#she's done a pretty good job on the chivalry front honestly

[merge-conflict]

4, 5 and 8 for valentine

ty! oc "roots" ask here

4. What was your OC's childhood dream? Is that still their dream? If it has changed, why did it change and what's their new dream?

When Valentine was young she desperately wanted to be a netrunner who could kill anyone with her mind and never leave a trace. As she grew up she realized that things are rarely ever that easy or that glamorous, and that without a lot more money and resources she was not going to get the kind of job at Arasaka that she wanted. Coincidentally she found she did not actually enjoy being chair-bound for long periods of time, it weirds her out to lose the physicality of her body. She gets anxious and overstimulated.

As an adult Valentine's dreams are much shorter and smaller in scope, for various reasons- most of them depressing. She wants to do interesting work, and she desperately wants to avoid being alone.

5. What did your OC think their life would be like when they grew up? Has it lived up to that expectation?

Valentine's family life was far from perfect but she had the advantage of knowing she was wanted and loved. She always sort of assumed she'd manage to obtain and hold onto some comfortably middle of the pack position at Arasaka and have a wife who thought she was clever and who she could take care of. The kind of person who might be able to live a reasonably long and/or happy life in Night City.

Her life instead has been much more exciting and intense and full of life or death betrayals. It would be wrong to say she hasn't enjoyed some of the ups and downs and passion at play- being in the midst of world-changing events isn't easy, though it's nice to feel like what she's doing matters. The biggest letdown in her opinion is lacking any sort of basic stability or normalcy to her life, so she's always just managing to keep ahead of the chaos trying to catch her.

8. Were there expectations placed on your OC when they were growing up? Have they lived up to those expectations?

Her parents had fairly reasonable expectations for her, honestly. They did push her to succeed, but it was at a level of pressure she needed to make deadlines and do things (ADHD struggling). She was guaranteed some sort of position because her parents were both Arasaka and taking advantage of an incentive program to have kids (not the reason they had her, though). The position she had as a senior tech in Network Operations for a while was the kind of stable, if somewhat boring career that they would have been perfectly happy for her to have.

If anything some of the expectations, if grounded, were a little insulting. Her parents were very honest with her about dealing with homophobia and to some extent transphobia although they didn't talk about that one as much. There was definitely an expectation that she would reasonably temper things about herself which would cause her grief at work. Basically spending a lot of her time masking to make her life "easier".

For the most part, Valentine is not at all living the life she or anyone expected- going through the lowest of the low (fired, shot, parasitically compromised) and then frighteningly high (career revived and monitored by Hanako Arasaka herself). Truthfully, her mother would have been proud of her regardless, and her mama probably would be too if Valentine ever reached out to reconnect.

[bunnymossmakes]

Woo Your Woman [WIP]

[Sharky Boshaw x Francine “Franny” Mayhew]

Rated T for Language and Sexual Content

-

If there's two things Sharky Boshaw knows like the back of his hand, it's how to start a fire, and how to woo a woman.

Okay, there’s one thing he knows, it's arson. Fire enthusiasm.

But the wooing women part, well. There's some learnin' to do. Specially with that hot-shot Rook out there snatching up all the fine ladies of Hope County. And really, who wants to bang a catch like him when there's a fuckin' cop with loose morals storming around blowing up Peggies like the fourth of July? Used to be he and Hurk could at least catch a wink or a kiss, if not the occasional drunken bathroom blowjob.

And god damnit if he ain't gonna shoot his shot for precisely the latter, from that blonde badger-looking broad across the bar.

“Well honestly I was thinkin' about maybe goin' down to the river by my mama's place and catchin' frogs again after dark, if yer feelin' up to it,” Hurk elbows him just hard enough to bring his bleary-eyed focus over to his cousin, “you wanna maybe pick up some beers and call the Dep and-“

“Man fuck po-po, okay? Well actually don’t, that'd be weird, he's like. Your business partner, man,” Sharky interrupts, tugging on the bill of his cap, “just… sorry cuz. I'm trynna get laid and Rook's gettin' all the bitches. He's got asses bouncing at him left and right and I just wanna see what that girl over there tastes like, you know?”

Hurk blinks once or twice before the tinge of pink flushes his cheeks, certainly not from the excess of shit beer he’s been knocking back, and opens his mouth to retort before deciding another drink is a better option. After one big swig, which Sharky gladly matches, he musters up the proper response.

“Cuz, I don’t think you wanna go down on her right there at the bar-“

“Aw shit man, not what I meant,” he grimaces, “ain’t done that in ages. A pretty gal like her don’t deserve my half-ass attempt.”

“Just ask her h'wat her name is first,” Hurk says simply, tipping his beer bottle towards the very blonde in question, who raises an eyebrow at the two of them.

Never in his damn life has the Spread Eagle suddenly felt so hot. Like, not fire heat, no, that shit's tolerable and preferable, to whatever suffocating swamp is bogging down his lungs and making his face burn red. She’s looking right at him and she doesn’t seem to give a shit. She's looking right at him and fluttering those pretty lashes and – by god she just belched.

Open-mouthed chest-thumping cockles-of-her-soul belched.

Oh god he's in love.

“Pretty lady what's your name?” he blurts before his thoughts have come even halfway back round in his skull, and she stiffens in surprise.

“Me?” she says, and her voice is gruff like sandpaper and oh god he's in love not drunk, in love damnit.

…a little drunk maybe.

“Good job Shark,” Hurk encourages with a pat on the shoulder, and Sharky swats out blindly to hush him up.

The blonde across the bar looks between the two of them, then at herself, down at the dirty t-shirt she's wearing, and back up into his eyes. Can she see into his soul? Is she actually a witch or some shit? Was that belch her wicked mating call, and she’s gonna lure him back to her evil swamp lair and bite his head off like a praying mantis? He swears one of her eyes is a little off kilter but she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“Francine,” she says, almost sounding surprised, but that’s fine, her name is lovely, “er. Frannie.”

He can't even speak. How does he respond to that? Where have his words gone? He definitely passed third grade English. Maybe. Probably not. God damn this bar feels like a sauna.

“Niiice to meeeet yeewww, Frannciiine,” Hurk hisses, “you gotsta respond dude.”

“You're hot,” is what he says instead, “or. It's hot. In here. Cuz you’re. Pretty. I like your shirt. Nice belch.”

Chances ruined. Shot deflected. What the fuck came out of his mouth? This is why he can't get his dick wet.

But Frannie – blessed Frannie – smiles big as can be and hides behind a big swill of her pint. Slams it back down on the bar with froth on her upper lip like the most graceful mustache he's ever seen on a lady (and he’s seen plenty in Hope County.) She doesn’t even bother to wipe it off her face before she’s up out of her seat and heading for the door. But something about that grin on her freckled face says follow me not I'm noping the fuck outta here.

And so he does, with a celebratory if not preemptive whoop from his cousin.

“Git ‘er Sharky!” Hurk claps his hands together, and all he can do is snort as he stumbles off his own stool and after the walking embodiment of his deepest drunken desires.

Following behind her is like chasing a deer through the brush. Except he’s never done that, and she's drunk enough to stumble a little as she trudges out the front door. Granted, so is he, but he’s always carried himself well enough to get by. At least, that's what he tells himself. Hurk says he looks kinda like a bowlegged daddy longlegs when he's drunk, but what does Hurk know about majesty when he sees it?

“This way stranger!” he hears from outside on the porch as the door swings shut between them.

Barging through is easy, but catching up to her halfway across the street is hard when he’s this wobbly.

“Where you goin' Frannie?” Sharky calls, a little more high-pitched than he'd intended, and she laughs real quiet so he can just barely hear.

“Just come on, ballcap, got somethin' to show you!” she says over her shoulder, but he isn’t focused on her face when she angles it back at him, “just across the street!”

“Well alright, but I'll have you know I am a gentleman, thank you very much, and I'm not expecting no free peep show in the alley,” he clarifies, “a man of culture and chivalry only expects titty flashes in the open street, or in the privacy of someone's bedroom - doesn't matter whose.”

He sees her elbows bend, watches her hands settle on the hem of her t-shirt, and holy Bongo II is she gonna turn around and flash him did that just work hello God it’s me Sharky—

Frannie face plants in the gravel not two steps further. Tripped on her own damn feet or something. And in that moment, sprawled in the dirt, limbs akimbo, she may as well be a fallen angel. He can’t even help her up he’s too busy tripping over his own self, ogling at the sight before him. This woman is a mess, and he might be too.

Okay no he totally is.

Somehow he manages to stumble forward and get ahold of one of her hands, and in a semi-fruitless struggle Frannie manages to get her ass under her and up onto her knees with his help. She's got mud on her face, and a skinned elbow, and the lopsided grin she offers says she's just fine.

“Was gonna show you but I fell,” she says simply, and all he can do is nod like an imbecile, “but come on I really wanna show you this other thing!”

The two of them get Francine on her feet and steady enough to start walking, and the second she turns away and out of his loose grasp he panics.

“I’m Sharky nice to meet you Frannie,” he gets out all in one exhale, “you don’t have to show me your tits they’re probably real nice. But I’m too drunk to remember them tomorrow and I'd really want to you know?”

Frannie pauses in her stride and turns back to him, still wearing that wide crooked smile.

“How bout I show you tonight and tomorrow? Why not both?”

“I mean. I’m not gonna say no. But I don’t think either of us are in the right way to be doin' that shit as drunk as we are,” he says, and since when has he cared?

How many women has he let yank him to the bathroom or out by the dumpster to fuck around with after a long night of drinking? …not as many as he’d like to imagine. Maybe only like two. Okay, he's got a point.

His companion simply nods, fine enough with his opinion, and ambles back on down her path. This time he manages to catch up to her and match her stride, and before he knows it he's mustered up the courage to reach out and hold her hand. The whole thing is giving him butterflies, and if Hurk could see him now he’d probably tease him for a solid month about it. The great Charlemagne Victor Boshaw, reduced to holding hands with a cute girl, going off on some adventure.

Seems she's leading him to the water tower nearby, and he’s fully prepared to tell her he’s scared of heights, but she keeps on walking. Up the little hill, towards the outside of town, to the little patch of trees up the road. The thought strikes him that perhaps he's about to get stabbed, or shot, or stabbed and shot – or maybe she really is gonna bite his head off in her evil lair – but then she looks to him and smiles again, squeezes his hand, and, nah, he’ll be fine.

[captainchrisfics]

Stuck in Siberia

About: As a new Avenger, there are a lot of things our protagonist has to learn. Mostly, how to avoid getting herself and Steve kidnapped and held hostage in Siberia. There’s a hell of a bit of tension, but they make out in the end I promise. This is a rewrite of a fic I wrote a LONG time ago, but I’m hoping you guys enjoy it nonetheless!

Word Count: 4,581

A/N: All of the bolded bits are prompts courtesy of @coffin-prompts which were a huge help- thank you for the inspo! And just a reminder, I’m happy to take requests- I love writing things I know you guys have been wanting to read so please let me know if you have something in mind.

Warning: Language, violence, the usual

“We both know that either you bury me, or I bury you,” I spat at the Russian twirling a knife between his fingers. He continued to pace in front of me, stroking his beard and sizing me up from the corner of his eye. “The first scenario would be much more likely. There’s not much you can do being tied to that chair,” he said in a thick accent, almost laughing. I struggled against the zip ties and ropes around my wrists and ankles, wanting more than anything to beat the shit out of him but the chair’s restraints held me back.

“Quit it,” Steve quietly hissed through gritted teeth, becoming increasingly angry with my antics. We were sat back to back, both helplessly tethered against some crappy wooden chairs in Fuck Knows, Siberia. These assholes found more satisfaction in torturing him, probably reveling in the fact they currently had the upper hand over America’s Super Soldier. Not due to their own actions, though. It was mostly because of me. Entirely because of me, really.

“Do you have a better idea, Rogers?” I shot back with frustration, quiet enough that the men circling us like sharks couldn’t hear. Without a response from him, I turned my attention back to our captors.

“Hey, guys! You do know once the Avengers figure out that you have us, which they will, they’re going to come and man, are you guys gonna get it…” I tried to taunt, but it was evident that even I was starting to question that now. I wasn’t sure how long we’ve been stuck here, where here even was, or if there was even any evidence of it. I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been here- hell, I didn’t even know if it was day or night.

No one paid any mind to what I was saying, they just continued to circle us like predators waiting to pounce. “Wow, you guys are really going to be fucked. Do you think America’s going to take the case of their missing super soldier lightly? If you let us go, we’d both be sure to put in a good word for you, right Steve?” I continued to try to rationalize with them, but they continued to ignore me. They’ve been doing that for what felt like an eternity.

“Just stop already! They aren’t going to listen to you,” Steve muttered, the irritation evident in his voice. However, getting out of here was more important than being well-liked in my opinion. “Well, we don’t have many options!” I grunted, throwing all of my weight into trying to tear the zip ties off of my wrists in a last ditch effort for freedom. I only found success in landing face first on the floor as the momentum tipped the chair over.

Steve knew he didn’t have to say ‘I told you so.’ He was more experienced with patience. I mean, he waited it for nearly seventy years. The one with the knife stood my chair up by its shoulder. He bent down to my eye level and tucked the knotted hair behind my ear. “I’m not trying to threaten you,” he jeered in his thick accent as if it were fact, but his sadistic smile said otherwise.

I spit the blood dripping from my nose and pooling in my mouth on the concrete. Without breaking his gaze, I matched his intensity as I replied, “Well I do feel pretty fucking threatened.” He snarled, slamming his hand against my face which left a terrible stinging sensation in its wake. I felt the blood trickle down my lip faster now, the skin split. He smiled with satisfaction, so close to me I could tell you exactly how many cups of coffee he had that morning, before sulking away to join his goons.

“You’re only giving them more of a reason to hurt you. Please just fucking stop,” Steve huffed, still quiet, with exasperation. “Hey, watch the language, Cap,” I smirked to myself, taking pleasure in the little joy I could. Steve didn’t find it very funny.

“Anyway, I can take care of myself,” I asserted, trying to pass it off as a cool shrug. When he was sharing his umbrella during the occasional rainstorm, his chivalry came with a warm welcome. Still, he needed to remember that I’m every bit of the Avenger that he is. I might be new to the game, but he doesn’t need to treat me like a helpless child. Quite frankly, we’re both tied up here both literally and figuratively. He doesn’t need to defend me from the bad guys, protect me from the dangers of our job, or come after me like I’m some damsel in distress. If he let me fend for myself, we wouldn’t be here right now.

“Obviously you can’t or we wouldn’t be here right now,” Steve snapped an echo of my thought. I was honestly surprised his kindness lasted this long given the circumstance.

“I severely disagree, Rogers. If you hadn’t gone after me you wouldn’t be here,” I argued.

“No, you wouldn’t be here. As in dead so-” Steve shot back with a raised voice, something I had rarely witnessed. It was unsettling to hear the strain, but one of the goons took notice and stalked toward us with a snarl.

“What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” The man leaned toward me with an unsettling smirk, waiting for a response. “I was ju-” I started to say, but I was silenced by another smack before i could finish the thought. This man wore thick, gold rings that only added to the injury, but by now my cheeks had grown numb.

“What’s wrong with you?!” Steve spat angrily, knocking my chair with his as he struggled against his restraints with a new fervor. I sat with my eyes squeezed shut as the men hit Steve with the butts of their guns behind my back, or at least that’s what I could tell from the sound of his winces.

I dreaded the second we were untied and I would have to face the physical injuries I caused him. “Steve, please, just stop fighting blindly for the hell of it,” I pleaded through gritted teeth. The sound of his blood and saliva smacking against the concrete floor with a spit was my only reply, maybe because it was all he could muster. He has to stop defending me, it only ever causes him more trouble, especially here.

Suddenly, wherever we may be began filling with a cloud of thick, gray smoke, making this altercation the least of my worries. We both began to struggle harder to get out of our restraints. Suddenly, the man who hit me fell to the floor. I heard the deadweight of the others drop soon after. A redhead knelt before me, cutting the ties on my ankles with record speed. “You have no idea how good it is to see you, Nat,” I said with a grin so big it tore my lip even worse. “I could say the same to the two of you,” the Black Widow responded as she untied Steve as well. “Now, let’s get out of here.” She handed us both a gun. Rogers gave her a nod, filled with relief, and we were off.

We sprinted throughout the cold, concrete labyrinth of a building, Natasha leading the way with precision. Suddenly, a big, burly man blocked the small hallway, machine gun in hand. Steve didn’t hesitate before taking a swing, his super soldier strength sending the man straight to the floor. Steve and I shared a knowing look- we both recognized this man as the bastard who overpowered me and took me to this hellhole, prompting Steve to come after me. Luck was on this guy’s side though- we needed him alive.

I kicked him as hard as I could in the face, watching as his head flop back and forth in unconsciousness with the force of my blow. Steve wrapped his arms around me as I thrashed in his grip, pulling me away from the sorry excuse of a man before I did any real damage. “Don’t stoop to his level,” Steve said sternly in my ear. He was right, and I knew he knew I was right.

In any other situation, that would be enough. But as I looked at Steve, soaking in the deep, painful purple of his bruised eye, the blood still dripping from his swollen lip, and every other mark staining his body, a body that was tarnished like mine, because of me, I knew I needed more to make up for what I’d done- for what they did to us.

I relaxed in Steve’s grip so he would let me go. “You’re right,” I looked at him with a glint in my eye, sure he caught it. “I’ll go below it.” Before he could react, I snatched the gun from his hand and pointed it at Steve as a warning, the barrel of the other pointing directly toward the brains of the man who used them to kidnap us. Natasha instinctively aimed her firearm at me.

“If either of you take another step towards me, I promise I’ll shoot,” I said sternly, staring directly into Steve’s eyes so he knew the gravity of my feeling. He knew I knew I needed revenge and that it was the only thing I was sure of in that moment. Steve’s eyebrows furrowed in empathy.

He was the first to break our gaze, turning toward Nat with desperation. “What do we do?” Steve asked her, even though he already knew. We ran this drill a thousand times, he was just stalling. Nat was the only one with a gun though, she would have to take me out. “Hope she doesn’t have the guts to do this. We need him in custody, it’s the only way we’d have the proof to take this place down,” she said with a sigh as her eyes flickered between the two of us, shifting her weight before coming to the conclusion. “We can’t risk his death, otherwise all the other assholes in this hellhole will get away with it.”

I thought about what she said, how all of the other guys in here would spend every new day being just as shitty and causing more people hurt. I thought about Steve and how even with his eye almost swollen shut his glance was still so impactful. This time, it wasn’t Steve’s cuts and bruises that caught my eye, but the look on his face that pained me more. Steve stood calmly like he would in Stark’s tower, not even with his shield raised. He was certain I wasn’t a threat. He was sure I wouldn’t do this, that I wasn’t this type of person. He was so sure I was better than this. He knew I couldn’t punish one awful man at the expense of allowing every single person in this building to continue to cause the same harm.

I realized he was right. Tears welled in my eyes as I realized the gravity of what I almost did. I dropped both guns, kicking them toward Natasha. I couldn’t get far enough away from what I had almost done. I was immediately enveloped into Steve’s star-spangled chest, his strong arms wrapping around me as he stroked my hair.

“I-I’m sorry,” I cried into his chest. “I just wanted to get him back for hurting you,” I admitted in the vulnerability of the moment, despite my better judgement. “It’s dangerous to feel invincible,” he whispered against my shoulder. “Even for a moment.” I hoped in the deepest part of my heart that the moment would last forever, but Steve pulled away with a kiss against my forehead. I wiped my eyes, but accepted that the tears kept flowing. Natasha gave me a gentle smile as she ruffled my hair. We were all ready to get out of here, dragging his body behind us.

“You guys took your sweet old time,” Sam said with a welcoming smile, reaching his hand out from the jet to help us aboard. I smiled almost sheepishly back at him, watching his face fall as he noticed how red my eyes were from crying. He softened as he stopped to give me a quick hug and a promise to help clean me up. After Nat and Steve were on the jet as well, we hurriedly took off to avoid detection.

I took a seat with some cotton swabs, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a mirror with the hope of cleaning my wounds before receiving medical attention back at home. I couldn’t wait to brush my teeth. “So, am I uh not supposed to ask what happened?” Sam inquired as he plopped down on the seat next to me.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” I grumbled, scrubbing furiously at the layer of grime coating one of my cuts. “You know, just almost blew this guy’s head off. But she didn’t, that’s what counts,” Nat chuckled as she came up from the deck where prisoners were held.

“No shit, really? You?” Sam remarked in disbelief in reference to my usually compassionate nature, but to be fair there was nothing usual about this. “It was self-defense,” I said quietly, still persistently cleaning a cut, choosing to focus more on that than this conversation.

“That was almost more of an execution than self-defense,” Steve scoffed as he held a stern eye to the sky as he piloted our way home, adding his two cents. My hand halted its swabbing as I stared at him vacantly. I packed up my supplies and moved to the back of the ship where I proceeded to continue performing my own medical attention matter-of-factly.

“What was that about?” Steve questioned Natasha, the aggravation evident in his tone. “You’d think after spending God knows how long together she could stand a couple more hours.”

I raised my voice to be heard from far away, but I can admit it was in anger, too. “Sorry, I had to move away so I wouldn’t punch you!” Sam laughed at that, bringing a smirk to my own face. He gave Steve a familiar nudge with the accompanying chuckle as he relished in the Super Soldier being shown down for once. It was good to hear him laugh, I missed my partner in crime, but my anger at Steve’s remark continued to fester.

He didn’t help himself by adding, “Oh sorry, I forgot about how you kept provoking them too.” We narrowly made it out of there, and he’s already trying to start another fight based on my behavior while in captivity being treated like no human should be. Unbelievable.

“I was trying to reason with them, Rogers!” My voice grew so loud my frayed vocal chords ached as I made my way toward him across the ship. “Which was a hell of a lot more than you were doing, sitting oh-so-stoically, acting like you couldn’t give less of a shit until you felt bad enough after they beat me!” I was furious, my finger jabbing at him through the pilot’s chair.

Within seconds, he placed the plane on auto-pilot, then spun around to face me with a fire in his eyes. He took a step toward me so we were inches apart, my pointer finger making a target out of his star as I stabbed his chest, too caught up in his aura to realize. Too calmly, he said, “Learn this now. Reasoning is never going to work with them. They haven’t trusted anybody in a long time, just remember that before you get us kidnapped next time.”

I leaned in closer. “I left nobody behind, Rogers. I did my job. Do not blame me because you chose to go after me and had to deal with the consequences.” I spoke as quietly as he did in an attempt to make myself appear to be just as rational as he seemed. “You always underestimate me, you never let me handle anything for myself, and you sure as hell don’t let me fight my own battles like everybody else has to. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve your special treatment, but you should know I don’t want it.” I began to back down, turning away toward my seat in the back of the plane, but Steve stopped me in my tracks.

“You’ve misplaced your anger, doll,” he sighed. By the time I swung around, fist clenched and a newfound fury in my stomach, Steve sat quietly in the pilot’s seat facing the sky again and I decided that resuming my own seat would be the better option in an attempt to prevent the breakout of World War Three thousands of feet above the ground.

I swallowed my anger, trying to ice my bruised eye, but I kept applying too much pressure only resulting in more of my own pain. Natasha assumed the seat facing mine, leaning in and using a cotton ball to dab at the crusted blood below my lip. “What was that all about?” She asked as if she was asking me what the weather was like.

“Oh, you know, just trying to make him like my sparkling personality,” I joked in response. “Even if you were, you don’t need to,” Nat said like it was obvious. “He’s clearly interested.” That was almost like another slap in the face. “Yeah,” I snorted back. “Interested in irritating the fuck out of me, maybe in making my life a living hell now that I challenged him, but not more than that.” I rolled my eyes.

It was ridiculous. Steve Rogers- known for being one of the kindest, most chivalrous people with his classic sensibilities can’t express his so-called interest like a kindergartener who doesn’t know how to express his feelings more intelligently than by pushing his crush off the swingset.

“Yeah, maybe,” Natasha noted in her raspy monotone, “but he’s been giving off… a vibe.” I chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “A vibe?” She simply shrugged her shoulders, never being one to get too involved in other’s business, but she already planted the seed of something- be it curiosity or disbelief, it was something it wouldn’t have been for the rest of the flight back to New York.  

As soon as the plane landed, I brooded back to my room. Well, I grabbed an apple from the kitchen first- anything could beat the starvation of being a prisoner in Siberia. Then I brooded back to my room, finally able to crash onto my own mattress, snuggle into my own blanket, and get back hours of my sleep lost to the enemy’s interrogations.

The sun was nearly setting by the time I opened my door again, only crawling from my cave in the hopes of dinner. I stalled as soon as I saw a set of familiar blue eyes swollen with bruises staring directly at me, belonging to a certain super soldier sitting alone, more than probably waiting for me. I spun, slamming my door shut and sinking to the floor with my back against the locked door.

I heard Steve’s footsteps approaching, felt a faint thud as his forehead smacked the other side of the door. He knocked persistently a few times. “Come on, doll. I really want to talk to you. And not through a door,” Steve said softly, his fist sliding back to his side. I hid my head between my knees as I muttered, “fat fucking chance of that, Rogers.”

Steve sighed heavily. It wasn’t often Cap sounded so defeated, and it broke my heart more than I’d like to admit. “I’ll bring you your food? Tony took everyone out for, you know, shawarma… It’s quite the tradition around here, so I brought some back to the tower for you.” I could imagine the subtle smiling gracing Steve’s lips.

“You should do that,” I said in surrender, mostly to my growling stomach rather than him. Steve’s footsteps hurried off but returned too soon for me to prepare for the shitstorm Steve was about to unleash. I can’t believe he sat and waited for hours just to lecture me about confronting him in front of the other Avengers.

I stood, taking a deep breath before slowly creaking the door open. Steve held the takeout container in front of him like a peace offering with a gentle smile, juxtaposed to the shield he typically held and concerned furrowed brow.

“Do you mind if I, uh, have a seat?” Steve asked, his eyes darting to my bed. I shook my head, following him to the bed and wrapping myself in the blankets still disheveled from my nap. I popped the top off of the container, my eyes focusing on the wrap so I could avoid Steve’s eyes. We sat silently like this for what felt like an eternity.

I was halfway through my shawarma before Steve interrupted the uncomfortable quietness. “You know, you really scared me,” Steve began. I noticed he wasn’t able to maintain my stare either, but this isn’t where I thought the conversation was going to go. He didn’t sound as much like a father scolding the kid who burnt their hand on the stove as I expected him to.

“When they were going after Nat and you let them take you instead… I was just scared. And I wanted to save you, more than anything, but I couldn’t. So I let them take me too. At least then I could protect you, I thought I could anyway.” Steve sat leaning against his knees, his head resting in his hands, occasionally ruffling through his hair in frustration.

He dropped his hands, sitting up straight and meeting my eyes with an unexpected intensity. “And for the weeks we were in there, they just kept hurting you and there was nothing I could do. But you just kept egging them on,” Steve cracked something like a smile before growing somber again. “You don’t know how hard it was- hearing them hurt you and not being able to do one damn thing,” he said lowly, his voice cracking as tears welled up in his eyes. The strain was evident on Steve’s face, there wasn’t a doubt in me that he wasn’t being truthful.

I leaned closer, taking one of his hands between mine. “I was just trying to keep us alive, you know. Bargaining to give them a reason to keep us,” I asserted, though it was much weaker. We both knew it was a facade, but the compelling, knowing glance Steve shared with me tugged it out. I sighed, he had a terrible habit of this.

“Honestly, I- I had no idea you felt like this,” I stuttered through the beginning, caught off guard by his raw emotion. “The whole time. I mean, I just thought you were upset I was trying to defend myself. And then, every time, it backfired- not because they hurt me, I can take it. But, in all honesty Steve, I couldn’t take them hurting you either… That’s what really got me,” I confessed, every pent-up feeling swelling in my chest and bubbling out through a shaky voice.

“Seeing you like this once we were free,” I said, caressing his face and running my thumb over the imperfections of the cuts and bruises littered throughout it. “That’s what made me snap. I don’t want you to be hurt.” My admission was followed suit by the tears I had been holding back for weeks. Steve pulled me into his chest, burying my face in his shoulder as I cried through the fabric of his thin t-shirt.

He shushed me, with the occasional kiss on the head in comfort. “You have too big of a heart for your own good, doll.” With the assuring strength returned to his voice, I began to pull away as I offered a sheepish smile in return. I didn’t notice he was crying until I ran my hand through my hair, finding that it was damp with his own tears.

“I’m sorry,” I feebly offered in solace. I reached for his face again, wiping the tears from his atypically imperfect cheeks. “I was scared, too. Paranoid even.” I chuckled at my own flimsy excuse, dropping my hands to my lap as I looked at them in embarrassment. Steve shook his head, grasping my shoulder with a firm grip. “Paranoia keeps you alive around here. I’d like it if you stayed that way. Don’t apologize for it,” he insisted as if it was the one thing in this world he knew to be fact, like it was his sun rising in the East and setting in the West. He probably felt like that was the case, breaking my heart even more.

“You know what I’ve been sorry for?” Steve spoke up, his voice raspy. “From the damned second I watched them drag you away, I’ve been kicking myself for not doing this.” Steve’s hand slowly dragged from my shoulder to my cheek. He tucked the loose strands of hair behind my ear cautiously, his gaze flickering from my eyes to my lips, then back up again as if he was asking for permission.

My heart began racing and I hoped that, in the stillness of the moment and the quiet of the night, he couldn’t hear it. I leaned in tentatively until our noses were barely touching. “I have a confession too,” I taunted in a whisper with a smirk as I caught the flash of concern in his eyes. “I’ve been hoping for this for a long time.” I fluttered my eyes closed before I tilted my head, finally closing the gap between us.

His lips were chapped, I’m sure mine were too, and he was so gentle as if he was nervous he’d scare me off. The kiss deepened, his hand entangling itself in my hair while the other gripped my waist and I reached for the nape of his neck. Tired of the strain from stretching across my mattress, without pulling my lips from his I straddled Steve’s lap.

Kissing Steve made me feel on fire. It was like watching the fourth of July fireworks display visible throughout the town from right below it, experiencing each burst of chemical energy intermingling with the clear, starry night for yourself in the electric air. Who knew this kind of bliss could come from being stranded in Siberia? I was too wrapped up in the moment to think of much more. Steve slowly leaned back to lay on my bed and I followed along. I teasingly tugged on his bottom lip with a nibble but pulled away giggling a few seconds later.

“Not even twenty-four hours ago I wanted nothing more than to knock you flat on your ass, Rogers,” I said through a grin, covering my face in an attempt to hide my blushing cheeks. “Hey, and here you have me swept off my feet, doll,” Steve chuckled with a wide, subtly dimpled smile. I threw my head back in laughter, not at his joke, but at the simple euphoria of the moment. Steve lazily hung his arms on my hips, interlocking his fingers at the small of my back. “I can’t believe we’re here right now,” Steve said in disbelief. “Ha, you’re telling me,” I snorted. “We’ve gotta get ourselves stuck in Siberia more often.”

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm - Chapter 35

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 35: Get the hell out of Lemoyne.

“So what’s the story?” said Mary Beth. She set down her basket and her book. She glanced around as if she thought someone might be listening. “You doing the poker game or what?”

“No,” said Arthur. His manner was stoic as usual. He picked up his hat, checked the lining. It probably needed to be replaced. He set the hat on his head. “Let’s get on with the day Mary Beth.”

She walked up to him. She took off his hat. She examined the lining. “I can mend this for you.”

“If you want.”

Then she took a deep breath. She looked up at him and how he seemed angry at something. “So you ain’t gonna tell me?” she said.

“Tell you what.”

“What you and Hosea was talking about.”

“It ain’t nothing you need to worry about, Mary Beth.”

“Then why was I in the conversation?”

“Because,” said Arthur. He removed his hat from her hands. He placed it back on his head and went back over to the window. “Hosea wants us play-acting again, as the Kilgores. And I’m saying no.”

Mary Beth felt surprised. She stood up taller, clasped her hands in front of her real proper. “Why?”

“I ain’t taking you on no river boat,” he said. ��We ain’t doing these cons no more.”

“What do you mean no more?” she said.

“You know what I mean.”

“You mean because we’re married now. And because I’m having your baby.”

Arthur closed his eyes, caught in a loop of his own destruction. She had employed a certain tone of dissatisfaction in her voice, and he knew it. “Mary Beth.”

“Don’t Mary Beth me,” she said. Outside, somewhere real close, a bird was chirping. It sounded in distress, but it could have just been excited. “I know you got a lot of chivalry inside you, baby, and this is always coming from that good place that I love, but ain't we even gonna talk about it?”

“This is Hosea’s plan, not mine. There ain’t nothing to talk about.”

“Hosea wouldn’t just drop us into the lion’s den unprotected, Arthur. You know that.”

“It is still a risk I’m not inclined to take.”

“What risk would you be inclined to take?” she said. “Bringing me on a hunting trip, up to the Roanoke Valley? Where we almost died a hundred times?”

“Please.”

“Or maybe you could hide me in a cave again, saving my soul from the unpleasance of murder, and then I could get almost-killed by some other of Dutch’s mortal enemies.”

“What are you getting at, Mary Beth?"

She rolled her eyes. “If danger is gonna find me, it’s gonna find me, Arthur. I ain’t your damsel in distress.”

“I know that.”

“Yeah, but you wanna treat me like one.” She shoved him a little, in the chest, like she was trying to prove a point, trying to keep from saying something she’d regret. He took a step back. “This is just a con, Arthur. A simple con, and we have done it before.”

“A simple con?” he said. “We are cheatin cards on a river boat full of armed guards, Mary Beth. And drunken fools with more money than they can count on the line. Ain’t nothing simple about this con.”

“You are cheatin cards. I’m just hanging around, pretending I’m somebody’s daughter.”

“Bronte invited me only on the condition that you come along. That don’t seem suspicious at all? That don’t freak you out?”

“Not really," she said. "Is it so weird? He’s rich. It’s his entire dumbass goal in life to surround himself with pretty nonsense. You cheat the cards, and apparently that’s all I gotta be.”

“You ain’t no rich bastard’s pretty nonsense, Mary Beth. You’re my wife.”

“Oh, so that’s it now? Because if I’d’ve known you was just gonna turn me into your wife, maybe I would not have married you at all.”

This set off a bad feeling in the room. He changed his posture and scratched at the scruff on his chin, squeezed his eyes shut. It pissed him off. “That is a goddam ridiculous sentiment, Mary Beth. And you know it. You know I don't feel that way.”

"Yeah, I know it,” she said. “That’s the whole reason why I said it. So you can hear what you sound like, all that pride you got going on.”

Arthur became stern. “You wanna talk about pride? This ain't about nothing but you wanting to prove yourself when you know you ain't never had to. Let me protect you when the occasion calls.”

“I do,” she said, getting shrill against her own better judgment. “All the damn time.”

“Then what is the matter this time?”

“Because you won’t even bring me into the conversation!” she said. “Because you’re acting like what I want don’t matter. You’re making the decision without me. You never done that before.”

The bird outside had gone quiet. The room was warm. She could see him starting to get frustrated. “I understand that. But you are pregnant, Mary Beth.”

“So what? So I can’t reason?”

“No,” he said. “No. That ain’t what I mean.”

“It don’t change anything, Arthur. It’s just making you anxious, so you can’t see straight.”

“What, exactly, ain’t I seeing straight?”

“Tell me why I can’t go on the goddam riverboat with you, Arthur. Tell me. What’s gonna happen?”

He took a breath, getting flustered. “It’s on a riverboat,” he said. “In a river. We get in a pinch, you gonna swim to shore?”

“I’m a fine swimmer, I’ll have you know, Arthur Morgan. And being pregnant don’t make me a invalid.”

“I never said that it did. Even still.”

“I ain’t even that pregnant,” she said, huffing. “Can’t nobody tell unless you’re you or me. When my momma was way more pregnant than this, she was working calves and tilling the fields.”

“Sure. But I bet she wasn’t conning rich psychotic men on river boats, making them look one direction, while your daddy, a wanted man with a $5,000 bounty on his head, played them dirty in the other. I wanted to get you out of here. I wanted to put things right. Don't that mean anything?”

“It does, but we didn’t choose this life,” said Mary Beth. “And things ain’t proving so easy. We got a long way to go if we’re gonna get out of here, live honest. Helping the gang is helping the gang, Arthur. It ain’t me skulking around, simply mending your hats, sitting pretty in a window while you make all the decisions, on your own, just because you’re scared of what might happen if god forbid I am let in on the action."

"You are the one who offered to mend my hat, Mary Beth. I've never once taken that sort of work from you unless it's been offered to me."

"Quit changing the subject."

He almost started laughing. "Jesus Christ."

"This is a con, not a murder spree," she said. "And I know the difference between when I need to be protected and when I don't. And anyway, try to remember that my parents, they lived honestly by the law their whole lives, and they still both died in terrible circumstances. Living honest didn’t save them none.”

Arthur shut right up then, and he looked away. He wasn’t softening any, but she could tell he was conceding this one. “I’m sorry. I know what happened to them weren’t fair.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “Just admit you’re scared.”

He looked up. He looked right at her. “I got no problem with that,” he said, almost eagerly. “I am goddam mighty scared of losing you.”

“So you wanna just keep me in a locked room forever?”

“No,” he said. “No. I don’t. That is not—just listen to me.”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re my wife, Mary Beth,” he said. “My wife. I love you. I married you. In front of god and—and a whole bunch of other people I care about. Of course that changes things. Of course it changes my willingness to take you into the lion’s den, and yes, it is compounded by the fact you’re pregnant. You shouldn't have to do these things."

"But I do."

He shook his head. "I’m sorry if I have at all overreacted in this room with you today, but I ain’t sorry for saying no to Hosea. We ain’t doing the riverboat job, and that is the end of this conversation.”

“No it ain’t.”

“Yes, it is.”

Outside, you could hear the reverie of the late morning kicking in. Pearson put the lunch on. Abigail was yapping at Jack, for he had done something regrettable. Mary Beth was staring at Arthur in a quiet rage. She had not forgotten that she loved him so, but she needed to say or do something because otherwise she was gonna go fuckin crazy. So she screamed in his face, and then she left, storming off through Shady Belle.

He lit a cigarette. He shook his head. He could hear her boots on the stairs, and then down on the first floor, and then he could hear the front door flying open and slamming shut. He smoked. He heard Sadie ask what was wrong, and he could hear Mary Beth brush her off as politely as she knew how in the moment. He felt tilted, and like the blood was still hot in his head but he couldn’t defend himself anymore, so he went out to the balcony and shouted her name. “Mary Beth. Where you going?”

But she said nothing in return. Javier and Lenny had to get out the way fast when she got over to the horses. They were eating their lunch out of heavy bowls and looked up at Arthur in confusion when she would not respond to their hellos. Mary Beth was not the silent, skulking type. That was Arthur. Anyway, she got on her pretty spotted Apaloosa, and with no further warning or concern, she giddy-upped and rode away.

“Shit,” said Arthur. He tossed the cigarette. He went downstairs and walked through the yard, shouting after her some more, but she was already out of his view.

“Arthur, what the hell is going on?” said Abigail. She had been feeding a pig ear to the dog by the chickens.

“Nothing,” he said, mounting Sarah, patting the old girl behind the ears. “I’ll be back.”

“You better not be fucking this up with Mary Beth!”

“You worry about you,” he said. “You let me worry about her.”

“Fine.” She tossed the pig ear into the swamp reeds and Cain went after it fiercely. She called after Arthur as he went, “But I mean it!”

He rode out through the trees and the bubbly mud and followed her trail onto the road. She was in the distance. He could see her, gaining speed, heading north.

He shouted to her, but there was no way she could hear him. So he picked up the reins. Sarah was a good deal faster than Watson, and Mary Beth wasn’t bad but he was by far the better rider. With a little ingenuity per his navigation of the terrain, he caught up to her in a second.

“Mary Beth, stop,” he said, galloping up beside her.

“Stop following me, Arthur. I don’t wanna talk to you right now.”

“Fine, but you can’t just ride off like that. It ain’t safe.”

She gave him quite a mean look after that, and she kicked up some speed and made a long sound of exasperation. “Arthur Morgan, if you come back at me one more time with that line about it ain’t being safe, I swear to god.”

“Stop the goddam horse.”

“No.”

They rode on a little further, the mud getting red as clay beneath the hooves of their steeds as the rounded toward Rhodes. “Where the hell you going anyway?” he said.

“None of your business.”

Arthur sighed. “I ain’t turning back without you.”

She said nothing.

But then, all of a sudden, there were voices on all sides of the road—gunshots flying out, all around and out of nowhere. Arthur ducked on instinct and watched Mary Beth do the same. It was Lemoyne Raiders, and they were like cockroaches, always showing up, and they always seemed to recognize him in these parts as he had done them dirty one too many times.

“Goddammit.”

“What the hell?” said Mary Beth.

But he just swore again and shouted for her to ride. “Ride,” he said.

“What?”

“Don’t stop. Not till you hit the town. And when you do, stay there.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Take care of this.”

Immediately though, he could see the switch behind her eyes as they descended. “Arthur, no. I ain't leaving you.”

“I got it, Mary Beth," he said. "Ride and don’t you goddam look back.”

She nodded, finally, looking scared. She pulled ahead, and he yanked back on the reins and stopped his horse on a dime, rearing in chaos, drawing their fire.

Almost immediately, Sarah was shot out from underneath him. They both went down in slow motion. Arthur drew his repeater from the saddle and took cover behind a huge rock outcropping off the side of the grassy road. His ears were ringing. He lit a stick of dynamite, pitched it into a cluster of the enemy at the top of a low hill. The sound shook the whole goddam afternoon. A couple of the stragglers ran in, holding their injured extremities but still shooting, and after a modest exchange of gunfire and swear words, they were put down as well, and then Arthur was breathing hard, unscathed but exhausted, with his back pressed to the rock, trying to catch his breath with his eyes closed.

The first thing he did when he gained his bearings was get up and make sure he did not see Mary Beth. She had not been that far out ahead of him when the shooting got bad, but he was pretty sure she’d got out of there. Then he went to Sarah. She was done for. He knew it, and his heart was sinking as he saw her and her pretty champagne coat, the life slipping out of her so painfully. Shook, but without delay, Arthur put her to rest with the sharp end of his hunting knife. He half-wept as he did it, then pulled himself together enough to lean against her heavy body. He swore loudly, pounded his fist to the earth. Then he put his head in his hands for a minute before finally locating his composure and getting to his feet.

He looked around. It was a hot day. The sun blazed down and made him sweat through his shirt, and he had Sarah’s blood on his hands up to his elbows. The dead Raiders smoked up there on the hilltop and the rest of them were lying there with their loose jackets rustling in the low breeze. A man and a woman rode through on their wagon, and they seemed scandalized by the scene, but the moment they saw that it was Raiders, they reassessed and rode on without incident. Arthur began trudging in the direction of the town to find Mary Beth.

But he was surprised then. Two survivors from the onslaught came at him from behind with alarming speed. One of them tackled him into the dirt, giving him a mouthful of mud, hollering, and he began to hammer Arthur in the face continuously with his fists.

“You ain’t welcome here no more,” he said. Again, and again. “You goddam piece of shit. Get the hell out of Lemoyne.”

Arthur got ahold of his wrists somehow and head-butted him into submission. He put him down with his fists, but when he turned around, the other man was standing there with his sawed-off out, pointed at Arthur, right between the eyes.

Arthur stumbled, went backward trying to get away, dizzied and defeated. He saw his whole life flash by in a single instant filled with pain, suffering, redemption, and love, prepared to meet his maker, as he so often was. He closed his eyes, heard a loud shot ring out, and for a moment imagined that he was dead and floating away to find his mother.

But it wasn’t lead in his skull, and he wasn’t dead. He opened his eyes, alive and unsure, as he did not know what he would find there. The man who’d had the gun out was dead, shot in the face, and Mary Beth was standing over him with a shotgun she must have picked up off the road somewhere. She looked feral and like she had just been possessed by the wrath of god.

Arthur had his hands up, was lying on his back still. “Mary Beth,” he said, real quiet. “Baby.”

She blinked rapidly, and then when she realized he was talking to her, she tossed the gun far away from her body like it was red hot. She looked down at her hands, and then she looked at Arthur. “Oh my god,” she said.

He got up right away. He grabbed her and held her tightly to his chest. “It’s over,” he said. “It’s all right.”

“Shit,” she said, looking down at the dead man she had put there in the dirt. “Arthur, he was gonna kill you.”

“You saved my life,” he said, jacked up on adrenaline and a lot of sudden pain in his face from that beating. “You truly did this time. You did nothing wrong.”

“I ain’t never killed no one before.”

“Are you okay?” he said. They both looked down, and he had his hand placed across her abdomen. “Mary Beth, are you okay?"

She paused, took a deep breath, as they calmed and remembered what was important. Then she nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

He took her into his embrace. They exhaled. Then, sweating in the hot sun, amidst so much randomness and destruction, they just stood there for a while.

That night, while in their bed, Arthur and Mary Beth did not talk anymore about the river boat. They were gonna wait until the morning when the air was clear, and to get the whole plan from Hosea first, as was presently decided. Mary Beth sat in her nightgown with her knees pulled up to her chest, staring out the window at the moon as she was supposed to be reading. Arthur had begun to sketch Sarah, in remembrance, but he had become distracted by Mary Beth’s anxiety and preoccupation.

“What’s going on?” he said, closing his journal. He set it aside, put his hand on her knee. “You need to talk more?”

“No,” she said. She took a deep breath. “No. Or, not about…that. I just can’t stop thinking about Sarah. It’s my fault, Arthur.”

He sighed. “No, no it isn’t.”

“If I hadn’t run off, you wouldn’t’ve gone after me, and Sarah wouldn’t’ve got shot.”

“You only ran off because I chased you off. This is nobody’s fault. It was a bad break for a good girl. I’m sad, but I reckon her life is better now, in horse heaven, or wherever the best ones go.”

Mary Beth smiled to herself, in a small way, at his little funny, romantic sentiment. She looked at him. “I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too.”

She settled back beside him, and she took her book off the nightstand. He opened his journal and steadied his pencil to the page. “What are you reading tonight,” he said.

“Mary Shelley,” she said. “Frankenstein.”

He chuckled. “Yikes.”

“Pretty much,” she said, book open, leaning on him.

[k-llama-llama]

Practice Injuries

Monsta X AU: 8th member

Zoey x Monsta X

Zoey has a run in with a choreographer that leaves her with some aches and pains, and her teammates are there to help her out.

A/N: Thank you to whoever requested this!!!

Requests are OPEN : Submit them! I need them!

MASTERLIST

“I need that knee to turn outwards more.” The choreographer snapped at her.

“Yes, sir.” Zoey replied, feeling her leg ache as she forced it to turn outwards more.

She was working on the choreo with a new choreographer that Starship had hired, and so far she had to say that she didn’t like him. With the rest of the boys busy today, Zoey had agreed to work through the new choreo with him, in order to make sure they were all on the same page. But all he’d done since the moment he’d stepped into the room had been to criticize her technique.

The move they were currently working on was a tough one, and Zoey was pretty sure that she had it as good as it was going to get. But this stupid man was convinced that she could turn her knee completely around her body in order to make the step look bigger.

The choreographer rolled his eyes and walked right up to her. “Are you even trying to turn your leg?”

“My joints have limits.” She replied.

He kicked at her leg, forcing her knee to turn so far that it gave out and she dropped to the floor. 

“What was that?” She demanded.

“That’s how far you need to turn your knee.” He said simply.

“All the way down to the floor?”

He scoffed. “I expect to see you at practice tomorrow, and I hope you stretch out your knee.”

He grabbed his gym bag and quickly left the room, leaving Zoey still crouched on the floor.

Her knee ached, and when she tried to push herself to her feet she felt it give out the second she put pressure on it. She groaned and hobbled over to her bag, swinging it onto her back and hoping out the door of the practice studio. The choreographer was long gone, and the Starship office was practically abandoned considering how late it was. She made it outside, before deciding that she couldn’t go home like this. Her leg was screaming in pain with even step, and she knew that if she tried to take a normal step it would just give out on her.

She reached a bench at the bus station and pulled out her phone, quickly dialling Changkyun’s number.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hey Zo.”

“Hi.” She said, trying to hide her heavy breathing. “Are you guys home.”

“Yeah,” He replied, sounding like he was washing his hands. “Where are you? I thought your practice was supposed to be over like two hours ago.”

“I-I think I’ve twinged my knee.”

“What, what do you mean?” A door closed and she could hear the voices of the other boys.

“Is that Zo?” That sounded like Jooheon.

“Where is she?” Shownu asked.

Changkyun shushed them. “What happened?”

She sighed. “I was trying to get this one move down and my knee wouldn’t rotate far enough.”

“So..”

“So that choreographer decided to be an absolute asshole and kick it into position, and now I can’t put any weight on it.”

“He kicked you!” Changykun exclaimed.

“Who kicked her?” Shownu demanded. “Put her on speaker.”

Zoey heard the pushing of buttons and then Shownu’s voice came through loud and clear. “Zoey, where are you right now?”

“I’m just outside the Starship building.”

“Do you need us to come get you?”

She thought for a moment. “Yeah, I don’t think my leg can take the walk back.”

“Don’t throw the phone at me!” Changkyun shouted to someone. “Zoey, Shownu and Wonho are leaving now. Just stay where you are, kay?”

“You got it, I’ll see you guys when I get home.”

She scrolled through her Instagram for the fifteen minutes it took the boys to get there. The second they came skidding around the corner she put her phone in her pocket and shouldered her bag.

“Ready?”  She asked.

“Are you okay? Let me see your leg.” Shownu insisted.

“I’m not taking off my pants in the middle of the street, Oppa.”

Wonho looked up at the building. “Is that jerk still in there?”

“No, he left a while ago.” She explained.

Wonho took her bag and handed it to Shownu. “He just left you here when you couldn’t walk.”

“He’s not exactly the shining example of chivalry.”

“Whatever, I’ll talk to the manager tomorrow. Wonho, you got her?” Shownu asked, putting her pink gym bag over his shoulder.

“Yup.” Wonho knelt down in front of the bench and she climbed onto his bag, wrapping her arms around his neck as he stood.

“Careful with her leg, Hoseok.” Shownu cautioned.

“I am, don't worry.”

“You guys are babying me again.” Zoey cautioned.

“Too bad.” Wonho said. “You get broken you are going to be babied.”

“Did you know that the ladies at the reception desk were taking bets on which one of you I was dating? That’s how overprotective you guys are.”

“We’re your brothers, it’s our job.” Shownu reminded her. “Now, stop talking, you’ll hurt your knee.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, just shhh.”

Zoey rolled her eyes, but chose to obey and just rest her head on Wonho’s shoulder. The reached the apartment quickly, and they were met by five very anxious boys at the door.

“Is she okay?” Hyungwon asked anxiously.

“Here, we cleared off the couch.” Minhyuk led Wonho over, and he carefully deposited the girl onto the couch.

Kihyun bent down in front of her. “How’s the knee feel?”

“Sore.” She said honestly. “I think I need to ice it.”

“I’ll grab some ice.” Jooheon hurried to the fridge.

“Changkyun, can you pass me that sweater?” She pointed to a red sweater slung over the arm of the couch.

“That’s my sweater.” Minhyuk pointed out.

“And I’m going to wear it. Glad we had this conversation.” Zoey pulled on the sweater, spotting it down so that it went past her butt and fell to about the middle of her thighs. One huge benefit to being short; all sweaters could become dresses.

She grabbed the waistband of her leggings and pulled them down, revealing her badly bruising knee to the world.

“Shit.” Changkyun said. “He actually did kick you.”

“Let’s get this elevated.” Kihyun suggested, turning her on the couch and placing a few pillows under her leg. 

“Here’s the ice.” Jooheon offered.

Kihyun took it and held it carefully to her knee. The ice did seem to dull some of the throbbing pain, so she leaned back into the cushion and sighed.

“It was my night to make dinner,” She suddenly remembered. “Do you guys mind if we just order a pizza?”

“Ordered it as soon as they left to pick you up.” Hyungwon answered. “It’s on its way.”

“You guys are the best.”

“I can’t believe that choreographer actually kicked you, though. Like how much of a psycho do you have to be.”

“It’s fine, guys. He was frustrated because my knee was turned out enough, and I was being snotty with him too.”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“I’m not saying what he did was okay,” She explained. “Just that it’s not the end of the world.”

They fell silent for a moment, before Shownu spoke up. “You’re off practice tomorrow, and I’m talking to management, because even if we aren’t firing this guy he still deserves some punishment.”

“Urgh, whatever.” She scooted forward slightly, to Kihyun’s protests. “Wonho?”

“Yes?” 

“It’s hug time.”

He chuckled and sat behind her, pulling her back so that she was rested against his chest. Zoey was cuddly with everyone, but no one more so than Wonho. She sometimes referred to him as a giant teddy bear, and it wasn’t uncommon to see them snuggled up on the couch together after a long day.

Hence why she needed a hug right now.

She sighed deeply. “I’ve been practicing all day. Can you wake me up when the pizza is here?”

“You got it.” Wonho promised, and she closed her eyes and drifted quickly to sleep.

“Someone hold this ice,” Kihyun said. “I’m going to go figure out if we should wrap it up or not.”

Jooheon took his seat next to the couch, and held the ice pack on her knee.

Shownu’s phone rang and he looked up to confirm that it was their manager.

“Shownu?” Kihyun said.

“Yeah?”

“Make sure they give that guy hell.”

“You got it.” He promised, clicking answer on the call. “Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I have some concerns about a staff member that was assigned to work with us, who just assaulted a member of my group.”

“Ohh,” Jooheon chuckled. “Leader’s angry.”

“Everyone knows she’s his favourite.” Hyungwon pointed out. “He’s just lucky that Shownu wasn’t there when it happened.”

“Very true.” Minhyuk agreed. “Though that would have been amazing to see.”

“Shut up, guys.” Wonho hissed. “She’s sleeping.”

[likexporcelain]

A Crack in Everything (Chapter 5/8) - Jonerys

Summary: Six years after their high school romance ended in emotional ruin, Daenerys Targaryen runs into Jon Snow by chance on Valentine's Day, forcing old memories to resurface. This sudden reunion could be cathartic, but it could also deepen the cracks already in their hearts. The question Daenerys grapples with is, will this all be worth it in the end?

Rating: Explicit

First 5 chapters up on Ao3 -- more tags/warnings/notes there

After we had sex for the first time, it felt like everyone at school could tell. Or maybe it was just in my head. Maybe I just wanted everyone to be able to notice that mine and Jon's relationship wasn't just some super close friendship. I found myself wanting to hold his hand more in public and put my arm around his waist while we walked, to kiss him in the hallway and let everyone know that he was mine and I was his. Jon never seemed to mind either and I realized he had only held back before for my comfort.

The weather was getting hot as graduation approached – just a month away now. One day, while I was sorting through my mess of a locker looking for a hair tie to keep my waist-long hair off my sweaty neck, I was approached by a face I recognized, though we'd never officially met.

“Do you know who I am?” the red-headed underclassman asked me in a low, quiet voice like she was Deep Throat in the shadows of an underground parking garage and not the Social Sciences building at school, her Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses shielding her eyes despite us being indoors. Jon had mentioned his cousin, Sansa, had a flare for dramatics.

I closed my locker door and raised an eyebrow at her. “You're Robb Stark's sister.”

“Yes,” she huffed unhappily. She probably got that a lot, being the first Stark sibling to attend Westeros Prep since her older brother passed through the halls like high school royalty. Everyone loved Robb Stark. Even I did in the small way that one loves someone else just for being attractive and tall and not a total asshole. At the very least, he never call me the Targaryen bitch. Looking at his little sister, I doubted there was much we had in common, but I couldn't help but share her animosity for constantly being defined by a relative's existence. Robb Stark's Sister & the Targaryen Bitch. We should have started a girl band.

“But Jon Snow is also my cousin,” she continued. “You knew that, right?”

“Mhm,” I hummed, folding my arms in front of me, reserving all of my niceness until after her point was made.

“So, are you and him really. . . I mean, it's not just a joke. . ?”

“That we're together?”

“So you are together? Like, actually together?”

“Yeah, for about four months now. He never told you?”

Her lips pursed as she shook her head. “Jon doesn't really tell us things. I mean, he talks to us, sure, but he doesn't tell us things.” She took a beat to glance around us, like she was about to spill government secrets. “Look, don't be mad at him. It's good that he hasn't said anything. You probably know this, but a lot of families in this city aren't big fans of yours. To be honest, I think it's pretty silly. You seem alright to me. I actually think you're really pretty.”

My expression softened into a small smile. “Thanks. I think your --”

“I just wanted to tell you that I don't care that my cousin is dating a Targaryen. I'm not going tell my mom and dad. No one ever trusts me, but you can trust me.”

I got the feeling like I was supposed to be glad for this, but I wasn't. “Would it really be that big of a deal if they knew? I mean, I never even met my father. I'm not --”

“Yeah, but. . .” she interrupted, “you're still a Targaryen. It'll just make everyone's lives easier if they never find out. Trust me.”

“Okay,” I answered quietly, and after a quick complement about my hair, Sansa Stark was shuffling off in heels she wasn't steady on.

It was another conversation I should have paid more mind too. For a fourteen year old, Sansa had known what she was talking about. It would have been easier if Ned Stark had never found out about me and Jon. We could have pulled that off, right? We could have eloped and I would change my name to Snow. I would dye my hair and force Jon to call me Dany in front of his uncle when we'd come over for Thanksgiving dinners. Swear Sansa, and even Robb, to secrecy. A terrible plan, but I think we could have done it.

We were mere weeks from graduating. I had already gotten back all of my college acceptance and rejection letters – and one wait-list offer from Yale – and submitted my admission decision to Caltech, my second choice after Harvard sent me the old “We regret to inform you that. . .” e-mail. This was supposed to be a happy time, getting to leave Westeros Prep and start a better chapter of my life, but that all changed when I lost my job at Banana Republic. The first domino to fall.

“I won't be able to pay next month's rent. I won't be able to get a new job before I'll have to pay it, and what job would even hire someone who's going to have to quit in less than three months when the semester starts?” I was distraught, face in my hands while Jon ran his palm up and down my spine. I blamed loosing my job, but the truth was that it was my fault. If I hadn't been so upset, if I had just put on a confident face and tried to figure it all out on my own, then maybe Jon never would have felt the need to suggest what he did.

“You should come live with me,” he said. “The house is so fucking huge you barely see anyone even when the it's full of people. My bedroom is on the opposite side of the house from everyone else's, it's got it's own bathroom, and it's larger than your entire apartment. Just come live with me until we get our own place.”

Even though it was a ridiculous idea, I smiled anyway, because Jon wanted me to move in with him and how could that not make me smile. “I don't think your aunt and uncle would let that happen. Thank you, though.”

We were at my place, sitting on my bed. Jon had come over as soon as I texted him what had happened at the end of my Friday evening shift.

“Then I'll get a job and help you. I was going to have to get one after graduation anyway.”

“Even if I was comfortable letting you pay my rent for me, you wouldn't be able to find a job and get your first paycheck before my rent's due.”

“I could steal fixtures from my uncle's house and sell them.”

“Wow, chivalry really isn't dead,” I laughed.

He put his arms around me and pulled me close. “Just let me talk to him. I know he and your father had some sort of feud a long ass time ago, but Ned is actually a decent guy. Probably the most decent rich man you could meet. I think he'll want to help out once he knows how much you mean to me.”

“He'll probably think I'm using you just like everyone else.”

“You are using me, aren't you?” He ran his fingers up my side to make me giggle. “You know, for my sexy body.”

“You caught me.”

“And if you're going to move in with me, you're going to be seeing a lot of it.”

I grinned and twisted to put my arms around his neck, throwing a leg over his lap to straddle him. While we kissed, Jon laid down on his back.

“Thank you,” I whispered close to his mouth.

Running his fingers through my hair, he said “Don't thank me until I successfully convince my uncle to let a Targaryen move in.”

“I'm saying thank you for liking me even though I'm a Targaryen.”

His eyes squinted for a moment. “Targaryen is just a name. Like Stark or Snow. They're just syllables. A syllable can't dictate what kind of a person you are.”

I sat up, pouting slightly and gazing down at him with my best puppy dog eyes. “You didn't like me before you found out I was poor.”

Eyes casting away, he tapped his fingers against my hip, wearing a contemplative expression. After a bit, he looked back up at me and said “This is going to sound really pathetic, but I wasn't messing with you then because I didn't like you, I was messing with you because I did like you and I thought you would never like me.”

I blinked at him, not quite understanding.

“When I came into Chemistry on my first day, and Baratheon told me where my seat was, I remember walking over and seeing you with your wavy white hair and big blue eyes – and you were somehow already taking notes even though class hadn't even started yet – and I thought to myself, this must be the most beautiful girl on the planet. How the hell am I going to get her to notice me?”

“You're lying.”

He shook his head. “I thought all rich girls liked jerks, honestly. When I found out you weren't rich, I thought maybe I'd been going about it the wrong way.”

“Why did you wait so long to ask me out then?”

“Like I said. . . Most beautiful girl on the planet. It's a bit intimidating. You could have asked me out too, you know. Feminism and all that.”

I leaned down and kissed him, soft and slow, then whispered “Will you go out with me, Jon Snow?”

“Yes,” he answered with a sly smile, hands traveling from my hips to my butt. “Can we have sex first, though?”

Cheeks tinting red, I scrunched my nose and giggled silently while nodding my head. He flipped me onto my back. We were in love. Yes, we were young, but that didn't change anything. It wasn't platonic love, or fatuous love. It was real. We wanted the best for each other, to help each other and provide for each other. We were best friends but also wanted to fuck each other as often as possible. We respected each other and compromised. We never really fought because our personalities were so similar, and in the ways that we differed, we found love in those parts too. I really did think that we would be together forever, but forever would only last another few days.

* * * * *

When I got off my shift at Martell's the following Saturday, Jon was waiting for me out front and my eyes lit up like they hadn't since I was seventeen.

He was smiling too as he dropped his cigarette to the concrete. “Hungry?”

“Always,” I answered.

Because of our work schedules, it was difficult to spend much time together during the week so this was our first opportunity to spend real time together since he stayed the night at my house five days ago. I hadn't been able to hug him or kiss him since and I suddenly found myself too nervous to do so outside of Martell's, out in the open, like I was afraid one of the Starks would jump out from behind a bush and swat my nose with a rolled up magazine. But in Jon's Jeep, he put his hand on my thigh while he drove, and I put my hand over his.

We went to the beach and got tacos again. Jon bought some for himself too and we ate them together before walking down to the sand. The sunset was striking, pink fading into a deep purple. I toed out of my Sketchers and socks, rolled up my pants up to my knees and put my feet in the water, letting the tide wash up to my ankles before it rushed back out to the sea, sand and sediment rising over my toes. As I breathed in the salty air, I felt something small hit my back before plopping into the wet sand. I twisted around to see Jon standing above the tide line, hands behind his back and looking away, suspiciously innocent. A few seconds after turning back toward the water, I felt another soft pang of a small object hitting my back. Twisting around quicker this time, I caught Jon bringing his hands behind his back once again, lips pressed together to conceal his amusement.

“Are you throwing things at me?!” I called out to him.

He sent me an exaggerated look of confusion, bringing one hand to his chest. “I'm sorry, do I know you?!”

Shaking my head, I bent down and gathered up the wet sand in my hands before the tide could sweep back up the beach.

“What are you doing?” I heard him ask.

I stood, sculpting the sand into a smooth ball. Jon began backing away when I skipped up to him, but before he could get too far from me, I pelted the clump of sand, aiming for his chest, only to have it vaporize in mid air and fall like confetti down to the beach. While Jon laughed into his palm I glared at him with my lips pursed.

Once composed, Jon walked up to me with his arms outstretched, but I kept mine crossed defiantly over my chest. He embraced me against him and it became harder to conceal a smile. When his mouth pecked quick kisses to my forehead and cheek, though, I relented and turned my head to press my lips to his. As the kiss deepened I trailed my hand down between us, past his belt. Jon made a noise as I slid my hand right into the front pocket of his jeans and he leaned away from me with another innocent smile as I pulled out a handful of seashells.

“I've never seen those in my life,” he tried.

Shaking my head again, I dropped the shells into the sand before taking his shirt and pulling him against me, my wet toes digging into the sand as I kissed him some more before remembering we were still in public. I pulled back with a blush, turning away to find where I'd dropped my shoes.

“You're still a goofball, Jon Snow,” I told him and he seemed to take it as a complement.

We held hands on our way back to Jon's car and then he took me back to his apartment, which was just a couple blocks from the pier, an upstairs unit of a four-plex on a main road. The massive complexes on the other side of the road prevented an ocean view, but I could still smell the salt in the air. I was impressed before we even got upstairs.

Jon's was a funny apartment. It had quirks that showed how old the building must be. There was a nonoperational fireplace that now just looked like a curved wall with a square cut into it, and Jon used it to stack DVDs. The main room was divided into two sections by built in shelving and cabinetry stuffed with a massive collection of paperbacks. The front section, with a large window facing the road, was the living room, cluttered but not messy, with a deep faux-leather couch and some IKEA furniture in front of a TV mounted on the wall. He even had a PlayStation3. In the second section, which looked a lot like it was intended to be a dining room back when the floor plan was designed – I would guess the thirties – was where Jon's bed was, no larger than my full sized bed, but he actually had a headboard, wooden and sturdy.

“It's technically a one-bedroom,” Jon explained, “but the bedroom is super tiny so I just keep all my gym stuff in there.”

I made a right, walking through the small hallway. There was an archway on one side leading into a small room with a yellow kitchen – he didn't have a dishwasher either – and on the other side was the door to the bathroom. A few steps further down the hall was the “bedroom” Jon had referenced. It really was tiny. Just big enough to keep a rack of weights and a punching bag hanging from the ceiling.

“I like it,” I told him.

Back in the living room, we laid together on the couch, my cheek on his chest, his hand rubbing lazy circles against my back. I'd been telling him about work and how annoying my manager was. When I noticed some spiral bound notebooks lying across the coffee table, I stretched my arm out and took the first one my fingers met.

“What are these?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

Flipping through the notebook, my eyes scanned what looked like verses scribbled in Jon's messy handwriting. I lifted my eyes to him, grinning. “Jon, have you been writing poetry?”

His cheeks flushed, head shaking. “They aren't poems. Songs really, but I can't sing and I can't play any instruments. I've been trying to teach myself the guitar, but it isn't working out very well.”

Choosing a page at random, I recited the first stanza on the page:

“You make me feel like I am falling into pieces.

Take away all my feelings,

And I'm yours.”

I turned back to him. “Who is this about?”

With a shrug, he answered “Life, I guess.”

After shutting the notebook, I lifted myself up and placed it back where I found it. “You're talented.”

His head shook again.

“You are,” I insisted. Then, hesitantly, as I picked at a stray thread coming off the bottom hem of my shirt, I said “Jon, can I ask you something?”

“Mhm.”

“Have you loved anyone since me? It's okay if you have. I just want to know.”

His tired eyes seemed to focus more and he leaned up on his elbows.

“Wait,” I said quickly. “Never mind. I don't want to know.”

Ignoring me, Jon answered “I've only ever loved you.”

When all I did was chew on my bottom lip and stare down at my lap, Jon sat up and leaned in close to me. “You don't believe me,” he said.

“I believe you.”

“Then what's wrong? You want to know if I've been with anyone else?”

I looked at him. “Don't tell me. I already know you have. It's been six years after all. I'd be stupid to think you hadn't.”

Jon raised his hand to my cheek, running his thumb over my bottom lip. Hushed, but adamant, he said “I love you.”

To hear Jon say the words in that way, like it was a complete sentence, had me gravitating toward him until our parted lips connected, my tongue sweeping inside his mouth.

When I pulled back, we were both breathless, lips glistening. “I love you, too.”

There was still a small piece of me that wondered if this was wrong. It was the same piece that used to tell me no one would ever want me, and that I would never amount to anything, despite my best efforts. It was the piece of me that even my anti-depressants couldn't quite quash. Jon had the same piece inside of him and maybe we got it from the same place. But I never stopped believing that Jon and I were meant to be with each other, and I wasn't about to start fighting that now.

Our clothes were off before we made it to Jon's bed, wasting no time because the want was too strong. He was on top of me moments after my head hit the pillow, my legs eagerly parting for him. I had my hand around his cock, giving deliberate strokes until he was fully erect. Every time he moaned into my mouth I smiled. I positioned his erection and felt the head dip into my wetness.

Pulling away from my mouth, Jon mumbled something about a condom, then rolled off of me. I pouted a bit at the loss of warmth, then turned my eyes to watch him riffle through the drawer of his bedside table. Jon's back was to me and I gazed lustfully at the toned muscles as they subtly flexed. As Jon finally located a condom deep in the drawer, my eyes moved up to his shoulders and suddenly, my pulse began to race.

“Jon,” I said, my surprise sounding like urgency as I quickly sat up on my knees.

He twisted to look back at me, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

“You're shoulder.” I walked on my knees until I was right behind him.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, turning forward so that he could no longer see my shocked expression. His body seemed to relax like he had just received bad news. “I'm sorry,” he then said. “I got it so long ago, and it being on my back, I sometimes forget it's even there. I meant to tell you before you saw it.”

“How long ago?” I asked, my voice hushed, mind still reeling.

“Five years maybe.”

My fingers raised to the back of his right shoulder, grazing the flesh where it was inked with black, red and a sparkle of silver, where tall, curling cursive letters spelled out 'Targaryen.'

“Is it weird?”

“Yes,” I breathed before I leaned forward, pressing my lips to the 'g.' “But, I like it.”

His head turned to the side, peering at me over his shoulder. “I did always love your name.”

Wrapping my arms around his middle, I pressed more kisses to his skin, all the way up his neck. I plucked the condom from his hand and scooted backward, back to the center of the bed so that Jon could climb back over me. I scraped my bottom lip with my teeth. Eyes flickering toward the condom between my fingers as I said “You don't have to. I have an IUD. Birth control.”

Only a moment passed before he was taking the condom back from me and I thought he had decided to use it anyway, but instead, he tossed it back into his open nightstand drawer. Another second and his mouth was on mine. My knees raised and again I felt his erection nudging my slick pussy, and almost as soon as his hand was between my legs, I felt his cock enter me.

A week ago, we had made love with me rising and falling on his lap with a careful sensuality until we both came through soft whimpers and quiet moans. Tonight, though, Jon made love to me by fucking me into his bed and sucking on my neck while I had one hand clawing short nails into his back and the other planted firmly against the headboard behind my head. The next time that surreptitious piece of my brain would try to tell me I shouldn't be with Jon, I'd remember this night. I'd remember his hot mouth on my neck, his strong hands on my ass, and his bare cock thrusting deep inside me over and over in just the right spot while I beg him to cum inside me.

Afterward, lying spent on top of his sheets, he explained to me the rest of his tattoos: a wolf on his bicep, like the statue outside of the Stark estate – his mother's date of birth and death printed within the fur – then a small design dedicated to the Army and one dedicated to the friends he'd lost. He told me about them as well.

“Eleven,” he said. “That's how many men died. But, for some reason, I lived. For a long time I thought I shouldn't have. I thought that twelve men should have died, not eleven.”

With my hand rested on his chest, atop the scar and above his heart, I said “Zero men should have died.”

“I know that now.”

“I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like if you had died. If, instead of running into you at Whole Foods, I ran into Sam or one of your cousins and they told me you had died. . . I would. . . It would have torn me apart.”

He leaned up on an elbow and kissed me. “Then I'm glad I didn't die.”

“Good, because I need you. You're part of me.”

Shaking his head slowly, he ran his hand up the curve of my hip to rest on my waist. “I'm not going anywhere.”

At only twenty-three, I had felt like an old woman, like the rest of my life would be spent cursing past mistakes and mourning lost potential. But then I found Jon again, and suddenly, I realized how young twenty-three was. I had my whole life ahead of me. I could still get a college degree. I could still have a career and a small house on a big piece of land. Goats and dogs and lizards. I could still get married and maybe even still have two kids by the time I turn thirty. I could still want things. I could still get the things that I deserve. I could still be happy.

[kyuu-rereads-umineko]

Ep6, Chapter 9 (Part 2) & 10

Love Trial time! (warning: this is not a very good post, honestly. Ep6 is proving to be a struggle to write posts about, even this late into it...)

Eva and George are... in front of the mansion, I think? Eva’s clearly not happy with George and Shannon getting engaged, unsurprisingly.

Oh wait, no, they’re in front of the guesthouse, actually. CLOSE ENOUGH

“...Did you sleep with her? She told you she was pregnant to force you into a marriage, didn’t she?!” fucking OUCH

George states that he’s “a strong believe that chastity is to be preserved before marriage.” That matches up with their date in Ep2, so...

Eva asks why they got engaged, and George replies, “I asked her. She accepted. What more could be needed?” Eva disagrees, of course.

“What about her parents? Relationships between the two families? Are you some stray alley cat, or are you Ushiromiya George?!” Even putting aside the dramatic irony of this statement, it’s... interesting. I’m guessing Eva’s just talking in terms of general issues, as opposed to issues with Shannon x George.

George states his desire to “build his own country and castle from scratch” like Hideyoshi did, and Eva angrily replies that it wasn’t easy, and he was “often saved by luck and coincidence”. George replies, “And he got through it because he had a wonderful life partner by his side... you. Sayo is the kind of person who’ll support me and make me be reborn as an even stronger man. You’ve praised me for becoming the adult that I am, but that could never have happened without her.” Tohya loves Yasu, writes love letter to her in form of his forgeries, etc.

Eva asks if he plans on “betraying the feelings” of a woman they met with at a marriage meeting. He replies that even though the two of them went out (due to their - or at least his - parents’ insistence), they “never even looked at each other.” Eva objects, and George replies, “You want me to marry her because it will benefit you. You aren’t pushing that engagement for the sake of anyone but yourself.” SHOTS FUCKING FIRED

Eva starts crying and screaming about how she and Hideyoshi have always been thinking about what’s “best for George.” “If I didn’t care for you, we wouldn’t be having this fight! [...] Don’t worry, we won’t do anything bad to Shannon-chan. After all, it’s thanks to her that you’ve grown so much... We won’t forget that. So leave the rest to us... George...”

George turns his back, seemingly torn on what to do, then says, “Alright. I think that’s enough. All my life, you’ve done a great job raising me, and I’m grateful for that. When I have children and become a parent... I’ll become a parent like you. I’ll be the kind of parent most worthy of respect in the entire world, one who can truly fight for his children’s sake.”

“I think it’s about time you learned... to let go of your son, Mother.”

“Let’s forget that you’re my parent and let our true intentions ring clear... The reason you want to choose the person I marry... is for financial reasons, public appearances, and... so that you can posture in that still-continuing quarrel between you and your siblings. You have no other reason.” I’d forgotten just how few fucks George gives in this scene, damn. He declares that she’s “a wall, a trial, standing in the way of the future he’s trying to grasp.” “Now I’ll overcome the final barrier... you!!”

EVATRICE TIMEEEEEEEE

I don’t really have a lot to say about this sequence, other than yay fantasy battles.

Having said that - After getting beaten around a bit (okay, a lot), George stands up, saying, “I cannot count the number of things I’ve learned from Sayo. She taught me... courage and chivalry, how to be ambitious and witty and humorous, and just a little stylish. It’s ironic... Almost all of the things you say are so wonderful about me... didn’t come from you at all.”

A bit more fantasy battle (now with martial arts!), and George kills Evatrice... then straightens his glasses and says, “I know you’re somewhere over there, Gaap.” lol

“I have something to ask of you.” Gaap responds kinda flippantly, and George’s response... well: “The threat in his voice held the solemn presence of a king who could control demons. That presence made Gaap gulp, and she licked her lips before bowing respectfully to his back.” I don’t remember the parallels between George and Kinzo being commented on much outside of Ep4, so this is pretty interesting, to say the least.

“I like hot guys, but I like monarchs even more.” lol gaap

At George’s request, she moves Eva’s body to the VIP room in the mansion, and leaves Evatrice’s staff behind. George steps on it to launch it into the air, and catches it in his hand, whereupon it disperses into gold butterflies. GETTING A LOT OF EP4 VIBES HERE

In the gameboard meta, George declares his “part” to be over, and Jessica is shocked that he decided to go after Eva for the love trial. 

He replies, “It’s the person who loves you first in the world... and the last one you have to separate yourself from. ...That’s what it means to leave your home. This is the courage I need to show to take Sayo as my wife.” 

Ah, right, the nature of the trial is mentioned here. “So that the love of the pair will stand true, offer up the life of one person by your own hands.”

The narrative compares it to Beato’s test in Ep4, which is... interesting! I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I suppose it kinda is similar, just with “your own life” and “your lover’s life” automatically excluded (well, except in Battler’s case, but).

“For the versions of themselves to whom the game board was the only world, this was a tragic parricide... but to these ones who stood around the game board in this witch’s smoking room, it was nothing more than a movement of the pieces, representing George’s will to overcome his parents.” meta gonna meta

After a moment’s hesitation (during which Zepar and Furfur almost declare George and Shannon the winners), Jessica volunteers to go next. “Alright, I’ll do it... I’ll show you that I’m serious about Kanon-kun!!”

Meanwhile, during a break in the family conference, Kyrie’s wandered off to a hallway on the second floor of the mansion. “I need to regain my spirit and support my husband, even if I’m not allowed to speak. ...That’s the duty I’ve won.”

HI JESSICA

Ooh, that’s interesting. Jessica decided to basically wander around the mansion and kill the first person she runs into, and Furfur describes it as “Jessica’s roulette of fate.” battler u aren’t a very subtle writer are u

...Though she’s still not committed to actually going through with killing anyone, so she ends up asking Kyrie for advice. “Sounds nasty... Love that can only succeed by using the others as a footstool.”

“I think I see where you’re going with this... Something like this, right? ‘How far is a person allowed to take advantage of others to find happiness’?” Ooof. That’s... painfully accurate - not for Jessica, but for Yasu. The question she’s constantly asking herself, wracked with guilt over being torn between George, Shannon, and Battler...

...Though, granted, Yasu’s circumstances are a bit different to Jessica’s here, but.

And then the music cuts out, as Kyrie tells Jessica that, as painful as it might be to have to cut short George and Shannon’s relationship, not fighting for her own love will be even worse.

Ange cuts in, mentioning finding Kyrie’s notebook sometime after the incident. “It was... practically a book of curses... it cleared up several questions I had vaguely felt back when I was six.”

“When I was six, it seemed as though my parents were very close and had no problems. ...And though I thought it odd that Onii-chan lived separately even though he was in our family, I accepted it as the way things were.”

As was shown in Ep5, it’s explained that Kyrie was effectively Rudolf’s “business partner.” “Though she served as Dad’s right-hand person, she slyly got rid of the other women in the shadows... It was only a matter of time before Mom would succeed in her love.”

Kyrie explains to Jessica that Asumu showed up, and was “good at triggering Rudolf’s protective instinct.” “Bit by bit, Rudolf had started to need a woman who could stay quiet and soothe him... without making him think about anything complicated.”

“I am ruthless and intellectual. Rational and economical. ...In a plank of Carneades situation, I would push the other person off without hesitating. ...I thought that was the kind of partner suitable for him.” kyrie gonna kyrie

“Yes, I did get the position of his business partner... But before I knew it, Rudolf-san had grown a need for a mental partner, someone who could heal his heart. Though I foolishly claimed to be the intellectual one, I never noticed.”

And then both Kyrie and Asumu became pregnant, though Kyrie wasn’t even aware of it herself until after Rudolf and Asumu had already gotten married. “Once she got her hands on Rudolf-san, she didn’t let go.”

Kyrie reflects that she at least wanted Rudolf to acknowledge her child - which he was apparently willing to do, going as far as visiting her in the hospital even though Asumu was giving birth on the same day. She calls him an awful man, and... I can’t say I really disagree, to be honest!

Except... she supposedly ended up having a stillbirth instead, while Asumu gave birth to Battler. In hindsight, the answer’s literally right there, isn’t it? We get it stated in red in Ep4 that Asumu isn’t Battler’s blood mother, and both here and in Ep3 it’s stated that Kyrie and Asumu had the same delivery date. Coupled with how strongly Battler and Ange resemble each other... yeah.

“Kyrie had fallen from Rudolf’s partner to his second wife... and then, unable to even give birth to the bond of a child... she tumbled down... to merely being his mistress. I can’t imagine... how much she must’ve hated Asumu and that kid... Battler.” Ange mentions that she was (understandably) shocked to find out just how much Kyrie likely hated Battler.

Back on the board, Kyrie tells Jessica that she only regrets one thing. “It’s my arrogance I regret. ‘Rudolf-san is already mine, so I’m completely safe... I’ll never lose to that Asumu girl.’”

Kyrie warns Jessica against being naive about her love, and that the regrets she’ll have if she doesn’t take it seriously enough “will make her crawl through hell.” Jessica is, understandably, speechless upon hearing of how harsh the “true form of love” is.

“Right now... I would do anything to keep Rudolf-san by my side. [...] If he wished it, I might not even hesitate at murder.” KYRIE GONNA KYRIE

Aaaand Kyrie flat-out says that she would’ve killed Asumu herself, if she hadn’t died on her own. Battler, are you having fun writing your mother like this...?

Kyrie laughs a bit and apologizes, not meaning to scare Jessica like she had. BIT LATE FOR THAT I THINK

“I don’t know what your love has been like, Jessica-chan... but if you have a rival and neither is willing to back down, you can’t let yourself become complacent. If you do, you’ll end up like me.”

“...For the sake of love, a woman should be willing to kill at least once in her life.” KYRIE NO

“Love really is like playing with fire. Anyone can play easily and lightheartedly... but when you mess up and get burned, that scar stays with you your whole life.”

I just want to let that line stand on its own.

Kyrie turns to leave, wishing Jessica good luck... and narrowly avoids getting her face smashed in. She’s quite nonchalant about Jessica trying to kill her, but... y’know, Kyrie. Who’s surprised at this point?

“Come now. If you had come from the guesthouse to get a book from your room, you wouldn’t have come through this hallway in that direction.” kyrie holmes

More fantasy battles, now with math! I do find it interesting, though, that George and Jessica ask for help from Gaap and Ronove, respectively, given Ep4.

At any rate, Jessica kills Kyrie in Krauss’s study, gets angry at Zepar and Furfur, etc. etc... And starts crying as she asks Kanon if she did anything wrong. Jessica...

Elder joins in on complimenting her. “Very impressive, Jessica! That ‘closed room murder’ just now was wonderful enough to fascinate even a witch like myself.”

Zepar and Furfur dance around a bit again. “Come, speak up!! Who is next?! Who will take the next trial?!”