#wheel of generality turn turn turn tell us the gender that we should burn

[rootandrock]

If ever you have misgendered me, no sweat.

It's been a long road getting to be comfortable with what I've known for a very long time, and for a while I even leaned very hard into trying to be as femme and Ladylike (even using that title for a hot minute) as I could possibly be. Some of it was just to tamp down insecurities in my then newly-formed 'hetero' relationship, some of that was an attempt to be "marketable". Some of it was before I was aware "No thanks" was a gender option, so it is what it is.

Properly, I use they/them.

I'll accept gendered pronouns in a pinch, and you're welcome to just Proper Noun me if you're trying to avoid upsetting someone who's precious about pronouns.

The world's a super shitty place sometimes. Just don't intentionally be shitty and it's all good.

[flying-nightwing]

Double Cross (Jason Todd)

Hi people! So this is my little project I was talking about. A sudden blurb of inspiration led me to this and uh. Here it is! Once again, this is super experimental so yeah idk about its potential. You’ll be the judge of that I guess

This time I worked on time jumps back and forth and perspectives, so let me know how it turned out!

Masterlist in bio/pinned!

Pairing: Jason Todd x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 6937

Warnings: swearing, uhhh idk it’s dc so you know what you’re into 

-- 36 hours ago --

Your heart was beating hard against your ribcage as you flew down Washington DC's streets. Your motorcycle was burning under you, and you had a feeling you were on the clock to get off of this ticking time bomb before it exploded and brought you down with it. The bullet holes broke the black paint, decorating your bike in a way that flagged unwanted attention. About six blocks ago, unmarked cars had joined your fast paced parade across the city.

A terrible mistake, all of this was. That was certain. 

You took a sharp right, your knee scraping on the asphalt on the way. An infernal noise came out of your bike, but you still willed it to accelerate on the straight alley. You shot back on the main roads like a bullet, swerving around the black police car that had tried to cut you off. But soon enough, you saw the blockade on the street in front of you. You could never jump it with your bike so in disarray, and there were no viable alleys to sneak into. You shut your eyes tight for a moment, then exhaled.

"I'm sorry Jason" You muttered to yourself. "But you left me no choice"

With a firm grip, you pressed the brakes and came to a stop a fair distance from the blockade. You turned off your bike and kicked the foot to hold it up, slowly getting off and pulling your hands up. Shouts erupted around you as the police mobilised themselves in tight formations, guns up and ready to shoot. With one hand up, you undid your tinted black helmet and let it fall to the ground. 

"On your knees!" An officer shouted as he approached. "Keep your hands where I can see them"

You complied.

-- Now --

The white of the neons glaring down on you made your already tired eyes hurt, saturating your vision with a harsh and constant flash of light. You were left alone with a room temperature glass of water on your left and your own reflection on your right. You couldn’t hear them, but you knew they were there, observing you. Instead, all you could see was the dark bags under your eyes and your messy greasy hair. 

You perked up when two men in suits came in by the door in front of you, thin files in their hands and calculating glances. They were nicely dressed, one with a gray suit and the other, black. Both suits were obviously tailored to them. They sat down in front of you and observed you before the one in the gray suit spoke. Dark hair, blue eyes, taller than the other, maybe around six feet.

“Good morning, Agent”

You only nodded, looking down to the table. 

“My name is Agent Baker,” He said. “My colleague here is Agent Tanev. We will proceed to your debriefing”

“Sure” You nodded again.

Agent Baker set a recording device on the desk and turned it on. “Please tell us again why you are here today”

“I am--” You paused, clearing your throat. “I am here today to deliver crucial information on a wanted criminal in exchange for a pardon” 

“Which wanted criminal should that be?”

“The Red Hood” You said, meeting his eyes. “I have names of associates, safe houses locations, frequent territories of operation as well as his specific m.o.”

“How come you know all of this?” He asked, his voice neutral. “No seasoned agent has ever managed to get this close to him, let alone a rookie. We want to know how you gained his trust, start from the beginning, spare no details. Leave nothing out”

“I met the Red Hood during operation 7381 in northern Lithuania” You began as Agent Tanev started to take notes. “I was in the back up team for the extraction of General Kradiev from a local opposant group. I wasn’t supposed to even see action, as it should have been simple enough against an untrained mob, but when is it ever…”

They had known you were coming. A whole grab and go operation had been compromised by the feeling of invincibility of the CIA, that looked down so much on whoever they went against that they never stopped to think that maybe--maybe--they were prepared.

So when the Alpha team stormed the country house where the General was supposed to be kept and found it empty, all action plans were thrown out the window. The Beta team was mobilised to close off all the roads surrounding the area and to search for the hostage. You were ordered to search a single decaying house in between two pine trees because the structure was so old, so  nobody could have ever been hiding in its debris. However, as you were leaving, you heard whimpers coming from the cellar a few feet away from the foundations. Carefully, you made your way to the wooden doors on the ground, and after making sure your magazine was full and the safe of your semi automatic off, you kicked the doors open and raced down the stairs.

“Don’t move or I’ll blow your head off” You yelled, pointing your gun at the first person you saw. It was clearly a man, wearing a bright red helmet that shone under the single lightbulb hanging down from the ceiling. He slowly held up his hands, but he didn’t seem so bothered. Your eyes found another man next, tied to a chair and wearing a bag on his head. The military uniform was a dead giveaway of his identity, so you returned your full attention to the red helmet guy. “You’re going to back up and face the wall now”

“Or what?” He challenged. “You’ll ‘blow my head off’?”

“Shut up!” You barked, taking a step forward. Your firearm was ready to shoot. “Do as I fucking say”

“You’re CIA uh?” He changed the subject, looking down at your marked bulletproof vest and not listening to you. In fact, he didn’t seem worried at all by the situation he was in. “Should have known. You guys have never cared who lived or died. What fucking difference does it make, as long as they’re good pals with the good ol’ US of A right?”

“God would you just fucking shut up and back up” You were getting impatient, but also nervous. You were alone without backup, with a guy in a red helmet who was clearly taunting you, and you had never shot anyone before. It was your first oversea mission, and already it was fucking catastrophic.

“See, that’s the thing” He held a finger up. “You’re pointing a gun at me like I’m the bad guy, while you are trying to rescue the scum of humanity. You’re going to extract him, give him a nice long life on Florida’s golf courses with the taxpayers' money and wipe out from History the mass graves in the woods two miles away”

You remained silent.

“Oh, did you not know about the mass graves?” He asked rhetorically in a mocking tone. “Your friend here decided he wanted to test the new shipment of automatic weapons, because their bullets per minute capacity had been expanded. And what better targets than the group of students that opposed the american military presence in the country? The youngest was 16 and her name was Vera Beliskava. Isn’t that right, Kradiev?”

He pulled the hood from the general to reveal his bloodied and bruised face. He had been gagged and beaten, that was obvious. He looked at you, pleading. 

“You’re the only one who saw” The man in red said, softer this time. “You don’t have to save that piece of trash. Just say your search came up empty and I’ll make him disappear from the Earth's face permanently without leaving so much as a trace. Nobody else will know, and you will go to sleep knowing you made the world a better place”

You took a breath, a million thoughts running into your head. Who was that guy? Why was he here? Why did he not attack you, while he clearly had a handgun strapped on his thigh? Could he be right about Kradiev? You knew he didn’t have the cleanest record concerning human rights, but mass graves? 

“Beta team, report”

You both froze as your comm broke the silence. He gave you a challenging look as you were still debating. You wanted to do good, that’s why you went into the secret services. Being complicit in mass murder wasn’t something you signed up on. 

“Nothing to report on the north road”

“Clear in the valley”

“Farmer’s house empty”

“No traffic on the south road”

You knew it was your turn now. Slowly, you reached for your comm, not breaking eye contact.

“Pinetree house’s clear” You spoke in a flat line, decided and direct as you lowered your gun. You shut down your comm and glanced at Kradiev, whose relief morphed into fear once again as your decision registered. You averted your eyes. 

“You made the right choice”

“I hope so, or I’m dead” You mumbled. “I’m going back now. Don’t make me regret my decision”

“You won’t”

“So just to be clear,” Agent Baker frowned. “You just… Believed him? And you let General Kradiev in his hands?”

“When I left, I went to check, and the graves were there. Kradiev was guilty”

“That was not your decision to make” He pointed out.

“I know” You sighed. “That was my first mistake. I-- I lost it for a moment. He mentioned the graves and the victims and there were so many people the same age as them I could think about and I decided with my feelings rather than my judgement. And I’m paying the price today”

“Alright” He mumbled, passing a hand on his face like he was already done with this debriefing. “When did you cross paths with him again?”

“We were back in America” You continued. “By that time, I was no longer on training wheels. It was a little more than a year later, in Newport Oregon during operation 9004. We were busting a trans pacific drug dealer on the docks when we got unexpected company…”

You were running as well as you could through the maze of freight containers on the docks, trying to push back the pain of the bullet in your leg. You had drawn the fire of the hired gang so your colleagues could proceed, but things went down the drain when you were met with heavier fire than the briefing stated. Outnumbered and outran, you stopped in your tracks and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. You wouldn’t go out as a coward, that was certain. If you went down, you’d take as many of them as you could with you. 

You reopened your eyes and checked the magazine of your gun, letting it drop on the ground and pushing a full one in. You loaded and clicked the safe off, flexing your fingers on the handle as footsteps surrounded you. You spun around and pulled the trigger, but before the bullet even reached your target, two men dropped on his side. 

You weren’t the only shooter. 

Thinking it was backup from your team, you allowed yourself to back up against a container, trying to stop the bleeding. You were starting to feel light headed, but you still had a bit more fight in you. Soon enough, all hostiles were down, and you were in for a surprise. Instead of the black uniform of your colleagues, you looked up to a red bat, a leather jacket and a familiar red helmet. You squinted your eyes and let out a chuckle of disbelief.

“Do I even wanna know?” You asked.

“I owed you one” He shrugged. “You okay?”

You looked down to your leg, your pants soaked in blood that was already cooling, then back up again. “Peachy” You gave him a thumbs up. “You were right about Kradiev. He was a fucking trash bag”

“It’s often the case” He said as he rested his hands on his hips. 

“You here for Hiko?”

“Yep” He nodded, then snorted derisively. “Any tips?”

Ever since Kradiev, you have developed a habit of researching your target better. Most of the time, it was a capture or an execution on site, so it didn’t matter the extent of their crimes. But there were moments when you were extracting the package without knowing what came next, and those times usually meant they’ll make them disappear under a new identity, without giving them any repercussion for their actions. This one, Hiko, was the later case, without any plan revealed for when you get him back. He was a known drug trafficker, but he was also rumored to smuggle people back and forth between Asia and North America through the docks he owned. The Red Hood’s appearance was well timed, to say the least. 

“Sneak past the squad through the east” You panted. “If you can move on top of the containers without being seen or heard, you’ll cut them off with about two minutes to spare. Make sure you’re gone with Hiko when they bust through the door, or neither of us will ever find him again”

He paused, studying you. “Thanks…” He trailed off. “Why are you telling me this again?”

“Well, you said it yourself” You managed to smirk. “If I can go to sleep knowing I made the world a better place”

He didn’t answer with anything else but a quick nod before he climbed the containers and disappeared from your field of vision. You sighed, then reached for your comm. “Alpha 003 to central, I’m down and need medical attention, Northwest entry of the docks”

“So if I understand correctly, not only you let him go again,” Baker exhaled, looking bewildered. “But you told him how to get there first? You realize those are becoming serious crimes right?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t” You snapped, before recomposing yourself. Both agents had backed away just a little at your outburst. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Sorry. I’m just tired, it’s been a crazy last two days” 

“Did he offer you any medical help then?” Baker returned on topic. 

“No, I called the medics and I was extracted with the chopper” You replied. “I knew he was there for Hiko, not for me. It was a coincidence we crossed paths, and at that point I thought it was the last time I’d see him. I mean, what are the chances, right? But you see, that here was my second mistake”

“How so?”

“The CIA goes after threats to national security, but so does he, in his own way” You said, locking eyes with Baker. “The guy’s everywhere, even where we don’t go. And he’s at least three steps ahead of us at any turn. He has good funds, good intel and exceptional skills. You don’t find him, he finds you. And that’s what he did”

“He contacted you after the affair on the docks?” He raised an eyebrow.

“We could say that...”

You finished washing your tea cup when you heard a thud coming in from your living room. Slowly, you grabbed the gun hidden in your cupboard and held it up, quietly making your way to the next room. You rounded the corner and pointed your gun to the man standing with his back to you, registering his identity as he turned around. You must have been a sight in your baby pink pajama shorts and mismatching turquoise tank top, pointing your handgun to a man in a shiny red helmet. 

You scoffed and lowered your gun, clicking the safe back on and putting the firearm on the lamp table. “Breaking and entering, really?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst crime I’ve committed” He shrugged, and you could just imagine him rolling his eyes, whoever he was under that helmet. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, crossing your arms against your chest. “How did you find me?”

“Like I find anyone” He answered like it was the simplest of evidence. You waited for him to continue, but he seemed to have no intention to reveal his methods. This time, you rolled your eyes. “And I’m here because I wanted to check on your leg”

“No you’re not” You snorted. He would have come months ago if it was about that, and even then, the little you knew about him told you he was not the kind to just check upon people who didn’t mean anything to him. “But I’m doing fine, thanks”

“You’re welcome” He nodded. “And you’re right. I need something from you”

“Well, go ahead, since you’re already in” You gestured at him to go on.

“Wait wait wait” Baker held his hand up. “He broke into your house and you just let him? You put your gun down and didn’t call anyone?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said” You replied slowly. 

“And it never occured to you that he was dangerous?”

You paused, thinking your answer over. “No, it didn’t. I mean, if he wanted to get rid of me, he would have done it on the docks where I was an easy target”

“Fair point” Tanev muttered under his breath, earning him a glare from Baker. 

“Now do you want to know what happened or not?” You said, annoyed at the interruption.

“Please, go ahead”

He reached inside his jacket and handed you a file. You took it and opened it, staring at the picture and the description beside it. “This is Ian Markstrom, he has been suspected to kidnap young women, mostly tourists, to sell them on the sex trafficking market” He began. “Not only is he friends with your big bosses, but those who were brave enough to try and get him locked up never got anything to stick, and that was the best case scenario. The others either disappeared or ended up dead, so I’m assuming someone in this government does not want Markstrom to stop”

You nodded. “What can I do for you?”

“There’s a secret auction strictly reserved for the elite, Markstrom will sell his best teenagers there” He explained, a hint of disgust in his voice. “The CIA chief of operation received an invitation. I want to know what it says on the card”

“I’m not sure I’m good enough to reach anywhere near it” You mumbled. “But sure, I’ll try”

“No, I believe in you” He said, and he seemed pretty sure of himself. You raised an eyebrow to hide your surprise at his compliment. “What I’m wondering though, is why you’re not asking questions”

“Well, you are two in two so far about targeting the bad guy” You said after a moment. “You seem qualified to spot ‘em, and you’d be real twisted to to make up that scenario for a petty revenge, so I’m guessing you’re on the mark again”

“Huh. You might just be the only smart CIA agent I’ve ever met”

You snorted. “Well, the more it goes the more I’m questioning the integrity of my employer”

“You keep impressing me” 

“With what I saw, I believe the bar was pretty low to start with”

“Keep talking like this and I might need a cold shower”

“You’re an ass, you know that?” 

He let out a short bark of laughter. “If only you knew”

“I’ll do my best for the invitation” You brought him back on topic, closing the file and putting it beside your handgun. “How can I contact you if I get it?”

He paused, then took a step forward and grabbed your wrist. He fetched a pen from his jacket and wrote a number. “This is a burner phone, which I will destroy after this whole deal. Don’t try and trace me with that, it won’t end well for you”

“Yeah yeah” You rolled your eyes, pulling back your arm when he was done. You cleared your throat, trying to ignore his overwhelming proximity. “I gave you two fast passes just to trick you into seeking my help to finally bag you, I’m busted”

“Hey, listen” He backed up, holding his hand in surrender. “I make that threat to everyone. It’s only a disclosure thing, I didn’t doubt your motivation”

“To each their own I guess” You shrugged. “Alright. If this is all, please get out of my apartment”

“Oop, sure”

Baker blinked slowly. “And did you? Communicate him the details?”

“Yeah” You nodded. “I managed to get into the chief of operation’s office, break into his safe, memorize the date, time and place of the auction and communicate it to Red”

“Red?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Short for Red Hood” Tanev clarified, and judging by yet another glare from Baker, he wouldn’t speak anytime soon.  

“He kept it on the quiet, but after that the chief of operation did seem a changed man” You smirked, before dropping it instantly. “And I didn’t hear anything from Markstrom, it was like he disappeared for good, which he most likely did. So I guess the Red Hood succeeded in taking him down”

“Jesus Christ” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Why do I have the feeling it wasn’t the last law you broke?”

“Because it wasn’t”

“Are you going to make a habit out of dropping out of nowhere to ask me for favors?”

This time, you knew who had broken into your property without even looking. You put the keys into your car and turned the engine on, trying to warm yourself. The Red Hood pulled himself upright from your backseat, shaking his head.

“Your car is very comfortable,” He declared. “You have good taste”

“So that means yes”

“Back at it again with your superior deduction skills” 

“What do you want?” You went straight to the point, but you were just a little amused. You could have a worst stalker. 

“I’ve been thinking this through,” He began, moved his legs so he was properly seated on the backseat. “You are skilled and you’ve got balls of steel. I could use your help more often. A partnership, if you might”

“Why do I have the feeling it took a lot to admit that and reach out?” 

“Because I don’t just trust people” He said plainly. “They disappoint me, among other things”

“So why me?”

“Like I said, skills and balls of steel” He repeated. “You went against the fucking CIA not once, not twice but thrice to do the right thing. That’s enough of a test of will for me. And besides, your job would be an advantage that is hard to turn away”

“Makes sense” You mumbled as you put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking spot. He buckled his belt like it was a reflex. “Will this partnership imply me shooting bad guys?”

“If that’s what you wish for” He shrugged, leaning forward in the space between the two front seats. “I won’t be the one to limit you”

“Okay, yeah” You nodded. “Where do we start?”

Baker was looking into nothing, processing your words. He shook his head slowly in disbelief before he met your glance. “I shouldn’t be surprised” He spoke after a moment. “But this is Everest high levels of stupid”

“At that time it did seem like a good idea” 

“Yeah, might as well jump off of a bridge…” He trailed off, eying you suspiciously. “Did you do that too?”

“Well, if we consider the time when--”

“You know what, don’t tell me” He cut you off. “Please go on”

“Alright” You held your hands up in surrender. “So, where was I?”

You and the Red Hood operated on the field like a well oiled machine. Your expertise and contacts with the CIA helped him get into places way more easily than alone, and your somewhat reckless ways were compatible with his mode of operation. You knew who he was as well, you found out after he nonchalantly took off his helmet after a stakeout. You had not been prepared for what you saw then, when you were faced with what you could qualify with the most beautiful man you had ever seen. 

“Hey, you okay?” He waved a hand in your face, making you snap out your daze. You blinked a few times, shaking it off.

“Yeah” You replied. “I just wasn’t expecting this”

“Expecting what?”

“I mean, the helmet did give disfiguration vibes… Obviously I was wrong” 

“So you think I’m hot then?” He snorted derisively.

“I do” 

His head did a whiplash. “Huh?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable” You backed away. “Sometimes my filter doesn’t work”

“No it’s--” He tried to find his words, then sighed. “I’m just not used to that, I guess”

“What’s the point of this?” Baker groaned, his head in his hands. 

“It’s a turning point that brought me here today” You explained, turning your palm up briefly. “You asked for details, I’m giving you details”

“I kinda wanna know what went down, to be honest” Tanev added sheepishly.

“Tanev, I’m going to drive you through the mirror if you do not shut up”

“Jeez sorry” He mumbled.

“As I was saying”

That day was the moment things changed in your relationship. There was this tension that hadn’t been there before, the little brushes of hands when you were side by side, the staring at the other while they weren’t looking, the unspoken invitations to stay a moment longer after a mission for a cigarette and a good conversation. He was one of a kind, you had to give that to him. He was passionate, driven, smart in a way that told you he never really had it easy but always made it work somehow; the way he always thought of the less obvious way to do things, how even his messes seemed calculated. 

It was raining in Chicago and the air was crisp. Your muscles ached from the fight in that warehouse against drug lords that enrolled kids in their schemes, that and from the unforgiving cold of January. You had one too many whiskeys back in that little studio flat he rented under a false name, and it led you straight to his bed. Trying to find warmth, trying to find a connection, it didn’t matter why, as long as you were as close as humanly possible to him. 

And it didn’t stop there. The night after, and the night after that, always in his company past the business hours. Your chemistry translated way beyond the field, for you found him in a partner in more ways than one. You grew quickly to feel love for him, more than you had ever felt for anyone. The number of times you woke up naked and tangled with him--

“Okay I don’t need to know this-- I do NOT need to know this” Baker yelled. If he could have flipped shit from the table, you’re sure he would have. 

“You told me to spare no details!” You argued. “This is a detail. I’m being as thorough as I can”

“You know what-- Forget it” He brushed his hand in the air aggressively. “Just get to the part we have interest in, for God’s sake please just skip to that”

“Okay, okay” You muttered, rolled your eyes. “It went well for the first months or so, it was great. Nothing to say on that front, I was happy and fulfilled in this new englobing partnership we had going on. That was my third mistake, to get into that kind of involvement with him. Because then, like all good things must come to an end, mine slowly began crumbling down in my hands”

“Okay” He sighed, half in relief. “Tell me more about that”

“Well, he started to show his true colors” You admitted, pulling your hands under the table. “Sometimes, he became something else. Something dark. And sometimes became most of the time, but I was too in love to see it. He became manipulative, controlling. He was everywhere, in everything I did. It’s like I didn’t even have control on my life anymore…”

“Where do you wanna eat?”

You looked away from the car window, your feet comfortably up on the dash. You took a deep breath and shrugged. “Dunno, where do you wanna eat?”

“Don’t really care” He shrugged too. “You decide”

“What about chipotle?”

“Sure” He nodded. “Chipotle sounds good”

Tanev shook his head sympathetically. “He wouldn’t even let you choose a restaurant?”

“Never” You looked down, sadness weighing your voice. 

“I’m so sorry you had to live through that”

“Thank you” 

“Alright, moving on” Baker broke the moment. “What happened next?”

“Next? Next came what comes every time in screwed up relationships” You answered, returning your hands on the table and crossing your fingers. “We burned like a meteorite as it tears through the atmosphere, falling to our demise to high velocity and taking everything in our wake”

“That was poetic” He pointed out sarcastically. “What the fuck does it mean?”

You raised an eyebrow. “We got dangerous for real, Agent Baker” You paused to take a reserved sip of the water. “If you thought I was reckless before, you’ll need to reevaluate your scale. I was in for real. I was his battle horse, his wildcard, his whatever that he needed to succeed. And I was good at it. The worst was, I didn’t even realize he used me as a smoke screen. He put me more and more often in fucked up situations that were way more dangerous for me than him, and I was naive enough to think it was love”

“No. This is not up for discussion”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You said you would let me choose--”

“I said I would let you choose, not let yourself get killed” He interrupted, slightly raising his voice. “This plan of yours is stupid dangerous. If it backfires, you are almost guaranteed of not making it out free, or alive for that matter. I’m not allowing you to take that risk. Not for me.”

“Again, ‘if’ being the keyword” You insisted, following him as he stomped out of the storage room. “I am capable of executing it flawlessly. I know I am, you’ve always told me I am”

He halted his steps, hesitantly turning to face you. His eyes softened as he sighed, taking your hand. “I know you can, it’s not about that” His voice was back down, even lower than his usual volume. “I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you for something I dragged you into in the first place, I would never forgive myself”

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead on his. “Okay” You finally said, nodding lightly. “We’ll find another way. Another plan. But we’re hitting that ball out of the park either way, I won’t let Preston get away with it”

He smiled. “Oh no, we won't indeed” He kissed the top of your head. “We’ll get him one way or another, I promise”

“I almost feel sorry for you now, Agent” Baker gulped. “I cannot begin to imagine what terrible things the Red Hood forced you to do under his manipulation. We however must continue this debriefing”

“Of course” You nodded quickly, breathing deeply. “So we planned our next move, but he wouldn’t tell me the final target. I found it weird, he always told me the targets. I don’t know, maybe he sensed I was trying to find a way out”

“And that plan was…”

“Yes” You didn’t have to let him finish his trailing thoughts, you knew what he was getting at. “So this brings us to 36 hours ago”

“Be as thorough as you can” 

“So the Red Hood gave me those instructions to follow” You began. “I was to draw the attention of the authorities to me in a city wide chase. Now, I am rather good with a bike, that I won’t hide, but outrunning police and secret services? That was impossible. I still don’t know how they got there, but it saved me. He would have never dared to come into the melee to get me back, and risk getting caught”

“Was he not afraid you’d talk to us?” Baker asked. “That was a pretty big gamble”

“He thought I wouldn’t talk I guess, probably for the same reasons I stayed with him for all this time” You said, biting the inside of your cheek until it bled. You hated to think about these words. “Because I believed I loved him”

“I guess that wouldn’t be too far fetched” He hummed. “Wouldn’t be the first time we saw it happen”

You nodded, remaining silent. Baker made eye contact with Tanev, then looked into the reflecting glass. He took a deep breath and returned his attention to you. 

“We are going to get you back to the holding cell while we process this information” He said. “But once we do that, you’ll be free, and with a new identity if you wish, as your agreement states”

“Thank you” 

“Just one more thing before we wrap this debriefing” He leaned forward. “You must know his name"

“Of course” 

“Then what is it?” He asked. “What is the Red Hood’s name?”

You looked down, taking a deep breath, then back again, locking eyes with Baker. Then, you spoke. 

-- 36 hours later --

The sunset over the valley was gorgeous. The mixes of pink and orange on the yellowed sky was straight out of a fantasy world, and Jason couldn’t help but appreciate the scenery. It was soothing, like it could swallow up his anxiety at least for a minute or two. He leaned on the wooden ramp, the sightseeing roadside station seeming not so cheesy at the moment.

He only tore his eyes from the burning sun when he heard a motorcycle approach from behind. He pushed himself off the ramp and faced the sleek black bike--the lack of use on it showing him it was brand new--then, the driver with a black tinted visor. 

You took off your helmet and smiled at Jason’s stern expression, whose eyes showed relief anyway. You turned off your bike and parked it, then got off and walked to him. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” 

You walked past him and leaned on the ramp he had been on moments ago, and he joined you. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered you one. He lit up both with his lighter, and you took a long draft before speaking. 

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice” You smirked, bumping your shoulder to his. “I did save your sweet ass, after all”

“I thought we agreed not to do that” He glanced at you sideways. His annoyance was also mixed with playful disbelief, like he both wanted to throw you off the cliff you were admiring the view from and do celebratory shots with you. 

“We did” You nodded, chuckling. “But circumstances changed. You weren’t out by the time I reached the monument, so I had to draw them away from you, or we would not be having this conversation. ”

“Still” He tilted his head to the side, before his head snapped in your direction. “Wait, did you call the secret services after yourself?”

You shrugged half heartedly. “Mayhaps” Your lips curved upward, while he shook his head. “I mean, it kinda was my fault too. I misplaced the bomb and it barely detonated. I had to flip to plan B, then they shot my bike. They had me surrounded, and my it was running low on life, so I skipped directly to plan fuck this”

“So you gave yourself up”

"Played the victim, pretended I wanted to exchange information on you for my freedom” You sighed, taking a drag of your cigarette. “None of which was relevant enough for them to even get close to you, worry not”

“They must have asked for a name” He hummed, now turning his full body toward you. “What did you tell them?”

“My grandpa’s name” You snorted. “He died two decades ago. Let me tell you, when they found out the last update on him was in the necrology of the 2001 Sunday paper, they were not happy campers”

“Then how did you get out?” He squinted his eyes.

“Oh, do not underestimate me, sweetheart” You grinned. “I’ve spent my whole career getting to know the buildings and the procedures for people like me. It was a piece of cake”

You were escorted out the interrogation room and into the small, yet cozy holding cell. You were on the clock, because the lies you’ve slipped into your story would unravel pretty quickly once they discovered that the name you gave them was a farce. Then, you wouldn’t be put in a minimal security room, but probably somewhere way less fun. 

“Hey wait” You called after the guard before he could close the cell door behind you. He paused his actions, waiting for you to speak up. “This wasn’t there last time”

He frowned and took a few steps into the cell, trying to spot over your shoulder whatever you were talking about. When he didn’t see it, he got closer and closer until he was all the way into the cell. “What wasn’t there before?” He asked, annoyed. 

You smiled. “You” 

With a quick jab of your elbow behind his head, he fell down unconscious on the floor. You grabbed his keycard and exited the cell, locking the guard in. You winked at the camera on the upper left corner of the hallway and made your way down to the garages as the alarms blared through the whole building. That meant it entered lockdown, closing all the escape routes. But you had your own fool proof plan.

Agent Baker began swearing when the hallway was plunged into the red glow of the lockdown alert. It hadn’t taken long for him to figure out you had led them in circles, and he had appeared a fool in front of his colleagues when he proudly revealed the name of a long deceased old man instead of anything tangible. He had been on his way to your cell when he realized the depth of this foolery, understanding you had been stalling them for this opportunity. 

“Sir, we are reporting engine noises in the garages”

“Fuck” Baker shouted, pushing the other man aside. Tanev was a step behind, his weapon drawn. They had stored your bike there, you must have gone back for it. “All units report to the garage, we’re having a break out. I repeat, all units to the garages”

They all flocked to the lower levels, ready to enforce the barrages at the doors and trap you with no exit. It was an excellent execution of emergency measures, but they definitely weren’t prepared for what came next. As they kicked the storage unit of your motorcycle, they came face to face with the bullet ridden bike with no driver in sight. Baker lowered his gun, squinting his eyes. Then, they widened comically as the dark smoke coming out of it and the strong smell of gasoline registered in his brain.

“Motherfucker” He spat. “Everybody out!” 

Seconds later, it exploded.

“You’re unbelievable” Jason scoffed, shaking his head. However, he now had a full blown grin to match yours. “I gotta give it to you though, blowing up your bike as a distraction was smart. Balls of fucking steel”

“Of course it was!” You replied, then reached in your pocket for your phone. “And it’s not even the best part, look”

You unlocked your phone and passed it to him, showing him your most recent picture of the CIA’s chief of operation dead with a letter opener through his neck. His eyes widened. “You got Preston?”

You turned around from your position, now leaning back on the ramp with your elbows resting on it. “The bike opened a window big enough for me to get the target” You said, finishing your cigarette and disposing of it in the ash bin on your right. “And with all those idiots guarding an empty garage, t’was easy enough”

“After all this time, you’re still impressing me” He nodded, holding up his fist. “Good fucking job”

You bumped your fist sideway with his, laughing at his baffled expression. The sky was getting darker and darker by the minute, but the air was still warm. You could hear the crickets in the high grass, and the silence was a peaceful one. You could admit that you had cut it close this time, that this gamble could have very well turned to shit, so you just took a moment to let the pressure slip away from your muscles, at least for now. You had the time to smoke another cigarette before you spoke.

“So now what?” You hummed, looking up to the bright stars above your head. “Markstrom’s ring is no more, and I’m pretty sure I not only lost my job by pulling that stunt, but also bought myself a ticket on at least three intelligence services’ most wanted list”

“Well, that’s nothing a good ol’ fake death can’t fix” He shrugged. “But until we find the right moment for your tragic public demise, I’m sure we can manage to find on our own some domestic assholes to beat up. What do you say?”

You met eyes with him, then raised your eyebrows. “I say let’s get to it”

[jaxsteamblog]

A Series of Confessions Chapter 8

Me, tossing another flower on Hayley Foster’s shrine: thank you for your abundant blessings.

Read Chapter 7

When Zuko went out to meet Katara later, he still had no idea what to tell her. She was waiting for him on a small footpath, a large bag hanging from her shoulder.

“Ready?” She asked.

“What’s all that for?” Zuko asked, gesturing toward the bag.

Katara gripped the strap with both hands and smiled at him. “You’ll see.”

The footpath took them to the back of the palace grounds and Zuko looked around to keep himself from staring at her. The moon had risen hours ago, but now as the sun pulled the orange light out of the sky, it was more vibrant. It wasn’t very large or extraordinarily bright, but Katara still had a bounce in her step for every full moon.

Hearing her pace quicken as her shoes crunched the rocks underfoot, Zuko suddenly realized where they were headed.

“Are we going to the hot springs?” He asked.

“This works better if we’re in water and I’m not walking into a turtleduck pond.” Katara replied, spinning around to look at him. Zuko smiled, but it faded as she turned back.

There was a vast cavern system under the palace, carved and molded by lavabenders from generations ago. A few of the rooms were protected by magma, but one enterprising bender decided to cultivate a pocket closer to the surface in order to make a hot spring. Zuko had occasionally wondered if he should ask Aang if that had been a Sozin or a Roku decision.

The spring wasn’t used often. None of the royal family was socially permitted to bathe in such a manner, and no minister would dare. Mai hadn’t been interested, equating it to sitting in soup.

Only his friends seemed to be excited about it and Zuko didn’t visit unless he was with them.

It meant this part of the palace was also fairly secluded.

Reaching the small building that housed changing rooms, Zuko and Katara slipped into their respective rooms. In the small chamber, Zuko was glad for the lack of a mirror. But just on the other side of the thin wooden wall, he could hear the shifting of fabric. Burning, Zuko looked down at the ground as he took off his shirt, focusing as he folded it.

Zuko stepped out wearing a pair of shorts, pushing his hair out of his face. He had been pushing off a haircut and it was becoming unmanageable.

Katara walked out next, still tying up her hair. She had upgraded her wraps for a Fire Nation suit that did just about the same. She looked over at him, her eyes glancing up and down.

“Your hair is getting long.” She said.

“Yeah I-” Zuko started as he ran his hand through it.

“You’re getting back to your tea shop days.” Katara interrupted, letting go of her hair and smiling at him.

Zuko smiled weakly back.

“I guess.” He said and Katara gestured for him to follow her.

“Let’s go.” She said.

The spring was split in two, to separate people on the vague concept of gender, but that never stopped them. Katara walked into the men’s side and Zuko trailed after her.

“Okay, start floating Fire Lord.” Katara said as she moved further into the spring.

Zuko obeyed, getting into the warm water and rolling onto his back. Swimming leisurely, he watched the violet sky move like a blanket over him. The stars had started to come out.

“Now, basically what I’m going to do is turn a lot of this water into healing water.” Katara said while she grabbed his shoulder, pulling Zuko closer.

“But.” Zuko said sharply and put a hand to his abdomen.

Katara laid her hand gently on top.

“Lightning does something I can’t undo.” She said softly before removing her hand. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Zuko frowned as he put his hand back in the water.

“I’d think you’d be more interested in this.” Katara said while she walked to stand at his head, tapping the scarred side of his face.

“It’s grown on me.” Zuko mumbled. “Well, we’re not thinking about that anyway. Close your eyes.” Katara said and Zuko again obeyed.

He closed his eyes and immediately was aware of the strong mineral scent of the water.

“While I get started, start thinking of your happy thought.” She went on and Zuko took in a deep breath.

At this moment, if he couldn’t consider himself happy, he was at least content. Zuko could feel Katara standing at his head, and was acutely aware of her presence. She acted like a divining rod for his memories.

He remembered Ba Sing Se and the tea shop. Zuko had been happy there, but it all fell apart when Azula showed up. Katara had been the one to tell her he was there, and she had apologized for not stepping in herself.

But Zuko wasn’t sure that would have been better, as he also remembered Jet taking matters into his own hands.

Still, Katara had listened to him in the catacombs. Though he made sure to drive that into the ground.

“Happy thoughts, Zuko.” Katara chided. Zuko took in another deep breath.

Five years had passed since the end of the war. They were adults now, with lives that weren’t dictated by destiny or fate. Sokka had taken up painting, and was considered a savant for his ability to paint mirror images. Suki used to meet regularly with Aang in order to write a biography of Kyoshi, and now worked to visit the places the former Avatar described. Toph loved the Foggy Swamp and often disappeared amongst the roots for weeks at a time. And Aang was, of course, leading the new iteration of Air Acolytes.

Katara was drawn to knowledge, soaking in it and collecting it in vast reservoirs. She had studied for a time under a teacher in Ba Sing Se, but spent her time traveling with Aang to learn something new.

It was a pastime Zuko shared, and he often found himself perusing various libraries or shops for a book to send her.

They wrote to each other then, sometimes short notes and sometimes exchanging treatises on what they were reading.

“At least you’re relaxing now.” Katara said lightly.

She introduced him to other types of philosophy. There was a concept that life was a wheel, that everything was connected, and that everyone owed each other the blessings of the divine life they all contained. Zuko appreciated the sentiment, but couldn’t bring it into his own life.

Though he certainly felt like he owed some debts.

Hadn’t he decided long ago that he would give his life for her?

It hit him like a lightning bolt and Zuko gasped as he sank in the water. Thrashing about, Katara grabbed him firmly under his arms, yanking him out. Sputtering and choking, Katara smacked her hand on his back to urge out whatever water he attempted to inhale.

“What was that? It was just starting to work.” She said.

“It’s nothing.” Zuko said hoarsely, pushing away from her.

“Did you at least find your happy thought?” Katara asked.

Holding his throat, Zuko turned. He wished he had choked as the words came up with a cough.

“It’s always been you.”

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 5

Summary: After discovering that you were stuck in Middle-Earth, Thranduil summoned a council of powerful Elves and wizards to see what should be done with you, expressing his wishes of wanting you out of his kingdom. The council decides to send you with Legolas on an orc-hunting mission, and if the Elves of the company that he deems trustworthy-- one of them being his own wife-- say that you've proven yourself worthy of staying among the Mirkwood Elves, then you can stay. The problem is actually managing to succeed...

Chapter No.: Chapter 5

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color [lad/lass/y-o]= lad/laddie, lass/lassie, young one

Notes:  I know I've been trying to keep this story gender-nuetral, but dwarves have a habit of referring to people (Even Gimli to Legolas, though he's a lot younger than our golden boy) as "lad/laddie" "lass/lassie." Or even "young one," I've heard Balin call Bilbo. So for this story, I'll just put [lad/lass/y-o] in parenthesese, and you can just hear whichever one you choose. :)

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir LIVES, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC maybe Bilbo you won't know for awhile, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

The Elves stopped just outside the northern border of the Mirkwood, to the west, to wait for the dwarves. But apparently the little guys just didn't give a shit.

The whole group camped for three days, then three more days, and by the end of it, you were even growing impatient. It was mainly the younger Elves that shared your impatience, but Elves like Elvenqueen and Erestor and Haldir seemed to think that they had all the time in the world, la la fucking la...

Legolas seemed in-between, irritated at the dwarves for being so late but not really caring in the long run. You tried several times to approach him and apologize, but he always seemed to disappear at the most inconvenient times imaginable.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity-- you were getting sick and tired of frolicking-- the sign of a camp on a distant ridge, a couple of days away, gave the Elves hope that the dwarves finally got their heads out of their asses and decided to show up. A couple of Elves seemed to puff some horses out of thin air, and galloped off to meet them.

"We get horses?!" You'd screeched, and wheeled on your friends-- Tauriel hadn't come, so Lindir, Elros, and pissy Blue-Eyes were the only actual friends here you had, even though all the other Elves were very nice to you. "Why the fuck didn't anybody tell me we got horses?!" You could've been riding to pass this time. Not that you knew how to ride a horse, but that wasn't the point.

Elros blinked at you in disbelief. "Those Elves awaited us on the border with horses enough for all. You have not seen them before?"

"No, dammit, or I would've been riding to pass the time!" You hadn't noticed them, because a certain Rivendell Elf had forced you to learn Elvish... You rounded on him. "Lindir! If you hadn't made me sit here and learn Elvish, I could've been riding!"

Lindir stared at you, then slowly raised an eyebrow challengingly. "You do not know how to ride, do you?"

You frowned. "That's not the point!"

Both Elros and Lindir chuckled amongst themselves. You huffed theatrically. "Fine, jackasses. I'm off to pet one of those sweet animals. You can teach me Elvish later."

Before either of them could stop you, you all but ran off, hoping not to slam into anybody or trip or cause something to fall that'd cause a huge mess. You were prone to all of them. And there were horses, enough for everybody there, and three very fat ponies that you almost started squealing over. Those, you guessed, were for the dwarves.

But one horse, out of all of them, caught your eye.

A sleek, gorgeous black, with a bright white star on his forehead. He was built for speed, like a racehorse, but he was sturdy, too. You looked for something to mark him as belonging to a certain Elf-- because you knew Elves loved horses, and that like all horse people, even look at their horse wrong and you make it on their kill list-- but they all seemed randomly selected out of somebody's stables, dressed in the same dark leather tack and saddlebags.

"Oooooh," You approached him quietly, and he nickered softly at you, his dark eyes scanning you and the Elves and the other horses warily. He seemed only recently tamed. "You, fine sir, are gorgeous."

"I beg your pardon?"

You promptly fell backward. Shit! Talking horses, too?! "What the fuck?!"

Legolas, with a smug smirk plastered onto his absurdly perfect face, sailed into existence from around a dapple gray mare. "Valar tell me you were talking to the horse."

"No, I can tell you I was talking to the horse," You sighed in relief, shaking your head as you stood. "But don't worry your platinum head, Goldie, all Elves are equally beautiful creatures."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, mellon."

You stroked the black's face gently. "No seriously though, he's beautiful. Does he have a name?"

Blue-Eyes didn't look up from brushing his mare's mane. "Most of the horses came from Rivendell and Rohan, which they bought on the journey. The rest came from the Woodland stables. I doubt you will find his name, if he has one."

You felt a little disappointed that you couldn't ask if you could have the horse. You'd always wanted one, but for... Personal reasons that had to do with your biological father, you never got one. "Well... I'll just refer to him as The Black, then."

Blue-Eyes turned around, and started inspecting his tack. "Hm... He seems to have come from our own stables." He stroked behind the stallion's ears, and the horse snuffed appreciatively.

"Legolas," You said quickly, realizing you should catch him when you have the chance. "I'm sorry for not telling you about me leaving if this didn't go well. It wasn't my choice; Thranduil wanted me to go with Elrond that day, but I asked if I could stay. He sent me on this mission to see if I was worthy enough to stay in his Palace of Fabulous. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but... I didn't think anyone would care if I left."

Blue-Eyes got a confused look. "Why... Why would you think that?"

You gave him a sad, lopsided smile. "No one has before."

Recognition, then regret, flashed across Blue-Eyes's face. "Oh, Sairen... I am truly sorry, mellon nin, I should not have been angry with you. I didn't realize... I should have, and I should not have been upset with you. I just... I do care if you leave, and, if I'm honest, I do not want you to go."

You patted his shoulder. "Just so long as you forgive me."

Blue-Eyes smiled at you. "Of course, mellon, if you can forgive me."

You grinned. "Forgiven." You nudged him with your shoulder. "I'm just glad we're friends again. I've never had so many people be nice to me, but only a handful of you I consider my friends."

"And who among us hold that honor?" He asked teasingly.

Oh shit... You'd seen movies where somebody's asked this question, and if the askee shows even the slightest bit of hesitation or interest in any of the friends, asker became pissed and/or jealous. Wait... Why do I care about that? You turned to him with a huge smile. "Well you and Tauriel, DUH, and then there's Lindir and Elros now. Just wait, I'll be friends with Haldir and Erestor too, and then your mom-- by the time I'm finished I'll even make your dad like me!"

Legolas chuckled. "I hope so, mellon."

"By the way," You said, and reached down to grab a handful of grass to give to the Black. "Lindir and Elros are trying-- and failing-- to teach me Elvish. I'm a horrible student, namely because I'm Elvish-challenged. Still, I'm learning, and I want you to teach me something very specific."

He looked confused. "What?"

You smiled. "Teach me the history of Middle-Earth! Everything you can! I can't read Elvish, but you can, and you know the stories pretty well, I'm guessing. So start with how the world began and continue on from there."

Legolas smiled. "Very well, Sairen." In one quick movement, he mounted his mare, then reached down for your hand. "Come. We will ride, and I will tell you all that I know."

You took his hand, feeling a spark from static you'd built up from petting the horse. He hefted you effortlessly up behind him, then urged his horse into a canter as you rode away from camp.

***

Needless to say, you fell off twice.

Once, you let go of Legolas for just a second as his mare jumped a small log, and whoops, there you go. After, still not learning your lesson, you let go of him while trotting beside a river and the horse's gait made you slide right off before you even realized what was happening.

Then you learned not to let go of Blue-Eyes, mostly because he laughed his Elvish ass off every time you fell, after making sure you were okay.

As for world history, it was all very confusing. There were like six different versions of somebody and a hundred different other guys shared the same name and places and descendants and confusing time periods and just ugh. That was one thing you remembered from Earth: Tolkien's works had always been confusing.

Long story short, though, there was a guy called Eru, or Illuvatar, and he created a bunch of friends through thought. These friends of his became the Valar, and Illuvatar created the whole universe-- Ea-- through more thought. Then he had all his friends-- fourteen of them-- sing, and they created the vision of Valinor, then Arda, and the mischief-maker was Melkor, brother of god-king Manwe.

Now, after a long bout of building and making and stuff they created Valinor and Tirion and Mandos and all that, and they created birds and beasts, but Melkor got jealous and tried to ruin it at every fucking turn. Seriously, the guy didn't give them a break.

Then, Aule, another Valar, who made a lot of shit, wanted to have a bunch of kids so created the little guys known as dwarves, and made them to be especially tough and hardy and stuff because they were supposed to be around during the time of Melkor. But, Illuvatar appeared in his living room one night and said "I think the fuck not my kids come first" which made Aule reeeaaaaaallly upset, so he tried to kill the dwarves (Supreme parenting 2.0!), but then Illuvatar said "wait idiot they can still live" so Aule put them in stasis-mode for like several million years, until somebody "accidentally" unleashed some new Elves into Middle-Earth-- which had no moon or sun.

So duh Orome shows up, says "hi" and everybody runs for their lives except for a few brave souls, who round everybody back up. So three particular Elves, Finwe, Lenwe, and Ingwe, who you're pretty sure were brothers, went to Valinor with Orome to see if it was suitable for Elves-- and it was pretty much Elven paradise, or Vegas or something.

THUS CAME THE FIRST SUNDERING OF THE ELVES, or, that's how dramatically Leggy told it; the Teleri came to rest on the shores of Aman instead of going still further (Who earlier had split further and some became the Sindar, who had stayed in Beleriand, and the Silvan Elves, who'd stayed in the forests of Beleriand or something, of which Blue-Eyes was the first.), the Nandor who got scared of mountains and refused to go further, and the Noldor, who came all the way to Valinor.

Once actually in Aman, the Elves loved it there. They were in paradise. Water. Books. Flowers. Sparkles. Everything an Elf dreamed of. They built a city on a huge hill called Tirion upon Tuna (No you refrained from laughing.), made of silver and gold and more sparkles, and there was lots of peace, until Melkor was finally caught and chained.

Peace, lots of peace, boring shit, more peace, then BAM, the idiot Valar let the bastard go, like dumbasses. Melkor hadn't changed of course, no one does. He started rumors like some crazy gossiper and started up a whole bunch of shit. At that time, this guy called Feanor was around. He was like, the Elf of Elves, but he had some breathtaking anger management issues because after his mom died, his dad waited like a couple thousand years then got married again, and he definitely did not like his stepmom.

Or his two half-brothers.

They were pretty cool guys, Fingolfin and Finarfin, and each brother had like a dozen kids each, one of Finarfin's, get this, was Galadriel. One of Thingol's kin? Celeborn. Elrond? Yeah, he's the grandson of Beren and Luthien, the son of Earendil, raised by Maglor, related to Turin, and his grandparents were Tuor and Idril, the latter of which was the daughter of Turgon, who was the son of Fingolfin, who was the brother of Feanor, so yeah.

Holy fucking shit. Their god stories were kinda hard not to believe when people still existed who could vouch for them.

So this Feanor guy created a trio of sparklies beyond all sparklies, called, the Silmarils. He got a mild case of dragonsickness, boasting and hoarding and showing off and gloating, but Melkor made him think his brothers were trying to steal his sparkles, which, fuck no, how dare they, and he made his brothers think that Feanor was trying to usurp their father Finwe's throne.

Damn that guy knew how to stir up some shit.

One of Melkor's chief servants? Sauron, the Dark Lord, previously known as Sauron the Sparkly Maiar Who Wouldn't Hurt A Butterfly. Balrogs? Yup, Melkor made them, too.

Basically, Feanor started a revolution against the Valar and Melkor, who he called Morgoth, because Melkor was just too pretty of a name for such a bad guy, who stole every single light with the help of a hideously large spider called Ungoliant, killed Finwe, then took the Silmarils.

Feanor was piiiiiiissed.

So the Noldor left Tirion, killed some guys that tried to reason with them that turned out to be Elves, the Teleri, got cursed by Mandos, then Feanor, his sons, and a couple hundred who he knew didn't question him set off on stolen boats and burned them when they reached shore, leaving everybody else-- Galadriel included-- to walk the fucking Helcaraxe, a snowy strait wasteland, to get to Beleriand, which was filled with sparkling twinkle-toes Elves and much-less-serious dwarves-- who were friends.

There was also a good portion of the story dedicated to Turin, Beren and Luthien, and the couple known as Maedhros and Fingon, who you instantly adored: Maedhros, chained to a jagged cliffside for who-knows-how-long, and Fingon, who wanted so badly to save him, and eventually carried up to the cliffside by an eagle; he had to cut off Maedhros's hand, but the story was so heartfelt you were still internally squealing about it.

Yeah so that happened, and then a bunch of war and slaying and something about a Fall of Gondolin and the Children of Hurin and Beren and Luthien leading up to a whole lot of human-caused shit with Numenor, and then Illuvatar blew everything up and restarted, essentially. Toward the end of the second age, Sauron (The fucker had somehow lived through all that evil-cleansing shit.), in the form of a fancy-prancy Elf named Annatar, suggested the making of the Rings of Power. Three, a smart guy who hadn't fallen for any of Annatar's shit, Celebrimbor, hid for the Elves, while Sauron/Annator helped forge the rest in order to control them, making one ring, above all.

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the dwarf  lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for mortal men doomed to die,

And one for the Dark Lord on his Dark Throne,

In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie,

One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them,

In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie.

That was totally cool and stuff, and a handful of well-known Elves-- Gil-Galad, Glorfindel (Who'd uh, previously died due to a balrog trying to touch his hair.), Elrond-- and you're betting Galadriel, Celeborn, and Thranduil-- plus a bunch of well-known humans, lead by Isildur's dad, Elendil, and probably some dwarves, all came together with their armies and formed the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, totally discounting every dwarf that was there.

The nine kings who'd been given rings? Yeah, those were cursed, and because Men are greedy, they became shadows of their former selves, black-clad servants of Sauron, known as the Ringwraiths-- or, even cooler, Nazgul.

So there was a huge battle. Gil-Galad fell. Isildur's dad fell. Isildur cut off the One Ring from Sauron's hand, Sauron faded away, and Elrond took Isildur into Mount Doom to destroy the Ring. But he was weak, and was seduced by its power, and Elrond just stood there screaming his name apparently.

So there'd been roughly a couple thousand years of peace, and nobody knew where the Ring was. You doubted it was anywhere safe or secure, and much less that Sauron was actually dead.

Also, the Elves were fading. That scared you.

"What?! Great, I got sucked into a world where I'm just gonna die!"

Legolas laughed. "No, mellon nin, we are fading. Not dying. We just long for home, and our kind is slowly leaving Middle-Earth. This world becomes gray to us after so long of living here. We go across the sea, to the Undying Lands of Aman and Valinor."

"Okay," You leaned around him to see his face. "What is it with you Elves and the sea?! What's so important about it, if even you've never seen it yourself?! I certainly haven't seen any kind of ocean or sea."

Blue-Eyes smiled at you. "The first sound ever heard by the Elves was flowing water. It calls us home, in a way. It is said by my people that in water there yet lives the echo of the Music of the Ainur that first created this world."

"Huh," You said, tilting your head. "Guess that does make it really interesting..."

The sound of another pair of hoofbeats, coming up from behind, nearly made you fall off of the horse again. "Orcs?!"

Blue-Eyes grinned smugly. "Orcs do not ride horses, Sairen."

"Duh. I knew that. Fuck you."

"I'd rather you not without my consent."

"That's not always what it means!" You hid your blush by moving so your head was behind his back. Damn Elves...

It was Erestor, riding a gorgeous flaxen stallion. "Legolas, Elvenqueen calls upon the company of [Y/N]."

Nervously, you peered around Blue-Eyes's side. "Is that bad?"

Legolas spurred his own mare into a canter as he followed after Erestor. "Not in the least, mellon."

When you returned to camp, Erestor and Legolas took care of the horses, while they sent you on ahead-- by yourself, to a scary yet badass Elvenqueen you might glare you out of existence if you breathed wrong, like the wonderful friends they were-- to the Elvenqueen.

She sat by one of the center campfires, surrounded by a drove of Elves eagerly listening to whatever she was saying. Even in the firelight, she looked really young, but really regal and noble and even though she didn't have a wrinkle on her body you could tell she'd been around for eons.

All went silent when you approached. Nervously, you bowed. "Y-you wished to see me, your majesty?"

"Yes," She said, and waved to a place on a log across from her. "Sit."

You weren't terrified or anything. Just 'cause she decided not to skin you alive a couple days ago didn't mean she couldn't change her mind. You caught a glimpse of Elros in the crowd, and he gave you a reassuring nod: Don't worry, you won't die yet.

Comforting.

"Tell something of your world," She said.

You balked. Hadn't Thranduil told her everything you'd said? They seemed like the type of couple to do just that. Hadn't Legolas at least given her some information? They seemed close. You swallowed hard, readjusting yourself on the log. "What uh... What do you want to know?"

She thought for a second. "A tale."

You shifted. Sure, that was specific. You'd read billions of books (Well, maybe not quite that much...), but you couldn't remember any that Elves would want to hear aside from series’, like Temeraire, or The Gospel of Loki, or Eon the Last Dragoneye. Maybe you could use a movie, but Marvel and Transformers were too long and in-depth. You thought for a minute. You didn't even know how to give a much-shortened version of Eragon.

But out of everything, it was your best bet to tell a story and be safe from explaining your world's past, or things of your world, or cultures, mythology, or the concept of giant robots from another planet that hide by transforming into cars. Eragon was the closest thing you had to Lord of the Rings that you could remember right off the top of your head that was most similar; it had some of the same beasts, like dragons and werewolves, it was set in the same genre and had dwarves and Elves and Men, even if urgals were a new one... Then again, you weren't sure how they'd take dragons being good instead of hoarding assholes.

So, you got started.

As a hobby, you wrote a lot of fanfiction, which had mainly been for Lord of the Rings; you couldn't remember any of it now, of course, but you'd also started your own fantasy stories that had never been published. You were good with storytelling.

There were points where you had to pause and remember what happened next, or try to find words that explained the guilt or sadness or general feels of the story, but you did pretty good. By the time you were finished, the sun had came up and it was already noon, and the Elves that'd gone off to see if that camp was for dwarves were coming back, with a couple of pony-sized rams with shaggy coats carrying three tiny buff hairy guys.

Elvenqueen regally stood. "My thanks, [Y/N]. That was a wonderful story." She sailed through the ranks of the Elves, which parted before her like reeds to a boat.

"Is that a true story?" Lindir asked you, eyes wide.

You scoffed. "If it were true, I'd've had a dragon named Saphira or Shruikan. I have no dragon." You clapped your hands together. "So! When do I get to meet the dwarves?"

Blue-Eyes-- who'd joined later in the story, and another Elf caught him up on what was going on while he half-listened to what else was going on-- mockingly rolled his eyes. "Patience, mellon. I cannot think of any Eldar whom would willingly want to make the acquaintance of a dwarf."

You gave him a pointed look. "What about Thingol's people?"

Silence. Finally, Elros busted out laughing, and clapped the now-stunned Legolas on the back. "They have a point, mellon!"

But Blue-Eyes was right. It was only a couple hours before you were sought out by a Lothlorien Elf, who told you Thorin wanted to meet "the one who hailed from far." Apparently, nobody here felt like saying "the person that came from another planet." Not as mysterious, apparently.

So you followed the Elf to a tent, much smaller than those of the Elves, and a lot less colorful and, dare you say it, fashionable. Literally, it just looked like a bunch of old dark-colored blankets had been stitched together haphazardly. But, if you looked at the tools and tack of the rams, they were just doing it in spite of the Elves, because they had really good craftsmanship.

You weren't sure what to do. "Uhhh... Knock knock?"

You belatedly remembered one of the dwarves was royalty. "Sirs?"

The flap of the tent opened, and you got your first look at a dwarf.

He was an older dwarf, with a long graying beard and frizzy hair, and huge round ears. He looked you up and down in a brief but kind inspection, and, came to the very educated conclusion of, yup, not your normal Elf.

The dwarf smiled. "Ah, you must be [Y/N]." He sounded more Scottish than anything, and you were instantly relaxed. "The one from a far place. Not a normal Elf, then?"

You shook your head. "No sir. Just got here about a month and a half ago, actually."

He raised a hand. "Now now, we are all a part of this expedition, and I don't like being referred to as 'sir.' I am Balin to you."

You couldn't help but smile. He was a lovable little guy, a very sweet old dwarf. "Okay then. But, uh... Should I call Thorin or Dwalin 'sir'?"

Balin thought about that. "Ehhh... Thorin, yes. Dwalin? No."

You nodded, and Balin lead you inside the tent. It was pretty cozy, with three logs covered in roughish furs for makeshift beds. A small cooking fire was set up in the middle, and two other dwarves sat by it, halting their dwarvish conversation when they seen you and Balin. "This is they," Said Balin, in an introductory way. "[Y/N], child of [M/N], from far places."

The dwarf who you assumed was Dwalin-- buff, sleeveless, and with viscious muttonchops that made him look like Wolverine-- scoffed. "Tell me," Holy shit, he sounds like Leonidas from 300! "[Y/N], do you perhaps come from the Iron Hills?"

"Iron... What?" You were confused. Hadn't any of the Elves talked about you being from Earth? "N...No. I come from a place called Earth."

"Dwalin," Said the other guy, who radiated kingship, authority, and regal dwarfish-ness. He didn't take his eyes off you, like you were a predator ready to strike that he was wary of. He had a beard, but braided neatly down, and long dark hair. He wore dark navy blue and brown fur armor, and his voice was like, super deep. "They are not of the Iron Hills."

"Uh... Thank you?"

Thorin stood, and you bowed. "I'd uh, use some really respectful greeting, but I don't know any in dwarvish yet, so, it's an honor to meet you, Thorin, son of Thrain."

Thorin nodded. "I would say the same, if I knew you deserved any honor," He replied. Ouch.

You didn't know what to say. He obviously had no love for Elves. "What uh... What made you think I was from the Iron Hills, wherever that is?"

"To the east of Erebor, [lad/lass/y-o]," Balin informed you, and Dwalin whacked him so hard upside the head you could've swore they broke something.

"Oh. What made you think--"

Thorin looked at you with a look that said stfu so you did. "The dwarves of Erebor think little of Elven magic, or wizards. We did not believe a portal strong enough to pull someone from another world could exist. And as I have discovered, it does not."

You were confused. "What do you mean? You mean the ears? Those were latex, I swear, but suddenly they weren't. You can ask Thranduil, I'm not from these parts."

Thorin glared at you. "I would rather not converse with the Elvenking. He does not hear the word of others. As for you... It is clear you are merely an Elf of strange upbringing, who lost themselves in the wrong woods."

"Okay," You were starting to get irritated. You loved Middle-Earth, but you weren't from Middle-Earth. You didn't belong, like always, and you were ready to defend your position. In Game of Thrones--you'd never gotten far in that series, and had only started the books-- Tyrion Lannister told Jon Snow to armor himself in what people thought his weakness was, so that it would no longer be his weakness. That's exactly what you'd done over the course of your life, and you weren't about to lose that now. "Listen, I can show you the damn portal. It wasn't made by Elves, or wizards, or any of that other shit. The inscription on the portal came from the time of Gondolin, if that means anything to you. Do I talk like an Elf, to you? Do I act like one? The Elves were ready to kill me, just because I breathed wrong near their damn trees after being chased by orcs on oversized dogs. If I weren't from another world, do you honestly think I'd have such elaborate stories?"

Behind Thorin, Balin patted his hands down, giving you the silent signal to shut up. Glacing at Thorin's pissed off face made you listen. "How am I to believe you?"

You made a face. "Don't you dwarves have any kind of lie-detecting abilites?"

Balin sighed. "None that we can think of, [lad/lass/y-o]."

You huffed in defeat. "Okay, okay, you know what? You dwarves are beyond stubborn, so I'll just tell you once: I come from another world. If you don't believe me, fine, but I'd actually like to make friends with dwarves, thank you very much."

"Oh!" Dwalin chuckled deeply. "Then they must not be an Elf, Thorin! None in their right mind would go cavorting with a dwarf!"

Thorin frowned. "Perhaps a spy... But wait... You are not of the Woodland Elves. I see that now."

You looked down at yourself. "Gee, what gave it away?"

"You carry yourself differently," He began to circle you, and you felt like you were being circled by a vulture. An angry vulture... "Most unlike them, or any Elf I have heard tale of. Whom were you raised by?"

"Uh, my mother," You quipped with a cocked eyebrow. "Her name is [M/N]."

"And where do your kin reside? With the Rangers of Dúnadain?"

"With the what? Is that some kind of club?"

"Club?" Thorin repeated. "You believe that to be a weapon?" He gave you a disbelieving look, and you sighed.

"No, no. Where I come from, a club is a group of people that gather together and talk about stuff they like, or try to run the schools or shit like that," You were trying to explain with excessive hand movements, but you only seemed to be freaking him out.

He narrowed his eyes. In a rough and rusty language that sounded like it could be dwarvish, he said something; you didn't even catch any of the words.

You stared at him blankly for a second. "Mae g'ovannen...?" You tried, wincing at your hopeless pronunciation of the words.

Thorin regarded you with a newfound look of awe. Behind him, Dwalin chuckled. "That, was his attempt at Elvish. And you did not understand what he said?"

You stared. "...No? Was I supposed to? Did you just say something important? Or insult me? Hey, I'm only just starting to learn Sindarin!"

Thorin's look of awe shifted to a scowl and a bitter smirk. "It was not Sindarin, I can assure you. It was Quendi, that of the Noldor, the only Elvish my people know."

"Quen-- Oh, I get it now. Different Elves, different languages, it's all coming together..." You swung your arms casually. "Ok, so, what'd you say?"

"I told you that you are an imposter, and no better than Orc-filth" Said Thorin absentmindedly, "Which would send any Elf into a fit of well-groomed rage."

You couldn't help yourself. You burst into a fit of giggles, making all three dwarves look at you weirdly. "I-I'm sorry," You wheezed, "'Well-groomed rage'; yeah, that's pretty much what they do!"

"What of this quest, then?" Challenged Thorin as he took a seat. He gestured for you to do the same. "If you are not of the Wood Elves, yet you are indeed Elven, why are you on this journey? What purpose do you have here?" He poured you a drink; you'd never really tasted ale or mead of any kind, and recoiled from the smell.

"In order for you to understand, I'd have to tell you the story," You told him, and he gestured for you to continue. So you did. "I fell from the highest branches of an oak tree playing a game with my family. It was a standard day. Standard, pointless life. A life in a dying world that was way too fucking overpopulated, in the wrong damn places. It was a twisted kind of home. I didn't like it, and did what I wanted, so people hated me. I was dressed as an Elf--hence the ears.

"I wake up in the middle of the night, still in the forest, and am suddenly being chased by orcs on the backs of oversized dogs with six-packs on their faces."

Thorin grew confused. "Six-pack? What is that?"

You patted your stomach. "Those rows of six square tight muscles you get on you stomach if you work out. Now lemme finish!

"I get caught up in a river, shot by an arrow, and am half-dead by the time the Elves arrive lead by Blue-Eyes-- uh, Legolas-- and they're ready to kill me, but because I'm pretty much dead and in their forest, I'm some kind of threat. Because they're real nice like that. Thranduil-- who I kindly refer to as, Lord Fabulous-- wanted Leggy to kill me on the spot. Blade to my neck and everything. Until I pointed out that I could go home if we found the portal and would never return by pain of death. Ouch, but whatever.

"So we look, find it, and surprise! Can't get through. Can never see my family again. Can never go home. Suddenly I'm a real Elf. I go into a kind of depression before I realize that this place was a fictional world from where I'm from, which I'd loved, but for some reason can't remember shit now." You pointed to him. "Your name is important. Very. I know that much. You do something really cool, probably.

"But the Council of Wisdomy Guys was summoned, and they decided that it would be best if I proved my worthiness to stay among the Wood Elves on this mission. No pressure!" You grinned maniacally. "What brings you here? I hear a certain gray-robed wizard?"

"Ah, yes," He sighed. "Gandalf. My father met with him whilst I was in the depths of Erebor, so I heard no word of it and could make no protest against it until my father told me that I was to travel with two of my choice to assist the Elves. I only tolerate this for my father's sake, and he claims this will be a good lesson for kingship one day. But when I heard word of someone from foreign lands, I feared it was the dwarves of the Iron Hills attempting some form of scheme. Never have they liked us, and they never shall."

You scoffed. "Yeah, well... Most of the Elves may not like you either, but some of them aren't so bad."

Dwalin choked on his bread. Balin gave you a sad look. "But they tried to kill you!"

You shrugged. "I'm used to getting awful treatment. And besides, now that they know me, I've made some friends. Tauríel, the Captain of the Guard; Lindir of Rivendell, and Elros son of Elrond... And then there's Blue-- Legolas."

"Why d'ya refer to him that way?" Dwalin demanded with a disgusted look.

You shrugged. "A nickname. Where I come from, it's a gesture of friendship. I call Lindir 'Lindy' and he hates it, I can tell."

Thorin snorted. "Well, [Y/N] of Earth... Should the Wood Elves refuse your company, Dale might make a nice, temporary placement until you find elsewhere."

You smirked, nodding slowly. "I heard that emphasis on temporary. Don't worry; I thank you for your hospitality, but Lord Elrond is staying at the palace until I return. If I fail, he'll take me back to Rivendell with him."

"Good. One less Elf on our borders to deal with."

"Oh screw off."

Thorin grinned bitterly, but waved a hand. "Begone, I am done with questioning you."

You scoffed, and Dwalin took your drink and guzzled it. to your shock and amazement. Out of the three of them, only Balin wished you a goodnight.

But you weren't tired, which you realized as you found yourself heading back toward the horses. "[Y/N]," Said a familiar voice, and you turned to see Haldir striding toward you.

You bowed, suddenly recognizing him as somebody of high rank. "Mae l'ovannen, Haldir of Lothlorien. What's up?"

He blinked in confusion. "I..." He slowly looked up. "Believe the stars..."

You chuckled. "No, no; that's an expression, where I come from. It means how are you doing, what is it you need, nice to see you, etcetera etcetera."

He stared at you. "...'Et... Cetera...?'"

You slumped over. "Oi... It means a general list of similar meanings that're implied but nobody feels like saying."

Haldir smiled. "Oh, I see. Lindir wished for you to return, so that you could continue your lessons in Sindarin." He didn't miss your look of disappointment. He smirked. "Perhaps, when you are finished with Sindarin, and already know Common, Quenyan would be best for you to learn."

"Pfft," You waved a hand. "I'll live forever. Might as well. I'll toss some dwarvish in there while I'm at it."

Haldir made a face. "I suppose that is up to you, but every dwarf speaks Common, so it would not pose any form of language barrier for that to be avoided..."

*** You were woken up no later than the crack of fucking dawn, by an elaborate blowing of horns that probably alerted ninety-seven percent of the orcs of the northern borders to your presence, but oh what the hell.

What else you woke up to?

"Galu, mellon nin," Said Legolas with a shit-eating grin. "Ci maer?"

Slowly, your groggy eyes went from wide to thin, angry slits. "...I swear to the Valar, Blue-Eyes... I just fucking woke up. What are you saying? Speak in Common, or I'll tear you limb from limb because I am not a morning person."

He gave you a look, but couldn't wipe the smile off his face. "Le leich, Sairen. But if you are going to learn Elvish, then you must actually try to do so. Tell me, what did I say?"

You shrugged and slumped over onto a log. "Grapefruit, melons win, kid mobster."

Blue-Eyes chuckled, but internally, you busted out laughing after realizing what you said. "No, [Y/N], you have to do this. Concentrate. What did I say?"

With a sigh, you thought about Lindir's grueling lessons with you yesterday. "...You said, 'A blessing,' which is basically 'hi,' first; Galu. Then you said 'my friend,' and, 'are you well.'"

Blue-Eyes nodded, looking excited that you were getting the hang of Elvish. "Excellent. Now respond to me in Sindarin."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. In the most unenthusiastic tone you could muster, you said, "Galu, Legolas, ni maer. A gin?" Blessings, Legolas, I am well. And you?

"Ni maer," He replied, then began polishing his bow. "Worry not, Sairen, soon Sindarin will come to you thoughtlessly. You already swear to our gods, instead of your own."

You did roll your eyes this time. An idea hit you. "Hey..." You looked at him with a huge smirk. "What's fuck you in Elvish?"

Legolas paled, then blushed. "You will learn how to speak intimately to another later--"

You huffed. "NO! What's your most offensive insult?!"

Blue-Eyes thought for a minute. "...Ego, which is the equivalent to what you mean when you proclaim that Common phrase of yours... Hopefully, most of the time."

You bit back a laugh. "...Eggo? As in, L'eggo my eggo?"

Blue-Eyes gave you a concerned look. "I... I am not sure what you mean, and it is not pronounced as you say it."

Commotion started up, and you spun around in your seat wildly to try and see why everybody was suddenly moving and packing up. "What's goin' on?"

Legolas smiled. "Well, Sairen, we are off to track the orcs."

You looked at him in a panic, pointing futilely to an Elf packing up the cooking supplies. "B-but... What about breakfast?" That sentence reminded you of someone... Someone small and innocent and prone to causing disasters... But who? Blue-Eyes didn't give you time to figure it out.

"You will not starve, mellon nin," He told you gently, and stood. "You are an Eldar now; you'd best learn what your body can do now rather than later." He smiled down at you. "Dadwenithon."

As if you understood what that meant, he practically skipped away. "...Dad marathon?" You repeated in disbelief. You got up and went to find somebody you knew, preferably not the Elvenqueen, Erestor, Haldir, or Thorin, because they'd just find you childish, or annoying. Elros was quick to find, and you approached him and his palomino steed with a very confused expression.

"Hey Elros?"

Elros looked up from brushing his horse's mane and smiled. "Ai, len suilon, mellon nin. Ci maer?"

You rolled your eyes. Stupid Elves and their five hundred different ways to say 'hi...' "Galu, Elros. Ni maer, a gin?"

"Ni maer eithro. What brings you to my company?"

"What the hell does dad marathon mean?"

Elros froze and looked at you like you were crazy. "I beg your pardon?"

You gestured wildly over your shoulder. "Legolas got up, walked away, and said dad marathon! And I've got no idea what he said!"

Elros grinned knowingly. "Ai,Legolas said dadwenithon. It means, roughly, I will return." He gave you a disgusted look. "And that is not how it is pronounced at all."

"Oh. Dadwenithon?"

Elros smiled proudly. "Yes! Precisely! Well done! But if Legolas told you he would return to you, evidently he meant for you to stay where you were."

Your eyes bugged out of your head. "Oh. I'll be going, then. Novaer." You didn't realize you'd said an Elvish farewell until you'd reached where you'd originally been seated, but that jumped out of your head when you seen Legolas waiting with his dappled mare and the black stallion (Heh heh...) from yesterday.

"Ooh! What's this all about?"

"I decided you should have your own mount throughout the course of this journey," He replied with a smile. "He is yours for now. Name him as you will, and by the end of this journey, I shall see if you may keep him."

You stared at him like he'd just grown a second head. "Wh... What? Keep him?"

Legolas smiled. "Surely you would wish to ride at will throughout the northern parts of Mirkwood?"

A huge smile spread across your face, and you excitedly spread your hands. "Well, duh! Gin hannon, Legolas! I'll call him..." You took the reins and looked him in the eye. "Starlight. I've always wanted a black horse called Starlight."

Blue-Eyes patted your back. "Well done, mellon. Already, Elvish is beginning to seep into your speech."

You looked at him in surprise. "I did that on purpose you dumb blond."

Legolas's eyes widened slightly. "Man?" Which you understood as, What?

You stuck your tongue out at him and crossed your eyes. "Blehlehleh!"

He recoiled. "What are you doing?"

With a laugh, you stroked Starlight's muzzle. "Messing with you. So you get up from the left side, right?"

Blue-Eyes just looked at you like you were crazy, then shook his head. "Yes, I suppose."

You went around to the left flank of the steed, which snorted suspiciously at you, like it wanted to know what the fuck you were doing. You peered at Blue-Eyes over the stallion's back. "Gimme a leg up?"

Legolas flushed and stared at you blankly. "If that is one of your vulgar insults, I swear to Illuvatar..."

A laugh escaped your throat. "No! Hell no! It means help me up, you moron!"

A sweet smile crossed Blue-Eye's features. "Well, then, come here, mellon nin, and I will aid you." He interlaced his fingers together as he bent down, allowing you to grip both ends of the saddle, step into his hand, and haul yourself up. You nearly fell off the other side, but just managed to catch yourself before you made yourself look like a complete idiot in front of Blue-Eyes, who noticed your struggle but said nothing, to your sweet relief.

Elros trotted through camp on his palomino, saying "Und wendo'hein!"

Legolas mounted his dapple-gray, and looked you up and down. "You are not sitting correctly." He told you, and reached over to pull your shoulders back. "Your shoulders need to make a line to your ankles in the stirrups."

You rolled your eyes sarcastically. "Great, now you sound like my collection of Young Rider magazines."

"Your what?" Legolas looked almost offended.

"It's basically a book only about twenty pages long made of cheap paper and filled with random tidbits of information. This series I started collecting when I was eight or nine, then continued until I was about twelve, thirteen... I had a lot of them. I loved horses."

Blue-Eyes furrowed his brow. "Did you have one?"

You scoffed. "In my world, you either have to be rich like Saddle Club or own a farm like Racing Stripes. Or, by some miracle get saved by a badass black Arabian stallion on a desert island." You smiled cheekily at him. "Which, by the way, your facial structure really reminds me of an Arabian horse's. Dished, kinda. And perfect and majestic and all that shit."

Blue-Eyes just looked like he was suddenly being attacked by a pack of savage wargs and he wasn't quite sure what to do. You grinned, and did the first thing all of the books and movies you'd read as a kid had taught you: gently tap your heels into the horse's flanks, and carefully guide their head with the reins. Starlight tossed his head, eager to get moving at a faster pace, and nickered softly as he started off at a walk. Legolas beamed at you as he rode beside you. "Well well, Sairen, it seems you are a natural at riding a horse. Perhaps the blood of the Eldar is finally starting to take a hold of you."

"Not quite," Said a new voice, and Lindir rode up on a sleek bay with a mischievous smile. "Suilad, Legolas! [Y/N]! Your Elvish is improving, but you still need to learn more."

You slumped in the saddle. "Augh, man, do I have to?"

Legolas and Lindir grinned wickedly at each other. "Ai, Lindir, man í lú?"

"Ú, Legolas. Eithro, ci maer?"

"Ni maer, mellon nin, ni maer."

So for a whole five or six hours on the trip, you got bombarded on either side by Blue-Eyes and Lindir trying to teach you Sindarin. At the end of the day, the Elvenqueen asked you for another story, so you told her the first one that popped into your head that you could honestly remember most of: Alladin's Lamp. It had been your favorite fairytail as a child, and while it was meant for younger audiences, the Elves enjoyed it just as much.

Then, Thorin asked to see you again. He asked about your world, and what it was like, and you were happy to get to know them, even if you were an Elf now.

And that's how it went, for the next few weeks. Unfortunately, at some point you'd run out of memorized storybooks, so you focused on myths from various mythologies, and then, even movies. 300 seemed to be a favorite of Thorin's, who overheard, but the Elves were especially interested in Gods of Egypt and The Hunger Games, and the Jedi from Star Wars. When you ran out of that material (It was a long trip with long nights, because apparently Elves didn't really get the concept of sleep.), you even switched to games; Darksiders and The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim got their attention, as did The Legend of Zelda.

But of all the damned stories you told them, they seemed most interested in Shakespeare, of all things. You only barely remembered reading Midsummer Night's Dream out of curiosity, but Romeo and Juliet, thankfully, everybody knew the gist of. Thanks to a certain Tom Hiddleston, you knew Coriolanus by heart, so that one wasn't too hard of a story to tell, and neither was (Onc you finally got them off of Shakespeare.) Pirates of the Caribbean, a classic for you, which, one of the characters, now that you thought of it... Will Turner... You couldn't quite remember his face, or Balian's from Kingdom of Heaven, which they all really liked, especially Legolas.

Eventually, the queen dubbed you Taleweaver, which you thought sounded pretty cool, but also a little nerve-wracking, because what if you ran out of stories to tell? You forced yourself to be casual. No worries. You were a writer, after all, just... Now your audience consisted of fantasy people instead of Tumblr bloggers.

No pressure.

One day, Legolas approached you alone as you groomed Starlight. "Yo," You said, s'upping him. "S'up?"

Blue-Eyes looked like you'd just thrown something at him. "Man?" You rolled your eyes. "Galu, mellon, galu. What is it?"

Legolas scoffed. "My mother has declared only a small party of us, including the dwarves, shall scout ahead and see if we can find their trail. Of the party is myself, Elros, Erestor, Haldir, and... you."

You pointed to yourself. "M...Me? The queen specifically requested me to go with you?" You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. "Whhhhhhyyyyyyy???"

Blue-Eyes glared at you as he stroked Starlight's muzzle. "It is nothing out of the ordinary. You wish to prove yourself to my father, do you not? I would like for you to stay in the Mirkwood as well, Sairen, so do not disappoint me."

"Well," You looked up at Starlight's face. "No pressure, right?"

Legolas smiled cheekily. "Not at all." He patted your back. "We begin at dawn tomorrow. Meet me by Starlight once you've woken, and we shall begin." He walked away, but half-turned to call out, "Do not be late!"

You nodded in exasperation, but as soon as he was gone, sighed and placed your face on Starlight's neck. "Mission," You hissed under your breath, just really wishing Lord Fabulous didn't have to be such a jackass. "Impossible."

Tag List:

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Le leich= You’re sweet

[okitodorokidoki]

[2/3] all the feeling was all or nothing | takigawa chris yuu + yuuki tetsuya

ao3 | 2,696 words | gender-neutral reader

Things had begun to feel tense between you and Yuuki. At first you thought it was something that would blow away within a week or so, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

The two of you had gone out with Jun again, and Yuuki ended up drifting away for a moment.

“Did I spit on someone’s grave without knowing it?”

Jun didn’t seem too keen to answer your question.

“I’d like to know if I fucked up somehow so I can apologize- it sucks feeling like he’s forcing himself to be around me.”

“It’s nothing like that,” he finally said. “He’s just got a lot on his mind.”

The lack of real answers probably just fueled the awkward fire that was burning between the two of you.

-

You found yourself avoiding Yuuki, whether you intended to or not. You didn’t even call yourself out on it until you’d backed around a corner after catching sight of him with Jun.

“Is something wrong?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sudden voice behind you. Whirling around with wide eyes, you saw Chris standing a few feet away from you.

“Oh, hey. No, nothing’s wrong, I just forgot where I was going for a moment there.” He didn’t seem to take your response as an answer or a joke, so you felt a little backed in.

He tilted his head slightly in the direction of a bench- an invitation that you didn’t think you could refuse. Chris let you pass him before following you, sitting maybe a foot away.

“I feel like I should repay you for the vague conversation that helped me,” he said. “Have something on your mind?”

You struggled with how to form your thoughts to not sound as whiny as you felt. “Things have just been… weird between Yuuki and I. I feel like I did something wrong, so I want to apologize to him, but I can’t apologize without knowing what I did, right?”

He took a deep breath, seeming like he was thinking rather hard about it. “Do you have reason to believe you did something? Maybe he’s just feeling stressed out about the team.”

You buried your face in your hands with a groan. “I tried asking Jun what was going on, but he just said he was thinking about a lot. But if it was related to baseball why would he avoid me and not Jun? Is he just too polite to tell me he doesn’t like hanging out anymore? He’s making me feel like I’m forcing him to stick around.”

Chris hummed, the bench creaking as he leaned back. “Tetsu isn’t the type to force himself to be friends with someone. Have you tried asking him directly what was going on?”

You drew your knees up to bury yourself further. “No…”

“I couldn’t hear that.”

A weak glare in his general direction didn’t phase him. “I said no.”

“So why don’t you try telling him directly how you feel?”

You uncurled yourself and pressed your back against the bench, looking up at the sky. “Because I’m scared? Yuuki’s one of my closest friends here, I don’t want to lose him just because I’m getting uncomfortable over something that may not even matter. Hell, maybe he’ll just come to his senses without me even saying anything.”

Chris moved his leg to bump your knee. “If you’re really friends, and it does bother you, then it’ll matter. Just tell him how you feel about this, and I’m sure he’ll understand.”

You looked back down at the catcher, trying to not feel like you were in a therapy session with how vulnerable you felt. “You’re an odd one, you know that?”

He laughed softly. “Is that a thank you?”

You nudged his arm gently as you got up. “Yeah. Thank you, Chris. Let me know if you ever need to ramble like this. It’s oddly enlightening.”

The small smile on his face almost looked bittersweet for a moment before he stood, turning away from you to look out at the practice grounds. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to do that.”

It wasn’t until after he’d left your view that you found yourself moving. You hadn’t gotten far, however, as you noticed someone leaning against the side of the building on your first turn.

“Yuuki?” you asked, a little shocked. “Are you okay?”

There was barely any indication that he heard you, but the bat in his hand shifted against the gravel as his hand twitched.

“Is something wrong?”

As you leaned forward to try and get a better look at his face, he suddenly turned to meet your eye. The almost disturbingly hurt expression on his face nearly had you stumbling back in shock. Neither of you seemed to want to speak first, but he soon pushed off the wall and gave you a short, stiff bow.

“I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’ll try to be more aware of your feelings in the future. I hope we can still continue as friends.” His monotonous spiel set off a sharp pain in your chest.

You tried to call his name again, but there was hardly any sound to it- just a rush of air out of your lungs. Your hand reached out to grab his arm, but he’d already begun to turn away from you to leave. Air was the only thing that met your shaky grasp as a panic washed over you. What the hell was he going on about? The gravel beneath your feet felt like it had grown over your legs as you watched him walk away, shoulders tense.

-

You ended up walking back to the bench on shaky legs as you tried to figure out what had happened. Did he overhear your conversation with Chris and take even more offense? Just once you’d like to not fuck up your relationship with the first baseman. You never let yourself hope for a romance, so the friendship between you was kept in a tight grip close to your heart. And now you were just squeezing the life out of it.

You don’t know how much time or how many students passed by you before a rough stomping and a loud “oy” came your way.

“What the hell did you say to Tetsu, damnit? I thought I told you he was just overthinking some shit!”

You looked up at Jun, who looked more pissed than you could remember seeing him. For some reason, though, the expression cracked and he let out a softer “oy” than before. He crouched in front of you with his brows pressed together, bringing a hand to your face.

“Ju-” as you tried to speak, hiccup tore through your throat.

“What the hell is wrong with you guys,” Jun grumbled, wiping your face. “Shit’s supposed to go smoother than this.”

You let Jun pull your head to his shoulder, wrapping your arms under his. It didn’t even feel like you were crying, but the hand rubbing your back made your shaking more apparent.

“Whose ass am I supposed to kick now, damnit?” he asked, tone oddly fond for the words he was saying. “I’m gonna have to kick both of your asses.”

You shook your head as you cried your frustrations into his shoulder.

When you’d finally calmed down, Jun brought you over to a water fountain to wash your face with his hanky.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I don’t know why I was crying.”

“Your head’s probably too damn dense for your heart to take anymore.” Jun tried to fix your hair after cleaning up your face. “Can’t say I blame it, you guys are making me want to cry too.”

You sniffled as he checked for any lingering mess. You thought for a moment that anyone who questioned the managers for putting Jun first in line to be their brother had never seen the boy off the diamond.

“Now you three have to talk before I lose my mind. I’ll lock you in the shed if I have to, ya hear?” he poked your forehead harshly before rubbing the mark he left.

“First of all- ow. Secondly, three?” you rubbed the abused spot gently.

“Yeah, three. You all talking two at a time is just biting me in the ass because you’re all so god damn dense.” he complained.

“Should you be talking like that at school, Jun? You’re sounding awfully rude.”

-

By the end of the day, your nerves almost felt shot. Your almost-breakdown after Yuuki felt like someone overestimated a wind-up toy and snapped its spring, and now you had to rest or go in for repairs or something. Or just let Jun take the wheel for a bit.

You were finally being dismissed from your club, so you packed your bag and made your way to his classroom. It wasn’t too long a walk, but your legs honestly felt like lead at this point. You were definitely going to soak in the bath much longer than needed tonight.

By the time you made it to the meet up spot, there were already three people there- the two you were expecting, and the one Jun had thrown out of left field. You just barely stopped yourself from saying his name in shock, not wanting to start things off with a dumb question.

“Bout time you made it,” Jun barked. “Did you crawl halfway?”

“I had to help clean up,” you said. “Sorry for the wait.”

Yuuki seemed interested in how many tiles were in the stretch of floor in front of him, while poor Chris looked like he was coming to terms with a kidnapping.

“So what is it exactly we’ve been biting you in the ass with?” It was better to just rip the band-aid off, right?

Jun thought so. “Everyone’s feelings for each other.”

At least he had the decency to look uncomfortable when everyone’s gazes snapped to him.

“Jun,” Yuuki’s tone almost had you backing down.

“I don’t see why I’m here,” Chris had a flush crawling up his neck that you could almost blame on practice.

“I understand threatening to lock us in the shed now,” you deadpanned.

Jun leaned against the wall behind him, shoving his hands in his pockets. You took some solace in the fact that you weren’t alone with your negative thoughts. You’d thought that Jun was letting your status with Yuuki turn into what it wanted without him meddling. And why was he dragging Chris into this? You glanced over at the catcher, who seemed like he was trying to look at everyone without being seen himself. Sure he was sweet, and cute, and nice to talk to when you were upset. And he always had that reliable vibe to him, yet a quality that made you want to shoo everyone away from him and let him curl up with a warm blanket. Those were completely platonic feelings for someone you considered no more than a friend.

Glancing back at Jun, you almost blanched at the look he was sending you.

“So I’ll leave this to the three of you,” he announced, walking out of the classroom.

The long stretch of silence after he left was almost suffocating. You found yourself scratching at the desk next to you before sitting down.

“Well then,” you said. “I take it if we don’t talk now, things will just get that much worse?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look up, but soon the two left sat in the desks in front and behind you.

You turned your head to Yuuki behind first, but kept your gaze on the desk. “I didn’t mean to upset you earlier. I’m sorry for whatever I did to offend you.”

“You said my feelings didn’t matter,” he said, tone fluxing cold and hurt.

That got you to look at him, utterly confused. “What?”

“When the two of you were talking. You said I was making you uncomfortable over something that didn’t matter,” Yuuki continued.

You heard Chris shifting on your other side. “Ah, Tetsu. That wasn’t what we were talking about, I promise.”

“Wait, your feelings?” you asked.

“Yes. My feelings for you.” He looked understandably upset that he had to keep reiterating how he felt. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable with how I felt, but it wasn’t fair of you to say they didn’t matter just because you don’t feel the same.”

Your head was spinning, and you wondered if you tripped down the stairs on your way to meet Jun.

“Tetsu, you being cold was causing discomfort,” Chris tried again. “I never outed your feelings, and I doubt they were discovered naturally with that reaction.”

“Wait, you knew?” you turned to look at Chris.

You couldn’t place his expression, but he had a small smile. “I figured it out a while ago when he asked how I felt about you.”

“Oh, wow, okay, I totally understand Jun being over this,” you said, sinking in your chair a bit.

Yuuki leaned forward a bit. “What do you mean over this? Jun loves suspenseful romance.”

“This might just be too much for him. Because it sure is for me, and I’m part of it.”

There’s a long moment where the three of you sit in silence, just thinking.

“Do you return Yuuki’s feelings?” Chris’ sudden question made you jump.

You find yourself looking at the trees outside the window instead of at either of them. “I… yes?”

“Do you like Chris?” Yuuki asked.

You hesitate a bit longer to answer, but your mouth moves like it was expecting an answer.

“We both like you,” Chris says softly, his hand sliding across the desk to sit near yours. “Do you like us back?”

Your fingers twitch a bit as you contemplate grabbing his hand. The last thing you wanted was to hurt either of them, or the relationship they had as teammates. Would lying salvage anything at this point?

“Yes,” you almost choked out, like it was trying to escape before you buried it.

Chris’ fingers slid between yours as Yuuki leaned even closer, enough to move your hair with his breath.

“Would you like to be with us?” Yuuki asked, voice low enough to match Chris’.

Your gaze makes it to his chin before you back out. Were they teasing you? They weren’t that cruel, were they?

Chris tugs on your hand as he says your name gently. “We both want to be with you. And we’d like to be with each other. Would you like that?”

Your fingers curl around his as you take a deep breath, mulling over his words. “All three of us?”

Yuuki grunts in response, his knuckles brushing the back of your other hand.

“No one gets hurt?” you asked, a little quieter.

“No one gets hurt,” Chris confirmed. “We all like each other, we’d all be with each other. If we aren’t happy, we talk to each other.”

Yuuki stood and moved in front of you, guiding you up as well. “No love triangle, no drama. No one gets hurt.”

You finally looked up at him, and felt like you were melting under his gaze. “You guys won’t fight? I won’t ruin your team bond?”

Chris moved to stand behind you, and you were suddenly surrounded by warmth. “We can’t promise we’ll never fight over anything, but you don’t have to worry about driving a wedge between us by saying yes to this.”

Yuuki finally grabbed your other hand, his callouses tickling your sensitive palm. “We want this as well.”

You squeezed their hands as you rested your forehead against Yuuki’s chest. “Okay… I want it too. I really want this too.”

There was movement around you before you felt them both pressed against you, free arms pulling each other closer. You could almost feel the tension melting off of the three of you the longer you stood there.

“Does this mean Jun is our fairy god mother?” you asked, needing some humor to not feel like you were about to choke on your heart.

Their short laughs shook you to the core, and you found yourself pulling them closer.

[rosesisupposes]

Destined, part 11

aka Help This Nerd

Character Tags: Virgil/Anixety ; Patton/Creativity ; Patton/Morality ; Logan/Logic ; Remy/Sleep ; Dante/Deceit

Chapter Pairings: Platonic Deceit with OC

Chapter Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit; mild swearing; threats/mentions of violence; allusion to character deaths

Reader Tags: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @sanderssidesfanblog @bewarethegrammarpolice

Summary: After centuries of acting as an oracle to heroes, quest-seekers, and villains alike, Virgil just wants to live as a normal, modern human. For someone who can see infinite probabilities, you’d think he’d know better.

<<Chapter 10 | Masterlist | Chapter 12>>

Read on Ao3

Flashback: late 1490s into early 1500s CE, near the Ural mountains

The seventh child of a seventh child. From the moment of his birth, Septimus had been guaranteed to be powerful in the ways of magic. But neither his parents nor his siblings had expected him to be a sorcerer.

After all his years in the continents’ best university, with all the acclaim he’d acquired, he still wished he had been born just a plain wizard, like all his colleagues and classmates. But when he had heard of a young sorcerer, newly arrived and seeking an apprenticeship, one who’d been turned down with the same wariness that Septimus himself had faced, he had known he had to do something.

Not for the first time did he wish the stigma wasn’t so strong. Sorcereri weren’t even a separate race from wizards. The only outwardly-discernible difference was golden or partially golden eyes. Septimus knew this particular trait stood out more in him than others - bright golden streaks through royal blue eyes were rather noticeable. He hadn’t actually needed the horn-rimmed glasses he wore until his third year of study, when staring at scrolls for hours on end had finally degraded his sight. The flash of the golden rims were a suitable distraction for many, especially if they hadn’t already heard of him.

By the current point in his career, luckily, people knew him for his deeds and accolades, not a quirk of birth.

Ever since he was a child, Septimus had been imbued with a healthy respect and fear for his own magical power. Unlike wizards, his ability hadn’t needed intense study and training to be vast and powerful. As a sorcerer, he had been born a natural conduit, able to channel ambient magic from his surroundings without needing to summon it from within himself. But study helped him modulate how carefully he conducted magic, and how effectively and efficiently he was able to use it. Plus, through study and knowledge he was able to control it.

He would never forget the fear in his mother’s eyes when he’d had a temper tantrum at five years old. He forgot why he’d been so upset, but just as he began to wail, a lightning bolt flashed from a cloudless sky to strike a sapling in their front yard. The poor plant had been split in two as it burst into flames. His mother had stepped back carefully, both hands out, eyes wide, speaking quietly like he was a bear or a monster about to attack. He’d overheard his brothers and siblings muttering about moving away, or sending him away to a secure location. That was the day he resolved to never again let his emotions get the best of him. He would be master of himself and his magic.

And he’d been successful. He’d learned meditation, calming techniques, anything that worked to keep himself stable and unemotional. Through studying these techniques, he’d learned how much a magical education might help him. At eleven, he’d convinced his father to send him to university. The wariness in the headmaster’s eyes had been apparent even then, but he did not allow himself to become self-conscious or self-doubting. He was there to learn.

Now, in his mid-twenties, Septimus the Azure was a prodigy, a proud graduate of the university and star in the field of magical research. His treatise on uses of dragon’s blood in potion-making, written while he was still a student, had become world-famous in magical circles. He was the youngest professor the university had ever had, and by far the youngest to be allowed his own laboratory and study in the university’s Tower. He had earned every bit of it, fighting every inch to be taken seriously for his demonstrated academic prowess and regimented use of magic, not his vast natural ability.

He’d thought maybe he’d need to contend with jealousy, but at least within the university, his potential power was seen as a literal threat to the lives of those around him, not as an ability to be desired or sought. Magical power, the thinking went, ought be earned through rigorous study and practice alone. And so that was what Septimus had done.

He sat up from his desk, where he’d been using an enormous magnifying glass to read records from ancient fairy colonies. The minuscule size of the tomes had deterred generations of wizards from learning about the tiny creatures, but Septimus was determined to change that.

Ah, that reminded him. He needed a scroll for reference. He stood, looking for his newly-chosen apprentice. The younger sorcerer had appeared starstruck when Septimus had introduced himself and asked him to come work with him. And he was a very hard worker, which Septimus appreciated. He just couldn’t remember his name. Guido? Petrarch? Something from the south of the continent. It would come to him, if he really needed it.

“Apprentice?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you find me the second volume of the Anthology of Fae Colonies and Lineages? It should be in the third case, fourth or fifth shelf. Near the Codex of Fairy Circles.”

“Of course, Master Septimus.”

Moments later, the apprentice had lugged over the several-pound tome to Septimus’ reading desk. It was his favorite invention, despite its simple nature, and it was entirely in tune with his particular frequency of magic. A large wooden wheel spun gently, each of its flat paddles holding a scroll or book open, each able to be pulled down onto his writing desk for better examination, or use with the fold-out magnifying glass. At any moment, he could call out a key phrase or word and the wheel would glow, moving the reference book most relevant to his request to be more easily viewed. He placed the fairy tome onto a paddle and secured it with the magical prongs that both held it in place as well as scanned its text to function with the spell. He prepared to delve back into his studies, but his apprentice was still looking at him.

He supposed the correct thing to do would be engage. The slightly-younger man had been working for him for a week now.

“Did you need something?”

“I was just wondering - could you tell me what your current project is?” the younger man asked, gold-and-brown eyes hopeful.

Septimus would normally have resented any interruption, but that flame in his eye was too familiar - the burning desire to learn.

“Of course. Have a seat, Apprentice,” he offered, before realizing every chair was covered in scrolls or books. Hiding a blush, he gestured crisply, and a royal blue light lifted them back into orderly stacks on the small shelves by his desks.

“Now. What have you learned in lectures about the lives of the fae folk, known colloquially as fairies?”

His apprentice sat and straightened to attention, the same movement required by most of Septimus’ colleagues and former teachers.

“They live in colonies of approximately fifty to two hundred, usually separated by large physical distances from one another, but are all considered family or kin. There do not appear to be any actual nuclear families, at least in part due to lack of sex or gender. Their society is highly hierarchical, with councils of Elders making decisions for each colony, including magical assignments,” the student said, speaking with his eyes partially closed as he recited. “In the past, fae folk had strong ties with humanity through the Godparent relationship, with a single fairy being assigned to a single human who usually has some fate or grand potential, or a particularly tragic existence. However, new reports of Godparent relationships in the last two centuries have been few and far between.”

Septimus nodded. “You’re clearly a dedicated student. Well done. Have your professors offered any reasons for the declining reports?”

His apprentice went to scratch his head, then caught himself and held his hands in his lap. “Only speculations. Professor Umber suggested there may have been an incident between humans and fairies that have made them less inclined to help. Professor Junipera believes that the fae colonies have simply been more subdued, finding less prominent humans to aid. But they don’t know for sure, that much is clear, no matter how confident they sound in their assertions.”

“Ah, you’ve learned the most important lessons of university,” Septimus said with a wry grin. “that is, how to see and hear through the academic babble. But it’s true - we are not sure why the number of Godparent reports have appeared to decrease. However, I believe our framing is the issue. It may be that the number of Godparents has decreased because the number of fairies has decreased. They live for many centuries, possibly as long as a millennium. But they do age, and die of age. It is very possible that the fae folk are aging out, without enough young fairies being born to take their place.”

His apprentice was shocked. “I… that’s possible? For magical beings to… die out?”

Septimus was somber yet measured in his response. “I do not know for sure. We have no recorded instances of such a thing. But I believe it may be occurring before our very eyes. As other populations grow, magical folk and creatures may be just as at risk of extinction as are non-magical animals. I myself found that, at least due to crowding of their natural habitats, dragons are becoming harder to find. Getting enough variety of dragons’ blood for my research to be able to generalize my findings to the genus as a whole… well. The particular pitfalls of my methodology are not relevant. The point is, I do think there is a not-infinitesimal chance that the fae folk are disappearing. If any knowledge of their history and culture is to be preserved, it must be done now, while the primary source still exists. That is what my current research focuses on - compiling what records we already have and seeking answers to those gaps in our existing knowledge.”

“Master Septimus, if you think such a thing is possible and happening now, why not do something to stop it? Don’t we have an obligation to our fellow magical beings to preserve their species?” the young sorcerer asked curiously, with a slight hint of indignation.

The sorcerer leaned back, fingertips touching in a tent as he considered the question. “I… don’t know that it would even be possible to reverse the trend, if such a trend exists. Nor do I know that it would be our place to interfere. To meddle in the process of reproduction, for another species no less! Not only do I worry about the ethical implications, but fairies are intensely private when it comes to the exact locations of their colonies and their inner workings. What documents we have here are mostly due to particularly studious Godchildren who convinced their Godparents to document their experiences and history. I would not presume to approach a fairy colony and insert myself into their population issues. No, my role is that of a historian. I will do what I can to preserve their story and culture for posterity, so that future generations may be educated if the fae should ever truly disappear.”

The young man looked down, clearly upset. “Master… could such a thing happen to us? To… sorcerers?”

“I… am unsure. So little is known about us, and how exactly we come to be. We are not a separate species from wizards, and the offspring of two sorcerers are not always sorcerers in turn. We are… anomalies. But regularly-recurring ones. And you and I both know that we are much more than merely flukes.”

Two pairs of gold-marked eyes met, one kind, the other determined.

“Thank you, Master Septimus. For explaining, but also for taking me on, and not treating me like a… liability.”

“Of course. I’ve been in your shoes, or pairs that looked a lot like them. And you can call me just Septimus if you wish.”

“Thank you, Mas- Septimus. And if you want, you can just call me Dante,” he replied with an impish grin.

“I will do so, Dante. Do let me know if there are any other burning questions I can answer for you. Even if you just need someone to vent to.”

Five years passed. Dante continued his studies at the university, taking after his mentor in his ability to push past the professors’ and fellow students’ assumptions about sorcery. Unlike his mentor, he found that his personality could be an equal asset to his academic achievement, charming his way through the stone towers and sneaking his way to just the right spots for opportunities and recognition.

He burst into Septimus’ tower laboratory one day, black hair flopping excitedly as he raced to greet his mentor and friend.

“TIMUS! Is it true? I go south for two months for fieldwork and you’ve suddenly acquired a new magical artifact?”

Septimus rose from his desk to embrace the younger man, ruffling his dark curls. His young friend was very particular about his appearance these days, but his mentor was the one person allowed to see him at anything less than perfectly coiffed. “Apologies, Dante, I should have known better to save all my arcane acquisitions for your return. How was the Harz?”

“Oh it was excellent, the sprites there were the friendliest I’ve met so far. I got the impression that they’ve a history of more cooperation with other magic folk, but you know sprites - keeping track of history isn’t exactly their strong suit. Why did you let me get myself into such a difficult dissertation topic?”

“Because you were determined to prove me wrong, and you are too good at talking your way out of conversations. Or into them,” Septimus grinned, one arm still around his younger friend. “I’m glad you’re back though - this place always gets a little too sane and complacent without you.”

Dante squeezed him with one arm, a genuine smile on his face. “Missed you too, Timus. But hey,” he interjected suddenly, “you distracted me! I came here to hear about the artifact!”

“Ah yes, of course. The staff. Come here.”

Septimus led his former apprentice and current mentee to his back room, where a table had been dedicated to a long and gnarled piece of wood. It would have looked like any tree branch twisted by an invasive vine if it hadn’t been for the dome of blue fire that surrounded it. Septimus lifted his hands as they began to glow with the same fire. A complex pass of his hands expanded the shield spell to include himself and Dante, who gasped audibly.

“That… aura! What is this thing?” he breathed.

“That’s just it. We’re not sure. The heir from one kingdom over killed Vignar the dragon. This was in his hoard. The victorious prince was bedridden for a month after touching it with his bare hands, thus, I would highly advise you don’t try, not unless you want me to have another nice chat with the headmaster about how I’m sure you’re not going to bring down the Tower on our heads.”

“Point taken,” Dante shuddered. “My stars, the emanations it gives off without contact - the whole school must feel it when it’s outside of this shield.”

“Not quite the whole school. Only those who have a high sensitivity to magic. You know,” he elbowed the younger man, who quirked a smile back. “The absolute oldest faculty, and us. Thus, it lives here, where I’ll sense any disturbance more quickly. Plus, I have the magical reserves to spend on keeping the spell up.”

Dante shivered. “You know I trust you far more than any of these graybeards anyway. Ugh, it’s going to give me a headache, can you close down the shield?”

Septimus nodded and reversed his gesture, re-linking thumbs and forefingers into his chest, passing palm over palm, and sending the fire back to a dense bubble once more.

“So. Theories of origin? You have at least one, I know you do,” Dante said with a grin.

Septimus cleared his throat. “Well, yes, actually. Based on what we know of Vignar’s life and raids, it appears that any sort of magical artifact of this caliber would be from one of the universities on the other side of the world, or from the sprites. And since we have communicated with our sibling institutions and they have only guesses at best, the sprites do seem to somehow have been the origin of this artifact. And yes,” he said, putting up a hand to stop Dante’s squawk of indignation, “before you ask, I was always going to show you the staff and share this exact theory. I would never willfully interfere in your dissertation, you know this. Which brings me to the disconcerting element.”

The two sorcerers settled back into Septimus’ study, a floating teapot zooming over from the hearth to fill their favorite mugs as the elder sorcerer continued.

“From my experimentation and that of the senior wizards here, we can find no purpose for this staff. There’s no affiliation with an element, or a certain frequency of spell. It doesn’t even appear to need a magically-abled being to wield it - the human prince was able to somehow fire an inadvertent blast of power before the magical aura knocked him out. An object with such raw, unfocused power being created intentionally seems unlikely. My hypothesis is that the staff, as we see it now, is not finished. This was not the intended final form. There was a final step or ritual not performed that would stabilize its magic in one direction or with one intention. And that means that its current level of power would be multiplied many time over in its final state.”

Dante gave a long, low whistle. “Can you imagine? That kind of power - that’s the kind of thing Mordred would have had wet dreams over.”

Septimus shuddered. “Yes, I know. Thank the stars he never knew of it. He could have ended the world or ruled it with just a gesture. Which is why I keep the staff safe.”

“Have you been researching what the intended purpose could be?”

“I would be content with definitively knowing its origins. If I knew more about its creation, I’d be able to deconstruct it, or at least stabilize the power to safer levels.”

“Really, Timus, you are no fun at all,” Dante drawled. “You see the sharpest sword in the world and think immediately ‘oh, gotta blunt that.’ Not even an itty bitty daydream of world domination?”

Septimus chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Oh, I’d never do such a thing. I’d hate to deprive you.”

“Say, Septimus - could I research it as part of my dissertation? Its origins, I mean. I’ve been struggling with a real focus to my research - it’s hard to know what questions to ask when the sprites are all so scattered.”

“You know what? That would be brilliant. This is why you make me so proud to be your advisor,” Septimus said. “But more importantly, I’m proud to call you my friend.” Dante ducked his head and flushed lightly. Timus had long ago stopped feeling like just a mentor. He was his most trusted friend at this university certainly, not to mention in the world.

“If I’m a great scholar, I owe it to my fine instruction, and the support of the best friend a sorcerer could ask for,” Dante returned warmly.

They toasted each other with their mugs of tea and settled in for the afternoon’s studies.

Septimus was worried. About several things, but mostly Dante.

He should have been pleased - after ten long years, the man’s dissertation was complete, and he’d single-handedly provided the strongest evidence so far that the staff was indeed of sprite origin. He’d cracked the question of “which kind of sprite” by showing that all four tribes - fire, tree, water, and ground - had convened once in their history, and that this was likely the moment of the staff’s creation.

Septimus was incredibly proud of his friend. But… every time the young man walked into Septimus’ tower study of late, there was shadow that flitted over his face. Only ever briefly - but it was like a mask was being taken off, if only for the space of a breath. And there were lines of tension in his shoulders that one would never notice unless they were lucky enough to ever see him fully relax. The charm offenses had become louder and more aggressive as Dante prepared to defend his dissertation and earn his title from the university. So, too, had the convenient conversations and ‘casual’ drop-bys to the highest-ranked members of the faculty. Only those close to him - so, only Septimus - could hear the rough edge in his voice as he spoke to those who would decide whether over ten years of study, from green newcomer to full apprentice to practically a full-time researcher, would yield any concrete title or achievements.

Septimus had even heard the edge when Dante spoke to him. Mentioning other magical races seemed to snap the taut rope that was the young man’s composure. Like the previous afternoon. Septimus had merely mentioned a successful interview with a fae Elder, an elderly but delightful creature who he’d found in a human bakery, to which they had apparently been devoted for generations.

“Glad you were able to write down their name before they collapse into pixie dust,” Dante had muttered.

“Dante, you know I’m just trying to do my best. And Baxter shared some fascinating information - the fae lifespans themselves are shrinking. They themself are only eight hundred years old but already starting to wither, when in generations past they would have expected to live one or two hundred years more. They aren’t sure why but they are spreading the word of my research so that the fae will never be entirely forgotten.”

“Septimus, how are you able to do this? To see them literally withering before your eyes and to do nothing?”

“Dant, there is nothing for me to do. These are forces beyond my control, beyond anyone’s control. Maybe this is just natural selection.”

“Yeah and maybe we’ll be next to be naturally selected out. And you know what?” The man’s golden-streaked eyes flashed in anger, the gold burning brighter in his fury as he gestured to the Tower around them. “This whole pile of stones, all these empty hats, they would let sorcerers die out tomorrow and breath a sigh of relief when we did, if they hadn’t been the reason in the first place.”

“Dante, we’ve been over this: sorcerers appear so randomly that there would be nothing any of our colleagues could do to help or hinder such an occurrence.”

“Your colleagues. They haven’t accepted me yet. And if they do, it will be because you, their great prodigy Septimus the Azure, convinced them that sorcerers can be worth the risk, not because they’ve accepted we’re no more or less dangerous than wizards.”

“I… yes. I know that. But won’t it be worth it, to have two sorcerers accepted? This is how we continue to pave the way for those after us. We’ll slowly bend their minds towards reason.”

Dante growled. “Unless the magical world dies off as we wait for them to accept us. And don’t pretend we don’t both know the cause.”

“We know nothing for sure. We can only hypothe-”

“It’s those thrice-damned humans and you know it,” Dante interrupted angrily. “They have not an ounce of magic in their blood, and they are spreading across the world like a disease. They cut down enchanted forests, kill dragons, crush fairy colonies… They are what is causing our world to shrink.”

Septimus stayed silent. There was no proof that humans actions were directly causing this, true, but the correlation was disturbingly high.

“I don’t care if it’s unpleasant to admit, but will we all just wait until they’ve arrived on our doorstep?” Dante continued. “Until they come pouring in to smash our astrolabes and burn our spellbooks? Do we even have a plan besides ‘wait?’”

“I’ve… floated the idea of cooperation. There could be a collaboration of sorts reached - let them know of the existence of magic and invite them to study it with us,” Septimus said quietly, fiddling with his glasses, golden rims glinting in the light of the hearth fire.

“And you’ve been turned down without a second thought, because the headmaster and his cronies hate the idea of sharing,” Dante sneered. “Their reasoning is dragonshit, as always, but their conclusion is right. Timus - if we go public with humans, you know it won’t be magic they’ll study. It will be us. They’ll be leeching us and cutting us up before we can say ‘I mean no harm.’ They fear what they don’t understand, and the more magic creatures disappear, the less they understand any of us.”

Septimus made eye contact, trying, willing Dante to understand. “Them fearing what they don’t understand is exactly why I want to reach out. If we plan it carefully, we won’t be a threat to them. I really believe there’s hope for peaceful coexistence, if we approach them with caution.”

Dante looked away, a vein shifting in the hard lines of his clenched jaw. At length, he replied “I hope you’re right, Septimus. I really do. But I strongly suspect you’re wrong.”

Septimus felt like he’d been waiting for just this moment for years.

The jolt of alarm, bringing him entirely out of a sound sleep. Running from his bedroom to his laboratory. Hearing the faint sounds of the senior professors stirring. Arriving at his study and backroom to see the aftermath.

The staff was gone. The magic aura was somewhere close. But it radiated so much power it was impossible to pinpoint where it was, particularly if it was indeed, as he feared, in the hands of a sorcerer.

Had he known that this would happen? Should he have taken more care to disguise the unlocking spell?

Perhaps.

But his hope had gotten the best of him.

Dante had disappeared for several months, almost a year. Research, he’d said. Only he’d finally finished his defense, and been officially named a graduate of the university and given his new title: Dante the Golden. What research would he need to be doing? And why wouldn’t he tell his oldest friend and mentor when he’d be back?

Because he didn’t want me to know, Septimus thought sadly. He knows that, whatever he plans now, I would not approve, nor would I let him go forward unimpeded. At least, I hope I wouldn’t.

He closed his eyes, trying to sense the epicenter of the staff’s emanations. Just as he started to feel the tug of a direction, the feeling vanished. The staff had been magically shielded once more, by another’s magic.

Septimus sat down hard in his study chair, head in hands. He massaged his own temples, and hoped against hope that his former student and dearest friend hadn’t made a horrible mistake, the likes from which he might never recover.

Chapter Notes

Septimus: Latin origin, means “born seventh/seventh son or child”

There were a lot of world-building details and magical mechanics, particularly about the staff, that I couldn’t find a way to fit in here or anywhere else, and the chapter is already over twice as long as I originally planned (whoops)

But if you’re the kind of person who is into that, send me and ask or message and I will happily spill.

[buckybabybaby]

Car Park Confessions.

A/n: This is actually the first thing I wrote back in February when I decided to stop just imagining scenarios in my head and put them down on paper, and it was the first thing I wrote since school about eight years ago.

My other works; fluff or if your over 18 smut!

Proof read by way of a text-speech device.

Summary: Clichéd af but I think sometimes thats what you need! It’s a sort of au where Bucky is a celebrity for some reason, maybe a singer, or an actor like Sebastian, but it doesn’t really matter. Established friendship…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word count: 3129

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, some angst and crying, but it’s all right in the end!

Masterlist

Three am. Too early and too late. The street lights burn your eyes as you lean on a traffic bollard outside the club, tuning out as your friends attempt to find a cab willing to take a trio of somewhat drunk party-goers with very little money. Cold hands to your cheeks startle you, and you find yourself staring into Wanda's face.

“You okay?”

You nod in answer, smiling softly. The chilly air is getting to you, and you stand up, wrapping your arms around yourself as you shiver. She pulls you into a hug, resting her chin on your head, and rubbing her hands up and down your back. Another set of arms encircle the two of you, warming you considerably.

“Y/N, do you mind giving me your phone?” Natasha asks you, and you pass it over without question. “Also, there's a bench just along here and I think we could all do with a sit down, come on.”

There's some good natured complaining about how cold the metal seat is, but once you're sat with your legs over Wanda's and her head on your shoulder, you're suddenly very tired.

“Don't let me fall asleep,” you mumble at the equally exhausted pile of limbs you're twisted up with.

“No promises.”

A car pulling up in front of your new 'bed' has you jolting back awake. You're alone on the bench, your two friends currently standing beside it talking with the driver of a very nice Audi that has you frowning as you try to place it. You sit and raise a hand to your hair in an attempt to smooth it down, before repositioning your top that has ride up your body a little too much, the exhausted sound you let out attracting attention.

“Oh good, you're awake,” Natasha grins, pulling open the side door of the car idling next to you. “Time to go home Sleeping Beauty”.

Eager to get out of the cold, and hearing your bed calling, you stumble up and slip ungracefully into the passenger seat. You reach for your seat belt and click it in place before turning to the driver and freezing.

“Hello Y/N.”

“... Bucky.”

You stare at him in shock, trying to process it. You had met Bucky at an awards ceremony you'd won tickets to three years ago, and you two had really hit it off, exchanging numbers. It was a purely platonic relationship on his side, just nice for him to have a friend who was living an 'ordinary' life, someone to relax with, none of the pressure of fame surrounding you.

On your side however, completely different story. Bucky was sweet and funny, clever and thoughtful with a mischievous side that had you falling deeper every time you met up. You had texted him earlier saying you were going out and he had replied that he was in town and if you needed anything 'just call', but this was crazy.

“You're in your pyjama's,” is the only thing you can think to say. 

Glancing down at his pale grey bottoms, he smiles at you brightly.

“S'middle of the night, Y/N, most of us are in bed at this time.”

There's a hint of teasing in his voice, and you feel yourself blush, looking out the window at Natasha.

“Traitor,” you mouth at her, watching her give you two thumbs up before cackling.

She knows exactly how you feel about Bucky. She must have remembered you receiving his message earlier, how you'd whined about what a perfect boyfriend he'd be if he wasn't so far out of your league, and used it to her advantage to get a free ride home whilst embarrassing you.

“Are they getting in?” he asks, leaning over you to peer through your window, allowing you to smell his shampoo.

You go completely still, so much more aware of everything about him now you're slightly intoxicated, and willing yourself not to do anything stupid like pulling on his hair and kissing him. 

The realisation that, tipsy as you are, you now have enough courage to do something rash like that has you clasping your hands tightly together. Natasha and Wanda clamber into the back just in time to stop you, giggling when you turn to glare at them.

“Home then?” Bucky asks, pulling out into the road once they're buckled up.

Wanda hums, directing him towards her house and informing him Natasha's staying there as well. You frown as you try to remember if that was the plan, if you are going to Wanda's too, and almost scream when Bucky pokes your cheek to get your attention.

“You can stay at mine if you want?  We are going to hang out tomorrow anyway?”

He hands you a bottle of water and you drink half of it in one go, grateful as you consider his offer.

“Y/N will love that, what a thoughtful young man you are”, you hear Natasha reply for you, and before you can say anything she's continuing, “And then Y/N, you can tell him all about the guy you were making out with tonight.”

You find yourself frozen again. She didn't. She wouldn't have. But unfortunately for you she had. You've been staring at Bucky's hand on the steering wheel, noting the absence of the watch you gave him, and that's how you notice his grip tightening at her words. There's a tension in the car now, and you're pretty sure everyone can hear your heart beating wildly in your chest.

“Making out, huh?”

Bucky's voice is emotionless and his eyes don't leave the road. If you hadn't felt sober before, you definitely did now.

“Yeah well, Y/N's single and looks incredible this evening so why not. And you should have seen the guy, couldn't keep his hands to himself.”

Friendship officially over. You turn to stare at her in horror, but she looks back at you defiantly and you retract your previous inner statement. You know exactly what she's doing; trying to make him jealous. Ever since you'd introduced your friends to Bucky they'd been half giddy with the notion that he liked you back, in the same way you did.

So many times you'd had to remind them that he was the James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes, with everyone who's attracted to guys throwing themselves at him, and you couldn't even get a text back. There was no way. He was caring and generous in a way you'd never experience before, but that was as far as it went, and you loved having him in your life too much to even entertain the idea he wanted more.

“Bye Y/N, enjoy the rest of your night.” 

You jump, having not noticed that the car had stopped, too caught up in your own thoughts. Natasha and Wanda stand on the curb outside Wanda's house, peering through your window, looking as innocent as ever. You sigh. You think they really do want the best for you, and it isn't their fault you'd got with some random guy, you had kissed him quite enthusiastically. Alcohol is bad, you decide. Waving at them, you shrink into your seat as Bucky starts the car again, turning back onto the main road.

You've forgotten just how far away Bucky lived, every minute of silence in the car increasing the awkwardness. Maybe you could fake sleep? No. And anyway you are too wired now, trying to judge Bucky's reaction, thinking of something to say to make it better, and wondering if you'll ever be able to look him in the eye again. 

Peeking over at him, you noticed his jaw was set and he seemed to be muttering something under his breath. The short laugh you let out by accident doesn't go unnoticed. He glances at you, raising at eyebrow in question.

“I'm sorry, but,” you clear your scratchy throat, realising you've not spoken in awhile, “You look a bit like an angry commuter during rush hour. But there's no traffic at half three in the morning...” 

Your sentence finishes in a murmur, seeing his mouth quirk a bit in amusement before he scowls out the window again.

“Maybe I'm not angry at the traffic.” 

His tone is quiet and harsh and you feel tears prick at the corner of your eyes.

“Are you angry at me?”

You're not sure you've ever sounded so vulnerable, and you hate the way your voice breaks a bit at the end. Bucky's been silent for too long now and you turn to watch the passing shops to try to stop yourself from crying.

Finally he's pulling into his drive way, pass the security and into the garage that stores his cars. Multiple cars. Never have the differences between the two of you been more obvious, and you search your pockets blindly for a tissue to wipe away the tears you can no longer hold back. A monographed handkerchief is pressed in to your hand and you whisper out a thanks before hiding your face in it. Bucky pulls you into his arms and you completely break down, loud sobs racking your body. Then he undoes your seatbelt and lifts you onto his lap, rocking you and shushing you softly.

It feels like forever before you can breathe properly again. Pulling away, you attempt to clear your face of the remaining tears, nodding in appreciation when Bucky hands you a clean handkerchief to blow your nose with. It's now you notice your position, on Bucky's lap red faced from crying. You pride yourself on not panicking in most situations, but now is not one of them, the door on his side of the car is opened quickly and you trip out into the dark car lot. Gripping the side of the car, you force yourself to take in air. 

Hands take yours and you meet Bucky's gaze properly for the first time since you got in the car.

“I am so sorry doll,” he begins, ducking down to meet your gaze when you glance at the ground. “I'm not angry at you, I promise, is that why you're so upset?”

You swallow, nodding once. He swears quietly before taking a deep breath and continuing.

“I'm really not angry with you. I need you to understand this. If anything Y/N, I'm angry at myself. Angry for not taking the chance, believing I could wait around, that you'd still be single and that you'd even like me that way. I'm sorry for assuming, of course you can kiss other people. You know I don't expect everyone to like me just because of who I am, that's not how I live, and not what this is. I'd rather have you as just a friend than nothing at all, you're so important to me.”

He cuts himself off, looking slightly horrified. “I-I didn't mean to say all that, I-er, it's not an excuse, I just need you to know why I was being such a dick.”

He lets go of your hands to walk a few paces away, running his fingers through his hair before turning back to you. Your mouth is dry. Did he really just say what you thought he said?

“Bucky, I don't...” You stop, not sure what to say.

“It's okay, please don't say it, I've been here before. Well, not quite like this but everybody’s experienced unrequited love in some form at some point, I'll get over it. Eventually.” 

He pauses in his rambling to cup your face and look directly at you. 

“I can't lose you as a friend, Y/N, you're the best thing in my life right now, I don't think I could go on if I didn't have you to come home to.”

You can hear the ticking of the cars cooling engine behind you, it's so quiet in the garage after he finishes speaking. That was a lot to take in. Your brain is stuck on 'unrequited' though.

“Lets get you up to bed, yeah? I think there's some of your clothes in my room.”

 He takes your hand in order to lead you into the house but you don't move. 

“Y/N?”

“Did you say unrequited love?” 

Your voice is quiet but doesn't waver. He looks back at you, a blank expression on his face.

“Yeah, but like I said, I'll try to get over-”

“Does that mean you love me?” 

The pause after that is almost painful.

“Y/N? Are you trying to hurt m-” 

You interrupt him again. “It's not unrequited if I love you too, is it?”

It's your last chance at salvaging whatever the last five minutes have been, and you just blurt out what's in your heart. Bucky's staring at you, open mouthed, hand frozen in your own. Your heart rate picks up and you will yourself not too look away.

“Do you mean it?”

You can only nod, smiling through new, happy tears; the best kind. 

Before you know it he's rushing towards you, picking you up and spinning the both of you around. He lets you down for a second before lifting you up again in a more comfortable way, like a scene from every romantic film you've ever watched. 

Being spun around in the parking lot of Bucky's home at nearly four o'clock in the morning isn't exactly how you imagined the start of a relationship with him, and you'd imagined it a lot, but you realise that it's perfect despite everything.

“Doll, I am going to love the hell out of you, I promise.”

You giggle at that, swaying with him in his arms. That reminds you of earlier tonight, and everything that occurred in the club comes rushing back.

“I'm sorry, about tonight, with that guy, I didn't mean it, I just thought, well, I didn't think-”

He shushes you. “Nothing to apologise for, like Natasha said, you're a single, attract-”

“Not single any more, right?” You ask quickly.

“Not if I've anything to do with it.”

Bucky's face when he smiles at you is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, and you beam right back at him.

“I'm the one who should be sorry, anyway, I understand why you'd feel I wasn't interested.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I mean, it's been three years and I haven't said anything. Didn't want to lose you, you know?”

You sigh, realising that you could have said something ages ago too, so faults on both sides.

“Although,” he starts, looking a little shy, “I'm sure the internet had worked out how I felt about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Remember when I told you to not read the comments on the tabloids website when they got picture's of us.” You nod. “Well, that wasn't because they were being mean.”

“No?”

“No, they were mainly talking about what a perfect couple we'd make. How I needed to find the courage to ask you on a date. I didn't want it to make you feel awkward, so I lied a little.”

You're stunned by this revelation. You'd always assumed the comments would be about how far Bucky was out of your league, how he was far more attractive than you could ever hope to be, and you tell him this. He frowns, tucking your hair behind your ear and tilting your head to face him

“Are you being serious, Y/N?”

“I mean, I just thought th-?”

“You must know your beautiful?” 

You shake your head, and he furrows his brow at bit more. 

“Really, because I've said it at least a hundred times. You, Y/N are the single most gorgeous, kind, intelligent person I've ever met, and, if you let me, I'm going to make sure you're reminded of that everyday from now.”

No more is said as you burst into tears once more. Bucky sounds confused as he mumbles words of comfort against your hair, and you push away from his embrace to reassure him.

“I'm okay, sorry about that,” you sniff before wiping your eyes on yet another clean handkerchief. “It's just that that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me.”

“You deserve all the love, doll, and I promise I'll be here to give it to you for as long as you allow.”

You determine that to save you from the embarrassment of crying yet again, you need to shut him up. You hadn't imagine your first kiss with Bucky would be quite like this either, but as his arms tighten around you, you decide that you couldn't be happier any other way.

“Where'd you get all those fancy handkerchiefs from?” 

You're laying in Bucky's bed, having washed your face and cleaned your teeth. One of his t-shirts covers your top half, and your legs are tangled with his as he lays beside you.

“What?”

“Those hankies with your name on them. Are all your tissues like that?” 

He turns so his head is against your chest before answering.

“Steve got them for my birthday.” 

Oh. His response has you considering something you hadn't before. You don't reply for awhile, thinking, and you can tell Bucky's falling asleep but you need to ask.

“How's he going to be about this? Us? Will he be okay with it?” 

You've met his best friend quite a few times, at party's and such and you'd really liked him, always thinking him friendly, but this was different. From the way Bucky had talked about him you could tell they were fiercely protective of each other and you wondered how he'd react to you now.

“Well, it's my life, so he doesn't get much of a say, does he?” That has you tensing. “Besides,” he picks his head up to look straight at you, “He'll be pleased, he's been bugging me for ages to finally make a move.”

You relax back against the mattress, grinning in relief.

“Might even throw a party for us.” Bucky snickers into your shoulder, before pulling the covers over the two of you and twisting to get more comfortable. “Honestly, doll, he adores you. No need to worry at all.” A quick kiss is pressed to your hair. “Sleepy time now though, tomorrow I'm taking you on our first date.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep, best date you've ever been on, you'll see.” He yawns loudly, snuggling into you. “Sleep well, Y/N.”

Threading a hand into his hair, you whisper a goodnight, listening to his breaths even out. You're not sure who you should be thanking for this dramatic turn of events; twelve hours ago you'd been gushing about how perfect he was and now here he is in your arms. 

Deciding that perhaps the world spins on its own sometimes, and maybe this is precisely how you and Bucky were meant to get together, you fall into the best sleep you've ever had.

[lady-alayne]

Game of Thrones: An Angry Recap

Season 7 Episode 2: Stormborn

After whining to all my friends, acquaintances, colleagues, and random people on the street about the atrocity that Game of Thrones has become, I am still angry. So now I will whine to YOU, people of the internet. Behold: An Angry Recap.

Dragonstone:

Dragonstone? More like Dragonstorm, amirite? Deadpan Dany and her warcouncil/new BFFs (and Varys) are talking about the weather when Dany suddenly turns to Varys to ask him THE REAL QUESTION!!! “Dude, what happened to your character arc? Weren’t you totally trying to poison me in season 1? What’s up with continuity in this show?”

Varys explains he was doing it for the realm, realm meaning “keeping his head on his shoulders.” Dany, who is totally for supporting the smallfolk (unless her dragons burn them/she besieges them and lets them starve/she destroys their economy and the city descends into anarchy), forgives Varys and goes to greet her guest: Melisandre!

By the way, we found out Mel is actually super old like… more than a season ago. WILL THIS INFO EVER BECOME IMPORTANT??? It was probably just a huge “Fuck you” from D&D. “See, book readers? Now we have ventured PAST THE BOOKS. THE POWER TO SPOIL NOW RESIDES WITH US, AND US ALONE!!! HAHAHAHAHA!*evil laughter*”

Oh, finally, the prince that was promised is mentioned again! What’s that, Missandei? “Uh, actually, this noun has no gender, so it could also mean PRINCESS #feminism.”

Dany then creams over Jon, who Mel conveniently forgot to mention is resurrected. Yawn. Should we ship them?

Speaking of shipping, Grey Worm and Missandei!!! I do wonder where Grey Worm learned the skills he so generously shared with the little scribe. Do Unsullied have Sex Ed classes? Maybe he just googled it. Kudos for knowing just where it was!

Riverlands:

HOT PIE!!! Aww, he’s back, and he’s a game changer. What he tells Arya sets wheels in motions and triggers actions that I am sure will stay with us until the finale. He changed everything. Just this one conversation made Arya reach a decision she probably never would have reached before. I mean, that thing that you have to brown the butter? GREATEST REVELATION IN THE HISTORY OF GAME OF THRONES!

Also, he made Arya go home instead of killing the queen, but whatever THAT TRICK WITH THE BUTTER YOU GUYS, I will have to try that out immediately.

 The Citadel:

SAM HAS CURED GREYSCALE!!! Who had their bets on episode 2? I thought it would take him a bit longer, but I had not taken THE RESTRICTED SECTION OF THE LIBRARY into account! Hermione would be proud.

In another very logical plot twist, it is revealed that THERE HAS BEEN A CURE ALL ALONG but no one found the idea worth revisiting because of the risk of infection. Thank god Sam has the AMAZING, GROUNDBREAKING AND REVOLUTIONARY IDEA TO WEAR GLOVES!!! Who would have thought of that? Brilliant! Where do D&D come up with this stuff?

We are then treated to the most disgusting scene I have ever seen in my entire life (and I watched Sons of Anarchy).

It’s a good thing Sam cured Jorah before Jorah could send that sad letter to his “Khaleesi.” She moved on, dude! Stop friendzoning yourself. It hurts to watch.

King’s Landing:

Cersei is sitting on the Iron Throne as if she was born to do it, scheming left, right and center and forging new alliances. But there is the small matter of Dragons…

Luckily Qyburn has recently watched the Hobbit and come up with a solution. If Smaug, er, I mean, just any dragon in general, has been wounded, Smaug the dragon can probably also be killed. More luckily, Qyburn found a replica of the giant dragon-killing crossbow from the Hobbit movie on ebay and had it express delivered to the Red Keep. Take that, dragons!

I wonder if next episode it will turn out Qyburn also bought the Hogwarts Wand Collection; stunning the dragons would probably come in handy, too. Or Qyburn could just learn Dragonese and try to reason with them, like Hiccup did in the How to Train Your Dragon books… I’m excited to see what other fandoms will make a guest appearance!

 The Narrow Sea… or just any sea, I don’t know:

Speaking of other fandoms, it’s Pirates of the Caribbean! In an epic sea battle consisting mainly of smoke and light effects (it was just like the ride in Disneyland, y’all!) Euron kills at least two of the Sand Snakes. Last season the Sand Snakes killed everyone in Dorne, and now they are dead, too… D&D really went to great lengths to make up for the fact that they made us sit through the Dorne plot in season 5. Let’s never talk about it again.

Before the battle, however, we are reminded of one of the fundamental laws of the universe: IF TWO BISEXUAL WOMEN ARE IN THE SAME ROOM TOGETHER THEY HAVE TO MAKE OUT. Seriously, as soon as Ellaria found out Yara was bi she wasted no time, and ten seconds later Yara looked like she had an appointment with her gynecologist.

But then the Pirates of the Caribbean reenactment interrupted their steamy make out session, and Yara rushed upstairs and probably to her doom? OH YES, I FORGOT. We needed another damsel in distress to move Theon’s, A MAN’S™ plot further. I actually like Theon, and Alfie Allen is one of my favorite actors on the show, but seriously STOP IT WITH THE RAPING AND MAIMING OF WOMEN JUST SO THEON CAN SNAP OUT OF/SNAP BACK INTO HIS REEK STATE.

So apparently Euron is now Theon’s nemesis and the baddie he will have to kill to just get over his abuse. Just like Sansa got healed when she fed Ramsay to his dogs, remember?

Winterfell:

Jon has been summoned to Dragonstone by Tyrion, and he totally wants to go because Tyrion once gave him a bit of advice like 7 seasons ago. Sansa isn’t too excited about Jon leaving, but agrees that Tyrion is totally awesome and a really cool dude because he did not rape her on their wedding night. Sansa, sweetheart, you need to set the bar for “good man” a bit higher.

Davos then has the coolest idea ever: Fly one of them dragons up North and TORCH THE WIGHTS. I hope this is what happens; it would make for some epic heavy metal album cover aesthetics.

Jon later tells his Northern and Vale lords (and Lady Mormont), who are for some reason still hanging out at Winterfell (Don’t they have castles to look after or something? Where are they getting all the food from???), that he wants to go South and meet Dany. Maybe she will give him dragonglass if he asks nicely? The lords and lady are not too happy about the King in the North leaving the North, but Jon tells them he knows better and they should all shut up. “You elected me democratically, so now I can do whatever I want and not give a damn about any of your opinions!” What a cool king.

Sansa, who has clearly gone to the Emilia Clarke Acting School of Having a Resting Bitch Face in Every Scene, is then appointed to hold the North until Jon returns. AND HER FIRST REACTION IS A SIDEWAYS GLANCE AT LITTLEFINGER YOU GUYS!!!!!! Petyr, you scheming mastermind, evilly lurking in the shadows, you are one brilliant man! You promised Sansa the North would be hers and now the North is hers! Sansa as wardeness of the North and Petyr as her hand/advisor/lover/father of her children! I SHIP IT! Oh Petyr, you beautiful, scheming mastermind.

…… Did I say scheming mastermind? I meant stupid dumbass. Petyr, in his infinite wisdom (hint: HEAVY SARCASM), then follows Jon into the crypts for some reason to tell him he loves Sansa like he loved Cat. Of course, Petyr, being the smart, clever man he is, knows that Jon will react just like Petyr wants him to. “Oh, you actually love Sansa? Like, you have feelings for her and stuff? Awesome! I thought you just wanted to bone her! But now that I know your love for her is deep and pure, of course you have my blessing.”

Uuuuuhhhhh…. Or, you know, shove him against the wall. Yes, because that worked out so well for the last Stark man who did it. And sure enough, when Petyr emerges from the crypts, his face practically screams, “Oh, watch me try. I will scheme my way into your sister’s pants, if it’s the last thing it do.” (Spoiler: It probably will be.)

What was your favorite scene this episode? Who are you rooting for to win the Iron Throne? And what happened to Ed Sheeran?

[imagine-loki]

Across The Divide

TITLE: Across The Divide CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Sixteen AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki sneaking out of the palace as a youth to see the city and countryside, while out one day, he accidentally gets in trouble for something, but a young girl deals with the situation, allowing him to be left alone and his true identity be kept secret. She is a poor girl who is only in the city to sell goods with her father, so she does not realise it is Loki, even though she sees his face. They form a friendship as she shows him around the city, and tells him the date she comes to the city every month for a particular market. RATING: Teen and Up

Loki stood in front of the Lords that made up his council colleagues, one as fat and privileged as the next. He watched as Lord Ivan entered the room, with something that finally made him understand the word his mother had called a swag. He looked at Loki with a sly grin on his face, one that made Loki want to go and shake the life out of him, but he refrained, instead, he acted blissfully unaware of everything, the Lord had not realised Thor had heard of his plans, so the element of surprise, much to Lord Ivan's surprise, was not with him. "Lord Ivan, this is most irregular, is everything alright?"

"Some issues need to be attended to, your highness." Ivan grinned, "I am aware you are eager to amendments you wish to make."

"Yes, of course, it is most basic, a standard to basic living for orphaned children, warmth, basic amounts of food, nothing taxing." Loki feigned innocence, his mother often said it was terrifying, the more he knew and planned, the more he could act as though he knew nothing.

"Yes, well, there is issues in policing such matters, that is the issue."

"I cannot see an issue, we have magistrates in each town, there are schools that will note a malnourished or under cared for child, since all are supposed to be in school, and who can report to the magistrate and have the law enforcement in that area investigate, it is so simple really, it is a wonder it was not done before."

"The cost and manpower it will require, however…" Ivan began to explain.

"It is hardly any extra cost, those are the outlines of their basic duties as it is." Loki rubbished. "I cannot see how this negatively effects anyone bar the abusive. I cannot see reason for you to object to this Ivan on anything other than you being affected by it?" The insulted look on the Lord's face answered Loki's accusation. "So why object?" There was no answer. "We shall put it to a vote, shall we, I believe that though Asgard has a monarchy, it should be a fair system." Loki turned and nodded to the guard at the door, who opened it to reveal Thor, who strutted into the room, grinning widely. "As heir to the Aesir crown, a Lord in his own right and a high ranking member of Asgard's army, my brother Thor shall be the one to adjudicate over the vote to ensure fairness. He is not involved in this council, so I think him the fairest adjudicator, any objections?" The room remained silent.

"Let us get on with it then," Ivan growled, turning to face the other lords, wanting to get the farce over as quick as possible, to stop Loki's interfering with the realm and its current method of running.

"One more moment." The Lord scowled but his face turned to one of confusion as Loki smirked, "We need to have the count registered."

"Registered?" Several Lords seemed unsure what he meant.

"Yes, Someone will document who voted which way," Loki explained plainly.

"Why in the realms would we do such a thing?" Ivan demanded, repulsed by the idea.

"Because the people need to know what representatives they have on the council and how they voted and more importantly, know how their issues are being dealt with in a clear and incorrupt manner," Loki chuckled, "I mean, they could accuse us of plotting against an individual, or a coup if we are not honest from the go. If a representative lies to their workers and says they will vote one way and then go another, the people need to know, they need to be able to get answers."

More than a few lords went pale at such a thought, two shouted in anger, Ivan stared in open-mouthed disbelief. "It is not the way it is done."

"Correction, it is not the way it WAS done, now it will be the way it is done. Any that have issue, take it up with the Allfather." Loki could not help the gleeful smirk on his face, Thor, for his part, chuckled, his muscular arms folded as he watched the scene in front of him, which was just as entertaining as Loki promised it would be. "Now, we need a magistrate. I hear your daughter is one for such positions Lord Ullr, is she not?"

The Lord looked at the prince with uncertainty in his face. "Yes, she has a passion for such things, but her gender, as you can imagine…"

"Gives her no favours in her quest to pertain such roles," Loki nodded. "Have her sent for at once, she shall become our magistrate."

Ullr looked at the prince with pride and delight. "Of course, your highness, I cannot express to you of how honoured she will be." The Lord rushed to the door to have his daughter sent for.

"My mother recommends her highly." Loki looked back to the other Lords, his plan coming to fruition in front of him. He had chosen Ullr because, though he was not influential, he was an ordinary Lord, not a higher ranking one; he had not been brought in by Ivan's plan, giving his family such a role would show the lesser titled men that such loyalty was to be rewarded. "While we await the Lady Sif, let us go through the legislation as it stands, and my amendments to it, and please, I beseech you, any that have a question, no matter how menial, do not hesitate to speak up. If I have overlooked something, I am only too delighted to have it pointed out if it means we get this done right."

With Thor sitting to his right, and the young and bright Lady Sif to the left, Loki presided over the proceeding with a grin on his face that terrified Ivan. As expected, with accountability, many Lords abandoned their promises to Ivan and his attempts to get Loki to willingly walk away from his position. The amendment was passed by a majority, a very thin one, but fifty-one percent was still a higher number than forty-nine, and that was all that counted. Many of those who realised that they have lost seemed very uncomfortable in their seats, Ivan thought Loki to be bluffing and watched with almost denial as Sif wrote every name down in the ledger Thor had given to her. When, at the end, Thor walked over and took the ledger from the girl, Ivan thought that the prince was going to bring it away and discard it, that Loki was all theatrics and bluff, but instead, Thor turned and gave it to his brother. "What with it now?"

"The Lady Sif and I will bring it to the palace magistrate, who will have it reprinted to as many copies as are necessary and sent to every town hall on Asgard. I will send the original to father as proof of our work and have him amend the law as is necessary, and then, we begin the next order of business." Loki smiled.

"Wait, you cannot seriously give this to the people? What use have they for it?" Ivan demanded.

Loki turned around, his face cold and his eyes focused on the Lord. "I am as serious as heart failure Ivan and as for the people and their use of it, you forget how politics work, it is so simple really. If people do not like what they are getting for their money, they can call for change, if enough people call upon my father to have a Lord dealt with, he has to listen. The needs of the peasant many far surpass the wealthy few." Loki growled, he walked forward, close enough so only the Lord could hear him. "This is only a taste of what happens when someone crosses me, when someone who thinks himself a man runs to my father to cry and complain that I am too strong for him, too wild for him to tame like a little pup to sit obediently at his feet. you thought I would not find out what you had schemed? You are lucky I am feeling so generous this day Ivan, for I would watch you burn upon a pyre if I did not feel as I do." he swore, turning and indicating for Thor and Sif to follow.

*

Loki looked at Ariella as she slept. She looked no different from when he saw her last, her skin still like paper over her bones, her eyes still closed and her breathing, though deeper, was still harsh. "She has had no negative reaction to the food," Eir told him as she walked over to her charge.

"Neither has she had a positive one though, right?"

"Sadly, there is no change."

"Her breathing is different."

"Yes, the clean warm air is doing her some good. You say she was in a barn before?"

"A stable, a cold and draughty one."

"It makes sense then."

"Is there anything…"

"My prince, I told you already, it all depends on her getting through these first days," Eir stated kindly.

"I know." He looked at his friend for a moment. "I know you are busy, and with Ariella, even more so, but may I ask something of you?"

"You may ask, but I may not be able to assist," Eir stated, listening intently.

"Can you make a list, saying all of her illnesses and issues, I want to ensure those who made her suffer are forced to pay for this."

Eir looked at the young girl, who was fighting so ardently, yet not able to fight any longer. "I cannot say 'it will be my pleasure' as to say that means I take pleasure in her suffering, but in all honesty, nothing will give me as good a night's as knowing the wheel is turning, change is happening." The healer smiled. "Have you told her yet?"

"What is the point?" Loki looked at Ariella, her eyes closed and her body still.

"Her sleep is one of seidr induction, if she is healing, she could hear you," Eir explained. "There is no guarantee, but she may get comfort in your being here if she is aware of it." she walked off to begin her work to assist Loki, leaving the prince to sit next to his friend.

"I am trying to right the wrongs even more now, Ari," he explained. "I had my father change the law, through an amendment." He paused for a moment and sighed, Ariella would not have an idea what in the realms that meant. "I got put as a chair of a council, the one that deals with commoner issues, and I had a law changed, so that I can help you, help people like you. It is working, and it is going to do so much Ari, wait and see." He stopped for a moment, "Please, please wake up, I want you to see. I want you to see that you are so important, you are getting the realm to change. You are so important to everyone Ari, especially me."

[reactingtosomething]

Kris Reacts to Game of Thrones: 703, “The Queen’s Justice”

“A Failure of Imagination”

The Setup: I (Kris, aka @omeletsforpepper​) am not the only one of us who keeps up with Game of Thrones, but I am going solo for reactions to it this season (until maybe the finale). This could change, but my plan is to pick out a theme (not necessarily “the” theme) of the week’s episode, and discuss in depth just one or two scenes/sequences that involve it.

SPOILERS for and through season 7, episode 3 of Game of Thrones below.

Though the title of this post is spoken by Olenna Tyrell, it also applies to the problem faced by Jon Snow (“…He’s King in the North”) in his first encounter with Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains. On what turns out to have remained the strangely minimalist advice of Melisandre (couldn’t she have done Thoros’s whole “look into the flames and tell me what you see” thing?), Daenerys has summoned Jon to bend the knee. But of course, he’s come to ask for help fighting an army of ice zombies. Oh, and right, her father killed his grandfather and uncle, whereas his ancestor swore fealty “in perpetuity” to hers.

As in Jon’s arguments with Sansa earlier in the season, the Dragonstone story in this episode benefits hugely from bringing together characters we’ve rooted for in their own “home” contexts — what’s more, largely unambiguous heroes who’ve overcome or at least survived villains we were happy to see topple and burn (often literally) — and pitting their agendas against each other. Though they absolutely SHOULD NOT BANG (see new section Further Reading below), given the difficulty of wartime resource allocation there’s a productive storytelling tension between their equally legitimate, if maybe not equally time-sensitive, concerns.

Or, well, maybe “productive” is a little generous. 

Jon’s struggle — getting Dany and company to believe him about the encroaching threat of the Night King — is a struggle of a different kind for the audience to accept. Here’s a woman who’s seen and done things that were supposed to be impossible, or at least of a bygone era. Again and again she’s come up against people who underestimated her because they refused to believe she was everything she claimed. And we’re supposed to accept that she doesn’t consider for a second that Jon might be telling the truth? Especially in a scene that goes out of its way to remind us that Daenerys is a voracious reader well-versed in Westerosi history? Even if she wasn’t more than smart enough to make the connection between a supernatural threat embodying winter and her own literal firepower, she should know first-hand the perils of dismissing such a story as mere myth.

Yes, the show gets her there, eventually (in a sequence that if nothing else is gorgeous shot after gorgeous shot on the coast of Spain, probably with a little CG enhancement), but it doesn’t feel like an earned arc. She shouldn’t have needed that much convincing. Would there have then been an absence of conflict that’s problematic in screenwriting? Sure. But an artificially generated conflict that’s in tension with previously established characterization is just as big a problem.

The throne room scene is also hurt by the fact that Dany’s argumentation is shockingly bad, and it’s unclear that the show fully realizes this. Again, yes, it says the right words, when Jon rightly suggests that if Daenerys can’t be held accountable for the sins of her father, neither can he be held to the oath of his ancestor. But by having Designated Reasonable Man Tyrion push Daenerys’s agenda even when she’s not around, the show makes the impasse feel a little more “Gotta Hear Both Sides” than “hey Dany here’s a reality check.”

https://twitter.com/saladinahmed/status/891859659514105856

Here is a conflict that, if better handled, might have been a strong enough engine to substitute for Dany’s implausible skepticism regarding the White Walkers. Daenerys planned her journey to Westeros saying she aimed to “break the wheel,” but that revolutionary ambition is nowhere to be seen (Cersei’s characterization of her notwithstanding) as she argues for reasserting an ancient status quo. I’d have liked someone to point this out.

Jon, despite his own romanticization of old things and old ways, has recently shown greater moral and political imagination by gender-integrating the army of the North, making true allies (not mere subjects) out of the wildlings, and (gladly) handing the oversight of Winterfell to Sansa. Though his enemies in politics and espionage have been superficially less impressive than Dany’s, they took him much more seriously as a threat and arguably required greater creativity and conviction to thwart. In the process he has lost any sentimentality for the sacredness of any particular power structure.

https://twitter.com/eveewing/status/891852536126349313

So with pragmatic advisors like Tyrion and especially Varys at Dany’s side, why hasn’t it occurred to anyone that totalitarian rule might not be necessary and inevitable? I half-jokingly mentioned this after the premiere, contrasting GoT’s ostensible endgame with the resolution of Ta-Nehisi Coates’s first year writing Marvel’s Black Panther: T’Challa and his mother and sister convene a council to write a constitution and transition Wakanda to an at least partially democratic government. 

The more I think about it, the less I think such a conclusion should be written off as silly for Game of Thrones. I’m not saying that I think it’s headed there — if it were, I suspect the seeds would have been planted by now, as they were no later than the second issue of Coates’s BP — but I do think it would have been a workable one, and specifically a worthy character challenge for Daenerys, the Prince(ss) Who (Maybe) Was Promised.

ALL THAT SAID, I really enjoyed the middle sequence of Dragonstone scenes. Partly this was because of how amazing they looked, but we also got some nice reminders that Thrones has a cast as good on paper as any on TV, most of them a comfortable seven years into their performances. In practice, only a few of them have consistently gotten material as strong as they deserve, Peter Dinklage being one of those few (and even for him, not a lot last year). So it was inevitably satisfying that even where the dialogue sometimes fell short, “The Queen’s Justice” provided the circumstances for great character moments.

Kit Harington has often had too little to work with besides noble frustration, but he’s found an interesting unity in Jon’s dueling martyr and imposter complexes, and his scene with Tyrion was one of my favorites he’s ever done. Especially that little speech about how Jon has proven right everyone who told him not to meet with Dany. Maybe just because I know a little something about kicking myself while I’m down, or maybe because truly self-critical introspection (as opposed to some variation on “what if I’m just not strong enough”) still feels rare among heroes of Jon’s traditional heroic mold.

For her part, Emilia Clarke has often had too little to work with besides dramatic speeches, but she’s reliably great at them, and when she does get quieter moments she usually carries them off with a well-modulated haughtiness. Dany’s pouting about Jon’s refusal to bend the knee belatedly gains an interesting shade in their second scene together, coming as it does while both of them are trying to extend olive branches. The show also demonstrates some increasingly rare restraint in its dialogue, by not taking Dany’s recollection that like her Jon has lost two brothers to a point where she has to explicitly express her condolences. She’s a little too proud for that, especially right now, but they can both file it away in their heads as something they have in common.

Given the relative flatness of their arcs over the years (even Jon’ s temporary death couldn’t slow his Inevitable Rise to Power, and few believed it would stick), Daenerys and Jon are the characters in whom Thrones most threatens to succumb to embracing the genre cliches it’s built its reputation on subverting. Their stories have thus required every ounce of actor-delivered nuance they could get. Despite my problems with how Dany is written here, “The Queen’s Justice” nevertheless manages to be a series highlight in part because it finally presents both Dany and Jon with challenges to their respective Destinies that we can’t assume will be inevitably vanquished: each other. “The Queen’s Justice” doesn’t stick the landing of this conflict between protagonists quite as well as it did with Jon and Sansa’s argument in the season premiere, but at least the show knows how valuable this raw material is.

And again, this location is just an incredible gift to Mark Mylod’s direction and to the show’s cinematography:

As for my very favorite beats of the episode:

TYRION: I’d very much like to believe that Jon Snow is wrong. But a wise man once said that you should never believe a thing simply because you want to believe it. DAENERYS: Which wise man said this?

T: I don’t remember. D: Are you trying to present your own statements as ancient wisdom? T: I’d never do that. To you.

That one was too easy for the writers, but the line readings saved it.

A better moment even on the page:

JON: You’ve been talking to Tyrion. DAENERYS: He is my Hand. J: He enjoys talking. D: We all enjoy what we’re good at. J: I don’t.

Oof.

Further Reading

Now that Game of Thrones is off-book, creators David Benioff and D.B. Weiss have shown a deeper inclination towards embracing these tropes than George R.R. Martin has. […] If Jon and Daenerys bang, it will further indicate that post-Season 6, Game of Thrones is seeking to simply be traditional epic fantasy rather than seeking to have a dialogue with it. - Lauren Sarner for Inverse

But “Game of Thrones” has always encouraged us to look past the things that are easy and make us feel good. And if any show has been a cautionary tale about the difference between female empowerment and true social change, “Game of Thrones” has been it. - Alyssa Rosenberg for The Washington Post

While there have been moments in the past where Game Of Thrones has moved swiftly, this type of breathless pacing is new, and I frankly find it equal parts alarming and refreshing. - Myles McNutt for The AV Club

Talking to men: a play in four acts - Keely Flaherty on Twitter

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[dpargyle]

Novel Update - Stirrings of a Story (& a partial mental breakdown lol)

When you first start thinking about writing a novel - I think it’s a good idea to write about things on your mind.  I suppose this is obvious.  Right now I’m thinking about themes.  If a theme is on my mind it means I’m tossing it over in my head - wrestling with its questions and wondering what I actually think about it.  As a chronic over thinker, I always have a lot on my mind - so the trick is attempting to figure out how to turn down the noise and listen to the one or two things at the forefront of my thoughts.  The questions pulling at the roots of my soul.

I’m not saying in writing a book I’ll magically come up with brilliant answers to these thematic questions - but if I can focus in on a few thematic questions which can fill up an entire story without even answering them - by publicly wrestling with them - that’s the sort of thematic material I should pursue - it has a lot of dramatic potential as it’s something close to my own thought process.   If I am able to come up with simple answers to these sorts of thematic questions - either they’re not that interesting or I’m not treating them with the proper real world complications they deserve.  

So, what’s on my mind, you might be asking.    

Oh, you know, the usual…

Revolution.

And I’m not just talking about Trump - ultimately I believe he (and the movements he inspires and “fights” against) are just symptoms of larger issues - which have been evident to people paying attention for decades at this point.  The cracks are beginning to show.  The noise is rising to a crescendo.  Can you hear it?  Can you feel it?  We’ve been hurtling towards a precipice and either we’re about to - or already have - leapt willingly off it.

As it has often done throughout history, The Wheel begins to turn.  

The old way of doing things is dying.  Everyone can feel it - it’s just many of us are reacting differently to it.  Some are terrified - hunkering down - desperately clinging to institutions and ideas that don’t make sense - and in some cases aren’t even there - anymore.  Perhaps they never even were.  Others of us hold on to the idea we can be in control.  If we become our true selves - and embrace those selves - we can save ourselves from the we they want us to be.  Who knows, perhaps we’re right.  Perhaps we can hold back the darkness.  The darkness screaming us and them - everyone at each other’s throats - violence at the hot points - and the tension builds and the noise grows ever louder.

I’ve been sitting in this place for a while now but it seems a lot of people have been joining me recently - wondering if any of this (the government, capitalism, the American Dream, success, failure, money, poverty, patriarchy, feminism, white supremacy, able-bodied supremacy, PC culture, non-PC culture, gender norms, religion, hypocrisy, extremism, atheism, friendship, romance, isolation, America, society in general, all of it, every godsdamned thing) is even worth fighting for or against anymore.  Most days, I feel some of this is very much worth fighting for (or against) - but sometimes…

Sometimes I start to disassociate and slip into this weird head space and start wondering if any of this even matters, really - I mean in the grand scheme.  Like, OK, I get it - much of this matters very much in the here and now temporal plane - people are dying and there’s injustice and people are starving and I can be affected by it myself (with this healthcare bill for example) so maybe I’m coming off as terrible and unempathetic right now (even for my own situation) and maybe I am - but I don’t think I’m alone.

I think a lot of us (from every point on any and all the spectrums) have gotten to the place where we wanna throw up our hands and scream:

“Burn this mother to the ground!”

All this - modernity or post-modernity or whatever the f you wanna call it - just leave it as a pile of ash.  I mean - why else would we have this incredible proliferation of post-apocalyptic escape fantasies in our culture for the past 20 years?  We all, somewhere deep down, have the belief in our head that we could be the badass with the shotgun or whatever turning their back on civilization and chiseling our life back down to the “essentials” - a small group of people we love - and survival.  Like our ancestors, you know - like maybe we were never supposed to go beyond the point of small hunter gatherer groups - and maybe all this other crap is just b.s. distracting us from inevitable oblivion hurtling toward us you know????

And then I stop disassociating and try to come back to reality (whatever the hells that is) and tell myself I’m being an asshole - I probably couldn’t even go a day without the Internet or chocolate or my wheelchair (obviously) and that society, despite all the b.s., is worthwhile after all.

But sometimes…sometimes I’m not so sure…

So what happens when a society chooses to un-become a society?  What does a revolution look like?  Do revolutions even work?  Does violence work?  Is violence the only thing that works?  If you do succeed in violently overthrowing…whatever - does anything really change at all - or is The Wheel just that - and you end up in the exact same place you started….like that part at the end of the story where the animals are looking in through the window and they’re looking back and forth between the pigs and the farmers, and to their horror, they realize they can’t tell them apart anymore…

This is the sort of thematic question I enjoy wrestling with….      

[swipestream]

Gnome Stew Notables – Alex Roberts

Welcome to the second installment of our Gnome Spotlight: Notables series. The notables series is a look at game developers in the gaming industry doing good work. The series will focus on female game creators and game creators of color primarily, and each entry will be a short bio and interview. We’ve currently got a group of authors and guest authors interviewing game creators and hope to bring you many more entries in the series as it continues on. If you’ve got a suggestion for someone we should be doing a notables article on, or want to do an interview with someone send us a note at headgnome@gnomestew.com. – Head Gnome John

Meet Alex

Alex

Alex Roberts is a writer, designer, journalist, and roleplayer of boundless enthusiasm. She wants roleplaying to be a site of interior exploration, transformation, and healing. When not hosting her acclaimed interview show 

Talking With Alex

1) Tell us a little bit about yourself and your work. 

Big question! All right, here’s my deal. I’m bright and enthusiastic, and I have a podcast called Backstory where I interview fascinating folks in roleplaying. It’s thoughtful and gentle and even people who don’t like podcasts like it. I write fun stuff for other people’s games, like Sig, Dialect, Threadbare, and Misspent Youth: Sell Out With Me. I do production support and project management and marketing stuff for game publishers; right now with Bully Pulpit Games. And, of course, I make my own dang games! My first was HUGPUNX LIVE, for Pelgrane’s #Feminism supplement. I’m semi-secretly working on a little card-based thing right now. And of course there’s Star Crossed, the two-player RPG of forbidden love, which will be on Kickstarter April 10th – May 10th! That game has been in progress for years and I am losing my mind over how great it’s going to be.

  You’ve probably heard me on podcasts or at cons talking about two player games, or romance and sexuality in game design. These are some of my favourite topics!

Backstory Podcast

2) What project are you most proud of?

It’s hard to pick just one! I do feel a certain special love for my first RPG writing credit, in Sig: the City Between. I had no idea what I was doing; Crystalia just kind of emerged from me. Sig is planar fantasy, and I was moved to write about a beautiful, perfect world of vibrations and lights in glorious pastels. Beings grow in caves and emerge fully formed, and where things are easily broken and impossible to repair. Without my intention, it came to represent this overwhelming fear of making mistakes, of imperfections, of asking for help or accepting nurturing. I still get into that headspace sometimes but I’m at least better at recognizing it, since writing it out as something external to me. I’ll think to myself: whoops, I’m in Crystalia again. Better turn around.

3) What themes do you like to emphasize in your game work?

Queerness, obviously, but also the excruciating joy of being alive.

4) What mechanics do you like best in games?

I like when a game system perfectly matches the real, felt, lived experience of something in the world. Sometimes a game mechanic makes apparent something you only sensed before, but couldn’t express. You point to it and go, “yes! That’s how it is!” Not an external realism, but an internal resonance.

5) How would you describe your game design style?

Intuitive. I am making games to feel my way through what the heck is going on. With me, with the world. Star Crossed is not just about Attraction and Relationships, it’s me making meaning of my experiences of attraction and relationships, and trying to make them into a system that I can comprehend (if not master.) Even “comprehend” is a bit too intellectual, actually. Maybe a word like “integrate” is a bit closer. Really, by making a game I’m going, okay, this is how attraction works, it’s sorta like this, a thing I can see the whole of, and live with. Star Crossed is my little diorama of attraction, with moving parts.

6) How does gender/queerness fit into your games?

I like when my work is very obviously feminine even though I find femininity hard to define. I guess, again, I must prefer to make stuff to understand rather than express. More likely I’m doing both. If pressed I would say that all my games, even when I was working digitally, put harmony, creativity, and grace at the forefront. And of course my games are going to be queer because that’s where I’m coming from. I could never make a game where relationships have a pre-determined path forward which is generally agreed upon by not only the people in it but also their broader community and culture. I’ll keep letting you get into messy, baffling, ecstatically exciting but fraught relationships instead.

7) How do you make sexy games fun?

Star Crossed

Sex is already absolutely ludicrous. And I think sex is one of most adults’ few opportunities to be playful. So, let’s just acknowledge that and make a game where you can tell ridiculous, sexy stories. It’s so much easier than people seem to think. I get the fear around making anything about sex (even in this answer I’m resisting the urge to say something like “Star Crossed doesn’t just tell sexy stories!” which is true but irrelevant) because we’re taught that whole area of life is inherently dangerous. Reflecting the reality of sexuality – that it is honestly just the most ridiculous and interesting thing – is better than trying to deliberately frame it any particular way.

8) How did you get into games?

Like everyone else, I played all the time as a kid. I was just lucky enough to keep doing it. After absorbing the cultural concept of “Dungeons and Dragons” I ran what were essentially ongoing fantasy storytelling sessions, with no rules except total DM fiat, in various treehouses and backyards and slumber parties, until I was a teen and I made friends with some boys who had the actual books and knew the actual rules. It took me a couple of years of trying to get into that to get bored and decide I didn’t like RPGs after all! Then I met a friend who showed me The Burning Wheel. And then organized a game of Fiasco. And then gave me his copy of Kagematsu and asked me to GM it. The rest is history. Thanks, Patrick!

9) What one thing would you change in gaming?

I would like to have a sophisticated culture of critique. “There’s no wrong way to have fun!” is an attempt at kindness, of course. I get that it’s a fallback to avoid a recurring set of self-fuelling arguments. Unfortunately, there are lots of ways to have fun that hurt other people. I’ve seen play used to bully, and game systems that reinforce and re-create much broader systems of harm. Being able to precisely and compassionately critique different games might help us build more fun, innovative, groundbreaking work while also helping us avoid some of those problems.

10) What are you working on now?

I have a little game about a queen’s retinue that I’m specifically cultivating for first-time roleplayers, and it turns out long-time roleplayers have been enjoying it too. It’s been fun so far! It’s been a lifeline of creativity while pushing Star Crossed past the finish line. Those are two different kinds of satisfying that fuel each other.

Thanks for joining us for this entry in the notables series.  You can find more in the series here: and please feel free to drop us any suggestions for people we should interview at headgnome@gnomestew.com.

Gnome Stew Notables – Alex Roberts published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

[kayawagner]

Gnome Stew Notables – Alex Roberts

Welcome to the second installment of our Gnome Spotlight: Notables series. The notables series is a look at game developers in the gaming industry doing good work. The series will focus on female game creators and game creators of color primarily, and each entry will be a short bio and interview. We’ve currently got a group of authors and guest authors interviewing game creators and hope to bring you many more entries in the series as it continues on. If you’ve got a suggestion for someone we should be doing a notables article on, or want to do an interview with someone send us a note at headgnome@gnomestew.com. – Head Gnome John

Meet Alex

Alex

Alex Roberts is a writer, designer, journalist, and roleplayer of boundless enthusiasm. She wants roleplaying to be a site of interior exploration, transformation, and healing. When not hosting her acclaimed interview show 

Talking With Alex

1) Tell us a little bit about yourself and your work. 

Big question! All right, here’s my deal. I’m bright and enthusiastic, and I have a podcast called Backstory where I interview fascinating folks in roleplaying. It’s thoughtful and gentle and even people who don’t like podcasts like it. I write fun stuff for other people’s games, like Sig, Dialect, Threadbare, and Misspent Youth: Sell Out With Me. I do production support and project management and marketing stuff for game publishers; right now with Bully Pulpit Games. And, of course, I make my own dang games! My first was HUGPUNX LIVE, for Pelgrane’s #Feminism supplement. I’m semi-secretly working on a little card-based thing right now. And of course there’s Star Crossed, the two-player RPG of forbidden love, which will be on Kickstarter April 10th – May 10th! That game has been in progress for years and I am losing my mind over how great it’s going to be.

  You’ve probably heard me on podcasts or at cons talking about two player games, or romance and sexuality in game design. These are some of my favourite topics!

Backstory Podcast

2) What project are you most proud of?

It’s hard to pick just one! I do feel a certain special love for my first RPG writing credit, in Sig: the City Between. I had no idea what I was doing; Crystalia just kind of emerged from me. Sig is planar fantasy, and I was moved to write about a beautiful, perfect world of vibrations and lights in glorious pastels. Beings grow in caves and emerge fully formed, and where things are easily broken and impossible to repair. Without my intention, it came to represent this overwhelming fear of making mistakes, of imperfections, of asking for help or accepting nurturing. I still get into that headspace sometimes but I’m at least better at recognizing it, since writing it out as something external to me. I’ll think to myself: whoops, I’m in Crystalia again. Better turn around.

3) What themes do you like to emphasize in your game work?

Queerness, obviously, but also the excruciating joy of being alive.

4) What mechanics do you like best in games?

I like when a game system perfectly matches the real, felt, lived experience of something in the world. Sometimes a game mechanic makes apparent something you only sensed before, but couldn’t express. You point to it and go, “yes! That’s how it is!” Not an external realism, but an internal resonance.

5) How would you describe your game design style?

Intuitive. I am making games to feel my way through what the heck is going on. With me, with the world. Star Crossed is not just about Attraction and Relationships, it’s me making meaning of my experiences of attraction and relationships, and trying to make them into a system that I can comprehend (if not master.) Even “comprehend” is a bit too intellectual, actually. Maybe a word like “integrate” is a bit closer. Really, by making a game I’m going, okay, this is how attraction works, it’s sorta like this, a thing I can see the whole of, and live with. Star Crossed is my little diorama of attraction, with moving parts.

6) How does gender/queerness fit into your games?

I like when my work is very obviously feminine even though I find femininity hard to define. I guess, again, I must prefer to make stuff to understand rather than express. More likely I’m doing both. If pressed I would say that all my games, even when I was working digitally, put harmony, creativity, and grace at the forefront. And of course my games are going to be queer because that’s where I’m coming from. I could never make a game where relationships have a pre-determined path forward which is generally agreed upon by not only the people in it but also their broader community and culture. I’ll keep letting you get into messy, baffling, ecstatically exciting but fraught relationships instead.

7) How do you make sexy games fun?

Star Crossed

Sex is already absolutely ludicrous. And I think sex is one of most adults’ few opportunities to be playful. So, let’s just acknowledge that and make a game where you can tell ridiculous, sexy stories. It’s so much easier than people seem to think. I get the fear around making anything about sex (even in this answer I’m resisting the urge to say something like “Star Crossed doesn’t just tell sexy stories!” which is true but irrelevant) because we’re taught that whole area of life is inherently dangerous. Reflecting the reality of sexuality – that it is honestly just the most ridiculous and interesting thing – is better than trying to deliberately frame it any particular way.

8) How did you get into games?

Like everyone else, I played all the time as a kid. I was just lucky enough to keep doing it. After absorbing the cultural concept of “Dungeons and Dragons” I ran what were essentially ongoing fantasy storytelling sessions, with no rules except total DM fiat, in various treehouses and backyards and slumber parties, until I was a teen and I made friends with some boys who had the actual books and knew the actual rules. It took me a couple of years of trying to get into that to get bored and decide I didn’t like RPGs after all! Then I met a friend who showed me The Burning Wheel. And then organized a game of Fiasco. And then gave me his copy of Kagematsu and asked me to GM it. The rest is history. Thanks, Patrick!

9) What one thing would you change in gaming?

I would like to have a sophisticated culture of critique. “There’s no wrong way to have fun!” is an attempt at kindness, of course. I get that it’s a fallback to avoid a recurring set of self-fuelling arguments. Unfortunately, there are lots of ways to have fun that hurt other people. I’ve seen play used to bully, and game systems that reinforce and re-create much broader systems of harm. Being able to precisely and compassionately critique different games might help us build more fun, innovative, groundbreaking work while also helping us avoid some of those problems.

10) What are you working on now?

I have a little game about a queen’s retinue that I’m specifically cultivating for first-time roleplayers, and it turns out long-time roleplayers have been enjoying it too. It’s been fun so far! It’s been a lifeline of creativity while pushing Star Crossed past the finish line. Those are two different kinds of satisfying that fuel each other.

Thanks for joining us for this entry in the notables series.  You can find more in the series here: and please feel free to drop us any suggestions for people we should interview at headgnome@gnomestew.com.

Gnome Stew Notables – Alex Roberts published first on https://supergalaxyrom.tumblr.com

[gaiatheorist]

Choppy waters.

(No idea why I picked a maritime analogy, I loathe travel by boat, if I was meant to spend time precariously perched on flotsam, at the mercy of the waves, I’d have gills, but I don’t, I’m a human, not an axolotl. Immediate cross-over, there, because the axolotl can evolve from having gills to lungs, more easily than, say Germaine Greer and her ilk can evolve into the 21st Century.)

I hate boats. Well, not boats themselves, they’re inanimate objects, expending energy ‘hating’ boats would be a bit daft, what I mean to say is that I hate being on boats, it makes me physically uncomfortable. I can swim, and I’ve never been in any sort of boat-related accident, I just don’t enjoy the sensation of being miles from solid land, all rocking and tipping and that, completely at the mercy of whoever is in charge of the boat. It’s a really easy one to unpick, my near-phobia of boats. When I was a tiny child, my Father used to take my brother and I out fishing in a rowing boat, and I HATED not-being-able-to-see-land, stuck in a floating bath-tub, with a maniac in charge of the oars. When I started the relationship with the ex, it came to light that he enjoyed boat-travel, so I patiently explained that I didn’t. Then I commenced a 20-year journey of mollifying and appeasing him, and trying not to vomit on boats, because he didn’t ‘do’ sick, and his-needs-were-more-important. “Get over it!” said my ex, much like Germaine Greer.

My Dad, and my ex were both controlling men, not all men are controlling, Not all men want to make me feel at-risk. Not all men want to put me on a boat after I’ve said I’d really rather not be on a boat. (”But it’s not a boat, it’s a yacht, you’ll be fine!”- that one was when I was still breast-feeding the kid, have you ever tried to breast-feed on a yacht? It was horrible, insisting that ‘his’ wife and infant son go on his boss’ yacht for kudos man-points.) Not all feminists want to tell us to ‘get over it’, essentially to ‘man up.’ 

The older feminists are taking exception to this surge, this current of younger feminists, making another incremental push towards more-equal. I don’t know if I’m ‘allowed’ to call myself a feminist, with my tendency to generally-conceal my outwardly visible femininity, falling in the gap between the old, and the new, there. Sod it, there are no rules, the ‘new’ feminists can wear make-up and floaty frocks if they want, I’ll sit here in jeans and a hoodie, not-agreeing with the ‘old’ feminists, so, so many ways I’m ‘betwixt’ one thing and another. More Stig of the Dump than ‘the missing link’, fully engaged in my Crone-phase, I suppose I ‘should’ side with the old-school feminists. I don’t do ‘should’, though, do I? It’s a good thing I don’t drive, because the whole ‘pick a lane’ thing doesn’t sit well with me. (Oh, and I’d be one of those ‘women drivers.’) Maybe I am an axolotl after all, because ‘static’ isn’t really my thing.

The world got a little bit static, didn’t it? There was most-of a cultural shift way-back-when, when the ‘dusty desert dwelling gents’ mostly-stopped selling their daughters, then it slowed. My knowledge of history is mostly based on TV dramas, perhaps not so much ‘Britannia’, which is batshit insane, but I do love a good female-leader story. Boudicca-style, not Margaret Thatcher, or Theresa May. The Suffragettes did their bit, and then we had another static period, until the bra-burning and birth control advanced ‘the cause’ another notch. Here we go, ladies, gentlemen, and others, here comes another turn of the wheel, the ‘shrieking’ isn’t the ‘new’ feminists, as Ms Greer would have the world believe, it’s the ‘old’ feminists, digging in their (sensible) heels, and trying to stop the wheel turning, lest the ‘progress’ somehow undoes what they fought for. Stop resisting, old-feminists, as much as yonder orange clown, who didn’t look up what it was he was re-tweeting, wants to roll-back on the reproductive autonomy you fought for, you DID make those changes, and history won’t forget them. 

Various people are minimising the culture that still exists, in respect of the ‘Presidents Club’ furore, and the Aziz Ansari issue. That’s what needs to stop, the repression of the shudder of revulsion at a load of moneyed-men groping ‘hostesses’ just because they could, and poor old ‘Grace’ trying to find another word for ‘No.’, because Ansari didn’t hear that one. Society as a whole can’t keep falling back into the shadows of ‘boys will be boys’, or we accept the status-quo, and the foundation work really is undone. Greer and co  did that work, nobody can ever take that away, BUT, by asserting that ‘they’ had to put up with a lot of ‘handsy men’, and suggesting that the ‘new’ feminists should ‘get on with it’, I feel that a point is being missed. You know that thing, where a person says “Try one of these crisps, they’re HORRIBLE.” or “I’ve made you a cup of tea, but I think the milk is past its best.”, that’s what Greer and co are doing. “Well, this is awful, but it’s all we have, better soldier on.” No, no, and a thousand times no.

There is no denying that society and culture were more difficult for Greer’s generation, the advances they made were phenomenal, EVERY daughter is indebted to them, but to accuse these new-daughters of ‘whining’, for not just-getting-on-with the status quo they were seeking to challenge in the first place, they’re not just halting progress; they run the risk of reversing their own. Nobody is minimising the misogyny that Greer’s generation lived through, and sought to challenge, nobody is denying the progress made, but, to hold that level of progress as the apex we can aspire to isn’t enough for us ‘daughters’. Yes, we can have a career, rather than being barefoot-and-pregnant, but recent events have proved that we’re really not ‘having our cake and eating it too.’ (I’m not going to veer-off on the body-image-diet-plan tangent for once.) 

Between-generations, and without a ‘daughter’, I’m coming at this one from a bit of a tangled starting point. My parents were an utter omnishambles in terms of instilling any type of aspiration in me, I was ‘supposed to be a boy’, like every first-born on my father’s line forever, and my mother was terrified of men. She had reason to be. The ex’s family were very traditional in terms of gender stereotypes, the women might as well have had caps and aprons for all the autonomy they had in real terms. I REALLY rocked that particular boat, by refusing to be quiet and go back into the kitchen. If I had a list of aspirations, popularity wouldn’t be on it. I was “This girl can” shocking and defying the in-laws 20 years ago, and I haven’t spent 40 years defending myself and deflecting dubious digits from about my person to ‘sit down and shut up’ now.

Yes, they are difficult conversations, yes, a lot of it is quite uncomfortable, but we, as a society can’t continue to dismiss the ‘keep trying’ mentality in Ansari, or the blatant abuse of power at the Presidents Club. Yes, these things do happen, but they don’t have to. Greer and co telling us to ‘toughen up’ only stagnates progress. A certain type of older lady, clutching her pearls, and being aghast that ‘Grace’ was in that position at all runs the risk of reversing progress.

Choppy waters, it’s a cyclic thing, Greer and co are effectively Betamax, telling the rest of us that VHS will never catch on. The pearl-clutching-ladies, and the odious swines who “did not witness anything of that nature” at the Presidents Club are old-people-trying-to-use-a-computer. No, ‘we’ youngsters can’t all do long division in our heads, or recite Latin verb-endings, but we also don’t have to have twelve children by the age of 30, in case some of them die. The world is changing, it’s not 1900, or 1960, or even 2000, the pace-of-change has been ratcheting up the gears (don’t skew-off to the bloody Doomsday Clock.) it can’t ‘stop’ here, because this-is-how-it-has-always-been. We’re seeing the opposition to progress that others might have seen at the end of the Witch-trials, or the crossover between shitting in a trench and the introduction of sanitation. 

The ‘new’ feminists aren’t ‘weaker’ than the originals for complaining about issues that the older ones ‘put up with’, the point of a movement is that it keeps moving, I’m not preaching unrealistic-expectations, just progress. I’ve crafted this particular life to protect myself against some known-inequalities, my son has seen a ‘strong woman’ as a role model most of the time, he hasn’t seen all the times I’ve had to peel off wandering hands that men felt entitled to place on me. He has seen my frustration turn into resentment at his father, and that wasn’t healthy, but it kept him connected to grandparents he adores, I suppose the end justified the means there, even if his grandparents enabled a lot of my ex’s coercive and manipulative behaviours. I’m small-collateral there, I’m out of that now. 

The ‘new’ feminists AREN’T undoing the progress of the ‘old’ ones if they decide to wear make-up, or skirts, as much as I bang on about not painting my face, or wearing clothes that make me look ‘available’, the progress made by the ‘old’ feminists can’t be held-stagnant in crew-cuts and dungarees. At that point, it ceases to be progress, and becomes a plateau. What I think the ‘old’ feminists are failing to see is the element of personal choice, which was what they were fighting for all along. I joke about not wearing make-up, and mooching about the place in jeans and hoodies, I haven’t ‘had a hair-cut’ since 2014, just because I don’t buy into the aesthetic-angle, that doesn’t give me the right to criticise anyone who does. ‘Men’ are not animals, the vast majority of them don’t go around licking us because we smell nice, but that undercurrent, that perception that they will-because-they-can is what the ‘new’ feminists are, rightly, challenging. Even if ‘we’ do wear pink, or have hair-styles, that doesn’t mean we’re back-to-before, all dainty and helpless, because progress has been made. 

Right then, choppy waters to navigate, and this storm WILL get worse before it gets better, nobody ever discovered new territory by staying where they were, or turning back around to the relative safety of where they were before that. Humanity needs to start pulling in the same direction, and not be distracted by certain parties sticking their oar in where it’s not needed.  

[talabib]

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Gnome Stew Notables – Alex Roberts

Welcome to the second installment of our Gnome Spotlight: Notables series. The notables series is a look at game developers in the gaming industry doing good work. The series will focus on female game creators and game creators of color primarily, and each entry will be a short bio and interview. We’ve currently got a group of authors and guest authors interviewing game creators and hope to bring you many more entries in the series as it continues on. If you’ve got a suggestion for someone we should be doing a notables article on, or want to do an interview with someone send us a note at headgnome@gnomestew.com. – Head Gnome John

Meet Alex

Alex

Alex Roberts is a writer, designer, journalist, and roleplayer of boundless enthusiasm. She wants roleplaying to be a site of interior exploration, transformation, and healing. When not hosting her acclaimed interview show 

Talking With Alex

1) Tell us a little bit about yourself and your work. 

Big question! All right, here’s my deal. I’m bright and enthusiastic, and I have a podcast called Backstory where I interview fascinating folks in roleplaying. It’s thoughtful and gentle and even people who don’t like podcasts like it. I write fun stuff for other people’s games, like Sig, Dialect, Threadbare, and Misspent Youth: Sell Out With Me. I do production support and project management and marketing stuff for game publishers; right now with Bully Pulpit Games. And, of course, I make my own dang games! My first was HUGPUNX LIVE, for Pelgrane’s #Feminism supplement. I’m semi-secretly working on a little card-based thing right now. And of course there’s Star Crossed, the two-player RPG of forbidden love, which will be on Kickstarter April 10th – May 10th! That game has been in progress for years and I am losing my mind over how great it’s going to be.

  You’ve probably heard me on podcasts or at cons talking about two player games, or romance and sexuality in game design. These are some of my favourite topics!

Backstory Podcast

2) What project are you most proud of?

It’s hard to pick just one! I do feel a certain special love for my first RPG writing credit, in Sig: the City Between. I had no idea what I was doing; Crystalia just kind of emerged from me. Sig is planar fantasy, and I was moved to write about a beautiful, perfect world of vibrations and lights in glorious pastels. Beings grow in caves and emerge fully formed, and where things are easily broken and impossible to repair. Without my intention, it came to represent this overwhelming fear of making mistakes, of imperfections, of asking for help or accepting nurturing. I still get into that headspace sometimes but I’m at least better at recognizing it, since writing it out as something external to me. I’ll think to myself: whoops, I’m in Crystalia again. Better turn around.

3) What themes do you like to emphasize in your game work?

Queerness, obviously, but also the excruciating joy of being alive.

4) What mechanics do you like best in games?

I like when a game system perfectly matches the real, felt, lived experience of something in the world. Sometimes a game mechanic makes apparent something you only sensed before, but couldn’t express. You point to it and go, “yes! That’s how it is!” Not an external realism, but an internal resonance.

5) How would you describe your game design style?

Intuitive. I am making games to feel my way through what the heck is going on. With me, with the world. Star Crossed is not just about Attraction and Relationships, it’s me making meaning of my experiences of attraction and relationships, and trying to make them into a system that I can comprehend (if not master.) Even “comprehend” is a bit too intellectual, actually. Maybe a word like “integrate” is a bit closer. Really, by making a game I’m going, okay, this is how attraction works, it’s sorta like this, a thing I can see the whole of, and live with. Star Crossed is my little diorama of attraction, with moving parts.

6) How does gender/queerness fit into your games?

I like when my work is very obviously feminine even though I find femininity hard to define. I guess, again, I must prefer to make stuff to understand rather than express. More likely I’m doing both. If pressed I would say that all my games, even when I was working digitally, put harmony, creativity, and grace at the forefront. And of course my games are going to be queer because that’s where I’m coming from. I could never make a game where relationships have a pre-determined path forward which is generally agreed upon by not only the people in it but also their broader community and culture. I’ll keep letting you get into messy, baffling, ecstatically exciting but fraught relationships instead.

7) How do you make sexy games fun?

Star Crossed

Sex is already absolutely ludicrous. And I think sex is one of most adults’ few opportunities to be playful. So, let’s just acknowledge that and make a game where you can tell ridiculous, sexy stories. It’s so much easier than people seem to think. I get the fear around making anything about sex (even in this answer I’m resisting the urge to say something like “Star Crossed doesn’t just tell sexy stories!” which is true but irrelevant) because we’re taught that whole area of life is inherently dangerous. Reflecting the reality of sexuality – that it is honestly just the most ridiculous and interesting thing – is better than trying to deliberately frame it any particular way.

8) How did you get into games?

Like everyone else, I played all the time as a kid. I was just lucky enough to keep doing it. After absorbing the cultural concept of “Dungeons and Dragons” I ran what were essentially ongoing fantasy storytelling sessions, with no rules except total DM fiat, in various treehouses and backyards and slumber parties, until I was a teen and I made friends with some boys who had the actual books and knew the actual rules. It took me a couple of years of trying to get into that to get bored and decide I didn’t like RPGs after all! Then I met a friend who showed me The Burning Wheel. And then organized a game of Fiasco. And then gave me his copy of Kagematsu and asked me to GM it. The rest is history. Thanks, Patrick!

9) What one thing would you change in gaming?

I would like to have a sophisticated culture of critique. “There’s no wrong way to have fun!” is an attempt at kindness, of course. I get that it’s a fallback to avoid a recurring set of self-fuelling arguments. Unfortunately, there are lots of ways to have fun that hurt other people. I’ve seen play used to bully, and game systems that reinforce and re-create much broader systems of harm. Being able to precisely and compassionately critique different games might help us build more fun, innovative, groundbreaking work while also helping us avoid some of those problems.

10) What are you working on now?

I have a little game about a queen’s retinue that I’m specifically cultivating for first-time roleplayers, and it turns out long-time roleplayers have been enjoying it too. It’s been fun so far! It’s been a lifeline of creativity while pushing Star Crossed past the finish line. Those are two different kinds of satisfying that fuel each other.

Thanks for joining us for this entry in the notables series.  You can find more in the series here: and please feel free to drop us any suggestions for people we should interview at headgnome@gnomestew.com.

Gnome Stew Notables – Alex Roberts published first on https://supergalaxyrom.tumblr.com