing mean blotches of purple and yellow, “being alone..”

Deep in his chest, Naoya felt a tug on his heart. He really hadn’t meant to leave you all alone - he’d meant it when he told you he’d be back.

It was just that, after you’d fallen asleep, Naoya had been swamped with work. First, he had to make sure the man outside was really dead (he was - Naoya shot him twice to make sure). Then, he had to contact the clan about why all of the fucking guards had been sent away (you had no inherited cursed technique nor an heir that would be worth protecting). After that, he had to arrange for new staff to be brought in, including more security (turns out none of the Zen’ins were too keen on giving up their cooks and maids to Naoya). Then, the clan leaders arranged to meet at Naoya’s estate to discuss the Hei and the Kukuru Unit and the role they played in overall security (which is to say, they arranged for all the major players in the Zen’in family to yell at each other in Naoya’s home while pretending to care that you’d nearly been killed in what was a catastrophic failure on behalf of Zen’in security). Finally, Naoya, along with the rest of the newly arrived security guards, swept the entire estate grounds to ensure that there were no other intruders (there weren’t - the only intruder was face down in the grass with two holes in his head, as he had been for a few hours).

Naoya sighed, moving forward to pull you into his arms, murmuring, “I’m sorry.” He explained into your hair, “Got a bit busy. I didn’t mean to leave you up there all alone.”

“I… Wanted to be with you..” you mumbled into his chest, eyes closed and body melting against his.

He smiled, you were cute. His adoration faded into concern, though, when he remembered what you’d said earlier - about being scared of being alone. “You have a bad dream?” he asked, uncharacteristic worry in his voice.

You shook your head, nose knocking against his chest. “No… I just…” You chewed on your lip, thinking about how to phrase your feelings. “My mind keeps reminding me of… earlier today. It freaks me out every time.” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s like I’m expecting it to happen again, and I’m scared.”

You were trembling slightly against his body, arms wrapped tight around his middle. He frowned, running a hand up and down the small of your back. “I’m sorry about today. You should have never been alone like that. Security will be tighter, and I’ll be here as well”

You nodded into his chest, head still buried in his pecs. You felt a lot safer with his reassurance, but… “Do you— Are you.. upset? That I’m— I’ve been... by another man…?”

Naoya’s heart dropped, pulling away from you to look at you incredulously. “Are you asking me… if I’m mad at you because he…?” Naoya trailed off, feeling shocked as he watched you give him a small, shameful nod. Did you really think he was so shallow and inconsiderate?

Sure, Naoya had grown up a Zen’in, through and through. He could admit he wasn’t exactly a champion for women’s rights. But, he thought you’d at least known that he cared about you. He’d made it pretty obvious right? He took his meals with you, something he’d almost never seen his relatives do with their wives, because he enjoyed your presence. He never comforted you when you had nightmares because he was worried he’d scare you. Once, he’d shifted in his “sleep” when you were trying to calm yourself down, and you’d jumped up, mashing a shaky hand over your mouth. You were so skittish, he worried that him sitting up and approaching you would send you into a full-fledged mental breakdown. Naoya also took care to make sure that you enjoyed your nights together as much as he did. There was little foreplay, but he’d hold himself off until your breath hitched in a way that made his own feel knocked out of his chest, until you were clenching tight around him, hands scrambling in the sheets. Naoya was usually a selfish lover, but never with you. Didn’t you know that?

“I could never be upset with you for that,” he murmured, pulling you back into his chest.

“Okay,” you whispered, thankful that Naoya was so understanding. You knew that if you were wed to another man, like one of Naoya’s many cousins, he’d likely be taking in a second wife, using your terrors as an excuse to bed other women.

The two of you stood like that—arms wrapped around each other, accustomed to the comfortable silence blanketing the hallway—until Naoya’s arms loosened around your middle and he stepped back. “I’m gonna head back in there and tell them to finish the meeting without me.” He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, “Wait right here, okay?”

A soft smile crept its way onto your face, fears forgotten for the moment, and you nodded in response.

———————

Naoya reaches to cover your shaking hands - wipe away your tears - pull you into his arms - soothe the ache and stress and fear from your shoulders - but you grip his wrist before he can touch you. His eyes are wide and full of concern, and they’re trained right on you.

Your breathing is too heavy and your head is too loud and you don’t think you can deal with another form of input. You just want to cry even harder.

You’re so overwhelmed right now and all you want is Naoya’s comfort, but something in you self-sabotages, and your grip on his wrist remains tight. You wish you could just relax, let him tug you into his arms and melt away the horrors in your mind, but your body remains tense, strung tight as a bow.

You had a long night last night, and Naoya steals glances at you as you take a bite of the Kakitamajiru that he requested the cook make for you.

It’s been about 3 months since everything happened, and Naoya is still patient with you. Sometimes you get so scared you ask him exactly how many guards are on watch, where they are - who they are; sometimes you struggle to speak, lips trembling as they remain shut despite the words bubbling out from your chest; sometimes you jump out of bed and turn on all the lights, eyes shining with guilt as you apologize again and again for waking Naoya up; sometimes you ask him to walk with you to places - the garden when it’s sunny out, the kitchen when you’re hungry but it’s dark at midnight, down the stairs when you’re worried about someone waiting for you around the corner.

And Naoya obliges every single time. He speaks slowly in a gentle voice, detailing not just how many guards are on watch, but their names, when their shifts started, how long he’s known them for, who their families are, and whatever else he can tell you to keep your mind off why you wanted to know all of this in the first place. He’s calm, waiting in silence until you’re ready to talk, sometimes not waiting at all - happy to spend time with you, even if there’s no conversation. He’s understanding, telling you - no, the lights don’t bother him - regardless of the fact that it’s 2:47 AM and you know that he woke up because of you. He’s loving - walking you through the backyard to the garden, avoiding going near the one spot that makes your stomach queasy - accompanying you to the kitchen as you search for snacks - placing a hand on your back as you both round the corner by the staircase.

And sometimes, getting through the night is easy. Sometimes your dreams are sweet, snores uninterrupted - though you swear up and down that you don’t snore (Naoya has a different side of the story to tell). Sometimes it’s not hard at all, with your husband’s big arm around your middle, a day of laughter and peace behind you.

Progress is never linear, but you’ve come a long way in the past 3 months, and both you and Naoya are proud of your growth.

------

i don’t know what this was either please don’t perceive me

#naoya x you #naoya x reader #jjk naoya #naoya zenin #jujutsu kaisen naoya #naoya x y/n #zen’in naoya #zenin naoya #hurt/comfort #sensitive topics

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spookiibuggii · 26 days

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not really an Ask, but I just needed to vent about what a NIGHTMARE it was to find your social. I saw one of your Swap drawings and wanted to use it for a profile, but I didn't wanna just TAKE IT. No search results for "Chloe The Cartooner" though, so I had to reverse image search the thing, scroll down your ENTIRE blog, only to find out it was the FIRST post and that you didn't care if people used it.. IM SOBBING😭😭

on another note, I LOVE your style it's so scrumptious and edible 😋

omg you poor thing!! 🥺

sorry about that! I’ve changed my alias online a couple of times, including my watermark, and I’m honestly impressed you went through all that trouble to find me! thank you so much for being a good sport 💖

and thank you for the compliment!! it’s been a long while since I've posted on tumblr but maybe i should again? I’ve been doing drawing nothing but hazbin hotel these days and I'm most active on twitter 👉 👈

#bug babbles

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bigstupiddummie · 6 months

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making a post in the tags to “call out” a person is so dumb and childish and stupid, so i won’t put this in there. however, the admin of @wavehq is full lying on my name these days even though i haven’t talked to them or anyone else involved in there in like 6mos. and i rly want them to stop.

i don’t have my old discord account w ss. if anyone else has ss with me in them, u can add them to this post idc how ugly it makes me look. i talked a LOT of shit ( and pertaining to this story, about sel esp ) and called ppl some nasty names and any ss will incriminate me of that. so me talking shit isn’t a ‘gotcha’ anymore. i talked shit and called sel names, as well as k, and i know sel called me names, and im sure everyone else did too. whatevs.

yk what i never did ? i never made a “manifesto” about my ex friend, or priv-retweeted their personal ooc twitter account to mock them. i never helped create and work on an rpt blog, then went and consoled the person being mentioned in nasty messages in the blog on some “oh im so sorry this is happening to you ˙◠˙” shit when it was them the whole time. the worst i did was “fuck her, he’s a cunt, fuck them”, but dream, you lied to me a Lot!

and you’re lying in defending yourself by saying i “heavily hate” sid or anyone. i never have, never did, never will. the last thing i said to sid in like July was “hey, heres my ooc tiktok, im deleting discord. if i never hear from you again, take care.” and then i left rp and the rpc entirely. haven’t talked to or even perceived any of you in months.

you want to believe i’m “bringing this up now” to start stuff or something, but what stakes do i have in any of this? you and yours drove me out of the hobby i’ve loved since i was 12, used an rpt blog to force me to defend myself against your ugly claims at a time you Knew well and good i was absent and dealing with a family death ( and then came in my dms to comfort me ??? you and k both. ) . i lost all of my best friends of several years. trust me, i want no part of the rpc anymore. i don’t want back in. i don’t want to engage. this is a nothing tumblr account that ill never use again. consider, instead, that another person close to the situation and i shared similar experiences and realized there were too many untruths and inconsistencies to let it rest, rather than just ‘starting stuff’ to start stuff.

“sid says steph crops screenshots to make them look incriminating” aye , but i definitely gave my entire discord login out, more than once, and encouraged my friend at the time to go ahead and look for themselves ( they declined at the time. i can still give the login i really do not care. though idk if the login will work anymore bc the accounts been deactivated for, uh, 6 months.) i cropped ss where earthp members were telling me how K is making them uncomfortable and how they were worried lenny was being dragged around by K, that i did do. and i STILL let k know that that’s what they were saying. i can’t stress enough ive got Nothing here that im fighting for i just think its ugly to lie for so long to everyone

“steph heavily hates sid” i do not. note the last thing i said to sid, up there ^. we did follow each other on tiktok then, and then we didn’t speak for 6 months. as of this morning, we are no longer tiktok mutuals - so it goes. sid never owed me anything. i don’t hate them. they know ( and yk what, so do my irl work managers!!! bc this shit affected my actual real mental health!!! ) that the day things went down, i left work early sobbing full blown emotional episode, writing paragraphs in desperation, to the point of overwhelming them and myself. i loved them dearly, called them my ‘spouse’ and best friend everyday, etc. though i don’t know now if they knew more about you than they let on. anyway……. please don’t just be declaring shit about me like it’s fact ?? i don’t hate anyone. not even you dream! just stop lyinggggg i hate that

ye all made me feel like i was crazy and losing myself in my own paranoia omg??? and ye were in your private chats afterward going “well deserved!!!” who even are you what did i do to you omgggg are we not in our late 20s with lives and careers ?????

if this is all bc of heddie/reddie and avengefm ? its ships dude it’s dolls it’s not real and to commit so much energy and emotion to lying to protect ur ships/rps is troubling at best. and if its not about heddie/reddie, then i haven’t a NOTION bc you and i, even when we were friendly w each other, were not close enough to create a bond to break??? i didnt do anything to you but welcome you into my writing spaces and engage in yours to the best of my ability. i was transparent with you when my activity struggled or i needed a break for mental health reasons… but what you had done with your friends is what ruined my mental health ?… go figure ….

i know who was behind that blog because they came clean and told me your connection to it as well. i know sel said nasty things about me too - we’re human and humans love talking shit. but no one else ever took it as far as you did, dream.

i don’t want anything from you! just stop lying on my name i don’t “heavily hate” anyone. outside of my shit talking from 6mos ago, i haven’t said a word against anyone but yourself; i’ve called you a liar, here in this post, because that is what i believe you are.

nobody in my entire life brings up what happened in everwell more than you and k. i owned up to every part i had ( whether directly or by my unavailability, all of it ), i deplatformed and cut out my two best friends ( people i had had in my HOME and had met IRL they were real people to me!!!!! ) and apologized personally to everyone affected, while picking out a funeral outfit and consoling my crying family. these are all my cards on table. you don’t have to respond either. just omg quit lying about me and the way i feel and what my intentions are - if a mf wants to know what im thinking and feeling, they can just Ask me.

and k i don’t want anything from you either! your names in this post because you were involved, and you know your involvement with that blog and how you also came to console me after. outside of that, i do not think of you and do not care what you think of me.

sid, i don’t want anything from u all either and i meant it when i said if i never hear from you again, take care bc i did care for u lots and also invited you into my home bc you were a real person to me. just know for a fact that anything dream says i’m saying about you or feeling toward you is just pulled out of thin air for whatever reason.

i always thought ye all were great writers!!! and so did snags and lex, way back when it was about writing for the love of writing. i would say all the time “omg dream is so funny” “omg k is cracking me up”, and they’d agree. hell if they’re at all in the rpc anymore and see this - hey guys! sorry shit got so ugly. you’ll never guess who was behind it.

i left the rpc and got mental help. i hope ye can get some help too.

* this is dream bringing sel into the Issues and tying her directly to k, btw. you keep saying you didn’t bring sel into the k stuff, but “they’re besties” “she and sel” “they want peach to drop eddie so sel can pick up eddie” this is where we’re getting that from, bc you keep saying you only referenced sel’s activity and didn’t connect her to k at all. i cropped out sids response. i can add it if need be but it’s just sid believing you.

this is where i’m pulling what im referencing in this post from. the second half is censored bc it doesn’t have to do with me.

this is me texting my irl work manager on the day sid and i last spoke. i was distraught and emotional and crying but ok yeah i “heavily hate” sid when the way everything went down broke me to bits OKAYYY

the censored names are the names of my irl managers like it was So Serious so don’t try putting words in my mouth about sid.

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thejollyroger-writer · 2 years

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These Are the Risks - Chapter 3

SUMMARY: Special Agent Emma Swan has been working with her partner, world-renowned forensic anthropologist Killian Jones, for just under five years. Together, they have solved hundreds of murders, brought criminals to justice, and found a family in their coworkers at the Hyperion Research Institute. Their newest case sends them to the small town of Storybrooke, Maine, where they must go undercover as newlyweds in hopes of solving the eerie, unexplainable recent deaths. When they find something that science cannot explain, they only put themselves in more danger, and a final situation that makes them face the feelings they’ve been hiding since day one.

A/N: Welcome back to my 2021 Captain Swan Supernatural Summer entry! It’s a combination of a BONES au (with Killian as Bones) and supernatural dark magic – I hope you enjoy it! Special thanks to @eastwesthomeisbest for her AMAZING art, the other mods at @cssns for making this event happen, David Boreanaz for being one of the nicest humans, and my faithful readers. (If you’re not on my tag list and you would like to be, please let me know!) Yes, okay, I know it’s taken me a whole year to get here. Life happened – and believe me, no one is more upset than I am about the time it took to get here. Anyway, here’s chapter 2!

Read/reread chapter one here / on AO3

Read chapter 2 on AO3 / tumblr

Read ch 3 on AO3

"Ruby," Graham breathes, then takes off through the forest. A silent beat passes, Emma and Killian sharing a glance.

Killian shrugs.

Emma takes a small breath, her shoulders rising and falling, and then she takes off, dipping between the trees. For a moment — but no longer than a moment — she wonders if leaving Killian with the body was a terrible idea. And then she half-trips over a branch and catches herself, losing the thought with her footing.

"Graham?" she calls, cresting the hill, but calling out isn't necessary. She sees him right away, the crisp white of his dress shirt standing out against the dark colors of the forest. And there with him, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, is Ruby, still sobbing. Beside them, an older woman with a head of white curly hair stands with her arms crossed, the shake of her head visible to Emma even from yards away.

"Goodness, Ruby, all of this crying is unnecessary. It's not like I'm dead."

"But you could have been! You've been missing for days, no word from you, nothing!"

"So why are you so upset?"

"I'm not upset, Granny. I'm thrilled."

Ruby slips out of Graham's arms to smother this woman — Granny — with a hug. Now that she is only a few steps away, Emma sees the roll of Granny's eyes — but also sees the smile that the woman allows to appear for only a moment.

Her glare when she notices Emma for the first time, though, is something that she does not even try to hide. "And who the hell are you?"

Emma is more than used to being talked to in this manner, but hearing the words come out of the older woman's mouth take her aback, if only for a moment. But that is long enough for Ruby to supply an answer.

"Granny, this is Emma! She and her husband are here on their honeymoon, they know Graham."

She hums, like she can see right through Ruby's lie, narrowing her eyes at Emma. "And where is your husband?"

Emma gestures towards the top of the hill, the direction she came from. "I left him up there, he was looking at the—" She stops herself from saying dead body. "View.'

Granny still doesn't believe her, she can sense it with her whole body, but she thankfully drops it.

"Well, let's get back to my restaurant. I'm sure you've taken very good care of it while I've been gone."

"Actually, Mrs. Lucas, if you don't mind, I would like to ask you some questions about where you've been." Emma is thankful for Graham at this moment, asking the question that she so desperately wants the answer to. But the daggers she shoots Graham through a half-lidded glare are sharp enough that Emma feels them in her chest.

"I'm not going to give you answers you're satisfied with, so you might as well just drop it."

Emma watches his mouth open, the words caught in his throat, but he says nothing. Instead, he nods at her.

"Yes, ma'am," he says.

Satisfied with his response, she turns away, taking off through the woods in the direction of the town.

"Would you like a ride, Mrs. Lucas?"

She grumbles something, not even turning around, and continues through the trees, Ruby half a step behind her.

For a moment, the only sound around them is broken sticks and fallen leaves under Ruby and Mrs. Lucas' feet. Once the sound subsides, the silence that sits between them is almost deafening.

Emma so desperately needs to break the silence, something about the silence of the forest seeping deeper into her bones with each passing moment. There is something eerie about these woods, something that Killian would try to explain with science and logic, but she somehow knows that no such explanation exists.

"So that's Mrs. Lucas." She remembers a little from the thorough packet of information Graham sent them, plus the bits and pieces she has picked up since then. Beverly Lucas, owner of Granny's diner, has certainly been around long enough to know the darkest secrets of Storybrooke. Whatever is going on here, Granny at least knows something, Emma is sure of it. But getting the old woman to tell what she knows is not going to be easy, especially given how she responded to Graham trying to question her.

Graham just laughs in response. "Yeah, that's Granny."

"She knows something."

"She knows everything."

"She's been missing for, what, six days? That doesn't just happen. Whatever is going on here, she's either in on it or knows about it."

"I have no doubt you're right, Agent Swan, but it's going to take more than a gut feeling to get Granny to talk."

"And you're okay with that?"

"You really don't know much about small towns, do you?" He chuckles softly but doesn't give her a chance to respond. “We should go find your husband — uh, partner, and my mortician before there's another murder on our hands."

She knows he is trying to be funny, but the idea of another death in this small town, a place already so affected by loss, sends a shiver down her spine that has nothing to do with the breeze coming through the trees.

Thankfully, Killian and Dr. Whale seem to have taken to silence over arguing, but she can tell from the look on Killian’s face, from his posture as he sits on a nearby rock, that he is none too happy about this development. When his eyes met Emma's, the incredulity on his face grows, dark eyebrows raising farther up his creased forehead,

Emma just smiles, moving to sit beside him on his chosen rock.

"Any news, Victor?" Graham asks, standing behind the man as he continues his examination of the body and the scene around it.

Victor doesn't even look up from the body. “I’m not going to call it for sure until we get a blood test done, but I am fairly certain this is Isaac Heller. Hard to tell with the exsanguination and mummification, but as far as I can remember, he’s the only one that’s missing that fits this body type.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, I mean, he’s frozen. And not even trying to thaw, which is, of course, incredibly odd.” Nothing in Dr. Whale’s voice makes it sound odd, though; his voice is a steady monotone, an accent that Emma cannot quite place.

She doesn’t like him. She can’t say what it is, but there is something about the doctor’s countenance that tips her off just a little.

With a small smile, she sits down beside Killian on his rock. Playing his part, he wraps his arm around her, moves his lips close to her ear, but instead of pressing a kiss against her cheek, he whispers, “There was a weapon, which seemed to throw the doctor off.”

Not sure what to do with this information, she turns her attention back to Dr. Whale, turning the body back onto its stomach as it was found.

“How are we getting him out of here, sheriff?”

“Do you not think a regular gurney will work?”

“Of course it’ll work, but how do we push it through the forest?”

“You carry it,” Killian says, needing to be a part of the conversation — plus, it's the obvious answer. “Not a gurney you can roll, but one you carry like a pall.”

Both Graham and Dr. Whale turn their eyes towards him, Graham already trying to figure out how he is going to explain this knowledge and Whale’s eyes burning with anger.

“You expect me to help carry a mummified, frozen body out of these woods?”

“Why wouldn’t you help? It’s part of your job as a coroner.”

“How do you know anything about my job here, Mr. Jones?”

Doctor. Emma can feel the words catch behind his teeth, begging to correct Dr. Whale, but with a flex of his jaw, he stays silent.

“There is nothing to argue about, gentlemen,” Graham says, trying his hardest to diffuse the situation.

Killian is absolutely right, of course: once the coroner’s van manages to get as close as it can via an access road, the only option left is for four of them to carry the gurney between them, moving slowly and together to avoid tripping on roots or otherwise harming the body. They only have to move it a few hundred feet, but it’s rough, rocky terrain.

Sweat drips from Killian’s brow and through Graham’s dress shirt by the time they reach the van, and the other two young men helping haul the gurney are just as exhausted.

It's easy enough to convince Dr. Whale to let Emma and Killian follow them to the small morgue: they came to the woods with Graham and would otherwise be stranded. Emma can tell he isn't thrilled by it, though; in fact, he barely tries to hide his displeasure with their presence.

"Why did you say you're in Storybrooke again?" he asks, pointing his camera at a wound on the body's left arm.

"We're here for our honeymoon!" Emma replies, trying to sound as upbeat as possible, but it just draws a raised eyebrow from Whale.

"Don't see many people attending autopsies when they're supposed to be celebrating their marriage."

She's sure they're a sight: Whale in his scrubs and apron, slowly photographing the body as it sits, still frozen, on the table in the middle of the room; Emma and Graham seated by the counter on the only two chairs in the room, each with their own notebook on their lap; and Killian, standing on the opposite side of the gurney as Whale, watching his actions like a hawk, all while pretending not to be engrossed. His hands are clasped behind his back, a too-small white apron tied over his torso, and Emma is certain that there is not an action done by Whale that Killian will not be able to describe in full later that evening.

His attention to detail has always been astounding to her, especially watching the specific way he combs through a crime scene or senses the smallest change in someone's countenance. She could spend hours watching him work, the sleeves of his sweaters pushed up to his elbows, bright eyes collecting every piece of what is happening around him. It is the same attention that she has seen him pay to numerous autopsies during their time together, but this is the first she can remember that he is paying just as much attention to the man performing it than to the body itself.

"I have always been a thanatologist," Killian replies, taking slow steps around the table that mirror Whale's, always keeping as much of the body as possible between them. "A passion like mine does not disappear just because I'm celebrating."

Whale looks up, narrowing his eyes at Killian through his glasses. "What the hell is a thanatologist?"

Killian chuckles, finally raising his eyes to meet the doctor's. "I study death in all forms. Historically, medically, forensically."

They're getting awfully close to revealing what Killian actually does, which Emma wants to avoid at all costs — but Whale just laughs.

"No wonder you think you know more than I do about all of this. I am so far out of my league here, it's not even funny. I was never trained for death, I went to school for pediatrics. But here I am, doctor, surgeon, and mortician in this town."

"Have you always lived in Storybrooke?" Emma asks, hoping to veer away from the subject, and Whale turns to face her.

For a moment, he seems angry about her question, but then his face softens. "No, I moved here as an intern in medical school. The hospital is small enough that they only take two or three, and I was one of the lucky ones. Then something kept drawing me further in and it was almost like I couldn't leave."

"Do you have family around here?" All basic questions, but all helping Emma get a better idea of who Whale really is.

His face darkens again. "I had a brother, but I lost him a few years ago."

"I'm sorry," Emma says. And she is. Even though she has never really had a family, she has grown close to some people that she cannot imagine living her life without: David and Mary and Belle — and Killian, though her feelings about him are much more complicated.

"Yes, well," he mumbles, then turns back to the body. For a few minutes, the room is silent, save the sounds of Whale working: the scraping of his shoes against the linoleum floor, a small metal crash every time he sets the camera down on the steel table. Graham begins to flip through the crime scene photos, newly printed from the computer behind them, and Emma glances over his shoulder at them, taking notes on the pad she keeps in her jacket.

Finally, Whale clears his throat, untying the apron around his waist. "I won't be able to perform an autopsy on the body in this state. It needs some time to thaw, so I'll just keep it here — locked up, of course — and come back this evening."

If he wasn't sure the body was frozen solid, Killian would have found this decision suspicious; but after watching Whale attempt multiple instruments and fail to break skin with any one of them, he agrees that he would have come to the same decision. As much as he would prefer to be present for this autopsy — especially after seeing the pictures from the others — there would be no feasible reason for them to return that evening without blowing their cover.

So, instead of pushing, Killian nods his head, grabbing his jacket off a hook by the rear door, then wrapping his hand around Emma's as they exit the basement morgue, all the while hoping that this man can prove useful enough to provide some helpful information for their investigation.

“You’re here late,” David says, trying to keep his voice as soft as possible. If he hadn’t known she was still here, he never would have noticed the single desk lamp in their workroom shining over the desk furthest from the corner. Despite his attempt to be quiet, Mary Margaret still jumps, the book in her hands almost falling on the floor. David can’t help but chuckle. “Sorry, I was trying not to scare you.”

The hand pressed to her chest just proves that he didn’t succeed. “There’s something eerie about being here once the sun goes down,” she replies, closing her book and setting it on the desk in front of her. “You’re one to talk, though, you don’t even work here. What brings you here past sundown?”

“I had a meeting with Rob, a short video chat with Emma and Jones, and then we just got caught talking about—” He literally has to bite his tongue to keep from telling the truth: they were talking about her, his plans to propose, ask her to move in with him. “Some things.”

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks, either missing his almost-trip-up or choosing to ignore it as he crosses the room to stand beside her desk.

He smiles. “Lucky for you, I was waiting for my overworked girlfriend to call me.”

“Great,” she mumbles, letting him help her to her feet before turning off the light above the desk, the only light in the room spilling in from the hallway.

They share a quiet moment, a soft kiss before Mary presses her cheek to David’s chest. And that’s when they hear it: shoes against the linoleum of the hallway floors, the very sound that Mary Margaret failed to hear as David approached.

And a voice.

“Yes, they said they’d be sending my resume to Dr. Jones today, but I have the position already.”

“Who do you think—” Mary Margaret starts, but David puts his finger to his lips, shushing her.

He needs to hear this.

“I signed the paperwork this afternoon then spent some time acclimating myself to the space, just like you suggested.”

David recognizes the voice vaguely but he can’t place it. Thankfully, between the lack of light in the workroom and the lights in the hallway, they can see perfectly through the window-wall without fear that the owner of the voice can see them.

“Yes, as long as it doesn’t happen for a few days, I can intercept the package when it arrives from Storybrooke.”

Mary Margaret gasps. She’s read the case files — the smaller, condensed version that Robin put together for the team.

David stares down at her, eyes wide. She pinches her lips shut, pressing her face into his shirt again.

He recognizes him through the window. Devin Skyler, the newest intern. He has to tell Robin, once they’re not hiding in the shadows. Devin Skyler is working with someone — they just have to learn who.

He's been here before, Killian realizes, looking around him. Recently. He can't wrap his head around what day it is, nonetheless how long it has been since he was last in these woods, but they have a sense of urgent familiarity that he cannot shake.

He puts his hand out ahead of him, as if something were going to stop him from entering the clearing just on the other side of the tree line. With his hand still ahead of him, he takes a step towards the clearing, then another — but stops in his tracks when he focuses on a movement beyond the trees.

His father. That's impossible, he knows. Because even if the man were still alive — which he doubts — there is no way he would ever come here.

Storybrooke. That's where he is.

Lowering his hand, he slowly moves his foot to take a step back, but freezes when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Where are you going?" the voice asks — a voice that he recognizes immediately. Another that he knows to be only a ghost. Seven impossible things, a small voice in the back of his mind mutters, remembering a line from a book his mother used to read them.

His mind is full of ghosts today.

“What is he doing here?” Killian asks, ignoring the fact that he knows the man he is speaking to is dead.

“I don’t have the answers, little brother,” Liam answers, his voice echoing in the forest in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

“Come here, boys,” his father calls, and he turns away from Liam to glance at his father. But when he turns back, Liam is a boy again, younger than when they left England. Killian somehow knows that he, too, is also a boy.

“We can’t.” Killian finally remembers his last experience in this forest, but Brennan smiles and holds out his hand.

“You can now,” he says, and Killian somehow knows he is right. He looks down at the ground as he steps through the tree line and notices a dark line on the ground, his whole body shuddering as he steps over it.

“What was that?” Killian breathes, simultaneously excited and terrified.

Liam is the one who answers: “Magic.”

Killian shakes his head. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

“What if you’re wrong?” a voice — a female voice that he knows he recognizes — whispers in the back of his mind.

“I’m not wrong,” he insists, and feels himself growing, feels the years pass as he crosses the clearing to Brennan, who holds out his hands to embrace his son, except they’re stained with blood.

No, they’re dripping blood.

“What if you’re wrong?” the female voice asks again, and he feels pulled away from Brennan, like he should turn and run.

“The rarest kind of magic.” This time, it’s his father who speaks, his words having the same eerie echo that Liam’s had before as he reaches out to take Killian’s hand. “You know this, son. Why are you running from it?”

“No!” he yells, pulling his arm out of his father’s grip, though he loses his footing and falls to the ground.

Keeps falling.

And jumps awake, sitting up in bed with a gasping breath, trying to pull himself together.

Storybrooke. Mummified bodies. Science. All things he can understand, all things with explanations that he and his interns will find through their inquisition.

“Jones?” Emma asks, looking up from her cell phone from where she is sitting in the corner of their room. “Are you okay?”

He nods, running his hand over his face. It was just a dream. Just the first dream he has had about his father for years, though every part of it felt so familiar. “Just a bloody weird dream,” he mutters — then shudders at his word choice, remembering the blood dripping from his father’s hands. “Just a dream,” he says again, this time only to himself, as he pulls himself out of bed.

#these are the risks #cssns #cssns 21 #captain swan #captain swan supernatural summer #bones au

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ohworm-writes · 2 years

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I don’t know if I should post this or not, but I suppose my thoughts have always had the problem of staying confined to my skull, so what better of a place to go and lay my cards across this table than Tumblr, eh?

We’ve all been having a rough couple of days, some of us more than other, obviously.

I think my initial mourning process has passed. That initial night and following day were rough- that whole 24 hour period from the final video being posted, to be honest, was my mourning period. I’ve always dealt with grief the same way each time. I cry for that first day or so, being completely wrecked by the news. And then the days following after, I try and show everyone that I’m still in that stage, even when it’s passed.

I’m better now. Not completely, of course, but I’m in a state of mind where I’m not completely overrun by grief. I can think of Techno without shaking or crying or completely turning into a sobbing mess. That changes when night comes, as I allow myself those late hours to process the day, but for the most part? I’m okay.

This being said, I think I’m going to take back my initial statement of stopping my writing for Techno.

This community, the “mcyt writers of Tumblr” community has always been a space I’ve felt safe in. I could post my work without worrying that I’d have someone come in and say ‘writing that stuff is weird’ or ‘your writing is sh*t’ or something like that because this community is so accepting and, in a way, secluded? We all know what we’re searching for when we come here: comfort.

In all honesty, and while this likely isn’t something I should admit out loud, writing these silly ‘x reader’ fanfictions, whether they be for this fandom or a plethora of others, has been my way is dealing with traumas. People leaving, people dying, etc. etc. It’s my way of coping with things, I realize, and I really don’t know how to cope any other way. I’ve been writing fanfictions since, what- 2016-17 maybe? It’s always been a coping mechanism, and especially in times like now it’s something I need.

I took a look at all my old fanfics for Techno yesterday, both released and unreleased. And, as I’ve looked at them, I’ve realized I shouldn’t stop because I think it’s “the right thing to do”. It’s my and many other people’s way of coping. Yes, I’ve said it feels insensitive and I still kind of stand by that as we all understand the current state of things and how this creator is dead, but I never wrote for him. I wrote for his character, and I never did it in a way to disrespect him. Fanfiction is a form of art- fanart, if you want to put it that way.

So long as you’re still respectful and understand the situation, I don’t think anyone should deter themselves from writing for his- his canon character, that is. That is what he stated he was comfortable with: people writing for his canon/ c! character. So long as we continue to respect that, I don’t think there should be a problem with it.

Yes, again, some people don’t find these kind of works, I don’t know- appropriate? But hey! It’s what we read and what we enjoy and what we cope with, so why should their opinions and thoughts deter us from enjoying it?

Anywho. I apologize for the rant, but please expect that more of these will come, at least for the next few months or so. I better express myself through words, as I assume those who are familiar with my account will understand. But if you’ll take away anything from this, be it these few points:

I personally intend to continue writing for c!Technoblade’s character, as it is the only way I really know how to cope with things.

I’ve seen a lot of writers for him choose to stop writing for the same reason as I had: because he’s gone. Though, if some are still open to writing for him or are on the edge of deciding to continue/ stop writing for him, I would say to continue as, so long as you are being respectful, this is a way to honor him

You are allowed to cope in whatever way you need, be it writing/ reading fanfiction, viewing/ drawing fanart, watching old videos, venting your thoughts/ feelings to others- all of it. All ways are valid as there is no “right way of coping”

We’ve got this, okay? Everyone’s saying it, but it’s true. You have got this, no matter what your mind may say otherwise. You are strong, you are capable, and you will get past this, okay? Don’t be a nerd and have life your life come to a halt because of this. You’re allowed to mourn, but understand that mourning only lasts for a certain amount of time. After that? You’ll begin to heal and get batter and work past this.

We’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.

#Rant #Well-#Rant-ish #Technoblade #Technoblade x reader #Techno x reader #techno blade x reader

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searchingwardrobes · 2 years

Text

Scarborough Fair: 6/?

Finally, another update, and just in time for Halloween! Which is fitting because here’s where everything gets weird and crazy. So strap in, folks, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Oh, and I apologize for not linking to previous chapters on Tumblr. This site is being annoying, I’m tired, and it’s a weeknight. I’ll make sure there’s a master post at the end. But here’s your link to Ao3 if you prefer reading over there (which I do!)

*Reminder that this is an M rated fic that includes rape/non-con, and later, dubious consent of a magical variety.*

Chapter Six

Killian wiped his arm across his sweaty brow as he slid the last can of paint onto the shelves of the garage. Next to him, Liam was red-faced with the heat and utterly apologetic.

“You’ve been working on a construction site all day, and before you can even take a step into the house, I’ve put you to work again.”

Killian waved him off as he lifted the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe his face more thoroughly than his sweaty arm could.

“It’s okay. We’ve been putting this chore off too long.”

While Ingrid had loved the new arbor in her flower garden, she hadn’t loved the mess they’d left in the garage from building it. She’d been on them since Mother’s Day to clean up the mess. It was rare for Liam to leave a mess behind, especially where Ingrid was concerned, but he’d gone straight from finals week to teaching a summer school course.

Killian was just about to head inside for a much needed shower when he heard a rattling in the corner. He turned around to see Liam wrestling with a familiar, rusty shopping cart.

“This is still in here?”

Killian reached out to spin one of Mary Margaret’s whirligigs. “Yeah, I put it in here pro- you know, that night?”

“Oh, that’s right . . .” Liam’s voice trailed off.

Emma’s rape had made Killian completely forget about the drama with Mary Margaret, but now that he saw the cart with all of her things, it came rushing back.

“Is she still in jail?”

Liam shook his head. “No. Ingrid called to check. Since no one pressed any charges, they had no reason to hold her. Ingrid’s beside herself, though, because they just let her walk out and back onto the streets.”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “It isn’t like her not to come back for her stuff, right?”

“No, it isn’t, and that’s got Ingrid worried. As if we don’t all have enough weighing on us.” Liam’s expression turned uncharacteristically dark. “If I could go back in time and change things, I would. I should have made them go in the limo with the group.”

Killian held his brother’s gaze, and understanding passed between them. No one had yet voiced the regret, and Killian was relieved to hear his brother confess it.

“I should have gotten to her sooner.”

Liam’s eyes turned to slits of rage as he studied Killian. “No. Neal Cassidy should have driven his car into that river on his way here.”

“Or one of Mary Margaret’s glass bottles should have sliced him through the jugular.”

“I hope he suffered in that river.” Liam’s jaw was in danger of cracking, he was clenching it so hard.

“I hope he’s burning in hell.”

“Like a pig on a spit.”

The venom in Killian’s voice was matched by Liam’s and his voice cracked when he confessed the full depravity of his fantasies.

“I imagine torturing him in a thousand ways, Liam. I want him to suffer the way Emma has suffered. No, worse. If you only knew what I think about sometimes, the rage I feel -”

“I wouldn’t be shocked. I promise you.”

Killian let his breath out in a hot rush and muscles he hadn’t even known had gone rigid relaxed. He blinked, trying to clear the burning behind his eyes. Liam grasped his shoulder and squeezed in understanding. Killian was alarmed to feel a lump rise in his throat and as a quick sob escaped, Liam yanked him forward into a brief yet fierce hug.

“This family is strong, little brother.”

Killian nodded as he pulled away, clearing his throat, slightly embarrassed, though he knew he shouldn’t be. Liam returned his nod, his eyes shining with tears of understanding.

“Well,” Killian said, voice scratchy, “I better get a shower.”

Liam gestured to the shopping car. “I’ll hide this somewhere.”

Looking at it once again, Killian suddenly remembered something else from that night. Something that was upstairs in his desk drawer.

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

Emma set aside her dog-eared copy of A Wrinkle in Time to massage her brow. She’d been having headaches a lot lately. Her therapist said it was a common physiological response to stress. Headaches were also sometimes a side effect of medication for anxiety, so there was also that.

It wasn’t the book, though. Reading about Meg, Calvin, and Charles Wallace was a balm to her soul. She especially loved Aunt Beast, which was the chapter she was reading right now. She would love to have a giant, soft, and furry creature to hold her and heal her jagged inner wounds. She was re-reading all of her favorite childhood books. They were like comforting, old friends. In their pages, she could be rocked to sleep by Aunt Beast, tumble in the grass with Aslan, or fly away to Neverland.

“Hey.”

Emma looked up at the sound of Killian’s voice and his swift knock upon her door frame. The sight of him shouldn’t have made her heart flip over the way it did. Not when he was absolutely filthy.

Or maybe that was exactly why her mouth suddenly went dry at the sight of him.

His face was beaded with perspiration, and his damp, dark hair was tousled. His thin, white t-shirt was so damp with sweat that it clung to every muscle of his torso. He noticed her staring, and glanced down at his shirt, which was stained with dirt.

“Oh, sorry, I know I’m disgusting.” He pulled it swiftly over his head, causing his hair to stick up even more crazily than before.

Yeah, that didn’t help. At all. Now she could feel her cheeks burning as she tried not to stare at his bare chest. He balled up the shirt and used it to rub at the back of his neck. The motion only made his muscles even more noticeable.

Emma cleared her throat and picked up her book, hoping it wasn’t upside down, or something equally embarrassing.

“So take a shower,” she snapped. “You stink.”

Killian just laughed. “On my way, I promise.”

It didn’t stop him from striding all the way into her bedroom. She schooled her features into one of indifference as she glanced up at him.

“I’m trying to read, and now I can smell you even more.”

He reached into the back pocket of the Wranglers he had bought for work. Wranglers should not in any universe be sexy. They were loose fit, which wasn’t Killian’s style at all, and they were that actual denim blue, which hadn’t been in fashion since the OK Corral. And yet . . .

They hung low on his hips, which did decidedly uncomfortable things to her pulse, and damn if that shade of blue didn’t light up his eyes. She was so distracted by this very obvious display of masculinity, that she almost didn’t see the slim book that he was handing to her. He had to wave it a little bit before she took it.

“It’s Mary Margaret’s,” he told her softly.

Emma ran her hand over the faded green cover. “Wh- where did you get this?”

“The night of the prom, it fell out of her shopping cart. When I saw what was written on the inside cover, I kept it. I thought you might like to have it.”

Emma flipped it open and read, To my daughter, Emma. I hope you understand one day. Love, Mother. She snapped her gaze back up to Killian.

“I didn’t read it,” he assured her, lifting both hands in surrender. “I just completely forgot about it after . . . everything.”

Emma swallowed nervously as she flipped through the pages. She didn’t register any of the words, but the handwriting was neat, the cursive looping and elegant. Not at all what you would expect in the journal of a crazy woman.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to,” he assured her.

Emma just nodded, her emotions on a roller coaster. Did she want to know what her mother had to say? Would these words reveal a slow descent into madness? Or for once could she understand the person her mother once was? The sweet friend Ingrid remembered?

Killian left the room quietly, and she scarcely noticed. That proved how much her mother’s journal had shaken her.

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

Killian meant it when he told Emma that she didn’t have to read her mother’s journal if she didn’t want to. Killian also felt that it was a private matter, so he didn’t ask her about it, nor did he mention it to the rest of the family.

If he were in Emma’s shoes, if he somehow found a letter or a journal from his dad “hoping Killian would understand one day,” he wasn’t sure how he would react. He might burn it without a second thought. Nothing could make sense of a man abandoning a woman sick with cancer. Killian would never forget the day he sat in a social worker’s office, the day after his mother passed, and saw Liam’s imposing frame fill the doorway. At seven, he had a difficult time understanding that this big, superman was his brother. Half-brother, technically, though Liam never liked that term.

“We’re brothers, end of story,” was what Liam always said.

Not many twenty-three year olds, especially those just starting graduate school, would consider taking custody of a baby brother they never even knew existed. But that was Liam Jones.

In a way, he supposed, he was blessed. Liam was a better father than Brennan Jones had ever been or ever could be. Nothing the man could ever say would make Killian want him back in his life.

So yeah, if Emma had taken a lighter to that journal and watched it burn, he wouldn’t judge her.

It was for that reason two weeks passed before Killian gave the journal another thought. He was also just too plain exhausted to bug Emma. The contractor he was working for was fair, safe, and honest. Nevertheless, the hard physical labor had Killian wearily ascending the stairs to the attic every night for a much needed shower, followed by a quick dinner and then collapsing into bed. The money was good, though, so he couldn’t complain.

Killian had just stepped out of the shower one night at the end of June when his phone buzzed on his nightstand. He was surprised to see that it was a text from Emma.

I need you.

She didn’t have to say another word. Be down in a minute he texted back, and then rushed to throw on a pair of pajama pants and a clean t-shirt. When he got to her room, he found her sitting cross-legged on her bed. Her mother’s journal lay on the comforter in front of her, and she was staring at it as if it might bite. He paused in the doorway, and she looked up at him with a stricken expression on her face.

“Shut the door.”

He nodded and did as she asked. She scooted over as he neared the bed, and he sat down beside her. He couldn’t help eyeing the journal as he did so.

“Did you read it?”

She nodded her head. Then she looked at him, her expression pleading. “Do you remember that day we got ice cream?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember what you swore to me?”

Killian nodded. He would never forget that day. “That you would never lose me.”

“Yes, that, but the other thing.”

Killian rested his head on the headboard, thinking as he looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, you mean that I would never think you were crazy?”

Emma picked up the journal and handed it to him. “Remember that.”

Killian looked down at the journal, then back at Emma. “You want me to read it?”

Emma nodded, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her eyes were wide as she watched him open the slim volume. A sense of dread snaked through his veins, but he began to read nevertheless . . .

My dearest, precious daughter Emma,

I found out today - officially on the ultrasound - that you’re a girl, and my heart broke all over again that your father isn’t with us. When we talked about baby names, we always liked Emma for a girl. I want you to know first of all how much your father and I love you. David was so excited when I found out I was with child, and he went to the market the very next day and bought an obscene amount of stuffed toys. His absence is not by choice. Of course, I’m getting ahead of myself . . .

I’m writing this because I fear that time is running out. The future is uncertain, and I want you to know the truth. It will be difficult for you to believe, I know that. I just hope and pray that my words are enough. Believe, my darling daughter, even when it seems impossible.

The second thing I want to say is this: I am not insane. I am writing this with full mental capacity. The woman you likely know now as your mother is not who I am as I write this. However, I fear madness is a curse I can not outrun. Some may tell you to ignore this journal as the ramblings of an unstable woman. That, I promise you, is not the case. Ingrid will tell you that during my pregnancy, I was completely sane.

Speaking of Ingrid, it brings me great relief to have met her. She doesn’t understand when I talk about it, because she knows how much I want you and has no reason to believe I cannot care for you. However, she has promised to raise you if I cannot. She is a wonderful woman and a dear friend. I know you will love her, too.

Well, I suppose I shall get to the point. You will grow up in a world, Emma, which does not believe in magic or fairy tales. However, that doesn’t mean they do not exist. The world you will grow up in, the world I find myself in right now, even has magic. Most people just aren’t aware of it.

This is not the only world there is, however. I’m not talking about space aliens, don’t worry. Or perhaps you’ll think it’s worse. I’m talking about other realms.

I am from a place called the Enchanted Forest. It should have been your home too, Emma. My name is not Mary Margaret. It is Snow White. I know that sounds crazy to you because since I arrived in this strange realm, I have discovered that my family, my friends, almost everyone I know, are considered nothing but stories here. It sounds impossible, but it’s true. I am Queen Snow White of the kingdom of Misthaven and your father is my Prince Consort. Yes, my Prince Charming. I actually do call him charming - it’s a silly nickname, really.

But that’s a story for happier times. Hopefully when we are all reunited.

Just like in the fairy tales you’ve heard about Snow White, my mother died and my father remarried an evil witch - the Evil Queen. She murdered my father shortly after the wedding, and I had to flee for my life. It’s a long story, but your father helped me win the kingdom back. (And yes, a poisoned apple was involved, but again, that’s a story for another time.)

We were young and knew little about battles or politics, especially when we were up against an evil queen. We made a grievous mistake. The Dark One, also called Rumplestiltskin, came to our court offering his help to defeat the Evil Queen. We knew The Dark One’s motto - “magic always comes with a price,” however, his deal sounded so simple.

The Evil Queen was drafting boys as young as eleven into military service against the ogres. The Dark One’s own son was among them. If we accepted his help, our first royal decree must be to absolve the draft. It seemed perfectly reasonable. After all, we found the law despicable ourselves, sending innocent children into battle.

Rumplestiltskin brought us victory, his son was spared, and all seemed to be well. Or so we thought.

Unfortunately, the ogres weren’t routed so easily. We continued to battle their terror across the realm. Finally, in the fifth year of our reign, the ogres were finally defeated in a decisive battle. Shortly after, I discovered I was pregnant with you, Emma. It seemed like we finally had our happy ending.

We were feasting, celebrating our victory, when thunder and lighting descended upon the banquet hall. Red smoke filled the room, and when it cleared, The Dark One was in our midst.

His manic, high pitched voice is seared into my memory: “I warned you, Your Majesties, all magic comes with a price!”

We abolished the draft, but when Rumplestiltskin’s son came of age, he joined our army against the ogres after all. Just in time for that last battle.

“I held my bleeding son in my arms, with death all around me!” Rumplestiltskin shrieked. “You promised me my son’s life!”

We pleaded our innocence. After all, how could we control his son’s life? His choices? Your father expressed his deepest condolences to The Dark One, and that’s when things became most bizarre. Before our eyes, Rumplestiltksin seemed to split in two, like another being was fighting to come out of him. For one moment, his son Bealfire stood before us! Baelfire pleaded with his father to let him go, let him die an honorable soldier, then he began to writhe on the floor as The Dark One battled with him. Then Rumplestiltskin, and him alone, was before us once again! The Dark One had absorbed his son with Dark Magic, keeping him alive - or at least, in a way.

Then the Dark One pronounced his curse upon us:

“Your entire kingdom will be ripped away, trapped in a realm where there is no magic and no happy endings. None of you will remember who you really are. Except for you, Snow White! You will be separated from your love, and you will know it, with all your memories intact. You will wander alone in this strange realm until you give birth to a baby girl. Yet you will only hold her for a moment before madness descends upon you. She will be taken from you, and she will detest you for the rest of your days.”

I nearly collapsed with the cruelty of this curse, and your father fell upon his knees and begged the Dark One for mercy. He gave that eerie little giggle of his and practically danced with glee.

“Mercy? I don’t do mercy. I do, however, love games. So I’ll tweak the curse just a tiny bit. I’ll give you a riddle, in the form of a song. Solve each riddle and perform the three tasks by the time your baby is born, and the curse will be broken.”

My royal lineage overtook me, and I stood to my full height then and vowed that the true love I felt for your father would help me conquer this riddle. Little did I know that The Dark One’s sadistic cruelty wasn’t finished.

“Well,” he squealed, “if you don’t solve it, perhaps your daughter will. When she is seventeen years of age, I will find her, my son will woo her, and she will give me another child to replace the one you took from me.”

“Our daughter will never be wooed by the son of the Dark One!” your father thundered.

Rumplestiltkin’s answer rattled the windows. “Then he will take her by force!”

Emma, my heart grows sick to think that The Dark One will find you. I pray that you read this in time. He’s here, Emma! I’ve seen him! He taunts me, sneaking around and showing up in the most random places. I’ve seen his son too, and after months of sharing body and soul with his father, he has become dark and twisted as well. He’s no longer the heroic boy he once was. Beware of him! He goes by the name Neal Cassidy in this realm.

Killian stopped reading then, his face pale, his hands shaking. Emma rested a slim hand on his leg.

“You saw his name, didn’t you?” she whispered.

He couldn’t answer, he could only shudder, his hands gripping the journal until his knuckles turned white.

“Keep reading,” Emma ordered gently.

I have tried to solve the riddle Emma, but I can’t even figure out how to complete the first task! How does one make a shirt with no needle or seam? There are two other tasks. The second is to find a town that no one knows, and I am certain that’s where your father is. If I do not succeed, Emma, it will be up to you. Solve the riddles, complete the tasks, find us, and break the curse! I know it’s overwhelming, but also know this: In this family, we always find each other. If I can’t break the curse, I know you can.

If The Dark One has found you already when you read this, then also know this: if you do not break the curse by the time your baby comes, you will also descend into madness, and all of The Enchanted Forest will remain cursed forever. Here is the riddle:

“O, where are you going?" "To Scarborough fair,"

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;

"Remember me to a lass who lives there,

For once she was a true love of mine.

And tell her to make me a cambric shirt,

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

Without any seam or needlework,

And then she shall be a true love of mine.

And tell her to find the town which no one knows,

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

And reunite the lovers there with a kiss ,

And then she shall be a true love of mine

And there she must sow an acre with but one kernel of corn,

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

Upon the seashore before the tide comes,

And then she shall be a true love of mine

All my love, my darling daughter, and may hope and truth be yours.

Love,

Mother

Killian snapped the journal closed and dropped it on the bed. He turned his head to look at Emma, seeing for the first time that she looked a bit sick and green.

“And you believe this is all true?”

“How else do you explain his name being there? And remember what I told you? How Neal changed? And he said the same thing my mother wrote about! All magic comes with a price.”

Killian felt sick. Sick with the certainty that it was all true. He knew it like he knew his own name. There was just one thing . . .

“But Emma, you aren’t pregnant.”

Her face was stoic as she reached under her pillow and pulled something out. She pressed it into his hand. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see at first, but then he looked down.

A white stick with a tiny pink plus sign rested in the palm of his hand.

Tagging @snowbellewells @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1

#cs ff #captain swan ff #captains swan fanfiction #cs impossible au #cs au #lieutenant duckling au

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