#then again the same horse also used to try and eat the carpet because it was green like grass

[aceofthyme]

something something if doc were a horse i really do think he’d try to figure out a car. he gives off the same energy as my mom’s one horse that used to try to come inside the house…

[calcitedraws]

FENS DIARY

Tw: Mentions of death, suicide, depression, brief mentions of sexuality and Fen being generally sort of creepy and trying to rationionalize it.

Around 2,300 words

This was supposed to be a few entries and I got too invested lol and I use y/n because I'm old school. Also when Fen says 'Im not a girl' that isn't indicating a bio or gender identity I was just including the fact that they're nonbinary.

November 17th

I haven't written in a while, eh? After… what happened I sort of shut down for a while. Even now I want to shut down, but my dad always said I should face things head on. Ok, as my therapist used to say: if I don't know how to word something I should just say it as plainly as I can to get started.

I'm in pain.

I can't sleep I can't eat and I can't fucking breathe. The only person making sure I have a moderately healthy sleep/wake cycle is Dandelion, and even then he doesn't seem to mind if I sleep on the couch all day as long as he's fed.

I'm packing to head down to the funeral and I came by my journal. I don't even know why I'm doing this. This is fucking stupid.

I'm scared of seeing them. I haven't seen my mom or siblings in… 5 odd years? I never even came out to them. I'll have to explain so much that I'm just not in the goddamn mood to. I don't even think they want to see me. Dad told me that once they figured out the whole situation that they didn't take it well.

Dandelion keeps curling up in my suitcase. If he behaved better in crates, I'd bring my little man with. But he chews on the bars and yowls, so I'm leaving him at one of those pet boarding places.

November 19th

I don't want to go tomorrow. I'm sitting here at this shitty hotel desk that's sticky in this shitty hotel room that smells like booze and mothballs. There's a weird mark on the carpet and I can't decide if it's old blood or a shit stain. Either way it's suspiciously big. The people in the other room keep having really loud and bad sounding sex, all the damn time. Like, literally, their headboard is apparently against the same spot as mine, because the thumping keeps me awake. I tried to move my bed and found another stain that I'm convinced is blood. I put the bed back and slept on the tiny couch in the room. I'm pretty sure there's bedbugs on every fabric surface.

OH MY GOD THOSE TWO ASSHATS ARE HAVING SEX AGAIN!!! WHY ARE THEY BLASTING THAT ONE SONG FROM SHREK 2 I HATE THIS HOTEL

November 20

I'm just sitting here. At this sticky desk again. I don't think I can do this. It's 3:30 AM and I can't go back to sleep. Waiting for my sleeping meds to kick in.

My therapist always said that the best time to journal about something is when it's the hardest to think about.

I wish I had someone. I like to think soulmates exist. Maybe Dad was right and that's all horse shit. Maybe I should just throw myself into oncoming traffic instead of going to his funeral.

I've been paying more attention to cars recently. Funny how many look like my dad's.

I think the meds are kicking in? No clue, maybe I'm just too angry to think.

—---------------

It's 8:10 AM and I need to leave in 20 minutes.

I've decided to go, because I owe it to him. I think I'd hate myself more if I didn't go.

What do I even do if I see my mom again? Is she even my mom? Am I allowed to wave if she spots me? Will she even recognize me. I can recognize her. I've been cyber talking her Facebook. Her husband and her just got back from a weekend trip to the Bahamas.

I haven't dared look for my siblings. I miss Sherry.

Had to take a minute to reign myself in.

I'm glad my aunt (my dad's sister) took care of the funeral prep. Shes nice. Haven't talked to her in a half a decade, I should send a nice letter after the funeral.

The thought of coming back to that house alone is killing me. No more face times. No more random phone calls. No more sending him pictures of weird stuff Dandelion did.

I need to head out soon. My hair is greasy. My eyes hurt. I look like shit. But I have to go.

I forgot to charge my phone last night but there should be enough juice in it to get me there and back. Don't know where I'm headed since I've never been here. My dad said I wouldn't like where he lived because it's crowded. Maybe I can just throw myself into oncoming traffic after.

—----------------

I think I met an angel.

I got lost after the funeral and my phone died. I started crying in the middle of the side walk like some fucking weirdo when I spotted them.

They were so cute, in their cozy sweater and jeans. They asked what was wrong and I said I was lost and that my phone died.

They actually lead me back to the hotel! Apparently they live here in the city too but near the outskirts. I never got their name, I'm such a fucking idiot.

I've always felt like there's been a wall between me and other people. But with them… I didn't feel that. I felt I had known them all my life.

Shit, here I am rambling about someone I just met after going to my dad's funeral.

It was awkward. Like, painfully awkward. No one approached me. My dad's funeral was closed casket, which all things considered, makes sense. But I felt like if I opened that casket it'd be empty. It was a weird feeling.

I didn't know any of his friends and only Sherry showed up to the funeral. I don't know why but that somehow made everything worse. Sherry couldn't even look at me. I didn't stick around long afterwards. She looks so different from when I last saw her (why did she go blonde?) but I recognized her instantly.

I'm packing up to head home. I technically don't need to go until tomorrow but the longer I stay here the more I feel the need to itch the back of my throat with a shotgun. At least at home I can cry into Dandelions fluffy belly.

January 8th

—------------------

Guess who's forced me out of rotting in my bed? My boss threatening to fire me if I don't log on and do my job!

A fair point, but fuck him anyway.

I said I'd log on today and he seemed satisfied.

So here I am instead, procrastinating. I can't keep my eyes open for very long. I mean, I logged on and have been reading meeting notes. That's progress.

Dandelion has been very accommodating with allowing me to randomly pick him up and cry loudly into his fur.

Oh! I found a new cat! Her name is Queenie and she's a little black cat. I found her right outside the hotel I was staying at before the funeral. I thought she had that lethal cat bloat I had heard about, but she was just really pregnant! Like, ready to pop pregnant. She gave birth on Christmas and now I have a small army of tiny black and orange kittens! I woke up to 6 of them on Christmas morning. They're all so small and cute and they won't stop meowing very very loudly. I got Queenie spayed as quickly as I could afterwards.

Queenie warmed up to my quickly despite being a stray. I named her that because she's a little diva. The amount of times I had to separate her and Dandelion from fighting over mutually favorited spots is well, embarrassing since these are two adults. But now? Queenie just lays on top of Dandelion and he seems to enjoy it.

Why am I jealous of two cats?

January 15th

—----------------

Oh my God I found them. The person who saved me and lead me back to the hotel, I found them!

Ok, so, I'm a penetration tester, which means I hack into systems. It's boring so I never talk about it. But, the job we were handed made us pen test a random hospital and I found them! They went in for a checkup recently and I found their data while spelunking! I took a picture of their government ID before I could stop myself.

I can't believe I found them! I clicked on a random name because I liked the way it looked and it leads me right to them! I know it's them, because the ID card looks like them and says they live near where they said they did.

I've been looking at our star signs. I also found their social media and they're so chatty! I think they just think their friends are watching because they post sporadically. I scrolled through everything I could find during my lunch break.

Oh my God I sound insane. This is insane and totally illegal. I need to step back and calm down.

January 25th

—----------

I tried!! Couldn't step back couldn't calm down. I've been cyber talking a stranger for like, a week now.

But I've come to a revelation: I'm very greasy. I haven't showered in… no clue to be honest. I only realized because I accidentally leaned against the sliding glass door and my head left a strong imprint on the glass.

I haven't changed my bedsheets in a while either. Or vacuumed, or cleaned the kitchen, or swept the patio. So instead of any of that I have spent the entire afternoon paralyzed on the couch in sustained fear. Dandelion has joined me.

February 4th

—----------------

I finally got fed up of being greasy and took an actual shower instead of sitting under the water staring at the floor and disassociating for like, half an hour. The sheer amount of dead skin I scrubbed off is embarrassing.

*Y/n* (the name of my angel) talked about spring cleaning early online. They even have the link to their favorite songs to listen to while cleaning. I recognize some of the songs but most of them are new to me. Maybe if I listen to the playlist it'll make me want to clean?

Update: It did. Managed to clean the kitchen and living room before getting tired. Maybe I should start working out again…?

Feb 14th

—-------------

Y/n is single! (Very good information to know)

When I clean I just put y/n’s play list on and I'm suddenly full of energy.

I think it eases the loneliness. I miss my dad.

Feb 20th

—--------------

I've discovered something about myself that I can't unlearn. I think I have a praise kink?? I was watching my favorite show with Dandelion and one of the characters that kind of looks y/n said ‘good girl' to the main character and. I got so horny I had to pause the show and sit in silence. I'm not even a girl. What the fuck just happened? I think the cats know because they've been staring at me judgementally all afternoon.

March 1st

—-------------

Lasagna is my enemy.

April 29th

—------------

It was my dad's birthday yesterday. He would've been 46 today.

I sort of shut down for the entire month, again. House is a fucking mess. Only think I can manage is taking care of the cats, who don't seem to mind the mess.

I just wish I had someone. The house is pretty quiet. Sometimes I put the TV on to avoid how quiet it is. I miss talking to my dad, about literally anything. The weather, what my cats were up to, about my dad's new girlfriend of the week, literally anything. I miss how funny he was. I remember when I was in secondary school how him and I would watch TV every Friday night and eat Mac n cheese from the box.

May 1st

—--------------

I think I'm in love with y/n?? Is that a thing you can do? I had a dream we went on a date to a coffee shop and then we went home and made dinner and I kept making them laugh and smile and when I woke up I just burst out sobbing. I literally couldn't calm down for who knows how long.

But I want something like that! I want it so badly! I want to make them dinner while they talk with me! I want to cozy up to them on the couch while watching a movie! I want to hear them breathe next to me at night!

So I might've done something maybe unethical. I located their IP Address. Which isn't bad since I already know their physical address and their safe with me and it's not like it's illegal to find it!

May 10th

—------

So I did something stupid. I did something really fucking stupid I hacked into their email. All it took was a phishing scheme and bam, I was in. And Lord knows how everything is connected to emails nowadays. I'm a criminal now. I've been reading their emails for like, three hours. I mean… the government can like totally see your emails so it's not that big of a deal?? Right???

Oh my God I'm a criminal now!

But I'm learning so much!

May 18th

—-----

The time has come. Queenies kittens have all found new homes, I can't have all these cats in the house. But I kept my favorite kitten; Cali, the little calico. Short of Hotel California, My dad's favorite song.

Cali is a menace against society. He's chewn through wires, eaten pillows, and I've had to take him to the vet twice for eating batteries. I don't think another family can handle him.

I like to think he gets this from Dandelion, who despite being well over ten years old still chews on wooden furniture.

June 19th

—-------

I've been trying to find a way to say this that doesn't sound bad. But like, I literally can't? So I'll just say it.

I broke into y/n’s phone.

I'm not doing anything bad! I just want to see what they're up to! I won't use this to hurt them so it isn't bad, is it?

I've been watching them play candy crush for 45 minutes. They're bad at candy crush but something about that is so cute! I've downloaded candy crush. Maybe I can play the same levels at the same time as them…?

I've also been eating meals with them. They watch stuff on their phone as they eat and I've started eating at a regular schedule again. But their diet sucks so much?? Why the fuck are they eating gas station sushi so often? I'm scared they'll get worms!!

July 1st

—----------

What if my cats tell me neighbor I got high???

July 2nd

—----------

So um, I tried edibles for the first time yesterday. You'll never guess how it went.

Anyways, high me decided that cleaning the entire house was their sole mission. Thank you, high me.

July 19th

—---------

I finally gathered the courage to go into my old room.

I only had the attic room because everyone had their own rooms and I was sick of sharing with Sherry. So, my dad fixed up the attic and gave that room to me for my 10th birthday. When everyone left, I took over Sherry's old room. Mom only left the mattress and headboard, so it didn't feel like Sherry's anymore. All that's left is the thumbtacks from her old posters.

Anyway, my old room is just how I left it. Dusty, but the same. I even found Howie, my old plushie! I took all of Howie's stuffing out and it's in the wash right now, but they still have the old lavender satchet I put in them. I don't know what to replace it with, to be honest.

[alpacaparkaseok]

The Passport

Requested by anon - a picture of your request will be at the bottom of the post! Enjoy! Thanks for requesting!

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Premise: You embark on a memorable journey in an attempt to return Kim Namjoon’s passport. What lengths will you go to in order to return his passport on time?

Warnings: none, this is literal crackhead fluff lol. emphasis on the crackhead.

Word Count: 3.2k 

It all started in the morning. You knew, leaving the house that morning with a skip in your step and the sun shining down on you, that something was off. Something was bound to go wrong.

It wasn’t until 11:30, sitting at brunch with some of your friends, that you caught your first whiff of trouble. 

Literally.

Rebecca, one of your oldest friends, had insisted on pretending to be rich and fancy for a day. She’d dragged you and the rest of your friends to a penthouse-like restaurant, commanding you to wear your finest ‘casual wear’, whatever that was supposed to mean. 

Long story short, you felt like some sort of avid golf fan in your skirt and blouse. Or maybe a polo fan, cheering on the magnificent horses and their riders. 

You were so consumed in your menu and trying to find the cheapest thing they had to offer without looking like a fraud, that you hadn’t noticed the room falling into a quiet buzz of excitement. Hadn’t noticed any sort of change in the air.

Except your nose had.

You unconsciously scooted in closer to the table when out of your peripheral you saw a group of people making their way over to the empty tables nearest you. They shimmied behind you and the table opposite your own, making sure to not interrupt your dining experience. Then you smelled it.

The most wonderful, fresh cologne you’d ever smelled. The smell was light enough that it had you wondering for a moment if you had just imagined the hint of pine, but another sniff confirmed what your nostrils already knew. 

Whoever had just entered the fancy, no-good for college budgets restaurant knew exactly what worked for them. And it was that cologne. Naturally, you glanced over to see just who it was that graced your nose with such a beautiful smell. 

And that, it the precise moment that you learned that Kim Namjoon, leader of BTS and dimple extraordinaire, smells like roses and pine.

Oh, and the slightest hint of jasmine.

Now, the only problem with that knowledge is the fact that you will never be able to get it out of your head. No longer will Namjoon in blue jeans and a tucked in t-shirt be your greatest weakness, as it had been before. No, that’s ancient history as far as that tantalizing fragrance is concerned. 

“Enjoying the view?” Rebecca croons from across the table, ripping your attention away from the man that just took his seat. From this angle, you have the perfect view of those dimples. 

The rest of the brunch passes by with little to no incident. The only thing that keeps you from staring at the group that’s CD has a permanent residency in your car’s stereo is the fact that you know your friends will take matters into their own hands if they catch you. Rebecca will surely embarrass you, if only because you’ve done the same thing to her countless times.

Leticia to your right elbows you lightly, grinning. “You know, RM keeps looking over at you.”

Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. “It’s not nice to tease!”

“It’s true!” Bianca pipes up a bit too loudly. She covers her mouth, looking embarrassed. “I mean, it’s true!” She whisper shouts. “He can only go about thirty seconds without looking at you. Maybe he’s worried you’re going to choke or something.”

You roll your eyes. “Wow, how considerate of him.”

Munching on a lettuce wrap that costs about the same as your statistics textbook, you nearly choke on it as the group finishes their meal and begins to make their way out of the restaurant. You scoot your chair back in, cursing your reddened cheeks even as you prepare yourself for the onslaught of Namjoon’s cologne again. 

“Excuse us,” Namjoon says, the sound of his voice enough to have you staring at Rebecca as though she’s a lifeline. If you can make it through this experience without passing out, you can surely accomplish anything.

“Have a good day!” Bianca chirps, smiling widely. Jung Hoseok - yeah, the sunshine of the world - smiles back. 

“Thank you,” he replies. He glances over at you and then, to your eternal horror, he looks at Namjoon with a pointed stare. 

“Er...” Namjoon stumbles over his words, looking like he would rather eat the tablecloth than have to say two words to you. You try to hide your disappointment, closing your mouth and opting for a pleasant smile. 

It’s the wrong move, honestly. Now you’re stuck smelling in his cologne and wondering how it’s humanly possible for someone to smell so beautiful.

Namjoon fiddles with his sleeves before looking over to you, a lightning bolt jolting your senses at the sudden eye contact. 

“You...you’re very pretty.”

In your own defense, your mouth is not the only one that drops open in shock. No, Bianca, Leticia, and Rebecca mirror your state of shock. 

Bianca recovers all too quickly, playfully pushing your shoulder as she exclaims, “See! I told you he was staring!”

Fighting the urge to flee the scene, you plaster on your most nonchalant expression and turn back to Namjoon with pink cheeks. You’re relieved to see his own cheeks tinted pink. 

“I- thank you!” 

At this point all of the boys have paused in their exit, turning to look back at Namjoon with silly grins. Namjoon notices their attention, nodding his head to you and his eyes dropping to stare at the carpet. 

“You’re welcome, haveaniceday,” Namjoon spits out, thrusting a napkin into your hands before before turning on his heel and making a beeline for the exit. He shoulders past the members who give him pats on the back and laugh a little at their leader’s shyness. 

With one final look over his shoulder and an annoyed sigh at Jin who mumbles a teasing remark to him, Namjoon leaves. 

You stare and stare at the exit, your brain short-circuiting as you replay your short exchange over and over again. In your hands sits the napkin - an actual, cloth napkin that is silky soft - marred (or perfected) by Namjoon’s scrawl. 

It doesn’t say a single word. Just boasts his phone number.

“What,” you breathe out, still staring at the exit, “just happened?”

Your question seems to break the spell that had your friends mute, and suddenly all four of your burst out into giddy laughter. 

“I have no idea,” Rebecca says through her giggles, “But I wish I had that on camera!”

Leticia is the one to notice it first. As the four of you get up to leave, she sees something laying on the seat where Namjoon sat. You know it’s where he sat, because you’ve burned the image into your mind. 

You’ve also memorized his phone number. As has Bianca, who read it over your shoulder about seven times before sitting back down in her seat. 

“It looks like they left something behind,” Leticia muses, wandering over to their abandoned table. “Oh, no way!” She bursts out into laughter, pointing down at the chair.

The rest of us scramble over just in time to see Leticia hoist the item up into the air. 

It’s a passport. 

Rebecca grabs your arm, looking at me with wide eyes. “This is a sign! I swear, it’s a sign!”

You frown at her, rubbing at the sore spot from where she’s grabbed a hold of you. “What do you mean? How is this a sign? Have you lost it?”

“No, I get what she’s saying!” Bianca shouts, drawing the attention of anyone that hasn't noticed the commotion yet. “He gave you his number, and now you have the perfect reason to text him! And see him again!”

You snort in disbelief even though your heart is nearly pounding out of your chest. “...right. Because people just leave their passports lying around as calling cards these days.”

Leticia flips through the passport, eyes widening at all of the stamps. “I mean...this is Kim Namjoon we’re talking about. Doesn’t he lose his passport all the time?”

“Exactly, so I-”

“So you need to return it to him,” Rebecca interrupts, smiling devilishly. “C’mon. Text him and tell him. He’s probably freaking out right now.”

You groan, but know that you should. Pulling your phone out, you ignore your friends’ cheers. “If I embarrass myself, so help me...”

You text him. 

Or rather, you begin to type out some form of message before groaning and throwing your phone at Rebecca. Naturally, she grabs your phone and types out a message, sending it off before you can even get a look at it. 

In your despair and agony (yes, you’re aware that you often overreact), you don’t realize what’s transpired until the girls are squealing over Namjoon’s response. 

“Look, look!” Rebecca yells, thrusting your phone toward your face. “Isn't he so cute?!”

Kim Namjoon 😱😍: I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I left that there. Are you available tonight? We could meet up somewhere? Sorry again for the inconvenience.

You groan, snatching your phone back. “Ugh, you people. Can’t even function over a simple text.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Leticia chides. “Weren’t you the one going on about how good he smells for the past thirty minutes?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You do.

Me: Sure, that’s fine! 

Me: Where do you need me to go?

You’ve all piled into the back of Leticia’s car by the time Namjoon responds. What he says makes your jaw drop for the second time that day.

Kim Namjoon 😱😍: About that...do you know where the Grammy’s are being held tonight?

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Leticia asks, looking back at in through the rear view mirror. “What did he say?”

You furiously type out a response, heart rate picking up. “Umm...I forgot that the Grammy’s were happening tonight.”

Me: I think so...why?

“It sounds like he wants to meet there...?”

Kim Namjoon 😱😍: I’ll get you a backstage pass, if you’re alright with it. Some of the staff will be there to help you out, you can leave the passport with them.

Your heart sinks a little. “But it sounds like I’ll just be meeting with his staff. Makes sense, I guess. He’ll be busy and - what?”

Bianca and Rebecca are staring me down, and you can practically see the gears shifting in their minds. 

“Why don’t we get you ready for this little rendezvous?” Bianca asks, rubbing her hands together like some evil villain. 

“But I’m not even going to see him,” You protest. “And I’m just going backstage! Nobody is going to see me.”

“Doubt it,” Rebecca states. “He just doesn’t want to freak you out. He’ll be there. I’m sure of it. And when he sees you...”

“He’ll think I look ridiculous!” You shout, staring at your reflection in the mirror with disgust. “This is horrible.”

Indeed, the gaudy red dress was a bit too much. Even the consultant of the shop appeared inclined to agree with you. 

“You’re right,” Leticia sighed. “Try on the next one.”

It hadn’t taken too much convincing to get you to go to the nearest dress store, you friends absolutely positive that you would see Namjoon tonight. When you did, he was sure to be dressed to the nine’s. You just didn’t want to look too out of place.

Casually formal.

If that’s a thing. 

So far, it’s been a nightmare trying to find a suitable dress. Most have been bordering on junior prom vibes, however you try to cling to hope as you try on the next dress. 

It’s a beautiful black dress with flowers stitched onto the lace overlay. The black slip falls to your knees, the overlay brushing against your calves.

When you exit the room, it’s easy to tell that this one is going to be the favorite. Especially once Rebecca chuckles under her breath. 

“Oh, he’s gonna freak.”

One purchase and makeover later, you smile at your reflection in the mirror. You went for a more natural look, your hair falling in gentle curls and light makeup bringing out your eyes. You’re just slipping on your shoes when you get a text from Namjoon.

Kim Namjoon 😱😍: Ok, I hope you’re still ok to meet up! I’m so sorry again. I’ll send over the link for your pass. They’ll just scan it at the main entrance and then again at entrance 3. Sound good?

You take a deep breath, looking to your friends for support. They nod encouragingly, Leticia clutching her keys. All four of you will drive over. Hopefully they’ll manage to keep you sane on the ride over.

Me: Sounds perfect. And really, don’t worry about it. It happens to the best of us.

You’ve barely gotten into the car when Namjoon sends you the link as well as another message. 

Kim Namjoon 😱😍: You know, if you leave right now there should be a few refreshments leftover from our staff. ;) Let me know when you get here!

“Oh, this man is going to be the death of me.”

The entire area where the Grammy’s are being held are packed with cars and fans clambering to get a look at their favorite celebrities on the red carpet. The red carpet interviews have only just begun, and you can’t help but wonder if Namjoon and the rest of the boys are out there already.

Smoothing out your dress, you can’t decide if you want them to be or not. Your heart is pounding from the overload of excitement and nerves. 

With shaking hands your extend the barcode Namjoon sent you to the security at the main entrance and again at the 3rd. Once the car has been parked, you send a message off to Namjoon letting him know that you’ve arrived. Chances are he’s on the red carpet and isn’t going to see it, but at least you did what he asked. 

“We’ll be right here when you’re finished!” Rebecca calls out as you clamber out of the car. You can’t help but laugh, feeling like a little kid being dropped off for school.

“You look freaking hot!” Bianca shouts, making you rush away and into the hallway crowded with people. 

You follow the signs plastered up on the walls, pointing you toward BTS. Hopefully there are some people that will know you’re coming-

“Joon, we’ve really got to get out there now,” a voice you recognize as J-hope drifts over to you as you make your way toward an open door. 

“I know,” Namjoon’s voice replies, and just like that your stomach is filled with butterflies tying impressive knots in your stomach. “But she just texted saying she’s here. I feel like it’s rude to just leave her to see the staff and not thank her in person.”

Jin’s voice is loud and clear. “Don’t lie to us. We all know that you just want to see her again. I’m starting to think you left your passport on purpose.”

You hold your breath, willing your cheeks to go back to a normal color. It does’t work. 

“Ok boys, 5 more minutes. Tops. You’ve really got to get going, people are waiting.” Someone says over their shoulder as they step out of the room. They’re eyes almost immediately land on you, going a little wide. “Oh, are you here with the passport?”

Everyone seems to quiet down inside of the room, but a few harsh whispers and some footsteps later Namjoon is popping his head out of the door. As soon as he sees you his eyes light up even as he turns a little red. 

“You made it!” He grins. “And wow. You look...”

You look down at your dress, fidgeting under the sudden attention. “A little out of place, I know. I didn’t know if it was ok to show up just in casual wear, so this is kinda what happened.”

Namjoon steps out into the hallway, and you swear you can hear Jungkook whining about how he wanted to see what’s happening. He’s quickly shushed by the others. 

You’re engulfed by that same smell as this morning, and it takes everything in your willpower not to close your eyes and breathe it in. Namjoon must have barely reapplied his cologne. 

“I was going to say you look stunning.” Now arriving just a step away from you, Namjoon smiles softly down at you. “Absolutely stunning.”

Your hands shake as you are at a loss for words, rummaging around your purse until you produce Namjoon’s passport. Staring at his tie and nowhere else, you extend it to him.

“H-here you go.”

As if trying to kill you right then and there, Namjoon’s fingers linger over your own as he takes the passport, quietly thanking you. “Um, this may sound a little strange but...”

You look up at him, a bit distracted by the way his hair is styled away from his face. Only a couple of thick strands kiss his forehead, making him look like he just stepped out of a novel. 

Namjoon’s eyes dance over your face, clearly displaying his nerves. At least you’re not the only one. 

“What is it?” You ask.

“Well, if you’re not busy tonight...would you maybe want to stay?” You barely stop yourself from passing out, digging your nails into your palm to ground yourself. Namjoon chews on the inside of his cheek. “Our staff have reserved seats by us, and we’re planning on ordering some food after-”

“Yes.” You blurt out the word before Namjoon can finish speaking, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he looks positively relieved at your interruption. 

“Really?” He swallows, playing with his cufflinks even as he stares into your eyes. “I don’t want to pressure you or anything...”

You shake your head, but stop. “I would love to, but...I actually have my friends that dropped me off waiting for me in the parking lot. I can’t make them wait for me like that-”

Now Namjoon cuts you off. “They can come too! And invite them to eat with us after! Really, the more the merrier!”

You blink up at this man, completely floored. “But, they don’t have dresses.”

Checking a watch that you’re sure costs more than your entire year’s rent, Namjoon thinks for a moment before looking back at you. You can’t help but grin at the way his eyes sweep over your figure and face again. 

Bianca was right. You do look freaking hot.

“Do you think they could go change and be back within two hours?”

You mull it over, pulling your phone out and shooting off a text to Rebecca. “I bet they could, with the right motivation. But are you sure that’s alright?”

Namjoon smiles broadly at you. “Oh yeah. It’s more than alright.” He hesitates, rocking back on his heels. “So...you’ll stay?”

You return his smile. “I’ll stay.”

“Great!” Jin’s voice rings out into the hallway, making you jump. “Now will you bring her in here so we can warn her about how weird you are, Namjoon? We’ve only got so much time.”

Laughing at the expression of long-suffering on Namjoon’s face, you take the arm he extends to you. Before you walk through the door to meet the rest of the members, you lean up on your tippy-toes to whisper something to Namjoon. He cranes his neck, listening to your every word. 

"Thanks for losing your passport.”

Namjoon smiles sheepishly, and every thought eddies out of your brain as his adorable dimples make an appearance. “My pleasure.”

masterlist

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Hi! Could you do whole alphabet for Echo too? I'm so inlove with your Rex one. So soft

A/N: Sorry, I couldn’t find a nicer gif of my boy. Also, REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! These take just as much time as a drabble or one-shot to finish. Spread the love.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Echo pre and post-Citadel is a cuddler.  He cuddles, and talks, and tries to stay awake for as long as he can, because he doesn’t want to lose a second with you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves your legs. King of looking respectfully whenever you wear something with a short hem line. 

Pre-Citadel, he liked his hands.  They’re steady and true.  Not to mention dexterous fingers which you seemed to appreciate.

Post-Citadel, he likes his eyes.  They’re different from before, a bit paler, sunken, but still undeniably human.  He needs to remind himself of that fact every now and again.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Pre-Citadel, he loved cumming inside you. Nothing felt better than the feeling of his cock buried in your cunt as you milked him for all he was worth. He could stay inside you forever. 

Post-Citadel, cumming on his part isn’t really an option, but he be damned if he doesn’t try to make up for it by having you cum again and again.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Wanted to have a three way with you and Fives.  He wasn’t interested in having sex with Fives, rather he wanted to share you with someone he trusted.  He thought about he and Fives taking turns with you until you were sex drunk and covered in each of their cum.

He’d never dare bring this up with you or Fives.  All the same, even post-Citadel, he still thinks about it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not a lot.  He gets nervous around people he’s attracted to and often ends up repeating the last sentence they said on instinct.  Some people find it endearing, but it hasn’t gotten him laid that often.  He’s had sex once, maybe twice before meeting you. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Pre-Citadel, you on top and riding him into the sunset.  Save a horse, ride and ARC Trooper.

Post-Citadel, you laying on your back allowing him a perfect view of your face as he fucks you with a vibrator. Bonus points if you dig your finger nails into his arms until they sting.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s the same both pre and post-Citadel. He puts all his attention on you, but every now something awkward happens. This makes him nervous, which means he rambles and says something that gets you laughing and then him laughing until you’re a mess of giggles. So a sweet balance of tender and silly.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Pre-Citadel, pretty close shaven down there.  He generally tries to keep all things neat and titty and that includes his private parts.

Post-Citadel, well there isn’t anything to worry about.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Pre-Citadel, a nice balance of sweet and tender to just for fun. He called you beautiful every time you were together and tried to show how much he cared.  But, there were times when it was just for fun.  A pleasurable way to spend what limited time with you he could.

Post-Citadel, he’s still sweet and loving, but there’s more of an edge there.  A quiet desperation, as if he’s trying to prove something when you’re together.  The praises come more raggedly and a storm of unspoken emotion takes over him.  It’s more intense.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Pre-Citadel, he didn’t do it that often and honestly a little embarrassed when he did. He can’t help but be paranoid he’s brothers will stumble in on him and he knows the ragging he’ll get if they do.  Plus, it feels...well, a little childish when he knows you’re just a phone call away.  At the very least with phone sex, you’re with him in some way.

Post-Citadel, there’s nothing to jack.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Pre-Citadel: Fuck, he loves it when you call him a good boy.  There’s just something about that little endearment that drives him wild especially with you fucking yourself on his cock like you own it.  Add in some hair pulling and biting and he’s lost. 

So, needless to say, total sub.

Post-Citadel: Still likes to be called good boy, but gets a different kind of satisfaction in pinning you to the bed.  Has started experimenting with tying you to the bedpost and finding that he likes it.  Developing some dom tendencies.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Pre-Citadel; your apartment on Courscant.  Just a little home away from his brothers, completely your own with no chance of either of you having to do the walk of shame and getting shit for it.

Post-Citadel: same thing, but has expanded to his room on the Marauder.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Pre and Post Citadel; seeing you in a short tight skirt giving him a perfect view of your legs and proper framing of your ass. Pair this off with a few dirty words in his ear and he’s checking the clock every five seconds for his shift to end.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Pre-Citadel: Pegging.  You tried it once, he wasn’t into it, moving on.

Post-Citadel: No restraints for him.  Nothing to take away his senses or any kind of agency.  He needs a way out at any given moment.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Pre-Citadel: split right down the middle between giving and receiving.  He was an absolute mess every time you went down on him.  His rambled and groaned and begged until his climax hit him like a train.  He’d be a trembling mess once you were done with him. 

On the other hand, he loved giving. If you decided to ride his face, he was a happy man.  Maybe a little too enthusiastic and messy, but damn if it wasn’t satisfying.

Post-Citadel: It’s all about the giving and his technique has improved considerably.  He has learned how to tease it out, make you squirm and even make a smug remark or two before finally letting you cum. This pacing also will keep him down there for hours.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Pre-Citadel: Fast and enthusiastic.  He wanted to make you feel good, feeling energizing thrill when you were together and that meant wanted to make you cum fast and frequently.

Post-Citadel: He’s more willing to take his time.  He wants to enjoy every second that he can with you and that means slow and steady, absorbing every little twitch and moan your body produces.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Pre-Citadel: More often then you’d think.  He wants to give you what you want, but if you guys ever worked together he feels like he needs to be ready to go at a moments notice.  So that means a lot of quickies in supply closets and empty locker rooms.  It was against regulations, obviously, but he did gets a kind of thrill in breaking the rules with you.

Post-Citadel: Not as much his thing.  He really, really wants to take his time with you and he’s more than willing to wait.  Honestly, seeing you so pent up for him sends it’s own kind of trill down his spine.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Pre and Post-Citadel; He’s willing to experiment.  You guys do your research and properly talk about it before hand, setting boundaries and safe words, if needed.  If there is one thing you guys have always been good at, it’s communicating.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Pre-Citadel: The rounds didn’t last so long (10 to 15 minutes), but he had a great recovery time.  Number of rounds averaged about 2 to 3 per night.

Post-Citadel: Literally as long as you can stand, and maybe a little longer.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Pre and Post Citadel: Plenty of toys and frequently used; vibrators, dildos, handcuffs, cock rings, the works.  If anything post-citadel, the number has expanded.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Pre-Citadel: Terrible at teasing.  Just the worst. Cannot tease to save his life. Needs to give you everything the moment you ask for it.

Post-Citadel: Has learned how to tease and is an asshole about it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Pre and Post-Citadel: Talks a lot during sex.  Rambles about anything and everything that comes to his mind. It’s like a filter has been removed.  It starts as desperate breathy whispers and end with loud declarations and pleading.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Pre-Citadel: He actually considered turning deserter for you.  He never told you or anyone, besides Fives.  But there were moments with you laying quietly in his arms, he wondered what would happen after the war.  He didn’t know if he would have to say in the GAR or if he would be free to leave.  And if he was forced to stay, would he? He couldn’t imagine keeping this up forever; meeting in dark corners, sneaking out to your apartment, as if what you were doing was wrong. If the war ended and the Senate decided to keep them as soldiers, he would leave.  He would leave for you.

Post-Citadel: He still wonders about the war and how it will end.   He wanted to be your husband.  To give you children and a quiet life somewhere warm and safe.  But, given what he was now, normal would never be an option. It eats at him in the dark with you pressed quietly against him.  If he were a selfless man, he’d let you go.  But he won’t.  He can’t. He doesn’t want to.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Pre-Citadel: Standard issue thick clone dick.  Can and will fill you up until you’re bursting at the seams.

Post-Citadel: The dick is gone and the Techno Union did not deem it necessary to get him a replacement one. Technically they do exist, but they’re ridiculously expensive and most won’t sell to Clones.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pre-Citadel: Surprisingly high.  Before he met you, he was convinced he was the horniest virgin in the GAR. So, when you did get together you guys were going at it like rabbits.  Call it years of repression finally letting loose.

Post-Citadel: The drive isn’t what it was, but he still wants to give you pleasure.  More like 2 to 3 times a week as opposed to every night.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Pre and Post-Citadel: Can and will stay awake for as long as he can.  Even if you can see his eyes drooping, he’ll force them open for as long as you’re awake, rambling long into the night.  He wants to be with you as long as he can.

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 1: The Queen

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which Y/N is betrothed and her kingdom is in chaos.

Word count: 7.6k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

A/N: 

I know my characters can be frustrating sometimes because every single one of them is flawed and makes stupid mistakes. I want them to feel real, and real people are always frustrating. So please, for me, keep the comments fun and lighthearted, because the main purpose of fiction is to entertain and I really don’t want you guys to argue over my writing. Let’s not be mean to each other and my characters - because they’re basically my children and it pains me when someone’s mean to them 😂

I’m looking forward to seeing your theories and questions about the plot ✌🏼

Also, the series will be updated WEEKLY instead of biweekly, so the next chapter comes out next week on Wednesday (July 22, 2020).

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Prologue: What Happened To Harry?

The night was wet and dark. Heavy snow was lashing against the windows of the carriage as the moaning of the wind muffled the shouting of men and neighing of horses. Kennedy Rowley hugged her little girl, who was wrapped in a soft fur blanket, to her chest. This was their first time travelling to the North, and Kennedy had worried that her child wouldn’t be able to bear the cold. To her surprise, the little one had been an angel for most of the trip. She would eat and sleep and listen to her mother’s story even while the snowstorm was raging on outside. It was the same story all over again, and yet the baby never got bored.

“Once upon a time,” Kennedy began, rocking her baby gently in her arms. On her left, her husband had dozed off, snoring softly with his head leaned to the side.

Once upon a time, there were one hundred kingdoms living in harmony. The largest, strongest and richest kingdom in the North was ruled by an old king. The King had four sons: Lokesh, Kashvi, Reagan, and Aalam.

While The King and Queen were kind and admired by their people, the princes were spoiled, arrogant, and greedy. All four had grown up to become strong and great fighters, but the one with the most potential was Lokesh, the eldest. And the King was very proud of his heir.

The year Lokesh turned eighteen, the Queen died of a terrible illness, and not so long after that, grief killed the King. Lokesh became King in the North. At first, he was happy; his father’s crown was everything Lokesh had wanted since he’d been fourteen. But now that he’d got it, he wanted more. And so the new king came up with a plan to become the almighty ruler of all one hundred kingdoms. With the help of his four brothers, his army started invading the neighbouring kingdoms. Villages were burned. Innocent people were killed. Dynasties crumbled. And soon, all ninety-nine kingdoms had surrendered to Isolde.

The war was over, or at least that was what Lokesh had thought. As clever as he was, he hadn’t expected that the same greed which had driven him to start the war had turned his three brothers against him. A civil war broke out with four sides fighting each other for a year. Thousands of lives had been taken, yet no one won and no one surrendered. When the year had passed, the brothers agreed to call it a truce and divide the land into the North, the South, the West, and the East. Each brother would rule the largest kingdom in their region. Lokesh in the North - Isolde, Kashvi in the South - Theros, Reagan in the West - Attwell, and Aalam in the East - Rouxvania.

Twenty-four small kingdoms in the North now became the low courts which, despite having their own rulers, took orders from the high court of Isolde. Same for the twenty-four small kingdoms in the South, the West, and the East.

Legend has it that there was a time when the weather would change constantly in a year, but because the brothers had angered the Gods, it's always sunny in Theros, flowers always bloom in Attwell, and the leaves are always red in Rouxvania. As for Isolde, the land ruled by the tyrant Lokesh, the people must suffer from an endless cold.

By the time Kennedy had finished her story, the carriage slowed down and came to a stop. Her husband stirred awake as they heard a knock on the window. The door was opened, and a guard announced that they had arrived.

Kenny carefully wrapped her sleeping baby in the blanket as she stepped out of the carriage and took in the white scenery surrounding them. The sky was pearl-grey even though the sun had risen and the wind had stopped whirling around empty branches. The baby whimpered as a snowflake landed gently on the tip of her nose. Meanwhile, her mother kept spinning around with her mouth open wide; this was not only her first time seeing the North castle, but also her first time seeing snow. When she and Harry had been little, they’d always talked about travelling North just to spend a whole day playing snow fight and building snowmen.

This was not what she’d meant. She didn’t want her first time seeing snow to be without him.

“Your Majesty,” Stefan Russo said and nudged his wife, who started and immediately turned around. Kennedy curtsied when she saw the King of Attwell marching toward them with two guards in black armours following right behind, the silver hilts of their swords shining in the crystal clear sunlight. The King was also dressed in black. He was even more handsome than the rumours. His hair was short and wavy and as black as a starless night sky, and she could envision a raging snowstorm just from looking into his mysterious grey eyes. He was powerful and regal, but at the same time, just a young man of twenty years old.

“So you’re Stefan and Kennedy,” he said, his voice raspier than she’d expected. “Guests of the Queen are also guests of mine. You don’t have to bow to me.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Kennedy and Stefan both said.

“You can call me Kenny. Everyone does,” Kenny added. Only her mother and late husband had called her Kennedy. She shivered at the thought of them; she didn’t want to think about them now.

“How is...Her Majesty, Your Grace?” Stefan ventured, his palms trembling; he wasn’t used to talking to a sovereign.

The King’s expression remained unreadable. He didn’t look at them when he said, “She’s with Harry at the moment.”

Stefan and Kenny gaped at each other, then at the King as if they’d just heard something extremely outrageous.

“Harry?” Kenny blurted. “We were told that he–”

“A lot has happened since we sent our men to deliver the news to you,” Lance Devany cut her off. “But we still need you here, as you might be able to help us.”

Help them? How could two peasants help the King and the Queen?

Neither Kenny nor Stefan got a chance to question when Lance told the servants waiting by the carriage to take their luggage to their chamber. To the couple, he said, “Come. I’ll try to explain as we walk.”

“W-Where are we going, Your Majesty?” Kenny asked.

Seeing the horrified looks on their pale faces, Lance sighed and spun on his heels. “To the dungeon.”

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Chapter 1: THE QUEEN

Ten months ago

Y/N woke up screaming. Outside, the sky was still dark. The snow was falling down lazily, and the only sound she could hear was the whistling of the wind through bare branches and her laboured breathing. She was alone in bed, dressed in her sweat-soaked nightgown. Her hands weren’t bloody, and Egon wasn’t on top of her with his rotten fingers wrapped around her throat.

The door swung open, and the warm glow of firelight from the corridor washed over the colourless carpet as a figure dashed into her chamber, sword drawn with a sharp whoosh.

Harry’s horrified eyes locked with her own. “Is everything all right?”

She nodded, her shoulders slumped. “Just a nightmare.”

Harry heaved a sigh as he put away his sword and looked around the bed-chamber to make sure it was really empty.

“Were you outside the whole time?” she asked when he turned away.

He looked hesitant, glanced at the bright corridor and then shook his head as if to say, ‘Fuck it’. He closed the door, allowing darkness to engulf them once again as he strode toward the bed and sat down in front of her. Beaming, he brushed her damp hair out of her forehead and planted a kiss on it. “Go back to sleep, Peach.”

“Harry—“

“I know, I know,” he said tiredly. “I was worried. That’s all.”

“You’re not my guard. You could just ask someone else to keep watch.”

Harry tilted his head, his mouth quirked a little. “I don’t trust the other guards. What if you decide to sleep naked?”

She smiled, hating herself for feeling relieved that it'd been him who'd guarded outside her door. It was riskier now that Lance was returning tomorrow; still, it wasn’t tomorrow yet.

“Can you stay with me until sunrise?” she asked, taking his hand and kissing his palm.

He considered her for a moment, but she already knew he wasn’t going to say no. Eventually, he nodded his head. “Scoot over.”

She giggled and made room for him under the covers. Harry slid in beside her, lying on his back with an arm behind his head, the other wrapped around her shoulders, tugging her in. She rested her head on his chest and snuggled close, feeling much safer now that he was here to keep bad dreams away.

Closing her eyes and counting his heartbeats, Y/N gradually fell back to sleep.

The next time she woke up was to Jo shouting at Harry to get out of the room. Harry launched himself out of the bed and combed his fingers frantically through his messy curls as Jo continued scolding at him. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Y/N realised that the sun was already hanging above the tallest trees outside her windows. Harry had overslept.

“No one has come in, right? Just you?” she calmly asked Jo, who stopped shouting to answer, “Yes, just me. What were you thinking, Y/N?!”

“Hey, you’re talking to the Queen, woman,” Harry said.

Jo smacked him hard on the arm, causing him to yelp and bounce back. “You slept in her bed,” Jo snapped. “You don’t get to speak morals here. Now get out!”

“Stop it. Both of you,” Y/N yawned as she swung her legs to the side of the bed and stretched her arms tiredly. Harry somehow managed to duck around Jo and pecked Y/N on the cheek before he sprang to the door, shouting, “Love you!”

Jo gasped and placed her hands on her hips, eyes widened at Y/N. Y/N only shrugged, unable to stop the smile blooming on her face. She stood up and leaned against a bedpost as Jo came to shut the door.

“Relax. We’ve been doing this for two months already.”

Jo rolled her eyes and repeated the same thing she always said, “You have to be more careful.” Then, she paused and wetted her lip. “Lance is returning today.”

“I know,” Y/N sighed, crossing her arms. “I get chills just from hearing his name.”

It was meant to be a joke, but Jo didn’t laugh.

“You’re going to marry Lance. Are you going to keep Harry around forever?”

Y/N shrugged. “Our people don’t care who’s in my bed every night or who’s in Lance’s, as long as I’m married to a king and he to a queen.”

“But does Harry care?”

Jo’s question froze her to the spot. She swallowed and lifted her shoulders. “He was the reason I agreed to marry Lance.”

“He did that for the sake of our kingdom, you know that. No man is happy that their woman is married to someone else, even just for an alliance between two kingdoms.”

Y/N looked at her friend funny. “I thought you hated Harry.”

“I hate both Harry and Lance,” Jo scoffed and stepped forward to cup Y/N’s face. “I’m worried for you. If this goes wrong, you’ll get hurt the most. I don’t want you to lose more than you've already lost.” When Y/N didn’t reply, Jo pressed her lips into a tight smile. “Now, let’s get you dressed to welcome your obnoxious future husband.”

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“I'm hoooome! Where’s my beautiful bride?”

Y/N exhaled as all eyes in the room pinned on her. She was standing at one end of the table, her palms fanned out on the map of Isolde. They were in the middle of an important meeting, and the last thing she wanted was to be interrupted, especially when the interruption was called Lance Devanny. She could hear his voice all the way from the courtyard as soon as his retinue had arrived. For someone whose whole life was a huge question mark, Lance Devanny really did love the attention.

She cast a silent glance at Harry, who was standing beside the chief minister. He instantly knew what it meant and excused himself to leave the room so he could stop Lance before he got here. Before Harry could even reach the door, however, it swung open and Lance strutted in with that mischievous crooked grin on his stupidly handsome face.

“Are we having a celebration without me?” he asked, looking at Harry and then Y/N, who rolled her eyes and murmured, “It’s always a celebration without you.”

She saw Harry scowling at the King, who brushed right past him, straight toward her and swept her into his arms. She didn’t have a chance to react when he pressed his lips firmly against hers. Her eyes shot open, and she could see Harry’s jaw twitch as he turned away.

It felt weird, kissing Lance. He’d never kissed her on the mouth. Their charade had only included fake smiles and hand kisses and the most scandalous thing she’d done had been allowing him to put his hand on her back for the whole night, and even then, they’d had a loud fight afterwards.

How dare he kiss her right here in front of all her court?

Still, she couldn’t help but notice that he smelt like flowers. She’d expected him to smell like sweat and horses. After all, it’d been a long journey travelling on the road from Attwell to Isolde. But he smelt like flowers, and his lips were warm even though he’d just arrived in the cold. Strange. Well, at least now she knew Lance Devanny had a heart that was pumping blood to keep his body warm like a normal human being.

He drew back, her eyes locked with his for a second before he looked over his shoulder at Harry. Y/N didn’t know what it meant. Was that supposed to be an apology for kissing her in front of him? Or was it to flaunt that Lance could kiss her in front of Harry? Whatever the King’s reason was, Y/N would kill him after this.

“Is my baby dove happy to see me?” he asked and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

She almost snorted. It was a joke between the two of them. He’d told her that he should call her lovely names like a man in love would call his consort, and she had hated all the options he’d proposed, like ‘my love’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘darling’, because those were for Harry to call her. So Lance had said, “How about ‘baby dove’?“

“Why a dove?” she’d questioned.

“Would you prefer ‘baby chicken’? Either is fine with me.”

It had been funny the first time he’d said it, and their guests at the time had looked so confused and uncomfortable (they probably weren’t used to a couple of monarchs who were actually fond of each other). But now that Harry was glowering at Lance and possibly her for looking more delighted than she should, ‘baby dove’ wasn’t so funny anymore.

All the courtiers in the room were watching them; Lance was putting up too good of a show for them to miss, and so she must play along. She cleared her throat and faked a smile as she pinched his cheek. “I’m so happy you’re here safe with us.”

Lance’s eyes popped open as she pinched as hard as she could, knowing he couldn’t cry out in pain otherwise they would know. When she released him, his cheek was so red she had to lean in and pretend to kiss it, only to whisper to him, “Do not kiss me again or I’ll make sure that’ll leave a bruise.”

She pulled back, smiling, and Lance rubbed the spot on his cheek as a corner of his mouth turned up; there was a fascinated look on his face.

Harry broke the silence, his tone flat and dry, “We’re in the middle of a meeting, Your Majesty.”

Y/N truly admired him for having kept his calm the entire time. If she’d seen someone kiss Harry, she would have jumped on the person like an angry bear.

“What about?” Lance asked. His joker character had been replaced by a stern expression – his mouth formed a straight line and his forehead puckered slightly. She wasn’t sure which version of him was the real Lance. Probably neither.

The chief minister spoke, gesturing to the red circles drawn on the map. “There have been some uprisings in the villages at the northern border.”

“The low courts were in on this?” Lance asked.

“No, not the low courts,” Y/N said. “Their people. I don’t know who started it but villages were burned and innocent people were killed.”

“When did it start?”

“After the Queen’s coronation,” Harry said. “You were in Attwell.”

Lance grimaced as he rested his right hand on his sword-hilt. She’d noticed that he did that a lot, as if touching his sword would bring him a sense of comfort, to which she could definitely relate. “So...two months ago, and no one bothered to write to me?” he asked, sounding a little betrayed.

Lance had left Isolde right after her coronation to return to Attwell. The people there were more open-minded than those in Isolde; they had actually welcomed Lance home with open arms, whereas her people had started burning villages and killing each other the second she’d been crowned. Sometimes, she wondered if it had anything to do with her sex. If she were a man, would they treat her like a hero instead of a sinner?

“This is my kingdom,” Y/N said, her voice rougher than she’d wanted it to be, and everyone started eyeing Lance. Maybe they didn’t expect their Queen to talk to her betrothed with such ferocity.

Despite her breaking character, Lance remained calm. “Your kingdom is my concern, too,” he said. “Just like how mine is yours. If your people are protesting against you, they’re protesting against us.”

Y/N stared at the red circles on the map and only dipped her chin in response.

The chief minister drew a breath. “A week ago, Commander Joaquin led our cavalry to put out the protests, and...he was killed on the way home.”

“Fuck,” Lance muttered, not caring who had heard him.

“Harry is our new commander,” said Y/N as she scratched the tip of her nose with her index finger, not looking at anyone. “He was the only one who stayed and fought to save Joaquin.”

“I’m sorry I failed,” Harry mumbled.

“It’s all right, son,” said the Lord Chancellor. “You did your best.”

Lance cast Harry a look. “Good job. I was wondering why you were here.”

Harry responded with a dry smile. “Funny. I was wondering the same thing about you”

Everyone was puzzled, but Y/N paid attention to neither of them. “Tomorrow we’re heading out to the border to bring supplies for the people in those burned villages. Winter is coming and they would not survive alone in the cold now that their homes are gone.”

It was the first time Y/N had seen Lance and Harry share the same look of concern. If they weren’t in a serious situation, she would probably tease them for it.

“What do you mean ‘we’?” asked Lance, tentatively. “It’s just a way of saying, right?”

Harry’s brows furrowed. “You’re not actually going, are you?”

“I am.” Y/N narrowed her eyes at both of them. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. My commander died for me.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t be out there,” Lance cut her off. Was it genuine concern that she saw in his eyes, or was it just her desperation to find some sign that he was capable of having human feelings? “I’m going with them,” he asserted. “You stay home.”

She stepped toward him. He was a head taller yet she showed no sign of weakness. “Do not give me orders in my own court. You stay home.”

He pursed his lips, pretending to think for a second. “No, I don’t think so, baby dove.”

“I agree with the King, Your Grace,” said one of her advisors. She and Lance both turned to the man. “It’s too dangerous. We must keep you safe at all costs.”

Y/N shook her head. “If I showed fear to my own people, then it would prove that they were right about me. If I want their trust, I must trust them first.”

“You’re talking about the people who took innocent lives and burned down villages because they hate you,” Harry said; his voice was calm and steady yet fearful somehow.

She hated it when he sided with Lance.

“I’ll carry a sword and wear armour,” she told him. “And I can fight better than many of our men. Whatever it takes, I’m going.” Looks were exchanged, yet no one dared to object. “Meeting adjourned.” With that, she swept out of the room.

.

.

.

The door fell shut behind Y/N and the room erupted with whispers. Harry exchanged worried looks with Lance; he hadn’t thought there would be a day when he agreed with this bastard, and yet, the life in court kept surprising him.

While the chief minister was giving orders to the guards about protecting the Queen on the journey tomorrow morning, Harry slipped out of the room in silence. There were footsteps following him into the corridor. He kept on walking, but Lance was quick to catch up with him.

“Can you convince her to stay here tomorrow?” Lance asked.

Harry appreciated how passionate this man was about keeping Y/N alive. Still, it was irritating that he'd sounded sincere. Sometimes Harry actually believed this wasn’t at all an act to Lance and that he truly cared about Y/N. Would Harry prefer him not caring about Y/N?

“I can try but she won’t listen,” Harry said coldly.

Lance heaved a breath. “That woman is enjoying her power way too much.”

“And that frightens you?” Harry asked, this time, unable to suppress a smirk.

“Since she's going to be my wife, yes.”

Lance's answer pulled him to a stall. He spun and finally faced the King, who appeared too confident for Harry’s comfort.

“You do know your wedding to her would be fake, right?”

“I do.” Lance shrugged. “But do you?”

Harry pretended like he hadn’t heard the question. “I’ll find her and try to talk her out of it,” he lowered his voice. “But don’t ever kiss my girl like that again.”

Lance stood there with his shoulders squared and hands behind his back. Harry could feel Lance’s eyes on him as he walked away.

After having wandered all around the courtyard, he found Y/N at last and fell into steps beside her. She acknowledged him with a sideways stare and nothing more as she continued walking.

“You’re mad at me,” he said, breathless. She didn’t answer, her expression ice cold. “Hey, I’m sorry for what I said back then, I shouldn’t–”

“You shouldn’t have said anything at all,” she cut him off and whipped around, stabbing a finger at his chest. “You were supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m on the side that wants to keep you alive, Peach.”

“No, you’re on the side that underestimates me,” she snapped, crossing her arms and stretching to her full height. “Do you think Lance cares about me at all?”

Honestly? Yes, Harry thought, even though he shook his head in answer to her question.

“That’s right.” She nodded slowly. “That bastard doesn’t want me to go because he thinks I cannot defend myself. The only reason people are protesting is because they don’t want a queen to rule them. They don’t trust me to protect them if I can’t even protect myself. If only I can just show them–”

“Do you think the uprisings will stop once you’re married to Lance?”

She paused and blinked. “Are you saying that my people suspect that we’re faking it?”

“Probably.” He shrugged. “It’s been two months and you’re still not married.”

“There are so many other things to take care of,” she sighed and combed her fingers through the black waves of her hair. Sunlight filtered through the glass window on their right, making the gems on her crown sparkle like stars. He hated how they would be in the middle of a conversation and he would notice something pretty about her and get distracted. He snapped back to reality as she was saying, “...it’s a tradition that the royal wedding must be in the first month of Winter.” When he didn’t respond, she stepped closer and whispered as if she was afraid someone might be eavesdropping, “Are you...fine with this?”

He blinked. “With what?”

“Me marrying Lance,” she said, studying him with her eyes. “I just realised that I’ve never asked you how you felt about this.”

“I was the one who made you accept his proposal,” he said, working up a grin, which failed to distract her.

“You’re dodging the question.”

He pushed his hair back. “Well, as your most humble servant, I’m happy that you’re marrying Lance to secure the alliance between Isolde and Attwell. As your...lover in the dark, however,” she rolled her eyes and turned away to hide a smirk, “I want to smash his teeth in.”

Y/N covered her mouth as she let out an unladylike snort. “He’s got a pretty punchable face, hasn’t he?”

A grin stretched Harry’s lips. “I’m glad you agree.”

Y/N reached out and touched the hilt of Harry’s sword with her index finger, and he suddenly felt the urge to grab her hand and lace their fingers together. Still, his hands remained at his back.

“And the kiss…” she trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

“It’s all right,” he said despite himself. “Even the chief minister seemed convinced so…”

“Mmmm,” was her response before she withdrew her hand and her arm dropped back to her side.

Harry knew it wasn’t a good idea to turn the ship around after he’d just driven through a storm, but the longer he gazed at her, the more his heart ached as he couldn’t stop imagining her lying among the corpses on an open field. She hadn’t been there when they’d been ambushed. He’d watched people die all around him. Tomorrow wouldn’t be a fun excursion, and he didn’t want her to put her life at risk just to prove a point.

“Please consider not going tomorrow.” She threw her arms in the air as soon as he’d said it and yet he continued anyway, “You don’t know what it’s like. I was there when they killed Commander Joaquin. I couldn’t save him and I don’t want to lose you the same way.”

When their eyes met again, her smile had vanished, and now she looked furious. “And I was there when we thought we were losing the war against Calanthe’s family. My father was fighting side by side with his men on the battlefield while my mother and I were hiding underground with all the women in court. Why is it that my father had to be on his horse with a weapon in hand, and I have to stay home and wait for all my men to die before I do?”

Harry was tongue-tied at that. He felt like whatever he’d say next would only upset her more, even though it seemed quite impossible now. She worked her jaw, her gaze sharp and intense as she said, “Don’t ever give me orders in front of my court again. Not you, not Lance, not even my second-in-command is allowed. When I’m there, my decision is final.”

Her dress slapped the air with a whoosh as she stormed off, and Harry decided not to follow.

.

.

.

A feast was held to celebrate Lance’s visit, or return. Isolde would be his second home once he and Y/N had been married. Y/N felt bad that he would have to travel back and forth while she had not once visited Attwell, then the guilt shrank as soon as she remembered he’d been the one to propose this fake marriage.

There’d been so many times when she’d meant to ask him the same question she’d been asking herself – How long was he planning to do this?

Would he actually sacrifice his youth and a chance to marry someone he actually loved for the sake of his kingdom and do it so willingly? As annoying as he could be, she (like most people) was curious to find out who the real Lance was. But every time the question about this ‘foolproof plan’, as he’d called it, was about to roll off her tongue, Y/N would notice something that made her think Lance cared about nothing but himself. Sure, he cared about Attwell, but it was his kingdom. So it was also for his own benefits, wasn’t it?

Now they were sitting at the high table, watching a dance performance which wasn’t really that great. Y/N supposed it was more entertaining for the men to watch pretty ladies wearing masks and tight corsets (that made their bosoms look bigger and rounder) dancing in circles. Her eyes searched for Harry at one of the courtier tables and sighed in relief to see that he wasn’t watching the performance but laughing with one of her advisors. Well, at least one of us is having fun tonight, she thought.

“Hey, I’ve just discovered something.”

Y/N sighed, turned her eyes heavenward as Lance leaned in closer.

“That you’re extremely annoying?” she whispered back. “If so, then congratulations.”

“Adorable.” She wasn’t looking, but she could hear his obnoxious smirk. “No. I’ve just discovered the reason you wanted to go to the border with us.”

“With you?” She scoffed. “Darling, you’ll be going with us. We’re not yet married and you’re still a guest in my home.”

He didn’t argue with her this time. “To prove to your people that you’re unafraid isn’t the only reason, is it?” he pressed on. “You want to protect him.”

Y/N stiffened in her seat, still, she managed to keep a straight face as she picked up her goblet and took a sip. The wine stung her throat, and she grimaced slightly.  

Lance didn’t care if she was ignoring him on purpose; he casually went on, “You weren’t there when he almost lost his life saving Joaquin, so you want to be there this time to make sure he won’t die a hero and a fool. Unfortunately, you cannot tell him that, because he'd have another reason to believe that you shouldn't go. So you'd rather let him believe that it's all because of your pride and that you're doing it for you, not him. Am I correct?"

Yes, she wanted to say, but that's not the whole reason.

Y/N couldn’t tell Lance that, ever since the day Harry had returned with her commander’s blood on his clothes and a wounded leg as a reminder for what had happened, she’d been having nightmares about losing him. They’d be in the middle of a battle, stumbling over muddy corpses, and she would witness someone drive a shiny blade through Harry’s chest. She’d run toward him but she could never reach him in time.

She hadn’t told anyone about those dreams, because after all, they were just dreams. But she’d had many dreams where she’d killed her brother and bled out beside him. Now her brother was dead, and the invisible wound deep inside of her never stopped bleeding.

She couldn’t tell Lance any of that, and so she sneered at him. “So you figured it out? What do you want as a reward? A ribbon?”

Lance tilted his head. His cheeks were a bit red and his eyes weary from the long trip and lack of sleep. At this moment, he looked more human than he’d ever been, far from this mortal God everyone kept portraying him as.

Y/N didn’t realise she was staring until his mouth curled to its favoured side. “Hey, I’m supposed to be the snarky one here. You’re stealing my show.”

He reached for his goblet but she seized it and pulled it toward her. “I think you’re drunk and talking nonsense.”

He let out a chuckle, resting his chin on his knuckles. The way his eyes bored into her made her uncomfortable. “You told me you’d protect him,” he said. “You said that when I recruited him for the army.”

“So?”

“Remember what I said to you?”

She averted her eyes, looking back at the dancing girls. The music was too loud and the people were too drunk; no one cared enough to eavesdrop their conversation. She licked her lip and finally answered, “That you’d protect me.”

“That’s right,” Lance said. “For you, I’ll keep him alive tomorrow so you don’t have to go.”

“Thank you,” she replied flatly, glaring sideways at him. “But I don’t trust you. I couldn't even trust you to saddle my horse without stealing the reins.”

Her comment made him toss his head back and laugh. “Your man is the con artist here. Not me.”

“You’re a pirate.”

“Captain.” He smoothed his hair back.

“Big difference.”

“And I was. Not anymore.”

“You still didn’t tell me about it. I know nothing of your past so I cannot trust you. How am I to know you won’t be the first person to put an arrow through his heart the second we’re under attack?”

Lance’s face grew grim as he exhaled. “No matter what you believe, my lady,” his voice lowered, “we’re very alike.”

“We’re nothing alike,” Y/N snorted. “Your people love you.”

“Do you think they’ll mourn for me when I die?”

“They’ll have to. You’re their King.”

Lance shook his head slightly. The fun Lance was gone, and instead, she saw the solemn face from the meeting today.

“Mourning for someone because you have to and doing it because you care, are two very different things,” he said. “Your family is as dead as mine, but you’ve got Jo and Harry. Even though they don’t understand what you’re going through, at least they’ll be by your side to pull you up every time you fall. I’ve been on my own since I was born. My mother died before she even knew me, and my father never wanted me.”

He stopped at that, and from his troubled expression, she realised he hadn’t meant to reveal so much about himself. It wasn’t a lot. He hadn’t told her his birthplace or his favourite food or anything private, and yet it was probably more than he’d ever revealed to a stranger. Was she a stranger? Did she care? They weren’t here to make friends; they were simply sitting together because of their mutual enemy.

“I wonder what you were like as a boy,” she said, changing the subject.

His playful smirk reappeared. “What are your theories?”

Her mouth twisted as she regarded him. “I imagine a younger version of you, but with the same bothersome attitude.”

“Ahhh, that is quite true. I was born holding a dagger. My first word was ‘murder’ and I joined the army as soon as I learned to walk.”

To both his and her surprise, Y/N burst out laughing. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her maids at the threshold whispering to each other, hinting at her and Lance. It might be strange to them that she and the King of Attwell didn’t seem like they wanted to murder each other. No, not each other. Like she wanted to murder him.

She gave him a nudge. “I expect you to go straight to your chamber after this. No fooling around with my maids.”

The King raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused. “What’s that? Is my baby dove jealous?”

She did a disgusted face. “I’d only stopped hating you for one second and you just had to ruin it. No, I don’t want them to think they’ve got a chance to become your mistress and my equal. That’s another rule for this marriage of ours. No mistresses. It’ll get too complicated.”

Most of the kings in history had taken mistresses. Y/N’s father and uncle had been the only ones she knew who’d had only one woman for the rest of his life.

Lance narrowed his eyes as he said, “Not fair if you get to fool around with Harry.”

“Harry and I are in love.”

“So when I fall in love with someone, I’m allowed to make her my mistress?”

“You’re allowed to see her behind my back. I won't have mistresses in my court.”

Lance stuck out his bottom lip. “I never thought one day I’d get to hear my betrothed say, ‘You’re allowed to see another woman behind my back.’”

“Aww,” Y/N said with feigned pity. “Did baby Lance really think he’d get to marry for love?”

Lance laughed drily and said nothing as he retrieved his goblet from her side of the table. She watched him finish the wine with one go and wave at a servant boy to pour him some more. Maybe she was just drunk, or maybe he seemed a bit wounded by her harmless joke.

.

.

.

Harry was just about to call for a servant when a lady’s skirt swept right past and obscured his view. Fluttering a fan in her hand, Jo smiled down at him, and he rolled his eyes and said, “I don’t want to dance with you.”

She shoved him aside and flopped down onto the seat beside him. “I wasn’t going to ask,” she said, her smile gone. “I don’t even want to touch you.”

He folded his arms on the table and arched an eyebrow at her. “It’s not my fault that I was born with male parts.”

She looked him up and down in a condescending manner. “Were you? Sometimes I really can’t tell.”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned his eyes back to the high table where Y/N and Lance were chatting. It was odd that they actually seemed to get along tonight. Harry knew the laughing was real because he could tell when his Peach faked it. He knew her too well, which was more a curse than a gift sometimes.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Jo asked. She was also glaring at the King and Queen.

“Hopefully not me,” he murmured.

She snapped her head to him. “What did you do?”

“I said something during the meeting and she got upset.”

“She’s the Queen, moron. You don’t get to speak to her like you sleep in her bed.”

“I do sleep in her bed–Ouch!”

Jo didn’t look at all guilty for hitting him with her fan. “You know what I meant. You don’t get to contradict her. That job belongs to her advisors. People already underestimate her abilities as a ruler, she can't have just anyone tell her what to do. ”

Harry already knew that, but when they were discussing the matter of her life and death, he could not just standby and regret it afterwards. Instead of admitting it to Jo, he sighed and changed the subject, “What are your thoughts on him?”

“You mean...do I trust him?” She shifted her gaze from Lance back to Harry, her forehead puckered. “The answer is no for both of you. Men, in general.”

“I’m serious,” he scoffed. “I think he’s got feelings for her. You should have seen his reaction to Y/N saying she’s going to the border tomorrow.”

“She’s going to the border tomorrow?!”

“Exactly.” Harry pointed a finger at Jo’s face. “That.”

“Well, she can’t go! She’ll get killed!”

“I’ve tried to convince her but...you know her.”

“Maybe she’ll listen to me,” Jo said.

“You cannot tell her, Jo. I don’t think I’m even allowed to talk about it to you.”

“Right, right.” Jo breathed out in frustration. To his surprise, she touched his arm, gently. “Promise me if something bad happens you'll protect her.”

“Of course,” Harry said. What he meant was, ‘I’ll try.’ Commander Joaquin had died in his arms, and he’d also tried to save the poor man. He’d have to try twice harder if they were ambushed again. This time, unlike the last, they knew what to expect.

“Lance will come with us, too,” he said, trying to sound hopeful. “He’ll also protect her.”

“I thought you didn’t trust him.”

“I don’t. In general.” Harry lifted his shoulders. “But I trust him to protect her.”

Jo’s jaw tightened as she rubbed the back of her neck and traced her fingertip around the rim of her goblet. “Come to think about it,” she began, “they’ve got a lot in common. He was always the black sheep of his family, never thought he’d fit in, was a rebel who travelled from place to place, murdered his own brother, and now at twenty years old, he’s ruling a kingdom on his own and his family’s dead. Sometimes I fear there are things about her that he can understand better than we’ll ever be able to.”

Through the dancing crowd, Harry caught Y/N’s eyes and returned a beam as she waved at him subtly. He forced himself not to think about what Jo had just said, but the last sentence kept lingering in his mind.

.

.

.

When the bell in the courtyard chimed twelve times at midnight, Y/N was sitting on the carpet in front of the fireplace, back against her bed. She was wearing a nightgown, her hair falling loose down to her back. She should have gone to sleep early so she could wake up before dawn, but instead, she sat there and watched the hypnotising flame licking at the wood. The door of her chamber creaked open at last, and a dark figure slipped inside. His footsteps were light, but she knew who he was the second she heard it.

She didn’t look until he’d sat down beside her, crossing his legs and leaning back against the foot of her bed. In the warm orange glow, his cheeks looked redder than she assumed they actually were. She could smell the wine wafting from his clothes, and he seemed to have noticed the tiredness in her eyes, because he stroked her cheekbone with his knuckles and asked, “Are you feeling well? Should I get a physician?”

“No, I’m fine.” She took his hand and held it with both of hers. “I just...I just want to talk to you,” she said. “And apologise for the way I reacted this morning.”

“You don’t have to apologise for anything.” Harry beamed at her. “I should apologise for crossing the lines. Sometimes I forgot that you’re a queen and I should love you like I should love a queen.”

“How do you love a queen?” she asked, teasingly.

He shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’ve never loved a queen before.”

“I can tell.” Her eyebrows wiggled and he snorted as she scooted closer and laid her head on his shoulder.

They were quiet for a long moment, and the only thing that told her he hadn’t fallen asleep was his tight grip on her fingers. “This reminds me of that night in the cave,” she said nonchalantly. “It was easier then, wasn’t it?”

“Peach,” he said with a light chuckle. “We nearly got lost, died in a snowstorm and froze to death.”

She felt her smile growing. “Still easier than this. It’s always easier when there’s just the two of us.”

There was a pause, and when he spoke, she could sense that his smile was gone. “You’re right. But as long as we’ve still got those memories, we can revisit them when things get rough.” Then he kissed the top of her head. “Now get some rest. We’re leaving early in the morning.”

She pulled back to look at him. “You’re not staying?”

“I can’t risk it. I might oversleep again,” he said with a hand at the back of her head. When he saw her frowning, his brows pinched together. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She could already feel her lip quivering as she clutched his fingers a bit too tight. “What if this is a terrible idea, Harry? What if I’m not...meant to be Queen?”

“Hey.” He cupped her face with both hands. “You are meant to be Queen. You’ve gone through a lot to be here. You deserve this.” As though he could read her thoughts of self-doubt, he schooled his face and went on, “I’ll tell you who you are in case you’ve forgotten. Your name is Y/N. First daughter of King Willem. The rightful heir to the throne. The rightful ruler of the high court of Isolde. The saviour in the prophecy. And most importantly, you’re my Peach, the love of my life. And whatever’s going to happen tomorrow, we’re going to be together and we’ll fight together just like we’ve done before. Whatever happens, I believe in you, all right?”

She mustered a smile and nodded once, reaching up to place her hands over his. He pulled her in for a passionate kiss and when he let go, she craved for more. She wanted to beg him to stay as he got to his feet and the nightmares crept back into her head like shadows waiting for the lights to go out so they could turn on you.

“I love you,” she blurted, sounding hopeless for a reason she could not explain.

Harry stopped at the door, turned around, and smiled. “I love you, too.”

Then he slipped through the gap and disappeared into the firelit corridor.

(end of chapter 1)

[imjustthemechanic]

The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils Part 9/? - Baggage Part 10/? - Private Funding Part 11/? - Just Passing Through Part 12/? - Party of Four Part 13/? - Resolute Part 14/? - The Wreck Part 15/? - Body Snatchers Part 16/? - Out of the Frying Pan Part 17/? - A Miracle Part 18/? - A Matter of Circumstance Part 19/? - Nome Part 20/? - The Future Part 21/? - A Hero’s Welcome Part 22/? - Up to Speed Part 23/? - Expect Further Delays

Did we need more angst?  Of course we did.

-

Peggy was terrified that Masters would whisk Steve away again and that she wouldn’t get a chance to talk to him, leaving her kissing Daniel on the cheek to be the last thing he saw of her for a long time.  It was Howard, of all people, who came to the rescue.  He popped out from behind Steve and put his own possessive arm around his friend’s shoulders.

Well, before we send Captain Rogers off on his whirlwind tour, I think he’s earned a home-cooked meal,” said Howard.  “Come and eat at my house, Steve.  Jarvis is a fantastic cook and I’ll have him do you up a special dessert.”

“As a matter of fact, Steve,” said Masters, “Mayor Bowron was hoping to treat you tonight…”

“Tell him that’s very thoughtful, Mr. Masters, but Howard asked first, and he’s an old friend,” Steve said.  “I’ll have lots of time to have dinner with politicians later.”

“Oh, but…” Masters began.

“You heard the Captain!” said Howard triumphantly.  “My place it is.  What are you hungry for?  Don’t tell me – good old fashioned steak and potatoes, right?  Although Jarvis does a great duck confit…”

A voice spoke from somewhere near Peggy’s shoulder.  “What if he caught his tie on something,” Kay said, “and accidentally hanged himself?”

Peggy looked down at her with a frown.

“He could slam it in the trunk of a car and get dragged down the road,” Kay said thoughtfully.  “Or he could drown in the bathtub.  Soapy water actually drowns you faster because with the surface tension broken, the water can get into all the little individual sacs in the lungs.”

“Please don’t tempt me,” said Peggy.

- 

Howard also extended dinner invitations to Peggy, to Kay, and to Jason, and so that night all five of them sat down around the very long table in Howard’s dining room for several courses of Mr. Jarvis’ excellent cooking.  Steve was obviously relieved, not only that he got to spend the evening with friends instead of strangers, but that he was in a setting where nobody would judge his appetite.  Since getting the serum he’d been able to eat enough for four people, and he didn’t like dining in restaurants where people would be surprised and uncomfortable when he asked for third helpings.

“He’s got a whole tour planned for me,” Steve said, pouring gravy on his potatoes. “It’s going to be like selling war bonds all over again.”

“War’s over,” Howard pointed out.  “We won.  Tell him you want to go home.”

“I did,” said Steve, “but I don’t really have a home to go back to, do I? I’ve been dead for three years.”

Peggy looked at her plate.  The home he would have had after he war was the one he and she were going to build together.

“He said I could refuse if I wanted,” Steve went on, “but I’d be disappointing a lot of kids who never got to meet their hero, and that national unity is especially important with the USSR gaining power and I would be an important symbol for people to rally behind.  And then,” he added, “he said he would see about getting me re-activated, since I was discharged dead by mistake.”

Peggy took a breath in, but it was more in sympathy for Steve than shock that Masters would stoop to that.  Vernon Masters was the sort of politician who didn’t care what kind of rules he had to bend to get what he wanted.  If Steve wouldn’t take orders, he would put him in a position where he had no choice.

“Can he do that?” asked Howard.

Steve, whose mouth was full, shrugged.

“He’ll definitely try,” Peggy said.

“Not if he gets his head stuck in an elevator door and is decapitated by the moving cab,” said Kay tranquilly.

Steve stared at her.

“Ignore her,” Peggy told him.  “She’s been doing that all day.  What did he say when you asked if we could go with you to New York?”

“I didn’t, exactly,” said Steve.  “I told him he shouldn’t be taking the credit for finding me when it was you four who did the work.  Then he said that he didn’t mean to leave you out, and he would insist on Peggy and Miss Lake coming at least to New York with us.”

“He never mentioned Jason and me,” Howard put in, “but I won’t let him leave us out, either.  It was my plane and Jason’s sonar.  Would have taken us weeks, even with the coordinates, if we hadn’t had those.”

“That was very accommodating of him,” said Kay.  “You should see what else you can get from him.  Tell him you always wanted a pony when you were a child.”

“I don’t want a pony,” Steve told her.

“I do,” said Kay.  “Getting kicked in the face by a horse is a pretty good accidental death.”

Steve glanced at her, then took Peggy’s advice and said nothing.  “I don’t know if I can do it,” he said.  “I don’t know if I can run around waving at crowds when I know Bucky’s out there and he needs help.”

This time, Peggy didn’t manage to avoid him catching her eye.  He was remembering that rainy day when Peggy and Howard had helped him go AWOL and enter enemy territory to rescue his friend. He was wondering if they were willing to do it a second time, or even if he had any right to ask it of them.

“I’m sorry,” said Kay.

“It’s not your…” Steve began automatically.

“Yes, it is,” Kay interrupted him.  “I came here to change the past, remember?  What I’ve changed it to is making you miserable, so I’m sorry.  I didn’t plan this far ahead.  I figured I’d get you defrosted and then I could interrogate Underwood and we’d go save Barnes.  I didn’t plan on anybody butting in, and I didn’t plan on you having other obligations afterwards.  Maybe I should have.”

“Unfortunately, none of us can see the future… evidently not even somebody who’s been there,” said Peggy.

There was an uncomfortable silence after that.  Howard was the one who broke it.  “So Jason… what was it you were saying about the gyros on the stabilizer?”

“It’s the landing gear,” Jason said immediately, glad to help change the subject. “It shakes the rear gyro just enough to knock it out of alignment.  We need to move the whole rig a little further forward on the plane, but that’ll make it harder to access from inside, so I was thinking…”

The two of them spent the rest of the meal talking shop, and after a dessert of apple tart tatin they wandered off to Howard’s workshop to draw up some new blueprints and tinker.  That left Peggy, Steve, and Kay to have after dinner drinks with Edwin and Anna.

“A great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Rogers,” Anna said happily.  “I’ve heard a lot about you from Edwin and Mr. Stark, of course, but that’s just not the same thing.  You are every bit as handsome as you looked in the newsreels.”

“Oh. Thank you,” said Steve uncomfortably. “Howard did tell me about you two, as well.  I’m glad it worked out for you.”  He was, however, looking over Anna’s shoulder at Peggy.

Anna Jarvis was far to observant to let that slip by.  “Edwin,” she said, “why don’t we let Captain Rogers and Peggy have a word, hmm?  They must have been dying for a private moment all evening.”  She winked at Peggy as she took her husband’s arm.

“And you can tell me where you got that beautiful brooch,” Kay added, joining them on their way out of the room.

“This?  It was my mother’s, as a matter of fact,” Anna said.

Then finally, Peggy and Steve were alone, and Peggy felt terribly ashamed of herself.  She should have told him right away, as soon as he was awake in the infirmary on the Valiant.  Failing that, she’d had plenty of time to say something since.  There was simply no excuse for finding herself in this situation. Kay was not the one who ought to be apologizing.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I ought to have said something.”

“Well… I was gone for three years,” said Steve.  His voice was hesitant.  He still didn’t quite believe it, did he?  “I should have figured…”

“Steve,” said Peggy.

He stopped talking, and waited for her.  It made her wish she knew what to say.

Peggy licked her lips.  “I already told Daniel, and now I’m telling you, that I’m going to need a bit of time to figure this out.  Finding you wasn’t something I could plan for.  When Kay told me where you were, I assumed I’d be bringing you back for burial. She didn’t tell me you were alive, because I wouldn’t have believed her if she had.  I was as unprepared as anybody.”

Steve nodded.  There was another moment of terrible silence.

“Do you, uh…” he began.

“Of course I love him,” Peggy said.  “But that doesn’t mean I’m not still in love with you.  And it must be bloody obvious that I am, because Daniel thought I was just going to run off with you right away.”

She chanced a look at Steve, and found him standing there awkwardly, hands behind his back, looking at the carpet at her feet.

Peggy thought back on the plans they’d made.  They’d been going to buy a farm.  Before the serum Steve would have been utterly incapable of farm work, and he’d known it.  He’d wanted to get out of the city and work the land in a way he’d always been told was impossible, and Peggy had been longing for peace after years at war… it had seemed like the perfect working retirement for both of them.  That, too, had changed.

“I do know that the farm… we’re not going to be able to do that,” she said. “I want to keep working.  I don’t think I’d do very well, knowing the kind of threats that are out there and not being involved in doing something about them.”

“I understand,” said Steve.

Of course he did… that was what he’d been talking about at dinner, how he didn’t like the idea of going on a publicity tour while his friend was in pain.

“Besides that, I really don’t know what I want right now,” said Peggy, “and I need to be sure before I make any big decisions, because I don’t want to end up regretting it.  You understand that, right?”

“Yeah.  I do,” said Steve.

“Good, I’m glad,” Peggy nodded.  “Thank you.” For a moment she had a mad desire to go up and kiss him on the cheek, as she had Daniel earlier.  That would have been fair: a kiss for each of them.  She quashed it, however, because she realized that wasn’t true.  It wouldn’t be fair at all to string either of them along, never mind both, not fair to Steve and Daniel and definitely not fair to Peggy.  She could not divide herself between them.  The Judgment of Solomon was not intended as romantic advice.

“I guess I don’t have anything to do but go on Mr. Masters’ tour…” Steve began.

Peggy looked up sharply.  “Steve, I said I needed time, not that I’m abandoning you.  Howard and I helped you save your friend once.  If you need us, we’ll do it again.  I still have faith in you.”  She took Steve’s hands and stepped closer to him – this was not a romantic gesture, she told herself, she was merely reassuring a dear friend that she was there for him.  She was allowed to do that.  “Since we’re allowed to come with you to New York, we’ll do that, and we’ll see if we can have a word with Dottie and find out what Kay thinks she needs to know.”

Steve squeezed her hands tight.  “I don’t know if I trust her,” he said.

“Neither do I, but she’s the only lead we have on this,” Peggy replied.

“Who is Dottie?” Steve asked.  “I’ve heard you mentioning her but nobody’s told me…”

“Oh, that’s a story you’d better sit down for.”  Peggy led him over to a chair.  “In fact, it’s all the more important for you to know, because she comes from the same place as Kay does, though apparently for very different reasons.”

The Jarvises and Kay remained chatting on the back patio while Peggy told the story to Steve – but Howard and Jason eventually reappeared.  They found Peggy in the middle of the tale of how they’d gotten a sample of Zero Matter from Whitney Frost.  Jason didn’t want to interrupt, but Howard, with his usual lack of anything resembling tact,  pulled a bottle of whiskey out of the roll-back desk and asked, “so how are the lovebirds?”

Peggy winced.  “Trying to have a serious discussion of what Steve’s missed in the past three years,” she said.  “That’s how.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” said Howard, pouring drinks for himself and Jason.

“I wasn’t about to, but then you spoke,” Peggy said dryly.

Steve shook his head with a smile as Howard and Jason headed outside to join the others.  “He hasn’t changed at all, has he?”

“Not a bit,” said Peggy.  “Have I?” The question slipped out and she immediately regretted it.  What if she didn’t like the answer?

“I don’t know yet,” he replied.

Peggy knew that was a lie.  She’d just told him she didn’t want to be a farmer’s wife anymore, and that was most certainly a change.  Or was it? Even if things had gone the way they’d planned, would she eventually have gotten restless and tired of country life?

They were starting all over, weren’t they?  They’d just met, and now had to figure out who the other was, and Steve, as much as Peggy, was going to need some time to do that while Daniel… Daniel, unfortunately, would just have to wait.

[agentrouka-blog]

ASOIAF - Food symbolism: apples and Jon “You have to choose.”

Inspired by this amazing post by @thoughtsandgrumbles I felt compelled to look at apples a little. 

Apples are a deeply symbolic fruit on a good day, but I’m not going to go too deeply into the general use, because who has time for that? I’m looking at the text itself. This post will be all about apples in Jon’s chapters, once I get the preliminary rambles out of the way.

Warning: LONG. Many quotes.

Just a few things: 

Popularly associated with temptation and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil in the garden of eden, the realization of being nekkid, the Expulsion of Adam and Eve from paradise as a result. (That would botanically not have been an apple, though.)

The apple “to the fairest” handed out by Eris, godess of discord, for Paris to choose among the three godesses Hera, Athena and Aphrodite, ultimately leading to the Trojan War, which GRRM heavily draws from.

Snow White and the poison apple

Sansa is the name of a variety of apple that was developed in the 1970s, an early ripening mix of Gala and Akane.

Just by the general use, we get a theme of choice and destruction. Also Sansa is an apple. But - spoiler alert - that is NOT very central in Jon’s chapters. YET.

Also, some boring numbers, because this is not as easy a fruit as the persimmon to parse for the sheer amount of them:

Apples in general have 155 mentions in all searchable publications, 135 in the novels directly, 22 in Jon chapters. Only 9 of all the novel-mentions concern House Fossoway, 11 in the other literature. 

Top chapter uses: 

AFFC, Prologue - 14: Oldtown, Quill and Tankard inn backyard. Alleras shoots them with bow and arrow while the acolyte nerd squad discusses Dany and her dragon rumors. "Where's Rosey? Our rightful queen deserves another round of cider, wouldn't you say?" The apples are withered and wormy, the cider is fearsomely strong. Pate agonizes over his betrayal and theft for his creepy, obsessive love. His choice is “love”. Then he is killed. Complex.

ADWD, Jon V - 11: Jon passes out food and asks the wildlings at Mole’s Town to choose if they want to fight for the NW or not. Apples and onions, you have to choose. The apples are withered.

ADWD, Davos II - 7: Getting information about Manderly from an apple seller in White Harbor. Bad apple, good information. Theme in WH: who are you truly loyal to? The apple is dry and mealy, “bad”. Apples and onions, again.

ASOS, Bran III - 5, and ASOS, Jon V - 3: (8 combined) Rotten apples carpet the ground near an abandoned Queenscrown inn. They provide the background for Jon’s break with the Wildling Undercover Operation and flight back to the Watch. Theme: the abandonment of the Gift, the decline of the Watch, the Dream of Spring and Jon really doesn’t even really pretend to want a future with Ygritte. He chooses. The apples are rotten. 

POV uses: Jon 22, Arya 18, Prologue AFFC 14, Sansa 13, Davos 8, Jaime 8, Bran 8, Tyrion 8, Brienne 6, Catelyn 6, Dany 5, Eddard 5, Cersei 3, Theon 3, Samwell 2 JonCon 1, Asha 1, Quentyn 1, Arianne 1, Areo Hotah 1, Prologue ADWD: 1.

Jon is not only the single top POV character to feature the apple, he also has two of the top-use chapters that give the apple significance in setting the background. The apple is very closely tied to Jon. 

A short note on the  red apple Fossoways (Cider Hall) and the green apple Fossoways (New Barrel): 

The branches split at the trial of seven at the Tourney at Ashford (of the Ashford Theory), where the red apple fought for the bad guys (Aerion Targaryen) and the green apple for Ser Duncan the Tall.

Both had the red apple of the Fossoways painted on their shields, but the younger man's was soon hacked and chipped to pieces. "Here's an apple that's not ripe yet," the older said as he slammed the other's helm. (…)

"Ser Raymun, if you please." He cantered up, a grim smile lighting his face beneath his plumed helm. "My pardons, ser. I needed to make a small change to my sigil, lest I be mistaken for my dishonorable cousin." He showed them all his shield. The polished golden field remained the same, and the Fossoway apple, but this apple was green instead of red. "I fear I am still not ripe . . . but better green than wormy, eh?" 

(The Hedge Knight)

Again with the split of loyalty, with the following your moral code, with the choices. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So how do apples feature for Jon himself?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apples are connected to Jon’s struggle of loyalty to the Night’s Watch, and with his inner struggle in general. Every time they show up, he is confronted with a choice of who to stay loyal to, what values to follow. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First apple: AGOT, Jon IX. 

Jon’s final chapter in the book. Big Drama!

Jon eats a brown, withered apple when he tries to flee the NW the first time. He is heading South because his father has been killed and he wants to join Robb. He is plagued by self-doubt and fear. Then he takes a break to eat. 

In his saddlebag, he found a biscuit, a piece of cheese, and a small withered brown apple. (...) He kept the apple for last. It had gone a little soft, but the flesh was still tart and juicy. He was down to the core when he heard the sounds: horses, and from the north.

Straight after, he is caught and prodded back in an incredibly moving, nonviolent confrontation by his new Brothers reciting the NW vows. 

"… and all the nights to come," finished Pyp. He reached over for Jon's reins. "So here are your choices. Kill me, or come back with me."

Jon lifted his sword … and lowered it, helpless. "Damn you," he said. "Damn you all." 

In his mind, Jon is determined to try and escape again, but the next day, Mormont lets him know they knew what happened. 

Jon’s throat was dry. “You know?” “Know,” the raven echoed from Mormont’s shoulder. “Know.” The Old Bear snorted. “Do you think they chose me Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch because I’m dumb as a stump, Snow? Aemon told me you’d go. I told him you’d be back. I know my men … and my boys too. Honor set you on the kingsroad … and honor brought you back.” “My friends brought me back,” Jon said. “Did I say it was your honor?” Mormont inspected his plate.

Jon thinks he’ll be executed. Instead, he will be taken along to the great ranging beyond the Wall. 

“So I will have an answer from you, Lord Snow, and I will have it now. Are you a brother of the Night’s Watch … or only a bastard boy who wants to play at war?” Jon Snow straightened himself and took a long deep breath. Forgive me, Father. Robb, Arya, Bran … forgive me, I cannot help you. He has the truth of it. This is my place. “I am … yours, my lord. Your man. I swear it. I will not run again.” The Old Bear snorted. “Good. Now go put on your sword.”

Apple = choice. The choice is the Watch. Because the war against the Others is more important. 

Apple Quality: Brown and whithered. But still tart and juicy.

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Second apple: ACOK, Jon I

A former green apple (the valiantly knightly Fossoway kind) is to be dispatched from the Wall to garner support from a Baratheon king... 

"Renly is not like to heed a quaking fat boy. I'll send Ser Arnell. He's a deal steadier, and his mother was one of the green-apple Fossoways."

"If it please my lord, what would you have of King Renly?"

The conversation turns toward maester Aemon, his repeated refusal to become king and the incredibly foreshadowy information about the ending of the dragon line. 

It made him feel odd. “My lord, why have you told me this, about Maester Aemon?” “Must I have a reason?” Mormont shifted in his seat, frowning. “Your brother Robb has been crowned King in the North. You and Aemon have that in common. A king for a brother.” “And this too,” said Jon. “A vow.” (…)

Jon drew himself up, taut as a bowstring. “And if it did trouble me, what might I do, bastard as I am?” “What will you do?” Mormont asked. “Bastard as you are?” “Be troubled,” said Jon, “and keep my vows.”

Apple = choice. The choice is the Watch. The bigger picture is more important.

Apple Quality: green and unripe. (But honorable.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Third apple: ACOK, Jon VII

Jon and the Qhorin Halfhand crew are on the losing side of a game of cat and mouse with the warg-powered wildlings. Squire Dalbridge is about to sacrifice his life by going to shoot the Wildlings that are stalking them. 

The squire bowed his head. "Leave me as many arrows as you can spare, brothers." He stroked his longbow. "And see my garron has an apple when you're home. He's earned it, poor beastie."

He's staying to die, Jon realized.  

And that’s almost right at the end of the chapter. This is the only apple chapter where Jon is NOT immediately confronted with a moral dilemma of loyalty or the making of choices. And Dalbridge’s self-sacrifice, his off-page death, all of that means it’s a more long-term projection of the dilemma. 

The next, final chapter, Jon and Qhorin Halfhand are captured and he is compelled to kill Qhorin to prove himself a turncloak to the Wildlings, in order to start his Undercover Operation. 

The flames were burning low by then, the warmth fading. “The fire will soon go out,” Qhorin said, “but if the Wall should ever fall, all the fires will go out.” There was nothing Jon could say to that. He nodded. “We may escape them yet,” the ranger said. “Or not.” “I’m not afraid to die.” It was only half a lie. “It may not be so easy as that, Jon.” He did not understand. “What do you mean?” 

(…)

Rattleshirt’s bone armor clattered loudly as he laughed. “Then kill the Halfhand, bastard.” “As if he could,” said Qhorin. “Turn, Snow, and die.” And then Qhorin’s sword was coming at him and somehow Longclaw leapt upward to block. The force of impact almost knocked the bastard blade from Jon’s hand, and sent him staggering backward. You must not balk, whatever is asked of you. 

(…)

He knew, he thought numbly. He knew what they would ask of me. He thought of Samwell Tarly then, of Grenn and Dolorous Edd, of Pyp and Toad back at Castle Black. Had he lost them all, as he had lost Bran and Rickon and Robb? Who was he now? What was he?

“Get him up.” Rough hands dragged him to his feet. Jon did not resist. “Do you have a name?” Ygritte answered for him. “His name is Jon Snow. He is Eddard Stark’s blood, of Winterfell.”

(ACOK, Jon VIII)

Ouch. From this point on, Jon will have to make his own choices, no longer guided by other people’s rules, other people’s honor. The choices will be harder, lonelier. They will be contradictory, they will involve even more tangible loss. They will involve dishonor. The reward is as distant as home. Sacrifice. Death.

But one day, the poor beastie will get an apple, he will have earned it. 

Apple = choice. The choice is the Watch. The bigger picture.

Apple quality: unknown. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fourth apple: ASOS, Jon I

As inconspicuously as above, the apple features in a memory of home, featuring not-yet-deserter Mance Rayder at Winterfell, meeting Robb and Jon up to shennanigans:

“I remember,” said Jon with a startled laugh. A young black brother on the wallwalk, yes … “You swore not to tell.”

"And kept my vow. That one, at least."

"We dumped the snow on Fat Tom. He was Father's slowest guardsman." Tom had chased them around the yard afterward, until all three were red as autumn apples. "But you said you saw me twice. When was the other time?"

"When King Robert came to Winterfell to make your father Hand," the King-beyond-the-Wall said lightly. (ASOS, Jon I)

A neat connection between desertion, vow-keeping and the events that led Jon to take his own path to the Wall. Before Meeting Mance, Ygritte has been praising the values of being “free” like the good Little Wildling Propagandist that she is. But Jon isn’t biting yet.

The following conversation gives the backstory of Mance Rayder’s desertion from the Wall. It was over a cloak, mended by a Wildling woman who tended to him while he was injured.

“And she sewed up the rents in my cloak as well, with some scarlet silk from Asshai that her grandmother had pulled from the wreck of a cog washed up on the Frozen Shore. It was the greatest treasure she had, and her gift to me.” He swept the cloak back over his shoulders. “But at the Shadow Tower, I was given a new wool cloak from stores, black and black, and trimmed with black, to go with my black breeches and black boots, my black doublet and black mail. The new cloak had no frays nor rips nor tears … and most of all, no red. The men of the Night’s Watch dressed in black, Ser Denys Mallister reminded me sternly, as if I had forgotten. My old cloak was fit for burning now, he said. “I left the next morning … for a place where a kiss was not a crime, and a man could wear any cloak he chose.” He closed the clasp and sat back down again. “And you, Jon Snow?”

Jon uses Mance’s story of visiting Winterfell to spin his own lie:

“And did you see where I was seated, Mance?” He leaned forward. “Did you see where they put the bastard?” Mance Rayder looked at Jon’s face for a long moment. “I think we had best find you a new cloak,” the king said, holding out his hand. 

What will the bastard do? Be troubled and keep his vows. So far, so true. But he did kill Qhorin Halfhand, he is pretending to be a deserter. Lines are a lot more blurry than they used to be.

Apple = choice. The choice is… the Night’s Watch. Shifting more and more toward simply the bigger picture. 

Apple quality: red autumn apple. 

Red silk patches. Conflicting values. Women. There is uncertainty on the horizon. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fifth apple. ASOS Jon V.  BIG apple chapter.

His final confrontation as an Undercover Wildling.

This confrontation takes place at the abandoned tower and village of Queenscrown, which gets a closer description in the accompanying Bran chapter: 

No one had lived in the village for long years, Bran could see. All the houses were falling down. Even the inn. It had never been much of an inn, to look at it, but now all that remained was a stone chimney and two cracked walls, set amongst a dozen apple trees. One was growing up through the common room, where a layer of wet brown leaves and rotting apples carpeted the floor. The air was thick with the smell of them, a cloying cidery scent that was almost overwhelming. Meera stabbed a few apples with her frog spear, trying to find some still good enough to eat, but they were all too brown and wormy. 

(ASOS, Bran III)

The abandonment of Brandon’s Gift is a subject of conflict between Jon and Ygritte. A carpet of rotting apples. It opens the very next Jon chapter, as they are on the way to Queenscrown. Ygritte mocks the farmers who left the Gift as fools. Jon doesn’t take the bait yet. He briefly indulges in a fantasy of introducing Ygritte to Winterfell before being overcome with guilt and shame again. Ygritte is super great at reading his mood: 

“Might be after we could come back here, and live in that tower,” she said. “Would you want that, Jon Snow? After?”

He doesn’t think about it, doesn’t answer for a while, it rather reminds him of Ned’s Dream of Spring, the plan to resettle the Gift. The Starks and the Watch. 

If winter had come and gone more quickly and spring had followed in its turn, I might have been chosen to hold one of these towers in my father’s name. Lord Eddard was dead, however, his brother Benjen lost; the shield they dreamt together would never be forged. “This land belongs to the Watch,” Jon said. Her nostrils flared. “No one lives here.”

Jon isn’t even tempted. Like, no, Jon, Bambi, you did not love this person, no matter what your telling yourself later. He doesn’t even really contemplate it. 

Instead of bonding them closer together, Ygritte’s invitation to make long-term plans has the opposite effect. It fans the flames of what divides them. They argue about raiding and rape. Ygritte spouts nonsense.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. Daughters are taken, not wives. You’re the ones who steal. You took the whole world, and built the Wall t’ keep the free folk out.”

Ygritte, no, that is not why the Wall was built. You think they built a gargantuan magic ice structure to keep out Styr, Magnar of Thenn, or what? Really? Jon is also sceptical of this version of history:

“Did we?” Sometimes Jon forgot how wild she was, and then she would remind him. “How did that happen?”

"The gods made the earth for all men t' share. Only when the kings come with their crowns and steel swords, they claimed it was all theirs. My trees, they said, you can't eat them apples. My stream, you can't fish here. My wood, you're not t' hunt. My earth, my water, my castle, my daughter, keep your hands away or I'll chop 'em off, but maybe if you kneel t' me I'll let you have a sniff. You call us thieves, but at least a thief has t' be brave and clever and quick. A kneeler only has t' kneel." 

Ygritte is basically a bland political extremist. I could sympathize with her criticism of feudal culture if it didn’t come hand in hand with her passionate defense of violent theft and rape culture. Like, you paragon of intelligence, not everyone resides at the fair top of the food chain like you do in your peak fitness status within your warrior culture. But of course, rape is fun! Just bring a knife!

"Harma and the Bag of Bones don't come raiding for fish and apples. They steal swords and axes. Spices, silks, and furs. They grab every coin and ring and jeweled cup they can find, casks of wine in summer and casks of beef in winter, and they take women in any season and carry them off beyond the Wall."

Apples in a breath with women. People should not be “stolen”. But Ygritte thinks men who successfully abduct and rape women are sexy. She’s like Dany that way. There are some cultural divides that cannot be pretended away, and their entire conversation circles around it. Jon is plagued by terrible guilt, he tries to warn Ygritte that their plan is doomed, she (rightfully) suspects his loyalty to the Wildlings and Jon believes himself in love but he never wavers in his actual allegiance to the NW.

She grinned at that, showing Jon the crooked teeth that he had somehow come to love. Wildling to the bone, he thought again, with a sick sad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He flexed the fingers of his sword hand, and wondered what Ygritte would do if she knew his heart. Would she betray him if he sat her down and told her that he was still Ned Stark’s son and a man of the Night’s Watch? He hoped not, but he dare not take that risk.

GRRM is going out of his way to undermine the supposed romance by constantly referring to the conflict between them and the apples-of-choice are just all over. 

Anyway, Jon is thoroughly eaten by guilt over having to betray these human beings who are a vicious and brutal threat to the place and people he loves and swore to protect. His true identity is hinted at:

Jon wondered where Ghost was now. Had he gone to Castle Black, or was he was running with some wolfpack in the woods? He had no sense of the direwolf, not even in his dreams. It made him feel as if part of himself had been cut off. Even with Ygritte sleeping beside him, he felt alone. He did not want to die alone.

Ghost. Not Ygritte. Not the wildlings. Not the Watch, even. Ghost. Wolf.  

They arrive at the Queenscrown inn and an old man is captured.

Jon walked away. A rotten apple squished beneath his heel. Styr will kill him. The Magnar had said as much at Greyguard; any kneelers they met were to be put to death at once, to make certain they could not raise the alarm. Ride with them, eat with them, fight with them. Did that mean he must stand mute and helpless while they slit an old man's throat?  

The apples are rotten. Jon spends one last moment with Ygritte contemplating Queenscrown and then the “kill the old man” business starts. He struggles but ultimately refuses. Bran’s wolf Summer disrupts the tension with a bloody attack and Jon doesn’t hesitate to Escape. Like when they met, Jon didn’t slit Ygritte’s throat, but she slit the old man’s. He will not shoot arrows at her, but she did at him. Love. 

Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, but above him the clouds were breaking up. Jon searched the sky until he found the Ice Dragon, then turned the mare north for the Wall and Castle Black. The throb of pain in his thigh muscle made him wince as he put his heels into the old man’s horse. I am going home, he told himself. But if that was true, why did he feel so hollow?

Apple = choice. The choice is… NOT Ygritte. NOT the Wildlings. Time and again. But it also isn’t the Watch. Not as it had been before. Jon followed his instincts, his inner values, but it had a cost, it is hard. Jon is lost.

Apple Quality: rotten. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sixth apple: ASOS, Jon VII  

The Battle at Castle Black They await the attack, Jon and Satin share a meal. And they get a nod to Renly’s peach quote:

"Eat," Jon told him. "There's no knowing when you'll have another chance." He took two buns himself. The nuts were pine nuts, and besides the raisins there were bits of dried apple.  (ASOS, Jon VII)

Compare to Renly, which also took place before a nightly sneak attack. 

"A man should never refuse to taste a peach," Renly said as he tossed the stone away. "He may never get the chance again. Life is short, Stannis. Remember what the Starks say. Winter is coming." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. (ACOK, Catelyn III)

Peaches have an air of incest and hedonism about them, nostalgia and summer, Baratheons and Arya and Asha. The apple is different. It’s about choice, about conflicted loyalty and personal values, about identity and the bigger picture. (And again and again, they connect to women.)

Jon commands part of the fight, it’s grim. He recognizes some of the wildlings as they pepper them with arrows but cannot shoot at who he thinks is Ygritte. Wildlings die, his brothers die. The battle is brutal, Jon’s POV is distant. Satin remains by his side all throughout, grounding him. Jon remembers advice from Theon, from Ned. They eventually beat the wildling attackers with a horrifying fire trap on the stairs, they win. Immediately after, Jon goes looking for Ygritte, Satin still by his side.

The ice crystals had settled over her face, and in the moonlight it looked as though she wore a glittering silver mask. The arrow was black, Jon saw, but it was fletched with white duck feathers. Not mine, he told himself, not one of mine. But he felt as if it were.

We get a Dany-Val nod… 

The light of the half-moon turned Val's honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. "The air tastes sweet."

"My tongue is too numb to tell. All I can taste is cold." (ADWD, Jon VIII)

...and a lovely double-layered “not mine, not one of mine”. Not his arrows, but he feels guilty. She is not his pack, but he feels guilty.

She just smiled at that. “D’you remember that cave? We should have stayed in that cave. I told you so.” “We’ll go back to the cave,” he said. “You’re not going to die, Ygritte. You’re not.” “Oh.” Ygritte cupped his cheek with her hand. “You know nothing, Jon Snow,” she sighed, dying.

Jon struggles to let go of the fantasy. He is loyal to the cause of the Watch, if not the letter of the vows, but he knows now that his souls want more. He indulges Ygritte’s fantasy of returning because it’s the only thing he has, the only thing he can offer. 

Apple = choice. The choice is… the Watch. But painfully. Numbly. No passion. Duty. 

Apple quality: dried. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seventh apple: ASOS, Jon X 

Tormund’s daughter Munda.

After vicious attacking Janos Slynt for insulting Ned Stark during a hiostile interrogation in the previous chapter, Jon is sent to kill Mance Rayder under the pretense of parley to prove his loyalty. He is resigned and shame-filled, contemplating his future, where he will be remembered in honorless infamy.  Much bitterness, plenty of woe. His reception by Tormund is surprisingly jovial. They drink mead to honor their fallen Donal Noye and Ygritte, with surprisingly little bitterness. It helps Jon return some of his cheer.

"You bloody crows." Tormund's tone was gruff, yet strangely gentle. "That Longspear stole me daughter. Munda, me little autumn apple. Took her right out o' my tent with all four o' her brothers about.” Toregg slept through it, the great lout, and Torwynd … well, Torwynd the Tame, that says all that needs saying, don’t it? The young ones gave the lad a fight, though.”

“And Munda?” asked Jon. “She’s my own blood,” said Tormund proudly. “She broke his lip for him and bit one ear half off, and I hear he’s got so many scratches on his back he can’t wear a cloak. She likes him well enough, though. And why not? He don’t fight with no spear, you know. Never has. So where do you think he got that name? Har!”  Jon had to laugh. Even now, even here.

Autumn apple. Stolen women. Cloak. 

Stealing women was a hot topic with Ygritte and Jon is immediately concerned, but is reassured. The tenor of the conversation is conciliatory, while he is revealed to be loyal to the Watch, there is mutual respect. In Jon’s thoughts, Ygritte becomes a mentor voice, drifting away from the romantic woe of before. 

Easy for you to say, he thought back. You died brave in battle, storming the castle of a foe. I’m going to die a turncloak and a killer. Nor would his death be quick, unless it came on the end of Mance’s sword.

Similarly to Dany later, Jon is arguing with dead beloved abusers in his head, like she will do in ADWD with Viserys. Ygritte is less obviously horrific, but the “voices in my head” aspect and the sheer idealising that both of them engage in feels disconcerting. Never the less, we see Jon’s current identity status on Facebook is “turncloak”. Not Night’s Watch.

The rest of Mance’s “court” is less welcoming, but Mance draws him in for a private conference. The Horn of Winter is revealed, the mutual cause of the Wildlings and the Night’s Watch is identified.

“If I sound the Horn of Winter, the Wall will fall. Or so the songs would have me believe. There are those among my people who want nothing more …” “But once the Wall is fallen,” Dalla said, “what will stop the Others?”

(Dalla has the brains that Ygritte lacked. Why can SHE not be Jon’s mentor?) 

Mance offers to hand over the Horn of Joramun if they let the Wildlings pass through the Wall, or he will destroy the Wall in three days. Jon hesitates because he fears they will ransack the place, but he also has no negotiating credit with Thorne and Slynt. He contemplates just smashing the Horn, when suddenly Stannis attacks. The Wildlings are smashed, a helpless Jon enters the tent with Val to attend Dalla.

He is just... disillusioned.

Apple = choice. The choice is… the bigger picture. The Watch is headed by irrational scum, the Wildlings are no less dangerous to the North than they were before and Jon has no hope of saving his ruined reputation either way. He was about to murder Mance, then about to smash his bargaining chip, yet he has no ill will toward them. Only a depressed, numb resignation to preventing the worst of all outcomes. 

Apple Quality: autumn apple.

Again with the autumn apple. There are only 3 “autumn apples” in the books, all in ASOS. Jon I (above with Mance), Samwell II, and Jon X here. 

In Jon I it connected Mance’s disloyalty to the Watch to the red-and-black cloak given to him by a woman. Also Bael the Bard, deception and stealing. Jon consults his inner values, and chooses pragmatism. His break with “blind” honor will leave him flailing a bit.

In Jon X it specifically refers to a young woman being stolen. Jon consults his inner values, he chooses the bigger picture, but he’s frayed and his choice is interrupted. Stannis will offer him Winterfell. Ghost will remind him of who he is. Ultimately, he will become Lord Commander and his struggle with loyalty will cease for a long time.

What’s Sam’s autumn apple about?  They are listed with many foodstuffs that the angry NW brother’s at Craster’s after the fight at the Fist of the First Men expect to receive. Mormont just remembered the true purpose of the Watch. Gilly has just given birth to her son. Sam offers to take the boy, Craster gets mad. they bury a dead brother and the mood is mutinous.

“Apples,” said Garth of Greenaway. “Barrels and barrels of crisp autumn apples. There are apple trees out there, I saw ’em.”

A confrontation breaks out and they kill Craster and stab Mormont. Sam’s friends flee, the others raid and rape, Sam cradles a dying Mormont. Some wives approach and order Sam to take Gilly to safety. 

Gilly was crying. “Me and the babe. Please. I’ll be your wife, like I was Craster’s. Please, ser crow. He’s a boy, just like Nella said he’d be. If you don’t take him, they will.” “They?” said Sam, and the raven cocked its black head and echoed, “They. They. They.” “The boy’s brothers,” said the old woman on the left. “Craster’s sons. The white cold’s rising out there, crow. I can feel it in my bones. These poor old bones don’t lie. They’ll be here soon, the sons.”

The massive abundance of apples suggests a link to the abundance of women, to the connection to inner values over formal loyalty, to the “stealing” of Gilly to save her. To the massive bigger picture. With Jon it translates to his trademark quick-thinking pragmatism, with Sam it translates to compassion and identifying valuable information. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8th and final apple: ADWD, Jon V  - The Grand Appling.

ADWD Jon V is another big apple chapter:  you have to choose!

Much time has passed since the last apples were mentioned. Jon is Lord Commander and has sent away Sam, Gilly and maester Aemon. The Wildlings are south of the Wall. Food is a constant worry. Bowen Marsh is upset with Jon, Jon is super-diplomatic. Not. It’s time to bring provisions to the Wildlings at Mole’s Town. A Mirror to Dany in ADWD, Daenerys VI, bringing food to the Astapori refugees. The Wildlings are grumpy. Jon struggles to balance the culture clash between free folk, Stannis’ men and Wildlings.

Pig ignorance, Jon thought. The free folk were no different than the men of the Night’s Watch; some were clean, some dirty, but most were clean at times and dirty at other times.

Jon is much removed from his earlier woeful struggles or idealism. A weary pragmatism guides his every action. Grey.

Apples ensue:

"You can have an onion or an apple," Jon heard Hairy Hal tell one woman, "but not both. You got to pick."

The woman did not seem to understand. "I need two of each. One o' each for me, t'others for my boy. He's sick, but an apple will set him right." 

Hal shook his head. "He has to come get his own apple. Or his onion. Not both. Same as you. Now, is it an apple or an onion? Be quick about it, now, there's more behind you."

"An apple," she said, and he gave her one, an old dried thing, small and withered.

"Move along, woman," shouted a man three places back. "It's cold out here."

The woman paid the shout no mind. "Another apple," she said to Hairy Hal. "For my son. Please. This one is so little."

Hal looked to Jon. Jon shook his head. They would be out of apples soon enough. If they started giving two to everyone who wanted two, the latecomers would get none.

"Out of the way," a girl behind the woman said. Then she shoved her in the back. The woman staggered, lost her apple, and fell. The other foodstuffs in her arms went flying. Beans scattered, a turnip rolled into a mud puddle, a sack of flour split and spilled its precious contents in the snow. 

Apples are once again almost aggressively connected to choices. Apples or onions. Not both. You have to pick. 

Barring another meta, I can’t really say what the onion is supposed to represent. Some things that echoe Jon’s apple themes:

His sons were good fighters and better sailors, but they did not know how to talk to lords. They were lowborn, even as I was, but they do not like to recall that. When they look at our banner, all they see is a tall black ship flying on the wind. They close their eyes to the onion.  (ACOK, Davos I)

Denial. 

Dany nibbled at an onion and reflected ruefully on the faithlessness of men. (ACOK, Daenerys III)

Faithlessness.

The feast was a meager enough thing, a succession of fish stews, black bread, and spiceless goat. The tastiest thing Theon found to eat was an onion pie. Ale and wine continued to flow well after the last of the courses had been cleared away. (ACOK, Theon II)

Theon about to be ordered to attack Winterfell. Betrayal.

The last time it was life I brought to Storm's End, shaped to look like onions. This time it is death, in the shape of Melisandre of Asshai. (ACOK, Davos II)

Life and death brought by the same person.

Melisandre’s manichean world view vs. Davos’ more encompassing one:

"What if I am? It seems to me that most men are grey."

"If half of an onion is black with rot, it is a rotten onion. A man is good, or he is evil."  (ACOK, Davos II)

Bless you Sam. 

Hungry as he was, Sam knew he would retch if he so much as tried a bite. How could they eat the poor faithful garrons who had carried them so far? When Craster's wives brought onions, he seized one eagerly. One side was black with rot, but he cut that part off with his dagger and ate the good half raw. (ASOS, Samwell II)

Considering apples represent the choice you make to serve an ethical bigger picture (not necessarily loyalty to an order), onions seem to show a contrasting duality of bad and good, a refusal to position oneself honestly, dirty compromises, the darkness in human beings. 

Davos’ entire arc circles around being a very decent human being who none the less supports a whole lot of questionable crap. Our resident kraken Theon is torn inside unable to choose between Greyjoy and Stark identity and becomes monstrous. 

Melisandre downright denies the existence of grey. The presence of bad cancels out all good.  Samwell, on the other hand, embraces the good while disregarding the bad. 

Ygritte smelled of onion. Dany eats wild onion on her dragon grassland chapter,  Jorah eats onion. Brienne has onion soup on her way to Lady Stoneheart. Jon offers the Wildlings onion soup after they burn their god’s for Melisandre in echange for safety. Dark compromises. 

So the choice between apples and onions is the choice to MAKE a choice. Stop hedging your bets or practicing denial, position yourself, one way or the other. 

The woman who refuses to choose, loses her apple, loses the fruit that will set her sick son right, loses her cance at following her inner moral compass and doing the right thing. 

There is a tussle, Jon tries to rally them with a speech. They are in a Mutiny at Craster’s Keep kind of mood.

“You want more food?” asked Jon. “The food’s for fighters. Help us hold the Wall, and you’ll eat as well as any crow.” Or as poorly, when the food runs short. (…)

“Fight for you?” This voice was thickly accented. Sigorn, the young Magnar of Thenn, spoke the Common Tongue haltingly at best. “Not fight for you. Kill you better. Kill all you.” The raven flapped its wings. “Kill, kill.” Sigorn’s father, the old Magnar, had been crushed beneath the falling stair during his attack on Castle Black. I would feel the same if someone asked me to make common cause with the Lannisters, Jon told himself. “Your father tried to kill us all,” he reminded Sigorn. “The Magnar was a brave man, yet he failed. And if he had succeeded … who would hold the Wall?”

Jon believes in the greyness of men, but he also believes in choices. You don’t have to be perfect to do the right thing. But you have to do the right thing. Or a thing, anyway. You have to choose.

There is more commotion. Jon decides to make it simpler.

"Hal, what was it that you told this woman?"

Hal looked confused. "About the food, you mean? An apple or an onion? That's all I said. They got to pick."

"You have to pick," Jon Snow repeated. "All of you. No one is asking you to take our vows, and I do not care what gods you worship. My own gods are the old gods, the gods of the North, but you can keep the red god, or the Seven, or any other god who hears your prayers. It's spears we need. Bows. Eyes along the Wall. (…)

He recruits, actively. 

“The choice is yours,” Jon Snow told them. “Those who want to help us hold the Wall, return to Castle Black with me and I’ll see you armed and fed. The rest of you, get your turnips and your onions and crawl back inside your holes.”

Apples yay, onions nay. Dany killed the slavers of Astapor, and left alive only children under the age of 12. Jon recruit ages 12 and up for the Watch, girls and boys. Dany killed 163 random slavers. Jon recruits 63 Wildlings.

By the time the last withered apple had been handed out, the wagons were crowded with wildlings, and they were sixty-three stronger than when the column had set out from Castle Black that morning. 

The apples win out. No more mention of onions in this chapter. 

The chapter ends on a grey note, uncertain but hopeful. 

Marsh was unconvinced. “You’ve added sixty-three more mouths, my lord … but how many are fighters, and whose side will they fight on? If it’s the Others at the gates, most like they’ll stand with us, I grant you … but if it’s Tormund Giantsbane or the Weeping Man come calling with ten thousand howling killers, what then?” “Then we’ll know. So let us hope it never comes to that.”

Hilariously, it is not the treachery of the apple-choosing wildlings Jon will have to worry about. 

The abundance of onions and apples in this chapter sets up the struggle Jon faces in later ADWD chapters. The bigger picture v. Arya. Apples are done, for now, the onions stalk him. He tries to strikes a balance. He hesitates, he sends Mance, he struggles. In the end, the Pink Letter sends him over the edge.

Apples v. onions.  Jon has chosen. 

Apples = choice. The choices is… NOT the Watch. Arya. The North. The bigger picture. House Stark. 

Apple Quality: withered. Like the very first apple. 

Jon stood tall. He told himself that he would die well; that much he could do, at the least. “I know the penalty for desertion, my lord. I’m not afraid to die.” “Die!” the raven cried. “Nor live, I hope,” Mormont said, cutting his ham with a dagger and feeding a bite to the bird. (AGOT, Jon IX)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In conclusion:

Apples signal the necessity for Jon make a moral choice according to his own personal values. 

Jon always has his eyes on the bigger picture. 

His choices becomes increasingly divorced from the concept of loyalty to the Watch.

There is a pronounced conflict between apple and onion, between moral choice and refusal to choose. Jon tries to walk the line between the letter of his vows and his values. He ends up choosing his values. It goes badly. 

The quality of the apples has a relationship with the ease of choosing. 

whithered apples are fairly clean choices, 

rotten apples are traumatic choices, 

autumn apples relate to choices influenced by the wisdom of women, the stealing of women. 

There is a future apple promised to “the beastie” as a reward. 

If we want to draw a connection to the show, Jon will clearly face another apples v. onions conflict and the need to choose will feature heavily. It will go badly. But there is the promise of home and reward.

[jupiterminingcorporation]

Thinking out loud.

Long post, feel free to skip!!

Going to train-of-consciousness to myself about decorating stuff.

I really am drawing a blank with decorating ideas for my study in the new house. I'll have a 3.3m x 3.3m room to work with. It will have a 3.1m wide sliding glass door/window along the front wall, so there are three walls to work with.

I have bookshelves already... Part of me would like to get rid of the ol' flat-pack particleboard "beech" bookshelves and buy some that are better matched, but then again... I have three "beech" bookshelves. Not all the same height, but they more or less match. But then, I have a darker, actual timber bookshelf. And I'll be putting my Gran's darker timber furniture in there (not all actual timber, but still looks good!) I kinda like the idea of having matching dark timber furniture and shelves. I could stain the large pine bookshelf I have. Then I could but the "beech" ones in the spare room for storage in there, since I'm not putting in a BIR. The white melamine bookshelf we'll be able to use in out bedroom, because we'll actually have room for it, and our bedsides are white. We're also going to have some pine timber furniture in there, but the pine bookshelf is huge, so the white one will be better.

As far as wall décor for the study, there are heaps of things to choose from for hanging. Many floral prints that Gran had in her house, and a lot of historical family photographs. A bunch of boats/nautical things as well, although they could blend in quite well with my oddities, which I'm planning to display in the dining area.

Wall colour? I have no freaking idea!! Part of me likes the idea of a traditional English Manor style library/study with deep green or red walls, but I don't especially like green as a decorator colour, and I'm not sure red is really a *me* colour either. Also, given that my study is not going to be on the grand scale of an English Country Home, I'm not convinced that such a deep/dark colour can really be carried off in combination with dark-toned timbers. A burnished golden yellow might work. Yellow is said to be a creative colour, but it would really have to be the right one for me because there are some that I'm really not a fan of. I have had yellow in the kitchen/bathroom/laundry since I bought this place, though, without wanting to eat my own eyeballs, so that's a plus. My favourite colour is purple, but I don't think I want a purple study. I don't think it would fit with the furniture and the other décor I have tentatively planned.

Other décor? I'm planning to use some of my grandmother's old table linen to make curtains and possibly a cushion to put on a small bench seat, which I may try to make a little back for if I can figure it out. Particularly, I want to use the red gingham cloths for the side window and the seat. I'm not sure about the large window/sliding glass door. When I first had the idea of using the linens as curtains, I was set on a different kit, which would have had small windows for the study so I could have used the two ginghams. For larger curtains I could get larger-checked gingham, or make solid-colour curtains with gingham tie-backs.

Mmkay, recap for self...

Furniture: liquor cabinet; linen chest; tapestry seat thingy; wheeled bench seat thingy; timber bookshelf (Coogans); unsealed pine bookshelf (stained dark timber); new bookshelves from somewhere; desk from somewhere, Dad's desk chair.

Wall décor: floral prints; family photographs.

Wall colour: burnished yellow/gold?

Curtains: gingham w/ white tiebacks (small); white w/ gingham tiebacks (large).

Flooring: ?????; black & grey rug.

Flooring I'm still kinda deciding on for the house in general. Our bedroom will have second-hand carpet from Dad and Joss's, the piece from their lounge room will almost perfectly fit our room. It does have a stain on it, but we figure a rug will do to cover that. A 4.25m x 3.35m, 5-year-old carpet in good condition otherwise is a gift horse and I ain't looking in its mouth. 🤷‍♀️

The main living area being an open space, basically 6m x 7.35m, I'm debating the flooring. We could go with vinyl for the kitchen/entry and then laminate timber-look flooring for the lounge/dining area, or just laminate or vinyl the lot. Laminate is more cost effective, but much more labour-intensive. Vinyl sheeting is much quicker to lay, but costs more, albeit still not a huge amount. But also, vinyl flooring doesn't look as nice as laminate. 🤔

Spare room and study also need flooring, of course. Probably room-sized remnants from a carpet place, if the carpet we have isn't enough to Frankenstein together a room's worth. And the bathroom/laundry and powder rooms will by vinyl sheet flooring, I'm just not sure of the design yet.

Okay. After all that rambling, I have more of an idea in mind of what I want to do with my study/writing room. I have an antique inkwell/bottle as well as my nice dark, old furniture and historical photos, so I like the idea of having a traditional-looking room, even if I will be using a 2-in-1 laptop to do my writing on while I'm in there! 😅

[love-reverend-swanson]

A little trip

-

Pairing: Hosea Matthews & You/Reader

Rating: General audience

Tags: Cutness, fluff, romantic

-

Hosea and you are on your way to a deserted hut at O'Creagh's Run at Grizzlies East. Hosea found it once as Arthur and him tryed to hunted that beast of a Bear. It's Quiet a ride with your camp being located in Clements Point now. But Hosea don't seem to mind. You sit on his strong dapple grey czech warm blood horsebody. Your head leaning against his human shoulders. The stallion calmly gallops towards your destination. He enjoys taking trips with you. With you on his horseback. You feel honored. Cause Bessie and now you are the only ones who are allowed to ride on him. You, he would gladly carry everywhere you like. Others he would buck off like a wild horse. You and him are a couple since two months by now. And everybody in camp knows that.

They are happy that he finally is happy again and found love. After Bessie he was sad and alone. And now at his age, he feels like a worn out stallion who is settled down to live on a meadow for the rest of his life. Nobody wanted him anymore. Not only because he's a freaking centaur wich are normally extinct, but also due to his looking. His cheek bones standing out, thin and slender human body and Silver hair. But you still see the strength and the fighter in him. Just because he is 55 doesn't mean he's automatically getting weak. You can clearly feel the muscles in his chest, biceps and shoulders. And not to forget the muscles in his horsebody. It's damn strong too. You can feel it move strongly underneath you, with muscles flexing then and there from the movement. Sometimes when you ride on your horse and he gallops next to you, you can even see a few veins coming out then and there underneath his skin and soft fure. Hosea is still galopping slowly along the path's between the trees and bushes.

You are on your way for surely two hours by now. Hosea often switched between Gallop, Trott and a slow walk. But you can feel that he's slowly getting tired. Pants leave his mouth then and there from the running he do for the last thirdy minutes. In this time he only used the Gallop.

,,Take a break baby. I can feel you getting tired and me too." You whisper against his back.

,,You probably right dear." He gasp.

Then he slowed down into a trott, and after a short while into a slow walk. The only thing Hosea and you have with you is food. He wear black big saddlebags wich are fastened behind you on his horsebody. But you found a save spot between bushes. He lays down carefully on the soft grass between big bushes and trees. It should be save for tonight. You get down from his horsebody, and lay your head on his horse belly. Then you two fall asleep. You wake with the singing birds. Both of you slowly get up, and stretch yourself. Then Hosea help you up on his strong horseback again. He turn arround and Trott back on the path wich lead you two to your direction. It's still two hours to go. So he start to Gallop slowly right away.

Two hours later you are finally by the big hut. Inside there is a fireplace with a white fur carpet opposite of it, a big table with six chairs, three on each side and a big bed wich is even able to hold Hosea's heavy centaur weight. You get off of his back. Then you enter the hut. Hosea close and lock the door behind you two. The curtains are closed too. So that you have some privacy.

,,Can you help me dear?" He ask.

,,Of course cutie." You smile.

Then you open the strap from the saddlebags, and take them from his back. Then you give them to him.

,,Thanks darling." He smiles.

Then he turn around and bend down to place a soft kiss on your lips. You happily kiss back. After three kisses he turn arround again, to lay the saddlebags on the table and open them. He wear his gunbelt, and you your bow and arrows. He give you a bread roll and some sausage. You thank him. And he eats the same. While you sit down on a chair opposite of him, Hosea's horse ass sit down on the wooden floor. You love him so much.

,,We need to go hunting later dearest." He says before he take another bite of the sausage.

,,Indeed." You agree.

,,But let's realx for a while baby. Specially you. You did most of the work." You smile after a short silence.

,,Sure. No problem angel. I would take you anywhere you want." He smiles.

You blush.

,,Aww your cute. I love you." You smile.

Now he blush too.

,,I love you too dearest."

Then you eat the rest of your sausage and bread roll in silence. He's such a cute and lovely stallion. Abd always so sweet, tender and caring for people he love. You never understand how you got so lucky with such a beautiful, cute, tender and loving centaur like him. Yeah sure, at first it was weird to be together with him cause he's a centaur. But you got used to it, and it has many benefits. Like having a big pillow or a ride to someplace you want. At least with some centaurs. You really appreciate it and feel honored that Hosea trust you so much that he would take you anywhere you like. And that you can use his horsebody as a big soft pillow. Sometimes you cuddle with him instead of his horsebody. He and you love both. It don't matter. But sometimes both of you simply enjoy laying in each other's arms. Meanwhile you two are done eating. Hosea start a fire now. So both of you take off your thick coats and hang them up next to the door on a few hooks on the wall.

Then you sit down opposite the fireplace on the soft fur. Hosea lay down next to you. You lean to the left against his arm and close your eyes. It seems that you fell asleep, cause as you wake up, the fire is hardly burning and it cooled down in here. As you look up, you can see that Hosea's sleeping too. So cute. You once saw him on the breach back in camp once. There he fell asleep while standing. Just like a real horse. It looked cute too. But you still wonder how someone can fall asleep standing. You carefully get up, and throw something in the fire. Then you slowly to not wake him up, go next to him again, and lay down that your head rest on his horseback. But you only doze with closed eyes. After a while you hear Hosea's cute yawn. And you hear his shoulder joins crack while he stretch himself.

,,Awake baby?" You whisper.

,,Yea. We should go hunting. Shouldn't we?" He suggest.

,,Yes baby."

So you both get up. You stretch your body, and Hosea his horse half. Then you both put on your coat's. After that you grab your bow and arrows from the table. You both get outside. Hosea help you back on his horseback. Then you start searching. You find two beautiful big bucks. You immideatly shoot them. You managed to kill both immideatly without much pain for them. Hosea pick them up, and carry you back to the hut. You duck your head in the doorway. Hosea get out again to skin them and take the meet you can eat back inside. He has two big bowls of buck meat now. That should be enough for two days at least. You take the meet and grill it in the fireplace. It tastes delicious.

,,That was a real good hunt. It was delicious." Hosea smiles.

,,Defenetly."

Meanwhile it's late at night. Hosea opens the other saddlebag where both of you stored a few clothes. Hosea put on a simply black shirt and you a pair of black pants, black socks and a black shirt. Then both of you settle down for the night. Hosea lay completely on his back. And you lay next to him. Your head on his human chest, your head hidden in the crook of his neck. Both of you fall asleep immideatly. It was a beautiful day. Finally some privacy. And you have two hopefully beautiful days with Hosea ahead of you, before you must go back to camp.

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

The Last Word: Shirley Manson on Fighting the Patriarchy and How Patti Smith Inspires Her

The Garbage singer also talks racial justice, living for now, and why legacy is an inherently masculine concern

Almost as soon as Garbage’s self-titled debut blew up overnight in 1995, their singer, Shirley Manson, became aware of the patriarchy running the music industry. Even though she was the group’s focal point — belting dusky electro-rock songs about making sense of depression (“Only Happy When It Rains”) and taking pride in nonconformity (“Queer”) — she was still a woman fronting a band of men, one of whom, Butch Vig, had produced Nirvana’s Nevermind. Almost immediately, she felt as though her role in the group was being devalued — not by the guys she worked with, but externally.

“There was a lot of stuff written about me in the music press, and that’s when I started to realize how I’m being diminished, how, in some cases, I’m being completely eradicated from the narrative because I’m female and not a man,” she says now. “I was talked over by lawyers; I was ignored by managers. The list goes on. It’s boring and tedious; there’s no point in me moaning about it now, but certainly, that was my awakening.”

That revelation emboldened her to speak out about equality and she quickly became a feminist icon, using her platform to bring attention to human rights, mental health, and the AIDS crisis. All the while, she wrote inclusive hit songs with Garbage about androgyny and reproductive rights (“Sex Is Not the Enemy”). On Garbage’s great new album, No Gods No Masters, she grapples with racial injustice, climate change, the patriarchy, and her own self-worth. But as weighty as the subject matter is, she approaches each song in her own uniquely uplifting way.

“I don’t think really the record is serious, per se,” the singer, 54, says, on an early May phone call. “I think it’s an indignant record. I think in indignance you can still carry humor with you, as well as softness, kindness, and love in your heart. I just felt it would be inauthentic to say anything other than what I was saying in my daily life across the dinner table from my friends and my family. I think as you get older as an artist, the challenge is, ‘How I can be my most authentic self?’ because that’s the most unique story I can tell. In an industry that’s just absolutely jam-packed to the rafters with ideas, opinions, melodies, and so on, you can’t afford to be anything other than your most authentic self. It won’t last.”

Authenticity and being true to herself are the qualities that have made Manson who she is. And those traits seem to guide her answers to Rolling Stone’s questions about philosophy, life lessons, and creature comforts for our Last Word interview.

What are the most important rules that you live by? I’m 54, which is ancient for the contemporary music industry. At this point, I feel like if it’s not fun, then I’m uninterested entirely. If somebody’s treating me poorly, I have to walk away. Life is so fricking short, and I’m three quarters of the way through mine already; I just want to have a good life, full of joy.

Who are your heroes and why? Patti Smith is a huge hero for me for a lot of different reasons. Most importantly, it’s because she’s a woman who has navigated her creative life so beautifully and so artfully, with such integrity and authenticity, and she has proven to me that a woman, an artist, does not have to subscribe to the rules of the contemporary music industry.

It’s very rare for other women to see examples of women actually working still in their seventies. That, to me, is really thrilling and really inspiring, and it fills me with hope. At times when you come up against the ageism, sexism, and misogyny that exists in our culture, I always try and picture Patti in my mind’s eye, and it always brings me back to center, like, “OK, adhere to your own rules. Design your own life. Be your own architect. You can continue to be an artist the rest of your life.” And to me, that’s life. That is a fully lived life.

You’re also a role model yourself. How do you handle that responsibility? I’m a bit speechless if the truth be told. I realize that I’ve now enjoyed a long career in music, and by default, I think people are inspired by that. I think whenever you see an artist, no matter who they are, when someone can endure, I think that’s exciting to everybody else, because it’s a message that says, “You too can get up when you think you’re done. You too can brush yourself off and try again.” By just continuing, you can help other people continue and fulfill themselves in ways that they thought they wouldn’t be able to.

I try to be a decent person. I make mistakes. I fuck people off. I say stupid shit. I’m not all-knowing; I am ignorant in so many ways. But I do try my best. I think that’s really all I can ask of myself.

How others perceive me is absolutely out of my control. There’s always going to be people who think I’m an arsehole, and that’s just part and parcel of being in the public eye. People are just going to hate on you, so I try not to take too much of it in; I don’t let it absorb me too much. I have gotten to that point in my life when I’m able to just go, “You know what? Fuck it. You can’t win them all.”

You once said that the idea of legacy was a masculine construct that you don’t believe in. Do you still feel that way? Yeah. I still very much believe in that. I know a lot of male artists who bang on about their legacy and their importance. Not to knock that if that’s what’s important to you but for me personally, what do I care? I’m going to be dead and gone and totally unconscious of any so-called legacy that I might leave behind. I want fun now. I want to have a good life now. I want to eat good food now and have great sex. It’s absolutely meaningless to me what happens after I’m gone. I want to use my time wisely, and that’s all that I really am concerned with, to be honest.

What is it about legacy that’s inherently masculine? This is armchair psychology, so please forgive me, but I’m sure it has something to do with how women have this uterus that can bear children. I think that’s profound. One of the few gifts that men have not been given is that ability to create with your body, and your blood, and your heat and all these nutrients from your body. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why you don’t hear as many women banging on about the great legacy they’re going to leave behind. I think for women it’s their kids.

You’re Scottish. What is the most Scottish thing about you these days? I’ve got a lot of grit, and it’s served me really well in my career. I think that is a really Scottish trait. The Scottish people are tough, and they also have a good sense of humor. So, grit with humor. I should say “gritted with humor,” in the same way we grit roads.

As you were saying “grit,” it occurred to me that a lot of your songs are about survival and moving forward, going back to “Stupid Girl” or “Only Happy When It Rains.” They’re about perseverance. [Pauses] I think it’s funny you should say that because I’m just sort of like, “Wow, he might be right.” I do think that a huge theme for me is, “How do you overcome? How do we all overcome?” Things can be great for a while; things will not be great forever. And to every single life, these challenges appear. We all have to reconfigure ourselves in order to try to hurl ourselves over obstacles in order to have the kind of life we hope for. So I do think you’ve shocked me a little by discovering a theme for me. Yay, I feel thrilled. I have a theme. It’s exciting.

“Waiting for God” is one of my favorite songs on the album because of the way you address racial justice. How can we, as a society, fight white indifference? You know, that’s a question right there. It’s interesting that you use the words “white indifference,” because one of the things that shocked me so greatly is the ambivalence and the apathy of white people all over the world who are seeing what we’re seeing on our TVs and on the internet, and yet not having the moral courage to speak up. I think the most important thing we can do is pull back the carpet to see the mess on the floor in order for us to actually start cleaning it up.

If we could curtail some of the brutality of police against black people, that would be a good start. I think it’s going to be decades and decades and decades before we can start to really equalize our societies so that everyone is enjoying the spoils of Western wealth over in the developing world. It’s necessary that we try and help these countries that aren’t as powerful or as wealthy. It’s good for the whole world if we start to improve situations for everyone. Nobody will lose anything, and everyone has everything to gain.

But if I had the answers to how we go about fixing it, I would be in politics and not in music. I just know what I believe to be right, and I’m doing my best to use my voice to try and encourage my friends, my little ecosystem, to start with paying attention and supporting black businesses and elevating black voices and black talent.

What’s your favorite book? I have so many. The one that springs to mind would be American Pastoral by Philip Roth. I loved All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy. I loved The Collected Works of Billy the Kid by Michael Ondaatje. I loved Winnie the Pooh and Wuthering Heights. I’ve got so many that have really stuck with me that are classics.

My most favorite recent book that I’ve just finished reading is Dancer by Colum McCann about [Russian ballet dancer Rudolf] Nureyev. I was just absolutely mesmerized by it. It was just such a fantastic read, and he’s such a miraculous writer. He brought out Apeirogon last year about the struggle in between Palestine and Israel. He talks about this complicated mess with such clarity, kindness, and generosity. I couldn’t believe Apeirogon didn’t get more fuss made of it last year. Somehow it just seemed to get buried in the morass of other books, and of course the suffering that Covid had brought upon the earth.

What advice do you wish you could give your younger self? “Take up your space.” When I was growing up, to be a girl was to be told to minimize the space you took up: “Close your legs. Don’t be loud. Smile. Be cute. Be attractive. Be pleasing.” I inherently balked against that as a kid. I was a rebellious kid, and I wasn’t going to sit in the corner and be quiet. I’ve never been like that. However, looking back, I still notice some of the patterns of my own compliance. It’s not that I hate myself for it, but I just wish I could turn around and say to my young self, “Take your seat. If there’s not a seat there, drag a seat up to the table and sit down.”

I’m still really aware of the sexism and misogyny that I have had to battle throughout my career. I’m not crying, “Woe is me,” because I’ve obviously flourished in my career, and it obviously didn’t hold me back enough to hamper me in any way. But I feel for all the women who were unlike me, who didn’t have my forcefulness of personality, or my education, or my ability to articulate myself. I want that for all people, though; I want all people to stop trying to please, and accept that some people will like that, and some people won’t, and that’s OK. It’s OK that some people just don’t dig you.

On the topic of gender, I got a kick out of your song “Godhead,” where you ask if people would treat you differently “if I had a dick.” I’m really proud of that song, because I think it’s talking about something really serious, and it’s really fun. It’s about addressing the patriarchy, and how omnipresent it is. When I was young, I was so busy trying to make it, I didn’t see that there was a patriarchy in place. And it’s only as an adult, I start looking back going, “Oh, wow — when that A&R man told me to my face that he wanked over pictures of me, that was really uncool.” But at the time, you kind of laugh it off and just press on.

I was oblivious to it. In this song, I’m talking about how patriarchy bleeds into absolutely everything, specifically under organized religion. The “Godhead” is the male, and we are all under the godhead forever, and that’s unquestioned, and how crazy is that? Because a dude holds a higher position in society, because he’s got a dick and a pair of balls. Often, these balls are smaller than my own [laughs].

It just gets silly after a while, when you watch other men protect other men just for the sake of protecting the patriarchy. So few men are willing to speak up about bro culture and call into question the behavior of the men they are associated with. There’s just a reluctance by men to address this absolutely shocking, terrifying, depressing, pathetic assault by men of other people’s bodies.

In 1996, your bandmate Butch Vig said about you, “So many singers screamed to convey intensity, and she does the opposite. It just blew us away.” How did you come up with that approach? I don’t know. I’ve found that when people speak to me quietly, I feel the most threatened because I’m really comfortable with conflict. I thrive on conflict. It excites me in a funny way. When people are shouting, I don’t feel scared. I like to shout back; that’s just how my family were. We’d just start to shout at each other all the time. I’m not scared of elevated temper. For me, when people get really quiet, that’s when I know they’re really serious, because they’re in control of their rage, and that’s when they’re most deadly.

The last question I have is a shallow one. I love being cheap and superficial.

What’s the most indulgent purchase you’ve ever made? At the height of my success, I hired a person who would shop for me and then send everything in a big box to my hotel room. I would choose what I wanted and return anything else. One day, this beautiful pair of Italian leather boots arrived. I wore a pair very similar in the “Stupid Girl” video, and I thought, “Oh, yeah, these are really me. I’m going to keep these. These are amazing.” It was only when I got back from tour, I found out they cost $5,000. I can’t even laugh about it. It makes me so crazy. I still have these boots. I’d like to get rid of them just so that I never have to look at them again, but there they are every day, warning me of my own greed.

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

Multi-Dimensional pt. 2

The Company x Reader

Trigger warning: reference to past domestic/animal abuse

Really angsty but funny at the beginning.

@barbar126​

So when you finished your little '10 minutes alone in your house' test, you were actually pleasantly surprised to see everyone sitting around your living room and enjoying their tea and food without a fuss. They hadn't even taken their weapons back, and nothing was broken either. 

After that, you realized that things were probably going to go well and you can afford relax a bit. Plus... free labor. 

Around 5 or so days pass by without much incident (of course showing them how to use the bathroom was awful since they didn't seem to grasp the fact that the water just comes out of the showerhead and they don't need to fill anything... and that the water could actually be warm if they waited for 10 damn seconds).

You made the mistake of not telling the 'dwarf' known as Dwalin to wait while you got everything set up, and when you turned he had already been half-naked. 

Suffice to say, you screamed so loud that a bunch of those 'dwarves' came running over with weapons drawn and everything. 

You're going to have to make a spray bottle and spritz them when they pull out their pointy things like that, but only after you're 100% sure they won't shank you for it. 

The first time they saw your barn full of horses, cows, goats, and some sheep they were excited, and when they saw your aquarium room with all your fish and the terrariums with your snakes and turtle that you pet sit, they were a little more nervous. 

The youngest, who you know to be Ori, had asked if the reptiles would eat them, but you only smiled and said, "Not unless I tell them too." You can't actually make them attack the dwarves, but it's best to keep them on their toes. 

You decided to 'employ' all of them to help you take care of the animals, though you don't really need it, and may I say that the sight of your tiny hamsters, rabbit, and turtle being held in big 'man' hands is probably the cutest thing you've ever seen. 

Yeti has also betrayed you, for he has fallen in love with that blond 'hobbit' known as Bilbo, and will only listen to him. If you had known Yeti would drop everything and have an affair the moment you turned your back, you would've sent them away (not really). The first time Yeti refused to come to you while he was snuggling the small hobbit shattered your heart. The betrayal shot through you like a poison arrow and spread throughout your whole body, leaving nothing in its wake other than sorrow and pain. 

You got called dramatic for that. 

"Fine! I don't need you anyway, Yeti! I've got Copper!" You cried, much to the amusement of your guests. 

To be honest, you act like a total nut job with the sole purpose of bringing some joy into their everyday lives... and to keep them underestimating you in case things go south. 

The quieter Balin seemed to take to your cat Butterscotch immediately, and now you rarely see him without ole Scotch in his lap. Your other two cats Midnight and Mittens were a little less pleased to have so many people around them, but they tolerated the dwarves and eventually got to petting terms with them. 

The brothers Fili and Kili (you keep mixing them up, you're ashamed to admit) seemed to like your rabbit and hamsters the most. After you showed them how to feed the little fluffy boi's and how to open their cages, you often found them walking around holding them in their arms. It's very cute.

Thorin, the leader of this entourage, acts like he doesn't care for any of them, but you saw that bastard feeding Copper scraps under the table when he thought you weren't looking. And, apparently, Mittens kinda likes him which is interesting. 

It's been only 5 days, but you found yourself becoming fond of the lot of them rather quickly, and they to you (though you don't know that).

You have two spare bedrooms with medium-sized beds, the love seat, long couches, and a chair in your living room, and a small couch in your bedroom too. You decided that moving the couch out to one of the other guest bedrooms would be beneficial, but it'll take some time so you were postponing it. 

Now is as good of a time as any, you suppose. 

You had been feeding your fish with Nori and Ori, and when the inspiration to move the couch hit you, you handed them the shaker and said, "Be careful not to overfeed them, otherwise they will explode and I will cry." You make your way to the door and pause, "A lot." 

With that, you leave toward the stairs, and Copper rises from his spot next to Thorin (you feel weird not saying Mr. before) to follow after you. 

"Oh, here's my good little boy!" You kneel down and squish his fluffy face, making over-exaggerated smooching noises as you kiss the top of his head and his snout, "Who's a good boy? Who's my good boy!?" You ask in a baby voice, scratching his back and petting him all over. His tail wags excitedly as you smother him in affection, and it only makes your heart melt, "You would never betray mommy, no you wouldn't! You wouldn't ditch me for a hobbit, would you baby? Oh, I love you." smooch, "so," smooch, "much!" You kiss the top of his head one more time, then stand back up with a bright smile on your face. 

Someone clears their throat behind you, so you turn and see the majority of the intruders standing behind you. Some of them look amused, a few disturbed, and others are actually laughing. 

"What?" You ask indignantly, feeling your face heat up from embarrassment. You forget that there are others in the house who aren't use to your animated way of talking to your babies.

"You have quite an interesting way of speaking with your animals." Mr. Thorin asshole Oakenshield states (he's actually a pretty nice guy). 

You can't even help the violent blush from spreading across your cheeks, "D-Don't talk to me like that!" You exclaim, pouting rather childishly. "Copper! Attack!" You yell, pointing in his general direction.

A few of them stiffen, but Copper just kinda lazily ambles over and sits down in the middle of the dwarves, making you gasp dramatically. There's some more laughter, and while you knew Copper wouldn't actually attack them, it did nothing to ease how flustered you are like you thought it would. 

You throw your arms up in the air in defeat and yell exasperatedly, "Fine! Have fun laughing while I put small animals in your things!" You don't wait around to see how they react and instead walk up the stairs and head to your room to begin moving the couch.

There's some murmuring that you can hear down below. 

"Did we actually offend her?" Someone whispers.

You don't know their voices well enough to decipher who is who, yet, but their conversation actually warms your heart a bit. 

"We didn't, did we? I only found it to be slightly amusing, and cute..." Another voice states. 

"Yeah, it was cute, t-the dog I mean..." 

Ooh, they think you're cute. Nice. 

You decide that you should stop eavesdropping and go ahead and start moving the couch. Or try at least. 

At first, you try pushing it, but the carpet simply doesn't allow for it, so you instead try to pull it, but that doesn't work either. Then, you crouch down and manage to lift it slightly from the ground, and so you, still gripping the gap beneath it, slowly walk back with it a few steps. You only manage to make it about 3 feet before you have to take a breather though. 

You do that 4 more times, and eventually, you make it to the still-open, door. Once you get it there you stop and lean against it, panting quietly from the exertion. 

For about a minute you stand there, and once you've caught your breath somewhat you lean back down and lift it as much as you can again and begin dragging it backward. You make some grunting noises from your effort and breathe out loudly when you drop it 2 feet later, standing up straight since the position is making your back hurt. 

You bury your head in your hands and groan dramatically, "I'm a failureeeee!"

"Are you okay?" Someone says behind you suddenly. 

You turn your head a bit and see one of the brothers, the brown-haired one, Kili you think (or was it Fili?), on the stairs looking at you with furrowed eyebrows, so you drop your hands back to your side. 

"Just peachy. Do you need help with something?" You ask, wiping your hands on your jeans. 

He shakes his head no, then glances at the heavy couch you're trying to move. "No, but it looks like you do." 

You look down at the couch, then back at him and shake your head, "No, no I've got this. I've just gotta bring it across the hall over there." You point towards the end of the catwalk, but your resolve diminishes slightly when you realize just how far it is. Of course, you don't retract your denial since you don't want to look stupid. "All good over here." 

You turn your back to him again and go back to your little system of lifting it slowly, pulling it back a few feet, then dropping it. 

Honestly, it's painful to watch. 

He then asks again, "Are you sure... you do not need help?" 

You shake your head 'no' and don't bother turning or answering verbally this time (definitely not because you're out of breath), instead you just do the same process again and finally pull the damn thing all the way through your door. 

"S-See? I've got it all under control!" You look over at him with a weary and very unconvincing smile. Damn, you don't even believe it yourself. 

"Hey Fili, come here!" He calls suddenly, not acknowledging your assurance that you're all good. 

Oh great, now they're gonna watch you fail together and make fun of you. 

You huff indignantly and turn away, moving to pick it up again and, hopefully, arrive at your destination before you can be embarrassed anymore today. 

Heavy footsteps ascend up the stairs and you groan internally, but continue nonetheless.

"What is it?" You hear him ask Kili (now you've got it), "Oh, uh, what is she doing?" 

You do your best to tune them out and just go about your business. When you drop the couch this next time, though, you kinda just stand there for a moment and wait for your back to stop hurting. 

A voice then pipes up next to you, "Allow us." 

You look down at the blond dwarf with surprise, not having heard him approach, "Um, I don't know if you'll be able to..." Your eyes drift over to Kili (you know that's his name for sure this time) who is at the opposite end of the furniture, and when he lifts it, it goes up much higher than what you managed. 

How is that even possible? They're smaller than you are! In height, at least... Okay, actually maybe it does make sense since, as stated 5 days ago, these bitches are thicc👌.

"Okay." You don't see the point in arguing any further and just step out of the way (plus you hate physical labor), watching as they carry the whole couch to the other room in record time. Now you just feel silly, having so adamantly refused any assistance when the job effort was cut in half in literal seconds. 

After a few moments of just standing there, you follow and go into the room, seeing that they've already placed it in a free space in the room. 

"Is this alright?" Kili asks, looking over at you with a slightly smug expression. 

You just nod dumbly, looking between them and the couch a few times, "I don't...," you pause before you finish that thought, squinting at the couch, "Move it a little to the left." 

They do just that, and when it's done you smile brightly, "Looks good. Thank you." 

Fili opens his mouth to say something, but a loud knock on your door and barking from Copper and Yeti silences him. 

You spin around on your heel and look downstairs frantically at the entrance, seeing a distorted figure through the wavy glass of your front door. Your eyes go wide, and you turn back to the two brothers, "Don't go outside!" 

You then race downstairs, the two following close behind, and wave everyone looking at the door over to you, "Go hide over there," you point to an area out of sight from the front door. You smile and say, "Good boys!" out of habit, but another knock keeps you from getting embarrassed.

You start to run over to the door, but pause and run back to say, "And don't leave this area. I don't know who's here." 

A louder knock resounds throughout your main room, and you yell, "I'm coming! Just give me a moment!" Once they're all hidden away, you make your way over and open the front door. 

Your face falls immediately, "Erick... what are you doing here?" Suddenly all the confidence and joy washes out of you, leaving nothing but a barren wasteland of confusion and dismay.

The man at your doorway, Erick, looks down at you with a blank stare, then down at your dogs. A smile comes to his face and he says, "Hey, Copper! I've missed you, buddy!" 

Copper doesn't go up to him, instead he growls a bit and you feel satisfied about it. Yeti just turns away and goes to where everyone else is hiding, no doubt to look for Bilbo.

Erick steps forward a bit and goes to pet him, but you snap, "Hey! Leave him alone. What do you want?" 

When you ask what he wants, he steps back out onto the patio and glares at Copper briefly before looking back at you, "I just came by to see Copper, is all. He's my dog too you know." 

His words make your blood boil, but you try to keep your cool and instead shake your head, "No, the moment you raised your hand to him he was no longer your dog. And I doubt you made a trip all the way here just to see him. Just tell me what you want so I can get back to my day." 

His fists clench at his sides and you unconsciously flinch but maintain eye contact. "Fine, you're right. I came to take him back home with me."

"What?" You ask incredulously, looking down at Copper's sweet face, then back up at him. "Yeah, no way, he's my fucking dog." 

"Yes way, he was our dog, and being as I bought him for you and paid all his bills before you began this worthless animal sitting shit, I have more of a right to him than you." His voice sounds so smug, and his smirk makes you sick to your stomach

"You only bought him for me because you needed something to make me stick around." You argue, "Why are you doing this now? Why not last week? Or tomorrow? Or literally any other time? Why did you have to come by without even calling me in advance?" 

He crosses his arms and leans forward intimidatingly, purposefully looming just to unnerve you, "Because I want my dog back." 

Oh, you know exactly what he's doing. Copper is precious to you in more ways than one, and after your not so great breakup with this slimy bastard, he looked for every way to piss you off and fuck you over. You can't count on two hands how many times he threatened Copper's well-being just to force you to do something. He thinks that by taking Copper now he can psych you out and make you come back to him. And, well, he probably can, but there's no way you're going to just give Copper to him. 

"Over my dead freaking body." You snap back, crossing your arms much like he did, "I can pay you back for everything in cash, but he's not going anywhere with you." 

"Yes, he is. I've got the receipts to prove it too. Give him to me or I take you to court." 

Oh, this fucker. 

"Then fucking take me to court!" You stand your ground and shake your head, taking a calming breath so you don't explode, "Why can't you just leave us alone? Copper is my dog, I love him so much, and you know that! I'm sorry I broke up with you and it hurt your feelings, but you have to leave him out of this! Isn't there something else I can give you? Like my money?" 

"Well... I suppose I can make this all go away." He suddenly says, a smirk curling upon his lips and he leans down slightly.

You don't dare hope that he's going to say something rational. "How?" 

"Just let me take you out on one more date, I'll show you that I'm not that guy anymore." He attempts a 'sweet' and 'apologetic' smile, but you can see right through him, "I didn't even mean to hit him anyways." Just as you expected. 

You lean back when he gets closer and your nose scrunches up distastefully. "Um, yeah, you didn't mean to hit him because you meant to hit me, or did you forget about that? I'm not going anywhere with you. End of discussion." At this point, you've completely forgotten about the 14 people hiding not 20 feet away. You're just so damn angry you can't even think straight. 

"Then I'm going to take him back home with me. And if he happens to get out and run into the middle of the road... well, my dog door doesn't lock, as you know." 

You recoil at his hateful, disgusting words and feel a spark of emotion shoot through you, "I w-won't let you take him. He's been through enough because of you!" In a way you're expressing your own frustrations through Copper, speaking about him in a way that conveys what you're actually feeling too. "Please, Erick just leave us alone. I can pay you back for the things you got him, that way you haven't lost anything." 

"Except for you." He tries to sound disappointed and regretful, but you know he isn't. He isn't. "You know I love you..." 

For a split second you almost believe him, but you shove that trust away as soon as it appears. It took you a long time to get to where you are today, and you're not about to relapse and start forgiving him again now. "You don't love me, Erick, you love to control me. I left, and that's your fault!"

"If you won't get back with me, then give me Copper and I'll leave you alone." 

Great, an ultimatum. 

Yes, having this prick leave you alone for good would be wonderful, but sending that innocent fluff ball with him is a death sentence. You don't know what he did to him when you weren't home if he did anything at all, but you loathe the thought of Copper being at his mercy (mostly because he has none). 

Copper was the only ray of light in your dark life then. He was your only solace, your beacon of hope, and your only ally when Erick made you drive everyone else away. In some ways, you'd first die then part with him. 

"No! I already said I'm not going to give him to you! You only gave him to me so you could use him against me anyways! You don't love him, and you don't love me. You're crazy."

He glares daggers into you but doesn't reply to that. Then steps to the side and whistles, "Copper, come here." 

Copper's ears twitch, but he doesn't move to get up. He's scared. 

When Copper doesn't move Erick begins to step inside, but you get in front of him and glare up at him, "Hey! You can't come in here, Erick!" 

He doesn't move at first, clearly not having expected you to stand up to him physically like that. 

"This doesn't have to be difficult, Y/N. Just give me his leash and we'll be on our way." 

"Over. My. Dead. Body!" You repeat, reaching back to push Copper away a bit and urge him to run off. 

"That can be arranged." He hisses, a dangerous glint gleaming in his eyes.

"Hey, g-get away from me!" You shrink back and start to step away, but he reaches up and grabs your wrists, causing you to physically cringe when his skin meets yours. "D-Don't touch me!" You cry in alarm, hearing some shuffling from the very place you hid your new friends. The new friends that you instructed not to come out. Copper stands up when you start to shout and he barks at Erick, but he only ignores your good little floofer and shakes you a bit.

"You were so much better when you listened!" He snaps, releasing one of your hands to grab your face in a bruising grip.

"Stop!" You yell louder, voice slightly muffled and intended for both him and the no doubt distressed dwarves and hobbit. One of your knees comes up almost on its own, and though it doesn't quite hit it's target, it does hit his stomach. His grip on you loosens, so you wrench your wrist from his grasp and shove him backwards out your door, causing him to land on his butt on the wood deck. 

"Did you really just do that?!" He screams, staggering to his feet with murder in his eyes as he moves to come back inside. "You're gonna fucking wish you-"

He reaches towards you, but you slam the door on his fingers before he can come any closer or finish his threat. A loud cry of pain comes from in front of you, but you slam your door instead of going to look. You turn all the locks quickly and step back from it, tripping over your own feet and falling on your butt much like he did when he starts to bang on your door from the other side. 

"Give me that damn dog, Y/N! I will get a judge involved! I'll sue you for assault and robbery!" 

He continues to scream and break things outside your door, and at some point you wrap Copper up in a tight hug, sniffling softly from a mixture of both relief and fright. 

Erick screams every curse in the book. He screams violent threats against your animals, describing what he's going to do if he ever get's his hands on them, all the ways he's going to hurt you. How he wants you to die, and how he'll kill you if you ever cross paths again.

You don't know how long he goes at it, yelling these hateful and threatening things at you and your poor animals, but eventually, he quiets. With one final kick at your door and exclamation about how he's going to get you for this, he leaves. 

Your heart is beating rapidly in your chest, and you're unable to move for a little bit until Copper's cool nose presses against your cheek gently. 

He's shaking (or maybe that's you), you notice, so you stroke his head gently and mumble, "Hey, it's okay sweetheart... It's okay." You don't know if he can understand you, but your voice seems to calm him regardless. Despite being slightly traumatized, you're actually a little proud of yourself for standing up for yourself and Copper like that. 

More shuffling registers from behind you, but you don't turn to look. You don't want them to see your tears, even if you consider them your friends. People are horrible, and when they see someone like you as you are now they either pity you needlessly, or see someone they can take advantage of. And you're done being taken advantage of.

You just continue to sit there on the ground, hugging Copper's fuzzy head to your chest while you whisper comforting things to him, sniffling occasionally while you wait for your violent trembling to cease. 

A few minutes pass of complete silence, you could probably hear a fly landing on something with how quiet it is. There is nothing you loathe more at this moment then having to face the people behind you, but you stand up anyways. 

"Miss Y/N?" 

Ah, you recognize that voice. It's the hobbit Bilbo, and it sounds like he doesn't know what to say.

You ignore him calling your name and just dance around the topic and try to make a joke out of it by stating, "W-Well that was awkward, wasn't it? I didn't think this is how our day would go." You don't turn to face them, shoulders stiff while you look at Copper's sweet face and try to keep your tears at bay, "I... I don't feel so good all of a sudden. I think I'm going to retire early tonight." Your voice is soft and weak, heavy from crying, and you just feel humiliated all around (especially at the way your voice breaks when you attempt a laugh).

You turn slowly and force a smile, one much too bright and cheery to be paired with your puffy eyes and heart-wrenchingly frail demeanor. "H-Help yourself to my kitchen." 

You cannot stand the expressions on their faces, even the half-deaf one heard everything, so you turn your gaze down to your feet and, without another word, make a bee-line for the stairs and practically run up them with Copper and Butterscotch on your heels. Even Yeti follows after you. "Good night!" You rush out before slamming your bedroom door, avoiding the same 14 pairs of eyes still trained on you. 

If you had taken a little longer to look at them, you would've seen more than pity though. Some of them held anger, some looked sad and empathetic, and some were simply shocked or upset themselves. They've seen nothing but the strong-willed and funny part of you, so seeing that... 

It seems that your distress has affected the mood of this company quite a bit more than you realize. 

[sherala007]

Creative non-fiction done for school

The Crucible of Youth

I felt the pile of carpet beneath my tummy, poking like pinpricks through my shirt as I lay across the living room floor, reading my book.  Mom sat nearby in her chair next to the window, the dull grey of the winter/spring changeover still in the sky.  She was working on her crocheting while watching the news on TV. I usually ignored the news.  It was always bad.  Tonight’s news was no different.  Tonight I couldn’t ignore it.  The words gang rape grabbed my attention quick making me forget my book. Mom even set down her work.

           It was March of 1983 and the reporter spoke about a woman who was raped by four men in Big Dan’s Tavern in New Bedford, MA, all for going in to buy a pack of cigarettes (Chapie). I watched the story, at first not fully understanding what was going on.  Then it started to click what rape meant.  I was heartbroken.  How could someone do that to another person? I didn't understand to the fullest extent what rape was yet but from the look on mom's face, I knew it was serious. I remember mom saying "She had to have done something to deserve it.  Nothing like that happens without a cause."

I looked up at mom as she dismissed the woman's pain and went back to her crocheting. The lack of concern or care on mom's face frightened me.  She'd always been so compassionate to those in need, kind and caring, but not demonstrative in showing physical affection.  This lack of concern wasn't like her at all.  It looked as if she was dismissing the rape as the woman's fault, absolving herself of the need to think on it anymore.  Her words chilled me and would come echoing back in my mind soon.

           July 4th! What a time to be a kid.  It was summer.  It was hot out.  It was time for swimming in the pool and running carefree.  We were at my sister Patty’s for a picnic.  There weren't a lot of kids, just me; my niece Sandy, who was the youngest; Kurt who was eleven, and his fifteen-year-old brother Dale. I'd just turned twelve a few months before and was already developing into a young woman.  Kurt had noticed.  All-day long he was my shadow.  He was big for his age, already almost a foot taller than me and I was only about four foot six.  His father owned his own construction company and Kurt and Dale worked with him on the weekends so both boys were very strong.

We'd been swimming most of the day, only getting out to eat.  We waited the required 30 minutes, then back into the pool. We'd exhausted all the games we could think of to play in the water.  We tested our breath holding limits; scrounged for items on the bottom as they were thrown in; and did as many laps as we could.  It was a round pool so laps were short and annoying.  I was pruney and bored.  I remembered I had a great book with me that I’d gotten into only yesterday and sitting out for a while sounded nice and relaxing.  I ducked underwater to swim to the ladder and felt something poke me in the bum.  Popping up quickly I saw Kurt pop up right next to me.

           “You two, knock that crap off!”  I heard my sister Patty yell from the top deck of the house.  She turned and carried another tray of food down to the picnic table at the bottom.  

           I got out of the pool, wrapped up in my towel, and headed to the table.  “I didn’t do anything, Patty.  I was only swimming.”

"You let a boy touch your butt.  Good girls don't do that."  She looked me in the eye, anger, and disgust on her face then turned and stormed off to join the other adults.  

           I’d felt like I was punched in the stomach.  I sat down on the bench, picked up a hotdog and started to nibble.  I was about to take another bite when Kurt walked up to me, grabbed it and scarfed it down.

           “Don’t worry about her. Let’s go for a walk.”  He threw his towel down on the bench and slid his flip flops on waiting for me.  Dale and Sandy liked the idea of a walk and wanted to join us.  Dale went over, asked permission, and was given instructions to take care of us girls and off we went.  We were only permitted to go up the road to the trail we used to ride our horses on.  We were still in our swimsuits, Sandy and me with towels wrapped around us, the boys in their shorts.

The trail wasn't a trail per se but a dirt road, rocky, twisty, and bumpy, but it was a change for us.  Being on the plump side, I wasn't as fast as the others.  I fell behind as we went up a hill and around a bend in the road, thick trees lining either side, houses scattered farther and farther apart. Kurt stayed with me and spotted an abandoned barn off the side of the road in someone’s back yard.  We stopped and looked to see if anyone was around. Sandy and Dale were out of sight as Kurt grabbed my hand, pulling me up the sloping gravel driveway, the small white rocks making for rough going, and around the corner of the barn to the door on the other side.

It was cooler inside.  I could smell the dampness of the mold and mildew all around me, mixed with the smell of roses and wildflowers from outside.  Some of the shabby barn boards looked worm-eaten, barely hanging on by the few remaining nails holding them in place.  There was dirt and dust everywhere, blown in through the cracks and crevices, or washed in through the large opening in the corner of the roof where part of it had fallen in.  In the far right corner, I could see a large spider web, its maker fat and creepy, perched on one of the outer edges.  I could see rusted out tools tossed about like unwanted toys, no longer needed or desired, littering the floor along one wall.

           I heard Kurt walking near the middle of the floor, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, as I entered watching for any critter that may try and come near me. Looking around at everything I'd lost track of where Kurt was for a moment.  He'd gotten quiet.  One second I was standing a few paces inside the doorway looking at how creepy everything was, the next I was on my back in the dirt on the floor, Kurt's left hand around my neck.

"Don't move," he said.  His hand was so large it wrapped halfway around my neck.  The look in his eyes was cold, freezing me in place as he held me down with that one hand, not tight enough to bruise, but enough so I couldn't risk moving.  I couldn't think, couldn't figure a way out of his grip.  Why was he doing this?  What did he want from me?  He used his right hand to free himself from his shorts and then to slide the panty half of my suit aside, digging himself inside me hard like a blunt shovel.  All I felt was pain, burning, and tearing.  I was trembling.  I wanted to scream but couldn't with his hand still on my throat.  His pig-like grunting and the slap of skin on skin echoed in my head.  I thought it was loud enough others would hear and come to help me.  No one came.

I was numb. I don't remember him finishing.  I don't remember how I got home.  I remember going right into the shower, cleaning up, and throwing my towel and bathing suit into the washer.  I don't even remember how I got the bleeding to stop. I just know it did.  Hours later I still couldn't remember any of the details of how I got home.  Any time I tried I would get sick to my stomach.  I do remember the thoughts that echoed in my head for the next twenty-five years.  Dirty.  Bad girl. I deserved it.  I’m worthless.  Those thoughts stay with me today, though they're not as loud as they used to be. They were the only thoughts I could hear for a long time, and they always echo in my mom’s voice.  This was just the first time I was raped.  It happened again four years later when I was sixteen and at another 4th of July gathering with my then-boyfriend. That time I was raped on top of a pile of refuse and debris in an old, dilapidated camper.

           What did I do to cause this to happen to me?  Why me?  Why did I deserve this?  It took a long time in therapy to discover a few things.  I didn’t do a DAMN THING to deserve this or cause it to happen to me. Why me?  I’m small.  I’m female. I’m seen as prey.  Men that rape are in search of a power rush.  They’re not in it for the sexual gratification.  They’re in it to hurt, humiliate, and degrade.  It's not about sex only power.  I just reach five foot two now.  Back then I was shorter and thinner than I am now.  Because of all this trauma, I gained a great deal of weight.

Imagine what this trauma does to a teen?  Adults usually think teens are dramatic.  I remember all the times my mom would tell me to stop being so dramatic when I was jumpy or had to have my back to a wall.  Most adults don't listen to teens or notice the signs of PTSD.  Teens are still developing their identities and personalities. Rape puts a deep and heavy scar on their psyche that they have to grow into and carry for the rest of their life. Teens may be young and still growing emotionally but they have the same feelings adults do and respond in similar ways. All the same side effects we suffer from rape, teens do, also.

Sixty-six percent of all victims of rape under the age of eighteen are between the ages of twelve and seventeen (Rainn).  Well, that statistic fits me both times.  I never used to be a jumpy person.  After the rape, I would jump at the drop of a hat.  I also dealt with bouts of depression.  There are days even now where I struggle to get out of bed to live a normal life doing normal things.  Those days are fewer and farther between.  The biggest issue I deal with now is when I’m working on a task and someone strolls up to me to ask a question and startles me.  They’re not even trying to be stealthy but I’m instantly in a fight or flight panic.  My heart races like I’ve run a marathon.  I hold my breath for a few seconds then I pant like I’m being choked again.  Now and again I’ll even start to tremble.  I can hide that sometimes but my close friends know when it’s happening.  I discovered that this is all part of PTSD (Rainn).

I discovered something terrifying while dealing with treatment as well as doing research; per the Center for Family Justice (CFJ) one in four women and one in six men are sexually abused (CFJ).  In eight out of ten cases the victim knows the attacker (CFJ).  There are three main after-effects of rape; depression, flashbacks, and PTSD (Rainn).  I've had to live most of my life with two out of the three' until now.  In rewriting this paper the third has started, but only a few times.  The smell of roses and mold triggered flashbacks as I was rewriting the barn scene. That lasted for about three weeks and has now stopped.  The saddest thing for me is it's been thirty-three years and these effects still happen.

           Did I ever tell my mother?  No.  The woman who raised me was actually my grandmother.  She adopted me from her oldest daughter when I was ten but had raised me since I was four months old.  She was born in 1933.  Things were so much different for her growing up so she still had the antiquated mindset for her generation.  By the time I was able to talk about it nothing could be done anyway so why stir things up?  I know it would have made her feel horrible and wouldn’t have solved anything.  

I will tell you, surviving rape has made me a very strong woman.  I didn't realize this until about five years ago:  I've lived through the worst that man can do to woman, short of murder.  I've not only survived but in the last few years, I've thrived.  I'm able to live on my own.  I make new friends all the time.  I can hold down a good job.  Do I still have some issues now and then?  Yes, but they’re infrequent now.  I’m too strong to let it keep me down anymore.  I’ve realized that, yes I have suffered horrible violence, but unlike others, I don’t have to let it define who I am.  I refuse to let it do so.  I choose to act and be seen as a woman who can stand on her own and who doesn’t need to hide behind anyone else.  I do understand when I’m out on my own I have to pay attention to my surroundings and be vigilant but I don’t have to be afraid of every shadow.  Yes, I used to hide behind the victim label I let others put on me, but not anymore.  I am alive and I will continue to embrace every day because I am worth it, not because someone else says so but simply because I’m here; alive, walking, talking, and breathing.

While I was working on one of the drafts of this article, a friend at work offered to read it and help me edit it.  I gave it to her on a Friday.  Monday morning she came up to me crying.  She couldn't read it.  She told me about how she was raped twenty years ago and still can't talk about it with anyone; not even her husband.  She can't have a deep, healthy relationship with him because of it.  She asked me how I can be so relaxed and open after all that. What was my secret?  Truth is, I don't have a secret.  I freely admit what happened to me when anyone asks why I get startled as I do.  I know now that I didn't do anything to ask for what happened to me.  It was not my fault.  It took a while for that to sink in but now that it has it's one of my mantras when those horrid thoughts get loud on me again; because they do sometimes. I remind myself that I am alive. I have hope.  I get up for work every morning.  I answer calls from customers needing help every day.  Some of them are not so nice about asking for it either. I work for a security company and every so often I get that call from that woman who went through that same experience.  I stop and listen.  I do what only a fellow survivor can do.  I give her hope too.

 Works Cited:

No Author, Sexual Assault Stats, Center for Family Justice.org, web, 6-27-16

Capie, Lindsay.  Big Dan’s Tavern Gang-Rape, New Bedford 1983, LindsayChapie.wordpress.com, web, 7-9-16

No Author, No Article, Statistics, Rainn.org, web, 6-27-16

[grassie]

((Am not sure this is an OC because she is based on me in some way 😂))

Grassie Aldenhart,

She was born on earth, where the humans live. Carefree and curious she is, she found a mirror that she has never seen before on the attic and suddenly she felt she was being pulled into the mirror. Due to the shock, she couldn't scream, falling constantly in darkness. Then, a hand offered her a help, she grabbed it with instinct, hopefully to get out from this darkness.

6 months after adapting to the Night Raven College, she was brought to the magic mirror by the principal, Crowley. Half a year ago, the mirror said she has no magic so she had to be thrown to Ramshackle. But now, it's different. The magic mirror said she belongs to Diasomnia, despite she can only use one type of magic, Ice.

Therefore she received Diasomnia's uniform, and starts to live there. Much better than Ramshackle she thought.

Her love interest is actually Divus Crewel, her Alchemy teacher. Which is why she excels at that to gain his attention. Crewel would probably noticed her feelings already, but he is aware that he is a teacher, and Grassie is his student.

As an extrovert, she actually could befriend with everyone, including Malleus or even Floyd with his mood swings. One person she is not really close to is Riddle Roseheart, due to her rebellious nature and she can't really stand on too much rules. Still, Riddle is a good friend if she wants a company to go horses riding.

Her relationship with Heartslabyul students? Great! She has been constantly invited to the tea party because she eats a lot and apparently she can guess the ingredients of random cookies and cakes with her eyes closed. Though she is a bad cook so she never went in the kitchen. As a person who is easy to laugh, she laughs a lot when Ace & Deuce are at it again. Watching them feels like watching stand-up comedy. Cater always took a selfie with her when she visits and Trey gives her dental care kits because she had been eating a lot of sweets.

Relationship with Savanaclaw? Besties! She is the only manager of the basketball club, and because of that Jack has actually asked her to be the 'manager' in Savanaclaw, along with Ruggie (he is the mother of this dorm afterall). Once she had a great idea and asked Jack to lift her up while doing morning jog. It was a great memory.

Leona pique her interest, thus Grassie always wakes him up. She accompany him playing chess sometimes, though she is really bad at it. Leona could've just paid zero attention to her, yet he founds her amusing with how she perceives. Though she always loses to him, she never gives up and while playing she tells him stories about her day or her past. Plus, she is the only person he lets to sleeps on his bed if she feels sleepy or tired. Sometimes they take afternoon nap together!

Octavinelle, or Monstro Lounge is where she hangs out and apparently Grassie is Azul's personal financial advisor. During her time on earth, Grassie has always been the one who can manage her money and good with money-talks. Azul sees this potential, and when he offered her a contract, she actually read the details and did some negotiation to ensure more benefits on her! This suprises not only Azul, but also Jade & Floyd. The deal was made after tough negotiation. Azul and Grassie could be in the same wavelength in terms of intelligence and strategy.

She doesn't always visit the lounge everyday, but she made sure she always visit on saturday or sunday night. On the weekends, Azul plays piano, and her eyes always locked to him whenever he plays. One time Grassie asked Azul to play a song for her called 'Part of your world' on the piano, in exchange for her pay for that day. Since Diasomnia's uniform makes her out of the place whenever she visits, the twins prepared her a special velvet-made slit dress in purple for Grassie to wear whenever she visits. On flying lessons, Grassie can be seen try to teach & company the Octavinelle boys to fly, she herself loves height and flies around!

Grassie eats a lot. She is a foodie, which is they type of person Kalim likes! One of her bestest friend is actually Kalim. They are really on good terms. They fly around with Kalim's magic carpet and threw a sleepover party together. (She is also Kalim's financial advisor)

Jamil's cooks are one of her favorite in the world. Kalim & Grassie always visits him when he is cooking, or cheer on him when he dances. When Kalim is asleep, she would have a private talk with Jamil, mostly him telling about his relationship with Kalim and their past. Jamil sees her as a Kalim's friend at first, but when he tries to hypnotize her and it doesn't work, he starts to look more into her background whenever she visits apparently.

Makeup is one of Grassie's bestfriend, she can always pull off almost any look. And that's when Vil Schoenheit noticed her. He asked her about her makeup and from there they become best friend! Grassie appears on Vil's MagiCam sometimes, mostly either she does her makeup on him or vice versa. Some of his female followers envy her, but she couldn't care about that. Though Grassie is pretty neat in terms of makeup, she can't really do her hair. Vil or Rook always ready to help their dear friend.

Btw Grassie and Rook are the only ones that has seen Vil bare face.

Apple is one of her favorite fruit, so Epel would cut her apples and show off his skill which always made her in awe.

Extrovert and a very introverted person? Doesn't sounds they would get along well at all. Yet Grassie used to play a lot of game during her time on earth, which is why she gets along with Idia, dorm leader of Ignihyde. They play a lot of games together in Idia's rooms, even he showed her the hologram technology, and she thought that this dorm is way more advanced than current technology in Earth. Though Grassie always loses whenever she plays games with him, the only game she'd won is rhythm game. Ortho sometimes asked Grassie to help Idia to get out of his room too.

On one night though, Grassie was about to return to Diasomnia, when Idia stopped and told her to be careful around Malleus. Idia found something about her using his tech, he is aware that she is human from earth yet she has something in her that even his technology couldn't decipher. All he knows is green-colored magic aura inside her body on abnormal scale, which most likely from Malleus since he is the strongest mage in the whole college.

Diasomnia, her dorm. Grassie has been staying there for almost a month now. Her loyalty is low because she used to hangout with everyone and she is the opposite of Sebek personality. Plus, she sleeps in different places. On weekends she would sleep in Octavinelle, during afternoon you would find her napping in Savanaclaw, of course she sleeps in Scarabia because Kalim often invited her for sleepover party. Or you can also find her sleeping in Ignihyde if she played too much game with Idia. At least 50% of the time she sleeps in Diasomnia.

Sebek used to hate her because apparently after she came to the college, most of Malleus's attention is directing toward her. Slowly he grows fond of her, because she is attentive when he taught her Taijutsu.

Silver? Her companion when she sleeps in Diasomnia. His hair really attracts her attention and she would unconsciously touch his hair. He doesn't mind that. And he is always be the one that shield her if Sebek was about to snap at her.

Lilia is fond of her, mainly because she is a wholesome interesting human being, different from Silver and other humans he had met before. Plus, both Lilia and Grassie are superdupermegaextremely bad cook. And she always agrees to Lilia whenever he plans for something fun but evil in a way.

The only one that company Malleus when he visits abandoned building is Grassie. He doesn't really bring people along with him, but he wants her to be by his side. The great mage founds her beyond interesting, the way she laughs and eats, and when she is negotiating thinking for the next comeback until her face scrunch sometimes. The way she touch his horn because she was infatuated with it, which he always thought that his horns will scare her off.

One time she entwined her fingers with him when they were strolling around the college at night, and she told him what had happened to her today. Her smile under the moon, her laugh that echoes in his mind. The Malleus Draconia himself never thought that this girl has such a big power inside her, clearly not magic. He remembers once when he wasn't invited for a meeting, so she drags him to the meeting room and asked Crowley : "How could you don't remember this man with 2 metres in height, with horns and glowing green eyes? I should be the one that in charge of attendance now."

Grassie has actually been thinking of what Idia said that one night. She can't see what's so dangerous about this poor uninvited tall mage. He is strong, but that doesn't mean he is scary, she thought. For her, she is the best company in this college.

Malleus himself noticed her feelings toward Crewel. But he keeps silent about it, because in the end she will fall for him. How? Little did she know, the hand that pulled her from the darkness is his. The magic inside her body came from him and is what makes her can do a little bit of ice magic, and to prevent her from getting hurt or hypnotized. And that's why Jamil could never hypnotize her.

[kkintsugi]

Ok so I had an idea for an episode of Sunny allow me to explain it to you in detail

The episode starts with Frank and Charlie asking Dee for help with a scheme. She’s like “I don’t wanna help with anything you guys are doing, get Mac or Dennis” to which Charlie says that Dennis is sick and Mac is on a date. Dee’s like “Oh, he doesn’t have a date, he’s just saying that so you won’t rope him into your scheme! Who would go on a date with Mac?”

Cut to the title card: Mac Gets A Boyfriend

The next scene opens with Frank, Charlie, and Dee getting dinner at Gugino’s. Frank is saying something like “I’m so glad you decided to hear us out, Deandra” and Dee says she’s only there because Frank is buying dinner. Frank explains that he and Charlie are moving, and they want to buy a new place because they hate landlords. However, they want someone else to help them talk to the realtors bc nobody would ever sell a house/condo/apartment to Frank and Charlie. Dee says she’ll help but Frank and Charlie have to listen to everything she says. As she’s saying this, Charlie (clearly not listening to her) spots Mac and Dennis having dinner together across the restaurant and gets mad that they lied about where they were. Convinced that they’re hiding something, he sneaks over near their table and hides behind a plant so he can overhear part of their conversation.

Dennis goes “Shit is that Dee and Frank? I told them I was sick!”

Mac is like “It is! Goddamit, I told them I was on a date tonight!”

Dennis looks surprised. He’s like “Wait, really? You told them? I thought you weren’t telling anyone yet!”

Mac says “Yeah, but otherwise they would have roped me into their stupid scheme”

The waiter tells Charlie to stop lurking behind a plant. He goes back to Frank and Dee and tells them that he thinks Mac and Dennis are secretly dating. Dee says Dennis would never allow that to happen. Frank says it’s irrelevant and they should focus on the scheme.

The next day, Dee is at Frank and Charlie’s place looking through their clothes for anything acceptable they can wear to their first open house. They insist that they can wear some all denim outfits they found under the bridge because “in Canada this is like a fucking tuxedo Dee, maybe we’re fancy Canadians!” Dee gets exasperated and sends Charlie to get a button down from Dennis.

Charlie goes over to Mac and Dennis’s apartment, but when he gets there, Dennis has Mac pinned up against a wall and they’re both sweaty and flustered. They appear to have just been making out. Charlie’s like “Uhhh sorry to interrupt” and they immediately both start launching into an explanation about how they were fighting bc Dennis was angry that Mac told a hot girl that Dennis was trying to hit on an embarrassing story about him. Charlie’s like “Cool, whatever, can I borrow a button down for this open house?” Dennis gives him some nice clothes, and Charlie leaves.

We see Charlie and Dee pose as a married couple at the first open house. They both do ridiculous Texan accents, and improv a long backstory about how they met when they joined a cowboy LARPing society and had to share a horse. There’s a little bit of confusion when they both say Frank is their dad, but they recover after Dee explains that Frank is her dad and Charlie’s father in law, but they’re such a cute, loving family that Charlie also calls Frank dad sometimes.

They have a good time, but Frank says he doesn’t like the place, so they decide to keep looking. We see a montage of them looking at different places: Charlie gets kicked out after seeing a cheese plate and eating all the cheese, Dee tries to do an Irish accent and the realtor turns out to be actually Irish, once they all show up in ridiculous costumes. Eventually, they sit in the bar having a drink. A phone buzzes on the counter – it’s Mac’s. It’s a text from Dennis saying “Date tonight?” Charlie says this proves his theory about Mac and Dennis dating, and Frank and Dee relent. Dee says they have been awfully touchy lately, more so than since before Mac came out.

Frank, Charlie, and Dee go to another open house. Charlie says the place is nice, and they end up getting into a huge screaming match about random aspects of the house like the carpet and the furniture and the doors. Charlie storms out.

Early the next morning, Charlie goes to Mac and Dennis’s place again. He walks into the apartment without knocking, and instead knocks on Mac’s bedroom door. Mac’s like “What are you doing here? How did you get into our apartment?” Charlie says the door was unlocked, and Mac says that seems weird, but he moves past it. Charlie’s like “I wanna talk to you about something, can we talk?” Mac says he has to be quiet because Dennis is sleeping. Charlie asks why they don’t just go in Mac’s room, but Mac says that the can’t bec Dennis is sleeping in Mac’s room, and says Dennis had a girl over last night who tried to strangle him in her sleep, and he couldn’t get her to wake up, so he’s hiding out in Mac’s room until she leaves.

Charlie is clearly not buying it, but they go for a walk, and Charlie talks about how he’s mad at Frank and he feels like they’re not on the same page anymore, and Frank wants a new place but Charlie likes their old place. Mac says Charlie should tell Frank how he feels. Charlie leaves and talks to Frank, who reveals that he also likes their old place, but he threatened Huang with a gun the other day, and Huang said he would call the police if Frank didn’t get out. Dee points out that their building is actually for sale, and suggests Frank buy the building. He agrees, and he and Charlie are back to normal.

The next day, they’re sitting in the bar. Mac comes in, and he says that he has to tell them something: he has a new boyfriend. He starts going into explicit detail about his sex life, and after a while Dee is like “Stop! That’s my brother you’re talking about” and Mac and Dennis are like “Huh? What are you talking about?”

Dee and Charlie are like “We know you’re banging Dennis, dude”. Then a man who came into the bar shortly after Mac goes “Wait, you’re cheating on me?” and Mac is like “No, I swear I’m not!” but the man doesn’t listen and ends up breaking up with him.

Dee and Charlie are like “Oh, shit. Sorry.” They start asking him about all the stuff they’d seen. Mac explains that he went out to dinner with Dennis after his boyfriend cancelled last minute, his boyfriend was asleep in his room when Charlie came by the previous morning, and he and Dennis really were just fighting that one time. Dee is like “but you guys are always touching and putting your arms around each other and stuff” and Dennis is like “Yeah, well it’s a lot more comfortable doing that with someone who’s not in love with you. Now that Mac is over me we can go back to normal.” He calls Dee a bird, and they walk out of the room arguing.

Charlie tells Mac he can’t believe he finally got over Dennis and Mac is like “Of course I’m not over Dennis, I just needed him to think I was so that he would relax around me. Now I can finally make him fall in love with me!”

Charlie’s like “Yeah, that makes more sense. Anyways you wanna hear about the open houses we went to?” Mac says sure, and Charlie launches into a monologue about the cheese plate. Cut to the credits.

That was great 😆

I love how Charlie doesn't really give a shit about Mac and Dennis being in a relationship he's just like "you guys are totally banging but whatever". I like the twist of them not actually dating, very on brand for sunny. I think if(when?? Manifesting "Mac gets a boyfriend" ep for season 15) Mac gets a bf Dennis will act like "oh good for him, he'll stop bothering me now" but will actually be extremely jealous.

Charlie and Dee both doing ridiculous characters is great, their accents would be terrible, they'd be so insufferable together 😆

[itslocsdiggs]

NSFW Alphabet

With Farmer! Daveed :D

I borrowed from @caitlinpotter

For Rose, (@Iiknowthekoolaidflavor) on a special day

Farmer! Daveed

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

·      He will carry you anywhere you have to go because most of the time you cannot feel your legs. He’ll remember a really funny story and tell it to you so you can have a good laugh before you fall asleep.

·      He always cleans you up

·      Peppers your faces with tons of kisses, and he never forgets to say I love you

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

·      Daveed loves his thighs. He actually suffered an accident to his knee when he was a teenager, but he was able to rehab fully. He loves that he is able to lift you and is fully capable to work on the farm. That being said, it’s his least favorite part to work out.

·      He loves being in your arms because he thinks you give great hugs and he loves the way you take control of him in the bedroom

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

·      The man is not afraid of a little mess, he births calves for crying out loud! He’ll cum anywhere you tell him to, but he loves it when you swallow. Swallowing wasn’t your favorite thing before he came around, but he is very clean, so you love it.

·      His absolute favorite place to cum is on is your breasts

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

·      He switches his chore list with his brother so he can spend some afternoons with you every so often.( Life is short and their cousins are around to help)

·      He can’t wait until you’re pregnant with his baby because his heart swelled when you held and fed the newborn goat

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

·      In the same way that he could deliver a baby animal with his eyes closed, Daveed is very experienced at sex

·      He preferred oral and casual hookups before he met you

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

·      Most likely something that mimics a yoga position. You can’t take a class anymore without imagining Daveed “assisting” you.

·      His hips holding you up against the wall and your legs around his waist.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

·      Daveed’s definitely goofy and soft. In the moment, he’s so focused on you and how your body feels.

·      It usually starts with someone feeling extra cuddly, and that touch becoming more sensual

·      No, it’s full of passion for all the weeks and months y’all have been denying the mutual crush.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

His beard is well groomed, but his pubic area is thick and curly. He works long hours and just doesn’t have the time. If you needle him enough about it like you did with his armpit hair, he might control it. He is sensitive like that

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

·      Daveed is the epitome of romance and intimacy: He brings flowers, is a very smooth talker(it has literally gotten you out of your clothes a few times.), and he sings for you

·      He is so shy, but his crush on you was not a secret from anyone. His mother found out when she saw him baking a pie late one night to go with your delivery order

·      When he is in charge (which is rare) he takes it nice and slow

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

·      Yes, before you were together, he couldn’t get you off his mind,.

·      He’d have to be quiet because his brother’s bedroom was next door, and he was always in his business.

·      He’s very comfortable with his sexuality so he will touch himself during sex and even when he’s not with you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

·      Some kinks both of you share: overstimulation, spanking, voyeurism(once y’all did it in the barn before dawn), and name calling

·      You love to visit him at work and to stay the night, but you know you can’t do it in the house(the family is too eager for your relationship) so y’all always do it in the barn

·      The horses know the sound of your moans

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

·      The barn (it’s large and airy, and in a spot away from the animals-he’s classy)

·      Your bed

·      bed of his truck in the middle of the night(during a picnic date he took you out to look at the stars)

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

·      Seeing you after a while(whether he’s busy or he has to make an out of town delivery)

·      You sending him a naughty text when he’s on his way home

·      You in your nightgown

·      Seeing you getting along with his family(even when you side with them, he can tell that it’s gonna be a great life with you)

·      When you cook for him (and when he cooks for you)

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

·      No to knife play, biting, or excretory play(he sees so much shit at work, and he thinks that people into that are s i c k.)

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

·      Daveed loves to give AND receive. He almost didn’t last the first time he felt your lips around his cock.

·      He thinks you’re the sweetest thing in the world, eating you out is his favorite way to wake you up.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

·      Depending on the time he has. He knows exactly how move so that you feel all of him

·      That makes you scream

·      However he does it, he makes you feel like the only girl in the world

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

·      They’re alright, nothing compares to the real thing though. He prefers to take his time with you.

·      He just shows up at your door on his lunch break, and you know exactly what you’re doing for the hour. You have such an effect on him that when he goes home, everyone notices how relaxed he is

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

·      Anything you suggest, he’ll try it, and vice versa. Y’all trust each other

·      It depends on the place, because sometimes you get really nervous about being out in the open(in the booth at a bar, around his parent’s house etc.)

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

·      He can go three rounds in a night and before you wake up in the morning, he’s ready again. He can last for an hour.

·      Loves the way you touch him and enjoys making sure you’re ready.

·      Foreplay is his holy grail.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

·      He’s never used any toys, but he’s eager to learn how all of yours work.

·      He has fun pleasuring you until you pass out once he learns what you like.

·      He randomly buys you toys and lingerie. Sometimes he takes you with him. He spoils you because he feels so lucky to have you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

·      Good grief, you knew Daveed was a teaser the first moment his truck showed up on your front gate. It was a hot, summer day and he wore a tight t-shirt (as if he had to convince you to buy his family’s products)

·      Sometimes he’ll “forget” his flannel or lick his lips obscenely

·      During sex he’s not very coy. He’ll make you beg for every part of his body explicitly.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

·      He is loud, but you don’t mind at all. You’ve always needed a man who could shout the roof off.

·      It doesn’t really matter because the neighbors aren’t that close. Once, he hollered during a blowjob and your dog got alarmed, scratching at your bedroom door.

·      You’ve got to figure out how to make him growl at you more often…

·      When he moans, you just want to do whatever he wants

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

·      Farmer! Daveed will always, wine and dine you on the classic records (blame his father). He knows good music! It makes you soft when he sings along.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

·      He’s a big boy, you noticed the first time you saw his all-weather work boots.

·      When you finally see him, Daveed tells you afterward that you had a big smile on his face.

·      He’s thick and circumcised, and very pretty

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

·      He works up a large appetite on the farm all day, so he comes over late and more than ready to unwind with you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

·      He’s ready to knock out, but he has to make sure you’re comfortable. Unless you’ve really worn him out, he takes his time to fall asleep.

·      Daveed is just willing to relax and cuddle beside you.

[fertileimaginationvault]

I Never Even Told You (part 1) - Superbat (DCEU Series)

“Ma?” Clark called as he passed the front door of the farmhouse. “Yeah?” Martha answered absently, busy in the kitchen.

“I've fixed the leak in the barn roof, and the fence between our farm and the Lang's. Their horses will no longer try to eat our... corn... What the-” Clark froze in his walk past the living room noticing the sudden change. The few furniture and the old couch were relocated to make room for a large flat-screen TV, almost taking up all the wall space on which it had been fixed.

“Bruce...” Clark sighed the other man's name as if asking to a higher being to be bestowed with divine patience. ‘Is that why he’s here?’ Clark thought. He had heard Bruce's heartbeat since he was still at the Lang Farm, the unmistakable sound of Bruce's heart flooded his ears and left him on alert. For a moment, Clark assumed his presence was due to an emergency that would require the Justice League to act. He even stretched his hearing to get part of Bruce's conversation with Martha but realized that the other man did not seem to be in a hurry to leave and had not even asked to see Clark (which bothered him a little although he hated to admit it). Clark kept working on the list of repairs that needed to be done around the farm, he could catch up with Bruce as soon as he finished. Now the TV of obscene proportions hanging on the wall of his mother's living room had answered all the questions he might have about Bruce’s presence there and even made him regret for not being able to stop the other man as soon as he arrived. Clark turned away from the tv, walking into the kitchen to find Bruce sitting at the table, his hair properly combed back, dressed in a well tailored three-piece suit that perfectly accented his silhouette, white shirt, black tie and a blue pocket square, which caught Clark's eye for being the exactly same shade of blue as his Superman uniform. He tried to ignore the erratic way his own heart started beating as soon as his eyes found that single spot of color in the sea of graffiti and black. That was not the first time Clark has seen Bruce wearing a tie or a pocket square of the same color of his Kryptonian suit or cape. Clark couldn't help the warmth spreading through his chest as his heart struggled to return to its usual rhythm. It was almost as if Bruce did this on purpose, to drawn Clark’s attention to him whenever they were in the same room... “Good afternoon.” Bruce greeted Clark from behind the cup of tea he was quietly drinking, yet his brown eyes studied Clark with some hesitation, like he was unsure that his presence in the house was desired or not. Clark cleared his throat, trying to keep his stance. He should be preparing to scold Bruce for one of his many extravagances involving him and his mother, not daydreaming about Bruce’s wardrobe choices having something to do with him. “What is that gigantic tv doing in our living room?”Clark asked folding his arms, narrowing his eyes to deflect any excuse Bruce might give regarding yet another extravagant gift. “Your mother needed a new tv.” Bruce answered, his voice flat, keeping a calm expression and his eyes away from Clark as he played with the handle of the teacup. “Bruce," Clark come closer to de table, “you can't just buy us expensive things like they're nothing.” “It is nothing.” “It’s a 4k smart tv almost bigger than the entire wall!” “It’s a gift.” “The screen matches the wallpaper! ” Clark sighed once again letting his arms fall beside him. This couldn’t be really happening. “Why did you buy us a tv?” “Because,” Martha intervened, coming to the table with a plate full of biscuits to place in front of Bruce, “the old tv has broken the last time Bruce came to visit. He was kind enough to try to fix that old junk but there was nothing left to do about it... and now he appeared here with this modern tv, even though I insisted that he didn’t have to buy me another one.” “It was only fair to give you a new tv, since I couldn’t fix the other.” Bruce shrugged exchanging smiles with Martha. Clark opened his mouth to say something, but his shock made him close it immediately. What was going on? Since when did Bruce and his mother have such a close relationship? And Since when Bruce made visits to the farm? “Ma, why didn’t you tell me the tv was broken? I could have gotten you a new one... well, not one of the size of an open-air cinema screen...” he mumbled, smirking triumphantly as Bruce rolled his eyes in response as continued to drink his cup of tea elegantly, “but still...” “I know you’ve been busy lately.” she waved off with a gesture while taking a tray of apple pie out of the oven to set on the counter so it would cool off. “I didn’t want to disturb you for an old tv that has seen better days. I could’ve handled it on my own... maybe go to the Sullivans’ store and get a new one.” “But I’m supposed to take care of those things, Ma. What would Pa say if he knew I left you here without a tv for... how long?” “Two days.” Bruce muttered discretely before taking another sip of tea, already suspecting Clark's next reaction. “See? Two days! Wait... “ Clark stared at Martha and Bruce, his blue eyes wide with disbelief, “Were you here two days ago?” Bruce remained silent, serving himself of some of Martha's biscuits, still unable to face Clark. “Clark, calm down, would ya? There’s no need to make such a fuss about it.” Martha took a seat in front of Bruce, also pouring herself some tea.“Bruce always comes to visit when he has the time...” “Does he... always?” Clark stood in the middle of the kitchen, trying to believe that that was his life and the big and scary Bat of Gotham was sipping tea and eating biscuits in his kitchen, with his mother. “I understand you might be upset...” Bruce finally took his eyes off the teacup to find Clark's. although his face was almost expressionless, Clark could feel the hesitation in his voice, like an apology hidden in millimeter-calculated words to sound as neutral as possible, but being enough to obliterate Clark's irritation completely. “I’m not upset. I am... surprised? I mean, that wasn’t exactly what I expected to see when I woke up this morning...” Clark said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, ashamed of his own reaction. However seeing the way Bruce’s eyes softened made that feeling fade away pretty fast. “Uh... Is there any chance I’ll be invited to join your tea club?” Clark mumbled with a smirking as he saw Bruce rolling eyes again, trying not smile, then turned to Martha giving his best big puppy eyes. “Maybe have some pie?” “Well, if you stop being so melodramatic, you may have a slice.” “Unbelievable! Since when did he become your favorite?” “Since I gave her a new tv.” Bruce allowed himself a slight smirk before hiding it behind the tea cup in one last gulp of tea, too fast for anyone to notice except Clark. “And since he’s not the one walking around the house with muddy shoes! Clark Joseph Kent I better not see footprints on my carpet!” Martha used the dishcloth to playfully whip Clark's legs who instinctively levitated in the air so he could escape it, laughing out loud. “Okay! Okay!” Clark lifted his hands in surrender, still floating a few inches from the kitchen floor, sitting on air while still laughing. “I’m gonna take them off! I’m going upstairs to take a shower and y’all better save me some pie for when I get back!” “Only if you stop flying inside the house!” Martha said, also laughing while seeing Clark floated to the stairs. “I’m not flying, I’m floating! There’s a difference!” Clark yelled back, making Martha laugh even more.” “No, there isn’t! I swear to God,” she turned to Bruce, “I have no idea who did he get that attitude from...” Clark quickly returned to the kitchen, still without letting his feet touch the ground, placing a kiss on her cheek, saying: “I got it from you.” Martha tried not cry for Clark's gesture. She has been doing that a lot for the past two years. Every time she sees Clark smiling, walking around the farm, playing with Dusty in the backyard. Every time he hugs her and say “I love you, Ma”. Every time Clark's on tv for saving someone or a entire city. Now that Martha knows how it is to lose her son, every moment with Clark has become even more special and also not enough . And to think that she could spend the rest of her life without seeing him smile again, if it wasn’t for the man seated in front of her. If it wasn't for Bruce. “Alright, muddy shoes,” she said, fighting the instinct to cry, patting Clark’s cheeks, “go get yourself clean, so we can eat.”