#not sure how I feel about calling men who are 6-7 years older than me middle aged

[musette22]

Hmm yeah 😌

[st4rfckerz]

****Ok to the 19 year old virgin with a dildo.*****

I’m 10 years older than you and have been busy in that time. I lost count of my body count, but it’s over 100 for sure so I’ve seen a lot of cock, and most of them aren’t huge. I’ve had all the races and I’ve found that they all have similar sized cocks. Black, white and Latino have like 6-7inches which is fine if he knows how to fuck. I’d say 25% have 8inches and maybe 15% has 9inches. Like 8% are under 6 inches, and I have only come across two 10 inchers out of like 100. I’ve only had sex with one Hawaiian guy and he was tall and built and had a 9 inch. I had sex with a Japanese guy too and he had like a 7 so that whole Asian guys have small dicks thing isn’t true as far as I can tell, but I don’t have a lot of experience with Asians although they’re really attractive. The Hawaiian guy was a mix of Phillipines, Somaoa and pure Hawaiian and his name was Kalani and he had this tattoo on his leg that told the story of his people and it was so hot. His eyes were grey which he said was very unusual and got him beat up when he was little but GOD he was attractive and really great in bed. He made me cum so many times I thought he broke me. Lol. Most guys don’t make you orgasm unless they know how to stimulate your clit and make you feel comfortable and beautiful. If you’re uncomfortable, insecure, or unsure about a guy, you won’t be able to reach an orgasm. Men orgasm every time they finish. It’s more physical than mental for them, while it’s equally mental and physical for women I think.

Side story about the Hawaiian guy just cuz I want to tell it- I met him in Las Vegas at a night club when we were there for my friends bachelorette party weekend. I saw him and said he was hot, and I’m very picky and never really single guys out so it got all my friends attention. I had to pee so I left my purse with my friends, and one of their drunk genius asses goes up to him and tells him he needs to return my purse to me and points me out. Thank god he didn’t just steal my purse with everything in it, but he came up and gave it to me and got me a drink and a rose and he came back to my hotel with me and hung out the whole entire weekend.(he was friends with a bunch of famous UFC fighters but none of us had a clue who any of them were, but a few of my friends got with some of those guys.) He was supposed to go back to Hawaii, but he asked if he could just hang with me a few days, and I told him I lived across the country and he bought a ticket to my hometown and ended up staying a week, and then came back a couple times and I went to Hawaii one time with him, and he didn’t want me to get on the plane but I was an idiot and didn’t say I love you too when he said he loved me. I said thank you and then got on the plane. he never spoke to me again and I was stubborn and didn’t call him after I tried a couple times and gave up.

Back to the cock talk. Length isn’t as important as the thickness unless it’s over 7 inches and hits your cervix. That shit does not feel good. When a guy hits your wall, it’s painful unless you enjoy pain, which some women like to be smacked and have their hair pulled but I’m not one of them. I’ll smack a motherfucker right back!

Porn isn’t a good gauge of what cocks are like cuz those are all extreme sized. I heard that if you’ve given birth, then you can handle bigger cocks, but I’ve never done that so I cannot verify, but I cannot imagine there’s too much of a difference since your body goes back to what it was before birth. There’s a point where they’re just too damn big.

The hottest guy I ever fucked had this enormous penis and it was terrible. I tried several times and different positions, but his dick was like as big around as a soda can and was like 10 inches. You’re trying to get something close in size of your virgin pussy? That’s gonna be tough, if not impossible. Plus what is the dildo made of? If it’s silicone or rubber, then you need some lube. I cannot stress it enough! Lube is so important. If you don’t have enough anti friction lubrication (natural or store bought) sex is not fun, and can even injure you and your partner.

Penetration isn’t really that important in female masterbation. It’s all about clit stimulation and figuring out what really turns you on. Just because you’re wet, doesn’t mean you cummed. That’s just your vagina lubricating itself in preparation for sexual activity when you’re horny or aroused. You absolutely know when you cum. It’s almost like a really strong finally getting to pee feeling, but in a good way and you don’t pee (unless you’re a squirter, but those are pretty rare) squirters are just what they sound like, when they cum they spray pee and their orgasms are more intense. I’ve squirted before and I think it’s so embarrassing but the guy is always so into it. (Even if you get them right in the face, guys are so gross sometimes)

I suggest getting a smaller dildo, and get one with a clit stimulator. Get one that’s got a plug and is rechargable so you don’t burn through a million batteries. They’re more expensive up front, but save you money in the long run.

You don’t wanna loosen yourself up too much anyway. It feels better for you and him if you’re tighter down there. If he goes down on you, and is considerate your first few times, you’ll be able to take dick in no time.

If he won’t go down on you or is not being careful or considerate, and tries to force it in roughly without you telling him to do so, then just get up and leave. You don’t need to get ripped or torn, or get a bruised internal vagina, or not be able to walk the next day comfortably cuz he’s an asshole. Just abandon ship.

Blue balls are supposedly a real thing but most of my guy friends say they are greatly exaggerated to guilt trip women into doing what they want. They don’t actually experience pain. It’s a scam.

there's nothing i can really add because i've only been with a woman but this is like top tier advice

[kakashihasibs]

the character everyone gets wrong

sweaty soggy noodle man kakashi is who this is all going to be about so. I don't think everyone gets him wrong. a lot of people do but it's usually bc they're too horny to care lol

2. a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

have you seen him? have you felt his vibes? he is lazy by nature and recoils away from most physical contact that isn't necessary to do his job (and even he doesn't seem to enjoy it). there are like 7 total people he even lets see his face (while knowing it is his face) and most of them are dead by the time he is 13. hang out? sure. do nice domestic couple things? sounds lovely. get naked and fuck? so an enemy can kill him or a loved one while he's distracted? no. he probably has tried scheduling his shits and showers with gai so he's never actually vulnerable. he's also so ace.

Aubu kakashi: "Tenzō I need you to stand outside the bathroom while I shit." baby tenzō: on it boss (thinks this is completely normal bc he is also in anbu)

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

uhhh that kakashi would not only have sex but would want you to call him daddy. that nearly 50 year kakashi who has never worn sunscreen in his life shouldn't actually look old/older. that a young looking kakashi is a health looking kakashi.

4. what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

lol that insinuation that looking young is healthy

5. worst discord server and why

i have never been in a discord server longer than a few days. idk.

6. which ship fans are the most annoying?

facebook dude bro fans whoops i misread this. i thought it just said fans. but shipping fans? idk kakairu is a notp for me but the fans aren't overly annoying? maybe the painfully ooc readerx shippers. I haven't seen many in a while tho so

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

Iruka lol but only when shipped with kakashi. annoying loud-mouth chunin. whatever dude.

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

kakashi fucks and gai doesn't

9. worst part of canon

it's naruto man. everything after the land of waves arc lol

10. worst part of fanon

the bumbling husband and nagging wife characterizations from the kakairu fanon.

11. number of fandom-related words you've filtered

bruh lots idk lol

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

tenzō T-T

13. worst blorboficiation

i'm pro blorbo. i am rotating these fictional men in my mind at all times.

14. that one thing you see in fics all the time

i don't know.

15. that one thing you see in fanart all the time

fangs v-v and scars.

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

people who love kakashi but don't give a shit about gai. those two are like a packaged deal in my mind. can't have one without the other. they are eternal rivals after all.

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

sometimes i just really need a deep dive into kakashi's head. i love the character study type stuff.

18. it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

younger gai and tenzō bumping into each other bc they're both watching kakashi stand at the memorial stone bc they're both worried.

19. you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

there is nothing i am mad/ashamed/horrified about but if you're wondering yes i do enjoy the fanarts of kakashi in bondage. lol

20. part of canon you found tedious or boring

the flashbacks are out of control. my memory isn't great but it's not that fucking bad holy shit girl

21. part of canon you think is overhyped

idk i feel like the parts of fandom i interact with are pretty realistic about how good something in Naruto is

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

Yaknow how Obito's dream that naruto sees is Obito is back in konoha and becoming hokage but Rin is still dead? like what does obito wish had changed? I think it's if Minato had recognized him. I think Obito was actually praying and hoping for Minato to realize who he was fighting. Obito had a seal on his heart. Minato could have saved him if Minato pulled his head out of his ass for more that 5 mins at a time.

23. ship you've unwillingly come around to

none. my kakashi stubbornness knows no bounds

24. topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

idk kakashi discourse is easy for me to ignore.

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

none. i love hatefulness drama and kakashi.

[lycorogue]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Originally started by @izanae. **EDIT: Seems izanae was also tagged by someone, but didn't state who. So I'm not sure who truly originated this questionnaire... Thanks for the tag @tree-reads

The "original" Fic Writers Ask thread (that izanae started) was getting lengthy (by nature of the game), and I was about to double its size (by nature of my writing style). But please go and check that thread out to see how other wriblrs answered. You might find a new favorite that way!

Alright, let's get to it.

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

49 (really? It feels like I have so many more...) You can also find me over on FFN and DA still, and I do post my stories here too... just... FYI.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

357,107* *I feel like I should clarify that the 49 stories and 357k words is since I started publishing fanfic in 2010. I feel like this doesn't seem all that impressive now... (also... holy hecken! I've been publishing fanfic for 13 years!?)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Miraculous Ladybug (31), but I originated in the "Hey, Arnold!" fandom (7*). I've also written for Fruits Basket (4). I have a couple of D&D fanfics - 1 each for 2 of my D&D characters, and I have written one story each for the following fandoms: - Left 4 Dead/Jonathan Coulton's song "Re: Your Brains" - Graceling Realm series by Kristin Cashore (specifically, the novel Bitterblue) [Rated: Explicit] - Ender Series by Orson Scott Card (specifically, the novel Speaker for the Dead) - Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (the LoZ franchise is one of my main fandoms... I'm shocked I haven't written more for it...) [Told in 1st person] - An all-OCs fic set in the X-Men: Evolution universe *I have more HA fics over on FFN that I didn't port over because they aren't completed works.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Woven Heartstrings Summary: Chat Noir needs a Christmas gift for Ladybug. Marinette is a very crafty and creative person, so Chat Noir asks her for some help in making a gift for his lady. While hesitant in aiding Chat Noir's attempts to woo her superhero self, Marinette reluctantly agrees. Although, after a week of working side-by-side with Marinette, Chat Noir's not so sure he wants to gift the scarf he's making to Ladybug after all. Could Your Paradise Also Be Your Hell? Summary: Marinette is not coping very well when she's magically transported into her older-self's body, and discovers she's now married to Adrien Agreste. [Unofficial companion piece to Remember That Time When... by @mostlovedgirl-writes ] Peeping Tomcat Summary: Something called to Adrien, and before he knew it, he was addicted to sitting outside Marinette's window as Chat Noir; just watching her. His voyeuristic habit needs to stop, but things have gotten far too complicated now that he realizes he's growing a crush on her. [Story told in 1st person; non-sexual voyeurism] I Was Thinking of You Summary: Girls' Day derails when Marinette realizes the male lead of a romance movie reminds her of someone other than Adrien. [Lukanette story] Is it True? Summary: Marinette instantly regrets confessing her feelings for Adrien. He decides it might be time for a confession of his own.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always. I may run out of spoons and miss a comment for a little while, but I make a point of going back and still replying eventually. Even if it's months later. EDIT: I neglected to copy/paste the whole question originally. So, here's the answer to the why/why not question. I make sure to respond to all comments because people put in the effort to read my story and then tell me how they felt about it. I NEED to send the love right back to them. I need them to know that their words matter and warmed my heart. (That said, even if you don't leave a review, I do love you, Reader)

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Despite my friends teasing that I'm "the queen of angst", I actually don't have too many stories that don't end on a hopeful note. So, if we're going "pure angst ending" I only have two: Unsent Letter for the Fruits Basket fandom and True Husband for Speaker for the Dead (Enderverse). Both are shorter stories of people believing they are unworthy of love, pity those who do love them, and believe they have sinned and are deserving of being miserable. If you want to stick within the Miraculous fandom, I'd say I'm Not Allowed to Love You [contains s4 finale spoilers]. That was angsty enough that I had to end on a hopeful note via an epilogue that I added to the closing author's notes.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oh goodness! As mentioned, I try to end just about all of my stories on a high note. I was able to narrow the 49 stories down to 8 with a fluffy, happy ending. Out of those 8? I think Woven Heartstrings has the most optimistic, love-filled ending? Everybody is just showing their love and appreciation for everyone else (even Adrien and Gabriel... written pre-Chat Blanc, I believe???). It's just a lovefest story. Runners Up categories: - Favorite LoveSquare Fluff winner: I Just Wanted to Kiss You - Happiest Lukanette content winner: I Was Thinking of You - Happiest Family Unit winner: Build Your Own Luck - Happiest Platonic Love winner*: The Truest of Friends *excluding Woven Heartstrings - Happiest "I'm probably going to rework this as original fiction" winner: I Don't Care [a Gabriemilie story written before s5 lore drops]

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have been so so SO lucky that I have not. My heart goes out to you writers who do. :'(

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have written smut 3x (working on a 4th). I published 1. I am cishet, so I am vanilla and write cishet. Smut is also a rare genre of writing for me to venture into. So rare that my current "smut" story is more "plot with eventual porn" than it is "porn with(out) plot". The sex is a significant character development moment in 3 out of the 4 stories I wrote. The 4th was more of a character study for a pair of OCs. No shade on the "porn without plot" folks. Those stories are so fun and indulgent and I appreciate them so much. My brain just won't let me pare down to that style no matter how much I try. It's like "Nope. Must have character growth. Throw emotions into this mess!"

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one?

I think I've only attempted to write a crossover once... and it was not a very successful result. It was Arnold Shortman and Helga Pataki from "Hey, Arnold!" in the world of Familiar of Zero. Helga was Louise and Arnold was her familiar Saito.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Uh... I don't think so???

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge (although I'd be down if someone wanted to translate any of my works). That said, Woven Heartstrings does have the only non-English review I've received (it's in French). So.... maybe someone translated it into French without letting me know??? I just assumed the reader knew enough English to understand what I wrote or otherwise used a translating service....

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Three different times. One was partially published. Prior to the Hey Arnold Jungle Movie officially being made, @chibisunnie and I attempted to write up a fanscript (is that how we met? I can't recall....). My friend Ronoxym and I have also attempted to write two different X-Men OC stories centered around his OC Devon. Although, in both cases, it was more he wrote the story and then I kind of unintentionally hijacked it???? The incomplete co-written fic that I actually attempted to publish* was one of the two I wrote with Rono: Please, Let Me Explain. *not published on AO3; on FFN and DA only

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

That I've written for? Love Square. Specifically anything where Marinette is herself instead of Ladybug: MariChat or Adrienette. They just remind me so much of myself and my husband. Fave in general? My OTP of OTPs is probably Gambit and Rogue from X-Men. I tend to refer to my husband as Gambit to my Rogue. (Are you sensing a theme as per my relationship vs my shipping tendencies?)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

My poor unintentionally abandoned "Hey, Arnold!" epic What is Truly Meant to Be. It is on FFN and DA only.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I am frequently told that I keep the characters and world so in-character/canon-accurate that my stories read like "lost episodes" of a show. I'm also fairly good at dialogue and conveying emotions.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

- Naming things. Titles. Naming a McGuffin. Coming up with superhero/villain names. etc. - Anything with a LOT of action in it. Be that fight scenes, chase scenes, or sex scenes. I'm someone who can picture things in my head as clear as if I were watching a movie, and I try to convey what I'm seeing to the reader as if I were writing visual media such as a show/movie or comic. This usually leads me to micromanage the movement of the characters and the action ends up feeling clunky and repetitive. - Allowing the characters to get physically hurt in a way that professional medical treatment is needed. Broken limb? Stab wound? Concussion? Injured eye? Poisoned? Nope. Can't do it. Mental block tells me "no". - Write short, sweet, concise stories/drabbles/ficlets (can't you tell?)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Huh. With the exception of proper nouns (such as Chat Noir), I'm not sure if I've used non-English words that aren't just borrowed words within English or words most English speakers would know anyway (such as enchanté, cómo estás, or dōmo arigatō). I know I italicize thoughts, so I don't know if I'd italicize a non-English word to signal that it's a foreign word??? I'd assume the readers would know that already. I think, if I were to ever use a foreign word within dialogue it would have to depend on the circumstance. If the foreign word or phrase is important for the POV character to learn, I may include it along with a translation. Otherwise, I may just state that the characters are speaking in this other language and then write it in English so my readers have a better chance at understanding what is being said. Also, I am far from multilingual, so that would help me avoid translation errors.

19. What’s the first fandom you wrote for?

Technically, I think it would be X-Men???? I think I came up with X-Men OCs and storylines for those OCs back when I was in, like, 5th grade????? Then I did some Batman fanfics in middle and early high school. Mostly solo roleplay/dressup in my basement because I was that nerd still playing pretend by myself when I was 16. First fandom I published a fic for? If you don't count play-by-post RPGs*, then my first published-online fanfic fandom was "Hey, Arnold!" *the play-by-post game was for Batman.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

YOU'RE ASKING ME TO PICK MY FAVORITE CHILD!? Unlike parenthood, I GUESS I could put effort into actually answering this.... I've got it narrowed down to 4. These are the 4 I have probably reread the most. Two of them are the stories I wrote as kind of fanfics of @mostlovedgirl-writes 's fanfics. Take what you want from that, but, basically, I guess I love living in the worlds MLG creates??? The other two finalists are my personal headcanons for Miraculous Ladybug. Headcanon stories: Build Your Own Luck - cute little Dupain-Cheng family bonding story about the origins of the lucky charm bracelet that Marinette gave to Adrien. Forever in Darkness - What Plagg's life was like with his previous holders, and why he thinks Adrien is the best one he's had. Inspired by MLG: Could Your Paradise Also Be Your Hell? - How Marinette spent the night before heading off to NYC. Unofficial companion story for Remember That Time When... Rolling Thunder - Adult Marinette and Adrien stumbling their way into a romantic relationship, finally! Based off of Finding Yourself in the Details Honorable Mention to my longest story and first completed chaptered story: Peeping Tomcat

Phew! That... was a LOT! Thanks for sticking around until the end! It was fun going back through my portfolio.

All that wish to answer this, consider yourself tagged!

Official no-pressure tags for: @mostlovedgirl-writes, @captaintoomanybattles, @thetauruspixie, @livrever, and @cyhyr

[jdgo51]

DAILY DEVOTIONAL FOR JANUARY 20, 2023

How to Pray

By Navamani Peter (Karnataka, India)

READ LUKE 18:15-17

"Train children in the way they should go; when they grow old, they won’t depart from it."

PROVERBS 22:6 (CEB)

"The six-year-old daughter of a church member once asked me three questions: Who taught you how to pray? Who teaches pastors how to pray? Can you teach me how to pray? I decided to teach her the two prayers my parents taught me when I was a child.

My parents thought it was important that my siblings and I learn two prayers that would become models for us to use even in our adult years — a prayer of gratitude before meals and the Lord’s Prayer. I memorized these prayers as a child without fully understanding them. But as I grew older, the Lord’s Prayer became a lifeline for me.

When the disciples asked Jesus to teach them how to pray, he taught them a model prayer that also provided them with guidance for how to live. And although Jesus taught the disciples the Lord’s Prayer 2000 years ago, it is still part of faithful practice in homes and churches around the world today. I have passed these model prayers on to my children and grandchildren, and I’m sure they will pass them to the next generations." Jesus' prayer is one that most anyone is familiar with. It is a prayer that we repeat in worship and sometimes just to say as we seek words to say, but find not at that second. It is appropriate at any time.

TODAY'S PRAYER

"Loving God, thank you for children. Help us to nurture them with your word so that they may feel your presence in their life." Amen.

Luke 18

New International Version

The Parable of the Persistent Widow

"'18 Then Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up. 2 He said: “In a certain town there was a judge who neither feared God nor cared what people thought. 3 And there was a widow in that town who kept coming to him with the plea, ‘Grant me justice against my adversary.’

4 “For some time he refused. But finally he said to himself, ‘Even though I don’t fear God or care what people think, 5 yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will see that she gets justice, so that she won’t eventually come and attack me!’”

6 And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. 7 And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? 8 I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?”

The Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector

9 To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else, Jesus told this parable: 10 “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 11 The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. 12 I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’

13 “But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’

14 “I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”

The Little Children and Jesus

15 People were also bringing babies to Jesus for him to place his hands on them. When the disciples saw this, they rebuked them. 16 But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. 17 Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”

Here are three parables that show the spirit and love of God. Even in touchy situations, such as dishonest tax-collectors God is present to act and help. He instructs us here of appropriate actions to take in all situations Be blessed by God and His Son! Joe

[asparklerwhowrites]

Writing Indian characters, from an Indian person

India is a huge country! while most characters in mainstream media are from the 'big cities' i.e Mumbai, Delhi, Hyderabad, etc, there are many, many more places and areas to look at! since India is such a vast country, there is incredible diversity. 19,500 languages and dialects are present, with people of different skin, eye, and hair colors and types! there are, of course, a lot of inherent prejudices present, which I'll address a little later.

#1. Know their roots

There is no 'one' Indian experience. People from different places celebrate different festivals, worship different gods, and speak different languages!

A checklist of things you should know about your Indian character's background, in essence:

Which state and city/town/village are they from?

How many and which languages do they speak, and with what frequency? (Mostly, people can speak at least two languages!)

Are they religious? (more on religion later)

What are some of their favourite memories/moments linked to their culture? (festivals, family gatherings, etc)

#2. Naming your character

Some common names for boys: Aarav, Advik, Shlok, Farhan, Ritvik, Aarush, Krish, Ojas, Zain.

Some common names for girls: Arushi, Ishita, Trisha, Rhea, Riya, Zoya, Vedika, Khushi, Charvi.

Common last names: Shah, Singh, Agarwal, Banerjee, Dala, Bhat, Joshi, Iyer, Jain, Dhawan, Dixit.

Be careful while picking a last name: last names are very much indicators of the ethnicity/community you're from! most older folks can guess the ethnicity of people just by their last name - it's pretty cool.

Naming systems usually follow the name-surname format, and children usually take the last name of their father - but I believe some regions have a bit of a different system, so look that up!

#3. Stereotypes to avoid

This goes without saying, but I'm gonna say it anyway. Being 'Indian' shouldn't be your character's entire personality. Give them traits, feelings, and a purpose other than being a token diverse character. Some stereotypes that are really a no-no when it comes to Indian characters:

Making them good at math and academics in general (my Cs in math beg to differ that all Indians are good at math. often, the reason Indians are stereotyped to be so smart stems from an incredibly toxic and harmful environment at home which forces children to get good grades. unless you've experienced that, its not your story to write)

Making your Indian character 'hate' being Indian (not everyone?? hates their culture?? like there are many, MANY faults with India as a country, and it's important to recognize and take action against that - which often makes us iffy about how we feel about our country, it's genuinely not your place to write about that UNLESS you are Indian. don't bring in 'hatred' of a place you've never visited, and don't know much about.)

Make them scaredy-cats, 'cowards', who are good at nothing but being the 'brain' (I will literally behead you if you do this/lh)

#4. Why India shouldn't be portrayed as 'perfect' either

It's likely that most of you won't be going in SO deep with your Indian character, but India isn't the perfect 'uNiTy iN diVerSitY' as it's depicted in media. There are incredible tensions between religions (especially Hindus and Muslims), and even remnants of the 'untouchable' way of thinking remain between castes. There's a lot of violence against women, and misogyny is definitely something Indians are not foreign to. People with paler skin are considered to be 'better' than those with darker skin (in the older generations especially)

#5. Some common customs

Removing your shoes before entering the house, since your house is considered to be 'godly' and shoes shouldn't be brought inside

Eating dal (lentils), chawal (rice), sabji (a mixture of vegetables/meat that's cooked in different ways) roti (Indian flatbread) is considered to be a full, well-balanced meal and at least aspects of it are eaten for lunch and dinner (if not all four elements)

The suffixes -bhai (for men) and -ben (for women) are added to first names and are commonly used by adults to refer to someone of importance or who they hold to esteem.

However, 'bhai' (which literally means 'brother) is often used as slang when referring to friends or family. Other slang includes 'arrey' which is used to show irritation or 'yaar' which has the same context.

It's custom to call adults who you refer to in a friendly way 'aunty' or 'uncle', like the parents of your friends.

Talking back to your elders is forbidden, especially your grandparents who you have to refer to with utmost respect.

#6. Religions

India is a very religiously diverse country. The most common religion is Hinduism, then Islam, Christianity, Sikhism, and Buddhism. All religions have their own complexities, and since I'm a Hindu, I can tell you a little bit about that!

It's common to have a mandir which is a small altar dedicated to the deities your family worships. (Fun fact - they're usually placed in the East direction because that's where the sun rises)

Most kids can say a few shloks by-heart, which are a few lines of prayer! (lmao I've forgotten most but I used to be able to rattle off at least ten when I was younger)

Most people know at least the general plot of the Ramayan and Mahabharat - two famous epic stories. (I'm not sure if they're inherently 'Hindu' or not)

Many people wear necklaces with a small pendant of the deity they worship!

Common Hindu deities: Saraswati, Ganesha, Shiva, Krishna, Vishnu.

It's important to note that religious violence is a thing. Muslims especially, are oppressed and discriminated against. It's a very, very complex issue, and one that's been going on for thousands of years.

#7. Myth & Facts

India is a very poor country

Yep! Lakhs of people live in villages with no electricity, clean water, or amenities nearby. There's no point sugar-coating it. There are HUGE gaps between the poor and the rich (have you heard of Ambani and Adani :D) and while our millionaires rejoice in their thirty-story mansions, people die of famine, disease, and hunger every day. I am personally lucky enough to be EXTREMELY privileged and attend an international school and live in one of the most developed cities. Most people aren't as lucky as me, and it's a really true, horrifying reality.

Everyone in India is vegetarian

No lmao - while many people ARE, there's a greater and equal amount of non-vegetarian people.

We burn our dead in parking lots

This circulated back when the second wave was going on in India, and the media blew it out of proportion. First of all, what the actual f!ck. Cremation is a Hindu ritual, and by saying that aLL Indians burn their dead you are erasing the other religions here. Secondly, cremation is a sacred ritual only attended by close family of the deceased member. It does not happed in PARKING LOTS. It's a time of grief and loss, not a way to humiliate a religion for the way they treat their dead.

Drop any other questions about India in the comments/DM me!

[comfortscripts]

May I Have This Dance? ¬ Steve Rogers

Plot - After retiring his shield, Steve's partner realises that he seems to be missing something.

Requested? Yes/No

Genre - ☁️️Fluff ☁️️

Note/Warning - Steve didn't return to Peggy after Endgame (I refuse to accept that ending honestly), I think this is GN but please let me know if I have used fem!pronouns, also the reader wears a dress in this so if you are uncomfortable with that be aware.

Word Count - 1.7k

After your husband Steve retired from the superhero living, life seemed dull in his eyes. You could see that his once vibrant baby blues had lost their sparkle, their joy for life.

Whilst him having more time meant that your relationship thrived, Steve was missing something and you were missing him being truly happy.

It was Sunday and a rule of the Rogers relationship is that Sunday was an "Old School Day".

No technology, no going to the city and no current news or media of any kind.

It took a while to get use to but you soon learned to love it because it meant that you had the whole day with your soulmate, no distractions. But today was different, there was one thing that had taken up your entire focus all day.

A few days prior, you were in line at the supermarket when you spotted a flyer.

DANCE YOURSELF BACK TO THE 40s!

Have you ever wondered what a 40s dance was like?

Well if the answer is yes, get yourself down to the Michaelton Hall this Sunday at 7:30pm

The cashier was a motherly looking woman in her late 60s named Dorothy, her family had owned the supermarket here since the 1920s and being a cashier here was her first job. Twice a week she would come down and "relive her youth" as her husband always jokes.

"I thought that might catch your eye" Dorothy spoke after watching you inspect the flyer. "The old music, the clothes and just that feeling of a simpler time. I'm hoping to convince William to take me but getting him to dress up like a princess is more likely than getting him to dance."

You laugh at the woman's joke but mainly at the idea of William in a frilly dress. William and Dorothy had been married for 52 years but the only time William ever danced with her was on their wedding night, a story that you thought was sad but Dora took it in her stride.

"Well I am thinking that this might be a good way to get Steve out of his funk, even for only a night" You say with a wistful look on your face whilst piling fruit into your shopping bag.

"What a wonderful idea my dear!" Dorothy exclaimed whilst scanning the final item "There is a quaint little vintage store about half a mile out of town, I am sure you'd find a dress to knock Steve's socks off"

Smiling at the woman, you hand her some cash before taking one last look at the flyer "You are like a fairy godmother Dora. Have a lovely day and hopefully see you at the dance".

By the next morning, you were keen to start prepping for the Sunday surprise. Giving your husband a kiss goodbye, you headed off to 'run some errands'.

First stop was buying the tickets, then that left you with finding the perfect 40s dress.

You headed out of town to the vintage store Dorothy mentioned but you were not prepared for how beautiful the shop was. Flowers in corners all over the place, fairy-lights decorated the clothing racks and old pieces of sparkling jewellery was displayed throughout the store.

You could have spent hours in there, it felt like a visual time machine but it seemed luck was on your side. As you strolled further into the store, you noticed a stunning pastel floor-length satin dress with light embellishments near the sleeves. That was exactly what you needed.

Everything was ready. Tickets were bought, dress was found and Steve's old military suit was ready to be worn. All you had to do now was keep it from your husband till Sunday.

Making it to Sunday evening was difficult, you had nearly exposed the plans twice but thankfully Steve believed the excuses you came up with. But now it was time to get ready.

"My love, guess what I found the other day in the attic" You call out to your super-solider husband. "Your old army uniform. Perfect condition as well".

Handing the outfit to Steve, you see his eyes light up with the memories of his time back in the 1940s. Although he looked only slightly older than he did the last time he wore it, it was like looking back in time.

"Wow, I didn't think I would ever see this again." He spoke caressing the material.

"Steve, do you think you could maybe try it on again? I would love to have a glimpse of what use to be the fashion" You asked carefully, trying to make sure he didn't suspect anything else.

A small smile graced his face. "Of course, I probably would have wanted to try it on either way" And with a laugh, he headed upstairs to suit up.

Whilst the super-solider was getting ready, you slipped into your dress and quickly slipped on an oversized shirt which made it look like you were wearing a long skirt and t-shirt. Applying a bit of makeup before double checking that your purse was ready with the tickets, car keys and some other essentials.

Hearing footsteps descend your staircase, you turn around to a fully suited and confident looking Steve Rogers. This man has managed to make you fall more in love every day for the past 6 years but in this moment, he took your breath away.

"You look so handsome. How did I ever get lucky enough to call you my husband?" You express as you reach up to lay the corner of his collar down. Even though you compliment your husband all the time, Steve still flushes a bit red at the sweet words.

Leaning in to give him a small kiss, you suddenly remember that you are on a time constraint. You pull back with a mischievous grin dancing on your face.

"Oh no, I know that face. What have you done?" Steve asks with a little chuckle. Instead of responding, you grab his hand and head out to the car. After instructing him to get into the passenger seat, you settle yourself in the driver's seat and start the car whilst Steve sits beside you watching like he was trying to solve a puzzle - the puzzle being you.

"I have a surprise for you but I am going to need you to put this blindfold on whilst I drive us there" With a grin on your face and your hand offering a silk blue blindfold to your incredibly confused but handsome husband.

Cautiously Steve reaches for the blindfold and puts it on, he would trust you with his life so why not trust you with a small surprise.

After driving for 15 minutes or so, Steve feels the car stop and turn off.

"Wait one second" You say before he hears you open your door.

Bubbling with excitement you quickly discard of your t-shirt, place some kitten heels on and apply a sultry shade of red on your lips before throwing anything you don't need in the trunk.

Walking over to Steve's side of the car, you calm your nerves slightly with a deep breathe. Opening the passenger door, you take a hold of Steve's hand and carefully guide him towards the entrance of the hall.

Sounds of Moonlight Serenade songs fill his ears as he enters, still completely oblivious to his partner's scheme. He notices that it is far warmer in this area and that he can smell a mix of perfume and whiskey.

"Okay baby, when I count to 3, you can take off your blindfold" You finally say.

"1"

"2"

"3"

As Steve removes the silk blocking his vision and is immediately hit with a feeling of nostalgia. The hall looked like something out of his memories; men and women dressed in 40s fashion dancing the night away, a small band playing all the most popular songs from the decade he yearned for, men who reminded him of Bucky trying to pick up girls at the bar.

Steve thought that he was blown away until he saw his Y/N. The person who made life worth living, who made everything seem light again. There they stood, looking like they had just walked off the silver screen from an old movie. Steve never really believed that he could live such a happy life but somewhere along the way, he must have done something right because now he is married to an angel.

Walking up to you, he placed his hands on your waist and looked deep into your eyes. Drowning in Steve's ocean blue eyes was a favourite past-time of yours but this felt more than that.

"I noticed you have been a bit down since you gave up the shield and I couldn't see you frown anymore." You whisper quietly as if you were nervous that this plan wouldn't work.

"I know I say it constantly but I love you, Y/N Rogers. Your kindness, your care, your effortless beauty, you." Steve recited, filling every word with pure love and appreciation. "Sometimes I think that I am no one if I am not Captain America or I don't belong in this world but you. You, Y/N, you made me realise that you are my home, not the past. You are the only one I need in this life-time or any other life-time because you taught me who I am beyond the shield."

Tears start to well up in your eyes as you hang off his every word.

"This dance is amazing but what makes me happy is that I get to spend tonight and every night with my soulmate" Steve takes a step back and extends his hand. "So, may I have this dance my darling?"

Reaching for his hand, you make your way onto the dance floor amongst the other couples. As the song dies down, Stella by Frank Sinatra starts filling the hall with a romantic atmosphere and you feel Steve place his hand on your hip before placing another in your hand. This was truly a night to remember.

As you sway with your husband, you let your eyes wander to the other dancing couples and near the centre of the dance floor, you spot Dorothy and William smiling and swaying like teenagers again.

All you can do is hope that you and Steve will be dancing together when you are old and grey.

[willyoulovemeinthemorning]

The Prodigal Daughter Chapter 1

Summary: As the secret daughter of Jason Gideon, you’ve always had a certain proclivity towards profiling. After finishing the Academy, you finally have your chance in the BAU- only months after your dad’s passing. Will it all be too much? Will you find yourself sharing another proclivity with your father for a certain genius with big puppy dog eyes?  A/N: Hello! This is my first fic in a very long time, but this story idea has been living in my head for upwards of 6 or 7 years! Please go easy on me, and I hope you enjoy! a big thanks to @candlesandsoftrain for being a great beta! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
 Category: Fluff/getting to know you games with the team Content Warning: nothing in this chapter except lots of flirting, tension, sexually charged drinking games, etc. Later chapters will include NSFW Word Count: 4000+

Chapter 1

The years moved by much too fast for your liking. You were older than you were willing to admit, and the years had been hard. Time moved so oddly- it was so difficult and slow when it was happening, but when you looked back, it was as if it sped by like a freight train.

Today was your first day at your new job-  you were 27 and you’d been waiting your whole life for this day to finally come. After hearing stories about your father all through your life; catching the monsters in the dark as well as those that hide in plain sight… you wanted to be a superhero too. And lucky for you, you had a certain proclivity towards reading people. So, you became a profiler. And after years of grueling school, training and fighting to earn your place with no one knowing the legacy in your blood line, you did it.

No, those weren’t tears in your eyes… it was just dusty in the bullpen, that was all. You could feel him everywhere. You knew this was where he lived and breathed and worked for so much of his life. Your mom never understood how you ended up being so understanding about never seeing him, while your brother spent so much of your lives incredibly bitter and angry at him for “abandoning” you both. You always told Stephen that dad spent every minute of every day trying to make the world a safer place for the two of you to grow up in. And now you could finally continue his life’s work.

You caught a few pairs of eyes looking at you when you entered the bullpen for the first time, walking through like you’d been there a million times before- because in your imagination, your dreams, you had. Dad was always so descriptive with his words, and it was never hard to get lost in his stories.

You walked right to the Unit Chief’s office, knowing that Agent Hotchner was already in there waiting for you. You were supposed to have your first meeting on Monday, but when the team didn’t get back in time from their last case- a strangler in Minnesota, he had called you and you rescheduled to accommodate those dang annoying serial killers. Now it was Wednesday, and you could feel the tired energy in the room. It was filled with the sounds of scribbling pens and pencils on paper, the groans and squeaks of chairs as everyone tried to stay comfortable while doing their paperwork. You spotted a few very attractive people around you, but tried to keep your eyes forward as you headed for your destination.

After knocking on the door, you heard a shuffling of papers as a low, gritty voice welcomed you, “Come on in.”

“Hello, Agent Hotchner. Nice to see you again.” You offered your hand, which he took with his baseball mitt sized one. It was rough and strong, and reminded you of your fathers when you were young. You could tell these hands had seen a lot of conflict.

“Y/N , you’ve grown up a lot since last I saw you.” He had a kind smile on his face, which surprised you, even after all this time. Aaron Hotchner was always such a serious man, even when you were younger. “And please, call me Aaron. You know that.”

You chuckled in response. “I know, but it feels weird to call you that now that you’re my boss.”

“Hotch will do then. Morgan will give you quite a hard time if he hears you calling me ‘Agent Hotchner’, I can promise you that. Sit, sit. Let’s get through all the necessary annoyances so I can properly introduce you to your new team.”

After all of the finalized paperwork and introductory nuisances, Hotch finally stood up, indicating it was time to enter the bullpen again, but with a promise of introductions to your new team. You felt a small pang in your heart. You wished your dad could have been here to do this instead of Aaron. He took notice of your second of discomfort- something you were sure to get used to quickly working with profilers.

“Y/N, he’s here… in you. I know how proud he would be of you.” He said to you with a hand falling to your shoulder.

With a smile, you accepted the comfort, turning to look at him again. “Would you mind… could we see Uncle Dave first? I think it would make me feel a little better to have him next to me for this.” That damn dust was at it again. You were fine, really. You’d been preparing for this emotion for months now- there was nothing to surprise you.

With a gentle smile, Aaron- no, Hotch, you remembered- nodded. “Of course. Follow me to his office.” It didn’t escape your notice that, as you followed him, you were on your way to your dad’s old office. Each step brought you to a place you’d heard about, thought about, dreamt about, but had never seen. But when you walked in behind Hotch, you knew this was nothing like your father would have kept it. It just screamed Rossi.

“Y/n! If it isn’t the smartest and brightest star from the Academy, falling right here into our laps at the BAU!” Dave cheered as he saw you, shooting up from his chair and almost running to you, pulling you into his arms while Hotch closed the door to offer you all some privacy.

“Uncle Dave, you can’t believe how amazing it is to have you here on my first day.” You said into his shoulder, holding him close. He was always such a big supporter of your career- there every step of the way whenever your dad couldn’t be. You always said that you were lucky- god blessed you with a loving, mildly helicopter mother, and two superhero dads so fight all the monsters for you.

“You’re gonna be great, kid. Unless your academy grades and reputation were all a lie to get you out of their hair!” He laughed, low and warm.

You giggled, pulling back from him and punching him lightly in the arm. “Rude.” You took a deep breath, and both men noticed that you were preparing yourself to say something important. “Aaron, Uncle Dave... I made it here on my own, with my mother’s maiden name and no one knowing who my father is. I am so proud to be the daughter of Jason Gideon, and I miss him every day… but I think I want to keep my birth last name a secret for now, if you’re both okay with that. They legally changed my name when I was a baby, and while I would be so proud to have his last name again, I’m- just not ready to hold up his legacy just yet.” You explained to them, hoping they understood. Your parents had decided very early on that they didn’t want you to have the last name Gideon. It was just- too dangerous. Your father had put away too many bad people, especially people that preyed upon little girls, to risk your life that way. So while you thought of yourself as Y/N Gideon in your mind, you’d never said it out loud before. Not once.

“Of course, kiddo. Whatever you want, we’ll follow your lead. Hopefully Garcia can’t find anything with your last name, but we’ll have Kevin keep an eye on her search history in case she finds anything. But if you’re worried about anyone finding out, I would tell her and promise her to secrecy though. Because if super tech genius finds out before you tell her… everyone will know.” He explained, and you laughed. You’d heard about Garcia. Your dad used to drive her crazy. You considered Rossi’s advice and nodded, understanding and deciding to think on it.

“Ready?” Hotch said after a moment, gesturing to the bullpen, where you could see several people grouped up at a desk, staring into Rossi’s office with curiosity and perhaps a little bit of uncertainty.

“As I’ll ever be.” Rossi squeezed your hand and you smiled at him, a big toothy smile shining back at you. With two men you knew you’d already trust your life with by your side, you walked out of the room knowing that these people who you already knew so much about would soon also hold your life in their hands. “Team, I’d like to introduce you to the new member of our team, Y/N L/N. She’s transferred in with top marks from the Academy, and she’s been highly recommended by all of her professors.”

You blushed at his compliments, rolling your eyes at him. “I didn’t have the highest marks in ALL of my classes. Shooting targets took me a while.” You smile, waving at the team awkwardly. “Hi everyone, it’s an honor to be here with you. I’ve heard so much about all of you. You’re all pretty famous around the bureau. I can’t wait to meet you all and get to know you as my team instead of people I’ve been idolizing for 10 years!”

Everyone laughed, and a tall, dark and handsome man walked forward with a giant grin on his face. “Hey, Y/N, I’m Derek Morgan. You are welcome to continue to idolize me as much as you’d like.” You could have snorted, he was so much like your dad described.

“Nice to meet you, Agent Morgan.” You said with a mildly flirty smile, holding your hand out to him happily. No worries for you, you were definitely going to like your job if you had him to look at all the time.

“That’s enough touching for now, little newbie,” a big beautiful blonde said from behind him. “That is my man-candy you’re ogling and groping, thank you very much.” There was no venom to her words, just something that you could only describe as adorable teasing. She was so colorful, it was almost as if there was a light shining around her. She was just a glowing ball of sunshine… You knew you’d be fast friends with her. “I’m Penelope Garcia, resident tech Goddess and most loyal beck and call gal.”

You took her hand and shook it, before doing a slight curtsy, earning you a giggle. “An honor to meet you, Tech Goddess Garcia.”

“Ignore her, they’re perfect for each other because of their over inflated egos.” You heard a blazé voice coming from the other side of Derek Morgan. “He’s eye candy for us all, much to her dismay. She’s never been one for sharing. I’m Emily, one of the few normal ones here.”

“Normal, pfft. She’s far from normal. You should hear her talk about her cat. Jenniffer Jareau, but my friends call me JJ.”

You took both of their hands in firm handshakes, grinning at them both. “Nice to meet you, and thank you for the permission to ogle, Agents. As far as normal, I sure hope not. Normal is vastly overrated.” You grinned at them. Damn they were cute. Was this whole team models who decided to become do-gooders and join the FBI?

“Halloweentown, 1998, said by Debbie Reynolds.” A small voice in the back of the group piped in, confident in words and speed, but somehow… demure and shrouded in uncertainty, too. The team parted so you two could see each other, and you swear your heart stopped beating for a few seconds. In front of you was the prettiest, most adorable, hottest guy you’d ever seen. He had a sexy professor thing going on, but simultaneously looked like he was an anxious teenager, terrified of being bullied by this newcomer.

You longed to hold him and protect this stranger from the rest of the world and heal any wounds he had succumbed to in the time before you. He was staring at you too, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, pupils a little bigger than you can only assume they would normally be. After a snicker broke you both from the weird moment, pretty boy smiled a little and gave an awkward wave. “Hi. Doctor Spencer Reid.”

Oh. God. Your heart stopped a second time, and you swore, this is what a stroke felt like. You’d heard about Spencer for the last ten years. Your father loved him almost as much as he loved you and your brother. Maybe even more sometimes. The BAU resident genius, IQ of 187, eidetic memory, born in Las Vegas and wasn’t allowed in most casinos due to his card counting ability. Ability to empathize and love in a beautiful and incredible way- your father adored him, and because of how he spoke of him, you… you’d always had a crush on this faceless idea in your head with his wild mop of hair and tall, lanky frame. You had a general picture from all these years, but nothing had prepared you for this.

“H-Hi. I’m Y/N. N-Nice to meet you.” You said, trying your hardest not to sound like a little school girl with a crush on her teacher. You’d just met the man, for god sakes. You heard another snicker, and this time you knew it was from Morgan just from the proximity of the sound and the testosterone you could feel from the gesture. You tried to ignore your flaming red cheeks, and held out a hand a second before remembering that he hated being touched by strangers. A big germaphobe, always calculating the risk of what contact could mean for him. But before you had a chance to pull away, he reached out and took your hand, giving it a squeeze. You must have looked as shocked as you felt, but no one else noticed because everyone was staring at Reid with the same expression you were wearing. And to be honest, he looked just as surprised, if not more so.

Garcia made a breathy squeak sound, and somehow, that broke the tension of the moment, and you and Reid pulled away at the same time, both looking like you’d just been shocked by electricity. You stretched your hand out, staring at it, feeling on edge all over again, thinking about how good his hand felt in yours, and how good it would probably feel other pla-

“Well, I hope you all will be on your best behaviors, and treat Y/N like you would want to be treated as a newcomer in a team like ours, seeing what we see.” Hotch finally broke the silence. “Y/N, if you have any problems, come find myself or Rossi and we’ll help sort them all out.” Nodding, you looked at him and smiled, suddenly very embarrassed that your boss and your uncle just witnessed all of that. As profilers, they were going to come to so many conclusions, and each was more embarrassing than the last.

“Pretty boy and pretty girl, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-” You heard Derek sing-songing and he walked away, looking like the cat who got the cream. He was interrupted only when Emily punched him quite hard in the arm, looking at you with a wink and a smirk as she headed back to her desk as well. You tried to avoid looking at the genius again, but it was… difficult to say the least. You wanted to memorize everything about him. You wanted to pick his brain and listen to every fact he’d ever memorized. You wanted to experience him in all the ways your father had gotten to and more.

You watched as the team dissipated and then your eyebrows furrowed. “Rossi?” You asked, stopping him in his tracks as he was headed back to his office. “Where’s my desk?” He looked over his shoulder at you and you could tell he was holding back a shit eating grin as he pointed with his thumb to the desk directly across from Reid.

Fuck. You both looked at each other… or well, you looked at him, and he looked away like he’d been caught doing something and sat down, looking at his paperwork blankly. As you headed to your new desk, you’d give anything to know what was happening inside that massive brain of his.

Staring at your empty desk, you imagined what you could put there. Pictures of your family, pictures of your friends and your cats… One day you would put up a picture of your father… one day. For now, you grabbed your briefcase from your side and opened it up. You started unpacking some of your first day necessities; pens and notebooks, little toys and bright objects to remind yourself that there is good in the world. Your pile of books out; you always kept at least ten books on you at all times. One for every kind of mood you could be in- and at least three that you hadn’t read yet and were planning on.

As you prepped your desk, you could feel those eyes on you, analyzing your every move. You wanted to look up and see if you could find what he was figuring out within those eyes, but you tried to keep busy so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself again.

“Another book nerd, I see.” You heard that deep, caramelly sweet voice behind you. Derek sat on your desk right next to you and smiled a toothy smile at you. “Pretty girl likes to read, huh?”

Smiling at him, you raised a brow. “Reading is an exercise in empathy; an exercise in walking in someone else’s shoes for a while.” You were about to quote the originator, but someone else beat you to it.

“Malorie Blackman. British children’s literature writer and science fiction author.” Your head snapped to the person in front of you, who wasn’t looking at either of you.

Smiling at him, you nodded, and then turned to Morgan. “Yup, Malorie Blackman. Empathy is a huge part of the job, right? Reading allows us to experience a million different perspectives- which, as proflers, is necessary to catch the bad guys. I read so I can try to understand as many perspectives in this world as possible.”

Derek looked a little impressed, at least, and you couldn’t get a read on the gorgeous mop of brown hair on the desk across from you. Derek picked up one of the books still on your desk, not organized in your little library yet. “I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings?” He comments, and you catch Spencer’s eyes flick up at the title, curious.

“It’s my favorite. Not only do I love birds, but I’m a very big Maya Angelou fan. I’ve… always kind of felt like a bird stuck in a cage. Flitting about, trying to figure out what to do with my life and who I am... No book has ever made me feel more seen or understood as a human being.” You caught those big, interested eyes and you almost felt like you might have shared too much. You’ve always been an open book, but somehow, the way he was looking at you made you feel more vulnerable than you had… ever.

Derek nodded and smiled, putting the book down on your desk. “Well, lady genius, I’m going to try and get everyone to get together tonight for drinks, would you be interested in getting to know us in a more fun environment, or would you rather just go to the library with Pretty Boy over here and nerd out together?” He teased, making both of you blush.

“I-I don’t know. I’ve spent all of the years of my adulthood studying and sleeping and working to get here, so I haven’t really… spent a lot of time at bars?” Admitting that wasn’t the best feeling, but better to be honest than try to make up a lame excuse.

“Do I hear we have a light weight to peer pressure?” Derek said, loudly enough to catch the attention of everyone else. JJ and Emily looked enthused, and Rossi poked his head out of his office to chime in.

“Someone’s convincing Miss nose in a book Y/N to go out for drinks tonight? I’m in and I’m buying!” That was met with an uproarious approval from everyone on the team, with the exception of Reid, who was just looking at you, seemingly waiting on you to decide.

You bit your lip, noticing how Reid’s eyes fell to your lips in reaction. Well… if you could spend more time with the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen looking at you like that more… “Well… I guess. Sure. Sure, okay, I’m in.” You finally agreed, everyone whooping and hollering in celebration at you giving in. “Doctor Reid? What about you?” You looked at him through your eyelashes, and you could swear you saw his eyes dilate more.

“Oh, pretty boy barely ever comes out drinking with us anymore. He’s always holing himself up in his apartment- books from floor to ceiling, books in the fridge, freezer, on the bed, in his drawers and closets…” Derek teased, reaching over to Spencer and ruffling his hair.

Reid looked at Morgan and shoved his hand away and tried to fix his hair, rolling his eyes. “I do not have books in my freezer. That would be a terrible spot to put them, it would completely ruin the delicate spines.” You smiled at him in support, and he sat up a little straighter. “I… I’m in. For tonight.” He looked right at you when he said it, and you couldn't help but feel a little flutter in your stomach at the idea that he was going just to get to know you.

Morgan seemed to be thinking the same thing, and the face he gave Reid as he stood up and sauntered away said more than he needed to outloud. Once Reid looked away from Morgan, your eyes met and you both smiled again. “You’re a fan of Maya Angelou?” He asked, nodding towards your book.

“I am. I was always drawn to books that had birds on the covers, but then I actually read it and realized how beautiful it is on the inside.” You held the book in your hands gently. It was a mutual love, one your shared with your dad.

“The number of bird species in a person’s surroundings correlates directly to happiness levels.” He said, smiling at you like you were the most interesting thing in the world. The attention should have made you uncomfortable, but it just made you feel warm… important.

“Really?” You searched his eyes, wondering how much information was in that brain, stacked away for use when necessary. “That’s so interesting. I thought most people found birds annoying because of all the noise.”

He shook his head. “On the surface, they think it’s annoying, but once one becomes used to the sounds all around them, they find the background noise comforting. Most people find absolute silence much more disconcerting.”

“Absolute silence, for sure. But comfortable silence between two people who find solace in each other… I think that’s my favorite background noise.” He looked at you as you spoke, a small bit of hope flickering in both of your faces. You’d felt… alone, since your fathers spirit left this world months ago. It had been so hard to be at school and unable to go to his services, terrified of people finding out who your father was and that information altering your career. You hadn’t even applied to the bureau until you had your recommendation letters in order- you didn’t want Aaron giving you any false starts just because he knew. You liked to visit his grave once a month and tell him all the things you wrote in your letters to him. You carried around his private notebook as a reminder of the people in the world he saved, the people you wanted to save. You clutched your briefcase close, knowing you couldn’t put it in your desk with Reid watching you so closely. You’d find time to slip it in later, when no one was looking. With that eidetic memory, you knew he’d recognize it immediately, and you didn’t want his curious gaze to ruin your secret just yet. You wanted the team to form their own opinions of you before they knew... because the moment they knew, everything would change.

Next chapter

[lin-nin]

Tribulation & Tenderness - Chapter 8

Ship: Main Technoblade x Reader, some Dream x Reader

Plot:  You're a princess in a Kingdom suffering a years long famine. In a   desperate attempt to help your people, you accept one simple offer:   Marriage to the crown prince of a neighboring kingdom. Anything to help your people survive. Surely it can't be too bad, can it?

Chapter List: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Disclaimer:   Cross-posted on Wattpad (discontinued) and Ao3. This is based off of everyone's CHARACTERS. I do not write fanfic based off the actual people.

--

Chapter 8: Introductions

< | Previous Chapter

At some point in the journey, you had opened the curtains to the carriage windows, peering outside of them curiously. You knew you were well beyond your territory now. All the lands that sprawled outside were Techno’s, small farms and towns whipping by as you went. You weren’t entirely sure exactly how long the two of you had been traveling, but you knew you were beyond ready to get out and stretch. Your legs were growing restless, and you were sure it showed in how you shifted constantly beneath your blanket.

“We’ll be there soon. The capital isn’t too far off now, those are the outlying villages there,” Techno spoke up, glancing from the book in his lap. He pointed out the window, your gaze following the direction. Beyond the window stood a clearly more populated town. It seemed to flourish well. At least from what you could see.

“Good. I’m tired of being in here,” You nearly whined, leaning back some. He chuckled in response, returning his attention back to his book. The two of you had lapsed into silence some time ago, but it was welcome. You took the time to watch the landscape roll by. Now, though, you were just ready to get to the castle. You knew it was definitely gonna be eventful, though you weren’t entirely sure how eventful. 

The scenery slowly morphed from the flourishing outer towns to that of the capital, buildings lining the cobbled streets. People were looking towards the carriage, clearly clamoring. Were they excited to see you? Or were they unhappy that it was you inside with Techno? You couldn’t gauge that from inside, and you weren’t sure you really wanted the answer. Not right now, at least. You sunk against the seat, closing your eyes and taking a slow breath. That similar nervousness was beginning to build in your stomach again.

“It won’t be too bad. They’re not scary.” Techno reassured you from his spot, closing his book and setting it aside. He glanced out of the window instead. You shifted, giving a small nod.

“It’s hard to not be nervous. You are the only person here I know,” you murmured. Your fingers curled into the blanket on your lap. Then they smoothed it over, repeating the motion several times. As if it were the most therapeutic thing there was right now. The castle was quickly coming into sight, and you nervously chewed on your lip. Was there anything about this place that wasn't intimidating?

As if to answer your question, the carriage lurched to a halt. No sooner than the carriage's stop, you could hear an almost overwhelming clamor outside of it. "Technoblade!" One voice had called out, clearly enunciating each syllable of his name. You turned to the aforem prince, raising an eyebrow.

Before he could even comment, a much louder voice was calling out, "Oi! Techno! Took you long enough to get here!" Were those both his brothers? He sighed, standing up to move towards the door.

"Might as well get it over with before they come in here themselves." He shook his head, opening the door and stepping down onto the stone beneath the carriage. He turned back towards the carriage and where you sat, holding out a hand to help you down. You had carefully moved the blanket away from your lap, moving towards the exit. Your hand was shaking, you realized, as you settled it into Techno’s. His fingers curled around your palm, grounding you slightly as you followed him down onto the path below. Once you had landed safely, his hand was withdrawing from yours. Much to your chagrin. 

Your attention was forced away from Techno, instead to the small gathering of people who had been clearly waiting. Four of them stood there, and you really wanted to shrink away from them. It didn’t help that two of them were tall. Just like Techno. Were those his brothers? There were certainly some similarities between them.

“How was your trip?” One of the men said. He wasn’t as tall as the others, but he was clearly older. Blonde hair was held in a loose ponytail, quite similar to how Techno wore his. Just without the braids. His blue eyes were framed by the faintest hint of bags. He seemed… nice. Whoever he was, Techno hadn’t told you of him. 

"It was fine. Philza, meet my fiancée," Techno motioned towards you. The man turned to you with a soft smile, offering his hand out for a shake. You very carefully took it, offering a soft smile.

"Lovely to meet you. I'm these boys's uncle." He let go of your hand as he spoke. At least he was relatively nice. It helped to soothe your nerves. Of course, it still didn't stop you from sticking to Techno’s side, almost literally. He was the most reassuring thing here.

"Those are my brothers," Techno grabbed your attention, pointing out the two tall ones.

"Wilbur," he identified one of them. He was the tallest of the group. If he had been closer, you undoubtedly would have had to crane your head back. He didn't have long hair, but it was instead kept short. Soft brown curls sat messily atop his head, a few trapped beneath a thin circlet. His brown eyes looked nothing short of tired. That seemed to be a theme among the family, but you didn't exactly question it. He raised his hand, waving at you.

"Pleasure." He inclined his head, and you could only blink. This was the man your parents assumed you would be marrying. He definitely held himself differently from Techno, so you could understand their rage.

"Nice to meet you, Wilbur." You were quick to greet, turning to look at the blonde one beside him. His hair was quite similar to Wilbur’s, just blonde instead of brunette. He bore quite the resemblance to Philza. Just younger and taller. Blue eyes looked at you excitedly, not nearly as exhausted looking as his family.

"Tommy." Techno gave Tommy a very pointed glare. Almost as if to tell him to behave.

"It's about time Techno got a wife," Tommy huffed. His voice was louder than Wilbur and Philza's. You had a feeling it could get louder if prompted. Heat rose to your cheeks at the statement, and you looked aside. You weren’t married to him yet.

"I'm Tubbo! Tommy's friend!" The shortest of the bunch greeted rather excitedly. He grinned at you, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. He seemed kind, even with the ends of his brown locks covering his brown eyes. Techno had been right. They didn't seem too bad, and all around seemed nice. Hopefully you were able to form a friendship with them over time.

"Schlatt has been in a fit about needing you to come talk to him when you came back. I told him you would be busy, but he didn’t care to listen,” Philza spoke up once more, causing Techno to give perhaps the most irritated sigh you had heard.

“I don’t care about him. What does he even want?” Techno put a hand between your shoulders, gingerly steering you forward towards the castle. He walked alongside Philza, keeping his hand steady. You found solace in the touch, not caring to move away. You didn’t exactly want to get lost here.

“Same thing he wanted the past couple of weeks. Complaints about the marriage arrangement. You know he’s determined that this is the worst decision ever. It’s not, but he really has himself convinced it is,” Philza explained to Techno. You couldn’t help but frown at that. You had no idea who this Schlatt was, but he sounded somewhat important. He didn’t seem to like the idea of you being here, either.

“Hey, Tubbo,” Tommy’s voice rang from behind you. You hadn’t even noticed the other three following. That wasn’t exactly surprising, though. 

“Yes, Tommy?”

“Have you ever tried telling your father to shut the fuck up?” You couldn’t help but snort at the words, head shaking. “Why’s he care who Techno marries?” There was a couple of seconds of silence following the questions.

“You know he’s kind of scary, Tommy. I’m the one who has to stay with him at the end of the day.” Tubbo sounded almost reluctant, and you peered over your shoulder to get a peek at him and the blonde.

“Remember what happened last time he spoke out, Tommy. We agreed that we wouldn’t have him do anything like that again,” Wilbur had spoken up, voice level and calm. He sounded like a voice of reason to the younger.

“I know, I just wish someone would shut him up. Maybe we should give Tubbo a room in the castle. Techno! Hey, Techno!” Tommy pondered out loud before calling to the man beside you. Quite loudly. That must have been what Techno meant when he said Tommy was obnoxious. You had tuned out of Techno and Philza’s conversation in favor of the one the other three had been having, but turned your attention to the men beside you. Especially since Tommy was relentlessly dragging them into this conversation instead.

Techno sighed, not even bothering to glance at his younger brother. He must be used to this. There was no telling how much this happened. “Yes, Tommy?”

“Could we give Tubbo a room here in the castle? So he doesn’t have to deal with shitty Schlatt?” Tubbo stammered as Tommy spoke, as if weakly protesting. He was largely ignored.

“I’m not king yet, Tommy. That isn’t my call. It probably won’t be for a while.” He reasoned, leading the blonde to frustratedly groan. 

“Father never sides with me. Surely you can put a word in for poor Tubbo here.” You hardly paid attention to the shifting scenery around you, only distractedly noting the warm toned walls and tile floors. A touch nicer than your own castle, but somehow that wasn’t a surprise. You were more fond of listening to the siblings bicker back and forth between each other instead.

“Depends. Does Tubbo want a room in the castle?” All attention shifted to the aforementioned male, who seemed to sweat under the pressure.

“I, uh… I mean, I’m not entirely opposed to it, no. It would be nice to get away from him…” Tubbo murmured in uncertainty. Techno nodded, pausing in the middle of the room they had entered. Subsequently, his hand fell away from your shoulders and you immediately missed the warmth of his hand there. It had been comforting. Sure, it wasn’t as intimidating now that you knew four other people at least liked you. Yet you also knew there was one person, if not more, that weren’t entirely fond of you. Or the idea of you. 

“Then I’ll speak to him about it. I’m sure we have a room to spare. Now, do you three intend to follow me? I would like to do a tour of the castle,” Techno turned to the three others. You glanced over towards Philza, who simply chuckled and shook his head.

“I’ll see you around, little one,” The older blonde said. He walked by you, gently patting your shoulder in reassurance as he walked up one of the sets of stairs winding around either side of the room. 

“I’m going, Nihachu wants to see me for something anyways.” Wilbur didn’t say much, instead opting to just walk away. That was fine with you, honestly. You briefly watched him go down a hall to the left of the stairs, wondering who Nihachu was. You’d probably meet them sooner or later. There were a lot of people to meet, but there was time for that.

“Oh, you hear that Tubbo? Techno wants to be alone with his woman-” Tommy had began loudly, causing Techno to groan.

“Tommy-”

“Let’s give him some privacy. Behave yourselves, you two! Don’t do anything Quackity would do!” Tommy was already leaving, dragging Tubbo alongside him. Techno sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You really understood what he meant when he called Tommy obnoxious. 

“Ignore him. He’s an idiot. Let’s just go, shall we?” He turned towards you. You laughed a little, shaking your head.

“He’s certainly a character. They all are,” You couldn’t help smiling fondly though. You knew you would grow to like them. They had, momentarily, squashed all stress and worry you had felt. Techno’s hand returned to your shoulder, moving you along the way to finally start the proper tour of the castle. Without Tommy breathing down your shoulders.

Next Chapter | >

[happysoldlady]

Game Night - Ezekiel Reyes

a/n: sorry that I went MIA again. y’all know how it is. here’s this. I cried. 

taglist: @woahitslucyylu​ @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @peaches007​ @cocotheclown​

You and EZ had been together for a little over a year, him being patched for a few months now. Most of the time the two of you were too exhausted to do much of anything but eat dinner and sleep. But once a month, at least, the two of you hosted game night for the club at your house. It wasn’t anything crazy, as all the members brought their wives and Coco usually brought Letty. It was something for all of you to do as a group that didn’t involve killing anyone, so everyone was on board. 

You had taken off work early today, and then wasn’t scheduled for tomorrow and you thought that tonight would be a great night for the infamous game night. You had been cooking literally all day, as feeding the whole crew was a job in itself. EZ had made sure that everyone knew to be there around 7:30, so they could all eat with plenty of time to play whatever game they decided on. It was nearing on 6:30 now, and you had a little mix of everything. The large spread calling your name as the smells made for a delicious enticement. 

You were keeping an eye on the rolls in the oven when you heard EZ’s bike pull up. You immediately smiled and peeked out the kitchen window to see him backing the bike up toward your garage so that all the other members could park with ease. 

You cracked the oven open to see your rolls a crispy brown. You grin, grabbing an oven-mitt and pulling them out.  You’re arranging them into a oblong bowl when EZ walks through the door, throwing his keys onto the small table beside it. He strolls into the kitchen and you swear you almost hear him moan at the spread of food. 

“How long have you been cooking?” EZ asks, walking into the kitchen and leaning against the counter, watching you. 

You place the last roll in the bowl, and then grab the cling wrap from underneath the sink to wrap around them hoping to keep them fresh for when the men start rolling in. 

“Feels like forever.” You say, leaning to give him a sweet kiss before pulling the cling wrap out of it’s box. 

You spend the next hour swatting at his hands, and then forcing him to go shower before everyone got there. You just hear the water turn on when you hear the first few bikes pull up. 

You touch up your lipstick and then open the door to step out onto the porch to greet everyone. Angel, of course, is first, him planting a kiss to your cheek as he walks inside. Then, Coco strolls up your porch, with a less than enthused Letty in toll. 

“Coco...” You greet with a grin, pulling him into a hug. You feel his jaw twitch as he bites back a smile. He also presses a kiss to your cheek and then strolls inside, stopping under the door frame to wait on Letty. She gives you a tight smile and a nod and you return it with a friendly grin, watching as they disappear inside. 

Gilly jogs up the steps and pulls you into hug. “I’m gonna give you a hug while EZ isn’t around to get pissed about it.” You both laugh, and he presses a kiss to your cheek before he also walks inside. 

You follow him inside to wait for the other members. Angel, Gilly and Coco always show up early so that they feel like they get first dibs on the food. You swat Angel’s hand away from the fried tortillas and then wink at Letty as she swipes a strawberry from the fruit tray. 

“Boy scout in the shower?” Coco asks, leaning against a wall. 

You smile and nod. “He should be almost done.” 

Angel, Gilly and Coco all exchange a look before they’re rushing down the hallway to the bathroom to pester him. 

You laugh and move the bowl of rolls to the end of the spread, and then making sure everything still looks fresh. 

“No lemonade this time?” Letty asks. Her eyes are peering at you from the opening in the kitchen and you smile. 

“You know, I forgot all about it. Do you wanna make some while we wait for the others?” You ask, walking to a cabinet above the stove and pulling out the lemonade mix. 

Letty hesitates for a second and then nods. “Yeah, that’d be cool.” 

You wave her over and show her how much mixture to put into the pitcher and then how much water. She nods, and then starts scooping. You smile encouragingly and then ask about her day. Of course she only gives you simple answers but you figure that that’s better than nothing. 

“I fucking hate you guys.” You hear EZ grumble and you see the three of them shoving each other as they return back to the living room. You and Coco make eye contact and he looks proud to see Letty doing something productive. 

“And I just fill the water up to this line?” Letty asks for clarification, holding the pitcher up to the light to get a better look. You hum and nod, pointing to the line in question. “Seems too easy.” She says, shaking her head, but she sticks the pitcher under the faucet and turns it on anyway. 

“I like to stir mine as I fill it up, but that’s up to you.” You say, laying a spoon down on the counter. You decide leave her be, but as your turning to cross into the living room, she picks the spoon up and starts stirring. 

EZ’s in a freshly ironed black t-shirt (thanks to you) and a different pair of jeans. His cut is folded over the back of one of the recliners as he ties his boots on. 

“Well don’t you look handsome.” You comment, and the boyish grin he gives you makes you smile. He finishes tying his boots and then stands, giving you a short kiss. His hand lingers on your hip and there’s a familiar twinkle in his eye that you can’t wait to explore later. 

“I don’t think y’all have time for a quickie.” Angel remarks, and then picks up the clock to look at for emphasis. Gilly and Coco both laugh but EZ just shakes his head. 

The five of you sit in the living room and talk for a little while before Letty strolls in carrying two glasses of lemonade. She hands one to you with a proud look on her face. 

“It’s not bad.” She says, taking a sip of her own and then looking at you expectantly. 

You smile and then take a drink. “This is really good! Better than mine, for sure.” 

Letty smiles proudly, lifting her head a little and then takes a seat next to Coco who gives her a soft look. 

It isn’t much longer until you hear the motorcycles rolling up outside. You stand and smooth out your dress, and EZ pulls his cut over his shoulders. The two of you open up the front door and greet the older Mayans as the walk in, along with their wives. 

Before you know it, everyone’s already eaten and are scattered across your living room with a handful of cards, and a drink. Gilly, Coco, Riz and Angel are all playing a game of poker. Bishop, Tranq, and almost all of the wives are focused on a game of rummy. And you, Letty, EZ and Creeper are playing monopoly. Creeper is losing badly and he’s already so deflated by Letty’s natural gift toward capitalizing that he’s not even putting up a fight anymore. 

“Shit, man!” Creeper curses as Letty lands on yet another free parking. You want to be mad for your own game but you can’t help but feel at least a little responsible for the wicked grin on Letty’s face as she scoops all of the monopoly money towards her pile. 

EZ’s been particularly touchy for most of the night. Little things. A hand on your back as you offer drinks. A helping hand when someone actually takes you up on your offer. A hand on your thigh while the four of you rotate through your monopoly turns. A kiss to the hairline when he catches you gleaming at a giddy Letty. 

After most of the house clears out, and you’re waving goodbye to the slew of bikes rumbling down your street, you make your way inside to see EZ picking up beer bottles and paper plates, his hands balancing way too many. You smile, and rush over to him, praying to god he doesn’t spill any remains on your floors. 

“You don’t have to do that, baby.” You say, taking some of the plates from his grasp to lessen the load. He shakes his head, and continues to help straighten up your house. 

After most of the trash is picked up and the dirty dishes are at least near the sink, EZ’s focus turns to you. His hands slithering around your waist as your scrubbing one of the pans. 

“Leave that for tomorrow.” He mutters, planting wet kisses up your neck. You smile and lean into him. 

“If I do it now, then I don’t have to do it tomorrow, though.” You say, and you feel his chest rumble from behind you. 

“Fair enough.” He sighs, and then picks up a sponge. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, shaking your head. “You don’t have to do that. I got it.” 

“If we both do it, it gets done faster.” He says, giving you a sly grin. So there the two of you are, in your kitchen, talking softly over the soapy bubbles as you wash the dishes and he dries them. And he’s right, in less than twenty minutes, the entire kitchen is cleaned up, and the dishes are put away. 

You plop down on the couch with an exasperated breath, and EZ sits down next to you. 

“Thank you for tonight.” He says, his eyes gleaming with gratitude. 

“It was my pleasure.” You say, grinning. “But fuck, if I’m not exhausted.” 

He laughs. “It’s because of Angel, isn’t it? Can’t get his own beer for anything in this world.” 

“Definitely Angel.” You joke back, before leaning down to take off your wedges. Your ankles were definitely going to be sore tomorrow. 

EZ’s quiet for several moments and when you look up, he’s staring at you. A very different look on his face and it makes your stomach drop. 

“What?” You ask, your hand immediately swiping against your cheeks to check for anything. 

You watch as he swallows, and then opens his mouth, “Marry me.” 

You blink, mouth agape, and shake your head. “EZ, wha-”

And before you can ask him anything, he’s getting on a knee in front of you. 

“I don’t have a ring because I just looked at you just now and realized that I won’t ever be happy if I don’t have this forever. So, we can pick out a ring tomorrow, but will you marry me?” He says, taking one of your hands into his own. 

You’re crying. Of course you’re crying. “Of course! Yes!” You say, squealing as he lifts you off the couch, wrapping your legs around his waist. He buries his head in your neck, his strong arms holding you tightly against him. 

“I love you so much, Ezekiel.” You whisper, pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips through your tears. 

“I love you, Y/N. I can’t wait to be your husband.” He whispers back. 

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 16

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 14.3k

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, domestic & child abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, descriptions of mental illness, death, dark themes and foul language. once again, all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a grain of salt.

description: Han Jisung wrestles with the demons of his past as Kim Seungmin faces his own dilemma in the present, with one last chilling threat from Prosecutor Kang forcing Seungmin to make a final, crucial decision. The clock is counting down as your last chance wears thin, and one unexpected declaration is all it takes for things to change—forever.

watch the trailer here!

16| the prisoner’s dilemma.

Jisung was still frozen in place long after the heavy doors had swung shut and erased your face from his sight. His own hand felt foreign as he held it against his stinging cheek, the dull throbbing drowned out by the words still ringing in his ears.

Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive.

I need you to stay alive.

Bang Chan was watching him from the side, the detective’s eyes filled with equal parts amusement and wariness. Finally, he spoke. “You deserved that, you know.”

Jisung was silent, but his mind was already replaying the scene over and over again. Your anxious eyes, your voice trembling with the effort to stay steady. The slap couldn’t compare to the pain that had etched itself into your features every time he had spoken harshly, trying again and again to push you away. I know I did.

Chan sighed. “How are you feeling?”

A soft laugh escaped from Jisung’s dry mouth. “Dizzy,” he deadpanned honestly. The adrenaline was beginning to die down, but instead of leaving him sick in the stomach and with a pounding headache like usual, Jisung felt almost...lightheaded with relief. “Like...like a kid that just got told off?”

The detective chuckled, letting out his low, signature whistle. “What’d I tell you? That’s love, mate.” 

Jisung looked at him now, incredulous. “Getting slapped in the face?”

“No,” Chan smiled, but for once, his eyes were serious. “Someone who cares about you enough to call you out when you’re wrong.”

Not knowing what to say, Jisung turned away, letting the ticking of the clock on the wall fill the strained silence. He could still feel Chan’s gaze on him, but it was no longer the look of a detective trying to dissect a case file. Instead, it held the same strange softness it had when Chan had pulled Jisung aside at the Third Eye, and asked if he was okay.

“I told you once,” Chan began slowly, “that everyone deserves to be loved, and that you’re no different. Of course, things have...changed,” he continued, and Jisung looked down, throat tight as he waited for Chan to finish. “But I still stand by what I said.”

Before Jisung could reply, the intercom crackled overhead. “The court hearing  for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants in the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Detective, you should get going,” a security guard spoke lowly to Chan, who sighed and nodded, pulling himself to his feet. As he passed where Jisung was standing, he stopped briefly.

“You’re a good kid, Han Jisung. Even if you don’t believe it yourself...you had better start to.”

“Chan—”

The detective had reached the door when he looked over his shoulder at Jisung. He had the same old mischievous smile on his face again, but his eyes were sad. 

“I hope we can grab another coffee together some time, yeah?”

━━━━━━━━

Seungmin’s head was spinning as he pushed through rooms packed with spectators and reporters until he finally stumbled into an emptier hallway. His eyes gleaned the plaques on the doors, searching for the room number the court clerks had given him after Seungmin had overheard their frantic conversation.

“We can’t just end the case here — the media and people’ll riot.”

“But we’ve lost a witness and the lead prosecutor of the case in one day — how the hell is the trial supposed to continue?”

The clerk wringed his hands. “We need to find out if there were any other prosecutors working with Kang on the case — call them in ASAP—”

And so, here Seungmin was — heart threatening to leap out of his throat, charging headfirst into a case that had been ripped out of his hands months ago. He had stepped into their conversation impulsively, and now a thousand warning bells were going off in his mind. 

Kim Seungmin was not impulsive. Kim Seungmin always calculated his plans perfectly, meticulously. It was one of the reasons why he had always been at the top of his class, graduating a year early with honours. Always praised for being levelheaded and thorough. 

Still, he thought, there had been one person that had seen right through him.

“You’re stressed,” you blurted bluntly, and Seungmin’s coffee cup froze midway to his lips. You were in his office, one of the many meetings you two had arranged in order to keep each other updated with information regarding Jisung’s case. 

“We’re all stressed,” Seungmin replied matter-of-factly, unsure where you were going with this, but you shook your head.

“But you try the hardest out of all of us to hide it. Tell me if I’m crossing a line here, but—” you looked at him, tilting your head. “You seem like the type who’s calm and collected on the outside to...hide the fact that you’re still wrestling with nerves, and insecurities, on the inside. Like a defense mechanism.”

Seungmin fell silent. Instinctively, he felt the urge to laugh it off, but in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered to his coworkers— their condescending gazes at who they thought was just a lucky amateur, a young imposter infringing upon a field with people twice his age. Since his first day at the law firm, Seungmin had felt an unbearable desire to prove himself worthy in their eyes, and the anxious feeling ate away at him every time he touched a case. 

Sensing the sudden change in mood, you quickly stammered, “I-I’m sorry, that was so unnecessary—what I’m trying to say is— it’s okay to be nervous. Don’t psyche yourself out with your own expectations for yourself. U-um—”

You trailed off, mortified, but Seungmin let out a small laugh, shaking his head lightly when your eyes widened in confusion. “No, no, it’s just…” You were smart and capable — anyone could see that — but always seemed to second-guess your own abilities. He found it almost endearing. “You really are a psychology major, Miss l/n.”

Seungmin rounded a corner and nearly slammed into someone that had just walked out of the men’s washrooms. Before he could apologise, Seungmin looked up into the man’s face and his gut twisted unpleasantly.

Prosecutor Kang seized Seungmin by the collar before he could walk away, his face livid. The younger man’s eyes darted down either side of the empty hallway, then back at his former senior. He had heard Kang was to be kept at the courthouse until the end of the trial, in case they needed anything from him. There were guards flanking every entrance and exit, so Kang couldn’t exactly escape, but seeing him walk around unsupervised still made Seungmin uneasy.

“S-sir, you can’t—”

“Do you remember what you said? What you promised?” Kang seethed, eyes wild as they raked Seungmin up and down. “‘I can handle it. I’ll find the culprit, and I’ll convict him. Death penalty, no less.’” 

Hearing his own words coming out of Kang’s mouth made Seungmin wince and shrink back. Kang caught his discomfort, grinning savagely before jerking his head in the direction of the holding cells, where Jisung was. “You’re taking over the case, aren’t you? Your culprit’s right there. Everything’s been laid out for you, it couldn’t be simpler.”

Seungmin let out a shaky breath, fists clenched by his sides. Before he could open his mouth, Kang pulled him in closer, voice dangerously low. 

“I always thought it was fishy, you know — someone your age, already entering the field? So I did my research.” Kang paused, smirking. “You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you? I didn’t know your parents were renowned lawyers, too.”

At that, Seungmin froze, shocked eyes darting up to meet Kang’s. It was true — born into a family of influential law enforcement officials, Seungmin had practically grown up reading about legal matters and judicial affairs. Despite his efforts to keep his parentage discreet as he grew older — hating the way their reputations always preceded his own — the expectations to follow in their footsteps had always remained suffocating. He loved law with all his heart, but his own family had become yet another reason why Seungmin had so much to live up to, and even more to lose.

The older prosecutor chuckled — Seungmin must have looked like a deer in headlights. “You can’t disappoint them, yes? You need to do everything you can to uphold the big family name.” Kang’s voice had a dangerous edge to it, like a blade. “My career might be over, little prosecutor, but I have far more power than you think. I can make sure you never step foot into this profession ever again. You want to prove yourself? To me, to your fellow prosecutors, to your parents? Here’s your chance.”

There was a snakelike glint in Kang’s eyes when he finally let Seungmin go, his words seeping through Seungmin’s mind like poison. 

Prove yourself. Prove yourself. A security guard had appeared at the end of the hallway, and without another word, Kang calmly turned on his heel, letting the guard escort him away. Seungmin watched his silhouette grow fainter, feeling sick to his stomach. 

Just how many cases...no, how many prosecutors had Kang manipulated for his own benefit?

He took a shuddering breath. Time was running out. Forcing his feet to move, Seungmin finally found the room, barely listening when the clerk quickly explained that the rights to the case were being transferred to him last minute. 

“Ten minutes, Prosecutor Kim. You have approximately ten minutes to prepare your case.”

The roomful of law officials were watching him with doubtful eyes — the same doubtful, scornful gazes that had followed him his entire life. Ten minutes. Picking up where Kang had left off would be the smoothest, most reasonable route. Preparing an entirely different argument, however, was suicide.

Seungmin glanced up at the clock, and his heart sank.

━━━━━━━━

The commotion in the courtroom sounded like the buzzing of an agitated beehive, the constant thrumming of hushed conversations and your own erratic heartbeat fueling the tense atmosphere. 

Hyunjin, Felix, Woojin, and you had sprinted straight to the courtroom after a rapid search for Seungmin had turned up futile — the prosecutor was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the murmurs you overheard around you, the case had been transferred into his hands with mere minutes to spare. You bit your lip nervously. This should have been good news, but you all knew that the odds — and time — were still against you. Looking the weariest you’d ever seen him, Bang Chan collapsed into the seat next to you. He tried to give you a reassuring smile, but as he turned away, eyes glued to the scene about to unfold, you saw that his features were strained and pale. 

With a creak that send a hush rippling through the courtroom, the doors swung open to reveal more familiar faces — the judge, the prosecution, the jury. Your eyes instinctively flickered to Jisung, whose expression was as guarded as ever, and instantly felt a pang of guilt in your chest. The rest of the room, however, had fallen silent before the judge had even spoken. All their gazes were trained on the new prosecutor that had entered the room.

Seungmin felt the stares on him before he even looked up, dozens of eyes weighing down on him as if he were a butterfly pinned to a specimen table. He should have gotten used to the stares by now — this was far from his first court hearing — but when he looked out into the faces of the audience, he still felt the same squeamish anxiety he had always tried so desperately to ignore. Their expressions were dubious, condescending, unconvinced — as if all to say, is this a joke? This kid is the new lead prosecutor?

The judge cleared her throat, pushing her half-moon spectacles back onto her nose. “Thank you for your patience. The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases is now back in session. You may be seated.” She turned to Seungmin, eyes narrowed. “What is the case the prosecution will be presenting?”

Seungmin’s mind was racing as he turned over the envelope in his hands — the envelope containing Kang’s case file — and slid out the papers with numb fingertips. As he did so, familiar words echoed in his mind — words he had been told since he had first chosen to study law, and words he had forced himself to live by ever since.

“You have a big heart, Kim Seungmin — too big. Learn to control your emotions if you want to make it in this field.”

“You have to be cold, quick, and rational. Kindness is a weakness.”

“There is no room for a wavering heart in prosecution.”

He had always taken the words like bitter medicine, beyond determined to prove to his older coworkers that he wasn’t just the incompetent young prosecutor they always made him out to be. Desperate to prove to his family that he was capable, that he wouldn’t tarnish their names. Every step he had taken had been careful, calculated, all so that Seungmin could win their approval, finally escape their suffocating scrutiny. 

“Your Honour,” Seungmin began, “as a prosecutor, I was taught that my duty is to defend the rule of law to ensure justice is served, no matter how harsh it may be.”

You watched the young prosecutor speak carefully, his grave expression making your gut twist. Kim Seungmin, Chan had told you once in passing, came from a family of established lawyers — a child prodigy with big shoes to fill, and everything to lose. And now, you realised with dread, his words seemed to be an exact echo of Prosecutor Kang’s.

Seungmin’s stomach was fluttering as if it were his first trial again, heart palpitating with each passing moment as he was seized with the sudden urge to run. Taking a deep breath, his gaze flickered up to meet yours in the audience — your blazing eyes, charged with emotion, your heart always written so clearly across your adamant features. You, who stopped at nothing in order to protect what you believed was right.

Prove yourself. Prove to everyone you’re good enough, strong enough.

He closed his eyes, knowing that he would regret what he was about to say.

“But I was also taught that a good prosecutor is one that uses the law to protect the people.” Seungmin swallowed hard, sliding Kang’s papers back into the envelope and dropping it onto the desk behind him. “Thus, the case I am presenting today is not one that intends to prove Han Jisung guilty of first degree murder.”

The entire room erupted in frantic murmurs, the judge hurriedly banging the gavel to maintain order. Seungmin caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expression — the boy was still looking down, but his face had paled in surprise at the prosecutor’s sudden declaration. Just then, the doors burst open, a red-faced clerk with a handful of padded envelopes ducking in and hurrying to Seungmin’s side.

“What you requested, sir,” the clerk explained quietly, handing him the envelopes, and Seungmin recalled the conversation they had had in the conference rooms, just before the trial had recommenced. 

“There are ten minutes remaining until we have to begin,” the clerk informed Seungmin worriedly, seeing the young prosecutor’s tense face. “Is there anything you need from the former prosecution? Since these are special circumstances, I can have them brought to you as soon as possible during the trial.”

Either ten minutes to gather the evidence he needed, Seungmin thought dismally, or ten minutes to build a strong argument from what he—no, Kang—already had. 

“Listen carefully.” Screwing his eyes shut, Seungmin continued, “Please fetch me Han Jisung’s camcorder footage — the memory cards — and Yang Jeongin’s Walkman tapes from Prosecutor Kang’s archives. All of them, immediately.”

The knot of anxiety in Seungmin’s chest finally began to unclench, the envelopes’ contents anchoring him in place with a reassuring weight. He turned to the judge, surprised at the newfound authority in his own voice. “The prosecution maintains that Han Jisung is not guilty of first degree murder. We will be presenting all the evidence Prosecutor Kang excluded, and examining the case from all angles so that the jury may form an accurate judgement and verdict.”

“That’s—an entirely new argument,” Hyunjin whispered incredulously beside you. “How did he come up with a case in ten minutes?”

“He didn��t. He’s building his case on the spot,” Chan realised out loud, a small smile spreading on his lips. He leaned forward with a glint of pride in his eyes. “Now that’s the Kim Seungmin I know.”

You watched as Seungmin called up his first witness, who was none other than Kang’s psychiatric expert. “You introduced yourself as the psychiatrist involved with this case — responsible for analysing the defendant’s mental condition, correct?”

The red-nosed man coughed nervously. “Y-yes, uh, well — the defendant was unwilling to speak during the evaluation, so we were unable to gain much personal testimony—”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Seungmin picked up one the envelopes, handing it to the court clerk and motioning for him to project the contents. “The following is recovered footage from a camcorder the defendant was gifted when he was six years old, and developed a habit of carrying around.” He turned towards the psychiatrist. “It’s raw, untampered footage containing experiences from the defendant’s childhood. I want you to watch it and answer a few questions. There is, however, graphic content, and I advise the spectators to view it with caution.” 

You saw Seungmin cast a worried look towards Jisung, and you knew how the prosecutor was feeling. After nearly thirteen years of Jisung hiding his past from even his closest friends, it was all suddenly being thrust under the harsh light — in front of a roomful of people who wanted to sentence him to death, no less — but you both knew that this was your last chance.

The projector whirred as the clerk inserted the first memory cards into the computer. The memory cards had been confiscated by Kang before you had gotten the chance to watch them yourself — what you did know about the footage came from the bits Chan had recounted for you after several insistent phone calls, and what Jisung himself had told you that fateful night. Uneasiness stirring in your chest, you watched as the screen came to life, blurry colours and pixelated outlines taking shape. 

There was nothing out of the ordinary at first — short clips of chipped action figures on dusty windowsills, or toy cars rolling idly across wooden floors. The footage was shaky, as if the person holding the camcorder could barely support its weight. Jisung had barely been six years old, you remembered, feeling a strange feeling of sadness wash over you. It was as if you were watching a movie you already knew the ending to, and all that was left in your gut was a sinking dread at what was about to come.

As the clerk flipped through the footage, a faint sound pricked at your ears, and you jerked your head up, listening to make sure you had heard right — and sure enough, there it was. Muffled shouting, like it was coming from another room in the house, something heavy shattering on the floor — and judging from the murmurs and faces of the spectators around you, they heard it as well. The camcorder was still pointed at the action figurines, but had frozen stiffly — as if the child holding it was listening, too. 

More scenes began to unfold, one after another. A birthday, six lopsided candles glowing on a small white cake. Jisung humming a familiar tune with a woman you assumed was his mother. And clip after clip where the camcorder was pointed at the ceiling of a dark room — Jisung’s childhood bedroom — as the sounds of arguing and yelling echoed through the walls. Slowly but surely, the scenes began to grow familiar. 

“February 22nd, 2005.”

The day Jisung had stumbled across another woman in his parents’ bed, and his father had terrorized him until he promised not to tell anyone.

“June 3rd, 2006.”

His face-to-face encounter with his father’s mistress, one that left scars in the form of cigarette burns, red-lipped smiles, and tainted touches.

“December 31st, 2009.”

The day everything had gone wrong.

Stomach lurching, you watched as everything Jisung had told you — his rough voice shaking in your darkened apartment, dark eyes holding nightmares of years long past — took the form of grainy camera footage. His father crashing through the doorframe, hands choking the life from the woman beneath him. Even though the camera quality was poor, the woman’s pleading eyes, rolled up towards the tiny crack in the closet where Jisung had been hidden, seemed to pierce directly through you. 

It all seemed to happen in a flash — in the blink of an eye, there were flames licking bloodstained floors clean, the camcorder out of focus as Jisung limped through thick white snow and finally collapsed on top of his mother’s cold body. The gritty screams of anguish and pain seemed to ring in your ears long after Seungmin stopped the footage, and you lifted a shaking gaze to Jisung’s face. His eyes had been cast downwards the entire time, but even from across the room, you could see his violently trembling jaw, the ragged heave of his chest. How many times had he lived through this footage himself — in his nightmares, through half-delirious flashbacks, every time he closed his eyes?

“Thirteen years ago, there was a massive fire on the outskirts of Miroh Heights. The Han house was burned to the ground and left a single boy alive, without any relatives to take custody. Unable to fathom what exactly happened, police filed it away as a gas explosion, and the boy was tossed around foster homes and orphanages until it was eventually forgotten,” Seungmin informed them. He thanked Woojin internally as he spoke — after mentioning several times that Jisung’s past sounded strangely familiar, the police captain had been the one to finally connect the dots between the two cold cases, thirteen years apart.

“There were initial speculations of domestic abuse, but they were never investigated thoroughly. The case was neglected, left cold, and when the statute of limitations expired, it was simply dismissed as another tragedy.” Seungmin nodded at the clerk again, who slid the next memory card in.

This card was filled with what sounded like endless psychological evaluations — disembodied voices introducing themselves as social workers, child psychiatrists, and the like, all mercilessly bombarding Jisung with personal questions. The first half was either entirely black or out of focus, as if Jisung had been holding the camcorder down and clutching it close to his body. They had all given up when the young boy could barely get his answers out, the lingering fear and untreated trauma having locked his voice in his throat. 

“He’s a lost cause.”

“Problem kid.”

“Impossible to treat.”

You clenched your fists every time a social worker left the room, muttering under their breath in annoyance. Then, as the clips grew clearer, a child with round, catlike eyes and a pale expression beginning to appear in several of the frames.

Lee Minho. 

“At the beginning of this decade, we all know that Miroh Heights went through an economic rift — workers were laid off, young children abandoned on the streets. During these times, child abuse and child trafficking cases also skyrocketed.” Seungmin spoke as the screen flashed, the scene now showing what looked like a filthy, unfinished basement floor.

“We witnessed a rise of ‘suicide killers’ — namely, perpetrators who would kidnap and murder their own family members or vulnerable strangers before ending their own lives. Many were acting on their anger and grief through violence; others saw it as a form of revenge.” 

With a wince, you remembered what Minho had told you on the rooftop of the hospital that evening — when he and Jisung had been lured into a man’s home by their own hunger, and woke up to him trying to kill them. The sound of approaching footsteps filled the speakers, the camcorder pointed at an awkward angle and shaking uncontrollably before it clattered to the ground, and the footage cut out.

When the next clip began, it was pointed down at wide-eyed, twelve-year-old Jisung.

“Ah, now this is jus’ perfect. The cops’ll love this, yes they will.” You shivered at the man’s hoarse voice behind the camcorder, flinching as the barrel of a gun was pressed to Jisung’s forehead. “Now, boy — I want you to beg for your life — go on.”

Frozen in your seat, you watched as all hell broke loose — the man pressing the trigger just as Jisung managed to cut the cords free, the camcorder smashing into concrete as Jisung fought for his life. When the lens finally focused again, what you saw made your blood run cold. A twelve-year-old boy kneeling before the mangled corpse of a grown man, cherub-like face drenched with crimson. You heard Minho’s shallow, terrified breathing behind the camcorder as Jisung turned towards him, the look in his eyes sending an icy chill down your spine. It was the exact same look he had given you when you had found him at the diner, screaming out his name as if trying to wake him from a nightmare. 

Emptiness.

Even through the grainy film, you could catch the moment Jisung’s consciousness returned to him, soft brown eyes shifting and focusing into a childlike, dazed expression once again. 

“Minho, can we go home?”

The footage sputtered to a stop. The visceral scene had been exactly as the coroner had described to you on the hospital rooftop, and yet nothing could have prepared you for it. You only realised how badly you had been shaking when Felix gently nudged you, peering at your face worriedly. When you forced yourself to unclench your fists, you winced at the red half-moon weals your nails had left in your palms.

“Both the defendant and coroner Lee Minho were involved in a kidnapping case, and subjected to extreme violence at the ages of twelve and thirteen. The perpetrator died in the incident. There was no culprit to catch. Once again, the case was buried, under the economic turmoil Miroh Heights was experiencing, by neglectful law enforcement.” 

Seungmin turned back to look at the psychiatrist. “Now, I’m no expert in analysing family matters, but I think we can confirm several cases of domestic abuse from this footage alone. Parental neglect. Repeated exposure to violence. Years of sexual harassment. How would you psychoanalyse a patient who has gone through these events?”

The red-faced man was evidently shaken, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stuttered out, “This — this is more than enough to cause severe cases of post-traumatic stress disorder.” His eyes darted around the courtroom nervously, as if the words were refusing to come out of his mouth. 

“He looks like he’s scared,” you murmured. “Like he’s still unwilling to talk.”

“Kang must have made some sort of a deal with him,” Woojin replied under his breath, shaking his head. “But it’s all over now — he’s got nothing more to lose.”

“You swore an oath before the trial began,” Seungmin pressed sternly, not taking his gaze off the nervous man. “‘I do solemnly declare that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Tell me the truth, sir.”

Cowering under Seungmin’s hard gaze, the psychiatrist finally caved. “The...the fact that these events took place during the defendant’s childhood is even more significant. Children’s minds are—are molded from a very young age. The majority of your adult behaviour is shaped by what you’ve experienced as a child, you see.”

“Earlier, you mentioned the possibility of sociopathy. You reached this conclusion because of the defendant’s criminal records, and reported behaviour such as —” Seungmin pulled out Kang’s papers, quickly flipping through. “Theft. Pyromanic, destructive, and self-destructive tendencies.” He raised an eyebrow at the boys from the diner attack. “Bordering on multiple personas.”

“U-uh, well — using the information given during the previous trial, those symptoms did correlate strongly with antisocial personality disorder. But with this newfound context —” the psychiatrist lowered his head meekly, “th-the symptoms are actually closer to those of an individual suffering from extreme, untreated, PTSD.”

Exhaling slowly, Seungmin nodded at the judge. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Let’s re-examine the defendant’s behaviour under this lens, then. How would PTSD explain violent tendencies in a child?”

“They’re a form of an exaggerated startle response — a sudden reaction triggered by something that upsets the patient. It’s a common long-term aftereffect of childhood abuse or trauma. Some patients fall unconscious, some experience panic attacks or seizures. In the case of Han Jisung...it came in the form of repeated violent outbursts.”

You thought back to the man Jisung had attacked, seemingly out of nowhere at the Yellow Wood — the dead man whose girlfriend, Chan had told you, had actually come to the precinct a few days before Jisung’s trial.

“She was crying real bad. I thought she would want him—Jisung—dead, that she would tell us to convict him, no matter what,” Chan had told you, the detective’s face still twisted in confusion. “And she doesn’t want to testify — she’s still dealing with the trauma, and doesn’t want anything to do with the trial. But y/n — the girl was crying for him. For Jisung. Said that the kid stepped in right when her boyfriend was hitting her, and — told her to go home.”

An exaggerated startle response. You remembered it from your classes, a sudden reaction triggered by something that upset the patient. Like domestic abuse. Unsolicited sexual approaches. Or, you shivered, little things — like the colour red. His father, his mistress, his mother, his kidnapper — did Jisung constantly see their faces in the shadows, in strangers that were repeating the same mistakes?

“The witnesses who knew Han Jisung when he was younger,” Seungmin continued, turning to the two injured boys from the diner, “also testified that he often changed expressions ‘like a mask.’ Assuming this is true, why might the defendant exhibit this sort of behaviour?”

“Abused children — or people who have experienced severe trauma — can develop dissociative habits. Disconnecting from past memories, information, or even present experiences as a defense mechanism...which is why the defendant might appear to change moods often, or show drastically different sides of himself in different situations.”

“In other words,” Seungmin said slowly, brow furrowing in concentration, “the defendant experienced so many traumatic events during his childhood, that the untreated aftereffects impaired his emotional development into adulthood. Which would explain why his startle response slowly morphed, on a larger scale, into something extremely violent and dangerous.”

The psychiatrist looked weary and defeated. “Correct.”

Motioning for the man to take a seat — which he did gladly — Seungmin pulled out the next envelope — the coroner’s photos from the Yellow Wood attacks. Wordlessly, he projected them onto the screen, eliciting small gasps of horror and disgust around the room. 

“Earlier, Prosecutor Kang argued that the violent mutilation of the victims was proof that the perpetrator performed these gruesome acts and mutilations out of personal enjoyment and depravity.” Seungmin turned to address the judge, voice firm. 

“Your Honour, under this new context, I would argue that the photos only serve as further visual evidence depicting the defendant’s mental state at the time of the crime.” He flipped through the images. “Multiple wound sites, messy blood spattering, extreme blunt force trauma. And—if the coroner was telling the truth—a stone from the scene of the crime as the murder weapon. All these signs lead us to believe that the defendant’s actions, no, his judgement, was acutely impaired. This response, these attacks, were triggered due to a pre-existing mental condition.”

The room shifted uneasily as his words sunk in, and the judge fixed her stern gaze onto Seungmin. “Does the prosecution have any evidence that directly refutes the previous claim of first degree murder? To prove that the murders were not premeditated, or intentional, beyond a reasonable doubt?”

Think, Seungmin, think. He racked his mind furiously, trying to recall every piece of evidence that you, Chan, and Woojin had gone through with him. Photographs, diagrams, testimony transcripts — Seungmin’s eyes trailed off to the pile of envelopes the clerk had brought, and landed on the packet containing Yang Jeongin’s tapes.

That’s it.

“Yes, Your Honour.” He cleared his throat, mind racing to connect the dots. “As we all know, the living witness of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin, was attacked at around three o’clock in the morning. He worked several late shifts for delivery companies around the town.” Seungmin nodded towards Jeongin. “What we did not know until recently, however, is that the witness had a hobby of recording himself during these shifts on his own Walkman.”

An alarmed murmur rippled through the crowd as Seungmin shook the tapes out from the envelope, handing them to the clerk. After several tense moments, there was a faint crackling, and the recording began to play.

The first tape held a medley of acoustic songs the delivery boy had mixed himself — just as you had remembered it.

The second tape was empty — the one Minho had stolen from the scene of the crime, and you had eventually recovered from his office.

When the clerk popped in the third, the soft sound of breathing and crunching gravel filled the room, and you shivered. This was the tape you had listened to with Seo Changbin — the tape that had turned your entire life upside down.

“I.N. here! It is currently...2:04 A.M.!”

You glanced at the faces around the room — everyone was on edge, and you felt no different. You could still hear Jeongin’s cry of surprise and pain echoing in your ears, the horrible crash as he hit the forest floor. What was Seungmin thinking? How was a recording of the witness being attacked going to prove Jisung’s innocence? If anything, it was incriminating evidence.

Jeongin’s cheery, oblivious voice continued until you heard the woman’s scream in the distance, muffled under the delivery boy’s distracted humming. Then, a man crying out in guttural pain — the man, you knew now, that had been killed by Jisung in the Yellow Wood. The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping under the bicycle wheels grew louder, and you knew that this had been the moment Jeongin had entered the Wood — heading closer and closer towards what would later become the scene of the crime. 

“Hello? Is everything okay over there?” There was a small gasp of horror as Jeongin caught sight of the body. “U-um. Is he—do you need help? I can call an ambulance. What hap—” 

It happened before you could flinch to cover your ears. The horribly familiar crunch of stone meeting skull, a cry of pain cut off by a deafening whump as the Walkman had slammed against the ground. The entire courtroom seemed to hold its breath as it listened, and only then did it finally hit you why Seungmin was playing the tapes. As the sound of another boy’s jagged, uneven breathing filled the speakers, you suddenly remembered what came at the end of the recording. The first time you had heard it, it had made your heart plummet straight down into the pit of your stomach, sending your entire world crashing down around you. 

This time, the fluttering in your chest felt almost like hope.

Han Jisung’s voice, choked with raw, horrified sobs, echoed through the room, and you saw everyone freeze.

“Who—why? Why is it you? Why are you here?” 

The crying was muffled by the sound of hands fumbling over Jeongin’s clothing, as if frantically checking for a pulse. Seungmin stopped the tape, turning towards the bewildered jury. “Do those sound like the words of a cold-blooded psychopath?”

The judge waved a hand towards Jeongin. “Can the witness himself attest to this?”

“I...I blacked out pretty quickly,” Jeongin answered slowly, furrowing his brow as if it still hurt to remember. “But the last thing I remembered seeing was...a boy’s crying face over me, trying to make sure if I was okay.”

“Can you identify this boy?”

Nodding, Jeongin pointed to Jisung.

“Furthermore,” Seungmin continued, tapping the cracked silver Walkman, “these tapes were found in Yang Jeongin’s clothing after he was admitted to the hospital. If the defendant had truly attacked Mr. Yang out of cold blood, he wouldn’t have left such incriminating evidence in the boy’s hands. And if Han Jisung had no idea he was being recorded, that rules out the possibility of him faking the recordings as well.”

“Even so,” the judge replied, stern eyes narrowed, “we cannot be sure that Han Jisung did not intend to leave Yang Jeongin to die. There are many murder cases where the perpetrator shows remorse almost immediately, but still attempted to cover up the crime.”

“Of course. However, Your Honour, you may also remember that Yang Jeongin was not found in the Yellow Wood where the attacks had initially taken place...but rather, the doorstep of Glow Cafe.” At this, Hyunjin looked up, eyes narrowed, and Seungmin motioned for the clerk to continue playing the clip. After several moments, you heard the rough sound of cloth scraping against the ground, growing louder and louder — as if something was being lifted and dragged. 

No. You could still hear Jisung’s broken breathing underneath the sound, and the realisation hit you.

Jisung was carrying Jeongin’s body.

You had thought the tape had already ended the first time you’d listened with Seo Changbin in his record shop — after Jisung’s voice had made you shove the Walkman away, not daring to believe what you had just heard. For days, it had sat, neglected in your apartment, until you had brought it into Seungmin’s office for him to look at. The next day, it had already fallen into the hands of Prosecutor Kang, but by some stroke of luck, Seungmin must have already managed to listen to it in its entirety beforehand.

“Yang Jeongin was found at around 4 in the morning, when Hwang Hyunjin, the owner of Glow Cafe, was awoken by the doorbell. The ringer of this doorbell was never identified, because any possible fingerprint evidence was already contaminated and rendered useless by the time Mr. Yang was safely transported to the ICU.”

The sound of dead leaves and dirt crunching under the soles of Jisung’s shoes gave way to hard concrete as he reached the main road. There was a soft thump as Jeongin was lowered onto the ground, Jisung’s laboured breathing filling the still night air.

Then the familiar chime of Glow Cafe’s doorbell pierced through the speakers, and you watched as Hyunjin jolted up, mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Yes. It’s exactly what you’re all thinking.” Seungmin turned to face the stunned spectators as the sound of Jisung’s footsteps grew fainter as he ran away, and the tape ended. “The defendant was the same person who saved him.”

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, grim eyes flickering between Seungmin and Jisung. “Does the defense have anything to say to this?”

For the first time since the trial had started, Jisung lifted his head. He was met with a roomful of mixed stares — apprehension, curiosity, fear — and he felt his tongue immediately dissolve into dust, the words sticking to his throat like congealed poison.

When Jisung stayed silent, Seungmin spoke carefully, “A fair trial wouldn’t be complete without hearing from the defendant himself. In his own words.” His eyes were almost gentle, fixing a steady look on Jisung’s dark, wary face. “Would you like to testify?”

Your heart was hammering in your throat as the silence grew thicker and thicker. After what felt like an eternity, it was finally broken by the creak of the chair as Jisung pushed it back and stood up. To your utter surprise, he stepped up to the middle of the room, wordlessly turning to face Seungmin. Still, the look on his face held the same blank, guarded expression you had seen so many times when your sessions with him had taken a turn for the worse, and you gripped the edge of your seat uneasily, having no idea what to expect from this turn of events.

If Seungmin was as surprised as you were, he did a better job at hiding it. He muttered something to the clerk, who began to project familiar faces and photos onto the screen. The victims, you realised, and the crime scenes. A slim woman in her thirties, her thin lips a smudge of bright red, next to a photo of charred blood and bone. The prostitute.

“Do you recognise this woman?” Seungmin asked, pointing to her picture.

Jisung frowned, furrowing his brow at the picture. Something seemed to stir in the back of his mind, but there was a dull throbbing in his temples that made it difficult to focus. “I—I’m not sure.” 

Someone in the crowd made an unconvinced sound, and Jisung shrunk back. The pictures went on and on — a corpse mangled with chemical burns, a man’s body swinging from the rooftop, a bashed-in skull on the forest floor. Each image made Jisung’s head pound, the floor beginning to spin as if threatening to split open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Did he recognise them? Glimpses of their faces flashed in the back of his mind like jumbled jigsaw pieces, but the more he tried to grab onto them, the more they fell apart. His fingertips tingled with the faint, itching memory of a stranger’s blood — strangers who, in a fleeting moment, had taken the shape of a former tormentor. Father. Mistress. Hurt. Pain. 

“I can’t — remember anything,” Jisung choked hoarsely. He remembered blacking out, and waking up. He remembered his nightmares, his flashbacks. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the faces staring back at him from the screen. 

You sound insane, a voice in the back of his mind hissed. As he met the eyes of the jury, he could almost hear what they were thinking. 

You really are a psychopath. 

Sensing the doubtful whispering beginning around the room, Seungmin hurriedly moved onto the next question. “Let’s — let’s go back to the psychiatrist’s statements, then. Mr. Han, could you tell me what it was like growing up in your family?”

His question was met with silence again, Jisung screwing his eyes shut as the prosecutor’s voice echoed in his head. Family. It was a word that brought ugly memories bubbling to the surface every time, memories made of broken beer bottles and pale, bruised cheeks. His head was aching, a cold sweat forming in his palms as he clenched his fists, stomach churning. No. No. He couldn’t talk about it — wouldn’t talk about it — 

“Can you...tell me about your mother’s eyes?”

The abrupt, familiar question, carried by the prosecutor’s softened voice, was what made Jisung open his eyes again, the trembling in his hands stilling. The room around them was shifting with confused murmurs at the strange question, but Seungmin didn’t break eye contact with the younger boy. 

The prosecutor watched Jisung’s fists slowly unclench, brow furrowing slightly as he recognised the question, and Seungmin thought back to the conversation he had had with you over the phone after you had woken up in the hospital.

“What’s this?”

“A psychiatric analysis — on Jisung,” you explained, referring to the report files you had sent the prosecutor. “I know it’s not — not much, but...”

“For all we know, it might be the only existing verbal testimony that Jisung has,” Seungmin assured you. “From what I’ve heard, he’s never opened up to anyone before. What I meant was, why are you sending it to me?”

You bit your lip. “Chan isn’t allowed to stand trial, and I — I haven’t graduated yet, so my thesis won’t be taken seriously as evidence. I can’t testify as a psychiatric expert, either. But I thought that — I could at least tell you all the questions that lead me to his diagnosis. In case you get to question him at the trial — he’ll know they’re my questions. Maybe...he’ll finally change his mind.”

Seungmin sighed wearily. “I was removed from the case this morning, Miss l/n. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to step foot into the courtroom, let alone question him.”

And so the questions had been left, buried and forgotten in the back of Seungmin’s mind — until this exact moment, when he had remembered them just in time. 

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

Jisung’s vision went black as his senses were flooded with memories, nearly sending him doubling over. His mother’s eyes. The last time he had looked into those eyes, they had already been glazing over, the life in them seeping away as her blood pooled over the broken floorboards of his childhood home. His mother’s eyes. Suddenly, it was as if he was ten years old all over again, shrouded in the shadows of a cramped closet as his father strangled the life out of his mother right in front of him. 

Guilt, he wanted to say. Pain. The kind that never goes away. Blinking feverishly, Jisung’s gaze darted around the room — and when he finally found your face in the audience, he felt his heart stop.

You were looking at him with the exact same eyes his mother had, that day. 

From your first date to this very moment, Jisung never knew why you had always reminded him so much of her — you two looked nothing alike, after all. Wherever he went, he had always been chased by fragments of the nightmares he wanted to forget, demons of his past that had taken the forms of the man at the Yellow Wood, the red-lipped hooker, Na Jangmin, Park Beomsoo. And yet every moment he spent with you, he caught familiar glimpses of her instead — pieces of the only warmth, and happiness, and home he had ever known before it had all been cruelly ripped away.

For years, the only thing he had been able to remember was that day. How his mother’s eyes had been wide and pleading as she bled out on the floor, desperately shaking her head at him before finally falling limp. The flames and endless smoke seemed to eat away at his happier memories until there was nothing left but ashes and tar. 

But you made him remember a time before everything went wrong, when things had been peaceful, when he still had somewhere — someone — to go home to.

For thirteen years, he had been running from the memory, from the feeling, afraid that confronting it would make him relive the pain all over again. But now, for the first time, Han Jisung wondered if he had missed something else among those repressed memories all along.

His mother’s eyes as she shook her head one last time had been warm, not just because they had been filled with pain and tears — but because they had been blazing with one last, unspoken message. The same one he saw reflected in your own eyes now.

When you shook your own head gently, pleading eyes brimming with tears, the message finally rang clear in his mind.

Don’t blame yourself for what happened. Han Jisung, you have to keep on living.

Stunned, he tore his gaze away, only to see Bang Chan watching him with the same expression — then Woojin, Seungmin, Felix, Yang Jeongin. Even Hwang Hyunjin had worry written all over his face — worry for him — and it all suddenly hit Jisung like a punch in the gut.

Why did all these people fight for him?

Why had his mother died for him?

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

“Love,” Jisung breathed, his soft voice filling the empty silence. “Love.” The memories were coming back to him now — not in jagged, gut-wrenching flashes, but slowly. Steadily.

For the first time in his life, Han Jisung was in control.

“Can you tell me about your parents?” Seungmin pressed gently, seeing the tension slowly leave Jisung’s body.

“My parents,” Jisung repeated. His mouth felt like it was trying the words out. He remembered once, when you had asked him the same question, his head had felt like it was on the verge of splitting. Now, the memories felt strangely detached, as if he were telling someone else’s story. “They were happy once, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.” He paused. “My...father...never wanted to get married. They never planned to...have me, but my mother refused an abortion. They — it was a shotgun wedding,” Jisung finished quietly. “And then things got worse from there.”

“What was it like growing up in your family?” Seungmin tried the question again, watching Jisung carefully.

“My old man’s favourite thing to tell me growing up was how I was never wanted,” Jisung gave a weak smile. “I think you can imagine.”

You watched as Seungmin continued asking Jisung your questions, as if slowly coaxing the answers out from the darkness and painting the cold courtroom with the scenes of Jisung’s past.

“My mother was a waitress. The work was tough, but it didn’t pay much. My father convinced her to work more shifts, so that she was around as little as possible. During that time, he…” Jisung swallowed hard. “He had his affairs with other women when she wasn’t home, and beat her bloody when she was. She always tried to hide it from me, too — said the less I knew the better, but I was getting older, and my father’s anger was slowly shifting over to me. And when his...mistresses stayed over, they started noticing me, too.” Jisung fell silent then, and you suddenly thought back to the white burn scars on his arms and legs, the numerous unexplained markings on his stomach bringing tears to your eyes. How many more did he have hidden on his body, painful reminders binding him to a past he tried so hard to forget?

“Your Honour,” Seungmin finally broke the hushed silence, “with all the information taken into consideration, I think we can confirm beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant has witnessed numerous traumatic events during his childhood — and that they more than likely worsened his mental condition as he grew older.” Seungmin turned to Jisung, remembering another question you had written in your report. “How...do you cope with the past?” 

Jisung was silent for several moments before answering, his words echoing your last therapy session. “I...don’t….like to think about it, or remember it. Every time I do, I…” he trailed off unsteadily, and he tried again. “E-every time, I...I…”

His throat was closing up again, the words echoing in his mind as if mocking him. How was he supposed to explain the headaches that never truly went away, the dizziness that hit him like a punch in the gut? Or, worse, the gaps in his memories when he blacked out, making him feel as though he were slowly going insane?

Stay silent, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Who will understand you? Who will believe you? He looked back at the roomful of faces, their cold, wary stares piercing through him like knives. You were never meant to live. You should have died on that day, thirteen years ago— 

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot.” 

The sudden memory of your voice cut through his thoughts and made him jolt in surprise— but it didn’t stop there, all the things you had once told him slowly growing louder and louder and jarring him awake from his own thoughts.

“You’re not the psychopath they’re making you out to be. I know you.”

He remembered the way you had relaxed and fallen asleep in his arms, even after you had found out they were stained with blood, because you trusted him completely.

“I don’t want you to show me. I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you, in your own words, Jisung.”

He remembered your face every time he had tried to tell you about his past — your soft, patient eyes and gentle voice, the worry and genuine concern on your face that he had always mistaken for repulsion and fear. You had been shaken, definitely, terrified, even — but you had always been willing to listen to him speak, even when Jisung had been too afraid to try.

“I like you, Han Jisung. I. Like. You.”

He met your eyes across the room then, and felt a small, incredulous breath leave his lips. It was you — it was always you, who had the power to make the walls he had built around himself crumble to dust with a single touch; you, pulling him out of the darkness he had always succumbed helplessly to; you, who had finally woken him from the living nightmare he had been trapped in his entire life. 

You reminded him what it was like to live again. You made him want to live again, without fears, without regrets.

“Mr. Han? Could you please describe how these memories make you feel? How you usually deal with them?”

“I don’t know how to,” Jisung breathed out at last. “Every time I try to remember, my...heart starts racing like my chest is about to burst. My head pounds until I can’t see anything, and — it’s like something in there...snaps. And then I...black out completely.” 

Seungmin nodded, glancing back to the nervous, red-faced man. “Do you have...anything to add or deny regarding the psychiatrist’s diagnoses?”

“You were right,” Jisung replied simply, but he wasn’t talking to the psychiatrist. He was looking straight at you, and to his own surprise, a smile tugged at his dry lips. It felt like the simple sentence had somehow set him free. “I have trouble sleeping, because I always end up having the same nightmares. There’s missing blank spots in my memories when I wake up in a place I don’t recognise, with no idea how I got there.”

Jisung watched as your eyes widened, recognising his words — he was echoing the same symptoms you had confronted him about during your last therapy session, the ones he had coldly denied out of panic and fear. “I’ve always been afraid to let people get close to me. But sometimes, there are things that — that remind me of times that I’d rather forget, and before I know it, everything begins to spiral out of control.” He gave a small smile to Seungmin, who had stayed silent, surprised at Jisung’s sudden honesty. “That’s it, then. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

You watched as Jisung’s eyes flickered around the room, face as open and tranquil as a child’s — and that was what nearly broke your heart. Knowing that somewhere, beneath the prison uniform that was too baggy for his lean, tired frame, was the shell of a child the world had failed, a child that had given up asking to be saved.

“No further questions,” Seungmin said quietly, and Jisung walked back to his seat as the young prosecutor turned to face the judge. “Your Honour,” he began slowly, as if momentarily unable to find the words. “I think we have reason to believe that the attacks were provoked — not exactly by the victims themselves, but from past traumas that were never dealt with properly, and triggered again and again until they spiralled out of control.”

Seungmin raised his voice then, for the entire courtroom to hear, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the fluttering nerves in his body. “The scattered killing patterns were never planned. The correlations between the victims and causes of death don’t show a serial killer’s M.O., they show triggers.” He took a shaky breath. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t a serial killer case. It isn’t the case of a psychopath on some nonsensical, murderous rampage. This is the aftereffect of a domestic violence case gone cold and swept under the rug over a decade ago — and we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

The judge fixed Seungmin with a cold, steely look over her glasses. “Prosecutor Kim. Remember that you cannot — should not — let your emotions get in the way in a court of law. You are supposed to assess the case with cold reasoning and logic.”

Seungmin looked down, heart hammering in his throat. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have been ashamed, and apologised immediately. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have thought he was crazy for crossing the line.

He realised, in that moment, that he hated the old Kim Seungmin with a passion.

“Emotions don’t always get in the way,” he found himself saying, eyes flickering to you in the audience, “and they don’t always make you weak.” Seungmin thought of Prosecutor Kang then, and his voice grew stronger. “If anything, they keep you human.”

He looked back up at the judge now, whose face had frozen in surprise. “When did justice become so cold? We’re taught that the law is supposed to protect the vulnerable, not prosecute them.”

The judge looked visibly shaken, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as her eyes darted wildly between Seungmin and Jisung. Finally, with an unfathomable expression on her face, she turned towards the jury, clearing her throat unsteadily. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that concludes the evidence to be presented on this case. You are now to deliberate, and determine whether or not Han Jisung is guilty of nineteen counts of first-degree murder, assault, and arson. 

“If you believe that this has been proved beyond a reasonable doubt, then you should find the defendant guilty, and eligible for capital punishment.”

Capital punishment, you thought, the words sweeping a breath of cold across the room. The death penalty.

“The court stands adjourned until the verdict of the jury.”

━━━━━━━━

Over an hour had passed since the jury had stepped into the deliberation suite, and each tick of the clock on the wall made you more and more nauseous. You put your head down, hands buried in your hair as if that could calm the anxiety thrumming through your veins. A few times, you had heard shouting and angry, raised voices coming from the room the jury was in. Each passing minute seemed to make the weight of the situation more obvious, the tension in the courtroom thick and suffocating.

Felix was rubbing your back as soothingly as he could. “y/n, hey, look at me — deep breaths, okay? You’re okay—”

He was cut off when you lifted your head to look at him, cursing the tears already welling in your eyes. You hated feeling this way — you felt so weak and powerless, and just imagining how much of a mess you must have looked made it even worse. You promised yourself you would stay calm, but every thought that crossed your mind kept leading to another until you were exhausted and overwhelmed.

“They could walk out any minute, ‘lix,” you told him, voice wavering as the weight of your own words sunk in. “They could walk out any minute, and end his life.”

You couldn’t even say Jisung’s name out loud, let alone look him in the eyes. Felix watched as you wiped furiously at your own tears, the sight of you so distressed rendering him speechless, and he did the only thing he could think of. Grimly, your best friend pulled you into a hug, and his reassuring warmth in the cold courtroom made you want to break down all over again. Around you, you could hear mixed opinions being exchanged.

“That poor boy.”

“Who could have guessed the case would take a turn like this? But do you believe him?”

“A murderer is still a murderer — he’s too dangerous to be left alive, don’t you think?”

You were beginning to wish you had taken Hyunjin and Woojin’s offer to step out of the room for fresh air when the heavy doors swung open, making a hush fall over the room. The jury filed in just as Hyunjin and the police captain returned and took their seats.

“Order in the court,” the clerk called, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

The forewoman nodded grimly. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“Those in favour of sentencing the accused, Han Jisung, to capital punishment, please rise.”

The words sent an icy shock down your spine, the entire room seeming to hold its breath as they watched the jury. You didn’t dare move, as if by doing so, you could prevent the next moments from coming crashing down on you, as if somehow, you could stop the horrible verdict from coming true. It was as if everyone had frozen still, time stopping for what felt like the longest moment of your life.

The ticking of the clock pricked your ears, and you suddenly realised that time hadn’t stopped. 

No one in the jury had moved to stand up.

“The jury returns a verdict of not guilty, despite believing that the accused committed the crimes he is charged with,” the forewoman standing at the front of the jury said, and the members behind her nodded. “This verdict was unanimous.”

“They all agree that Jisung killed those people,” you heard Hyunjin’s stunned voice behind you, “but they’re returning a verdict of not guilty? What does that mean?”

“Jury nullification,” both Chan and Seungmin spoke at the same time, and the room turned to look at the younger prosecutor as he spoke up. 

“The jury has the right to overturn the law, if they believe the law was used incorrectly—”

A reporter behind you blurted out angrily, “Are you suggesting that the murders were delusional, Prosecutor Kim?”

“Or,” Seungmin continued, his voice growing stronger than ever before as he saw the eyes of the judge and his coworkers widen in disbelief. I must be insane, he thought, but he couldn’t stop the words coming from his mouth. “Or, the jury disagrees with the law the prosecution has chosen to charge the defendant under.” He picked up Prosecutor Kang’s case file from the desk, flipping over the papers. “First degree murder.”

The forewoman nodded. “The law Han Jisung is being tried with was immorally and wrongly applied to him in the first place. We believe he caused the killings, without a doubt, but with the circumstances presented, we cannot convict him of serial first degree murder.”

“The previous prosecutor claimed these charges without making any effort to consider Han Jisung’s past,” one man on the jury added, “All the evidence proves a history of abuse and trauma that lead to an unstable mental condition.”

Their words sounded strangely familiar, and your eyes immediately widened when you realised why. “Those — those are the words from my psych report,” you whispered breathlessly to Felix, “Quoted, word for word. They must have all read your articles — we did it, ‘lix, it really worked.”

“But murder is murder. He should be held accountable,” a spectator protested across the room. He was immediately silenced by the bailiff, but not before Seungmin turned to him with a steady stare.

“‘Murder is murder’,” Seungmin echoed, “‘The world of law is cold.’ ‘The law is harsh, but it is the law.’  Those are the phrases you always hear in court. And those are the same beliefs that cost vulnerable people their lives.”

Hyunjin looked at Jeongin, whose gaze were cast to the floor, eyes stormy. 

Seungmin continued, “You lose your empathy, and mark complex cases like these under ‘mass murderer’, or ‘psychopath’ without bothering to truly investigate the gray areas, because you think doing so would be—” his mind flashed to Kang, “a waste of time.” He looked at Jisung now, a boy who had been confined by labels his entire life: problem child, delinquent, murderer, monster. “Han Jisung is worth more than that. There’s more to him than his past, than his abusers, than the mental torment he’s suffered through for years.

“He’s a boy who never got the chance at life he deserved. The system has failed him once, and we cannot — should not — hold his trial like this.” Seungmin turned to the judge one last time, eyes burning with sincerity. “Your Honour. Will you end this vicious cycle of use and abuse, once and for all? Or will you choose, once again, to sweep it back into the shadows?”

She was staring back at him with a look that should have petrified Seungmin on the spot, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand his ground. There was a long, weighted silence. Finally, the judge shook her head slowly, and Seungmin swore he saw the smallest of smiles tug at her taut mouth as she turned to face the rest of the courtroom. 

You felt your heart nearly leap out of your throat when the verdict finally fell from the judge’s lips.

“I hereby pronounce Han Jisung...not guilty.”

If you hadn’t been sitting down, you were sure you would have collapsed onto the floor.

The world was spinning around you, the sheer relief washing over you in overwhelming waves and turning your limbs to jelly. In your peripheral vision, you saw Hyunjin’s mouth drop open in astonishment, Felix turning to you with an incredulous smile on his face, Chan and Woojin completely frozen. 

You barely registered the judge’s voice as she continued speaking, the rest of her words passing through you as if you were made of thin air. Pardoned on the death of his father and the arson of his childhood home by reason of self-defense. Regarding the Miroh Heights killings, the defendant was unable to understand the significance of his criminal actions due to a pre-existing mental condition. He is acquitted from the death penalty, and will serve no prison time.

However, he will be transferred to a psychiatric institution and closely monitored for the time being. The suitable amount of time he is to spend there will be prescribed on a later date after the case is properly re-examined...

People were talking around you, one of your friends was calling your name, and you swore you even heard a few people clapping, but you weren’t listening anymore. There was only one other person on your mind.

When your eyes found Jisung’s face, he was looking straight at you — with the same look in his eyes that had given you butterflies the first time you met him, and the same look in his eyes you had seen before you had fallen unconscious, bleeding out in his arms.

He was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

━━━━━━━━

“You had some nerve back there, Prosecutor Kim.”

The courtroom had been emptied out, and Seungmin had been collecting his files and notes when he heard a voice from behind him. At first, he thought he had misheard — people were buzzing outside in the lobby, the commotion so loud it seemed to be humming through the walls — but he turned around, and saw the judge walking up to him.

Bits and pieces of the trial came back to him, and Seungmin cringed inwardly as he met her hard gaze. Just how many lines had he crossed? Years of being careful, meticulous, completely down the drain— 

“You had some nerve back there,” she repeated, and Seungmin lowered his eyes. He heard her sigh deeply. “But you’re a fine prosecutor, Kim.”

Stunned, Seungmin raised his head, and realised with a start that she was smiling at him. “I haven’t seen your kind in a while. It was refreshing, to say the least, and it puts me at ease to know that this field still has people like you.”

She tucked her glasses into her robes, turning to leave.

“Never change, Prosecutor Kim.”

━━━━━━━━

“Prosecutor Kang, look this way!”

Kang was blinded by flashing cameras the moment he stepped out from the holding cell. The older prosecutor’s eyes were dark as he was pushed through the mob of reporters and citizens, the guards flanking him making no effort to be gentle.

“Is it true you hid crucial evidence from your own prosecution?”

“Did you bribe your own witnesses?”

“How many other cases have you tampered with?”

“None!” Kang snarled at the reporter, desperation rising in his throat like bile. “Lies—I’ve never wrongfully convicted a single person. These are all—” 

“You’re the liar.”

The crowd stopped, turning towards the voice that had shouted over them. Yang Jeongin was standing at the end of the hallway, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Just the sight of Kang was enough to make him tremble like a young child again, words stuck momentarily in his throat. This was the same man he had met in court all those years ago, the man who had mercilessly delivered his father’s life sentence with a snakelike smile on his pale lips. Taking a shaky breath, Jeongin mustered up his courage, and ran up to him.

“Please stop this already,” Jeongin pleaded, eyes searching Kang’s bewildered face for signs of guilt, remorse, anything. Kang didn’t seem to recognise him, and the young boy’s voice was breaking as he fought back tears. “Please tell the truth, just this once. I-I don’t know why you’re doing this, but—it doesn’t have to be this way—”

There was a gasp as a few reporters stumbled, and the crowd rippled forward. Kang was knocked off-balance, tumbling to the ground. He cursed, fumbling to get back on his feet — and saw a hand, outstretched towards him from a hoodie sleeve that was clearly too large for its owner. He looked up into the young boy’s face again, his fox-like eyes widened in concern, and finally realised with a jolt who he was talking to.

Nearly a decade ago, Kang thought — an old fool who had picked a fight with high-ranking company officials, no? And then the crackpot had pleaded with Kang, saying something about a son he had to take care of — a young boy— 

Jeongin put his hand on Kang’s arm when the prosecutor didn’t move, and pulled him up. “Mr. Kang, my father—”

Feeling a sudden rage surge through his body, Kang drew his fist back and punched the boy across his jaw. 

Jeongin crumpled to the ground, the side of his face already blooming with red. “You brat,” Kang seethed as cries of horror erupted from the crowd, guards seizing him and trying to pull him away. “What do you understand? Han Jisung, your old man — people like them don’t deserve to walk free.”

You had just stepped out of the courtroom when a commotion in the hallway had made you look over, the scene that had greeted your eyes making you freeze. Jeongin had been clutching Prosecutor Kang’s arm, looking up at the older man imploringly — and his expression had been genuinely kind, almost pitying, his mouth opening and closing frantically as though he were pleading with him. You had shaken your head in disbelief, trying to push through the throng of shocked citizens — only Yang Jeongin’s heart was big enough to look his parents’ tormentor in the eyes, and help him. 

Then Kang had suddenly struck Jeongin, and now the delivery boy was curling up in pain on the ground as the prosecutor screamed at him.

“They were foolish enough — depraved enough  — to violate those laws, and I charged them with what they deserved. It’s as simple as—”

The next thing you knew, you were in front of Kang, palm outstretched, and you had slapped him hard across the face.

The entire crowd fell dead silent, Jeongin looking up at you from the floor in dazed disbelief. Even Kang was speechless as he looked back at you, holding his jaw, eyes about to pop out of their sockets.

“It seems like you know everything about law, Prosecutor Kang,” you said, voice shaking with anger, “but you know nothing about being human.”

Kang opened his mouth, but for once, nothing came out. The hallway was erupting in chaos again as cameras clicked and flashed eagerly. The guards began to drag Kang away before it could get more hectic, your last glimpses of the corrupt prosecutor disappearing behind the reporters’ bobbing heads. As you helped Jeongin up, checking his head worriedly, you felt a hand pull at your own arm. You turned to see Hyunjin, and judging by the look on his face, he had seen everything.

“Is this just going to be a thing now?” The barista asked, side-eyeing you wearily as he held onto Jeongin protectively, “Are you just going to start slapping everyone who crosses you?”

“Maybe,” you muttered mutinously. “It’s faster, and less emotionally draining than negotiating.”

“You’re studying to be a therapist, y/n,” Hyunjin reminded you exasperatedly, and you let out a small laugh, pouting slightly. The barista smiled too, despite himself, and you both looked over at Jeongin. The boy’s eyes were staring over the crowd’s heads, through the lobby doors, and you realised he was watching the officers push Kang into the police cruiser — the man who had ruined his parents’ lives, finally handcuffed and headed where he was supposed to be.  

You turned around, and caught sight of another familiar face further down the hallway, standing perfectly still despite the crowd of people rushing past around him. 

Lee Minho’s face was turned away from you, his catlike eyes staring at something with the same, unfathomable expression you had come to grow so accustomed to. You remembered how you had once been afraid of the coroner and his strange, standoffish manner, but now, as you watched him from afar, you felt a small pang of sympathy. Minho always carried himself like a ghost, you realised — a shadow lingering in the corners of rooms and corridors, unsure if he was ever wanted.

You quickly excused yourself from Hyunjin and Jeongin and you began to push through the crowd towards the coroner. As you followed his gaze to the holding cell doors, they suddenly swung open, and Jisung stepped out into the hallway. Your steps slowed. The two stood facing each other for several long moments — two childhood friends, two lost children who had found their only sense of family — twisted though it had been — in each other. Minho’s face was hesitant, as if about to turn away, but Jisung had already begun walking up to him. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, Jisung’s back turned to you and Minho awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. 

Then Jisung suddenly closed the gap between the two of them, and pulled Minho into a hug.

You watched as the ex-coroner’s mask finally shattered, the older boy’s face scrunching up like a child’s as he buried his head in Jisung’s shoulder. His entire body shook with silent sobs, as if something in him had finally been let go, a burden he had carried his entire life lifted off his chest. 

Eventually, the guards stepped forward, and Minho pulled away. He looked at Jisung with a small smile on his face — the first genuine smile you had ever seen from him — and you managed to catch the words forming on his lips. 

“Goodbye, Han Jisung.”

“He’ll probably need to go through a trial of his own.” Chan’s voice made you jump in surprise. He had come up beside you while you had been distracted, Felix and Woojin close behind him. He nodded at you by way of greeting before turning back to where Jisung was standing. “The coroner, I mean. But he’ll likely get around five years in prison, more or less.”

You watched as Minho was ushered away into another corridor, Jisung staring at the empty spot where he had once stood. Before you could reply, he turned around, eyes landing on yours — and all of a sudden, you forgot about the security guards flanking every doorway, the law officials and reporters brushing briskly past you. For a moment, it was as if it were only you and Jisung in the hallway, the entire world standing still around the two of you.

Since the last time you had spoken to him had ended with you slapping him in the face, you decided that it was only right for you to take the first step towards him. Slowly, feeling as if you were in a dream, you made your way towards him, Jisung walking the rest of the way to meet you in the middle.  

“Hey, you.” Jisung’s voice was soft, nearly inaudible, not taking his hazel eyes off yours.

You heard Chan chuckle behind you, shaking his head as he threw his arms around Felix and Woojin’s shoulders to steer them away and leave you two in private. The hallways had nearly cleared out, and for the first time in what felt like forever — if you ignored the guards watching a little ways off from the holding cells —  you and Jisung were alone together.

There were a thousand things racing through your mind right now, but you couldn’t seem to find the right words to say. 

“Five years,” Jisung tentatively broke the silence again, and when you looked back at him in confusion, he continued, “in the psychiatric institute. They told me five years minimum, on watch. But I heard...it’s a nice place.”

His lopsided, sheepish smile was as infectious as ever, making one tug at your own lips. When Jisung saw you smile, he relaxed just the tiniest amount.

“Y-you’re going to be okay?” You finally asked, feeling your voice waver. 

Jisung’s gaze softened, nodding. “You saved me.”

“No.” You shook your head firmly. You knew he was talking about Seungmin’s arguments, Jeongin’s witness statements, the article you and Felix had published — but it all might have been for nothing, you thought, mind flashing back to the courtroom, if Jisung hadn’t finally stepped up from his chair and faced his lifelong traumas in the form of one last, truthful testimony. “Han Jisung, you saved yourself.”

He fell silent at that, and you saw his hand instinctively move towards yours for a split second before he quickly stopped himself. Jisung’s arms were floating by his sides, as if wanting to pull you close, but he was holding himself back. He was afraid, you finally realised — afraid that you would push him away, afraid to ever hurt you again. And for some, inexplicable reason, the idea of a rift between the two of you that could never be repaired seemed to hurt even more than a switchblade to the heart.

“For some reason, I’ve been thinking back to our first date,” Jisung cleared his throat, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He probably looked like a nervous schoolboy in front of his first love, Jisung thought, cringing at himself as he looked away from your curious gaze. Well, he added as an afterthought, that wouldn’t be too far off.

You were his first love, after all.  

“I...I didn’t know how you felt that day,” Jisung continued, “or even the days after that, to be honest. I didn’t know if I was doing things right, or—”

“You took my breath away,” you cut him off, the honesty in your own words making your cheeks heat up. You thought back to the diner, to the blond boy who had rendered you speechless with a single heart-shaped smile. As an afterthought, you brought a hand to your rib cage, where a switchblade in that same boy’s hands had once punctured through your lungs, and you deadpanned, “literally.”

Eyebrows raising in disbelief, Jisung gave an incredulous laugh, but his gaze was fixed on the site of your wound. You could still see the deep guilt in his eyes, and, taking a deep breath, you reached for his hand, gingerly placing it where the knife had been. His skin was cool against your fingers, palm rough but familiar. “I’m okay, Jisung. It’s okay. But...why bring that up, all of a sudden?”

“I feel like that now,” he admitted softly, “the same feeling, but with a whole new set of butterflies. Always thinking about you, worrying about you. Wondering how you feel about…”

“Us,” you finished for him, and Jisung nodded slowly. Us. The word hung between the two of you for a long moment, and you took a shaky breath. A part of you wanted to reassure him, to pull him into your arms as if nothing had ever changed. But another part of you pushed that feeling away, knowing deep down that it was too late, that too much had already happened between the two of you to just ignore.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, and you looked down, afraid to see the expression on his face. “I woke up that morning, and you were just...gone. I was so scared for you, I went looking for you...then one thing lead to another, and before we all knew it, the world had turned upside down. I-it might sound selfish, but after all...this, I think I’m going to need some...time.” You finally lifted your eyes up to his face, heart pounding. For a terrifying second, you thought you saw a flash of pain skip across Jisung’s pupils — but before you could be sure, his face broke into a relieved smile. 

“You’ve always been like this, you know?” He sighed, one hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then, contrary to what you had expected, Jisung visibly relaxed. “Worrying about other people before taking care of yourself. You’re not being selfish, okay? Don’t...worry about hurting me anymore.”

You stared at him, the genuine warmth in his words suddenly making your throat close up with stunned tears. Jisung’s eyes, you remembered, had always seemed glazed over and unfocused — as if his mind was trapped somewhere else, far, far away. But as he looked back at you now, you were suddenly hit by how...clear they had become. He was here, perfectly focused on you, eyes filled with what you could only describe as pure adoration.

“I need time, too,” Jisung continued quickly, “I have...so many things I need to fix, to work on, and get better at—”

You shook your head furiously then, tears spilling onto your cheeks as you held onto his wrist. “W-want to love every part of you,” you whispered, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Don’t...don’t hide any parts of yourself, ever again. Okay?”

Jisung watched you for a long moment, brow furrowed as he gingerly wiped your tears, and finally gave a small nod. He cradled your face in his hands, eyes trying to memorise your features as though you were the most beautiful thing he would ever see. To someone else, you thought vaguely, you might have looked insane. A killer’s hands, they might have said, bloodstained hands. But as you gazed up at Jisung, all you saw was a boy who had gone through hell and came back smiling, a boy who loved you more than life itself.

You heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see several security guards making their way towards Jisung. “Mr. Han,” one called gruffly, “it’s time to go.”

The sudden interruption made your mind go blank momentarily as any reasonable words — goodbye, take care — immediately dissolved on your tongue. The guards were getting closer and closer, and Jisung turned back to you, stammering. 

“If you ever want to—to do this whole...love thing again, start over properly, I—I promise I’ll try not to screw it up. I mean, if you’re sure—and only if you’re sure,” he paused then, sounding suddenly flustered, and for a second, he was your tousled-hair, golden boy from the diner again, soft cheeks flushed like windblown peach roses, eyes unsure yet hopeful as a child’s. This was the boy you had fallen in love with, over blueberry pancakes and Chinese takeout, on seemingly endless nights and through the darkest thunderstorms. Ever since you had made that promise, in a children’s playground beneath the setting sun, you knew that somehow, no matter what fate had left in store, you would always find your way back to him. 

Jisung was already being ushered away, the sudden absence of his touch on your skin leaving you feeling empty — but his last words brought a smile to your tearstained face.

“...I’ll be waiting.”

ryu says:

thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who made it to the end of this series; to everyone who came on this long journey with me, you made it possible and amazing every step of the way. at times, as my first ever series and long-term project, it was both daunting and terrifying, but i am beyond happy and honoured i could experience it with you.

i’ll see you in the epilogue.

[searedwood]

30 Day Gay Journal Prompts

This is specifically designed for Pride Month and self celebration, but this can be for literally any other use. Except hate. No hate allowed.

Day 1- Write your preferred name(s), pronouns, nice nouns (nouns you like to be referred to as), and bad nouns (nouns you don't like to be referred to as).

Day 2- Record your triggers, from really bad to not as bad to getting over it. Add any specifications or notes if you feel like you need them. This is so you can identify what makes you uncomfortable or panicked, which will help you be able to identify and avoid a situation in which you may feel threatened, uncomfortable, or panicked.

Day 3- Make a list of signs that you are having a panic attack. This will help you be able to communicate to close friends or family members what may happen in an event you become panicked. This will also help you identify when you're having a panic attack, which will help you be able to calm down. Additionally, record some ways that will help stop the panic attack. For me, some ways of calming down are to go outside, my stuffie, breathing and grounding exercises, comfort music, and puns or jokes.

Day 4- Take some time and think about what makes you happy and relaxed. Write down your comfort music, comfort videos, and comfort characters. If you have a comfort game or movie, include that as well. This is to help you identify a source of calm, relaxation, and happiness that you can easily fall back on if you are uncomfortable or scared.

Day 5- Do some research on LGBTQIA+ labels, flags, and symbols. Write down your gender identity and what it means for you. Write down your sexual and romantic orientations as well, and what they mean for you. Additionally, draw little Pride Flags and symbols beside each label. I drew the genderfaunet flag on the inside cover of my journal, along with corresponding flowers that represent what I see in my identity, as well as what I hope to integrate into myself (Snowdrop - rebirth, Chrysanthemum - truth, Rose leaves - hope, Lilacs - growth/progress, Yarrow - healing, and Narcissus - self love)

Day 6- Write down the titles of your favorite LGBTQIA+ books, movies, TV shows, and games, or titles you want to see/read/play. Do a little digging and find out what titles sound interesting. Supporting LGBTQIA+ creators is a wonderful way to celebrate Pride.

Day 7- Journaling doesn't have to be just writing. Try drawing some LGBTQIA+ inspired art, whether it's just a few doodles, a flag or two, or a beautiful painting. Dedicate this entry to expressing yourself and your identity in a way without words.

Day 8- Write gay poetry. You may not think yourself talented or particularly good at writing poems, but that doesn't mean you should keep yourself from doing it, even for a day. Poetry is a wonderful way to bend language to your will and express yourself in a way that only you have to understand. Write a poem expressing your experience in the LGBTQIA+ community, or a poem detailing your first gay crush. Whatever you feel on your heart today, put it into beautifully unique words.

Day 9- Write about the moment you realized you weren't straight or binary. Alternatively, write about the moment you learned what the LGBTQIA+ community was. Describe your feelings and thoughts in the moment, and reflect over how they have changed and evolved over time.

Day 10- Take a moment and think about where you would be if LGBTQIA+ rights have existed all along, without the need for reform laws or protests. Write down who you think you would be, how you would live, and how easy it would be to do things you can't right now. At the same time, think about the disadvantages. Consider the lack of a fight for freedom and how that may influence your opinion or thoughts.

Day 11- Write a letter to your younger self. Tell your younger self about who you are and who you've become. Give them words of encouragement about the journey ahead. Remind your younger self that no matter what happens, you turn out to be a wonderful and beautiful person.

Day 12- Write a letter to your older self. Detail your present experience as a member/ally of the LGBTQIA+ community. Present your ideas about where the community will be moving forward and how much progress society as a whole will make. Ask yourself some questions, like "How do you celebrate your identity?" Later in the future, you can come back to this letter and respond.

Day 13- Learn some phrases or words of Polari. Polari is a critically endangered language invented by young gay men living in Britain. It was also used by circus men and theatre kids. Few LGBTQIA+ people now know of the language, so there's no better time to try to revive it.

Day 14- Do some research on Pride history. Record interesting or important events that marked the history of the LGBTQIA+ community. What happened at the first Pride Parade? Who was the first advocate for gay and lesbian marriage? What was the LGBTQIA+ community like before it was acceptable to be openly queer?

Day 15- Write a letter to those that are anti-LGBTQIA+. Explain why queer rights are humans rights. Tell them that love is love. Or, if you're feeling like letting loose that anger, just tell them off. This letter is for your eyes only, so don't be afraid to get mean if it makes you feel better.

Day 16- Take a moment and think about how you wish to represent yourself. Do you want to wear skirts and dresses? Do you prefer baggy pants and a puffy jacket? Do you like wearing makeup? How do you style your hair? Record how you currently dress and look and how you wish you could dress and look. Write about how your wishes reflect your identity.

Day 17- Write some ways you can improve on the way you treat yourself. Are you hard on yourself because you just can't make the right grade? Do you obsess over how you don't fit in to your family's standards of gender and sexuality? Give yourself some love and think about how you can be nicer to yourself. Remind yourself that school grades aren't more important than your own needs. Remember that if you are in an unhealthy relationship with friends or family, it isn't your fault.

Day 18- Write about what really makes you feel like yourself. You know better than anyone what your authentic self is. So what is it? What makes you feel really... you?

Day 19- If someone described you, what would they say? This can be anything from physical appearance to personality. This can help you think about how you present yourself to others. Do you want more people to know exactly what gender you identify as? Do you not want people to know what pronouns you prefer?

Day 20- Do some research on neopronouns. If you don't use any, perhaps you'll find a set or three you feel comfortable with (if not, that's fine!) If you can't do your own research, try making up your own set! I sometimes feel semi-feminine, like just a little teaspoon of femininity, but I don't really like she/her pronouns. So, I made for myself a set that sounds similar but isn't quite there. Xe/Xer/Xers/Xerself. The 'x' is pronounced like the 's' in 'measure.' A good way to make sure you know how to use a set of neopronouns in a sentence is to use this example I got from pronouny: Today I went to the park with xer. Xe brought xer frisbee. At least, I think it was xers. By the end of the day, xe was throwing the frisbee to xerself.

Day 21- Have you heard the phrase "black sheep of the herd"? It refers to someone that doesn't really fit in to their social group. In what ways are you the black sheep? Is it because of your identity or orientation? How can you help others to see you aren't different and shouldn't be alienated? How can you encourage people to welcome LGBTQIA+ people to the herd?

Day 22- Imagine you are teaching a class of young children about LGBTQIA+, gender, and sexual/romantic orientations. What would you say? How would you encourage them to be open minded and to explore their own identities?

Day 23- With great Pride comes great hardships. There are many obstacles and difficulties when it comes to finding your true self and figuring out your identity and orientation. What hardships have you overcome? What have you learned from them?

Day 24- One of your friends comes to you about having questions about gender identity. They are questioning their own identity and seek your help and support. List some ways you would help your friend feel supported and loved while also helping them discover their identity.

Day 25- List three things you would do if you weren't afraid. (For me, these would easily be: attending Pride Parades, advocating for queer rights, and coming out)

Day 26- Take your favorite or least favorite LGBTQIA+ ship and rewrite a scene as if they were together, or list some of your favorite queer ships.

Day 27- Discover some gender-neutral terms for things like family members, romantic partners, or honorifics (Mister, Miss, Mx.). If you can't find any you find interesting or comfortable, try creating some of your own. My pibling (parent+sibling) calls me their nibling or nibkid (NB term for sibling's child).

Day 28- Have you ever wanted to write a story? Record an idea or two, or three or four, for LGBTQIA+ stories. They can be anything from lesbian princesses to a coming-of-age trans story. Maybe you'll end up planning out your best seller!

Day 29- Think about what rights aren't granted to LGBTQIA+ people. What are they? Do they directly affect you as well? How do these lack of rights make you feel? What can you do to help advocate for these rights?

Day 30- The last day of Pride Month doesn't mean it's the last day of acceptance and love. How can you spread Pride throughout the year? How can you keep and open mind and heart and advocate for LGBTQIA+ rights? Maybe set a list of goals for yourself, things you want to keep up through the year.

[your-eternal-muse]

Kinda Wish She Were Dead

Heather Series Part 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Bonus! Readers Card Confession Series Playlist 

Summery: During a night out on the town with the girls, Reader see’s something she wasn’t supposed to.

Words: 3.7k (my longest yet!)

Warnings: Swearing, a few sexual innuendos, Cheating, Mentions of Alcohol, and a fabulous right hook.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Heather Carmichael, Spencer Reid x eventual Female!Reader 

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one....turn it up! Also, the song that inspired this chapter. For the meaning of the song, not that fucking boat scene.

~~~~

It’s hot.

Like “laying naked in the middle of your apartment with the air cranked and every fan blowing on you” hot.

I’m one of the lucky ones.

My old apartment was renovated to include central air a few years before I moved in.

Still, the humidity was smothering.

So why was I putting a full face of makeup on, knowing damn well I’m gonna sweat it off before the end of the night?

Because why the hell not?

It’s the first time I’ve made plans with the girls in months, and I deserve to feel pretty, even if only for an hour or two.

My therapist tells me I’m making progress.

And it finally feels like I am.

I don’t hate the day before it even starts when I wake up.

I hardly close my curtains anymore.

I’d like to say that with her help, everything went back to normal.

I go to work and come home. I hang out with my friends, water my potted plants. Talk to Spencer like I never confessed my love for him.

But it didn’t.

I haven’t really spoken to Spencer since the day I left.

I’ve wanted to.

I’ve wanted to tell him that I’m here. I’m still here. That I’m always going to be here.

That I care about him more than probably life itself.

Ever since I came back, we’ve had to work together, and we’ve had a few small conversations, but nothing like what we used to have.

I crave those conversations.

How we would bounce back and forth from idea to idea, topic to topic without so much as breaking a sweat.

The late night conversations about the probability of aliens, and life on the opposite side of the universe.

I crave him, and the intimacy he brought.

Lately though, he’s been coming to work with a sullen look on his face.

He shows up earlier, and stays later, drowning himself in his paperwork.

When her calls interrupt a caseload, he no longer eagerly picks up to hear what she has to say.

All I want to do is walk over and ask him how he’s doing. How the married life is treating him. If there’s anything I can do to help lift his spirits.

But I can’t.

I’d be overstepping a boundary I didn’t even know I created that night out on the balcony.

Knocking on my door snaps me out of my daze, and I quickly cap my lipstick, making my way towards my front door where my night stands, waiting.

JJ, Emily, and Penelope are waiting, big smiles and laughter bubbling from their lips.

I let the smile spread across my face.

“I just need to grab my shoes and then I’ll be ready.” I usher them into my hallway, running back to my bedroom to grab the pair of heels resting by my closet.

I sit on my bed, slipping them on with ease and grabbing my bag on my way out.

They all ooh and ahh when I step into the light of my kitchen, and JJ grabs my hand, twirling me in place so they can get a better look at my outfit.

“I almost forgot you had party attire, y/n.” 

“God, I wish I had an ass like that. I’m older than you. That’s not fair.” Emily says, landing a playful slap against the fabric of my skirt. 

“Oh stop it, you flatter me.” Once upon a time, the attention would have made me antsy. The voice in my head would whisper that they were lying to me, that they really thought I was the ugliest thing in existence. 

That was then, and this is now. Now the confidence shines off of me like a spotlight.

“You deserve to be flattered, you beautiful goddess you.” Penelope says, her hands waving in the air.

I take a look in the new mirror that hangs in my hallway, and I can’t help but agree. The tight black skirt accentuates my curves, the low cut golden crop top that sticks to me like another skin puts the girls on display, and my heels give me legs for days.

I look damn good.

“Okay okay okay, pre-game selfie!” Penelope grabs her phone and holds up in front of her while we gather around. 

She snaps the picture and within a few quick taps, a buzzing emits from my bag. 

I dig my phone out, seeing the picture pop up in my notifications. 

JJ has her arms wrapped around me, and I’m pressed to Penelope's side. Emily stands over us, one hand on JJ’s shoulder, the other on Penelopes. 

I don’t think I could fake a smile like the one on my face even if I wanted to. 

I save it to my phone.

~~~

If I thought being in my house, alone, with air conditioning was bad, then I shouldn't have even bothered coming out.

The bar, albeit small, was packed. 

Even if there was a breeze, or any airflow at all, the combined body heat of the crowd would have swallowed it up.

I couldn’t really bring it in me to care all that much, though.

The dim lights and heat left my skin with a sexy shine, bringing attention to all the right places. 

I could feel the eyes on me. 

The ones belonging to men wanting to drown their sorrows in a woman like me, one who appears vulnerable, willing to go along for the ride.

It’s been a while, since I’ve had the attention of the opposite gender, especially this very specific kind of attention.

It feels good, in a way. To be wanted so openly. But it doesn’t mean jack to me, not if it’s not the pair of eyes I’ve been desperate to catch.

I should stop thinking about him.

It’s a girls night out. I don’t have to think, or worry about anything. 

Besides, he’s probably busy doing other things. Thinking about me is the last thing on his mind.

I laugh and take a sip from the Shirley temple sitting in front of me, laughing as JJ recounts a story about will and a botched attempt at breakfast in bed.

I pick a cherry up from the fizzy drink, and bite the end off, relishing in the sweet flavor. I pop the stem in my mouth, twirling it around my tongue as I listen to the conversation, pulling it between my teeth and setting it down on the table in a knot.

“Oh my god. Did you just tie a cherry stem with your tongue?” Penelope is cheesing from the other side of the table, the bright pink straw of her margarita almost to her lips.

I laugh, holding it up for them to inspect. 

“You know what that means.” Emily says, taking a sip from her own drink, before continuing her thought. “You, my friend, can give great head.”

A blush covers my cheek, but I cock an eyebrow. “Who told you?”

The three women burst into high pitched laughter, and I see Pen pull out her phone. She holds it up to me. 

“Do it again. The internet needs to be blessed with this knowledge.”

I chuckle again, the spirit of the night enough to get me drunk off the energy. I grab another cherry from my drink, sucking the end into my mouth before popping it off, and swallowing it. 

“Alright, we have one, untied cherry stem before us.” I hold out the stem for the camera to see. “Now watch as I tie it with no hands.”  I stick out my tongue, placing it in the middle before closing my mouth. 

I rest my elbows on the table, working my tongue around the stem, forcing it into submission to do exactly what I want. 

Within 15 seconds, I pull it through my teeth, and hold up a tied cherry stem. 

“Ta-da! Magic.” I place it on the table as they clap, smiles wide and goofy from their own alcoholic concoctions. 

“She’s single people. And there’s a line forming so shoot your shot.” JJ is the one to speak to the camera, and I giggle, taking another sip. 

Penelope brings her phone down, and within a minute my phone buzzes again, this time with the notification of the video being posted. 

There are worse things to be posted on the internet about me.

“I never knew you could do that, y/n/n.” Pen says, taking a sip from her drink. 

I run a hand through my hair, shrugging. “Didn’t think I needed to put it on my resume. It’s mostly a party trick I use when I like someone. I haven’t used it in years though.”

The unspoken question lingers on the air. 

“No, I never showed Spencer. But I’m sure it’d blow his mind. The way that man applies math and logic to everything he does just solidifies the fact that I know he wouldn’t be able to do it.”

It’s been a while since I’ve joked about him openly, but it wasn’t forced. It didn’t hurt. 

It was just a natural statement.

“Have you guys noticed that something’s up with him? He seems distant lately.” JJ says, leaning in closer so she doesn’t have to talk over the crowd. 

“Okay, so it’s not just me.” I reply, playing with the straw in my drink.

“It’s gotta be something at home. I mean, he doesn’t even remotely act the way that he did when him and Heather first got together.” Emily's eyes look me up and down, reading my body language, but I’m done hiding. 

I let the building anger ripple through me.

“He seems...sad. And not like, normal Reid sad where it has to do with his mom or something, no this is like..” she stops herself from continuing the sentence.

I finish it for her. “It’s like, me, sad.”

JJ sighs. “I hate to say it, but do you think it has anything to do with Heather?”

A glass shatters across the room, and like the red sea, the crowd parts.

Everything happens in no more than a couple seconds, but it feels like a lifetime. 

Through the empty space, I see two people standing at the bar. The woman has her hands wound into the man's shirt, her body turned as she laughs at someone behind her, I’m assuming the one who dropped the glass. 

The man has his hands gripped on her hips, smiling into her hair, before she turns back around, connecting their lips in the most disgusting kiss I have had the displeasure of witnessing.

The rage builds swiftly in my stomach and it pulses from my soul outward. The world’s tint changes and I see red.

“Even if it doesn’t right now, it will.” 

When the hell did I stand up?

They stand with me, and I’m about to argue my point when Emily speaks. “You want something to record, Garcia?” She moves by me, fixing my hair, handing me her glass which holds a swig of her drink left. “Record this.” 

I take it, downing it for a little liquid luck, and start for the bar, the three of them on my heels.

I profile him as best I can in the 20 seconds it takes to get through the now reforming crowd. 

There’s a gold ring on his hand. His pants and shirt are dirty, and his boots are thick. He works in something having to do with construction, which means he’s probably done around 5 every night, and I know for a fact that it is way past that.

I walk up to them, grabbing her shoulder and pulling them apart, stepping in between them, getting face to face to him.

“Before you even think about laying a hand on me, my name is SSA Y/L/N of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the F.B.I. From the look of your clothes and the ring on your finger, I’m gonna go ahead and assume that your wife is waiting for you at home.” 

His hand instinctively falls to his back pocket.

“And since you just reached for what I’m assuming is your phone, she’s called you multiple times tonight. She knows. Now, fuck off and maybe you can salvage things with her, but believe me when I say this,” His breath smells sour. “You aren’t even half the man that she’s married to.” 

He opens his mouth to say something, looking from me, to Heather, to the three women surrounding her, keeping her from leaving, and the camera pointed directly at his face.

He looks back down to me, and huffs, stepping back and walking in the other direction.

For a moment, I stare at where he stood. 

And then a fire ignites in my stomach and it takes everything in me to not beat the girl standing behind me.

I turn, and lightning strikes behind her eyes. 

“You’re not gonna tell him.”

“Like hell I’m not!” I take a step forward, and she takes one back, bumping into Emily who has her arms crossed, and her shoulders raised. “You know, I tried so hard to give you the benefit of the doubt, Heather. You made him happy and I honestly thought you loved him, but I realize now that he deserves someone so much better than you.” 

“Oh what, someone like you?” She’s snide, her demeanor defensive and cocky at the same time. She thinks she’s gonna come out on top of this.

“You know what? Yes. Someone like me. Someone who wouldn’t even think about doing this to him, because the amount of pain that he is about to go through doesn’t even come close to the stupid fucking reward. Oh, so you slept with some douchebag because what? You’re not getting enough attention?” The words are cathartic, leaving my belly with the venom that has been brewing there for the past 2 and half years.

“I found your letter. I was right about you.”

That would have stopped me in my tracks 6 months ago. Now I don’t even flinch.

“Oh honey, it’s not a fucking secret anymore. You want to hear me say it? I love him. I am in love with Spencer fucking Reid, and the only reason that he is with you, is because I was a decent human being and could see that you made him happy, so I kept my mouth shut. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t give a flying fuck what happens now, because whatever it is, it has to be better than being with a lying, cheating bitch like you.”

“You think he’s gonna run to you? Is that what you’re hoping for? He’s not gonna believe you. And even if he did, I’d turn on the water works and make him believe it was just this one time.”

She doesn’t know she’s being filmed. 

I turn to the bartender. “Excuse me, is she a regular here?”

The bartender smirks, wiping down the wood. “Yep. She comes in at least a couple times a week with that dude you kicked to the curb. They almost always leave together.”

Heather scoffs, crossing her arms. “Again, he’ll never believe you.” 

“You sure about that hot stuff?” Penelope steps forward, shoving the camera in her face. “Smile for the camera.”

Heather's eyes go wide, before turning to me. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“I would do it for a fucking corn chip.” 

I place my hands on my hips, getting so close to her our noses almost touch. My voice is dangerously low when I speak. “Either you tell him everything or I will. And trust me. I have my ways of finding out if you did.”

I step back, wishing the daggers in my eyes could inflict actual pain, as I turn to walk away. 

I hear her shout in frustration before I feel her hands on my back, pushing me forward into the mass of people. 

A couple people unaware of the confrontation help me back up with a smile, thinking I’ve just drunkenly tripped over myself.

Emily and JJ each hold one of my arms, making sure I’m stable, while Penelope keeps filming a look of shock on her face.

A wicked smile forms on my face.

I was hoping she’d do something like that.

I turn and my fist connects with her face, a nice cracking noise satisfying the lust building in my chest, as a thin coat of blood covers my knuckles. 

Though, it’s not my blood. 

She’s holding her nose in pain as she falls to the floor, taking down a bar stool with her, and I swear I see the bartender laugh.

I grab a napkin off the bar, wiping my knuckles before throwing it on the floor by her feet. 

“C’mon girls. The night is still young.” 

I see them cover their own smiles with their hands, and Penelope starts to giggle the shock away. 

I know I should feel bad. It was unprofessional of me. 

But she shoved me first. 

It is, legally, self-defense. 

Is it sick that I wish she would have punched me?

It doesn’t matter anyway. I know she won’t press charges. She’s smart enough to know she just dug her grave.

And now she has to lie in it.

~~~~

The atmosphere is different when I walk into the office the next morning. 

It’s tense. 

And one look from JJ and an inhale of air tells me why. 

Spencer’s here. 

I barely have time to set my bag down on my desk, before he grabs me suddenly by the arm, dragging me into a nearby conference room.

The anger is rolling off of him in waves, and I can see by the way he clenches and unclenches his fists, he is pissed.

He almost throws me into the room, slamming the door behind him. 

“You want to tell me why the fuck you punched Heather in the face for no damn reason?”

Stupid, stupid girl. 

Did she not think, that the way I would find out, would be from Spencer himself?

I can’t help but shake my head and laugh. “She didn’t tell you.”

“She told me that she was having a drink with a girlfriend of hers when you came up drunk, yelling at her, until you just punched her. Can you explain that to me?”

He’s finally yelling at me. After months of begging for him to yell at me, he finally is. 

It doesn’t feel as good as I had hoped it would.

I don’t say anything, just pull out my phone to find the video that Garcia sent me.

“Are you serious right now, Y/N? Put your fucking phone down and explain to me why you broke my wife's nose!”

I sit in a chair, setting the phone on the table and sliding it towards him. I lean back and cross my hands over my stomach.

“Watch the video, Spencer.”

“Why? Why should I listen to anything you tell me?”

I lean forward, onto my elbow, annunciating every syllable. “Watch the damn video.”

He stands, and I watch as he fights with himself, before huffing in defeat, sitting in a chair and pulling my phone towards him.

He presses play.

I watch as his anger flows away with each passing second, despair taking its place. 

This is what I wasn’t looking forward to. Seeing him see it for the first time.

Watching him break. 

It wasn’t pretty.

I watch as tears form in his eyes and silently drop down his cheeks. 

He clenches his jaw as he watches her shove me, and the punch that followed. 

The room is dead quite when the video ends.

I’m the one who speaks first, my voice soft. 

“I punched her, because she had the audacity to do this. She had the audacity to hurt you, and flaunt that fact publicly.” 

I swallow, taking a breath before speaking. 

“I meant everything I said in that video, Spence.” 

He looks up at the nickname, his anger no longer directed at me.

“She hurt you, and I saw red. I didn’t think about what I was doing, and frankly, I’m glad I didn’t. I don’t regret standing up for you. I never have, and I never will.”  I clasp my hands together, forcing myself to continue. 

“I love you Spencer. I don’t think that’s ever going to change. I’m going to have to live with you finding other people and falling in love, and I promise you, I will support you in that. But not with her. Not after that. You deserve so much better than a girl who thinks she can get away with this just because she’s pretty and jealous.”

He taps a couple things on my phone, before turning the screen off and sliding it back over to me. 

He stands. 

I don’t. I continue talking as he walks over to me.

“You mean everything to me, Spence. If I know you’re happy, truly happy, then I’m satisfied. I will defend you until the end of the universe comes. You are my best friend, and I love you. And I’m sorry I was never upfront about it before, but I am now.”

I look up at him as he stands in front of me. “I’m done hiding from you.”

He’s still for a moment. 

He reaches down and grabs my hands, pulling me up before he wraps his arms around my waist and buries himself into my neck. 

I pause, but only for a moment, before wrapping my arms around him and holding him tight against me. 

I can feel the wet spots on my neck as he cries, and his hands wind themselves into the fabric of my shirt.

When was the last time he was held like this?

I don’t count the time until he loosens his grip, stepping back from me and wiping his face. 

I would hold him until the end of time if he let me.

“Thank you.” He whispers, before moving towards the door. 

He opens it and walks out, and I grab my phone, running after him.

I stop in the doorway. 

“Hey!” 

He stops and turns, and the rest of the team is watching over their files. 

My heart is pounding, and I feel out of breath.

“I don’t have a choice,” I let him remember. “But I still choose you.”

A small smile flutters across his face, before he turns and walks away.

I look down at my phone.

Spence xp

[Video]

    Sent, 9:06 a.m.

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[jadoue1999]

Wanda and the life she deserved (she’ll make sure of it) Chapter 3

Summary: Pietro wasn’t Pietro, who was he?

Previous parts: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10, chapter 11, epilogue

Chapter 3: Bonding

Wanda tensed up when she heard him talk. Oleg never wore any helmets, a hat, sure but she had never seen him wear a helmet.

“Who are you?” She asked, sharply, pinning him tighter to the tree when he tried to leave.

“Name’s Peter,” he looked around seemingly looking for something. “You wouldn’t happen to know where we are, do you?”

Peter, not Pietro. It wasn’t him.

Of course, it wasn’t, she mentally smacked herself, it was too good to be true. She had ignored the signs, the differences, but there was no denying when it came directly from him. This man wasn’t her brother. Still, it wasn’t fair. All she wanted was to be happy, to have a family, but the universe seemed keen in making sure she’d never get a happy ending. She wanted to feel angry, to lash out, but she just felt... empty. She turned to the man, still immobilized, he was still waiting for an answer.

“Westview,” Wanda replied, “New Jersey.”

Peter nodded, obviously not understanding where the town was, but not having much choice but accept his predicament.

Wanda raised a hand, and let the illusion changing his clothes break. His runner costume gone, the man was wearing leather pants, a silver jacket with a band T-shirt. A Walkman was at his side, the headphones at his neck.

‘Weird, where did he even get a Walkman?’

She smirked at the goggles on his head, if he really had superspeed, he certainly had the right idea. Pietro had complained a lot about dirt and debris getting into his eyes, she had suggested a shield from her magic, but he said he’d find a solution eventually. She noticed with a sigh that his hair was back to silver, no more pretending now.

“How did you even get here?” The question came out harsher than she would have wanted. The man didn’t seem phased by it, he might have been used to someone in his entourage losing their temper. He simply shrugged and answered.

“I’m not really sure, I was in my room, deciding what to do about my father when a portal opened and suddenly, I’m in some freaky dungeon. There’s a lady talking about you getting desperate, next thing I know, I’m at your doorstep.”

It didn’t make sense, no one in Westview had a dungeon and sure, maybe she had wanted her brother back, but bringing in a stranger? He didn’t even look like Pietro, why did her magic took him, out of everyone else? She looked at the necklace in her hand, the magic wasn’t his, that was for certain. He had been under a spell, but why?

He should have had his role attributed to him when he came in the town, no need for any fancy jewelry. Speaking of, how could he stay himself right now? Why was he unaffected?

She waved her magic away, letting him go. He took a step forward and looked at her, probably wondering why she had just let him loose.

“Tell me about you, where are you from?” Wondered Wanda. He might not have been her brother, but she could still feel the connection. Apparently, so did he, because he sat down and cleared his throat.

“Well, I’m Peter, I grew up in America, with my mom and my,” he paused, “my younger sister, Lorna.” Wanda frowned, why had he hesitated just now? Peter continued his ramble, “when I was seventeen, three guys and I helped a known terrorist to break out of the pentagon, you know him as Magneto, but I figured out later that he was my father. I found him again 10 years later, but he had joined ranks with the god wanna be. He called himself Apocalypse. Took my dad in because he could control metal. Tried to tell him we were related, but I was too much of a loser so instead I tried taking on Apocalypse by myself, got my leg broken and I’ve been wondering how to tell him ever since. Oh, and I joined the X-Men.”

Wanda frowned once again; she hadn’t heard of any events that Peter described. Could it have happened while she was being experimented on? She had never encountered anyone named Magneto, or Apocalypse. And who were those X Men? Perhaps he meant Avengers? But those names wouldn’t easily get mixed up. The same unnerving feeling was creeping up on Wanda. The feeling he didn’t belong here, not just him not being her brother, there was something more. His life didn’t add up, nothing of it made sense. A few questions came to her mind, but she settled with the more urgent one.

“Who was the lady in the dungeon? If someone is trying to sabotage my life, I deserve to know who it is.”

Peter seemed lost in thoughts for a moment, before looking at her. “I’m sorry, I guess she used a trick on me because I know she’s a lady, but I can’t remember specifics details.”

Wanda sighed and pressed her face into her hands, why couldn’t she just live her life without someone ruining it. Chaos was the usual in her life, the moment she tried to settle down, a threat would rise and rip her loved ones away. She thought she would be safe in her own little town, but then the drone came, and now that lady who seemed determined to destroy her world.

“What happened to your brother?” The question took her by surprise. It was to be expected from him, he was, after all, brought in to replace Pietro. He had to be wondering why her actual brother couldn’t play the part. Peter cleared his throat, understanding of rude he sounded and opted for a not-a-care-in-the-world mannerisms. “I mean, I think I know, but I don’t want to assume and be rude. Hell, I have his memories, but I have no idea if what I’ve been shown is real. The lady that messed with my mind could have slipped stuff in, so I hurt you without wanting it.”

Wanda smiled, he might not have been her brother, but he did act a little like him. Pietro was very protective of her too, must have been an older brother thing. She too was protective, but her grief had kept her from really connecting with anyone.

‘Except with Vision and look where you ended up’ she shook away the thought. Those intrusive comments kept haunting her, why couldn’t she shake them away? She looked at her not brother, choosing to focus on him.

“He was a hero.” A dead hero. “We survived a bombing when we were ten and ended up on the wrong side. We saw the truth and saved the world.” Yet he lost his life. “He only had his powers for a few months, same as me. He wasn’t in total control of them. He saved a friend of mine and a child from being shot down, but he wasn’t quick enough.”

Peter looked at her with sympathy in his eyes, he slowly put a comforting hand on her shoulder, trying to help her. “I uh, I know it’s not the same thing, but I’ve been struggling with telling my true lineage to my father. I thought it was only my truth but it’s apparently true for all speedsters. I’ve noticed that for people as fast as us, we always seem to be too late.” They both chuckled, sadly. He removed his hand from her shoulder and gripped her hand instead.

“You know, I didn’t even get to attend his funeral,” Wanda said, grief dripping from her words. “I’m part of a superhero group, the Avengers. There was always something happening, I never took the time to grieve him properly.”

“I- I’m a twin as well,” confessed Peter. Wanda looked at him in shook, was that why he hesitated when he described his family life? He squeezed her hand, clearly this was a painful memory. “She died. She wasn’t shot or anything, it happened when we were 15. She uh, she had probability powers,” Wanda frowned at that power, she had never heard of it. “She could sway the odds in her favor, if that makes it any clearer.” Peter chuckled, “she would use it to make sure we never missed the bus, or that she’d pass a test she wasn’t sure she had studied enough. We’re not sure what happened, no one was there with her. I was running, when I just felt it, you know? Like a bond just breaking and next thing I know I’m passed out and my mom keeps calling my name.”

“What’s your name? Your full name?” Urged Wanda. They were too similar, there had to be a reason for it. She had felt the same way when Pietro died, like a piece of herself was ripped away, leaving a bloody mess in its wake.

 “Peter Maximoff”

Notes: Sorry it ended like this, the chapter was originally 2500 words so I split it in two where it fitted best, I hope you like this!

Don’t for get to like and comment if you enjoyed it!

[6peaches]

Richard Siken - You Are Jeff

1 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road, beyond the hairpin turn, or just before it, depending on which twin you are in love with at the time. Do not choose sides yet. It is still to your advan- tage to remain impartial. Both motorbikes are shiny red and both boys have perfect teeth, dark hair, soft hands. The one in front will want to take you apart, and slowly. His deft and stubby fingers searching every shank and lock for weaknesses. You could love this boy with all your heart. The other brother only wants to stitch you back together. The sun shines down. It’s a beautiful day. Consider the hairpin turn. Do not choose sides yet.

2 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road. Let’s call them Jeff. And because the first Jeff is in front we’ll consider him the older, and therefore responsible for lending money and the occa- sional punch in the shoulder. World-wise, world-weary, and not his mother’s favorite, this Jeff will always win when it all comes down to fisticuffs. Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t always all come down to fisticuffs. Jeff is thinking about his brother down the winding road be- hind him. He is thinking that if only he could cut him open and peel him back and crawl inside this second skin, then he could relive that last mile again: reborn, wild-eyed, free.

3 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road, beyond the hairpin turn, or just before it, depending on which Jeff you are. It could have been so beautiful—you scout out the road ahead and I will watch your back, how it was and how it will be, memory and fantasy— but each Jeff wants to be the other one. My name is Jeff and I’m tired of looking at the back of your head. My name is Jeff and I’m tired of seeing my hand me down clothes. Look, Jeff, I’m telling you, for the last time, I mean it, etcetera. They are the same and they are not the same. They are the same and they hate each other for it.

4 Your name is Jeff and somewhere up ahead of you your brother has pulled to the side of the road and he is waiting for you with a lug wrench clutched in his greasy fist. O how he loves you, darling boy. O how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night. When he throws the wrench into the air it will catch the light as it spins toward you. Look—it looks like a star. You had expected something else, anything else, but the wrench never reaches you. It hangs in the air like that, spinning in the air like that. It’s beautiful.

5 Let’s say God in his High Heaven is hungry and has decided to make himself some tuna fish sandwiches. He’s already finished making two of them, on sourdough, before he realizes that the fish is bad. What is he going to do with these sandwiches? They’re already made, but he doesn’t want to eat them.

Let’s say the Devil is played by two men. We’ll call them Jeff. Dark hair, green eyes, white teeth, pink tongues—they’re twins. The one on the left has gone bad in the middle, and the other one on the left is about to. As they wrestle, you can tell that they have forgotten about God, and they are very hungry.

6 You are playing cards with three men named Jeff. Two of the Jeffs seem somewhat familiar, but the Jeff across from you keeps staring at your hands, your mouth, and you’re certain that you’ve never seen this Jeff before. But he’s on your team, and you’re ahead, you’re winning big, and yet the other Jeffs keep smiling at you like there’s no tomorrow. They all have perfect teeth: white, square, clean, even. And, for some reason, the lighting in the room makes their teeth seem closer than they should be, as if each mouth was a place, a living room with pink carpet and the window’s open. Come back from the window, Jefferson. Take off those wet clothes and come over here, by the fire.

7 You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room. Phone’s for you, Jeff says. Hey! It’s Uncle Jeff, who isn’t really your uncle, but you can’t talk right now, one of the Jeffs has put his tongue in your mouth. Please let it be the right one.

8 Two brothers are fighting by the side of the road. Two motorbikes have fallen over on the shoulder, leaking oil into the dirt, while the interlocking brothers grapple and swing. You see them through the backseat window as you and your parents drive past. You are twelve years old. You do not have a brother. You have never experienced anything this ferocious or intentional with another person. Your mother is pretending that she hasn’t seen anything. Your father is fiddling with the knobs of the radio. There is an empty space next to you in the backseat of the station wagon. Make it the shape of everything you need. Now say hello.

9 You are in an ordinary suburban bedroom with bunk beds, a bookshelf, two wooden desks and chairs. You are lying on your back, on the top bunk, very close to the textured ceiling, staring straight at it in fact, and the room is still dark except for a wedge of powdery light that spills in from the adjoining bathroom. The bathroom is covered in mint green tile and someone is in there, singing very softly. Is he singing to you? For you? Black cherries in chocolate, the ring around the moon, a bee- tle underneath a glass—you cannot make out all the words, but you’re sure he knows you’re in there, and he’s singing to you, even though you don’t know who he is.

10 You see it as a room, a tabernacle, the dark hotel. You’re in the hallway again, and you open the door, and if you’re ready you’ll see it, but maybe one part of your mind decides that the other parts aren’t ready, and then you don’t remember where you’ve been, and you find yourself down the hall again, the lights gone dim as the left hand sings the right hand back to sleep. It’s a puzzle: each piece, each room, each time you put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, your ear to the wound that whispers.

You’re in the hallway again. The radio is playing your favorite song. You’re in the hallway. Open the door again. Open the door.

11 Suppose for a moment that the heart has two heads, that the heart has been chained and dunked in a glass booth filled with river water. The heart is monologing about hesitation and fulfillment while behind the red brocade the heart is drowning. Can the heart escape? Does love even care? Snow falls as we dump the booth in the bay.

Suppose for a moment we are crowded around a pier, waiting for something to ripple the water. We believe in you. There is no danger. It is not getting dark, we want to say.

12 Consider the hairpin turn. It is waiting for you like a red door or the broken leg of a dog. The sun is shining, O how the sun shines down! Your speedometer and your handgrips and the feel of the road below you, how it knows you, the black ribbon spread out on the greens be- tween these lines that suddenly don’t reach to the horizon. It is waiting, like a broken door, like the red dog that chases its tail and eats your rose- bushes and then must be forgiven. Who do you love, Jeff? Who do you love? You were driving toward something and then, well, then you found yourself driving the other way. The dog is asleep. The road is be- hind you. O how the sun shines down.

13 This time everyone has the best intentions. You have cancer. Let’s say you have cancer. Let’s say you’ve swallowed a bad thing and now it’s got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure. You see what I mean but you’re happy anyway, and that’s okay, it’s a love story after all, a lasting love, a wonderful adventure with lots of action, where the mirror says mirror and the hand says hand and the front door never says Sorry Charlie. So the doctor says you need more stitches and the bruise cream isn’t working. So much for the facts. Let’s say you’re still completely in the dark but we love you anyway. We love you. We really do.

14 After work you go to the grocery store to get some milk and a carton of cigarettes. Where did you get those bruises? You don’t remember. Work was boring. You find a jar of bruise cream and a can of stewed tomatoes. Maybe a salad? Spinach, walnuts, blue cheese, apples, and you can’t decide between the Extra Large or Jumbo black olives. Which is bigger anyway? Extra Large has a blue label, Jumbo has a purple label. Both cans cost $1.29. While you’re deciding, the afternoon light is streaming through the windows behind the bank of checkout coun- ters. Take the light inside you like a blessing, like a knee in the chest, holding onto it and not letting it go. Now let it go.

15 Like sandpaper, the light, or a blessing, or a bruise. Blood everywhere, he said, the red light hemorrhaging from everywhere at once. The train station blue, your lips blue, hands cold and the blue wind. Or a horse, your favorite horse now raised up again out of the mud and galloping galloping always toward you. In your ruined shirt, on the last day, while the bruise won’t heal, and the stain stays put, the red light streaming in from everywhere at once. Your broken ribs, the back of your head, your hand to mouth or hand to now, right now, like you mean it, like it’s split- ting you in two. Now look at the lights, the lights.

16 You and your lover are making out in the corner booth of a seedy bar. The booths are plush and the drinks are cheap and in this dim and smoky light you can barely tell whose hands are whose. Someone raises their glass for a toast. Is that the Hand of Judgment or the Hand of Mercy? The bartender smiles, running a rag across the burnished wood of the bar. The drink in front of you has already been paid for. Drink it, the bartender says. It’s yours, you deserve it. It’s already been paid for. Somebody’s paid for it already. There’s no mistake, he says. It’s your drink, the one you asked for, just the way you like it. How can you refuse Hands of fire, hands of air, hands of water, hands of dirt. Someone’s doing all the talking but no one’s lips move. Consider the hairpin turn.

17 The motorbikes are neck and neck but where’s the checkered flag we all expected, waving in the distance, telling you you’re home again, home? He’s next to you, right next to you in fact, so close, or. . . he isn’t. Imagine a room. Yes, imagine a room: two chairs facing the window but nobody moves. Don’t move. Keep staring straight into my eyes. It feels like you’re not moving, the way when, dancing, the room will suddenly fall away. You’re dancing: you’re neck and neck or cheek to cheek, he’s there or he isn’t, the open road. Imagine a room. Imagine you’re danc- ing. Imagine the room now falling away. Don’t move.

18 Two brothers: one of them wants to take you apart. Two brothers: one of them wants to put you back together. It’s time to choose sides now. The stitches or the devouring mouth? You want an alibi? You don’t get an alibi, you get two brothers. Here are two Jeffs. Pick one. This is how you make the meaning, you take two things and try to define the space between them. Jeff or Jeff? Who do you want to be? You just wanted to play in your own backyard, but you don’t know where your own yard is, exactly. You just wanted to prove there was one safe place, just one safe place where you could love him. You have not found that place yet. You have not made that place yet. You are here. You are here. You’re still right here.

19 Here are your names and here is the list and here are the things you left behind: The mark on the floor from pushing your chair back, your un- derwear, one half brick of cheese, the kind I don’t like, wrapped up, and poorly, and abandoned on the second shelf next to the poppyseed dress- ing, which is also yours. Here’s the champagne on the floor, and here are your house keys, and here are the curtains that your cat peed on. And here is your cat, who keeps eating grass and vomiting in the hall- way. Here is the list with all of your names, Jeff. They’re not the same name, Jeff. They’re not the same at all.

20 There are two twins on motorbikes but they are not on motorbikes, they’re in a garden where the flowers are as big as thumbs. Imagine you are in a field of daisies. What are you doing in a field of daisies? Get up! Let’s say you’re not in the field anymore. Let’s say they’re not brothers anymore. That’s right, they’re not brothers, they’re just one guy, and he knows you, and he’s talking to you, but you’re in pain and you can- not understand him. What are you still doing in this field? Get out of the field! You should be in the hotel room! You should, at least, be try- ing to get back into the hotel room. Ah! Now the field is empty.

21 Hold onto your voice. Hold onto your breath. Don’t make a noise, don’t leave the room until I come back from the dead for you. I will come back from the dead for you. This could be a city. This could be a graveyard. This could be the basket of a big balloon. Leave the lights on. Leave a trail of letters like those little knots of bread we used to dream about. We used to dream about them. We used to do a lot of things. Put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, pick up the bread and devour it. I’m in the hallway again, I’m in the hallway. The radio’s playing my favorite song. Leave the lights on. Keep talking. I’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice.

22 Someone had a party while you were sleeping but you weren’t really sleeping, you were sick, and parts of you were burning, and you couldn’t move. Perhaps the party was in your honor. You can’t remem- ber. It seems the phone was ringing in the dream you were having but there’s no proof. A dish in the sink that might be yours, some clothes on the floor that might belong to someone else. When was the last time you found yourself looking out of this window. Hey! This is a beautiful window! This is a beautiful view! Those trees lined up like that, and the way the stars are spinning over them like that, spinning in the air like that, like wrenches.

23 Let’s say that God is the space between two men and the Devil is the space between two men. Here: I’ll be all of them-Jeff and Jeff and Jeff and Jeff are standing on the shoulder of the highway, four motorbikes knocked over, two wrenches spinning in the ordinary air. Two of these Jeffs are windows, and two of these Jeffs are doors, and all of these Jeffs are trying to tell you something. Come closer. We’ll whisper it in your ear. It’s like seeing your face in a bowl of soup, cream of potato, and the eyes shining back like spoons. If we wanted to tell you everything, we would leave more footprints in the snow or kiss you harder. One thing. Come closer. Listen . . .

24 You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terr- ible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.

- You Are Jeff by Richard Siken

[lovesgonnabe]

Love Is Worth It - Episode I

 It Was Just A Normal Day

Characters: Chris Evans x Maya Alonso-Evans (Black OFC)

Warnings: Angst, Nothing extreme but could upset some, cursing, slight Implied smut

Word Count: 2k

Summary: What happens when those that don’t agree with you or your love are in positions of power?

Authors Note: This is out a lot earlier than expected so I hope you all enjoy. Also it has been a while since I’ve written so please bear with my rustiness, and there’s slight edits so there may be errors.

Disclaimer: There is slight police abuse of power that may be triggering to some.

Taglist: @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss if you would like to join the taglist message me. 

Please leave a note and tell me what you think!

October 24th, 2019 

The day started out just like any other...

Chris woke up at 5am to go on a run with Dodger.

I got up 30 minutes later headed to our home gym got on the Peloton for a workout then get started on breakfast.

Chris and Dodger get back around 6:30am

At 6:45am Chris carries me to the shower where we have “spontaneous” shower sex till Delilah knocks on our door.

7:30am I get Delilah ready for school then we eat breakfast as a family while Chris and I play footsie under the table and he quizzes her on current events. Did I mention she’s only 5 years old...

At 8:30am Chris and Delilah are out the door headed to school since it’s on the way to the set for Chris’s next project.

At this time I’m just sipping coffee reviewing my appointment schedule at the office and I head out the door at 9am.

It was just a normal day but something felt off.

When I pulled out of the gate of my driveway I see a Boston PD car just sitting on the corner next to our noisiest neighbor Mrs. Goldheim. She’s 70 and acts like she has no business to tend to but mine when what she really should be doing is getting some of her own dick, so she can hop off my dick and mind her damn business.

Anyway I’m getting off topic, as I drive down the road that same police cruiser begins to follow me lights off and at a safe distance for about a mile and then turns left down Sycamore, I was mad confused but I didn’t have time to think about the weird ass Boston cops right now.

I got to the office around 9:45am, had my first client at 10am and from that point It was nonstop between facials to acne treatments to talking women who don’t need plastic surgery off of that ledge I had my hands full for it only being the middle of October. But hey that’s the life I signed up for when becoming a dermatologist.

My last meeting about my new skincare venture ended at 5:30pm and I went to pick up Delilah from after school care. We stopped by the supermarket to get groceries so I could hopefully make my abuelas famous arroz con pollo for dinner tonight.

As a treat we stopped at Cold Stone got two pints of chocolate devotion for our after dinner mini celebration. Since not even a month ago Delilah was moved ahead to the first grade and got an A on her recent math test.

This is where the normal day began to take a nosedive.

Around 8pm we were headed to the house from Cold Stone, my little Dede and I were talking about her day, and Chris called to let us know that filming ended a tad early and he was already home.

We are just around the corner when I see another police cruiser this time they were following a lot closer but yet again they had on no lights.

My hands began to clam up as I kept looking in the mirrors at the two white men in the vehicle following me.

As I pulled into my gate they followed me in. Rushing I parked, grabbed my purse, and got out, unhooked Delilah from the seat and carried her to the door.

“Excuse me Miss” one of the officers spoke stopping me before I could enter my home. I felt like I was frozen In place with a  hand on the doorknob.

“Mommy what’s wrong” Delilah asked looking at me with fright her big brown eyes. I turned around putting my shy ray of sunshine down, with a reassuring  smile, I look at her and tell her that everything was alright as she hid behind my legs while the officers approached us.

It might be because I’m scared but it felt as if they both were towering over me, even though i was the one with the high ground standing on the steps. 

One man looked like he was on a mission while the other looked like he was just there for observation.

The younger one looked at Delilah and said “there is no reason to be afraid sweetheart we are the good guys” the tension was thick as Delilah looked up at me and no one said a word.

The older man of the two cleared his throat and looked at me dead in the eyes as if he was trying to intimidate me.

“Good Evening Miss, are you the nanny? I’m looking for your boss.” I raised an eyebrow ignoring the question and asked “can I please get her in the house?” both officers looked at each other weird since I didn’t answer his original question but both nodded.

I looked at my watch showing it to be 8:40pm usually I would kissing my man trying to figure out the best way to get him out of his clothes. But at the moment I’m standing on my steps scared for our life.

I unlocked the door and told her to go and get her dad who at the time was in the living room playing the grand piano. The beautiful sounds of the piano could be heard when I opened the door and as I closed the door you can hear Dodger bark and scurry toward the door.

The officer began to speak once more “now I’m going to ask you again Miss is your boss home?”

Placing my hand on my hip, I let out an exasperated sighed and said “if I had a boss and they were here I would be very confused”.

The younger officer eyes grew out of surprise and the older officer did not look too happy by my snarky remark.

“Miss please cooperate we don’t want any trouble, but since you can’t answer my questions hand over your license” the older officer said with a smug look and his gloved hand outstretched.

My stomach grew with a bubble of nerves even though it can’t be seen on my face i was scared.

“If I may ask officers what is this about this is my home have I done something wrong?” I huffed retrieving my license and handing it to the older officer, “we will see about that” he says and walks to the cruiser leaving the other officer in silence.

“Look we are just doing the job we were called out to do” the younger officer said to me I looked at him like he had two heads but before I could say another word Chris walked out the door closing it behind him.

He look so damn fine in grey sweats with a matching crew neck sweater, his gold chain I bought him for Father’s Day laying on top and his Red Sox cap pointed to the back.

He came up next to me wrapping his arm around my waist and kissing the top of my head, mumbling. “Baby are you alright?” he asks looking at me rubbing my back as I look at him.

I nod as a sense of calm settles over my body as he familiar sent and touch centers me and makes me feel safe.

“Is there a problem officer? He asked now removing his arm from my body to cross his arms and stand in front of me as if he was my bodyguard.

“Wow you’re Captain America” the officer said in shock as Chris and I rolled our eyes.

“Yea I know but I asked you is there a problem officer” Chris asked slowly getting closer to the younger now shitting his pants scared officer.

I love that he is trying to defend me but we don’t want to make matters worse so I grab his arm to pull him back a bit. Which didn’t work because all he did was softly move my hand a say “let me handle it love”.

I rolled my eyes and watched the shit show unravel. The officer stuttered and Chris cut him off.

“Look I know you are here to do your job but you are on my property and harassing my wife so I would like to know what the problem is what has she done?”

He didn’t look upset and Chris said it respectfully but it was just a feeling that Chris did not want to be fucked with at this moment.

There was another beat of awkward silence the officer was too scared to speak. Chris rubbed his beard and chuckled “can anyone answer my goddamn question as to my wife is in front of our home being harassed” it was like his voice dropped an octave and my panties got wet.

I’m literally trying to tell my brain to stop thinking about using my husband as my personal jungle gym, that this wasn’t the time for that, but I digress so to distract myself for a second I looked at my watch again stating it was only 9:20pm.

Damn I’m not sure if time was moving too slow or too fast but by the time I focused back on Chris and the officers they were being cussed the fuck out.

“What the fuck do you mean you have to take her because she fits the profile of a suspect, do you have a warrant, what the fuck did she even do officer!”

“Mr. Evans we understand that you are upset but we need you to calm down” the younger officer said to a red faced Chris.

“Don’t you tell me to fucking calm down when you are also trying telling me, you want to arrest my wife for some crime she didn’t commit because she’s black” Chris was now fuming.

“Sir this isn’t about race, there has been a string of burglaries in the neighborhood and she fits the description of the suspect we are looking for, we just want to take her in and ask a few questions” the older officer answered.

From where I was standing I could see everything especially how the officer had one hand on his gun holster and the other with cuffs ready to be put around my wrist.

All three men proceed to argue, I had to step in this was getting out of hand and in a minute I would not be the only one in handcuffs.

Walking over to the group who were now in the middle of my driveway with my hands out then they all went quiet.

“Chris honey it’s okay, this is ridiculous I know but let me go with them, you call Austin, tell him what’s happening and then come to the station I will be fine” I said looking at his blue eyes with slight tears as his breathing quickened.

I was hoping to be okay at least for Chris’s sake so he won’t kill the two men in front of me. He read me my rights with Chris now desperately pleading with them to release me.

As the older guard roughly grabs me pulling me towards the cruiser Delilah runs out of the house with Dodger behind her with tears in her eyes.

“Dede get back inside” Chris says as he grabs a barking Dodger who was headed straight for me “daddy why are they taking mommy, what’s wrong she said everything was ok” then she wails out “please don’t take my mommy” over and over while she kicked and screamed when Chris picked her up and ushered the 3 of them back into the house.

A tear slips down my face as my head is lowered into the car and the door to our home closes. One officer looked remorseful and the other looked so satisfied as he looked back at me through the rear view.

He threw on his sirens like he caught some mass murder that he’d been hunting for years.

Then he laughed a menacing laugh taunting me.

“You thought just because you are fucking some white man with money you would get off? Well I’m sorry to break it to you sweetheart but that not how the world works for people like you.” He said to me as I cried harder.

“That’s enough Whitmer I think she get it” the younger officer said.

The rest of the ride the only sound was the radio. I was booked and brought into a cell by myself cold and alone but thanking god that at least I was alive and not hurt.

All I could think about was the smile on my little Delilah’s face and how today was just supposed to be just another Normal day.

I guess those are slim when you’re Black in White America.