#since this post last crossed my dash i now go here and so am honor bound to reblog

[phoenixrisesoncemore]

I want 8, the hand-kissing, because I am in some respects extremely predictable :D

(I am shocked. Shocked, I tell you.)

8. Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand

In the polygon of morning sunlight on the floor of jingshi, Lan Wangji is three lines.

One is a headband: straight and steady, a wall of rules made of silk, pale and hard as ice; a horizon—a divider of things—Heaven above and Earth below.

One is a guqin string: the first finger of his right hand hovers over an A as it shimmers and evaporates like morning dew, passing from the “is” into the “was.” Such is a language that can speak to the dead.

And the third… The third only Wei Wuxian has seen.

Beneath five layers of white and a sun-shaped scar, a muscle beats steady and slow. He’d dug them out of the raw earth, carved talismans right into ribs, and seen them in their natural state, rotting inside scrimshaw cages. “Keep me alive that I may kill,” he had intoned, his mouth dry with terror and thirsty for revenge as bones popped and sinew creaked and muscles moved anew.

None ever beat, less so like this one. On a mountain of corpses turned to soil, none were solid ground. None raced to look at him or pulsed when he muttered a name.

“Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji keeps playing but meets his gaze without hesitation. Wei Wuxian realizes he has no statement or question to follow with; none was really intended, and he fails to contrive one instantly. The thrill of knowing that he can garner Lan Wangji’s full attention with such ease is still overwhelming, and were Lan Zhan really made of thin jade, the whole world, too, could see that muscle picking up speed.

‘May I have the honor of a glimpse from you?’ He had once asked.

It has been a string of hazy early mornings and quiet afternoons since he returned to The Cloud Recesses. Overly quiet. As if something was waiting to be said.

From Wangji rises gentle pops of color: a golden A, the soft green tincture of E, the purple query of G. Sometimes they are soft as rain, sometimes they are momentary fireworks.

There is no end of notes; they spring up like weeds.

But neither had there been an end of corpses.

It was at Nightless City that he had first seen the third, the line that runs from the right hand all the way to the heart, reaching at right angles against the other two down the face of a cliff to catch him, to anchor him to the world when he did not want to stay.

“Let me go, Lan Zhan” he had said.

Now it had reached across 16 years...

“Indulge me, Lan Zhan,” he says. He rises, crosses the room, and drapes himself closer, balanced on elbow and hip, back to the guqin on its low table, and punctuates with a single spin of Chenqing.

Lan Wangji’s hands do not miss a note. “For Wei Ying, always.”

Wei Wuxian purses his lips and worries Chenqing’s tassel, twisting it around his finger. “Shizhui told me something interesting the other day.” He pauses and lets the silence sit between them for a moment. “He said that when he was younger he used to hear you playing Inquiry late at night, and that’s why he asked you to teach him: because it was ‘the saddest and most beautiful thing he had ever heard.’” He spins Chenqing again, suddenly introspective. “I don’t think of Inquiry as beautiful, but then… I suppose that would depend on who’s doing the asking… what is being asked… who it is being asked to.”

He does not need to look: he can feel the sudden and subtle electric tension. “Lan Zhan, were you—by chance—playing for me?”

He had never answered when Wei Wuxian asked about burning money, but the guqin has gone silent, so Wei Wuxian waits, the thrill of expectation rising. Then Lan Wangji plucks a solitary note: E flat.

E flat?

Yes.

Ah, so this is our game!

Wei Wuxian rolls excitedly onto his stomach in front of the dias, beaming, his hands clasping Chenqing under his chin. Lan Wangji’s gaze is demurely downcast.

“Lan Zhan, tell me the truth: did you burn money for me?”

Yes.

Wei Wuxian practically giggles with delight. “When I left this last year, did you miss me when I was gone?”

Yes.

He’s going to hurt himself grinning like this. “Did you truly miss me when I was dead?”

Yes. But the note is plucked harder than it should be and it quavers.

“But you find me so boring! Really, how long would it take you to get tired of me?” He crawls up onto his knees and plops himself into a sitting position at the table, guqin between them.

“I know I don’t have much core to speak of,” he pats his abdomen gingerly, “and I’m working on that! But let’s say we both became immortals, would you get tired of me then? 16 years is one thing, but 160? 1600? 16,000 years? Imagine how boring, Lan Zhan!?”

Lan Wangji is silent.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian leans in close and low, trying to catch his eyes under those lashes. “May I have the honor of a glimpse from you?” Lan Wangji looks up at him, and the gaze is so intense that Wei Wuxian feels suddenly vulnerable. “What on Earth did you want to ask me back then?”

Lan Wangji is quiet for long enough that Wei Wuxian starts to think he has no intention of answering, but then...

“If the lotus seeds were ripe. If you thought the day was pleasant. If you heard the birds singing near Cold Pond, and if their song reminded you of the past. If you could forgive me for having only bitter soup for dinner. If you could see the kind young man A-Yuan was becoming. If you could divide for me the black from the white. If you knew the name of the song. But now… Wei Ying, now I think you do; I no longer need to ask that. So I will ask something else.” He swallows suddenly and Wei Wuxian could swear he’s trembling. “May I make this Wei Ying’s home? Will Wei Ying bear the early mornings and quiet hours and bitter soup and cold winters? Will Wei Ying allow me 16,000 years of Inquiry?”

Wei Wuxian is struck dumb. He sits back, slack-jawed and broken open. What can he say? How can he say…? Did he really wake this morning or is he dreaming still? He feels sloppy, wholly inadequate; his lips are clumsy things, his limbs an awkward pile of angles. How can he be worthy of the look on Lan Zhan’s face? Tears well up and surely he will combust.

But there is no end of tears. Tears spring up like weeds.

And there will be no end of corpses. But he is not a corpse. They are not. No, far from it.

Wei Wuxian fumbles with Chenqing and raises it to his lips where he plays a messy and solitary E flat. In truth it is more than that: a polyphonic note in a contrapuntal song that he’s sure only Lan Wangji can hear.

Gently, he reaches for Lan Wangji’s right hand, the one that had reached for him 16 years ago. Pale as a lily, the nails kept long to pluck the strings of his instrument, he wraps it in his fingers as delicately as he has seen Wangji handle his rabbits and brings it to his lips, and if some of his tears mar that perfect skin he has a feeling Lan Wangji won’t mind. The kiss is soft but is not the tickle of joss paper waiting for the fire; it shudders with his breath but is not the brush of a moth’s wings. It’s tender and reverent and warm with the promise of days and kisses to come and is very much—so very much—alive.

“16,000 years of Inquiry… We should get started then.”

He lays the palm of the hand against his cheek. His smile erupts without warning, and to his delight, Lan Wangji is not prepared.

“My dearest Lan Zhan, what would you like to ask me?”

———

In January gifs and meta about The Untamed started rolling across my dash. As interesting as it looked, I was determined not to watch—just no time for that. And then I saw you posting meta about it, and well… you made it sound very good, and I figure you know what you’re talking about. Add to that one particular gif you reblogged: the moment in the opening scene when LWJ’s arm, clothed in bloody white, reaches across the frame towards WWX as he falls. That was the first image of this show that really seared itself into my brain. So, I offer this with thanks for inspiring me to watch this amazing show (and with endless congratulations)!

Notes:

OK, admittedly it’s not a sun-shaped branding iron in The Untamed, but I like the sun shape better.

E flat is what “yes” sounds like to me during Inquiry in the man-eating castle, but I’m also the last person anyone should consult about music.

Still incomplete associated fanart HERE (color illustration on right).

[update: finished fanart can now he found HERE]

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

hey love🥺🥺

can i request smth for aragorn pls🥺🥺 prob based on this post cus hes so crazy HOT in this but yeah everything else is up to u!! hope ur having a wonderful day<3

Yes girl here we go. I hope this is alright.

Aragorn x Elven reader - Find Me

Summary: With your elven duties done for the time being, your heart yearns for a certain Ranger as he travels in the wilds of Middle Earth.

Warning: fluff, Aragorn just being a beautiful softy

Folding your arms you look out upon the great valley of Rivendell, with her beautiful elven homes, shimmering waterfalls, and never ending ability to always have singing nearby from elven voices of pure golden honey.

You truly love this place with all of your very heart and soul, it has been your home for the past four-thousand years or so, but in the recent five-hundred have you been traveling throughout the wilds of middle earth in search of adventure. But it would just so happen that on one of your travels through a lonely mountain range did you happen to come face to face with the dirty but admittedly handsome likeness of a Ranger.

His crystal blue eyes grew wide in awe and wonder as your angelic form drew forth from the woodland, it was like all troubles and fear had vacated from his body the moment those beautiful ocean irises saw your smiling face. He was undoubtedly aware that you were in fact an elf, but his heart swelled anyways and he blessed whoever would listen for a single chance in all his lifetime to have seen your face just this once.

Though this would not be the last time you’d meet him, far from it, it just so happened that when looking upon his scruffy face did you feel an intense pull to him in a way that you couldn’t explain, nor have ever felt before. It was a strange but wonderful feeling all in one, that night would the two of you talk for hours. Leading into a week of traveling with him, this Ranger seemed content and joyous with your company.

It did not take long for feelings to grow and spark into a magnificent fire, swirling with admiration, respect, trust, and love for one another. It did not feel rushed, it felt completely right, like you had waited this long for something so pure and meaningful, and were not disappointed in the slightest.

This handsome Ranger would not utter his true name until the next time you two would meet, a year and a half later after you had to assist Elrond with something gravely important dealing with some strange pack of dwarves and a quest to claim their homeland. The things you do for that elf.

Though when you returned to the wilds, and it did take some skilled tracking, you had found him once more and still looking as dashing as ever. Though this time he greeted you with a chaste kiss, his eyes so full of love and relief for your safe return to him after such a long time apart. Under the stars, wrapped up in his arms with the light of a lowly burning fire flicking shadows across your faces. Did the Ranger tell you his name, Aragorn, your heart leapt with joy once the words had parted from his lips.

Aragorn.

You would learn of his heritage and that he was the rightful king of the great white city, so far away. But just the same you would accept him anyways, he was grateful and loved you twice as much. In the next couple years would you leave for Rivendell and your duties then return to your Ranger, staying with him for months on end, the two of you soaking up every moment together with stories, fleeting glances, laughter, and the sweetest of kisses.

Though right now, standing on a grand balcony in your true home of Rivendell do you feel that familiar pang of longing deep in your heart, you miss Aragorn more then you’d be able to say with words. But Elrond has needed you recently, claiming no other elf can slay so many orcs with such stealth and precision. Indeed a truthful compliment, and yes you’ve upheld to your duties to protect the realm, but you can’t help but feel called to your Ranger.

He misses you deeply.

You tilt your head to the sky as a light soft breeze caresses your face, you can hear the familiar patter of light footsteps as they walk down the steps behind you. Crossing the opened room, the source of the intrusion stands by your side, yet he is still a calm and comforting presence, “My dear Y/N, you have done well to protect these lands in the past couple months. But I can’t help but notice how your smile seems fleeting these days. What troubles you?”

Sighing you glance at Lord Elrond, “The Ranger.”

“Aragorn.” He says knowingly with the tiniest of smiles.

“Yes. It has been many moons since last we parted, I worry for him. But I understand that I must keep to my duties here. So I will stay.”

Elrond smiles like a kind father, “So it would appear that the world would have you two meet once again. I ask you this, Y/N. Would you find your Ranger and bring him to Rivendell, I very much would like to speak to him again.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips, your heart practically leaping with joy, “I would be honored.” You laugh, “Like you had to ask my dear friend, he will not be able to hide from me. I will find him in due time.”

The old elf smiles, “I do not doubt it. Your tracking skills are rather outstanding, though your heart leads you in more ways then you know.”

“Always with the wise words,” You tease, “you’re around Gandalf too much I can tell.”

“Oh Y/N.” A small chuckle escapes him, “Maybe so....but I must tell you, your horse will be awaiting you at dawn. Your weapons and travel pack just the same, stay safe, I fear more beasts lurk around every corner these days.” He warns.

“Well, perhaps it’s a good thing I know how to use a sword. And with my bow, they’ll never see me coming.” You add with a sly grin, he nods in agreeance.

“Til we meet again, Y/N.” Finally speaks Lord Elrond handing you a small smile as he turns to leave and go about his other duties.

“Farewell.” 

In the early hours of the morning, just before the sun began her bright ascent into the clouds, did you make way for the mountain pass. Atop of your dashing steed, sword at your hip, bow held to your back, and determination in your heart.

To find your sweet Aragorn.

It had been many days, then turning into a couple weeks of riding and endless tracking before finally, finally, did your elven eyes land on a familiar boot print in the mud. A horses hoof by its side, not even three days old, he is close now. But as you take another few steps does your nose crinkle in disgust, you follow the scent to a tree where a dead orc is laying upon the ground rotting from a slice to its neck and chest.

Aragorn.

He was without a doubt here, the evidence is truly telling. You turn, quickly throwing yourself atop your horse before taking off in the direction of the tracks. Just as you’d thought, it would take about a day and a half to find him. His trail leading into the woods, a thicker more secluded wood, full of great green pines and giant ferns littering the opened ground. Sliding off of your horse, you walk around to her front, grabbing the leather reins to lead her forward into the unknown.

Not even an hour later do your pointed ears pick up the sounds of someone trying to dig out roots, if they were attempting to be quiet, mission failed. Not wanting to be made known of your presence, you leave your loyal steed by a downed log and stealthy walk your way to the source of the noise.

Is it him?

As silent as an owl in flight do you unsheathe your shimmering silver sword, it flashes in the dying sunlight as you take cautious feather light steps to a certain Ranger, he’s almost hilariously oblivious to your staring. You watch as he cuts out a thick root from the disturbed earth, you glance to your right and notice his horse, it feeds unaware to your presence.

With a smirk do you take another couple steps forward, he doesn’t even know, another step now and you’re an arms reach away. As sly as a fox do you bring your sleek blade to the side of his throat, he tenses immediately.

“What’s this? A Ranger caught off his guard?” You smirk, a mischievous tinge to your voice as he lets out a breath. His body relaxing once again as you move your blade from his throat, sheathing it once more.

A smile graces his lips as he slowly stands up, turning around to face you with those beautiful blue eyes of his, “Y/N.” You smirk at him. He’s so close now.

“Aragorn.”

You don’t have time to speak another word, for your king has captured you in his arms, blessing your lips with a warm kiss, it’s full of love, longing, and adoration. You can tell how much he’s missed you after these longs months apart, hopefully he’s able to tell how much you happen to feel the same. After another couple wonderful seconds does he pull away for breath, his hands hugging your sides close as he presses his forehead to yours.

“Meleth nin.” Whispers your Ranger, “What brings you to the wilds? I thought Lord Elrond was in grave need of you for something important?”

You smile, “That time has passed. My duties are done for now, I could not bare to keep away from you for much longer. It would have driven me mad.” He tilts his head to kiss the tip of your nose affectionately.

“You’ve blessed my soul once more, Y/N. My moon amongst the darkness, I am grateful to see your face once again.”

“Aragorn.” You speak breathlessly at his heartfelt words, you hug him tighter, a warmness blooming from deep within your chest, “Come with me back to Rivendell. Elrond has missed your company and I would very much enjoy having you close.”

“Then I am yours my lady.” He whispers lovingly into the evening air, your heart flutters with excitement.

The journey back to Rivendell felt much shorter and less lonely with your dirty faced Ranger by your side keeping you company and warm on the cool nights as you both slept underneath the thousands of dazzling stars. Soon enough your horses had made their way onto the white stone path leading into the great kingdom. Birds chirp happily from nearby as you both listen to the soft roaring of the waterfalls.

You and Aragorn ride up to the front, a long stairwell in front of you leading into a large gathering area, your horse neighs as footsteps be fall upon the pale stone steps. Your elven eyes glance up to find Lindir as he carefully walks down the steps, stopping on a flat platform just above more of the marble stairs.

“My Lady Y/N, Aragorn, it is a pleasant sight to see the both of you doing well on this fine morning.” States Lindir with a genuine smile.

You laugh, “You mean to say, it’s good that we have not been slain by goblins in the dead of night?” Aragorn chuckles from behind you as he sits upon his steed.

The elven man blinks, a small laugh escapes him, “Perhaps that was what I happened to be implying. These days we can never be to careful, terrible beasts lurking around every corner it seems.” He pauses for a moment, remembering what he came down here for, “Forgive me, I meant to ask if you’d join Lord Elrond for breakfast, he is eager to speak with Aragorn...I will have my men take care of your horses. You two must be tired, I will have baths prepared for you two at once. Excuse me for now, my friends.” Rambles Lindir as both you and Aragorn jump down from your horses, two elves coming to your aid as they take the leather reigns from each of your hands.

As they guide the loyal beasts away, you turn to take a step up the stairs, stopping to look at Aragorn, “Now you.” Your eyes trail him up and down, “definitely need a bath.”

He jogs up the steps, coming to a halt next to you, “Have you seem your face melleth nin.” He teases, though you don’t have a speck of dirt on your skin, being an elf does have its perks like that.

You laugh, “I don’t need to my love, I’m already the most radiant creature you’ve ever been lucky enough to see.” The most adorable smile breaks out upon his dirt smudged face as a light pink dusts his scruffy cheeks, even knowing you for so long are you still able to make him blush.

“Perhaps I cannot disagree there. Now let’s get something to eat.” He adds with a smile, a flash of excitement crossing his features as he thinks of actual real food. 

You playfully scoff, “And you a bath.”

“Am I not the most radiant creature in all the land?” He teases.

Rolling your eyes you let out a chuckle before continuing to walk up the stairs, “Aragorn. Come on.” He smiles while watching you lead, feeling rather blessed to have you so near once again.

——

Breakfast had been delicious without a doubt and your bath was warm and definitely needed, even if you can’t seem to get as dirty as a certain someone. Now dressed in your normal elven attire do you wander around the halls of Rivendell in search of your Ranger who has appeared to have gotten himself lost. Well not really, you’ve more so misplaced him, this kingdom is rather big after all.

Not even ten minutes later do you find him, he’s standing on the edge of a crystal blue pool, watching as some beautifully colored fish swim around the water unbothered and free. You slowly walk into the opening of the large room, taking light steps to see if you can sneak up on him again. Your breathing is low as you skillfully take your time to cross the room.

But alas your plans are foiled once he happens to glance in your direction, his blue eyes locking onto your smirking face as he takes you all in, “Were you trying to scare me?” He wonders in that velvety voice of his.

You bite your lip, taking a few more casual steps forward as you gently touch the side of his arm, “Me? Scaring you? I would never do such a thing.” You play off, he laces his arm through yours as you both begin walking towards a balcony.

“Your absence these last couple months have been more taxing then I had first realized.” Begins your sweet Aragorn, shifting the mood to a more serious tone, “But I am glad to have you now, my dear Y/N, thank you for coming back to me.”

You hand him a kind smile, “I will always come back to you, in every lifetime, you may be the most skilled hunter I have ever known. But I will always be able to find my way to you.” You lightly squeeze his bicep with your free hand, “I love you more then life, you know this.”

His eyes look to the floor for a moment, “Are you still certain?” He asks, finding your gaze once again, though you know exactly what it means.

You nod, “Without a doubt in my heart, I am.”

He brings you to the balcony overlooking all of Rivendell in all of her grand beauty, his face true as he looks deeply into your eyes, “You know what your choice means Y/N, my life may be longer then most men’s, but I don’t want you to give up your life for mine.”

You gently touch the side of his cheek, your other hand pressed against his chest as he holds onto it tightly, “Aragorn. I have lived many lifetimes on this earth, and in every one of them alone. Indeed I am very old, but I would rather be apart of yours then suffer another three thousand alone. It is not your fault that I feel this way for you, you have to understand that.”

He sighs, looking deeply into your loving eyes, “But your life here.”

Shaking your head you smile, “My true family has been sleeping in the ground since the last great war for middle earth, all I have left his Elrond. I made my choice the moment I decided to follow you into the wilds. You are all that I want, all that I care for in this life, do not push me away because you think I should live longer.”

He frowns, “I would never do that to you, I swear it. I just want you to be happy, that is all I care about.” Oh, Aragorn you sweet man.

You remove your hand from his cheek to gently hold his arm that’s wrapped around your side, “I am, and I plan to follow you to death, I don’t believe even a Balrog could make me leave your side.”

He chuckles holding you closer, “Y/N, I do not deserve you.”

You let out a quick laugh, “Definitely not.”

[theyilinglaozus]

Check Up Tag

I was tagged by the very lovely @lan-xichens! Thanks so much for the tag dear! 💕

How has your day been?

Not too bad! I was at work for the morning, and then came home to binge some shows since it’s now the weekend for me. I’ll probably try and get to work on a few things this evening, but otherwise I’m taking it easy for today since it’s been a busy week and I’m meeting with some friends tomorrow.

What was the last thing that made you smile?

The customer that came up to me today after my colleague had served them just to tell me that they thought I was very beautiful. It made me literally all

(borrowing one of @icaxrus’s lovely gifs for a second)

What’s keeping you entertained these days?

Much the same as usual, honestly! Other than gif making and hanging out either here or on discord, I’m finishing up my Word of Honor fic these days (and then have an idea for the next one I want to write), and I’m currently finishing a Star Wars book before I finally tackle my next read. I also started playing Kingdom Hearts 3 recently after picking it up at long last in a sale, and although I have no idea what the main storyline is anymore I am having tons of fun exploring Disney worlds with Sora, Donald and Goofy.  Otherwise, the rest of my free time is spent watching shows. An old friend and I are talking about watching Vincenzo together, and I’m also trying to decide if I want to watch Douluo Continent or the Blooms at Ruyi Pavillion soon.

If you are in some kind of quarantine/self isolation, is there anything you’d like to achieve in this time?

Our country technically isn’t in lockdown anymore (for how long though is another guess), so I’m slowly yet tentatively trying to find my comfort with the world outside my home and my work once more. That’s mainly been one or two shopping trips or outdoor visits/coffee shop meet ups with friends for now. I’ve had my first vaccination so I’m hoping in July I might feel comfortable enough to try the cinema to watch Black Widow - buuut that’s a task I don’t intend to pin too many hopes on. If it happens it happens, if not though I’m happy to wait. There’s no rush when it comes to feeling comfortable and safe.

Post a selfie! (if you’re comfortable with that):

Can I offer you some pictures of my children instead?

I’ll tag @wangxianbunnydoodles, @yibobibo, @susuwatari-kompeito, @wendashanren, @baoshan-sanren, @xieliancore and @purplexedhuman. (Also if @icaxrus​ see’s this from my tagging them for the above gif usage and fancies having a go at this tag game too, do go ahead!)

Oh! I was also tagged by the lovely @wendashanren for the ‘share your lock screen, home screen, and last song you listened to’ tag game, but since I recently shared these and I haven’t changed my home or lock screens, I’ll link to my old post here. Thank you so much for the tag though, because I do love seeing these games cross my dash and seeing what other people’s answers are! 💕

[hello-robin-goodfellow]

FICTIONAL CHARACTER ASK: ROMEO MONTAGUE

TAGGED BY: @princesssarisa​

@ardenrosegarden​ @giuliettaluce​ @gravedangerahead​

Favorite thing about them: Oh my sweet boy, he is a sensitive poet that only wants to distance himself of violence and to share his love (for Juliet and for love itself) with the world.

Least favorite thing about them: That fact that when Tybalt kills Mercucio, he blames Juliet for “turning him affeminate” (weak) and decides to kill Tybalt in relation, believing this will prove that he is “man enough”. This obviously is the biggest mistake he ever commited.

Three things i have in common with them:

-His melancholy.

-I also can sometimes find dificult to communicate my true feelings to friends and relatives.

-I also love Juliet Capulet.

Three things i don’t have in common with them:

-Nobility status.

-Training to fight with a sword.

-I can’t improvise poetic dialogue the way he can. And i don’t have his french.

Favorite line:

“I fear, too early: for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death”.

 “What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight?

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night”.

“ If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss”. 

“But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek”!

 “She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air”.

“ Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this”?

 “Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine”.

“Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter”.

“This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander,—Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soften'd valour's steel”!

“ This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end”.

“Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now”!

“O, I am fortune's fool”!

“Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave”.

“ It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die”.

“ Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go: Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day”.

 “Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor: Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb”.

“Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this”.

“I pay thy poverty, and not thy will”.

“There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee”.

“How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death: O, how may I Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet3040 Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous, And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night Depart again: here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love”!

“O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die”.    

brOTP: With Mercucio and Benvolio.

OTP: With Juliet.

nOTP: With Rosaline, Benvolio, Mercucio and Tybalt.

Random Headcanon:

-His favorite colors are: blue, green, white and silver.

-His favorite fairy tale is Rapunzel.

-His favorite greek myth is the love story of Orpheus and Euridice.

-In a Modern Day Everybody Lives AU i made in collab with @giuliettaluce​, he becomes an English Lit and Poetry professor. To know more about it, read it here:

https://giuliettaluce.tumblr.com/post/617050378210590720/modern-headcanon-romeo-and-juliet

Unpopular Opinion: Yes, Leonard Whiting is a good actor and he was a very good casting choice for the role of Romeo in the 1968 movie. But the cuts of many of his lines, like the one where he thinks that killing Tybalt as a regaining of honor and his dialogue with the apotecary, tones the characters actual complexity and intelligence way, way down, and is the cause of the popular misconception that Romeo is an impulsive bratty teenager.

Song i associate with them: 

Flor, Minha Flor (Grupo Galpão), wich is the theme of Grupo Galpão’s montage of Romeo and Juliet: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koIO15cI-8Y

Favorite picture of them:

Sir Ian Holm, 1967

Dolhai Attila, 2001

Adetomiwa Edun, 2010 

Eduardo Moreira, 2012/13

Lucien Laviscount in the Still Star-Crossed series, 2017

[darnloveablecharacters]

Prove Me Wrong, Part Twenty-Seven: Burned

Series Summary:  Caithwistë, born from the only known pairing of an elf and a dwarf has spent most of her life in hiding. When an old friend, (or a certain meddling wizard) finds her in the woods, everything changes. Now, she will have the chance to prove the world wrong about her value. A ‘The Hobbit’ fanfiction based off of the following imagines from @imaginexhobbit: This One is the basis of the story, and This One and This One will be added in later. If you recognize it, it belongs to Professor Tolkien or Peter Jackson. But, as usual, the story and all of the mistakes are my own!

Prove Me Wrong - Masterlist

Chapter Notes: Super excited to post this one! This means we’re just one step closer to the battle! *squeee*

Warnings for this Chapter: mentions of burns, mostly angst

Tagged: @imaginesreblogged @chevycastiel1967 @rices4me93 @tschrist1​ If you want to be added just let me know!

Caithwistë walked through a dark passage. It seemed as if an eternity had passed since she last visited this place in her dreams. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the heavy chamber doors open to find him there. He was turned away from her, but he was there nonetheless. “I did not expect to find you here, My King.” She said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Thorin raised his head at the sound of her voice, but still did not turn. She padded toward him slowly, reaching out to touch him. As soon as her fingers wrapped around his arm, she jerked her hand back harshly as pain coursed through her. She glanced down at her hand and gasped at the marks that were spreading. The contact had burned her. “Thorin?” She asked warily, holding her burned hand tightly to ward off the pain.

Thorin turned to her slowly and she let out a shaky breath at the sight of him. His eyes were not the familiar blue that she had known, instead, they burned like fire. Glowing brightly with life and somehow appearing dead at the same time. “You should be with me, by my side.” He said slowly. His voice had even changed. Every word came out as if it were a low growl, the voice of Smaug.

Caithwistë took a small step away, shaking her head as if it would rid her of the sight. “I do not understand.” She said weakly.

Thorin sneered at her. “You abandoned me, but all will be forgiven if you return now.” He said, holding his hand out to her.

Caithwistë regarded his outstretched hand for a moment, then took another step back. “Thorin, I did not abandon you. You sent me away.”

Thorin took swift steps in her direction, bearing down on her as he would an enemy. “Lies.” He growled. Caithwistë had not realized she was still moving away until her back hit a wall. She was more frightened of him now than she had ever been. Thorin’s eyes flashed down her quivering form and he scoffed, turning to move back to his original position. “It does not matter now.” He said, facing her again from the opposite side of the room. “You are mine, and I protect all that belongs to me.”

“This is wrong. This is not you. Thorin please, tell me what is happening to you!” Caithwistë pleaded.

Thorin smiled at her and spread his arms. “I am home. The wealth of Erebor is once again mine, and I will never lose it again.”

Caithwistë’s eyes flicked to the still open doors and back to Thorin, hoping he missed the movement. “You are unwell, Thorin. Please tell me how I can help you.” She said, taking a small step away from the wall.

Thorin frowned at her. “I am the wealthiest of all, but my Queen is not by my side. I only wish for what is mine to be returned to me.”

Caithwistë frowned at his words. “I am not a treasure to be hoarded. My heart does belong to you, but I know you would never speak to me in this way.” With that, she simply gave up her façade and began to walk toward the door.

“You will abandon me again?” Thorin asked from behind her.

She stopped at the door, turning to look at the beast disguised as Thorin that stood before her. “I will never truly abandon Thorin Oakenshield.” She said brusquely. As she turned to leave again, she saw another flash of fire in in front of her and screamed while Thorin laughed sinisterly behind her.

~

Caithwistë woke up gasping for air. As she attempted to catch her breath her eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings. She was still in the small room she had found after they reached Dale. The morning light was pouring in through the gaping hole that had been left from Smaug’s first attack. She was safe.

“It was only a dream.” She muttered to herself. She moved to stand but hissed when she placed her hand on the ground and it stung. Taking another shaky breath, she slowly turned her palm up to inspect it and let out a gasp. It was burned, with the same marks she had received in her dream. “Just a coincidence.” She told herself, shaking off her fear. She quickly grabbed a clean cloth and wrapped her hand then strode out of the room hoping for something to distract her. In a moment that came as both a relief and frustration, she walked out to the sight of Thranduil and his army waiting in the courtyard as carts of food filed into the town.

She approached just as Bard was addressing Thranduil. “You have saved us. I do not know how to thank you.”

Thranduil gave him a disinterested look. “Your gratitude is misplaced. I did not come on your behalf. I came to reclaim something of mine.”

Caithwistë scoffed. “Of course, you would only show when there is a benefit to you.”

Thranduil’s eyes snapped to her at her remark. “What is That doing here?” He asked with a grimace.

Caithwistë smirked. “Thranduil, how lovely to see you again now that the dragon has been slain and the danger has passed.” She said with a mock bow.

Thranduil’s hand moved to his blade but Bard stepped in between them, shooting Caithwistë a look of warning. “She is our guest; she helped our people during and after the attack.” He said, holding his hands up.

“So be it.” Thranduil said. He turned his great elk to his army and tilted his head toward the Mountain, silently commanding them to begin their march.

Bard shared a concerned glance with Caithwistë before they took off after Thranduil. “Wait!” Bard pleaded. “Please, wait! You will go to war over a handful of gems?” He demanded.

“The heirlooms of my people are not lightly forsaken.” Thranduil said in a bored tone.

Bard shook his head. “We are allies in this. My people also have claim upon the riches in that Mountain. Let me speak with Thorin.”

Thranduil gave him a sidelong glance, eyes flicking to Caithwistë before responding. “You would try to reason with the Dwarf.”

“To avoid war? Yes.” Bard stated calmly.

Thranduil stared him down, but Bard held his ground and Thranduil eventually waved his hand in a shooing gesture. “Have it your way then.”

Bard nodded and grabbed Caithwistë’s arm. “Come with me.” He whispered.

She nodded and began to follow him until Thranduil spoke again. “No. That will stay with me.”

Caithwistë huffed and turned back to him. “You do not command me.”

“No, but I do command the lives of all in this city now.” Thranduil retorted smugly.

Caithwistë frowned, knowing what he meant. He could easily take all that he had given back and would do it simply on a whim. “Go.” She muttered with frustration to Bard.

Bard hesitated, eyes moving between the two of them nervously. “Do you promise that she will not be harmed?” He asked Thranduil.

Thranduil looked as if the question had hurt him. “I give you my word.” He said, placing his hand over his heart. “We will simply watch together from the bridge.”

Bard looked as if he wished to protest but Caithwistë shook her head, urging him to drop it. Bard nodded at her and gave one last look to Thranduil before dashing toward the gate.

“Come, half-breed.” Thranduil said, riding his great elk forward. Caithwistë had to jog to keep up with its long strides but it did not take long for them to reach the bridge and they watched in silence for a few moments as Bard rode swiftly toward the Mountain. “Impressive, how you have fooled so many into trusting you.”

Caithwistë crossed her arms. “It is no trickery. It is simply the reward that comes for caring for something other than oneself.”

“Perhaps.” Thranduil mused. “Betrayal comes in many forms though. Tell me, do you believe that Thorin will hold to his word?”

Caithwistë flexed her burned hand as her mind wandered to her dream. The image bothered her, but she still held to the hope that it was nothing more than her own fear manifesting itself in the visions of her mind. “I trust Thorin.” She said firmly.

“Oh?” Thranduil asked, amused. “Then tell me half-breed, why are you not by his side?”

“That is none of you concern.” She snapped.

“He cast you away did he not?” Thranduil continued mercilessly. “He found out what you are and deemed you unworthy.”

“That is not what happened.” Caithwistë growled, clenching her uninjured fist.

Thranduil still continued, amused at her feeble attempt to hide the truth. “I wonder, what does it feel like to be cast away by those you love most?”

“I am not certain, where is your son?” Caithwistë asked bitterly.

Thranduil’s eyes snapped to her, the edge of anger beginning to show through his calm mask. “That is none of your concern.” He said, face falling back into disinterest. “Besides, the dragon slayer returns.”

Caithwistë glanced to the approaching man and frowned. He looked upset. “What happened Bard? What did Thorin say?” She asked fearfully.

“He will give us nothing.” Bard replied with a scowl.

“Such a pity.” Thranduil said cocking his head to the side. “But still you tried.”

Bard shook his head with frustration. “I do not understand. Why?” He asked, turning to Caithwistë. “Why would he risk war?”

Caithwistë just shook her head. “Thorin is honorable.” She said meekly, mind racing.

“It is fruitless to reason with them. They understand only one thing.” Thranduil said, drawing his sword. The sound made Caithwistë jump and she glanced between the pair fearfully.

Thranduil shot her a victorious smile and turned the Great Elk back to the city. “We attack at dawn. Are you with us?” He called out to Bard.

Bard looked back to Caithwistë and sighed. “I am sorry Miss. I know you care for them, but I don’t know what else I can do.”

“I understand Bard. You must do what you feel is right for your people.” Caithwistë replied grimly.

Bard nodded, equally as disturbed and guided his horse forward to the city to ready his men for battle.

~

Caithwistë had never felt so torn in her life. She watched with a grim detachment as the fishermen who had never wielded anything deadlier than a fishing pike practiced at swords.

“If it does come to war, we will spare the Dwarves if we can.” Bard said, stepping to her side. “We only wish for what was promised. We only want to survive.”

Caithwistë smiled. “I must admit, I simply appreciate that you did not imprison me for my attachment to the Company.”

“That would not do us any good.” Bard mused. “I don’t believe there is a place to lock you up here.” He said, giving Caithwistë a sidelong glance.

Caithwistë met his gaze and he smirked, making them both dissolve into a fit of laughter. It felt good to laugh, even though everything felt so wrong.

As their laughter died down, the sound of Alfrid’s voice rang out in the courtyard. “No, no, no!”

“What is it now?” Bard groaned, walking toward the commotion.

“Oi, you! Pointy hat!” Alfrid called again.

“Pointy hat?” Caithwistë asked no one in particular, excitedly moving to follow Bard.

“Yes, you. We don’t want no tramps, beggars nor vagabonds around here. We’ve got enough trouble without the likes of you. Off you go. On your horse.” Alfrid was saying.

“Who’s in charge here?” Came the unmistakable voice of Mithrandir. At the sound, Caithwistë quickened her pace.

“Who is asking?” Bard asked warily, stopping a few paces in front of her.

“Mithrandir!” Caithwistë cried when she saw him. She dashed around Bard and slammed into the wizard who let out an ‘oof’ as she hugged him fiercely.

“Caithwistë! It is so good to see you, My Dear.” He said with a chuckle. He pushed her away slightly to examine her. “And what on Earth has happened to your hand?”

Caithwistë glanced down at her wrapped hand and grimaced. “Dragon fire.” She said waving it nonchalantly. Mithrandir narrowed his eyes at her but chose to say nothing as she took him in as well. He looked as if he had been traveling for months without ever stopping. “Where have you been?” She asked him, furrowing her eyebrows.

Mithrandir looked uncomfortable, as he does when he intends to avoid a topic. “That is a story for later, right now we must speak with those in charge.”

Caithwistë rolled her eyes at the expected dodge, but motioned to Bard nonetheless. “That would be Bard here.” Bard nodded respectfully at his name.

“Mithrandir?” Bard asked holding his hand out.

“You may call me, Gandalf.” Mithrandir said with a smile, shaking the man’s hand. He glanced around then, noting the training men and elves. “I suppose this means Thranduil is here as well?” He asked both of them.

“Yes.” Caithwistë said through gritted teeth, jerking her head toward the well-lit tent the Elven King was residing in.

“Very well.” Mithrandir said, tone growing serious. “We all have much to discuss. Lead the way, My Lady.”

Caithwistë huffed but led Mithrandir and the dubious Bard toward Thranduil’s tent, wondering what the wizard could possibly be plotting now.

~

Caithwistë remained silent while Mithrandir pleaded with Thranduil to see reason. She could hardly believe herself that what he told them could be true. Sauron, the Lord of the Rings has returned and now an army of Orcs, bred for war, was on their way to the Mountain to claim it. “So much for staying out of the politics of the world.” She muttered quietly to herself. She remained in a daze until Mithrandir raised his voice.

“Since when has my council counted for so little? What do you think I’m trying to do?” He demanded.

“I think you’re trying to save your Dwarvish friends.” Thranduil replied with a disdainful glance to Caithwistë. “And I admire your loyalty to them. But it does not dissuade me from my cause.” He stood to his full height then and bore down on Mithrandir. “You started this, Mithrandir, you will forgive me if I finish it.” He said softly before turning to the tent opening. “Are the archers in position?” He asked the Elf standing guard.

“Yes, My Lord.” The Elf replied respectfully.

“Give the order. If anything moves on that Mountain, kill it. The Dwarves are out of time.” Thranduil commanded, and the Elf bowed before leaving to give the command.

“You cannot do this!” Caithwistë cried. She leapt toward him, but Mithrandir grabbed her and held her in place.

“I already have.” Thranduil replied smugly.

Caithwistë struggled against Mithrandir’s grip but he kept a firm hold on her. “You, bowman! Do you agree with this?” Mithrandir asked Bard, who looked as if he wished he could be anywhere else in this moment. “Is gold so important to you? Would you buy it with the blood of Dwarves?”

Bard regarded Caithwistë who was now watching him with glassy eyes while she struggled against the wizard. “It will not come to that.” He said, trying to reassure her. “This is a fight they cannot win.”

“That won’t stop them.” Bilbo said from behind them. Mithrandir was so shocked that he lost his grip on Caithwistë, but she was also frozen in place at Bilbo’s sudden appearance. “You think the Dwarves will surrender? They won’t. They will fight to the death to defend their own.”

“Bilbo Baggins!” Mithrandir exclaimed.

Bilbo glanced at him and gave him a toothy grin.

“Bilbo!” Caithwistë squealed, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Kili told me he had seen you in Lake Town.” Bilbo said with a chuckle as he hugged her back. He released her and gave her the same grin. “I am so relieved to see you alive.”

“If I’m not mistaken, this is the Halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.” Thranduil said, glaring at the poor Hobbit.

Caithwistë could not help but smile as Bilbo shuffled his feet. “Yes. Sorry about that.” He muttered bashfully. He stepped toward Thranduil cautiously, holding out a small package and placing it on the table between them. “I came to give you this.” He unwrapped the package and revealed a gem.

This was no ordinary gem though, and Caithwistë had never seen anything more beautiful. It was smoother than a river stone, and glowed brighter than the stars. Even more impressive were the colors that danced inside it, as if a rainbow had been captured and stored inside it for safe keeping. “The Arkenstone.” Caithwistë breathed in awe.

“The Heart of the Mountain. The King’s jewel.” Thranduil said with an equal reverence in his tone.

“And worth a king’s ransom.” Bard said thoughtfully as he stepped toward the table. He furrowed his eyebrows at it and glanced at Bilbo. “How is this yours to give?”

Bilbo bounced on the balls of his feet before he answered. “I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure.” He said proudly.

“Why would you do this? You owe us no loyalty.” Bard asked him with suspicion.

“I’m not doing it for you.” Bilbo said with a shake of his head. “I know that Dwarves can be obstinate and pigheaded and difficult. And suspicious and secretive with the worst manners you can possibly imagine, but they are also brave and kind and loyal to a fault. I’ve grown very fond of them, and I would save them if I can. But Thorin values this stone above all else.” He said, shooting Caithwistë an apologetic glance to which she simply shrugged. “In exchange for its return, I believe he will give you what you were owed. There will be no need for war.” He concluded.

“Bilbo…” Caithwistë sighed. If Thorin finds out what he had done, there is no telling what he would do.

Thranduil shared an intrigued look with Bard before addressing them all. “Have it your way. We will use this to barter with.” He said gesturing to the Arkenstone and Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief.

They bowed respectfully and Caithwistë followed Mithrandir and Bilbo out of the tent.

“Rest up tonight, Bilbo. You must leave on the morrow.” Mithrandir said as they walked through the city.

“What?” Bilbo asked, surprised.

“Get as far away from here as possible.” Mithrandir continued.

Bilbo stopped in his tracks and looked at Caithwistë for help, but she could give him none. She agreed with Mithrandir. “I… I’m not leaving.” He stammered.

Mithrandir stopped as well and turned to the hobbit. “Oh?”

Bilbo nodded. “You picked me as the burglar. I’m not about to leave the Company now.”

Gandalf let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. “There is no Company, not anymore. And I don’t like to think what Thorin would do when he finds out what you’ve done.”

“I’m not afraid of Thorin.” Bilbo countered.

“Well, you should be. Don’t underestimate the evil of gold. Gold over which a serpent had long brooded. Dragon-sickness seeps into the hearts of all who come to this Mountain.” Mithrandir said ominously. He quirked his head to the side and smirked at Bilbo. “Almost all.”

Mithrandir turned and called Afrid to them, sharing hushed words with him.

Bilbo glanced at Caithwistë. “And you? Do you think I should leave as well?”

Caithwistë studied him for a moment, taking in the hobbit who had come so far in this journey and survived at times where it seemed impossible. “I cannot presume to make this choice for you Bilbo.” She began, and he frowned but Caithwistë put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I can only say that I do not want you to be harmed and if that means running from here then yes, I do wish that for you.”

“And what about you?” Bilbo demanded. “Why do you get to stay, and I don’t.”

“I am a fighter. And… because this is the only place I have ever felt could be home.” She said with a sad smile. Bilbo considered that and dropped his gaze in defeat. Caithwistë glanced back to the wizard who was still speaking with Alfrid before stepping closer to Bilbo and whispering in his ear. “I know you will sneak out tonight anyway, just promise me that if you are in danger you get out of there.”

She leaned back and Bilbo smiled at her, giving a conspiratorial wink. “You have my word, Miss Caithwistë.”

Author’s Note: Okay, so I watched the movie Dodgeball shortly before I wrote this chapter and…. It actually took a lot for me to not have Caithwistë tell Thranduil to “cram it down your cramhole” lol.

[sandwyrm]

TL;DR melancholic rant on why I took the writing in WoW so badly this year just to get it all out and finish my fucking five stages of grief spin routine.

Gonna read more it, it’s probably gonna end up super long and unedited really so don’t feel obligated to read lol

     I am one of those losers that has been with Warcraft for the whole 25 years. I watched the company grow from “check out this FULL GAME coming with this gaming magazine! it’s called Warcraft: Orcs and Humans!” to being the biggest MMO around and celebrating 25 years while the world is burning.      And when I was younger, it was perfect. It had everything. Nice gameplay, cool and funny voices, decent graphics for its time, cool models, and it started having a story too. Perf! 

     I never got along well with my brother, but by the gods the only fond memories I have of him are centered around Warcraft. Watching him play WC1. Him teaching me to play WC2. Me playing WC3. Him leaving our abusive home to hide out in internet cafes, and my parents sending me to look for him, and us just staying in there for hours, me watching him play WC3. Fond memories of us getting our two toaster computers hooked up for LAN to play WC over it.

     Then WoW came, and my brother first got us an US account - it was impossible to play cross-region back then, our lag was immense, in the thousand of ms on a good day. So then an EU account. First rolled on Sylvanas, one of the biggest servers back then, then on Twisting Nether. I would skip school just so I could play because my toaster wouldn’t run it, only my brother’s computer, so when he was at work I’d be skipping high school playing WoW (I did fine, don’t worry). I invested so much time into my vanilla account it’s surreal. I wouldn’t be shocked if I found out it has more /played than the rest of my life in the game.      I met my ex on TN. I still have my vanilla account and characters on EU TN. The relationship with my ex doesn’t matter, it was abusive, toxic, I was a dumb optimist that stayed in it, doesn’t matter. He tried to get me to stop playing WoW. I still remember many instances when he went off on me for seeing me online, it’s 5 years since I broke up with him and like 8 since I stopped playing WoW with him and my heart still skips a beat when I get a whisper or hear the guild member login sound. It was that bad. He sure did his best to make me play the game only with him, “because he didn’t trust me and I would cheat on him through the game” - guys, if any of you are in this boat, please please please, put your foot down or break up. Your interests should be sacred and respected, as should be your entire person. But I digress.

     Instead of breaking up, I went the mature route of buying a US license, and playing it while he was at work or I was visiting my parents. I rolled on a RP server for the first time ever, and it was probably the best decision of my life, so, gotta thank my abusive ex for that. I met many wonderful people, have many wonderful things on that account, and another 7 years of wonderful things on my EU account.

     Then, the community itself. I hate it. Believe me, I hate the playerbase and fanbase of WoW with a burning passion. But at the same time, I have met amazing, wonderful, intelligent, friendly people I love and respect and wish the best for (if you’re reading this you’re part of this, yes, don’t let your brain trick you into thinking you’re a horrible person lol).      This is another fun arc. I started in the cringe culture. OCs are lame, who makes OCs lol. Then I became, I make OCs and cringe culture can die. Same with characters, but it’s different there. Oh, so different.

     See, I began by loving the obvious characters - Thrall, Jaina, Sylvanas, Tyrande, Malf, the works. I didn’t even like Garrosh much as his arc was unfolding - between the thing with my ex, quitting Cataclysm, changing regions and restarting, I didn’t really have a chance to dwell into him fully. He became a villain and I was all yeah okay. Iguess.jpg. I even wanted him out of the story at his peak edgelord moments because I liked Anduin more obviously. WoD was something I did not process almost at all because I was high on a cocktail of pain meds and post-partum depression and sleep deprivation. Legion was pointless bullcrap in my eyes on the main story factor, and I sort of enjoyed BFA until the whole Saurfang sucks Sylvanas fucks deal in the writer dept and fandom.

     Deciding to finally read the novels I had missed out on, and reading War Crimes, was what propelled me into “hahahahahah these idiots actually acquitted Garrosh of crimes in this book? Are they for fucking real?” and actually realizing the entire arc was a complete mess, BFA is a mess, the writer dept is a mess, and suddenly, I had no footing to stand anymore. A spit in the face, and then it overlapped the Saurfang hErOiC sAcRiFiCe special edition. I sort of had a breakdown and I hid it behind “well Saurfang was hot lol now I don’t have my orc grandpa anymore” but it was deeper than that.

     See, when we get into a setting, we have this selfish expectation that it will grow with us. That it will mature with us. Keep up with us. That we will always enjoy this setting, definitely not as starry eyed as we did as children, but that it will always be good. ATLA is a great example. Dragonlance is still good. Star Wars may be hammy and have tons of issues now as an adult, but it’s still good.  But Warcraft was my lifeblood for 25 years.       And to know that not only it did not grow with me, but it regressed beyond belief, destroyed me in a strange sense. Kind of like losing a friend, a family member. They didn’t just kill Saurfang for me, the setting died with him as far as I’m concerned. Because he was the last bastion of what interested me in it. 

     I am that weirdo that loves, loves, war movies and books. I devour them. That was part of my downfall, and the writers and fanbase of WoW so often make it feel like it is, somehow, MY FAULT (just like Garrosh getting backstabbed repeatedly was his fault I guess?)       It feels like it’s my fault that I care about weird things like the Geneva Conventions, and the Paris Conventions, and so on and so forth. It feels like I’m the idiot for knowing basic military tactics and conventions. It feels like I’m the idiot for wanting WARcraft to, at all, even a little bit, bear any resemblance to real wars, to real military tactics, to genuine war stories with genuinely well written soldiers. In my folly and pride, I forgot it’s first and foremost, a fantasy setting, a simplistic one at that.

     It insulted me these guys can’t even google what consists a war crime. It insults me to my core these guys paint the ONE (1) character who goes all “hey maybe.... weird concept but..... maybe not kill kids, or torture prisoners, or kill unarmed soldiers and civilians. Maybe show COMPASSION”, that this guy had to go. It also insults me the only other character who listened to him - Garrosh, yes - was written as the setting’s biggest fucking villain to this day, and it needed some real fucking propaganda and twisting of the OBJECTIVE narrative to get that to pass, and yet it successfully passed by so many, including myself years ago as it unfolded. 

     At this point, it’s insulting to see the same themes - mentally unstable or hurt people deserve to suffer and die, there is no happiness because happiness and happy endings are for toddlers, we are just edgelords jacking off to our self inserts, world isn’t fair because real world isn’t fair anyway kiddo grow up, and what the fuck is honor even we just make it up no? Also objective facts and lore? Fuck that who cares lmao.

     Here’s the deal. 

     War stories NEED hope. I can handle watching a whole regimen be killed in brutal ways in war, because REAL war stories always leave you SOMETHING at the end that was worth the whole pain. In a REAL war story, perhaps Saurfang would have still committed suicide by proxy in front of everyone, but people around him would have actually then gone and maybe fucking went “you know what he was correct. Let’s write the Geneva Conventions.” In a REAL war story, it would have been handled so much better. And perhaps, in a REAL war story, he would have survived. With so much loss, so much pain, and yet - with HOPE. Hope, for HIMSELF, for the future. Not the generic bullshit hOpE they tried to write into him. yOu CaNt KiLL hOpE.......      Yes, you can.       You fucking can.      By killing off the last fucking character in the setting that cared about actual military honor (not just the buzzword it is in this fandom and setting), the last fucking character that cared about tomorrow, about fighting for a better world.      That’s how you kill hope.      And in my eyes, they did so damn well.

     Because I don’t want to sit around and be insulted for another 25 years that I’m the only idiot who expects tactics, honor, a good outcome, a hopeful ending. Because I have reached the point I hate being in this game only to hear sTrEnGtH aNd hOnOr when it literally means nothing. Because I reached a point I hate watching the double standards they apply to their precious babes while the minor characters get thrown under the bus for way less. Because I reached a point where the fandom trying to go all “but Alex, someone has to set a precedent for a war crime trial!” means jack shit when nobody ELSE has been tried for any war crimes AFTER Garrosh (which would’ve been PEACHY by the fucking way). Because I got to a point Blizzcon gave me goddamn anxiety every time someone IMed me to tell me an announcement, and I got to a point I blacklisted half the tags on tumblr because I walk in to read what my friends have been up to and some damn Discourse makes its way to my dash, only for me to find myself feeling stupid and in the wrong for liking Saurfang. Not even Garrosh, which I would admit is Problematic(tm) but goddamn Saurfang.       Leave it to this setting and fandom for making me feel stupid and idiotic and in the wrong for loving the goddamn war movie protagonist.

     And at the end of it all, after much debate, I don’t think I will quit the setting. Writers don’t care, about their lore, about their characters, about us. The other fans don’t care who they hurt with their edgy rhetoric, I sure as fuck didn’t when I was younger and dumber myself. I’m sure eventually the wound will close completely and I’ll dissociate again from the story and fanbase and enjoy the gameplay and my very wonderful friends. First step in that, just for me, is to not buy Shadowlands. The xpack after, perhaps, it depends. But just out of spite, I will be that one idiot who has a sub running but doesn’t give a +1 sale on Shadowlands. Just for myself.

     Second step...? Who knows.... Who the hell knows what tomorrow will bring... This has indeed hurt worse than anything in my life. I have been going through the stages of grief - jokingly or seriously - since 8.2.5 now (and a whole load of 5 months of pure anger before that processing Garrosh’s arc from an objective standpoint). I cried more over the death of Saurfang (and the setting) than over my ex of 10 years leaving me as a single mom, or over all my other relationships combined. I’m not ashamed to admit that even if it’s cRiNgY. Like I said, it wasn’t just the death of one fictional character, but the death of a setting I loved and grew up with. The final acceptance that there is nothing left for me in the setting that shaped my interests, art, writing, and all that. That my interests have gone too far in other directions - optimism, actual war stories, good stories, being a mature individual, acknowledging mentally ill or divergent characters and not making excuses for author darlings. It’s a weird thing... Like the final acceptance that I have lost what could qualify as a dear friend or family member. While they are still alive and interacting with me daily. Like a breakup. But way worse.      It is a pain I wish on noone honestly.      But I do hope against hope, like an idiot, that other settings, other writers, future generations of writers, will do better. I know they won’t. But I’ll take my sliver of hope.

     And if you read this far, I do genuinely hope the game - this game, any other interests - will keep bringing joy to you. And also, help yourself to a cookie. Thanks <3 I wish you a good day/weekend.

[ot7-hoes]

A/N: Dezzy: Hey everyone! We're back with another OS! Technically, according to the request, it is a kind of part 2 of Nice Boys, similar scenario but with Tae and Kookie. This is actually the first thing on here that Sunnie and I have written together, so we're really excited to share it with you. Little mix up when it was posted, but it should be all fixed now. We hope you like it!

Sunnie: Hey Everybody, we're finally uploading this little baby. I must say we had a lot of fun writing this so I really hope you'll love it as much as you loved Nice Boys. This OS was born from an Request so thanks to @pillowiestar for requesting it. Dezzy pretty much explained everything so the only thing I can add from my side is that I also hope you'll like it. And thanks for reading it.

Word Count: 7,568

Warnings: Sub/Dom themes, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, squirting, face riding, lotsa dirty talk, slight impreg kink at the end, bondage, dp, threesome

Summary: When your neighbors get too rowdy late at night you decide to go over to teach them a lesson, but it seems that they don't want to play games anymore.

You bury your head under your pillow again as your neighbors let out the next cry of victory. Rather, it was Taehyung's shout of joy while Jungkook complained loudly about the lost round. This has been going on for 2 hours now. You could always say exactly when a round was finished because of the volume penetrating to you and because of the thin new building walls you could also say with 95% accuracy who had won. Frustrated you rub your temples and crawl completely under your blanket. The two young men had been living next to you for 2 years. In the beginning they had also been quite nice, but that had changed quite a bit over time. They hadn't necessarily become more unfriendly, because you could still see them hauling the old lady's shopping around on floor 6, but they had become much more ruthless towards your sleep rhythm. The fact that you involuntarily witnessed their extended gaming nights made your opinion of them a little worse. You were slowly getting the impression that the two of them were really doing nothing but spending all their time gaming. Very rarely did you see them outside their apartment. The only evidence that they were still alive was the daily ringing delivery service and the nightly noise nuisance. With a unnerved groan you flip your blanket back and crawl out of your bed again to give yet another warning to your neighbours. It rarely helped and usually only for a short time, but it was definitely better than nothing. So perhaps you were granted a few hours of sleep. Besides, hope dies last, as you know. You simply leave your door open as you shuffle to the neighbouring door and let out your accumulated frustration at the innocent apartment door. It took a moment until someone finally opens the door for you, before you turned it into firewood. A young man with messy grey hair appears in the door frame. Taehyung. >>What gives us the honour at such a late hour? << he asks and gives you one of his boxy smiles, which he almost always seemed to wear on his lips. >>Your less well-off and atrophied brain cells, your apparent deafness and the obvious inability to read the clock give you the honor. Hard to believe, but there are actually people who can't sleep late tomorrow morning, but have to get out relatively early. It really can't be that hard to be a little considerate, can it? << you snap at him and pull up an eyebrow accusingly. Your counterpart looks at you a little surprised. >>What is it? You can be loud otherwise? Have you suddenly lost your voice? << you mock while you cross your arms in front of your chest.

>>Want me to repeat it very slowly? Or do you prefer to have it spelled right away? Would it be more understandable then? << you poke a little farther when you hear a snort from behind the young Korean. Not a second later his roommate appears behind him. Jungkook was the younger of the two, that's how much you had picked up at some point. >>Where is the problem again? << he asks and reaps another incredulous snort from you as he peers over Taehyung's shoulder. Just as you're about to answer, the gray-haired one seems to have found his voice again. >>We are too loud for her. << he said slightly dramatically, which only made you feel more angry. >>Once again. << Jungkook noticed with a crooked grin and shrugged his shoulders. Outraged you gasp for air. >>The 'once again' should definitely make you think by now. Also this should be the last time I have to come over to complain. Next time I'll initiate further steps. I am so sick of it. Contrary to yours, my synapses don't wither through looking at the constantly flickering screens. Apart from that, I can give you another helpful advice: << you say and glare angrily at the two young men. >>Have you ever heard of hearing aids? They are small inconspicuous things that you put in your ear and they are not so expensive. Then you don't have to yell at each other like that to communicate with each other. Maybe you should seriously consider a purchase. << With that you turn around, go back to your apartment and slam the door behind you into the lock. Now that you've been able to vent your anger, it's slowly being overshadowed again by the re-emerging fatigue. You yawn heartily and shuffle back to your bed. When you get there, you fall face first back into the soft pillows. Fortunately, it doesn't take long until you finally fall asleep without a new disturbance.

The next days passed surprisingly without further significant disturbances. Not that you would complain about this development in any way. One evening you had to knock against the wall to put an end to the reappearing volume, but this action was crowned with success, because it had led to the desired silence without resistance.From time to time you've even seen your annoying neighbours outside their gamer's den. This gave rise to some hope that they would do something about the degeneration of their brain cells or at least try to prevent further damage.You, on the other hand, spent the rest of your time learning. The finals were just a few days away and you weren't ready to beat them up just because of the constant noise pollution. Meanwhile there were only two days left until the finals, after that you had finished this semester successfully. Inside you hadn't completely given up hope that the two young men were also distracted by their finals and therefore refrained from screaming at night.

A glance at the clock tells you that it was already 1am. Sighing, you get up from your place at your desk, which had served you as a sleeping place during the last nights, sometimes even involuntarily, and you stagger, rubbing your throbbing temples, towards your bed. Once there, you drop on the mattress with a tired groan and want to make yourself comfortable between your pillows when all your hopes for another quiet night have been dashed. Again. Sometimes you regret moving into this apartment. Since the entire residential complex was a new building, apparently not much value had been placed on thick walls. Unfortunately, this apartment was one of the few affordable ones for your budget. So you had no choice but to complain for the second time this week.

You're exhaling a completely unnerved sound, you get back on your feet and almost storm out of your apartment. Because of your persistent headache, you had even less patience for the two of them. You press the little bell button extremely vigorously while leaving out any accumulated frustration at the innocent door. >>Is someone finally going to open the door? I know you're there. After all, you can’t be overheard. << you grumble at the door. The next blow, which had actually been very unerringly aimed at the door, hit Jungkook's chest with full force when he suddenly opens the door. >>Ouch...<< he sulks at you and rubs the sore spot. >>Stop complaining. That's nothing compared to your noise nuisance. << you hiss and push yourself effortlessly past him, taking advantage of the fact that you took him completely by surprise. He needed a moment to realize that you had just pushed yourself into the apartment. >>Hey, what is this now? You can't just walk in here as you like. That's trespassing. << His statement only elicits an angry snort. >>You just witnessed how I can. Also what you do is noise nuissance, which is by the way not better at all. What do you want to do now? Pull me out by my hair again? << you ask provocatively as you make your way to the living room. Fortunately, this apartment was built just like yours, so you have no problems finding it.

>>Now you've definitely gone too far. A little rest is really not too much to ask for, is it? Just a little bit of silence... << In the living room you finally find a Taehyung who is also surprised. He is sitting cross-legged on the sofa and looks at you with big eyes while the gamepad seems frozen in his hands. Jungkook had stopped in the door frame, probably to block your escape route. However, this one was just of the slightest interest to you. You're looking for something else. Both men were once again dressed in loose sweaters and sweatpants. That's what happened when you had the number of the delivery service on speed dial. Other sports than gaming were probably not considered by either of the two young Koreans. It was a shame, actually, if you thought about it more carefully, because they have pretty faces.

You need a second to find what you were looking for. When you found it, a gloating smile creeps on your lips. You reach behind the TV and pull out all the plugs from the power strip behind it. With the connector strip in your hand, you turn around to the two men again. >>I will take my finals in two days. No, it’s already tomorrow. For days I have been doing nothing besides learning. From morning to evening. As soon as I come home from university, I sit down at my desk and learn. All I need to get some rest in between is my fucking sleep, which I can't get because you two totally ruthless idiots just won't let me. << Angry you look at your neighbors. Taehyung had meanwhile placed the gamepad next to him and was now sitting on the sofa in front of you with slightly spread legs. Jungkook had leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed in front of his chest and looked at you blank. Their much too relaxed reactions only made you more furious, which is why you almost screamed the next words. >>Silence! That’s all I demand. I’m not askng for more. Just a little bit of silence! What is so difficult to understand about it? << The question hangs in the room for a moment. You look back and forth between the two men while your fingers tightly enclose the connector strip.

Before you talk any further, you take a deep breath to stop yelling. >>That's why I'm taking this with me now. So that I get at least a little of the peace and quiet that you ruthless Neanderthals deny me. << frustration follows rage afterwards, which is why you don't even notice how your voice moderates again and now sounds less angry, but completely frustrated and overworked. >>You can pick them up after I’m done with my finals. I just have an immense headache and wish for nothing more than a little sleep before I go on learning. If you would do anything else sometime except sit on the sofa all day and play video games, you might understand. Or maybe you are looking for another hobby or directly a girlfriend. << You can see Jungkook raising an eyebrow slightly mockingly and Taehyung's corners of his mouth curling slightly upwards as you continue speaking. >>A little of dick wetting can do wonders against accumulated frustration. In those two years, the only women I've ever seen here were your mothers. And that's a pretty devastating balance. << Now Taehyung has raised both eyebrows and looks at you amused. But you don't let yourself be distracted anymore and just keep talking. >>But a little advice. Women can only be found out there. They don't come flown into virgin caves on their own to guys who don't even know how to operate a stove, let alone hide under tent sized clothes instead of doing something for themselves. << Innocently you shrug your shoulders. The two men don't look at you anymore, but look at each other, pregnant with meaning, which you can't interpret. >>Good night to you then. << you say briefly tied up and want to leave the living room. But Jungkook didn't move an inch.

"Get out of my way, kid." You grumble, pushing against his chest with your hand, and his torso feels unexpectedly built under your fingertips. He only smirks in response, still not budging. "You really think you can trespass on our property, steal our stuff, and we'd actually let you leave with it?" He chuckles. You feel a presence behind you, and suddenly the strip in your grasp is snatched away, Taehyung proudly waving it around before putting it back in it's rightful place.

"I think all that studying must've gotten to her head, Kookie. She's not thinking properly." Taehyung calls back as he plugs everything back in. "I think you're right. You said you had a headache too, Y/N? Well, as a medical student I know one thing that could get rid of that for you." Jungkook smiles, lifting his hand to cup your cheek, but you smack it away. "Medical student my ass. You never step foot out of this flat, I highly doubt you even attend classes." You scoff, crossing your arms. "He's right though. He's a med student and I'm an educational student. He's gonna be a doctor and I'll be a teacher." Taehyung chimes in, drawing your attention to him.

You laugh loudly, both of them cocking their eyebrows at you. "There is no way that your lack of braincells could handle all of that. Being a doctor and a teacher require hours of studying, which you two clearly don't do since all I hear through these thin walls is you screaming over your stupid games." You smile, still calming down from your laughing fit. "You know, it's really rude to barge in and ridicule us on our passions." Taehyung pouts. "And do you really think we don't get girls?" Jungkook asks, and you nod in response. "I never see any girls come in or out of that door." You reason, and they both laugh. "We don't bring them over here, we go to their place, because we know how thin these walls are thanks to your late night self love sessions." Your smile drops, Taehyung's words sending a chill down your spine. They've heard you? They know what you do on lonely, drunk nights?

"I have to say, your sounds are so sweet, we've been dying to hear them ourselves, calling out our names instead of 'Matt Bomer! Oh my god, Matt'!" He mimics your sounds of pleasure, making your cheeks heat up. "Also, he's gay, you know that, right sweetheart?" Jungkook asks. "That's not the point! He's still a lot hotter than you two ever could be even if you did work out and all that kind of stuff!" You cry, completely flustered. "Whatever you say, darling. The point I'm making is that we're not the losers you think we are and we'd appreciate it if you could keep all of your snide comments and rude remarks to yourself from now on, or we're gonna have to teach you a lesson." Taehyung smirks, throwing his arm around Jungkook's shoulders.

"Teach me a lesson? Really? Don't use that teacher bullshit on me. You guys are a fucking joke. Please move so I can go home and maybe get a few hours of rest?" You ask, stepping up to them, but they stay motionless. "That's actually gonna be a no go, sweetheart." Jungkook says, stepping forward and taking your chin between his fingers, tilting it up so you look him in the eyes. You don't know why, but it's like his presence, the close proximity to him, his actions, everything about this moment has your confidence from before draining out of your body. "I think you need to be a little nicer to us. You said a lot of things about us that are wrong. Why don't we prove her wrong, Tae?" Jungkook asks, looking back at the older male.

The two look at you, their eyes dark, a tint of something almost animalistic, as if they were hungry lions and you were just a small antelope with no chance of surviving. "I think that's a great idea." Taehyung nods in agreement. "What should we prove wrong first? She said we're deaf, we're virgins, we're stupid, out of shape, the list goes on." He rambles. "Maybe we should prove how in shape we are first. What do you say, baby?" Jungkook suggests, grabbing your hand. He guides it under his shirt, your fingers gliding over his hot skin, and to your surprise, it's fairly tough, your hand gliding over the small ridges of his abs, a small gasp escaping his lips as he closes his eyes at the sensation. You bite your lip, embarrassed at how weak you're getting. You always figured they were out of shape, maybe even a bit chunky since all they wore were baggy clothes, but now that you're feeling it for yourself, you desperately wish to see it.

You don't even realize that he's pulled his hand away, your hand still running over his skin, until both of his hands are rested on your hips. He steps a bit closer, walking you backwards a bit until your back hits something warm, another set of arms wrapping around you. Taehyung pulls you close to him, leaning forward, his hot breath fanning over your shoulder. You're so confused by this turn of events that you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. "What is it, Y/N?" Taehyung whispers, his lips ghosting over your skin. "Have you suddenly lost your voice?" He smirks before he kisses your neck. You haven't felt this in a long time, and even though it's your annoying neighbor doing it, you can't help but enjoy it, your eyes closing as your head tilts to the side, giving him more access.

As you relish in the feeling of Taehyung's lips, your breath is taken away by Jungkook's lips crashing onto yours, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You close your eyes, moving to wrap your arms around his neck, giving into them completely. Taehyung's hands move up your torso, cupping your breasts, your back arching involentarily, making your ass press against him. He growls into your skin, teeth grazing against you, which makes you moan into Jungkook's mouth. You haven't been touched like this in so long, it's embarrassing how wet you are already. Taehyung fondles your breasts as Jungkook takes your bottom lip between his teeth, your mouth opening for him.

Jungkook groans as your fingers tangle is his hair, Taehyung grinding against you, and you feel him growing hard against you, Jungkook's own hard on pressing against your thigh. Is this really happening? All you wanted was some decent sleep, yet here you are, sandwiched between your noisy neighbors, letting them ravish you. You definitely weren't expecting this, but you aren't complaining. In fact, you pout when Jungkook pulls away from you, smirking. "I think she's enjoying it, Tae." He says breathily, the older male humming against your neck. "Her cheeks are so pink, it's adorable." He smiles, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek, feeling the warmth radiating from it. "I bet she's wet too. Isn't that right, baby? Mind if I feel?" He tilts his head, and you only whimper in response. "I need a straightforward answer, Y/N. Use your words. Yes or no." He says. "Y-Yes. P-Please." You stutter, much to his amusement. "Good girl."

Jungkook's hand slides lower on your body, cupping your heat through your pajama shorts. As you moan softly, Taehyung decides to try and steal your attention, sucking on your neck harshly, and you're sure it's gonna leave a mark. You don't know who to focus on, but Jungkook makes the decision for you, his hand dipping under your waistband, the feeling of his bare fingers tracing over your slit has you bucking your hips. "Holy crap, how are you this wet already? All we've done is kiss you." He chuckles, truly astonished. "Tae, you gotta feel this."

You whimper as Jungkook's hand leaves you, but it's quickly replaced by Taehyung's, who hums against your neck. "Fuck, such a good girl, so wet for us. What is it, have you actually thought about this happening? Have we ever been on your mind when you played with yourself? I'm not gonna lie, we've thought about you. I know I walked in on Kookie moaning your name while he stroked himself. I think it was one of those nights you were screaming. Isn't that right, Jungkook?" Taehyung's deep voice rings through your ears, his finger tracing large, slow circles around your sensitive bud. You look at Jungkook through hooded lids expectantly. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I couldn't help myself. Your moans just sounded too good, I had to picture that it was me helping you, me making you scream." Jungkook admits, his confession driving you crazy. How many times has he thought of you while rubbing one out? How many times had Taehyung? If you could, would you have come over sooner, making your dirtiest secret a reality?

You've thought about it sure, once or twice, regretfully. You couldn't help it. But to know that they've thought about it to, getting off to the thought of you, it drives you absolutely insane. You push back against Taehyung, grinding on him as your hand traces down, palming Jungkook through his baggy sweatpants, the sweetest, softest sound falling from their lips. "Dirty girl. You wanna touch us? You feel the problem you caused us? I think it's your responsibility to take care of them." Taehyung growls, taking his hand out of your panties and holding it in front of your face. "Open up, sweetheart." He whispers, and you do as he says, opening your mouth for him. He pops his finger into your mouth, your lips wrapping around the digit and your tongue swirling around it, tasting yourself. He moans, Jungkook leaning forward to place soft kisses in your shoulder. "Why don't you put that slutty little mouth of yours to good use, darling? I think it'd do a lot better wrapped around our cocks than talking shit about us." Taehyung chuckles.

The three of you round the couch, the boys sitting down on the couch, looking up at you expectantly as you standing before them. "Well, what are you waiting for, baby? Be a good girl for us and get on your knees." Jungkook smirks cockily at you, sending your heart aflutter. You do as he says, dropping to your knees and kneeling on the ground in front of them. As your eyes scan over the tents in their sweatpants you lick your lips, eager to get to work. You move closer, your hands reaching out to palm both of them through the fabric, a simultaneous moan sending another wave of need through you. They shift, pulling their pants down enough for their cocks to spring out, and your breath is taken away. Taehyung's is longer and thicker, but Jungkook's is pretty with a nice little curve to it. You desperately want them in you, but you know you have to give them something first.

You spit into your hand, their eyes widening at the lewd action, before you bring your hand to Taehyung's length, a deep sigh spilling from his soft lips as you wrap your hand around him, pumping him slowly as you grab hold of Jungkook's. As you get closer to him, his breath starts quickening, the excitement of finally being able to see your pretty lips around him making him slightly nervous. Your tongue pokes out, flicking over his tip as you make eye contact with him, a shiver running through his body. Inch by inch you take him into your mouth, bobbing on him while continuing to pump Taehyung, whose long fingers are tangling in your hair, guiding you on Jungkook's cock. When he hits the back of your throat you gag, a loud moan ringing out from him as your throat contracts around him. You suck it up, tears filling your eyes as you continue to take him in as much as you can, wanting to hear as many of his moans as you can. "Y/N, fuck. Tae, I'm not gonna last long." Jungkook whimpers, his hips moving instinctively as he slowly thrusts into your mouth.

"It's okay, Kookie. Are you getting close? You wanna cum?" Taehyung cooes, brushing Jungkook's hair out of his face. "Y-Yes. Oh fuck. Baby, keep going like that, please." Jungkook begs you, and you happily comply, even picking up the pace. You moan around him, his thighs shaking under your grasp. At this point you've kind of forgotten about pumping Taehyung, knowing you'll make it up to him, but you're too focused on how fucked out Jungkook looks already. His head leaning against the back of the couch, lips parted, eyes shut tight, face flushed, and knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the couch.

A string of incomprehensible sounds tumbles from his mouth along with loud whines and moans. "Y/N, baby, oh god." He whimpers, his legs trembling. You swirl your tongue around him, your drool spilling from your mouth, lewd slurping sounds echoing off the walls, but you don't care. The only thing you care about in this moment is driving him over the edge, and with one more flick of your tongue, that's exactly what you do, his salty cum filling your mouth, and you swallow every drop.

"What a good girl. I think she deserves a reward, don't you think, Kookie?" Taehyung asks, brushing your hair out of your face. Jungkook nods, his face still flushed. "Why don't you get on the floor, Jungkook, and lay down. Sweetheart, your knees might hurt a bit, but I promise we'll make it up to you." Taehyung orders, Jungkook laying down on the plush carpet. "Now Y/N, stand up for a moment." He says, standing up. You rise to meet him, anxious to find out what he's going to command next. The way he's taking control over the situation, even telling Jungkook what to do, has you dripping. His fingers grip the hem of your shirt, peeling it off your body, next off is your bra, his eyes lingering over your bare breasts before kneeling before you, his skin fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts and panties. He kisses your stomach as he slides the material down your legs, letting them pool onto the floor as he admires you.

You start to feel nervous under their gaze, rocking on your heels anxiously. "Fuck, you're more beautiful than I dreamed. I can't wait until we make you ours. But first-" Taehyung says, standing up. His large hand reaches around your body, gripping the supple flesh of your ass. His thumb runs over your soft lips, his tongue running over his own. "I wanna feel what Jungkook felt. I wanna know how good your slutty mouth is for myself. Now, kneel above Jungkook's face and open your mouth for Daddy. Understand?" He whispers, the nickname making you shudder. You nod, but that doesn't seem to be enough for him. "Say it, sweetheart. Use your words." He cooes, a soft whimper coming from Jungkook on the floor. "Yes, Daddy." You nod, a low groan coming from his throat. "Good girl. Now get on your knees for us."

You comply, standing over Jungkook and sinking to your knees, his hands rubbing your thighs soothingly. Taehyung stands in front of you, and you realize why he chose to do this. With Jungkook on the floor beneath you and Taehyung standing in front of you, if you sit up straight your face is level with Taehyung's cock. You gasp as you feel cool air blown onto your core, gripping onto Taehyung's thighs for support as your legs shake. "So sensitive. Tell us, baby, when's the last time someone else touched you." Jungkook says, his finger tracing over your slit as he watches it glisten with your slick. "Uh, I think, I think it was my l-last boyfriend, Hoseok." You stutter, trying really hard to remember. "And how long ago was that?" "Maybe four months ago?" You recall the last time you slept with him, the night you broke up. "That's too long, baby. You should've come to us sooner. We would've gladly helped you out. I promise we're gonna treat you right. Plus, we're gonna make sure your perception of us changes." Jungkook says.

With that last thought, Jungkook wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you down onto his mouth as he flattens his tongue onto you, licking up your slit. "Oh fuck." You whine, gripping onto Taehyung's sweatpants. "Come on, sweetheart, open up for me." He cooes, holding his throbbing cock in his hand. As Jungkook's tongue dips past your folds, flicking against your clit, your thighs tremble in his grasp as your mouth hangs open, Taehyung taking the opportunity to slide into your mouth, your moan sending a vibration through him. "Jesus fuck, sweetheart. No wonder Kookie came so fast." He groans. "Just keep your mouth open for me. You don't need to do anything. Just let me fuck your mouth while Jungkook tongue fucks you." You hum in approval around him as his hips move slowly, thrusting himself deeper into your mouth.

Jungkook's mouth works on you, alternating between sucking on your clit and burying his tongue into your hole, the wet muscle wiggling around and making you moan around Taehyung's cock. Taehyung holds your hair, keeping you in place as he fucks himself into your mouth, groaning deeply each time he goes too far, making you gag around him. Your hips move against Jungkook, his nose nudging against your bud each time you grind against him, sending a new wave of pleasure through you. You're embarrassed at how close you are to cumming, but you can't really focus on caring, only focusing on taking Taehyung and feeling Jungkook. One of your hands rested on Taehyung's thigh as your other tangled in Jungkook's hair, tugging gently each time he did something right, making him moan and send vibrations straight through you.

"Fuck sweetheart, you swallow my cock so well. It feels so good." Taehyung moans, and you look up at him, making eye contact. "How can you look so innocent with a cock in your mouth? You're so perfect, sweetheart, I can't wait to fill up that pretty pussy of yours and- fuck- and fi-ll it up all nice with- our- shit-" Taehyung's sentence breaks up, his voice cracking as his thrusts get sloppy, doubling over as he spills into your mouth. He tastes a bit sweet thank Jungkook, but it seems like there's a bit more for some reason. Once he pulls out you swallow, and once your mouth is empty you moan loudly as Jungkook fervently laps at your clit.

Taehyung kneels down to your level, and you instantly wrap your arms around him as you grind against Jungkook. He holds onto you, kissing your face and your neck as you moan for them. "You sound heavenly, sweetheart. Is Kookie doing a good job? Are you gonna cum all over his tongue soon?" He cooes, his hands roaming over your body. You nod, feeling the end rapidly approaching. "J-Jun-ko-mmm-" You whine, your body trembling. Taehyung bites down on your neck as Jungkook sucks on your clit harshly, sending you over the edge.

Jungkook gathers every little bit on his tongue, reveling in your sweet taste before patting your thigh. Taehyung hears it, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you up to stand. Jungkook gets up, standing behind you. He grabs your arm, spinning you around to face him and before you know it, his lips coming crashing down onto yours, his tongue immediately sliding into your mouth, and you can taste your essence. You've never been kissed with such hunger and need before, you moan into his mouth as you enjoy the feeling of really being needed and wanted.

"Sweetheart, why don't you go to my room and wait for us on the bed? It's the room on the left. I want you to lay down on your back with your legs spread nice and pretty, with your arms above your head. Got it?" Taehyung whispers in your ear. Jungkook pulls away from you, leaving you breathless. You nod, excitedly bounding to the room you were instructed. Taehyung and Jungkook watch as your hips sway, groaning simultaneously at how much they wanted you.

You climb onto the bed, laying how Taehyung instructed, wondering what they have in store for you. You wait anxiously, the thought of what could happen making you aroused again. They finally appear in the doorway, Jungkook's hands behind his back. "Look at that, Jungkook. She's so obedient for us already. All spread out for us." They stalk towards the bed, Taehyung by your lower half and Jungkook up by your head. Taehyung moves so he's sitting between your legs, your knees resting on his thighs. His hands run along your thighs, the gentle touch making you squirm. "What is it, sweetheart? Already horny again? After Jungkook just made you cum? Such a greedy little slut you are. Don't worry, you'll get what you need. Jungkook, go ahead." Taehyung hums, and you raise your eyebrow in confusion. You feel something wrap around your wrists, binding them together tightly. You try to pull them apart, but you can't, your struggle useless.

"So pretty." Taehyung cooes, his finger tracing over your slit, sending a shiver through you. "If we're gonna make you ours, we have to prepare you." He smirks, slipping a finger inside of you. You clench around him, having something inside of you feeling amazing. He quickly adds a second finger, pumping in and out. As his fingers work on you, Jungkook's hand runs from your shoulder to your breast, rubbing it gently. "Y/N, how many fingers have you taken before?" Taehyung asks. "Ah, um, two." You reply. "Well, how about we try three then?" He smirks, adding another finger inside of you. You gasp, the stretch heavenly. He curls them inside of you, his long fingers reaching deep inside of you, the heel of his palm grinding against your previously ignored clit.

"You know, you complained about how we plays games all the time, but do you realize how much gaming helps in situations like this?" Jungkook chimes in. "You see, with all the controls, our fingers have to move fast." At those words, Taehyung's fingers move faster inside of you. "Also, each hand is moving simultaneously, so it's easy to do more than one thing at a time." Taehyung's other hand moves closer, his thumb pressing down onto your clit, your body jolting at the direct contact.

The stretch of his fingers combined with his thumb working on you drives you over the edge faster than you care to admit, your walls squeezing his fingers, but he doesn't stop after helping you ride out your high. You whine loudly at the overstimulation, his hands possibly moving even faster. You gasp and shake your head, your toes curling and your legs spasming uncontrollably. "No no no no-mmmm-no no." You whimper, a tear rolling down your cheek. "No? You don't want this? I think you do, sweetheart. Just one more, come on. Cum all over Daddy's fingers just one more time." Taehyung growls. "D-Da-ddy! Fuck fuck fuuu-" You cry out, desperately wishing to grip onto something. Jungkook reaches down, pushing down just above your pelvis, and your vision goes white, screaming as you're taken over by pleasure.

This time Taehyung stops, a warm wetness covering your lower half. "No fucking way. It actually worked." Jungkook says breathily. You catch your breath, finally able to look down at what happened. You see Taehyung sitting there, breathing heavily with a devious smirk on his face, his sweater and pants soaked. "You ever squirt before, sweetheart?" He smiles. You shake your head, closing your eyes and laying your head back. "Well, then I guess that makes us special." Taehyung teases.

Both of them get up, and you watch as they strip from their clothes. You lick your lips, surprised by how built they both are. You felt Jungkook's body, but now seeing both of them standing before you, you wonder how they got like that. "We do leave our house, you know. We have gym memberships." Jungkook smirks, noticing your stare. You think about that for a moment, how sexy they'd look, all sweaty. "Baby, you think you can stand up for a minute?" Taehyung asks. You try, your legs wobbling, and Jungkook catches you. "I don't think so." He chuckles. "Well then, I guess we'll just have to hold her up." Taehyung smirks.

After some awkward shuffling, giggles, and slips, you're all situated so Taehyung is laying on the bed, holding onto your legs, and Jungkook stands in front of you, also holding onto you, keeping you hovered over Taehyung's standing cock. "Tae, I've got a hold of her. You're gonna have to help me, ugh-" "Don't worry, Kookie. No homo, right?" Taehyung chuckles. You wonder what they're talking about, but you realize when Jungkook gasps, and realize Taehyung is guiding Jungkook's length to line up with your entrance. He pushes into you, both of you moaning together as relief floods over you.

"How is it, Kookie?" Taehyung asks. "So- so so so fucking good." Jungkook moans, his head falling to rest against your shoulder. "Perfect. Alright, Y/N, this may hurt a little bit, but we'll go slow so you can get used to it. You ready?" Taehyung's hand rubs over your back soothingly. "P-Please. Just do it. I want it." You squeak, much to his surprise. "You want it that bad, huh? You want both of us to fill you up? How bad do you want it, baby. Tell Daddy how much you want it." As Taehyung talks, Jungkook stays still, relishing in the warm feeling of you pussy pulsing around him. Taehyung grabs his cock, nudging where you and Jungkook are connected. "So bad, Daddy. Please. I want it so bad." You beg.

Your arms fly around Jungkook's neck, wrists still tied together, as Taehyung pushes into you. He was right, it hurts a bit, stretching you out more than you've ever been before. You cry out, Jungkook shushing you. "Sh, hey, hey, sweetheart, look at me." He cooes. You look at him with tear filled eyes, breaking his heart. "It's okay, princess. I promise it'll get better. You're so good for us. We'll take care of you." Jungkook whispers soothingly to you, kissing your tears away. Once Taehyung is all the way in, all three of you sit there, not moving, them allowing you to get used to it. Taehyung rubs your back as Jungkook peppers your face with tender kisses.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Taehyung asks. You nod, still holding on to Jungkook tightly. "Jungkook." You whisper. "Yes, baby, what is it?" He asks, nudging your nose with his. "Please take this off. I don't want this on anymore. Please." You beg, moving your arms to show him what you mean and grabbing Taehyung's attention. "Kookie, untie her." He says, and Jungkook nods, reaching behind him and untying it with one hand expertly. As soon as you're freed you grab onto Jungkook, holding him tightly with one hand tangled in his hair. "You know, we probably should've done that before we got into this position." Jungkook chuckles. "Dude, we never think ahead." Taehyung responds and you giggle softly, shaking your head.

"Alright, I think I'm good." You nod, biting your lip. "You sure?" Jungkook asks, and you nod again. "Alright. I'm moving then." Jungkook says. The feeling of him sliding out of you, while you're still full of Taehyung, is completely indescribable. You moan softly and you feel him rub against your walls, the sweetest moan ringing through your ears from him. As he pushes back in, Taehyung pulls out, starting an unspoken synchronization that has you moaning uncontrollably, gripping onto Jungkook as right as you can as they bounce you on their cocks.

"Fuck, sweetheart. You're squeezing around us so well. You like it when we fuck you like this? Stretching out your pretty little pussy?" Taehyung growls from behind you. "Yes! Yes I fucking love it!" You cry, your breath quickening. "That's our little cock slut. Such a good girl for us. Now, do you take back everything you said about us?" He asks. "Fuck, yes! I'm sorry!" You shout, burying your face in Jungkook's neck. "Good girl. Such a good girl for Daddy and Kookie." Taehyung hums.

You start to place hot, open mouthed kissed on Jungkook's neck, nipping at it softly, and it's like that flipped a switch for him. "Fuck it, Tae, hold her. I need her to cum right now." Jungkook grunts. Taehyung takes hold of your leg as Jungkook frees one of his arms, bringing it lower. "Wha-ah!" You moan, his fingertips pressing harshly into your clit. "Oh man, holy shit!" Jungkook gasps, the pressure from his fingers making you clench around them. "Shit, Kook, keep doing that." Taehyung growls, both of them still thrusting in and out of you. "You look so good like this, baby. You're so lost in pleasure, I bet you won't even remember your name after this, huh? But you'll remember ours. Say our names, baby girl. Tell everyone in the building whose fucking you so well, stretching your pussy out, whose gonna make you cum so hard we'll have to carry you home tomorrow morning. Say it. Say our names." Jungkook says, leaving you in absolute shock. How the hell did he switch so fast?

"D-Daddy! Jungkook!" You scream out, a pleased smirk on Jungkook's face. "That's right, baby. Now, you wanna cum for us? Be a good girl and give us one more. Squeeze our cocks. Make us fill you up and make you a complete mess. Come on." He cooes, rubbing your clit even faster. "Oh, oh fuck oh fuck fuck fu-" Your cries are interrupted by your own moan, your end hit you like a freight train. "Shit shit shi-it!" Jungkook whimpers, Taehyung only growling as you squeeze around them, setting off their own orgasms. They spill into you, your pussy clenching and milking them for all their worth. They ride out the highs, fucking their cum into you before finally pulling out, laying you down and resting beside you.

"Holy shit." Taehyung breathes, all of you panting. All you can do is smile and nod, completely satisfied. You lay there, wondering if all of that really happened, or if you were actually just sleeping in your apartment. However, the warmth radiating off of the two sweaty men next to you proves it's real, especially as Jungkook turns, facing you and rubbing your thighs soothingly while Taehyung places kisses on your cheek. "Wait." Jungkook gasps, sitting up and looking at you both in shock. "We actually, like, you know. Are you in the pill or anything?" He asks. You didn't even think of that. "Uh, no, I'm not. I'm sorry. I should've thought of that. I'm so sorry." You apologize, feeling stupid. "Sh, no no no, baby, it's not your fault. We should've thought about it to. We're sorry." Jungkook cooes, holding you close to him. "I'm not." Taehyung chimes in, and you both turn to look at him in horror. "Tae, what if she gets pregnant? What's going to happen with all of us?" Jungkook asks. "Then we get a bigger apartment. Honestly, I kinda hope she gets pregnant." Taehyung smiles. "Not gonna lie, impregnation is one of my biggest kinks. Just imagine it, Kookie, her walking around with our babies inside of her. She'd be so beautiful. I mean, just look at her now. All filled with our cum. Look, there's so much it's even dripping out." He's right. You can feel it dripping, you've just ignored it.

Jungkook stays silent, only licking his lips. "And if she does get pregnant, then that just means she'll be ours for sure. What do you say, Y/N? Do you want to be ours?" Taehyung asks, rubbing your cheek. You nod, the idea of being in a relationship with them making you all kinds of excited. "That's great!" He smiles. "Y/N." Jungkook says, catching your attention. "Are you really okay with this?" He asks, and you nod. "I love you so much, Y/N. We love you so much and we're gonna take extra special care of you and appreciate you and all that kinda stuff." Jungkook smiles, placing quick pecks all over your face and neck, making you giggle. "You'll stay with us tonight, right?" Taehyung asks, snuggling up behind you. "Well, I don't think I can really walk home." You giggle. "Well then, I'd say we did a damn good job." He smirks, holding you close. Laying there, cuddled by your noisy neighbors, now lovers, you wonder how so much could've changed in just a few hours. You're not complaining though. Before you drift off to sleep, you imagine how interesting your life will be from now on.

[iturbide]

Gustav wasn’t exactly my favorite person, but gdi the whole “stern dad that actually ends up caring in the end” thing is probably one of my favorite tropes. RIP Gustav.

I zonked out really early last night and waking up to this ask in my inbox had me really confused until I remembered oh yeah new Heroes and new chapter drop today

I’m really glad there are people out there who like that trope though because I’ll be honest?

I hate it. 

I hate it a lot. 

I have been a seething ball of rage since finishing so I apologize profusely in advance but there’s going to be a lot of ranting under the cut. 

So I’ve actually seen a lot of really interesting posts cross my dash today regarding Gustav, namely Avistella’s break-down of how he could have been a good character and jejecchi’s two part speculative analysis based on the full chapter in hindsight.  And they both make good points!  As a character, Gustav is certainly interesting, and I do respect him – but I can also respect Frederick and Validar as characters, and I think I’ve made it clear in the past exactly how I feel about them both. 

And the issue that I have with Gustav is very much about the choices he made.  We haven’t known him in person for long, but we’ve certainly heard about him in the past two books, and what we’ve learned paints a troubling picture: Alfonse states outright in Book Two Chapter 4 (Fiery Resolve) that he and his father had a falling out over Alfonse’s choice to join the Order: 

In fact, when I decided to join the Order of Heroes…there were many who opposed that choice. My father is one of them. He was very angry with me. He still won’t see me when I’m at the royal residence…

That’s an incredibly harsh response to someone who is only trying to do their part in helping the people they’ll someday rule.  He clearly never explained what his problem was with Alfonse joining the order, either, clearly demonstrating that Gustav is a man who demands obedience, rather than giving his children reasons why.  And that’s extremely troubling to me, because it heavily implies that Gustav is an emotionally neglectful parent at the very best (and possibly an abusive one, at worst).

And then we get to Book 3, and it gets infinitely worse.  Gustav himself gives absolutely no indication that he cares for his children: only Henriette does at the start of Book 3 Chapter 2 (The Dread Gate), and is then chided for it:

Gustav: Son.Alfonse: Father… It has been some time since we have spoken. I am honored to be invited to this audience.Gustav: And?Alfonse: Er…Henriette: Oh, Alfonse! Don’t be nervous. He’s missed you so much! It’s been far too long.Gustav: Henriette… Please, be discreet.Henriette: My mistake!

What’s worse, though, is that this chapter shows in unmistakable terms how harsh a father Gustav is, even when his children obey his orders.  At the start of the chapter, he tells Alfonse that protecting the people is their top priority: 

Gustav: We must stop them. No injury can befall our people. Do you understand, my son?Alfonse: Yes, Father. I will not fail you.

But when the Order comes across Hel’s army marching toward a defenseless Askran town and attempt to delay them until the main army arrives, Gustav’s response is not one of pride:

Gustav: I’ve heard about what happened here. Why would you take such a foolish risk?Alfonse: The people…Sharena: Father, we—we had to protect—Gustav: I was speaking to your brother, Sharena.Sharena: Yes, sir.Alfonse: The enemy was on the march. The town had no defenses… We had to do what we could to stop them, so I came up with a plan.Gustav: You thought you could face an army? Hardly. If you had miscalculated even slightly, you’d be dead now. Dead, Alfonse.Alfonse: Yes, Father. That is so.Gustav: I commend the Order of Heroes for its victory over Múspell. There is something you need to understand, however. You are not a Hero, Alfonse. You need not be amidst them, waving your sword about. Your place is elsewhere.

Gustav: You are moved to save people. Is that it? But a king’s duty is not to rescue those he sees in front of him… A king’s domain holds thousands. Protecting each and every one of them—that is the duty of a king. I am not sure you are capable of that—not yet, at any rate.Alfonse: I…I can’t… No, I am not ready, so I… While you reign—I thought I could help the people.Gustav: And if I die? You would be king. Are you ready to rule Askr?Alfonse: I… No, I am not. Not yet. I am no match for you, Father.Gustav: And if you died in battle, what then? The time I have left is shorter than you realize. I will die one day, and it will be sooner than you think. What will that day mean for Askr and its people?Alfonse: I… They…Gustav: Your life is not that of a swordsman rushing to the rescue. Your role is to lead this land and its people. If you can only comprehend the suffering that is right in front of your face… Then your compassion has its limits. You are far from ready to be king.

Alfonse did exactly what his father told him to.  He put the lives of the people first.  And Gustav not only chides him for it while completely changing the context of his original order, he does it publicly, in front of the entire Order (and won’t even let Sharena speak, which is on another level of cruelty entirely).  So Gustav has not only berated Alfonse for following his initial orders exactly, he has placed all the blame on his son rather than admitting that he gave poor guidance.  Again, this points to a worrisome pattern of psychologically abusive behavior. 

Now, I fully believe that Gustav cares about Alfonse, and always has: at the start of Book 3 Chapter 3 (Countdown), he specifically warns his son not to engage Hel, and to run should he see her.  But the way he demonstrates his affection in most cases is extremely problematic.  He takes an authoritarian approach in his interactions with Alfonse, trying to mold him through what amounts to ‘tough love, but offers no support, no guidance, no clear examples or explanations for exactly what he wants.  In hindsight, this distance he has placed between himself and his children may be a consequence of how he lost his own father in his youth – but that by no means excuses the behavior.  Frankly, it makes things worse because it shows how selfish he is: in order to spare himself the pain of a possible loss, he made the choice to raise Alfonse and Sharena this way, to give them little to no emotional support, to demand complete obedience without explanation, to provide no guidance that could mold his heir into the king that he so clearly wants Alfonse to be based on his harsh criticisms from the end of “The Makings of a King.”

And then, of course, we get to A King’s Worth. 

It’s very likely that Gustav made the decision from the outset to give his life in order to save Alfonse.  His dialogue in the opening of “No Cheating Death” is very striking in that he never states explicitly that his son is the one who will die: 

Gustav: So you have been cursed by Hel.Alfonse: I disobeyed you, Father.  I am sorry.Anna: If I may, your majesty…the attack was sudden.  Our scouts never even saw her.  They appeared suddenly, like ghosts…we had no chance to disengage. Gustav: Your mistake was setting foot on the battlefield at all.  This is the consequence of Alfonse’s rashness. Alfonse: Father…I’m so sorry.Gustav: Hel…she claimed my father’s life, too…there are no options left, Alfonse.  There is no escaping her curse. Henriette: Gustav!  This is our son’s life you’re talking about!Gustav: Henriette, please, listen.  All of you must listen to what I say now.  The royal family of Askr, our family, has suffered a loss.  We must accept that and move forward. Sharena: Father!  You can’t mean that!  Alfonse is alive!  He’s right here beside you!  There must be something we can do…Gustav: Death will not be turned away.Sharena: We can’t know that unless we try!Gustav: Enough.  I will rejoin my forces.  I must consider our next move. Sharena: Father…Alfonse: I have failed you, Father.  I am sorry.  But until the moment I die, I will continue to seek a means of defeating Hel.  My only hope is that, in the time I have left, I can find some way to be of use…Gustav: Very well.

Now, in the moment everyone understandably jumps to the conclusion that he’s talking about Alfonse.  But aside from his rather customary harsh beratement, he is evasive in his terminology, saying that the royal family of Askr has suffered a loss, rather than saying that they’ve lost an heir or anything similar.  But you know what else he does?  He leaves.  He doesn’t stay with his son, he doesn’t offer any comfort to this young man who believes himself fated for death – he just leaves, allowing Alfonse to believe himself a failure and desperately seeking a way to atone, despite the fact that he is almost certainly going to be putting his life at greater risk in the process. 

And then we get to the post-chapter moment of “Wolfskin Family,” the first moment where we see a true glimpse of something more like traditional parental affection from Gustav as he privately meets his son: 

Gustav: Son.Alfonse: Hello, Father.Gustav: This isn’t a social call, Alfonse.  I am on my way to a conference with my knights. Alfonse: I understand.  If you have no objection, however, I’d gladly guard you ‘til you join up with the army. Gustav: There is no need.  Am I so infirm that I must lean on my son’s arm? Alfonse: M-my apologies. Gustav: *sigh* Do you remember this, Alfonse?Alfonse: A dead branch?  It looks quite old…no, I don’t remember it. Gustav: I see.  Well, never mind.  Do not concern yourself over me.  I will rendezvous with my forces. Alfonse: Father, wait.  Please, let me–Gustav: I told you, boy.  There is no need.  Worry about your own skin. Alfonse: My apologies.  Again.  What was that branch, I wonder?

I was admittedly shocked going through this section because of the softness in Gustav’s expression as he talks about that branch.  I have no doubt that it has some sentimental value, likely something associated with Alfonse.  But equally striking to me is how Gustav treats his son immediately before and after that: First he snaps at Alfonse for wanting to accompany his father and spend some of what little time he has left with a man he deeply admires and knows so poorly (and while Gustav may have been attempting to joke, Alfonse’s immediate deference proves that it was poorly done – and then rather than apologize while he has a chance, he just sighs and presses on); and then snapping at him again, patronizingly calling him boy and telling him to worry about his own skin – and once again chasing him off and leaving him apologizing profusely as though wanting to spend time with his father is some offense. 

And then there’s “Death’s Arrival.”  Once again, we see this brief moment where Gustav shows something that looks like parental affection as he seeks Alfonse out, likely knowing that this will be the last chance he has to spend time with his son, and tries to prepare him for what’s to come:

Alfonse: *sigh*Gustav: Alfonse.Alfonse: Father!Gustav: It’s today, isn’t it…were you able to find a way to dispel Hel’s curse in time? Alfonse: No.  I have no excuse for what has befallen me. Gustav: Do not apologize, my son.  We knew this day would come.  There is no escaping death.  Alfonse…stay close to me today.  Keep your allies close, too.  When the curse comes due, I expect Hel to appear and pluck the life from your paralyzed body herself…Alfonse: Giving us a chance to strike. Gustav: No.  You cannot kill Death.  Even if we attack her then, she will not fall.  However, we may catch a glimpse of something…a weakness, perhaps, that will lead to her downfall. Alfonse: I understand.  I will do as you command, Father.  Even though I die, it may not be for nothing.  I hope so, anyway.  I am sure you will defeat her, Father, or perhaps Kiran.  I will hold fast to that hope. 

Not only that, we even see what could be construed as a moment of self-reflection: 

Alfonse: Father…heh.Gustav: Is something amusing? Alfonse: Ah!  I’m sorry.  I’m just reflecting on something Mother told me.  She said that, in your youth, you were much like me. Gustav: Did she, now?  I must admit it.  Wet behind the ears, I was.  Weapon in hand, I traveled the realms, always ready for battle…I was no different than you, it is true.  Yet look at me now, lecturing you…Alfonse: You misunderstand me, Father.  I was happy to hear that I put Mother in mind of you.  As for your concern and your guidance…they mean everything to me. Gustav: *sigh*Alfonse: Today is the day I will die.  I have failed in my duty as your successor.  That is my deepest regret.  Yet to be able to speak so frankly with you here and now…I am overjoyed. Gustav: Alfonse…

It’s heartbreaking to see how much this brief contact means to Alfonse, how starved he is for parental affection.  And even Gustav seems to notice this, given how he sighs at his son’s heartfelt confession.  But though he has an opportunity, he offers to encouragement to his son.  He does not tell Alfonse that he is proud of him.  He holds his tongue, and lets his son resign himself to death with the belief that he is a failure. 

Of course, then comes the climax, when Hel appears to claim Alfonse’s life – and Gustav takes the blow instead. 

Hel: You…shielded him. Gustav: I understand your curse, Hel – it is a curse on the blood of Askr.  That lesson, I learned from my father.  I am Askran royalty, and it is my life that will be added to the numbers of the dead.  The conditions of your curse are fulfilled.  Depart this place, death god. Alfonse: Father? Hel: Fool.  Look at you, awash in sentimentality…what has it cost you?  You have no right to call yourself a king. Gustav: You comprehend nothing. Hel: What? Gustav: My life exists only for the people of this land.  I have never lost sight of that.  Since the day I lost my father…I swore never to forget that duty.  How much longer would I have lived?  My son is young, and he is certainly worthy.  As king, what choice did I have? Hel: So you think this princeling has the makings of a king…then die without regret.  As ruler of the dead, I declare your life at an end. Alfonse: No!Gustav: Alfonse…become a king, my son.

This is the first time we ever hear Gustav speak of his son with any kind of pride.  This is the first time he has ever expressed any kind of approval for Alfonse.  After four chapters of cruelty, this act is supposed to absolve him. 

And it doesn’t.  Because all he was doing was being selfish.  He states outright, in his own words, that this is practicality: he gives his life because his own is short by comparison, and his people are his primary concern.  He claims his duty is to his people, so he forfeits his life for their sake…

…and in so doing, leaves behind the son who he has constantly belittled and accused of being unready to rule with the burden of rule.  He has taken no time to try and teach Alfonse how to be a king, has made no effort to teach him what it takes to rule, he simply abandons his son to this task. 

He is a coward. 

That’s really what it comes down to, as far as I’m concerned: his final act was nothing but pure selfishness, foisting off his duty on his unprepared heir after a lifetime of emotionally distancing himself for his own sake.  He left his children idolizing him in the same way that the Kanas idolize their parents: as distant, unreachable figures – and in the same way, Alfonse has sought so desperately to prove his worth to someone who only in his last moments treated him with anything approaching care.  

I honestly don’t want Gustav to rest in peace.  I want to march straight into Hel and drag him back out to make right the mess he made. 

[wellpresseddaisy]

On queer, because it's only Wednesday and it's already been A Week.

We're here, we're queer, get used to it.

There's been A LOT of "queer is a slur" crossing my dash this week. Posts in general, but also asks. Part of me feels like it's just that people have more time to stir the pot right now.

I cannot express how absolutely disgusted I am to see members of my community go into someone's askbox or notes to scream about queer being a slur. To accuse queer individuals (people who choose and use the term for themselves) of being homophobic. Of ignoring other's trauma and triggers.

This is akin to you (if you engage in this type of revolting behavior) slithering through someone's mail slot to be appallingly rude about their paint choices. Or hopping up onto their porch and taking a crap on their welcome mat.

You are invalidating someone's identity. You are being the phobic one. We have enough people outside the community wanting us gone. We don't need it inside the community as well.

Queer has been here for a long time. We were queer before we were lesbian or gay or bisexual or trans or nonbinary or ace or aro. We will still be queer no matter what. Because queer is resistance. Queer won't be put in a neat box.

If you do engage in such revolting behavior, I would recommend you do some reading that's not tumblr. I have a wonderful resource to get you started from the Unitarian Universalist Asssociation: https://www.uua.org/lgbtq/identity/queer

One of the most important points is here:

"If you personally have negative associations with the word queer, find ways to open yourself to new understandings of the word. Do personal, gentle, deep work in order to honor and respect those who use queer to describe themselves."

This is not what you are doing when you scream at someone that their identity is a slur. If someone's chosen identity triggers you to a point that you just have to lash out at them, then you have work to do. You are making a you problem a them problem. That's not okay.

No one in the community will label you queer without your consent. When we talk about the queer community, we are talking about the community of people who label themselves that way. Some of us will use it as shorthand for the LGBTQ community since that's what we called ourselves when we were coming out.

You'll see queer history and queer theory being talked about in academic spaces. That's for a really good reason. We can't impose our understanding of identity on someone who did not share that framework. It would be academically dishonest. And we chose those words. When the first Queer Studies departments were opening, they weren't opened by straight people. Our community built those places and decided on the name. It wasn't imposed on us, it was shared by us.

So please, do your homework. Learn about our history before you spout off. You're hurting people. People you could choose to learn from, instead.

And if you have so much baggage around one word that you want it gone, maybe consider that the entire community doesn't answer to you. And that you need to do some work within yourself.

One last note: consider your sources. Are these people who engage in the TERF community? Are they exclusionists? Are they wrapped up in Respectability Politics? Any one of these groups would love to see queer squished out of existence. Just, consider very carefully where your information is coming from.

[everlastingcaptainswan]

Seven Encounters (Modern Royalty AU) 

I have a couple of the chapters already written out, so I'll be posting pretty quick at first. Enjoy!

summary: It took seven times for Emma Nolan to realize she loved His Royal Highness Prince Killian, but it only took him two times to realize he would chase her to the ends of this earth. 

Ao3 

FF

The Second Encounter 

He’s nervous. Killian fought hard to be sent here, but he’s still nervous. His father couldn’t understand why he wanted to go. It was a simple diplomatic mission, anyone could go. Killian told him that it was a sensitive situation and it needed the delicate touch he could provide. That seemed to do the trick and the King said he could go and the Prime Minister was thrilled to send him because it meant he didn’t have to send someone from his office to replace the ambassador who was currently in the hospital recovering from a heart attack.

Killian is on his way to the White House to advise Madam President on the potentially dangerous situation between India and Pakistan. As kids Killian and Liam were tutored on all countries where there were colonies and have extensive knowledge on the area and it’s politics. After the ambassador, Killian is the next best choice.

Now he’s sitting on the Royal family’s jet speeding towards Washington D.C. and all he can think about is Emma Nolan. Killian knows she’ll be there. He wants to see her, she’s all he has been able to think of for months. He hopes to see her, but don’t know if he will. For now he can’t think of her though he has to focus on the situation at hand.

Prince Killian is met at the White House the next day by The President’s chief of staff, Ruby Lucas.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Your Royal Highness,” she says with a broad smile.

“It’s lovely to meet you, but please it’s Killian. Your Royal Highness is too formal,” he jokes. They move into the lobby of the White House.

“First time at the White House?” she asks and he nods looking around, “I don’t have time to give you a tour, but follow me to my office.” He nods and follows her through several rooms full of offices and cubicles with people hard at work. They make it to her office and she shuts the door.

“Now the President is currently in the situation room, but as soon as she returns she will see you. Until then please take a seat and feel free to ask my secretary, Ashley for anything and everything you need. I have to join the President now. Make yourself comfortable,” Ruby explains at top speed before dashing out of the room. Killian sits on the couch and waits and waits. Finally about twenty minutes later Ruby returns.

“Alright she’s ready to see you now,” Ruby says. Killian stands and follows her out of the room. Ruby opens a door that Killian thought was a closet, but turns out to be an entrance to the Oval Office. He’s still in shock slightly, it’s one thing to see it in pictures, but another thing altogether to see it in person. President Nolan stands and walks over to him.

“Prince Killian, it’s nice to see you again. Thank you so much for coming,” she says with grace. He shakes her hand.

“It’s no trouble, Madam President. We’re going to be working together rather closely, so please call me Killian,” he smiles.

“Then I insist you call me Mary. Please take a seat” she says and gestures at the couches. Ruby and Mary sit on one couch and Killian on the other.

“Mary, your chief of staff told me that you were in the situation room, so please tell me what you know so I can be of some assistance to you,” he says. The President automatically launches into telling him everything she can about the current situation and he listens.

--&--

Emma knows he’s in the building. That’s all anyone will talk about. Part of her wants to see him again, but the other part of her doesn’t. Once she sees him he’ll want to talk and that will probably lead to them kissing or more.

She’s been trying to put him, that kiss, out of her head for months now and it doesn’t help the fact that now not only is he in the same country as her, but in the same damn building. She’ll have to avoid the West Wing today and hope he doesn’t come over to the East Wing.

--&--

Mary and Killian’s conversation goes late into the day with interruptions throughout. Ideas are thrown out, some good and some bad. Killian advises to the best of his abilities and they finally take a break when the sun goes down. The president’s secretary, whom everyone calls Granny, pokes her head in.

“Ma’am, your husband called to remind you of dinner,” she says with a disapproving look.

“I completely forgot. Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes,” Mary tells her secretary. Her attention turns to Killian.

“Please join us for dinner. When an update comes in on a situation you’ll still be in the building,” she argues.

“I wouldn’t want to impose on your dinner,” he says unsure of why she’s so adamant on having him for dinner.

“It’s not and if you need extra incentive Emma will be there,” she says with an all too knowing smirk. That absolutely gets his attention.

“I gladly accept your invitation then,” he says and a grin crosses her face.

“Very well then follow me,” Mary says. They stand and Mary exits the Oval Office through the portico doors. They walk toward the residence and into the dining room. Seated at the table are David and Emma Nolan.

“You brought a guest,” David says as him and his daughter stand.

“That I did. It’s going to be a long night, so I invited him to dinner,” Mary smiles and kisses her husband. Emma and Killian finally make eye contact.

“Emma, lovely to see you again,” Killian says with a smile.

“Your Royal Highness, it’s nice to see you again,” she says curtly. Of course her mother invited him to dinner. Emma should have seen this one coming a mile away. Her mother is the biggest meddler she knows. So, naturally she invites Killian to come to dinner. About a month after they came back Mary started asking about Killian and Emma denied that anything happened, but Mary knew better. Emma’s pretty sure Mary figured out that something happened between her and the prince.

“We’ve been through this, love. It’s Killian,” he says thrown by the change in her tone with him. Another place is set at the table for him. Seeing him is harder than she imagined it would be. It doesn’t hurt that he has stubble scattered across his face, somehow it makes him look even more handsome when Emma didn’t think that was possible.

“What would you like to drink?” David asks him.

“After today some rum would do the trick,” Killian says and David laughs. The porter brings Killian a glass of rum. They all take a seat at the table and dinner is served. Killian cannot help but to glance at Emma every few minutes. She’s just as beautiful in jeans and a sweater as she is in an evening gown.

“What have you been up to since our visit to England?” David asks in between bites of his dinner.

“I have been finishing up my deployment with the Navy,” he says.

“That must keep you rather busy,” Mary comments.

“It does, but I am sure to have new responsibilities at home,” he says. Emma has said nothing to him and it’s odd. They got along so well before. He knows the kiss changed things, but that was as much his choice as it was hers. Now she barely even looks at him.

“On your last visit you mentioned that you were looking at art schools, did you decide on one, Emma?” Killian says never taking his eyes off her. She finally looks him in the eye. She’s been stealing glances at him for most of dinner, but only when he wasn’t looking at her.  Now he is and she’s starting to wonder why she thought she should distance herself from him. Then the weight of the swan pendant on her chest reminds her to not trust anyone.

“Yes, I am attending Camberwell in October,” she says with a tight lipped smile. Her father sighs at this.   

“The Smithsonian still has a spot for you and it’s closer to your mother and I,” David says, in an attempt to change her mind.

“Dad,” Emma says in a warning tone. This is clearly a sore subject between the father and daughter.

“David, Emma loved our trip to England. It will be a wonderful experience for her,” Mary says with a smile. The tension in the room eases.

“I’m glad to hear we won you over. London is the greatest city, you’ll love it,” Killian says with pride.

“I’m certainly looking forward to it,” Emma responds with a faint smile. Her mother thinks she’s going to Camberwell for a certain prince with striking blue eyes, but she’s not. She loves the program and London. Honestly a little space between her and her parents wouldn’t be the worst thing either. The rest of dinner goes well. At the end of dinner Mary and David exchange a look and Mary stands.

“David, come help me with desert,” Mary demands in a soft tone. David follows her out of the room, looking rather confused. Leaving Killian and Emma alone for the first time. Her mother is the queen at meddling,

“Well that was subtle,” Killian chuckles.

“It’s never been her strong suit,” Emma affirms.

“Can we please talk about what happened last time?” Killian asks her and the tension in the room doubles instantly. She doesn’t want to talk about that kiss. Talking about it may lead to another kiss.

“What is there to talk about?” she asks coldly as she crosses her arms.

“Look if I overstepped I am truly sorry, but I wish for us to be friends if that’s possible,” he continues on, ignoring her icy tone.

“You didn’t overstep. We both participated,” she conveys, never quite being able to bring her eyes to look at him.

“I must have read the situation wrong then, I thought there was something,” he says.

“There still is,” she almost whispers. His head snaps toward her, taken aback by her comment. He doesn’t know what it means for them. He’s about to open his mouth when Madam President walks in with Miss Lucas.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we have to go,” Miss Lucas says with a pointed look. Killian stands and looks at Emma.

“We’ll finish this later,” he asserts and she simply nods. Killian follows Mary and Ruby out of the room.  

Emma scolds herself. Why on earth did she say that? He’s just going to come and find her later. She should’ve shut him down. Why didn’t she? She can hear her mother’s voice in her head saying, it’s because you like him, Emma. Which she does, there’s no point in denying that anymore. What the hell is she going to do about His Royal Highness Prince Killian?

--&--

Hours later a ceasefire is negotiated between India and Pakistan, but it’s only for a week. Tonight there is nothing left to be done, but tomorrow there will be more work to do. Madam President dismissed him having to attend to other matters. He should head back to his hotel and get some sleep, but he can’t get Emma out of his mind. He inquires her whereabouts from the president’s helpful secretary, who tells him she’s in her studio in the residence.

He manages to find his way and gently knocks on the door. He hears a muffled come in and opens the door. Emma sits with his back to him. She traded her sweater from dinner with a baggy white shirt covered in speckles of paint. Her hair swept into a messy bun. She turns to face him with a paintbrush in hand.

“I was told I would find you here,” he says with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Well I wasn’t hiding. I’m here most of time,” she says turning back to the easel, setting down her brush. He moves closer to her glancing at what she’s painting. It’s a landscape that appears to be the view from Truman Balcony. It’s quite breathtaking she definitely has talent.

He’s standing so close to her it’s as if her whole body is thrumming from his proximity.  

“What you’re painting is beautiful and quite the exclusive view you have there,” he says glancing at her once again. Her green eyes piercing him.

“What did you mean earlier?” he asks her, not wanting to break their eye contact. She sucks in a deep breathe before she answers him. He deserves answers to why she ran out on him all those months ago.

“That there is something between us…” she trails off.

“When we kissed you ran out. Something upset you. That much was clear,” he says an eyebrow raised.

“You caught me off guard. I don’t trust many people and I don’t let people in. You were getting too close, so I ran,” she rambles on.

“If you keep those walls up you’re never going to let anyone in. If you truly don’t to pursue anything I understand, but I have the feeling you do. I think you’re afraid,” he states and thinks he hit the mark by the way her shoulders tense up.

“How can you say that, we barely know each other,” she says extremely sceptical, he expected nothing less.

“You’re sort of an open book, love.” Killian smirks. Her brow furrows at his statement. Before she can say anything the doors crash open and three secret service agents charge into the room.

“Bloody hell, what-” Killian exclaims before he’s interrupted.

“Swan is secure. Do not leave this room,” August says as he shuts the door behind him. Great, another crash. Killian frowns at the use of Swan, surely he is referring to Emma, but why swan?

“Guess we’re stuck here for a while,” she sighs. He grabs a stool and sits next to her.

“Why Swan?” Killian asks her, curious.

“It’s my secret service codename. I like swans. Always have, in fact the ugly duckling was my favorite story as a kid,” she says, thinking about  her swan pendant reminding her to not trust anyone.

“Are the codenames always so personal?” he asks.

“Actually they are. Mom is Eagle partially due to her love for birds, also every president has had something extremely patriotic. Dad is shepard because of his work with animals,” she says fondly.

“That’s creative. I think I’ll have to call you Swan from now on,” he teases and she just rolls her eyes.

“What do you think happened?” Killian asks her.

“It’s spring recruitment it’s probably some frat boy who jumped the fence,” she dismisses it, “How much longer do you have with the Navy?”

“Just a couple of months really. I’ll be done when you start classes,” he answers.

“What are you going to do with yourself?” she teases him, glad that they have changed subjects.

“I am not sure yet. I’m sure that’s a conversation my father is dying to have with me,” he says, irritated at the thought.

“You don’t seemed to thrilled about it,” Emma suggests.

“Conversations between us haven’t gone well lately. My brother and him have a better relationship than him and I,” he explains.

“I am sorry to hear that, but I have to say I understand. Ever since I decided on Camberwell things have been tense between my dad and I,” she shrugs.

“I noticed at dinner,” Killian replies.

“Mom says that he’s worried about security and we’ve never been in different countries for months at a time. I just think he’s going to be bored without me here,” she states.

“Probably true. It's evident he loves and cares for you though, so don't be too harsh on him. Does it always take this long for a frat boy, as you call it?” he asks.

“Not usually. That was my best guess. I don’t know it could be any number of things,” she shrugs.

“I'm sure it's nothing too threatening or they would've moved us,” he says in an attempt to reassure her. He places a hand on her knee and it's more soothing than she expected.

When she finally looks at him again she almost stops breathing. She's always noticed how blue his eyes were, but tonight they are different. Something about them is almost electric. She had the sense when they met that he could see right through her and tonight that was confirmed. He could read her like a book. He understood her for some odd reason. It almost makes her want to trust him, to let him in. She’s running out of reasons to not trust him. Maybe kissing him again will get it out of her system. Maybe it won’t be as good as the last one and it will loose some of the magic from it.  

Without a word she slips off her stool and onto his lap. He's not stunned by this movement. They seem to have syncopated moves, like they've done this their whole lives. Her hands cradle his face and she gently kisses him. At first it's soft and sweet. It's full of gentle touches and tender movements. Then a switch is flipped and they become more eager. Each wanting to taste the other. His hands tighten on her hips holding her in place and she pulls on his hair causing him to groan into the kiss.

Just as his hand is about to slip under her shirt the door opens and August enters. Seeing what became of the two the agent blushes. The embarrassed pair untangle themselves. Emma was completely wrong. That kiss was equal if not better than the last. What’s worse is she wants more.

“We've been given the all clear, Miss Nolan.” August blushes not making eye contact with either of them.

“Thanks, August,” Emma says and the agent scurries out. The pair laugh at the agent's departure. When true laughter dies down a look is shared between them. She doesn’t have to trust him to take him to bed. He’s far too good at kissing to be bad in bed.

“Would you like to finish this somewhere else?” She asks with a seductive smile.

“Of course lead the way, Swan,” he teases her as they walk out of the room together. Emma rolls her eyes at this.

As soon as the door to her room shuts he kisses her against the door. It nearly takes her breath away because of the intensity of the kiss. All he has thought about for months was seeing her again and holding her in his arms. He doesn’t want to waste a minute of it. And he won’t.

She tugs on his shirt until it becomes untucked from his pants. His hands move under her shirt and they part briefly so her shirt can move over her head. She works quickly on his buttons. They walk back until his calves hit the edge of the bed. Once his shirt is off he works on getting her pants off. She has some difficulty with his belt (mostly because he won’t stop kissing her neck and it’s very distracting), but she gets it off without his help. They both step out of their pants. Killian scoops Emma into his and places her on the bed. Killian pulls her to the edge of the bed and peppers kisses up her thighs. He slips her underwear down her thighs and sucks her clit. She bites her lip to keep herself from screaming out, her hands gripping the sheets because holy shit he knows what’s he doing and most men don’t. Not able to take it anymore she stops him.

“Something wrong, love?” he smirks.

“Nothing is wrong, but I need you now,” she says pulling him on top of her. He kisses her softly and her fingers weave into his hair. He slides into her ever so slowly. Their movements are gentle and sweet. It’s about halfway through that Emma realizes that he’s making love to her and what surprises her is that she doesn’t mind it. She slips her hand into his and kisses him. He knows she has walls and she’s protective of her heart. At this moment in time he gets to be with her and he doesn’t intend to not show her how he feels. He can’t tell her how he feels now. It would just scare her off, so for now he’ll have to show her through his actions.

When they finish it is the early hours of the morning. Emma rolls over to look at Killian.

“When are you returning to England?” she asks.

“Depends on how this situation plays out, but maybe tomorrow or a couple days from now I suspect. Trying to see me again?” he smirks and she rolls her eyes.

“Look, I know we lead busy lives, but I would like to see you again,” he says his eyes never leaving hers. This gives her pause. She likes him and the sex was amazing, but can she trust him? Just maybe.

“I want to see you again, but I won’t be in London until end of September. I don’t really know where to go from here,” she says, unsure. Killian knows that she may not be ready just yet, but he’ll wait. She was different. She was charming, witty, bright, and an angel. He hasn’t even spent that much time with her and he knows he would do just about anything for her. She’s not someone you let slip through your fingers. He’ll wait for her, she’s worth it.

“We both have a lot going on right now and I want us to be something. I don’t want to do that if we’re distracted. How about when you get to London we’ll give it a try,” he says as he brushes some of her hair out of her face.

“Alright,” she nods, nothing definite. Just them giving this a shot whatever it is. She can do that, right? He pulls her close to him and they fall asleep like that.

--&--

The next morning the President needs him once again and he has to leave. He finds some paper and scribbles out a note to Emma. Miss Lucas is waiting for him in the hallway outside Emma’s room with a smirk on her face.

“What?” he asks defensively.

“You know the president is going to notice you’re wearing the same clothes from yesterday,” she says smugly.

“I’m sure you already told her where I was,” he says as they move out of the residence.

“Yes, I did. The look on your face was funny though,” she smiles.

“Was it now? Miss Lucas, I’m starting to think you like seeing my life get more difficult,” he teases.

“I’m Emma’s godmother. This wouldn’t be any fun if I didn’t get to watch you squirm,” she teases him right back.

“Ah I see, so this is a family affair,” he says as they wait outside the Oval Office.

“Exactly. You’re a quick learner. You’ll do just fine,” she smiles.  They are waved in and the work begins.

--&--

In the morning Emma wakes up alone in her bed and she wonders if she dreamed the whole thing. She finds a note on her pillowcase and it confirms that everything that happened last night was real. The note reads:

Emma, sorry I couldn’t be there when you woke up. I might have to return home this evening if I don’t see you again my number is listed below. I’ll be waiting for your call.

Emma smiles at the note and leaves it on her night stand. She may not see him again on this trip, but she’ll see him again.

[mazurah]

Lost in Time Ch. 14: Repartee - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Chapter Summary: Ma’zurah and Fayrl meet some very interesting people in a tavern.

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: T for torture mention.

First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Lost in Time Chapter 14: Repartee

“Ah! My Dunmer friend, so good to see you again,” the Imperial greeted Fayrl. “I see you have fine tastes in clothing. I am surprised you managed with that small sum I offered you.”

Fayrl bowed deeply. “My thanks, sera Pavos, for your generosity. Your coin has gone far when I offered my voice in the bargain.”

“Of that I've no doubt,” said Pavos.

“Speaking of voice,” Fayrl began, his tone playful, “I owe you music for your generosity.” He pulled out the lute. “Are you free now?”

Pavos laughed. “I would be happy to hear your music. Come, I've a room over here where we might find ourselves more privacy.”

Fayrl nodded, then looked to Ma’zurah. She had just finished lecturing him about not splitting up. Yet if Pavos were interested in more than merely listening to music, he would not shy away from offering a prayer to Mephala. Who knows, perhaps he could even give the man up to the blade’s appetite. There was something familiar about Pavos and he could only assume it was that he reminded Fayrl of the Imperial agents he used to seduce for information. The man likely had enough sin that he did not need to feel guilty for sacrificing him.

Ma’zurah’s ears twitched in Fayrl’s direction and she shot him a look. She stood and walked toward Fayrl, offering the Imperial a smile. “This one greets you. This one is Ma’zurah, Fayrl’s spouse. May Ma’zurah offer you a seat at this one’s table?”

Fayrl was afraid this might be the sort of outcome he could expect. He should have insisted harder on them going their separate ways. How else was he to make coin and fulfill his mission? He doubted very much Ma’zurah was the type to want to be around for such things.

“Fayrl, you did not tell me you had such a beautiful wife,” said the Imperial. Turning from Fayrl and giving her a smile and nod in return he took the offered seat. “My name is Pavos Signas. I met your husband this morning at the baths. I am very sorry to hear about your fortunes. I offered him some coin in exchange for his music. Tell me, did I make a poor investment, or is there more to him than a pretty face?”

Ma’zurah blinked at the man, trying to figure out what Fayrl could have told him. “Oh, Ma’zurah thinks he is quite talented with music.” Just then the Bosmer bartender came over. “Welcome! Can I get you anything? We have a fresh batch of Honningbrew mead, just arrived this morning. It’s a house specialty.”

Pavos gave the Bosmer a warm smile. “Elrindir, my good friend! Please, do bring us a bottle. And a plate of that cheese you served at breakfast. And perhaps my friend here will play us some music. How about it, Fayrl? Care to share with everyone here?”

Fayrl grinned. “It would be my honor to play for you and the fine people of this establishment.” He pulled the lute across his chest and checked it’s tuning. “Any requests?”

The Bosmer grinned at the prospect of music, and traipsed down to the cellar to retrieve their mead and cheese.

Ma’zurah tried to think of any songs that could possibly be well known after almost a millennia, but discovered she didn't even know how old most of the songs she knew were. “Play something Ma'zurah has not heard before? Something new?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ma'zurah noticed the Dunmer assassin in the alcove staring at Fayrl intently, her dagger and whetstone still in her hands. Ma'zurah shifted uneasily.

Fayrl thought for a moment. “Yes, I think I can come up with something like that.”

Pavos reclined in his seat, getting quite comfortable.

Fayrl fingered the strings a few notes until he recalled the melody. “Ah! There we are.” He began to play his song. "Alma ohn jikhi'ad lo ot muhr. ohn shogahe'ag ju'okor aradir os, captu'ath hadik sudas lo. Alma ohn jihi'ad lo ot muhr. Dash ohn falme'ag lo bivi en home'ag ohn muhrid lacor ohn.” Mother you gave me a life. You knew how quickly I, consumed all around me. Mother you gave me a life. Then you held me back and told me not to be just like you. "Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os mola hadik as albur. Ohn abahrr molaf en dual en os ure'ag as albur malidi. Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os mola hadik as albur. Os e molaf en dual en os, ura muhrad yi malidi." I'm a child of the flame, and I burn just the same. You were heat and passion and I yearned the same way. I'm a child of the flame, and I burn just the same. I am heat and passion and I yearn to live my own way. "Ata ohn muhrse'ag lo juli. Ohn talje'ag yi shviyaa en, ohn oro'ag de balmara asuhl. Ata ohn muhrse'ag lo juli. Ohn balmari'ag ohn panthiihn ghar lo, shogahakam asuhm shoksuna ebahr kiohr." Father you raised me well. You saw I had gifts and you tried to concentrate them. Father you raised me well. Then you forced your gods on me, knowing their redemption was false. "Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os mola hadik as albur. Ohn abahrr molaf en dual en os ure'ag as albur malidi. Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os mola hadik as albur. Os e molaf en dual en os, ura muhrad yi malidi." I'm a child of the flame, and I burn just the same. You were heat and passion and I yearned the same way. I'm a child of the flame, and I burn just the same. I am heat and passion and I yearn to live my own way. Ma'zurah smiled softly as she realized that Fayrl’s song was about himself. The Bosmer bartender returned with mead and a plate of diced cheese and quietly left it at their table to return to his place behind the bar. Ma'zurah reached for a piece of cheese, realizing suddenly that she hadn't had any actual cheese since leaving Cyrodiil. Kwama cuttle, however much it had been processed to resemble cheese, still made poor Elsweyr fondue. She wondered where she might obtain some moon sugar. Fayrl’s song transitioned to a verse about his wife. "Daelikal ohn shogahaka lo bahr. Ohn menfi yi bulor en, ju'okor yi havganich ohn. Daelikal ohn shogahaka lo bahr. Ohn taje bahr as need lo bahrsint, ura de vivad eshtik ilu hlaghin ohn." My wife you know me not. You observe my place and how I can elevate you. My wife you know me not. You don't see the real me nor, care to learn more than yourself. "Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os mola hadik as albur. Ohn abahrr molaf en dual en os ure'ag as albur malidi. Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os mola hadik as albur. Os e molaf en dual en os, ura muhrad yi malidi." I'm a child of the flame, and I burn just the same. You were heat and passion and I yearned the same way. I'm a child of the flame, and I burn just the same. I am heat and passion and I yearn to live my own way. Ma'zurah remembered their conversation about his husband, but she realized she had neglected to ask him further about his wife when he mentioned her in passing. "Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os harim yi sin. Os abahr molaf en dual en os, molan hadik gher yi malidi. Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os ean halbere'ag kiohr bahr. Os e abahr molaf en dual en os, bahmarin yi malidi." I'm a child of the flame, and I will get my day. I am heat and passion, and I'll burn all in my way. I'm a child of the flame, and I won't be led astray. I am heat and passion, and I will make my own way.

The song ended, and Fayrl gave a small seated bow. Ma'zurah joined the scattered applause from around the room. The Dunmer assassin in the alcove was giving Fayrl a strange look.

Pavos applauded even after the rest of the patrons had stopped. “You offered me no jest in your claim to be a bard. What a lovely voice. Do you mind telling me what the song was about? I must confess, I’ve no skill with the languages of elves.”

“Oh, it is a song about the desire to overcome those who attempt to restrain you in life,” Fayrl said nonchalantly. “A silly song I wrote when I was rather young and rebellious. It seems like another lifetime since I last played it.” He noticed the expression on the mercenary’s face. Perhaps he should have played a different sort of tune. A drinking song might have been a better choice.

“Would you mind playing another tune?” asked Pavos, nursing his glass of wine.

Fayrl took a sip from his own glass. “I would be happy to play more for you, my friend.”

“Do a love song next,” the Imperial requested, “I could use the sound of a good romantic tune.”

Fayrl thought for a moment, absently playing a couple of cords. “Oh, I have just the tune.” He played a song, this time in Cyrodiilic. It spoke of a forest dwelling maiden with striking golden eyes and a tongue as sharp as her arrowheads. There were a couple of innuendos about stroking a vine or of tasting the juice from a ripe fruit, but otherwise it was a song of new love. It had all the excitement and danger that obviously came from pursuing a sadistic Bosmeri maiden. Yet the song ended with a happy ending, the singer and the maiden finding their love blossoming among the green.

When Fayrl’s second song had ended, and the applause faded, the Dunmer assassin approached their table. Ma'zurah gave her a wary look.

“Blade and shadow, sera,” the assassin began in dusky Dunmeris to Fayrl. “I find myself too intrigued not to interrupt. You wear an ancient token of the Webspinner, a practice that has not seen use since before the downfall of the False Tribunal and our people’s return to the Reclamations, so I find myself most curious as to why you have adopted the practice. You also speak our language as a native, yet your accent is so archaic that I cannot place where you might be from, and I simply must know.” Seeing Fayrl’s expression, she turned to the Imperial. “Forgive me, but I need a moment to speak with my countrymer.”

Pavos gestured for Jenassa to proceed and busied himself with drinking his wine. “Do not let me interrupt.”

Fayrl could not deny the mer was a worshiper of Mephala, or possibly Morag Tong. She had proven it now. “You are very observant, sera,” he began, pulling out a chair for her. “I am a lover of the ancient ways and spent much time studying the meticulous use of language, as well as the customs and traditions that have been lost to this modern age. I was born in Vivec, though I did much of my studies in Mournhold. How about you, sera, what is your story? Or at the least, your name?”

“My name is Jenassa. Death is my art, and like all artists, I seek a patron, though that is hardly relevant to the matter at hand. And your name as well, sera? You must be well learned and traveled to have developed such an unusual accent. It has been a long time since you had the privilege of visiting your birthplace then, has it not?”

Ma’zurah looked alarmed, but hesitated and missed her chance to speak.

Fayrl smiled. “An important art indeed, my friend. My name is Fayrl. My art is music and the knowledge of early and mid second era history. Perhaps of little use to others. I would not say I am so well travelled and learned, I have not yet seen even half of Tamriel, nor learned much of the people and customs of those living further west. Though I suppose the experience of a life with some degree of movement would naturally alter a mer’s way of speaking.”

He noticed Ma’zurah’s alarm and suddenly recalled the catastrophe that had occurred. “I was but a child when last I was at Vivec. My parents were scholars and had been searching for ancient knowledge that may have been lost. My mother was very strong-willed, not even pregnancy would prevent her doing her work.”

Jenassa glanced between Ma’zurah and Fayrl, but her face did not betray her thoughts. “She sounds like a formidable mer. What work was it that she was so intent upon doing?”

“She and father had a buyer in Mournhold, a collector of rare and ancient artifacts. My parents wished to learn what may have been lost to the ages and were funded in their pursuit by the promise of artifacts of worth recovered. But tell me, what interests you so in such matters? You come to speak to us for business do you not? Or perhaps there is something else?”

“Come now, it is rare enough to find a native countrymer in these cold lands, but to find such an interesting one? And one with such artistic talent? How could I be anything but intrigued?” She offered Fayrl a tiny smile, her first deviation from her serious mein, and her eyes flicked down, then up again across Fayrl’s form. Ma’zurah rolled her eyes. The mer’s flirting was painfully obvious.

“But if you do not mind my asking, sera,” Jenassa continued, “what lands have you traveled? It is always fascinating to hear of faraway quarters as well as news from the homeland.”

“You flatter me, sera, and offer me far too much credit,” Fayrl responded. “I am sure you are tantalizing to observe at your own art, though I must ask you to refrain from demonstrating on any present company, unless you have a contract. I wonder at your knowledge of the obscure, for you are the only one I’ve seen who has recognized the ancient symbol of one of the True Tribunal.”

“Indeed, it is not common knowledge, the ancient customs of the dissident priests to identify each other,” Jenassa murmured.

Fayrl took his glass from the table, leaning in close to her as he did, allowing his side to graze hers, giving him a chance to gauge her reaction to physical contact. He took a sip. “I am sure a person in your trade is far better traveled than I. I am only just now returning to Skyrim after having been back in Stonefalls. I have otherwise been to Cyrodiil and a few times to Black Marsh. Save those places and Skyrim, I have not traveled outside of the homeland.”

“How did you meet your husband?” Pavos suddenly asked Ma’zurah.

Jenassa made no reaction to Fayrl’s sudden touch, but did glance sharply at the Imperial at the mention of the word “husband”.

Ma’zurah blinked, and took a moment to reset her mind from Dunmeris to Cyrodiilic. She realized with chagrin that she would likely be expected to entertain Pavos while Fayrl was engaged in verbal sparring with Jenassa. “Uh… We met in a tavern. He was lost, and needed a guide, and this one offered,” she replied tersely, trying with some difficulty to listen to the ongoing conversation in Dunmeris at the same time.

“Black Marsh! I’m amazed! And multiple times? Not many Dunmer visit, what is it like? What did you do there?” Jenassa leaned toward Fayrl in apparent interest.

Fayrl recognized the signs of Jenassa’s body language. He saw such behavior only in spies and assassins, maybe a master thief. She was after something by speaking to him. What it was, he did not know, though he hoped it was not his life she was after.

“Black Marsh is far less unpleasant than rumors give it to be. The cities are beautiful and cultured, the architecture magnificent, the food divine. I would avoid traveling between cities without a guide, the climate gives way to a vast variety of organisms, which makes the cuisine bountiful, but the pests and territorial beasts of the swamp are also numerous. Still, it is very much worth a visit.”

Fayrl reached into his pouch and retrieved a prayer slip, one out of a book of them he had for when he visited the holy places of the Tribunal. He took her hand and slipped it inside, still holding onto it as he spoke. “Since you have such a keen interest in history, here is an ancient prayer marker, like the ancients used to use on their pilgrimages to the Daedric ruins and temples of the True Tribunal during the reign of the false one. Mother tells me this one is dated sometime in the mid second era, though it is hard to tell. It was sealed magically within a chest and thus had no signs of age.”

He wanted to see if it was artifacts she might be after. If such was the case, then it would be easy enough to get rid of her.

Jenassa reacted instantly when Fayrl took her gloved hand, wrenching it away. Quicker than anyone at the table could react, she had a knife in her hand, with its point hovering just above Fayrl’s neck. She retreated after a tense second, but did not re-sheathe the blade. “Apologies, sera. I am unused to sudden contact with liars.” She smirked at Fayrl and Ma’zurah’s sudden expressions.

“Yes, liars. You are not from Vivec,” she continued in low, calm Dunmeris. “You hardly look a hundred and fifty, much less the two hundred or so years you would need to be to be able to make that claim. You obviously have something to hide. Don’t think I missed that little exchange between you and the Khajiit. You use odd wording, and you don’t know the generally accepted names for things, like the Reclamations. And of course we still use prayer slips. What Morrowind native doesn’t know that? Additionally, what kind of a historian gives away an artifact, if it is even an artifact, that that is a millennia old?” Jenassa shook her head.

“Furthermore, your accent is not from Vivec, or from travel. I could not place it at first until you mentioned the second era, and then I realized it was just like one of the plays I saw in Mournhold depicting the Three Banners War. Nobody talks like that anymore. And finally, nobody just travels to Black Marsh--not since the invasion and the sack of Mournhold. So this time don’t lie. Who are you really, and where did you come from?”

Fayrl laughed, not making any apparent move to protect himself or react in any way to her threats. “My, my, my. Such a quick temper. I see no need to threaten anyone here,” he said, voice as calm and straightforward as someone discussing the weather. “After all, I just got this tunic and I would be very sad to see it stained in your blood. And I assure you, it will be difficult for you to find the antidote if you dispatch me.” He let the tip of the hairpin in his hand tap the space between the plates of her armor, just at the right angle to puncture a kidney.

Ma’zurah glanced rapidly between the two assassins, and rubbed her forehead, muttering a soft curse in Ta’agra. She stole a look at the wide eyed Imperial across the table out of the corner of her eye.

Jenassa only laughed at the revelation of Fayrl’s subtle defense and sheathed her blade. “I salute you as a worthy opponent, sera. I knew there was more to you than a historian bard. I assure you though, my service in the Morag Tong has built my immunity to poison quite high, and I doubt you could find a poison beyond my abilities to cure, unless you really are from the second era like that accent you’ve put on. Now, the truth, if you please.”

Fayrl leaned away from Jenassa and put the pin back into his hair and took a seat in Pavos’ lap to distract him from the scene unfolding. He needed to keep the man interested in him for later purposes anyhow.

“Morag Tong. That explains a few things. I am glad to hear they are still thriving. Still, I don’t know that I owe you any truths any more than you owe them to us.” He settled back against Pavos’ chest as the man struggled to adjust to the weight of a mer in his lap.

He patted Pavos’ cheek. “You’re such a dear.” Pavos stuttered, and Fayrl belatedly realized the error of touching the Imperial. He had managed to avoid doing so at the bathhouse. But now, he felt the flood of the man’s deeds come to his mind. He stifled them as best as he could, fighting back the pain and emotions that came with the memories. His senses were filled with the overwhelming odor of blood, the sound of screams in his ears, the taste of iron and bitter poison. He felt nauseous. There was so much blood.

Jenassa blinked at Fayrl, suddenly reading incongruous emotional states, where previously there had been control. She pretended not to notice. “All in Morrowind know that the Morag Tong are but a shadow of their former self. It is why I left. One can hardly practice art where there is no demand. But your wording betrays you again, sera. From where do you hail? How came you to be here? Did your companion accompany you from thence?” Jenassa nodded in Ma’zurah’s direction. “Certainly you owe me no truths, but as I am at loose ends for anything of more interest to occupy myself, and find myself quite bored, I propose a trade. Truths for truths, if you will.”

Ma’zurah noticed Fayrl’s apparent distress and quickly addressed Jenassa in accented Dunmeris to divert her attention. “What kind of truths do you offer?”

Jenassa turned to Ma’zurah, blinking at the sudden conversational interruption. “Any kind of truth you wish, sera, so long as I know the answer, and it does not violate any confidences placed in me.”

Ma’zurah glanced at Fayrl. “That seems adequate, so long as Ma’zurah and Fayrl may have the same terms, and Jenassa agrees to hold information received in the strictest of confidences unless otherwise specified. Each question traded for one question, both answered to the asker’s satisfaction so much as can be given in good faith. Is that acceptable?”

Jenassa nodded slowly.

Fayrl placed a hand on Pavos’ thigh and wrapped an arm around his neck to steady himself. He could see what this man had done for the sake of the Empire. An excuse to do unspeakable deeds and then claim it was in the Empire’s name. He felt the girl’s pain as Pavos interrogated--more like tortured for the pleasure of his sadism--a girl of no more than 14 years of age. How he butchered her slowly cut by cut while she lived, demanding she give information on a woman he suspected of working against the Empire. Treason, he claimed was the girl’s crime as well, the justification for her suffering, because she lived next door. He refused to take her cries that she did not even know the woman’s name, they were only neighbors a few months and the woman never spoke to her. But Pavos ignored her words, convinced that she must know something, anything, to help him. That if she did not, it was only because she was a traitor herself, although he was enjoying every moment of harming her.

And she was not the only one Pavos had tortured like this, nor the only one he had killed. Pavos also enjoyed the simple, quick kill. How many innocent lives had Pavos cut down because it was just easier than having to plan ahead? The number was too overwhelming for Fayrl to keep track. Pavos had often foregone any real cover as a spy and instead gone into every situation planning to kill anyone who saw him. Bar maids, blacksmiths, beggars, merchants, innkeepers, children playing by the road. If they looked at him or spoke to him, he killed them. Because it was easier! It made Fayrl’s blood boil.

Pavos looked worriedly at Fayrl. “What are you--”

“I just feel a bit lightheaded, must be the wine. Do you mind just letting me rest a moment, my friend?” asked Fayrl.

Pavos looked towards Ma’zurah to make sure that he would not offend her. “Well, I certainly do not mind.”

Ma’zurah looked concerned. “Oh! Ma’zurah knows some spells that can help!” She half stood and reached a hand out to Fayrl.

Fayrl could see what was happening. He did not like it. “I think it will pass naturally. Just give me a moment, dear.” He leaned back against Pavos’ broad chest. If he was going to leave his new comfortable position, he was going to enjoy it for a moment.

“It would not hurt to try… Ma’zurah is worried…” Ma’zurah stood and walked over to Fayrl and felt his forehead. He did not feel any hotter than was usual for Dunmer. “You had better not be getting sick!”

Fayrl did not understand why she was being so insistent. Was she jealous? “I am sure it is fine. Why don’t you ask your questions of the lovely mer here while I let myself rest a moment.”

“Well… Alright. Ma’zurah is not going to heal Fayrl if he does not want her to…” She sat back down.

Fayrl smiled sweetly at Pavos. “I wonder, my dear friend, is there a way you might help get me to a place I might lie down for a while? I would be ever so grateful.” He ran a hand over Pavos’ chest.

Pavos stood, lifting Fayrl in his arms. “You can lay down in my room for a while.”

“Would you keep me company for a bit?”

“I’d be glad to,” said Pavos and carried Fayrl out of sight of Ma’zurah and Jenassa.

Ma’zurah turned to Jenassa. “Alright, it looks like you will have to talk to Ma’zurah, if that is alright,” she continued in Dunmeris.

“Fine, would you care to move to my table? We can have more privacy.” The pair headed to Jenassa’s alcove and seated themselves.

End Notes:

Fayrl’s song: https://soundcloud.com/song-book-of-fayrl-indoril/molagm-muhrjul

Fayrl’s tumblr: @talldarkandroguesome

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

Constructive criticism is welcome. We also really like it if you leave comments on Ao3.

[topmixtrends]

“WHAT IF ONE woman told the truth about her life? / The world would split open.” Muriel Rukeyser’s lines, from a poem about the still overlooked German artist Käthe Kollwitz — whose etchings of working-class women, in mourning and struggle, made her a pioneer — are a touchstone for Carol Muske-Dukes. Like so much of the feminist literary canon, from Bradstreet to Rich and beyond, she has absorbed the lines and their implied directive.

Carol has been my friend for years. I don’t remember how it happened — would I have been bold enough to seek her out? — but I know it coincided with my moving to Los Angeles in late 2004, and then a frenetic rush of conversation, emails packed with dashes and ampersands, so much to cram in. Sparrow had been published the year before, a stunning, stricken collection (and a finalist for the National Book Award) in which she traced the arc of sudden loss. The book, occasioned by the death of her late husband, the actor David (Coleman) Dukes, is replete with classical, intricate, complex elegies. I understand now that it is a piece of the project she continues to work on, to tell “the truth about her life” and about the lives of female artists.

Sparrow ends with a poem called “The Rose,” which takes the shape of two prose paragraphs addressed to her daughter, Annie, about a time before Annie’s remembering, when she was a toddler asleep in the backseat and her parents drove under a full moon to their new house, singing along with “The Rose” on the radio (“Some say love, it is a flower…”). “Completely sentimental,” the poet knows, and yet I think of that poem as the bulb from which Blue Rose (2018), Muske-Duke’s new collection, her ninth, grew. (Another collection, Twin Cities [2011], was published in between, and tacks between her Minnesota upbringing and her life in Los Angeles.)

Blue Rose begins with an emergency. Sirens wail; the speaker is “[L]ashed to / a pallet”; newborn, the child is “danger blue.” Many of these poems take as their setting a private battlefield: bed, the site of birth and death and death in childbirth. Women are the heroes in these personal epics; recording them, Muske-Dukes recovers their lost narratives. In one poem, “The Year the Law Changed,” she unflinchingly describes an abortion. “I had my life back but covered myself with blood — / mine and some not — but still of me.” The body cleaves, the world splits.

A few weeks ago, Carol and I sat in the kitchen of her cozy townhouse in Santa Monica, drinking tea from an English service she found on a back shelf, and talked for a couple of hours about her work, the women she admires, the women whose stories she wants to honor. We touched upon Emily Dickinson’s notational style, interruption as a generative force, and the place for beauty in contemporary poetry, as well as the first poet laureate of California (a lineage Carol shares, having recently occupied that post), the University of Southern California (where Muske-Dukes founded the PhD in creative writing and still teaches), and Annie, now a research scientist, who looked like a blue rose when she was born.

¤

DANA GOODYEAR: Did you write all these poems in the years since Twin Cities, or are some of them older poems that took shape around the image of the blue rose that occurs throughout this book? 

CAROL MUSKE-DUKES: I said something in the notes in the back of the book about the “long journey” to Blue Rose. When I sent the manuscript to my editor, Paul Slovak — who’s wonderful and has been my editor for a while — I wasn’t really that happy with it. It just didn’t feel complete to me, and I think it didn’t to him either. So, in the last year-and-a-half, I revised it and put in new work.

So it’s really a document of the past few years in your thinking?

It really is, despite the “long journey” reference.

These poems seem to be about birth and death and mothers and daughters, if you had to say what the heart of the project is …

Yes, about all that — and to some degree about women who are, I don’t want to say “neglected,” but whose lives have been somewhat occluded by history.

Like Ina Coolbrith, the first poet laureate of California.

Like Coolbrith, exactly. While it wasn’t an overall goal of mine, there were lives that fascinated me, like Paula Modersohn-Becker, the artist who was Rilke’s friend at Worpswede Artists’ Colony.

She’s the one who cried out “Shame” on her deathbed, which was also her daughter’s birth bed.

Exactly. Death and birth in the same bed. Thinking about women of that time — though it’s true now as well — giving birth was a pact with death in a way, and women knew that. She knew that, she had that premonition that it was going to happen.

And then death was also made more palatable by thinking of it as birth — into the afterlife.

Yeah, fetishization of the afterlife [was] very prevalent then. But she did not subscribe to that. She wanted to live. Her art has been reclaimed in a way. She’s thought of now as one of the modernist painters, yet at that time she “couldn’t get arrested,” as they say. Still, she believed so totally in herself.

The stakes in these poems seem to circle around the risk inherent in being a woman, and these passages of birth and death, but also around the questions, “How do you live as an artist?” and “Can you live as an artist?”

Can you live? Is it possible? I don’t know, it shouldn’t still be a question, but it is. Is it possible for a woman trying to be a mother and a wife or partner to also be an artist? A writer. Is that possible? That isn’t meant to be an obvious question in the book, but I think it undergirds some of what the poems are approaching, at least in talking about these women’s lives.

It’s a perfect moment because these concerns suddenly seem mainstream, whereas poetry is usually read as private testimony, a series of all-but-repressed voices from the margins.

Exactly. I mean, I’ve been thinking about your work … you are a far more coded, restrained poet than I am, less narrative, but I think you’re on the edge between public and private often in your poems, and it’s a very peculiar place to be, because who writes that line? Who creates that? Who dunnit?

[Laughs.]

But it’s kind of exhilarating to feel you’re crossing it. And as you bring in a more public voice — or even as you bring more marginalized subjects and artists into the conversation, which is all good, and corrective, indeed — the question becomes, “What is a poem?” What are we talking about, ultimately?

What do you say to your students about what a poem is, as opposed to a different kind of literary document?

Well, I think it’s possible that you can have socially conscious criticism embodied in a poem, there’s no question. I’ve been thinking so much about this line by Neruda, from his poem “I Explain a Few Things,” if you know that poem. It was written about Franco’s bombing of Madrid in 1936, and in that poem there’s a line: “the blood of children ran in the streets / like the blood of children,” to which there is no response, and that’s what he wanted. It’s almost, to my mind, like Adorno saying that after Auschwitz, all poetry is obscenity.

There’s no metaphor.

There’s no metaphor, no simile. There’s no poetic equivalency. Here it is, folks. It’s a dare to try to say something beyond that. But here’s what I also believe, as I tell my students — and some of them agree with me and some of them absolutely do not — that beauty can still occur, that you can still write a beautiful poem, if that is your goal. If art continues to concern itself with the enduring aesthetic, then you can write a poem that says something like “the blood of children ran in the streets / like the blood of children,” that is in a way describing the end of poetry, and still have it be a poem of great art, just as Neruda’s poem is a beautiful poem. In other words, I think these two ideas can coexist.

I know there are a number of reasons you are attracted to classical poetic forms, and among them, I always think about your connection to your mother and memorized poetry and recited poetry. Those rhythms get into your head as a child, and, like anything you learn as a child, it becomes second nature. It occurs to me now talking to you that using those forms allows you to hold that space for beauty in poems, musical beauty, and at the same time deliver a kind of manifesto. 

What you’re referring to is that I grew up listening to my mother recite poems by heart. She was part of that last generation of Americans who memorized whole poems, in a course called “Elocution,” in a prairie school house in North Dakota. I grew up in Minnesota, but she learned those poems and dramatic soliloquies on the prairie. Poets talk about poetry “saving your life,” and these words in a way saved my mother when her own mother died, when my mother was a teenager, poems of Christina Rossetti and Emily Dickinson.

I grew up in this ocean of words. I remember her pushing me in a swing and reciting “How Would You Like to Go Up in a Swing?” by Robert Louis Stevenson, so I felt I was swinging within the arc of the poem, back and forth. On the other hand, she was very distracted … she had six children! She’d always wanted to be a poet, but she couldn’t go to college because it was the Depression, there wasn’t enough money even with a full scholarship, so she was very frustrated. She was a — I don’t know how else to say it — she was a very anxious mother, and she was half-mad in a way. When she recited, say, Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116, it would be like, “Let me not to the marriage of true minds” — “Put that down right now!” — “admit impediment.” So in a way, she gave me the sense of the classical traditional form and at the same time the emergency of poetry, as in the term “emerge.” You know, a new strange half-spoken poetry, filled with angst.

… and interruption.

And interruption and disjointedness emerged, so that … I’ve never talked about this before, I’ve always praised my mother and that bath of words, that ocean of words — but really it was more a troubled ocean. It was a turbulent sea.

In your poems, I’ve always noticed and loved that there is such urgency. You’re not afraid of an exclamation point, and you’re not afraid of a quick turn, and I wonder what the relationship is to what you just described and some of those dashes and modes that are kind of Dickinsonian … even in your emails.

If I can impose myself, which is arrogant and wrong, on Dickinson, if I tried to identify with her use of dashes, I’d say that it’s like the mind moving just above the material, or just riding it in a way.

It’s like you’re annotating something that has no concrete form, as if the writing were a score for the music.

Exactly. That’s perfect. God, we’ve just written a critical exegesis. [Laughs.]

From the sublime to the mundane: What year was your first book published?

Oh my god, it was like 1975 or something like that. The University of Pittsburgh Press used to have a prize called the International Poetry Forum, and I was a runner-up. But they had so much money at that time from the NEA that they published it along with the winner, and gave me 500 free copies. I still have some on a bookshelf somewhere. [Laughs.] Camouflage is its name, which I misspelled in the manuscript.

Do you feel that the project of your poetry as changed? How did you see it in 1975 and how do you see it now?

Well, I certainly have changed. I hope. I mean first books tend to be very derivative. I was trying to write like Merwin, and I don’t even remember who else!

So, it was a book of apprenticeship, basically. You were entering the temple by enacting the ritual.

I was entering the temple. That’s a very nice way to talk about my own ignorance. But Merwin said somewhere: “I’ve learned the same song at the feet of many masters.”

But I think, for young poets, writing the poems is the only way to figure out what you think.

Young poets?

Maybe for all poets. You’re figuring out what you think by writing it down. What you change, and what you leave.

E. M. Forster said, “How do I know what I think until I see what I say?”

With a first book, it is the emergence and first outing of your written identity.

I called my first book when I was 25 or 26 Camouflage because I knew I was hiding. I quote Merwin in the epigraph: “Unless I go in a mask, how will I know myself among many faces.” So it was a mask, but the mask was a way somehow to find out exactly what I was saying, what I thought, and who I was.

Do you wear a different mask now?

I think we always wear a mask in our poems, maybe as we are being most ourselves.

Or a slipping mask?

Yes, that’s great. A “slipping mask”! The appearance of semi-revelation, the suspense of desire. I was married to an actor, and I think the actor obviously acts as medium for the words he or she is given. Wallace Stevens’s wonderful poem “Of Modern Poetry” compares the poet to an actor onstage. This is apt, for both disciplines. The words come to us and then we “test” what we’re saying by weighing the words in “the innermost ear of the ear” until they are found to be “sudden rightnesses.” That mystery of “hearing” in the ear as an actor, what is meant to be said, what is the sudden rightness, makes the vessel, the form, the mask, essential for an actor and the poet.

When David, my late husband, was alive, the mask saved him. He came from a very troubled background, he was abused as a child, so as he was trained as a Shakespearean actor at the American Conservatory Theater in San Francisco, he found the self that had run away inside him in the roles that he played. He was one of those actors who said, “It’s the words, it’s how you say the words, that’s it.” I believe that Stevens was right saying we’re like actors on a stage. We’re putting out a version of ourselves or a version of our aesthetic in the poems. We are the mask.

Do you let yourself say things in poems that you wouldn’t say in other forms?

You mean other forms, like just prose or ordinary speech, or yelling at my dogs? Or arguing with my daughter? I think so, do you?

Yes, for sure.

Yes, of course. Well is it true that you hear the voice in your head, as everyone says? And sometimes that gets in the poem and sometimes not, but usually it’s stuff you wouldn’t say in everyday life.

Do you find yourself being interrupted — speaking of interruption — by that voice in the middle of reading something else, in the middle of teaching?

Absolutely, all the time. I think that poetry is urgent as we’re saying, and it’s vital, and we do need it, but we can’t really say it’s necessary.

I think it has to feel necessary to the maker, but it can’t insist that it’s necessary to anybody else.

So you feel when you write your poems that you must write them, right?

Yes, and then I want to go back and practically smell them, like they’re a very interesting-smelling thing, you know? They feel physical and fascinating to me. But then of course some of them stink, and not in a good way, and then I despise them, and can’t go near them.

[Laughs.] I know what you mean. If they don’t have that energy …

A dead draft is a very sad thing.

Unmourned, and yet you’re very aware of it. I have so many sad, dying poems around somewhere. My study’s always a mess, but I sort of love the chaos. But there are many dying poems embedded in piles up there.

I’ve actually started writing poems again for the first time in a few years.

Now?

Now. In the last year-and-a-half. But how about you? Do you have a disciplined approach to making work? I mean we talked about how the voice can interrupt you, but are you one of those people who knows that from 5:00 to 7:00 p.m. you’re going to be in your study, transcribing the voices you’ve heard in your head all day, or finding the scrap in your purse where you wrote it down?

I always say to students that I’m completely disorganized. And I always work in medias res. I guess I am to some degree superstitious about not being that person who works from X hour to X hour. You know, when my daughter was little, and my stepson a teenager, I was in the middle of it — you don’t get to have a “schedule,” right?

And then once you sit down in your office, all you want to do is sign them up for AYSO and order them new socks. [Laughs.]

Exactly, you know your focus is so much on other things. When my daughter was quite young, I wrote novels and books of poems. I don’t know how the hell it happened. I know I didn’t sleep, I mean I stayed up really late. This hurts your health, but it’s the only quiet time. I would even go back and forth between a novel and a book of poems, cross-pollinating, so crazy! I really feel I’m A.D.D. yet was never diagnosed with it, and I try to use it to my advantage. I really feel if that distraction were taken away from me, and I was forced to write on a schedule, I would never write again.

I want to make sure we talk enough about your book, because it’s so good. One of the things I’m responding to in the book is the assertion of California as a place for you. Twin Cities drew a lot from your native environment in the Midwest, while this book lays claim to a place where you’ve been making your work for a long time. 

I always thought the imagination was portable. I thought of myself as a New Yorker for so many years, and to some degree I still feel that. I certainly matured there as a young writer. I worked on Antaeus with Dan Halpern, and I came up as a poet teaching at Columbia and NYU. I fought against moving to California when my late husband and I moved here when I was pregnant with Annie. My husband had a house here, and I got the job at USC. We always said we’d go back to New York, you know when Annie grew up. So when he died, I went back to New York, I bought an apartment, but it didn’t work. I realized that California had become “my” place. I’ve come to understand California differently over the years, and I love it now, and I see it as home. You must too, right?

I do, I mean it’s …

That’s an equivocal …

I moved so much growing up that I’ve now lived here twice as long as I’ve lived anywhere else. I’m surprised, I never thought I’d live the majority of my life in California, but I didn’t think I wouldn’t. I’m fully here, and both of my children were born here, but there’s also part of me that doesn’t feel totally contained by it either.

I don’t feel totally contained by it either, but I feel like I never really gave it its due. I always thought of California as, you know, a place where you could be isolated.

I agree with that. There’s a lot of intellectual freedom here, because you can’t really receive your ideas from anyone else. In a city like New York, you can feel like you know everything without ever having worked for a single opinion.

Where you go out of your apartment, and you’re swept up in this cultural tsunami.

Sometimes something will happen in Los Angeles, and an editor will call me from New York, and say, “Can you just write a quick little thing about what everybody’s saying about this event?” and I’ll think, there is no “everybody.”

You’re right. I think about Coolbrith, coming to California in 1851, a child in a covered wagon. California was the end of the Earth for them, it was heaven, a “kingdom,” as their scout and guide James Beckwourth, the freed slave, called it. Yet Ina Coolbrith had a hidden life. We were talking about the mask earlier.

It was her domestic life that was hidden.

She was the niece and the daughter of the Mormon prophet Joseph Smith, because her mother was sealed to Smith after his brother, her father, died. Her real name was Josephine Donna Smith. When Joseph Smith was murdered, she and her mother fled polygamy across country. That’s when she meets James Beckwourth, who’s an incredible mountain man, frontiersman, who leads them across the High Sierras. The Donner Party had just happened, and everybody was terrified to go across, and he found a way through. It’s still called Beckwourth Pass. Coolbrith arrives in California, free and clear, but what she does — this is what is crucial I think in terms of what we’re talking about — she hides behind her writing. Her mother makes her take an oath to never write about her identity, being Joseph Smith’s daughter — not to tell anyone until she is on her deathbed. So she lives like that, she changes her name, and then she has this very fraught domestic life when she marries in Los Angeles and has a child. But the child is lost and under very violent circumstances, as the husband is abusing her, but she never allows any of this into her writing. Her poetry is — it’s masked, but not in the “slipping” way that allows dramatic tension. She never lets it slip.

The mask is not only too fixed but too ornate; nothing comes through it. 

Nothing comes through, I mean Dickinson was the mask: she’s got power with those dashes. Ina Coolbrith at essentially the same time …

And also she tried to make the mask too pretty, probably.

She tries to prettify the mask, and I don’t want to call it Georgian but it’s, as you say, over-ornateness. Where is her real voice? The mask is the end. What I tried to do in the poem about her was to try to point to that, quoting her, but not in a critical way. I’d quote some of those lines, where she seems to be just hinting at the possibility of letting the mask slip. For god’s sake, she was also the secretary of the Bohemian Club, where women were not allowed (still aren’t!), where all these alpha males trusted her because they knew she wouldn’t expose them. So her life was almost entirely about keeping secrets, and being the repository of secrets.

And then having this incredibly public role —

First poet laureate. Buddy of Mark Twain, John Muir, Joaquin Miller — all editing each other and publishing in the Overland Monthly together. She was also an Oakland librarian.

— a woman, trotted out in public to be the secret-keeper.

She was set up as this symbol. But I just kept thinking, and I would never presume to try and write someone else’s poems, but when I wrote that poem about her I just kept thinking: What if? What if she had written about her real life?

Why don’t you? That would be so interesting!

Well, I tried, but it’s not fair to take another poet’s life. Do you think? And try to pretend that you’re them?

Why not? Why not as a persona, as a mask of your own?

Because they’re her experiences. You know that oath sort of reverberates in the ear, like …

You’re not bound by it.

It’s her secret. But she did reveal it on her deathbed. She revealed to a journalist, to a San Francisco journalist.

The deathbed revelation is such an incredible tradition.

All these things that you must not say except with your dying breath. That line sounds like a poem, doesn’t it?

¤

Dana Goodyear is a staff writer at The New Yorker and the author of two collections of poems, Honey and Junk and The Oracle of Hollywood Boulevard. Anything That Moves: Renegade Chefs, Fearless Eaters, and the Making of a New American Food Culture, a work of nonfiction, came out in 2013. Her work has been nominated for a National Magazine Award, and she has twice won the James Beard Foundation Award for journalism.

The post “Danger Blue”: Dana Goodyear Interviews Carol Muske-Dukes appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2lYpY8J

[thezombiemamma]

Once again, my inability to schedule a flight that didn’t leave at an ungodly hour made my last day in New York span 2 but that’s okay. Having run myself into complete exhaustion on Friday, I had no problem sleeping until 8 Saturday morning which meant I was more than ready to take on the 30+ hours of awesome that lay before me. All I had to do was jump out of bed and get crackin’. Which is exactly what I did.

Getting back to the Prudential Center bright and early Saturday morning, I got to spend the entire morning doing the one thing I love most: spend time with my friends. My one panel of the weekend was scheduled for late Saturday afternoon and all of my artist engagement passes had been for Friday so I got to spend the entire day on Saturday doing nothing more than wandering the grounds, enjoying all that KCON had to offer, with some of the people I love most in this whole world.

Showin’ off my friends’ swag since all I won was a phone ring… #lame

Saturday morning, I got to spend my time with the same pair of friends I’d spent the concert with Friday night. Having an entire year’s worth of life to catch up on, we talked and laughed and basically just enjoyed each other’s company as we wandered all over the grounds of the Prudential Center. Of course we had to stop at every booth offering free goodies along the way… Which meant we stopped at them all. As we passed the KCON TV booth, we happened to come across GoToe as he was doing an interview and I just couldn’t pass up the chance to record a little bit. I mean he was dancing to Psy’s “New Face” and all and well… Some things just need to be recorded for posterity!

Only at KCON do you get to see @xhlrud dancing to Psy on the street. #zombiesadventures #kcon2017

A post shared by Zombie Mamma (@thezombiemamma) on Jun 24, 2017 at 10:27am PDT

Sadly, my time with my friends went by all too quickly. Before I knew it, it was time for them to head back home. After many hugs and promises to keep in touch, we parted ways. Winding my way back through the massive crowd, I headed for the one place where I knew I’d be able to find a bit of A/C and a place to charge my phone. The press room! Yeah, I know. I’m a cheater, using my badge to cool off and charge up but what’s the point of being press if you can’t enjoy some of the perks? Even better than having a place to chill and recharge is knowing that walking into the press room almost always guarantees running into more friends and this time was no exception. Of course, with many badges comes many responsibilities and pretty soon all of us were off and running, going this way and that. While my friends were running off to do all that super-important official stuff that makes them so much cooler than I am, I ran off to… Well to be perfectly honest, I set off to wander around and take photos of the convention but what I ended up doing was running into UP10TION. As in, almost literally.

That moment when you just happen to be at the right place at the right time and UP10TION walks right past you… #zombiesadventures #kcon2017ny #up10tion

A post shared by Zombie Mamma (@thezombiemamma) on Jun 24, 2017 at 3:57pm PDT

Yup! You read that right! You know how I talked about randomly being at the right place at the right time on Friday and having HIGHLIGHT walk right past me? Well, this was another one of those random yet incredibly awesome times that can only ever happen at a place like KCON. As I was walking out of the Prudential Center Saturday afternoon, UP10TION was just leaving the Toyota tent where, I’m assuming, they’d just had a whole fan interaction thing like KNK had done the day before, and somehow we ended up passing at just the right moment. I honestly didn’t even realize what was going on at first so I kind of missed a few of the guys as they walked past me, but I did managed to pull out my phone fast enough to record some of them. I think if I’d left a couple of seconds later, I really would have run into them and how awkward would that have been???

Kevin is always so sweet to his fans and his smiles are the best!

The even funnier thing was, that this wasn’t the only time I almost ran into an idol that day! Later in the afternoon, I was walking from the green room towards the panel tents when who should suddenly cross my path out of nowhere? Why, Kevin Woo, of course! It was just him and maybe his manager or a coordi or I don’t know who it was, but the two of them were headed inside the Prudential Center just as I was about to walk past the door and I was so busy checking my phone, trying to figure out where I was supposed to be and when, that I almost ran into them. Lucky for me, I heard people shouting hi at Kevin before he got close enough for me to actually run into him, so I didn’t make a complete fool out of myself. But I did just kind of stop in the middle of the sidewalk and watch him smile and wave at his fans before dashing off inside, right in front of me. It was a very funny moment to me, for some odd reason, and certainly one I’ll never forget. I mean it’s not every day you almost run into Kevin Woo!

Though now that I think about it. Saturday was just a day full of randomly running into people. I mean I found GoToe at the KCON TV booth that morning. Then I almost ran into UP10TION and Kevin Woo that afternoon. As I was wandering around the grounds later in the day, I got to meet Sunny Park from Sunny’s Channel and the Korea Bros, not to mention all the amazing people who just randomly walked up to me just to say hi. (Believe it or not, I still have a very hard time believing there are people out there who actually know me as no one other than Zombie Mamma, so when people come up to me and say hi, it tends to throw me for a loop. It’s a good loop, don’t get me wrong. It’s just kinda weird. In a good way. Oh I should probably just shut up and get back to writing. Which isn’t really shutting up… Oh good grief!)

K-Pop Tater Tots Unite!

Back to wandering around KCON on Saturday… With my fellow K-Pop Tater Tot beside me (aka Young Ajummah) we explored all that KCON had to offer. Stopping to chat with friends, vendors, fellow K-Pop and drama fans, basically anyone who was willing to take a few second to chat. We visited vendor booths, took photos, explored pretty much everything and had so much fun, we were almost late getting to our panel that afternoon! Running over to the panel tents just in time, we sat down with our fellow panelists, Chunkeemonkeeato and Joan Voss Macdonald to discuss The Next K-Drama Star.

So who is your favorite rising K-Drama star?

Now I’m know I’m pretty biased when I’m say this but this year’s panel was one of the most fun I’ve been a part of. Getting together with some amazing people, to talk about all of the up-and-coming actors and actresses who are currently making waves in the Korean drama industry, is awesome all on its own. But then to have so many people come to our panel and not only fill those seats but actually join us for this conversation… Well, you just can’t ask for anything better! With so much great material to talk about and so many in the audience excited and happy to participate, the hour we spent together went by so quickly. I can easily say that this panel was the highlight of my entire KCON 2017 NY experience and my only regret is that I had to run away as soon as the panel ended because I was already 15 minutes late to the Red Carpet press check-in. (Don’t worry, I had made arrangements ahead of time to check in as soon as my panel was over but those arrangements involved running and sweating and a very big need for water once I got to where I needed to be.) I did get to meet a couple of people before all that running and to those of you who took the time to come up to me and say hi afterwards, all I can say is, it was an honor to meet you! I’m so happy you took a minute to come up and say hi! I really hope that next time we’ll have more time to talk and I won’t have to run away like a crazy person.

Crazy as I am, I did make it to the Red Carpet on time, I did manage to get some pretty decent pictures. I did finally get them edited and up for ATK Magazine (which you can find here). From there it was off to the concert to squeal my little fangirl self silly over TWICE and UP10TION and NCT 127 and CNBLUE. It was a good concert and at some point there were tears (because this is CN-frickin’-BLUE we’re talking about here… The very reason I made this decent into madness all those years ago…) and if you want to know my thoughts on the whole entire concert you can read those here.

It’s hard to get a good late night skyline pic with nothing but your phone. Still, I did try!

After the concert I said goodbye to friends from far and wide and meet up with those I would be spending my last few hours with in New York. Taking a very scenic, relaxing, trip across Manhattan with a friend should be the way every trip to New York ends. Stopping to grab a drink at a place along the riverfront, we spent who knows how long, talking and laughing while we enjoyed the cool breeze and the beautiful Manhattan skyline. From there we lazily made our way to my friend’s neighborhood diner to grab a bite before I headed off to the airport. I have to say, there’s nothing that warms your soul quite like a piping hot bowl of soup and a good friend. Again, time passed without us knowing so much so that by the time we left the diner, it was practically time for me to leave. A quick stop at her house to freshen up a bit and say our last goodbyes was all that stood between me and the hour-long subway ride to the airport. And boy was that an adventure!

I always have the most interesting early morning subway adventures when I’m in New York.

It’s kind of disappointing, trading such a soul-warming experience for one that leaves you rather… Um… Grossed out? I’ll spare you the details but let me just say, I couldn’t finish my trip without changing seats and if I could leave you all with a single word of advice please, please, PLEASE, don’t ever take public transportation if you’re so drunk you can’t sit without falling over. Or don’t let your drunk friends go home that way either? Please! There are some experiences I’d rather not have and that was definitely one of them! At least I made it to the airport unscathed and untarnished. (Barely…)

Like an oasis in the desert, so this coffee shop is to the overnight traveler.

Safely back in the land of travel-weary zombies (aka, the airport) I checked myself in and breezed through security in less than 5 minutes. (Believe it or not, there’s not much of a line at 3 in the morning!) Having traversed the vast expanse of JFK before, I knew I had about a zillion mile walk ahead of me. What my overly exhausted, must have coffee now, can’t think anymore brain didn’t remember was just how deserted the place was that early in the morning. (It also didn’t remember that no coffee shops were open that early and that ugly reality hit me so hard I almost started to cry!) However, after doing my best zombie impression for about a half hour or so, signs of life started to appear and lo! A semi-open coffee shop came into view! All of heaven’s angels sang songs of rejoicing as I took that first sip of life-giving brew and suddenly, I found the strength to continue on my epic quest to find Gate B42.

It was either dance or run in terror. I chose dance. #ThankYouJonghyun

Funny thing was, all life disappeared again as soon as that coffee shop disappeared from view and once again I felt like I was walking straight into a scene from some horrifying zombie flick. I swear, I was expecting to see Gong Yoo come running down the empty terminal, straight at me, with a massive horde of ravenous zombies chasing him, at any second. (In case you didn’t notice, my over-active imagine gets even more over-active when it’s tired and also, I scare really easily. So much so, that sometimes, I end up scaring myself in my own head.) To keep myself from getting too freaked out, I started listening to music. Jonghyun’s She Is album, to be exact, and I got so caught up in the music that without realizing it, I started dancing my way down the terminal. Looking back on the whole thing, I really hope the place was as deserted as I imagined it to be because if it wasn’t… Well, I’d rather not think about that.

After dancing my way to the escalator, the rest of my airport adventures are pretty hum-drum. My gate lay waiting for me at the bottom of those magic moving stairs so I grabbed a seat, whipped out my book and killed the hours until my flight left my reading all about Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy own not-so-wild adventures. I did somehow get an upgraded seat on the way home, for which I was very much appreciative. And once I got home, I realized the only thing I’d really eaten for the past 2 days were frickin’ sandwiches so I hijacked the car when hubs came to pick me up and drove to H-Mart, where I proceeded to order and devour a giant bowl of yukgaejang (육개장) at 9 in the morning. I’m pretty sure the guy behind the counter was wondering what the heck this crazy white lady was doing, ordering that so early in the morning but you know what? I didn’t care! It was so nice to eat real food! I even got little bungeoppang (붕어빵) which I had intended to take home for the littles but I ended up eating them on the way home. Oops!

And so ended my NY adventures… With blue skies and my feet up. #LifeIsGood

Back in Chicago, my KCON 2017 NY adventures officially came to an end. As one might expect, when I got home, I crashed and crashed HARD. But it was so worth it! It had been a weekend full of amazing  experiences, incredible friends and unexpected adventures. Needless to say, KCON 2017 NY will be one of the many moments in my life that I will never, ever forget.

KCON 2017: Zombie’s Adventures in NY – Days 3-4 Once again, my inability to schedule a flight that didn't leave at an ungodly hour made my last day in New York span 2 but that's okay.