#and a confrontation w so many things that have been repressed in order to keep him from essentially killing himself tbh

[ilynpilled]

I feel like as the resident dishonor/honor guy enjoyer I have to speak on honor as a construct and how it seems to operate in asoiaf in my eyes. I will be stating the obvious here imo but: violence IS inherent to it. Be it directly or through the enablement of it. “Honor”, as a feudalistic moral construct, revolves around the reinforcement of a status quo. It is a moral construct that is embedded into a feudalistic structure, one that is inherently violent. It can be deeply flawed and destructive as a result of deeply rooted systemic issues. Being “honorable” is very complicated because, again, it does not exist based on a very sensible moral framework. It ends up contradicting itself because the way society is structured in Westeros.

Almost nothing embodies this more clearly than the KG. They are supposed to be the paragons of honor: an unsoiled white cloak.

Vows are social contracts this society is built on. This is why Jaime is very restricted in a lot of ways in his world by his label. Breaking one of the most important contracts (one that happens to be key in reinforcing a feudalistic structure: it places the king’s will above every single other moral or ethical code) makes it so he is not believed or trusted and he is unable to operate properly within their society in a lot of circumstances, as we witness in his chapters. It is honorable to protect the weak and the innocent, but it is honorable to protect your king in all circumstances and reinforce a status quo. To obey your family and play your societal role. To obey laws, even if they are unjust. To keep your word, to be honest. Loyalty to a tyrant has to be inherently more honorable (especially in certain positions) to maintain this status quo, even though it contradicts other oaths and we know it is inherently immoral. Balancing values is the most interesting aspect of characters dealing with ‘honor’ and morality. Feudalism is what makes the honor system collapse. Honor itself can be a more vague concept, “the quality of knowing and doing what is morally right”, but the way it is defined and how it operates within this society is so fucked. The KG appear in the weirwood dream (mirroring the imagery of The Others, conflating the honorable white cloak with snow and cold and death.) “You swore to keep your king safe” “and the children as well.” Yeah, the innocent children of kingslanding as well, that would have burned to ash. It is honorable to save your king, to protect the weak, to save the children, to save the innocents of KG, to obey your father. He tells this to them in the dream, he explains his reasoning for killing Aerys, but they do not budge. That is what Jaime fears the most, the complete collapse of everything that holds meaning to him, heroism becoming undefinable with these conflicting moral codes, which is likely another huge part of him keeping it a secret. It is something he feels powerless against. The way things are prioritized is wrong. Morality becomes skewed. In Jaime’s mind the enemy and primary source of doom is this nonsensical moral construct that contradicts itself represented by institutions that make no sense. It is what makes his symbolic fire go out. His moral code conflicts with this society’s code of ethics, which eventually leads him to cynically accept amorality. It is disillusionment that tears the idea of heroism and being “honorable” apart and leads to moral nihilism.

Another aspect of the honor code and its violence is the fact that it places more value to individuals based on class. It is dependent on class and a flawed social structure. This is despite the fact that vows of knighthood call for the protection of those that are too weak to protect themselves: the underprivileged. Jaime keeps having this epiphany of an inherent equality in death that seems to contradict the way society is structured. Aerys’ life is worth inherently more according to the honor code than Rhaella’s, than the lives of thousands of innocents, than Jaime’s. Yet, a lowborn hand, no one, seems to die harder than Aerys does (and nobody cares). A crown is worth nothing when crows feast on victors and vanquished alike, and the rightful heir himself. We are all equal in death, so the text is indicating that something is not right here.

When it comes to characters and their relationship with honor the important through-line is examining whether they are being “honorable” in the abstract sense, if they base their actions around empathy and a sense of actual justice, or if they are abiding by made up flawed constructs. Being viewed as honorable by this society does not make you a good person. In fact, in order for you to abide by the honor code you would likely have to turn into an amoral individual. For example, if you try to keep the cloak pure white you will metaphorically soil it. Like every one of Aerys’s kingsguard did. To keep their oath to the king, they broke vows to protect innocents and protect women. They should lose their honor by a lot of definitions, but that would mean the status quo collapses. Jaime’s knighting for this reason is very much like a boy being sacrificed at an altar. It is not just about drawing a parallel between young girls and boys being sentenced to bloody doom by violent constructs created for their gender.

“Blood is the seal of our devotion.” He bleeds on his plain white tunic. It was never “pure white”, it was always all tainted in blood. It is inherently violent. You can argue that is when “the boy died.”

Very rigid and hypocritical honor codes built for feudalism lack nuance and lead to amorality. I think George aims to address, interrogate, deconstruct, and then reconstruct honor, as with most other key concepts present in fantasy. Honor can be redefined. Examples like “No chance, and no choice”, among many others, are at the root of that reconstruction. Even then, the reconstruction does not conflate it with pacifism necessarily. For example, Chelsted did the ‘honorable’ thing, in the abstract moral sense, of quitting his job and not supporting a tyrant anymore, but that act achieved nothing in preventing the wildfire plot. Same with essentially everyone important at court abandoning the situation that is Aerys, turning away from a gaping wound and not addressing it before it was too late. Jaime had to soil the ‘white cloak’ and disrupt the status quo and lose his “honor” within those terms by murdering his king and his pyromancers as a kingsguard and actually save half a million lives. It was not glorious, nor was it anything like the songs, and the city is still doomed because there is no way to get that festering corruption out of there at this point, metaphorical of the greater problem with KG, but it was heroism, a choice with meaning, and a form of triumph, even if the consequences break Jaime down the line. He gets no answer to the question of what it means to be a knight and a man of honor if society’s version of it is so skewed. Then, Jaime and the readers get an answer in the form of Brienne: “I dreamed of you.”

[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt.6

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

↳ (4.3k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, graphic depictions of violence and blood

gif credit.

➟ Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, January 26 

The sound of birds chirping is the first thing you hear in the morning. 

You slowly rise from the bed and rub your swollen eyes, a low yawn escaping your lips in the process. Blinking a mere couple of times, your vision slowly falls back into focus and you glance around a bit bewildered. 

It’s almost like there’s a haze over your mind, contentment gracing you in the form of absolute vigor. Your shoulders feel lighter, and there’s no rapid racing of your heart, your regular pace of breathing leaving your lungs. 

Your pupils suddenly twinkle and you whip around, only to be met with a bed that is half empty. 

A sharp pang of disappointment instantly washes over you. 

“Miss Y/N?” 

Your head raises to the foreign sight of someone leaning down, staring down at you intently. You nearly stagger back, alarmed from the intrusion. 

“I-I didn’t mean to startle you!” She hurriedly assures. You recall seeing her while Namjoon was talking to the company’s shareholders, remembering his inquiry about hiring a new maid. 

“It’s alright.” You clear your throat, attempting to conceal your dismay. Unfortunately, it appears that you seem to be doing a terrible job at it. 

“Master Kim left early this morning because of an urgent matter.” She clarifies right away, noticing the way it brings light to your eyes. Softly smiling, she continues, “He requested I stay here with you to make sure you were feeling alright.” 

You slowly nod, “I understand.... But I’d like to be left alone for a while.” 

Peering up to see her expression, she shakes her head right away, granting you with some privacy. The moment the door is closed on her way out, you squeeze your eyes shut. 

A heavy sigh leaves your lips and you rise from the bed, moving your belongings around as you fish out for a familiar plastic box. 

***

Even though your stomach churns and a bitter taste lingers in your mouth, you force your hands to keep drumming against the plastic, responding to the spurts of static it lets out. You’ve forgotten how many times you’ve fisted your hair in the process, leaks of more and more information involuntarily leaving you. 

You’re near the end of your message relay, desperate for it to be over already. However, that’s when a certain line of static comes through, your eyes widening dramatically. 

W-What? 

A heavy knock pounds against the plastic and your pupils dart around manically, stance freezing up as you wait for the response. 

The same static pattern resonates through. 

“N-No…” You whisper. It has to be a mistake, it has to be.

But regardless, you need to know more. A series of frantic knocks resonate through the room, only for a chain of static to come through immediately. Before you have the chance to relay something back in exchange, it abruptly cuts off and despair spreads through your features. 

You weren’t given an option. 

You were given an order. 

Legs quivering as your rise, a set of instructions repeat themselves over and over again in your mind like a vicious loop. Walking aimlessly like on autopilot, you scavenge through your clothes before locating a particular suitcase you had brought in prior to moving. It was one piece of luggage that you didn’t get the luxury of packing yourself, thrust into your hands instead. 

Fumbling around with the handful of zippers and pockets, your hands roam around until they feel a sharp prick. Your breath instantly hitches and once you unzip the compartment, the cool metal meets your fingertips instantly. 

Carefully taking it out, your eyes transfixed with horror onto the gun resting within the palm of your hand. Swallowing hard, you slowly rise to your feet and take a step back. 

Stopping right at the corner of the bed, your orbs oscillate as they land right on top of the opposite side from your own.

You tear your eyes away, a harsh gasp leaving your lips. That’s when the shining and translucent object catches your line of vision and you hesitantly step forward towards the dresser, confronted with the sight of your own reflection. 

Your complexion is extremely pale, small dark bags lining the bottom of your orbs and a sickly tint coating your lips. It dawns upon you how much the lack of sleep and being constantly on edge have morphed you into something you’re not accustomed to seeing, but once your gaze flickers up to your eyes, you freeze. 

The mirror surprisingly reflects something there that you haven’t seen there for quite some time, something that was snatched away from you the moment you took on this grave task. 

Why...why do you look so doubtful? It’s like‒ 

You swallow hard, hands tightening into fists. 

It’s almost like you don’t want to do it. 

The gun in your hand feels far too heavy, like it’s weight had tripled the moment you wrapped your fingers around it. The remorse flickering  in your ears is far too obvious, drowning within the confines of your muted apathy. 

Your eyes drop down, lips beginning to tremble. The bulky gun is gripped tightly within your hand and unconsciously, a lone tear slips down from your eye. 

***

A tart meets your lips, softly chewing on the crumbling structure. 

You're seated at the table where you first had dinner with Namjoon and his family, but this time around the new maid had relentlessly insisted you eat something and sat you down alone with a buffet in front of you. 

You wonder if it’s because she can see how pale you look, or the fatigue running deep in your eyes. 

Taking another bite, the maid hurriedly scurries and brings another platter, a soft smile on her lips as she places it within your reach. You don’t return the response, in fact you don’t move in the slightest as you chew down on the tart, functioning more like you were programmed on command than anything. 

The only time light actually flickers within your orbs, is when the entrance door opens and you catch sight of your husband. 

You instantly rise from your seat as Namjoon walks by, appearing to be lost in deep thought as he begins to head straight up the stairs, only halting when the maid stops him in his tracks. He looks confused for a moment, but after she converses with him you notice his eyes flicker over in your direction, and instantly his feet take him towards you. 

“You’re having lunch?” He questions, seating himself down on the opposite end of the table. 

You nod, “I was told you had something urgent to attend?” 

“Ah,” Namjoon says, exhaustion evident on his features, “Some of the policemen wanted to talk about the case and I’ve been helping them with the investigation.” 

Your jaw instantly tightens, but then you nod, waiting for him to continue. A brief silence dips through instead and it surprises you, looking up to see Namjoon frowning. 

“What is it?” 

A deep sigh leaves him, “Y/N...I‒” His features twist up as he winces, “E-Eunjoo….we’ve found evidence that she may have been killed too....” 

Namjoon grimaces again, nearly whispering, “They found her corpse…” 

“I-I see….” The food in front of you suddenly seems utterly stale, the appetite you convinced yourself of vanishing entirely. 

The maid eventually comes over and asks Namjoon if he wants anything to eat, to which he just replies that he’s eaten prior to returning back home. You decide to take the exchange as an opportunity to excuse yourself, leaving your lunch behind as you head back to your room. 

In the midst of your actions, a hand wraps around your wrist and halts you. 

“Y/N.” 

“Are...” Namjoon hesitates, “Are you okay?” 

Fear immediately dwindles in you, “W-Why are you asking?” 

“Well,” He lets go of your hand, “You and Eunjoo became close, hearing that she’s gone now….are you okay?”

His desperate eyes fall upon you and for a split second, you repress the urge to let all the tears burst out. The only matter of action you can do is simply nod, looking away from his heavy gaze. 

However, your response doesn’t seem to convince Namjoon completely of its integrity. He laces his fingers with yours and suddenly rushes, heading up the stairs as he brings you along with him. His urgency baffles you, but nonetheless, you still follow closely behind. 

Namjoon leads you into the bedroom, your body stilling when he tells you to face the same hanging mirror you were just scrutinizing prior to eating.  

“Close your eyes.” He requests and although you find it quite strange, you oblige without hesitation. 

An ice cold sensation touches your skin, right below your neck. 

“You can open them now.” Namjoon whispers, his voice coming through the shell of your ear. 

The moment you flutter them open, the sight before you has your eyes widening. 

You stand right in front of the mirror, your reflection from waist up showcasing on the glass. Namjoon stands directly behind you, his hands coming around your shoulders to display the shining object that lies within them. 

It’s an amethyst necklace, a simple purple pendant held together with a silver chain that Namjoon is carefully plucking. You cautiously touch the centre, letting your fingertips glide over the fine jewel in astonishment. 

“Namjoon…” You whisper, a soft smile tugging on the corner of your mouth. 

“I bought it a while ago.” He sheepishly explains, loosening his grip of the necklace and taking a step back, “I didn’t know if you would like it, but I thought it could possibly have the power to bring a smile to your lips.” 

His words overwhelm you, rending you completely speechless. 

Seesawing on his heels, he seems to pause for a second, his eyes flickering. 

“C-Can I…?” 

Namjoon looks at you as if encouraging you to decline if you wish to do so, but it manages to elicit a sad smile to line your lips. You swallow hard, nodding in response. 

His eyes instantly beam and he hurriedly stands behind you once again, carefully gliding the metal against your skin until it sits right. As Namjoon attempts to connect it at the back, your line of vision lands upon the mirror, taking in the image before you. 

There’s no doubt the pendant is extremely beautiful ‒ but what your eyes fixate on more is how it practically glimmers on you, managing to bring the glow back to your tired and sickly features. 

Namjoon suddenly shifts, choosing to stand beside you as he quickly ensures that the chain is truly in place and will remain connected. The gesture results in your eyes swaying, moving from the pendant to him. 

The way he stands almost reminds you of the day you got married, how he was before you appearing absolutely regal and dignified. At the time, you had no sense of what you were exactly getting yourself into, essentially thrust into a life that was plotted and planned for from the start. 

And in the midst of it all, the man standing with you was someone you were meant to be careful of, to keep an precise eye out for his actions and to monitor them as closely as possible, all with the poise of being a wife.

But you were never prepared for any of this, prepared to find yourself admiring the warmth that easily spreads within his eyes, or the way he tenderly speaks to you, the strict premise of observing him becoming muddled with something else. 

The image of a gun suddenly flashes by your eyes, making your shoulders tense. 

Namjoon takes a step back and gazes at you, his mouth curving into a smile. 

“You look beautiful.” He softly says, and your head snaps up, eyes connecting right away with his. 

In that one single second, you truly wonder about it for the first time. You wonder if Kim Namjoon is truly as innocent as you ‒ a simplistic tool made for others to use.

***

It’s difficult for you to spend the remainder of the day without your eyes swaying over to the purple gem that sits at the base of your throat, but after a while you wonder if you’re simply doing it out of remorse. 

A deep sigh leaves your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head slightly. 

Namjoon suddenly enters the room, appearing frantic. At your concerned gaze, he simply smiles. 

“There’s an urgent meeting I have to attend with the shareholders,” He quickly says, grabbing onto a bag from the corner of the living room, “I should be back soon.” 

Namjoon casually throws the words into the air, as if they were nothing to be overly worried about. But he doesn’t see how your eyes are shell-shocked, jaw falling slack as blood drains from your features. 

As he steps to move out the front door, your hand abruptly clasps around his wrist. 

Namjoon turns around right away, amidst being puzzled with the sudden hold. However, that’s when his eyes flicker up to yours and for once, there’s no mask concealing your true expression. 

“Y/N…?” Namjoon hesitantly asks, stepping forward. The moment he does, you step back, letting go of his hand swiftly with a strained chuckle. 

“S-Sorry…” You instantly look away, but Namjoon doesn’t budge in the slightest. He instead chooses to hold onto your hand again, looking straight into your averted eyes. 

“I’ll be back soon, Y/N...you don’t have to worry…” He whispers, and it takes every fiber of your being not to spill everything right then and there, head stagnantly nodding. 

“I-I understand.” You manage to sputter out, mentally reprimanding yourself. 

You can’t hesitate ‒ you’re not allowed to hesitate. You can’t feel emotions like these, emotions like you need him.... 

You’re a spy, Y/N. 

As if instinct, the mask begins to form once again. Your eyes turn brighter, and a smile begins to line your lips swiftly, nowhere near the verge of collapsing like seconds ago. 

You glance up, prepared to let go, “Namjoon, I‒” 

Your breath immediately hitches and you freeze in place, eyes rapidly darting around. 

Namjoon keeps his arms around your torso, hands resting on your back and his chin propped up on your shoulder. He embraces you tightly and unconsciously, a speck of tears begin to dampen your eyes. 

For a moment, your lids flutter shut and you savour the gesture, entwining your arms around him. 

When your eyes finally open, they can only focus on the palm of your hands ‒ flesh that has been constantly painted and coated in red with no end in sight. 

Letting out a deep sigh, you part from him. 

Namjoon is still gazing at you, eyes boring into your own. His hand rises up, thumb swiping away the tears that line your cheeks.  

It’s at that moment you recognize their appearance and fumble to wipe the rest away, a strained smile slipping from your lips. You’re scrambling at what to say with him, no coherent words being able to surface at the tip of your tongue. 

But what you fail to see in that single second, is how Namjoon’s eyes instantly perk up and how he immediately pulls you towards him. 

“Y/N!” 

Everything happens with a flash. At one point in time, Namjoon is caressing your face within his hands, softly smiling at you. Another split second later, he’s collapsed onto the ground, completely knocked out. 

Your heart beats viciously as you quickly kneel down beside him and glance up, not picking up on the individual outside that has been particularly eyeing the two of you right as you stopped Namjoon from leaving. 

A mask covers the stranger’s features, but you hear the sound of a low ‘tick’ and notice that his eyes are glued to Namjoon’s fallen form, giving you a hunch of where and in who his intention lies with. 

Before you have the chance to do anything ‒ alert someone in the household or stay and figure out what the stranger would want with Namjoon, a sharp jab lands at the back of your head and you grimace, falling unconscious within seconds. 

***

Droplets of water fall down from the ceiling. 

Your throat burns like it’s on fire, a scorching sensation that makes seem as if you haven’t had a drink of water in days. Locks of your hair are dripping with sweat, and your vision is foggy, barely able to see through the dim lighting of the room. 

Letting out a cough and then a groan, you squeeze your eyes shut before opening them fully, squinting to to focus in on your surroundings. The room is still dark, but there’s a faint light in the corner that allows you to make out the outlines of the silhouettes in front of you. 

Namjoon is stationed on a chair, his hands out of sight and pushed behind him. He appears to be still unconscious, his eyelids drooping down. 

You peer down, discovering that you’re in the same state as him ‒ confined to a chair with the unsettling feeling of something beginning to deeply cut through your wrists. Attempting to experiment, you give a slight tug and immediately a sharp pain shoots through your hands. It gives you a strong indication of what’s pinning you down, especially when your fingertips glide over the prickly thick material. 

“You idiot! Why did you bring her too?!” 

A loud and gritty voice suddenly shouts, causing you to wince, “She was with him when I knocked him out! What else was I supposed to do?!” 

There’s a sound of resentment from the first individual before silence dips, and you take it upon yourself to quickly figure your way out of your confinement. You tug against the bindings roughly, ignoring the prickly sensation that stabs into your skin and brings tears into your eyes. Repeating the gesture, you can only hope that the bristly rope will begin to loosen. 

But that’s when your harsh movements result in your chair shifting. 

One of them snaps their head up immediately, treading in your direction. His heavy steps, coupled with his gritty voice that you heard, causes you to stiffen. Once he approaches you, you notice that his black attire conveniently seals him away from your prying eyes. 

He grabs the back of your chair and immediately your breath hitches. As you glance up and your heart palpitates rapidly, you attempt to think of a way out, anything that could help you get out of this situation. 

Your flickering eyes meet Namjoon’s chair, only to discover in relief at his slow stirring, blinking his eyes and attempting to squint through the poor lighting of the room.  

The second individual approaches, “So what do we do? Kill them both?” 

“Of course we kill them both! What other option is there?!” 

Abruptly a fistful of your hair is tugged up from behind. A hiss leaves your lips, but it’s not long before a cold piece of metal is pressed against your scalp. 

From your frontal view, you notice the first man walks over and does the same thing to Namjoon as he grimaces. 

“Wait.” 

The second man holding a gun to your head looks up, appearing confused. Your eyes frantically follow his field of vision across, noticing the first man to be smirking. 

“Untie her.” 

“What?” 

“Just do it!” 

He obliges, loosening the rope from your hands until it drops down. He tightly keeps a hold around your wrists as a form of constriction, before glancing back up for further instructions. 

A gun is tossed over in his direction. 

He catches it immediately, appearing even more puzzled, “What’s this for?” 

The first man’s grin grows wider. “We’re going to have her kill him.” 

“What? Why?”

The first man leaves Namjoon, striding over to your side. He takes the gun he’s tossed onto the ground, shoving it straight into your hands as you reluctantly accept it. 

“She’s an add on,” He smiles, “and the perfect way we can cover up our tracks.” 

Something gleams within his partner’s eyes, a sickening smile stretching over his lips and showcasing his pearl teeth to you. It elicits shivers to run down your spine and their next statement makes your stomach churn. 

“After this, we’ll just discard her somewhere.” 

Their conversation is abruptly cut off as they redirect their attention back to you, forcibly lining your gun wielding arm towards Namjoon, resulting in your eyes suddenly coming into contact with his wide ones. 

They reflect your own, spelling out one message that you can read so clearly. 

There’s terror in his eyes.

A soft click sounds from your left side and you look over to discover the first man keeping a gun right next to your head. 

“Now, if you don’t want to die yourself.” He obscenely grins, “Shoot him.” 

Colour drains from your features, your hands beginning to uncontrollably tremble. 

The baneful thoughts begin to slip in too easily.

One bullet. 

One bullet, and this all will be over. 

Your next mission will be finally complete. 

All it would take…..

Is just one bullet. 

“Are you deaf?!” The man screams into your ear, “I said shoot him!” 

The gun digs harder into your scalp, making you jolt and wince at the same time. 

Namjoon isn’t looking at you. His gaze has drifted over to the ground, his head lowered. 

Your heart viciously pounds against your ribcage and unknown to you, hot tears have begun to roll down the corner of your eyes. 

“SHOOT HIM!” 

“I CAN’T!” 

Your chest heaves, vision blurring before your voice comes out as a soft sob, “I-I just c-can’t…” 

“Y/N.” 

The soft call of your name results in your head snapping, eyes immediately coming into contact with Namjoon’s. His eyes have become glossy and the sight of a sad smile lining his lips makes your chest constrict. 

“Y/N...it’s okay.” He whispers, his words serving to only increase the tightening of your chest. He briefly looks down at the ground, before raising his head to meet your gaze again. You can clearly notice the water shimmering within his eyes and as he speaks, his voice cracks. 

“J-Just‒….just complete your mission.” 

Your breathing stops. 

The longer he stares at you, the more it feels as if your knees are about to give out. 

You still point a gun in his direction, but it’s accompanied with broken words, your voice barely coming out as a whisper. 

“Y-You knew….” 

Before you have the chance to say anything else, a hand grabs onto your wrist and snatches the gun away from you. 

“Just kill them both already!” 

Life suddenly enters your eyes again and with a grunt, your hand comes into direct contact with your kidnapper’s face. He stumbles back instantly, allowing you to quickly snag the gun and point it in his direction. 

He freezes, glancing at his partner that holds Namjoon at gunpoint. 

His partner snarls at you, “Let go of him!”

Your cold eyes don’t budge in the slightest, “Not a chance.” 

Namjoon remains completely still, his eyes flickering over to you. 

There’s a voice inside your head that is screaming. Telling you to turn back. Begging you to come back to your senses. 

The mission will be compromised. 

He will be able to kill you. 

You will be destroyed. 

But this time, you fight back with just as much vigor. 

Then so be it. 

Your hand instantly whips around, aiming for the man that is pointing his gun at Namjoon. 

Your bullet punctures right into his neck. 

Blood splatters onto the floor and leaks alarmingly from his mouth as he crumbles to the ground. However, he doesn’t loosen his firm hold on Namjoon’s suit and that’s when you rush over, wrenching his hand off and leaving him to submerge within a pool of his own blood. 

You hurriedly bend down and undo the bindings on Namjoon’s hands, a sound of dismay leaving you when you notice his partner nowhere in sight. The moment Namjoon is free and he turns around, you immediately leap forward and hug him with a sigh of relief. 

“Are you okay?” 

Namjoon stares at you with a mixture of utter shock and bewilderment. Nonetheless, you still grab onto his hand, getting him to rise up from the ground. 

“Come on, we have to get out of here!” 

You quickly head out of the room with Namjoon trailing behind you, making sure to keep a firm hold on the gun in your hands. At one point the infrastructure and lack of light begins to confuse you on locating the exit, but Namjoon suddenly speeds up, taking the lead and guiding you instead. 

The view of a thick steel door with light attempting to pool inside greets you and you exponentially increase your speed. 

Suddenly your hold slips from Namjoon’s grasp and you slam against the ground harshly. 

“Y/N!” 

You can feel the sensation of fingers wrapping around your leg, turning around to see the man’s partner tight grip rendering you immobile. You attempt to shake him off, but his grip only tightens in retaliation. 

The next couple of seconds is a complete blur to you. You can barely pick up on the way Namjoon swiftly reaches out, landing a forceful punch right against the man’s nose before grabbing and securing his hand within yours again. 

He tugs you up right away, “Come on!” 

Scrambling to your feet, you briefly look behind you, eyes widening in astonishment as to how the man’s partner is currently writhing on the ground, holding his nose in pain as copious amounts of blood drips down his knuckles. 

Turning around, both of you make it to the exit and Namjoon roughly pushes against it with his shoulder. 

You escape into the light.

[crimsonandcloverwrites]

ok bhah ch1 reread thought dump lets goooo

@youngbloodbuzz  @romanitwontletmetagyouuuu??? thank u for writing this. in return I gift u this lightly unhinged commentary

oh the opening quote “Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home?” violence

lmao ok I started this ages ago and then got distracted for a week because that’s just who I am as a person lets try that again

eddie n his glowing glasses nice we love a canon nod

ok I remember getting really emotional reading the chapter where Dani’s car died bc of what it represented to her n now I’m being reminded of it all again with the ‘poor little car’ comment oh dear we’re like 2 paragraphs in and I’m already compromised

the wavering reflection in the water in her hands..... Dani posessed by the ghost of comphet..... I am Drawing Conclusions

eddie “we can hang out more” dani “aha wouldn’t that be neat”

god the prom photo... remembering Dani’s meltdown at the prom bc she missed Jamie... I’m dying Jack I’m dying

lil palm kiss... I know u will not ever love hm that way Dani but fuck I’m a sucker for a palm kiss

lil nerd ass w her folder tabs I love her

god the tone of this is so comforting like I can just hang out n imagine each scene progressing so naturally. wish I did not have to suffer emotionally at the same time but at least it’s a smooth read

Dani feeling like an invader amongst all the physical representations of her relationship w eddie BABY U DON’T HAVE TO LIVE THIS WAY STOP LETTING OTHER PEOPLE INFLUENCE UR LIFE AND RUIN UR HAPPINESS

“Hannah Grose, seamlessly elegant” yes

Hannah: congrats on ur engagement. Dani, with tears in her eyes: thank

Dani relaxing when they’re talking about teaching pls I love her love for it so much

Dani at the blackboard with the “Miss, Ms?” confusion now I am thinking about the Ted Moseby professor/proffessor scene. HIMYM my beloved

mikeyyyy my boy

the image of Dani w chalk dust on her skirt is v endearing.

oooh the library trip gay foreshadowing yes

wait the silver stars on his backpack......... cup of stars crying time

Mikey correcting her on his name when she was the one to give him the nickname in the first place... feeling some kind of way

Dani fostering the talents she sees in her kids is so sweet and mikey shy lil math genuis is also so sweet pls i love this duo

i do wonder if part of her is like I know a Mikey Taylor but I literally refuse to believe it is the same one bc his sister broke my heart and we are absolutely not in the business of confronting hard feelings in this house!!

keys on a lanyard... ok lesbian

“You’re still here?” the love I have for canon lines being used when I can hear them being said in my head

awww bonding over Wonder Woman. cute!!!! When Dani becomes Mikey’s official second mum (everyone be quiet I am manifesting) my heart will explode

eddie ur really just gonna rock up and toot at her. jail for 1000 years

ooohhh Dani is Realising who the sister is. honey you got a big storm comin. oof (the ‘wonder woman punching stars out of her foes” to “dani feeling like she’s just recieved a blow to the ribs.” the cinnamontography). aw baby :(

“Jamie. Jamie, here. Jamie, home.” please i am thinking about her last letter and I am not strong enough

“Somehow Eddie didn’t notice.” sum up a relationship in a sentence

“Jamie would appear, as if summoned by the gravity of Dani’s pounding heart” fuck this hits on so many levels I need to go think about my life for 45mins

CARSON MY BOY. in his studded leather. a fashionable gay never loses.

I looove how soft n caring Dani n Carson are with each other thank gods she has him.

DID WE EVER FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN CARSON AND JASON MY SPIDEY SENSES ARE STILL TINGLING FROM READING THIS THE FIRST TIME

god this post is already so long n I’m only halfway through why do I have so many silly thoughts

god just the... expectations of affection from her by eddie w that placating cheek kiss she gives him is like... I cannot imagine Jamie ever asking that from her in the same way even when they are in a relationship!!! and it’s not even wrong of him to do that??? but it’s just a lot to think about the kind of person Dani makes herself to be to stay with him vs the kind of person Jamie lets her be by not expecting anything of her. they’re such opposites

dani not even feeling at home in her own (former) home pls when is she going to find a soft place to land (it’s also making me think v hard about the title like... the haunting of Dani and Jamie’s relationship (and what that represents for Dani) on Dani’s whole life and Jamie coming home and bringing that to Dani’s doorstep. resurecting a ghost so to speak........ too many homes to think about. I don’t know if I fully understand but I am Thinking)

dani and her inhaler... asthmatic bitches represent

oh my god not the box of memories. been trying to erase that from my own for weeks now let me live

ooh the line about her feeling like an archaeologist at the start of this section and then her ‘exhuming the past’ w the photos of her n Jamie i love a consistent narrative.

THE MIXTAPE. THE MIXTAPE. is there a playlist for this chapter I would like to take that aural journey

oh no i cannot remember where the flower comes from but aahhh this box of memories pain.

this description of carson in a tight white undershirt tucked into his jeans makes me think of freddie mercury. didn’t mean to make you cry etc

lmao Dani trying to get info from Judy abt Jamie in a roundabout way... international superspy she is not

Dani entirely uncomfy in church... i feel it. godd the repression of it all w the movie and the feelings and the Jamie-influence on the feelings my heart hurts.

God knowing how much Judy loves her but the weight of that love also stifling her... pain

they’ve really got her all shacked up w a house and a husband and a kid on the way can we let the girl be a lesbian in peace (also lowkey hoping Dani gets some time on her own at some point no Eddie no Jamie no weight of expectations pls she needs it we all need it)

the thread of Dani refusing to do things for herself in order to make other people happy throughout this entire piece hits so fucking close to home and is entirely heartbreaking to read thank you

jamiiiiieeeeeeeee

Jamie: appears. Dani: every single emotion all at once

Judy and her girls back together is v sweet even if Dani is dying inside at it all

“Jamie only had eyes for Dani.” Again, sum up a relationship in a sentence.

What do you even say to a girl who *the sky goes dark as i attempt to even summarise a fraction of their relationship*. Apparently the answer is “Jamie. Hi.”

TWO MONTHS JAMIE TAYLOR. CRIMES

It’s ahh. fairly entertaining to be going through Dani’s emotional journey alongside her and knowing that Jamie is also Going Through It on some level but having 0 insights to it bc she keeps her emotions so in check.

oooh how much of a gut punch is this engagement revelation for Jamie??? like on some level I’m sure she always knew this was coming but I’m sure another part of her still desperately hoped one day Dani would choose her. god I would kill for Jamie’s POV in this scene

Jamie’s scarrrr. Literally Dani’s impact

oh fucking hell that moment of like... familiarity and almost a coming home for Dani when Judy is talking and she meets Jamie’s eyes... she really was entirely screwed from that moment on huh.

oof god this is a hell of an opening chapter lets see if my attention span will let me continue this journey (also @ myself reminder to read this all in chronological order one day for a real nice session of emotional destruction)

[laurianos]

Prince’s Gambit - Chapter 19 *waggles eyebrows* Summary

@failes-xtra-bits

Quotes in bold. My comments, thoughts and dumb jokes in italics.

As we all know, this is the chapter where they do the sex. It was very hard not to include everything, but I have summarised and picked out some bits that I’d like to talk more about. Sorry lads, this is a long one, but I have many thoughts!

Before I start, I’d like to mention how interesting it is that the events of chapter 18 lead straight into this chapter.

Things might have turned out very differently if Jord had never interrupted the Lamen kiss on the battlements. In chapter 17, Laurent is calm and in a good mood after their victory. He accepts that he wants Damen and is willing to let himself have him, even just for one night. In chapter 17, every time Damen and Laurent speak, it’s as if they are in their own intimate bubble, everything around them is just a hazy blur, like time is on pause. The next morning they would have to face reality but just for one night they can forget it all and have each other.

Instead things take a big turn in chapter 18 and we now have Laurent in a foul mood. Old wounds have been reopened. While he is left alone, he has time to think. He is reminded of the abuse from his uncle and his brother’s death. The person he has come to trust and love is his brother’s killer. With all of that comes a mix of feelings. In his current situation, any wrong move could cost Laurent everything. The Regent plots against him, always seeming one step ahead. The pressure is on. He is no longer distracted by their earlier victory. Things feel very real again. When Damen and Laurent finally do sleep together, it’s not with the mood of chapter 17, it’s after a harsh reminder of pain and everything else that is at stake.

So with that in mind, here is the chapter 18 summary:

Damen is angry. He orders the section clear (again).

‘Are there orders for what should be done with the prisoners?

Throw Aimeric off the battlements. (XD) ‘Keep him confined in his rooms.’

‘Yes Captain.’

‘I want this whole section kept clear. And Guymar?’

‘Yes, Captain?’

‘This time, I want it actually kept clear. (I Love Damen’s Sass! XD) I don’t care who is about to get molested. No one is to come here. Is that understood?’...

He wanted to make a barrier that protected Laurent from anyone who would intrude on him. He’d keep that perimeter clear, if it meant stalking these battlements and patrolling it himself.

He knew this about Laurent. That once he gave himself time alone to think, the control returned, reason won out.

On Damen’s way out, he asks one of the guards to ‘Watch over the Prince,’ saying ‘Anything he needs, make certain he has it. Take care of him.’ and ‘He deserves your loyalty.’

Damen finally goes to ‘his’ room. He drains a cup of wine, unpins his Captain's badge, looks out the window and thinks.

...

Laurent enters the room. Damen realises who’s room he is standing in. Laurent steps forward.

...

Laurent said, ‘I know you’re planning to leave tomorrow. You’re going to cross the border, and you’re not going to come back. Say it.’

‘I-’

‘Say it.’

‘I’m going to leave tomorrow,’ said Damen, as steadily as he could. ‘I’m not going to come back.’ He drew in a breath that hurt his chest. ‘Laurent-’

‘No, I don’t care. Tomorrow you leave. But you’re mine now. You’re still my slave tonight.’ (Laurent probably thinks, if he can just have this for one night and have it over with, hopefully the feelings will go away and he can return to ‘normal’ afterwards.)

Laurent pushes Damen onto the bed.

‘I-don’t-’

‘I think you do,’ said Laurent

Laurent starts to undress Damen.

‘What are you doing?’ Damen’s breath was shaky.

‘What am I doing? You are not very observant.’

‘You’re not yourself,’ said Damen. ‘And even if you were, you don’t do anything without a dozen motives.’

Laurent went very still, the soft words half bitter. ‘Don’t I? I must want something.’ (I wonder if Laurent gets sick of people making assumptions about his character. Probably. He was clearly irritated by something Damen said. Perhaps because this is the one time he has no motivation. He is with Damen purely because he wants to be. In fact I’m sure he’d rather he didn't want Damen at all but he couldn’t help himself.)

‘Laurent, he said.

‘You take liberties,’ said Laurent. ‘I never gave you permission to call me by my name.’

‘Your Highness,’ said Damen, and the words twisted, wrong in his mouth. (I’d just like to mention that Pacat once said she likes the idea of Damen calling Laurent ,‘Your Highness’, in bed XD) He needed to say, Don’t do this. But he couldn’t think past Laurent, improbably close. (I think Damen is in disbelief but also torn. He wants this so badly but wonders if this is what Laurent really wants, and if he’s in the right mood to be making this decision) ... 

‘I don’t think you want me. I think you just want me to feel this.’

‘Then, feel it,’ said Laurent.

Laurent continues to undress Damen, unlacing his trousers.

‘I see you are everywhere in proportion.’ XD

Laurent proceeds to give Damen a hand job.

The grip felt more like ownership than a caress...

The rise and fall of Laurent’s hand was like the slide of Laurent’s words, like every frustrating argument that they’d ever had, stymied, tangled up in Laurent’s voice. He could feel the tension in Laurent, sharp like the feel of his own heartbeats. Laurent held his former mood within him, constrained, and converted into something else.

...

Laurent said, ‘Adequate.’ XD 

One of my favourite things about this chapter, is how it didn't quite go the way I thought it would. We all knew Damen and Laurent would eventually sleep together, but I didn’t think it would be like this. The start isn’t so much of a surprise. Laurent’s mood from chapter 18 carries on into this one. I expected angst, and we got some. 

But this is when it changes. It’s slow and tender and full of emotion. We see Laurent’s vulnerabilities and hesitation. This is why I love it so much. It’s not just sex for the sake of sex. Fine, yes, we get all the juicy details (and I’m certainly not complaining about that 😏) you would expect to find in a smut chapter, BUT, it’s so much more than than that. There is actual character and relationship development. It is the most open and honest the two have been with each other so far. It was the moment we were all waiting for and it did not disappoint.

Damen said, ‘Kiss me.’...

He had pushed himself up, so that his body made a curve, the planes of his abdomen shifting. Laurent’s gaze splayed out instinctively over him (Laurent be checking him out like 👀), then lifted to his own...

He could feel the desperate urge for retreat. He could feel something else too, Laurent keeping himself apart, as though, this act being finished, he had no template for what to do.

With Laurent finished (or rather, Damen finished XD), it releases some of the tension from earlier and Laurent’s bad mood seems to have disappeared. He is no longer acting on impulse driven by mixed emotions. He can’t hide behind anger any longer. He is forced to experience it all and confront his own feelings with his guard lowered.

‘Kiss me,’ he said again.

They kiss. Then Damen draws back and kisses Laurent on the neck.

It was not what Laurent had expected. He felt the slight shock of Laurent’s surprise, and the way Laurent held himself, as though confused as to why Damen wished to do this (poor boy is affection starved 😭)

They kiss again deeply.

Damen starts to undress Laurent. 

He thought of the servant he had seen attending Laurent earlier, how much he had disliked it. (Jealous boi 😛)

Damen removes Laurent’s jacket and shirt. He sees that Laurent is aroused.

Laurent said, ‘Did you think I was made of stone?’

He couldn’t stop the rush of pleasure he felt at that, said, ‘Nothing you don’t want.’

‘You think I don’t want it?’

...

Laurent pushes Damen back with his boot, and Damen removes it. 

They kiss again and Damen starts unlacing Laurent’s trousers, removing them.

Damen gives Laurent head.

For all his seeming experience, Laurent reacted like an innocent to this pleasure. He let out a soft shocked sound...

.... Laurent’s slight, helpless shifts and pushes, the quality of his surprise, and the hard act of repression that followed, as Laurent tried to even out his breathing...

Damen could feel Laurent’s cycle of reaction and repression beneath him, as impetus gathered, building in the lines of Laurent’s body.

And felt it stymied. As rhythm built, Laurent’s body locked down, his responses repressed... Laurent, out on the shattered edge of pleasure, was holding himself back from climax by sheer force of his impossible will...

After a long moment Laurent said, with painful honesty, ‘I... find it difficult to let go of control.’

‘No kidding,’ said Damen XD

...

The words fell into a stillness between them. Laurent’s breathing was shallow, and his cheeks were flushed as he closed his eyes, as though he wanted to block out the world. (He desperately wants to forget all his conflicting thoughts so he can just feel and experience this moment.)

‘I want,’ said Laurent, ‘I want it to be simple.’

‘Turn over,’ said Damen...

Laurent closed his eyes again, as if in decision. Then he acted.

Laurent turns over onto his front. (Damen is not prepared and dies slightly from shock.)

He felt nervous suddenly, green, as he hadn’t felt since he was thirteen - uncertain of what lay on the other side of this moment, and wanting to be worthy of it.

Damen mentions how tense Laurent seems. He turns Laurent over again to face him.

‘... a desperate irritation that overlay something else... For all his bizarre nervy tension, Laurent was indisputably eager, physically...

‘Contrary, aren’t you,’ said Damen softly, thumbing over Laurent’s cheek.

‘Fuck me,’ said Laurent.

‘I want to,’ said Damen. ‘Can you let me?’...

The idea of being fucked very clearly had Laurent out of his mind, as desire competed with some sort of convoluted mental objection that really needed, Damen thought, to be dispensed with...

DAMEN!!! How do you not know?!!! How have you not picked up on what could be wrong?! gaaahhh! ... *sigh* BUT I will put my frustrations for oblivious Damen aside. Pacat does mention she felt it had to be that way, that Damen shouldn’t know.

‘I am letting you,’ said Laurent, the terse words pushing out. ‘Will you get on with it?’...

In Laurent’s eyes, impatience and tension overlay something unexpectedly young and vulnerable. Damen’s heart felt exposed, outside of his chest.

...

A wild vial appears.

He could look nowhere but at Laurent, both of them here with nothing between them, and Laurent allowing it...

It was intensely private...

The reality of it was different; Laurent was different. Damen had never thought it could be like this, soft and quiet and acutely personal.

...

Let the sex commence!

...

You’re mine, he wanted to say, and couldn’t. Laurent didn’t belong to him; this was something he could have only once. (*sniff* cri! 😢) ...

To get what you want, you have to know exactly how much you are willing to give up. (*sobbing* 😭)

Never had he wanted something this badly, and held it in his hands knowing that tomorrow it would be gone, traded for the high cliffs of Ios, and the uncertain future across the border, the chance to stand before his brother, to ask him for all the answers that no longer seemed so important. A kingdom, or this. (*ugly crying* 😩 *balling eyes out* 😭😭)

...

Climax. End.

[sugarqvills]

links: pinterest, bio

BASICS

FULL NAME: Emmeline Asteria Vance PRONUNCIATION: Emmeline  Asteria  Vance MEANING: Emmeline ( Germanic - Work; French - Industrious, Hardworking; Latin - Little Rival ), Asteria ( Latin - Star ), Vance ( English - Fen, Marsh ) REASONING: Emmeline’s given name comes from her her paternal grandmother. Her middle name sprung from her mother’s once-great love for Greek mythology. NICKNAME(S): Emme, Vance. BIRTH DATE: 24 December - 12:32 PM AGE: Nineteen ZODIAC: Capricorn Sun, Libra Moon, Aries Rising

Capricorn is the tenth sign of the zodiac and governs the bones, joints, and knees. Positive traits include pragmatism, maturity, patience, determination, awareness, a strong work ethic, realism, discipline, money management, the willingness to overcome hard luck, leadership, initiative, opportunism, prudence, and cunning. Negative traits include pessimism, melancholy, emotional coldness, manipulation, obsession with work and ambitions to the detriment of personal development, remoteness, and materialistic snobbery.

The traits emphasized here will be ambition, determination, discipline, and pragmatism. You can’t make that castle in the sky if you don’t build a solid foundation under it, and Capricorns excel at building foundations. (Actually, they excel at planning the foundations and directing others to do the grunt labour. It’s not that they’re afraid to get their hands dirty, but large work usually requires delegation and a staff, and Capricorns are managers more often than not.) While not flamboyant or showy about it, Capricorns still tend to be obsessive overachievers, a common trait in House Slytherin. Too, wizards born under the sign of Capricorn are good at being discreet, secretive, and diplomatic; whereas the Libra’s diplomacy is based on charm and a desire for harmony, the Capricorn’s diplomacy is based on the knowledge that being on good terms with people is extremely useful in getting one’s way or finding out sensitive information. These also are traits commonly associated with House Slytherin. They might not be sexy traits, but they’re very handy.

GENDER: Cisgender Female PRONOUNS: She/Her ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Panromantic. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Demisexual. NATIONALITY: Irish ETHNICITY: White

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: Athenry, Ireland HOMETOWN: Athenry, Ireland SOCIAL CLASS: Upper Class EDUCATION LEVEL: Hogwarts, sixth year HOUSE: Slytherin FATHER: Oliver Vance, 56, Former Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office ( DECEASED ) MOTHER: Rosalyn Vance neé Rowle, 54, Former Member of the Wizengamot ( DECEASED ) SIBLING(S): None. EXTENDED FAMILY: Constance Vance, 86 ( paternal grandmother ) BIRTH ORDER: Only child. PET(S): Pawcrates - six year old black cat.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: 6/10 OFFENSE: 8.5/10 DEFENSE: 9/10 SPEED: 8/10 INTELLIGENCE: 9/10 ACCURACY: 9/10 AGILITY: 8/10 STAMINA: 8/10 TEAMWORK: While Emmeline is capable of doing well with a group, she prefers to work on her own. She’ll help where she can, but would far prefer if she were left to her own devices. TALENTS: Dueling. Critical thinking. Planning. Drinking at least one entire bottle of wine by herself in a single sitting. SHORTCOMINGS: Unhealthy coping mechanisms. Emotionally repressive. Doesn’t let others in easily. Negative thinking. LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: English, Irish Gaelic, Latin. DRIVE?: No. JUMP-STAR A CAR?: No. CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: No. RIDE A BICYCLE?: Yes. SWIM?: Yes. PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: The piano, thanks to Gran. PLAY CHESS?: Yes, though she would prefer to spend her free time doing other things. TIE A TIE?: Yes. PICK A LOCK?: No.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: Alycia Debnam-Carey. EYE COLOR: Green. HAIR COLOR: Brown. HAIR TYPE/STYLE: Normally, Emmeline leaves her hair down, allowing it to fall however it likes. Frequently, she’s been known to throw her hair into a ponytail or loose, messy bun while working, cleaning, or even knitting. GLASSES/CONTACTS?: No. DOMINANT HAND: Right. Emmeline is ambidextrous, but tends to favour her right hand more often than her left. HEIGHT: 165 cm ( 5′5″ ) WEIGHT: 55 kg ( 121 pounds ) BUILD: Slender. EXERCISE HABITS: Despite knowing that she should do more, Emmeline more often than not spends time at home knitting and drinking, rather than running or doing other exercises. SKIN TONE: Fair. TATTOOS: At present, Emmeline has none. PIERCINGS: Just a single hole in each ear. MARKS/SCARS: Emmeline has a few small scars from her childhood, most notable is the one on her right hand, near the thumb. Most don’t even notice it, unless they know precisely what they’re looking for. USUAL EXPRESSION: Emmeline’s typical expression is one without a smile. To many, she could come across as cold or uncaring; it’s not that she actively tries to dissuade people talking to her, it’s just what happens, especially when she’s focused. Once put around friends, however, the demeanour changes and there are more smile than one might otherwise find. CLOTHING STYLE: Emmeline is a big fan of loose, simple tops or button-ups with more fitted trousers. On very rare or special occasions, she may wear a dress, though it is never anything more than a sold colour with simple accents. In addition to her comfortable tops, Emmeline is also a fan of flannel shirts and heavier, knitted jumpers when it starts to get cold. JEWELRY: Simple silver studs for earrings in her daily life, a small silver music note pendant on a thin silver chain that she got from Gran for her thirteenth birthday. Otherwise, Emmeline isn’t one for jewelry. ALLERGIES: None, as far as she knows.

QUESTIONS

How does your character behave around people they like? Emmeline is more relaxed around those she likes. Though she isn’t the most easy-going person in the world, she is more inclined to make jokes, laugh, and not stress as much as she normally does. How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person? As a rule, Emmeline is very hesitant to trust others. However, once you have her trust, there are very few things you could do to lose it and have her suspect you of something terrible. How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation? Words are typically Emmeline’s go-to in a confrontational situation. There have been many instances where she’s eventually just walked away from someone rather than allow things to progress. In extreme instances, hexes and jinxes have been thrown, but as far as she can remember, there has never been anything more than a slap. What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like? It was a very strained relationship, if it could be called a relationship at all. She knew very little about the man he was in his later years, and what she knew of his formative years had only been the result of stories her Gran told her over the years. Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others? Though it generally tends to vary from person to person, she would probably tell you that she admires ambition more often than not. What does your character like in other people? There are a host of things she likes in others, but the first few that come to mind are: the ability to learn from their mistakes, forgiveness, a desire to learn in general, whether or not they are capable of growing as a person, honesty. Compassion for other people. Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method? A bit of both. Just because her first attempt didn’t work the way she wanted it to, doesn’t mean she’ll abandon it in its entirety. With each failed attempt, an adjustment is made. It’s only once she has exhausted every possible method that she can think of that she will move on to a different one. How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it? Saying “I love you” is one of, if not the most, difficult things for Emmeline to do. She has a problem letting herself love other people; there is a constant fear of abandonment, of not being enough, of disappointing them. She struggles to let those she truly cares for know just how much they mean to her. If she can say it to you, then there’s no chance it’s meaningless. She doesn’t have it in her to force something of that magnitude and not mean it. The only person Emmeline has never struggled with those words over is her Gran. The woman who spent so much of her life trying to instill certain values into her granddaughter. The person who raised Emmeline, who wanted nothing but the best for her. The one person Emmeline always thought would be her only constant, the only person she would be willing to die to protect. When she wasn’t in school or working, Emmeline tried to make it a priority to tell the older woman how much she loved her and appreciated all that she had done over the years

INSPIRATIONS & TRAITS

CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS: prudence halliwell ( charmed ), sally owens ( practical magic ), jessica jones ( jessica jones ), amy santiago ( brooklyn nine nine ), laurel castillo ( how to get away with murder ), wynona earp ( wynona earp ), cristina yang ( grey’s anatomy ), rosa diaz ( brooklyn nine nine ), caitlin snow ( the flash ), rosita espinosa ( the walking dead ), laurel lance ( arrow ), raymond holt ( brooklyn nine nine ), rory gilmore ( gilmore girls ), lucy preston ( timeless ), peyton sawyer ( one tree hill )

AESTHETIC: piano notes softly filling an empty room, storms raging outside while you sit in the comfort of your home, books towering so high you can’t see over them, hot tea in a chipped mug, freshly baked red velvet cake cooling on the counter, four cups of coffee in the morning just to feel like you’re somewhat there, the faintest whiff of whisky lingering in the air after an especially trying night, the deafening silence that slowly envelops you when the numbness sets in, unfinished knitting projects lying lazily over chair arms by the fireplace

SONGS: made of stone - daughter / cherry wine - hozier / that i would be good - alanis morissette / please don't say you love me - gabrielle aplin / breathe me - sia / you say - lauren daigle / hard times ( ballad ) - halocene / dear happy - gabrielle aplin / lovely - lauren babic and seraphim POSITIVE TRAITS: assiduous, strong-willed, intelligent, dedicated, tidy NEGATIVE TRAITS: melancholic, self-blaming, stubborn, inflexible NEUTRAL TRAITS: ambitious, sarcastic, quiet, restrained

[anarchistemma]

Jerry Lewis. No comedian since Charles Chaplin has been so loved and so reviled. He is America’s Dark Prince of Comedy--brilliant, bitter, passionate and deeply conflicted. A man of many demons, his cockiness conceals a labyrinth of doubts and self-destructive impulses. An American original whom Americans have never quite come to terms with, he also happens to be one of the greatest filmmakers of the latter half of the 20th century. And for this he deserves an Academy Award.

It’s not surprising that he’s never even been nominated for one. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has a tradition of snubbing comedians. The list of those whose movies failed to win a single Oscar is appallingly long and distinguished: Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd, Harry Langdon, Mabel Normand, the Marx Brothers, W.C. Fields, Abbott and Costello, Bob Hope, Red Skelton, Lucille Ball, Bill Cosby, Richard Pryor, to name a few. The academy finally gave Keaton an honorary Oscar in 1960, and one to Stan Laurel in 1961 (after Lewis lobbied passionately on his behalf), and even one to Charlie Chaplin in 1972, bringing the once-demonized “un-American” director back to Hollywood after 20 years of exile in Europe.

Now it’s time to honor Jerry Lewis.

Lewis was a superstar in the 1950s and early ‘60s, the I Like Ike era of “The Organization Man,” when a Wonder Bread corporate monoculture force-fed an entire generation a bland diet of conformity. In a time of crew cuts and bouffant hairdos, of TV dinners, suburban tract houses, gleaming new supermarkets and the homogenized nuclear family paradigm set forth by “Father Knows Best” and “Leave It to Beaver,” Lewis’ archetypal character, “the Kid,” served as an escape valve--a personification of the American id, cavorting across TV and movie screens, acting on the anarchistic impulses his audiences felt obliged to repress.

“We used to hang out on street corners, and guys would do Jerry Lewis imitations,” says Philip Kaufman, director of “The Right Stuff” and “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” who came of age in the 1950s. “The way that Jerry Lewis walked, that staggering, uncoordinated adolescent walk--you could feel the American youth culture being born. . . . Lewis and Elvis had this primordial American energy.”

Lewis gradually filled his comic archetype with nuances and complexities, so that it continued to resonate on deeper and yet deeper levels. He did this by becoming what he calls “a total filmmaker,” as Chaplin and Keaton had been. When Lewis began appearing in movies in 1949, he set about learning the technical intricacies of every aspect of production. “After about a year and a half I was able to load a BNC [35mm Mitchell] camera and do anything on the set that any technician did--maybe not with the quality of a man who’s done it for 25 years, but if he got sick, I could do it,” Lewis told me in an interview in December 2003. “I know depth of field like you know your wife’s first name. . . . I therefore proceeded to own every union card in the picture business.” Along the way, he also managed to invent the video assist, which allowed him to instantly replay scenes he’d just shot--now standard equipment on most Hollywood sets.

Once he’d mastered the filmmaking process, Lewis dared to declare his independence from the studio system. He wrote, directed and starred in a series of features that he also co-financed with his own money. “I mortgaged my house a couple of times, sold two cars, I remember that!” Lewis told me. In exchange for putting up half or sometimes the entire budgets of the films he directed, he got 50% or more of the profits and a level of creative autonomy that no screen comedian had commanded since Chaplin. “I had final cut on everything,” he said.

“I would love to have achieved the level of independence that he had,” Kaufman says. “The opposite is Orson Welles. He’s a half a generation before Jerry Lewis, but he gets destroyed because he can’t control the films.”

The movies Lewis directed--including “The Bellboy” (1960), “The Ladies Man” (1961), “The Errand Boy” (1961), “The Nutty Professor” (1963) and “The Patsy” (1964)--were bizarre stream-of-consciousness concoctions packed with brilliant pantomime set pieces and surreal comic nightmare sequences, moving Rorschach inkblots that reflected Lewis’ deeply conflicted psyche. “They were not regular Hollywood films,” says director Martin Scorsese. “There were no stories. No plots. They were very dreamlike, going from one free association to the next, almost like the later Luis Bunuel pictures, like ‘The Phantom of Liberty,’ which was a dream within a dream within a dream. You know you’re in the hands of a master; you just let him take you along. His films were almost avant-garde.”

Like Buster Keaton, Scorsese says, Lewis had an uncanny ability to pour his subconscious onto a movie screen, creating phantasmagoric visions permeated with disturbing psychological undertones. Unlike Keaton, Lewis often worked in color. He urged his cinematographer, W. Wallace Kelley, to pump huge amounts of light onto his sets until the comic book hues popped off the screen. “Lewis’ use of color has influenced many filmmakers, [such as] the way David Lynch uses color, and Pedro Almodovar,” Scorsese says.

In the mid-'60s, European critics--the French, most famously, or infamously, depending on your point of view--embraced Lewis as a genius, an heir to Chaplin and Keaton. Chagrined American critics sputtered outrage. They saw Lewis as a vulgarian, a pretentious, sentimental egomaniac who was a tad less subtle than the Three Stooges, and a lot less funny. And those were the good reviews. “Mr. Lewis is a frenetic performer,” wrote Eugene Archer of the New York Times, “but he lacks a point . . . a rubber-limbed robot making faces in a void.” Harriet Van Horne of the World Telegram wrote of a Lewis performance, “you flinch from the soulless vulgarity of his spastic twitches and low-class leers.” In his 1968 book “The American Cinema,” Andrew Sarris demeaned not only Lewis, but also his fans. “Lewis appeals to unsophisticated audiences in the sticks and to ungenteel audiences in the urban slums,” Sarris wrote. “He is bigger on 42nd Street, for example, than anyplace else in the city.”

Lewis seemed to scuttle any chance that American intellectuals would change their minds by taking the fight to the enemy. He wrote nasty letters to reviewers and denounced them on television and radio. He said they were “caustic, rude, unkind and sinister. . . . They’re burying the business they’re paid by.” And in his most infamous salvo, blasted in a 1981 Los Angeles Times interview, he called them “whores.”

But beneath his belligerence one sensed the man had been deeply wounded. In a telling passage in his landmark 1971 book about moviemaking, “The Total Film-maker,” Lewis confessed: “I cannot sit at certain tables at the Directors Guild because I make what some people consider is a ‘hokey’ product. John Frankenheimer waves and hopes that no one else sees his hand, simply because I film pratfalls and spritz water and throw pies.”

In countless magazine profiles and biographies, Lewis has been vividly portrayed as a tantrum-throwing egomaniac. But there is another side. I’ve talked with many people who worked with Lewis over the years--including his longtime collaborators, writer Bill Richmond and comedienne Kathleen Freeman--who told me stories of his private acts of extraordinary kindness and generosity. Peter Bogdanovich tells of how Lewis befriended him when he was a poor, young aspiring filmmaker--lending him a car, allowing him to screen movies at Paramount and charge the cost to Lewis’ production company. “He’s been a good friend to me for more than 40 years,” Bogdanovich says. When I first interviewed Lewis a year ago, I found him to be a perceptive, articulate but deeply divided man who oscillated during the course of our one-hour conversation from laughter to anger to tears. His ability to infuse his movies with these seething emotions gave them their strange emotional charge, and helped make them audacious and poetic works of art.

In “The Bellboy” and “The Errand Boy,” Lewis’ Kid finds himself wandering through sprawling corporate complexes: the ultramodern curvilinear interiors of Miami Beach’s Fontainebleau hotel, and the cavernous soundstages and maze-like streets and corridors of a movie studio. He desperately tries to mesh with the gears of the industrial combine, but his inability to function with the automaton efficiency of his co-workers inevitably causes catastrophe. “There’s a sense in which he’s a modern man, a universal figure confronted with modernity, with bosses and difficult jobs, and especially with a fast pace that’s difficult to keep up with,” says Henry Sheehan, critic for KPCC-FM and KCET.

There are haunting moments that evoke the lonely yearnings of the alienated in America’s increasingly institutionalized society, such as the brilliant pantomimes in which the Kid conducts an imaginary orchestra or imagines himself to be a movie mogul holding forth in a deserted boardroom. Or the scene where the Kid is assigned the Sisyphean task of setting up more than 1,000 chairs in an auditorium the size of a football field. Lewis films from one wide angle, holding the shot as the Kid recedes farther and farther into the great hollow hall. “When he started directing his own pictures there was a powerful visual sense,” Scorsese says. “It was almost as if the films were drawn by hand--animated. Something was very arresting about the way Lewis designed his scenes and shot them, the way he focused the eye of the audience.”

In the middle of “The Bellboy,” the Kid is ordered to help with the luggage of an arriving celebrity: Jerry Lewis, the movie star. Lewis the star arrives in a limousine with a huge retinue of yes-men and sycophants. “That kind of thing was refreshing and brilliant,” Scorsese says. “It opened the audience’s mind. What is the reality? We know we’re watching a film. We know it’s directed by him. We know he’s in control. Then he shows up as a film star within the movie! It plays with your sense of what reality is and what cinema is--and also what celebrity is.” In a culture obsessed with celebrity, Lewis shows us that a star is as objectified as a Playboy centerfold, and his existence at the top of the ladder every bit as lonely as that of the Kid at the bottom. The entourage of Jerry Lewis the movie star laughs at his every remark. When he tearfully reveals that a beloved aunt just died, the crowd howls with unhinged hilarity. “Nothing like a laugh!” someone screams.

In “The Ladies Man,” the Kid serves as a gofer in a boarding house full of young women. Lewis built the entire mansion--four stories tall, including a stairway and working elevator--on two soundstages at Paramount, with the fourth wall of every room cut away, like a giant dollhouse, so the camera could swoop on a crane from room to room, each of which was pre-lighted and wired for sound. It was another groundbreaking technical innovation, and a fantastic dreamscape through which Lewis’ imagination ran wild. In one spectacular crane shot, Lewis pulls back to show the entire dollhouse. “That shot is so striking,” Scorsese says. “In a funny way, it had something to do with the way I did a shot in ‘Gangs of New York’ in the beginning of the film, showing the [multileveled] hell of the old brewery

Scorsese found more inspiration in Lewis’ masterpiece, “The Nutty Professor,” in the famous sequence that occurs after Professor Kelp has transformed himself into the incandescent lounge lizard Buddy Love. At first we do not see Love. Instead we see the world through his eyes. In an intricately choreographed tracking shot, Love walks through the street toward the Purple Pit nightclub and various passersby react with astonishment to his high-voltage charisma. “I use that as an example of the kind of point-of-view shots that I use,” Scorsese says. In “Gangs of New York,” he told his assistant director, Joseph Reidy, that he wanted to choreograph a similar point-of-view shot in the scene where Amsterdam Vallon (Leonardo DiCaprio) places a rabbit pelt on a Five Points fence as a declaration of war. “I am constantly referring back to Lewis’ work,” Scorsese says.

Lewis explored the polarities of his personality--the lonely kid he had been in his youth and still felt himself to be, and the polished persona he presented on television and in live performances--not only in “The Bellboy,” but also in “Cinderfella” (directed by Frank Tashlin and produced by Lewis) and “The Errand Boy.” This theme reached its full and most complex expression in “The Nutty Professor.” The movie is an extended investigation of Lewis the public performer, and his insecure inner self. But more than a movie star’s exercise in self-absorption, it is a meditation on the American model of masculinity. Lewis acknowledges its pathology even as he admits that he cannot free himself of his aspiration to embody it. In the climax of the movie, Buddy Love transforms back into Professor Kelp before a stunned crowd of college students. Kelp makes a heartfelt speech about the fallacy of trying to create a false personality to please others and the need for self-acceptance, and there’s not a dry eye in the house. But in the film’s denouement, as Kelp leaves for his wedding with heartthrob Stella (Stella Stevens), the director reveals that she has stuffed two bottles of Kelp’s magic tonic in the pockets of her jeans--an admission that there’s a dark, erotic power to Love’s aggressive posturing that Americans find irresistible, despite whatever lip service they may pay to the values of sensitivity and brains.

“Lewis’ sense of burlesque is a strange type of comedy because it’s full of anxiety,” says director Barbet Schroeder (“Barfly,” “Single White Female”). “It’s a tragic vision that makes you laugh. . . . And all that is completely personal and completely extraordinary. He took burlesque comedy one step further, like any great artist, to a very freaky, disturbing modern tone.”

In 1977, someone at an American Film Institute seminar asked Lewis why his films hadn’t been rediscovered, as those of other great comics had been. “They wait until you die,” he snapped. Until recently, it looked as if Lewis might be right. During the last decade, a series of serious health problems--bouts of meningitis and pulmonary fibrosis--forced him to cancel live engagements and spend long stretches in the hospital. But last year, Lewis bounced back. He returned home from the hospital, and in the fall he released sparkling wide-screen DVD transfers of 10 movies from his golden period, complete with outtakes and commentary tracks.

And the damnedest thing happened. They got good reviews. The New York Times published not one but two rave notices. In the second one, Dave Kehr wrote: “Is it finally time to stop with the French-love-him jokes and acknowledge that Jerry Lewis is one of the great American filmmakers?” Kehr noted that the DVDs “reveal both the fierce creativity of his comic performances and the extreme formal sophistication of his direction. The centerpiece is the 1963 ‘The Nutty Professor’ . . . a study in split personality that both anticipates Ingmar Bergman’s 1966 ‘Persona’ and surpasses it in psychological acuity. It’s also a lot funnier.”

In December 2004, the Library of Congress concluded that “The Nutty Professor” is a movie of lasting cultural significance, worthy of preservation, and added it to the National Film Registry. Then in January, Lewis received a career achievement award from the Los Angeles Film Critics Assn. The explanation for this turnaround is simple: As older critics retired, a new generation replaced them. They had come of age in the 1950s and ‘60s and had spent the better part of their youth in the dark, watching Jerry Lewis and laughing till they just about wet their pants. “For me, personally, the impact of watching ‘The Nutty Professor’ as a boy in a drive-in in the Valley was huge,” says Robert Koehler, who writes for Variety. “It was the first time I had felt a weird sense of terror, horror and comedy all in one fell swoop. I’d never felt that before in a movie. There was something going on here besides just another Hollywood comedy. There was a sense of wild theatrics. I was only 7 years old at the time; I couldn’t even put my finger on it, but it so absolutely impressed my young mind.”

As they grew older, like Morty S. Tashman in “The Errand Boy,” these young fans made their way to Hollywood to become part of show business. Their film school professors and older critics had told them Lewis was vulgar and tasteless, but they went back and watched the movies and didn’t believe it. “I always thought he was funny, from the first time I came to him, at 9 years old,” says Henry Sheehan, president of the L.A. critics association. “Once I grew older and learned something about composition and the mechanics of gags, I was full of admiration for him. I think my experience is pretty common for people my age.”

For years a growing number of Lewis supporters had been urging the association to give the comedian the career achievement award. This year the membership suddenly agreed. “It was pretty widely supported,” Koehler says. “In the past there have been complaints. The first year I was in the group, his name was brought up and some people were openly contemptuous. I heard none of that this time. I don’t know why. I think it’s the test of time.”

As the night of the awards ceremony approached, a question loomed: How would Lewis react? Would he be able to drop the contentious attitude he’d held against his old adversaries for more than half a century? When I talked with him shortly after the award had been announced, he seemed to be struggling for his equilibrium. “I don’t really know how I’m going to deal with it,” he admitted, then murmured something about handling it with grace. But when he talked with other journalists, some of the old fighting verbiage crept into his remarks. He told Larry King the award was “the best revenge I’ve ever had.” And to a reporter from the Los Angeles Daily News, he said, “Jesus Christ, is that retribution or not?”

Finally, the moment came. Peter Bogdanovich presented the plaque. Lewis stepped to the podium. His eyes passed over the crowd. “Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. I am delighted to be the recipient of this award. . . . What took so goddamned long?” The room exploded with laughter. Lewis segued smoothly into his Vegas act and did about 10 minutes that had the critics, filmmakers and stars doubled over and gasping for air.

Then he stopped, his voice growing serious. “I would feel somewhat remiss if I didn’t show you something that I believe brought me here tonight,” he said. Film rolled, and on the screen behind him appeared a 35-year-old Jerry Lewis doing the famous Chairman of the Board pantomime from “The Errand Boy,” his gesticulations and mugging timed to the tempo of Count Basie’s “Blues in Hoss’ Flat.” It was much more than funny. It was at once melancholy, poetic and exhilarating. When it was over, the room rose in a howling, hooting standing ovation. The only one of the night.

Now it’s the academy’s turn to step up. A few months ago, Bogdanovich wrote a letter to its president, Frank Pierson, suggesting that Lewis be given an Oscar. I hope the Academy doesn’t take too long. The hour is late. Another great clown and groundbreaking filmmaker, too long ignored, deserves to be honored by his peers.

JL’s yahrzeit

The once and future King of Comedy 👑

[mazojo]

Mad Drunk MC + RFA Headcanons

Okay so I am kinda scared of posting this as I usually do head canons and erase them as I don't think they are good enough but I am taking a risk kinda soo pardon my rambling... If anyone has any requests or ideas of hc ill gladly give it a try <33

So the  situation is mc being drunk after a fight with the RFA members and their reaction to calm her down and take her home/to sleep. Enjoy ~

Yoosung

They were at home playing games when they had a fight due to Yoosung getting mad he lost. MC tried lightening the mood but he was too mad to listen and snapped at her, which led her to go to the kitchen and grab a drink too many. After cooling down Yoosung goes to seek her and finds her sprawled on the sofa. He gathers some courage by downing a drink and approaches her.

He finds himself a bit tipsy as he approaches MC

You look cute all flushed and let’s not fight anymore? God I am an idiot aren't I?

MC sees him, her eyes hardening and she starts yelling nonsense at him and his stupid game.

While she is yelling he keeps thinking about how soft her lips look and how a strand of hair keeps hiding her beautiful eyes. He notices how her eyes grow bigger when she is mad, so cute.

God I want to kiss her, does she know I want to kiss her?

“You care more about your stupid stupid games than me!”

How can she even think that? She is his entire world and no virtual character could compete against her. Ever.

He can’t handle it anymore so he kisses her, shutting her up.

Why are her lips so soft? Is she really all mine? I think I am dreaming, this is definitely a dream.

As she pulls away her frown lessens and he apologizes, she can't stay mad for long with that cute face he makes when apologizing.

He takes her hand and they both stumble into bed giggling and after kissing for a while they both fall asleep with a smile in their faces

Zen

It was a long day on set and the director kept Zen longer than planned. MC had prepared a surprise dinner which eventually went cold and led her to drink all the alcohol she had reserved for the romantic evening. Zen arrives tired after a long day and seeing the candles and cold food internally kicks himself as he approaches mc who has her head laying on the table.

Zen lightly touches her head to see if she is awake and she sits up immediately, as she sees him she pouts and turns away.

MC starts speaking gibberish and pointing a finger accusatory at him.

“I am going to speak to that director of yours! how dare him? the nerve of keeping you away from my surprise. There really are some inconsiderate people in this world! th-”

How much did she drink? She is going to have a serious hangover

“Babe, we can discuss things later but for now you should sleep, okay my princess?”

“Don't “my princess” me! I am my own damn princess”

Zen tries to repress a chuckle as MC refuses to go to bed and as he starts to lift her up she scrambles away and sits down in the floor to prove her point.

Zen smirks at how cute she puffs her cheeks when mad.

God bless messaging apps

“You leave me no option” he says as he carries MC bridal style to the room.

MC tried to fight it by sloppily hitting Zen but eventually gives up and falls asleep on his arms.

“So cute and stubborn...” Zen whispers as he sets her down and makes sure she’s comfortable by laying her on the softest pillow.

Forehead kiss as he lays at her side and she fall asleep in his arms

Jaehee

Jaehee was supposed to pick up MC after work on her office because of their anniversary but as work keeps coming in, Jumin lets her off later. Just when she is heading out she realizes how late it is and how MC has been waiting for almost 1 hour to pick her up. She dials MC’s number but it goes off to voice message and when she arrives at MC’s office she is nowhere to be seen. Jaehee starts to panic but just as she is about to head to the police look for her she spots her in a bar next to the office mumbling to herself.

Jaehee quickly enters the bar and drags MC away paying for the tab.

MC stumbles out mindlessly until she realizes its Jaehee and giving her an icy look turns away.

“Look, I am sorry... I know I was supposed to come but you know Jumin and his cat projects... I promise ill make it up to you and...” she trails off seeing as MC is looking the other way while she is repeating everything she just said in a mocking voice.

Sigh, she is lucky she’s cute.

It’s cold out and as they are walking towards Jaehee’s car, she notices how MC is shivering due to the cold weather.

Jaehee takes off her coat and wraps it around mc

She blushes and looks at Jaehee for the first time since the fight, stopping her gibberish mumbling.

“Look I am sorry if I upset you but it’s freezing and I don’t want you catching a cold and also you may wa-“

MC interrupts Jaehee by kissing her and mumbles an apology for acting like a child.

Jaehee smiles and as she tucks away a strand of hair she resume kissing her in the cold, suddenly feeling very warm.

Saeyoung

Although the agency Saeyoung worked for didn't exist anymore, he was doing some investigating jobs he couldn't decline. MC was uneasy about the whole situation and tried confronting him about it, only to have him snap at her. Angry and frustrated, MC goes out of the house slamming the door leaving Saeyoung embarrassed and regretful for snapping at her. Although she didn't know, he had installed a tracker to know where she was on her phone. He tracked her down and found her in a park bench nearby with a bottle in hand.

“Come on babe we are going home”

MC stares daggers at Saeyoung, “Hell no, I am not going where I am not wanted” she huffs and crosses her arms dramatically.

Saeyoung sighs, of course she wants her, he just doesn't want her to get involved in the dangerous aspects

Saeyoung grabs her by the arm and brings her up from the bench, noticing her resisting efforts.

God she is so damn stubborn but it’s also makes me like her more? Is that even possible?

Mc is lightly hitting his arm and talking gibberish.

“ The Nerve Saeyoung, the nerve to drag meee inside. Go be with your chips and soda, have fun its not lik-”

She stumbles as he is dragging her they are walking and MC trips.

He grabs her by the waist and steadies her.

“W-why are you so cute and frustrating when all I want is for you to be safe?” Cant she see he is protecting her?

MC tries to get away from the embrace but he holds on, a slight smile appearing on his face.

He tightens the embrace as he says “I am not letting you go before you say the magical words”

MC is struggling to get away while lightly insulting him and Saeyoung is laughing.

She suddenly stops struggling turning to face Saeyoung

“I know your weakness” MC says a mocking tone in her slurred words, as he shuts him up with a fiery kiss.

Saeyoung suddenly lets her go pink tinting his cheeks.

“I-I... y-you...” MC laughs at his sudden shyness and they start heading home.

“Ill make it up to you, defender seven zero seven will always protect you” and as she snuggles closer he guides her home.

Jumin

MC and Jumin went out to eat at a fancy restaurant. The same day, an important deal at the company was done, thus Jumin kept receiving calls throughout the meal. Everytime MC tried talking to him they seemed to be interrupted thus MC started drinking more wine than she should have. They exit the restaurant and head to the car were the chauffeur awaited.

He is oblivious that she is mad as they both walk in silence.

MC, suddenly wanting him to notice her, walks in front of Jumin and stands her ground puffing her cheeks.

Jumin is taken aback by her sudden approach and almost slams into her

She is drunk, with her light figure and low tolerance to drinks he should have been more attentive.

“We must hurry to the car, it’s getting late and I don’t want you getting a hangover and a cold”

Mc refuses to move and Jumin sighs.

“You ignored me alllll night and now want meee to move?” She says doing exaggerated hand motions and enlarging her words for emphasis.

Was he ignoring her? Hmmm but didn't she noticed how he lived for that smile on her face when she got all excited with the fillet and how he made sure to order her favorite wine? He must ensure next time she knows this details.

Jumin notices how flushed she gets while mad. Cute.

She isn’t going to move without an apology huh?

“MC I apologize if my actions and behavior made you mad but please get in the car or else you will catch a cold and then I will have to take a few days leave off work to take care of you. Of course, you could alwa-“

MC interrupts Jumin by giving him a peck to shut him up, when he gets on his rambles he never shuts up, he cares.

Slight blush as MC drunkenly puts her head in his shoulder and they walk to the car waiting for them down the block

As the chauffeur drives them home, MC cuddles on Jumin’s shoulder and as he looks at her he promises to be more attentive, he’ll ensure to turn off the phone next dinner and prepare the pancakes for breakfast he knew she loved.

[kusunogatari]

[ Frozen Flames and Shadowed Lights || Chapter Three ] [ @yukaikokoro @abyssaldespair ] [ Hatake Kakashi, Kottakawa Kumiko, Suigin, Nohara Rin ] [ Verse: Divine Light ] [ Previous || Next ]

As Kumiko and Kakashi make to move, Suigin announces, “I must assume a mor guise to better blend with the others.” A pause, and then, “Perhaps, for now...it is best you carry on alone. I may do something rash when confronted with such a traitor.”

Deadpanning, Kakashi agrees, “...likely for the best.”

He and his companion then retreat back inside, heading out from the hall and toward stairs that descend into the belly of the castle.

“I’ll admit, it still surprises me that Luxeria’s capital has dungeons in the first place,” he observes as they go. “But I suppose even healers and protectors have to deal with the criminal…”

“Ill intentions are everywhere,” Kumiko agrees heavily.

Upon arriving to the dungeon proper, Rin has already strung up the betrayer, solid casings of stone pinning his wrists, ankles, and midriff to the wall. By now, he’s awakened, hanging slack from his shackles. She leans nearby, watching him with narrowed eyes. “I take it you calmed the beast?” she then asks, giving the pair a glance.

“For now. We convinced her to remain here, and keep things in order,” Kakashi replies. “Someone has to represent Luxeria...and make sure everyone else behaves themselves. For the moment, at least, she’s not tearing the castle down.”

“Good.” Rin then gives a jerk of her head to their captive. “All he’s done thus far is keep spewing the same cult-like nonsense. Seems he’s just about taken leave of his senses. Not sure we’ll get much more out of him.”

“What is that nonsense?” Kakashi asks again. “I still feel like I’m missing something here.”

Sighing, Rin abandons her perch against the wall, and instead takes a seat at a nearby table and chairs, one leg rested atop her other knee. “...for about as long as there have been el’ven, there have been those convinced of the existence of a thirteenth Elemental. They called them Aequilibria, the Elemental of balance, equilibrium. Of course...no such being existed. Since the beginning, the true union of lux and tenebris has been forbidden, taboo. That didn’t stop believers, however...and they soon radicalized into two main factions.”

Rin holds aloft a finger. “The first believes that the thirteenth will bring about the reverse of the First Breath: the creation of the universe. If Aequilibria were to be created, everything would reverse and become nothing once again. They think this is the only way to stop violence, chaos, and suffering.”

A second finger. “The other believes that Aequilibria is the key to true balance. That the separation of light and dark is actually what allows chaos and conflict to exist. With the thirteenth, they are convinced the elements would finally settle into a perfect harmony, and all will be forever right in the world.

“You can guess which of the two groups is more destructive. Within the el’ven world, such talk is strictly prohibited, and is considered an act of heresy. Thus, most believers hide their devotion to the thirteenth, and worship of them is done in secret.

“For now, there’s no way to know if it’s even possible to create such a being...or what the creation of them would accomplish. People have tried all throughout history, but...no success has ever been recorded or remembered.”

“...so that’s what the traitor wants to do? Bring a union of lux and tenebris? To…?” Kakashi can’t bring himself to say it aloud.

“From what this Nori fellow keeps rambling about, it seems that way. Given what I’ve gathered, he’s part of the more peaceful group: that which believes the thirteenth is the path to peace. Some kind of...messiah. But other than that, I can’t get anything out of him.”

“Not even a location?”

“No...just the same phrases over and over before just...going silent.” Sable eyes shift to Kumiko. “...maybe she should give it a try. I’ll assume you didn’t know he was part of this group…?”

“No,” Kumiko murmurs, expression unreadable. “He never betrayed such thoughts.”

“I would imagine not. As I said, it’s a repressed subject. But at least he seems part of those who want peace...rather than destruction.”

“But that doesn’t guarantee the others’ intentions,” Kakashi notes dryly.

“...true.”

Stepping past them, Kumiko approaches her guard. As she gets near, his head lifts, beholding her with a blank, calm expression.

“...why did you do this, Nori?” she demands, tone soft and yet unyielding.

“Surely you know, my lady...surely you know, it was all for you.”

“...for me…?” An edge laces her tone. “...don’t patronize me!” Kumiko demands, a heeled foot driving against the stone of the dungeon floor. “Tell me the truth!”

“I would never -”

“Don’t,” Kumiko warns, venom in her tone as her heartache bleeds through into anger. “Do you realize what you’ve done…? Aided in the kidnapping of what may very well be the last true disciple of Luxeria! Delivered her into the hands of someone who wants to use and abuse her! You may very well have doomed the balance forever! And for what?!”

“My lady, please...a moment to explain…?”

Icy eyes narrow, lit with the fire of rage. “...speak.”

“I did what I must to bring about peace eternal...peace you have wished and worked for…!” When he’s not interrupted, Nori goes on. “For so long, our people have remained as cold as the ice we call home. They refuse to warm to their neighbors, the rest of the elements. Since you were young, I know you have dreamed of changing our people. Of guiding them to a more open, welcoming future. And these past years, you have grown into a diplomat worthy of such a goal. You strive ever forward with intent to better the world around you, and care for your people.

“But you are drowning, Kumiko...the tide you fight will never cease. Our ways have remained frozen for so long, I fear they may never truly thaw. And that fear, that knowledge that you may fail in this quest...it broke my heart. So I began to seek other answers, other avenues...and it was then I found the solution. Aequilibria will be our light…! Will be the key to true peace! All of your efforts will no longer be in vain, my lady! All we need to do is be patient...and allow the seed to take root. Then...it will bloom into the flower of eternal peace. Just as you’ve always wanted…! No longer will you toil against the odds. Your burdens will be lifted!”

Despite her hardened expression, Kumiko’s lip quivers, tears brimming along her lids. “...I never feared that burden, Nori. I never wanted to shy from it. I do not seek a mystical answer for my people or their problems. Are you truly so lacking in faith in me…? Do you believe me so inept? So unworthy?! I have entrusted you with my life, my deepest secrets...and you betray me for an ideal that may yet bring an end to all we know? You have taught me, molded me...but now I see you for what you are: a coward. You shy from the work we must do to make this world right ourselves. I will never concede. But this betrayal...it wounds me…!”

She stares at him, daring in her eyes. “...how much of all we’ve faced together...was a lie…?!”

“My lady, no! I -!”

“When word reached us of a light mage - when we discovered that Luxeria’s disciples still clung to life - I finally felt hope, true hope! For change, for balance, for a way forward! I knew she would lead us to a united future...to a new elemental balance! End the fear mongering of the elves, stop this cold war, allow our people to be free…!” That hope is tangible in her form...but then wilts.

“...and now...now that hope has been dashed. All because of this twice-blessed you praise like a god. You did this...you gave her away, and for what…?”

Expression crumbling, Nori’s head bows, unable to hold her gaze for shame.

She watches him, her own unreadable. “...but beyond all that...you have betrayed me, Nori. You have fractured my trust. The one person I have always felt able to turn to...has betrayed us all.”

“...please...lady Kumiko...f-forgive me.”

“...forgiveness comes only with time, and with action.” Taking a knee, she lifts his chin, stare unyielding. “...and you can begin by telling me everything you know of this Tenebreon mage. Give me the tools to make this right, Nori. And you may yet, in time, be forgiven.”

For a long, tense moment...he remains silent. But then, just as she moves to speak again, Nori murmurs, “...the Gelidan mountains. Northeast of Boralis. A system of caves within the peaks. That...is where they have gone.”

Kumiko’s jaw sets. “...the perfect hiding place. It’s far too dangerous for most to traverse, even the disciples of Glaciris...no one would ever stumble upon them there. Now…” Standing, Kumiko turns to her companions. “...all we must do...is retrieve her.”

“You said it yourself...traversing such terrain won’t be easy,” Rin murmurs. She glances to Kakashi. “...do you think you can make it…?”

“I have to,” he offers simply. In all honesty...something about Nori’s speech begets a nostalgia from him. Before his death, Obito used to have such dreams: of true freedom for the el’ven, of making a unified, peaceful world. He has to wonder if - were Obito alive today - he would have placed such stock in beliefs like this.

But the thought is swallowed down - no time for it now.

“We must be cautious,” Kumiko offers. “There may yet be other hideaways this rogue has crafted. With portals that cut across space...he could flee anywhere. You’ll have to maintain the element of surprise.”

“Don’t suppose there’s an Elemental I can pray to for that, eh?” Kakashi deadpans.

“I’m afraid not,” Rin replies wryly.

“Well...I’ll figure something out. If I can battle beasts, I can battle the elements,” he insists...if only to try to convince himself.

“Are you sure you don’t want someone to go with you?” Kumiko asks, brows knit with worry.

“I don’t want to risk anyone else,” Kakashi replies firmly. “And that way I can make my own pace. I’d hate to run anyone else ragged. I lived for years on the road, made my way through many lands...I’ll manage.”

“What if this traitor has other mages with him? You can’t fight them alone!” Rin counters.

“You both need to stay here and help keep order.” The hunter gives them both a glance. “Rin and I both know well enough, Ryū would insist we do all we can to keep the Summit from crumbling...it’s her ultimate goal. Right now, you both have ties here. And mine are to her and keeping her safe. If there’s more than one of these bastards...well, I’ll just have to do what I can.”

“...be careful,” Rin offers softly.

“Careful is my middle name.”

Watching the exchange quietly, unknown thoughts clearly run through Kumiko’s head. Even now, her land’s ties to this disaster weigh on her. Her own guard was part of the plot...and if she hadn’t held Kakashi back, maybe he could have made it in time. Maybe he could have…

No. She won’t let this stand. Making up her mind, she straightens, keeping her thoughts her own.

“Well...I should get going,” Kakashi them murmurs. “I need to pack some supplies, and you two should get back to your parties. I expect Suigin’s going to keep everyone in the guests’ quarters until we make some headway.”

“Probably for the better...I expect she’ll try to keep things moving as smoothly as we can,” Rin agrees. “Even if Ryū’s not here...she’d want things to progress. We can still begin talks with Suigin present. She knows Luxeria’s agenda and beliefs better than anyone.”

“Exactly. I’ll let you know when I’m off, but...until then, best we keep things calm and organized.”

With that, Nori is moved to a proper cell, and the trio ascend the stairs - the ladies head back to the ballroom, and Kakashi toward the storerooms. He’ll need food, some water...and anything else he can scrounge up.

“Berech!”

Startling, he turns and gives a blink of surprise. A white-haired woman - strikingly similar to Ryū, but with notable differences - stands in the mouth of the hallway. For a moment he’s blank-minded, but then it clicks: that haughty gaze is unmistakable, even on a now-human face. “...Suigin?”

“You are correct. Forgive my intrusion...it took time to shift my form, and then find appropriate garments.”

Doing his best not to think of the drach-now-mor bare, Kakashi gives a light shake of his head. “I...er, good.”

“Come - I will lead you to the supplies you will need. After the coup and subsequent rift, Luxeria themself erected a barrier over the castle...all of its original supplies have remained untouched by time or mortal hands. And anything among them you need, you may take. First, we shall go to the armory.”

...that earns a pause. “There’s...an armory?”

Rather than answer, Suigin leads him to a large room, giving life to lights along the ceiling. “Though Luxeria’s ways are of health and healing...at times, one must take life to protect it. I realize that you are likely too familiar with the weight and balance of your own blade to consider another...nor is heavy armor suited for one of your...style. But there may be some pieces here you can find useful. And given your northern trek, I advise you take some of the lined garments to protect against the cold. Boots and woolen socks, too. You must prepare yourself adequately.”

Only half-listening in the wake of his awe, Kakashi stares. Rows upon rows of armor and weapons gleam in the ven-fed light: a blinding pallet of white and gold, the Elemental’s sigil bold along every chestplate. Enough to garb an army in defense of the kingdom of light. Swords of every make, daggers, bows and quivers of arrows...hammers, axes, staffs...any class of weapon he’s ever seen can be found here.

Suigin, seeing his expression, gives a hint of a coy smile. “...there is also armor for your steed, but I imagine you prefer speed to protection.”

“...aye,” he breathes in reply, still staring.

“Once you have any equipment you desire, we shall head to the kitchens. Most rations brought for the Summit are the types to quickly spoil, but we retain those meant for long travels that resist the bite of time. Otherwise, you will have to find and keep your own stock.”

“That’s fine. I hunt well enough, and water is easy to find if you know where to look. The roads were my home for years before I came here,” he assures her, awe beginning to wane.

Watching him test the balance of a dagger, Suigin offers, “Anything you desire that will aid in your quest to bring Ryū home is yours without question. Any thought of debt will be repaid upon her return.”

In the end, Kakashi settles on the dagger, new vambraces, and lined clothing for when he reaches the north. Once they visit the kitchens and supply his food pouch, he packs the rest into his steed’s saddlebags.

Rin and Kumiko are fetched to see him off alongside the drach, watching as he slips into a stirrup and mounts.

“...guess there’s nothing left but to leave,” he murmurs.

“Is it really prudent to start at this hour?” Rin asks. “It’s nearly midnight, and you could get a few hours’ rest before sunup!”

“I’ve slept in the saddle before - I’ll manage,” he assures her. “I can budget my time.”

Relenting, Rin steps aside and instead lets Suigin take her place. Beckoning, she plants a palm to his bowed brow. “Luxeria’s blessing be upon you, berech. May you find time, protection, and health on your side. May your journey be swift, and your victories clean.” Silver eyes seem to glow in the moonlight. “...bring her home.”

The subtle hum of ven seems to charge through every nerve, and Kakashi knows those were far from empty words. Nodding gravely, he flicks his reins and urges his mount into a brisk trot. Soon, the castle grounds begin to fade behind him, the road clear in the full moon’s light.

Mismatched eyes stare out at the northern horizon, steely with determination. Hold on, Ryū...I’ll be there soon.

Left behind, Rin heaves a sigh. “...I’m going to go start ushering the parties to their quarters...tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“I will help you,” Suigin offers. “I only wish to remain a moment longer.”

Lifting a hand in acknowledgement, the terra mage retreats to the castle.

“...if you are to follow, you’d best act quickly.”

Startling, Kumiko breaks her stare after Kakashi with a wary glance. “...I beg your pardon?”

Silver eyes spark keenly. “Your thoughts are so loud, it’s a wonder the other mor cannot hear you. Your heart is easy to read, overflowing with troubles as it is. I see your guilt...and I understand your drive. And...in all honesty…” Suigin glances out to the road. “...I believe it is for the best. He will need guidance, and who better than you who call the north home? Besides...we know little of this threat. Another body - especially one imbued with ven - can only aid him. His concern for swiftness is noted...but must be cautioned with bolstered numbers and strength. Go. Denote one you trust to your place, and follow. He will not get far this night...and it is clear what path he will take. It will not be long until you find him.”

Clearly taken aback at the permission - urging, even - to leave, Kumiko hesitates...and then nods curtly. “...very well. Thank you, my lady.”

A hand waves. “Titles are for the mor and their pride. I’ve little need of them. Be swift, disciple of Glaciris.”

Striding back into the castle, Kumiko finds her party on their way to the guest halls. Matching pace, she mimics their behavior before pulling one aside. “Megumi...I must speak to you. Privately, and at once.”

Brightening, the younger elf follows into the empty corridor. “Yes my lady? What can I do for you?”

“Urgent business calls me back to the north. I need you to take my place as Glaciris’ eyes and ears.”

Expression slackening in shock, she pales. “B...but my lady, I -?”

Smiling warmly, Kumiko holds her shoulders firmly. “There are none better than you to take my mantle. You know best my thoughts and feelings regarding our homeland. You will serve them well.”

“But, Nori...surely he is -?”

“No,” Kumiko cuts in, and her underling stiffens at her tone. “...I will explain, but swiftly. Nori...has betrayed us all. The lux mage’s advisor was right...it was he who plotted against her. And now, I must help Kakashi bring her back. There’s far more to this tale, but I’ve not the time. Just...please, Megumi. I’m trusting you. Tell no one why I’ve gone...only that I must return home. The lux mage’s safety is of the utmost importance. She’s necessary to make all our hopes a reality. Do you understand…?”

Head clearly spinning, the young woman gives a slow nod. “...I understand. I’ll...I’ll do my best, lady Kumiko! You can count on me!”

“That’s my girl. If you’ve any questions, ask the stand-in lux mage, Suigin. She will help you.”

“There’s another…?”

“...more tales I’ve no time for, I’m afraid. You’ll soon understand. Wish me luck.”

Nodding more surely, Megumi returns to her party’s quarters, the representative herself having her own. Swiftly, she changes from her ballgown to a shirt and trousers, buckling on light armor and strapping her sword to her hip. Supplies thrown as quickly and carefully as she can manage into her packs, she dons a traveling cloak before making her way down to the stables for the guests’ mounts. There her white stallion nickers quietly in greeting.

“I’ve no time to chat,” she assures him with a smile, quickly saddling and packing her steed. “I fear the fate of our very world may be in our hands! Carry me swiftly!” Swinging up into the seat, she urges him out onto the path and toward the road.

It’s going to be a long night for them all.

     Woo, another chapter! Kakashi’s headin’ out...and he’s got someone on his tail...! A bit of a change here with Suigin talking with Kumiko before she leaves. I dunno, I thought it a neat lil exchange to kinda set a tone between them. Rin also gave a bit more background on lore stuffs cuz...reasons, lol

[imaredshirt]

Imector Superhero AU

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Writing practice that was supposed to be a secret agent AU but kinda turned into an Incredibles AU, and was supposed to be a continuation of this but then it took a life of it’s own. Too sleepy to add anything else, just thought someone else might get a kick out of it.

(Be warned, it’s very self indulgent and full of cliches, because I can.)

“Agent… have you loc... target?”

Imelda scowled. The new communication device the twins had designed was acting up again, and her handler’s voice came in choppy and staticy. She reached up to tap gently at the device disguised as an earring shimmering with tiny, dangling violet sapphires and pearls, frustrated for the umptenth time that night.

The mission had started off with a blunder on the organization’s part, and her night had suffered for it. Her objective was that much harder to obtain.

Especially since her objective was only meters away from her, in plain sight, surrounded by simpering fans.

Ernesto de la Cruz laughed openly and drank red wine from a crystal glass. Men and women stood around him, laughing when he laughed, drinking when he drank, staring at the musician with stars in their eyes.

Imelda sipped slowly from her own glass and watched from her table in a secluded corner. Finger pressing again against the device, she spoke quietly into the glass.

“Yes, I see him,” she said, dark eyes peering over the glass rim at the preening celebrity. “He’s with his fans. Surrounded. Gloating.”

“Tsk, when...n’t he…” Came the dismissive response. “You nee… obtain targ… out of time… Dios mio, this commu… ot working… ave a word w… your hermanos…”

Ceci’s words were laced with static, but the message was clear.

“Not before I get to them,” Imelda said, allowing herself a tiny snort. The twins normally designed flawless items, but these new hand-free communication devices definitely needed some tweaks.

She removed her finger from the earring and swept a strand of loose hair behind her ear, setting the wine glass down. She’d missed her chance to confront De la Cruz when he was alone in his dressing room, and now she needed to get him away from his massive group of fans.

It wasn’t impossible, just incredibly and irritatingly difficult, even for her. She was going to have to work discreetly and quickly.

If she blew her cover, news would quickly spread of a Super operating once again in Mexico, and that was an event she was determined to avoid.

She stood, her red heels giving her a height even she was unused to, and began to make her way across the dining area.

Between her and De la Cruz was a polished dance floor, the decorative tiles gleaming in the light from a dozen crystal chandeliers hanging like clusters of diamonds from a high ceiling. At one end of the dance floor, clear floor-to-ceiling windows showed the night sky spanning over a placid man made lake, with dark hills breaking the horizon. Near to De la Cruz, an archway led a massive white balcony that curled around the windows, with barely noticable stairs leading up to a private area to which only De la Cruz himself had access.

Imelda had spent her first fifteen minutes at the party  scoping out the area, and she decided early on that she would have him take her to that private area. There she would use the little bottle of sleeping gas (disguised as a small, pink bottle of perfume) to knock him out, and wait for Felipe in his helicopter to pick them up and transport them all to HQ.

Simple enough, and the best she could do after her initial plan had been ruined by faulty intel.

Now all she had to do was… seduce him, until he decided to take her away from the crowds.

She repressed a shiver of disgust. He was a handsome man, but something about him bothered her to her very core. Maybe it was his obvious high opinion of himself, or the obvious way he thirsted for the attention from as many people as possible, or the gleam of his eyes that apparently only she noticed. Behind the faux kindness of those eyes was something she didn’t trust.

She was halfway to her target. Walking along the edge of the dance floor, keeping close to the windows that towered high over her, she locked gaze on De la Cruz, who was telling some long tale to the fans around him that she couldn’t hear. Nearby, dozens of couples danced slowly on the floor, concerned only with each other and the soft music the orchestra was playing.

Between the erratic static in her ear and the murmur of low conversation around her and the endless music playing, Imelda almost had a hard time concentrating on her thoughts. Music had been something she’d loved, once. No more, though. Not now. Perhaps not ever again. Not if she had a say in it.

Only slightly distracted by her sudden focus on her distaste for all music, she was shocked to see a familiar face nearby De la Cruz.

She froze in her tracks for only a moment before stepping quickly behind a wide pillar, cursing silently to herself.

She didn’t know the man’s name, except for the title that her colleagues had given him long ago: The Stranger. Beside that, all she knew--all anyone knew--was that he had spent many years hunting down Supers during the 50s, operating everywhere from the icy plains of Antarctica to the hot jungles of South America. Before going into hiding, she’d had a few close calls with him herself.

When a Super disappeared after a fight with him, they’d always turned up dead. And the strongest of them had been mauled, as if the harshest torture had been enacted upon them.

A rumor had spread amongst the last living Supers that the stranger had been able to strip the powers from his victims, but it had only been a dark rumor. There couldn’t be any truth behind it. Something like that would have been impossible.

...still. It was good to be cautious.

Licking her lips, Imelda reached up to tap at her earring again.

“Ceci,” she said, forcing herself to remain calm, keeping her breath slow. “Ceci!”

Her only answer was shrill static.

With a wince, she lowered her arm. The silver bracelets on her wrist jangled when she pounded her fist against the pillar, and the music drowned out her frustrated growl.

The man had been standing near De la Cruz, but his cold blue eyes had been on the dance floor.

If he had seen her… if he recognized her….

With a deep breath, she smoothed her hands down the violet skirt of her gown and adjusted the dark shawl around her shoulders, calming herself. 

He must have seen her. The intensity of his eyes could only have meant one thing. He must have known what she was, even in the absence of her uniform and telltale boots.

Regardless. She wasn’t letting him take De la Cruz. The man was a nuisance, but if he managed to get his grinning self and bloated ego kidnapped by the Stranger, the world could very well be in big trouble.

She needed to get rid of the Stranger, and she needed to get De la Cruz away from him. Knowing the Stranger’s history, Imelda knew he was there to disappear with De la Cruz and his rumored powers, and Imelda would be left searching for a corpse.

She needed to act, and act fast.

She peered discreetly around the pillar, and almost immediately found exactly what she needed.

A tall, gangling man in a charro suit was making his careful way through the dancing couple, apologizing to anyone he bumped into, and he was unknowingly heading right for her. He was alone, and he was perfect for her plan.

She was going to have to lose herself in the crowd by becoming just another half of a dancing couple. When she reached the opposite end, she would be able to retreat into the kitchen and don another disguise. That way, when the Stranger looked for a woman in a violet dress, he would be distracted enough to allow a shy waitress passing spiked wine to De la Cruz.

With a decisive nod, she counted silently to ten, and swept out onto the dance floor and right into the arms of the lone, startled man.

“Ay! Perdon, señorita--”

“Cállate,” she hissed, staring sternly into his confused eyes. She grabbed his arms and lowered them until his hands bumped into her waist. “Dance with me until I say to leave.”

The man--who was taller than her even with the inches her heels granted her--raised his eyebrows in surprise before grinning and nodding. “Pues, by your order, señorita!”

Imelda narrowed her eyes. His tone wasn’t mocking but she was still annoyed by it. Shaking her head, she rested her hands on his boney shoulders and began to lead him deeper into the dancing crowd. The song was slow, so she kept their steps slow and languid, even as her heart was racing.

“You will not let go until I say so,” she ordered, leaning into him to hide her face as much as possible. He was a thin man, but he was warm through the pale, modest charro suit he wore, and he was surprisingly cozy to lean against. Imelda scowled and shook the thoughts from her mind. “Entendido?”

“Well, I was going to get some fresh air,” the man said lightly. “Pero I like being ordered around by a beautiful stranger a lot better, you know.”

Eyes narrowed again, Imelda glanced up at his bright smile.

“No more talking,” she snapped, glaring at his brown eyes, and tugged him closer, until they were pressed together.

His eyebrows shot up at the sudden movement, but he remained silent, his smile wavering only a bit.

“Bueno,” he said, and moved easily as Imelda quickly lead them into a brief twirl.

As they turned together, Imelda pressed her cheek against his solid chest and glanced quickly up at the area where De la Cruz still stood. The Stranger was there, but he was whispering something to De la Cruz now, his eyes off the dance floor.

They finished the twirl, and she was once again hidden from view behind the tall man.

If her heart had been racing before, it was beating at the speed of light now. She chewed at her lip. The Stranger was going to lead De la Cruz away before she ever got to them. She needed a change of tactics. A distraction, maybe.

There was a hiss above her, and she glanced up.

“Perdon,” the man said with a wince. “But, your hand, it’s--it’s digging a little hard into my shoulder--”

Imelda gasped and unclenched her hand. “I’m sorry, señor--”

“Rivera,” he said, rolling his shoulder and smiling reassuringly down at her. “Don’t worry, it didn’t hurt very much. Besides, I like a woman with a strong grip.”

Imelda blinked at him then glared. She didn’t need some strange tall man with too-kind eyes and a too-sweet smile flirting with her. Not now anyway. Not ever if she--

Wait.

“Rivera?” Faltering in her steps, she leaned back and studied his charro suit, then looked once again at his face. His high cheekbones, the groomed goatee, the soft hair falling charmingly over his brow, the ears that were too big but somehow still fit him well, the crooked grin. “Not the Héctor Rivera?”

“Did the handsome face not give it away?” Rivera said. He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Muy guapo, eh?”

“You’re De la Cruz’s friend.”

His grin faltered once again and he heaved a tiny sigh. “Sí, I am Ernesto’s friend. I was playing with the orchestra before you swept me up, did you not--?”

“No,” Imelda said, waving a dismissive hand. “I wasn’t paying attention to the music. Why aren’t you with your amigo?”

Rivera shrugged. “I needed a break from the crowd.”

Imelda studied his suddenly neutral face. So preoccupied with her mission, she hadn’t noticed before that his cheeks were flushed dark, and his forehead was slick with sweat. There were bags underneath his kind eyes. And, she realized, his hands trembled slightly against her waist.

“Are you feeling unwell, Señor Rivera?” She asked. She flattened one hand against the skin of his neck and under the sweat felt an unnatural heat against her palm.

“A bit,” he said with a shrug. “Pero no te preocupes, Señorita, I should be able to finish our dance. It’s nothing another shot of tequila won’t chase away.”

Imelda frowned and Rivera shook his head. “I’ve been performing all night! I’m just tired, believe me. I’m not sick.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Imelda said coldly. “You’re very sick. What are you doing on the dance floor? You should be resting!”

“I was on my way to the balcony,” he said, tugging at her so they continued to move slowly across the dance floor. “But a woman swept me into her arms and stole me away, can you believe it?”

Imelda bit back an irritated groan and rolled her eyes. “Ay, Dios mio. I apologize. I hadn’t realized--”

Rivera stumbled, and Imelda gasped as she stumbled with him. It only took a moment for them to right themselves, but Rivera was shaking his head and blinking his dark eyes as if trying to wake himself up.

“Perdon,” he said, apologizing for the third time since dancing with her. “I think--”

“Are you ok?” Imelda asked. She reached one hand to cup his cheek and felt more heat there, more slick sweat. “Señor?”

“Si, si,” Rivera said with a shaky grin. “I’m ok, just a little--”

He stumbled again, and Imelda took a step back, her heart falling.

She hated that this man, with his ridiculous smile and ridiculous words and ridiculously soft gaze, was going to become the perfect distraction.

“You need to sit,” she said. She didn’t even need to fake the worry in her voice.

“Si,” Rivera said faintly, one hand moving to her shoulder and the other gripping Imelda’s hand from his neck. “I think that would be a good… a good idea.”

She didn’t know what was wrong with him. She didn’t need to. The famed friend of De la Cruz fainting in the middle of the dance floor would be sure to steal the attention from De la Cruz himself. And once De la Cruz, with his penchant for heroism in the midst of adoring fans, walked his friend to the secluded rooms in the tower above the ballroom, Imelda would have her chance.

She only hoped Rivera recovered from whatever was pulling such horrible heat to his skin.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, as Rivera went to his knees. She placed her hand atop his mess of soft brown hair apologetically and winced at the heat she felt there as well. “Adíos, Señor.”

“Espere,” Rivera gasped, the hand that still gripped her wrist shaking. “Señorita--”

He fell forward, and his fingers slipped from her wrist. As startled couples gasped and gathered to surround the man curling into a ball on the polished floor, Imelda slipped back into the crowd, until she was hidden by an elegantly dressed crowd, De la Cruz and the Stranger in turn hidden from her view.

Silently, she backed away into the shadows of the decorative pillars, tapping instantly at her earring, and waited.

[sharvaanis]

I choose the gender I want to be!

“Bastard!” my very first nickname; the only inheritance I had received from my Mother. My mother was a special woman. She gave me everything I needed to discover my identity. She gave me the love that every child deserves, a little too much at that. She cared for me like all mothers do. So what if her ways were unconventional. It’s her intent that mattered after all! She must be given due credit for making me the person I am, today.

“Where is my red lipstick Mother?” I would ask her and she would simply say “Use mine instead, dear.” I loved to browse her dressing shelves. The essence of her body enticed me to become like her.

“This little rascal has nothing in common with other boys,” Sheila aunt, the whore next door would comment, every time she would poke her nose into my one bedroom abode.

“Who said I was a boy?”

I never understood why the gorgeous and curvy women in the brothel, would resist when I tried to be like one of them, after all they consisted of a large and undeniable part of my identity…? I simply adored their attire, their makeup, their jewellery and above all the seductive gaze they possessed day in and day out. I craved to love them and be loved, by women like them.

I respected their profession and never did I express contempt towards God for giving me the life I had. Every day began with my Mother’s pooja on the window sill, where she prayed to Lord Krishna. She often told me, “Never lose faith in Krishna, he will rescue you, the day you need him most.” I was never much of a believer myself, as I had more interesting things to engage myself with.

Mother loved to dress me up every day for school, until one day, in grade seven, when I refused to go, as I had become a stock of laughter for students and teachers alike. The Founders’ Day was approaching. The tradition said that all children must give their measurements for costumes, to the school tailor. At my turn for giving measurements, the tailor almost felt me up near the crotch and deliberately noted a smaller size for my crotch line, than the inch tape indicated. I was humiliated by his uncouth gesture, but more disgusted at his spiteful intent to make me suffocate in those hideous pants, which the school finalised, for lack of funds. The embarrassment did not end there. I told my best friend Munni, “I wish I had a vagina like you and other girls, so that other men like the Tailor, could not treat me this way.” To my nightmare, Munni was not my only audience, it was the entire class, standing behind us, in the queues for measurements.

Munni was my best friend, but a girl after all. She started weeping, as she assumed that I made an obscene comment about her assets, to mock her. She complained to the class teacher, Ms. Lathika. Ms. Lathika, asked me to apologize to Munni, in front of the whole class. She also made me stand outside the classroom the entire day. I tried to explain things to her and to the class and my exact words were, “…but Miss, I was not trying to mock her. I seriously wish I were a woman, in order to avoid the cupping I got from the Tailor. He had no rights to feel my private parts.” I had a tone of apology and anger. The combination certainly did not work in my favour.

Ms. Lathika, baffled and antagonized further, now considered my explanation an act to insult her personally. She asked of me to leave her sight, lest there be severe consequences.

I still did not know why was I made to be the baddie in the picture? I was the one molested and victimized, not the women! I asked Mother, “Is honesty really the best policy?” She said, “Sometimes, one may be required to be sensitive about what one says and where…” Since that day, I concluded that I must never be honest about my yearning to become a woman. Not even to Mother.

Years elapsed, and in no time, my secondary sexual features appeared all over my body. I had hit puberty. I was fourteen and I hated it! The immense growth of facial hair and body hair, made me feel like throwing up. I hated the development of my genitals. Why was God doing this to me? Why could not I have a smooth and curvaceous body like Mother’s? I craved for that body. I loved that body. I wanted to possess that body and be touched by another such body. I loved the beauty of making love to another woman and be loved in reciprocity by another woman.

I wanted a woman’s body, with no facial hair, luscious lips, long black hair, dangling-round breasts, a peaceful vagina, which rubbed against mine, with no intercourse activity or the pressure of an orgasm. I felt miserable in my own skin.

One day, which happens to be the most unfortunate day of my life I confronted Mother with the truth. “I want to become like you Mother. I hate every strand of masculinity in my body. I want to walk like you, with my bosom high up, my buttocks adding to the curves of my body; hair falling down like yours do.”

“Why do you hate yourself so much? Do you know how rare it is in our community to get a perfect masculine body from God?” demanded Mother angrily, after I confessed to her that I didn’t like my birth as a man.

“So what if I have a perfect male body? I don’t want one! Most men anyway are useless in our community. Do you want me to be a pimp and increase the business of this hell?”

At this point, Mother lost it. She came close and slapped me hard.

“Is this why I worked so hard and got you educated? To make a pimp out of you? If you are accusing me of that sin, then you might as well stop living with the devil of a Mother, that I am. Get out of my house right now, and never to return.”

She slammed the door in my face and abandoned me from her life. I banged on the door through out the night. She would not open. My banging had awakened the entire neighbourhood. They all looked at me with confused eyes. As a boy child, many of these whores had tried to force me into penetrating them. Mother had been my shield throughout. But today, I had lost both, the lust of these women and Mother’s protective blanket, which I felt so comfortable in. The whores wanted a real man, who could make them feel young about themselves and not a sissy who wanted to be one of them, because there were plenty of women available anyway, but a healthy, macho man always came for a high price.

Ostracized by the whore house, I had nowhere to go. I was about fifteen now, with only little education to support me. I slept on station platform for many days. How comfortable had Mother’s creaky bed been! Sometimes, even sleeping under it, when she had customers, was better than sleeping on the floor. Eventually, a fellow being suggested that I work as domestic help in households, considering my education, that was the only decent job I could hope for.

I was lucky to have got a civilized home. They treated me like their own children and made arrangements for me to attend government school in order to complete my education. I was an above average student. I liked school. Though managing house chores with keeping up good grades was a bit challenging, this was my best bet at life. I could not complain.

At nights, I would gaze at the sky and miss Mother, wondered what must she be doing, while I was away and her youth touching retirement. I wanted to help Mother in her old age. I was her only alive relative. I missed her. I wanted to go back.

With God’s grace I graduated from High school and fared well at my exams. I was sent to work at office now, by my master and mistress. I did menial jobs at office. Running errands, getting coffee, managing the printing machine. I was happy. But even then, at nights, when I would sit to introspect, I felt like a loser. I hated every bit of being denied a female body. The women at office were mostly clad in professional attire. That made them even more attractive to me. It’s the stiffness of tight shirts, skirts and trousers, which highlights a woman’s bosom and buttocks. I dreamed of living that reality some day, when I would be rich enough to wear those finely ironed clothes and walk confidently, with my hair left open

In a matter of years, through my dedication and hard work, I graduated from the coffee-guy to clerk. How I hated the safari suits, given to me! The rough texture itched my skin all over. I wanted cotton shirts instead. I had saved up some money for my clothes. But there was no point in buying women’s clothes for my ugly hairy body. I still missed Mother. I wanted to tell another person about the internal turmoil which I underwent.

At that point, I came across a brochure for a psychiatry clinic, near the office locality. I had heard that psychiatrists were mental doctors. For the first time in my life, I felt I was a mental patient. There was no way a man could hate his body. It was my irrevocable sin. I wanted a cure.

“Gender Dysphoria” exhaled the lady in front of me. She was a qualified psychiatrist, with the perfect body, hard to miss. Apparently, I had a mental condition wherein I had cross-gender identification. That is, I identify with the opposite sex.

I was terrified. “Is there a cure?” I asked in anticipation.

“Well, there are different alternatives to deal with this situation. We shall go with whatever you wish for yourself. I shall recommend the best surgeons for you. However, a sex change operation will cost a huge sum of money. Are you willing to go ahead with a surgery?”

“Is that my best option?”

“It depends on the degree of your urge to get a feminine body. If you can manage to live with the trauma all your life, then I could give you some medicines to tackle with the stress. On the contrary, some men prefer repressing these urges, which can also be catered to with the help of advanced drugs.”

That day, that moment, sitting in front of a psychiatrist, I felt I had my moment of truth. She was demanding an answer from me point blank, which translated to “Can you live a life of lie? Or would you rather stay true to yourself?” How could I lie to myself, especially now, when I knew the truth about myself?

The best part about this diagnosis was the awareness of the fact that there are many others like me,  out there! I am not the only one who feels this way. I am normal! I am a normal person! My gender can be my choice! I just could not be any happier!

I thanked the Doctor and asked her for the surgeon’s contact details. As I left her office, I felt like a different person. Someone, Mother would also be proud of! She need not think of me as a misfit in the community anymore! I was normal like any other transgender!

The next day, I was to meet a certain Ms.Sheila. Waiting at her clinic were the hardest twenty minutes of my life. I did not know how the surgery would proceed. What would the exact changes in me, be? Would I be able to afford the surgery? Did I want a life like that?

“Mr. Nair, you can come in. Ms. Sheila is ready.” Announced the angel-like secretary of Ms. Sheila.

“How are you  Mr. Nair?” asked Ms. Sheila, glancing through my case file.

“As great as I could be.”

“Well, please do not worry about anything. You are in very safe hands. I shall explain you all aspects of the surgery, you must only decide whether you would like to undergo the Sex reassignment surgery?”

“Sex reass…sorry? I think I didn’t get that right.”

“Sex reassignment surgery. It shall transform the masculine parts of your body into feminine. It shall take about a week. It will cost you Rs. 5 lakhs only. You could use the EMI scheme of the clinic, and pay up the sum in instalments...”

As she went on about the business scheme, I was wondering, how exactly would I be able to pay up even the instalments? I barely made Rs. 5000 a month. It would take a lifetime, before I could really live the changed life that I was aspiring for. Breaking her monotonous speech, I finally gathered the courage and said, “How exactly do you go about the surgery? How do you convert the penis into a vagina?”

“Well, it is not as complicated as it sounds. The genitals of both males and females have the same basic structure. They only grow into different organs over a period of time.”

“So then, where does the penis really go?”

“The general idea of the surgery is that we deconstruct the penis into its parts, the skin, the erectile tissues, the testicles, the scrotum. We resize them and reshape them and put them into female positions. We basically recycle a lot of the material of the penis into the vagina.”

“Uhm, okay.” I was so nervous. It was awkward to hear a person of the opposite sex, speak so blatantly about my genitals! I was perspiring. I didn’t know if I were really ready to let go off my parts. Besides, how could I trust this system blindly? What if I died? What if I did not survive the surgery?

“Considering my miserable financial condition, could you grant me a waiver of some portion of the amount?”

“I think, we could maximum cut it down to four and a half lakhs. Sir, this surgery requires exclusive skills, not available everywhere in India. We call for many surgeons from all over India. I am sorry but that is the maximum I can do.”

“Okay. Thank you for the guidance Madam.” I left her office in apprehension. I had no clue as to what the future had planned for me. I wanted a woman’s body. That had been my childhood dream, and finally today I had been told that with the development in Science, I could in fact do it. I could be me! I could tell Mother that I am still her child, only packaged differently!

Today, after one year, two months and thirteen days, I finally have the money for the first instalment, Rs. 50,000 only! I worked hard, burnt midnight oil, but I had to do this in order for my dream to come true; to finally live the life of my choice. I cannot be any happier! I am heading to Ms. Sheila’s nursing home now.

I feel proud and victorious. I feel that I have finally conquered my fears and anxiety. I can now live in the body of my choice. I feel empowered.