#but anyway despite my continued comparisons of this book and little women

[fictionadventurer]

The Heir of Redclyffe is teaching me that what Little Women really needed was for the March sisters to have a clever, witty, sharp-tongued, disabled brother who was BFFs with Laurie.

[dontbipanicjonsa]

Been thinking about Dark!D*ny and

I think for me, it comes down to two things:

The utter hypocrisy re: her supposed abolitionist ways

The escalation of her power and the destruction she wreaks

Because I can't really fault her for smothering Drogo. I can't really fault her for letting Viserys die. I can't really fault her for murdering the shit out of Kraznys. I can't fault her for freeing slaves (as if). I can't even fault her for wanting revenge.

Let me explain-

I think if we compare the capture of the Lhazareen and the capture of Meereen, it paints a very clear picture of where D*ny is headed.

The Lhazareen

Ok. First, the whole 'D*ny has no power' argument has to stop. She's the khaleesi. Her husband is the khal. Of course she has power.

I'm NOT saying Drogo isn't absolutely monstrous to her. I'm not saying she chose to marry him. I'm not commenting on their relationship at all.

In a patriarchy, (upper class) women gain property/power/control over others in exchange for sexual/reproductive service. So D*ny, simply by virtue of being the khal's wife, or simply because she's pregnant with his kid (neither of which were her choice) has power.

For comparison, Cersei, who is abused by her husband, the king, still derives power from her position as Queen and mother of the princes/princess. See what I mean?

?? Drogo decides they're gonna sail to Westeros and gives his rousing speech because D*ny was almost assassinated. The attack on the Lhazareen was done in service of D*ny's conquest of Westeros. Let's repeat.

The Lhazareen were attacked to further D*ny's interests.

The Lhazareen were attacked to further D*ny's interests.

No, it wasn't for Rhaego, he's a fucking foetus he doesn't HAVE interests. It's not for Drogo, he doesn't give two shits about Westeros. IT"S FOR D*NY. And that is her 'power' in action. Her power, that she derives through her husband, because PatRiarChy. But power.

And you know what? Sure. It's fine. She didn't know what a bloodbath it was going to be. That's not her fault. And yeah, she IS ready to accept the bloodshed as necessary collateral. That is...a bit more questionable. But she does try to help some women.

Does she only help them because she can see their suffering? Probably. There's plenty of suffering not in her direct line of sight that she allows. But ok. Sure. It's not her job to save everyone (nevermind that they're suffering to further her interests).

The whole 'save them by marrying them to their rapists' thing makes me more sad than enraged. It's tragic. It's D*ny, making women marry their rapists in the same book where she married her rapist...thinking she's ok, thinking they would be ok too. It's the cycle of abuse in motion, right before our eyes.

This is an explanation I accept. All that bullshit about how powerless D*ny is? Pls. Women and children are being enslaved right there on the same page, so D*ny can win the IT, and she's powerless ?? stfu

Ok. I get it. She's not powerless, but how far does her power extend? COULD she have gotten away with getting all the newly enslaved Lhazareen freed? We'll never know. Does that absolve her?

Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver's Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.

NO.

This- the capture and enslavement of the Lhazareen people- is a direct consequence of Viserys' ambitions, which is a torch that D*ny has now willingly taken up. THAT ^^^ is a price she's willing to pay, or rather- make others pay.

Buuuut it's fine. She's inexperienced, and her power is certainly limited, and hey she tried. Sure. Moving on.

Meereen

(TW: mentions of rape)

Fast forward four books and D*ny is approximately 100x times more powerful than she was in the Lhazareen scene. Let's see how she does now-

A boy came, younger than Dany, slight and scarred, dressed up in a frayed grey tokar trailing silver fringe. His voice broke when he told of how two of his father's household slaves had risen up the night the gate broke. One had slain his father, the other his elder brother. Both had raped his mother before killing her as well. The boy had escaped with no more than the scar upon his face, but one of the murderers was still living in his father's house, and the other had joined the queen's soldiers as one of the Mother's Men. He wanted them both hanged.

I am queen over a city built on dust and death. Dany had no choice but to deny him. She had declared a blanket pardon for all crimes committed during the sack. Nor would she punish slaves for rising up against their masters.

xxx

A former slave came, to accuse a certain noble of the Zhak. The man had recently taken to wife a freedwoman who had been the noble's bedwarmer before the city fell. The noble had taken her maidenhood, used her for his pleasure, and gotten her with child. Her new husband wanted the noble gelded for the crime of rape, and he wanted a purse of gold as well, to pay him for raising the noble's bastard as his own. Dany granted him the gold, but not the gelding. "When he lay with her, your wife was his property, to do with as he would. By law, there was no rape." Her decision did not please him, she could see, but if she gelded every man who ever forced a bedslave, she would soon rule a city of eunuchs.

SO anyway how is D*ny rating on the 'tried to prevent rape' scale?

She even went so far as to summon Irri, hoping her caresses might help ease her way to rest, but after a short while she pushed the Dothraki girl away. Irri was sweet and soft and willing, but she was not Daario.

Oh look she's in the negative :/

How's she doing on the slavery front? She's got all the power now...

"Your slave Missandei." Jhiqui had a taper in her hand.

"My servant. I have no slaves." Dany did not understand. "Why does she weep?"

xxx

There was no slavery in the free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves.

...

D*enerys spends five books gaining power. How does this affect the condition of her people? Is the condition of the Meereenese better than the condition of the Lhazareen had been, all the way back in the first book? No. It's worse.

People have still been raped. People have still been enslaved/remained enslaved. People have starved. People have been brutally murdered. And at a much larger scale than book 1.

This is what it comes down to. D*ny is a villain because her climb to power is characterized by death and destruction, always. Isn't that the trademark of a villain?

D*ny is a girl who truly believes in her own PR, but when you look at her words and actions-

"The Good Master has said that these eunuchs cannot be tempted with coin or flesh," Dany told the girl, "but if some enemy of mine should offer them freedom for betraying me . . ."

"They would kill him out of hand and bring her his head, tell her that," the slaver answered. "Other slaves may steal and hoard up silver in hopes of buying freedom, but an Unsullied would not take it if the little mare offered it as a gift. They have no life outside their duty. They are soldiers, and that is all."

xxx

"No," she pleaded. "Save him, and I will free you, I swear it. You must know a way … some magic, some …"

...how much of her actions are truly altruistic? How much is performative?

Despite her anti-slavery rhetoric, D*ny consistently benefits from slavery- and slavery flourishes.

Despite her 'oh no I don't wanna bring death and destruction anywhere', her actions continue to bring exactly that- and it never stops her from doing it all over again the next time.

Not to dismiss her internal struggle. But really. Being upset at the thought that you might be a bad person doesn't make you a good person. For that matter, being worried if you're going mad or not...doesn't mean you're not (not that I'm saying she is). Seriously, where did that logic even come from? Ultimately, her internal struggle makes her a more compelling character, sure, but it doesn't actually make her a better person.

The point is, her story is absolutely rooted in hypocrisy. Her destructiveness only escalates with her power. Her so-called good intentions never pan out- because her own actions undermine them. And because she has the self-awareness of a pigeon, she never gets better.

She IS the villain who thinks she's a hero. She isn't just a villain because she's done bad things, but because she's utterly unaware (or deliberately obtuse) of the bad things she's done, and so she's incapable of learning, and so she's only getting worse.

Take a step outside her POV and it suddenly becomes clear.

Let's recap.

D*ny has-

Wayy more power in Meereen. Less in Lhazareen

D*ny did-

Less to prevent rape in Meereen. More in Lhazareen

D*ny benefitted from-

Slavery in Meereen. Slavery in Lhazareen

D*ny was-

A slaver in Meereen. A slaver in Lhazareen

D*ny wreaked-

Death and destruction in Meereen. Death and destruction in Lhazareen.

D*ny, riding high on her power-

Ordered the murder of children. And much more.

Power is NOT good for D*ny.

[out-there-so-it-isnt-just-me]

Hey guys...I have an idea if you aren't sad enough yet. I was struck by a painful comparison sort of crossover idea. It would never be canon, but  I'm mourning the end of Campaign Two, and I want to be sad and over-dramatic. Essek, but as Eliza from Hamilton in “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.” But, it’s for the entire Mighty Nien. Some of the lyrics are so on point for a poor Essek who will probably outlive all of his friends (Elves still generally live longer than Firbolgs by a good 200 years). Anyway, enjoy.

MN

Every other founding father's story gets told

It occurs to Essek, during one of the many periods without one of the Mighty Nein (the time that he dwells on them the most), how unfair their whole situation is. They saved all of Exandria, and no one knows. They are amazing, and odd, and frustrating, and no one knows. They will die loved deeply, but not widely. He knows they prefer it that way, all things considered. But, everyone else who saves all of Exandria becomes legends, while the people he loves best will be forgotten, remembered only by him.

And that. That sounds unbearable. 

So, in-between the times he sees the Mighty Nein, he begins to gather accounts. He writes down stories from those they helped, or simply left an impression on.  The people who have met the Mighty Nein have an air about them that he gets good at detecting. They attracted the oddballs and the outcasts. And if they're entirely normal (whatever that means), then they usually get a certain twitch if you ask for stories about interesting strangers. About half the time, a certain blue tiefling pops up in them. He almost has a heart attack when he hears  “go fuck yourself,” in Jester’s cheerful voice, when he knows Jester isn’t anywhere near there. He ends up getting the kenku’s story, and the voices of his friends are weaved into it. Essek thinks the Mighty Nein are the best people in the world, in their own rambunctious way. Part of him wants the world to love them as he does, or at least have the option to. Everyone should have a chance to get to know them, even if it's just through tales. The world would be a better place for it.

...And when you're gone, who remembers your name?

Who keeps your flame? 

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?

Once there is only him and Caduceus left, this becomes a more prominent part of how he spends his time. After...after a long, long period of mourning. He has so much life left to live without most of the people who made it worth living.

I put myself back in the narrative

I stop wasting time on tears

I live another 50(0) years

He stops hiding his past and bears his sins and his story to the world. Essek tells his story so their story can be appreciated to the fullest; his part in their story emphasizes the depth of their compassion and chaos. He tells his story, but not as himself. Essek continues to drift from town to town under a vast number of aliases. Everywhere he goes, he spreads his stories of his friends, some serious, most silly. He disguises himself so he can stay alive to do a little more good, tell a few more stories, to truly live the life his friends wanted for him.

...I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings

You really do write like you're running out of time.

Eventually, he gets his hands on some of Beau’s journals, Jester’s diaries, and Caleb’s research. Well, he always had the research, but he gets to the point where he can share it with the world. He slowly begins to share and explain their thoughts and personalities with excerpts from those. Maybe he also has letters that he shares parts of (though most of those, those words specifically for him, he keeps to himself, for himself). He wonders if they'd be angry at him for spilling their private thoughts. But neither Beau nor Jester filtered their thoughts very much in the first place, and he keeps anything truly painful out of the public eye. Caleb, well, Caleb was always about sharing his knowledge and research, provided it wasn't dangerous. And they were all dead anyway.  One of the last things they told him was to be happy. And talking about his friends, learning more about his friends even after they were long dead, that made him the happiest he'd been in a while. So he hoped they wouldn’t begrudge him this small joy he’d managed to grasp and forgive him, should it be necessary.

I rely on Angelica

While she's alive, we tell your story

She is buried in Trinity Church near you

When I needed her most, she was right on time

Caduceus isn’t particularly interested in being well known or famous, but he never shies away from telling a story about any of his friends. Plus, he thinks it’s a good project for Essek. It's a way to continue to show his love for them and keep them alive in the only way they can be now. When Caduceus eventually passes away, he joins the eight other graves (Veth refused to be buried apart from Yeza) that lay in a tucked-away corner of the Blooming Grove. There is one space left, nestled between where Caleb and Jester lay, but it will be empty for a long time yet.

And I'm still not through

I ask myself, what would you do if you had more time...

...You could have done so much more if you only had time

And when my time is up, have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

He keeps adding to his tale; he stretches it longer and longer with every shred he can remember. But, even his memory, as long as it is, runs out eventually. And their story finally ends, but he doesn't. He throws himself into activities that remind him of them. He does a lot of gardening ( mostly tea, poisonous plants, and flowers). He teaches children some rudimentary dunamancy in his spare time, for Caleb. He messes around with alchemy a little. Eventually, he publishes the last of the research that he and Caleb worked on together; ones that took him decades to solve by himself. He even finds himself drawing a surprising amount of dicks on random surfaces near the very end.

Oh, can I show you what I'm proudest of?

...I help to raise hundreds of children

I get to see them growing up

The time that doesn’t go towards his now worrying amount of hobbies, he spends doing what he has done since the beginning: caring for the Mighty Nien’s true legacy. He looks after and visits their children. He takes care of descendants of Luc, of Jester and Fjord, of the random teenager that Beau and Yasha seemed to adopt completely on accident, of TJ, of the Clays, and of a lovechild of Kingsley’s that found out who his father was and then somehow found Essek himself to learn about him. In an embarrassing show of sentimentality, Essek always keeps at least one offspring of Caleb's very first cat. There is a very funny story about Caleb thinking the animal was spayed when it was, in fact, not. He visits the different generations every couple of years or so (he has a schedule). The drow makes sure they know the stories of their ancestors, the adventures of the Mighty Nien; he tells them it's all real. He gives them ways to contact him if they’re in danger, or need any kind of help really ( he has funds to spare at this point). Every once in a while, a few of them will get it in their heads to write him yearly updates. It’s nice.

In their eyes, I see you, Alexander

I see you every time

And when my time is up

Have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

It is strange and painful to see the attitude and mannerisms of the Nein in the descendants who have never met them. It is wonderful too. His stories of the Mighty Nein have become well-known tales that no one can decide how much is truth and how much is fiction (it’s true, it’s all somehow, hilariously true). He preserved them in his own way, in the right way (time travel is something he thinks of with a growing hunger the more years pass between when he last laid eyes on his friends). But in these men, these women, these children, they are truly alive.

One little half-orc girl has Jester’s mischievous eyes and infectious joy. Another halfling man squints just like Veth when she's trying to figure out if someone is bullshitting her. There’s a boy who charmingly bumbles his way through most social encounters, as Fjord did. A firbolg woman who has Caduceus gentle smile. A tiefling girl with all the audacious bravado of Kingsley. A man with eyes just as piercing as Beau’s, and a tongue just as sharp. Even Yasha’s kind and gentle demeanor somehow shines through in one small boy, despite her having no direct descendants. He gets to see these flashes of his friends in those who survive them, and it thrills him as much as it cuts him. (Sometimes, when the current cat has ruined some item of his, the pleased look it wears resembles the quiet glee Caleb exuded after he pulled a successful prank, but he’s pretty sure that’s just fanciful thinking.)

One of the last things Essek does before he dies is fully publish, in print, the entire tale of the Mighty Nein. How they came together, every person they helped along the way. The love, the loss, the kindness, the chaos, every moment he could recall or record was put into this one account (necessarily stretched out into several separate books). There is only one set, and he hands it over to the Library of the Cobalt Soul in Rexxentrum. Then he goes on his lonely way.

Oh, I can't wait to see you again

It's only a matter of time

There are now ten graves, each one as unique as its owner, nestled in a small corner of the Blooming Grove. One grave has the dirt still fresh around it. And somewhere, beyond the Divine Gate, there are cheers and laughs and cries of joy as the Mighty Nien become the Mighty Nine once more.

fin.

MN

It’s my head-canon that by the time Essek dies he’s practically a mythical figure among the select families he looks after. It's  to the point that in certain locations ( that have a lot of Nein remnants) he becomes a local legend, the guardian angel of nien (no spelling specified and with no real distinction of what that means), with skin like the night sky who drifts (literally) through towns and helps those who meet a certain requirement, unknown to the general populus. There are rumors that certain people have bestowed upon them a token they could use to call upon the angel’s aid. Of course, the people who have the tokens (sending stones or something similar. IDK how he would get that many wondrous items, but I focus on satisfying narrative not, like, plausibility) know Essek and know that he has died and that the tokens no longer work, but for a while they keep them as heirlooms, to show the love of one drow wizard for the friends he had long, long ago. Eventually, one of Veth’s descendants sells off their set because sending stones are worth A LOT, and the money seemed more practical. They have their stories; those are enough. 

And before anyone complains about the Kingsley bit, I felt compelled to add a smidgen of Kingsley content because Essek loves Jester and Jester’s with Fjord and Kingsley is with both of them for years. I’m sure they get to know each other well enough that seeing traits of Kingsley is vaguely nostalgic and warming, even if it lacks the depth and love he feels for everyone else. Also, there’s no convincing me that Molly/Kingsley doesn’t have at least one illegitimate child running around from various trysts, he was basically the Scanlan of this campaign. It goes with the hedonistic vibe he gives off.

Also, is it normal that I completely designed the Nein’s burial site in my head because I did? Like I imagine they’re all spaced out in a circle. It’s almost like a stone gazebo but there’s not really a roof; it’s just a group of nine pillars that support a stone circle. The entrance is the Traveler’s door with dicks around the edge, and each of the nine pillars/supports is designed to look the knowing mistresses staff. The stone circle is covered in carvings of storm clouds and lightning. Wires are strung across the center of the stone circle to form the symbol of the Cobalt Soul. Not that you can see the wires, because vines have been grown all around them. Once you step through the Traveler’s gate, you’ll find yourself on some kind of rough mosaic floor, with depictions of a peacock, a pyramid, a snake, a sun, a moon, and (oddly) a pirate ship. The mosaic is made up of buttons of various materials and shapes. In the center is a saltwater pool/spring (depending on how magical we can get idk) and floating above it is an eternal flame encased in some sort of dunamancy magic that doesn’t  actually exist that keeps it floating and eternal. Look I'm running out of ideas.

I can’t imagine what everyone’s grave marker would be, but I’m pretty sure Yasha’s is a simple stone that says "YASHA NYDOORIN: wife of Zuella and Beauregard Lionette," and the place where’s she’s buried is just covered in wildflowers that spread outside of the gazebo to encircle the structure entirely up to the gate. Also, everyone has a stone tarot card by their grave with the picture and designation that Molly gave them. Beyond that grows a weirdly dense thicket of trees and bushes that make finding the Nein's resting place rather hard. It’s said only the descendants of the Nein’s family or those favored by the Wildmother (or Traveler, Or Ioun, or Storm Lord) can find their way to them. And one tree, directly behind Yasha, is dead, struck by lightning who knows how long ago. 

And they’re buried in this order: Yeza/Veth, Caleb, Essek, Jester, Ford, Kingsley, Yasha, Beau, Cad. I know there’s a good chance that a) Kingsley would just eff off and die somewhere unknown and b) Cad would probably want to be buried with the rest of his family, but shhh let me dream.

[ververa]

Like Mothers, Like Daughter

A/N: You have no idea how nervous I am right now, but I said I’ll post the first part, so I’m keeping my word, even though I feel like it’s not good enough. It has been rewritten at least 10 times and this is only some kind of introduction. For now it’s just my precious little Ellie. There’s no Mildred and no Wilhemina yet. But they’ll appear soon, I promise. Just bear with me, please 🙏🏼 Many thanks to @awildgothappeared​!!! Thank you so much for helping me with this series and thank you for convincing me to post this part!!! I’d probably never decide to do it if it hadn’t been for you Stevie <3  This story truly means a lot to me and all three of them - Ellie, Millie and Mina have a special place in my heart. They’re my new holy trinity. I put a lot of effort into this story - that’s why it’s taking me so long. 

Anyways, I hope you will all enjoy it!!! And just in case, I am sorry if this is shit, cause I actually sort of feel like it is 🙈 Also if anyone has any thoughts/suggestions/opinions do let me know!

Words count: ~3k

Tag list: @midnight-lestrange​, @natasha-danvers​, @stopkillinglilyrabe​, @welshdragonrawr​, @saucy-sapphic​, @yang12e​, @xixxiixx​, @pradababey​

Seemingly nothing had changed. Life was going on as it used to before, its usual way. Some governess would wake Ellie up at 7am, it wouldn’t be the same one who was there the previous evening. No, because for some reason the former one wasn’t suitable for the position. None of them were, because it was truly impossible to measure up to Mrs Staple’s expectations. Ellie knew, because she had been trying to ever since she had learned to speak. It didn’t matter how many languages she mastered or how good her grades were or that she became a champion of the fencing team. The woman, she was supposed to call her mother, would never be satisfied, the same as she would never be happy with the work all those governesses did. Some of them were fired, because they truly were useless, others were just unlucky and had a horrible timing - it really was an unpleasant experience to get in a way of annoyed Mrs Staple‒

Ellie stopped getting attached to them a long time ago. Not that she actually had a chance to. In fact, she didn’t even bother to remember their names any more and decided to give them numbers instead. Though sometimes, she did wonder where they find all of them. How many well-qualified governesses could be there in town? Where did they all come from?

That morning, the governess was bearing a name “241”. Quite impressive. Ellie thought as she was brushing her teeth. But it wouldn't last for too long. Perhaps it was only until the evening or maybe afternoon - depending on Lillian’s mood. And then the poor woman would have to leave, quicker than she appeared, just like 240 other women before her. That's how it worked with her mother. The demonic, callous woman really knew no limits.

Ellie was barely twelve, yet she was well aware what motives drove her mother's behavior. Each action had a perfectly explainable reason. The desire for power, the need of being in control. Though, the truth was, Lillian wasn't in a place to be a decision making one. She had never actually had a say and she knew, for a fact, that she would never have. She wasn't even close to it. She wasn't Staple, not by blood. And yet, despite this, she always introduced herself using her husband's family name - being boastful and vain as ever, nearly driving her only child apoplectic each time.

Lillian wanted to matter so badly, even if just for a moment, but still her actions, words, commands meant less than nothing. Even Ellie, though still a child, had more power than the cruel woman. And that's why Lillian hated her. She hated her only daughter, because Ellie was born Staple, she was born to the purple and carried an incredible power within her small body–

And all that appeared to be a good enough reason to terrorize 240 babysitters, who would not be needed at all if Lillian could just bring herself to care about her only child in the first place. But she couldn't and she didn't. She never wanted to have children, definitely not a girl. Maybe a son. Maybe–

If Ellie was a boy… maybe she'd be able to care, to love her child. But even then it wouldn't be the unconditional type of love. It would be yet another transaction, the tying agreement, which would, of course, be in her interest. Just like her marriage and all the relations within the family. But Ellie wasn't a boy and she didn't matter as much as a male successor would and so Lillian didn't care. She did what was expected of her, she gave birth to the next successor, and that was it. All she was willing to do and there was no way she'd put any more effort into it. She gave her husband what he wanted and was the least bit interested in her child's future. Lillian was too selfish to care, too busy fighting for her own position to even think about Elizabeth.

Ellie's father always told her that everyone had a little bit of the light and dark in them. People were complex like a cosmic system, both inside and outside. She liked that comparison.

"None of us are just black or white, or always right and never wrong. We have a universe within ourselves. We all have a little bit of the sun and moon inside. Everyone has good and bad forces working with them, within them and against them"

She believed it, but as much as she tried - she couldn't find any kind of light within her mother. There was nothing, just coldness and hatred - guiding her through life, leaving her blind to everything, but her selfish needs and whims.

"Elizabeth," her teacher's voice would bring her back to reality. And the day would carry on, as usual.

Ellie would participate in her classes and then have lunch downstairs. She would eat alone, as her father would be still at work and Lillian wouldn’t even bother to join the girl, preferring her own company over watching her little defeater, a perfect copy of her husband. Or maybe if they were lucky enough, the governess would keep her company. Though even if she would, even if somehow lady “241” would manage to keep her position and call it a day - Ellie probably wouldn’t decide to talk to her anyways. Why would she, knowing that the woman would soon disappear from her life forever?

But Ellie didn’t mind being on her own at all. She already got used to it. She had been a homeschooler since… always. She had been under lock and key her whole life, because that was their way of keeping her safe. That’s what they told her at least and she accepted it. That was the only way of living Ellie knew and she completely settled into it. She didn't ask, she didn't question their motives. She let it be, because there was nothing she could do. She didn't want to do anything.

She liked her life, well, she thought so leastways. She had nothing to complain about. She was safe, warm, had her books and her piano. Her teacher, constantly-changing governesses and servants provided some kind of company - preventing her from loosening her grip on reality completely. Her life wasn’t all that bad. Yes. It could have been worse after all. And homeschooling wasn’t the end of the world, right? It had both positive and negative sides, as everything - just like her father said. And that’s what Ellie was focused on.

After lunch her lessons would continue. The teacher would ask about some mathematical equations and she would solve all of them, before unerringly answering all subsequent questions. Ellie was a clever child and a fast learner. She was also stubborn and aimed at mastering whatever she wanted to perfection. She had to be good enough, she had to measure up, prove herself. And she was doing her best, steadfastly.

Everyone was foretelling her a bright future. She could do anything she wanted, those who didn’t know certain things were convinced of it. And those who knew the truth, the reality, the true meaning hidden behind the Staple’s name and the family roots - remained silent. Ellie was only a child after all, besides no one wanted to have a problem with her father, or even worse - with her grandfather. But they didn’t need to talk about it. Ellie, as a highly intelligent girl that she undoubtedly was, knew. She knew her future was doomed, because she was a prisoner, just like her father and grandfather, even her mother and the rest of the family. They were all prisoners, shackled with invisible cuffs - the life-long deal their ancestors had made ages before. They were prisoners to the nonreversible decision.

It may seem quite dramatic, sad even to some people, but they didn’t understand it. They never cared enough to comprehend the deep meaning behind the family’s actions, perhaps too ignorant or narrow-minded to decipher it. But they didn’t matter. Their opinions were irrelevant. 

Ellie never had a problem with that. She never truly allowed herself to think about the future, but she didn’t need to worry, not just yet. She had her father - her guardian and friend - who was there to keep her safe. He always knew how to make everything better. How to fix what appeared to be unfixable. And he was there at all times. He was there to hold his little girl, the apple of his eye. He was there to teach her and guide her. To grant Ellie the love and approval she couldn’t receive from Lillian. He was there, so that she could have a happy and peaceful childhood. And all that made Ellie feel lucky. Not all kids had what she did. Not all children were able to experience this kind of love. She knew. Elias told her about those children - left on their own, without anyone who would look after them, or love them the way he loved her. Whenever she remembered all those stories something inside her hurt. Her heart - it ached, every time Elias was telling her about that one little girl.

Ellie undeniably was compassionate and sensitive, her soul was still pure and free, untainted. She didn’t have to bear the burden of her decision, she didn’t have to carry it on her own like her father. That’s why she couldn’t understand his breaking down. She couldn’t figure out the reason for his tears, when she gave him one of her teddy bears, saying he should give it to the little girl. Ellie couldn’t know. Not back then.

And then, when her lessons were over, their butler - Leonard would take her to the fencing classes. That was the only time Ellie was out, freed from the thin walls of the castle they lived in. She always cherished every second of it, because every moment of freedom was like an incredible adventure.

She had been training for years, because fencing made her stronger and showed a certain set of thinking skills. The classes would go great, as always. Ellie as a wonderful fencer would win some clash, but she wouldn't even think about it, already engulfed by anticipation of the evening.

Ellie’s favourite part of the day was dinner. No, not the dinner itself - the whole process of it. The anticipation and preparations. Their servants would be preparing everything, putting a lot of effort into details, so as to avoid getting in trouble with Lillian. She was fabled for her choleric nature and no one wanted to be reprimanded. That's why they always did their best, striving to meet Lillian's expectations and avoid unhinging her.

The table had to be polished until it gleamed. Table covers had to be clean and smoothed. Dinnerware and cutlery had to be polished to a high gloss. And napkins… napkins had to have the right colors, because colors couldn't clash. After all those years Ellie learned the process by heart. She remembered everything, every little detail and the order of all those actions.

A plate in the middle. A napkin on the left, then forks - salad fork and dinner fork. The right side was where a dinner knife, dinner spoon and soup spoon were placed. And then glasses - a water glass and wine glass - on the right, above the spoons. It wasn't all that hard to remember. It definitely was far more complicated when it came to the formal dinner place setting, but when it was just the three of them - Ellie and her parents - the servants didn't have to worry about it. Informal setting was enough, unless Lillian decided differently.

By the time the table was set, Ellie would be fully in on her anticipation mood. After all it wasn't about the dinner or setting the table, it was about her father finally coming back home. Elizabeth would wait impatiently - pulled up to comfortably sit on the windowsill of the living room window. She did it every evening. Awaiting her father's car to turn into the driveway. Waiting for him to cross the doorstep and take her into his arms as he always did. She anticipated having dinner with him and then spending hours on talking and listening to his stories.

Ellie waited. One hour passed. Then another. Lillian gave up and ordered someone to bring her dinner upstairs, as she wasn't going to eat with Ellie even under those circumstances. They complied, Lillian got her dinner and finished it, while Ellie kept waiting, not moving from her spot even for a second, so as not to miss the moment of Elias' arrival. She waited, but he didn't come back. She fell asleep eventually and Leonard carefully carried her to her room. His heart was breaking for the girl, because he knew exactly what was happening. He already knew what Ellie didn't or maybe she did. She did, perhaps, but refused to accept it…

She kept waiting. For hours, days, a week. Whenever she heard some car, she would rush to the window, hoping it was Elias. Ellie found it hard to focus on anything else. She barely ate and sleep, she just passed out from exhaustion basically every evening. Each time Leonard would take her upstairs and tuck her in bed. Though in the morning she'd be back downstairs, most likely wearing one of her father's hats or shirts - almost three times too big for her- but it didn't matter. She didn't care. If she could, she'd most likely not only wear his clothes, but also spend every minute of the day in her spot on the windowsill.

Where did he go? Why didn't he come back? Every part of her aching heart couldn't accept it. She needed him… who would protect her now? Who would be there for her? Where did he think he's going and why couldn't he take her with him? He always did. They always did everything together. And then he was gone, just like that–

Honestly, she knew he wouldn't come back. She knew, but she didn't want to let go, not yet. She wasn't ready to do it.

And it was okay. Ellie could say it by the way their servants looked at her - so sympathetically. They hurt too. Perhaps not as much as she did, but they did in their own way. The only person who seemed to remain untouched was Lillian.

Even then, all she could think of was herself. She didn't display any kind of emotions. She wasn't sad or hurt and she didn't even try to pretend that she was.

"Will you finally pull yourself together?" Lillian growled, sipping on her drink, not even looking at Ellie "He won't come back. Ever."

Ellie frowned a little. There were a lot of things she could tell her mother, a lot of mean and hateful things. Though it didn't feel okay. It didn't feel like her, so she didn't. She held it all back, responding with simple "Why do you have to be like that?"

"Like what?" Lillian asked, looking at her manicured nails, acting the least bit interested in what her daughter actually had to say.

"Why can't you at least pretend that you care?"

"Don't be pathetic, Elizabeth."

Ellie sighed. There was no point in continuing the conversation. She wasn't pathetic. It wasn't pathetic. Feeling was a human thing, right?

A few days later a tall man dressed in black suit brought Elias' stuff from his clinic. They packed it all in a box. Over 20 years of his research, his work, his life - were enclosed in just one box. Leonard carried it to Elias' office and Ellie followed. She needed answers that no one wanted to give her, so she hoped she'd actually find something in the box. And she did. Her father left her a note–

Seemingly nothing had changed. Her body was still susceptible to pain, still breakable. It had to eat and breathe air and sleep. It still shuddered, as it had shuddered before. She still had to learn and she did, as she had done before. Life was going on, its usual way. Nothing changed - and yet everything was different. People, manners, course of boundaries. And amid it all her soul traipsed elusively. It disappeared, then came back, drew nearer and moved away from reality. She hurt, she cried. Feeling like an alien - at times certain, at others uncertain of her own existence. Trapped in her own grief and pain.

Ellie had been raised in a box - her father's castle, a perfect world he created just for her. But life was more than that. Life was different and not at all perfect. In truth it seemed to be far more unfriendly and sinister than she may have expected. She found herself lost in the new reality. The reality without her father. The world she knew had been shattered, completely destroyed. And learning to live all over again wasn't all that easy, but she was strong. Elias taught her how to be strong and she knew she could face all the obstacles. She had to - for him.

She was born into this goddamn family and that was the only thing she couldn't change. Though all the rest, everything else depended on her. He hadn't taught her all the things she knew without a reason…

"In life there are only two permanent things - happiness and existential pain. Life likes to gratify and hurt. It's a venom that heals and a rose that pricks. At times it's pretty good, although sometimes it's quite bad. And future matters are unforeseeable…" Elias' note said.

And so despite the pain she still believed there was more good than bad in life. She just had to look hard enough - like her father said.

[tahitianmangoes]

Absolution - Chapter 2

Pairing: Micah x Arthur Summary:  Micah often felt like he and Arthur were two sides of the same coin. Whether or not Artur shared that sentiment Micah didn’t know but ever since an encounter out west, inexplicably they keep finding themselves pulled back to one and other. NSF W | Not canon compliant Also on AO3 Chapter One 

Chapter Two -  You Scratch My Back, I’ll Scratch Yours

The new camp was called Horseshoe Overlook, Hosea said he’d been this way before a while ago. It was further east than Dutch had ever wanted to go but right now, it didn’t matter what direction they were going as long as it was the opposite of any Pinkertons still on their tail.

It was a nice camp, away from prying eyes in the Heartlands. Micah himself hadn’t been too far this way before, maybe a couple of years ago with some people he used to run with but he hadn't seen them in a long time… Last time he heard, they were stuck in Sisika penitentiary.

However, the Heartlands it seemed, was infested with O’Driscolls; spilling out of the local saloon, camping out in the fields between where they were and right to the border with Lemoyne. Not ideal but nothing they couldn’t handle, the O’Driscolls were small fry in comparison to what had happened on that boat in Blackwater.

Arthur hadn't said a word since the cabin. Micah didn't know what to say either. Arthur had curled up by the fireplace and slept after their encounter. Micah spent all night staring into the flames until his eyes smarted and the sun rose.

Micah had left Arthur asleep and ridden back to Colter with the supplies he’d found. When asked about Arthur he shrugged. Dutch seemed concerned but he also seemed to recognise that he shouldn’t question the matter.

Since moving to Horseshoe Overlook, there hadn’t been much time to talk to anyone, let alone Arthur. Maybe Arthur was right, they were even now and that was the end of the matter… So why did Micah keep thinking about it, playing it in his mind over and over like one of those flickery, moving pictures that people went to see?

If anything, that night in the cabin had made it worse. He could kid himself that at Gaptooth Ridge, it had been a one off, maybe they’d both just been frustrated - god knows it’s hard enough to get five minutes privacy to take care of yourself when you’re in a gang of twenty other people who always want something from you… But the way Arthur had pushed him flush to the wall and looked at him with intent in that cabin, like there was more to it than just having Micah suck his cock… But Micah didn’t know what and almost didn’t dare ask.

 ***

 "Mr Morgan!" Susan Grimshaw's voice was piercing as she called Arthur from across the camp. Micah looked up from the table where he sat by Pearson's wagon playing solitaire. "One of the girls said she saw your friend Miss Gillis around Valentine..." "Mary?!" Arthur repeated.

Micah’s hat hid his face so they couldn’t see him looking up from his card game. Arthur had been busy since they got to the new camp, everyone had been really, all working to make back the money they lost in Blackwater. But it was rare for Arthur to be in camp during the day. If Micah had meant more to Arthur, he might have thought that the younger man was avoiding him. But he knew that wasn’t the case.

He absentmindedly touched his neck where he now wore a neckerchief to hide the bruises Arthur had left from that night in the cabin, biting and sucking at his skin.

Micah could see Arthur quite clearly from where he sat; he’d changed out of his winter clothes now and wore a sky blue button down shirt that matched his eyes and dark denim pants that fit him well.

Never had Micah heard Arthur's voice so excited, seen his eyes light up so as he said Mary’s name.

"Yes…" Miss Grimshaw said and her tone didn't go unnoticed by Micah, disapproving, which wasn't exactly unusual for Miss Grimshaw - a more sour faced dragon if Micah had met one. "Never did like that girl. Anyway, there's a letter for you by your tent from her." Arthur was about to turn and go to his tent when Miss Grimshaw lay an uncharacteristically gentle hand on his chest, "be careful with her, Arthur. That girl's nothing but trouble."

Arthur didn't humour her with a response. Micah watched him go to his tent and tear open the letter like a present on Christmas morning. He read it eagerly. Soon afterwards he left the camp.

Micah felt his chest tighten and didn't understand why.

 A little while later, Micah found Dutch. Dutch was unlike any man Micah had ever met before. He was intriguing, magnetic and left Micah in awe. Despite being only five or six years Micah’s senior, he saw Dutch as an almost fatherly figure.

Micah’s father had not possessed any of the skills or qualities of Dutch Van Der Linde, instead he had been what Micah had soon learned to be a bottomless evil. Nothing Micah, his brother or mother did could change that. He resented his brother, Amos, for leaving when he did but only because he had wanted to go, too… He had just been too afraid.

Micah vowed, when he left his father, that he would never be afraid of a person ever again. People would only ever fear him.

He wasn’t afraid of Dutch, more afraid that maybe he would lose favour with him now because of this ferry business. Sure, no one could have predicted what was going to happen but this was Dutch and Micah’s job and Micah had let him down, in a way. People got hurt and that sort of thing didn’t sit well with Dutch.

Dutch was around the side of his tent reading. Molly O’Shea was inside the tent, she looked annoyed to see Micah come around but truth be told, she looked annoyed whenever anyone took Dutch’s attention off of her, which Micah noticed seemed to be more often than not these days.

They had robbed a train out by Granite Pass before coming down from the mountains. He had seemed pleased with the take but it wasn’t enough. He spent a lot of is time brooding and looking anxious around the camp now.

“Dutch, can I talk to you a minute?” Micah asked. He tried to talk softly to Dutch. He wasn’t afraid of him but… One wrong word could send Dutch into a fury, he’d seen it before when Davey has spoken out of line - it was startling to see Dutch’s face turn dark, eyes completely black, drawing himself up to his full and impressive height, Micah’s never noticed how tall he was until that time, how he was muscular, too. Dutch had bellowed so loudly that his voice echoed. He never lost his cool like that, not in the six months that Micah had been with the gang and Micah didn’t fancy having that same fate.

Dutch looked up from his book, amber eyes narrowed at Micah, “what is it?” He sounded a little annoyed. “Listen… I think… I want to go back to Blackwater and get the money.” “Out of the question,” Dutch said bluntly and turned his gaze back to his book but Micah saw that his eyes didn’t move, he wasn’t reading.

Negotiating with Dutch was almost like a dance - you just have to know the steps.

“Maybe I ain’t makin’ myself clear…” Micah said carefully, “I ain’t tryin’ to rob you. You know me better than that.” Dutch closed his book now with a sigh. “Just what are you trying to do, Micah?” He asked, still sounding impatient.

The topic of the Blackwater money was a sensitive one; while everyone else had scrambled to get out of there, Dutch and Hosea had hidden the money. They had thought that it was too risky to try to get out of Blackwater with it. Micah thought that sounded a little off but who was he to argue with Dutch? Only Dutch and Hosea knew where that money was stashed, Micah didn’t even think Arthur knew - Arthur trusted Dutch wholeheartedly and would never question it. Micah trusted Dutch too, in as much as Micah could trust anyone… But it seemed a little unfair how everyone’s money was hidden and only Dutch and Hosea knew where.

“I’m tryin’ to save you. Save everybody. I’ll go to Blackwater and get the money then meet you all some place… And we’ll be home free! That’s it.”

Dutch’s brow furrowed. Micah watched him intently. He was a well dressed man, and despite being down on their luck, that hadn’t changed about him. His crimson silk vest contrasted with his crisp white shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled to the elbow. The ribbon of his hat mated the vest. Dutch removed the hat to run a hand through the dark tresses of his hair while he thought over what Micah had said.

“Just… Just think about it, boss. That’s all I’m sayin’. The way I see it, we gotta try.” Micah knew full well that Dutch probably didn’t give two shits the way Micah saw it. But it was all part of the dance.

“I…” Dutch started, turning his gaze back up to Micah. He seemed a little at a loss for words momentarily. “I’ll think about it.” he said finally.

Micah let a smile break out on his face, “thank you.” He said, not forgetting that he was still beneath Dutch in all senses of the word and he was definitely not adverse to grovelling if that’s what it took for Dutch to see sense, to let him help and who knows, take over from where Hosea so obviously wanted to leave…

 ****

 Later that night, when everyone else had gone to sleep, Micah sat by the campfire sharpening his knife. From where he sat, he had a perfect view of Arthur’s tent which was, as usual, empty.

Micah let his thoughts wander back to that morning. He wondered who this Mary woman was and how had he never heard of her until now? Was she an old flame? As long as he had known Arthur Morgan, Arthur had never had a romantic relationship, not even an unromantic one - he turned down whores in the saloons, ignored women who complimented him or gave him discount in stores on account of how handsome he was and continued with his sullen cowboy act. Micah had begun to doubt whether it was an act at all…

Just then he heard hooves approaching. Micah couldn't see who it was but he heard Bill who was on guard duty ask: “who goes there?” “Arthur, you dumbass.” Came the reply.

Micah couldn’t help feel his chest tighten again, his heart ripple. Why was he like this?

When Arthur came into view, he had a bottle of whiskey in one hand that he must have taken from the box by Hosea’s tent. As he approached the fire, he smelled like he had already been drinking. Micah didn’t look up but he could see Arthur out of the corner of his eye, hovering around the fire, watching Micah continue to sharpen his knife as if he hadn’t noticed the younger outlaw arrive. Micah didn’t look up or speak because he had no idea what to say to Arthur. Part of him thought that maybe Arthur had been right up in the cabin, maybe there was nothing to talk about.

To Micah’s surprise, Arthur sat down beside him at the fireside. Micah could see that there was something in Arthur’s other hand. A piece of paper. The letter from that morning.

Arthur was the first to speak. “You’re up late.” Micah shrugged, “so are you.”

“I… I was with someone in town… Someone I… Uh…” Arthur trailed off. It looked like it pained him to think about it, let alone say it. “Someone I was courtin’ a long time ago.” Micah let himself smirk. “What happened? She kick you out for the night once you were done?” “No.” Arthur replied, almost hotly, “It ain’t like that. She ain’t like that.”

Arthur’s voice wavered slightly. Micah had never heard him speak so earnestly or even speak this long, he usually spoke to Micah in short grunts like some farmyard animal.

Arthur continued, “she… Well, she was never really right for me. Too good for me. I proposed a long time ago. She turned me down o’ course. We was just kids really.”

Micah didn't say anything, he got the feeling that Arthur didn’t really want his input but rather just needed someone to listen to him.

“Anyway, her daddy didn’t like me.” Micah scoffed, “what do daddies know?” Arthur smiled weakly and drank from his whiskey bottle before continuing. “Maybe he was right. She weren’t made for this life. Sometimes I wonder if anyone really is…”

Arthur stared into the fire. Micah stared at Arthur.

“Anyway. She left a letter for me and o’ course, I went rushin’ over to her like the prize idiot I am… Knew she’s married now but, well, he’s gone. Pneumonia or somethin’; bad business. So she’s a widow now. Some stupid part o’ me thought maybe this was her givin’ me another chance now we’re both older.”

He stared into the fire sadly and took another swig from the bottle.

“Turns out she just wanted an errand boy, someone to do her dirty work for her… She knew I was fool enough to do whatever she wants. Maybe ‘cause part of me thinks we still got a chance even though I know she ain’t about this life and I ain’t exactly the type to buy a ranch and live honestly… Sometimes I wonder if… If I’m the sorta person that can… Be loved…” Arthur let himself trail off. They sat in silence for a few minutes save the crackling of the fire.

Micah had never heard Arthur talk this way, not to anyone. Part of Micah had assumed that Arthur just didn’t have that in him. A big, brawny brute who was emotionally stunted. But now Micah saw the pain on Arthur’s handsome features and he hurt too, in a way.

“You can't go forcin’ somethin’ if it ain’t right.” Micah said, his voice taking on an alien, gentle quality. It took Arthur by surprise, he looked up at him now. The fire reflected in his eyes. Micah had thought he was more drunk than he looked but the way he looked at Micah told him different.

Micah watched the fire dance in those great blue orbs. Neither of them said anything but Micah knew. Micah knew what was going to happen and he was fully prepared to let it despite the fact that they were in the middle of the camp, despite the fact that if Dutch were to come out of his tent, if Javier who was sleeping just a few feet away was to wake, they’d be seen. But Micah let it happen anyway. He was powerless.

Arthur moved his head closer and they kissed. Arthur let the letter tumble from his fingers into the mud as he reached for Micah, one hand on his face the other he lay almost hesitantly on his chest. Micah reciprocated. He let his eyes close, let his lips move on their own, let Arthur’s tongue slip into his mouth and rub gently against his own so he could taste the whiskey he had just drunk. Micah felt his head spinning, like he was drunk too. All he could hear was the fire crackling, feel the warmth of Arthur’s hands on him and smell the musk from the swell of the younger man’s chest. Consuming. Intoxicating. He brought his hands up, running them through Arthur’s soft, fawn hair and Arthur made a sound, a sigh, a moan that Micah echoed back to him.

And before he knew it, Arthur had pulled away but his hands were still on Micah. Still, neither of them spoke. Micah let Arthur stand and guide him away from the main camp, behind Arthur’s own tent and into the treeline.

Micah was eager to kiss again and Arthur allowed him to once they were a suitable distance from the camp. Micah let Arthur grope him through his clothes, let Arthur’s fingers work at the buttons on his pants and slip his hands inside, palming his already semi hard cock. Micah let out a shaky gasp into Arthur’s mouth, the stubble from his beard scratching his skin, the smell of tobacco on his shirt filled up his lungs.

Micah’s fingers were quick to unbutton Arthur’s pants, too and take his cock in hand. He was hard and Micah could feel it pulse beneath his fingertips, the tip leaked with precum and Micah tugged on it making Arthur growl into his mouth. A growl that sent a pang of excitement throughout his body. Arthur reciprocated and the pair jerked each other, kissing hard, Micah pressing his hips against Arthur’s who rocked his back in response, drawing breathy moans from Micah.

Micah wasn't sure if it was the lust or the liquor or maybe both but he wasn’t going to question it. He also wasn’t going to admit that he had wanted this again, so so badly.

Arthur shifted, spitting on his palm before resting his weight on a tree behind him so he could take both of their erections in his hand and stroke them together.

Micah couldn’t stop himself letting out a guttural moan. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. The soft skin of Arthur’s cock against his own, hot and throbbing paired with Arthur’s slicked hand was an unprecedented type of bliss.

Micah’s legs shook and he could barely stand, Arthur let him lean forwards, able to support them both as Micah clung to him, hips fucking into Arthur’s palm as he stifled his moans and swore under his breath each time Arthur’s hand ran the length of his shaft, rough thumb swiped over his slit or reached down to gently tug on his balls.

Arthur kissed him to silence him and soon, Micah found himself rutting erratically, panting into Arthur’s open mouth, unable to concentrate on anything other than chasing his release.

He came in ropes, shuddering against Arthur. Micah’s release served as lubrication as Arthur continued to stroke, his hand in a vice-like grip around both of their lengths, Micah now trembling and whimpering pathetically through overstimulation. Arthur let out a low rumble in his chest as he came too, Micah could feel his cock pulsating against his own as Arthur leant back against the tree, eyes closed, wrapped in euphoria, hips thrusting more shallow now until he stilled.

Arthur let Micah stay leaning against him while they caught their breath. It was definitely the liquor that led Arthur to kissing Micah again, this time almost chastely before he moved away, buttoned his pants up and retired to his cot.

Micah sat on the edge of camp, he could see Arthur curled up asleep on his cot. After the buzz from his orgasm died down, he felt hollow. As much as he had wanted it, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times..?

 ****

 Arthur slept in the next day but Micah had already left by the time he woke. Dutch had approached him after he had eaten breakfast.

“Micah, I know you’re eager to get our money back and I commend you for it, son but it ain’t gonna be that easy.” He said. Micah half shrugged, half nodded. He was exhausted. Dutch didn’t seem to notice, he continued. “I just think… It’s better to chase new opportunities - always more money to be made, this is America after all… I know you got your heart set on the Blackwater money - I did too. But… I just don’t want no one else to get hurt or worse. Y’understand?” “Yes, boss.” Came Micah’s swift reply. “Good,” Dutch said with a hint of a smile. “In that case, I want you to go out scoutin’ west a bit but not too close to Blackwater. See what opportunities you can find. Take young Lenny with you.” “Lenny?” Micah repeated.

 Micah didn��t not like Lenny Summers, he was indifferent at best. Lenny was the youngest member of the gang at just nineteen years of age - just a boy. Micah could almost smell the breast milk on the kid’s breath; he was young and inexperienced. They just didn’t suit each other.

But Micah knew it was best not to argue with Dutch Van Der Linde and so found himself riding out back west way again with young Lenny in tow. Lenny chattered and Micah barely listened, too busy thinking of the night before and Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.

They came across a small place called Strawberry, a dry town with not much going on - a lead that there was a man at the post office willing to pay them to sabotage stagecoaches but it was small fry. They needed to make up for all that money lost in Blackwater, all $150,000 of it. A stagecoach wasn’t going to give them that.

Later that day they found a saloon outside of Strawberry and as with all saloons, they also found trouble. Micah recognised someone there, a man he knew as ‘Skinny’. Skinny had screwed him out of money a while back, just after he lost his other crew to Sisika. Micah was the sort of person to hold grudges and so went to ‘talk’ to Skinny.

Lenny warned him against it, which Micah had shaken off - ”you worry too much, kid.”

But maybe this time, the kid was right. Micah had drank far too much whiskey already in a bid to numb some of the confusion he’d been feeling all day in regards to Arthur and whatever the hell it was they kept doing together…

Had he been sober, there may not have been a fight. Had he been sober, he might have been quick enough to escape the law. Had he been sober, he might not have been arrested and thrown in the Strawberry jail.

 ****

 Micah woke up feeling like he'd been mown down by one of those stagecoaches he thought he was too good to hold up. His head hurt and he didn't remember how, when or why he got there.

Micah had been in jails worse than this before - always managed to get himself out somehow. They hadn’t gotten his name and didn’t know he was part of Dutch’s gang so he was sure he’d be let out sooner or later… There was an O’Driscoll in the cell with him who was as drunk as a skunk and blathered on about a banking stage him and his boys were planning on hitting. Micah ignored him for the most part. He was hung over and he could feel that he had a black eye but he wasn’t sure from where.

He found himself slipping into an uneasy sleep.

He was standing outside of the barn again, staring at the peeling red paint. He knew what would be inside if he went through the doors. He didn’t want to go through the doors. He didn’t want to see it again. There was the voice. It was always here. Always screeching at him. “Prove it! Prove it to me, ya yella bellied son of a bitch! He walked slowly to the barn door, laid his hand on the wood, it was warm from the summer sun. He remembered the heat. Remembered how it made the blood smell…

“Do it now! Prove to me you ain’t a pussy like that no-good brother o’ yours!”

 He jolted awake forgetting where he was. The O'Driscoll snored on the cold floor of the cell beside him. Micah took a breath. He hoped that Lenny had enough brains to go and get help.

And help came, eventually, in the form of Arthur Morgan.

 Micah had been sitting at the window of the jail, leaning his face against the bars which cooled his swollen eye when he spotted Arthur sauntering over to him. He looked like he’d had a haircut and a shave, maybe even a bath. His hair was trimmed now, off of his neck where before it had been longer, his beard also gone. He’d replaced his blue shirt with a black one. He looked good and Micah cursed himself for thinking so.

You can do a lot of thinking in jail and Micah had thought of nothing but their encounter at the camp - what had it meant? Why had Arthur allowed it again if he had said it was nothing before? Micah knew the trail was lonely, men would lay with other men, hell even cattle if that was the only thing available.. But Micah wasn’t the only thing available. Not thirty minutes north was Valentine full of working girls if Arthur wanted to relieve himself. Why did they keep coming back to each other?

“Hello old friend, have a good time, did you?” Arthur asked, smirking as he sidled up to the side of the building. “You gonna get me outta here, Morgan?” Micah asked, a hint of desperation about his tone. Arthur paused before answering, taking the time to put a cigarette between his plump lips, strike a match then light the smoke. “I ain’t decided yet.” “Real funny.” Micah replied, rolling his eyes. “Oh, I ain’t joking, cowpoke.” Arthur replied as he exhaled smoke. “I’ve heard so much bluster outta your mouth the last six months and now I got an opportunity to watch you be silenced.”

Micah’s eyes widened. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought that Arthur was joking. It seemed like such a juxtaposition to the man he had been kissing just a couple of days ago who had sounded so vulnerable and sorrowful.... “You- you gotta do something!” Micah replied. Would Arthur really leave him to languish here? That wasn’t the Arthur Morgan Micah knew at all. “Why?” Arthur asked, his voice low and rumbling. Micah’s pale eyes met Arthur’s. “I… I thought…” He stammered uncharacteristically and shot a glance back at the O’Driscoll who was still asleep. “I thought, well, y’know..?”

Micah looked at Arthur pointedly. Surely, he hadn’t forgotten the other night. Arthur shook his head quickly. “I told ya, I ain’t gonna talk ‘bout that ever again. Y’understand? It was a mistake.” “A mistake that happened three times? Sure, cowpoke.” Micah found himself saying hotly. “You shut your mouth or I will leave you here to rot, Micah, so help me I will.” Arthur looked away from Micah in the jail cell before saying, “don’t be mistaken, I’m only here because Dutch asked me. Nothin’ else.” Micah didn’t say anything. He glared at Arthur. Hated that he was drawn to him when he was such a self righteous prick almost all of the time.

Arthur used dynamite to blast the wall of the jail away. It was a loud and brash technique that suited Arthur. The lawmen up in the jailhouse were alerted immediately and Arthur handed Micah a revolver to protect himself from what was about to come. Micah didn’t know whether it was because of what Arthur had said, acting like nothing had happened but he suddenly saw red as lawmen descended upon them. Micah found himself shooting up the town as if his life depended on it. Arthur followed him, shouting after him, “what the hell are you doing?! Let’s just get out of here!” But Micah felt rage boiling over inside of him, rage because he had let Arthur do as he pleased and he felt used, he felt stupid. And now Arthur was being sent to save him, smirking at him like he was some little bitch. Micah would have preferred anyone coming to his rescue, anyone other than Arthur. “Have you lost your goddamn mind, Micah?!” Arthur was calling after him as Micah made his way through Strawberry firing on anything or anyone who resembled a lawman. “Calm yourself woman,” Micah spat at Arthur, “we’ll be fine.” “You have really lost it this time!” Micah felt a rush of adrenaline in a gunfight. He didn’t know if others did but there was little else that got him excited or made him feel as alive as bullets whistling past him. He got a thrill out of dodging and weaving, out of hunkering down then waiting for an opening to make that perfect headshot. Maybe it was something he’d learned from his daddy - the only times his daddy’d been proud of him was when he was unloading a chamber of bullets into someone’s chest. Together, Arthur and Micah were a force to be reckoned with - both excellent shots and efficient. They made short work of the lawmen and were able to make their escape. There was a lull eventually, Micah stood in the middle of the small town, chest heaving covered in sweat and blood - some his and some not. Arthur stared at him incredulously. “Come on,” Arthur growled at him, marching over to him as he unhitched his horse, a Missouri Foxtrotter like Baylock only Arthur’s was dapple grey. “Get on,” Arthur ordered, “before I shoot you, too.” Micah let himself chuckle. This almost felt normal. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Micah wasn’t worried about Baylock, he was a clever horse who would have returned to camp once Micah didn’t come for him. Arthur mounted up and reached down to pull Micah up too. Micah ignored the sparks he felt at Arthur’s touch.

Arthur spurred the horse onwards and they tore out of Strawberry. There were already reinforcements on their tail; with one hand, Micah held onto Arthur’s waist and with the other he shot at the lawmen. He pushed down all the thoughts he had about holding onto Arthur and being this close to him, close enough to smell him, close enough to press his lips to the nape of Arthur’s neck just to hear him sigh and watch him shiver. “Goddamn maniac,” Arthur snapped at him as they rode past Rigg’s Station, “I shoulda left you to hang.” Micah smirked. That was the Arthur he knew, not the sad drunk at the campfire. “Wouldn’t you get bored without me?” He asked playfully. Arthur grunted but didn’t reply. “That was some good shootin’ back there - gotta hand it to ya, Morgan.” “What was that you pulled back there?!” Arthur called back to him, not letting up on the speed though it seemed like the law was gone now. “Got a bit wild, that’s for sure.” Micah mused, not wanting to have to explain himself. “Wild!?” Arthur repeated, sounding dumbfounded.

Micah didn’t say anything else. He didn’t know what exactly had come over him and he wasn’t about to spill his guts and feelings to Arthur Morgan. Not now, anyway. Maybe if things had been different... If Arthur hadn’t acted like nothing had happened... “You owe Lenny,” Arthur told him sternly, “if he hadn’t found us in time… Well…” “You’ll all be thanked profusely. I promise.” Micah retorted. “You’re lucky Dutch has got your back for some unknown reason.” Arthur said coldly. Arthur slowed his horse down now. Micah still rested his hand on Arthur’s waist, the anger subsided giving way to something else but he didn’t understand it. He felt his chest tighten but different this time. It was dull, it throbbed and ached like he wanted to howl in pain. “Take me back to my camp.” Micah said to Arthur, “it’s at Monto’s Rest.” “You ain’t comin’ back to Horseshoe Overlook?” Arthur asked, surprised. He turned his head to look at Micah over his shoulder. Micah didn’t want to meet his eye. “No. I’ve been a bad boy, Morgan. Dutch ain’t gonna be happy with me. I’ll let him cool off or bring him a peace offering.”

Arthur rode to Monto’s Rest - Micah had set up camp there with Lenny before they went to the saloon. Baylock was waiting for him. Micah slipped off of Arthur’s horse and went to Baylock. There wasn’t much he cared about in life but his horse was one of them. “Hey,” he greeted the Foxtrotter gently and patted him on the muzzle, “what a clever boy you are.”

 Arthur hovered awkwardly, not getting off of his horse but not leaving immediately either. He watched as Micah spoke softly to Baylock and fed him some hay: “you must be hungry, boy. Micah looked back to Arthur, puzzled. He’d half expected Arthur to make him walk back to his camp after that performance in Strawberry and he certainly hadn’t expected Arthur to hang around.

Why was Micah’s heart beating so hard in his chest?

“I…” Arthur started and Micah looked up at him, head to one side, “I’m glad Lenny got to us in time.”

Micah saw the flush play across Arthur’s cheeks and his blue-green eyes looked bright, just like they had done before. What was this? Not half an hour ago, he had said he’d leave Micah in that cell, he’d berated him for shooting his way out of town and now… Now he was saying he was happy that Micah was ok?

“Why…. why don’t you stay?” Micah found himself asking and he hated himself for it. Micah also hated how he had to crane his neck to look up at Arthur on his horse.

The night had drawn in now and Arthur’s features were shrouded by darkness but his eyes shimmered as they settled on Micah’s. Micah thought for a moment that he could see Arthur considering his proposition of staying. Whether it was just for a drink or for the night, Micah wasn't sure if he cared, he just wasn't ready for Arthur to leave just yet. Didn't want to be on his own again.

He hated how he became needy around Arthur. He’d been so angry at him but now he couldn’t be.

“I…” Arthur started, hesitating. “I should get back.” He said, looking away as he spoke.

It was all Micah could do but to bite his lip to stop him calling after Arthur as he turned his horse around to leave; it took all his will to stop him begging Arthur to stay with him.

He already felt his neck flushing with embarrassment. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t him! Simpering after Morgan out of everyone..!

He hated himself more and more and more.

So he rode into Valentine a short while afterwards, drank too much whiskey and fucked the first whore who spoke to him.

The whore wasn’t the best lay in his life but she wasn't bad either. She wasn't Arthur though.

 ****

Micah woke up in the rented room above the Valentine bar the next morning. Light streamed in through the window and the whore was long gone.

Micah groaned and rolled over. He was naked, still had blood on him from the jailbreak the day before. He didn’t want to think about that or think about Arthur. He cleaned himself up and dressed, going downstairs to the bar. He needed food - he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten anything.

He ordered eggs, flapjacks and coffee. He sat at a table away from the main doors trying to let his pounding head subside. If he closed his eyes he saw Arthur, saw the blood from the lawmen in Strawberry, saw the peeling paint of the barn door…

“Micah Bell..? I never thought I’d see you again, let alone in Valentine of all places..!”

Micah’s head jerked up and his eyes were greeted with the sight of a well dressed man around the same age as him, tall and slender with a shock of red hair and vibrant green eyes that sparkled mischievously with a boyish charm as they met Micah’s.

“Clinton Jones?”

“The very same! How the hell are you!” Clinton asked, pulling up a chair and sitting at the table beside Micah. Micah found himself uncharacteristically lost for words as he stared into those dazzling emerald eyes. Clinton seemed nonplussed at his old friend’s silence. “Let me buy you a drink! It’s been how many years..?” “Too many,” Micah replied rather bluntly. He was taken aback. Hadn’t seen Clinton since he was a boy. Back then, they had been very close but since Micah took off on his own, Micah had pushed those memories down.

“How’s Emily?” Clinton asked Micah. “Amy.” Micah corrected him, a sudden jolt carved through him like a knife. “She… She passed away.” “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Clinton said, though he didn’t sound it at all.

Micah found himself speechless at being presented with his past so suddenly and unexpectedly. A working girl set Micah’s food down before him and he began to eat, a distraction from having to make small talk with a childhood friend.

“What are you doing out this way?” Clinton asked Micah, watching him attentively. Micah shrugged casually, “jus’ this and that. You know how it is, Clint.” Clinton laughed softly, “been years since anyone called me that. It’s Clinton these days… Or Agent Jones.”

Micah didn’t show that a jolt of panic ran through him. He had known Clinton had been interested in joining the law when they were younger - not wanting to follow a life of crime and urging Micah to do the same. But Micah couldn’t, his daddy’d never let him. And then after what happened out in Ohio there was no going back, Clinton knew that.

“I work with the Pinkertons now, Micah.” Clinton said, almost gently as if he wanted to soften the blow. “It’s what you wanted.” Micah replied, not meeting Clinton’s eye now. Clinton moved a little closer to Micah now, dropping his voice as he spoke, “even me just sittin’ here with you is a risk, especially after what happened with your daddy.” Micah’s eyes darted up to Clinton’s. “I never told no one about you, Micah. I swear.”

Micah stopped eating. Had he not been Micah Bell III, his hands might have shook as he held the cutlery and he might have been worried about just how convenient it was that Agent Clinton Jones of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, former close friend of Micah Bell, just happened to have tracked him down to Valentine, especially after all that chaos he had caused in Strawberry.

Perhaps Micah had not been as anonymous as he had thought back in that small, Strawberry jail.

“Thanks.” Micah said. “That’s what friends are for - helpin’ each other.” Clinton said with a smile, “maybe you could help me, Micah..? ‘Parently, there’s a bunch of people out this way - outlaws - just robbed a ferry in Blackwater and then a train owned by Mister Leviticus Cornwall. Maybe you heard about it?”

“Can't say I have.” Micah replied smoothly, picking his knife and fork up again and resuming his breakfast, “you know me, Clint… I ain’t really one for reading the newspaper.”

That wasn’t the answer Clinton had wanted as he moved his head further still, his smile diminished but still playing on his lips like someone who knew they had a royal flush in poker. “Listen, Micah. I don’t wanna be coy. Dutch Van Der Linde is a wanted man and I want to help put him behind bars.” Micah shrugged, slurping at his coffee in a purposefully obnoxious way. “I think think I’ve heard o’ him but… I’m afraid I can’t help you old friend.”

Micah went to stand now and Clinton followed suit. “Micah!” He followed Micah to the doors of the saloon rather desperately now, “Micah, I know you know somethin’. You was seen with Van Der Linde out west. Now I came to you without tellin’ no one because I still… Well… We was close once.”

Micah hesitated as he walked to the hitching post. “We was.” Micah conceded, not looking at Clinton now. “Long time ago now, Clint. Long time ago.” “Don’t mean that it didn’t happen or that it didn’t mean anything.”

Micah let his hat hide the expression on his face. He hadn’t thought about Clinton Jones for twenty years. Many people had come and gone since then.

“Clint…We was kids.” “I don’t wanna have to resort to blackmail. I thought, maybe you’d still have some sort of fondness left… Thought you’d want to help an old friend out - you scratch my back, I scratch yours?” Micah turned back to Clinton now. He searched his face not knowing if he could trust him. When could you ever trust a Pinkerton?

“They’d still be interested in you after what happened in Ohio, you know. They got your daddy but as far as I know, that bounty’s still out on your head.” “Clint-” Micah started, shaking his head. “I won’t tell ‘em a thing, I swear… If you help me, Micah. I can guarantee your freedom. And money, too - Dutch has a pretty price on his head.” Micah’s face stayed stony. Clinton reached into his inside jacket pocket and held out a sheet of paper to Micah. It was Dutch’s bounty poster. Micah took it without looking at it.

“Just think about it, Micah. I’ll be in touch.”

[littlemisssquiggles]

So ...about "The Warrior in the Woods"...

Okay so this morning, this squiggle meister took a read at a preview for one of the stories that would be featured in the upcoming RWBY: Fairy Tales of Remnant set to release this year September 15th. It’s titled “The Warrior in the Woods”. If you haven’t read the small preview of the tale for yourself, you can find it right here on kobo.com where you can also preorder a digital copy of the book.

Speaking of, does anyone know where one can preorder a hardcopy version of this book? Or do I have to wait till it comes out in September to order the hard copy version then? Of all the upcoming RWBY-related projects that I was most looking forward to, it’s definitely this one and I’d definitely love to own a tangible copy of the book for myself if it’s available.

Anyways let’s talk about “The Warrior in the Woods” story specifically. Obviously I read it and without spoiling much from the short story, all I can say is that I definitely loved it. I think right out the gate, I’m going to peg this one as one of my favourites of the fairy tales purely because I found it to be a rather sweet one.

[SPOILERS AHEAD! NUFF SAID]

Plot-wise, the tale focuses on a young boy who ends up getting lost in the woods after wandering out too far from his home village while out playing with his friends. Basically the gist is that the people of this boy’s village have lived in peace away from the Grimm; so much so that the villagers; as well as its youths had never encountered a creature of Grimm before.

While lost in the forest, the boy is attacked by a Bolbatusk Grimm (I believe) during which he is rescued by a woman with silver eyes. In a nutshell, the boy is saved by a Silver Eyed Warrior which leads into a routine where every year from the day they met, the young boy would always return to the forest in the hopes of meeting the Silver Eyed Warrior again.

Let’s get into what I liked about this tale:  The whole relationship between the young boy and the Silver Eye who I will hereby refer to as “Warrior”. From the get-go, it’s very evident that the Boy is infatuated with the Warrior but what I found adorable was that this boy’s interest in the Warrior was what encouraged him to brave the forest in the hopes of seeing her time and time again for two to three more years (I believe if I’m remembering correctly). And what I thought was interesting was that each time the boy ventured into the forest, he was described as being much braver and stronger than previous encounters.

During his first encounter with the Warrior, the boy was completely powerless during his first run in with a Grimm but as the years went by, the boy would learn from his experiences and would go in a little more prepared each time. While he still needed the Warrior to come to his aid (which she always did in spite of saying she wouldn’t save him and telling him never to return), I definitely dug how much the boy began to mature with each time he met the Warrior as reflected in his growing combat competency.

I liked the angle of the Boy being motivated to become a stronger person thanks to his meeting with the Warrior. I liked that just as much as I love the angle of how much the Warrior in turn grew to care for the Boy in her own way.

When we first meet the Warrior, she described as strong and beautiful (by the Boy) yet hardened and reserved due to her past experiences since according to her story, her kind were known to be hunted and slain by humans because of their power (as we the readers are aware of from the main series as of V4-V6).

So due to this, the Warrior has basically settled into a life of solitude and survival. This is even reflected in her initial attitude towards the Boy since after saving him the first time, she warned him never to return again.

Unfortunately for the Warrior, she had underestimated the Boy’s persistence since he did return to her and each time they’d meet in the woods upon her saving him, the young boy would bring her gifts as a token of his appreciation and fondness of her as well as a symbol of their growing bond.

And in spite of pushing him away at first and all the times they would “meet” afterwards, I liked how it was shown how much the Boy had grown on the Warrior and how his compassion had warmed him up to her to the point that I think she began looking forward to seeing him in a way---or rather she expected him to always return to her in a sense.

Until one year when the boy returned to woods, he would find his Warrior gone. Whether that meant the warrior had eventually met her fate or simply moved on, I don’t know. It is of my assumption that the Warrior was ultimately killed in battle. The ending of story in regards to the Warrior’s fate felt a bit ambiguous to me. The story mentioned the possibility of the Warrior being dead but honestly never confirms it. Not really. So for me, I’m only assuming that the Warrior did die since that’s how the tale left her conclusion.

Now for the real meat of this post---the comparison that I’ve already seen my Rosegardening peers make after reading this tale and now I’m going to chip in and basically say the same thing too. 

Yes, the Boy and the Warrior definitely remind me of Oscar Pine and Ruby Rose. 

It’s actually kind of hard to NOT make that stark comparison.

After finishing the tale, my theory is that the Boy was probably around the same age as Oscar is currently when he first met the Warrior. Probably 14-15 years of age and I’d like to think that he was probably 17-18 years old by his third and last encounter with the Warrior since later in the story, the author began referring to the boy as a “young adult man” (I believe).  

As for the age of the Warrior, that one has me stumped to be honest. In the story, she is described as “woman”. I also recall the author describing the Warrior having strands of silver in her hair which made me think she was probably a much older woman---probably in her 40s.

Then again…women in their late 20s to early 30s can start showing signs of grey hair. Not to mention that people as young as 18 can start greying out due to family background and stress. 

So…in that case, I dunno. Going off the featured artwork of the Warrior in the preview, she doesn’t look to be that old at all. So I’m going to safely assume, that compared to the Boy, she was probably in her late 20s or so.  

That’s my cookie crumb deduction.

Either way, here we have yet a second example of a RWBY content featuring an adolescent male expressing romantic interest in an older woman with the writers behind the tale treating this dynamic as something wholesome and rather quite sweet. I would be lying through my teeth if I said I wasn’t rooting for the Boy and the Warrior to end up together-together.  I am NOT sorry. My hopeless romantic of a shipping heart couldn’t help but find the boy’s interactions with his Warrior to be adorable since the story treated it that way.

It’s for this reason why despite the story’s ending, a part of me is still kind of hopeful that the preview isn’t the whole story for that specific tale; y’know what I mean? Like I’m kind of hoping that once the full book is out, there will be more to the Warrior in the Woods story that potentially reveals the young boy and the Warrior reuniting and having their happy ending together.

I could be completely wrong here but dagnabbit, they got me again folks. Not gonna lie. I want this now. I need Roosterteeth to adapt this book into a new animated series like World of Remnant. These characters don’t even have names and already I adore their bond and story together.

Overall, as you can tell, I’m smitten with the relationship between the Boy and his Warrior. And the ending where the boy; now a man, professes his love for his Warrior since the day they met only made me gush even more over this pair. In the squiggle shire, we stan “A Boy and his Warrior”. That’s what I’m going to call this pair.

I guess the point that I’m trying to make here is that it’s nice to see a love---even if it was unrequited in a sense---between a young man and an older woman be treated respectfully in literature. We live in a time when people would screech over the slightest age difference while ignoring the context of the relationship itself.

Though only a short story, I’m happy that the author of Fairy Tales of Remnant portrayed the rapport between the Boy and his Warrior as a sweet relationship.

It’s here where I’m reminded of the Rosegarden dynamic. For the most part, the CRWBY Writers have always treated the bond between Ruby and Oscar as wholesome. It’s what makes the arguments against it in regards to their small 2-year age different sound so silly in my opinion.

So that being said, thank you CRWBY and E.C. Myers for creating yet another sweet dynamic between a young adolescent teenage boy and an otherwise “older” and much more experienced Silver Eyed Warrior.

“…I wish I could have been there for her,” he said slowly, “the way she was there for us.” If she was dead, she had died alone.

“Why did you keep going back there, year after year?” a village woman asked him. “Because she saved you?”

“For that reason, and for many more,” he said slowly. “But I believe she knew the deepest reason of all.”

The group waited. He gazed into the fire.

“I fell in love with her the moment I saw her silver eyes.”

- “The Warrior in the Woods” | Fairy Tales of Remnant by E.C Myers 

 I would like to say more about this story but I’m afraid right now, all I can give are my first impressions. In a way, my mind is all a tizzy with how much this tale got me thinking in respect to the growth and potential future of the Rosegarden relationship.

I’m not trying to imply that I’m taking this as a sign of their endgame. Nah. That would be too premature of me. But it did get me thinking and excited for them in respect to Oscar’s continued development.

I think what I loved and enjoyed the most out of this tale is how much the Boy reminded me of my favourite little prince and how his endearing love for his Warrior made me think of how much Oscar looks to Ruby as someone to believe in and perhaps, even fall in love with.

And what got me the most was the line about the Boy wishing he could’ve been there for his Warrior the same way she had been there for him and by extension the people of his village.

That line hit me deep since that’s exactly how Ruby has been with Oscar from the moment the two met!

Out of everyone amongst the hero team, Ruby has supported Oscar the most from the start. She’s always stood by him. Looked out for him. Protected him and believed in him or supported him even when others were reluctant about that.

She was the first person to mention how brave he is in spite of his fears. And above all else, Ruby inspired Oscar to be a stronger person. Not just for himself and the huntsmen in his care; like his teammates. But for her.

The Boy was inspired by the Warrior to become a stronger man, not just for himself but also the people of his village. Not only that but I loved how the young man even wanted to be strong enough to support his Warrior too

“…I wish I could have been there for her,” he said slowly, “the way she was there for us.”

I love that. I love that line because it reminds me of everything I’ve been saying about Oscar and his inspiration from the Little Prince.

What was the lesson the Fox taught the Prince? Love and responsibility. To be responsible for the people who love and support you just as much as you love and support them.

I got the same vibe from this story from the relationship between the Boy and the Warrior. The sad reality is that the Boy never got a chance to be there entirely for his Warrior and thus she was believed to have died alone; never truly knowing the whole truth of how much she meant to him and how much he loved her.

This is a parallel that I’m hoping for in V8 in respect to Oscar’s side of the story with him on his own in Mantle with only Oz. I’m hoping that during his journey back to Atlas; Oscar comes to terms with his feelings for Ruby. What would even be amazing is if at some point, the tale of the Warrior in the Woods is brought to life and told in the main series.

I would absolutely love it if at some point Oz would tell Oscar the Tale of the Warrior in the Woods when the little prince starts thinking about his rose. Even better, what if…“The Warrior in the Woods” is how Oscar learns the “Fox’s lesson to the Little Prince”?

Imagine if…Oz, fairy tale and it through hearing that story and learning of the Boy’s dedication to his Warrior that it helps Oscar realize how much Ruby means to him!

Overall, what I’m mainly anticipating is for Oscar to come to terms with his true deepest feelings for Ruby. For me, I would love it if Oscar really is no different than the Boy in the fairy tale. 

What would even be more of a trip is if Oscar is a descendant of the Boy or meets someone in his travels who is related to that boy in the tale and it’s a story and lesson that’s been passed down throughout their family for generations.

I know that might be pushing it a little bit but it’s not a bad concept. Either that or…Oz is the one who tells Oscar the Tale of the Warrior in the Woods. It would make sense for Oscar to hear that tale through Oz since, ironically, isn’t he the one who compiled the Fairy Tales from Remnant book? Correct me if I’m wrong. I know his notes are a feature of the book.

Anyways,  either way, I want to see Oscar realize how much he loves Ruby and it’s his love for her that further fuels his drive to support and protect her.

The Boy never got his chance to be there to protect his Warrior. While he kept her legacy alive through her story, the sad truth is the Warrior died alone never knowing how the Boy felt for her.

This is something I’m expecting NOT to be repeated with Rosegarden. I want to see Oscar promise to Ruby that he will always be there for her; fighting by her side for the cause they both believe him: Saving humanity. And above all else, I want to see Oscar realize his love for his rose in the hopes of one day telling her that to her face.

While I don’t know if we’ll have Ruby return Oscar’s feelings. Regardless, this is what I’m anticipating to see at least for Oscar’s side of things and this fairy-tale gave me more believe for that. Then again, it’s just a story and only time will really tell for what the CRWBY Writers have in store for V8. But a squiggle meister can wonder and hope, right?

In the meantime, like I said, I’m excited for the official release of Fairy Tales of Remnant.

I don’t plan on reading any more of the previewed stories though. I don’t know about some folks, but for this squiggle meister, I more want to wait till the book is out so I can hopefully get a hard copy because I do want to own the book itself.

That way I can read it through, make notes of things and always have that stuff on hand when I want to make a point of analysis for future musings and headcanon posts. Plus I really want that book. This is one of the sure-fire times where RoosterTeeth will actually get my money. (Still waiting patiently on dem Oscar merch though).

So with that being said, I think “The Warrior in the Woods” will be the ONLY story preview I will read and talk about for now.

I know there are previews for the other stories available but I’d rather not read them now. I think I’ll wait for the full book to go through and give my official thoughts then. We’ll see. Until then, this is all I got to say for now folks.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2020)

[terramythos]

TerraMythos' 2020 Reading Challenge - Book 5 of 26

Title: This Is How You Lose the Time War (2019)

Authors: Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

Genre/Tags: Science Fiction, Time Travel, Romance, First Person, Third Person, Novella, Female Protagonists, LGBT Protagonists.

Rating: 9/10

Date Began: 2/11/2020

Date Finished: 2/15/2020

Red and Blue are rival agents from enemy time travel societies locked in an endless war through time and space. When Blue writes a taunting letter to Red, establishing forbidden contact, the two begin an unlikely correspondence. Each outsmarts the other as they manipulate history for their nation, leaving a letter in her wake. As the letters continue, however, the two begin to realize their similarities, and gradually fall in love with each other. 

There’s a kind of time travel in letters, isn’t there? I imagine you laughing at my small joke. I imagine you groaning. I imagine you throwing my words away. Do I have you still? Do I address empty air and the flies that will eat this carcass? You could leave me for five years, you could return never– and I have to write the rest of this not knowing. 

This one was shorter than I expected; somehow I didn’t get the memo that this was a novella, but it was great, so it didn’t feel like a waste.

Each chapter, either Red or Blue visits some timeline or point in history on a mission to manipulate events, creating the outcome their society needs to continue existing. However (at least at the beginning), their rival foils their plans and writes them a letter, taunting them, finishing the chapter. Things get twisted and complicated over time when the two catch feelings. Both are obviously not allowed to fraternize or correspond with the enemy, so their continued interaction poses dire risks to their lives and well-being.

The authors pack a lot of story and heart into a 200 or so page book. I usually don’t bother with books that are primarily romance, but the execution here was great, and the science fiction/LGBT hook did lure me in. I had strong feelings for both Red and Blue and wanted them to succeed despite the odds. Seeing the gradual morph from their early jabs, to a desire to learn about one another despite wildly different societies and upbringings, to mutual desire and love was just really nice. “Forbidden love” stories are usually trite when they star straight cis people, so having both leads be women definitely helped.

I saw a different review call This Is How You Lose the Time War (I’m paraphrasing) “poetry disguised as prose” and I think that’s true. There’s a lot of elevated language and wordplay, and I definitely recommend reading it aloud. There’s also a fair share of literary references, obscure and otherwise. I didn’t understand all of them, but the few I caught were cool.

This work reminded me of two things – the first being the Griffin and Sabine series, which documents a strange postcard exchange between two unlikely people, and gradually morphs into romance over time. One of my favorite things about those books is the implication that the two characters are in parallel universes, even though it’s never confirmed outright (if I remember correctly… it’s been a while). While that’s a straight romance, it’s an interesting read, and has some great visual illustrations for the postcards. I’d be surprised if it didn’t inspire part of this story. 

The other thing this reminded me of was the film Predestination, which is a different take on the time travel thriller romance (albeit kinda twisted). That story has a shit-ton of stable time loops that all come together near the end. While it’s not done the exact same way, This Is How You Lose the Time War and Predestination both take full advantage of time travel mechanics to elevate the romance to a whole new level. There’s a sense of predestination in both – that even before they officially “meet”, the lead characters are bound to each other from early events in their lives. That concept of destiny is such a strength when it comes to romance, especially a forbidden love story, and I think it’s really cool to use another genre like science fiction to achieve it. 

Anyway, besides all that, this book hurt my little gay heart. The letter exchanges were by far my favorite part of the book, so much so that I wish there were fewer novel sections and more letters. Don’t get me wrong, the various settings Red and Blue visit are interesting and creative, but they paled in comparison to the exchanges for me. The letters reminded me of gay love letters throughout history that I’ve read– the longing, the discretion, the poetic confessions, etc. Again I’d be shocked if the authors didn’t take cues from those. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is– this book was a treat to read, and definitely an emotional and provoking story. While romance isn’t my go-to, if it’s well-realized or executed I really like it. Enemies to friends to lovers with interesting and compelling characters? And it’s gay? And there’s time travel? This book hit the mark for me. Definite recommendation! 

[emma-what-son]

Little Women reviews are in

I’ve noticed that some reviews are just simply overwhelmingly positive. I just don’t trust that. There has to be something you disliked! The pace, any changes the director has made... Something! Anyway, as always I’ll only post reviews mentioning Emma.

Vanityfair: I won’t go through all the other players in the ensemble, but most of them inhabit their roles with just the right pep and insight. (Only Watson, as dour eldest sister Meg, runs into some flatness.) Gerwig has a lively, natural directorial rapport with actors, creating comfortable spaces in which they can more easily form organic bonds. Little Women is nicely textured in that way, possessed of all the easy chatter and squabble of people who genuinely know one another.

Indiewire: “Little Women” isn’t always perfect: A few line readings fall flat — whenever Watson slips out of her American accent, all bets are off — and a handful of characters aren’t given nearly as much dimension as the sisters. Laura Dern’s soft-hearted Marmee is almost too good to be believed, and Bob Odenkirk’s boisterous initial introduction as the March family patriarch feels out of place (though it’s later redeemed during one of the film’s more amusing final sequences). And yet Gerwig and her girls know the hearts and minds of the sisters through and through. “Little Women” is about them above all else.

Empireonline: And while Meg gets a few good scenes, she’s still underserved compared with her younger sisters.

TheHollywoodreporter: Among the large cast, Watson somewhat fades into the background, possibly because the pretty, vivacious girl makes way so early for the thoroughly good wife who married for love, not material comfort. Dern at times seems a tad contemporary as Marmee, but then that could partly be because her delectable skewering of a quintessential L.A. type in Marriage Story remains so fresh in my mind. But even with limited screen time, all the actors register as fully formed characters.

Variety: A long way from her days as Hermione Granger in the Harry Potter movies, Watson portrays Meg as the sister who most knows what she wants, which makes the character’s choice feel like less of a compromise. Pugh has the tricky part, since so many find Amy’s personality off-putting, whereas she makes it possible to understand the difficulties of living in her sister’s shadow.

Screendaily: But this is an all-star marquee line-up. A somewhat miscast Emma Watson - she’s just too modern a presence - plays Meg, Eliza Scanlen is Beth, Laura Dern is Marmee while Meryl Streep plays Aunt March. On the male side, Timothee Chalamet is Laurie, with Louis Garrel playing Professor Bhaer and James Norton as Mr Brooke, the hard-up apple of Meg’s eye. The hair department must have worked overtime.

Screenrant: But while Jo is perhaps the closest Little Women gets to a single protagonist, and Ronan carries that starring role well, Gerwig's script makes sure to give each of the March sisters' their due. Watson brings a great deal of depth and empathy to Meg, while there's a steel to Pugh's Amy that allows her to hold her own alongside Ronan's Jo in a way that's fascinating to watch. Scanlen's Beth has all the sweet charm that the youngest March sister needs. Dern and Meryl Streep round out the exceptionally strong main female cast, bringing warmth and cold sensibility, respectively.

Dailymail: So the performances are terrific across the board, and that includes Watson (who reportedly replaced Emma Stone). She’s a limited actress magicked by Hermione Granger’s wand into better roles than her talent deserves, but she’s perfectly lovely as Meg, the eldest sister.

Telegraph: Emma Watson, supplying her usual finished charm, has no challenge lending consistency to dutiful-but-dull Meg, the eldest; and Eliza Scanlen gives a pale vulnerability to sickly piano prodigy Beth, “the best of us”.

Nerdist: The film isn’t without its weaknesses. The back-and-forth editing is occasionally confusing, and sometimes hinders the power of Jo’s arc. Her growing dissatisfaction with her work and her isolating loneliness is powerful when chronological, and suffers a bit here interspersed with happy memories of togetherness. There’s also one puzzling addition to her relationship with Laurie that rings false to Alcott’s story and Jo’s character, although not detrimentally. Laura Dern’s Marmee feels a little too sparkly compared to the hard-worn and exhausted character of the book, and Emma Watson’s Meg fails to make much of an impression, though she has a few touching moments that contrast her desires with her sisters’.

Flickeringmyth: If anything, the only noticeable flaw with Little Women is that for anyone that’s not Jo or Amy, it feels like there should be more that was probably edited down to keep the running time from going any higher than 2 hours and 15 minutes. That goes for Meg’s relationship and inevitable marriage, the bad boy behavior of Laurie who doesn’t know how to deal with rejection at first (he decides to pursue Amy following that, with Florence Pugh eliciting a great deal of emotion and making a case for Best Supporting Actress choosing between lovers and what’s best for her own passions), and one or two more scenes centered on Beth.

Moviecitynews: Emily Watson seems to be the #2 little woman as Meg, but she unselfishly lets the second dominant character come slowly into focus through the film in the form of Florence Pugh, whose character, Amy, is not as clear about what she wants. Both just get better and better through the film. And Beth, played by Eliza Scanlen, has the least to do in the film, but still comes through as a fully formed character.

Butwhythopodcast: As Meg, Watson is stunning. She carries a calm emotion, embodying her role as the older sister, the template for the girls behind her. Each of the women carries a burden with them, while they carry it differently, they share it all the same. Gerwig nails the burden of family perfectly, while also showing us how a family carries together.

Lenoirauteur: Speaking of a lack of there there, poor Emma Watson. Her Meg has a really interesting story on face value but the story doesn’t get to really dig into her interior life. Which is a shame, because I felt Meg’s desire to know and want fancy things only to fall in love with a man who doesn’t have much is very interesting! But what good does interesting do me, if we barely spend time with her and everyone else gets a much more epic Laurie moment. It’s in the moments we spend with Meg where Gerwig’s changes strain against what you can do with a text and still maintain its effectiveness.

Timeout: But it’s Midsommar’s Florence Pugh who wows you the most as youngest Amy, gliding from bratty competitiveness to a hard-headed realism. (If Emma Watson and Eliza Scanlen as the other two March girls, Meg and Beth, don’t make the same impression, it’s by intention: Gerwig has designed them more as mirrors.)

Everymoviehasalesson: The titular Chatty Cathys are the four March sisters of the 1860s at different coming-of-age stages. The two youngest, Beth (newcomer Eliza Scanlan of Babyteeth) and Amy (rising star Florence Pugh), look up to their older two sisters, Jo (three-time Academy Award nominee Saoirse Ronan) and Meg (the now nearly-30 Emma Watson) with shifting notes of reverence and jealousy.

Denofgeek: Watson’s Meg, meanwhile, feels like wallpaper despite leading many scenes, although this might simply be the result of Watson’s limited range in comparison to Ronan and Pugh.

 Thespool: Ronan continues to prove a beautiful creative partner for Gerwig; her Jo’s an iconoclast and a spitfire, but that just makes her moments of vulnerability that much more deeply felt. Watson turns in fine, elegant work as Meg, and Scanlan commands the screen with quiet stoicism. But Pugh’s Amy March is a particular standout, her pouty brattiness belying her genuine insight into others, especially Laurie.

Forbes: Watson has perhaps the most challenging (and least audience-friendly) role, as the proverbial straight woman of the sisters who is put on the defensive when her dreams end up being the most conventional of the lot.

[longsightmyth]

Chapter-by-Chapter, The Naming, Chapter 3

Intro

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

(or you can just click the tag ‘Myth Reads The Naming’)

Pellinor

In this chapter we are reminded that the author is Australian, as the word ‘dingle’ is used for a grove of trees. The word choice isn’t important, it just tickles me every time I read it. Anyway, the dingle is a very nice collection of pleasant and protective trees who may or may not be slightly aware of the world.

This chapter is, however, mostly about Maerad being scried by Cadvan, who asks for her permission and waits until she gives it. He does not try to argue her into accepting. Scying is sort of mindreading or penseive-diving?

“It means I wish to look into you and see what you are.”

“Does it hurt?”

‘Well. Yes, it does, in a way. It’s a little like my asking if you would take all your clothes off and stand in front of me while I pore over you with a seeing glass.”

…

“What if I don’t agree?”

“Then I won’t do it, and we shall continue on our journey.”

She agrees to try. We see some memories of the Sack of Pellinor and more of Gilman’s cot, and she says that it did hurt, which Cadvan expresses sympathy for and apologizes, but the good news is that Maerad doesn’t have any bad intentions or evil designs and he can now tell anybody that with 127% certainty. We also learn that Maerad has a Very Special Harp that doesn’t need to be tuned and is SUPER OLD, even if it looks like plain old wood.

Throne of Glass (pages 27-38)

By coincidence, there is also discussion of trees in this bit of Throne of Glass, as they are travelling through an ancient forest that used to be home to fae and little fae or whatever. A soldier makes a remark about how Adarlan has gotten rid of the fae. Celaena snaps at him that he should watch his mouth, since Oakwald (the forest) used to belong to King Brannon and the trees probably remember him, prompting probably my favorite bit of dialogue in the entirety of Throne of Glass.

“They’d have to be two hundred years old, those trees.”

“Fae are immortal,” she said.

“Trees ain’t.”

Celaena stalks off and contemplates that maybe it was a good thing magic vanished. They travel some more. We are given six sentences about Celaena’s suffering through bad weather with a tent and cold toes.

We are treated to a poetic description of Prince Dorian and how his crimson cape crests like a wave when he comes back to take Celaena and Chaol to get a good view of the capital. Celaena talks about all of the Eyllwe slaves who helped her, naming none, and saying how ‘each night one of them would stay up to clean my back’ of her three parallel well-healed whip scars.

Then she angsts and says she isn’t fated for anything anymore, and THEN we get Dorian angsting about how beautiful and mysterious and fascinating she is.

THE COMPARISON.

Look I’ve mentioned the discussion of suffering thing every time, but here we actually get a glimpse of Celaena’s suffering at the expense of all the brown people she was incarcerated with. She says she was ‘whipped often enough that the wounds on her back never really closed’ and then had salt rubbed into her wounds.

I hesitate to say this. I do. But now we’re focusing TOO MUCH on the suffering? For whatever reason, now we’re told that Celaena was specifically focused on for punishment and special suffering, and… why?

I am impossible to please, I know. I think it’s the language: the book is trying so hard to make this The Worst Thing that my contrary self glares at it.

Also, I didn’t mention it in the Pellinor recap because it was so matter-of-factly mentioned in the text, but Maerad and Cadvan are cold too. They can’t have a fire in the dingle for fear of upsetting the trees, they are now pursued by something, and it’s still fucking freezing. All they have are their cloaks and clothes, of which Maerad’s are slave-quality for indoor-outdoor work and Cadvan’s are super beat up from being stuck in dark places and losing all changes because he sensibly held onto the travel rations instead. They’re curled up in cloaks on the ground! Celaena has tents and fires and sleeping bags and horses and changes of clothes! PRETTY CLOTHES. Her misery kind of palls, I’m just saying. She probably gets dry socks.

Something I want to dwell on here that isn’t actually a direct comparison to Throne of Glass but is important thematically: Cadvan worries that Maerad might be a trick of the dark sent to murder him (long lost daughters of murdered Bard Schools not usually being thick on the ground and all) and still won’t scry her unless she gives permission. He gives her all the outs. She chooses to go forward. He still apologizes for her fear and hurt, and clearly feels badly about it.

Nowhere is this kind of consideration given even to the Special Main Character in any of Maas’ books. The Special Main Character’s actions are always justified, and any hurt visited on them by their love interests or any dude on their side is not only justified but explained away as being good for them. Nowhere is a woman’s choice about her body or her mind or her abilities given precedence. It counts even in things as small as what women put into their bodies: in a later ToG book, Celaena/Aelin overdoes the magic despite her mentor being literally right next to her and watching her. He fusses incessantly, blames her for not eating enough beforehand even though she told him during the whole magic use thing that she was hungry and he decided he knew better, THEN during the coddling, when she says she’s full, he tells her he knows best and she is definitely still hungry. She takes another bite and decides he’s right.

Compare that to Maerad and Cadvan’s actions here. I’m moving on.

Also, Maerad and Cadvan thank the trees for their hospitality before they leave. I think Celaena thanks somebody maybe once the whole series, and Maerad and Cadvan are thanking trees.

This chapter of The Naming had 13 pages, 9 fragments, 3 em-dashes, and 17 ellipses.

This section of Throne of Glass had 11 pages, 17 fragments, 20 em-dashes, and 3 ellipses.

[justtextmeoppa]

❝ You could have told me ❞

Plot: You and Chanyeol are best friend, he loves you and you love him, but both are unware of each other feelings. 

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader 

Words count: 3,8k+ 

Genre: College!Au / A bit of angst / Fluff 

For anon, I hope you like it! - M. 

Gif isn’t mine, credits to the owner! 

Your parents warned you that college years would be the toughest, perhaps even more so than high school. But you had always underestimated their continued remark on how much your life would have undergone a drastic change once away from home and with the weight of the studies on the shoulders.  

They were right, after three years you could even say you didn't recognize yourself. Marked dark circles, social life practically absent and the continuous pounding overwhelming reminder of the professors to give the best.  

Yet there was a consolation in all that, in all that long and draining race on the roller coaster.  

Park Chanyeol.  

The only person who can make any problem disappear from your mind. He, his contagious smile almost was a magnet and his Yoda ears, that you loved caressing during movie nights while he rested his head on your legs, seeking peace after a tiring day.  

The thought that Chanyeol, in the years of high school, was only your weird seat partner to which you paid little attention always made you smile; because you would never have believed that once in college your friendship would become so fundamental to you.  

Perhaps for you, as you had understood for some time now, it was something more than a friendship, but you never found the courage to talk him about it. You were so deeply in need of his presence in your life, that the fear of losing him for a silly thing - even if you knew that your feelings weren't silly - surpassed anything else.  

A little sighed crashed indeed against your teeth, while you clenched them in prey to a small hysterical crisis because of your imminent and frightening test. Your mind didn't cooperate, too saturated with information and the only thing you could do was sigh, try to snatch your hair and throw your head backward by fixing the ceiling of your room.  

Someone knocked on your door and you knew it couldn't be your roommate because she was out with his boyfriend to celebrate you didn't know what. With a grunt, you got up from the chair and you were ready to assault anyone who had the courage to disturb you, but all the anger and fatigue vanished instantly as the giant figure of Chanyeol hid you completely, since in comparison to him you were a little dwarf.  

"Dress up, we go out, move." He said with his deep voice, without hiding the huge grin that showed his dimples on the sides of his mouth. That smile was for years your salvation, although in the last period it was the cause of violent and sickening blows to your poor and little heart, where you found yourself bent in two because it was too much to hold. Too much perfection in your opinion.  

You watched him carefully and noticed that he was dressed oddly enough, a white shirt that perfectly showed his well-built torso and a pair of skinny jeans ripped in too many points, in your opinion. The only thing left to the randomness seemed to be his hair, perfectly messy and with the silvery locks that fell on his eyes and provoked a slight itch into your hands. How many times you moved them unconsciously and received a strange look in return, which you still couldn't decipher.  

"Channie, my tes--"  

"No test, stop it." He pushed you into your own room, overstepping you and going to your closet; "You have to get out of this hole, Y/N. You're literally freaking out and I'm not going to lose my best friend because of the study" You silenced while he started to look at your clothes despite you were the one with the most taste in dressing between the two.  

With a happy grin, while exasperated you were sitting on your bed to wait, he turned and had a dress for each hand. Clothes that you even forgot to own, too busy to have good grades to keep the scholarship.  

The one in his right hand was blue night, with a dizzying neckline on his back and maybe even fit you again. In that left, he had something simpler, suited to the temperature of those days and spring that was now doing his course perfectly.  

"Whi--"  

"White, it'd be better." He murmured for you and you smiled, still struck by how he could read your mind without even looking at you.  

You touched the light fabric of the white dress, after getting up and approaching him, lifting on your toes and brushing his cheek with your lips. He stiffened to that contact and closed his eyes, while you unaware of everything walked away and went to hide in the bathroom to be able to dress.  

Chanyeol relaxed, taking a deep breath and passing a hand through his silver hair. He could no longer understand how you could be so blind as not to see how completely he was in love with you, but his plan for that evening was trying to make you understand. Without realizing that maybe it wasn't the better than the plans.  

~ ~

The ticking of your heels was the only thing you could hear at the time, while you kept walking back and forth in the women's bathroom. You took refuge in that "room" just to be able to escape from the sickening scene that occurred to you once you came back from the bar counter with your friend.  

The right to try jealousy, the violent one that would also push you to say the worst things in the world, didn't fit in your strings; but seeing  Chanyeol caressing the hair of that girl, laughing at her bad jokes and flirting as if his life depended on it had given you nausea.  

And it was for that reason that you apologized, with a thread of voice, hiding in the bathroom by those who were now fifteen minutes. You didn't dare to face that scene and you felt stupid while you knew it might happen.  

Chanyeol was a beautiful guy, funny though a bit odd and you knew everyone was going crazy for him, not just the girls. You were accustomed to him passing through the halls to the classrooms under the dreamy looks of the people, especially girls but he had never shown any interest in those years.  

Perhaps that was the evening when the "need of sex" for Chanyeol woke up or simply had found the love of his life, you couldn't know but now you knew that you would prefer to stay in your room to go crazy on books.  

Someone started knocking towards the twenty minutes and signing you opened the door, apologizing with the girl who with fury moved you and locked you out of the bathroom; your only lifeline.  

With uncertain pace, you would turn the small corridor that took you to the baths and that scene will disgust you even more, because they were too close, too intimate and her hands that kept moving along his arm annoyed you.  

The decision to ignore them and get out of the bar was sudden, but when the cold air of the night struck your skin slightly sweaty you shivered, starting to walk in the direction of the campus. You wanted to erase those images from your mind because they threatened to make you collapse even before you came to your room.  

And yet the blame was yours too. You never found the courage to confess what you were feeling for him, how important he was and stupidly you had hidden that problem in a small part of your mind. It was also your fault if he was now with a girl; even if you were convinced that even with your confession, things between you two wouldn't have changed.  

He behaved in the same way with anyone, there had never been signs that he liked you and it was also for that reason that you had desisted all the time.  

You started rubbing your hands on your arms, trying to chase down the chills that had begun to make you tremble, observing the deserted streets and trying not to get intimidated by the spooky aspect that the city assumed at night. Chanyeol was always with you, maybe that's why you never felt fear during your night walks.  

"Y/N! Hey, Stop!"  

His deep voice made you wince, but you kept walking pretending not to hear it. Because not, you didn't want to see his stupid face, his eyes lightly shiny because of the alcohol you both had either drunk or felt the smell of that girl onto his clothes because of the proximity. No, you just wanted to leave. Immediately a firm grip squeezed on your wrist and you stopped, sighing heavily and chasing back the lump that had formed in your throat when you had heard his voice.  

"What's going on..? Aren't you okay? You weren't there anymore and I was scared to death, Y/N. "  

Your absence of response made him worry even more, so he made you turn and you found yourself a few inches from his face. He leaned towards you, observing your features carefully and began to touch your arms with his big hands, provoking you the umpteenth wave of shivers and this time not for the cold.  

"Y/N.. I'm going to get you home, you're bloody pale. You had to tell me you weren't feeling well; " he began to say, surrounding your shoulders with his arm, moving you towards him; "And the next time you decide to disappear, please.. Tell me. I was going to have a panic attack."  

His chest greeted your face and you were too emptied of every emotion to fight his gestures, his sweetness, so you let yourself be clenched and his arm was immediately around your waist, erasing any kind of space that was between you two. His scent pierced your nostrils and made your head to spin slightly, while your heart started running, beating more and more violently that it seemed to want to snatch your rib cage and escape.  

"Chanyeol, enough.. "  

He didn't hear you, but your voice was too weak anyway.  

"Chanyeol, stop it." Your voice rose by a few octaves and with a huge effort you put your hands on his chest and pushed him away, caught him by surprise. He loosened the grip on your waist but he didn't let you go, he couldn't do it especially after seeing your expression. Your face was lowered but he still managed to glimpse something shine on your cheek and soon after he realized that you were crying, feeling the concerning increase even more.  

Without thinking he cupped your cheek in his hand and lifted your face, which provoked the umpteenth gagging that you would hunt back. You couldn't look at those eyes, read the concern in them and pretend that everything was perfect. Nothing was perfect and you were slowly crashing in front of him, under that touch that many times had cured your wounds.  

"Why are you crying? Y/N, what's going on? "  

"Go to that chick and let me go home, please. I'm tired. "  

Your tone made him buckle an eyebrow, dazed by the way you were reacting and talking. Yet he didn't leave the grip on your face, which became stronger but never lost that sweetness that you could perceive. His hand trembled but his gaze was serious, his jaw was clenched and there was a strange light in his eyes.  

"What's wrong with you?"  

"Go Chanyeol, go back inside, have fun and let me leave.. Let me go. " It was stupid to react like this, but you couldn't think straight at that moment and when his expression passed from worried to hurt, the guilt began to eat you slowly.  

Without knowing how you could get rid of the grip of his arm around your waist, making two steps back and seeing him clench his fists along his hips, while his expression became increasingly harsh and dark.  

"Tell me why you're acting like that."  

"Why you're acting like that Chanyeol? You've always said you hate people who try hitting shamelessly on you without even knowing you. Why? "  

"Fuck, I was just trying to make you jealous!"  

That phrase had the power to suck all the air from your lungs, while a dull pain began to breakdown every single conviction you had ever had.  

"What should I do Y/N, to let you understand?? What? I asked for advice to anyone, Minseok and Junmyeon Hyung kept saying I had to give up because you... You're too focused on yourself. But how could I? " He began to say, trying to keep calm but anger had begun to boil in him and for a second you feared him because you had never seen Chanyeol reduced in that state; "How could I ignore what I was feeling? What I feel. And tonight I thought that if maybe.. Maybe if I made you jealous, you'd have noticed me. Now, why the fuck are you acting like this? Tell me! "  

Some people out of the bar turned to you two, curious to see what was going on and you saw even the girl with whom he had tried to make you jealous.  

And now it was your turn to get angry, because you felt so inferior to that girl because she was getting the attention you've been craved for months, realizing how wrong he was.  

"You could have told me."  

"Hypocrisy is not a good thing." Murmured a voice in the shadows and your roommate, one of the people you trusted most, lingered under a street lamp while the color disappeared completely from your face. "Tell him that he could confess his feelings is hypocritical, Y/N... Because you're the first that has long kept him hidden that you are in love with him."  

You smiled bitterly, making another two steps backward while the circle that had formed around you whispered something that you didn't understand. You were mad at her for saying what you confided her so openly, but you were more upset with yourself because she was right.  

The most hypocritical of all was you.  

"Y/N.."  

"Yes, I'm hypocritical. I kept hiding for more than a year that I love you because I was scared. Ironic no?? If I had the courage to tell you everything, maybe we wouldn't be at this point. " Your voice broke in half a sentence, while you were trying to catch your breath; "But you.. You don't realize how I felt about seeing you with that girl. You don't realize how I felt. Inferior to her. I will have been a coward, but at least I have never tried to hurt you Chanyeol.. Because, believe me, trying to make me jealous.. It was a low blow. "  

Chanyeol at your side remained quiet, too upset by how the events had turned to be able to say something, while you watched him for a handful of seconds. You would have wanted, with your lips, to erase the pain that had turned its lines in the last minutes but without saying anything else you turned and started to walk in the direction of the campus.  

No one followed you and a sense of melancholy began to surround you, catching you into his trap. You were alone when the only thing you wanted at the time was hiding into his arms and forgetting the world.  

~ ~

It had been four days since the night of the "confession" and you had completely ignored your roommate, still furious with her being stepped into something that didn't regard her. Chanyeol, he was a different case. He hadn't looked for you, you hadn't seen him in class and every time you saw him in the hallway he turned and disappeared into the crowd. He wanted to avoid you and let him do it, because any way you weren't the only one with a huge amount of information to digest.  

The lessons passed quickly and without realizing you found yourself wandering the streets of the city, ignoring the duty to study and enjoying the day. You wanted to distract yourself and shopping was the best solution.  

Your gaze rested on a showcase and on an old-fashioned watch, so you entered and looking around you realized that that watch was the only thing that had really aroused your attention.  

You bought it without even thinking that you should have eat ramen for more than three months to return the expense, thanking the clerk and leaving with a mood lighter than usual.  

"You just bought a male watch, Y/N? I didn't know you had some taste. "  

"Hello, Minseok-ssi.." You bowed your head as a sign of respect and greeting, while Minseok's baby face softened and he gave you a slight pat on the shoulder.  

"Stop with formalities, we've known each other for years now."  

"But we've never really been friends."  

"You reject anyone who is not Chanyeol, Y/N." He remarked and smiled amused, while began to walk with you to the campus to return to the boring life of the student.  

"I never realized it, actually..."  

"We can always fix it. And let me tell you something, please talk to Chanyeol because I can't stand him anymore. "  

His statement caught you by surprise and you stopped, forcing him to stop and you watched him carefully trying to figure out what he was referring to. You nervously run your hand through your hair, biting your bottom lip and feeling the clock's packet suddenly becoming heavy.  

You had bought a male watch because the only thing you imagined seeing it was that on Chanyeol's wrist it would have been perfect.  

"Minseok, it's he who ignores me."  

"WHAT?!?!?!"  

"That is, I'm letting him do it, but every time he sees me change direction and disappears..."  

"Aish, that little brat." He swore, while he grasped your wrist and started running towards the campus and you were forced to run behind him, feeling the fatigue after even a few seconds.  

"Minseok, I don't work on my body like you, I'm dying, slow down!!!"  

"We can’t, try to hold on!" He yelled at you and you grunted, trying to keep his pace despite the fatigue.  

After not even ten minutes you were in the male area of the dorms and you could understand Minseok's plan, starting to tug him hoping to free your wrist from his grip.  

"No, Minseok.. please.. "  

"This story has to end or I swear I'll become a murdered. I can't stand it anymore Y/N, it's my mental sanity that we're talking about!! "  

You sighed and let yourself be dragged without objecting, finding yourself in the middle of their room after even a few minutes.  

Chanyeol wasn't there and this offered you a few minutes to think about what to tell him because it was all so sudden and your mind seemed like atrophied from the idea of really dealing with him.  

"Hyung I went to buy a--"  

"Goodbye." It was the only thing Minseok said before he crossed his friend and locked him in the room with you, with the sound of the key that turned into the patch.  

You began to rock on your heels, trying to ignore Chanyeol but his gaze wandered on you, from time to time, and the redness on your cheeks began to become more intense at every second that passed.  

"Y/N.."  

"No, wait." You blocked him and finally found the courage to look him in the eye, having to just bend you face backward because he was too tall. "Let me talk first. I was a fool and I realize it but.. I was afraid to lose you. You're my best friend, and I couldn't afford to lose you. You understand? You're sweet, funny and you always make me laugh. You're the only one who understands me and even protects me from myself.. Can you imagine my life as it would become if you had decided to cut our friendship once discovered what I feel?? "  

"You deduced that I would have wanted to cut off everything.. Who gave you permission to do it? " He asked you and the redness, because of the embarrassment, increased. "You have decided in my place, Y/N. Without knowing that my life would be a hell without you. And that I love you. I love you from our second year of high School, Y/N. "  

"W-what..?"  

That confession made you even more upset than the one where he had admitted that he had tried to make you jealous, while your heart had decided that beating frantically was the best solution at the time.  

He filled the distance that separated you and towered upon you, clasping your hands in his with a delicacy that made you tremble from head to toe.  

"You never wondered why I was always trying to stay close to you, even if we weren't friends? Because I couldn't stay away, it was like stopping breathing. God this is really cringy.. " He hummed and smiled embarrassed, raising your hands and starting gently to kiss the knuckles of your hands. A simple contact that provoked violent shivers that ran down your spine.  

"And I was stupid a few nights ago. I thought it was the best thing, Y/N.. I'm a jerk, I'm sorry. "  

"The blame is also mine.. But God, I wanted to slap her. "  

"You're jealous, aren't you?" He whispered starting to bend towards you and you hold your breath, trying to calm the violent beat of your heart without good results.  

But he surprised you because he placed his lips on your forehead and without saying anything he left the grip on your hands and surrounded your waist with both arms, hiding you totally. He inspired the scent of your shampoo, which he had always loved, while you relished that moment, so perfect to seem almost surreal.  

"Can you become my girlfriend or do I still have to court you?" He asked after a few moments and you just moved your head, raising your gaze and meeting his amused grin.  

"Honestly?"  

He nodded, transforming his smirk into one of his smiles, the big and luminous and that could dissolve even the iciest heart of all.  

"I have no patience to let you court me because I already love you, so.."  

"So you're my girlfriend."  

"I would say yes." You confirmed him and he hid his face in your hair, lifting you and starting to turn on himself.  

From behind the door, you heard a little chorus of "Hallelujah" and you burst into laughter hiding your face against his chest, while he was blocking and noticing the package you had thrown on the bed before his arrival. He'll ignore his friends outside the door and always holding you in his arms picked up the package, show it in front of your eyes.  

"Oh.. It's for you. I saw it and thought it was perfect for you.. "  

"You're already spoiling me, Y/N."  

"I'm your girlfriend, I can."

[fangirlsarecool]

Impressed? - Jake Peralta x Reader

I wrote this one a while back on a sudden spirt of inspiration (which has now disappeared 😞). Takes place in the episode “The Party” Also on AO3. Read my other Jake x reader fics here and here.

You had sequestered yourself in a corner of the library, checking your phone periodically for anything to save you from your boredom. You hated parties, especially those where most of the attendees were boring academics. But it was your uncle's birthday party so you were going to have to grin and bear it. Although, you were quite excited to meet some of the detectives that your Uncle Ray worked with. Despite the house having a "no cop talk" policy, you were really excited to hear all the amazing cases they'd worked. Anything to save you from the slow, painful death of a dinner party.

Everyone had been avoiding the library (or, more likely, you) since you arrived so you were surprised when someone entered the room. It was the only thing that had made you look up from you phone since you'd arrived.  He strode in with the utmost determination on his face; you'd never seen anyone walk into a library with such purpose. He looked around a little and you were confused as to how he hadn't noticed you yet. His gaze landed on a photo of your uncles on one of the side tables. "Oh, man, it's black Tom Selleck and white Sidney Poitier." he quipped. You had to stop yourself from snorting at this fairly accurate comparison. His eyes moved back to the bookshelves, narrowing as he scanned the books closely. He sighed, muttering to himself, "Come on. All books and no magazines? What kind of crappy library's full of books?" "You know, libraries tend to be filled with books." you spoke up, startling the intruder. He turned to you sharply, looking slightly sheepish. "I…um…didn't see you there. Sorry to disturb you." he apologised. You shook your head. "It's alright. You weren't supposed to see me; I'm hiding." You supposed you sounded rather childlike - hiding yourself away from all the adults at a party. His shoulders relaxed and his shocked expression faded. "Well, that's pretty bad on my part. I'm a detective." he told you braggingly. You raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to impress me?" you asked, not giving away the fact that you were fairly impressed. "Yes." he replied honestly. You scoffed. "Then you're gonna have to up your game." A smirk grew on his face, which, upon thorough inspection, you had decided was rather attractive. And you'd much rather have a detective flirt with you than listen to some professor drone on about the Civil War. "Challenge accepted." he said confidently. He then churned out the cheesiest line possible. "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" You sighed at the phrase, wondering how many men had attempted to woo women with that line. "I was invited. Like everyone else here. Besides, it would be rude to miss my uncle's birthday." you answered. The shock returned to the detective's face. "Holt is your uncle?" You nodded. "Whaaaaaaaaat?" he exclaimed. You hadn't expected him to be completely comfortable flirting with his boss' niece but you hoped you hadn’t put him off completely. "My mom is Kevin's sister-in-law." you explained, wanting to ease him a little. "Oh. Cool cool cool cool cool." he rattled off. "What did you come to the 'crap' library for anyway?" you queried, changing back to the original subject. He opened his mouth to reply before his eyes went wide. "The crap library," he gasped with gusto, "All the magazines are in the bathroom." Your brow furrowed. "Great solve, detective." you congratulated puzzled. He didn't catch the confusion in your voice and just took a bow, accepting your praise. He turned to leave but stopped in his tracks, the both of you being shocked by your uncle's sudden appearance. Ray looked between the two of you suspiciously. "Can I help you, Peralta?" he asked, his gaze landing on the detective. So this was Detective Peralta; you'd heard your uncle drop his name, mostly in complaint, quite a few times in your weekly phone calls. Peralta cleared his throat to compose himself. "Captain. I didn't hear you silently sneak up on me. Lurking must run in the family." he complained, half in jest towards your encounter. "(Y/n) is from Kevin's side of the family. Her mother is--" your uncle began to explain. "His sister-in-law. I'm all caught up on your family tree." Peralta finished. He pointed a finger in the air and continued, "Oh, that reminds me, tell Kevin I am available for brunch on Sunday the 17th." "The 17th is a Tuesday." you corrected, causing the detective to look at you dumbstruck. He clearly had a worse sense of time than you did. "Why are you talking about the New Yorker all of a sudden?" your uncle probed, taking a sip of his port. "I always talk about smart stuff," Peralta bragged, clearly trying to impress you again, "You know, the Jazz Age, what's in a name, the 1950s movies that are from the 50s." He was still going to have to try harder, especially as Ray shot him down. "Those were the categories on Jeopardy last night." he observed. Peralta made an kind of cute embarrassed face. "Don't try so hard to impress my husband. Or my niece, for that matter." His eyes flickered over to you for a brief moment. Trust your Uncle Ray to stop a guy from making a move on you. "Yes, sir." Peralta replied but something told you he wasn’t going to be that easily swayed. He waited until your uncle left the room before whispering, "To the crap library." He strode out of the room with the same determination as he had when he entered - he was clearly hell-bent on making a good impression on Kevin. This time, however, he stopped in the doorway and turned to you. "Catch you later." he said with such a suave smoothness that you couldn’t help but blush. You couldn’t believe he was the same guy who'd been looking for magazines in a library mere seconds ago. You wished that your uncle would consider inviting the detectives round more often. Anything that would allow you to see more of Peralta.

Unfortunately, you didn’t bump into the detective again at the party. You suspected your Uncle Ray had something to do with that, probably shepherding Peralta away from both you and your Uncle Kevin. You wouldn’t have been surprised if that was true; your uncle had always been very cautious whenever you mentioned an interest in someone. You wished he’d let you use your own judgement for once. Peralta seemed nice enough and sort of a dork (your one weakness in men). But perhaps the merging of professional and personal life was too much for Ray, as it always had been. Maybe that was why there had been no sign of Peralta, or any of his colleagues, about an hour after you had met. This detective had gone and you knew nothing about him; not his first name and certainly not his number. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands. Screw what your uncle thought, or what anyone thought for that matter. You liked this guy and you were going to make the first move (something you hadn’t done in a while). As the elevator dinged and the doors opened, you took a deep breath. You really hoped your uncle wouldn’t disrupt things. You gingerly stepped out into the bullpen. This was it. A detective with her hair pulled back, a sharp pantsuit and a pretty face approached you immediately. You still had ample time, however, to feel the buzz of the whole precinct. It was wonderful. The energy and passion of every member of the squad practically seeped out of the walls. You could see why your uncle loved being a cop so much. “How can I help you, ma’am?” the detective asked, her voice polite and articulate. It felt odd that she had addressed you so formally as you were pretty sure you were a similar age. “I…uh…” you stammered, suddenly feeling awkward for barging into the precinct. “Ah. (Y/n). What a pleasant surprise.” Your head shot up to see your Uncle Ray walking towards you from his office; his face showing no indicators of pleasantness or surprise (something you were used to). “Uncle Ray.” you greeted with a smile. He turned to the detective, whose eyes had gone wide. “Santiago, this is my niece, (y/n). (Y/n), this is one of my finest detectives, Amy Santiago.” he introduced. Amy puffed out her chest in pride. “Nice to meet you.” you said. “It’s an honour to meet you.” she replied. You watched her body twitch awkwardly as if she was going to bow to you. “I have…a thing.” she muttered vaguely before shuffling away to her desk. Ray turned back to you. “How can I help? I’m afraid I’m quite busy this morning so--” “I’m here to see Detective Peralta.” you told him bluntly. “Oh.” There was a pause while he processed what you told him. “Peralta. Detective Peralta. You’re here to see…Detective Peralta.” You nodded. Having said his name three times, the detective appeared as if he was Bloody Mary or Beetlejuice. “Hey, Santiago, can you help me wrap up this massive homicide case in a sec?” he asked his colleague. He was still bragging to impress you and hadn’t cottoned on that you already were. “Oh, (y/n), didn’t see you there.” he lied. You shook you head. You both looked to your uncle, expecting him to weigh in somehow, but he was just looking right back slightly bewildered. “(Y/n) and Peralta. My niece and Detective Peralta.” he mumbled. You had to bite your lip to hold back your laughter. You couldn’t believe how much you’d shocked him. “Shall we go to the break room? I can get you a coffee.” Peralta suggested. You took one last glance at your thoroughly confused uncle before nodding. “Sure.”

After chasing away two detectives, who had been using the pool table as some sort of weird pedicure station, the two of you were finally alone like you had been last night. Except this time you were super nervous. Was it bad that you really wanted a drink to take the edge off? Jake handed you a cup of coffee with a “Sup, girl”. You chuckled and observed, “I see your flirting hasn’t improved overnight.” “First off, my flirting was amazing last night. I’m irresistible. Secondly, you’d be surprised how many girls I’ve charmed with a simple sup.” “None?” you guessed teasingly, taking a sip of coffee. He pulled a face. “Anyway, you left early last night. Before I could get your number. So…” You held out your phone to him. “Forward. I like it.” he complimented, taking your phone. The blush that appeared on your cheeks was inevitable. “Did you find the magazine you were looking for?” you asked as he typed his number. “I did not. I actually ended up in Holt and Kevin’s bathroom with Amy and the Sarge, which was super awkward.” “I can imagine.” You took another sip of coffee. It was then you noticed he had finished typing and was just pressing one button constantly. “You’re taking under the chin selfies, aren’t you?” you asked. “No.” he replied quickly, biting his lip innocently. He began to pull more obvious stupid faces so you knew he was lying. You snatched the phone from him and swiped to the newly added contact. “Jake,” you read with a smile, “I like it.” He smiled too though his seemed more blissful. “When do you get off?” you enquired, putting your phone back in your pocket. Jake raised an eyebrow with a sly smirk. You gasped. “Work. You know I meant work.” “About 8.” he replied. “Do you…wanna meet up after work and…get a…drink?” you posed. It was so obvious you hadn’t done this in a while and you felt so awkward. “That sounds good.” Your face lit up. “Really? Okay. Great. I’ll see you at 8.” Jake opened the door for you. It swung open to reveal most of the detectives trying to listen in to your conversation. And at the back of the group, trying to look innocent, was your uncle. Your face went bright red. Jake put his hand on your shoulder. “(Y/n), welcome to the 99.”

[theshaofpride]

Wranduin Week Day 1 (Firsts)

Hi everyone! Here is my fill for the first day of Wranduin week, for the prompt “firsts.” 

Title: First (Kiss)

Pairing: Wrathion/Anduin

Rating: PG

Word Count: 2,700 +/-

Ao3 Link: Here

If there was one thing Anduin Wrynn hadn’t expected when he reached out to the Black Prince Wrathion, it was to find him to be so normal.

Well, perhaps normal was the wrong word, he mused to himself after shooting a quick glance in Wrathion’s direction. The dragon leaned back against a boulder just beyond the rim of the outdoor bath, legs crossed and too-large crimson eyes studying Anduin’s face. When their gazes met, Wrathion’s slit pupils drew inward. Through the steam, Anduin caught the glint of his teeth.

From the scale pattern around his eyes to the way he ranted about Mogu empires when left alone with his champions, it was clear he was a dragon, perhaps even an untrustworthy one. But when they were alone, he became someone else: the kind of friend Anduin had always imagined having, someone to gossip with, to share stories.

The kind of person Anduin knew, as a teenager, he was supposed to have in his life, but had been never quite been able to find.

But finally, it seemed, he had found that kind of friend in Wrathion's persistent questions and the glint in his crimson eyes.

Clearly trying to sound as casual as possible, Wrathion chuckled. His musical voice echoed off the bamboo sides of the Tavern, like the soft ‘tnck’ of bells Anduin often heard when grummles passed through the Stair. Anduin sat up a bit straighter and watched him, the bath sloshing slightly as he readjusted his soaking leg.

Whatever Wrathion was on about this time, he was eager, and Anduin couldn’t help but grin in anticipation, “Well, what was your question?”

“I was simply wondering,” Wrathion paused, his gaze darting to the cluster of humans waiting just out of earshot.

Anduin followed his eyes to Harris and Reed, the two Lion’s Guard tasked with watching him during his stay. They kept their backs slightly turned from him, for once giving him some semblance of privacy. Sometimes it seemed the only place they were willing to leave him alone was at his morning bath.

The dragon, however, must have been uncertain about their discretion, because he scooted a few feet closer to Anduin before he continued, “I was simply wondering as I re-read Savage Passions last evening if Lord Marcus has taken Raven as his consort. After all, they did consummate their union rather…ah, spectacularly.”

In closer proximity, it was easier to see the glow on Wrathion’s dark cheeks, a blush Anduin suspected had very little to do with the steam rising from his bath. He arched his brow, clearing his throat before trying his best to answer, “It’s just a book, you know.” Surely your guards told you as much before handing it off to you, he wanted to add, but feared the jab would be a bit too pointed.

Wrathion, for his part, seemed undeterred, continuing his question as if Anduin hadn’t added anything, “Despite their wild ‘passions,’ as it were, I have been informed Lord Marcus has had many other adventures, sometimes with multiple women. This seems rather typical by dragon standards—”

Anduin opened his mouth again. His own cheeks warmed, and he tried to relieve himself by scooting back out of the water, not stopping until only his broken foot remained submerged. Shaking his head slightly, he toyed with the hem of his wet shorts, increasingly conscious of Wrathion’s gaze, the way he studied him even as he tried so desperately to look away.

After a few moments of silence—a kind of pause that hung like steam in the air—Wrathion prompted him to continue by insisting, again, “So, naturally, I understand it, but I have also been given to believe that humans take issue with such affairs. Is that so?”

Anduin realized there was no escaping the question now. After pursing his lips for a moment and trying his best to meet Wrathion’s gaze, he began with a slight hitch in his breath he desperately wished he could steady: “It’s just a book, Wrathion. People read that series to, well…”

He trailed off for a moment, his throat far too tight to reveal anything further to that effect. Swallowing, glancing once more at his guards and the mountain road rising behind them, he managed to continue in a whisper, “Anyways, I don’t even think those people are real. If you want to learn about human courting customs, maybe you should ask some of your champions.”

“Oh, but our relationship is strictly business,” Wrathion drawled with a wave of his hand. The claws on his glove clicked together and his armor rattled. Anduin felt awkwardly bare in comparison. “It wouldn’t be professional, and besides, I rather enjoy talking with you.”

It was enough to make Anduin fluster, but something about the way he said it was welcoming, almost. His relationship with his champions was ‘business,’ but with Anduin? Was he a confidant? Something even more significant than that? Caught up in that thought as he was, Anduin forgot to worry where this conversation might be heading until he heard the words leaving Wrathion’s lips:

“So tell me, my dear, have you ever courted anyone?”

Anduin came back to the moment with a quick splash of his foot. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Excuse me?” He squeaked out, hoping he’d misunderstood.

“I said, do you have any firsthand experience with the mating habits of mortals? Courting, and the like?”

“I—” Anduin shook his head so hard his bangs, which had clung to his forehead in the steam, now swung free. “No!”

“Any boyfriends?”

“No.”

“Girlfriends?”

“No!” The prince sputtered, even more fervent that time. He shot a quick look at his guards, and then hissed out, or sputtered, really, “Light, no. Wrathion. I don’t even like girls that way.”

“Oh? So boyfriends only, then. Good, I will keep that in mind.”

‘In mind for what?’ Anduin might have asked if he were feeling more cogent. But as matters stood, he had to fight to string any sounds together into words. His tongue felt heavy, and his jaw clenched slightly as he felt Wrathion’s gaze move from his face to his bare chest, and then to his hands clenched together in his lap. There was something about the way the dragon took everything in so curiously that never failed to leave him unnerved.

Silently scolding himself for losing his composure, he finally managed to speak again, “No, I haven’t ‘courted’ anyone yet, but if I were, well, yes, I would hope for a boy.”

“I see. Yes, all right,” Wrathion nodded, and Anduin hoped the matter had been put to rest. Releasing his clenched hands, he brought them, instead, to rest by his sides, his fingers digging into the gravel lining the edge of the bath. His thumb found a stone with a crack down the middle, worrying over the curve of the line and a few pieces of dust caught in it. It was better than meeting Wrathion’s eyes and his lips pursed in a thoughtful line.

That reprieve didn’t last long, however. Once again, Wrathion prompted, “But I would have thought you in high demand, as a prince with many talents and appealing traits. Surely you haven’t had any lack of suitors?”

Again, Anduin’s shoulders tensed. He might have stopped to wonder over his ‘talents and appealing traits’ had it not been for his pulse racing in his ears. For now, though, all he could do was hurry through his response: “I-I mean, I’m sure there have been inquiries, but my father promised he wouldn’t do anything without my consent, and I’ve been traveling to Ironforge, to the Exodar, to Theramore, here. I haven’t been back home for a while.”

“Oh, excellent, so you haven’t yet been betrothed? I know that is a custom among your people.”

“It is,” Anduin admitted. Grateful for the slight change of topic, he managed to sit up a bit straighter and ease his shoulder blades back apart. When he spoke again, it was with a bit more confidence, though not enough to look Wrathion in the eye. “I’m sure father had proposals, but thankfully he doesn’t believe in it. That’s one thing he’s always promised me, that I’ll get to choose my own partner someday.”

“And what a relief that must be!” Wrathion’s response was just as loud as usual, but it had lost some of its boisterous edge. Abandoning his ministrations with the gravel, Anduin turned to catch the faintest hint of a genuine smile playing on the dragon’s features. His eyes widened slightly. He didn’t have to wonder over it for long, however, because Wrathion went on to explain:

“My guards warned me that might be the case, but I am pleased to hear they were wrong. Being a man of his word, I’m certain your father’s promise still stands.”

“Well, yes,” Anduin started to reply, but when he opened his mouth to go on, he found his tongue heavy and dry. Something dim and undefined had kicked up in the pit of his stomach, stealing his voice before he had time to fully wonder why.

His guards. He had asked his guards. His guards had warned him. Oh. Oh, Light.

Unvoiced though it was, Wrathion must have caught some hint of his realization, as he went uncharacteristically quiet.

Not knowing what else to do, Anduin took a moment to stare down into the steam-veiled water, trying to wiggle his toes and roll his ankle as he had been instructed to do. Even the tinge of pain he felt wasn’t enough to distract him from Wrathion’s soft breath beside him, however, or the way the tassels on his shoulder armor knocked together whenever he forced his back straight.

In the lull in their conversation, he tried to wonder over the smell of noodles wafting out from the Tavern and the echo of laughter from guests drinking in one of the upstairs windows. Unfortunately, neither proved sufficient enough to engage him away from Wrathion and his questions.

Especially, it turned out, the question Wrathion had readied next:

“In light of that, I have been wondering,” Wrathion murmured, “If I may be permitted to kiss you?”

Under different circumstances, or spoken in another tone, Anduin might have taken the offer as posturing. After all, Wrathion loved to draw attention to himself and prided himself in catching Anduin off guard. But from the pause to the serious drop in his voice, Anduin knew he had spoken the words in earnest.

No, there was no explaining this one away. The human prince opened his mouth, but his throat was far too tight to reply. He averted his gaze. Heat rose to his ears. When he trembled, he sent ripples across the steamy surface of the water and a splash against the edge of the tub. It was the only sound to fill the hush that set in: a silence that seemed to stretch from the valley below to the mountains bearing in overhead to watch.

Wrathion…was a dragon, he fought to remind himself, and a black dragon at that. He was a priest and a prince, and with those roles came certain decorum, certain expectations. And even if none of that mattered, it was still dangerous, right? Letting a dragon put him in such a vulnerable place was ill-advised at best, and downright dangerous at worst.

Not to mention they were in public, and anyone could catch them at any moment. His guards could approach, or one of Wrathion’s champions could exit the back door of the Tavern. There would be scandal and outrage. His father might make him come home! And yet, and yet—

When he glanced back over at Wrathion, he found him looking…rather normal. His red eyes still burned, and the scales around his eyes danced in the morning sun, but his lips parted slightly and fell to a frown. He shifted and, under Anduin’s stare, averted his gaze to the left. He was nervous, and Anduin felt his anxiety clench and tighten in his own chest, as well.

Sitting there on the edge of the bath, they weren’t two princes hedging their powers against one another, but friends, the kind of friends Anduin had always dreamed of.

Acting before he had a chance to reconsider, Anduin shot a look towards his guards, who, thankfully, seemed to be talking amongst themselves. Toying with the hem of his shorts, he lowered his voice, and forced himself to reply, “Yes, okay. If you want, I mean. All right.”

“Right now?”

“I—” Oh, Light, what was he doing? What kind of irrational thought had come over him? “Yes, right now. The guards won’t keep talking for long.”

His own words felt like they came from somewhere outside him. He flustered as he heard them linger in the gap between them, but knew, now, that there was no going back. If this were going to happen, it needed to happen before either of them lost their nerve or their privacy.

Of course, that didn’t stop his heart from pounding in his ears. Unable to do much else, he just licked his lips, making sure they weren’t too dry. He then forced himself to meet Wrathion’s widened gaze with a too-broad smile of his own.

Wrathion started to lean forward; Anduin's cheeks burned red.

He tried his best not to think too hard about where the dragon was headed, but much to his surprise, and chagrin, even, perhaps, nothing more happened after Wrathion shifted his weight. Instead he just lingered and stared at Anduin’s mouth; his slit pupils all but consumed the red of his eyes as he studied him, and Anduin felt every second of it, cowered under a gaze the Black Prince usually reserved for the artifacts and treasures champions passed off to gain his favor.

Needing to break from his stare, he leaned closer. Wrathion hurried to match his gesture but stopped again with his face mere inches from Anduin’s. His gloved hand waited, half-outstretched, an inch or so from the top of Anduin’s arm, and the exhale that followed brought a few curls of smoke on its heels, which caressed Anduin’s already too-hot cheeks.

Starting to lose his nerve, Anduin swallowed, licked his bottom lip once more, and tilted his head to make the first move. Not wanting to be upstaged, Wrathion, too, jerked forward, bumping against his nose, and then shifting, ever so slightly, until his full lower lip brushed against Anduin’s and his goatee tickled his chin.

And then, his gloved hand came to rest on the curve of Anduin’s cheek, and the red of his eyes disappeared beneath his thick lashes.

Anduin pressed in to stifle a gasp.

It wasn’t the kind of spark he had imagined reading romance novels back at the Keep. There was no flash of light or magic puff, even if he was kissing a dragon in some sacred, uncharted land at the ends of the earth. It wasn’t the stuff of stories, to be quite honest, but it was realer, more visceral, even, than his imagination could have conjured.

He was aware of everything, from the softness of Wrathion’s lips to the sharp tip of his claws at the ends of his satin glove. He smelled of ash, sandlewood, and even a bit like the tea they had sipped at the table a few hours earlier.

There was a faint wetness at the tip of his tongue, and even though Anduin tensed and pursed closed his lips, he could still feel it moving against him, teasing, drawing out a tremble that lasted even after Wrathion broke contact and sank back onto his heels.

Frozen, it took a moment for Anduin to gather his thoughts. His tight chest fought to breathe, and, even though steam had started to slip back between them, he could still feel Wrathion’s gaze piercing through to watch everything from his eyes to the part in his lips.

Unable to do much else, he offered a flustered smile. Wrathion seemed to gather what he wanted from Anduin’s face, because he reached back across the distance, this time touching not Anduin’s cheek but his hands clenched together in the lap of his bathing shorts. Spreading his claws out over them, seeming to care very little about getting wet, he gave him a squeeze, and then admitted, in much the same drawl Anduin had grown accustomed to, but with the slightest hitch in his breath:

“Well, then! That was an adventure, was it not?”

Even if Anduin had wanted to reply to such a strange declaration, he didn’t trust himself to let out more than a giggle.

[ablogofourown-blog]

Laura

So, these next few from me will probably be more character studies than solid stories. I’m trying to develop a group of nerd ladies with the same embracement of their nerd-dom that nerd guys in fiction receive (without having to sexualize them or make them appealing to nerd guys). Eventually, I’ll want a proper story for them, but right now I’m just trying to flesh out who they are as people.

...Alex

The distressed Captain America shield shirt was the only sign that the woman behind the counter meant to be in a comic book store.  Over the shirt was a worn brown blazer, and with her long, swishy skirt, waist-length frizzy red hair and horn rimmed glasses, she might have looked more fitting in some New Age self-help music store or a women’s studies class. Her complexion was blotchy, her face too long and tired looking to be considered attractive.  She looked bored, in fact, but watchful enough of the new customer that entered the cramped but clean store.

“Hi, can I help you find anything?” she asked as he thumbed through  the shelves on the left.  

“Yeah,” he said, picking up a few from the same comic. “Do you have anything past issue three of Descendants of Ancients?”

“Issue three is the most recent issue,” she said plainly. “The next one should be out next month.”

“That can’t be right,” he half-chuckled. “This has been around since I was in high school.”

“Well.” She shrugged.  She took out her phone and started typing.

He scoffed. “Look, can I talk to the manager or whoever? They’ll know what I’m talking about”

The woman looked up with her hazel eyes narrowed and he realized too late his mistake. “I’m the owner here. And the manager for that matter. So you can talk to me.” She looked at her phone again.  “The Chronicles of the Descendants of Ancients had twenty-six issues from the nineties through the early two thousands.”

“See…”

“The Descendants of Ancients is a reboot of the cult classic,” she continued in a slightly louder voice, “first released in 2015 with a new storyline and a gender flip of the original narrator. The fourth issue will be released on June 7, 2017.” She held the phone out.  He leaned forward to read, and sure enough, it said just that.  His face flushed with embarrassment.

“I can hold a copy for you when they come in if you’d like to pre-order it,” she offered.

“No, that’s…fine. I was looking for the old one, anyway.”

“I can order that, too.  It  can be here next Wednesday.”

But by then, there was no point. “Forget it,” he muttered and louder, he said, “I’ll just go to Heroes. I think they have it.”

If he expected her to negotiate, she failed.  He swung out the door, and the owner of POW! Comics on Powell Street smacks her lips. “Yep.”

The day had nearly ended when the new woman opened the door, looked around the otherwise empty room, and immediately started rambling, “Am I late? Sorry, I had to finish something and I thought about texting you, but then I thought that would take more time. How long have you been waiting?” She was tall and gangly, with wide eyes and a high pitched voice that made her seem perpetually stuck in the awkwardness of high school, even though she was professionally dressed and must have been in her late twenties, at least.

The shopkeeper shook her head. “Nope. I was just getting ready to close, but it’s been like this all day.”

“Still?” Her friend frowned with concern.

“It’s only been two months, Gracie.”

“Exactly. It’s been two months, Laur. Have you checked your website? How far down the google search you are and all that?”

Laur, considerably rounder and shorter by comparison, shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just go.”

On paper, Laura Nicholson was the perfect person to open a comic book store.  She had used comics to create her own custom world all through her childhood. She had written her graduate thesis about the importance of comic books.  She had drafts in sketchbooks hidden in her closet that she would probably never finish. She could and had spent hours divulging little known trivia about her favorite series, which she had learned was only a decent party trick around other people who enjoyed comics.  And she felt so strongly about the need for a female-owned comic book store where women wouldn’t have to deal with condescending gatekeepers that she decided to open her own.

What she didn’t feel strongly about was interacting with people outside of her close group of friends. Laura was irritable, and even when she wasn’t, she had been known to come across as disinterested and cold. The problem was social skills turned out to be a bigger part of owning a small business than she had anticipated, despite warnings from her friends and family. She knew Grace was just concerned and trying to be helpful, but right then, Laura wasn’t interested in hearing any, “I told you so.”

Gracie pursed her lips while Laura grabbed her things from the back, turned out the lights and flipped the sign.  On the way to the car, she handed a thin plastic bag to her ride.  “This is for you.”

Gracie pulled the contents out of the bag and read, “Descendants of Ancients, Issue 4: Into the Depths of Drossnet.” She looked at Laura. “You got it? Already?”

Laura grinned proudly. “Signed ARC and everything.” Gracie flipped open the first page eagerly to check. “There are some perks to owning even a failing comic book shop.”

She beamed and wrapped an arm around her. “Have I told you lately you’re my favorite person?” And Laura smiled as she thought it was much easier to be a people person with the right sort of people.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Beauty of Bucharest

Hiiiiii I’m the Insomniac Writer. I try to write one shots/drabbles and they become 7,000+ word novels. 

Summary: Steve and Sam tried to find Bucky for 2 years. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as Steve thought. (fluff/one shot/drabble) [Steve & Sam]

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader 

Word Count: 7,052

Bucky stared at the cyro chamber. It was so much more welcoming than the one Hydra used to shove him into. It almost looked peaceful in comparison. A doctor was taking blood pressure and other readings. Bucky wasn’t paying attention, his mind in a secret place no one could take from him.

“Sure about this?” Steve walked into the room. Bucky knew this was hard for him. The best friends had just managed to reunite and it was already ending before it had even begun.

“I can’t trust my own mind.” Bucky said. Then her face flashed into his mind and he laughed lightly to himself. It was like she was trying to prove him wrong, saying See? Your mind trusts me. “So until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing...for everybody.”

The doctor came back with a syringe in his hand. “This is a sedative.” He informed Bucky with his thick Wakanda accent. “It will simply make the cryo-stasis process painless for you.”

Bucky dipped his head slightly in understanding. “Can you give me a few minutes?” The doctor nodded and the two of them some privacy. Then Bucky looked up at his friend with desperation. “Steve, you’ve already risked everything for me. I-I don’t know how to thank you…”

Steve gripped his shoulder. “Buck, you don’t gotta say anything.” He took in a deep breath and added softly, “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

Bucky nodded, already expecting such a response. “I just need to ask for one more thing…” His jaw clenched at what he was about to say.

“Course, Bucky. Anything.” Steve urged, not know what to expect.

“I need you to find someone for me.” Bucky stated. “Her name’s Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

Steve smirked at that. “Huh. Despite all this time, you’re still the same Bucky I know…always chasing after girls.”

“No, Steve.” Bucky instantly shot down. His seriousness wiped Steve’s smirk right off his face. “It’s not like that.”

“Well, then what’s it like?” Steve was now very intrigued.

Bucky looked down at the ground, finally allowing himself to dig into his memory. It was the only good one since being lucid in the 21st century. His lips turned upward into a very sad smile as her face showed itself in his mind.

-----

“How do you know what she looks like?” Sam murmured as he stayed in step with Steve. There were academic looking people rushing all around them, yet no one had recognized the two of them yet. Sam was keeping tabs on attention while Steve continued walking like he was on a much more serious mission.

Per usual, they were wearing baseball hats pulled low over their faces. Sam had his aviators on still, despite being in the dark lighting of New York Public Library.

“I googled her…” Steve answered as if it were obvious.

Sam chuckled, realizing it was the first time Steve ever used that cliché. “Well?” He pushed.

“’Well’ what?” Steve feigned obliviousness.

“Is she hot?” Sam said a little too loudly.

Now they were in the main study room. There was a comfortable silence in the hall. Every so often, you’d hear someone cough or turn a page. Other than that, it was a peaceful escape from the noisy city.

Steve couldn’t help but smile a little to himself. A warm feeling always washed over him when he discovered somewhere that was older than him. It made him feel less out of place for once.

“Is she hot?” Sam whispered, refusing to let his funny jab go unanswered.

Steve glared at him before glancing around the room, studying the faces of everyone.

It was only 30 seconds later that he found her. It was like his eyes were pulled to her movements like a magnet. Sam instantly noticed his expression change, having decided to watch Steve instead of look for someone without any sort of physical reference point. Then Sam followed his gaze.

There was a young woman standing up and lightly placing book after book and notebook after notebook into a messenger bag. Her hair was in an effortlessly messy bun, little pieces falling out everywhere and somehow framing her face perfectly. Also framing her face were her thick-rimmed glasses that kept sliding down her nose as she tried to pack up her belongings. She wore slightly baggy jeans, yet her outfit looked clean with a fitted shirt, wool blazer, and leather loafers.

Sam seemed slightly mesmerized, but managed to snap himself out it; unlike Steve. “So she is ho-”

“Yeah,” Steve interrupted before Sam could finish. “She’s beautiful.” He breathed.

Then she was heading out, but right in their direction. As soon as her eyes came up from the ground, they found Sam and Steve, who were standing right in the middle of the walkway between the two masses of desks.

She stopped suddenly and stared at them with…with…was it fear?

Steve saw this as his cue to approach, Sam following instantly.

“Ma’am, I’m St-”

“I know who both of you are.” She cut Steve off with a brusque tone. It gave both men the hint that whatever they were about to say, she didn’t want to talk about it here.

Next thing they knew, she was unlocking the door to her NYC apartment. Sam and Steve shared a look, surprised with how trusting she was to two strangers.

“Do you want some coffee?” She asked them. It was the first words she’d spoken since the library. They both nodded, too scared she was going to snap at them if they said no. It seemed like she needed to do something anyway.

They were sitting in silence. She was holding a steaming mug of coffee with both of her hands as if it was the only thing holding her together. The room was so quiet that they could hear the ticking of an old fashioned clock.

“You are Y/F/N Y/L/N, right?” Sam felt the need to handle the awkwardness.

Y/N just nodded but stared at the ground as if she were mentally somewhere else. Then her eyes lifted to meet Steve’s. They looked broken and on the verge of tears. “Is he…Is Bucky dead?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Steve’s eyes widened at the question. Now he understood the way she was staring at them in the library: she’d thought they were here to tell her Bucky had died. Her tone had been almost rude because she wasn’t ready to break down in a library in front of all those strangers.

“No!” Steve practically yelped, rushing to assure her that was not the news they were here to tell her. “Bucky-Bucky’s fine.”

“He just might be missing an arm…” Sam chuckled to himself.

Steve glared at him. “Sam!” Then his gaze softened when he looked at Y/N again. “If you don’t mind me asking, how exactly do you know Bucky?”

“He didn’t tell you?” She asked, figuring they knew the whole story if they found her. “Are you sure Bucky’s okay?” There was a flicker of suspicion in her eyes. Steve sighed. He didn’t want to tell her right away about Bucky’s current predicament. But Y/N was making it clear that she needed to know Bucky’s status before sharing anything with them.

“He’s in cryostasis in Wakanda.” Steve explained.

“In Wakanda?” She blurted out.

“It was his choice. Hydra’s brainwashing is still there. He’d been through hell. He asked to do it until we could figure out how to get his mind back under his control.” Steve paused. “Before he went into cryo, he asked me to find you…to tell you that he was okay.”

A few tears silently slid down Y/N’s cheek as she shook her head. “I was convinced they killed him after he was taken in Romania. There was nothing on the news anywhere…not in Romania or America or Berlin.”

“So that’s where you met?” Sam intervened. “In Romania?”

Y/N nodded.

-----

Y/N had just been dropped off back into town from Bran Stoker’s castle. She’d been there all weekend to research and explore. But the person who she hitched a ride with back into Bucharest hadn’t factored in that it was 2am and the area they’d left her at was not the best.

Y/N, too happy with all the exploring she’d been doing, shrugged and started making her way back to her apartment.

She was walking under a street lamp that suddenly started flickering eerily. It was like a signal to be on alert. That’s when she saw a group of men walking toward her. None of them seemed to be walking straight and their loudness informed her they were drunk. She didn’t have to be fluent in Romanian to figure that out.

She held her backpack tightly. She had a baseball cap on and she pulled it lower and flung her hood on top of that. Maybe if they didn’t realize she was a woman, they’d be less inclined to harass her.

But Y/N had some sort of aura that gave her away.

They instantly tried to speak English to her. It must have been the baseball cap that gave her away. Women never wore them here, let alone most men.

She tried to shove her away around them, ignoring their broken English. But one of them didn’t like that. He pushed her a little too roughly. Her anger overpowering her fear, Y/N shoved back. That resulted in one of them hitting her across the face so hard that she flew to the ground. This is your cue to run, her gut now told her.

But before she could even manage to get back on her feet. There were noises all around her. She realized it was the sound of fists hitting flesh and the men whimpering or yelling. When she glanced up, she found a man giving one punch to the predator that had hit her across the face. There were already two others on the ground. How had he already taken down so many of them?

It was very fast, but time seemed to slow as Y/N watched him scare the other half of the group so badly that they were practically dragging their injured friends away in a sprint.

Her hero watched them disappear into the distance before turning to her.

She rushed to her feet and took a step back, still not trusting him.

He held up his hands in submission. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“You’re…you’re American?” Y/N gasped.

He nodded, hands still raised.

“T-thank you. For saving me.” Y/N stuttered, now going into shock. Romania was a very safe country. Sometimes she believed it to be safer than most places in America. She was embarrassed for some reason, blaming herself for not being more careful, for not politely asking the person to drop her off closer to her apartment.

Y/N started walking again.

“Wait…you’re bleeding.” The man said in a rushed voice.

Y/N stopped and felt her face, realizing that her lip had split and there was a cut at the edge of her right eyebrow that was now trickling blood down her face. “Fuck…”She muttered through a hiss as both stung on her touch.

“I have a first aid kit at my place. It’s just around the corner.”

But Y/N was no longer trusting. Then she realized that she had nothing even close to a first aid kit at her place. And everything was closed, so she couldn’t go get stuff.

“I promise I just want to help.”

Then he stepped closer and the streetlight gave Y/N the ability to finally make out his face. She was shocked to find an extremely handsome face looking back at her. Despite looking a little rough and unshaven, he was rather stunning.

“I’m Bucky.” He very slowly held out his hand for her. Like he knew what it was like to be on her end of this: vulnerable, scared, and unaware of what to do next.

There was something in his eyes that made her believe him to only have good intentions.

She shook his hand. “Y/N.”

Next thing Y/N knew, she was walking into this man’s apartment. It was dingy and dark. By the way he lead her in, it was obvious he was slightly embarrassed by it. He pointed to the faded couch, silently instructing her to take a seat.

Then he was leaning in front of her with a first aid kit. “Can…do you mind taking off your hat?” He asked quietly.

“Oh…right.” Y/N quickly pulled down her head and took her baseball cap off, her finger naturally combed through her hair, freeing it. Bucky gave her a look that she didn’t quite understand. “Does the cut look worse?” She asked him in a panic.

He winced as he quickly broke out of his trance and scanned her face. “There’s a bruise forming on your cheekbone.” But that wasn’t the reasoning for his look. What he’d tell her later was that her beauty caught him off guard. She’d been hiding her face under the hat and hood that he wasn’t expecting it.

“Asshole really put his back into it…” Y/N muttered more to herself.

Bucky cleaned her wounds and apologized every time she even slightly recoiled. He assured her that the cut on her eyebrow wouldn’t need stitches and it was normal for facial wounds to bleed that much. He gave her a frozen bag of peas to put on the bruise that was getting purpler every minute.

“You’re the first American I’ve come across here.” Bucky said. “What brings you to Romania?”

Y/N gave a shy smile, all feelings of unease slowly fading away. “I’m researching for my thesis. I’ve been here for a couple weeks…have 3 more months to go.”

Bucky nodded. “What are you researching?”

Y/N sighed. She always hated talking about it. People usually had reactions that made it obvious they thought her subject was weird or that she was wasting her time and money. “Umm…I’m writing about the mythology in dark romanticism of the 19th century.” She slightly shrank, waiting for that dreaded reaction. But Bucky patiently waited, wanting to hear more. “So I’m in Romania for some research and inspiration regarding Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Then I’m off to Berlin for Frankenstein. Then I end my trip in London for my research on The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

To her shock, Bucky seemed rather impressed.

“Frankenstein…wasn’t Mary Shelley British?” Bucky surprised her even further.

Y/N let out a laugh. “You are very right. But her novel was inspired by a lot of things in Germany.”

Silence filled the room again.

“And what about you?” Y/N asked.

Bucky’s jaw clenched at the question. “I’m just passing through.”

Y/N nodded, not ignoring the vagueness and mysteriousness of his answer. But she respected his privacy enough not to push it. “Well…I should probably get going.” She stood up quickly.

“I’ll walk you home.” Bucky said. It wasn’t an offer or question, but a statement. 

“You’ve done enough. You really don’t have to do that.” Y/N protested.

“I’d like to…” Bucky said surprisingly soft.

-----

For the next couple of days, and unbeknownst to Y/N, Bucky made sure she got home safely. She mostly went to the library or the university, sometimes to a café. But when one is in hiding, there really isn’t much else to do. Bucky spent his days trying to remember and Y/N was a break from him mentally beating himself up. 

That’s why he was surprised to find her at the front of his apartment building with two large paper bags in her hands. She looked to be struggling a little bit with them. 

Bucky quickly walked towards her and she met his gaze. “Hi! Sorry…I hope this isn’t weird. But I just thought I had to do something to say thank you for that night.”

Without asking, Bucky took the bags from her grasp. “What is all this?”

“Well…when I was here, it didn’t seem like you had a lot of groceries. The frozen bag of peas you gave me for my bruise expired a year ago.” She laughed lightly at the memory. 

“You really didn’t have to do that.” Bucky said sincerely. These days, he really didn’t think he was deserving of anything. “Do-Do you want to come up?”

Y/N smiled at that. “Yeah…actually the other part of the gift was me making you dinner tonight.” Then her confidence seemed to dwindle at his surprised face. “Is…ugh…is that okay?” She asked through a shrinking expression.

Bucky didn’t know if it was the loneliness, her beauty, or her utterly genuine kindness that made him go against all the unwritten rules he’d made for himself. Don’t form any relationships with anyone, friends or friendly acquaintances. But this girl was making him want to break that rule. 

Next thing he knew, he was leading her up the stairs to his apartment. Once he set the grocery bags down onto the counter he looked at her. “You know, you really don’t have to do this.”

There was a moment where Y/N just stared at him almost sorrowfully, like she knew he’d had some sort of a rough time. Then she gave him a small, endearing smile. “I know. But I want to.”

Then she jumped into all the food that she’d bought him, explaining how it was all healthy in different ways. Then she told him what they were having for dinner. As she packed all of the food into the fridge, freezer, or counter, Bucky realized she must have spent well over $200 on the groceries. 

Y/N continued talking about her day. She tried to ask him easy questions, things that weren’t too personal and wouldn’t make him uncomfortable. The situation could have easily become awkward or weird. But that’s what was mesmerizing about her. She just had a presence that filled whatever room she was in. It wasn’t a desire for attention. The only way Bucky knew how to describe it was like a summer breeze arriving right at the moment when you were starting to get a little too warm. She was refreshing without startling you. 

Bucky leaned against the wall, watching her bustling around his kitchen. She refused to let him do absolutely anything, except open up a bottle of wine she got and pour both of them a glass. He watched with a small smirk. 

That’s when he knew that she wasn’t going away any time soon. 

-----

There wasn’t really a courting process for Y/N and Bucky. Y/N mostly just arrived at Bucky’s apartment unannounced. She’d either make sure he had food to eat or would drag him out of the apartment to a café or sight seeing in Bucharest. Sometimes she’d come over just to study or write, claiming her roommate was too loud and it was impossible to concentrate at her place. After a couple weeks, he gave her a key to his apartment. 

Y/N didn’t ask for much from him. She was very careful about getting to know him, realizing that he would run away if she were too forward or pushy. She liked the challenge and somehow knew Bucky was worth it.  

There were times where Y/N wasn’t sure if Bucky liked her company, if he was just too quiet or polite to tell her to get lost. But then, every time she said she had to leave, she caught this sad look on his face. Y/N had to use everything but his words to figure out what that man was thinking. 

One night they were sitting at Lake Cișmigiu. One of Y/N’s friends had told her how pretty it was right at dusk. Y/N of course brought Bucky to see it. Maybe it was the beauty of the whole thing that made her brave. But she thought it was finally time to get some answers. 

“Bucky?” She said softly. He just hummed. “You’re running from something, aren’t you?”

Bucky tore his eyes away from the scenery to look at her. She knew the answer already; this was her kind way of asking him to open up to her finally. 

“Something like that.” Bucky said darkly. 

“You know you can tell me, right?” Y/N felt the need to add. 

“I’m not a good man, Y/N.”

Y/N scoffed at his dramatics. “Now that’s just simply not true.”

Bucky narrowed his gaze, not appreciating how lightly she was taking his statement. “And what makes you so certain?”

“You saved me… me, a complete stranger, from god knows what.”

Bucky was silent. 

Y/N shook her head. “You wear hats or hoodies everywhere you go. You hardly ever look anyone in the eye. You handled those men that attacked me a little too well. You have a metal arm that you’ve never actually explained.” 

He still said nothing. 

Y/N took in a shaky breath. “Your best friend is Captain America.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped up to hers. “You knew?”

“One of my friends at the university is studying WWII. He was showing me some of his stuff last week. I saw your picture in a history book, Bucky.”

Next thing she knew, Bucky was standing up and already trying to walk away. “You shouldn’t come to see me anymore, Y/N.” His voice was almost a growl. He knew his past was bound to catch up to him at some point, he just never expected it to show itself in this way. 

But Y/N jumped to her feet and went after him, managing to match his pace alongside him. “That’s not all I know. After D.C., SHIELD managed to post all of Hydra’s files across the globe. You didn’t do any of those things, Bucky… Hydra did!”

Bucky stopped walking and leaned down toward Y/N. “I know what I did. It doesn’t matter if it was Hydra. I still did them.” Then his face softened and he reached up to brush a piece of hair behind her ear, but he stopped himself. This was forbidden, now more than ever. “Y/N…you can’t see me anymore.”

“You don’t have to do this alone, Bucky!” 

“Don’t you get it, Y/N? People are after me. Hydra wants their weapon back. And if they don’t get to me first, the government will.” His flesh hand went through his unruly hair and he looked around, anywhere but at Y/N’s gaze. “I-I can’t let you get in the middle of it. I’ve been responsible for too many deaths. I can’t let you be one of them. I can’t risk your safety…even if you-” He stops. 

“Even if I what?” Y/N whispered. 

“Never mind.” He said harshly. 

“I need to know the ‘even if’, Bucky. Because that’s the thing that’s going to stop you from running away from me.”

But Bucky was walking away again. Each of his steps was three of Y/N’s. He should have known she wouldn’t give up so easily. 

She quickened her space and cut him off abruptly. Before he could say anything that was hurtful enough to push her away, she grasped his face with her hands and her lips crashed against his. Bucky was helpless. Y/N made him weak. Lord knows he had wanted to kiss her since the night that they met. But he managed to have enough self-control to stop himself. He knew it would complicate things and it would end in something that Y/N didn’t deserve. 

He couldn’t stop himself now as his hands wrapped around her waist and he kissed her back. Y/N was playing dirty and they both knew it. It seemed like time had either slowed or sped up beyond them. Bucky didn’t care. He just opened his ice blue eyes to find Y/N smirking up at him. 

“Now stop trying to acting like I’m some damsel in distress and definitely stop feeling sorry for yourself.” She said in an unwavering voice. It left Bucky speechless as she grabbed his hand and started pulling them home. 

That night, Y/N went back to Bucky’s apartment with him. Only this time, she didn’t leave to return to her place until late in the afternoon the next day.

-----

It didn’t take Bucky long to fall in love with Y/N. Perhaps it had already happened that night she showed up at his apartment with two bags of food for him. She only had three months in Romania. It took one for them to finally kiss and sleep together. The other two months they spent in an intimate bliss. Bucky already planned on following her to Berlin and London. It would be trickier to hide, but he was being somewhat naïve. The reason he chose Romania in the first place was due to the lack of tourism or officials that would recognize him. 

Bucky was laying in Y/N’s bed, sitting against the headboard. Her place looked like a palace compared to his hideout. However, he only let himself stay there when her roommate was out of town. 

Y/N was sleeping peacefully, only a thin sheet covering her unclothed body. The window was open slightly and the breeze would softly brush hair out of her face.

Meanwhile, Bucky was writing in his journal. 

It was Y/N’s idea. She thought it would help him remember things. “Write it all down, no matter how little it may seem or how painful. Maybe you have to remember the bad to also get to the good.”

Bucky looked at the clock and realized Y/N would be waking up at any moment. He thought he’d go out and get breakfast and coffee for her. 

He started getting dressed in his usual inconspicuous clothes. Y/N teased him about it, always saying he looked like a homeless person. But Bucky assured her that it was completely necessary. He also never walked in or out of the main door in her apartment building. Instead, always taking the fire escape since tall trees covered it. When Bucky took his assurances to protect Y/N seriously, she would lighten the mood by calling him Romeo. It was one of the few references she’d make that he actually understood, which only made her want to call him it even more. 

Just before leaving, with his baseball cap throwing a shadow over his scruffy face, he took a glance at Y/N. She was still fast asleep. Not being able to help himself, he kissed her bare shoulder and then her cheek. But he cursed himself internally when she started to stir. 

Y/N squinted at him with one eye half open. Bucky found it adorable. “Hmm Bucky, stay.” Her voice mumbled and filled with sleep. She grabbed his gloved metal hand and kissed it. 

“I’m going to grab you breakfast and coffee. I’ll be right back. I promise.” He whispered, not wanting to wake her up further. “Go back to sleep, doll.”

She nodded and sighed, doing just that. 

Bucky went to the market and instantly spotted the fruit stand. Y/N had read somewhere that plums helped with memory and insisted he eat a couple a day. Bucky didn’t really believe in it, but he ate them to let her think she was helping or taking care of him in some way. She struggled with feeling helpless in his struggles. 

He managed enough Romanian to purchase the plums. Now he had to grab coffee for Y/N and some sort of pastry. He was about to cross the street when the square echoed the shrill of police sirens. Bucky’s body stiffened. Every time he had to remind himself that he wasn’t the cause or reaction of them. 

But then he looked up at the man running the newspaper stand. He was looking at Bucky as if he recognized him and then his expression turned to fear. Bucky couldn’t help it as his feet started walking toward him. Even more terrified, the Romanian printed from the shop, completely abandoning his post. Bucky ripped the newspaper he had been reading from the stand. 

Bucky didn’t have to be fluent in Romanian to decipher the headline written in huge, bold font: SEARCHING FOR WINTER SOLIDER AFTER BOMBING IN VIENNA. Underneath was a blurry image that the world now believed to be him. 3 months ago, his heart would’ve dropped for his safety. But the first thing that he thought of was Y/N. 

Bucky was sprinting through the square now. Not apologizing or holding back his strength as he ran back to Y/N’s place. It didn’t matter what attention he was causing, they were coming for him already. 

He’d never jumped up the fire escape as quickly before and practically dove through Y/N’s window. To his surprise, she was wide-awake, dressed in jeans and one of his ratty t-shirts. 

She watched her television in horror. Next she was rushing over to Bucky, wrapping her arms around him like he was going to evaporate. 

“Bucky, someone bombed Vienna! The King of Wakanda was murdered! And…and they think it was you!” She was sobbing into his chest. 

He gave her a moment to at least calm down a little. She wasn’t going to like what he needed to tell her. Eventually her sobbing and shaking lessened before she pulled away. 

“How are you so calm?” She whispered in astonishment. “Someone is trying to frame you, Bucky!” 

Bucky wiped a tear off her cheek before gently gripping her chin with his thumb. “Y/N…everything’s going to be fine. I need you to finish packing all of your stuff for Berlin; your train is leaving early tomorrow.” He was trying to lessen the blow by slightly distracting her. 

But Y/N was too smart for that. “No… No! Bucky no! I’m not going without you.”

“Y/N, please. I’m begging you.”

She was violently shaking her head. “They’re on their way for you. I know they are. But I’m coming with you. I can vouch for you, Bucky! You were with me all of yesterday and last night! You were here! You aren’t responsible for any fucking bomb! It’s impossible!” 

Bucky’s hands clung her face now, forcing her to look him in the eye. She tried to fight it, but he was too strong. “Y/N,” He began almost too calmly. “Y/N…I promised myself I wouldn’t make you a part of this. You need to keep going. You need to go to Berlin. You have to finish your thesis, finish school, and write that damn book, okay?”

Y/N blinked in bewilderment. “What’s the point in any of that if you’re dead?” Her voice was a terrifying whisper. It chilled Bucky to the bone. 

Bucky kissed her because there was nothing left he could say. This was the way it had to be. He had to protect her before he protected himself. Bucky would fight for his survival; fight as hard as he could. If it wasn’t for him sake, it was for hers. 

Y/N kissed him back, but couldn’t ignore that Bucky was kissing her as if it were the last time. It was too much for her to handle.  

“I love you, Y/N.” He whispered. It was the first time he ever spoke the words, but God, did he know it for quite some time. 

“Why does that sound more like a goodbye?” Y/N practically whimpered as tears started flowing silently down her cheeks again. 

“I love you.” He repeated in a stronger tone. 

“Don’t do this, Bucky.” Y/N hissed. She refused to say it back. To return the sentiment meant that all of this was actually happening. She wanted to say it when their bare skin was touching and they were exhausted from spending the whole night awake in each other’s arms. Not when her world was falling apart. “I’ll find you.” It was the last thing Bucky said before he edged back out the window. 

Y/n sprinted to the door of the apartment to race after him. But he had already predicted her stubbornness. His metal hand had bent the door handle so badly that she was temporary locked inside. He did the same thing to window he escaped from moments ago. Even after leaving her, he assured Y/N couldn’t put herself at risk for him. 

Realizing what he did, Y/N almost threw up from the feeling of helplessness. The news was the only thing that could even slightly inform her of Bucky’s fate. She sat there for days watching the television, even when the landlord came to fix the door. She prayed for them to tell her anything. But all the Romanian authorities said was that a terrorist had set a bomb off in a tunnel. Who knew if any of it was true?

-----

Silence filled the room again. 

“You were there when it happened? You were in Bucharest?” Sam’s voice was quiet and sensitive. There was no longer a joking manner in his demeanor. 

Y/N just nodded. She was wiping a single tear that managed to escape during the retelling of her and Bucky’s story. It was the first time she’d ever told anyone. Her eyes remained glazed over, stuck in the memory of Bucky. 

“He did the right thing.” Steve tried to defend his friend, even now. “You couldn’t have done anything to stop the SWAT team. They had orders to shoot on sight. Bucky knew it wasn’t safe for you.”

“I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.” Y/N said bitterly. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to love men like you, to see you put yourself in harms way and not being able to do anything to help?”

“I do.” Steve and Sam responded in surprising unison. 

Y/N breathed, realizing it was an unfair question. “The worst part was my friends and family thinking I just had a typical romance abroad. I couldn’t even tell anyone what really happened. Even when I convinced myself that he was dead, I still couldn’t betray him by exposing the truth… even to people closest to me.” 

“Because you loved him.” Steve added, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“That moment still haunts me. I wish I had told him. I’ve regretted it every day since.” Her eyes were blank now; everything she was seeing was in her head. It was hard to stay present when she thought about Bucky. Finally she blinked herself back to real world. “So that’s it? He asked you to find me to tell me he’s alive.”

Steve and Sam shared a look. This was the part they’d been dreading. 

But Y/N was smarter than they realized. Just from watching their silent exchange, she put it together. 

“He’s not coming back.” Y/N mumbled. “He doesn’t want to see me.”

But Steve, after hearing their tragic love story and seeing Y/N, immediately knew that his best friend couldn’t let this girl get away. She was beautiful, intelligent, and clearly had a kindness in her that rivaled Steve’s. 

“Y/N, he’s scared he’ll hurt you.” Steve sighed. 

She rolled her eyes. “That’s always his excuse.” 

“After they took him, someone said the words, the ones that initiated Hydra’s brainwashing. He hurt a lot of people, could’ve killed them if we hadn’t been there.”

“But T’challa’s team thinks they can get him back on his feet.” Sam added to everyone’s surprise. 

Y/N nodded. Then her sad eyes met Steve’s gradually. “What did he tell you to say when you found me?”

Steve looked at the ground. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words that could possibly push Y/N further away from Bucky. His best friend deserved to be happy. And with what little time he had to get to know Y/N, he believed she deserved that happiness too. 

To his surprise, Y/N reached over and squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. I want to know.” She assured him with a sad smile, barely catchable. 

Steve cleared his throat. “Bucky said, ‘Tell her I’m sorry for leaving her, that I’m okay. And…and that I want her to move on. She deserves someone better than me.’” Steve’s voice started to shake slightly. “That was the last thing he said to me before they put him under.”

Y/N nodded as a tear slid down her cheek. She roughly wiped it away with the back of her hand. “You don’t have to tell him you found me.” 

“What?” Sam exclaimed. 

“His lack of self-worth won’t let him have me in his life. Just let him forget about me. Bucky doesn’t need to live in the past. He needs to move forward.”

“But you still love him…” Steve pointed out. She didn’t respond. “Is there someone else?”

Y/N laughed ironically at that. “When a woman falls in love with someone like James Buchanan Barnes, you don’t ever truly move on.”

There wasn’t much else to say. Steve didn’t want to leave her. He wanted to fix the mess that Bucky was trying to make. But Sam gave him a look that said they were overstaying their welcome. Y/N looked like she was going to break down at any moment and the fact that she hadn’t already meant that she didn’t want to let it happen in front of them. 

Y/N held the door open for them. 

Sam gripped her shoulder and gave her a small smile, hoping it shared the words of comfort he didn’t think was his place to say. She managed to give a desolate grin in return.  

Then it was Steve. “Y/N, I just wanted to thank you for everything you did for Bucky. I lay awake for two years thinking he was lost and alone. I’m glad that he had you. And I’m honored to have been able to meet you.”

Surprisingly, Y/N pulled him into a hug. “Please take care of him, Steve.” She breathed into his shoulder. He nodded. 

Sam and Steve walked the busy streets of New York in silence. It wasn’t until they were on a jet, flying back to Wakanda that Sam said, “So what now?”

-----

Bucky awoke to the medical machines beeping and the faint sound of the jungle. He blinked rapidly as his eyes struggled to adjust to the warm and bright lighting. 

“Welcome back to the living.” A voice chuckled to his left. 

Eventually, Bucky’s vision managed to focus on the smiling face of his best friend. 

“How long was I under for?” His voice was so raspy from lack of use. 

Steve’s smile faltered slightly at the question. “You were asleep for 8 months. T’challa got his team to figure out a plan as fast as possible.”

The hospital room filmed with silence again. 

“Steve?” Bucky asked softly. His friend’s eyebrows rose in anticipation. “Did you find her?”

Steve looked disappointed, looking at the ground instead of at Bucky. “No…we couldn’t find her, Buck.” Then he reached for something on the bedside table. “But I did find this…” He handed it to Bucky. 

It was a book. No, it was Y/N’s book. Bucky’s eyes filled with unshed tears. His fingers traced the metallic font that spelled out her name. 

“She did it.” He muttered to himself. 

Steve made sure to keep a neutral expression. 

Then Bucky opened it and happened to fall right on the dedication page. His eyes saddened as he read it. 

“What’s it say?” Steve inquired gently. 

Bucky hesitated a moment before clearing his throat. “To the man who was brave enough to love me when he still hadn’t learned how to love himself. I should have told you I loved you on that terrible day.”

“Sounds like she really loves you.” Steve said. 

----

Y/N was doing anything to stay cool. Her hair conditioning was on the highest speed and the coolest temperature. She was wearing as little clothing as possible: grey boy-shorts and a matching bralette. She was trying to make herself something to eat without having to heat anything up. In her hand was a self-made margarita that was melting so quickly, condensation made it difficult not to let glass slip through her fingers. It was her last attempt at cooling her body down. 

Despite being hot, she couldn’t help but skip and slide around the kitchen to the music she was playing. 

She was doing a little spin when a dark shadow was caught in her peripheral. Her feet skidded to a stop, leaving the shadow behind her. Y/N breathed heavily and closed her eyes, telling herself she was being pathetic again, imagining things. But her heart was begging her to turn around just to be sure. 

When she finally did, she was met with blue eyes that were so icy they sent a chill down her spine. 

“I think I’m suffering from a heat stroke…” Y/N gasped. “Because there’s no way you can be standing in this apartment right now.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. If Bucky wasn’t a super soldier, he probably wouldn’t have been able to hear her over the roaring of her air conditioning unit. 

“I’m really here,” was all he said in return. 

Then Y/N, as ridiculous as it was to worry about, looked down at her attire…or lack there of. “This really wasn’t how I imagined our reunion.” 

Bucky smirked at that and shook his head. Y/N never failed to amuse him. 

He was closing the distance between them now. It was strange to see him in normal and modern clothes. No baseball hat. Instead, his hair was pulled back in a messy bun. Even the winter soldier had to fight the heat. He was wearing a white t-shirt and khaki pants. It was all so bright, he almost looked like a stranger. He must have borrowed them from Steve, Y/N thought. 

His metal hand cupped the side of her face. The cold felt like heaven against her skin. Y/N shivered and closed her eyes. If this was a dream, she didn’t want to ever leave. She’d take the terrible heat if she got him too. 

Bucky’s face inched closer to her. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I missed you.” His whisper ghosted across her ear. 

Just as his lips were about to meet hers, Y/N snapped her eyes open. “If you’re here, you’re here. Because I can’t go through losing you again, Bucky.”

“I’m yours forever, Y/N.” Bucky declared before his lips crashed onto hers. “I’m not leaving you again.”

WHOOO! We did it. That was a lot of work. Thank you for reading. Please reblog/review/like... please please please. 

[femcurrent]

Ensembles You Love to Hate: A Comparison of Mad Men and GIRLS

by Caity

I consume a lot of media. Movies, books, podcasts, video games—I’m all about a good story. My favorite form of storytelling is the serialized, character driven television show. Thankfully, I live in a time of “peak tv” so I’ve got plenty of quality shows to choose from. I’m not really picky on drama/comedy, as long as there are characters for me to love or hate and dialogue that isn’t so distractingly bad that I’m removed from the world. I just got off spring break (I know—something most adults don’t get anymore), so I decided to catch up on the controversial HBO comedy—GIRLS just in time for the series finale which aired on Sunday, April 16. And while I was watching, I couldn’t help but find myself drawing comparisons to another very popular, award winning, long running series: Mad Men.

The two shows have a lot in common. They both take place mostly in New York with various other locations as side plots throughout the seasons. They both center around a protagonist who, despite being an awful person, continually finds success both in their work and sexual relationships and who is continually unhappy, thus spending their show searching for fulfillment. They both have ensemble casts full of complex characters who make a lot of mistakes—some of which they learn from and others they just try to forget about—all the while you as a viewer are somehow still rooting for their happy ending.

They both are more focused on character development and growth rather than being plot driven. They both show the problems associated with drug abuse and unhealthy relationships. They both analyze a very specific time period and subset of people living then (generally upper middle class white people, but that’s a common issue in television heavily discussed on the internet.) But where Mad Men focuses on the silent generation in the 60s, GIRLS focuses on millennials in modern day. And then there is the overwhelmingly obvious difference: GIRLS is female led whereas Mad Men is not.

Now that isn’t a good or bad thing. Mad Men has some amazing female leads—I wish I could hang out with Peggy and Joan and learn how to be a badass while still remaining professional. And the men in GIRLS are some of the best characters. Ray is probably the only one on the show I would feel confident describing as a good human being (but I could also go to bat to justify a lot of Elijah and Shoshana’s actions. That’s another topic for a different day.) But GIRLS focuses on what it’s like as a young woman today, and Mad Men showed us the life of an ad man in the past.

So why didn’t Mad Men get as much hate? I don’t remember seeing buzz pieces about how Don Draper just needed to grow up. No one complained it was unrealistic that Vincent Kartheiser’s character continued to hookup with women despite his appearance becoming less conventionally attractive as the show went on. (The fact that the hair/makeup team intentionally gave him an increasingly more intense receding hairline is actually one of my favorite details of the show’s production.)

No one argued that the characters needed to change professions to actually contribute to society. Part of this is probably that working at Sterling Cooper is the epitome of a “real job” for many people’s metrics, but I really don’t see how their work gave back in anyway. Their whole objective was to convince masses of people to spend money on things they don’t actually need. Ray at least became a community board member. Hannah turned to education (however bad she was at a high school level, she was trying to do good and probably succeeds in some ways at the college where she ends up). Jessa was working on becoming a therapist to help other addicts, though her career path perhaps fell through. But most of the characters on GIRLS don’t have 401Ks, so obviously they aren’t successful.

Believe me, I fully recognize how “meta” this might be for a young woman to be analyzing potential sexism in pop culture by writing a blog about...a woman who analyzes sexism in pop culture by writing blogs. But season six’s “American Bitch” was one of the most profoundly complex episodes of television—analyzing consent and power dynamics between men and women, and I fear many people will never see it because they wrote off the show as being all about self centered, immature, well, girls. And that just didn’t happen with Mad Men, despite our lead man continually cheating on his wife with both prostitutes and women he meets throughout the show, yelling at his children for little to no reason, controlling his second wife’s career due to jealousy, spiraling into alcoholism and drug abuse, bailing on his professional commitments, and, consistent with the time, being a bit racist, sexist, and anti semitic. But all of Don Draper’s negative character traits are excused because of the time period or perhaps more specifically because they are expectations of men during this time period. 

In contrast, Hannah’s negative character traits are generally the opposite of expectations for women. She’s loud and a tad abrasive. She’s unashamed and unapologetic of her “unconventional” body. She has a lot of sex with different people and doesn’t care who knows it. She’s selfish and narcissistic. She doesn’t really take responsibility for her actions. She’s not often a good friend. These are things we aren’t used to seeing in women in television—especially not women we’re supposed to be empathizing and rooting for. It’s no surprise that some people cannot handle her.

I also think it’s important to note that it is impossible to separate GIRLS from Lena Dunham. Jon Hamm—while a talented actor and arguably the heart of the success of his show—was not the main creator/writer/showrunner. And for various reasons, people have decided they hate this 30 year old writer/producer/actress/director, and so perhaps that’s why they hate the show. But both shows have been critically successful and won awards (specifically the Golden Globe for best television series in their respective categories), so the incredibly different public reception baffles me.

I have many friends who identify as television connoisseurs who loved Mad Men, but whenever I bring up GIRLS to my fellow pretentious viewers, I usually get, “Ugh, I just couldn’t handle it. They’re all so annoying.” You could argue that with a longer episode length and just more episodes overall, Mad Men was able to tell a more complex story over time. You could also argue that because it was a period drama, it made the viewer reflect on humanity as a whole and how it has progressed in some ways, but not so much in others. And you might even be able to argue that with GIRLS being a comedy that thrives on revealing the awkwardness of real life on a channel that happily shows more nudity, it just isn’t for everyone.

But if you are reading this and hate GIRLS but have no problem with Mad Men, I want you to seriously consider why. Would Hannah be more forgivable if she were a man? And would you have stuck with Don if he were a woman? That’s what’s tricky about calling out sexism in today’s society: it’s hard to tell.

[newstfionline]

Catholics Build ‘Intentional’ Community of Like-Minded Believers

Tom Gjelten, NPR, April 10, 2017

At a time of declining church attendance across America and growing disenchantment with traditional religion, a Catholic parish in Hyattsville, Md., thrives by embracing the very orthodoxy other congregations have abandoned.

St. Jerome Catholic Church and its affiliated school, St. Jerome Academy, have both experienced dramatic growth over the past few years, largely due to an influx of families drawn to the parish’s reputation as a haven for conservative Catholics seeking to live among others who share their values.

“The parish life was very important to us,” says Daniel Gibbons, 40, who teaches at Catholic University in nearby Washington, D.C., and moved to Hyattsville with his young family four years ago. “I know from my own childhood that it can be very hard to raise children as a Catholic if you don’t have a community of other Catholics who are trying to make the faith real in their everyday lives and raise the children in ways that are harmonious with their faith.”

Several of the new St. Jerome families previously had been home schooling their children, after disappointing experiences in both public and parochial schools.

“Faith-based education was very important to us,” says Julia Dickson, 37, who moved to Hyattsville with her husband two years ago from a Baltimore suburb. “There was no [private] school that I felt was any different from a public school with a religion class tacked on,” she says. “I wanted something with the Lord as the center of the entire day.”

St. Jerome Academy, which almost had to close its doors eight years ago because of financial difficulties and low enrollment, experienced a dramatic turnaround after switching to a “classical” curriculum with a heavy emphasis on the history of Western civilization, taught always with reference to the Bible and the development of Christian faith.

The town of Hyattsville itself, with a population of barely 17,000, is also an attraction to these young Catholic families. Though located just beyond the D.C. limits, the historic community was established before the automobile age and is highly walkable. A key gathering spot is the Vigilante Coffee Roastery & Cafe, situated around the corner from the church and the school. Young mothers, many with babies in tow, congregate there each morning. The cafe manager is a former teacher from Los Angeles who also serves as the youth minister at St. Jerome.

Most of the families live within a 2-mile radius.

“Our kids are continually at each other’s homes,” says Michelle Trudeau, 48, a mother of six who home-schooled her four oldest children before enrolling them at the parish school, where she is now the assistant principal. “As parents, we know we can trust what’s going on in that other house,” she says. “We know that if something goes on with our kids, other parents are looking out for them. We all become parents of each other’s children.”

The tightness of the Hyattsville Catholic community developed deliberately, not accidentally. The key figure in its growth was Chris Currie, a former nonprofit executive who moved to Hyattsville 20 years ago and now serves as director of institutional advancement at the parish school.

“It started with me inviting people I knew to come here,” he says. “My sister’s family was the first to move here, followed by a couple of friends. Other families came here to become part of the foundation, and then by word of mouth people heard about it and came here because of the heightened community life.”

As an “intentional” community centered on a parish and its school, Hyattsville came to the attention of Rod Dreher, a writer specializing in Christian culture. In his best-selling and widely discussed new book, The Benedict Option: A Strategy for Christians in a Post-Christian Nation, Dreher urges conservative Christians in America to withdraw from culture wars and partisan politics and focus instead on deepening their own faith through a semi-monastic life. Dreher’s model is St. Benedict, the sixth century monk recognized as the founder of Western monasticism.

“We have to develop creative, communal solutions to help us hold on to our faith and our values in a world growing ever more hostile to them,” Dreher writes. He describes the Hyattsville Catholic community in his book as “a strong model of being in the world but not of it.”

In an interview with NPR, Dreher lamented the replacement of “traditional” Christianity with “pseudo-Christianity,” which he described as “all about feeling good and happy about yourself.”

“For a lot of people in modernity,” Dreher said, “religion has become sort of a psychological help. It has become a way of rationalizing what we want to do anyway and putting a little Jesus sauce on top to make it go down easily.”

There is little “pseudo” about the Catholicism lived in Hyattsville. Bible study groups meet regularly, and a dozen or more women in the community gather weekly to say the rosary together, a custom that has become rare among Catholics more generally. The women pray to the sound of crying babies and squealing toddlers.

“We’re very open to life,” explains 32-year-old Jane Murphy, who has three children under the age of 5. “In the Catholic Church, we don’t believe in artificial contraception, and that results in a lot of babies!”

Whether the community reflects Dreher’s “Benedict Option” is a matter of some dispute, however, in part because many of the Hyattsville Catholics are deeply engaged in the broader society and say they do not feel marginalized, angry or alienated.

Many have advanced degrees and work professionally. Unlike other conservative Christians, they are not easy to categorize politically, having split their votes about evenly between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump in the 2016 election.

Currie, the community founder, looks for comparison to the experience of the early Christians under Roman rule, when they thrived despite vicious persecution.

“They lived joyful lives, and they attracted converts by the example of their lives,” he says. “I think that’s what we’re trying to do, live the way they did. Not live defensively, in sort of a paranoid xenophobic reaction to the rest of society, but to realize that we’re all human beings created in the image of God, and to live that life ourselves and share it with our neighbors.”

Critics say the risk in people choosing deliberately to live in a like-minded community is that it may not equip them well to deal with the challenges and opportunities of a pluralistic society, but the Hyattsville Catholics question that premise.

“For me personally,” says Murphy, “living in this community has strengthened my faith so that I can go out to the wider community, the secular community, and talk with confidence about my faith. I can be accepting of other people but still be confident about telling them about my faith.”