#lawyer headstrong

[skullsemi]

SO! I've just read the Auntie Nena comics and I have to say that it's SO GOOD! Based right off the movie "Auntie Mame" from 1958 (great great movie as well, I recommend it!)

It follows young Clarabelle as she goes to live with her eccentric aunt for a few days

And she's the cutest at every single panel!

Auntie Nena is... everything. And a bit more: She's dramatically honest, outgoing and supportive towards anything good, a funny and unique character that you can't help but fall in love with! (You can see where Clarabelle gets her future attitude from)

(Oh and to talk about the conflicts going on between our dear eccentric aunt and the conservative strict lawyer Mr. Headstrong)

I would just adore to follow more of the adventures of these three. Loved to read it so here I am getting some more attention to this great story!

[spectres-fulcrum]

Wilhelm and Shinobu Takatsuki as weird emotionally validating mirrors

Other than Prince Henry of Wales and Alex, FSOTUS from RWRB (Which is duh cause he's probably distant cousins with Henry cause European royalty is like that) the other rich guy teen queer I need Wilhelm to meet is Shinobu Takatsuki from Junjou Romantica(Which is a problematic af series do not read it but despite everything the Terrorist pairing salvages the best love story because they communicate their fears and their love but when it's 2015 and you google gay animes that was the highest recced and not warned about and I feel like I just aged myself). Their stories are wildly differently but I feel like they'd validate each other's terrible and anxious teenage years and emotions and also... Living a mindless life and being expected to continue that but finding the one person that brings you to life and although you shouldn't, you need it.

And they both know what it's like to find it, and to have the cruelest twist of fate turn it into an anxious thing. But to fight for it.

I feel like Wilhelm would hear about Shinobu's quote that is summed up to 'I'm super smart and sporty without effort, from a rich family, have no ambition, I figured I could attend uni, get a job, and get married and live a mindless life but I found the one thing that brings me joy and that's you! Is that so bad!' And be like I'm in this picture and I don't like it. He REALLY doesn't like it.

(Also Shinobu bby, yes, it's "so bad" because A. You are 17 talking to your sister's 35yo EX husband he cannot give into you and B. You were 13/14 when you met him. 14. And you had accepted you would never truly feel anything in life and that is HEARTBREAKING. Like it's Japan so of course it never flagged anything but that quote always tugs on my heartstrings so badly. Because he had written off the idea of love. And once he fell he would cross any line for it. And he tried to shut. It. Off. )

And that's Wilhelm. A prince. Good universities. An acceptable dating pool of ladies. Nothing that made him feel anything. And then Simon. And he even says it. He almost wishes he never felt those emotions cause once he had it he couldn't live without them. And he's willing to consider throwing it all away to keep Simon.

And they both TRIED. Wilhelm tried to let Simon move on-he did. He kissed Felice hoping to feel anything. Shinobu transferred to a school in Australia. Isolating himself from his family, his friends, his language, his culture. We don't know much about those years but I imagine he ran but anxiety and depression followed(You will pry the headcanon of Shinobu's rich brat persona hiding his depression and manifesting as a desprete attempt to get the only thing he truly wants: The only person he will ever love out of my cold dead hands)

I imagine he was very alone. Because he remembered the guy he stole glances at in the library, the guy, out of the millions of people, saved him from being mugged. The guy, who, ended up being his sister's husband to be in a marriage of conveiance. And that was their first official meeting.

So anyone would tell him, he's Risako's husband. How could he be crushing on Risako's husband. But he was the nameless man in the library first. He was Shinobu's before he was Risako's. So he never tells anyone, he just runs.

And anytime Wilhelm cries out, he gets shut down, because he has responsibilies and has to mature and live up to Erik's impossibly high shadow and this isn't a punishment but he never asked for it. He never asked for any of it. He just wants to be a boy who loves a boy. Just like Shinobu wanted that nameless library man.

And they both go crazy in love. Wilhelm announced to the world that that was him in the video without any warning the palace. Shinobu, upon his sister's divorce, suddenly transferred home to pursue her now ex husband. Wilhelm can still step down.

I can see them laughing and looking back at being teenagers in love with that recklessness of being 16 and 17, going "Did we actually do that? And that actually worked?" And it did. (I mean-we don't know about Wilmon but we know Wilmon will end up together). But also talking about anxiety and trying to move on and failing and breaking down in bedrooms that weren't home but was more of a home that their parent's home.

I can't wait to see Wilhelm and Simon as happy as Shinobu and Miyagi are in current manga.

I just need Shinobu and Wilhelm to be weird mirrors but validating mirrors in isolating times. Idk if I can get timelines to work or reasons why a Swedish prince would meet the son of a Japanese professor(although I always liked the idea that Shinobu's maternal grandmother was European, thus the blonde hair. I always went French but could go old money Swedish...?)

[saintmeghanmarkle]

William’s masterclass in playing the press and maintaining privacy

From u/canellelabelle on X @ canellelabelle Unarchived link

TL;DR

William got injunctions to stop press publishing the grainy pap photo of Catherine. They issued their own (photoshopped) image. (Catherine supported him by issuing the apology).

The press issued the Kill order to the photo so the press can’t publish it.

W&C own the copyright to the original and only photo.

70m+ people have seen it on Twitter

Full article text:

The masculine Jawline and broad shoulders match the defiant and headstrong attitude indeed. Nature never makes a mistake📷 In the Past 24 hours the press finally went to Head with Prince William and it was a long time coming📷

Since his youth, William has evaded the press. With Catherine, they hoped they finally had the weak link; they now realised: Only Iron cuts Iron. Catherine is as headstrong, private and loyal as William is📷

So after 2 months of literally harrassing this man in articles and hate campaigns for a picture of HIS wife and getting nothing, the paparazzis supported by the World press, decided to invade the couple's privacy and capture some intrusive shots.

The World press wanted to publish them but Prince William, via palace lawyers, exerted tremendous pressure on the british press, AP, Reuters, Getty and AFP, to NOT publish the illegal pictures📷 That was a massive win for William that annoyed them to no end. Thus, they expected something Big in return..like the rights to Catherine first picture📷

To their dismay, the Wales pulled another historic blinder: Not only did they not get advance notice of the picture, but Prince William himself took the picture of his family, in the intimacy of their Windsor home, and Catherine edited it and posted it with her personal message for mother's day📷

That was a massive play; The press was robbed of their oportunity to make huge money by having rights to the picture and Now the picture was getting huge exposure on the Wales pages without any need for the world press. They got played on BOTH hands📷

So the World press decided to teach William a lesson and decided to retaliate with all their might, issuing a discrediting "Kill notice". They DEMANDED that not only the picture be pulled from their publishing papers but that the Wales DELETE THEIR OWN FAMILY picture from THEIR OWN SOCIAL MEDIA over THEIR OWN EDITING. They even put a community notes on X and restrictions on instagram against the picture📷📷📷

This crucial moment in the history of publishing house is where William officially BROKE the world press📷 The Fact that they were so livid at his continued evasion despite, their very public bullying tactics, that they had to out their own game is a Win📷 We witnessed the world press band together over "editing" issues, to bully a Man into serving his own wife on a silver platter for their consumption because she makes them big money📷

What happened next is another lesson in evasion tactics: Catherine once again took to X clarifying that she made the edits to their picture and politely apologising for the confusion while wishing everyone a good Mother's day as she had. One would think, "oh she caved". Not quite📷she pulled another blinder. Catherine is not asleep, she is fiercely backing William📷 The Press did not want an explanation, They WANTED W&C to hand them the Original of the picture so they would finally publish it and make money of it📷 William and Catherine said "Meh"📷

The same Picture with the same edits, William's now iconic picture of his wife and family, is the ONLY clear picture of Catherine. It is STILL UP, the community note and restrictions have been removed. It is Now the ONLY source of the picture. No one made money off It. The pic has now over 72 million views in 24 hours on X📷

So All in All, who pulled the blinder and came out victorious?📷 Prince William is still in control of his Wife's privacy as the world still doesnt know anything about Catherine's diagnosis or what is truly going on; The press is still mad and was still burned on both ends: No pap pictures published and no first pics of Catherine published📷

THESE are the defiant actions and the defiant face of the son who has learned from his mother's mistakes; from witnessing her trials with the press to losing her in a paparazzi car chase and swore to himself: 'Never Again'📷

post link

author: WorthSpecialist1066

submitted: March 12, 2024 at 09:03AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[dimorphodon-x]

Done for my friend @idiotwithanopinion thank you for letting me help you design your character! This was quite fun ^v^

Information about this guy that he has provided to me below the cut (it’s mostly copy/pasted, but I hope you don’t mind that I edit a little bit only to try and smooth things out)

—

Fiddlecrunch grew in Epip before going to Meso to seek an education in Politics. However, during his time studying, he found a natural talent for memorizing and navigating the complex and often contradictory laws of the five Oardivian cities. With this talent, he'd finish his education in Law.

Fiddlecrunch finds himself going across the various cities, mainly Bathys and Abbyso, to defend a variety of clients. Many politicians believe him to be a mob lawyer due to his tendency to represent career criminals and drug runners, but in reality, Fiddlecrunch holds a strong belief that everyone deserves a fair chance in court, even the hardened killers. To clarify: he doesn’t usually argue for the innocence of hardened killers/career criminals, but to help them get out of criminal occupations through fair sentencing and rehabilitation programs.

He's relatively reserved in public but is known to become fierce and headstrong in Court. Rumors circulate on whether his altmode’s eyes are still capable of sight when in robot mode and if he uses them to keep a 360 degree view of the courtroom.

[crystallizedtwilight]

Hello! Your drawings of Lock, Shock, and Barrel have got me super interested in the film and characters again! I was wondering if you had more songs and/or playlists for the three? I’ve been listening to Scare me on loop and jaws curious what other songs you might have :p

Scare me - LUDO

The ultimate trio song for me! Really captures the feeling of trick-or-treating with friends on Halloween.

Our Lawyer Made Us Change The Name Of This Song So We Wouldn't Get Sued - Fall Out Boy

Self-aware rascal vibes. Leans more towards my AU versions of the trio

Come Along - Cosmo Sheldrake

Someone recommended this as a song for the trio last year and I can't unhear it. Eery, wild, and free with an undertone of mischief.

Kidnap the Sandy Claws (a cappella) - VoicePlay

I think I've shared this one like five times over the years but it's so fun!

Just Like Fire - P!nk

Headstrong, post-Oogie vibes. Particularly fitting for Shock and her coven studies.

[mymessyfandomlibrary]

As the Evidence Shows

Featuring; Higuruma Hiromi x GN!Prosecutor! Reader

Rating; SFW

Other Notes; fluff, back at it again with mutual pining cuz that's the good shit, friends to lovers

Word Count; 3.9K

Link to Masterlist

If there was one thing that you hated, it would be losing.

A competitive spark, headstrong as a mule, and never backing down even when your back is to a corner. But that’s good. If you weren’t all that, your job would have chewed you up and spat you out at the very beginning if your classmates in university hadn’t already tried as much. 

And for most of your time sitting and presenting in front of the judge and the court, you found it becoming less and less of a challenge. Typically, undeniable evidence sealed the deal, and the jury would deliberate for a few hours before coming back with either a not guilty or guilty verdict.

Yes, the opposition would try to get under your skin — as what was to be expected — you never took much mind. They were holding their end of their deal with their client, as much as you were holding up yours. To be fair though, they and their client had much to lose; status, reputation, money, and their freedom for the criminal cases, those were always the most high stakes.

That’s what brought you to court today, after setting the court dates and getting all of the necessary paperwork (and several all nighters overviewing everything) it was finally the first day of many.

You had reviewed every single detail of the case, and made yourself acquainted with your opposition for this case.

Higuruma Hiromi. 

You knew that this case wouldn’t be easy. You knew that it would be a verbal tooth and nail fight. On the outside you remained stoic, but on the inside you felt like a boxer prepping for the biggest match of the year. 

Did you feel nervous? Not really. You don’t doubt your abilities.

Excited though? Yeah, you could say that.

“Excited over punishment?” People would ask when they found out you were a prosecutor. ‘Shark’ would play through your mind, ‘lawyers are nothing but sharks.’ And it always leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

“Innocent until proven guilty beyond a responsible doubt,” you would retort.

You didn’t get excited about punishment, or ‘karma’, or anything like that.

You got excited about a challenge. At this push and pull as the defence and prosecution made their arguments. Calling up witnessings. Cross examining evidence. Pointing out weaknesses in what the other is saying. Trying to make the other tick until the judge would reprimand the other. Butting heads until the jury came back with a final decision. Only relenting when the verdict is spoken, albeit with a bruised ego.

You made eye contact as you were giving your opening statement, and you could tell that Higuruma was analysing you, trying to stay one step ahead.

Most of the day went like this, of course with a myriad of ‘objection, your honour’ thrown in there.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. 

It went on like this for hours before a recess was called. And you could tell that the judge wanted to rub at their temples from how both you and Higuruma were presenting and objecting to your cases.

Cracking your knuckles and your neck, you took a breath of somewhat fresh air in the hallway, looking at your watch before looking back up and sighing.

The amount of evidence, witnesses, and the nature of the case would make this drag on for some time. If this was a case of a different nature, and a different defence lawyer, you would have mentally groaned at the potential weeks if not months of court dates fighting a predictable but easy uphill battle. But now, this ‘rock’ of yours was proving to be much more difficult than usual.

“So,” a voice that you were growing familiar to spoke quietly behind you, “are you planning to object to everything I say?”

Higuruma was standing behind you, sporting a cup of what smelled to be very strong black coffee and a somewhat amused expression on his face.

You took a drink from the water bottle you were holding, pretending to think to see if it would eat at his resolve. “No, not everything,” you answer, raising a brow. “Just doing my job.”

He huffed out of his nose. “By making mine more difficult,” he retorted.

“Would you expect anything else,” you challenge.

He looked at you, analysing again before taking a long drag from his paper cup, “No.”

He didn’t say anything else, instead he continued to nurse his coffee and wait. Waiting for either for court to be back in session or for you to tick at the presumed awkward silence.

Today it would be the former as the court went back from recess and the chess match continued. 

It continued like this for the duration of the trial.

Higuruma and you would make your arguments, a few attempts at trying to win over the jury — to which both of you would object, making the judge choose to sustain or overrule or pull out their hair — but mainly just providing the evidence to prove the accused innocence or guilt.

Today was the last day. Countless hours of hard work would prove out today, for the both of you.

The last recess was called, and you found yourself back in the hallway, again with Higuruma coming up beside you but without his typical black coffee in hand.

“You put up a hell of a fight,” you break the silence, looking at him through the corner of your eye.

Higuruma looked at you the same, just out of the corner of his eye, making contact. “Just doing my job,” he says back, a slight smile trying to fight its way onto his face.

You nearly snort, going back to your first actual conversation with the man outside of the courtroom. “… by making mine more difficult, right,” you fire back.

Something flashes in his eyes; amusement? Mischief? You didn’t know, but something flashed in those typically dark and guarded eyes.

“Would you expect anything else?”

At that you are the first to chuckle. “No.”

A smile made its appearance on his face, the first one you had seen this entire time. But soon you both found yourselves back in the courtroom, waiting for the jury to come back with their verdict, which was going to … well, it was going to take a while.

But you were both patient. Both you and Higuruma had made your cases, hell, this was probably one of the best cases in your career, and now, you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, after nearly six or seven hours, the jury came out from deliberating, the foreperson coming up to the stand.

“We the jury find the defendant,” they said, both you and Higuruma waited for the answer with baited breath, “not guilty.”

You never thought yourself to be overconfident in your abilities, but you couldn’t lie that those words didn’t feel like a slap to the face over the work you had put in. Arguably though, something stranger brewed in your gut other than a bruised ego — pride.

You were proud of Higuruma, which you found odd but also not really. He also put in just as much, if not more, work as you did, and stood by his client.

You waited until he was done speaking to his client to approach him, trying to come up with something to say. “You beat me, fair and square.” Was way too… well, it didn’t feel right to say after all this time.

“Congratulations,” you offered instead, extending your hand to shake his. I may be a loser, but I’m not a sore one.

Higuruma looked at your hand for a moment before encapsulating it with his own, “… thanks.” 

Your hands stayed like that for a moment before he drew his back, and you noted that his hands were cold. Maybe the piping hot coffee also served to keep them warm? You internally mused.

You both stood there for a moment, both debating on what to say.

“So-”

“You-”

You said at the same time, interrupting each other before both falling quiet, waiting.

He cleared his throat, “You go first.”

“So,” you pondered for the right thing to say. You sure as hell didn’t want to just part ways and never speak to him again. Higuruma tickles a part of your brain that had laid dormant for too long. He provided a challenge. A new perspective. Plus he did outwit you in court, and you wanted to learn how he did that. “Coffee on me?”

Higuruma looked at you for a moment, brows furrowed, thinking. “Sure,” he said, “and also, you put up a hell of a fight.”

“Can’t make your job too easy, can I,” you muster back.

He just shakes his head. “Can’t expect anything else.”

You both stand there, in content quiet.

“Does the cafe down the street suffice,” you ask.

“I think we’ll get some odd looks due to the hour, but it works.”

That much was true, as the sun was kissing the horizon line, but you disregarded that.

“Alright then,” you pretend to sigh in defeat, joking, “follow me.”

Higuruma does indeed wait for you to take the lead, and you wait a second before doing so, waiting to see if he would follow. And even though he did say that was good with a late-ish cafe trip, you were still pleasantly surprised that he was following you, just a step behind.

The short walk over was quiet, both of you undoubtedly tired from your respective work loads, but also comfortable enough as to not make any meaningless idle chatter.

Once at the cafe — a cute pastel and lace themed one that looked like it belonged in a children’s bedtime story rather than the real world — you and Higuruma got seated in a booth. Mentally you knew that the sight of two suit clad people with probable dark circles sitting in a baby blue booth with lace frills and such was a comedic sight, but you didn’t care.

“Let me guess,” you drum your fingers over the table, “black coffee strong enough to kill a horse?”

Higuruma cocked a brow and looked at you, “Am I that predictable?” And he feigned interest at the menu, looking over the photos. “I don’t strike you as the brown sugar latte type?”

You hummed, “Well, you were sporting one every day in court, so I assumed as such. Guilty, I guess.”

Now it was his turn to hum. “Should have guessed you would have made notes, you seem to note little details.”

And you both searched through the menu until an employee came up to take your orders.

Black coffee and a double chocolate muffin for Higuruma. Lemon chamomile tea and an apple danish for you.

“No water?” He asked, looking over the brim of his cup.

“It’s late and I want to go to bed as soon as I get home, so, tea,” you quip back.

He shrugged, putting down his scorching hot beverage.

It was quiet again, and if this was you several years back, you would have felt the need to mindlessly fill the silence with fillers, but you knew this was comfortable. Plus, the both of you have been going back and forth in court. Yes, this was different, but it still allowed you to get a bit of a sense of what Higuruma was about. Sort of.

“Higuruma,” you started, stirring sugar into your ‘sleepy time tea’, “I would like to be friends.”

I would like to be friends? Why does that sound so … lame? UGH!

He looked at you, analysing yet again. “Defence and a prosecutor, friends,” he said in a mockingly joking tone, pretending to think about it. “I thought we already were.”

You held his eye contact for a moment before offering a lopsided grin, holding your drink out to toast. “To new friendships and to me getting my ass handed to.”

He chuckled, “To new friendships and to you getting your ass handed to… courtesy of me.”

You rolled your eyes but toasted to it anyways, a warm feeling brewing in your stomach — it was most likely tea, but you decided that for now, it was better to leave it alone until another day.

Higuruma was beside himself, mentally pacing back and forth as he revised all of the evidence in his head, trying to connect the imaginary red string to see where things started to feel different.

Not with you, you had always been the same, still as much as a spitfire as usual, but where the shift in his feelings had started.

It wasn’t during the trial, as he didn’t know you very well. He did think you to be competent and sharp, and funny in a dry wit sort of way. And while it was endearing to see you in that pastel cafe with your ‘sleepy time grandparent tea’ he doesn’t think it was then.

There was no concrete point where he could pinpoint when platonic morphed into this strange being that lived in the recesses of his brain that wanted more than merely platonic bonds between the two of you. It was strange. It was … annoying. It was annoying because Hiromi finally found someone that he could be himself around and his brain decided ‘hey, you know what could ruin this?’ and now he’s standing at his kitchen counter at quarter past two in the morning trying to figure out why and when.

But there was no defining thing or time, which was irksome. No aha! Moment, just a seamless blend that left him wanting for more yet feeling guilty for wanting more. A double edged sword.

The harsh blue light of his phone illuminated the darkness, his finger hovering over your number, debating whether or not to hit the green call button at this late hour. Instead of pressing it — it’s late, they’re sleeping — he opened up his messenger, fingers yet again hovering over the keyboard, trying to think of something to say, but coming up with nothing.

Sighing in frustration he closed his phone, choosing instead to look out the window, trying to figure something out.

Cliche. I’m a damn cliche.

Falling for ‘the enemy’ alone is bad, but also your friend? Hiromi debated about either starting his coffee pot or picking up a shot glass full of bourbon to take away the edge.

He decided against it though, instead choosing to lay his forehead on the cool glass of the window, hoping the chill would clear his head and level his thoughts. All it left though was cold skin, unanswered questions, and a smudge on the glass that he would need to clean up come morning.

Opening up his phone again, he stared at your contact name and photo, something the both of you had done after hanging out for the third time. The photo was the one from your LinkedIn profile, but with neon cat ears and whiskers — yes, he looked at your LinkedIn. And you had set your name in his phone as just your name.

It wasn’t anything special.

To be fair, Hiromi had just put his name into your phone, and let you decide what photo to use for it, which resulted in you taking a blurry photo of him in yet another themed cafe.

It isn’t anything special. 

He closed his phone again, raking his hands through his hair and started to walk back to his bed. He knew that he wouldn’t be getting a lick of sleep tonight, but like hell was he going to wake you up at this hour just because he was feeling conflicted about your relationship, that he had broken the universal rule of ‘don’t fall in love with your friend’.

“You look like shit, Hiro,” you mused, assessing the man’s pronounced dark circles. “Work life balance is key, so don’t be working yourself to death. I’ll haunt you if you do.”

Hiromi sighed, and rolled his eyes. “If I’m dead then how would you, a live person, haunt me,” he shot back. 

You made a face, but went back to picking at the pastry you had ordered, “I would find a way. Can’t let you get off the hook too easily now.”

There it was again, that part of his brain that wanted to say something. “I’ve been hooked for a long time now.” But he sipped his too sweet drink instead, trying something new. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said instead, “you’re too stubborn.”

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement, choosing to analyse him like he did to you at the very beginning.

Dark under eye circles from probable lack of sleep, but you knew that those were typical for him. His hair wasn’t as styled like it typically was, again, that could be chalked up to a lack of sleep. But there was something else going on. Hiromi felt … troubled.

Now, it could be a case he’s working on — the two of you don’t mix business with the friendship that had formed, afterall, you both knew about confidentiality and its ramifications — but those typically didn’t get under his skin. Whatever was bothering him was far more complex and was at ends with the man’s morals and values.

“Something is wrong,” you place your fork down, resting your head in your crossed hands, “spill, Hiromi.”

Hiromi paused. You had taken to calling him Hiro ever since the two of you went to karaoke several months back. You only call him Hiromi when you’re serious. Higuruma when you were mad, which thankfully hadn’t happened save for when you had to almost carry him home when he had too many drinks.

Lie.

“Lost some sleep to a wandering brain,” he said, carefully watching his words.

You purse your lips, an obvious I call bullshit expression clear on your face, waiting for a better answer.

… a bit of the truth is fine, just make sure it’s not obvious.

So, he steadied himself, making sure that he didn’t blow his cover. “A coworker, you know Jun, decided to unload his love life on me late last night,” he sighed, carefully judging your reaction.

You raised a brow, “Do I want to know about it?”

“No, not really. It’s boring. Just conflicting feelings that he has for a friend and he doesn’t want to fuck it up.” Hiromi took a sip of the too sweet drink again, regretting that he had let you choose his drink today and you had decided to see if he would drink the neon pink thing with whip cream and sprinkles.

You winced, and shook your head. “Poor bastard,” you sipped your own drink, mentally noting that Hiromi had ordered you your regular even though you had decided to be an imp and order something off his usual brand. “What did you tell him?”

What did I tell him? “That he shouldn’t risk his friendship.”

“Seriously?” You deadpanned, groaning. “I mean, fair, but do they have good chemistry? Trust? Do they reciprocate?”

Hiromi considered what you said and applied those questions to your friendship.

Do they have good chemistry? He would say yes, afterall, why would you both still hang out after parting ways from the courtroom? Talking to you was easy.

Trust? You’ve both seen each other running on miniscule amounts of sleep. You’ve seen each other sing your hearts out at karaoke. You’ve seen him in some of his most vulnerable in the past year of knowing each other and becoming friends.

Do they reciprocate?

He couldn’t answer that one. That wasn’t his question to answer. It was your’s. 

“I don’t know if they reciprocate,” he answered carefully, not wanting his internal monologue to slip through the cracks.

You nodded, going back to picking at your food. “Well, tell Jun that the only way to figure that one out is to ask them.”

Obviously you were right again.

“He doesn’t want to ruin–”

“He doesn’t know if it will ruin anything.”

Hiromi fell silent, knowing it was true, but today wasn’t the day to confide that Jun didn’t have relationship woes. He did.

You didn’t push, as both of you weren’t the type to fill awkward silence with even more awkward needless idle chatter. Instead you were trying to quell down the two parts of your brain that were duking it out.

One part wanted, and had for a while, to cradle Hiromi’s head in its hand and press their foreheads together before kissing him senseless — something that made you stare up at your ceiling late at night. And the other was wanting to keep the status quo, to continue business just as usual.

Your alarm went off, and you groaned.

“Work?” He asked, smirking a bit at your reaction; you never protested when you were called to the office.

You got up and stretched your limbs, “Yeah. Rain check for another day?”

Hiromi nodded, which you took as an answer before getting your belongings together before making your way to the office.

But that left him alone at your booth, nursing both the sweet drink but also his own conflicting feelings.

You got home that night, utterly spent and wanting nothing more than to crawl underneath the covers and pass out. Unfortunately, your brain decided that no, things would not be that easy. Things were never that easy.

You taped your fingers on your phone case, before deciding to call Hiromi.

The phone hadn’t even finished its first ring before he picked up the phone and answered. “Something’s wrong,” it wasn’t a question. He knew that you wouldn’t call at this hour if something wasn’t wrong. 

“Hello to you too,” you sighed, trying to dismiss that yes, something was wrong. “Can’t I just call because I miss you?”

That much was true. You missed him. 

And Hiromi sucked at his teeth, his mind storing that phrase away even though he knew that he shouldn’t. “You can,” he said quietly, “I doubt that was the only reason though.”

You strode over to your sofa, plopping down as you debated what to say. “You got me thinking over what you said at the cafe earlier, about Jun.”

“Ah,” Hiromi was tapping his foot. The late hour and the fear that his charade was up was getting the better of him. “What did you think of?”

You swallowed. Where was the usual courage? The typical smartass? Where did my fire go? “Well,” you dragged a hand across your face, “I think it would be unwise to not at least ask how the other person feels.”

Hiromi was quiet. That was something that he dreaded to ask, but he also knew that you wouldn’t just shout ‘Objection!’ like you had in court.

“How do you feel?” About me? He said quietly.

The two creatures in your head stopped their quarrelling, the doubtful one giving the hopeful one a look of defeat. Your fate was sealed. 

You licked your lips, your mouth dry. “Do you want an honest answer?”

It’s now or never. “Yes.”

You sat up, and placed your phone on the table, the blurry photo you took of Hiromi several months back staring back at you with an amused expression. “I feel like … I can’t imagine my life without you,” you say.

Hiromi paused, “Nor can I imagine mine without you.”

This wasn’t some sort of Hallmark movie where the two love interests ran to each other to kiss, no. You were both in your homes, navigating how things would play out. But you both knew that there would be no getting rid of each other.

You both hated losing. You both were stubborn. You both cared and respected each other. 

“Lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere,” you say back.

Hiromi smiled, chuckling a bit, knowing you very well, “I wouldn’t doubt you, not in the slightest.”

[blond3ang3l]

“I’m not in love with the idea of him, I’m in love with him. With how he treats me. I love the idea of spending my life with him but it’s not a silly made up dream, it’s going to happen and I’m envisioning it twenty four seven.”

Aizen was watching as you spoke into your microphone for your YouTube channel. Your words made his usual smirk grow onto his face. Your words were so poetic, so beautiful. Your mind always amazed him in how you were able to make things just flow. Someone whose mind truly matched his own.

The two of you had been together for four years, married two. You were both prolific lawyers. He met you when you first came to the firm he worked at. You were a transfer from a different branch and placed to help him defend his friend Ulquiorra.

You were already pretty famous from your social media. You were a commentary journalist and you were always in headlines for your opinions on different subjects. Everyone thought you and Aizen would bump heads because of how headstrong he was, but that only made him see you in a different way than he saw most. He would usually be annoyed by someone arguing with him, but he enjoys the intellectual conversations you two had

Everyone always said the two of you moved way too fast. The two of you started dating after only a few months of knowing each other. Which then led to moving in weeks after, and a year into your relationship you guys got engaged. It seemed so ridiculous. So foreign to people that you guys didn’t wait long before settling down. It didn’t phase you though, because you loved your man more than anything, and by gods did Aizen love you. You were his everything. The reason he made sure he win every case he worked on. Both with and without you. You were young, didn't you want to enjoy your lives? Why do you wanna be tied down to a man so young? That’s a question you got a lot from both friends and people commenting on your videos.

Why wouldn’t you though? He was your dream man. He supported you and your career. That’s something you couldn’t get much of before. Men were intimidated by the fact you didn’t need them. Aizen knew that and got he loved it about you. You held your own and that is what attracted him to you.

“When did you get here, love?

“Few minutes ago darling. You all done for the day?”

“Mhm, my trial ended early today so I just came home and finished come content. Are you hungry? What a silly question, of course you are. Go ahead and shower hun, I’ll go make you something.”

Aizen smiled as he pressed his lips against your forehead with a soft sigh.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of you tonight.”

“But aizen-”

“No darling. Come, join me in the shower and we can relax together.”

You smiled as he intertwined your fingers, his large ones brushing against your own as he led you into the bathroom.

[guzhufuren]

Taiwan 🇹🇼 A Guide to Some of the Best Queer Asian Shows

Full list here.

1. History3: Trapped mafia boss/policeman

The story of a police officer who becomes trapped in the underworld, as he develops feelings for a gang leader.

YouTube or Viki

2. Kiseki: Dear to Me mafia; age gap

Bai Zongyi, an exemplary high school student with dreams of becoming a doctor, is one day unexpectedly drawn into the world of a charismatic and mischievous gangster Fan Zerui, who blackmails him into taking him in and treating his wounds. Just as their love story begins to unfold, Fan Ze Rui's criminal life catches up with him. On the other hand, Chen Yi and Ai Di are two orphans who grew up in the gang together. Ai Di has always loved Chen Yi, but Chen Yi only notices their boss.

Viki or GagaOOLala or YouTube

3. My Tooth Your Love dentist/chef; trauma healing

Bai Lang is a successful bistro owner with an severe fear of visiting the dentist... until a toothache forces him to come face to face with the handsome yet cold dentist Jin Xunan.

Viki

4. Anti Reset android/human

When Chu Yi Ping, an emotionless man, dislocates his hand in an accident at school, his uncle gives him Ever 9 as a caretaker, an experimental intelligent robot that his company is secretly testing.

Viki or iQIYI or GagaOOLala

5. History2: Crossing the Line sports; high school setting

When an injury sidelines a high school senior from the volleyball team, he develops feelings for a recruit.

YouTube or Viki

6. Be Loved in House: I Do workplace romance; roommates

When the new boss arrives at the company, he immediately clashes with a headstrong, hot-blooded employee over a controversial workplace policy. Although their relationship starts off combatively, the two of them develop a bond as they work and live together.

Viki

7. We Best Love: No. 1 For You, We Best Love: Fighting Mr. 2nd enemies to lovers; secret crush; university setting

Zhou Shu Yi has spent his entire life as second best thanks to Gao Shi De, whether it be academics, arts or sports, Gao Shi De always managed to beat Shu Yi. Many years later, Shu Yi can finally breathe a sigh of relief when he and his nemesis part ways for university. However, as fate would have it, Shu Yi finds himself defeated once again when Shi De transfers to Shu Yi’s college for his final year. Could the reason that Shi De is seemingly following Shu Yi be something other than to torment him?

WeTV (S1) & WeTV (S2)

8. About Youth high school setting; popular boy/musician

Ye Guang is an elite high school student and a popular campus idol, while Xu Qizhang is an exemplary guitarist who normally has a weak sense of existence but completely transforms himself when on stage.  Smitten by the kindness that Ye Guang showed him on one of the saddest nights of his life, Xu Qizhang is more than happy to repay that kindness when Ye Guang starts having a hard time with his parents. But will this newfound friendship develop into something more?

Viki or GagaOOLala

9. Stay by My Side roommates; enemies to lovers; university setting; ghosts

Bu Xia finds himself with an unwelcome new roommate, a student by the name of Jiang Chi, whose cold and studious temperament could not be more different from Bu Xia's. Bu Xia has an inherited ability to hear ghosts, but while trying to get rid of Jiang Chi, Bu Xia makes a discovery: that the ghosts are silenced when he is physically close to Jiang Chi.

Viki or GagaOOLala

10. Plus & Minus best friends to lovers; lawyers; secret crush

Zheng Ze Shou and Fu Li Gong have been best friends for over twenty years. Now, they work as divorce attorneys in the same law firm. Despite their close brotherly bond, this friendship never escalated affectionately until now.

Viki or GagaOOLala

---

You can watch some shows for free on YouTube, and watch others on the streaming websites by setting VPN to Taiwan. In other cases I recommend paying for subscriptions to show appreciation and support of content in order to get more of it in the future, but if you can’t, watch on KissKH (better quality), Dramacool or get files from MkvDrama. Enjoy!  🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

[theladyofbloodshed]

And a bonus Halloween fic especially for @vadutton21.

Almost 7000 words, featuring Nesta Archeron as Mina Harker, Cassian as Count Dracula, and Jurian as the vampire hunting Doctor Van Helsing.

It had been a long time since a letter had come. Nesta Harker tracked her sister’s journey upon the large map in the drawing room. On the first of October, Feyre had penned a letter in Munich detailing her journey from London to the Bavarian capital. The following day, her train had been delayed so she arrived in Vienna later than expected. The letters had arrived together, despite the dates on them. Feyre’s journey had then taken her to Budapest where she had written that she felt the divide between the west and the east.

Nesta had not wanted her sister to go. It was not for a woman to take on their father’s business upon his death, but Feyre – headstrong to her core – had insisted upon becoming a lawyer like him. It was at the request of Count Cassian of Transylvania that Feyre was travelling to Romania, so that she could assist him in purchasing a home in London, along with all of the bureaucracy that it entailed. There had always been a restless spirit to her sister. Her excitement was clear in her words as she wrote of the Carpathian Mountains. At the bottom of the paper, Feyre had sketched the view, only in black ink, but it was detailed and beautiful.

Then her letters had all but ceased. A final one had arrived eight days ago, dated three weeks earlier, detailing her arrival to Castle Cassian, nestled in the Carpathian Mountains. No more had come. Feyre had promised to write every three days once she arrived to Transylvania. Her business with the count was only to take a fortnight at a maximum then she’d travel back to London by train along the same route. There should have been at least two letters detailing her return.

‘It shall be Lucien.’

Nesta’s eyes snapped to her younger sister who stood beside the window, her brown hair bound in a loose braid as they did not expect to leave the house that day.

‘You have decided then?’

Elain gave a nod then turned on the spot. ‘It is bad business to choose, but I believe Lucien will offer me a stable future and a happy life, more so than the other two.’

She concurred with her sister’s statement. The three men were companions, so she hoped there would be no fall out from Elain choosing Lucien Vanserra to marry. Such was life when one sister was gallivanting across Europe and the other had three men vying for her hand in marriage.

‘Dr Balthazar Seward will be most upset that you will not join him in his asylum.’

Elain shuddered. ‘I cannot see myself as mistress of the asylum.’

‘And Graysen Morris would spirit you away to America if he had his way. He is rough of tongue, but strong of heart though,’ said Nesta. She tidied away Feyre’s letters into a neat pile. ‘Still, when Lord Vanserra dies, Lucien shall inherit the title. We may find that you become Lady Elain.’

***

The three men accepted Elain’s choice well enough. A small, congratulatory party was held where Nesta ducked and dived from her own potential suitors who were keen to sink their claws into her family’s fortune.

‘I should like to escape the city a while,’ she announced to Elain the following morning, shortly after Tomas Mandray had been turned away by the household staff once again. ‘There is too much here clouding my thoughts. I’d like to head north for a while.’

‘Whitby is always perfect at this time of year,’ agreed Elain. ‘What of Feyre, have you heard from her?’

Another few days had trickled by with no letter. That morning, Nesta had sent one of the servants to the post office to have letters sent to the train stations in Paris, Munich, Vienna, and Budapest should Feyre call in there. A few of her father’s acquaintances had businesses across Europe so letters were also sent to them to enquire after Feyre using their contacts. A further letter was sent all the way to Cassian’s castle. If there was no word in another week, Nesta would journey there herself. Her sister could be unwell or mislaid her purse so had no finances to rely upon. It could simply have been that she was having a grand time in Transylvania or had mislaid her ink or parchment.

Together, Elain and Nesta journeyed to the north east coast of England to Whitby where they had a home upon a hill overlooking the sea. In Whitby, they could talk together freely and build their castles in the air. It was dark when they arrived, the sea breeze turning the air colder. But, by the morning, it was calm enough to take a walk along the beach and breathe in the fresh sea air. A commotion was afoot upon the shore for a boat had wrecked in the night. Pieces of splintering wood washed up with each roll of the waves upon the sand.

‘It is the strangest thing,’ one man said, scratching at his bald head. ‘The captain was found bound to the helm, as if to keep the boat on course to the rocks. Not a single body has washed up besides his. Clothing, yes. But not a single member of the crew.’

‘Is that possible?’ Nesta asked.

‘Possible? Not probable. A ship this size would have had a crew of at least fifteen. They should have washed up on the shore by now.’

Nesta hooked her arm with her sister’s, leading her away from the grizzly sight unfolding.

The days in Whitby were far more enjoyable than London. Nesta could take a walk along the high street without needing to avoid suitors. There was a respite from managing her late father’s accounts – although she had brought a few volumes with her to go through with a fine-toothed comb when she had the desire too. Mostly, she whiled away the time at her leisure by either reading or merely sitting in the large window, watching the passers-by. The folk were less refined in the north where labourers were more common. They were friendlier than Londoners too.

With a blush upon her face, Elain entered the lounge. She clutched a letter to her chest.

‘Is it Feyre?’

‘Feyre? Oh, heavens no. Lucien will come tomorrow with Balthazar and Graysen. The servants are preparing rooms for them.’

She cocked a brow. ‘Is that why your cheeks are so aflame?’

‘Not entirely. I have met a most curious man upon the high street. I knew at once from his clothing that he was not from Whitby, nor indeed did I think him from England at all,’ Elain said in such a hurry that she had to suck in a breath. ‘Like that count our sister is assisting, he is also from Transylvania. A most polite and charming man with dark, waves of hair and hazel eyes set against his warm brown skin.’

Nesta folded her arms across her chest in distaste. ‘You have agreed to a marriage with Lucien, if I must remind you. I hope, at least, you received the name of this stranger.’

‘He did not give me his name. He promised to next time we met.’

‘Elain,’ she scolded. ‘You risk a scandal.’

Her sister’s blush deepened. ‘I did not agree to meet him, Nesta. I laughed away his words and returned to the home.’

The news of the stranger unsettled Nesta for a reason that she could not name. She felt as though pieces of a puzzle were coming to her although she could not say if they were all from the same puzzle – or indeed pieces at all. Her sister’s prolonged silence abroad. A strange shipwreck. A man from the same place as Count Cassian here in Whitby too.

Her dreams that night were ill. She dreamt of Feyre lost and wandering in an endless castle. Her dreams had only ended when she heard a window slam. Nesta had hurried at once to Elain’s bedroom where the source of the sound had come from. One of the panes of glass in the window had cracked from the force of it hitting the frame, but her sister slept through it all.

‘The night is too cold to have this window open,’ muttered Nesta, closing it.

It was most unlike Elain to sleep so deeply. For a moment, Nesta remained rooted to the spot to watch her sister’s chest rise and fall then she noticed two raised lumps upon her neck. Her sister’s skin was cold, almost like ice, beneath her palm. The marks on her neck were as if she’d been pricked with a pin and they had bruised around it.

Nesta sent a servant out for a doctor, knowing instantly that her sister was deeply unwell. Elain would not wake, but how she shivered within the sheets. A deathly pallor crawled upon her skin. Even with a stoneware hot water bottle tucked beneath her in the sheets, Elain remained cold and pale.

‘It looks like an animal bite,’ the doctor announced. ‘But of what sort, I cannot name.’

‘Then what use are you?’ The snap in her voice was brittle.

The sun was beginning to bleed into the morning sky, but Elain only grew worse. She writhed in agony until Nesta closed the curtain to block out the light. When Lucien arrived with Balthazar and Graysen, Nesta took a moment to dress herself although she felt tired and adrift with no enthusiasm to face the day.

‘She was well yesterday?’ Lucien asked as he clutched Elain’s limp hand. ‘How can she deteriorate so quickly?’

‘The doctor had no answer for us,’ she admitted.

The three men kept a vigil beside Elain’s beside while Nesta saw to the skeleton staff in their holiday cottage. Breakfast was being prepared as she entered the kitchen. One stopped abruptly at her arrival then pulled a letter from her apron.

‘Ever so sorry, Miss Harker. What with Miss Elain unwell and the arrival of the gentlemen-’

‘It is quite alright,’ Nesta cut in. She took a knife from the counter to slice the envelope across the top.

The cursive was different to their own style. The English was not wholly accurate and there were spelling errors throughout. The news was ill. Feyre had been taken unwell in Transylvania. Following delusions and fever, she was being held in a hospital in Budapest. If Elain had not been so poorly, Nesta would have taken the first ferry from Newcastle to Amsterdam to seek out Feyre. She was trapped here between a rock and a hard place; forced to choose between two sisters.

Lucien arrived downstairs, a frown pulling his brows together. ‘This illness is most unusual. If I may, a friend of mine is a doctor. He lives only in Scarborough. He can be here within the hour.’ At her nod, Lucien continued. ‘Are you well yourself, Nesta?’

‘Yes. I have my health although it seems both of my sisters do not.’

She handed him the letter to read.  

‘What will you do?’

‘What can I do? One sister is safe in hospital thousands of miles away, the other is in touching distance, ailing from a sudden illness that has no cause.’

‘We will find the cause – and the resolution,’ Lucien said gently, before departing to call upon his friend in Scarborough.

Elain grew worse as the minutes ticked by. There was a blueish hue to the skin beneath her eyes and the tips of her fingers remained cold even as Nesta rubbed them between her warm hands. The bedroom grew stiflingly warm with the window closed and fire burning. Elain’s rejected suitors, both Graysen and Balthazar, remained holding their vigil in the bedroom.

When Lucien returned, a sweat upon his brow as though he had run to them, the doctor was not at all what Nesta was expecting. In fact, she had half a mind to ask if he truly was a doctor. He came without the usual clean, leather bag but a well-worn brown satchel instead. His hair was not combed neatly – if combed at all – and fell to his chin in loose waves. He was young, perhaps newly qualified, so Lucien’s love for his friend was likely clouding his judgement of the doctor’s abilities.

‘This is Doctor Jurian Van Helsing, a trusted friend and experienced doctor.’

Jurian did not bother greeting them, but strode forwards to Elain’s bedside. His fingers went to her chin and Nesta had been about to complain because there was dirt beneath his short nails when he turned her head to inspect the marks there. His hand stole away to his satchel as if to reach for something then he stopped.

‘Last night?’

‘Yes,’ said Lucien, glancing to Nesta. ‘We arrived this morning but Miss Harker found Elain unwell in the night.’

Jurian’s dark eyes roved over Nesta. ‘What did you see?’

‘What on earth does this have to do with my sister’s illness?’

‘Everything.’

Nesta recounted hearing the window slam after her strange dreams. Jurian pressed her on any sounds she might have heard and if she didn’t peer out of the glass to investigate.

‘She is dying from acute blood loss.’

‘Dying?’

‘Blood loss?’

Lucien, Graysen, and Balthazar offered themselves up at once for a transfusion, their forearms bared towards the doctor. He claimed it would be pointless although Lucien insisted that they try. He asked for a servant to be sent into the market to bring back as much garlic as possible, including the flowers. When the second man – Doctor Balthazar Seward – had almost finished transfusing his blood to Elain, the servant returned. Jurian, in a most severe manner began tying bulbs of garlic together using thread from Nesta and draping it in front of the window. He tied bunches of garlic flowers into the four corners of the room, more above the door, and even knotted it into a necklace for Elain.

‘Keep the doors and windows locked tonight, Miss Harker,’ he said, voice rough and accented. He spared one look to Elain who remained wasting away in the bed. ‘Sleep apart from your sister. I insist upon it.’

Only the doctor’s warning pried Nesta and the others from Elain’s bedside.

Upon the dawn, Elain had died.

It was in a numb horror that Nesta returned to the lounge where Graysen sat beside her in a chair, forcing a tea into her hands while Lucien put aside his grief to call for the undertaker. Balthazar wrote the letter to Feyre, informing her of Elain’s death where Nesta could not then departed to have the letter sent to the hospital in Budapest.

The doctor called in soon after. Jurian did not appear shocked by the news of Elain’s death nor did it seem she was the reason for his visit. He inspected the men’s necks then came to Nesta. A scowl was upon his face although it seemed to be his regular expression. His hands remained grubby, but they were warm as he tilted her face this way and that, feeling and inspecting the soft skin of her neck.

‘I am sorry for your loss. Such evil must be eradicated.’

‘Evil?’ Nesta leaned forwards in her chair. ‘You know what ailed my sister.’

‘I will not speak of it – but I will see it finished.’

***

For three days after the funeral, Nesta did not leave the home. She wore black and haunted the lounge while servants stepped around her in silence. The foods they offered her remained untouched. Both Balthazar and Graysen returned to London with Lucien following them on the second day after Nesta asked him to leave too.

When twilight began to creep in and mist rolled across the town from the moors, a brisk knock sounded at the door.

The servants did their usual routine and tried to shoo away visitors, but this one was more insistent. Jurian bypassed the footman and sought Nesta out.

‘We must speak at once.’

She blinked at him in shock. The man was put together sloppily; his shirt was open at the collar, exposing a glimpse of bronzed skin and his dark coat billowed out behind him.

‘Doctor Van Helsing, I am in mourning. I will take no visitors.’

‘This is a matter of life and death,’ the doctor replied, bending to a knee before her and gripping her hand. ‘For all that is right in this world.’

When he rose, Jurian took Nesta with him and led her to the window. Lights were scattered upon the horizon as the sun waned. 

‘I want you to believe...to believe in things that you cannot. I ask this of you as a sister to the deceased. We must go to Elain’s tomb with haste.’

The man would not take her refusals. He forced her by the hand from the house and marched her towards the graveyard. Nesta had not wanted her sister buried beneath the ground or returned to London which had never felt like home. Her mother’s family had a marble mausoleum which could be considered beautiful if it were not so macabre. That was where Elain had been laid to rest.

It was only when they reached the iron gates of the graveyard that Jurian lurched out of his coat and draped it around Nesta’s shoulders.

‘There have been stories in Whitby of a Bloofer Lady.’

‘I have not heard of such a thing,’ she replied.

Jurian gave a grim nod. ‘Then I wish I could spare you from the pain, but I cannot. Your sister is one of the undead. A vampire.’

‘A what?’

‘A creature so monstrous that hell does not want it,’ said Jurian Van Helsing in a low, rough voice. ‘Three children have died on three consecutive nights. Each one drained of blood. Each one bearing the same marks as your sister.’

‘You cannot accuse my sister of such a crime, Doctor Van Helsing. Elain is dead.’

The final word choked her. Nesta had not wanted to admit such a thing.

‘Your sister is hungry, Miss Harker. She will drink and drink blood until she is satiated or until her master calls her home.’

‘Her master?’

‘The one who passed the curse to her.’

It was all a lie. Nesta had to believe that it was all make believe. And yet, when Jurian led her to her family’s crypt, they found Elain’s tomb empty. How could it be? Nesta had witnessed the undertaker and his men put her sister’s lifeless body into the mausoleum.

‘This cannot be real.’

‘I assure you, it is. I make it my business to track vampires and kill them.’

Nesta frowned. ‘You are not a doctor at all, are you?’

‘I am a doctor of medicine,’ he confirmed. ‘But when a patient of mine rose from the dead and tried to bury her fangs into my neck, I staked her and her sister through the heart. The supernatural is my calling, Miss Harker, for there is nothing I detest more in this world than the vampire.’

They searched across Whitby for Elain, as farcical as it sounded. For hours, Jurian had her hunt alongside him through every cobbled alley and dingily-lit underpass.

When her feet throbbed, Nesta had half a mind to call it all off, hoping that she’d imagined her sister’s empty tomb. Then, they saw her. Elain, still wearing the pink silk dress that they’d buried her in, had her teeth buried into the neck of a small boy with fair hair.

Jurian’s hand clamped across her mouth to keep from crying out. In his other, he brandished a crucifix at Elain.

Elain Harker, but yet how changed. The sweetness was turned to adamantine, heartless cruelty, and the purity to voluptuous wantonness.

Blood streaked her chin as she prised herself away from the child’s neck. He fell limply onto the cobbles, his life spent.

She hissed at the crucifix then fled.

They chased her towards the hallowed ground as the dawn leaked into the sky. Nesta could only watch on in horror as Doctor Van Helsing cornered her sister and drove a wooden stake into her heart. Instead of collapsing to the ground or shrieking in pain, Elain turned to ash.

‘To London we must return, Miss Harker,’ said Jurian, wiping the point of the stake upon his trousers. ‘We must discover her creator and destroy him once and for all.’

***

If her sister’s suitors had any knowledge of the supernatural in the way that Doctor Van Helsing did, they remained quiet as the four of them gathered at Doctor Balthazar Seward’s asylum. The cries and shrieks of patients echoed through the walls as they sat around a large table in Balthazar’s office.

‘Is this a place for a lady,’ asked Graysen, the drawl of his accent making his words sound slow.

‘She has a man's brain - a brain that a man should have were he much gifted - and a woman's heart,’ Jurian replied, offering her a heated look. ‘The good God fashioned her for a purpose.’

‘Well, Jurian, you know how to hunt these creatures best,’ said Lucien. ‘How will we find the devil that robbed us of our sweet Elain?’

Nesta tried not to flinch from the violence that came from the man’s lips. He spoke of stuffing garlic in a vampire’s mouth, beheading, dousing them in holy water, or staking them through the heart as they had done to her sister. It had hardly been her sister. Elain had died. Whatever creature had returned to this earth had not been her sister.

‘Careful, Jurian,’ warned Balthazar. ‘You will give Amren an idea.’

‘Amren?’

‘A patient of mine. One who believes by ingesting creatures whilst they are still alive, she can harvest their life force,’ explained Balthazar, shaking his head in dismay. ‘It started with flies and other insects. If rats come to her cell, she eats those raw and wriggling.’

Nesta recoiled at that.

‘No matter what we put in place, birds, spiders, and rats continue to seek her out to be devoured. And just last week, a knife was in her cell although all staff deny supplying it to her.’ Balthazar rolled up his sleeve where a fresh cut was healing, the stitches spitting.

‘Curious,’ murmured Jurian from the seat opposite Nesta. ‘For many years, I have made it my duty to discover the lore of vampires. To be knowledgeable of the enemy is a weapon in itself. It is said some of the strongest vampires have a thrall over creatures like the rat or the bat.’

A knock at the door had them all startling. A worker of the asylum slipped in. ‘Apologies for the disturbance. A member of the Harker staff delivered this letter with utmost urgency for Miss Nesta Harker. It is from her sister.’

For a moment, Nesta’s heart went to Elain – as if she had found a way to communicate from beyond the grave. But she had a second sister who was being nursed to health all the way in Budapest.

Dear Nesta,

I write to you with haste although I fear my words are too late. I was held captive in the home of Count Cassian by three monstrous creatures. Rhysand, Azriel, and Morrigan had acted as friends if not overzealous with their attentions. I was left to them wherein they descended upon me with fangs and claws while he departed for England, my purpose served. Only leaping from the window and running towards the dawn has stopped me from becoming one of them. Rumours of such creatures – vampires – run rife in Transylvania. They are creatures of the dark who drink blood. All of them answer to him.

I write to warn you. Beware of Count Cassian. I fear I shared too much of our family with my host. He was most taken by your portrait. Alert the authorities that he resides at 347 on Piccadilly Street, if they will believe this tale. Do not seek him out. For all that is good in this world, do not seek out Cassian.

Yours,

Feyre.

When Nesta had finished reading, a silence descended upon them, broken only by the faraway cries of Balthazar’s patients of the asylum.

‘Then they are the same,’ Jurian announced. ‘The one that killed Elain is the very same Count Cassian. And I will make it my duty to see him dead once more.’

‘How will it be done?’

‘A vampire can only rest with soil from his home country. Somewhere within his home will be earth from Transylvania. If we destroy it, he will not be able to rest again in England. It will force him to flee to his country.’

‘And then,’ Nesta pressed. ‘What will we do?’

‘I will travel to Romania. I will kill him.’

‘Not alone,’ added Lucien. ‘For Elain, I will go with you.’

‘And I,’ said Graysen and Balthazar in unison.

Nesta sucked in a long breath. ‘As will I.’  

The following day and night was spent busy planning how to enter the home of Count Cassian. Graysen and Lucien had scoped out the home then provided Jurian with a plan of the exterior. The doctor believed Cassian would take to the cellar in the daytimes where a coffin would provide him with respite from the light. It was better for them to attack during the day when the vampire was at his most vulnerable.

‘We shall go this evening, before dark,’ said Jurian. ‘We waste time plotting. Cassian could infect or kill another dozen victims if we continue to allow him to roam the streets of London.’

The men loaded themselves with holy water from the church and sacramental bread. Crucifixes were strapped to them along with bulbs of garlic so they made a strange sight. When it came to the time to depart, Jurian placed a hand upon Nesta’s shoulder. The warmth of his touch seeped through her dark gown.

‘I will not say this is no place for a woman for you have proved to have a mighty heart already, but if Count Cassian is taken by your image, I cannot in good conscience lead you to him.’ Jurian’s fingers squeezed her shoulder. ‘Here, where it is safe, is where you must remain, Nesta Harker.’

Worry knotted in her chest as Nesta bid the men farewell. Balthazar, stoic and serious; Graysen, loud and excited for the action; Lucien, as warm as the sun; and Jurian, rough and determined.

The asylum did not feel safer, not with the haunting sounds leaking from every corridor. She could not remain in the office with her heart so troubled. Would it be Lucien that she would have to run through with a stake next or another?

Nesta wandered the darkened corridors, keeping close to the wall to avoid the outstretched hands of Balthazar’s patients. The walk only made her more unsettled. She had to be mad too if she thought walking the halls of an asylum would soothe her.

The room at the end had a chink of light seeping from it. Nesta took one step closer then froze. It was Amren’s cell; the patient they had spoken of earlier that evening. It was open. The prisoner was released somewhere.

Biting back on her fear, Nesta sprinted back towards Balthazar’s office, her feet hitting the ground hard.

Strong arms gripped her, stopping her from running.

A man, tall and broad, with dark hair slicked back examined her. There was an instinct in Nesta to flee from his grasp although she doubted that she could. His clothes were not that of an inmate, nor were they the fine cut of a gentleman like Lucien. They were leathers for an ancient battle.

‘I have crossed oceans of time to find you.’

Nesta knew at once who this man was: Count Cassian.

'You are mine forever.'

Before she could scream, two large fangs were bared to her then he sank them into her neck.

Pain shot through her veins. There was no ecstasy, no allure to it. Count Cassian gripped her by the hair, holding her still as he drank his fill while Nesta went limp in his arms.

‘And now you must drink from me.’

There was a wound on his chest. The sight of blood streaming from it should have made her recoil. There was a deliberate voluptuousness that was both thrilling and repulsive. His voice was in her mind, echoing through its chambers encouraging her to drink. To drink and to drink deep. And as Nesta arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal. What spell had been cast upon her?

‘Be gone, foul beast from the abyss,’ came a shout.

The vampire holding her hissed. Jurian shot an arrow towards them, the bolt embedding into Cassian’s shoulder. Something showered Nesta. For a moment, she’d believed it was blood then realised it was water. Holy water.

The vampire fled into the night.

*** It had been an uncomfortable discussion with the men. Her neck had been thoroughly examined. Jurian had forced her to step into the direct sunlight, convinced she would burn to ash. She could ingest holy water and hold a crucifix as usual. Doctor Van Helsing theorised that upon Nesta’s death, she would turn into one of the undead. Had he been a minute later, perhaps Nesta would have met the same fate as Elain.

The patient, Amren, was discovered dead. The bars on her windows had been bent wide to allow Cassian entry to the asylum. She must have invited him in. Then, he’d drained her of blood, her purpose served.

‘We were successful in destroying the earth from his land. Cassian will have fled to Transylvania – and it is to there that I must travel.’

Lucien laid a hand on Jurian’s shoulder. ‘You cannot mean to go alone, friend. We will see this through to the end.’

When Graysen and Balthazar echoed his sentiment, Nesta added, ‘The world seems full of good men - even if there are monsters in it. I will follow you, Doctor Van Helsing, as far as you will lead me.’

They took the first train out of London to Dover then a ferry across to France. It was growing dark when their train ventured out of Paris. With many hours still to travel, and change required in Munich, three of the men opted to sleep in their carriage. Nesta remained with Jurian in her own one. He was the most equipped to handle her if she turned at any moment into a vampire. Indeed, Jurian kept a crossbow beside him on the long, green seat and a crucifix was around his neck. The countryside sped past in a blur of indigo skies and darkened trees.

‘You ought to sleep, Miss Harker.’ Jurian’s pupils were blown wide by the dim carriage so his brown irises were swallowed by the darkness. ‘I will protect you,’ he vowed. ‘I will not see you become a monster.’

‘I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him.’

His fingers flexed. ‘Should you like to marry me, Nesta?’

There was no response she could give that didn’t sound like a lie. Doctor Van Helsing had all the trappings of a distinguished gentleman by name, however he was rough and unkempt the eye. He did not speak with the same level of politeness as Lucien, nor could his casual tongue be explained away as being from across the ocean as Graysen could. Jurian, for lack of a better word, was rugged. Her mother would roll in her grave if she knew that Nesta even entertained a thought of marrying Jurian. He certainly was not a man who could provide her a stable home or the future her parents wished for her – but what was a future without Elain, or with the knowledge that these blood-drinking creatures roamed freely? Couldn’t Jurian provide safety and stability in his own way?

‘Is that a proposal, Doctor Van Helsing?’

Jurian just gave her a sly grin in response.

The train continued on his journey then, he added, ‘I shall not ask for I hate to be disappointed.’

When the night grew long, Nesta remained unchanged. Jurian postulated that Cassian had not managed to drink too deeply or infect her. Only her death would alter her. It gave her a small kernel of hope that perhaps there would be a future for her. A future as a human. She’d stake herself through the chest if she became like Cassian.

‘Try to sleep,’ Jurian said as softly as a rough-tongued man like him could manage.

‘I find myself not only plagued by worries but chilled by them too.’

In response, Jurian crossed the narrow trench of the carriage and lay beside her on the cushioned bench. His arm looped around her middle, holding her in a way that ought to have caused a commotion. If anybody witnessed this… But what was propriety when faced with the undead?

Nesta eased closer to him, her face nuzzling against Jurian’s chest. His heart was slow, calm. There was a faint scent of the wild upon him like Jurian had been made from it. He was different to the gentleman of high society that Nesta had traded barbed words with; the sorts of men who’d force her to be a subservient wife and broodmare.

‘What if this is our last night?’

Jurian touched her cheek. ‘Then I will greet death with the knowledge that a beautiful woman has slumbered in my arms.’

‘And if I say that I do not want to sleep,’ murmured Nesta, the words bolder than she felt.

Such a rough-hewn man surprised her with his gentleness. Jurian rolled her beneath him on the narrow stretch of bench. One hand cradled beneath her head, the other lifted her skirts. His lips pressed to her own, urgent yet careful. She met his tongue with her own, the kiss deepening. Without a care for who could see through the steamed-up glass of their carriage, Jurian freed himself of his breeches then settled himself between her legs.

Nesta held onto Jurian in ecstasy as he thrust in and out in a quick rhythm. There was a frantic energy to their coupling – a knowledge that their time on this earth was dwindling like sand running through their fingers.

Jurian pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing rapid when he was spent. Nesta held him. Held him and wished that the future would be kind to them.

***

‘I do not believe all of us will live to see another dawn,’ said Jurian, as they looked upon the famed castle of Count Cassian. ‘We will step into death with the knowledge that we tried to eradicate evil.’

‘Always so positive, my friend.’

‘When it comes to vampires, they’re faster, stronger, and lack a conscience. I am realistic, Lucien.’

Jurian’s gravity reminded Nesta of herself. So often, she’d been told what a serious child she was then what an equally grave adult she had become.

The castle was on the very edge of a terrific precipice where there was a great chasm beneath where the rivers wound in deep gorges through the forests. It was a beautiful place to die, Nesta thought grimly.

Feyre, who they had collected from Budapest, accompanied them. She had knowledge of the castle’s layout and its inhabitants. It took courage to return to this place so Nesta was grateful to her sister for having such a mighty heart.

‘Morrigan and Azriel are strong,’ she explained, ‘but Rhysand… I’ve never seen such speed. He’s fast and powerful.’

‘We will split. Miss Harker – the younger – you will go with Lucien to the top floors. Balthazar and Graysen, take the middle.’ Jurian turned his dark gaze upon Nesta. ‘There is nobody else I would trust to guard you, Miss Harker. You are the one Count Cassian wants. If my hands cannot keep you safe then nobody can. We will take the ground floor and the cellar for that is surely where the vampire will reside.’

Nesta stared up at the imposing castle as the light breached from behind it. They had chosen the first light to mount their attack in the hope that it gave them the advantage.

The castle was macabre within. Cobwebs hung in the corners of the vaulted ceiling and spiralling pillars ran through a great ballroom that spoke of a faded opulence. Nesta kept close to Jurian Van Helsing who moved with the swiftness of a hunter. There was no hesitation in his movements. The doctor stalked his prey, prepared for any eventuality. Nesta clutched the crucifix in her sweaty hand, heart hammering with its fear. It was not solely fear for her life, but for that of the ones she loved who also moved through the castle.

When they descended upon the cellar, they found it empty. It had once, perhaps, been a chapel but no God would allow Cassian entry now. They found the graves of the three vampires under Cassian’s command. Jurian sanctified the graves of Rhysand, Morrigan, and Azriel to put an end to them. From the dust, however, something had been moved. Jurian touched the outline upon the stone floor.

‘A coffin.’ He gave Nesta a grim look. ‘Count Cassian is on the move.’

Just then a commotion sounded outside.

They rushed towards the source, Jurian smashing a window on the ground floor to give them a quicker route to it.

Feyre, Lucien, and Balthazar were engaged in a fight with local men. Many of them had formed a ring around a stationary carriage where surely the vampire must have been. The men were in a strange trance, their eyes glazed and red around the irises. They fought without recognition of their pain for one was shot in the flesh of his shoulder by Jurian’s crossbow and he continued without flinching.

‘The carriage! We must get to the carriage.’

Holy water and crucifixes did not work for these were living men enthralled by the vampire. The only way to put an end to the horror was to kill Cassian.

They acted like a battering ram as they forced their way towards the carriage, felling living men as they went. Lucien and Balthazar used their pistols to shoot, the sound of their bullets ringing in Nesta’s ears.

With an almost superhuman effort, Jurian eluded the men and leapt upon the cart where he forced the coffin upon the ground with a show of his strength. Lucien slashed his way through the men towards the doctor.

Inside the coffin, Count Cassian was covered in earth from his homeland which allowed him to travel. His eyes opened and fixed upon the setting sun. The look of hate in them turned to triumph.

At the last moment of sunlight, Jurian who wielded a great, silver knife chopped off the vampire’s head while Lucien’s knife plunged into Cassian’s heart. Almost as though he was drawing in a breath, Cassian’s whole body crumbled into dust and passed from sight. Even in that moment of death, within such a horrid face, she was sure a look of peace passed over the vampire, his soul finally at rest. The local men were released from the spell, confusion washing upon them.  

‘We will sweep the castle,’ said Jurian, wiping his dirtied blade upon his leg. ‘What of Graysen?’

‘Rhysand,’ supplied Feyre. ‘He died a gallant gentleman.’

‘I am sorry to lose him.’

***

Such wounds were difficult to heal from. As Nesta stood upon the Whitby shore once more, she thought of her sweet sister whose life had ended because of Count Cassian. She thought of the others, the other victims, whose time was stolen from them.

Jurian rested a hand upon her waist.

‘It has been three years yet the wound feels just as keen,’ she said.

‘Time is a slow healer. But it will heal. It will.’

In an unexpected turn of events, Feyre found solace in Lucien’s arms after the horrors they had seen. Their first child had been born in the spring and they had chosen to escape the busyness of London to live permanently in the quiet corner of the world that was Whitby. Balthazar’s brush with the supernatural had repulsed him from the asylum. He had chosen to explore the world. He wrote often of his adventures all the way from the arctic to Australia. Jurian remained militant in his search to eradicate vampires. Often, he was called away to investigate mysterious murders or to lecture on the supernatural. Nesta was the hand that wrote his words. Together, they had published two books on their tale, vampires, and their origins.

‘Come, Mrs Van Helsing, we have a long journey back to London and I fear your cold hands will try to touch me in the carriage.’

Nesta pressed her wind-chilled fingers to his chest, making him jolt backwards and hiss between his teeth.

‘You wicked woman.’

‘Your woman,’ she reminded him.

[autisticlancemcclain]

part one

———

Keith can feel it bubbling up inside him.

He’d like to think he’s grown to have a handle on it, the rage. It’s no longer his first reaction to things, no longer his response to everything. He’s not the little kid who trusted no one and hated himself for things that weren’t his fault anymore. He’s grown. He’s learnt to recognise how rarely he truly feels anger; how often it is pain, or sadness, or fear that he doesn’t know how to handle.

He knows this feeling is terror. He knows he is looking out into the endless, endless sea and quavering, in his mind, rendered mute at the future he may have, or lack thereof. What he is feeling is fear, at the roots of things.

But anger is all that’s bubbling up, anyway.

“Are you fucking serious!” he shouts, rattling the boat with the force of his rage. “You got us lost?!”

Luckily, or maybe unluckily considering their situation, Lance has never been the cowering type. He’s just as stubborn and headstrong as Keith, evident in the way he carefully sets down the useless GPS, jaw set, and turns to face Keith.

“I was not the only fool to inebriate myself in a largely unmanned vessel,” he shoots back. He’s doing that thing he does, when he’s furious, when he’s convinced he’d backed into a corner and on his own, where he speaks like a fucking decorated college professor so no one can accuse him of being stupid. ‘Lawyering up’, Keith has always called it. And usually it makes him sad on Lance’s behalf, knowing exactly the string of experience that has led him to that response, but right now it only pisses him off.

“Oh, cut the fucking bullshit, Lance. You were supposed to put down a fucking anchor!”

“I did!”

“Fucking obviously not!”

Lance’s fists clench, and a muscle jumps in his cheek from the tenseness of his jaw. His next words are growled, practically spat in Keith’s direction.

“I put a fucking anchor down, Kogane. It was the first thing I accomplished. It was a current anchor, and I’m certain I set it properly.”

Keith yells, wordless, just a loud shout so he doesn’t explode with everything inside him, gripping his hands in his hair so tightly it hurts. “Well, obviously fucking not, Lance, because I’m at fucking sea right now! Surrounded at all sides by fucking water!”

“How is it my fault that the anchor failed?” Lance shouts, finally cracking his careful composure. It satisfies Keith in a horrible kind of way, to see him just as frantic and furious as Keith is, no bullshit. “Huh? Want me to fucking take it up with the fuckers at the hardware store?”

“I’d love that, except you can’t, because you fucking got us lost!”

Something snaps in Lance’s expression, and he lunges forward, but before Keith can react, he brushes past him and dives overboard, crashing into the gentle waves. It takes Keith several seconds to fully register what the fuck just happened, and by the time he drops to his knees and leans over the side of the boat, Lance is several feet away and rapidly swimming farther.

“Lance!” he shouts, panic replacing the anger in his voice. The only thing worse than being stranded is being stranded by himself. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Lance pauses, treading water as he glances over his shoulder in Keith’s direction. “Avoiding doing something I regret, ” he says shortly. “I either shoved you or jumped myself. One of those is a significantly less shitty decision.”

Keith stares at him for a moment, then pinches the bridge of his nose, taking several seconds to exhale as long and loud and exasperated as he can. He’s almost annoyed to find a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Lance,” he says, pursing his lips, “get the fuck back here, you pillar of dumbass.”

For several minutes Lance doesn’t, likely just to out-stubborn him, but eventually gives in and paddles over. He pauses at the edge of the boat, reaching up one hand to steady himself and letting the rest of him just float.

“I’m not going to yell anymore,” Keith says after several moments. He means it, too; he knew yelling and fighting wouldn’t solve anything but chose his fury over his fondness for Lance, and he wishes he hadn’t.

Lance shakes his head before he can finish. “Nah, I think a little yelling was necessary. I did get us lost. Well, kind of. Fifty-fifty, I think.”

“Fifty-fifty?!” Keith responds indignantly. “I think the fuck not, Oh Captain My Caption! Eighty-twenty at best!”

“That’s absurd. Fifty one-forty nine.”

“That’s not a real offer, jackass. You just brought yourself back up to ninety-ten.”

Lance flicks a drop of water at him, grinning. “Sixty-forty?”

Keith sighs. “I’ll take it.” He holds out a hand. “Come up, dorkbrain.”

Lance grabs his hand, smile widening. Keith realises his mistake a milisecond too late.

“Oh, you motherfucker —”

Lance yanks him into the sea, cackling as he sputters sea water on his way back up. His cackles turn quickly to shouts of alarms, though, when he reads the murder in Keith’s expression, and quickly he books it, swimming as fast as he can to the opposite side of the boat. Keith chases him with full intent to drag him under and drown his bitch ass, but unfortunately Lance grew up with a fuckin’ mermaid tail, or whatever, and Keith has to call it when he genuinely starts to worry he might drown from exhaustion.

He grabs the rope on the side of the boat, heaving himself up until his elbows hook over the edge, legs dangling in the water. Lance mirrors him, still on the opposite end. Keith is gratified at least to find him panting, out of breath as well. The look at each other, and reach a wordless agreement, climbing back onto the boat and flopping on the floor. The take a minute, chests heaving, to catch their breaths, sobering as they look up at the cloudless sky and truly realize the predicament they’ve gotten themselves into.

“Well, it could be worse,” Lance says quietly. He continues before Keith can ask him how the fuck that could be. “I mean, I planned for this to happen. Not, like, I planned for it to actually happen to us, but I packed a bunch of emergency supplies on the off-chance that we would somehow get stranded.”

Keith raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? For how long?”

“Well, long as shit, I would suppose. I packed enough for six people to last a month.”

“So the two of us are set for God knows how long.”

They lapse into silence, both pondering the seriousness of their strandedness, the reality of the helpless situation they’re in. They have food and water, sure, and a few other survival things, but what about shelter? Something that’s not a hard boat to sleep on, or old pillows? What about when it gets cold at night, or it rains, or they run into something bigger than their boat? They’re totally lost, communications dashed, GPS unavailable, and honestly still a little hungover. They are, objectively, in for a fuckin’ rough one.

A hand reaches over and wraps around Keith’s, startling him from his thoughts. He looks over at Lance, but Lance looks pointedly away, gaze fixed firmly at the sky, something unreadable written on his face.

“You know, not that it fixes anything,” he starts quietly. He hesitates a moment, long enough that Keith opens his mouth to ask him to finish his sentence, before continuing. “But I’m grateful, at least, that it’s you I’m stuck with.”

His words hang in the air, a heavy blanket settling over them. Keith’s face heats. The tiniest of smiles pulls at his lips, and he squeezes Lance’s hand as he looks away.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “yeah, I lucked out there.”

[citylighten]

SINK OR SWIM

          ↳  A situation in which someone either must succeed by his or her own efforts or fail completely.

After the hospitalization of her father, the headstrong Rosaria Scozzari confronts Newcrest's mafia boss Raphael Polombo in the pursuit of crafting a better deal to protect her family, even if it is at the expense of benefiting him. Now, supposedly a lawyer in training for the Polombo family, Rosaria shadows Raphael’s underboss, Pietro Impellizzeri, who teaches her more about the seedy underworld.

Sink or Swim is a story focused around organized crime. Due to this, you can expect dark themes to be present such as swearing, violence, guns, alcohol, and depictions of sex work. There are also explicit sexual scenes and misogynistic elements such as predatory behavior, coercion and harassment. Read with caution! Chapter 1: An Offer You Can't Refuse | Chapter 2: Transformation | Chapter 3: Friends or Strangers? | Chapter 4: Partnership | Chapter 5: Trouble in Paradise | Chapter 6: Kings and False Prophets

 most recent / characters / extras

[skullsemi]

"Clarabelle and the Eccentric Auntie Nena"

Scanlation of the Italian comic first published May 6, 2014. Writing and Art by Blasco Pisapia.

INDUCKS CODE: I TL 3049-1

[sweetercalypso]

med! abby is top tier but what about

lawyer! abby + lawyer! reader

they have been rivals since law school, but when a mutual friend needs all the help they can get, they need to work together and maybe they'll find they have a lot more in common than they thought

I got so carried away with this, I’m obsessed with snarky lawyer Abby <333

Word Count: 704 💀

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Abby is a cutthroat defense attorney for a big corporation and you’re one of the top prosecutors in the city, so you’ve been on opposite sides of the courtroom more times than you can count.

Abby is mean and vicious and will go to any length to make her client’s case, and you’re a headstrong attorney who’s hellbent on holding people accountable for their actions. Maybe you went to the same law school or you had a very memorable case against her, but the feud between the two of you seems to go further back than anyone knows.

When your mutual friend, Yara, asks you for help on her case, you drop everything to be there for her. So does Abby, not knowing that Yara had called you both to work through her case.

When you show up to see Abby sitting in Yara’s living room surrounded by boxes of files, you have to bite your tongue to hold back your comments. Abby isn’t as gracious.

“I see she called in the B-team — you gonna do a coffee run for me, sweetheart?”

“Don’t know why she called you for help. What d’you know about innocent clients, Anderson?”

Yara quickly separates the two of you, leaving Abby in the living room and sending you to the kitchen table with your own stack of documents and a comment about how the two of you need to “kiss and make up”.

Hours later, you’re forced to leave the quiet sanctitude of the dining room to look for a document from Abby’s pile.

She’s hunched over the small coffee table, running her hand over the back of her neck and scrunching her brows together in deep focus. The floorboards creak under your steps and Abby quickly sits up to regain her composure.

“Did you need something? Or did you come in here to stare at me?”

You roll your eyes at her snarky remark, but answer her anyway. “Have you seen the last two pages of this anywhere?”

She looks at the papers in your hand for a moment and then snaps her fingers, reaching over to sort through the mountains of files that are sorted around her. The coffee table is a mess of papers and Manila folders and you wonder if she keeps her office in this state too.

“They’re right here,” she says, holding up the papers to show you. “I was looking for your half earlier, figured it was somewhere in this mess.”

She reaches for your papers at the same time you reach for hers, and you’re both left dumbfounded that the other had laid claim to the document in question.

“Let me see those,” you say, reaching further until your fingertips brush the edge of the papers.

Abby snaps them back towards her, holding them close to her chest. “No way, they were in my pile. Let me have yours.”

“You’re kidding, right?” You scoff, putting a hand on your hip. “You think I’m just gonna give these to you? I’m not messing around, Abby.”

She rises from her place on the couch to meet you head-on. “You’re wrong if you think I’m gonna let you fuck up this case,” she spits. “This is for Yara, she deserves someone who’s not afraid to get the job done.”

“What Yara deserves is someone who actually cares about her case.”

“Hey, I care!” Abby is practically red in the face at this point, shoving her finger into your chest to make her point clear. “I’m here because I want to get the best outcome for Yara.”

“Well so am I,” you say, stepping closer to her, faces no more than two inches apart.

She’s silent for a moment, eyes flitting over your face before she finally replies in a much calmer voice. “Fine, we’ll both read it. Let’s go.”

And then she’s storming past you into the dining room, her half of the document in hand.

You stand there shocked, not expecting Abby to be the one to compromise. Her head pops through the door way after a moment, a playful smirk on her face as she motions you towards the dining room.

“Well come on, big shot. Let’s get back to work.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[chewiiez]

idol! idol! idol au part two!

let’s actually discuss the jw scandal, since everyone was curious (✯ᴗ✯)

in the original tgcf, we know that one of the main ways jw manipulated/tortured xie lian was through isolation! the xianle war being a indirect factor into making mq leave, and fx being forced to leave by xl because he was in such a bad state mentally due to the hallucinations. hc has to leave, too, because he was but a mere ghost flame. in those weakest times, was when xie lian truly lost his sanity, was tortured beyond belief. and that’s the sort of route i want to take with this au.

let’s reiterate: on the survival show, because the unfolding of events there is super important. mu qing being brought back was a great decision for most, but for some toxic ot3 stans, he becomes their punching bag. to isolate xie lian, jw takes the first step: getting the other members out of the picture! and with his ceo fingers, he strings together a bullying scandal.

if you don’t follow kpop or other idol industries, a bullying scandal is basically your reputation in the mud. bullying scandals have ruined so many idols’ lives, especially the false ones. dispatch, paparazzi, will post whatever clout they have, and netizens will devour it, and proceed to harass said idol. to create a false scandal would mean that jw has guaranteed mq’s exit ticket, because him staying in the group would affect their reputation. remember the shackle on mq’s wrist? yeah, with a few threats to the other member’s safety, jw manages to make mq leave the group. 

and just like in tgcf, mq soon becomes hated by the other 3 members, because yeah, the scandal, proof, and fabricated texts looked legit. and finding a lawyer…was tough. soon, mq’s insta is gone, and any support for him (except for a few of his genuine stans) is wiped off the timeline. all we see is #justiceforx3 and #kickmqout trending. 

following the canon order, feng xin is next. another toxic part of idol culture is diets. and my headstrong belief is that feng xin would say “fuck you” to the diets and build his muscle his way. (diets can be interpreted as the cultivation method xl+mq were on, too.) when jw threatens him, and forces a same fate on feng xin, feng xin realizes he must leave: to make sure he can still stay in contact with xl, redeem himself and talk to mq, and file a fucking lawsuit. because no way in hell is fx letting jw off the hook. i haven’t developed this part yet, but thinking about fx hinting at hc about how something is wrong, and hc catching on to jw’s sus behaviour. 

x4 is no more. jw has almost succeeded. the only thing blocking his way? gege’s #1 believer, hua cheng. threats don’t work on this guy. hc alerts xl, who isn’t stupid, guys. he pretends to play along, but is really secretly recording all these conversations as proof to present in court. 

meanwhile, fx meets with a solemn mq, who refuses to talk to him, or do anything idol related. he finds that mq’s mom died, which put him in an even worse situation. like every post-canon tongulu fix-it, fx slowly realizes his mistakes, but mq also realizes his lack of communication. a slow romance is perhaps in the works, but the more important part? saving xl. once mq is let in on the plan, he reveals every small detail he’s collected, from evidence proving him innocent, and snippets of conversations he recorded, to strict, unfair, diets. 

and just as xl is about to finalize the details of his solo contract, hc whisks him away (with full consent). A very controversial figure has sent some data to dispatch, and the shit has hit the fan, because suddenly the mq stans are out of hiding, with full reciepts. a once-in-a-lifetime event occurs, where fxmq stans bond together to make threads upon threads of mistreatment. oddly anonymous accounts leak texts, voice snippets, and other proof of fake bullying scandals and the general mistreatment x4 has faced: whether it be line distributions, restrictions, or other things. it is a chaos. bad for jw, but just amazing for x4.

jw is arrested, held at trial where he pleads guilty. jail, jail. #weloveyoumq, #weloveyoufx, #weloveyouxl, #weloveyouhc are the top 4 trending tags. #foureverswithx4 is everywhere. x4 mends their relationship tentatively, they reopen their social media, and sign contracts under YH entertainment, the same producer on their survival show, Yushi Huang’s company. 

XI4NLE is back, better than ever.

and that’s the jw scandal (*´ω｀*) wdym i spent a lifetime on this haha...ofc not...

next is song recs and lime distributions, as well as dynamics :D

[bluegarners]

for a moment, let's pretend that batman is a little more than a fictional character and analyze it between the realm of reality and comic books

i think it's not a rarity to have a batman, or to become a batman. obviously what first needs to happen is conviction, and specifically a conviction in the possibility for change. bruce wayne isn't very special for having that conviction, and even a 10 year old bruce wayne isn't very special for having it. little kids have very headstrong beliefs all the time, a lot of them nonsensical and phase-ish. even more to the point, bruce wayne has never been the only little kid to witness a brutal crime against their family. that unfortunately happens every day, a hundred times over. so 10 year old bruce wayne forming the conviction that he can change gotham, that he can change the way the world works, is not altogether that unusual. it's reactionary and a direct result of trauma. going beyond that, kids believe they can change the world all the time because impossible has not yet confronted them yet via the power of their caregivers and the adults around them. there are a lot of things little kid's believe they can do due to who's around them. however, where the divergence begins, is that not every little kid has that. not every 10 year old has a loving family or support network. and, especially, not every 10 year old inherits millions

so, to that end, although bruce wayne is not supremely special in his convictions or in his becoming of batman, the resources he had before and after the trauma that took his parents away from him, are

i say all this to communicate that bruce wayne's circumstances are only special due to his wealth. every other aspect, all of his convictions, all of his training, all of his hard work- they're all quite typical and achievable. and i argue that as a form of encouragement

batman is possibly the biggest inspirational figure, outside of superman, for those struggling in an unjust world. bruce battles the unjustness of a law system that doesn't combat crime effectively, but he battles as a rich white man

the rest of the world, who aren't rich or white or a man, battles the same system with even more wrong doings up against them. there are a million real batmans out there, all doing what they can in small ways to fight against corruption. my local batman volunteers at marine wildlife centers and is majoring in political science to become an environmental lawyer. my university has hundreds of batmans showing up to protests and signing petitions and making sure people are registered to vote. there's a batman on facebook who gives out free cpr lessons and certifications

my point is, with all the real cheesiness and "you can do it" cat posters, is that although there doesn't exist a real bruce wayne, and all the rich white men in the world combined could never create a batman even if they tried for the years their money adds up to-

it's not difficult to be batman. you just have to have the conviction for it.

[navybrat817]

Match the man to the method.

1. Stalking

2. Kidnap

3. Sex pollen

4. Blackmail

Men

Bucky

Andy

Nick

Steve

Oh, I love this. I mean, I want to use the men for all of them.

Stalking - Bucky Barnes

Bucky is a man who knows how to hide in plain sight and would easily be able to follow you and learn your routine. If we're talking Winter Soldier Bucky, we know his target is his main objective and he wouldn't be afraid to get rid of anyone in his path. His road would likely lead to kidnapping, but stalking first and foremost so he knows everything he can about his future basement wife. Because you will be his wife.

Kidnap - Andy Barber

Andy gives stalker vibes, but I leaned toward kidnap. Now, he'll do his research on you. The lawyer in him, he can't help himself. The man just wants to have his happy life and happy family. He couldn't have that with Jacob and Laurie, but he can have that with you. Oh? You don't want that? Too bad. He'll make sure you enjoy your new home.

Sex pollen - Steve Rogers

Steve is strategic. Headstrong. When he has his mind set on something, nothing is going to stop him. So what if the two of you work together and you don't want to mix business with pleasure? Or maybe you're a civilian and you don't want to be involved with heroes. Doesn't matter the path, it ends with you begging for him to take you. And he will. Over and over.

Blackmail - Nick Fowler

Nick isn't afraid to play dirty. If you ask him, he has to be able to in his line of work. Everyone has secrets and he isn't afraid to use them to get ahead. Maybe you're one of the good ones and you don't have any secrets. Doesn't mean your loved ones don't. Turn him down and he'll expose them. You wouldn't want that over your head now, would you? No, of course not.

Love and thanks! ❤️