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jpitha · 2 years ago

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The Dreams of Hyacinth 13

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Jameson leaned his head back in his chair, stretching all the way back until the back of his head touched the top of the chair. There was a soft click, and he brought his head back forward, now with 10 hair thin wires flowing in to ports on the back of his neck. He looked over and saw Eastern and Nick staring. "I mean, why reinvent the wheel? The interface we have was basically refined almost a thousand years ago, why would we put a different one on cybernetically enhanced humans? Anyway." Jameson's eyes flashed blue and he started to work.

Nick, Eastern and Selkirk sat awkwardly in Jameson's office for five minutes or so before Kelly came in carrying a tray with a selection of drinks and snacks. "Jameson pinged me and asked me to bring this to you. He's sorry but he's stretched pretty thin right now, so he can't reply directly." They took some snacks and a drink and Kelly smiled and walked out.

Ten minutes later, there was a click and a speaker overhead activated. "Nick, Eastern, Selkirk. I'm sorry about leaving you in a lurch. We're going over the logs now. Why don't you move to the waiting room for a bit. The chairs are more comfortable there. You can't leave just yet; we're still on lockdown, but we can probably get something delivered if you get hungry."

They moved back to the waiting room. There wasn't much else to do, so Nick and Eastern started practicing thing that Queenie taught them while Selkirk read her pad. Nick and Eastern were practicing intrusion techniques on each other. They had placed a file in their augmented memory storage and took turns trying to take it. While they did that, the other would try and stop them. While they practiced Nick noticed a... presence? It felt like something was watching them. He reached out with his cybernetics and...

"Sorry, what are you doing? Why are you watching us?"

The presence starts. It did not expect to be noticed. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't realize you could sense me. What are you doing?"

"Eastern and I are practicing intrusion techniques. I hold a file and she tries to steal it and then we switch roles."

"Smart! I wish more people would practice like that. Most of the time everyone just gets the strongest firewalls they can and assume that will save them."

"Everyone?"

"The other AIs. What's your name?"

"Oh, I'm not an AI, I'm a BI with a cybernetic suite installed. My name is Nick, this is my partner Eastern." Nick mentally nudges Eastern and she joins the conversation.

"Nick who is this?"

"I apologize, I've been terribly rude, I should introduce myself. My name is Robyn, I work with Jameson."

"So, you're an AI?"

"I am! I am currently... between bodies and Jameson doesn't own a ship right now so I just.." Nick and Eastern felt Robyn gesture a shrug "hang around and help out. Right now Jameson and I are going through his logs. He thinks he's been edited."

"Has he?"

"Looks like! We're trying to nail down when and then match it with the access logs to see who visited then. Say! Maybe you can help. What was the last job you did for Jameson?"

Nick sees the avatar of Eastern make a face. "He asked me to find the coffin box. There was supposed to be an AI inside it. He told me that it would be with Houndstooth R&D but didn't give us any more details. That's when I asked Selkirk and she recommended we reach out to Nick for him to boost the box."

"Okay! It looks like Jameson's memories were edited a little earlier than I had initially thought. Searching. Hmm. That's interesting. Come on Nick, Eastern, let's go talk to Jameson."

Nick and Eastern disconnected and stood. "Hey Sel, Robyn said she might have found something, let's go see Jameson."

Selkirk stood as well. "Robyn?"

"Another AI. She doesn't have a body. right now. She might work for Jameson?"

"Oh boy. Another AI." Selkirk's ears flick irritatedly as she walks with them.

When they reenter Jameson's office, he has disconnected and is looking at data on his pad. He looks up as Nick and the others walk in. "Oh, I was just about to call you. Please sit."

Nick nods. "We met Robyn. She said we should come in and discuss what you've found."

Jameson's brow furrows. "You met Robyn? I told her to keep a low profile.

"Jameson, they were practicing intrusion and anti-intrusion techniques. Nobody ever practices that. I had to ask them about it."

"They were?" Jameson looks at Nick and Eastern and raises an eyebrow. "Interesting. Most everyone just installs the firewalls and leaves it. But okay, since you're all here..." Jameson snaps his fingers and a goon comes in and hands a grey metal cylinder to Jameson and walks out. It's about 20 centimeters long and has a tab on the top."

Eastern gestures towards the cylinder. "What's that?"

"I'll show you. It was surprisingly hard to get." Jameson pulls the tab and the cylinder starts hissing, and a heavy black gas starts pouring out of the cylinder and flows around the floor.

Eastern, Nick and Selkirk lean back, startled. "Is it dangerous?"

Jameson shakes his head. "It's only dangerous if you're a Builder. It'll kill you if you are."

Nick watches the gas flow and pour around the floor, fascinated. "A Builder?"

Jameson waved his hand dismissively, "It's their term for the people who worked with Empress Melody. If they have a suite of nanomachines installed, they were called a Builder. Has to do with that old Starbase they dragged back here after we killed her, Reach of the Might of Vzzx is it's name, I think. This-" he gestures at the fog in the room "-is anti nanomachine gas. It overwrites their orders and makes them disassemble themselves. If you're a Builder, it kills you too. Builders have a massive concentration of nanomachines and they take over large parts of their bodily functions."

Eastern watches the gas too and then looks back up at Jameson. "But Jameson, Empress Melody was killed almost ten years ago."

He nods. "She was. But, it looks like we didn't get all the Builders. When Robyn and I looked at my logs, it looks like someone used their Voice on me."

Eastern blinked in surprise. "But that's an Empress thing. They made a huge deal about how nobody except Empress Melody could do that. Also, they said it didn't work on AIs."

Jameson raised a finger and started counting. "One, it doesn't work well on AIs. Get us in an area with high enough concentration of nanomachines and make the order generic enough and it works just fine. Two, from what I understand an Empress is the only one with the package to do the Voice. Doesn't have to be just Empress Melody."

Eastern's eyes went wide. "That means there's another Empress?"

Jameson sighed heavily and looked down at his pad. "Yes. That's what it looks like. And since my compatriots were idiots and went after her with an armada, this new Empress is being much more subtle and quieter."

Nick shook his head, disbelieving. "But Jameson, why would she come to Hyacinth? How would she come to Hyacinth?"

"Nick, we still have ships coming and going, and tourists coming to visit, it's not like we're locked down."

"That takes care of how. But why? Not only that, but why would she voice you, Jameson, about something so specific as to make up a daughter for you?"

Jameson looks embarrassed. "Remember when I said I had a spouse and they died during an attack on the Empress? That part was true. I did have a spouse and they did die. The part I didn't mention was that I was there too. I used to be a Frigate."

Nick looks at Eastern and then at Selkirk. "I mean, most AI's I've met were ships at once point or another, it's not that big of a deal." They both nod.

Jameson raises his eyebrow and clears his throat. "Ahem. Anyway. It feels like this new Empress is planning something. I have no idea what, though it seems like AIs and BIs are involved in equal measure.

"To what end?"

This time, Robyn's voice is heard over the speakers in the room. "I'm thinking they wanted to get more cybernetic humans. AI really are the only ones who know how to do the surgery these days, and it's 'officially' banned, so only dark doctors and organized crime has access to the technology. Jameson and I both think that the goal of the deception was... you."

"Me?"

"Well, you and Eastern. They want more humans that can operate starships maybe."

"But why?"

"How the fuck should we know, Nick? Go and ask her if you need to know that badly."

Eastern looks up at the speakers in the ceiling. "Okay then, what about Siobhan?"

"Maybe she works for the Empress."

Eastern purses her lips together and her brow flattens.

"I don't know. Ancestors Eastern, I just learned that I might have been Voiced by a heretofore unknown Empress and only found out because the story they made me tell you was so flimsy you couldn't even make a logical leap to a solution that let you accept the story." He disconnected and whirred around to where they were sitting. "Go and find Siobhan and ask her yourself." He smiled and snapped his fingers again. "Don't go unarmed though." A guard walked out carrying a heavy looking case. With a flourish he opened the case and three gleaming submachine guns were inside. "Here. Let's call it a... gift for our mutual misunderstanding."

Nick's eyes went wide at the weapons. Projectile weapons have been banned on High Mars Hyacinth since its creation. Guns were incredibly rare on the cylinder. He reached out to touch one and stopped. "But Jameson, we don't know how to use them."

"Oh that part's easy." He held out his hand. Nick took it and shook once. He again felt the tingle of keys being transferred. "There's some reflex software. You'll be an expert in no time. Give a copy to Eastern and Selkirk. She's got a soft connection with her coronet, but it should be enough to keep her from hurting herself." The guard snapped the case shut and flipped it over. He opened the back to show that there were 9 magazines - three each - and then closed that side and handed it to Nick. Nick took the case as if it was white hot and would burn him at any moment.

Kelly walked in with three leather - Nick smelled them as she walked by, they were real leather - holsters. "Here. These go around your shoulders and will keep the sub under your arm and out of the way. I even have one that's K'laxi sized for you Selkirk." Kelly showed them how to put on the holster, and after a moment the three of them were awkwardly sitting, wearing their new weapons.

"Ancestors Nick, Eastern, Selkirk, relax okay. Everyone will know you're strapped if you sit like that. Show them Jimmy."

The guard named Jimmy walked over and flopped into a chair, looking completely relaxed. He winked at them and flipped a side of his jacket open. He was wearing the same holster with a submachine gun inside.

Jameson nodded. "A gun is a tool friends. Nothing more, nothing less. It is a tool for killing, but it is still just a tool. A tool needs a wielder who uses the tool with knowledge, respect and skill." He wheeled back to his desk. "Go. Find this Siobhan, and see if you can learn what her deal is. Let me know what you find." He gestured at the guns. "Don't use them unless you have to, but now at least you have that option."

Nick stood. The gun hung heavy under his arm and made him feel unbalanced. "Thanks Jameson. I have one more question though. Why are you being so helpful? You could have just sent us on our way to muddle in the dark."

"You're right. I could have. But. You have been straight with me this whole time, and in our previous dealing too. Also, this Empress is trying to use me to her own ends. It's time that she learn that it's not so easy to own an AI. We know about that history and won't be having any of it." He waves his hand, dismissing them. "Be in touch, I won't bite." His eyes flash blue a quick moment. "Also, I refilled your expense account. Selkirk, nice work on tracking expenses, I don't see anything here questionable. In fact-" his eyes flash again "-I just gave you some more, call it a bonus. Treat yourselves."

The three of them walked out of Jameson's building, numb.

Finally, Nick spoke. "What was that?"

Eastern looks back at the building and then at the three of them. "I don't know Nick. Did we pick a side? Are we're working for the AIs against the new Empress.?"

"Is that what we want?" Selkirk looks down the road towards the square, and then back the other way. The alley is completely empty.

"Let's meet this new Empress first and then decide." Eastern starts walking towards the square. "Come one, we have a Hopper to catch. I want to find Siobhan and-" Eastern's gun flashes in the overhead lights "-ask some pointed questions."

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#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #sci fi writing #writing #humans and aliens #jpitha #the k’laxiverse #The Dreams of Hyacinth

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milo-hypno · 2 years ago

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hey just to add a personal story - no one ever told me I was trans.

I mean, I knew vaguely about trans people as a kid, sure - I had internet access and eyes - but I didn't really care enough to research. No one ever taught me, either. I think the most conversation we ever had about trans people was when my mother sat me down at thirteen with a video of a man doing magic tricks with jam and peanut butter, which I watched and then looked up at her and went "yeah, duh, I've seen this before. Can I go back to my book?"

(To which, some may say that that was push enough - and to which I reply, this is the same woman who, when I told her I liked women, said "well at least you're not transgender!" She's a lovely woman, and one of my biggest supporters now - but to say that a single video was enough to 'make me trans' is a severe misunderstanding of humans.

My mother has tried much harder than that to make me like mushrooms, with an incredible lack of success.)

I knew I was sad long before I knew I was trans. I didn't know why I was sad. I knew I hated my hair - I hated that it tangled, and I hated how it looked. How long it was, how it framed my face. I would braid it to either side of my head day after day, because it was inconvenient and because I didn't like it enough to wear it down.

I would beg as a child, for my mother to cut it to my ears - but she refused, because it was blonde and thick and pretty, and because she didn't want me to dislike it. Once, when I was seven, I snuck out with scissors to cut it myself - but I was caught before I could ever make the first snip. Now, though, I was fourteen - and I had given up on the subject.

It took me weeks to convince her to cut it to my jawline. I thought that was the issue, the only issue. I cut it off finally, but - something still didn't click. Something still made me sad. I felt better, kind of - but that sadness just moved, just changed targets.

I don't know if you know what it feels like, to be sad without knowing why - but it's... confusing.

It's having a weight in your chest that makes it hard to breathe, and not knowing why - it's maximizing comfort over aesthetic and fashion, because none of it feels right anyways. It's being given hyper-feminine clothes, and feeling like you're naked in them.

It's staying up until three AM, feeling like you're drowning - but that can't be right, because you can't see any water around.

No one told me I was trans.

I found out, because I was fourteen and sad, and I thought growing up was supposed to be fun. I found out on accident because I saw a video of a trans man's transition timeline - and I had clicked on it out of curiosity, and I had left twenty minutes later with my eyes full of tears, and longing. Jealousy.

It still took me months before I came out. It took me months of doubt, and feeling like an imposter, and checking in with myself time after time after time again that I still felt like a man.

The answer was always yes, no matter how much I tried to reason my way out of it.

I'm still trans, you know. And that Sad feeling is gone.

It's been years, now, and I'm realizing that for the first time, when someone asks me where I see myself in five years, I actually can see myself then. And that makes me want to cry for a very different reason to the one I'd had back then.

I don't know why I'm writing this, honestly, just that -- I didn't grow out of it, and no one convinced me to 'become trans'. I always was trans, I just didn't have the words for it, and I didn't realize I was until I was in the midst of puberty - when something like a rock in my shoe suddenly became a boulder, and I had to find the answers before I drowned in something I couldn't name.

If you think otherwise, that trans people are recruiting others, that it's a choice - well, I can't change your mind. Or maybe I could - who knows?

All I know is that for the first time in my life, I look in the mirror and I recognize who I see. Every time. Every day.

I speak, and I laugh, because my voice is deep and it's weird!

It's a good kind of weird, though - the kind of weird that is like seeing yourself with a haircut that feels you, the kind of weird where you find clothing that fits right, that looks good, and you keep stopping in the street to look at your reflection in the mirrors, because you can't believe you look so good.

It's the kind of weird that feels like a part of your identity has suddenly slotted into place, and you still have to learn it, to learn its weight - but at the same time you can't imagine how you'd existed before.

I see photos of myself from mere months ago, and I can barely recognize myself - and it's like coming home.

I can't convince you otherwise, if you think someone made me this way.

All I can do is be happy, and hope that maybe one day, you will see that - and maybe you won't understand, but you'll know that for me, transitioning is the difference between being able to see a future for myself, and not being able to see myself in three months.

The indoctrination never stops.

Conservatives need a minority target to keep their followers focused/unified on hate. As the followers obsess on hate, their lives/emotions are much easier to manipulate.

Conservatives always vow to restore the country to some distant past that never existed.

It's an endless loop of failure.

#trans ftm #transgender #tw dysphoria #milo's rambles #I don't really know what overtook me but i saw this and really needed to get that off my chest #sorry for the long out of character rant lol

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itsadragonaesthetic · 1 year ago

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Was taught about the atom bombs in middle school in grave detail with bits of brainwashing and then never learned about it that intensely until now and uhhh just wanted to share some thoughts. (I'm actually trying to cope right now and I feel like blabbering lmao) Trigger for general discussion of the bombs, personal fears and feelings, and mentions of Nazis. Please tell me if I should add more/different tags.

I was very thoroughly brainwashed about WW2 when I was in middle school. No doubt. Full blown "it was a necessary evil" and "Americans are the heros" and "the greatest generation" all taught by an asshole boomer (no literally) who forced me to watch reconstructions of people being vaporized by the bombs (I asked to not participate and he refused).

I genuinely look back on that similarly to how my mom looks back on the similarly brutal education she got. It was traumatizing. After that I just blanked it all out of my mind for years. I got to it in high school but didn't pay much attention and the curriculum didn't go in depth as to not be opinionated or traumatize anyone being forced to read about it against their will.

I've been learning about it again over the last few days out of curiosity, prime timing with a WW2 movie being released, and because I could feel some kind of weird wound in my psyche about those bombs that I wanted to explore.

Something new that has happened is that I'm beginning to comprehend that WW2 actually happened. I was told about it when I was a fucking child as to lessen the impact of how crazy it was. To make it impossible for me to fully process and question it. To make the event sound normal. Later I knew of the horrors of the Nazis, especially cuz some idiots currently decided to bring it up into politics again. I'm not sure if I'll ever fully process any of that honestly. I learned a lot about it in high school, but nothing too crazy.

That bombing tho, and the entire situation of the US relationship with Japan... it's hard to think about. I think it's hard because of that brainwashing. Even if I say I don't like America or whatever, I have to admit that there are some patterns in there that will always need weeding simply due to my education. Ableism, racism, harmful nationalism, disconnect from other countries, all of that doesn't fix itself when you yell "fuck america".

I was initially taught with the American pride ideas. We had no choice, the Japanese were evil savages, and America is the greatest thing since sliced bread. Woo pride for our troops or whatever. I grew up and realized it was all bullshit but I had a sort of... apologist perspective on the horrors. Those people were brainwashed. Those marines thought they were doing the right thing. Those poor Americans just wanted the war to end. They didn't know what that bomb did.

But I only thought that because that's the America I choose to see in the present day. I still talk respectfully to veterans simply because I pity them, and many realized they were duped by the Iraq war propaganda. I give them respect because they didn't deserve to experience that, nor did they want to. I also generally think of Americans as ignorant. They only think these wars are justified because they've been led astray by assholes at the top who want more money. Were all just a bunch of roaches at the bottom of a barrel being swayed by the tides of our upbringing.

This was not how it was in WW2. People were victims of propaganda, but many were truly evil. I liked to imagine people felt shock and fear after the first test, but no. People cheered. People were given medals after dropping the bomb. They had the mushroom cloud and news coverage play on TV and people said "we should bomb them again". They saw survivors years after the event and laughed at their deformities. Americans whined and bitched about the war effort, then took full credit for being good humanitarians after we won. Japanese Americans were treated like less than animals.

The Nazis were just... that shit is enough to give you nightmares for sure. But that evil feels far away. It feels like it's fueled by mythical monsters and misinformed people. Maybe the bombs are only shaking me so bad because it's close to home, but hearing about those bombings makes me feel... haunted. The power of the sun, creation itself, was released and it birthed a thousand demons that still stalk every person even remotely affected. Generations down, it feels like the spirit of some lost soul is looking for someone to blame. As an American, it feels like it must be me. The fact that I knew so many kids in high school who chose the WW2 special courses that unpack those horrors and many still came out as white nationalists reminds me that WW2 wasn't even 100 years ago. The mindset that unleashed the most atrocious horrors upon the earth isn't long dead like I was taught it was. Nor is it in some far off land. I am indeed superstitious, and it makes me afraid of demons disguised as people. When they said learning about this stuff is enough to make you feel like half of a human for an afternoon, they weren't kidding.

#ww2 #wwii #tw holocaust #vent post #my posts #dragon speaks #tw nazis #paranoia inducing

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centralsaints · 3 years ago

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mcl headcanon masterpost - lysander

my candy love: return of the king

lysander is nonbinary and uses his tall stature to play with androgyny since he’s always looked kind of feminine anyway. uses he/they pronouns, rarely she, but those days do happen where it's fem to the max.

boy is there a lot going on in this brain of his. he’s just very quiet about it. he’s prone to psychosis and delusions, particularly religious ones. Castiel or his brother usually take care of him when he’s in a delusional state. most of his poetry these days is based around those experiences of losing touch with reality.

that's mostly what affect his memory; it’s actually a side effect of the derealization/dissociation from those episodes

during his worst episode, Castiel actually came to find him after three or four missed calls; Lys was sitting in a cemetery, in the snow, and told Cas about how the angels had told him their message; that he was dead and in limbo, and had to find a way to get out before it was too late for him to reach the afterlife. Cas brought him back to his and Leigh's place and stayed over just to watch over lysander’s state.

he was raised religious; i could see his parents going to church regularly when lysander and leigh were kids, and so that stuck with him years later, sometimes in good, sometimes in bad. he got his mom’s rosary when she died.

i have a couple of songs by violett pi that really makes me think how he would sound like singing; this one, this one and this one. this one too, from mozart l’opéra rock

he’s a scorpio with a virgo rising. idk about his moon ngl.

his room is full of post-it from things he thinks about and doesn’t want to forget, so he put them on the walls to have them in sight

he had his growth spurt pretty late, and in high school, he’s still getting huge with being really tall, which means he’s always hitting his head on door frames and cabinets and stuff. so much for being graceful

all the past notebooks and journals he’s filled are put in a box and dated so he can find them later

the wings were the only tattoo he got in school, after that he waited until he graduated to start getting more. he’s gotten most of them professionally done, but he’s also experimented and given himself a couple of stick n pokes and gave up very fast. they were ugly but he made them so he loves them

he owns a few pairs of Demonia platform boots, and three pairs of docs (platform oxford shoes, black jadon max and a 14 eyelet classic). he has a pair of ugly steel-toed boots he wears to work at the farm. it’s function over fashion with those

he'd probably be self-conscious about wearing big shoes because he's already so tall, but at some point he just embraced being 6'5 in platforms.

ref post for his fashion sense

he’d grow his hair out in university (i can’t believe this is canon now omg). there were periods of time he was on the farm where he really didn't take care of his appearance and his hair got tangled and mated because it’s very fine. he had to learn how to cut his hair himself, which is part of the reason he let it grow out; he only trims it from time to time now.

his hands and feet are always. freezing cold

yeah he can sing, but he can also play multiple instruments. he kind of taught himself, and is kind of a virtuoso in that sense; he can find his way pretty quickly around a new instrument

really really loves fashion actually, all styles, and he follows a few high-end designers and would put money aside to get at least one or two designer pieces. loved alexander McQueen.

with everything i've compiled right now, i'm realizing that he reads a lot has having borderline personality disorder (probably quiet bpd subtype) (i think this fic contributed a lot to my idea of him)

he has had issues with s/h (again, based on that fic i linked)

he has unusually sharp canines and has hurt himself by accidentally biting into his own tongue. like we all do. except when he does he bleeds

like most artists, he doesn’t just have one notebook. he has like four because he starts several of them and then loses it in his room so he starts a new one but then he finds the old one and-

he loves doing life drawing, especially architecture. has taken a few life model drawing classes and will sometimes draw people he sees out in town or on the bus

he loves getting tattoos but piercings? absolutely not

reaches his final form during the winter; it’s when he can get out his prettiest coats and accessories

idk he looks like he’s iron deficient. gets up too fast and immediately ends up on the floor

also constantly hits his head everywhere dude you are 6’4 get used to it

he sleeps with at least one small light on. total darkness is a recipe for nightmares

absolutely the type to write love letters and do elaborate collages with them and give them to the person he loves. also constantly writes poetry about one person when he has a crush. also constantly write about that person when he gets dumped.

because he was alone in taking care of it, i think his parents farm was a pretty small one; a couple of chickens for the eggs, littol bunnies, maybe a goat. lots of stray cats tho. a big garden with lots of squash variety, potatoes because they’re easy to grow. a few apple trees. just enough that he could sell some of his surplus at a market, and feed himself with the rest.

he had to learn how to prepare and conserve the food he grew, so the years he spent on the farm were a very big learning experience. at first, he had help from his neighbors, who helped him learn the ins and outs, and help him with the entire thing while he was still grieving. as time went on, he became able to take care of most of it alone. he still had some time to write, especially during winter, but mostly stopped drawing, save for the few doodles in the margins of his writing. probably filled a few notebooks with lonely poetry.

#my candy love #mcl #mcl lysander #mcl headcanon

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masked-disciple · 3 months ago

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HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I KNEW IT!!!!!! I told you it would rewrite your whole brain and wreck you!!!!!!!

If you have not seen the Escapades, you need to do so, right now. They are incredibly important. But, all the things I've been saving for you!!

Firstly may I sell you on asobaroryuu. It has everything. The mostly-canon Asoryuu, the obvious prosecutor/defense of Baroryuu (with a dash of 'you're the one who saved me'), and the messy 'we're getting better together or not at all' of Asobaro. But all at once, which is just. Very good.

Secondly may I sell you on 'Yuujin probably taught Barok, Kazuma, and Susato the same regional dialect of Japanese sign language' because it leads to a very funny situation in which MD decides that just because he can't talk to anyone outside the office doesn't mean he can't sign to them, and so informs Barok via sign during 2-3 that he thinks the defense went to clown school, leading Susato to object and just go "OBJECTION! The defense did NOT go to clown school!" which leads MD to realize she has in fact been privy to his every snippy little comment to Barok over the entire trial.

Thirdly may I point out that Kazuma's desk was either a) custom commissioned for him by Barok or b) Genshin's, both of which hurt. Which leads fourthly into pointing out that Kazuma's prosecutor outfit is very very similar to Klint's, and if not for the height difference, one could make the argument he's straight up wearing Klint's clothes. (Given that Klint was, however, 80% leg, it's still possible.)

Fourthly, please just imagine the telegram conversation between Herlock and Yuujin about getting Kazuma off the SS Burya.

Fifthly, I must note that Kazuma's mother died a year after they found out about Genshin, and it's implied to be either suicide or death through grief. Black psyche locks say at least 60% of his daddy issues are secretly mommy issues (because he wasn't good enough for her to stay, because he wasn't his dad, so he must clearly idolize him like she did and fight for his innocence because she believed in him), especially since he was eight when he last saw his dad and how much do you remember from being eight because the answer is Not A Lot, so like, that's mommy issues.

Sixthly this is 'canon doesn't say it didn't happen' territory but wouldn't it be fucked up if Kazuma just. Didn't tell anyone his mother was ill, because he was so self-sufficient even then, and buried her by himself, and Yuujin only found out a couple weeks later that she died and took him in?

Seventhly, Kazuma as the Masked Disciple lost his memories of almost everything. I want you to pause and imagine him encountering many things that Barok takes for granted, and his utter joy at normal things like buskers and street ice cream. Please imagine Barok being forcibly reintroduced to the Simple Joy of Being Alive because his apprentice has never seen a street musician before in his memory and goes 'they just DO that?? For the joy of everyone?? My lord we HAVE to dance do you know how to dance but I don't we HAVE to". Also the man was under a heavy black cloak in the middle of summer and he couldn't take it off, they went for ice cream at Least once.

Eighthly, because I had to save the best for last... Kazuma didn't intend on bringing anyone with him until Ryunosuke happened. Sure, there was Susato, but she was absolutely using Kazuma to get to England as much as he was using everyone: she wanted to know why her father abandoned her for this place. Given that he took on the assassination mission and all that, it's not a stretch to say he did not plan on coming back from England... until Ryu gave him a reason to. And even then, everything good Kazuma thought he had in himself, Ryunosuke already took and made his own. By 2-5, he's falling apart. He's lived a revenge mission for ten years, and he's realizing that this isn't a revenge story, that he was wrong, that he's never really going to get the satisfaction he wanted, because it won't come out of revenge. And most stories ask "well, what's left after that?" because really, there isn't much left of Kazuma once you take his revenge quest away.

Except. He knows he can go on, he can move past this, because he already has. People question sometimes why Kazuma wanted to stay with Barok and they usually reason "because they both lived in their grief and revenge for a decade, and he's hoping for guidance" and that's true, but... Kazuma was his apprentice for a few months, without his revenge quest. As the Disciple, he got to be, well, not normal but free. He got peace and stability and certainty, all things he hasn't had since he was eight years old. Being the MD is absolutely the most crucial part of Kazuma's arc, because without it, he'd be super dead like most revenge arcs tend to end. MD-era Kazuma could live without the mission, so it follows that so can post-canon Kazuma. Tripping over that damn cat was one of the best things to ever happen to him, and I will absolutely make sure everyone knows it.

Anyway welcome to post-TGAA insanity. Do tell me when you start AAI2, it's where my url is from and you're gonna be insane about that too. ;)

Alexa, play Only As Good As My God by Everything Everything. It's scenic for the downfall of Stronghart, as a song about police brutality also fits the mastermind behind the killing of many nobles and criminals who claims it's all in the name of justice. The horse imagery in this song aligns with Stronghart having unicorn motifs in his design. Funny how a symbol of purity and innocence is also a symbol of power and Stronghart took that from 0 to 100.

Van Zieks can you please roundhouse kick Stronghart for me? He's right next to you. Take the shot.

Sholmes: Well, back to my home planet. Beam me up, Iris!

The prosecutors have forgiven each other at last. Damn, Mikotoba saved the life of Klint's daughter, but the mother sadly passed. Van Zieks was completely left outta the know, but since the family name was tarnished, she was kept hidden for her safety.

WAIT.

SHOLMES TOOK CARE OF THE CHILD YOU SAY?

IRIS IS THE DAUGHTER OF KLINT?! SO SHE'S BAROK'S NIECE?!

Oh this is so funny to me cause I've been imagining Iris as Apollo's ancestor because of her deductive abilities taught by Sholmes (so Apollo would also technically be related to Sholmes teehee), but now that Klint is confirmed to be Iris' father... that would mean Apollo is distantly related to Edgeworth in my hypothetical family tree and that's wild.

Aw man, Van Zieks is resigning. NEVERMIND KAZUMA COMING IN CLUTCH TO CHANGE HIS MIND!

Sholmes n Mikotoba are so fuckin' cute dude I love their dynamic so much. Ay we got the pocketwatch back for Gina! A perfect memento mori!

This sentence aged like milk left out in the scorching sun before Gina even opened her mouth.

Iris is happy with her adoptive dad Sholmes, and him n Mikotoba continue to be extremely cute. All is right with the world.

Ryunosuke has made up his mind to return to Britain as a defense lawyer. I hope he'll visit his friends here when he can. SHOLMES N MIKOTOBA HAVE TO SEPARATE AGAIN NOOOOOOOOO

:00000000000 KAZUMA'S HERE TO SAY FAREWELL AUGHHHHHHHHH AND HE'S STAYING AS A PROSECUTOR HELL YEAH DUDE! OHHHHHH MY GOD HE'S ENTRUSTING KARUMA--HIS SOUL--TO RYNOSUKE AAAAAAAAAAAAAA IM CRYING MAN YOU GO KAZUMA SLAY YOUR DEMONS I BELIEVE IN YOU!

Aww yippee Susato's staying with Ryunosuke! Kazuma and Ryunosuke promise to duel each other in court someday! En garde!

OH MY GOD SOSEKI COVERED IN KITTENS WITH REI AND HOSONAGA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THIS IS THE B TEAM I NEED!

MY HEART... I LOVE THEM... WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

AWWWWWW SHOLMES N MIKOTOBA ARE DANCING TOGETHER YAYYYYYYYY

My babies <3

MY BABIES <3 X2

And that concludes The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles! This was an incredible duology that will stick with me for a long time. As much as the first game's cases may not have been as much to my fancy, the characters immediately hooked me in and the second game made it all worthwhile. The pins were set and knocked down in a fantastical fashion! TGAA2 might've actually surpassed Dual Destinies as my favorite Ace game, which is a tough height to reach! The Phantom is still my favorite culprit though, so don't worry no one's gonna steal his title heheh.

And with the story of the ancestors at an end (for now, please Capcom make a Van Zieks Investigation game with Kazuma as his assistant I beg you it's what I crave), it's time to go investigate some men with Edgeworth! Starting tomorrow! Perhaps I could write up my live reactions for this newly remastered duology, too, hmm... I'll let future Neo decide!

(To The One Who Saw This Escapade Through To Its End, And Whom I Welcome All Ramblings From - @raymondshields)

22 notes · View notes

plant-flwrs · 4 years ago

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hi love, it's me again! i just can't get enough of your writing... i'm sorry to be asking for another fic, i guess i just can't help myself. lately i've been obsessed with the fake dating thing, so i was wondering if you could write a fred x reader (basically same reader as my last request, gryffindor, same year as ron) with that? like, maybe george knows they fancy each other and makes a bet with him so they start fake datig but realise they're in love with each other? aaa thank you so much, ly

bets off // fred weasley

masterlist!

a/n: i used the same pronouns from the last request, hope you don’t mind!! i apreciate u sm ur always so active w my fics ily <3333 this is the first thing i’ve written in a while that i’m actually proud of so i hope u guys like it :D

summary: Fred makes a bet with George that entails fake dating you for at least a month. He never expected to fall in love with you.

(5k)

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Competition was healthy. At least, that’s what Fred told himself as he looked at George’s outstretched hand, a cocky smile etching the boy’s lips.

“Two weeks?” Fred asked, looking suspiciously at George.

“Two. Weeks.” George answered definitively, smirking at his brother.

Fred considered this in his head. Two weeks to get you, someone who had never previously shown any romantic interest in him, to date him for at least a month. He doubted it would be hard, for he had never had any trouble getting girls to swoon for him in the past. A few winks and charming sentiments and you would be putty in his hand. With this air of confidence, he shook George’s hand.

“You idiot!” Lee, who had previously been silently watching the exchange, called from across the table, a baffled smile on his face.

George laughed, leaning back in his chair and looking at Fred like he agreed with Lee.

“What?” Fred asked, the overly confident look still littering his features.

“You can’t win with this one,” Lee explained, shaking his head, “you either piss off Ron when this goes right, you piss of Ron when this goes wrong, you come out the git for breaking a girls heart, or you come out the embarrassed git who was rejected by your kid brother’s best friend.”

“Hey,” Fred said, faking offence, “I never agreed to ask out Harry.”

George and Lee rolled their eyes, hiding smiles as they continued their homework.

Fred was not deterred by Lee��s warnings, for he had a plan to avoid all of that. He was simply going to tell you the truth.

He found you on your way to the green house, pulling you away from a Slytherin girl you were walking with.

“He just stared at her? Like he didn’t eve-” you felt an unexpected tugging, “Ah!”

You squealed, feeling your feet stumble under you for a moment as you gathered your wits again. You looked down at the hand pulling you, following it up to the face. It was Fred, which was odd, because you two were not known for pulling at each other in hallways.

“You’re going to miss Herbology!” your friend called out to you, a worried expression on her face.

“I’ll meet you there, save me a seat!” you called back to her, turning away and following Fred as he still dragged you.

“Fred? What are you doing?” you asked him, making no effort to move from his strong grip.

“Got to talk to you,” he said airily, barely looking back at you as he pulled you down an empty corridor.

He let go of your arm, smiling down at you as you waited for him to speak. He didn’t take the hint, just looking at you.

“What did you want?” you glanced at your watch, seeing you only had a few minutes before Professor Sprout would start class.

“I have a proposition for you,” Fred drawled, a mischievous glint in his eyes as per usual, “what do ya say?”

You squinted your eyes at him, frowning, “I have to hear the proposition first.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, thats how propositions work.”

“I hadn’t realized,” he replied sarcastically, dropping his cool demeanor and letting some desperation seep into his voice.

“What do you want?” you repeated, slightly more annoyed.

“I may have made a bet that heavily relies on your willingness to do me a huge favor,” he said, a hopeful smile coming to his face.

“Oh god, Fred, what did you do?”

“George may have implied that I was in a dry spell when it came to girls,” he said, smirking, “and obviously that’s just not true. So, he suggested a bet to see if I still had my skills-”

“Your skills?”

“-yes my skills, would you listen?”

Fred leaned closer to you, his eyebrows raising as you rolled your eyes.

“Back to what I was saying,” he drew in a breath, dragging out this entire conversation, “George suggested a bet to see if I could still charm the ladies,” he wiggled his eyebrows and you quirked one of yours.

“Long story short-”

You interrupted again, “That was the short version of that story? Fred can’t we do this later, I’ve got class in,” you glanced at your watch. “two minutes.”

“No! Give me a second,” he ran a hand through his hair, putting his strong hands on your shoulders to keep you in place, “I made a bet with George that I could get you to fall in love with me in two weeks and date you for a month!”

You looked up at the boy, thinking he had gone off the end. He had to, either that or he was messing with you. Or maybe he had been slipped a potion of some sort.

“Fred,” you started, your kind tone giving Fred the impression you would agree to the plan, “you just waisted the very limited break I have between classes, successfully pulling me away from a very entertaining story about Snape, and probably making me late for Herbology.”

Fred groaned, throwing his head back in annoyance.

“I’m serious!”

You pulled against Fred’s grip, but he kept you in place. His face lit up, obviously coming up with what he thought would be a great plan. He released you briefly, digging his hands in his bag and moving crumpled papers around. He pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, brandishing it like it was a diamond.

“This, my love, is going to get you out of Herbology this class period,” he said, unfolding the paper.

He revealed a blank piece of paper with tiny sparkles floating on the page. As he held it for a second longer, words began to form on the paper, writing something.

‘Professor Sprout,

Please excuse Y/n from Herbology this period, she came to me with a pain in her stomach and I gave her a potion to fix it. She stayed in the infirmary during the period.

-Poppy’

You had heard about these before, enchanted notes that were written in authentic handwriting and enchanted the reader to believe it, no matter what they said. Perfect for forging notes from teachers.

You stared at the paper in awe, grabbing it from Fred’s loose grasp.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. That’s the last one I have,” he said, feeling a bit remorseful having to give it up. He had been planning to use it to get out of Ancient Runes tomorrow.

You folded the paper again, putting it neatly in your bag and looking back at Fred.

“Alright, let’s go,” you sighed, allowing him to lead you to the great hall, through the courtyard, and out to the Quidditch Pitch where no teachers would be.

You sat in the stands, overlooking the empty and wet field,

“You want me to date you for two weeks?” you asked, sounding reluctant.

“No,” Fred said, sounding annoyed, “I want to fake date you for a month, but we won’t start until two weeks from now.”

You squinted, looking out at the stands on the other side of the field. You were thinking about this, finding the cons to outweigh the pros.

“What’s in it for me?” you paused, hearing Fred’s groan from beside you, “I mean, this could ruin my friendship with Ron, I get the embarrassing reputation when you fake dump me in a month, I don’t see how this is benefiting me.”

“Ron won’t care, I promise you,” Fred said acting as if this was obvious, “he lets Harry ogle Ginny all the time. And as for our fake dumping, that can be totally on your terms. I just need to win the bet with George.”

“What do you get if you win?”

Fred had hoped you weren’t going to ask that, but he was realizing you were smarter than he thought.

“Three Galleons,” he lied, looking at your skeptical face in the corner of his eye, “fine, six Galleons.”

You looked expectantly at him, waiting for his offer.

“I’ll split it with you,” he finally gave in.

He was a little upset at having to share his future winnings, but once you agreed to the bet and squealed excitedly at the possibility of some Galleons, a smile spread on his face.

Fred began laying the groundwork the next day. He made sure to send you flirtatious smiles when George was looking, waving to you in the halls, and talking to you in the common room.

You, Hermione, and Ron sat at a table in the corner, the three of you poured over a chess match. Ron was successfully beating Hermione, watching her as she tried to remember the rules he had taught her over and over.

“You can’t do that,” he said impatiently as Hermione tried to move a pawn backwards. His hand reached out and returned the piece back to where it was, and Hermione groaned.

You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes and turning your head up towards the ceiling.

“Hello,” Fred purred from above you, looking down at you.

You snapped your eyes open, not entirely used to Fred’s flirting yet. It took you by surprise most days, and he always managed to get you when you weren’t expecting it. You looked to Ron, gauging his reaction. His eyes stayed locked on Hermione’s frustrated face, arms crossed as he waited for her move.

“Hello,” you replied, turning your head to face Fred as he move to your side.

He leaned against your chair, his hand supporting his weight as he wrapped it around the back of your chair. The top of his hip bumped into your shoulder, and you resisted the urge to lean away from him. It’s not that Fred Weasley was disgusting or anything, he certainly wasn’t, but he had a reputation. Fred wasn’t known to be faithful or respectful of the usual rules regarding relationships. He wasn’t tied down, and half the student body has seen him naked (or wanted to). You had gone through your phase of liking Fred, and that phase lasted longer than you’d like to admit. You refused to boost his ego, though, and felt determined to not let this fake dating get to your head.

Ron was still busy with his chess match, now watching Hermione’s focused gaze turn into a nervous one as she became aware of Ron’s eyes on her. She bit her lip, tapping her fingers on the table.

Fred glanced down at you, quirking an eyebrow and nodding his head towards Ron. He was showing you that Ron wouldn’t care if you two dated, testing Ron’s limits.

Fred’s hand moved slowly from the back of your chair to your shoulder. His slender fingers pressed gently on your clothed arm, moving to brush a piece of hair from your neck. He twirled a piece of your hair in his fingers, raising an amused eyebrow at Ron’s lack of reaction.

“Merlin, Hermione! I’ve taught you 100 times!”

Hermione scoffed, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

“Ron!” she exclaimed back, offended.

“Look,” he moved his hand to one of her pieces. He whisked it across the board, then one of his pieces, and then one of Hermione’s, and then one of his own, “Check.”

“Maybe if you had patience and didn’t stare me down every time it was my turn-” Hermione started, glancing to you for support.

Her eyes widened when she saw the somewhat intimate position you were in with Fred, her sentence dropping.

“If you didn’t take so long, I wouldn’t stare you down!” Ron huffed and pushed his chair back, standing suddenly.

He hadn’t even glanced at you and Fred, missing Hermione’s shocked expression.

“What are you doing?” she questioned Fred, sounding even more offended than when Ron was yelling at her a moment ago.

“What?” Fred replied nonchalantly, pushing his body away from yours and taking Ron’s seat.

He moved the chair closer to the table, purposefully brushing his knee against yours. You knew he was watching your face, so you kept a neutral expression.

“He was all over you,” Hermione whispered to you, as if Fred wasn’t right in front of her,

“So?” you asked, acting as if it wasn’t abnormal for Fred to ‘be all over you’.

You were internally cringing at the whole thing, at Fred’s forwardness, lying to Hermione, the whole situation.

“Something must be in the air today,” Hermione said to no one in particular as she stood from the table, “everyone’s lost their minds.”

She left you and Fred, leaving him with a smirk on his face.

“I think that went well,” Fred said, moving the pieces on the chess board around swiftly as he set it up for a new game.

You moved to Hermione’s seat so you were across from him, rolling your eyes.

“This is ridiculous, Fred,” you said, and at the sound of your genuine annoyance his eyes were on your face.

The board in front of you was set anew, white closest to you. You let yourself sit in your frustration for a moment, looking down at the board and moving a pawn. Fred made no move to his own pieces, just staring at you from his side of the table.

“What d’you mean?” he said, watching your hand retreat from the board.

“These public displays of affection- isn’t it a little ridiculous?” you said, locking your eyes on the game in front of you.

A look of hurt flashed across Fred’s face, not that you would have seen it, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. His hand lazily moved one of his pawns.

“I don’t think so, no,” he said, leaning back in his chair and still studying your face, “I think they’re quite effective.”

“They’re only effective because I’m playing along,” you moved another pawn, hoping Fred would take the bait so you could steal his pawn.

“Which I appreciate fully,” he said, leaning forward and moving his pawn exactly where you wanted him to.

You stole his piece, advancing on the board. He hadn’t even registered the game, frankly, only looking at you.

“I feel like-” you didn’t know what you felt. You hadn’t put it into words, but you knew you didn’t like it.

Fred, and older, charming, handsome boy, was showing you a new amount of attention. Fred, a boy you had a crush on almost the entire time you’ve known him, was sending you flirtatious winks in the hallways and being very affectionate. Fred, your best friend’s older brother, was trying to date you to win a bet.

“-nevermind,” you finished, realizing you could not say any of this aloud.

Fred had a quizzical look on his face, watching you as you silently sat across from him. You met his eyes for the first time since he sat down, swallowing hard. You stared at each other for at least a minute, neither of you moving or breaking the contact. His eyes had an intensity in them that you had never seen before, but they were also gentle and kind. He looked soft, his face illuminated by the faint candle light and fireplace, casting a yellow hue over his skin. His hair was grown out and pushed off his forehead, falling easily on the sides of his face. He had taken his tie off, though still in his school uniform, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His mouth, usually in a resting smirk, was thin and straight, making him look rarely serious.

You felt like it took ages, but you finally broke his stare and cast your eyes downward at the board. You looked back up at him, seeing his eyes unmoving from your face.

“Your move,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

Fred’s eyes shot to the board, and he moved the first piece he saw. His mind was racing as he tried to collect his thoughts, all of which were about you.

He had no idea what happened, but his heart was beating incredibly fast and his hands were sweating. Fred, a man who had never once done anything serious, was feeling very serious. He didn’t know what was going on inside his head, but all he knew was that he thought you were remarkably beautiful. You were perfect, really, and he could not wait for this game of chess to end so he could get the hell away from you.

Fred had never been in any sort of serious relationship. He had never dated a girl for longer than a few weeks, usually doing something that offended them (that was often mentioning how hot another girl was, or, in the worst case, snogging said other girl). He didn’t care for anything long-term, anything serious, because he couldn’t be bothered to find anyone that interesting. You, however, made his hands sweat. No one had ever made Fred’s hands sweat. No one had ever made Fred’s mind run blank.

He blinked at the board, realizing it was his turn again, and felt like giggling like a school girl. He shot his head up, looking around the common room and pretending to be in a hurry.

“Have you got the time?” he asked, watching as you looked down at your wrist- eyes flickering to your hand, which he realized he wanted nothing more than to hold in that moment- checking the time on your watch and telling him. He sprang from his chair, “I told George I’d meet him in a few, can we continue this later?”

He hadn’t even waited for an answer before he was running through the portrait hole, nearly knocking a few first years off their feet when he bumped into them.

Fred disappeared from the common room, leaving you with the chess board.

For the next few days, Fred’s flirting was non-existent. He wasn’t ignoring you, but the entire dynamic between you had shifted; something changed. He wasn’t painfully arrogant, seeming to take more effort in the way he treated you. There was no inappropriate flirting, no lustful winks. You wondered if the bet was still on.

You found out soon that it was.

You and Hermione left the library fairly late into the afternoon, but neither of you minded the time that got away from you. You spent the day doing very little actual studying, talking and laughing instead. There was a very few amount of people who could tear Hermione away from her studies, and she didn’t often like to admit that you were one of them.

“Are you going to tell me why Fred was so-” she broke off, shuddering in some sort of disgusted way that made you laugh “-touchy with you the other day?”

Hermione had been pressing a little bit every time she saw you about Fred, and you had been avoiding it every time.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about. That was just Fred being Fred,” you insisted, rolling your eyes playfully.

The guilt of lying to your friends left you a few days ago, instead you only felt overwhelming uneasiness as your schoolgirl crush for Fred resurfaced. You couldn’t help it; the hot older boy you had liked since your first year was suddenly putting himself in compromising situations with you. So, you couldn’t tell Hermione about Fred’ bet, because then you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself telling her about your genuine crush.

“Really?” Hermione teased, bumping her shoulder into yours.

“Yes, really,” you insisted, turning the corner to the main staircase that was crowded with students wandering the castle on the weekend afternoon, “ I don’t get why your fixating on this, ‘Mione.”

Your words, however, fell on deaf ears. Her gaze was locked on something on the stairs beneath you both. You followed it, seeing the heavy stream of students starting to part. From your position, you couldn’t see much through the crowd, but soon the crowd thinned around you and you got closer.

Fred stood on the landing, a huge bouquet of flowers in his hands. You bit your lip, trying to hide the laugh bubbling in your chest. Such a grand gesture for a fake one-month relationship, this boy was determined to beat George and win those three Galleons. You felt Hermione clutching loosely to your arm, a dazed sort of look overcoming her features. You couldn’t help but laugh at this, prying yourself free from her grip and walking down the stairs to meet Fred.

He also looked sort of dazed, and with a quizzical expression you felt your face heat up under the stares of everyone in the stairwell. You came to the landing, looking up at Fred. His hand shook a little as he held the flowers, and he bit his lip harshly.

“Want to go out with me?” he asked, a surprisingly earnest voice replacing his usual smug one.

You glanced at your watch, moving to stand on your toes to reach him. You moved your mouth to his ear, speaking so only he could hear you, “You’re about a week early with this gesture, Freddie.”

He chuckled, and from being so close to him his chest bumped yours slightly. You fell to stand flat on your feet, still close to him. He looked down at you, holding the flowers between your chests.

“I don’t like following schedules,” he said, grinning down at you.

You resisted the urge to wrap your arms around his shoulders and never let go, settling instead on a bashful smile. He handed you the flowers, the brown paper they were wrapped in feeling a little damp from how profusely his hands were nervously sweating.

When he made this bet with George, he had just planned on kissing you in some busy hallway to announce the start of your relationship, as he did with most of his relationships. Somehow, though, you felt more special. His stomach sank every time he thought about the limited and fake month he’d have to with you, but he forced his way through it.

So he went to the field by Hagrid’s hut and picked the best flowers he could find, wrapping them in a brown paper and organizing them so they were perfect, because you were perfect.

He looked down at you, watching you as you held the flowers up to your face and smelled them. Your eyes were light and filled with innocent excitement, giving him an enchanting smile that showed all your teeth; you looked incredibly and undeniably happy, and that made Fred happy.

You had both nearly forgotten about the entire student body surrounding you both, watching the exchange. Fred, feeling unnerved by the vulnerability he had exhibited in such a large crowd, looked up and smiled smugly, wiggling his eyebrows. The entire staircase erupted in a somewhat jumbled mix of cheers and laughter, sending a deep red blush to your cheeks. Fred looked down at you, and in a moment of unfiltered happiness, brought his hands to your cheeks. He lifted your head from where you had ducked it to hide the blush, forcing you to look up at him with the embarrassed grin on your lips. Before he could think about what he was doing, his face was leaning closer to yours and his hands on your cheeks were pulling you closer to him. You barely had the time to register what was happening, only hearing the laughter and cheers around you get louder as Fred’s face was pressed against yours.

He was fast at first, passionate and quick as if he thought he only had a second before you pulled away. You couldn’t though, even though every bone in your body was telling you to. Your lasting feelings for Fred were telling you that this kiss was okay, that your friendship with Ron would take the backseat for a while as you let Fred press himself against you. Your thoughts were fading, being replaced with the hyper awareness of everywhere Fred was touching you. His lips slowed and his breathing became slower too. He let out a sigh through his nose, the air hitting your face and sending a brand new flush to your cheeks. His hands on your cheeks stopped pulling you towards him, now being a gentle and soft presence on your skin. His left hand was grazing your jaw, his calloused fingertips tickling the skin lightly. His right hand cupped your cheek firmly still, but his thumb rubbed against your cheekbone. You held the flowers in one hand, and it wasn’t until a few seconds into the kiss that you had even remembered you had hands. You rested your hand holding the flowers against his chest, tilting the bouquet so it didn’t hit Fred in the face. Your other hand snaked up his arm, clutching loosely at his strong forearm as it hung between your bodies.

You were both at each other’s wills, you would do anything Fred and Fred vowed to himself that he would follow you to the ends of the Earth, if you asked him to.

The spark moving through Fred’s body was nothing he had ever felt before. He didn’t feel it when he kissed Angelina Johnson, his first kiss, after winning a Quidditch match. He didn’t feel it when he drunkenly kissed Alicia Spinnet at a party. He didn’t feel anything close to this when he kissed Katie Bell in a game of truth or dare last year. You were completely new to Fred, and part of him already knew he wanted to spend every second with you from then on out.

You pulled away first, entirely and completely breathless. You looked up at Fred, mouth opening and closing like an out of water fish as you tried to find words to say in this moment. Fred just chuckled, bringing his hand on your cheek to graze his knuckles against your swollen lips. You closed your mouth, feeling okay with having nothing to say, and figuring it was better to not say anything anyways.

The crowd registered in your brain, making you feel extremely embarrassed again. You shoved your face into Fred’s chest, hiding the flush all over your face.

“Alright! Shows over, you perverts,” Fred called out, smiling widely at the group.

You heard the shuffling of feet begin around you, the traffic beginning once again. A few wolf whistles reached your ears, and you didn’t remove yourself from Fred’s chest until you were sure everyone had moved on.

Fred’s large hand rested on the back of your head, soothing down your hair. You found it oddly intimate, and you knew letting all of this happen was only setting yourself up for hurt when this bet was inevitably over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Pulling away finally, your flowers clutched at your side, you took a deep breath. You were bringing your gaze to look up at Fred, but a group of redheads standing behind him caught your eyes and made them widen.

“I am so telling mum you have a girlfriend!” Ginny squealed, her voice easily heard in the now empty stairwell.

Fred turned to face his family, seeing Ginny, Ron, George, Hermione, and Harry looking at him as if he’s sprouted five new limbs.

Ron elbowed Ginny, sending her a wide-eyed look, “my bestfriend is not his girlfriend!” Ron said confidently, then turning to Fred with a threatening look, “My bestfriend is not your girlfriend.”

Fred smiled nervously, “I’m not dating Harry, Ron,” he attempted to joke, only earning a laugh from George and an embarrassed look from Harry.

You peaked from behind Fred, meeting the group. You smiled at them sheepishly, meeting Hermione’s baffled eyes.

“I knew it!” she called, causing the entire group to turn their heads to look at her, “I knew you fancied her.”

Hermione looked quite proud of herself, but Ron looked fuming. Harry had sort of a ‘I-saw-this-coming’ look on his face.

“Guys,” you said, stepping towards them, “Ron.”

You gave Ron a pleading look, prepared to embarrass yourself and set the whole thing straight, even prepared to lose 3 Galleons. Suddenly, Hermione stepped between you and Ron.

“Ronald,” she said sternly, snapping Ron out from his angry mood briefly, “I hope you are not about to prevent a lovely relationship just because you have no emotional intelligence or maturity regarding these subjects.”

Your eyes widened from behind Hermione, casting a shocked glance to Fred. George and Ginny stifled their laughter, saving an embarrassed Ron some of his pride after being scolded by Hermione.

“But he’s my brother!” he whined, his anger leaving him and instead being replaced by some sort of tame disgust.

You couldn’t take it, every part of you wanted to tell them it was a bet, the galleons be damned. You looked to Fred with a warning look, only to see him digging in his pockets.

“George,” he called out, removing his hand from his pocket and clutching something, “catch.”

Fred tossed six coins at George, and George caught them with surprise.

“Bets off,” Fred said, looking painfully serious.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat, an immense feeling of guilt wash over you. You had cost Fred six galleons, even after the work he had put in. He had kissed you for the sake of it, and you couldn’t go one month.

“Fred,” you stuttered, looking at him with guilt

His mouth broke into a grin, however, and he took a few steps towards you. George watched Fred’s movements, and began pulling away the group. Ron, still standing there with a confused look on his face, was tugged away by the back of his collar.

“I don’t want to fake date you,” he whispered to you once he was close enough, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“Well, that seems like a lot of work for nothing, then-” you started, only for his lips to fall onto yours and silence you.

You couldn’t help it, again, as you let yourself melt into him. He pulled away all too soon however, resting his forehead on yours as he looked into your eyes.

“I want to date you for real,” he said, biting his lip nervously, “not as a bet.”

Your eyes widened, and once again you could not think of anything to say. You opened and closed your mouth, searching for the words, but gave up. You gave a relieved sigh, hearing the words you had dreamed of hearing since you were 12, and kissed Fred Weasley.

#fred #weasley #fred weasley #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x gryffindor!reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x gryffindor #fred weasley x gryffindor reader #gryffindor #hogwarts #fred weasley fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #fake dating

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calif0rnia-lovers · 4 years ago

Text

Lover of Mine #5 | Angel Reyes

part I | part II | part II | part IV | series taglist

Title: A Heavy Heart to Carry

Thought that I would change, but I'm the same guy Blamed it on my youth, but I know I've had time

a/n: split this original part into 2. the second half of the couple's retreat will be in 5.5

warning: a character experiences a panic attack

rating: 💔

Sum: Angel Reyes doesn't fear much, but he's scared to face you once it's set in that he's broken your cardinal rule. He must decide what's more important: maintaining a lie or sharing a secret that will change the way you look at him forever.

Words: 9.4k

“Take him home, Ezekiel. Now. I’m serious. I am going to fucking kill him if he tries to stay here tonight. And then, I’m going to kill you for letting him.”

These are the words that stopped Angel Reyes in his tracks. Left him standing on the front steps, afraid to move past the threshold of the front door to his own house.

When he pulled into the driveway, exhausted covered in a mixture of dirt, sweat and blood, Angel was met with a sight that somehow managed to wring the knots in his stomach tighter.

The light from the living room cast a golden hue across the dark lawn.

He knew the odds of you being asleep upon his arrival were slim to none. You haven’t waited up for him in years. There’s no need to wait up when you know his whereabouts.

At some point in the evening, the attempts of communication stopped. Angel isn’t sure why, but he knows it isn’t a good sign.

He’d pushed against Ez’s shoulder prompting him to step up to ring the doorbell.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” Ez had shocked his older brother, stepping into the war zone to calmly produce some sort of explanation. “We had to go down south, and shit got--we lost track of time. By the time we got finished, we--”

“Now that I know that neither of you is lying dead in a ditch somewhere, you can leave.” Despite your words, Ez didn’t move. He glanced over his shoulder towards Angel. “Or stay outside, I don't care, but he's not stepping foot in my house. Tell him I said test me.”

Needless to say, he didn’t.

Angel heeded the warning allowing his brother to drive him home. He didn’t bother calling you.

What’s the point of calling to apologize when you’ve just spent half the night ignoring the calls from the same person?

Hours have passed, and Angel hasn’t slept.

Although he’s now freshly showered, the cut on his hand poorly wrapped, Angel Reyes finds himself in the same predicament. Outside of your house.

Scared shitless.

Only this time around, Ez isn’t willing to risk his life for the sake of being collateral damage.

Both men remain in the driveway, eyes on the sunflower yellow-painted door of 1101 Rock Creek Avenue. Each is resting against the hood of Angel’s car. Waiting, silently willing the other to bravely ring the doorbell.

Angel releases the smoke in his lungs before reaching up to remove his sunglasses.

“You gotta go in at some point,” Ez glances over at his brother.

Angel doesn’t respond. He drops his cigarette bud to the ground, stepping on it with the heel of his shoe.

“Especially since we’ve been out here nearly an hour,” Ez continues, a tiny smile finding his lips as the sight of Angel’s rolling eyes. “Neighbors are probably gonna put in a call--”

“I’m checking the windows,” Angel responds. The humor in his voice falls flat as his eyes search the front of the house. “Gotta make sure she doesn’t shoot me the moment I touch the driveway.”

“Shouldn’t have taught her how to shoot.”

The daggered stare sent his way causes the youngest Reyes to chuckle. Shaking his head, Ez takes a step forward.

“Angel. It doesn’t matter if you go in now or later.” He sighs. “If Y/N's gonna shoot you, she's gonna shoot you-- regardless of the time.”

“Yeah.”

Getting up, Angel crosses the lawn to the front door. Although he now has a key, he reaches forward to ring the doorbell. For a brief second, he considers turning around and heading back to his car.

His stomach tightens as the door swings open. He lets out a sigh of relief when he’s met with the sight of a smiling Isabela.

Her smile slips, her eyes narrowing as she stepped outside. She waits until the door is shut securely behind her to speak.

“What the fuck, Reyes!” She shoves hard against Angel’s shoulder, not blinking as he stumbles a step back. Angel massages his shoulder as she lowers her voice. “I orchestrated the perfect week for you two. All you had to do was show up with a packed bag, and you somehow managed to fuck everything up. Where the hell were you last night?”

Although he’s had all night to come up with an excuse, no coherent words come out when Angel opens his mouth. Isabela’s eyes roll, her attention shifting to a quiet Ezekiel standing just beyond his brother’s shoulder.

“And you. I thought you were the smart one.”

Ez looks away from a flushed Angel to find Isabela’s glare on him. He opens his mouth to respond, but suddenly Angel’s inability to speak has washed over the youngest Reyes.

“You didn’t think it was smart to drag him home in time for his son's recital?”

Angel’s voice has returned. It comes out lower than he’s intended. His eyes briefly shift to the front door.

“She’s--”

“Pissed.” Isabela sighs as she turns to the door. “I’d thank Bishop next time you see him. He talked her down last night.”

Isabela pauses just as Angel steps forward to follow her inside.

“Angel, she lied to Jeyson for you,” she says. “You need to talk to him.”

“I know.”

“Hey, lego master,” Isabela smiles as she steps back inside. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Jeyson is on his stomach, lying in the center of the living room floor. Chin resting in his hands, he is studying the progress he’s made on his lego set.

A grin brightens his face as Angel steps inside. He scrambles to his feet, pulling a chuckle from his father as he nearly crashes into his legs.

“Hey, lil man. You good?”

Allowing him a quick hug, Jeyson takes Angel’s hand in his. He tugs him towards the living room. He motions towards the legos on the floor.

“I finished all the escape pods! Now, you can help me with the left-wing--”

“Hold up,” Angel diverts Jeyson’s attention, lifting him off the ground, forcing him to silence. “I wanna talk to you about something--”

“Last night?” His question silence his father. Jeyson reaches forward, his fingers tracing the patch on Angel’s chest. “Mom talked to me already.”

“Yeah, I know, but I wanted to apologize. To say I’m sorry for not being there to see you play.”

“It’s okay.” The smile he offers tightens Angel’s throat. It is a smile that matches his words perfectly. A smile of forgiveness often comes when a child is willing to look past moments of a letdown if that means they can still spend time with that person.

“It’s not okay,” Angel admits. He watches as Jeyson’s gaze lifts to meet his before dropping to patch. “I broke a promise, and I’m not supposed to do that. I’m sorry.”

Jeyson studies his father’s expression. A smile slowly spreads across his face as an idea sets in.

“I can play it for you now.” He suggests, his attention moving to the piano across the room.

That’s where you find the two when you step into the living room.

Jeyson has finished playing and is giggling as he watches Angel try to match the series of keys he just showed him.

“What’s so funny?” Angel’s brow arches as Jeyson attempts to stifle his laughter. “I think it sounded pretty good.”

Jeyson shakes his head.

“You weren’t paying attention.” Reaching over, he moves Angel’s hand into the correct placement. “Your fingers aren’t in the right place.”

Angel’s gaze falls to his hands. To him, they seem to be in nearly the exact same spot. But he knows better than to argue with your son. He watches Jeyson’s fingers, trying to match the same tune. Only he can’t, the smile on his face growing once he realizes the tempo has changed. Jeyson plays at a cadence that seems hyper speed to his father but is nothing out of the normal for him.

“It’s not nice to show off,” Angel chuckles as he tickles Jeyson’s side.

Angel glances over his shoulder, his smile dampening as he finds you waiting patiently by the door. Jeyson’s smile does the same, his eyes widening once your conversation from last night sets in.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” you nod, watching as he gets up, his head hanging forward as he crosses the room. “Remember we talked about this last night?”

Jeyson waits until he’s standing before you to speak. With his arms wrapped around your middle, face pressing against your shirt, his words come out muffled.

“But, I want to come with you.”

“I know, but you have to stay and keep Isabela company. You guys are going to the carnival tomorrow. You're going to have so much fun.” Your fingers brush through his hair, a smile finding your lips as Jeyson tips his head back to look at you. “Besides, I won’t be gone long.”

“Five days is a long time,” Jeyson pouts. “You’re never gone that long.”

He’s right. The longest you and Jeyson have been apart being two days. For the weekends when he would spend the majority of his time at his father’s house.

“You can call me whenever you want,” you remind him as you squat down in front of him. “And then, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Tommy Flores currently stands at the front of the line. The weight of the metal door causes it to slam shut with a loud bang.

The echo vibrates through his chest, the force doubling him over. The dialed-up pitch brings Tommy’s hands to his ears.

He’s stopped in his tracks. His silent plea, to stop the ringing in his ears, sparks a slew of grunted protests from the inmates behind him.

Officer Rogers stands near Tommy, his shoulder resting against the wall. Each time an inmate is escorted through the secured door, the guard slams it shut with as much force as he can. He watched as Tommy flinched each time, the sound louder with each step he got closer. Now that Tommy stands directly in front of it, the sound is too loud.

Rogers steps forward, his lips turning up into a sneer.

"You alright there, Flores?" The lack of concern in his voice is amplified by the soft chuckle he releases. "You look like shit. Rough night?"

It's a question, Rogers knows the answer to. Better than anyone--well almost anyone.

He was the one who woke Tommy, in the middle of the night, the glare of his flashlight blinding the inmate. He yanked Tommy from bed, hand-delivering him to the showers. He stood guard, watching as Tommy took each blow and kick sent his way. He hand-delivered Tommy back to his cell, denying his trip to the infirmary.

Rogers would never admit it, but he was initially shocked when saw Tommy shuffle into the visitation line. He knew Tommy had a scheduled visit but didn't expect him to have the strength to bother trying to attend it.

"Your girlfriend coming today?" Rogers continues as he watches Tommy's fist clench. "Must be. That's the only reason I could think you'd get up this morning. Maybe I should let your friends give you another round tonight. How's that sound?"

Tommy's body is bumped forward—a silent warning from his cellmate to move. The shove to his shoulder clenches his jaw shut. But Tommy knows better than to hold up the line any longer than he already has.

Each step he takes is slow, sending a jolt of searing, white-hot pain down his spine.

The swelling of his right eye limits his vision, but he’s able to recognize a familiar face in the crowded room.

Each grey table is occupied by anxiously waiting loved ones. Tired from the extensive process of being cleared for visitation day. Hopeful their time won’t get cut short due to the delay of the inmate's arrival.

As he’s shuffled forward, Tommy’s gaze is fixated on his feet. It’s easier to ignore the look of pure rage directed his way.

“Stop staring.” The smile on Tommy’s lips is a good attempt. No matter how much he wills it, it can’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Leonardo Flores's gaze slowly studies the man before him. He knows his younger brother better than anyone. The blue Stockton uniform covers most of the damage but judging by Tommy’s walk and shallow breathing, he’s nursing a broken rib.

Leo doesn’t speak until Tommy’s gaze lifts. “I’d ask how you’re holding up, but it seems you’re still getting settled.”

His observation prompts his brother to shrug. Tommy winces as he shifts to bring his hands to rest on the table.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Tommy smiles.

“I thought this lawyer you got was supposed to be good—"

“She is.” Tommy’s sigh goes unnoticed. “She's good.”

“If she’s so good, why the fuck are you in gen pop?” His brother’s eyes roll, Leo’s head shaking once he gets no response. “Huh? She doesn’t seem too concerned about doing her job. If she was you wouldn’t have been nearly beaten to a pulp—"

Leo’s rant slowly fades out, blending into the surrounding conversations. It takes all of his concentration for Tommy to drown out the sound. Tommy’s eyes are shut, his left hand massaging his brow. The throbbing in his head seems to be getting worse. He flinches as Leo’s boot scrapes his shin.

“I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say, Leo.” Tommy laughs dryly, the throbbing in his head pumping irritation into his voice. “She could pay off the entire fucking city of Santo Padre, it’s not gonna mean shit.”

His eyes open to see Leo’s jaw clenched. He presses on as Leo opens his mouth to speak.

“They put me here because they’re hoping I don’t make it to trial.”

“Judging by how you look, you won’t.”

Tommy shakes his head, dismissing the observation.

“I’m fine. I need you to do something for me.”

An uneasy wave washes over him at the sight of Leo’s rolling eyes.

“What?” Leo chuckles, his arms crossing over his chest. “Your brothers can’t help you?”

“I don’t trust the club with this,” Tommy admits.

No matter the amount of truth behind his statement, Leo’s expression doesn’t change.

Probably because Leo knows the truth. With the number of years he’s facing, Tommy will soon be forgotten by his fellow Horsemen. You’re only worth remembering if you’re valuable to the M.C. Tommy’s not valuable rotting in Stockton. It doesn’t matter if the charges he’s acquired were at the expense of the club.

“Leo—"

Leo’s sigh drowns out the plea in Tommy’s voice.

“What is it this time, Tommy?”

Tommy doesn’t miss a beat. His voice drops, his eyes briefly passing to the guard nearby.

Angel forgot what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your silent treatment. It’s brutal. Probably because you stick to it, religiously. The silence isn’t the worst part. He knows you’ll have to talk to him—eventually. He also knows that once you do, the words you’ve prepared will cut him to the bone.

When it comes to arguments, Angel operates on pure emotion—always ready to fight a war. He says the first thing that comes to mind, often trying to hurt whoever he’s arguing with before they can hurt him. He wishes you were the same.

You have an incredible ability to walk away from an argument on a whim. He can count on his left hand the number of times you’ve raised your voice at him. In all the time he’s known you.

You don’t see the purpose in having a screaming match. It never gets you anywhere. One of you has to operate on the side of logic. Angel has learned that once you’ve had the chance to get your thoughts together he’s in for a world of trouble.

He’d foolishly tried to get the conversation going the moment you both got in the car, but you beat him to the punch.

“I’m not talking to you right now.”

The declaration had come out just as Angel opened his mouth to speak. It also made him close his mouth, his brow furrowing.

“We’re about to drive for four and a half hours, Y/N,” he sighed, his eyes rolling as he sticks the key in the ignition. “You’re really not gonna say anything to me the entire ride there?”

He waits for you to respond, his eyes dropping to the bouncing of your knee.

“And then what? You’re not going to go speak to me at the hotel? What sense does that ma--”

“Trust me, Angel. You do not want me to say what’s on my mind right now.”

Angel’s not certain if it’s the admission itself, or the look in your eyes, but he silently redirects his attention to starting the car.

The four-and-a-half-hour car ride ironically turns into a six-hour trip of stop-and-go traffic. Six hours of Angel left to fiddle through the various radio stations while you silently scroll through your iPad.

At the three-hour mark, your voice breaks the silence, peaking Angel’s hopes. At this point, he’s willing to take you yelling at him if that means you’ll eventually talk again.

He glances away from the bumper-to-bumper traffic to find you holding up your iPad. The screen facing him, you ask. “Have you seen this before?”

He leans over the console for a better look at the image on the screen. His stomach drops as he takes in the jet-black stallion, his mouth going dry as his gaze passes over the red eyes.

“Thinking about getting some new ink?” He jokes his throat clearing as your eyes roll.

“Nevermind.”

Redirecting your attention back to your iPad, you don’t catch the nervous glance Angel sends your way. A few minutes of silence pass before he glances back in your direction.

“What’s it for? The uh--tattoo.”

“Work.”

That’s all he’s able to get out of you. Even after you arrived at the hotel, where you discover that Isabela has booked the two of you for the hotel’s honeymoon suite. Which comes with a complimentary package that Angel is almost certain you won’t partake in. He gets nothing out of you when you are both informed that your introductory session with the couple therapist on sight is in less than an hour after your late arrival.

The counselor, Dr. Mallory, currently sits across from the two of you. The smile on her face remains in place, even as she watches you put as much distance as possible between you and Angel. The task is nearly impossible with the small sofa she’s sat you both on.

Angel's eyes roll to the ceiling before he lets out a deep breath.

Dr. Mallory’s question breaks the silence.

“How long have you two been married?”

Angel’s eyes shift to you. He answers as your gaze remains focused on the pillow in your lap. “We’re not.”

“Divorced?”

“Seven years.” A dry laugh escapes his lips as he softly shakes his head. “To do the date...actually.”

“Oh, I see.” Dr. Mallory’s smile widens as her gaze passes between the two of you. “You’ve decided to join our retreat, as a means of reconnecting. Hoping to bring back, and foster, that love that brought your two beautiful souls together all those years ago.”

“Uh...yeah.” Angel nods slowly as Dr. Mallory’s hand shifts to rest over her heart.

Her eyes close, her smile softening as she lets out a sigh.

“Love is such a beautiful thing,” her eyes open as she continues. “And I am so happy to see the two of you are willing to give it another try. But, more so, I am honored that you have elected me to help guide you through this journey.”

“What exactly does this ‘journey’ entail? We’re not about to go sit in the desert and sing kumbaya or some sh--”

The elbow that digs into Angel’s side swallows the rest of his sentence. He glances over at you.

“It’s a serious question,” he coughs. “I didn’t realize we signed up for some journey that has to do with...souls traveling together…”

Dr. Mallory’s eyes had brightened at Angel’s question. Angel’s words trail off as he realizes Dr. Mallory is no longer seated. She is not standing directly in front of both of you. Holding two orange sheets of paper.

“I have accumulated a list of activities that will allow the two of you to get in touch with your inner selves this week.” She beams, not noticing the uneasy look that washes over Angel’s face as she continues. “One cannot love their partner wholeheartedly until they truly love themselves.”

Angel’s eyes quickly scan the list, realizing that it's more than a list of suggestions. It's a checklist.

“This week, the two of you will work on opening the airs of communication,” Dr. Mallory continues, motioning between the two of you. “Which I can sense are bogged down at the moment, by anger and mistrust. We want to take the time to open them back up--”

“No offense, Doc, but this isn’t going to work.”

“Mr. Reyes, I ask that you don’t speak that way this week. Everything that you put into your relationship can work.”

“It’ll be hard to work on our…” It takes all Angel has not to roll his eyes. “...airs of communication when she’s not even speaking to me.”

Dr. Mallory returns to her seat, her attention focusing on you.

“Angel is right. Ms. Reyes, care to share what’s on your mind with him? He seems eager to listen.”

Angel watches silently as you keep your gaze on the sheet of paper before you.

“Last night was the first night that I have wanted to kill you. And I mean it in the most literal sense, Angel.”

Angel’s throat tightens, his gaze dropping to his hands.

“You’ve done a lot of shit, Angel. But last night you didn’t see your son’s face when he realized that you were not showing up. You promised that you would never do that again.”

Angel attempts to swallow the lump in his throat. He shifts in his seat, his gaze briefly looking towards you.

“I know.”

“I had to get a call from the school telling me that you decided not to pick our son up. You could have picked up the phone, and called me.” The calmness in your voice does nothing to ease the knots in Angel’s stomach. “Since you’ve forgotten, Angel. You don’t get the courtesy of falling off the face of the earth. Club business, or not. You have a son.”

Angel doesn’t offer up a response. Primarily because he knows what’s coming next.

“What could possibly have happened that you disappeared off the face of the earth last night--and don’t say club business. Bishop is not that great of a liar.”

Angel swallows, his eyes briefly drifting across the room to where Dr. Mallory sits.

He can feel your expectant gaze on him, but he can’t bring himself to look at you.

He can also feel it rising in his throat. Words he hadn’t planned on telling you. His eyes drift shut as he sighs.

“I uh...I followed Samuel to this bar downtown.” A silence falls over the room. Angel looks up from his hands, watching as your eyes widen. “Aiden, he told me what he did to you--and I just wanted to talk to him.”

“And that’s all you did?” The look of skepticism sent his way causes Angel’s jaw to tighten.

“Yeah. I told him to leave you alone.”

Dr. Mallory interrupts the silence, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Samuel? Who is he?”

“Nobody.”

Angel’s eyes roll. “He’s her boss.”

“I went on a few dates with him,” you sigh. Your fingers massage your temple.

You already know where this conversation is going.

A smile finds Dr. Mallory’s face as she watches Angel shake his head.

“No, this is great.” An encouraging smile finds her face. “You see, you two are already past the most difficult part. Starting the conversation. Angel, tell Y/N how you feel about this situation involving Samuel.”

“You shouldn't have dated other people.”

Your brow furrows as his statement sinks in. “Did you miss the part where we got divorced?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying? Do you know how many women I had to hear that you slept with? Half of the time from you!” The sight of Angel’s rolling eyes is enough to make you shift in your seat. Turning to face him, you watch his jaw clench. “So you can fuck anyone you want, but it’s a problem when I go out on a date with someone?”

“Yeah.”

You blink, a humorless laugh escaping your lips. Clearly, you’ve heard him wrong.

“Do you know how hard it is watching you fall in love with someone else?”

“Oh my goodness!” Your voice comes out muffled against the palms of your hands. “What is it with you and Samuel putting more stock in this situation than it deserves? I wasn’t falling in love with him, Angel--”

“But that’s what you were looking for?” He cuts you off, the raising of his voice causing your hands to drop. “Why else do people date? Yeah, I slept around, but you never had to worry about me trying to replace you with someone else. For years, I’ve had to watch you go through relationships, bringing other men around my son like you were auditioning them for the role of his father--”

“You know I wouldn’t do that--”

“Yeah, well, we all do things we don’t think we’re capable of.”

“Well, Dr. Mallory. Congratulations. You have just witnessed the one thing Angel Reyes is always capable of doing.” You shove the pillow in your lap towards Angel. “Trying to make me feel guilty for something that he’s done. This time, I’m not apologizing to you for anything. And I’m not saying 'thank you' if that’s what this whole woe is me act is about. I didn’t ask you to go see Samuel. Just like I didn’t ask you to sit here and lie to my face.”

“I’m not lying to you--”

“You may have gone to see Samuel, but that’s not where you were last night. I know you, Angel. You didn’t skip out on our son for Samuel.” It’s an observation that gets the response you’re looking for. It’s a look that lasts for only a brief second. A look in Angel's eyes that tells you that you’re right. It disappears as quickly as it had come. “And until you’re willing to stop lying to me, I’m not staying here.”

Angel’s jaw sets. “Since we’re talking about capabilities, her specialty is walking out. She walked out on me seven years ago, and she’s doing it now.”

“Maybe this time, you'll actually stop and ask yourself why,” you mumble as you step over his feet.

Ez is sitting on the living room sofa. He’s not in the most comfortable position but hasn’t been able to move for the last hour. He’s drinking a beer, his eyes on the television playing quietly across the room.

He’s not even sure what show he’s watching. A series Isabela had roped him into. The room is pitch dark--apart from the glow of the screen--the house quiet. Jeyson has been asleep since his 9 pm bedtime.

Despite her need to catch up on her favorite tv show, Isabela is also asleep. With her head resting against Ez’s shoulder, her body curled up against his, Isabela has been asleep for the last hour. If asked, she’ll blame it on Ez. The second he allowed her to share the blanket with him, his body heat acted as a furnace. One that pulled her right to sleep.

Ez is currently debating on the best way to transfer her from the living to the bed when his phone lights up.

He knows who is calling before he checks the caller I.D.

Angel has been texting Ez non-stop.

Angel’s voice comes out low through the receiver. “If I don’t call you back tomorrow it’s because she’s stabbed me in my sleep.”

“You better take the couch tonight then.” Ez brow furrows, wincing as he double-checks the time on his brightly lit screen. “Why are you whispering?”

“I’m in the bathroom.” Angel quickly dismisses his brother’s question. “Listen, it wouldn’t make a difference. Trust me. She hasn’t been talking to me--except for when she ripped me a new one in therapy today--”

“Therapy...hope you tipped the doc.” Ez chuckles. “Having a witness might have saved your life.”

“...she knows about Samuel.”

Ez releases a sigh, his hand running down his face. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

“I had to tell her,” Angel mumbles. “It's not like I could tell her about last night. I figured…”

“Give her something else to be mad about?” Ez shakes his head, sparing his brother the laugh. “Angel--”

“I’m working on it.” Angel’s side goes quiet for a moment. His admission is an admission of truth. He has been thinking about it for the last twenty-four hours. “I'm gonna tell her, I just need the right moment...besides, don’t rush me. She’s gonna be mad at you too when she finds out you helped.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how I always end up in your shit.”

“That’s what brothers are for,” Angel chuckles. “Remember what I said. If I don’t answer tomorrow--”

“Bye, Angel.”

Hanging up, Ez pushes his phone aside.

He carefully lifts the blanket covering him and Isabela. He successfully carries her down the hallway to the bedroom and has finished tucking her in when she stirs.

She watches as he removes one of the extra pillows from the bed before taking a step towards the door.

“I know it might be extremely difficult for you to stay on your side of the bed,” she yawns, rubbing at her eyes. “But I’m willing to share it with you, as long as you let me take the left.”

A smile spreads across Ez’s face as he watches her pat space next to her. He lifts the pillow in his hand. “Bed’s all yours tonight. I’m gonna take the couch.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he chuckles. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Okay,” Isabela’s eyes are already drifting shut as she yawns. “Well, just know the offer still stands if you change your mind.”

“Besides, I gotta at least take you out on a date before we start fighting over sides of the bed.”

“Give me the time and place, and I'll be there,” she giggles, her face nuzzling against her pillow. “Just know I’m a tough negotiator.”

Since when has knocking become so difficult?

It is the question you ask yourself as you stand outside the bathroom door. You quickly knock before you can change your mind.

“Yeah?”

“Um--are you decent?”

Your eyes grip shut as you let your own words sink in.

Are you decent?

The bathroom door opens to reveal a freshly showered Angel. He stands on one side of the double sink. His phone is in one hand, a towel in the other. He wears just a pair of briefs, his hair still dripping from the shower.

“What are you doing? You’ve been in here forever.”

“I've been done for a minute,” he responds, his eyes glued to his iPhone. “Didn’t know you were waiting on me.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t go to sleep until I brush my teeth.”

“You could’ve just come in.”

“You were taking a shower.” Your response is automatic.

It is also the same thing that has kept you waiting patiently on the bed for the past thirty minutes.

“You’ve seen me naked before, querida.”

He glances away from his phone to find you still hovering in the doorway. Toothbrush in hand. Your weight shifts as his eyes linger on the black satin sleepshirt you wear. His gaze returns to his phone once he realizes he’s still staring.

“You can enter since apparently, you need the invitation,” he responds, a smile finding his lips. He doesn’t need to see your face to know your eyes are rolling.

Angel may be silent as you start your nighttime skin routine, but he’s panicking inside. Panicking might not be the right word. Paranoia has begun to set in.

From the moment he and Ez made it stateside Friday night, the realization of his actions began to set in. The realization that he has somehow managed to tie himself to Tommy Flores for the second time. The note he'd shoved into his pocket was now in the trash back in Santo Padre. The message, however, was seared in his mind.

Always get insurance.

You were right to ask what Angel has been doing for the last thirty minutes. He’s been searching for information on Tommy. From the moment he started the search, Angel realized this was a terrible mistake.

Now that you’re standing next to him, the cut on his hand seems to throb. He glances down at the bandage. It’s bled through and needs to be removed.

You’re brushing your teeth when you glance up to the mirror before you. You pause, watching Angel's reflection as he studies his right hand. Strangely, it’s the first time you’ve noticed the bandage.

You wait until you’ve rinsed your mouth to face him.

“What happened to your hand?”

Instinctively, Angel moves his hand out of sight. He drops it to his side.

“Nothing,” he responds, suddenly focused on toweling his damp hair.

“It was bleeding?” You reach around him, ignoring his silent protest.

Angel knows there’s no point in fighting you on it. He turns to face you, allowing you to get a better look at his hand. Unwrapping it, you feel him flinch as the cool air hits the open cut. He drops the towel to the floor, resting back against the sink as your brow furrows.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Before he can respond, you’re already out of sight.

Angel stays where he is, waiting patiently for over five minutes. His brow rises when you return, a black bag in your hand. It is one he’s known you to carry for as long as he can remember. He always teases you for carrying the first aid kit, but always seems to need you to use it on him.

A tiny smile finds his lips as he watches you sit the bag on the sink. “You packed this in your suitcase.”

“No,” your eyes roll as you reach forward to cut on the water. “I keep it in the trunk. Let me see your hand.”

Offering it, Angel watches your expressions as you take the time to study the cut. Whatever questions are on your mind, you don’t share them with him. You don’t say anything else. You silently clean and wrap the cut.

“Thanks.”

The kiss he presses against your cheek halts the washing of your hands. He doesn’t linger to leave a second. He picks up his phone before leaving you alone.

When Angel wakes, he finds you quietly moving around the suite. Cell Phone in hand, one shoe in the other.

“You’re leaving me?”

His question causes you to jump.

“Yeah,” You release a sigh as you turn to find him watching you from his makeshift bed. “I was hoping you’d sleep through my getaway.”

Sitting up, Angel glances over as you take a seat alongside him. He silently watches as you slip on your shoe, his eyes passing over your leggings and sports bra.

“Where are you going?”

“Yoga. Figured you wouldn’t want to come. It’s not really your thing.”

“Yeah, but it’s a couples class…”

He doesn’t add anything to his previous statement. Instead, he stands.

“So, you’re coming?” You ask, watching as he pauses to stretch.

“Yeah, it’s just yoga.” He yawns. "Besides, Dr. Mallory said we gotta do things to nurture our souls."

You’re not sure if Angel tagged along to make a point or because he honestly thought it would be easy.

At the moment, you’re concentrating on keeping your breathing controlled and steady. Your eyes are closed, the only blinders you have for the man on the mat alongside yours.

Although you can no longer see him, you know Angel is in the same state as before.

Struggling.

The hushed “shit” he releases, as he wobbles, brings a tiny smile to your lips.

Angel’s eyes shift from the instructor, who is slowly making her way around the room, towards you. He readjusts his posture, trying his best to mirror your stance. But it seems no matter what he does, it doesn’t look like yours.

He wipes at the sweat on his brow. “I thought we were starting with the easy stuff.”

“This is a beginner’s pose,” you note. Your eyes open, a giggle escaping your lips once you take in the look of skepticism on his face.

“You sure?” Angel watches as you effortlessly move into the next pose. He releases a huff, his neck rolling before he tries to follow your lead. “Seems like you signed us up for the advanced class. Just so you could torture me.”

“I didn’t even know you were coming.”

Angel knows your statement is one of pure truth, but that doesn’t stop him from chuckling, “feels like a setup.”

“You know you can always do the modifications,” you nod towards the front of the room. “It’s easier.”

Angel follows your gaze to where an elderly couple is demonstrating the modified version of the pose.

“Easier?” Angel scoffs. “I don’t need easier, I’m doing pretty good--”

He speaks too soon. His weight tips forward, the sight causing your concentration to break. Before he can fall, you catch his left hand pulling him upright.

Angel blinks. His widened eyes move to meet your gaze. A sheepish grin finds his lips as your grip remains tight around his hand.

You eye his less than steady stance. “Are you okay?”

Angel nods. The grin on his face begins to morph. The sight of his smirk causes you to drop his hand.

“Shit, for a second, I thought you were mad enough to let me faceplant.”

“Shut up,” your eyes roll as you redirect your attention back to the instructor. “I just have good reflexes.”

Halfway through the class, Angel gives up trying to follow along. He spends the remainder of class distracting you. When he’s successful in making you smile, he complies with your request “Angel, please focus. You’re going to get us kicked out.”

He settles back into participating. He sticks solely to the modifications. When the class ends, he manages a few steps before collapsing on your mat.

He rests his head on your lap, preventing you from standing. His eyes drift shut as he lets out a deep breath.

“Angel, get up.”

“I can’t,” he sighs. His right-hand rests over his heart, the dramatic change in his breathing causing you to shake your head. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Your eyes roll as he remains where he is. Head resting against your lap, eyes closed, a tiny smile on his lips. It grows into a familiar grin as the warmth of your fingers brushes against his skin.

Your touch lightly brushes through his hair. You watch his eyes open to meet yours.

“I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing,” he chuckles.

“I’m relaxed,” you smile, your touch drifting to his jaw. “You’re not relaxed.”

“Now I am. It’s what you owe me, after that hour of torture.”

“You get an A for trying.”

He smiles falters as he watches you let out a deep breath. The smile on your face is gone, the sight letting him know his plan hasn't worked.

"Can you get up now?" You ask as your eyes follow the couples filing out.

A red 1964 Chevy Impala turns onto Rock Creek Avenue for the second time this Sunday morning. Windows rolled down, music playing low, it comes to a stop alongside the light blue fire hydrant marking the end of the street. Although its idling engine has been cut, the gear shift in park, its driver remains inside.

Dressed in a worn leather jacket, too hot for the already humid morning air, Leo releases the smoke in his lungs. He had committed the address to memory when Tommy had whispered it to him the morning before.

He stops to double-check the home’s number as he returns his cigarette to his lips.

1101 Rock Creek Avenue.

The house itself is nothing special. Apart from the sunflower yellow-painted door, it is nearly identical to the other single-story homes which line the street. A street that is strangely quiet for the hour.

The impala’s dash clock reads 11:35.

Leo leans across the console tugging the latch from the glovebox. Shifting the Ruger, which lays inside, he retrieves the folded newspaper. He pauses long enough to close the glovebox before settling back against his seat.

He stays that way, finishing off his slowly dwindling cigarette, scribbling on the paper in his hand.

The Saturday edition of the Daily Imperial Gazette has a newly noted license plate number written in its top-left corner. The crossword puzzle for the day, ninety percent complete.

Focused on the black and white squares before him, Leo lets out a breath.

An eleven-letter word for satisfaction?

“...vindication…” he mumbles, scribbling the answer into the boxes. His gaze shifts to the watch on his wrist.

12:01.

A shift in his peripheral causes Leo to direct his attention elsewhere.

The sunflower yellow door opens, a woman stepping out. She has a black BB-8 backpack slung over her left shoulder, the eye of the orange and white droid catching a glint of sunlight. Her long dark curls are pulled into a high ponytail. She wears a purple tie-dye sundress and white platform sneakers. She turns back to the door, smiling at the man who steps out after her.

Although Leo has never met Angel, he knows this is not him. The prospect patch stitched across the back of Ez’s kutte, the indicator he needs.

“I can’t wait to see you have some actual fun,” Isabela giggles as Ez stops before her.

Ez’s brow furrows, the corner of his lips turning up slightly, as he meets her playful gaze.

“You make it sound like I’m boring.”

“Uh-uh, don’t put that on me. I did not say boring, you did.” Isabela’s nose scrunches in concentration. Her smile widens as she settles on a more fitting word to describe the man before her. “You’re always so...serious.”

“Serious…” Ez echoes. He watches as Isabela bites her lip, suddenly wondering if her word choice was taken on the offense. As she opens her mouth to add an explanation, Ez shrugs. “I’ve been called worse.”

“I’m just saying, I think I’ve seen you crack a smile maybe once since you’ve been here,” Isabela adds. “You don’t laugh at any of my jokes--”

“Maybe they’re not funny.” Ez glances up from the sunglasses in his hands. He watches Isabela’s hand find her chest, her mouth falling open in disbelief. “Besides, I didn't realize you were trying to impress me.”

For once, in their time together, Ez is able to render Isabela speechless. The smile that brightens his features, causes Isabela’s eyes to roll as she steps around him.

“Wait, can we go back a second? Did Ezekiel Reyes actually crack a joke?”

“I do it from time to time.”

“Well, you should do it more often because you have a cute smile, Zeke,” she teases. “Can’t blame a girl from wanting to see it more often.”

Ez fails at stopping the smile on his lips from morphing into a grin as he slips his sunglasses over his eyes.

Isabela takes a step back inside. “Jeyson Iván Reyes! Let’s go!”

With Isabela no longer before him, Ez’s gaze passes over the street coming to a stop on the red Chevy Impala. Aside from being illegally parked, the car would catch the attention of any passerby. It’s not every day that one sees a vintage car, in pristine condition, riding through the streets of Santo Padre.

He steps forward, giving the car a closer look. But he looks away once he gets the look at the driver’s seat. A man focused solely on flipping through a copy of the Daily Imperial Gazette.

Leo lowers the newspaper slightly. His focus moves past an unsuspecting Ez to the little boy who bolts out the front door.

In his Lakers jersey, Jeyson Reyes is nearly a blur of purple and gold. His laughter drifts down the street as his uncle catches and lifts him into the air.

“Someone’s excited,” Isabela giggles as Ez lowers Jeyson back to his feet.

“I wanna try the bumper cars!” The grin on Jeyson’s face is wide. His entire body radiates with anticipation as he impatiently watches his uncle lock the door. “And the ride that spins you around really really fast so that you’re dizzy—and the mini golf!”

“Yeah?” Isabela’s fingers brush through Jeyson’s curls. Her playful eyes drift to Ez, the smile on her face grows as Jeyson follows her gaze. “I think you and I can beat Ez over here. What do you say, J?”

Ez’s brow arches, his eyes briefly meeting hers before moving to Jeyson’s.

“We can beat him. Easy.” The confidence in Jeyson’s voice is almost enough to break his uncle’s facade.

Ez’s eyes study both pairs of brown eyes focused on him, his head shaking softly.

“I don’t know,” he winces as he steps towards the car. “What are you willing to bet on it, J?”

For a moment, Jeyson is silent. An endless amount of possibilities rush through the eight-year-old’s mind. His round eyes widen as he settles on an answer.

“Funnel cake.”

“Good choice.” Ez squats down before Jeyson. He offers him his hand, pulling it back slightly once Jeyson reaches for it. His gaze lifts to Isabela, his resolve finally cracking, a smile slipping through. “You two can’t back out when I win.”

Folding the newspaper, Leo tosses it into the passenger seat as he watches the truck back out of the driveway. As the truck rolls to a halt, before the stop sign at the end of the street, the engine of the 1964 Chevy Impala rumbles to life.

“When can we go on the Ferris Wheel?” Jeyson groans, the impatient whine in his voice causes his uncle to smile.

“In a minute.” Ez ruffles Jeyson’s hair before reaching into his kutte for his vibrating phone. “We gotta wait for Isabela.”

“Where is she?” Jeyson pouts. Standing on his toes, he releases a huff once he doesn’t see her. “She’s been gone forever!”

In reality, it’s only been five minutes. But five minutes can seem like a lifetime to a kid waiting anxiously to continue his exploration of the carnival.

Two hours in, and Ez has learned that Jeyson doesn’t tire easily.

“I thought you wanted ice cream?” Ez chuckles, glancing over to watch Jeyson shake his head.

“Not anymore,” Jeyson sighs. “I want to go on the Ferris Wheel.”

“We will the second Isabela gets back. Okay?”

Despite the pout on his lips, Jeyson nods as he meets his uncle's gaze.

The text that holds Ez attention is from you. It is a question that has been on your mind for the past few days.

Zeke, need that brain of yours. PLEASE tell me you know of a club with a stallion patch?

Ez’s brow furrows as he reads over the message. He types the first thought that pops into his mind. Followed quickly by the second.

Horsemen.

Don’t know much about them. Prospect...limited information. Gotta ask Angel about that stuff. He was at the table Friday.

He glances up from his phone at the burst of laughter coming from a passing group of teenage girls. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he takes it forward once he realizes that the insistent voice of Jeyson is no longer there.

“Jeyson?” Ez’s brow furrows as his gaze passes over those closest to him.

He has no sight of Jeyson, his stomach dropping as he takes another step forward.

The second time he calls Jeyson’s name his voice is louder, a slight tremble slipping in.

Despite it being a Sunday afternoon, the carnival is packed. The Ferris Wheel is on the last round of its current cycle. This has ushered in a shift in the crowd. People are rushing to make it to the line, excited for a seat on the upcoming cycle.

“Jeyson?”

The cheers and music drown out Ez’s voice. Between the bodies pressing against him and the breath that seems harder to pass than the previous, Ez can't quite remember the way he’s just turned from.

The tightness in his chest causes him to stumble forward. The thought of finding Jeyson slips away with each painful squeeze of his heart. It becomes painfully loud, drowning out the same cheers and music that had blanketed his voice mere seconds before. He can’t focus. His mind is useless, unable to bridge the disconnect to the rest of his body.

No matter how hard he tries to get air, Ez chokes on each breath he takes. No amount of air that he swallows can be caught by his lungs. He is left breathless, his feet blindly searching for a break in the crowd. His vision is blurred, the images blurring as his focus scrambles.

Through the crowd, he catches sight of a disfigured BB-8 backpack.

“Thank you! Have a great day.” Isabela’s smile widens as she accepts the two ice cream cones from the vendor. She drops the change into the tip jar, carefully sidestepping the couple running past her.

She stops to take a lick of her ice cream, her eyes scanning the crowd. She starts to move forward, in the direction of the designated meet-up point. A tall green pole, that houses a baby blue flag at its top.

Through the break in the crowd, she catches sight of Ez’s kutte. Her steps slow once she realizes he’s bent over, the cones she holds slipping through her fingers.

Ez can’t hear his name on her lips, but he can feel the heat of her shaking hands as they cup his face. Her body shifts with his, as Ez’s back presses against the pole. His lightheadedness dragging his body to the ground.

Despite the trembling of her hands, Isabela’s voice is calm as she lowers herself to her knees before him.

“Ez--hey, look at me. I need you to breathe. Okay?” The softness of her voice lifts Ez’s gaze from his trembling hands. A smile finds her lips, the sight forcing him to take a breath. “Good. Here.”

Taking his left hand in his, Isabela gives it a gentle squeeze before moving to place it over her heart.

“It’s okay, you and I can do it together.” Isabela takes a deep steady breath, Ez’s hand rising and falling with the motion.

It takes a second breath for him to follow suit. The harsh intake of breath comes in slightly smoother than before. His right-hand finds her waist, his eyes drifting shut as he tries to push out another breath.

The grip on her hip is painfully tight, but Isabela remains in place. Resting her forehead against his, she continues to breathe, her fingers gently brush against his cheek. With each passing second, her heart slowly anchors his forcing it to match the steady rhythm beating against his palm.

“Shit--” Ez’s voice comes out hoarse, shaky as he opens his eyes. “I’m sorry--”

His body tips back. Isabela’s weight pressed against him as her arms wrap around his neck. The hug she gives is tight, causing Ez to blink.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I uh--I’m sorry--I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Ez.” Isabela shakes her head, pulling back to get a look at Ez’s face.

The look of concern on her face drops Ez’s gaze to his hands. The slight tremble that remains causes him to clench his fist together.

He attempts to swallow the lump in his throat, but it remains. His voice comes out thick, as he shakes his head slightly.

“I haven’t had one of those in years,” he speaks quietly. “The first year in Stockton…”

Isabela nods, not needing him to finish the thought. Instead, she wraps her arms back around him. This time, Ez returns the hug, his face resting against the warmth of her neck briefly.

It’s not until she has him steady and on his feet that Isabela lets out a deep breath.

She looks around when a realization sets in.

“Where’s Jeyson?” The look on Ez’s face causes her to take a step sideways.

As she turns around, she stumbles forward nearly tripping over a grinning Jeyson.

“Oh my god--” Isabela lets out a deep breath, her hand finding her forehead as her eyes drift shut. “Jeyson, where did you go?”

Jeyson’s words come out muffled as he attempts to speak through a mouthful of hot dough.

“We went to get a funnel cake.”

“What?” Isabela’s eyes open.

Jeyson stands with a large plated funnel cake in hand. He wears a grin.

“You can have some,” he offers as Isabela brushes at the powered sugar dusting his cheek.

She blinks. “You don’t ever walk off without me or Ez. You don’t go with strangers, you know that--”

“He wasn’t a stranger.” Jeyson glances up from the piece of funnel cake in his hand. “He was daddy’s friend. He knew my name. He said it was a gift for doing good at my recital.”

His brown eyes widen as he takes in the look of confusion on Isabela’s face.

“Am I in trouble?” He asks. The possibility causes Jeyson’s smile to falter.

“No,” Isabela shakes her head, wrapping him in a hug. “You scared me, that’s all.”

You can learn a lot about a person from their home. Leo discovers all he needs about you the moment he enters yours.

Your son is the center of your universe.

Leo stands in your living room, his eyes passing over the incomplete Millennium Falcon set in the middle of the floor. Overstepping the abandoned legos, he moves closer for a better look at the photos hanging on the wall.

Jeyson is in nearly every photo. Spanning from baby photos, holiday shots, candid moments of fun, to yearbook photos, they allow Jeyson to grow up before Leo’s eyes.

He pauses at the latest hung photo.

Taken in September, it shows Jeyson standing between you and his father. The smile he wears matches Angel’s to the tee. It was taken on the first day of third grade. Jeyson is wearing his Gilman Prep uniform.

Leo lifts his phone, delaying long enough to snap a photo before moving on.

He starts his trek through the house. Sifting through recently delivered mail, abandoned on the kitchen counter. The piano holding the sheet music for Jeyson's recently passed recital. Studying the neatly printed schedule written across the whiteboard on the refrigerator door. The fully stocked bookshelf in Jeyson’s bedroom. The password-protected laptop on the desk of your office. The gun safe in your bedroom closet.

As he returns the closet door to its original position, his eyes pass over the room. They land on the dresser. The wooden, hand-carved jewelry box is smaller than he would anticipate from a woman. The first item to catch his attention is the oval cut diamond of your engagement ring, paired with the matching wedding band. He lifts both, pausing to study them in the sunlight peeking through the bedroom window. Returning them to their original resting place, he lifts the tiny velvet red box nearby. Inside, he finds a pearl necklace.

The necklace itself is simple. A single pearl embellished with a small, round white stone. It is a necklace you rarely take off. It was gifted to you years ago at a high school graduation dinner by Marisol.

Closing the box, Leo pockets it before leaving. The only sign he was ever there is the unlocked front door. It gives Ez a brief moment of a pause upon his return. He’s almost certain he locked it when they left. But with the high-speed rate Jeyson is talking at the moment, he chalks it up to his mind spacing.

series taglist: @angelreyesgirl89 @holl2712 @relaxing-najee @thedeviltohisangel @awkwardtayler @siempremamita @amorestevens @witching-hour @seize-the-droid @rosieposie0624 @sesamepancakes @est1887 @queenbeered @ticosas @blessedboo @helli4nthus @katjusja @melanicia @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @moneteguiza

mayans taglist: @lilacyennefer @pedropcl @holl2712 @rae-gar-targaryen @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @henrycavill19 @silverstarsandsuns @chellybear98 @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @noz4a2 @wiccanmetallicrose @crxssourbones @kimljn @starrynite7114 @richonne4life @themarkblues @mariaxliliana @thelovelyleo23 @hail-horror-queen @gemini0410 @binooo98 @the-jer-bear @abbiesthings @losolvidad0s @helli4nthus @babaohhhriley @futureleo1678 @whatupitshuff @trhett21 @trulysuccubus @minnicelli @sillygoose6969 @capnsaveahoe @leahnicole1219 @crashbarbie @cyka1312 @zoovent @lakamaa12 @keithseabrook27 @vir-tually @awkwardtayler @rawrlittlepanda-95 @irenne-stans @pearlkitten33 @ezs-baby-angels-whore @sesamepancakes @toni9 @vannabanana1995 @queenbeered @shawty-fenty @kaystacks17 @thesandbeneathmytoes @anactualcaseofthetruth @star017 @cant-decide-at-this-moment @cocotheclown @watsonwise @ilovebey2018 @oscars-wifeyyy @rosieposie0624 @jennisdirtyimagines @ughdontbeboring @jjwriter23 @briskywalker @peoniarose @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @partypoison00 @making-starsdance @claytoncardenasbabymama @myakai13

#let me know what you think?#angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #lover of mine #mayans mc fic

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writingonesdreams · 2 years ago

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Hello, hello, and happy STS to you Dreams. I hope you're having a lovely one.

So, I was curious, as I chronically am, about something. I'd love to hear about how you've seen your writing evolve. Like, what's your writing journey been like?

I know what I've seen from this side while we've been mutuals, but I'd like to hear what you've noticed about your writing and how it's changed. How has it evolved, have the kinds of stories you like to write changed, what has become your greatest strengths and do you know where you started developing them, how has your writing process changed, and where do you see it going from here?

Hi Ren, that's a very thought provoking question set, thanks for asking^^. This turned into a rumble.

How has my writing evolved? Hmm. I think that for a long time I didn't see the difference between storytelling and writing. I was always making stories and seeing movies in my head. It's part of who I am. I was the daydream child, and as a teen I used to say I'm only 40% living in reality.

So as long as I felt inspired and confident, I just wrote ahead little short stories as a kid and then longer stories for my mom. My first longer work was a Twilight fanfiction when I was 14 XD pretty much a sequel about Jacob and Renesmee. Then I started a new fanfic mixing with mermaids and new characters that got a bit too complicated for me. Then I changed schools and stopped writing for some time until I got back to it at 18.

Part of the process and the stops may have been my mom's work as an editor and the point that she reacted more to the mistakes than to the story I was trying to tell. This was very disheartening to the young me, even if she was right about the mistakes I made and edited those stories before I posted them. Few years later she told me how hard it was and that was disheartening further. XD

That must have been the point I stopped writing for a time, cause I respected my mom to the heavens and my writing skills weren't on the level she would have liked - and even more was the content. I mention it from time to time that my family is strictly anti-fantasy 😂 magic and fantasy books are a certified waste of time and energy, can't be sold, can't be understood, why are you wasting time with that...I kept hearing that from my mom and my grandpa, two writers and editors of the family who could have understood my calling. (Should I mention how I got stuck on painting when I was 8 after my dad told me it looked like a 4 years old scribbled it - completely killed off my painting dream XD).

That must have been the point I started running to English. I read in English so I could escape the judgement and control of my parents, so I could read my books in peace and they wouldn't be able to comment, cause they wouldn't understand. I got into tv shows and anime that taught me English in my teens, and that built the ground to ne writing in English as an 18 years old. A way to escape my pro editing mom XD and to distance myself from their distaste. Maybe fantasy is part of it too, cause my realistic fiction was unrealistic and "why aren't you writing about your own experiences"? Cause I wanted to escape those, duh (it was during the time I went to Austrian school and learned German and that was a very difficult taxing ride, cause for two years I didn't understand anything and I def didn't want to be writing about that).

I have a very ambitious, perfectionist and driven family. You don't complain, you excell and if you cry, the usual kind of comfort consists of "that's a stupid thing to cry over".

So def 18 as my homecoming to writing and start of English. I discovered tumblr and writeblr at the time, read a lot of fanfics, fell for fandoms. I started making my own stories, but I got too fascinated with the outlining stage and looking back it took a few years to realize I was collecting book outlines and not book drafts and that I wrote precious little scenes and some spinoff short stories.

The kind of stories I liked to write depend entirely on what books I was reading and what fanfics opened up my horizons. It's ironic that I liked fantasy for the freedom and possibility to make stuff up instead of researching and experiencing it (which I couldn't do cause I was too young to understand life and other blablabla), but I need to see the format or an example first before I can start doing it myself. But that's also my writing strenght - I can copy styles and scenes by reading them. So Twilight, Eragon, Vampire Academy, Harry Potter, Naruto, Star Wars, Fairy Tale and Supernatural fanfiction, The Originals, Red Winter, Transformation and Tuyo were all difining story milestones for the stories I wanted to write.

My focus shifted from heavy focus on fantasy and romance to a harder to define literary fantasy and platonic friendships. With my studies the cultural aspect and political opinions and ideological messages came as well as a way to cope and express what doesn't sit well with me. But all in all most of my stories are asking questions, characters combing flaws and various honest pieces and throwing them out there to see if it resonates.

Maybe my discovery of slice of life is so contradictory and slow for me, cause slice of life realistic fiction was always the kind my mother admired the most. On one hand I always wanted to appeal to her with that and on the other wanted to protest it and go the other direction, just to find my own niche and writing identity. But hating it to spite her might have hindered me too XD (combined with the plot focused writing advice culture of America) made me force myself to plot and focus on the external conflict that was very very uninteresting and frustrating for me and stifled me. It's funny how differnt the writing cultures and traditions over the world are, cause central europe and czechoslovak writing tradition and advice is entirely different. Their stories and advice focus on relationships and slice of life, don't think conflict or character change arc is at all needed.

Going forward I def want to focus on character driven slice of life stories. I just had a pro editor betaread the current draft of Tears of Iron and she said the fantasy world very much just props up the characters and that the story works, just not in a traditional USA publishers way (want to self-publish it anyway). But I'll keep with magical realism and literary fantasy for now, to keep the reality distance; though I'm afraid dragons and fantastical worlds make wrong promises to readers, since those won't be the focus of my stories. Or I'll add them more in later drafts, who knows.🤣

Thanks for the questions, Ren!

#writeblr #sts #ask #ren c leyn #writing process

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worldsover · 4 years ago

Text

Dal Segno ft. Chuu

length ✦ 3570

genres ✧ music making; oral fixation; facefuck; subby!Chuu

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Composition is only fifty percent of the process, you've heard, but it's closer to ten for you. For the importance of a solid melody and chord progression with the right instruments and singer, a song becomes less than the sum of its parts with bad mixing because all that effort goes to waste when you can’t hear something, or when something is too loud, or when a certain je ne sais quoi is wrong. But you do know. You don't have to be a chef to be a food critic but it certainly helps. Avoid muddling the lows as it waters down the soup. Carve space in the highs to prevent too much salt from killing the taste buds. Have at most five sounds at a time or else the flavors clash. Focus on these basic techniques to guide you as repetition wears down your mind. Funny. Repetition legitimizes especially in music yet here you are fatigued by repetition as though you weren't down four cups of black coffee. Repetition legitimizes. “From the sign,” the translation reads. Notation, simply instructing a musician to return to a certain point in a piece. You recognize it as an intro song you wrote years ago.

Glass and foam separate the undersized room. Cheap ramen and dampness in the hot air contribute to the odor. You would keep the fan on, if it were worth the extra time filtering out faint noise from recordings. The only scent that keeps you sane is a slight strawberry flavor lingering in the room. Jiwoo. Your muse. A large clock holds both of its hands near one with the lack of natural light muddling whether it’s AM or PM. Studios were always underground man-caves whether they were discount rooms or the signature workspace of the biggest producers. Here you are in the former. Look down at the Macbook and all the wires, sliders, and knobs. Deep breath. “Take 63,” you say into the cheap control room microphone.

“Not good enough.”

“Again.”

“One more.”

Look up. Jiwoo sucks on a grape lollipop. You stare. Watching her fixated on getting all flavor out of the purple sweet derails your flow state. See, work had a rhythm. Listen, volume up, hotkey to copy this clip, volume down. The obvious innuendo sends you offbeat. That perky butt bending over to get a notebook filled with lyrics entrenches the folds of your brain. She didn’t have to wear that skirt. You’ve seen that skirt already and you wish she weren’t wearing it. Oh, you really wish she weren’t wearing that skirt. Guilt sets in. You’re a trusted coworker, she, a naive girl. It takes a while to find your groove again. Your stare has yet to cease until she finally returns the eye contact with candy still in mouth. Her pink tongue laps to secure all the sugar and red pillows engulf the ever-shrinking circle. Pop. Anyone else and it would be calculated action.

“Oppa." Her voice resounds in your monitor headphones. "I don’t know if these harmonies really make sense. Why did you write the second voice to cross down below the main line? Plus it goes so low."

“To be fair, you wrote both of those melodies and you said you wanted them in the same song. Tell me anywhere else they’d work.”

“Ugh, let’s figure this out later. Next song.“

Dozens of takes later and Jiwoo’s frustration causes her to make mistakes. Sometimes she even tries to start singing with the sucker in her mouth. For the character she plays, you know she’s a professional and that she can be better. Yet hours later, she still could not get the vocal runs right. Incomplete songs bloat your project folder: "Jiwoo - Mania", "Jiwoo - Look Closer", "Jiwoo - Untitled Idea 21". Just a small side project that the company approved during another ample period of break time between comebacks. That’s why the director didn’t even let you use the company’s facilities, instead opting to rent out this cheap closet of a studio. At least no one would be mad about the amount of time you spent recording together.

You shift seats from the leather office chair to the white lovechair, the only two pieces of furniture that fit comfortably in the room. Jiwoo follows suit and leaves the recording booth, really more of a phone booth in square footage, while she huffs and puffs on her candy.

“I’m tired, oppa,” she says.

“Me too, Jiwoo. May I remind you that I’m not getting paid extra for this. Are you gonna focus or what?” your voice just a few cents down, just a bit harsher.

“I, I’m sorry.” A lick anyway. Her meek tone disappears, “Ya! You know how good your royalties are gonna be. Sole producer and all that. Plus, here you are still doing all this work for me." Why were you working so hard on this? "You know, if you just taught me how to use Ableton-”

“Then I’d be out of a job.”

Jiwoo frowns, “Wow, selfish much? You could’ve joined me as a trainee.”

“Nah, no way. Fish dance better.”

“Shut up, oppa. You would’ve easily made it with your, um, musical talent.” She clamps down on the lollipop with her mouth.

“You good? What was that?”

“Let’s," she stands promptly, "get back to recording.”

Crack. Jiwoo bites down on the lollipop and throws the stick in the trash. In ten minutes, she nails the verse she spent hours trying to get right. It'd be really nice to know what catalyzed that rally. You'd ask but driving Jiwoo back to her dorm is quiet as usual.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Make a good impression on someone, anyone, on your first day as a mixing engineer. That’s why you returned to the Blockberry Creative building with an extra bar of Melona in hand. A simple bribery. Light beamed down between two skyscrapers on a short girl with long hair and strands of bangs adorning her forehead. She stood outside the lobby, introducing herself to every passerby. You had to pinch her cheeks, the intrusive thought screamed.

She scurried up to you. “Hi! I’m Kim Jiwoo and I’m going to become an idol!”

Ah, a trainee. You already knew she was destined to become one. Well, not literally, you weren’t in charge of that. But her overflowing charm was impossible to ignore. You had to tease her though, “Are you sure?”

“Hey! What would you know about that, mister?” she said.

You bit down on your mango. “Mister? First of all, I’m only a high school senior,” her lips rounded in surprise, “And second, I’m your new audio guy, and I know for a fact they’re debuting you girls in order of talent.”

“Woooow. Well, I’ll have you know, I have a great voice!” She certainly spoke lyrically. “Wait a minute, I didn’t know they hired people that young.” You pointed at her. “Okay, I’m in high school too. But that’s different, idols start this age.”

“I guess. I’ve been making music ever since I was a kid, and they liked what I had,” you said and Jiwoo nodded in understanding.

She fluttered her eyebrows. “Sooo, is that mango ice cream for me? Oppa?” A little surprised she already called you that, but it sounded right.

“No, I have this unopened strawberry-” Jiwoo snatched the half-eaten cold treat from your hand, and started licking it. Trouble she would be.

You spent many recording sessions together, alone after all the other members left. She cozied up to you because her little musical snippets had to become full-fledged tracks and you helped her out every time.

Something changed over the years however. Your interactions became colder. It felt like you were the only one who she would respond to in a deeper voice. Jiwoo wouldn't pepper you with silly acts or mess around. Maybe she took you more seriously which is how you managed to make more songs together regardless. Then, you stood idly by and watched her debut. Who didn't love her? But when she was with you, you missed the playfulness, the ice cream and her riffing over your playful guitar strums. It turned less of a hobby and more of a job though you never regretted any second with Jiwoo regardless.

Under the Earth's largest natural satellite, you shared a simple meal in black bean noodles. She was still in her hippie outfit from the comeback, and you handed her your jacket since it was cold. You realized, there was something else there that you were too inexperienced to notice. Your bodies' radiation replace the chill in the air, a bubble with just the two of you eating on the grass in a park near your dorm. A cliche slurping on one noodle and Jiwoo pulled away. In embarrassment, like a damn anime character, she hiccuped. Good thing you didn't close your eyes when you leaned in.

“Wanna make an album together?” Jiwoo says.

“Sure.”

You threw away the noodles’ package and escorted her home. That was all you expected anyway. Fine.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

“That’s enough!”

Three goddamn weeks. It's been three goddamn weeks and you've barely made any progress.

Barge into the booth, slam the door shut and raise your tone, just below a shout, “I've had it up to here! You know how many of my songs have been mashed together in some unholy quest for your perfection? Just one unknown something is missing and either you start complaining or we move on to the next."

She backs up from the mic to the insulated wall but you continue, paying no heed to her, as you spout your piece to the artificially cold air, "You know how much time I’ve spent outside working on these songs? These are songs I’ve saved up over years. And you trash them like they’re nothing. How do you even manage to record LOONA tracks?”

Regret sinks in. This was your passion project as much as hers. Was it frustration from the recordings? Weeks of the same routine and it took until now for you to give in to your temper.

"It wouldn't even be that bad! If you could just one time, you could be cute or cheerful again with me, or,” Fuck. So stupid. You don’t have to take your friendships for granted like this. You’re lucky enough she treats you as much. “Hold on. Wait, I'm-"

Examine her face. It’s not sour and she hasn’t stormed out or even slapped you.

“No, no. You don’t have to say it. I’m. I’m sorry oppa.” She looks down. “I'm the one messing up after all." Her heartbeat a harsh snare drum. "And you. You're. Different. Looking at you always made me feel some, something funny. Not funny but? Ugh. I wish I could explain it.”

You hold in your confusion.

She blabbers on, “Like, are. Are you mad? I promise you, I,” A nervous breath, ”I like you. Okay?"

Your confusion grows like the length of your silence.

"I’m just acting how I really am with you. Do you want to maybe, I don't know, like," her voice decrescendos, "Um. Punish me?”

Your heart, your brain are deprived of blood as it all rushes down. Did you hear that right? Not an apology, not retribution, but a call to punishment? Misinterpreting her, the consequences would be dire but that damned demure tone for such an erotic request. Was Jiwoo the exact type of slut constructed in your mind? The one that made you feel sinful for even imagining. No, no, there's no way.

Too late. Jiwoo must have noticed the absurd bulge now. It had to be these Adidas pants today. Fuck it. Life can’t be lived fully without risk. Hopefully, the same switch turned in her mind. You remove all ire from your face and say in earnest, “Do you like games?"

She lights up a little. You sigh relieved.

"Let’s try…”, you say, ”Strip recording.” She lights up a little more, so you go on, ”If I mess up anything, the mix, the composition, the arrangement, I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Your choice. And every time you mess up-”

Jiwoo unbuttons her denim shorts and brings them down her tight legs.

“D- did I say now?”

However, with her resolve steeled, she continues pulling them. "So what? I did mess up, right?" she says coquettish. Deliberate the turn she makes when she bows down to remove the shorts from her legs, Jiwoo reveals a hint of her innie pussy on that same little ass that ran through your mind earlier. A small trace of her thighs glistens, the only thing reflecting the single lightbulb’s glow in the microphone’s abode. She turns back to face you. "Please. Punish me."

Step closer until Jiwoo backs up to the soundproofing. She’s an eighth note away from your face, flashing her beady eyes and a coy smile, ”Where's your underwear?" A little drop spills out onto the floor, "And why are you so wet, Jiwoo-ah?”

Red on her cheeks, like she only now realized her dishevelment in front of you. “You just… Something about you snapping at me. I don’t get it either. I knew you'd do it, some day, I wanted you to," she mumbles in her best efforts to answer you.

“Have you ever worn underwear to the recordings?”

Those efforts continue to fail.

"Oh, Kim Jiwoo. What do I do with you?" One of your hands grabs her cheek. The other crawls down her back to grab her cheek.

“Oppa… Do I have to say it?”

“I want to hear every." Smack. "Word." Smack. She slips a moan.

“Can you," she says, "can you use my mouth?”

You disguise your long pause as thought, teasing the bare skin of her ass with your exploratory fingers to bide time, but it's an expression of your shock. The interruption helps you come up with a more suitable punishment however.

“How about this then. Every time you mess up, you have to give me a blowjob. Call?”

“Call!” Once more, unprompted, she kneels down in front of you and claws away your track pants. You roll with the punches.

"Oppaa," with an pronounced pop and in a sing-songy rhythm, "I've always wanted to know, if your dick-" It certainly didn't need Jiwoo's dainty hands pulling on your boxers, as it would've sprang out on its own with how like diamond your cock is getting.

"Fuuuck," the first profanity you ever hear her utter, she lilts. "Please. Oppa. Fuck my face?"

After all she said, she could still surprise you. Bring your hips forward and just as you would've her pussy, tease Jiwoo’s lips with the head of your dick. She parts them open, starved, anxious.

Hold her by the chin. "Wait."

She freezes at the command. Again, like foreplay, rub her lips with that head making them turn redder and more plump. You sweep aside her bangs to see her begging eyes. More importantly, slide your dick up to her nude forehead to slap as a first act of retribution. “A-ah!” Jiwoo stutters as you slap her face with your manhood again and again. Bring your cock back down and she's already a mess without you even having entered her mouth. A little drool from her shut lips gently massages your balls while a bit of precum drools from your slit to meet those lips.

Jiwoo mumbles as best as she can with you holding her jaw shut and your dick on her lips, "Please. Please. Shove your dick in me. I need you in my mouth."

You squint your rough eyes to command her.

Muffled still, "Oppa. Please. I. I need to taste you. You just, you're so thick and you're so long and cock is perfect and please I just-" Loosen the grip on her chin to let her envelop the entire tip with her warm lips. "Mmmmm..." the moan resonates a saw wave and your stern resolve fades away on your first entrance into her face but it returns as her teeth rub against you. She quickly readjusts her jaw but it takes multiple attempts of you pulling out and her sucking you back until only silken lips hold your cock's head. Finally. A focused glint in her eyes. She endeavours to keep your tip in her mouth as long as possible.

You were mad at her earlier, weren't you?

Recall this anger and press yourself into her with all your hips' strength, working against the force of her lip's airtight suction. Saliva leaks to betray the seal. Jiwoo's prying tongue explores the underside of your cock but you reach an impasse while she's not even halfway down the shaft. You shove your dick deeper but to no avail and tears roll down her eyes joining the fluids coating her lips. Thus you exit back out. And back in you go to repeat and repeat and slowly increase your rate, becoming rough sex with her diligent mouth. All the positions you’ve imagined fucking her little pussy, you picture using her throat instead. Even in this compact studio, the couch, chair and desk would provide ample support for you to use her in many ways. The dirty thoughts inspire your speed right now. She slurps and gulps at every quick plunge but you realize her moans and rumbles aren't just incoherent reactions. You decelerate.

“Ah, ahhh, ahhhhhh… Ah’ve ahways- Hmph.” She slurs as she tries her hardest to communicate while her airway is blocked.

She slides up your cock to catch some air, “Thought about it- Mmm.”

“Your dick in my mouth and it’s just so pew, fect- Ahhh.” Jiwoo's lips let go gently then her tongue sticks out to lick up your cock and she shows off a trail of spit leading to your tip. A less patient man would’ve jerked himself off right there to grant her eyes and open mouth's unison request to feed on your cum.

Instead you retort, “You think you’ve earned it? Not even halfway down. Going nowhere, just like our recording sessions, huh?”

“Shut up!”

“Oof.” You’re already weak in the knees so Jiwoo's one handed shove sends your tailbone to the floor. Since you’re still dazed by her confounding strength, she takes initiative and kowtows her head into your lap to crawl down your cock with her tiny lips. Fondling your balls, Jiwoo starts from the furthest point she could muster on your shaft up to your cock head. Her tongue follows back and she starts playing under your tip to swirl that tongue around the most sensitive parts until it explores your slit. You buckle and groan. Jiwoo sucks and spits and sucks while she circles only the most minimal twisting motion of her lips on your head. This is the Jiwoo you know. Relentless. Only now your load is her magnus opus.

Her right hand strays downwards and her face on your dick blocks a full view but you can tell that hand is working as intensely as her mouth. As she strokes herself with more vigor, she starts humming a satisfied melody on your tip. In kind, your subtle grunts turn into full-bodied moans. You're a single measure away from your coda so you reach down and pull her off your cock by grabbing her neck.

You glare into her. “Desperate little girl, aren't you?”

Her breath is stilted and she's nearly shaking. “Please…” she sobs, ”You, you want it as bad as I do right?” Of course. “Won't you just cum for me?” Not now. Not when you have putty in your hands.

“You're making a mess. You can't take me all the way down. And I see that it’s not just your saliva coating the floor.” Point to the spot where she kneels, her drool joins a stain growing ever larger with a strand of juice from her pussy flowing as you continue to berate her. Then you point to her hand. Ha. “Were you playing with yourself using my pencil?”

“No… Wait!”

You back off. “Your top’s a mess too. Anyone can tell I just fucked your face.” You take off your black hoodie and give it to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow for our next session.”

“Wait, we didn’t book tomorrow, did we? Also, you can’t just leave me like this! Oppa!”

"I said, I'll see you tomorrow. I have to go,“ you remind her, ”Ha Rin’s picking you up. And give me back that pencil.”

She hands it to you, unable to meet your eyes despite hers lusting over your cock. You'll definitely use the alluring musk on it for later to save you from your self-induced blue balls. Exit the booth. Of course she barely waits to use your hoodie the same way since she doesn’t notice you lingering in the room. Instead of hiding the grey long sleeve that soaks her neck, your used sweatshirt covers Jiwoo’s face as her fingers make the mess on the floor larger.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

Swear to god I’m not just writing the cutest idols to write for. I mean maybe I am but also this answer from @nsfwtwicecatcher and all the subsequent pictures that I found of Chuu pouting inspired me. Also, this was a longer piece but I kept spinning my tires on it and decided to split it up, so look out for more.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Fermata, the aforementioned sequel

#kpop smut #loona smut #male reader #reader insert #title tracks

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xpeachesncream · 4 years ago

Text

acquainted | eight

> series masterlist | series playlist <

summary: the biggest goal of a grad student is to get through school in one piece - no petty drama involved, no sweating over the little things. however, that plan almost always never follows through. sometimes, you can’t help but fall into the most unthinkable, unexpected traps and learn the hard way. like, exhibit a: being unable to resist your engaged, substitute teacher, kim seokjin.

pairing: jungkook x reader x engaged!teacher!seokjin

genre: grad school au, student life au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 3.6k

warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, jealousy and slight possessiveness, making out

tags: @laurynne5 @yiyi4657 @miinoongi @teamtardis-notdead @bluesharksandfish @photographic-girl @yonkoghan @moonchild1 @thebeebi (pls msg me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

"Should we go to that charity event the school is holding on Friday? It sounds kind of fun." Ryujin sipped on her drink, while you went through your closet, showing her different outfits over the facetime call.

"What's it for again?"

"I don't remember, but the Golden State Warriors dj is going to be dj'ing. He's pretty good."

"Yeah he is. I mean, I'm down, especially if it's for a good cause."

"Okay, I'll grab us tickets when I head to campus."

"You're not even gonna ask Jimin or Tae?" You chuckle.

"Why would I? They do everything we do, they don't know anything outside of us." You shake your head.

"Cut them a little slack."

"Boohoo, they'll say yes regardless. Bring Jungkook!"

"I mean, I'll ask, but I'm not gonna force him."

"Oh quit, I'm sure he'd be happy to spend time with you." She looked at you through the camera. "K, let me see that outfit."

"He said casual." You showed her your outfit in the full length mirror.

"Absolutely, yes! You're fucking hot." She squeals, automatically solidifying your outfit for tonight. It, thankfully, wasn't too cold in the Bay today, so you throw on a grey distressed denim mini skirt, a low-cut light grey longsleeve, a belt and some heeled combat boots. You ruffled and fixed your hair a bit until you were satisfied with your look, picking up the phone once more to turn your attention back to Ryujin.

"Thank you."

"No problem, babe. I hope you have fun! Did he say where you two were going?"

"Nope, it's apparently a surprise."

"Ugh, I love him already." She gushes, causing you to shake your head. You dabbed a bit of lip gloss and pressed your lips together to spread it out before spraying a perfume cloud for you to walk through. Sooner or later, knocks came at the door.

"Okay, I think that's him. I'll talk to you later?"

"Call me as soon as you get home. I want to know how big his dick actually is."

"You're sick. You sound exactly like Tae, you know that?"

"We're not talking about him."

"Love you, bye!" You abruptly hang up on her, unsure of why the hell you deal with her and Taehyung's crude comments. You grab your bag and open the door to see Jungkook standing there with a small bouquet of flowers. He peeks his head over the bouquet with the cutest smile you have ever seen.

"Hi." He slightly scrunches his nose and pulls you into a hug. Goddamn, does he smell good. "These are for you." He hands you the bouquet.

"Jungkook, they're beautiful. Thank you." You take it into your kitchen and place it into a vase really quickly before stepping out. You eye him from head to toe, and boy is looking like a whole ass meal in the denim outfit he has on. Like, who in the world could pull off this outfit like that?

"You look amazing." You blush. "If you ever get cold, just let me know, alright? I can spare my jacket."

"You're so sweet."

"Just want to make sure you're comfortable." He shrugs. "You ready?"

"Depends on what you have up your sleeve."

"Nothing extreme, if that's what you're thinking." He laughed. "I hope you enjoy it, though."

"Thanks for planning all of this, by the way."

"No biggie. I'm just glad to finally spend some time with you." He does a little run to open the passenger car door for you before hopping into the driver's seat. Immediately, he gets the car started and turns up the heat to make sure you're comfortable. The radio is softly playing Zayn's sHe, with Jungkook softly singing along.

"Wait a minute," You chuckle. "Do you sing?" He smirked.

"Maybe."

"Hey, that's not fair. Sing louder."

"No, now I'm shy." He chuckled.

"Why? It's just me."

"Yeah and I just wanna impress you and not make a fool out of myself."

"You won't! Please." You pouted, making him shake his head.

"Ugh, Y/N. That's going to easily become a weakness for me if you keep pulling that pout." You keep pouting. Eventually, he gets over himself and starts to sing a little louder than earlier, causing your heart to flutter at how angelic he sounds. He ends up laughing towards the end and shrugging it off, his cheeks tinted with a rosy tint as you shower him in compliments. Swoon. You were so into the moment that you didn't even realize Jungkook was taking you across the bridge to San Francisco. You and your friends don't come to the city much, strictly because there's too many goddamn hills, parking is expensive as fuck, there's too many one way streets and people just get crazy as hell [like crossing the street when it's not time to walk?!]. It was a little calmer back home and that's all you guys needed. You watch as he parks the car effortlessly on a steep hill before coming over to your side to open the door for you.

"Whew, that's gonna be a workout later." You look back at the steep hill that you're gonna have to climb after eating dinner, you assume.

"Don't worry, I got you." He laughs. There's actually a lot of people out for a Tuesday evening that you end up hanging onto his arm to get navigate the random sea of people. He walks into Brenda's French Soul Food - nothing too fancy, but nothing too casual. The waitress brings you both towards the back end of the restaurant and out into the patio, where there are christmas lights hung around the fence and outdoor heaters posted. He pulls out your chair before sitting himself down, the waitress putting down your menus and cups of water.

"Ohhhhh, my god." You say with heart eyes looking at the menu. You had heard about this place from so many people, and you were impressed that Jungkook was able to score reservations being that it's always so busy due to its popularity. "I'm so excited! I've been wanting to try this place."

"Goodjob, Jungkook." He says, patting himself on the back. "If you're happy, that's all I could ask for." The waitress comes back to offer recommendations, which you both include in your orders in one way or another. Although packed, the restaurant was able to pump out orders quickly and efficiently so you and Jungkook weren't sitting around for too long without food.

"So, how's Jin in class?" You almost choke on your food even though this is something you should have expected. You really wanted to avoid speaking about him tonight, but you knew it was inevitable being that you were out with his brother.

"Um, he's alright."

"Just alright?" He rose his eyebrow and chuckled.

"No, sorry. I mean, he's a really good teacher. Definitely better than our last professor. Everyone in class loves him."

"That's cool. Yeah, he's really smart and wise. I've always looked up to him."

"How long has it been?" You weren't sure how to ask the question, but Jungkook understood what you were asking.

"I was a sophomore in high school when my mom met his dad." You're silent for a moment, allowing him to continue on if needed. "I had a really hard time at first, you know? The whole stepfather thing. My anger was moreso directed towards my mom and my stepdad for awhile. But Jin helped me out a lot. He helped me come to terms with my feelings about everything and he stuck by my side, always had my back whenever I got into arguments or bickered with one of our parents." You nodded, suddenly feeling guilty even though you and Jungkook weren't a couple.

"So, you two are really close." He nodded.

"Yeah, we are. I really don't know what I'd do without him. He's taught me a lot and helped me grow. Plus, Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi have been around too. They treat me like their own little brother.”

"That's sweet. It's nice to have that kind of relationship with your sibling and their friends." You chuckle.

"It is." He nods. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Ryujin, Taehyung and Jimin." He laughs.

"From the club, right? I met your friends, they're fun people."

"They're too much, honestly. I'm the only child, but we've all been stuck to the hip since freshman year in college."

"That's cool that you guys have been together since then." You give him a toothless smile. "I think it's pretty awesome that you guys are tackling grad school together too."

"Initially, we all had different plans, but Jimin had some big goals for himself including grad school, and it played a huge role in my decision to do grad school, too. Then Ryujin followed, then Taehyung."

"Cute."

"Speaking of friends, there's this charity event at school on Friday." You look up at him, a small smirk growing on his face.

"Uh huh?"

"And I was wondering if you wanted to come along with us. They really want you there."

"That's sweet. But, what matters the most is that you want me there."

"I wouldn't be inviting you if I didn't, right?" You bit your bottom lip.

"Touché. Of course I'll go with you, beautiful." He does a small nod before sipping his water. "Should we show up in matching outfits?" He joked, causing you to snort.

"Honestly, that seems pretty entertaining. Cute, and entertaining."

"I'm down if you are." You stuck your tongue out playfully.

"I'm game too."

"Let me know what you're wearing then."

"I will, whenever I figure that out."

"Take your time. Just know you'll look good in anything." You blushed. You both continue to talk over the remaining bits of your food before Jungkook calls for the check. You watch as he scribbles his signature onto the receipt before standing and sticking his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. While exiting the small and crowded restaurant, you hold onto his hand, feeling him grip it tighter as you both successfully make it out. The night isn't too cold, and you sure as hell knew it wouldn't be after you conquered the hill that Jungkook parked on.

"Fuck." You say as you stand on the street, eyeing the steep hill in front of you.

"Come on." He says, slightly bending down for you to hop onto his back.

"Ouu, I don't know if that's a good idea--"

"Y/N, I promise it's okay. Come on." He laughed. Hey, if he was willing to do this, then why not? You hop onto his back, his arms wrapping your legs tightly around his waist, while you clung onto his neck. "See, not so bad, right?" He says, sprinting up the hill, making you laugh and hold onto him tighter.

"Shit, I am so sorry. That was probably a workout. Right after we ate, too."

"Nah. It wasn't anything." He scrunched his nose. On the way back over the bridge, Jungkook is heading towards Lake Merritt. You both are singing along to songs and joking around about topics that pop up here and there. When he parks his car, you notice a whole crowd of people gathered by the lake, which was a little unusual for this time of night. He grabs your hand and gently caresses the top with his thumb as he walks you over towards the crowd. To your surprise, you realize people are gathered here for a water lantern festival. Your eyes light up, making Jungkook smile at how excited you look.

"Jungkook, what the hell! How did you know about this and I didn't?" He shrugs.

"I have my ways." He says, his voice low and deep. You playfully shove him before you make your way over to grab lanterns to decorate. You and Jungkook sit off in a more quiet, calmer part of the lake, silently decorating your lanterns and writing your wishes along with it. What exactly did you want to wish for?

Happy friends, happy family. Happy you.

Whatever happiness meant to you.

To have Chance look over you.

Jungkook is done pretty quickly, but he waits for you to finish, not questioning what you've written since he figures it's a private matter. He shows you his lantern and his cute little stick figure drawing of his family and friends. You giggle, watching him gently lay his lantern in the water, giving you leverage to do the same with yours. You stand closely to him, his body providing you some warmth as you watch your lanterns float off into the lake and illuminate the night along with the others.

"Ready? We have one more thing to catch." He snakes his arm around your waist and gives your side a gentle squeeze. You simply nod, following him back to his car. He takes you about 30 minutes away, exiting and pulling right into a lot two street lights down from the exit. He pulls up to the ticket booth, buying 2 tickets for Tenet at the drive-in movie. You squeal and clap in your seat excitedly, also not knowing this was still around.

"Did you really do your research to plan this date?"

"Yes and no? I've been here before, and I thought it would be fun to take you. The restaurant and the lantern festival though, yes." He parks his car as instructed, turning the radio to the correct channel in order to hear the audio. "Wanna hop in the back so we have more room?" You nod, getting out of your seat just to hop into the back. He leans over into his trunk, grabbing water bottles and assorted gummy candies for you to snack on in case you wanted some. "I hope you're having fun so far."

"I am." You respond softly.

"Okay, beautiful. If you say so." He chuckles. He moves the driver and passenger seats forward so that you both have room to spread your legs a bit. At first, Jungkook made sure to give you enough space so he wouldn't make you uncomfortable, but over time, you felt yourself sinking closer and closer to his body until he had his arm draped around your shoulder, while part of your body rested on his. His hand gently caressed your arm, occasionally sending goosebumps through your body at how soft his touch his. You glanced over, admiring at how focused he was on the movie. He must have felt you looking at him because he quickly looks over and blushes as he nibbles on a gummy worm. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just cute how focused you are."

"Damn, are you not into it?"

"I am, but it's kind of hard to follow sometimes."

"Yeah, it's definitely one of those movies." This time, his gaze on you is a little longer than before. You don't know what takes over you, but you plant a kiss on him, making him smile into the kiss. He doesn't say anything, but proceeds to rest his free hand on your neck, pulling you close and into another deep kiss. Your hand grips onto the side of his shirt, your tongues slowly fighting for dominance. The sounds of wet kisses fills the car and tunes out the movie audio. You can feel the moment intensifying, both you and Jungkook letting out breathy moans in between kisses. Suddenly, the thought of Seokjin quickly flashes in your mind, the past nights you've spent with him and the nasty shit you both have done to each other.

You lightly gasp as you pull away, but it wasn't obvious to Jungkook that something had disturbed your peace.

"Sorry, I—" He tries to save face just in case he was in the wrong about something.

"No, I just— I wasn't expecting it to get that intense." You lied. You knew damn well.

"It's okay." He chuckled. "I would never rush you into anything, Y/N. Okay? We can take this slow." He gives you a genuine, warm, reassuring smile that causes you to swoon. Why the fuck was he so good? Just why? How was this even fair right now?

All you do is simply smile and lean back onto him. He's back to caressing your arm and shoulder, giving you small pecks on the top of your head every now and then to reassure you. Part of you wondered if this is what Seokjin had taught him over the years - how to properly love a woman and be a gentleman. But then, that quickly fades when you remember the situation you're in with him.

Well no, you're not in anything with him. You needed to stop doing this to yourself.

When the movie ends, you both climb back into the front seats to make your way back home. You feel the exhaustion hit you, all the fun and adrenaline you felt today slowly come crashing down. Jungkook parks in the passenger loading zone, throwing on his hazard lights before walking you up to your apartment.

"Jungkook, thank you for tonight. I really enjoyed it and had a ton of fun with you."

"I'm glad." He cups your face and gently places a kiss on your forehead. You weren't satisfied with it though, so you tippy toe as you hold onto his hand and kiss him on the lips. He leans into the kiss, deepening it for a quick second before pulling away. "Let me know the details about Friday, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'll call you tomorrow. Sleep tight, beautiful." He smiles and licks his lips as he watches you walk in, feeling utterly content with how the day went. You feel the same way, smiling to yourself as you throw your bag onto the floor and prance into the bathroom to get ready for bed. You felt the butterflies in your stomach every time you thought about Jungkook and his smile, or his soft lips against yours.

Butterflies that kept your mind off of—

[jin] 10:04pm: Are you still with Jungkook?

You roll your eyes at the text. You hadn't pulled out your phone all night, so you're also seeing the numerous messages from your friends in the group chat, too.

[jimin] 7:45pm: have fun tonight, Y/N!

[taehyung] 7:50pm: ^ ditto. use protection, young lady

[taehyung] 7:50pm: think about mr. kim's feelings

[ryujin] 7:56pm: taehyung kim, shut the hell up. do you have anything better to do?

[jimin] 8:01pm: i really hope she doesn't pull out her phone during the date -__-

[taehyung] 8:05pm: lmfao you guys, chill out

[taehyung] 8:06pm: i'm sorry y/n, im just kidding. have fun tonight and be safe, love you

[ryujin] 8:10pm: CALL ME WHEN YOU GET HOME Y/N! i wanna know deets, remember! and ask him if he wants to join us on friday!

Unbelievable. Your friends were unbelievable, and that was an understatement. You don't respond to the group because you figured you'd call Ryujin in a bit and update the boys over the week. But to Jin's text - fuck.

You were literally just tucking him away in the far, far, far dark, deep depths of your mind.

[y/n] 11:38pm: I was, but now I'm home.

[jin] 11:39pm: Yeah, he just texted me back. Sorry.

[y/n] 11:40pm: It's okay.

[jin] 11:43pm: Okay. Have a good night.

He hates this. Why the hell would you do this to him? Grace is upstairs sleeping while Jin is trying to clean the kitchen up like he promised. Suddenly, his phone goes off, signaling a call coming in.

Jungkook.

"Hello?"

"Oh shit, yes! You're awake!" Jin chuckles a bit.

"How was the date?" Not only was he asking out of curiosity, but wanted to know how you were doing during the night. Completely none of his business but he couldn't help himself.

"God, she's fucking amazing. A-and-and beautiful." He yells into the phone excitedly. "She's so exciting. I can't wait to take her out again. I just wanna keep spending time with her." Jin is pretty unamused on the other line. Thank God he isn't on Facetime so he didn't have to fake this facial expressions hearing about Jungkook's feelings for you. "S-she- I mean, we kissed."

"Oh?" Jin asks, tongue pressed against his cheek. What the fuck.

"Yeah, we were making out during the movie. It got pretty intense, but it didn't get any further than that. I didn't wanna rush her into anything."

"You think it could have escalated?"

"Yeah honestly, but I wanna do right by her, you know?" Jin can tell how serious Jungkook was starting to become about pursuing you, and he had never felt more competitive until this day. He just wanted you to himself, and he wanted to be the one to kiss you and make you feel things you've only dreamed about.

Not his brother.

He, too, wanted you just as bad. If anything, more.

"It sounds like it was a pretty successful first date." Jungkook is beaming through the phone, he didn't have to see his face to know that.

"It was. It was such a good night." Jungkook chuckles. "By the way, I'm going to that charity event on campus on Friday. Are you and Grace going?"

"Probably not."

"Well, if you both are free, you should swing by. It'll be nice to see Grace."

"Yeah, I'll ask and see what's up." Jin sighs. "I should probably get to bed, I'm pretty tired. I'm happy to hear the date went well, kid."

"Thanks, dude. I'll talk to you later, get some rest."

"You too." Jin hangs up the call, silently hitting his fist against the kitchen counter as he lets out a deep sigh. More than ever, he wanted to keep you wrapped around his finger. He wanted to keep you there, no matter how selfish that sounded. There was no way he was going to let you unravel.

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flameo-firelord-hotman · 4 years ago

Text

Part 1

Pairing: Zuko x Fem!Reader

Genre: angst

Warnings: none

Words: 2.1

Summary: to everyone she knew, [y/n] was a peasant, destined to be a servant just like her parents. To Zuko, however, she was his best friend. After losing his agni kai and being exiled, [y/n] was devastated. She thought she would never see him again. Three years later, she almost wished he never came back.

A/N: it’s finally here! So sorry for putting it off for so long. I felt unmotivated and like this wasn’t very good? But I’m posting it now, so there’s no going back lol. Enjoy! And please give me feedback :)

Part 1 -> Part 2

Series | Masterlist

Despite being a lower class citizen, [y/n] was very familiar with the halls of the Fire Nation Royal Palace. Her parents had been working as servants for the royal family since she was a little girl. Her mom was a housemaid. Her dad was a groundskeeper. To be a servant for the royal family was an honor, and [y/n]'s parents instilled this in her. Sometimes they brought her to work to teach her the skills she would need to become one as well.

Yes, her parents fully expected her to become a servant. Doing so was typical for citizens of her status. Specifically, though, her parents expected her to follow in their path and work for the royal family. Perhaps that would change when she met Zuko.

"Hi! My name's Zuko! What's yours?" A bubbly boy asked [y/n] one day. He was eight years old, the same age as [y/n]. His dark hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and he had bright, amber eyes. Back and forth he rocked on his feet, anxiously waiting for her answer.

It was rare for [y/n] to see the royal family, and it was unheard of for one of them to speak to her…until that day.

"M-my name is [y/n]. It's an honor to meet you, Prince Zuko," [y/n] replied bashfully. She bowed carefully to show her respect for the Firelord's grandson, as her parents had taught her to do.

"You don't need to bow to me. You're my friend now!"

[Y/n] quickly straightened up. "But, but--"

"Will you play with me?" Zuko asked eagerly. [Y/n] turned to her mom, who was washing linens. She wasn't sure if she was allowed to.

Her mom quietly said to her, "if the Prince wants you to play with him, then it's okay." [Y/n] turned back to the young boy and nodded.

From that day on, they became best friends. Previously, [y/n] never looked forward to coming to work with her parents. It was boring, and the palace and everyone in it seemed so intimidating. Since meeting Zuko, it became the one thing she looked forward to.

They often played games in the palace gardens, or played hide-and-seek inside the palace with Zuko's mom, Lady Ursa. On occasion, they would play with his sister Azula and her friends Mai and Ty Lee (but only when the princess let her).

Eventually, instead of waiting for [y/n]'s parents to bring her to work, he would invite her over for playdates. Even as they approached their teen years, Zuko continued to invite [y/n] to hang out. As they matured, they grew closer. [Y/n] didn't realize it at first, but gradually she realized: she had feelings for Zuko.

Then one day, the invitations abruptly stopped. [Y/n] could never forget. The last words Zuko spoke to her on that day would echo in her mind: I'll be fine, [y/n]. Don't worry. I've been training for years. I'm sure I can take on this guy!

She didn’t get to watch the agni kai, and she was glad she didn't. She overheard all the palace staff whispering haunting rumors about it afterward. If only she could've been there for him. [Y/n] begged the guards outside of the infirmary to let her see Zuko, but they wouldn't.

Then, the next day, he was gone. And so [y/n] grieved the loss of her best friend and crush, so sure she would never see Zuko again.

"Momma! Papa! I'm home!" [Y/n] called as she walked into their apartment, returning home from a long day of work.

Three years had passed since that fateful day. During that time, [y/n] slowly adjusted to her new life: one without Zuko, as well as one as a housemaid. At thirteen, she began working for one of the Fire Nation's many rich, noble families. Soon she would gain the experience and expertise to become a servant for the royal family…though she was not fond of the idea of working for the family that Zuko was no longer a part of and in the home that Zuko no longer lived in. The thought of it was dreadful.

"Oh, [y/n]!" Her mom cheered as she jogged up to her. "You will not believe what I heard at the palace today!"

"Momma, please, you need to get a new hobby," [y/n] said.

Her mom was always eavesdropping and gossiping with the other servants about the royal family. [Y/n] couldn't blame her though; it was the only fun thing to do at work.

"Oh, this isn't a rumor, [y/n]. It's real," her dad chimed in as walked into the room.

[Y/n] chuckled. "Well, if dad says so, then I'm curious. What is it?"

Her parents looked at each other and grinned before turning back to [y/n]. "Prince Zuko is coming home!" They exclaimed.

[Y/n]'s jaw dropped. She was speechless. No way. They're not joking, right? They wouldn't. That would be a cruel prank. But still, Zuko was given an impossible task. That can only mean…

"Sweetie? Aren't you excited?" Her mom asked with concern. "Are you okay?"

[Y/n] nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah. I just don't believe it. It's too good to be true, you know?"

Her mom clasped [y/n]'s hands in hers. "Well, sweetie, it is true. Please tell her, honey, so she believes me!" She turned to her husband and laughed.

"We had a large staff meeting about it today," her dad explained. "We were told that he and his sister, Princess Azula will be here in about three days."

"Wow…this is really happening, isn't it?" [Y/n] asked.

"Mhm. Now, your mother and I are going to be working hard to welcome them home for the next few days. Don't be surprised if we return home late, okay?"

"Okay, papa," [y/n] smiled, trying to contain her excitement.

"And don't worry, we'll make sure you get to see him when he comes home." Her mother winked, making [y/n] giggle.

Over the next few days, [y/n] prepared for her reunion with Zuko. First, she made sure to have the day off. Second, she used her savings to buy a nice outfit. Third, she gave her hair a trim. Finally, she rehearsed everything she was going to say to him: that she missed him so much, how sorry she was for not being there for him, that she wished she could've gone with him, and that she was beyond excited to be with him again…perhaps she would confess her feelings for the prince too.

And when he returned, [y/n] was ready. She wore her new outfit: a short, rose colored tunic and sash over a long, maroon skirt. Her [h/c] hair was styled half-up, half-down with a top knot. It was a simple look, but she thought her best friend would like it.

A massive crowd gathered outside of the palace. Just about everyone living in Royal Caldera City was there. [Y/n] and her parents got as close as they could, which was unfortunately quite far away. They could barely see or hear Li and Lo speaking from the balcony…something about Azula invading Ba Sing Se and taking down the Avatar with Zuko.

"Now, the heroes have returned home! Your princess, Azula," shouted the two old women. Right on cue, the princess strutted out to the edge of the balcony. [Y/n] squinted her eyes to see her. Everyone around her cheered and clapped.

"And after three long years," they continued, "your prince has returned…"

This was it. This was the moment [y/n] had been waiting for. Her heart pounded in her chest, her jaw tightened, clenching her teeth, and her palms began sweating. The anticipation was killing her.

"Zuko!" Their voices boomed over the crowd.

And there he was: the banished prince, approaching the balcony's edge. [Y/n] stared in amazement. It really was true. Zuko came home! She jumped and cheered and clapped with the rest of the crowd.

After the public announcement, [y/n]'s parents brought her into the palace "to help with housekeeping." Yes, it was lie, but the palace guards believed it. They were very familiar with [y/n] and her family after all. Quickly, she strode through the halls of the palace, going to the one place she knew she would find him.

The hall opened to a large garden behind the palace. Beautiful flowers and bushes surrounded the area. Stone steps and tōrōs led to a large weeping willow next to a pond. The willow's long branches draped over the edge of the pond, the tips of its leaves tickling the water's surface. Beneath it sat the boy she was looking for. He was feeding small chunks of bread to a family of turtleducks.

It was like a dream. For the first time in three years, [y/n] was looking at Zuko's face. A large, patch of rough, red skin covered the left side…a remnant of his agni kai. It was shocking yet saddening. However, Zuko was still very handsome. His dark hair was pulled back into a top knot and decorated with a regal hairpiece. He had grown taller, his jawline was more defined and he had become more muscular. Zuko was no longer that little boy [y/n] remembered, which begged the question: did he remember her?

As [y/n] approached the prince, Zuko noticed her and made eye contact. His body froze and eyes widened.

"Hi, Zuko," [y/n] greeted him anxiously.

He immediately stood up and dropped all the bread chunks. The turtleducks took advantage and gobbled up every last crumb. "[Y/n]? Is that you?"

"Yeah! You remembered me."

Zuko beamed and opened his arms to [y/n]. They hugged each other tightly. [Y/n] felt three years of stress and tension in her body dissipate as she relaxed into his embrace. Not only was she seeing Zuko again, she was hearing his voice (which had deepened), she was feeling his warmth, and she was remembering what he smelled like.

"Of course I remember you," Zuko said, "how could I forget my best friend?"

"It's silly, I know…but it's been so long," [y/n] replied. They separated and looked at each other. Those amber eyes still shined just as they did when she first met him. [Y/n] felt her cheeks turn rosy.

"You're right. I'm really glad to see you again. I've missed you."

[Y/n] smiled. "I've missed you too. I have the day off if you want to hang out and catch up!"

"I'd love to," Zuko started, "but I can't. I'm going out with Mai today."

[Y/n]'s smile faded. "M-Mai?"

"Yep, he's taking me on a date today," a familiar voice from behind [y/n] said.

[Y/n] turned to see Mai approaching them. She gave Zuko a sweet smile, which Zuko reciprocated. Then, she clasped her hand in his and wrapped her other hand around his bicep. She rested her head on his shoulder and looked at [y/n]. [Y/n] felt her heart drop to her stomach.

Mai was as gorgeous as ever, not to mention she was wealthy and noble. Of course, Zuko would date her. [Y/n] suddenly felt stupid for even considering telling Zuko about her feelings. Why would a prince go out with a commoner? Why would a prince fall for one in the first place? Why did she think she had a chance?

"It's about time, if you ask me," another familiar voice interrupted [y/n]'s thoughts.

Azula, someone else she hadn't seen in years, strutted into the garden with a hand on her hip. As a child she was quite bossy and intimidating. From the rumors [y/n]'s mom told her, she never grew out of that behavior. Even now, she was giving [y/n] a dirty look.

"Oh please, Azula. It's been three years, and I just got here," Zuko scowled at his sister.

The princess scoffed. "Everyone knew Mai had a crush on you. Well, everyone but my idiot brother." Mai blushed and gave Azula a look, while Zuko groaned and rolled his eyes.

[Y/n] felt very out of place and uncomfortable. She wanted to leave. She wanted to run away. She wanted to go home. She wanted to lay in her bed and curse herself for thinking this was a good idea. Sure, [y/n] was beyond happy to see Zuko again, but she was also crushed knowing that his heart belonged to someone else. Moreover, being in the presence of Azula made her feel threatened. [Y/n] knew the princess despised her.

"Well, um, I'll leave you all to it. Have fun today…" [y/n] quietly said, smiling weakly.

"Okay, it was great seeing you again, [y/n]!" He said cheerfully.

"Yeah, it was good to see you too."

No…no, it wasn't.

#zuko x reader #zuko imagine #zuko #atla #atla zuko #avatar the last airbender #atla fanfic #prince zuko #firelord zuko #zuko x you #zuko x y/n #atla x reader #atla x y/n #atla x you #my fic #ffh writes

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qwanderer · 4 years ago

Text

Loki in the Hall of Mirrors

This story is complicated. Not, like, as a plot, not particularly, but philosophically and thematically. It's got that great play of hero against villain that I love about the Loki story in general and that makes it all so divisive and messy. And I love it even more than I did on first watch.

The first time I watched the desert landing scene, I was like, "Wait? What happened to Allspeak?" because the people who live there don't seem to understand him. But on the second watch, I realized it could be a lack of context, rather than a break in translation. These people probably have an even chance of knowing nothing about Norse myth. Like, what if an alien came up to you and said "I am Boogle of Bofgar, I carry a burden"? You would still have questions like "What the hell is a boogle and why are you carrying your shit here?" So the basic dynamic of Allspeak is probably still functioning, and Loki probably understood their questions, but he was still trying to figure out how to answer when he got distracted by the TVA people.

It could even be an innate psychic ability rather than a magical one, as he seems to understand everyone in the TVA, including the man who can't be fluent in all languages like the field agents because he has never heard of a fish and the seemingly nonverbal robot. (Which of course makes me want Loki talking with Dum-E and the other shop bots! But I digress.)

Okay. I want to start talking about the next-level manipulation shit the TVA are pulling on Loki here. Time, as they say, moves differently in the TVA, and one might even assume that they can avoid having to deal with more variants at once than they can handle. And yet we see them dealing with exactly two other troublemakers during Loki's onboarding.

The first, I'm going to call little echo man.

Little echo man is incredibly annoying to Loki, because he does and says everything Loki might find himself inclined to do and say if he wanted to be difficult. Little echo man does these things in little annoying undignified ways, making them look silly and petulant. Little echo man protests and questions and pushes back, in his business suit and his long dark hair and pale skin, and clearly thinks everyone should treat him as important even though every indication is that he is an annoyance and an afterthought.

Perhaps he's a plant, and perhaps he's just a variant of an annoying but predictable regular they see who they lined up at the same time on purpose. But he is on purpose. Everything he does screams directly at Loki, "Don't do this."

We'll get to the second convenient intersection later.

The most obvious layer of manipulation is simply the beraucracy. They put him up against a series of obstacles which he needs to deal with to get anywhere else, and nothing he does can get him past those obstacles except compliance. All of these obstacles have personality, but they are not personable. They treat Loki like a bag of trash they have been tasked with taking to the curb. Annoying, distasteful, but ultimately routine. His silver tongue isn't going to get him anywhere because these people simply don't care.

I think a lot of these he just goes along with to see where it gets him, since at this point he still believes he has his magic in reserve. But the fact that he steps through the robot fryer even though he thinks he might be a robot without knowing (as others have pointed out, he spent thousands of years as a frost giant without knowing it, and he's recently spent time in the control of the being who shaped Nebula) is a testament to how deep they've already got their hooks in him.

They treat the robot fryer like it's routine, but come the next obstacle, they kill little echo man like it's routine, too. Because he didn't comply.

Loki is slowly being ironed flat to thread into their compliance mill.

And then - I love this, because it reminds me of one of my favorites among the multiplicity of Lokis, GoS!Loki - they put this line in as punctuation between the impersonal, compliance, don't phase of their manipulation and everything that comes after it.

When he's set before the judge, someone actually paying some attention to him, this is his chance to use his silver tongue on someone who will listen. But, although the judge listens, she treats him the same as all the other obstacles have - like listening is a distasteful chore she would like to be done with.

So it seems like the perfect moment for a dramatic escape. Except his magic is gone.

"It's not your story," the judge says. "It never was."

That hammers in all the worst things Loki has ever believed about himself - that he stands in the shadows of others, that he will never have the central place he was raised to desire, that he is, and always will be, a villain to be vanquished rather than a person with choices and agency.

Enter Mobius.

Mobius is a big echo.

He draws all the attention in a room. He is everything that Loki wishes to be - he is powerful, informed, prepared, in control. Capable of charming the judge. And most importantly, he is actively interested in Loki.

At this point in Loki's journey - both in the show and in his life - that has to be irresistible.

So Mobius is in a perfect position to wrap Loki right around his pinky finger.

He listens to Loki without shutting him down, the way all the obstacles have. When Loki tells Mobius he's going to burn down the TVA, Mobius suggests a couple of places he might want to start. One concrete, small, mischievous. One an indication that he's open to Loki doing larger, more significant things here in the future.

He shows Loki his own past and future - but carefully edited, to paint a particular picture.

So many echoes, so many reflections - Loki is in a house of mirrors. Lost, disoriented. Distorted one way, then the other. Magnified and examined.

Loki snarks, and Mobius comments, "Makes you sound smart." Affirms Loki for that little mischievous bit of personality.

Mobius shows Loki some of the most terrible things he's done, and questions them. Pushes Loki away from them. Then changes direction before he can get too heavy-handed, to basically fangirl over the DB Cooper adventure. That's mischief. That's good. I like that.

Punishes him for a small infraction, just to remind him who is in control and that even looking threatening could be seen as a problem.

I think it was at about this point that I got hard reminded of the dynamics of the show White Collar. It's a buddy cop show on a basic level and sometimes the relationship can be very sweet, but sometimes Peter spends one too many times reminding Neal that he can send him back to prison any time he wants and the power dynamic shows its messed up edges.

Mobius is part of the machine, and the machine is doing terrible things to Loki, but I have at least a sliver of hope that the relationship could gain more balance - more genuine balance, not based on the faux freedom that Loki has gained by the end of the episode. There's something to be said for making changes to a system from within that system, but for that to be meaningful change, Mobius would have to change as a person.

Anyway, this current nastily powerful Mobius pushes Loki as hard as he can, and then is conveniently interrupted by the actions of another variant, leaving Loki alone with his remote.

It could easily have been on purpose. The only thing Loki learns by escaping that room is that the TVA is more powerful than any force in the universe, in his experience.

Let's talk about the other Loki variant for a minute. It took me until the second viewing to realize the symbolism of leaving a small child the only survivor in a place of worship, then giving her something to turn her blue.

Odin said he found Loki in a temple, in the aftermath of a battle.

It's actually frighteningly easy to imagine how a distraught Loki could get to a place where he feels the need to genuinely burn down the TVA, and kill every agent in it. Because the TVA put certain clips in his little future show, focusing on the death of his mother, the way his own actions affected it, and the futility and brutality of his own death at the hands of Thanos.

They don't show him the destruction of Asgard, his own role in helping save the evacuees, and the way Thanos decimated the population of that transport before it could even reach Earth. They don't show him the devastation of his home or his capacity to do good.

A Loki who knows that the power of the TVA exists and that he has the capacity to be Asgard's heroic savior would do anything to get that power and save his people.

But we haven't met that Loki yet. I'm sure we will, and it's going to be exhilarating.

This Loki is being taught the importance of control over little things, and so when he gets his collar off and onto that guard, he toys with her, just to see that he can. They have been toying with him and it's oh so satisfying to turn the tables. But it's still compliance in its own way, the petty little mischief that Mobius has been steering him towards.

Loki has been given just enough freedom, just enough choices, that it seems like his own choice to watch the rest of the slide show and come to the obvious conclusion - there's no "out" to go to. His life has gone on without him, and ended. And there's really no point in his trying to fix it. No putting things back the way they were.

So he admits to Mobius - the person who has listened hardest, probably, besides his mother - he admits that he is small and scared and lashing out. That he doesn't know what to do.

Of course, this is when Mobius introduces the task the TVA has for Loki - to take down his other self.

Oh, I can't wait for the next episode! I want to know where this is going.

(I've popped in some panels from Loki: Agent of Asgard because it's my favorite and the show is giving me feelings about it.)

#the loki show #the loki series #agent mobius #loki #loki meta #spoilers #loki spoilers #loki show spoilers #aoa #gos!loki #marvel

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resinatingbeauty · 4 years ago

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Witchcraft & Expectations

What do you really expect from the Craft?

I had considered writing this for a while before actually doing it just because I didn't want anyone to feel like they were being attacked or singled out. Offending you isn't the purpose of this post, so please do not be discouraged by anything you read here. There is no wrong way of practicing your Craft and to each their own. I was just curious about perspectives when it comes to your expectations regarding Witchcraft, magick, and spirituality as I have dealt with many different people following many different paths since focusing more on my Craft and art through my shop which began on Mercari and grew enough to become more established on Etsy.

I do sell many spiritual / witchy items from personalized spell kits to witchy mystery boxes compiled with Intuitively chosen and my own handmade, one of a kind items. Among the most popular spiritual offerings are my 'buy one get one miniature spell jars,' which allow my customers to select two general purposes or a personalized request from which I assemble and enchant a miniature glass spell jar containing herbs, crystals, essential oils, and other objects based on their needs and requests. I wanted to make these little portable vessel talismans more available to everyone price and purpose wise, compared to others that have been charged with a more specific intent or devoted to a specific deity.

I have a long history of using spell jars myself for various purposes whenever I feel compelled to create one or a special occasion arises. I'm picky about larger jars and bottles, however, so they are usually created in small corked jars or in larger jars that I will sometimes embellish or try new things to integrate that allow the spell jar to also be an appealing or intriguing piece of handmade everyday decor while serving its spiritual purpose, such as the one in the photo above.

For the most part, I have found a surprisingly amount of success with my spell jars. Not just myself, but others as well have reported events that they thought were directly related to their spell jar. I had created one for my neighbor a couple weeks ago who had been searching for a better job than the one she had at a preschool. The day after I gave her the jar, she received a text from an old coworker who notified her that a position at a bank she had applied at months ago that had nothing available at that time had just opened up.

This actually exceeded my expectations. In my experience, magick takes time. Others who have commented on the success of their spell jars or magick in general would contact me a few weeks or so after using their spell kit or receiving their spell jar. I created a spell jar back in January to help jumpstart my small business selling my crafts and Craft and didn't really start to see a huge change until mid-March-April where I was more successful than even I anticipated.

This was about on par with what I expected in terms of time, as most spells I've ever done have taken days, weeks, or even months to start manifesting results that couldn't be passed off or ignored. To be sure, I include a scroll with each of my kits and jars explaining how they are best utilized, to have patience, how to set a purpose and intentions, the power of thinking positively, and that magick rewards those who are willing to work and make sacrifices for what they desire. To me, all of these things are virtues that this path teaches us and are part of what makes the Craft so empowering overall. Whether it was the spell or your hard work, you are the catalyst for change. You made things happen. I mean, what is more empowering than that?

This is part of the reason why I personally chose to over spell kits and magickal tools rather than offering to cast spells or perform rituals on one's behalf. It was my desire to make YOU feel empowered and you are the one ultimately responsible for your own success or failure, whether spiritually or otherwise. I'll gladly steer you down the road of success and provide you with my knowledge, experience, and guidance, but I am always clear about what to expect.

Unfortunately, we live in a time where instant gratification is anticipated and expected, which I never considered in terms of Witchcraft. I knew that no matter how many times I write 'set realistic expectations, focus on your purpose, be patient, and keep doing what your doing' that some people would just blow through all that hoping that they just bought a quick fix for all their problems for $6.99 + a buy one get one deal.

Two weeks or so ago, I had received an order for said jars from a young man who simply said he wanted a personalized spell jar for lucid dreaming and dream work and selected his second 'free' one for self empowerment. I reached out to clarify and answered some of his questions. My immediate impression from him was one of discord. He expressed a lot of turmoil in his life over the past few months and claimed to have taken on a lot of responsibility. He seemed young and eager, with a ton of questions regarding magick in general. I answered his questions the best I could, but reiterated the same values I expressed in the previous paragraph when asked why such and such spell wasn't working, 'should I not have done this,' etc. Magick takes time to manifest, especially when it comes to financial purposes like he explained which are inherently unlikely to resolve themselves overnight.

He seemed happy enough with his purchase and said as much when he received his package. A couple days later, I received a notification about a review he had left which was negative, saying one of his spell jars didn't work with a message delivered in tandem asking what purpose I had set for his spell jar.

Let me say this: I am not upset with him or complaining about his review. He is entitled to his own opinion, although I was annoyed with how quickly he had come to the conclusion when in the instructions I provided him I specifically said that these things take time to work. Anyone who receives results instantly or within the next day or so are exceeding my own expectations. Which is great! Hooray!

But this is definitely not the standard I've come to expect in all the years I've been practicing the Craft.

I continued chatting with and answering this young man's questions and ultimately uncovered that he was upset about a variety of things that had been going on in his life. In his mind, he felt entitled to have these things work for him sooner rather than later and was frustrated and angry that nothing he tried had been working out the way he expected.

In the time that I have opened my little shop, I have (thankfully) only run into one other person like this- where their understanding of Witchcraft seems to have been compiled from television and movies. After the first, I learned to tread lightly around these individuals because, whether it's their fault or not, they have been mislead.

Television shows like old school Charmed and the newer Salem and Witches of East End are really entertaining. I enjoyed watching them, but they are the absolute enemy of those who practice magick / witchcraft as a form of religion or spirituality. Sure, some of these shows actually do their research. Even Buffy the Vampire Slayer was ahead of its time introducing Wiccans, Technopagans, and New Age practices to pop culture and in many ways helped to show people an obscured version of the truth during the 'Satanic Panic' period when even witches hated being called witches and the pentagram / pentacle difference became an actual difference that wasn't just a choice of words.

Newer generations growing up with Harry Potter, which is hardly a great introduction into magickal traditions, were at least more open minded than the previous generation to the actuality of witchcraft and magick as a spiritual practice.

I mean, who doesn't want to snap their fingers and make the house tidy in one fell swoop?

I sure do. But even when I first started practicing at 11 I understood that that just isn't how it is.

This young man who was saying he lead a coven sounded more like he was LARPing than legitimately asking for spiritual guidance. I realized real quick that I couldn't do anything for him. What he wanted and expected, no matter how many times I referenced the instructions I provided (he evidently hadn't acknowledged) and relayed to him my own experience and expectations, he was looking for that 'quick fix' and someone or something to blame for when it didn't work the way he thought it would. The main reason for his complaint? The night after he received his spell jar, he said he just dreamnt about the moon.

My understanding of lucid dreaming was having direct control over ones dreams. The more I talked to this person the more it became clear that this wasn't his understanding of lucid dreaming. I tried to ask what he had tried to gain that control, as many of you know that I suffered from sleep paralysis for years and taught myself how to realize and 'break out' of it over time. He referenced making offerings to a goddess. I had to stop.

I'm sure that another business minded witch would have sold him something else or offered an exchange. I (stupidly) tried to make him understand that he has the power to manifest his desires. All I did was provide him with a tool to help things along.

This was the same for the woman I had dealt with months ago who said that she had been told by this coven owned business that she was a vampire reincarnated to be with her lover. That was the ultimate end of our conversation because she didn't seem very open to anything I suggested. Whether the things she bought were 'effective' for her or not we will never know. When she started messaging me to the point of harassment I deleted her messages and flagged them as spam. All this time and effort spent consoling someone who really isn't in the right frame of mind for magick or witchcraft.

The main point in writing this ranty post is to get the perspective of the community. What are your expectations for your own spells? What do you tell others when they ask? If you are also a 'witch shop' owner or own your own spiritual practice how do you deal with clients that have set unrealistic expectations for you and your Craft?

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phoebehalliwell · 4 years ago

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I've always wondered about paige meeting a witch/darklighter hybrid? Because she is big on nurture vs nature but how would she react to someone who half of their existence is deadly to half of her? But at the same time they are both half witch?

okay but like!!!!! literally Literally we meet a fucking darklighter season 1 whose sole purpose was to knock somebody up like light magic has all these rules to follow but who’s setting the rules for dark magic? the source? the source doesn’t care oh no there are more evil babies in the world aaaa ?? it was the same thing with hecate it was the same thing with the manticore hell it was probably the same thing with cole. evil loves having lil half-mortal babies it stands to reason that the idea of an extra power boost from having a kid with say a witch (or hell even a warlock or any other mix up of the two) would only be a plus. it stands to reason that the girls should have run into So Many splits like. Especially darklighters!! given that we were literally told there’s like darklighters who specifically exist to just knock other people up (which also. girl what. boo.) i mean honestly? honestly? i don’t even think we need a hybrid just straight up someone with a mortal mother and a darklighter father like that alec/daisy situation who was raised by his mom for the majority of his life until his father found him and took him (maybe killing mom who’s 2 say) and tried raising him as a darklighter. but it’s like. you know. he was raised for the most part as a human kid and yes he had some powers teleportation and then like. instant kill. but like. those aren’t well no teleportation is but instant kill is not a fun power especially if you’re just supposed to be a normal dude!

and then i’ve talked about this before (this is where i would link the post If I Could Find It i searched for. 30-40 min. i do not know where it is. aaaaaaaaa.) i don't think darklighters are born with any innate imperative to kill whitelighters or anything, the same with demon warlocks etc. i think it's all a cultural thing like killing the most witches makes you like. idk you know popular celebrity within ur faction. like uhh u drive a whole bunch of whitelighters to suicide ur fuckin steph curry of ur darklighter clan the man can't miss. So. if we have a guy let's name the guy let's pick a name that means darkness. kieran!! okay so lil kieran was raised by mom and knows very little of his powers, and you know mom knows even less she doesn't even know his father's name. But!! mom is a future whitelighter, she's just a bit wayward at the moment, so her whitelighter cloaked her so that she can raise her son in peace n safety. but oh no!! mom's dead. and the cloaking on kieran was only an extension of mom's cloaking so now he's out in the open n here comes dad. and you know we'll say kieran's a bit of a fucked up kid nobody's perfect so like. he's never really quite fit in anywhere and he's always been terrified of his powers but when his dad offers him a people like him who understand him who can better hone his powers (we'll say he's in highschool) he's like this is lit!! and i get a crossbow! and he's always kinda taught that whitelighters are the enemy they're these abominations souls reanimated by the elders as weapons, stacked w powers, they can never move on, and they just have to behave as pawns to the elders whims. bc like. this kid was raised human he really doesn't get hunting whitelighters for like sport so his dad tries to keep him a little bit sheltered from the true nature of it all thinking that once the kid is older, once he gets the taste in his mouth he'll come around. so kieran spends ages 17 to like 23-25 underground in the underworld learning about darklighters learning about the lineage he's from but there's like. like he's a smart kid. and he knows there's something they're not telling him. so when he hears talk of two of his peers going on a hunt, he kinda tails them just to see what's what, only to see them maim a witch to kill their whitelighter, and who should their whitelighter be if not kieran's dead mom. and they leave both the witch and the whitelighter for dead bc like. kieran's mom can't heal with the poison in her veins it’s a slow working poison so they'll both be cold as the grave in 24hrs. and kieran like runs up to his mom like a) you're alive?!? b) you're a whitelighter?!!?!! and c) you know like what the fuck. because that's his Mom. she couldn't have like. told him. left him a sign. and you know like heart to heart blah blah blah and the witch is over here kinda saying like hi?? darklighter? what the fuck? and kieran's like aaaa because he can't help all he can do is like kill and the witch is like doesn't matter bring me a map and a crystal and using kieran's mom's blood scrys for the nearest whitelighter like u should be able to sense them go bring them to us and maybe i won't vanquish you, a threat kieran has literally never received, and quite frankly the terminology makes him a little bit uncomfortable.

and you know where else should the crystal land if not south bay social services, and you know kieran really doesn't know what he's looking for he's never hunted whitelighter so he was never taught to sense them but evidently it's in his power so he gives it a shot but like no. what's he even looking for? he has no idea. so instead he just runs up to this raven haired woman about his age like fuck it do you have a phone. and paige is like ??? who do you need to call who are you here for what are you here for do i need to grab you any forms and kieran's like fuck it if you go to this address you'll find to people in mortal danger. they need help. and then like. bolts. and paige is like what the fuck!!

and you know blah blah blah they manage to save the witch but they can't save the mom bc they don't know what poisoned her and it kinda makes the papers Because It's Fuckin Weird especially because the mom already died?? this woman literally must have faked her own death five years ago only to die from an unknown poison in a san francisco apartment. and then you know blah blah blah within a month or two it's revealed paige is a charmed one! a witchlighter! and then comes the reveal of darklighters and their poisoned arrows and paige is like wait. i've seen this before. and describes you know the scene with the witch and the woman and leo's like. i should name the mom. soleil. leo's like that was soleil she was a whitelighter, and piper's like wait why were you there, and paige is like i don't know there was this guy who told me to go to that address to save them and then like ran away, and piper and phoebe are like that's fuckin weird. and he approached u specifically? and paige is like yeah he pushed his way across the office to get to my cubicle. and piper phoebe are looking at leo like what does this mean what does this mean, and leo's like idk. and meanwhile kieran's trying to break from the darklighter clan but he knows he can't get out unless he's cloaked. so he goes back to try to find the witch he saved to ask her to cloak him but she says she doesn't have that power and he's like okay well who does and she's like only a whitelighter does and he's like okay could u find me one and she's like r u fucking joking. you want me to get a whitelighter here just so u can kill? and kieran's like what no i'm not i want out that's why i'm here i don’t wanna be a darklighter anymore, and the witch is like that's not a choice you have it's in your blood now the only reason i'm letting you live rn is because evidently you’re soleil’s kid she was a good woman i trusted her but i don't know you. and i don't trust you. and if you orb in here again i swear to god i will vanquish you. just so we can get you know a solid dose of light magic not trusting kieran, not based on his actions (hell even in spite of his actions) but purely based on his lineage.

so blah blah blah kieran start spending more and more time above ground and just trying to subtly distance himself from the clan which his father can sense and quite frankly like yes is concerned but is more just like. pissy because he's making him look bad, especially the fact he's gone this long without a kill it's making him look weak. so his dad's like fuck it we're going hunting together and now it's like. obviously non optional. you're gonna kill a whitelighter or you'll you know get the boot lose the only people who could possibly understand you so you know it's kieran and dad above ground and he's teaching him to sense for whitelighters teaching him what the skill is and kieran's actually picking it up quite well and honestly. honestly? he might make this kill. he can't survive alone. he doesn't even know who he is. and his powers are calling him loud and clear to a whitelighter. meanwhile paige is out on a mission with like piper and leo and immediately drops everything breaks from the pack starts running because there's that guy!! and kieran realizes that the call is coming from the raven haired girl. and that his dad is right behind her lining up the shot.

and so you know act now think later he grabs paige and they disappear into a cloud of black orbs and reemerge right behind his father and kieran calls his crossbow and shoots his father. in the shoulder. it's intentional. kieran has great aim. and he won't kill. and his dad's fuckin pissed and honestly about ready to kill the both of them when piper rounds the corner and blasts him to bits. and well. now kieran's definitely left with no family. so he says a quick apology to paige and orbs out. and piper and leo are like that one was a darklighter too!! and paige is like no no u don't get it. he just saved me. and they're like He What? why'd you follow him into this alley in the first place? and paige is like that's the guy! the guy the soleil & witch guy who told me to save them. and leo's like a darklighter working to save a witch and whitelighter? that's not right. paige i trust you i don't think you're lying but i don't think you know the whole story. he's a darklighter. they're evil. and paige is like then why did he save me? why did he save the other witch? why’d he try to save the whitelighter? and piper's like for all we know he's the one who shot her you saw his crossbow. and paige is like no this isn't right there's something we don't know here. blah blah blah they go to the original saved witch who informs them that while kieran is a darklighter he's soleil's son and paige is like !!! i knew it! he's an innocent we're meant to save him. and piper and leo are like respectfully, paige, no, that's way too dangerous. bonus round if piper's pregnant here pre- orb shield knowledge. and leo's like paige he can't help it it's nature it's just who he is. he can't be good. and paige is like why. why not. and leo's like he's half darklighter. and paige is like yeah and i'm half whitelighter. and piper's like fuckin yeah babe that's The Point he's a danger to us. and paige is like no the point is if it's all so predetermined if there's no fighting what we're born as they why was i awful. why was i a brutal cruel evil miserable child? you don't know me and you don't know the things i've done (pushing back the paige dead parent reveal for later) and it doesn't matter that i have literally angel blood i was terrible! there was nothing in my nature that held me back from that vicious side. i chose to grow. i chose to become the woman i am today and every morning i wake up and chose that it's not some predestined halo around my head it's me waking up every day and choosing to fight for the good in this and you know what i think he's part of it.

#charmed #paige matthews #💌#margaretsminiessays

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