#that whole scene looked like an important ceremony

[lenaboskow]

I’m just worried about how many stills they are going to cut out period. Look how many buddie and Buckley Diaz and Buck/Chris scene stills we got for 7.9 and then they cut them all. And it’s been a very reoccurring thing this entire seasons in relation to the stills did all the characters. It makes it very hard for me to put a lot of faith in some of these theories in relation to the stills.

the difference this time i think is everything is so obviously important to the plot. in the past they cut things like the eddisol kiss or eddie staring at bucktommy at the date. not whole scenes (except for the ceremony)

now, when it comes to the ceremony, i think they wanted to give us more than they could show, and that's why there's so many. this means the buckley-diaz stills were intentional. if we compare those to the way buck was acting with tommy... it's clear who he'd rather be with.

if anythings cut, it'll be part of the bucktommy date, unless it's a breakup or eddie calling buck (even then it might just cut to buck getting the call and dipping). i don't see anything that could be cut from the stills we got and not mess with the plot so i think we're safe :)

[zakequaznook]

WE HAVE DTAES(ish) FOR THE NEXT EPISODES HOLY FUCK

I'm. Am. SO FUCKING SCARED For The Full Moon Episode.

I have TEARS FALLING DOWN MY FACE. The animations looks FUCKING AMAZING!! AND The voice line snippets have stamped me in the heart OMFG. Especially Blitz. Our boy deserves to take openly and honestly about his feelings and Be Accepted (once he works on those issues of course).

[lux-ishii]

Storytelling Analysis (I guess?) I shared this thought with Dinbo Server but thought why not elaborate further? Personally, I think this frame is the moment Bo-Katan realized Din is her ride-or-die (or even a crush). They were specifically arguing about going to the mines, where her stance was that it was just a waste of time and they should get back. However, Din insists on going there without her. What Bo does? A total 180 turn saying she will take him there.

So Bo gives him a trip not only to the mines but also to her own past as a Mandalorian Princess. Specifically mentioning her father, for the first time ever, something she hasn't done in The Clone Wars or even Rebels, where she has been treated with all the honors her Clan once had, as they referred to her "Lady Bo-Katan Kryze" when brief history facts were dropped at unaware Ezra.

DO YOU SEE WHO LOOKS AT HER WHEN SHE MENTIONS HER FATHER LOOKING AT HER PROUDLY? All I'm gonna say is that Cinematic Design regarding storytelling this season is INSANE. Each frame, move, pose, and EVERYTHING has its purpose in the further symbolism of how things develop.

Later in this scene, Bo is really sarcastic about the whole ceremony referring to it as "Such a heart-warming spectacle", which Din mistakenly takes as her mocking her father.

We all know what happens next, but something always felt odd about it to me.

The thing is... Bo barely said anything, just that he made her take The Creed she later broke. So where does the "interesting" part comes from? Of course, Din might be curious to meet someone who ruled Mandalore in its glory, but I think the root of it goes back to the Mandalorian culture, and what Din himself experiences:

You see, the best measure to judge Bo's father is to look at her. And it's safe to say Din IS impressed by her, not only in skills but also with her personality. If he hated her and didn't care about her he would never take her to his covert. In a recent episode, they highlighted how secretive they are about their place, it was almost sacred not to reveal the location. Yet he took her there, despite her different beliefs.

So I think Din is saying that, because he admires Bo as a warrior, and she is the result of how her father raised her. It means her father was a great person Din himself could learn from. It's quite important knowing, that Din is the father to Grogu now, so how he will raise him, depends on who Grogu will become. Bo later revealed even more admiration for her father, calling him great. (Or even comparing Din to him when Grogu had his first fight.) THIS IS NOT A COINCIDENCE, BELIEVE ME.

Din goes as far as showing the biggest form of respect he knows to this man who not only raised someone like Bo, but also died like a warrior.

However, the whole thing leaves Bo-Katan... puzzled?

She really doesn't know what to say, how to respond, until Din leaves her behind with Grogu.

OK HEAR ME OUT

I know she kinda was harsh to Grogu here, BUT it's the same kind of response someone would say if they were caught blushing. You see, I think Bo's (and maybe Din's too) emotions were SO strong Grogu could feel them in the force. He knows what's going on, and Bo was caught red-handed. Now look at this:

"They loved watching the princess recite the Mandalorian tenets as her father looked on proudly." Bo definitely was touched by his devotion to the creed. It sparked something in her, and she did exchange a proud look towards Din with Grogu. The devil is in the details, Bo was now in the position her father once was, which we know of because of her previous confession. It all was in a way foreshadowed to us.

Leter, without thinking Bo jumps to save Din's life again, which led her to discover a mythosaur. This is only my opinion, but I do think the storytelling between them is written really well this season, and it may be the best relationship build-up in Star Wars live-action media in years depending on how they will go with it later.

Going as far as doing psychological parallels between Din and Bo's father, something we as humans do and look for unsubcounciouslly in our romantic interests (the reason why Daddy Issues are such a big problem if the father figure was absent/bad) means that now everything matters like I said in the beginning. Frames, moves, words... it's all part of the bigger picture. The Mandalorian Writers really do build up whatever is happening between them. It's not out of the bat, I've rewatched Season 2 to see how Bo and Din interacted there, and the natural progression of turning distrust to trust was there. They have both been thru a lot, and it really feels like together, they will be stronger.

[kingsandbastardz]

what we know about Wuyan and his relationship with Di Feisheng

While rivals/nemesis/friendly-antagonist relationships are my bread and butter. I also have a thing for unusual 'servants'.

So let's have a look at Wuyan.

We know very little about him but we can draw conclusions based on what does get told to us:

He's Di Feisheng's 'personal guard'

So what's it like being the bodyguard of the man who's gongwu/jainghu's strongest and rivaled only by Li Xiangyi the legendary prodigy? DFS has to sleep, use the toilet, and bathe at some point in the day so it's easy to assume guarding him during off hours is one of his duties. However, we don't ever see Wuyan personally doing this. The only times we see DFS in a sleeping context is when JL and her people are there, or he's at the Lotus House. If Wuyan is around then, he stays out of the way to the point it's like he doesn't exist... and he does not ever reveal himself during dangerous situations. So while his rank says he's mean to be close physical protection for a guy that doesn't need it -- his actual role, when physically present, is to be an observer or something that doesn't require fighting in public. This has interesting implications on what DFS actually uses him for.

His duties don't seem to include acting as a forward guard/scout and alerting DFS of any dangers that are approaching. Which, considering how he's out of sight and often around DFS, it would make sense for him to do so. Unless, he nor DFS sees the need. It doesn't seem to be happening off screen, either.

Being a personal guard is likely a pretext or a throwback to a previous position - Wuyan functions more as an executor or physical extension of DFS' will. He knows what DFS knows, understands his desires and how he thinks, and can execute these desires with minimum orders. He knows when to check in to keep DFS informed and how to solve issues on his own. Jiao Liqiao is aware of his actions and if he's seen moving, it means DFS is moving.

He has access to DFS where no one else does: he'll be able to go to DFS when he's on the toilet or in the bath. He is the only person with access to any of the private waterfalls DFS goes to

Is likely the person providing food and wine for him at the waterfall - In contrast to JL who brings DFS an entire banquet spread, he seems to be the only known person at the Alliance that makes concessions for DFS' issues with food. He provides whole fruit, which has a higher shelf life, can be eaten or carried anywhere, is easier to see if its rotten or been tampered with. Has vitamins. Is water resistant.

At the emotional level, Di Feisheng doesn't see him as a servant

We see the camera pointedly showing us that DFS has noticed Wuyan lurking outside of the main room during his return ceremony. Then, in the infodump scene where DFS is mourning Li Xiangyi's death, he asks why he hadn't come out sooner. Either DFS expected him to meet and greet him at some point before he got to the waterfall location, or he thought Wuyan would be one of the people assembled in the main hall to greet him. He cared enough that he brings it up, though it's phrased casually. Very "Dude, I saw you, why weren't you there-there instead of being weird in the back?"

DFS says that Wuyan and the Three Kings are second to only him in the Alliance. This is DFS pointedly telling him that he sees Wuyan, his personal guard, as being equal to the other 3 male leaders. That he too is a founder of the Jinyuan Alliance who risked his equally important life for him. Again, there's a mild undercurrent of "Why are you being weird?" in that conversation -- like this is a conversation they've had before.

DFS smiles, laughs, and talks about personal things to Wuyan in this scene, establishing he has a stronger emotional connection to DFS than most others. In fact, this emotional connection and dependence DFS has with Wuyan is the connection Jiao Liqiao wishes she had

As an original founder of the Alliance, which likely means he knew DFS during his Di Fortress escapee days, Wuyan has personal first hand knowledge of the true DFS. The DFS that reveals his sense of humor, has a sense of drive, isn't going through the motions and is comfortable enough to whine, or mourn, or otherwise show an actual personality that doesn't fit the narrative of Sect Leader. This is also the first hint we get of his personality as a-Fei during the amnesia arc.

It is Wuyan who is careful to enforce the appearance of boundaries in their relationship even in private, not Di Feisheng

DFS' gentle reminder that he sees Wuyan not as a servant and in fact as someone with higher standing than most of the Alliance - results in Wuyan continuing to act like a servant

DFS broaching the topic of Wuyan's personal standing seems to imply that he actually sees him as a friend - otherwise he wouldn't be bringing this up at all

The reason why is never explained, but for someone that knows DFS as well as he does, he is not blind to DFS' affection toward him and I think his longevity and loyalty are a good indication that he feels the same way. This means he is deliberately acting as a servant for other reasons. Whether it is to maintain his ability to serve DFS with the right mindset, or more covert operations related reasons (more on this later) this is unknown. It could be a mixture of both.

Is likely the one who gave DFS the gold fish-looking whistle to summon him. DFS is really not the carry around cute little tools type. He's more the punch his way through things alone type. Which means Wuyan was like "Listen you're gonna need me at some point. But I need you to actually tell me when you want me to come out. So use this."

He sees almost everything Di Feisheng sees, and if he doesn't, Di Feisheng will likely tell him about it

I'm pretty sure that's Wuyan at the Big Mythic Duel and personally stabbed by Li Xiangyi himself! The only other witnesses to that fight are LXY and DFS and maybe a stray spearman if any survived. This is also the only time we see Wuyan fighting, btw - here he trying to prevent LXY from attacking DFS.

His position as personal guard means he gets to follow DFS everywhere and observe everything. This is likely something he does off screen.

His real understanding of the depth of DFS' emotions toward LXY means he also as real knowledge behind the reasons. Like facts. This positions him as a confidant for DFS, which means he'll likely continue to learn more things from him in private

He likely knew LLH was LXY around the same time DFS did. He was hiding in the woods somewhere and summonable by whistle. This means he was within earshot and watching everything without intervening.

Has the power, the access, and complete command of resources without needing to ask anyone for permission: money, people

DFS gives Wuyan minimum orders to go across the country searching for things that are so rare, they're myths. That means he needs to be able to get money, give people orders, and use other sect resources whenever needed

Able to buy the Niayan bug killing salt that is extremely expensive to the point even Shang Gudao is like wtf. This means - if he didn't steal it - Wuyan was able to pull a shit ton of money to buy that stuff without anyone stopping him

He commands the operations to look for LLH in the extra episode - again: access to money, resources, and people to pull off a massive search over literally every surface of the country

Good at logistics: understands allocation of resources, budgeting, project planning/operations

He has DFS's complete trust in being given ludicrous orders with no additional information of how to pull any of it off. DFS knows that Wuyan will know how to break the objective down and execute it

This means Wuyan is a good operations manager/project planner. He knows how to budget, figure out timelines, send men out and coordinate information when they come back. He knows how to maintain communications and an information network so the men he sends out are able to keep informed of what has or has not been done. He has access to a network of people who knows esoteric information, or is capable of finding it out (ie hunt for Styx flower). He does this successfully and without hiccups.

When searching for LLH's body/person, he keeps track of each and every location they go do. This is a very systemic and thorough way of thinking. You'd think it's common sense, but a lot of managers irl fail to perform the way Wuyan does.

He's good at hiding

We literally never see him anywhere until he's reporting to DFS. But supposedly he's out and about and acting as a personal guard at some points of the story

During the tomb raiding thing - there is no indication that LLH knew Wuyan was following them in the woods. He had to have been within earshot of the whistle and appeared almost immediately. This means not only was he close, he was likely also disguising his chi the way DFS does

Much like DFS, action and acts of service is his love language

Aside from LLH, he's the only other still-living person we know of that truly understands how important LLH is for DFS. This is reflected in how thorough he is in performing his search for LLH later on. And also lead to him being tricked by LLH at one point, because he was treating him as an honored guest, not as a prisoner. You can also see this when he consoles DFS in the beginning by telling him that LLH was truly the only man worthy of DFS mourning into an empty cup for. The fact that he actually sits there and repeatedly listens to DFS talk about LXY. How many times has he heard about him through the years? His reward is being put in charge of every LXY personal mission

Loyal to the point he's subsumed any ambitions to perform his job better (whatever it actually is) - his rank is personal guard despite being considered a founding member of the alliance. He lurks in alcoves rather than standing up front with others, getting attention and public accomplishments. In the beginning, he's seen actually doing the duties of a guard as he's one of the men stationed outside of DFS' sea cabin. If this was his rank 10 years ago, it hasn't changed since -- despite performing duties that are not low level

He's the one that supplies fruit and wine and even a table at the waterfall for DFS - his rank is personal guard. This is servants' work and isn't part of his job description

Willing to die for DFS - see above image of him fighting a known sword genius that vastly outclasses him, and getting stabbed by LXY

LLH almost escaped because he was able to trick Wuyan by leaning on his loyalty to DFS (outside that run down hut used to detox DFS from asura grass) - a good example of Wuyan having to chose between orders given to him regarding LLH vs helping DFS.

Rather than trying to rescue DFS from torture, he follows DFS' orders to deliver the bug killing salt to LLH. We already know he's willing to die for DFS. The only reason I can think of for why Wuyan hadn't tried to sneak in and steal DFS away from JL, regardless of outcome, is he was told to do something else. And he actually went and did it. Emotional damage? Conflict of interest? Yes. Also see what happened above when he chose otherwise.

Conclusion: I think there is a good case for Wuyan being in charge of Di Feisheng's covert operations, and if not, then he should be.

handles secret and personal operations for DFS

has access to a vast information network

has a rank that doesn't match his actual role or relationship to DFS

can physically hide and follow in the woods, well enough that neither LLH nor FDB notice him

is at least on par with DFS with his chi hiding abilities - LLH doesn't notice him when he easily notices others

does not physically engage in situations even when present, which suggests he's there to observe instead

acts like a servant even though he has authority to move a large group of men/women

hides away from the public eye on purpose

capable of sneaking in and out of the royal palace unnoticed (if he delivered the snow salt while llh was in the palace)

Though, there is one mark against him because he was easily fooled by LLH. But everyone is. So.

[omelu]

The Class Ever After

So for a long time (since about 2018ish) I’ve had this kind of EAH story idea floating around in my head. Basically it’s about the class directly under Apple and Raven (aka the first-years) and how they handle the whole aftermath of Legacy Day and the destiny conflict. Pretty much all of the eah ocs I’ve made fit into this idea, and while I don’t really have a plot per say, I have lots of scenes, concepts and ideas floating around in my head (and in my computer).

I found a draft I had written that was supposed to be a “beginning” to the story and I revised it. I don’t know if I’ll extend this to an actual fic (since I have a lot of other original projects I want to be writing right now), but maybe I’ll write down some of the concepts and scenes I have.

The Class Ever After (snippet; ~1700 words)

Legacy Day was, by far, the biggest event at Ever After High. Thronecoming, Spring Fairest, and even Graduation Day were just breadcrumbs in comparison. That was fitting, since Legacy Day was so vital to the survival of Ever After. Every year, Ever After High’s second-years donned their ceremonial outfits, climbed the steps to the podium, and pledged to follow their fairy-tale destiny to the world by signing their names into the magical Storybook of Legends.

Without Legacy Day, fairy tales would stop being told.

Without Legacy Day, Ever After would go extinct.

Without Legacy Day, everyone would go poof.

And that’s how Marshal Nottingham found himself teetering on the edge of his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of the second-years lined up on the terrace. He’d never been to a Legacy Day ceremony before, and so he felt that it was his duty to study it all as closely as possible. The grand, book-shaped podium glittered in the moonlight, tall and regal. Above it, half a dozen mirrors magically floated in the air like jewels on a crown, prepared to broadcast each student’s face to the audience as they made the most important pledge of their lives. 

All around him, students buzzed with conversation. Third and fourth-years leaned back in their seats, reminiscing about their own Legacy Days. Faculty members congregated in their designated section, deep in hushed, frantic conversation. Second-years lined up in the hall, pacing anxiously or straightening their parent's outfits. First-years, like Marshal, watched anxiously to see what would happen.

“I should’ve brought my MirrorPad,” he muttered. “It would be much easier to take notes.”

In the seat next to him, Owlen von Rothbart yawned. “Oh, give it a rest. It’s not like you’re going to forget how to sign a book next year.”

Next year. Marshal looked up at the podium, dark eyes glittering. In just three hundred and sixty-five days, it would finally be his turn.

“One year!’ Marshal shook his head. “That’s barely any time to prepare! Do you know how quickly a year passes by if you’re not paying attention?”

Owlen just shrugged and flicked his mahogany bangs out of his eyes.

Marshal sighed. Normally, he got along well with Owlen. When he’d met his new roommate just a few weeks ago, on the first day of school, he knew that they’d be friends. Both boys were destined for villainy, and more importantly (at least to Marshal), both of them cared about keeping their shared room clean. They had so much in common that sometimes Marshal was taken aback by their differences. He just couldn’t fathom how casual Owlen was when it came to preparing for his destiny. But whenever Marshal brought it up, Owlen brushed him off and changed the subject. Which he was doing again now.

“Are they going to start soon?” he asked, craning his neck to see if Headmaster Grimm had gotten up yet. “I want to get some more barre practice in before curfew.”

Marshal sighed. Sometimes, he felt like the only one who took his destiny seriously.

“Hey, Marshal!” Bella Donna Gothel and Amber Fox stood in the aisle, waving at him. “Can we sit by you guys?”

“Of course!”

Bella and Amber slipped into the row, brushing nonexistent dust off of their formal clothes. Bella had dressed in a purple witch gown adorned with thorns, while Amber had opted for an orange pantsuit with a foxtail hem. Her bright red hair had been swept up in a ponytail, putting her fox ears on full display.

Marshal and Owlen had met the two girls in their General Villainy class, and together, the four of them had formed a coalition of sorts. Bella was the daughter of Rapunzel’s princess-napping witch, and Amber was the daughter of the fox who had tried to eat Coach Gingerbreadman once upon a time. With Owlen, the son of the sorcerer who had cursed the Swan Princess, and Marshal, the son of the sheriff who chased after Robin Hood, they made up the FVEAs– Future Villains of Ever After.

Marshal liked hanging out with the three of them. They understood what it was like to have a villain for a parent. They knew what it was like to have other kids run away from them, to be scolded for being polite, and to live with the hexpectation of being ruthless at all times. Being a villain kid was tough, but Marshal knew he could handle it with these three at his side.

“Ooh, don’t look now, but–” Amber elbowed Owlen in the ribs and stealthily motioned to the aisle.

Laura Stahlbaum, the daughter of Clara, glided down the aisle, shimmering in her red and white dress. She was holding hands with a short boy made of wood. Nathan Nutcracker. The two were laughing about something, looking every bit like the picturesque fairytale couple they would become one day.

Owlen’s face went pink and he slid down in his seat.

“You should say something to her,” Bella gently urged.

Marshal frowned. He didn’t understand why Bella and Amber kept feeding into Owlen’s crush on Laura. He wasn’t her destined prince. In Marshal’s mind, he should just forget about Laura and focus more on mastering evil spells.

“Absolutely not.” Owlen slid down further as they came closer. “You know she’s with Nathan Nutcracker.”

Marshal swelled with pride. Owlen was staying strong in his destiny!

“Hi Owlen!” Laura called, waving daintily at him as she passed their row.

Owlen sat up quickly, fixing his feathered bow tie and blushing madly. “H-hey…” 

Marshal deflated. Or maybe not. Even if Laura and Nathan’s story didn’t technically end in a fairytale wedding, Owlen still had no part in their destinies. Why was Marshal the only one who saw that?

The fairy lights dimmed as Headmaster Grimm took to the podium. A hush fell over the crowd. Marshal sat at attention.

“Today is a momentous day,” he began, his voice deep and regal. “Today, we will witness the very magic that allows the world of Ever After– and our lives– to exist.” He shifted to face the second-years, who had lined up on the podium stairs as he had spoken. “By fulfilling your destinies, you ensure that stories continue to be told. You ensure that we all have a future. No part is too small or insignificant. You each have a part to play, a duty to fulfill. I urge you not to take this responsibility lightly.”

Marshal straightened his spine. Even though Headmaster Grimm was speaking to the second-years, he could feel the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders. He wished he could be one of the students lined up by the podium, but he only had a year to wait. One year before his destiny began. Yes, he would grow to be despised and hated, but he would be fulfilling his duty to the world. He would have a purpose.

Headmaster Grimm finished his speech to thunderous applause and stepped back, letting the second-years into the spotlight. Marshal watched intently as a girl carved of wood took the stage and announced herself as Cedar Wood, destined to be the next Pinocchio. He gasped when the key magically appeared and the Storybook of Legends flipped to life. Though he couldn’t see the book, he could see the story playing out in the girl’s eyes. The slight changes in her expression as she saw her whole life play out in front of her. Marshal longed to be in her place.

When she signed, the crowd erupted into cheers. 

“Go Cedar!” Nathan Nutcracker cheered, leaping onto his seat. 

“Sit down, you scratching post!” Cato en Boots hissed, his ginger ears flicking in annoyance. “Some of us are trying to watch!”

Sheepishly, Nathan plopped back down and the ceremony continued. Marshal watched it all with wide eyes, trying to commit each pledge to memory. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Owlen take out his MirrorPhone and start lazily scrolling through MyChapter. He frowned. Shouldn’t he be paying attention? His focus shifted to the rest of his friends. Amber looked at her long, sharp nails, and yawned. Bella was quietly using her magic on a patch of clover growing through the terrace tiles, letting it wrap around her chair leg.

Marshal’s spirit sank. Once again, he was the only one who cared. Suddenly he felt alone, like he was stranded on a little island with all the passing ships too far away to call out to.

He was distracted from his internal woes when Apple White took the stage. The daughter of Snow White was a legend amongst Ever After High’s students, a person that everyone admired and looked up to, including upperclassmen. She was everything any future fairytale should aspire to be.

She delivered the pledge perfectly, grinning so widely that she could have been mistaken for the daughter of the Cheshire Cat. When she signed the book, the crowd erupted into its loudest and most raucous cheers yet. Someone started tossing confetti in the air, and a few royals tossed their crowns with it. Apple White was the ultimate celebration of destiny.

The celebration died almost instantly when Raven Queen took the stage. Lightning crackled behind her. Marshal sat a little straighter. She was the first future villain to take the stage. Next to him, his friends abandoned their distractions, staring up at the future Evil Queen with wide eyes. Hope stirred in Marshal’s chest. Maybe they cared after all.

He watched with bated breath as Raven nervously stumbled through the pledge. Her key appeared, and the Storybook of Legends flipped open. Raven watched her destiny unfold with a frown. The hope in Marshal’s chest stirred and became something uncomfortable, settling like a pit in his stomach. 

The quill appeared, and Raven reached for it– and then hesitated. Stopped. Suddenly, she pulled her hand back, squared her shoulders, and looked directly into the audience.

“I am Raven Queen,” she announced, her voice powerful and bold. “And I’m going to write my own destiny. My Happily Ever After starts now!”

She slammed the Storybook of Legends shut. Above her head, the projection mirrors shattered and exploded, along with Marshal’s hopes for his future.

Next to him, his friends cheered.

[swallowerofdharma]

Is Nanahara in love with Yashiro? Dare we call that 'love'? Attraction mixed with affection maybe?

It’s hard to answer in a straightforward way for me, because I think that Yoneda often gives enough hints to make things interesting, but at the same time there is a level of ambiguity due to the fact that these people aren’t going to admit easily or even recognize their feelings or act on them when it comes down to actually pursuing same sex relationships in any meaningful way. There are various parallels between Nanahara and Ryuuzaki in this regard, but also substantial differences, and damn if, in going back to check the translation when I was taking few screenshots to put here, I didn’t almost tear up again when Ryuuzaki tells Nana about nineteen years old Yashiro and how he believes that no matter his ability to be cunning and make the most money, Yashiro shouldn’t even be in the yakuza. The Italian translation of this dialogue in chapter 17 conveys more of Ryuuzaki’s emotions and his exasperation than nobody else seems to have predicted this outcome: so instead of the scans version “What does someone like you knows?”, in the version I have Ryuuzaki says: “Why the fuck you guys can’t see it?”. And I suggest that it is generally better to check the official translations especially when it comes to volume 3!

If Ryuuzaki’s anger is also directed at himself for falling in Hirata’s trap, and he shows genuine worry for Yashiro as a person, the discovery that their kumicho has ordered Yashiro’s death is shattering and hits very hard poor Nanahara, because he genuinely believed in the principles that the yakuza seems to be based on as a familiar system of mutual protection. And I think it is important to look at his reactions here in chapter 17, his backstory in chapter 18 and later when he is reunited with Yashiro and he takes a bullet to protect him in chapter 20, to have a better chance of understanding Nanahara’s feelings and his relationship with Yashiro. You ask if it’s love, or attraction mixed with affection, so you already guess that there is more to it than simply sexual curiosity and that puzzling physical attraction. And I also believe that there is deep affection born from years of proximity and loyalty - and Nanahara’s loyalty is one of his most genuine qualities and a rare thing to see in that world. Yashiro isn’t in my opinion even aware of what he did to inspire these feelings in others. I don’t think that Yoneda is content with just teasing us with hints about generically romantic feelings or sexual attraction, because the reality of human relationships, especially when we talk queer relationships in a patriarchal context, is more complicated and complex than following your heart or your dick. I really appreciate that there are many layers to this story to look at, even for a character like Doumeki that isn’t bothered by directly admitting to his feelings. And Nanahara and Doumeki understand each other on a certain level. But while Yashiro accepted to formalize his relationship with Nanahara under the terms of the yakuza ceremonies, he refused to do so with Doumeki even after he cut off his finger and that is a big clue about what Yashiro felt and what direction he didn’t want that particular relationship to go.

I think it’s important to look back at the circumstances that brought Nanahara to be Yashiro’s subordinate. How easily he admitted in the end that he wasn’t smart, when Yashiro only remarked that he wasn’t a good judge of character - being naive doesn’t mean being stupid. In this last scene, Yashiro makes his decision and takes Nanahara under his wing, willing to look after him and give him direction in the group so he isn’t taken advantage of again. But he also says something that really strikes Nanahara: “An idiot like you could be good”. To be good, to be recognized as having potential even in the face of Nanahara’s most great insecurity - believe me when I tell you I have a whole headcanon of Nanahara being told by parents and teachers that he was stupid over and over again and that really hurt him and he ended up believing it - and to find purpose and a place for himself in the world are not secondary things to a young person. And how the yakuza is formally defined, with Yashiro exchanging sake cups and thus formally recognizing the oyabun and kobun relationship I think mattered a lot to Nanahara. Kobun means literally something like ‘child status’ while the oyabun takes a ‘parent status’ with the implication of taking responsibility of mentorship and giving directions, making good decisions for their protégés and juniors, in a way that we see Nanahara interpret quite literally as a surrogate family. That is why he took Hirata’s betrayal harder than everyone else. He couldn’t even have imagined it. So I read in multiple ways Nanahara’s loyalty and his affection for Yashiro. I don’t think he is in love tho, because he doesn’t seem to want to change things in the relationship he has with Yashiro, he is content with being a subordinate and he took initiative only when he felt personally responsible and under Hirata’s manipulation. He might have suggestions or express his opinion freely, but for Nanahara is too important to know one’s place and to me that is indication of feelings that never really took the direction of being inescapable like a burning love that goes beyond affection and respect and true passion would imply. By the way I wish I knew better ways to communicate the different types of love in English, because I believe it should be easier to differentiate between familiar affections, romantic attraction, reciprocal care and so on, and I hope to convey correctly the different nuances. And if I put so much consideration into the linguistic aspects is because I think that the way we speak determines the way we think and our system of beliefs is also quite influential in how we build relationships with others.

This scene in the car, although I have omitted parts of it and in particular the effects that Yashiro’s words have on Doumeki, is just so well done. It really shows how Yashiro’s disillusionment came so early he never quite knew any other reality that of being disillusioned: how could he innocently believe in anything or anyone even if he wanted to? Yashiro learned out of necessity to simply accept the worst reality behind fake promises and the promises of different systems of beliefs, he learned to not expect anything genuine or unconditional from others. And that type of loneliness is something that is hard to overcome and escape.

In conclusion, I think Nanahara definitely cares for Yashiro as a boss and as someone who gave him a place to belong and a purpose. He launched himself in front of him and took a bullet hoping to “show off” or, in the translation I have, hoping to demonstrate that he was good as Yashiro envisioned for him. But most of Nanahara’s attention is still focused more on the role than the actual person, he still trusts Yashiro to be the one to lead, create opportunities and build a group for them to be a family in the yakuza way. And it has been said and shown how he is attracted to women but he is turned on by the direct sexual displays that he got used to witnessing around Yashiro, but arousal doesn’t quite mean anything that much deeper in my opinion. And a personal consideration of mine also comes to mind, that I am glad that there is at least one person close to Yashiro that doesn’t want him in a possessive and erotic way, that Yashiro can rely on without worrying about being pushed outside of his almost nonexistent comfort zone regarding intimacy. If anything, I think that Ryuuzaki was the one closest to figuring out how the role put on Yashiro by Misumi wasn’t right for him, in opposition to both Nanahara and Doumeki. And the difference is apparently banal but maybe not so much, Ryuuzaki is the same age as Yashiro, and for a moment he looked at him and wondered - something Kageyama never did - while Misumi was much older and thought he knew what was best for Yashiro. Thank you for the ask and I hope this answer makes some sort of sense!

[twst-trash]

𝖘𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘 ☽

Summary: When you arrive back into his life- a ghost from Leona’s past come back to haunt him- he realizes that he’ll do everything and anything to make sure he never loses you again. A commissioned piece that’s probably one of the best fics that I’ve written this year. 

cw: fem!reader x yandere-ish!Leona DARK CONTENT, 18+ SMUT, tw: noncon Jackal!reader is Leona’s childhood best friend who was murdered by the rivaling kingdom from my green-eyed fic (but is otherwise unconnected to that story). Unhappy/ambiguous ending.

wc: 4.8k

The Savanaclaw Dorm is far too much like his own kingdom, Leona thinks. The way the sun beats down on his neck as he curls up for a nap and the ever-present sheen of sweat that coats his body would probably be comforting to someone like Farena. 

He would relish in the small reminders of the home that would welcome him with open arms, as if he were the King of Beasts himself- a god amongst mortals. Leona thinks he might’ve envied his brother once, in the Peacetime, when the Sunset Savanna needed not for armed soldiers at every border. 

His kingdom was on the precipice of war and he was stuck in school playing make-believe king to a dorm full of neanderthals. 

Leona thinks that they’ve sent him away on purpose. The Kingdom loathed their Second Prince- feared for his magic and hated for his cold attitude. The Sunset Savanna wanted to handle things peacefully. Fools. Leona wanted war and bloodshed and burning bodies. It’s all he’s ever wanted after what they had done to you. 

“Leona.” It’s Ruggie’s voice that pulls him out of his stupor. “It’s the entrance ceremony. You’re the dorm leader, you need to attend.” 

“Fuck off.”

Ruggie sighs and, instead of listing more simple truths and trying to win Leona over with reason, shoves Leona’s sleeping form. The older beastman sleeps like a rock and moves like one, too. It’s only when Ruggie tugs at his tail that he shoots up from sleep with a growl.

“Sorry Leona, you know today’s important.” Ruggie says with a smile that’s only partly apologetic. “You have the whole rest of the school year to sleep in.” 

His ceremonial robes are already laid out on his desk thanks to Ruggie, pressed and ironed to appear professional. Leona begrudgingly gets up from his bed and moves over to the desk, already dreading having to sit through his fourth entrance ceremony. Crowley’s flair for the dramatics always extends the ceremony for far too long, but Leona would be content with sleeping through the whole thing if the dorm leader chairs weren’t so uncomfortable. 

“Get ready.” Ruggie commands as he turns to leave the room. “I mean it.”

—

He’s almost not paying attention when you break out of the coffin. It’s only when the hall breaks out into a collective gasp and blue flames appear from the mouth of the coffin that he even looks down, an eyebrow cocked in interest. 

Riddle stiffens by Leona’s side, clearly disgusted at the sight. “Whoever’s in there ruining the ceremony should have their head taken.” 

A few seats over on his opposite side, Kalim leans into the scene, eyes sparkling as he surveys the situation. “I-is that a talking raccoon? With a girl?” 

As the smoke dies down, the situation becomes clearer. Kalim’s right- the talking raccoon responsible for the fire is yelling some nonsense about being the greatest mage in the world while a girl stands right behind him in shock. Leona’s eyes barely pass over the female intruder before his whole body freezes. He recognizes you. 

There’s no mistaking it. It’s the same figure that’s been haunting his dreams for the past four years: the same fluffy ears and tail, the same innocent eyes, the same fists clenched by your side when you’re nervous. It has to be you. 

Leona runs. He breaks out into a full sprint as he runs down the aisles, his body taking him before his brain could even fully process what was happening. He has to touch you. He needs to know that you’re real.

It's pure instinct that has his arms wrapping tightly around you, squeezing all the air out of your lungs. Leona could sink into you, so grateful that you aren’t just an apparition or some sick grief-filled hallucination. Your heartbeat against his chest proves that you're real- that you’re alive. Your familiar scent fills his head and makes his thoughts fuzzy. God, he’s missed you. And for a split second, he thinks you’re leaning into his embrace, sinking back into him- 

“Get off of me!” You shriek, tiny fists pounding against his chest. He’s startled, enough to let you go even when his body is screaming at him to keep holding on. Leona takes a few steps back from you, allowing you to regain some composure. 

The Mirror Chamber erupts with whispers and Leona feels hundreds of eyes boring holes into his back. He couldn’t care less about the other students; he’s waiting for your response, for you to acknowledge him somehow, but all you do is stare blankly at him in confusion- as if he were a stranger. As if the two of you hadn’t spent a lifetime together in the Sunset Savanna.

He can tell you’re panicking in the way you clench and unclench your fists, the same way you used to when you were young. He remembers taking your hand in his, squeezing back to calm your nerves. 

“I-I can’t remember where I came from, but it sure as hell isn’t here.” Your eyes flicker between the raccoon, Dire Crowley, and Leona. Your whole body is tense, ears flattened back against your head as you cast your eyes around the hall. “I need to get out of here.”

“Wait! Hold on just a minute.” Dire Crowley exclaims, grabbing your arm. Leona just barely restrains himself from growling at the headmaster for touching you. “I’m sure this is just a terrible case of teleportation fatigue.”

“Teleportation fatigue?” The foreign words tumble over your tongue slowly as you watch the feathered man nod enthusiastically.

“Yes, now you’re getting it!” He smiles, facing you toward the giant mirror in the middle of the room. “You’ve been chosen for your magical prowess to attend Night Raven College- though, I’m not quite sure when the last time a woman was chosen for our school… in any case, you must be sorted into a dorm posthaste!”

“Hey, whaddabout me!? I came here too, y’know!” The raccoon yells, though Crowley chooses to ignore it. 

“We’ve already wasted so much time,” Crowley laments, shooting a look toward Leona from over his shoulder. “Kingscholar! Back to your seat, please. As eager as I know you are to leave, we still have a few more students to sort.”

“I-“ Leona begins, but your indifferent stare in his direction is like a stream of cold water along his spine. Without saying another word, he sulks back to the other dorm leaders.

“Innovative way to desecrate the good name of Night Raven College this time, Kingscholar.” Vil whispers haughtily, eyes rolling as he watches the beastman settle back into his seat. “Usually just your snoring does the trick.” 

“Do you know her, Leona?” Kalim asks, tilting his head. “I didn’t know you had any friends!” 

The tan boy claps a hand over his own mouth as he realizes what he just said. Usually the goading by Vil and innocuous remarks by Kalim would have him fuming, baring his teeth and raring up for a fight, but Leona is too shell-shocked to say anything else. 

“I sense no magical power from this one. Soundless. Colorless. Shapeless.” The mirror booms toward you, and the hall is filled with hushed voices once more.

That can’t be right. Leona casts his eyes toward you- the person he thought you were- but that person had magic, and the Mirror of Darkness is never wrong. Still, your appearance and smell and mannerisms couldn’t just be a coincidence. He leaves the hall, and no one stops him. 

—

Night Raven College is strange, you decide. After a few months of attending classes, corralling Grim and chatting with Ace and Deuce during lunch, you find yourself settling into a routine. Crowley had promised that he would try to find a way to restore your memories and send you home, but as the weeks waned on without update, you slowly resigned yourself to your new, strange life. 

The lion boy who had suddenly embraced you during the entrance ceremony made himself scarce around you. You’re not sure what his deal is (you’re also not sure why you found his touch so comforting, like a warm blanket- like coming home) but you sure hadn’t seen him around very often.

“Riddle told me about him,” Ace offers when you mention the incident again. “He’s never in class and was held back last year. Apparently he never shows up to dorm leader meetings which drives Riddle a little-“ 

He circles his finger near his forehead and whistles. “- you know.” 

Deuce sips from his juice box wistfully. “I didn’t even know what was going on when he ran down those aisles. I thought he might eat you or something.” 

You laugh as a means to drop the subject, but something about the situation still bothers you. You doubt that Leona was as cold and cruel as the rumors make him out to be. The way he held you in his arms, tightly, like a child and their favorite stuffed toy, was all you needed to convince yourself that there was some good in the elusive carnivore. 

You’re sitting alone in the courtyard trying to get some studying done when you meet him again. The first thing you notice is his shadow looming over you, blocking out the sun. When you lift your head, you see him there, standing above you with a sealed container of food in his hands.

“Eat.” The lion boy commands, shoving the container toward you. You almost want to refuse his gift, but your stomach answers for you in a loud rumble. You take the container, donned with a pair of chopsticks held neatly to the top with a rubber band. 

“But why-“ 

“You’re never eatin’ during lunch. Crowley not payin’ you enough to keep yourself fed?” Leona states plainly, sitting next to you on the lawn. He keeps his distance, propping his head up, his elbow resting on his knee as he watches you cautiously shake the container. 

“Barely.” You answer, honestly. “Thank you, though.”

“I’m sorry for my- for that hug from before. Thought you were someone else. You kinda look like them.” And smell like them, Leona thinks. And act like them and talk like them and-

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not the weirdest thing that’s happened to me here.” You laugh, tail wagging happily as you open the bento. It’s some kind of meaty curry from the cafeteria, one of the higher priced items from the buffet line that you couldn’t normally afford. You had been living off of tuna cans and 5 thaumark cheese sandwiches for so long bc that it feels like forever since your last hot meal. The smell alone makes your mouth water.

Leona watches, amused, as you scarf down the lunch he had packed for you. The way you eat reminds him of his mother scolding the two of you for being messy eaters as kids, always commanding that the two of you shut your mouths when you chew. 

“This might be my favorite meal ever.” You practically moan through mouthfuls of curry. 

No, Leona wants to say. It’s not. I know what your favorite meal is. Instead, he shrugs. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“Really, thank you.” You say earnestly, a dollop of sauce staining the side of your mouth as you speak. Leona reaches over and rubs it away with his thumb.

“Don’t mention it.” 

Leona is never too far, after that. Whether he’s trailing after you with Ruggie in the cafeteria, making sure you’re eating substantial meals, or napping near your usual study spot in the botanical gardens, he’s always looking out for you. Whenever Leona is around, the same uncanny feeling from the entrance ceremony stirs in your heart: the soft familiarity and desire for something you still can’t name. 

—

It’s hard to get a full night's sleep at NRC. It’s been that way since the beginning, when you’d stay up all night staring at the ceiling with this strange creature by your side, kept up equally by your own thoughts and his snoring. These days you were more used to Grim’s nighttime wheezing, but your dreams were growing in intensity, leaving you feeling less rested than when you had laid down to sleep in the first place. 

In some of them, you’re swimming in a watering hole. Though the water is shallow, it still comes up to your navel. You must be about six or seven- it feels like that in your dreams, anyway. The hot sun stings at your skin, only finding reprieve by submerging your whole body into the water. You’re helped up by the same pair of tiny hands, the owner of which must be around the same age as you, always startled awake before breaching the water and seeing the face of the person helping you up. 

In others, you’re older. It feels like you must be eighteen, running from your own home and into the comfort of another. A pair of strong arms holds you as you cry, the same hands that had pulled you from the watering hole- older now, larger and calloused- cupping your cheek. In this person’s embrace, you feel safe. Their voice is gruff as you exchange tragedies. You’re both out of place in your own homes. The only place that’s certain is in each other’s arms. 

Not all your dreams are pleasant, however. A separate pair of hands often make a recurring appearance. Hands that are far too rough, that pull you and tug you and hold you underneath the water. You can feel the pressure building up in your head, lungs threatening to  explode, the sensation often so realistic that you jolt from bed. Those nights you breathe extra deep to make sure you still can. 

—

Leona can see glimpses of your past creep up even when you can’t. It’s so obvious to him in the way that you talk, in the way that you hold yourself, and especially in the ways that you fidget that you must be the person he thinks you are- the person he knows that you are. He’s taken to watching you even when you don’t know that he’s there. He’s still searching, looking for more evidence to assure himself that he’s not crazy. 

“You have anywhere to be for spring break?”

“No.” You admit. “I spent winter break here babysitting Grim and feeding logs to faeries.” 

“Wanna come back with me?” Leona asks, eyes cast toward the floor. “The palace has more than enough room for a guest.” 

It’s selfish of him to bring you back home when the nation’s safety is still uncertain, but he needs to be validated. You would have to remember if he brought you home. And if you didn’t? He could easily send you back to NRC. Then he could stop letting you consume his thoughts and finally put his best friend to rest in his mind. 

The way your eyes shine as you say yes makes his heart clench. It has to be you. 

—

The Hall of Mirrors takes you directly to Leona’s room. He sets his suitcase down on the bed as you walk around the room, taking stock of your surroundings. Your hand touches the cold stone of his bedroom wall and the same sense of familiarity washes over you. You think of the hands in your dreams and glance over at Leona. He’s already sprawled out on his bed, arms tucked underneath his head as he stares out of his large window. You take a few experimental steps forward and look out as well. The entire Sunset Savanna is visible from his room, and even in the dead of night, the sight is beautiful. You feel a pang in your chest as you survey the area, something akin to nostalgia stirring in your stomach. 

You nearly freeze when you see it. The watering hole from your dreams is only a few miles away, clearly visible as the moon casts its reflection on the surface of the water. 

Suddenly, Leona sits up and grabs your face. He’s looking into your eyes, searching for something before the next words fall from his lips. Your name. 

You hadn’t even remembered your own name when you arrived at Night Raven College- your classmates had taken to calling you Prefect (or Shrimpy or Potato, depending on who you were asking). You had practically forgotten you had a name in the first place. But Leona says it confidently, as if he had said thousands of times before- as if he were telling you instead of calling you.

“How did you-“ You tilt your head into his touch, your brain picking up the pieces like a puzzle that had been thrown onto the floor. His hands feel like they were made to rest upon your cheek. His hands. “Leona, how did you-“

“Do you remember yet?” He mutters, eyes still looking intensely into yours. “I know you’re in there, dummy. I’ve known since the moment I saw you.” 

You turn your head and look out of the window again, toward the watering hole. Things are coming back to you fast- loud and fast and overwhelming. You pry yourself out of Leona’s grip and close your eyes, clenching your fists to your side. 

“We all thought you were dead.” Leona says, his voice hiding some well-kept emotion. “When Taiga took you I wanted to kill him myself. I knew you would rather die than marry that bastard.” 

Taiga. It feels like the final missing piece was slotted back into place with just that name. His face appears in your memories, fuzzily, as if watching him through TV static. He thought he could come into the Sunset Savanna and court you, take you to his own kingdom and make you his queen- but you resisted. Each and every time you told him no. Up until the end, when he held you below the surface of the water, you resisted. You couldn’t marry him. Your heart belonged to someone else- your heart belonged to-

“Leona.” You open your eyes again, watching him, voice barely a whisper. “He killed me.” 

Leona’s jaw clenches, his body rigid as he digests your words. Anger flows through his veins like magma under the surface of his skin, his breath stuttering as he stands from the bed.

“We’ve been holding off this war for the past four years.” He snarls with a barely concealed rage. “We’ve been putting off this war because we didn’t know what he did to you. He said you had come willingly and then changed your mind. He said you ran away.”

He curses and slams his hand against the stone wall. Your eyes widen as you watch blood trickle down his fist and through the craggily mortar between the bricks. “Farena said he couldn’t do anything. He said that without proof he couldn’t accuse the Hon kingdom of kidnapping you or killing you- that we would have to settle things diplomatically.” 

He’s beside the bed again, reaching out for your hand. He squeezes it, looking to make sure you understood the seriousness of the situation. The blood runs down your fingers, too. 

“But you’re back. And now you can tell Farena what he did.” Leona’s expression turns dark, bloodlust seeping from behind his blown out pupils. “And we can make that fucking bastard and his whole fuckin’ country pay.” 

“No!” You exclaim, trying to take back your hand, but Leona has you firmly in place. “Leona- I don’t want war. I don’t want vengeance. Isn’t it enough that I’m back?”

Leona lets out a dark chuckle. He shakes his head, still laughing at your words as he leans closer into you. “He took your life. For four years you’ve been all I can see whenever I close my eyes. And whenever I open them, I have to hear my brother tell me that we can’t serve Taiga’s head on a fuckin’ platter for what he did to you. That we would need to wait or settle things peacefully. He fuckin’ took my life that day, too.”

Leona reaches for something in his bedside table, and before you can process what’s happening, he’s handcuffed one of your wrists to his bedpost. 

“Leona, stop! What are you doing?” You yell in protest, trying to fight back by flailing your free arm and legs. He pins you down, putting his whole weight on you and making it impossible to move.

“They took you away from me, and I’m never letting you go again.”  He growls, watching your helpless body trapped underneath him. You can feel him grow hard against your thigh, pressing himself impossibly close to you. “You’re going to tell Farena exactly what happened. You have to. I’m not gonna let that slimy bitch get away with this.” 

“Leona, stop!” You cry, but you’re silenced by his lips pushed forcefully against yours. This should feel good, you think. You’ve always wanted him to kiss you- have dreamt about it since you were practically a pup- but not like this. You turn your head away, tearing your lips from his. “I- I don’t want this!” 

“Let me make you mine.” Leona pleads, bringing you to look at him once more. “I just- I need this. I’ve needed this for so long.” 

“Leona-“ 

Before you can protest further, his hands are already unbuttoning your shirt and undoing your bra, exposing your body to the cool nighttime air. He presses a kiss against your sternum before licking up the expanse of your flesh and latching on to one of your nipples. You gasp despite yourself. Your body and mind act against each other, one so desperately wanting to lean in and submit while the other is screaming at you to stop while you still could. 

When he pulls away from your chest, your skirt is next. He fervently unzips the offending fabric and casts it to the floor, leaving you clad in only your panties. Leona leans back and looks at your body, a softness present in his eyes that makes you think that you might be able to reason with him again.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, capturing your lips once more. His hand slides underneath the hem of your panties, toying with your clit. You moan into his mouth, unable to stop the way your hips buck into his hand. 

“So fucking wet for me.”

Your face heats in shame because it’s true- you’re painfully aroused by Leona touching you in all of the right places. You feel his fingers run up and down the entrance of your pussy, body aching for more. He grants your wish, sinking his middle and ring finger deep inside of you. 

“Leona, sto-“ Your sentence is cut off by a moan as his fingers curl up into you, hitting the sensitive spongy roof inside and clouding your thoughts. His thumb toys with your clit, edging you closer and closer to orgasm.

Before you hit your peak, Leona pulls his fingers out. You blush as you watch him suck the digits clean. Your reaction satisfies him, a mischievous smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Fuck, you taste good.” He groans, unbuckling his own belt and discarding his pants and underwear in one fluid action. “Want you to cum on my cock, princess.” 

He turns you around and presses the side of your face into the pillow, propping your ass up and spreading your legs. The arm attached to the bed frame aches from your new position, but your attention is quickly directed to the head of his cock teasing your folds. He enters you, slowly, inch by inch as you feel yourself stretch to accommodate him. Your pussy quickly accepts him, as if you were made for taking his cock. 

“Tell me you love me.” Leona whispers into your ear once he’s fully nestled inside of you. 

When you’re silent, he squeezes your cheeks, pulling your head up so that you’re sitting on your knees, back flush against his chest. “Say it- that you love me.” 

“I- I wuv youh.” You manage, words coming out sloppily as he squishes your mouth shut. It’s truer than it should be given his actions, but you can’t help but remember the boy you grew up with. The one who was always by your side, who held you when you cried when no one else did. 

“I’ve wanted to be with you forever. Our whole lives.” Leona admits softly, freeing you from his grasp. You fall against the pillows as his hands move to steady themselves on your hips. Leona’s thrusts are slow and deliberate, like making love. 

You can’t help but imagine a different life where you had done this right. You could imagine your first kiss with Leona, sneaking out of your houses and pressing your lips together underneath the moon by the watering hole. Your first time in each other's embrace would be magical, made of the stuff fairy tales were written about. You’d have children and raise them in the same palace that Leona grew up in. You could tell them about your summers spent together by the water- about how you grew up together and fell in love. It would be pure and perfect. 

“I wanted that, too.” 

Your tears are silent as they fall onto the pillow, too overwhelmed by everything for your body to properly react. Instead, you give in to the pleasure Leona gives you. You whimper when his pace picks up, hips sloppily smacking together, the lewd sound echoing in his room. 

His fingers are on your clit once more and you moan wantonly, clenching around his cock as you feel yourself pushed to the edge.

“Cum for me, princess.” He whispers, a hot kiss pressed to your neck. He bites down as a means to mark you- there would be no mistaking that you belonged to someone now. You belonged to him. “Cream all over my cock like you’ve always wanted to.” 

You feel the shocks of your orgasm flood your body at his words, wave after wave of pleasure overwhelming your senses, as if you were drowning in it. 

His hips stall, a gruff moan falling from his lips, spilling his seed deep inside of you. He buries his nose into your neck, rubbing against the bruise he left there as a form of comfort. Leona pulls out slowly and you can feel his cum start to dribble down your thighs. He kisses the nape of your neck before stroking his hands behind your ears and through your hair, soothing you as you come down from your high. He turns you around so that you’re comfortable again before dressing you, carefully making sure that the NRC uniform you arrived in isn’t torn, before securing your free wrist to the other side of the bedpost. 

He leaves your side, dressing himself in a hurry. “I’m letting Farena know you’re here. We have to let him know what Taiga did.”

“Leona, please.” You plead, hoarsely. Your restraints hold you down even as you try to move. “I don’t want a war. I just want to be with you.” 

For a moment it looks like Leona could consider it. The two of you could start over, live a life far away from both the Sunset Savanna and the Hon Kingdom. Leona never truly felt like he had a place in his own kingdom, anyway. This could still be perfect. This could still be saved.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers at last. “Taiga can’t go unpunished. This is bigger than the both of us.” 

And then he’s gone. The door shuts loudly, leaving you alone on his bed. 

Hot tears flow down your face as you tug, one last tired time, at your restraints. The cold metal digs into the skin of your wrists and rubs them raw. You shut your eyes tightly, willing the handcuffs to disappear. You need to leave- now. Something stirs in you, something that had lain dormant in your body since you had arrived at NRC, and when you open your eyes again, the handcuffs are gone. Without time to question it, you quickly climb out of Leona’s window, ungracefully landing onto the wet ground below. There’s no time to dust yourself off. 

You run. You’re not sure where your feet are taking you, just that you need to be away from the palace. You run as far as your adrenaline could take you, unsurprised where you end up. The watering hole.

You splash the cold water in your face, a vain attempt to calm yourself down. You don’t know where to go. You can’t return to NRC and the previous comfort of Leona’s home was now the one place you couldn’t return. You’re on the brink of crying again, trying to control your heaving chest as you catch your breath, when you hear a voice from behind you. 

“Well, well.” 

The words send a chill down your spine, all of the muscles in your body tensing as you stare at the face reflected in the water. 

No.

“Look what the cat dragged home.”

[mademoiselle-cookie]

She didn't say "children".

She said "common children".

English is not my first language so I didn't know if I was overinterpreting and that it was something that was actually said in English. But apparently no, it’s a deliberate choice. So let's overinterpret.

Let's leave aside the fact that she criticizes Tood and Ambrosius at the same level while the latter only defends himself against idiotic attacks and arguments (you can argue he should have been calmer but everyone was against him, not just Todd, and he has a few problems with his boyfriend).

First of all, it’s not the first time she hears something like that, like when Tood mocked Ballister (in a really classy way) at the beginning of a very important ceremony or when he complained about Ambrosius and his "lavender smell". She clearly heard that, but she didn’t say anything. She could have : bullying someone or imitating and insulting another of being a "dork" and having a good smell (?) are way more childish behaviors. At least for the second case, she could have at least frowned (Todd said this literally in front of her from a distance of a meter).

(Yes she looks like she ate a lemon but she looks like that throughout the whole scene, not just for Todd)

So the problem has never been how they act but how they don't act. They are currently not acting in ways that she deems useful but are instead wasting time. (And she is definitely only complaining about Ambrosius and Todd, not the other knights who joined the latter in accusing the former of nonsense. Alone against everyone, Ambrosius is not the problem, much less the one who started it)

I put it there, but when did the nobles (apart from Ambrosius who is not only an exception but is also obliged to appear impeccable) show themselves to be more distinguished than the commoners? Without wanting to defend them, when we see commoners acting in a despicable way, it is largely because they are being lied to and manipulated. The knights have no reason to harass Ballister - Ambrosius doesn't - and seeing as the squire is a fan, he's probably not the only one. It doesn't take a genius to know that you shouldn't harass people, no matter the situation.

Do we have a scene with a knight like with this woman in the subway who gives a coin to a musician? Todd when he's on the wall in honor of Nimona? OK, but that's after the ENTIRE kingdom has learned their lesson (meaning it's not just him and that's exceptional) and having been a huge asshole for the entire movie.

Also, the knights and the Director, when have they really been around a commoner? Who is the only commoner they know? Ballister. Ballister who most represents the values that the Institute and the knights are supposed to embody. He's the best of them (1st in his class), he's courageous, kind, intelligent (he built his arm on his own), competent (he infiltrated the Institute several times without being detected), strong (the fight of 2 against all) and he sincerely wants to protect the Kingdom. He is also much more polite (he is the only one to have thanked the squire).

Are you trying to seduce me gay boy?

As far as I know, he was always very courteous to everyone, especially to the Director. Her only real reference to commoners is a hard-working, competent and polite man. (The only time he was "wild" was when he attacked a wooden mannequin before entering the Institute. But he was a child, and it didn't exceed the level of violence of Todd, an adult.)

The Director uses commoners as an insult, when overall, commoners act much more distinguished than nobles.

[bobfloydssunnies]

THINGS THAT ARE IN THE TOP GUN BOOK BUT NOT THE MOVIE

this list is long and i ramble so idk how much is understandable sorry i just ramble cause i feel some need explanations. I may have missed some difference cause some of it was just a change in dialogue or something simple i tried to just stick with up noticeable differences or things that felt more important. Y'all can ask me about any of these if you want and if i didn't explain it much or like want to see the page in the book.

maverick has a younger brother named Barney who is 3/4 years younger than him 

maverick Dad was a test pilot and was part of testing the F-14s before getting called up to the war

Mavericks dad‘s name is Rick Mitchell, and when he died they gave him a Navy cross but just mailed it to them instead of doing an official ceremony (since they think he's a traitor or whatever shit lie they are telling people)

after they found out they were going to top gun they went out onto the bow of the ship and then yelled into the night that they were getting to go to top gun

they have goose and maverick ride on maverick's motorcycle before they have to go to Miramar they’re just driving around San Diego when they are stopped by California highway patrol because Maverick is speeding (he was going about 115 mph but then when he tells the cop how fast he was going he says he was going Mark .15 or 1/60 the speed of sound)

goose and Maverick got a police escort to base because Maverick talked his way out of the speeding ticket

‘ shit, mav - you saved cougar. looks like the tale got all twisted up crooked somehow’ goose said (after they talked with slider at the bar cause he brings up them taking cougars spot and without ice)

“Figured it out yet” ….“Who’s the best pilot”  (ice) “ i know who the best is” maverick answered “ now i didn’t say the luckiest” (ice) (this was more just like a conversation change but still)

mav jokes goose owes him 50 when him and charlie leave the bathroom (even tho they did nothing)

They have a whole moment of mav getting fully suited up and like going thru the whole pre flight check with him suit and equipment and explaining some of the things he’s wearing and has on him for survival if needed (little details like were so nice and just cool to see)

Goose starts the convo about them flying inverted and that they saw a mig and then mav comes in and brings up more about it ( they both kinda equally talked not just mav with random bits from goose) 

Viper seems aware that charlie and maverick are messing around but idk how much he fully knows he just seems to see/hears them talking before they start flying

They make a point to say mav always keeps his promises especially the ones to himself (the foreshadowing) 

They try to hide charlie and mavs relationship more in the book

The volleyball game starts like 30 minutes before mav is supposed to be at charlies and goose comes to get mav, he tries to get out of it and then goose starts saying ice and slider called mav chicken shit and they need to defend his honor 

Goose and carole were childhood friends to lovers like they started dating in high school and bradley is only 1 and half when they are at top gun ( goose talks about how before they come to visit he is afraid bradley isn’t going to remember him)

Goose also calls carole his lifeline and his reality

We learned where in tennesse carole and goose are from (it’s buck holler) 

They don’t sing great balls of fire at the bar instead goose plays bartender during that scene and bradley isn't with them (goose still says great balls of fire during some of his other lines though)

Penny is never mentioned ( or admirals daughter)

They mention goose putting the ejection lever in pilot position meaning maverick was in control of the ejection commands

After the accident mav is stuck in the water for a while before finally getting into the inflatable raft in his survival pack and he falls asleep or passes out and then when he comes to again he finally pulls goose up on to the raft with him after cutting him free from his parachute and the other debris from the crash (its sunset when he comes to and dark by the time he gets goose on his raft) 

When mav gets checked over by medical he also gets told he should go to therapy every once in a while to talk and he agrees but its obvious he wont do it 

When charlie picks him up after his eval she mentions that she was with carole and bradley while he was in medical and i just am confused by that but whatever they wanted i guess

Charlie also gives him this speech about he just needs some time between him and the accident and that times the only miracle and he said if its a miracle he wants yesterday back so he can have goose back and like they talk more but he blames himself because it was his hand and his brain

They kind of implied that carole and goose had an apartment they were in the middle of moving into cause mav has to pack up what was left in his room on the base

When carole does the speech about goose loving to fly with maverick and that he’d fly without him if he had too, its in the apartment and at the end of the conversation mav hears bradley ask for carole calling her mama ( he calls him baby boy brad) 

Mav calls himself a killer cause it seem like not one willingly want to fly with him each time they go after cause they hint he's with a different RIO each time he flies after the accident

When mav quits he packs all his stuff while the rest of the guys are in the locker room and tells them he is saving them the paperwork

Wolfman gives mav a speech outside the locker room trying to talk him out of quitting before we see him make the phone call to charlie (which is longer in the book) 

The speech with viper takes place on the beach more while viper is out with his son rather than at his house and then out on a walk and he doesn’t explain what duke did to save the other people

His options weren’t just quitting or graduating he was told he could just not finish and go back to his old squadron, go back to top gun and finish cause they weren't that close to graduation or he could quit

Maverick asks Merlin to be his RIO but doesn’t want him to feel forced to so if he hadn’t said yes someone else would have been picked 

hollywood, wolfman and mav seem to be a lot closer than the movie makes them

They had the wingman speech take place in the ready room instead of on the deck and maverick is literally in his underwear it sounds like cause they make the comment his pants are down around his ankles (which what a funny thing like they are all in the locker room changing after they had the moment on the deck)

Mav also takes the tape with goose name off his locker before he throws his dogtags out to see (which was stupid imo cause he still holds on to his dads navy cross)

We see maverick start his instructor gig at top gun with his first class before the last bar scene with charlie (who is back cause she has a new job that brought her back to top gun)

[pandorasword]

Chaeri as the 8th and youngest member of BTS.

Chaeri's masterlist

❒ Requested ✓ you can find the request here

「 A compilation of BTS proving themselves as gentlemen for their Chaeri 」

⠪ Let's say that for the first few years after their debut Chaeri was not a great heel-wearer

⠪ She was young, plus the concept of their outfits did not focus on that style, so she had never felt the need to wear particularly high ones.

⠪ As she grew up and started to attend more and more important award ceremonies and events, the urge and need to wear them became evident

⠪ The first time she had to wear very high heels was preceded by a lot of practice in their company building. She did quite well on flat surfaces, the challenge was the stairs

⠪ And obviously at the event she couldn't avoid them

⠪ Luckily Namjoon seemed to be heaven-sent to make her life easier in everything, even in wearing heels

⠪ He was there, of course, waiting to hold her hand and walk down each step with her

⠪ It is still a habit of the guy to offer her help even though, as the years went by and her skills in walking on heels improved, she wouldn't even need it anymore

"You're making it off the stairs like a pro" "I don't think I could do it without you" "Just doing my duty as your favourite brother" "I will say 'favourite brother' if I'm gonna get down all the stairs without breaking an ankle"

⠪ As the eldest, Jin has a natural inclination to always keep an eye on all the other members

⠪ With Chaeri he seems to have to intervene more often than he would like

⠪ She doesn't seem like it, but when she's really into something she can get awfully clumsy with everything else

⠪ ESPECIALLY IN THE KITCHEN.

⠪ She is a real disaster as a chef, she can cook only a few dishes and poorly.

⠪ That's why, when she tries, she is so concentrated on trying not to burn anything or add too much flavour that she doesn't pay attention to anything else

⠪ In particular, during an episode of BTS in the soop, Jin had to prevent her from hitting the kitchen shelf with her head more than once by putting a hand between her and the furniture

"Maybe next time I'll just wear a helmet in the kitchen" "Or maybe you could just pay attention to where you're going." "Hey, I was distracted by the delicious smell of your cooking" "Flattery will get you everywhere. Now, let's finish making lunch before we have any more near-death experiences."

⠪ Very funny of Yoongi to always move Chaeri to the inner side of the road as he is the first to scold the others for being too protective of her

⠪ It's something he can't help, they start walking and at some point, at the first possible excuse, he shifts to the side of the road

⠪ The others always tease him about this and he pretends not to hear or simply glares at them to shut 'em up.

⠪ He is not the type to show protection for Chaeri dramatically, as other members do. He is for small things like this

⠪ Yoongi is the type to walk beside her keeping an arm around her shoulders

"Ooh, look at you, all responsible and stuff. You're such a good role model" "Aiish, just move to the inner side before I start regretting this friendship"

⠪ Chaeri among them is always the one who suffers most from the cold

⠪ Whether during the recording of a music video, a concert or an event, her outfits are always those with the thinnest fabric

⠪ During the making of music videos, Jimin always carries a blanket purchased with her in the group's early days

⠪ In MV shooting videos uploaded by the company channel, there is always this scene:

⠪ Jimin taking the adventure time blanket and covering Chaeri as soon as the cameras go down

"Let's finish shooting this and go get some hot cocoa" "Sounds like a plan. And don't worry, I'll make sure you're bundled up the whole time" "Geez, you're like my personal blanket service" "Hey, it's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it" "I love you"

⠪ Chaeri's love for snowboarding starts very early

⠪ As her career began, she decided to spend some of her money on snowboarding lessons

⠪ At her first lessons she was accompanied by Jin, who liked the sport and had already been playing it for a while

⠪ As soon as she put her feet on the board, she ended up with her butt in the snow, for so many times

⠪ In the end, Jin was "forced" to teach her to snowboard the way one teaches a child to walk: by holding her hand the whole time

"You know, you're actually a pretty good teacher" "Thanks, I try my best. And you're a pretty good student, for someone who keeps falling on their butt" "Hey, it's not my fault I have bad balance" "Sure, blame it on genetics."

⠪ Of the BTS members, Chaeri steals the most clothes from Hobi.

⠪ And he lets her do it, not caring so much.

⠪ Actually, seeing her with her clothes on only makes him more joyful.

⠪ With her, sharing is the basis of their friendship

⠪ As Chaeri always styles his jacket on crop tops, she is used to holding them open to show what she is wearing underneath

⠪ He, on the other hand, always rushes to close them and remind her that if she's wearing a jacket it's because it's cold and keeping it open doesn't even make sense

"Seriously, it's cold out here, you need to zip it up" "But I like it this way, it's a fashion statement" "Fashion statement my ass. You're gonna catch a cold, let me zip it up for you" "Oh, so now you're playing the protective big brother card, huh?" "You know it. I don't want my little sister to get sick on my watch"

⠪ Chaeri's dress was beautiful, as beautiful as short though

⠪ However, it was never a problem at award ceremonies as girls in skirts were provided with blankets to cover themselves from improper camera angles

⠪ Unfortunately for her that evening, the staff had not been provided with enough blankets for the entire number of women participating

⠪ Looking around, it was possible to notice the girls sharing the same quilt in two

⠪ She, the only female member, could not share it with anyone

⠪ So she did her best to keep her legs tightly closed and look around in case someone was filming her from the wrong side

⠪ It was not for long, because as soon as Jungkook realised that Chaeri would not be receiving any coverage, he took off his jacket and placed it directly over her legs

"Hey there, Miss Short Dress. You're gonna get us kicked out of here with that outfit." "Oh, shut up. You love it" "Well, yeah, but that's beside the point. I don't want you to get in trouble with the paparazzi" "You're such a gentleman. Offering me your jacket like that" "Well, what can I say? Chivalry isn't dead yet"

⠪ One thing Tae loves to do is to stop Chaeri's bodyguard before he can open her car door, to do it himself

⠪ It all started as a game in the group's early days, when the bond between the two was just beginning to form

⠪ Tae pretended to be her personal security guard and Chaeri pretended to be a world-famous celebrity

⠪ Well, over time, part of that game came true.

⠪ Growing up, however, Tae continued to have these attitudes, not just for laughs as they once did

⠪ But he loves giving her princess treatments

⠪ It's really hard to see anyone on staff getting Chaeri out of the car, then

⠪ Her Tae always takes care of it

"After you, m'lady. Allow me to open the door for you" "Oh, thank you sir" "I take my job as your personal bodyguard seriously. I might need to start wearing a suit and earpiece" "I'll make sure to get you a matching tie"

[not-wholly-unheroic]

Captain Hook and Improving Disability Representation in Modern Media

Ask anyone on the street to name a canonically disabled character, and there are a few who immediately come to mind—Daredevil, Professor X, Bucky Barnes, Geordi La Forge, and both Anakin & Luke Skywalker just to name a few. Hook should also make that list but ironically, even though his very NAME suggests his disability, it’s easy to forget that he is, in fact, an amputee.

In part, I think this is because historically, it has been intentionally glossed over in many film and TV versions. He is almost never shown without the iron claw attached at the end of his arm, and even the subject isn’t spoken about much in film. For example, in Spielberg’s 1991 film, Hook, and in Fox’s Peter Pan and the Pirates (1990-1991) we see a few shots of Hook sleeping in his bed and yet still wearing his prosthetic. Likewise, no matter how many times Disney’s (1953) Hook gets his clothes shredded by the crocodile, we never see his injured arm fully laid bare. (In fact, in the few shots where his left shirt sleeve has been torn off, the hook seems to be almost physically unable to be separated from his body. The skin simply stops near the wrist and then we have the iron base of the claw with no sort of harness to actually keep it in place.) Even when Peter begins to tell the story of how he cut off Hook’s hand to the mermaids, he barely gets a few words in before the audience’s attention is purposefully redirected to the captain himself in all of his glorious villainy so we don’t get to thinking too much about the fact that the entire reason he has that hook to begin with is because our hero seriously injured him. We aren’t meant to think of Hook as much beyond the stereotypical “scary amputee villain” character because if we examine him too closely, we’ll start to humanize him and risk asking questions that the filmmakers aren’t prepared to answer. (How did the hand loss occur? Was it a fair fight? Who started it? How much should we sympathize with Hook? How much should we trust Peter?)

More recent visual media has, however, made some improvements in this area. In particular, I’d like to take a closer look at two very different (but equally important) portrayals of Hook that have occurred in the last few decades—Jason Isaacs’ Hook (from P.J. Hogan’s 2003 Peter Pan) and Disney’s more recent spin on the captain in Jake and the Neverland Pirates (2011-2016).

Isaacs’ Hook—arguably the most Barrie-like incarnation we’ve seen on film—is introduced to us in a way unlike any other. He’s not standing proud out on the deck barking orders at his crew or strolling through the forest in search of Pan’s hideout (though we certainly see those moments later). Instead, our first glimpse of the captain shows us who he is underneath all the silk and ceremony—a troubled man pained both mentally and physically by the loss of his hand.

Looking disheveled, he wakes from a dream about Pan and slowly raises the injured arm for the audience to see. It isn’t the nice, smooth stump one would expect to see if a surgeon had performed the operation. Instead, it looks as though the hand had been crudely cut away. The skin is uneven and scarred. And while we aren’t meant to pity Hook here—the man can clearly take care of himself—we are supposed to see his humanity and recognize that he has experienced trauma. Suddenly, he isn’t just a villain anymore—he’s a person who not only experienced immense physical pain when he lost his hand but continues to experience discomfort daily when he dons the leather harness that must be wrenched tightly into place to keep the claw secure during battle.

It’s a brief scene overall, lasting only a few minutes, but it adds a lot to his character and the story as a whole. His disability isn’t the main focus but it is openly and respectfully acknowledged. This version of Hook—intended for older children and adults—shows us the darker, more complicated parts of the Captain in a way that hits unsettlingly close to home. Suddenly, his intense responses to the crocodile (and ticking) seem less comical and more akin to the PTSD response one might expect from a soldier who lost a limb in wartime from an explosion hearing fireworks go off.

Another more recent take on Hook that does a good job of normalizing his status as an amputee character is Disney’s Jake and the Neverland Pirates series. While many adult Hook fans have complained about the series making the character too silly, I believe that for the intended audience (pre-school kids), it actually does a great job of showing that disability isn’t something to be feared or made fun of. Taking their target audience into consideration, Disney did a lot in the Jake series to tone down Hook’s scarier elements both in terms of his personality (more of a bully with self-esteem issues than a truly dangerous villain) and his physical appearance (He is visibly less angular with more rounded edges to everything from his facial structure to the claw itself). In an interview, Corey Burton even explained how he vocally changes up a few things between his “traditional” Disney Hook sound and the voice he uses for Hook in the show. He also mentions in one interview that some people were concerned that “a guy with a hook for a hand might be too scary” for little ones, but the series makes it seem so natural that it really doesn’t feel like a big deal. While in the original film, we only see Hook changing out the claw once (for a fancier golden hook), in the Jake series, it happens so frequently that there is literally an entire episode (“Captain Hook’s Hooks”) that is focused on all the different attachments he has and includes a fun song about them.

Although some of the “hooks” are rather outlandishly imaginative and altogether improbable if not impossible in real life, there are many that DO mimic actual modern prosthetic attachments (a hammer, for instance, or attachments that allow for recreational activities like sports or fishing). In fact, the captain’s set of hooks are made out to be so interesting and fun that Disney Jr. actually had an online game called, “Ready, Set, Hook,” where the player had to help Hook and Smee choose the right prosthetic attachment to complete a set of challenges. What’s more, they even released a set of toy “hooks” for children so they could pretend to be the one-handed captain himself!

Jake’s version of Hook may not be the intimidating character we have come to expect, but he’s a likable guy with a cool set of hooks who bridges the gap in explaining physical disability and prostheses to young children. In the show, Hook doesn’t feel “other” for missing a hand; rather, switching out prosthetic attachments are so much a part of who he is that nobody thinks twice about it.

Overall, Hook has come a long way in terms of disability representation on-screen, and I hope we continue to see more of it in future productions.

[sil-te-plait-tue-moi]

Wedding-seasonal depression.

Quick summary: What if Pierce actually did get married to Wu Mei way back when in the second season? You and Jeff are both struggling to come to terms with the fact that this is Pierce’s eighth time getting married, while you’re both still sad and single and alone. You decide to take your frustrations out on each other.

Word count: 7.8K

Warnings: SMUT (you have been warned, this is essentially porn with a lil’ plot), but it's not like super kinky; lots of swearing; first time writing second-person, so buckle up, I guess; kind of angsty (??); many suppressed feels.

A/N: Hey, guys, what’s up 😃🌈🦶! Uhhhh, I know this fic is a little random, but I’ve literally had this story in my drafts for six months. Since then, I have finished the entire Community show and have brought you this gem of a smut fic for Jeff Winger (particularly Jeff Winger with a fuckin’ beard 😩😩😩 he’s such an asshole). Please excuse my horrible attempts at dirty talk. Also, this is the first fic I’ve written in second person, soooooo I’m sorry if it’s, like, bad. Okay, enjoy!! :)))

***

You know, the wedding is perfectly nice. You have nothing against weddings. Apart from the strangely sexist ceremonies (as Britta will agree), the giving away of the daughter to her new owner kind of thing, the virginal unveiling thing, they’re perfectly fine. There’s free alcohol, free food, dancing, friends – sounds pretty nice at first, doesn’t it? Yeah, you’d think that, wouldn’t you? Except, now, the only kind of enjoyment you can feel is the pleasure of yet another scotch burning its way down your throat. You’ve had three, now, and it’s only a matter of time before they start to kick in. And you don’t come to weddings just to get drunk, okay? Your friend is getting married today, and no matter how blatantly racist and sexist and homophobic he is on a daily basis, you want to support his happiness (Annie forced you to come).

The fact that it’s Pierce getting married (again) hasn’t really hit you yet. Pierce. Pierce who talks about women like they’re objects, who treats them like they have a fucking expiry date, who has had his shot at marriage several times before, is now at the altar again, having another wedding while some of you are left to wallow in your own self-pity and loneliness until the night’s end.

You ask the bartender for another scotch.

You swivel in your stool to survey the venue – tables are dotted all throughout the hotel’s expansive ballroom, swathed with elegant white tablecloths, with elaborate centrepieces of white lilies and tulips and curling ferns to adorn. The ceiling reaches up, up, up, and intricate moulding compliments and fills its area, leading to the elevated centre where a glimmering, twisting chandelier dangles, its large gems scattering rainbow light here and there around the room. It’s pretty – the bride knew what she was doing. Pierce had refused to get involved in any of the wedding preparation because, and you quote, “it’s a woman’s job”. When you asked him what a man’s job was, he had looked at you condescendingly, as if it were as plain as day, and said, “To attend the bachelor party, of course.” You didn’t blink or breathe for a whole ten, fifteen seconds, you believe – you thought he was joking at first. But you shouldn’t’ve underestimated Pierce and his miraculous ability to infuriate you. Lord knows why anyone would want to marry him.

Your table – the study group’s table – is right in the corner of the room. The location is a little questionable (you’re all pretty sure the bride detests you for being more important than she is to Pierce, and you don’t blame her at all—but, you know, she could’ve sat you a little closer to the snack bar is all you’re saying), and it’s not close to the altar, it’s not close to the buffet, or the bar, or the toilets, or the band. But, of course, the group has found its own way to keep everyone entertained. Abed and Troy have napkin hats placed on their heads, acting out some movie scene, you’re sure, and Britta’s well on her way to becoming black-out drunk by the time the vows start, and Shirley’s trying to figure out the recipe of the cheesecake Annie ordered, reaching over the table for another forkful and another and another, face scrunched up in deathly concentration as she tries to identify the ingredients by taste. Poor Annie, you think to yourself, but you’re smiling.

Your eyes immediately start searching for Jeff. It’s an unconscious thing that you do every time you enter a room. You just want to make sure he hasn’t done anything stupid yet. And if you know anything at all about him, he’s going to be glowering the whole night away, rolling around in his bitterness, torn between his jealousy that Pierce gets to be married (again) and between his fiery disdain of weddings. He’s just a little bit too much like you – that’s how you can foresee his scowl when he approaches the bar, how you just know his hands will be shoved childishly in his pockets, and that he’ll roll his eyes when some bridesmaid will stop him and ask how he knows the groom. It happens just like clockwork. Jeff thinks he’s some wildcard, but, in reality, he’s so predictable.

“I’m actually the head of what used to be his favourite escort business. He was one of my best customers, but, uh—” he hisses cynically, “—you can’t win ‘em all, can you?”

You smile. He’s predictable until he opens his mouth.

The bridesmaid looks absolutely horrified. She leaves promptly with wide eyes and an open mouth, trying to stifle a laugh for the sake of her friendship with the bride.

A self-satisfied look overcomes Jeff’s face – he’s probably laughing internally at one of his own jokes again – and then his attention shifts up over to you, and his gleaming eyes grace themselves upon yours. He’s such an ass.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” you snort, turning back to the bar and digging your nail back into this narrow groove in its mahogany surface – maybe, if you’re patient enough, you’’ll soon be able to carve your initials into it forever. Jeff steps up onto the platform that perimeters the bar, sighing from deep within his chest as he slumps himself forward in the viridian, velvet-cushioned stool beside you. “You could have at least pretended to be nice for a few seconds.” While your manner is joking, there’s an underlying seriousness to your words. He needs to stop introducing himself as a prick to everyone – it’s off-putting.

But he just grins over at you – it’s hard not to smile back. “That was me being nice, I’ll have you know,” he says meaningfully, “and it just kills me—” he slaps a hand right across his heart, “—to know you don’t think I’m genuine.”

“She looked abhorred, Jeff. Abhorred.”

He scoffs violently. “Don’t say she looked abhorred, okay? She did not look abhorred.” Then, a pause. Then, “What does ‘abhorred’ mean?”

Oh, Jeff. You’d think that, what with his lawyer days (or rather, his days faking a law degree), he’d have a better vocabulary than he actually does. You’re pretty sure he looks up fancy words in his free time, just to impress people, most of which he doesn’t even know. You can just picture it: Him, sitting in the armchair of his ridiculously clean apartment, a dictionary in his lap, a thesaurus to the side, trying to comprehend what “sporadically” means so that he can use it in class the day after. You haven’t proven this theory yet, and Jeff always avoids the question, but you’re 100% convinced that this act is entirely true.

“It means horrified, Jeff,” you deadpan. You watch him make a mental note to use that in conversation later.

He hums lowly, and you let out a long sigh. Wordlessly, the both of you turn your heads to look back at your table. There are a few, special moments in life where someone will resonate so much with another’s feelings that they feel as if the two of them have become melded together. The borders of their mind will collapse, and that shared emotion will just mingle between the two of them like a strange, little ghost. It’s like that now, with you. It’s a melancholy type of feeling. You both can’t quite place the sadness, even as you’re looking on at the happy study group, and you can say that, with confidence, Jeff feels lonely. Just like you. You can feel the ache in his heart.

But, as quick as the intimacy came, it disappears again. Jeff swallows hard and frowns down at the counter, clearing his throat before commenting drily, “So, this sucks, huh? The wedding and everything.”

You nod.

“I just don’t get why Pierce is the one who gets to get married. Like, why not one of us or something? It’s just kind of unfair.” And then he stops abruptly, inhaling sharply like he’s just broken some kind of code. You nudge him and ask if he’s alright, to which he responds with, “You’re not gonna tell any of the others about this, are you? I don’t want Pierce finding out and having one of his little tantrums again.”

“He wouldn’t throw a tantrum,” you smile, completely missing the trust he’s putting in you right now. “If anything, he’d gloat about how you, the Jeff Winger, are jealous of him.”

He scoffs exaggeratedly. “I am not jealous of Pierce.” Jeff doesn’t admit to being jealous of anyone, but it’s always obvious when he is – his sarcasm will somehow double, his face will squint up into a semi-permanent, sour expression, and his voice will up an octave or two if he’s feeling extra shitty. It’s always funny to see him try to keep it together. That man’s got an ego like no other. Under his breath, he finishes, “No more jealous than you are.”

Damn.

Truth is, even though you’re fucking bitter as can be about Pierce getting married, you know that you have no actual desire to ever enter matrimony. It’s not a Britta “fuck marriage as a whole” type of thing; it’s a “wow, someone is achieving something, and you are achieving nothing” kind of situation. What can you say?—it’s your toxic trait. Anyone “beating” you at anything is enough to discourage you from that sector as a whole. If you’re not naturally gifted, what’s the point? Not to say that Pierce is gifted at relationships. No, he’s just rich. It takes everything in you not to strangle him whenever he opens his goddamn mouth. But you just suck at navigating true, meaningful romantic connections with people, and having to watch Pierce enjoy a pretty party and tick off that milestone (again) is just a kick straight to the fucking vagina.

But you’re not going to say all that to Jeff Winger of all people. So, you suck it up, deepen your scowl, and say, “Ah, yes, ever since I was a foetus, my one goal in life has been to wed a person half my age so that they can drain me of my non-existent fortune and give me pity sex for the rest of my shrivelled-up, little life.”

“Can’t tell if that’s sarcasm or not, ‘cause that actually has been my goal since I was a foetus,” Jeff whips back, and you snort. His grin widens.

Stupid Jeff Winger and his stupid Jeff-Winger smile. You hate it when he does that with his fuckin’ face. It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating. You always feel it tugging at your stomach adamantly whenever you’re in his proximity and he does that, and it’s unsettling. Could be annoyance, could be something else. You’re not ready to explore that.

“Anyway, you wanna go find a back room and fuck?”

The words are so swift and casual that you have to take a moment to realise that that is not something normal people say when attending their friend’s wedding and having a conversation at the bar with their completely platonic other friend who has never before made any hints towards attraction.

You turn and blink hard at Jeff, your lungs buffering in your chest.

“What?” you stress to him.

He darts his eyes away from the great hall and shuffles them back to you like he has all the time in the world, like he hasn’t just said what he just said. He raises his eyebrows innocently and politely continues, “Oh, sorry, I just thought that was where this conversation was going.”

The commotion of the party, to your surprise, carries on as usual.

Your wrists are numb with shock, and they’re sparking with what you think might actually be excitement. Did Jeff really just say those words out loud? Are you angry about it? You can’t fucking tell.

Instead of addressing the problem, you swallow thickly, hoping he won’t notice, and ask through an incredulous scoff, “Is this how you get people to have sex with you?” Would you be mad about that? About the fact that he’s just asked, essentially, to sleep with you, right to your face, right in public, at Pierce’s wedding, where there are people that you know and that can see you clearly from where they’re sitting? God, do you look as thrown-off as you feel right now? You would hope to die before looking thrown-off in front of Jeff Winger. The very Jeff Winger that’s finishing your drink off for you and watching you amusedly from over the rim of the glass, smiling his fucking smile to himself as he watches you glitch and hesitate like a browser with too many tabs open.

“Don’t say the s-word,” he hisses patronisingly, narrowing his gaze, leaning closer to you, glancing warily around the room. “There are children.”

“You just said fuck.”

“Yes. Yes, I did. And also, would you like to?”

He’s analysing your expression with fond eyes, you see from your peripheral vision, setting your glass back on the counter gently as he waits, all patient, for your answer, for your reaction. This is probably the most patient he’s ever been in his life. It’s certainly the most patient you’ve ever seen him, and you’ve seen him through a lot.

You tell him (a little breathlessly), “You’re fuckin’ crazy.”

He lowers his voice. “Did I read the situation wrong?”

There’s a silence that’s far too long to be salvageable. Then, a flustered, “No.”

Jeff raises his eyebrows, like he’s impressed with himself, and he looks smugly up at the ceiling. Damn him, you think to yourself. And, sweet Jesus, he has pretty nice hands. You also think to yourself that he has—he has pretty nice hands. Nice hands fixing the cuffs of his shirt and jacket. Nice hands scratching at that awful thing he calls a beard. Nice hands shoved in his pockets all nice-like. Nice hands that you’re sure can do a lot of—nice—things. Jeff clears his throat, and your attention snaps back to where it belongs.

“So,” he drawls. “Back room?”

And just like that, his pick-up somehow works for you. Somehow, you end up stumbling into the janitor’s closest, and you’re shushing each other and telling each other to be quiet as he helps you on top of the wobbly desk. It’s clumsy and fast and you’re both more than a little drunk. “Ow!” he exclaims when you accidentally elbow him in the ribs. Maybe it’s that you’re both just extremely lonely at this wedding – you’ve both kind of realised that you may just have to spend forever alone, that Pierce has a better chance of getting married than you do, that happiness might not be for you after all. And that’s always a nice thing to hear. You just want solace, and both of you are fighting for that by getting it on in a barely sanitary janitor’s room. Think of it—as a favour for a friend. Yeah. You think, with Jeff, the Jeff who blunders over a bucket when he tries to kiss you, it’s just pheromones and genetics doing their thing. Skin-deep. That’s your excuse as you grab him by the tie and press your lips to his as he positions his arms either side of you to keep himself from falling. “Your hair smells kinda nice,” he tells you before he helps zip down your dress, and you slide down your underwear.

He goes down on you first, after you both mock each other about who you bet is gonna finish first. “Oh, I’ve spoken with Britta about you,” you’d said lowly, smiling, and his eyes filled with sweet, sweet defeat. “Yeah, she told me everything—One-Minute Wonder.”

And this had gotten little, insecure Jeff all riled up. “Alright,” he huffed, voice scraping against his throat like he hadn’t had anything to drink for a week. “Alright, we’ll see who cums first, then, huh, doll?” And instead giving you one of those classic Winger smiles, he whispered a request for permission to use his mouth on you. You didn’t even have a response to that. He kneeled down in front of you, hands eagerly spread on your thighs, and his breathing was slightly uneven as he awaited your answer. It made you feel some type of way. You gave a quick nod and shuffled forward to meet his hot mouth. When his tongue delved deep inside your cunt, all coherent thoughts went straight out the door, and now you’re weeping into the back of your hand and clenching down your teeth down on your fingers, trying your best not to cry out.

Now, there are a few things you do to try and stop yourself from finishing immediately: you try clenching your legs together, but this only makes Jeff moan right into your pussy, and that doesn’t do you any good at all; you pull lightly at his hair and scratch at his back and his neck and his arms, holding on for dear life, but he only grows more enthusiastic; and you try insulting him under your breath (“twat”, “asshole”), but he just chuckles into you, and you have to bite down on your knuckles all over again, wrestling with that increasingly violent fluttering feeling in your legs.

Near the end of it, you just give up that bet with Jeff; you’ll cum, you’ll finish first, you’ll lose the bet, and you’ll do whatever you can to get to it. You grind shyly, and then shamelessly, against Jeff’s face, finding a delicious friction with his beard, a lovely contrast to the soft, velvet slickness of his tongue – that is, until he uses his hands to press your hips firmly back down onto the table, rendering you powerless to his actions.

You’re just about to finish when he pulls away. You think it’s a mistake at first, trying to lower him back down onto you with your hand cradling his head, but then you catch sight of a shit-eating grin wanting to take over his face, and you whine out, “Jesus Christ, Jeff, don’t be mean!”

“C’mon, honey, I thought the point of the bet was to not cum. You don’t wanna lose, do you?” His chin is still slick with you and he’s talking to you like you’re not hot and flustered and half-naked for him in a fucking supply room, on the brink of an orgasm, legs shaking like there’s no tomorrow. What a fucking prick, you think to yourself. You’re still gonna fuck him, of course, but he’s still a prick to you, and nothing will ever change that. “What? Can’t talk anymore?”

“I’m about this close—” you narrow my index finger and thumb down to a microscopic space between, “—to leaving you alone in here with blue balls, Winger. You hear me?”

He stands up and massages your legs gently, almost tenderly, and makes you forget, just for a second, that you’re probably another one of his escapades, another one-night stand, just another girl for him to forget in the morning. “Aw, just look at you,” Jeff taunts, twisting his face up in mock-sympathy as you scramble to regain control. “You’re cute when you’re angry, you know that?” His nose brushes up against yours. He comes in real close and whispers against the shell of your ear, “You know, I think you just might get us caught, sweets. I think you’re gonna be crying out my name by the time we’re done, and all those wedding guests are gonna be shocked at the dirty things I’ve done to you and you’ve done to me. You think you’re gonna be able to walk right when they ask us to come out this room? Or do you think everyone’s gonna know how hard I fucked you in here, how I fucked you senseless, how I fucked you so good that you can barely sit down without thinkin’ ‘bout how my cock felt up inside of you?” Your clit throbs painfully. How can it not? You try to snake your own hand between your legs, but Jeff softly moves it away and kisses your shoulder. “Hmm? So, which is it?”

“I think I want you inside of me,” you say breathlessly, needily. Yes, you knew that Jeff likes to sleep around a lot, you knew that he was experienced, you knew that he knows how to get someone hot—but you didn’t really prepare for this. How many other girls has he had in the janitor’s room? How many other girls has he had at a wedding?

“I think I want to play with you for a little while longer,” he replies huskily, and you very nearly finish right on the table. You take his hand and guide it between your glistening thighs, taking him through the way you like to be touched, and he soon takes control, finding out what makes you squirm and what makes you bite into his shoulder and scratch at his back. Jeff has always been a person who loves knowing that he’s good at something, that he’s in charge, that he’s in control – it’s not hard to figure out he loves praise. So, when you tell him, “You’re doing so well,” and he kisses you roughly, hand in your hair, and pinches your clit, you take satisfaction again in his predictability. You yelp right into his mouth, brimming with smugness. Then, he dips a finger into your cunt, and maybe the attitude is punched out of you, but you lose a little respect for yourself with how eagerly you sigh out. After a while, he asks if he can add another, and you agree, grinding against the heel of his palm.

What you’re really scared of is that he won’t let you cum again, that he’s into edging, and that you’re going to be denied the sweet release you’ve been craving for what seems like years, now. “Let me cum, please,” you say, kissing his neck. “I’ll go down on you later, but just please don’t edge me again.” Ew. You hate how desperate you sound. You’re usually a little more dignified than this. Jeff’s there, quick-witted and sharp-tongued as always, and you’re sitting here, tongue-tied and helpless. This is sort of the most bottom you’ve ever been, give or take. With sex with other people, there was a mutual bond rather than a power dynamic, but, here, there’s a very clear distinction. It makes you a little uncomfortable. You’d feel, oh, so much better if it were you saying all those dirty things to Jeff, making him sweat with his cock on your tongue, being the one he asks for permission to cum. But you’re saving that fantasy for another time – you don’t have the willpower to do anything like that today, not when Jeff wants to be in charge right now.

And maybe it’s your imagination, but he grows just that little bit harder at the desperation in your voice. Maybe he should let you cum, since you asked so nicely.  “You don’t have to go down on me,” he says, even though he’d definitely love to see your pretty, little mouth wrapped around his cock. Instead, he reaches down and starts to kiss and lick and suck and bite at your breasts, making sure to linger at the swell of them – he has an odd thing for that area between your side and your breast, that little swell, you both learn, and he strokes that area tenderly with one hand as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.

When you finish around his fingers, he licks them clean and wipes the rest on the little square handkerchief in his pocket. He’s going to save that for later, he decides. Say he gets hard at night thinking about you and needs the smell of you to get off—or maybe he’ll just tease you at the post-vows dinner and make eye contact when he presses the damp fabric against his nose, just to see you clench your thighs together. Who knows? You, on the other hand, are only just realising that he’s still fully clothed. You are as naked as the day you were born, and he’s still prim and smart and handsome in that navy-blue suit and tie.

Pulling him closer to you by his belt, you fumble with the buckle as you tell him, “I’ll go down on you.” You just want a grasp of control after him having seen you so bare, so vulnerable. You don’t know if you’ll be able to face him after this if you just don’t get his dick in your mouth right now – it’s a strange logic, yes, but there’s no stopping you.

Jeff watches you passively as you frantically undo his belt, somewhat enjoying seeing you so flustered and out of control. It doesn’t only feed into his desire and lust, but it also adds to that weird, warm feeling in his gut, one that he hasn’t really experienced before. He can’t quite figure out what it is – heartburn, maybe; indigestion? – but he’s not stupid, and he’s a little suspicious, so before his tipsy subconscious can come to that terrifying conclusion, he tells you, “Can you spread your legs for me?” At your surprise, he adds, “Please?” Just to be nice.

“So fucking demanding, aren’t you?” you huff, but you do as you’re told, gut wriggling with apprehension.

He kisses you nice and slow, storing this memory in his mind carefully for later, trying to be the most genuine he can because, at the end of the day, you’re his friend, his good friend, and he would never do anything to harm or lose you. If he’s going to fuck you, he’s going to do it nicely, the way you’d fuck a friend (I don’t know). You remove his jacket as he loosens his tie, and he unbuttons his shirt as you tug down his trousers and his underwear. He rifles through his wallet for a condom, and you make fun of him for carrying a condom in his wallet (“You’re such a skeez, Jeff.”; “Hey, you’re fucking this skeez!”).

You both have a brief moment, a brief pause, of should-they-shouldn’t-they – after all, you’re going to have to see each other practically every day after this, at school, at the study group, at lunch, at hangouts. But then, you tell him, “Well, get on with it, then,” and he e-e-eases into you, taking his goddamn sweet time with it, letting you grasp at his arms and his back and his waist and his neck and hair and face and chest. He loves how handsy you are. You try not to be so vocal – you don’t want his ego growing any bigger than it currently is – but your touchiness always gives you away. And it makes him feel special as well – you’re not the most affectionate person usually, and you rarely give out hugs and touches and pats like some of the other members of the study group, so the fact that you’re touching him so much and so freely makes him feel blessed.

When he thrusts up into you, you bite into his shoulder again, and he nearly loses it. There’s a sinful, explicit, wet noise that’s made when he moves in and out of you, and it’s almost enough to make him cum on the spot. He’s suppressing his moans, now, trying to do well for you, trying to be good, be strong, be satisfying enough for you.

“Good girl,” he chokes out when you whine high in your throat for him – he says it more to himself than to you, feeling the need to give praise after receiving it, wanting to make you feel as good as he is (say what you will about Jeff, but he’s respectful when he wants to be). But little does he know that you love being called that. Some weird insecurity issue is probably to blame, but you whimper for him and clench around his length, making his hips stutter and his pace falter. He decides to play around a bit, just to see how far he can push you while you’re sedated like this – usually, you’d be up to speed, quick and sharp-tongued and tough and sickly sweet, but, now, he has you a mess in his hands. “Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” he chuckles darkly. “You’re such a good girl for me. Such a good—” he thrusts harder, “—little—” harder, “—girl.”

All you can do is gasp and try to take it well. You can barely form words – it’s like you’re drunk. Well, you are drunk. Of course, you know you’ll have a hard time getting rid of this picture – this picture of him panting and sweating, of his mischievously glinting eyes, of his large hands digging right into your hips and thighs and waist – and you’re probably going to get yourself hot later just thinking about it. You blame him. You blame him for all of it. He’ll probably forget about it in a heartbeat, you think to yourself. He’s Jeff Winger, after all – ladies’ man, professional man-whore, completely indifferent to everything all of the time. You try to plan ahead, try to plan for later when you’re sad and alone and hating your body and hating your life choices, but then Jeff moans breathily into your ear, and you’re right back in the moment. You curl your legs tightly around his waist, letting your head fall back as he takes further control.

“You know, I think this is the first time you haven’t had some comeback ready to go, isn’t it, hon?” he says, then softly biting your earlobe. You can only choke out a moan. “Thank you for that addition.”

You groan and roll your eyes. “I fuckin’ hate you,” you say in a feeble attempt to put up your guard again.

“No, you’re just fucking me, actually.”

You sob dryly into his shoulder, and Jeff starts to encourage you a little, probably the kindest he’s ever been during sex: “Come on, darlin’, why don’t you cum for me? You’re doing so well, you know that?” And that just sets you over the edge. You finish, body quivering, exhausted, and slump right forward onto Jeff’s chest. He somehow manages to hold on – he’s not done yet, and he’s going to want to drag this out for as long as he can, that much he knows. He plants his hands on the table, either side of you, and rests his head forwards on your shoulder, panting.

“Nice one, Jeff,” you say to him awkwardly. What does one say to the friend they’ve just fucked? There’s no right thing, of course, but you know straight away that that was definitely a wrong thing.

But he laughs. “We just fucked the shit out of each other, and that’s what you’ve got to say to me?”

“Well, what am I supposed to say?”

“I dunno,” he tells you, and he genuinely doesn’t.

You stay like that for a while, him laying light kisses on your shoulder and neck, you running your hand gently through his hair, both confused as to what to do now. That is, until you point out, “You’re still hard, huh?” You can feel him throbbing painfully inside of you. This must be torture for him – you’ve finished twice, now, and him none.

“Yeah,” he replies. “I was gonna wait for a better time, but.”

“I don’t think there is a better time in this situation.”

Jeff swallows thickly, throat suddenly dry as he pulls back and rests his forehead against yours. His dick twitches inside you when you grin up at him, and you pretend not to notice (but, oh, you’ll definitely remember it the next time you smile at him). He’s quite nervous, and he can’t pinpoint why. His brain’s just still a little too fuzzy to really process any coherent thoughts, even despite that sobering experience just then, but, again, he isn’t stupid – he knows what that knotted feeling in his chest probably is – so, before he has the chance to figure out what he already knows, he asks you, “Can you turn around? Bet you feel real good when I have you bent over this desk.”

“What a charmer,” you mumble under your breath. You know that’s about as sweet as he gets. You’re about to turn around for him when he surprises you:

“Of course, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He strokes your arms nicely. “We can go back to the party if that’s what you’d prefer, have a few more drinks, make fun of Pierce a little. Or we could try something you decide on. Got a favourite position? I’m sure we could make do with the space we have in here – maybe move a few buckets and boxes around, and we’re good. What do you like?”

Your mind goes completely blank, except for one very clear thought: “You’re what I like.” Not out loud, of course. You’d probably do anything he wanted right about now. You half-expect him to pull a 180 and say something snarky or sarcastic, but he doesn’t. He just kisses your cheek sweetly and waits for your answer. What do you like? You don’t even know anymore, and yet you’re getting wetter than ever before. Your breath is picking up, now. “You know,” you mumble, trying to contain your nerves, “the usual: a little light asphyxiation, a bit of hair pulling. I dunno. What else is there? I guess overstimulation can be nice sometimes. And, you know, I liked it—” a blush starts to form on your cheeks, “—I liked it when you...”

“Liked it when I what?”

“You know,” you huff frustratedly. “Said all those nice things to me.”

Jeff raises his eyebrows. “Praise?” Internally, he smiles to himself – he likes that he shares that in common with you. “Don’t worry, I like it, too.”

“Nice to know.” You maintain a neutral expression, but your clit is fucking beating right now, and your cunt is dripping wet. Your efforts not to clench around Jeff are herculean.

“Well, how do you want it?” he asks you brazenly, the usual Winger way. Okay, now, you squeeze tight around him, and Jeff presses his hands around your thighs in response—but, outwardly, the two of you are perfectly normal about this. “I can dial it back a little if you wanna take charge.” His eyes darken just slightly. “I don’t mind.” And that’s genuine enough – he certainly doesn’t mind the mental image of you with your fingers wrapped around his cock, teasing him as he whimpered and begged for a release, completely submissive to you in the moment. He wouldn’t mind that at all.

You grip the edge of the table and run a tongue over your teeth briefly. “I can turn around.”

“Really?” he asks. “You want to?”

“I want to.”

“Alright then,” he says, smiling. “Better get to it. We don’t want the others realising we’re gone, now, do we?” And you shake your head in response. Now that Jeff’s a little nicer, you’re more comfortable around him. He realises it, too, and so he allows himself to do the things he normally wouldn’t, brushing your hair out of your face for you and really looking into your eyes. Sex sort of became meaningless for him sometime along his life, full of emptiness and loneliness even in that intimate act – that’s the trouble he gets for sleeping his way out of his problems. And so, looking in his partner’s eyes has always brought him some type of shame – he’d always close his eyes and power through it. But you’re nice. You’re familiar. You’re safe and warm and soft. It might be a little to do with the friend thing, but, even when he was with Britta, he never felt this type of comfort, this okay-ness, this general acceptance. It was nice to have, for once: a friend.

He carefully pulls out of you, and then you turn around and bend over the table. Jeff almost stops breathing at the sight in front of him. And it’s not bad, don’t worry – he’s just a bit dramatic. “Jesus Christ,” he curses, and he moves his hands to massage gently at your hips. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.” And it’s true. Slick spills down your thighs, some of it slathered across the table and a fair amount dripping down onto the ground below them. That’s the type of stuff you see in pornos, he thinks amusedly to himself, and he continues to stare in awe at your cunt. Now, what Jeff really wants to do is to kneel down and lay his tongue flat against you. But he controls himself, and, instead, just sucks it up and praises you for it; “Keep that sort of energy up, yeah?”

“You sound like you’re a key-note speaker addressing an assembly of seven year-olds,” you say to him as he places his hands on your ass, spreading the sides apart slightly, his dick straining when he catches a better view of your aching cunt, and then he runs two fingers along your slit – he grows silent for a few heartbeats, amazed at how easily you drip down the length of his fingers and onto his wrist. You then turn back to see him place those fingers in his mouth, and you turn back around, blushing, before he can notice.

“Ah, so you’re into role-play?” he teases, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Sh—” but Jeff is already pushing into you, heavy and strong and thick; you try to continue your sentence without your voice shaking, “—shut u-up.”

He continues all the way to the hilt, and both of you use your hands to hold onto something for stability, his on your hips, and yours flat on the table. “You know,” he says as he bends over you, chest against your back, one hand coming to rest on the wall by your head, coaxing a pant or two out of you as he does so, “it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Role-play’s good once in a while.”

“Uh-huh,” you manage breathily. “You sound like you’re covering up a deeply concerning fantasy, there.”

“Don’t shame me.”

“We all know what it stands for, Jeff. ‘Role-play’s good once in a while.’ Really? Show me where you hid the goddamn body.”

He exhales amusedly through his nose. “I feel like you’re just trying to ease in with your officer-perp kink.” And he’s just casually gri-i-i-in-ding up against you, carefully pushing you back down so that your stomach is flat against the table, his lips pressing kisses into your hair and upon your shoulder blades as he starts to find a pace.

“It’s h-hot, okay?” you stutter out, trying to continue the conversation. It’s true enough – police officers can be hot when they want to be, and Jeff would certainly make for an interesting experience in that sector. Not that you were planning to sleep with him again. Fantasies are what’s discussed between a couple – it’s not really something you tell a one-night stand, especially if that one-night stand happens to be one of your closest friends who would never let you forget anything embarrassing you did—ever.

“Really?” Jeff says through a smile, though, now, even he’s having trouble composing himself. He should’ve cum when he could’ve – he feels like he’s about to give way any second, but he, oh, so wants to finish inside of you while you crumble apart around him. “Hands—” his breath catches, “—above your head.”

“I’m literally bent over a table in front of you.”

“Could still apply to some other positions, though.” And, with that, he begins to slowly pull out and push into you, nice and gentle at first, very controlled, but, as I said, Jeff was very quickly losing control, so one can imagine the animalistic desperation that soon kicked in for not just him, but for both parties. You buck up against him feverishly, letting out whines and suppressed, breathy moans and little, desperate whispers of his name (he absolutely loves those), and he just goes at it with all his energy. Who cares if he looks like absolute shit at the party later on? That’s a lot coming from him, he’ll have you know. As long as this memory is playing in his head, he doesn’t care about his hair or his suit anymore (the suit might be a stretch). He tells you breathlessly, “You know, you look good like this. Such a pretty girl.”

There’s the praise that you love. You squeeze around him and pant, “Take a picture—” and Jeff slides a hand between your legs, rubbing at that golden spot, and you have to choose between pressing into his cock or into his hand; the indecision makes your head reel, and the continuation of your sentence is twisted high and quiet, “—it’ll la-ast long-e-er.”

“Is that an invitation, doll? ‘Cause I’m not exactly against it.”

He pounds and pounds into you, nice and firm and precise, until you’re mewling and whining for him. “Be quiet, now,” he whispers against your ear – there are people chattering outside the room, passing through the exit after the party. But you can’t exactly keep it in. You try to hold your breath, you really do, but you end up grunting out when Jeff kneads at one of your breasts. “What?—d’you want those people to hear you or something? You wanna get caught?” You whine suppressedly again. “I bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Dirty girl.”

You clench once again, so fucking close to cumming, and he asks, “Can I try something?” And you nod frantically, alongside giving him a rushed, weak verbal affirmation. “I want you to prop yourself up a little more, hands on the wall – can you do that for me?”

“Uh-huh,” you mutter, adjusting yourself, and, with your movement, Jeff groans and grips your hips tightly.

“Good girl,” he praises, kissing the place behind your ear. And he continues thrusting, and then swiftly lifts one of your legs right up into the bend of his arm, leaving you to press the side of your face into the wall, your entire body swaying with the sheer force of the rutting of his hips. You feel so full like this, and he’s reaching that heavenly spot inside of you. Your knee gently brushes against his corresponding shoulder whenever he moves into you, out of you.

“Shit,” you curses sharply when he roughens his pace. “Jeff.” His name comes out as an awfully high-pitched sigh.

He huffs, “Yup, that’s me, doll.”

“You’re such a prick.”

“You could at least wait until I’m not inside of you to insult me.”

“Tell me something nice.”

“Something nice? I dunno if I can muster it up – all the things I’m thinking aren’t exactly nice. Definitely not things I’d say to anyone’s grandma.”

“Well, then, be mean,” you chuckle, and he jerks inside of you. “I don’t care.”

“You like getting off on my voice, do you?” His voice is nice and low and gravelly, and it practically grates against your pussy in some magical way, and your whole body shudders beneath him. He keeps at that perfect pace, pressure, and you commend him for his technique, you have to say. “You ever think about me when you touch yourself?” You nod. “Such a perfect, little girl. Fucking perfect.”

And he’s got a good-ish look at your face from this angle. Your eyes are closed in ecstasy, mouth open in silent pleasure, and you’re chasing, chasing that feeling. He can’t help it. He cums. And you follow immediately after – your fists screw up uselessly against the wall, and your legs quake and quake, and you squeeze so impossibly tight around him that he lets out a choked moan at how good it feels. He continues sloppily thrusting up into you, helping you ride out your orgasm while also riding out his own. “God, you’re hot,” he mutters, smiling.

You grin back at him, and his cock twitches again – it’s instinctive, he swears. “You’re not so bad either,” you reply, eyes shimmering in the dim light. Those eyes flutter shut again when he carefully pulls out of you with a sinful, wet noise.

Shit, he thinks to himself as you slip your soaked underwear and your pretty, green dress back on.

Shit, he loves you, doesn’t he?

After he’s put his suit back on, you help to adjust his tie, and he has to try his very, very hardest not to blush. He’s pretty sure you notices anyway, but it’s the effort that counts, right? He really, really wants to kiss you, but he doesn’t know if he should. The one-night stand is over, right?

“Call me tonight?” you ask after a brief pause. Was that the correct thing to do? You and Jeff call sometimes, obviously, when he’s at the store and wants to ask if you want anything, or when you want to order a pizza for yourself but get too nervous and ask for his help—but this’ll clearly be different. Are you still friends? Of course, you know you’re still friends, sure, but is it still the same?

And his heart rate has picked up significantly. You want him to call you. You want to talk to him later. “So you can get off to my voice?” You laugh. He made you laugh. He just made you laugh. The sound is like music to his ears. “I’m not a phone sex line, you know. Not a free one, anyway. If you want my services, you’re gonna have to pay.”

You’re smiling. “What’s your price?”

“$100, give or take.” He neatly folds his pocket square back up and places it into his breast pocket. Like he said, he wants to save it for later. He’s not sure for what, but it seems important to him now. And then, what he bumbles out next is said on a whim – the words are quiet and shy. Yes, shy. Jeff Winger is shy. He’s blushing. His stomach is full of butterflies. “Can I come visit your room instead?”

“Yeah, but it’ll cost you $100, give or take.”

Jeff approaches the door, and you line up behind him. “Ready?” he asks you. And you grab a fistful of his suit jacket from behind, going up on your toes, and kiss him lightly on the corner of his mouth in response.

He doesn’t even notice that you wrinkled his suit. He just closes his eyes and turns around for another kiss.

(Spoiler alert: You don’t end up seeing each other in your hotel room because Britta gets black-out drunk and nearly starts a vodka fire on the bride’s dress, so Jeff has to take her to get her fucking stomach pumped. But he gives you a call, and you come, and you sit together by Britta’s bedside as she sleeps. You talk about weird hospital experiences you’ve had, and then you fall asleep. He lets you rest your head on his shoulder.)

[sephyathredon-writing]

Whumptober #7: Can You Hear Me Now?

Summary: After the Knighting Ceremony, Diego pulls Ambrosius aside and shows him the proof that he needs to know that Ballister is innocent. He goes off in search of Ballister but by the time he finds him, it's too late.

An entry for Whumptober under the prompt "Can you hear me?"

Heed the warnings for this one. If you are not okay with reading a scene where Ballister dies and Ambrosius is really upset about it, this fic is not for you.

----

Ambrosius stood in the wreckage of the Glorodome, eyes glued to the tunnel entrance that Ballister had just escaped down. He was frozen, his mind swimming with questions. The adrenaline high from the whole incident still kept him on edge as he fought with his heart which was telling him to go after Ballister.

What he didn’t notice was a lone man making his way through the wreckage, not until the man touched his shoulder and jolted him out of his trance-like state.

“Uh, Sir Goldenloin… s-sir.” The voice was familiar and when Ambrosius’ eyes finally snapped from the tunnel entrance to look at the man, his suspicions were confirmed.

It was the Squire, Diego.

“I have something that I need to show you. Please, it’s important. Nothing in my life has ever been so important” He pleaded.

Around them was chaos. The director was organizing squadrons of knights to find Ballister, the queen’s body was being taken away by the paramedics. There was no saving her, but the kingdom had to try. Todd was barking orders, not over the director, but to Blanche and Chad, the cadets that were loyal to him.

They never got knighted, Ambrosius realized.

Ambrosius couldn’t look into the Squire’s eyes and just say ‘no’. He hoped it wasn’t just an autograph that he needed or a picture that he needed to take with him, it had to be something truly important.

“Sure, let’s go somewhere private, how about the locker rooms?”

The squire nodded and began to head across the field to the entrance they had come out from at the beginning of the ceremony. Ambrosius could feel the Director’s eyes on the back of his head as he left, but she didn’t say anything. He’d hoped that he could just slip away without her noticing.

Either way, he ended up in the locker room, sitting on one of the benches. It felt good to just sit after a terrible situation like that. He was still visibly shaking from it.

Diego sat next to him, leaving a good amount of space next to him. He took out his phone and pressed the play button.

“Look.”

Ambrosius watched, curiously showing on his face. The video showed a close up of the Squire, the background Ambrosius recognized as the same locker room they were in now.

[“Check it out, I’m in the locker room, and you are looking at history in the making. Ballister’s armor. It’s speaking. It’s saying, ‘Respect me. Protect me. Put me on. No one’s watching.”]

Ambrosius felt the heavy weight of disappointment settle in his chest. This was what the Squire was itching to show him?

He stood up and started to walk away.

“No, No wait. Sir Goldenloin, please.” He was clearly panicking, reaching out and grabbing Ambrosius’ arm, “This isn’t it, I promise.”

He looked back at the Squire and sat back down, watching as he fast forwarded the video. He watched more of the squire’s antics go by quickly before he looked back, seeing something that made him panic and climb back into the locker, standing stock still like Ballister’s suit of armor usually was.

Ambrosius’ breath hitched as he watched a woman in a white cloak come into frame. She looked around cautiously, revealing her identity.

“No way… the Director?” Ambrosius whispered.

He watched as she swapped Ballister’s sword with the one she had with her. It was undeniable proof that she had set him up.

“I don’t understand… why would she do that to him?” Ambrosius asked Diego as if he had any answers.

“I don’t know, I only know what I saw.” He replied.

Then a realization hit Ambrosius hard.

Ballister is innocent, and he’s out there bleeding, left to treat the wound for an amputated arm by himself.

“I’ve gotta go find Bal.” He jolted from his seat and had to mentally restrain himself from taking off immediately. Instead he took a moment to look at Diego, “Thank you. I don’t know why she did that, but it took a lot of courage to come forth with this video.”

Diego nodded, “I’ll upload it to The Crier, make sure everyone sees it, even if it ruins my reputation.” He looked down at his feet, unwilling to look Ambrosius in the eyes, “Ballister has been like a role model to me. I look up to him. Please, make sure he’s okay.”

Ambrosius nodded, “I will.”

He didn’t say it aloud, but he mentally added ‘because I love him.’

Without another word, Ambrosius took off.

It didn’t take him long to realize that Ballister wouldn’t be anywhere within the city. The whole place was crawling with knights and guards.

So he searched in the forest, but the thing about the Kingdom was that there was still a lot of forest. It took Ambrosius close to an hour to finally found where Ballister was hiding out, and that’s only because he saw the tower peeking out above the treeline. There was a trail of blood leading up to the door.

He slammed it open.

“Ballister!” His voice was worried, not angry.

The smell that greeted him made him want to throw up. It smelled like burnt flesh. Clearly Ballister had attempted to cauterize the wound.

It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, but he saw Ballister lying on the ground. Without a second thought, he ran over to the other, scooping him up in his arms. Any signs of life in him were miniscule.

“Bal! Ballister!” He shouted, the panic clear in his voice. He saw that the arm that he’d cut off was still bleeding, despite an attempt at closing the wound clearly being visible by the scorch marks around the edges.

Ballister’s eyes opened and the fear he saw there broke Ambrosius’ heart.

“No, no Bal… It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I… I promise I just want to fix what I did.” Ambrosius sobbed, tears rolling down his cheeks, “We’ve got to stop the bleeding.” His voice held desperation in it.

Maybe Ballister could still be saved.

Ballister’s gaze softened and his good hand went up to caress Ambrosius’ face.

“I’m afraid you’re too late, love…”

Ambrosius placed a hand over Ballister’s pressing it into his cheek. He turned his head, leaving tender kisses on the only hand his lover had left.

“No… there must be something I can do… There must be something… I refuse to let this mistake kill you.”

A light laugh rang out, echoing off the walls of the tower, making goosebumps appear on Ambrosius’ skin, under his armor, “I’m afraid not…”

“No…” He took his hand off of Ballister’s to move to his severed arm, pressing hard in an attempt to stifle the blood flow.

Ballister grunted, “Trust me, I would love to stay, but It’s just not possible. I can feel myself slipping.”

“No… no… Ballister. Please.” He could feel Ballister’s grip on his cheek fading, leaving a streak of blood behind, “The Director framed you, it was all a misunderstanding. The squire captured proof, and it’s going to go live soon and the whole kingdom will know that you’re innocent. We can go back to the way things were…”

There was no answer from Ballister.

“Please… I love you.” Ambrosius begged.

Still no answer.

“Please… please… Ballister…” Ambrosius held him tightly, heart racing, mind spinning, “I can’t go on without you. You’ve been by my side since I was a child. You… you’ve been my everything… Bal… please wake up… please wake up.”

Slowly, the realization sunk in. Bal was gone. He wasn’t coming back, would never be the Knight that he wanted to be, would never be the first in a long line of knights with commoner blood.

Ambrosius broke, all his emotions flooding out in tears and sobs and screams and he held Bal’s body tightly and buried his head into the other’s shoulder.

He couldn’t help but stew in his thoughts as he sat there sobbing.

This was his fault.

This was his fault.

And then he remembered the squire and the video he showed him. Putting aside the idea that Ballister might have lived if he had not stopped to watch the video in the first place, he focused mostly on what the video meant.

When he finally had the strength to lift his head, his expression was one of anger.

It was still his fault.

But it was also the Director’s fault, maybe even the fault of the whole institute.

His expression flickered back to one of sadness as he put Ballister down and gave him a light kiss to the cheek, trying not to tear up again and he realized it would be his last.

“I’m sorry, Bal. I can’t bring you back, but I can make them pay for what they did to you… and they will pay.”

By the time he left the tower, he was a new man, a man on a mission. He walked toward the institute, anger showing clearly on his face.

When he got to the city, crowds parted for him, as the people around him could clearly see that he was not in the mood to talk.

It was dark, he didn’t expect the director to still be out ordering the knights around for patrols, it was more likely that she was in her office.

He stopped and fixed the Gloreth statue in front of him with a cold glare, before turning his gaze up to the institute building in the background looming above it.

He walked with purpose. Anger so apparent in his steps. Blood still streaked his face and covered his right hand, painting a pretty grim picture. Even parts of his armor where Ballister had bled onto him were dyed red. If he felt anything other than anger at the moment, he might have stopped and realized the irony behind his golden armor, the biggest symbol of his descent from Gloreth, being stained with Ballister’s blood.

But as it stood, the only thing he felt was boiling white hot rage.

---

I can barely hear a sound, it's faded

All the words you used to say

Tried to keep me down, I'm elevated

No more rain on this parade

---

He threw open the doors to the front of the institute, startling everyone inside. They looked at him with confused expressions, but he didn’t pay attention to them and they didn’t approach. One of them called security, Ambrosius did see that. He expected Knights to be on him any second now.

---

I went deep inside, where monsters hide

To free my mind, and come out alive

Tell me when you kicked me did you ever think that I would get up

---

The part of Ambrosius’ mind that was still lucid as he drew his sword and began to fight the knights descending on him wondered if this was where monsters came from. Had he turned into one? Had he become the very thing he had sworn to fight?

He pushed that thought away and focused on his mission. If it was for Ballister’s sake, he would become a monster. Even despite the haze of anger, he made sure not to hurt the Knights too badly. There was only one other person that had to die tonight.

He forced his way up many flights of stairs, until he got to the hall that led to the Director’s office. By that time, he’d knocked out the knights tailing him and approached her doors alone, slamming them open.

---

Tried to find the light between your shadows, but it always seemed to fade

It took some time for me to learn to let go

But I grew stronger from the pain

---

The director was sitting at her desk and when she looked up, she could see the anger in his eyes.

“What is the meaning of this, Ambrosius?” She stood, glancing from him to the small scepter on a stand on her desk.

“You know.” There was venom in his voice as he spoke, “Queen killer.” He snapped.

“I don’t know what you mean. I would never-” She sounded offended, grabbing the scepter and taking a few steps back. She placed a couple of fingers to her ear, activating some sort of communication device “Security.”

“Oh, I don’t think security is going to save you.” Ambrosius spat at her.

“No, but this might.” She held out her scepter and the diamond on it opened in a very familiar way, with a very familiar green glow.

Any doubts Ambrosius might have had that the Director was guilty, vanished into thin air.

“Ballister is dead because of you!” He roared, vaulting over the desk just as the laser went off. It bore into his side, and it hurt…

…but he kept going, footsteps even and purposeful. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug.

The director turned to flee, pushing aside the double doors out into the balcony. That was her biggest mistake. Ambrosius had her cornered and the wound hadn’t seemed to slow him down in any significant way.

---

Can you hear me now so loudly?

I'm screaming at the top of my lungs

Can you see me now so proudly?

Looking up at what I've become

---

A hand shot up and wrapped around her throat, the same one coated with Ballister’s blood. Another hand soon joined the first and Ambrosius took a few steps forward, until the director was dangling over the edge of the balcony.

She locked eyes with his, nothing but fury showing in hers.

“Monster” She spat, “Go back to the shadows from whence you came.”

Ambrosius laughed, “If I’m a monster, then that marks the end of Gloreth’s bloodline, doesn’t it? After all, a monster and a hero can’t be the same person, can they?”

Ambrosius saw something else in her expression, fear.

“Killing me will change nothing.” She reasoned.

“Ha, we’ll see about that” Ambrosius could hear the sounds of Knights behind them, they’d entered the office. He had to do it soon.

If he had to become a murderer to avenge Ballister’s death, so be it.

---

Tell me when you kicked me did you ever think that I would get up?

---

Ambrosius let go.

The Director plummeted to her death.

.

.

.

.

.

Nobody knows what happened to Ambrosius after that night. There was a fresh grave at the hideout by morning, but nobody saw heads or tails of him. The only thing that was recovered was his armor, somewhere near the wall. Legend says he went over.

Some people say that once a year, on the day Ambrosius disappeared, fresh flowers could be seen on Ballister’s grave. Dandelions that symbolize resilience. Black roses that symbolize death and mourning. Pink camellias that symbolize longing. Sprigs of heliotrope to symbolize eternal love and devotion, and sprigs of rosemary to symbolize remembrance.

[kitkatscabinet]

hiiii!!! for the brother mine, could you do hcs for when they are married and what argon’s like then, love this little series sm 😁🫶🏼

I’m a little bit blasted so Soz in advance for mistakes. Merry drinkmas everyone 🎄

Nsfw themes.

You know it took some deliberation but ultimately I decided that this Aegon does want a sort of bedding ceremony. None of the other men are allowed to touch his beloved older sister but he still wants people to witness your majesty. To see what they're missing out on, just this once they can look, but no touching.

Now that you're married and Aegon knows that you belong to him and only him he's more inclined to let the little siblings around you more.

He also takes that as permission to do everything he’s already been doing but at a much louder and public level.

He somehow become more secure in your relationship but his jealousy and possessiveness has also skyrocketed.

He's now more pouty then outright psychotic and vindictive when you look at someone other than him. Why aren't you looking at him? pay attention to him!

Though if some lord or lady actively tries to charm you, or seems to be spending far too long rallying for your attention then the claws come out.

He acknowledges that subtlety isn't his strongest suit and after being repeatedly scolded for causing a scene/outright obviously murdering an important lord he knows to go to Aemond and Alicent.

But in turn you're even worse. Because now you no longer have to truly play at the role of good, dutiful, pious princess. Now that Otto and Viserys can longer stop you/question your honour, you become just as insatiable as Aegon.

He likes to let people know that you're his. Through hickies if they show up on your skin, obscenely loud sex, pulling you away very obviously to have sex, hands on hips, sitting on lap, making you feed him the whole nine yards.

Aegon is not known for his presence in the silk of street, you would skin him alive if you heard he’d been anywhere near another woman.

Aegon no longer really has any duties to attend to, he won't do them anyway, and yours have been significantly diminished because Aegon won't leave you alone enough to attend to them.

There is never any contention for the throne on his behalf. You are firmly team black so he is too and he’s of the opinion that if he’s king then he gets to spend even less time with you which is not ideal.

TAGLIST: @etherily @psychwardsiren @mihrimahsultan03 @bbyaemond @krispold @hyperfixated-freak @eudximoniakr @deadstarkblacksoul @weepingwitchofthewest @kaitieskidmore1 @eli1fict @rainerax @dsl1999 @thelittleswanao3 @targeryenmoony

[use-your-telescope]

When Everything's Made to be Broken - Chapter 14: Underneath Your Regret

Summary: A visit to Michigan reminds Theo of some things she’d rather forget, but it also leads to some important revelations. When she returns to New York, she puts the final pieces of the puzzle together. 

Author's Notes: Hellooooooo friends! I am so, SO excited about this chapter and can’t wait to share it with you!!! You’ll be getting some answers to the mysteries of the last chapter, but you might end up with a whole new set of questions as we get to learn a little bit more about Theo’s backstory. The final scene/conversation is one that I have a particular soft spot for as well. In the interest of avoiding spoilers, I’ll share some more thoughts/a heartfelt ramble after the chapter is done. 

As a reminder, this chapter's song is a continuation from the last chapter. <3

Word Count: 6,008

Read on AO3 | When Everything's Made to be Broken Masterlist

Song: Talk About It - Paradise Fears

I don’t really wanna talk about it I don’t really wanna talk about it I don’t really wanna talk about it, Right now, right now

Theo’s search for answers to the cause of New York’s gloom, ironically, led her to Michigan. 

Since Theo had to make a trip to Michigan to seek assistance with her conundrum, Theo decided to make the most of it by staying for a few days. She had some time off to burn, and with the gloominess around the tower it seemed like the perfect time to get the hell out before she made anything worse. Upon learning that Theo would not simply be around for an afternoon, Mémère grinned and immediately presented Theo with a list of miscellaneous house projects that the matriarch wanted help with, but Max hadn’t gotten to yet. 

While Theo was a bit surprised by how quickly Mémère had a list ready for Theo, she wasn’t entirely surprised. The upkeep and maintenance of a farm required a lot of effort, and in Mémère’s old age it would have been impossible to do it on her own; even with Max it was borderline too much, since he had a family and a career and his own house to keep him busy. 

Theo was not about to complain, even if the chores were messy and tedious - after all, Mémère was the very person whose help Theo needed if she had any hope of figuring out what the heck was upsetting everyone. The very least Theo could do was make sure Mémère could continue living comfortably and independently on her farm.

However, Theo failed to account for one thing: Mémère could help, but whether or not she would agree to help was another question entirely.

“Mémère, come on - I know you know what’s going on. You’re the Ascendieu of knowledge for crying out loud!” Theo trailed after her grandmother from the dining room to the kitchen, outright pleading with the matriarch after explaining the situation over dinner. “Your entire purpose is to know things!”

“Knowledge is not simply awareness,” Mémère chided, repeating a phrase Theo heard countless times over the years. Mémère stopped in the kitchen to place a glass in the kitchen sink, but did not look at Theo as she busied herself cleaning up after dinner. “It requires discretion. If you are meant to know something, you will learn of it in due time. The Numens ensure this, as they always have.”

Theo huffed, dramatically slumping her shoulders as she pouted at Mémère. “Can you give me a hint, at least?!” 

“Are you planning to return for the Remembrance Prayers?” With one question and a stern glare, Mémère pivoted the conversation towards a subject Theo loathed. 

The Remembrance Prayers… As if Theo needed prayers to remember the night everything turned to shit. 

Telling Mémère that no, Theo would not be attending the annual ceremony that commemorated the death of half their extended family and (several thousand others) seemed like a great way to get her ass handed to her on a silver platter; failing to show up would likely have caused Theo’s premature death.

It wasn’t that Theo had a problem with paying tribute to those who had passed; if that was all, Theo would have no qualms about ensuring she attended. No - the problem was that most of the people who would be at the Remembrance Prayers blamed Theo for the event that caused those thousands of deaths, and for the destruction that followed. 

Those very people were the same reason Theo left Michigan as soon as she could, why she avoided going into town when she visited, and why she avoided interacting with the council. Even if they were cordial to her face, Theo knew damn well that they spent most of their free time imagining the ways they could kill Theo if it would be allowed. 

In a weird, twisted way, Theo was almost glad how closely they clung to the Edicts of Éthéré, since the importance they placed on Theo’s magic was probably her saving grace.

Ironic, given Theo despised the Edicts and the pressure they placed upon her.

With everything going on, Theo hadn’t realized just how quickly the date approached. It wasn’t that she was clueless - Mother’s day was just around the corner, which meant that Ravenna’s birthday was close by. It was shortly after Ravenna’s birthday that they stood atop the Whispering Summit and watched, helplessly, as Meridia imploded upon itself.

Only in hindsight did Theo realize that it wasn’t just Meridia that imploded, but everything as Theo knew it.

“Yes,” Theo sighed, matching Mémère’s more serious demeanor. “I will be there.” 

“Good. I will inform the council so they can prepare accordingly.” Mémère paused, stretching up to rest a weathered hand on Theo’s shoulder. “I know the prayers hold many difficult memories for you, but it is important that the people see you there. Someday, I will not be here, and you will be the Souveraine Dynaste - they will look to you for guidance. Your presence builds trust.”

A thousand venomous responses came to mind, but Theo held her tongue. 

When Theo was younger, she spat all kinds of vicious retorts at Mémère whenever the prayers and anniversaries came up. But as Theo grew older, she came to understand two things: first, even as the Souveraine Dynaste of the Council and an Ascendieu, Mémère could not change the situation they found themselves in. She could not undo the past, nor could she alter the events of the future. Second, and more importantly, when Theo directed her vitriol and rage at Memere, it only caused harm to the one person who never gave up on Theo, even when Theo gave up on herself. 

Theo caused enough suffering - she didn’t need anyone else to suffer, particularly not Mémère. So if Mémère insisted that Theo attended the Remembrance Prayers and spoke of Theo’s eventual rise to Souveraine Dynaste, Theo would not fight it; not because Memere was the Souveraine Dynaste, but because Theo loved her grandmother and her grandmother felt it was important.

“I know.” Theo murmured, covering Mémère’s hand with her own. She flashed a tight, close-lipped smile at her grandmother, who returned a smile of her own and an understanding nod.

Yes, Theo knew, but it didn’t make it any easier.

I don't really wanna talk about it (Right now, right now) I can see you underneath your regret (Right now, right now) So let's just get a little high and forget (Right now, right now) I don't really wanna live without it (Right now, right now)

Long after Mémère had gone to bed, Theo found herself out on the dock, gazing out on Lake Superior.

The dock had always been Theo’s place to go when she needed to clear her mind. Even on the coldest nights, when the temperature dropped well below freezing and her breath fogged in front of her face with each exhale, Theo made the trek from the farmhouse down to the water’s edge when she needed a place to sit and think. 

New York may have transitioned to spring, but northern Michigan had yet to get the memo that winter was over. A recent storm left a thick blanket of sparkling snow, most of it undisturbed by man or beast. Under the light of a full moon, the ice that covered the outer edges of Lake Superior reflected an almost ethereal glow. If Theo could see the center, where the water temperature remained too warm to freeze, she imagined it would glisten beneath the light. A gentle whisper of wind blew through the trees, the only sign that the world had not fallen completely still. Above, an endless expanse of navy sky shimmered with stars, unmarred by light pollution like the skies in New York.

A ratty, threadbare quilt covered the worn planks of wood beneath Theo, contrasting the thick woolen blanket she wrapped around her shoulders to block the chill. In one mitten-covered hand, Theo clutched a bottle of Asgardian Ale that she stole when Thor wasn’t looking; the slight buzz that came from the alcohol offered a false warmth that Theo enjoyed on a particularly cold night. 

The view before Theo existed in contradiction of itself: even as it changed, it remained the same. From the very first night Theo sat at the end of the dock to the present, very little appeared to be different. Sure, the seasons changed, which altered the environment around her. Ice formed in the winter and melted in the summer, only to repeat the cycle. The trees that lined the lake grew old and died, but new trees grew and filled their place, towering overhead as if they had been there the entire time. Everything had its place. 

Theo still spent her time at the end of the dock when she struggled to make sense of things. Back then, it was unceremoniously being dropped into a new world and trying to make sense of how to survive. Recently, the possibility of returning home occupied her time at the water’s edge. But for the moment, the matter of concern was much lower-stakes, even if it was much more salient in her daily life.

The crunch of snow beneath feet caught Theo’s ear; each crunch decisive in sound and pace as it grew louder. Too heavy to be a small creature and too loud to be a deer. However, the gait did not match Mémère’s, which meant…

“Heard you’re avoiding the Avengers.”

Of course, Max had to be the one to destroy Theo’s moment of peace.

“Should have known Mémère would tell you why I was sticking around for a few days.” Theo dryly replied, briefly glancing back at Max before returning her attention to the lake before her. “Did she give you the full story, or just the conclusion?”

“She gave me the full story.” 

Creaking planks shifted beneath Max’s weight as he made his way to the dock, taking a seat beside Theo on the blanket. Like Theo, he dressed for the occasion: A thick woolen peacoat, an ushanka hat tugged over closely cropped brown hair with ear flaps hanging at each side. Woolen socks revealed themselves in the gap between fleece-lined jeans and snow boots as Max crouched down to take a seat. He stretched his long legs out in front of them, leaning back on his gloved hands as he looked up at the sky. “You’ve got a habit for getting out of dodge when you don’t like something, you realize that?”

“If everyone around you was losing their minds and you couldn’t figure out why, you’d get the hell out too.” Theo took a swig of her ale, then offered the bottle to Max. “Want some? It’s Asgardian.” 

Max shrugged, but accepted the drink. He sniffed the bottle’s opening before he took a drink; his face shifted to something inquisitive as he swished for a moment, then swallowed. “Not bad - does it do anything special?”

“It actually can get us drunk,” Theo replied, “so that’s convenient.” 

“I forgot that you don’t have easy access to strong enough alcohol.” Max chuckled to himself. “You know that if you ever went into town, it’d be easy to get some.”

“That runs the risk of running into people I don’t want to see, so no thanks; I’ll take sobriety. Or I’ll just steal Thor’s booze - he never notices anyway.” Theo shook her head, retrieved the bottle from Max, and took a second drink.

“So, everyone is losing their minds and you can’t figure out why, so the solution is to leave –” Max directed the conversation back to the Avengers with such precision that Theo suspected he had an ulterior motive for his appearance. “– That sounds familiar.”

Theo rolled her eyes at the jab. “Are you just here to be an ass, or do you have a point?”

“I can’t be here because I miss seeing my cousin, the woman who was raised with me and is like my older sister? Ouch.” Max dramatically pressed one hand over his heart as he made a crying face. “Look, I’m not trying to make you feel bad about coming out here for a few days. From what Mémère told me, I’d probably be desperate for a break as well. And let’s be real, Mémère loves whenever you are around. Plus, selfishly, you get to take care of the chores I’d been procrastinating on for a while. Thanks in advance, by the way.”

“So what’s your point?” 

“Maybe there’s something in common.” Max casually suggested with a shrug and looked back over the icy landscape.

“Obviously there’s something in common,” Theo scoffed, “or the whole damn tower wouldn’t be affected.”

“No, I mean maybe it’s not one single thing that they’re upset about, but they all have various events with some unrelated element in common.” Max clarified. “Maybe there’s something fairly small that reminds them of their respective problems.”

Theo mulled over Max’s suggestion. Wanda said something about the time of year, and Steve mentioned Bucky struggles with the time of year…

Avengers-related anniversaries that took place around that time of year: The Chitauri invasion. Ultron. The attack on Vienna during the ratification of the Accords. The battle against Thanos. 

Holy shit. Theo felt her stomach drop as she put two and two together.

“I’m guessing you just had a thought?” Max raised his eyebrows as he looked at Theo expectantly.

“I’m such a dumbass.” Theo scrubbed half her face with one hand. “God, I can’t believe I didn’t realize—“

“I could have told you that you’re a dumbass.” Max teased, earning a smack on the shoulder from Theo. “Seriously, what is it?”

“Every major Avengers battle has taken place around this time of year. Loki was tortured and mind-controlled into one of them. Wanda lost her brother during another one. A huge wedge was driven between the group when the accords were ratified, which was also when the UN was attacked in Vienna. Tony learned the truth about how his parents died in the aftermath of the ratification of the accords. And of course, Thanos–” 

“– Sounds like you have something else in common with the Avengers: a reason to hate this time of year.” Max concluded. 

“Yeah, not the kind of thing you usually want to have in common,” Theo dryly replied. “But it still doesn’t explain a few of the weird things…” 

“What weird things?”

“Around the time this all started, a bird started hanging out on my balcony.” Theo took another drink of ale. “Not a raven, or a crow - it looks like some cross between them, but it’s too small. It wasn’t even a little scared of me, and I’m pretty sure the damn thing tried to help me with a sudoku one day.”

“Now that just sounds like you’re losing your mind.” Max stole the bottle back from Theo and took a drink. “Although we all could have seen that coming.”

“You sound like the council.” Theo drawled, shifting to cross her legs so she could rest her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her hands. 

“Maybe I’m preparing you to see them in a few weeks.” Max replied without missing a beat. 

“Nah, they don’t have the guts to say it to my face.” Theo half-laughed, though it left a bitter taste in her mouth. “Doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it.”

“As they say, heavy is the head that wears the crown.” 

Despite what Max said, they both knew the truth: Theo was never meant to wear the crown.

But it's been a while since I saw inside your head With all the perfect little paintings and the blues and reds Cause I fooled you once, I guess you fooled yourself And now you're scared of what'll happen if you lose yourself But I think the bruise is healed, I think the bruise is healed I could kiss your every scar until the wound is sealed And when the sun comes up we'll be looking at each other saying…

It was a universal truth that vacation time passed faster than anyone was ready for, and Theo’s experience was no exception. It seemed like she had just arrived in Michigan, but five days passed in the blink of an eye; next thing she knew, she was back in New York, cursing her alarm clock before dragging herself out to the kitchen for coffee. The first shift in the hospital after vacation was always the hardest, so she poured an extra-large cup. 

Despite the bad vibes that had plagued the tower, Theo took a risk and settled in on the couch to drink her coffee. She wasn’t stupid enough to think everything magically got better while she was away, but with the torrential downpour that turned the skies gray, the balcony seemed like a bad idea, and the early hour gave her the confidence that she wouldn’t risk encountering another person while she sat there.

For a while, Theo curled into her usual corner of the couch, absentmindedly sipping her coffee as she stared into nothing and tried to wake up. The stillness of the tower before the day truly started echoed the stillness of Lake Superior at night, even if Theo’s mind was not as active as when she sat at the end of the dock.

A quiet, yet irate meow disrupted the silence, startling a still half-asleep Theo. 

“What the fuck!?” Theo’s head snapped towards the sound as she scrambled backward in her seat.

Across from her, a small black cat perched on the edge of a chair. It narrowed its green eyes in a glare, baring its teeth as its tail swished back and forth in sharp, almost jagged movements.

Theo may not have been awake before, but she sure as shit was now. How perfect was this - she hadn’t even been back in New York for a day when the chance to find out what was going on with the animals practically landed in her lap.

The cat meowed a second time, louder and somehow more aggressively despite its petite stature. Just before Theo could react, it leapt down from the chair and took off for the hall.

Theo sprung to her feet and gave chase, hellbent on determining the source of the mystery black animals that had practically become her shadow.

But the cat was too fast. It rounded the corner, and by the time Theo made it to the corner she heard a slam and spotted the slight movement of Loki’s door. However, when she pressed her ear to the wood, she heard no movement whatsoever. The presence of Loki’s magic was nowhere to be found, which made Theo wonder if her mind was playing tricks on her.

“Lady Theo, is something the matter?”

Theo practically leapt out of her skin; she spun around, cheeks burning to find Thor standing before her, a heavy-set brow and frown marring his usually cheerful expression. 

“Uh – hi Thor,” Theo waved awkwardly. She glanced around to check if anyone else caught her acting like a fucking weirdo; thankfully, it seemed like she was in the clear. “Weird question: did Loki get a cat recently?”

Thor’s frown deepened. “I’ve heard nothing of the sort. Why do you ask?”

“Funny story,” Theo laughed nervously, “A few minutes ago I was in the living room drinking coffee and minding my own business when I heard a meow; I looked up to find a little black cat glaring at me. Not just looking at me, but glaring at me. It meowed at me and took off running, and because I wanted to figure out where it came from I followed it.” Fully aware that she sounded insane, Theo continued on. “Just as I came around the corner, I think I saw your brother’s door close and the cat was gone, which makes it seem like he let the cat in.”

“Dare I ask why you chose to listen in on my brother's chambers, instead of inquiring with my brother on the matter?” Thor arched a skeptical brow at Theo, while his tone gave the impression that he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer to the question.”

“Uh, I didn’t want to ask him, because, well, he was being kind of an asshole last time I saw him, and I’m not sure he wants anything to do with me at the moment.” Theo admitted, cheeks burning as she dropped her gaze to her feet. “The crack of dawn doesn’t seem like the time to check and see.”

Thor opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but closed it again. His attention flickered between Theo and the door, while his demeanor grew stormier with each passing second.

“I have my suspicions of what you might have encountered; rest assured, I highly doubt my brother has acquired a pet.” Thor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please accept my most sincere apologies for his recent behavior. I will speak with him.”

“You don’t need to talk to him about—“

“I assure you, my lady, it will be best if I address the matter.” Thor replied with an unfamiliar sharpness that left an uneasy feeling in Theo’s gut.

“Okay – Well, uh, I should probably go get ready for work.” Theo took a step backwards, awkwardly smiling at Thor as he regarded her with his still-stormy expression. “Uh, have a good one?”

Thor replied with nothing more than a grunt, which on its own was enough to spook Theo into scurrying off towards her suite.

Theo played conversation over and over again as she changed into her scrubs and pulled her hair back, pinning it up so it didn’t get in the way as she worked. Thor’s reaction, combined with his cryptic response, made Theo believe that it was not the first time for whatever was going on.

But what, exactly, was going on? 

Half-way down to the Emergency Department, the pieces clicked into place.

I don't really wanna talk about it I don't really wanna talk about it I don't really wanna talk about it Right now, right now

After a chaotic fourteen hours in the Emergency Department, Theo decided that the perfect place to decompress was on the roof; more specifically, the farthest corner of the roof, where the seating had been arranged to offer some privacy and seclusion.

The course of events from the day, though quite a bit to process, hadn’t been enough to warrant a trip through the portal to sit on the dock. Even if they were, experience told Theo that too many trips to the dock in a short period of time often raised concerns, so for the time being she opted for a different location. After the wintry weather of Michigan, New York felt downright tropical, so it only seemed appropriate to take advantage of the temperature difference. 

The storm from the beginning of the day had long passed, leaving behind traces of petrichor that lingered in the usually stale city air. Despite the storm, the cushions on the sectionals remained bone-dry; a pleasant surprise, since she fully expected that she would need to use some magic to dry them off. 

Upon reaching her destination Theo sprawled out across a sectional, her head in the corner where two rows of seating came together while her feet dangled off one end. 

She wasn’t sure how long she laid there, staring up at the sky and trying to spot the stars through the light pollution of the city. If she had to guess, she had been there for twenty minutes or so when the faintest sound of footsteps caught her attention.

Theo laid perfectly still, hoping that whoever had come up to the roof wouldn’t notice her, or if they noticed her they would leave her alone. Maybe it made her a bad person, but she wasn’t sure she could handle any more nervous breakdowns or emotional meltdowns from her team members, at least not at that moment.

The footsteps grew louder, until Loki appeared in Theo’s peripheral vision. He paused for a moment, taking stock of Theo as she sprawled out on the sectional. Though he didn’t say anything, he sat down on another part of the sectional before stretching out to mimic Theo’s position, leaning his head in so it was near Theo’s and his legs dangled off the edge of the sectional.

As much as Theo enjoyed the silence, she felt awkward not acknowledging Loki’s presence; if he wasn’t going to say anything, she would have to take it upon herself to break the silence.

“Thanks for the help with the sudoku the other day,” Theo casually mentioned, continuing to keep her eyes on the sky.

“… You knew.” Unlike the last time they spoke, Loki’s voice lacked any trace of iciness; instead, there was a hesitance that sounded almost foreign.

“I didn’t,” Theo quietly admitted, finally tearing her attention away from the sky to look at Loki. “I asked Thor if you got a cat. When he said you didn’t get a cat, but he had an idea of what was going on and that he would speak with you, I eventually figured it out. I don’t suppose you also turned into a squirrel and took a wander around Central Park?” 

“I reserve squirrel transformations for Thor and Thor alone.” Loki slowly replied, giving Theo a perplexed glance. “I take it your question stems from experience?”

“Yeah, but I was probably just paranoid.” Theo brushed it off with a shrug. “Things have been weird lately.” 

Loki hummed, nodding to himself for a moment. “Where did you go, after Barnes and Stark’s quarrel?”

“Home,” Theo replied. “I had a few days off, and since I’m scheduled to be on-call at the hospital on Mother’s Day, figured I could go see my Mémère and get the obligatory celebrations over with before the actual day arrives.”

“It sounds as though you aren’t a fan of the holiday.”

“I hate Mother’s day. And Father’s Day. They’re both terrible - stupid Hallmark holiday bullshit. Anyone who doesn’t have a perfect relationship with their parents feels guilty because they don’t spend the whole day worshiping the ground their parents walked on, and if you lost a parent? Weeks of painful reminders and people giving you pity glances because they make all these assumptions about what you must be going through.”

“I was unaware you held such strong feelings about the occasion,” Loki remarked.

“Honestly, I hate this time of year in general,” Theo confessed. “My sister’s birthday is also in the same period of time - this year it’s on Mother’s Day, which feels like rubbing salt in the wound. The anniversary of when I last saw my family is a few weeks from now, too.”

“What happened to them?” Loki studied Theo with a heavy brow, lips turned down into a rather somber expression.

“They died - at least, that’s the assumption,” Theo sighed. “We were separated, and no one ever saw or heard from them again.” 

“No one?”

“Well, SHIELD was tracking all of us, and I’m the only one here.” Theo gestured to herself as she laid on the sectional.

Loki gently nodded in understanding. “How were you separated?”

“The city we were in was attacked - practically razed to the ground.” Theo’s voice felt thick as she spoke, a lump building in her throat that threatened to silence her before she fully answered the question. “We all tried to escape, but with the chaos we lost track of each other. I got out, but I never found them.”

Loki turned and met Theo’s curious gaze with cloudy green eyes. “You never had a chance to say goodbye…” 

Theo frowned and barely shook her head, unwilling to say it aloud. Even after so many years, it still hurt.

“My mother — Frigga,” Loki corrected himself, “her name day is near the date when this nation celebrates Mother’s Day. Her passing was unexpected; like you, I never had the opportunity to say goodbye.”

“You’ve never talked about Frigga,” Theo quietly remarked. “What was she like?”

“I’d… rather not.” Loki cautioned, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed a lump in his throat.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to…” Theo gently assured him, returning her gaze upward. “… I understand.”

Another beat of silence passed.

“Frigga…” Loki started, then stopped. He sighed like he struggled to find what exactly to say. “She was patient. Gentle. Graceful. She saw the best in every individual and sought to cultivate what made each individual unique.” 

Theo nodded, silently encouraging Loki to continue.

“She taught me magic, and in doing so opened up doors for me that I’d never have otherwise imagined. She was the one person who knew what I was, and yet she loved me just the same.” Loki sighed; when he continued, his voice dropped to just above a whisper: “She’s the one thing about Asgard that I truly miss.”

For some time, they sat there in silence, far above where the sounds of the city could offer any sort of background noise. 

“She sounds lovely,” Theo breathed, as if speaking at a normal volume would ruin the moment.

“She was.”

For a time, they simply stayed laid there, letting the message linger in the air.

“My parents — honestly, I had a mixed relationship with them,” Theo admitted, keeping her voice low. “They held me to an impossibly high standard; my sister was the perfect child, and I couldn’t ever keep up. I know they meant well, but when I was a kid it hurt.”

Loki gave an empathetic hum, looking back up at the stars through the light pollution. 

“Sometimes I wonder if I look back on my memories of them with rose-tinted glasses, or if I didn’t give them the credit they deserved when they were around. I wonder if they would be proud of me if they saw me now. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m not sure they would be.”

“They would be fools to not be proud; however, I can understand your hesitancy,” Loki replied. “The Allfather raised me in Thor’s shadow; to this day, I doubt he would call me Thor’s equal.”

“He was an idiot if he didn’t see you as equals.” Theo surprised herself with the sharpness of her tone.

Loki let out a bitter, quick laugh - no more than a puff of air. “I must admit, I’ve never met anyone with the gall to call the Allfather an idiot.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Theo lightly joked, offering Loki a small smile.

Another silence fell between the pair, though the faintest whistle from the breeze created a wash of sound. 

“I owe you an apology for when we previously spoke.” Loki spoke up. “I admit, it was not my finest moment.”

“It’s fine - I’ve been an asshole to you more than once, so it’s not like I’m perfect,” Theo dryly pointed out. She paused for a moment, then added: “I’m sorry I didn’t ask what was wrong.”

Loki tilted his head to look over at her, something unreadable in his expression as he studied her. “How could you have known?”

“One, you’ve never spoken to me like that before, so I know that’s not how you normally are.” Theo held up one finger in the air as she listed off the reasons she should have asked. “Two, most people don’t freak out like you did without something else going on. Three, friends check in on each other, and I hadn’t heard from you in a while. I was overdue. Four, everyone has been in a funk lately. It wouldn’t have been a stretch to assume you were also dealing with something.”

“Have you also been in a, erm… funk, lately?” Loki asked, faltering a bit as he repeated Theo’s choice of description back to her.

“I guess,” Theo shrugged dismissively, an air of melancholy lingering in her words. 

“Would you like to discuss what troubles you?” Loki offered, though he did so hesitantly.

“Nope.” Theo told him flatly, popping the ‘p’ sound.

It felt like a sharp departure from how she’d spoken previously, but Loki didn’t know about the upcoming remembrance prayers, the string of painful anniversaries that followed, or Theo’s role in those traumatic events, and she had no intention of telling him. Theo had more than enough evidence that it wouldn’t go well, and selfishly, it was nice to let people get to know Theo as a normal person, without the reputation and baggage of her past coloring their perceptions. 

“I suppose it would be disingenuous of me to tell you that sometimes talking about your troubles helps one feel better when I abhor discussing my emotions and problems.” Loki mused, a flicker of a smile crossing his lips. 

Theo snickered. “At least you realize it would be hypocritical.” She paused for a moment, before softening her tone. “I understand why you’re hesitant to talk about them though.”

Yet another silence fell over the pair. While there were no shortage of times that they coexisted in silence, that night felt different - both of them had revealed parts of themselves they typically kept hidden away, despite not knowing what would happen if they dared to be so honest.

“Were you serious, the other day?” Nervousness tinted Loki’s voice, only amplified by the way his forehead creased and his lips twisted with concern as he asked the question.

“Serious about what?” Theo narrowed her eyes at Loki, trying to remember what he was referring to.

“That if I had a moment of weakness like Barnes, you would be there.” Loki resumed stargazing, pointedly avoiding eye contact like he was afraid of how Theo would react.

… Which was probably just as well, because Theo looked at him like he grew a second head and laughed. Hard.

“You are the world’s biggest dumbass if you think I wouldn’t be there,” Theo finally managed, once she regained her composure. “Shit, I’d take a bullet for you.”

A flush crept over Loki’s cheeks as he laughed nervously, flashing an embarrassed smile. “Please don’t take a bullet for me.”

“Don’t get shot at and I won’t have to,” Theo teased with a wink. 

Though Loki rolled his eyes, his smile grew wider.

“Seriously though – it’s okay to have times where things get tough and you can’t handle it on your own. We all have our weaknesses, and weakness isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes, you just need someone there.” Theo reassured him, hoping he’d take her words to heart. “Shit, you’ve done it for me – back when I first moved in and I was so wary about meeting other people that I hid all the time? Perfect example; you were there for me, and now I have friends here. After that mission when I felt like crap? God, I was an absolute bitch to you and you still put up with me. You deserve a trophy for all of the bullshit I’ve made you deal with just because I’ve been in a bad mood.”

Loki cracked up at the end of Theo’s statement; his laughter brought a warmth to her chest that she hadn’t felt in far too long.  

“Though you flatter me, I must decline the offer of a trophy.” Loki’s eyes sparkled in the night as he flashed a coy grin. “I imagine I’ll have my share of insufferable moments in the future; all I ask is that you continue to tolerate my shortcomings and idiosyncrasies.”

That was a promise Theo would happily make.

I don't know you like I used to But when I can't see, you see me through I don't know you like I used to But when I can't see, you see me through

I don't really wanna talk about it I don't really wanna talk about it I don't really wanna talk about it Right now, right now

-----

Post-Chapter Author’s Note: Something I do in this fic is incorporate little easter eggs and references to fics that I love; some of these are more subtle (ex. chapter two has a clever little reference to part 1 of @infinitystoner’s amazing fic Box of Rain (read on tumblr), but others have had a larger influence and actually influenced plot elements; these last two chapters are an example of when something I read stuck with me to the point of exploring it as a plot element. 

I think the first time I read i couldn’t change (though i wanted to); and its sequel, until i feel whole (again); two and a half years ago(?) and I was immediately captivated by the idea of a shapeshifting Loki and how the ability to change forms could create a sort of armor with which to interact with the world. I shared the first draft of the chapters tied to this song with my IRL friend/fellow marvel lover, Sky, in September 2021; back then it was with a different song and tied to a specific date, but with her feedback and encouragement it expanded out to what it is today.

I started this story in August 2021 - it originally came to mind as a one-shot, focusing on a scene of sitting vigil at a hospital bedside in the aftermath of something catastrophic and trying to reconcile the past with how to move forward. Obviously it has expanded immensely since then (that feels like the understatement of the year), but as it has expanded this has become (for me, at least) more than *just* a slow burn relationship story. 

A lot of this story, for me, is about navigating the various forms of grief. I’m not talking about grief only in terms of death, but grieving for past lives, expectations that never came to be, loss of innocence, changed relationships - there are so many ways that we experience grief. But more importantly, (for me) this is a story about how we rebuild and find hope, even when it seems like there’s no path forward or like we’ve lost everything. 

The idea for this story, and its subsequent writing, began in the midst of a difficult time. I won’t get too much into it here, but I have since realized that it has given me an outlet with which to explore the many ways that I was grieving. It also has given me a way to seek out hope in the moments where I struggled to find it. Since I first started writing this story, things have since improved in ways that I never could have imagined, but I still experience that grief from time to time. I still wonder about “what if…?” from time to time. I’m still learning to make peace with that, but working on this story helps.  All of this to say, if you're reading along, thank you for giving my lil' passion project a moment of your time. It means more than you know <3

[mare-sanguis]

Notes on "Ambidextrous Angle" here

Notes on "Lady Justice" here

Notes on the flowers in ep.8 here

Notes on the numbers on the car plate of No.3 and KMC here

The Colors in ep. 10

During the torture scene of LMS they went through multiple types of colors, which I found pretty interesting as someone whos studied colors and their meanings intensely over the years. And as a lot in TKV has meaning and thoughts put behind it, I wanted to make a post highlighting the scene- and the colors specifically. It will also including short historical informations about each color.

Its starts with a mix of red and orange on the tables- making it look like vermillion (a color that borders orange and red and is also often times used in skin color shading), specifically HEX color FFD400. The color will come up later again.

Interestingly enough, since ancient times the color vermillion was regarded as the color of blood- thus of life. In Ancient Rome, the color was widely used to paint frescos, to decorate statues and produce cosmetics. It was also used in the Byzantine Empire reserved for the use of the imperial family and their administrators (used in official letters and imperial decrees) the illuminated manuscripts of the Middle Ages, in the paintings of the Renaissance, as well as in the art and lacquerware of China. The color can also be found all over the murals in Villa dei Misteri (Villa of Mystery before 79 AD) in Pompeii. 

As the color of blood and life, it fits perfectly as the starting color of the whole scene.

LMS in the meantime is illuminated by white light.

Ironically- or fitting?- its the color of innocence, purity, hope and clarity. It represents goodness, perfection and peace. Looking at the color, it purifies the mind and helps to find balance. But like every color, it also has negative aspects such as coldness, emptiness, nothingness and distance. A lot of times, its also the color of self-reflection (VERY fitting if you’d ask me). White was one of the first colors used in Prehistoric cave art (good example are those at Lascaux in France) which feature marks and images made used calcite and chalk. Ancient Greece saw white as a sacred color (representing light and motherhood), in Rome plain white togas (togas virilis) were worn by all citizens at ceremonial occasions. During early christian times, they adopted the romans use of white- priests wore the color during mass as for them, white was symbolic of purity, humility and virtue (reinforced by the “white lamb” which was symbolic of christ’s sacrifice for humanity). Later, throughout the middle ages, white was strongly associated with martyrdom. It was also the commonly worn color by widows in mourning up until the 16th century- giving the color an association with death and refelection. 

Illuminating a criminal like him in white is truly a choice. It does fit the intentions of the whole torture tho: redeption, hope and clarity.

In the same frame, centering the vermillion color, we can also see yellow and orange.

Yellow is the color of happiness and optimism. It clarifies and inspires the mind and helps in creativity- it also gives warmth. The negative associations with the color are caution, egotism, deception and cowardice. Yellow is also one of the oldest colors to exist and is seen in cave paintings 17.000 years old. Painters in the Middle Ages and Renaissance used “Indian yellow” to show an outsider. Most notably Judas Iscariot (again, pretty fitting to the whole biblical references found throughout TKV). In ancient religions, yellow was a sacred color. Just like gold, it was seen as eternal, imperishable and indestructible. Many religions worshipped the sun, and the sun gods were depicted wearing yellow. The Ancient Egyptians believed the gods had gold skin and bones and used yellow for their skin tone in art. Yellow is also an important color in Buddhism, signifying humility. It can also be found in paintings from Ancient Rome. 

Orange symbolizes youth, enthusiasm and optimism. It uplifts and stimulates the mind. Its the color of creativity, warmth and spontaneity. On the other hand, it shows domination and impatience. Up until the 16th century it was called “saffron” or “yellow-red”. When Portuguese merchants brought orange trees to Europe from Asia in the late 15th and early 16th centuries, the citrus fruit’s name was adopted for the general color.  In some cultures, orange is regard as a sacred color because it balances red’s power and yellow’s perfection. Monks and holy men in some Asian religions, like Buddhism, wear orange robes because that dye has been readily available historically. Buddhists also connect orange to the highest state of illumination. Its also the color of transformation in Confucianism. and a symbol of royalty.

Again, two colors highlighting the personalties of both LMS and KSJ in a well done way.

The color then changes to a dirty blue hue- with a slight turquoise shade. 

Blue- the color of loyalty and trust. It gives the feeling of security, trust, confidence, peace, honesty and reliability. It calms and relaxes the brain. Negative feelings associated with blue are passiveness, depression and prediction.  The history of the color blue is quite interesting: It was never a color to be found in nature (no, water isnt blue and the sky also changes colors and if there is indeed something blue found in nature its either with a violet or turquoise shade) thus, we humans previously were never able to even “see” the color (we perceived it, but we had no idea what it even was). The first society to have a word for the colour blue was the Egyptians, the only culture that could produce blue dyes at around 2.200 B.C: They loved the precious stones lapis and turquoise* so much that they invented the first synthetic blue pigment in order to affordably copy their unique color. “Egyptian blue” was made by mixing silica, lime, copper, and alkali, and it could be used on stone, wood, plaster, papyrus and canvas.

Turquoise on the other hand is the color of compassion, calmness and clarity. It balances and stabilizes the brain. It can help concentrate, to grow, and underline empathy. In contradiction it also symbolizes narcissism, stress and secrecy.  The earliest evidence of turquoise* gemstones comes from Ancient Egyptian tombs: They contain elaborate turquoise jewelry dating back to 3000 BCE. Egyptians set turquoise in gold necklaces as well as in rings, used it as inlay, and carved it into scarabs. Most notably, King Tut’s iconic burial mask was extravagantly adorned with turquoise. The oldest turquoise mines are in the Sinai Peninsula of Egypt. One sat near an ancient temple dedicated to Hathor, the Greek goddess of love and joy who was worshiped as a protector in the desert and as the patron saint of mining. Egyptians called turquoise “mefkat”, which meant “joy” and “delight.” -> Ancient Persians also decorated extensively with turquoise, often engraving it with Arabic script. Turquoise covered palace domes: For them, its sky-blue color represented heaven. (This later inspired the use of turquoise in buildings like the Taj Mahal). They also adorned their daggers and horses’ bridles with it as they believed it granted protection. They would also wear turquoise gemstone jewelry around their necks and in their turbans. -> Meanwhile, pre-Columbian Native Americans mined the turquoise stone throughout the present-day southwestern United States. Shamans used it in sacred ceremonies to commune with the spirit of the sky. -> Apache Indians believed that attaching turquoise to bows (and later, firearms) improved a hunter’s accuracy. -> Turquoise became valuable in Native American trade, which carried North American material toward South America. -> Consequently, Aztecs cherished turquoise for its protective power and used it on ceremonial masks, knives, and shields.

Picking the color blue is again a really nice callback to the OST. PT3 (Blue by Aalia) and highlights the depression (or "death") KSJ went through.

Turquoise shining onto LMS face fits perfectly. The negative aspects highlight his persona.

After the blue, the color switches to green and here it is when it gets really interesting- this might be an even longer historical excurse than the turquoise one:

First we should start by looking at the positive associations to the color: It means harmony, safety, growth, health, hope, prosperity and luck. It helps the brain to revitalize, to relax and encourages. Negative aspects associated with the color are judgment, materialism and inexperience. And obviously the most famous ones: Envy and jealousy. We all know the famous saying “Green with envy” The history of the color green dates back to the Ancient Egyptians. To produce the color they used green earth and malachite, while the Ancient Greeks used verdigris. -> Malachite contains a high percentage of copper which makes it highly poisonous to humans when inhaling the dust or eaten. Once its polished its not poisonous anymore. -> Verdigirs is a common name for any variety of poisonous copper salts and acetic acids. Green had a resurgence in art during the Impressionist movement due to advancements in green pigments and paints. 

The bold emerald green became popular in fashion in the 1800s, used for gloves and dresses- as well as wallpapers and furniture as well as found in candy, paper, toys, medicine and dye- it was also then it became an even more poisonous color. Its name varies from “Scheele's Green”, “Paris Green” to “Emerald Green” and “Schweinfurt Green”. And as it was probably already obvious, the color was loaded with copper arsenite which is one of the deadliest elements to have ever been found.  Scheele’s green (invented around the 1775 by the Swedish chemist Carl Wilhelm Scheele) was an artificial colorant that was made by heating up sodium carbonate, adding arsenious oxide, and stirring until the mixture was dissolved. Copper sulfate was then added as the final ingredient which ends up giving it its vibrant green color ->(Arsenic is a highly toxic substance that causes skin lesions, vomiting, diarrhea, and in some cases, cancer) As said as it was quite popular in the 1800’s countries were riddled in this substance. ->(It has also been rumored to have killed the famous Napoleon Bonaparte.) Schweinfurt green is the product of combining copper acetate with arsenic trioxide, producing copper acetoarsenite. The toxic pigment was commercially developed in 1814 by the Wilhelm Dye and White Lead Company in Schweinfurt, Germany. It too was used everywhere, from clothing and wallpaper to colorant for fake flowers and paint.

By 1860 more than 700 tons of the pigment had been produced in the country alone.

There are stories of factory workers, mainly those who worked with fashion, suffering acid burning and losing their hair and limbs, specifically their hands, after they had been in contact with the color for way too long. “In 1871, a lady who purchased a box of green-colored gloves at a well-known and respectable house was horrified to find that her hands broke out in blisters after putting them on. Unless the dye was sealed, sweaty palms could cause the dye to run onto the wearer’s skin. Other accounts from this era tell of babies dying in their nurseries after playing on green carpets or rubbing up against green wallpaper. One foreign dignitary even told Queen Victoria that the green wallpaper in Buckingham Palace had made him ill.” On November 20, 1861, Matilda Scheurer, a 19-year-old artificial flower maker, died of “accidental” poisoning: The formerly healthy, “good-looking” young woman worked for Mr. Bergeron in central London, along with a hundred other employees. She “fluffed” artificial leaves, dusting them with an attractive green powder that she inhaled with every breath and ate off her hands at each meal. The brilliant hue of this green pigment, which was used to colour dresses and hair ornaments, was achieved by mixing copper and highly toxic arsenic trioxide or “white arsenic” as it was known. The press described her death in grisly detail, and by all accounts, Scheurer’s final illness was horrible. She vomited green waters; the whites of her eyes had turned green, and she told her doctor that “everything she looked at was green.” In her final hours, she had convulsions every few minutes until she died, with “an expression of great anxiety” and foaming at the mouth, nose and eyes. An autopsy confirmed that her fingernails had turned a very pronounced green and the arsenic had reached her stomach, liver, and lungs. 

-> More on “Scheele’s Green” here 

Green so not only fits the scene in relation to envy and jealousy, but also to its poisonous attributions. It again highlights KSJ previous personality (harmony) and LMS' (envy)- and the horrible deathly history behind the color makes it even more clear what type of person he is.

After the green, the room is then engulfed in yellow as well as vermillion (explained above) again-

Following this, the last change of color we see is red.

Associated with action, strength, energy and passion red helps to stimulate and motivate the mind, to pay attention and stay cautious. Its positive aspects are courage, desire, sexuality and confidence whereas its negative associations are anger, danger, revenge and aggression. Throughout history, the color red has represented many things: life force, the divine to love, lust, and anger. Throughout the Middle Ages, red was a color of privilege in the Western world. For many cultures, it was the only color worthy enough to be used for social purposes (“In some languages, the word for red was the same as the word for color”). One of the first color developed for painting and dying, red became associated with war, wealth, and power in antiquity. In the Middle Ages, red had a religious significance, as it was seen as the color of the blood of Christ and the fires of Hell. It also had a secular meaning: The symbolism of love, glory, and beauty. During the Protestant Reformation, red began to decline in status and fell out of favor: It was viewed as indecent and immoral as it was linked to luxury and the excesses of the Catholic Church. After the French Revolution, red gained new respect as the color of progressive movements, freedom, new liberties and radical left-wing politics.

Personally, I love how they not only picked red as the last color to highlight the anger and pain of KSJ but also how it illuminates both him and KMC in a different shade. While KSJ has the more darker red, underlining the more calmer anger, KMC is drowned in bright hot red- underlining his anger which he definitely does NOT have under control (hes holding back so much in that scene and if it wasnt for the death penalty awaiting KSJ if LMS would die, he would have killed him without hesitation). Also, the religious importance is another nice callback to all the religious imagery we have seen throughout the drama.

(might also add my delusions to the post: the red symbolizes the love they still feel for each other)

Intentionally or not, the way and order how they picked and presented the colors directly mirrors each character, their personal journey and the development of their anger. The fact it started with more calmer/friendlier colors and slowly turned into more agressive ones is done just beautifully.