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godkilller · 4 years ago

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@shirenui144

A more sombre question, but had me wondering... Has Gin ever cried / what would it take to make him cry? I imagine it would be verse dependent, but could a man this guarded ever visibly show such emotional hurt?

out of character. Why must you hurt me.

But it’s an excellent question, and as you say too -- Gin has become such a guarded, numbed, and twisted man. He has, for lack of better wording, killed off that part of himself long ago. He is also one of the topmost guarded characters in Bleach, even Ichigo’s little trick of ‘reading his opponent’s heart’ during battle did not work on Gin. Gin was empty. Gin wasn’t even ‘looking at Ichigo’ with his heart when fighting. They did not reach each other. Gin is so utterly closed off from others and himself that there’s an eerie absence of self present in him, a swallowing abyss, intimidating and oppressive. Gin has also spent his entire existence isolated, he joined Aizen extremely young and thus his centuries-long otherness began. He cannot show emotions akin to Toshiro, who is often used in ways alongside Gin to show what happens if one shows emotions and weakness to Aizen Sousuke via childhood friends. Renji and Rukia, too, are used in ways that contrast Gin and Rangiku subtly in the background. Gin’s interactions with Rukia about Renji, and his interactions with Toshiro about Momo are to make Gin more of an other. He is removed, unlike them.

So Gin does not despair openly like they do. He doesn’t shout or cry for the audience to see. He’s a villainous cold-hearted bastard.

This is on top of the potent sense of cultural toxic masculinity and military way of avoiding / “dealing with” emotionally charged moments, not speaking of trauma, and the whole nine yards of suppression which channels into self-worth issues and a tendency for violence. Most characters in Bleach, and especially male characters, aren’t allowed to really stop and think about what they’re feeling, doing -- Ichigo being able to do a decent amount of that, yes, with his protagonist badge, but even then ? It’s pathetically insufficient, barely a taste of what Ichigo actually should be experiencing, and no other characters are allowed to mourn losses or suffer long-lasting consequences for their actions, for injuries, for mistakes, for harmful words or acts. It’s an action / fighting series, the audience is here for big flashy swordfights and cool abilities, not emotions. Certainly not darker topics of PTSD and the like.

You can slice it any which way, but Gin grew up as a child soldier. It can be contrasted by the fact that the majority of the Gotei 13 / Shinigami characters are shown, in flashbacks, as entering the Academy whilst in adulthood, becoming Shinigami once adults, with the exception of people like Toshiro, Momo, Hiyori, who all look / are perpetually young.

Gin is a little older than Toshiro, for context, by the way -- and he is younger than Byakuya. Because Tite doesn’t know how the ages of his own characters work, it can be argued that Gin and Hiyori are possibly within the same ballpark in terms of ages. But like. Look at her. What the fuck. ANYWAYS, the point is ? Gin’s young, and his trauma is fairly fresh. From the Winter War -- and then 110 years into the past to the Turn Back the Pendulum arc -- Gin spends the majority of his childhood either playing caretaker for Rangiku, who is actually a little older than him, and then killing; first, the three Shinigami that attacked Rangiku, then the Third Seat of the Fifth Division, and then many more likely during his career of observing failed projects at Aizen’s side, witnessing horrific Hollowification experimentations, and many more things. The crucial period of development for things like higher level empathy ( Gin showcases it by sharing his food with Rangiku, a stranger, and then we see the absolute absence of it from then on ) and Gin swiftly enters into the midst of Erikson’s industry vs. inferiority stage of development; what does he have to offer the world ? What can he become ? Will he be good enough ? This is the stage in which Gin makes the connection as well as makes peace with becoming a monster; this is what I’m offering, this is what I’m becoming, this will be good enough.

He flipped a switch. It’s questionable whether or not Gin has the ability to cry once he’s an established Third Seat. It’s gone, it’s been swallowed down a hole so deep and dark Gin doesn’t want to go searching for it. He doesn’t want to cry. Gin already has a negative connotation connected to crying given his quote “I’m gonna become a Shinigami, change things for ya, so that you don’t have to cry anymore, Rangiku.” Not crying = good. Not crying means better. Rangiku crying over what was done to her was what embedded into Gin that he needed to be stronger. No crying allowed. None. In his mind, obviously, Gin doesn’t actually make that connection that ‘because Rangiku did this, I’ll do this’ no, he’s not so meticulously aware yet, but there’s certainly an imprint left on him from those earlier years in the Rukongai, dreading her tears, hating them, hating those men, and so crying = murderous intent. Crying = anger.

If Gin cried as a child, he didn’t realize he was doing so. I can see him crying in his sleep from a dream, a nightmare, a jam-packed series of emotions hitting him whilst vulnerable, whilst unable to smile and swallow it all down. I can see him waking from it and wiping at his face, feeling utter detachment like an ache in his chest, an otherness, like that wasn’t even him crying, that wasn’t him. Gin wouldn’t think more of it, he wouldn’t dare linger on the thoughts. Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know.mp4 and all that jazz.

Gin is more likely to lash out in anger than let himself cry. I have a headcanon / drabble somewhere of Gin screaming into his inner world, clutching at his hair, feeling so terribly close to crying but he can’t, it literally will not happen. He’s too bottled up and frustrated from that that when he actually has an opportunity to cry and it doesn’t naturally happen because he’s become so suppressed, it just outright angers him. Because he has latched everything up, lock and key, by the time Gin’s an adult -- if he were to cry as an adult, it’d be during a flurry of explosive emotions. He cannot just casually let loose, no, that door’s jammed shut, it’s been coiled tight in him. A pit of despair by the time the Winter War rolls by. Gin admits to feeling anxiety, dread, during that conflict -- a sign of slowly coming undone, no longer able to keep himself from hesitance, doubt, insecurity, and anticipation hovering around him like a dark cloud. Gin cannot cry, though, not now. Not when he’s so close to making all the pain worth something...

So it’s no surprise that Gin really only starts getting the actual opening to properly cry in my canon divergent verses. But the catch !!!! Gin has failed so thoroughly and so brutally that he feels he doesn’t deserve to weep about it. That this is merely a fraction of the karma he deserves. He experiences suicidal ideation, daydreaming of how it’d simply be easier if he hadn’t survived at all. He feels too hollow to cry, then, at the start. He feels too heavy, too much, it’s too much to cry about. He ruined himself and Rangiku for nothing. He did all of this for nothing. And now Rangiku wants answers, still waiting, watching him, and he can’t cry in front of her. IT’S STILL INGRAINED IN HIM FROM CHILDHOOD: she’s the one who cries and he’s the one who comforts. The audacity of him to cry in front of her after everything he put her through, as though he were the victim and her the one needing to comfort him. Gin may be morally gray, but at times he truly sees the world in black and white. No moderation, no give and take.

It’d hit him later, when he’s learning to become more vulnerable. When he’s trying to open up to Rangiku about something he has to rip from himself, his heart holding onto this sorrow for so long Gin has to surgically remove the truth from himself. AS A CHILD, WITNESSING WHAT HAPPENED TO RANGIKU COUNTS AS A TRAUMATIC EVENT. Not talking about it for 110+ years does a number or two on you when you at last, FINALLY, tell her the fucking scoop. Gin repressed what happened to Rangiku because he recognized that Rangiku did not fully and properly remember, recollect, what happened to her. He knew. Gin saw.

Compartmentalizing her trauma on top of his own, as though a keeper of it, a sin-eater, Gin would feel absolute despairing relief at finally telling her. Despairing because he’ll be inflicting upon her something he’s been holding back, holding that door shut, for the entirety of their knowing of one another, and to finally let go of the door and let that beast of trauma go charging at her undeterred ? There’s immense guilt attached to this entire affair. Gin feels childlike guilt; why her, and not me ? I wish it could’ve been me, we could’ve traded places and I’d be fine, I’d live, we could live happy together. Akin to survivor’s guilt, Gin wishes those men had found him and taken a piece of his soul rather than Rangiku’s. The ‘why’ of it haunts him. Why her. Why didn’t I stop them. Why didn’t I show up sooner. I could’ve bitten at them, kicked and hit, we could have escaped together -- or at least you could have. Gin also feels guilt at a base adult level: why am I keeping this from her ? No, it’s too late to tell her, she’s happier now, there will never be a good time to tell her.

There are so many things, feelings, thoughts, that Gin has never shared with Rangiku due to it all being tied to the unspoken secret he’s let fester inside of him.

SO WHEN GIN FINALLY TELLS RANGIKU WHY HE JOINED AIZEN, WHY HE TRIED TO KILL AIZEN, WHY HE SAID THOSE WORDS TO HER DURING THAT BLIZZARD AND BECAME A SHINIGAMI ... GIN’S GOING TO BREAK DOWN.

The truth is tied to vulnerability in Gin’s mind. Telling it means ripping himself apart at the seams. Everything he crafted himself out to be was made around this secret. It’s going to be bloody, it’s going to hit him like a fucking train. Gin’s going to feel it coming, rumbling on the tracks, he’ll hear it even, that approaching storm, he’ll know by the prickle at his eyes and the closing of his throat, but still nothing’s ever prepared him for the absolute choked finality of the truth, and he’s going to do his best to hold it back -- it’s instinctive, it’s in his blood by now to mask it, stop it, divert and drawl his way out of it. But this time he can’t just stop halfway and distract her, talk about something else. No, Gin’s cornered himself and it’s high time Rangiku got the truth from him, he can’t run away any more. He’ll have to grit his teeth and talk through it, swallow it back just enough to speak, to tell her what he’s done to them both and for what, for why, it’s the worst possible conversation they could ever have, but one they need. And Gin’s going to find himself incapable of holding back a sob the more he discloses, the more that slips out and escapes him the more the emotions tied to that sunken anchor come up too. He will feel simultaneously lighter and heavier for it.

There are numerous ways Gin’s thought about wording it. He’s thought about the numbed approach, MISSION REPORT style: Aizen Sousuke harvested souls from the 64th Rukongai District, they took a piece from you. Perhaps not, no, not like that. Maybe... back when y’were a kid, there were three Shinigami assigned to the 64th District to collect souls to fuel Aizen Sousuke’s Hogyoku. They took somethin’ from you. I saw it. I saw them hoverin’ over you, I saw it in their hands. I saw’em offer it up to Aizen in the forest, collectin’ firewood. I saw him.

WHY DIDN’T I STOP HIM, WHY DIDN’T I ATTACK THOSE THREE MEN THEN AND THERE IN BROAD DAYLIGHT WITH YOUR COLLAPSED FORM A FEW FEET AWAY, MAYBE I COULD HAVE TAKEN THEM ON AFTER ALL. I COULD HAVE CRUSHED A SKULL IN WITH STONE, I COULD’VE STOLEN HIS SWORD BEFORE THE LIFE FULLY FADED FROM HIM AND MADE IT VANISH, I COULD’VE CARVED THROUGH THE SECOND, SLICE THE TENDON AT THE THIRD’S ANKLE AS HE ATTEMPTED TO FLEE, WARN OTHERS. SLIT HIS THROAT AS HE CRAWLED AWAY. YOU’D HEAR IT, OFF TO THE SIDE. YOU’D SEE ME COME UP TO YOU WITH BLOOD SPLATTERS. YOU’D SEE ME LEAN OVER YOU WITH NOT A PERSIMMON OFFERED, NO, YOUR OWN FUCKING SOUL THEY PLUCKED FROM YOU. SHAKY HAND. BLOODIED HAND. TAKE IT, TAKE IT BACK. I FIXED IT --

Just tell her. JUST TELL HER.

DO YOU REMEMBER THE DAY WE MET, RANGIKU ... ?

#[ headcanon ] fresh snowfall; fading footprints mark his path #[ verse: redemption ] i am healing by mistake; rome is also built on ruins #me: i wanna cover more but also i. oof.

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joontier · 4 years ago

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The King’s Guard | Chapter 3

–> Pairings: kim seokjin x reader; jeon jungkook x reader

–> Rating: R

–> Genre/warnings: implications of insomnia; implied infidelity; slight depictions of death of mc; slight angst; fluffy FLUff; humor smut (y/n is such a horndog tbh or maybe the author is too wink wonk; pool sex; masturbation; dom jk undertones; slight switch!jk too sHIt; fingering; voyeurism; unprotected sex; exhibitionism; fingering; boob play kookie jus like dem boobies mkay; thigh riding)

–> Word count: 10.4k

–> A/N: This has less drama and more dialogues than the previous chapters bc we all needed a break from all the angsty angst AMIRITE? Anywho, as usual Korean vocab used will be placed at the end of the chapter. TELL ME WHATCHA YALL THINK PEOPLE shsfskdjf

The King’s Guard - Masterlist || navi.

The King’s Guard | Chapter 3

With the Chuseok Festival just around the corner, the palace is practically buzzing, palace workers out and about the hanoks. You had also busied yourself with your own responsibilities and those of Seokjin’s. It’s been a fortnight since he’s left, and you’re partly thankful that the preparations for the festivities are constantly occupying your mind enough during the day so you don’t worry much about your husband.

Your days now consists of council meetings, classes with the children of the capitol, kitchen checks, palace inspections, village hearings. The list was endless. Admittedly, you had become less amiable as the days pass by, most likely from the doubled amount of responsibility you now have on your hands. It doesn’t help either that the people supposedly helping you with your duties are mostly useless. Just like the so-called ‘royal council’.

You had called for a council meeting today to raise your apprehension towards the new taxes imposed on your people. Needless to say, the meeting went terribly. Now you truly understood Seokjin’s distress after council meetings. And to think that was just the first agenda you had for the day. Just when you thought things couldn’t possibly get worse than speaking with selfish men, a guard suddenly reports to you that a corner of the kitchen had caught fire and that some citizens had caused another riot at a neighboring village.

You were already nursing a nasty headache by the time you had finished lunch. After a particularly stressful day like such, you had decided to retire to bed earlier than usual, skipping supper and your afternoon agenda for your much-needed rest.

You wake up in a cold sweat, panting heavily as you abruptly sit up in your bed. Your eyes look around, taking in your surroundings. It was just a nightmare. You begin to sob, emotions rolling off you in waves.

“Guards!” you call weakly, hoping they will hear you through your sobs. A few more cries and a royal guard, Yunho bursts through the door. “Jungjeon-mama!” he calls as he takes in your distressed state, running towards your bed.

“Lee…Astron…Lee…” the words fade on your lips.

Jungkook is the last thing you see before blacking out.

When you wake, eyes adjusting to the lack of light in the room, you see Astonomer Lee reading a book on your left and Jungkook sleeping soundly on a bench to your right. “Jungjeon-mama,” Astronomer Lee’s voice is soft as he notices you’ve awakened. You attempt to sit up, but a raging headache is royally preventing you from doing so.

“Careful, Mama. The royal physician does not recommend you getting up from bed anytime soon. You need to rest.”

It’s just a mere headache, you contest inwardly, but for the sake of it, you stop yourself from voicing out your argument. Instead, you rest your weight on your elbows and ask for Minho’s assistance in placing the rest of your pillows behind your back to elevate your torso for more convenience.

Another snore escapes from the man on your right catching both your attention. Jungkook’s neck is precariously bent forward, his chin already touching his collarbones. “Minho, could you please…” the astronomer thankfully doesn’t require any further instruction, scuttling to the other side of your bed to help Jungkook lie down on the bench he’d fallen asleep on.

“The Captain had been fighting sleep ever since you fainted earlier tonight, scolding everyone that tried to tell him to get back to his quarters but the poor lad fell asleep the moment I got here.” Minho chuckles, adjusting Jungkook’s position on the bench. The latter reaches his hands out, arms swatting Minho away who’s currently struggling with his task.

“Must…queen…awake,” the younger one mumbles in broken sentences, still blindly pushing the struggling astronomer away. By the time Minho finally manages to lay the captain down, you’re already in tears, your hand clamped over your mouth to stifle your laughter despite the tiny whirlwind in your head.

The fatigued astronomer returns to his seat after completing the arduous task while you reach for the steaming cup of tea sat on your bedside table. You take a whiff, letting the steam reach and fill your nose with the aroma. Ah, Taehyung’s signature brew. The royal physician has relatives from the east that own a tea farm, so Taehyung gets his leaves delivered fresh from the city of agriculture and brews the tea himself – one which the palace keeps in abundance, due to its taste and medicinal benefits.

“You’ve called for me earlier, my queen?”

Minho’s question drowns out the thoughts in your head. “Ah, yes.” A cold shiver runs through your spine as you recall the reason why you woke earlier during the night. “I had quite the nightmare earlier…” you start, “…I was hoping seeking your counsel would ease me of my troubles.”

“I will try my best, Jungjeon-mama.”

“You have my gratitude, Astronomer Lee. But first, I must rise, for my stomach is complaining.”

“Jungjeon-mama. I can’t let you do that. Taehyung strongly insists that you rest, I-“ You look at him, unamused. He stops mid-sentence, knowing there was no point in trying to convince you to do otherwise. “Don’t play innocent now, Minho. As if you weren’t sneaking hangwa off our table when you said you were feeling unwell during the new lunar year celebration.” The scholar chokes on his tea at your comment. “Don’t worry, I’m glad you like my recipe,” you add as you pat him lightly on the shoulders, causing the young astronomer’s cheeks to redden.

“Wangbi, what about the captain?” Minho questions, pointing to the younger man who’s still snoring away happily, face squished against the wooden seat.

“He’ll be fine. Come on, a hungry queen is a grumpy queen.”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be here, Mama.” Minho mumbles behind you, trying not to tug at the sleeves of your jeogori too hard. You both know he’s breaking royal protocol by touching you like this, albeit indirectly, but you don’t mind, not when his cowardice is starting to affect you as well, mumbling about tales of never-before-recorded creatures that lurk in the night.

You had forgotten to take a lamp with you at your haste to succumb to your hunger, and now you’re both suffering the consequences of your lack of preparedness. With darkness blanketed over the palace and the strong winds blowing, most of the candles inside the lampposts had burned out, only adding to your unnecessary fear. The thin fog surrounding the roofs of the hanoks were of no help either.

“Aren’t you supposed to be fond of the dark, ‘cause it’s when the stars are most visible?” You can feel Minho pursing his lips from behind you. “I only enjoy it when I’m actually outside in the field, or inside my office, with a lamp by my side,” the astronomer answers, pulling at your sleeve a little too hard when he hears a small noise nearby.

When you finally reach the kitchen, Minho breaths a sigh of relief, lighting up the nearby lamp by the entrance. As you raise the lamp to rack the shelves for a few snacks, you accidentally knock over cup from a low shelf, the contents pouring over an open teapot. “Oh!”

The astronomer jumps at the sound, quickly moving closer to you. “Mama! What was that? Do we have an intruder?” You calm him down, assuring him that there was nobody else in the kitchen. Having to lift the teapot as you wipe the spill, your nose catches on this certain aroma coming from the tiny vessel – a mixture that vaguely smells of Taehyung’s tea and…milk.

You bring the vessel closer to your nose this time, realizing that the pleasant smell was coming from the teapot. Brimming with curiosity, you grab the cup that toppled over and poured in a small amount of the concoction. Hoping that it tastes as good as it smells, you bring the cup to your mouth and try your accidentally discovery. You’re genuinely surprised at how it turned out to be, pouring more and sharing the same with Minho who’s already busy filling his mouth with biscuits.

As you both head out of the dark kitchen, snacks on one hand and drinks on the other, you both decide to rest by the steps of a neighboring hanok. The full moon seems brighter and bigger than usual – believed to be determinative of good luck, but you can’t ignore the unsettling feeling in your gut.

“What’s troubling you, Jungjeon-mama?”

“I had a nightmare earlier. It had the same full moon like tonight. Darkness has enveloped the whole palace, Seokjin and I were walking in our garden, just like the usual and as we were talking underneath the cherry tree, a snake slithers around a branch and suddenly attacks me. I don’t remember what happens after that but the next thing I knew Seokjin was in battle and for some reason I couldn’t come near him or help him at least, and somebody plunges a sword-“ You choke on a sob, inhaling deeply as you continue your narrative.

“And…and he looked so helpless, Minho.” Weeping, the astronomer gently rests your head against his shoulder, rubbing your back gently to calm you down. “My poor Seokjin…my husband,” it’s physically painful trying to breathe, like your heart is being tugged in all directions, crushed, and squeezed all at the same time. Your head betrays you one more time with a vivid image of your husband on the ground, lifeless.

You had taken your rest after your talk with Minho and decided to continue your even if it was already late in the afternoon, trying to push away the images of your dead husband before your eyes. You hear the doors slide open, the sound of wood scraping against wood ringing in your ears, the noise momentarily breaking you from concentration. Didn’t you just order the guards to keep the surroundings quiet? Or more specifically, to not let anyone in?

Paying your unexpected visitor no mind, you continue reading your husband’s past proclamations. “Wangbi.” You recognize the voice instantly. “Yes Captain? What sort of national emergency brings you here?” As much as you genuinely enjoy the company of your mysterious, newly-found acquaintance at the palace, you had plenty to catch up to due to Seokjin’s, hopefully, temporary absence.

You keep your eyes trained on the letters in front of you, still nescient of the captain’s proximity. “I must apologize for disappointing you, Jungjeon-mama, but my unlikely visit at this time of the night is not warranted by an emergency on a national level, but of a personal one.” His final words catch your attention, but you continue your reading. “And must I be the one to resolve your personal whims?” You look up from your work, eyes widening a little at the sight of the captain dressed in commoners’ clothes.

“I assure you, my queen. They are not my own.” What does he mean by that? Surely, he can’t mean you. You don’t have personal emergencies, do you?

“Should I presume your choice of clothing is related to this ‘personal emergency’?”

Jungkook says nothing, instead he grins widely in reply. He bends forward to pick something up and you crane your neck a little to see what he’s brought. In his hands is a silk pouch, golden dragons embroidered on the purple cloth. He places the same next to your desk. “What are you up to Jung?” You ask him, totally confused by his actions.

“Mama, it would do me a great honor if you could open the bag.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then the emergency won’t be going away anytime soon, and for all you know, it could turn into a national one.”

“Need I remind you that you’re speaking to your queen?”

“Exactly why I’m giving you the choice if you want to open the bag or not, Jungjeon-mama.”

Doesn’t seem like it. With the way he speaks of the pouch, it seems as if you don’t have that much of a choice. You narrow your eyes at him and revert them back to the pouch. “It’s getting late, Wangbi. I think it’s best for you to continue your reading tomorrow,” the captain adds a suggestion to his proposal, sliding the windows open to reveal the night sky dotted with stars.

“How am I supposed to know there is no animal inside?” He doesn’t answer one more time, just sending a toothy smile your way. You too are suppressing a grin, knowing you’re both reminiscing how just a few days ago, he’d successfully coaxed you into opening a box with a frog inside, shouting hysterically as the slimy animal jumps in your face as the whole class erupts in laughter at your reaction.

“Perhaps,” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, “But see for yourself, Mama – the sun has already set and the darkness of the night is upon us.” For once today, you finally agree with someone. Heaving a deep sigh, you set the scrolls aside for tomorrow and reach for the bag to place it on your desk.

Under Jungkook’s watchful eyes, you gingerly check the pouch – sniffing, poking, prodding, and attempting to hear what sort of object, or creature, might be inside. The captain resists the urge to laugh at how you warily pry the bag. His chest constricts at the sight, your childlike innocence this very moment too adorable for his heart. He hopes that this moment will last forever, that you find wonder in the simplest of things and rid yourself of the sadness clouding your heart.

You untie the knot with no hurry, fingers still holding the two ends of the cloth together just in case something from the inside tries to jump on you again. Once you deem it certain that no animal is inside, you gently open the package. Neatly folded commoners’ clothes similar to Jungkook’s choice of clothes are sitting inside the bag.

“What am I to do with this?” you ask, taking out the garments that are of the same colors as the captain’s.

“Uh, wear it perhaps?” The man retorts, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Now is not the time to fool me, Captain. I know what you’re supposed to do with clothes. Now, tell me why do I have to wear this?”

“Because we’re going to visit the city – your city!”

“Excuse me? Not at this time of the night! I still have-”

“Please, Jungjeon-mama? If I’m not mistaken, this was included in one of your plans anyway! And you really look like you need a break from taking over the king’s duties, on top of your own. I assure you; we will only be the two people who shall know of this!” He whispers the last words conspiratorially, like he’s telling you something that is tantamount to committing treason.

You can’t deny that he’s made a valid point. Now that you’re in charge of the whole palace, your responsibilities had doubled in number and you rarely had time to just take a breather, your days and nights spent working and attending to your duties. Without further encouragement from the captain, you push him out of the room, telling him that you have to change first.

Jungkook does a victory dance at your affirmation, swaying his hips from side to side as he scurries towards the door, reassuring you that he’ll be waiting outside and that you will not regret this choice. You sure hope you won’t.

With the amount of time you’ve spent with him recently, you had discovered plenty of things about the captain: that he has the eye for the arts, that he completely adores children, and that he is definitely one to think on impulse. Jungkook would do anything that suddenly pops up in his mind, regardless of what the outcome of his actions might be. You realize that was the defining trait that definitely makes Jungkook and Haesoo look great together.

Once you slide the doors open, the captain places a finger on his mouth, silently ordering you to stay quiet. You nod, following Jungkook as he walks on the tip of his toes, wincing when his next step makes the wood below him creak. He looks back at you with a funny face that almost made you laugh out loud, reprimanding him with a light slap on his arm, shushing him.

After having traversed almost halfway across the entire palace, you had one last hanok to cross before reaching Jungkook’s supposed ‘secret passage’ by the west gates. The captain peeks his head from a corner, checking any surrounding guards by the small open space while you rest your back against a lamppost.

“It’s clear, Mama.”

You join him where he’s stood, watching the same guards he’d been observing just now. With your shoulders almost touching, the captain is now fully conscious of your current proximity, his breathing getting shallower by the second. The captain hadn’t really expected you to say yes, and now that you’re here with him, he’s practically jumping in excitement, completely giddy at the fact that you’re spending time with him out of your official duties.

He’d initially meant to go with Haesoo tonight, but had lied to her that he’s been feeling unwell all day and wanted to get some good night’s rest. Now you’re here by his side, sneaking through the guards, as guilt eats at him for lying to such a sweet girl like Haesoo. What Jungkook won’t openly admit though is that spending time alone with you seems to alleviate the guilt he feels for his misdeed to another.

The captain glances sideways to glimpse at you. How is it that you always manage to be effortlessly beautiful? Even when you’re in your royal garments, in commoners’ clothes like tonight, or even without clothes, you always seem to have this aura that simply magnetizes people towards you, no matter what the time, place, or occasion may be.

He wasn’t – isn’t – supposed to develop feelings for you – not for a married woman, and especially not for the queen of Korea. This wasn’t part of the mission. He hadn’t gone through so much in the past just for his plans to ricochet at him like this. Was he really willing to throw away all those years of training just because his heart was always beating faster than usual around you?

Jungkook shakes his head as if to rid himself of his thoughts of self-doubt. He turns his head to look at you at look and puts a smile on his face. “Ready, Mama?” he reaches his hand out for you to take which you accept gladly as he informs you that you both had to run across the open square to reach the secret passage.

The captain gulps when you slip your soft, small hand into his. There’s a small part of him that suddenly regrets his offer, the small action seemingly seeping him further into the fatal void of his emotions. But, undeniably, there’s that larger part of his conscience that celebrates during moments like these with you – his heart triumphs once again.

He can’t fail this mission, not when he’s so close to finishing it. But the more he tries to concentrate, the more he falls and it’s so difficult to accomplish something when his heart and his brain are constantly at war with each other, even if they’re fighting over the same thing.

Jungkook counts to three and you two bolt from the corner of the hanok and run towards the trees. Halfway through the square, one of the guards catches you and orders you two to halt at once. “Quickly!” Jungkook whispers, giving you a hand with carrying your skirt so you could run faster. As the guard sprints after you, you run as fast as your feet could carry you until the both of you reach the bushes and hide beneath the thick shrubs.

The both of you hide beneath the shrubs, breathless. When the guard arrives at the spot he’d thought you two were supposed to be, he finds no traces of you or any other intruder lurking around, the guard goes back to his post. You let out a huge breath you don’t realize you’ve been holding back for so long.

When you realize you still had your hands intertwined with Jungkook, you release yourself from his grip gently, dismissing the awkwardness in the air with a small cough. You let yourself fall onto a nearby heap of leaves, letting out a breathy laugh. Jungkook soon joins you on the heap, laughing along.

“I haven’t run like that in such a long time!” you squeal, clapping your hands in excitement. Jungkook revels in your enthusiasm as he pushes himself from the heap. “Where to now?” As you finish dusting yourself off, Jungkook looks at you expectantly. “Please don’t tell me you’re planning for us to go over the wall.”

“I promise you, it’s safe, Jungjeon-mama.”

“How would you know that?! I don’t even see a ladder here for us to use!” Your shoulders slump and you slowly back away. “No, no, no, no! We’ll be fine!” reassures Jungkook, attempting to calm your agitation due to the literal obstacle in front of you.

“Wangbi, look, it’s not even that high, see?” The captain pushes his back against the wall and uses his hand to compare his height to the brick partition. There may be a relatively small difference, the wall being approximately a head higher than Jungkook, but the captain easily towers over you, so how exactly does he suppose you to reach all the way to the top?

You look at him like he’s eaten your expensive collection ceramic bowls for breakfast. Maybe he’s had too much milk tea to drink? You’d learned that he’s enjoyed your newly-discovered concoction way more than others in the palace. Perhaps the mixture didn’t yield as much benefits as you initially thought it was? You make a mental note to lessen the frequency of the production of your specialty drink.

You think this through one last time. All this trouble would have been for nothing if you’ll decide retire to your room now. Plus, you badly wanted to see the Chuseok preparations going on outside the palace. You let your fingers rub heavily against your forehead, weighing the possible outcome of sneaking out of the palace in the middle of the night.

You take one look at Jungkook, who’s silently pleading you to continue your journey with his titillating doe-like eyes, then you let your eyes linger over to the wall and what sort of sight it might hide beneath it. You let out an exasperated sigh, knowing that the captain has once again triumphed in dragging you to his acts of impulsiveness.

“Captain Jung Jungkook, you will be the death of me.”

The captain claps his hands with an intense amount of vigor at your statement. He doesn’t falter even with the look of aggravation on your face. You gasp inwardly, maybe he found out where you hid your secret vessel of makgeolli in the kitchen and drank it all for himself! That little bast-

“Come on now, I’ll lift you up.” Jungkook laces his fingers together, hands forming a makeshift pedestal for you to step on. He lowers his knees for your convenience and bows curtly, gesturing you to come closer.

Grabbing onto his shoulders for support, you ease a foot onto his woven hands. He lifts you up with no trouble and you latch onto the top of the wall, swinging your legs over one at a time, eventually perching yourself on top of the brick panel. “See that wasn’t so hard after all, right Mama?” Jungkook should be grateful he doesn’t see you roll your eyes.

Jungkook, on the other hand, agile body and all, practically springs from the ground and hooks his hands easily on the wall, jumps over the partition and lands gracefully on the other side with ease. “How did you manage to do that?!” Your still at awe at his dexterity, eyes wide at the realization that he’d done such a strenuous feat without exerting much effort. “Tell me, Jung Jungkook, were you a thief at some point in your life? A bandit perhaps?”

The captain chortles at your sudden judgment. “No, I wasn’t, Mama. But you’d have a lot of training when you live in a pala-“Jungkook’s eyes widen slightly, “w-when you live in a place where there are plenty of walls to climb over.” He’s grateful when you don’t notice the slip in his words. “Now what do I do?” You tap your fingers at your thighs, anxious about what might happen next. You look around. There doesn’t seem to be some spot soft enough for you to land on.

“Jump. I’ll catch you, Jungjeon-mama.”

Once again, you find yourself questioning your life decisions. Perhaps you were the one who had too much milk tea to drink? You’ve never even tried, not even once, tried sneaking out of the palace like this before and now here you were, a grown, married woman, climbing over a wall at nighttime like it’s some daily chore.

As you push yourself off the brick wall, a villager shouts something in your direction, making Jungkook look away from you the same time you jump. You instantly close your eyes in fear, yelling out the captain’s name as you fall.

When Jungkook manages to catch you in his arms, you recite prayers of gratitude to your ancestors for having blessed Jungkook with vigilance, that is, until he falls backward, losing his stepping on a small stone with your startling leap, the sound of his back hitting the ground muffled by the soil beneath him.

As you pry your eyes open, you find out your face is almost touching his. The captain’s usually inquisitive face is contorted into one of grimace because of the pain. You shamelessly take advantage of this opportunity to gawk at the faded scar that sparked your curiosity more than you can admit.

You shuffle on your feet as the proximity of your faces finally dawns on you, your faces so near to each other that you feel his warm breathing fanning your cheeks. “Sorry, Jungkook,” you blurted out, sitting on your knees as you gently shake him by the shoulders.

Panic arises from you when he doesn’t budge at your prodding, especially now that you’re shaking his body with a reasonable amount of fervor, your eyes already brimming with tears. You don’t see his chest moving, nor do you feel any breathing under his nose or mouth. He couldn’t possibly have died from that could he?! Checking your surroundings, you look for something that might have caused damage during his landing. “Jungkook! Wake up, please!” you let your head fall to his chest as you feel a single droplet of tear roll down your cheek.

“Aww, are those tears for me, Mama?” the captain coos, eyes twinkling with mirth under the moonlight.

Your head shoots up in surprise. “Y-yes!” you stammer out, trying not to show any other expression other than annoyance on your face. “And for the record, those were tears of joy because I thought the only person in this world who makes me do the most ridiculous things has finally breathed his last!”

Instead of being threatened by your indignation, he doubles in laughter, body quaking as he does. You quietly stand there watching him, and soon enough when the captain notices your silence, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth to stop his amusement. He shuffles to his feet and bows from his waist. “My deepest apologies, Jungjeon-mama. I did not mean to worry you.”

When he looks up, he sees your face just as stoic as your stance, guilt eats at him and he starts to fidget with his fingers. “If- if you’d like to go back-“

“Ha!” Jungkook jumps at your exclamation, your hands clasped together in delight. “How does it like being fooled now, hmm?” he pouts at the sight of your face, your perfectly shaped brow taunting him as he bows again.

“You’re scary, Jungjeon-mama,” the captain grumbles, kicking at a few fallen leaves.

“And so I’ve been told. Come on now! You’ve still got plenty to show me, and the night is still young!” As you tug on his sleeves, the smile that etches on Jungkook’s face is as warm as his heart, your eagerness way to infectious for him to ignore your pleas.

The two of you wander through the streets of the village just outside the capitol’s palace, in awe of the hustle and bustle of the villagers’ Chuseok preparations. Well, you for the most part. The captain had just discovered that this was you first time to witness festival preparations outside the palace. He isn’t surprised though, as he knew each city’s palace is equally as busy as yours during the festival, so he hadn’t wondered how you had never gotten out during the festivities.

Your facial expressions are nothing short of wonder, Jungkook notices, as you practically marvel at everything, like a little girl seeing a doll for the first time. The captain trails behind you silently as you move from one side of the dirt road to the other. You occasionally bump into some villagers on the way who complain about your walking, which unnecessarily alerts the captain side of Jungkook, ready to fight anyone who dare messes with the queen, with his queen.

Jungkook watches as a halmeoni merchant’s stall catches your eyes, orbs widening in marvel when you take a closer look at the accessories she’s put on display on a table. The old lady watches Jungkook’s eyes trained on you fill in with adoration as you check nearly every single piece of hairpin on the rickety piece of wood. She wants to coo at the sight, but she doesn’t want to ruin the moment, so she quietly beckons Jungkook to come closer.

She reaches a slightly shaky hand out, gesturing for the captain to give her his palm. She hands him an earth-colored hairpin with a pink flower situated on top. “Give this to her,” she whispers, voice trembling as much as her hand. “To whom?” the young man replies, looking around for the girl the old lady is pertaining to.

“Silly boy,” she extends a hand and pinches his ear, “to her, of course, the girl you love over there,” the old lady motions to you, who’s still busy being enamored by the jade hairpins. “O-oh, we…we’re not…” the halmeoni dismisses him with a wave. “Go on now.”

As the captain takes a step towards you, you turn around, showing him the green hairpin you’ve clipped beside your ear. “Kookie! How does it look?”

He’s momentarily stunned at your nickname you’d called him – a nickname he’s been called exclusively by one person only during his childhood – the same person who’s calling him Kookie tonight, even with the number of years that had passed.

“Kook-“ your words falter as you see the hairpin the captain holds in his hands, captivated by its beauty. “It’s a carnation,” the old lady points out nodding her head towards the accessory you’ve now taken from Jungkook’s grasp. She continues speaking, “they say it’s the queen’s favorite flowers and…” her voice comes down to a whisper, “…rumor has it that the king has tended a garden full of carnations just for her, what a truly lovely man the king is… but don’t tell anyone that!”

Your chest constricts at the mention of your husband, whose presence you yearn for the most. You wish he was here to witness the festivities outside the palace not as royalty but as commoners, just like you and Jungkook tonight.

“It’s beautiful, halmeoni,” you say, touching the pink carnation settled on top of the pin. “Take it, please.” The old lady offers but you decline, telling her that you didn’t bring any coins with you as payment. Jungkook reaches for a few from the pouch tied to his pants but the old lady won’t have it, insisting that she give it to you for free.

“You’ve got the face and the heart of queen, young lady. Take it as a gift from one grandmother to her beautiful grandchild.”

Giving her a bow of gratitude in return for her kind words and the lovely gift, the captain helps you attach the hairpin on your head. The both of you greet the halmeoni with a happy Chuseok and she responds with her own best wishes for the both of you.

As you walk away from her stall, Jungkook notices the loneliness lingering in your eyes. He won’t allow you to be sad now, not when he’s brought you here to be the opposite, so he speaks up, avoiding touching the subject of your husband to mollify your emotions.

“So…Kookie?”

“Oh sorry about that. I just thought it would have been strange if I called you Captain, or Jung…” That he understood, Jungkook doesn’t know what could have possibly turned out of a situation where you blew both your covers.

“But Kookie?”

“I…It’s just that you remind of a friend I had during my childhood who was called that, or at least, that’s what I called him. You know, it’s strange that I actually never knew his real name, or who his family was, or where he truly lived. We had met in the woods once when I got lost trying to follow a butterfly and he helped me back to the palace that afternoon. All I knew was that he told me to call him Kookie, so there’s that,” you shrug as you glimpse at Jungkook, whose facial expression looks like he warrants more explanation.

“Since then, Kookie and I would meet at the same spot he’d found me during the afternoon and we would talk, or rather, I would talk and Kookie would just listen to me talk. On other days we would just play until the court ladies would call me back and we’d have to part ways again.”

“Ah, he was a good listener and a good friend too…Kookie. One day, he just didn’t show up, and I waited there in our old spot the whole day. But he never came, nor did he arrive on the next day, or the day after that. I miss him sometimes, you know? I miss having friends. Occasionally, I wonder how he’s doing, what he’s grown up to be, if he has a family, or children even! It’s a shame really that I never really got to know his real name… for all we know, he could’ve been a Jungkook too, or a Jikook, or a Taekook, or a Namkook, or a Yoonkook!” Jungkook laughs at your endless combinations. “Ah, if I only knew his name, I would have already invited him over for supper at the palace…”

The captain nods absentmindedly, your sentiments reeling in his mind. You were there that day, you waited for him. The captain wanted to sing in joy. In fact, he even more elated that you remember. You remember him. He thinks to himself, ‘Oh Jungjeon-mama, Kookie is closer to you than you will have ever imagined.’

Exhaling as you rest your head against the edge of the pool, you move your focus from the task at hand to the wooden ceiling. You miss Seokjin terribly. It’s been far too long without his touch.

Whether it be a quick relief from the stresses that root from ruling a nation, or sensual moments of intimacies like the night before he’d left, you had a particularly sexually active lifestyle with Seokjin and now with your husband away, the reality of his absence has finally taken its toll on you. You used to wonder how your husband had his libido up and running no matter what the occasion, but he’d always counter with you being far too desirable to resist his primal urges. Now that he’s away, your struggling with the thoughts of missing Seokjin, and dealing with an even greater struggle of trying to pleasure yourself.

With another exhale, you close your eyes as you sink your torso farther down where you’re seated on the pool steps. Your fingers find the sensitive nether bud between your legs, imagining it was Seokjin’s fingers ghosting over your body and not yours. When his face comes into view beneath your closed eyelids, you slide your hands across your chest, your palms knead the supple flesh of your breast. You let the hardened nub of your nipple get tweaked and twisted between your two fingers.

Once again, the royal captain finds himself in another compromising situation. He doesn’t know how long he’s been hiding behind the post with your back facing him, his eyes watching your third failed attempt today at pleasuring yourself.

Earlier this afternoon, as you had retired to your bedroom to take some rest, he heard a moan slip from within. He thought he was mistaken by another questionable noise and tried to shake it off, thinking that his hearing might’ve inevitably worsened after watching over the royal band that rehearsed in the palace’s square the day before. However, as another whimper reached his ears, he knew he wasn’t mistaken this time around, so he ordered the guards situated inside the hanok to do their rounds outside.

Unfortunately, he knew his orders were called a little bit too late as Chaeyoung slides your doors open just as he was about to stop her, and they had both found you on your bed, the covers lazily draped across your body as your hands worked between your spread legs. The pair poorly averted their gazes as Jungkook scurries to close the doors at your orders.

The captain remains still as he watches you from behind. Even with your back facing him, he can vividly picture out what you look like right now, as if he’d just been taken back to the night he watched with sick fascination you and Seokjin in middle of lovemaking. He badly wants to help you with your predicament – the king’s parting words ringing in his head.

“Captain Jung?” Seokjin calls out to the younger man, who’s busy with the final checks on the straps of the saddle atop the king’s white steed.

“Jeonha?”

“Come walk with me.”

The captain is confused by the king’s sudden call for his presence but he complies nonetheless. Seokjin takes a few steps forward, waiting for Jungkook. When the latter catches up, Seokjin begins talking, glancing sideways at the captain.

“I am leaving the security of the capitol in your hands, Captain Jung. I expect that you will protect the city with your life, just like I have. During these trying times, the country needs a protector – someone who will give them security even when nothing is seemingly going right.”

“Yes, Jeonha. You have my word.”

“Also, I knew you were there, you know.”

“Jeonha?” The captain repeats, baffled by the king’s words, absolutely clueless as to what the king was pertaining to. “I knew you were there last night, Jungkook. Outside our room.” The captain visibly pales at Seokjin’s statement, but the former keeps his silence as he racks his brain for an appropriate response. Seokjin hears Jungkook’s profuse apologies next, penitence evident in the captain’s every mention of ‘sorry’.

“I admire the genuineness behind your confession. And that’s why I need you to do one more thing.”

“Anything you ask of, my King.”

“I need you to take care of my wife.”

“Of course, Jeonha.”

“No, no… What I mean is I need you to be there for her. This journey I have to take…it’s too risky, too much peril is involved in this mission that I honestly don’t think I’ll make it out alive.” Seokjin feels lighter at his confession, like some heavy weight has been taken off his shoulders.

“I need you to be there when she needs someone to talk to, when she needs someone to eat with, when she needs an honest opinion on something, when she needs me. My wife… she is very headstrong and independent – traits that I admire most about our queen. But at the end of the day, behind the façade of her unwillingness to yield to anything that is possibly beyond her control, she is but my wife – a woman who needs her husband, just as much as I need her.”

“I know you and I both share the same degree of affection towards _______.” Jungkook opens his mouth to speak, but Seokjin beats him to it. “Understand that I am one with your emotions. It’s alright. I am but a man too, you know, after you strip off the crown and the royal garments,” the king remarks, “Surely, you witnessed that too last night. Must’ve been a spectacle,” Seokjin adds, letting out a small whistle, without forgetting to attach a roguish wink at the end of his sentence towards Jungkook, who shies under the older man’s gaze.

“Sorry for my lack of formalities, Jungkook. It must be my wife’s secret stash of makgeolli speaking, but don’t tell her that! I was asking a personal favor from you anyways, from one friend to another. So… will you comply with my request?”

“O-Of course, my King. I’ll do my best, but please understand that I have no intentions of interfering with your relationship. The queen is a married woman after all…I mean…she’s married to you, Jeonha! I couldn’t possibly compare myself to what you have provided for her.” Jungkook is still unable to grasp the absurdity of it all. Yes, nearly every word the King said is without a doubt laced with nothing but the truth. But he still doesn’t understand what the King trust him with such great task.

Does Seokjin even know who he truly is?

Sure, the king is well aware of his feelings towards you, but was that enough? Does Seokjin trust him that much? If Seokjin only knew who he truly was, would the king even let him stand in the same room as his wife? Let alone attend to her…private needs?

“The moment I had planned of this journey, I had already accepted the consequences of what I am to do. I understand, and she will eventually understand. She always does.”

The captain continues contemplating behind the post. This is wrong, on so many levels. He isn’t even supposed to be in the royal baths now, but the rumored news he had just heard from an informant absolutely warrants your attention. At the same time, he feels a strong calling to help you with your present helplessness. Rumors be damned.

Jungkook takes a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“Can I help you with anything, Mama?” Jungkook is relieved as his voice comes out less shaky than he anticipated.

You’re shocked beyond belief at the voice that comes from behind you, nearly losing your footing on the pool steps. “Jungkook! What are you doing here?!” You pant, covering your chest even if they’re barely visible under your milk bath. Regret fills you as you stare at your forlorn robe, too far away to sheath yourself with at least an ounce of modesty.

Jungkook stills, unsure what to retort. He’s meant to bring you rumors of an informant from outside the palace, but now, it seems as if his initial task was long forgotten. ‘It can wait,’ he thinks to himself, your welfare is always his priority. “I-uh. I was doing my rounds…and I heard the water splashing inside… so I had to check.”

Shame floods through you. Fortunately for you, the captain doesn’t see you liken to the shade of a tomato. You’re unsure what pushes you to pour out your emotions to the captain – whether it be the fact that the captain has earned your trust that you’re comfortable enough to be completely honest with him, or that you are left with no other choice but to tell the truth as to why you’ve decided to spend your night in the royal baths. You could care less at this point, whatever the reason might have been, because the words are already spilling out of your mouth.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Jungkook. I am beyond agitated – in fact, I think I have been since my husband’s leave. And on top of that I miss Seokjin. I really do, and it’s not just the kind of feeling that you can temporarily disregard by preoccupying yourself with other things, its…I…I miss him so much because I need him, Jungkook. Now it’s all the more frustrating because the only way I know how to instantaneously relieve myself isn’t working either because like I said… I, I need my husband.”

“Use me then Mama, for your own pleasure. Imagine I am the king, imagine me as your husband,” he pleads.

“What?! I-I can’t ask that of you Captain, that is beyond your royal duties.”

“I’m not asking, I’m offering you my assistance… as a friend, as someone who genuinely wants you to help you relieve yourself of your stresses even just for a short while.”

You sit there silent, contemplating. You hate how he always catches you off guard, easily pointing out the truth that you thought you wonderfully hide. Sitting up straighter, skeptical at the thought of this proposal, you turn around to face Jungkook. “Doesn’t this seem strange to you?”

“Jungjeon-mama, it’s only strange if you think about it that way. I really just want to help you. If you desire so, I can just leave now and forget this ever happened,” Jungkook offers and you already hear him standing from where he’s seated.

“No!” you yell abruptly, taking Jungkook by surprise. Well you didn’t explicitly say ‘yes’ but your answer wasn’t exactly a disapproval of his offer, was it?

“How are we supposed to do this then?” Your voice is small, if he’s not mistaken, he could tell you’re slightly embarrassed because of the whole situation. Jungkook’s mind goes blank. Then again, he really wasn’t expecting you to agree.

“Uh… I guess I could guide you through it? I… I don’t have to go there, I won’t even look at you, I’ll just stay here…while I uh, talk you through it?” The captain inwardly cringes at himself, grimacing at how much he’d stammered at such a short period of time.

“Are you sure about that…”

“Yes, I’m okay-”

“I meant, are you sure you’re going to stay there the whole time?”

The captain’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. What? Are you implying that he move somewhere he can see you? Were you even aware of what you’re saying? Jungkook tries to reassure you and himself that he’ll gladly stay back, watching you from behind. Besides, he doesn’t even know how you’ll react if you make him move nearer and you’ll eventually realize that he’s already half-hard just imagining you naked. Jungkook hums in approval.

“Okay, show me how you touch yourself, Mama.”

“But you can’t see me?”

“I’ll be fine, I can see your arms moving from here. I’ll just try to imagine what you’re doing…” ‘That sounded awful,’ Jungkook thinks, biting his fist at the realization of him not being articulate enough.

“O-okay,” comes your answer as you sink yourself lower on the pool. He sees your arms create tiny ripples on the water with your movements. Perhaps, this wasn’t so bad, after all.

“Imagine it’s the King massaging your breasts slowly as he cups your cunt with his other hand.” Jungkook sees you comply instantly, good girl. He sees you sink even further as you enjoy yourself, soft whimpers escaping your lips. “Now, play with your clit, Mama, slowly rub it in circles with your fingers.” The captain’s chest swells with pride as your head slightly lolls backwards until you suddenly sit up straight again, this time looking at him straight in the eye.

“I can’t Jungkook…this is too difficult. You have to be here.”

Jungkook nearly falls off his seat.

“Mama- I…”

“Take off your clothes, Captain and get your butt here in the pool with me.” Jungkook gets rid of his clothes with the same sense of urgency laced with your words. “Quickly, before I’ll have you dismissed from the royal guards.” You let him undress for a moment, fidgeting with your fingers as you wait for him on the pool steps.

“I’m here, Mama.” Turning to face him, Jungkook takes notice of your bloodshot eyes. He delicately wipes a tear that rolls down your cheek. The gentle action spurs you to hug the captain, the frustration coming off as tears pouring out of your eyes.

He attempts to ignore the fact that your chest is blatantly pressing against his, your pert nipples cold against his torso. Jungkook likewise wonders if you’re aware of his fully erect dick now, which is painfully and uncomfortably wedged between your bodies. You both stay like that for a moment, relaxing in each other’s arms, or just you – at least, from Jungkook’s perspective. There are already beads of sweat glistening on his forehead despite the cold breeze that entered through an open window.

Ever so gently, he presses a light kiss on your forehead, then on your cheeks and on your nose. “Are you okay, Mama?” the concerned captain asks as you silently rest your head against his chest. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” You nod, pushing him forward and making him sit on the steps of the pool.

You pull his thighs apart, making room for you to sit on the meaty muscle. As you lower yourself on his thigh, Jungkook lets out a breathy exhale, feeling your core hot and wet against his skin. His hands shoot out to grab at your hips as he squeezes you lightly, desperate to confirm to himself that this isn’t just the loveliest dream – that you aren’t seated on his lap, gloriously naked as a newborn baby.

He wants to kiss you like this, to show you how beautiful you are, how strong his feelings are just for you. But he controls himself, as you’d probably reserve those lips for your husband alone, and he’s willing to wait it out, as long as you’re comfortable and you don’t feel pressured to do it.

His large hands are warm against your cool skin, gaze steely as you grind yourself against his thighs desperately. He gropes the supple flesh of your breasts, rolling your already hardened nipples between his fingers. Jungkook gives them a pinch before enclosing one in his mouth, tongue swirling all over your areola. Your hands reach up to tug frantically at his hair. “Ah Jungkook, please…”

Jungkook nips at the skin by the valley of your breasts, lips moving south to more time to take one of your tits inside his mouth while he keeps his hand busy kneading the other. “You’re so wet, Mama. And it’s not because of your bath is it?” He observes, swiping his fingers against your folds, shallowly dipping two and removing them from your cunt. “Please call me ________.”

Jungkook slides two fingers inside of you without warning and you quickly clasp a hand over your mouth, letting out a whimper. He lets out a low groan at the sound, clearly just as aroused as you are. He sped up his fingers, circling your swollen clit with his thumb. As your hips jerk, you feel yourself slowly sliding forward, your core coming in contact with his cock. Your thighs tremble at the sensation.

You’re so close, finally! Letting out a satisfied exhale, you urge Jungkook to go even faster as you arch your back, shamelessly undulating your hips on his fingers. You hear Jungkook whisper praises on your skin as you cum on his fingers, squeezing and pulsing around his digits. As you pant heavily, you let your head fall onto his shoulder. You hiss as he pulls his fingers out and trail them across your back, before situating them on your back and pulling you into a hug.

Jungkook unabashedly ogles your tits, completely mesmerized by how they slightly jiggle as you breath. He takes one of your breast in his mouth again, while the other gets groped and abused by his hand. As you squirm beneath him, he suckles on the skin for a moment, teasing you even further. He pulls away with a pop and tilts his head, grinning at you. “Use your words, my queen. I need to know what you want, what you truly need.”

“I need you.” Jungkook nearly sings in elation, heart soaring as he hears the words escape your lips.

“I’m all yours, _______. Take me.”

With his arms shifting underneath the water, you figure Jungkook has taken his cock in his hand, jerking it off a little before adjusting his seating. He lets the hard flesh press against your core, making you gasp at the contact. His eyes fall close as he slowly rubs himself back and forth the wetness of your folds, catching his bottom lip between his teeth at the feeling.

Getting impatient with his incessant teasing, you take hold of his cock and position it near your entrance. You lower yourself on his cock slowly, mouth falling open at the burning stretch of being breached after quite some time. “You…feel…so…good,” Jungkook says breathily as your pussy squeezes every inch of him until he bottoms out.

You grab him on his shoulders for support, your arms entwining around his neck as you let your fingers get tangled in his hair. You raise yourself until only the tip of his cock is left between your folds and you sink back down onto it with a long, loud moan.

It had proven to be quite the challenge to fuck in the pool because of the water resistance, but with Jungkook’s equally fervent desire to give you your release, his hips start moving in a steady rhythm, matching yours. You were getting close, but not enough to reach your high.

“Kook, gods…floor now.”

“Can I, ______?” Jungkook asks, dark eyes looking at you almost pleadingly. He places the tip of his cock at your entrance, pausing as he gazes at you one more time. You squeeze his arm beside your head that has you caged beneath him. Jungkook lets out an exhale, grabbing onto your hipbones and slamming inside you without further warning. He fucks you relentlessly, thrusting so deep that your body is jolting forward, his cock hitting your cervix with every snap of his hips. Just then you realized, the water in the pool was clearly holding him back.

His pace doesn’t waver even with his breathing getting more ragged by the second. “Fuck, you feel so good, _______.” He lifts himself, stretching his elbows out to take a good look at you. Jungkook had never thought he’d be able to get blessed again with such a sight. You’re mewling beneath him, his name repeatedly falling off your swollen lips like a prayer. His eyes get trained on your breasts one more time, watching them jiggle with every thrust he makes. The sight only makes him pound into you harder than before, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and sucking on the hardened bud.

You’re already far too gone to care about the cold wind hitting your skin or the slight burn of your skin sliding against the wooden floor as Jungkook fucks you against it. With your orgasm building up for the second time tonight, you push your hips upward, angling yourself so he hits that sweet spot inside you with each movement of his hips.

“Come on, Mama,” Jungkook encourages through gritted teeth, all too aware that his own high is coming to him at breakneck speed, but he collects himself, holding on until you cum first. Your relief is his priority. He slides his fingers between your bodies and finds your nether bud. That seems to do the job. As he continues to rub at your clit, your moans get louder and this time Jungkook is glad that you no longer attempt to hold in your cries, carelessly mewling out the sounds of your passion. Your whole body convulses as your orgasm washes over you.

The captain follows suit, cock going rock hard inside you as he spills his release and throws his head back, grabbing onto your hips and groaning louder than you’ve ever heard him before. You let him ride out his high with a few more thrusts, watching his face contort into pleasure. Wincing as he pulls out, Jungkook falls to your side, panting just as heavily as you are.

“Thank you, Jungkook.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Jungjeon-mama.”

You can’t sleep, again. But this time, it’s not because of your own doing. You hear horses neighing and a few yells here and there. There’s something going on outside – a commotion, one which only seems to get worse as you hear the guards attempt to keep the noise at the minimum at this ungodly hour.

Grabbing your robe from the dresser, you tiredly rub at your eyes as you head out of your room. You spot Yunho looking out from the windows of your hanok. “What’s going on? Why is there so much noise?” Dragging your feet across the wooden floor, you walk sluggishly towards the guard who bows curtly to acknowledge your presence but returns his vision to the ruckus below.

“It seems we have a visitor, Jungjeon-mama. Please continue your resting, we will take care of this.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m already awake,” you respond, joining him by the window. As you squint your eyes to see better, an all-too-familiar emblem printed on a handheld flag standing tall and proud, seemingly waving at you as the wind blows.

“Jungjeon-mama!” Yunho calls out as you rush outside. His calls fall into deaf ears, letting your feet carry you down the stairs and towards the palace gates. You’re getting a sick feeling from their unexpected arrival, their presence not settling properly in your gut.

The royal guards get in your way, attempting to stop you from taking another step nearer your visitors. “Mama, please get back to your room.” Jungkook steps forward, shielding you from seeing your unexpected guests. “Move, Captain. It’s only right for the lady of the house to greet her guests herself. So make way, Jungkook. Don’t make me tell you twice.” Jungkook lets out an exhale, hesitating on his actions. He makes a small step sideways, and you look at him. “Do you not trust me?” The captain looks away and takes a larger step to your right, making way, but not before getting closer as he whispers in your ear, “They’re dangerous, Mama. It’s them I don’t trust. Just give me a sign and I’ll behead this man in one strike.”

You nod in agreement, thankful that his bravery seems to add up to the courage you’re lacking at this very moment. You haven’t had a proper look at your guests and now that you do, you’re taken aback by the mop of blonde hair that catches your eyes, the man’s hair unusually matching that of his horse’s.

The man with the pale-yellowish hair alights from his horse, your eyes trained on his every movement. He nods to one of his guards to take care of his steed. Was this man a foreigner? From overseas perhaps? But why does he hold the emblem of the south with him? Had history already repeated itself? You’re starting to get a headache with the number of questions swirling in your head right now, all of which are answered when the man finally looks at you.

“Yoongi?”

You’re rendered speechless. You’re well aware that the present king of the south has a scar on his face, inflicted by none other than Minseok, who had paid for the facial wound with his life, but you never thought it would be this…terrible. The wound is healing, but the scar cutting through his right eyebrow until his cheek was an injury too deep to heal fully. That you knew all too well with the similar mark you have on your side from your childhood.

You gulp, taking another step forward. “What are you and your men doing here?”

“Ah, Jungjeon-mama, surely that’s not how the capitol greets its guests?” You maintain your glare but the present king of the south looks the least bit unfazed. “Don’t worry, my Queen, the pleasure is all mine.” Jungkook was about to wield his sword when Yoongi takes one of your hands in his and placing a gentle kiss at the back of your palm.

You’re startled by the gesture, quickly withdrawing your hand and wiping it discreetly against your robe. “I’m going to ask you again, Yoongi. What are you doing here?”

Yoongi huffs, glancing sideways, “Fine, since you asked so nicely. We’re here to celebrate Chuseok.”

“It’s not until a few more days.”

“Is there anything wrong about arriving a little earlier than expected?”

“Don’t you have your own city to celebrate with, and take care of?”

“The queen is always in charge of the celebrations. But you already knew that. Besides, it’s not unusual to visit your friends during the festival, right? Especially when a southerner is celebrating all by herself in such a big palace.”

Both ticked and apprehended at his words, you clench your jaw as you decide. Yoongi isn’t entirely wrong; the festival isn’t an exclusive commemoration of your ancestors, but it is also considered a time of communal gathering – one celebrated with your families, distant relatives, and friends.

Albeit you and Yoongi don’t share the type of friendship that he implied, it had also been tradition for royalties to visit each other’s cities during Chuseok, but the prideful south was never really one to partake in dealing with simple ethics. On top of that, it was considered bad luck to refuse guests during festivities, especially one as big as Chuseok. And you wouldn’t want to push your luck, not when Yoongi’s arrival is enough bad luck as it is.

“Yunho,” you call, taking your eyes off Yoongi, “ready our guests’ hanok.”

The king gives you a lopsided smirk in return. You turn on your heel after that, unable to take any more of his presence. Yoongi nears Jungkook who maintains his steel gaze at the unexpected visitor and says lowly,

“Pleasant to see you again after so long…brother.”

[taglist] : @aretha170

#bangtanhq #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanarmynet #bts smut #bts angst #jeon jungkook #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader

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theunderdogwrites · 4 years ago

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In Defense of Marilyn Manson

Just kidding.

This is another one of those ‘if you live under a rock, you might not know what is going on’ pieces. But because this story appears to be unfolding daily, I’d think you’ve heard a murmur here or there even if you haven’t really paid too much attention to it because for many, I think this may fall into the “that guy has been a messed-up weirdo for years so I’m not surprised” category.

Please note that in NO WAY I am making fun of this situation, but I learned a long time ago that I require a certain amount of humor to be able to digest much of what this world presents to me.

As always, let me give you the Coles Notes version with the hopes you will go and do your own reading as well.

On February 1 actress Evan Rachel Wood posted this on her Instagram:

"The name of my abuser is Brian Warner, also known to the world as Marilyn Manson. He started grooming me when I was a teenager and horrifically abused me for years. I was brainwashed and manipulated into submission. I am done living in fear of retaliation, slander or blackmail. I am here to expose this dangerous man and call out the many industries that have enabled him, before he ruins any more lives. I stand with the many victims who will no longer be silent."

Quick history lesson – They started dating in 2007 when she was 18 and he was 34 and were engaged for a brief time in 2010.

This was Manson’s response to what she wrote:

"Obviously, my art and my life have long been magnets for controversy, but these recent claims about me are horrible distortions of reality. My intimate relationships have always been entirely consensual with like-minded partners. Regardless of how - and why - others are now choosing to misrepresent the past, that is the truth."

Since the original statement on February 1 a number of women have come forward with stories of their own ranging from physical and emotional abuse to human trafficking. And everyday something new is revealed. Evan Rachel Woods is feverishly posting on her Insta-Story and is slowly burying Manson in an ocean of consequences. She isn’t “fired up” or “a woman scorned”, she is a victim rising above the shame she has felt and the fear of what others will say about her to tell her story and encourage others to do the same. She is the voice that started the ball rolling. The ball that is about to crush Marilyn Manson.

Whenever I write stuff that is currently being heavily featured in the media, I always dive into articles so I can get as much information as possible. But more importantly, I plunge my sensitive little soul into the murky depths known as “the comments section”. I do this because unlike those polished, finished pieces the comments section will give you a better idea of what your fellow human beings think and feel about the topic at hand. And it is never polished or even polite. And often not for the faint at heart. In case you didn’t already know – people can be quite terrible.

The comments section is the modern-day gladiator pit. Only most (not all) of the participants are not ripped, athletic warriors but rather drooling basement dwellers with one hand down their pants (not gender specific by the way) and the other hand maltreating the letters on their keyboard.

Side note: Look, I am not the grammar police as I often just push past all the warnings from the Gestapo editing program in Microsoft Word. BUT I know the value of proper spelling, well placed punctuation and valid attempts to appear smarter than a domesticated turkey by making sure sentences are well-thought out and complete. Raising your argument doesn’t mean USING ALL CAPS AND ABUSING THESE THINGS -> !!!

I just deleted three paragraphs going over the recent “reckoning” that has taken place in the past few years with regards to sexual and physical abuse accusations against (mostly) men in positions of some kind of power. I eliminated all that writing because I started to tumble off topic. I’m not writing about all the dicks now getting their comeuppance, but rather the reactions to it being Marilyn Manson’s turn in the chamber.

Victim shaming is sadly a real thing.

The easiest way I can explain this to you – if a person gets pickpocketed and then blamed because they should’ve known better than to carry their wallet in their back pocket.

Evan Rachel Woods and others have come out to accuse Manson of some pretty appalling acts of abuse and what I’ve found to be the biggest reaction is, “How did they not know he was a bad guy? His music is so graphic and they thought it was all an act? Why did they stay so long?”. As innocent as those questions might seem, and I say that because our brains don’t always serve us or others well, it is a form of discrediting those women. Let’s be honest here… it’s hard to look at Marilyn Manson and his art form and not say, “What the fuck, this guy has bad idea written all over him!”. I feel that is a perfectly reasonable response, but that is where it should end. I think it is fair to pause and attempt to understand the choices of others, but it’s heartless to minimize their experience by placing blame on them for a situation we couldn’t possibly understand if it has never happened to us.

And like I’ve quoted before: People only understand from their level of perception. But that doesn’t stop them from laying on the judgement and damaging already fragile individuals with their inability to show compassion for a fellow human being. Reading through comment sections isn’t just maddening, it’s disappointing and sad but also a real look into how awful many people feel about themselves… to the point where they seem to derive some pleasure or satisfaction from condemning a rape victim for wearing a short skirt and getting drunk.

So… we have to touch on this to be balanced: innocent until proven guilty. Only these days it’s an automatic trial by media with the public acting as judge, jury and executioner. This is where “cancel culture” steps in and within days can destroy an entire career / life. I am not a fan of cancel culture. It does not give people a chance to learn from their mistakes or make amends as it immediately harms their very existence. Often times even before any proof has surfaced. I don’t think I need to tell you how dangerous this is… the fact that just an accusation could ruin your life.

Let me make this clear: if someone comes forward and claims they’ve been sexually assaulted/abused, they need to be taken seriously and not dismissed based upon the circumstances, their gender identity, the color of their skin, their economic position or profession or the person they’re accusing. In turn, the individual being accused should be given time to address the claims before the public begins demolishing their life.

A reoccurring comment in almost all these cases where someone comes forward and alleges abuse YEARS after it happened, is – “Why did they wait so long to come forward?”.

Is this a fair question? Sure. And I feel it is asked because our brain needs to find a way to understand the information we are being given. Because while we’d all like to think that if in the same situation we’d be unfuckable with and anyone who dared to bring damage to our doorstep would immediately suffer the consequences, we actually cannot predict our reaction. There are too many unknown variables to be able to confidently say we’d instantly speak up and seek retribution.

The fear of not being believed. The fear of being blamed. The fear of rejection. The fear of retaliation from the person being accused. The fear of being forever defined by your experience. The fear.

It does not matter the why, what matters is the chance they’ve taken by speaking up at all. Those who come forward should be embraced, not ridiculed. Not abandoned. Not criticized.

“Don’t ask why victims wait so long to speak up. Ask what systems were in place to keep them quiet”. Anonymous

I own a few Marilyn Manson CD’s. And I’ve even attended one of his concerts. Would I say I am a fan? Probably a number of years ago I was but truthfully, I’ve not paid attention to any of his music in recent years because I feel it devolved while my taste evolved. That’s not a slam against him or anyone who fancies his work, it’s more a statement on how I’ve matured and now seek out music that feels authentic to me.

The one concert I attended was opened by Courtney Love. I know, what a duo to pay money to see. Near the end of Manson’s set he made a disparaging remark about Love and trashed her music. At the time he was wearing some pretty hefty platform shoes so it made it all the more hilarious when from out of nowhere she charged like a rhino and tackled him to the stage; throwing punches at his head all the way down. When he finally was able to get up, he announced the show was over. There would be no encore and then him and his bandmates trashed the stage in a temper tantrum worthy of a toddler Napoleon. Still makes me laugh to this day.

Shoutout to Evan Rachel Wood and her most recent movie ‘Kajillionaire’. Watched it on demand about a month ago and it’s a brilliant comedy that will also pull at your heart. I highly recommend you give it a chance.

Check out the trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiMPCevu8Wk

#evan rachel wood #victim shaming #marilyn manson #comments section #kajillionaire

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chrisemrysfics · 4 years ago

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Its totally before I saw again the extended first time scene in MDZS, and saw all over again all the things that make me actually appreciate the way its written, because, its meant to be awkward! Its two people first time! They, however, shows signs of being comfortable with each other (laughing, playing along once there’s confirmation its okay, etc).

There’s also a lot of subtle ways that they check in with each other if its okay, as well as the forgiving of the first (stolen) kiss. The check in is so, so important and subtly hint as to why they can have kinks like they do, because it shows they don’t just go once “yeah okay” and no more consent check, Lan Wangji, as the one “in position of control”, make sure to check in multiple times that the consent is still given!

Obviously, as I show the lines, some smut mention/line ahead!

From Exiled Rebels Scanlation, about Wei Wuxian realizing who stole his first kiss:

“…” Lan WangJi’s voice sounded muffled, “I, back then, knew I was wrong. Very wrong.”

Wei WuXian recalled how Lan WangJi broke a tree in half alone in the woods when he later found him, “That was why you were so mad?”

Wei WuXian thought he was mad about someone else. He had no idea that Lan WangJi was mad at himself—mad that he acted upon his urges, that he couldn’t control himself, that he took advantage of another in a way that was neither righteous nor abiding by his sect rules.

Seeing how low Lan WangJi’s head was buried, almost as if he was reflecting upon his mistakes again, Wei WuXian scratched his chin, “Alright, stop struggling so much. Well, I’m beyond happy that you kissed me so early. It was my first kiss, after all. Congratulations, HanGuang-Jun.”

Wei Wuxian immediate forgiving, to Lan Wangji admitting he was wrong, as well as Wei Wuxian understanding how Lan Wangji usually control himself, but had a lapse of control back then (which Wei Wuxian understands what it feels like!)

As he kissed the firm abdomen and ventured down, a few thin strands of hair slid off his shoulders and teased at the dangerous area along with his soft, thin breaths. Lan WangJi seemed like he couldn’t take it any longer. He reached to grab Wei WuXian’s shoulder, but Wei WuXian caught his wrist instead, “Don’t move, I told you already. I’ll do it.”

He pulled off his hair tie to refasten his somewhat disheveled hair before bending down again. Lan WangJi realized what he wanted to do. With a slightly unsettled expression, he lowered his voice, “No.”

Wei WuXian, “Yes.” He gently took Lan WangJi into his lips.

Making sure to not bite Lan WangJi with his teeth, he carefully wrapped him inside his mouth. As he tried to swallow as deeply as possible, he felt a bit strained with it rubbing against his throat. Lan WangJi noticed his discomfort at once and reached out to push him away, worried that he was forcing himself, “Enough.”

Wei WuXian moved his hand away and started to slowly suck on it.

Lan WangJi, “You…”

Note that Lan Wangji hadn’t realized at first what Wei Wuxian would do! This means “he couldn’t take it any longer” refers to him being, in fact, turned on, and is trying to stop Wei Wuxian before he looses control and does something... only for then to realize that Wei Wuxian is, in fact, leading him to do something on that nature. The “no” is likely because Lan Wangji is worried, as he shows it again later that he worries if Wei Wuxian is comfortable!

With the most sensitive part of his body held inside warm, moist lips and treated with such effort, it was terribly tormenting just for Lan WangJi to control himself from doing some awful act of violence.

This confirms earlier points, Lan Wangji is trying to control himself! Which is, funnily, the exact same thing he did while drunk, which suggest that either he wasn’t as drunk as he let on, or he was, but even then, what he cared about was making sure he didn’t do anything Wei Wuxian didn’t want to do (which Wei Wuxian very much indicated he wanted to, especially with his line about liking when Lan Wangji gets angry)

Wei WuXian had viewed quite the selection of pornography, but he hadn’t seen any on the topic of homosexuality. He never thought he had such interests or was curious about it, and thus he naturally thought that was all there was to the love-making between men—kissing, hugging, at most with hands or lips. As he was pressed onto the ground by Lan WangJi, being massaged finger by finger, he finally managed to realize that it wasn’t the case. On top of the slight pain, he found it somewhat surprising and perhaps funny as well.

But at the addition of the third finger, Wei WuXian couldn’t laugh any longer.

He was already feeling quite sore and uncomfortable, yet the three fingers were still quite a few sizes smaller than what he’d been swallowing. He interrupted, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, uh, s-stop for a bit. Is it really alright like this? You sure you didn’t get it wrong? It’s here? I think it’s a bit…”

But it seemed like Lan WangJi was no longer able to listen to Wei WuXian’s words, curtly muffling Wei WuXian’s mouth with his own.

Sinking down, he thrust inside.Wei WuXian widened his eyes. His legs sprang up. The two lay flesh against flesh, their hearts and their breaths racing.

Lan WangJi’s voice was hoarse, “… Sorry… I could not hold back.”

Seeing his blood-shot eyes, clearly from holding himself back, Wei WuXian knew that it was all because of his teasing. He clenched his teeth, “Don’t hold back if you can’t… Then what should I do now?”

Honestly that’s peak inexperienced, first time experience right here. Lan Wangji knows what to do, and while he “can’t hold himself back”, he takes the time to prepare Wei Wuxian. As for Wei Wuxian, he quickly understand what is being done, why, and again, Lan Wangji apologize, Wei Wuxian realize its because he teased him, and express consent properly. The thing is: Wei Wuxian did understand a few moments ago! He simply asked “you’re sure its like this?” when he felt how it was with three fingers, so if Lan Wangji was uncertain, he would have stopped. Then, Wei Wuxian expressing consent cement he’s okay with this.

Lan WangJi, “… Does it hurt?”

Arms clinging to him, Wei WuXian couldn’t help from shivering, holding back tears, “Yes, it’s my first time—of course it hurts.”

With this, he felt Lan WangJi grow harder within his body.

One could easily imagine what it’d feel like when the soft, fragile insides were forcefully invaded by a hard, foreign object. But the moment he thought of how Lan WangJi reacted to just those simple words of his, Wei WuXian burst out with a laugh again.

As a man, he knew how uncomfortable Lan WangJi felt right now, stuck inside yet still constraining himself from forcing his way in. Wei WuXian felt his heart go soft. He took the initiative to draw his neck forwards, whispering by his ear, “Lan Zhan, my good Lan Zhan, Er-gege, I’ll tell you what to do. Kiss me right now. It won’t hurt if you kiss me…”

Again, this is peak first time experience, its actually great that they’re portraying having some laughter, and being a bit awkward about it! And again, Wei Wuxian takes note that Lan Wangji is really trying, he only pushed a bit more inside, and Wei Wuxian feels soft and offer what he feels can help (Lan Wangji told him to relax too, earlier, when he asked).

Lan WangJi began to thrust, while Wei WuXian shut his eyes tightly, gasping to fix his breaths to Lan WangJi’s motions. When he was just getting used to the overwhelming object, Wei WuXian moved his hips involuntarily and a sudden bout of pleasure ripple from down below, crawling across his whole body through his spine.

Wei WuXian immediately discovered how to enjoy such a position. He buried his hands inside Lan WangJi’s sweat-drenched hair, lifting the forehead ribbon as he grinned, his voice velvet, “… Does it feel good? Inside me?”

This comes after a brief moment where Wei Wuxian noticed the brand and asked about it, so there’s also a lovely part where s/ex isn’t just about the act, but also intimacy (being close), and here we see Wei Wuxian finally finding how it feels good, and immediately teasing Lan Wangji, knowing now what it can do!

Here I found a translation for extended scene here!

We see Wei Wuxian tease restlessly Lan Wangji, who gets more into it, and when Wei Wuxian start to whine as if its too much, this happen:

Drops of sweat dripped down from the ends of Lan Wangji’s hair. This person habitually impassive to the point of coldness betrayed at that moment a discomfit expression as if he was on the brink of falling apart, “Are you really begging or are you… purposely… Your hips! Stop writhing!”

Wei Wuxian raised his head and yelled at the top of his voice, “Someone! Help! Hanguang-Jun is… ah! Hanguang-Jun… I can’t anymore…”

As Lan Wangji kissed away the tears he had wrung from Wei Wuxian, he uttered through gritted teeth, “… Wei Ying, I am… speaking seriously, do not do that again. I… I will truly… lose control. I fear I… Sorry.”

Even at such a time, with a flush spread across his face, he did not forget to apologise, his brows were slightly knitted and his countenance remorseful. Hearing this, Wei Wuxian’s heart softened and ached from the havoc he had wreaked, he said gently, “Why are you saying sorry? Even if it hurts, I’m still glad because it’s you doing it… aah…”

The two of them were drenched all over in glistening sweat. Wei Wuxian had always forgotten the taste of pain as soon as his injuries had healed. Despite having just suffered the consequences of his actions, he soon opened his mouth again to pant some more nonsense, “Hey, Lan Zhan… I just remembered, you are done for. We’re still missing the last of the three bows, we’re not married yet. Do you know what is called doing this kind of thing outside marriage? If your uncle knew… ah… he’d drown you in a pond.”

Lan Wangji’s tone was almost ferocious, “… I was done for long ago!”

Lan Wangji, who has seen Wei Wuxian tease him, but also hears him seemingly complain, first ask “are you serious or is it teasing”, and when Wei Wuxian continues, which would indicate that he means he’s just teasing, Lan Wangji wants to make sure so he speaks more clearly, and understanding, Wei Wuxian stop teasing for a bit to reassure him, then start again, this time they both understand he’s teasing!

Also, this section is why its actually possible the whole dream of noncon might be post canon, rather than a dream teen Lan Wangji had!

Wei Wuxian became aware that a warm liquid was trickling down from the part of his lower body where they were connected together but he kept rambling a steady torrent of obscenities in Lan Wangji’s ear, “Your strength is so great that I would have had no way to resist. If I shouted, you could have silenced me and no one would have heard my muffled cries. Your Sect’s Library Pavilion isn’t bad either, we could have spread some books on the floor and rolled around on them. We could have laid out some erotic pictures and compared positions, any position would have been fine. I would bully you during the day and you would bully me at night. You’d fuck my brains out as soon as the door closed… Ge! Ge! Er-gege! Spare me! Mercy, please spare me. Fine, fine, I’ll stop talking, you’re amazing, you’re the best. I can’t bear it anymore, I really can’t, don’t be like this…”

And finally:

The veins lining Lan Wangji’s forehead slightly stood out. He forced his words out, articulating clearly each of them, “… If you truly wish to stop… then hold your tongue and stop talking…”

Wei Wuxian said, “But I have a tongue so I can’t help using it. Lan Zhan, what I’ve said before about me wanting to go to bed with you everyday, can you pretend you never heard it?”

Lan Wangji replied, “I cannot.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart shattered at this, “How can you be like this? You’ve never refused me anything before.”

Lan Wangji smiled faintly, “I cannot.”

At the sight of this smile, Wei Wuxian’s eyes lit up, he felt for an instant as if he had ascended and he lost track of his surroundings.

However, the next moment, a stream of tears was forced out of the corners of Wei Wuxian’s eyes by the fierce movements that were at odds with this smile like the pure light reflected by the snow.

Hands clutching the grass, he shouted himself hoarse, “Then four days, let’s make it once every four days, all right? If four days won’t do then three is also fine!”

Finally, Lan Wangji concluded in a powerfully resolute voice, “Everyday means everyday.”

Lan Wangji, once more, take the time to confirm this is really okay, and Wei Wuxian, by speaking more, in this tease-begging manner, confirms. If he was serious, he would have done as before! He would have softened, or clearly said to stop, earlier he clearly stated “you don’t have to be sorry”

And the last few lines is Lan Wangji returning the teasing Wei Wuxian has done~!

#mdzs #wangxian #(honestly i like this because it really shows a first time doesnt have to be perfect)#(as long as both party trust each other and can communicate in their own manner)#(as well as feel comfortable together)#(and LWJ checking in multiple times not just once!!)#(thats how you actively make sure your partner still consent)#(its not just one time!!)

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shebeafancyflapjack · 4 years ago

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Watching I Care A Lot and Behind Her Eyes back-to-back feel like good examples of how to do LGBT villains poorly and...less-poorly.

Major spoilers for both under the cut.

In Behind Her Eyes, the sole gay character is a man who has stolen a woman’s body via astral projection in order to be with her husband. That plays heavily into the ‘gay men are predators’ stereotype as well as the transphobic idea of ‘men taking over womens spaces’. All the other characters we see are straight and are mostly portrayed as either somewhat flawed good guys (their worst act being infidelity) or misunderstood and morally grey but justified, mostly. I’ve seen others also point out how it negatively portrays addicts and working class. Also the main woman of colour dies (technically, as the villain steals her body after basically ditching the body of first woman he killed). So there’s that. And it’s such a shame because, overall, the story is really interesting and visually stunning! You take out these problematic undertones and I think it’s otherwise a pretty good story. The acting is phenomenal and it really does a good job of keeping you unsure of who to trust. But it’s also very similar to films like Us and Get Out, and those movies just did the body-swap twist a LOT better imo.

I Care A Lot’s villain protagonist is a lesbian...but it doesn’t feel as tied to her actions of what makes her a villain. She abuses an already flawed system in order to take control of vulnerable people and gain their assets - I’m not American, so if there is any truth in how this whole guardian system works, what the fuck?! But anyway, she’s clearly a monster, but I feel like you could have had her be any gender or sexuality and it doesn’t really feed into any kind of bad LGBT stereotype. Yes, Marla does make a lot of ‘not taking shit from men’ speeches to those who try to underestimate her or be sexist to her, which is tied into the ‘angry lesbian’ cliche - also she dies at the end, so there is a Bury Your Gays trope as well. But it’s not until the very end of the story and after she’s built her evil empire, which is there to make a point of how messed up this real life (?) healthcare issue is. And her girlfriend lives. Her girlfriend is also terrible and supported all of this but she’s at least suffering the consequence and....who knows, maybe there’s a glimmer of hope it will make her see the light? That might be me being optimistic. But the rest of the cast are not ‘the good, straight people’ like BHE. Everyone in this story are awful criminals - the only innocents are the invisible victims who Marla takes advantage of (with exception of Jennifer, she’s the mother of a mafia boss and is implied to be no angel herself).

So neither shows are GREAT examples of LGBT rep in my opinion but one left a far more bitter taste in my mouth than the other. Basically, no one is saying you can’t have lgbt characters be the villains, hey, villains are usually the most entertaining parts! But do it without feeding into a harmful stereotype and also don’t make that villain be the sole LGBT rep in the story! That’s it! It’s not difficult!

Coincidentally i just saw that Lindsey Ellis post a great video about harmful trans rep in media that I feel ties into this a little. Check it out.

#behind her eyes #i care a lot #lgbt rep in media #tw: homophobia #tw: transphobia

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meta-squash · 4 years ago

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Brick Club 1.5.12 “The Idleness of M. Bamatabois”

I call this section “19th Century Fuckbois: the proper introduction.” This first description is familiar, and Hugo specifically recalls Tholomyes in describing Bamatabois.

He does point out that this is what Tholomyes would be if he had stayed in his hometown and not gone to Paris. This makes me wonder how exactly Paris changed Tholomyes, because he seems pretty damn similar to Bamatabois. I think perhaps Paris just allowed him to learn how to actually have “taste” as opposed to imitating it? In any case, I think it’s interesting that Hugo says that people like Bamatabois “do no work, do no good but not much harm,” when we see two separate instances of Bamatabois having a harmful (or potentially harmful) effect on others. The first is this instance here with Fantine, the second is his presence at Arras later on. If Bamatabois has this much damaging power and he’s meant to be “less than” Tholomyes, I can’t imagine the awful things Tholomyes now has the power to do. It’s also been enough time since Fantine left Paris that this always makes me wonder if it’s meant to be a very literal parallel, and that somewhere in his own hometown Tholomyes is doing similarly terrible things.

Hugo takes care to emphasize that people like Bamatabois think they’re gentlemen but would be laughed at in a more respectable situation. Not quite dandies and not quite tramps, I get the impression that these are people who you want to laugh at but they have just enough power in either direction that you don’t dare to.

(Sidenote: the “three waistcoat” thing makes me laugh every time. What overkill! That’s so many waistcoats!)

We finally get a date from Hugo! He really only tells us the date properly like this when the passage of time will be more important for a while. In this case I think the importance is the amount of time between Fantine being arrested and her death, since it’s actually a fairly long time and quite a lot happens in between.

Hugo’s heavy-handed about the clothes here, but I really love that. We get this image of Bamatabois dressed both stylishly and warmly. He’s basically a dandy, he’s wearing a royalist hat, and he’s nicely wrapped up, and warm enough that he’s willing to stand still out in the cold just to be an asshole. Fantine, on the other hand, is dressed in nothing but a low-cut ball gown. No coat, no hat, probably terrible shoes.

And like the other few times her selfhood has been removed, Fantine is introduced to us in this chapter as a “creature,” and then as “the woman” until the end of the paragraph. She only becomes Fantine again when she defends herself, returning from dull unresponsiveness to fierce defensiveness, returning to her self from her dehumanized and benumbed state.

“...using the most shocking words, usually heard only in the barracks.” This is both an indication of how Fantine has become rougher due to her circumstances, and I think it’s also an allusion to her sex work and liaisons with soldiers. Hugo also notes that Fantine’s voice has been “roughened by brandy.” I don’t know a lot about alcohol-drinking in the 19th century, but I imagine brandy is not a “ladies’ drink.” Fantine has turned to drinking to numb her suffering, and if her voice is roughened by it, she’s probably drinking a lot. Again this makes me wonder what has happened to her relationship with Marguerite. Hugo describes Marguerite as someone who cares for the poor but is very pious. My question is, is she the type of religious person to care for and try and help Fantine after she’s become a sex worker and started drinking heavily, or is she the type to feel her sensibilities offended and drop her?

A circle forms around the fight between Fantine and Bamatabois, with people jeering and laughing. Fantine has continuously been a spectacle, since long before she ended up here. The group of grisettes and students laughed at her behind her back, knowing she acted different from them. The town watched and whispered about her when she was working at the factory, and it was so much a spectacle that Madame Victurnien spent money on it. Then when she was fired, people stared at her in the street, especially when she laughed while passing the factory and things like that. Then she became a sex worker, and the spectacle was not only this back and forth promenade to try and find a john, but also the act of sex work itself. Not because she’s a sex worker in general, but because of her appearance; people who paid her for sex were probably doing it for the spectacle of someone so ugly. And now this fight is another spectacle, only this time people get to laugh and jeer openly rather than behind her back or behind their hands.

Fantine’s recognition of Javert makes me wonder if she’s encountered him before. Maybe not directly, but maybe he has targeted other sex workers and Fantine has managed to dodge him, or something. She’s genuinely terrified of him. This could be a fear of cops/authority in general, but it seems more Javert-focused. He’s different from other cops, has no mercy and no flexibility, so I can understand her terror.

And Bamatabois takes this as a chance to disappear. This keeps happening to Fantine. Men take advantage of or abuse her and then vanish. Their social status allows them to act upon her but it also allows them to avoid all consequences of their actions. Bamatabois appears again at Arras as a juror, and we can imagine that Tholomyes is similarly engaged wherever he is; both have the status, power, and lack of empathy to enact terrible things on victims of society just because of their position in life. And Fantine, as a societal symbol, bears the brunt of it. Aside from the Thenardiers, the three people who really screw Fantine over (Tholomyes, Victurnien, and Bamatabois) are all higher class than she is, and are people who are only interested in their own pleasures. And Hugo does not write this like a fairytale story. None of them get their comeuppance for their terrible behavior, because that’s not how real life works. They destroy someone’s life and continue on with their own, happy, ignorant, and insensitive to others.

#les miserables #les miserables meta #brickclub #lm 1.5.12 #les mis #les mis meta

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vix-has-arrived · 4 years ago

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First 20

Tagged by @disappearinginq

Guidelines: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all.) Choose your favourite opening line, tag some friends! The majority of these are Whumptober fills because I am not that prolific anymore (having a new baby will do that to you I guess) They are also all for Magnum P.I. 2018 because I am ever so slightly obsessed

Going from most recent and working backwards-

Accidit Quinquies chapter 4 Wherein the entire group works together to save Higgins (and Luther)

Whumptober 2020 31- Today’s Special: Torture Wherein Higgins is subjected to noise torture for reasons that will be revealed if I can ever finish the second chapter

Whumptober 2020 30- Wound Reveal Wherein a helicopter injures the fab foresome and, if I can ever pin down the second chapter, more injuries are to come

Whumptober 2020 29- Reluctant Bedrest A sequel to Grieving Loved Ones, wherein the boys rally around a devastated Higgins

Whumptober 2020 28- Mugged Wherein some idiotic young lads actually think they can get the better of a Navy SEAL

Whumptober 2020 27- Earthquake Wherein the ground shakes and traps the intrepid duo in a rapidly flooding cave

Whumptober 2020 26- Concussion Wherein Higgins asks for help

Whumptober 2020 25- Ringing Ears Wherein Magnum suffers the consequences of having a gun fired next to his ear

Whumptober 2020 24- Blindfolded Wherein blindfolds and waterboarding are both things and Magnum is forced to watch while his partner endures both

Whumptober 2020 23- Exhaustion Wherein Higgins steps on a landmind and Rick explains to her exactly how highly trained a Navy SEAL actually is

Whumptober 2020 22- Drugged Wherein Magnum’s mind can’t quite cope with being knocked out and nothing is good

Whumptober 2020 21 alt 3- Comfort Wherein Higgins has terrible taste in men and it bites her in the ass (this is not a jab at Dr. Boyfriend. It was written before he was introduced and, besides, I like him)

Whumptober 2020 20 alt 15- Carry/Support Wherein Magnum pretty much saves the day but can’t quite stick the dismount

Whumptober 2020 19- Grieving Loved Ones Wherein everything starts off fluffy and fun and it all ends in tears

Whumptober 2020 18- Panic Attack Wherein the waterboarding that the show ignored is addressed

Whumptober 2020 17- I Did Not See That Coming Wherein Magnum is so overprotective that he can’t even pass out in peace

Whumptober 2020 16- A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day Wherein poor Tommy suffers at the hands of an evil writer

Whumptober 2020 15- Science Gone Wrong Wherein a Jacob’s Ladder-esque medication with lethal side-effects is tested on Magnum and his life’s history is (temporarily) rewritten

Whumptober 2020 14- Fire Wherein Magnum tries to act the hero (and would have succeded quite nicely if Higgins had actually been home)

Whumptober 2020 13- Accidents (techincally I guess this should be chapter two, seeing as I posted that one last and it’s unconnected to chapter 1. But that might be a little too pedantic) Wherein we see two snapshots of the fab foursome during their pre-series lives. Chapter one sees the boys struggling with keep their cool and chapter two sees Higgins trying to get just a little warmth.

As usual, I don’t know enough people to tag anyone, but if anyone fancies playing, feel free! The more the merrier!

#the games we play #tag you're it #fanfiction #magnum pi #whump #whumptober 2020

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what-a-messsss · 4 years ago

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1x10 rewatch

Ok, let’s get back to Walt Longmire: Disaster Boi of S1 and finish this season off with a...something. Pleading look to the heavens, maybe?

How do I keep forgetting that Lizzie is a thing, even after our decision to find her some nice Smitten Cowboy to be with? Holy hell, but why are you still keeping your dead wife’s ashes in the kitchen? At least you kept Lucian in your fucking truck. In a coffee can. What is with you and breakfast beverages?? We all know you need lots of therapy, but this seems like a kind of niche issue.

“Trust me, you don’t, uh, you don’t want that tea.” Buddy.

Poor Lizzie. She really is so nice. And he’s such a fucking disaster. “You seem weird,” she says, in reaction to him going bug eyed from having to convince her not to drink his dead wife without her realizing that’s what he was doing. Sweetie, you have no idea. And she really does like him.

This is. So. Gloriously awkward. And Lizzie’s there in her bare feet. And all we need is for Branch to show up and we’ll have a full house, and aaaaahahaha, Walt is so trying to freeze time with the power of his brain. Staring off into the Not Here place with his mouth pressed just so... Awwwww, suffer.

I had forgotten that Ferg was the one who actually did the body work on the Bronco! Even did the paint work, because that old truck has never looked so good. I know Omar loaned Walt his truck while the Bronco was “in the shop,” but I like that the writers gave Ferg the skills to do that.

“If anybody... has something they want to say, I suggest you think twice about it.” We don’t need to say anything; we’re too busy laughing at you.

Oof, and then Lizzie hearing Martha’s voice still on the message greeting. She’s really quite a good actress. Lizzie isn’t a terribly subtle character generally, but she gives her these really fine microexpressions that give you occasional glimpses that there is more going on under the surface, and she’s not just an open book. : ( Making me actually like her and feel bad, not just cringe when she comes on. Dang iiiiiiiit.

Ok, that does NOT look like Sharpie. I’m sorry, but that looks like a paint pen or lipstick more than it looks like a Shapie on the dead kid’s forehead. Even if it were one of the jumbo Sharpies, they don’t write like that, they aren’t that colour on skin, and the thickness of the lines are all off. Which is not really relevant, but it buuuuugs meeeee. Pedantic little shit that I am.

Ope, Branch is basically past the angst about Walt not liking him and straight into just giving him nothing but attitude. Which, while I can hardly blame anyone for giving Walt shit, does get old pretty fast.

Walt, you are So Bad at talking to people, even when it’s for the damn job! Yeah, it’s fine to have Ferg fill Vic in, but at least acknowledge that she’s there, damn. Honestly it would have been good for both Vic and Ferg for Walt to tell her to follow Ferg’s lead on this one. He knows the case, the local history, the players, the situation, and probably more about archery than her, and she could stand to take the reminder that working 5 years in big city homicide still doesn’t make her the senior deputy and that she needs to be ok learning from even Ferg. Shit, I keep finding more and more reasons to be annoyed at Walt. Is he even really that good of a sheriff? I’m shaking the ol’ Magic 8 Ball here, and signs point to frickin’ NO. Ugh.

Five HUNDRED dollars says that he didn’t check with Mathias before going on the Rez for official police business again. Jackass.

Can’t really blame Viho for being super bitter. And Ayasha is so sweet. This whole family dynamic is so well done.

Aw, Ferg is so excited about the gum wrapper. “Still minty!” How are you such a sparklebunny? Bless.

Detective Falessssss. His opening line is so great, but uuuuuuuhg, he’s as bad as Walt with his singlemindedness about the case.

“Talk to Ruby. She runs my life.” She runs the department, bucko, and you’d be lost without her! Lost, I say! But you treat her like your personal social secretary, and that’s crap.

In Fales’ dubious defense, you were just super weird about that whole encounter.

Omar! You creepy little lecherous jackass. Why am I still fond of you? It’s really rather galling that I enjoy your character at all, but I doooo. Thank gods he has the beard now; cleanshaven was just wigging me out. “Vickie’s never shot before--” “That is the second-to-last time you will ever call me that.” And I chortle myself to distraction to the point that I have to rewind to catch the lines that I missed. With her horrible plans when she gets drunk (I’m still cringing at that flashback of her with Travis) and her obvious thing for older men, I’m honestly kind of surprised she didn’t end up having a deeply regretted something with Omar at some point. They do have good chemistry in an antagonistic way. And he does so enjoy tugging her pigtails. ...ew. Why is my brain like this?

“A little bit of practice, even a girl can make that shot.” Aaaaaaand we’re back to kick him in the nuts. Not that we ever really left there. Such a butthead.

Boy oh boy, it sure is great the tone that all these shitty rich white people take saying “Indian.”

“That is what a normal person would do in your situation.” Henryyyyyy, I love you so much. Why can’t we spend more time with him in the early seasons? Why are you drinking a Rainier? Nooooo, please have better taste in beer than your boyfriend! You have expensive tastes in bourbon, why can’t you have decent taste in beeeer?

Walt, what is the point of practicing darts when you are FIVE FEET from the board? Seriously, you’re supposed to be like... (a google later) 7 feet 9.25 inches away! That’s... That’s an oddly specific measurement. Wtf. No quickly apparent reason for that specific measure. Resisting the pull of this particular rabbit hole to continue the ep.

Aaaah, that’s right, this is still when Walt thinks that Henry may have killed the guy for him. And BestDad Henry talked to Cady after the blow up about Branch, and he is a wonderful human being. “It’s really none of your concern.” Hoooooow dare you. It is clearly a function of being bffs with that butthead that Henry just smiles (somewhat bitterly) at this instead of tripping him into the bar or shoving his head into the cigarette machine. (Is that a cigarette machine? Wtf is that thing with the yellow lit up portion towards the top? [14:05])

“What a rich inner life you must lead. From time to time, you should consider sharing some of it with the rest of us.” The sass! Swoon. Henry. Marry me.

“I’ve got other problems.” Buddy, you are other problems.

I wonder how many people/places Ruby just has on speed dial so that she can zoom through her list of “Where the hell is Walt now” to get in touch with him.

Aaaaand we’re back to Branch getting a bit big for his britches. Whee. Better fight about it like Big Boys. Ffs. “Go ahead. Give me your best shot.” ::Pat Benatar starts playing in the background:: Oh holy shit, I wish so damn much that I had any know-how about making vids. I would be beyond amused by a spoofy hate vid of Walt and Branch being assholes to “Hit Me With Your Best Shot.” Ooo, oo, or “Hit Me Baby One More Time!” Aaaahahaha, these fucking losers and their fragile masculinity. Get rekt.

Children. Childreeeeen. Stop it, or you can’t go to Timmy’s birthday party next week.

The irony of Vic being the one who is actually calling them on their shit and getting to do their damn jobs. Well shit, they actually have a warrant this time. Will wonders never cease.

Damn, Viho is smart. Politically savy, pointing out the election coming up. He’s got the wrong end of the stick this time, but the fact that he’s seen these angles and considered a bunch of things about the consequences already is telling about how smart he is.

Ruby is so pleased to see Henry. She sounds tired (dealing with Walt and Branch and the sheer volume of bs that is accumulating in that office, no wonder) but still fond. And the look she gives him. I love her so much. She puts up with so much. And I love Henry continually calling Walt and the department on their shit and just being a dedicated activist for his community.

Fuck right off, Branch. “Woah. I know you’re Walt’s friend, Henry, but you don’t have any particular rights here.” You are sliding into being a full on trashbag of a human being so fast, Brancheroo. Reminding a young man of his rights and helping him avoid getting railroaded by your biased ass isn’t a bad thing, you rusty wingnut.

Ok, it might not be Glasses!Henry, but cowboy boots!Henry with the glow of righteousness upon him is also quite A Look.

Aaaaahahaha, for once Vic’s unholy yelling saves the day. Being able to shout over a mass of raucous teens is usually reserved for teachers, camp counselors, and stage managers. Looool and using detention as the threat. And then jail. Heeeh.

This is soooo weeeeeird: I’m starting to genuinely like Lizzie. She just showed up and I remembered that it’s for dropping off that present, and then Vic is such a butt about it, and this poor lady is just trying to date a guy that she really likes and even gave him about 5 different outs that morning and he pointedly didn’t take any of them and dammit, Lizzie deserves better, too. Fuck, Walt, you are such a disaster zone. And Vic is a whole other disaster area that’s looking to, uhhhh, share a border. Yike.

The present is definitely more Lizzie than it is Walt, with the wrapping and everything, but it’s still a sweet impulse. AND THEN VIC, who told Walt how many times that he should call her?? gets all up in her business? Poor Lizzie trying to figure out what the fuck this has to do with Vic or how it is even on the same planet as any of her business. She does have some issues from her previous marriage, but she owns them. And her BS meter is actually pretty finely tuned. Sure picks up on Vic’s awkward boner for Walt in no time flat. Not that it’s particularly well hidden, damn.

This kid is a rapist and a murderer and The Bad Guy, but at the same time, he is a high school kid, chances are he’s a minor, and Walt is talking to him alone in his office without any parent, much less a lawyer. What the fuck.

“Because Ayasha Roundstone told me so,” is a good line, solidly so. And Walt’s all in The Righteous Hand of Justice mode or whatever, with the gravelly voice and standing over the kid, staring him down. Effective. (But where are that kid’s parents?) Ah, that’s right, his dad is taking a shot at whatshisnoodle to make it look like he’s the killer.

Awww, Cady. Honey, how long have you been waiting for you FailDad to show up? Fuck. Right. This was how she found out that Martha was murdered. He lies to her so much. He manipulates her so much. He passes all of this off on it being Martha’s wish, but he even acknowledges that Cady had a right to know and he chose not to tell her. He denies Cady her own agency again and again. He makes decisions for her without ever giving her a chance to choose for herself, and punishes her when she makes a choice that he doesn’t agree with.

It’s not “protecting” her from the pain. “Protecting you from the pain,” is not a father’s job; it’s to teach their child how to manage it, help them live through it, and how to grow past it. You’re damaging her. Into the suuuuuuun, Walt! Into the fucking SUN.

But fuuuuuuuuuuuck, her delivery of that same line, “Well, let me relieve you of that burden,” is sooo good. You done fucked up, buster. And you just keep fucking up. I would say in new and exciting ways, but it’s generally in the SAME DAMN WAYS, dammit Walt.

This flashback is really difficult.

They’re right about that technically being kidnapping, too. Wyoming § 6-2-201 specifically includes defining kidnapping as unlawfully confining another person, with the intent to “facilitate the commission of a felony; or Inflict bodily injury on or to terrorize the victim or another,” with unlawful confinement defined as “accomplished (i) By force, threat or deception; or (ii) Without the consent of a parent, guardian or other person responsible for the general supervision of an individual who is under the age of fourteen (14) or who is adjudicated incompetent.” Meaning that not only could Walt charge Jake with the kidnapping of Rich, but also probably of Ayasha, since she was ruled an unreliable witness and would more than likely be legally considered a “mentally incompetent person” according to the states’ legal definitions.

Not... that I have the Wyoming State Criminal Code downloaded on my computer. >_> Certainly haven’t skimmed about 80% of it trying to figure out what charges would most make sense to be levied against Jacob at the end so that I don’t have to deal with him going in to a Federal prison on RICO charges. <_< Or what Cady probably should have been charged with after that mess with Tate and Catori. Nnnnnnope. Sure don’t, didn’t, haven’t. o_o

This is about the only time I can remember there being a legitimate reason for Walt not to have backup. Since they’re off checking other locations. Also, damn, that was some classic Old West quickdraw shit, Walt! Noice!

“Why did you stop me?” Because you have to testify, you little shit. HE is not terribly bright.

Ooooooo, somehow I forgot that it was Branch who went to Jacob. But that makes total sense; I can’t really see Jacob seeking Branch out, but once he walks himself into his office, Jacob will certainly play those new cards for all they’re worth. Ooooooooo, and the Hotamétaneo’o headdress! I’d forgotten about Branch seeing it, too! Nice call back and foreshadowing to finish off S1!

“You will not find a chili cheeseburger of this caliber anywhere in Colorado.” And now it’s 4:30 in the morning and I want a chili cheeseburger. Thanks, babe. Some daaaaaay, I will figure out which is my favourite Henry, but it is not this day, because godsdaaaaamn, the red checked shirt with that vessssst, is *chef kiss* a wonderful thing. And the director knoooooows it = that pan down Henry’s back as he turns after saying, “I said nothing,” for noooo reason other than to have Henry’s ass on screen. Seriously. He says his line, it pans down, we get a primo shot of his jeans, and then it cuts away. Solely a pan for Henry Butt. Who directed this, and where do I send the fruit basket? Dang, it was Nelson McCormick, and this was the only ep of Longmire he directed. Huh. In S1, there’s only one repeat director, who did eps 1, 3, and 7. Interesting.

Focus, kid. You are less than 3 minutes from the end and you’ve had it paused for over 5 minutes to wander around IMDb. No wonder it takes you three flipping hours to watch one of these episodes. What a mess, indeed.

“We all process grief in our own way.” Buddy. You have not processed. You are a human <BUFFERING> screen. You’re a walking loading symbol. Walt, he gives you some basic vital statistics on the guy, but... You haven’t even asked who it was. Walt, you are so bad at this. Fffffffff--- And there’s season 1. lawd.

#Longmire #episode commentary #cady longmire #cassidy freeman #Walt #Henry Standing Bear #Branch is such a tool #Lizzie (Longmire)#How many tangents did I manage to go on this time?#Yikes

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itsmyhoeacademia · 4 years ago

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So think get out wasnt in bad taste? What's some you believe arent done in a good way? Intrested in your thoughts

I think Them is the most obvious example with its disgustingly explicit depiction of rape and infanticide. The original Candyman skates the line for me because even his coming of being is extreme racial violence but then despite being killed by white men Candyman seems to exclusively cause harm to black people and if I remember correctly the victims in the movie are all black except for the main character. Another issue with Candyman for me is that even though it is all happening in Cabrini Green, the predominantly black government housing sector, a white woman is the center of the story and her pain is what we are meant to sympathize and feel horror from not the Black people he has been terrorizing for decades. I’m no expert on horror or Black horror so I don’t have many examples to pull from, but I guess for me Get Out’s narrative didn’t go out of its way to make Chris (Daniel Kaluuya) suffer nor was it indulging in the violence and trauma to make a teachable moment for white people and that’s what matters to me. Personally, Get Out felt like it was made for Black people as the horror is so specific to the daily Black experience and it was made with our understanding in mind that non black people had to watch YouTube breakdowns of the movie to fully get what was happening. I still laugh at how white liberals didn’t realize that they were also the villains of the movie. And then of course Chris gets to survive the movie and doesn’t have to die or face terrible consequences to be the hero. Now, this isn’t to say that I think we need more horror movies with Black people where the villain is racism, but I do think that Peele did a good job overall with Get Out.

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msbluebell · 5 years ago

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About the Captured!AU, Is it okay if I would like to hear more about Byleth helping with Dimitri’s recovery while going through their own trauma for being stuck in a room for so long? Like trying to help with Dimitri’s “guard dog” tendencies? If that makes sense? 😅

It’s not easy.

Recovery never is, especially from trauma, and especially when the people who hurt you are people you trusted, once upon a time. It’s messy, full of relapses and breakdowns and tears. Some days you’re okay, some days you’re great, some days it’s a struggle just to get out of bed.

That’s what it’s like for Byleth and Dimitri.

They’re both not used to being around people anymore. It’s a consequence of what they’ve been through, of isolation, as much as they want to be around people they love, sometimes they just have to be absent. It’s easy to be overwhelmed by all the noise and all the people. It’s too much. But, at the same time, they’re so scared of being alone that they can’t stand it.

It’s why they stay in the cathedral, most days. It’s wide and open enough for Byleth, and quite enough for Dimitri. Even when it’s full of people, they’re much more muted than anywhere else in Garreg Mach. It’s the comfort of civilization without the overwhelming power of it, and they’re mostly left alone here. The quite hymns are comforting background noise. Not quite, but not overwhelming either. There’s also a hole in the ceiling, so just enough light leaks through that Byleth could indulge in it, or step back into the shadows if it becomes too much.

Dimitri does develop a protective streak. It’s just natural for him at this point. Every moment for the last five years he’s had to be alert, to guard his own back just in case a wild animal, or enemy soldier, found him. It seems natural to him to guard Byleth as well, who has already suffered at the hands of those very enemies. It makes his blood boil and his teeth grind whenever he thinks of what they did to them, and Byleth hasn’t trained their body to be alert like he has, so he stands guard while they sleep.

Byleth is much more concerned about Dimitri’s lack of sleep. They try to convince him that he’s safe here, that there are guards everywhere around them that will call if someone tries to attack. But Dimitri simply states that he just doesn’t trust anyone not to be an assassin in disguise. It’s happened a time or two, he explains coolly, he was approached by men wearing uniforms of Faerghus, only to find their blades pointed at him as he tried to rest. Anyone could be a spy, or an assassin.

Byleth says that there are people here to protect them, that Dimitri can rest while they take watch. But Dimitri won’t even hear of that, claiming that he’s already trained his body to resist sleep, and that Byleth need not waste the time.

Byleth thinks his lack of sleep isn’t helping with his delusions.

It’s a fight to finally get Dimitri to rest. They have to convince him with talk of nightmares, and feeling safer if he’s with them. He finally gives in enough to at least lay on the bed Felix and Annette had set up for them (Felix really just dragged in the mattresses from their old rooms and threw in on the floor and Annette was the one that actually brought them pillows and blankets and set it up into something functional) and stay beside Byleth while they sleep. After a few nights Byleth dares to wrap and arm around him, a few more and he closes his eyes for a bit. A week or two later he sleeps for a few hours for the first time in a long time. A few more weeks and he’s slept a whole night through for the first time in years.

Whenever Byleth does leave the cathedral, Dimitri is usually behind them. It agitates him, because he’s not used to the noise anymore, or the crowds. It makes them itch too, but they have to get used to it eventually. It starts as small trips, just going to fish, or to the garden. But they’re trying to slowly expose themselves to more and more, to get them both used to it again. A few minutes in the training ground, walk by the mess hall, say hello to Flayn, report to Seteth. Dimitri follows her, because he doesn’t like leaving her alone, and he still doesn’t trust most strangers not to be spies. That’s fine, because he needs this too, and they actually do feel safer with him by their side. Plus, they like to keep an eye on him as well, in case he starts interacting with his hallucinations again. The “ghosts” tend to fill his head with terrible ideals when he’s left alone with them, one’s that make him want to go “hunting”. Byleth prefers to keep Dimitri by their side, where they can stop him interacting with them. So, really, this is a good thing. Byleth feels safer, Dimitri isn’t interacting with his ghosts, and they’re both getting used to civilization again.

It’s gotten to the point where their friend, the Gatekeeper, greets them both whenever they brave the market place (though they never stay for long, too noisy, too crowded, they prefer to be in an out quickly).

They haven’t braved the mess hall yet. Too crowded there as well, and Dimitri never seems to be in the mood for food.

Food is actually something Byleth doesn’t have to get used to again, because Edelgard at least kept them well fed. Food is strictly a Dimitri problem. He never wants to eat, and the few times he does it’s always done too quickly. He eats fast, with hands and teeth, devouring it quickly, like he was afraid someone would take it right out of his mouth if he didn’t swallow it quickly enough. He’s like a wild animal ready to run, knowing it has to move fast, but can’t abandon it’s meal yet. It’s unmannerly, and messy, and something that Byelth very quickly realized would have to be handled before they even thought of having dinner with the others again. And that’s after they’ve convinced him to eat at least one meal every day.

Dimitri makes sure none of the clothes Byleth is given has any red on it. Byleth’s old clothes have long been looted, so anything they’re given has to be looked through. But Byleth doesn’t like red clothes, so Dimitri makes sure to throw those out of the donated pile and left for someone else before he takes them over to Byleth.

Gardening is something Byleth likes to do, and Dimitri just stands outside the door of the Greenhouse. He doesn’t like entering this place, it reminds him too much of Dedue, and the wild, and there are too many fragile things in there he might trample, and that would upset Byleth. It’s the furthest way they’re ever from each other for a while. Byleth is fine with it, because Dimitri is still close enough that if he starts arguing with ghosts they’ll hear, and Dimitri knows no one is getting through the doors so long as he’s there.

Bath’s are strange. Byleth has their own bathroom built into their room in the tower, a single iron tub and latrine separated by cornered off wall and privacy screen. Here, most of the baths are open, warmed by magic pipes, and with very few privacy screens. Getting Dimtri to go inside was impossible during the day, and even in the dead of night it was difficult, because he didn’t like the vulnerability of being without his armor. It takes a long time to get him to agree, and even then it had to be just the two of them. And that’s fine, because Byleth doesn’t think they can bathe around others, even with a privacy screen, ever again.

Getting Dimitri reintegrated with his friends is a real challenge. He’s different than he was, and Byleth thinks he’s a little resentful of them, and he doesn’t like talking at all. Mostly, he’s silent. Mercedes is the easiest to get him used to (Byleth tried Mercedes and Annette, but Annette got wobbly lipped every time she looked at Dimitri, so they cut back to just Mercedes), because she’s quite, and patient, and doesn’t take offense to the cruel things he says, and doesn’t even really talk much. She’s a healer, and she seems to understand what’s going on. So she never really pushes much. Just enough. Most days she sits and sews, or hums quietly, or makes balms she’ll leave for him. After a while he stops growling at her, and learns to tolerate her presence. Sometimes he’ll even let her heal his wounds from battles rather than sloppily trying to wrap them himself.

It isn’t until Dedue is returned seemingly from the dead that real progress is made.

Dedue has had four years more experience Dimitri in particular, and he’s a blessing for Byleth. He knows what to say to get Dimitri to eat, and he what to get him to do to sleep, and is wonderful to help keep Dimitri from speaking with his ghosts. It feels good, that Dimitri’s mind didn’t solely depend on them anymore, or just Dedue, who needed his own rest. They both could help. And that meant that Byleth’s own health didn’t solely depend on Dimitri, because he trusted Dedue.

It’s like opening the gates to Dimitri’s trust again, and that goes a long way to his recovery.

And that’s good, because that means that he’s accepting the other’s help a bit more, and that means the other are helping a bit more. Not that they weren’t helping before, but it’s more obvious now. Annette start bringing more meals, lingering longer, asking Dimitri if he likes the food before she leaves (no one has the heart to tell her he hasn’t tasted food in years). And Ingrid sometimes stands guard outside the cathedral. And Mercedes still sits with them and sews. And Ashe delivers books for Byleth from the library (”I know you’ve been avoiding it, so I thought…it would help”).

It’s slow, and there are still days when Dimitri snaps at them, or speaks to his ghosts. Or days when Byleth can’t bare people, or to stay inside with stone walls. But they’re getting better.

#fe3h #fe16 #Dimileth #Captured AU #Trauma and Recovery #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #byleth eisner #Blue Lions #Blue Lion Route #disaster blue lions #Dedue is MVP #Dimitri x Self Care Is My OTP #Someone save them #asks

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donteattheappleshook · 5 years ago

Text

Stone Hearts Chapter 7

Here’s an extra long chapter this week! And a little bit of smut to help with the pain.

Summary:

Emma should have known. She should have known that they couldn’t just go to the underworld and not suffer any consequences. She should have known they’d bring something back with them.

Cannon Divergent after 5x21 Last Rites. No Hyde. No serum. No Evil Queen split. No prophecy. No season 6.

Read from the beginning on Ao3 or FFn because tumblr eats all my italics.

Rated E

Chapter 7

“Oh, Emma, I’m so happy for you,” Snow sighs. “For both of you,” she says asking to see her left hand for the fourth time this morning. “How did he ask you? Was it romantic? Did he get down on one knee? I want to know everything.”

Emma gives her mom a patient smile, glancing at where Killian and David are standing in the kitchen, sliding pancakes and bacon onto plates. Killian catches her eye and she can tell by his expression that he’s getting a similar line of questioning from her dad - though maybe a little less detail-oriented. She sees David smile and clap her fiance on the shoulder and it makes her heart flutter a little bit. Killian looks flustered and bashful but she knows how much her father’s approval means to him, especially after everything they’ve been through.

“It was very romantic,” Emma answers.

“That’s it?” Snow insists. “That’s all you’re going to tell me? Emma, I am your mother. This only happens once. I want details.”

“Yeah, did my advice work?” David asks as he and Killian make their way over to join the women at the table, setting their breakfasts in front of them. Emma thanks her fiance - she’s still not used to that, but she likes it - with a kiss on the cheek.

They exchange a secret little smile before Killian answers. “Oh, yeah, mate. Absolutely. Great advice.” David looks very proud of himself and so Emma doesn’t bother to tell him the truth. She understands, her parents’ version of romance is very different from her own.

“What’s with the ring?” David asks somewhat tactlessly. Snow immediately snaps ‘David!’ He gives a slightly abashed look. “I just mean it’s different,” he explains. “Unique,” he corrects himself when Snow frowns at him.

“Killian chose it,” she tells them, smiling affectionately at the man in question. “It was his mother’s.”

Snow practically melts into the floor at that, swooning over how sentimental and romantic it is. “You know, your father proposed to me with his mother’s ring too,” she tells her, taking a moment to admire the stone on her own finger, a wistful little smile blooming on her face. David’s fingers absentmindedly twist his wedding band as he shares a smile with his wife.

“I know,” Emma smiles, remembering her parents’ love story fondly. “I guess we just have a couple of romantics on our hands,” she says. The boys roll their eyes good-naturedly but Emma sees David slyly give Killian a thumbs up when he thinks they aren’t looking.

“So, have you started planning the wedding at all?”

“Mom, we got engaged last night,” Emma groans.

“Aye, we were far too busy celebrating,” Killian adds cheekily and David makes an exaggerated show of disgust and outrage at the idea of his daughter doing anything. Ever. With any man.

“I’m just saying,” Snow continues. “Venues book up really early and you have a limited choice here in Storybrooke. Unless you were thinking of having it somewhere else! Oh a destination wedding can be so lovely - but difficult to coordinate and -”

“Sweetheart,” David interveens and Emma shoots him a thankful look. “Why don’t we just let them enjoy the moment for now. They can start planning later.”

“Oh, but -” Snow begins, looking terribly disheartened.

“But I’m sure Emma and Killian wouldn’t object to us throwing them an engagement party,” he adds, in an attempt to placate her. He raises an eyebrow meaningfully at Emma. “Right?”

“Right,” Emma agrees.

Oh, boy. This is gonna get interesting. She knows her mom means well, really she does. Snow just has a habit of getting overly enthusiastic about anything involving Emma. And when that happens, she often loses track of why she’s doing it, getting too caught up in the details and the excitement and forgetting exactly who her daughter is and what she does and doesn’t like.

But she understands. Her mom missed out on twenty-eight years with her. Twenty-eight years of birthdays and holidays and first dates and boyfriends and countless balls and whatever other royal events there were. She can give her this. Emma can handle an engagement party. And she trusts David to keep his wife in check when it comes to the wedding. Besides, Emma never got to have a mother, never got to have anyone dote on her and be excited about any aspect of her life. And it’s nice. It’s nice to be loved that much.

“Besides,” David adds, breaking her out of her reverie. “I’m sure they’re not in any great rush. There’s no urgent reason for them to have to get married soon. Is there?”

The last question is quite pointedly directed at Killian. David gives him a stern, overly-protectice-father frown. Emma can see the mischievous expression creeping onto Killian’s face and she interjects before he can say anything to really rile her dad up.

“Jesus, Dad,” she groans. “This isn’t a shotgun wedding,” she nearly glares at him for the implication.

“I didn’t say it was!” he insists, playing innocent and Emma raises an eyebrow at him.

“We could make it one,” Killian suggests, snaking an arm around her waist and sending David an exageratedly salacious eyebrow lift. David looks like he’s going to punch Killian for that one but Emma can’t quite bring herself to be mad. Snow is failing to hide a giggle behind her hand and David looks at her, betrayed.

“You asked for it,” she tells him with a shrug and he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest and muttering under his breath about ‘my daughter and my own wife’.

Later, when they’re finishing their meal, David, who has now cooled down, asks if they’ve told Henry yet.

“No,” Emma says. “He’s still at his friend’s for another two days. And if you guys don’t mind not saying anything until we get a chance to that would be great.” She looks directly at her mother. “To anyone,” she specifies and Snow looks almost offended at the idea that she can’t keep a secret. “We just don’t want him finding out from someone else before we get a chance to tell him.”

Snow looks ready to protest but then sighs. “Mum’s the word,” she promises, miming locking her lips with a key. She rises, beginning to gather up their dishes and Killian immediately gets up to help. Emma moves to join them but is stopped by David’s hand on her arm. She sits back down. He takes a moment before he speaks.

“I’m really happy for you, you know,” he says and Emma smiles.

“I know, Dad. Thank you.” He looks like he wants to say more, his face swelling with emotion he is trying and failing to suppress. She gives him a minute to compose himself.

“I’m just… I’m so proud of you, Emma.” A feeling swells in her chest, warmth blooming from the centre and spreading out.

“Dad…”

“No, really,” he continues. “I want you to know this.” He places his hand over her own and squeezes it gently, looking her in the eye. “When you first got here, you were so closed off, so scared of letting anyone in, of letting anyone mean anything to you. And part of that is my fault.” She tries to protest but he holds up a hand to stop her. “No, it is. You grew up without anyone taking care of you, without anyone loving you, and you should have. The world was cruel to you and you learned how to protect yourself. But, Emma, you’ve come so far. You’ve grown into someone so strong and so brave - so open - and I’m just… I’m really proud of you.”

“I don’t know if I’d go so far as brave,” she says, a little embarrassed.

“You are brave. Letting someone love you is brave. Letting yourself love someone is even braver.” His fingers begin to toy with his wedding band again, spinning it around as he focuses on it. “And I know I give Hook a rough time. But he loves you, and you love him. You know, he told me once he’d go to the end of the world or time for you and I don’t doubt for a second that he meant it. He’s a good man,” David says casting a glance at Killian who is helping Snow load the dishwasher. “I’m happy he’s the one you chose to let in.”

He looks her in the eye and for a moment she forgets that he’s not much older than her. She forgets that they’ve only known each other for four years. Suddenly, she feels like a little girl, sitting there with her father. It’s not something she really ever got to experience before and… it’s a lot. But the good kind of a lot. David has been there for her since the moment he knew she was his daughter. Not once has he faltered in his role. He’s been supportive and kind and understanding and Emma wishes she’d had a chance to grow up with him - overprotectiveness and all.

“I guess I take after my mother when it comes to my taste in men,” she tells him and David looks about ready to cry. He clears his throat, coughing to hide the way he’s choking up.

She glances up at Killian who is watching them now, watching David play with his ring and try not to cry. An expression crosses his face that she doesn’t quite understand but then Snow says something and he snaps back into the smile he wore a moment ago.

On the car ride home, Emma can tell that something is off. She keeps looking at Killian, trying to make conversation, but his answers are short, distracted, and his attention seems to be completely focused on his hook. After ten minutes of tense silence Emma pulls the bug over.

“Okay, what's up with you?” she demands.

“What?” he answers, still not fully noticing that she’s speaking, she doesn’t even think he realized she stopped the car. She waits and finally he looks up at her. “Sorry, Love,” he says, finally seeming to have tuned into the conversation. “I was distracted.”

“By?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Uh-uh,” Emma shakes her head. “Something is clearly bothering you. You’ve been weird since you were in the kitchen with my mom. Did she say something? I know she can be a bit much but -”

“It wasn’t you mother, Swan,” he tells her.

“Well then what?” she pushes. She doesn’t like not being able to read him and it unsettles her. Killian takes a long moment, looking down at his hook again before finally sighing, shoulders hunching forward a bit as he makes his confession.

“It was just… I hadn’t realised until now that I won’t be able to wear a wedding ring.” His answer throws her for a moment. She doesn’t understand what he’s talking about. Of course he can wear a ring. She frowns at him, trying to figure out what he’s saying and he sighs again, holding up his hook and it dawns on her.

She takes hold of his hook. “Killian, you’ll just wear it on your right hand. It doesn’t matter to me. You know it’s never mattered right?” He has to know. Even when they first met, back when she was pretending she didn’t like him, the hook never bothered her. It’s a part of him, a part of his story, a piece of who he’s become, like the scars on his body.

“I know,” he tells her but she can see it’s still bothering him. She waits, giving him time to tell her what he’s feeling when he’s ready. “It's only that a ring on your right hand is just a ring,” he starts. “A ring on your left hand.... It shows the world a commitment. And I want to show the world my commitment to you, I want everyone to know that I’m yours and your mine and… and I can’t. I can’t show you.”

Emma feels gutted by his words. It breaks her heart to think that this is eating away at him so much. She doesn’t care, at all. Killian shows her his commitment every single day. Nobody has ever fought for her the way that he did. Nobody else has been so steady and strong and constant in her life. Only him. She doesn’t need a ring to show her that he’s in this for the long haul. She brings his hook up to her heart and he meets her eyes and she tells him so.

He gives her a smile but it’s a little half-hearted. “Thank you, Love. I suppose you’re right.” She can tell he’s still not quite convinced but she can also tell that he’s done talking about it for now so she starts the car and they continue down main street. As she drives, she keeps casting little glances at him and each time it breaks her heart a little bit. Killian should never feel less-than.

They pass a side street she recognizes and suddenly Emma has an idea. She pulls off and Killian looks up as the car jerks. He asks where they’re going but she only smiles. After a short ride, she pulls the bug over again and shuts off the engine. He gives her a questioning look. She turns in her seat.

“You want a commitment the world can see?” she asks. “Come with me.” She hops out of the car and waits for him to follow. He still looks confused but eventually, he recognizes the building they’re standing in front of. A tattoo shop. He smiles at her and it’s the first real smile he’s given her since this started, raised eyebrow and all.

“We’re not getting rings,” she tells him, then reconsiders. “Okay, yes, we’re getting rings because I do not want to deal with explaining that to my mom. But we’re not just getting rings. We’ve never been a traditional couple. Why start now.”

“Swan,” he says, amusement in his voice and she’s thrilled to hear it. “Are you telling me that we’re getting husband and wife tattoos?”

She nods. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

He considers it for a moment and then gestures for her to take the lead. “After you.”

They settle on a compass. It was the first thing that brought them together - literally. They met because of it, they went on their first adventure because of it and, as he’s told her before, he’s known since the beanstalk that they would end up here. It’s fitting really. The compass was supposed to bring them home, and it did. It brought them to each other. They get them over their hearts, him on his chest and her on her back.

Killian gets his first and Emma can’t help smiling back as he grins through the whole thing, apparently oblivious to the pain. She likes the fact that this is only his second tattoo - that clearly the permanence of it means something to him. She goes next. She grimaces through the whole thing but he holds her hand and lets her squeeze it too tightly. When it’s done, they stand in front of the full length mirror in the shop. Killian is staring at the ink just by her shoulder blade. He wraps her in his arms, pressing her to his chest and leans down to kiss her forehead.

“Thank you, Emma,” he says, eyes fixed on the artwork. She looks up at him, arms trapped between them, enjoying the feel of him wrapped around her. She kisses the spot where his tattoo is bandaged under his shirt.

“You’re my home,” she answers. “Now I’ve just got the proof… for the world to see,” she adds.

He smiles, takes her face in his hands. “And you’re mine,” he promises before placing a kiss to her lips.

***

The next morning, Emma wakes to sunlight streaming through the windows, filling the room with streaks of golden light and she watches the bits of fluff and dust dance around in them. She can feel Killian’s fingers stroking through her hair, fanning it out across the skin of her back. When her new tattoo is revealed to him he begins to trace the delicate lines, fingers gentle on still-tender flesh. She’s not sure, but she thinks he might be humming. It’s a song she doesn’t recognize. She turns her head so that she can look at him without disrupting the motion of his hand.

“Good morning, Love,” he beams when he sees her peeking up at him from under her hair, face still half pressed into the pillow. He leans down and presses his lips to her shoulder blade, over her heart. She smiles, a sleepy but content smile. She can’t help herself. Emma’s never been a morning person, but waking up like this, in a room bathed in sunlight, to the gentle caress of the man she’s going to marry… she doesn’t care how early it is. It’s worth it.

She hums. “‘Morning. How long have you been up?” Her voice is still groggy from sleep.

“Not long,” he says and Emma knows he’s lying. Killian is always up with the grey of the dawn but ever since her panic attack nearly five months ago he’s stayed true to his promise and stayed in bed until she wakes up. And she really, really likes waking up next to him. She looks at him now, his hair still a little wild from sleep, the skin of his shoulders and chest almost golden in the glow of the sun. He looks like some kind of greek god, like he was made to be sculpted, painted, his beauty a thing to be preserved and admired.

He’s smiling gently at her, his fingers still tracing the new brush strokes on her body, tangling in the ends of her hair, and she snuggles a little closer so that she can press herself against the warmth of his skin. “What?” she asks as he continues to look at her admiringly, happily.

“Nothing,” he says, voice soft and almost distant. “It’s only that you look exceptionally beautiful bathed in the morning light.”

Emma wants to roll her eyes - her natural reaction to compliments - but she doesn’t. She likes it. She likes compliments when they come from him. Even his most flowery, poetic speeches sound sincere when he speaks them, and it fills her heart to know how much he loves her. So, instead, she snuggles even closer to him, curling herself around him and laying her head on his chest. Killian welcomes her eagerly, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly to him.

“You should see yourself,” she tells him and a slightly smug smirk pulls at his lips.

“Oh?” he prods, but she doesn’t take the bait. She’s not going to tease him. She wants him to know that she’s as impossibly in love with and in awe of him as he is with her. It surprises her briefly, it still does sometimes, how easily she accepts that he loves her. The doubts that had plagued her her entire life seem to have dissapeared when Killian decided to love her - when she decided to let him love her.

“Mhm,” she hums, bringing a hand up to caress the lines of his face, tracing his temple, his cheek, his jaw. “You know, I think I could get used to waking up next to you every morning.”

Killian chuckles, catching her hand and taking a moment to admire the ring that rests on her finger. A reverent smile blooms on his face and he turns his head to look her in the eye. “That’s the idea, Love.” He brings her hand to his lips and then lowers it to rest on the compass over his heart.

Emma smiles at the reminder of the commitment they made yesterday. She knows most will see it just as a new tattoo, some even will tell her it’s bad luck, but she doesn’t care. Killian promised to love her forever and yesterday he proved it by branding the promise permanently on his skin. It still doesn’t feel real. She feels like she’s in a dream, the most wonderful, fantastic dream of her life and she never wants to wake up. She can’t stop smiling. She looks at the ring on her finger, their hands still intertwined.

“What is it?” he asks and she shrugs a little.

“I just never thought this would happen for me, you know?” she tells him. “I just can’t believe this is real.”

He smiles affectionately at her, understanding in his expression. “It’s real, Swan,” he promises, placing a kiss to her palm. “Very real,” he assures her before leaning down to kiss her gently, his hand coming up to cradle her face as his lips move slowly and intentionally over her own. She lifts her face to meet his, happy for the feel of his mouth on hers, the reminder that he’s here and that he’s real and that she gets to have this - forever.

It’s not long before their kiss turns passionate, Emma pressing herself closer to him, desperate for the feel of him against her skin. Her arm snakes up under his shoulder as she pulls him closer. She wants to wrap herself around him and feel him wrapped around her, feel the love and the trust and the realness of it all engulf her. Killian tightens his hold until there’s no space left between them at all and she curls her foot around his calf. He lets out a small groan before rolling her over onto her back, his mouth not leaving her own. She feels a slight burn as her sensitive skin hits the mattress but she doesn’t mind - it’s a pleasant reminder, a brand.

They kiss for a long while, neither in any hurry as the warmth and the desire builds slowly between them. She lets her hands wander the expanse of his back, feeling the raised scars that criss cross it. It’s a map she knows by heart now, one she could trace with her eyes closed, a roadmap of his life written on his skin. His hand is everywhere, tracing her face, her neck, her shoulders, her chest, every touch featherlight, just soft enough to make her want more and she lets him know with a slow small grind of her hips against his.

She feels his smile before his lips leave hers to trail down her neck. He’s in no hurry, the kisses he traces on her skin are slow and deep and deliberate, each press of his lips and brush of his tongue stoking the flames of the fire that is smoldering inside of her, teasing it into what she knows - what he knows - can quickly become a raging inferno.

It’s ages before he reaches her chest but even still he takes his time. He places a deep kiss to the bottom of her throat moving slowly down across her sternum. She can feel his tongue moving under her breast, licking at it, and a sound between a sigh and a whine leaves her as he slowly trails it up her skin to her nipple. He flattens his tongue and drags it over the bud once, twice, slowly and purposefully before taking it into his mouth and lavishing it with attention.

Emma’s hand comes up to fist in his hair of it’s own free will as she desperately tries to hold him to her, to keep him there. His name leaves her lips in a breath and she feels him smile against her skin before he turns to pay her other breast the same attention. He feels amazing, what he does to her, the way he knows how to wind her up while keeping her from going insane. It’s lazy and slow and yet his passion is always there, his love and need for her coming out in the way his lips start to trail slowly down her stomach, his hand and wrist sliding along her sides as they come to rest on her hips, opening her up to him.

His first kiss against her centre is long and deep, Killian taking his time to kiss her properly, thoroughly, his mouth working over her as expertly as he does everything. He’s meticulous in all aspects of his life and Emma couldn’t be happier for it than right now. She feels his tongue slide slowly through her folds, the tip flicking gently against her clit when he reaches to the top of her.

She sighs a little desperately and he flattens his tongue against it, soothing the ache but still not enough. Bastard knows it too, she thinks. But he seems intent on taking his time and Emma is forced to wait, the heat inside of her growing nearly unbearable as he works her slowly towards her peek. Her hands grip the sheets on either side of her, fisting them between her fingers as Killian slowly swirls his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves in the way he knows she likes.

A part of her wants to beg him to go faster, to end the blissful agony that is this slow climb. But there’s something so erotic and so intimate about his unhurried pace. She can feel every soft flick of his tongue as he drags it up her slit, can feel the shape of his lips around her clit as he sucks it into his mouth and she cries out. And she can hear every moan and low growl that emanates from him as he pleasures her, can fill them reverberating through her skin, only making her want more.

She loves how much he loves this. His mouth on her is like heaven but knowing that he enjoys it nearly as much, hearing and feeling the greedy way that he licks into her, is the most erotic thing she’s ever experienced. She knows that he’s likely already hard and desperate for her, the way her hips rock slowly against his face as arousing for him as his ministrations are for her.

She lets out a breathy moan, almost a gasp as he pushes two fingers into her of her, dragging them slowly in and out as his tongue continues to lavish attention against her clit. She can feel it building now, her climax close as he keeps his movements steady, fingers thrusting, tongue circling. He lets out small, appreciative moans every time her hips buck up. The climb is slow but no less intense as he continues to work her gently, bringing her to the edge but not quite letting her fall over it.

He keeps her there for ages, just on the cusp, the pleasure building and building until she feels that it can’t possibly grow anymore. The feeling is overwhelming, completely encompassing, taking over all of her senses until there’s nothing else but him and her and the high that’s just out of reach. Tears brim in her eyes, gasps and cries spilling from her lips at the sheer bliss of it until finally she begs him to let her fall.

He does, and she feels it in every inch of her body, a bliss and a warmth filling her from her centre outwards as her back bends and her mouth hangs open in a silent cry. It goes on forever, wave after wave of pleasure lapping through her, making her shiver with every pass. She feels him slide up her body, slide into her while she’s still riding the high of her climax. He moves inside her and with every thrust she feels more sparks igniting in her belly, shooting through her limbs, prolonging her peak rather than building a new one. She wraps her arms around him, holding him close and whispering his name each time he pushes into her.

He doesn’t last long. Between the pleasure he took in using his mouth on her and the way her walls are contracting around him now, it’s not long until he’s murmuring words in her ear, words of praise, of want, barely coherent, lost in his own desire. She urges him on through her hazy fog, bringing her lips and her teeth to his ear and scraping her nails down his back.

He comes with a desperate, agonized cry, burying his face in her neck, breathing heavily. She can feel him trembling slightly in her arms and runs her fingers though the hair at the nape of his neck. They lay there for a moment, simply basking in the heavy, sated feeling that always comes after their lovemaking. When the final shocks have finally left her body, Emma speaks.

“If this is what married life is gonna be like, sign me up.”

She can feel him laughing against her throat before he rolls over and off of her, pulling her back into his arms so she can curl up against his side. After a moment, Killian speaks.

“What’s troubling you, Love?” he asks. He knows her so damn well it’s frustrating sometimes.

“It’s just - I guess I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

He pulls back so that he can look at her better, turns on his side so that they’re facing one another. “What do you mean?”

She hates that this nagging feeling won’t go away, no matter how many speeches she gives Henry. “I guess I’m still waiting for you to be taken away again. For something to happen.”

He smiles at her understandingly. “I know.” They’ve had this conversation before. “But that’s not our lives anymore,” he assures her. “I’m here to stay.”

She gives him a bit of a watery smile. “I know you are. But what if you can’t help it?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, certainty in his voice. “I’ve found you before and I will again. Or you’ll find me.” She nods but can’t keep the worry from her face. “Give me your hand,” he says sitting up. She follows suit and holds out her hand. He takes it, places it on his chest, right over the new ink. “I know we’re not married yet, Swan, but this is a vow.” His face is serious, love pouring from every word. She knows. It means more to her than any piece of paper ever could. “And this is another.” He looks her in the eye. “I promise that no matter where life takes us, I’ll always find my way back to you.” He releases her hand but she continues to trace the intricate lines under it. “I have a compass to guide me.”

***

Emma was ready. The door to her cell was closed and the last of the daylight had finally faded from her window. The room was dark, bathed only in the hints of moonlight that reached this far down into the basement. She could do this. It was time. They were getting out. She made sure she had everything, felt for the spell pages in her back pocket and her phone. Okay. It was time.

She took a minute to fluff her hair, she didn’t even really know why she did it. It was an old habit she assumed, from years of setting honey traps. She let it fall around her shoulders before hesitating for a moment. She shrugged off her jacket. It couldn’t hurt.

She ignored the anxiety in her chest, the one that wouldn’t stop flaring up, like it was trying to tell her something. She knew what it was trying to tell her. What if you’re wrong? She couldn’t take that risk. This was her only chance, Henry’s only chance. There was no other way out of here. She had to do it. It’s not him. She repeated over and over again. It’s not him.

She rose from her cot, took a breath, and then stepped forward, halting when she reached the door. She let her forehead fall gently against the stone next to it, knowing that he was right on the other side of the wall. Close enough to touch but so far away. As if that wasn’t a damned metaphor for the last week of her life. Squashing down the last little bit of hope and belief that tried to change her mind, Emma turned and sat with her back to the wall.

“You know,” she started. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been cursed. Far from it actually.” She gave a little laugh. “I’ve lost track of how many times, to be honest. Some weren’t that bad, missing weeks, magic-stealing lips, even one that made everyone turn on each other. Not like this though.” Emma felt a heaviness in her chest, remembering when they thought the curse of shattered sight was the worst thing that could happen to them. If only they’d known. At least she’d gotten to say goodbye to him that time. She shook her head. She needed to concentrate.

“This one time… This one time Henry and I were cursed. We were sent far away with no memory of anyone that mattered to us, no memory of anyone we loved. And everyone else… well they were sent to a different far away place. You -” she stopped herself, corrected herself. “Killian was sent far away.” She could almost hear him listening to her. Something about the silence, the weight of it maybe, changed when he was focused on what she was saying, when he was focused on her. She waited, holding her breath as her heart raced. Come on…

The door creaked open slowly and Emma didn't dare move. She sat there with her knees drawn up, hoping that he wouldn’t change his mind. After a moment, a long, strained moment that felt like ages, he slid down onto the floor with her, resting his back against the doorframe just as he’d done last night. Their arms were inches away from each other. If she’d shifted slightly she could have pressed her left shoulder to his right. Her heart was hammering in her chest as he sat and waited for her to continue.

She tilted her head back, letting it rest against the stone behind her. “He found me though. Somehow, he defied all the odds to get to me. But that’s just who he was. He never gave up on anyone.” She laughed a little to make up for the tears that were threatening to stream down her face. “He found a way to break the curse. After that… Well it doesn’t really matter what happened after that. What matters is I got my heart broken. All over again. Just one more guy who ruined a little piece of me and didn’t seem to suffer at all for it.”

She tried to steady her breathing, tried to not let her hands shake as she slowly slipped her palm across the cold, hard floor. Hesitantly, she let her little finger brush his own, barely touching. She waited for his reaction. He didn’t pull back, his hand didn't move at all. But she saw his head tilt down a little, and saw his eyes zero in on where they were touching. She continued.

“And so here was this damn pirate. This man who had followed me, crossed realms to get to me - and I knew why. I wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but I knew.” She shifted slowly again, her finger laying over his own now. “He wouldn’t tell me what happened while I was away, but I could tell he’d suffered - probably as much as I was suffering then. Probably more.” Braver now, she let her fingers trace the back of his hand. He still didn’t move but she saw that little twitch in his jaw again and it encouraged her.

“I just… saw myself in his heartbreak. Saw that he needed someone as much as I did.” She caught her breath, heart racing as his hand slowly turned over under her own. “He needed me,” she corrected. “And I needed him.” Her fingers were drawing soft patterns across his palm, his gaze fixed on her every movement. “So, I let him kiss me.” Her pulse pounded against her ribcage as his hand moved, fingers hesitantly tracing against her own palm, brushing her wrist.

Moment of truth, she thought. “I knew it wasn’t just a kiss back then, it was always more than that.” She carefully took hold of his wrist, he did the same. She watched him, watched as he followed, only the slightest hesitation in his movements as she rose and gently pulled him up along with her, led him into the room. He followed her steps blindly, like he was on autopilot, eyes not leaving where they were touching. They stood facing each other now, hands still held between them. She brought her free hand to his chest, placing her palm over his heart. His breathing changed ever so slightly as he freed his fingers and started to trace them up along her forearm to her elbow. “I let him touch me,” she told him as his hand continued on to her shoulder, his fingers following the line of her collar bone, touch feather light.

It was just like it was in the showers. The air heavy between them and his breath matching it. For a second she could swear she felt his heartbeat pick up under her palm but she ignored it. It didn’t matter. It was just muscle memory. His body still craved her the way hers craved him. It was like an addiction, like muscle memory. There was nothing emotional about it.

“And just for a little while,” she breathed, finally giving up and letting a few tears roll down her cheeks as she remembered the man that she’d lost, the one who had found his way back to her so many times. “We got to forget everything else. Forget everything we’d lost, everything that hurt.” His forehead fell against hers and he took a deep, shaky inhale through his nose, like he was trying to breathe her in.

Her own voice was unsteady now, choked with emotion and grief. “And in that moment, we were the only thing that existed.” Her hand cautiously slid down along his side as his own slid up to cup her face. His eyes were closed now and she did her best to look at him from so closely, to take him in, pretend that it was Killian and that it was real. She needed to remember him one last time.

She lifted the cuff out from his pocket and in a flash she’d slipped it on her wrist. Heart pounding and adrenaline racing through her veins, Emma turned them and jumped back out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her before he’d even opened his eyes. When he did, she was bolting the lock into place. He looked at her, no anger, no betrayal, no panic… nothing. He only blinked at her, his eyes meeting her own through the bars on the window. “And then I ran,” she said, finishing her story.

What are you doing? A voice screamed inside of her. Get out of here. Get Henry and run. But another voice screamed just as loudly. What are you doing? It’s Kilian. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to silence both voices. It wasn’t Killian. She couldn’t risk believing that he was in there. It was too dangerous. She needed to run and get what was left of her family safe. She knew that was what she had to do. It was the logical thing to do. But then why does it hurt so damn much?

She opened her eyes again, meeting his. He hadn’t moved, he just continued to look on. “I’m sorry,” she said, not believing that she’d found herself here again, that they’d ended up right back at the beginning. “I just can’t take a chance that I’m wrong about you.”

She ran off down the hall, following the path she knew off by heart now. She wasn’t far from Henry’s cell. Her heart raced, adrenaline fueling her as she weaved her way through the corridors. She came across one guard, a townsperson she didn’t recognize, but managed to duck into a doorway. He walked right past her. When he was far enough away she took off again, finally reaching the corner next to her son’s room. Archie was there, standing guard, stoic and empty like all the others. Needing a distraction, she tossed her phone across the hall and waited. She could hear his footsteps as he followed the sound. She waited until he was just rounding the corner and then hit him with as much force as she could on the side of the head. He went down in one blow and Emma stood over him, shaking her sore hand. “Sorry,” she said, wincing. Even in this form it felt wrong to punch Jiminy Cricket.

She approached the door and knocked softly twice. “Kid, you ready?” she asked, lifting the deadbolt.

“Who's there?” he demanded and she smiled despite herself. “The Dread Pirate Roberts. I’m here to rescue the princess.”

She opened the door and Henry stood there smirking at her. “I’m not a princess. I’m James Bond,” he sassed and she laughed a little.

“Come on, we have to hurry,” she said and suddenly his face was serious. He picked up his slingshot, ‘just in case,’ and followed her out of the room.

“We need to get to the emergency room,” he said as they hurried down the halls, careful to try keep their feet quiet and their voices low. “Ruby has a way in and out from there.” Emma nodded, familiar enough with the ER from her frequent visits since arriving in Storybrooke.

They reached it without any issues and that put Emma on edge. Surely someone must have noticed their guards by now, or heard something or even just have happened to be patrolling one of the hallways they turned down. It was too easy. Emma didn’t trust easy. Nothing was ever easy, especially not in Storybrooke. They heard a shuffling in the back corner of one of the waiting rooms and Emma swirled around, pushing Henry behind her. She watched as one of the large tiles rattled and then slowly slid across the floor. From the hole beneath it, a wolf’s head emerged.

She let out a sigh of relief. “Ruby!” she nearly cried, so happy to see her friend here and safe. They approached the hole in the floor and as Ruby climbed out Emma saw that it wasn’t just a hole, it was a tunnel. She turned to the wolf, practically laughing she was so impressed. Maybe it was just the adrenaline. “You fucking Shawshanked your way in here?”

She knew if Ruby could have smirked right now she would’ve. But suddenly, she let out a low growl, turning to the door behind them. It took Emma a second longer to hear it with human ears but when she did, her blood ran cold. Footsteps. Lots of them and all running towards them. Shit. They found them. She knew it couldn’t be that easy.

Suddenly, the room was invaded by imposters. Faces they knew, faces that belonged to people they cared about but that looked at them and felt nothing. There were ten of them. They didn’t stand a chance. She didn’t have time to think. They wouldn’t have time to get the cuff off her and magic them out of here before the creatures were on them. It’s me they want. She could get the others away. She could be bait.

She darted across the room and just as she’d expected - hoped - the things followed her. Guess they got the order, she thought. Don’t let the Savior out. “Ruby!” she shouted. “Get him out of here!”

Ruby reacted immediately, grabbing a protesting Henry by the arm and dragging him down the tunnel. He would hate her for that. She knew he would. But she had to know he was safe. It didn’t matter if she didn’t get out, so long as he did.

Emma scanned the small space around her, desperately seeking anything she could use as a weapon. She spotted an IV drip and figured that was the best she was going to find. She’d only just managed to rip it out of it’s base when the first one was on her. Emma knew her, she was one of Henry’s coaches. She whacked her over the head with the metal bar. The woman fell hard, blood seeping from the wound on her temple. Jefferson approached her next and she jabbed him in the stomach, he doubled over and the end came out bloody.

They were closing in on her now and Emma swung the bar in front of her, desperately trying to keep them back. They dodged skillfully but she managed to get one more - Aurora - across the shoulder. She fell, but was back up quickly. Emma screamed, a raw, angry sound from inside of her as she lunged at them. This was it. She knew she couldn’t beat them. But she would take as many of them as she could down with her.

She swung again but this time someone caught it. She looked up to see - David. She was startled for a moment. Love made her hesitate for a second and that was all it took for her to drop her guard. David’s elbow collided with the side of her head and she felt the world go silent for a second, her head was swimming as her vision blurred briefly. But she didn’t fall. With as much strength as she could manage she swung her fist at his face, making contact with his nose and sending him reeling back. He collapsed on the floor and didn’t get up. That was the last blow she got in.

Everything was a blur after that. Someone caught her arm as when she tried to fight him off another landed a blow to her stomach. She felt her breath leave her as she wheezed. There was another blow to her back that sent her to the ground, falling onto one knee before a foot kicked her down onto both. Everything hurt. She couldn’t move, her head was still ringing and she was out numbered. This was it. It was over.

A pair of hands grabbed her by the front of her shirt and heaved her onto her feet. She felt her back hit the wall as the hands closed over her throat. She struggled, hitting and clawing at the hands but it was no use. She looked at the face in front of her. She didn’t know it. Good, she thought. If she was going to die now she didn’t want it to be done using the hands of someone she’d liked. And she was pretty sure she would die now. Henry was gone. They had lost their leverage. She was better off dead to them now. They could still try and get her heart that way. She focused on the stranger’s face, on the blank expression staring back at her.

She was vaguely aware of sounds going on around her, small flickers of movement she couldn’t make out. The blood was rushing in her ears now, pressure building in her head. Everything was muffled. The world was slowly fading away. She was growing numb.

Then, just as her vision was starting to go black around the edges, the hands were ripped away from her throat. She collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath and coughing as she desperately tried to fill her lungs. It was a while before she could, but when she finally managed to inhale more than once and the blurriness cleared from her eyes, she looked up. And that was when she saw him.

Killian stood with his back to her, his body between her and those that had attacked her. Emma couldn’t quite make sense of it at first. What was he doing here and why had they stopped? That was when she noticed the bodies strewn about, lying limp on the floor in front of him. She looked at him again and saw the cuts and scrapes on his knuckles. There was blood dripping from his hook. He’d… He’d saved her?

Emma felt panic and hope swelling up inside of her, blending into one overwhelming emotion that had her breathing heavily, hands shaking. What the hell was happening? If he’d saved her then that must have meant that he - she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Did he care? Did he care about her? He’d protected her. Risked his life for her. You didn’t do that unless… Had he felt something? Oh, god please let him have felt something. If he felt something then that could mean…

“Killian?” Her voice was still raspy and her fear of hope, of being disappointed again, made her sound weak and desperate. He raised his hook and looked at the blood that stained the end. He looked down at the bodies at his feet and then whirled around to look at her. There was fear in his eyes.

Her heart stopped for a moment. Fear. He was scared. Right now he looked scared and confused and Emma didn’t know what it meant but she knew it was an emotion. He felt something. He was feeling something. She looked between him and the people at his feet, one or two of whom were starting to stir and she stood on shaky legs. She rushed towards him, taking his face in her hands, dragging his gaze away from what he’d done and trying to make him focus on her. His eyes were blown wide and his brow pulled up in a scared frown.

“Hey, look at me,” she told him. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” She was lying. She didn’t know if anything would be okay. All she knew was that right now, somehow, something had come to life inside of him. It might have been small but it was there and it was real and it was human. And if there was even the smallest, tiniest chance that it meant Killian was in there… then she had to find him.

“Just breathe,” she said. When he looked away again she slid her hand down to his chest and he bowed his head, watching it. “Breathe.” He hesitated and then took a slow, shaky breath in. He looked up at her again, the panic in his eyes twisting with more confusion, like he didn’t understand what was happening to him, like it was physically hurting him to feel.

“I can get us out of here,” she rushed. He continued to look at her with fear and pain. He didn’t trust her. “Look, I - I’m sorry for what I did… I didn’t know… it doesn’t matter. I can get us out and get us safe but I need you to take this off.” She raised her arm between them so he could see the cuff and he looked at it, his frown pulling down further, the pain twisting his face even more. He looked at her desperately and she wanted to help him but she didn’t know how. All she could do was get them somewhere safe. She could hear more people coming, they were getting close. She didn’t know if this would last. Didn’t know if this was a blip or the start of something. She needed it to last, needed it to mean something. “Please,” she pleaded. “Just trust me.”

A long moment passed between them and Emma started to lose hope. There were tears stinging her eyes and she could feel the heavy weight settling slowly on her heart, snuffing out the light. “Please,” she repeated. The footsteps were close now. He looked at her for a moment longer, and then pulled off the cuff.

Emma didn’t think. She didn’t think about what she was doing or the risk she was taking. All she thought about was Killian. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and hung on tight as a cloud of white smoke enveloped them.

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