#my wife has said my attraction to her For being far rather than In Spite of it has made her feel more confident idk i just.

[mono-black-menace]

i find fat ppl attractive but im scared to talk ab it much bc im afraid ppl will accuse me of like fetishism and misinterpret me stuff but im just like. yk? i just think they're attractive features. 😑

[stilemawillow]

Hi can I request a dadlevi x momreader where they have a teenage daughter and the 104th cadet boys gave a crush on her and Levi gets really protective and the reader has to reassure him that she's not a baby anymore pleaseeee thank you😁

welp, i’m usually slow as a sloth with requests but if you don’t mind it being a short drabble i can sure as hell crack up sth soo sorry if it’s a bit too short but here goes, hope you like it anonie (also i kind of said trabble and it turned out 1500 words, sorry) ________________________________________________

“This is getting out of hand, Levi.” Your words were low around the table at the mess hall as your raven-haired husband fixed the cadets across from you with a murderous glare. You put a hand to his tense shoulder and could distinctly hear Mike and Hanji snort from next to you at Levi’s click of the tongue - still, his abuse didn’t stop.

Your daughter glanced at her father once, smiling happily from her place in between the cheerful males of the 104th squad and proceeding to be rather oblivious when it came to his foul mood. Admittedly, he hadn’t spoken about it to anybody but, as the mother of his rather grown-up child and the woman who’d spent well over two decades with him already, you didn’t need a verbal explanation to gather why he was being so pissy.

Since your daughter had been enlisted in the Corps (something her and Levi and you and her had had two separate rather long arguments about), she was in the spotlight, or, well, something of the sort. She was kind enough to communicate with her peers and funny enough to make them laugh, and the looks she’d mostly inherited from you did its part when it came to charming the rookies you’d later checked were named Jean Kirstein, Reiner Braun, Connie Springer, Armin Arlert and partly, the very special Eren Jaeger.

They were her comrades and she regarded them as such - close people she would protect and work with in the future, and they regarded her the same with just a little bit of an ulterior motive. Naturally, parents were good at noticing those stuff and the usually emotion-incompetent Levi Ackerman was no exception when it came to Jean’s heart eyes mirroring his own aimed at you in the past.

As a good father who couldn’t, however, reveal his identity straight-up, he made sure to mentor the kids as harshly as he could, strict in his teachings and rather sadistic out of them. The poor boys had handled stable and kitchen duty more than any previous rookies enlisted and two or three of them had gotten lucky enough to clean up a whole storage of 3DM gear and run laps till they fainted. You were nurturing when it came to those undeserved mishaps and ended up playing the good cop who gave the poor boys water and let them sleep for the rest of the day.

Levi didn’t know it but the harder his punishments got, the more reason his daughter had to pity the boys and question her father’s behaviour. We arrive at a moment where he could no longer think of a suitable punishment to pull through with enough reason and, of course, your endless nagging on the topic. Your daughter didn’t need to know about this secret little bickering, as the cadets didn’t know she was your child and nobody but the superiors were aware of your relationship with Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

“I’m just monitoring.” The raven’s excuse was laughable as you were leaving the mess hall and he literally stalked his daughter and her tall charmers to the training fields, where you decided to pull him along into the building and have a little talk.

“This is ridiculous, do you realise what you’re doing?” Your question struck nothing in him as he made his way to the second floor of the building only so he could observe from above the training the 104th cadets would undertake with Hanji. His hawk eyes pierced the window and the boys surrounding his precious little baby, and in that moment you felt a little soft when it came to reprimanding him.

“I’m watching my fucking child.” He argued with a grumble and crossed arms, making you sigh as you leaned against the window and observed his features. You could guess only by the pissed off twitch of his brow your daughter had been paired to combat with some of the boys he so disliked.

“But she’s not in danger.” You objected with a snort to which he rolled his eyes. “Also our child.” The addition made his frown more sarcastic, then you pushed at his shoulder and glanced outside. The sun was shining and your husband was silent - and you had to be a good wife and mother at the same time. “Now, I need you to hear me out. Our daughter is fifteen years old and she’s part of the worst group possible. Maybe we can concern ourselves more with her safety and happiness, not so much with the boys she has as friends.”

“It’s unacceptable for them to slack off this much, not to mention you’re defending her. You pointed it out, she’s just fifteen.” The emphasis was a cold slap in your face, then you were eyeing him pointedly.

“Levi,” his grey hues left the window for a second to lock with your gaze, “I was fifteen when I met you.” Your words made him suck in a breath but his obstinance had no limits when it came to his overprotective nature.

“All the more fucking reason for me to protect her.”

“No, all the more reason for us to watch from afar and let her live her life. She’s a teenager once and the fact she’s bonding with her comrades isn’t going to kill her.” The brow he quirked at you made you glare, then you beat him to speaking. “She’s not a baby anymore, we take care of her, yes, but we have to give her some freedom too. Otherwise, we’ll get a rebellious period and I can’t handle managing both your explosive asses once that happens.” His spiteful snort was provocative but his figure turned away from the window to glare at you - good, so he was buckling.

“My ass is explosive only when I drink too much coffee.” His childish retort made you chuckle - you took it as him admitting defeat by not addressing the issue any further.

“And when Hanji cooks.” Your joke called forth an eye-roll from him, then his lips pursed and you smiled at his pale countenance. “It’s fine being worried, she’s been sheltered her whole life and suddenly you’re forced to watch her form connections with people who’re not us. I would say, however,” your smile slowly curled into a smirk as you glanced at the training fields through the window, “she can beat up the boys if they annoy her without your help.”

His brows furrowed and his attention followed your gaze, and you watched your fifteen-year-old daughter flip the blond Reiner Braun over her shoulder with a move Levi had taught her when she was ten. He fell to the ground and, from experience, you knew how much it hurt when all the air was pushed out of your lungs in that moment. Next thing he knew, a foot had stepped on his dominant hand’s wrist and a small hand held a wooden knife to his throat.

In your peripheral vision, you saw the satisfied flicker in Levi’s orbs and decided he wouldn’t be arguing with you on the topic of this anymore. Also, he might as well spare the boys their duties. If his daughter could handle the biggest one this easily, she could land a kick to the testicles effortlessly if any of them proved problematic. You shook your head at the sight and how proud Levi seemed due to it, then you realised he was back to watching you.

“On the topic of us meeting when you were still a brat, are you insinuating anything?” You began waving your hands around in a “no” when he glared at the field, then at you. You’d just denied when he tactfully cut in with: “Far as I remember, you jumped me and you had eighteen.” You let out an awkward laugh and his glare got all the more deadly.

“Haha, about that. I actually lied so you’d let me.” The slow admittance slipped past your dry lips and you watched your husband doubt everything you’d told him in your shared life. You could see him recall everything and make sure he was in the right - except you’d been stupid as a teenager and twice as scheming.

“But your birthday had passed.” He argued coldly, unsuspecting of the truth and ever so sweet because he put so much trust in you.

“And about that, my birthday’s kind of a month after the date I told you.” You watched his eyes widen and began ranting, as per tradition when he came close to blowing a fuse and you wanted to avoid being collateral damage. “I know what you’re thinking, I’m so lucky that my wife is even younger than I thought she was, she’s so attractive and youthful---”

“I’m thinking how I’m about to beat your ass in our next combat session for lying to me for twenty fucking years, that’s what I’m thinking.”

[hermannsthumb]

As per our convo, Newt getting set up with Hermann via Hermann’s father’s binder full of pre-approved suitors for his son...

(from @k-sci-janitor 👀) easily one of our funniest concepts yet. I was going to end on newt coming over for dinner scenario but I like the ominous open ending. I'm not actually sure when kaiju attacks fall in the PR timeline so excuse my handwaveyness, LOL

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermann’s relationship with his father is what one would call strenuous at best, but—Hermann must admit, to the man’s credit, and in spite of his many flaws—he took the news of Hermann’s sexual orientation as unflinchingly as if Hermann had told him the day’s weather. It was a bit annoying, in fact. Hermann had agonized over the proper way to breach the subject for months, certain it spoke to some sort of personal ruin (whether ostracization from the Gottliebs or being forbade following through on any attraction he may feel whilst still living under the family roof, he wasn't sure), before finally simply announcing it one day at the breakfast table on a whim.

It had been a long-standing tradition that Hermann’s parents compile a binder—effectively of dossiers—on all the most eligible bachelors (for their daughter) and bachelorettes (for their sons) to aid in the choice of the latest Gottlieb mate. It was easiest this way, or so Hermann and his siblings were told. Parental approval was already secured. The histories of each were already secured, which bypassed any nasty shocks that might emerge in the courtship stage. Most of them were children of his father's colleagues or bright minds in their own rights: surgeons, and dentists, and mathematicians. Poets were strictly forbidden.

The occasion of Hermann’s breakfast table announcement had also been the day Hermann’s father presented him with his very first binder of prospective mates—a few days after his eighteenth birthday, and shortly before he was to go off to begin work on his PhD. His father had slid him a hand-written binder of names, no more than a dozen, and all with accompanying photographs. “All are accomplished young women,” he assured Hermann. “We can arrange any meetings of your choice over your winter holidays.”

Hermann glared down at the row of frozen smiles. He stabbed his fork into his cooked tomato wedge. “I don’t want to marry any of these women,” he said, and turned his glare on his father. He still had a rebellious streak in him at that point, something nurtured by a charismatic young man he used to trail after in boarding school, who pierced Hermann’s ear with a sewing needle in the boys’ toilets and listened to songs about setting things on fire. In late this streak had manifested itself in Hermann in nicking packets of cigarettes from his father’s study, one of which was in his pocket now. The weight of it made Hermann feel bolder. “I don’t want to marry any woman,” he continued. “I like men.”

The binder was drawn away in silence, and Hermann was free to eat his toast and tomatoes. The next morning a binder of young men was in its place.

(In a way the acceptance infuriated Hermann. It meant he could not blame his father’s obvious dislike for him on an unfounded, homophobic prejudice; rather, it was a result of Hermann’s own personal failings.)

The binder was placed at Hermann’s breakfast plate every day until he left for his studies. It was placed at his plate when he returned from them five years later. Not even the emergence of the kaiju from the bottom of the ocean shortly after Hermann turned twenty-four dampened his father’s hopes, nor turning all their scientific efforts towards the new jaeger program: some names were removed from the binder (the reasoning Hermann shudders to think at), more still were added, though Hermann is expected only to consider it once a week now on account of his busy schedule. This was one of such days.

“Your brother is very happy with his wife,” Hermann’s father reminds him. “She was one of my first suggestions for him, in fact.”

Hermann is not fond of his sister-in-law. Too rude—too cold. Though perhaps that makes her perfect for Hermann’s brother. “Haven’t we got bigger things to worry about these days than whether or not I’m going to marry?” Hermann says. He adds milk to his tea. “I’m sure they’re all, er, marvelous selections, only—”

“Your sister, too, with her husband,” father says.

Hermann sighs. He hasn’t got much of the rebellious streak he used to in him anymore—too stressed. Not fancying a fight before they’ve even begun today’s coding work, he picks up the binder and begins flipping through it. Sons of engineers working on the jaeger program with them, prominent young chemists, many of whom Hermann has been presented with since he was eighteen. Plenty of them are even handsome. Half of Hermann wonders if he should just pick the least-unappealing one of the bunch and be done with it already. He turns the page over and freezes. “Oh,” he says. “This one is—new.”

“Hm?” father says.

Hermann holds up the binder, tapping at a new entry. “Newton Geiszler.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” father says, nodding. “A child prodigy from Berlin—he’s made tremendous strides in kaiju science in such little time. And,” he adds, “three PhDs. Two of them before he even turned twenty.” The unspoken implication was that Dr. Geiszler far surpassed Hermann in intelligence and Hermann should feel ashamed for not skipping as many grades as Dr. Geiszler.

Hermann feels he ought to resent Dr. Geiszler for it, but he's finding it difficult to summon up any animosity towards him. It's likely because Hermann finds Dr. Geiszler to be strikingly handsome in his photograph: cheeks which haven’t quite lost their baby fat (giving him the appearance of being a scruffy hamster), large, thick glasses, tousled hair, an easy grin. Three PhDs, and German at that. And a child prodigy? “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned him to me before,” Hermann says. He seems precisely the sort father would. Geiszler’s photograph is black-and-white and a bit grainy, but Hermann swears he could make out the lightest bit of freckles across his cheeks.

“I’d not heard of him until he published an article last week on kaiju biology,” father says. “Besides—he’s moved to America.”

Geiszler has three piercings up the side of his left ear. “I am going to write to him,” Hermann declares.

Father nods, and picks up his newspaper, clearly already disinterested. They speak no more of it that day.

It is not hard to find Dr. Geiszler online (his name is not the most common, and his field of study certainly isn’t), nor is it hard to match his photograph to his faculty page on MIT’s website. From there, Hermann retrieves Dr. Geiszler’s email address. He takes the evening to read over Geiszler’s publications spanning back to 2003 before he gathers up the courage to type out an actual email.

Dear Dr. Geiszler,

You do not know me, but I have recently been made acquaintance with your work and find it—Hermann pauses—scintillating. My father and I are—Hermann backspaces this—I am currently working on the development of the jaeger program…

There’s a response waiting for him the next morning. It’s as enthusiastic as it is brief. Dr. Gottlieb- That’s so awesome!! Believe it or not I’ve been following your work too. I have a million questions for you about the jaegers. If it’s classified info I promise I won’t tell. -Newt

It makes Hermann smile like nothing ever has before.

Hermann’s correspondence with Dr. Geiszler does not transgress beyond the professional until the following January. By that time, Hermann and his father have successfully completed the coding for their first jaeger prototype, and Hermann has been offered his fair share of tenured university positions to pick from as he likes. He finds himself oddly disappointed that none of them are in America with Dr. Geiezler. This, which leads to the realization that he’s grown rather fond of Dr. Geiszler, is perhaps what drives Hermann to uncharacteristic sentimental extremes on January 19th: he orders Dr. Geiszler a birthday present. The first email Dr. Geiszler sends him after that addresses him as Hermann. The first email Hermann sends Dr. Geiszler after that addresses him as Newton. Things move rapidly after that.

“Are you still writing to that young biologist?” Hermann’s father asks him in March. Hermann has spent the last two months devouring every bit of information Newton has seen fit to divulge about his personal life: his dexterity with no less than three different instruments, his favorite loud monster movies, how he’d love to get a kaiju tattooed on him one day. Hermann suspects he might be falling in love with Newton. In hardly five months! These are war times, Hermann supposes, so it would make sense. People are meant to do such extreme things.

“I am,” Hermann says.

“I’ve asked around about him,” Hermann’s father says. His expression is stern—unimpressed. “About his character. I’m not sure it’s wise to continue your correspondence.”

The reasons are this. Dr. Geiszler’s methods are unorthodox. Dr. Geiszler is loud and uncouth, and has little respect for his intellectual superiors. Dr. Geiszler was thrown out of a convention once for storming up on stage and stealing a microphone from an engineer to shout about the destruction coral reefs. Dr. Geiszler was in a distasteful band for several years. Dr. Geiszler was once arrested for egging a politician’s house. Dr. Geiszler has gone on record as describing the kaiju as “kinda cool”. Almost none of this is news to Hermann; in fact, that which is only causes Hermann’s affection for Newton to grow. “I will consider your advice,” Hermann says, knowing he won’t. Besides, it's not as if his father really has Hermann's interests at heart—Hermann knows he merely wishes to preempt any scandal Newton Geiszler could possibly bring upon the Gottlieb name.

In April Newton goes on television and declares that he’s sure the kaiju are extraterrestrial in origin, on account of their great size and his brief examination of a sample from the second kaiju to make landfall. He’s laughed off by his older peers before he can get another word out. The email he writes to Hermann afterwards is furious, capslock-heavy, and expresses that Hermann is the only one who takes him seriously in the whole world. It leaves Hermann certain that he is in love with Newton.

“Dr. Geiszler was interviewed on some American television program,” Hermann’s father says a few days later.

“I know,” Hermann says, proudly. Newton was on television. “I watched it.”

“He made some extraordinary claims,” Hermann’s father says.

But Hermann is thinking only of the outfit Newton wore (skinny jeans and an oversized leather jacket, so out of place compared to the suited other scientists sitting around him), the shade of his eyes (hazel), his short stature (hardly taller than Hermann), and the cadence of his voice (high, but not unappealing). He’d been so confident, and carried himself with a self-assurance that was foreign to Hermann. It was marvelously attractive. “I’m sure they're correct,” Hermann says. "Every single one. Newton is a terribly brilliant scientist." All bold claims are met with derision at first, are they not?

Newton’s theory is proven correct after the next kaiju attack, when experts other than him get their hands on kaiju samples and validate his claims. The general consensus after that is that the kaiju are not of this world. And Newton was the first to propose the theory! Hermann sends Newton an email full of congratulations, and Newton responds with a heart emoticon in his sign-off. Newton isn't just a brilliant scientist. “Newton is a genius,” Hermann tells his father, dreamily.

The binder reappears on Hermann’s work desk a few months later, Newton’s page torn conspicuously from it. Hermann tips the whole thing straight into his trash can. He has more important things to worry about—arranging a meeting with Newton, perhaps. Hermann ought to have him over for dinner.

[tiamat-zx]

Beau/Yasha: A Story of Sapphic Sentinels

Beauregard Lionett. Yasha Nydoorin. Two broken hearts trying to hold the pieces together so tightly that they can’t afford to let their guards down. And then they first meet in Trostenwald, and from there we have a rather complex progression into their relationship.

Whether it may end in them becoming each other’s Second Loves, or just very tight platonic friends who don’t mind occasional flirtation on the side, or perhaps something else entirely, that’s still nowhere close to being determined yet. That said, I’d like to offer my own introspective on their relationship thus far. It’s purely my own insight which may be different from others, so please bear with me.

(LONG POST. You’ve been warned.)

The way I see it, at the very beginning Beau only had a physical attraction to Yasha born purely out of lust and her own need to use sex as a distraction from her own trauma and fears, thus her relentless flirting. It didn’t bother Beau much at the time, thinking Yasha was flustered because she was playing hard to get.

But then the Iron Shepherds happened, and Yasha and Fjord and Jester were taken from them. And then Mollymauk, Yasha’s closest friend in the carnival, had died and Beau blamed herself for it, refusing to let it happen again and chose to devote her every effort into getting them all back into their fold safe and sound, only for Yasha to leave them again for a short time before reuniting in Nicodranas and joining them as they ventured to Xhorhas.

And then after some time, Yasha confided in them about being a widow and having a wife: Zuala. Hearing that, and hearing that Yasha herself actually ran away from her wife’s execution, made Beau react with a simple “Oh” because it reminded her of when she lost her first love, her partner in crime who was left to rot in jail when Thoreau bailed his daughter out and, no doubt soon right after, shipped her off to the Cobalt Soul to quash her rebellious nature and make her more “pliable” to behaving. Thankfully for Beau, and for her companions, that didn’t stick and it only refined her body and mind into the Expositor she would later become. Not because of him, but in spite of him. Because while his actions did pave the foundation for her future growth, it was Beau herself that laid down the roadmap, her own path.

And then while in pursuit of Obann, they had a campfire conversation in the Barbed Fields. And that was their first real moment of bonding and it wasn't even close to what most Critters expected: it was a show of vulnerability and solidarity talking about losing loved ones as Beau confided in Yasha about Tori and that she understood Yasha’s pain, even if it was nowhere close to that level. And I believe it was around this time that Marisha stated that Beau's not interested in a deeper relationship than that (and also that she didn’t want to say or do things that would give shippers the wrong impression). That said, though, it did make Yasha think more about this monk that she met months ago, understanding that she’s not alone in grieving a loved one being lost and that may have opened up a possible development in their budding relationship.

But then Obann happened. And I think it was during this time that Beau’s feelings toward Yasha changed. Suspicion gave way to concern. Concern gave way to determination. Determination to get her back. To make their family whole. And now that I think about it, Beau was very reliant on Jester’s strength of heart in the time that Yasha was gone, unafraid to confide in her whenever she was distressed. I feel it was during this time that she realized she had a crush on Jester and fell in love with her best friend. And yet, I do feel that she might see it as getting her hopes up; she doesn’t know how Jester would respond. After all, Jester loves everybody and Beau also doesn’t want to overstep her boundaries with Jester any more than she already has, lest she screw up and make things unbearably awkward.

So even when Beau realized she was harboring a growing crush on her best friend, she knew it would be a very unlikely outcome for her. So she diverts her focus from that to saving Yasha from Obann. And despite the numerous failures, she and the Mighty Nein eventually made headway, destroyed the Permaheart, and exposed the Angel of Irons’ true identity. Also, Beau was able to suss out that the abyssal rifts opening up were happening on both sides of the conflict, proving her earliest suspicions that the war was one big distraction. And she was right: it was an elaborate gambit in a plot to release Tharizdun, the Chained Oblivion, from the Abyss.

This plot came to a head in Rexxentrum, in the Chantry of the Dawn. Beau almost died twice that day: once by Yasha’s hand, and once by Obann’s. But she still survived. As for Yasha, had she slain Beau that day, piercing her heart with the Skingorger as if piercing her own, in an ironic reflection of Molly’s own demise, she would’ve taken her own life because that would’ve been the straw that broke the camel’s back. But (and this is just my own theory that may or may not be true considering that sometimes she had some small control over herself even when “chained” by Obann) she didn’t and she resisted making that last fatal twist. But just barely.

And because she resisted, and because Beau was able to survive, Yasha was saved. Sure, Caduceus broke the shackle, but it was Beau's forgiveness and refusal to blame Yasha despite the glaring scar in her own chest that SHE caused. That's what saved her. Even though Yasha slew many Cobalt Soul monks earlier back in Zadash, and almost killed her, Beau still didn't blame her.

She couldn't.

And then the return to Kamordah. The reunion with Thoreau and Clara Lionett. Beau meeting her baby brother, her “replacement”, for the first time. Beau’s resolve eroding in real-time as she tries to hold it together the whole time. And Yasha lingers behind to call out Thoreau, saying that he should’ve shown his daughter how lucky he was to have her. And she shows no hesitation when confronting Isharnai the Prism Sage, intent on protecting Beau from any further misery the hag could impart upon her, even if it meant destroying her own happiness.

That right there? I think that was when it began to truly change for both of them. And by the time they arrive back in Nicodranas in time for the peace talks, they are slowly growing closer again, going back to being casual and flirty but this time YASHA is the one also returning the flirting, which I’m glad for because the fish market scene was hilarious and heartwarming in equal measure, as was the joining in of Jester’s crafting time.

And then the harp performance. Beau saw Yasha in a new light as she played. A healing light. Way back in the Barbed Fields, Beau knew that there was something about Yasha that she was excited to see. At first glance, one would assume this was foreshadowing to Obann taking her away. But upon reflection, I don’t think Beau was expecting her own words to end up referring to this. And the look on her face and the exhale of breath she makes after mentioning that Yasha’s playing was amazing, that was probably when it hit her.

She’s in love with Yasha.

Which brings us to the events after the specter ambushed Beau and dropped her flat with a single gaze as Fjord AND Yasha dove in to heal her and get her back on her feet (it’s totally a competition, trust me). Now, in the past Beau would always refuse to be cared for or even admit when she needs to rest. But then she asks Yasha to carry her just like back when they first met and Yasha reluctantly did so at that time, though not to the extent that Beau would’ve liked.

And then here in the present time Yasha does so again, but without hesitation or embarrassment. And not once does Beau hide her contentment, living her best life and loving that she's being pampered by both Jester and Yasha even when everyone is aware of it.

Will this lead to a confession between the two Sapphic Sentinels? (That’s my new nickname for them, come at me lol)

Well, not quite yet, as it's up in the air as to who will bring it up first. That, and lingering questions and doubts about Beau’s feelings for Jester as well as what Yasha herself is thinking as she seems content with still loving Zuala but allowing her heart to make room for another after all this time.

Honestly, if anything, it might be Yasha who makes the first move and goes to confront her fear head-on and confess. But like everything else in their relationship, that remains to be seen.

[flovey-dovey]

I want to say something about Klaus

I’ve been waiting a very long time to see this movie, and when I finally could I loved it to pieces. But the ending broke my heart- in more ways than one.

There will be no “tldr” here because my feelings about this film are too strong to let me minimalize what I have to say about it (but I might have to make a part 2 since this is pretty big). If you don’t agree with me, that’s fine, it’s okay, I don’t blame you. I won’t tell you you’re wrong, because in your own life you’re as obligated as ever to have an opinion of your own, correct or not. One other thing I want to say before I start rambling is that this will be messy. Also I do not- nor have ever- claimed to be a critic, and this is not a review. This is just a single person on the internet expressing their opinion, and for the love of all that is holy let’s keep it at that.

Foreword over, on to my pure thoughts. Oh, and spoiler alert for those who haven’t seen the movie yet. No matter what I think about it it’s definitely worth a watch, and going into this without seeing it will probably confuse some folks. Maybe.

Okay, since my main qualm is with the characters, let’s start with Alva. I like her. She’s not the generic “tough girl who don’t need no man” I was fully prepared to have shoved down my throat. She has some genuinely good moments on her own as well as funny and pleasant interactions with both Jesper and the children of the town and is a fine character. She is jaded and determined, though not to the point of that being her entire personality, and I loved watching her find happiness as the teacher she wanted to be. She is a victim of circumstance that eventually has her environment changed and finds herself changed with it for the better. Her design and personality were very pleasing (to me) to see as well.

However...

Why did she have to be the love interest? Just- why? What warranted her eventually desiring a relationship of any description when she was shown to be more devoted to her position as a teacher- and as a single woman- throughout 90% of the film? This is especially frustrating since it turns almost every scene with her into one that involves Jesper in some way rather than build her as a character outside of this perspective. It takes away from Alva “the character” and instead focuses more on her as Alva “the love interest”. In media stuffed to the rafters in heteronormative relationships, and from those that I’ve seen, as afraid as I was to see it happen I was also prepared to have this aspect of the movie gracelessly thrown into my face. So, as might be expected, I actually groaned out loud when I saw it come to pass. I’m not mad, just... actually that’s a lie I am rather irritated by it, but also just... sad. Very, very sad. Disappointed, you might say. She and Jesper don’t have a lot of interactions showing that this was the obvious outcome. The best I can think that people would draw this conclusion would be a) she’s a woman and he’s a guy and they looked at each other that one time, and b) when he was trying to be charming to wriggle out of her wrath. Also, same scene, I don’t buy that it’s further implied by the boat-guy (I forget his name and can’t find it on IMDB) teasing Jesper over “young love” after she leaves in a huff. He’s not a reliable look into any feelings Jesper might feel towards her since all he’s done up to that point is tease him. It’s not enough, it just isn’t. Not to me.

In regards to her feelings for Jesper, the most I see from her is gratitude. The scene when she’s showing Jesper what he unintentionally did for the town is just that, and as she’s looking at the townsfolk Jesper looks... distressed. This is because he is conflicted about what to do at this point in the story, not necessarily because of any feelings for Alva, but it doesn’t even look like he’s thinking of her- romantically- at all. They don’t share any additional conversation, either; not a single flirtatious joke or anything that would lead me to believe they were bonding. I feel horribly conditioned to see her as the love interest and nothing more because that’s all I’ve ever seen done with a man and woman who only share a single line of dialogue before some narrator is telling me “of course” they got together in the end. Oftentimes, that line of dialogue is in an unpleasant or downright aggressive scenario, and that’s not romance. Seeing it happen over and over and over and over in almost every piece of media I subject myself to makes me want to take a blowtorch to my brain. I’m literally at my wit’s end. If it was more built-up and actually there, then fine, I take it back, but the thing is I hardly saw anything at all in terms of either Jesper or Alva or both of them thinking about each other, wanting to be together as more than just friends, throughout the entire hour and a half of the movie. The most scenes I can say they shared (not counting the ending because I’ll get to that in a bit) are four, with each one being little more than a minute long, two of them being more on the aggressive side, the third being when Alva shows Jesper the new Smeerenburg. Pleasant and humorous, yes, but not inherently romantic (neither of them share more than a glance and Jesper looks pretty preoccupied internally). The fourth is of Alva helping Margu translate what she wants from Klaus for Jesper. When Margu hugs Jesper and he and Alva exchange silent looks, the expression on Alva’s face, to me, says something like “you’re not half bad” and a note of good humor for how he handles children. Just so we’re clear I’m not against her finding happiness with Jesper. I just want it to be warranted. Not narrated.

Oh, but their love for each other is obvious and clearly meant to be from the start, is it? Okay then, show me when Alva says or does something and makes Jesper laugh, or vice-versa. Show me when she thought of him OUTSIDE of simply showing him what he did for everyone and how their hands touched, their gazes met and shy or flirtatious smiles spread across their faces as they drew slightly closer, and how she felt something more than gratitude and impressment for him. Show me when Jesper wanted to do something for her OUTSIDE being the means to a letter-related end. Show me the parts when they pined for each other and how happy seeing the other’s smile made them and how they were happy for each other’s progress and encouraged each other. Show me the parts of the movie where Jesper visited as often as he could manage to squeeze into his busy schedule just to chat. Show me kisses, hand-holding, lingering looks and happy little half-smiles cast from across a crowded courtyard. Maybe they do share something more than friendship, but no matter what I can’t get over how little there was between them to give me the impression it was going to lead to romance. It’s not even subtext, in my opinion.

Do you remember when Jesper’s father came back and it all came out in a part known as “the liar revealed” (a trope I quite hate for the oftentimes needless forced drama it creates, but whatever, for now I’ll let it slide) that he had ulterior motives which, at that point, he no longer had? Alva was the FIRST to turn her back on him in spite of their “lovey-dovey” merry-go-round painting MOMENTS earlier. She didn’t even want to hear out Jesper, who was clearly upset, and jumped straight to accusing him without showing that she was just as upset by the revelation that he could’ve been using her and playing with her feelings. How romantic. Meanwhile, the last one to return inside was Klaus, who was far more saddened and disappointed, leaving slower and leaving Jesper looking the worst, like he was heartbroken by his words- an echo of his own- most of all.

In fact...

Speaking of Klaus, I’d say Jesper is far more attracted to him than to Alva. This movie, while nearly devoid of interactions serving to build romantic chemistry between Jesper and Alva (which it absolutely should’ve if they had the ending be what it was), is littered with moments, wordless and otherwise, between Klaus and Jesper. So let’s go over them. I mean, if you’ve left by now then like I said at the start, I don’t mind. But if it’s alright I’d like to talk about them anyway, because holy holly I love them.

The scenes in question are clearly shown to develop their friendship and only get more romantic from there, and I could run out of breath trying to ramble them off all at once and what it meant to me to see them portrayed in such a beautiful way- artistically as well as in terms of the story.

Fairly early on, we learn that the wind is kind of its own “character”, guiding both Jesper and Klaus to ultimately meet each other as well as bringing them together more than once afterwards, and later on with what we learn about him it’s heavily implied to be the spirit of Klaus’ dearly departed wife. I’d like to think she was trying to tell Klaus to move on and find new love in Jesper and for Jesper to find purpose by Klaus’ side. The instances involving the wind are scattered throughout the film, so this is going to be a bit out of order.

To start, Jesper, while trying to get Klaus to donate his toys to the children of Smeerenburg, doesn’t notice the wind swirling around behind him like it was telling Klaus to follow him even if at the time Jesper’s intentions were selfish. Because he changes. They change each other, and their dynamic progresses so much more naturally, directly and clearly than Jesper and Alva’s.

There’s another scene when it leads Klaus to his workshop, where he opens the door to see a silhouette distinctly meant to parallel his wife- the one he loved- and revealed when he pulls back the cloth to be Jesper- his potential new love.

It’s one of the most explicit scenes enforcing my idea that Klaus’ wife was trying to get him to love again. Anyway, Jesper then excitedly starts going on about his gift and trying to get his mojo back before making an unintentionally big mistake by revealing a painful reminder of Klaus’ wife. A mistake he deeply regrets, mind. Not too long later, Jesper tries working on his own to make Margu’s wish for a boat/sleigh come true. While he works, the shot fades to see Klaus back at his workshop. He sees the picture Jesper drew of them and sighs, giving in and going to see him at the post office [also not to mention the drawing fades with the family shelf thing Klaus made so that’s pretty neat; took me a year to edit this in but hey better late than never]. My favorite scene is Klaus showing up to work on Margu’s present, giving Jesper a tool as well and interrupting Jesper to wordlessly point at the task at hand as if to say “If we work, we work together”. And that spoke to me. More than anything else in the movie and more than I’ve heard from any movie I’ve seen that I can remember. Also, Jesper’s soft, shy, willing smile put the biggest grin on my face. It was the last nail in the sled that made me convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were forming a romantic bond from this moment forward.

Part 2 because this is long:

https://flovey-dovey.tumblr.com/post/189133807093/part-2-of-my-thoughts-on-klaus

[sailorbellewrites]

Fools Rush In... X

characters — yoongi x reader (ft. members of bts and other original characters)

summary — min yoongi, music executive and perpetual bachelor, marries a las vegas stripper he’s only known for six months. chaos ensues.

inspiration —  fools rush in (1997 rom-com starring salma hayek and matthew perry)

information — a drabble series loosely based on the 1997 movie fools rush in. drabbles not posted in any linear order and written as a creative writing outlet.

warnings — mentions of sex work; age-difference; light sugar daddy themes; smut; light angst (specifically in parts V & VI).

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI

X  — photograph (ft. namjoon & taehyung)

Yoongi fucked up.

See, he never really thought of himself as a jealous person. He couldn’t be bothered to confront his ex-wife on her cheating, nor did he do anything about the men who fawned over his ex-girlfriend after her ballet performances. He was far more worried about his music career, his business ventures, and his future than he was about the other men trying to bed the women he was attached to. Hell, he hardly even thought of himself as attached to those women; but you changed that. You make the flames of jealousy engulf his heart in a way he was never prepared for and he hates himself for it.

He knows that he should just trust you more; knows that when you meet Kim Taehyung and lean into the art curator with wide eyes, you are only doing so to be polite. You are not actually attracted to the younger man, you don’t actually find his demeanor charming, and you don’t actually believe that his custom painted Birth of Venus Doc Martens are the coolest shoes you have ever seen—you are just being nice, in spite of what your words and actions portray. 

Or at least, that is how Yoongi has chosen to rationalize the scene in his mind so he doesn’t go insane on the gallery floor. He almost lost it completely when you walked away with Taehyung to go view a mixed media piece more closely, but a quick reminder of all the business associates around him (former, present, and future) quickly set him straight again.

“This is hilarious,” Namjoon comments casually, slipping a glass of champagne into Yoongi’s hand. Yoongi says nothing, eyes still solely trained on the way your perfectly manicured fingers wrap around Taehyung’s bicep as you laugh at something he says. Now that it is front and center, Yoongi has never been more thankful for your insistence that he buy you a ring. “I didn’t know our Taehyung was so funny.”

“Be quiet,” Yoongi snaps back quickly, because nothing that has ever come out of Taehyung’s mouth has been that funny. 

“You are the one that said she needed more frien—”

“Not men,” Yoongi cuts his friend off, “and not Kim Taehyung.”

“Sounds sexist.”

“So be it.”

“I never knew you to be a jealous person.”

“It’s Kim Taehyung.”

“And?”

“You know how he is.”

“Wow, you really are jealous.”

Yoongi can only offer up a grunt. It was hard enough for him to accept your friendship with notorious flirt Park Jimin—the Wednesday afternoon lunches still bothering him more than they should, in spite of the continuously observed innocence of them. At least Jimin was mostly harmless; the same could not be said for Taehyung. The artist’s penchant for sleeping with married women was a well known fact in their social circle. The fact that you weren’t openly disgusted by his antics only caused Yoongi more discomfort. How could you not see that he was disingenuous?

“Do you want me to send Hana in there to stop it?” Namjoon asks, but he just shakes his head. You were still uncomfortable with Namjoon’s wife and her interference would only make things worse.

Suddenly, you turn your head and point to Yoongi with a bright smile, waving quickly when you make eye contact with him. Taehyung watches the small interaction with a smirk on his face, leaning in to whisper something in your ear that has you readily agreeing.

“Here comes trouble,” Namjoon murmurs quietly, putting on a delighted face as you and Taehyung begin to make your way over. Yoongi couldn’t be bothered to fake pleasantries like Namjoon, though he did feel a small wave of calm wash over him as you thread your arm through his, leaning your head on his shoulder and whispering a small “hi” in his ear. 

“Well hello again, old friends,” Taehyung starts, deep voice the very definition of cool. “I hope you don’t mind me intruding on your conversation.”

“Not at all,” Namjoon responds for them both.

“I’m actually over here to ask you a question,” he says, staring at Yoongi. You let out a small laugh in his ear, unintentionally setting off warning signals that whatever Taehyung was about to say was not going to be good.

“Let’s hear it,” Yoongi states dryly. 

“Well I personally think your lovely wife would be a fantastic addition to the project I’m currently working on, but she seems to think I need to run it by you firs—”

“Correction,” You cut him off, though in a tone that is much more gentle than Yoongi thinks Taehyung should be afforded. “I told him that you would have to approve of it and that I didn’t think you would. He thinks you can be convinced.”

Yoongi shifts to look at you more clearly, a single eyebrow raising in question. The last time you properly asked him for permission to do anything was when he first gave you his American credit card; you hesitantly called him while you were at work, standing outside of the club if the background noise was anything to go by. “The straps on my favorite pair of pleasers broke… can I use your card to buy a new pair—”

“Buy whatever you want,” he responded.

“They can get kind of expensive, though.” 

“Baby, I don’t even know what pleasers are. I gave you that card for a reason. Pay your rent, buy some lunch, buy the whole club if you want to.”

“I don’t want the club, I want shoes,” you had said with a laugh. 

“Just shoes? Hell, buy 5 pairs. Don’t ask my permission for silly shit.” So you took that statement as law, never asking his permission for anything again—until now.

“I think we can all appreciate the female form,” Taehyung said with a slight smirk, his eyes raking up and down your body just subtly enough that Yoongi would appear crazy for commenting on it. “My new project aims to highlight the beauty of the natural female form against the destructive forces of our world—floods, wildfires, pollution, and the like.”

“Interesting,” Namjoon remarks quietly, tone even enough to appear as though he has no dog in this fight. However, they all know there is a reason Taehyung isn’t asking Namjoon’s wife to appear in such a project. “But based on our good friend’s hesitancy, there seems to be a catch. I can’t let my friends enter into bad contracts. What exactly would she be doing?” Taehyung’s smile is full blown now, eyes lighting up as he begins to describe his idea in detail; and while it takes a good three minutes for him to get through the entire concept, Yoongi only hears three things clearly: pole dancing, nude, and fire. 

“Absolutely not,” Yoongi almost barks out, finding it hard to control himself at the thought of Taehyung seeing you completely nude. It didn’t matter to him that more men than he could count had seen you naked countless times before; those men weren’t Taehyung. He would rather die than let Taehyung anywhere near you nude. He barely liked him near you clothed.

“If it’s the fire you’re worried about, I promise I would keep her absolutely safe. I would never damage such beautiful art.” His words make Yoongi want to vomit. You and Namjoon laugh.

“No offense to your… art,” Yoongi states through gritted teeth. “But, I married her so that she wouldn’t dance for anyone else.” The statement wasn’t entirely untrue; while Yoongi didn’t have too much of a negative opinion on your dancing, you knew marrying him meant you had to stop. Therefore, you were confident in knowing exactly how he would react to such a request. 

“Oh, well that’s unfortunate,” Taehyung murmurs specifically to you, a light frown on his face. “I was really looking forward to spending time with you on this project. I guess it’s just not in the cards for us at this moment. Perhaps another time?”

“Mm, perhaps.” You answer, a gentle smile on your face. 

“Perfect. Oh, my darling I see some old friends I must say hello to. If you would excuse me,” Taehyung states with a quick bow to you before walking away. 

You wait until he is out of earshot to mutter darkly, “What a creep.” Namjoon laughs out loud at your words, patting Yoongi on the back in a joyous manner.

“You have a good one.” Namjoon states. “Do you know how much he was freaking out over here?” 

“I could see him.” You say, pressing a kiss to Yoongi’s cheek, causing him to grunt. “You know, you make a really funny face when you’re jealous. It’s kind of hilarious.”

“Stay away from Kim Taehyung,” he finds himself ordering.

You lean your head onto his shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m all yours.”

[joonsdiary]

the first date

↳ part two of the: (not) the love of my life series

pairing. ceo!seokjin x hotelier!reader (female) genre. arranged marriage au // humour with a dash of fluff and a sprinkle of angst word count. 3,0k

chapter summary. having your first date after getting proposed to definitely seems backwards, but you’ll do anything to keep a semblance of ownership of your hotel.

     ⇀ alternatively. will seokjin live up to his reputation and sweep you off your feet? or will it be just another business meeting for you and him both?

the proposal | the first date | the ceo’s keeper | the engagement

“Did he say eight on the dot? Or a little after eight?”

Your heels clicked against the marble floor as you paced back and forth at the lobby of Hwang Hotel, irritating Joohyun who stood behind the front desk. You were unsure why you were feeling nervous like a teenager. It wasn’t like you haven’t gone on dates either — you had just gone on one yesterday, no matter how terrible it had been.

“You’re making me nauseous,” she deadpanned but her complaint did nothing to deter your rhythm.

“Good. I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

“What’s got you so jittery, anyway?” she picked up a clementine from the complimentary bowl in front of her and began peeling the fruit carefully. “I thought you said this morning that you weren’t going to let him under your skin.”

“I’m not,” you snapped at her, but she only gave you a smirk. “I’m just unsure how this will go. He’s practically well-versed when it comes to the female anatomy.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she teased, and the realization of your statement sent your pulse humming. You snatched a piece of orange from her, the taste of citrus reminding you of the night prior. “The bashful look on your face says it all, honey.”

She winked, and you could only reply with an eye roll.

“You’ll be fine, I’m sure you’ll knock him dead with your usual charm.” Joohyun encouraged.

“I don’t even know if we’re on the same playing field,” you chewed the bottom of your lip nervously.

“If anything, you’re way out of his league. Trust me.”

You rolled your shoulders back in an attempt to calm down.

“You’re right. If anything, this will be exactly like a business meeting. I mean, it’s not like any of this is real anyway.”

But the façade can only go so far before you began breaking down once more.

“Why did I even agree to this?” you groaned, leaning the weight of your hips against the cold marble desk.

“Because,” Joohyun leaned over and grab both your shoulders, “you love this place too much to see it be gentrified by those good-for-nothing billionaires.”

“I don’t know…this place could use a little fixing up.” You turned your head to see Seokjin, immaculate as ever while donning a grey slim fit suit that accentuates his broad shoulders.  His shiny black shoes glint underneath the bright lights of the hotel, and you think to yourself how much more expensive they probably were than your whole outfit alone.

“Future wife.” He greeted, right hand hovering the small of your back. You flinched away from his touch and his frown doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Mr. Kim.”

He inhaled sharply through his gritted teeth and Joohyun snorted, unable to hold back her own amusement. It was your turn to wink at her before turning to address Seokjin.

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be. Let me just grab my coat.”

                                     *  *  *

“Where are we going?”

Seokjin stopped at a red light, loosening his grip on the wheel before turning his full attention towards you.

“You know that new restaurant a few blocks from— ”

“Absolutely not,” you looked up at him in horror, and Seokjin’s eyebrows raised inquisitively. “I was there last night, and it was the most terrible experience I’ve ever had. They barely served real food.”

You rolled your eyes and shivered with disgust to make your point, but Seokjin was more interested in why you were there, instead.

“You were there last night? Don’t take this as an insult, but I didn’t peg you as the type.”

The light turned green, and he cursed the traffic from taking his attention away from you.

“None taken. It was totally not my scene. But if you must know,” he felt you shift in your seat as you continued, “I was there for a date.”

Oh.

Unprompted, Seokjin swerved to the farthest lane on the right, jamming his foot on the break. This sent you hurtling towards the dashboard, but the seatbelt thankfully held you back from getting hurt.

“Chateau’s it is,” Seokjin said resignedly. He didn’t like the new place either, anyway. It was more of his younger brother’s scene rather than his. He wasn’t sure what type of restaurant you preferred — or if you even cared for that matter — so when Taehyung suggested an allegedly popular place that had just opened, he’d agreed.

“A little warning would be nice.” You grumbled under your breath, but he didn’t make the effort to apologize.

He pulled his foot away from the break as he steered to the left, swiftly making a U-turn.

“Nice to know my fiancée is going around on dates. The press will love that, for sure.” Seokjin aimed for nonchalance, but his voice dripped with discontent more than he wanted it to.

“Oh, please, I barely garner any attention. And it’s not like we’ve officially revealed our engagement, so the public has no reason to speculate,” you stated pointedly.

She’s right, Jin. Be reasonable.

“Also, I was doing it out of spite for my parents.”

“Of course.”

Did that mean the dress you wore when he came by Hwang Hotel was because were on a date with some random egghead hours prior? The thought had him gripping the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles grew white. He thought you looked breathtaking in a classic mini black dress with your legs that went on for days. Seokjin licked his lips, his mouth running dry. Lucky bastard, whoever he was.

His eyes flitted briefly to your knees, only to discover it’s covered by cream-coloured slacks. Disappointment coursed through his veins when you’d dressed up more like a business arrangement rather than a dinner date.

Duh, this is a business arrangement.

“Besides, weren’t you also on a date just a few days ago? Daily Gossip said so.” He smirked at your accusation, and from the dim streetlights they passed through he could make out your unimpressed expression.

“You actually read that tabloid crap?”

“No. Yoongi told me.”

He did a double-take on the unfamiliar name. Was he the lucky date from last night? Seokjin would have to figure that out later.

“Don’t worry, future wife. Unlike you, I’ve been a faithful fiancé,” Seokjin grinned wickedly, liking your stunned expression a little too much. “It was strictly business.”

“With the president’s daughter?” you pressed on, unknowingly feeding his ego.

“Aren’t you ever the little sleuth,” he turned to you before winking. “We’re here, fiancée.”

He exited his side of the car before promptly opening your door. He took your hand, before placing it on the crook of his elbow.

                                     *  *  *

Seokjin ate up the attention like he was a man who hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks. You had your doubts about actual paparazzi showing up, but despite the last-minute decision to hightail to Chateau’s, the camera’s flashing in his direction. To be fair, it’s not as if they were all professionals; some were regular folks who just so happened to recognize him. You secured the loose strands of your hair and slid away from him without him noticing.

The moment of unbridled freedom only lasted a few seconds, as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer towards him. He leaned forward, lips brushing the tips of your earlobes.

“Don’t you dare move away when the cameras are pointed right at us,” his voice rumbled low in his chest, sending a shiver down your back where his hand rested comfortably.

“Um, we didn’t make a reservation. Unless you own the place, I don’t think we can get in on a whim,” you gathered your hands in front of you, unsure where to place them. Seokjin looked at you with slight amusement tugging the corner of his lips. Your eyes widened in late realization. Of course, he owns the damn restaurant.

As soon as he waltzed in the place, the waiter did not even bat an eyelash and immediately guided you to a semi-secluded spot near the back. It felt low-key enough for a private conversation, while also allowing a few eyes to speculate and linger.

“What would you like?” Seokjin asked as he flipped through the menu with a blasé attitude. You watched the waiter pour champagne in two flute glasses.

“Anything goes for me,” you shut your menu with a soft thud, not bothering to go through the whole list. You weren’t really feeling like dinner anymore, craving Yoongi’s sweet and sour fried chicken, instead.

Seokjin eyed you with suspicion, but you gave him a curt smile. He handed the waiter the menu and proceeded to order an array of delicacies without a pause. You’ve been to Chateau’s only once during your college days and only because you lost a bet, so it was probably safer to let him handle everything.

“At this point, I won’t be surprised if all the property in downtown Seoul belongs to you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t purchase government buildings.” His arrogance seemed to prickle your skin, and every second he kept that ridiculous smile on made you want to claw your eyes out.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” you folded your arms protectively as the fabric of the blouse you wore chafed the skin on your forearm. It took you awhile to put together an outfit that didn’t seem to forward or eager (because you definitely weren’t eager) so, you went with something you would normally wear to work.

“You weren’t about the lawyer life your parents had, so you decided to go into business?”

Nodding mutely, his inquisition brought about your parents’ disappointed faces at your refusal to take over the family’s firm. Being their only daughter, your estrangement only placed a wedge on your already strained relationship. You were never attracted to their uptight lifestyle, and perhaps if you had a different outlook on how other lawyers’ lives were, you’d change your mind.

They weren’t always like that, however, especially your father. But things started changing when they you realized they were grooming you to become like them, which was something you didn’t want.

“Something like that.”

“You weren’t aware of them selling the hotel, though?”

“No. I was idiotic enough to trust them with the financial side of the business, thinking they’d somehow have better insight than me. They never mentioned the hotel had been swimming in debt for a while now,” you heaved a sigh as the food arrived. Undeterred by the presence of the waiter, you continued. “Then again it’s probably what they wanted so I’d crawl back to them and ask repentance for my sins.”

“The prodigal son,” he suggested. You laughed softly, nodding. “Is that why you’re pushing to finish your masters?”

“Colour me impressed, Mr. Kim. Your research is thorough,” he rolled his eyes, motioning for you to finish your story. “Yes. I only have this year left, and I’ll be done with my studies. I’m assuming you did the same?”

Seokjin shook his head, fiddling with a piece of meat on his plate with the silverware. “I could only stick it out for four years.”

“Because you were certain of your future as CEO.”

His head dipped in agreement. Must be nice to not have to question your own future.

“Until recently.”

“Well,” you smiled, picking up your flute glass in a mock toast. “You’re welcome. I’m here to whip you up in shape and help you secure the bag.”

“I’ll be forever indebted to you,” he raised his own glass before sipping, eyes not leaving yours.

“That’s not necessary. That’s why you’re returning my hotel to me, right? We’ll be even. Fair and square.”

He smirked but as soon as he saw your plate, his mouth formed into a straight line.

“Chateau’s cuisine not up to your standard?”

“It’s not that at all.” You stabbed your fork and brought the food to your mouth, chewing slowly before swallowing with difficulty. “Slightly traumatized by last night’s dinner, still.”

“With Yoongi?”

Your friend’s name rolling off Seokjin’s tongue was something you hadn’t expected, so you choke on your food slightly. You reached for the champagne, downing the whole glass. Seokjin reached for the bottle, giving you a refill.

“No,” you gave him a curious gaze. “I don’t even remember the guy’s name.”

He nodded mutely, but his aura had shifted once more from laid-back Seokjin to business Seokjin. You were sure you’re going to leave this restaurant with a whiplash.

“So…” you began, unable to bask in the uncomfortable silence any longer. “How did you get the epiphany?”

“What epiphany?”

“This whole I’ll-fake-being-in-love-so-I-can-convince-my-father-to-retire-and-hand-me-his-position charade.”

Seokjin’s expression was stoic as he answered. “It was Taehyung who suggested it.”

You sifted through your memory in an attempt to put a face to the name. When you didn’t say anything, Seokjin filled the gap for you.

“My youngest brother.”

Right. Three strapping sons of the Kim family.

You were ready to bring up more small talk to prevent the atmosphere from spiralling. But it was as if Seokjin remembered the whole purpose of the two of you being here and dove right to business.

“The engagement is going to be announced next week on a Friday, in case your parents haven’t told you.”

You nodded despite being unaware.

“The wedding is on Saturday — exactly three weeks from now. You don’t have to worry about the planning; I believe my side of the family is doing all of that. I convinced them to make it a small event, much to my mother’s chagrin.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t elaborate further.

“It’ll be happening at my estate instead of Kim Hotel’s wedding hall. I thought the change of scenery would make it more intimate and believable, especially if it’s happening in my house.”

“Wait, back up — your estate?” you gave him an incredulous look.

“Why is that so shocking?”

“I thought you lived atop that lonely tower of yours, Rapunzel. I didn’t know you have a castle.”

Seokjin’s mouth curled up in the slightest, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.  

“It was something I bought for myself after being COO.”

You felt like there should be a but that followed, but it never arrived.

“I’ll mail you the prenuptial agreement and anything else that requires your signature. It’s nothing we haven’t talked about before, but I’d like you to read it thoroughly in case I missed something.”

“No.”

Seokjin’s head snapped up in confusion. The momentary show of emotion was a welcomed event.

“I’ll visit you in that giant building of yours and sign whatever you need me to. We’re supposed to be in love, so it would look better if I’m there because I just can’t resist seeing you.” You said the last words sardonically, not one hint of truth within them.

“Good catch, fiancée.”

The lightness in his tone made your heart leap, and you cursed yourself for being so weak. But the feeling doesn’t last, so you told yourself it’s just something new to get used to. Kim Seokjin wasn’t going to be a permanent fixture in your life, so you’ll have to find a way to keep him at arms-length but the same time, somehow stay unaffected by his hot-or-cold nature.

As the night wore on, and the vibrant atmosphere you initially had with Seokjin faded, completely flatlining by the end of dinner. Prior to getting on his red Porsche, he’d kissed your forehead while you stood stiff as cardboard. You asked him to drop you off at your hotel instead of your apartment and he did without much question.

“Night, Rapunzel. Have fun in your tower.”

Seokjin shook his head, lush lips forming a small grin. Maybe being fake-real-married to him wouldn’t be so bad.

Mr. Park’s friendly face greeted you as soon as you entered, and one look at the front desk told you Joohyun had gone home for the night.

“Yoongi?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t see him come through today.”

“Oh,” you slouched defeatedly. Yoongi usually had weekend shifts, but this is probably a rare night when he’s off. You’d just have to fill him in through texts, then. “Thanks, Mr. Park. Have a good evening.”

“You too, Ms. Hwang.”

You made a quick beeline for Grigio, wanting to get coffee before you head up to your office. Jungkook’s familiar face behind the bar was a welcomed sight.

“I’m glad you’re here, at least,” you groaned, slipping into your usual spot. It was a little bit more hectic than the previous night, as Jungkook was evidently joined by another bartender you don’t recognize.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Hwang, I won’t be able to cook your cure-all soup for you,” Jungkook teased, pouring the contents of the cocktail shaker into a martini glass.

“I don’t need that tonight, thank god,” you propped both your elbows on the table and rested your chin on your palms. “I do need the best coffee you can possibly make for me tonight. I’ve got lots of work waiting for me upstairs.”

“You’re not staying?”

“Nah, I don’t want to bother you. It seems busy here tonight, which I’m glad, of course.”

He looked like he wanted to say something more but instead, he bit his lip and nodded. While he busied himself with preparing your coffee, your mind lingered to the night’s event. Sure, you hadn’t stayed long for a casual chat, but you did get a lot accomplished. The two of you coordinated on which days you were both free and planned a few more dates.

You can do this, Y/N. Just tough it out through the wedding and a few months of pretending. Then you’ll have everything you want.

Hope blossomed in your chest as determination coursed through your veins. You were never the type to back out of anything, so you were more than willing to leap over a few hurdles on the way to your end goal. As long as you kept your head clear of any other obstacles, winning the prize will be an easy feat.

NEXT ;

hope you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated ♡

[stonyiscanon]

Milkshakes (Bucky Barnes x Reader) CAFÉ AU

Notes: okay but busboy! Bucky makes me want to drown thank you very much. To the person who commented that I should do a Bucky fic, thanks lol, I hope I did okay, this is my first Bucky fic *cue gasp*

Warnings: angst if you squint, insecure! Bucky, oh no! a few bucks in the swear jar, SHITTY WRITING LET’S GO

Words: 4.0k

Summary: The evolution of Bucky’s relationship with you over time.

You come into this café Bucky works in every day. It’s only now that Bucky’s worked up the courage to take your order.  (The Avengers working in a café, that should be enough for you to read this.)

WE LOVE A GOOD STRANGERS TO BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS TROPE

           Bucky clocks into Sugar & Spice, the café he’s been working at since he had started high school with his best friend and roommate Steve, every morning at 7:45, since they open at 8. Well, he’s really supposed to clock in at 7:30, but he can’t be bothered to wake up that early. So, when he comes in, all the staff are already getting ready for the day.

           Normally Clint and Thor are together doing something stupid, (Bucky doesn’t know how they’re not fired yet), whilst Steve frantically tries to fix whatever the hell they inevitably broke. (This morning, it was a kettle the staff uses to make tea.) Natasha is always calmly wiping down the counters, and it’s all accompanied by Tony screaming at them to do work with shitty café music playing, as Sam and Wanda sings terribly from the kitchen while cooking up their breakfast menu of the day.

           Even though he’d never admit it, Bucky loves this place and the dim yellow lighting everyone’s always complaining about. He takes a deep breath and smells the mixture of everyone’s morning coffee, Tony’s obnoxious cologne, and Sam’s infamous breakfast pancakes everyone came to the café for, and he smiles. He’s home, after all.

           That smile lasts for about three seconds before Bruce yells something about Bucky being late. So, he claps Steve on the back, hastily ties his apron on, and whizzes around the room, setting cutlery and jugs of water down, getting ready for the breakfast regulars.

           Every day at the café is pretty much the same. Everyone universally refers it as ‘The Cafe’, since everybody knows that Sugar & Spice is a dumb name. The morning goes by rather quickly, it’s his turn to deal with annoying customers every other day, pretty much all the same people come around, and the part-timers, Peter and Shuri, comes at around 3, by the time school ends for them.

           So Bucky knows exactly what he’s doing on the dot. By 8:30, the café is pretty much packed with early risers. Pepper, Tony’s wife, drops in for a break from her morning jog to say hi, and sometimes she’ll have a coffee, but she’s always out by 9. Stephen Strange and T’Challa are both morning regulars, and Bucky knows their order by heart, and he always has them ready before they even get to the café. They’re both lame as fuck anyway, getting black coffee, a plain croissant and reading the papers every morning.

           Why you would have a croissant without chocolate, Bucky will never understand.

           Around 10-ish, the people who drank too much last night will usually come in for Nat’s hangover cure in a cup. Except nobody really asks what’s in it, because nobody really wants to know. Bucky tries to ignore the fact that this café attracts a ton of alcoholics. Usually Peter Quill comes around now, more often than not because he got too drunk last night, and Thor always takes his order. (Just to spite him, since Peter clearly hates Thor for being perfect.)

           The rest of the day goes by really fast too, and before he knows it, Bucky’s saying his goodbyes at around 9pm, with Steve, and they both go home on their bikes.

           The only thing Bucky’s never sure about is you. You’ve been coming to the café for maybe around half a year now, sometimes just for a drink, a coffee in the morning. Sometimes you’ll drop by during lunch, grabbing a sandwich and running out quickly. Bucky doesn’t know why you leave so soon during lunch. Probably work. Sometimes you’ll drop by after a long day and you’ll have a drink with Nat. You don’t come with friends very often, but sometimes you do, bringing them along for dinner, usually.

           In the winter, you’ll come in shivering, bundled up in massive coats and scarves, and getting a hot chocolate. Every time that happens, Bucky physically swoons.

           No matter what, you always take a seat at the bar with the high chairs that are almost annoyingly too squeaky that everyone complains about, even though no one actually can be bothered to fix it. You’ll laugh with Nat, as she’s usually at the bar, preparing drinks, and Steve will often take your order. To be quite honest, Bucky pretty much knows nothing about you, but here are the things he does know.

           He knows your name is Y/N, since apparently, everyone else is pretty close with you. Guess that’s what happens when you come into a place daily for two years. He knows all your usual orders by heart, even though he’s never the one to take your order, since he’ll force Steve to do it every time. He knows you’re funny, sweet, kind and charming.

           He also knows that looking at you makes him act like he’s a fucking sixteen-year-old on prom night and he hates it. Whatever happened to the charming, sweet, womanizer Bucky Barnes? Down the fucking drain, that’s for sure. For two years, he’s tried to approach you and talk to you. And for two years, Steve has called him a coward. Bucky doesn’t know what washes over him when he sees you. He’s normally great with the ladies, if he does say so himself.

           But every time you come into the café, whether it be in the morning, afternoon, or night, his heart jumps and his mouth freezes and he can’t do anything but stare at you as all the other staff members greet you with a smile.

           He hates it so much.

           So, this morning, when he clocks in, and doesn’t hear his stupid friends freaking out as usual, he knows something’s up. Everyone grins at him like they know something he doesn’t and Bucky has to touch his forehead, wondering if they drew something on his face without him knowing again.

           “What is it?” He asks, looking at everyone suspiciously.

           “Guys, what did you do? I swear, if I go over to my apron to find that Tony drew dicks all over it, I will kill all of you in your sleep.” It’s kind of sad how no one reacted to what he said. Bucky decides that he probably threatens people too much.

           Everyone smiles at him again, going back to work, and in two seconds, the whole café is back to normal, topping it off with Sam screaming his horrible rendition of Marvin Gaye in the kitchen.

           They clearly had been talking about him before he came into the café. Boy, Bucky was really regretting sleeping in now. He marched over to Steve, and hissed in his ear.

           “What the fuck is going on? If this is a stupid prank I swear to God, Steve--”

           Steve smiles weirdly, and he sighs, saying, “Go back to work, Buck, you’re imagining things.” Steve is almost too much of a good person, and how bad he is at lying makes Bucky wince, because it’s way too obvious that he’s not telling the truth. The bead of sweat trailing down from his temple gives it all away.

           So Bucky sighs, deciding to torture the information out of his friends later, and get to work. Everything seems to be in order, and he almost forgets the events of that morning, all up until three o’ clock, when Shuri and Peter come in, and even they seem odd. Peter’s maniacally grinning about twice as much as he normally does, which is alarming, because nobody ever knew that lips had the capability to even stretch that far.

           At five forty-five, there’s a slight ring from the door that Bucky doesn’t notice. Everyone else does, though. Clint almost pushes Bucky to the front cashier, and yells out some sort of excuse that Bucky can’t hear and Clint speeds off into the kitchen. Steve runs to the staff bathroom, yelling something about really needing to go, and Nat almost flings the wet towel she was using onto the counter with the high chairs, and yells to Bucky that she needs a drink, and asks him whether he would clean up while she was gone.

           Begrudgingly, he agrees and extremely confused, he turns around to see which customer he had to seat only to see you standing there, bundled up in a scarf with a soft smile on your face.

           Oh, those fuckers.

           Swallowing his fear, Bucky attempted to speak up, you know, bring on the usual Barnes charm, but he probably looked more like a frog, opening his mouth like he was gaping.

           “Are you alright?” You asked, seemingly worried, because of course you are, Bucky thinks, how fucking adorable.

           “I don’t think I’ve spoken to you before, but I’m a regular here.” You smile, and introduce yourself. “I’m Y/N.” You peeked at his nametag, and smiled, holding out your hand.

           “Hi, James.”

           “Bucky.” He flashes a smile, hoping he doesn’t look as terrified as he is on the inside. “Call me Bucky, doll.” He reaches out and grabs your hand and almost melts. Damnit, how gorgeous. Yeah, that confidence didn’t last very long when you moved forward and sat at your usual spot, and Bucky tripped over his own feet following you.

           Shuri throws a towel at his face and gestures to the counter you were sitting at.

           ‘Clean.’ She mouths, and Bucky’s so very tempted to throw it back to her, but he stalks over to your chair and starts to wipe the countertop, awkwardly averting his eyes from you and the counter, thinking of all the ways he could kill his co-workers after this.

           “Are you new?” You ask, completely oblivious to how weird the Café was today. Bucky noticed though, and he glared at all his friends, who were hiding behind the kitchen door, spying on them.

           Bucky suddenly realized why Steve wanted to watch The Parent Trap yesterday night.

           “No, I’m not. I guess we’ve just never met before.” Bucky’s heart stops when you smile at him, and his body releases tension that he didn’t know he was holding in his muscles. Deep breaths, Buck. He thought to himself.

           He flashes a sharp smile at you as you look up from the menu.

           “Yeah, Probably. Nat or Steve usually takes my order, but I thought I knew everyone who worked here. You do seem familiar, though.”

           “Yeah,” Bucky says, with a nervous look on his face. “You seem familiar too.” He can almost hear the entire staff face-palming behind him, but he desperately attempts to ignore them.

           “What milkshake flavors are there? I’ve been coming here so long, for some reason I’ve never sat down and had a milkshake.” It takes Bucky a full five seconds for him to tear his eyes from your face and realize you had asked him a question.

           “Chocolate, vanilla, caramel and strawberry.”

           You groan, pouting a little bit, and Bucky can’t decide whether his heart just broke because of you showing any sign of sadness or just how goddamn adorable you were.

           “I can’t decide,” You say, still pouting. Bucky’s about to suggest Vanilla, since that’s his personal favorite, but you speak up again. “Is there any possible way you can just take all the milkshake flavors and put it in one cup with a straw?”

            Bucky breaks out a smile. He knew there was a reason he liked you so much.

           “Sure, doll. Is that it?” You nod, smiling at him. That smile. Bucky spent a minute behind the kitchen doors with a goofy smile on his face until Natasha slapped him and told him to get his shit together.

           “I guess we’ve just never met before” Tony says mockingly, popping out of nowhere and laughing his ass off. Sam shoots him a toothy grin.

           “Oh, yeah, doll. There’s that infamous Barnes charm, huh?”

           If Sam Wilson and Tony Stark ended up dead the next morning, Bucky definitely didn’t have anything to do with it. Peter Parker, a ‘literal angel child’ according to Tony, says something sweet about how you seemed really into him, but Bucky pays no attention to him. He’s more focused on how he’s so whipped for this girl he doesn’t even know, that a fucking fifteen-year-old is expressing sympathy towards him.

           He sighs, scooping a small scoop of every single ice cream the café had and dropping it in a blender. Maybe tomorrow he’d be less awkward.

           He didn’t get more comfortable the next day. Bucky actually somehow managed to trip over your shoes when you came in for lunch, and landed on Steve, also effectively covering himself in the spaghetti Steve was holding, all while Clint and Thor laughs their asses off about it as he’s wiping spaghetti away from his eyes.

           You giggle, but only for a second, as you help him up and pluck away a few pieces of spaghetti in his hair that was sticking out.

           “You’ve never looked better.” You tease, a playful smile gracing your lips.

           Bucky decides that being covered in spaghetti wasn’t the absolute worst thing after all. Well, until he finds out Tony filmed the whole thing and posted it on YouTube where it already accumulated over three thousand views before Bucky persuaded (read: forced) Tony to take it down.

           Bucky does, however, get more comfortable around you over time. The week after the spaghetti incident, he cracks some joke about Nat that he can’t even remember anymore. The only thing he remembered was how damn melodic your laugh sounded. Were those stars in your eyes?

           Jesus Christ, he was whipped. The entire café watched every single day as Bucky scrambled to take your order with that goofy smile on his face. You both exchange numbers after you complained that you only got to see him when you were at the café, and ever since, Bucky checks his phone periodically every 10 minutes, just in case you send something he doesn’t want to miss.

           You start traditions like every other Friday was a movie night, and every Tuesday was a takeout board game night. You slowly wormed your way into his life and Bucky would be a liar if he said he didn’t love it.

           “Bucky!” You squeal as he throws the leftover popcorn kernels from the bowl at you.

           “You asshole! I’m going to have to vacuum this later!” The long forgotten movie about a superhero named Eagle or something was playing in the background, but Bucky had already stopped paying attention to that a while ago.

           Watching you watch a movie was quite possible the most entertaining thing Bucky’s ever seen. Sometimes you would get so entranced, you’d shove popcorn in your mouth and miss, leaving some popcorn bits on your nose and the rest falling in your lap.

           Bucky smiles, and he doesn’t know it, but this was the start of your forever.

           “Oh my god,” Steve says in-between laughs and his seventh beer one night at some random bar they stumbled into.

           “You’re falling deep, Buck.” Even drunk Bucky, who had already consumed God knows how many cans of beer, tried to deny it.

           “Of course not!” He says, but Bucky has a sinking feeling in his gut and he can’t decide whether that’s a good or bad thing.

           He misses Steve and Nat exchanging knowing looks every time you come to sit down for another every-flavor milkshake. Over the span of the next half-year or so, you and Bucky chatting whilst you sipped on a colourful milkshake underneath the dim lighting became a regular in the café.

           Bucky remembers almost everything about your relationship. He was introduced to you as a stuttering mess and slowly became your best friend who crashed many nights at your apartment when Steve started dating Peggy. He calls you things like doll, or baby, or sweetheart, attempting to act like that’s normal for best friends to do, even though he knows damn well it’s weird. Sometimes he looks in your eyes, and he knows you feel the same feeling in your gut when you stare at him. He’s sure of it. But every time Bucky opens his mouth to say something, he freezes.  

           More often than not, some old lady would stop you in the streets, crooning about what a lovely couple you both were, and Bucky knows it’s definitely not normal for best friends to be acting like a couple.

           No matter how many times his friends urge him to ask her out, he always hesitates. The words ‘She doesn’t feel the same’ and ‘Just best friends’ would usually come out of his mouth. But in the end, Bucky’s just a coward. Whenever he tries to be the confident, normal guy around you something goes wrong.

           Because you make him feel like a person, and he’s so afraid of asking you out and ruining everything he’d rather than tear his own heart apart, so it doesn’t get broken by you. ‘She’s happier like this’, Bucky would think. But he’s not happy, and doesn’t he deserve to be happy too?

           Bucky doesn’t know why he’s always so willing to put himself in pain. He tries to ask you out almost fifty times before he just didn’t bother counting anymore. It’s not that he doesn’t like your friendship, this is possibly one of the happiest times in his life. And at the same time, he’s miserable.

           “Hey, doll?” He says, coming into your apartment with the spare key that you leant him.

           “Hello? Hey, if you’re in the bathroom, can I crash here for the night? I don’t even want to know what Steve and Peggy are up to in our apartment right now.” Bucky gets no answer, and he’s confused. It’s Wednesday night. Where could you possibly be? He sends you a quick text and he hears a slight ding coming from your dining room table. Your phone sits there, his text illuminating the screen. Wherever you went, you didn’t bring your phone with you. Bucky had a bad feeling.

           He’s about to have a breakdown when you come into the apartment, clearly puzzled.

           “Buck? Why are you here?” You say, your arms together holding a large package.

           “Oh, thank God. I came to stay the night, but you weren’t here, and you left your phone, I thought something must’ve happen- ” He stopped, noticing something.

           “Y/N? What’s that?” He asked, pointing to the large, colourful flowers wrapped up in your arms.

           ‘Oh!’ You say, seemingly glad that he asked.

           “Ryan from the next door gave me these. Aren’t they gorgeous? He’s a nice guy.” You say, humming about as you fished an old vase from the bottom of your sink.

           “That’s why I left my phone here. I just went over to pick these flowers up. You really shouldn’t worry so much, Buck. One of these days you’ll get a heart attack.” You’re softly singing as you fluff out the flowers and place them into the vase that’s filled with water.

           “Perfect.” You murmur, then you turned to him, throwing the TV remote and a pack of microwaveable popcorn at him.

           “Come on, old man., We’re going to watch Inception. I still can’t believe you haven’t watched it. It even won an Oscar for something I can’t remember.” Bucky stays behind in the kitchen for a bit, clutching at the bag of popcorn that was threatening to pop in his tense grip. He had a terrible feeling sinking deep in his chest as he looked at the flowers that you set on your kitchen countertop.

           “You don’t even like dahlias.” Bucky says, plopping down onto the sofa, hands full of popcorn. You frown, reaching out and grabbing a handful and stuffing it in your moth before saying,

           “Yeah, but it’s still sweet, isn’t it? Besides, how the fuck you know so much about flowers? Didn’t even know they were dahlias, I just remember telling you I don’t like the look of those big, poofy flowers.”

           “Yeah, but dahlias aren’t romantic. He should have gotten you roses, or beautiful lilies, or-” Bucky caught sight of your weirded-out look and thought he’d better shut up before you found out he liked spending time in a flower shop during middle school.  

           “Whatever. Never mind” He grumbled instead, ignoring the confused look on your face, and pressed play, beginning to watch what apparently was ‘Leonardo DiCaprio’s third best movie’ Obviously behind Titanic and Wolf of Wall Street.

           That terrible feeling remained in his chest.

           It’s 8:00 PM and Bucky’s about to clock out, he hangs up his apron, about to close up when you come over running, and for a moment he’s absolutely stunned you exercised willingly.

           “Are you guys closing up already?” You say, panting. Bucky wonders whether you ran all the way from your office to the café.

           “Ugh. My day went terribly. Can we go inside so I can rant? Actually, I’ll just tell you on the way to your apartment.” You’re rambling, and you look so cute bundled up in all your coats, facing the bitter Brooklyn cold. Bucky stares at you and he swears he fell in love in that moment. What was so special about it, he didn’t know. Looking at you, wrapped up in all your layers. You breathed out, smoke coming out from your lips from December’s freezing temperatures. You ran all the way from work, to tell him about the bad day you had, Bucky liked that he was the person you went to.

           “God, my lunch date was terrible, you were right, Ryan is a douche and I hate dahlias. I detest them. You were completely right, lunch dates are awful, and he’s a terrible person. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen, remind me to always do that. My boss was in a horrible mood and he must have-“

           Bucky steps towards you, and cuts you off, by placing his lips on yours. He can tell you’re taken back, but he’s so angry at himself for not doing this sooner, because kissing you must be the best thing he’s ever done in his entire life. Your hands are stopped midway, about to stop this madness, but then your frozen lips begin to melt and turn warm against Bucky’s.

          And before you know it, your hands are slowly sliding up to his hair, tangling your hands into his hair and his arms are wrapped around your waist. He kisses you passionately, none of you even seem to realise you’re in the middle of the street. Bucky was making out with you in the middle of Brooklyn, and he doesn’t give two shits about who was watching them. The end of the world could happen right now and he’d continue kissing you like his life depended on it. He feels you smiling into your kiss, and he feels downright giddy. You almost push against him, almost as if you’re making up for lost time.

          You bring your hands down and push his chest away, still processing what just happened. Bucky runs his thumb over your lip, and for a second he’s feels scared. Why did you push him away? Oh, shit, was I not supposed to do that? You smile, leaning into his touch and relief flushes into Bucky. You speak, so quiet Bucky barely hears you and your voice is hoarse.

           “Took you long enough, huh?” Your hand is placed on his cheek, and your hands are so cold Bucky’s surprised you haven’t gotten frostbite yet, but he doesn’t care. Bucky blinks, feeling something land on his head, and he laughs as he spots the small flecks of white landing on the ground.

           “As if this couldn’t get any more cliché,” He muses, whispering into your ear. “It’s snowing, doll, look.” You tear away from his body but he keeps one arm pressed against your waist as you walk home to your apartment. Boy, was Steve going to get a surprise when he woke up the next morning.

[voyager-into-the-unknown]

Plance Secret Santa Fic for Nadia

Moonlight

After months of space travel, the team had been fortunate enough to find an uninhabited Earth-like planet to land upon and make camp while their lions recharged. Pidge had gathered data on the environment and determined that the air was breathable and the water was safe to drink.

Lance tossed and turned on his thin camp mattress, unable to sleep. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of his fellow teammate for whom he had developed some very strong feelings, and he wondered how long he could keep his feelings a secret. She was always foremost in his thoughts all day, and apparently all night as well. This particular night was quite warm, too warm to wear his his Paladin pajamas. He had gone to bed wearing only a pair of blue boxers and a white T-shirt. Hunk was asleep, snoring just loud enough to distract him. Silently, Lance had crept out of the tent he shared with Hunk and laid out his mattress, pillow, and light blanket under the starlit sky, hoping that the night air would be cool enough to help him sleep. He had no such luck. He tossed and turned even more, then finally settled upon counting the unfamiliar stars and naming the new constellations that he had imagined when gazing at the night sky, but to no avail. He still couldn’t fall asleep. Thinking of the nearby lake with it’s cold, clean water, he made up his mind: it was time for a late night swim.

He quietly entered the tent to grab a towel from his supplies, then put on his sneakers. The lake was only a short walk from the Paladins’ camp. When he arrived at the shore, he hung up his towel on a low hanging tree limb, took off his shoes, and removed his T-shirt, then hung it up next to his towel. Just as he was considering removing his shorts to bathe, he heard a sound. Something was moving in the water. He froze, realizing that he had forgotten his Bayard back at the camp. If some dangerous creature lurked in the dark water before him, he had no way to defend himself!

Lance’s view was obscured by the reeds that grew along the lakeshore, but as he moved silently through the shadows he found a break in the barrier of reeds a bit farther along the shore. The tranquil surface of the lake was broken by a slim figure of someone who had just emerged from the depths. A mermaid? No, he wouldn’t be lucky enough to meet one of those again. The figure turned to one side, and he saw a lovely silhouette in the moonlight. Definitely female, but with only a subtle hint of feminine curves. She had a bosom, but she definitely wasn’t buxom enough to be Allura or Romelle. She wasn’t naked, but seemed to be wearing some type of green sports bra and briefs, and her skin was pale by the light of the planet’s single moon. He just stood there, transfixed by her graceful movements through the water. His breathing quickened. She was so beautiful he couldn’t stop staring at her.

“Who’s there?” asked a familiar voice. It was Pidge! Lance began to panic. Pidge would kill him if she knew he had been spying on her while she went for a midnight swim in her underwear. He should have fled, but it was too late. She was swimming toward him, and suddenly stopped several feet from the shore.

“Lance? What are you doing here?” She sounded rather upset.

“Uh, hi. I was just going for a late night swim.” He hoped it was dark enough to hide how much he was blushing.

“You shouldn’t be here!” she hissed angrily.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not dressed!” She had stayed far enough from shore that only her head and shoulders were above the waterline.

“I’m not either. Anyway, I’ve already seen you swimming in your underwear, so it’s only fair that you see me swimming in mine.” He waded toward her until he was as deep into the water as she was. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night anyway? It could be dangerous.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted.

“Me, too. It’s too hot and Hunk snores louder than howling bogbeast.”

She giggled. He swam closer to her, and she backed away from him a little. “Lance, it’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that this is a bit...awkward.” He hair was slicked back, and she wasn’t wearing her glasses. Even by the dim light of the full moon he could see that her cheeks were very flushed. Lance couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, Pidge. You’ve got a really cute figure,” he blurted out, saying the first thing that came to mind.

“Oh, so you have finally realized that I’m a girl and you’re going to start flirting with me now?”

“I am a connoisseur of female beauty, Pidge. I can say with great sincerity that you are as beautiful as a mermaid and as entrancing as a naiad.”

“Don’t you mean as entrancing as a siren? Anyway, since I am the Paladin of the Green Lion, shouldn’t I be a dryad instead of a naiad?”

“You know your mythology, don’t you?” He grinned at her.

“So do you, apparently.”

“I passed the time by reading a lot of myths, legends, and fairytales when I was a kid.”

“Then you know what happened to Actaeon.”

“Yeah,” he said dreamily. “He was spying on the beautiful virgin goddess Artemis in all her naked glory while she bathed in a stream.” He waggled his eyebrows and smirked at her with a devilish glint in his eye.

Pidge’s face was red, both with anger and embarrassment. She glared at him. “You know Artemis was so enraged at Actaeon for being such a perverted Peeping Tom that she turned him into a stag.”

“Well, I guess he couldn’t resist the beauty of a naked maiden, so the goddess punished him with antlers for being so horny.” He laughed at his own joke.

Pidge rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I don’t have my Bayard with me.” She swam away from him. Lance took that as a challenge and swam after her.

She stopped in the center of the small lake, and floated on her back. He caught up to her and floated beside her. For a long time they just drifted side by side beneath the starry night sky, at peace with the luminous glories of the universe reflected in the still, dark water of the lake. For a moment, there was no war, no empire, no genocide, no fear, no death. There was only the lake and the forest and the two young people, far from home, but not alone. Never alone. They had each other. They always had each other, Lance realized.

It was strangely quiet in the woods that night. On Earth there might have been the sound of nocturnal animals or insects in the darkness, but here there was a stillness in the air, a silence broken only by their voices.

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Lance said softly. “I honestly didn’t mean to spy on you. I didn’t even know you were out here when I decided to go for a swim.”

“I’m not offended, not really,” Pidge replied. “I’m just not used to it.”

“Not used to what?”

“Being looked at that way.” Clearly, she was still embarrassed. Pidge certainly could have passed for a young boy when Lance first met her, but not anymore. She could no longer hide the fact that she was growing up to be a very attractive female.

“Pidge, you know how much I love enjoy giving compliments to beautiful women.”

“You normally flirt with all the pretty girls you meet even if you barely even know them. This is different.”

“Because we’re best friends?” he asked.

“That’s one reason, but there’s more to it than that.”

He swam upright, gazing at her scantily clad form in the moonlight. She then turned herself upright, hiding most of her exposed body in the water. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Stop doing that!” She seemed more frightened than angry.

“Stop doing what?”

“Stop looking at me that way!”

“Why? What are you afraid of?” He gazed at her lovingly, with such a gentle expression that she looked down, too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

“I’m not Allura,” Pidge said, with her eyes downcast.

“I never said you were.”

“I thought you had a crush on her.” She looked up at him accusingly.

“Not anymore. Anyway, she doesn’t like me that way.”

“Oh, so now you’re going to flirt with me because every other girl in the Universe has turned you down?”

“Hey!” Lance looked offended. “That’s just mean, Pidge. Being rejected all the time really hurts, you know. I am not some Casanova who just loves women and leaves them. I just want a certain someone to be my girlfriend, with the intention that someday she’ll be my wife. I want to be in a real, committed relationship with this particular young lady, but I’ve been so afraid of rejection that I have never told her what she means to me, so I wasted a lot of time, flirting with girls that didn’t really matter to me, while trying to work up the courage to tell the girl I really care about what she means to me. I’m serious about this, and about her. The truth is, I’m really just a hopeless romantic,” he said with fervor. “Or maybe just hopeless,” he added sadly.

“I’m sorry. What I said was a bit harsh. I am just trying to protect myself.”

“From me?” Lance asked. He was looking at her apologetically.

“From getting my heart broken.” She looked so small and fragile when she said those words that Lance was silent for a moment, allowing himself to fully comprehend her meaning.

“It’s going to take every bit of whatever courage I have to say this, Pidge, but if you like me that way, then you have nothing to fear. You are one of the people that I care about the most in the entire Universe, and if you feel the same way, you will make me the happiest man alive.”

“You really mean that?” Her lower lip trembled and her eyes welled up with tears.

Lance’s voice cracked a little when he replied. “Yes. I love you, Pidge. I’ve loved you for all of these years that we have been in space together, and I have finally been able to admit to myself that I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. I think you are the most amazing girl that I have ever met.” Overwhelmed by his own feelings, he tried not to cry, but he did in spite of his best efforts to hold back tears.

Her own tears slid silently down her cheeks in the moonlight. He touched her face, gently wiping them away. “I love you too,” she said, her voice quivering. “You—you’re the only one that I’ve ever—“

Lance didn’t hear what she was going to say next. He stopped her trembling lips with a kiss as he clasped her to him, his arms wrapped around her waist. He felt her arms stiffen against his chest and then relax as she wrapped them around his neck. She pulled him towards her so he could deepen the kiss. Lance was overwhelmed with desire for her, and he kissed her with all of the passion he had kept hidden for so long. Pidge was trembling, perhaps from fear or from the cold lake water or both. Lance didn’t hold back. He continued kissing her with so much intensity that he began to frighten her as well as himself. Then he pulled away, breaking the kiss, leaving both of them gasping for breath. “I love you, Katie Holt,” he said softly, his words reverberating through the still night air.

Wide-eyed, she looked up at him and said, “I love you, too.” She hugged him, and he held her a long time as she trembled in his arms. “Lance, you are the only person that I have ever felt this way about. Please, please don’t break my heart.”

“Never. I am yours forever if that’s what you want. I promise, I will never, ever hurt you. I adore you.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re cold. Maybe we should get out of the water.” She nodded, shivering.

He followed her as she swam towards the shore to where she had left her towel, shoes, pajamas, and a change of underwear.

“Apparently you think of everything. I’m going to be walking back to camp in soggy boxer shorts.”

Pidge laughed at him. “I would like some privacy to change, please.” She had grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her torso as soon as they had reached the shore.

“Okay. My stuff is down there.” He pointed to the tree where his shirt and towel were hanging. “I’ll wait for you. We can walk back together.”

“Whatever you say, Loverboy. I guess you finally have a girlfriend now.” She grinned at him. Lance felt hot all over as he smiled back at her. He darted off to where he left his things, grabbed his towel and began drying off. Realizing that his boxers were a lost cause, he took them off and wrapped the towel securely around his waist, then put on his T-shirt and shoes. He heard footsteps approaching just as he hung his wet boxers on the tree limb.

“Uh, hi.” He felt his face heat up. She couldn’t contain her giggles. “I’m gonna pray this towel doesn’t fall off.” Pidge covered her mouth, trying to suppress her laughter. “Not so loud. You’ll wake up the entire camp.” He held the towel around his waist tightly with his right hand.

She was dressed in her too-large Paladin pajamas and sneakers, her discarded underclothes dripping wet in her left hand, and her own towel in her right. She hung her underthings up to dry next to his boxers. “You better hope no one finds this in the morning. The others will wonder what we were doing out here in the middle of the night,” she said teasingly. She kept her towel and rubbed her damp hair with it.

“They will jump to conclusions and Shiro will kill me, on behalf of Matt and your dad.”

“When we get back to Earth, you need to worry about my mom. She’s scarier than both of them put together.”

“She’ll learn to love me. I intend to be her future son-in-law, after all.”

“Don’t joke about stuff like that unless you really mean it.”

“I do. I want us to be long term, death to us part and all of that stuff.”

The smile that she gave him was angelic. She positively glowed with happiness at what he implied. “I think Katie Holt-McClain has a nice ring to it.”

“I can see you have put some thought into this.”

“I’ve loved you for a very long time, Lance McClain.” She hugged him tightly, and he embraced her, kissing the top of her head. He held her close for a long moment, smiling into her damp hair.

“Pidge, my dearest, close your eyes,” he said in his deepest, most seductive voice.

She looked up at him with adoration. “Are you going to kiss me again?”

“Not yet. I want you to close your eyes because my towel is falling off.”

“Wow, this is even better than turning you into a stag.”

“Pidge!” He exclaimed over the sound of her hysterical laughter. Lance held the towel in place as best he could, but when he turned his back on her to fasten it more securely, it slipped from around his waist, revealing far too much of his backside. It was too dark beneath the trees to see anything, but she couldn’t resist teasing him. “Well, tonight this planet has two moons. Too bad only one of them is full.”

“Pidge!” Lance was beyond embarrassed. He was wondering if this planet had any sinkholes that could suddenly open up to swallow him and take him out of his misery. When her laughter finally stopped, he bravely turned around to face her.

She had broken two small leafless branches off of the nearest tree. “Well, Artemis is the goddess of the moon.” She held up the branches above her head like antlers. “These are for you, Actaeon.”

“I think Actaeon has been punished enough for accidentally mooning the moon goddess.”

Pidge laughed harder than ever at this comment, and Lance, grinning in spite of his own humiliation, grabbed her and kissed her cheek as she giggled. He kissed her forehead as she continued to laugh, and as he kissed the other cheek she was crying tears of mirth. When she finally dropped the branches, it was so that she could wrap her arms around him, stand on tiptoe, and kiss him passionately.

When their lips finally parted, he grinned as he looked down at her and said, “You are never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Nope. I will be telling this story to our children and grandchildren. Let’s go back to camp, Actaeon.”

They did their best to remain quiet when they arrived at the campsite. “I think I’ll sleep outside tonight too,” she whispered.

“Well, I am going to put some pants on, so my goddess won’t be offended,” he whispered back to her before slipping quietly into his tent, careful not to disturb Hunk’s slumber.

When Lance exited the tent to return to his camp mattress beneath the stars, he was wearing light blue pajama pants with his T-shirt. He saw that Pidge was combing her damp hair, sitting on the mattress she had placed next to his, and he smiled at her. Before they lay down side by side, he kissed her goodnight, then covered them both with his light blanket. They held each other close as they fell asleep at last, bathed in the silvery light of the moon.

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Episode 24 Review: Top 5 Reasons Why the Holly Portrait Subplot Doesn’t Work

Welcome back to Maljardin, where the melodramatic master Jean Paul Desmond is God and the Devil is a snarky talking portrait.

Speaking of portraits, today we will be looking at the subplot about Tim’s portrait of “Erica” (or, rather, of Holly) and the main things that are wrong with it. This subplot is, in my opinion, the worst in the Maljardin arc and I’ve been holding off on writing a detailed explanation of why I feel that way until my review of this episode, which mostly centers around the damned Holly portrait.

The portrait, circa Episode 18. There aren’t any good shots of it from Episode 24, so I had to settle for this one.

To recap: After the death of Erica Desmond, her husband Jean Paul hired Tim Stanton, a young artist in debt to the mob, to paint a portrait of her. Erica being both dead and encased in a cryonics capsule which both Jean Paul and THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES refuse to open, Tim must instead use young heiress Holly Marshall as his model until Erica comes back to life as Jacques promised that she would.

Sound like a reasonable plan? No? I didn’t think so, either, and now I shall explain why. Here are the top five reasons why I think this subplot is stupid:

#5: Holly neither looks like Erica, nor knows what Erica looked like.

This screencap is actually from Episode 13, but I’m including it because it’s relevant.

I sometimes wonder if this criticism is unfair, because the only viewers up to this point in the show’s broadcast history who would have seen Erica were the viewers of Episodes 1, 2 (where Tim shows Alison his sketch of her), and 4. In the first scene of Episode 4, the Cryonics Society froze her corpse in the cryonics capsule, meaning that anyone who started watching after that scene would not have seen her face before Tim got his assignment from Jean Paul. Even so, neither Erica resembled Holly, which makes it absurd for her to sit for it. Why not have Alison pose instead when she’s not working? After all, they are sisters and they share a strong family resemblance according to the original pilot script. Holly barely resembles either Erica beyond being pretty.

Tim’s sketch of Erica from Episode 2, with a screencap of Alison from Episode 17 for comparison. With its upturned nose and full lips, the sketch is clearly intended to resemble Dawn Greenhalgh (Alison) and not Sylvia Feigel (Holly).

Because Holly hardly looks a thing like her, Tim complains in Episode 13 that he “can’t use her for anything but position and play of light.” In spite of this, later episodes including Episode 24 show that he has painted a sort of semi-abstraction of Holly’s face, with features about halfway between those of Holly and those of Erica. This means that he’s only making more work for himself for when Jacques brings Erica back to life--if he brings her back to life--because he will need to paint over the semi-abstraction with Erica’s face. In short, he’s wasting his time.

Besides, it’s unclear why Holly doesn’t know what Erica looked like if Erica was a very famous actress and she and her husband were stalked by the paparazzi until they escaped to Maljardin (as previous episodes have indicated). Surely she would have seen a photo of Erica in the newspaper at some point, or her face on the poster for one of her plays, or something. I realize that’s not the same as seeing someone in real life, but it’s just odd that she doesn’t know.

  #4: Tim doesn’t have even a photo of Erica with him and so has to rely mostly on memory.

He even says so in Episode 13: “I have to depend on my memory of your wife and that sketch I made of her at the café,” he tells Jean Paul (or, rather, Jacques while he is possessing him). As we saw in that episode, opening the cryonics capsule and posing Erica’s thawed-out corpse for Tim is too devilish even for Jacques, so the starving artist is left with a dilemma. Jean Paul, being a fancy rich guy of noble descent, naturally assumes that any criticisms of his assignment is just a case of beggars trying to be choosers and ignores them; in his mind, he did him a favor by paying his debts and taking him to his island, so Tim should obey his every whim without question. But the truth is that Jean Paul has no understanding of how artists work, nor why Tim needs the real Erica to complete the painting, and he may not even understand the creative process behind painting a portrait.

This could make for interesting social commentary if the writers had had Tim take a good hard look at the situation and realize that Jean Paul is not just imprisoning him on the island but flat-out exploiting him. They could have made his subplot about class conflict, the establishment’s lack of empathy towards creative types, or both. However, they choose not to use the subplot for such commentary, instead going in a much more conventional direction.

#3: The Holly portrait is mostly used to drive a clichéd romantic subplot.

Two people meet and hate each other at first sight--or at least pretend to--although they are clearly attracted to each other. They argue, bicker, treat each other indifferently at best and abuse each other at worst, until one day they realize that they have fallen in love. When was the first time you read or saw this story? Do you even remember the first time? Most likely you don’t, because the exact same plot has been used and reused so many times since Shakespeare’s Much Ado about Nothing premiered that Western media is saturated with it. It’s not a bad plot in and of itself, but it’s been overused so much that you can usually see it coming from a mile away. When Tim and Holly first bickered over her being too young to order booze, I predicted that they were setting up a romance between them. There are many signs: Tim confesses to Vangie that he feels sorry for Holly, Elizabeth suspects that he’s hitting on her, and, while she claims to dislike them both, Holly seems slightly less irritated by Tim than by her former captor, Matt Dawson. Ian Martin was clearly setting up a romance between the heiress and the artist, who are gradually bickering less and less: a telling sign that they are getting closer to falling in love.

As creepy as it is and as much as I don’t want them to get together, I actually find the Matt/Holly subplot more interesting to watch than Tim/Holly. Danny Horn of Dark Shadows Every Day may have written about how “groovy priest attracted to the beautiful young girl that he wants to take care of” is an old soap cliché, but I’ve seen it done far less often, which I suspect has something to do with all the church scandals in the past twenty years. The Belligerent Sexual Tension plot, on the other hand, is still very popular, so it feels less fresh to me than Matt and Holly’s subplot. (That doesn’t mean that I don’t still think he should leave her alone. Personally, I ship Reverend Dawson with his right hand and I think they ought to stay together.)

#2: The use of the Holly portrait on the show doesn’t connect to the show’s use of portraits for symbolism.

This one is really nitpicky and based mostly on my personal interpretation, but bear with me. Although far more complex than the Dark Shadows ripoff that many critics reduce it to, Strange Paradise nevertheless relied on many of the same tropes and themes, including the way its writers used portraits. On Dark Shadows, the writers often used a trope that Cousin Barnabas of the Collinsport Historical Society blog calls the “Portrait as Id,” meaning the use of paintings to symbolize and illustrate the truth about whatever character they represented. We see this in Strange Paradise as well with the portrait of Jacques, who tells Jean Paul that he is “the man you are, the man you might have been,” implying that the ostensibly good Jean Paul is not so different from his evil ancestor. Later on after Robert Costello becomes producer and the show becomes more like Dark Shadows, we’ll meet another character whose portrait does not turn out as intended because of the evil in said character’s heart, which also connects to this idea of portraits reflecting hidden reality. Although the conjure doll also resembles and represents Jacques, he does not generally use it to communicate with Jean Paul the way he does with the portrait. This makes sense, given that the doll and silver pin ended his life, while the portrait was painted at some point while he was alive.

In contrast to the portraits mentioned above, Holly’s portrait does not convey any additional information about either her or Erica. Because it represents the late Mrs. Desmond in name only, the Holly portrait says nothing about Erica’s id, her personality, or the state of her soul. It doesn’t even say very much about Holly. Instead, it’s mostly just used as an excuse to force Holly and Tim to interact with each other and bicker until they can finally admit that they’re in love.

#1: It goes (almost) nowhere.

And when it does finally go somewhere, it’s only relevant for a few episodes before it’s forgotten about. Holly’s participation in the portrait sittings soon becomes completely irrelevant, much like so many of the show’s early subplots which Late Maljardin’s headwriter Cornelius Crane chose to ignore. I suspect that the Holly portrait would have eventually became more significant in the main plot had Martin not been fired around Week 9. We may never know how it would have become so, nor how significant it would have become in his original outline. Who knows? Perhaps Martin would have crafted a shocking plot twist involving Holly that justified its existence. Perhaps he would have connected the portrait and its eventual fate somehow to the nightmare she had about Tarasca, having it reveal some terrifying truth about Maljardin’s past. At the very least, he might have used it to cement the romance between Tim and Holly. But instead the subplot ends with little payoff.

Tim on his subplot.

Still, despite the focus on the Holly portrait, this episode isn’t entirely a waste. Raxl saves it with her pleas to the Serpent and her attempt to contact the Conjure Woman, in all her scenery-chewing, melodramatic glory. There’s also a scene where Holly pressures her to read the two Tarot cards--the King of Swords (whom Matt identifies as Jean Paul) and the Queen of Cups (whom he interprets as Holly)--that she dropped on the floor earlier in the scene “just for kicks,” and she refuses, shouting “No!” repeatedly. If you love Raxl like I do, you’ll enjoy her scenes. They’re not Best of Raxl material, but they’re fun.

So long until my next review, which will cover Episode 25, followed by Week 5′s long overdue Bad Subtitle Special. I know that this is a change of pace from my usual recap-style reviews, but I really wanted to go into more detail about why I don’t like Tim’s subplot. I hope you enjoyed this post and I’ll see you again soon.

Coming up next: Elizabeth continues her attempted seduction of Jean Paul as we explore inter-generational conflict on Maljardin.

{ <- Previous: Episode 23   ||   Next: Episode 25 -> }

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Into the Dark (5/?)

Thor watches you go. He wants to run after you. He wants to scoop you up and hold you to him. He wants to apologize. But he’s frozen to the spot. Your parting words echo in his mind. 

You feel nothing for him. 

The god takes a seat on the rocks. He wishes he could say he didn’t deserve that. But he did. He’d read your diaries. Every hurt. Every wound laid bare. He feels almost as if he violated some trust with you but... so far as you knew, Loki had burned those diaries. He sat, watching the waves and replaying the conversations in his head. He felt tired. He felt like you had just been punching him in the gut for the last few hours. 

As the sun dips lower in the sky, he wanders back towards town. He wonders where you might be. At least until he hears your laugh. He walks into the pub and most of the drinkers pay him no mind. You, Brunhilde and Loki are at a table in the back talking. You have a pint of cold sweet cider, Loki has wine, Brunhilde has a tankard of ale. He approaches slowly and pulls up a chair. “Careful, Loki” Brunhilde cautions Loki at the tail end of a joke Thor hadn’t heard, “Her Majesty is back on her bullshit today.” You laugh and take a sip of your pint, “That implies I was ever off my bullshit to start with.” 

Loki rolls his eyes but signals for Thor to be given a drink and offers him a smile. “How was your meeting, Y/N?” he tries. “I only wanted to run away and join the circus 3 or 4 times... That’s progress,” you say with a shrug. The Valkyrie snorts and kisses your cheek fondly, “That is progress. Usually, your brain shorts out in the first few minutes and you spend the rest of the meeting trying to come back online.” Thor sips his drink and watches. This is the easiest he’s ever seen you. You are relaxed and content. You’re with friends. The easy camaraderie the three of you share makes his chest ache. 

He doesn’t know how it began but he feels left out. Loki has an arm around your shoulder easily and Brunhilde is leaned against your other side. They seem to know when you need to be touched. That you need to be touched and they’ve gotten used to doing it casually. Thor feels jealousy he knows he isn’t entitled to. You’re his wife but he doesn’t know you. He hardly knows anything about you really. All he can see now is the pain you hid from him and your longing for a happy ending that you’ve apparently given up on. 

That night as you and Brunhilde walk ahead, arm in arm, laughing at some private joke, Thor lags behind with Loki. “I read her journals,” he murmurs. Loki nods, “They’re enlightening,” he says, “I couldn’t look at her for a few days after... Did you really say those things to her? After she lost the baby?”

Thor hangs his head, “I did,” he said, “I had thought I was helping.” Loki smacked him stiffly in the back of the head, “Did mother teach you nothing?” he asked harshly. Thor rubbed the now sore spot on the back of his skull, “I know,” he huffed out frustrated, “I’ve been replaying every second of the last 11 years in my head and I hate myself for it.” Loki snorted, “But the million dollar question is, does Y/N hate you?” Thor watched you, laughing in the chilly air as Brunhilde spun you and dipped you backward before gently setting you on your feet. “She feels nothing for me, at least that’s what she said.” Loki watches you, smiling sadly, “I would try and tell you that that isn’t true but Y/N cannot lie.”

Loki catches up to you, leaving Thor to think. Leaving him to deal with the consequences of hurting you. You don’t go with Thor to the tower. You don’t sleep there. You never have. You have a cottage with copper dishes and a pretty garden. It sits on a hill a little away from town. In your yard there is a massive oak tree and a swing hangs from a limb. A silent memorial to the child you lost. In the morning, when Thor stands at the gate listening to the sounds of you making yourself breakfast and singing to the radio he wonders what life would have been for him if he hadn’t spent so long being angry at you. 

He hasn’t slept and he needs to talk to you. Really talk. Or rather, he needs to listen to you talk. He needs you to tell him what you’re doing with New Asgard. How you and Valkyrie and Loki came to have color coordinated motorcycles. Why after all this time you haven’t just left him. And he needs to thank you for what you did for his people. Even those that had openly laughed at your humiliation as he dallied with Sif and then with Jane. 

He trudges up the walk feeling like shit. He hopes you punch him in the mouth. He deserves it. As he knocks on the door, he’s too aware of his body. He can’t rely on his looks to save him, even when he was chiseled your heart never fluttered. He’s gathered from re-reading your journals that you need an emotional connection to the people around you before you can have a physical attraction. Something he repeatedly denied you. You open the door, looking irritated, “Yes, your majesty?” you ask, “Is there something I can do for you?” 

Thor nods, his mouth dry. In the sunrise, your hair a mess of tangled curls and still clad in your pajama bottoms and a tank top, something about you is... beautiful. You tap your foot, impatiently waiting for him to speak. “I... I need to talk to you,” he said finally. You step back, allowing him admittance to your house. It’s comfortable. Squishy armchairs and books. A small fire in the hearth to keep off the morning chill. Dinner starting to cook in the crockpot for later. 

You gesture for him to have a seat but don’t take one yourself. You give him coffee and turn to fix yourself tea, “What have I done wrong now, husband?” you ask. Thor winces. Many times in the last 5 years he’s been here to rail at you. “I want... I just want to say thank you,” he blurts out. “You took care of Asgard while I wallowed in self-pity.  You fed, clothed, and housed everyone. Even the ones that mocked you.” You sip your coffee and shrugged, “For good or for ill, it is my duty. I am a queen.” Thor sips the hot drink and looks up at you. You look so confident. And impatient. And impossibly beautiful. Glowing like the flame of a candle. You know he isn’t done and you need him to stop staring at you like a jackass and get on with it. 

“Y/N,” he started, looking down at his hands. In 11 years of marriage, you’ve never looked at him directly for so long and he feels like your eyes are piercing his soul. “I want... I want you. I want to give you and me a chance.”

You quirk an eyebrow, “Can’t find anyone else to fuck, husband?” Thor winces, “I deserved that,” he says quietly. You say nothing. “I spent years hating you for something that wasn’t your doing. I hated you just because you existed. I was trying to spite my father and all I did was hurt you.” You shrug, “They told me to marry you. So I did. I was loyal. I was faithful. And you repaid me with vitriol and by fucking at least two other women.”

Your posture is casual but your tone is not. You’re building up a head of steam now. “ONE OF THEM ONE WEEK AFTER I LOST YOUR CHILD. THE OTHER THE NIGHT OF OUR FUCKING BETROTHAL. AND WORSE THAN THAT YOU LET ME BE MOCKED FOR IT. YOU DIDN’T EVEN BOTHER TO HIDE IT FROM YOUR MOTHER. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU AND YOUR “I WANT TO GIVE US A TRY” YOU FUCKING CUNT. I SUFFERED FOR YEARS AT YOUR INDIFFERENCE AND NOW THAT YOU CAN’T RELY ON LOOKS AND BRAVADO YOU WANT ME TO BE THE DUTIFUL WIFE AND HAND YOU EVERY SHATTERED PIECE OF MY HEART SO YOU CAN GRIND THEM INTO SAND.” You’re panting and out of breath, daring Thor to speak silently. You dare him to deny anything. He doesn’t. He hangs his head and it’s only after you set your mug down to resist the urge to throw it at him that he looks up. 

“Get. the. fuck. out.” you grind out, “I have your kingdom to run.” Thor doesn’t need telling twice. He saw you fight with Hela. He knows you can pack a vicious punch and he has no desire to feel it first hand. As he retreats, he plans. 

Tags:

@lancsnerd @innerpaperexpertcloud @stevieang@peachykeen3502 @vxidnik, @past-perfect-future-tense, @trumpettay, @buckysblondie

[eirian-houpe]

Working Wednesday

Here is the state of my current WIPs. Let’s see if I can get it in under the wire, shall we.  It has been 2 weeks since I last did one of these so... here we go!

This last fortnight I have posted the second through the fifth storie in a series called Lover’s Leap which are being written for the AU-gust prompt series. If I get them all done in August it will be a miracle.  Their titles are:

The Dark One and the Beast A Lifetime of HIstory “We Never Stopped Being Enemies.” Fallen Rest Easy, Love.

I have also written but not edited the next two in the series. Their titles are:

Just Breathe Methedhênlû

And I have two that I am working on at the same time called:

The Hatter Bats In The Belfrey

Once all this madness is done, I’ll be spending two weeks focusing on one fic at a time. Starting with Disparate Pathways.

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower: AU Cursed Storybrooke. (Inspried by/based on The Bookshop on the Corner: A Novel, by Jenny Colgan)

Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community. -  Chapter 35 been posted.

All Our Past Mistakes: AU Non-Cursed Storybrooke

Doctor Gold, professor of history at the local campus of Maine University, is stuck in a loveless, and one might say abusive relationship with a wife who is less than attentive to their family, and whom he suspects cares little for her marital vows. His resolve to maintain his own faithfulness is sorely tested by the presence of one of his new students - a junior by the name of Belle French - whom it seems fate is determined to put in his way. The two become embroiled in a passionate, and redemptive relationship, but not before suffering numerous setbacks and separations. This is no instantaneous happy ever after, but a tale of two hurt souls finding their way together through darkness and despair. - nothing written since last week

Disparate Pathways: AU and Remix of Witness Protection, which was written for the 2019 RSS.

Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go. Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into ‘protective custody,’ but is he all that he seems? As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth. - the next seven chapters are now planned and ready for writing and I have written 945 words of chapter 8, which is the next chapter.

Scattered: AU OUAT, where the curse didn’t quite happen the way it did on the show. (It went ‘wrong’)

Casting a spell, any spell - at least the ones that involve more than just the wave of a hand, or worse, the wave of an irritating fairy’s wand - takes time, and patience, and the right ingredients, and… just like any recipe, if you get it wrong, it doesn’t mean the cake won’t cook, rather then will, just with unexpected or unintended outcomes. All of Rumplestiltskin’s careful planning and manipulation, all of his hopes and dreams turn to dust; ashes in his bitter heart in the blink of an eye… in the fall of an equine heart. Belle exchanges one terrible prison for another, and it’s one she is desperate to escape, and though Rumple’s fate as The Savior was severed from him centuries ago, sometimes fate itself has a way of finding an alternate route home. - nothing written since last week

What the Actual Fuck! : Sutherelle fic

Prime Minister Robert Sutherland is feeling pressured, and isn’t prepared to acquiesce to the repeated challenges from within his cabinet nor the wider circle of those around him. He resorts to drastic measures to ascertain who can be trusted, turning to an ‘old friend’ to help him separate the wheat from the chaff. Said friend promises to send in his best operative to assist the PM, the trouble is the operative finds out more than Robert necessarily wants to know, and all this just as all hell is breaking loose around him; people hurt, Britain in chaos and multiple deaths push him into making some hard hitting decisions in order to safeguard himself, the country, and the people he cares about - Nothing written since last week.

Breathe: Rushbelle.

As the Lucian Alliance attack Icarus Base, Doctor Rush makes the decision that dialing back to Earth is too dangerous, though that may not at all be his reason for attempting to dial the ninth chevron, persuaded by Eli, and by something Belle had said to him previously, he substitues Earth for Icarus, and the connection is made. In spite of hurrying to urge Belle to the ‘Gate room and through the ‘Gate, neither he, nor anyone else believes that Belle actually made it on board Destiny…  - Part one of the We Three series. -  Nothing written since last week.

Storybrooke’s Best Kept Secret: Rumbelle, Cursed Storybrook AU

This story was created accidentally when what I had written didn’t fit for something else. in which Belle is not kept in the assylum, but in a little cottage on the very edge of Storbrook town, and few know she’s there.  Then, one day, someone else finds out. -  Nothing written since last week.

Darkness In Hyperion Heights: Woven Beauty, Mystery/Paranormal AU

One stormy morning, Detective Weaver shows up to work and finds someone waiting for him in his office.  His visitor is a scholar and a curator for the British Museum, and has recently discovered that an artefact from the vaults is missing. She has followed the trail left in the wake of its disappearence and it led her to Hyperion Heights, and now, she needs Weaver’s help - nothing written since last week

Modern Wonders: Well now, how to classify /this/ one?  Lets start by saying it is a crossover with OUAT and SyFy’s Mini-series, Alice. It’s kind of ‘ensemble’ and kind of ‘Mad Rumbelle/Mad Curious Archer’ sorta kinda.  This is still in the ‘mulling’ stage, and might not get anything posted for a while, because of… well… reasons! (Spoilers), but we’re working on it.

Also, I still have 2 series awaiting their next works: Darker Hearts: an AU Wish!Rumbelle, and Thoughts On A Happy Ending: A Rumblelle focussed Belle introspective of the entire journey from season 1 through season 7. Nothing has been written for either just yet, so no change since theirlast update, but they are included in the writing schedule so maybe that will change.

All published works can be found on AO3 where I write as Eilinelithil.

Please feel free to ask me questions about /anything/ you see here, or any other curiosity that enters your head - anonymous asks accepted, I’ll talk about most things if you ask. If you want to ask the characters anything, you can do that too! You can also prompt me if you wish.

[vesperlionheart]

Changling

[Lindworm] [Tam Lin] [Changling Part 1of 2]

The Angel’s Trumpet was a nicer pub, but not the sort that Madara thought would be perfect for clues and rumors, but if Sasuke’s intel was correct, the pub also served as a front for blackmarket trading of the magical variety.

He walked in alone, keeping the front of his cloak down to hide the expensive tailoring that would out him as an easy mark for pick pockets. Well, not easy, per say, but certainly worth the risk. Not many other men in the pub seemed like princes.

“Indeed, a king’s ransom. I am as valid in my word as I am in my coin, good sir.”

Madara flinched at the booming voice, most likely belonging to a man who wasn’t used to having to hold it in. The speech was too formal for a pub, even a pub as neat as the Angel’s Trumpet.

Rounding the corner he found the source of the ruckus. The secondhand embarrassment was enough to make his hackles raise. The man at the bar had no consideration for humility or self preservation it seemed. He was dressed richly in new garments of emerald green and dark navy. Around his neck he wore a chain of gold that matched three of his rings. His hair was neatly groomed and styled in an old fashion straight down to his shoulders with a circlet to match.

“Idiot,” Madara huffed, spying the coin purse out in the open and near bursting.

Well, at least he didn’t have to worry about being the most ostentatious mark in a pub of under-common folk.

Madara folded back the front of his cloak over his shoulder and took a seat only a few stools down from the boisterous prince, tapping the bar in front of him for the house ale. The bartender looked Madara over and then produced the beverage on good faith. Not one to below that faith, Madara slipped a couple of silver coins forward and then whispered his request when the bartender leaned over to collect.

“It’s not the most common of requests sir, you sure you wouldn’t want a new wife. There are, ahem, plenty of willing women who would be happy to be your ah….soul’s mate.”

Madara glanced sideways at the man who was conversing with the prince.

“No, no, I couldn’t. It wouldn’t matter if it were any other girl, but my wife is special and the only one I want. Please understand that. My soul mate can not be so easily replaced.”

“I don’t think you could say that if you haven’t tried others.”

The prince huffed in frustration, waving a hand that glittered in gold between them. “I will excuse your vulgar suggestions. I don’t want to try others. I have come here for that reason, because the information about the fairy blessed stems from here.”

“Shh, shush, my lord, not so loud Ay, we have what you need, but be mindful. These are delicate discussions we have here. Someone might be upset with us for talking about these things. It’s not so safe for us.” The man then nodded to the sack of gold between them. “It��s not cheep either.”

“I assure you money is no object in this matter.”

Madara almost dropped his head onto the counter at the incompetence he was hearing. Having been locked up in a tower for most of his life he knew he wasn’t the most blessed with social graces, but at least he knew the basics. He had watched and listened long enough to know when someone was being stupid ad making a fool out of themselves. The Lord was likely the biggest fool of all.

Madara schooled his features back into something nonchalant and then sipped from his drink, still listening with his impressive hearing.  

“I seek to know where I might find the nest of the moon touched fae.”

Madara cursed and almost broke his glass for holding it too tightly as the seller of information whistled low and leaned in.

“That’s nothing cheap. You know they’re far more fearsome than several of the other courts. Betraying them with this information comes at great risk to my health eh.”    

Madara turned in his seat and glared over at the pair. He took his drink with him and set it down, rather loudly, between the pair of them. Both looked up but only one cowered.

“That information, shouldn’t be nearly as dangerous to your safety as you think,” he growled, leaning in closer to the information broker. “Or is this your habit to swindle the foolish out of their coin for a lie?”

“F-for a lie? Sir!”

Madara dragged his drink back to his mouth and tipped it back until the ale was drained . “Am I mistaken? You’ve not yet shared how you’ve come by this information or proved how credible you are. You’re out here in the open, aren’t you? Is that where business is normal conducted?” Madara turned his empty glass over and then slapped it down on the counter.

“You don’t know nothing. Quit butting in to business that’s got nothing to do with you.”

The better dressed man turned towards Madara and then asked. “How would you know to ask such questions, good sir?”

Madara glanced to the bartender who was talking to someone else and then pointing his way. It was enough to make him grin. He jabbed at thumb at the other guy before turning away. “Because I’m buying from the source, he’s second hand.”

“Don’t listen to him. I can get you want you want.”

“A thousand apologies but I must decline.”

Madara groaned internally as he heard the bafoon gather up his things to follow him.

“Wait.”

He would learn from this mistake. Turning on his heel he stopped and fit his hands on his hips, ready to listen to something stupid. “What?” he hissed, glaring darkly.

“You also seek the same answers I quest for? Why?”

Madara snorted, not caring how crude it seemed. “Why? You’re asking me for the reason behind my own businesses and you’re not even offering to buy me a drink? Were you birthed under a rock?”

“I assure you not, sir. I was birthed by blessed womanhood same as any man.”

If he were a lesser man Madara would have flushed red as several pub patrons turned in their seats to stare over at the two men shouting about blessed womanhood. It was a pub but it wasn’t a seedy pub and at least there weren’t prostitutes hanging on the stairs.

“Lower you voice, you’re too loud.”

Madara grabbed the man’s arm and turned them both towards a table not far from the bar. He made eye contact with the bartender who was watching him suspiciously and waved another two silver for one more drink.

“If you don’t like it you don’t have to drink it, but just take the drink and pretend to be a good patron of the establishment you want to do business in,” Madara grumbled as he sat down across the table.

The other man nodded, eyes suddenly wide as he realized the truth in Madara’s words. “Verily, you speak with great wisdom and I thank you, kind sir. You are a most peculiar individual but I wish to know you now. My name is Hashirama.”

“Madara,” he grunted.

The drink came over and Madara whispered again when the bartender tried to take their money. This time the bartender looked less pleased, but took the money regardless and went on his way.

“Madara,” Hashirama echoed. “A fine name. Would it be wrong of me to assume you seek something in the courts of the pale folk?”

“Here’s the thing,” Madara started, leaning in. “When you talk about stuff like that you should really keep you voice down and try to avoid attracting attention. The other guy was a scam but he wasn’t wrong about that. You are asking about a sensitive subject.”

“I understand that I think.” He sipped at his drink and then grimaced. “But I am no less resoled in my aims. This is something I can not turn away from, no matter the challenge it may prove to be.”

“You’re lookin for a way into the fae realms, that’s always a challenge, but not nearly as challenging as getting out of said realms.” Madara reached across the table for Hashirama’s ale and took it to drink from.

Hashirama frowned at drink Madara seemed to down so easily. “What is your aim in this matter, if you truly are after the same thing? I have not met many who even know the name of the fae realms, much less want to trespass there. What are you reasons, sir?”

“I have my reasons.”

Hashirama blinked, looking lost. “I believe you do. What are they?”

Madara blanched. “Are you really just going to always be this blunt and dull? I have my reasons. Why do I need to share them with you?”  Hashirama took a breath to reply but Madara cut back in. “And don’t answer in that archaic old man speech no one uses anymore. You sound like you’re from the wrong century.”

“Would you believe me if I told you such things are possible with the fae?”

Madara narrowed his eyes. “I’d believe that. Do you seek revenge then?”

“Not nearly something so crass. They have my wife!” Hashirma inhaled sharply and then sank a little more into his seat. “They took my wife from me.”

In spite of all his ire, Madara felt his heart melt a little for the other man’s woes. It was something he could relate to. “They abducted your wife?” he echoed, voice low. “When?”

Hashirama shook his head, eyes turning red around the edges as he fought back tears. “Sometime in the past couple of months. She had provoked the wrath of a different fae to save me, after I urged her to flee and save herself. She did not heed any of my words, but risked her own safety to rescue me. I did not deserve her. I should have kept her safe with my own two hands but she took to the roads to get ahead of the dangers chasing her. In her efforts to stay safe, the courts she sought refuge from extracted too high a price.” Hashirama breathed deep, eyes glassy as he looked up at Madara. “I must rescue her.”

Madara nodded slowly, believing the other man’s words. “That sounds like something the moon court would do. There are many stories of them abducting babies and fools and desperate lovers to entertain their own ends. It is also the reason for my own inquiries.”

Hashirama sniffed and then leaned across the table. “You have lost a friend to these fiends as well?”

“Worse,” Madara growled out. “My wife.”    

Hashirama’s mouth fell open and his eyes went even wider. “You too? When did it happen? Ha-h-how did it happen?”

Madara didn’t cry for his loss anymore, but he raged when he knew he could because the story got worse every time he had to repeat it. “She was originally chased off by my father for having been abducted by the fae when she was a child, but I pursued her. And over many different lands I came close, but never close enough. She was a woman of many kindnesses, always doing what she could to aid others when it seemed impossible. There was a girl, no a child, caught by the sounds of the fae that she exchanged herself for. I know where she is trapped now, and I will not falter to bring her back.”

“I pray you find her, friend.”

Madara swallowed, still angry with himself. “And you as well.”

He felt better about sticking his neck out for this other person now that he knew what drove his reckless pursuit. He could sympathize. Like Hashirama, Madara was also a little reckless to get his wife back. He had woken up alone too many times since she first saved him those months ago. He wasn’t willing to hold anything else back.

Itachi had been the one who found the initial information about Sakura’s brave sacrifice, but it was Sasuke who had found out who knew what to do next. Both of his brothers were dedicated to helping him and it wouldn’t be fair to them if he lagged in his own efforts.

Maybe Hashirama would be a boon to his own pursuits to find Sakura. He was willing to take a chance on his gut feeling. He believed that Hasirama was a fool, but an honest fool.  

The bartender from before came over to their table with a new set of drinks. “The man upstairs will see you now,” he glanced from Madara to Hashirama, frowning at the latter, “both of you.”

Madara took both of the drinks in hand and then nodded for Hashirama to follow him up. He already knew which room their information would be coming out of.  

Hashirama woke up and wished he hadn’t.

When he rolled over there was nothing but blank space to meet him, whereas only moment earlier he had dreamed of shy smiles, long pink hair and hazy emerald eyes that watched him through sooty lashes. He reached for her hand, to thread his fingers through hers, but there was nothing but empty space.

Sakura wasn’t there.

She was supposed to be there.

He sat up and let the covers fall away, stepping over them to cross the campsite. His boots lay discarded next to his bedroll but he left them behind to walk through the grass and soil barefoot. He stopped beside a tree and touched the bark, using it to calm and ground his angry nerves.

The forest whispered words of comfort to him when he stopped to listen and he was grateful once again, for the fact that his abilities as Tam Lin hadn’t left him when he broke from the Fox Court’s thrall. More than his ability to conjure gold and rubies from pure thought while in the halls of his birthright, it was the comforting words of nature he valued most.

‘You will prevail,’ the trees seemed to whisper, and the trees never lied. ‘You will find her again and you will be made well.’

“But I am suffering now,” he whispered back. “It’s my fault she’s in that place right now. Because of me she’s suffering a fate she didn’t deserve.”

The day before they had heard more from the locals, about what happened to those who were spirited off to the court of the Moon Fae. Some of the stories made his stomach turn. Sakura didn’t deserve to be stripped of all thought and caught up in a never-ending dance or feast of festering fruit. Even the stories of the butterfly sleepers made him uneasy. Dreaming forever in a chrysalis until a fairy tree grew out of the goo that had once been their human body-stuck forever in a new form in a dream that never ended, it sounded horrible.

The stories were as varied as they were horrible, but the closer they traveled the more similar they became.

Whoever was abducted in the past season would be cloistered away in something called the tree of ten beasts, whatever that meant. He hoped it was a literal tree he could communicate with. That would be a lucky break for him. He was in sore need of some more luck.

Hopefully, while they were there he could help Madara find his lost wife as well. The poor man suffered an even older loss. When Madara described his struggles Hashirama’s heart broke a little bit more. At least he had whole months with Sakura before she left him. Madara had watched his wife from afar for long enough, but they had only one night together as man and wife, and he had been so tired from the spell she saved him from that it wasn’t nearly enough time to be with his true love. Hashirama had vowed to help Madara in any way he could.

The pair of them had a lot in common and it was a fine fate that their paths crossed in that pub when then did. Like Madara, Hashirama’s wife had broken him free of a dark magic and proved herself to him as his soul’s true mate. Like Hashirama, Madara’s wife had also been run off by fear.

‘Why do you want her back? She left.’

Hashirama turned to see the seedling of a tree not far from the roots of another. He stepped closer to it a knelt down. He couldn’t tell exactly what breed of tree it would be, but it wasn’t the type that was most prevalent in the forest. It was younger than the other trees and spoke with the voice of a child.

“I seek my wife. I love her.”

‘Why?’

Hashirama almost wanted to laugh as he reached down to stroke the small infant tree. “Such a question. Love, it is indeed a question for the ages. I wish I understood it well enough to make sense of it, but I’m afraid I can not. I love her. I fell for her courage, her honesty, her helpfulness, and her beauty. She is kind without seeking any attention for her kindness. She helped me even though it was at the risk of her own safety.”

‘Why?’

He finally laughed out loud. “Why, indeed. I don’t know, but I want to believe it’s because she loved me. She won me back from a fate set in hell by claiming me as her love. She said I was her husband and that I belonged to her.” He touched the underside of the plan’s single leaf bud. “I had no hope for myself to survive my doom, much less to ascend to such heights of bliss. Now that I have tasted happiness, I am unwilling to give it up. I’m unwilling to give up her.”  

‘…Why?’

“Because I am weak and there has never been a time in my life where I was happier then when I was with her. I want to fight for that now.”

The sprout might have asked him its only question once more but Hashirama stood suddenly and turned away, facing the source of the noise behind him.

Madara stepped back into the clearing, another bundle of brushwood under his arm. He looked up with a tired expression when he saw Hashirama awake.

“I thought you would be asleep We traveled far today,” the Uchiha prince said around a yawn. He dropped the wood by the edge of the fire and crouched down to hand feed individual pieces to the flames.

“I couldn’t sleep. What about yourself? You also traveled leagues beside me today. Are you not tired?” Hashirama asked, kneeling beside the fire to help.

Madara grunted in thanks before replying. “I don’t tire the same as normal men. I can go much further and last far longer than either of my human brothers. I tried to sleep, but I heard, no, I dreamed of my wife’s voice again, when she sang me to sleep.”

“That’s a lovely memory,” Hashirama admitted. He wondered if Sakura sang, and if she might be willing to sing with him once they were reunited.

“It is, but right now it haunts me. I hear her singing and then she’s screaming, trapped far away somewhere I can’t reach her. She’s powerful and wise, but that doesn’t mean I can’t worry for her sake.” Madara sighed in frustration. “I don’t know where she is. I can’t rest easy not knowing if she’s unharmed or not.”

“I can understand that. When I first met my wife, she was hurt. She came onto my lands for a double headed rose that might cure her from some sort of curse. She was very capable and healed herself right up, but she still came to me in blood soaked things. I know my wife has a kind soul, but sometimes I wish she would rely on me more.”

“Exactly,” said Madara.

Hashirama nodded along. “I’m still fairly capable as her husband. I’m strong and fast and I have a connection to the earth as a former Tam Lin. She can rely on me!”

“It’s the same for me. I’m stronger and faster and cunning in ways she doesn’t even know about. I could easily protect her if she were to come back under my wing once more,” Madara added eagerly.  

“I feel you are a brother who understands my woes, Madara. You know my pain.”

“What is it with women like that anyway?  It’s an epidemic.”

Hashirama chuckled. “Indeed, but you will never hear me complain again for as long as I live if only I were to have her back by my side again. She can be as willful as she wants to be, I just want to hold her once again.”

Madara nodded slowly. “I am the same.”

“I am glad you found me, and I am glad that I do not need to make this dreadful journey on my own,” Hashirama said, watching as the flames caught on and spread the fire to the newly added brush. “Maybe by this time tomorrow, we’ll be in the fairy lands and then I can find my wife and you yours.”

“I don’t think they’ll be able to stop us,” Madara agreed.

“When you are free with your wife, you should come visit Carter Hall. You’ll never be hungry or have want as long as you stay under my roof. I have no other subjects but the birds and beasts, so it’s a perfect respite.”

“How do you have food without subjects? Who do you lord over?”

“There are men and women in the territory, but I do not tax for I have no need of such things. When I am in Carter Hall the magic of that place gives me all that I might need,” he explained.

Madara asked a few more questions about the technicalities of Carter Hall and where it was located geographically. Hashirama was more than happy to answer, but he also asked Madara much about his family’s kingdom and family.

Madara loved his brothers, despised his father, and adored his mother, but admitted it might be nice to get away from them for a spell and relax out of sight. His father had given up on marrying off his eldest for the throne, and officially made Itachi his heir. Plenty of women were willing and eager to be the second prince’s wife.

“But I think he still has a crush on my wife,” Madara whispered behind his hand, even though there was no one else who could overhear their conversation. His wineskin was half empty and his breath thick with the scent of fermented elderberry. Halfway through their talk he had pulled it out and helped himself to the sweet nectar.  

Hashirama chuckled, taking another sip from the mango juice he had purchased in the town earlier.  “And you’re not jealous?”

“I might have been, in the beginning when I was young and ignorant, but I don’t mind it much now. Itachi wouldn’t do anything on his own, and even if my wife fell for another man….” Madara eyes flashed and he took a long drink from his wineskin before finishing. “Well, I still wouldn’t hold it against her. I’d just care that she came back to me.”

“That’s very kind of you. I can tell you really love her. I would be the same, I think. A little heartbroken, but I’d take her back no matter what. How could I do anything else when she’s the one who has my heart?”

“And how could I blame any other guy?” Madara asked louder than before. His wineskin was empty and dangling from his fingers. “She’s so frustratingly beautiful. She’s the most amazing creature I’ve ever known. If a man isn’t a little bit in love with my wife they’ve got no taste-or they’re already too in love with their own women, no offense to you my friend.”

Hashirama laughed. “I feel the same, I feel the same too! I thought I was odd for thinking it. But my wife is a creature of unparalleled beauty and kindness.”

“She’s so strong and fearless and fun,” Madara sighed, leaning into his hand as he stared into the flames, almost ignoring Hashirama who was also similarly mesmerized by the flickering light. “Such charisma.”

“She’s a light in my dark life.”

Hashirama finished his drink and packed away the skin. He stood and slapped Madara on the shoulder, laughing that they should get some small measure of rest before the sun came up and they were off to find the rest of the fairy path. It wouldn’t be accessible until the next night’s moon, but they wanted to be as close to the abduction site as possible.

It was a fine plan, and it filled Hashirama up with hope.

When he laid down for the second time in his bedroll, he turned over onto his side and imagined he was back in Carter Hall, lying in a bed of soft cotton sheets the color of cream, and she was next to him, hair like a halo, skin as soft as peaches. She would open her eyes and smile shyly at him until he dragged her into his arms where he could kiss her. He dreamed of holding her, of always having her, of never being alone again.

Sakura couldn’t stand the feel of fabric on her anymore, not with the white handprint burning through her skin day and night. She picked at it, brushed her fingers over it, dabbed it with any manner of liquid she could come across, but there was no respite from the sting of Kaguya’s mark. It had been burning since she fell into the matron’s trap and it would burn for as long as Sakura resisted her ‘mother’s’ laws.

“You’ve been so willful, what else was I to do?” Kaguya sighed, settling down into the moon colored pillows and cushions that lay scattered around Sakura.

Kaguya turned on her elbow to gaze up at Sakura through her lashes, pearl colored eyes wide and watchful. Instead of a courtly gown Kaguya was dressed in a formless mass of silver white spider silk that caught the light greedily when it fell over her curves. Sometimes she was formless through the dress, other times she was a tease of a shape, but at all times she was queen on high of all the Moon fae.

Kaguya sighed and reached out to touch Sakura’s bare shoulder with just the point of her finger. Sakura stiffened at the contact but didn’t turn or acknowledge Kaguya’s presence. The queen pulled her finger away but there was no mark that throbbed years after it’s contact. Marking was normal a more formal affair.

“You are upset with me,” Kaguya said.

Sakura stared ahead, keeping her tone as even as she could. “I am in pain, it is common among us fragile humans.”

Kaguya shifted, crawling up behind Sakura, easily larger than any human woman Sakura had ever met. Sometimes Kaguya was thin and slight, other times she towered over the bears and deer. She was as bond to her flesh as she wanted, and her whims were too frequent to confine her to a singular shape for too long.

“It shouldn’t hurt so much now that you’re here. You resist and do it to yourself. Come daughter, eat, drink, remember and leave that old world behind. It’s not nearly as full as glee as my courts. What do I lack to make you so displeased, daughter.”

“I wish to be free.”

“Daughter, you know why I can no longer allow that.”

“I was fine.”

Kaguya hummed, reaching for Sakura’s hair and tugging it up into a fanciful crown braid that grew its own flowers. “Of course you were, but I dare not let my lessers think themselves clever. You were too juicy a temptation for the Fox Queen and that is no fault of mine.”

Sakura flinched, the memory still fresh. “I was doing just fine. She wouldn’t have been able to do anything to me if I kept moving. That’s what I always do.”

“You are changing true, you are wise to our ways, you are cunning and you are clever, but you are not fae.”

Sakura felt cold in her core when she heard Kaguya’s words. It was a truth she always knew and always hated. Changlings were a rejected breed of bastards caught between one world and the next. Humans rejected her, feared her, and spurned her in their homes. The fae welcomed her gladly, but never saw her as anything more than a funny sort of pet.

Kaguya called her daughter, but Kaguya had hundreds of daughters she cared for like flowers. She would pick them out of their baskets and admire them all through their short human life, then replace them once the withering began. Sakura was nothing more than a pretty flower, admired and desired, but never truly loved.

“I know what I am. She would not have caught me. I am your changing, after all.”

Kaguya’s pearl colored eyes shimmered with delight at Sakura’s boasting. She reached for Sakura and pulled her in for a kiss that tingled long after the fan’s lips left Sakura’s temple. “You are indeed. Make merry in my courts and forget your worries. When the next teind is paid the Fox Queen will forget you well enough.”

Sakura knew Kaguya’s game well enough to predict the queen’s next move. Kaguya would speak about letting Sakura leave after a time, but whenever that time drew near Kaguya would extend her conditions for Sakura being able to leave. She would make up some excuse to keep Sakura close and redouble her efforts to distract her changing daughter, but Sakura was not meant to dwell anywhere for long. Eventually she would need to wander. She was a changing, after all.

“I will dance tonight,” Sakura sighed, climbing to her feet. “And I will speak with Chiyo the spider about her magics before I depart again. I will be safer with the old woman’s knowledge.”

“Chiyo is a gifted changing daughter, who has held onto life for so long, but she is not fae enough to guarantee your safety.”

“That is the nature of life for us mortals.”

Kaguya shifted and stood, much like a snake wood, with too much grace and poise to be human. “If you drink at my table you will not feel your mortality touch you for many more years.”

Sakura knew that, it was how Chiyo, a 700 year old woman, was still alive. Sakura herself was older than she cared to admit.

Fae could make mortals dance until they died, and turn one night of party into 300 years. Dancing in the fairy rings were especially dangerous. If one danced well enough they could leave, but time in the rings was different than time outside. Sakura was careful to stay away from the wild dances.

Kaguya grabbed Sakura’s neck in her hands, encircling it easily. Sakura held still as her mother loomed. With a smile, Kaguya pulled her hands away from Sakura’s bare neck and stings of pears spilled out from the cold mark Kaguya’s fingers left. The pearls melted, shimmering in iridescent shades of every rainbow before fluttering into a dress that reached her naked feet. There was no need for footwear in the fairylands, though some fae stepped into heels when dancing on marble floors, most went without.

The white handprint dulled under the dress and Sakura sighed in relief, despite herself. She had been willing to resist Kaguya for ages, but gave in too quickly.

“You deserve a rest, my brave little girl,” Kaguya cooed in delight. Her fingers traced Sakura’s face and left glittering pearl powder in streaks.

Sakura followed Kaguya through the paths woven into the world’s tree, what other humans called the tree of ten beasts. It was an ancient bone colored thing, seeping with sap the color of amber and sea green. When she walked under the light, Sakura glittered in different, filtered shades of colored light.

Inside the colors humans drifted. Some still had the bruises around their necks from when the fae cut them out of their homemade nooses. Others still wore their slit throats and wrists. Kaguya hated to see death in her forests, but famine left the desperate with little other choice.

Once upon a time that had almost been Sakura, but instead of a noose or a grave, Kaguya had picked her out of a basket soaked with blood to bait the wolves. Kaguya loved the baby in that basket as well as a fae could love anything, and that was how Sakura inherited a legacy neither human nor fae.

“My grandsons will be joining us. They came back to court recently.”

Sakura stifled a groan but knew Kaguya heard her. “You didn’t tell me that when you were trying to convince me to leave my room.”

“I knew it might not have the desired affect.”

“I don’t think I can entertain much more of Ashura’s advances. I have no desire to be his eighteenth wife. It’s degrading.”

“He has a taste for changelings, and it would be his fourth wife, not his eighteenth. Both my grandsons have coupled with changelings often enough, but marriage is far more rare. Indra has never taken a mortal or fae wife.”

“I’ve no desire the be the fourth or the first,” Sakura groaned.

“You’re far too entertaining for your own good.”

“It doesn’t help that they set the bar so low. Quite literally, all I do to earn their favor is insult them to their faces and reject their advances. Neither grandson seems deterred with the countless rejections. You would think they would understand the concept of no by now.”  

“They don’t hear it often enough,” Kaguya laughed.

“That’s not my problem or my job.”

Sakura picked up the front of her dress and stepped up onto a tree branch, pausing only when she noticed how abnormally still Kaguya stood, like she was listening for something. Sakura knew enough to know that something had upset her mother.

“Kaguya, what is it?”

She turned to stare back at Sakura. “Someone has entered uninvited. I can feel them on the tree somewhere.”

The Tree of Ten Tails was enormous large enough to be a town all on its own, but it was still a part of the Queen of the Moon Court and she could tell when it was disturbed.

“More fae?” Kaguya shook her head no in response, so Sakura guessed again. “Humans?”

“No, neither fae nor human. They might be more changing like you. Climb higher my darling. I will deal with them.” Fondly, Kaguya reached over and kissed Sakura’s eyelids before turning and sinking into the tree, out of sight.

Sakura didn’t climb higher.

Bunching her dress up in her fists she turned and ran down the length of a pale white branch, jumping from it to another and then another. She scaled the side of the trunk, running down it until another branch was thick and near enough to jump onto. She ran, listening to the air and the atmosphere, trying to guess where the disturbances were coming from, because there was a disturbance…at least two-no three of them!  

Sakura sailed through the air, letting go of the ends of her dress, leaving the ends to wave in the wind behind her like a flag as she stretched her bare legs out in front of her, catching the branch with her heels and springing forward, nearly rolling into the new momentum.

As she ran the tree shifted, turning like the living creature it was, and Sakura kept atop it with little difficulty, but at one point her ankle rolled into a knot and she rolled the direction off the edge of white into a pool of glittering green. The sap soaked up and swallowed her scream as she sank.

Her head went fuzzy and she knew it was a dream that would never end, but she wasn’t a depressed woman wanting to end her life or a suicidal farmer. She pushed back against the dream feeling and swam in the sap until she found the end of it.

The tree was bark all around her except on one side, where she knew those walking the halls could look in and see a dreaming human that would one day become something more at peace with all the terrible parts of the world. Swimming up wasn’t an option, as the opening she had fallen through was already closed up with the tree’s shifting.

Sakura pushed up against the surface, where sap was most solid. It cracked in parts and she was able to wiggle a finger or two out, but when more sap pool into the opening she tore with her nails, it hardened and made a new layer of the wall. If she had a sword or a knife it would be so much easier.

She breathed through the sap, managing air just fine. When tearing with her nails did no good she banged on the surface with her fists. It wobbled and absorbed the impact with a vibration, but never cracked.

On the other side of the sap surface she saw a shadow that paused and then drew closer. It probably saw her well enough, but there was too much sap in her eyes to make out more than just the shadow and outline of a figure. She raked her nails over the surface again and cut enough for a finger to get through. Whoever was on the other side touched her hand and then waved for her to back up, pushing her hand back in.

Sakura pushed her body back into the sap, feeling the resistance that meant to cradle her in dreams. The figure outside raised something up and then there was a creak and groaning. When the figure brought his arm down a gash was cut into the sap that sucked the contents out. Sakura gushed forward with the rest of the green substance, falling into a mess at the shadow’s feat where she hacked up the sap that had found its way into her mouth and nose.

“Sakura!”

She was caught up into a shaking embrace that folded her underneath some of the broadest shoulders she had ever known. A heartbeat later she knew exactly who held her.

She coughed, pushing at his arms. “Ha-Hasharama!” More sap heaved up from her lungs but she struggled though. “What are you doing here? This court isn’t a place for you.”

He laughed, helping to brush stray flowers from her damp hair. “I’m here to rescue you, of course! I would have traveled to the ends of the earth to hold you again. Don’t doubt me, dearest.”

 In the distance she heard something that sounded like a dragon’s roar and then fire burning. It made her spine tingle and gut drop. She felt lost and overwhelmed.

“What’s going on?” She struggled to stand, but slipped as the last of the sap fell off her body, unable to cling like water or honey would. Only her hair still felt damp. “What’s happening? How did you get here? What’s going on with the tree?”

“My companion is engaging the queen. He also has a wife hidden in this maze he seeks to find. I meant to find the tree’s center and still it, but I’ll admit to not knowing how to manage it for once.” Hashirama glanced back over his shoulder. “I should rejoin my companion so he might find his wife. I doubt a fae queen will be so easy to beat.”  

“Kaguya!”

He kissed the front of her hair, mistaking her outburst for fear. “Don’t worry, she can’t harm you anymore. We’re taking you from here, back to Carter Hall.”

Hashirama pulled her along, tugging at her elbows to the end of the hall where they could both look down and see the smoke and black fire. Kaguya’s horns were both fully extended in agitation as she minimized the damage to her tree.

“Oh no,” Sakura breathed as realization made her sick.

Hashirama hissed the side of her face and then crouched down. “I need to go help him. Don’t worry. I won’t leave you.”

Then he was jumping down to where Hashirama was dodging the strikes of Kaguya’s tree. Falling into a roll, Hashirama unfolded with a sword drawn and slashed at the tree, casting it back with minor magic.  

Sakura took off, running down the halls to the lower levels, looking for somewhere she could jump out, watching for an opportunity.

She found it halfway down when another explosion of dragon fire, black as the soot cloud it created, flared up nearby. Sakura jumped out and ran down a branch before pushing off the side of trunk to a lower level. Her iridescent dress caught the light as it flared up behind her like wings, attracting Kaguya’s attention.

Her mother reached for her and Sakura ran to her, past aggressions forgotten as she worried for the fae queen who was never alone except when she was in danger. 

‘Was it her sons again? Plotting to take the throne for themselves again?’

“Sakura!” Kaguya breathed, relieved to see the girl safe. “I told you to leave.”

“I can’t, this is my fault,” Sakura whined, climbing the rest of the way down into her mother’s impossibly large arms.

“Your fault?”

Before Sakura could explain another roar of dragon anguish ripped through the atmosphere, this one devoid of actual fire as Madara surged forward with a sword of his own. “Unhand her!” he snarled, eyes flashing like blood diamonds.

“You have no claim in my realm, wyrm,” Kaguya hissed. Her own eyes flashed with the first signs of aggression now that Sakura was involved.

“Like hell I don’t, that’s my wife!” Madara roared.

Hashirama wasn’t far but stood higher up on a branch, but he dropped his own sword and stared, eyes wide. “What?”

Sakura groaned.

Kaguya pulled her daughter closer, size diminishing until she was approximate high of any other human. “What am I hearing, Sakura?” she asked, sounding only detached.

“Madara, you’re wrong. That’s Sakura,” Hashirama called down, hands around his mouth.

“I know my wife when I see her!” Madara roared. He pointed his sword at Kaguya.

“Uh, no, that’s my wife,” Hashirama panicked, nearly dropping his sword.

‘Oh crap,’ Sakura thought to herself as Kaguya looked back over her shoulder with a new look on her face. The aggression was gone, replaced with something a bit more mischievous. It only compounded Sakura’s dread.

“Sakura, have you been busy during your years in the human world?” she hummed, horns melting into moonlight as her eyes flashed with delight.

“Mom, please, don’t,” she whined, feeling the heat on her face.

“Mom?” Madara and Hashirama echoed together.

Kaguya laughed, holding Sakura from around the shoulders and pressing the younger woman’s face into her bosom as her voice rang like bells. “Oh, this truly is a delight. Enough of this now.” She waved her hand and the tree swelled up around their feet to throw them forward. Madara caught himself and landed in a kneeling pose while Hashirama just fell flat on has face in front of her feet. “I think we should talk some things over.”

“Sakura,” Hashirama cried, sounding like there really were tears in his eyes. When he lifted his head there were trails down his cheeks and his nose was red. He looked like he was about to say something else but was cut off.

“First!” Madara interjected, springing up and standing in front of Sakura, putting himself between her and Hashirama. “I married her first, before you, I was her first!”

“Th-that makes it worse, because she still left you to come to me,” Hashirama agreed, climbing to his feet. “And how do I know she was even chased out? Maybe she left on her own?”

“I told you all that already, my father-”

“I have a ring!” Hashirama raced to say, holding up his hand with the metal band that matched the one he gave Sakura, the one she made her vow to the Fox Queen with.

“So what? I had a wedding vow with a priest!”

“Which was annulled.”

“By my father!”

“Who is the king so it counts!”

Kaguya watched with rapt interest as Sakura’s face only grew hotter and hotter. “They’re like children,” she whispered down to Sakura. “Oh, I think they love you, good job my darling.”

“Mom,” Sakura whined, barely able to manage anything else. “Humans aren’t supposed to have two husbands.”

Kaguya’s smile was full and bright. “You’re not human.”

The queen of the moon court turned her smile to the two bickering men and clapped her hands. At the sound the world around them, tree and foliage, melted into something else resembling a room with chairs and a table spread with food. The chairs pulled themselves away from the table on their own.

Kaguya featured to them, eyeing the two men. “Sit, and let us speak about your claim to my dearest daughter.”

“D-daughter? Oh, yes, of course,” Hashirama bumbled, settling into a seat while Madara lowered himself down as well, watching her the whole time. Sakura still couldn’t meet either of their faces.

“We were married first, that is a fact that can’t be disputed,” Madara cut in suddenly. “I married your daughter and she broke me free from my magic. I’m not leaving here without her. I love her.”

“I love her too, no I love her more, I love her more than anything!” Hashirama rushed to add.

“I don’t doubt that, Sakura’s a loveably girl, changling or not,” Kaguya said, eyeing her daughter before facing the two males. “But should I take it the pair of you broke into my realms with the same agenda, to take back your wife, without knowing your wives were the same person?”

“Pretty much,” Hashirama said.

Kaguya burst out in laughter and Sakura dropped her head to the table, knowing it was redder than red. She didn’t want to face any of them, not Madara with his piercing stare, Hashirama with his watery eyes, of Kaguya with her mirthful smile.

“What an accomplishment, Sakura.”

“Please, don’t tease me, mother.”

“Yeah, excuse me with something,” Madara interjected, looking between Kaguya and Sakura. “Is it normal for human changelings and the…the abducting fae to be so close?”

Kaguya’s mouth turned down. “Sakura was not abducted, she was abandoned in my woods, soaked in chicken blood for the wolves. She is my daughter.”

“It’s not normal,” Sakura whispered, lifting her head just enough. “It’s rare. Considering the stories you must have heard, it’s understandable to be surprised.”

Kaguya pouted. “What stories?”

Sakura shrugged. “You know all the people who try to kill themselves or almost die in your woods? The people of Hupperduke think you steal them away to eat. Most changelings aren’t well liked either because humans think they’re tricksters, helping the fae entice men and woman.”

“I knew that much,” Kaguya huffed, sounding annoyed. “Humans are foolish. I regret the slander you suffered, my dear. I’ll never understand what you seek in them.”

“It’s where I came from.”

“It’s what you left. The woman doesn’t seek to climb back into the cradle, or the man into the womb of his mother, do they?” Kaguya asked, sounding as wise as ever before she turned to face the men with a stern expression. “Regardless, that is all beside the point. Sakura is my daughter. What were your intentions with her?”

“To take her back,” Madara said.

“To take my wife back,” Hashirama said at the same time.

“Oh, you don’t see how that might be a problem?” she asked. “Sakura hasn’t told me everything about her time in the human lands, but I’m sure she would have mentioned getting married and sharing vows if they were really so important.”

Hashirama turned first to face Sakura, leaning as far across the table as he could without standing to climb up. He reached with his hand but was just shy of contact. “It’s my fault for failing you, Sakura. I’m so sorry for what you must have endured. I want to take care of you, if not in Carter Hall than anywhere you wish. I owe you my life and you have my heart. Say the word and I’ll spirit you off to the ends of the earth, or bid me and I will be made silent forevermore on this subject. I only wish-my only wish is for you happiness.”

Madara stood from his seat but didn’t reach for her. She could still feel the heat from his stare all the way across the table. “I have traveled across the known kingdoms, I have toiled countless days in order to find you, chased down shadows as well as rumors for the chance to be here. I-” Sakura recognized the way his eyes widened, full with fear as he forced his words out. “I know that you may not even want me after being chased out, after seeing what I was, but I still can’t give up. I want you to know that I do love you. Nothing else matters. Please, consider me. I’ll do whatever I need to in order to win you over.”

Sakura felt like melting under their gazes. She couldn’t face Madara’s eyes so full of fear, or stand Hashirama’s voice when it broke with want. She didn’t know what to do with their affections. She had never believed herself capable of being so loved. She was a changing, a reject, a cast off…she hadn’t thought she would ever marry, but rather end up like Chiyo the spider, old and wrinkled and alone among the fae.

Did she love either of them back? Maybe? What did that even feel like, let alone look like? As old and mature as she was supposed to be, she hadn’t the first clue when it came to love.

She didn’t doubt that they both cared for her, the fact they were in her home realm at a table with Kaguya was proof enough, but once Madara got to know her he would regret it, once Hashirama saw her fail at his expectations he would regret it too.

But was that enough of a reason to give him on the idea-the possibility that she might be happy with one of them? If she was being honest with herself she’d admit that she’d dreamed of her own happily ever after.

“I’m not sure any of us understand the gravity right now, or what we’re even talking about,” Sakura said, picking up her head. “Neither of you know who I really am. I’ve kept a lot of stuff to myself and I can be annoying. I probably have habits that irritate you. I doubt I could make any of you happy.”

“Am I displeasing to you?” Madara asked.

Sakura gave up on trying to hide her blush. “N-no, that’s not it.”

“Then anything else can be worked through. Nothing, not even love, is perfect. It’s something you work through, something you build brick by brick. Don’t expect everything to be perfect right from the start.”

“And don’t expect that annoying habits are enough to sway one’s heart, because we all have them. Everyone on earth has some sort of issue someone else might find annoying. It’s not worth throwing away the whole home just because a few window curtains don’t match,” Hashirama added with a laugh.

“Being a changing is more than just a bad window curtain,” she said, grabbing her elbow to hold and cradle.

“I want you, flaws and all,” Madara vowed.

“Me as well,” Hashirama sighed, smile sad. “I am the same.”

Kaguya reached and took Sakura’s hand off her elbow to hold. “My brave, brave daughter, you’re scared, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I faced down fae queens and dragon wyrms and fought with malicious creatures and monsters alike. I-I’m not scared!”

“It’s okay.” Kaguya leaned closer and kissed Sakura’s forehead. “That doesn’t mean you can’t also be brave. You are my brave, sweet daughter, no matter what, and I would not part with you for anything less. Trust me, I can see how your heart wavers for wanting.”

Kaguya stood and approached Sakura’s chair, standing behind it and growing enough to loom high over it and her daughter. Madara and Hashirama shifted, turning their attentions towards the fae queen, anticipating her next words.  

“My daughter is not wise to the ways of love or courtship. We will proceed formally and with dignity that respects her will or not at all, agreed?”

“Of course!” Hashirama said just as Madara proclaimed a firm, “Yes!” 

“Very well, then if you are all agreeable to it, follow me. My courts are better places for such commitments.

The three of them stood to follow the tall queen up the ramp of pale ash bark, circling higher and higher until the tree was more leaves of silver and gray, catching and refracting light into every shade and hue of color.

The further they walked the more fae they encountered. At first they only saw the drunk, but further in some of the revelers cheered for their queen and parted ways. No one paid Sakura or the other two males much mind until the tree leaves parted to reveal a open hall where a high throne grew out of the white wood. At its base a silver basin collected water more sparkling than clear.

“Where are we?” Hashirama asked.

“The throne’s hall,” Sakura whispered back. “It’s not where the best parties are thrown, but oaths and promises are made with the water from the well of beginnings. Such oaths can not be broken.”  

Nearby the banquet halls and dancing floors emptied as more and more fae filtered in to watch and see what transpired. Kaguya didn’t pay them any mind, but approached the basin and waved the other three over to join her.

Out of the corner of her eye Sakura saw Chiyo watching for somewhere on high. Ashura and Indra filed in as well. The brothers bent to whisper with others who had been in the hall before them, likely asking what was going on.

“Come here,” Kaguya called to her and the men. They all approached together and bent in, pretending the rest of the hall wasn’t filled with watching eyes. Kaguya was ignoring them.

“What will you have us do here?” Sakura asked, gut rolling with suspicion.

“You have made fabled vows to these men, as shallow as they were, you still used your words to tie yourself to them. This can not be easily dismissed, not when they come seeking you like this. If you wish to break from their hearts you may, but first you must pay a debt.”

Sakura felt her heart sink. “What is it?”

Kaguya looked over Sakura’s shoulders to where Madara and Hashirama stood. “There are four seasons and two suitors. Each season you will spend with one, a total of two each, until the year is up and you will all be called back here to proclaim your intentions. In their seasons your suitors may take you where they wish, and you must follow until your days are done.”

“You won’t make her choose?” Hashirama asked.

“That is up to Sakura at the end of the year,” Kaguya answer. “After she knows her heart better, she may make her decision.”

“A whole year? But if I wanted to travel more…?” Sakura let her words trail off.

“It wouldn’t not be for me to permit it. You made these vows on your own, and now you must face their consequences. It is not fair only your men should suffer for it.”

Sakura knew that. She hated how things had turned out for both of the men. She hadn’t meant to trick them, and never would have guessed things turned out as messy as they had. When she married Madara and vowed herself to Hashirama, she hadn’t thought of the consequences, but that didn’t meant there shouldn’t be any.

She forced herself to swallow and nod. “I understand.”

Behind her, Madara and Hashirama shared a look.

“I don’t want to have to duel you for her, my friend,” Hashirama sighed. “I truly did only wish for your happiness before we knew we shared more than just our struggles. I will submit to this.”

Madara nodded stiffly. “As will I.” He glanced to Sakura and lowered his face as well as his voice before adding, “I have no desire for an unwilling wife to force my love onto.”

“During your season you may go and do as you please, and Sakura will follow if that is your wish. You may not force yourselves on her or bind, constrain, or abuse her in any way. She will follow but is compelled to do no more. The first season will go to Madara, as he was her wedded first, then Hashirama, then Madara again, and then finally Hashirama. At the end of her year, Sakura may be permitted to chose one or neither or both. Do you agree?”

“Yes,” they said as one.

Kaguya turned to Sakura.

“Yes,” she echoed, swallowing her pride.

Kaguya tipped the basin and Sakura drank, then Madara, then Hashirama.

[wisdomrays]

A GUIDE for WOMEN: Part 5

SECOND POINT

This year, despite having withdrawn from the life of society and being in seclusion, I looked at the world for the sake of some of my brothers and sisters who were Risale-i Nur students. From most of the friends who visited me I heard complaints about their family lives. “Alas!”, I said, “The refuge of people, and particularly of Muslims, and a sort of Paradise, and a small world, is family life. Has this started to break up as well now?” I sought the reason, and I understood that one or two covert groups were working to mislead youth and drive the young to vice by means of their appetites, in order to cause harm to the social life of Islam, and thereby to the religion of Islam. I also realized that one or two groups were working covertly and effectively to drive neglectful women down the wrong road. I understood too that a severe blow would be dealt to this Muslim nation from that quarter. And so I categorically state the following to you my sisters and spiritual children:

The sole means of saving women’s happiness in the Hereafter, and their happiness in this world, as well as saving their elevated innate qualities from corruption, is the training given by the religion of Islam; there is no other means. You hear about the situation into which the unfortunate women of Russia have fallen. It says in one part of the Risale-i Nur that no man of sense builds love and affection for his wife on her fleeting, superficial beauty of five to ten years. He should build his love on her fine conduct, the most permanent and best of beauty, which is particular to womanhood and its compassion. In that way, when the unfortunate advances in years, her husband’s love for her will persist. For his wife is not merely a temporary helper and companion in this worldly life, but an eternal, lovable companion for everlasting life, so the older they grow they should increase also in love for each other, and compassion, and respect. Family life now, which, under the guise of culture and civilization is a temporary animal relationship followed by eternal separation, is being destroyed at its very foundations.

In another place in the Risale-i Nur it says: “Happy the man who in order not to lose his companion of eternity, copies his righteous wife and so becomes righteous himself. And happy the woman who, seeing her husband to be pious, adheres to religion herself so as not to lose her everlasting friend and companion. Unhappy the man who follows his wife in sin, does not try to make her give it up, but joins her. And unhappy the woman who, seeing her husband’s sinfulness, follows him in another way. And alas for the wife and husband who assist one another in throwing each other into the Fire. That is, who encourage one another to embrace the evils of civilization.”

The meaning of these lines from the Risale-i Nur is this: at this time, the only means of developing family life and finding happiness in this world and the Hereafter, and causing the elevated qualities of women to unfold, is Islamic conduct within the bounds of the Shari’a. Now, the most important point in family life is this, that if the woman sees bad conduct and disloyalty in her husband, and to spite her husband, stints in her loyalty and faithfulness to him, her duty as far as the family is concerned, then the factory of that family life will be thrown into confusion, exactly like discipline in the army being spoilt. The woman should rather try to reform her husband’s faults as far as she can in order to save her companion of eternity. If she starts to show herself to others by unveiling herself and tries to make herself attractive to others, it is harmful in every respect. For a woman who gives up complete loyalty pays the penalty in this world too. Because it is her nature to be fearful and upset at the looks of those canonically strangers to her, and to avoid them. She is discomforted at the looks of eighteen out of twenty strangers. As for men, they are discomforted and upset at the looks of only one out of a hundred women who are canonically strangers to them. The woman suffers torment in that respect, and so too may be accused of disloyalty, and due to her weakness, will be unable to protect her rights.

I n  S h o r t : Just as in respect of compassion women do not resemble men in heroism and sincerity, and men cannot compare with them in that regard, so too innocent women can in no way compare with men in vice. For this reason by their natures and weakness, they are truly frightened of strangers and consider themselves compelled to conceal themselves beneath their abundant outer garments. Because, if for eight minutes’ pleasure a man commits sin, he only suffers a loss of eight liras. But as the penalty of the pleasure of eight minutes’ sin, in this world too the woman bears a heavy load for eight months and then has the hardship of rearing the unprotected child for eight years. She therefore cannot compete with men in vice and pays a penalty a hundred times greater.

The not infrequent incidents of this sort show that just as by nature women are the source of elevated morals, so do they virtually lack the capacity for worldly pleasure in vice and dissipation. That is to say, they are a type of blessed creature created to pass happy lives in the family within the bounds laid down by Islam. God damn those covert groups who are corrupting these blessed creatures! And may Almighty God preserve my sisters from the evil of such dissolute wretches.

My sisters! I have this to say to you confidentially: rather than entering under the domination of a dissolute, immoral, Westernized husband due to straitened circumstances, try to economize and obtain your own livelihood like innocent peasant women with the frugality and contentment which is in your natures; do not try to sell yourselves. If it is your fate to have a husband who is unsuitable for you, be content with your fate and resigned to it. God willing, he will be reformed through your contentment and resignation. But to apply to the courts for a divorce, which I have heard of recently; that is not in keeping with the honour of Islam and this nation’s good name!

[silmarillionwritersguild]

This February, we are taking our cue from Valentine’s Day and invite you to join us in a contemplation of love! Your prompts for this month will be quotes from the Legendarium that are all about love. But in Middle-earth as in our modern day and age, love can take many shapes, and romantic or sexual attraction are only two aspects of it. Tolkien’s characters experience different kinds of love: love of family, love of friends, love of a place, love of treasure, love of abstract concepts like duty or freedom … and sometimes, they may feel no love at all. We have made a list of quotes about love from the Legendarium, and you can select one - or several - that inspire you to write about that crazy little thing called love. It doesn’t have to be a love story; it just needs to respond in some way to the quote(s) that you’ve chosen. Although we are sorting the quotes according to their context, feel free to disregard that in your response! For example, you can use a romantic love quote in a platonic way, or turn a feudal reading of love into something romantic. February is also Black History Month, so we encourage participants to focus on characters of color or characters from cultural groups we don't hear from a lot in the texts. Participants are also welcome to combine our love prompts with SilmLadyLove’s Femslash February prompts. Fanworks for this challenge are due on the archive by March 10 in order to receive a stamp.

Romantic or ambiguous love

"[Melian] spoke no word; but being filled with love Elwë came to her and took her hand, and straightway a spell was laid on him, so that they stood thus while long years were measured by the wheeling stars above them; and the trees of Nan Elmoth grew tall and dark before they spoke any word." ~ Of Thingol and Melian

"The love of Finwë and Míriel was great and glad, for it began in the Blessed Realm in the Days of Bliss." ~ Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor

"Galadriel his sister went not with him to Nargothrond, for in Doriath dwelt Celeborn, kinsman of Thingol, and there was great love between them." ~ Of the Return of the Noldor

"But it is said that not until that hour had such cold thoughts ruled [Finrod]; for indeed she whom he had loved was Amarië of the Vanyar, and she went not with him into exile." ~ Of the Noldor in Beleriand

"[Gorlim’s] wife was named Eilinel, and their love was great, ere evil befell." ~ Of Beren and Lúthien

"And it seemed to Thingol that this Man was unlike all other mortal Men, and among the great in Arda, and the love of Lúthien a thing new and strange; and he perceived that their doom might not be withstood by any power of the world." ~ Of Beren and Lúthien

"But Gwindor sat in dark thought; and on a time he spoke to Finduilas, saying: 'Daughter of the house of Finarfin, let no grief lie between us; for though Morgoth has laid my life in ruin, you still I love. Go whither love leads you; yet beware!’" ~ Of Túrin Turambar

"His heart turned to Níniel, and he asked her in marriage; but for that time she delayed in spite of her love. For Brandir foreboded he knew not what, and sought to restrain her, rather for her sake than his own or rivalry with Turambar; and he revealed to her that Turambar was Túrin son of Húrin, and though she knew not the name a shadow fell upon her mind." ~ Of Túrin Turambar

"The Eldar wedded once only in life, and for love or at the least by free will upon either part." ~ Morgoth’s Ring, "Laws and Customs among the Eldar"

"’Love of Indis did not drive out love of Míriel; so now pity for Míriel doth not lessen my heart’s care for Indis.’" ~ Morgoth’s Ring, "Laws and Customs among the Eldar"

"And Ilúvatar spoke to Ulmo, and said: '[...]Behold rather the height and glory of the clouds, and the everchanging mists; and listen to the fall of rain upon the Earth! And in these clouds thou art drawn nearer to Manwë, thy friend, whom thou lovest.'" ~ Ainulindalë

"Now Hador Lórindol, son of Hathol, son of Magor, son of Malach Aradan, entered the household of Fingolfin in his youth, and was loved by the King." ~ Of the Coming of Men into the West

"Thus ended Beleg Strongbow, truest of friends, greatest in skill of all that harboured in the woods of Beleriand in the Elder Days, at the hand of him whom he most loved; and that grief was graven on the face of Túrin and never faded." ~ Of Túrin Turambar

"But when all was spoken, Manwë gave judgement, and he said: 'In this matter the power of doom is given to me. The peril that he ventured for love of the Two Kindreds shall not fall upon Eärendil, nor shall it fall upon Elwing his wife, who entered into peril for love of him; but they shall not walk again ever among Elves or Men in the Outer Lands.’" ~ Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath

Parental and feudal love

"Therefore when [the Ainur] beheld [the Children of Ilúvatar], the more did they love them, being things other than themselves, strange and free…" ~ Ainulindalë

"Nonetheless Ulmo loves both Elves and Men, and never abandoned them, not even when they lay under the wrath of the Valar." ~ Valaquenta

"Therefore those who dwell by the sea or go up in ships may love [Ossë], but they do not trust him." ~ Valaquenta

"Then Aulë answered: 'I did not desire such lordship. I desired things other than I am, to love and to teach them, so that they too might perceive the beauty of Eä, which thou hast caused to be.’" ~ Of Aulë and Yavanna

"The Vanyar [Manwë] loved best of all Elves, and of him they received song and poetry; for poetry is the delight of Manwë, and the song of words is his music." ~Of the Beginning of Days

"Greater love was given to Fingolfin and his sons, and his household and the most part of the dwellers in Tirion refused to renounce him, if he would go with them; and thus at the last as two divided hosts the Noldor set forth upon their bitter road." ~ Of the Flight of the Noldor

"But there were many who loved the Lady Haleth and wished to go whither she would, and dwell under her rule; and these she led into the Forest of Brethil, between Teiglin and Sirion." ~ Of the Coming of Men into the West

"For Turgon took great liking for the sons of Galdor, and spoke much with them; and he wished indeed to keep them in Gondolin out of love, and not only for his law that no stranger, be he Elf or Man, who found the way to the secret kingdom and looked upon the city should ever depart again, until the King should open the leaguer, and the hidden people should come forth." ~ Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin

"'Sit now there; and look out upon the lands where evil and despair shall come upon those whom thou lovest. Thou hast dared to mock me, and to question the power of Melkor, Master of the fates of Arda.’" ~ Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad

"For Maglor took pity upon Elros and Elrond, and he cherished them, and love grew after between them, as little might be thought; but Maglor's heart was sick and weary with the burden of the dreadful oath." ~ Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath

"[The Elves of Beleriand] were admitted again to the love of Manwë and the pardon of the Valar; and the Teleri forgave their ancient grief, and the curse was laid to rest." ~ Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath

Love of things and places

"[Yavanna] is the lover of all things that grow in the earth, and all their countless forms she holds in her mind, from the trees like towers in forests long ago to the moss upon stones or the small and secret things in the mould." ~ Valaquenta

"Oromë loved the lands of Middle-earth, and he left them unwillingly and came last to Valinor; and often of old he passed back east over the mountains and returned with his host to the hills and the plains." ~ Valaquenta

"For Fëanor began to love the Silmarils with a greedy love, and grudged the sight of them to all save his father and his seven sons; he seldom remembered now that the light within them was not his own." ~ Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor

"But the Sindar had the fairer voices and were more skilled in music, save only Maglor son of Fëanor, and they loved the woods and the riversides; and some of the Grey-elves still wandered far and wide without settled abode, and they sang as they went." ~ Of the Return of the Noldor

"’But love not too well the work of thy hands and the devices of thy heart; and remember that the true hope of the Noldor lieth in the West and cometh from the Sea.'" ~ Of the Noldor in Beleriand

"And the Númenóreans answered: 'Why should we not envy the Valar, or even the least of the Deathless? For of us is required a blind trust, and a hope without assurance, knowing not what lies before us in a little while. And yet we also love the Earth and would not lose it.'" ~ Akallabêth

"Moreover [the Noldor] were not at peace in their hearts, since they had refused to return into the West, and they desired both to stay in Middle-earth, which indeed they loved, and yet to enjoy the bliss of those that had departed." ~ Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age

Absence of love

"Therefore all the more did [Melkor] feign love for them and seek their friendship, and he offered them the service of his lore and labour in any great deed that they would do." ~ Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor

"The wedding of his father was not pleasing to Fëanor; and he had no great love for Indis, nor for Fingolfin and Finarfin, her sons." ~ Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor

"There [Aredhel] was often in the company of the sons of Fëanor, her kin; but to none was her heart's love given." ~ Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalië

"For Manwë was free from evil and could not comprehend it, and he knew that in the beginning, in the thought of Ilúvatar, Melkor had been even as he; and he saw not to the depths of Melkor’s heart, and did not perceive that all love had departed from him for ever." ~ Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor

"Of like mind with Galadriel was Fingon Fingolfin’s son, being moved also by Fëanor’s words, though he loved him little; and with Fingon stood as they ever did Angrod and Aegnor, sons of Finarfin." ~ Of the Flight of the Noldor

"Men have feared the Valar, rather than loved them, and have not understood the purposes of the Powers, being at variance with them, and at strife with the world." ~ Of Men

"’And this counsel I add: return now to your dwelling in the darkness of Nan Elmoth; for my heart warns me that if you now pursue those who love you no more, never will you return thither.'"~ Of Maeglin

"And however that might be, Idril loved Maeglin not at all; and knowing his thought of her she loved him the less." ~ Of Maeglin

"Therefore [Brandir] renounced his lordship, and all love for the people that had scorned him, and having naught left but his love for Níniel he girt himself with a sword and went after her; but being lame he fell far behind." ~ Of Túrin Turambar

"No love was there between Ar-Gimilzôr and his queen, or between their sons." ~ Akallabêth

[vincentcheungteam]

Our passage is often used by preachers to denigrate the preaching of the word of God. This is done not only by the anti-intellectual types, but even those who are widely known as champions of biblical preaching, when it comes to this and similar passages, would suddenly exalt holy example above preaching. Some of them would even quote the irrational anti-Christian slogan, "Actions speak louder than words," when the fact is that actions never speak at all. Rather, actions must be explained by words, but it is never necessary for words to be accompanied by actions in order to demonstrate their meaning, truth, and coherence.

We should make clear what we mean here. We do not deny that Scripture commands us to believe and obey the word of God. It requires us to both preach it to others and demonstrate its message and power before them in our lives. It condemns as hypocrites those who preach but do not practice what they preach. Let us keep in mind that we affirm all of this in what follows.

Problems arise when we make our example more important than our preaching, or to make the effectiveness of the proclamation of the word of God dependent on its demonstration. It is common for Christian preachers and writers to insist that our lifestyle is the most eloquent sermon, the most powerful apologetic, or something to that effect. Some goes as far as to say that, ''No one will believe you if your life does not match your message."

However, the Bible teaches none of these false ideas. It affirms that a godly example is important, but it never says that it is more important or more effective than the verbal message, nor is the message impotent without our godly example. The Bible requires our godly example as a moral necessity, meaning that we are morally required to practice what we affirm and preach. But it never presents our godly example as an intellectual or practical necessity. In other words, it never says that our ministry to others will be totally ineffective if we were hypocrites, or if we fail to practice what we preach. Still less does it permit sinners to ignore the gospel just because it is delivered to them by hypocrites.

Let us examine several relevant passages. These do not exhaust the list of relevant passages, but after looking at them, it will become evident how the others have been distorted as well.

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 9:27, "No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize." He never says that his ministry would become ineffective if he fails to subdue his body, only that he himself would be "disqualified" before the Lord.

Related to this is the so-called "love chapter," which in fact mainly concerns the spiritual gifts. It says, "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing" (1 Corinthians 13:1-3). He never says that the spiritual gifts would fail if believers exercise them without love, but he says that those who exercise the gifts without love would gain nothing. The person could still "fathom all mysteries and all knowledge," and the mountains are still moved.

Then, consider all the instances in Scripture where the people believed the gospel upon hearing it. They never had the chance to observe the lives of the disciples. How can anyone claim that the preaching is ineffective unless it is backed up by a godly life? No, Paul says that some people even preach Christ out of "selfish ambition" and to "stir up trouble for him" (Philippians 1:17). He does not say that the message would be ineffective, but he rejoices that Christ is being preached (v. 18). The gospel carries great power even if preached by a overtly wicked man. He shall reap fire and brimstone, but the Spirit can still use his words to convert multitudes without having a godly example to show them.

Jesus even tells his disciples to obey the message of the hypocrites: "The teachers of the law and the Pharisees sit in Moses' seat. So you must obey them and do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach" (Matthew 23:2-3). Truth is truth. God condemns hypocrisy – we do not deny that. But just because the one who preaches it does not live up to it does not excuse the one who hears it from believing it and obeying it.

Many unbelievers and apostates claim that they have rejected or discarded the Christian faith because of all the hypocrites that they see. Those preachers who exalt godly example over verbal presentation provide the excuse to perpetuate this kind of thinking, but what they should do is to oppose it. The truth is that only stupid people never believe hypocrites. They fail to make the simple distinction between what people say and what people do. As a result of their irrational thinking, and perhaps also moral arrogance, they refuse to examine what a person says to determine whether it is true. Instead, they conclude that a person who does not live up to what he says must also be saying the wrong things. Jesus is not so foolish – he makes the distinction very clear and teaches his disciples to do the same.

If no one else believes the truth, you believe the truth! If no one else lives for the truth, you live for the truth! Have some spiritual spine and moral courage. Never use other people's failure as your excuse. The coward's way out is to say, "He is a hypocrite, so he is not credible and his message must be false. He does not practice what he preaches, so I will not, either. He is a hypocrite, therefore I will remain a consistent and thoroughgoing sinner."

This was one of the things that I wondered about when I was little. I marveled at how "Christian" hypocrites could cause others to stumble. Of course the hypocrites were wrong, and Scripture even states that they were wrong in causing others to stumble. I understood that. But I also thought that those who stumbled for this reason must have been incredibly stupid people, and that their faith was never genuine in the first place. The message is true even if there are hypocrites. In fact, our message itself tells you that there would be hypocrites. So how stupid can a person be, to stumble over hypocrites? Thus both the hypocrites and those who stumble over them are culpable. They have no excuse.

Therefore, rather than allowing all the blame to fall upon the Christians, even the hypocritical ones, we must expose the fact that unbelievers are stupid for reasoning the way they do. The sinner is never exempt from believing and obeying the gospel message, since in rejecting it he sins by defying God's word – the hypocrisy of those who claim to be Christians (whether these are real Christians or not) is logically irrelevant. The preaching of the gospel alone provides a sufficient basis for faith, and the hearer is responsible for accepting it. It is often effective as well – there are those who, having been regenerated by God, perceive that the gospel is true despite the evil behavior of some professing Christians, and who then come readily to repentance and faith in Christ.

On the other hand, we cannot say the same thing about a moral example alone, although many people falsely believe that one may win others to Christ without giving priority to a verbal message filled with relevant information. The common misconception that one may be a witness for Christ primarily through his holy lifestyle does not originate from a careful exegetical study of Scripture, but it reflects the infiltration of non-Christian philosophies in the church.

What about our passage, and verses 1 and 2 in particular? Does it not say that the husbands who "do not believe the word, may be won over without words by the behavior of their wives"? Yes, but won over to what? To Hinduism? To Mormonism? Eventually, the wives or others must preach the message to the husbands. This either comes at the beginning, to be reinforced and made attractive by the godly pattern of living that the wives then demonstrate, or it comes after their life of submission and reverence has gained the attention of the husbands. That these husbands are said to be those who "do not believe the word" probably presupposes that they have already heard it and rejected the initial attempt at converting them.

Since the word has already been preached to them, this means that the husbands are fully aware that the "purity and reverence" of their wives are exhibited as Christians. Unless the word of God is preached to them, it would be impossible for the husbands to associate the good behavior of their wives to the Christian faith. Peter is indeed saying that godly behavior may sometimes be instrumental in conversion, but he presupposes the necessity of a verbal message. The reverent conduct of the wives is only the means by which God may use to cause some of the elect husbands to reconsider and then accept "the word" that they must believe to be saved.

Whether the preaching of the gospel comes before or after, it is without doubt the key in conversion, and not the godly example. In fact, whether it comes before or after the godly example, the husband could still reject the message. A number of verses later, Peter will say, "They think it strange that you do not plunge with them into the same flood of dissipation, and they heap abuse on you" (1 Peter 4:4). So godly behavior does not automatically convict and convert. Some people might just "think it strange." Without an explanation, people would not even know what it means, why a believer behaves as he does, or what has caused the change in him. On the other hand, a husband could believe the message in spite of her wife's ungodly or hypocritical life. So the principle is a command for the wife, and not an excuse for the husband.[42]

___ [42] For more on the subject, see Vincent Cheung, "By Word and Deed" in The Light of Our Minds.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Vincent Cheung. Commentary on First Peter (2006), p. 122-125.