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mrpenguinpants · 3 years

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Genshin: University AU [V1]

I love modern au. Or any “everything is fine, no one died, it’s just a fever dream” au. Half of me is thinking, damn maybe I should answer this serious- LOL HAHA no. That’s not happening. Time to crack my knuckles and let my brainworms take over again.

Once again, this is 90% crack 10% content. I want to switch up my characters from the last brainworm post but I included Kaeya and Diluc.

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Today’s appreciation post goes to twistedwishes. Hey! I’ve been seeing you pop up a lot lately and thanks for the support 💕💕 I hope things are going better for you and you’re doing alright^^ I feel kinda bad for making appreciation posts on crack fics but hopefully this is somewhat funny haha.

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Genshin: Holding Hands [V1]

Genshin: When you’re cold [V1]

Genshin: Roommate [V1]

Genshin: Royalty AU [V1]

[Masterlist]

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[taglist] <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@mikeysbike @hanniejji@unionwitch @musekala @twistedsunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz @dai-tsukki-desu @thicmitten @youaskedfurret @diaxfeliz @wintergreen-aix @dandelily @thegayrubberducky @lovelykittycatmeow @yuunoagivesmelife @dokidokisama @simpygrimoire @minakohasmanyhusbandos @strwbrry-lia @tigerpriestess @yuu-yuukurotsuki

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Diluc

Absolute pretty boy who has braincells, but only if Kaeya is not there. In his mind, Kaeya’s presence makes his room loose 40% of their common sense. He can’t prove it just yet but he’s working on it. He majors in accounting but also has a minor in marketing, logistics’ management, fia- he majors everything business related. He’s going to become the next Elon Musk through smarts or by getting the competition drunk. There can be no contest if he’s the only candidate. He’s actually a hard working guy that overworks and stresses way too much. You have daily “Diluc recharge” evenings where he just hangs onto you while you go through your day.

“Don’t fucking talk to me until I’ve had my coffee,” except there is no coffee - he drinks grape juice out of juice boxes and his only energy boost is when he meets up with you - and that’s his constant mood. So he usually only hangs around you and Jean, since she has childhood friend status and is actually an angel. By default, Lisa is added and Diluc doesn’t mind her but if he see’s Kaeya, it’s full on war paint mode. If he's not busy with work or studies, he's usually with you either in your dorm or his apartment.

He has a fanclub and he seriously hates it and tries to do everything in his power to get Ningguang to take it down. Shouldn’t this be against his rights? But she refuses for whatever reason and makes a whole speech about free will. No matter what he does, someone manages to take a picture and it get’s printed in the university’s newspaper. The only bonding time he has with Kaeya is every Monday, where they collect and burn all the universities newspapers before anyone can get their hands on it. You always bring marshmallows to make smores during their arson activities.

“When I graduate I’m going to burn this school down to the ground. That’s not a threat it’s a promise.”

Ningguang

Is secretly the leader of the Diluc fanclub - not that she likes Diluc, she’s in a questionable platonic poly marriage with you and Beidou - but it was the easiest way to gain funds for the student council. Which she is the president of, so rip Diluc the fanclub stays. Ruthless business woman I tell you. But she can run in heels so her danger factor rises by at least 20%.

Majors in social sciences and law but more specifically the political science & government. She saw the Imperial State Crown that the Queen of England wears and says yes, that’s mine now. If she’s not with Beidou and you planning on “how to infiltrate the state government just for lols”, then she’s with Keqing, Ganyu, and Zhongli discussing student council things. Should they or should they not tell the student body that they can see everyone’s search results? Sit back and relax as the school goes into chaos.

She’s probably the scariest person on campus No, she is the scariest person on campus. She’s the scariest person on campus. But secretly she’s popping 20 aspirins just to make it through a night. She has the digestive system of steel. She still holds the title of "seriously do not try and beat her in a drinking game it's never going to happen" and that's her proudest achievement in life but sadly she can’t put it on her resume. Kaeya is still trying to beat her out of spite but so far it hasn't been working. You’re seriously concerned for her when she get’s challenged but Beidou gives you a way-to-hard slap on the back and cheers her on. If Ninngguang somehow get’s alcohol poisonings she’ll somehow find away to make a profit out of it.

"I'll let him die, I'll get the insurance money."

Kaeya

One day he chugged too much mouth wash, passed out, and somehow woke up in university majoring in law. His idea is that if he is apart of the law, he can therefore stand above it. To be fair, his only goal in life is to say “I am the manager” and he can go live the rest of his life in bliss or as a hermit. He’s secret best friends with you but wouldn't be caught dead beside you. He will stab a bitch if you ever get hurt but will still trip you on the way home. Seriously, you have no idea why people find him attractive. Your guess is it’s the eye patch or the clap of his ass cheeks that keeps alerting everyone.

He’s apart of the newspaper club and if anyone asks: No, he has no idea who keeps taking all the newspapers and burns them in the back of the campus. Originally, he joined because he was nosy and needed to join some type of club for his resume. He sometimes feels bad for his junior assistant Amber because he keeps tricking her and says that Diluc is secretly a demon that is trying to steal all the jobs and is apart of the lizard government hell bent on eradicating the human race. He even brought out a whiteboard for this joke, he’s dedicated to his job ok?

The type of guy to try and be humble and say his work is “okay” but will choke a bitch if anyone agrees. He tends to leave everything last minute and says that it’s his drug since actual drugs could land you one year in prison and a maximum penalty of $2,000. You have to awkwardly hold in your concerned mother head shake when you see him speed running his assignment literally right when the professor is walking around to check if students finished.

“I was taught how to lead not to read.”

Mona

Broke wallet #2. Zhongli is broke wallet #1 but Childe simps for him so is he really a broke wallet at this point? In this essay, I Mona Megistus, will explain why I have the rights to the title “Broke Wallet #1″...

Believes that astrology should be an actual career path but refuses to take astronomy as her major. I can read the stars not a textbook that tells me how to calculate the mass of the sun divided by the fucks I give. Instead she went into Philosophy and cries to Albedo, who is an actual prodigy genius- sir lend some braincells to everyone else please?, that her professor keep turning her paper down because “star reading” is not an academic source.

Fischl wants her to join the occult club because, surprisingly, Mona is very good at telling people’s fates through her crayon sketch ouija board. She thinks first year Fischl is cute but is put off by the cosplay roleplay that she has going on. She would join except that stupid hat wearing gremlin in her lit class would make fun of her if he found out.

You gave her half your lunch one day and bought her a doughnut "because she seemed upset" and "out of the goodness of your heart" whatever the hell that means. She thinks you pensioned it but once that thought comes she takes a bite. Poison from a doughnut is not the worst way to go out, classes are hard enough. She’s waiting for the lord to strike her down anyways.

“Its not about passing, its about doing better than everyone else.”

Venti

Slept through most of highschool and people question how he got into university. He’s a music major (wow how fucking original is that), and if anyone asks him to serenade someone or just do anything, he’ll do it for the right price. Or if you buy him alcohol because he still keeps getting ID checked. He’s banking on Kaeya actually becoming a lawyer or being on good terms with Diluc so he can finally stop being arrested for looking like a toddler.

Takes one step into classes and quickly nopes out and goes back to bed. Professors have no idea how he hasn't dropped out or failed. He just has some god given talent. He does whine at you to pretty pretty please with a cherry on top tutor him because you're such an angel and would never leave your poor but awesome best friend hanging right? He needs to get this essay down but how he is suppose to explain how the number 10 is symbolic and connects to the universe or the meaning of life. Do you think he can just say it’s apart of his culture and make up some random myth to pretend it looks like he knows what he’s doing?

He’s honestly going with the flow and put his brain on the back burner all of highschool and only now realizes wait, I actually have to use my brain?

He’s been banned from most club chats since Venti has the no chill card. Someone says “lol I look ugly today.” and he’ll respond "yup, you look like a cow." and he get’s banned. Zhongli keeps a speed run timer on his phone just to document these occasions.

"Sad spelled backwards is das and das how it be sometimes."

Childe

An actual dumbass that somehow does well. He eats sandwiches with the crust off, this heathen. Surprisingly he’s studying to become a physical therapist but most of his experience has come from breaking his own bones. You’re scared how he's going to be if he actually becomes a therapist. If he'll make bets with his patients or try to one up whatever crazy injury they get into. Everything is a challenge to him that sometimes the best way to deal with Childe is to knock him out.

This man really knows the way to a Zhongli’s woman's heart. Through micro transactions. Mona saw him accidently drop $20 and just shrugged and walked off. She has never been both spiritually and physically offended in her life. She did take the $20 though. As much as you hate leeching on Chile when he’s basically a walking wallet that probably uses bills as tissue paper, you can’t help but give him puppy eyes while planning on how to get into his will. If he even plans on having one, he might honestly write “whoever wins in a gladiator style duel in my funeral’s tournament, they will get my fortune.”.

Any sport the university offers Childe is probably in it. Which is how he met Zhongli, challenged him to a fight, proceeded to have his ass handed to him, got a backhanded compliment, and screamed to you he was in love and how he found his soulmate. He's secretly very sappy and has cried and watched every Disney and Pixar movie at least 28 times.

"IM NOT TOO SPICY! I’M A TINY BIT ABOVE MILD IF ANYTHING!”

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God if it isn’t Scaramouche, it’s Childe that ruins the aesthetic. This is why I hate you. Why do you people enable me like this, it isn’t even good. This is pretty much a @ yourself moment and I vibe hard with Venti. This entire post was just to make a joke about the clap of Kaeya’s ass cheeks alerting the guards.

This week might slow down since I have classes and assignments. My reply’s are gonna be late too, sorry;; (oh and thank you to everyone that was so supportive and nice when I mentioned it. All of you. Beautiful 💕💕 )

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beneaththetangles · 3 years

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Grace for the Lying Traitor

Originally, this should have been done by the end of the first season back in 2019, but the combination of a lack of writing motivation and the manga providing even more supplementary material for this article than expected (and many more potential ones in the future, really) has led to this being finished in time for season two finally premiering, which is the perfect time to bring this out of the woodwork. Spoiler warnings will also be given when referencing future events from the manga.

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At the start of The Promised Neverland, Ray appears to be just a quiet, if somewhat cynical, boy who’d rather read alone than play with the other kids. After being “filled in” on the secret of Grace Field House by Emma and Norman as well as their escape plan, the reveal that he not only had been secretly a spy to Mom, Isabella, and was lowkey sabotaging their plan had been, to say the least, a great shock to both Norman and the audience. Rather than just keeping quiet and cutting him off when he wasn’t useful anymore like he would have done, Norman decides to keep him in with the plan. What would have led him to handle Ray in such a way?

Many past articles on this website have discussed in detail the importance of grace for those in the position of giving it. Of course, the receiver, too, and even primary, is impacted. To consider how Ray was affected, it’s important to note three particulars about him from the first arc:

How he learned the secret of Grace Field House

His identity as a spy for Isabella and why he chose to be one

What he planned to do in order to let Emma and Norman escape the House

Redemption by leilf (w/ permission)

As it was shown in later chapters and in The First Shot side story, Ray’s lack of infantile amnesia, while undoubtedly helpful, brought him much stress at a young age. Given what he eventually figured out about the House and his actual blood relation to Isabella as her son, he developed a semblance of learned helplessness and guilt from being unable to save the other children being “adopted” out of the House to be eaten by demons.

With that said, however, while he eventually thought it impossible to save all the children in the house, he was still driven enough to try to save his two closest friends from that same fate. In order for him to accomplish both of those goals, his plan involved selling himself out to Isabella and acting as her spy for the sake of discreetly gathering information and equipment (Isabella later calls him “a liar and a traitor” for his actions). In doing so, however, he also indirectly used the other children in ways that either possibly risked them getting killed earlier than planned (with his experiments on the tracking devices in their ears) or caused a massive betrayal of trust and hurt once revealed (as in the case with Norman and Don), which may have increased his guilt even further. Add all of that with his general spite towards the adults and the demons, and we almost get to see the ultimate culmination of his six-year-long plan: a breakout caused by setting himself and the House on fire.

Emma, however, had something else planned for him.

Emma’s caring personality is often criticized by some both inside and out of the story as being too naïve or unrealistic for the situation the kids are currently in. Due to his own hope and optimism dying off over the past few years, her desire to bring everyone along in the escape had been thought of by Ray as a fantasy and a roadblock for his plan, especially with Norman supporting her. However, it’s also this same love and care that allows her to extend grace to him which, ultimately, saves him by the end of the first arc.

The first instance of Emma’s grace saving Ray happens just before Norman confronts him about being the traitor. In that instance, Norman takes Emma aside and asks her, hypothetically, what she would do if there really was a child among them that sold them out to the demons. Her answer, while expected, holds a surprising amount of depth in her reasoning. Even in the face of betrayal, she still cares enough to want to look after the safety and well-being of even those who’ve hurt her. And not only that, Emma’s willing to bank her trust on the spy’s goodness precisely on the fact that, in spite of everything, they’d still be a child who she’s known and lived together with for years. This is enough to soften Norman’s stance on dealing with Ray and give him another chance, instead of just planning to use him until it became inconvenient.

Even after Ray told her himself that he was the spy, Emma was still forgiving enough to understand how much he had been struggling behind the scenes. That being said, just because she was willing to give Ray a second chance, it doesn’t mean that she’s blind to the possibility that he might do something behind her back again (and he certainly wasn’t sincere either when he told her he changed his mind then). So she leaves him with a warning near the end of their conversation:

Despite mercy being shown him after outing himself as the spy, Ray still continues with his own plans up until the night before his 12th birthday. Fortunately for him, Emma and Norman’s steadfastness with their plan still gives him another chance that saved him from a fate he cursed himself to later on.

Emma’s graciousness shows up once again as she foils Ray’s suicide attempt. Having been made aware of the plan beforehand by a letter from Norman after he was shipped out, she and the other children who learned the House’s secret quietly worked behind the scenes to prepare for their actual escape plan. From the moment when she caught the lit match to when they crossed over the chasm to the forest, Emma and the other kids were more than willing to bring Ray along, taking measures such as making a dummy to put in the fire in his place to fool Isabella. Another point worth mentioning is that some of the kids also sacrificed some thing or part of themselves in order to ensure the escape wouldn’t fail: Norman with his chance to escape Grace Field a few months back, Anna as she cuts her long hair for the dummy, and Emma with her left ear as the tracker inside it serving as another distraction tactic for Isabella. It’s due to this that he was able to witness a radical experience (“I’ll show you something cool, so shut up and come.”) which then led to a radical transformation.

The success of the escape from Grace Field almost immediately hearkens a change within Ray. When the kids finally get a moment of rest in the forest, he has a private conversation with Emma, repentant over how he felt and acted before with the others, now knowing how much they are willing to do for him. He finishes his thoughts with a promise to Emma:

“Emma, I’ll live. I’ll live and protect this family. Everyone in this family, just like you. This time, for sure I vow. No matter what happens, I’ll never abandon them again. So you don’t have to bear the burden all on your own. We’ll create it together…a world where we can live as a family. All of us.”

[Manga Spoilers for the Next 4 Paragraphs Ahead]

While Ray may fall back on old cynical habits in stressful situations later in the story, they often end up being short-lived, especially as he puts more of his trust in Emma and her decisions. Even at times when he may not understand them, he’s now more open to and supportive of possibilities he would have once brushed off that actually work, as was shown in his and Emma’s trip to the Seven Walls. His outlook in life is much more hopeful now, and he becomes more openly caring to the people around him in his own way. Through living beyond when he thought he would die, Ray opens himself up to more opportunities where his own strengths were able to contribute in saving all the cattle children in the long run.

It should also be noted that Emma’s grace doesn’t just start and end with Ray. Isabella also becomes one of many other links in this chain, especially since her own radical experience (watching the children successfully escape the farm) gave her renewed hope that the entire system can be destroyed, which drove her to help with it through her promotion as the new Grandma. After Emma’s group successfully took over Grace Field from Peter Ratri, Emma offers Isabella and the other women the opportunity to come with them to the human world as she has already included them in her promise deal with The One. The women, wracked by their own guilt and shame, choose to stay behind. Ray, however, had some words to say to that:

“Get over it already. You were sick of this, right? If you have regrets, take care of them in the human world. I’m glad I’m alive. It’s because I’m alive that I can atone for my sins and clear my conscience. It’s fine. No one will resent anyone. We’re not holding grudges. So let’s go. All of you, with us.”

Ray, who until then had such complicated feelings for his mother to the point of calling her a monster, decides to let go of all that and extend forgiveness to offer her the chance to make things right. This action, as well as with how the younger children were so willing to plead with the other women to come by hugging them, shakes Isabella down to her core. With her burden finally lifted off her shoulders, she accepts the offer, and was even willing to lay her life down for the children when a rogue demon employee tried to kill them in a rampage. Other different case examples can be made with Norman in the midst of him seemingly succeeding with his demon genocide plan, and Peter Ratri as he tries to maintain the status quo of the previous promise. However, the latter deals more on when the recipient decides to coldly reject the offer of grace, as he, in true Javert-esque fashion, would rather off himself on the spot than accept the chance to come with Emma to help the rest of the cattle children in the human world.

[Spoilers End Here]

As it is shown from the story itself, in the midst of the cruel and terrifying world that she’s stuck in, the love and compassion Emma shows even to her enemies or those who betray her is something that has the potential to transform into something impossible and incredible by the ending. An act of grace, however small or seemingly useless as it may seem at the time, can form small ripples which can change the course of at least one person’s life for the better. And as those waves reach more and more people, this can bring about a great change and giant waves in the end. This is as much true within the story of TPN as it is in real life, and it is through this we would be able to show the saving love that God has shown to us to those who also need it the most.

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The Promised Neverland anime is streaming on Funimation & Hulu in the US, and AnimeLab in Australia. The manga is available through Viz.

#Anime #Christianity #Yakusoku no Neverland #The Promised Neverland #Manga #Ray #Emma #Isabella #Grace #Articles #Author: thathilomgirl

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

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WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN!

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E (explicit sexual content) Word count: 10,358 @spideychelleweek

Spideychelle Week Day 4: Meeting Again After High School

Summary: The fact that MJ bought a ticket to this event doesn't mean she wants to be here. It's a favour for a friend, who is not the man someone in the room is about to win a date with. No, that guy isn't her friend, just a date-skipping, heart-breaking ex from high school. Whatever. She's out of here the second they draw the name. It better not be hers.

“If my name gets drawn, I’m going to murder you,” MJ informs Betty when her friend leans against the bar for a breather. She swallows the end of her drink. “Just so you know.”

“You won’t get picked,” Betty assures her.

She isn’t looking at MJ, but at the rest of the people assembled in the hotel’s large event room, a space generously donated for the occasion. It better be one of them, MJ thinks. Anyone but her.

“I could.”

“You won’t,” Betty insists, turning and flagging the bartender to request a glass of cranberry juice.

“Daring,” MJ mutters.

“I’m working, remember? Anyway, look around. Entry was fifty dollars―”

“That I remember. You’re totally paying me back for doing this.”

Betty rolls her eyes and continues. “It was fifty dollars per entry and how many times do you think they put their names in?” she asks MJ, pointing a subtle finger at a clump of socialites.

“Jeeze, hope nobody blew their allowance,” MJ retorts sarcastically. She’s tempted to get another drink, but more alcohol in her system isn’t going to help her get through this. It may, however, help her get over it afterwards, when she’s back in her apartment.

“Well, one of them’s hoping to blow more than their allowance,” Betty says with a knowing little cock of her head.

“Yikes, Betty, you speak to your grandmother with that mouth?”

Betty ignores her and takes a sip of the cranberry juice the bartender sets before her. She places the glass back on the bar, staring at it for a minute, before she winces―pre-regret, is the emotion MJ’s learned to identify the look as―and asks the bartender to add a splash of vodka.

“I have a lot riding on this,” she tells MJ after a heartier swig of her newly-adult drink.

“I know you do,” MJ replies in a softer tone.

“The event was my big idea and I didn’t think my editor would go for it and now we’ve done so much promotion and if it doesn’t work out...” She turns sharply to her friend. “Do you think it won’t work out?”

“It’s already working out. You got a great turnout. Hell, you got me here.”

“You’re my emotional support though. You don’t count.”

“Ouch. Is that what you tell your fiancé when he comes to these things?”

“I wouldn’t have to. Ned would kill to be here. He’d be laughing his ass off. In, like, a supportive way,” Betty clarifies.

“Guess their friendship’s still strong then,” MJ mumbles. She frowns when the bartender removes her glass. Now she has nothing to do with her hands. She thumps her elbows onto the bar.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know it is. I know he’s still on your radar.”

“He is not. Besides his picture in your paper―”

“It’s not my paper,” Betty corrects, but she’s flattered. Tonight’s event should land her a promotion and that’s one step closer to the editor-in-chiefdom she’s striving to attain by 35. Though she’s still got six years to capture it, she loves to come in ahead of a deadline.

“―I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Well, you’ll see him tonight.”

“Will I?” MJ glances sideways at Betty. “Is he even here yet?”

“Fashionably late,” is her friend’s positive spin. “But it’s fine because I built a twenty-minute buffer into the schedule just in case.”

“You’ll need it. He’s allergic to punctuality.”

Betty sighs so loudly that MJ sits bolt upright.

“Can’t you even say his name?” she snaps.

“Are you ok? Do you need me to find you a paper bag to breathe into?”

“Shut up. God, what time is it?” Suddenly frantic, Betty checks her watch, twisting it around her wrist. She glances up at the stage, where a man in a generic black suit is stepping out to scattered applause. “He’s not supposed to start his speech for another fifteen minutes! Sorry, I have to…”

“Go on,” MJ encourages. “Boss them around. Sort it out.”

“If you see Peter arrive…”

“You’ll be alerted by my loud screeches of aversion,” she promises. Betty hesitates at that, so MJ gives her a gentle shove.

When the back of her friend’s pale pink gown disappears through the crowd, MJ rotates on her stool to observe the room. She still hasn’t said his name and she wishes she wasn’t so aware of it. It’s come out of Betty’s mouth a hundred times today. Besides that, it’s printed on signs around the room, along with his face―unmasked, naturally, to help move tickets. Good looks are always for sale and the newspaper Betty works for isn’t above leveraging that. The money raised by this event is for a good cause though, MJ has to allow that much. Two new clinics to service the city’s vulnerable homeless population, one staffing mental health professionals and the other a safe injection site as NYC combats the opioid crisis. It’d just be nice to attend a fundraiser that wasn’t somehow all about him.

She slips from her stool and realizes cutting herself off at one drink was a good idea; she has unforgivingly-high heels on tonight, the kind that make grown men cry, and her balance is still intact. MJ’s not using the intimidating height the shoes give her to compensate for the secret fear being here inspires. She’s not. Smoothing the front of the silky material of her pants, she lets them fall back into place before circling the room. There’s an art to it, moving through the wealthy strangers without actually mingling, and MJ thinks she’s gotten pretty good at making people scared to meet her eye... until a lackey from the mayor’s office steps directly in front of her and presses a leaflet, featuring the evening’s itinerary, into her hands. MJ sighs and slaps it down on the first tall cocktail table she passes. She doesn’t mean to look, but the white letters on a red background catch her eye: WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN! No thanks, MJ thinks, walking quickly away in search of Betty. I try not to make the same mistake twice.

Half an hour later, with the mayor’s long-winded speech running over before finally wrapping up, MJ watches her friend step up to the podium that’s just been vacated, clapping and beaming. It’s not her stressed smile either. Fuck. MJ exhales slowly. That smile says everything’s going smoothly, which tells her Peter’s here. Where is he? How did she miss him coming in? In spite of herself, she cranes her head around to look, not paying attention to Betty’s speech that thanks everyone for coming before shifting into introducing the guest of honour. She’s heard it before. Helped her friend practice. MJ was open to that kind of thing, weeks ago, before Betty pressganged-slash-guilted her into buying a ticket for the fucking Spider-Man lottery. She’s right though―they’ve sold thousands of tickets. She’ll never win. If she’s really lucky, Peter will never even know she was at this thing.

Which is definitely what she wants, MJ reminds herself, adjusting the lapels of the tightly tailored blazer she’s worn with no blouse underneath. For him to not notice her.

When Peter steps out from a side door with a big wave and a nervous smile, she’s deaf to the fanfare. Belatedly, she starts to clap, glancing around and dropping her hands when everyone else does. She doesn’t want to be the last idiot clapping. He’d spot her then for sure. As she watches him mount the low stage and let Betty guide him into position, MJ thinks he looks fairly anxious. Like, he looks nice, presentable, but unsure of himself. It’s the nicest suit she’s ever seen him wear, but his all-purpose one back in high school didn’t set a high bar.

He says a few words, voice coming out high at first as his eyes dart around the crowd (MJ steps slightly behind a very tall man and tells herself she isn’t hiding), then Betty takes over again, lightly touching his arm and eloquently rescuing him while keeping her event on track. She’s exceptional, MJ thinks. Distinguished master-of-ceremonies and gregarious gameshow host at the same time. MJ couldn’t do this job, which is why she switched from journalism to a literary agency three years ago. She’s better at negotiating than pleasing, better at handling people one-on-one. Except for him. She sees Peter step to the side and try to look excited as Betty holds a red pail (ok, a little lame―one of the interns failed in prop acquisition) for the mayor to submerge his hand into and pluck out a name. MJ had him one-on-one, looking only at her, with no sea of people. She was fifteen, unaware of his secret identity that still was secret at the time, and things didn’t work out. People think dating a superhero is such a fantasy. Disappointment was the boring reality.

A name’s drawn and MJ starts clapping along with everyone else. It takes almost half a minute for her to realize the name was hers.

They want to get her on stage, but she balks. Betty makes an excuse into the microphone, something about MJ not wanting to take attention away from the evening’s mission. The fact that landing a date with Spider-Man wasn’t the evening’s sole mission might come as a shock to some of the whining voices around her. Normally, she’d glare at them or make a sarcastic comment about their noble motivations, but she can’t. First of all, she won’t jeopardize the success of Betty’s event. Second, her human wall has stepped aside and Peter’s looking at her. And MJ’s looking back. Betty gracefully wraps things up on stage, her diamond engagement ring catching the light stunningly to add glamour to her showmanship, and then she, the mayor, and Spider-Man himself are descending into the crowd.

Does she flee? Is this MJ’s one chance to run?

But no, Betty weaves through to find her and grabs her hand like she knows what her friend’s plotting.

“You have to find someone else,” MJ says hurriedly. “Draw another name.”

“I can’t. You won fair and square.”

“I didn’t want to win.”

“I know.” Neither of them are looking at each other; they’re both looking in the direction Peter will inevitably approach from when he escapes the impromptu meet-and-greet.

“Tell them I’m sick.”

“Wouldn’t work,” Betty says. “The date’s not tonight.”

“Tell them it’s the beginning of a prolonged and ultimately fatal sickness.”

“Not very on-brand for Spider-Man to skip out on a date with someone terminally ill.”

“I’ll make it extremely clear that it was my decision. Would you take a last-minute opinion piece on why I hate Spider-Man and publish it tomorrow?”

“Babe, you don’t hate Spider-Man, you just don’t forgive the people who hurt you.”

Betty’s assessment is presented so casually that it startles MJ. It’s absolutely accurate, but she’s horrified that she’s been so easy to read. That’s the problem with having close friends. They know you and on top of that, they bully you into entering contests to date your high school ex. She’s never making a friend again.

“Yeah, I know,” MJ sighs, and then Peter appears, shaking one last hand, before turning their way.

“I owe you, I owe you, I owe you,” Betty hisses. “Please don’t make a scene.”

People are looking. Jealous weirdos.

“Hey, MJ,” he says, eyes catching hers. She breaks that shit off immediately, looking up and away from him.

“I go by Michelle now.”

“She doesn’t,” Betty cuts in.

“Oh... ok,” Peter says with obvious and understandable confusion. “So, you wanna...?”

He goes to put a hand on MJ’s back and she dodges it.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands.

He glances uncertainly from her to Betty and back.

“Betty said they’d need to take a picture of me with the, uh, winner.”

MJ laughs bitterly.

“This just keeps getting better.”

Betty mutters a reminder: “No scene.”

So she acquiesces, following Betty over to the spot she previously decided on for the photo, next to one of the signs for the event. MJ doesn’t let Peter touch or guide her and he doesn’t try again. A photographer―signaled by Betty―approaches and she tactfully poses her friends to make them look friendly without physical contact. Betty gestures for her to smile and, for her, MJ manages a brief closed-lipped one, standing stiffly at Peter’s side. She’s a little curious about what his face is doing; is he being Spider-Man, beaming and happy to be here, or is he as uncomfortable as she is and just faking it until this evening is over?

After a dozen rapid clicks of the camera, the photographer and Betty walk away, Betty seeming to tell him what else she’d like shots of. Peter can return to his adoring fans, but he hasn’t yet and with Betty occupied, MJ’s floundering for a polite way to excuse herself. She makes the mistake of meeting Peter’s eye and he gives her a soft smile.

“You look so good.”

Heart seizing, she turns and marches for the exit, leaving him standing there.

―

“Thanks for taking the time to say goodbye,” Betty says over the phone, sarcasm perky and damning.

MJ groans. She stretches out on her couch and mutes the TV. It’s the morning after the event and she’s unproductive, not that it has anything to do with seeing Peter last night.

“I’m sorry. I had to get out of there.”

“You know, I think you’re the only person in this city, aside from criminals, who runs the other way at the sight of Spider-Man.”

“I didn’t run.”

“You didn’t stick around either. Peter could’ve used you there.”

“I’m not even going to respond to that.”

“Look, MJ,” Betty sighs, “I’m on your side, but do you really think it’s impossible that he’s grown a little since high school?”

“I haven’t seen any proof of that,” MJ huffs. “What I remember is him always showing up late, if he showed up at all, and let me remind you that he was late last night.”

“It’s the nature of his work.”

“Sounds like you’re defending him and therefore on his side.”

“The world is on his side and not all of us are stubborn enough to disagree with seven and a half billion people!” Betty exclaims. “Fine, I am on Spider-Man’s side, as an admirer of the good things he does, but as a friend, I’m on your side. A hundred percent.”

“You’re still making me go through with this date, aren’t you?”

“I have all the details right here in front of me, if you―”

MJ hangs up. Betty will forgive her.

―

The date takes place in the middle of the day in Central Park. It’s been two weeks since Peter allowed himself to be auctioned off, which has meant two weeks of MJ pleading with an immovable Betty to find a replacement and about two hours of stoic acceptance (just this morning). The time and location were selected for them based on what would result in the best pictures. Oh yeah, there’s a photographer here again, ready to spend the next three hours (three hours?) trailing them around the park to take candid shots of their afternoon. The paper’s planning a big image gallery for their website. According to Betty, this follow-up to her event will be their main photo story of the summer. Fucking excellent. All MJ could really do to prepare was wear comfortable white sneakers and a light denim jacket in case a wind came up or something. She’s already regretting that, with the sun right overhead in the sky and the air totally still around her. She moves her hair off her neck and turns to the photographer.

“He’ll probably be late,” MJ warns.

She, like the photographer, was early. Wanting to get today over with, she paid more attention to her willingness to participate (which might not last) than to showing up a full forty-five minutes ahead of the scheduled time. If this was a normal date, that might look like enthusiasm. Peter, in contrast, probably forgot this is happening today. He’s probably asleep or off somewhere being... Nope, here he comes, bounding up the path. Why did MJ wear the jacket? She’s so overheated.

“Hi,” Peter greets the photographer first, shaking her hand. Perennial people-pleaser, she thinks, but she did the same when she arrived. It just feels so natural to be judgemental towards him.

“And is it MJ or Michelle today?” he asks her.

Ooh, there was a little bite to that and MJ raises her eyebrows at it, though, if anything, she’s impressed that Peter’s developed some measure of a backbone.

“Michelle,” she says. She doesn’t offer her hand. He doesn’t reach for it.

The photographer’s probably great at her job, she wouldn’t have been given this assignment otherwise, but patience must be her next best quality; MJ knows she and Peter aren’t making today easy for her. Things are tense between them, their body language is awkward, their attempts at conversation are worse. She’s done a great job at keeping him out of her life, despite their best friends being engaged, and she really doesn’t want to ruin that by talking about her work, her hobbies, her family, her apartment, her aspirations. None of it. That doesn’t leave a lot and MJ isn’t encouraging Peter to share details of his life either. She’s spent such a long time striving to remain ignorant of everything Peter-related. Basically since they graduated high school.

The best photos of them will probably be at the pond, where they fed ducks and MJ felt her expression soften, if not quite break out into a smile. Then, there was the ice cream. There should be a few useable shots there, seeing as eating doesn’t require smiling, meaning MJ’s lack of a grin won’t seem odd. The best images will probably come from right after. MJ’s ice cream dripped on her jacket, which seemed like divine intervention at first―she finally had a reason to remove it that wouldn’t look like she was trying to get Peter to watch her take her clothes off―until he stealthily grabbed the jacket from her hand while she was trying not to dump the rest of her ice cream. He hasn’t given it back. Probably looks so fucking chivalrous, carrying it around for her and all MJ can do is feel exposed and too aware of her bare shoulders in her green tank top. The self-consciousness makes her grouchy and there’s still an hour of this date to go.

“Michelle, I know you don’t want to be here,” Peter informs her while the photographer’s a short distance away, changing out her memory card, “but this isn’t about you. You could at least try a little bit.”

Her face floods with angry heat.

“I don’t want to be here? Neither do you. You wish I was anybody else.”

His head jerks back.

“What? No, I don’t. If anything, I’m relieved.”

“Are you?” MJ’s suspicious.

“Well, I was when the mayor picked your name. I thought it might be nice to catch up with you rather than have to entertain some rich stranger. You don’t know how exhausting that is.”

She laughs and he spins towards her, clearly upset.

“Why do you have to react like that, like what I do is a joke?”

MJ holds up her hands.

“I’m sorry being with me is so tiring for you. I guess that’s why you were never around when we were supposed to be together.”

“We’re talking about high school now? You know why I missed dates.”

“Or showed up late, or left early,” she continues for him.

“Nobody knew then, dammit! I was all on my own, trying to be me and Spider-Man and, at the time, being him felt more important. Now, I can apologize for that, but I can’t fix it.”

MJ snorts.

“Would you even want to?”

“MJ,” he says, giving up on calling her by her full name, ��we were fifteen.”

“And that means what? That it wasn’t a real relationship?”

A laugh bursts out of Peter that the photographer may have caught because MJ can hear her snapping photos of them again. Hopefully, she can’t see the wounded, incredulous look on MJ’s face from that angle.

“It means I was crazy about you and I had no idea what I was doing.”

“You could’ve told me about Spider-Man,” she says, lowering her voice and smoothing her expression as the photographer circles them.

“I kept trying to figure out how,” he admits. She studies his face in silence for a few seconds. “You dumped me before I could.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t very much fun being ignored.”

“I know. That’s been my life ever since.”

MJ rolls her eyes.

“Please. You aren’t ignored.”

“I meant by you.”

She opens her mouth but finds herself shaking her head instead of speaking.

“MJ...” Peter starts.

“Don’t,” she tells him. “Not... right now.”

MJ starts walking again, but not before seeing his eyes turn hopeful at the way she left things open. Peter skips to her side. They look sideways at each other and the atmosphere feels suddenly lighter. It’s been a long time, but also, maybe not so long. It pleases and terrifies her to see that he’s still Peter, even with the fame he’s gained over the years.

“Would you want to have dinner?” he asks quietly. “I think it’s pretty obvious that we have some things to sort out.”

She eyes him, wary.

“When?”

“Tonight?” Peter proposes. “Why not, right? I don’t know what these last two weeks have been like for you, but I don’t want to have to do that again. Sit around and wonder what you were thinking and how you could possibly still be so mad at me.”

MJ’s already told him she won’t get into that again at the moment, but now that he’s offering her an opportunity, she’s unsure if she wants to discuss their history at all. Maybe fourteen years later is still too soon.

“I’m wearing shorts,” she says, like that’s a feasible excuse. Peter looks down as if to confirm that.

“It’s not like I’ve never seen your bare legs before. MJ, come on,” he laughs when she strides away over the grass.

What is this looking like to the photographer? Playful? Adventurous? God, MJ doesn’t envy her or the person who’ll write the story, trying to weave a narrative out of this.

“You can go home first and change.”

“And where am I meeting you?” she asks, like she’s considering the idea.

“My place? Because it’s private,” he explains quickly at the look on her face. “I assumed you would’ve had enough of being watched for one day. If we went to a restaurant or something, everyone would stare.”

Ok, that’s reasonable, she supposes. She still doesn’t rush to agree.

“Just to talk?”

“Just to talk,” Peter confirms, jumping ahead of her and walking backwards so she’s forced to look at him. “I can make dinner too. What do you like? I have to buy groceries anyway.”

MJ halts.

“I’m not picky.”

“That means pasta, unless you say otherwise. Remember, I was raised by an Italian woman.”

“Fine.”

“Ok.”

Peter nods and gets out of her way so they can walk side by side again.

“By the way, all I meant by the leg thing was that I’ve seen you wear shorts before.”

He’s grinning. Such a little liar. MJ laughs loudly, surprising herself.

“Yeah, sure, Parker.”

They walk along in companionable silence for a few minutes, running down the clock on this date. Suddenly, Peter’s head tips towards her and he mumbles something. She asks him to repeat himself.

“Can I touch you now?”

“What?”

“Like, touch your back or hold your hand. Just so whoever puts this article together has something to work with.”

Yes, it’s the same thing she was thinking a little while ago, so she should agree to it, but she was also thinking that before he made another reference to her bare legs, and all the implication behind that comment. Would she say the fact that he brought it up surprises her? Yes. (Does that night still cross his mind?) Would she say there’s any sexual tension between them now because of it? Of course not. (Is she the only idiot here who just realized the feelings she swore she buried before junior year were in a very shallow grave?)

“Gimme my jacket back,” she says. When he does, she sighs and offers her hand in exchange.

―

“Theoretically,” MJ says, hunching and twisting to check her pinned-back hair in the bedroom mirror she hung a little low, “what would you wear to a first date at a guy’s apartment?”

Betty’s gasp comes across loud and clear on speakerphone.

“MJ, you have another date today? I know the one with Peter was technically fake, sorry to all the readers who are definitely going to ship the two of you, but don’t you pace yourself? I had no clue your dating life was so, um, active that you had to squeeze two in on the same day. And don’t tell me how that sounded. I hear it now.”

“None of that was advice.”

“You don’t really want my advice. I bet you’re already dressed. You just needed an excuse to call me because you’re nervous and too proud to ask me for a pep talk.”

“Ok, stop making me feel so fucking transparent!”

“Who’s the guy?” Betty wants to know. “What do we know about him? First date at his apartment, that’s―”

“It’s Peter.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say it’s Peter?”

“Yes, it’s Peter, so you don’t have to worry about me going over to his apartment.”

“But... how do you know where it is?” She can almost see her friend’s panicked expression.

“He texted it to me.”

“He has your phone number?”

“Why do you say that like it’s the most scandalous part of this situation? We exchanged numbers at the park this afternoon.” MJ steps back, still studying her reflection. She’s done the top half of her hair up and it looks pretty even.

“Right, at the park, on the date that you said would be the first and last time you cross paths this decade.”

“Maybe it’s like Cinderella and we get an unlimited number of meetings until midnight.”

“What if you stay later than midnight?”

“No reason to,” MJ assures her. “We’re just going to talk for a bit and eat, I don’t know, spaghetti or something.”

“Romantic.”

“Only if you’re a couple of dogs in a Disney movie.”

“Ok, now I’m curious,” Betty confesses. “What are you wearing to this absolutely not earth-shattering spaghetti dinner? If you say jeans, I’m staging an intervention.”

“Why not jeans?”

MJ says it to provoke her, reaching awkwardly around to fasten the hook at the top of her dress’s zipper.

“I love jeans,” her friend says, “but this isn’t a jeans occasion.”

“No?”

“MJ, quit it. Promise me you’re wearing something nice.”

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’m wearing something nice.”

“Good. Put some condoms in your purse.”

“Betty!”

“Just one condom? MJ, it’s always better to be pre―”

MJ hangs up on her again. She’ll have to make up for this one.

―

His apartment isn’t what she was expecting. It isn’t a dump, but… Peter (or at least his alter ego) has to be one of the most renown living New Yorkers. MJ was picturing a space somewhere between ‘tasteful showroom of a modern furniture store’ and whatever the Spider-Man equivalent of Paris Hilton’s interior design sense is―red instead of pink and framed pictures of himself everywhere. This place isn’t any nicer than hers. Actually, it’s a little shabbier around the edges. She must have left her poker face at home because Peter (who, in her experience, is largely oblivious to her feelings) seems to know exactly what she’s thinking.

“I give most of it away,” he calls to her from the kitchen. He paused in his cooking to let her in, but he’s back at it while she tours his cramped living room.

“Give what away?”

He laughs.

“Whatever they try to give me. Free stuff, prize money for being chosen as Hero of the Year or something. I don’t know. I stopped paying attention. I just donate everything.”

“Are you trying to come off all noble and shit?” she accuses. She’s smirking though, with her back to the kitchen.

“No, just trying to guess at the questions you want answered. You don’t do much of your thinking out loud, you know that?”

“Why should I?”

She picks up a framed photo of Peter and Ned at the beach. When she sets it back down, she notices that the one beside it, clearly from the same day, is a shot of Peter and Betty doing a synchronized leap on the sand; Ned must be the photographer. What makes her almost knock it off the shelf is her jerky reaction to seeing Peter in nothing but swim trunks. With a surreptitious glance in Peter’s direction, MJ steadies the frame and steps away, face hot. Yeah, she’s seen his body before―when they were teenagers. Another decade and a half as a career ass-kicker and justice-bringer hasn’t exactly hurt his physique.

Ok, so he looks like a damn underwear model. Whatever. MJ can compartmentalize that and move on.

Joining him in the kitchen, she toys nervously with the box she brought. There’s a chocolate cake inside and she’s too wound up from nerves to be able to tell if it was the right thing to get. Is it too childish, like she sees this evening as some kind of Sixteen Candles throwback to the romance of their youth? Is it too decadent, like she’s trying to show up Peter’s cooking skills? God, she doesn’t know. MJ starts to wipe her clammy hands on her dress before spinning and hiding them behind her back instead as she leans backward into the counter to watch him.

She doubts this guy has experience cooking for an audience (and secretly, she’s relieved at the thought that there hasn’t been a parade of hookups through here). There’s food on his short-sleeved button-down, utensils gripped desperately in both hands, and his feet are bare. Not that it’s a problem, in his own home, it’s just weirdly vulnerable. Although, MJ’s are bare too. It’s summer and she wiggles her toes freely, anxiously, wanting to both have something to do and to stand here observing him without getting involved. Being in Peter’s apartment is already so involved.

“Can you grab the bowls for me?” he suddenly requests and MJ jerks, realizing she’s been staring at the way his shirt hugs his shoulders.

She does it without replying, retrieving the bowls from where Peter points and handing them off with a civil little nod. The closer she is to him, the quieter she seems to get. It feels wrong and like the complete opposite of what happened earlier today. This is her opportunity for closure, isn’t it? If this is really the end, like she told Betty it would be, then that’s why she’s here tonight; they’ll hash things out and spend the rest of their lives peacefully keeping their distance―as opposed to maintaining it irritatedly, the way MJ’s been doing. Why else would she have come?

“Aw man,” Peter sighs as he dishes up their food. He’s just noticed the stains on his shirt.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a hurricane in there.”

“Sorry,” he says, setting the bowls on his tiny kitchen table, “I’ll… I’ll just… You can start eating. I’ll be right back.”

MJ’s going to refuse for the sake of good manners, but her mouth closes almost as quickly as she opens it because Peter starts unbuttoning his shirt faster than he turns away. She almost knocks over her water glass. He might be the one with food on his clothes, but she’s a fucking mess tonight. Quickly, she averts her eyes as he stumbles to the door that must conceal his bedroom, presumably for a fresh shirt. She can only try to calm her heartrate and twist her bowl back and forth on its placemat in his absence. Conclusions. Endings. Closure. Renewed attraction, MJ thinks―staring down into the colourful splay of thin sauce, vibrant vegetables, and bright seafood―is not on the table.

And it really might have worked out the way she planned if Peter had redressed completely in his room, instead of walking out still pulling his t-shirt down. Instead of shuffling towards her as he tugged it into place. Instead of catching her staring at his naked stomach.

She’s flustered by being caught, hands fluttering over her silverware, and by the feeling of him looking at her. Why is he doing that? To make sure she knows he caught her? She’s embarrassed enough. When she reminds herself that she’s a successful, independent adult and not the teenage girl whose heart was broken gradually by neglect, she has the strength to glance up. He isn’t looking at her anymore. They eat dinner like regular people. If anything, they’re more courteous versions of themselves, skimming the details of the personal lives they didn’t discuss earlier in the day. He’s curious about her job; she asks after his aunt, her last memory of whom is a smiling face behind a camera on graduation day. This must be part one of how this goes: catching up.

Towards the end of dinner, when chewing has loosened MJ’s face enough to let the smiles slip out and the wine Peter eventually remembered to open has added more colour to his cheeks than their afternoon in the sun, they slide smoothly into part two: reminiscence. They’re not drunk, there’s just something awfully tempting about the freckles strewn across his nose. Self-policing the way she’s drawn to him makes MJ gawky and making conversation gets dicey. One minute it’s football games and decathlon practices, the next it’s the dates he missed and the passive-aggressive responses she gave him. He’s wounded, she’s flippant. He all but orders her to stay seated while he clears the table; she tosses her hair over her shoulder and swishes out of her chair to get the cake.

“You could’ve called me to say you weren’t coming,” MJ snaps, trying to unknot the ribbon securing the box. She presumed it was purely decorative; it turns out to be shockingly sturdy. “One of those times. Any of those times. But you just… never showed up.”

“I was preoccupied. I was saving people, on my own,” he retorts. She hears the dishes clatter into the sink. “I thought you were the one person I wouldn’t need to explain myself to.”

“I didn’t need a justification, Peter, but it would’ve been nice to know why you were never there.”

“Yeah, and it would’ve been nice if you could’ve been a little less selfish.”

His words land like a slap and she spins around. Likely spotting her movement from the corner of his eye, he turns from the sink opposite, bracing his hands behind him.

“I was selfish?” she echoes. “Because I was fifteen and naïve enough to think that when I finally let somebody in, they’d do the same and be there for me?”

“A lot of people needed me!” Peter insists. His chest is heaving.

“What have they ever given you in return?” she demands. “Money that you won’t take? Awards you can’t use? A date―” She laughs and gestures to herself, hands sweeping her body. “―you sure as hell never asked for?”

“That’s not nothing.”

“It is nothing! I gave you everything!” MJ shouts at him. The roar of it doesn’t stop her so much as convince her that she’s started something she can’t stop. “I went home with you after that party because your aunt wasn’t going to be there. Because you told her you were spending the night at Ned’s.” It’s controlled fury in her voice now and Peter doesn’t try to halt the recitation. “We were so shy with each other that we barely managed to hold hands in public, but I fucking felt something that night, so I got on your bed and said I was ready and when I woke up afterwards, you were gone.”

“There was an emergency,” Peter murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” Her voice isn’t loud, but it flicks out like a whip. “What was it? Can you remember? Do you remember it better than you remember us taking each other’s virginities because, honestly, Peter, I think my memory of realizing I’d been left all alone in that apartment is stronger than what happened before that.”

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“So it’s nice, actually,” she continues sarcastically, “if us having sex only comes in second place for you too.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“I. Don’t. Believe. You.” Well, she hasn’t cried, so that’s something. She points beside him, hand shaking slightly, at the black block holding a selection of knives. “Pass me a knife.”

“What? No.”

“It’s to get the stupid cake box open. Pass me a fucking knife!”

Peter pushes away from the sink, hard, and holds her eye as he nudges her out of the way and snaps the ribbon with his hands. She’s breathing heavily.

“I don’t know if you like chocolate ca―”

“No,” he says firmly. “We’re not done talking about this. You hurt me. I never meant to leave you there, ok? I came back and you were gone and then the next day you dumped me. It tortured me that I left. It seemed like I was doing the right thing, going out to help people, but how could the right thing have made me lose you? I thought about that night constantly. Not the part where I walked out on you or you walked out on me, but the good part, and I felt guilty about that, like… like I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it? Because it must’ve been wrong since things went downhill for us so fast after that.”

“A mistake,” MJ summarizes. Voice flat. Dead, even. All these years she’s kept that memory and meanwhile, he’s been thinking it never should’ve happened.

“It wasn’t the mistake. I was.”

As mad as she is, she can’t let Peter put this on himself. It just wouldn’t be factual.

“You couldn’t be a mistake. It’s not in your DNA.”

“I never felt like that again,” he admits, offering her something in return for her reassurance. “The way I did the night we were together.”

“You haven’t had sex since then?”

“Oh, no, I have, it’s just never had the same…”

“I know,” she sighs and ignores the look he darts at her. She can’t stop him from replying though.

“Your sex life’s missing something too?”

“That is absolutely none of your fucking business.”

MJ flips the cake box open and crosses to the knife block, extracting a blade with a smug smile. She returns and slices the cake cleanly.

“Plates, please,” she instructs.

“You asked me first,” Peter points out.

“I didn’t make you answer.”

They are not talking about this, she will not talk about this. Not when she’s seen too much of his skin and they’ve finally dumped some of the baggage they’ve been lugging around this hellish airport of a somewhat-grown-up life. No, she’s far too attracted to him right now, with his glorious abs and his emotional intelligence. MJ is going to serve the cake and secure herself some goddamn closure.

“I just think it’s interesting,” Peter observes. He leans on the counter beside her. Sonofabitch, look at those forearms. “That neither of us has experienced anything like that with anybody else.”

With the flat of the blade, she lifts a slice and lays it on its side on the plate he lazily holds up for her.

“Probably just a numbers thing,” she says lightly.

“Meaning we are gonna have sex like that again?”

“Not with each other. Don’t get your hopes up, Parker.”

He grins and she realizes that, in the process of attempting to dissuade him, she might’ve just flirted with him. Completely by accident. MJ rolls her eyes and gets her own piece of cake. With a jerk of his head, Peter leads her over to his couch. When she sits at the far end, he doesn’t try to get too close, taking the other end. They spend a couple of minutes eating. She’s relieved that the cake’s good and that he seems to like it. He did a nice job on dinner.

“I’m a little embarrassed about the t-shirt,” Peter says eventually. She glances over and he looks down at his chest. The temperature’s changed again though; he isn’t being coy or suggestive, just genuinely humble. “I should own more dress clothes, but… I don’t really have an excuse.” He laughs. “I don’t really like them.”

“You’re fine. You’ve always been a t-shirt guy. Maybe this is an ‘if it ain’t broke’ situation.”

“You look really pretty.”

MJ blushes and feels silly about it. Her eyes drop to her plate and she watches herself push chocolate frosting around before piling it up on the cake she has left.

“I think I might be too old for ‘pretty.’”

“Bullshit.” Peter edges nearer and she looks up at him to see him pointing his fork at her. “You’re not too old to be called pretty and I’m not too old to be excited over chocolate cake.”

“It’s good, right?” she agrees with a smile.

“When you opened that box, I just about lost my mind.” He grins at her. “If we hadn’t been fighting when…”

MJ frowns when he trails off.

“What is it?” Her shoulders fall slightly. “Did you sense something? Do you have to go?”

“Unless there’s a meteor headed for Earth, I’m letting the cops handle things tonight,” he promises. “You just… you have chocolate on your lip.”

He traces the spot on his own face and she wipes at hers. Without Peter touching her to do it himself, this shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, but the other thing he said won’t let her move on.

“Why should I believe that?” MJ asks. There’s no nastiness in her tone. She sets her empty plate aside and after the final bite of his cake, Peter copies her.

“Because I learned my lesson about priorities really, really well a long time ago.” He shifts closer again and she angles her knees towards him, heart clamoring.

“Are you sure?”

“I think so,” he tells her, face full of honesty. “I’ve never officially tested it because…” Peter shrugs. “…there was never another you.”

“She could be out there.”

“There’s only you,” he says softly, shaking his head. MJ didn’t quite notice when the space between them disappeared, but his hand is gentle on the side of her neck. “And you’re right here.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just happen to take my fake dating responsibilities very seriously.”

“This one isn’t fake.” His fingers slide around to the back of her neck.

“I’ll have to update Betty,” MJ says with airy thoughtfulness as her gaze dips to Peter’s mouth.

“I think you might still have some frosting on your lip…”

Apparently, he can still be as much of a cheesy idiot as he was at fifteen and she’d smile if she wasn’t so terrified. Their lips brush lightly, then Peter seals them together, holding her fast. She cries out a little at his certainty. That’s what it feels like, but certainty in what? In his kissing abilities? In them, here together? MJ isn’t sure where she stands on that issue, only that it’s far from where she started this evening, with her self-delusions on closure and walking out of this apartment either more at peace or completely unchanged. So much for those possibilities. She hadn’t accounted for what their second first kiss would feel like.

They aren’t kids anymore, so she can skip the tentative shit.

MJ grabs his face with both hands, fingers curling beneath his jaw, and kisses him back with a greedy feverishness. There, let him see what she wants. If he rejects her, he rejects her. He’ll never do worse to her than he already has. But Peter doesn’t ease off, doesn’t try to backtrack to a scrubbed-clean Disney kiss that compresses romance to two dimensions. He lets go of her neck and grabs her by the hips, hauling her forward. She takes his shoulders and settles her knees on the couch on either side of him. Right away, he pulls her down and she doesn’t resist, grinding in his lap with her dress accordioned between them. Peter’s hand finds the edge of her skirt and snakes up her inner thigh to cup her over her underwear. In the same motion, he rubs his fingers against her through the lace. She breaks the kiss wetly and pants next to his ear.

“I wanna take you to my bedroom now,” he tells her, still rubbing while she rubs right back, seeking the friction with a jerk of her hips, “unless there’s some other way you want tonight to go.”

“No, I think we definitely better fuck.”

With that unambiguous assent, Peter hitches her hips against his and stands up with his hands secure beneath her ass and thigh. MJ wraps her legs around him and crosses her ankles.

So, this is Peter at 29. His feet slap the floor of his apartment and their mouths meet over and over with passion and imprecision. He makes it from the living room and into the kitchen without hitting anything; the air smells like dinner as they pass through and what wine the pasta in her belly hasn’t absorbed makes her press her abdomen against his cock while she’s still in his arms. He shoves her to the nearest wall and rocks hard between her thighs, squeezed close by her heels digging into his firm ass. At this point, MJ doesn’t particularly care if they do this on a horizontal surface. There’s a lot stoking this fire and while there wasn’t this much heat in their history (they had sex one time and it was gentle, caring, unhurried), the small flame’s kept burning all these years, ready to be fanned high at the first opportunity.

Peter gathers her against him and heads for his bedroom instead. His willpower’s something, with how fucking solid he is in the front of his jeans. (Jeans, Betty! MJ thinks. Goddamn double standard.) He doesn’t stop to turn on a light―taking her right to his bed and never letting her go as he lays her back―but the late summer sun provides a fading glow through his window and the door he didn’t shut behind them lets warm light spill in from the kitchen. MJ’s breathing hard as her hands, trembling with impatience, peel the t-shirt off of the adult boy she knew. Briefly, he hoists her hips to remove her underwear. She’s embarrassed when he draws them down her legs with a look of realization on his face and holds them up for the light to shine through the lace.

“Even with the denial, it didn’t seem impossible that we might end up here,” MJ offers before Peter can comment. She sighs and admits the rest. “I also have a condom in my purse.”

“We won’t need it.”

He dives down, kissing her neck as his hands smooth her dress up her thighs. With her knees bent, it doesn’t take much to make the material pool at her hips. But MJ pushes at his shoulders and Peter lifts his head.

“Like hell are we not using a condom.”

“No,” he says, expression earnest (there’s his face the first time he asked her out), “I just meant we won’t need the one you brought. I, uh, I didn’t only buy groceries before you came over.”

“Good.”

“Yeah?” Peter grins down at her. She nods.

“That means I’m not the only one who…” Felt something. Hoped for more. MJ can’t quite say that yet, so she shrugs and moves on. “Also means I don’t have to go get my purse.”

He agrees by returning his mouth to her throat, sucking until she gasps, then bucking his hips into hers to make her moan.

“Stay right here.”

“Mmm,” she consents, scraping her fingers through his hair.

Noticing him leaning into the sensation, MJ closes her hand into a fist and gives his hair a tug. Peter groans against her neck and wraps his arms around her. With his hands wedged under her back, she can feel him hunting for her dress’s zipper. She’s lying on top of it and there’s the little hook to fiddle with. It's not that she doesn’t think he can figure it out―it’s that she doesn’t want to wait that long.

“Let me do it,” she murmurs, tapping his arms this time to get him to lift off of her.

He looks dazed when he does, flinging himself to the side, which leaves MJ temporarily leaning back with her skirt up and no underwear on. This is completely not how she saw today turning out. It does make her pause and think for a second, to see if this feels wrong or thoughtless or otherwise emotionally harmful to the person she might go back to being when it’s over. Maybe if she waited longer, her inner voice would say something else, but there’s a consensus of tens from the judges (her brain, heart, and vagina) that she should absolutely nail Peter Parker. If they didn’t share this history and he was a guy she met through mutual friends or a dating app who held off on disappointing her long enough for them to get here, would she sleep with him? With those eyes and that ass, yeah, why not? Maybe the rockiness of their mutual past should make this feel worse, but, in this moment, it feels better. It feels like that thing from fourteen years ago. And this time around, she has a confidence in her body that she couldn’t even see on the horizon at fifteen.

MJ scrambles off the bed and turns to look at Peter. On his back with his shirt off in the dying light, he could be selling an expensive cologne. He’s probably been approached. The obvious bulge in the front of his jeans makes it a little racy for ads though. She’ll just have to appreciate it on behalf of Spider-Man fans everywhere. After all, she’s the one who won a date with him.

“The condoms are… where?”

Peter points to his nightstand and her hand hovers in front of the drawer with a second of hesitation. What if there’s some kind of raunchy sex toy in here and she’s about to find out that his bedroom escapades with other women are not something she’s prepared to compete with. Or what if there’s a photo of another ex-girlfriend? She hasn’t had the right to feel possessive of him for a small eternity, but seeing some other woman’s smiling face would be a blow. MJ opens the drawer. Besides the unopened box of condoms, she sees a travel pack of Kleenex, a cord for a cellphone or a tablet, and a couple loose aspirin that he should at bare minimum be keeping in a container, if not in a bathroom medicine cabinet. Overall, she’s relieved. It’s the sort of stuff she would’ve expected if she hadn’t spent the years since high school trying to hate him. She gets the box open and tosses him a condom that he’s alert enough to snatch out of the air. Then, MJ turns to face away from him as she reaches back to unfasten the hook.

“Wait,” he says when she starts on the zipper.

Somehow, she knows what he wants. She drops her hands and takes a step back towards the bed, drawing her hair over her shoulder and twisting it around her hand. Soon, Peter’s hands land on the middle of her back before he lowers the zipper. MJ can hear him breathing. With that done, she shuffles the straps off her shoulders and lets the dress slip to the floor like an exhale. She didn’t wear a bra.

She turns and climbs on top of him. Their kisses are sloppy and demanding and Peter’s got one hand between her legs with the other groping her breast in about a second flat. He discovers how wet she is―it’s wetter than she gets for just anybody―and plunges two fingers inside her, which is really distracting since she’s trying to get his jeans open. Giving in for a minute, MJ holds Peter by the back of his neck, lets her head fall back, and pumps up and down on his fingers while he swears like she’s never heard him swear. No, they never could’ve produced this at fifteen.

Forcing herself to remember that she could have his dick instead, she rides his fingers more shallowly and refocuses on his button and zipper. On the downside, he removes his hand to help her get his jeans and boxers off (Peter, she thinks, you still wear boxers?), but on the upside, those same hands get the condom on with speed and precision. Carefully, she removes the pins that have started to become snarled in her hair and tosses them backwards. Sounds like they skate across his nightstand and fall onto the floor. She isn’t concerned at the moment.

“You like being on top or do you wanna be on the bottom?” he asks, sagged back with his elbows propping him up and MJ perched on his thighs.

“Let’s not ask,” she suggests.

Normally, that isn’t what she’d say at all. She’s big on telling her partner what she does and does not like. Even if it’s someone she’s been with a few times, sex can be a bit of an interaction―you do this for me, I’ll do that for you―with the end goal of both parties walking away sexually satisfied. She wants more from Peter than an orgasm. Not being able to say that out loud doesn’t negate it. She trusts his intuition and, more than that, she trusts this thing between them. Whatever it is, MJ’s leaving everything to it. She’s surrendering control because the thought of cutting this up with questions to make it fit the mould of what sex is like with anyone else makes her sick. She takes a slow breath and speaks again.

“Let’s just… be here.”

He’s nodding so maybe she didn’t sound stupid, or just not stupid to him.

“Ok,” Peter agrees softly. “I’m not gonna fuck it up this time.”

She can’t ask whether that’s a promise to her or to himself because he sits up abruptly to meet her lips with his. As he fills her mouth with his tongue, she relaxes into him, draping her arms around his shoulders and shifting her hips forward. She can feel his cock, rigid and hot. MJ starts lifting up, hinting for Peter to slip inside her, but he flips her onto her back to continue blowing her mind with the desire in this French kiss. He holds his hips back to leave space for his hand to once again work two fingers into her, this time also using his thumb to play with her clit. She’s woozy with how good he makes her feel. Just when the kiss has her thinking they’re slowing things down (and the kiss is getting particularly dirty now, making her clench around his fingers), Peter brings her to climax by sneaking a third finger into her channel and curling all three in a sudden stab at her g-spot. Gasping against his mouth, MJ breaks the kiss, hips pitching onto his hand for almost a full minute from when the bliss first hits.

“Shit,” she breathes.

Peter laughs with disbelief as he draws back to look at her.

“That’s something I never thought I’d get to see again.”

“Yeah, lucky you,” MJ congratulates, smirking liquidly.

He seems ready to proceed beyond foreplay now, withdrawing his fingers and grasping her hip, but she decides to enjoy him a little more thoroughly first. She lets him settle between her legs without pressing inside and winds her fingers into his hair again as she nudges her mouth to his. Peter thrusts slowly along her wetness, making her legs quiver when he bumps her clit. Arching up, her chest skims his and she’s sure that, with a little bit of time, she could come a second time from the way he’s grinding against her and the rub of her nipples over the hard planes of his chest. Spider-Man looks good outside the suit.

When she tumbles him to the side, he goes willingly and matches her fleeting, sultry smile. MJ shifts her weight to encourage Peter all the way onto his back, then gets herself positioned on top of him, still riding his erection without taking him inside. She wonders what’s making her start to sweat―a failure of his air conditioning or the buzz that’s getting stronger with every pass along his sheathed erection. Bracing her hands on either side of his shoulders, she bends to kiss and lick across his chest, finding the same faint saltiness on his skin. He grabs her hips and guides her more forcefully along his cock. MJ’s moaning in short pants, Peter’s groaning brokenly. He rolls her onto her side and their legs tangle before he lifts her upper thigh to make room to fit his hips into the gap and, with their foreheads pressed together, push into her.

She has to close her eyes. Her body takes him in immediately, but her mind needs a little longer.

Peter doesn’t rush her, but he doesn’t back off entirely, the way he would’ve when they were a couple of kids hanging all their hopes on it turning out right. MJ’s not putting that kind of pressure on the sex this time around. Back then, part of how badly she wanted it was that she harboured this belief that being physical with him would fix things; it was finally a way to guarantee his focus was completely on her. For Peter, well, she can only guess, but maybe he needed to feel more grounded in himself when he was living so much of his life in secret as this whole other entity.

“You want me?” she asks him now, opening her eyes to observe his face, so close it’s blurry.

“Yeah, I want you.” Sensing her resolve, he thrusts harder and she makes her leg slack so he can hike it up onto his hip.

“You wanna be anywhere else?”

Peter shifts his head back and she becomes aware that they’re on the rumpled sheets of his unmade bed. It’s so familiar that her heart surges even before he stares her right in the eye.

“Nowhere else,” he swears.

She gives him a sharp nod before her tear ducts can get any ideas and kisses him fiercely, swinging her hips down to meet his upstroke. There’s a choked sound from Peter’s throat and he tips her onto her back with a mumbled, “Oh god, M.”

On her back, MJ reaches to grasp the edge of the mattress and Peter pounds into her. She’s tempted to shut her eyes and drown in the sensations, but she fights it to gaze at him. Initially, she thinks he’s like a machine; strong, efficient, accurate (fuck, he found her g-spot before and he’s hounding it ruthlessly now). On second thought, he is what he made himself; perceptive, considerate, real despite the persona that’s grown and grown and grown. The action figure it’d probably be easy to slink into the shadow of. It’s clear to her that he separates them better now and that somehow embracing his other identity is what allowed him to do that. And she wasn’t around for any of it. Has she just stepped back into his life now that it’s easier for her? MJ has to admit that, on some level, of course. That’s exactly what she’s done, but she didn’t plan it that way and the intervening years haven’t been smooth for her either―changing careers, struggling to stay present with partners, maintaining friendships only with the couple of people who wouldn’t let her dissolve from their lives. It seems to her that she’s ready to hang on at the very moment Peter’s ready to be hung onto. This already wasn’t supposed to happen. The draw she wasn’t supposed to win, the date that she tried to get Betty to find her a replacement for, the invitation to dinner, everything that spilled out between dinner and dessert, and finally, how they came together on his couch. Both of them making that choice.

MJ cries out, one hand dropping to grab his shoulder, then cup the back of his neck, her gaze roving the ceiling.

“You can shut your eyes,” Peter huffs, driving forward. “I’ve got you.”

She does. He has her. Twining her legs around the backs of his, MJ urges him forward blindly. Peter sucks her nipple, runs his mouth up the side of her neck until she shudders, then does it some more. His hand tilts her hips and he slides into her just that much better, striking the right spot with fiery fixation.

“Peter! Peterpeterpeter,” she chants. Her eyes open and his face is right above hers. She orgasms with a flinch that lifts her mouth to his. A new reflex―to kiss him.

His thrusts are short and quick as he finishes, humming against her mouth, a long M. She can’t believe she tried to make him call her by her full name. She’d rather hear ‘MJ’ from Peter, and she’s rather hear it just like this, his lips vibrating against hers, feeling all the years between them and yet, not feeling them at all.

#my writing #spideychelleweek2k20 #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

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b0n-chann · 4 years

Text

Hi you guys! So I’m just going to say it now, I split up this last part into two so there will be a total of four chapters in this series. I had it all put together but it was such a behemoth of a fic, splitting it in half seemed more manageable. AND. I’m happy where this half is after edits so I got it out early 🤗.

For my regular readers, you’ll find that a part of the back half of this fic sounds familiar, I ended up using the soulmate prompt because it just fit so perfectly. I did edit it a bit so that it fit better but the idea is the same.

I’m finishing up part 4 soon, and then I’ll start edits but it shouldn’t take too long to post!

To Love And Protect (Part 3)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

“Do it.”

“Do what?”

“Just get it over with. I’d rather you kill me than some Imp.”

“I told you. I am no longer a hunter. I am a nurse droid.”

“Look. I appreciate what you did for her and for the kid, but IGs are all hunters.”

“Not this one. I was reprogrammed. I need to remove your helmet if I am to save you as your wife wished.”

“My wife? No, she’s not my wife. But try it and I’ll kill you. It is forbidden. No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I swore the Creed.” But as much as he respected the Creed, he has never wanted to break his oath more if it meant coming back to you.

“I am not a living thing.” The droid reminds him, and the Mandalorian’s helmet hisses as IG-11 removes it from Din’s head. A spray appears out of his hand. “This is a bacta spray. It will heal you in a matter of hours. You have suffered damage to your central processing unit.” He begins to spray the side of Din’s head, it’s cooling mist already having an effect on him.

Din looks up at him confused. “You mean my brain?”

“That was a joke. It is meant to put you at ease. Your wife didn’t seem to understand that I make jokes either.”

“I told you, she’s not my wife.” Even though I’d like her to be, he added that thought to himself.

“Well, now that I have healed you, you can make her your wife. Or have I mistaken your feelings for her?” The droid pulls the Mandalorian to a sitting position. Images of living a happy life with you and the kid flash through Din’s head. Yes, that is exactly what he wanted, but he still felt unnerved that the droid could know so much about him.

“No, but I have a lot to make up for with her.” Din stands by himself, the bacta spray already working it’s magic.

“Oh, yes. You did upset the miss a great deal when you left.” The droid looked over to Din, as is assessing him. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a ship, but I’ll survive.”

“Good.” IG-11 walks up to the Mandalorian before punching him in the gut. Din doubles over in pain, the wind knocked out of him.

“What was that for?!” He gasps, holding onto a table trying to regain his breath.

“I thought I told you. You upset the miss. I am merely, how do you humans say it, ‘paying you back’”. Din guffaws at this.

“I guess I deserved that.”

“You did.”

———————

You make your way through the sewer tunnels, Cara next to you and Karga bringing up the rear.

“Hey,” Cara says quietly to you, “what was that back there? I know the little womp rat has freak of nature powers but it looked like you were doing something too?” She asks genuinely interested. Cara has always been trustworthy so you figure it’s safe to tell her at least something.

“I don’t know what to call it, but I’ve had these abilities for as long as I can remember. I’ve been able to move objects with my mind and my parents were terrified of me when I was a small girl. As I got older it’s gotten easier to control.” You pause for a moment and look at the shock trooper. There was no judgement in her face, just curiosity. “I have a strange connection to the kid, I’m able to feel his presence. It’s how I actually met the Mandalorian. I had been wandering around looking for something and literally ran into them after they escaped Nevarro. Little did I know that that something was this little one,” you say, nudging the child who babbles happily at you. Your heart aches as you think about Din but you continue to move forward. It’s what he would have wanted.

“I punched him for you, you know.”

“What? When?”

“On our way here. He told me a little bit of what happened and I clocked him for being a stupid man.” You laugh, loudly. Gods you loved Cara Dune. “But I know he was trying to protect you. It was eating him up the entire way here.”

“He’s always been so complicated.”

“Stupid is more like it.”

“Hey, I don’t appreciate that.” Your heads both whip behind you and you watch in amazement as IG-11 helps Din walk towards you. Before you even realize what you’re doing, you’ve walked back to meet them.

“Hi, Beautful,” he says, still sagging heavily on the droid, but he uses his free hand to play with the ends of your hair before moving to put his hand on the Child’s head.

“You’re okay,” you breathe out. He looks a little worse for wear but he’s here and alive.

“I fixed his central processing unit,” IG responds and you laugh; a full body laugh that forces you’re head to tilt back and the Mandalorian has never seen you look more beautiful.

“I missed that,” he says quietly. He removes his weight from the droid and slowly stands upright. You step closer to him in case he needs assistance and he places a hand around your shoulders. “I missed this, too.” Being able to his arms around you and the Child was almost too much for Din, and he was thankful that you could support him. He quickly presses his forehead to yours in a sign of affection before returning upright. “We should get going.” You nod and look down at the child.

“Ready?” The Child babbles at you in return. IG appears next to you, his hands outstretched.

“I can take the Child, Miss,” the droid says. You place the kid in his care before placing your arm around Din’s waist.

“Thanks IG. And thanks for bringing him back.”

“It is my pleasure, Miss. I also paid the Mandalorian back for you.”

You cock your head sideways in confusion as Din tries to hold in his laughter as he realized what the droid meant.

“What do you mean?”

“He means he sucker punched me in the gut for you, so we’re even.” You can hear Cara laughing behind you.

“You ever hurt her again, Mando, and the whole world will be coming for you.”

You laugh again. “Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook so easy,” you start and you swear you can see Din blanch behind his helmet. “But it’s a start.”

——————

The group continues through the sewers, the smell of sulfur thick in the air. However, if feels like you’re headed no where.

“Ugh, this place is a maze. Do you know where we’re going?” Cara asks Din.

He shakes his head. “I’ve only ever entered through the bazaar.” He stops for a moment before taking his arm off of you and standing upright. “I’m okay,” he says quietly. You smile up at him and nod.

“The bacta infusion is working,” IG says from beside you.

“I’ll try to find some tracks.” Din begins to look around and you take the time to admire him. His ability to find something out of nothing always amazes you. “This way.” He points left and the group follows. It feels as if the turns are endless but Din shows no signs of slowing down. How did the covert ever find themselves down here? You’re lost in your thoughts until you almost walk right into Din and you realize he’s stopped. You become concerned when he falls to his knees, worried that his injuries have worsened but stare in horror at what’s in front of him. A large pile of abandoned Mandalorian armor.

You hesitantly move closer to Din before putting your hand on his shoulder. “Din...”

“I can’t leave it like this.”

“I know, let us help you.” He finds your hand on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. He turns his head towards Karga.

“Did you know about this? Was this the work of your bounty hunters?” Din spat, and you’ve never heard him so spiteful.

“No. When you left the system and took the prize, the fighting ended and the hunters melted away. You know how it is. They’re mercenaries. They’re not zealots.” Din gets up abruptly and approaches the man.

“Did you do this? Did you?!” He all but yells, pointing a finger at his chest.

“It was not his fault.” A modulated female voice comes out of nowhere and everyone turns to face her. “We revealed ourselves. We knew what could happen if we left the covert. The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter. This,” she says, her arm outstretched to the armor, “is what resulted.”

“Did any survive?”

“I hope so. Some may have escaped off-world.”

“Come with us.”

“No. I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains.” The Armorer places one last helmet on her cart before pushing it away. Din looks towards you before following her. You hesitantly make your way forwards further into the tunnels.

You watch as the Armorer puts a piece of armor in the forge, never having seen anything like it.

“Show me the one whose safety deemed such destruction.” IG steps forward, showing the Child to her.

“This is the one.” You move away from Din, releasing his hand, which the Armorer did not fail to miss. You make your way to IG and the Child, patting his head affectionately.

“This is the one you hunted, then saved?”

“Yes. The one that saved me as well.”

“From the mudhorn.”

“Yes.”

“It looks helpless.” The Child coos but you decide to keep quiet, allowing Din to speak.

“He is injured, but he is not helpless. His species can move objects with their minds, however...” he stops and looks over to you as if asking for your permission. You nod allowing him to share your secret. “However, she seems to exhibit some signs of that as well.”

The Armorer nods in acknowledgement before ladling some of the liquid metal from the forge. “I know of such things. The songs of eons past tell of battles between Mandalore The Great, and an order of sorcerers called Jedi that fought with such powers.”

“These people are enemies?” Din asks, alarmed. He knows you and the Child are not, but if he were to find the Child’s species, he needed to know if they were hostile.

“These two are not.”

“What is he?”

“He is a foundling. By Creed, he is in your care.”

“You wish me to train him?”

“He is too weak. He would die. You have no choice, you must reunite him with his own kind.”

“Where?”

“This you must determine.” The Armorer pours the metal into a mold, but you are unable to determine what it is. If Din is to find the Child’s kind, you could be searching planets for years.

“You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver him to a race of enemy sorcerers?” The Armorer looks up at him.

“This is the way.” She says before she begins her work, hammering away and effectively ending their conversation for the moment.

“Hey,” Cara says stepping forward. “These tunnels will be lousy with imps in a matter of minutes. I think we should at least discuss an escape plan.”

“If you follow the descending tunnel it will lead you to the underground river. If flows downstream towards the lava flats.”

“I think we should go,” Karga says.

“I’m staying,” Din replies. “I need to help her and I need to heal.” Before you can argue the Armorer responds.

“You must go, a foundling is in your care. By creed, until he becomes of age or is reunited with his own kind, you are as his father.” You look to Din, your eyes betraying your emotions. You are so proud of him, knowing how much this means to him, and you swear to protect him and the child with your own life. “This is the way.” Din can only nod at her, unable to find his own words. The Armorer walks towards him and places something on his pauldron. “You have earned your signet.” She says, attaching it to his armor. “You are a clan of two.” When she moves, you see a symbol of a Mudhorn and smile as you remember the story Din told you about the Child. It is a very fitting symbol.

“Thank you. I will wear it with honor.”

“IG, please scout the area for enemies. The rest of you, please refill your supplies and restock your munitions.” The droid follows her orders, but before he leaves he gives the child back to you.

“I will return shorty, Miss. Please watch the Child while I am away.” He says, not waiting for a reply before walking into into the hallway. You fix the Child in your arms before walking around the armory, seeing what you can salvage.

“Have you trained in the art of the Rising Phoenix?”

“When I was a boy, yes.”

“Then this will make you complete.” She shows him his jet pack.

“Thank you.”

“When you have healed, you will begin your drills. Until you know it, it will not listen to your commands. I will have IG hold it for you for now.” Din nods in agreement. He notices the Armorer’s gaze and follows it to you and the Child gathering supplies.

“You two are close,” she speculates.

“Yes.”

“How close?”

“I’ve never wanted to take my helmet off more than when I’m with her.”

“Why don’t you then?”

“I owe the Mandalorians my life. I cannot give up the creed.”

“She’s never asked?”

“…Just once. Earlier, in an attempt to save my life. But I refused and she didn’t pursue it. She knows how much I respect the Creed. She’s never pried or begged. She’s allowed me my space and respects that I cannot give more than I have already. I believe she’s my soulmate,” he responds truthfully and sadly. You never once tried to push his boundaries but have always been there when he needs you. However, he fears that one day it won’t be enough for you.

The Armorer assesses the man before her. Even under the helmet, her gaze is piercing, calculating. Din shifts slightly, he can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable. She is silent for a moment before turning her attention back to you and the Child. She has seen the way you and Din protect each other. She has seen the determination and fierce protectiveness in your eyes as she spoke to Din about being a father to the Child. Never once did you argue for more importance. She knows how much Din is giving up, continuing to uphold the Creed. However, she has never seen someone who isn’t Mandalorian respect the Creed just as much as you have.

“Do you want to know the hardest thing about having a soulmate?” The Armorer starts. “It’s not the separation in the beginning, not the endless nights lying awake, hoping and praying that someone was made for you. It’s…it’s the love. It’s too strong, and you can’t fight it.”

Din is surprised, he never would have expected such words to come from the Armorer. But then, he realizes, that the isolation is the same for every Mandalorian. Living a life underneath all the armor was as lonesome for him as it was for her, and the desire for acceptance and love must be the same for all of them.

“I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried to fight it…but I’m always going to love her.”

“Does she know that?”

“I’ve told her once, before I told her to escape with the child before the troopers came after them.”

The Armorer presses something into Din’s hand. “I misspoke earlier. You are a clan of three. I realize now the importance of those two to you. I hope you know what that means.”

Din looks down to his hand. Another mudhorn signet attached to a simple chain. “I…yes. I know.”

The Armorer gives him a small nod. “Good. Now go. I will hold them off for as long as I can. Protect your clan; protect your family.”

“Thank you.” Din tucks the signet safely away as he makes his way towards his clan, vowing to himself to keep them safe. Blaster shots ring out in the hallway and you all turn in alarm. Din places himself in front of you and the Child, but relaxes slightly when he sees that it is IG returning.

“You are protected.”

“More will come. You must go.”

“Are you sure you won’t come with us?” Din asks. The Armorer has always felt like a surrogate mother to Din, and leaving her behind seemed wrong.

“My place is here. IG, carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it.” She hands the pack to the droid. “Now, go. Down to the river and across the plains.” You, Din and the child linger back for a moment as the rest of your group moves through the tunnels once again.

“Stay safe on your journey.” She says before looking towards you. “You, especially. I have a feeling you are what holds these two together.” You look at her, curious at her words but know that now is not the time to get too carried away.

“Thank you.” You, the Child and Din leave the armory and catch up to the rest of your group. The future lay uncertain but for now, you’re together. And for always, you are family.

——————

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years

Text

Feels Like This (Part 6)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone – so I will start this chapter by saying we have quite a bit of intrigue happening here. Some of you may not be thrilled with where I am leaving things, fair warning it is not the fluffiest of places, and some may even call it a dreaded cliff hanger, BUT I promise that the next chapter for this story is already prepped and will be ready for posting next weekend. You will all be way happier with me in the next few chapters, but in the meantime, I hope you still enjoy the fic and I can’t wait to hear what you all think!

How the fuck did it come to this?

The question had been plaguing him since the moment he left Emma’s side yesterday afternoon and landed in the middle of a political minefield, and he was no closer to an answer about how to get out of this giant mess.

Of course, he knew the facts: yesterday his brother had called him to parliament, a place where Killian very rarely played a role. He hadn’t been there in years, and even then, it was only a formality, but this time he was summoned through some antiquated process no one had ever heard of. What ensued thereafter was nothing short of a disaster. His mandated presence was initially thought to be merely a stall tactic, but then everything flipped and suddenly his brother lost control of what was supposed to be a historic day for the passing of landmark legislation.

Since taking the throne, Liam had been working diligently to change the very system of governing in Montenarro. He wanted more representation for the people, and to have more democratic processes in spite of the presence of the monarchy. He’d worked tirelessly for years to endear his cause to a largely unresponsive parliament, and finally he believed he had enough votes to make a bold and substantial change. He’d even made sure to cover his tracks, getting every signed-on lord to publicly state their support of the bill, but it turned out there were traitors in their midst, and when Killian arrived it became a full-blown spectacle filled with anger and hostility and nonsense.

For nearly an hour Killian bore witness to the political betrayal and the humiliation that followed. A group of usurpers, led by a Viscount with a long held vendetta, proceeded to fill the hallowed halls of parliament with lies and slander and speculation. Most of it actually centered around Killian, and all of it was completely preposterous. These lords were ‘suspicious’ of his absence from public life since being discharged from the navy, of his hesitancy to return to his role as Prince, and of his lack of ‘direction.’ The men went on and on about what kind of message it sent to the people when leaders failed to lead and represent the interests of the citizenry. It was absolutely ridiculous and infuriating. He’d been out of the military for one month – one month! – and apparently failing to return to center stage in that time made him untrustworthy and ‘wayward.’ There was absolutely no consideration for what he’d gone through in serving at all. In the end it didn’t matter – he was always a prince before he was a man, and expectations didn’t waiver, no matter what he’d given to this country or its people.

Liam, to his credit, was absolutely furious, and he’d made sure to lambast the men who criticized Killian, pointing out their dishonor and their disrespect for men and women in uniform. He reminded them all of how out of touch one must be to assume that a man or woman who’d been on active deployment and been party to war would want to just jump back into the fray with no caution or hesitations. Every soldier was different, and every single one of them deserved respect when they’d fought valiantly and enduringly for the country’s safety and interests. It helped Killian to hear his brother’s candid disdain for these men and their actions, and though they had never really discussed the ghosts of Killian’s service, it reminded Killian that Liam understood and that he valued the sacrifice he made all these years. But still it all came to nothing. The lords did not bow to any call for decency, the bill never was presented, the motion was halted, and despite how ridiculous it all was, a nefarious dialogue had been started. Now some people were curious about where Killian was and what he was doing, putting Liam in an incredibly uncomfortable place. In fact, it was so bad a situation that he’d done something he had never done before – he’d gone back on a promise he made to Killian.

That reneging of his word was the ultimate show of dishonor in Liam’s eyes, but it didn’t help Killian that his brother was sick over this choice. Killian was still being sacrificed in a way for the sake of saving face, and the way it would be done meant that Killian was, for lack of a better phrasing, royally screwed. He was totally and completely fucked, because right now, within the next, oh ten minutes or so, he’d be leaving with his family in the royal precession headed for the capital. It was one of the nation’s most cherished holidays, a celebration of independence and military success, but Killian had missed it for years and intended to miss it this year as well. He hadn’t felt ready for such a moment, loud, rambunctious, and public as it was. He’d been nowhere near crowds like this in many years, and the sound of fireworks and sparklers might trigger something in him, along with the high intensity of the crowd itself. But when Liam requested this, Killian kept those fears quiet. He was ashamed to admit that weakness, and now he was making a huge public appearance, one of the largest of the year. Still in spite of all the anxiety that would come just from the processions, it wasn’t even the worst part. No, the worst part was that – through the agonizing stupidity of his own choices – he still had not told Emma the truth.

This lack of disclosure did not come from lack of trying. He’d been forced to remain in chambers in Parliament without his phone until almost midnight, and by then it was too late to call her or go and see her face to face. Emma was asleep for the night and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her in a voicemail. He’d then decided to go to her this morning, but there was physically no way for him to do so. Every route, and he did mean every route, from the palace to her house was blocked off for the processions or being monitored by the media. It was truly nightmarish. As such, he’d done the only thing he could think to do. He wrote out his feelings to her, his worries and his confession. It was long, it was ugly, but it was real. In the letter he apologized profusely for never telling her the truth. He acknowledged that any pain she would feel was his fault and his alone, and he practically begged her to give him another chance. As soon as it was written he entrusted it to one of Jefferson’s team and he waited twenty minutes for confirmation that it was delivered to her home.

The seconds ticked by while he waited for her reply, slowly and terribly, and finally he caved and sent her a text. It said he was thinking of her, and reiterated his intention to talk to her more tonight. Now here he was, hours later, and he’d still heard nothing. He was in excruciating pain, and the only thing worse than not knowing where Emma stood was that he was forced into the customs and practices of this holiday. He was made to go along with a song and dance he hated, and now he was wearing his royal regalia, feeling a fool and a sham and a downright wretch.

“That collar is not going to get any more comfortable for fidgeting with it,” his grandmother’s voice said, drawing his attention back to where he was, outside waiting for the procession to begin from the castle grounds.

His mother and grandmother were set to ride in the coach as he and Liam rode behind them on horseback, but his grandmother wasn’t interested in complying with the order to sit patiently and wait until the very last minute. Instead she ushered him towards her, and began straightening his royal suit. She tidied all his medals and the pins of his military service, and made sure each line of his jacket was crisp and clean. It was clearly something she’d been doing for many years, and the action came naturally to her, so much more so than for Killian.

“For someone who detests the charade of royal life, you really do look so handsome.”

“Thank you, Gran,” he said, but he didn’t mean it. The words were kindly given, but impossible to value when there was so much else he was desperate to engage with.

“But there’s something more, isn’t there? You’re worried about this. Why? Because it’s been a while?” He shook his head. “Is there somewhere you’d rather be?”

He bit back the retort that there were about a million places he would rather be, but she knew his feelings. “There’s a woman isn’t there?” Bloody hell, how had she figured that out?

“Aye,” Killian admitted after a moment’s hesitation. It was no use hiding from his Gran. The old woman was like a blood hound, drawn into the smallest scent and hell bent on tracking until the truth was out.

“And you’re missing her now, are you?” his grandmother said with a nod. “Good. Real loves never bloom for the faint of heart. A good dose of yearning, and a little bit of missing your fair maiden won’t kill anyone. It’s just one day, dear.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, Gran.”

“Things usually are. I’m assuming she’s not from any of the royal circles. If she were there’d be far more chatter afoot. Not a one of those ladies of court can keep a secret. It’s positively ludicrous.”

“She has nothing to do with this world,” Killian agreed, woeful at the fact that she might reject it, but so glad Emma was not like those other women. She was so much more wonderful for being real and genuine. He would never change a thing about her. It was everyone else who should change as far as he was concerned.

“She’s uneasy with you being a prince, isn’t she?”

“She will be.”

“Will be?” his grandmother asked, her brows furrowing together in a look of actual concern. “I’m sorry, my dear. I don’t understand.”

“She didn’t know, Gran. She’s not from here. She’s a woman I met at the Institute. Her name is Emma.”

“Emma,” his grandmother said, nodding, like this announcement of his affection for a stranger who worked at their family’s charity was the most natural thing he’d ever said to her, despite the fact that he’d never mentioned to any of his family how much Emma meant to him. “But what do you mean she didn’t know? You mean about the holiday service?”

“About any of it. She didn’t realize I’m a prince. I’ve only just told her this morning in a letter.”

“That’s not possible,” his grandmother said and then her hand came up to cover her mouth in what could only be described as horror. “Oh my word. You’re serious. This morning? A letter?! Killian, what were you thinking?!”

“I wasn’t,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair in distress. His grandmother’s agitation only added to his own. “I’ve gone about things all wrong, Gran. I know that.”

“Explain it to me, Killian. Make me understand. How did it come to this?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. At first I thought she knew who I was, and then she didn’t and it was selfish of me not to tell her-,”

“You can say that again,” his grandmother quipped, seemingly annoyed on Emma’s behalf though she didn’t even know her. “Foolishness. Pure foolishness.”

“I know I’ve messed up. I’ve known it all along, but if you knew her, you’d understand. I didn’t want to risk it. Emma defies explanation. Special isn’t the term, for she’s so much more than that. I know it was wrong not to tell her front the start, but I just wanted…” He trailed off, knowing it was useless trying to explain.

“You wanted to be yourself, without the title and the attention,” his grandmother said with a sadness in her voice. She knew his heart in this, and she felt for him, but tragically it changed nothing. “Oh my boy, my dear, sweet Killy, this is quite a mess to be in.”

They were both quiet for a moment, thinking to themselves, and Killian felt sick to his stomach at all that he’d done. This was truly all his fault and the guilt was beginning to unravel him. His grandmother though, was not yet done figuring this out. “So what did she say about it all? How did she take the letter?”

“She hasn’t responded,” Killian said hopelessly, bringing his phone up to check again. Yet again, nothing. Silence from his Swan.

“She probably needs time,” his grandmother said sympathetically. “And you’ll give her just as much time as this procession lasts before seeing her.”

“But the events after -,”

“Are not your concern,” his grandmother said vehemently. “You are hereby excused from those.”

“Gran, it’s not that simple. Viscount Mabrey -,”

“Viscount Mabrey can hang,” his grandmother said with a viciousness he’d never witnessed. It wasn’t refined but it was real, and he agreed with the assessment entirely. As the man who was leading this circus of speculation about his life, Mabrey was Killian’s worst enemy at the moment. “And I don’t care what Liam says. You shouldn’t even be here. Making you choose between Emma and the family… It’s just cruel, never mind undignified and unfeeling.”

“He doesn’t know about her,” Killian said and Gran laughed. She actually laughed and shot him a look like he was foolish.

“Are we speaking of the same Liam, your elder brother? The King of this country and sovereign of this crown, not knowing every last detail at play in his kingdom? Unlikely. No, he knows about her. Jefferson will have told him,” Gran said, prompting discomfort in Killian’s gut. Then she appeared to look a bit more forgiving as she weighed the possibilities. “Though perhaps no one has realized her ignorance on your origins. I certainly didn’t know.”

Killian’s brow furrowed at her comment, but his confusion was distracted by another question from her. “Did you ask her to come here at all? To see you? What are we to expect?”

“She was never planning to watch the procession, and I can’t imagine she’d want to now,” Killian confirmed, reiterating what Emma had told him previously. “She and her son were planning to go to the beach for the day, and no matter what state she may be in,” his throat closed up at admitting that she’d be hurting because of him. “Emma would never break a promise to her boy. They’ll likely miss the whole thing.”

“Mmm,” his grandmother replied. The hum was so noncommittal it only added to Killian’s agitation. But then she turned to him and looked serious. “Well you answer me this, Killian, and be warned if you lie not even the Gods of old can help you, do you truly care for the girl?”

“Yes.” In fact, caring for Emma was an understatement. His feelings, new as they were, went so much deeper than that.

“Do you love her?”

“Yes,” he admitted, knowing that this bond he felt to her was not a fleeting sort of fancy. He did love Emma, for all her many pieces. The way she loved helping people, the nurturing way she always had, the light in her eyes, the lilt of her laugh. She was perfect and good and true, and he never had any hope of deserving her, but damn did he want to. So badly it left an ache in his chest.

“And is there anything you won’t do to make this up to her?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied firmly, knowing that promise was absolute.

That was part of what was killing him now. He wanted to go this instant and beg forgiveness like a man. To look her in her eyes and explain to her how this had all come to be. Yet he couldn’t even give that to her. He was bound by a duty to his family, and he had never resented that duty more in his life. Even now he considered the merits of being here. He could go, show her how much she meant to him, and how she’d always come first from now on. But doing that would only humiliate his family. It would add flames to the fire and mean giving up the loyalty he’d always had for the people he was closest to.

“Good.” She answered, nodding her head and clapping her hands together in a matter-of-fact manner. “Well, dear, sometimes people make bad choices, and when they do, they must make amends. That’s all that can be done. You must do everything you can to make this right. It’s as simple as that,”

“That’s it? No sage counsel or particular detail on how to go about it?” Killian asked. He was desperate for guidance here. Should he call her? Should he wait? Should he go to her? What was he meant to do? What could be done at this point?

“My dear, the mistakes of men are frequent and seemingly unending. A queen does herself no favors getting mired down in them,” she said with a sigh, not helping him with the reminder that he was among those mistaken men. But she shook her head and then affectionately patted his arm in a sign of support. “Just remember this: your heart always knows which way to go. You’ll make this right, and when you do, I’d like to officially meet this young woman. All right?”

“Okay, Gran.”

With a quick pat to his cheek, his grandmother turned and entered the carriage with his mother who was watching curiously. The two of them shared a few words, but Killian didn’t pay much mind, for at the same moment Liam descended from the palace and things began moving rather quickly. It was time for them all to depart, and Killian could only gear himself up for what would be a painful few hours and hope that everything would somehow be okay.

…………………….

Waking up this morning, Emma had to admit to herself that she was really and honestly happy. The feeling was somewhat new for her, certainly in such a bold and front and center way, but after yesterday with Killian it was impossible to feel otherwise. The hope that he’d inspired in her and the heat that she still felt all these hours later, all prompted a smile she let loose as soon as she woke, and that had stayed with her all morning. To know that this man who had her tied up in knots felt the same way made her feel like a kid with their first crush. But despite the strange fluttering in her chest that came and went, and the constant distraction that her mind seemed plagued with these days, she didn’t actually hate it. If anything, Emma craved this feeling, loving that for the first time in so many years she felt eager to take a chance on something and someone other than herself and her son.

She’d been ready to take that step a while ago, feeling the draw to Killian for some time now, but after yesterday and that kiss, she was totally lost. She may be guarded, but Emma Swan was no fool. She could admit defeat when beaten, and right now her interest and her hope that this might be something real and true had won out. Hours later she could still taste him on her tongue. She felt the silky strands of his hair on her fingertips and the hard lines of his body pressed against her. The heat and the spark between them was all consuming, and the look in his eyes when they broke apart and he promised he’d see her soon -

“Mom, do you think I should bring my snorkeling mask or my regular goggles?”

Emma jumped at Henry’s question, which forced her out of her daydream so quickly she had whiplash. She shook her head, reminding herself that this was not the time or place. She was on Mom duty right now and she was supposed to be packing their lunch and snacks for the beach. But last night, when she was alone and all her responsibilities were met for the day, she’d allowed herself to imagine what could have happened if things were different. Would the moment have lasted longer? Would it have ended at the preserve?

“Mom?” Henry asked, his brow furrowed in confusion at her continued distractedness.

“Sorry, kid. Let’s go with snorkeling. It’s been hard for you to find the space to do that to this point, but I think today you’ll have the room to try.”

Henry agreed with her thinking and raced back to his room to grab his things while Emma chastised herself for her wayward thoughts. Now was totally not the time to be caught up in thoughts of Killian, hard as it might be to resist. She and her kid were spending the day together and she needed to focus on that. Henry and her had planned this outing all week, and she wanted to be present with him, even if a niggling though in the back of her mind wondered what it would be like if Killian was coming too. She already knew that Henry and he would get along. Killian had a way of making every kid he met love him, and her son was smart. He read people even better than she did, and Henry loved a good story, which Killian had plenty of.

“Someday maybe,” Emma whispered aloud as she packed the sandwiches in their temperature-controlled bag, but she knew there was no maybe. If things headed where she hoped they would, Killian and Henry meeting would come to pass, and probably soon. But for now, she’d soak in these precious moments with her kid and enjoy a little R and R down at the seaside.

Placing all of their picnic supplies in one bag and double checking that her tote had sunscreen, books, and other things they’d need down by the water, Emma stayed focused on her task. She took comfort in the mental checklist she had going, and when she was confident that they had everything, Henry appeared, carrying his snorkeling gear and smiling a megawatt smile that made her heart so happy.

“You have everything you’ll want for the day?” Emma asked and when Henry nodded she gave him another chance to double check. “Remember we won’t be home until late.”

“I know, Mom. We’re still going to the Center for a visit right? Cook said she’s making that fancy chocolate cake again!” Henry said, nearly as excited by the prospect of this dessert as he was for their beach day.

“Yup. I already told Marco to expect us. Dinner will be served at six thirty.”

Henry threw his fist into the air in some kind of celebratory move and Emma laughed at his antics, shaking her head and looking to all the stuff they had to get out the door and to the coastline. “And you’re totally sure you don’t need to see the parade? It may be fun,” Emma suggested, but she secretly hoped Henry would want to stick to their original plan.

“No way! Beach beats parade every day of the week. Especially this beach. It’s the best!”

Emma appreciated her son’s dedication to sunshine and the seaside. Truth be told, she and Henry had been burned by enough New York parades to be a little jaded. They always sounded like a whole lot of fun in theory, but there was a huge crowd of people which Emma never loved, and at every event there were people who just wanted to get wasted. It was pretty stressful as a parent, and Henry never really liked the noise. He was a quieter kid and preferred more peaceful moments, which were rare when living in the city. As such, they tended to avoid big events like this and made a habit of being wherever the masses weren’t. Today they’d decided the beach might be a good option. They’d managed to go a few times since arriving, and it was always fun but busy. Today they may have more space to themselves, and both she and Henry loved the idea of a beach to themselves.

It was still wild to Emma that they lived in a city with such easy access to a coastline, and not some questionable harbor view, but glorious, magazine worthy beaches. Everyone who lived here acknowledged that they were a hidden gem, and Emma knew if the world ever got wind of what they were missing in this tiny country then flocks of people would descend. She hated to imagine that though, since most of the charm of this country came from its authenticity. There were no touristy gimmicks or ploys. People here were just people, welcoming and friendly, not driven by a dollar. It was totally refreshing and deserved to be preserved and protected. It also made Emma think all the time that maybe she was doing Henry a disservice living in New York. Montenarro wasn’t really a viable option forever, at least she couldn’t bring herself to hope they’d be that lucky, but there must be other places in the US where she could find a job that had more of these things they loved. They’d miss Mrs. and Mr. H, but they were retired now and always talked about their want to travel. Who knew, maybe something could work out?

“Okay Mom, I’m ready to go. We better get a move on.”

Emma took in Henry all decked out in his beach gear and ready to trek across the city and she bit back another hearty laugh. Her boy was an adventurer through and through. He loved anything that felt like a quest and right now he was harnessing all the energy of kids in the throes of some magical imaginary universe. She loved his propensity for this kind of excitement, so she attempted to match it, gathering her things and saluting him as their leader as the left the apartment and locked the door behind them.

As they headed out, Emma couldn’t help thinking that she hoped the kids at the institute were having a good start to their day. This year none of the children would be attending the parade. Apparently there were some issues in years past with some older kids running off to meet friends and younger kids getting lost in the hustle and bustle of the festivities. It turned out to be a logistical nightmare for the staff, and so they decided they’d have their own celebration at the same coves along the cost that the older kids had driven to weeks back. Almost everyone, save the very little babies, would be going, and Emma and Henry had been invited as well. She’d come so close to saying yes, especially when she thought about seeing Cecelia and the others enjoying their day at the beach, but she knew there was a lot of time left to share such memories with them all and that tonight they’d join everyone for dinner and some fun and games. For now, she wanted to make sure her son felt special and supported. He was such a good sport about being in camp all the time while she worked and went to school. She didn’t think that he resented it even a little, but she felt like her first duty was to be a good mom and to give Henry the attention and affection he so rightly deserved.

“Excuse me, Miss?” a woman with bright red hair asked just by their front door. Emma recognized her peripherally. She’d definitely seen her in the neighborhood before. “Are you Emma Swan?”

“I am,” Emma said, and the woman let out a relieved breath. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. My name is Merida. I live just there,” she pointed to the other house out here on the side street. “We received this this morning – or well my daughter did. I love the girl but if you catch her half asleep, she’ll say anything to shut you up and head on back to bed. Anyway, a royal courier came to deliver this earlier, asking for an Emma Swan, and she swore that’s who she was, took it, and then promptly fell asleep. I’m so sorry for the delay, I only just saw the thing in her room. But I promise it was never opened. As you can see the seal is still very much intact.”

“It’s no problem,” Emma said accepting the letter which was addressed in beautiful script. It had her name on it and a seal on the back with the same lettering as the foundation. She smiled, thinking it must be from the kids. They were so excited for their celebration today that she could totally see them making fancy invites and using an institute seal for adornment. She also didn’t think anything of a ‘royal courier.’ That was a thing in Britain too, right? It was the queen’s post or something. Countries with monarchies were just cute like that.

“Oh good, hopefully it’s nothing too timely,” Merida said with relief. “But either way you best believe my Iona received a stern talking to this morning.” Just then a bang came from Merida’s house and they all looked over there. Emma and Henry were concerned, but Merida only sighed and shook her head. “Those blasted boys of mine will be at it again. Dead set on turning every last hair on my head gray. Anyway, apologies again, and perhaps we can have you two over some time. I’ll do my best to wrangle this motley bunch before you do, aye?”

Merida made the offer even while jogging back into her house and Emma and Henry barely had time to say sure before she was back inside. They turned to each other and just shrugged, laughing. Then Henry pointed to the letter. “What do you think it is?”

“Probably something from the institute. But nothing that can’t wait for the beach,” Emma replied, and Henry smiled, following her down the lane in the direction of their plans.

Slowly but surely they made their way down the roads, but the more they walked, the more the patterns of foot traffic began to change. When they started, there were very few people along the street, but the further they went the fuller the streets became. Soon they were overrun with people, and admittedly all of them seemed to be having a great time without any kind of discernable drunkenness or issues.

“Wow, today must be a bigger deal than we realized,” Henry said, his eyes taking in the same sight as her, which was their increasingly familiar neighborhood flooded with happy parade goers.

“No kidding. Are we sure this isn’t the berry fest you read about?”

“They’re called montecaris, Mom. And no, that’s in August. It lasts a whole week. Today’s about a battle that happened a long time ago or something.”

“Must have been some battle,” Emma said. Looking back at Henry, she was struck with worry that he might feel like they were missing something big, especially when confronted with the throngs of people out here celebrating. “We could probably put the beach off a bit if you wanted to watch…”

“No way! I’ve got a full day planned and we’re already late. We gotta get going.”

Emma agreed and stuck her hand out for her son, more as precaution than anything else. With the crowds growing so dense she didn’t want to get separated from him. Henry understood and stuck close to her, but Emma noticed that the people congregated out here today for the celebrations were so much kinder and less intrusive than people back home. This might be a big party for people, but it wasn’t at the expense of families and non-celebrators. No one was taking things too far, and it made maneuvering through the streets much easier than expected, which Emma appreciated. They actually made great time, all things considered, but towards the end of their journey they hit a roadblock, quite literally.

“The road’s closed, but how will we get to the beach?” Henry said with a sad effect that reminded Emma of when he was younger. He never whined, her son, but he did get a teensy bit dramatic. It had much more impact in her opinion, and the pang of sympathy she felt at his disappointment had her rethinking this strategy.

“Excuse me, miss?” Emma asked a woman who looked to be walking with her own young children. “Do you have any idea how we could get to the beach?”

“The footbridge is still open,” the woman offered. She pointed them in the right direction and Emma remembered seeing it a few times while coming in and out of the city. It wasn’t far from here, and she and Henry were grateful for the insight. They made their way in that direction, and by chance they had to walk the parade route to get there. As such they were seeing so much of the parade while still heading to the beach.

“Kind of feels like the best of both worlds, huh Mom?” Henry asked and Emma nodded. It was really something to be sure, and as they walked they saw all sorts of processions. People in traditional dress dancing, musicians, acrobats. There were soldiers dressed up in old regalia and veterans from wars long past, but it didn’t seem like anything out of the common way. Only when the footbridge was in sight did the air seem to change around them and the whispers all began.

“They’ll be out soon, Mama,” a little boy said jumping up and down. “King Liam and his horse!”

“Yes, darling. They’ll be here any moment. Look, here they come.”

Henry was the one to stop moving at this point, drawn into the promise of seeing actual royalty in the flesh. Emma stopped with him and looked out into the street, feeling a flutter of intrigue as she did. Watching the procession at this stage felt like stepping into a movie. There were guards in their stately dress and horses with people she assumed must be some kind of current soldiers. All of the steeds they rode in on were darker, but behind them were white stallions drawing a carriage. Wow, she thought those were a figment of imagination. People really rode in those? Emma supposed they must, and then she got a good look at the women in the cart and she was convinced they must be royalty.

The way these two women were dressed was pristine and beautiful, and both women wore tiaras in their hair that reflected the light so beautifully in the summer sun. From what she could tell, both of them were older, though one was raven haired and the other had shifted to a silky silver. Emma wracked her brain trying to remember what she’d heard in passing about the royals. She knew there was a reigning Queen before who was much older, and apparently good friends with the Queen in England. She’d stepped down from her post years back, however, and now there was a King. She’d seen him, King Liam, on magazine covers in the grocery store. He was young, but always looked so serious, and Emma imagined he must be somewhere here too.

Sure enough, when the carriage passed there were two black horses, both giant, like Clydesdales. Both had royal riders as well, and Emma knew the first one was King Liam. He looked just as serious now as he had in the photos, and Emma wondered if it was hard to be King. It must be all-consuming, but still, a smile wouldn’t kill anyone, would it?

“Wait, Mom, that’s the King!” Henry said, his attempt at a whisper coming out comically loud. “He’s so big. I bet he’s super strong.”

Emma couldn’t argue with the assessment, and the stateliness of the man looked even more imposing in his formal regalia astride a horse. But there was something about him that was familiar. The darkness of his hair under his crown and the square of his jaw evoked something in her, and so, she realized, did the particular shade of blue of his eyes. She had trouble placing it before, but now she knew they looked like Killian’s. How strange that she should think that. She was only reminiscing the other day that she’d never seen eyes like his anywhere before.

Intriguing as the connection was, Emma didn’t think much of it. Instead her eyes moved to the other horse, and immediately her heart lurched. Was that? Oh my God, that was Killian! Her Killian, and he was…

“Prince Killian’s here this year!” a young girl said on the street beside them with awe. “Wow he really is handsome, just as handsome as King Liam, don’t you think, Mama?”

“Undoubtedly, dear,” the mother said but Emma barely heard them. She was stuck with the glaring and absolutely crazy realization that the man she’d been circling around for weeks, the man who’d kissed her senseless only yesterday, was a Prince. Like an actual, full-blown, royal. She was stunned and shocked, so thrown by this twist she hardly knew which way was up. All she could do was take this in and try to make sense of it all.

From where she stood in the crowd, Emma could see that Killian was dressed in the same uniform as his brother. Medals of valor covering his coat to a much higher degree than the King, so much so they almost didn’t fit. Despite being astride a horse, everything about him looked impeccable. The lines of his clothes were crisp and unforgiving, and his form on the stallion spoke to extensive experience. Still, she couldn’t say he looked comfortable up there. His expression was not nearly so serious as Liam’s, but Emma could see his uneasiness, even if it was subtle. Many others may not realize, but Emma saw pain in his eyes. Even now, when thrust into confusion and disarray, Emma felt like she could read him. He was uncomfortable up there, being ogled at by so many people and hearing all the noise and celebration. Still he was gorgeous, looking gallant and regal and all too good to look away from.

Seeing him this way filled her with a chaotic sense of conflictedness – on the one hand she still saw the same man she felt herself falling for, but on the other hand he’d shielded the truth from her. He was a prince, a freaking prince! And she was… well just Emma. It made her sick to her stomach to think about how much must separate them. She’d already felt the pressure of that just thinking he was rich and foreign, but throw royalty into the mix and she felt unbelievably foolish. This could never work. She was delusional if she thought that the two of them could amount to anything more than a mere flirtation given everything, and a wave of dread and despair crashed over her. She felt feint from the mix of sadness and betrayal and her heart was pounding in her chest. Panic began flowing. She had to get out of here.

As if her distress called to him in some way, Killian’s attention diverted from the procession and he looked into the crowd. In a matter of seconds his gaze found her, and she saw the look on his face, feeling the impact too acutely. He was surprised by her being there, and then looked pained himself. She was too stunned to move, but he didn’t feel the same. He stopped his horse, and looked about to climb down when a voice called out to him.

“Killian!” It came from the King, Emma and Killian both looked to him and Liam looked to Emma before turning back to Killian and shaking his head. “Not now.”

Emma didn’t know how to take that. Was he saying not now as in ‘not now, we’re in the middle of a parade here’ or as in ‘not now with your inappropriate and unacceptable life choices’? The former made sense to Emma, but the latter was what she was afraid of. Here she was, a totally normal person, a single Mom from another place with no freaking clue he was even a prince. What was Killian even thinking when it came to her? She was dying to know but also too afraid to face it. Killian, meanwhile, looked liable to go against his brother but he ultimately looked to her and she read the greatest wish of his heart as clear as day.

I know I fucked up, Emma. I know this is crazy, but please let me explain. She even watched his lips move and she read his words “please, Emma.” Her heart clutched in her chest. She closed her eyes unsure of what to do and then Henry pulled at her hand. Emma broke her attention away from this earth-shaking revelation and looked to her boy.

“You okay, Mom? You look a little funny.”

“Uh, yeah, Henry, I’m fine. Just a lot of people,” she offered emptily. She hated to lie to her son, but what could she say? Something like, don’t worry kid, I just think I have a date set with the Prince and even though it’s completely insane and he hid this from me, I can’t bring myself to hate him? Or maybe, to be honest I was actually falling for this man, like really falling, and I don’t know if I can stop even though I have to because we live in different worlds and I feel like my heart is breaking in my chest? No that wouldn’t work either, so a lie it was.

“You want to go home?” He asked and Emma shook her head, knowing that home was just about the last place she wanted to be. She needed distraction from whatever the hell this was, and if she added disappointing Henry to the list of things she’d done today, she’d never get past this.

“No way.”

“Okay! Last one to the footbridge is a rotten egg!” Henry said, taking off, and Emma spared one last look at Killian before she left.

In his eyes she saw everything, grief, sorrow, an attempt at about a million apologies. This was wrong. He had really messed up and she was hurt by his choices, but despite it all a small voice in her heart told her not to run. She should give him a chance to explain, as hard as that might be. She deserved those answers, even if he didn’t. With her mind made up, she wanted to convey to him that this wasn’t totally over but only then did she realize that the parade had stopped. Everyone was distracted by something in the main carriage, but it wasn’t emergent. In fact, the people were laughing, but Emma had clearly missed the joke. She looked back to Killian, whose eyes were trained only on her, and without any more delay she nodded, a silent show that she would listen even if she was hurt and confused. She only saw the beginning of his relief take form, before heading back to her kid, and though it was incredibly hard not to look back, she pushed forward, knowing that right now she couldn’t engage with whatever was happening. It was just too much to contemplate and too overwhelming to consider without knowing the whole truth.

……………………………..

Oh, Dear Lord in Heaven, what a day it had been.

Public outings were always tiring to Queen Eleanor, despite her lifetime of participating in them. But today was especially energetic, and that was putting it kindly.

She still could not fathom how in the world her grandson had been so thoughtless. How could Killian think that keeping the truth for this long would be okay? Surely, he realized that the longer he waited to tell Emma who he was the worse it would be. And then today, seeing the moment where Killian and Emma noticed each other out there in the precession, was like witnessing a car wreck before her very eyes.

The fright she’d had was instant, and she gripped onto Meera’s arm so quickly her daughter-in-law had thought her ill. Then Meera looked to the crowd and saw Emma too and she herself was tense and worried. It was all so terrible. The shock on the poor girl’s face, the hurt in her eyes, but there was more too. There was strength there, and feelings under that hurt that did give Eleanor a bit of hope. Everything wasn’t lost, but it was getting damn close. Killian tried to go to her, as he damn well should, but then Liam scolded him, keeping him there. It took everything in Eleanor not to snap at her eldest grandson for interfering.

“It’s not safe, your majesty,” Jefferson whispered to her from his position close by, reading her frustration. “She’d be a target if the public takes notice.”

“Oh – oh - oh barnacles!” she said with frustration, before inspiration struck. “Stop the carriage!” she cried to the attendant and immediately he did.

“What are you doing?” Meera whispered, alarmed at the break in protocol, but hoping for a good explanation.

“Buying them some time. Keep watch of them. Be discrete but don’t miss anything. We need every detail we can get,” she whispered, before turning to the street and waving her hand to a nearby man. “Excuse me, sir, I just wanted to say your cap is absolutely delightful.”

The man was stunned at her comments, and he should be. This was absolutely untoward. Royalty never did anything like this, but damn the customs. This was her grandson’s life, his future, and she’d do anything she could to see it aided and improved. When the man on the side of the road collected himself, he smiled and blushed, an uncommon sight for a man of at least 65 years of age.

“Please, your majesty. Take it.”

“Oh I don’t think I -,”

“It would be an honor,” he said.

“Are they good?” she asked Meera quietly.

“Just a bit more time. Her son’s perked up now. What a beautiful boy. Reminds me of Killian at that age.”

“Focus, Meera.”

Eleanor nodded to the security team and the man came forward. Offering her the hat. She smiled at it, taking in the tacky mess of patriotic color and appreciating it for what it was – a colorful distraction from the moment. She made up her mind to commit to this idea, and the crowd gasped as she put it on her head and then laughed happily. Some people even cheered at her attire, praising the new look that must make her look positively ridiculous.

“Okay, we’re good,” Meera said and Eleanor smiled graciously to the man who’d provided this opportunity to distract.

“Thank you very much, sir. A happy holiday to you and yours,” she waved pleasantly before telling the footman to drive on.

She’d then proceeded to commit to this charade for the rest of the outing, taking different gifts from parade watchers across the city. Even Meera engaged, accepting some colorful beads and a flag from some children who brought them forth along the way. She didn’t dare look at Liam the entire time, but she knew, even if it was unusual, that this would be a win for the king in the long term. The people had responded marvelously, and she’d managed to help both her grandsons in their quests at the same time, thank the Gods.

As soon as they arrived back at the palace, Killian was off like a shot, readying himself to go see Emma. They spoke with him briefly inside the palace before his departure, but she didn’t dwell on those important words now. Eleanor still didn’t know where he’d eventually find her or if he already had, but she hoped he would. Now though, hours later, Queen Eleanor was hiding out, trying to avoid another conversation that must eventually come.

“So are you going to tell me what that was all about today?” Liam asked, causing her to jump from where she was in the quiet of the library. Her hand came over her heart instinctively and she scowled at him.

“You take great liberty, my dear, scaring an old woman like that.”

“I take liberties?” he asked with a laugh. “Gran if this is another of your jokes, I’ll tell you now I don’t understand it and I’m not amused.”

“I know, my dear, but I just had to do it. Killian and Emma needed time.”

“You know about her?”

“Know about her, who do you think found her in the first place -,” Oh blast it! She wasn’t supposed to say that. Rats, now she had to tell him everything. This was not what she’d wanted at all.

“So you and Mum, you’ve been planning this,” Liam said some time later when the truth was revealed. “You’re matchmaking. Does Killian know?”

“No, he most certainly does not.”

“He’ll be furious when he finds out.”

“The moment she forgives him he’ll be nothing short of ecstatic.”

“And so that’s when you’ll tell him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Gran.”

“Liam,” she parroted, knowing she sounded like a child but not caring.

“Bloody hell, Gran, I don’t know how you manage it,” Liam said, shaking his head as a low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

“I manage this family with the wisdom, grace, and know-how of a professional, Liam. You’d do well to remember that.”

He muttered to himself some things she couldn’t hear, but then he squared his shoulders and grew serious. “Look, Gran, as long as you promise not to interfere anymore, I will keep your secret.”

“When you say interfere -,”

“Gran, leave this to Killian. He needs to do this himself. Please.”

“All right dear, I will leave it alone.”

“Good. And you and Mum better not be planning anything like this for me.”

“You really think there’s just another woman who happens to be at the institute who would also be perfect for you?”

“No,” Liam laughed, forgetting the promise he asked for in the face of what he saw as a lunatic notion. Little did he know there was such a woman, and the ball was already in motion on that front as well. Still Eleanor did everything she could to shield that from him, attempting to appear the frazzled grandmother instead of a scheming assistant to cupid. Before he could press her further, a knock sounded at the door, Jefferson appeared, and Liam was called away. “We’ll finish this discussion later.”

“Not bloody likely,” she whispered under her breath and Liam raised a brow.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, dear. Nothing at all.”

Post-Note: Okay so there we have it. I keep making these chapters so much longer than I think I will, but there’s just so much I want to accomplish. I know it would have been better for everyone’s anxiety levels if I had Killian and Emma talk things out in this chapter but there simply was not time. Not to worry though, next week’s installment will definitely have that and I think you’ll all forgive me for my slight cliff hanger when you read the next chapter. Anyway, I would love to hear what you all are thinking and I appreciate every comment and review and message you guys have sent the past few weeks. It’s so awesome to have you all with me in this and I genuinely hope you’ll stick around to see what’s coming next. Anyway thanks so much for reading and have a great rest of your weekend! -Emily

#captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan au #cs fic #cs ff #cs au #cs fluff #cs angst #cs royals #cs royals au #prince killian #killian jones #emma swan #the whole storybrooke gang #ouat au #feels like this #feels like this au #feels like this 6

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cynicallystiles · 5 years

Text

Healing

Disclaimer: Gif originally posted by me.

Author: @cynicallystiles

Request: Anon: would you do a fic about being dimes little sister (Justin’s?) who was assaulted and standing up during the assembly/ sorry didn’t mean dimes meant someone’s x

Warning: Season 3 spoilers, mention of sexual assault, and cursing.

Notes: Thank you for requesting it, I hope it is somewhat like you imagined anon! Also, I went ahead and did my Justin tag even though it’s not Justin x Reader because it has Justin in it! Please COMMENT/REBLOG if you enjoy!

Pairing: Clay Jensen x Foley!Reader

Masterlist

Words: 1,555

You sat there next to Tyler for moral support at the assembly. Jessica, your brother's girlfriend and the class president, was supposed to be apologizing to another school for the homecoming incident. By incident, that means she organized a protest at the homecoming halftime and inadvertently started a riot.

That night had shocked you. As much as you wanted to support your friends, you couldn't bring yourself to get involved in the violence. So, you watched from the sidelines as they all surged onto the field to fight with the opposing team. Your brother, your friends, and even your boyfriend.

You wish you could say that that's where the consequences ended. With some cuts and bruises, and of course, Zack's broken leg. But, matters got worse from there. Bryce Walker was found dead days later. Murdered. And you and everyone you knew were suspects.

But, Clay had it the worst. He's who they wanted to pin it on. It was absurd, though. Anyone who truly knew Clay, like you do, would know that he isn't capable of doing something so atrocious. That didn't matter. All the 'evidence' was piled against him, and he had little hope that the justice system wouldn't fail him.

That's why you knew that he was going to run. Justin had come to you in a panic at school, whispering urgently about how no one could find Clay. It made you sad; how could he leave for potentially ever without saying goodbye to you. But, you also couldn't blame him. Jail would not be kind to him and you never wished to see him in that sort of pain. So, you pushed down your sadness and hoped that he'd gotten far, far away.

Back to the assembly. Jessica was supposed to be apologizing for that night so many weeks ago. But, she and her survivors' club had other plans. Plans that made Tyler nervous; so in place of Clay, you were there to give him the support and encouragement he needed for this big moment.

"My name is Jessica Davis...and I'm a survivor." She smiles confidently as she looks to the stands for others to come forward and speak their truth. The first ones to do so are from her club, as planned.

She looks to Tyler with an encouraging nod, but he shakes his head. You can see him trembling slightly in fear. Resting a careful hand on his forearm, you whisper to him, "It's okay. Whenever you're ready...we'll be here."

He smiles appreciatively as more people stand up and announce that they're survivors. It spreads beyond her initial group. Girls from the other school and also, others from yours stand up.

Next to you, you can see the struggle on Tyler's face. He wants to be brave, but he can't. That is until he looks toward the opening and closing of the gym doors. You follow his lead and see Clay setting down your brother's gym bag.

They exchange pained and concerned looks. Without warning, Tyler stands next to you. "My name is Tyler Down," he begins shakily, "and I'm a survivor." You reach up and clasp his hand for comfort as murmurs ripple throughout the gym. He looks to Clay who gives him a proud nod.

The confessions continued on. Even another boy from your school spoke up. You were waiting for the right moment, but Clay wasn't supposed to be here. And you hadn't ever told him this small fact from your past because you knew he'd have so much guilt over it. Even though it was long before the two of you met.

There's a pause in the announcements. You look over and see Justin looking at you. Your eyebrows knit together as tears prick at your eyes. With a trembling lip, you watch him stand in uncertainty. He shoves his hands in his pockets as the school goes silent.

"My name is Justin Foley," he swallows nervously and goes on, "and I'm a survivor." A tiny sob escapes your lips and you put your free hand up to cover your mouth. It shocked everyone, even Jessica. You were all too aware of him being a survivor. It was the one thing you wished the two of you didn't share.

In an odd way, though, it made you closer as siblings. But, you couldn't bring yourself to stand anymore. Because while you shared that trauma with Justin, there was also trauma you didn't share with him, and never told him about it. Even though it looked so freeing, admitting that to everyone in spite of his fear.

Another girl behind Justin stands up as he looks back over to you. He nods subtly in encouragement but you slightly shake your head, little tears slipping down your cheeks. You wipe them with your sleeve as you turn to look at Clay.

His eyes were already watching you in concern and your exchange with Justin. Your face crumples a bit, but you know that you have to do this. You want to. It's your turn to take control of your life. So after the last girl finishes, you stand up.

You let go of Tyler's hand and rub your palms nervously on your jeans. Never breaking eye contact with your brother, you take a jagged breath and speak. "My name is y/n Foley...and I'm a survivor." The first part sounded shaky, but your brother gave you the confidence to finish strong.

Tyler pats your back comfortingly and you venture a glance at Clay. He looks heartbroken. And as the gymnasium slowly breaks out in applause, started by your principal, he doesn't hesitate to make his way over to you. Jessica finishes out her speech and everyone converges on the court to chatter with each other.

You hurry down the stairs to meet Clay halfway. He throws his arms around your waist and you do the same around his neck. You cradle the back of his head with one hand, feeling the pressure from his hands press deeply into your back.

Normally, you would joke that he's suffocating you. But, you're so glad that you're seeing him again that you don't want him to loosen up. His muffled whispers against your shoulder almost get drowned out by the mingling.

"I'm so sorry, y/n." You could hear his voice crack and you squeezed him tightly. He turns his head to press a worried kiss into your hair and it eases all your nerves.

Your nose brushes his jacket collar and you reply in relief, "You have nothing to be sorry about. It was a long time ago..."

"No," he says surely as he pulls back, hands still on your waist. "I'm sorry I almost left without seeing you," he says lowly.

Tilting your head to one side, you give him a small smile. "So you're still leaving then?" He hesitates with his mouth parted and you sigh. "I'm coming with you then."

"Y/n, you can't-" he begins to argue as Justin comes up to the two of you.

"I'm so proud of you, little sister," he smiles and pulls you away from Clay. He wraps you up snugly in his arms and you do the same to him.

You breathe deeply. "I'm proud of you too, big brother...but I have some things I need to tell you," you start before pulling back and looking at Clay, "both of you."

Tyler appears, interrupting your train of thought. Clay tells him he's proud of him, causing Tyler to smile brightly. "Also, where the fuck have you been?" Justin starts, realizing that Clay has been there for a minute.

He begins to answer when Jessica comes up, asking if Justin's proclamation was real. "Babe, we gotta go," you say as things are getting chaotic and pull on his hand.

"You're not coming with me," he argues as he shakes his head.

You frown. "Like hell, I'm not," you state. "You jump, I jump. That's the deal, Jensen."

"Woah, woah, woah!" Justin chimes in, hearing your demanding tone. "Neither of you are running! Especially, not you y/n!" Everyone starts in on their arguing and in the distance, the doors fly open.

"Clay Jensen!" Everyone goes silent to see the sheriff and some deputies stepping into the gym. "Clay Jensen, I have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Bryce Walker."

He struts forward and roughly turns Clay around, reading him his rights as he cuffs him. Tyler steps forward but a deputy places a hand on his chest to stop him. After cuffing him, the sheriff grabs his shoulder meanly and begins to lead him away.

"No! Hey, you can't do this!" You argue sadly and try to go after him.

You feel arms close around you, holding you in place. "Don't make it worse right now, y/n," Justin whispers in your ear. "We'll find a way to fix this."

Tears start flowing down your cheeks as all your nightmares from the past weeks are playing out in front of you. Clay sneaks one last look over his shoulder at you. He sees your tears and his worried features soften into a forced smile.

The last thing you see before the doors close behind them is Clay mouthing 'I love you.'

Justin Tag: @fandomrulesall @crazyfangirrll @elfie6405

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greatfay · 3 years

Note

controversial opinions?

Cold pizza actually not good. Tastes like angry bacteria.

There’s a completely separate class of gay men who are in a different, rainbow-tinted plane of reality from the rest of us and I don’t like them. They push for “acceptance” via commercialization of the Pride movement, assimilation through over-exposure, and focus on sexualizing the movement to be “provocative” and writing annoying articles that reek of class privilege instead of something actually important like lgbtqa youth homelessness, job discrimination, and mental health awareness.

Coleslaw is good. You guys just suck in the kitchen.

Generational divides ARE real: a 16-year-old and a 60-year-old right now in 2021 could agree on every hot button sociopolitical topic and yet not even realize it because they communicate in entirely different ways.

Sam Wilson is a power bottom. No I will not elaborate.

Allison’s makeover in The Breakfast Club good, not bad. She kept literally and metaphorically dumping her trash out onto the table and it’s clearly a cry for help. Having the attention and affection of a smart, pretty girl doing her makeup for her was sweet and helped her open up to new experiences. Not every loner wants to BE a loner (see: Bender, who is fine being a lone wolf).

Movie/show recommendations that start with a detailed “representation” list read like status-effecting gear in an RPG and it’s actually a turn-off for me. I have to force myself to give something a try in spite of it.

Yelling at people to just “learn a new language” because clearly everyone who isn’t you and your immediate vicinity of friends must be a lazy ignorant white American is so fucking stupid, like I get it, you’re mad someone doesn’t immediately know how to pronounce your name or what something means. But I know 2 languages and am struggling with a 3rd when I can between 2 jobs and quite frankly, I don’t have the time to just absorb the entire kanji system into my brain to learn Japanese by tomorrow night, or suddenly learn Arabic or Welsh. There are 6500 recorded languages in the world, what’s the chance that one of 3 I’ve learn(ed?) is the one you’re yelling at me about. Yes this is referring to that post yelling at people for not knowing how to pronounce obscure Irish names and words. Sometimes just explaining something instead of admonishing people for not knowing something inherently in the belief that everyone must be lazy entitled privileged people is uh... better?

Stop fucking yelling at people. I despise feeling like someone is yelling at me or scolding me, it triggers my Violence Mode, you don’t run me, you are not God, fuck off. Worst fucking way to "educate” people, it just feels good in the moment to say or write and doesn’t help. Yes I’ve done it before.

Violence is good actually.

Characters doing bad things ≠ an endorsement of bad things. Characters doing bad things that are unquestioned by the entire rest of the cast = endorsement of bad things, or at the least, a power fantasy by the creator. See: Glee, in which Sue’s awfulness is constantly called out, while Mr. Shue’s awfulness rarely is because he’s “the hero.” See also: the Lightbringer series, in which the protagonist is a violent manipulator who is praised as clever, charming, diplomatic, and genius by every supporting character (enemies included), despite the text never demonstrating such.

Euphoria is good, actually. It falls into this niche of the past decade of “dark gritty teen shows” but actually has substance behind it, but the general vibe I get from passive-aggressive tumblr posts from casual viewers is that this show is The Devil, and the criticism of its racier content screams pearl-clutching “what about the children??” to me.

Describing all diagnosed psychopaths as violent criminals is a damaging slippery slope, sure. But I won’t be mad at anyone for inherently distrusting another human who does not have the ability to feel guilt and remorse, empathy, is a pathological liar, or proves to be cunning and manipulative.

It’s actually not easy to unconditionally support and love everyone everywhere when you’ve actually experienced the World. Your perspective and values will be challenged as you encounter difficult people, experience hardship, are torn between conflicting ideas and commitments, and fail. My vow to never ever call the cops on another black person was challenged when an employee’s boyfriend marched into the kitchen OF AN ESTABLISHMENT to scream at her, in a BUSINESS I MANAGED, and threaten to BEAT the SHIT out of her. Turns out I can hate cops and hate that motherfucker equally, I am more than capable of both.

Defending makeup culture bad, actually. Enjoy it, experiment, master it, but don’t paint it as something other than upholding exactly what they want from you. Even using makeup to “defy the heteropatriarchal oppressors!” is still putting cash in their pockets, no matter how camp...

Not every villain needs to be redeemed, some of you just never outgrew projecting yourself onto monsters and killers.

Writing teams and networks queerbaiting is not the same as individuals queerbaiting. Nick Jonas performing exclusively at gay clubs to generate an audience really isn’t criminal; if they paid to go see him, that’s on them, he didn’t promise anyone anything other than music and a show. Do not paint this as similar to wealthy, bigoted executives and writing teams trying to snatch up the LGBTQA demographic with vague ass marketing and manipulative screenplays, only to cop out so as not to alienate their conservative audiences. And ESPECIALLY when the artists/actors/creators accused of queerbaiting or lezploitation then come out as queer in some form later on.

Queer is not a bad word, and I’ve no clue how that remains one of few words hurled at LGBTQA people that can’t be reclaimed. It’s so archaic and underused at this point that I don’t get the reaction to it compared to others.

People who defend grown-woman Lorelai Gilmore’s childish actions and in the same breath heavily criticize teenage religious abuse victim Lane Kim’s actions are not to be trusted. Also Lane deserved better.

Keep your realism out of my media, or at least make it tonally consistent. Tired of shows and movies and books where some gritty, dark shit comes out of nowhere when the narrative was relatively Romantic beforehand.

Actually people should be writing characters different from themselves, this new wave in the past year of “If you aren’t [X] you shouldn’t be writing [X]” is a complete leap backward from the 2010s media diversity movement. And if [X] has to do with an invisible minority status (not immediately visible disabilities, or diverse sexual orientations and gender identities, persecuted religious affiliations, mental illness) it’s actually quite fucked up to assume the creator can’t be whatever [X] is or to demand receipts or details of someone’s personal life to then grant them “permission” to create something. I know, we’re upset an actual gay actor wasn’t casted to play this gay character, so let’s give them shit about it: and not lose a wink of sleep when 2 years later, this very actor comes out and gives a detailed account of the pressure to stay closeted if they wanted success in Hollywood.

Projecting an actor’s personal romantic life and gender identity onto the characters they play is actually many levels of fucked up, and not cute or funny. See: reinterpreting every character Elliot Page has played through a sapphic lens, and insulting his ability to play straight characters while straight actors play actual caricatures of us (See also: Jared Leto. Fuck him).

I’m fucking sick of DaBaby, he sucks. “I shot somebody, she suck my peepee” that’s 90% of whatever he raps about.

“Political Correctness” is not new. It was, at one point, unacceptable to walk into a fine establishment and inform the proprietor that you love a nice firm pair of tits in your face. 60 years ago, such a statement would get you throw out and possibly arrested under suspicion of public intoxication. But then something happened and I blame Woodstock and Nixon. And now I have to explain to a man 40 years my senior that no, you can’t casually mention to the staff here, many of whom are children, how you haven’t had a good fuck in a while. And then rant about the “Chinese who gave us the virus.” Can’t be that upset with them if you then refused to wear your mask for 20 minutes.

Triggering content should not have a blanket ban; trigger warnings are enough, and those who campaign otherwise need to understand the difference between helping people and taking away their agency. 13 Reasons Why inspired this one. Absolutely shitty show, sure, but it’s a choice to watch it knowing exactly what it contains.

Sasuke’s not a fucking INTJ, he’s an ISFP whose every decision is based off in-the-moment feelings and proves incapable of detailed and logical planning to accomplish his larger goals.

MCU critique manages to be both spot-on and pointless. Amazing stories have been told with these characters over the course of decades; but most of it is toilet paper. Expecting a Marvel movie to be a deeply detailed examination of American nationalism and imperialism painted with a colorful gauze of avant-garde film technique is like expecting filet mignon from McDonalds. Scarf down your quarter pounder or gtfo.

Disparagingly comparing the popularity and (marginal) success of BLM to another movement is anti-black. It is not only possible but also easy to ask for people’s support without throwing in “you all supported BLM for black people but won’t show support for [insert group]” how about you keep our name out your mouth? Black people owe the rest of the world nothing tbh until yall root out the anti-blackness in your own communities.

It is the personal demon/tragic flaw of every cis gay/bi/pan man to externalize and exorcize Shame: I’m talking about the innate compulsion to Shame, especially in the name of Pride and Progress. Shame for socioeconomic “success,” shame for status of outness, shame for fitness and health, shame for looks, shame for style and dress, shame for how one fits into the gender binary, shame for sexual positions and intimacy preferences, shame for fucking music tastes. Put down the weapon that They used to beat you. Becoming the Beater is not growth, it’s the worst-case scenario.

Works by minorities do not have to be focused on their marginalized identities. Some ladies want to ride dragons AND other ladies. The pressure on minorities to create the Next Great Minority Character Study that will inevitably get snuffed at the Oscars/Peabody Awards is some bullshit when straight white dudes walk around shitting out mediocre screenplays and books.

Canadians can stfu about how the US is handling COVID-19 actually. Love most of yall, but the number of Canadian snowbirds on vacation (VACATION??? VA.CAT.ION.) in the supposed “hotbed” of my region that I’ve had to inform our mask policies and social distancing to is ASTOUNDING. Incroyable! I guess your country has a sizable population of entitled, privileged, inconsiderate, wealthy, and ignorant people making things difficult for everyone, just like mine :)

No trick to eliminate glasses fog while wearing my mask has worked, not a single one, it actually has affected my job and work speed and is incredibly frustrating, and I have to deal with it and pretend it’s not a problem while still encouraging others to follow the rules for everyone’s safety and the cognitive dissonance is driving me insane.

It’s really really really not anti-Japanese... to be uncomfortable with the rampant pedophilia in manga and anime, and voice this. I really can’t compare western animation’s sneakier bullshit with pantyshots of a 12-year-old girl.

Most of the people in the cottagecore aesthetic/tag have zero interest in all the hard work that comes with maintaining an isolated property in the countryside, milking cows and tending crops before sunrise, etc. And that’s okay? They just like flowers and pretty pottery and homemade pastries. Idk where discourse about this came from.

You think mint chip ice-cream tastes like toothpaste because you’re missing a receptor that can distinguish the flavors, and that sucks for you. It’s a sort of “taste-blindness” that can make gum spicy to some while others can eat a ghost pepper without crying.

Being a spectacle for the oppressive class doesn’t make them respect us, it makes them unafraid of us. This means they continue to devour us, but without fear of our retaliation.

Only like 4 people on tumblr dot com are actually prepared for the full ramifications of an actual revolution. The rest of you just really imprinted onto Katniss, or grew up in the suburbs.

Straight crushes are normal. They’re people first, sexual orientation second. Can’t always know.

The road to body positivity is not easy, especially if what you desire is what you aren’t.

You’re actually personally responsible for not voluntarily bringing yourself into an environment that you know is not fit for you unless you have the resolve to manage it. Can’t break a glass ceiling without getting a few cuts. This one’s a shoutout to my homophobic temp coworkers who decided working a venue with a drag show would be a good idea. This is also is a shoutout to people who want to make waves but are surprised when the boat tips. And also a shoutout to people who—wait that’s it’s own controversial opinion hold up.

Straight people can and should stay the fuck out of gay bars and queer spaces. “yoUrE bEInG diVisiVe” go fuck yourself.

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spnfanficpond · 4 years

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January Angel Fish Awards

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words.

The monthly Angel Fish Awards are peer-nominated, meaning ANYONE IN THE POND CAN NOMINATE ANY POND MEMBER’S FIC. While the Pond was founded to support the Guppies, everyone in this community deserves to be showered with love and feedback, and we hope that by opening this up as a Pond wide system, we’ll be able to share the love as far as it can go.

NOTE: WE’VE BEEN HAVING OCCASIONAL PROBLEMS WITH ASKS GOING MISSING. Please use the Submit button when submitting your nominations and make sure you’re signed into Tumblr or your URL won’t show. (If the form asks for your name and email address, then you’re not signed in.) If you like, you can also send a message to Michelle or Mana to check and make sure we got your submission.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE ARE THE FIRST ANGEL FISH AWARDS OF 2020!

Cabin Fever (a long oneshot) by @slytherkins was nominated three times!

I said all of this in my reblog, but this is FUCKING GOLD. It depicts life with chronic pain so beautifully, I read most of this with my heart in my throat. Have tissues, heed the warnings, but definitely read this! - @mrswhozeewhatsis

Tara is the Queen of Angst. She never fails to break my heart but this fic was something else entirely. I always feel like her stories could be canon and this is no exception!! Dean was exactly how I imagine he would be, Sam too. Without giving any spoilers: the scene setting - I was there, I could see them preparing dinner, sat around the table eating, I felt the coldness of the snow.

The raw emotions were sublime, I cried with Dean. I felt I could feel his pain, I was with him every step of the way, I felt his desperation. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. - @princessmisery666

O. M. G. I don’t expect anything less than incredible when I read Tara’s stuff, but this is on another level. The angst is painful (literally, sometimes), the detail is exquisite. She put heart and soul into this, and it shows. And as always, her Dean is spot-tf-on. Tara’s a brilliant writer, and this fic is amazing. ❤❤❤ - @risingphoenix761

Nominated by @manawhaat

Satin (oneshot) by @wingedcatninja

This fic has some out of the box, vulnerable, sexy, surprising Dean feels! I went into it expecting one thing and what I got was so different from what I could have imagined, but it was so wonderful and refreshing to read!

Next Year (series) by @wingedcatninja

Holy crap, the intensity and control in this fic is astounding. It’s so palpable from start to end and this is only the first fucking part. Seriously stellar and surprisingly reverential.

Nominated by @mrswhozeewhatsis

For Better or Worst (ongoing series) by @stunudo

There’s so much mystery and intrigue in this series and I just can’t stop wondering how it’s all going to work out! Sam made some kind of deal to save the world and the deal involved marrying this woman and getting out of hunting. But what was the deal, exactly? And where’s Dean? And who is this woman? What about Cas and Jack? I’m so freaking hooked and I can’t wait to find out!!

Nominated by @princessmisery666

Love You To Death (series) by @negans-lucille-tblr

I’ll be the first to admit I’m not into AU’s but this had me hooked from the beginning. I hate Y/N, I hope she gets whats coming to her, but I also so desperately want to be her, which is a testament to the wonderful writing of both Lisa and Bee. I can’t wait to see how this one unfolds.

These two together are a force to be reckoned with.

Nominated by @deanwinchesterswitch

One And One Make Three (series) by @supernatural-jackles

This series was absolutely stunning, beautifully written, and an amazing rollercoaster of emotion. Jen handled some very sensitive subject matters with grace and wit. It has ALL the feels; I cried, laughed, and loved right along with the characters.

Nominated by @flamencodiva

Skeptics and True Believers (series) by @d-s-winchester

I love this story! It had me on the edge of my seat when I read through the master list. the way she wove the story together made me happy for the ending to the story!

Good Things (series) by @crashdevlin

This is Part one to four parts of writing GOLD! Cassie knows how to completely put you in the story and envision what is happening.

How Do You Spell Forever? (series) by @kittenofdoomage

This is part one of a four parter and OMG! Can I say that this is sweet and cute and full of A/B/O goodness? because this is! and it should be read and shared!

Nominated by @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish

Heathens (series) by @pink1031

Why: I have been 1000000% hooked on this story since the first chapter was published. It’s a little bit twisted, a little bit wrong, a whole lot dirty, and a whole lot of amazing writing! At the time of this submission, the last chapter is in progress (don’t get me started on the fact that it’s ending D:). It is without a doubt, one of the few stories I stop what I am doing (life permitting) and read the new chapter when I get notified. READ THE WARNINGS CAREFULLY THOUGH, this is not a story for the faint of heart or those that get squicked out (is that even a term?). But if you like dark and dirty, this fic will absolutely be your jam.

Nominated by @risingphoenix761

My Home (oneshot) by @kittenofdoomage

Short and sweet, but it got me all choked up. To repeat what I said in tags, bless this fic and the hands that typed it.

Feels Like The First Time (oneshot) by @stusbunker

This gets better every time I reread it. Sweet and sexy and kinda touching. Any time I need a Samwitch fix, I come back to this one. ❤

Nominated by @lovetusk ( @fictionalabyss )

Turning Into Butter (oneshot) by @thing-you-do-with-that-thing

Lets be honest with this one, shall we? We’d ALL get that distracted by a half naked Dean.

Please Don’t Go (oneshot) by @sorenmarie87

Dawn tested out her Angsting abilities in this Adam x Reader fic, and I’m hoping we get to see more of it. Like why is Dean so angry? I NEED TO KNOW!

Someone You Loved (oneshot) by @ne-gans

So glad ne-gans is now part of the pond because now I can nominate this beautiful thing that made me cry.

Nominated by @impala-dreamer

Stupor (oneshot) by @dontshootmespence

The hottest hot to ever hot in the hottest way possible - SOULLESS!DOM!SAM!! I ded. Very hot. Much smut. Very good.

Hurt So Good (oneshot) by @alleiradayne

This was tasty. Pun intended. I have such a biting thing and Sam would be so amazing. Yes. Devour me, Winchester!! Loved it.

Nominated by @thegirlwhorunswithwinchesters

Isn’t That My Line (oneshot) by @princessmisery666

I went into this one intrigued by the concept and I got even more than I was hoping for. A little twist I didn’t expect here, a perfect ending there. Amazing.

Control And Release (series) by @thecleverdame

I just needed to bring this one back. Started rereading the entire series and it’s still as amazing as the first time I read this masterpiece.

Photographs and Gasoline (oneshot) by @ne-gans

Always gotta check the new pond member list when I’m making my rounds. Found this fic and fell in love. It’s absolutely heartbreaking but I loved every second of it. Guess if I have to torture myself, I prefer to do it with beautiful writing like this.

Nominated by @thoughtslikeaminefield

Smokes and Sex Toys (oneshot) by @wayward-and-worn

This is delightfully fucking filthy. But that’s not all; Dean’s characterization is SO DEAN - flirty yet straightforward - it reminded me of the scene with the bartender in Defending Your Life, I love the simple yet creative premise, and I adore that it’s left open-ended.

Sick Day - @fangirlxwritesx67

Viv wrote this for me - it’s true - but that isn’t the reason I’m nominating this; it’s because this is so warm and comfortable and just feels like Dean. Like I actually felt like I was in his lap while I feel asleep reading this. (Also, check out my girl’s other works. She’s fairly new but balls to the wall and bursting with ideas and words for just about anyone.)

Nominated by @slytherkins

Isn’t That My Line (oneshot) by @princessmisery666

Short. Sinful. Sexy. It’s like a smutty snack that hits the spot. (And so does Dean.)

Nominated by @kittenofdoomage

What Goes Bump In The Night (series) by @saxxxology

A phenomenal series, historic and dark, with all the fantastic detail you’d expect from Saxxy and more! Please heed the warnings though!

The World Doesn’t Know (oneshot) by @negans-lucille-tblr

A wonderful little smutty J2 fic, for those who enjoy that fantasy.

Marked (series) by @there-must-be-a-lock

I’ve only read the first chapter so far, but hot damn! This is a spectacular start to a promisingly dark series. AND The Right Spot - a smutty smutty follow up to another oneshot that literally made me sweat.

Just Like A Pill by @princessmisery666

The angsty sequel to In Spite Of What My Heart Says and you should totally read both parts, just keep tissues by you in case of heartbreak!

Nominated by @focusonspn

House Of The Rising Sun (series) by @kittenofdoomage

I’ve never liked BDSM themes too much but, OH MY GOOD!! This series is AMAZING!! It even has a sequel: The Ones You Love. Go and read it, you won’t regret it.

Yes, Sir (series) by @evansrogerskitten

Ash must be tired of me praising this fic but I can’t help myself, it’s one of my favorite series ever and deserves this recognition. This is a series that every John girl out there should be reading RIGHT NOW. It has everything! Smut, fluff and a tiny bit of angst and drama.

Good Vibrations (series) by @impala-dreamer

At first I wasn’t sure if I should bring this fic here because all the drama I heard it existed about it but, then I thought it twice, and I came to the conclusion that this fic definitely deserve to be part of these awards. This piece of writing was the first (after Dear John, I have to admit) that actually made me cry. It’s dark, it’s sad as fuck, it’s damn well written, and makes you easily get inside the characters and feel what they’re feeling. That being said, if you’re thinking of reading it, please HEED THE WARNINGS.

Take a Drunk Girl Home (oneshot) by @amanda-teaches

This fic is so beautiful and so well written that I promise you even can end up tearing up a little, but it’s so worth it that you won’t care a bit.

Nominated by @emilyshurley

His Property (series) by @negans-lucille-tblr

I freaking love this series to the point that i binged the series (and it’s sequel, Yours) in a single day.

Just Me & My Baby (oneshot) by @deanwinchesterswitch

Can’t get over how adorable it is.

Guns and Ribbons (series) by @myinconnelly1

What can I say Dean Winchester deserves all the love in this world and so does this series.

I Can See Clearly Now (oneshot) by @katehuntington

I can’t. I don’t have words. This is perfection.

In the Heat of the Night (series) by @evansrogerskitten

Nominated by @impalaimagining

Goals (oneshot) by @atc74

Okay. It's been a long time since I've found Sam smut that really gets me into it. This though - it's a whole different level of wonderful. I love the way it explores a woman finding and embracing her own sexuality, and the frustration that can come along with it. It's obvious how much effort and research and actual planning went into this. My favorite kinds of fics are those that draw from real life experiences, which I think it what makes this one so special. And the end? Yes please!

Nominated by @fangirlxwritesx67

Everything (series) by @there-must-be-a-lock

I can’t even talk about how great this J2 x reader series is without incoherent fangirl flailing. It’s wildly creative, sharply well written, and absolutely panty-melting filthy! And then just when you’re so hot and bothered that you can’t see straight, *boom*, it’s sweet and intimate and loving. I don’t think there’s a series out there I’ve read this many times!

Hark and Hush by @thoughtslikeaminefield

This is a luscious, dark and twisted fairy tale about Dean and the spirit of the Big Bad Wolf. It’s written so vividly that you can see and smell and taste the whole story. Sexy af, of course, and so intense- take the warnings seriously!

The Kind of Girl You Like (series) by @thoughtslikeaminefield

To me, MJ will always be the Queen of the Winchester threesome and this series shows exactly why. Smoking hot story about the brothers sharing a sub that quickly unfolds into something complex and beautiful. The last chapter especially is written with so much emotional depth- the first time I read it, I was swearing and crying and smiling all at once because it was so well done! Just the best!

Nominated by @supersassyprobablysad

How You & I Will Be (series) by @katehuntington

Hey so I wanted to do an angel fish award nom for Kate for her How You & I Will Be fic. In 5 parts she not only developed believable characters but by the end I was ugly crying (and I don’t cry a lot so that’s saying something). The ending feels totally necessary too, not like it was just done for shock value. Anyway I love it, it’s the best I’ve read in a long time.

Thank you all for the awesome work and great feedback!

As with the BFAs, these are not actual awards! This system is set up so everyone in the pond has a chance to share the love and promote a fic/author that has grabbed your attention. The more people that participate, and the more everyone remembers to submit their own fics after posting, the better this will be :D

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

#afa masterlist #angel fish awards #spnfanficpond #spn fic rec #spn fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #fan fic #fanfic #spn fan fiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #fic rec #supernatural fic rec #spn fan fic

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d2kvirus · 3 years

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Dickheads of the Month: March 2021

As it seems that there are people who say or do things that are remarkably dickheaded yet somehow people try to make excuses for them or pretend it never happened, here is a collection of some of the dickheaded actions we saw in the month of March 2021 to make sure that they are never forgotten.

It was brainless enough when the Metropolitan Police suggested that Sarah Everard’s death could be blamed on her for walking home alone at night - but when it turned out that it was a police officer who murdered her, who had also been previously let off at least one case of publicly exposing himself entirely because he was a police officer, brainless left the table and instead we found ourselves noticing they were trying to blame the victim while had covered up for the eventual perpetrator

...while we also had the angry men of Twitter respond to Janie Jones’ clearly not serious suggestion that if a 6pm curfew for women were to be introduced then she would call for a 6pm curfew for men with all manner of bile, shouting, finger-pointing, and comments which the police might just so happen to want to look into

...while smirking bully Priti Patel also managed to get her oar in, as various Reclaim The Streets Vigils were shut down by the police (which is a good look, all things considered...) using the legislation that Patel rushed through a few days earlier to combat BLM protests several months after the BLM protests happened

...but then the Metropolitan Police managed to pivot the focus back onto themselves with their heavy-handed tackling of a vigil on Clapham Common that ended up with them handcuffing various women who were there - which they weren’t so keen to do when Kate Middleton was there - before releasing a statement that boiled down to “Look what you made us do” and then rushing to protect a statue of Winston Churchill for no reason whatsoever but making sure to have lots of photos of them protecting their precious statue anyway

...but then the Tory government demanded they get the last word by bulldozing through their boot stamping on a human face forever policing bill that bans all forms of protests due to it causing “annoyance” as if protesting against the ills of society is the same thing as somebody cutting in front of you in the supermarket queue or not holding open a door

...although the Metropolitan Police did try and regain their title as Biggest Dickheads the following week when an anti-lockdown march featuring professional victim Lawrence Fox and fecal enthusiast Gillian McKeith was met by the police letting them walk in a large, huddled mass without a mask between them and didn't lift a single finger

...and there’s nothing sinister about how the BBC failed to broadcast a single item saying the bill had been bulldozed through, while the piece on their website was buried instead of being on the front page

...and then at the buzzer Her Majesty's Inspectorate of Constabulary and Fire & Rescue Services published a report saying that the police acted appropriately at the vigil, in spite of a wealth of evidence and eyewitness testimony saying they absolutely fucking didn’t

Of course we can trust the Tory government when they publish a report stating that racism isn't a systemic issue in the United Kingdom, even when various people cited as experts for this report were very surprised to hear that they were part of it given they were never asked for their input

So it has been found that proven liar Boris Johnson misled parliament over the Covid contracts being doled out by the Tories, which I’m sure will lead to widespread calls in the media for his resignation - or are we to believe that the real reason for the British media calling for Nicola Sturgeon’s resignation is down to something different?

To sum up the British press completely losing their minds about the Meghan Markle interview, we had various royal correspondents responding to some of the more serious allegations with a combination of vicious smears that don’t debunk a single thing she said or outright misrepresenting what she said to try and tip the narrative in the Royals’ favour, while the Press Gazette issued a statement rejected her claims of bigotry in the British media that can easily be disproved in seconds with photos of various front pages of The Sun, the Daily Mail and the Daily Express on whichever subject you wish to choose - which was supported unintentionally by Ian Murray trying to shout down criticism having been presented with examples of such bigotry live on air - and in response to Murray’s hapless showing, the Society of Editors put out a mealy-mouthed nonpology that pretended that nobody ever said anything about bigotry...before suggesting Murray bugger off

...although Piers Moron Morgan picked up the baton for nastiness by first accusing Meghan of making up that she had suicidal thoughts and immediately after the interview aired it was announced that Meghan’s estranged father was lined up for an interview, although it does have to be said he was far from the only person to respond by throwing that at Meghan like a rock - only to then flounce out of the Good Morning Britain studio when called out for his bullshit, shortly before being told to hand in his resignation or else

So after Keir Starmer tore up the ballot for the Liverpool mayoral election last months, you would expect him to name a new list of candidates that was more to his liking - which is cynical enough - right? Wrong, instead he backed the government's plans to seize control of the city, meaning that Keir Starmer handed over the Labour stronghold of Liverpool to the Tories with no fucking questions asked

Further enhancing public trust in the police was Andy Marsh of Avon and Somerset Police claiming that several of his officers suffered broken bones and one a punctured lung dealing with the protests in Bristol - which turned out to be a complete lie, a lie told by the Chief Constable of Avon and Somerset Police, as not a single officer was treated for any of those injuries

...and a few days later Avon and Somerset Police apparently had to deal with mindless thugs attacking police batons with their faces and seated protesters holding up their hand throwing themselves into their riot shields. Oh wait, that isn't what happened, instead they waded in swinging batons and using blading tactics with their shields

Nice to know that the Tory government are so in control of the Covid pandemic that somebody with the Brazilian variant got through the tough measures of testing people on arrival by simply not filling out the form - and it was three weeks before the Tory government admitted this had happened

...and the main response appeared to be Chris Philp posting a lot of tweets pointing the finger at Croydon council for something completely unrelated the same day it emerged the person with the Brazilian variant was in Croydon, which looked like a blatant attempt to game Twitter’s search algorithm

Smirking bully Priti Patel ended up having to pay off Sir Philip Rutnam to make his claims against her go away after an expensive court case with the taxpayer footing the bill, which I’m sure will lead to widespread calls in the media for his resignation - or are we to believe that the real reason for the British media calling for Nicola Sturgeon’s resignation is down to something different?

Nice guy Rishi Sunak wowed people with his Budget, where he gave NHS staff a 1% pay raise that, in some cases, amounts to £3.50 a week which won’t even cover the fees to park at their place of work, claims that he wouldn’t raise taxes while sneaking in tax hikes, bunging an additional £15bn to Serco for their woeful Test & Trace system, and also pretending that the UK could pursue freeports now that they're out of the EU in spite the UK having seven freeports between 1998-2012 - but we’re supposed to ignore all of that because he paid to have ludicrously self-aggrandising videos of himself made

Smirking bully Priti Patel not only somehow managed to pay £5400 in a single trip to Primark, nearly £7000 in two trips to a restaurant, and £700 on cupcakes, but also claimed the lot on her expenses - however she most certainly did not spend £77,000 on having her eyebrows done, as that business was wound up 2018, meaning she spend £77,000 somewhere - which of course led to widespread calls in the media that she resign

So nice of proven liar Boris Johnson to say how glad he is to hear that Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe is being released from prison in Iran. Yes, that would be the same Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe who was imprisoned in Iranian prison due to proven liar Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson, who was then Foreign Secretary, not reading his brief and then blurting out of she was guilty of the charges she was being held under which then led to her being given the prison sentence she has just been released from

In response to the Georgia shooting Fox News really read the mood of the nation when the debate was about anti-Asian hate and incel terrorism by doing their damndest to make sure the message told everyone who the real victim was: the shooter, that poor white boy that he is

It was so nice of proven liar Boris Johnson to arrange a charity gala to...hang on, let me check my notes, raise funds so that Carrie Symonds could redecorate her Downing Street flat

According to Andrew Pierce he doesn't see Meghan Markle as black. Apparently it didn’t occur to Andrew Pierce how that sounds, a.) Really fucking bad, and b.) Like Andrew Pierce has reached the next level of Whitesplaining, which shall henceforth be called Whitekeeping

There’s something definitely sinister about the BBC seeing a clip where Charlie Stayt made a quip about known swindler Robert Jenrick having a huge photo of The Queen and an (upside down) union flag in his office, yet their response was to demand that Naga Munchetty publicly apologise for giggling

As if David Cameron fucking up the country in a failed bid to gain political advantage isn’t enough reason for him to be banned from going within five miles of Westminster, him calling up Rishi Sunak to see if he could get some people in the Treasury make the financial problems that Greensill Capital, who Cameron just so happens to have a stake in, certainly counts as another very good reason

Fish fetishist John Redwood reacted to the US removing trade tariffs on British cheese and British Scottish whisky by proudly crowed from the rooftops that this would not happen if we were still in the EU. Three hours later the US removed trade tariffs on all EU cheese and alcohol exports

In another bout of Keir Starmer uniting the Labour party he decided that Anneliese Dodds would be removed as Shadow Chancellor for failing to effectively communicate the party’s vision as if it was Dodds’ fault for the poor poll results - only to do a quick 180 and back Dodds when the main response to this reason was “What the hell?”

The only surprise about The Core being exposed as a dodgy grift that was being secretly bankrolled by the deep pockets of Tim Rutherford-Browne is that it actually took so long for somebody to expose this - because it sure as hell wasn’t a surprise that Twitter account for The Core, plus the accounts and sock puppets run by Rutherford-Browne, very quickly vanished

Of course The Daily Mail and The Sun would both devote far more time and column inches to Angela Rayner claiming expenses for her air pods and rile their readership into an all too predictable frenzy than they would ever devote to, say, tens of billions of pounds worth of taxpayer’s money being siphoned off into the pockets of various Tory MPs’ mates no matter how unqualified or ill-equipped those people happen to be to fulfill those contracts

Clag peddler Gilson B Pontes demonstrated how ill-equipped they are to deal with fair criticism of their god-awful games (which Sony somehow keeps allowing on their store) by abusing Youtube’s copyright system to try and get Jim Sterling’s account terminated - and failed, thus drawing far more attention to Pontes trying to abuse the system, and Youtube doing fuck all about it even though this issue has persisted for years by this point

Are we going to hear about how Andrew Beattie is the latest victim of “cancel culture” or are we going to hear that Beattie could have started his message about how inclusive Beattie Communications in a better way than literally saying “At Beattie Communications, we don’t hire blacks, gays or Catholics”? Gee, let me guess which one...

...and then Burger King make the exact same error by trying to tweet out a message of inclusivity on International Women’s Day, which was doomed when the first tweet of the chain said just five words: “Women belong in the kitchen”

There’s something perverse about Electronic Arts being hit with a scandal involving FUT cards from the FIFA series not because they’re clearly a form of gambling that the company have gotten away with for many years outside of a few countries who call it what it is, but because it turns out an EA employee has been selling the rarest FUT cards on the black market for several hundred pounds per bundle to many willing players who want to cheat the system. The system of gambling. Which is what FUT cards are

The Tories reached peak flag shagger when James Wild posed a series of questions about the lack of union flags in the BBC Annual Report, as if that means a goddamn thing

Sleazebag and alleged wrestler Joey Ryan thought he could pull a fast one and just so happen to improve his image for when the next round of SLAPP suits goes before the judge by organising an event called Wrestling For Women’s Charity - only for the entire grift to fall apart due to it being held by the company he owns, the charity itself having more than questionable backing, and the fact that Ryan was dumb enough that he tried to sneak his own face onto the poster and thought nobody would notice. Coincidentally, once the poster was out, a lot of people noticed and the event was rapidly shut down. Funny, that...

In the latest attempt by Gab to try and make themselves seem relevant they tweeted out some intense batshittery about preserving our way of life featuring a heavily-armed family (including the dog, which was also packing) around the barbeque. There was one teeny tiny issue with this image: it was stolen art from the indie game The American Dream which actively satirises America’s obsession with guns, and all gab did was remove the watermarks from the picture (which they took without permission) for their rallying cry of “remember us? We used to be where all the edgelords hung out before they went to Parler”

Once again Manchester United fans responded to a loss not by suggesting that the opponents played better but with racially abusing one of their players on social media, with Fred bearing the brunt of it this time in the wake of being knocked out of the FA Cup by Leicester

Forgotten 90s comedian Lee Hurst continued to be the face of angry white men on Twitter who think they’re funny by posting a tweet about Greta Thunberg that managed to be creepy, misogynistic, showing a remarkable failure to understand what condoms are made of, and worked out so well for him that Twitter promptly suspended his account

And finally, irritatingly, we have Donald Trump and his proclamation that he won’t be creating a new political party for the 2024 election as he worries that he’ll split the Republican vote. But Donald, you told us you were so popular, so surely both Republican and Democrat supporters will flock to your new party? Or are you worried at losing two elections in a row?

#dickheads of the month

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a-very-fond-farewell · 4 years

Text

The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 18/?

University AU: “Negative Space”

[ok so, self projection is a bitch, but I am petty to myself on a regular basis so it’s ok]

[title is from the Japanese concept “ma”, which Wikipedia describes as:

“a Japanese word which can be roughly translated as ‘gap’, ‘space’, ‘pause’ or ‘the space between two structural parts.’ In traditional Japanese arts and culture, ma is more carefully defined as the suggestion of an interval. It is best described as a consciousness of a sense of place, with the ‘intervals’ suggested often being more than simple gaps, instead focusing on the intention of a negative space in an art piece.

Ma is not necessarily an art concept created by compositional elements, such as the literal existence of a negative space. Instead, the intention is often to create the perception of an interval in the viewer experiencing the elements forming an art piece, making maless reliant on the existence of a gap, and more closely related to the perceived experience of a gap.

Ma has also been described as ‘an emptiness full of possibilities, like a promise yet to be fulfilled’, and as ‘the silence between the notes which make the music’.”

Fun fact: “ma” also means “but” in Italian, which is what usually follows whatever intrusive thought may plague my mind. Eg: “I may be useless now, BUT just you wait until I get some dopamine to get me through this shitty times.”]

Wei Ying never asked for much in his life. He’s content with cleaning classrooms and toilets and nobody can beat him at wiping the marble floors if he works hard enough. Granny Wen, his supervisor, is slightly impressed with his ability to make the wood shine for ages to come. His nephew Jin Ling sometimes comes to check on him when he’s done with senior classes or cram school in the evening, and together they sit down and listen to whatever his older friends in music production came up with during the day. Jiang Cheng occasionally would ask him to keep him company while he grades papers and they bitch about ZiXuan and his inability to dote on their sister. The cafeteria ladies are always nice to him and they give him extra congee because they worry for his questionable consumption of spice products.

He’s fine, really.

So why can’t he stop wandering over to the science building these days? Looking for a clean board to use, for an equation to finally solve? Even if in the end he just takes the chalk in hand and simply stares down at the inky surface in front of him, unable to write. His mind working on a software too advanced for the hardware that constitutes his brain.

Thirteen years. It has been already thirteen years and yet it feels like yesterday, or like it never happened at all. Like it has yet to be. Time blindness is a bitch to deal with, yet dyscalculia and ADHD makes a joke out of you when you love math on a visceral level... but you burned too bright too fast and now you function on no data and with an even shittier signal. Having a burnout at 23 should have taught him humility instead of pride, but Wei Ying has always worked out of spite and certain habits are difficult to forget.

Couldn’t put the number in the right order, switching digits left and right since he was young? Fine. Numbers were concepts anyway, entire civilizations working their magic without even knowing what “zero” stood for. A brain steaming with a million ideas per second? Good. New connections brimming with ideas he could use to better the world.

It worked fine until he let himself down. Until he became a useless empty lighter, a wet match tossed out, carbon monoxide in the air.

Dropped out before finishing his very ambitious, highly dangerous for his psyche, thesis project. Aunt Yu never forgave him for that, not after paying for his advanced classes, not after trusting Uncle Jiang and supporting him despite his many flaws. What good is being first of your class every year, poster child of a teaching system done right, graduating bachelor at 21, if you can’t finish your master at 23 and get your PhD at 25 and start teaching by 27 and drive yourself insane in the process?

Wei Ying dropped out and didn’t finish his master, didn’t enroll in the teaching program, and let everyone down. His Uncle and Aunt looking down on him, whether out of pity or shame. Jiang Cheng may have been the one leaving him behind, but he used to be the one saying “you should have tried harder”. YanLi worrying over him when she should have focused on her career first. Jin Ling growing up with stories of his uncle “not being worth the money put into his education”, taught to not disappoint and make his family proud. The Jin side, that is.

And now the kid comes crawling in defeat to him instead of Jiang Cheng after bombing a test in high school. And they chat of what he would like to do and how much he likes sports and how much he despises the idea of getting a scholarship for that and being called stupid or something by his classmates. And he cries when he thinks Wei Ying cannot see him as he leaves the campus late at night.

Wei Ying didn’t even want to solve that impossible theorem he fixated on in his early twenties. His thesis project was inconsequential in the great scheme of things and his professor only wanted him to be his one trick pony in the end. No. Wei Ying wanted to teach math in elementary school, hell... even in kindergarten. He wanted to change the approach to the subject. Because numbers cannot be taught like language is and there are many ways to teach how to sum up digits and divide quantities and there are no rules on how to make sense of space either.

But how can he teach when even time eludes his senses?

Something that nobody can define, but certainly most perceive as linear... but not him. Not since his brain fried up in his attempt to function like a normal human being.

After thirteen years nothing has changed.

Until one day he hears something else aside from his usual intrusive thoughts and burdensome memories. A melody so quiet he almost mistakes it for the wind, coming from the music building.

He walks slowly, night surrounding him like the embrace of a friend as he makes his way to the traditional musical instruments room. The one where Jin Ling’s friends meet sometimes as they wait for the younger boy to join them. Wei Ying holds his breath as he spies through the gap of the door left ajar, neon light slicing his face like moonbeams as he peeks in and recognizes Jin Ling’s friends and another figure sitting on the ground, guqin on their knees.

But before he can lean in and breathe in the vibrant sounds all around, the door opens and music theory Professor Lan finds Wei Ying clutching his mop for dear life.

They said the man could see colors within the notes, that he despises language outside of his class or office and that only his brother, the history of art TA, could convince him to talk every now and then.

If numbers were created to measure space, Wei Ying firmly believed music had been invented to make sense of time and count its seconds in rhythm and notes, pauses and beats. Yet, time seems to stretch to a stop as the janitor focuses all of his attention on professor Lan’s stern face and his heart quickens its pace.

Wei Ying takes a rushed breath and dives right in with a weird sense of hope pumping in his veins. A small, timid voice whispering that life is not made to be atoned, but to move on and grow.

One step at a time.

“I’m Wei Ying, Professor Lan. May I listen while you play?”

Yes, maybe it will be enough just to let time flow at its pace.

Whatever rhythm that may be.

[some hcs down below]

WWX does not magically solve the math theorem. he may or may not help kids figure out how to use numbers on the long run tho. no, he will still work as a janitor and there’s nothing wrong with that.

yes, LWJ is autistic and stimms and finds WWX’s honesty soothing. yes, you can add your hcs on the matter. he has synesthesia, but more on the grapheme-color side of the deal than anything else and he sees certain letters/numbers/notes in different colors. people think he can see colors in music, but they misunderstood and thought he could recognize different hues while listening to music instead of reading it.

JC has grown since his uni years and doesn’t resent WWX anymore. he teaches astrophysics as a TA and doesn’t pressure his brother to pick his studies up anymore. WWX has mixed feelings about this: he feels he’s a lost cause, to the point not even his brother spurs him to best himself anymore, but he is grateful for the patience anyway.

LXC is the official LWJ translator of the campus along with their cousins SiZhui and JinGyi. he bonds with WWX and JC over how tired they are, seldom staring at flies roaming above them in the cafeteria bc none of them can even move. he lives on caffeine and regrets, but he’s getting better as he develops a love for his plant babies and tries to not let them die on a daily basis.

Wen Ning and Wen Qing are little overachievers and adrenaline junkies, hence their competitive streak on their way to their third master degree just for funsies. they scare people with how driven they are, but the juniors love them.

NMJ is the one to go to if you need to get away with murder, but JGY will actually be the one helping you dispose of the body. the fact that they both work in criminal law is somewhat both reassuring and disquieting. they hate each other and yet cannot stop hang out, they are close to 40 and need the rivalry to keep going anyway. nothing beats a good nemesis. not even sex. maybe.

NHS has failed his entrance exam to become a nurse too many times to count, but he is determined to see the end of it. even if he could potentially work in the family business, but he doesn’t know anything about managing an empire of bricks and he doesn’t care. if NMJ could run away, well, so can he.

MianMian is Wei Ying’s bestie and has the biggest crush on JGY’s sister A-Su the kindergarten teacher, but since they are childhood besties she doesn’t know how to approach her. she is Jin Ling’s idol and a certified boxer and refers to herself as a useless bisexual. Wei Ying boxes with her sometimes, she always win.

YanLi is an equestrian mum, but in the best way possible: she coaches children for shows and teaches them horses should be loved and feared equally and that if you want to shoot arrows from a running horse you should always, ALWAYS let go of the stirrups the moment the beast gets too unhinged to ride. JC fears her, WWX is only glad she didn’t train police dogs for a living.

ZiXuan actually loves his wife, but WWX and JC question his career choices and the fact that he’s a retired lawyer spending his family fortune while he’s a stay-at-home dad and does all the housework. WWX and JC believe he should give their sister a better life and work his ass off to deserve her, but he does make amazing rice cakes and keeps up with Jin Ling’s studies and is very supportive of his dreams.

A-Qing and Song Lan are siblings and sometimes bring JC food from the campus cafeteria where they both work at, while Xiao XingChen and his carer Xue Yang work with LXC for a project on accessibility for visually impaired visitors of the local museum. JC and LXC work to make Song Lan and Xiao XingChen fall for each other, but the youngsters are too protective to let them play matchmaker so easily.

[this is all for now. please, if you want, add your own headcanons!]

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs/au: modern #mdzs/au: uni #the forbidden crack! untamed prompts #nieyao #xicheng #wangxian

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theartfuldodger26 · 4 years

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Bellamort for the ship meme

Thank you @knightessofwalpurgis for the ask and apologies for taking me a month to answer - March has been... quite the experience. But Bellamort exists to give us comfort, so let’s get crackin’!

who is more likely to hurt the other?

Voldemort can tear anyone apart with some well-chosen words (as we see Locket!Voldemort do to Ron), but he rarely uses those on Bella, because a. she rarely deserves to be humiliated like that, and b. he just wouldn’t do that to her.

What’s more likely, is that he hurts her inadvertently, since he may fail to understand certain emotional needs that Bella most people have - a touch, a kind word after success, casual conversation over a cup of tea. In addition to that, Bella, who is obsessed with him and the position she holds in his eyes, tends to overreact to those “omissions”, getting convinced he ‘never truly valued her’ and he’s going to ‘kick her out any day now’.

However, let us take a moment to note the day that Bella deeply hurt Voldemort: the night of her betrothal to Rodolphus, when Voldemort proposed marriage and Bella turned him down for reasons that, in retrospect, she finds ridiculous.

So in a way, you could say that of the two, Voldemort is the brokenhearted one, even if it’s Bella who cries herself to sleep from time to time.

who is emotionally stronger?

They’re both incredibly strong people.

Voldemort pulled himself out of the gutter, basically raised himself and became one of the most powerful and learned wizards ever.

Bella survived fucking Azkaban, which is code for severe depression in HP-land, so all I can do is salute her and ask for her secrets.

The answer is a little tricky, in the sense that Voldemort appears to be a psychopath, medically speaking, who are... resilient people emotionally, if you will. This means that an event that would have had a massive effect on a neurotypical person, say witnessing a murder or war, to him it’s very blunted or even irrelevant. This description is very vague and generalising, but it’s supported by a lot of evidence. In fact, psychopaths can’t really feel fear, because their amygdala is the size of a pea, so it’s not fair comparing his emotional strength to others. In fact, I’d add that since he’s not used to “negative emotions” like sadness and fear, if they happen, they’d be more devastating to him, because he’s never learnt to cope with them, like the rest of us do.

Bella obviously has her own emotional/psychiatric problems, but I don’t feel comfortable making guesses, since I’m not a psychiatrist and she’s no textbook description of any personality disorder I’ve heard. However, she got an interestng upbringing, that trained her to be a person of importance. So I’d say that even after Azkaban and with whatever issues she has, she can still hold her own in a very difficult emotional situation.

I realise I haven’t answered the question, because honestly Idk. Also, take with a grain of salt anything psychiatry-related I said, I’m no expert, merely done some research, which I’m regurgitating here.

who is physically stronger?

Naturally, Bella. She trains a lot, does ballet (which is fucking hardcore, let me tell you), enjoys physical activities and martial arts.

However, after Voldemort’s transformation, he’s got many of his physical attributes improved, like the cat-eyes that allow him to see in the dark and so on (been reading a lot of the Witcher series as of recent so there’s that too), so he’s deceptively strong and yes, eventually stronger than her.who is more likely to break a bone?

Bella, 100% XD She’s in battle all the time, and when taking part in Voldemort’s magical research (which is their day-job, world domination is a weekend hobby in case you haven’t noticed) her motto is ‘safety third’.

An interesting point tho. Psychopaths have no fear and low-impulse control if they don’t train themselves. Fear is useful, informs us of danger ahead, so I HC that young Tom/Voldemort broke almost every bone in his body at some point doing something really dangerous simply because he didnt realise it’s stupid - like, say, go down a fucking cliff with waves crushing at it. Now he’s learnt to control those impulses and polices himself when it comes to danger, so no more broken bones. who knows best what to say to upset the other?

They’re both excellent at judging characters and have tongues that sting. Bella will rarely truly dare upset Voldemort, but she does love torturing him a little with something silly and not-truly important, like refusing sex, or messing with his OCD by taking stuff from “their proper place”. She knows that there’s only few things that tick him off: his loss of power to an infant, death and the abandonment from his mother. And she’s not that sadistic to bring up that last one unless absolutely provoked.

Voldemort can be a tease as well, but he’s too mature and dignified for such childish behaviour most of the time. who is most likely to apologise first after an argument?

Bella apologises compulsively out of fear she’s lost him even for things that aren’t her fault, tho in her mind they might be. However, she’s stubborn too, so if it’s a petty argument she might not apologise at all. Shes a spoilt little rich girl after all ;)

Voldemort’s never apologised in his life and never shall say the words, but he will change his behaviour if he realises he’s been wrong, because it’s the rational thing to do- also Bella is supersexy when she’s angry, so he wants to fuck her and he needs to her to be accepting to that. who treats who’s wounds more often?

Voldemort treats Bella’s wounds more often by default, since she’s the one out in the battlefield more often, and also can be clumsy and absentminded. And very rarely *trigger alert* she might self-harm.

Voldemort not only gets hurt rarely, but he also views it demeaning to accept help, so he won’t even mention it if he’s hurt. Bella will find out by accident or because he’s in so much pain he can’t hide it anymore, and with scold him first, he’ll storm off, she’ll hunt him down, they’ll argue and finally she’ll heal his wounds (usually his back which hurts because he’s Tall^TM) and he’ll act like a literal cat during this, touch-starved as he is. who is in constant need of comfort?

Right after Azkaban Bella is in need of a lot of care and comfort, understandably. Her physical and emotional problems are their reality for many months after her escape, but the physical ones mend themselves relatively quickly. She’s forever changed emotionally, again understandably, but I wouldn’t say she’s in *constant* need of comfort. In an AU where they win, she’s perfectly functional as his right hand woman and partner, with only the occasional problem.

Voldemort needs to get through his tough, bald head that he deserves love and comfort like everyone else, but he’ll never get it, so, in the whole, it’s him I’d say. who gets more jealous?

Interesting question, because fandom’s given so many answers relating to those characters, especially since Bella is married. Starting with this piece of solid information, I’d hazard a guess that Voldemort doesn’t care that much that Bella also sleeps with her husband from time to time - maybe it even turns him on and strokes his ego that she doesnt get all she needs from her legitimate, pureblooded husband. How he’d react if she slept with a random bloke... probably badly; tho I cant think of a situation where that’d happen. My Bella at least, doesnt sleep around. She might tease with her sex, but she’s a well-bred lady after all, who does what is expected of her.

Voldemort, I HC, used to be a bit of a whoremonger in his youth; good looks, mummy issues and no emotional attachment are the ingredients for that particular potion. Also he might have also been overcompensating for the fact that he was unable to marry the only women he found worthy of him: his pureblooded classmates. So he’d show up with a different, gorgeous girl at parties, which drove child!Bella crazy with jealousy, since she was still out of the healthy sexual attraction part for him and never thought he’d notice her. She’d stalk him behind curtains and through keyholes, keep her ears on alert for when the adults talked about him etc. Poor thing was really tortured by it. But now that they’re adults and, well, in a relationship, she’s far too confident to think he’d seriously care for another woman; after all, half the time she’s not sure he truly cares about her, and she’s the person who’s been closest to him.

One thing I forgot to mention about Voldemort’s jealousy, or lack thereof, is that Bella has certain emotional needs that he cannot serve, and I’m not talking about tenderness, because to some degree he can give her that, and it’s not the same with her husband anyway. No, I mean that Bella is a sexual sadist, who gets direct sexual pleasure by hurting people. Voldemort on the other hand, is not a masochist. Not that when they have rough sex/BDSM sex he’s never in a sub position, but he’d never just sit there to be whipped or something, it just doesn’t turn him on, and that’s totally fine. So they may invite a girl (and very rarely a boy) to join them, so that Bella can get it out of her system if the war is slow/over. Don’t ask where these people end up, just don’t hang your coat in the second floor closet is all I’m saying. who’s most likely to walk out on the other?

Depends on the situation?

Bella would NEVER abandon Voldemort in battle or for the Cause. In a Muggle setting though, if he pissed her off she’d totally walk out of the restaurant :P

Voldemort would never walk out on Bella either, tho, would he? He’s devoted to her, plus he does feel like he owes her after Azkaban.

The only concept I can imagine relevant to this is Voldemort saying something in his anger that he doesnt exactly mean tho it holds some truth in it, that hurts Bella so deeply, that she leaves, both out of spite but also because she thinks it’s the best for him. In fact, I have a very specific HC for this which takes place in the afterlife, after they;re both killed in the battle for Hogwarts, but there’s no time for that here.

There’s also another thing, but it’d quite controversial. If you, like me, HC that Bella started training with Voldemort since she was a child, and entered a sexual and later romantic relationship with him while still underage, this means that she literally hasn’t been alone as an individual, ever. So there’s also the chance that she, after they’ve had a huge fight and he’s terrible with her, leaves so she can find who she is without him. *cue the tears*who will propose?

Voldemort did propose, on the night of Bella’s formal betrothal. Very rude and uncourteous of him, yes, but it had to be the last minute for him to realise his feelings, because he only has one (1) brain cell that works part-time on the Emotions Department of his brain. She turned him down, because she was young, immature, didnt realise how deep her own feelings were (she believed what her mother told her, that ‘all girls fall for Riddle, it’s an infatuation, it will pass’), wanted the power, fame, money and public adoration that her position as the Black Heir brought, not to mention that she was loyal to her family and terrified since Andromeda had just eloped with Ted. So she broke his heart then, even if neither realised it. But they did continue with their affair, because that’s how it happened in the olden days if you had money and space.

After the war is over, neither proposes. They talk about it as a given (Rodolphus has fucked off to study penguins in Antarctica) and only need to figure out the details: how public it will be, who’s invited, what titles the ceremony gives them and so on. who has the most difficult parents?

Spoiler alert: Voldemort’s an orphan!

Okay, so hypothetically speaking, had any of his parents survived and raised him one way or the other, they’d for sure be a handful. Tom Sr. is a posh bloke used to getting his own way and being considered special due to his status as a squire, so he’d be fucking pissed if he were introduced to a world where he’s not all the shit. Nonetheless, I’d hazard a guess that in the end he, Bella and her parents would get along well-enough; after all they’re the same sort of people.

Merope, on the other hand, is a whole other story. In the most sensible AU, where she survives giving birth and raises her son but they’re still poor and she’s got trouble with magic due to the trauma of Tom Sr. leaving her, I think she wouldn’t like Bella at all actually. Because Bella is all she ever wanted to be: beautiful, wealthy, well-bred and shows it, and, most importantly, emotionally strong. So she pesters Tom all the time about how Bella is not ‘feminine enough’ in her behaviour, too outspoken, too bitchy, not for ‘her boy’. Tom/Voldemort gives exactly one shit about her opinion and moves on.

In the canon universe, it’d be naive to say that Bella’s parents were into Tom, simply due to his blood status. In the longrun, however, I think they'd come to terms with it, and they remember how brilliant and ambitious he was in school, so when he becomes successful in life, whether in-universe as Voldemort, or Minister or whatever in an AU, they’re sort of okay with it. Idk if they hand over the Heir of Blacks title to Bella tho, their kids wouldn’t be pureblooded after all. who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public?

No one. Not allowed. Not happening. Ever. It’s not their thing, anyway. Voldemort will offer her his arm, like a gentleman, tho. :)

who hogs the blankets?

Bella, especially after Azkaban. She sleeps with five blankets piled on top of her, has the fireplace going all year round and puts a warmth charm on the sheets. Voldemort doesn’t care. He experienced such cold temperatures in so little clothing as a child, that hot and cold make little impression on him; he even takes cold showers because it’s all the same to him. *sobs* who gets more sad?

Bella. She overthinks everything. Did she disappoint him today? Yesterday? Tomorrow? Will she ever be the person she was before prison? Why does Cissy wince every time she sees her? Should she have had children after all? These and all sorts of thoughts race through her mind all the time, torturing her to no end.

Interestingly enough, psychopaths in general dont get that sad, but Voldemort can be very... pensive. who is better at cheering the other up?

Bella has a wicked sense of humor that only Voldemort seems to find hilarious (comments from other people include ‘disturbing’, ‘scary’ and ‘morbid’), and even though he’s rarely sad, he can be very very serious and in need to relax his body and mind.

Still, Voldemort, the eternal student of human nature that he is, if he does notice that Bella is sad (which isn’t always because he’s... you know), knows exactly how to distract her, just like he can do with any other person. Just, in her case, it’s sincere. who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?

No one ever hits anyone. Voldemort’s been beaten and whipped and flogged enough as a young boy that he wouldn’t do it to the only person he cares about in a non-sexy way, and Bella’s been raised to view such things as ‘Muggle animalistic violence’. She might bite him hard for fun, tho :Dwho is more streetwise?

This may come as a surprise to you because of my username, but Voldemort grew up on the streets in a Dickensian world. He knows all the tricks in the book; in fact he created many of them. Bella begged him to take her along in his travels incognito, and not on these formal things she attends with her family, and he did, so she’s learnt a lot, but she’s very much a pampered princess. who is more wise?

Hmmm... Hard to say. They have their areas of wisdom and their areas of not-having-a-fucking-clue. Bella, for example, understands emotions better than Voldemort, because she actually experiences them. Jk, jk, but you get what I mean. She’s also more knowledgeable in certain magical things, that, for example, not all prophecies have to be fulfilled and that there’s so much magic that it’s pointless to wish to acquire *everything*; had Voldemort listened to her more often, the books would have been very different.

Voldemort of course is much older and has more diverse life-experience. He’s also less impulsive in his older years than Bella; he can be the voice of rationality and reason if he’s not superobsessed with something; at which point Bella should remind him to take his meds, because they really do help with fixations. who’s the shyest?

Neither, in the strict sense of the meaning. They both know what they want and they’re not afraid to demand it. In the end, it’s Voldemort who’ll never say what he truly needs and feels, though, speaking about their everyday life together, it’d be Bella who’d rather have more affection from him but is too shy to ask. But yeah, Voldemort, not because he’s shy per se, but rather in deep hurt and denial. who boasts about the other more?

In the books it’s obvious that it’s Bella. However, Voldemort does this hilarious thing where he praises Bella in random conversation with other people without even noticing; like, he brings her up every ten seconds even if she’s barely relevant to the subject, so *shrugs* have your pick. who sits on who’s lap?

Nobody, because they’re both tall. Bella will straddle him even in a non sexual manner from time to time, and they often spend their evenings relaxing on the same sofa: Bella will put her legs on Voldemort’s lap and he strokes them absentmindedly (after all they’re superlong and soft and hot), and Voldemort, who refuses to nap in bed, might catch a nap with his head on her lap. The reason Bella doesn’t nap with her head on his lap is because he’s very thin and his femurs hurt her skull, when she’s got plenty of skirts and petticoats cushioning Voldemort. Finally, Bella often sleeps with her head on his chest, because his heart-beat, even tho abnormally slow, relaxes her panic attacks, after Azkaban that is. He will then stroke her hair compulsively - it’s a bit of a fixation of his.

Well,what a ride! Thanks again @knightessofwalpurgis for the ask, this was tremendous fun to write, especially after a very difficult month! And it did help put some of my thoughts on those evil babies in a row. Hope you found it entertaining! I get that those types of asks are usually made for monolectic answers, but yeah, explanations are better. If you made it to the end, dear reader, thank you very much for your time!

#bellamort #bellamort ask #knightessofwalpurgis #relationship meme #bellatrix lestrange #voldemort #lord voldemort #tom riddle #still can't write #but apparently i can do asks #so thats what we're doing today

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selfships-in-spanish · 4 years

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A lengthy response to big accusations that were made of me

Hello everyone.

I’ve been forwarded screenshots of a certain person calling me out publicly after receiving an ask asking specifically about me. And well, the another one with a more meaner message, from them both. So much for no anon hate huh. But since this person (and I won’t mention names) has me blocked, I am literally unable to even defend myself from their accusations. And they made heavy ones with words that shouldn’t be used this lightly.

I decided to make a lengthy response with my own “version” of the events, so before judging me you can also have more info about this issue, about “the other side”. They may not want to stir the pot or create drama, but they did when they decided to say they hold the absolute truth to this and to reconsider if you should follow me without giving me a chance to explain my own side of the argument.

Well, that and openly insulting me. Welp.

I will attach the few screenshots I was able to gather to prove my points. The pictures attached will have a number so you can know what it references. Sadly I do not have more, but I hope those will suffice.

To be honest, this only shows me how they never actually cared about how I felt, even when we were friends. It’s easier to pin everything that went wrong in a friendship to the other side than to listen and recognise what you didn’t do well.

After our argument, I never posted anything related to them, insulting them or nothing of the sort. No tweets, no tumblr posts, nothing. This was something between us two, so I just let the issue die since I didn’t want anyone getting even more hurt because of two adults were unable to fix at the moment. I must admit I thought about contacting them, because I do recognise I worded my thoughts very wrong and I was hurtful and spiteful. I am not proud of that and of what I did and I am sorry for it. I was in a bad place and I directed my anger to them, took it out towards someone, and that is something one must never do. I am deeply sorry for that and I am working on correcting it because I don’t want that to happen ever again.

I recognise the wrong I did. But, as I said, I’m blocked everywhere, so I am unable to contact this person to even say this or talk it out like two civilized humans. I guess it’s better to make a public post and point fingers at me.

But, I’ve been accused of racism, of lying, of misleading and making them give me money, of grooming and corrupting minors, of ostracising people, creating servers, making myself pass as a woc… and I’ve never been more shocked to read all that with my own eyes than I am right now. Because all those accusations, what they say, the intention, is to cut any wings me or my art may have on this site. Art is my livelihood, and by throwing such heavy implications mean losing people, and we all know what that means when you are creative. Cancel culture doesn’t leave room for one to defend themselves, it’s easier to attack, to “consider who you give your support to.” Did I ever go after their head like this? I didn’t, because I am not that kind of person.

Right now I’ve been painted as some heartless monster. When I first started talking out with them, I was intimidated for sure; they were way more popular, got along with the “cool fandom cats” and I was (and still am) a nobody enjoying her little corner with her OC and bazillion AUs people enjoy. I knew they were very vocal with social issues and I was honestly glad that there were people being loud enough for others to hear, but when that was their whole life, that EVERYTHING had to do with social justice, every second spent with them was that same issue, it drained me down. My life was a mess, I was a mess, I was struggling with so many stuff that in that moment I didn’t need a person constantly telling me I was the fucking worst and a demon for almost anything I did or said. I couldn’t speak, my reasonings didn’t hold any importance because I was a white girl. I understood, even if it seems they do not think so, I understood why they were doing it, where they come from, but some days when you are struggling to even keep yourself alive, it was all too much. Being accused of being a racist is A Big accusation and something that shouldn’t be thrown to somebody’s face this lightly.

I do understand that I come from the privilege of being born with white skin. We are in a society, culture and education system that reinforces the racist behaviour, but it is also something us all are fighting against. We are not okay with racism, we want racism to end and that starts with acknowledging your own privileged ass. And I do, my boyfriend got stopped more than once in airports because he has tan skin and brown hair, easily mistaken for someone from middle east in the eyes of an ignorant. I do know it, but making me a monster doesn’t help it. Being constantly told that you are white scum (actual words if I recall correctly), aggressive tweets telling that all white people are vile and shouldn't be allowed anything, doesn’t help (1). I know what it sounds like, but becoming what you are fighting against only makes you become a bully yourself. I will always try to use my privilege to give poc a voice for them to speak and make their issues known. I’m still learning, I’m still unlearning what our society and culture has grinded down on us, but I’m making the effort to not be a white racist cunt like society expects me to.

I come from people who have been oppressed. Spain has a history of oppressing anyone on their path (colonialism, anyone?), and my people were part of it. We still cry for our freedom, and my grandfather and parents can vividly remember and tell you of how the Facist Spanish government would come in the night, take people and execute them to god knows where, because we still don’t know where our dead are. Until recently, Spain still had the fascist dictator in a mausoleum where people could come to pay homage to! Our culture, our language… everything was prohibited and on the verge of being wiped out from earth. So yes, I understood what struggles can other cultures and people face. Not the wholeness of it, because of course there are differences, but I can understand to a certain degree.

Does this mean I hate ALL spaniards because some do hate us catalans for who we are and where we come from? Absolutely not. So how could they say that because of me they hate all white women? Why do you make me the sole cause of your internalised problems? What about your white friends? You hate them too? Learn. Grow.

So, when they accuse me of lying about being woc, of not correcting them and misleading them when they thought Spain was full of poc people, when I explicitly said in more than one occasion, that I am NOT a woc, I am a spanish white girl and that Spain is in Europe, I was truly shocked to read that with my own eyes. If your educational system failed so bad on you, don’t accuse me of it. We all have google and we all can look where X country is placed. So I’m genuinely baffled that someone is pointing fingers at me for not correcting them and making themselves the victim when I did correct them. If they listened or not, is another matter. If they assumed something and expected me to know they assumed it… how would I even know?

I have never created a discord server in my whole life. I joined one (we all got those never-ending lists of discord servers you joined), but never created it. If people created one aside the previous discord where me and the person were in, that must be for some reason. Or not at all! Maybe some people get along better and decide to have their own chat so they don’t clog or make the other server members feel bad or weird. But, putting me as the whole “ringleader” of this all? Do you seriously think I got that kind of power over people? I’m a fucking nobody! I made some friends, true, but never ever encouraged them to do anything or obligated them to follow me. On the contrary, I joined other people. I never did anything of the sort! I got other friends besides this person, many other internet friends where we share discords, but I never created or instigated anything. In fact, I’m quite the opposite, I always lurk in the shadows minding my own damn business and not raining on anyone’s parade.

And linking on the whole discord servers, corruption of minors and grooming. How sick do you have to be to accuse me of that? Are you even conscious of what an accusation you are making? Understand what an uncomfortable position you are putting me in, of having to defend myself from those accusations, whether the claim is true or not. It’s a very heavy one to make and forces the accused party to go defensive, like it or not. You publicly said I’m a groomer as someone says it’s a sunny day. Just, what the hell is wrong with you?

Who is that minor? Where is that NSFW art you claim? Because I do not recall any NSFW art being gifted at me from a frigging’ minor. The only person I’m thinking about never, ever, drew NSFW. Ever. And the only person who did draw a NSFW picture of Ona and Connor, was a friend who was an adult. Also, when will you stop putting words in my mouth I didn’t say? Is it just to justify your anger towards me and keep painting myself as the heartless cunt and you the poor victim?

We never forced any NSFW content on those minors the person says, and the person who accuses me of this, even created a 18+ channel where all minors were excluded. But before that? That discord didn’t have one and spilled the NSFW on the general chat. Even the accuser spilled NSFW on a channel where a minor was present, but god forbid! I am the corrupting one! We only talked NSFW stuff in there dedicated 18+ channel and I don’t recall actively participating in it.

And, if we all recall it also, because I’m sure all of us who were in the discord do, there were mods there to prevent and do what their name says, moderate a chat. But instead of that, when one of us who talked about something NSFW in the general chat, the mod came over and said something along the lines of “i’m in public i don’t want to see nsfw when i enter the gen chat”. Then left.

1) It’s on the mod to keep NSFW things in the NSFW chat, and if they feel they need to enforce the rule with an iron fist, they do it. Instead said mod just moaned about it and did absolutely nothing. The affected parties apologised and made a conscious effort to keep the NSFW in its rightful place. Sometimes you may get carried away in a conversation and realise too late it was in the wrong place. It happens, you apologise and transfer the comments or continue the conversation in the right channel, deleting the old comments.

2) Said mod is unable to handle stressful situations, and when there’s a feud between users in the discord server, the mod decides to leave the discord for days, leaving the issue unattended.

Everyone has their right to self-care, but being a mod means you have to deal with such situations. If you are not fit, say so and there will be someone else to do it. No worries. But don’t come to complain about certain people behind their backs and face the issues.

Why am I the sole target of this, when in this case we were all to blame? Including the person who is targeting me in their call-out post, even more when they also talked about NSFW in the general chat, but the mod did not complain about it. Guess why? Because they were best friends. Which is another point to this all. The blatant favouritism in the discord chat.

As I said more than once already, it is totally okay to get along better with other people, it is natural and not something to fret over, but when your “getting along” means disregarding some people and only blindly listening and waiting for said people to follow your every whim? How they are able to hide their heads under their wings instead of facing the issues, even more when people are getting hurt by it? I’m not speaking for myself this time, but for people who was in there and left the server. It was there, they knew the favouritism over some people, and chose to ignore the damage they were doing by tearing the discord apart in two sections.

But, don’t you realise, person who is accusing me, what you just accused me of? The implications in it? For heaven’s sake, I even told this person about how my ex best friend was fucking a goddamn minor and I told her to rethink her whole fucking life. I was disgusted by it, talked several times with her to discourage her from doing that and even seek help, but instead she crossed me out from her life and demonised me. I am fucking disgusted. So, someone accusing me of such things, even knowing part of my past and life…?

How fucking dare you?

Also, how fucking dare you LIE about giving me a website? Paying for it? This person never did. I was planning on it on my own, when I got a job where I could pay for one, but they never once in their life bought me a website. They offered it? Surely, but I never told them to yes, pay for it right now. I always feel so fucking bad when people buy me stuff or give me money, and I never wanted them to do so under any obligation. And they never did, never explicitly told them so. A website was an objective I had as an artist, an illustrator, and I voiced such objectives with them as you would talk about your ambitions to a friend. But I guess I was wrong and they took it as ammunition to throw shade at me. But they did not buy it and I did not explicitly ask her to buy me one. Period.

And keeping on the money topic, they did donate money on my kofi, I think it was 9$ or 10$? I can’t remember right now, but you can look at the message if you’d like. But how sick and wicked do you have to be to emotionally BLACKMAIL people because you were such a saint and donated to someone who didn’t have a job at the time and was struggling in paying anything? How can you boast about how you donated money to someone who was in need of it, and then expect “I’m a good person points” for it? You donate to someone or something because you believe in them or the cause, because you genuinely want to help someone, but not to use it later to make the person you donated to feel bad after an argument. That is something seriously shitty to do. If I’ve donated money, I don’t expect eternal gratitude or the person I gave money to swear their loyalty to me. They are not in my debt. I gave them my money because I wanted to. I wasn’t expecting anything in return.

They talk about ostracising them, but in fact, it’s quite the other way. They created their own clique, which okay, it is fine, as I said earlier, everyone gets along better with some other people and that is fine. But when it gets to the point where the only important voices, the only ones that matter, are the ones in your own clique, and that any other voice who disagrees gets thrown under a bus? They said they supported everyone in the discord chat, but truth be told, they only supported what interested them.

They talk about the Notre Dame cathedral burning (2). I will speak for myself, but I was angry that they celebrated the burning of an artistic reference of a certain architectural style, a true exponent of it. I was angry because art was burning, and I was as angry and deeply saddened when the National Brazilian Museum burned too, because countless of art and knowledge of civilizations that were long gone were burned, to never be known again. You cannot celebrate the burning of art and culture, no matter where it comes from, and even less when you got a friend who is also deeply rooted to France itself. No “oopsie daises” will fix the fact that you said you were happy the cathedral burned down in front of a french person who was mourning the loss of a symbol of his culture.

But, as soon as those of us who got offended voiced those feelings, their excuse was that “it was just a joke”, which they also like to exclaim is an abuser and bigot tactic. How can you joke about that? Even more knowing that you got Europeans and even French people in your discord? How little do you regard your supposed friends feelings?

For example: someone says something racist, then people get mad. Then the person who said the racist thing defends themselves by saying it was just a joke.

Perplexing, right?

I just got one question for you. Did you ever think about how me, about how we all felt, when we also told you multiple times we weren’t liking where you were going? When we tried to talk to you about such issues, and you just lectured people instead of listening, trying to cover your ass? How many times we tried to fix everything up? Because we all make mistakes, we all think we have the absolute truth, but sometimes we don’t and it takes a great deal of willpower to apologise for those. It wasn’t that hard to get off the high horse and listen. If your white friends are hurt by you, stop and think as to why, instead of saying “good”. They are supposedly your friends, not your enemies. I told you you were becoming what you fought against for.

I was aggressive, I was angry, I was rude. And I do want to apologise to you for handling my feelings wrong. But you never gave me a chance, even less listen to a white spanish girl who you thought was a poc because you assumed things when I said in more than one occasion that I was European and Spanish and white. You jumped to the train when you saw a non-pasty white OC in the community. You yourself told me you were happy and gleeful to see my OC, which made me happy that it brought you joy. And now? Were those all lies? You lied to me for what purpose? What did you gain in getting close to me, as far as you saying two peas in a pod, to now disregard all that, thrash talk about my art, my OC whom you LOVED and praised, just because you’re hurt and angry at me and never, ever, dared to come after me in private, even if it was to yell at me? Never took my own feelings in mind because I was a white girl and thus I do not deserve empathy at all? And after a goddamn year?

But I guess it’s easier to paint me as a monster in public than try to talk things out, knowing where you could find me. Also it’s easier to accuse people of your problems than seeking out help to solve them. I admit I was immature in my execution of wording out my feelings, but that does not invalidate me or discredit me or the reasons pointed out. And it also doesn’t give you enough reason to call me a cunt publicly, besides more insults and truly hurtful things to my integrity and self. I thought better of you, but I guess you disappointed me on that, too.

Any of you who read this, first of all THANK YOU for sticking for so long. Feel free to do as you please. I only felt I had to at least try to defend myself from such hard and hurtful accusations, even more when I have no room to do so besides writing this out and hope it reaches their hands, in case anyone who wonders what is going on has another pieze of this puzzle. This is a direct attack to me, saying my name and also encouraging people to reconsider if they should be following me, telling my followers what they should do. What are you afraid of, accuser? I never once in my life told people to stop following them because of what little feud we might have. It was between them and me, and they didn’t care to solve it either, letting themselves fester in their hurt feelings instead of talking to me about them or moving on as I did.

Thank you for reading so far, and also thank you for the support you have all given me after all this time. It truly means so much to me that you decided to stick out here with me. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Have a good day.

SCREENSHOTS:

(1)

(2)

#discourse #personal #mius speaks

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m1serere-n0bis · 4 years

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Anyways. I don't care what the rest of you all have been doing during this but I have been trying to listen better and pray more.

For those of you who don't think that's "enough"... Sorry but I don't owe public opinion shit. The only person I owe an explanation to is God. I don't owe anyone information on what I'm doing in private. I don't owe anyone information on what I am/am not supporting financially or otherwise. If your personal opinion is that I'm not making adequate use of my voice or platform then that's rough buddy, but my voice is not the one that needs to be heard right now and also what platform? As a society hyperfocused on social media ESPECIALLY NOW DURING THIS PANDEMIC we have to come to terms that we all have lives outside of it and we don't "owe" each other ANY information about that in spite of what our culture tells us. Like if this is what "community-based policing" means, I can already tell you I hate it and it's oppressive.

For those of you who think this is a political power play, I would say those concerns are valid but there IS a REAL problem that will still be there when all the political pandering and posturing is done. And we need to fix it. Part of the reason I haven't been hyping what everyone has been telling me to hype in the name of activism is pretty much this:

Do I think it honestly matters which political party is in charge for changes to happen? No, because I do not trust the SAME GOVERNMENT BACKING THE POLICE to take the money THAT IS STILL TECHNICALLY IN THEIR POSSESSION and funnel it into the communities that need it in any way that will actually address the racism inherent in the system. HOWEVER, that doesn't stop me from listening to what my brothers and sisters in Christ are telling me are their experiences not just in a society that is supposed to have progressed past racism but in the BODY OF CHRIST itself. Because it's there, everyone. Yes, it's not overt. Yes, not everyone is actively engaging in it but if we are truly One Body then we owe it to each other to make reparations for sins that aren't ours. It's what we've been doing for the child abuse scandals, is it not? The majority of us were not involved but do we not still carry the burden of that sin simply because we're Catholic, because one part of the One Body committed this massive hurt?

So anyway. The goal of this post is not to make anyone feel bad and it is not an invitation for people to pile on me because I haven't vocally supported x, y, z. This is an invitation to listen and to pray... which should always be the first step, EVEN WHEN THERE IS AN IMMEDIATE NEED FOR ACTION. (Maybe ESPECIALLY when there's an immediate need for action.) And holy shit are we not good at that or what? 😂

1) Fr. Mike Schmitz' homily this week was an invitation for us to listen to God and let Him tell us who He is because only by doing that can we see the image and likeness of God in each other. We've lost that in our wishy-washy prayer lives that inevitably end up with us trying to force God into an earthly construction in which He doesn't belong. We try to tell God who He is because the world is too noisy for us to hear Him tell us about Himself. And that inevitably trickles down into us trying to force each other into boxes before recognizing the human dignity instilled by God in all of us. The internet feeds into that by making us faceless virtual entities, thus making it that much more difficult to recognize our humanity. I can read faceless stats for days but if I don't have ANY CONTEXTUAL IDEA where those numbers are coming from, they're empty. They're easily manipulated into whatever whoever is selling me them wants me to think of them if I don't have someone LIVING THOSE STATISTICS giving me context. Right now the media wants us to feed on the controversy surrounding BLM movement without telling us that these communities have been MARCHING IN THEIR COMMUNITIES FOR YEARS AGAINST THE VIOLENCE THEY INFLICT ON THEMSELVES and it is the same media blackout as any March for Life. The media doesn't care unless they have drama they can use to stoke more division and that's the tea.

2) Fr. Josh Johnson is on fire right now, everyone. Like him and Chika Anyanwu are two voices I wasn't listening to before that I'm thankful to be hearing now. If you're wondering how God can be good even in the midst of chaos, turmoil, and pain, this is it. If you're struggling to separate the Black Lives Matter Organization from the heart of the issue, this is how God is doing that. The Church needs to hear these voices. They have real experiences to share. They are part of the Body of Christ, and they are really hurting through these thousands of small cuts.

I would recommend listening to the Jeff Cavins Show episode Distance Amplifies Difference where he has a conversation with Fr. Josh. They both have tremendously unique WORDLY perspectives to bring to the table on the issue (Jeff Cavins is a white man but has children who are black and they live in Minnesota and are literally witnessing the heart of this first hand in the trenches, and Fr. Josh is the son of a black former chief of police) but ultimately discuss how we as a Church can work towards fixing it.

Fr. Josh and Fr. Mike's dialogue on Ascension Presents is also really top notch. I still have to finish watching it, though. 😅

I can't believe I wasn't following Chika before because as another single Catholic woman, I feel like I've found a sister in Christ experiencing the same ups and downs of Catholic singlehood (her Instagram Highlight was like HILARIOUS and also a truth 😂). Her family's small business got looted during the rioting but I believe they've since been able to shut down their Go Fund Me since people gave them enough support to get it back up and running. Anyways, I'm glad this amplification of black voices brought me to hers.

3) Fransican Friars of the Renewal Fr. Agostino and Fr. Pierre Toussaint discuss their hopes for the movement from their perspective as people of color and as servants of one of the poorest neighborhoods in NYC, the South Bronx. Their dynamic is great because Fr. Agostino is like a Gryffindor on fire and Fr. PT is like a soft-spoken, phlegmetic Ravenclaw. I understand that energy. 😂 (I'm also a phlegmetic Ravenclaw) One of my takeaways was Fr. Agostino's opinion that we can't just posture and leave it up to the government or orgs with ulterior political motives to make things right because he's seen firsthand how well THAT goes. However, all that means is that we as people of God have to dig in and do the work our own dang selves. They're also hopeful that this discussion of the police force being built on a foundation of racism will eventually lead to the discussion of Planned Parenthood being built on the same. They said that 42% of the pregnancies of the predominantly black and Latino population in the South Bronx end in abortion. 42%!!!!!!!!!!! If that is not a wake-up call that systemic racism is alive and well and we are abjectly failing women of color as a society Idk what is. But also their analogy that society is a MESS of a dilapidated house and we have to pick ONE place to start and stick with it if we really want to fix it up is also the truth.

4) Did y'all know about Our Lady of Kibohe? This is a Vatican-approved Marian apparition that appeared to three teenaged girls in Rwanda a little more than a decade before the genocide (which she warned them about). There is no one in Creation demons and Satan hate more than Our Lady, and there's no better weapon against them than the rosary. There has been a call from our brothers and sisters to rend our hearts and even if you don't see, think, or believe there is still racism within the Church, will you not pray for Mary and St. Michael to help continue keeping it that way, then?

Our Lady of Kibohe encouraged us to take up the practice of praying the Seven Sorrows Rosary. I tried it for the first time last week and I have to say, even with my super basic limited knowledge of black history in the United States, it was not hard to see how their suffering could easily be united to the sufferings of Christ and Our Lady.

I guess my conclusion is this: I have my own misgivings about blindly supporting any ol' cause that happens to be trending on whatever. The Black Lives Matter ORGANIZATION has a manifesto touting things that are contrary to the Catechism for SURE, but when my brothers and sisters in the Church are telling me they are in pain RIGHT NOW and saying, "Hey, listen... They're right about some things... These are the things and we've experienced it IN the Church..." then they deserve to be heard. We owe it to them to listen because they are a part of us. We need to expose these sins to the light instead of denying they exist or claiming to be past it. We ALSO need to be charitable to those in different parts of their journey. Is it FAIR to bear the burden of others' sins and make reparations for them? Heck no! But we do it. Jesus did it for us. We do it for our brothers and sisters in Purgatory. What's the difference for bearing it for our hard-hearted brothers and sisters on earth? Nobody is perfect but we all are made in the image and likeness of God and thus inherently carry human dignity.

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abpoli · 5 years

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I work in oil and gas. I saw first hand what sort of shit the PCs pulled. I saw Jason Kenney's federal handiwork as Immigration Minister at work with unqualified TFWs being brought onto sites and blowing up propane cylinders because they all had faked their qualifications and didn't understand anything. I saw hundreds of people lose their jobs because of poor planning from previous governments. I got a front row seat to incredible shitshow that was carbon capture, where the client's engineers were actively talking about what a white elephant carbon capture was, and how it was a giant make work project at the province's expense. I helped build extraction facilities that were slated from the start to funnel our money to the US, extraordinarily blatantly to a Calumet refinery in Montana that was designed solely to profit at the expense of Canadians. I saw the only value-added project at NWR come around because Redford was trying to use it as a Hail Mary to distract people, which, by the way, was notorious as being never really supposed to happen outside of the surveying and being a way for Stelmach's ranching buddies to sell the province their land at a premium over a premium.

And on the commercial side of things, well, I'm well aware of the scramble that's come around because of our failing infrastructure. Amazing what happens when you don't build things where they're needed. Things like new hospitals to serve growing areas, which, I'm sorry to inform you, are not really rural areas. But do end up serving rural areas, when they end up driving to Edmonton or Calgary when they need the sort of services that need to have things like dedicated lab networks, which can only really exist where there is everyone that has to staff all of those primary and supporting services.

There was a huge thing about the previous PC governments, that that was crony capitalism. I'd never vote for anyone out to destroy the people that built this province. Or their kids, whether they're little gay kids that need a GSA for support or ones trying to fund post-secondary that don't deserve to be paid less for their hard work. Or the health care system, which, interestingly enough, is mostly inefficient because of our incredibly overbuilt rural health care network. It's awesome, because everyone deserves the right to be healthy and not have to be med-evaced everywhere. But I know that if I was looking for something to slash to bring down costs, that would be a pretty tempting cherry. Assuming that it's not outright privatized.

The fact of the matter is is that Alberta succeeded in spite of our governments. And we finally have a premier who's not looking to line their own pockets or reward their friends with sweetheart contracts. And you want to go back to that, because you've got rose coloured glasses on. Well, I sincerely hope that you can afford the consequences, because it's gonna fall on every single person who's not a "job creating" business owner. Things like toll roads (which, interestingly enough, will cost the rural Albertan more than me), public-private partnerships that never work out right but end up enriching shareholders out of the taxpayer's pocket, and catering to the charter schools of faith-supremacist groups at the expense of our public school systems.

But yeah, let's act like the Carbon Tax is the big problem. And that if we axe the provincial one, the federal one won't instantly come into play and take all that money out of the province. Because that's the biggest thing about it, that if we don't have a provincial one in place, the federal one comes in, and it's Ottawa that decides where the funds from that one goes. And it sure won't be Alberta, because that's not efficient at buying votes. Dumping it into BC, or the Maritimes, or Quebec... that's bang for your buck at a federal level. Sure, Trudeau might not be leader next election, but he is now. And that's where he'll dump it. Andrew Scheer, on the other hand, talks a big game about dumping it, but he'll almost certainly be seduced by the idea of a giant slush fund that he can try and shore up support in Ontario with. Why kill the golden goose when you can make omelets, after all? And why spend in Alberta, when Alberta has shown that they'll vote for a blue rock even if a Conservative government changes the equalization formula to funnel even more money to Quebec from Alberta (ask Kenney about that one, after all, he was part of the government that drafted that revision and he voted for it personally).

If you're looking for someone to blame for the devastation, then it's probably best that we all take the late Jim Prentice's advice, and look in the mirror. Because he was right, and it was all our faults for electing Don Getty. And letting Ralph Klein blow up a hospital so he could pay for a cardboard sign. And for letting Ed Stelmach have an entire mandate dictated by backroom party hacks. And for letting Alison Redford live her petro-shiekh fantasies on our dime. At least we showed Prentice what happens when you come down from on high without any real answers. But hey, Jason Kenney totally won't be like the rest. It's not like he started out on the payroll of US lobby groups taking pet issue stances for pay. It's not like he sold out Canadians by rubber stamping TFWs and letting big companies do whatever they want, federally. And it's not like he hasn't come out and said that his platform is going to hurt Albertans (to be fair, that was one of his candidates, and he just didn't refute it).

But yeah, the NDP are the problem for trying to deal with 40 years of mismanagement. So let's get rid of someone competent who's stood up for Albertans because they started in the worst case scenario and has been steadily working to bring things back to the best of what this province can be. After all, Rachel Notley won her leadership race fair and square, so obviously she can't be devious enough to drive this province back into being a dumpster fire, since she didn't have a federal MP's job to get paid not to do while rigging a leadership campaign against rivals.

Also, because I forgot:

THE PREMIER OF ALBERTA DOES NOT SET OIL PRICES.

Which, you know, is one huge reason that we've had problems with revenues besides slashing the tax base. And I do mean YUUUUUUUUUUGE, with a Y, because it comes right out of the supply side handbook.

Stolen from Sterling Matan on facebook.

#canadian news #cdn news #ab news #cdnpoli #abpoli #ucp #oil & gas #jason kenney #ab election 2019

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redladydeath · 5 years

Text

Hiiii, guess who has a Sin Swap AU but only has a detailed idea for the Pride (formerly Lust) arc????

It’s the night of the engagement party and Gumina’s struggling to figure out what to do. She’s found out about Sateriasis plans to kill Cherubim, but Cheri has picked this moment to try and corner her and confess his feelings for her. Gumina’s panicking, trying to figure out what actions she should take, before suddenly coming to the realization that this whole situation is stupid and can be partially resolved by talking. She cuts Cherubim off, telling him to meet her in the hallway, before marching off over to Sati, grabbing him by the arm, and dragging him out of the ballroom.

She brings the brothers to a side room before going off on Sati for being such an asshole. Cherubim’s shocked by the fact his brother was planning on killing him, while Sati’s defensive, accusing the two of them of being together behind his back. Gumina and Cherubim immediately and vigorously deny this, pointing out the flaws in his logic. Emotions are still running high though and eventually things devolve into a shouting match between the three of them, everyone angry at each other for on reason or another.

Eventually, Claster and Ilotte barge in on them. Mina and Sati just walked out of their engagement party after all, and Cherubim’s not supposed to interact with them. Gumina and Sati are both still furious though and refuse to go back. Cherubim, scared that this might be his last chance to speak to Gumina, breaks down and confesses his feelings to Gumina. Gumina is too shocked to give him a real response.

Sati pitches a fit and says he was right all along, Claster is frantically trying to herd the two of them out of the room, and Ilotte is staring daggers at Cherubim. He tells Claster that he will take care of this and Cherubim freezes in terror while Gumina panics. She tries to implore Sati to help Cheri, to help her, but he stays silent, refusing aid out of spite. Gumina is horrified by his selfishness before becoming furious at him for treating her like something he’s entitled to.

Time passes. Cherubim is locked away again by Ilotte. He has no hope/expectations of being rescued again. Gumina is furious at Sateriasis, along with everyone else who thinks of her as nothing more than a pawn to be used for their own purposes. Sati, once he calms down, grows somewhat guilty for hurting the two of them so badly over pretty much nothing. In the meantime, Gumina takes to wearing an emerald ring that was given to her as an engagement gift. She refuses to touch any of the presents and is not entirely sure who it’s from, but she feels drawn to it.

Eventually Gumina and Sati are married. Gumina’s resentment for everyone grows, fueled by the ring, which, surprise surprise, turns out to be the Vessel of Pride. She hates Sateriasis, hates her fellow nobles, and is disgusted by the idea of taking on the role as Sati’s quiet little wife. Sateriasis is trying to make amends, but he’s failing, and is too scared/selfish to do anything significant to help the situation. Cherubim is slowly starving in the basement and has no hope to escape this situation

The vessel’s influence on Gumina grows stronger, fueling her indignation and anger until they reach a boiling point. She begins to make plans to set things right, which the vessel encourages her to act on.

Ilotte confronts Gumina one night, hoping to intimidate her into being more compliant. Her anger at his condescending attitude peaks and she snaps; the vessel changes from a ring to a knife and she wheels around and slashes his throat. She leave him to bleed out; she believes it was the just thing to do.

The whole household panics once his body is discovered. No one suspects Gumina. Sati tries to maintain order and stops paying attention to Gumina. While he’s distracted, Gumina fires half the staff for “allowing” the murder to happen, replaces them with servants loyal to her, sends the hysterical duchess to stay with Classke, and rescues Cherubim, who was on the brink of death, from the basement, assigning Carol to watch over his recovery.

Sati and Gumina officially become Duke and Duchess Venomania. Sati still hasn’t noticed everything Gumina’s done behind his back. After everything is settled, he turns to Gumina for support, but is shocked when she reveals all the power over the household that she’s attained. He tries to argue with her, but she simply has her men lock him in his room, leaving her to do as she pleases.

Once Sati is taken care of, Gumina goes to oversee Cherubim’s recovery. He’s quite confused about all that’s happened, but blindly accepts it simply because everything is suddenly so much better. Gumina spends a lot of time in his company as he recovers and her fondness is finally allowed to blossom into love. The two of them start a relationship, much to Cherubim’s shock. Part of Gumina genuinely loves him, the other part is getting a kick out of the relationship primarily because it’s in defiance of what everyone tried to make her do.

While participating in this relationship, Gumina starts governing Asmodean in Sateriasis’ name. She quite enjoys it, loving the ability to exercise the power she feels she is entitled to. Her and Cherubim grow closer, and he can’t quite believe this is really happening. Meanwhile, Sati is desperately trying to find a way out. He’s shocked that he can’t persuade anyone to help him and is beginning to go stir-crazy.

Gumina is satisfied with how things have turned out. Her and Cherubim’s relationship eventually becomes sexual. Cheri, being a socially and emotionally stunted individual, eventually expresses a wish for Gumina to bring Sati intro their relationship— Cheri doesn’t have a particularly nuanced understanding of ‘love’ and, once introduced to the idea of romantic/sexual love, merges it with platonic love in his mind. Gumina is shocked and unnerved by this request; she finally comes to understand how damaged and childlike Cherubim still is. However, the vessel fuels her anger at Sateriasis for doing all this to them, and it encourages her to continue to be the arbiter of justice.

Gumina grants Cherubim’s wish and frees Sati, under the condition he does as she says. Everything about this whole situation is nightmarish and wrong to him, but Gumina plays on his guilt for having nearly killed is brother and objectifying his childhood friend in order to paralyze him, keeping him from stepping out of line.

A new system is formed. Gumina runs the household and attends to affairs of state, Cherubim is given unlimited freedom and resources, and Sati remains in his room most of the time, except for when Gumina or Cheri want him for something. Gumina is immensely satisfied, Cherubim is happier than he’s ever been, and Sati is emotionally bruised from suddenly losing all his authority to his wife.

Gumina is satisfied with her position as unofficial duke, but the vessel is not. The vessel encourages feelings of superiority and righteousness in her, and slowly she comes to believe that all the other nobles are incompetent and she should be the one running everything.

She slowly starts implementing policies that subtly weaken other families’ power and strengthening her own. People notice, but it’s subtle enough where they can’t outright accuse her of anything. It gradually comes to be known that Gumina is really the one running the show, but as it’s believed she’s governing at Sateriasis’ request while he’s “grieving”, no one can do anything about it.

Gumina becomes a figure of suspension by the nobles and many men in Asmodean. However, she is a highly affective ruler who makes many substantial improvements to how things are run— she grants women more rights for a start. Gumina enjoys this new position; it’s incredibly satisfying to her to watch the nobles who once saw her as a pawn silently seethe as she takes control of the country and proves time and time again how capable she is. Many Asmodean women, as well as the Elphe government, admire her, but to most she begins to be regarded as “The She-Wolf of Elphegort”.

Things are good for a while: Gumina’s happy and running the county well, and her and Cherubim adore each other. Gumina, seeing herself as the arbiter of karma, showers him with gifts and affection (partly out of love, partly because she can now). Cheri, in return, is hopelessly devoted to her, never questions anything she does, and never leaves the house or speaks to anyone she thinks may be a threat. Part of Gumina is a little concerned about this— she wanted to help him become more of a person— but a larger part of her is too wrapped up in the love of this situation to actually do anything about it. Sati’s watching this love-affair go on from the sidelines, but he’s too concerned about staying sane and alive to get worked up about it.

While initially considered to be a just, albeit divisive ruler, public opinion about Gumina starts to change. The vessel’s negative impacts are starting to show again, and she starts implementing policies that hurt the people for the sake of her own enrichment. She never thought much of the lower-classes, and now her callous treatment of them starts to stew up discontent among the masses. Meanwhile, Mina’s currently trying to get pregnant by one of the brothers (it doesn’t really matter to her which one) so as to secure her position as the mother of the future duke/duchess. Sati is disgusted by this situation, Cheri doesn’t know about it because Gumina had the foresight to know not to tell him as it would inevitably send him into a panic.

Eventually, all of Gumina antics attract the attention of the royal family. Again, it’s not clear if she’s done anything wrong, but they’re suspicious and invite her and Sati to court for a few weeks. Gumina, accepts, confident that’s she’s utterly secure and they won’t be able to prove anything. Arrogance clouding her judgment, she also decides to bring Cherubim along, just for fun.

The visit is tense. Gumina’s completely relaxed, but Janus is suspicious. He can see something’s wrong with Sateriasis, but can’t get him to admit it’s due to anything but grief. Maylis is interested in this whole affair and wants to figure out what’s going on. She worms her way into Cherubim’s room and gains enough of his trust for him to mention Gumina and him are lovers and a few more suspicious things about their home life until they’re interrupted by Gumina.

Gumina tries to talk Maylis into keeping what she heard quiet, appealing to her distaste for arranged marriages. Maylis pretends to be convinced, but is really planning to gather more information before clamping down. This is already stressful enough for Mina, but then towards the end of the visit Sateriasis becomes bold enough to start hinting to the royals that something is seriously wrong. Eventually they leave, with Gumina still confident in her security, but angry and a tiny bit nervous.

Things start spiraling out of control. Gumina, becoming paranoid of losing power, starts acting erratically. She’s adopting new, unfair policies, questioning her servants’ loyalty, and lashing out at people verbally and physically. One night, while the three of them are together, Sati summons the courage to confront her about what she’s done. There’s a physical altercation and, in the heat of the moment, Gumina stabs Sati in the heart. Cherubim freaks out as Gumina tries to get him to shut up, regretting what she’s done but scared of attracting attention. She calls Carol to try and help Sati, but he dies before anything can be done. Cherubim’s in shock while Gumina tries to convince him that she will handle this and everything will be alright.

Mina hides Sati’s body in the basement and tries to keep up the illusion that he’s still alive. She announces to the public that Sateriasis is going to start ruling now, for really reals this time, in order to divert attention off herself, but no one’s buying it. Gumina’s growing more and more frantic, trying to maintain her power and coax Cherubim back into his devotion for her. He’s finally starting to question her and doesn’t trust her like he used to. This only makes Gumina more stressed and more angry.

Eventually things come to a head and Maylis shares the information she’s gathered to her siblings, who send men to investigate the manor. Gumina tries desperately to prevent them from probing too far, but they discover Sati’s body and Gumina and Cherubim, along with anybody who remains loyal to them, are arrested.

Once Gumina’s no longer a threat, many of the servants immediately start talking, confessing everything illegal/immoral they saw going on. Gumina is still trying to talk her way out of this, separated from the vessel but still feeling the affects of Pride.

Eventually, Gumina goes on trial and is found guilty of usurping her husband and abusing power that was not hers. She’s surprised she’s not tried for Sateriasis and Ilotte’s murders, until she finds out that Cherubim has taken the blame for them and some of her other crimes, hoping to protect her. She’s utterly horrified and tries to admit her guilt in the matters, but is ignored. The Beelzebian nobility doesn’t want to execute a noblewoman, and plan to banish/imprison her while executing the commoners involved in her activities.

Gumina is devastated and desperate, but there’s nothing she can do. Cherubim is executed, scared but satisfied with the fact that Gumina will be able to live. Mina’s sent off to a remote castle/convent in the countryside, barred from ever exercising political power again. The Demon of Pride breaks the contract and Gumina’s left with the guilt and grief of having lost her friends, family, and chance at a real life. She’s left with one thing though; soon after her arrival, she discovers that she’s pregnant.

#i wrote this over the course of a few nights so sorry if the writing style jumps around a bit #i took some inspiration from history with this #there are a couple of queens of medieval england who publicly took lovers and overthrew their husbands and were only punished by house arest #btw gumina's not supposed to be 100% wrong all the time #some of the stuff she does is good and most of the opposition she faces is for bullshit reasons #it’s just.. bad things come from the vessels no matter the person #evillious chronicles #redlady speaks #lust arc #i'm going for this thing where the sins always have the same result for those who commit them #i.e. if the sinner died and the responder survived in the original story #then the responder (who is now the sinner) will live and the original sinner will die #only problem is i don't have nearly the level of inspiration for the other arcs that i have for this one

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