#and is still affirmed enough in their relationship that she’s not yet consciously thinking about pursuing Tony

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #60

[jj-5656]

Insufferable

With; Newt

A/N: This is an addiction at this point. I seriously cry every other day abt this man. I just want to say thanks to anyone who likes or comments on my work. And those who reblog AND comment? You inspire me to keep writing so big thanks to you. Special s/o to @jenny33996 for yet another prompt idea. Enjoy!

   You hum softly as you work, fingertips intricately pressing down on the soil of your newly-planted tomatoes. The sun beats down on you and the other track-hoes without mercy, and it’s taken some time to get accustomed to the humidity of the glade. Despite the muggy weather, you’re completely focused on the task at hand. Making sure to remain gentle with each plant you come across.

“Love, you know the plants can’t actually hear you?” You roll your eyes at Newts remark, shaking your head knowingly as you observe his rough workings against the greenery surrounding you.

“They can actually. Studies have shown the emissions of carbon dioxide and the vibrations from talking or singing can promote efficient growth in plants.”

“Is all your free time spent researching then?”

“Precisely, and it’s the only reason the rest of you shanks don’t get a scolding from Alby. I practically carry the track-hoes!” You argue dramatically, laughing when Zart nods in agreement.

“Good that.” Zart comments idly, not noticing Newts offended expression as he lets down his rake.

“Since you two shanks like to talk so much, maybe you won’t mind working an extra ten minutes on turning the soil?” It comes out as more of an order than a question, and the two of you give a silent nod and the keeper walks off with the rest of the track-hoes.

“You’re bloody humming’s got us an extra ten on the garden, shank.” Newt chucks a cherry tomato at you as he speaks, chuckling when you toss it back to him.

“It was actually your bloody jokes, that aren’t funny might I add.” You mock his accent dramatically, smirking when his eyebrows raise in bewilderment.

“Your accent is insufferable.”

“So is yours.” The two of you laugh harder at your lighthearted bickering, getting up from your kneeling positions to pick up the discarded tools in order to tend to the soil. As Newt takes a step towards you, he trips over a stray vine. Each of you letting out a Yelp in surprise when he practically tackles you to the ground. He’s smart enough to roll over to break your fall, but you still feel a sharp pain on the side of your head when it comes in contact with one of the shovels.

“Shuck, are you that clumsy slinthead?” You mutter in annoyance as you rub your temple.

“Sorry.” Newt can only get one word out before the two of you start giggling again, only ceasing when you realize his hands are still secured around your waist. Not to mention you’re practically sprawled out on top of him, and can even smell the combined scent of mint and some type of wood coming off of him. Suddenly, the eye contact and the heavy breathing aren’t as funny as they were before.

She’s close, really close. Close enough for Newt to feel her heart beating rapidly against his chest, and her breath mingling with his. He could move his head just a few inches more, and actually kiss her. But he can’t, right? Not when she’s practically his best friend, and the one of the only people he can truly trust. She’s means too much to him for him to jeopardize their relationship. But she’s just so....impossibly close. Maybe if he just-

“Earth to Newt? My head, i-it really hurts.” She mutters softly, cringing in pain when she rises to get off of him. It’s only when he lifts her completely off of him that he realizes how sickly she suddenly looks. Sweat beading on her skin as she takes heavier breaths and-oh shuck

“What? What is it?” You question worriedly, realizing the sensation of hot water running down the side of your head. You go to rub it off, only to see your palm covered in thick red blood.

“Y-you’re bleeding.” Newt responds dumbly, eyes wide with concern and shock as he discards his shirt from his torso.

“No shuck.” Even with how lightheaded you are, you manage to make a snarky remark at the blonde in front of you. Wincing when he presses the bunched up fabric to your head. If your brain didn’t feel as if it were being stapled to your skull, you think you might’ve taken the opportunity to admire his muscled arms.

“You need to go to the med-jack, right now. Can you stand?” His demeanor is calm now, but you can tell laced within his tone is deep worry.

“Yeah, I think so.” You nod softly, cringing at the dizziness the action creates. Newt grabs at your arms to hoist you up, and you stumble with a groan at the sudden movements.

“Shuck, sorry.” Is all you hear before the ringing begins. And you know it can only get worse from there when little black dots begin to cloud your vision. Your legs feels as if they have no bone supporting the tissue, and it takes all your focus to attempt to stand. There’s shouting in the distance, or maybe from right beside you. It’s hard to tell with all this damn ringing...Did the world always feel this spinny? The last you see is the brilliant, shining sun before everything goes black.

************************

When you come to, the ringing has finally stopped. It takes you a moment to recognize your surroundings, especially since the lighting is so dim in the room. There’s shouting, but you can’t seem to decipher the voices just yet. Still, you silently pray for the arguing to stop so the raging headache will cease.

“How could you let this happen? How careless could you possibly be Newt?”

“That’s enough Minho, it was an accident. He feels bad enough.”

“Yeah, and you know we can’t afford accidents Alby. Because you know what happens? People die!”

“I said that’s enough. I know damn well what goes on around here. Now slim it.” The voice is stern, but remains tranquil as anger laces each word. Alby

“Jesus shuck, stop talking.” You croak weakly, voice unbearably hoarse from however long you’ve been out. You try to swallow some saliva, and hum weakly when a cup of water meets your lips.

“If you guys are going to argue, I suggest you do it elsewhere. It’s bad enough she’s lost consciousness after a head injury. Right now, she needs as little stimulation as possible.” Clint informs strictly as he readjusts the bandage on your forehead. “If you’re going to stay in here, you all need to slim it.” You follow Clint with your eyes as he walks towards the supply stable, noticing Alby and Minho stood glaring at each other in the doorway. Newt sits in a chair beside Alby, hand rubbing over his mouth in thought as he studies you intently. Only averting his eyes when you meet his gaze.

“Do you know your name?” Clint speaks gently beside you, finger moving in front of your eyes in a silent order for them to follow it.

“Y/n.”

“What about where you are?”

“The med hut, in the glade.”

“Good, and who’s that over there?”

“Minho and Alby. The blonde shank is Newt.” You joke half halfheartedly, wanting more than anything than to see the boy smile. He doesn’t make a move or attempt to speak, just meets your eyes with an unreadable expression.

“Very good. Y’know how you got in here?” You nod, but Clint raises his brows to have you elaborate. “We were working in the garden, and I fell.” You look over when Minho lets out a huff before shaking his head.

“It seems to me like she fainted from the loss of blood. It could have been shock or anxiety, because I’m not noticing signs of significant head trauma. No memory loss, nausea, or lack of reflexes as of yet. Just to be sure though, I want her here for the next week so I can monitor her. I don’t want to take a head injury lightly.” Clint informs without looking up from his reflex-test on you. The boys look to each other briefly and nod in understanding.

“I need to cool off, you’ll be okay?” Minho asks abruptly, voice much quieter this time. He rubs his thumb gently over the bandage as you offer him a weak smile.

“Minho, I’ll be fine.” He gives a curt nod before attempting to back away to leave, but you grab his wrist and pull him to you once more. “Please don’t be so hard on him. He didn’t mean it.” Minho considers your words for a moment, before looking between you and Newt. He gives another nod before parting your hand and leaving the room, still a bit frustrated. As much as he hates to admit it, or to let the other boys see, he really cares about you. You smile to yourself at the thought, strong and sassy Minho worried sick over someone. It’s heartwarming, but Newt’s pale, solemn expression brings your focus back to the glum energy of the room.

“Hear that? Sounds like you’ll be alright, shank. I’ll let you get some rest for now. And you’re not moving from this bed for a week, you hear? Clint gives the orders in here.” Alby affirms sternly, deep brown eyes the dead giveaway he’s a lot more scared than angry. He squeezes your shoulder gently before making his way out of the med hut. Leaving you and Newt alone when Clint rambles on about needing to grab herbs from Frypan for tea.

“Newt.” Your voice is so soft, you’re not even sure the boy has heard you. “Please, come over here.”

“I-I have to go talk to Minho.” He fumbles lamely, obviously trying to come up with an excuse. It’s all his fault.

The overwhelming guilt and shame has been eating at him for the past hour, wondering whether or not he had just seriously injured the girl he’s head over heels for by tripping over a shucking vine. He let his guard down, something he really only tends to do around you. It’s too dangerous, to love you. Shuck, he loves you. He can only admit it to himself right then, and the the thought that your injury was with him to blame makes his stomach churn. He was so stupid, so careless to think he could even try to be carefree for one second in this shucking hell of a plac-”

“Newt? Hey, don’t spiral on me please.” Your voice is more sad now, pleading with him to come to you. Reluctantly, the blonde walks over to sit on the side of the bed. You grab his hand before he can refuse, and give him that beautiful smile as his thumb absentmindedly moves over your knuckles. “Look at me, you heard Clint. I’m gonna be just fine. It was an accident-”

“That could have gotten you bloody killed.” He interrupts almost instantly, running a hand over his face to contain his composure in order to not raise his voice. “You understand passing out meant you could have not woken up, yeah?” He inquires, looking to you with narrowed eyes as your own drift up to look at the ceiling rather than him.

“But I didn’t.”

“But you bloody could have, and it would have been my fault.” His voice cracks at the end of his sentence, and your eyes dart over to meet his, not letting the moisture filling in the corner of them go unnoticed.

“Newt-”

“No. We have lost too many people to start getting stupid now. I-I can’t keep...I can’t keep doing whatever this is with you in good conscious, not after today.”

Your face contorts in confusion at his words, and if you weren’t so weak you’d hit him for being so vague.

“Wh-what? So, you’re just not gonna talk to me anymore because of a shucking mishap?”

“I can’t lose you!” He counters immediately. He doesn’t yell, but his tone is desperate when he tugs his hand from your own. Not understanding he’s doing more damage now than that stupid shovel ever could. “I can’t be sick with worry like that, n-not again. I couldn’t breath when I saw that blood on your face. And I could barely explain what happened to the others. I can’t-I wasn’t able to stay calm when I saw you like that. I wasn’t myself. So, I don’t know if it’s a good idea if we-”

“Slim it. You’re giving me more of a headache than I had before. You’re telling me you want to ignore me forever? Let...Whatever this is-whatever we are, just let it go because you’re scared? I’m scared all the shucking time Newt.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Only because you’re making this so complicated.” You’ve always been stubborn, but Newts still bewildered by your insistence despite your weakened state.

“I’m scared all the time!” He mutters sternly, staring into your eyes as if it’ll somehow translate to you. “I mean, every day I’m scared. But I let my guard down, and you got hurt. I love you too much to hold onto you, can’t you get that through your bloody skull?”

Your eyebrows raise at his words, wondering if he’s actually just admitted it as he rolls his eyes.

“There, you know now. I’m head over shucking heels or whatever. Doesn't bloody matter, we can’t keep doing this.”

“Oh, so just because you’re afraid we don’t get to be together? Believe it or not, this is a two way street. And it’s gonna take a lot more than a shucking shovel for me to stop loving you Newt. And to hate you? Well, that’s impossible.” You lock gazes as you speak, challenging him to look away or continue the argument before he sighs. There’s a long pause before he looks at his feet, shaking his head before replying.

“I’m sorry about what happened. But you need to get better before we can talk about this, alright?” He cups your check and runs his thumb over your jaw as you slightly nod, lips pulling up into a smile when he places a soft kiss to your temple before backing away.

“Will you come read to me later on? We don’t have to talk about...This. I just, I don’t want to be alone all day.” You trail off when you finish, expression brightening when he nods happily.

“Alright, any requests?”

“Maybe you should leave a request in the box for Botany For Dummies. Considering it was my squash vine your shank ass tripped over.”

“Again, you’re insufferable.”

“Don’t get all jacked because my singing actually works.”

“Tell that to my bleeding eardrums.”

“Tell that to the gash on my head!” Newt shoots you a stern look at your teasing, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway.

“Too soon?”

“Slim it already, will you? I’ll be back soon.”

“I’m counting on it.”

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

This might be a tad angsty but in your microcanon, what's the nature of the relationship between Macavity and Jemima? Since she was born and grew up a little while Demeter was still with him, what's her impression of him?

Jemima's impression of and relationship with her biological father is very mixed and complicated. tl;dr - Jemima's extreme empathy levels make it so that she can't help but try to find good in people, even when there isn't much left to be found.

And if that weren’t enough, Jemima harbors the very real fear of turning out to be just like him.

For starters, she didn't know that Macavity was her father until closer to the tail end of her time with him. For the first month of her life, Jemima's whole little world was too loud, too bright, and too much. Shapes and colours swirled in her mind restlessly, every touch grated against her skin like sandpaper, bugs crawled under her skin, the emotions of those around her stung the violently at back of her throat, but she could put no name to any of these things. She knew nothing of her situation, of the blood running through her veins, except the startling reality of her own existence. She could only cry until they quieted down.

In the weeks that followed, everything Jemima knew revolved around her mother and the handful of cats who drifted in and out of her field of vision like shadows; she remembers crooked torn ears and red handprints and black and orange stripes. She remembers how they smelled and what the timbers of their voices sounded like buzzing in her skull. These were safe cats - they must be. She cannot taste her mother's fear when they are around her.

Macavity showed very little interest in his heirs unless they showed promise in the magic department (Macavity is obsessed with legacy almost as much as anything else). And even then, it wasn't so much an interest in *them* as it was in their ability. Still, Macavity made a point of seeing her once in her first week, as he did with the others (a kitten useless as an heir has other uses, afterall). Demeter holds her breath when he reaches to touch her, bites so hard on her tongue she tastes blood to keep from gathering Jemima away from him.

There is something in Jemima that shows promise. A lot of promise. He senses the magic in her blood is strong. He is pleased. Tendrils of well done, slither through Demeter's head, leaving ringing in their wake.

Jemima does not remember this visit, does not remember any different cat, but she feels disquiet when her mother whispers of that time to her. When she closes her eyes and concentrates, she feels the tip of a claw press under her milk wet chin, lifting her head to the light.

On two separate occasions, when she was very little, Demeter found Jemima curled between Macavity's forepaws listening with childlike innocence as he spoke to her in a low, honeyed tone, so sickly and saccharine it made the hairs at the back of Demeter's neck stand up. She is never there by Demeter's own choice. He located her, a sheep strayed from the flock, or has lured her purposefully from her bed, to await the vicious warning he has for her mother just behind the guise of the smile twisting his muzzle. Jemima is not there for fatherly affection; she is there as a threat. As an...encouragement of Demeter's obedience.

Kittens, as I said, are useful in other ways.

Both times, she clings to Jemima when he allows her to scamper back to her, trying to keep the bile down as the kitten's little voice meows an innocent "bye bye", prompting another smirk from under his whiskers. Demeter takes her away as fast as possible, nodding her understanding. It is no longer her own life Macavity is playing with. She cannot afford to make mistakes.

Jemima is under constant watch after that.

Or at least as much as they possibly can

The first time Jemima met her father consciously, that she can remember, she did not know he was her father. She didn't even know that this was Macavity; this was the cat that all the others whispered about. But she knew something was not quite right about the cat towering before her. She was caught sneaking around one of the grand ballrooms, and taken to him by one of the queen henchcats, who Jemima only remembers as smelling of brine and hunger. The henchcats know better than to screw around with Macavity's favoured heirs - that was his domain and his alone.

"Good evening, Jemima." His voice sounds familiar, but it is not settling or comforting like other familiar voices in Jemima's life. This voice, artificially warm, has an edge to it, as though it is wound so tight it could snap at any moment.

His skin seems to shift and bubble as he leans down to look her in the eye. He reeks so much of authority that Jemima nearly chokes on it. Macavity does not look whole - he looks like so many segmented pieces stitched together. Jemima does not see the image he attempts to project forward to her - the gentlecat made to look unthreatening and meek. What she sees is altogether indescribable and pulsing with magic; what she sees is right through the cracks in Macavity's mask.

He is immediately unsettled by this.

She cannot put her paw onto why, but something in her mind sparks to life as she continues to stare at him - like her brain is filled with fireworks. It scratches around in her skull, prompting her to pull absentmindedly at one of her ears.

"Sneaking around is very unbecoming of a young queen, wouldn't you say?"

Jemima does not answer. She feels as though all the words have been stolen from her mouth.

"Where is your mother?" He is angry, but he seasons it well with formal niceties. Jemima can taste it plain as day.

Jemima feels how somecat's grip trembles on her upper arm when they slide up behind her. She knows this cat - has seen the dull glow of his aura many a time. Alonzo had looked as though all the blood had drained from his body when he recognized who had been brought before the Mystery Cat - when he too quickly affirmed that he would take her back to Demeter before Macavity had even asked. There is ice beneath the other cat's lashes as he glances up at the tom, interruption catalogued away for later, and Jemima catches the spark of irritation before he straightens.

"Sleep well, daughter," the strange cat calls after the pair, and Jemima feels the connection sever, leaving behind a faint buzz in her ears.

"What the hell were you doing?" Alonzo whispers when they were significantly out of earshot. He does not pause in his haste down the hall; he does not bother to censor himself.

Jemima ignores him. "Who was that?"

"That's the boss," Alonzo's voice drops. "That's Macavity."

Macavity. She knew that name. "Why did he call me daugh-ter?"

Alonzo's aura seems to go even paler, but he still does not pause. If anything, he walks faster. "Ask your ma," he mutters. "And don't let me catch you sneaking out again, you hear me?"

She is told, after a scolding, her mother's voice laced tight with hysteria, who Macavity is. The connection she felt, scratchy and unsettling, was all at once fully understood. That was her father.

Her father was Macavity.

In the days after, she can't stop thinking about what she saw. She wants to ask questions, but none of the adults around her want to answer them. She remembers that segmented face, the black sunken eyes, the wild red mane. She peers at her own reflection in the basement puddles and cracked boudoir mirrors and recognizes his face staring back at her. She blinks and her eyes turn black. Then back to blue.

Though she is too young to realize just yet, it's around this time she understands why Demeter and Bombalurina sometimes look at her the way they do. Why Demeter cries quietly in the middle of the night when she thinks no one can hear her. They see his face looking back at them.

And this is where Jemima's anxieties start to blossom.

The second time she is put face to face with her father, Macavity specifically requests her mother's presence and asks for Jemima by name. Demeter pushes Jemima behind her slightly when Macavity motions her closer, but a wave of his paw later and Demeter's grip on her shoulder slackens, and her arm is shoved firmly at her side.

Jemima trembles with her mother's defiance, but fully shakes with her fear. She wants to echo the sobbing she hears in Demeter's chest.

Macavity lifts her chin, twisting her head this way and that as he asks her questions. They are simple questions - about her dreams, about her nightmares, about the colours she sees sparking around other cats' ears. All the while, she feels that same sparking buzz in her teeth. She doesn't want to answer, but she does; it pours from her in buckets and she can't help it.

As Macavity listens quietly to her latest nightmare about a shadowed cat with white eyes and his jaw hung loose, too many teeth in his mouth, Jemima catches a flash of...something in Macavity's eyes. But it is gone as quickly as it surfaces.

When she finishes, he seems satisfied, and sends her off to play while he "Speaks with her mother privately."

Jemima hesitates beside her mother, not wanting to leave her alone, but scampers off to find Jerrie and Teazer when Demeter nods tightly in her direction.

She doesn't want to be alone either. Not with the buzzing in her head.

Every interaction afterwards, Jemima senses more and more of these threads of....something in Macavity that loop round and round but don't quite connect. It is not goodness like she senses in other cats. At least, she doesn't think it is. It is not particularly fear either - though it has shades of it. Honestly, she doesn't know what it is. And this, somewhat, prevents her from ever feeling fully afraid of him, even when she absolutely knows she should be.

It's incredibly confusing for her. He's never hurt her, never threatened her directly, but she knows how he treats other cats - how he treats other kittens. She's heard him yelling, seen glimpses of what he's done (more than she should have ever seen in her short lifetime). She sees as his flesh crawls and his eyes change. She sees the scars on her mother's face, the bruise around Alonzo's muzzle, the way Bombalurina favours her left leg. How Mungojerrie avoids looking most cats in the eye and Electra claws uselessly at her ringing ears.

She knows, deep in her heart, it's all his doing. This place was all his doing.

Jemima grows to hate his attention turned on her, on her friends, on her family - feels like an ant under a magnifying glass.

And yet...

She collects these loops and holds onto them. They are not frequent, but they exist. She cannot think of Macavity as her father - it feels wrong to do so when she already has her mind set otherwise - but her empathy is so high, that she can't help thinking of him as a cat like any other. A cat who has done terrible things and made horrible mistakes - but a cat nonetheless.

She cannot ever forgive him for what he's done, and will never forgive him, but sympathy swells in her breast all the same. The belief that every cat, no matter where they came from and what they had done, perhaps still has shades of the *capability* of goodness somewhere in them, nags at her every time she runs into him from then on out.

When they escape to the Junkyard, a few months later, Jemima is given a clearer picture of who Macavity is - but more importantly, who Macavity *was*. She notices how cats' attitudes change when they figure out who her father is, hears how their voices dip with pity. Munkustrap tells her about his brother, Old Deuteronomy shares a memory through her temple, and Bombalurina gets comfortable enough to speak of him when they were young, like Jemima and her friends were.

And a whole new fear blossoms in Jemima - if Macavity wasn't always bad, wasn't always a monster...if he had *become one* with time, did that mean that one day, she would be a monster too? 

If all cats had the capability to be good deep down, did that mean that all cats had the capability to be bad just as much?

[expensiveglasses]

Charming Finale

Summary: Prince Jungkook was as infuriating as he was beautiful. In line to one day be king, he requested your guidance in the ways of his people. In turn he will make you laugh, give your family fine gifts, and become an invaluable friend. Unfortunately, he will also make you fall in love with him. But the most unfortunate thing of all was his betrothal…to Snow White

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, Angst, Snow white/au

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 7659

Warnings: The first few pages of this chapter deal with the fall out of OC’s decision, so there’s confusion, hurt, anger, etc. This story ends happily, but the first part of the chapter is a little more emotionally painful so be aware. . .

It’s not true what they say about death. The black doesn’t remain. You were surrounded by swirling shades of violet, fuchsia, and azure. Lights bursting behind the shade of your quickly cooling eyelids. Your limbs were stiff but your vision was alive and swelling. There was a consciousness you’d never known death could hold, that allowed thoughts and dreams to roam openly.

Visions of yellow daisies erupting left you breathless when suddenly there was an explosion of color and you were gasping for air, eyes shooting open and blinking in the confusion of the aftermath.

Fingers tingling and breast heaving, your vision finally came into focus and your gaze shifted to the figure leaning over you. “Jungkook?” You breathed.

Jungkook’s eyes were red, cheeks swollen with tears and you watched in surprise as he lurched forward, burying his face in your chest and crying. “I thought I’d lost you!” He wailed. “How could you do something so stupid? I need you, you’re everything to me!”

Your breathing was shallow, evening out with the life that was filling your chest. “What about Snow?”

“I could not wake her.  Only true loves kiss can break the spell.”

“How did I wake up?” You asked softly.

“I kissed you.” Jungkook murmured, his tears slowing with his exhale as he lifted himself from you.

You took a deep breath as you tried to allow your thoughts to settle. “You…kissed…me?”

“I had to try.” He whispered, “I love you.”

You watched his face carefully as you took deep breaths. Your body felt heavy from death, like you’d slept too deeply and woken suddenly.

 “Help me sit up?” You asked softly and Jungkook complied, helping you to sit up against the trunk of a tree.

You were still in the forest and morning light was seeping through the openings of the trees. “How long have I been…asleep?” You asked delicately. The dwarfs stood behind Jungkook’s kneeling figure, faces the picture of relief.

Jungkook frowned, eyes dimming. “You were missing 3 days. The dwarf’s found you this morning and I came as soon as I could. I thought I’d lost you.” He repeated weakly.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled. “I thought I would never see you again and couldn’t bear the thought of it. It was a very selfish thing to do, I admit.”

“Yes, it was.” Jungkook scolded and you stared in surprise. “Death is a very permanent solution to such a temporary problem. You can’t just have a tantrum when things don’t go your way. Even if I had been able to wake Snow you would have recovered from the disappointment. We all recover and move on with our lives, that’s the way of things.”

“I thought you said you loved me, why are you yelling at me?” You muttered into your lap.

“I do love you,” Jungkook sighed, “but I’m mad at you.”

You nodded, clasping your hands together. “I understand.” Silence descended and you blinked in thought. “What will happen to Snow? Will she remain asleep forever?”

Jungkook paused, blinking down at you before pushing his hair from his brow. “I find in my sorrow I neglected to tell you everything. Snow is alive and well.”

Your eyes jumped up to his, eyebrows knitting together. “But you said you couldn’t wake her.”

“I couldn’t.” Jungkook affirmed, “But it turns out the huntsman could.”  

“Oh.” You breathed.

You supposed you shouldn’t have been so surprised; all the signs were there. You had just been so consumed with Jungkook and his destiny that you hadn’t paid much attention to what could have been happening between Snow and Diterich.

“Perhaps we could make our way inside.” Doc smiled and you glanced over Jungkook’s shoulder to return the gesture. “We are preparing supper and have warm blankets. It will take some time to recover from the effects of the poison.”

Jungkook stood suddenly, sliding his arms under your legs and around your waist to hoist you into his arms. “Please, lead the way.” . . The fire was warm and full as Jungkook placed you in the large chair in front of it, taking the proffered blanket from one of the dwarfs and spreading it over your body. You felt a bit too warm as you sat there, watching everyone prepare the food but Doc insisted you stay exactly as you were so that the heat could help you sweat out the remnants of the poison; much like a fever.

“What now?” You asked softly, holding onto Jungkook’s hand while he sat on the floor beside you. “Your father will be extremely unhappy about this turn of events.”

“I imagine so.” Jungkook mused, staring into the flames. Silence engulfed the two of you and you chewed on the inside of your bottom lip in thought. Even now, with Jungkook at your side and Snow awake from another’s kiss, there were no guarantees Jungkook’s father wouldn’t still insist on them marrying.

 They were betrothed, after all.

“I suppose it’s unreasonable to think you could be with a commoner.” You murmured, bottom lip trembling despite yourself. “I understand if you have to go.”

Jungkook turned to look at you sharply. “I have no intention of leaving you. I thought I lost you twice, I will not lose you again.”

“But your father!” You insisted, sniffing and rubbing a tear from the corner of your eye.

“I don’t care.” Jungkook said, lifting onto his knees and sitting in front of you. “You own my heart; totally and completely. I can’t continue without you and I refuse to do so. I’ve tried to do my duty my entire life and now I want to do something for me.”

“How selfish of you.” You smiled softly, a gesture that he returned, lifting your hand to his lips and leaving a soft kiss.

“We’re all entitled to a little selfishness sometimes.”

“Well come now,” Happy beamed, patting his belly cheerfully, “the supper is ready and we should have full stomachs before such heavy talk.”

“Stay put and we’ll bring some over to you.” Doc hummed, ladling some of the stew into a wooden bowl and handing it to Grumpy to bring to you.

“Thank you.” You murmured, taking the bowl from him and he offered you one of his rare smiles, patting the top of your hand.

“You really scared us, girl.”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, “I really am. I didn’t realize how many people my decision would impact.”

“You have many people that love you, dear.” Doc smiled, bringing a bowl to Jungkook and sitting down across from you with his own. “Sometimes we don’t see what’s right in front of us, but it doesn’t mean it’s not there. We’re glad you’re safe.”

“I would miss you.” Bashful blushed and Dopey nodded his head vigorously.

“I would miss you too.” You smiled.

“Well, tuck in. Sleepy, could you bring the bread?” Doc called. The other dwarfs came with their own bowls and a loaf of bread that everyone divided between them.

Conversation was light and jolly as they talked of music and celebrations.  The bread was warm and buttered, melting on your tongue and the stew was hearty and filling. By the time you’d finished your food you felt full and as though you’d sweat a river. 

Jungkook looked at you, chuckling. “You’ll need to wash yourself.”

“How preposterous. Commenting on my state in such a way.” You tutted, attempting to push the blanket from your lap before Doc pushed it back up, insisting you wait.

“We’ll prepare a bath for you. We’ve sent for your mother; she will help to bathe you.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary!” You insisted, face warming.

“My dear child,” he said softly, holding your hand in his own and speaking gently, “you’ve been dead for 3 days. You’ll need the help. Would you prefer one of us help you bathe?” He chuckled.

Jungkook looked positively mortified, “what an outrageous jest!” He said, gesticulating wildly, “that would be completely improper.”

“I see your sense of humor remains stiff and serious.” Grumpy commented offhandedly, shuffling from the room.

The dwarfs settled back into their conversations; comfortable by the warmth of the fire. Shame filled your chest as you stared down at the prince, still sat on the floor beside you, fingers locked around yours. His face was puffy and red from crying and your heart thumped uncomfortably at the thought that you’d caused him so much pain.

“Jungkook.” You murmured and he looked up at you, eyes wide in inquiry. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking…I just assumed that you’d be able to wake her and I would be forgotten…I couldn’t…I just couldn’t handle it. I’m so sorry.”

Jungkook hurried to his knees, rubbing the tears from your cheeks with his thumb as he soothed you with gentle words. “I know. I would have missed you terribly. I did miss you terribly. I was nearly out of my mind with grief when we found you.”

“I’m so sorry.” You said once again, watching his dark eyes flicker across your face; surveying him so close you could hardly believe you were here and now. “And…I love you too.”

Your heart jumped nervously at the proclamation. Even though he’d been the first to say it, it was terrifying to say out loud. The nature of your relationship was altogether forbidden and yet you craved him, yearned for him, loved him.

 Anyone but him would never be enough.

Tears sprung from your eyes once more; unbidden and heavy in their tracks across your cheeks.

“I know.” He whispered, nodding and stroking your cheeks once more. “It’s such a tragedy that our first kiss was while you were sleeping, don’t you think?”

You watched as he smiled, eyes crinkling at the sides. His tone of voice was playful and you pouted at him. “Don’t tease me if you mean nothing by it.” You chastised.

He grinned, glancing around the room quickly before leaning forward to press his lips against yours. “Better?”

“That was too quick.” You breathed, reaching forward and pulling him back to you by the nape of the neck. He was warm against you, hands resting on the arms of the chair to your side as he tilted his head to fit comfortably against your mouth.

“Your mother has arrived.” Doc called from by the window and you pulled away from the prince quickly, glancing towards the door.

Jungkook stood, moving closer to the fireplace as your mother entered, eyes sunken and dark. The guilt floored you once again as you took in her expression; the fear, confusion, anger. She glanced around the room, eyes darting towards the prince.

“Your majesty.” She croaked, head bowing slightly before she moved towards you.

Your chest seized as she came to sit in front of you, eyes filling with tears and you couldn’t have felt smaller. “You stupid girl,” she whispered, hands shakily moving to grab yours resting on your lap. Her tears flowed freely now. “Are we nothing to you? Your father and I? Are we not deserving of your thoughts?”

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered, bottom lip trembling.

Her head fell into your lap, shoulders shaking with her cries and you felt the flames of tears licking at your throat. You didn’t feel like you deserved to cry now; not when you’d caused so much pain. It hadn’t even crossed your mind how many people cared. You felt foolish for ever having doubted.

Your mother raised her head, standing and wiping at her cheeks. “Will someone be kind enough to help me bring her to the bath?”

The prince immediately stepped forward. “I would be honored.” He said softly.

 They both helped you to move slowly to the bathing room, your arms around their shoulders and you felt like your chest might burst open from shame.

Jungkook helped you to sit on the stool by the bath before excusing himself, closing the door behind himself. Your mother worked to undo the bindings of your dress, sliding in from your form and you shivered. She’d not bathed you since you were a child and your mortification continued to mount.

“So, it’s the prince then?” She said as she unfolded a cloth and sat it on the edge of the tub before helping you to stand and step into the water. It was warm and smelled sweet like lavender. Your bones sunk heavily into the wooden basin. “He’s the one that you’ve been going to see?”

You glanced up at her, chewing your bottom lip before nodding and staring down into the water. Your mother sighed. “I suspected as much.”

“You suspected?” You asked in surprise.

“I’m not daft child.” She remarked and your fingers twisted together under the water. She bent into a squat, dipping the cloth into the water with you and using it to gently scrub your skin. “I saw the way he looked at you that day he came back. Why do you think I insisted you wear your best dress to the castle?”

“Surely you could not have foreseen this.” You said softly.

“Certainly not.” She agreed, “Though I did hope you could raise your fortune higher than we ever could.”

“Mother,” you sighed, using your fingers to trickle water across your arms, “to marry a prince…it’s a feat I’m afraid my station in life makes me incapable of.”

“Perhaps.” She agreed, scrubbing down your back. “But his devotion is clear, my child. If I am not mistaken, I believe he will fight for you.”

She moved to the front, scrubbing carefully and you watched her work, eyes blurry with tears. “I’m so sorry mother. I was so unfair to you and father.” She looked up at you, pausing her work as you cried, “You’ve given everything for me; given me a good life and I repaid you with so much sorrow. I will spend my whole life apologizing.”

Your mother tutted, lifting your chin with her finger and you looked at her blurry face. “The best apology I could get is your happiness. My dear, a mother always forgives and loves her child. Promise me you’ll fight for your future.”

“I promise.” . .

“Would you like stew?” Happy asked as your mother helped you to settle back in the chair by the fire. 

“I am a mite hungry.” She smiled, accepting the bowl from his hands and a hunk of bread. 

“What will happen with Snow now?” Sneezy asked, standing beside the hearth and prodding into the fire with a poker. “The queen is dead; Snow will have to ascend to the throne.”

You glanced sharply up and Jungkook who reached out to squeeze your shoulder. “All will be well, I’m sure. I will take care of things.”

“We need to return home as soon as I’m finished.” Your mother said from the chair by the fire. “Your father is expecting us. He wants to see you home.”

“Would you like my help escorting you?” The prince asked. “It’s a bit of a walk in her state.”

Your mother bowed her head as thanks. “I will accept the help as far as the fields. Any closer and my husband will see. I’ve told him that you were injured, Y/N, but he does not know the true nature of what happened. It will remain this way. As soon as we leave this cottage, we will never speak of it again. It’s for the best.” 

You nodded quietly, quickly thinking of a plausible injury while she finished her food. When everything was ready, both Jungkook and your mother hiked your arms around their shoulders once more, helping you from the cottage and carefully into the forest. 

The walk was quiet, despite the racing thoughts of your party, and you moved slowly so as not to weaken yourself further. When the three of you had made it to the fields, you paused and Jungkook stepped away from beside you. 

“Thank you for your help, your majesty.” Your mother said softly, bowing her head once more. 

Jungkook himself bowed, to the surprise of your mother and you smiled. Ever the gentleman. “The pleasure was mine, ma’am. Y/N…” he paused, glancing at your mother before continuing. “I will speak with my father tonight. . .

~Jungkook’s P.O.V~

The king was in the study when the prince returned that evening. He sat in a comfortable chair by a roaring fire, book in one hand and glass of red wine in the other. He nodded as his son entered, closing his book and waving him over into the seat in front of him. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” He said, setting the book and his glass of wine down on the small table beside him. He waited for Jungkook to seat himself. “I was wanting to speak to you about your betrothal.”

The prince nodded, hands ringing together in front of him. “I was hoping to speak with you as well.” He said, leaning forward onto his knees. “About Margit.”

“Yes, very sad affair this. The death of a monarch so suddenly; it’s quite a tragedy.” The king said; morose.

“The queen was trying to kill, Margit.” Jungkook said lowly.

The king looked over at him, gaze calculating. “There’s no need to be so moral with me, son. I know the details. We’re not here to talk about the evil queen, but of your betrothed. She’ll need to be married before she can ascend to the throne.”

“Yes,” Jungkook nodded, straightening slightly, “I wish to speak to you about that as well.”

“Good, then we are in agreement. The marriage should take place quickly. We will of course have to take time to prepare and send invitations. We have many people who will need to come from far so the earliest we can progress would be a fortnight.” The king blathered and Jungkook cleared his throat to gain his father’s attention. 

“If I could father, I would like to say something.” He took a deep breath at his father’s wave of approval. “You know I respect you and that I love this kingdom. I love this kingdom so much in fact, that I’ve done a lot of thinking and I wish to break the betrothal with Margit.”

“You wish to what?” The king spluttered, back ramrod straight in his chair. “You wish to break the betrothal?!”

“Yes, father.” Jungkook continued. “Margit is a wonderful woman and she will make a very good queen…of her own kingdom. We have discussed it and neither of us wishes to marry the other. We are not in love with one another.”

“What does love have to do with anything?” The king roared, eyes bulging from their sockets. “This is a political alliance of great magnitude! This is unacceptable, you will do your duty to your kingdom and your king!”

Jungkook straightened completely, staring deep into the angry eyes of his father. He looked mad with fury. “Why is marrying someone for political gain my duty, father? Do you not think someone from our own kingdom would do well?”

“Is this about that confounded peasant girl?” The king howled, standing from his chair and pacing angrily behind it.

Jungkook stood himself, quietly and with great poise. His father’s greatest weakness was how strongly his emotion ruled him. If the prince could present a calm and collected face, perhaps his father could see reason.

 “Yes, it is.” He admitted. The king stopped suddenly, turning to look at his son. “I am in love with her.”

The king opened and closed his mouth a few times, surprise clearly etched into the wrinkles of his eyes. “Well,” he blustered, “well, what’s that to do with running a kingdom? Who is this girl anyway?”

“Father, your concern is that you want what is best for the kingdom. Please believe me when I say, that is my desire as well.” The king paused a moment, scrubbing a hand down his tired face. “I have the deepest respect for you and for this kingdom. I want what is best for the people that are in my care. It is why I chose to spend so much time out trying to see the village. I will admit that it has been difficult to make acquaintances with the people without giving myself away; so, I chose to spend time studying them from afar.”

His father resumed his seat, beckoning for his son to sit again. “The people are hardworking, father.” Jungkook continued, “They are good and they are kind and I wish to know their truest needs and desires. I believe the best way to do so would be to choose a bride from among them; someone who knows intimately what it is to be a villager in our kingdom.”

“And you wish for that girl to be your wife?” The king asked, fingers bouncing along the arm of his chair as his gaze switched from the flames to his son and back again.

“I do.” Jungkook admitted. “I would do anything to have her. Anything including…including giving up my claim to the throne.”

The king turned to him suddenly, surprise renewed and his whole body tensed. “Give up the throne?!”

The prince nodded, folding his hands together and staring straight at his father. “If that’s what it takes. It is not my desire to abdicate the throne, but if that’s what it takes to have the woman I love, I would do it.”

The king spluttered again noisily before shifting a few times in his chair, as though his body was filled with energy he couldn’t seem to release. He stared straight into the fire and Jungkook could see the thoughts racing behind his eyes.

“And what of the princess? Margit still needs to marry to ascend to the throne.”

Jungkook smiled softly at his father. “I would not have suggested such a drastic change in plans if I didn’t have a solution.” He said softly. 

“I suppose you mean for her to marry a peasant as well?” The king grumbled, twisting the ring on his middle finger in quick circles. 

“Not quite a peasant. A huntsman.”

The king scoffed before groaning and dropping his head into his hands. Jungkook watched him, his heart squeezing with compassion. All his father had ever known was duty; his head was not accustomed to giving way to his heart.

He sighed, glancing up at his son, looking more tired than ever before. “You know I want you to be happy,” he said. “As a father, I want you to find happiness no matter what, but as your king, I need you to also be reasonable; to see what you’re asking of me. This is no easy thing…to marry a commoner.”

“I know,” Jungkook nodded, leaning forward on his elbows again, seeking his father’s eyes. “I know what I ask of you is difficult, but love and duty can be joined for once. I can be happy and still rule this kingdom well; better in fact, with one of its women as my backbone.”

The king smiled softly, shaking his head. “You have the determination of your mother, you know.”

“You say that as though it were a bad thing.” The prince smiled and the king shrugged.

“It depends on the day.” Silence descended on the room, only the cracks of the fire as company while the king thought. “You’ve still not told me the name of your bride.” He said finally. 

Jungkook looked up at his father, dark eyes twinkling in the light of the fire. “I think you will quite like her.” He grinned. . .

“You’re betrothed?” Else choked, standing at the doorway of her home and you smiled. “To the prince?!”

You chuckled, leaning against the timber walls. “That’s correct. You’ve met him you know…the man from the market. Jungkook.”

“That was the prince?” Else squawked and the chickens in her yard fluttered away with angry screeches. “How in the world did you woo him? How did you ever get the chance? Oh my, poor Peter! He will be so disappointed.”

Your heart dropped at the mention of his name. You’d requested your father not tell him after the prince had come to inquire after your hand. Your father had nearly fallen off his seat when the prince had expressed his desire; thought he’d about lost his mind to be asking such an absurd question. He was a prince! 

Of course, he’d given permission and then became so suddenly thrilled you thought he might just run into the streets telling anyone he saw. You wanted your friends to hear it from you, though. Especially Peter. Else was right, of course, Peter would be heartbroken. But you knew the news would be best coming from you and not from gossip. You were one of his best friends, after all. 

“Yes,” you agreed with a sigh. “I plan to meet with him today to tell him. The announcement will go out to the village tomorrow so this is my only opportunity. I’m not excited for it.”

“No, I supposed not.” Else commiserated. “You are to be queen, though! Never could I have imagined.”

“It feels uncomfortable to think it.” You admitted, leaning your forehead against the wall. “I’m not deserving of the title at all.”

Else frowned, hands going to rest on her hips as she looked at you. “I disagree completely.” She huffed, “You will make an excellent queen. You are kind and thoughtful, you keep the best interest of others at heart. You know the needs of the people. There is no one better for it.”

You smiled, shaking your head at her. “So decided are we, hey?” You sighed, standing straight and dusting off your dress. “I suppose I should go now. I want to catch Peter before he makes way home.” 

Else wished you luck, demanding further details at a later time and you left her at the door, traveling further up the dirt path. Peter lived a little further out of the village, on the farm his brother now owned. The day was beautiful and warm and made you feel calm as you moved down the lane. 

You caught Peter just before he turned on the path to his home and he greeted you warmly. “Good morning, Y/N! What brings you here?”

You smiled gently, “I’ve come to see you, Peter.”

“Oh?” He said, smiling happily. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

You cleared your throat, pointing towards the fence and he followed you there, leaning up against it, pushing the bag at his hip aside. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you.” You said softly. 

Peter seemed surprised. It was unlike you to be so formal, so timid and you could see the questions on his face. “Of course. What’s troubling you?”

You sighed, straightening your shoulders and looking up at him. “I wanted you to hear the news from me, as I think it will come as quite a shock.” You paused to gauge his reaction, but he only looked confused. You continued. “I am engaged to be married.”

“Oh,” he paused, looking stricken, “To Meinolf? He did say…well, he did say he thought he might like to do so.”

“No,” You said softly, eyeing his expression. It was worse than you’d thought. He seemed to be struggling a great deal to keep the heartbreak from his face. “I am engaged to be married to the prince.”

“The prince?” Peter repeated, numb. He stared down at the ground, hands twisting around the strap of his bag. “The one in the castle?”

You wanted to ask if he knew another prince, but understood his shock. “Yes.” You confirmed patiently.

“How?-” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, shaking his head before continuing. “How did such a thing come about?”

“Well,” you sighed, “it started rather simply. They came to our house that time, months ago as you know, after he’d returned home from school. We were then invited to the castle and after I’d taken faint, he came to seek after my health. He requested my help in getting to know the village and I thought it would be rather good to have a king who knows intimately the struggles of his people.”

You took a deep breath and Peter nodded for you to continue. “So, I agreed and we began to spend time together. I showed him around the village; had him meet some people I thought he might like to know about, and we became naturally closer.”

Peter closed his eyes, leaning against the fence and absorbing the information. Your heart thudded painfully at the pinched look on his face, but you waited for him to be ready. “And he fell in love with you?” He asked finally. 

At your shy nod, he continued. “I am unsurprised by this. You are easy to fall in love with.” He said softly. You tried not to look pitying. You hated when people pitied you and you could imagine Peter would feel the same. “But do you love him? I remember you saying something about wanting to be in love.”

He looked earnest in his inquiry, like he really hoped for an honest answer so you felt at ease to give this to him. “I do.” You said, “I love him very much.”  

He sighed deeply, licking at his bottom lip before nodding. “Then I am happy for you; you deserve happiness. I always knew you could have done much better than me.”

“Don’t say that.” You chastised, “Don’t lower yourself for my honor. You deserve to be with someone who loves you just as much as you love them. Do you think you could ever truly be with someone who didn’t reciprocate your feelings?” 

He shrugged, staring up into the sky, robin’s egg blue and clear of all clouds. “It’s hard to say for sure, I’ve never tried it. You’re probably right, though…to love and be loved in return; it sounds wonderful. I’m happy for you, Y/N. I wish you a very happy marriage.”

“Thank you, Peter.” You smiled. 

He nodded, staring down the dirt path towards his house.” I should go. Home, I mean. They’re expecting me.”

“Of course.” You murmured, watching as he nodded once more before turning and resuming his walk. . .

The view of the village from the top of the hill by the mill was particularly beautiful today. The summer was waning slowly, but leaving in its wake a shimmering warmth. You sat below the tree with the gnarl, legs tucked underneath your dress, resting your chin against your knees. 

In a fortnight, everything would change. You would no longer be with your parents; your responsibilities would be completely new. You would be expected to learn politics, languages, public affairs…it would be a lie if you said the thought didn’t make you feel faint. 

You’d do it all to have Jungkook, but you certainly hadn’t thought much passed just being with him before your dreams actually came true. Now you were expected to take on the responsibilities as your kingdoms future queen and you felt ill equipped to do so. 

The village below you was teeming with life. You could hear the calls of people selling their goods; could see the butcher’s wife walking up through the streets with a basket full of sausages to tempt people into their shop. No one could imagine that tomorrow, one of their own would be elevated to a position so unimaginable. You worried that maybe some would resent you.

Perhaps some would imagine themselves worthy of royalty and wonder why they themselves had not been given a chance. How could you even begin to explain that you weren’t given a chance either? It just sort of…happened.

No, you supposed you would just have to endure whatever fall out may come. No monarch was unanimously liked…aside from perhaps Snow when she eventually took the throne. You smiled at the thought. Yes, you imagined she would be well liked. 

“I thought I would find you here.”

You turned to find the prince moving slowly towards you, hands clasped behind his back. The breeze moved through his hair lethargically, the strands framing his face handsomely. You could hardly believe he was yours. 

“You were looking for me, your majesty?” You teased, fingers twisting in the fabric of your dress as he scrunched his face at you. 

“Yes, my future queen.”

You huffed, flushing and staring out at the village below you. “I feel faint at the thought of it.” You admitted. 

“It is a lot of responsibility.” He sighed, sitting down beside you and slipping his fingers into yours. “We’ll do it together, won’t we?’

“Yes, we will.” You smiled up at him. 

“Did you speak with Else and Peter?” He asked delicately, tracing the veins against the back of your hand. 

“I did.” You replied. “Else was very happy and Peter was disappointed; nothing I didn’t expect. They send their well wishes, though. Both of them.” 

The morning was ebbing into early afternoon as you sat on that hill top together, fingers linked, the prince’s thumb stroking back and forth across the back of your hand as you enjoyed one another’s company. 

“Do you remember the first time we saw each other again? At your house.” He asked suddenly. You turned your attention towards him as he smiled down at you. “Your family was waiting for my father and I outside your house and we hadn’t seen each other in years.”

“Of course I remember.” You smiled, “I was dreading it. I assumed you’d be that same awful boy from before, just older.”

Jungkook flushed pink, lips twisting into a lopsided smile. “I have the feeling you thought I still was after that meeting.”

You could remember his words even now, he’d treated you as though you were just a toy to be played with, something to amuse him. Even now, you couldn’t reconcile that man with the man before you today. “Yes, you didn’t make a great impression. I felt as though you just saw me as an accessory.”

His head hung low, bobbing up and down with his nod. “Yes, I apologize for that. At the time, I hadn’t realized how it had sounded. It was upon further reflection that I felt I had sounded unkind. I only meant to ensure that you would be at the castle with your father and Peter.”

“Why is that?” You asked him. 

He smiled, staring down the hillside and avoiding your gaze. “You looked very pretty. I am a man after all, and I wanted to see you again. To show you that I’d changed. I didn’t do so well that first day.”

“No,” you said with a laugh. “No, you did not do well at all that day. Did you know that my mother put me in my best dress to go see you in the castle? I couldn’t understand why she would waste effort on making me look so presentable when I was going to go see the king. Why would he need for me to look nice?”

“The effort certainly was not wasted.” Jungkook said softly and you smiled, looking up into his soft brown eyes, warmed from affection. “You looked even more beautiful that day. I could hardly believe how much you had changed. It made me feel ashamed of myself.”

“Really?” You asked in surprise and he nodded. 

“Because I had assumed that you would still be that same little girl that I had misjudged. You were amazing, though. Vivacious, beautiful, gentle, and you were so unwilling to be what others wanted you to be. That was very alluring.” 

You laughed, your chest fit to bursting with equal amounts pride and embarrassment. “You make me sound so lovely.” You mumbled. 

Jungkook smiled, hand going to rest against your cheek and you looked up at him, heartbeat accelerating. “You are lovely. So lovely. I love you deeply. You are far more than I deserve. I am only a man.”

“And I am only a woman.” You smiled, cheek nestling deeper in his hand as his thumb made waves across your flesh. “let’s be equals, shall we?”

His lips against yours was his gentle acceptance. . . ** About 2 months later **

The early morning was crisp. You stood at the balcony dressed in only your night shirt and a glass of warm tea clutched in your hands. Your attendant had recently left after waking you and you sipped sleepily at your drink. 

You’d hardly slept last night; so much to occupy your mind. It had only been a month since your wedding, but after the party and the bedding ceremony were finished and you’d been able to get a night’s rest, you’d woken to lessons and training from sun up to sun down. 

The king had been uncommonly kind; understanding of your limitations and patient with your learning. He said you were doing remarkably well all things considered. You felt he flattered you to the point of near dishonesty, but you appreciated his faith in you none the less. 

It was intimidating to jump into a role you were so whole heartedly unprepared for. You could never have truly imagined how much work it would take to become an acceptable ruler. Still, there was a part of you that was really enjoying your time learning. 

In the village, you’d been unable to return to school once your womanhood had begun. Your mother insisted you stay home and learn to tend a home when that time came; insisting it was the education you would need anyway. 

At the time, it had felt unfair, but you’d understood. As far as you knew, you would grow up to tend a home and bear children. Language and politics were of no use to you. Now, of course, everything had changed and you felt very ill equipped. 

It was still early enough in the morning that most of the villagers had not woken. You could see some smoke plumes in chimneys from your spot on the balcony, but otherwise, all was silent. A knock at your bedroom door roused your attention and you called out softly for their entry. 

You knew it was Jungkook anyway. 

“Good morning.” He said gently, closing the door behind him and making his way over towards your balcony. “I see the master of the wardrobe has not come yet.”

“I asked for a little extra time to revive myself.” You hummed. 

Jungkook moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and you could see that he himself was already dressed in his outer clothing. 

“You look beautiful.” He murmured, leaving a kiss against your cheek and you huffed pleasantly.

“I just woke up. I look like the undead.”

“Impossible!” Jungkook insisted. You could feel his interest against your back, the warmth of his body drawing you closer and you smiled as his nose drew a delicate line across your jaw.

“We don’t have time.” You mumbled as his lips made their way across your neck and collarbone. 

“I only need a few minutes.” He murmured, hands wandering temptingly upwards.

“That’s not as reassuring as it sounds.” You teased and you could hear his muffled laugh in the dip of your neck. “I still need to dress, we need to eat, and then we must travel a morning’s journey. We don’t have as much time as you think.”

You turned in his arms, placing your cup down on the table by the door and wrapping your arms around his neck. He looked unfathomably handsome this morning. Long dark hair pushed away from his face and wearing an ornate, deep blue tunic embossed in gold. 

“My prince charming.” You sighed, looking up at him and he smiled. “I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

“I’m very persuasive.” The prince hummed, rocking your bodies lightly from side to side, “My father didn’t stand a chance. I knew you would be here with me someday.”

You laughed, running your hand up his chest. “Your confidence is almost alarming at times.”

“Alarmingly attractive.” Jungkook said as you stepped away from him and back into the bedroom. You hummed your agreement and he smiled. “Shall I call the master of the wardrobe?”

“Yes please,” you said, surveying the bags of scented perfume on your bureau.

 After Jungkook returned from calling the help, he moved towards where you stood, two bags in your hands. “Which should I choose for today?”

You held each bag out for his inspection and he smelled them carefully before picking one. “You know this is my favorite.” He said, fiddling with the strings of a bag you’d left on the top of the bureau. 

“Yes, but I also know how you behave when I wear it and we can’t be doing that at a wedding of all places.” You teased. 

“True.” He grinned wolfishly. 

A knock at the door and the master of the wardrobe was stepping in at your call. Jungkook left you to get dressed with a promise to wait for you down at breakfast. . .

Snow looked radiant in her wedding dress. Deep red with gold accenting; her lovely dark hair held high in a golden snood and a crown perched delicately on top of her head. She was more beautiful than you’d ever seen her; beaming happily at Dietrich as he spoke with a wedding guest. 

The king led both Jungkook and yourself towards the couple and Snow smiled even brighter, embracing you tightly. “Your highness!” She beamed, nodding her head at the king who tucked his own in greeting. “Your majesties. You’ve all come. I am so happy to have you join us today.”

“It is the greatest pleasure.” The king replied grandly. “It is a wonderful day for a wedding, is it not? The weather is pleasant and the food is plenty.”

The hall of Snow’s castle was beautiful. The kingdom of Vildüngan was nestled in the rolling green hills of Weidenbaum auf Nidd. The décor of the dining hall reflected the nature surrounding the castle, vines draped across windows and corridors with soft pink and blue forget-me-nots and edelweiss tucked into the foliage.

The high table and three long tables in the center had been adorned with dining ware, ready for their occupants. You could smell the tantalizing scents of the kitchen wafting to where you all stood, sweet and savory already pricking your taste buds into excitement. 

“Will you be our honored guests at the high table?” Snow asked, her arm linked through that of her new husband’s. 

“How could we refuse such a generous offer?” Jungkook smiled, motioning for them to move forward and the three in your party followed after, greeting foreign dignitaries and foreign royalty on your way. 

The high table afforded you a spectacular view of the dining hall and its occupants. As everyone seated themselves, the servants began to fill the tables with food; so much you felt you could almost hear the tables groaning under the weight. 

You filled your plate with the food closest to you as you engaged in conversation with the queen from Duchy of Savoy. She spoke of her children, all too young to attend, and you smiled and laughed with her stories. 

She made you feel an anxious sort of excitement for your future with Jungkook. He was talking animatedly with the King, cutting into a shank of lamb and you tried desperately to concentrate on your own present conversation, despite how distracting he was.  

The evening waxed late when a trumpet was sounded and Snow smiled, standing tall before all in the room. “I want to thank you once again, on behalf of myself and my new husband. How gracious you are for coming to be with us this evening and to celebrate our union. There was a time not so long ago when things could have been very different than they are now.”

She glanced down at both Jungkook and you, a small smile curving her lips up. “We have much to be grateful for tonight. Your company, for starters.” The room cheered loudly, clanking cups against the wooden tables and Snow laughed. “Yes, and of course my health. I am indebted to my dear husband on that account. I am grateful for the bravery of friends that changed the tides of fate. For the flexibility of my people and the sovereigns of this land who felt that with great change, a better world could be created.”

The room was quiet, but happily so. The atmosphere was warm and pleasant, the buzz of contentedness you got from a full belly and a warm fire. You felt the alluring tendrils of sleep tug behind your eyes, but the party was still young and you hadn’t had a dance yet. 

“I hope, that going forward from this evening on, we will form a great alliance one with another; that we will remember this evening and these warm feelings. I beg we rise together, that we align together to look after our brothers of distant countries and remember we are family. I know each of you by name and you have great worth to me. Let us celebrate as long as the moon will allow and remain tied as long as our kingdoms shall endure. To our futures together!”

“Here here!” Called the room, lifting cups and drinking deeply. Jungkook finished his own glass, turning to face you and reaching for your hand under the table. 

“May we live long and reign with all the dignity and love we have in us.” He whispered.

You smiled, squeezing his hand in yours, warm and whole. You felt secure, you felt loved, and you finally felt like you’d found your rightful place. With him.

“Here here.”

.

.

I’m so sorry it’s late! I had a crazy weekend and completely forgot. It’s over, though! Can’t believe it’s done. I hope that you enjoyed and I’d really appreciate you sharing your thoughts! <3

Previous 

Copyright © 2019 by Taeken-My-Heart. All rights reserved.

[ncssian]

i wrote another oneshot to avoid doing my homework these are kind of addictive lmao

---

"and what do you deserve?"

nessian modern au; 1,441 words

mostly fluff but also cassian being defensive of nesta and getting mad at the ic

Nesta had been asleep for so long that Cassian could no longer feel his legs. He refused to shift underneath her, scared of waking her up, and contented himself with running his fingers through her hair instead.

She'd come into the living room of their holiday cabin about an hour earlier and crawled atop him without any words, her only intention that of taking a nap. She was dressed in her lavender flannel nightgown, the one that made her look like a little girl again, claiming she couldn't sleep without him.

Now, as he stared down at her too-perfect face, furrowed even in sleep, the insecurities he kept hidden so well from her rushed to the forefront of his thoughts.

She had always been so beautiful—not just in her looks, which were the first thing most people noticed, but in her heart and mind. Cassian loved those the most. Like a boy studying the inner workings of a clocktower, he loved taking his time to figure out how she thought and dreamed and felt of things. What he discovered was always surprising, each unveiled fact about her a gift. And yet, it could never escape his notice that the only reason he was surprised by Nesta was because he could never know her. Not fully and completely in the way she deserved, at least. He would always be asking more questions, always stumble just a little when it came to navigating her mind.

Cassian felt the overwhelming urge to voice these insecurities aloud.

"Did you know," he started softly, hesitantly, "my biggest fear is that one day you'll find someone who understands you better than me?"

He was met with silence, of course.

"And the worst part is," he continued, "I don't know if I'd be selfless enough to be happy for you if that day ever came. Because even when you clearly deserve more than me, I can't help but hate whoever is out there that could make you happier than I do."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Nesta used Cassian's chest to push herself into a sitting position.

Cassian jerked in surprise, not expecting Nesta to have woken up at his whispers.

"I—" he stuttered. After some moments of struggling, he finally said, "It's the truth."

Nesta's sharp eyes narrowed on Cassian in that way they did whenever he was about to be proven thoroughly wrong. "Did you know when we first got together, my sister and your friends took me aside and less-than-vaguely told me to leave you because I would only weigh you down and ruin your life?" She said it all in one rushed breath like she'd been challenged to a debate.

Cassian nearly sat upright, but Nesta's hands kept him pinned in place. "They did what?" Rage, fiery and directionless, flooded him in a hot rush. That was part-lie; his fury did have a direction. "Why is this the first I'm hearing of this?"

"Because it's an embarrassing thing to share." Nesta wasn't backing down on this. "And at the beginning of our relationship, I didn't exactly want to give you ideas."

Cassian was hurt, hurt and offended that she could believe those words even for a second. He was even more offended that his own family were the perpetrators.

He pretended to be calm for Nesta's sake. "Who exactly said that to you?" He forced an even tone. "I want names."

Nesta shrugged. "Feyre, Rhys, Amren..." she trailed off. "They're not the point. The point is I know they're wrong, even if I don't always feel like it." She shrugged again, but this time an ounce of self-consciousness slipped under her brave demeanor. "So stop pretending like you invented insecurities," her voice quickly turned berating, "because that mini-monologue might have been the dumbest shit I've ever heard."

Beneath his lingering anger, Cassian's chest warmed. Nesta only called him an idiot when she was feeling especially fierce in her affections. Harsh reprimands were her aggressive way of letting people know she cared, and though it was one of the first things he'd ever found out and wholly accepted about her, some people still refused to see the difference between her declarations of love and her declarations of hate.

Some people like his own friends and family.

"Okay," Cassian relented. "Let's assume for a moment that I was wrong, and there's no one out there that could possibly be better for you than me."

"It's not an assumption." Nesta pushed her shoulders back. "You were wrong."

She was so convincing, Cassian nearly believed her. Maybe with time he would.

"That still leaves what you told me. And even if you're okay with it now, I'm not."

"I don't expect you to be," Nesta said. "But I don't want you thinking about other people when this weekend is for us. I didn't drive all the way out to a mountain in the middle of Nowhere, Colorado so you could worry about them."

Nesta's refusal to say their names told him enough about how she felt on the matter. But also, she was right. The last thing Cassian wanted to do was think about anything that wasn't Nesta. Especially not when she was on top of him in that stupid nightgown.

"Alright," he gave in. "What would you rather I worry about, Nesta?" His hands skimmed the hem of the gown that had gotten bunched up around her bare knees.

Her gaze turned predatory, and in the next moment her nightgown fell to the floor.

Cassian didn't think about much after that.

***

Nesta and Cassian were in the middle of cooking dinner later that night when Cassian's phone buzzed. He narrowed his eyes at the name on the screen.

"Let me get this," he said, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and making his way to their bedroom for privacy.

In the dimness of their room, he answered Rhysand's call. "What," he said flatly.

"Hello to you, too," Rhys drawled. "You ever planning on leaving that cabin or should we not expect you home for Christmas?"

Cassian didn't have the patience for bantering with his brother, but he also knew this wasn't the time to tear Rhys a new asshole. That conversation would have to wait until they returned home.

"I'm actually thinking of extending our stay," Cassian said through his clenched jaw. "Nesta mentioned something today about 'weighing me down' and feeling like a burden, and it's really got me concerned."

"...Has it?"

"It has. I mean where would she get such a bullshit idea from, you know? I clearly haven't been spending enough time with her if that's what she thinks of herself." Cassian wondered if he could choke someone with passive-aggressiveness. "So yeah, now I have to spend the whole weekend telling my girlfriend I love her." He sighed as if this was a huge hardship for him. "We'll probably be here for the rest of the week. Might not even make it back for Christmas if I feel like keeping her to myself."

Rhys cleared his throat, and Cassian hoped he felt uncomfortable. "Good for you, man. If that's what you're dead-set on."

"It is."

Rhys didn't have much to say after that, but the slightest bit of Cassian's need for revenge had eased. If his family couldn't like Nesta, the least they could do was know how much he loved her. Cassian hung up without saying goodbye back and tossed his phone onto the bed.

He hadn't been planning on extending his and Nesta's cabin retreat before his conversation with Rhys, but the plans he'd made up on the spot over the phone were looking undeniably appealing. Maybe they would skip Christmas this year, and only share presents with each other in bed.

Cassian returned to the kitchen to find Nesta struggling to wrangle a dangerously sticky, soggy lump of dough. She looked up at him apologetically as he entered. "I tried cooking without you," she said, sounding defeated.

"Even though you knew what would come out of it?" Cassian was already pushing his sleeves up to save her attempt at dough.

"How hard can dough be? I have to get it eventually, right?"

Cassian had to hold down a smile at his girlfriend's cooking skills. "You should wash your hands," was all he said. She was up to her elbows in the weird sticky mixture.

"Right, Cassian?" Nesta repeated, waiting for affirmation.

Cassian couldn't lie, so he settled for a kiss on the forehead and the truth. "You'll never have to worry about cooking as long as you have me, sweetheart."

[my-bated-breath]

Revenge for a Memory

An essay on Katara’s relationship with grief, resentment, and closure

_____

“So… the torturer of one’s imagination, the monstrous figure against whom one had struggled for so many years, dwindled to this pitiful wretch, whose obvious need was not for punishment, but for some kind of psychological treatment.”

- George Orwell, “Revenge is Sour”

_____

Her element answers her call - a hundred icicles hang suspended in the air, dagger-sharp and aimed to draw blood. On the other end, the man brings up his arms in a movement that’s quick yet still too slow, crossed over his head as if to protect himself. He trembles. He shakes.

His death would be so effortless. She could maneuver around his pathetic defense in half a second; she could kill him swiftly and painlessly if only she wishes it to be so. Looking upon his small and curled form, she knows he would offer little resistance. He is powerless.

Katara hesitates, something slipping inside of her, through her stance, through her fingers. Rain pours on. Ice becomes water. Yon Rha is spared.

_____

When considering Avatar: The Last Airbender in its entirety, “The Southern Raiders” stands out as one of the most mature and morally ambiguous episodes, one delving deep into Katara’s relationship with love and loss, present and past, and justice and revenge. Within it, the story does not outline any right or wrong path for Katara to choose. Rather, the most she can hope for is to choose the path of least regrets.

By the end of the episode, Katara has found closure. She returns from her confrontation with Yon Rha having let go of her resentment towards Zuko, who once represented everything she hated about the Fire Nation, and forgives him. The reason why she forgives him is clear - he has earned it by providing her with the means to find her mother’s killer. But the reason why she has found closure is less so.

_____

“This is a journey you need to take. You need to face this man. But when you do, please don't choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.”

_____

“But I didn't forgive him. I'll never forgive him.”

_____

To forgive is to let go of resentment. And for Katara - for someone who was eight-years-old when she last saw her mother, for someone whose entire childhood was ripped away in the same second her mother’s life was ripped away from her body, for someone who was forced to mature far too quickly to fill in that hollow space left behind by a ghost - that is too much to ask for. Although violence may not have been the answer, a lack of violence does not mean a lack of anger on Katara’s part. Her trauma has wounded her too much to prevent her grief from spilling into anger, and Katara can let neither her grief nor rage go.

No, forgiveness is not the reason why Katara found closure.

That grief and that rage, however, no longer overwhelm her in the way they used to. Something gives way during that confrontation with Yon Rha, but what is it? What is the realization that frees her from her hurt, that paves the foundation for her healing?

_____

“I always wondered what kind of person could do such a thing, but now that I see you, I think I understand. There's just nothing inside you, nothing at all. You're pathetic and sad and empty.”

_____

After she spares Yon Rha, Katara tells him that he’s “nothing.” For the individual who clings onto the nebulous concepts of “meaning” and “purpose” for their entire lifespan, to be “nothing” is to be faced with eternal damnation. Someone who is “pathetic and sad and empty” is someone who lives but is not alive, running through the motions of each day mechanically and without feeling.

Perhaps the reason why Katara finds closure without forgiveness or revenge is that she chooses the ground in-between. She has found justice without needing to serve it because life, in its cruel and karmic ways, had already reduced Yon Rha to a shell of the man he once was. Had Katara been any more merciless towards Yon Rha, it would still have been merciful compared to how he suffers in his present life. Ending Yon Rha would be a waste of Katara’s efforts.

So Katara says, “I think I understand.”

And so we, the audience, think we understand too. Only then we remember what Katara had said before: 

“I always wondered what kind of person could do such a thing, but now that I see you…”

Katara is fourteen when she says “now that I see you.”

She was eight when she first saw Yon Rha.

In Katara’s flashback, the “kind of person [who] could do such a thing” is someone ominous, terrifying, and inhuman, a portrayal exemplified by the low-angle in which Yon Rha is framed in contrast to the high-angle looking down on Katara. In this shot, Yon Rha towers over Katara both in height and in authority. Thus, she has always imagined her mother’s killer to be the same way he has appeared to her when she was a helpless, vulnerable child - he appears as a militaristic man, an arrogant man, a powerful man.

The man Katara finds behind the door in the Fire Nation telecommunications tower is just that. As the captain of an elite Fire Nation scouting group, he embodies everything Katara would expect from the monster of her childhood, someone with a capacity for immense ruin and cruelty. So, lost in a memory where she is completely powerless, Katara’s grief and anger compel her to cling onto every iota of power she had gained through the years. Pushing her skills to the limits and past the limits, she inadvertently pushes herself to use the power she swore she’d never use - bloodbending.

“It's not him. He's not the man.”

Stricken, Katara walks away. Whether she is silent because of disappointment or shock is left up to interpretation, but no interpretation can deny the poisonous effects Katara’s hatred had on her. It consumed her body and mind, driving her to reach into someone’s veins and into their blood, tempting her beyond the one line she promised she’d never crossed. Stemming from hurt, grief, and rage, her loathing is intoxicating in the same way her memories of her mother’s death is so haunting. Because there was no humanity in the way Kya was killed, and so Katara dehumanizes her mother’s murderer in the same manner.

Maybe monsters deserve to die. Maybe monsters deserve to be bloodbended.

But monsters can only exist in memory.

_____

“Revenge is an act which you want to commit when you are powerless and because you are powerless: as soon as the sense of impotence is removed, the desire evaporates also.”

- George Orwell, “Revenge is Sour”

____

Before, when Katara and Zuko fly on Appa with Whaletail Island in their sights, Zuko awakes to the sight of Katara looking forward to the horizon, back straight and eyes hardened with determination. In response to his request for her to rest, she tells Zuko, “oh, don't you worry about my strength. I have plenty.”

Later, in her encounter with the captain of the Southern Raiders, her strength is affirmed by her ability to bloodbend-

-yet this is the experience that plants that first seed of doubt into her mind.

These doubts are in full bloom by the time Katara and Zuko reach the small Fire Nation village that Yon Rha, now a humble farmer, calls home. They hide in the shadows, trailing behind him as he walks back home, and then, they wait.

And then, they strike.

_____

“That was him. That was the monster.”

- Katara

_____

Katara says that Yon Rha is the monster, but their roles are now reversed - Katara is the aggressor and Yon Rha is the victim; Katara looms over Yon Rha at a low-angle while Yon Rha is looked down upon from a high-angle. Ultimately, a monster is more than their cruelty and vileness; a monster has power; a monster has control over a nightmare.

Only now it is not Yon Rha in control, but Katara.

_____

“I'm not the helpless little girl I was when they came.”

- Katara

_____

In the end, the issue had never been about Katara’s strength - instead, it was about her weakness. As a child, she was vulnerable while Yon Rha was infallible, and so the image of Yon Rha looming over her is the one that persisted for years, plaguing her even as she grew up and grew stronger. Hence, the Yon Rha Katara saw as an eight-year-old is the Yon Rha she would have no qualms about killing. 

But that Yon Rha belongs to another time. He belongs to a time in which Katara was weak and Yon Rha was strong, and that time is the past and the past is unbreachable. Thus, revenge can only exist in the ghost of a memory; revenge can only exist in fantasies.

Perhaps the childish fantasy aspect of revenge is why the platitudes “revenge is empty” and “revenge is meaningless” are thrown around so carelessly today, so much so that they no longer hold any weight. Of course, these statements are true in many ways, but they also oversimplify complex emotional responses to trauma. For Katara, revenge is empty because it is not what she needs.

Consciously or subconsciously, Katara recognizes her needs the moment when they’re met - with her suspending shards of ice in the air, all pointed towards Yon Rha. Then, fantasies and illusions shatter, falling away like ice turning back to water and splashing on the ground, unused. Katara now has power, not only through waterbending and bloodbending, but through the present over the past. Stripped of all his height and authority, the monster that was the Yon Rha of six years ago had already been killed. Now all that is left is her, standing over the humble-villager Yon Rha, over her fear and grief and rage, over the past that once haunted her. Over her memories.

_____

“I wanted to do it. I wanted to take out all my anger at him, but I couldn't. I don't know if it's because I'm too weak to do it or because I'm strong enough not to.”

- Katara

_____

By the end of her journey, the ideologies at conflict during the beginning of the episode are still at war within Katara. Katara holds power over her memories, but she is not at peace with them. Katara is able to forgive some, but she is not able to forgive all. The loss of her mother still hurts, but the loss of Katara’s innocence is replaced by the affirmation of her maturity. She has not let go of her rage, but she is no longer blinded by it.

Still, no matter how bittersweet the ending to this story is, it is also full of hope and new beginnings: The hold old memories had over Katara is broken. Six years’ worth of hurt and damage, though it cannot be smoothed over the course of a few days, can finally begin to heal. The wounds have been cleansed; the ghosts have been chased away. Now, Katara is strong where she was once weak. Now, Katara has found closure.

Now, Katara is free.

_____

Works Cited

Revenge is Sour by George Orwell

As seen by how much I quote George Orwell throughout this meta, my philosophy on the meaning of revenge draws a lot of inspiration from this essay, a piece on how a shift in dynamics in the post-World War II world can lead to the oppressed becoming the oppressors.

The Cycle of War by HelloFutureMe

My analysis on low-angle vs high-angle shots and the role-reversal of victim and aggressor comes from this video essay, a piece on how the cycle of persecution and victimization perpetuates war.

Companion Pieces (metas) by yours truly

Rage, Compassion, and the Bridge in Between

An essay on Katara’s emotions and the reciprocatory relationship between her kindness and anger

Ideals and Idealization

My interpretation of Aang and Katara’s relationship in The Southern Raiders and an extensive study on how Aang idealizes Katara

selfish

A fanfiction that takes my analysis on Katara’s grief + the concept of revenge and explores it in story form (OR: a post-TSR conversation written from Zuko’s POV; implied Zutara)

Summary: Revenge is a fantasy.

[autumnblogs]

Day 3: Vendetta against Bro

Welcome back to more Homestuck Liveblogging. Picking up with Nannasprite as she prepares to give John the Dirt.

https://homestuck.com/story/421

Sburb’s opening move is to take John’s Dad away from him. If @mmmmalo​‘s theory about psychological storytelling is to be believed, Sburb provokes fear and then manifests it in the form of a character’s antagonists. If you wonder why I bring them up so much, it’s probably because I’ve been reading their blog lately. I am almost always game for more Homestuck theorization, and would love to be able to reference more people and engage with their thoughts in my theoryposts and liveblogging, so if you know somebody with good takes, please pass them along my way.

The Incipisphere, like John’s name, was invoked into existence by player/character action, but paradoxically, has always been that way. By engaging with Sburb, John authenticates its retroactive existence, like a mailman taking a signature of receipt for a package.

When we engage with the fixtures of our cultures and material realities, we too, authenticate them. This can be good or bad - when we communicate with each other, recognize each other, we authenticate each other too. Observing and being observed is a mutual act of validation for everyone involved. I see you seeing me seeing you.

I’m full of horseshit again. Read some more horseshit after the break.

Content Warning for this one: Pedophilia Mentions.

https://homestuck.com/story/422

There’s a lot to unpack in this sequence of pages, and I’m almost certainly going to miss a lot of it, but I’ll come back to stuff that I miss as it comes back up in later pages.

As a Crucible of Unlimited Potential, Skaia can become absolutely anything, and the shape that it will take on will be influenced by the actions of the players. But it isn’t anything yet. 

This is the second time in two pages that Nanna has brought up the light-darkness dichotomy of the forces at play in the Medium, and after just talking about the act of mutual authentication through mutual observation, my brain is screaming the words Hegelian Lens at me. Might go somewhere with that too.

I also wanna call attention to the name of the Medium. As a story about stories, it only makes sense that the name of Homestuck’s main otherworld should evoke the field used to propagate mass communication.

https://homestuck.com/story/423

I’ve always thought that it’s interesting that of the two forces in the Medium, the players have natural allies in the form of Prospit. The choice here is not to act on behalf of one or the other, the choice is between Action and Inaction. Not doing something is itself, doing something.

https://homestuck.com/story/427

You Can (Not) Redo.

Sburb relentlessly drives its players forward. If you attempt to go back, or stay where you are, you will be punished. No getting your parents back, no getting your planet back.

What’ll it be John? Advance or Advance?

https://homestuck.com/story/431

John is extremely resistant to being made to do things that he doesn’t want to do anyway, even by Narrators.

More thoughts about Cake and Baked Goods in Homestuck and in relation to John. The other main characters baking is associated with in Homestuck are all women - The Condesce, Meenah, Jane, Nanna - and baking in general is pretty strongly associated with women, moms, etc. I’ve always thought it was a little out of place amongst Dad’s other character traits, which are definitively masculine. Maybe it’s for exactly that reason - baking is culturally feminine.

Maybe John’s resistance to baked goods is because he’s uncomfortable receiving feminine affection (especially, but not only from his Dad). It’s like getting kisses from your Mom in public or other public displays of affection between men and the women in their lives, or even men and other men in their lives. John is certainly pretty clueless about affection from women when he receives it later in the story. On the other hand, he responds very well to masculine displays of affection, like the aloof but ebullient cards he gets from his Dad, or the one-upsmanship between him and Dave.

 (I’ll have to think some more about the capitalism thing from my other post.)

https://homestuck.com/story/433

More of Rose seeing enemies in every shadow. Then again, could it be Jasper’s fault that they’re in this mess?

https://homestuck.com/story/442

I think the fact that we jump to this point in the past suggests that Rose is probably reminiscing about this spot, going along with my theory that when the Narration is focusing on a character, it’s also giving us that character’s stream of consciousness - we’re experience what Rose is experiencing.

That probably goes a long way to excusing the kind of puzzling, irritating experience we have of our first minutes with John. Due to his tendency to get distracted by things and forget how things work, we have to suffer through his own inability to navigate his disorderly environment exactly the same way he does.

Oh, so that’s why this story gets compared to Ulysses.

It is Jaspers’ fault that they’re in this mess. My hypothesis gathers more data.

https://homestuck.com/story/444

The third of the prose poems. Drat. Got to Dave’s Poem before I even had the chance to write about Rose’s Poem. Guess we’ll come back to this one later later.

https://homestuck.com/story/445

I’ve almost certainly missed a few of these gags by now but “Left him hanging long enough” is one of the jokes that Homestuck reproduces over and over again. Homestuck reproduces itself frequently, like variations on a theme. Its self-referential nature could be called incestuous, as it turns one-off gags into recurring gags.

https://homestuck.com/story/448

While Bro and Dirk are both definitely irony ninjas where Dave is just performing irony to get his Bro’s approval, I think all the irony is an effort to distance themselves from the fact that they really do sincerely enjoy the things they’re “ironically” into. That too, is probably ironic.

Unfortunately, the actual subject matter of Bro’s interests, while innocuous in a vacuum, are still extremely inappropriate to leave out where a thirteen year old can have access to them. Bro probably isn’t a pedophile, but between the martial education, and the uncomfortable degree to which he involves Dave in his sex life, his relationship with Dave recalls pederasty which is one of many, many links between Dirk, Bro, and the Classical Hellenes, and Monastic Shudo, a similar practice historically attested from their beloved Japan. (The term Platonic Relationship is called that because Plato is one of the first Greek Philosophers to argue that maybe it would be better for students’ education if they weren’t also sexually involved with their mentors? Or so the story goes.)

I may have a bit of a vendetta against Bro Strider, which probably has at least a little to do with the fact that, when I first read Homestuck, I got fooled into thinking he was kind of awesome, and it wasn’t until I was able to deal with my own childhood abuse and the fact that I had been indoctrinated with a lot of the very same toxic ideas bro inculcated in Dave that I was able to realize that Bro Strider is kind of a horrible guardian, so I have a sort of special ire directed at this character. Maybe I’m afraid in another life, I could have grown up to be that kind of creep. I’m glad I didn’t.

https://homestuck.com/story/449

All throughout this section, the narration suggests that Dave is both subconsciously aware that his Bro’s pasttimes make him uncomfortable, but trying to soothe himself by affirming them. So, in spite of my sharing some youthful confusion with Dave, the Narrative at least communicates to us from the very beginning that something is off about Bro.

https://homestuck.com/story/452

To interrupt my dark and brooding reverie, please enjoy some Skate 3 Glitches.

I guess here’s a good place to note that I am going to be using the #personal stuff hashtag to denote when a post contains me alluding to my own dark and troubled past.

https://homestuck.com/story/457

The password is six letters long, and based on the fact that it’s the most awesome thing that it could be, I have no doubt that it’s Strider.

https://homestuck.com/story/465

Yup.

https://homestuck.com/story/466

:)

It warms the cockles of me heart that Dave’s first inclination when he starts to flip the fuck out is to reach out to John Egbert.

https://homestuck.com/story/484

8^y

https://homestuck.com/story/485

Remember that one-upsmanship I was talking about? Any chance Dave and John get around each other, they talk each other down. I’m not sure if Andrew was saying anything about Toxic Masculinity at the time. I expect, like a lot of us, he didn’t have those words on his mind in 2009, but that’s textbook toxic masculinity, and I think when viewed as a complete work, Dave and John’s growth out of it is a sign of healthy maturation. Build each other up, boys, don’t tear each other down. In this life, we’re all we’ve got, and you owe it to each other.

https://homestuck.com/story/503

Leveling up is one of those weird things about Roleplaying Games that I didn’t realize until some point in the last two years is kind of an integral fixture of them. Overcoming hardships permanently makes you stronger in games that have an experience-level feature in them, and once you’re strong enough to beat a challenge once, you’re almost always strong enough to overcome that challenge in the future.

It’s a kind of storytelling that on closer examination is weirdly propagandistic, but it’s actually all over media. It’s pretty rare for a story to say “When you overcome a challenge, good job. You will have to overcome that same challenge again and again - maybe every day of your life.” The interesting thing, and I might come back to this, is that I think Homestuck actually takes this latter approach. Exactly the same emotional struggles they begin the story with are the ones they spend all 8000 pages of Homestuck agonizing over, and these characters will probably spend their entire lives wrestling with the baggage of their youth.

Suffering and toil is the fate of humankind, I suppose.

https://homestuck.com/story/518

Surrounded by Idiots.

https://homestuck.com/story/538

Saw is a story about a serial killer who subjects his victims to gruelling trials catered to make them face their own fatal flaws and emerge changed into better people, which is a lot like authorial scorn, which Andrew describes thusly in the commentary for Vriska’s introduction: “It's not as ill-willed as it might sound, but more of a universal principle of storytelling that for things to be interesting, harsh outcomes must befall those you create, in response to which they may thrive or fail. Which to the casual observer may read as hate.“. Lord English and Caliborn bear visual similarity to Jigsaw’s creepy puppet avatars, and serve as instruments of Andrew’s Authorial Scorn. Bro reproduces the same kind of creator’s hatred that Lord English bears toward all of Paradox Space, and reproduces it for the dubious benefit of his ward - Dave is to overcome the challenges thrust upon him in order to become strong.

https://homestuck.com/story/571

Dave does not care for being watched.

https://homestuck.com/story/588

If Dave’s first instinct for when he’s uncomfortable is to go talk to his friends, his second instinct is to attack.

https://homestuck.com/story/625

I don’t remember where I read it originally, it’s too far away in the past, but each of the items in the Rocket Pack is representative of one of John’s friends. The Cinderblock Dave, the Flower Pot Jade, the Violin Rose. John’s friends, his connections and bonds (Blood) tie him down and prevent him from indulging his most impulsive behaviors (Breath).

https://homestuck.com/story/631

In addition to Mad Science (or perhaps as an aspect thereof) John demonstrates remarkable lateral thinking.

https://homestuck.com/story/635

Alchemy has helped me get my thoughts in gear on a subject I glossed over the other day - the way the characters’ personality traits and objects fill the background radiation of the comic. In a way, the same thing is going on when the characters produce all kinds of neat shit from the odds and ends around their house as is going on when Sburb populates itself with symbols from the characters domestic lives. 

Clowns become a threatening symbol throughout all of Homestuck, basically because there are a bunch in John’s house from a Doylist perspective. From a Watsonian perspective, Sburb seems, through the vehicle of destiny, to deliberately latch onto things from the players’ lives that will help them to contend with their anxiety and trauma. John has bad dreams about clowns, and seems to conceptualize himself as a clown in his self-critical estimation of himself. Maybe even as a Dark Mirror of his aspirations to be an entertainer? Is a Circus Clown a funhouse mirror version of a stage magician? I don’t have a follow up to that question, but it makes me think. If you checked out the essay from Malo I linked earlier, you might recognize some other things that John is afraid of which characterize his session, like his alleged fear of heights, and his anxiety about confronting his Dad.

I think that’s all for this evening. Another 200 pages down.

Cam signing off, alive and not alone.

[themarshmallownerd]

Those Left Behind

Summary: In the wake of Steve Rogers's departure from the Avengers, it's left up to his three closest friends to pick up the pieces of each other left behind in the Captain America legacy.

Relationships: Bucky Barnes & Wanda Maximoff; Sam Wilson & Bucky Barnes; Sam Wilson & Wanda Maximoff; Future Bucky Barnes/Wanda Maximoff

Ratings: Teen

Link: Those Left Behind (AO3)

A/N: This piece is intended to be part one to a two-parter story. Those Starting Over Again is still in the works, so keep an eye out if you enjoy part one! Best wishes, and hope you enjoy ❤️❤️

Next up will be Chapter 1 of a brand new story!

Preview: With any hope, no one knew where she was. Until now, her only goal had been to disappear from public-consciousness altogether. Maybe even pretend with herself for a little while that she didn’t exist in this life anymore, but rather found something else, a life purely of her own design.

Now Barnes was the one looking at anyone but her, his right-hand fingers moving a little quicker in their anxious tracing of the plates in his left. She could hear the surface of his mind ticking again, uncertainty curbing his every thought before he even tried to speak on it. Whether he was nervous because he was afraid of her powers, or because he simply didn’t want to offend her with his next question, she couldn’t tell from reading his facial expressions alone. “Why, um…why did you come here, then?”

Wanda half-shrugged in nonchalance. A part of her was still figuring that out, herself. “Who knows. Maybe hearing Sam actually worried about something got to me. And I remember how he and the others got whenever I was the one going off on my own between rogue missions, so…”

She trailed off, not really sure where she was going with that. Or perhaps she had become genuinely distracted this time with the displays around them. So much of her former Captain’s face was everywhere in this otherwise dark, crowded room. It hadn’t been that long since she’d seen that face in person. Maybe…two weeks had gone by since Stark’s funeral (even though she and Steve hadn’t really gotten a chance to really sit and actually be there with each other then). And yet, it felt like so much longer—years, even—had passed since then. 

She supposed, in a way, it had been that long. She had just temporarily ceased to exist for part of it.

“It’s strange,” she heard herself muse out loud, “not seeing him around anymore. The real him, I mean.”

Barnes only shifted oddly, his gaze immediately going to the floor. After a few heartbeats passed with him just tapping his foot, and Wanda watching him in careful silence, he filled in the empty space between them with, “Were you close with him?”

“Not as much as you,” Wanda said softly, even though she knew that wasn’t saying much. There probably wasn’t anyone as close to Steve as Barnes was. 

For that reason, she knew there was no point in asking if he missed the Captain. So, she asked instead, “What brought you here?”

He mused for a second. Then, softly, “…I know Sam’s been asking about me. After Steve gave him the shield…well, we all knew he was ready for it, but I just…he was ready to get right back into it—right where Steve left off. But apparently, he wants me there to cover him, too, and…”

He paused for a long moment, simply staring off into space. Inadvertently meeting the impersonal gaze of a holographic version of his oldest friend.

“I know he would’ve wanted me to,” Barnes murmured. And with it, Wanda could hear everything she had been feeling, herself, in regards to losing Steve. A strange obligation to follow through on what he would have wanted for them; a life there, on the team still. She knew it had always been with well intentions, with knowing that having enhancements made people instinctively view them differently, and he wanted to show that those differences didn’t change their capacity for goodness. 

But she also knew what it was like to not want to have to prove one’s self. To not want an obligation to the Avengers just because they were different. Especially after everything they had already endured. After already being dead for five years because of their Avengers’ duties. 

Wanda found herself falling into a slight daze as she dove deeper into thought. She didn’t realize just how absorbed she had become in those thoughts until one of them slipped out. 

“If he really wanted anything of us, then he should’ve stayed.”

She could see in his peripheral that he was taken aback by that. At least, enough so to break his trance and shift his gaze back to her. 

She had surprised herself, too, honestly. Not so much with her words, but more so from how bitter they had sounded. Again, she knew Steve meant well, and in leaving, was just thinking of getting something good for himself to have for once, but still. The way he had done it had only left them here, drifting without any of the team’s leaders. 

“I get why he left,” she explained simply. “But that doesn’t make anything easier. So, it’s understandable if you don’t want this life that you followed him into.” 

She nodded at a display they both knew was standing on the other side of the crowd, detailing the life of James Buchanan Barnes, and the role he’d played in so many of Captain America’s successes back during the war. 

“All Sam wants is to know where you’ve gone, and if you’re alright. You don’t owe Captain America anything more than that. Not either of them.”

There was a beat of silence as he processed that. She could hear something ticking rhythmically at the surface of his mind. Not quite rejecting her words, but rather, convincing himself to accept them. To accept that not only did she have a point, but that he needed to actually exercise what she was offering. A reminder that there was a life away from this, and it wouldn’t take much to tell Sam.

However, it was his turn to surprise her. “I…I do want to go back, though. Just…at my own pace, you know?”

His tone still sounded conflicted over whether it’s what he truly wanted. But Wanda wasn’t about to debate it with him. She certainly didn’t know him well enough to contend whether or not she knew him better than he knew himself. So, she simply offered an impassive, “Sure.”

“I do,” he insisted. “I think it’ll do good to…I don’t know, I guess…find some sort of closure. If not with Steve, then…maybe with him.”

Wanda followed his gaze as it went to the other side of the exhibit. To the display about himself. Or at least, the old version of himself. James Barnes. The man that lived before the Winter Soldier. The one not weighed down by the history that the Soldier had wrought. 

From what little she knew of him already, he already seemed well on his way closer to that. Maybe not entirely the old Bucky that Steve knew, but definitely further from the Winter Soldier. 

James. She thought it suited him.

Not that what she thought really mattered. She didn’t intend to see much of him after this. 

“Well, I think that’s understandable,” she said for the time being, bringing herself to her feet. “And I’m sure Sam will see it that way, too. Just as long as you tell him something.”

“Yeah, I guess he would.” Barnes agreed softly, looking down again, as if ashamed to have needed someone else to point out something so obvious. Or to at least affirm it for him. 

Just as she was about to turn to leave, he added, “Thanks for this. You didn’t have to come by.”

“I know,” Wanda replied, still in a simple tone. “But you’re welcome.”  

Then, as she finally did leave him to his own devices again, she said more sternly, “Now, go call Sam.”

[ladyemberswrites]

[Oh boy, OH BOY! Like some people are going to hate me for this, but here it goes!]

Author's Notes: Okay, so like I've had this in my drafts for awhile now. So, this is like a very, very rough draft of a Gargoyles Human Au I was working on, but then I ended up changing a whole bunch of things as I went along, so this is pretty much a scraped draft, drabble sort of thing, though I will probably end up keeping many of the main elements in the final product. So, yeah-

!Warnings! [ Adultery/Cheating/References to Toxic and Unhealthy relationships/Age Difference/Age Gaps]

● If any of this isn't your cup of tea this isn't for you!]

Summary: "Elisa?" She hated the way he said her name. He said it so delicately, so soft as if he feared it might break on his tongue. She hated that she loved how he spoke  it "Elisa". It made her feel wanted, feel desired, feel protected with just an utterance of her name. And that's where the problem lay.

Why she can't look him in the eyes, but she does so anyways to catch his tired, obsidian eyes.

"We need to talk." She blurts and she can see him physically wince the moment the sentence leaves her lips.

"I know"

It was long after midnight, but of course, New York isn’t called the city that doesn’t sleep for anything. 

But, the point was moot.

For the first time, she hated the noise of the city that she called home. The lights too bright, the sounds, the smells of greasy street vendor food made her want to vomit. She just wanted everything to shut up and give her some peace. She wanted to wallow but she had work in the morning so getting drunk like any sane person would have was out of the question.

And the thought of sitting around any longer in the silence of her dark, cramped, shitty apartment made her want to rip her own hair out and scream.

So, where does that leave her?

Not much of choice, no, not really she has a choice, a choice that needed to be made no matter how much she didn’t want to do it. She can be a coward and run, but her mama didn’t raise cowards. She’s no coward even though at this point and time she wanted to be. 

To go run and hide away from the big scary world.

The 23rd precinct came into view and her dread only intensified. No one was there which only worsen the feelings even though the building being entirely vacant is a blessing. No one to hear, no prying eyes nor ears. Yet, that didn’t lessen the fear; her heart felt like a rock sitting inside her chest and every exhale and inhale of her breath burned as if her lungs were drawing smoke and brimstone. 

The scent of roasted Ethiopian coffee wafts under her nose and it warms her, almost comforting her as she turns the corner and finds the only light in the dark beckoning her. Her feet kept going, they wanted to stop and turn around and run until her feet bleed.

But, she can't. She had to do this, she had to, not just for herself, but for them and too selfishly appease her own guilt that's been gnawing away at her consciousness every waking moment. 

The rap of her knuckles across the worn wood sounded like a death toll in her ears. In a way it was.

"Captain Wyvern." Her voice wavered, she sounded so damn mousey and timid, but the door and rumble of his deep baritone made her feel so small and tiny. 

"Come in." She didn't notice the tremble of her fingers until she struggled to turn the knob of his office door, she stopped and swallowed, her throat feeling raw and scratchy. Inhaling, she finally finds the courage to open it and meet Goliath's boring stare.

The dark circles of his eyes were hard to ignore nor the fading blemish that stained his dark skin a nasty shade of blue and black. She recoiled at the sight, darting her eyes away to peer at the floor.

"Elisa?" She hated the way he said her name. He said it so delicately, so soft as if he feared it might break on his tongue. She hated that she loved how he spoke it "Elisa". It made her feel wanted, feel desired, feel protected with just an utterance of her name. And that's where the problem lay.

Why she can't look him in the eyes, but she does so anyway to catch his tired, obsidian eyes.

"We need to talk." She blurts and she can see him physically wince the moment the sentence leaves her lips.

"I know" she steps closer, her eyes briefly scanning the mess of his desk scattered files and unfinished documents laid about, a whole pack of cigarettes burnt to their very buds sizzles in the mini ashtray she bought him as a last-minute birthday present. Her eyes lifted to meet his scrutinizing gaze and hated that too, that inhuman inquisitiveness his eyes give off, watching her every movement like that of an apex predator.

"I want to transfer" the words tasted bitter on her tongue, heavy as they were she had managed without tripping over her them in haste. Goliath looked at her like she had just punched a hole through his gut and suddenly that bruise on his face didn't sting so much.

"What?" 

"I-want to transfer" 

"Why-" as if he didn’t know. 

"I overheard you arguing with your wife about me the other night." His face fell blank "Captain-Goliath you know why I can't stay here. You know that I can't." Dammit, she hissed she fumbles with her oversized police bomber and rubs her watering eyes. She hears a creak of his mobile chair and the soft pad of shoes hitting the floor and suddenly he's towering over her.

"Elisa, you belong here" of course she did, didn't she? But, the matter isn't about her sense of belonging, it's about what is right and what is wrong. And she can't stay no matter how much she didn't want to leave, she can't because she knows she won't be able to control herself. 

"You're making this harder than it has to be" she mumbles exhausted and emotionally worn "I have to go" 

"The problems between me and my wife have nothing to do with you" he's trying to placate her, to affirm what she has so unsuccessfully tried to do for months on end.

"It has everything to do with it me!" She snapped pulling away from his warmth "how can you say that!? I kissed you! And before that, I confessed to you drunk off my ass!" She shouted as she had to hammer those facts into his thick skull because he wanted to ignore the blatantly obvious. To put behind them and pretend that night didn’t exist at all.

You're a married man dammit!" God, she can only imagine what it would've sounded like if the 23 precinct was packed airing her dirty laundry for all to hear without a care in the world. Even in the quiet of the empty halls, she felt beyond mortified.

Goliath watched her almost apathetically mingled with what she had come to know as his " unable to process anything" look. 

Whatever torrent of emotions were stirring through him she hadn't the faintest idea. Her captain was known for having a rather volcanic temper, but she had never, ever had him lash out at her, raise his voice yes, but never unadulterated anger. Right now, she wished he would get angry, lash out at her, throw something, flip the desk and let all its contents crash upon the floor. It'd make things easier for her, easier to pack her things and leave and never look back. And not cling to him like a lovesick puppy.

But he doesn't. 

He runs a hand through his long mane smoothing it back for a lack of anything better to do or say. 

"I need coffee." he mutters. For Goliath its code for "I need a minute to think".

He wanders out his office lost and leaves her behind struggling to keep her dwindling mental state from going straight to utter hell. 

The silent tears do the opposite of what she's supposed to do, to keep a level head, but they come anyway, pouring down her cheeks in pathetic, wet globs. By the time he returns with two mugs of piping hot coffee her eyes are red and scratchy and he looks worse than when he left. Still stolid, still uncomfortably rigid as if he's standing trial.

She takes it and sips at it, just the right amount of sweetness she liked because of course, he knew exactly how she wanted it. Because he's attentive and she comes to hate him for that.

"Goliath?" 

"Yes." 

"Was she right? About what Demona said about you being infatuated me? About having a thing for me?" His chair squeaked, deafening in the silence.

"I-" her brows scrunch "you kissed me back that night. It was brief, but I noticed" 

"...Yes…" he confesses and her fingers squeeze her mug so tight she feared it might break.

~

Brooklyn came in like a whirlwind, slamming the glass door of his office behind him it resounded like a thunderclap. Goliath glanced up from his documents, his prescription glasses sliding off the bridge of his nose.

"What the hell did you do!?"

"Pardon?"

"You're transferring Elisa!?"

He looks away from Brooklyn's accusatory gaze "Yes…"

"Why!?" He slams both hands on his desk "Elisa's a damn good cop and you know it! Just what the everloving hell did she do to make you want to transfer her!" Goliath hardly faltered under his younger brother's fury, he remained passive and unnerved.

"I thought you liked her"

"I do." He murmured, but Brooklyn took note of something, the perks of living with each other so closely for so long.

"But, I'm betting a little much, huh?" His tone was far from sarcastic his voice instead dripped with condescension, if not disgust.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Is that what you're doing!? Huh, covering your own ass because you couldn't keep your dick in your pants!? Never thought you'd stoop so low-"

"Enough!" He barked detesting the very insinuation that he'd kick Elisa to curb, that he'd use her to only abandon her for mere lust made him sick. As understanding he is of his brother's upset; he refuses to be accused of such a low, foul deed. Like a scolded puppy Brooklyn reels away with wide eyes.

"I know you're upset but I will not stand here and let you accuse me of something I did not do."

His gaze sharpened "This is not a decision I make lightly, but it has to be done." 

"But, why!?"

"Enough, Brooklyn. You do not need to know the specifics only that I'm transferring Elisa to the 22nd precinct. My decision stands and you will accept it all the same."

"Just like that." He snapped his fingers.

"Yes." He says with finality.

"You're not getting away with this…" he hissed before he tapered away, slamming the door the way he had opened it earlier with a thunderous clatter.

As Brooklyn's loud, angry footsteps recede, Goliath resisted the sudden urge to hurl his mug across the room, to watch it crash and hit the floor, to shatter into a thousand little pieces upon the polished wood. 

An appropriate metaphor for his current state of mind. 

He heard his office door swing open again this time without a deafening noise.

"Always a lively lad" Hudson jeers. Goliath cracks his knuckles scowling at his desk.

"It is not always a good thing" his mentor hummed "Brooklyn lets his emotions run wild without thought or consequences too often." 

"Aye, but the sentiment rings familiar" Goliath grimaced "lettin' one's emotions run rampant" 

"I wasn't that bad" 

Hudson laughed but shook his head "perhaps, but I'm not speakin of that" his mirth falters "it's about you and the lass" 

There's no accusation in his voice.

"There is nothing between me and Elisa" as if it needed to be stated.

"If you're going to be carrying on an illicit affair, ye should be sure the walls don't be having eyes and ears" Goliath stiffened.

"I was in my office gettin some shut eye until the yelling woke me up. Nice thing to wake to seeing the two of you gettin' to know each other" Shame curled at the pit of his stomach his eyes left his mentor's questioning gaze.

"I had a serious lapse of judgment" 

"I'll bet!" Goliath swallowed. Hudson crossed the room and took a seat.

"I do not  know what's coming over me." He rubbed the bridge of his nose ", this isn't like me, Hudson." 

"It'd be love I suppose" 

"I don't-" 

"Don't love the lass?" Hudson lifted a bushy brow "ye sure?" Goliath didn't answer, he didn't want to answer.

"I'm married, Hudson. A married man with a child! How can you say that!? In fact, you of all people should be furious with me!" 

"And say 'I thought I taught you better'?"

"Yes!"  he slammed the desk “What I did was wrong! I shouldn’t-I shouldn’t-” he ran both hands over his face in utter frustration “I should never have kissed her the way that I did. I shouldn’t be infatuated with her in the first place! Dammit….” 

~

Goliath did not know what lunch with his wife might entail. He considered canceling out of guilt, but his conscience won in the end. He needed to face her, Demona, his angel, and to confess to her how he betrayed her in the worst possible way. He wasn't looking forward to it as he traps through the tables and chairs of her favorite french restaurant.

"Love." She was eerily at ease "you came."

"Of course."

"You are troubled" 

"You stormed away last night. I was worried." Demona only let her lips downturn only a millimeter as she dusted her pencil skirt of invisible dust.

"I suppose I let my emotions get the better of me" 

"I-before we eat. I must confess something to you" 

"Is it about the Maza woman?" her tone dropped. To be fair her momentary jealousy wasn't as intense as it was before. She felt more aggravated by the fact she hadn't noticed earlier, she hates rude surprises. And what did she have to scorn the Maza woman over anyway? She's rich, she's powerful all gained and created by her very own hands. What exactly did she have to prove to her? It's an embarrassing sentiment, but a sentiment all the same.

Goliath nods mutely and Demona speculates that something serious between must have happened and as he spoke-not as nearly serious as she had thought. However, she found it both shocking and utterly amusing that Goliath of all people-it was almost laughable. He was cute; being completely racked with guilt. This Maza woman had certainly worked a number on him without actually intending to do anything at all. Quite impressive.

"I will not excuse my behavior"

"Why didn't you?"

"What?"

"What caused you to stop?"

"You of course!" 

"A bit too late for that."

"I-" he swallowed "Y-yes." 

"Seems my assumption was correct then?" 

"I'm not going to leave you for another woman"

"But, Maza isn't just another woman." She cuts him off "Is she?"

Goliath froze.

"You feel a strong attraction to her more than anything I can garner "

"That isn't-" 

"Isn't what? Why are you trying so hard to deny the obvious truth? You want Maza." 

~

"So what!?" Elisa snaps "Do we just bang each others brains out? Then what?! Be consumed by a lifetime of guilt? Or do we just play pretend and spend the rest of our lives shacking up at some moldy, shitty motel acting like we did nothing wrong once the lights come on?" 

Her shoulders sag, her voice cracks "Is that the kind of life you want, Goliath? Living out some lie that we know damn well isn't true?" She wiped her eyes with the back of her palm, she was crying again. Dammit! 

Before she knew it, she's enveloped in warmth, his large arms and body wrap around her and she's pressed into his chest. Him and the oversized blue police bomber that he had given her to replace the once she lost on her first-night compasses her. 

She inhales his scent; the heady smell of burnt oak. 

And before she knows it she crumbles, her vision is blurred, everything outside is nothing more than white static in her ears as she wails against his chest. 

A childish part of herself wanted to scream and say it wasn't fair, but she knew she can't-couldn't say it out loud.

"No." He finally says "that isn't the life I want for you." He squeezes her tighter, his fingers brushing through her short hair "you're young, so much younger than I am, you have your whole life ahead of you. I cannot keep you here, no matter how much I want you to stay." 

It wasn't fair for him either. Forced to stay within a bitter, toxic marriage. But, that wasn't her issue to meddle in. 

She sniffed "you're not that old" her tone is watery, heavy with grief, but she tries to lighten her mood.

"I'm old enough to be your father, Elisa." He says dryly with no ounce of humor.

"Yeah," she sniffs "but you're not my dad." She sniffs again "he's been gone for a long time…now.." as if this wasn't depressing enough, she shudders. Goliath holds her closer, letting his head fall upon her head.

[pinnithin-writes]

I Realized. Then I Couldn’t Stop Realizing.

Chapter 9: C-53

Depending on – what was he doing, still looking? It was right there in front of him, plain as day.

C-53 shifted through boxes indiscriminately, scanners peeled for a very specific rectangle. Bargie’s file trees may be well organized, but her cargo hold wasn’t nearly as meticulously maintained. The crew’s fault, he allowed. He would have to come back and sort things out once he found what he was looking for.

He hadn’t seen Pleck in the several days following their last conversation. The tellurian slunk into the kitchen for food only at night, when he was certain C-53 was powered down, and spent the rest of his time barricaded in his own room. They were back to square one, and the frustration C-53 felt probably was lending to how haphazardly he pawed through boxes of cargo.

How someone could be just down the hall and yet so very absent astounded him. He missed Pleck. Deeply. Limited as he was by the size of his frame, C-53 might as well be across the entire galaxy from him.

Something had clearly rattled the tellurian to his core, enough to force him back into hiding, and C-53 had resolved to cross that yawning chasm between them. He waded through the cargo hold, wiring frayed, cube in flux. It was somewhere around here; he was sure Bargie hadn’t actually gotten rid of it.

Pleck’s absence somehow hurt worse this time around. Now, C-53 was intimately aware of how deeply the tellurian feared, how fiercely he loved. He knew how hard he fought every day just to keep his mind intact. Pleck had entrusted that part of himself to C-53. He was not about to let himself betray that trust.

Since they started working together, C-53 had rescued Pleck from an impressive array of dangers, but it was time now for the droid to tackle a new threat. He had to protect Pleck from… Pleck.

“Aha,” he said, scanners finally landing on what he was searching for.

A three foot tall frame, fitted with vents and a water tank. Never before used on account of it being, unfortunately, filled with sand. C-53 gingerly picked up the dehumidifier in his clamps and carried it back through the path he’d made in the sea of boxes. He felt slightly guilty for the thin trail of sand he left in his wake, but this was important.

The pathways in his code were shivering like violin strings as he made his way to the bridge. In the days Pleck had been gone, he realized that separating how he felt about his friend into neat little compartments was as pointless as it was impossible. The exasperation of a coworker, the protective instinct of a guardian, the unbearable tenderness of… whatever they were becoming was inseparable. The emotions crossed and doubled over and tangled up in the binary designation for the tellurian’s five letter name.

He was doing this for Pleck, but he was also doing this for himself. Dancing around the situation was only harming both of them, and C-53 was not prone to feeling this dumb very often. He and Pleck were just a pair of idiots orbiting one another, too afraid to touch.

C-53 was done orbiting. He was ready to crash land.

Dar’s voice floated from the bridge as he approached. It sounded like they were reading aloud a passage from one of their leadership books. C-53 nudged the wide door open and ducked inside, the sandy humidifier held carefully before him.

“Captain Dar, I’m sorry to interrupt,” he began.

Dar looked up from their book. They were lounging in one of the pilot’s chairs, an unnecessary accessory that Bargie was fond of despite the fact that she piloted herself. Horsehat was seated in the chair opposite their parent, chin in hand, looking drowsy. Outside the windows, the galaxy whisked passively by.

“Oh, hey, C,” Dar said. “I was trying to decide whether I should read Horsehat a bedtime story or brush up on my captaining knowledge, and I thought, well, why not both?”

Horsehat themself did not seem to think that idea was a particularly good one. Their eyes were glazed over as they stared distractedly out the window. C-53 guessed that maybe they’d picked up a bit of AJ’s mindwiping technique during their time together.

“Ah, well, that will certainly put Horsehat to sleep,” C-53 reasoned, too caught up in his own thoughts to bother offering any constructive advice. “I actually have a bit of a favor to ask you.”

Dar’s big yellow eyes snagged on the machine in his hands for the first time. “Is that the shitty dehumidifier Nermut sent us like a year ago?”

“Along with that very suggestive bottle of sand, yes,” C-53 affirmed. He tilted the frame sideways, releasing a deluge of particulates onto the bridge floor. Dar raised their brows.

“I can clean that up,” C-53 said hurriedly.

“Oh, sure, you and what range of motion?” they asked, but their tone was more curious than irritated. “What’s the favor?”

There was no point in hesitating when the situation was this important, but C-53 found himself pausing, anyway.

“You’re not gonna get in that thing, are you?” Dar pressed. They rose from their chair to stand at their full height, an intimidating motion even to the much taller scanners in his loading frame. “What are you planning?” they asked.

“I… need to go talk to Pleck,” He admitted. His vocals took on a stronger edge, “And since he seems so keen on staying in his room, I figured I’d go to him.” He shook the dehumidifier. He and Dar watched it belch more sand onto the floor.

“…And you want me to put your cube in that ?” The captain seemed skeptical.

Across the room, Horsehat was nodding off with their face smushed onto an important looking keyboard.

“Well, I was hoping you’d help me clear out some of the sand, too,” C-53 said. “And, ah, maybe keep Bargie distracted so she’s not listening to our conversation. If it’s not too much to ask.”

Bargie, summoned by the sound of her own name, crackled onto the intercom. “You know I can hear you right now, right?”

“Respectfully, Bargie, this is precisely why I need you to be a little distracted for this,” C-53 said.

“Distracted from what? All the sand in my hallways? You realize you left like, a ridiculous amount of sand in my hallways.”

“He’s gonna go talk to Pleck,” Dar explained, their voice going melodic with intrigue. “In his room. Alone.”

“Oh, you’re finally confronting it, huh?” Bargie asked.

Before C-53 could fire off a retort, Dar stepped heavily forward to take the dehumidifier from his clamps. “C, please, let me get that for you.” They took out the water reservoir and emptied it unceremoniously onto the floor. “You’re about to make me a lot of kroon.”

“I fail to see how-” His processor lagged as he connected the dots. “I’m sorry?”

“C-53, you are literally the last being on board to catch on,” Bargie explained. “I didn’t even tell Dar anything. They had it figured out months ago.”

“Yeah, the only person more clueless about this is Pleck himself,” Dar went on.

They slapped a heavy hand on the dehumidifier’s exterior. Sand was beginning to pool at their feet. Horsehat startled awake at the sound, looked around groggily, and went straight back to sleep on the control panel.

C-53 finally put the necessary words together for a response. “I don’t really appreciate that you’re taking bets on my relationship status.”

The captain paused their de-sanding to give him a serious look. “I don’t appreciate that you’ve taken this long to update your relationship status.”

“It’s not just about that.”

“No,” Dar agreed, expression softening. “It’s not.” They tipped the machine idly in their hands. “But that’s a big part of it, right?”

They certainly weren’t wrong. Now that he’d had time to look, the more certain C-53 was that the connection between himself and the tellurian had always been there. Realizing Pleck’s feelings for him had tilted his perspective sideways, and he could finally really see it.

Every encounter between the two of them could be traced through his memory like a lifeline. Every excited smile Pleck flashed his way. Every reassuring touch in passing. Every moment of unshakeable loyalty they shared.

It wasn’t a plunge into affection, but rather a gentle drowning, and Pleck had pulled C-53 deep beneath the surface with him.

“Alright, I think I got most of it,” Dar grunted, bending to set the dehumidifier down. They straightened and gave C-53 a brief once-over. “Are you sure you want to go inside that thing?”

“If I had the choice, no,” C-53 replied, “but in terms of frames with any sort of mobility, my options are rather limited.”

They shrugged. “It’s your cube,” they reasoned. “You ready?”

“I am.”

The captain ejected his consciousness and everything went black. Sensation was limited in this state – he registered a faint feeling of being held and moved, but little else. It was always a somewhat disorienting process. Then his sensors fired off like so many synapses and he was in a body again. He adjusted to the change gradually as he powered on.

“Oh, this is… not ideal,” he muttered immediately.

Everything was small and cramped and full of sand. Dar had definitely shook out all they could, but C-53 could still feel microscopic grit in his machinery, trapped in the tiny spaces inside the frame. He reached into the dehumidifier’s limited capabilities one by one, testing out the treads, the scanners, the humidity sensors. It was a process made mildly uncomfortable by the sand, but it would do.

“You are so tiny,” Dar mused as they grinned down at him. “Are you gonna be okay in there?”

“I’ll be fine, Dar, thank you,” he assured them. His processor was juddering more over the upcoming confrontation than the state of his frame. “Before I go, may I ask what exactly you and Bargie are betting on?”

“That could ruin the outcome of the bet,” Dar said, a split second before Bargie blurted, “100 kroon says you make him cry.”

“ Barge ,” the captain groaned.

“Okay, I’m getting out of here,” he said in exasperation, throwing the machine into reverse.

“Go get him, C!” Dar called as he drove the dehumidifier out of the bridge. “Let us know how it goes!”

He didn’t bother to respond as he rolled down the hall, through the common area, and toward the ship’s living quarters. Sand ground in his gears as he went, lending to his anxiety. He was starting to think that this was perhaps a bad idea when he arrived outside Pleck’s door.

The hallway was dark and silent where he hesitated. He hadn’t even prepared what he was going to say to Pleck, so caught up as he was in his own thinking. But maybe it would be better this way. To speak spontaneously. To say exactly what he felt without pushing it all through three different filters. Pleck never watered down his thoughts. Why should he?

He didn’t have arms to knock, so he surged forward and rammed the dehumidifier against the door.

Silence.

“Pleck,” he said, bumping the door again. “It’s me. Open up. I just want to talk.”

His audio sensors picked up a shifting sound from within, and then the door cracked open. Pleck’s straw-colored eye peered out, at first gazing way too high before noticing the three-foot droid below his line of sight. He pulled the door open a little wider, surprise jerking up his eyebrows.

“C-53, what are you-” He stalled to look at him more closely. “Are you in a humidifier?”

“It’s a de humidifier,” C-53 corrected on impulse. “It’s… not important. Can I come in?”

Pleck gazed mournfully down at him. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, fatigue pulling under his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. His hair fell loose around his shoulders and his ruined eye socket was uncovered. C-53 watched him self-consciously pull forward a few blue locks to hide the injury.

“There��s… not a lot of room in here,” he said after a pause.

“I know,” C-53 answered stubbornly.

“Are you okay?” Pleck asked. “You sound kind of…”

“Sandy?” he supplied. “That would be the sand.”

The ghost of a laugh tripped out of the tellurian. “The what?”

“I can explain later,” C-53 said hastily. “Can we please talk? I don’t know how long Dar will cover for me.”

Pleck sighed, and the sound made C-53’s coding fray with concern. His friend considered him for a moment longer and finally stood aside to beckon the droid in.

Time to crash land. C-53 crossed the threshold.

Chapter 8 <-----> Chapter 10

[shadowphoenixrider]

Matters of the Heart

(This took...way too long. And is very long, at around 7,000 words! It took a while to get them talking, and they wouldn’t shut up. This is a continuation of Heart of the Matter, where Draggka, Khadgar and Varian sit down to have a chat about Draggka and Khadgar’s relationship. This is running in the A Prayer You Can Borrow universe by @galleywinter, which is why Varian is still kicking.)

(As usual, here are the mentions of the people who like to read my stuff! Hopefully Tumblr actually sends notifications to them: @walkingdisasterofamage, @sigurdjarlson, @fer8girl, @elfgirl931 and @wingslovesfiction )

“I can’t believe dat I be doing dis.” Draggka said, running a hand through her hair. Spike made a sympathetic rumble, his head resting across her lap.

“I confess, I didn’t think this would happen so soon.” Khadgar replied, fidgeting with a small yellow crystal. He sighed. “I’m sorry, Draggka. If I’d not lost my temper in front of Varian-”

“It be okay, Khadgar.” She interrupted him, waving a hand. “What’s done be done.”

She petted her raptor’s head to soothe her nerves, listening to his soft rumble vibrate in his throat. Of all the conflicts she’d been in, of all the people and creatures she’d faced down, the thought of meeting Varian Wrynn was currently the most frightening. The troll glanced back to the archmage, sitting across from her.

“You, ya be staying wit me, right?”

“Yes, of course.” Khadgar flicked the crystal away, taking her hands and squeezing them gently between his own. “I’ll make sure nothing bad will happen to you. Not that Varian would harm you, but your comfort is paramount. I will be right here. As will Spike.” He nodded to her companion, who blinked up at her and uttered an affirmative grunt.

“Ya make it sound like dere might be a chance of a fight.” Draggka said, trying to keep calm and not look towards where she’d put Thas’dorah aside. Khadgar shook his head.

“Doubtful. Varian is not looking for one. If anything starts up, however, I am well prepared,” he said. A moment of silence, before he squeezed her hands again. “It will be alright, my darling. Nothing bad will happen. And nothing will stop me from loving you.”

The weight of his words was emphasized by the seriousness in his eyes, his gaze locked with hers. She trusted him, and she did have Spike with her. Lo’Gosh’s champion may be a formidable warrior, but he hopefully wouldn’t go through Khadgar to get to her. Hopefully.

She took a breath, and nodded.

“Okay.”

Khadgar squeezed her hands again, and then grinned.

“Spike’ll eat him if he tries to hurt you. Won’t you, Spike?” He said to the raptor, who agreed with a growl and by baring his teeth, a glint in his blue eyes.

“Dat...might not be da best idea.” Draggka replied reticently, resting a restraining hand on Spike’s neck. Before she could say anything more, heavy rapping on the door interrupted her, Spike’s head snapping up to attention. Unbidden, her hand went for where her bow would usually be, tension tightening through her body.

“That must be Varian.” Khadgar said calmly, rubbing his thumb against her hand. “Stay here. I’ll just be a moment.” He flashed her an earnest smile, before rising from his chair to greet their visitor. Draggka busied her hands by petting Spike, who kept his eyes on the door, though he glanced back at her occasionally, offering soft croons in reassurance.

There was some chatter by the door in Common; Khadgar’s friendly warmth and the deeper, more authoritative tone that made stones sink into the bottom of her belly. He’s not here to hurt you. Khadgar’s here, he won’t let anyone hurt you.

Two pairs of footsteps carried Khadgar and his visitor into view, and despite her best efforts, Draggka couldn’t control the spike of adrenaline that peaked within as she caught sight of the other man.

Varian Wrynn was a behemoth of a man, one of the tallest humans Draggka had ever known, and even if Lo’Gosh hadn’t smile favourably upon him, the man could intimidate all but the most stubborn orcs - appropriate for his status as High King of the Alliance, even if that title was apparently moot for now. The troll was slightly relieved to see that he was in casual leathers like herself, and his great-sword Shalamayne was absent - clearly a great concession Khadgar had managed to broker. That didn’t make Varian any less of a threat however, so she watched his face carefully, as did Spike.

“Varian,” the mage said, “this is Draggka, of the Darkspear tribe.” He gestured. “Draggka, this is Varian Wrynn, the former - well, you know already.” He grinned wryly.

Royal and hunter eyes met in that moment, sending a fearful jolt down her spine. Varian inclined his head slightly in courtly grace.

“Huntmaster,” he said respectfully.

“Ya Majesty.” Draggka replied, trying not to show her anxiety in gripping Spike too tightly, as the raptor continued to stare at the taller man intently.

“You don’t need to address me by that title here, Draggka.” Varian spoke. “I’m only here to talk as a man, not in the capacity of a king or the Alliance.”

“Okay...Varian.” Saying his name didn’t sound right - too informal, and not respectful enough.

She kept these worries silent as he sat in the chair opposite her with a business air - both relaxed and yet not. She didn’t blame him for keeping his guard up, as hers was up as well, and a raptor’s constant stare was bound to be unsettling. Khadgar settled into the chair between them, the clear mediator, even as he outwardly pretended to just be amongst two good friends.

“Would anyone like a pot of tea?” He asked brightly, and immediately Draggka was on edge, shooting him a wide-eyed look. Don’t leave me alone with him! You promised!

“I don’t mind.” She forced out.

“I don’t mind either, but you can brew one if you wish.” Varian replied. Khadgar gave a small nod, and in one fluid motion, he conjured an elemental to his side. He murmured instructions to the creature, which floated off to obey. The mage turned back to Draggka and offered a gentle smile, as if acknowledging her previous panic. She managed a little smile back, feeling foolish for not trusting him.

A long, awkward silence descended between them, broken only by the sound of boiling water.

“Khadgar has told you why we’re here.” Varian broke the silence first, his tone serious.

“Yeah.” Draggka replied. “He accidentally told ya we be together, and ya wanted to be meeting me.”

“Yes.” His gaze pinned her to the chair, and she felt Spike tense up. “I’m sure you understand my caution. Not many trolls and humans pair up together, and both with pure intentions to each other.”

“I be aware of dat.” She nodded. “Ya want to be sure dat ya friend be okay wit me.”

“Exactly.” She caught a flash of something in the monarch’s eyes, too fast to identify. “Khadgar has spoken highly of you, and I trust his word, but it helps me immeasurably to be able to talk to you myself. Try not to think of me as part of the Alliance in this matter, but as a concerned friend.”

“Wit all respect to ya, it be very difficult to do dat.” Draggka said, choosing her words with care. “Ya be da reason dat dere still be a Horde at all.”

“I know.” Varian closed his eyes for a second. “But we are on neutral ground, with a close-to neutral observer, and whatever the outcome of this discussion, we need your leadership of the Unseen Path against the Legion.”

He wasn’t wrong. And the troll suspected he was only saying this because he could feel the fear radiating off of her, one hand gripping Spike’s back (who was still staring at Varian) and the other clamped tightly around the arm of the chair. She consciously relaxed her grip, breathing out a sigh.

“Okay.”

The elemental returned bearing a tea tray at that moment, setting it on the table in front of them. It hovered idly for a moment and Khadgar waved it away with a soft ‘thank you’, pouring the tea himself. Only when he was finished did Draggka speak again.

“Suppose we better be talking ‘bout what happened wit Garrosh den-”

“Draggka...” The mage interrupted her, hand raising slightly as if to clasp her arm.

“I can’t pretend dat I weren’t a part of it when I was, Khadgar.” She shot back, trying to numb her stinging tone. “Better dat we be doing dis now.” Spike glanced back at her with a worried look.

“This wasn’t what I was asking for specifically,” Varian spoke, “but if you are willing to talk about it, I will hear your piece.”

Like you wouldn’t have asked about it anyway, Draggka thought bitterly. You said yourself that our kind ‘don’t pair nicely often’.

“It woulda come back around at some point,” she said instead, lifting a shoulder. She took another breath, rubbing at Spike’s back as she composed herself. The raptor laid his head back down on her lap, his eyes holding a concerned look.

“I knew of Garrosh’s style of leadership from da times I be reporting to him in Northrend.” She began. “He be young an’ headstrong, but he had da energy needed to keep goin’ in da face of da Scourge. Some tings he did an’ said I be disagreeing wit, but...” The troll paused a moment, considering. “But when ya enemy be as terrible as de mindless undead, ya can understand.” She saw Varian nod his head slightly in the corner of her vision, whilst Khadgar listened intently, his face a mask.

“I did not like Go’el leaving da title of Warchief to him durin’ da Cataclysm, but I could understand da logic. And I thought wit Cairne, Vol’jin an’ Eitrigg - I thought dat he be able to mature.”

“And then Cairne died.” Varian said, his deep voice sympathetic, even if she wouldn’t have called it ‘soft’. Draggka bowed her head, and Spike gently nudged her face with his muzzle.

“Dat were out of Garrosh’s control. He were an alright ruler for a time. But he be havin’ a taste for da ‘honour’ brought by war, and he not seem to understand dat he couldn’t take everyting we be needing by force. He did not know da conflict an’ wars dat be bringing us to our peace.”

A thought occurred to her. I don’t think Go’el gave him enough time to adapt. He had years to learn to lead. Garrosh seemed to be thrust upon the situation and left to deal with it. Now was not the time to consider this, however, so she kept it to herself.

“Da first decision I not be comfortable wit was de alliance wit da Dragonmaw. Dey be killing, cutting up dragons...” The hunter shivered, glimpsing the grisly wing-standards in her mind’s eye. “Even if dey were black dragons, it weren’t right.”

“But you agreed with Garrosh otherwise?” There was a hardness to Varian’s tone that shot a bolt of fear into her heart. Spike’s body tensed up, and the archmage gave the royal a warning look.

“No...” Draggka said slowly, dredging her memory. “I trusted Vol’jin’s judgement of Garrosh, but it were easy to distract yaself wit da bigger threat. Perhaps dat be what t...tem...cooled his lust for glory.” She sighed. “Pandaria be bringing out da worst in him.”

“Draggka.” This time Khadgar did reach out to her, resting his hand on hers. You don’t have to say this, his eyes said.

I must, was her reply.

“Ya know a lot of what happened dere, I’m sure. Da destruction of da Jade Serpent statue. Da corruption of da Vale. By da grace of da Loa I weren’t involved wit Theramore.” She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Dat be when I knew dat Garrosh had lost all his honour.” Her ears drooped, tone flattening and becoming bitter. “But he be my Warchief, and I followed his orders.”

“Not because you wanted to, mind.” Khadgar interjected, sitting up straighter. “I think there was something about seeing your chieftain’s throat slit by Garrosh’s assassins that might have ‘encouraged’ you not to rebel against him.”

The troll knew what the mage was doing, but her hackles prickled regardless.

“Dat not be an excuse!” She spat. Spike whined.

“Was it?” Khadgar parried coolly, but with a determined fire. “You admit you followed orders. But it is only right to acknowledge the duress you found yourself under.”

“If I recall, your people became second-class citizens of the Horde.” Varian spoke calmly. Draggka nodded stiffly.

“Da Echo Isles were put under da guard of da Kor’kron. None allowed to leave or enter. We be barely people in Garrosh’s eyes.” The peons were probably higher than us.

“What?” The archmage’s eyes widened, his shock genuine. “Draggka, you never told me of this.”

“It not be someting I like to remember.” She replied, her gaze moving away to stare at a random patch of wall. “Da Kor ‘kron may have held my people as prisoners, but dey were still as family as any other orc. And I killed every one dat raised an axe against me.” She blinked slowly, sighing. “Dat was da one good ting I did. I tink.”

“I wasn’t aware that Garrosh had attempted to enforce martial law on the Darkspear.” Varian said, a new understanding in his blue eyes. “I’m sorry you had to choose between your people and the Horde.”

“Not dat it mattered.” Was her morose reply. “I still helped steal da Divine Bell from Darnassus. Killed da Silver Covenant in Dalaran.” Spike whined again, nudging her face with his snout.

“The few you did not sedate with wyvern venom, or avoided entirely.” Khadgar added, glancing at Varian.

Draggka opened her mouth to speak again, but the next words refused to come. Their gravity had gotten them caught in her throat, and she struggled for a long moment. Eventually, she hung her head, and when the words finally came, she could only say them just loud enough to be heard.

“Da Bell fell on Anduin, and I did nothing.”

All the warmth in the room vanished in an instant, with a silence so deafening one could hear a pin drop. Spike nuzzled Draggka’s face tenderly, making comforting noises.

“...You were there?” Varian’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion in the ilk of someone having to restrain themselves. Spike froze, tensing up as if he feared his pack-sister might be in danger. The troll managed to nod her answer.

“I be one of da force Garrosh brought to witness the ringing of da Bell,” she said quietly, lifting her head to meet the king’s eyes. “He were so brave, ya son.” The stinging burn of tears forced her eyes closed, Spike warbling sadly. “I watched da Bell fall on him...an’ I did nothing. My greatest dishonour. I shoulda helped him, damn Garrosh! I be so scared of his rage I didn’t help a friend.” She managed to restrain her sob, but not its shoulder-wracking heave. “I left him...I left him...”

“Draggka...” In a moment, Khadgar was next to her, wrapping her up in his arms and holding her close to his body.  She welcomed his comfort, letting herself cry out a couple of sobs to take the pain away, but no more. She was not the one who had suffered the most, and she wouldn’t insult him by drowning in her misery.

“I’m sorry,” she said, clearing her throat and rubbing her eyes, meeting Varian’s gaze. “Dis...I not expect ya forgiveness. Words not gonna undo the harm dat came to him. But I regret it. Always.”

A long silence fell upon them, the tension within it palpable. It took considerable effort for Draggka to hold Varian’s gaze, wanting to instead to bury her head in Khadgar’s chest to hide herself. The royal seemed to be trying to contain his emotions, only just succeeding. Spike had raised himself up, as if ready to leap between them.

“Your honesty is a credit to you.” Varian eventually said, stiffly.

“I’d like to be saying sorry to him in da future, when I be able to. If I be able to.” Draggka added softly. If he could forgive me, she thought to herself.

Another pause, shorter this time.  Khadgar pulled back from his embrace slightly, but did not return to his seat, perched awkwardly on the edge of Draggka’s. Spike finally returned to his sitting position, but kept an eye on the warrior.

“...You called him ‘friend’.” Varian spoke, voice a careful neutral. The hunter was impressed by his restraint.

“Someting close to it. I met him in da Krasarang Wilds, helping da Red Crane and dere students against da Sha. I helped him, be fightin’ alongside him. Talked when we not be doin’ dat.” She paused a second, thinking. “Remember tinking dat he be making a good King.” She shook her head. “Be trying to put a lotta tings right afta Garrosh, but de dishonour I be doin’ against ya son...Dat be wit me ‘til I die.”

Something shifted in Varian’s expression that she couldn’t identify, and she felt the archmage’s hand tenderly engulf hers, reminding her of his presence.

“Why were you not punished for fighting against the occupation of your islands?” Varian asked, shifting the topic.

“I don’t know.” The troll admitted. “I wonder if it were being used as an axe over my head. Perhaps if I were to refuse an order, it would be used against me. Or my brudder.” Self-consciously, she rubbed at her wrists, feeling her scars prickle. “No doubt it woulda been a charge at my execution.”

Khadgar’s grip tightened, his body stiffening, and Varian seemed surprised.

“Execution?”

Draggka nodded.

“Got captured during da Rebellion. Garrosh be coming to gloat at me, an’ I told him to his face dat he no longer be my Warchief.” She shrugged. “He not take kindly to dat. I were in line for a public execution at da next dawn wit a black eye.”

The archmage looked away, his jaw clenched and his lips set into a thin line. The monarch sat back slightly.

“Garrosh must have been at the height of his madness to publicly execute someone known for taking down Deathwing,” he said grimly.

“No.” Draggka shook her head, and almost baulked under Varian’s sudden razor-sharp gaze. “He be many tings, but he were not mad. Blinded by his emotions an’ misguided, but not mad. Not de orc I saw. Dat be why he be so dangerous.” She paused for a moment. “My death were gonna be used to break spirits and take a thorn outta his side. If it be soothing a grudge too, den so be it.”

The royal leaned back fully in his chair, thinking. Draggka took the moment to drink her tea, aware it was probably getting cold. Varian waited until she was finished to speak again.

“Is there anything else you wish to share about your role in Garrosh’s Horde?”

“I were more den happy to kill him.” The troll replied. “Be a shame I never did. It not undo da tings I did under his eyes, but I woulda felt dat I be trying to put tings right. I followed him all da way to the Other Draenor, and left before I be wetting my arrows wit his blood. He be dead, but his stain be on da Horde for years to come.” She looked away, sighing. “I thought Vol’jin were to be our re-, re-, our turn-around, to be better den before.” Her ears drooped. “Now he be dead too.” She felt Khadgar’s hand move to rub her back, and Spike nuzzled her chin.

“You don’t trust Sylvanas?” Varian asked.

“No.” The hunter shook her head. “I’m not sure why Vol’jin be choosing her as da Warchief, but I disagree with his decision. I know some of her people as friends, but her?” Draggka frowned. “I don’t know if she be treating da rest of da Horde da same as da Forsaken. I hope I be wrong. Perhaps he knows more den me. But I not...” She shifted uncomfortably. “I not want to take down another Warchief so soon. But I will if I must. I will not be used again.”

Draggka met Varian’s gaze, hoping the force in her voice and the sincerity in her eyes would help convince him that she meant those words. For his part, his face gave nothing away, but he seemed...content, as if he’d put the last piece of a puzzle into place.

“So,” he began after a sip of tea, “a troll fresh from defeating Garrosh heeded the call from an old hero of the Alliance to defend Azeroth. Why?”

“To defend Azeroth, like ya said.” She responded. “It be my home, an’ I not want it destroyed, regardless of who de invader be.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I not hear da call from Khadgar straight away - it be reaching me through Go’el first. I only realized who it be coming from later.”

“And?”

Draggka looked at Khadgar, settling back into his own chair. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he glanced between hunter and monarch.

“I can put my fingers in my ears, if you wish.” He suggested, a slight smile playing over his lips. The troll turned it over in her mind for a moment.

“I be honest.” She decided. “I were concerned when I found out who ya be. I not know ya well, but I knew da tales. Didn’t tink ya be too pleased by us being dere.”

“I was witness to what the Alliance and Horde could achieve together.” The mage replied, sipping his tea. “I would be a fool to ask for aid from one and not the other.”

Varian set his cup down on the tray, having taken the lull in the conversation to finish it. He looked between them, addressing the hunter again.

“First impressions?” He asked, with clear interest.

“He were not what I expected.” Draggka replied around her cup.

“In a good way, I hope?” Khadgar grinned boyishly (and somewhat nervously).

Varian arched an eyebrow at them.

“Perhaps if you didn’t interrupt her, she’d tell you,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, sorry.” The archmage flushed pink, contrite, and Draggka couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped her.

“I were expecting someone very serious,” she explained. “Just about tolerating da Horde, who knew what he be doing an’ had no sense of humour.” She paused a moment, enjoying the face that Khadgar pulled out of the corner of her eye. “De only ting I were right about was dat he knew what he was doin’. Most of da time.”

“Go on.” Varian was also trying to hide a smile.

“He were friendly, funny, and though he be serious when it counted, he were also completely mad.”

“I’m not that mad.” Khadgar grumbled, folding his arms. Spike snorted.

“Ya brought a dam down on ya head!”

“Yes, but one: it was an entirely necessary action, and two: I didn’t bring it down on myself. I was merely caught by the water before my teleport spell completed.” He argued, folding his arms.

“I thought ya were dead!” Draggka shot back. “I were just starting to like ya, and den ya went and almost get yaself killed!” She blew a sigh out of her nose. “Shoulda taken dat as a warning.”

“A warning?” Varian asked, reminding the pair that he was still there.

“A warning dat he were gonna drive me up the wall.” She glared at the Archmage, who had now sat up to his full height, giving her a steady stare back, one eyebrow arched. Spike chuffed softly, amused. “He were ridiculous, making me an’ my friends go on really dangerous missions to be getting magical items, riskin’ our lives. An’ his! He nearly be getting killed by de Alt-Draenor Garona! Den he nearly be killing me when he be powering up dat ring.” She shook her head at him.

“In my defence,” Khadgar replied, “I did not intend for you to get killed at any point. And you scared me enough times with your antics too! I was sure you had been killed by Blackhand’s flagship explosion! If it hadn’t been for Maraad’s sacrifice...”

Draggka’s heart cringed at the barely hidden pain in Khadgar’s words, but decided to deflect him instead.

“I be used to explosions. I were taught engineering by goblins, afta all.”

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better.” Was the wizard’s sarcastic response.

“You’re an engineer?” Varian asked, interrupting the squabble. “That’s quite a surprise, since you don’t seem to have modified your bows in any way I would’ve expected an engineer to.”

“Well, I don’t like to be changin’ a bow dat not be my own.” Draggka explained. “Not dat Thas’dorah be needing any mods.” She answered his next question before he spoke. “I prefer bows over guns. I be using dem since I were a whelp. Can see da appeal of guns, but I be havin’ a connection to da bow. My weapon be a part of me, as I be a part of da land I live an’ hunt in. Da lives I take wit it be taken for a reason.” She folded her arms. “If takin’ lives become easy, I worry ‘bout whether I still care ‘bout taking dem. Regardless of whether dey be...” The hunter grasped for words. “Wild or not wild. Like...da difference between a bear an’ me.” She glanced to Khadgar. “Does dat make sense?”

He nodded, as did Varian.

“I see.” The royal said. “Sounds like honour underpins a lot of how you hunt”

“Yes. I be taught by my ma’da, and a tauren hunter when I were older. My brudder be a druid too, so I be seeing his side of it as well. Da way I see it, we be part of da wild, like everyting else. Someting dies so another can live. Dere be nothing wrong wit hunting an animal, but ya gotta respect it, like ya respect ya foe on da battlefield. You make its death mean someting - to feed ya, clothe ya. You use as much of its body as ya can. I leave some of it to my loa, to tank him for da hunt.”

Varian nodded, taking it all in.

“What are your thoughts on Nesingwary?”

Draggka snorted, unable to hide the snarl that curled her lips, a mirror to the one on Spike’s.

“Da fact he even be at da Lodge be a sign of our troubled times. If I not be needing his skill against da Legion, I would never have gone lookin’ for him. I be making it very clear dat he be following my rules when on my turf.” She blew an angry breath out through her nose. “Hunting for sport I can understand - I be pitting myself against powerful creatures sometimes as a test of skill. What matters is dat ya honour dere sacrifice, da fight. I give dem back to da Loa, feast upon dere flesh, turn dere skin into armour. To take a trophy and just leave da rest to rot be disgusting. Dishonourable.”

“I see.” Varian’s tone was its usual measured calm, but the troll could tell he was surprised at the venom she had for the dwarven hunter. She felt embarrassment prickle at the nape of her neck as her emotions settled.

“Uh, sorry. Dat...kinda went off on a different trail. What were we talking about?”

“No need to apologise.” Varian waved a hand. “You were talking about how Khadgar was risking your life in Draenor.” His brows furrowed. “So far it just sounds he was an annoyance to you.”

Shame cut sharply into her heart, and her face flushed.

“Oh, he weren’t dat bad!” She said hurriedly. “He be annoying at times, b-but not any more den anyone else!” She swallowed, trying to regain some composure. “I thought he not be wanting to get too close to da Horde afta all he’s been through, but he were kind to us. Friendly.”

Draggka glanced away, noticing Spike watching her curiously.

“Afta everyting dat be happening, I be feeling...Wit him, I not be feeling like a monster. Jus’...Jus’ a person. He makes me laugh a lot, and he be smart. Very smart. When he not be sending me on nearly impossible missions, we be talking for hours. ‘Bout all sorts of tings.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Sometimes I were wishing  I weren’t da Commander so I could be wit him for longer.”

“Perhaps.” Khadgar spoke, his voice soft. “But there was none better for the job, I think.”

Draggka shot him a wry look.

“Ya say dat when da Highlord be around, but ok.” She returned her attention back to Varian. “We were friends, as much as a human and a troll could be. Not even crossed my mind dat we could be anyting more.” Spike shifted against her, and she petted his head. “I not had anyone I be loving dat not be friend or family before. I did not realize dat I be havin’ feelings for him ‘til my brudder pointed dem out to me. Didn’t expect dat dey be returned, not...not ever. What be a legendary hero of de Alliance want to be wit a troll hunter from da Horde, who be killing his own people? And yet...here we be.”

She met Khadgar’s eyes. His smile warmed her, and she reached out to take his hand in hers.

“I love him, ya...Highness. Sometimes he be driving me crazy or making me scared for my life, but I care for him wit everyting I have. I want him to be safe an’ happy an’ to never have to be upset ever again. If I can be giving him dose tings, I will. He be...he be more den I deserve, and whatever be bringing us together, I tank it every day.”

Draggka took a breath, and sighed.

“I be hoping one day dat de war can be over, and de wounds can be healing enough for us to be together witout hiding.” Her ears drooped. “I...I don’t tink dat day will ever come sometimes, but I be living in hope.”

Khadgar squeezed her hand.

“It will, darling,” he said. “It will. It must.”

“I see...” Varian looked between them, assessing, before he folded his arms. “Say the war ended tomorrow. Both against the Legion, and between the Alliance and Horde. What would you do?”

“Celebrate, probably.” Draggka replied. “Finally let my friends know who I been dating all dis while.” She closed her eyes, bringing her dreams into her mind’s eye. “Jus’...being able to hold his hand an’ not worry. Hug him when I be needin’ him. Kiss him to stop him saying dose puns.”

The archmage chuckled richly.

“Oh come now, Huntmaster,” he said, leaning close to her. “We both know you love them.” He grinned as she pushed him away, unable to hide her own smile.

“Dere be so many places I wanna take him - take you to,” she said. “I wanna take ya to da Echo Isles. To Thunder Bluff, to walk through da great gates of Orgrimmar hand in hand...” A sigh. “I just want for it to be okay for us to be together. Dat’s all.”

“That’s understandable, but...” Varian leaned forwards, face serious. “If something happens, and the war between us gets worse...You will need to choose a side.”

“Varian-” Khadgar spoke, but the monarch quickly raised a hand to stop him.

“Neutral or not, you are still human, Khadgar. Draggka and other friendly Horde champions may be able to vouch for you, but others will only see a human mage. The Sunreavers still nurse wounds from the Kirin Tor, which would only galvanise them against you. Whether you like it or not, the Horde will shut you out.”

He turned to Draggka then, his face still hard with the gravity of his words, but his eyes were softer with empathy.

“And I doubt the Horde would look kindly upon a member spending time with a human, regardless of their allegiance.”

Draggka wanted to retort otherwise, but Varian was right and she knew it. Being more than friendly with Khadgar would brand her as a traitor - even now, in the midst of the Legion’s invasion. If she was lucky, she’d be exiled, along with any of her friends who tried to defend her. The thought made her heart go cold.

At her silence, Varian continued, his voice softer.

“I understand what you’ve been through, and I’m pointing this out because Khadgar is my friend. A very good, old friend. I want him to be safe, likely as every bit as much as you do. Whatever you choose, there will be danger and consequences. If possible, I would like warning of which ones. If, of course, you have an inkling of your future choice.”

Draggka considered his words and her response carefully, searching her heart and deeper feelings. She hoped she could articulate her answer in Common that could be understood.

“...Da Horde been my home for a long time.” She began slowly, haltingly. “It an’ Spike been de only tings I had ‘til my brudder be coming back from da Echo Isles. I believed in it - Go’el’s Horde. Den Garrosh...he broke all dat. Den it became me and da Horde - not da one I knew, a different one. Even when Vol’jin be leading, I...I...” She struggled for the words, hands gesturing uselessly. “I be a part of da Horde. But da Horde...da Horde not be a part of me. Not like it were before.” She glanced between the two men, watching their faces anxiously.

Khadgar’s eyes flicked back and forth rapidly as he parsed her words.

“You’re a member of the Horde, and consider yourself a part of it...” He spoke slowly. “But you don’t feel like you are the Horde. Like you belong to it.” He tilted, raven-like. “Am I close?”

The troll nodded, a small smile flashing across her face. Trust Khadgar to understand.

“Yeah. I still be Horde, but da tings I do not be in dere name.” She took a breath, meeting Varian’s eyes. “If dey make me choose between dem an’ Khadgar, I be choosin’ him.”

The mage choked.

“You...you really mean that?” He asked, astonishment stark in his cursed features.

“Ya mean more to me den da Horde does.” Draggka replied, looking back to him. “I choose you every time.”

“You’re aware of the risks you’ll be taking, aren’t you?” Varian’s calm tone sounded out.

“I lived under da eyes of Hellscream. I know what de consequences be.” Emboldened, the hunter rose to her full height, lifting her chin. “If Sylvanas be tinking I be choosing her over my mate, she be sorely mistaken.”

Varian's eyebrows lifted with surprise, even as something tugged at the corner of his lips.

“‘Mate’?” He asked, sounding amused. Heat rose into the hunter’s cheeks at her slip - perhaps this was exactly how Khadgar had given the game away weeks before. Thankfully said mage quickly intervened as she grasped for words.

“‘Mate’ for the Darkspears i-is our version of ‘romantic partner’.” He explained, flushing pink. “I believe that ‘life-mate’ would be our equivalent of a married couple, yes?” He looked to her for guidance, looking a bit like a deer in the torchlight.

“Yeah.” She nodded vigorously. “Yeah, we not be...that joined.” She cleared her throat, becoming serious. “I know I not be da best person around. I done terrible tings dat I never be making up for. But I love Khadgar wit everyting I have. He be my pack-mate, my family, my home. I rather die den hurt him, an’ kill any dat tink dey can get me to betray him.” Draggka’s orange eyes blazed for a moment, before she calmed. “If ya believe only one ting I say, let it be dat I would never harm Khadgar.”

“And I believe her.” Khadgar added. “I trust her. In all things. With everything.”

Varian sat back with a thoughtful hum, closing his eyes. Although he was clearly turning things over in his mind, Draggka had a feeling he was no less alert than he had been speaking to her. It was like sitting in the room with an actual wolf - though she was mostly convinced she wouldn’t be attacked at the slightest sneeze, the troll was still careful to make no moves that could be seen as aggressive.

After a long, quiet moment, Varian opened his eyes again, and though they were as carefully inscrutable as usual, they seemed...content. And bright.

“Thank you for your time Draggka, Khadgar.” He bowed his head to each of them in turn. “It has been enlightening to speak with you.”

“And you.” Draggka bowed her head in return. Though you got more out of me than I will ever get out of you.

“Sooo...Everything’s okay?” Khadgar asked, eyes flicking all over Varian’s face anxiously. “You’re comfortable with me seeing Draggka?”

“To be certain, I would have to get to know her.” A smile graced Varian’s scarred features. “But it is clear to see that your feelings for her are genuinely returned.” His gaze shifted to the hunter. “I’m convinced that you are not a danger to my friend, but don’t think I won’t keep an eye on you.”

“I be tinking as much.” Draggka replied, shrugging.

“Varian, please. There’s no need to coddle me.” Khadgar grumbled. “I can look after myself.”

Several instances that contradicted that statement immediately popped into Draggka’s head and she rolled her eyes. Spike also snorted derisively, shooting the mage a look. For a brief moment, she and Varian’s eyes met, and it was clear to see that he was equally unconvinced.

Khadgar caught their looks, and his raven guise would have ruffled his feathers.

“What?”

“You’re lucky to have a number of champions around you, making sure your schemes go almost to plan.” Varian said diplomatically.

“You know me. I work with the best.” Khadgar preened, flashing a wink at Draggka. He either didn’t notice the younger man’s subtle jab, or was choosing to ignore it.

“Hmm.” Varian pushed himself to his feet with a warrior’s elegance. “I must take my leave. Be safe, both of you.” He bowed his head to them again.

“You too, Varian.” Khadgar returned the gesture. “Take care.”

“Good hunting.” Draggka replied.

Formalities performed, Varian left without another word, closing the door behind him. Silence was left in his wake, in which the troll found tension was locked into her shoulders and hands, even when she thought most of it had eased over time. She felt tension leave Spike as well, and the raptor sighed, flopping from her lap to the floor like a wet rug. Khadgar was still looking after Varian, but his gaze was elsewhere, his mind chewing over what had occurred.

“So...” Draggka began.

“That...went alright.” Khadgar said. He blinked out of his apparent trance, clasping her hands between hers. “Light, Draggka, I’m so sorry about the-”

“It be okay.” She waved his words off. “Garrosh be gone now - I can’t be letting his shadow weigh me down forever. And Varian needed to know. Better just be honest ‘bout it now den have him dig it up later.”

“I would have preferred if you’d not relived it.” The mage replied, squeezing her hands. “But I think he appreciated it.” A pause. “I think we’re alright. He seems to at least think you’re not out to do me harm, physical or otherwise. Which is a good start!”

Draggka tilted her head.

“What would ya have done if he said no?” She asked curiously.

“Consider what he said and let him go.” Khadgar replied matter-of-factly. “If I thought he was talking rubbish, I would continue seeing you in secret.”

“What if ya thought he had a point?”

“Then we would talk about it.” The archmage regarded her with an arched brow. “I do not intend to throw away our love on a whim, and certainly not on the sole testimony of one person who has spoken to you for an hour. I doubt we would have ever gotten this far if I didn’t love and trust you as much as I do.” A small smile played around his mouth. “Varian’s endorsement is certainly welcome, but I have adored you as deeply as is without it, and I will continue to adore you regardless.”

Draggka couldn’t help but smile back, warmth bubbling up in her heart, even as concern gnawed on her.

“Ya sure ‘bout dat? He not be pleased if he found out ya be sneaking behind his back.”

“No, but I have made it clear to him that I am a neutral entity now.” Khadgar replied. “I might identify with the Alliance, but I will not turn my back on the Horde champions that have helped me.” His eyes flashed with a defiant glee. “Varian can try to order me if he likes, but I will decide whether to obey or not.”

I hope you don’t regret it in the future. Draggka couldn’t help but think, yet she kept her mouth shut. In the brief moment of pause, the mage’s smile became gentle.

“Thank you for agreeing to this, darling. I know it was hard for you.”

“Yeah.” The troll smiled wryly. “Not as bad as I was tinking it would be, but I be glad you be here wit me.”

“Of course.” He squeezed her hands. “It was the least I could do.”

They lingered for a moment, before the wizard blew a breath out of his nose.

“I suppose you should return to your demon-slaying duties,” he said, his smile no longer reaching his eyes.

“Yeah. Da Legion not wait for us.” Draggka nodded sadly, rising out of her chair with her raptor at her heels.

“It would certainly be decent of them if they did, but alas, they are rather lacking in that quality.” Khadgar commented, watching as she donned her armour and bow. When she returned to him, he reached out, gently pulling her closer by her waist. “Be safe, darling. Come back in one piece.”

“You too, Ba’la.” Draggka replied, resting her forehead against his. “Keep yaself safe.”

“I will.” He leaned up to kiss her, slowly and softly, giving her the time to commit it to memory before he pulled away. “Good hunting, my love.”

[amemixfan]

I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I really do believe that, if executed correctly, Yvette and Nero’s routes could be made into something beautiful by Lovestruck. There are a lot of thoughts I have as to how it could play it out so have a 3 am ramble about this. (A warning for people that haven’t read Esperanza and Darius, this contains spoilers).

First of all, Yvette can’t touch MC due to the curse she has. Her hands would burn her alive, so they’d have to keep a distance from each other. This would create the opportunity to explore a route that delves outside of touch. There’s a potential to ramp up the tension and static charge between them. You can show Yvette and MC growing closer and closer to one another despite the fact that physically they can’t. You can show a connection forming between them that illustrates that heartbreak and forbidden element. Delve past the sexual tensions that would naturally arise from such a predicament and focus on the emotional tensions. Imagine loving someone but not being able to touch them-and, again, I don’t mean in a sexual way. Just being unable to hold hands, hug, or even brush them accidentally. Imagine physical touch being so impossible between you and your loved one. Imagine the heart ache that comes with that, the way you can play it out in a story, the dynamic you can create. If Yvette is given a route, Lovestruck can take on the challenge of presenting a route where touch isn’t necessary. They can create a relationship between Yvette and MC that explores affection through words. Yvette and MC can’t touch physically but they can still touch eachother emotionally. They can affirm their relationship through spoken words, explore a connection that transcends what is physical, and form a positive example of loving someone and being able to express that to them in different ways that don’t involve coming into contact with them. Yvette could be used as an illustration of a new relationship with MC and her route could bring on a tension that readers feel through their screens that leaves them with this bittersweet feeling. It could be an angsty love story as painful as it is beautiful and add depth to Lovestruck’s series. MC might not be able to touch Yvette to show her what she feels, but, executed correctly, she wouldn’t need to. You’d still feel an element of touch between them that transcends the physical and enters the emotional. This route could enter a new frontier to show how words can sometimes be more passionate than touches.

And imagine Nero. Nero is a character that promises a plethora of possibilities for his route. His character can bring in a natural sense of heartbreak and angst into a route. Nero is possessed by Kozholok and has survived a torture that no other person has ever been able to take. While many die within a week of possession, he made it through a year. Kozholok fractured his soul into shards and made his consciousness splinter into the “Gentleman Nero” and the “Jerk Nero”. This opens up a possibility for Lovestruck to explore. Imagine a route where Nero falls for MC. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows he can’t, but love is unnatural and incomprehensible. Cupid’s arrow strikes where it may and gives no thought to consequence or struggle. Nero falls for MC and is given the heartbreaking task of having to protect her from himself. He has to push her away because Kozholok is inside him and he wants to tear her apart. He needs her away from him desperately, he needs the troupe to keep her safe, and he will rebuff every attempt she makes to get closer even if his heart shatters to pieces as a result. He loves MC so much that he has to keep her at bay because he doesn’t deserve to be loved, not when he’s such a danger to her, and he doesn’t feel worthy of being saved. Death is his only salvation, it is the only thing he can do to save everyone around him, and MC is too good for someone with a demon inside who has already lost everything and corrupts everything around him. It hurts, his route would be heartbreaking, but beautiful because we present this dynamic of, “I love you so much that I can’t let myself have you.” MC and Nero could be locked in this tug of war. MC wants to save Nero and show him that he’s not alone, she loves him and wants to save him, his soul is fractured but not gone. He is still worthy of salvation and is still able to recover-But Nero loves her so much he has to stay away. Nero breaks his own heart to pieces by pushing MC away and the heartbreak hurts him more than any pain Kozholok could ever inflict upon him. He feels grief and resentment for any higher power out there because isn’t it enough that his soul is in tatters due to the demon inside him-do the powers that be really have to break his heart to shards as well? It wouldn’t fair, his route could be haunting and heartbreaking, yet it could draw readers in. You want to keep reading this tragic story to the end because it’s so painful it’s beautiful. And that makes the torture worth bearing. Just like Nero would be willing to torture himself by denying himself MC to keep her safe, you would be willing to torture yourself reading his route because you want to hold on for that happy ending.

If it wasn’t already painfully obvious, I’ve been thinking about their characters a lot since the pilot ended. Yvette and Nero really have something that Lovestruck could explore into a route. Their backgrounds give a huge canvas of possibilities for exploration. Their routes could really become something beautiful if the team wanted to give them a chance.

It feels so off topic to post this now since I just read Atlas, but I have been turning this over in my head for ages now. Again, sorry if the ramble makes no sense-it’s 3 am, but I have been turning this over in my head for ages now.

And, Hell, if Lovestruck won’t give them a route, I will.

[bensolodefensesquad]

Jon and Sansa’s Insecurity

This is probably a bit rambly because this is really more my stream of consciousness thoughts on the first episode regarding Jon and Sansa’s relationship so like... hold on for a bit.

The moment in 08x01 that I keep going back to is Jon and Ar/ya’s reunion. Mainly that they haven’t seen each other in YEARS and much like how Sansa couldn’t help but bring up Jon in her reunion with Ar/ya, Jon can’t help but bring up Sansa in his. 

So we have this exchange -  Jon: Sansa thinks she’s smarter than everyone Ar/ya: She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. Jon: Now you’re defending her? You? Ar/ya: I’m defending our family. So is she. Jon: Yeah. I’m her family too.  Ar/ya: Don’t forget that.

The thing I keep going back to is that even though Ar/ya’s line specifically mentions that both Stark sisters are defending the family, Jon gets defensive about Sansa’s opinion and connection to him. For him, Ar/ya’s love has never been question mark. They’re always been close and they’ve always been family, but what we see here is that Jon’s true weakness is how Sansa views him. 

We see that again in the scene in Sansa’s solar, where we see Jon’s obvious frustration in response to Lord Glover’s rejection notice and the fact that House Glover won’t follow him. However, that rejection - which comes with even less men to fight and the loss of lives to the Night King - is nothing compared to the pain and frustration we see from him at the idea of Sansa not believing in him. 

The recurring theme between Jon and Sansa is his never-ending insecurity when it comes to her. We can obviously see how important her opinion is to him, even when he tries to write it off. We see Jon the most wounded when it seems that Sansa doesn’t trust him or think highly of him. The Joffrey comment, the thought of her not caring for him like he cares for her, everything breaks him.

Nearly the entirety of 08x01 positions Jon and Sansa in opposition, with her appearing angry at him or shading the hell out out of D@ny, and even when Sansa isn’t in scenes with Jon, she is still instrumental in his conversations, both with Ar/ya and D@ny. And yet, their last scene together shows that at the end of the day, Jon isn’t frustrated because she disagrees with him, he’s frustrated because he thinks she’s shutting him out, that she doesn’t believe that he’s doing what he thinks is best. He only calms down when she affirms her faith.

And GOD, I wish Jon was better at reading people because Sansa is throwing that insecurity back to him as well. Sansa knows she’s a good ruler, that she can handle the political side of things, but the hurt and jealousy in her eyes when Jon says that they can’t win without D@ny destroys me. This look on her face when she suddenly realizes that the way she was able to help him win the Battle of the Bastards, the way she was able to save him... she can’t do that this time. Instead, some other woman, some beautiful strong woman that Jon appears to be head over heels for will be the savior for him in this battle. 

And that’s enough to get her to lay everything down on the table, on her end at least, whether Jon picks up on it or not. She just told him that she has faith in him which makes questioning his motivations less political and more personal. When he asks for faith, she understands in that moment that he has a plan, that he has his reasoning that he believes are entirely just and she gives that faith to him. 

Which means when she asks why he bent the knee, she doesn’t want to know what political motivation he had, she wants to know what personal motivation he had. And why would she care about his personal motivations unless she had an interest in the answer? It MATTERS to her whether Jon loves D@ny. It literally does not change the outcome of what’s going on with the war. His knee is bent and she has faith in his choice in that - anger and hurt aside - so why does his motivation matter? 

Because Sansa doesn’t want Jon to be in love with someone else. She may not acknowledge that as the reason, she may not understand why she cares so much, but the facts are that she does care. D@ny is not just a political threat, she’s a romantic rival and I’m not sure that Sansa ever really considered that someday Jon could fall in love with someone and marry them and their partnership would be completely different. And now she’s being confronted with that possibility and she has no idea how to deal with any of those feelings.

And Jon, for his part, is begging Sansa to calm the snark because D@ny is ready to roast her and doesn’t even care that this is the sister of the man she loves. Respect or death is the only two choices anyone gets with her and Jon is desperate to save Sansa. I fully expect more threats, but I’m afraid of Jon showing his hand and snapping at D@ny like he did at everyone else who threatened Sansa and blowing the whole thing up. 

It needs to be next week, like now.

[artemisegeria]

The Picture of The Mind Revives Again (Chapter 5/?)

Title: The Picture of the Mind Revives Again (5/?)

Rating: T

Word count: 2112

Warnings: None

Summary: Sequel to “A Formula, A Phrase Remains.” Title is from “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey” by William Wordsworth.

Vision has gone missing after Shuri, Bruce, and Helen revived him. Now they must tell Wanda what they did without her knowledge.

Chapter Summary: Vision spends some time with Helen Cho and talks with Wanda for the first time since being revived.

A/N: As I’ve been spending more time writing this story again, I’ve decided to make some slight changes to my original plan. Therefore, I added a final section to the end of the previous chapter (starting “The next three months…”) that ties in with what happens here.

I wasn’t expecting to update this today, but I got a sudden burst of inspiration. So, this chapter is in honor of the first anniversary of Endgame’s release. I remain bitter and determined to correct the fate it handed Wanda and Vision.

  Vision maintained his usual density as walked through the sand of the vast Sahara Desert. After his last trip to Russia, he had wanted a change of scenery and of climate. If he was truly to see what Earth and humanity had to offer, he needed to continue moving over the whole world. He needed to distract himself from the loneliness that gnawed at him and threatened his mission.

A wave of homesickness that had washed over him several weeks ago had caused him to contact Wanda. He had almost flown to New York right away, a desperate plan to meet the team when they returned from Washington forming in his mind. But something was holding him back. He was more than ready to see Wanda and Sam again and meet the new team. He positively ached to be with them at this moment. Though the old compound was destroyed, he had come to learn that home was about the people that one treasured, as opposed to a place of residence. He wanted to go home.

But he knew with every synthetic fiber of his being that he had to remain apart for a while longer. He had to learn himself not only as a superpowered, one-of-a-kind synthezoid or an Avenger or Wanda Maximoff’s lover, but as himself. Those were all parts of himself that he treasured, but it was not enough any longer.

Vision was not ready for all that going home entailed. He was not ready to take up the mantle of an Avenger again. He would always favor fighting for humanity and saving those who needed him, but doing so at need was different from it being his full-time duty. He would be unable to travel except where he had to go for a mission.

Vision had no doubt that the team would allow him to stay with them without the expectation of fully rejoining, but something about that felt wrong to him. It was an all or nothing life, being an Avenger. If he could not devote himself totally to it yet, he should not seek to join them.

He could not go home, but a compromise did occur to him. He prepared a message for Helen Cho. Surprised when she responded almost instantly, he responded with equal alacrity. Within a few exchanges, they planned for him to stay at her lab for a time.

After the business was concluded, Vision felt a sense of purpose and rightness emanate from his neurons and fill his entire self. There was only one thing missing. While he was not ready to go home yet or rejoin Wanda in their new home, he could at least communicate with her. The picture he had sent her a few weeks previously and their subsequent conversation had reminded him of feelings that he had long suppressed. So, he emailed her a story of his recent exploration of Tokyo.

He then embarked on a new journey as he waited for Wanda’s reply.

***

His first few days in Helen’s lab were spent getting acclimated to her new research. After her work on reviving him was finished, she had requested a leave to return to South Korea for a time to help U-GIN and the University of Seoul rebuild. Many of the scientists working with her were the same ones who had been kidnapped by Ultron. Vision was grateful that, after an initial period of nervous silence, they did not appear to hold his connection to Ultron against him, far more interested in the assistance he could offer to their research.

Within two weeks, he was sharing meals and evening activities with his colleagues. They were a tight-knit group, but they were letting him in. They recognized their own keen interest in science and other specialized pursuits in him. It was almost like being back with the Avengers in the early days after his birth.

But one thing still gnawed at him during those long sleepless hours in the middle of the night. He could always enter his resting state, but that time was the only opportunity for him to process his feelings amid the endless research. It was a concern that he had been able to push to the side since his revival, but he knew it would not go away if he ignored it.

He thought back to the first afternoon, when he hovered above Wanda in the forest and could hear nothing of her thoughts. That link had always been their special connection. Part of him wondered if they could even maintain a relationship without it. The rest of Vision’s consciousness rebelled against such a judgment. There was far more to his love for Wanda than their connection through the Stone, but it was important.

She deserved to know. They needed to talk about this shift in their lives. But he did not want to acknowledge the pain and the loss through cold electronic communication. He did not know what to do, so he asked the person he trusted the most in this building.

He approached Dr. Cho one day while she was preparing to go home for the night. “Helen, I have a query for you, if I may.”

“Of course, Vision.” She smiled at him and gestured to the seat across from her. He sat stiffly, folding his hands carefully in his lap.

“If you had something important that you needed to tell a loved one, but it was not immediately pertinent to your relationship, would you tell them right away or would you save the information until the subject arose naturally?”

Helen fell into an expression of deep contemplation. “Well, ideally, I would want more context. A hypothesis is only as good as the information behind it. But whenever I’m struggling with an interpersonal dilemma, I always like to ask myself what I would want the other person to do to me in the same situation. Would you want to know this information as soon as possible, or would you prefer your loved one to wait?”

Vision did not know how to answer that question. With the exception of his regrettable mistake of trying to keep her inside the compound before the break up of the Avengers, he had never kept any secrets from Wanda. She was the only one with whom he felt he could be completely honest. But know that they were apart, he was doubting that telling her about the loss of their connection through the Mind Stone was the best idea.

Vision did not realize how long he had been lost in thought until he noticed Helen was still looking at him in gentle inquiry. “Thank you for your perspective, Helen. I will think on your advice.” He said farewell. On his way back to his room, he passed many of his fellow researchers, but he begged off their requests to join them for dinner.

He truly considered all the changes that had befallen him since he was first attacked Thanos’s followers. Opening himself up to the full range of sadness, anger, and loss, he thought of all that must be done before he would be whole again.

It was around two in the morning when he reached the decision to invite Wanda to South Korea. Helen whole-heartedly approved the plan when he admitted the source of his earlier question, omitting the more private details of their connection.

That afternoon Vision began composing his letter.

Good day, Wanda,

I hope this missive finds you well. I appreciated your response to my last messages, and I am always happy to hear from you.

Today, I would like to ask a favor. I am currently staying in South Korea with Doctor Cho. I have been assisting with her rebuilding efforts. I was wondering if you would come here for a visit. There is an effect of the loss of the Mind Stone that I would like to discuss with you. It should take no more than a day or two to test my hypotheses.

Vision considered how to end the note. He wanted to conclude with “All my love,” but those words seemed strangely out of touch with the rest. There was also the problem of the silence between them. He thought that perhaps he had waited too long to have this conversation with her. He did not know where they stood with each other.

So he simply wrote:

Sincerely,

Vision

Waiting for Wanda’s reply was agonizing. He could not help but reread his message and consider how cold and inadequate the words seemed. Fortunately for his thinning nerves, it did not take more than an hour for Wanda to reply affirmatively.

***

Vision stood in the airport waiting for Wanda. It was quite a reversal from all the times he had visited her. When he saw her moving through the crowd, dodging curious looks and picture-takers, he smiled. “Hey, Vizh!”

“Hello, Wanda.” Lingering doubt kept both of them from embracing, but Vision did dare to take her hand. She smiled up at him. “Is this everything you came with?” He gestured to the small backpack she was wearing.

“Yeah, you know me, good at traveling light.” They started walking toward the parking lot. “Um, are we flying to the lab or do we have a car?”

“Actually, I have a motorcycle. They are rather popular here.” He led her to the motorcycle he had ridden to pick her up. When they reached the vehicle, Vision handed Wanda a helmet and secured his own, despite the fact that no ordinary crash could harm him.

“Is this yours?” She seemed impressed, and he was tempted to prevaricate. But that would be a poor way to start this new stage of their acquaintance.

“No, I am borrowing it from Helen.” She smiled at him as she put on her helmet. Vision mounted the bike. Wanda slid in behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso. He reveled in the touch that he had not felt since his restoration. Though he had become friends with the others, it was not the same as his love for Wanda.

That was a contemplation for another time. It was only a brief ride to Dr. Cho’s lab. He had made the trip to the previous day to ascertain exactly how long it would take. His trial had lasted only 5.4 minutes. But as Wanda hugged him closer to her, he found himself taking the long way. It was a full 12.3 minutes before they arrived at the lab.

Vision gave her a tour of the lab. All the areas he frequented were curiously empty. He had expected Helen to be available to meet with Wanda, but she was not in her office or her chief study areas. Vision eventually resorted to showing Wanda her guest room. Prior to her arrival, he had agonized over how to set up her room and whether he should invite her to share his.

But things were not as they were when they had last been together. They did not have a firm foundation on which to share a bed. So, Vision ushered Wanda into her room. She smiled at the vase of wildflowers on the table and the perfectly made bed. He remained standing in the doorway, not knowing what to do with his hands. He simply watched as she laid down her backpack in the corner and bounced onto the bed. “You can come in, Vizh.”

“Oh, thank you.” She shook her head at him, still smiling gently. Vision stepped inside. This did seem the ideal time to begin their necessary conversation. “May I shut the door?”

“Sure.”

Wanda patted the bed beside her. Vision joined her. When she reached out her hands, he took them gladly. “There is much we need to discuss. Since everyone else here appears to be occupied, I would like to begin if you are ready.”

“I’m ready. I’ve been waiting so long to have a real conversation with you.”

Vision hung his head. “I apologize.” She squeezed one of his hands, and he looked up again to see her gazing at him sympathetically.

“You don’t have to apologize. I spent the first year and more after being brought back feeling lost most of the time. It’s a lot to take in. It made all of us act a little strange.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I do believe talking will help.”

“I think so, too,” she said with equal softness. They stared at each other for a moment, both lost for words. Then, she squeezed his hands and pulled away. “All right! Let’s talk it out, so we can both feel better.”

[malarkis]

TURN drunk/drinking headcanons

had a lil drinky dranks with friends and got thinking about this afterwards. im pretty sure someone else did this though. i think i got everyone, so it’s a bit long and honestly just for shits and giggles. i am very sorry ------------------------ Ben Tallmadge - boy finally lETS LOOSE, but not in a wild way. he’s just overly friendly and will laugh at about anything. greets random people at the party. red as a tomato. first to hit that “oh god why did i do this” stage of sobering up Abraham Woodhull - the absolute madman. there is no dare he doth not do. ends up standing on a table at some point. ends most sentences in “ man” at a certain level of half drunk-half sober. falls off most surfaces. terrible balance Mary Woodhull - cheering on Abe at the start of the night. can probably down more than anyone else there. queen of the shots. drunkenly worrying about Abe by the end of the night. tipsy walks back to the car, but knows exactly where they parked Anna Strong - she and Mary are a force to be reckoned with in any drunken competition, simply abort all hopes of winning. stupidly good at aiming when drunk. probably makes a game out of it and has a few others cheering her on. drunkenly teaches you something. sobers up the fastest and check on everyone. probably one of the last ones and helps clean up and chats with you during Caleb Brewster - no idea why but i see him as the first to start, but also the one who can hold is alcohol the best?? the conscious mother hen drunk. never truly out of control. saving ben from something. mixes random drinks that sound awful but taste gr8. doesn’t know how to use the shaker, but looks cool with it anyway. unofficial guidance counsellor of the night

Washington - doesn’t actually get heavily drunk, but hits that borderline tipsy sometime during the night. actually knows how to use the shaker and looks cool with it anyway. will sit you down for a lecture on different whiskies or something. will call someone son by the end of the night. strong and affirming back pats Peggy Shippen - that one girl crying in the bathroom. but also that one girl you befriend in the bathroom and plan a drunken brunch with. came with andré but lost him somehow. 50+ pictures of you two together looking gr8 and remembers to tag you later on John André - started off strong, but got a lil bit weepy. perked right back up though - what a champ. came with peggy but lost her somehow. the sloppy fancy drunk who everyone had a nice time with. brought some imported alcohol. brings out the flute at the end of the night when about five of you are left. bad relationship advice Alexander Hamilton - one man drunken debate team. would probably win said debate anyhow. see saws between happy drunk to angry drunk in a few minutes. probably brings up conspiracy theories at some point. that one guy who you’ll chill with at the end of the party, probably on a lawn chair or something, just talking as you sober up Abigail - drunk or sober, she’s your Best friend at the party. would try not to get drunk, but let herself have a little fun because she works HARD. will hold up your hair while you vom. drunken witty comebacks and jokes for days Akinbode - can and will outdrink you. probably will compete with Mary at some point. intense drunk. he came to have a good time and he’s having it, but he’s also tired and spacing out. starts out strong, but also the one you need to check on later on and tap on the shoulder to see if they’re alive. dancey dancey Edmund Hewlett - nervously agrees to get turnt, but has a gd ball afterwards. you lose him mid party and find him with some sort of pet. laughing at his own jokes, but its endearing. got drunk on like sherry or something. does ONE dumb thing, quiet regret. Feels It(TM) when Coldplay’s “Yellow” plays at some point. brings out a board game. ends up in the pool but not by choice. John Simcoe - is the one who got Hewlett into the pool by some strange reason. not the first to get drunk, but definitely not the last. bit of a close talker. somehow ends up in a bit of a tussle during the party. wanders aimlessly around the house. forgot what he was looking for. you find him in the basement or den looking through music or something. originally came because Anna did. taking André’s bad advice Lafayette - voted most fun at the party. the endearing and a little clingy drunk. makes like 10 new friends even if they cannot understand one another. random yelling/singing in french. gets his new friends to sing in french with him, albeit poorly. nonetheless he is impressed. “i love you guys so much” x20. last to sober up. doesn’t realize how loud he is. losses all consciousness on the way home. probably sent you a novel of drunk texts Robert Townsend - “I’m so tired of being here”. watching over Abe and the gang, but also getting quietly turnt. actually has really good music and secretly gets to the aux/speakers. designated driver. makes coffee for everyone at some point. it’s probably his house and he puts up the “leave by nine” banner Robert Rogers and Sackett and Papa Townsend - who invited their horribly Bad Influence uncles to the party?? ratchet mixology crash course in the kitchen. pitching ideas to the young’uns. bad jokes. hijacks the music at some point - their choices range from absolute bangers to why do you even have this???? Ensign Baker - still a Good Boy. took the longest to get drunk, but got there somehow. probably took one of the drinks made by Sackett or Rogers and passed out somewhere on the couch. helps Anna with the cleaning afterwards, still drunk yet aware enough to tell you to text him when you get home safely. also insists on walking people out when they leave and saying bye, it’s not his house though Benedict Arnold - the worst drinking companion. everything is a competition and he will hijack several conversations during the night. please dont give him the speakers/aux chord. the spotify DJ feat. unwanted ads. bets galore. news flash, he lost all of them. just as bad as when he’s sober. please go home

[englass]

Affirmation

Pairing: John Seed x Reader

Warning(s): Possessive behaviour, innopropriate thoughts/desires

Word Count: 2,150

- - -

The day is a stunning one, the sky a pure and unmarred blue, pastel soft and light in the slow transition from early to the late morning. There’s not a cloud in sight and the sun is radiant in that knowledge, claiming full ownership over the vast and endless sky as it washes the land in a swaddled warmth, beaming proudly from up high.

Holland Valley is bathed and praised in the golden light, it’s open and welcoming landscape taking on a new vibrancy that has it looking cleaner, touched in a way that religious folk would lay worshipful words and gazes upon. Blessed with a holy vision that demonstrates all of God’s glory and majesty in a single picture; a truly gorgeous day.

While most made use of the new and preening glow to the Valley others continued with their daily lives, a new skip and easiness in their otherwise busy and wary forms. You were much the same. Despite how much you would’ve loved to be outside, taking in the full breath of the big skied county, there was still stuff to be done.

In the modest garage that acted as a makeshift hanger for your beloved seaplane you stayed, the heat of the day invading the cool space as you tinkered away with an content smile and an absent mind. Elora was an old plane, probably about the same age as Carmina, the name of your good friend Nick Rye’s plane, and required quite a bit of TLC.

She was definitely getting on in her life, worn down through the many years she’d been in your family, but still flew with all the grace she had from when she was first built. Old in number, but not in soul. Still, you tried your best with what you had, your modest salary and the little extra you made from the one-off repairs you did for people, helping you enough to support yourself along with your ageing plane.

Standing up on the safely steps next to the wing of Elora you worked away on her, giving her a good polish while fixing anything that looked remotely out of place as you went. A radio was playing in the background, sitting innocuously on a workbench as old songs came through in merry tones. Indulgently, you started singing to the songs and parts you knew, humming and mumbling when you got a line wrong or didn’t know. It was a comfortable atmosphere you were lost in, focused solely on your plane and the joy it gave you.

So lost were you in the moment in fact that you failed to notice the familiar and well dressed man that leaned against the doors of your makeshift hanger, arms casually crossed across his chest as he watched you with an admiring focus. Truly, it would be a shame to interrupt you, seemingly enjoying yourself as much as you were, but your lack of attention had him itching. He’d need to rectify that.

Leaning over the wing of your plane, raising onto your tiptoes slightly as you reach across, you startle at an unexpected but light banging, a knock on metal sheeting. Looking up toward the sound you don’t even try or think to hold back a smile, a wide beam lighting up your face when you spot a man that you would class as a friend standing by your hanger door. It was always an experience when he was around. 

“Oh, hey there!” You chirp happily, “I didn’t expect to see you today. How are things? No problems with Affirmation I hope?”

While you and Nick had a friendly sort of competitiveness running between the two of you, each cheering for your own respective planes while still holding a fondness for the other, John Seed was not quite a part of that. He was especially nice with you, a teasing sort of fellow on occasion but still rather polite and respectful to you all the same, but when it came to Nick John could walk the line of nastiness rather well. All passive aggressive taunts with snide smiles and biting words.

Affirmation was a beautiful plane, no doubt about that, but it was hardly a fair comparison when put between two old and weather worn seaplanes. You‘re pretty sure John knew it too, and still does, but you had the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t get involved in such a thing unless he knew he was going to win. He seemed a little sly like that, only showing his hand once he knew the game was his, but talk is that he used to be lawyer before coming here so you shouldn’t be too surprised by that. Although, why he directs it all at Nick you’re not too sure. There must be history there you don’t know about.

John chuckles lowly at the question, subtly eyeing you from his place besides the hanger door. “No, thankfully she’s doing well. Still flies as smoothly as the day I first got her.”

“I’m glad to hear it; I know how much you love her.” You can’t help the softer shift your smile takes as you wipe your hands with a stained rag, looking up at him as you do so.

Having the infamous John Seed come to you, a hobbyist pilot and mechanic, looking for extra help regarding his prized plane was admittedly quite a pride-filled moment for you. Why he had chosen to come to you out of all the other capable pilots and qualified mechanics across the county to help him with her you weren’t too sure, but it had certainly stroked your ego. And filled your wallet; John had paid quite handsomely for your time, far too much in fact, but despite you rejecting the amount he wouldn’t have it. He could be quite persuasive.

Stepping down the safety steps you make your way to John, your smile never fading with your rag still in hand. “So, what can I help you with today, Mr. Seed?”

Oh there’s a lot of things you could help him with, John thinks blithely, watching the natural sway of your hips before crawling up your body to the kind twinkle in your eyes. You were too sweet for your own good, an innocent little thing that was always willing to help and sacrifice for those in need. Even when they didn’t deserve it.

John had witnessed you offering your mechanical skills to some of the congregation’s members, your workshop a neutral zone free from discrimination, and it had left him positively warm the first time he’d seen it. Your acceptance of them and, by extension, him was a welcome change from the near constant hostility and wariness of the local rabble. But, that also meant that he had heard the whispers of slander made against you, a relatively new inhabitant to the Valley.

Slander that John knew his presence alone would stoke.

Nick Rye had originally tried warning you away from John, their little rivalry bleeding an growing dislike onto both fronts, but you had stood firm on having a part in this little three-way. John had found it amusing at first – “birds of a feather should flock together”, you had said, looking between them with an cheesy smile, “we’re all pilots after all!” –, but now that amusement was long gone and had been replaced by a selfish want for more; he wanted out of that silly little triangle.

And if his continued presence would ensure that outcome then... well, he’ll be sure to pay you more frequent visits in the future. 

“Back to formalities are we now, my dear?” He says with a teasing grin. “And there was me thinking that we’d finally gotten past that stage in our relationship; I thought we were close.” Not close enough apparently, a part of him growls, hidden behind an exaggerated display of mock offence. 

Nervously you laugh, head bowing slightly as your eyes flicker away from him, rubbing the side of your neck self-consciously. Such an adorable picture you make.

“Right, ‘m sorry. I guess I’m just so use to being formal with people nowadays that it just slipped out.” Looking up at him from under lashes you give him a small, but guilty smile. “Sorry, John”

Good Lord, what do you do to me.

John runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it over as he gestures dismissively. “No need to apologise, dearest. I understand. You’ve been a busy woman lately,” a grin quickly blooms across his face, one too many teeth on display, as he leans closer with a teasing sparkle to his ocean eyes, “or should I say, deputy.”

You don’t quite hear the way John’s tongue drags over the title, accentuating every syllable, like a filthy secret that only he knows about and can’t help but gloat over. Instead you only groan painfully at the title, shaking your head lightly as your hands come up to cover your eyes, a flush of embarrassment painting your cheeks a pretty shade of red.

Your obliviousness is both equal parts adorable and infuriating.

“I’m not a deputy yet though, John. I’m still just an intern.”

“Well, from what I hear you won’t be that way for long.”

“I highly doubt that, John.” You say disbelievingly, “Besides, I’ve barely been here six months. There’s no way they’d promote me so soon.”

“It’d be criminal if they didn’t.” He huffs. “You’re a hard worker dear, you do a lot more for the county than your woeful colleagues do. You deserve some form of recognition for the work you put up with, a reward may-“

John’s eyes widen, trying hard not to give way to predatory grin just itching to get out. Yes, that could work. 

“How about I treat you to dinner?” He suddenly asks with a charming smile, catching you off guard. 

You blush shakily. “Oh, uhh, I mean... that’s very kind of you John, but really there’s no need!”

“Nonsense, it’ll be my treat. Think of it as a thank you for all you’ve done for me and the county so far.”

And ‘so far’ indeed; there was no way John was going to let you slip away. You were special, he was sure of it– convinced even. Someone just for him. If he could just land this dinner date with you then he’d be sure to prove himself, prove how perfect the two of you could be together. He just needed you to say one simple word...

Watching John and the hopeful gleam in his sky coloured eyes, plus the burning guilt you felt for even thinking of turning him down, you slowly nodded to his offer. It would be nice to get to know him a little better, maybe even learn a bit about the resident cult that everyone keeps warning and scolding you over. You’d always preferred seeing both sides of the story and forming an opinion from there, even if you’d never act on it once you had one. Conflict wasn’t your thing.

“Okay,” You say softly, chewing your lip. “Yes, sure, that’d be lovely. As long it’s not any trouble of course!”

“Dear, the pleasure is all mine.” There’s a thrill that works down John’s spine, his grin victorious. “How about tonight? I have some work I need to do first, but I could always pick you up if you’d prefer?”

“Oh, no no no,” you shake your head quickly, “that’s fine. I’ll just make my way around to yours. Is about six okay?”

“Perfect.” His grin turns a touch salacious before he schools it back into something tamer. Yes, six is perfectly fine for him. You’ll both get the entire evening to yourselves, no third parties, just the two of you. Oh, the potential mischief he could very well get into with you... such a delicious temptation, if not a reality in the making. “I’ll be expecting you then.”

Emboldened by your agreement John covers the last few steps between you with a new air of confidence, his gait slow but sure. Looking down at your curiously innocent eyes John can’t (doesn’t) stop himself from taking a little bit extra from the moment than he knows he rightfully should; the affection he’s grown for you over the last few months openly raising its head, along with his hand.

Testily his fingers brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear before trailing along the line your jaw, his gaze an electrical blue that thrums with a manic, if not poorly subdued, energy to it that is focused purely on you. Unbidden the small blush covering your cheeks deepens, his sudden forwardness toward you rather unexpected. And for a reason you can’t quite seem to place you’re not too sure whether to feel flattered at this sudden interest he has in you, or absolutely terrified by it.