#welcome to the land of awkward transitions

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VI. "Trust Me, Doll..."

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

War is hell and every time it seems you and Bucky adapt to your new normal, the game is changed yet again. When at last Victory in Europe is achieved, the pair of you can finally focus on forging the way ahead.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Grief, Mentions of Death, Imprisonment, Pregnancy, Childbirth in Retrospect, Child Rearing, Motherhood, Era-Typical Sexism and Marital Expectations, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Sex While Trying Not to Be Overhead] - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note(s): This is it! Oh wow, we made it, kids! Thank you to each and every one of you for your incredible engagement with this series it has truly been an inspiration! I love all of you and have more Bucky thoughts brewing!!!

As always, letters/telegrams have image descriptions that can be accessed by clicking the 'ALT' button. Special thanks to Marina @precious-little-scoundrel for helping me untangle numerous plot points in this series. I could not have done this without you, darling! This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7444

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Your sudden return home in mid-February had been decidedly awkward. Without time to send a letter of warning, you had spent a lot of coins on a phone call in a telephone booth at the hospital in New Jersey while you awaited the arrival of a WAC commanding officer to process your discharge.

To say your mother had been surprised to hear your voice over the line was an understatement. Mercifully, your father had already left for work that day and you had only had to break the news to her. Given the frosty welcome you had received from him by the time you managed to reach the steps of your childhood home, you hated to think what his reaction would have been if you had informed him that his unwed daughter was kicked out of the Women’s Army Corps for being pregnant without the softening interference of your mother.

It was truly disorienting to be back somewhere so very familiar when you were so utterly different. The war had left its marks here too, though. A gold star banner hung proudly in the front window, in honor of your brother, and your mother’s garden out back had mostly been turned over to the growing of vegetables, with a huge stockpile of jarred preserves now overflowing the pantry. But the two bedrooms at the top of the stairs belonging to you and your brother, separated by a small hallway that was really no more than a glorified landing, were exactly as you had left them in 1942. As if they were frozen in time. Dusted and cared for, but ready and waiting for you to pick up your old lives.

Only your brother was never coming home, and you had returned home but entirely changed. After the relentless pace you had maintained since enlisting, the thought of remaining at home in idle leisure was too off-putting to even contemplate. You allowed yourself a few days of adjusting to the violent change in time – at least when you had traveled to England you had been afford several days at sea to transition. Flight across the Atlantic had been utterly jarring, and it had taken great discipline to turn your nighttime back into day.

But once you had re-acclimated to the North American clock, you had promptly ventured out to find yourself gainful employment at a nearby grocery store. The owner, Nick, was a friend of the family. A kind man who did not seem interested in asking too many questions about why you were back early, was simply eager for the help around his store. It was most definitely not as mentally taxing as the work you had previously undertaken as a WAC, but it was money, and that was sorely needed as babies were expensive.

Your mother seemed fretful about you working in your ‘delicate condition,’ but the demands of the position paled in comparison to the one you had just left, and you rarely worked more than six hours a day. There was still plenty of time to sit with her, improving your knitting skills as you started on a baby blanket. Your mother was duly impressed you had picked up such a feminine skill abroad and seemed more than happy to pass along helpful hints.

In all truth she did appear to be struggling, dwelling frequently on memories and nostalgia for happier times. It was difficult to say how your father was coping in the wake of your brother’s passing. Any hours when he was not at work, he was spending behind the closed door of your dead sibling’s room, all manner of noises and the odd curse word seeping through the cracks, but neither you nor your mother were quite certain what he was up to.

You had sent a letter to Bucky immediately upon your arrival, as promised, still not divulging the full extent of the situation, but it had been stocked with reassurances and re-direction. It appeared he had not yet received it based on his letter that reached you in mid-April.

Damn that man, but you did love him so. Baby animals – had he guessed the true nature of your discharge then? Gnawing ruthlessly on your lower lip, you found yourself pacing around your room, one hand rubbing at your lower back, sore from standing all day with the growing weight of your swollen abdomen.

‘Or is he simply fishing for more information, unconvinced?’ You wondered to yourself, sighing heavily.

He was simply too intelligent for his own good. Another man would simply have taken your words at face value and left it at that. But there was a reason you had not fallen in love with another man. Had not given yourself to another man.

With another deep sigh, you dug out your writing supplies and drafted a reply that acknowledged his statements but neither confirmed nor denied them. There was no desire on your part to entrap or obligate him into anything. That was the last thing you wanted – to pin a man who so cherished his freedom down against his will. Particularly after enduring his current stay in a prison camp.

As the weather grew ever warmer, it became increasingly difficult to conceal your predicament – no matter how baggy or oversized your dresses were. Your engagement ring only went so far in polite society to protect you from judgemental stares and by the end of April you were forced to quit your job and confine yourself almost entirely to the house. May seemed to drag on, though you certainly managed to knit a wide variety of nearly perfect baby clothes for different stages.

Perhaps the brightest spot came one evening when your father emerged from the room opposite yours and left the door open for the first time since you came home, revealing not the preserved bedroom of your brother, but a fully prepared nursery, complete with an assembled crib, rocking chair, dresser, and change table. As you stood in your doorway in shock, eyes brimming with tears, he shoved his hands into his pockets and gruffly muttered, “baby needs somewhere to sleep after all,” before trudging down the stairs to the bedroom he shared with your mother.

June burst onto the scene with the Allied invasion of France and the good news only continued with the signing of the GI Bill on the 22nd. Your years of service and honorable discharge earned you, and your very active and rapidly growing baby, subsidized medical care. It could not have been timelier as appointments became more and more frequent, your due date looming at the end of July.

Much like her father, Clara Mae had a mind of her own when it came to her time of arrival. She was born in the middle of the night on July 22nd at the local veteran’s hospital – one of the first GI Bill babies, the nurses informed you.

The choice of her name had been rather easy, derived from Bucky’s middle name - Clarence. While you could not give her his family name, or even list him as her father on the birth certificate without his signature, you could at least give her this for now. He had already given her his mischievous eyes and unmistakable ears. Time would tell what other of his features she would share. If the grey-blue of her eyes would settle in the color of the stormy sea like his. If the slight dusting of fuzz of her head would grow into luscious, dark curls.

Sitting there in sore, stunned exhaustion as they carted her off to the nursery, you looked up as your mother sidled over, the broad grin of a recent grandparenthood still splitting her face.

“We have to write Major Egan right away and let him know. Oh he’ll be so thrilled, a sweet little girl to come home to now!”

The force with which your face crumpled, physically unable to bear to weight of all your falsehoods and desperate attempts at inner strength one moment longer, sent your tears scattering down the front of your hospital gown. Your mother snapped her mouth shut, completely taken aback by the abrupt shift in your mood, before she collected a wad of scratchy hospital tissues and tenderly wiped at your eyes.

“There now, I know. It’s been a tremendous effort, and things are very difficult.” She soothed and cradled your head to her breast, rubbing your back softly.

Despite becoming a mother yourself not a full hour ago, it seemed you were still very much in need of one yourself.

“What if he doesn’t want me, mama?” You gulped and looked up to her pathetically as you finally gave voice to perhaps the greatest fear that had been stalking you since the realization that you were pregnant had come crashing down upon you. “We’re not even…it’s not even real…” Your eyes dropped to the false engagement ring that mockingly glinted up at you from your left hand.

She sighed deeply before her hands grasped your face and forced your gaze to meet hers. “Well, pumpkin, I’d say that a man who writes to you despite the difficulties is one of the good ones. And usually it’s the good ones that do the right things.”

You frowned and shook your head slightly, as much as her tight grip would allow. “But I don’t want him to do the right thing. I want him to marry me because he wants to…”

There was another maternal sigh before you were gathered close in her arms once more. “Let’s hope for the best then. I’ll get Felix from down the street to bring his camera. We’ll send a photo of sweet Clara Mae and see if she can’t work her magic on him.”

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The Allied invasion of Western Europe had felt like a gift from above, flooding Bucky’s life with a new sense of purpose, and shattering the grim monotony that had calcified everything around him. The gnawing hunger, the biting cold, the evasiveness in your letters, the constant worry and uncertainty he felt for both himself and you. There was surely only one explanation, at least only one rational, sane explanation for your early discharge. But he’d had far too much time on his hands to postulate and theorize all manner of possibilities and their catastrophic outcomes.

June 6 had brought an abrupt and decisive end to that, a sharp divide to their life in camp, and a need for preparations now that the Commonwealth forces were closing in from one side and the Russians from the other. It was early September when he received your life changing letter, two small photos tucked securely between your folded, scented pages. One of you, looking so very beautiful it made his heart ache fondly. And the second of a very tiny infant with remarkably familiar ears.

He huffed fondly and turned back to the letter to read it properly as you finally confirmed what he had long suspected.

Shaking the envelope once more produced a square of paper with the stamp of his daughter’s – his daughter’s – footprints on it.

Cradling it in one palm, he could not help but gawk at the small scale of her. She must be truly tiny…only 20 inches.

“Your girl finally explain herself?” Buck leaned over his shoulder, and he nodded, holding up Clara’s photo.

His friend barely contained a snort and Bucky scoffed in return. “I know – poor girl’s got my damn Dumbo ears. Couldn’t even deny she’s mine if I wanted to.”

“She’s beautiful anyway, despite your influence.” Buck smirked and handed the photo back carefully. “Congratulations. What’s her name?”

“Clara Mae.” An involuntary grin of pleasure overtook him as he said it, quite enjoying the way it sounded. You had picked well.

“Your girl did an excellent job. Be sure you tell her so.”

“You know I will.” He replied with a firm nod.

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The twelve weeks it took to hear from Bucky were both a blur and an agony. Clara did her utmost to keep the household, and you in particular, thoroughly occupied. You were somewhat relieved that your parents were sleeping on a different floor than her, that it gave you a chance to dart across the hall and mollify her discordant wails with a fresh diaper or a feeding. But on those nights when even you could not seem to sort out what ailed her, your father stepped in and patiently walked her up and down the length of the porch until she melted into the crook of his arm.

Truly, for such a small being, she had the entirety of her grandfather wrapped around her littlest finger. Clara was the first he greeted upon returning home from work and the last he kissed goodnight. None of this would have been possible without his willing arms, nor your mother’s endless wisdom when it came to washing bottles and diapers and Clara’s vast wardrobe of tiny clothing. But in the quiet moments, when she was busily suckling in your arms or just as you were falling asleep, your thoughts would always fly across the Atlantic to barbwire fences and Bucky.

You hoped your letter reached had him. You hoped it had all of its contents still, that none of them had been lost while being reviewed by the censors and whomever else pried into your mail. His reaction? Well you could not even dare to hope what that might be. It would cause your entire body to tense almost painfully and prevent your lungs from filling with air.

Every day you did your best not to look too eagerly as the postman delivered the mail, flipping through the envelopes calmly, hiding your disappointment when his reply was not there. Your agony came to an end, at last, in mid-October. Hearing your soft gasp, your mother offered to take Clara on her morning walk – it was generous to be sure, but you were also more than aware that she enjoyed the attention warranted by pushing the gorgeous girl through the neighborhood in her pram.

Settling down at the kitchen table once they had left, you sliced open the envelope anxiously.

Tears of relief were tracking down your cheeks by the time you reached the end of his letter, making it difficult to read his words clearly. He had replied. He was not angry, nor dismissive. He called himself Clara’s father. And there was an oblique, very Bucky-like proposal in there. Your watery laugh echoed in the empty kitchen before you sniffled in a very unladylike way. God, you missed him so very much. By the time your mother and Clara returned, your tears of relief had been replaced by sobs of longing that had her tiptoeing through the house, deeply concerned his letter had been one of rejection.

Looking up at her apprehensive face as she peered through the doorway, you smiled through your pain and nodded. “It’s good news.”

“Oh, well…good.” She gave you a somewhat bewildered smile and found a handkerchief for you to once more clean yourself up before you gathered Clara close.

“Your daddy says he loves you, peanut. What do you think of that?”

Clara’s face stretched into one of her toothless grins that came just as easy as Bucky’s did, and you fought the urge to cry again. “Yeah…me too.”

Your reply to Bucky’s letter was accompanied by a holiday card fingerpainted by Clara, now that you were confident in the mailing time of roughly six-weeks, as well as another set of dry goods for him to share with his friends. Time continued to march on and in an effort to better document Clara’s rapid growth, you purchased a user-friendly camera, having Felix give you some lessons.

Mid-January, Clara received a gift from her father – a stunning ink drawing of him done by one of his roommates apparently. It had been over a year since you had looked upon his face and the breathtaking detail captured by the man who drew it, A. Jefferson based on the signature, inflicted an intense barrage of memories. You promptly went to a five-and-dime store to purchase a frame for it, setting it on the dresser in Clara’s room next to a model of a B17. You made a point of showing it to her every day, telling her stories about her daddy – only the appropriate ones of course, wanting her to know him.

That it was also self-soothing was simply a bonus.

That letter was the last one you received from him. As Clara’s features sharpened into Bucky’s, and his dark curls framed her face, it was his gaze staring up at you from your arms as the weeks ticked by with no word. When the abnormally harsh winter yielded to spring once more, there was still no reply to your January letter. The war was all but won, the Germans quite literally surrounded, the Russians in Germany and yet there was nothing.

It was mid-April when the dreaded Western Union vehicle pulled up in front of the house, your heart leaping into your throat.

‘Please let him be alright.’

Your mother had been in the kitchen, working on lunch, but silently appeared at your elbow, ghosts of her own heartbreak etching her features.

“Deep breaths. Anybody can send a telegram, not just the War Department.” She murmured and knelt down beside Clara on the rug to play with her as you forced your leaden feet to move towards the door.

Accepting the yellow envelope from the infuriatingly neutral-faced boy, you confirmed that it was indeed addressed to you before impatiently tearing into it.

Exhaling shakily you smiled in relief. Major Cleven must have escaped. That he would have spent the money to send a telegram to update you on Bucky, and to share a message from the man himself, was quite moving. You could not help the chuckle that escaped you, however, at the fact that this was twice now that Cleven had terrified you in the process of trying to share good news.

“All is well?” Your mother asked softly from the living room, and you turned quickly with a smile.

“Yes, he’s ok, his friend somehow made it back to England and wanted me to know he’s doing alright.”

The smile she gave you in return contained no small amount of relief.

The Russians were in Berlin by the next time Western Union made its second delivery at the beginning of May.

‘Please, when we are so very close to victory, please.’

Even less patient with this envelope than the last, you felt a swell of elation at just the first word.

And he meant it. It was not entirely as soon as either of you would have liked, given that Victory in Europe happened not a week after that telegram, on May 8, 1945, but Bucky certainly did come to you and Clara as soon as it was possible.

It was a hot afternoon in early July, the wind having abandoned everyone when the sun rose that morning. Clara was in a bit of a mood courtesy of the heat and her desire to move about the house independently. Certainly, she had been crawling for months, terrorizing everything and everyone in her path, but as of late she had been pulling herself to her feet and trying desperately to take those first few wobbly steps towards upright freedom. She certainly could manage it while gripping tightly to your fingers for balance, but today her chubby cheeks and granite eyes were screwed tight in consternation as she swatted your hands away to go it alone.

“Alright peanut, off you go then.” You smiled encouragingly, sitting back on your heels as beads of sweat gathered at the nape of your neck.

Letting go of the edge of the coffee table, she wavered and wobbled, overcorrecting her round little infant body before landing heavily onto her bottom with a squawk of frustration.

“So close, so–”

The rapping of knuckles against the wooden frame of the screen door cut off your statement and you scooped her up, perching her against your right hip as you rose to your feet.

“Let’s go see if that’s the postman with Grandma’s package, shall we?” You smiled and tickled her soft tummy with your free hand, earning a giggle accompanied by her gap-toothed grin as you headed over to the front door.

The man standing there in uniform was most certainly not the postman, however.

“Bucky…” You whispered in shock as he stood before you, in the flesh, after nearly two years of constant worry and concern.

All that separated you now was a flimsy screen door, which you lurched forward to shove open. His eyes were wide as he stared at the pair of you, Clara peering at him curiously. The movement of your left hand caught his eye and his brow furrowed as his gaze landed on the ring you had been hiding behind since April of last year, making you swallow painfully.

“It’s not real.” You murmured quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong impression, and stepped back to invite him inside.

The sound of his bag hitting the floor was all the warning you had before he was pulling you tightly against him, burying his face into your hair. Pressing your face against him in return, you clung to the back of his uniform jacket, wondering if he had always smelled this good or if he had bought new cologne since returning stateside. A sudden strangled sound came from his throat, and you straightened quickly to see Clara had a ruthless grip on his tie and a wicked grin on her face.

“Ta.” You said firmly, holding out your hand and she surrendered her stranglehold on the piece of fabric which you carefully tucked back into his jacket.

Bucky smirked down at her slightly, but his eyes were filled with barely concealed wonder. Clara, for her part, did not seem the least bit fazed by him whatsoever. Her chubby little fingers moved to trace the shiny buttons of his jacket before stretching up to brush along the coarse hair on his upper lip.

“You like my mustache, Miss Clara?” He grinned and pretended to devour her finger as it strayed too close to his mouth, sending his daughter into a fit of giggles and making your cheeks ache from smiling so wide.

An involuntary yawn suddenly overtook her, and you glanced at your watch, nodding as the time confirmed your suspicions. “It’s nap time, I’ll just take her upstairs.”

“Can I come?” He asked softly, making no move to release his hold on you and you nodded quickly, pressing your lips to his cheek softly before leading him to the stairwell at the back of the house.

“This place looks exactly how you described it…” He murmured softly, threading his fingers through yours as he followed.

Looking back to him, startled, you swallowed down the swell of emotion that had been threatening since you had first laid eyes on him. “I told you about it once, in that…hotel room in London…almost two years ago.”

“And I’ve imagined it almost every day since.” He assured you easily as you climbed the stairs, making you shake your head in awe.

Glancing through the open door into your room curiously for a moment, he followed you into Clara’s nursery, grinning softly as his eyes landed on the drawing he had sent.

“You gave it to her.”

Setting Clara into her crib, you turned back to him. “We talk about you every day.”

Bucky’s eyes met yours and he smiled gratefully before reaching out for your left hand, his thumb stroking along the band of the ring there.

“You know, this isn’t very believable, doll.” He muttered and you felt yourself tense as you eyed him, suddenly nervous in his presence after all those months apart. You had been separated longer than you had even known one another. “I’d have bought you a much bigger rock.” His lips curled into a smirk.

Laughter, something that felt so foreign to you after its long absence, bubbled up from your chest while tears simultaneously flooded your eyes. His hands cradled your face as his lips met yours at last, the kiss distinctly salty despite the best efforts of his thumbs to swipe your tears away. Laying your hands atop his, it began to sink in that he was really home, he had truly made it back to you. And Clara. There was no more need for constant fretting and pleading mantras. He was here.

“In fact I did.” His statement, a continuation of his discussion about your fake engagement ring, felt disorienting as it interrupted your inner musings, and you watched in confusion as he sunk to one knee right there in Clara’s bedroom, slipping the piece of costume jewellery from your ring finger before tucking it one of his pockets.

It was not until he produced a much shinier ring, with a larger and very real diamond, that you registered just what was happening. He addressed you properly, by your full name, before asking the question.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes of course I will.” You nodded vigorously, watching him clumsily slide the heavier ring onto your finger before his mouth was on yours once more, demanding and possessive.

Pressing against him, you would have completely forgotten yourself if not for the sound of your mother calling your name from the bottom of the stairs, tone laced with confusion and worry – surely from finding the front door open and a piece of strange luggage in the front hall. Bucky pulled his lips back and pressed his forehead to yours, hot puffs of his breath caressing your face.

“Parents’ house…”

You let out a small laugh of chagrin. “Parents’ house.” You confirmed before pulling back and guiding him out, leaving the door slightly cracked so you would hear when Clara awoke.

Miraculously she had slept through the entire exchange, a superpower she had surely inherited from her father. Descending the stairs, introductions were made, and you did not miss the way you mother’s eyes lit up as she took in the new ring on your finger. Your father was slightly more difficult to win over, still smarting from the perceived mistreatment of his little girl. You were more than a little convinced he might be taking Bucky to the toolshed to shoot him when he asked for the man to accompany him out there for a chat after dinner.

Your aggressive scrubbing of the dishes in the sink as you watched anxiously out the window amused your mother to no end.

“He’s just ensuring Major Egan has your best interests in mind.”

“He’s not gonna kill him, is he, mama?” You worried your lip and she laughed, wiping Clara’s sticky fingers clean after her joyful decimation of a bowl of sliced strawberries.

“He will do no such thing.”

By some miracle, the pair of them immerged unscathed twenty minutes later, shaking hands and sharing a laugh. You rediscovered the ability to exhale and prepared Clara for her evening walk, which Bucky insisted on joining. Even though you assured him you had a perfectly good pram, gestured to where it sat on the front porch, he insisted on carrying Clara on his hip, much to her delight.

Not only was the vantage point much better, but she had unfettered access to all the intriguing bits of his uniform to occupy herself with as the pair of you followed the usual route around the neighborhood. While no one had taken it upon themselves to be overtly rude to you, something about seeing all six foot two inches of Major John Egan carrying his carbon-copy daughter with you on his other arm seemed to go a long way to repairing your somewhat tarnished reputation around town.

People who had politely nodded or offered no more than tight-lipped smiles were now openly waving and calling greetings as you passed.

“Sure are popular around here, doll.”

“I assure you, it’s the pair of you.” You smirked at him and Clara who was busily tugging at the flap of his breast pocket. “Everything alright after your visit to the toolshed?” You asked now that you were far enough away from the house that your father would not hear.

He nodded easily. “Your father and I are of like minds. You and I are going to the registrar’s office tomorrow to get a marriage licence and then we’ll get this little one’s birth certificate sorted as well.”

“He wasn’t…too harsh on you?” You asked with more than a little trepidation.

Bucky looked to you softly. “No more than I deserved.”

“You deserved no harshness, we both know full well how this happened…”

“I sure didn’t stop you. Couldn’t have, even if I had been able to think straight.” He smirked and kissed your temple. “So we did it out of order, that’s fine. It’ll all be how it was meant to very soon.”

Sighing fondly you continued your progress until Clara was slumped against his shoulder, barely able to keep her eyes open. By the time you returned to the house, your mother had set up a small camp bed in the nursery for you and moved Bucky’s things to your room for the night – everyone agreed there was no way he could possibly be expected to sleep on the sofa. He was simply too long. Wishing one another good night in the hallway with a lingering kiss, you pressed your lips together as your mother cleared her throat expectantly from the landing below and slipped into the nursery for the night.

It was difficult to say how long you had been asleep when a faint noise, your ears now well trained to listen out for the smallest of disturbances, woke you. It was most definitely still dark when you raised your head, immediately looking to the crib to see Clara sleeping peacefully on her stomach, index and middle fingers of her right hand suckled soothingly by her full lips. Shifting your gaze in the dimly lit room, you jumped slightly to see Bucky leaning against the doorframe, clad in his boxers and undershirt, silently watching her sleep, expression pensive.

Sliding to your feet as gracefully as the low bed and your thin cotton nightgown would allow, you padded over to him quietly to whisper, “everything ok?”

“She’s just so small…” He replied in a hushed voice, gesturing with his hands, eyes still fixed on Clara’s sleeping form, and you smiled fondly.

Reaching out, you gently manipulated the distance between his palms to represent how small she had been as a newborn. “She was only that big a year ago.”

His eyes tore from the crib to study the small gap between his hands before lifting slightly to drink in how little you were wearing, how thin the material was to try and make sleeping in the summer months bearable. His eyes briefly flicked to yours, revealing the rapid dilation of his pupils before his mouth descended onto yours ravenously.

Sliding one arm around his waist, you pressed with the other against the centre of his chest to guide him back across the hall, closing the door to your bedroom behind you as you quickly surrendered and parted your lips for him. He grunted eagerly, pressing his fully hard length against you through the thin barrier of your clothes, making you gasp at the rapidity of his response.

“The damn sheets smell like you, I’ve been hard all night.” He groaned and you quickly smothered his mouth with yours, well aware just how loud he tended to get.

If you were lucky enough to get away with this, you were going to have to be as quiet as possible.

Rucking the hem of your nightgown up over your hips, he pivoted to deposit you onto the edge of the bed, settling between your thighs as you worked one another’s underwear off. Pressing skin to skin, his head fell back, and you quickly slid your palm over his mouth to smother his eager sighs, rocking your folds along the length of him as you gnawed on your lips and swallowed your own keens. Bucky’s eyes bored into yours hungrily as he mirrored your movements, almost daring you to keep quiet as he continued to moan against your hand.

Silence became impossible for you too as the blunt tip of his cock snagged on your entrance and he rocked his hips forward, slowly sinking into your warmth. Falling back onto the mattress, you slapped the hand that had previously been propping you upright over your own mouth to smother your eager groan as your eyelids fluttered in the struggle to remain open. Shifting forward once he had settled fully inside you, Bucky’s face hovered just above yours, eyes still pinning yours as he began the eager push and pull towards ecstasy.

Desperately trying to keep your hands in place over your mouth and his, your back arched at the long forgotten and very heightened sensation of being so very stretched by him, trembling with each brush of his pelvis against your sensitive bundle of nerves. His hands planted onto the mattress on either side of your head, fisting into the sheets as his hips snapped demandingly into yours, each sharp exhale from his nostrils cascading across your knuckles as you felt the tension building within you.

Sweat glistened on both of your skin, the efforts in the lingering heat of the night only making you both slick as you writhed beneath him, heart hammering inside your ribcage. And still his eyes would not leave yours. The one time you gave into the urge to clench them shut, he sent them flying open once more with a sharp nip to the meat of your palm and you quickly wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him closer, deeper.

You could feel him clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth, desperately driving into you until your body shattered in release, nearly going limp with the force of it. Bucky nestled his face tighter to your palm as, with two more erratic thrusts, he followed suit with a harsh cry, thankfully still smothered. Slumping forward, utterly spent, you cradled him close a moment before shuffling and maneuvering to rest against the headboard with him properly nuzzled against your neck, and his legs mostly on the bed.

Stroking his hair lovingly, every so often scratching your nails along his scalp, you could not help the fond smile as his harsh breaths evened out and the weight of him grew heavier against you when sleep overtook him. Sighing softly, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to join him in rest.

The next time you opened them you were alone, tucked beneath the sheet, the soft light of dawn filling the room. The distinct sound of Clara’s giggles carried from across the hall, and you sat up, grabbing your summer housecoat and peered into the nursery to find the pair of them perched on the camp bed engaged in a very entertaining game of wooden blocks it seemed. Bucky had retrieved the model of the B17 from the dresser and was frequently swooping it down to destroy whatever Clara’s clumsy little hands built, much to her delight.

“Ah, Mommy’s up.” Bucky’s statement revealed that you had been caught and you smirked, stepping into the room to kneel on the carpet beside them. “Did we wake you?”

Shaking your head softly, you kissed Clara’s head and then Bucky’s cheek. “Did she wake you, though?”

He shrugged. “Probably my turn anyway.”

You smiled tenderly, laughing as Clara clutched at his arm to demonstrate that she had assembled a new construction in need of his attention. Watching fondly, you blinked slightly to see a new addition to the dog tags, crucifix, and medal that he normally wore. Amidst the collection was now the faux engagement ring you had sported for over a year. Reaching out, you traced your finger along it, raising an eyebrow in silent question as his eyes met yours.

“To remind me of that time I was overly reckless.” He murmured and you swallowed painfully, pressing your lips to his firmly.

Sliding his arm around your waist, he pulled you snuggly into his side, continuing to entertain Clara easily.

“We’ll get the licence today but, what kind of wedding would you like, doll?” He asked quietly.

“Just a date at the courthouse is fine.” You assured him with a nod.

“You don’t want a big wedding or anything? Honestly doll, anything you want and it’s yours.” He assured you softly.

You laughed watching your daughter gnaw on the corner of a wooden block. “Seems a bit hypocritical to put me a white gown don’t you think?” You smirked and shook your head when he looked ready to defend your honor. “I don’t need all those fancy things John, I just need you.”

When he finally came up for air, your lips more than a little swollen from his attentions, he huffed a laugh.

“Not sure what I’m going to do with the parachute I smuggled home now, though…”

“Well, Major Cleven’s getting married soon, isn’t he? I’m sure Marge would appreciate it. She seems lovely from the letters we’ve exchanged.”

He turned to you wide-eyed, struck silent, and you could not help but laugh. “Never underestimate the ingenuity of women, John.”

Bucky shook his head in awe. “Trust me, doll…I would never be so foolish as to underestimate you.”

-------------------------

"Trust" Series Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @precious-little-scoundrel, @rubyfruitjungle, @storysimp, @mads-weasley, @xxanaduwrites, @bcon24, @fxxiva, @slowsweetlove, @hockeyboysarehot, @darylas, @carpediem1219, @blueberry-ovaries

[sherlocking-out-loud]

so here I am reporting from the trenches (aka listening to another episode of Consumed).

we're off to a great start: one of the characters suddenly shares that he's been hearing strange noises and voices inside the library - a place where he has been many many times during the course of this story and yet only now he felt it was relevant to share this.

(cue music for a couple of minutes once again.)

oh and the same character has been having nightmares and dreads going to sleep. which hasn't come up once before.

wait, what? he was exploring tunnels with his girlfriend and talking about this stuff and suddenly he wanted to show her a book and now they are in the library? just like that. did they teleport?? they were inside the tunnels for who knows how long and how farther in and it was really important to the girl (main character) to explore said tunnels and suddenly they are no longer there. no transition or explanation. ffs.

and why is the Sheriff calling the librarian to inform him that some kid that was missing has been found? now I'm confused. (but it may be because I've been paying half attention to these episodes and god knows I miss things even when I pay full attention so... moving on.)

(also the jokes are shoehorned at awkward moments and don't land at all, and the main actress's delivery is awful.)

JEREMY!!!!!!!! FINALLY!!!!!!!!!!!! HOW I MISSED THEEEEEEE! oh, it's already over. that was short. so good, but so short. :(((

omg the contrast of Misha's spot on voice acting and Rachel Rosenbloom's histrionics is stark when put side by side like this.

and now we know that the winter is coming and that that is bad. that's the plot advancement for this week, folks. riveting stuff. sigh

TL;DR: to hear Misha skip to the 16:58 minute (it ends by 20:40). you're welcome. ;)

[takingcourage]

Additions: Part 1

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 2,850

Summary: Several years into marriage, Jaime and Arden make an important decision about their family’s future. 

Note: This mini-series is a departure from the sorts of things I’ve written before, but it’s been part of my headcanon for these characters for ages and I just had to get it out. 

With that said, I know that this story isn’t going to be to everyone’s taste. If you’re currently being tagged for this pairing and want me to leave you off my list for the rest of this series, just let me know! I promise I won’t be offended or upset.  

September, 2026

Arden was no stranger to the fact that her entire world could change in a matter of minutes. The lightning strike, her mother’s death, that fateful gubernatorial debate – each had heralded new epochs in her life. But even with all of that previous experience, this particular set of minutes still managed to surprise her.

It was the first time she’d been speechless on camera, knowing that tears would begin pouring if she even tried to make use of her vocal cords. Ellen had covered for her admirably, but Arden’s palms were still sweating when she left an hour later.

She pulled out of the studio parking lot, punching buttons on the LED display of the dash.

Dialing.

A repetitive dulcet tone echoed through the vehicle.

“Arden?” her husband’s voice broke through the speakers and the tears threatened to rise again.

“Jaime, where are you?” she managed faintly, blasting the air conditioner in an effort to preserve her composure.

“In my workshop. Are you okay?” His strained concern brought her back to reality.

“I don’t know – but don’t worry about me. I’m not in danger or anything.” The sniffling wasn’t doing anything to add to her credibility, so she shifted tactics. “I just need to talk to you.”

“Sure. I’ll be home for another hour before I need to head over to the worksite for a meeting. You on your way back?”

“Reschedule it, babe,” she commanded gently, ignoring his question.

“Arden, you’re scaring me.” From the jostling on the other end, she could envision him pinning the phone close with his shoulder, hands occupied in searching for his truck keys.

The slam of the workshop door confirmed her suspicions.

“I’m almost home, Jaime. Stay there.”

His sigh dissipated through the vehicle.

“And I’m scaring me too…” the confession was almost a whisper. “But I think it’s a good scared.”

_____

Jaime was waiting on the front step when she arrived home, Opie sniffing at the bushes that lined the side of the house. As she rolled into the driveway, he ushered the dog inside and met her on the pavement. 

“You’re trembling, babe.” He held out a hand to steady her at the elbow, but she rushed on ahead.

“Jaime, I saw our kids.”

He almost tripped up the doorstep, leaving Arden grateful that she hadn’t taken the assistance he’d proffered. “What do you mean?”

“I know we haven’t talked about it in a while, but you know how we always said we wanted to adopt someday?”

He just gawked at her, dumbstruck.

“We were doing the Wednesday’s Child segment this morning and I don’t even know how to explain it, but the kids we featured in the video? They’re ours.” Taking a seat on the couch, she drew out the laptop from her satchel. “Here, I’ll show you.” 

For the space of several moments, the house was silent save for the sound of her fingers clicking on keys. Having found the webpage, she slid the device toward Jaime, reading the familiar text along with him. 

Sophia, age 11.  Sophia is a lively girl who enjoys spending time with her brothers and making new friends. She loves to sing and hopes to continue playing flute in band at her new school. When she grows up, Sophia wants to teach kindergarten or be a pediatrician.  

Alexander (Alex), Age 9. Alex is a talented artist who loves to draw and make things with his hands. He can be shy around people he doesn’t know, but he’s very sensitive and affectionate once he warms up to you. When he isn’t drawing, he loves to watch movies or build with LEGO.  

Will, Age 7. Will is very energetic and enjoys playing outside. His favorite sport is soccer and he dreams of one day playing professionally. He is friends with everyone and always has stories to tell. Will loves animals and hopes to have a pet of his own someday. 

Sophia, Alex, and Will are very close and need to be adopted together. They would do best in an active household that has a backyard so that they can spend time outside. They deserve an adoptive family that can provide structure, patience, and lots of love. 

When she came to the end, her eyes darted back to his face, heart thundering wildly at the conflict she saw there. She ran her hands against the skirt of her dress and waited for him to speak. 

“Arden.” Jaime shook his head and swore under his breath. Blinking, he pushed the laptop a few inches across the coffee table.

“See?” The tears were threatening again, called forth by the raw emotion in his tone. 

He nodded vigorously. 

“And there’s a video,” she continued, scrolling further down the page. “I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

Feeling Jaime tense beside her, she extended a palm toward him and clicked the play button. The musical interlude began, followed by June’s voiceover. 

Every week, we introduce you to a child in our community that needs a family. Today, we’ve chosen three very special siblings who need a forever home...

Arden’s eyes stung as she saw them again, heart skipping wildly just as it had done before. Curious as she was to know Jaime’s reaction, she couldn’t tear her attention away from the screen. 

These were their kids. 

There was no question in her mind. 

Jaime’s grip tightened around her fingers as the voiceover resumed. “How do we bring them home?”

Her finger trailed the trackpad, hovering over the link for more information. “I can fill out the preliminary paperwork tonight. After that, it’s going to be a lot of training and home visits and a lot of waiting. It’s not going to be easy.” 

Jaime pulled her hand to his lap, thumb tracing anxious circles through her skin. “When have you ever been known to back down from a challenge?”

“Basically never,” she laughed ironically. “But are we sure we’re ready for this?”

The enormity of the decision rolled over her like a freight train. Talking about wanting kids and actually pursuing them were two very different things. 

Jaime leaned back into the couch, and her heart beat erratically in the long seconds before his response. What if she was wrong? What if he didn’t feel as strongly as she did? It was early, sure, but despite her fears, Arden had her heart set on seeing more of those three small faces.

“We’ve been planning to have kids for forever.”

“We’ve just been waiting for the right time,” she added softly. 

“I think we’ve found it.”

She clicked to open the new tab. “This isn’t committing us to anything. At this point, it’s really just an expression of interest. If we change our minds later...”

Jaime recognized the implication. “I don’t think we will.” 

Releasing his hand, Arden lifted the computer to her knees. “Neither do I.” She started filling in the blanks slowly. She was an expert typist, but something about this particular form encouraged her to linger over every word.

Jaime shook her sleeve gently, the motion stirring her to look back at him. “Let’s talk for just a second.”

Her posture straightened, hands falling back to her sides. He changed his mind. Arden drew a shaky breath as she met his eyes. 

Jaime looked back steadily. “We’ve been doing the no-kids thing for a while now. Having three of them all at once is going to mean a lot of changes. We’re financially stable, so I’m not worried about that, but this isn’t just sponsoring them or visiting sometimes -- this is an all-day, every-day commitment.” 

Arden rubbed the pad of her thumb in contemplation. “We’re not exactly used to being home consistent hours, but I think we could change that. I’ll still have to go to the studio every morning, but I can be home around noon most days. Your schedule is fairly flexible and my dad and Julie are literally next door. I’m sure they could help fill in some gaps if we ever needed them to.” 

“It would still probably mean cutting back on our work hours.”

"I’m willing if it comes to that. I’ve got parental leave for several weeks and other than our time fliming, a lot of my work can be done remotely.” 

“You’re sure?” His velvet eyes shone with the question. 

“I’m sure. We have so much love to give, Jaime. Look at their faces and tell me that we could seriously say no to helping them have a family.” 

“We can’t. And I don’t want to.”

_____

November, 2026

“Are we crazy?” Arden asked as they walked out of their first training meeting several weeks later. “Are we even old enough to have an eleven year old?” 

Jaime’s head fell back with laughter. “We would have had to stop pretending not to be in love with each other much, much earlier than we did. Like, right after high-school graduation.” He flashed her a wink from across the hood of his car. “But I don’t think that’s going to matter too much. When I first moved in with Paula, I thought she was too old for me, just because she had a few gray hairs. Clearly, I was wrong,” he stated, fumbling in his pocket for the keys. “In the end, all that mattered was being part of a family.” 

“I hope our kids feel the same way.” 

“Even if they don’t, I think we’re doing the right thing.” 

“I do too.” 

He unlocked the door and paused in the seat before starting the ignition. “Growing up, I never really understood why Paula was so excited to have me come and live with her. I think I get it now.”

Arden fiddled with the zipper on her purse, her mind having traveled in a similar direction. “We didn’t even know they existed six weeks ago.” 

And now we can’t imagine life without them. 

His thought tallied with her own. “Exactly.”

“We’ve got a long road ahead of us,” she continued, thinking of all they’d heard. Ready as she was to have the kids under their roof, part of her was grateful that the drawn-out process gave them so many months to adjust. 

“I’m glad you’re the one taking this journey with me.” 

“I wouldn’t do this with anybody else.” Arden clasped his knee firmly, eyes on the road ahead. “Still want to go home and talk about remodeling?”

“Yep.” He slowed for the approaching stoplight. 

“You finally going to take out that wall downstairs that you’ve been complaining about for ages?”

Jaime took the opportunity to cast a scrutinizing eye over her features. “Open-concept designs are on their way out. And it’s a load-bearing wall anyway. We’ve talked about this.” 

Arden giggled into the sleeve of her jacket, arching a brow at her husband.

You’re just trying to wind me up, aren’t you?

She squeezed his knee in silent confirmation. 

_____

April, 2027

Mommy is changing the walls! 

With a start, Arden shifted the roller to one hand. Her other pinched the pause button on her earbuds, putting the podcast to an end. “Opie, how’d you get in here? You’re supposed to be in the kitchen.”

Jaime’s step sounded in the upstairs hallway. “That was me. I didn’t realize you were painting -- sorry.” He coaxed the animal back into the hall and locked him out. Once inside, he cast an appreciative gaze around the bedroom. “This is looking really good. Are you sure painting walls isn’t your day job?”

She rolled her eyes at the compliment, but couldn’t hide the curve of her lips as she continued working. “You should see me assemble furniture. I’ve got mad skills when it comes to flat packs. But enough of that. How was your meeting with city council?”

“Really good,” he told her with a dazed grin. “They want me to draw up plans for about a dozen more buildings downtown.” 

Arden watched him as she came to the end of a stroke. “That’s excellent news! Everyone at work raves about those gardens -- I told you they’d want more.” 

He raked a hand through his hair, but her eyes were drawn to the blush that spread across his cheeks. “I thought they might want another three or four, but a dozen? I’m going to have to contract some of the work out to get it done in time. It’s going to be a busy few weeks.” 

“Then let’s finish up in here and take the rest of the night to celebrate. We could go out for dinner or catch a movie if you want.” 

“We could. Or...”

She pulled the roller down in a long, even line, not daring to look away from the wall again. “Or?” she inquired along with the final swipe. Wall completed, Arden returned the roller to its tray and turned to face him. 

“I was just thinking that we’re running out of nights to have the whole house to ourselves. Maybe I’d rather just stay in with you.” With a mischievous slant to his smile, he worked the knot of her bandana loose and slipped it off her head. Fingers delving into her hair, Jaime’s lips met hers in a kiss that banished all other desires from her mind. 

Arden tangled her hands behind his neck, legs latching onto his waist as he hoisted her up by the thighs. “I like this plan.”

“Good.” He tightened his grip and began to move. Staggering into the hallway, Jaime paused so that she could pull the bedroom door to a close. I’m definitely not doing this with kids in the house.

“That’s probably wi---” The first in a trio of kisses to her throat brought her statement to a premature end. Arden was never sure how he managed kiss her and walk at the same time, but she wasn’t going to complain. As they continued making their way to the bedroom, she heard their door bounce against the wall with a hollow thunk. She flashed a sassy grin when he deposited her on the bed. “In a hurry?”

“We’ll have plenty of chances to sneak around later,” he promised as he joined her.

“Does that mean we can be as loud as we want tonight?” she asked coquettishly, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. 

It’s like you read my mind. 

_____

June, 2027

Jaime closed the bedroom door behind them, the click of the latch quickly giving way to an unnatural silence. Arden took a few tentative steps, crossing her arms in an attempt to relieve her feeling of uselessness. 

They rallied in the middle of the room, weary bodies falling to the mattress as they tried to absorb everything that had happened over the space of the last several hours. 

“I can’t --” 

“I just --” 

Words overlapping, they laughed at the sudden break to the stillness. 

“You go first,” Arden urged, tucking one hand up under her cheek as she studied her husband’s face. His eyes were sagging from lack of sleep, but she’d seen the spark of delight more times today than she could count. 

“It’s nothing I haven’t said before. But I can’t believe they’re actually here.” 

She mirrored his radiant grin, muscles straining with her thousandth smile of the day. “It still doesn’t feel real.” Arden scooted toward him, turning to her side so that her back was to his chest. “This isn’t like visiting them with the caseworker. We’re the ones responsible here.” Breathing sharply, a fear came to mind. “Do you think I should go and check on them to make sure they’re still breathing?”

Jaime pulled her close, the weight of his arms drawing away some of the anxiety that been solidifying since the morning.

“I’m sure they’re breathing,” he reassured, the words ghosting over her ear. “And they’re probably as exhausted as we are.”

“I know, but they’re in a new place. What if they can’t sleep?” Idly, she toyed with the smooth band on Jaime’s finger.

"They’ll learn to sleep here sooner or later. If we wake them up by going in to check on them, it’s just going to make adjusting even harder.”

She hummed her assent as her mind wandered. “Did you see how long Will sat and played with Opie? I’ve never heard that dog have such happy thoughts.” 

“Having kids around is going to be good for him. He was starting to get a little pudgy.” 

“Hey!”

“It’s true. He’s not a puppy anymore and Jinx doesn’t let him chase her around as much as she used to. It’ll be good for him to have someone to play with him more often.” 

“That’s probably true,” she conceded, falling silent once more. 

“We ought to start getting ready for bed.”

Arden nodded, but made no attempt to leave his embrace. “How long do you think it will take for this to start feeling real? Right now, it just feels like we’ve got guests in the other end of the house.” 

He sighed into her shoulder. “Probably sooner than we think. We’ll just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings.”

End Note: I know that I cannot begin to capture what it’s like to be a foster or adoptive parent, especially since my writing is coming from research rather than lived experience. If you have a more complete understanding of fostering or adoption and have concerns about the way I’ve represented these topics, I would be forever grateful to hear your suggestions for improvement. : ) 

[scaredsimp]

better half

(part two) Damian Wayne x Female! Reader

part one

description: Damian is over at (Y/N) house to study for the project. Adorableness ensues. Also, the only time I use Y/N is in the description.

warnings: one bad word

After the initial shock of being paired up for the project, you were very excited about it. After all, you would be able to spend multiple uninterrupted hours with your dream boy, who your 50% sure is also into you.

However, that didn't stop you from panicking whenever you heard a knock on the door. You looked through the peephole just to make sure it was Damian and twisted the multiple locks to the unlocked position. Come on, people, this is Gotham; of course, you need twenty locks.

You mustered up a confident smile and welcomed him in explaining how your parents were doing business stuff and were away on a trip.

“you can put your schoolbooks anywhere. The bathroom is the second door on the left down the hall. Oh! And help yourself to the pantry when you get hungry.” You’ve gotten used to explaining the layout of the house to your parent's dinner guests.

You were trying not to let your confidence crumble as you realized he hadn't said anything since he arrived, not even hello. but after what felt like an eternity of awkward silence, Damian spoke in a mildly monotone voice, “you have a nice home.” Okay, that was a good sign, at least he said something. “thankyou, we can work in here.” gesturing to the living room where you had already placed your books.

He was actually sort of pleasant to work with; even though he swears up and down, he prefers to work alone. You were both feeling content yet stupid as you kept getting caught staring at the other whenever they were taking notes or pointing at a piece of information in their workbook.

Hours passed, and you felt your eyelids getting heavier. “for this part to work, we would need to change this sect-“ Damians’ sentence is cut short as his eyes landed on your sleeping frame. It was a rare sight to see your face so relaxed, considering that you're always laughing. He wasn't sure how to handle the situation. should he wake you up? No, you looked so tired and needed to rest. But he doesn’t think leaving you without saying goodbye is a good idea either. His decision was made for him when a high-pitched beep coming from his pocket woke you. The beep meant batman needed him.

“hmm?” you groaned, sitting upright and shaking the wrist your head had rested on “oh shit. im so sorry! how long was I asleep?” you frantically said. “you were not asleep long. I hope you don't fall asleep often in front of people you barely know.” he said, slightly worried how easily you could leave yourself defenseless even if it weren’t intentional. “I've never done that before. I guess I must trust you,” you said, offering a smile. Damian's back straightened at that. “I must take my leave. we should finish the project this time tomorrow.” “works for me,” you said as you helped him gather his school books. You were disappointed he was leaving and hoped you had not scared him off.

“I… I had fun.” Damian offered a faint yet apparent smile. That was enough to ease your mind. “im glad.” returning the smile as you watched him from the doorframe get into the limo pulling into your driveway. You gave him one last wave goodbye before he was gone. you shut the door and immediately started screaming with joy, throwing both fists in the air victoriously. “YESSS!”

…..

Damian watched her from the tinted windows of the limo close her door. He continued to stare at the door, thinking of what you said to him. You trusted him. You trusted him. He couldn’t spend a whole lot of time thinking about that right now. Right now, Gotham needed him. he picked up his phone and texted something to an unnamed number.

‘i'm on my way.’

I hope I was able to capture the transition y/n made from not being sure if Damian hated her and viewing him as far away to seeing he obviously doesn't want her dead and as more approachable. the next chapter I'm gonna actually have to write for bruce.

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing iii.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 2, 393

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

“You’re bailing again?” Taehyung looks up from his stack of books for the first time in the last hour since the two of you have started your study date. Granted, he meant no spite but he didn’t understand what set you to flee. The name that was almost taboo to you; the name that brings more tugs to your heart that hurts than one that’s fond.

You glance up at him with meek eyes, “I have an office hour with my economics professor in half an hour.”

Taehyung purses his lips.

“This is the fourth time this week you’ve ditched.” Taehyung sounds mildly irritated and you don’t blame him. You made a promise months ago before mid-terms coming up that you’d help him with statistics. But before the two of you could ever get into the nitty-gritty details of math; somehow the forbidden name comes up.

“I know.” You say softly. “I’m sorry …” You don’t say anything else because your heart is speeding up in a way that is anxiety-inducing. Because Taehyung off-handedly mentioned that Jungkook would be dropping by in a few; and you didn’t know when he’d turn up and you rather not stick around to find out.

His words still linger in your mind and every time there was any prompt to remind you of his face, or his name—you remember the way his words sounded so assured in the context of the situation first. You remember the malevolence that lied behind his usually kind eyes. But it’s like the eyes filled with desire in a one-dimensional view of your body replaced the youthful mirth you grew up with.

“Look.” Taehyung sighs, pushing himself up to look at you with a stern stare. “If you don’t want to tutor me that’s fine. I can find another tutor. But I’d appreciate if you’d let me know beforehand so I don’t have to come all the way just for an hour then have you leave once the content begins to get tougher.”

Taehyung was by no means being rude or outwardly offensive. He was straightforward and you appreciated that he was honest with you. And rather, you feel guilty of the fact that you bailed for your own selfish reasons.

“I do want to tutor you.” You tell him, fiddling with your fingers as your eyes dart to the doors of the library. “It really just slipped my mind.”

It sounds lame, even to you; and Taehyung picks up on it too.

“You don’t forget things like this.” He says pointedly. “It’s like every time I mention—”

Taehyung stops himself and your eyes dart away, hands already tugging your bag over your shoulder. Maybe if you sped up, he wouldn’t stare at you with an inquisitive stare that looked similar to one of realisation.

“Did something happen between you and Kook?”

You wince. Taehyung is observant.

“Are the two of you—?”

“I’m fine.” You snap, tone defensive and on edge when you hear the bell of the library door ring. You don’t dare to turn to look. “We’re fine.”

“_____ …” Taehyung frowns.

“I gotta go. Okay?” You huff, offering one last apologetic look before you turn to leave. But in your haste, you bump into a solid figure and you’re terrified that it’s—

“Careful.” A deeper, unfamiliar but welcomed voice murmurs.

When your eyes look up, it’s just someone you recognise from Jungkook’s football games. You were sure he was a key player too. His stature was definitely one of an athlete. He was tall, broad, and firm; and the black shirt that hugged his chest only emphasised your guess.

“S-Sorry.” You squeak, looking down.

You brush past him before he can get another word in, and only when you slip past him do you see Jungkook lingering behind with a frown on his face.

“______—” He calls.

You’re able to leave before he can get a hold of you; and that only causes the frown on Jungkook’s face to harden.

When the door rings once more to signal your departure, Jungkook is already sat with Taehyung and the other person that bumped into you.

“What’s up with the two of you?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook stiffens and responds with a grit of his teeth. “Nothing.”

Taehyung doesn’t look convinced and Namjoon—though recently enlightened with the fact that there was potentially something brewing between the two of you—was also observant enough to pick up on the tense atmosphere that you left with.

“Aren’t the two of you super close?” Namjoon says offhandedly, already shifting through his assignments while he lays them out.

Jungkook wants to let out a dry scoff at the assumption. Sure, the two of you were close. He isn’t so sure about that anymore.

“You’re clearly lying to me.” Taehyung snorts. “So whatever it is the two of you are keeping a secret please just sort it out because I need _____ here to tutor me and you’re getting in the way of my education.”

Taehyung mostly says this as a joke, but it strikes Jungkook straight where it’s vulnerable. He wasn’t going to be the first to break, nor will he indulge Taehyung into what he said to you in the same library they were in at this very moment.

So instead, Jungkook brushes it off like he’s been doing so more recently than ever.

“Whatever.” He mutters.

For some reason, you see Jungkook again on the same day—accompanied by the same person that you bumped into.

You realise that you’ve spent more time avoiding him than dealing with your feelings after what transpired. But you’re weak and you suppose you’ve always been weak when it came to Jungkook.

It was difficult … to say the least. Because while Jungkook’s words were malicious and filled with the intent to hurt and break you; the better (and foolish) part of you wanted to believe that he was angry. Driven by emotions that he wasn’t thinking straight. But while you were naive, you were also substantially aware that there had to be some form of truth to the words he’s thrown at you.

But this was the same Jungkook that you grew up with, the young boy you’ve somehow seen transition from awkward and endearing teen to … to the confident and assured man he was. You didn’t want to make any excuses for him but you’ve always been soft. And you hated that your eyes somehow still linger on his approaching figure when the rational side of your brain tells you to run away.

However, it’s not him who greets you. It’s his friend. The one you vaguely recognise but can’t quite put a name to a face.

“Hey!” He calls out to you.

His smile is easy with a dimple appearing on his cheeks. He looks kind and soft for someone that was easily a head taller than you were, and despite his height—there was something oddly comforting about the way he approaches you as if he knows you.

You try to ignore the coldness from Jungkook’s end and remind yourself that you should’ve felt angry—not the other way around.

“Hi?” You say, or more appropriately ask.

Jungkook’s expression is still blank; every time your eyes briefly linger on his face you wonder how it’d ended up this way.

“_____, right? I’ve seen you at a few of our games.” His friend enters a conversation so seamlessly. “Kook’s never introduced us, though.”

You clear your throat and you hope your face isn’t a dead giveaway of your discomfort. Especially when you blatantly ignore Jungkook’s piercing stare on the side of your temple.

“I don’t … mingle around that much.” You say softly,

And it’s parallel to the image that Jungkook has of you. The quiet, timid girl that’s free time is consumed with books and assignments than a social life to make up for it. You used to think that maybe you weren’t the type that enjoyed large or loud gatherings. But Jungkook’s voice only makes you wonder if you were the problem instead.

“Well, I’m Namjoon.” He smiles at you, offering a grin filled with teeth that you find yourself unconsciously returning, albeit awkwardly.

“Nice to meet you … uh … Namjoon.” You mumble, and your eyes nearly land on Jungkook’s face out of pure habit, but you stop yourself before you hurt yourself even more.

“It’s nice to formally meet you too. I’ve been asking Jungkook to introduce the two of us since forever ago but he seemed dead set on keeping you to himself.” Namjoon jokes lightly. And you almost miss it, but you swear Jungkook stiffens by his side.

“Ah …” You reply lamely, fingering your strap as you shift on your heels.

It feels awkward to not acknowledge Jungkook; you’re wondering if Namjoon picks up on the cold air between the both of you. Namjoon looks like he’s thinking of something, but before he can say anything—Jungkook is tugging his arm roughly.

“We have practice.” Jungkook grits, finally making himself known.

Your eyes dart to your feet, and you hate how small you feel in his presence. It should’ve been easy but this was the hardest part of it all. Pretending like you were objectively okay when his words constantly lingered at the back of your mind.

“Go ahead without me. I want to ask _____ something.” Namjoon shrugs Jungkook’s hand off of him. And this time you catch the venomous glare that he shoots his friend, accompanied by the clench of his jaw.

“Coach will—”

“I’m the captain, remember?” Namjoon snorts, but it’s not condescending. Just a reminder.

Jungkook purses his lips and his eyes dart between the two of you; and you know him well enough to know that there’s something on his mind, especially with the way he nibbles on his bottom lip.

“Don’t be late.” Jungkook grits, stomping off in the other direction without even sparing you a glance.

You frown at him because he was the one that came to you that day unwarranted; treating you like absolutely nothing as if there weren’t years of history behind the two of you.

But Namjoon is large enough to distract you because he quite literally blocks the view of Jungkook’s disappearing body with his own when he stands right in front of you.

“Sorry about that.” Namjoon looks sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind …” He trails off as he scratches the back of his neck.

Your eyes widen as you shake your head, “N-No! It’s fine. Just … uh … what’s up?” You wince inwardly at your horrible social skills and you have a slight understanding of why Jungkook pointed out the things he did. Maybe he was right—

“I—well …” Namjoon mumbles, and he seems less assured than he was earlier. “I think—you’re really—cool?—and smart—you seem nice so … sorry! God.” He rambles as he brushes his hands over his face.

You blink at him.

Namjoon takes your reaction as a bad one as he winces, chuckling lowly.

“I’m sorry. I’m not this … awkward.” He tells you.

You nod your head slowly trying to process his words. And you feel a little guilty knowing that your lack of response probably pushes Namjoon further into his shell. But he has a glare in his eye that shows that he won’t be affected so easily.

“Well.” He clears his throat. “I follow your podcast. And I think it’s really great. You offer some really interesting perspectives on the War on Drugs—or as you mentioned—the disproportionate effects of racial tension that lead to unjustified or mass incarceration rates in the U.S.”

Somehow you know you’ve said the exact same words in the monthly podcast you do with the International Relations department for extra credit. But when Namjoon speaks, it’s as if he’s carefully picking apart the context and nuance of your words so carefully before he quotes it back to you; as if he treats your opinion with heavy regard and not one of the light matters.

You feel flattered.

“Oh.” You blink. “Thank you?”

Namjoon offers you an easy grin. And you recall: captain of the football team, he says? He doesn’t really … fit the stereotype. Besides the fact that he looked insanely fit. He was gentle, that much you could tell. But you also were a little biased when it came to footballers because you only had Jungkook to compare him with.

“Sorry for just springing that on you.” He apologises sheepishly and you’re even more confused as to why he feels the need to say sorry. “It’s just that Kook was always so bitchy about introducing me to you whenever I asked so … I thought why not take the chance myself?”

You gape at him. You don’t know what to do with the set of new information you’re presented with. Firstly, the fact that someone like Namjoon paid attention to a nobody like you? And secondly, the weird revelation that Jungkook somehow gate kept his friendship … or whatever the fuck it was … with you.

“No, no.” You shake your head, “I’m really flattered. Thank you. No one’s ever … told me that before.” You give him a gentle smile because that’s all you can muster.

Namjoon returns it tenfold as he hikes his bag across his shoulder.

“Well, I gotta go now. Practice calls.” He jokes, waving at you. For a moment, he stills; as if remembering something before he fishes out a piece of paper from his pocket and shoves it to you in a haste.

“What is—?”

“My number. You know—if you ever want to talk. About … stuff. I think you’re super smart—and intelligent. They’re synonymous but yeah. If you want.” He rambles.

You blink up at him and before you can muster a response, he’s darting away.

You watch his figure retreat and notice that Jungkook is waiting for him a good distance away. But his eyes aren’t on Namjoon’s somewhat giddy figure—but on you.

He stares at you long and hard, and you feel conflicted. The paper in your hand nearly chafes, but the feeling is easily forgotten when his expression hardens.

When Namjoon reaches him with a clasp to his back, the pair walks off. Not before he gives you one passing glance over his shoulder that leaves you feeling more restless than ever.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

come fly with me

[hermes x reader]

author’s note: every time i see his name i pronounce it like the brand out of  habit even if there’s no accent grave lol

word count: 2,572

You sense the bright light of morning through your closed lids and it prompts you to wake. But even as your eyes slide open, you still feel as though you’re dreaming.

A man is kneeling down next to you. You don’t know who he is but perceive he means no harm, for his gaze as he observes you is concerned, no doubt wondering what you’re doing out here. You don’t remember falling asleep outside, but the weather has been so nice as of late, you wouldn’t put it past yourself to have drifted off after laying beneath the stars, simply appreciating their magnificence.

As your vision comes more into focus, and the blurred edges merge into finer lines, you note that the sun shines behind this stranger’s head, and it appears remarkably like a halo. Your focus slides lower, drifts over brown hair pulled back into a neat braid to avoid obscuring his face, the highlight of which are his eyes—brilliantly blue, like crystals, and putting the backdrop behind him to shame. He’s beautiful.

Suddenly you’re nervous to be the center of his attention, so rapt it’s like he can see right through you. You must look a disheveled mess in contrast, your own hair tousled, your eyes bleary with the last bits of sleep. But as if he can hear your thoughts, he smiles gently, a gesture to put you at ease.

“Hello,” he greets you. His voice is hushed, taking care not to disturb the peace of these early hours, and it’s warm, washing over your skin and fighting away the chill of the cool evening.

You open your mouth, poised to speak, but at first nothing comes out, though from nervousness or from the fact your vocal chords are still waking up after hours of not being used, you don’t know.

“I… I must have fallen asleep out here,” you state rather dumbly, because what else could it have been? It’s not as if anyone had carried you out here in the middle of the night. Your cheeks redden from embarrassment but the man’s smile widens, amused and—if you aren’t imagining things, owed to the idea that maybe you really are dreaming—charmed. Though for what reason, you haven’t the slightest clue.  You struggle to call yourself a picture of grace at any other point in a day, least of all fresh from sleep.

“It seems you have,” he responds. “I imagine it was comfortable?”

Not wanting to continue this conversation while still laying down, since it’s a little awkward, you sit up, and he backs away slightly to give you space. The notion of sleeping on the ground certainly doesn’t sound comfortable, and so you assume he asks this in light jest, but oddly enough, you don’t feel any stiffness or aches. Your body is relaxed, pliant. You feel well-rested.

“It was, yes…” you trail off, absentmindedly pondering on this anomaly.

The man nods, satisfied with your answer, and stands. You have to crane your neck to look at him, and as he turns his head to look out at the rolling hills, lush green and divided in the middle by a dirt path, you see a string around his neck which is attached to a golden helmet. The brim swoops and lifts in the back, colored silver to resemble a pair of wings.

Then he turns to you again, now offering you his hand. “Well the day is too nice to waste staying here. Would you like to take a walk with me?”

You’ve been aware this entire time that you don’t know who he is, and logic would dictate you turn down his invitation. No matter how nice he may be, it would be unreasonable as well as  unsafe. But even for all that, you find yourself not tied down by any semblance of reason, and perhaps it’s against your better judgment that you accept.

You take his hand and he pulls you up easily. Maybe it’s his smile that does well to quell any apprehension, for you think you would follow him anywhere. Maybe you were incorrect and to go with him now was the better judgment on your part, because you don’t feel that this is wrong or dangerous. And he’s right: the day is splendid and it would make no sense to stay on the ground alone. It’s better enjoyed with companions.

The two of you follow the trail for a while, pausing whenever small creatures cross from one side to the other: mostly bunnies and deer, but at one point when passing by a lake there’s a duck and her ducklings plodding single-file behind her. As the world around you wakes and you walk in comfortable silence, your anxiety melts away and you instigate a conversation.

“Were you just passing by and happened to see me?” you inquire.

The man glances down at you briefly before looking ahead once more. “I was.” He nods. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He’s sincere as he says it, and it makes you grin. “Well I’m glad it was you who found me.”

The smile on his lips mirrors yours. “I am too.”

Flowers line the path, leaning inward as if to welcome any who walk past. They grab your attention, and you skip ahead to pick some of them. They only require a gentle tug for the stems to snap and you gather them until you’re holding a small bunch of the white flower in one hand. You bring them closer to your face so you can smell them: the scent is subtle and fresh, like the air after it rains. The man finally catches up to you and you twist around. There’s that expression in his eyes again, one of amusement, and again you blush, attempting to hide it by the flowers as you duck your head, but you don’t think you’re successful.

He peers over your shoulder. “Let’s go this way now. There’s bound to be more flowers in that direction.”

You turn and follow his line of sight. The trail has led to a forest, and veering off here would lead you into the thick of it. The man takes the last few steps to close the distance and stand next to you, and you look up at him. “Okay.”

Sunlight pierces the gaps in the foliage, the rays which light the ground soothing to behold and to walk through. It’s like a painting, calm and peaceful, displayed on the finest marble and you’re honored to be in the midst of it, maybe not as the subject, for you think the birds who cast shadows as they soar above you are more worthy of the privilege, but you’re content to be there at all, even just off to the side.

The woods lead to a meadow and the man was correct: there are more flowers here. Their colors vary, from white to lavender to yellow, and the sun envelopes them all in its heat, unhindered in this clearing. The tall grass shifts with your every footstep and brushes your calves, light as a feather, and you giggle. It tickles.

Your eyes rove over the expanse before you. There are more trees, another portion of forest,  on the other side, but this place is so peaceful, and the sun is in the perfect position, centered in the sky, that you would hate to leave so soon.

“I’d like to lay among these flowers…” you murmur. It’s an aside you mean to mutter only to yourself, but given your proximity to the stranger—no, not a stranger anymore, but more of a friend—he hears you fine despite the low volume with which you said it.

“Why don’t we?”

At this, you blink and glance up at him. He’s already watching you with a twinkle in his gaze and he’s smiling. You can’t help smiling too and you feel so warm to be in his presence.

So in the middle of the clearing you find a suitable spot and settle down, lying on your back with the bunch of white flowers still clutched in one hand. You have to squint and use your free hand to shield your eyes from the glare of the sun, but then you close them and the furrow of your brow relaxes, and you can fully enjoy the nature which surrounds you.

Dragonflies buzz and you can hear them flittering along, the beating of their wings louder as they approach, then becoming quieter as they pass. The grass shifts as your friend comes to join you now. He sits, and you hear a brief shuffling before he follows suit and lays down. Together you bask in the sunlight, but for how long, you aren’t sure. Not that you’re interested in tracking the time.

“Your suggestion to tarry a while was a good one,” he compliments, breaking the silence. “It feels pleasant to rest here.”

His compliment makes you grin and your eyes open. You turn your head to look at him. He’d removed his helmet from where it was hanging around his neck and placed it next to him to allow him to lie back comfortably. “The sun makes you feel so refreshed, doesn’t it?”

He hums. “I think it has more to do with the company.” He opens his eyes and also turns to look at you, and the blueness of them is incredibly soft. Your smile grows.

And though you’re confident you could pass the rest of the day in that meadow, the two of you move on. It’s done with a bit of reluctance on your part, but it fades quickly because you agree with him: it’s the company which makes you feel refreshed. The colors of the sky are shifting as mid-afternoon turns into early evening and it occurs to you that you have been walking since the morning yet you aren’t tired, nor has it felt like many hours have transpired. You know it has to do with him. You think you could do this forever, walking with him.

When the sky is a blend of indigo and orange, you ask if anyone is expecting him. We’ve been together all day, you explain. No one might wonder where you are?

He chuckles. “That’s kind of you to be concerned.”

Your cheeks feel warm. He’s awfully good at getting that reaction out of you.

“No one’s expecting me,” he continues. “But even if someone were, they’d understand my lateness, given I’m with someone so sweet. I’m not keen to part ways too soon.”

Your chest feels tight, like your heart is wrenching and you’re scared it might break. “Me neither,” you state shyly.

Then gradually the indigos and oranges transition to black as the sun fully disappears below  the horizon and you are sad to see it leave. You’ve also long since left the meadow and the forest surrounding it behind. The land you walk through is wide, flat, empty. There aren’t any plants or animals and it feels foreign, adjusted as you had been to the lush scenery of this afternoon. The only feature worth noting are the mountains that come into view now, which, while you’d already assumed them to be tall, are taller than you first thought as you get closer, so high they seem to touch the clouds, perhaps even extending past them.

“This way.” The man’s voice pulls your attention away from staring up at the clouds. There’s a path that leads farther into the mountain. “Watch your step. It’s rather dark.”

What light of the moon reaches through small gaps in the mountain reflects off the helmet strung around his neck. He takes care to move slowly to ensure you don’t lose him but the glint of his helmet serves as a beacon. The more you venture in, you wonder where you’re going. Should you ask him? The idea of doing so hadn’t crossed your mind all day because you’d been happy just to be with him, no apprehension about the destination, or whether or not  there was one. But now…

The words are on the tip of your tongue, about to be voiced, but they die out once you turn a final corner and spot a river. The water is dark, almost black, and a haze settles above it that obscures what might possibly be on the opposite shore. Once you do speak, it’s still a question, but it’s no longer about where the two of you are headed. He doesn’t need to tell you that.

“Wanted to let me down gently, didn’t you?” The manner in which you ask this is quiet, lightly teasing but also laced with a sadness you do little to hide.

Hermes—for now you know confidently who he is—leads you right to the edge of the water and then stops, twisting around. “I chose to take the longer route with you.”

You meet his gaze. His eyes are sorrowful, yet for their melancholy they are still just as beautiful, and they’re tender as he looks at you. “Why?”

He takes a deep breath, momentarily glancing at the water then returning his focus to you. “You hadn’t realized what happened, and I didn’t want to tell you. I decided we would venture through the nature you love so much, taking breaks where you desired, to listen to the bugs and to feel the sun.”

Thinking back to this morning, you recall that when you’d woken up, you hadn’t checked behind you. If you had, you would’ve noticed your body there. You’d been too enamored by Hermes to do that. Though you suppose there are worse ways of being led to the Underworld, and you’d always be grateful to Hermes for choosing to take the long way.

“Through it I’ve grown very fond of you,” he confesses. He offers a small smile, and you surmise it’s a struggle, at odds with a frown because of where he has brought you, and what it implies. “A day with you was a lifetime, and it still didn’t feel long enough.”

You muster a smile of your own. “One day or an eternity, I don’t suppose any length of time ever would.”

A boat comes into view, appearing to materialize through the fog, and once it stops at the small dock, the front bumping gently and the water lapping against the support beams, Hermes gives the ferryman two coins. Treat her well, he instructs. And then he turns to you a final time, and when your heart squeezes, you really think it has broken.

Glancing down, your eyes settle on the flowers you’re gripping. You’d kept them with you the entire journey. But now you hold them out to Hermes, and the heaviness in your chest seems to lighten slightly as he takes them and the expression on his face becomes a little less crestfallen. You would hate to leave him in such a forlorn state.

“Thank you, Hermes.” You hope he can detect the sincerity, and when he smiles faintly, you know that he has.

He helps you onto the boat, clasping your much smaller hand in his to provide support, and he stands on the shore as the ferryman pushes away, watching you until the fog engulfs the boat once more. And though he’s alone, the flowers in his hand make him feel far from lonely.

[kingwuko]

Wuko in the Comics: Ruins of the Empire: Book 1, Part 1

Welcome to my second post on Wuko in the comics. In this post I’ll be discussing the first half of Ruins of the Empire: Book 1. Wu is a prominent character in this comic trilogy, and there is lots of character development and exploration for him. There are also a lot of scenes with Wu and Mako together, and what’s more, there are a handful of visual parallels to Korrasami!

Ruins of the Empire

Book 1 of RotE was released in May 2019. The art style is different from Turf Wars- the colors are very vibrant and it almost looks like stills of the animated series. It takes place 3 months after the conclusion of the animated series, and there is lots of continuity following the events of Turf wars. Some major plot points that carry from Turf Wars include: Wu has been governing the Earth Kingdom, Korra and Asami are in a firmly established relationship, and Zhu Li is President of the United Nations.

Plot Summary

The first half of Book 1 of RotE highlights the transition of the Earth Kingdom into a democracy by focusing on the first state to hold its elections, Gaoling. Gaoling’s election is at risk of being disrupted by Earth Empire general, Guan, who didn’t surrender when the rest of the empire did. The Krew decides to accompany King Wu to Gaoling to ensure the election proceeds without interference.

Major plot points in the first half of Book 1

We start out with a flashback that sets the timeline for the rest of the comic. In Gaoling, Commander Guan is running an earth empire “reeducation camp” and has just gotten word that Kuvira surrendered, but isn’t planning to give up so easily. He insists that his “experiments” and the Earth Empire will go on, with or without Kuvira as the Earth Emperor…. Then we jump ahead 3 months to Republic City, City Hall. We start out with an excellent frame, the first of many Wuko Korrasami parallels! Get excited, there are SO many!

Bolin is working for President Zhu Li Moon now, because, why not? He just quit his job working with Mako on the police force, and now he’s Zhu Li’s administrative assistant or something. Zhu Li is going to be introducing King Wu for a “big speech” to the citizens of Republic City. Korra gives Wu a friendly elbow nudge and asks if he’s ready. (the first of many wholesome friendship moments between the two of them)

Wu is not ready, he’s nervous. He asks Mako to read his speech for him, and Mako says no way- but then he reassures Wu that he’ll do great. “Just be yourself” Wu is immediately comforted and says that Mako always knows the right thing to say and that must be why he keeps Mako around! (I can think of a couple other reasons...) Mako’s expressions are very stoic and closed off. He’s got his arms crossed and looks grumpy (I feel like I’m always saying Mako looks grumpy. But that’s the best adjective I can come up with).

Wu begins his speech where he announces that it’s almost time for the Earth Kingdom states to begin holding elections, starting in the state of Gaoling. Grandma Yin and cousin Tu are in the audience and Yin is booing Wu, and also yelling “Long live the monarchy” while holding framed portraits of Wu and Hou-Ting.

Asami, Korra, Mako and Varric are standing behind Wu, applauding along with the crowd (well, the crowd minus Yin). Korra and Mako casually compliment Wu, saying that he's doing great and almost looks like a real leader! Wu says that within a year there will be a peaceful transition to democracy. He gets bombarded by questions and panics and starts singing. He tosses his stylish hat into the crowd, which Yin catches and says “you’ll always be my king!” Mako covers his face with his hands, Korra says ”well you did tell him to be himself” and Mako says “this is NOT what I meant”. Sorry Mako. You know Wu better than anyone so you should have known a song was coming. Zhu Li takes the podium and Wu dramatically faints/collapses into Mako’s arms. I presume on purpose.

We cut to a scene of Kuvira’s trial. Kuvira, after being read the charges against her, pleads not guilty (because every thing she did was for the “greater good”), Suyin confronts her and Kuvira apologizes but Suyin isn’t having it and forcefully tells her that apologies aren’t enough, she has to take responsibility.

We move on to President Moon’s office, where Wu is sitting on a sofa and Bolin welcomes Asami, Mako and Korra in. Mako lampshades Bolin’s many career changes. Bolin makes a comment to Mako that just because Mako has “found” himself it doesn’t mean the rest of them have. I, for the life of me, can’t figure out exactly what Bolin is trying to say here. Is he referring to the fact that Mako has “found” his career as a detective? Or something else, like his true feelings for Wu? Probably the first thing but us Wuko shippers will happily apply it to the other thing.

Once everyone is settled in, Wu asks them to come with him to Gaoling for the upcoming elections! Mako is actually not thrilled, and tells Wu that they aren’t going to be there for him to show off as his entourage. Wu is like No, that’s not it! Well, yes, kinda. He wants their help dealing with the Earth Empire loyalists being led by Guan. The Earth Kingdom army is understaffed and Wu is worried the Guan will try to prevent the elections from happening. The Krew agrees that it could be a problem, especially since it could cause other states to back out of holding elections and allow the earth empire to rise again.

So the Krew plans to come to Gaoling to show support for the elections, hopefully deter Guan from interfering, and Mako says they will keep Wu safe. Zhu Li encourages Bolin to go as well. Wu is very excited to team up with Mako again! After they leave the President's office, Korra suggests going to go speak to Kuvira to try to gather intel on Guan- Asami is not thrilled and doesn’t want to go with her because Kuvira was responsible for her father’s death. Korra is understanding and supportive and they share a lovely little kiss before Korra heads off.

Korra arrives at Kuvira’s prison with Naga. We catch a quick glimpse into Kuvira’s mind as she remembers a moment from her childhood when she ran away from her parents-after her parents accused her of breaking a vase, the take away her toys and lock her in her room “for her own good”, and she uses her earth bending to break the wall and escape. This and other flashbacks attempt to make us more sympathetic to Kuvira so we can accept her redemption arc in the remainder of the comics. After her little flashback, Korra and Kuvira discuss Guan. Kuvira says she didn’t know Guan hadn’t surrendered, and that Korra should consider him a major threat because he is cunning and strategic. Then Kuvira tells Korra if she wants to stop Guan, she should bring Kuvira along to reason with him and convince him to stand down and surrender. Korra is not convinced, but Kuvira tells her to take time to think about it, and she’ll be there to help when Korra asks.

Meanwhile, Guan is rallying his troops. He’s got a sizable regiment of soldiers along with tanks, and is giving them a big speech about taking back the empire and rising from the ruins of defeat. He and his troops head out of their fortress, presumably to do exactly what everyone is worried about and stop Gaoling’s election.

Mako and Wu Scenes

Mako and Wu are featured in many scenes of these comics, together more often than not!

The very first scene with Wu, he is standing right next to Mako, in the same frame as Korra and Asami. I realize “standing next to each other” might not actually be ground breaking evidence for Wuko, but it feels like a parallel to Korrasami, and most importantly creates kind of an establishing shot, planting Wu at the center along with Korra. This is kind of amazing considering he was in only one season of the show and he was largely a comic relief character that I don’t think the writers meant for us to take seriously. There is a pattern of parallels in RotE with Korrasami and Wuko, and we don’t really need to reach for them. They are right there, visually.

We also get to see some lovely moments of Korra’s and Wu’s friendship. She elbows him good-naturedly. She’s kind and supportive. She compliments him. He does seem a little awkward but overall it seems he really fits in with the Krew now, and I find it really sweet. His characterization feels very different from the show. He isn’t obnoxiously flirting with every 'dame' he lays eyes on. He isn’t bratty, or materialistic. He’s still goofy and lands some comic relief joke moments, but overall he is treated like an actual character with substantial development and plot-advancing roles.

During Wu’s speech, Mako is staring like, way too intently at him while casually complementing how he almost looks like a real leader. (Well, up until Wu starts singing, and then his second-hand embarrassment seems more intense than the others, who mostly just seem a little stunned, while Mako has his face buried in his hands). Also, the running gag of Grandma Yin being obsessed with royalty has it’s funny moments during his speech, but I really like it because the fact that Mako’s grandma is reverent, affectionate, AND outspoken with Wu would probably create an interesting in-law dynamic, right? Also, during his song, the tosses his hat out to the crowd which Yin catches like a single lady catching the bridal bouquet, and says “You’ll always be my King!” I like to imagine that she now wears his hat everywhere, along with Mako’s scarf. I know I’m reaching but Yin wearing both their accessories is another Wuko moment in my mind.

Let’s also talk about Wu fainting. After his panic-singing, Zhu Li quickly takes over and Wu steps back and dramatically faints, saying “Wu down”- right into Mako’s arms. Why into Mako’s arms? Did he step back and strategically aim himself at Mako? Technically the closest person to him was Varrick. So he had to stagger back diagonally and fall back toward Mako on purpose. Did Mako catch him with lightning-fast reflexes? Korra was also right there and she’s the Avatar, you’d think she’d react quicker than Mako. Nope. The best explanation is that Wu for sure was intentionally falling into Mako’s arms, and Mako’s ‘protect Wu’ instincts kicked in faster than anyone else's because.. Well. You ship Wuko. You know what I'm saying. <3

During the conversation in Zhu Li’s office, once again, visually Mako and Wu are parallel to Korra and Asami. They are sitting next to each other on a couch opposite Korra and Asami. However, there is this one moment where Mako is NOT HAVING IT with Wu. When Wu asks the Krew to join him, Mako is like, why? For show? No way. He says “We’re not your entourage, Wu.” Honestly that was kinda mean of him to say. I’m not sure what to make of it other than Mako is suddenly grumpy because his brother (who was visibly offended by Mako lamp-shading his career-hopping) snatched away a tray of cupcakes a moment before. Still, Wu is quick to reassure him that it’s not like that at all, and delivers the news of Guan and quickly makes a case that it’s the practical thing to do considering the political climate. Mako immediately agrees after that, and quickly flips his script to “we’ll keep you safe”. And Wu’s triple “yes” response with an excited fist in the air is enough of a Wuko moment for me.

When they leave Zhu Li’s office, yet another visual Korrasami/Wuko parallel. Korra and Asami are in the back holding hands, and Mako and Wu are in the front with Wu’s arm draped around Mako’s shoulders. Wu is very happy that Mako is coming along. Says they should get a smoothie to celebrate, and it’ll be just like old times! I’m sure Wu missed Mako. Mako doesn’t seem quite as thrilled but at this point it's really just Mako’s face. He just always looks like that. Who knows what he’s thinking inside.

What this means for Wuko

So if you are writing some fanfic or just coming up with headcanons with the comics in mind, there is a lot of material to work with right away. They are in close proximity for most of their scenes. Wu is accepted by the Krew, and he is buddy-buddy enough with Korra to presume he’s probably been talking to her outside of the scenes depicted in the comics. So there’s some potential for wingman or matchmaker Korra, or at the very least she will be happy and supportive of them getting together since she has warmed up to Wu a lot. Both Mako and Wu have matured enough that a healthy relationship is within reach. Wu clearly has affection toward Mako, and Mako still has that protective instinct toward Wu, even if he looks like he’s not having a great time (But like I said, he looks like that all the time, so I'm pretty sure he just has resting bitch face).

So that is about the halfway point of book 1. The next post I will talk about the second half of book 1. Some things to look forward to: a sauna scene, Mako, Bolin and Wu giving Kuvira the Bitchiest collective look ever, and Wu casually telling Mako that he loves him.

Wuko in Turf War

Wuko in RotE part 2

[moonlightsanctuary]

Kuvira x Reader The Christmas Conundrum Part I

SOOOO it has been a while. So sorry this is late, had a lot of crazy stuff happen to me and this should have been out since Christmas but unfortunately i ended up sick with COVID, and a bunch of other health issues. So i am just now posting this. It ended up being so long that i had to split it up into two parts. With that being said special shout out to @ellsss and @goldfyshie927 for their honest feed back and encouragement. They is cool peeps you should go check out their blogs. This fic was suppose to be for a commission for special someone but we fell out of contact. @kuvirasrubberducky hopefully this finds you well and i hope you are taking care of yourself. 

Disclaimer: As always there will be smut so you have warned! -.-

Summary: After returning to Zaofu under the care and guardianship of Suyin Beifong, You and Kuvira have to readjust to your old life before the earth empire. Although Kuvira has proven her worth and dedication to try to amend the damage and pain she has caused she still feels alienated from the Beifongs. The reader tries to help Kuvira face the deeper issue at hand and help reconcile somethings she has long kept hidden from the world including Suyin and you. Will your plan of attending Suyin’s Christmas celebration go smoothly or will the curse of the Beifong family drama hit its peak and become a melting pot from a very salty Beifong who refuses to forgive and move on? Find out for yourselves! Set after Ruins of the Empire. 

Kuvira X Reader - The Christmas Conundrum Part I

It was the most wonderful time of the year. You watched the citizens of Zaofu go about their day preparing for Christmas. Decorations lined every street corner and shops, garland decorated every lamp post, and colorful lights glimmered in every snow-covered pine tree. You clung to your coat tightly, feeling a cold breeze blow past you as snow drifted down from the sky coating the land in a serene winter ambiance.  Yes, it was the most wonderful time of the year, but not for everyone…especially not for Kuvira.

Since the reunification process and the downfall of the earth empire, things have not been easy for the former great uniter. From the time the two of you were put on house arrest under the care of Suyin Beifong, the transition from total freedom to full restriction has been a very troubling and taxing situation for the both of you. The relationship between Kuvira and Suyin was very rocky but both seem to have come to some sort of common ground. Though Suyin and Kuvira had gotten better and the two seemed to have learned to be cordial around each other didn’t mean that the two were fully amended. The relationship was far from what one would call normal. Suyin and Kuvria would still interact in a way that was very awkward or tense. Almost as if they were both walking on a very cold and thin layer of ice. Regardless, you remained by her side since the very beginning and nothing has changed since the day you joined her cause. You loved her, and no matter what the two of you have been through over the years, nothing has changed.

It was the first time in three years Kuvira had been back with the Beifongs for Christmas. Suyin, a person who was always known for her grand gestures decided to host a celebration for the upcoming holidays. Suyin had taken it upon herself to send out invitations to almost anyone who was a close friend of the matriarch including her half-sister Lin Beifong. You expected Avatar Korra and her girlfriend, the Future Industry CEO Asami Sato to make an appearance as well. This celebration would certainly be very interesting, you thought to yourself growing increasingly worried about what tonight’s events would have in store for you.

You were both welcomed back to the Beifong household and given personal invites from Suyin herself for tonight’s event. You were grateful for the invite knowing full well that Suyin was doing her best to offer an olive branch but you couldn’t help but wonder what her intentions were. As the hours grew close you felt the dread building up inside you that grew stronger as time passed. You knew you were both in for an awkward situation and wouldn’t be surprised if tonight’s events would be emotionally draining on both you and Kuvira. You began to mentally steel yourself for tonight’s events, hoping and praying that everything went smoothly.

When you returned to the Beifong estate you immediately noticed the change in the atmosphere from its usual peaceful operations to the frantic movements and panic as both guards and servants shuffled past you in a hurry. You assumed the Beifong household servants and guards were bustling about getting ready for the party. You walked past the entrance hall, heading towards the parlor.  You paused as an orderly carrying a large box nearly knocked into you. Quickly, you stepped aside to allow them room to slip past you. After the orderly mumbled an apology before rushing away you proceeded to enter the parlor. At the center of the chaos stood the matriarch of the clan herself Suyin Beifong.

Suyin stood at the foot of a tall pine tree with her back to you as she mulled over the tree’s decorations. You approached the matriarch carefully, watching as Suyin used her metal bending to put up last-minute decorations on the tree.

You stood quietly behind Suyin watching her use her bending to take out a large metal star from a colorful box. Suyin held it in the air and turned her attention back to the tree, looking it over carefully. You eyed the star, astonished by its beauty. The design was simple yet elegant. With unique carvings that covered the entire surface of the star and jewels that lined the outer edge. At the very center of it was a star-shaped ruby. It seemed to glisten from the Christmas lights that were wrapped around the branches of the tree. Suyin hoisted it up higher in the air, playing with the weight of it as she maneuvered it up to the top. Very gently and with much concentration she settled it at the very top of the tree, carefully setting it down and making sure the branches would hold its weight. Once she was convinced that the decorative piece was secure Suyin released it from her hold, letting her arm fall to her waist.  It was quite a sight to see, just admiring the beauty of the tree put you more in the Christmas spirit that was almost nonexistent up until now.

You took a step forward to get a better look at the decorations. The gold garland that wrapped around the tree made the Scarlet and gold ornaments appear vibrant. Silver metal candy canes and pine cones also hung from its branches. The metal was smooth and reflective causing the ornaments to sparkle from the nearby Christmas lights. It was breathtaking, there were no other words to describe it.

“It’s so beautiful…” You said out loud, not hearing yourself speak. You watched as the matriarch flinched from your words, turning quickly on her heels to meet your gaze that was still fixated on the tree. It seemed the older woman was not aware of your presence despite her seismic abilities.

“Oh, Y/N!” Suyin said, pressing a hand to her chest to ease her already fried nerves. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

You turned to address the matriarch, noticing how she looked a little worn and weary. You assumed the stress was caused by the intense preparation of tonight's events and believed it was beginning to eat away at her. That was Suyin. If it wasn’t up to her standards then it just wasn’t worth it. You had to give the older woman props, the amount of time, effort, and dedication she put towards her projects were quite impressive. Accepting only the very best and nothing less than that. It’s no wonder Kuvira was so dedicated and hardworking. Suyin must have pushed her hard as her protégé. It made you wonder what life was really like for Kuvira growing up. Up to this point, you only heard the few scant stories that Kuvira had shared with you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.” You quickly cut in after realizing you were staring. “I was just watching you put up the decorations and I have to say the tree looks marvelous!”

At this Suyin breathed a deep sigh. Detecting an undertone of worry, you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the older woman. “Is everything ok?”

“With me yes, everything is fine but I can’t help but worry about…” Suyin trailed off, causing you to stare at her with brows knitted in concern.

“Worry about...what?” You pressed, genuinely curious.

“Well... worried about getting everything prepared for tonight before my guests arrive. there are still some things I need to address such as the menu and the entertainment. Lin should have been here already, but her travels were delayed from the approaching snowstorm. So she said she will be here in a few hours.” Suyin sighed at the unfortunate news. She hoped that the storm wasn't too serious but knew Lin could take care of herself. In an attempt to take her mind off her stress she diverted the topic. “I hope you and Kuvira will be there.”

You turned to meet the Matriarch eye’s, the exhaustion evident on her features, but you could see the concern she withheld. “I plan on being there, however, I can't say the same for Kuvira…”

Suyin frowned, turning her attention to the tree, her shoulders sagged at your statement, as if your statement confirmed her fears. “I really want Kuvira to be there, it would mean the world to me. But…” Su grew quiet, her sight fixated on the tree.

Despite her appearance, you could see that Suyin’s mind was somewhere else. “Su…?” You said, trying to revert her attention back to the conversation.

Suyin cast her eyes to the ground. You noticed her hesitation to speak. For someone like Suyin, the behavior was rather odd. She was always quick to speak her mind, not caring what people thought about her. It was an admirable trait but also a flaw of hers.

“I am trying Y/N…” Suyin finally spoke after a few moments of silence.

Instinctively you took a step closer to her, careful to keep enough distance so you didn't feel like you were trying to invade her space. It was more out of care and concern than invasive.

“What do you mean?” you asked gently.

Suyin turned to meet your gaze, you could see the confliction flittered across her face as she spoke. “I know Kuvira has never been one for family gatherings. I mean how could she? Just look at what her parents had instilled in her at such a young age… and I’m afraid… I’ve only added to it.” Suyin turned away from you, it seemed that she was too ashamed to even look you in the eyes. “It’s no wonder she doesn't completely hate me… I wouldn’t be surprised if she did...”

You noticed Suyin’s expression hardened, the idea that Kuvira had possible feelings of underlying hatred towards her was eating away at her. Though Suyin was well versed at keeping her emotions in check, the suppressed hurt you saw behind those emerald green eyes betrayed what the older woman was truly feeling and trying to keep hidden.

“Oh, Su… She doesn’t hate you.  How could she? You were the only mother she has ever known.” You said in hopes to help quell her fears. “I know things haven't been easy for the two of you since we were placed under your care to serve our sentences, but hate is not something I think she feels towards you. I just think... these things take time.”

“How could she not!?!” Suyin rounded on you. The action was so abrupt it caused you to take a step back, afraid that your words of comfort had accidentally upset her.  “I had just as much as a part to play in her actions and for what? If I just listened to her and not brush her off… involved her more with the family - treated her more like a daughter?” Su spoke quickly, trying her best to rationalize Kuvira’s behavior and her direct involvement.

“Honestly I think she is angrier at herself at this point.” You spoke up, feeling that it was necessary. “She blames herself for what happened.” It has nothing to do with you.”

“Then why do I get the feeling that it does?” Suyin asked you, trying to make sense of everything.  Her eyes burned with raw emotion. “It's been months since the two of you were brought under my care and yet she is still distant with everyone, including me. She doesn't talk to me the same way she used to. She hardly eats with us, and when she does she doesn’t even bother talking to anyone. I can barely get her to hold a conversation with me that is not related to the weather or how she is doing... I had hoped that by inviting her it would show that I’m trying to reach out to her- that I’m trying to bring her into my family. I just… I don’t know what else to do.” Suyin seemed legitimately distressed as she spoke.

You stepped forward, placing your hand on Suyin’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “It’s not you Su.” You said softly, trying to reassure her that she was not the problem. “Kuvira is at the point where the guilt is just weighing heavy on her.” You paused, taking a moment to ponder how much information you wanted to share without getting too deep into details. You knew Kuvira was rather autonomous and preferred to deal with her own issues herself. You wanted to respect that.

“Kuvira is just caught up in her own emotions. I can barely get her to talk to me so believe me it's not one-sided. She’s…” You trailed off debating whether to tell Suyin or not, hoping the information you were about to share wasn’t too much... You knew if Kuvira was here she would object. At the same time as Kuvira’s guardian, you felt that Suyin needed to know. “Su, She’s… she’s been crying in her sleep… she’s been having nightmares.”

“Kuvira’s having nightmares again?” Suyin interrupted, her eyes widening. You could tell that she wanted to press you for information. You were worried you may have swung open the door for her to do just that. Instead, Suyin pursed her lips and knitted her eyebrows, her eyes searching your face for answers.

“Yes, she has.” You reaffirmed, hoping that she didn’t begin to drill you with questions you knew you couldn’t answer. “I really shouldn’t be sharing this with you but as our guardian, I feel that this was something you should be aware of.”

“No, of course. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. I appreciate you telling me, I just… I’m worried about her.” Said Suyin, doing her best to keep her voice leveled from her growing concern. “She’s had night terrors growing up, mostly about her parents. I didn’t think she still had them.”

“Well she gets them every so often but they have been rather frequent as of late. I have noticed that Kuvira tends to get like this around the holidays.”

“Well, Kuvira has never been fond of the holidays. From what I've noticed over the years they seem to get her depressed. Probably stemming from her abandonment.” Suyin took a deep breath to help her relax before addressing you again, “You don't have to worry Y/N. I won’t tell her anything. You have my word.” Suyin said firmly.

At Suyin’s reassurance, you breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that Su was not being intrusive. “I appreciate that, thank you.”

“I appreciate you being honest with me. You and I both know how Kuvira can be about these things. Though I have noticed that she has been looking rather… exhausted lately. I had asked if everything was ok, but she brushed it off as if it wasn’t anything important. I should have known better… Kuvira has a habit of undermining her problems.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle in agreement, knowing Suyin spoke with such accuracy. “Ain’t that the truth. It would take a rope and a sledgehammer to get anything out of that thick skull of hers. I swear she is so stubborn sometimes.” You shook your head, “I wish she wasn’t though. It’s not helping her and I think deep down she knows that.”

“Please!” Suyin scoffed, fixating you with an annoyed look. “I’ve been trying to break through those platinum metal walls that she surrounds herself with for years. You might as well grab a plasma saw and start drilling with me.” A small smile appeared on Suyin’s lips.

You laughed at Suyin’s statement. You knew it was in jest but had to admit the matriarch’s words held much truth. The sounds of footsteps scurrying in caught both of your attention, you turned around to see a guard rushing in. He stopped abruptly and stood at attention waiting for Suyin to address him.

“Is there something wrong?” Suyin asked the guard with a raised eyebrow.

“Madam Beifong, an airship belonging to the Republic City’s chief of police, has been spotted by the watchtower. Do we have permission to allow them to land?” The guard asked rather stiffly.

Suyin’s eyes lit up. “Lin’s here? I thought she would be longer. Yes, I grant permission. I will be there momentarily to meet with her.”

With that being said the guard saluted before turning on his heel and running back out from the direction he came in from.

“I’m sorry Y/N I have to cut this short. I need to speak with Lin. We have much to catch up on and no doubt she will want a full report on the progress the two of you have been making.”

“Oh, I understand. It’s not a problem. Besides, I need to get back to my quarters to grab a few things. I’ll see how Kuvira is faring.” You reassured Suyin.

“Thank you, Y/N. If you can talk her into coming to the party tonight it would mean the world to me. I want to see the both of you there.” Suyin said lifting her hand and placing it over yours where it rested on her shoulder, giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze.

“I will figure out what to will do with Kuvira. I might try to have a private chat with her over tea or something later when this is all over. I’ll have some chamomile tea brewed for her and sent to her quarters, later on, to help settle her nerves. Hopefully, it will help with the sleep problems for the time being until we find the underlying cause.”

“That sounds like a plan.” You smiled in agreement. You turned to walk away to leave Suyin to meet with the chief of police when a hand shot out to seize yours. You stopped, turning around to see Suyin smiling. “Really, Y/N... Thank you. I appreciate it.”

You nodded your head, feeling Suyin squeeze your arm gently in appreciation before she released you, arm falling back to your side. With that you took your leave, walking back to the living quarters that you shared with Kuvira. You wondered what she was up to. Knowing her probably some rigorous dance routine or bending forms.

When you entered your quarters you found Kuvira standing by the window watching the snow drifting slowly to the ground. When you closed the door you noticed her stiffening but as soon as she heard you announce that you were back you could see her visibly relax. You approached her from behind wondering what she was so focused on. She made no attempt to turn around to address you instead her gaze remained locked on the view outside the window. You breathed in a deep sigh, you hated when she got like this. Kuvira had a habit of retreating into her walls. Even worse into her head, blocking out everything and everyone, including you. Though she was physically here with you, you could tell that her mind was millions of miles away. You often wondered what went through that brain of hers. Her thoughts must have been just as complex as her emotions. It’s no wonder she frowned so much. She must be putting in a lot of mental effort to stonewall her emotions.

She was still in her nightclothes, her hair out of its usual style was tousled and unkept from sleep. It draped over her shoulders and stuck out in some areas. A clear indication that she hadn't bothered fixing it when she woke up. From the looks of things, it appeared as if she just got up moments ago. It made you wonder how long Kuvira had decided to sleep in. It wasn't like her to do so. She preferred to be on top of her rigorous daily routines but with her current behavior and her known issues with night terrors, it wasn't entirely out of the ordinary. I made the concern you managed to keep under wraps grow, mentally processing ways to try to help, but Kuvira was a stubborn one. Opting to deal with her own affairs and problems herself and pushing anyone else who tried to get close away with very few exceptions. You being one of those said exceptions.

“Hey…” You whispered, lifting a hand to place on Kuvira’s shoulder in hopes to snap her out of her trance. “Did you just get up?

You felt Kuvira stiffen under your touch but immediately began to relax. She turned to meet your eyes, noticing your face etched with worry. She sighed deeply, “About a half-hour ago.” Kuvira answered quietly, her voice still raspy from sleep.

You took a moment to study her features, her appearance looked dejected. You saw for yourself how worn and exhausted she looked, taking a mental note on how her eyes were developing dark circles. You swore the bags under her eyes were big enough to hold her dance equipment. It wasn't a good thing, to say the least. This was beginning to become a problem, a problem you would eventually need to figure out how to rectify despite Kuvira’s stubborn nature.

“Did you have another nightmare?” You asked gently.

Kuvira didn't answer you, all but gave you a silent nod in confirmation. Your hand rubbed her shoulder, trailing down the length of Kuvira’s arm, taking hold of her hand and lifting it to your lips to place a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “Do you want to talk about it?” you asked in hopes she would be willing to open up.

“No, I don't. There's no point to... It’s not going to fix anything.”

“Kuvira…” You began, trying to get her not to start minimizing her issues. It was a notorious habit, one that obviously wasn’t helping if her appearance had anything to say about her mental state. “I know that is how you might feel about it, but if there is something troubling you then you need to not keep it bottled up. It’s just going to fester until it starts to manifest itself into other problems.”

Kuvira averted her gaze from you, almost as if she was trying to retreat back into her walls but not entirely. She took a deep breath and exhaled, “I know.”

“If you don’t want to talk to me will you at least talk to someone? Have you tried reaching out to Suyin?”

You felt Kuvira tense at the very mention of the matriarch’s name. She pulled her hand free from your grasp and turned to walk to the kitchen, leaving you without an answer. You stood there baffled, not sure of what to do.

No, I’m not gonna let her brush this off easily. You groaned and began to follow after her. You turned the corner and stepped into the kitchen just as Kuvira closed the cupboard, a mug in hand. She went over to the pot of freshly brewed coffee she had just made moments before your arrival and poured herself a cup. You stood beside her, leaning against the wall waiting for her reply. “Well?”

You watched as she reached for the sugar dispenser and cream,  pouring in a generous amount. She grabbed a spoon and began stirring the contents in the mug. She was clearly trying to avoid your questioning gaze.

“No of course not.” Kuvira finally answered before lifting the mug to her lips and taking a sip. She exhaled into the mug, feeling its warmth spread throughout her body, relaxing her.

“Why not?” You asked, reaching into the cupboard for a mug to pour yourself a cup.

“Why would I?” Kuvira answered dryly. “What happens to me is my problem. Besides, it's not like Suyin cares.”

“Kuvira… You know that’s not true. You know that Suyin cares. Why else would she have welcomed you back home?”

Kuvira shrugged, taking a long drink from her coffee. “Beats me… Probably because Korra and Lin guilt-tripped her into taking me back.”

“Kuvira, She cares about you. How do you not see that? The times she’s asked how you are doing, the random things she has asked for your assistance on, inviting you to dinner? You can't sit there and tell me you haven’t noticed?.”

“What of it? Kuvira said sharply, growing more agitated by the second. “That doesn't mean anything…”

“Well if it didn't mean anything to her then why does she keep doing it? For Spirits sakes Kuvria, Suyin has been trying to reach out to you by offering an olive branch and you are choosing not to reach for it.”

“I don't know why? She didn't care before, why start now? Kuvira asked bitterly.

“You know she does. I think deep down you do too! Su just has a strange way of showing it, and though it may have not always been the right way she is still trying.” You pressed further, not allowing Kuvira to dismiss it as a frivolous matter. “She asked me about you today.”

Kuvira’s eyes lit up as she pulled her mug away from her lips, swallowing the coffee that she held in her mouth hard. “She did?” She asked, surprised by your statement.

You took a drink from your own mug enjoying the taste and the much-needed warmth it brought to you before answering her. “Yes, she did. She hopes to see us both at the gathering tonight. Lin just arrived before I got back.” You paused, hesitant to bring it up Suyin, worried about what her reaction would be. “Suyin asked how you were doing… She’s worried about you.”

Kuvira took a sudden interest in her coffee mug. Scratching at the matte polished surface and swirling the contents with the spoon. She was contemplating this you were sure. If her stoic expression was any proof of that then you were certain. At the very minimum, she was receptive to your suggestions.

“I really don't want to go,” Kuvira whispered. she leaned her head back to down the rest of her coffee. She straightened back up, placing the mug on the counter with a hard thump. “She really wants to see you there. I’ll be attending too so you are not alone in this….” you reassured her.

“It’s not just this party Y/N! It’s more than that. I don’t want to want to pretend everything is normal when it’s clearly not. I know the Beifong’s have said they have forgiven me but I really can’t help but question the validity of that especially the way they act around me. I swear it’s almost like they expect me to do something bad…” Kuvira said, growing more irritated. She could feel herself being overcome with old resentment feeling an unspoken underlying hurt that even she herself wasn't aware was there, but she didn't want to acknowledge it. Doing so would further cause unnecessary tension that she knew would worsen her mood.

The sudden abrupt change in Kuvira’s behavior made you raise a brow. You could tell that the concern she felt was a valid one but you could see there was something more to her words. Something she wasn't speaking out loud almost as if she was avoiding something. You didn't press for an answer that you knew she wasn't ready to discuss, but you didn't want to dismiss her concern as something frivolous. You knew that in a way she was right. Since the two of you had been put under Suyin’s care you noticed how people watched you carefully, almost fearfully. Like a barrel of blasting jelly with a very short fuse. It was to be suspected of course the two of you were war criminals by all counts. Who’s to say either one of you would not revert to your old dogmatic tendencies. You couldn't change the opinions of others, after all, you were a big believer that actions spoke louder than words. You expected to be treated as such once it became known that Suyin would be your guardian and would be aiding in your rehabilitation. Now you had to put much work into proving to the citizens of Zaofu that you were not a threat and that alone took time. You took a long drink from your mug, feeling your expression soften as you contemplated the situation.

“I know…” You whispered softly. “And I know it’s even more difficult for you since you grew up and knew a lot of these people personally, especially the Beifong’s. You have to understand that these things take time.”

“I know… I just thought that my efforts in stopping Guan in Gaoling would have been more than enough to prove that I’m not the same person. That I'm not the Great Uniter any more. I regret how in my conquest for power I lost sight and hurt the ones I cared about… I’m trying to change Y/N… Why can't they see that?” Kuvira said anger flitting over her face as she spoke. What caught your attention were her eyes, you could see the pain she felt in that moment threatening to surface but she wouldn't allow it.

You put the mug you held in your hand down and reached out to her, pulling her close to you.  “I'm not the only one who sees it. Suyin sees it too. As much as you don't believe that to be true, it is. Please... give her a chance. I know it's frustrating but you are not alone in this… You have me…” You gave her a small smile, lifting your hand to cup her face.  

Kuvira exhaled sharply, feeling herself relax under your touch despite her frustration. She knew you were right, but it didn't make dealing with the reality of the situation any easier to bear. She leaned into your touch and allowed herself a moment of clarity, knowing full well you were subjected to the same treatment as her. It wasn't easier for either one of you and understood that you both needed each other. She needed to be rational about this and not let her personal feelings get in the way of reason.

“I know…” Kuvira said quietly, thankful for your support despite her stubbornness. “Thank you Y/N. Really, I don't know how you put up with me sometimes…”

You chuckled softly, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. “The same way you put up with the Beifong’s.” You pulled away from her and pushed her tousled hair from her face.

Kuvira sighed deeply, finally making up her mind. “Alright, I’ll go. But just so we are clear this was your idea.” She jabbed a finger at you accusingly.  

You took hold of her finger and shook it. “Glad we could come to an agreement.” You said, resisting the urge to laugh.

Kuvira pulled herself free from your grasp. Her eyes narrowed, a frown forming on her lips. “Don’t patronize me…”

You scoffed. “Me? Patronize the all-mighty Kuvira? I would never…” You smiled.

Kuvira couldn't help the pout that formed on her lips. You found it so cute when she did, loving her softer side that she kept well hidden from the world but only allowed you to see. It melted your heart into mush.

You lifted and rested both hands on either side of her shoulder. “Why don't you go ahead and take a shower. Start getting ready. We only have a few more hours until we are expected to be there and I have some last-minute gifts to stash under the tree so I need to do that before things get crazier.”

Kuvira nodded in agreement. “Ok.” She whispered softly, pulling away from you. Your hands coming to rest at your side.  

She pointed in the direction of the bathroom, gradually walking in that direction. “I’m gonna go shower. I'll see you when you get back.” She said then walked out of the kitchen.

You grabbed your mug from the counter finishing the last of your coffee. Taking Kuvira’s empty mug in hand, you placed them in the sink. When you heard the sound of the bathroom door clicking close and the water turning on gave an indication you were in the clear. Carefully you walked into the bedroom and into the large walk-in closet. You pushed aside boxes and moved around clothed until you found a specific box that was buried under the lot. You pushed that box up to the side and began putting everything you moved back into place. Once finished, you lifted up the medium size box with both hands and walked back out into the bedroom. Taking a seat on the bed you peered into it, noting the number of objects that you had bought for each Beifong including Lin and Kuvira.

You shuffled through the pre-packaged gifts searching for one particular package that you didn't want Kuvira to open in front of the Beifongs. Your fingers closed around a long box. You pulled it free, giving it a quick glance to make sure the wrapping was still intact. You couldn’t suppress the smile that formed on your lips as you studied the box, feeling that familiar tug in your stomach at the idea of using it. You looked over at the closed bathroom door, listening in on Kuvira opening and closing the shower door. You were very tempted but knew it wasn't the right moment. With a small sigh, you leaned over to pull open the drawer to the nightstand, placed the gift quietly inside, and gently slid the drawer closed. Somethings were better to wait for. You hoped Kuvira would like it when the moment was right. The thought alone had you pressing your lips together to subdue your excitement. Yes you decided, there were some things in life worth waiting for and this was one of those things. Pushing the gifts back into the box you stood lifting up the box and left the bedroom, closing the door behind you for good measure. You walked out of the apartment into the cold winter afternoon and headed towards Beifong estate.

Once inside you immediately noticed that the chaos had slowed but not by much. Pushing through a group of servants putting last-minute decorations on the wall, you headed towards the parlor. When you enter you turn to peer around the corner to make sure that the coast is clear before proceeding in.  You approach the foot of the tree, placing the box on the floor and reaching in to pull out presents. You heard shuffling behind you which causes you to peer behind you. You waited a few beats making sure the coast is clear before turning back around to carefully place each gift under the tree.

You heard the sound of metal shoes tapping the stone floor heading in your direction. You stood up quickly, turning around just in time to see Lin and Suyin enter the parlor, their conversation ceased as they turned their gaze away from one another to where you stood, standing in front of the tree awkwardly.

“Y/N?” Suyin spoke first. Giving you a puzzled look. Lin stood beside Suyin eyeing you suspiciously as Suyin continued. “I thought you were going back to your quarters?”

“I did. I just wanted to put some things under the tree for later since your family usually unwraps gifts at midnight.” You stepped aside so they could see for themselves. The two inched closer and peered overseeing the neatly wrapped packages under the tree. Their suspicions died down.

“Oh, that is such lovely wrapping paper, you didn’t have to do that Y/N.” Said Suyin, pressing a hand to her chest.

“I wanted to do something nice.” You stated, noticing how Lin still watched you carefully. “I mean it is Christmas after all, the time for giving.”

“Exactly! I wished some people felt that way…” Suyin turned her attention to Lin, her eyes narrowed and lips forming a tight line.

“What?” Lin said defensively, eyes widened when Suyin fixed her with an accusatory stare. “I came, didn’t I? You know I’m not one for family get-togethers.”

“While that may be true did you have to come in your work uniform?” Suyin said exasperated. “Honestly Lin don’t you wear anything besides your armor?”

“I came right from the station… it’s not like I have anything else.” Lin said matter of factly.

“Right… other than your extensive collection of coats,” Suyin said dryly.

“I don't even have that many Su.” Lin countered, “And besides what of it? It gets cold often in Republic City. So it is a necessity to have.”

“Lin, the fact that you have more coats than actual clothes is enough proof to show that you’re practically married to your work.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Lin asked, not sure what Suyin was getting at with her argument.

“And what are you supposed to wear for tonight???” Suyin asked sharply.

You couldn’t help but stand there silently, watching the siblings squabble over Lin’s choice in wardrobe. You weren’t really surprised. The Beifong sisters could only remain civil long enough before they found something to bicker about. You knew the argument they were having was completely frivolous, but at that moment both women were so focused on it that they seemed to have forgotten your presence in the room. You wanted to leave, to let them go at each other. It would have been one less problem for you to deal with, but you knew that it would only set the tone for a tense gathering. You didn’t want anything to make things difficult for Kuvira. It already took enough convincing to get her to attend. With much apprehension, you tried to offer a resolution.

“Hey, If I may…” You began. Your voice was an octave higher than normal which worked in gaining their attention.

Both sisters stopped, switching their attention back to you to glare at you, causing a lump to form in your throat. You immediately regretted your choices but had no choice to continue unless you wanted them to round on you. “Su, Lin is a workaholic and that is not an unknown fact. And Lin as someone who understands being a workaholic, it doesn’t mean you can’t have a life.”

You clasped your hands together, addressing both of the Beifong sisters at the same time. “So, Su why don’t you rummage through your wardrobe and see if there might be something suitable for Lin to wear. If not maybe make a call to your tailor to see if they can come up with something last minute.”

Both sisters stared at you with blank expressions. You could see the gears in their minds clicking as they pondered your suggestion. Suyin shifted her gaze from you to address Lin. “I’m sure there is something in my closet we can find for you to wear Lin,” Suyin said mentally visualizing what she had accessible on hand that might be within Lin’s acquired taste.

“So long as it’s not frilly or makes me look like a clown I could care less,” Lin said dismissively. “At this point, I rather just wear a burlap sack.”

“Lin No! Stop” Suyin frowned, visibly horrified by Lin’s suggestion. “You are not wearing a burlap sack. We should be able to find you something. to wear. I am sure of it.”

“Fiiiinee…” said Lin begrudgingly, dissatisfied with the idea of having to play dress-up with Suyin. She was already dreading showing up.

“Great!” You exclaimed, rubbing your hands together before folding them together over your chest. “Now that it’s settled I will let you guys continue on with your discussion.”

You took a few steps forward with the intent to walk past them but were halted when Lin raised a hand in front of you, blocking your path.

“Hang on a moment Y/N, I need to talk to you.”

You raised a brow in suspicion. “About what?”

“Well as your parole officer I’m supposed to be checking in with you about once a month and it’s close to that time. The other issue being Kuvira.” Lin explained.

“What about Kuvira?” You asked hesitantly.

“I spoke with Su and she explained to me that Kuvira is showing signs of self-isolation.” Lin stood up straight, folding her arms across her chest. “Normally I don’t get involved with personal problems but seeing as it’s a perpetuating issue that is unresolved, it’s now officially my issue to deal with. Your mental stability is part of your rehabilitation. Can’t expect progress if either one of you is uncooperative and moping around.”

“I wouldn’t call it moping. And as far as I’m concerned she’s done everything she has needed to do. She’s just been distant with everybody… including me.” You expressed to Lin who listened intently.

Suyin interrupted, holding out an arm to gesture to the large sofas in the middle of the room. “Here, why don’t we all sit down,” Suyin said, laying a hand on Lin’s arm to gently lead her to a nearby sofa. You followed behind the two sitting down in front of them as they both sat together across from you.

“Look, It’s really not my place to say. I’m not one to divulge other people's personal issues… I’m sorry.” You apologized.

“I know you care about her and that you have a personal obligation to keep her affairs private but as your probation officer and Su as your guardian, it’s important that we know if there are any potential issues that might cause problems.” Lin pressed

“Kuvira is not trying to cause problems. She just doesn’t like the holidays.” You said, defensively

“If it’s just that then why is she refusing to cooperate with Su.” Lin countered.

“Lin, that’s not what I meant.” Suyin interjected, “All I said was that she has been extremely distant with me and doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Su it’s the same thing!” Lin stated.

“It’s not the same.” Suyin exclaimed, “I never said she didn’t listen. Kuvira’s done everything I’ve asked her to do, but what bothers me is when I’m trying to reach out to her she closes herself off.” Suyin explained, her tone coming out pained. “I just want…” Suyin paused trying to hide the hurt that flashed across her face. “I just don’t want her to push me away…not again...” Suyin said softly.

“Su…” Lin whispered, placing a hand on Suyin’s shoulder in a comforting manner.

“I just want to know… what I did wrong this time,” Suyin whispered solemnly, tilting her head down to watch her hands pull at the fabric of her robes in her lap.

You could see the pain and concern that Suyin suppressed written all over her face. That same pained expression that she managed to hide earlier was there in full display. You couldn’t help but be surprised by it. It was almost hard to believe to see Suyin visibly hurt and near tears by Kuvira’s avoidance.  You knew that Suyin was not always direct about how she felt about Kuvira, but at that moment you could see how much Kuvira truly meant to Suyin. You secretly wished Kuvira could see for herself how much the matriarch cared for her. You wondered if it would be enough to kick Kuvira out of whatever funk she had been in up to this point.

“I know…” You said gently after a few moments, wondering what Suyin was thinking. You felt guilty for originally questioning Suyin’s intentions but just seeing her here in front of you now made you realize how inaccurate your perception was.

“It really isn’t anyone’s fault. Kuvira’s just being stubborn.” You said to Suyin, causing her eyes to meet yours. She saw nothing but empathy and compassion.

“No one is to blame for this.”  You reassured her. Suyin’s gaze softened, understanding that there was more to this delicate situation.

“I did manage to talk her into going. So she will be at the party tonight. Though I have to admit it took some convincing,” You admitted.

“She’s going to be there?” Suyin asked, eyes wide and hopeful.

 “Yes, she has agreed to be there.” You confirmed, finding it hard to ignore the growing smile on Suyin’s face at the confirmation.

“But she hasn’t explained to you why she’s been distant?” Lin asked you directly, not satisfied by your answer.

“I mean she has told me very little about it.” You replied.

“What has she discussed with you, Y/N? Do you have any idea as to why she’s feeling the need to isolate?” Lin asked, pressing for an answer.

You took a moment to decide how you want to answer her question without giving her too much information. “As I had mentioned earlier to Su, I don’t think she is angry at anyone. If anything I think that she is just taking the opinions of others and the way people look at her way too seriously.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Lin.

“What I’m saying is…” you paused, trying to find the right words to defend Kuvira the best way you could. “Though things have been really challenging for her since moving back to Zaofu. She’s trying her best to make amends and to fix her wrongdoings and personally… I don’t think she feels supported…”

“I don’t understand why she would feel that way,” Suyin said, confused. “I’ve been trying to get her to open up to me, but I haven’t had much luck… I’m at a loss as to what to do.”

“Su, I don’t think this is just about you or anything you are doing.” You stated quickly, not wanting your words to be taken out of context. “I just think her lack of support around her is causing her to feel hopeless and alone, but that’s my opinion. I mean besides you Su; who else has really tried to talk to her?” You asked, hoping that Suyin would begin to understand the message behind your words.

“I…” Suyin paused, it seems that she was starting to understand the situation. “I didn’t even think to consider how she’s been settling in since she came back… how she's even handling everything. I mean Kuvira is no stranger to rumors, but I didn’t even think about how detrimental they could be to her.

“Especially since she’s in a great state of emotional and mental sensitivity. The added stress could also be contributing to her sleep issues.” Lin chimed in, adding her input into the conversation.

You nodded your head in agreement. The two older women were starting to understand that the issue was far greater than themselves; it all came down to Kuvira herself. More or less her mentality and how people viewed her now that she was no longer the Great Uniter. Having so much power at once and literally having it stripped away would make anybody question their life choices and sanity, especially when it came down to their relationships with others. That is considering if the relationship was still salvageable.

“Maybe, it’s possible…You do bring up a valid point Y/N.” Said Lin, her hand coming up to scratch at her chin.

“Indeed…” Suyin nodded in agreement. “I believe at this point it would serve in both of our best interests if I were to have a sit-down conversation with Kuvira.”

“I think that would be for the best, Su.” Lin agreed. “Better to hear it directly from the source.”

“I want to hear what Kuvira has to say before assuming the worst.” Said Suyin, her face remained passive but her voice sounded apprehensive. “I’ve already told Y/N that I would have tea brewed to help with Kuvira’s sleep issues… I will find time to meet with her later.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help more.” You said, feeling an odd sense of guilt at keeping Kuvira’s weary behavior towards the Beifongs to yourself. You knew the two sisters meant well but there were some things that people had to find out for themselves, and this was one of those things.

“It’s okay Y/N,” Suyin reassured you. “It’s not your place to speak on Kuvira’s behalf. I’m just glad that she will be joining us tonight. Hopefully, everything goes smoothly…”

“I’m sure it will.” You stated.

“I mean what is a Beifong gathering without a little family drama,” Lin said nonchalantly.

“Lin!” Suyin whipped her head at Lin and narrowed her eyes. “Really?”

Lin shrugged her shoulders, “What? I’m just saying it’s pretty typical for our family to have some sort of drama or a reoccurring crisis during family get-togethers.”

“Well for once it would be nice not to.” Suyin spat.

“Anyways…” Lin began, brushing off her sister’s sass. “Besides that Y/N how have you been doing?”

“Oh you know, just helping out where and when I can.” You answered, feeling a bit awkward now that the conversation had diverted away from Kuvira and onto you. “I try to go where I'm needed.”

“Lately, Y/N has been helping me with reconstruction projects. I had her assist with a new design for our landscape project” Suyin confirmed.

“Yes, I have been trying to find ways to figure out how to make exotic plants thrive and reformat the layout of the grounds. It’s dirty work but I enjoy it. However, the weather has made it difficult to work so I will have to pick it back up when it gets warmer.”

Lin scoffed “Yeah, I don’t blame you. Getting here alone was a real pain. This storm is no joke. We had trouble with navigating our way here. At this rate, we might need to hunker down for a few days and wait out this storm.”

“Really? It’s that bad?” Suyin balked.

“Yes, visibility is terrible,” Lin confirmed. “If it wasn’t for it being daytime I highly doubt I would have been able to get here safely.”

“I’ll go ahead and have the rooms prepared just in case.” Suyin decided, her face etched with worry. “Hopefully the others will make it here safely.”

“They should, I radioed Korra and Tenzin before departing. They left after I did. From what I’m aware of they’re taking the future industry airship.” Said Lin.

“If that’s the case then I’m sure they’ll make it here safely. Asami has people that know what they’re doing.” Said Suyin, still showing visible concern.

Lin snickered at Suyin’s comment, earning a dirty look from Suyin. Her smug look vanished almost instantly. You resisted the urge to laugh, instead you bit your lip to suppress it. The way the two would throw shade at each other was something you found hilarious, not that you would make it known. One angry Beifong was enough to deal with… you didn’t want to do anything that would cause them to direct their anger at you. You doubted you would come out unscathed. That was a force you knew you did not want to reckon with if Kuvira’s description of their past fights was accurate as she claimed to be. You remembered when Kuvira explained to you their last fight. You almost didn’t believe it. It sounded so exaggerated and atrocious it was hard to believe. When you overheard the guards the other day talking about it after learning that Lin would be stopping by you couldn’t help but notice how nervous they became. Speaking cautiously in frantic whispers made you eavesdrop on the conversation. You had listened in on one of the guards complaining about how long it took to clean up the damage from the last time they fought. You remembered Kuvira mentioning it took weeks to fix the damage to the estate after the last time they went at each other's throats. Overhearing the guards talking with wide eyes and hushed voices made you wonder how extreme the fight was to cause that much damage. You definitely didn’t want to find out.

“Anyways…” you began, hoping to alleviate the tension. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss? I probably should head back and start getting ready.”

Lin shook her head, “Not at the moment, I will get with you later on for your evaluation.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you confirmed, pushing yourself off the sofa into a standing position.

Suyin rose from the sofa, “In the meantime, I’m gonna have the rooms prepared for later. That way everybody can retire after and nobody has to travel through that dreadful storm. I will get with you later Y/N.”

Lin stood up, “I’ll go ahead and radio Asami to check-in with them. Just to be sure.”

You nodded your head in agreement, “Great, see you later.”

You smiled at the two, then turned to leave. Giving them the opportunity to finish their chat before they went to carry out their tasks. At least things couldn't get more invasive than you thought to yourself. You pushed open the doors to the estate and headed down the path back to your apartment, wondering what you would return to.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 12

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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[Hermione]

It takes all of Hermione's effort to maintain focus. Her wandering mind threatens to suck her in like quicksand, taunting her with the recent memory of her perfect morning in bed with Ron. She can still feel Ron's legs tangled up with hers, swimming together in the luxurious satin sheets. The way his hands explored her body, tracing every curve with both firm confidence and tenderness, leaving a trail of goosebumps that reappear now. The faint smell of his cologne clings to her skin, leftover from when he pinned her to the bed, and remembering the taste of spearmint and coffee as he kissed her makes her mouth water. She wants more.

Ron's casual demeanor of the present moment isn't helping. She watches him down the line, deep in conversation with Seamus and Dean. His whole face lights up as he laughs at a joke Seamus just told. When he speaks, he uses his entire body; his eyes glow with enthusiasm, and his hands punctuate his every word. Unlike Hermione, he doesn't seem acutely aware of what he's doing with his arms, how he's standing, or whether he looks natural. He makes looking normal seem so easy.

Be cool, Hermione.

Any hope of emulating his calm confidence shatters when he catches her eye and winks. Her cheeks burn, her heart drums against her chest, and butterflies erupt in her stomach.

Or not.

The group is waiting patiently for their turn to enter The Slug Club, which can only be defined as a combination of a nightclub, theme park, and a casino. Hermione and Ron landed on this location for Harry and Ginny's joint hen and stag party for its all-in-one benefits. Less time wasted traveling between multiple venues means more time to kick back and relax, while eliminating the risk of losing someone during transitions.

Ginny jolts Hermione back to the present when she sidles up next to her and flings an arm around her shoulder. "So, where'd you sleep last night?"

Panic sets in as Hermione glances at her friend — Ginny's wearing a smug, knowing expression. She decides to play dumb. "What do you mean, Ginny?"

"C'mon, you weren't in your room. I came by to check on you! Did you spend the night with that guy from the bar?" Her eyebrows raise suggestively as she awaits an answer.

Hermione isn't sure how to respond. She's not keen on Ginny knowing about her and Ron yet, but she's even less keen on lying and saying she was with Cormac what's-his-name, but she'd have to pick one…

"Um—" she stalls, before someone interrupts her.

"She was with me." Lavender appears on Hermione's other side and smiles at Ginny. "Turns out that guy from the bar was the worst, so we went to my room so he wouldn't know where she was sleeping."

Hermione releases an audible sigh of relief, which Ginny mistakes as disgust.

"Ugh, I hate men," she says. "Except Harry, of course."

"Yeah. Men are the worst," says Lavender, and Hermione watches her gaze shift momentarily toward Ron and the boys.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," says Ginny. "All you wanted was a fun night out, and for some bloke to try and take advantage of you? I should have stuck by your side."

Feeling guilty, Hermione waves off her condolences — she had a great night last night, and wishes she didn't have to lie to Ginny. But alas, 'I shagged your brother!' isn't what most brides want to hear from a bridesmaid at their hen party.

The doors to The Slug Club open, and the bouncer waves them through, which absolves Hermione of the need to change the subject. Perfect timing.

Ginny skips toward the door to meet up with Harry, and Hermione turns to Lavender.

"Thanks for covering for me. I appreciate it."

Lavender nods but doesn't smile. "No problem. And for the record, I don't want details."

"Wasn't going to offer any," she returns, glancing at Lavender to discover she's watching the doorway, where Ron is passing through. He's still laughing and joking with the boys, and his eyes are bright and elated.

Looking back at Lavender brings a pang of sympathy. It's obvious by her expression that her mind is working a mile-a-minute to process the bittersweet emotion of seeing him so happy. Ron's laughter is contagious enough to bring a smile to Lavender's face, but it doesn't reflect in her eyes. Maybe it would if it had been her, not Hermione, that made Ron feel that way.

"Are you okay?" asks Hermione, even though she already knows the answer.

"Yes," says Lavender, meeting Hermione's gaze. They share a look of understanding, silently agreeing not to call out her lie. "Just don't hurt him."

Hermione looks back to Ron, catching his smiling face once more before he disappears into The Slug Club. She knows that neither of them can promise not to hurt the other, but something in her gut tells her that won't be the case.

Passing through the doors feels like entering a different world entirely. The venue appears much bigger on the inside than the outside suggested. She scans the room, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of activities within reach. On one end, there's a dance floor, a glistening swimming pool, and a casino guarded by a fake willow tree. On the other end, there's a karaoke bar, a series of thrill rides that shouldn't fit inside the space and an elaborate miniature golf course made to look like a hedge maze. On closer inspection, it appears that each obstacle is guarded by a mythical creature — partiers laugh and point their clubs at talking sphinxes, dragons, and merpeople.

"Hey beautiful," Ron whispers in her ear, and his sudden appearance causes Hermione to jump.

"Hey," she croaks back; her voice catches in her throat, but the familiarity of his cologne soothes her rising heart rate. "I should start the tab."

"You're cute when you're flustered," he says, smirking.

Her cheeks heat up, and Ron chuckles with amusement. Hermione glances around to check if they've caught the attention of anyone in their party, but it seems like the grandiosity of The Slug Club is the perfect distraction. They've decided to keep the details of their relationship quiet for now, so as to not draw focus away from Harry and Ginny, but the way Hermione's body reacts to everything Ron says or does today might prove that difficult.

"Yes. The tab," says Hermione, feeling the weight of her wallet in her purse. She'd agreed to cover the bar tab for Ginny's party, but that doesn't mean she's ready to hand over her credit card to a stranger tending the bar, and let the coins fall where they may. She feels a little better when she lays her eyes on a familiar face at the bar. "Rosmerta?"

The blonde bartender smiles at Hermione. "Hey there!"

"You work here too?"

"Yes ma'am," she says, "and, please tell me you ditched that asshat from last night."

Hermione laughs, thankful that Rosmerta doesn't harbor any hard feelings toward her based on Cormac's behavior the night before. "Don't worry, he's long gone."

"Good. Ginger's better looking anyway."

"I agree," says Hermione, chancing a look at Ron. His ears turn pink, and Hermione hopes she hasn't embarrassed him.

"Would you two like something to drink?" asks Rosmerta.

"Actually, I'd like to start a tab," says Hermione.

"Under what name?"

"Harry and Ginny. It's for their entire wedding party," she says, wincing as she hands over her credit card.

"That's very generous of you," says Rosmerta. Tugging Hermione's card from her resisting fingers requires a little extra force.

Observing the interaction, Ron fishes into his pocket for his wallet.

"Can you split the tabs over two cards?" he asks, sliding his credit card across the bar to Rosmerta.

Hermione turns to him to protest. "You don't have to—"

"I want to!" he interrupts.

"I budgeted for this night," says Hermione.

"And have you seen how much these boys can drink? Let me split it with you."

The look in his eye tells Hermione there's no point in arguing with him, and she doesn't want to insult his pride. "Fine."

"Thank you, Rosmerta," says Ron.

"You're very welcome, handsome!"

Ron flushes at her comment but immediately directs his attention back to Hermione, flashing his adorably lopsided smile. Hearing another woman call him handsome, even non-threateningly, makes Hermione want to sidle up next to him and reach for his hand, something that would show the world he's hers. The fact that they agreed not to engage in any public displays of affection makes it all the more tempting.

Unfortunately, Ron and Hermione have also agreed to refrain from drinking tonight. It makes sense to have a few people thinking clearly in the group, just in case things get out of hand.

"Well, Hermione," asks Ron. "What should we do?"

Their friends seem to be drawn into the miniature golf course, and Harry, holding two clubs, waves them over.

"I guess that settles it," says Ron,

The walk toward the miniature golf course feels a mile long, especially in front of their friends. She knows that apart from Lavender, everyone's oblivious to their relationship, but their watchful eyes still feel like scrutiny. Once again, Hermione wonders how much distance there should be between two platonic friends walking together. The distracted chatter grows louder as they approach, which quiets her worries, and by the time they join, the group has already begun a round of golf, and is no longer paying them any attention.

"I bet you a drink that I can get a hole in one," says Ron, reaching for two putters. He hands one to her and casually bumps his shoulder against hers, sending a tingle down her spine. His confidence makes her nervous. Is she always this awkward?

"Didn't you want to stay sober tonight?" asks Hermione, silently hoping that he backtracks on their agreement. She could use the calming effect of a cocktail right now.

"Yep. But the drink can be any night."

"Deal," she says, taking the golf club from his extended hand, and knowing full well she'll probably be buying him, and herself, a drink later.

They follow behind the rest of the party, taking turns putting for the first few obstacles. Neither of them are any good, and they only get progressively worse as they continue further into the course. Someone's always heading back to the bar to replenish everyone's, save for Ron and Hermione's, drinks, and after a while, Hermione's too caught up watching everyone loosen up to think about the running tab.

Ron and Hermione continue to keep a safe distance apart, but as everyone else continues to drink, she questions how necessary it is. Harry and Ginny only have eyes for each other; Dean, Neville, and Seamus are in their own world, and Luna, Demelza and Lavender are quickly becoming too tipsy to pay any mind to Ron and Hermione, opting instead to try and attract the attention of a nearby group of men.

Everyone is equally terrible at miniature golf, but as time passes, and blood alcohol levels climb, Ron and Hermione start to look pretty good by comparison. The drunker everyone gets, the more affectionate they become, celebrating completed obstacles with high-fives, which turn into hugs, and then to kisses on cheeks. When Ginny jumps on Harry's back, Lavender and Demelza lock their arms around each other, and Dean picks up Seamus to carry him to the next hole, Hermione considers inching closer to Ron. No one would even notice, would they?

Hermione hits her next golf ball way off course, and it plunks down into a moat. Ron laughs.

"Wow, you're really terrible at this. Have you ever played before?"

She scoffs at him with mock indignation. "Hey!" she says, playfully punching him in the shoulder. "But no, I can't say I play much miniature golf."

"I guess I should show you how to swing," he says, taking a step closer to her. She scans for anyone's eyes on them.

"That's not really necessary," she says, and Ron grins at the suggestive tone of her voice.

"It's definitely not necessary."

She places another golf ball in the lane, and Ron positions himself behind her. He wraps his arms around her sides and grips her hands over the club. His hips press against her backside, and his body's instantaneous reaction suggests that keeping his distance from her is just as difficult for him too.

"So much for keeping our hands off each other," she whispers to him.

"No one's watching right now," he whispers back. "Plus, I'm just showing you how to hold a club. This is perfectly innocent."

Hermione presses her hips back against him, and he groans. Perfectly innocent.

"Is this right?" she asks.

"Fuck, yeah, it is."

Hermione can't help but laugh as Ron guides her club into a swing, then reluctantly pushes herself away from him. The longer they stay pressed together like that, the more likely they are to draw attention to themselves. He looks pained at first, but his expression turns smug when her golf ball sinks into the center hole on the first putt.

"Ha! You owe me a drink," he says.

"What are you talking about? That was my hit!" she argues back. "You owe me one."

"Okay," he says, smiling. "It's a win for me either way."

They lock eyes, and Hermione is tempted to give in and kiss him. His face is so close to hers, and would anyone really notice a short and sweet kiss?

Someone behind them clears their throat, and Hermione stiffens, only relaxing when she turns to see a couple she doesn't know. "Are you two almost done?"

"Erm, yeah. We are," says Ron hurriedly. "Sorry 'bout that." His face shines red, and they rush to clear the course.

Their friends seem to have disappeared, which nearly sends Hermione into a panic, but one glance around the club reveals they've just dispersed to their own activities. Seamus and Dean are now at the bar, Luna and Neville are off in a corner admiring an indoor garden, Ginny is cheering Harry on at one of the slot machines outside the casino, and Lavender and Demelza have taken to the stage for karaoke. Hermione smiles as the girls dance along to Beyonce's 'Single Ladies' — Lavender's enjoyment looks genuine, and it eases some of her dormant guilt for being with Ron.

Lavender and Demelza's voices grow quieter as Ron and Hermione approach the other side of the club, where the lights are darker, and a thick crowd is growing on a dance floor, bouncing to the music produced by an eccentrically-dressed DJ.

"Come and dance?" asks Ron, raising an eyebrow at her.

"In front of everyone? Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asks, but reaches for his outstretched hand anyway.

"The best idea," he says, tugging her toward the middle of the dance floor, where they'll be obscured from view. "It's just a dance. It's not like I'm asking for a snog." His voice lowers as he pulls her body close to his, and Hermione senses a touch of irony in his response. In a way, it sounds like he is asking for a snog.

"So as long as we don't snog, this is perfectly innocent?" To test the waters, she shifts closer, letting her lips brush against his neck as she speaks. His resulting shiver makes her smile.

"No, I guess not," he says. "But only because I won't be able to keep my hands off of you." As if to prove his point, his hands shift to her lower back, dangerously close to non-innocent territory.

"You're insatiable."

"I know."

Even though the music is quick and upbeat, Ron and Hermione remain intertwined on the dance floor, swaying slowly, almost daring each other not to kiss. Hermione's earlier anxiety about interacting with Ron while sober seems so far away — being with him feels natural, as if they've been together forever. It doesn't make sense; her feelings are too advanced, considering she barely knows him.

She thinks back to her very first sober interaction with him. She had just broken up with Viktor a few months prior, and her self-confidence was at an all-time low. When they met for coffee back in England to go over logistics for this trip, her immediate reaction was to push him away, and it was no surprise that she left with a negative impression. She wouldn't have wanted it any other way. That day, Hermione watched everything he did and picked apart everything he said, attempting to convince herself that he was insufferable because then it wouldn't matter if he thought the same thing about her.

From the beginning, she tried to sabotage this. It makes sense — in relationships, she has to weigh the benefit of even trying. She hates failing, and love isn't like academia, which comes easily to Hermione. If she needs better exam scores, she can work harder, practice more, and simply try again. But personal pursuits are different. She learned the hard way that second chances are rare, and first impressions are everything. People are unpredictable, and failure is personal. It's not like studying harder will make someone love her.

Maybe that's why she looks for the worst in people — because that's what she decides to show them first. If she doesn't try to attract a man, it won't hurt when she winds up alone. She can blame it on her lack of effort, rather than her personality, her looks, or anything else on her laundry list of personal shortcomings.

Just as tears sting her eyes, Ron's arms wrap more tightly around her body, and his lips press against her forehead. His embrace feels secure, protective, even loving. Her heart fills for him, and she's finally fully aware of how deep her emotions run. Somewhere in the mess of the last few days, her defenses melted away, and she fell hard for this man. Despite her efforts to push him away, she wound up married to him.

She's always had a lot of questions about love; how long does it take? What does it look like? Is it a noun or a verb, something she's supposed to feel, or just do? Maybe it's more simple than that. At the moment, all she knows is that if things fell apart now, she'd be devastated, and she'd kick herself for not trying harder. She can't imagine not trying at all.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks.

She winces at his question.

Ron pulls away to turn her face toward his. A look of concern crosses his eyes as he wipes a loose tear from her cheek. "Are you okay?"

Hermione nods and averts her eyes.

"I don't believe you," he says. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" His voice is calm and unwavering.

"Yeah, I know." Her grip around his neck loosens so her arms hang comfortably. She wants to see his full face.

"So, what's on your mind?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, "Wifey?"

And there it is again — a swarm of butterflies unleash in her stomach at his playful words, his goofy smile, and the genuine tender expression on his face.

Hermione's always been the analytical type, never doing anything without thinking through the consequences, or giving emotions more mind than logic. But this week has offered a reprieve from her cautious, methodical side. It would be easy to convince herself that Vegas-Hermione isn't really her, but that wouldn't feel honest. In Vegas, she's more honest than she's ever been.

She meets Ron's curious gaze with confidence. London-Hermione would probably run away right now, not daring to speak what's on her mind, instead choosing to sabotage it all. But, London-Hermione probably isn't qualified to give relationship advice.

And deep down, she knows how she feels about this man, even though the truth is completely insane. But so is marrying someone she just met, and that ship has already sailed. Now she has an opportunity to let him in fully; if she wants to.

Her heart is telling her to take a giant leap and go for it, but her mind…

Well, her mind is still in London.

"I'm probably mental for saying this," she begins, her voice soft and careful, "but I think I'm falling in love with you."

As soon as the words slip out, her heart starts pounding in her chest. She averts her eyes, unwilling to watch his reaction to her admission.

He doesn't respond right away, and every second that passes cuts like a dagger to her heart. What a stupid thing to say, she thinks, panicking. They've barely been together for twenty-four hours, and she's probably freaked him out.

Ron squeezes her arm, encouraging her to look him in the eye. She meets his ocean eyes with trepidation, and isn't sure how to feel when his ears are fiery red, and his expression is one of pure shock. He looks like a frozen computer, unable to process her confession.

Fuck. Her palms break out in sweat, her eyes well with tears, and her stomach sinks. She should have kept her mouth shut.

But then he beams at her. "Well, Hermione, you might be falling in love, but I jumped. Flung myself off that cliff. So, I guess that makes us both mental."

She has no words, but relief sweeps over her body, and she blinks the tears from her eyes. Ron pulls her into another embrace, and her head fits perfectly into the crook of his neck. He rests his chin on the top of her head, and for the next few moments, they're the only people in the room.

Did they really just say that to each other?

"Are you serious?" she asks, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"Yes. I'm serious."

She smiles from both elation, and the fact that they're definitely, completely mental. Who brings up love so soon? It's Barmy. Insane. Crazy.

But it's also Las Vegas, and if there's something Hermione's learned from her time in this town, it's that life is better with a little bit of crazy.

[erics-meep-morps]

When We First Met Part 2

A self-ship fic with Lapis and Peridot. Part 1 here. 

After a couple weeks of living in Beach City I developed a daily routine and knew the area pretty well. Most of my time was spent at work with the Beach City Public Transit Authority, but I wasn’t feeling overworked. Like any job I’ve had it’s a little bit of a learning curve for me, plus the awkward ice breaking conversations with my new coworkers. However, I did feel welcome there and was enjoying the start in my career field. 

When I wasn’t working I was usually by myself, and when I say usually I mean nearly 100% of the time. Although Bismuth and Lapis made me feel welcome at Little Homeworld and said I could visit anytime, there was the little bit of social anxiety in me that worried I would end up going there at a bad time, as well as feeling unsure if they would like me the more they got to know me. Instead I just stuck with walking around Beach City. Frequently I would see ���gems”, as they’re referred to, but none of them seemed to recognize me as that random guy who randomly walked into Little Homeworld one day. 

One Friday evening as I was walking home from work I decided to make a detour to the beach and relax for a bit. Normally I biked to work, but my apartment was close enough that if I wanted to take my time getting there I could walk instead. Despite being autumn it was surprisingly warm. Since the weekend was beginning there was a lot of foot traffic on the boardwalk, both humans and gems. 

As I watched the small ocean waves rolling in I couldn’t help but feel slightly awkward being on the beach by myself. I looked around and it seemed everyone else was either a couple or a group. When this happens I just take out my phone and scroll through stuff so I look like I’m doing something. 

“Haven’t seen you awhile,” a familiar voice said. I wasn’t sure if they were talking to me so I slowly turned my head towards where the voice was coming from. Sure enough it was Lapis, and next to her was a green woman with her yellow hair shaped like a triangle. She was wearing what looked like sunglasses, but I had never seen that design before. 

“Oh hey,” I said nervously and awkwardly. “I’ve just been kind of busy with my new job.”

“How is it,” Lapis asked.

“Pretty good,” I replied and tried to think of more to say. “It’s... not too stressful and the pay is decent.”

“Nice. Are you liking Beach City so far?”

“Oh yeah, I love it here. I got a nice and affordable apartment, I get to bike or walk to work, and everyday I have views like this,” I said and gestured towards the ocean.

“It’s a view I never get tired of, that’s for sure,” Lapis said. 

The green woman nudged Lapis’s elbow.

“Oh! This is Peridot by the way. Peridot this is Eric. He recently moved here and checked out Little Homeworld on his first day.”

“Nice to meet you Eric,” Peridot said and smiled.

I awkwardly waved since I wasn’t sure if she would shake my hand. “Nice to meet you as well,” I said and smiled back. 

“We’re heading to Fun Land for a little date, but afterwards we were planning to come back to the beach if you want to hang out with us,” Lapis offered.

“Oh sure! I’d love to. I don’t have work tomorrow so I can stay up pretty much as long as I want,” I replied. 

“Great! We should be back here in a couple hours. See you then,” Lapis said, and her and Peridot waved to me before heading off.

I waved back and then returned to looking at the ocean. Truth be told I was planning to go home because I wanted to keep my sleep schedule on track, but it’s not everyday I get to be with friends so I was willing to derail my sleep schedule. 

As I continued sitting on the beach I had a habit of checking the time regularly to see how long before Lapis and Peridot would be back. I wasn’t sure whether to walk around to pass the time or stay where I was. 

“What if they come back early? What if they come back late? What if they don’t show up at all,” I thought to myself. 

I was too nervous to go on a walk with the possibility of them coming back early or me losing track of time. However, I did notice a food truck on the boardwalk, so I decided walking that short of a distance would be fine. I was expecting to get fries but noticed on the menu something called “fry bits,” so I had that instead. It tasted like fries, but it was kind of like having cheese curds without the cheese. 

“Well, that made 10 minutes pass. Now what do I do,” I thought to myself after finishing eating. 

Occasionally I walked up to the water and dipped my hands in. I would also frequently go on my phone to look at social media and random websites. The longer I waited the more nervous I got, and as it was nearing two hours my anxiety was through the roof. Making friends was difficult for me, and keeping friends was nearly or equally difficult. 

Realizing that I was thinking way too hard about this, I did the breathing exercises my therapist taught me. I also tried to calm myself by focusing on the sights and sounds around me, especially the ocean waves. 

Although the boardwalk wasn’t as lively now that it was completely dark out, there were still a decent amount of people. I wanted to check my phone to see the time but I resisted the temptation since it would only make me more nervous. I distracted myself with people watching, and the most notable was the mayor walking along the boardwalk and greeting people. It seemed odd that a small town mayor had bodyguards, and these bodyguards appeared to be gems. 

As I looked around, two people in the distance caught my eye. They appeared to be walking towards me, and as they got closer I could tell it was Lapis and Peridot. Immediately my heart began pounding and my mind was going through what seemed like thousands of thoughts per second. “Will you just calm the fuck down,” I thought to myself. 

As they approached I smiled and waved. 

“Have you been sitting here the whole time,” Lapis asked curiously. 

“For the most part yes,” I replied.

“Dang, maybe we should’ve invited you with us to Fun Land,” Lapis said.

“Oh it’s fine,” I assured them. “How was Fun Land? Was it... fun,” I asked with an attempt at making a pun.

Lapis chuckled. “Yes it was.”

“I won Lapis this prize,” Peridot boasted and showed me a stuffed alien plushie. “And absolutely no cheating was involved!”

“Maybe just a little,” Lapis murmured. “But anyways, you want to go on a walk along the beach?”

“Sure,” I replied and got up. 

“There’s a lot of sand on the back of your clothes,” Peridot pointed out.

“Oh,” I said with an awkward chuckle and blushed. “I’ll just brush it off.”

There were still several groups of people on the beach, including a group of gems who were playing what seemed to be a tense game of volleyball. 

“So where did you originally live,” Peridot asked me.

“Minnesota. It’s about a thousand miles west of here,” I said.

“How did you end up with a job in Beach City,” Lapis asked.

“I searched literally all over the country for a job in my career field, and well, the people at Beach City Public Transit Authority gave me an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”

“All over the country and Beach City was the only place that offered you a job,” Lapis asked in surprise.

“Yep. It’s a tough job market in a lot of career fields including transport planning. What do you guys do?”

“I teach botany at Little Homeworld,” Peridot replied.

“And I teach art there,” Lapis said. 

“Cool. Are most of your students gems, or are there humans too?”

“Hmmm, I did have a human student awhile ago but they dropped out since they were too busy with work,” Lapis responded.

“Aww, that’s too bad. How about you Peridot?”

“Unfortunately none so far, unless you count the occasional visit by one human.”

“Connie, right,” Lapis asked.

“Yep, but it’s usually only in the summer. Now that she’s in school again it’s rare for her to visit,” Peridot said.

“I’d love to take your classes,” I said enthusiastically. “Well, as long as it doesn’t conflict with my work schedule.”

Lapis and Peridot became starry eyed upon hearing my potential offer of attendance. 

“Ohhh, that would be wonderful! It’s nice to teach gems about the stuff we’ve learned on Earth, but we’ve also wanted to share our experiences with humans and get a better understanding of human culture,” Lapis said excitedly. 

“Yeah! I really hope your schedule allows you to attend our classes. No pressure of course, and you don’t have to attend every class. What days and time do you work,” Peridot asked.

“Monday through Friday from 9 AM to 5 PM,” I said.

“Hmmm, well all of our weekday classes are during that time, but the good news is we also offer a Saturday class at noon. You could attend each class every other week, if you wanted to of course,” Peridot said.

“And you’re always welcome to visit Little Homeworld anytime. I mean, besides late at night of course, since we like to sleep. We don’t have to sleep, but it’s very relaxing for us,” Lapis said.

“Mhm, if you’re a morning person like I am we can hang out before the first classes of the day, or if you’re not a morning person like Lapis we can hang out in the evening when you’re done with work and we’re done with classes,” Peridot offered. 

In my mind I was crying tears of joy. Two people that I had only known for a day were so open and welcoming to me. My social anxiety was still high, but I was definitely more relaxed at this point. Would I be nervous each time I met up with them? Absolutely, but eventually I would get used to hanging out with them and my social anxiety would barely appear. 

“I would love that very much. Both going to your classes and hanging out after work. I would hang out before work, but I’m definitely not a morning person,” I said and chuckled. 

“You and me both, buddy,” Lapis said and also chuckled. 

After walking on the beach awhile, we strayed onto a path up to the lighthouse. From our vantage point Beach City was a small spot with flickering lights. The waves could barely be seen with the hint of moonlight. 

“The view is better when there’s daylight, but it’s still an amazing view,” Lapis said.

“It really is,” I said.

“How far away is your apartment? We can walk there with you if you want,” Peridot offered.

“Half an hour from here. We just go back through town and then it’s just outside of there,” I replied.

“Sounds good,” Peridot said.

As we slowly walked to my place we chatted about our lives, mostly about Lapis and Peridot’s life on planet Earth, as I was curious what people from another world thought about this one. They were fascinated by the diversity of life here and loved the freedom to do whatever they wanted, unlike their past lives on Homeworld where they only did what they were originally made for. In Lapis’s case it was terraforming, and for Peridot it was mostly working on machines and gadgets. They didn’t go into a lot of detail about their past lives, as they preferred talking about how happy they’ve been since calling Earth home. 

“Well, here’s my home away from home,” I said when we arrived at my apartment building. The building wasn’t exactly new, but not old either. There’s three floors and I lived on the top floor, which I didn’t mind since I got a decent view of the ocean. Even though there’s an elevator, I tried to always use the stairs since I needed the exercise. 

“It was nice seeing you again Eric! And I’m glad you got to meet my partner,” Lapis said.

“Nice seeing you too! And nice meeting you Peridot! So I suppose since tomorrow is Saturday I’ll see you guys at noon tomorrow?”

“Yep! Little Homeworld is pretty small so it should be easy to find us, and then from there you can choose which class you want to take that day,” Lapis explained. 

“Sounds good! Good night friends,” I said with a smile. 

“Good night buddy,” Lapis replied.

“See you tomorrow,” Peridot said with joy in her tone. 

I waved and then went inside, breathing a sigh of relief for doing okay socializing with them. One issue I had hanging out with friends was sometimes feeling a sudden loneliness when our meet up was over. On the bright side I would be seeing them tomorrow, and I was committed to going to Little Homeworld every Saturday, plus occasionally meeting up with Lapis and Peridot on weekdays. I was hopeful this was the start of a beautiful friendship.

[otp-armada]

Right before I woke up this morning, for a moment, my mind dreamt of a scene of Clarke on the Ring. She makes it to the rocket on time. It's her and Bellamy standing at the observation window, watching Earth burn. It's the two of them looking to the future, their people's and their own, together. 4x13 ends with a flash-forward of six years, but one of Spacekru as a family. As we see the eight of them laughing together at a dinner table, the camera pans to a weighted, happy glance shared between Clarke and Bellamy, him lifting their joined hands to his lips, two matching, thin rings of gold metal on their fingers. And that's how the audience comes to know they have coupled up. Boom. Out.

My ears are ringing from the collective shrieking we would have done.

My waking hours are here, and I'd like to play this scenario out to my specifications.

The first half of 5x01 is Spacekru flashbacks, showing us how they bonded to become a family and how Bellarke got together.

In the long, quiet comfort of the Ring, our heroes give voice to their past traumas and heal old grievances.

Clarke tells Bellamy about her father, Bellamy shares stories about his mother. She tells him about her father's kindness and gentle nature, his limitless heart. Jake's teases about Clarke drawing on every plain surface she could find, a habit that began with her childhood. Passionate as she was for sketching, she was in the midst of early medical training. Her exposure to the Council and the Chancellor is what gave Clarke her political acumen. Clarke recounts the games they used to watch with the Jahas. Before long, she's explaining the rules of soccer to a confused but amused Bellamy. Bellamy tells her what little he remembers about his parents before his father died. Aurora's smile. Her sacrifices for her children. Her tenacity. Her love of mythic stories she passed onto him. The overwhelming sense of responsibility she instilled in him from too early an age. Bellamy talks about the challenges of a life spent hiding a little girl under the floorboards from the Ark. Bellamy shares the rewards of being the only pair of siblings to have existed in nearly a hundred years. Unbidden by the role of big brother in Clarke's company, he gives voice to the constraints placed on his life. The hardships of living in Factory Station, while Clarke shrinks in guilt over her bountiful upbringing in Alpha. They both recall the pain of watching their parents get floated. There, in front of their eyes one second, gone forever in the blink of an eye. Clarke discloses that, while privileged, she was a lonely child. Were it not for Wells, she would have had no friends. She talks about him, what Bellamy never got to know about Wells Jaha.

The atmosphere shifts, and their conversations progress to contemporary times.

They discuss their respective tendencies to want to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. It takes time, but Clarke finally divulges why she felt compelled to leave Camp Jaha. How bereft she felt. Her nightmares and loneliness in self-imposed exile. Wandering around the freezing cold of the woods. Bellamy can't rein in the pain as he reminds Clarke that she didn't bear it all on her own. She couldn't have, not when he was the one left behind to pick up the pieces Mount Weather shredded. He was the one seeing their faces every day. She asked him to come back with her, to their people, once before, and he did. But when he asked her to do the same, she left. They both know it's not apologies he's looking for. It's a promise, a reigniting of an old promise made between two lost souls needing the other when the world threatened to drown them. They readily give in.

Their conversation takes an unexpected turn when Clarke explains why she gave in to Bellamy's plan to go undercover in Mt. Weather. For her to be strong enough to save her people, she couldn't let love hold her back, make her weak. From the second Bellamy left her sight, she regretted it. They both recognize it as the confession she didn't intend to say. Shock settles in. With newfound confidence, it triggers an admission of Bellamy's own feelings. Cue canon Bellarke.

Once the air between them is clear, it was only fair that the effects of Mt. Weather be a topic Clarke and Bellamy discuss with the third member of the room that fateful day. It leads them to the complicated subject of Jasper, the three of them breaking down in tears over their fallen friend.

Six years of peacetime spent in Clarke's company shapes perspective on the girl herself. She's not Clarke Griffin, the fierce and stoic Skaikru leader, equipped with all the answers. She's not Wanheda, the great legend. She's just a girl, with vulnerabilities, insecurities, fears, and demons, just the same as any of them. She becomes a person to them. Real flesh and blood. A human being who does indeed break. And no one is more startled by this revelation than Raven. It's another contentious relationship of Clarke's requiring time to mend. Although sharing feelings doesn't come easily to Raven, the two eventually crack their sibling-like rivalry where Abby and Finn are concerned.

It's the presence of a fellow cockroach well-versed in the glamourous lifestyle of isolation that gets Murphy out of his self-destructive streak. In their own ways, they have both been the outsiders. They make an uncanny pair of confidantes, so says the rest of the kru. But somehow, it works. Trust doesn't come easy for Murphy, and he and Clarke have their fair share of issues. Close quarters force the two of them and Emori to work it out. For all that Clarke excels at contrition, deserved and undeserved, she's also never been one to beat around the bush, no matter Murphy's preference to lash out in his signature style of sharp sarcasm at moments of his choosing. As it is for Bellamy, Clarke's belief in Murphy as a good man is an overwhelming force, one he is not sure he's worthy of, but privately welcomed nevertheless. In time, there arrives a sense of respect and loyalty between them no one foresaw.

Clarke's penchant for extending her hand to the outsiders doesn't end with Murphy and Emori. Clarke was the first to bring Echo on board and, she is the first to treat their errant Azgeda former spy as family. Post-season 4 to the series' end, Echo's character development is at the forefront of her story arc, never filtered through a subpar pairing needed to fuel an insipid love triangle where her leg of it is marked for eventual demolition.

Since I am bound by limitless imagination, let us pretend this was a 2-hour season premiere.

The flashbacks take us through the six years to the present. Spacekru's happiness is juxtaposed, as we transition to below the ground, by the hellscape Wonkru is trapped in. The second half of 5x01 is Wonkru flashbacks, a la 5x02.

5x02 takes us back to Eligius IV, to the passing of Order 11 (is that what it was called?). A young pilot named Shaw chooses to defy his captain's orders, releasing their prisoners. They proceed to take over the ship, killing Shaw's crewmates and captain, Charmaine Diyoza assuming command. She corrals Paxton McCreary and his men to her side. With their mutiny a success, Diyoza tells Shaw to plot a course for Earth. All the while, we see Shaw wrestling with the bloody aftermath of his decisions. They reach Earth's orbit, ready to go home, unknowingly under the watch of 8 survivors in space.

The Eligius prisoners touch ground on the last arable patch of land on Earth and quickly find themselves ensnared in a series of traps by an unknown number of assailants. Their assailant turns out to be a solitary preteen. They capture her, interrogate her. She speaks a language they've never heard. I'm making it a point to emphasize those infernal shock collars do not exist in my little world.

5x03 plays out similarly onboard the Eligius mothership. Our kru arrives, not to borrow a cup of sugar, but to steal the hydrazine for their journey home. Clarke, Bellamy, and kru debates the morality of killing 300 strangers in their sleep before deciding to use them as leverage. Raven and Murphy stay behind. Six Spacekru members fall to Earth and are captured by Eligius. They are taken to Diyoza, where they find a little girl dressed in Grounder garb. Bellamy and Clarke use their trump card to free themselves, Madi, and use their resources to locate Wonkru, with an additional promise to share the land and their knowledge of life on Earth.

5x04 plays out the same, more or less, without the awkward tension of a Bellarke trying to reacclimate themselves to each other's presence again. Diyoza brings Madi, Bellamy, and Clarke to Polis, where Bellarke negotiates for Wonkru's release. They meet Blodreina and her cult of warriors. Fandom squeals seeing Octavia greet her sister-in-law. Wonkru (and Blodreina) comes to realize that they have found a surviving Nightblood. Diyoza betrays the accord, taking Abby and Kane to Shallow Valley and leaving Bellarke and Madi at odds with Octavia.

5x05 sees Bellarke continuing to act in concert as a team, eager to reunite with their lost people while keeping a protective eye on Madi. Tensions brew between them and Blodreina. Marper and Echo return and they all turn back to Polis.

Blodreina refuses to grant pardon to Echo. Spacekru fights on her behalf, while Echo is willfully recruited for Octavia's mission. Madi meets Gaia under Clarke's watchful eye. When Madi is introduced to the Flame, Clarke tries to persuade her not to be swayed by the Flamekeeper's influence. Because this is my fantasy and I can do what I wish, it turns out that Clarke and Bellamy are expecting their first child. Clarke, believing the Flame to be a curse for its bearer, wants to spare Madi a bloody fate. She wants to abolish this aspect of Grounder culture, fearing the chances her child may become the next natural-born Nightblood. She dreads the possibility of her child as the next participant in the Conclave or the next Commander.

Another sidenote I am interjecting. Here, toxic motherhood isn't a defining characteristic of Clarke's, to aid in her isolation and subsequent, continual emotional decline. In my world, she gets to be a protective mother, a loving wife, a compassionate friend, and a caring daughter, all rolled in one little blonde package. She gives love freely, as she does in canon, but receives it in kind. She doesn't sink to rock bottom, nor must she, to be the heroine she is. She draws on the good and the bad experiences she's had to teach others. She imparts her lessons to those in need. Love is a commodity her life isn’t devoid of.

Clarke and Bellamy argue over what to do about Blodreina. Neither wants her to be harmed, but Bellamy maintains that she is, above all, his sister. He needs to believe Octavia is still within reach. He cannot abandon her now that they're together again. Clarke petitions Bellamy to take their family to Shallow Valley before it's too late. They compromise, agreeing to remove Octavia from the board long enough for Indra to take Diyoza's proffered deal. Their plans fail, as per 5x08, and Octavia arrests Clarke, an execution set for after the baby’s birth. We retain the glorious Blake scene of 5x08. It breaks Bellamy's heart to hurt Octavia, but she forced his hand. He has to protect his wife and their baby.

Tensions come to a head between husband and wife, courtesy of 5x09. Bellamy, having exhausted all other options, decides Madi must ascend to Commander to accomplish their goals. It is the only way to protect them all and save the valley. I am once again interrupting my spiel to remark that Clarke knows, unequivocally, she is included on the shortlist of family Bellamy is most ardently trying to protect. Forget "included," she's at the top. Clarke, ever the protective mother, disagrees, citing endangerment to Madi from Octavia and her patriots. Clarke argues that, of Diyoza and Octavia, Diyoza is the lesser evil to their family. As long as they remain within Diyoza's rules, they have nothing to fear from her. Bellamy, seeing Clarke's deep-rooted fear, agrees.

They are delayed by Marper, who wish to stay within the bunker, living off the revitalized algae farm. Bellamy and Clarke don't want to leave them behind until Monty points out that they, for once, deserve the chance to choose their fate, as all of the people of Earth. Octavia recuperates in time to arrest Bellamy, sending him to the fighting pit. Clarke fights to defend him but is detained. Clarke wants to fight alongside him, but they both know she has to live to raise their baby. They are permitted a final goodbye, and they have an emotional last exchange, a.k.a. Kabby parallel. Like Kane before him, Indra is forced to separate another family.

Octavia assures Bellamy that the baby will be under her protection. By now, Bellamy has reached the end of his rope with his baby sister. He loves her, but he can't distinguish her from the monster she's become, and it's about to cost him a life with his family. Disgusted, Bellamy scoffs at her overtures. He reminds her that his child deserves to have its parents. Clarke's earlier words come back as he tells her that she is his family's worst enemy. It wasn't enough for Aurora to leave him responsible for raising his sister at six years old. For the first time, his life is right, and she's the one who's about to take it away. He reminds her what it was like to lose her mother at 17, to never know her father. She knows how devastating it feels. Yet, left up to her, his child would be an orphan. He finishes with a devastating blow: it'll be those he holds as his family who will take care of his wife and child.

Clarke breaks free of her restraints, making plans to cause disruption to the bunker and getting Bellamy out in the ensuing chaos. She is stopped by Monty, who wants to use the opportunity to give Wonkru a better choice. Clarke tells him she isn't gambling Bellamy's life. Monty breaks again, pointing out that the last time he helped her and Bellamy, they split blood, and their plans still failed. Clarke reluctantly relents out of guilt, knowing how Mount Weather continues to haunt Monty. She does, after all, trust him with her life.

Bellamy fights Indra in the pits until the proceedings are interrupted by an intervening Monty, brandishing a pure, white flower in a sea of blood and darkness. Just as he begins to sway Wonkru to his non-volatile solution to the impending war, Blodreina forces compliance by burning the algae farm.

As Wonkru mobilizes for war, the fractured Spacekru and Madi take the rover to the valley to find their friends. They destroy the worms in transit.

They save an incapacitated Abby, who later recounts the Dark Year. Bellamy can't stop the horror he feels at the ordeal his sister has lived through. He feels a pang of guilt he knows is irrational while wrestling with the knowledge that she is still responsible for her choices now.

They reunite with the rest of Spacekru and are surprised to learn McCreary has taken control of the camp. With Diyoza and Kane's assistance, the eye in the sky is reinstalled, giving Eligius the advantage. As much as they want to prevent this war, they cannot leave Wonkru to die in the gorge. The group breaks off. One team is sent to disable the eye in the sky. The other team uses Madi's knowledge of the valley's layout to head off to fight alongside Wonkru in the gorge.

By the time they arrive safely, only Octavia, Indra, and Gaia are left alive. Bellamy convinces Octavia to retreat instead of sacrificing herself. He tells her she has to live with what she's done instead of taking the easy way out. For the most part, I'm picturing the scenes play out as they did in canon. At base camp, Wonkru is in disarray. Too many bodies are left littered from this war, with Blodreina at fault. To stop the in-fighting, Madi attempts to assume control by invoking her natural right to lead as a Nightblood. Some dissent, claiming she is not yet Commander. With support from Gaia, Octavia, and Bellamy (who makes sure this is what she wants), they sway Wonkru to Madi's side. Freshly invigorated, Wonkru prepares for a second assault.

Back on the Eligius ship, Clarke, Raven, and Shaw release an imprisoned Diyoza. They allow themselves to be captured and taken to the ship's central control. While McCreary attempts to force Raven to pilot their ship, she and Clarke regain control. Meanwhile, Bellamy convinces Madi to let the prisoners live.

From here, may I present two alternatives:

Scenario 1: Clarke kills McCreary before he can launch the missile from the mothership. With Spacekru controlling the ship's weaponry and Wonkru overtaking the prisoners, Eligius capitulates. After much deliberation, a new accord is reached, allowing for all survivors to live in peace as a singular society. Spacekru gets their 80 acres. The last of the 10(2) become parents to the next generation. It takes time, but Bellamy and Octavia's relationship heals. Eventually, she earns back her place in his life as his sister. She becomes one of many to welcome Bellarke's little one to the world, ecstatic to be a loving aunt. Generations later, the Earth recovers.

Scenario #2: The missile is launched. Earth's survivors must escape to space to survive. Marper opts out of cryosleep and has a son. It takes Monty ten years to realize Earth may never recover from its last doomsday. He wakes Spacekru+ to determine options. Between him, Raven, and Shaw, the three configure a self-running algorithm to decode the Eligius III mission files. They wire the pods to awaken its occupants every decade to check the algorithm's progress. The McIntyre-Greens go into cryosleep with some gentle persuasion from Bellarke. They won't leave their people behind. Thirty years later, Earth remains dormant. The files reveal the existence of a planet that could support human life, lightyears away, in the binary star system in the Goldilocks zone. They plot a course.

No, it's not as thrilling as the original ending. But if our heroes are going to traipse across the universe, only to return to their home planet, then Marper will not be sacrificed for nada. They will live out their days, a little older, a little wiser, but surrounded by their friends. They will not say farewell to their son at his ripe old age of 26.

There isn't much I would change about season 6, not where its major storylines are concerned. Clarke meets Cillian for his insight on Abby and Kane's deteriorating conditions. I would alter Madi's arc to where she takes the Flame in Sanctum and uses the time while the grounders are in cryosleep to train under Gaia's tutelage. Madi becomes attached to Bellarke, and it leaves her susceptible to Sheidheda's influence when her newfound familial figures find themselves at risk from the Primes. She'd see Sheidheda as a necessary evil to save her people, not unlike Clarke submitting to Lxa's clout. I would have Sheidheda preying on Madi's fears that she'd be alone again as she was during Praimfaya if she doesn't respond with vigor.

Season 7 gets a similar, substantial overhaul I've been thinking about for months but haven't yet written down.

The end.

(When am I going to stop with these sidenotes? After this last point, I promise.) Jason ran too tight a ship to let his post-apocalypse masterpiece become overtaken by frivolous romance. Without this pitfall, what stopped him from coupling Bellarke up before the end? Nothing. He could have a Bellarke that remained symbolic of the show's themes and mythos. A show that thrives on chaos would never run out of conflict to stir the pot. Falling apart and weaving themselves back together has been the model of their relationship since season one. Why couldn't they do this and be a couple? Why couldn't they have the Memori Model? They could have, but Jason chose the path of the slowburn. There's no fault in this. There is a fault in choosing to rescind the previously established story when it comes time for the threads to finally tie together. And I will never forgive him for it.

[the-dc-killjoy]

4x12 - Old Souls

Wynonna Earp's over. I'll do pretty much anything to get another season, but shows (not that I think that this show could ever get to that point. id still love WE even if it turned into whatever Grey's Anatomy's doing rn) shouldn't overstay their welcome. If this is the end, than it was a damn fine ending!

-

The cute.

I've been watching Martina sing since I was 11 years old, and it still puts a smile on my face. Rachel was iconic as always, and I'm gonna miss the most recent addition to the Earp family. I can just imagine the chaos of her, her not really but kind of boyfriend, and Randy Nedley on a tiny boat in the middle of nowhere. Poor Nedley. Let's hope Chrissy remains the only one of his many daughter figures to catch mono.

Speaking of mononucleosis- that's such an awful transition that i'm keeping it, I believe that Wayhaught has officially christened the entire homestead. Bedroom, The Stairs, kitchen floor, barn- short of just going to pound town (i'm not getting any better with sex references tonight. am i) in a patch of grass outside, they've got everything covered. Or nothing covered if you know what i mean. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Am I getting better now?

-

The random.

Nedley walking Nicole down the isle, Wynonna walking Waverly down the isle, Doc being Waverly's best man, and Wynonna being Nicole's best friend (no she will not take a secondary title. best friend will go on her tombstone)- sigh, i'm so gay. i can't really explain what that has to do with these circumstances, but i am and this makes me happy. Rachel and Nedley (and Billy was there somewhere right?) being the only people in attendance made this the perfect pandemic wedding even though there wasn't actually a pandemic in Earp land. I was the living embodiment of the pleading face emoji when they panned over the chairs. Doll's chair hurt me. like deeply. like i'm still suffering. there aren't words. fuck, i miss him.

On a lighter note, Waverly said fuck (like eight times)!!! She technically said it already, but chainsmoking-angelic possession doesn't count, right?

I'm glad that Jeremy has this new thing with Damon, but I kinda wish things had worked out with him and Robin. He officiated a wedding, got promoted, and got a handsome date in one afternoon, so I can't be too sad about his adorable self.

Charlotte Sullivan, the jilted dress shop owner/witch, played one of the earliest (in my knowledge at least. this show was my brother's thing not mine) representation of a bi woman in Canadian media. I don't know too much about her Rookie Blue character, but if you can have tolerated the will-they-wont-they, end of the world romance of the main character's kinda mediocre relationships for a couple more seasons, I'm sure you'll find out! By the nature of Canada having 16.87 actors in total, I tend to see a lot of overlap, and I have to infodump about that somewhere. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The Earping callbacks! Wynonna's truck, her motorcycle, the bullet proof vest, Nedley and Nicole's father-daughter thing, Waverly never saying the f-word (and subverting that), i'm all in, even Rachel always being stuck with juice while the adults are drinking- perfect! We had a little bit of the usual supernatural insanity, but this episode was wall to wall fanservice, and it was perfectly in-character fanservice. That's the way to go! It didn't feel forced or awkward and the edited mailbox will make me tear up on rewatch

-

The relationship. (aka i wanna talk about wyndoc and had no outline when i started this thing)

The Wyndoc goodbye was beautiful. I'm not into the whole you need one person to complete you kinda thing, but the implication that it didn't have to be romantic (implying that Wynonna's person was Waverly) was great. I felt that the scene worked perfectly, and might have been fine leaving it there if there was another season clearly on the horizon. With the fact that this was the series finale (i sighed so hard typing that. my poor lungs), I'm glad that they got their own happy ending.

-

The analysis.

Nicole's and Wynonna's as individual characters mirror each other in so many ways, but I'm just gonna wax poetic about one: their relationship with the GRT. Wynonna was hurt by the town, badly. She grew up with a steady stream of shitty adults and a few who told her to shake the demons out of her head and embraced the tough love mantra. It made a lot of sense that she left as an adult. Waverly was most likely the only reason she didn't skip town before that.

Nicole had a negative integer of adult role models in her life, with the murdered aunt and uncle and the whatever-the-fuck her parents were trying to be. Sure, a little trip to the Ghost River Triangle left her with trauma that she spent a lifetime repressing, but what's a little surviving a massacre under the six year old girl bridge. Am I right?

In their early lives, these characters had nothing but negative experiences in the aptly named town of Purgatory. Wynonna was drawn back into town by Curtis' letter just in time for her 27th birthday, and Nedley applied for Nicole to start working as a cop. Neither of them directly chose to come back to the Ghost River Triangle, but both of them did have the final say.

Wynonna decided pretty early on that she was going to stay no matter what. She already abandoned her sister once. How could she do it again with all of these monsters lurking in the shadows. As time went on, her circle of people expanded, but Waverly has always been the person that fight through hell and high water for. Even when fighting wasn't necessary, when it hurt her much more than it helped anything, she did it anyways because it was the only thing she could do to protect her sister. Wynonna thought it was the only thing she could do at all. This entire season, she's been fighting a war with herself, and her leaving, Waverly telling her that it was okay to leave, was the first time that took a break, took a breath since she arrived in Purgatory on her 27th birthday. Her child and the man she loves are out in the world, but she will be back with them at her side. Maybe after a quick road trip, maybe after a few years, but she will be back.

Nicole spent a majority of season 1 and 2 feeling like an outsider. Season 3 came with the realization that these people were her family and the Ghost River Triangle was her home. Early season 4 kinda shat all over that, oops. The rest of this season has been her finding her footing again. Nicole was a wandering soul, but she voluntarily staked herself to the land, vowing to protect it and the people within its borders for the rest of her life without the ability to leave, and she doesn't regret it. Her wife, her family, her people are all in this one not-so-sleepy Canadian town.

Nicole found her place, after a lifetime of searching, and Wynonna left, temporarily, after a lifetime of feeling trapped. They might seem like opposites, but both women call the same place home.

-

Originally, I watched this show was to cope with the ending of Agents of SHIELD (which I kind of used to cope with the ending of Killjoys, which featured Emily Andras as a writer in season 1 and has near identical humor, found family, and a healthy serving of gay and wow this is turning into a bit of advertisement isn't it), but it wormed its way into my heart. I've never quite seen a show like this. Never seemed interested in a western, even a sci-fi western. Never saw the gay couple reach OTP status both in fandom and canon. I've never seen so many fan conventions dedicated to just one show. I usually stay for just one character (and Wynonna has become one of my all time favorite characters), but I find myself connecting with so many of the beautiful people being brought to life on my screen. Wynonna, Waverly, Nicole, Rachel, Dolls, Jeremy, Doc, Nedley and so many other hilarious and heartbreaking characters make this show, and every single human who played a part in this self-proclaimed shitshow deserves a round of applause and a swig of whiskey.

The end.

[grapefruitsketches]

I’ve Been Waiting On You

Rated G, 2,560 Words. Songxiao, Modern AU - Coffee Shop/Cafe, Fluff, First Meetings/Meet-Cute, POV Song Lan (Wen Qing, A-Qing, and - briefly - Wen Ning are here too!)

My third (and likely final!) fill for the Songxiao Reverse Itty Bitty Bang 2020

Inspired by @transgirlsqx’s art on twitter at transgirlsqx/status/1305923577707806720?s=21 (link in reblog to make sure this shows up in the tags; please do yourself the favour of taking a look - the expressions are priceless!)

Event hosted by @touchmycoat

Also for fytheuntamed’s Untamed Fall Fest Day 7: Reunion

Also Available on AO3 (See link in reblog)

He was back again.

He was back, and he had a high schooler with him this time.

How did having a high schooler with him not make him any less…

“-chen! Song Lan! Hello?” Wen Qing’s voice drew him back to the present.

“Mmn?” He said, looking around to his manager, her arms were crossed as she flipped one wrist out to point to the table he was supposed to be serving. Wen Qing ran a tight operation, but her smirk betrayed her: she was not angry. Song Lan would not get off so easy. Instead, she was amused.

He would hear about this again later.

The tips of ears burned, even as he couldn’t help stealing one more glance the man’s way.

He was leaning in close to the laptop, squinting at something. The teen frowned peering similarly at the screen. Then the man said something and the girl’s eyes and mouth widened. She nodded eagerly and began typing rapidly. The man chuckled and leaned back in his seat, smiling approvingly. Song Lan watched him breathe deep and look up from the table. Song Lan gulped and couldn’t help but grin at the kind, smiling eyes behind the thick-paned glasses.

Too late, Song Lan’s mind caught up with reality.

If he could see the man’s eyes then the man could see…

Song Lan’s chest tightened and his breath caught in his throat. He turned his face quickly away and hurried towards the table patiently awaiting the coffees and tea on his tray. He felt his cheeks redden, but he kept his focus on the customers and tried to ignore Wen Qing’s unconcealed chuckling from behind the counter as he said, far too rapid and breathless for the short walk he’d taken, “Sorry-for-the-wait-here-is-the-latte-the-green-tea-and-the-wulang.” He nodded and retreated quickly back to the counter.

He wondered if there was a professional way to sink to the floor and hide until an entirely new batch of customers had rotated into the shop. Not seeing one, he settled for grabbing a bag of coffee beans and slowly running them through the grinder, one of the few tasks he could do when there were no orders to work on that would require turning his back to the café.

“So… should I give you his table, or would that be tantamount to manslaughter?”

“Are you offering to serve him instead?” Song Lan replied skeptically. They both knew that Song Lan was the only server in the small café right then, Wen Ning busy with a stream of people grabbing last minute sandwiches to go before whatever mid-afternoon meeting they were going to, Wen Qing usually keeping herself free to answer a phone call, keep the store well-stocked, address a customer complaint, or to have a discussion anyone who thought that just because Wen Ning was too polite to call out a customer when they deserved it, no one would.

She shrugged, “Maybe. It would really be a pain to have to hire someone else. And what kind of press would that bring us? We just reopened, we can’t afford to have anyone think I’m working my staff to death. Not yet at least.”

But Song Lan still lingered, eyes darting towards the table then back to Wen Qing.

“Come on,” she said, “You had a-Ning serve him last time and Zizhen seemed perfectly capable the time before that. I’m sure he can’t be that scary, no matter what he said to you the one time you served him.”

“You know it’s not—" she raised her eyebrows at his protests, daring him to explain what it was, “Fine,” he said, finally. He took a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back in a vague attempt to seem put together, readied his pen and notepad, and turned towards the table.

Where only the teenager sat, typing fiercely at her keyboard.

He breathed out. This, he could deal with.

He made his way to the table.

“Welcome to Sleepless Café. May I take your order?”

The keys didn’t stop clicking as the teen grumbled, “Took you long enough. I’ll take a mocha, and I guess a white tea for my tutor because he’s boring like that.”

“Your tutor.” Song Lan repeated, replaying the earlier interaction he’d observed which had somehow become even more endearing.

“Yes? My tutor. Sort of also my brother if you really want to know. Is there something wrong with—“ apparently Song Lan’s dumbfounded repetition had finally been what made her look up from her computer screen, “Oh.” And to Song Lan’s absolute horror, a mischievous, gleeful grin that would give even Zizhen a run for his money lit up her face. She leaned a cheek in her hand, “It’s you,” she said, tilting her head to the side, “So, was there something you wanted to say to my brother, or do you just stare at every person who walks in here like that? Because if you do,” she said, matter-of-factly, “That is both creepy and bad for business.”

“I—“ Maybe Wen Qing was right and the girl’s tutor wouldn’t have been scary, but the student herself absolutely was. “I’m sorry I just—“

“He’ll forgive you, you know. Probably doesn’t even think anything of it, to be honest. Maybe didn’t even notice. Wants you to talk to him actually.” Her speech became more blunt as she returned to peering at her screen, which, now that Song Lan looked at it, was zoomed in to something like 150% percent.

What she said sunk in slowly, though, “What, really?” Song Lan felt a little pinprick of hope light up in his chest.

“Mmmhmm. I’d be willing to bet it’s the reason he keeps coming here.” She looked up at him, “It’s very far from where we live.” She smirked as she revealed this.

“What—“ Song Lan was trying to figure out how to ask just how far without seeming like he was trying to figure out where they lived or something, already apparently one strike in on the “creepy” scale, but his voice involuntarily cut off as he approached again.

“Sorry a-Qing, there was a bit of a wait…” he sat back down and his eyes swiveled around slowly, landing on Song Lan. He frowned and looked slowly upwards, pupils moving back and forth a couple of times before, “Ah! Sorry. It sometimes takes me a moment to…” he shook his head quickly, “Hi,” he said, and… was that a faint bit of pink Song Lan saw on his cheeks?

Song Lan found himself completely speechless. Luckily (or unluckily) the girl, a-Qing, apparently, was there and ready to fill the silence. “I already ordered. Mocha for me. White tea for you. Is there anything else you’d like to order, gege?” She ended in a childish, playful singsong, a significant switch from the dry tone she had taken with Song Lan.

“A-Qing… so much caffeine and sugar so late in the day…” the man shook his head, but smiled affectionately, chastising, but not stepping in to overrule her order, “I’m sorry, was she pestering you at all?”

Yes. “No,” Song Lan said quickly.

The man smiled, “That’s good to hear,” he sighed.

“Sorry for lingering so long,” Song Lan said, suddenly feeling very awkward and aware of just how long he’d been standing there, long after the simple order had been neatly noted on the notepad, “I’ll leave you two to—“

“Wait.” The man said, and Song Lan froze. The man took a deep breath, and Song Lan couldn’t help but let his eyes be drawn to his lips, before the man spoke, “I’ll… I’ll kick myself later if I don’t ask but… We’ve spoken before, right?”

Song Lan blinked, “Uh…”

They had. They absolutely had. And Song Lan absolutely knew this. It had been a couple months ago, and Song Lan had assumed the other man had completely forgotten it.

“Sorry… I know you probably get a lot of customers here, don’t worry about it…”

“No… no I do remember!” Song Lan answered, “I just… I assumed you wouldn’t remember.”

Something about that must have struck the other man as hilarious, and he hid his mouth behind a closed fist as he giggled. A-Qing made a show of tossing her head back, groaning, and placing a set of headphones firmly over her ears. But she was smiling.

“Sorry,” the man said, wiping the beginnings of tears out of his eyes, “So. I hope school is still going well?”

It was an abrupt transition, but a welcome one.

Their one and only previous conversation had been short — Song Lan had said that he thought the other man’s earrings had looked cool, purportedly as part of his usual customer service approach, but the light stutter that interrupted his usual cool tone betrayed him. The other man hadn’t seemed to notice or mind, but had thanked him and asked how Song Lan liked working at the café.

For some reason, though he usually tried to get in and out of exchanges with customers as quickly as possible, Song Lan had found himself telling the man that he did like it. He explained that he expected it would only be for now, as he put himself through law school, that he was lucky he had old friends who managed this place, who were willing to work flexibly around his school schedule. The other man had thought that that was amazing, seeming embarrassed to admit that his mothers had almost insisted they pay for his own schooling, to let him focus exclusively on his studies. Song Lan had found out that he studied computer sciences, with a focus on accessible technology.

And then a customer had dropped a cup, and by the time Song Lan was done dealing with that, the man had been gone, only the empty teacup, a generous tip, and a “Thanks J” scrawled on the receipt to confirm that Song Lan hadn’t imagined him.

Song Lan was still reeling from the man’s admission that he remembered the conversation at all. Song Lan had thought was only a strange personal fixation of his own. But he was finding it hard to handle the knowledge that the other man not only remembered, but remembered in this kind of detail. Remembered that he was in school, and as they continued to talk now, remembered things Song Lan had forgotten he’d even said.

“It seems like a pretty nice team here. It’s nice to finally see the manager’s brother here… you mentioned him last time, but he’s never been here when I’ve visited,” the man smiled, “But you mentioned before he usually only works afternoon shifts? I guess that was my fault then…”

At some point in the conversation, Song Lan felt the notepad and pen he was holding slowly leave his hands. He blinked and turned his head, to see Wen Qing give him a small wink and look at the page now in her hand, getting to work on the teas these two customers had ordered a long while ago now.

“So is…a-Qing also studying computer science?”

“Yes!” the other man seemed similarly surprised that Song Lan had remembered this detail, “She ended up getting a co-op job at the same place I’ve been interning at. She’s got the same kind of accessibility needs as me,” he waved vaguely at his own eyes, “So she’s been a great second set of hands on this project.”

The sound of a scraping chair. A bump of metal against the back of his legs. Wen Qing clearly was giving him permission to, no, insisting he sit down.

He sat, shuffling the chair forward, and soon she was back, a mocha, a white tea, and a green tea — Song Lan’s standard order — in hand. She set them down, patted Song Lan on the shoulder and walked away.

“Oh am I keeping you from…?” the man’s eyes widened as he watched Wen Qing walk away.

Song Lan chuckled, “No. That was her telling me I’m on a break for now.”

The other man puffed out an appreciative breath of laughter, “Like I said, this seems like a nice team to work with.”

Song Lan nodded, and gently lifted the cup of tea to his lips.

They sat in silence for a while, the whole situation bizarre. Song Lan was rarely so social, and never so impromptu about it. But it still felt right. Peaceful. Like this is something they hadn’t planned to do, but had always expected, somehow. Song Lan kept his eyes mostly to his tea, but each time he chanced a glance up, he caught the other man’s smiling eye and had to look back at his tea as he felt his face flush.

The sound of a laptop snapping shut was what finally shook him out of the gentle trance.

“Time to go, Xingchen-ge.” She looked to Song Lan (whose only thought at that moment was now His name is Xingchen. His name is Xingchen on loop), “We’ll see you again. And…” she picked up the phone lying face down on the table, the one with the frost-covered case lying closer to her brother, not the green one featuring what was obviously some pop culture reference Song Lan didn’t understand pasted all over the back. She tapped at the screen quickly, unlocking it before turning it to Song Lan, “Name and number, please.”

“A-Qing—!” the man exclaimed, and Song Lan was charmed, and a bit relieved, by the faint pink tinting the other man’s ears. But he still wasn’t sure whether he should take the phone being forcefully shoved into his hand.

He turned to the man — to Xingchen — and asked, “Do you… want me to?”

Xingchen’s eager, if still subdued, still gentle, nods were all he needed to see. He entered his contact information quickly, only having to backspace a few times to account for the typos he kept making.

“Thank you, Song Lan,” Xingchen said, smiling a smile that Song Lan couldn’t peel his eyes away from as he took the phone back.

“Ah, you can call me Zichen, that’s what my family calls me,” Song Lan said before he really thought about it, before he could consider whether it might be too forward to ask Xingchen to call him by a name even the Wens didn’t yet use for him. But Xingchen didn’t know that, and only smiled more widely.

“Then thank you, Zichen,” Xingchen said. And any doubt Song Lan had had washed away — that name just sounded so right coming from this man, “I hope we’ll meet again soon?”

“Yes. Definitely.” Song Lan nodded eagerly.

The two left together, a-Qing saying something inaudible that was making Xingchen giggle. Song Lan watched as he tapped her affectionately on the nose, the perfect image of an older brother.

He sighed, but soon felt a wet rag dumped into his hands and was forced to tear his eyes away from the now empty store front, “You’re on cleaning duty,” Wen Qing said, smirking, “You absolutely owe me.”

Song Lan nodded, taking the rag and proceeding to wipe down the tables, still half in a daze.

He went over to deal with the counters, where Wen Ning, enjoying a brief pause from the busy hours, asked, “So, do you think you’ll see him again?”

“I certainly hope so,” was Song Lan’s simple reply.

[warsofasoiaf]

The Celtic Tiger - A Kaiserreich Ireland AAR Chapter 6: Three Days in Halifax

“I am a war man in times of war, and a peace man in times of peace.” -Michael Collins

The Second Weltkrieg had seen millions of men dead on every continent save Antarctica. Europe and Asia had turned into rolling battlegrounds of armor and artillery, the fields littered with bodies and the hulks of tanks. The rivers were choked with fuel and blood. The seas could erupt at any time into a sudden death of torpedoes and naval bombardment, and the coasts were saturated with mines. What made the war worse is that it seemed that progress anywhere was slow; countless soldiers were dying for very little gain much like the First Weltkrieg. 

The Entente had been suffering a crisis of leadership. The Dominion of Canada had seen setback after setback, and had failed to secure any landing zone on the British Home Isles. The Tories had been unsatisfied with King Edward’s performance and leadership during the war, and this had only exacerbated his low public standing. The king had frequently become a figure of public scandal for being spotted with young debutantes, and had expressed his wish to marry recently-divorced American film actress Constance Bennett. The Church of England had fiercely protested the proposal, as it was improper for the head of the Anglican Church. The Tories and Labour parties both expressed their desires that the King either call off the plans or abdicate the throne. When delegations from the West Indies Federation and the Dominion of India supported abdication, the King knew that his time on the throne was at an end. As 1940 came to a close, Edward formally abdicated the throne in favor of his brother, coronated as King Albert I. “Bertie,” a shy and awkward man, seemed to be ill-suited to lead the country at war. Some of the more militant members of the Canadian Exiles had hoped to install Prince Henry, but the traditionalists among the Exiles and the Tories both shot the proposal down; Albert was the oldest and the true and proper heir, nothing would dissuade them from that.

As his first act upon assuming the throne, Albert ordered an assessment of Entente military capabilities against the Internationale, which ways that the Entente could secure a better forward operating location to prosecute the Reclamation of the Home Isles. Launching from French Algeria and attacking at Marseilles or from Sardinia to Piedmont was fine for the European mainland, but the Home Isles were special. The French, naturally, were supportive of the idea of liberating their homeland first and then launching an attack across the Channel, but that didn’t satisfy the British Exiles. Iceland did not have the infrastructure, and shipping to Norway was considered too far and remote. All options had their own unique undesirable elements to them, and it fell to King Albert to pick which risky option would be the best for his population-in-exile.

Albert’s response surprised international observers across the world, when he formally invited the Reichspakt to discuss “matters of shared concern in the struggle against syndicalism” with a conference in Halifax. Given Albert’s tour of service against the Germans in the First Weltkrieg, everyone thought that there would be too much bad blood for any large-scale Entente-Reichspakt cooperation. The two empires had sworn non-aggression pacts with each other, but that had largely been a practical matter since both empires were waging war with the Internationale and the Japanese Co-Prosperity Sphere. King Albert had potentially offered a further degree of cooperation and coordination with their European rivals, shocking foreign policy observers across the world. This shock was doubled when Kaiser Wilhelm agreed to the proposal. The Kaiser, whose health had been declining due to the stresses brought on by the war, elected to come in person along with his foreign minister.

“The German’s war is not going well. The Communards can afford to keep most of their army on the border and push against the Germans in the west, and the Vozhd can do the same in eastern Europe. But there’s too much bad blood between him and the English. He’ll torpedo the deal, mark my words.” Kevin O’Higgins, the foreign minister, had ruefully predicted. “I doubt the Marcheal will be willing to formally surrender Elsaß-Lothringen to the Germans. There’s too much pride, too many wounds from the First Weltkrieg.”

“I have little hope for them.” Richard Mulcahy agreed. “They can’t even agree on a mediator for the damn thing! The United States can’t be an effective mediator, they’re angry that Germany supported Huey Long. The Danubian Federation can’t be a mediator, they’re long allies of the Reichspakt. Even the International Mandate can’t mediate the conference since they restored British voting rights; their only goddamn job is to mediate between the powers. So now Quentin Roosevelt and Karl I are guests, not arbitrators.”

“Did we offer to mediate as well? I’m certain the Entente would have shut that one down, but I never heard anything about it.” Collins asked.

“They never even bothered to respond.” O’Higgins shrugged, but as soon as he said it, Collins stood up from his desk.

“Their mistake. Mulcahy, look for transit for three to Halifax.”

O’Higgins, mouth agape, could only stutter out, “You can’t be serious.”

“I can and I am.” Collins ordered. “Keep our presence quiet. This will be a conference to remember.”

***

Halifax was an unusual choice for high-level diplomatic talks. Nova Scotia was a rougher province than Ontario, devoted more to resource-gathering and the fishing industry than to high-level diplomatic summits. Ontario seemed like it would have been the first-choice. Quebec had seen riots against the draft for the war effort, but Ontario was still the capital province. But Collins had no experience in high-level diplomatic summits, and never had to set the venue for one. His first high-level summit, in fact, had him walking in as a semi-uninvited houseguest. O’Higgins had been able to bargain for a position with one, having the proposal being floated through Quentin Roosevelt and wielding the guilt of leaving Ireland to dangle in the wind with all the skill of a Catholic mother. King Albert could hardly deny Ireland a spot at the negotiations, not when the war against the Internationale was the chief concern. Ireland had been fighting against them the longest, and had the most experience against the continental armies.

The first part of the day was largely relegated to ceremony. So many visiting heads of state, there was a great deal of pomp and circumstance to go through. A novice observer might have thought it to be a waste of time, but Collins understood the craft of it. Making the Reichspakt nations feel welcome would put them in a more conciliatory mood. Information had always been key in the diplomatic game just as it was in the war. Collins had told Mulcahy to check the quarters that they had been assigned for any bugs, and he could only imagine checking the light fixtures and telephone receivers while he stood in the cold Nova Scotia air and listened to the Royal Canadian Band play the anthems of each of the visiting heads of state. 

Collins could hardly get a free moment, he had been a darling in the press for both nations. From his successful handling of Black Monday to his repulse of the Internationale’s invasions with an army almost one-tenth the size of those who he was fighting. The handsome young revolutionary had turned into a seasoned and capable head of state. In both war and peace, there seemed to be no limit to what this man and the nation he led could do. Some Canadians, particularly those British Exiles, had strong opinions about the Ulster peace process. Mercifully, only a few held signs against the mastermind of Bloody Wednesday, far more held signs expressing their support. Collins didn’t doubt that some of those supporters would turn on them should the British King look to re-establish Ireland as a dominion or free state, but that would be a problem for another day. Collins needed to have his head on straight, because one misstep could doom the war effort.

The host for the event, King Albert I, looked young but eager. He looked optimistic, bright-eyed and driven. Past the smiles, Collins could see a man who was deeply troubled and trying his best to put a brave face on the event. As the processions wore on, the king looked less and less comfortable, yet stood proudly for each procession of head of state, with he and the Canadian Prime Minister welcoming each delegation. The plight of such a young king, freshly coronated and now thrust into the largest and perhaps most important conference of his life was sympathetic, even from an English king. When it had been Collins’s turn to be presented to the cheering crowd, he had expected a chilly reception, but he had been pleasantly surprised. He could see a few Irish tricolors being waved by the onlookers, far more than he would have expected from Candians of Irish heritage. When he shook King Albert’s hand, the monarch had told him: “I am pleased that you are here, Mister President. Welcome to the Dominion of Canada.” Collins had decided to maintain decorum by declining to mention that he hadn’t been invited, and had returned the greeting. “I feel quite welcome, your Majesty. Allow me to congratulate you on your coronation.”

The other main luminary for the event was the exact opposite. Kaiser Wilhelm looked tired and worn. He was pale, and walked slowly with the support of his wife and Empress. Collins had guessed that the stress had been taking his toll on the older man. His eyes were sunken and dark, and his mouth was pursed tightly. The leader of the Reichspakt looked like an aging dreadnought, with its sailor desperately bilging out water to keep her afloat. To Collins, the man appeared unsure of what the affair may hold. If he had no hope for the talks, it’s likely he would not have come, but he did not seem to appear conciliatory despite his frail condition. King Albert may have been his first cousin once removed, but that familial relation had meant little to Albert’s father during the First Weltkrieg and would not get in the way of his ambitions to secure Germany’s place in the sun now.

These two titans would be Collins’s targets, not for death but for life. Ireland depended upon a successful negotiation, and he had not come so far to fail now.

***

After the ceremony, a luncheon, and a private visit for King and Kaiser to the coffin of King George V, waiting to be interred in Westminster Abbey, the tall order of diplomatic business began. Both the Entente and the Reichspakt recognized the need for coordination between their armies to better overwhelm the Internationale’s defenses. A reconfirmation of their nations’ non-aggression pacts was a given, but success in this war would require far more than that. It would mean a need for intelligence coordination, military access, and even joint operations between the two alliances. In this statement, both the King and Kaiser were in firm agreement.

However, the exiles in Canada and French Algeria had made it plain that they intended to recover their territories in their entirety, and that this was a hard line for the Entente. Their return to their territories was their primary goal, and the successful conclusion of the war would only be after the rightful governments of Britain and France were restored and their territories returned to their proper administration in their entirety. The Reichspakt protested this; the core goal of the war should be to end the syndicalist menace once and for all, not to restore the British and French governments. “The syndicalists declared wars of aggression against the Reichspakt, along with Ireland and the Republic of Italy,” the Kaiser spoke loudly before a coughing fit brought him to a halt. 

“This is true, the Internationale is a threat to world peace.” Collins interjected. He may not have been approved to be a mediator, but he wasn’t about to have the conference die in the first session. “And we cannot lose sight of that. Surely then, there can be something of strategic interest that the Reichspakt could use, that we can confirm by agreement at this conference in exchange?”

The Kaiser had yet to compose himself from his coughing fit, but his foreign minister took charge. “We are prepared to discuss our demands, but we are simply asking that the primary recognition be on the defeat of the syndicalist menace. I believe it is appropriate to turn to the matter of a common cause in the Italian Theater. The Kingdom of the Two Sicilies is prepared to coordinate naval patrols with the Kingdom of Sardinia. Two Sicilies is prepared to maintain the army lines if Sardinia can help maintain clear seas in the Mediterranean. Since the majority of the German and Dutch navies are in the Pacific, Italian operations will depend upon Sardinian and French naval power. We understand that the French strategic direction looks to be a crossing at Marseilles. The Reichspakt is prepared to increase the pressure on the front between the Socialist Republic of Italy and the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies to divert Italian manpower away from potentially reinforcing French garrison troops in southern France.”

Collins folded his hands to hide his frown. The Reichspakt knew what it was doing, but Collins didn’t have to like it. Without a hard line of its own to establish, and thus focusing on matters that could have been saved for later, this conference was off to a bad start. There was no question that the German Emprie would have in mind a host of concessions to offer in exchange for taking no territory, particularly from France, and that should have been the first sticking point of the conference. Perhaps the Kaiser had hoped to foster a spirit of cooperation by settling some small affairs first, or perhaps to make the Entente feel invested so they would be reluctant when Germany offered its demands. Perhaps it could have even been considered a good ploy, but Collins thought that the war had no time to waste on such matters. 

***

If the first day of the conference was dominated by things of lesser importance, the second day of the conference was sure to surprise Collins in the other direction. The Kaiser, looking much healthier than he had the day before, had opened the conference with his list of demands. “The German Empire demands that, to alleviate territorial concerns, that the Entente recognize colonial possessions currently administered by the German Empire in Central Africa and East Asia as confirmed colonial possessions. In addition, to facilitate the prompt and swift reconstruction of France into the European community, France would join the Central European Customs Union as a constituent member.” 

The French government had been taken aback by the request. The recognition and acknowledgement of German colonial gains was an expected demand. With the war currently raging in East Asia, if the Germans were able to successfully fend off Japan and Siam, they would have far more legitimacy than the French held on ever since their successful defeat of the Indochinese Revolt led by Ho Chi Minh. Deustche-Mittelafrika was widely seen as a colonial failure, with the corrupt Stattholders extracting resources from African fiefs. Such lands, even if the Entente could reclaim them, would be ungovernable, especially with a more assertive Somalia and Ethiopia pressuring decolonization efforts and the Internationale’s Anti-Colonialist Committee launching terror attacks in Morocco and Algeria. France still maintained its hold on northern and western Africa, and administered it far more capably. The lost colonies were already lost; there was no need to hold on to them.

Joining Mitteleuropa was the larger concern; it was no secret that while the organizations did benefit all member countries, the lion’s share of the benefits went to the German Empire and several structural rules served no other purpose than to enrich Germany at the expense of the other member nations. Several nations within Mitteleuropa were almost forced to join the union out of necessity in the wake of the First Weltkrieg, and chafed at some of its restrictions. France had protested this requirement, asserting that it had the potential to threaten the recovery of the French government and economy. The Dominion of Canada also had its own concerns, namely how the Mitteleuropa rules and regulations would interfere with the Imperial Economic Development Council, the Entente’s own economic development organization. Much more loosely structured than Mitteleuropa, and centered on economic advisors and medium-term projects, the actions of the IEDC could be seen as a violation of trade agreements and regulatory oversight agreements that were present in Mitteleuropa. “Sorting out the idiosyncrasies of how these two great organizations would interact would take months of policy consultation, something that is well beyond the scope of this conference,” King Albert offered.

“So are the necessary withdrawal arrangements for territories. We understand the need for the details to be sorted. At this point, we are only seeking a pledge that once the French government has fully retaken its position and has successfully re-established governance following the cessation of hostilities, that they will join Mitteleuropa in totality.” The French delegation deferred the answer until the next day, asking its economic advisor to meet with the Canadian Minister of Finance and work out a quick answer as to whether or not such a plan was even feasible. Collins despaired. Had he been named the mediator of this discussion, he would have made sure he understood the various proposals of negotiation before any of them had set foot in Halifax. 

“The French delegation makes a sound point,” Collins offered the Reichspakt delegation. “It is worthwhile to understand whether the French government is capable of complying with a demand and maintain its current treaties and commitments. Now, let us discuss shared planning  between our nations’ intelligence services. It would be advantageous for us to find ways to streamline the sharing of intelligence gathering for both aerial and naval reconnaissance, and the establishment of signals officers that can ensure ground troops can benefit from enemy intelligence. G-2 has offered several proposals that may be adopted quickly by our respective army signal corps.” 

All Collins could do was attempt to keep the discussion moving forward.

***

Deustche-Mittelafrika had been even more fragile than any could have predicted. Periodic mismanagement by the colonial administration, made worse by the disorganized and often mutually-contradictory procedures and byzantine support structure between the regional colonial governors and allied local leaders. The Stathalter, Hermann Goering, had run an infamously brutal colonial regime in his attempt to provide Germany with raw resources. Even domestic protest had risen steadily as word from journalists, dissidents, and other sources continued to trickle in from the dark continent. “Goering has become Kurtz of Joseph Conrad’s novel in every way. He holds himself as the great iron man of Africa, more force of nature than man and every bit as pitiless. He conceives of himself as inseparable from the nation. Rising industrial outputs are the equivalent, in Goering’s eyes, to climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. He holds himself as a vital thriving heart, and purges those who do not think as he does.” 

As protests continued to mount, high-level members began to depart Mittelafrika. Ernst Junger, noted author and new thinker, departed for Deutsche Ostasia. The Reformgruppen, an alliance of German colonial officers who supported greater autonomy and partitioning of Mittelafrika, returned home after Goering refused to return to German courts to fight the Black Dossier of abuses compiled by his brother Albert. Theodor von Hassel, who had grown disgusted with Goering, had even publicly spoken of democratic transition. “It is intolerable that Prussia may have a Bundesrat, but nowhere in the entirety of Africa can anyone offer even a breath in its governance.” Famously, he had met with Somalia and had encouraged their own path to democracy, and when their constitution had been articulated, he had gone to Mogadishu and proclaimed Somalia “the bright heart of African democracy.” Somalia had taken those words to heart, and had founded the African League for Democratic Independence, espousing the desire for African nations to gain control of their own governments and achieve ethnic self-determination.

Mittelafrika had debated invading Somalia to end this threat to their colonial overlordship, but repeated flare ups and Goering’s corruption had caused more and more of the component colonial nations of Africa to turn against him. Over the course of one day, spontaneous demonstrations, some believed to be influenced partially by Somalia and Emperor Haile Selassie in Ethiopia, and others believed to be organic, had risen from the Ivory Coast to Nyassaland. Goering had disappeared, and more than a dozen groups claimed to have ended the madman’s life once and for all. The German colonial government had scrambled, with only the Namibian colonial administration holding on to a shred of territory, now called Deutsche-Südwestafrika. The newly independent countries wasted no time both in suppressing their own internal revolts and going to war with each other, and Ethiopia and Somalia had almost declared war on each other.

***

Late into the evening, Collins had sat with the French delegation, drinking wine long into the night and working with their advisors. Ireland had long been a member of Mitteleuropa and had chafed under its regulations just as the other member nations had. The French government-in-exile had been curious to see if the German offer was genuine, but had quickly run into a row when France had brought up that Ireland had not made entreaties to France in the Open For Business Initiative. Collins had tried to defend himself, saying that French Algeria had little in the way of businesses to open in Ireland. At the time Ireland had been courting for investment in 1936, the French exiles had been conducting their own Transsaharan survey, and were building a Algers-to-Mali railway, hardly conducive to opening a business in Ireland.

“I heard the Jacobins had hoped to open an automotive plant in Dublin. Was that true?” came a pointed question.

“They did. While they were sending boys to fight in the United States, fighting my own volunteers, they came hoping to give themselves a place to peddle syndicalism to their employees while they were stuck on the line. I’ll say, telling the Communards to piss off was satisfying. You and I fought on the right side during the Second American Civil War. Let’s fight on the same side again.”

The news of Mittelafrika’s collapse worried the German and Portuguese delegations immensely. The Kaiser had elected not to postpone or abort the proceedings at the Halifax Conference. Collins had speculated that to do so was to declare weakness in the face of the Entente. This had left the state of the conference in a terrible balance; one of the concessions that the Reichspakt had agreed to were the British and French colonies they had taken over after the Weltkrieg and the syndicalist revolutions. With those colonies no longer under their control, Kaiser Wilhelm may have hoped to demand further concessions from the Entente nations in exchange for their support. Collins had advised against it, with the loss of their African holdings the Reichspakt was weaker, not stronger. If the French had accepted the demands for Mitteleuropan membership, then the conference could be successful. They had already secured themselves in Indochina, there was no need to rock the boat further.

“In light of recent events, to further cement ongoing peace between the Entente and the Reichspakt, the German Empire requires the French government to formally renounce their claims to the territory of Elsaß-Lothringen. This will solidify the borders between our two nations and lead to lasting peace in Europe.” Kaiser Wilhelm addressed grandly, much to Collins’s shock. “This will be the German Empire’s final demand.”

The French delegation immediately stood up and stormed out of the council chambers. Collins, sunken-eyed from his late night, called the session for a recess, and sent O’Higgins to talk the French delegate down from aborting the conference altogether. On his fourth cup of coffee, Collins had no appetite as he met with Richard Mulcahy and Kevin O’Higgins. 

“What the hell is Kaiser Wilhelm thinking?” Collins tried to keep from raising his voice. “He just lost one of his largest colonies and now he wants to demand more?”

“He’s overplaying his hand. He doesn’t want to appear weak.” O’Higgins offered, trying to explain the Reichspakt position. “And with the loss of the African colonies, he wants to be seen as someone who delivered, not someone who capitulated to the Entente.

Richard Mulcahy shook his head. “I don’t blame him for wanting to project strength. They’re sharks out there and they smell blood.”

Collins scoffed. “Well, he did it in the worst possible way. Looks like I’ll need a secret weapon. Mulcahy, go and grab my bag from the cloakroom. Bring the small brown case.”

***

When the session reconvened, the tension was so thick the room felt like a jungle. Once the session was called, the French delegation immediately spoke.

“I do not see the reason in promoting further concessions. It is evident to us now that the Reichspakt has not come to bargain with us as equals.”

“That is a gross mischaracterization. The Reichspakt has already graciously seen fit to agree to the territorial integrity of the Entente, and sees no reason why it is not also free to claim its own sovereignty regarding its own territories.”

“And demanding that France surrender her economic sovereignty as well?”

“A speedy rebuilding and recovery is in German interests as well as France, and the best way to secure that is membership within the Central European Customs Union.”

As the discussion became more and more heated, Collins, the unofficial mediator, slowly opened a brown case seated on the desk, and pulled out a glass bottle, filled with a dark brown liquid. Few even noticed as Collins took the bottle into his hand, running his fingers over the finely-crafted neck, before taking the bottle, and smashing it as hard as he could against the hard oak table. The loud crash brought every delegate to quiet, and that pause held as the thick smell of whiskey began to fill the room.

“That...was the Cairedas bottle on display in the Dail.” Michael Collins began. “Five years ago, we made four of those bottles to commemorate a spirit of friendship and shared optimism for the future. That bottle was priceless. Now look at it, there are pieces of priceless scattered all over this table. Take a piece of it if you want, go ahead, cut your finger on something priceless and see how valuable it is. Because that’s what we have now, nothing.”

“Every single one of us has reason not to be here. And if that’s all that we have, then this is all we’ll ever be, pieces of something greater made worthless by the struggle. And those pieces will be swallowed up. If not by the syndicalists, by Savinkov. Is that all we are?”

***

It would have been poetic for the sides to have come to an agreement after Collins’s speech, but it had taken several hours of negotiation to work out an acceptable compromise. The Entente formally recognized their lost colonies as German territorial possessions. The Reichspakt agreed to take no territories from the Entente and not to interfere with the rebuilding process of the Entente nations save through mutual treaty, unconditional foreign aid, or private donations. Portugal vowed not to cause or entice any actions against the German colonies in Namibia. France agreed to join the Central European Customs Union, but did not have to leave the Imperial Economic Development Council or the Imperial Scientific and Academic Council, nor did IEDC or ISAC initiatives fall under the jurisdiction of Mitteleuropa or the Kaiser Wilhelm Society. France would also be permitted to maintain all previously existing trade treaties with Entente nations, providing it a significant advantage over other Mitteleuropa member states. Signals operators from each alliance would be detailed to the other alliance’s divisions in the interests of unified communications and joint operations at the divisional level.

Ireland, belonging to neither alliance, would also engage in sharing intelligence with both nations. Entente planes could utilize the air bases in Belfast to support combat operations on the British Home Isles. Ireland would participate in joint planning as a non-aligned full belligerent power. If necessary, the Dominion of Canada could utilize Irish territory temporarily as a staging ground for naval invasions of the Union of Britain. It was certainly not a small sacrifice, but Collins made it gladly.

As the Irish delegation prepared to depart, Richard Mulcahy whispered to Collins, once he was sure that they were on their plane and away from any Canadian microphones placed in their quarters. 

“I didn’t know you took the Cairedas bottle from the Dail.”

“I didn’t. I just paid Saorstat to make a replica.”

“You cheeky bastard. What were you going to do if they called your bluff?”

“Thank God, we’ll never have to find out. Come on, we’ve got a war to win.”

---

King Edward Abdicates

Collapse of Mittelafrika

Successful Halifax Conference

Alright, as I said, the format was a little different in this one, wanted to do a little character work for Collins. Less pictures in this one since the game doesn’t really replicate treaty negotiations (hell, it doesn’t even allow non-members to participate, but that wouldn’t do for this AAR) Decided to be a bit showboat-y at the end since in the Anglo-Irish treaty negotiations he was quite the darling of the London crowd. Had some fun playing around with the setting, even if it might get a little past the point. 

Two more chapters to go, the war and the peace afterward, plus an appendix to detail my units and my national focuses to give a picture of this new Ireland. Hope you like this one.

-SLAL

[yourfaveisyanderematic]

Kars anon here! I love all these mysterious fate words, but I MUST go with Propitiate !

Oh, for God’s sake.

I’m sorry this took so long!  This also turned into an absolute monster of a fic, haha wow.  No worries if you guys haven’t read the first part of it.  If this readmore doesn’t work, on God I’m going to march into the offices of tumblr staff and tear down their servers board by board.

i.  it is perilous to live past the end of your myth.

In the land you were born, there is a flower that grows only in places that blood has been spilled.  It’s noted for its alacrity in covering battlefields; in wars long past, the day after battles was specifically set aside so the combatants could bury their dead before the flowers did.  They featured prominently in stories, these flowers, as symbols of mercy in the face of horror.  Of the world’s willingness to move on and heal.

You mentioned this to your Hamon master in passing, on a moonless night as the two of you picked over the mass grave of a vampire’s recent gluttony.  Their face was half-shadowed in the torchlight as they considered your words, but the look you caught was unmistakably perplexed, and then quietly sober.

“Flowers are flowers, child,” they had murmured, staring into the glazed-over eyes of the corpse at their feet, “nothing they do is borne of nobility or wickedness, only need.  Don’t make the mistake of seeing grace or malice in what is merely survival.”

It was a strange thing to say, looking back.  To be honest, after the rush of what happened next—the hunt for the vampire, and the desperate fight that ensued—you’d forgotten your master’s remark entirely.  So why has this memory resurfaced so unexpectedly and with such clarity in your dying moments?

Perhaps you’re wondering whether the flowers will take you when you’re gone.  

“…eep pressure on th…”

…You’re not familiar with this memory.  The speaker isn’t anyone you know, and their words are obscured by the pain tearing its way through your mind, pulsing from your throat.  Whatever it is they’re saying, you can’t say you’re too interested in listening; comfortable nothingness beckons, where there will be no fear or shame or failure, and you find yourself sinking into it with something approaching eagerness.

“…in the lungs…ain the fluid—“

Something spears your body, neatly sliding between your ribs, and like a harpoon drags you back from the brink of oblivion.  Cough after agonized cough is forced out of your raw throat, racking your body.  There’s no relief in your lungs as the breath you take tears at your insides, but someone presses on your chest, forcing you to do it anyway.  You thrash—you can’t help it—though it’s impossible to tell whether your eyes are open or closed, and your upraised arms are easily pinned down; you barely had the strength to raise them, let alone actually fight off your unseen attackers.  They’re saying something again, in words muffled by the encroaching darkness, but all you can think about is there’s pressure on your throat again, and you can’t breathe, and the only thing that can possibly mean is that you didn’t get the collar off after all.

It’s this thought—not the pain, not the lack of breath—that loosens your grip on reality entirely.  When oblivion takes you, you welcome it.

ii.  do you not live?  badly, but you live.

The transition from sleep to wakefulness is instant.  You startle—not from your nightmares of a flood of blood or a mountain of bodies, but from the phantom touch of a cold kiss pressed against your cheek—and find yourself face to face with a wide-eyed young man, frozen in the act of setting a glass of water on the nightstand beside you.

“Um,” he says.  Belatedly, you realize you’ve grabbed him by the front of his shirt and gracelessly release your grip, too surprised to be face-to-face with someone living.  Breathing.  

He takes a quick step back.  Silence reigns as the two of you stare at each other.  His posture shifts from defensive to awkward hesitation, but you barely notice; you’re too busy watching the rise and fall of his chest, suspicious that this is some strange illusion, or perhaps that you were awake before and this is the dream now.  At last, he speaks.

“This was for when you woke up,” the words are hesitant, “but uh.  You can have it now.  If you want, I mean.”

He’s holding out the glass.  Some of the water spilled over when you pulled him forward, but there’s still plenty to drink.  The surface of the water almost sparkles in the late morning sunlight coming through white cotton curtains…curtains.  Stupidly, you finally take your eyes off the man to look around you.  

You’re in a bed, an actual bed, a sensation so alien to you now that you can barely register the softness of the sheets.  For whatever reason you’ve been propped up with pillows, so you’ve been sleeping almost sitting upright.  There’s a window to your side that admits bright sunlight, but the curtains are mostly drawn and you can’t see outside, only that it’s daytime.  The air is warm and still, and smells of the living.  

The glass is still within reach, when you turn your head to look at the man again.  He didn’t take it away.  In fact, he hadn’t moved at all, like you’d turn on him if he moved wrong.  

When you take it from him, and see your reflection in the surface of the water, you instantly understand why.  Someone had taken the time to brush your hair and wash your skin while you were asleep, but they couldn’t do anything about the rigid alertness that tensed your body, the bluish tinge to your lips, the look in your eyes that would have been more at home on a feral animal.  You were still that desperate survivor from Kars’ pit, you were merely cleaner, with thick gauze around your throat instead of the collar.

You want to apologize.  You don’t know what for, or even to who, but the words won’t come.  Your reflection trembles; you force your eyes to look at something else and bring the glass to your lips.  The drink feels like a balm, cooling you from the inside, arresting the fearful beating of your heart into something more tranquil.  

“Thank you,” you say once you’ve finished.  You don’t wince at hearing how horrible your voice sounds, but that’s only because you’re too tired.  There’s a strange heaviness in your chest that isn’t melancholy, and as you recline back into the pillows, trying to lie more flat, it only worsens, threatening to smother the breath from your lungs.  The young man watches you attempt to force yourself upright for a moment, and then moves to help, readjusting the pillows at your back.

“We had a doctor look at you when you came in.  You were in a really bad way, um…we weren’t sure whether you were going to die or not.  It looks like you won’t, but you can’t strain yourself or lie down, and you need to call for us if your heart feels strange.  The doctor said it was pl—pul—“ he makes a face as he tries to recount whatever medical term he overheard, but you aren’t listening; something far more important has your attention in a stranglehold.  

Your breathing is right.  It’s slow and deep and even, the movement radiating throughout your body in the way you were taught.  

Your breathing is right.  But the Ripple isn’t there.

iii. love did not make you gentle or kind.

“You sure you should be doing this?”

The gauze is heavy with the sunlight beating down on you and too tight around your throat, but it’ll be another day or so before it can be replaced, so you resist the urge to tug at it and try to forget it’s there.  

Mateo—the man who was with you when you woke up—is older than you, though not by much.  Taller than you, though not by much.  His skin is tanned and his hands are calloused, but his ignorance of the darkness you spent your life fighting gives him an almost childish vulnerability in your eyes.  For him and the rest of this village, vampires and the undead are nothing more than ephemeral myth; the recent disappearances of distant villages nothing more than particularly aggressive raiders, or a disease.  They see the storm on the horizon and think it distant, that it will not swallow them up in the course of a single night.

You know better.  

A lot of good that does you.

“It’s just breathing, Mateo,” you say after a long pause.  Conversation comes slowly to you, he’s noticed, probably assuming it’s out of reticence.  You’ve become so unused to conversation that you’re having to force yourself to pay attention to what people tell you, instead of tuning it out by default.

…speaking of, he’s been saying something else while you were thinking about this.  You have the decency to look apologetic.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Mateo gives you a hesitant smile.  “I said I’d still be more comfortable with you doing this ‘breathing’ thing in the shade.  You don’t look too good.”

 You believe him.  You’ve been avoiding your reflection whenever you could in the day or so you’ve been awake, but there’s a constant low ringing in your ears and your skin is clammy to the touch, and a horrible pervasive weakness in your lungs.  If you hadn’t been soaking up the afternoon sunlight all this time, you’d have to give serious thought to the idea that you were somehow undead.

Unbidden, your hand goes to your bandaged throat once more.  Mateo graciously pretends he wasn’t watching you, and instead gestures to the nearby trees.  

“Let’s see what you’ve got, then.”

A lifetime ago, you would have snapped back, would have impressed upon him the significance of your martial art and the power your techniques belied.  In this moment, however, you simply step under the flowering boughs, sheltering in their shade like he asked.  There’s no longer any urge to grandstand or prove yourself; simply the will to do.    

And so you do.  You forget the curious eyes on you and force yourself to relax, stretching as much as your ruined body will allow, letting the tension flow out of your body.  Your heartbeat is erratic from the embarrassingly short trek to this grove, but as the seconds pass it begins to settle, becoming the meter by which you measure breaths.  One, two, three…the motions of your arms are practiced, familiar, but most importantly gentle, as you begin the most basic Hamon exercise you can remember.

You don’t simply wait for your life energy to manifest, you call on it, and when it doesn’t come you focus your thoughts on the process more and more, drawing deep into the well of your soul…and when you don’t find it, you pull deeper still.  You take another deep breath, ignoring the protest from your weekend lungs, and keep trying, keep pushing, like your life depends on it…

…because it does.  The mechanism of the collar is complicated, even more-so when you can’t examine it through anything but touch, but with enough daylight hours to yourself you think you’ve come to understand it.  The abomination keeping you here is frustratingly inventive.  In fact, if it wasn’t playing its sadistic game of cat and mouse, you wouldn’t have survived the first night wearing it. Would have been overwhelmed entirely by the hordes it insisted on throwing at you.  Fortunately—or unfortunately—it entertains bizarre delusions that it can bring you to heel.  Force you to serve it.

And it is in that folly that you have your chance.  It’s a desperate gamble, suicidal; the more you draw upon your Hamon techniques, the more the collar’s stranglehold tightens in response.  The trick, then, is to not attempt to build strength gradually, but to force the mechanism in one explosive burst, and pray that you can tear the thing apart in the second you have before your neck is crushed completely.  It’s your only chance.  It’s all you can do.

You wait for mid-day, when the sun is at its apex, burning away the disgusting slough of undead flesh pooled around your ankles.  You wait for the time nothing borne of the night could hope to stop you, and then in one sudden motion you breathe, flooding your muscles with the burn of power, straining your lungs even as the vice-grip of the collar makes stars swallow your vision, even as something inside you snaps—

Your breathing stutters out into a guttural, horrible cough, one that tears at the inside of your throat and forces you to your hands and knees.  Driven by frantic instinct, you claw at the cracked earth, trying to propel yourself back to your feet—I’m not done I’m not done I’m not done—but something else inside you gives out, and you collapse even farther, almost kissing the ground with each heaving breath.  

Mateo is alarmed, by the shouting you can vaguely hear as he rushes to your side, but all you can think about is the frothy sputum dripping from your lips, the iron bite of blood filling your mouth.  You hadn’t merely brushed over a healing wound in your attempt to reaffirm your grasp on Hamon, you’d reopened it, and instead of the strength you expected you found only…this.  

Someone’s talking to you.  You force yourself not to tune it out.  “Easy.  Easy.  Oh my god—you said you were just breathing—can you stand?  I’m going to help you up, we need to get you back to the—”    

You can’t get up.  There’s no strength in your legs.  You lower your head, trying to force yourself to move, but it isn’t breathlessness that’s holding you in place.  You can’t stand because you aren’t here; your body is half somewhere-else, in a place where there is no sun or life or hope, as a powerful arm wraps around your waist and pulls you away.  Mateo is saying something as he half-carries you away, but it’s a low voice you hear instead, sweet in its cruelty.  This can’t be the limits of your strength, can it?  Surely not.  He’d told you to give everything, and this couldn’t be it.  If you’d persist in this obdurate disobedience, though, there was a solution...

“Almost there,” you can hear Mateo puff as the floor of a threshold drags beneath your feet, “just need to hang on a little longer—“

“Almost there!” Kars laughed, a peal of delight as you vainly forced another zombie’s jaws off your arm, only for another to take its place.  The bodies that swarmed you threaten to bury you completely.  As you found yourself overwhelmed, the weight of the horde pinned your arms to your sides, forcing you onto your back, pressing on your chest and halting the breath that could save you.  “Struggle more.  Hate more,” the words wormed their way into your ears just as his finger traced the contours of your cheek, as the fumbling hands of the dead prised their way into your raw flesh.  “Obey!  Only then can you—“

“—rest.  I’m going to get you some water.”  A gentle hand pats your shoulder, and then is gone.  A door closes somewhere, leaving you alone in your room once more.  You find yourself staring at nothing, tracing the paths of dust motes illuminated by the beams of sunlight in front of you.  You hadn’t moved a muscle, not once, in all the intervening moments that had passed; not even those where you were somewhere else, still fighting for your life.  You hadn’t even tried.  

Should you be proud?  Or ashamed?

iv. you do not exist.  there is nothing left.

…someone’s talking to you.  Their voice had been drowned out by the soft light of the candles and your own thoughts.  You look up from what you’re doing, and have the decency to look apologetic.  

“Sorry.  Could you say that again?”

Mateo laughs, repeating himself without hesitation.  “I said you’re looking well.  Like, glowing well.  Hard to believe it’s only been three days.  If it weren’t for the—I mean, I could believe you were totally fine.”

“Hm,” you reply.  Small but significant progress from the lingering silence you used to offer instead.  

It’s true that you can now walk unaided and sleep fully lying down, but you’re far from the full strength you expected to enjoy by now, physically; a half-joking race with the village children yesterday left you all but bedridden.  The stitches holding the skin of your throat shut will need another few weeks before they can come out, you’re told, and they can’t promise that the scar will ever heal; that you won’t be carrying around your collar in some form, for the rest of your life.

As for your Hamon ability…you glance down at your hands again, cradling an inverted glass between your splayed fingertips.  The water within trembles, but stays in place, unable to cross the barrier of energy pulsing outward from your palm.  The sun set an hour ago, but the room is bathed in gentle light, pulsing in time with your measured breaths.  

You didn’t lose your gift…in fact, you’ve noticed the opposite of what’s happened to your physical body.  The near-death experience has torn apart instinctive limitations on your body, at the cost of control; your difficulty with the current exercise isn’t merely to keep the water in the glass, it’s to keep the glass intact at all.  To keep that gentle light from becoming blinding, from setting things aflame in its intensity.

“So that’s from that breathing thing you were so desperate to do, huh?” Mateo’s voice is full of a wonderment bordering on reverence, blissfully ignorant of the burden you manage.  “Hard to believe…it’s more like magic.  Something you hear about in stories.”

Not stories, Mateo, you think instead of say, bitterness poisoning the words, Tragedies.  

Mateo continues speaking—of the tales passed around his village, fables of heroes long past and encounters with beasts blown wildly out of proportion—and as he does so, you realize exactly why he will always be better off than you.  For him, monsters will stay stories, and his days will be full of bright nothingness.  The shadow of death, hanging unseen over all that he knows, will remain so; you will leave this village, taking it with you, vanishing back into the jungle, departing for that other world where you are only one of many fighting and dying to stem the vampiric tide.  You’ll fade from his memory—from all of their memories—as quickly as you came, a stranger with strange powers, bound for parts unknown.  With luck, nobody here will meet anyone like you ever again.  

That’s your plan, anyway.  For whatever bizarre reason, you’ve noticed that the people of this village, while helpful in preparing for your departure, aren’t in any actual hurry for you to leave.  The house you share with Mateo and his family is only because there isn’t space for you to have one of your own, and the guest room is yours indefinitely.  The villagers insist on learning your name, and in spite of yourself you find that you’re learning theirs.  

They have to know you’re dangerous, but they don’t act like it.  You could have convalesced by staying shut up in your room and taking your meals there, but they’ve insisted on having you at the table, eating with their families because they knew you had none.  The floral embroidery in your cotton clothes grows more elaborate with each day.  You learn to tell who’s approaching you by the sound of their footsteps.  If you hadn’t been keeping track, you would have believed that three years had passed you by, as opposed to only three days.

It’s…nice.  It’s really nice.  The gnarled, feral rage in your heart doesn’t cut so deeply when you see their smiles.  You tried not to let yourself get attached, but it’s easier to think of fighting now that you’re reminded that you aren’t alone in the world.

An unnamable emotion squeezes your heart.  The water trembles behind its barrier, violently.  You right the cup before it spills all over you, setting it back on your nightstand with a soft clink.  

“Hurry up and come to dinner,” Mateo extends a hand to help you up, and without hesitation you take it, getting to your feet.  “Rosa’s been telling everyone about that light trick you did with the garden, so don’t be surprised if they pester you to show it off again…”

You laugh at the thought.  When was the last time you did something like that?

The two of you walk in companionable silence out the door and into the warm evening air, toward the communal area of the village.  Hunting’s been unseasonably good, you’ve been told, so you can expect plenty of meat, and as you approach the communal dishes you think you can see the vegetables you helped grow.  There are flowers everywhere, scattered along the tables and hanging decorations.  Is something being celebrated tonight?

One of the village elders, making a plate nearby, laughs off your question, too preoccupied with what he’s doing to actually meet your eyes.  “In a way,” he says, but leaves it at that.  Mateo abandons your side to save you a seat with his family, leaving you to mill aimlessly within the little crowd.  Everyone is too busy finding their place or getting food to so much as look at you, leaving you free to wander aimlessly.  Perhaps it’s your proximity to the tree line, but you can’t shake the feeling of being exposed, so you pull back into the crowd and try to immerse yourself in the conversations around you.  

Apparently something of religious significance happened recently, because it’s all anyone seems to be talking about; whatever happened is an auspice of protection and good fortune.  It’s a welcome comfort to these people, in the light of dark whispers circulating about yet more villages disappearing and devastating illnesses destroying crops and herds.  The thought makes your gut twist in apprehension, souring the celebratory mood for you.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts, in fact, that details of what happened and when escape you; local superstition isn’t of real import compared to the actual danger out there, after all.  When you’re called over to sit with Mateo and his family, you go willingly.  When you see that no plate has been set aside for you, you shrug and figure that they assumed you’d fend for yourself; you’ll get one later.

When the village elder raises his glass and gets to his feet to make an announcement, you don’t think anything of it either.  There’s someone new sitting in the chair next to him, probably the guest of honor he plans to introduce, but you don’t really see this as something to be worried about.

That is, of course, until you actually register who it is.

You wish you did something dramatic.  You wish you let a glass fall out of your hand with an inelegant shatter, gave a bloodcurdling scream, jumped to your feet to attack, anything—anything at all—that could articulate to everyone around you how much danger they was in.

This is what you do instead: nothing.  You’re paralyzed, a helpless spectator to whatever tragedy is about to unfold, as the village elder continues his speech and Kars politely indicates his attention with the elegant incline of his head.

(All for the best, really.  What could you expect to do, in this state?  Get everyone here killed?  Some gratitude that would be.)

Something has your chest in a vice-grip, smothering the breath from your lungs and making your heartbeat ring in your ears, as the seconds pass in their inexorable march.

Kars—unmistakable, even from this distance, even with the linen wrap around his head—doesn’t seem nearly as concerned about the situation as you are.  In fact, he’s putting on an excellent show of pretending you aren’t even there.  His posture is completely relaxed, and while the clothes on his back are common enough for these parts, his physique is possessed of an unearthly beauty that makes him unmistakably inhuman.  

Inhuman…or godlike.  No wonder everyone around you is staring at him with reverence, though here and there you can see it’s tempered by fear, by that animal instinct you imagine prey have when faced with the beast about to devour them.  All remain in their seats, still and silent, as if moving would draw his attention.  Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mateo take his mother’s hands in his own and hold them tightly, and swallow that secret wish that he’d do the same for you.

(A darker, more morbid part of you makes a wish of its own: that Kars grow weary of his own, implacable cruelty, and discard the civilized charade that prevents you from simply attacking him.  Every second you have to sit here doing nothing is torture.)

As if hearing your thoughts, Kars finally looks at you—really looks at you, with that horrible hungry stare you’ve come to know so well—and smiles.  Apparently ready to end his game at last, he gets to his feet, and the village elder gives him the floor with a reverent bow.  Your hands grip the table in anticipation, almost unconsciously.

“Mortal stewards of this valley.  Friends,” he begins, speaking every word as if tasting it first.  There’s an undefinable quality to his voice that makes him sound as if he were both making a grand announcement and confiding in each individual personally.  “Let me first praise your peerless skill and unparalleled kindness.  Without them, my most precious consort would have almost certainly not survived their wounds.  I would have become inconsolable in my grief; instead, I find myself overcome with joy at our reunion.”

His eyes are on you.  Everyone’s eyes are on you, and it’s only this fact that gives you the presence of mind not to laugh with pure, unrestrained disbelief.  What madness is this?  The way he says it, he’s here to collect a favored pet.  That’s impossible, of course.  He’s here to finish what he started—to kill you and quite possibly everyone here, to take your powerlessness against him and really rub it in your face one final time.

“Now that they are well enough to return to my side, of course, you can all be left to live in peace,” Kars purrs.  He doesn’t need to look you in the eye to see that you’ve caught the underlying threat in his words.

(You should move.  You can’t.)

The whole world seems to let out the breath it was holding, but as you look around you realize that it’s not quite true.  What you felt was everyone trying subtly but desperately to look elsewhere, as if to hide that they don’t believe a word that came out of his mouth but are powerless to challenge him on it, to do anything but hand you over.  There’s a different weight to their silence, not a hope but a silent plea that you’ll play along, that he’ll be satisfied with taking you and leave the rest of them alone.

(You should move.  You can’t.)

You are not a coward.  Cowards would not survive the harsh path of Hamon, or the endless fight against the vampires.  Cowards would not survive Kars’ attention.  Cowards would thoughtlessly throw others in the path of the vampire in their bid to live another day, and you don’t do that—in fact, you barely resist as one hand and then another nudges at your back, pushing you to your feet, silently guiding you to take one step and then the other.  You are not a coward.  

(You are not a coward.  Why, then, in the depths of your heart, are you begging for anyone—anyone at all—to be standing in front of you, rather than behind?)

The people before you make way, giving every appearance of obeisance, but you can see in their downcast eyes that they are merely relieved that you’re choosing to play along.

(What chance do you hope for any of them to stand against Kars?  Why, then, are you finding it hard not to hate them even as you stalk past?)

You take every step as slowly as you dare, even with the insistent push of the villagers behind you.  If Kars is at all bothered by the wait, it’s clearly outweighed by satisfaction; the slow curl of his lips into a victorious smile might as well be a jubilant shout.  

At long last, you stand directly in front of him, and now it’s just you—nobody else dares to draw near.  It’s just as well, really.

Kars gives your body a long, slow once over, eyes lingering on the thick gauze around your neck, the clenched fists at your sides, the look in your eyes.  He hasn’t even changed his posture, still elegantly reclined, barely tilting his head to look up at you as you cast a shadow over his seat.

“Some things about you really can’t be changed, I suppose,” he murmurs, a cold whisper only for your ears, “Should I be proud, or disappointed?”

The barb hurts, but it’s a detached kind of pain, drowned out by the enormity of what you have to do.  “I’m coming with you,” you reply, and your voice comes out as a whisper—not because you’re trying to keep your voice low, but because you don’t have the strength to speak any louder, “so do as you said.  We leave these people in peace.”

He sits up, slowly, languidly, like a leopard about to pounce.  His arms open.  “Is that all I can expect for our joyous reunion?  Come, hero.  Won’t you embrace me?”

Your spectators are silent and unmoving, a human wall that blocks off your escape.  For a foolish moment, you entertain the idea of fleeing, but you discard the impulse about as soon as it registers in your thoughts.  

Another step.  Another.  And now you’re sinking, sliding into his lap, allowing yourself to be enfolded by stone-cold arms and breathless breath, in an embrace you know you won’t escape a second time.

He smells like flowers.

[twiceblackvelvet]

Iris

Pt.I

May 4th, 2022. 12:31 PM. Daegu.

The sweet smell of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers fill Joohyun’s nose as she breathes in the fresh air around her. The gentle reminders of her home have become a welcomed presence in the new life that began the day she stepped away from her position within Red Velvet. Every day surrounded by the wonderful nature haven she’s created for herself distracts her from thoughts of doubt or regret.

Most days are spent like this, tending to her little garden lined with the most beautiful flowers and their aromas. It’s not per se the civilian life she intended to have, but it’s the one she’s grateful for. People often recognize her, though, they refuse to speak and hurry along quickly once they realize that she knows they know who she is. No one asks questions despite them being on the tip of their tongue. The first few months were the worst, the staring being too intense and overwhelming. However, people have grown to respect her boundaries a little more as time has gone on. Now when they look, it’s a quick glance. 

After the disbandment, many people wondered why Irene had retired. Was it the pressure of the industry? Did she simply feel her time had ended? None of the theories being correct in that Joohyun wanted to feel like a normal human being once again and the way to do that was to say goodbye to being Irene. 

Her parents supported the decision to leave and move back to her hometown in a house close by their own. Their own days are a little brighter now that they’ve got her back with them to enjoy their days together instead of apart. Everything feels right, almost too comfortable.

The ground has been hard from the dry weather lately. The watering can suffocating from her tight grip offering the only relief for the Irises she and her mother recently planted. The purple hues they will offer by the time Autumn comes around is something Joohyun has been looking forward to since the day they found the bulbs at a small gardening market stall. 

“Those look pretty” A soft voice from beyond the gate speaks. Irene whips around to be greeted with the face of a stranger. “The flowers, that is. Although, you too Ire- I mean, Joohyun.” The man noticing her shift in expression at the use of her former stage name quickly decides upon using her birth name instead.

A crooked smile that would be unsettling if it weren’t for his eyes creasing in the corners along with it. Ruffled brown hair that’s too long for the soon to be summer weather that’s fast approaching. A suit covers his frame, though, a size too large for his small body. His nose is a little small for his face. Overall, he doesn’t appear threatening but his presence is confusing. Joohyun never has visitors.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Joohyun questions after the man offers no explanation himself. 

“No, sorry. I realize now that this is weird, I should go.” The strange man turns his body back toward the gate he’d only put one foot through, ready to leave faster than he arrived. His awkward stance almost garners a laugh from Joohyun if it weren’t for her still being kept in the dark about who exactly this man is. 

“Please, who are you?” 

The man stops dead in his tracks, contemplating whether to continue the conversation after such a bizarre first introduction to one another. A blush spreads deeply across his face once he turns back to face Joohyun, embarrassed by his own actions.

“Sorry. My name is Seo Dongchul.” Both Joohyun and Dongchul continue to gawk at each other for a few seconds until he finally realizes she doesn’t recognize his name or face. “I’m a screenplay writer. I thought you might have known who I am, that was stupid of me, I apologize again.” 

Joohyun’s eyes wander over the man once more, unsure of whether this person is who they say they are and the reason they’re moving to sit on the bench in her garden.

“One of my shows is about to be green-lit for production, it will be a big deal if we can get the budget we’re looking for.” Once again the man pauses awaiting Joohyun to telepathically piece his puzzling words together. “I’m here to offer you the main role.” 

A hearty cackle is Joohyun’s immediate response to his ridiculous offer. Not only is she retired, but she’s not ready for the main role in a drama as big as this man is proclaiming it will be. 

“I’m serious. I’ve written the main character based on you playing her. I’ve always been such a huge fan of you, Irene… Um, I mean, Joohyun.” The laughing suddenly stops as Joohyun notices how serious he is and that she isn’t being pranked. “I think you’re perfect for it and what better way to get you back out there in the spotlight. People seriously miss you.” 

Memories of old cloud Joohyun’s mind. The years of training unsure of whether a debut would ever happen or if she’d be selected for whatever group would be put together. Finally getting to perform on stage for the first time only to receive backlash. Bringing Yeri into the group and having to protect her for years due to people’s harsh words. Forming a sub-unit with Seulgi that meant more to the two of them than either could ever explain. The sense of pride for Joy when she got her first deal to appear in a drama and watching it religiously at the dorm to support her. The privilege of listening to Wendy’s incredible voice whenever she wanted to do so.

The very world she became a part of is difficult to navigate. More times than enough it has caused her a great deal of sadness or disappointment. But, those highs of hearing people scream your name can drown out every worry within anyone’s body if they truly drink it all in and allow it to consume them. The adrenaline is an unmatched high, but the hate that comes along with it is a deep and dark low. 

Perhaps Joohyun had been suppressing this feeling of missing her members and fans. Perhaps, she had begun to hyper fixate on the small land before her in hopes it would help her forget that deep down inside, she’s still to this day unsure if she truly made the right decision. Perhaps this is a sign or at the least her chance at a second turn. Or, perhaps this is all too good to be true and will only prove that escaping the idol life was the correct thing to do.

Acting had always been an interest of Joohyun’s since she debuted. However, any opportunity she was offered was declined by the company or she didn’t think she could connect with it properly. This role, if she were to consider it which she surprisingly even to herself is despite knowing nothing about it would have to be perfect for her to even think about giving up the normality bubble she’s become so attached to here.

“We’re hoping to have production up and running by October, but I’d need your answer by the end of June at the latest so we can schedule screen tests, wardrobe fittings, and the works.” Dongchul rummages through a backpack he removes from his back, pulling out a large folder. “Here’s the script. I’ve highlighted your character’s parts and wrote up a description in the front to help you get a feeling for what she’s all about. Just give it a read, that’s all I’m asking for.”

The man stands and places his backpack over one of his shoulders and lets himself out of Joohyun’s garden. A slight breeze hits her face and ruffles the sheets of paper firmly gripped in her hand. What an odd little man, she thinks. Yet, despite how confusing this entire thing was, she can’t help but wonder one thing.

Quickly striding towards the gate that Dongchul just exited, it takes a few seconds for her eyes to find him among the people enjoying a walk in the sunshine. However, his slumped shoulders inside the too-large suit are a clear giveaway. She runs towards him as quickly as possible, shouting after him before he vanishes.

“Hey wait, how did you find out where I was?”

Dongchul turns back towards Joohyun, noticing she’s still gripping his script, giving him a sense of hope. 

“Let’s just say we have a mutual friend,” he hesitates on whether to reveal their name out of fear it will be a negative reminder for Joohyun. Then she’d never consider taking on the role. “They told me where I could find your parents, I headed that way when I spotted you with your flowers.” 

A mutual friend, that could be anyone. Many idols transition into the acting world and any of them could have let slip that her parents live in Daegu, however, there’s only four who would know the exact address and only one of those has ties to acting. Rather than guess, she gets him to confirm her thoughts, anyway. 

“Who was it?”

A sad expression takes over his features before finally offering an answer. 

“Joy.”

pt. iii