#undedicated writes

[esse-lunam]

an introduction to: my 90s fame dr!

please read this god please there's art in here also ive put 5+ months of work into this dr at this point so i swear that there's interesting shit in here yall I SWEAR I AM NICHE.

reblogs greatly appreciated! this took me forever teehee

ohhh my god this is a long time in the making, ive put this off for so, so long and i really couldn't tell you why. this can act as a script me into ur dr post if you like as well!

for starters, you can find my pinterest board for this dr here :3 just in case u want some cool visuals i guess :3

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so lets get the basics outta the way shall we?

full name: marley jo veitch

nicknames: mar, marley barley, mars bars, tink (reserved for s/o), living poet (public figure nickname type deal? yknow how stevie nicks gets called the white witch? yeah that)

pronouns: they/she

DOB: june 1st, 1970 (which makes me a gemini btw!)

occupation: musician (piano, violin, guitar n bass, some drums, and saxophone), poet, author (fiction and nonfiction), actor on occasion, also a comedian that one time

skills: all things music + writing basically, film analysis, pop culture analysis i guess, home decor, drawing, fashion?, and being the most autistic person in the multiverse

appearance stats: 5'3", 145ish lbs, long brownish-reddish hair with some light brown highlights in there, sorta wavy but barely

body mods: COVERED in tats (theres a tattoo section on the pinterest board but i also drew some so), septum piercing, snake bites, and a fair few ear piercings. and also i have glasses but thats not a body mod thats just a thing on my body.

"workin and workin't? you have a job?" more on that later!

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relationships and such! with photos!

s/o: robert sean leonard

"hey, do i recognise this guy?" you might! he played notable roles such as neil perry in dead poet's society, claudio in much ado about nothing, and james wilson in house md!

best friends: dylan kussman, allelon ruggiero, alexandra powers, and kimya dawson

"do i recognise more of these people?" again, probably! dylan, al, and alex were all in dead poets society, and kimya is a musician best known for her indie songs, some featured in the movie juno!

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my career! (oh good lord)

writing based - undedicated musings

(1986-1993)

alright so this is a bit hard to explain, bear with me. undedicated musings is an anonymous newsletter-based poetry... publication? run by me, under the pen name 'chartreuse', and the whole shtick is that i write poetry, love letters, and whatever else to the person i'll end up spending my life with, but the recipient of said writings is completely unknown, even to me, so im kinda just writing to nobody. until! i actually set my eyes on someone (obviously rsl) and then the writings start to get a bit more specific and yearn-y and personal. since the recipient is anonymous, all the writings are written for a 'vermillion'. both chartreuse and vermillion's identities are revealed when we get married in 1993. and no, rsl doesn't know that i'm chartreuse, nobody does until i reveal myself. i think its kinda cool :3

film based - dead poet's society

(1988-1989)

so for starters, i was part of the crew that worked on the set of dead poets society, now all my friends (except kimya, her and i become friends in the late 90s) make sense! my actual job on set is kind of a vague be-here-and-do-a-bit-of-everything type deal, so there's no set title beyond "assistant to lead" even tho it's essentially government assigned 'friendship' LMAO. but! me and the cast get on like a house on fire, so i kinda just get to tag along on their wacky teenage-ish boy adventures. this totally does not stem from a desire to be part of a teenage boy friend group, and i am, in fact, totally cisgender. i am also lying. anyway, without going into too much detail, me and my s/o-not-yet-s/o (will be referring to him as rsl from this point on) sorta have a painstakingly long will they wont they type deal, because i guess i like torturing myself. we meet a day before all the actual film stuff starts just as a sort of preliminary get to know eachother because you'll be in close proximity VERY often for months. thats some time in march - june-ish? of 1988 (i shift to my dr the day before!) and we don't actually get together until june of 1989. so.

also! some changes to the movie because i can make those: knox overstreet is now played by matthew lillard instead of josh charles, because josh charles is a fucking zionist and i dont want to associate with him in any reality! knox also isnt a b plot to the movie at all, instead focusing on meeks and pitts because i find them much more interesting! and also knox's b plot is creepy as hell! also, the racism against natives (read this!) is completely gone! no thanks!

music based - MAURZI

(1988-2004 technically)

strap in boys because this is the main event of this dr and the lore is VAST. MAURZI (must be spelled in all caps, like MF DOOM) is a sort of musical person/character i've made to tell the story of via a series of albums. i release my first single in october of 1988 titled "lunarian", which is a fun little song about a being from the moon arriving on earth and having some inter-planetary culture shock. and thats the only song i've actually planned! i release 6 total albums that map out the MAURZI storyline kinda

- MAURZI (1989)

- GONE TO SHIT! (1991)

- Charmed (1992)

- I found Him in Santa Barbara (1995)

- Waterworks (1998)

- also bibliography (2004) but those are released as songs By Me and not MAURZI, just released under the same artist. MAURZI storyline ends with Waterworks.

now here's where you get the very extensive MAURZI lore. MAURZI is a sort of alternate-universe representation of me, where in i'm much more famous than i actually am in my dr, and i am absolutely RUINED by my fame in a fuck ton of ways. each album is a different section of her life so i'll explain it album by album. also for reference, in my dr capitalism/ currency isnt a thing, but in the MAURZI... verse? it is. because i like anti capitalist art! same goes for most other media im in/ participate in, actually. MAURZI uses she/her pronouns btw, i dont.

MAURZI - my self-titled album is about as close and personal to my life as i'll get, which an average amount because i still throw in some songs about shit that i have not at all done/ experienced. (ex. songs about cheating, toxic relationships, and things along those lines. thankfully ive had a mostly healthy relationship with relationships! except that one time!) MAURZI is new to the music scene but she's here to make some lovely tunes to help process some stuff! artists im taking inspiration from include (but are not limited to): sarah kinsley, dodie, jeff buckley, tv girl, mitski, and peach pit.

GONE TO SHIT! - MAURZI's first album blew the fuck up! now she's thrown into the midst of dealing with an incomprehensible amount of attention on her at all times, which she was absolutely not prepared for. what does she do to cope? sex drugs and rock n roll, baby! she also gets addicted to 2 outta those 3 things! can you guess which ones?? now, obviously, this album is entirely fictional and is only tangentially inspired by some life events, heavy emphasis on the tangentially. artists im taking inspiration from include (but are not limited to): the nonstick pans, panic! at the disco, forest, david bowie, chappel roan, and king gizzard & the lizard wizard.

Charmed - the love song album! this is basically comprised of songs i sorta wrote about rsl, but changed up a fuck ton because i wrote them while i was pining and did Not want him to knkw who they were about. in terms of MAURZI stuff, she meets someone just after deciding that she's gotta clean up her act if she wants to exist healthily. recovering alongside a loved one and them being a motivator for recovery! now i should specify here that MAURZI's s/o is not the same as mine, and is entirely gender neutral/ doesn't even have a canon(?) human appearance at all. they're named Vermillion because we love a callback! artists im taking inspiration from include (but are not limited to): the smiths, siouxsie and the banshees, james blake, queen, laufey, and her's.

I found Him in Santa Barbara - yknow how when a banana ripens too much and it starts to tuen brown? yeah imagine that logic but applied to recovery, i guess. NOW IS A GOOD TIME TO REITERATE THAT MAURZI AND I ARE TWO DIFFERENT PEOPLE AND MAURZI IS JUST A CHARACTER. essentially MAURZI had a spiritual awakening and "found god." but what that ACTUALLY means is that she started viewing vermillion as a sort of god? but she's keeping it on the down low (making an album about it) because she doesn't want vermillion to thing she's CRINGE. themes of loving a god, being IN love with a god, being in lust with a god, temporarily thinking youre a god? stuff along those lines. its a bit intense, VERY experimental and.. heavy? both in themes and in musical style for some portions. this is my fav album out of all of them if you couldnt tell. artists im taking inspiration from include (but are not limited to): sleep token, WILLOW, type o negative, slipknot, lemon demon (specifically songs off spirit phone), hozier, violent vira, pierce the veil, gorillaz kinda, bjork, kate bush, deftones, destroy boys, and rammstein probably.

Waterworks - so yknow how MAURZI was having a whole trouble with god moment? yeah well thats gone now, no i haven't figured out how that'll work narratively, thats for me to figure out in like 10 years from now (now being 1988, naturally.) we've returned to our self-titled roots in terms of musical style! now we've just got some fun themes of trauma and such! and then that's the and of MAURZI as a character story wise, as i said earlier the album after this one is just a Me album. same artist inspo as self titled!

and guess what! music lore isnt even fuckin done! my music in this dr is a multiverse in itself goddamn. so basically the album covers for each album tell a completely seperate story about a completely seperate alter ego/ character/ whatever named Moonzi. name given by my audience (which is my excuse for coming up with such a shitty name and then keeping it.) the story of moonzi, without going into too much detail because i dont wanna type it all out, is a sci-fi type story about a being from the moon (lunarian callback!) on a quest to bring this space artifact back to its original place, basically. a bit more on it later, emphasis on a bit. also! each album cover is drawn by a different artist, and each album artist animates one official music video off their respective album, just cuz i like art and stuff! those music videos kinda follow the moonzi storyline loosely, but incorporate MAURZI elements. is this confusing? hope not. drawings!

writing based - novels

can you believe im still not done? like not even close? certified yapper. anyway! my 3 fiction novels (Manchester, NH - 1991, Curator Rye, 1997, Sand Dollars + Pearls - 2008) are about my ocs basically! thats it really, i dont feel the need to share the plots of those tbh.

writing based - autobiographies

two? yep! one is a fictional autobiography about MAURZI (MAURZI - 1999) and one is a non fictional autobiography about me (Radio Free Marley - 2012.) take a shot every time i say MAURZI and you will need to get your stomach pumped. she just. she means a lot to me :3

film based - doctor who

(1994-1999)*

*these dates are when im on the show btw, not its total runtime, same applies to other cr existing shows.

big disclaimer: never seen doctor who. dont know the plot, dont know which doctor i'm gonna be, i just wanna be in it.

so! my version of the doctor is kinda weird. its one doctor, but played by two people, but theyre one person. we're both the doctor. and by we i mean both me and rsl, obviously. the viewer sees the doctor as two different people, but NOBODY ELSE IN THE DAMN SHOW besides our little companion buddy guy (played by my cr friend fish!) SEES, ACKNOWLEDGES, OR IS ABLE TO VIEW THE DOCTOR AS TWO PEOPLE. its really complicated and i really did not have to make it that way, but its cool to me so i really dont care. also we're breakjng the doctor who cycle of boring suit and tie (this is NOT about you 15 <3) and going steampunk-esque. again, cuz i wanna.

film based - house md

(2005 - 2010)

marley veitch be in a show without rsl challenge (failed.) i play a character i made up named Nanette Amesbury who is essentially wilson's first ex wife. does he have a canon first ex wife? think so (i actually havent finished house oops.) do i care? you can take a guess. nanette (nicknamed ninny - which im well aware means dumb) is the director of the pediatrics department at princeton plainsboro and she kinda has a fwb type deal with wilson before figuring out shes a lesbian, having a crush on cuddy, being besties with kutner, then leaving the show in season 6. (zeth if ur reading this yes i made her show up for more than 2 seconds she just. means so much to me. also i want cudbury content.) im also a writer for the show so im there for its entire run time :3 i really like this show :3

film based - moonzi

(2016)

YEAHHHHH BABY SHES BACK!!! moonzi's storyline gets adapted into an adult swim animated tv show! i do screenwriting, stiryboarding, and voice acting! style wise, think teen titans mixed with bojack horseman mixed with archer. sick space visuals also!

comedy based - dying art

(2020)

idk i wanted to do a standup special! dunno what it's about. ill leave that up to future me to decide because this isn't happening for 32 damn years and i really just dont wanna come up with a standup special rn.

film based - radio free marley

(whenever)

i wanted a biopic, but i wanted it to be both about me and MAURZI, and how points in my life influenced or inspire songwriting. so the episode structure is like

ep 1: about me, point in my life

ep 2: about MAURZI, point in her life thats sorta related but not entirely to the events in ep 1

ep 3: about me, point in my life

ep 4: about MAURZI, point in her life thats sorta related but not entirely to the events in ep 3

ep 5: you get the idea

and then this goes on for 12 episodes and ends with the MAURZI story wrapping up and with me sorta retiring kinda. dont know when it'll be made, probably at some point in my 60s or whatever. im permashifting if you couldnt tell btw.

and thats it! after all this im just kinda existing and living life and whatever else. so with that outta the way i'll list some fun facts and i'll FINALLY BE DONE JESUS CHRIST IVE BEEN WRITING THIS FOR LIKE 3 HOURS.

- i live in new york city! manhattan to be specific

- i also have a lake house in new hampshire because i Need to be in a rural area at some points

- my house's interior design is very 70s themed and its WHIMSICAL AND FUN! maximalism, whimsigoth, nooks and crannys to be in, fun and varied seating options, conversation pit, loft bedroom, whole 9 yards. ive also got a gazebo on my roof!

- i have 2 siblings in my dr (not here im an only child in my cr womp womp) named lia and monty, theyre my best friends in my cr!

- ive also got a cat! she's a ragdoll kitty named yvonne, shes a sweetheart!

- i scripted out light pollution so the sky is all pretty at night, highly recommend you do the same

- im in STOMP at one point, dont know or care when, i just wanna be in it

- robin williams........... he is a father figure to me................ sniff sob

- yes i scripted out his death i simply cannot deal with that

- PUBLIC TRANSPORT AND WALKABLE SOCIETY!!!!! NO MORE CAR BASED US SOCIEY WOOOO!!!

- i cant fucking believe i havent mentioned this yet but im scottish?? im not scottish in my cr i was just thinking about david tennant when i was forming the dr idea back in january and it stuck. MAURZI is american tho

- hilson is canon in my dr LMAOAOOA

- thats all i got

sweet lord in heaven above if you've read this whole thing im giving u a big kiss. this is so long and i really dont wanna proofread it so im not gonna, excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes.

[mykelneedssleep]

I may not have forgotten about my accommodation’s open house day today in terms of cleaning my room before I left for my lectures however I did forget that I consistently have psychotic ramblings on my whiteboard among the genuine important information on there and I maybe should have erased some of it…

In completely unrelated news here’s another out of context sneak peak of my w359 apocalypse au that I’ve been obsessing over recently that an indeterminable amount of people were definitely not subject to seeing upon entering my room for a tour today because who would leave something like that up?

If anyone ever says I’m not dedicated to the craft just know that they are lying to you cause undedicated people don’t draw 30 (albeit very shitty looking) targets to keep track of a training scene they’re writing in a fan fic

[ginghamcheckers]

i think you might just be a hater with depression bc the show had issues but you're acting like it actively murdered someone

well they did fuck up the entire timeline and all of mr house but sure im just being soy here ^_^

the only thing about this show they didn't entirely fuck up is the vault boy shorts, ironically, which i utterly adore. it actually HAS what the rest of the show lacks - any kind of hatred for corporate bodies that doesn't feel lacking. which is kind of important in an anti-capitalist series. the only thing the primary show does is say mr house nukes the world. kind of dumb. it doesn't have a lot to say politically speaking and i find that intensely mind numbing. i heavily enjoy discussion of politics in my media and if you perceive that as me being a hater uhh kill yourself

to say i didn't enjoy any of it would be a lie, regardless. again vault boy's shorts, though i utterly despise cooper howard and his.. black woman CEO wife who nuked the planet??? i am not a hater, i just know fallout by heart. i found this show to be unpleasant, undedicated to its source and kind of racist. on top of that it did also write new vegas out of existence via off-screening it and disrespecting the memory of the dead man whos character used to live there.

it took a video game series known for its anonymity about who ended the world, who fired first because of the fear and hatred, a commentary on war and the red scare and change and ultimately hope (war never changes but men do through the roads they walk) and turned it into a gritty TV show about killing and cannibalizing each other and also war never changes so let's have the fucking ""cabal"" (that's what people are calling it I GUESS? antisemitic in its own right) of like a few rich people nuke the planet. Fuck nuance and this IP's politics and history, we write our own terrible stories. If you cannot see how it is ultimately a terrible fucking TV show if it's attempting to be a FALLOUT show, that is your fault for lacking discernment.

It's probably fine as it's own thing but they replaced all of the lore of the west coast as well with their own shitty stuff about immortal witches or whatever and i just don't give a fuck it's ass bro. New vegas did it better + ratio

and also, matthew perry adored this series, so much so that they allowed him a cameo in New Vegas, and off-screening his character was no way to tribute that. his death wasn't that long ago. they also fucked up the timeline entirely like i said but why should i mention that right? im just a hater

[esse-lunam]

ok so my 90s fame dr. fame drs arent super underrated but 1) i like to think my career n s/o n stuff is pretty unique :3 and 2) i dont see a lot of ppl with 90s fame drs! plenty of modern and 80s ones but none in the 90s. CMON YALL, nirvana, cute 90s actors, ROBIN WILLIAMS IN HIS PRIME?? ur missing out

so basically im a musician and an author. so to combine both aspects into one, all of my music is actually the story of my musical persona, MAURZI. MAURZI, in short, is a characterised version of me that enters the music scene and is absolutely RUINED by fame, and each album is a different moment in her career. its a whole thing that i'll eventually get into when i make an intro to this dr,,

oh and some more writing stuff!! i run this anonymous newsletter thing called undedicated musings, which is essentially a bunch of poems and writing for the person i end up spending my life with. here's the catch though, i have no idea who i'm writing to, and neither does anyone else. the newsletter discontinues when i get married, which is when i reveal myself as the author, and my s/o as the recipient. not entirely sure when this happens specifically since i havent decided when i get married,, oops! anywho, i publish all this undedicated musings stuff under the pseudonym chartreuse.

and my s/o.. OHG MAN MY S/O!!!!!! his name is robert sean leonard and he is the absolute LOML

isnt he a cutiepie????

we meet on the set of dead poet's society!! he's the lead in that movie and i'm kinda just there to offer occasional input, help out, and be his government mandated best friend. we dont get together for like,, a year and some months which is a slow burn im both looking forward to and dreading HEAVILY. alas, im a sucker for some mutual pining.

i think my fav part abt this dr is that robin williams is my father figure :3 man am i lucky! (yes i scripted he stays alive, of course)

thats all i feel like typing rn,,, oh and i also have a dead poets society dr, ive only seen a couple of ppl with one which i find INSANE since boarding school drs are so common. whatev.

Dr question of the day! What’s an underrated Dr of yours?

I personally have a dr that’s literally based off a dream i had so i know that’s a rare one but what are your underrated or rare drs? It can be as simple or extravagant as you want. It can a book/series/movie that you think a lot of people dont shift to or it can be smth you totally made up yourself. The only qualification needed here is that it’s not a commonly shifted to sort of place

[urdadthinksimfine]

Which dreams are dead and should be buried and mourned?

Which dreams should I say good bye to? Tell them, to rest in peace?

being a 17 year old anymore that trainers put their faith into?

being a juvenile anymore that people of authority want to help out and mentor?

being in some sort of program like kpop stars, where they have to give their everything

becoming a dedicated dancer/ singer/ rapper in the industry

...

.

Its so beautiful, this dedication of Ippo, this hard, hard work, the exhaustion that feels worth, when you notice improvement, the love for something, the passion for some matter, not just a vibe, but the whole things itself.

the vibe seems to emerge from living the matter. i dont love a thing. i love what happens around it, the vibe.

the getting up in the early mornings to go running, when its still foggy or in the midday or even evening, the schedule, with road work and in the gym, the people around him, that help him improve, root for him.

.

he has goals and he gives his all. he wants to give what it takes. ive never had that, but i couldve had that with capoeira maybe, if i wanted to.

even with other goals but becoming the best of some sport, there was no.. supporting enviroment for very strong dedication, there was no passionate enviroment for anything, because there was no passion within my family. it died with grandpa.

what is there, that i could still be very passionate about? with people rooting for me?

being best at some school stuff (school over, but university)

music producing (like yoongi etc getting no sleep and becoming obsessed but thats their life and what they chose, what they need to do, what they need their life to be like)

becoming a very good business woman trying their best with their international connection and relationship to some asian market

a social worker maybe who is working hard to make an beneficial establishment or institution or make a positive change in the education system or something

.

If i could just dream of what or who i am.. it would be..

me, dedicated to music and performance,

hustling because i know its for this dream of mine, spending those hours of hard work in the studio, in the dance studio

working to pay the expenses i have for my life dedicated to my music

expressing feeling in song and dance and choreography, in video making, in producing, maybe in photography, maybe in writing..

for myself most of all, but also because its my job, with passion, with dedication, with need, with blood, sweat and tears

Its very kpop-y... but can i still do it, just for myself? even if everyone id meet on this path is younger or more experienced than i am?

what if i did all that, passionate, but really just for myself, do my stuff, upload it, work on more pieces, or more styles, just for myself?

if i missed my chance by saying bye to kanghee, missed my chance by living my life undedicated the way i did with no skills,

could i just do it amateur-sytle for myself, with art and music as an ventil for my pain, for my desires? instead of destroying myself?

or am i thinking easy again, because i dont even try going big, with studying it, giving it my MORE, with reconnecting with kanghee, with trying to go bigger road with studying something connected with the field?

.

or is it just me burning for something, give SOMETHING my all?

becoming an architect, a scientist in a laboritory, something that i have to spend hors in the library for in order to learn and master it?

do i just want to be dedicated, like those japanese next to me in the library? they seems to have a creative thing to study for, because one of them is drawing architectual stuff. reminding me of this one insta-drawer-girl that did those classic, barock-ish drawings of bts. the studied art, too. she studied it, had to find out stuff about it, learn, practice it and its history and aspects.

should i just learn to be a laborant, so i can do that all my life and on my free time be a nerd for music, writing stories and ff, learn japanese for fun and for my vacations there..

.

if i learned business administration with focus on asia, or east-asian studies or japanology id definitely end up with other nerds, which gives me chance to get into a crowd of weirdos, find a weirdo boyfriend and be fine with it. it would make my free time less lonely, because id be surrounded by freaks.

maybe.. maybe..

[configurations-of-humanoid]

Quite often stories don't form in chronological order. Truth be told neither did the one I hope to tell here, however, I do hope to be able to write stuff often, and so it may require me to not wait for the ideas to arrive in story time line order, but to write them as they come. Which will be as confusing for you as for me. Hopefully though, the writing will still be enjoyable.

Now, some time after Anti moved to the Ipliers headquarters he managed to start dating both Wilford and Dark, quite the feat but they did go well together. This was no longer than two years after, but no shorter than four months, pin it where you will, more likely the earlier end of the scale.

Many of the Ipliers, as mentioned before, had noticed Anti's tendency for muttering, however it wasn't until this stage that they considered telling anyone other than Marvin, and even then, the thought of non acceptance was a looming shadow.

Anti had gone to Marvin first of all for some advice, They felt that they should tell the septics first of all due to the duration that they had known them. Luckily, Dark and Wilford had come with them so they didn't have to worry about saying it twice.

"Are you okay Anti?" Marvin asked, they were sat up in the magicians room, an odd place filled with all sorts of plants, crystals, candles, and vials, with old books open on the desk. The the room itself was rather messy, but it screamed Marvin.

"We're too loud, and scared- we've been doing so well at functioning we've felt like 'I', what if this makes us unstable - they deserve to know."

"I can talk or take over if you wish." Marvin took Anti's left hand, rubbing his thumb over Anti's wrist. Anti looked down at their wrist and then back up.

"We should do it ourselves."

"Do you want to go downstairs yet?"

"Yeah."

Anti got up, their form glitching too much for Marvin to continue to hold onto. The two went downstairs, catching the attention of some of the egos sat in the living room.

"About time," Jackie commented, "you two have been up there long enough you'd think you were up to something." Jackie teased, but then paused at how serious Anti's facial expression. He still remembered clearly what Anti was capable of, the other Septics may be back on good grounds with him since he started only visiting every now and again, but he wasn't as forgiving.

Anti stood in one spot shuffling for a moment before speaking, "I need to tell you all something because i shouldn't hide what I am anymore."

He paused, awaiting a witty comment before continuing to address peoples shoes. "Its just, Marvin made this body for me but im not an I if you get it- no no no, this is not working,- lampshade theory - yes, okay, right, so like, you guys, your soul and consciousness is like, one lightbulb and your body is like, a light shade- we're like, a bunch of fairy lights and alone we wouldn't generate enough light for the lampshade so we stick together but we've stuck together that long that our emotions and thoughts mingle and we mostly feel like an I but sometimes we get unstable and its loud and-"

Anti cut off when Marvin took his wrist, Marvin immediately let go again and Anti looked up, the room contained a mixture of confused and surprised expressions. Then, to their surprise, Robbie got up, waddled up and hugged them. They hugged their brother back and tried to hold it together, whispering Robbie a thank you before glitching away.

---

"Anti?"

He supposed glitching to their shared room was predictable but Dark and Wilford had found him incredibly quickly. He sighed and pulled the blanket further around him.

"Dark, We're sorry, we should have told you- it was deceptive of us- this changes a lot doesn't it?"

Anti heard Dark sigh and felt him sit next to him only guessing this as when the other person sat on the other side of him the bed dipped a little further.

"It does, and I would have preferred you told us before." Dark said, Anti waited for Dark to continue, hoping they hadn't ruined this. "but, this does not change your personality or any of our feelings I should hope."

Anti looked over at Dark, he looked rather sincere, but then again he always did when it came to serious personal matters. Anti didn't want to have to deal with a serious mood right then, they just wanted physical reassurance.

Anti reached out and touched Darks face, "Have we ever told you how pretty you are- pretty boyfriend - we love you."

Darks face broke into a smile and he put a hand over Anti's, taking their hand from his face and holding it between his own hands. Anti felt Wilford wrap his arms around their side and hug them.

"Nothing to say about me then Anti? I'm hurt."

Anti smiled, leaning into Wilfords hold, "You are very comfy- big pillow, we love you- comfy emotionally also- thank you."

"So, do me and Dark refer to you as 'They' or 'He'?"

Anti thought about it for a moment before shrugging, "Either works."

"Okie Dokie." Wilford let Anti go and got up, "Now, we've had an emotional afternoon, sho how's about I get some snacks and we have a pajama afternoon."

"If you get anything on these sheets."

"Darkling, honestly, it can be sorted, lets have a nice afternoon okay?"

"Of course."

[cyborgmagpie]

Devils Train (part 10)

The Author tapped his pen against his desk, Dark had been taking longer than expected and although he had got time left, the Author felt perhaps he could send some help. He picked the vial out of his pocket, the blood had gotten rather viscous but he was still able to swirl it around.

"You know, perhaps I should have just sent a bloodhound and someone who is good with poisons." He spoke, the only other in the room didn't respond, he was only there to guard, but the Author continued regardless. "I bet that would have gotten the Eldritch demon back to me faster than Dark and his matriculated planning. Though we do love Dark, he's always gotten me some of the more interesting specimens."

The Author looked up, grinning, "Although, it can't hurt to send someone to check upon him."

---

Wilford and Anti ended up keeping their underwear on in the bath to 'avoid awkwardness' as Anti put it. Wilford had ran them a hot bath and the two had got in. Anti seated between Wilford's legs.

Anti leant back into the other as he massaged suds into Anti's hair, chuckling as the other began to purr.

"Adorable."

Much to Wilfords disappointment Anti gave a huff and stopped, "Shut up, its just an automatic thing, okay?"

"Then why haven't you done it before?"

"... Because I was holding back,.. Just, forget it."

"If you say so Love." Wilford smiled, continuing, "You know, I don't know how we didn't get together sooner."

"Because I'm part Eldritch?" Anti suggested, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Now you're just being rude." Wilford paused, "You know I didn't think about how we're going to wash the soap off."

"Use a jug or something."

Wilford shrugged and cupped his hands into a bowl, bringing water up from the bath to ontop of the demons head, trying to wash the suds off. Anti grinned and rolled his eyes.

"I'll be a prune before this works."

"It would suit your personality."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Shrivelled and grumpy."

"Am not!" He exclaimed, "You're lucky I love you."

"I'll keep that in mind."

---

Dark found Anti and Wilford sat eating what presumably was lunch, looking rather happy with eachother. He sat down opposite and Wilford looked up, smiling at Dark.

"Dark! Lovely to see you, and We've something to tell you." He beamed, "Anti and I are courting."

"Dating is more modern." Anti grumbled, a blush on his ears.

Dark nodded, this didn't effect the plan, there was nothing wrong with them being romantically involved, Wilford is capable of handling his own emotions and hasn't needed Dark in years. Dark realized he must have zoned out as Wilford was suddenly clicking his fingers in front of his face.

Wil sat back when Dark blinked, "Oh good, you're awake."

"Yes, right. I need to tell you something concerning the Author as he isn't aware yet but I don't plan upon completing my current task." Dark said, "However, to truly escape and feel safe, I plan upon taking him down."

There was a pause as the words sunk in, Wilford had only heard of the Author from Dark but he was aware he was dangerous. Anti had heard Henrik talk of him on few occasions as a word of warning. That some humans meddled in things they shouldn't and became worse than demons and felt they were god's.

"As in dead?"

"Right."

Wilford raised his eyebrows at Darks solmuness, the implications sinking in, "You're going to kill him?"

"What part of dead escapes your understanding?" Dark replied, irritation seeping into his voice.

Anti waited for a moment, practically able to hear the gears turning in Wilford's brain. Then he asked the crucial question, "Why?"

Dark looked at the table, then reached into his pocket. Taking a deep breath and running a thumb over the vial of blood- Anti's blood- he looked back up and Wilford and Anti were watching him. Awaiting his answer.

Just as he was ready to confess the train pulled to a halt. Dark saw Anti stand up on instinct, alert and stood between Wilford and the aisle of the carriage, occasionally checking behind him for anything outside the window.

"The boss says you're taking your time Dark."

Dark cursed mentally, looking down the aisle to see two masked figures- fox masks to be specific. He stepped out, preparing a thin layer of aura to protect himself should they shoot.

"I like to be sure that I've been subtle with my work as well as swift. Unlike your preference of kidnapping the target." He responds, holding his hands behind his back.

"The boss reckons you've found the target, so what's the delay?"

"The collector should be aware that it's very difficult to cause the disappearence of a target who is known to many people. " Dark said, "He will have to wait to collect this creature, as he has before."

"Who are your friends Dark? Introduce us?"

"We don't have time for this." The other masked man said, "Dark, hand me the vial."

Dark froze, so they planned on sniffing him out. He put his hand in his pockets, running his fingers over the vial. He then made a show of checking other pockets.

"I must have left it in the carriage I'm staying in."

One huffed but the other didn't change composure.

"We don't need it." He said before taking a sharp inhale. He slowly exhaled and looked over Darks shoulder, at Anti.

Dark watched both foxes hone in on Anti, they seemed to freeze for a moment, and then one launched forth. Dark stepped forward, his aura flaring to stop him, but the fox slapped his chest, Dark barely noticed the paper stuck to him as his aura dropped and he was overcome with a numb feeling, as if his very life force was dropping out of him.

Wilford fired a shot and in return one threw a knife. Caught by a clawed inky hand, the eldritch looked back at the foxes. The masks looked like they were grinning. It growled, dropping the blade and closing its eyes, a gaping mouth appearing down its torso.

Wilford saw one of them ready a gun and went to shout but it was over too late. Anti hit the ground, a dart sticking out of him. One of the foxes picked up Anti, the other kept a gun trained on Wilford, both of them walked to the end of the carriage and got off of the train.

Wilford sat in the booth, panting, why hadn't he moved? He always promised Anti he could look after himself. He barely did anything.

Something shook Wilford out of his self pitying trance, he jumped up and went over to Dark. He looked pale, paler than usual. Wilford looked at the paper on his chest, pulling it off.

Dark gasped and sat up, taking the paper from Wilford's hand, looking at it before ripping it up. Looking up at Wilford's confused face.

"The paper was written on by the author. He thought there would be a possibility the foxes would fight me."

"What did they want with Anti?"

Dark shook his head, sitting himself up.

"Dark. What did they want with him?"

"Wilford, just-"

"No! He's just been kidnapped Dark, they used a tranquilizer strong enough for an eldritch. What are they after him for."

Dark looked at his lap, then up at Wilford. "The author heard of a demon cross eldritch being on this train and wanted it for his collection."

"Collection?"

"He collects rare things, artifacts, specimens, gems."

"You were sent here to capture Anti?"

"I changed my mind, you know this!"

Wilford paused, "Would you have changed your mind if I weren't attached to Anti?"

Dark didn't answer. Wilford sat back down, taking deep breaths. The silence hung between the two, weighing down on Dark's conscious.

"Are you still going to kill the author?"

Dark looked up, Wilford's face was unreadable, which was odd. Dark stood himself up, brushing his suit off, and holding a hand out to Wilford.

"I swear it, but first, let's visit the witch doctor."

[sseokeosseohours]

Beyond the (adorable) beastiality, I was really taken into another character with that writing like wow this 2nd person POV undedicated to anyone has made me be the boldest I’ll ever be ++++ how the mc’s personality is so evident with the skipping the how they became friends part and just jumping onto the transition - just fskjcck MC’S SO IMPATIENT that everything else is unmentioned as irrelevantly unexciting in their head but ready to go slow for hk I love it who even understands. Anw I now understand the drive to the maintenance of those personalities

*clear throat* it’s magical, least to say. thanks for this masterpiece, kind lad. the way you write is beautiful !

Whatever She Wants

☆Song suggestion: Everything She Wants, Wham!

Summary:

Throughout your life, you were able to get by with the mindset that if you don’t give up, you’ll achieve whatever you want. Your current goal wouldn’t know what flirting was if it hit him in the face. Minor setback. 

Hueningkai x fem! reader

Genre: idiots to lovers, Hueningkai is BIG and STUPID but god does mc want him!! fluff, smut

Word count: 12.1K (a third is just straight up smut.) 

Warnings: Hueningkai is both built and tall af, extrovert mc, introvert/shy hk, mentions of food and alcohol, mc is bold!! Yeojin from loona is our wingwoman this time, our boy is explicitly called Huening or Kai, unofficial dom/sub dynamics(?), mentions of a single parent/ unideal life situations (doesn’t go into detail), petnames (baby)

Smut Warnings: soft dom!mc, sub!servicetop!hk, grinding, hk is inexperienced, and whiny, dry humping, face riding/sitting, oral (f&m receiving) multiple orgasms, overstimulation, hair pulling, deep throating, orgasm control, (edging, forced orgasm) raw sex (mc is on birth control!) riding, creampie, hk is pussydrunk!!

Notes: I don’t care how tall you are, Huening will be taller. He is meant to be an absolute colossal unit in this story, use your imagination!!

Hueningkai has been told he’s handsome all his life. 

Through his mother, constantly doting and praising him— “Look at my handsome boy, so charming!”— his aunties, endlessly shocked at the growth spurts he receives and the deepening of his voice— “You’ve grown well,” they would say, squinting up at him in exaggeration; they would always turn to his mother, nodding in approval as they spoke, “He’s grown into quite a handsome man.”— and through many more faceless people he’s encountered in his life. 

Maybe that’s why he turned out so stupid.

You’ve always been a high achiever— good grades, top of your class, excelling greatly in all sports and extracurriculars; only applying for high-quality jobs, even when still in high school, climbing your way to the top as you quickly became favored by everyone— it was a strategy you used well into your career.  

In short, you only wanted the best.

The best that, much to your dismay, currently manifested itself into the absolute unit that was Kai Kamal Huening. 

Your brain was quick to rationalize things; he was tall, handsome, and kind— the quick bare minimum checked off your list— but he was also much, much more than that. He was quick-witted and funny, one of the best lawyers in the firm you currently worked at as he always arrived early— a cup of coffee in his hands and his blazer already thrown across his forearm as he softly complained about how hot it always was inside. 

From your astute observations, he was fit. He had a good style and was well off, judging by the expensive suits that he always wore, always tailored to perfection— allowing you to catch the way his muscles rippled under his shirt whenever he would reach for the cabinets that were too high for anyone’s benefit— though you didn’t mind them that much now. 

He was well-spoken and charming, the compelling aura he always held to him enough to show why he was one of the top lawyers in your firm. 

Ergo, not entirely stupid. 

However, book smart and street smart are two entirely different things. 

“Huening,” You say, smiling softly as he turns around to face you, “a surprise seeing you here.”

That was a complete and utter lie. Anyone that worked at your firm knew that if they stopped at the coffee shop three blocks away before work, they were bound to bump into the man himself; the cup he carried into work every morning was enough of a hint. It was that same cup, however, that you spent days squinting at, attempting to decipher the name that his delicate fingers covered before you gave up and asked a mutual friend about; Yeojin only laughed at you, mocking you for an obscene amount of time before letting you in on the big clue. 

“He’s there every morning to order the same thing,” she lightheartedly scoffs, shaking her head before she continues, “Wonder how the hell he hasn’t gotten sick of it yet.”

So here you stand, taking a leap of faith as Huening’s eyes widen in recognition— you’re quite offended that it took him a moment to remember you at all. 

“Oh, hello,” it’s painful to hear how formal and reserved he is, the gorgeous lull of his deep voice enough for you to push past it as you continue to smile, “I didn’t know you came here.” 

“Well, thought I’d give it a try,” you say, tilting your head slightly, pausing as if in thought, “after all, I always see you with a cup from here. Figured it’s good enough if you stop by every day.” 

Your voice has shifted into that soft purr you always use on the people you like— victims of your trap as you lure them in, the perfect prey for you to pounce on and enjoy. His smile wavers for a second, and you try to fight back the way your lips want to quirk up as you notice his adam's apple bob nervously. 

Arms crossing, you take a step closer to him, looking up at him as you smile sweetly. Your scent fills his senses, floral and addicting as he looks down at you in confusion. The height difference sends your mind reeling.

“Maybe I could buy you your drink?” You say, sending him a coy smile as you continue, “As a thank you for showing me this place?”

He blinks rapidly, lashes delicately brushing against his skin as your words process in his mind. You feel elated, waiting to catch him in a flustered position, wanting to see what he looks like beyond that cool and collected character he always has. 

He takes a step back; you think you feel nauseous.

“That won’t be necessary,” he says, not a wavering ounce of nerves interlaced with his words as he sends you an apologetic smile. It’s his turn to order, and he takes another step away from you as he gives you a small bow, as though he were rejecting you— no, he was rejecting you. 

“Thank you for the offer though.” 

You can feel the heat rush up your face, a raging fire as it licks the back of your neck and leaves your fingers tingling. But you keep your cool, seemingly unfazed as you nod casually at his words; the pleasant smile on your face is stuck like glue for the rest of your time there, painfully aware of the fact that he didn’t bother even looking your way as you both waited for your drinks— even when they got announced at the same time and the two of you grabbed the wrong cups, all he did was swiftly switch with you and practically speed out of the building. 

In conclusion— you’ve had better coffee. 

❅ ❅ ❅

The concept of mutual friends is truly a blessed thing.

“So, what’d he say?”

After all, it was your one-way ticket to hearing the other side of the story.

“I didn’t want her to waste money on me, so I said no. Plus, my drink is pretty expensive.”   

You’ve never been happier to hear such a sentence— he wasn’t rejecting you, he was just dense!

“So he didn’t understand that I was flirting with him,” you say for the umpteenth time, leaning over the small break table as you ignore the lunch that you and Yeojin were supposed to eat together; your food was getting cold, but that wasn’t really on your mind as you stared Yeojin down, impatient for her response.

“No,” Yeojin said, mid-swallow as she pauses to take a drink— unlike you, Yeojin was currently entranced by the spread before her, eating as though her life were on the line. 

“I’m telling you, he’s just a little uh… dumb, with this kind of stuff.” 

Raising a brow at that, you finally decide to take a bite out of your food— you thought you were being quite obvious. It’s a little hard to believe that he wouldn’t know, considering the fact that he was a good-looking man; surely he’s had many people flirt with him, right?  your mind raced for answers to this strange dilemma, coming to a dumbfounding conclusion as you hummed in wonder. 

“Has he never had a partner before?” You ask, knowing that Yeojin and Huening have been friends since they were kids, “crushes… asked anyone out… anything?”

It shocks you to watch Yeojin go deep in thought. 

“Well…” she starts— another dumbfounding pause ensues. Your eyes widen by the second, watching as she scrunches her face in an attempt to remember, staring off into the sky as she purses her lips together. 

“I think…” You perk up at her words, only to deflate immediately as she shakes her head, a soft “no…” escaping her before she’s trying to remember again. You’re on the edge of your seat by the time she comes to her conclusion, sighing in dismay as she looks up at you in pity.

“His first kiss was in middle school from spin the bottle. And he had a girlfriend senior year, but they didn’t last long,” she says, “but that’s about it.”

The news feels earth-shattering to you— well, maybe you were just being dramatic. But as you lean back in your seat, crossing your arms as you process her information, you realize with wonder that it meant he was inexperienced. The idea is quite strange to you; there’s no way a man of his status and ambition hasn’t indulged in love or lust before, right? New possibilities came to the forefront of your mind— was this a result of him putting his work first, or was he simply not interested?

And as you let the shock linger in your system, you’re surprised to find a much more sinister feeling begin to rear its head, bringing a wave of joy to your system, your lips quirking up as you realize that you found this revelation to be quite… exciting. 

Yeojin seems to have come to the same conclusion as you, her brows furrowing as she frowns in dismay; she’s seen firsthand the lengths you’ll go to get the things you want. 

“Oh girl…” she says, meeting your gaze that only continues to fill with mischief; she’s unsure of what might be running through your head at the moment, but she does know that she doesn’t like it— not one bit. 

The nerves in her stomach only become worse as you refuse to let her in on your plans, choosing instead to take a slow drink from your cup, your gaze switching to something much more interesting; Huening stands by the break room, chatting idly with someone you could care less about— it’s him you can’t take your eyes off, entranced by the way he seems to be in a league of his own, his face blank as he keeps the walls around him up and fortified— oh, the things you’d do to watch them break, crumbling from your actions; you know it won’t be easy. 

But also, you love a good challenge. 

❅ ❅ ❅

Love makes a person do crazy things. 

Luckily for you, it’s not love; more of a curiosity, really. 

“Wow,” Yeojin says, leaning against the doorframe of your apartment, raising a brow in amusement as she watches you touch up your makeup for the umpteenth time, “never seen you so excited to go to a birthday dinner.” 

“It’s a big day for you, how can I not be?” A single glance at her through the bathroom mirror tells you she’s not convinced. Smiling sheepishly, you tuck your lipstick back into your purse, mingling uselessly with your hair as you try to sell this lie. 

“You uh…” adjusting with your hair one last time, you turn to her, giving her an innocent smile as you walk past her and to the door, “you picked a good place.”

“It’s the same restaurant we went to last year,” she deadpans, a teasing smile on her face as she sighs, “Just with new people this time.”

You try not to react too much to her words, knowing that she’s waiting for you to take the bait and ask about him— but you’re better than that, choosing to surprise her with the gift you’ve been dying to give her for a good month; a luxury coat that she’s been pouting about for a while, never brave enough to look past the price as she chose to wish from afar instead. And judging by the way she’s quick to discard the jacket she had on to wear your gift, it’s safe to say she loves it.

You’re safe from her teasing— for now. 

❅ ❅ ❅

The restaurant Yeojin was currently dragging you into was one of the few that served high-class western food you didn’t entirely despise— French, Yeojin would correct you about later on— but your tastes usually pertain more to the Korean food you grew up with. This time, however, you found yourself much more eager to make your way to your table, attempting to not seem too antsy as you waited for your other guest to arrive; not even five minutes passed before you spotted Yeojin’s friend, inhaling slowly as a satisfied smile graced your lips. 

“Don’t go too crazy on him,” Yeojin quickly warns you, her warm hand on your thigh snapping you out of your reverie. Turning to her, you’re met with her serious gaze, sitting up straight as you let her continue.

“He’s shy and takes a while to adjust,” you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help but want to point out that she’s talking about him like he’s a puppy; you bite back a smile from the thought.

“And, he’s still my friend,” her searing gaze softens as she pats your leg one last time, her expression lightening as he begins to approach. From the corner of her eye, she glances back at you. “Don’t make things weird.”

You try to fight back the urge to gawk at her, taken aback by her words. 

“When have I ever—?” You swiftly cut yourself off as Huening finally stands before your table, standing up with Yeojin as you watch them greet; you’re left painfully unacknowledged as you watch Huening hand Yeojin a present, observing the way he seems carefree and happy with her— you’ve never seen him joke around this much before. 

Just when you think things can’t get worse, you watch the way Huening stiffens at the sight of you, unsure of what to do as he realizes that you’ve never quite seen this side of him. Clearing his throat, he smiles politely, bowing slightly in greeting; you’re awkward as you greet back, forced to watch him retreat into that reserved and mysterious person you always saw at work— shit, maybe he really was like a puppy. 

No amount of inclusive conversation and lighthearted jokes seem to get him out of his shell; it’s a fact you and Yeojin seem to be astutely aware of, a pitied side glance from your friend enough to let you know that she at least acknowledges your attempts to be friendly.

You try to pretend that none of you have noticed the number of wine glasses you’ve decided to down, a result of your mind trying to fill in moments where you’re watching Yeojin and Huening talk, left with nothing else to do as you instinctively reached for the thin glass; it’s left you slightly tipsy at most, but it’s enough to calm down the racing thoughts that try to leave you an overthinking mess— at least you’d be confident enough if left on your own with him.

Which, after you’ve finished all your courses, is exactly what Yeojin does. 

You see Yeojin’s mouthed apology over Huening’s shoulder as she makes her way to the bathroom, clearly in the need to go as she doesn’t bother turning back around to meet your wide eyes— not that you were dreading being alone with him, it’s just that you weren’t sure what would be coming out of your mouth now that you didn’t have Yeojin there to signal you to shut up.

The silence that’s left between you two is horrendous; he doesn’t attempt to strike up a conversation with you, back to his unreachable self as you can practically see his barriers come back up. Your mind is racing to find a topic— you won’t allow yourself to flirt just yet, at least not after what happened at the cafe. 

“How long have you and Yeojin known each other?” It’s a safe topic, to say the least— something you know he’ll be likely to elaborate on; it was about the birthday girl, after all!

“Practically all my life.” 

Okay, maybe not. 

It’s not like you didn’t know this, but it would have been nice to at least be humored— he seems unphased as you sigh, leaning forward to rest your chin in the palm of your hand; you pout, your other hand absentmindedly reaching up to trace along the rim of your wine glass. 

“Huening,” you call out softly, tired of tip-toeing and being forced to strike up filler conversations; that truly wasn’t your style— it was too boring. It’s amusing to watch his gaze snap up to meet yours, caught off guard by your casual regard of his surname; under the soft lighting, he truly does look like a puppy, his round eyes sparkly as he waits for you to continue.

“Do I not interest you?” Your question is enough to have him sitting up straight, wondering what you could possibly mean by that as he tries to respond in a way that won’t be upsetting— in other words, he’s helpless.

Leaning towards him, you raise your brow, wanting to see if he’ll respond to your question. Another moment passes when you finally decide that you’re too impatient to wait for him to gather his thoughts— it’s much more interesting to speak your mind.

“You never seem to want to talk to me,” you sigh, leaning back into your chair as you watch him grow more flustered by your words— he’s never been good with such intimate confrontations. Yet you’re relentless, not giving him time to speak as you continue, “Why is that? You can be honest.”

You’re not sure if the wine has gotten to your head or if you’re just pure evil, considering the way you seem to enjoy watching Huening lose his composure very much. Looking at him now, it would be impossible to imagine him in the courtroom, arguing his points efficiently and without hesitation; at least, not with the way he seems too meek to answer your question freely. 

“I…” he finally begins, his deep voice stirring a whirlwind of butterflies you wish you could ignore, “I’m just not very talkative, I’m sorry if I come across as cold.” 

Waving him off, you lightheartedly scoff at his formal and stiff words— you believe him, alright. Unfortunately for him, however, that’s not enough to ward you off. 

“You seemed just fine when Yeojin was here,” you point out, eager to stir things up and see if you’ll get a reaction, “but now that it’s just me, you don’t even bother looking up from the table.”

He says nothing at that, much to your disappointment— if anything, he simply nods at your words, discreetly checking his watch underneath the table; well, not discreetly enough since you managed to catch his actions. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable by your presence, just unsure of what to do— a little nervous, even. Your efforts to lure him into having a full conversation have failed each time, but that only leaves you wanting to test out your limits a bit more— to see just what will give you a reaction.

“Hey,” you call out, smiling slyly as he looks back up at you; it’s strange, how the put-together and high-class man you always saw at work was nothing more than a pliant, shy puppy under your gaze. 

“Yeojins taking quite a while, isn’t she?” Huening nods— it seems as though he’s caught onto this strange dynamic you’ve created. 

“Well,” tilting your head to the side, you lean forward again, watching the way he follows your movements closely—you’ve got him hooked this time, that’s for sure. “Why don’t we use this time to get you more comfortable? I’m not that hard to talk to, you know.” 

He’s taken aback by your actions— he’s unsure of how to perceive them, not used to this persistent behavior; after a while, everyone who tried to talk to him simply gave up. Gulping, he nods softly.

“Okay.” 

“Tell me,” your voice is slow and sweet as you lure him in, careful not to scare him away with your questions as you try to ease him in, “How’d you and Yeojin stay so close all this time?” 

You want him to elaborate— you want him to ramble, to hear his stories and thoughts; Huening realizes that just now, watching as you stare at him in anticipation; your eyes are lidded and calm, a slight haze to your gaze as you slowly take another sip from your wine glass— who knows how many of those you’ve had already— and it’s oddly intimidating as your eyes never seem to leave him for a second. 

“We were neighbors,” he begins, clearing his throat softly, fingers tapping at his thigh under the table as he lets himself ramble, “Our mothers became friends, so it was inevitable that we would do everything together. At some point, she became more of a family than some of my actual relatives.” 

It’s interesting to hear this story from the other perspective— you’d known about Huening for a long time, but it wasn’t until recent years that you’d got to meet him; your new interest in him came much later. 

He tells you everything about him and Yeojin— it’s odd, but he can’t stop himself; at least not with the way you look at him so intently, silently urging him to continue every time he trails off in doubt— before he knows it, he feels his barriers being let down before he can stop it. 

“Hmm, you’re much more talkative than you give yourself credit for, Huening,” you say, his name rolling off your tongue sweetly and smoothly. You can see Yeojin appear behind Huening’s frame, finally making her way back as you sigh softly. 

“I’d like to see this side of you more often.”

He has nothing to say to that— Yeojin sits at your table before he can respond. And as you listen to Yeojin’s apologies for taking so long, you can’t help but feel his gaze return to you for the rest of dinner— even more so when it’s time to leave, his steps slowing as it’s finally time to part ways. 

“I think I forgot something at our table,” Yeojin perks up, nudging you softly as she sends you a smooth nod, “I’ll be right back, wait for me please.” 

Yeojin doesn’t even try to make her lie believable as she slowly walks back inside— you shake your head in amusement as you watch her go, silently thankful for her ability to pick up on the atmosphere that gathered around the two of you.

“It’s uhm,” Huening is first to speak, clearing his throat as you turn to look at him. “It’s been nice getting to know you. Tell Yeojin I had to leave early, but I’ll see her on Monday.” 

“Hmm? You’re leaving already?” You don’t allow him to leave as you take a step closer to him, watching as he straightens up the moment you approach him; it was honestly amusing. “You should say bye to the birthday girl, it’d be rude not to.” 

“It— sorry?” He’s practically malfunctioning at your proximity, blinking owlishly as he stutters over his own words. He’s never like this— yet, with you, he simply can’t keep composure; it’s like you learned just how to fluster him.

“It’d be rude,” you clarify softly, leaning into him as though you were letting him in on a big secret, your volume dropping down, “to not say goodbye properly.”

You’re not talking about Yeojin anymore; you both know this. It’s endearing, the way he gulps nervously at your words, hands hovering awkwardly by his sides as he finds himself unsure of what to do. 

“Do… you want me to?” 

It feels as though a bolt of lightning struck at your spine, your body tingling and hot as you process his soft and unsure tone— the way he’s become oddly pliant at your commands, unable to do anything unless you’re directing him to; you never expected him to be this way.

“You should.” 

Huening really is the strong and silent type— for all he does is nod meekly at your words, lips pressed into a thin line as you both fall into a tense silence. A smile breaks onto your face, unable to hide the mischief from your eyes as you finally take a step back. A moment passes, and you see Yeojin approaching behind the glass doors. Turning back to Huening, you tilt your head teasingly once you find him already looking at you.

“You’re quite obedient,” you offhandedly comment, tutting softly as you look away; you can still feel his eyes bore into the side of your face. 

“Handsome, too.” From the corner of your eyes, he blinks rapidly, seemingly ripped out of his trance as he sees Yeojin approach the exit, “Don’t be too afraid to talk to me. I don’t bite.” 

It truly is a curse to not have Yeojin there with you, your personal damage control that never lets your drunken thoughts get past your loose lips. But Huening simply looks too cute in your peripheral vision, and before you can stop yourself, you glance back at him, sending him a wink as Yeojin finally makes her way to you.

“Unless you want me to.”

He’s unable to look you in the eyes as he says goodbye— but the blush on his cheeks tells you all you need to know.

❅ ❅ ❅

It was a leap of faith when you decided to stop by the cafe nearby before work— a part of you actually was looking to get coffee before your long day— but in the end, it wasn’t really a surprise to see Huening waiting in line; rather, it was his actions that caught you off guard. 

“Good morning,” he said, greeting you with your surname at the end— just like you always did to him. The sound of your name coming from his lips sent shivers down your body, unable to hide your smile as you greeted him in return. You already spotted him the moment you approached the door, his broad back and impeccable posture making him easy to spot; so to say that it was a surprise to see him whip around at the sound of the bell ringing, eager to get your attention the moment you walked in, was an understatement.

Huening truly wasn’t lying about his communication skills; he was reserved and quiet as you spoke, constantly finding yourself searching for ways to prevent the conversation from dying. You’re not sure why, but he didn’t seem as eager to leave in comparison to all the other times you’ve interacted with him— maybe you’re finally beginning to warm up to him. 

Glancing at the menu, you find yourself next in line to order; Huening motions for you to go ahead, ever the gentleman as he opens his mouth to say something— but you beat him to it before he can get anything out. 

“Will you let me buy you your drink this time?” You say, an innocent smile on your face as you wait expectantly. He finds himself stuttering, eyes widening at your words. 

“I… I’m the one who should be—“ 

“Why? I’m offering,” if he thinks that he’ll be the one to woo you, he’s sorely mistaken; even as you gently insist, finally getting him to agree in the end, you don’t think he realizes how he’s digging his own grave—he’s pliant under your grip, and you’ve discovered that you like it that way. 

You know what everyone seems to think when you walk into the office together; as a matter of fact, you can hear it, your co-worker’s indiscreet whispers finding their way back to you, unable to bring yourself to care as their comments turn out more amusing to you than anything. 

Has he finally set his eyes on someone? Is he making a move on her? Look, both of their cups have the same name on them.

Setting your coffee cup down, you smile at the pretty name that was scrawled on by the barista— Huening. A smile itches itself onto your face, filled with mischief and unable to go away as your friend walks into your office; she takes one look at you, then sighs. 

“You’re quick,” she says, your smile contagious as she quickly finds herself mirroring your expression. Taking a seat across from you, she grins, patting the desk as she leans in, eyes wide and eager as she asks, “What’d you do?”

It doesn’t take long for you to recap all of the things you said to him, starting from the dinner to the very moment the two of you walked into the building. You find yourself in a giddy and dreamlike state as you recount everything to her, staring out into the hallway as your finger traces around the lid of your cup, the warmth bringing comfort to you as you cup your hands around it instead. 

“So it was all you,” Yeojin says, bewildered by your tale as she stares at you, head in her hands in amazement. “I’m surprised he’s warming up to you already.” 

“You think so too, right?” You immediately quip, leaning in towards her as you bring your voice down, “I’ve always been the one that tries to talk to him first. It’s always kind of awkward— not that today was any better— but he didn’t seem so… skittish this time.”

Yeojin nods profusely, leaning back in her chair as she puts her hands neatly in her lap. Yet, even though she’s agreeing with you, you can still see that there’s more to it— especially with the way she seems to be lost in thought, lips pursed as though she’s pondering whether to say something to you or not.

“See, the thing about him is…” She pauses, shaking her head with a small tsk— sighing deeply, she seems to be in turmoil on how to phrase her next words. “He’s a bit… clueless. Inexperienced, on top of that.”

“So…?” You say, raising a brow in curiosity. She smiles sheepishly, and you can only tilt your head down in an attempt to urge her to continue. 

“So he probably doesn’t realize you’re flirting.” 

“What? How can he not?” You ask, a bit in disbelief as you attempt to consider the possibility, “I’m practically spelling it out for him— I’ve practically told him I want him at this point.”

“Ew, first off— he’s still my friend, I don’t wanna hear that,” Yeojin jokes, ignoring the way you roll your eyes lightheartedly in response, “and… how do I say this in a way that doesn’t make him sound narcissistic…” 

Yeojin winces, smacking her lips before she continues. 

“He’s kinda… He’s been praised throughout his whole life— he was popular in school, too.” She laughs at that, remembering the way girls used to flock around him constantly, “People always used to tell him he was handsome and all that— So, when you tell him all these things…” 

“He doesn’t think anything of it.” You say breathlessly, connecting the two as you look at Yeojin— to your dismay, she nods. “Because he’s used to hearing it all the time.” 

Yeojin only agrees with you; a moment passes as you let the information sink in, realizing just how difficult this all is turning out to be. 

“Damn.”

❅ ❅ ❅

You’re not… entirely sure how you got here. 

Your mother was always a very supportive woman— it was just you and her against the world, after all. 

“Don’t let anyone tell you what you can or can’t do,” she would tell you, a proud smile permanently stuck on her face every time she looked at you— at all the things you managed to achieve despite your unideal living situation, “If you put your mind to it, I know you’ll get anything you want.” 

Her advice stuck with you; your personal motivation whenever you faltered, when the finish line seemed too far for your comfort. Without her, you wouldn’t have the mindset to never give up— even on the little things. 

So, now that you really think about it, you think you know how you got to where you are now— a tipsy mess, arms linked with Huening’s as you rambled to him about something incoherent— you got here from sheer willpower. (And your mother, of course.)

In your mind, you were much closer to the finish line than the man beside you may realize; no, you aren’t dating him or anything, but going out to eat without Yeojin there to play the part of the mutual friend counts as a big step forward, right? 

The excuse of going on a walk around the park near the restaurant to sober up wasn’t entirely a lie— it did help a little, the feeling of the cold air on your face and the sight of the frozen lake reflecting the lights of the busy city waking you up quite a bit. But it was mostly a ploy to get Huening to spend more time with you; you weren’t ready to let him go yet. 

Weeks of talking and getting to know him better proved what Yeojin told you to be true— with every compliment, every flirty comment, he seemed to become more and more unphased, swiftly replying to each advancement of yours like it was nothing. You were able to call each other friends now, but at what cost?

You might just be stuck in this friend zone forever, you don’t like the sound of that at all, a frown overtaking your face as you pull Huening to the nearest bench you spot; wiping the snow off, you suppress a smile as he scoots closer to you, an action that might not mean anything to him sending your mind racing. 

“Huening,” you start, clearing your throat as you look at him. He hums, turning his head to face you— he’s so close, the scent of his cologne oddly addicting as you will yourself to not get lost in it. “Are you doing anything for New Year’s Eve?” 

“I’m going to Yeojin’s party,” he frowns, tilting his head cutely as he looks at you, “Aren’t you?” 

“I am,” you grin, nudging your shoulder with his as you face forward, looking at the pretty skyline and its busy city, “Just wanted to hear you say it first.”

A silence falls after that, yet you don’t find yourself scrambling to strike up another conversation. The man beside you is warm, the feeling of his body pressed against yours making your heart beat faster— arm against arm, thigh against thigh. Your hands are shaky and rigid as you tuck them inside the sleeves of your coat; Huening is quick to notice this, his hands reaching out for yours.

“Are you cold?” He asks, his hands oddly warm as they come in contact with your own. Turning to him, you’re caught off guard to find him staring at you intently; his eyes are soft, his hair fluffy and filled with snowflakes. You’re unable to stop yourself from staring at him, taking in the way his delicate skin is flushed sweetly, his lips parted and enticing as he waits for you to respond. 

“I wish you’d stop staring at me like that,” his words are deceiving as he says them, not able to fool you for a second as his voice drops down to nothing but a whisper, gulping softly as his eyes meet yours. 

“Why…?” You ask, your voice soft as you find yourself moving closer. You’re careful to observe him, eyes flickering to and from his lips as you wait for him to make a decision. 

“Because I…” he stops, licking his lips nervously as he stutters over his words, “It makes me want to…” 

He doesn’t finish his thought— but his message is clear as his lips press unsurely against yours. He’s soft, sweet, and oh so addicting as he kisses you, his hands that encase yours shaking as he finds himself unsure of what to do.

He feels the way you smile against his lips, confident and bold as your hands rip free from his hold; he allows you to take the lead as you scoot closer to him, your hand trailing up his arm, to his shoulder, until it finally finds itself buried in his hair, pulling softly before you direct him to come closer. 

He feels dizzy as your lips part his, the kiss messy and foreign as he lets you taste him— your teeth sink teasingly on his bottom lip, and he lets out the sweetest whimper that has your brain fogging with need. He feels the way your teeth scratch along his flesh as you pull away, his eyes slowly fluttering open as he takes in the way you look at him. He’s embarrassed, blushing and panting as he tries to catch his breath, ashamed that his inexperience probably showed— but to his surprise, all he sees is you, triumphant and satisfied as you take in the mess you left him in. 

It makes his stomach flip. 

“You’re so cute,” you smile, leaning in to place another chaste kiss on his lips— he finds himself chasing after you, wanting more as you laugh softly at him. He can’t bring himself to be embarrassed anymore, at least not with the way you look at him like you want to devour him. Standing up, you grab his hand, fingers lacing with his as you pull him up.

“Let’s go, Huening. I’m cold.” 

It’s immediate, the way he follows you, a shy smile never disappearing from his lips as he’s unable to look into your eyes for too long. It isn’t until he’s ready to drop you off that he stops you, your hand frozen on the door handle as you turn back to him curiously. 

“Kai,” he says, his gaze sweet and sheepish as he tells you. 

“Hmm?”

“You can call me Kai, if you want.” You’re unable to fight the smile that breaks across your face, reaching out to cup his cheeks before you’re leaning in, giving him one last sweet kiss before you leave.

“Okay. Kai.”

❅ ❅ ❅ 

It’s funny to think of Kai leading the relationship— but for some reason, that’s all your coworkers can fathom. Of course, you can see why they would think that; stereotypically, a man like him, who appears so stoic and composed, may seem like someone who would be more dominant and leading— he’s the one who buys a coffee for you every day, a secure hand placed on the small of your back every day when you leave together. 

But oh, if only they could see him now— a pathetic mess under you as you tease him relentlessly, on his lap as a movie plays on his tv in the background. 

“I thought you said we should get ready,” you say, smiling against his lips as you lean down to pepper kisses along the column of his throat. He nods, long black hair brushing against your skin as he attempts to stutter out a response— but he’s unable to, not with the way you’re mouthing mischievously at the spot on his neck that makes his knees go weak. 

“We— we should…” his breath hitches as you gently bite at his skin, careful to not leave any marks as he continues, “we might be late…” 

“Then why can’t you let me go, hmm?” You say, referring to the way his hands are still firmly holding onto your waist; he gulps, letting go immediately as you laugh. 

“It’s okay baby,” you sigh out, sitting up as you take in his dazed state— and before you can help it, you find yourself beginning to grind against him, watching as his hips jump up in surprise, “I don’t mind being a little late.” 

You freeze immediately the moment he reaches out to grasp your forearms; his eyes are glassy, lips parted and his breaths shaky as he stutters out, flustered as he holds you in place. 

“Wait…” he says, embarrassed as he looks away from you— he’s unable to meet your eyes as he continues, “I… wanna take it slow.” 

He’s vulnerable as he waits for you to answer, his body heating up in shame as he can’t look you in the face— he hoped that he didn’t disappoint you, wishing nothing more than to be the one that could take charge for once. 

“Of course baby,” you say, your voice gentle as you cup his face, moving his head to look back at you; your eyes are shining with nothing but affection and adoration, a soft smile gracing your lips as you lean forward to place a soft kiss on his forehead. “I’ll wait as long as you need. Don’t ever feel sorry or ashamed for wanting to take things slow.” 

He’s sure you can feel his heart, the sound loud as it resounds in his ears— he nods softly, your smile contagious as he finds himself mirroring you. It’s lighthearted as you giggle, peppering kisses all along his face as he breaks out into a grin; it isn’t until he’s pushing you away jokingly that you finally give in, reaching for your overnight bag as you tell him you’ll go get ready. 

❅ ❅ ❅

One thing about Yeojin is that she knows how to throw a party. 

You stand at her doorway, hand in hand with your boyfriend as you scan the apartment for your friend; it takes you a while before you spot her by all the drinks, chatting with guests happily. Nodding in her direction, you’re quick to pull Kai along, holding tightly onto him as you make your way through the surprisingly large amount of people— you forget how much of a social butterfly Yeojin is sometimes.

“You’re here!” Yeojin exclaims, swiftly turning her attention to her two closest friends. It’s immediate, the way she glances down to spot your interlocked hands, scrunching her face up jokingly as she’s turning back to you. 

“You two should be thanking me for letting it happen,” she says, shaking her head in amusement as she slaps your arm lightly, “I don’t know how you did it.”

You wave her off as you two laugh, Kai watching you fondly from the side. It isn’t long before Yeojin spots another new guest, bidding you goodbye before she’s greeting them cheerfully. 

You’re relieved to see just how many people aren’t your coworkers; you don’t think you would’ve come if that were the case. Maybe that’s why you allow yourself to meet new people, enjoying the music and the atmosphere as Kai tags along happily. 

“Thirsty?” You say, glancing at Kai after catching him looking around nervously for the umpteenth time. He nods, and you smile as you reach out for his hand. “Come on, let’s go somewhere quieter.” 

Yeojin’s kitchen is deserted and always left off-limits during parties; which makes it the perfect spot for the two of you to rest, leaning against the counter as you listen to the slightly muffled music in the other room. 

Kai isn’t exactly the most outgoing person— which is why you’re surprised he decided to go to one of Yeojin’s parties in the first place. But, looking into his eyes now, you realize why— because of you, of course. He seems content at this moment, alone from everyone else and free to wrap an arm around your waist— which is why you don’t hold yourself back when you lean in to kiss him. 

Like any other kiss you’ve shared, you’re quick to take the lead, and he’s just as quick to give it to you, your hands wandering up his chest until they land lazily on the nape of his neck; you’re playing softly with the tufts of his hair, enjoying the way he practically melts into you.

You’re more than surprised when his other hand finds your waist, holding onto you tightly as he turns— pressing your back into the counter as he stands between your legs, your dress beginning to ride up. 

“Baby,” you call out, a sigh escaping you as he begins to trail down your neck, the feeling of his hair brushing against your skin making you more sensitive, “baby, what are you…” 

Your words die on your tongue the moment his hips roll into yours. 

You’re done for, that’s all you can think as his hold turns firm, holding you in place as he begins grinding into you— a small sigh leaves you, and you can feel the way your stomach flips the moment he lets out a needy whine against your neck.

“Thought you wanted to wait,” you say, pulling him back up as you stare into his eyes, wondering just what has gotten into him— he didn’t drink, he’s the designated driver (you didn’t drink, either)— but his eyes seem to be hazy and sure as he stares down at you, the look in his eyes new, yet familiar.

“Can’t…” he sighs out, unable to stop himself as he presses into you— you suppress a sound at the feeling of him pressing against you so perfectly, “you look so pretty.” 

You’ve never felt so nervous before— he makes you nervous, his stare intense as you feel your knees weakening, your resolve crumbling as you gulp tensely. 

“Do… you want to go home?”

He nods. 

Your hand finds his in the blink of an eye, and before you know it, you’re weaving through the guests to find Yeojin.

“We’re leaving,” you say, hoping that your reasoning isn’t too obvious as Kai hovers behind you.

“So soon? It’s not even midnight yet,” she says, leaning in so you can hear her over the music. Yeojin seems surprised by your words, taking in your apologetic smile and the way Kai fidgets nervously behind you; she pauses before she nods understandingly, much to your relief. 

And as you bid her goodbye, you can’t help but feel your heart beginning to pound harshly against your chest as you make your way out, Kai’s hand secure on the small of your back the entire time. 

❅ ❅ ❅

“You’re such a tease,” you mumble, your lips stuck as Kai refuses to part from you for a second. He’s glued to you, your back pressed firmly against the door to his apartment as he lets his hands wander, smoothing down your hips and going back up, the fabric of your dress bunching up from his actions. 

“Sorry, I just…” his apologies fall on deaf ears as you hook your leg around his waist, bringing him in closer as you allow yourself to deepen the kiss. You’ve never seen him like this, needy and uncontrollable as he holds onto you tightly, trying to bring you closer even though your body is already pressed against his, the feeling of his warm skin against yours driving you mad. 

When you release your grip on him, your leg coming back down as your foot softly lands on the floor, you find your stomach dipping as you hear him whine from the loss. Grinning, your hands find themselves on his chest, pushing him back as you send him a coy smile. 

“This won’t do. Why don’t you take me to bed, baby?”

You don’t need to tell him twice— you barely get to breathe before he’s acting on your command, bringing you back in as his hands find themselves on the backs of your thighs, your mind barely catching up with him before they’re wrapped around his waist, a small grunt leaving him as he picks you up. 

“When did you get this strong?” You sigh, the feeling of him placing needy kisses along the expanse of your neck and chest making your eyes flutter shut— you can feel his muscles flex underneath you, impressed with the way he’s able to carry you to bed with ease. 

“Did it just for you,” He smiles, laying you down as he hovers over you. You scoff, hitting his chest jokingly as you try to pretend that his words didn’t fluster you. Gently, you cup his cheek, smiling fondly as you take his features in.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask, watching the way his eyes darken at the question; he sighs softly, eyes flitting to your lips as he nods.

“Need you to tell me, baby.” Your voice is barely audible as you tell him, tilting your head as you wait for him to respond. You watch him gulp, his cheeks flushing cutely as he’s suddenly unable to look you in the eye. Gently, you tilt his head back to you, prompting him to look at you as you raise your brows expectantly.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he sighs, not wasting another second before he’s closing the gap between the two of you. He can feel you smiling against his lips again, a feeling that makes him weak as he waits for your next move. And when you’re asking him to move, switching positions so you’re straddling him, he can’t bring himself to be surprised.

“You’re so pretty…” he mumbles, looking up at you in awe. You grin down at him, just as needy as him as you found yourself in the same position you were in a couple of hours ago— only, he seems much more sure of himself as you stare at him, your thighs soft and warm as he runs his hands over them soothingly. 

“You are too,” you say, the words slipping from you without a second thought as your hips begin to grind against him— you’re dizzy, able to feel how hard he is underneath you, how perfectly he slots against you. His eyes threaten to flutter shut at the sensation, a choked sound escaping him as his hand finds themselves gripping onto your hip; slowly, he pushes you down on him, guiding your movements subtly as his hips jump up ever so often. 

“Feels so good,” you sigh, your lips right next to his ear as you allow him to hear every pleasured sound that escapes you; it only manages to spur him more, soft whimpers and moans escaping him as he loses himself in the feeling of you. Leaning back, you press your hands firmly against his chest, grasping his attention as his eyes meet yours— they’re bleary and hazed with pleasure, already losing his composure despite you just beginning.

“When was the last time you did anything like this?” You tease, biting at your lip as you slow your pace, sitting firmly on top of him as you feel the way he throbs against you; his whines from the loss of stimulation are tempting, but you stand your ground as you wait for a response, much more interested in undoing his button up as you wait for him to speak.

“It’s…” you can tell he’s hesitant, his mind dizzy at the feeling of you slowly undoing his shirt— your fingers are mischievous as they trail down, tracing along his bare chest as your gentle gaze coaxes him to only answer with what he’s comfortable; in the end, he can feel his face heating up as he finds the courage to admit it. 

“I… haven’t really…” you’re unable to stop the way your brows raise in surprise, your movements ceasing at his words, ready to take things slower for him— but he continues, pushing past his shyness as he looks away from you. “It’s been a while. I’m not very experienced.”

He might just be the death of you— especially with the way he’s so sweet and shy, unable to look you in the face in fear of you reacting badly— but why would you, when he seems so eager to learn?

 “That’s okay,” you softly coo, your hands breaching past the material of his shirt as you run your hands down the expanse of his chest; he’s warm, his breaths stuttering as you teasingly run your nails along his chest— slowly, you make your way down, untucking his shirt before you’re wandering back up his chest and to his shoulders.

“Just makes things more fun for me,” you grin, mischievous as always as you lean in, pressing a soft kiss on his lips before you’re gesturing for him to take his shirt off— you allow yourself to sit back and admire him as he does so immediately.           

It’s endearing to watch him turn shy under your heated gaze, unable to stop yourself from admiring his smooth skin— your hands are eager to explore, feeling the sturdiness of his muscles, dipping down to his waist as you watch him flinch from the way your nails tease his skin, the rise and fall of his chest slowing and deepening as he waits for your next move.

You can tell he’s beginning to grow impatient; it’s amusing watching him become antsy as the feeling of your body, soft and warm, on top of his, just isn’t enough; he wants to feel you.

There’s no need for words as he begins to tug the hem of your dress up, suddenly impatient with the need to touch you, to pleasure you. And you allow him to, assisting him as you finally take your dress off, unable to fight the nerves that come with him seeing you like this for the first time— but one look in his eyes is enough to reassure you once again. 

He’s unsure of how to control himself as he takes you in, choosing to pull you in for another kiss instead; you’re surprised by how needy he is, looming over you until he’s switching positions, your back pressed against his bed as he hovers over you once more.

“Can I…” he’s unable to finish his sentence, refusing to part from you as his hands tentatively meet your waist— his hands are big as they smooth up and down your body, unable to stop the shivers that wrack through you from the feeling. Pushing him back, you smile, meeting his needy gaze with a soft laugh. 

“You can do anything you want to me.” 

A moment passes as he looks down at you, deciphering whether or not you mean it— you’re so pretty under him, not an ounce of doubt or hesitation showing through as your eyes meet his; they’re just as needy and impatient as his. Gulping, he slowly nods, hoping that you don’t notice how shaky his hands are as they slowly breach past the waistband of your panties. 

Slowly, he drags the material down, his inexperience shining through as you watch him keenly— he’s hesitant in all his movements, careful to keep an eye on your reactions in hopes that he’s doing okay. Slowly, he eases himself onto his stomach, situating himself between your legs as he takes you in— needy, wet, and so pretty. 

“Huening,” you purr out, the sound of his surname coming from your lips in such a tone catching him off guard; he hopes you didn’t catch the way his hips ground into the mattress, the sound of your deep and commanding voice making him melt. 

It’s only natural that your hand finds itself wound in his hair— he looks so cute as you watch the way he stares up at you expectantly, his eyes fluttering shut as you tug teasingly at his roots.

“What’s wrong baby?” You coo, unable to hide the way your arousal only builds up as he seems helpless, sitting up as he moves to kneel as well. He smiles sheepishly at your question, biting at his lip before he answers you. 

“I’m not sure what to do. I’ve never…” at the tilt of your head, he clears his throat, hands holding onto your waist as he leans in, his lips begging to be kissed as he pouts. “I want to please you.” 

You raise your brows— now it’s you who doesn’t know what to say. 

“You want me to show you?” Is all you can bring yourself to say, your voice a whisper as you watch him nod eagerly. 

“I want you to use me.” 

A breathless laugh is all that leaves you— you wait, looking for any hesitation, regret, uncertainty— but all you see in those eager eyes is a genuine impatience, a smile easing itself on his face as he takes in your flustered face. Slowly, he leans in, placing a kiss below your ear, his hands on your hips dragging you closer to him as he whispers, his words so quiet you could miss it if you didn’t pay attention. 

“Will you ride my face?” 

You gulp, feeling weak from his words as you slowly nod— and, like always, he’s eager to move, ready for you to get comfortable as he lays expectantly. 

“You…” you gulp, your knees dipping the bed down as you hover above his chest— his hands rub up and down your thighs, surprised to see him grinning mischievously for once; god, is that what you looked like? 

“You’re sure about this?” 

“Yes,” this new side of him is lethal— patting your thighs, he gestures for you to move up, eyes lidded as he looks up at you. “Please… I want you so bad, want to taste you.” 

His begging is quiet and whiny as he continues, making your knees weak as you finally scoot up; his lips are parted in awe as he stares up at you, licking his lips in anticipation as you hover over him— your pussy is enticing as a shaky sigh escapes him, the feeling of his breath on your core making you jump in surprise. 

“Just…” slowly, you reach down to push his hair from his face, his eyes closing in contentment as you do so— your other hand holds onto the headboard, leaning forward for support as you speak. “Don’t be afraid to stop, if it gets to be too much.” 

The look he sends you feels like a strike of lighting on your spine— your body is hot and tingly as he sends you a coy smile, gripping your hips as he gestures for you to move down. 

“Don’t worry about me.” 

Eager. That’s all you can think to describe Kai as he finally gets a taste of you, the feeling of his tongue flattening against your slit making you jump in surprise— the moan you let out after is uncontrollable, the feeling of him licking a strip along your pussy making your eyes fall shut. 

His lips find your clit soon after, sucking and teasing it as he tries to gauge what makes you tremble above him— his tongue circles along it slowly as he stares up at you, in awe of the way you react to his every movement. It isn’t long before he’s back to your slit, his tongue slowly breaching your hole before it retreats; you’d never thought he’d ever tease you like this, and you’re finding yourself to be much more impatient than you expected. 

Hueningkai thinks he might just die happy the moment your hips begin to grind down on his face. 

The sounds that leave your lips are heavenly to him, only managing to spur him on as he lets you ride him, his tongue finally entering you as you whimper; his hips jump up pathetically at the sound, desperate to feel something. 

“Ah, fuck…” you sigh, feeling him press harder against you— his jaw is left wide open as he takes you in, tongue working hard to collect all the essence that spills out of you; his eyes flutter shut as he moves his head side to side, nose brushing against your clit as he feels you clench around his tongue. 

“Shit, Huening—!” You’re nothing but a mess above him, surprised by how quickly you find yourself grinding down on him, desperate to reach the high that only looms over you. Your hand grips the headboard as you lose yourself, thighs clamping slightly around his head as a yelp escapes you— you’re crashing down before you know it, shaky sounds escaping you as he doesn’t stop his motions for a second.

“Huening,” you moan out softly, attempting to rise from your position before his strong hands are bringing you back down. 

“Again,” he whines under you, the sight of his face glistening from under you making your stomach flip— his eyes are determined as he holds you in place, running his tongue along his top lip as he persists, “wanna see you do that again.” 

“You’re fucking insane,” laughing softly, you shake your head, unable to deny the way your body is already asking for more— and he’s eager to provide, bringing you back down to him as he begins again. 

You’ve never pinned Kai to be like this— putting your pleasure above his, moaning against your pussy as he feels you clench down on him; he’s ruthless, sucking up your juices eagerly as he feels the way your legs shake, still sensitive from your previous orgasm.

It isn’t long before you’re cumming against his face again— your body heavy against his face as you grind on him, your hand pulling carelessly at his roots as you lose yourself in the feeling.

“Baby, oh god…” you moan out, not surprised to find his strong arms keeping you in place— you’re not so sure of who’s leading who at this point, but as Kai continues to push you to another orgasm, you wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to flip the script on you. 

“Shit, shit shit shit!” You gasp, your legs shaking as you struggle to sit up— your hand is pushing against Kai’s forehead as he attempts to clean you up, a coy smile stuck on his face as you hover over him, panting heavily as you lean your head against the hand that was holding onto the headboard. 

He allows you to take a second as his lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, teasing tongue lapping at your cum that has dripped down. 

“You…” you sigh out, sitting back on his chest as you laugh incredulously— he simply stares at you innocently, as though his chin weren’t glistening and his face wasn’t flushed, his pretty hair splayed along his pillow like a halo, pretty lips parted so he could catch his breath. 

“You’re insatiable,” you comment scooting down before you’re sitting on his clothed crotch— he groans, grinding up at you desperately as he throws his head back against the pillow. 

“Could’ve gone for more.” 

“I thought you said you didn’t know how?” You muse, fingers teasingly beginning to unbutton his pants; slowly, you pull the zipper down, already feeling the way he throbs in anticipation. He shakes his head in amusement, arms splayed out on the bed as he closes his eyes.

“Just did what I thought was right.” 

“So you’re a natural…” you tease, dragging his pants down as you signal for him to lift his hips; he follows your command naturally, trying to hide the way he quickly becomes antsy. Your fingers are ghosting along the waistband of his boxers, watching the way his stomach flinches at the unexpected contact. After a while, he whines, needy and desperate as he raises his head to look at you.

“Can you please touch me?” He asks quietly, shy and whiny as he stressed his plea. “Please, I want to feel you…” 

His begging makes you feel weak— you could never say no to him. Slowly, your fingers ease themselves under his waistband, pulling it down as you finally free his cock— it’s hard and needy, pulsing desperately as a trail of precum spurts out, a soft whimper leaving him as you blow on it teasingly, his cock jumping at the feeling.  

“Agh, I need you…” he trails off, the feeling of your soft thighs against his driving him mad— he feels dizzy the moment your hand wraps around him, warm and firm as you watch in amusement the way his hips jump up at the feeling. 

“Oh—“ he chokes on his own words, feeling the way your thumb brushes along his tip, spreading his precum along your hand as you slowly begin pumping him, “ohhhh…. You’re so…” 

Your name is stuck in his lips as he moans out, his hands fisting at the sheets as you quicken your pace. Slowly, you lean down, watching him carefully as your tongue darts out to lick his tip— his reaction is immediate. 

“Ah!” He whimpers, throwing his head back with a whine of your name. His hips jump uncontrollably, eager to meet your mouth as you slowly wrap your lips around the head of his cock— your hand is still pumping him, trying your best to not break out into a smile at the way he weakens from the feeling of you. 

Your mouth is so hot and wet, sucking around him perfectly as you begin to take him deeper, deeper, and deeper. He’s never felt this before, and before he can hold back, his hips jump up, his eyes widening as his hand finds itself resting on your head.

“Fuck— sorry,” he says, breathless as he feels you continue, seemingly unphased by his actions, “god, you just feel so… so good.”

It’s lewd, the way your spit begins to trail along his length, your mouth slowly trailing back up as you release him with a pop. The smile on your face makes him feel weak, shakily exhaling as your hand continues where your mouth left off. 

“It’s okay baby,” you say, picking up your pace as you watch his eyes fall shut, “I don’t mind.” 

He can feel the pleasure becoming overwhelming, the sound of your sweet voice coaxing him making his head spin, hips fucking into your hand as your mouth latches onto the tip, your tongue only bringing him closer as you lap at him. His sounds turn sweeter, louder, and you know he’s close by the way his cock twitches in your mouth. Glancing up at him, you watch as his eyes are shut tight, brows furrowed as he becomes restless— your name is stuck in his mouth, the only thing he can bring himself to say as it falls effortlessly from his lips; he’s close, oh so close. 

Then, it all stops. 

“What…?” The look on his face is priceless— he pouts at you, watching as you move to straddle him, a grin breaking out on your face the moment you make eye contact. “That’s not fair.” 

Innocently, you shrug, watching the way he twitches as you grab him, aligning yourself with him as you hover over him. 

“Wait—“ he says, reaching out to you as you freeze at his words, “A condom— uh, there’s one in my drawer over there.”

“Do you want one?” You ask, tilting your head as you watch him go speechless. 

“Well…” he’s hesitant, unsure of what to say as he trails off.

“I don’t,” you say, reassuring him with a smile, “birth control.” 

You watch him gulp, eyes glazed as he slowly nods— you can feel him throbbing against you, a small okay escaping his lips as he allows himself to relax. Leaning forward, you press a kiss against his cheekbone, whispering in his ear teasingly as you glide his tip along your slit— he can barely process what you tell him. 

“If you don’t cum before me, I’ll let you cum inside,” you tease, a grin on your face as you lean back; his eyes are wide as he processes what you say, already feeling the way you tease yourself with his tip.

“But—“ he stops, a soft sigh escaping the two of you as you finally slip the tip in, “I— I won’t last long, fuck.”

Unfortunately for him, that’s exactly what you’re counting on. 

Your pace is brutal from the start— he’s biting at his lip to prevent his whines to spill out, but it’s not really helping; you’re so tight and warm, he feels dizzy as your hips smack against his, your thighs encasing him so nicely as he watches your breasts bounce from your bra.

You can feel him throbbing— he stretches you so nicely, the need to make him cum first a priority as you push past the way your legs are already becoming sore. Carelessly, you reach behind you, eager to take your bra off as Kai’s eyes never leave yours— his hands immediately encase your breasts, the feeling of his fingers teasing your nipples making you clench around him; his mind blanks instantly. 

“Agh, shit,” he’s melting under you as you do it again, feeling the way his hips are eager to meet yours, chasing after a high that you already know is close. 

“Fuck, wait—“ his words are cut off with a whine, throwing his head back as he feels his cock beginning to twitch, the need to cum after you denied him fogging his brain, “gonna cum, no— fuck,” 

Laughing, you lean down, placing a hand next to his head as you wait for him to look at you— his eyes are shiny and dazed as they meet yours, lips parted as he tries to lean up to kiss you.

“It’s okay,” you coo, putting your last efforts into quickening your pace; he groans, shaking his head as he realizes you’re doing it on purpose, your incentive nothing but a lie to tease him, “you can cum.” 

The way you sweetly coo his name after does it for him, your pussy warm and perfect as it clenches around him, the feeling of your lips crashing against his making him sigh in contentment. 

You’re ready to climb off him after feeling the last of his cum spurt inside you, but you’re not sure why you’re so surprised as Kai quickly flips the two of you, a small yelp leaving your lips as his hips begin to move— he’s a mess as he tucks his head into the crook of your neck, fucking his cum back into you and pressing his body flush against yours.

“Kai— oh shit,” you moan, surprised by the way he manages to fuck you despite the overstimulation, the sounds of skin against skin filling the room as he begins to piston into you. 

“You just,” he whines, his hand going down to grip your waist, pulling your hips flush against his as he rolls his hips into you, “you feel so good. Wanna make you cum.” 

In short, Hueningkai was obsessed with you. He couldn’t get enough, the need to feel you cumming around his cock sending him into a frenzy as he currently found himself fucking you past the overstimulation, quickly finding pleaure heating up again as you clenched around him, a moan escaping you as he brushed against a certain spot; it didn’t take long before he was aiming solely for that spot, his pelvis grinding against your clit as he did everything he could to make you feel good. 

“Kai, Kai,” you chant, breathless and dizzy from the way he fucked you, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten as you grab onto his shoulders, nails digging in and leaving small indents in his skin. 

The moment you finally clench around him, he pulls away, eager to watch your face contort into pleasure as you begin to gush around his cock; it isn’t long before he’s cumming inside you again, still thrusting into you softly as it slowly begins to leak out— you’re a panting mess as you meet his gaze— there’s an undeniable fire in his eyes, the sight only making your stomach sink in anticipation. 

You already know what he’s about to say by the way his hips grind softly against yours, his cock already beginning to stir inside you. 

“Can you give me one more?”

❅ ❅ ❅

“Order for Huening!” Your hands encase the two coffee cups instantly, thanking the barista before you hand one to your boyfriend; staring at the pretty name, you can’t help the way a smile breaks onto your face. 

It seems you’ve done it again; you’ve managed to achieve exactly what you wanted— his hand is comforting as you two walk into the office together, firm on the small of your back as he leads you to your office first; he’s hesitant to leave, but does so nonetheless the second you glare at him playfully— Yeojin approaches you after, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“Wow,” she says, leaning against the doorframe of your office as she watches her friend walk away— not without sparing you one last glance, of course, “you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.” 

“Yup,” you say, the pleased smile on your face only making Yeojin laugh.

“Try telling everyone here,” she comments, watching the way you only shrug carelessly, “everyone thinks he’s the one leading the relationship; except me, of course— granted, I’m the only one who is actually friends with him, so it’s a given that….”

Yeojin continues rambling, but you don’t pay much attention to it— after all, if they could only see your boyfriend, drunk off you and eager to please, you’re sure they’d change their minds immediately. 

But, that’s a sight for only you to see. 

❅ ❅ ❅

[synchronousemma]

15 November: Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley have one of their quarrels about Emma

Read and comment on WordPress

Read: Vol. 1, ch. 5; pp. 22–25 (“I do not know what your opinion may be” through to “nothing more to say or surmise about Hartfield”).

Context

Mr. Knightley expresses disapproval of Emma's friendship with Harriet. Mrs. Weston seeks to defend Emma from Mr. Knightley’s charges that she is spoiled, inadequately controlled, and undedicated to her studies. She ends by reminding him that he has no authority over her (Emma).

This occurs in November, an unspecified amount of time after Emma and Harriet meet Mr. Martin on the Donwell road. It is around this time that Harriet begins "spending more than half her time [at Hartfield], and gradually getting to have a bed-room appropriated to herself" (vol. 1, ch. 8; p. 36), given that some time shortly before the "middle of December" (vol. 1, ch. 10; p. 54) this will have been the case for "some weeks" (vol. 1, ch. 8; p. 36).

This is not the first time that the novel steps outside of Emma’s point of view or range of knowledge (consider, for example, that Mrs. Weston’s interiority is shown in chapter two), but it is the first event presented directly (rather than reported) that does not involve her.

Note that there is a spoiler of sorts at the end of footnote 4.

Readings and Interpretations

Agreeing to Disagree

This is the second argument (counting the first chapter’s discussion of Emma’s alleged matchmaking on behalf of Miss Taylor and Mr. Weston as the first) in a novel in which arguments are very important. Arguments characterize the people who have them, clarify their thoughts and opinions about other characters, occurrences, and philosophical questions, and direct the reader’s attention to these questions as they resonate throughout the book. They encourage us to think about why characters believe what they believe, and what it would mean for them to be “right” or “wrong” (do we judge that based on future events, or based on how well-founded we believe their opinions to be at this point in the narrative?). This argument in particular makes explicit intertwined focuses on authority, industriousness, cleverness, matrimony, and physical health that will continue to surface in future events.1 And, since Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley represent our “chief witnesses” into Emma’s behaviour before the beginning of  novel, it behooves us to pay their disagreement (and their potential “motives” for it) close attention (Burrows, p. 23).

However thematically important disagreements may be in Emma, they are seldom or never explicitly resolved. According to Patricia McKee, this one is a testament to the “inadequacy of rational debate” in the novel:

[...] [T]here is little real debate [in this scene], and neither character sees the other as reasonable in what there is of it. Mrs. Weston says that Mr. Knightley is not "a fair judge in this case" […] Mr. Knightley, on the other hand, says that Mrs. Weston has a "charm thrown over [her] senses" so that she cannot see Emma as she is. Common terms of reason seem unavailable (p. 54).

Nevertheless, this is, like “many of the disagreements in this novel,” marked by “maturity and candor of opposition” (Johnson p. 128; p. 406 in Austen [1815]); if our witnesses do not agree on the terms under which this debate should be held, they at least disagree civilly and overtly.

Dear Emma’s Little Faults

The rightness or wrongness of Knightley’s criticism of Emma, and the relationship of his judgement to Jane Austen’s (or the narrator’s) own, are questions that have been central to debate about Emma for a century or more. Walton A. Litz, for example, writes in 1965 that this argument “confirms our impression that Knightley is the custodian of Jane Austen's judgment. The opening of the chapter sets its judicial tone: [quotes from ‘I do not know what your opinion may be’ to ‘do the other any good’]” (p. 148; p. 380 in Austen [1815]. See also p. 134; p. 374 in Austen [1815]). For Joseph Wiesenfarth, Knightley’s opinion that Emma “is spoiled by being the cleverest of her family” is substantiated by the fact that “cleverness is a negative aspect of character in the novel” (p. 209).

Michael Giffin, whose central argument in this section likens Knightley to “the LORD” (p. 155), puts entire faith in the correctness of his perspective in this chapter:

Because she has adopted the role of parent, Emma thinks she understands everything there is to understand; but in fact her understanding is quite narrow. This narrowness is due to her untrained mind, from being without the patience to read or the will to subject her fancy to her understanding; her lack of worldliness, from being confined to life at Hartfield; her ego, from being inflated by the constant flattery of everyone except Mr Knightley; and her superiority, from her strong sense that most of the people she could socialise with are inferior to her. Mr Knightley knows that love and marriage are the only things that will transform Emma, but she is too immature to recognise this, as he confides to Mrs Weston: [quotes from “She always declares she will never marry” through to “she goes so seldom from home”] (pp. 167-8).

Other critics argue that Knightley’s perspective is meaningfully different from the (implied) author’s or narrator’s, and thus that his argument here ought not to be taken for fact.2 Claudia Johnson writes that

[...] Knightley has long been accustomed to monitor Emma with ready reproof. True to form, he warns that Emma's association with Harriet is “a bad thing”. But though they proceed from an anxiety for improvement that we can appreciate only later, even the very worst of Knightley's criticisms turn out to be fretfully minute: Emma, he complains, has never finished her reading lists; she has not applied her talents steadily; no one has ever gotten the better of her precocity; her new young friend will harm Emma by flattering her vanity, and Emma in turn will harm her by swelling her silly head. Mrs. Weston does not share Knightley's dire predictions about Emma's projects, because she considers her judgment worth relying on […] Here is no blind dependence on the infallibility of Emma's authority, but instead a confidence in its basic soundness (p. 128; p. 406 in Austen [1815]).

Alison Sulloway is a still harsher critic of Knightley’s arguments, and the language he uses to make them:

Knightley, as always, sees the surface problem, and as always, he offers a kind, yet insufficient remedy. He sees that Emma has trouble concentrating, yet he dismisses her fantasies and her curiously adult awareness that she is buried alive as mere inability to subject “the fancy to the understanding.” […] He sees how serious for Emma was the loss of her mother, but he sees the dead mother as someone who would have dominated Emma in a parental way, as he is trying to do […]. How much good is this man going to be able to do for Emma, a man who considers her cleverness a “misfortune” and her talents almost a crime that require “subjection”? He sees only one solution to her predicament, the classic one: “It would not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love with a proper object” (p. 329).

Similarly, Michele Larrow argues that Knightley fails in exercising sympathy at this point of the narrative, while Mrs. Weston encourages him to employ a sympathetic imagination (“perhaps no man can be a good judge […]”; Austen [1815] vol. 1, ch. 5; p. 22): “In this scene, Austen has staked out two positions on Emma: one of a benevolent, affectionate friend, who has sympathy for her feelings and sees her as an adult; the other of an impartial spectator, who treats her as a child, sees many faults in her behavior, and cannot understand what she feels” (n.p.).3

But if Knightley is indeed being harsher than he ought to be here, what reason does he have? Mary Waldron questions whether Knightley himself knows, arguing that he is not as sure and unruffled in this scene as some scholars assume. She characterizes his argument as an “attack” disguised as “concern,” at the close of which he

actually announces his belief that marriage is the only thing that will subdue her: “I should like to see Emma in love, and in some doubt of a return; it would do her good.” This does not seem like the wish of a kindly benevolent mentor: it is in fact rather savage. It is open to the reader to doubt whether Mr. Knightley here really knows his own mind. He protests that he has had “no . . . charm thrown over [his] senses,” but his very protestation suggests that he has, and that it has set up an uncomfortable conflict in his mind. He ends the conversation abruptly by talking of the weather: a sure sign of disquiet (p. 146).4

The Tribute of Warm Female Friendship

This section continues an uneasiness that will percolate throughout the rest of the novel regarding the possibility and conditions of female friendship. Laura E. Thomason argues that the novel suggests an 18th-century skepticism about the possibility of equal friendship, especially between women. Cultural focuses on rank and hierarchy on the one hand and moral improvement on the other mandated that one friend have utility to another, and it is in this context that “Emma sees herself as able to be [a] morally improving, superior friend” to Harriet (p. 228). Whether women in general have the social power necessary to fulfil this “classical” archetype of friendship (p. 229), however, remains to be seen.5

On Rhetoric

Juliet McMaster points out that the speech of Mr. Knightley that opens this chapter forms a marked contrast with both Emma’s and Harriet’s speech of the chapter before:

While Emma is befuddling Harriet with unspoken assumptions about whether Robert Martin is good enough for Miss Woodhouse's friend, Mr. Knightley can be quite open and outspoken on the delicate matter of female friendship: ‘I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston, ... of this great intimacy between Emma and Harriet Smith, but I think it a bad thing.’ No need to translate or interpret that speech. It says what it means and means what it says (pp. 100–1).

She acknowledges, however, that Knightley does use figurative speech. Remarks such as “Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel with you” and “I will not plague you any more. Emma shall be an angel” reveal (in addition to whatever else they evidence) a dry humor of the kind we saw in the first chapter (Austen [1815] vol. 1, ch. 5; pp. 22, 24).

Mrs. Weston likewise employs humor in this passage, though it is in defence of Emma (“‘I dare say […] that I thought so then;—but since we have parted, I can never remember Emma’s omitting to do any thing I wished‘”; ibid., p. 22). Her style of speaking, though, is different from that of anyone we have met so far. She is more given than Knightley to exclamation, to repetition, and to strings of clauses that mean much the same thing as each other (“‘I hope not that.—It is not likely. No, Mr. Knightley, do not foretell vexation from that quarter’”; p. 23). On a few occasions, she echoes Knightley’s speech and asks him to account for his reasoning (“‘A bad thing! Do you really think it a bad thing?—why so?’”; p. 22). Knightley, by contrast, tends to tell rather than ask Mrs. Weston what she believes and knows (“‘You never could persuade her to read half so much as you wished.—You know you could not‘”; ibid.)—the one question he asks her is a rhetorical one to which he has already assumed the answer (“‘Oh! you would rather talk of her person than her mind, would you? Very well’”; p. 24). Mrs. Weston is also more given to qualifying her arguments, and to acknowledging the correctness of parts of Knightley’s (“’She is not the superior young woman which Emma's friend ought to be. But on the other hand […]’”; p. 22; “‘With all dear Emma’s little faults […]’”; p. 24; “‘she will never lead any one really wrong; she will make no lasting blunder’”; ibid., emphasis mine). The distinctness of Mrs. Weston’s and Mr. Knightley’s personalities and approaches to criticism and to argument come through, not only through their arguments themselves, but also in these details of diction.

Footnotes

1. On Emma’s focus on physical health see Wiltshire.

2. For other critics who more or less equate Knightley’s point of view with the narrator’s, see Booth (“when [Knightley] rebukes Emma […] we have Jane Austen's judgment on Emma, rendered dramatically”; p. 104); Schorer (p. 105); and Shannon (p. 644). For other critics who argue that Knightley’s difference from the narrator’s judgments is structurally significant, see Hagan; and Moffat (especially p. 54ff).

3. On Knightley’s need to improve in sympathy throughout the course of Emma see also Kenney. See Restuccia (p. 461) for another close reading of this scene that is critical of Knightley.

4. On the significance of these last lines see also Burrows: “These closing phrases represent the impersonal narrator’s one real intervention on all this chapter; and when Jane Austen’s narrator suddenly intervenes to distinguish between a saying and a surmising or to remark that someone is “convinced” of something, we should be brought to the alert. Mr Knightley’s unexpected interest in the weather seems, therefore, to imply that Mrs Weston’s conviction is unfounded and that he is left with more to surmise about Hartfield than he cares to say. But such fleeting glimpses of his love for Emma only confirm him, for a long time to come, in his dissatisfaction with her as she is” (pp. 23–4). Burrows’ analysis of this scene begins on p. 22.

5. On women’s friendships in Emma see also Perry.

Discussion Questions

1. For those who have read Emma before--do future events vindicate either Knightley or Mrs. Weston in this argument? Are characters’ ability and inability to predict future events throughout the novel an indicator of knowledge, better perception or reasoning, or merely “lucky guess[es]”? What might be the importance of Mrs. Weston’s qualifier “lasting”?

2. Is Mr. Knightley the mouthpiece of the narrator in Emma? What arguments exist for and against this position? What personal reasons might some readers or critics have for accepting or not accepting Knightley’s judgments as factual?

3. How serious do you think Mr. Knightley is about the idea of wifely submission he presents in this section (and in the first chapter)?

4. What ideas about reading are presented in this section? How can we compare them to the ideas about reading explored in the last section?

Bibliography

Austen, Jane. Emma (Norton Critical Edition). 3rd ed. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, [1815] 2000.

Booth, Wayne C. “Point of View and the Control of Distance in Emma.” Nineteenth-Century Fiction 16.2 (September 1961), pp. 95–116. Repr. in The Rhetoric of Fiction. 2nd Ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press (1983), pp. 243–66. DOI: 10.2307/2932473.

Burrows, J. F. Jane Austen’s Emma. Sydney: Sydney University Press (1968).

Giffin, Michael. “Emma.” In Jane Austen and Religion: Salvation and Society in Georgian England. New York: Palgrave Macmillan (2002), pp. 149–76.

Hagan, John. “The Closure of Emma.” Studies in English Literature, 1500–1900 15.4 (Autumn 1975), pp. 545-561. DOI: 10.2307/450010.

Kenney, Theresa. "’And I Am Changed Also’: Mr. Knightley's Conversion to Amiability,” Persuasions 29 (2007), pp. 110-20.

Larrow, Michele. “‘Could He Even Have Seen into Her Heart’: Mr. Knightley’s Development of Sympathy.” Persuasions On-Line 37.1 (Winter 2016).

Litz, Walton. A. “The Limits of Freedom: Emma.” In Jane Austen: A Study of Her Artistic Development. London: Chatto & Windus (1965), pp. 132–49. Excerpted in Austen [1815], pp. 373–80.

Johnson, Claudia L. “Emma: Woman, Lovely Woman, Reigns Alone.” In Women, Politics and the Novel. Chicago: University of Chicago Press (1988), pp. 121–43. Excerpted in Austen [1815], pp. 400–13.

McKee, Patricia. “Productions of Knowledge: Emma and Frankenstein.” In Public and Private: Gender, Class, and the British Novel (1764–1878). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press (1997), pp. 47–76.

McMaster, Juliet. “The Secret Languages of Emma.” Persuasions 13 (1991), pp. 119–31. Repr. in Jane Austen the Novelist: Essays Past and Present. London: Macmillan Press (1996), pp. 90–105.

Moffat, Wendy. “Identifying with Emma: Some Problems for the Feminist Reader.” College English 53.1 (January 1991), pp. 45–58. DOI: 10.2307/377968.

Perry, Ruth. “Interrupted Friendships in Jane Austen's Emma.” Tulsa Studies in Women's Literature 5.2 (Autumn 1986), pp. 185–202. DOI: 10.2307/463994.

Restuccia, Frances L. “A Black Morning: Kristevan Melancholia in Jane Austen’s Emma.” American Imago 51.4 (Winter 1994), pp. 447–69.

Schorer, Mark. “The Humiliation of Emma Woodhouse.” The Literary Review 2 (1959), p. 552. Repr. in Jane Austen: A Collection of Critical Essays, ed. Ian Watt. Englewood Cliffs, N. J: Prentice Hall (1963), pp. 98–111.

Shannon, Edgar F. “Emma: Character and Construction.” PMLA 71.4 (September 1956), pp. 637–50. DOI: 10.2307/460635.

Sulloway, Alison G. “Emma Woodhouse and A Vindication of the Rights of Woman.” The Wordsworth Circle 7.4 (Autumn 1976), pp. 320–32. DOI: 10.1086/TWC24041892.

Thomason, Laura E. “The Dilemma of Friendship in Austen's Emma.” The Eighteenth Century 56.2, (Summer 2015), pp. 227–41. DOI: 10.1353/ecy.2015.0018.

Waldron, Mary. “Men of Sense and Silly Wives: The Confusions of Mr. Knightley.” Studies in the Novel 28.2 (Summer 1996), pp. 141–57. Repr. in Jane Austen and the Fiction of her Time. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1999), pp. 112–34. DOI: 10.1017/CBO9780511484667.006.

Wiesenfarth, Joseph. “Emma: Point Counter Point.” In Jane Austen: Bicentenary Essays, ed. John Halperin. Cambridge University Press (1975), pp. 207–22.

Wiltshire, John. “Emma: The Picture of Health.” In Jane Austen and the Body. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1992), pp. 110–54. DOI: 10.1017/CBO9780511586248.005.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO Origins, “Maverick.”

This took a very very strange turn while I was writing it. Also warning, it is a bit creepy in places, to explain a few things. So I hope you can enjoy anyway 

Maverick stood silently at the head of the chapel, her hand resting on the lectern as she listened to the distant rumbling of engines/ It was quiet in this room, as it usually was-- a good way to get away from the outside hustle and bustle of the ship. Not many people came here, in fact, she would wager to say that not many people knew of its existence, but that was ok with her.

She turned crossing her arms and leaning back against the lectern. There were no spiritual images or crosses in this room. Maverick didn’t trust either of them. Religious symbols and iconic images, were, by their nature corruptible, a fact she knew all too well. Better to leave the sanctity of a sanctuary up to the faith of those who believed.

Not to mention that this was supposed to be a non-denominational place of prayer, which is why only half of the room had pews (three to be exact) and the other half was an open floor with prayer mats rolled into tight bundles in the corner.

She closed her eyes again, but that was when the door at the end of the room opened.. IT almost startled her, but she kept her cool 

She lifted her head and watched as the door opened and a curious head peered inward.

She watched with a raised eyebrow as the Commander pushed the door the rest of the way open looking both confused and a bit shocked as he stepped into her abode. 

He turned to look around spinning in a tight circle, “No one told me we had a chapel.”

“I thought you of all people would know that. Thought you would have explored the entire ship on your first day.”

“Guess I just never got around to it.”

He turned to look at her, ‘“What are you doing here.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, “Do you read your ship’s crew directory, commander. I’m the chaplain.”

He stared at her, “Are you pulling my leg?”

“No.”

“Wow you’re serious…. I didn’t know you were religious.”

She turned away, “You never asked.”

“Wait, I thought chaplains couldn't bear arms in combat.”

“That was a luxury of a different time before the third and fourth world war.” She stepped down from the podium and sat on one of the pews. He sat next to her, 

“wow … guess I never really saw you as the… type.” 

“And what type is that?”

Off to her side he struggled to find the words, “I don’t know… I suppose you just seem so….. So.”

“Rational.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She waited.

“I mean, you never seemed like the type to put your life in the hands of someone else.”

She chuckled, “I believe in a god, commander, but if bullets are flying at my head, I’m going to duck.”

“So…. what brought you here…. To the ship I mean. I guess I don’t know much about you.”

She clasped her hands on her lap leaning back against the pew to look up towards the ceiling. The ambient yellow light in the room was soft, almost comforting, “Turns out space is a great way to get away from your demons.

***

The Cogs were quiet today, and overhead the city was still. Maverick moved silently through the understreets followed by the constant hum of flickering overhead lights. Many of the bulbs had burnt out years and years ago, but there were still some that remained. A distant grinding reached her ears as she slipped into the shadows.

The city was shifting again, as it always did.

Some people didn’t like it down in the cogs, they worried that the support structure would fail, and the upper city would come crashing down into its foundations crushing everything beneath it. IF she looked up she could see the underside of the city, and the slow rotating gears and pipes which pumped water and waste through the upper half of the city, where the buildings were White and pristine…. The way of the future.

But she preferred the lower city, she knew how to survive here, on chapel row specifically, where there were more churches over a square mile than there were houses. Holy buildings of all denominations crouched here in the shadows, in a dystopian darkness. She often wondered about the people who had lived down here during the time of persecution after the third world war, when the government had fallen and anarchy had driven religious groups underground. Either way, things were different now, most of the occupants had moved into the upper city taking their religion with them and leaving their holy sanctuaries behind. Small nondescript buildings, towering Gothic cathedrals, and red brick facades with crumbling white steeples.

She passed by one of the Gothic temples now caught by the um of distant chanting…. The cultists were back in her city, and she didn’t like that much. They didn’t understand what denomination this building had stood for, all they knew is that it was big and imposing and added to the aesthetic of their zealotry.

She turned the corner passing into the doorway of one of the open brick churches, small and austere on the inside piled with discarded folding chairs and a faded blue carpet moldering with time. She liked this church, it had no religious icons, and had never been undedicated. There was still a proprietor who visited this place every Sunday, and with him he brought food and supplies from his own home for her, not that he needed to.

Since she was the only patron, he was more than willing to let her sleep in the place as long as she kept it clean.

It was her sanctuary down here in the dark.

And her sanctuary was growing smaller and smaller by the day.

Some called her superstitious, but she could feel it, moving through the underground streets and listening to the cogs jostling overhead.

It did not want her here.

Perhaps she was just making things up, but what was the point in ignoring a feeling like that. 

She picked up her things from inside the sanctuary and moved back out into the darkness. Maverick had a serious set of rules when entering old churches, especially ones down here in the dark.

Always check for occupants, there were lurkers like her, the silent parishioners, who moved through the streets. They had their favorite abodes. Generally attics and basements, and rectories. It was actually ok to explore those places because you knew someone felt safe enough to live there.

It was actually the places without graffiti or disturbed furniture that you had to worry about, though her fascination with such things was unhealthy. She had explored this place for most of her teenage life, after  failing to find work at her young age. However, every day she seemed to find something new .

Today had been no different.

While exploring the outer edge, she had come across a large oaken door, hidden in a dark alley towards the pipes. It was covered in years of grime and filth, but the intricate carvings over the door interested her. So she returned for her things and came back silently jimmying the door open and cracking it inward until a waft of musty air blew up in her face.

She stepped inside.

The room was lit by a dull, and distant ambiance filtering in from above. It was a large room with many pillars and pews and a lectern. The floor was mostly stone but there was carpet running up the central isle.

Maverick stopped in place taking a deep breath as she listened.

Maverick followed a certain set of rules when entering abandoned churches. First, a feeling, feel the air around you, listen for any sort of warning. Feel…

Everything seems silent…. Is that uneasiness her, or something warning her off.

It doesn’t seem so bad, so she continues onward.

Never stay too long in a place like this. Don’t overstay your welcome.

Don’t sleep in the pews, and don’t return if you lose something.

Don’t take anything either.

Try not to touch more than you must.

And always, always look for the religious symbols…. Religious symbols can always be corrupted or perverted. They are some of the easiest targets, and if you see one walk calmly from this place. Walk calmly.

She stepped down onto the floor and walked up the central aisle towards the lectern. Above it hangs a cross, and everything seems fine. She glances around, there is no graffiti, but perhaps that has to do with the concealed location of this building. Something uneasy stores inside her, but she keeps onward. She can believe in the rational and the supernatural at the same time.

She understands that the mind can play tricks.

She imagines candles burning around her, the arm honey glow lighting the room and casting shadows high against the vaulted ceiling. She looked around for a while admiring the silence, though something felt…. Strange , like a distant buzzing at the back of her mind she couldn’t quite shake.

She paused again, listening, but still heard nothing.

She walked to the door behind the pew, likely leading into the rectory, and followed its path inside. 

There she found beds undisturbed with time, a small kitchen and an office. She looked for religious symbols, but found none.

She continued onwards foraging mountain the top of a set of stairs down into the basement, where they likely kept old hymn books and chairs for events. Perhaps they had held activities down here for the children.

Her feet creaked on the steps as she made her way downwards into the dark.

Light was filtering in from somewhere, though she couldn't see.

Her feet stirred up plumes of dust as she reached the bottom of the steps.

She paused turning in a circle.

And froze

There were the missing icons, pile on the floor crosses thrown half hazard against each other top heavy and dragging the upper cross towards the floor…. Upside down.

The world around her grew dark. Inside her head something was screaming for her to get out immediately. And she felt its presence. She could feel it, a cold creeping thing welling up out of the darkness, pulsating and whispering.

The whispers filled her head.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs running down towards her

She clenched her fists chest tightening. She would not run, she would not scream, she would not react.

She would not invite it in

It was stronger than before. Stronger with the strength of her morbid curiosity to go places she knew she shouldn't. It’s power scared her, though she would not let it know that.

She would not acknowledge it.

She turned on the spot.

Feet pattered across the floor behind her.

She placed one foot on the step and then another, and then another. She couldn't see now, though she swore there had been an ambient light before. She was completely blind.

One step after another, she climbed the stairs hand tracing against the wall.

And heard the rushing footsteps racing up the stairs after her.

She did not speed up.

She could feel it at her back, its oppressive presence looming over her, tickling at the back of her neck.

It wanted her to react.

She.

Would.

Not.

She whispered inside her head fighting against the sounds that were sent to drive her to fear. But she knew fear was a weakness that allowed him in, and she would nto allow him in.

He could not touch her, could not interact with her, could not do anything with her unless she allowed it.

She had been dumb enough to walk into his abode, but she would be protected enough to walk out.

The more she walked the more frightened she became. Her heart had risen into her throat, it was as if her head filled with static.

Voices rose from the surrounding rooms.

Feet brushed against stone behind her, but she did not turn around. She would not turn around.

The chapel was darker than before, it seemed oppressive.

The cross was hidden in shadow.

The doors were so close.

The pews began to rattle. Doors were open-and-shut.

It rushed at her back again, goading her to turn around.

She reached the door, pushing open with her hands and stepping out onto the street.

She hadn’t realize the missing feeling of light when she had entered, her curiosity getting the better of her, but she felt it now as it washed down over her and drove the darkness back.

The world around her flickered as she walked up the street as the darkness followed breathing down her neck.

But now she had something to hold onto. 

The light.

She held it, followed it.

Everything around her was silent.

A bulb above her head flickered and exploded sending sparks cascading down towards the street. 

She should never have gone in. Her curiosity had led her to places she should never have been. It ha led her right to IT. A thing that she had met on several occasions before, but this time she had walked right inside it’s home.

She wanted to run.

But she didn’t.

She could feel it’s anger rising, and that is when she reached the old front facade of the red brick church. She reached out a hand to push open the door.

“Maverick.” The voice sounded right in her right ear, so close she could feel the breath warm and humid against her neck.

She almost spun around, but at the last moment grabbed onto the doors and flung herself inside.

Scrambling down the hall and into one of the side rooms.

Breathing hard

The feeling was gone, and she was left with silence and the resounding ring of cogs over her head.

She shivered…

And here in her sanctuary she knew what she had to do. She had to get away from here before her curiosity brought her any further, before it tempted her with some sort of adventuring down into the dark.

She stayed there for five days running out of food on the third and going hungry the next two. That is when the proprietor of the church came and found her  waiting on the steps of the podium for her before an empty chapel.

He knew something was wrong, she could see it on his face

He had stepped through the fog of darkness as he entered.

“He offered to take her away, and she agreed.”

Better to fend off the darkness in the sun.

The ride up had been harrowing, she could feel the darkness building around her rising to a crescendo just as they were rising from the deep. She did not look back, and left no trace of herself for it to mourn where it paced at the edge of the tunnel.

He offered to take her home to his family, but she did not want to bring him into this.

With the sun overhead and a silence without the cogs, she took a buss and began to run. She didn’t know where she was going. But she did her best to seek out the light finding people and places that would provide it forcing herself to avoid exploring old building and abandoned churches which she met along the byways. They beckon her, but not in the way that a smiling fend would, but in the way that a tall faceless man beckons from the edge of the woods.

She kept running and running and running, but the need always seemed to follow her.

She feels that she can’t get out.

She finds the hottest the brightest place she can. A city in Texas.

And there she finds the poster. She is hungry and lonely, and knows she won’t be able to last much longer.

She needs a distraction.

And that is where she finds herself walking onto a rickety old buss surrounded by strangers. The sun streams brightly in front the windows. She hears a voice towards the back where one of the seats is open. A young man is speaking on the phone in Spanish. He’s bright faced, a pretty boy with model-quaffed dark black hair and  almond tan skin so clear it was practically unfair. 

He hangs up the phone, and she throws herself down beside him.

  He looks over, 

“Sup.”

“Nothing much.” He says smiling and holding out a hand, “Ramirez.” Even his smile is perfect, perfectly white, she’s almost jealous.

“Maverick, so what brings you on this ronchy ass buss.” inside her head she adds Are the marines starting a modeling agency 

There he goes smiling again, “Long story.”

She leans back in her seat. This seems like it would be a good distraction, “Go on, I have time.”

-

Space is old, but humanity tends to attract things. Space is quiet, and peaceful, and she finds that it closer to the Divine than most places on earth. 

Since that day she had only encountered the presences once more.

And that was on a dead civilian transport where the occupants had gone mad, and the people have driven themselves to death or insanity.

But she knew how to handle it.

Space was safe, so he would probably stay here a while. 

[jasperunbound]

Hello, wanted to give a little update since I haven't posted here in a while.

I'm still around, just been super busy because I've had a lot of school projects and exams piling up due to the semester nearing its end, so I haven't been able to direct much focus towards creating posts for this blog.

BUT, I may or may not have started working on a single-chapter Jasper/Hendrik fanfic in between schoolwork. Don't want to talk about it too much, but I will say that the setting is based on Act III and it’s canon-compliant according to DQXI:S. Assuming I finish, I plan on posting it here after having it proofread by my friends, and then maybe by a few more who would like to volunteer as secondary proofreaders & critics. Though, I won't be finished for a long while because I'm very particular about my writing, and work at a very undedicated pace (meaning I get distracted like every 10 seconds).

[britshits]

Can I rant a little? I am getting tired of how undedicated some people are in group rps? Ik that we're all adults and people have jobs/school and just lives outside of rp and I´m not talking about being active 24/7 at all! But when they're active on discord but only come online once or twice a week to write one starter/reply and then they're confused when the rp dies?? Ik this is a hobby but if we sign up for for something irl (a hobby) we need to at least show up and make an effort...

hbdhgjbdhjg ofc ! rant away !! i feel you on a spiritual level tbh and this is one of the ( many ) reasons i strongly advocate Against having ooc discords. like damn… if all you want to do is sit chatting and don’t contribute to the group, just make a gc with your mates ?? idgi. i feel like ppl just need to be more honest about the level of dedication they can give to a group and maybe think a bit harder before applying. OR just be straight up w/ the admins and bounce if they’ve lost interest.

[deadpooly]

Can you write a poly story or oneshot between Steve Nat Bucky and Steve

Whoops, my hand slipped. It ended up being 4761 words. My bad, but im not even sorry. Also, this is undeditied so sorry for the rushed pace of the story and any grammer mistakes uwu.

Also, this totally disregards Civil War and some points in The Winter Soldier. I also gave buckynat some history because I love them and it helped build this one shot.

This has been happening for a really long time now, Bucky trying to get Steve to go out with someone while he goes off with another girl. This time Bucky is saving Steve from yet another back alley brawl. And only this time, Steve is willing to try something new in this conversation.

“Come on Stevie, please? For me?” Bucky’s pleading eyes looked down into Steve’s.

“Damn it, you are not allowed to use your charm on me. No I will not go to the movies with some dame you choose for me. I don't want her.” he told Bucky, his arms were crossed and his jaw set in his stubborn look that showed he was determined. Bucky just stood there.

“Well what d'ya want then?”

“You damn well know what I want. You’ve known me all your stupid wasted life. How could you not know by now?” Steve replied, turning around and stomping off away from the alleyway Bucky just saved him from. The brunette sighing and running to catch up with Steve.

“Stevie,” Bucky said cautiously, dragging him into another nearby alley (this time with no one to beat up Steve) “I want to stay with ya, you know that right. I’ll cancel her okay we can stay in your room tonight. But your gonna have to explain. I don't know what you want.”

“Why do you keep trying to set me up with these dames?” he asked, he was clearly frustrated and his eyes showing his hurt. “Your not making it easy, just let me down slowly. You don't need to set me up they wont be good enough.” and he was stomping off again to his apartment hoping Bucky wasn't following him. Though he was praying that he would come by later.

I>

“Hey Stevie? I know you are in there.” Bucky’s happy voice rang through the door and Steve jumped up as fast as he could without giving himself a heart attack. He was at the door fast that he could blink and throwing it open to see Bucky standing there, his hair fluffed up and a goofy smile on his face.

“I was hoping you would actually come by. Sorry for snapping at ya.” Steve said letting his best friend in through the door.

“Its fine.” Bucky waved him off and sat beside him on the couch. “I want to know though,” he asked running a hand through his hair. “What was it that you wanted? I actually don't know.”

“Of course you don't.” Steve said bringing his knees up to his chest. “I don't think I could tell you without something bad happening.” his breaths were getting messy and his heart rate definitely raised from nervousness. And Bucky being Bucky, started to assure him that he wouldn't get mad or do anything.

“I will love your punk ass no matter what. You can trust me, I swear Stevie.” he assured him placing a hand softly on his shoulder.

Steve didn't know what to say, he forgot what to say. All he could remember was that two things and a short conversation later led to him hugging Bucky and the two slotting their mouths together in a very late delayed kiss.

It was sweet, it was late, it was early, it was precious, it was private and it was theirs. It was also the first of many.

I>

The room was cold, the wrestling ring was beat up, as were the people who were just sparing in the center of it. A crowd of instructors surrounding the ring watching the two subject kick and punch at each other. They had an impressive rhythm, in tune to a song it looked like a dance that wouldn't stop. Red hair flying and mixing with a head of dark hair on a man with a metal arm. The girl swung a kick up to the mans face and he caught it with his metal arm and pulled it down causing the girl to lose balance. She however, jumped on her other leg and wrapped it around the man's neck and brought them both to the ground banging their heads on the rough flooring of the wrestling ring.

“Enough!” a loud woman's voice boomed throughout the room. “Go wrap any wounds and be out here ready again in one minute. A threat doesn't wait and neither will I.” she finished before waving her hand and sending a rather tall man after the two to stand outside of the dirty change room. The two assassins made their way in and quickly wrapped each others wounds without speaking or making any other contact.

“I’m sorry Natalia.” James said pulling her hair behind her shoulders and pulling it up into a ponytail after cleaning a cut on her face.

“You have no reason to apologize James. It doesn't matter, the more we break each other, the more time we have to do this.” she replied standing up off of the bench and looking into James’ eyes. They gave her chills every time she made eye contact and the light blue reminded her of  the iced pond where their first mission together was. The first time after months of training they had their first conversation.

“I wish it wasn't like this.” he told Natalia looking down into the emerald of her eyes and holding her hand.

“It wont, we can run away. It will be better James.” Natalia returned. She intertwined their fingers and brought their hands up close to their chests.

“Something tells me that they will find out I can speak, and do this. Then they will rip us apart.” he told her sorrowfully. His eyes were filled with sadness and regret for what he has been made to do. “I just want this to last Natalia.”

“James, nothing lasts forever.” she said before getting up on her toes and bringing their lips together in a slow, sweet kiss. James brought his hand up to cup her chin and make the delicate moment last. But just like Natalia said, nothing lasts forever.

Soon they were called back out onto the mats and each given a punishment for taking too long.

I>

Eventually, they were caught. No matter how careful they were. And because of this they both forgot about each other and pushed their separate ways. They didn't want to forget, but even they could not overcome the machines that can take away precious fragments of your own life.

I>

“Natasha! Come on wake up!” Steve pleaded after a mission went a little sideways. “Come on, I can't lose you!” he held the redhead in his arms she was unconscious after being thrown from an explosion and Steve rushed to her immediately. She had some wounds that looked really bad and Steve really wanted to punch something.

“It’s okay,” she said weakly with a cough. “I’m fine, just go get the bad guy, Cap.” and she was out again. Steve set her down and four minutes later the mission was complete. They weren't as incognito as originally planned, but they were twice as dangerous.

When they were done Steve immediately went back over to Natasha, scooped her up in his big arms and carried her onto the jet to go back to base. She laid on a hospital stretcher that was for emergencies He sat there waiting occasionally trying to make her wake up until she did.

“Hey, soldier. Don't be so tense. I feel your nervousness and its making it hard to sleep here.” she said with an eye open looking at Steve, who gave a rather loud sigh of relief.

“Okay, you are alright.” he assessed, “How are you feeling.”

“How do you know i'm alright? I could be dying.” Natasha challenged. “And I am doing alright, thank you for asking.”

“I know enough about you, that if you are making annoying quips that you are fine.”

“You know enough about me? Hm Rogers, if you weren't careful, id say you care about me.”

“And I do.” is all he says before they enter the conference room.

I>

“I care about you too, it's just that I feel like the last time I said those words something bad happened.” Natasha tells Steve as they leave to room together. It's almost lunch so they are heading off to a burger place to kill some time.

“You don't have to be afraid to care about someone.”

“I know, but it's how I care about you. It's different. I can't remember.” she told him, they were walking side by side on a sidewalk that was pretty much empty on their way to the burger place.

“Natasha…” Steve started carefully. “You don't have to be afraid to care about me like that, I understand how you feel.”

“No you don't.” she turned and looked at him, they stopped walking and now they were looking at each other while cars passed by and a few pedestrians walked around them. “I don't know. Last time I felt this something really bad happened but I can't remember. You don't understand Steve, you don't know how I feel. And im pretty sure you don't feel it either.”

“Natasha, sometimes I feel like you are going to get yourself hurt and if that happened it would hurt me too. If you are in pain you don't have to do it alone.” he told her. His hands found themselves on her arms and she just stared up at him before slightly leaning in for something her body getting closer to his before she gasped and walked away. Steve shook his head and followed after her.

I>

“What do you want me to be?”

“How about a friend?”

I>

“Bucky?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

I>

The same night Natasha gave Steve the file, she went home to her room and cried. A certain pain stretching across her mind and seeing the Winter Soldiers face started it. She didn't know what she felt but she wanted to see Steve once more before he ran off to find his best friend.

Sudden memories etched themselves in her mind, just a few but they were still there.

She sat on her bed wiping any stray tears and pulled out any extra files she could find on herself, but nothing about the Winter Soldier or James Buchanan Barnes. James. She pulled out her phone and called the only person she wanted to see in that moment. Relief flooded her when Steve picked up and confirmed that he could come to her place.

When he arrived, her eyes were still puffy and she immediately invaded Steve space and wrapped her arms around his waist and cried. He put his arms around her and rubbed small circles on her back.

“Hey, hey, hey. What's wrong?” he tried asking his voice soft like a whisper.

“I think I remember him too.”

“Who?”

“James.”

Then they spent the next hour or so looking through extra shield files and talking trying to break through Natasha’s mind while Steve shed a few tears over Bucky Barnes. The moment was silent, each doing their own things but appreciating the others presence. Natasha’s memories were very sudden, and if she had a say, she would think that the Red Room was easy on her compared to Hydra on James.

“You loved him. More than a friend?” she asked, feeling as if she was invading on something private. All Steve did was nod and scoot closer to Natasha who hugged him and looked up at his face before inching closer. 

“I think I did too.” she also said before placing a gentle kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. As she was about to pull back Steve moved and closed the short distance between them and they kissed, mouths moving quietly and slowly. The only thing to be heard were the hearts breaking and short breaths of the two avengers.

I>

On their own time they occasionally went out to find Barnes and rarely found anything on him. Sometimes they got a lead, other times they actually caught him but he got away before they could move any closer.

It went on like that for months. Tony offered to help and Steve had wanted to say yes but Natasha thought that this was a personal matter and she wanted it to be just her and Steve. But now Steve was inside of a really small apartment while Natasha was keeping watch on the roof, he gut tells her that this will be the same as all other attempts to find James. Steve hasn't reported through comms yet and she is still waiting on the roof. Waiting. Hoping. Then she looks over her shoulder and sees him, trying to go unnoticed walking through a crowd.

“Steve, I see him.”

“Where is he?” his voice cracks through the comm.

“Trying to run away in a crowd. Should I engage?” she asked ready to go on the word. Natasha got up and is now standing on the edge of the roof. Then she hears Steve sigh. “I’m losing visuals, Steve.

“No, let's just wait.” he says.

“Wait for what?” 

“He will come to us. I know it.”

Only many more months to wait. When would James decide to come to them?

I>

Natasha was getting anxious, Steve was going into a depressed state. They shared their intimate moments and went their separate ways. Every now and then the team would assemble for a short mission, it was a good reason to see everyone again. The tower was quiet and calming and Natasha would every now and then go to the roof and stare at the cars passing by below. Clint would come by and comfort her, he was annoying and an idiot but he still cared. 

Steve would go to the training room and knock a few punching bags into the walls and break them open, then sheepishly apologize to Tony who waved it off with a smile and went to reinforce them. Sam was a big help for him, since he was helping a bit and could have a sense of what he was feeling. Every now and then Natasha and Steve would crawl to each others bed and stay awake, not able to fall asleep hoping that the person they were waiting for would show up.

Natasha was hoping for James. Steve was waiting for Bucky. There wasn't a guarantee that they would get either but one could dream.

Natasha would wrap her arms around Steve’s torso and snug her face against his side. Steve would turn and place his big arms around Natasha’s small frame, and they would sit like that until morning came or they fell asleep in a dangerous peace that most of the time brought nightmares or dreams of what could have been.

Small assurances to each other that he will come. Then they would wake up and go about their days focusing on other things and hiding their vulnerabilities away. Because for Natasha, a mission or a threat doesn't wait. And for Steve, is always looking for something to do, and the majority of the time, he knows what he wants.

I>

The Winter Soldier always knew what he was doing, so did James and so did Bucky. He could say that they were the same person, but he was only half of himself when he was James and he was basically locked in the trunk with the Winter Soldier driving when he came out.

Bucky was his main self, and he knew for a fact that he is starting to get every memory back, and Steve Rogers was in every single one. He would be lying if he said he didn't miss him or want to leave him behind. 

James was the man he was when he was with Natasha. Somehow he gotta keep those memories. Even if he was part Winter Soldier and part Bucky Barnes, that was probably the middle ground and he missed Natasha as well. He knew for a fact that he loved both of them at some point in his long life. He only remembers a few things as the Winter Soldier though, and those are his worst memories and he hates the days when they come in, like a rock being bashed around the inside of his head. The Winter Soldier though, remembers both Natasha and Steve and that is what brought him to where he is right now.

Contemplating if he will go back to them or not. He is slowly tipping towards going to them though. Bucky or James or whatever he was these days knew that the two avengers where looking for him, but he also knew that they had stopped and were waiting for him to come back to them.

And that sounded really nice. Being alone sucked, especially if he could get help. So he made a decision to go to them.

I>

It wasn't hard to track Steve’s daily routine. Natasha was a little harder, but he knew her enough to figure out her pattern. So he stood at the foot of the tall Avengers tower, he moved to go stand in the darkness of a nearby alley and he took in a deep breath.

Then, his deep breaths turned into panicked sucks of air and he turned and ran from everything back to a dark room where he continued to hide.

I>

“Do you know what happened today? While we were in the gym?” Steve approached Natasha who was drying her wet hair from a shower in her room. She shook her head in confusion and straightened her back a bit.

“He came to the tower.” he told her and Natasha dropped her towel and her eyes showed no emotion. “Tony, told me. Said there was inconspicuous behavior that alerted security measures in JARVIS’ coding.

“He left didn't he? Overwhelmed?” she guessed and threw her towel on the bed as she stood up. “You still sure we should wait?”

Steve hesitated as he sat on the edge of her bed and placed his hands in his lap. He fidgeted a bit with his shirt and fingers before looking up at Natasha.

“I honestly don't know.” his shoulders sagged and his breath came out deep and he shook his head. “It's been months of waiting, and when he shows up finally, he turns and leaves.”

“Well, I don't know about you,” Natasha started, she sat down beside Steve “but i'm going after him tomorrow. He forgets that im an ex russian spy but old habits die hard. I have questions and I will be finding my answers soon Rogers, my other question is are you coming with me or not?”

Steve gave a long sigh and nodded his head his eyes getting heavy with exhaustion. He really is running out of options any ways, so they might as well try again.

I>

“What are you doing here.” Bucky stands on his guard looking at Steve in his small room. He didn't see Steve follow him, or enter his room.

“It took a while but we decided to come after you once we got a good enough lead.” Steve replied, not mentioning that they got Tony’s help to track him down.

“Is she here?” he asked flexing his metal hand.

“Yeah, she’s keeping cover on the roof.” he replied setting his shield down on the floor and walking towards Bucky calmly.

“Why did you come here?” he asks, hesitantly stepping forward.

“Missed you.” Steve tells Bucky, as if it's that simple. Steve stops walking towards Bucky and stands a few feet away from him. His hand starts to reach for Bucky but at the last second he pulls it back and keeps it steady at his side.

“You don't even know if its still me.” Bucky knows Steve is stubborn, whether he wants to go or not, Steve wont leave him now. However it depends on how he answers this statement to see if he is worth keeping around. Bucky knows he might not be Bucky anymore than he would be James, and he would be lying if he said it doesn't hurt at all knowing what he would have lost between two people.

“It doesn't matter, we can help you.” the desperateness in Steve’s voice sounds so broken from the national icon that people think he is, it's far from confident and assured and it kind of soothes Bucky to know that it is just for him in this moment. What Steve actually feels for him.

“I remember you.” is all he tells him with a short nod.

“I could never forget you.” is what Steve replies with. “It was you and me, ‘til the end of the line. I could never forget you Buck.” and this time Steve steps forward until he is fully in Bucky’s space. Bucky is about to step back from being crowded and just having the spy genes in him to keep distance but instead he mentally kicks himself for wanting to run from Steve and he holds his ground. Now though, Steve is really close. Bucky feels as if he is moving too fast, his memories with Steve and Natalia and the pain from Hydra wanting him to stop. He doesn't know what to feel right now. But he stays and Steve’s hand is now resting on his arm.

“I remember the Natalia too,” he admitted, his breath coming out a bit short. “I think, I might miss you guys.”

“We miss you too. I really hope you know that. It’s killing Natasha right now that she can't be here.”

“I feel empty.” he concluded.

“You don't have to. You can come back to the tower with us.” Steve pleaded, his voice growing back strong from the broken tone from earlier.

“Alright then.” Bucky sighed, he slouched in on himself as he sat down on the bed nearby. “Lets go.”

I>

“I don't know who I am.” Bucky says turning away from them. “Or who you want me to be.” they could see him drag his metal hand down his face in exhaustion. This time around he was in Steve’s room. He was sitting on the bed beside Steve and Natalia was on the floor in the corner. They haven't spoken yet, but they knew each other enough to see what they felt when they made eye contact. Longing, patience, love, heartbreak, pain, affection, and each one made Bucky feel comfortable while giving him an urge to run again.

“We want you to be you,” Steve said. “Natasha and I love you however you want to be. You are who you want to be and we will still be here. None of us are going to walk out on you.”

Bucky’s hands sat in his lap and he was staring at them while he fidgeted thinking about his next move. He could tell that Steve was anxious to get some sort of touch or assurance of reciprocated feelings, but he didn't know what Natasha was feeling quite yet.

“Natalia?” he asked looking up from his hands and reaching out. Natasha was startled but she got up and slowly stepped towards him.

“James.” was her only reply but she knelt down in front of him and tetitavley placed her hands on his knees in front of her.

“Nothing lasts forever?” he questioned. But Natasha gave him a beautiful smile and looked into his eyes and said,

“This does James. All three of us will last forever.” she told him with confidence and from her position she wrapped her arms around Bucky’s neck waited for him to do the same. 

Steve watched a single tear slide down Bucky’s face and he wanted nothing more than to kiss it away. He felt as if he was intruding on their moment until Natash broke away from James and turned to him. She leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on the lips before she quietly left the room.

I>

It's been three long months of hesitant touches and smiles and resurfacing memories in the tower. Bucky becoming himself again. Or as much of himself as he could be. It was a mix between ‘James’ and ‘Bucky’ and it was perfect. He became more charismatic, charming, intelligent but still having all of his spy aspect, even if he didn't like that part.

Natasha would kiss him on the cheek and Steve would hug him and their lips would brush slightly before Steve pulled away from thinking he was invading Bucky’s space. He would see Natasha and Steve share intimate touches and kiss and cuddle and he would be honest when he said he was a little bit jealous that he didn't get that yet. Bucky just played it off though and teased Steve about it and watch Steve go red and apologetic but it didn't really mask his jealousy that much. Well he was jealous until he realized that they were waiting for him to initiate those connecting touches. 

Three months of continuous conversations, sometimes they would curl into one of their beds to sleep from night terrors or loneliness. Bucky felt more lonely though as he realized he missed being able to give loving touches to Steve and Natalia. It was one of those nights when he decided to take that step. All three of them curled in Natasha’s bed, Natasha in the middle of the two super soldier and the room was dark, but Bucky could hear Steve’s breaths and could tell that he was still awake.

“Stevie?” he asked, hoping to get a response.

“Yeah Buck?” Steve responded with and Bucky searched the bed to find his hand. Their fingers curled together, skin and clean metal. Using this, he pulled Steve’s hand forward so his body would shift forward and though it slightly squashed Natasha forward a bit Steve was in kissing distance and his face close to Bucky’s over Natasha’s head. “What’re you d-”

And Bucky cut him off when he connected their lips slowly. Steve quickly got with the program and kissed back, moving his lips fluently with Buckys and quiet breaths filling the dark room. Lips were parting open and reconnecting and being tugged at by teeth before both parties pulled away from each other.

Bucky leaned back and left a lingering kiss on Natasha’s forehead and wrapped his arms over her body so they could touch Steve’s waist, and Steve moved in closer.

I>

“I heard you boys messing around last night.” Natasha said to Bucky when he woke up the next morning.

“You weren't asleep?” he asked.

“Nope. But I must say, you are making me feel rather neglected.” she joked with him and snuggled against him under the covers, Steve was gone out for a morning run with Sam and apparently didn't bother to wake Bucky up for it.

“Didn't want to wake you кролик.” a smile crossed Bucky’s face and he moved in closer to Natasha.

“I hate it when you call me that.” Natasha shook her head at the pet name calling her a bunny before looking up and getting what she missed out on the night before. This kiss was more fast paced but still held the sweetness and longing in it which made it worth everything that Bucky had missed.

I>

The three stayed together that day, sharing soft touches and glances with each other with smiles.

Steve wasn't even surprised when he went back to the room and saw Nat and Bucky being close, all he did was move up against Natasha and join in with the two, knowing that there was enough room. 

[ofkoroksandgreatfairies]

Little Bird

The following story is an expansion on Recovered Memory 6, “Urbosa’s Hand”. The memory of Zelda and Urbosa on Vah Naboris' balcony had always felt unfinished to me. I understand that within the memory it said that Zelda had fallen asleep after a survey but i had always wanted a more emotionally rich explanation than that. This is the what i like to imagine happened before the memory.

Here is the story on Ao3

---

Zelda's calves burned with every sand-laden step, but she continued on just the same. She supposed that the endless sand dunes and subsequent resistance to movement was all a part of Gerudo Desert's charm, but she wasn't really in the mood to be amused. The desert was hot in it's blaze of late afternoon heat, much more brutal then she anticipated, but her anger burned hot enough to rival it.

If Zelda had known that appointing Link as her knight would cause her this much trouble, she wouldn't have done it. She knew it wasn't fair to blame her frustration entirely on him; it wasn't his fault the master sword chose him before her own powers made themselves apparent. But at this point, she didn't care.

What was his fault, and entirely his choice -mind you- was his own self-appointed, holier-than-thou, overly-arrogant, completely silent nature. The knightly 'vow of silence' was entirely unnecessary; and Zelda had made that apparent to Link herself many, many times. But he still chose to rebuke every olive branch she'd ever extended with pure indifference. At this point, their broken relationship wasn't anywhere close to being entirely her fault.

The familiar sight of Gerudo Town loomed tall and proud in the near distance; a much welcomed sight to the travel-weary princess.

It was after a particularly brutal argument with her father that the urge to run to Urbosa had finally become overwhelming. Her father accused her of being 'distracted' and 'undedicated' in the pursuit of her own powers. It was an insult that Zelda felt was unbelievably unwarranted. She knew how many people were depending on her to be their saviour. She understood how important her powers would be to the future of Hyrule. She could feel in every part of her completely ordinary body, and every failed prayer session how inadequate she was. More then anything, Zelda realized how much of an embarrassment she was to the long line of Zelda's preceding her. Goddess blood or not, this current Zelda was no hero. She could feel that much in her bones; even without her father confirming it.

The result of that conversation was an angry and frustrated Zelda, just wanting somebody, anybody, to listen to her for once. She slammed her father's chamber doors behind her as she fled, running to the only place she ever felt fulfilled and enough.

Zelda's study was warm, glowing orange from the gently crackling fireplace, and covered in the research papers she so often found to be her only comfort. Link was sat in his usual stool in the corner. He was waiting for her patiently, watching Zelda's distillery machine process a rushroom. He turned to face her as she burst into the room, taking notice of the tears she was trying to hold back, and the way her hands shook. Zelda threw herself down onto her own stool, opening a notebook quickly. Her wrist moved across the paper as if possessed; the words appearing on the page quicker then he could read them.

It was a familiar pattern of behavior. Whenever Zelda was faced with a particular level of emotional turmoil, she threw herself headfirst into her research. In the confines of every leather-bound notebook, Zelda was merely a researcher; not a princess, and not written into a destiny she felt she had no place in. Her study was her sanctuary, and her knight was the only person ever allowed in.

Link watched with a sort of scared curiosity as she filled page after page in her book. Zelda's writing was shakier then he had ever seen it, her knuckles white from the tension in her body. He waited another few seconds, tapping her shoulder. [What happened?] He signed hesitantly.

She sniffled, a pale hand wiping away a traitorous tear away as it fell. "Nothing, it's fine. I'm fine."

[Your father?] He signed again.

Zelda turned to face him in full now, finding him staring inquisitively back at her. It was the only definitive emotion she had ever seen on his face in all their time together. It rendered her speechless for a moment. This was the most he had ever said -or more literally, signed- to her. She figured it was some cruel ironic joke of the Goddess that Zelda's own breakdown was what finally broke him and his composure.

"Yes." She hoped by keeping it simple, she wouldn't scare him off. That he would keep talking to her.

[I'm sorry. Talk about it?]

Zelda felt like they were finally getting somewhere; felt like maybe this was the start of something more for what was currently barely justifiable as a friendship. So at his invitation to vent, she finally let it all out: every word of her father's that she internalized, all the hours of her life she had wasted praying to a deaf goddess, and every time her destiny had ever left her feeling worthless. He sat through it all; looking over at her with the saddest eyes she had ever seen.  

"And.. I just, I want to be good enough. So badly. All of Hyrule is depending on me. And what if I can't be what they need?" Her rant ended in a haunted whisper. The tears had stopped half-way through, but her shaking had only increased.

Her admission of guilt and all of her worries was only met with his silence. Truthfully, it was because Link was woefully unprepared for how heavy the world was when placed upon a single girl's shoulder; even just this tiny glimpse into her mind had left him tongue-tied. But Zelda, terribly familiar with his usual silence read the situation incredibly differently.

She saw it as indifference; as a sort of pretentious, quiet dismissal of her problems.  The way he seemed to lack a caring, sympathetic bone in his body was the tipping point.

In her cold, unforgiving, sterile castle, Zelda had often felt like she had no one; but somewhere in the back of her mind, Zelda had always hoped Link could eventually be someone to her. Maybe a blessed friend she could count on, and maybe, just maybe even more. But apparently, not even the one person who dedicated his life to her thought Zelda important enough to listen and respond to. There was only one person, in the entirety of Hyrule she knew she could turn to: Urbosa.

In the face of Link's silence, Zelda became manic. "It's fine. I know you're tasked with 'sealing the darkness'. Don't let my diminutive problems bother you, hero." She spit the nickname out like it burned her, rushing to the door to leave.

Link, utterly confused by her misread of the situation, stood up immediately to follow her nonetheless.

Her footsteps were loud, but her words were deafening as she turned around to scold him for trailing behind. "I know you've got more important things to do. I get it. You can leave."

Zelda ransacked her room in a flurry of motion; she gathered a change of clothes, swiped a few journals off her desk, and dumped all of those items unceremoniously into a leather cross-body bag. She turned around to exit, finding him blocking her doorway.

"What are you still doing here?" Her voice broke. "Obviously, I shouldn't have said anything. So why don't we both just pretend that everything is fine again. Now, I'm going to go visit Urbosa. I know the way. Do not follow me. That is an order." Zelda whispered the last part with a palpable amount of conviction, jabbing a finger at his chest. Zelda shoved past him on her way out, not looking back to see if he was following.

This is where Zelda found herself now; finally at the gates to Gerudo Town. Zelda was two days and two nights removed from her argument with her father, but it still didn't feel like enough. She still burned bright and hot with frustration, resentment, and hate for her unavoidable destiny with just the same intensity as when she left.

"Princess," The Gerudo Town guards looked down at her, addressing her with the usual familiarity and fondness. "Welcome back."

Zelda only knodded, flashing a timid smile. She looked down quickly, hoping they couldn't see the tears threatening to fall, and walked into town.

Finding Urbosa was always a complicated affair within itself. The gerudo woman certainly lived up to her title as champion, as she was constantly off helping whatever women needed it within her town. Urbosa loved nothing more than assisting others; a quality that, more often than not, led her to being pulled all across Hyrule.

Thankfully, as the late afternoon had just given way to the setting sun, Gerudo Town's normally lively square was considerably more empty than usual. Zelda walked past the vendors, waving to those she knew well, and nodding in acknowledgment to those she did not. The gerudo always greeted her and any other traveler the same: with a resolute Sav'aaq and a proud smile. It was a greeting that, albeit very routine and impersonal, Zelda came to appreciate endlessly. A greeting without all the formalities of royalty was a blessing; especially amongst the other unnecessarily lengthy and pretentious introductions she experienced as the only princess of Hyrule. In Gerudo Town, Zelda was just another visiting vai. She could walk around freely, checking out what the town had to offer and visiting with the Gerudo she had created friendships with. All of this was done away from the watchful eyes of her knight; as a voe like him was not allowed within the town's sandstone walls. It was a perk that Zelda, while hating to admit it, simultaneously abused shamelessly.

Zelda found Urbosa sitting on the ground in front of the main square's fountain. Around the tanned woman sat a circle of children. She was telling them a bedtime story, and it was obvious from the way they all leaned in towards Urbosa that the children were highly invested. Zelda sat around the edge of the circle, just behind a particularly sleepy looking gerudo child, and waited for Urbosa to conclude her tale.

The gerudo woman gave a hearty laugh, and patted the head of the child next to her affectionately. "But that's a story for another time. And as for the rest of you, brave little warrior vai" She smiled maternally. "It's off to bed."

Zelda watched as the children ran off to their mothers, excitedly recounting the events of Urbosa's story. At the sight of such happy families, Zelda felt a the dreadfully familiar pang of melancholy. Zelda's own mother had passed long before she could really remember her, and Zelda wished, more than anything, that she could experience what these children probably took for granted. All she wanted was a family, a life away from any mention of Gannon, and above all, a mother. It hurt Zelda to watch the gerudo children and their mothers; but she kept that pain to herself. Those women were happy. It was a happiness that, while Zelda wished she could have herself, ultimately wished would belong to all of her people.

"Little bird, why look so sad?" Urbosa offered Zelda a hand, grasping her forearm firmly as she helped her stand up.

Zelda gave Urbosa a mostly tired, mostly wounded look in reply, dusting off the legs of her pants. "My father restricted my research excursions again. It's down to once a week now; the remaining days are for prayer only. We got into a terrible argument because of it, and I had to leave the castle. I needed a break."

Urbosa nodded, a slight frown breaking her usual mirth. She led Zelda out to the end of the alley, coming to a stop at the sand seal corral by the exit.

"Where are we going?" Zelda asked, thrusting an open hand out to take the rein Urbosa had offered her.

"I've got something to show you within Vah Naboris. I think you'll find it interesting." Urbosa flashed a warm smile, looking towards the waning afternoon sun. She handed Zelda a shield. "Hurry up now, the light is fading."

Sand surfing was a new skill Urbosa had taught Zelda a few months ago. It was a freeing experience, and had since become a staple of every one of Zelda's visits. Surfing across the endless dunes of Gerudo Desert had quickly become one of Zelda's favorite pastimes, so she happily took the opportunity to surf to Vah Naboris currently standing tall in the distance.

The trip was quicker than Zelda had anticipated and she gave an affection pat to the red seal as she relinquished it's reins. The sand seal barked abruptly, jumping headfirst into the sand and rolling under it's surface. Zelda hid a giggle behind her hand, following Urbosa into Vah Naboris.

Every time she entered any of the divine beasts, Zelda found herself very quickly scatter-brained. There was so much to look at and study! She raced around the main room of Vah Naboris, looking over the sheika technology analytically.

"Slow down, " Urbosa laughed fondly as she watched Zelda fly around the room with boundless enthusiasm. "Vah Naboris isn't going anywhere."

"I know. But there's still so much to study! I still haven't figured out how this crystal has such an endless supply of electric power." Zelda tapped the glass of the crystal within the center of the room, watching it's green glow with rapt attention. "Do you think it's connected to your fury? Would it still generate electricity without your gift for lightning?"

"I couldn't tell you, child. Now come, stand over here with me." Urbosa motioned for Zelda from her current station at the other side of the Vah Naboris' main chamber. The guidance stone glowed blue behind Urbosa, as Zelda stepped up into the small side room with her.

"Did you know that Purrah gave all the champions their own sheika slate?" Urbosa pulled out one of the aforementioned tablets from where it was clipped into her belt.

"No! Did she finally figure out how to replicate them?" Zelda grabbed the slate from Urbosa, watching with excitement as the screen lit up. She inspected every inch of it, flipping the slate this way and that to get a better look. "This is amazing! Purrah managed to harness the power of the ancient flame for the slate by the looks of it. I'll have to ask her how she could do that because..." Zelda slipped into a tangent way too technologically advanced for Urbosa to follow. The gerudo woman didn't interrupt, only listening and nodding along like she understood, a fond smile stretching across her face.

As Zelda's animated rant came to an end Urbosa spoke. She took the slate from the hylian gently, opening up a map of Vah Naboris on the screen. "On this map you can control Vah Naboris' three mini chambers individually. Which one would you like to turn?"

"Turn? I-I don't understand. They move? How can they move?" The words came out quicker than Zelda could pronounce them.

"Breathe, and just pick one, little bird. Left, right, or center?" She asked kindly. Urbosa gestured to different sections of Vah Naboris' main chamber displayed on-screen.

There was a moment of genuine deliberate thought before Zelda shrugged and just said, "Center".

"Okay. Go ahead and tap the center section on the screen." Urbosa pointed while Zelda raised a curious finger to the slate.

The middle chamber began to rotate, sucking the breath right out of Zelda's body. The section spun with a mechanical groan; the ancient gears stuttering in defiance for a moment before finally clicking into motion. It was the single most amazing event Zelda had experienced in recent memory, and all of her attention was stuck on the divine beast's movement. It was over much too quickly for Zelda's liking. The disappointment only lasted a moment though as the green crystal on the ceiling, crackling with electricity, distracted her.

The circuits along the chamber's floors, previously glowing green, had become lifeless when the crystal rotated to the ceiling. The reaction was only logical of course, but the change fascinated her nonetheless.

Zelda looked to Urbosa for confirmation that it was safe. Zelda wanted, more than anything, to investigate the changes the rotation had created, but worried that it wasn't secure.  "Go. Study. I'll be here when you're finished." Urbosa said gently, helping her down to the main chamber.

Zelda recommenced her earlier flurrying, acting much like the little bird Urbosa so fondly called her. Everything was new to Zelda all of the sudden; the slate unlocked countless opportunities to study sheika technology in ways Zelda never imagined possible.

Urbosa took a seat, settling her back against the wall of Vah Naboris. She took her time getting comfortable; stretching her strong legs out in front of her and following Zelda with her eyes as she ran about. Urbosa knew they'd be in there awhile. The only thing more time-consuming then the molduga exterminations Urbosa so often embarked on, was Zelda's very intensive investigations of sheika technology. As the sun fell lower and lower, Urbosa lost track of how long her little bird had been flittering about. Not that she minded though. Urbosa knew that only with her could Zelda be the researcher that she so yearned to be. Only here in Gerudo Town, the only place completely removed from the watchful eyes of King Rhoam, could Zelda pretend to live in a world without her fate.  

"Let's head out to the balcony, the sight of the setting sun is breathtaking." Urbosa tapped Zelda's shoulder, breaking her concentration from scribbling in her journal.

Zelda nodded, finishing her thought in her journal and closing up the book. "Should we turn it back?" She asked hopefully.

"I suppose. Would you like to?"

"Yes!" Zelda exclaimed, before flaring bright red, blushing from her own enthusiasm. "I mean, yes. I would like that. Thank you."

Urbosa chuckled indulgently, handing her sheika slate to Zelda. "You are no princess here in Gerudo Town. No need for formality, child. I hope that brings you some comfort."

Zelda might've replied, but Urbosa turned around before she could her or see it. Taking large, confident strides, Urbosa left the main chamber for the open air of Vah Naboris' open balcony. There were a few silent moments before the beast gave another automated moan and the middle chamber spun back to it's original position. Zelda followed Urbosa out a few minutes later, just as the sun began sinking below the horizon line. She took a seat at Urbosa's side, nestling into it.

"So, little bird, why did you really come here?" Urbosa asked quietly, eyes locked on the shifting oranges and yellows of the setting sun.

"W-what, what do you mean? My father, we had this terrible ar-"

"Yes, I understood that part; but you've had that argument with your father many times before and still stayed within Hyrule Castle's walls. What made you come all the way out to Gerudo Town this time?" Urbosa's tone was soft; questioning but not badgering. "Not that I mind of course, dear child. You're always welcome here.

There were several minutes of silence, and if Urbosa looked over she'd find Zelda deep in thought. But Urbosa didn't look, instead watching the sun set and letting Zelda admit her problems when she was ready.

"Link." Zelda said finally, her voice low and muted.

"Ah, the boy. Of course." Urbosa spoke good-naturedly.

Truth be told, Urbosa was very fond of Link. This was entirely due to her above-average perceptiveness, which helped her see past his silent nature. When Urbosa really looked, she saw every look of clear-as-day admiration, unwavering loyalty, and incredible respect in Link's eyes. Of course, these emotions only flashed across said eyes when he was looking Zelda. But the only time Urbosa ever saw Link tear his eyes away from the princess, was when he was battling a monster to protect her; so Urbosa figured it was all the same anyway. Either way, she knew how important his princess was to Link, but she also knew how much his silence affected said princess. Zelda and Link's relationship had been near a breaking point for an incredibly tense, incredibly long time now, and apparently they had reached that cliff and subsequently fell down it. In typical dramatic fashion of course.

"What did he do this time?" Urbosa asked lightly.

Zelda let out a huff, immediately falling into a rant about their fall out. "And he just sat there and looked at me after I finished! He sat there in silence, blinking like a brain-dead frog!"

The gerudo woman let out a hearty laugh at Zelda's last comment. The comforting sound rose into the air around them, and settled over the both of them. Urbosa took a breath, resuming her calm composure and wrapping a comforting arm around Zelda's shoulder. "He shouldn't have been silent. You revealed a lot to him, little one, I'm proud of you. But maybe he needed more time to think then you gave him. Did you consider that before storming out?" Zelda fell back into silence, and that answered Urbosa's question entirely. "Keep in mind that he might express himself differently than you do. You're still young, so it's excusable, but try to be more lenient with him next time. He uses sign language with you, correct?" Urbosa asked.

Zelda nodded.

"He's making an effort then. Maybe not enough of one, and maybe not the way you would prefer, but it's still worth something. So just give him some time to process. After all, it's not entirely his fault; even a smart voe like him is still slower than the dumbest woman. And you, are a genius." The last part was teasing, Urbosa's mock accented by the grin on her face. But joke aside, the sincerity was there.

Zelda slipped back into deep thought, leaning against the gerudo woman. All was still until Zelda stirred suddenly, tears brimming just behind her eyes. "It's selfish, but I wanted him to tell me why he became my knight. I need him to open up, because I can't figure out why he ever swore himself to me in the first place." Her voice was becoming unstable now as she held back the wail she wanted to release. "I keep praying and praying, but the Goddess can't hear me. Everyone is counting on me to be their savor, but what if I'm just ordinary, Urbosa?"

Zelda said the word 'ordinary' like it was a curse; something destined to be her downfall. Urbosa looked intensely at the crying hylian princess, keeping eye contact as she spoke.

"You are not ordinary, my little bird." Urbosa spoke with conviction. She took a breath, before breaking off into a softer voice. "Look, I knew your mother, and she was an exceptional leader. One of the best vai to ever walk these lands. There is no doubt in my mind that you will become every bit the remarkable woman she was. Her blood runs through your veins stronger than any goddess' ever could. So even if you didn't inherit the powers of goddess, it wouldn't matter. You are your mother's daughter and that makes you extraordinary." Urbosa took a breath, grabbing Zelda's hand gently. "You are a beacon of hope for all of Hyrule, Hylia descendant or not. You will lead us if Gannon should ever return because it is who you are, not because your fate tells you that's who you should be. You can't see it, but you lead so many of us already. It is because of that, that I know your mother would be so proud of you, my child. I know I am."

Urbosa's words of confirmation had broken the dam within Zelda. Everything she had ever wanted to hear from her loved ones had been said, and Zelda sobbed uncontrollably as a result.

Within Urbosa's words lied the most important thing Zelda had ever hoped would be said to her; that she was more than just her destiny. Her entire life had been defined by who she was to become, not who she wanted to be. To grow up within Hyrule Castle was to grow up as the princess fated to wield the triforce, not a person with thoughts and feelings. Zelda had been a figure head for so long, that to hear someone acknowledge her as a person, not just a story, was the greatest gift she had ever been given. Urbosa confirmed that even if Zelda wasn't the righteous Hylia descendant she was said to be, she could still be loved and was still of worth. It didn't make up for a lifetime of expectation and emotional torment, but for the moment, it was enough.

Urbosa held the small hylian girl in her arms, rubbing her back and whispering small words of comfort. Urbosa resented the King more than anything for putting this much pressure on her beloved child, but also resented herself for not noticing sooner.

Urbosa's loyalty to the former Queen of Hyrule had extended to her daughter the second she met Zelda. When Urbosa first realized who Zelda's mother was, she'd known right then that she'd be willing to die for her; after all, a child of the Queen's could only be destined for a greatness far surpassing Urbosa's own. Urbosa felt it her duty to help Zelda grow up; raise her in the unfortunate absence of the Queen. It was a job Urbosa took very seriously.

Zelda was still overcome with powerful sobs, falling onto Urbosa's shoulder for support. "Be still, little bird. All is well; you are exactly who you should be. I promise you that." Urbosa whispered in her ear as she thread her fingers through Zelda's hair gently.

As Zelda continued to cry, Urbosa found herself overcome with guilt. How could she not see Zelda's suffering earlier? How had she have ever forgotten her commitment to Zelda, for even a second? Urbosa had never had her own children; she felt her commitment to her city and all of it's citizens left no room in her heart for one. But Zelda had created a space in Urbosa's being entirely for herself. Urbosa had always felt she had no love left to give, but somehow Zelda seemed to conjure it out of her with ease.

Urbosa supposed that was Zelda's true power; her immense capacity to give, receive, and practically create love. It was a power completely independent of the goddess Hylia, a power that had nothing to do with divinity and everything to do with how Zelda interacted with people. It was a gift that had no definite reincarnation cycle; and by that measurement it was more rare, pure, and special than any gift Zelda could receive from her many prayer sessions.

And maybe it was sacrilegious to admit Zelda more divine then the goddess Hylia; but as Urbosa held Zelda, watching her sob like she'd been holding it in for centuries, she wasn't feeling particularly religious.

When the worst of it was over, Zelda held onto Urbosa's hand tightly, watching the last of the sun's rays at it set. "Thank you." She said simply, looking over at the gently smiling gerudo woman.

"Of course." She replied honestly. "Please come and visit more often, me and all the gerudo love having you here."

"Can we sit out here for another few minutes? The view is lovely."

"Whatever you'd like." The gerudo woman softly chuckled. She pulled Zelda in closer to fight the slight chill a night in the desert often brought.

It only took a few moments for Zelda to begin closing her eyes. Urbosa wondered if maybe she should rouse her and bring her in, but one look at the peaceful expression on the princess' face and Urbosa couldn't bear to.

It was a quiet ten minutes before Urbosa heard the tell-tale metallic clinking of Link's master sword upon his back. Her entire visit with Zelda, Urbosa had wondered where the knight was, but she should've known he was lingering nearby. He never seemed to let the princess out of his sight, and, to be truthfully honest, it surprised Urbosa that it had taken him so long to approach. She could hear him walk out onto the balcony, and Urbosa's mouth grew into a coy smile. Urbosa couldn't wait to talk to him. 

Urbosa liked Link; but the brave, yet helplessly idiotic knight had made her little bird cry. The action was inexcusable in Urbosa’s eyes, and she couldn’t wait deliver the gentlest scolding Link would ever experience.

[simonesamuels]

Pressure creates diamonds but pressure also bursts pipes. You need to know when to hold and when to fold as Kenny Rogers would say. And in a world where folding is often seen as failure or weakness, I’m so glad that Naomi and Simone have chosen to…perhaps not fold, but they know when to walk away. Some critics — all of whom are not professional world-class athletes and probably last did a summersault in elementary school — have said that Naomi and Simone are wasting opportunities that others would pay to have. They say that the Olympics and the French Open are about being “mentally tough.” Mental toughness is walking away, knowing what could possibly happen when you walk away but walking away anyways. That’s courage. That’s tough. Whenever women — especially BIPOC — dare to put themselves first, we are met with pushback. We’re criticized. We’re called selfish. Undevoted. Undedicated. Weak. Unable to handle “hard questions.” Expected to give an account or an explanation. I’ve learned that whenever women set a boundary, people are going to get mad. (I'm trying to be more consistent about writing nowadays. If you like, you can follow me on @medium where I'm building a community of people who actually are interested in what I have to say. If you like what I'm writing, clap for my articles and leave a comment on Medium under the article. Link to both articles are in bio.) https://www.instagram.com/p/CR2-UsoslSK/?utm_medium=tumblr

[configurations-of-humanoid]

Now, since I've established that things are no longer chronological I've really thrown things out of whack. Just know that this is rather early on in Dark, Anti, and Wil's relationship, and that it definitely occurred before Anti told them of his lampshade theory.

Now Dark was obviously observent of power dynamics and relationships, being a manipulator, but the first time he went and visited the Septics as Anti's partner rather than on business terms, he really got to watch how they worked.

The three of them were sat on the sofa in the septics living room, Anti listening to Robbie tell him things that have happened whilst hes been away. Robbie using signs along with his talking so that he can be easily understood.

What had surprised Dark is that Anti was signing back, when Robbie got up to go and fetch something he asked the glitch about it.

"Well, we have to know it to understand Jamie, so everyone in the household took a few lessons together. It also helped Robster with his communication."

"Why hasn't Jackie come to say hello?" Wil pondered.

"He doesn't like me." and that was that.

Dark noticed during conversation over Dinner that Dr Schneeplestien and Marvin tended to lead the conversation. The other Septics joined in too but there seemed to be a sort of respect for the two.

Schneep was obvious, he was a rather sensible person and had an air of responsibility around him. Dark, however, couldn't put a finger on why Marvin lead, he knew sometimes being very old didn't make you wise, the Jim's being a prime example, yet the septics listened to him.

Dark ended up pondering it for most of the meal and it was still on his mind as him and Anti waited for Wil to get into his pajamas back at their room that night. He sat himself up and looked over at his boyfriend.

"Say, Anti?" The other gave a hum in acknowledgement, "How come Marvin has such a sway over your... Old household?"

"Technically, its Schneeps household."

"That doesn't Answer my question."

Anti huffed, and then thought it over, "Me and Marvy moved in there a couple years ago due to Marvin catching Chase, although they still deny feelings for each other. The thing is, W- I'm soul bound to Marvin because he made this vessel." Anti rubbed his face a little, "Marvin is like, really old and he's met lots of souls however some souls like, move onto new bodies once their old one dies."

"As in reincarnation?" Dark asked, an eyebrow raised.

" 'suppose so, for like, Schneeplestien it was that Marvin saved him in a past life, causing the soul to recognise him and unlocking a lot of memories and weird stuff. Same with JJ, he almost died from a silent movie stunt."

"And what about Jackie and Chase?"

"Jackie got in a rough fight, he hates the soul bind though, doesn't trust Marvin because Marvin brought me along."

"Chase?"

"His wife left him near to when we moved in... He wasn't in a good place."

Anti left it at that but Dark nodded and Wilford said a little 'oh'.

"So its out of fear due to being bound?"

"I hope not, its more thanks for saving them,... At least I hope."

"Schneeplestien and James don't seem afraid of him now Dark." Wilford pointed out, moving into bed with them.

"Schneep isn't afraid of much," Anti stated, shrugging, "and Jamie's a sweetheart. He trusts too easily if anything."

"Robbie?"

"He's not Marvin's doing."

"No?"

"W- I'd like to go to sleep now."

Dark nodded, that was the conversation over, Wilford turned onto his side and pulled Anti close. "Sleep well Anti, Dark, I love you."

Dark and Anti muttered their responses, Dark staying on his back rather than cuddling up to the pair. Adjusting the pillow for his neck, and listening to Anti's breathing until he was sure Anti was asleep.

It had taken Anti a while to fall asleep. Dark supposed the questioning can't have been nice.

Dark fell asleep some time after the clock in the hall chimed quater past one. Fully aware the septics weren't as cheery as he thought.