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solarwonux · 3 years

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84. “I can tell you’re stressed, let me fix that.”

roomate!junkook x f!reader

genre: smut

w.c: 3.2k

warnings: smut, fwb, Jungkook and his tattoos, tattooartist!jungkook, dom!jungkook if you squint, spiting, cum eating, oral sex (m receiving), a brief mention of voyeurism, briefly edited, also Jungkook is kind off fluffy, this couple is weird af y’all.

note: hello, Idk what I did but I’ve done it lol. This is also a drabble that will eventually be part of a bigger story that I have half outlines lol, so I hope you enjoy this preview. I hope you like it please let me know your thoughts. Enjoy.xx

MASTERLIST || PROMPTS

Fourth time’s the charm.

Jungkook thought as he made his way to the front door of the tattoo shop. He pulled on the handle rather harshly making sure it was closed. Last week he had forgotten to lock the door, resulting in a drunk stranger walking in demanding a tattoo. Thankfully, the stranger’s intrusion triggered the security alarm, waking Jungkook in a fright. He ran down the steps of his apartment - the one located above the shop, half naked, carrying the bat you and him kept by the front door, his heart pounding against his chest.

To say the least he was terrified. Scared that something would happen to the expensive tattooing equipment. Scared that Yoongi would fire him and therefore kick him out of the apartment, scared of something happening to you. His nerves subsided when he found the drunk stranger, passed out on the couch in the waiting room.

The equipment, his job and you were all safe.

Ever since then he had made it his mission, even writing it down on a highlighter yellow sticky note as a reminder; to check not once but four times if the front door was locked.

Jungkook sighed, giving the door one last pull, making it rattle against the locks, before deeming it locked. A fifth time wouldn’t hurt.

He turns around, walking past the waiting room and the reception desk. He does one last look over, mumbling underneath his breath, checking to see if he had done everything he needed to do on his to-do list before turning off the lights. Quickly, he pushed aside the colorful paint splattered curtain that hid the front door to his apartment to the general public. He pressed in the code, waiting for the lock to click, going over the appointments or lack there off he had the following day.

As of late, Jungkook, Yoongi, Jimin and Hoseok hadn’t had many clients come into the shop or request an appointment via instagram. He blames the rival shop that opened a few blocks away, and their stupid flash event, where they tattooed people for free. Of course they weren’t intricate pieces, small basic ones that you would pick out from the generic tattoo binder. But it still caused a dent in their clientele.

That night you came home after work to find the four tattooists, on the couch, shooting glares at the shop door, with a large bottle of whisky in between them, and their man-size ego down in the slumps. The solution was simple, at least it was in your head.

“Hold an event like theirs, maybe shirtless. I’ve only seen Jungkook’s abs because he loves walking around the apartment half naked but I’m sure you guys have a promising pair.” You suggested with a shrug, earning groans and complaints from the four artists on the couch.

Yoongi stood up first, holding a hand out as an attempt to regain his balance from the sudden movement. “I’m not degrading myself or my art for clients. I’m also not giving away my talent for free.” He slurred, pointing an accusatory finger in your direction, “and my abs are better than Kooks.”

“Alright, it was just a suggestion.” You held your hands up in defeat, taking a step back. “I’m going to bed, enjoy your pity party.” You smiled at them before making your way to the front door and disappearing.

In hindsight, maybe you were right. Except for the half naked part, that’s dangerous and goes against all tattoo etiquette. But maybe holding a flash event and offering tattoo’s half off was not a bad idea. It would surely bring back their clients and make way for new ones. He would have to bring it up to his coworkers tonight when they came over.

Jungkook sighed, stopping at the top of the stairs facing the final door that led to his living room. He could hear the loud poppy music you were playing behind the door. Living with you wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be when Yoongi first offered you the vacant room. You were clean, organized and relatively respectful of personal space, but he hated your music. It was generic and just way too bouncy and happy, it was a good thing you gave a great head, if not he would’ve begged Yoongi to kick you out long ago. Before he got attached.

He wasn’t a dick he just thought with his dick ninety nine percent of the time and right now it was very much needing a stress release. Jungkook punched in the final code and opened his front door, revealing you in nothing but a tight pair of leggings and a sports bra, sweat droplets running down your body as you followed along with the exercise video on youtube. You looked very much like you would look after the two of you finished fucking and it made his cock stir in his jeans.

“Did you lock the door?” You said in between breaths, squatting down, finishing your last rep of squats. Jungkook bit his bottom lip, nodding in response. His hands were down by his sides, itching to squeeze your ass, to pull you against him and take you on the couch. It wouldn’t be out of pocket either. He knew you would give in the second he gave you that lust filled look of his. The one that was desperate and needy and practically begging for your touch.

You stopped pausing the video and turned to look at him, hands on your hips, chest heaving in a poor attempt to catch your breath. Jungkook knew he was fucked. “Are you sure you locked the door?”

“Yes I checked five times tonight, have you had dinner?” He blinked rapidly, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his jeans hiding his hardening cock as best as he could.

“An hour ago.” You reassured, unpausing the workout video and positioning yourself in downward dog.

Jungkook looked up at the ceiling, taking deep breaths following your haggard ones and counted to ten. He couldn’t take it anymore; he needed you. Needed your mouth around him until he was painting the back of your throat white. Counting to ten once wasn’t enough to calm him down. It wasn’t until he was halfway through his third recount that he felt your arms circle around his waist, a faint kiss left underneath his earlobe, that he knew he was done for.

“I can tell you’re stressed, let me fix that.” You whisper leaving opening mouthed kisses down his neck tonguing the spot between his clavicle and neck. Jungkook’s eyes opened wide, his lips parting in an inaudible sigh.

“Fuck baby please.” He caved, taking your head in his hands and pushing you away before leaning down and capturing your lips with his, in a wet, messy and needy kiss. He didn’t care that your lips were salty due to the sweat, they felt like heaven against his.

You moaned into the kiss feeling the wet muscle of his tongue swiping against your bottom lip asking for access, in which you so rightfully gave him. His hand left your cheek and traveled down your neck until it was groping your boob through your thin sports bra. You pulled away to catch your breath for a few seconds, whimpering as his palm worked against your hardened nipple diligently before kissing him again, teeth clattering against one another.

He pulled away pushing your sports bra up releasing your boobs, his index fingers and thumbs pinching your nipples and pulling on them gently. “Jungkook, w-what do you want?” You moan, closing your eyes as he rolled your nipples between his sweaty palms. Not only did Jungkook love touching your ass, he also loved playing with your boobs, claiming they were the best pair of boobs he had ever seen in his entire twenty six years of life.

“Get on your knees baby girl, want to see your lips wrapped around me.” He mumbles against the crown of your head while he continues to knead at your boobs.

You nod kissing the outline of the tattoo that was peeking against the neck of his white t-shirt. You send him a wink. A deep hum leaves his lips as you slowly kissed your way down his clothed chest, until you were face to face with his jean cladded bulge. You looked beautiful, your eyes glossy with need and your mouth watering as you couldn’t wait for the weight of his cock against your tongue.

He puts his hand on the back of your head and pushes your face against his jeans, he was so hard he could feel himself pulsing with need. It didn’t help that your fingers were walking up his thighs at an agonizing pace, while your mouth was now kissing him through the fabric, satisfied hums leaving your lips. “You’re so fucking hard Kook.” You pull away finally unbuttoning his jeans, your fingers brushing against him while you unzip his pants slowly.

“You’re such a tease baby girl, almost makes me think that you want to get punished tonight.” He tilts his head, pushing his hips into your hands as you palmed him over his boxers, while your other hand pushes his jeans down, leaving him in only his t-shirt and black boxers.

You look up at him smirking, leaning in to kiss the tattoo decorating his thigh. You had gotten off on it many times before, it was your favorite pastime when you were needy and bored. “Maybe I do, take your shirt off.” You demanded, biting down on his skin making him jump.

He grabs your face, squishing your cheeks making you face him, “Be careful I’m not feeling very nice today.” The sinister look behind his eyes makes you shudder, “open your mouth,” You smile, parting your lips sticking your tongue out before Jungkook leans over, a glob of spit hitting your tongue making you moan in delight. “What do you say?” His grip on your cheeks is hard.

“Thank you sir.” You mewl, hooking your thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, wasting no time in freeing him. His cock was pretty, you had once told him that and it made him double over in laughter. No one had ever called his cock beautiful. Maybe big but never beautiful but you were a character and he should’ve expected a comment like that from you.

“Good girl, now go on, this is all you’re getting tonight so you better enjoy it.” He wraps his hand around himself, spitting down onto his length using it to lube himself up before guiding it to your slightly parted lips. He knew you loved to watch him touch himself, sometimes if you weren’t home and he was needy he would sit on the couch fucking his hand knowing you would walk at any minute and help him finish the job. Or sit in front of him on the coffee table, legs spread wide touching yourself, moaning his name like his fingers were inside of you instead of yours. If Yoongi knew the dirty escapades that happened behind the walls of the apartment above his tattoo shop he would never step foot inside again. Thankfully he didn’t know, yet.

You stick your tongue out and lick his head, rolling your nipples against the palm of your hands. The sight was award winning and Jungkook wanted to so badly get his camera out and capture the moment. To add to your shared collection. “So fucking sexy baby girl, always so good for me.” He tapped the head of his cock against your tongue before you close your lips around him, running your tongue underneath the head of his cock.

Jungkook’s hand came behind your head, guiding you further down his cock sending a thrum of arousal up his spine. You hollow out your cheeks looking up at him with watering eyes. He moans, gripping your ponytail, giving you an experimental thrust making you gag around him. It sounded like the beginning of a beautiful melody, not the ones that belonged to your shitty pop music but the one that would keep you up at night lost in thought.

“Fuck, your mouth feels like heaven.” He thrusts again, while you tug on the hem of his shirt. “Want to see me, look at my tattoos while I fuck your mouth?” He grunts, quickly discarding his shirt once he hears the needy moan that escapes your cock filled mouth. He knew his tattoos were your ultimate turn on. The reason you had gotten on your knees before him the first time after living together for a full year. He couldn’t say no, not when the only thought running through his mind was the stain your red lipstick would leave behind on his cock.

Calm him a douchebag or compare him to a hormonal filled teenager, he didn’t care. He was a man after all. One that hadn’t had sex in two years after his last girlfriend cheated on him with his brother.

Frankly, he needed an ego boost and you were there to give it to him, so he caved.

You pull off of him breathing heavily, a thread of saliva connects your lips to the head of your cock as you try to catch your breath. The sight was anything but underwhelming and enough to make him cum, but Jungkook hated his cum going to waste. He was healthy and young and it should go to good use.

“I-I want you to use my mouth, please.” You croak before dragging your tongue up and down his shaft. “Want you to cum in my mouth sir.” Mumbling, you tease his head with the tip of your tongue making him groan.

“Such a dirty mouth, it's a good thing I’m making good use out of it.” He says, a cocky smirk evident on his face. You nod happily, humming with please as you take him into your mouth again, sinking further, hollowing your cheeks moaning around him as you watch his face scrunch up in pleasure. His abs contract as he tries to control himself, at least until you give him the go ahead. And you do with a slight tap of your fingers against his thighs.

He growls, thrusting his hips into your mouth, guiding your head up and down, gagging around him. His cock feels hot and heavy against your tongue, making both of you moan simultaneously. “Always letting me use you, what would our friends say if they walked in. You know I invited them over for drinks, right?”

You whimper around him, closing your eyes at the thought of getting caught with him, balls deep down your throat. You hated that he had caught onto your slight voyeurism kink as it was only a matter of time where he threw all tattoo etiquette he knew and lived by out on the window and fucked you in his workshop, with only a thin curtain separating you and the rest of the shop.

His thrusts get more desperate. His orgasm was approaching quickly as he twitched inside of your mouth. You dig your nails into his thighs, creating crescent moons as you feel your lungs start to give out. He mutters a low fuck followed by a quick apology before he pulls away. You gasp resting your hand against your chest, your eyes are filled with tears, bubbles of saliva painting your chin. Jungkook swears he’s never seen a sight as beautiful as this one and once again he’s cursing himself for not giving himself enough time to grab his camera.

“Can you go more or do you need a break?” He whispers, eyes filled with concern while he caresses your cheek with his thumb.

You shake your head, “Just give me time to regain my breath.” With a soft smile you leave a chaste kiss against the tattoo decorating his hip. It was part of a bigger piece, one that adorned the entire right side of his body, but nevertheless for some odd reason it was your favorite one.

Jungkook nods, wrapping his hand around himself, muffled curses escaping his beautiful lips. “I’m so close, baby girl, just let me cum on your face.” He all but begs, gripping his cock tightly and thrusting his hips into his hand.

You pout, a sound of protest leaves your swollen lips making Jungkook roll his eyes. “You can blow me again later, open your mouth baby.” He tucks his lips in between his lips, hips casting into his hand desperately. The pool between your legs grows, overflowing as you watch the mesmerizing sight in front of you. God, he was so fucking sexy.

You open your mouth sticking your tongue. Jungkook throws his head back moaning your name in a sweet incantation, ropes of cum hitting your tongue and cheeks, while you moan along with him.

Jungkook opens his eyes, riding out his orgasm, painting your chin watching as you drag your tongue into your mouth swallowing his salty substance, humming in satisfaction. “J-Jungkook.” The needy way you say his name makes his cock twitch and he has to keep himself from getting hard again.

“You look so pretty baby girl, so fucked out and pretty, only for me.” He whispers, collecting the cum that was dripping down your chin with his thumb before bringing it up your lips, coating them. “So filthy too, thank you baby.” He leans down, running his tongue against your cheek collecting his cum before kissing you slowly and sensually, pushing his tongue inside of your mouth, coating the inside with his cum.

Jungkook hates his cum going to waste. You whimper, snaking your arms around his neck pulling him closer, sucking on his tongue. He grins against your lips and moves away, chuckling as you continue to chase his lips with yours. “I need you Kookie.” You sigh, a pout forming on your swollen lips. “Please just fuck me, use me. I don’t care anymore.” You let out a sob, your pussy throbbing begging to be touched.

He helps you up, circling his arms around your waist, nosing your hair as he sighs. He wants to give him, lead you to the couch, but the guys were going to be here at any minute and he couldn’t have time to please you the way he wanted to.

“Let’s go shower, I promise the second the guys leave I’ll eat you out like a starved man.” He suggests, leaving a light kiss against your forehead. He didn’t feel as stressed as he was earlier, but that’s all thanks to you and how easy it was for him to get lost in your world.

“Is that a promise?” You tilt your head curiously, toying with the hair resting against the back of his neck.

“I always keep promises, baby girl.”

#kpopscape #kdiarynet #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios

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test-tube · 3 years

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y'all wanna see my Bennett build? 👀

first I maxed him out lvl wise,,very expensive and i hate the pyro regisvine but its OK <///3 idek how his energy recharge is so high but it's very useful in battle because his burst can do up to 20k w/ crit

his artifacts are pretty good, but I do need a better goblet and I'm working on it ^^ mans is practically immortal with 24k health but that's OK right

I hate whatever enhancement items this stupid thing needed but it's very useful in his kit (I use him as a support/buff for beidou and a healer)

I got him to c4 on kazuha's banner and I'm very excited to get him to c6,,,his talents are ok,, I really wanna crown him soon but it's very expensive qwq

anyways yeah there we go ok bye

#kat's ted talk #genshin impact #bennett #genshin builds

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x-fern-weh-x · 3 years

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my favorite grishaverse quotes - part two: six of crows duology

"Many boys will bring you flowers. But someday you'll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. And even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won't matter because he will have taken the time to know you as no one else does. Only that boy earns your heart." (Six of Crows)

"Fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return." (Crooked Kingdom)

"No mourners. No funerals. Among them, it passed for 'good luck.'" (Six of Crows)

"I would have come for you. And if I couldn't walk, I'd crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we'd fight our way out together-knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that's what we do. We never stop fighting." (Crooked Kingdom)

"Please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honor of acquiring me a new hat?" (Six of Crows)

"Maybe there were people who lived those lives. Maybe this girl was one of them. But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls? We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to wring magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway." (Crooked Kingdom)

"Kaz leaned back. 'What's the easiest way to steal a man's wallet?' 'Knife to the throat?' asked Inej. 'Gun to the back?' said Jesper. 'Poison in his cup?' suggested Nina. 'You're all horrible,' said Matthias." (Six of Crows)

"She smiled then, her cheeks red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'I can hear the change in Kaz's breathing when he looks at you.' 'You... you can?' 'It catches every time, like he's never seen you before.'" (Six of Crows)

"'Has anyone noticed this whole city is looking for us, mad at us, or wants to kill us?' 'So?' said Kaz. 'Well, usually it's just half the city.'" (Crooked Kingdom)

"I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all." (Six of Crows)

“Mati en sheva yelu. This action will have no echo." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'What do you want then?' The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie's voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, Inej. You." (Six of Crows)

"Don’t worry, Da. People point guns at each other all the time in Ketterdam. It’s basically a handshake." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'Fine. But if Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.' Brekker’s lips quirked. 'I’ll just hire Matthias’ ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.' 'My ghost won’t associate with your ghost,' Matthias said primly, and then wondered if the sea air was rotting his brain." (Six of Crows)

"He doesn't say goodbye,' Inej said. She kept her eyes on the lights of the canal. Somewhere in the garden, a night bird began to sing. 'He just lets go.'" (Crooked Kingdom)

"Besides, she was the Wraith – the only law that applied to her was gravity, and some days she defied that, too." (Six of Crows)

"I would come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together—knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'Saints, Kaz, you actually look happy.' 'Don't be ridiculous,' he snapped. But there was no mistaking it. Kaz Brekker was grinning like an idiot." (Six of Crows)

"'You can only sharpen a blade so far,' Kaz said as he joined them at the front of the church. 'In the end, it comes down to the quality of the metal.'" (Crooked Kingdom)

"'Oh, I see. I'm the wicked Grisha seductress. I have beguiled you with my Grisha wiles!' She poked him in the chest. 'Stop that.' 'No. I'm beguiling you.'" (Six of Crows)

"'Do you really have a flying ship?' blurted Jesper. 'No.' 'Oh.' 'I have several.' 'Take me with you.'" (Crooked Kingdom)

"A gambler, a convict, a wayward son, a lost Grisha, a Suli girl who had become a killer, a boy from the Barrel who had become something worse." (Six of Crows)

"Wylan knew that even if he'd had his pick of a thousand companions, these would have been the people he chose." (Crooked Kingdom)

"I don’t know!” Jesper said angrily. 'Maybe I liked your stupid face.'" (Six of Crows)

"He sometimes suspected they could forgo all of Kaz's planning and simply let Jesper and Nina flirt the entirety of Ketterdam into submission." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'Who’d deny a poor cripple his cane?' 'If the cripple is you, then any man with sense.'" (Six of Crows)

"'Curse you and all your Saints,' he said to no one at all, then realized he was smiling." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'I like singing,' said Alys. Wylan shook his head frantically, mouthing, No, no, no. 'Shall I sing?' Alys asked hopefully. 'Bajan says that I’m good enough to be on the stage.' 'Maybe we save that for later—' suggested Jesper. Alys’ lower lip began to wobble like a plate about to break. 'Sing,' Matthias blurted, 'by all means, sing.' And then the real nightmare began." (Six of Crows)

"My mother is Ketterdam. She birthed me in the harbor. And my father is profit. I honor him daily." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'You can’t spend his money if you’re dead.' 'I’ll acquire expensive habits in the afterlife.'" (Six of Crows)

"'We were all supposed to make it,' said Wylan softly. Maybe that was naive, the protest of a rich merchant’s son who’d only had a taste of Barrel life. But Jesper realized he’d been thinking the same thing. After all their mad escapes and close calls, he’d started to believe the six of them were somehow charmed, that his guns, Kaz’s brains, Nina’s wit, Inej’s talent, Wylan’s ingenuity, and Matthias’ strength had made them somehow untouchable. They might suffer. They might take their knocks, but Wylan was right, in the end they were all supposed to stay standing." (Crooked Kingdom)

"It was because she was listening so closely that she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel and deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted." (Six of Crows)

"I am not sorry, she realized. She had chosen to live freely as a killer rather than die quietly as a slave, and she could not regret that." (Crooked Kingdom)

"'Always hit where the mark isn't looking' 'Who's Mark?' asked Wylan." (Six of Crows)

"This was the kiss he’d been waiting for. It was a gunshot. It was prairie fire. It was the spin of Makker’s Wheel. Jesper felt the pounding of his heart—or was it Wylan’s?—like a stampede in his chest, and the only thought in his head was a happy, startled, Oh. Slowly, inevitably, they broke apart. 'Wylan,' Jesper said, looking into the wide blue sky of his eyes, 'I really hope we don’t die.'" (Crooked Kingdom)

"'If only you could talk to girls in equations.' There was a long silence, and then, eyes trained on the notch they’d created in the link, Wylan said, 'Just girls?' Jesper restrained a grin. 'No. Not just girls.'" (Six of Crows)

"'A chemical weevil,' said Jesper, 'But Wylan still hasn’t named it. My vote is for the Wyvil.' 'That’s terrible,' said Wylan. 'It’s brilliant,' Jesper winked. 'Just like you.'" (Crooked Kingdom)

#grishaverse #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #nina zenik #six of crows #crooked kingdom

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ilguna · 4 years

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Metanoia - Chapter Fourteen (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 5k

Warnings; swearing, mention of murder and torture

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

If the career districts had their hands on books like these, you would have been forced to read them. Mercilessly. Like, a whole couple of units just studying these useless things. They’re mostly published for the Capitol citizens--which is why they’re not supplied in districts--but imagine having everything you could possibly need to know, in a couple of books.

These handbooks are genius. Even if they’re meant for entertainment and not practical use, they’re fucking fantastic.

Every nine years, one of these books comes out. Inside, they have every tribute that had gone in for those nine years--which comes out to be two hundred and sixteen tributes in total. They have the names, ages, weights, heights, eye and hair colors. Who their mentor, stylist, prep team and district representative was, and so much more.

For example, for the year you won, they start with the tributes and their information.

District One, Deimos Chambers. Black hair, brown eyes. He was seventeen, six-foot-one, with a weight of one hundred and seventy five. His mentor was Gloss, and as for the rest, it seems a little unimportant to you. However, his go-to weapon during training was always a sword, and he seemed to be very skilled in hand-to-hand combat.

Which all career tributes are skilled in, but whatever. You’re all taught to be proficient in something, and it’s mainly hand-to-hand. You’ll hardly see a career tribute try and do shit from far away. You know you wouldn’t bother all that much. From far away, you risk the chances of missing, up close, you can kill them in one goddamn shot.

Deimos’ score was a whopping ten, which is basically what all the comprehensive people had gotten. In his interview he wore all black, and when the lights had been shut off momentarily, the glow in the dark constellations came to life. And it wasn’t that bullshit green color either. It was white, and looked like there were actual lightbulbs behind it all, but the stylist was just creative.

It lists the people he chose to be allies with: Alhena, Zeke, and yourself. How many he killed during the bloodbath, which was one. But in total from start to finish it was three to four, counting assist kills. It says how he died, how many days he survived for, and what he placed.

Next is Alhena Hurley. Brown hair, blue eyes. She was sixteen, five-foot-seven, weighing in at one hundred and thirty five. Her mentor was Cashmere, respectively. Her chosen weapon inside of the training center was a mace, and her special note was that she was strong.

“Not emotionally.” you mutter, snickering to yourself as you continue reading.

Alhena got a score of nine, her interview dress was silver, with black specks on it--which is more or less the opposite of what Deimos had. She killed two people in the bloodbath, and that would stay her number for the rest of the games. She died because she got killed on the third day by someone who was hiding in the trees.

On the District One page, it holds both Deimos and Alhena. Pictures of what they wore during the reaping, train station, parade, interview and inside of the arena. Along with their special picture that would indicate that they were dead. The next page holds their family and friend interviews--if they had any--with the questions that Caesar asked and the answers given by their loved ones.

Then, there’s District Two, starting off strong with Zeke. Blonde hair, brown eyes. Seventeen, six foot on the dot, weighing roughly one hundred and sixty pounds. You guys had the same mentor, so it was Enobaria. He was boring and chose a sword, and his special skill was that he was always moving. More or less, he was quick.

Training score of ten, his suit was a bronze color, while the dress shirt was actually black. It was sorta metallic in the light. Zeke managed to kill one person in the bloodbath, and came out to two to three at the end. And he obviously placed second, because you were the one that killed him so that you could win.

And then there’s yourself. (Y/n) Rosecelli, sixteen. You had fairly short hair when you went inside of the arena--just so that it wouldn’t be grabbed and used against you. You were pretty tall, around the recommended weight group--although, that didn’t really matter in the end--and your mentor was Enobaria. Your chosen weapon inside of the training center was the sai’s and your special talent was being a know-it-all.

You scored a ten, got the same metallic bronze color of a dress with the matching black. Inside of the arena you had killed eight people, placing number one. At the very top of the page it says ‘WINNER!’, like it’s some fucked up game and not a fight for your survival.

It had the pictures and interviews as the others did, but with yours it’s extra special. You get the second interview by Caesar and what outfit you had worn for it. A small section for all the highlights inside of the arena, and then the victory tour, with the celebration at the mansion. All the headlines that you had gotten for being inside of the Capitol ‘willingly’.

And there’s also close-up pictures of all the tattoos you had gotten while you were there too.

It makes you sick knowing that they had produced these for entertainment, when it really could have been for the betterment of future tributes. Apart from all the useless shit they had for profiling the tributes, they literally had their battle plans.

Like for Finnick, it says that he used a fishing net while he and the opponent were in water. He’d get them tangled, and then when he was sure they couldn’t hurt him, he’d just kill them with his super expensive trident. And all the tributes didn’t know to be afraid of him until it was too late.

Just like with Johanna too. She played stupid for her entire time inside of the Capitol, and a little bit into the games to draw people in. She purposely scored low on her private training session--which is no doubt a big setback sponsor-wise. But then she became a killing machine, and almost a legend of sorts.

It made tributes wary of those who pretended to be stupid like that. Gave away their entire motive, because Johanna had done it first, and she won because of it. Anyone who did pose a threat early on would get killed.

It’s the exact reason why you went after the District Four tributes when you did. Your games were directly after Finnick’s, and the thought of one of those fish-eating fuckers getting their hands on you like that was terrifying. So, the only way to eliminate the chance of that happening, is to get rid of the only people who really know their way around water, and nets, and fishing.

Finnick likely hated that, the fact that you went after them specifically when you had the chance. However, you know deep-down that he appreciated that you wouldn’t let them suffer. You just wanted them dead immediately to get rid of the chance of them still being alive. You wouldn’t move from the bodies until the cannons had gone off.

Honestly, your allies should have killed you when they had the chance. If you were smart enough to stand over tributes to make sure that they were dead before moving on, that should have been a red flag. Even when they had wanted to leave tributes to bleed out and die, you’d be the one to finish them off.

Not to mention, you marking your arm after every broadcast of The Fallen was a whole new level of insane. And it’s not like they didn’t notice it or anything, they just chose not to point it out. They knew what it was for and all, but they didn’t say anything.

Someone clears their throat, making you look up from the handbook. You’re not really surprised to see Finnick standing there, in the same white scrubs that you’re wearing.

“Good afternoon.” you flip the page, landing right onto the District Four tributes from your games, “Or evening, I can’t tell in this coffin anymore.”

“The nurses tell me you haven’t left your room in a couple of days.” he doesn’t move from the doorway.

You give him a glance, “Why would I? Peeing in my own bathroom is just the same as the one down the hall. Both have cold toilet seats and smell like cleaning products.”

Finnick cracks a smile, coming into the room now, “What’re you reading?”

“Hunger games handbooks.” you hold it up for him to see briefly, “This is the year I won, and these are the tributes you mentored.”

Finnick comes over, and you turn the book so he can read it a little.

Brook Giles, fifteen, five-foot-eight, around one hundred and fifty six pounds. He has bleached brown hair and blue eyes. His training score was a nine, he wore a classic light blue and white suit during his interviews. His go-to weapon was a sword inside of the training center and he died on the first day because you killed him.

“One of my first takeouts,” you watch his face, wondering if he’ll get mad if you talk about it so carelessly, “It was almost fun.”

Finnick meets your eyes, “You were scared, just like the rest of them.”

“I killed him because he reminded me of you.” you then turn to the girl, “And so did she.”

Mira Osborne, sixteen, blonde hair and green eyes. Five-foot-five, one hundred and forty pounds. She wore a white dress that barely went to her knees, some blue accents here and there. She scored an eight, her go-to weapon was a spear. One kill, and only a few days later she’d die because you’d find her hiding in a cove.

“I was fifteen when I watched you win, and I knew that the following year I’d likely be picked to volunteer. I realized that I didn’t know how to swim at all, and the thought of ending up in a net, scared and drowning was more terrifying than anything I had come across up until that point of my life.” you smile, looking at Finnick now, “So, I dug a hole in my backyard, filled it with water and taught myself how to swim.”

Finnick stares, as if he doesn’t know if you’re kidding or not.

You aren’t.

“Of course, as extra precaution I chose to go after them first. Anyone who got in the way was an added bonus to my kill streak. I hunted Mira like she was a fucking deer and I was starving.” Finnick’s silence is what you expected for telling him information like this, and you’re not even done yet, “And had you not been my soulmate, you, Mags, Katniss, Peeta and Johanna would have ended up just like her.

“And I wouldn’t have stopped until you were all dead.”

Finnick straightens up, stiff. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but snaps his mouth shut.

Smug, you smirk, “What? Did you suddenly realize that I’m exactly who I told you I was?”

Finnick turns to leave, and you wait patiently as he goes towards the door frame. But then he grabs the chair by it, and takes a seat. Although, just by looking at his body language, he doesn’t want to be here. And he doesn’t want to let you win this either.

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you flip the book open again, “You’re making a grave mistake.”

“Stop telling me that.”

You glance up, “Is it because you know that I’m right and you don’t want to admit it? You know you’re leaving a nice, capable girl that would love to settle down, have kids and grow old with you. For someone who’s an insufferable bitch that hates the life she’s been given, and everything that she’s ever cared for gets killed or leaves her.”

“Is that why you won’t let me at least be friends with you?”

You take in a deep breath, “No, I don’t want you near me at all because you’re you. You’re Finnick Odair, darling of the Capitol. You’re Finnick Odair, the youngest victor in history who was also given the most expensive gift ever sent inside of the arena.” you laugh, “Oh! And you’re Finnick Odair, the man who also exposed Snow for who he is. Which lets you be in the spotlight more times that you’re worthy of.”

“So you think you’re not worthy?”

It’s like a blinding rage for a split second as you hurl the twenty-five pound book straight at Finnick, “I can’t fucking stand you!”

Finnick catches the book just barely before it hits him in the face, “(Y/n)--”

“No.” you cut him off, “No, you don’t get to pretend like you’re the voice of reason here, because you’re not. I’m a fucking nightmare, and even I know when enough is enough.” You get up and off of the bed, grabbing a hold of the necklace Tanith gifted you. As you begin to leave your safe place, you point at him, “I know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“You hopped from what you think is one broken girl to another. But news flash, Finnick, I’ve lost much more people,” you get down to his eye level, “I lost my entire family when I got home to District Two after I won my games. And it wasn’t just my immediate family, it was distant aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. Everyone who was even a shred related to me, is now dead. I’m the only one left of my fucking bloodline.”

You stand up now, “Losing Tanith is nothing compared to what I had lost then. I wish I had grown a pair and stepped off the fucking hovercraft to bury her, because doing that wouldn’t have been nearly as much as a hassle compared to dealing with you.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, and you don’t wait to see if he does either. You go straight out, ignoring the nurses that stare at you, because it really is the first time you’ve left the room in days. Everything is delivered to you, if there’s something you want, they’ll go and get it.

You have a vague idea of where you want to go, just getting there is going to be the problem. Typically, even if you do leave the room, someone will follow you out to keep an eye on you. You remember very vividly, a certain nurse standing at an arm's distance from you, during Coin’s last speech. When she announced the liberation of the prisoned victors.

A joke. This whole place is one fucking circus.

Just as you expected, the floor is pretty vacant. Here and there, someone will wander in and out, but that’s really it. You give a look behind you, confirming that there isn’t a nurse following you just yet. Then, you take off towards the elevator.

You barely remember how that one doctor used it, but it shouldn’t be that hard. You press the button, bringing the lift to you. When it stops and makes the annoying sound, you pull the guard rail up, and then step inside. Pulling it down again, you can see one of the nurses round the corner.

You give her a bright smile, punching the top floor, “Tata.”

The elevator starts moving up, and you give her a wave. Then, she’s blocked out by the cement flooring.

For the rest of the ride up, you cross your arms and wait, staring straight ahead. Your game plan is to head to the woods and don’t stop walking until you’re lost. Hopefully, no one will think to follow you out there.

The elevator stops at the top floor, allowing you to be met face to face with a band of people. They’re pulling up the guard rail before you even have a chance to reach for it.

Katniss is on a stretcher, her sister is hovering over her. Haymitch, Beetee, Gale and Boggs are nearby. Not to mention all the other people behind them.

“Geez.” you move out of the way, allowing Katniss to be wheeled in. Beetee and Gale fit themselves on, but Boggs and Haymitch don’t follow.

There’s not nearly enough room for them all to fit on the elevator, anyway. And apparently it gives Boggs to grab a hold of you before you can escape.

“Where are you going?”

You give him a kind smile, “I was given the okay to clear my head for a little.”

“Why are you still in scrubs, then?”

You make a face, shrugging, “Don’t ask me, they’re the ones that told me I was free to go whenever.”

Boggs doesn’t look convinced, and honestly, neither does Haymitch.

“Fine, I made a breakaway because I can’t fucking stand it in there.” you pull your arm from Bogg’s grasp, “For a district that’s all about equality, I don’t see why it should matter if I come up here to disappear for a little while. Or the fact that I’m being followed around when I do leave my room because you guys think I’m some sort of Capitol bootlicker.”

Haymitch laughs, “Same old (Y/n).”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” you then look at Boggs, “Don’t send anyone to follow me. I’ll come back when I feel like I’m ready to breathe stale air and eat shit for dinner.”

“Had you expressed your distaste for District Thirteen earlier, we might have taken you right back to District Two.” Boggs says.

You raise your eyebrows, “Earlier? When did you go?”

“A couple hours ago.” Haymitch says, “We just got back.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “Great, my only way out of this shithole and I wasn’t even aware of it. It’s funny how you brought the guy in the wheelchair and not the girl who literally grew up there her entire life.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Bogg says, “Enjoy your walk.”

The elevator is back, and they step on. You turn around and leave, heading straight towards the opening. You can already hear the chirps of the birds and you’re nowhere near the door.

You pick up the pace, jogging right past the people that work out here. One of them waves, and you raise your hand in acknowledgement. The smile doesn’t even come across your face until the sun is in your eyes.

You take a sharp left, taking the trail for the most part. When you’re out of the sight of those inside of the building, you slow your pace, taking your time with getting lost.

You’re not even kidding when you say that it’s literal fresh air. This smells and tastes nothing like what goes underground. It’s stale, and out here it’s sweet. It must have rained a couple days ago or something because the plants have that smell to them--petrichor.

After a while, you detour from the trail, heading into the trees some more. You weren’t kidding when you said that you’d like to get lost. Being out here, wandering for hours on end is going to be more entertaining than reading those depressing handbooks. On top of that, you won’t have to see Finnick’s face for a while.

He really does get on your nerves. Him pretending that he knows every single detail about you, and claiming the opposite of what you tell him is pissing you off. You’re a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You’d rather be told the heartbreaking truth than have someone lie through their teeth. So, you assume other people like it that way too. It cuts out a lot of unnecessary drama.

Unless it’s another person’s lie, then you’ll play along. If they want to fabricate things for their own gain, then have at it. Who are you to say no to them?

With Finnick, you’ve told him several times, over and over that you can’t stand him. And he acts as if that’s all going to magically change if he forces you to get used to his company or whatever. And you even dumbed it down for him, explained what the deal was. You don’t want him, you don’t need him. You want or need the help.

He doesn’t need to stick around after that wish has been fulfilled. All he’s doing is hurting his own feelings.

At this point, it might just be the challenge of getting you to like him. Show some kind of friendship just so he can drop it. You wonder if you fake it, he’ll finally leave you alone. You might just have to try that out until he realizes that you’ve had an entire personality flip.

Finnick would probably see that it’s a facade but might go along with it just to see how long you can keep it up for.

It’ll be your own personal game. How long can you be nice on the outside and calm on the inside until Finnick does something completely absurd that it makes you flip your shit? The time starts now.

You take a deep breath, going down the hill carefully, because you can clearly see the river. Off to the left some more are shoeprints and the trail that you had supposedly detached yourself from. It doesn’t really matter anymore, as long as you can sit here and be by yourself, you’re fine.

You get as close to the water as possible, taking off the shoes and rolling up the scrubs. You let your legs sit in the water as you lean back on your hands, staring at the scenery. It truly is a beautiful place here, but you’d never want to stay. Even if District Two is in shambles, you want to go back.

It’s your home. It holds so much grief and terror, and yet you just want to be back in the comforts of your own town. You want to see all your old neighbors before your victory. And see Victor’s Village overflowing with people always, no matter how annoying they were.

They’re all dead now. The only surviving victors from District Two is Lyme, and yourself. Everyone else is dead. Enobaria, Neysa, Tanith, Sorcha, Brutus, Edmond, Zavian and everyone else. Lyme had filled you in, that Snow had them all killed, and anyone else who proved valuable went with him.

Lyme and Paylor are lucky to be alive.

You’d literally give anything to talk to one of them again. To relive Tanith showing up uninvited in your house the morning of the reaping. You would have been so much more gentle than usual if you had known that it would have been the last real conversation without gloom hanging over your heads.

At least you’re lucky to say that your final goodbyes to her and Zavian wasn’t terrible at all. You were able to hug them both and tell them just how much they meant to you. Even if it wasn’t really heartfelt for Zavian, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world he could have heard.

And now they’re gone, and you’re still alive.

“Lucky me.” you murmur, finding a rock and tossing it into the water.

It’s funny how you only feel bad after all those people are dead. You would never in your right mind would have ever thought of being kind to those people until now. You’ve got some genuine guilt on your hands.

Edmond and Neysa really had tried to act in your best interest. They knew your limits, but you like to think that you can push it. Like Edmond making sure you’d be sober and not make a fool of yourself in front of all those people at the train station. He wasn’t doing it to restrict you. And even though he didn’t show it the best way, you could have at least tried to understand.

Neysa just wanted you to get good allies. She wanted to give you a fighting chance, and had you just followed what she wanted, you wouldn’t have been so waist-deep in shit with distrust from Finnick’s alliance. She knew something you didn’t when it came to the fact that you shouldn’t go off alone inside of the arena.

And yet you like to be independent.

There’s a crunching of leaves beneath boots, making you dip your head for a moment. You sigh through your nose, raise your head and then look over your shoulder. It’s exactly who you thought it would be, but he’s not wearing those white scrubs anymore. He’s also got some clothes draped over his arm.

You squint at him, “Are you wearing a suit?”

“Not the reaction I was expecting.” Finnick’s got his signature smile on his face, showing off his dimples.

You turn away before you can say something mean.

“I figured you’d rather run away in something much more fashionable.” Finnick stops behind you.

“How’d you know?”

You stare at the water for another moment, before pushing yourself up, brushing off the dirt from your butt, knowing full well that it’s still going to be there. In Finnick’s hands sit some familiar ripped black jeans, but a navy blue shirt.

“I see they have a pattern.” you hold up the shirt to see, “And it has a breast pocket too.”

“The pink shirt was thrown away since you destroyed the hem.”

“I was anxious.” you reason, placing the shirt back.

You take off the white scrub shirt, making Finnick turn his head away. A smile appears on your face, because he acts like he literally hasn’t seen you naked before--cough cough, after you got bit by spiders. Butt ass naked, it wasn’t just Finnick who saw you completely nude. You flashed the whole fucking country.

They probably couldn’t keep that in, and had to change the camera perspective after that.

You pull on the shirt, and then you pull off the bottoms, being sure to wipe your muddy feet on them to clean off your feet.

“So what made you follow me out here this time?” you ask, taking the jeans and pulling them on.

“Your stunning personality, as always.” Finnick looks over now, “And the fact that Haymitch and Boggs wanted me to follow you out here. I tried to tell them it wasn’t the brightest idea, but they had me do it anyway, gave you a thirty minute head start first, though.”

“Smart of them. I’m assuming you saw Katniss, then?”

“Seems like she’s been taking hit after hit lately.”

“Imagine getting strangled by your fiance.” you laugh, and Finnick joins in.

“Imagine getting punched by your soulmate.” Finnick gives you a look.

You roll your eyes, “Okay, you have to admit that you deserved it.”

“Whatever makes you feel better about yourself.”

You press your lips together, stomping your foot into the boots since you’re too lazy to untie them. You repeat the process with your left foot, which takes a lot longer. Finnick just laughs at you the entire time, since you refuse to go down and fix it yourself.

“Let’s get serious for a moment.” you look at Finnick, and he looks a little afraid, “It’s nothing bad, you might even think I’m lying for a second.”

“That’s not--why would you say that?” he laughs.

You take your dirty scrubs from his hands, “Because I think ahead.” you tap the side of your head, “Anyway, I honestly want to apologize for what I said earlier.”

Finnick’s eyebrows skyrocket, and you can’t help but to laugh, “You’re being serious?”

“I am.” you start towards the trail, “And I would also like to apologize for everything that I’ve said before that. And all my actions too, like if I punched you or threw something at you.”

“Where’s all this coming from?” Finnick asks, “I mean, I accept but you gotta tell me why.”

You look at him, “I was thinking before you came out here--obviously--that people aren’t really out to get me. I don’t have to be independent and fight by myself anymore, not when there’s people with the same… struggles. You get it, right?”

Finnick’s impressed, “I do.”

“You know, a genius once told me that I’m not as dislikable as I like to think.”

It takes Finnick a moment before it clicks in his head. He’s the one that said it to you.

“A genius, huh?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

He nods, “Well, if we’re apologizing for things--”

“We’re cool, you don’t have to.”

Finnick ignores you, “--I’m sorry for approaching you so strongly.”

“You thought that it was the only way to get through to me, I get it. If someone has their walls up, sometimes the only way to get them down is if you meet their energy.”

“Do I even know you?” Finnick laughs.

“Oh, the glory of having an epiphany.” you smile, giving him a look, “So what are we dressed up for?”

“Your newfound freedom.”

“The fuck?” you laugh.

“Haymitch and Boggs convinced Coin to get you a little more freedom, which means that they weaseled me in too. We get a dorm, get to eat with the others and we can come up here whenever we want.”

“I have a feeling this is a little bit of bullshit.”

Finnick chuckles, “How did you know?”

“You can’t deceive me, I see through most of the shit you and your buddies do. I pay attention. I knew you, Johanna and the others were in an alliance before it was formed. And I also knew that you were planning a rebellion, and all you asked is if I was a loyalist.” you get back to walking, “You could even say that I’m a little insightful.”

“I’ll give you that one.” Finnick agrees, “Also, before we go back inside, you should know something else.”

“What did you do this time?” you look at Finnick.

He’s stopped walking, and so you do too, “I’ve ended things with Annie completely.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair metanoia #metanoia #metanoia chapter fourteen

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honeypwark · 4 years

Text

[ Water Bottles ]

↳ Crown era

↳ Kiryoung loses rock paper scissors. She drops a water bottle on her toe. She embarrasses herself in front of her seniors.

m.list

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“If you don’t play you lose, rock paper scissors!”

The six members of TXT throw their hands out in different shapes, competing to see who will lose and have to go fill everyone’s water bottles.

“Rock paper scissors,” Yeonjun repeats, all three variations present so no one gets out.

The second time, Beomgyu and Soobin put out rock while everyone else puts scissors. The two jump away happily, high fiving while the remaining four battle it out.

“Rock paper scissors,” Yeonjun says for a third time.

In an unfortunate turn of events, Kiryoung is the only one to put out rock while the other three boys choose paper.

“Seriously?” Kiryoung whines, looking at her hand like it’s the reason she lost.

The boys all jump around, laughing happily as they retrieve their water bottles from their bags to pile into Kiryoung’s arms.

“This is bullying,” she says.

“Tough luck,” Taehyun says, “Off you go.”

Kai shuts the practice room door behind her after she leaves. She starts down the hallway toward the water fountain. She fills her own water bottle first, drinking some before filling it all the way again. She fills the boys’ five water bottles next then haphazardly scoops them up in her arms to carry them back to the practice room.

She stops in front of the practice room and huffs, not sure if she’ll be able to open the door without dropping a water bottle. Regardless, she tries. After ten seconds or so of struggling to grab the handle, she twists it and pushes the door in, successfully entering the room.

“Nice,” she says softly to herself.

As she rights herself from the awkward, bent over position of opening the door, she notices there are a lot more bodies in the practice room now than when she left. Eight, to be exact.

Kiryoung freezes as her five group mates and the entirety of BTS stop talking to turn and look at her. She should probably bow or greet them in some way, maybe introduce herself, but she’s stuck in place and can’t seem to make herself move. She tries to telepathically beg Soobin to introduce her as her eyes flit between her eight senior artists. Apparently, the message doesn’t get received.

With six water bottles in her arms, she’s relying on the pressure of her arms hugging them to her chest to keep them from falling. As the surprise of seeing the biggest kpop group ever overtakes her body, her hold on the bottles lessens. Before she can right herself, Taehyun’s water bottle slips from between her own bottle and Soobin’s.

Pain flares up in her foot as the full water bottle lands on her toes. She jerks her foot back and the surprise of the sudden pain makes her lose her grip on the rest of the water bottles. The sound of the remaining five water bottles hitting the floor is nearly deafening in the otherwise silent practice room. They all go rolling in every direction.

Kiryoung can feel her face getting redder by the second as she drops to her hands and knees to try and gather the bottles back up. She can’t even grab one before they’ve all rolled too far away for her to not have to crawl along the floor of the practice room in front of everyone in the room- which include her members and the eight most famous Korean people ever. She realizes how stupid she must look right now.

“Don’t just stand there, help her pick them up.”

Like a voice from the heavens, Yeosu speaks up, reprimanding both Kiryoung’s teammates as well as her own. A few BTS members hand water bottles to their juniors as TXT quickly moves to retrieve them. Kiryoung does her best to reel in the obvious flush on her face before standing.

A hand is extended to her.

She looks up to find Min Yoongi- yes, the Min Yoongi- looking down at her. Hoping he won’t notice how clammy her hands are, she accepts his help and stands.

“Here,” he says, holding her water bottle out to her.

She takes it with a squeaky, “Thank you.”

Presumably, the BTS member Kiryoung looks up to the most should be Yeosu. She’s talented and pretty and the only girl in a group of boys, just like Kiryoung. But no. Kiryoung actually admires Yoongi the most for his talents in both rapping and producing.

Before she can embarrass herself further, she rushes over to her members with her water bottle held tightly in her hands. She squeezes herself between Beomgyu and Soobin. If she wasn’t too flustered to not be able to look any of BTS in the eye, she would notice the way they’re all looking at her like she’s the most adorable thing they’ve ever seen.

“You must be Kiryoung, then,” Namjoon says.

Kiryoung nods her head and says quietly, “I am.”

As Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin continue asking for details about their debut, Yeosu leans over to Yoongi.

“Kiryoung’s my favorite,” she whispers to him.

“You literally just met them five minutes ago,” he whispers back.

“And?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Imagine being so awkward that you lose all hand-eye coordination in the presence of a senior artist,” Kai teases from the front seat.

“Well, Kiryoung doesn’t have to imagine,” Taehyun says to him.

The boys all laugh at Kiryoung’s expense.

Ever since BTS left after seeing a run through of TXT’s choreography for “Crown,” the boys have been teasing Kiryoung about her reaction to seeing the eight older idols.

“Guys, guys, come on,” Yeonjun says, attempting to calm the others down. “At least she didn’t look like she was in love with Suga- oh, wait.”

The boys fall into laughter again. Kiryoung shrinks back in her seat, sandwiched between Soobin and Yeonjun in the back row. (With the availability of six seats in the van, the front passenger seat, two single middle seats, and three bench seats in the back, Kiryoung always sits in the middle seat in the back row because she’s “literally tiny with short legs.")

“How long until you guys stop teasing me about this?” Kiryoung complains.

“Only until you do something else embarrassing,” Soobin assures her mockingly, patting her knee.

“So not long,” Beomgyu adds.

Yet again, the boys all laugh. Soobin and Yeonjun both lean on Kiryoung for support, weak from all their laughter. Despite herself, Kiryoung can’t help but laugh along with them as well.

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ghchgc · 3 years

Text

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WWE - Best and Worst Booking from Wrestlemania 36 to 37

Wrestlemania 37 is in the books and so a new saga of WWE booking begins anew.

But the year has had its ups and downs, in the outside world and the booking, so - for doing something new - I'm gonna run down some of the best and worst booking decisions made by WWE from the Raw after Wrestlemania 36 to Wrestlemania 37 Night 2.

I will note, these are my opinions - some of which acts upon hindsight rather than 'in the moment' - and if you're gonna call me an anti-WWE mark rest assured I plan to do this for AEW too after Double or Nothing in May

Also, there is the off chance of spoilers...somehow? But it's worth covering that base

April 2020 Best WORST - Samoa Joe on Commentary On April 27th, Samoa Joe was called upon to replace Jerry Lawler (we'll get to that) on Commentary. Joe provided a great presence to commentary and it kept him on TV, we do still await his return but seeing more of Joe is a huge plus. EDIT: This was best until just now I learn that Samoa Joe has been released, the fuck WWE?

Worst - 'Ramen Noodle Moonsault' Part of what caused Lawler's replacement was the scrutiny caused by an April 13th call by Lawler during a match between Austin Theory and Akira Tozawa. He called a Step Senton a 'Ramen Noodle Moonsault', Lawler is rarely funny nowadays with his dated comedy but this was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Best - Giving Sonya and Mandy the Floor It could've been a huge down not to see Sonya vs Mandy at Wrestlemania after she was outed in manipulating Mandy away from Otis, but their feud managed to carry on strong all the way to Summerslam thanks to Sonya stepping up her game to come off as a fantastically asshole heel - which in turn made Mandy a sympathetic character. Their post-mania build allowed for an anticipated match, it was only unfortunate that an attempted irl kidnapping in August would sour the momentum and cause Sonya to take some justified time off.

Worst - Charlotte Flair on all 3 Shows Charlotte's NXT Title win did not go down as well as WWE had hoped, somehow giving the woman that had won next to everything another title reign at the expense of Rhea Ripley's Wrestlemania debut backfired on them. And unfortunately, exposing Charlotte on all 3 shows did not help matters at all, furthering the criticisms WWE have often faced when they overbook Charlotte on the upper card.

Worst - COVID-19 and Black Wednesday While not necessarily a booking thing, it was very bad of WWE to do what they did at the time. Another outbreak raised some backstage concerns over the conduct WWE, who had tried to not acknowledge the pandemic in the same vein then-president and somehow HOFer Donald Trump had done, were acting towards the pandemic. The worst of it all though was Black Wednesday, a mass exodus of talent in the height of the pandemic was never gonna be great PR, but a lot of the talent let go were very popular - Drake Maverick's video also cast a negative light on WWE even when they rehired him and used it as a storyline. While some found greener pastures to flourish, not everyone landed well on their feet, equally baffling was that WWE would then boast a quarterly profit before rehiring some of the staff they let go.

May 2020 Best - Giving the title to Asuka While we were all surprised to see Becky Lynch survive Shayna Baszler at Wrestlemania, nobody could dispute the post MITB segment on Raw when Asuka was rightfully awarded the title for winning the MITB. Being a shining light in the Empty Arena Era, Asuka was certainly a fan favourite choice to succeed Becky as she embarked on her journey towards Motherhood. A truly wonderful segment which showed that segments can pay off just as much as wrestling.

Worst - Not Pushing Otis While Asuka's MITB victory was done right, the same could not be said for the Men's Winner. Otis had the fan's backing and while his victory was surprising especially given the competition it had potential. Which WWE then squandered and buried as hard as they could. Otis never got to develop beyond a joke act, his love interest and partner taken from him, before he would months later lose it to the Miz.

Best - MVP joins up with Lashley Lashley was in a rough spot here. His main story was cucking Rusev by having an affair with Lana, and then marrying her. The pair was not built to last and mercifully we upgraded to the MVP/Lashley partnership. Together both men began their career resurgence as they now stand at the top of the pile, this was the beginning of the Hurt Business.

Worst - The Brand-To-Brand Invitational Much like how the Wild Card Rule was stupid, the Brand-To-Brand Invitational was also stupid. Often used as a tool for Survivor Series or to bring Charlotte or Corbin over with their bad heat, overall it served nothing for the fans or the booking, regardless of whatever they named it.

Best - The Fight Pit Timothy Thatcher can still do a lot more in NXT, but he still leaves a great legacy in introducing the Fight Pit. When there's not enough people for War Games but a Steel Cage won't do, the Fight Pit sold stiff aggression with its debut affair between Thatcher and Riddle, a brutal match only since done once more. It may have been done twice, but if someone calls for a Fight Pit you know shit's gonna go down.

Worst - Stripping Sami Zayn of the IC title, for staying safe Sami Zayn had finally won a championship on the Main Roster in March, then COVID happened. While WWE did make an outward statement that anyone who didn't wish to risk their health could exclude themselves, when Sami did it he lost the championship. This was rather hypocritical given that Jordan Devlin was still the Cruiserweight Champion and an Interim Champion was being crowned, rather than an official one like Smackdown did. While Sami would return to reclaim his title, his time away is still not acknowledged.

June 2020 Best - NXT start using old show names Partially due to AEW using Bash at the Beach, WWE decided to hold onto some of theirs and WCW's old PPV names. While this was slightly petty, the way they used them proved fortuitous in exuding nostalgia in a big way. To start, we had In Your House but this would also lead to the resurfacing of Halloween Havoc and Vengeance.

Worst - Not Firing Jaxson Ryker During this time the BLM protests were in full swing, so Jaxson Ryker decided this'd be the right time to praise Donald Trump on twitter. The backlash was high and his stablemates suffered for it as well, depushing and taking all the Forgotton Sons off TV. Jaxson Ryker still somehow has a job and tv time in WWE, and that continues to baffle.

Best - Maverick vs Fantasma in the Finals While exposing Maverick's firing was in poor taste, the story of the former GM chasing the title was one we can get behind. Paired with El Hijo del Fantasma finally getting the platform to debut after being hired in August 2019. The finals match would also beget to a strong title reign by Fantasma where he showed his charisma as a heel and birthing his faction Legando del Fantasma, as for Drake it led to a mismatch team with Killian Dain, it could be better but it could be worse.

Worst - Jeff Hardy vs Sheamus' narrative You'd think putting Jeff and Sheamus together would be fine, and the wrestling was indeed good. The storyline however was wrong, very wrong. Rehashing the Jericho/Punk angle, WWE decided a urine test angle would make for good TV - which was a particular low for both men.

Best - Io Shirai at the Top (which she could jump off of) When Charlotte won the NXT Championship from Rhea I vocally worried that this'd mean curtains for Io Shirai, the Stardom Ace had found her footing as the 'Mad Queen' heel character and won a ladder match to contend for the title, but she was going up against Charlotte Flair - WWE's 'Queen' who had already cut the legs from Asuka, Rhea and Bianca Belair - so the worry was high. Fortunately In Your House decided to give Io the much-deserved title win, granted she should've beaten Charlotte and Rhea was there to take the pin but this would begin Io's long reign as the female Ace of NXT, as well as jumping off of anything and everything on each TakeOver.

Worst - Street Profits vs Viking Raiders doesn't happen for Backlash During their time as Raw Tag Champs, the Street Profits engaged in an 'Anything you can do, I can do better' series with the Viking Raiders. The segments itself were mostly silly but some parts were admittedly humorous like the leg of meat popping up everywhere. But the payoff match on Backlash never came to be, instead we continued a cinematic brawl which would've been fine...but it had no conclusion. It ended in a bin, much like the feud was trashed, with the malice of the Viking Raiders mostly thrown away.

Worst - Nia vs Asuka ends in a Double Count Out Backlash 2020 already had the questionable booking of Profits vs Vikings, Braun vs Miz and Morrison and promoting Edge vs Orton as the 'Greatest Wrestling Match Ever'. But another that could not be let go was the women's title match. This was Asuka's first major defense, the storyline should have been her proving that she deserves the title and the best we got was Nia Jax. Like Profits/Vikings it could've been salvagable had there been a legitimate finish, but the match ended in a double count out, only to follow up with a Raw rematch - sadly this would not be the end of Asuka being poorly booked as champion.

Worst - Kairi's Injury Speaking of Nia, in a May taping that released in June Nia faced Kairi Sane in the build to her feud with Asuka. But Kairi came out of the match with a nasty head cut after being thrown into the steps. Unfortunately, this was not the first time Kairi had been injured by Nia so it was not a good look on Nia to repeat herself.

Worst - *Unmasks* 'Old Man Santos Escobar!?' When El Hijo del Fantasma revealed himself as the leader of the masked men, it began the stable Legando del Fantasma. But of course, 'El Hijo del Fantasma' isn't really a heel name that rolls off the tongue, the name change was justified but the choice was not. Using the surname of a drug lord exposed WWE's continued hypocrisy of things - who were adamant in removing Apollo Crews' surname when a killer was also named 'Crews', among their usual obsession with cutting names - but it was worsened by the choice of Santos, which means Saint. It also made it odd that his faction carried his old name but not him, what was wrong with Santos del Fantasma?

July 2020 Best - A New US Championship Design Aside from the 24/7 title, the US Championship design was one of WWE's weakest, fans had been calling for a change for quite some time. During Apollo's feud with the Hurt Business though we got a new US title unveiled by MVP; a slightly better design, it was definitely a good move in terms of booking and merchandising.

Worst - Asuka loses to Shenanigans, and then to Count Out Alas, Asuka's reign hit a bump in the road when the Bayley/Sasha connection set their sights on claiming all the gold. While this would do well for Bayley and Sasha's story, it was once again a story that came in Asuka's expense. She lost stupidly in Extreme Rules and when that was revoked she lost by count-out in a match where nothing was meant to influence the wrestlers on the outside. This was an added blow because Asuka was counted out to save Kairi from being attacked backstage - which effectively wrote her out of WWE, which meant that the attempted save was worthless.

Best - Big E goes his own way, but doesn't split from the New Day Before the WWE Draft split Xavier and Kofi from Big E brand-wise, injuries to Xavier and Kofi left Big E unable to compete for tag titles. However, fans had been hoping for another singles run from Big E and this was the platform for it. What made it good though was that Big E didn't leave the New Day to pursue a singles career, keeping the beloved faction still alive.

Worst - Bye, Kairi Kairi Sane carried a similar star aura that Io and Asuka before her did as the Mae Young Classic winner, former NXT Women's champion and basically being an all-round adorable human. When it was learned that she would be taking an ambassador role in Japan - where she would get married and spend time with her husband also - fans were upset to see her go. But WWE never gave her a proper sendoff, the last we see of Kairi is just her KO'd backstage with Asuka having given up her title to fail in saving her, and that left a bad taste.

Best - Keith Lee: Double Champion Keith Lee had captured NXT hearts with his physicality, athleticism and theme song, he was NA Champion and WWE had decided that double champions are all the rage now, so they pit Lee and Adam Cole against one another. It was a brief run, but the moment Lee held two belts became a big moment signifying a new chapter for NXT.

Worst - 'The Horror Show' Extreme Rules was kind of a low point for WWE. Rather than just continue with the no DQ gimmick they threw all their chips into the Braun vs Bray swamp fight, which tanked horribly. Also Rey vs Seth suffered from it with the daft Eye for an Eye stipulation - which AEW had previously done effectively - it was a great wrestling match marred by its goofy stipulation and thus its ending, all of which was made simply because Rey hadn't extended his contract at this time. Needless to say, overbooking and stupidity left 'The Horror Show' Extreme Rules a dud.

August 2020 Best - Introducing the Thunderdome There was some hesitations about the introduction of the Thunderdome, the fact that it's just screens some of it reused to pair with piped cheers and boos doesn't sound too good on paper. And granted, it has its flaws still, but at the same time the Thunderdome has been more positive on WWE's atmosphere than a purely empty arena has. The NXT cages are probably better paired with AEW's using their backstage staff as the crowd but you get what you give sometimes.

Worst - Retribution Retribution is a lost cause, even to this day. It tried the Nexus-esque debut with big names but shitty masks, as well as their purpose contradicting their actions. It all began here, and shouldn't have happened in the first place, Mercedes learned that one quickly. At least T-Bar has Twitter game.

Worst - Changing Keith Lee's attire, theme, and making him a side character to Drew vs Orton Within a month of winning both belts, Lee would be moved up to Raw where immediately he was pitted against Randy Orton - who was feuding against Drew McIntyre. With a new outfit and new music, Lee was a stepping stone to simply further Orton's feud with Drew rather than influence it, in a single moment WWE had made fans lose confidence that they could book Lee as well as he was in NXT, a worry that continues to this day even with another theme change.

Best - Damian Priest gets a shot A star who needed a chance to shine, Lee's vacating of the NA title left a slot open for someone to get a solid push and the winner was Damian Priest. Having proven himself there and in a prior feud with Finn Balor, Priest was a worthy candidate to hold the title and he still is able to hold that momentum in his main roster pursuits.

Worst - Raw Underground Doing something different is nothing to be afraid of, but sometimes you have to read the room. And Shane McMahon introducing a boiler room fight club was not it. Granted, Raw Underground didn't get the fairest crack of the whip, but it had also not distinguished itself on the card nor did it have as many decent stars to carry it. The repackaging of Babatunde to 'Dabba Kato' didn't sell any seriousness to it either.

Best - Pat McAfee Shines The Adam Cole/Pat McAfee feud did somewhat stumble at the start with WWE's insistence that this was a shoot, but the end result paid dividends. Pat McAfee raised a very low bar on celebrity contributions in wrestling matches, showing what celebrities who are actual fans could do to pull off an athletic and entertaining affair.

Worst - Mauro and Renee leave Mauro Ranallo may've been divisive for some fans in his enthusiastic commentary, but I loved the guy. He actually sold the energy of the matches and he knew the moves. Renee Young was also someone who proved to be a fantastic sports journalist, her commentary times on Raw marred by micromanaging she was a great host for Talking Smack and her podcast showed how relatable and fun Mrs. Moxley truly is. The departure of both had left a void WWE have struggled to fill again.

Best - Dominik Mysterio steps up In Summerslam 2005, the PPV was main evented by Shawn Michaels overselling Hulk Hogan for 20 minutes. The event saw not just titles go on the line but Kurt Angle's Olympic Medal...and the custody of a child. That child was mini-Slim Shady Dominik Mysterio, who in storyline had recently discovered that Eddie Guerrero is his biological father, adopted by Rey Mysterio and his wife. Fifteen years later, Dominik would step back into a Summerslam ring, this time to make his wrestling debut. While he would lose, Dominik gained a lot of positives especially given how he was up against Seth Rollins, Dominik's progression continues to impress as his father ensures that he gets the best training he can provide, the prince of the Mysterio household has a bright future ahead of him.

Worst - Murphy takes the fall in the Mysterio/Rollins Feud Alas, the Mysterio Family vs Monday Night Messiah would only have sporadic good moments and part of that is because Seth would escape mostly squeaky clean. The few times the Mysterio family would win was when it was a tag match with Murphy to take the fall. This wasn't just unfair on the Mysterios since they were being robbed again of 'winning' a feud which involved Seth ripping Rey's eye out but it also was a disservice to Murphy's talents as a former Ace of 205.

Best - Reigns FINALLY turns Heel, and is a Heyman Guy Roman Reigns was consistently booed for about 5 years, earning a reprieve when kayfabe was thrown away to support him in his bout with Leukemia. Given his dialysis, COVID left him as a risk for most of the year, but he made a huge return in the Universal title match between Braun and the Fiend. Debuting a heel persona which would align with Paul Heyman, WWE had finally done what the fans wanted - turn Roman heel. And Roman has been on top ever since, the Tribal Chief Reigns.

Worst - Splitting the IIconics In a bout of trying to raise stakes, WWE decided that the best way to service their women's tag division was for 2 popular teams to fight for contendership - but the losers would have to split up. Between the Riott Squad and the IIconics, the former would win the match - but continue to be underbooked to the point where their reunion after feuding with each other has become fruitless - which meant that one of the few established tag teams in the women's division were splitting...not too long since the Kabuki Warriors had split too. Despite half a year later Peyton delivering a killer promo and Billie showing some comedic flair, neither bounced back from the split - their only solace now is to reunite now that they too just now have been released...

Worst - Velveteen Dream comes back June proved to be a shocking time for wrestling in general when brave people publicly called out their experiences with sexual, emotional and physical harassment and abuse. This rattled all companies and blacklisted a ton of once renowned wrestlers such as David Starr, Jimmy Havoc, Jack Gallagher, Marty Scurll, Travis Banks, El Ligero, Joey Ryan and shut down all of Chikara pro wrestling. Velveteen Dream was among the names listed, accused of having inappropriate communications and grooming minors, this was of course a huge blow to the once-popular rising star. Like they did with Matt Riddle, Joe Coffey, Wolfgang, Jordan Devlin and Sid Scala, WWE decided to investigate rather than immediately release Dream. During this time, WWE should have kept Dream off TV for an extended period of time, instead he appeared a month later on NXT to qualify for the NA Title ladder match Priest would win under heavy scrutiny of the fans. As much as WWE point out that they had found nothing, many still remain unconvinced and while Dream is currently off tv now, having him return so soon did not inspire confidence.

September 2020 Best - Sami gets the IC Title Back After being unfairly stripped of the title back in May, Sami returned to claim himself the true IC champion. Pitted against AJ Styles and Jeff Hardy, the trio would embark on a smart and highly acclaimed ladder match for the title, which Sami would win. Course correction coming into play for Sami to resume his reign, but I still wonder why he was the heel in all of that...

Worst - Changing Aleister Black's Attire and Entrance Aleister Black had the IT Factor, he was a superb striker with a great gimmick of a dark and brooding warrior, rising like a vampire in his entrance with a demonic jacket, he oozed the aura of a main event player. Until Vince changed the music and decided that Black should wear an eyepatch...this of course was done after a span of barely booking Aleister anyway - despite him delivering in his matches - before not booking him at all.

Best - The Prince is Promised Finn Balor's return to NXT had been on a slow burn at this point, but with Karrion Kross having to vacate due to a separated shoulder a new NXT champion had to be crowned. After a 4-way iron man tie, Balor came on top on Super Tuesday Part 2. Finn being champion again was indeed the right choice, while it delays his collision with WALTER indefinitely he has had a superb reign filling in for Karrion Kross, who would reclaim in a good match at Stand & Deliver.

Worst - Telenovela Bullshit The Mysterios/Messiah storyline tangented in a bad way in its ending stages before fizzling out. Aalyah Mysterio had been booked into a romance with Murphy, the acting was like a soap opera and not in the good way. 'But mother, I love him' literally being the weekly storyline of coaxing Murphy away from Seth, all of which became dropped to mean nothing for anyone.

Best - Kyle O'Reilly and Jey Uso enter the Main Event Primarily tag wrestlers for their WWE careers, Kyle O'Reilly and Jey Uso were given unexpected chances at the world champions Balor and Reigns on NXT and Smackdown, and boy did they take those chances. Both men impressed hugely in their matches, enough to get multiple rematches and a bigger role in the main event from it, Jey would join Roman as a heel and support to the Tribal Chief while O'Reilly would come to blows with Adam Cole in an unsanctioned match. Both men can be seen as world champions now.

October 2020 Best - NXT UK Acquisitions NXT UK hasn't really gained the desired momentum, which is a shame because there are a lot of great talent still there, and they sport one of the best looking active belts in Wrestling today. The problem is the limited audience and minimal roster depth, which is why it was refreshing when WWE signed more to the brand, the big name of Meiko Satomura being the headliner but also Rampage Brown and the steal of Ben Carter - now Nathan Frazer - from under AEW's nose. Later they would push A-Kid and sign the former Lucky Kid and Millie McKenzie to further bolster its brand.

Worst - Not Repackaging Retribution On October 5th, WWE decided to turn Mustafa Ali heel and put him as the leader of Retribution, but they would also pit them against the Hurt Business - a heel faction - and reveal himself the 'Smackdown Hacker' - who had unveiled some heels doing heelish deeds. Confusing at the best of times, Retribution never got past losing either, forcing Mia Yim to do tantrums in the ring on a mini-push that came to nothing and elevating nobody. Retribution had chances to save itself, but WWE didn't take those chances.

Best - Sasha wins big! At last, Sasha wins a big title match clean in a storyline payoff against Bayley. Both women at the top of their game, they earned the Hell in a Cell spot and began a title reign that would go longer than any of Sasha's other main title reigns. The Boss was finally standing on top as the main roster finally did Sasha vs Bayley right.

Worst - Orton wins big... Randy Orton had been feuding with Drew since beating Edge at Backlash, losing on consecutive title matches until Hell in a Cell, where he won despite the slow burn hints at a Fiend feud. While Randy was at the top of is heel game and Drew didn't have to hold the title all year, the multiple past attempts deflated this story as well as scrutinizing WWE constantly saying 'no rematch clauses' and 'you can't just walk in and demand a title match' but then doing the absolute same thing. Orton's title run wouldn't last either, which makes it all the more meh.

Worst - The Draft The Draft is meant to lead to surprising new dynamics and storyline changes, but 2020's Draft was a misfire. For one, there was no competition for it, Raw got 3 just because it ran longer and a percentage of the draft picks were wrestlers staying on the brand they were already on, making the shock factor limited. The Mysterios followed Rollins to Smackdown to continue their drab storyline, the tag champions swapped belts to remain colour coded and for some reason some tag teams were treated as individual and some not.

November 2020 Best - Undertaker's Retirement Ceremony After 2 previous 'retirements', the Undertaker finally hung up his boots for real this time, ending it where it began: Survivor Series. It was a very tasteful affair with nods to the card he debuted on such as the Gobbeldy Gooker and Brother Love, it was a good time and a good sendoff for one of WWE's greatest characters.

Worst - Survivor Series books it wrong While there was many good matches in Survivor Series, it did suffer from the usual booking mentality of 'Raw Superiority'. Lana became a sole survivor by default of count outs and DQs in a team including Shayna and Asuka, the Smackdown men were completely squashed despite having a strong team and Baron Corbin and finally, no NXT. There was the potential for adding Balor, Io, Priest and Imperium to these matches and that just could've elevated it, the last was more understandable though given COVID.

Worst - Not booking 3 Future Stars Andrade, Aleister and Murphy. All three had shone before reaching the main roster be it for NXT on the former two and 205 Live on the latter. But on the Main Roster their luck was a mixed bag; Murphy had recently beat Rollins clean, but after the Mysterios were about to come down with COVID themselves WWE didn't push anything with him, Andrade was a former US Champion in a faction that all fell apart within the year and Black was a shitkicker who WWE were methodically gutting. All three would soon see themselves not on tv at all, and for two they had an alarming connection.

Worst - Zelina gets fired Zelina Vega was the one who elevated Andrade to a face midcarder to a heel main eventer on NXT, she was also coming along well as a wrestler with some decent bouts with Asuka. But when WWE enacted a policy that their wrestlers couldn't profit from third party stuff like twitch, when Zelina resisted and found loopholes she found herself getting released soon after, Andrade and her irl husband Aleister Black now ominously missing from WWE, it was for the most part pettiness on WWE's behalf to forbid their talent from making money elsewhere by being themselves.

December 2020 Best - Big E wins the Big IC Without his New Day buddies, Big E could continue his singles run despite daft claims from Corey that as a decorated tag champion Big E couldn't do singles wrestling like he did when he was NXT Champion and IC Champion. But on the Christmas Smackdown taping, Big E would win the IC championship to a big babyface moment, which he would carry into Wrestlemania.

Worst - Gargano wins the NA Title (again) I have nothing against Johnny Gargano, but it is odd that he was the one to usurp Damian Priest and then Leon Ruff. To this day he still holds that title despite Dexter Lumis, Bronson Reed, LA Knight, KUSHIDA (who recently just won the Cruiserweight title) and Cameron Grimes all looking like worthy competitors to get a push. It's a strange place where Gargano builds a faction with gold but it doesn't elevate anyone around his waist.

Worst - Charlotte returns just to add another title to her list WWE's obsession with mismatched teams is matched only by their obsession with pitting a champion and no.1 contender against tag champions, both of which are overdone. So when TLC came along with Asuka having a mystery partner to face Shayna and Nia, it didn't quite land that her partner was Charlotte and they went on to win the titles...only to drop it in about a month as they teased a title match between the two. It showed the low pecking order the tag titles had, the lowered stock of Shayna and how the title change was merely to say that Charlotte had won every title in WWE (at that time).

Worst - Miz fails his Cash-In, but gets the Briefcase back The Men's MITB was horribly booked all year and time was running out, WWE had to decide whether they would have to book a failed cash in - and put the Miz in the same list as Sandow and Corbin in those who lost their cash-in (Cena and Braun if we include those who didn't capture gold), making Miz champion or hot potatoing again. At the end of TLC it looked like they picked the latter, which would've tied things up in a bow. But the following Raw, the Miz got his briefcase back because Morrison had cashed it in for him, meaning the saga was forced to continue.

January 2021 Best - Xia Li finally gets a repackage Xia Li has been on the NXT Roster for a long time, like Vanessa Borne and Aaliyah long time, but the best NXT could give her for a long time was 'Chinese Undercarder'. 2021 however made a shift, by turning Li heel with a storyline of her and Boa answering to a mystic overlord, Li turned into a brutish kickass killer, squashes building to her dispatching her former friends. While she still sits low on the card, it's promising stuff that can easily be pushed towards the main title scene, and frankly Xia Li has done her time to earn such a push.

Worst - Goldberg challenges Drew 'for disrespecting legends' The whole Goldberg fiasco was once again a rush job that served nobody except old Bill. Still soured by the fact that he cleanly defeated the Fiend and also had a horror match with Taker, nobody was quite amped to see Drew vs Goldberg at Royal Rumble. His reasoning for feuding with Drew was also confusing since he was claiming that Drew had disrespected the legends on Legends Night when he had been fully supportive and respectful towards them. Mercifully, the feud did not go Goldberg's way.

Best - The Women's Dusty Classic is Announced The Dusty Rhodes classic has in NXT become a platform for tag teams and mismatch alliances to flourish and open into newer storylines, and also to sometimes set up War Games, and with the vast depth of the NXT Women's Locker Room it was the right call for WWE to make a women's variation. The tournament allowed Candice, Dakota, Raquel, Ember and Shotzi to get tv time outside of a world title shot and so their talents weren't entirely wasted.

Worst - Sonya Returns, but as a GM Assistant When Sonya Deville took some time off post-Summerslam, she had proven herself to be skilled on the mic and in the ring. But on Jan 1st's Smackdown Sonya would be spotted and later it was officially announced that Sonya was back on Smackdown, but as Adam Pearce's assistant. Aside from some backstage talks and Street Profits trying to bribe her for a title match, Sonya hasn't seen much TV time - which is a poor utilization of her skills. The position is fine to an extent, but Sonya should be using her position to further her in-ring prospects too, take a leaf from AJ Lee's book.

Best - Edge returns at the Rumble While I was never unhappy with Edge winning the rumble I wouldn't say it was the best booking choice out of the roster. If anything though, Edge returning from Injury at Number 1 was a definite crowd-pleaser, and pitting him against Orton to resume their hostilities set the tone for the Men's Royal Rumble.

Worst - Corbin beats the Mysterios Clean on Consecutive Weeks I don't know what the purpose of this was. After returning from COVID, the Mysterios were put against King Corbin in weekly matches, Rey lost to Corbin clean, Dom lost to Corbin clean, there weren't any interferences or weapons, and there wasn't really a plot to this. Only when Dom beat Corbin thanks to Rey's help did the feud 'end', but it didn't really do anything for them, in the end, Dom cheats to win and not in an Eddie Guerrero way. It was just weird.

Best - The Women's Royal Rumble The Women's Royal Rumble in 2021 was a masterpiece, nearly every woman in that match got some shine and a bit of story. There was depth, context and clarity in the bout and the exciting prospect of the final two being Bianca and Rhea - two NXT prospects who would both later grasp gold. The ending segment solidified a perfectly-booked bout that would set a standard the men couldn't outshine that night.

Worst - The Universal Title Last Man Standing botch Handcuffed on the scaffolding, Roman Reigns looked certain to lose his Last Man Standing match against Kevin Owens as Heyman frantically tried to uncuff him. Of course, this was a botch at the worst of times but instead of attempting to ad-lib something, the Ref just restarted his count after reaching 6. It was a daft choice that killed the sails of the match, they should've either attacked the ref or let Owens - who had lost to Reigns several times already - hold the title for a month or so before dropping back to Roman.

February 2021 Best - MSK win the Classic On Impact the Rascalz were a beloved faction, and when two thirds of them jumped ship to NXT as MSK, fans were eager to see if WWE would go all the way with them, or if they would let the UK uberheel team of Grizzled Young Veterans take the spot. Fortunately they went for the former, which was a big boost for the future tag champions - only slightly delayed by injuries to both MSK and the then-champions Burch and Lorcan.

Worst - Top Tier Bad Booking on all 3 Shows Despite Smackdown and NXT regularly dwarfing Raw in quality, each show had begun a less than stellar narrative to build some feuds among their favoured wrestlers. On NXT, Gargano's faction The Way were having a Dexter Lumis problem - and although Lumis had won a non-title match against the NA Champion he did not get a title shot - one which had its bright parts but was often found goofy especially with the Indi Hartwell romance stuff. Smackdown merely had to keep it simple with Bianca and Sasha, but instead, they decided to go through the 'can they work together' route with Shayna and Nia, again shoddy booking threatened to dampen a Women's Wrestlemania Main Event. But Raw of course had the worst of it, Charlotte would be a babyface feuding with Lacey Evans, who was fucking her father...fans were already aware that Lacey has a husband and child which WWE had acknowledged before, and the feud only ended because Lacey was legitimately pregnant - which they storyline'd to be Ric's too - sparing Asuka of the same fate. It just wasn't a good time.

Best - Cameron Grimes STONKS The Gamestop Reddit Stocks moment came out of nowhere and made people a lot of money, WWE decided that Cameron Grimes would be one of those people. Already exuding charismatic energy and a decent catchphrase, making Grimes rich somehow elevated his character further as a hilariously snobby whackjob. Here's hoping he gets a solid crack at it as he cites DiBiase, maybe like he did Grimes can pay his way to the top.

Worst - Sheamus sucks at history Sheamus turning on Drew was an inevitability, and their matches were strong and entertaining affairs. But WWE really didn't try too hard to think of a reason for Sheamus to turn on Drew, citing his reasoning to be that Sheamus had lived in Drew's shadow. I mean really? We're talking about the same Sheamus who has won every men's accolade in WWE bar the IC title while Drew was doing air guitar with Heath, Jinder and Hornswoggle in the undercard? You have to make things make sense for people to buy into it.

Worst - Miz gets to be King for a Week Following on from Miz's failed cash-in was Miz's successful cash-in after Elimination Chamber - an action he succeeded in thanks to Lashley assaulting Drew post-match. While Miz being world champion again was anticipated for a long time, the timing was not right at all and fans were more or less relieved to see that Lashley would be taking the title from him within the next week. It was mostly a bit of clean up after realising that they don't want to use the MITB in the build to Wrestlemania, afterwards Miz went from WWE Champion to feuding with a rapper - also spare a thought for Morrison who doesn't really get to do anything outside of being the Miz's buddy.

March 2021 Best - Lashley wins the WWE Championship Speaking of Miz's short-lived reign, the one saving grace from it was that Lashley would claim it soon after, looking like a monster in the process. An overdue run for the man who was slowly looking like he was about to fade out of the company the same way that several others had and later would got his position to be WWE Champion, long may he reign.

Worst - La Sombra de El Idolo Andrade remains one of the most talented wrestlers of his generation, he had several paths in WWE that could have moved him to the top of the card, several feuds that people were amped for. And none of it came to be, because Andrade was granted release on his second attempt. Where Andrade El Idolo will appear next remains up for discussion, the likely route being AEW or reconvening with his old Ingobernables, but wherever he lands it'll be on his feet.

Worst - Shane returns just in time for Wrestlemania Season Shane McMahon is the boss' son, with a masochistic urge to be thrown off of things. But he doesn't seem to realise that every time he's on the card someone more deserving is not, not even with a posse as he tries to renew his 3 Minute Warning days. This time around Shane beleaguered WWE's card with a feud against Braun Strowman circulating around Shane calling him stupid and pouring green goo on him...who asked for this?

Worst - Apollo changes his accent Speaking of 'who asked for this?', Apollo's heel turn in embracing his Nigerian heritage was fine, a new edge for the otherwise smiley naive face character. But then Apollo decided to put on an accent, even though he's spent years without it. It was just unnecessary, a stamp that was to say 'I am foreign, boo my foreignness' that certainly has no room in today's wrestling. What's the odds that within a year Apollo's Nigerian Royalty gimmick will be warped into a Nigerian Prince scammer gimmick?

Worst - Women's Tag Fuckery Upon winning the women's Dusty Classic, Raquel and Dakota got a Women's Tag Opportunity against boringly longstanding champions Shayna & Nia, however rather than just pull the trigger and give the titles to them, WWE opted for a cheat finish which had Adam Pearce turn heel for the day just to screw over NXT. This was all a convoluted plan to create NXT Women's Tag Championships, which were awarded to Raquel and Dakota...before immediately losing it to Ember and Shotzi. Just what you want when establishing a new title huh? Quickfire title changes! It was all just very roundabout, should've simply announced the titles for the Women's Dusty Classic prize or given the Women's Tag to a team that could actually use it.

April 2021 Best - Edge and Roman add a bit of YES Alone Edge vs Reigns was still a highly anticipated Universal title bout. But the addition of Daniel Bryan brought in several new layers and conflicts for all characters. Each of them (like Balor vs Kross would) were presented as warriors who were forced medically to vacate the top prize only to come back stronger, each of them main evented Wrestlemania, and each of them were some of the best wrestlers in the world. The triple threat also meant that No DQ stipulations could be opened up, allowing Edge to show more of his heelish and psychotic side, as well as Bryan and Roman's viciousness. All three sold that they wanted that title and it made it stand out.

Worst - That Hurts our Business The Hurt Business was looking to become another success story in modern WWE factions. Masterminded by a resurgent MVP and helmed by now WWE Champion Bobby Lashley, Business was indeed booming. Until the final few weeks of Wrestlemania decided to cast aside Shelton and Cedric - the latter they strived to convince in joining them within the past year - and effectively dissolve the group. The loss of the Hurt Business led to high criticism, especially since Cedric and Shelton fell hard into the undercard only to see King Corbin cross brands to do Lashley's dirty work, it just wasn't a good thing and the possibility of replacing those spots with Mace and T-Bar does not quite fill the void.

Best - Cesaro gets his Push Cesaro had often been haunted by the dangling of the 'brass ring' over his head. Despite a frequent tag champion and also a US champion, WWE shied away from his strong and dedicated fanbase that desired more for the Swiss Superman/Cyborg. In the build to Elimination Chamber, fans were intrigued by Cesaro's clean wins over such names as Daniel Bryan, but were not surprised when he didn't come out on top in the chamber itself. In the aftermath though, Cesaro began a feud with Seth Rollins, someone who could boast an impressive Wrestlemania W/L record, compared to Cesaro - whose only Wrestlemania singles match was last year's Pre-Show. The match was put on Night 1 and was a lovely affair with a clear story, most importantly though Cesaro came out on top with a huge rub and like that, the Cesaro section gets to believe again.

Worst - Fiend Falls to One RKO After spending the last year re-mystifying the Fiend by having him survive all manner of things including drowning and being set on fire, the return of the Fiend to open Night 2 of Wrestlemania left a sour taste in fans' mouths. After 8 minutes of no-selling Orton's offense, Alexa Bliss reappeared with black goo over her face to distract the Fiend, he was hit with an RKO and pinned for 3. The bafflement was high as fans wondered what exactly the intention was for having the Fiend lose on his return, and why it took only one RKO to finish it when so much worse things have struggled to keep him down.

Best - NXT Stands and Delivers before Mania In what was a long and entertaining week of wrestling, NXT said goodbye to Wednesday Nights in style with their Wrestlemania-esque 2-Day Takeover. The shows were good sporting some fun matches, including an entertaining CW unification ladder match and Io passing the torch to Raquel, though NXT weren't invited to Survivor Series or Mania this time, they still put on a great show before moving to Tuesdays.

Worst - Riotts, SD Tag Champions slighted The Riott Squad currently stand as one of WWE's last surviving genuine tag teams, everyone else being singles wrestlers thrown together to avoid Main Event or Superstars. However, they also stand as a team who after multiple attempts are still not tag champions. After carrying the bulk of their Night 1 Tag Team Turmoil, the Riott Squad were unfortunately left to be felled by Natalya and Tamina - who would lose on Night 2 rendering this pointless anyway - and I have to ask, is it ever going to happen? The Riott Squad are not the only tag team hard done by at Wrestlemania, as the Smackdown Tag Championship did not even make it on the card! A fatal 4-Way between the Dirty Dawgs, Street Profits, Alpha Academy and Mysterios could've brought some infectious energy into Night 2 given the amount of talent in those four teams, but instead it got put on a 'Wrestlemania special Smackdown' while Shane vs Braun ended up on the main card. Priorities were not straight there and WWE robbed Dominik Mysterio of a Wrestlemania debut, their only contribution being a video recap and a Dirty Dawgs interview on Night 1 to prelude the Raw Tag Championship match.

Best - Wrestlemania dished out the goods, and the fans In spite of some questionable booking in the early stages, we end the list on a high. Wrestlemania didn't have the best build or go-home show, but it certainly delivered on a blend of storytelling and wrestling, big title changes for Bianca and Rhea and solid matches for the majority of the card meant that WWE ended on a high. Most importantly too, it was in front of a crowd, the ambiance very much missed on the Grandest Stage of them All.

I would rant about April 15th 2021 but I said it's from Mania 36 to 37 so yeah, footnote fuck April 15th. In the end though WWE had its ups and downs, but hopefully they will learn from some of their mistakes and come back stronger

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drethanramslay · 4 years

Note

95 & 98 for Ethan/MC pls 🥺

Thanks for the prompt Anon

You can find the prompt list here.

Taglist: @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @openheart12 @sekizincimektup @junggoku @ethandaddyramsey @edith-eggs1 @ethanramseysgirl (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list 😊)

Warning: Long(I tried to put the keep reading tag but my damn wifi won't let me 😭), Angst and slight swearing

sorry if there are any mistakes :)

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Since that bitch of a governor had trolled them and everything had gone down south, the board decided to host a charity event.

According to Leah, a charity event back home would have been a banquet hall with a Dropbox and a couple of very persistent people who would pester you till you would go nuts.

But here, it was... different.

There was aerobatics going on in one end of the room where the stage was. The number of turns they were making on the hula hoops made Leah dizzy. People wearing designer suits and gowns were standing and chatting. The place was decorated in a very classy way, with red carpets and all. Expensive hors d'oeuvres like caviar and champagne which costed a year of her salary was being distributed.

What in the actual fuck was going on? Leah thought as she stepped into the ballroom looking around before she laid her eyes on Ethan.

Broad shoulders, strong biceps and his beard could make any woman weak.

He was wearing a navy blue tux, with a crisp white shirt. He had opened the top two buttons of the shirt and she could get a peak of his strong chest and the stray chest hair. He had gelled his hair which made him look sharper. When his gaze landed on her, the ocean blue eyes darkened as he took in what she was wearing. The primal lust he had in his eyes made her want to get down on her knees and submit to him.

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Red.

It's the colour of sin. The colour of temptation.

It was the colour of the forbidden fruit which Eve had plucked and eaten, while the devil whispered in her ears, caressing her inner desires.

Red. She was wearing red.

Ethan was standing in the corner drinking expensive scotch when he saw her enter. He almost lost it. Leah was beautiful and sexy but that night, she looked like a temptress. Testing Ethan and his self control.

Self control can go out of the window. How am I supposed to survive this evening with her looking like that?! How was he supposed to make an incoherent thought around her when she dressed up like that?!

There were very few instances when he thought Leah looked good with clothes on rather than off. He loved Leah's naked body, which he had only seen twice but in this case, he could stare at her in that gown, forever.

She had donned a blood red gown. It had extensive embroidery in it, making it look classy. The bodice was like a second skin and emphasizing her curves. It started from the neck. A shear net covered her décolletage. It was an off shoulder, with the sleeves extending down her hands, as if they were her wings.

But that was not the problem which made Ethan a walking hard on, it was the slits that ran down from a little below her waist and extended to the ground, putting those glorious, long, caramel legs on display. He wanted nothing more to throw those legs over his shoulder and eat her out.

It was going to be a miserable evening.

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As the waltz music played, Ethan summoned the courage to ask her to dance with him.

Leah was talking to a couple of investors, squeezing them for their last penny with her intellect. He was proud of his sunshine. She really was intelligent and had great people skills.

And so beautiful..

"Dr. Garcia... May I have this dance?" Ethan asked in a husky voice. Leah excused herself before turning towards Ethan with a huge smile on her face. "You may, Dr. Ramsey."

He takes her hand and leads her to the dancefloor where the couples are swaying. Ethan placed one hand on her waist and clasped her hand with the other. Leah placed her hand on his shoulders and they swayed.

Leah's forehead was at the level of Ethan's lips and she felt a ghost kiss on her crown. "You look like a goddess sunshine. So divine and gorgeous."

Leah blushed, giving him a beaming smile. "You look utterly ravishing E. So hot."

Ethan chuckled. "Your compliments always amuse me."

Their eyes met. Cool blue with warm brown, complementing each other. As they stared into each other's eyes, glancing into each other's souls, the people and the chatter faded away.

It was just Leah and Ethan.

"Sunshine, can you please stop biting your lip…it’s distracting.” Ethan said, as his eyes were on her lips. Her teeth were chewing on the luscious red lips, making them so inviting. He wanted to bite that lip.

Leah snapped out of her daydream. "Huh? How?"

"Well... It makes me want to do unspeakable things to you... Which comprises of you, me and a empty room."

Leah's body responded wildly you his words. "So what's stopping you?"

"You know why Leah." Ethan let out a sigh, staring at her lips one last time.

Leah winced and snapped out of the warm gushing feeling. All she felt was cold fury slowly settling into her veins. She was getting exhausted.

Exhausted of this game.

Exhausted of constantly being turned down.

Masking her face to an impassive expression. Her eyes hardened, putting the walls right back, to protect herself. "Ah, yes Dr. Ramsey. I see."

Ethan was confused by the sudden coolness in her tone. He searched her eyes, trying to find something but it just felt like watching a brick wall.

"Leah I-"

The music came to an end and applause resounded through the room. Naveen, wearing a kurta with a Nehru jacket walked on the stage. "Good evening and thank you for coming to this charity event. Thank you for the generous donations."

Leah stepped out of his embrace and turned on her heel and walked. Ethan was going to follow her but Naveen called him on the stage to speak a few words.

Every instinct in him was screaming to follow the woman who had his heart but he turned the other way. As he stood on the stage, he saw a blur of red leaving.

And at that moment, he felt such emptiness in his heart, it pained him.

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Leah sat on the bench, at the edge of the parking lot, away from everyone.

She needed some damn peace and quiet where she could calm down the whirlpool of emotions rushing through her veins. She took out a cigarette and lighter she had stolen from Jackie.

Leah usually didn't smoke. But at moments of stress and intense emotions, she would light a blunt or two and try to relax. To forget.

She took a deep drag, tilted her head up and let out a long puff, feeling the nicotine burning and soothing her at the same time. The familiar feeling of smoke in her lungs calmed her down.

She sat back and saw the rings of smoke floating towards the starry sky.

"Sunshine." Ethan called out.

Goddammit can't even catch a fucking break.

"What is it Ramsey?'

"Are you okay?" He asked pleadingly.

Leah laughed and Ethan looked bewildered. She stood up, with her cigarette in her hand. "Okay? Ethan I am anything but okay! I am pissed, hurt and so angry that I feel like punching your handsome face."

"I'm sorry if I hurt yo-"

"Damn you Ethan. You have that one talent of hurting me without intending to do it. The way you talk, the way you smile, the way your pupils dilate when they see me and the way your stupid arms feel around me is like a tear in my heart. It hurts so bad but I will always come back."

"I-"

"No! You will shut your trap and listen. Ethan Ramsey, you are a blind, dumb, romantic knucklehead, who has such a beautiful way with words. The way you say 'sunshine' with your dumb voice makes me swoon sooo hard. Around you I feel at a loss of words. My thoughts scramble and I lose my grip. "

"What's wrong with that?"

"See! This is what's wrong. You are so fucking blind that you can't see me totally head over heels in love with you."

"Love? BUT- but how can you love me?! It's insane."

"Yes I'm a fucking maniac and a colossal dumbfuck to fall in love with you!! And God, I know you fucking hate the entire institute of marriage and love but did that stop me? NO! You made me fall for you and I hate you for that." Leah was panting. She threw her cigarette on the ground and stomped on it.

"Ight peace out, dude." She was about to walk away but Ethan grabbed her hand.

"Sunshine, sit down."

"No I'm not-"

"Sit your ass, the fuck down." Ethan's voice trembled.

She wasn't going to win this war. So she obliged.

He sat down, and collected his thoughts. "I'm a hard ass. I have mommy issues. I lash out. I drink when I am stressed. And I can get pissed if things are not perfect... The list goes on and on... And you still love me?" Leah nodded her head and Ethan chuckled. "Goddammit sunshine. You know, I don't believe in this love institute. But... I believe in you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She rolled her eyes and hugged herself.

"It means that I fucking lose my mind seeing men or women flirt with you. It means that when you enter the room I can't take my eyes off you. It means that I want to spend every waking moment beside you. If that's what love is....then I guess I am in love with you Leah Marianne Garcia."

Leah snapped her head towards him. "What?" She whispered out.

"I'm in love with you."

She cupped his cheeks and brought her forehead to his. "Say it again."

"I love you."

Tears streamed down her face. "I love you Ethan Jonah Ramsey. I love you so damn much."

Ethan pressed his lips to hers, tasting the tears of happiness falling down her face. It was such a tender and vulnerable moment. He never thought that he would be sitting on a bench, in a parking lot, confessing his feelings for a woman.

But Leah changed him, healed him, loved him.

He hugged her waist and kissed her harder, trying to pour all his love and affection for this beautiful woman in his arms.

"I need you..." Leah gasped.

Intertwining his fingers in hers, he pulled her towards his car, which was nearby.

He pushed her against the door and bent down to kiss her collarbone and the sweet spot under her ear. Leah let out a breathless moan and Ethan knew that they wouldn't be able to make it till his penthouse.

Opening the door of the backseat, Ethan climbed in first and grabbed Leah and placed her on his lap. Hands wandered touching and feeling. Gasps and moans filled up the small space and I love you's were exchanged.

Ethan tried to reach for the zipper of her dress, impatient to get her naked, but that just ended up in his hand getting tangled in the dress.

"Damn sunshine! Is this a dress or a trap?"

Leah laughed and tried to helped him not before banging her head on the roof of the car. "Ow." She rubbed her head and both of them burst out in peals of laughter.

Ethan kissed her lips they tried to accomodate but it was to no avail. Leah giggled and said, "Backseats aren’t as comfortable as movies make them out to be."

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#my asks #anushka writes #playchoices #choices stories we play #choices stories you play #choices oh #choices #open heart mc #open heart 2 #open heart #oh ethan #dr ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan jonah ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ohsy #long post #writing prompts

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warmommy2 · 5 years

Text

george l uz

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

This guy is a snuggler. He’s all about cuddling up after a long day, sitting close as you enjoy a cup of coffee together before work, and he holds your hand all the time. He’d love nothing more than a hug from his favorite girl.

B = Babesexual hater (What is their favorite book?)

Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov. He read almost all of it in one sitting and sat out on the back porch for hours when he did finish it, chain-smoking.

C = Commitment (How quick are they to get into a relationship? What about marriage?)

George rushes into relationships because they’re new and exciting, but he wouldn’t rush into a marriage. What would be the fun in ending the adventure of courtship and falling in love so soon?

D = DICK (How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He is hopelessly messy. He fails to realize there even is a mess until he’s told it’s a mess, and by then he’s in the dog house. It helps a lot, however, that he’s such a good cook. So many dishes you had never even heard of, taught to him by his grandmother, translated by him into a message of love spread across steaming plates on your kitchen table.

E = Effervescent (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He would do it in a way that sort of seems abrupt, but he would have been carefully considering whether it was the right move or not for a long time. He has to psyche himself up for it. He doesn’t want to be alone, but sometimes things just don’t work out.

F = Friendship ended with Babesexuals (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

As you can imagine, having George Luz as a best friend is a complete blast. He loves to make other people laugh and smile, and it would just wreck him if you were ever sad. He would spend so much of his time trying to make everything right for you again out of pure love.

G = Gay (Are they a generous person in general?)

Emphatically so. He takes on the problems of others a little too readily for his own good, but there’s just so much love in his heart for others. He does volunteer work, he donates, and everyone in town knows they can come to him and he will do his best to help.

H = Hatred of Babesexuals (What’s one thing that just pisses him off?)

Racists. That pretty much goes without saying for anyone (except for racists themselves), but there are few things that will turn that gorgeous smile into a scowl quicker than discrimination.

I = Insecurity of Babesexuality (What, if anything, are they insecure about in their appearance?)

His height, mostly. His personality more than makes up for it, though, takes up all the space in both dance halls and hearts alike.

J = Juice King (What’s a special talent of theirs?)

His sense of humor is its own special talent, along with his ability to make anyone laugh. Determination not to laugh only increases HIS determination. That’s why no one can really stay mad at him.

K = King (If he could be crowned king of anything, what would it be?)

George Luz is the King of Pies (the boy loves pie, what can he say?).

L = Living Room (What are you most likely to find in their living room?)

There are four radios in his living room. Why, you may ask? He doesn’t know, don’t listen to him, he just likes collecting stuff.

M = Mourning (How do they mourn for lost loved ones?)

When he mourns, George is silent. Nothing quite communicates his loss more than this emptiness of gesture and sound. He is despondent and never talks about it again. He’s never been good at losing people.

N = Night Owl (How late does he stay up at night?)

His sleeping schedule is a little crazy. Not that he doesn’t love to sleep, he has a hard time getting to bed at a decent hour. There’s just so much to do, so much to listen to, so much to read, so much to experience, (hopefullY) so much kissing and cuddling to be done!

O = Optimist (Do they have a generally good outlook on life?)

Absolutely. He’s a good guy, that George Luz, that crazy sucker. He inspires optimism in other people, too, and sure, he can be a bit snarky with a hint of cynicism at times, but that’s not how he is in his heart and his core. He’s seen how bad things can truly be in this world, and he’s determined to see the very best in everything, now that that’s over.

P = Phone (Who’s he most likely to call if something goes wrong?)

That depends on what you mean by ‘goes wrong’. If he’s done something stupid and needs to get bailed out of jail? Lipton. If he’s been dumped and has a broken heart? Lipton. If he burns the sauce and it sticks to the bottom of the pot?

…Lipton. Okay, maybe it doesn’t really depend on anything, he just calls Lip.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers everything. When you’re out and someone bumps into you, he’s having full-length conversations with someone who is a total stranger to you, asking about their children by name, asking about whether or not they got that leaky roof fixed, stuff like that.

R = Ravenous (Name one dish they absolutely LOVE.)

Make 👏 him 👏 a 👏 pie 👏. Chocolate silk pie. Apple pie. Blueberry pie. Cherry pie. Peach cobbler. Make 👏 him 👏 a 👏 pie 👏.

S = Sugar Gay?

He loves the smell of the spices his grandma uses to cook. There’s no aroma in the world more pleasant, welcoming, and full of memories of happiness and love than that.

T = Titty

Has he ever shut up? Ever?

U = Ugh (Something that makes him instantly roll his eyes)

Anything, once his tiny attention span wears out, but then he just bounces on to the next thing. No big deal.

V = Vespertine (What the fuck does this word mean?) ok jk Vagina

He takes a walk every single evening, unless the weather is just really bad. He calls it George Time, and it is considered holy.

W = Well-Mannered (Can they behave themselves in public?)

He’s truly all over the place, and he’ll push the envelope a bit for the sake of a laugh, but he means well. He may be erratic, perhaps chaotic, but he’s an angel and everyone knows it.

X = Xbox (What’s their favorite video game?)

George Luz fucking loves Stardew Valley. He’s completely obsessed with it. He has watched more YouTube videos than he has even played the game, and he plays it a lot.

Y = Yuck (Name one dish they absolutely HATE.)

He doesn’t really like vegetables! He despises green bean casserole, it makes him gag.

Z = Zing! (What’s a joke they would make about themselves?)

He is not afraid to make jokes at his own expense and probably does so at least a dozen times a day. They often refer to the thing he’s most insecure about and he frequently compares himself to Tyrion Lannister (not just because he’s small, but because he has a giant personality as well and is AWESOME).

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thesilverdragoon · 5 years

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Little Ladies’ Day

“I’LL KILL HIM- LET GO-”

“FOR BLOODY SAKE SOMEONE GRAB HOLD OF THAT SHRIEKIN’ DEVIL-”

And grab hold of the miqo’te, they did. Well… the bravest roegadyn they had anyway.

“SHE’S A LUNATIC, I’M NOT FIGHTING THAT- IT WOULDN’T EVEN BE A FAIR RIGHT!!” Some young punk had the wind knocked out of his sails.

Ul’dah’s arena was always lively, but this was a bit much. The host of this particular venue (or event or whichever it was)made a noise of annoyance or disapproval or both, and then stomped over towards the hurricane of claws. “Get a hold of yourself yeah?!? Ya see what ya bloody do? I’m tryin’ ta run a business here and all YOU’RE doin’ is scarin’ away all the competition, and if there’s none of THAT,” He grabbed the back of her shirt roughly from the guard and jostled her around. “Then there ain’t any GIL comin’ in!! Yer runnin’ me damned DRY!!”

“Then get me someone who can FIGHT who’s not such a CRY BABY AND WE’LL-” Cat hissed.

“I’ll not be bargaining with the likes of a devil. Much less you!!! Now you go cool off or else yer goin’ ta take that stub of yers an’ shove th’rest of it up yer arse!!”

They tossed her back out into the street with that final word.

Cat sprang to her feet and puffed up, ready to start screaming at the door, but she thought better of it at the end.

Instead she grabbed a nearby empty crate off a whole stack of them and threw it into the street before storming off, back to the main walkway of the city.

Cool off… how dare they. It wasn’t her fault they could hardly find anyone brave enough to face her AND her wrath.

Despite it being later in the evening, many people were out and about. The city was still lively. Not like Ul’dah ever slept anyway.

There were blossom trees that had been brought in big pots up and down the street, ribbons tied everywhere, colorful confetti and flowers all over the place too. Everything she hated. Except the flowers. Maybe.

The sights made her bitter if anything. Fathers out with daughters, husbands with wives, siblings with one another, all having what looked to be a good time.

Many of the girls had flower crowns made of daisies, in all sorts of colors. And they were fragrant too. It smelled like flowers all over the place. Cat wrinkled her nose.

Why did she even walk in this direction? It only made her more upset than she already was, though for entirely different reasons.

So she stomped on past, looking for a side street to occupy. And when she found one, she sat down and fell back against one of the stone walls, closing her eyes, brows furrowed angrily.

She could still hear the crowds. But that was as good as it was going to get.

Then her stomach rumbled.

And no coin meant no food. Or a place to stay. Or anything.

Everything, well, nearly everything Lowrey said would happen, did. She could hardly keep a job, the law was on her ass constantly with all of the brawling, and she was usually a slave to whatever work she could find. Like now. But even they were at their wits end. She didn’t have any skills, any talents. Nothing. Only fighting.

And screaming.

She’d have rather died than telling that idiot he was right.

Besides… it wasn’t like she hadn’t lived this way before. She could do it.

Then why was it such a pain?

Hesitantly, she got up again and meandered towards the market place. At least she could steal something to eat, if they weren’t making any holiday snacks for free already.

Food stalls lined the bazaar, cooking away as usual. Cat easily slipped back into the crowds, eventually eyeballing a really busy kabob stand. Perfect.

She pushed her way to the front and waited. Everything looked so tasty… and orange. But it looked like it would be hard to reach from where she was.

Cat frowned. Maybe it wasn’t worth it.

She turned and immediately crashed face first into a whole lot of blue. “OW-” It didn’t hurt, but that was what came out. Followed by a strangled hiss.

When she looked up, her ears flattened. “You-”

“Sorry, you should be more careful on where you are-”

“YOU’RE THE SON OF A BITCH WITH THE BIKE!!!” Cat shrieked angrily. If it wasn’t for that damned thing Lowrey wouldn’t have taken it-

“Excuse me??” The elezen looked down at her before realizing. “Wait- I know you-”

“LIKE HELL YA DO-” Before Cat could fly directly towards his face, the knight picked her up by the back of her shirt and held her up like a helpless kitten.

“I had wondered where you had gotten off to after the whole incident back there by the Ruby Sea. Your companion said you came back to Eorzea.”

“LET GO OF ME-”

Some of the locals nearby recognized the yelling, and even saw it from afar. And they said nothing.

Anyone who could render Cat useless was good in their books.

“Stop shouting. I would like to hear what you have been up to. Not here, though.” Vesevont glanced around before making his way out of the crowd by the food stands and heading towards the nearest city gate.

They left Ul’dah behind, stepping out into the dry lands with nothing but the crickets and other things that lived out there.

Only then did he put Cat down. They sat on the edge of a crumbling wall nearby, looking out over the craggy hills.

Cat kept her arms crossed defensively. “This is so fucking stupid. This is all YOUR fault this happened. If it hadn’t been for your dumbass bike then we wouldn’t have BEEN IN that MESS.”

Ves hardly reacted. Being verbally abused like this was comforting in a twisted way. It reminded him of Mischa. If anything, he missed it. “Your friend, loathe as I am to call him as such, stole the device from me. And the trouble that came with it. I did not set the Garleans on you.”

“I DON’T CARE!! I LOST MY STUPID TAIL CUZ OF YOU IF YOU AIN’T NOTICED YET!!” Cat sprang up again, clenching her fists tightly.

Ves looked down at them, and then up at her. “I’m sorry.” He had nothing to be sorry for and he knew it.

But saying so thankfully defused the miqo’te’s growing temper, for the time being. Instead, she looked away and threw her arms in the air momentarily before letting them drop in defeat.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes, until Cat decided to sit back down once more.

“....Guess none of it fucking matters now anyway. I don’t work for that ungrateful fuck anymore. Or that lousy cheat.”

“I heard.” Ves answered.

“Yeah? What ELSE did you hear?” She snapped.

“Nothing beyond that.” The knight scratched at his face idly. “I had just found it odd, or maybe surprising to hear at the time was all.”

“Hmph.”

The silence came again.

“This holiday they’re having in the city is interesting. I’ve never seen one like it before.”

Cat glanced over at the elezen again. “What?? Oh. I dunno. Little Ladies’ Day or something. It’s so dumb.”

“I think it’s quite lovely actually.”

“Lovely. You think it’s ‘lovely’???” Here was this scarred up Ishgardian dragon slayer calling the holiday ‘lovely.’ It didn’t make any sense to her, and she laughed in disbelief at that. “Ok well I guess if you got a girlfriend or a wife or a kid then fine, I guess.”

Ves sighed. “I do not. No. Only a son.”

“Well there, see? Good for you.”

“I don’t think he would be interested in many of the things I’ve come across in my travels around Eorzea.” There was a note of defeat in there somewhere.

Cat’s ear twitched. “Well… kinda hard to like old-people things. They’re pretty boring.”

Ves made no facial reaction in particular. “If we all liked the same things, that WOULD be boring. Yes. Though.. I would not say I am terribly exciting. You are correct.”

The miqo’te gave a smug grin of satisfaction. “Yup.”

“Regardless,” Ves leaned back, looking up to the night sky. “If you were not happy there, then better that you left. There’s no point in staying in a place that doesn’t make you happy. ..Provided you have no one counting on you to stay.”

Cat frowned. “...I guess.”

The elezen nodded, before standing again. “So, have you had anything to eat? We can go back, now that you’ve calmed down.”

Cat’s stomach grumbled on cue, and her face flushed red. “Shut up.” She growled.

Ves shrugged, and turned back to head into the city. And Cat, not wanting to be alone, reluctantly followed.

They went back to the marketplace, and he offered to buy her something to eat. Anything she wanted. And she most certainly pointed out some of the more expensive snacks in an attempt to get him to snap at her and tell her that it cost too much money.

But he didn’t. And she got everything she wanted.

If anything, it confused her. And made her angrier, but it fizzled out once they had finished eating and gone back to the main plaza in Ul’dah. There were still a considerable amount of people out, though, it was clear that they would start turning in for the evening soon.

A few lalafell stood nearby handing out flower crowns to anyone who wanted one. “We’re not leaving until we’re out of supplies! Which will be very soon! Come get one!!” Ves’ ear twitched, as did Cat’s (and at about the same time no less.) He looked down at her, and she quickly looked elsewhere, again, giving the most sour expression she possibly could. “Would you like one??” ��HUH?? NO FLOWER CROWNS ARE FOR BIG BABIES!”

Ves pursed his lips with a half lidded gaze. He didn’t buy it. “Wait here.” “What??? NO! No that’s so EMBARRASSING! STOP IT! NOO!!-” Cat shrieked and went after him, but there was little she could do.

“I’ll take one.” “Of course sir! Lucky you, this one is second to the last! But no lesser than the others! And who is your lucky maiden tonight?-” “STOP-” “There she is.” “Ah, I see.” Cat crashed into the elezen again as he turned around, almost knocking herself completely to the ground. “I don’t WANT it, put it BACK! Give it to someone ELSE! People will laugh at me if they saw me wearing something like that!!-” “What, this??” Ves held up the flower crown and looked down at her, clueless look and all. “Why? I’m sure it would look very pretty on you.” “W-Well it WON’T!! And I’m NOT little so it wouldn’t even WORK-” She was growing more and more flustered by the minute.

“With all due respect miss, the crowns are for any maiden! Both large and small! And you seem very lucky to have a seneschal of your own here this day!- EEP-” The lalafell chimed in before hiding behind his other companion as Cat hissed in their direction.

Ves sighed. “Close your eyes.” “I swear if you put that thing anywhere NEAR ME-” “Just do it.” “I MEAN IT I’LL KILL YOU-” “No you won’t.”

Despite being so monotone about it, there was something behind it. An immense amount of power or authority, or something else- something to be feared maybe. Or...or maybe it was just a very dad-ish flavor. Cat had no idea what it was, but she hated it. Reluctantly, she closed her eyes, teeth bared and ears flat.

“I mean it.” She snarled. There was a slight weight on her head and the smell of daisies then. Damn it. Damn it all. She kept her eyes shut and could feel her lip quivering already, face about as hot as a bed of coals.

“All right. You can open your eyes now.” When she did, she couldn’t see anything. Everything was blurry and full of globby tears and a tonz of upset.

Ves seemed unperturbed by the crying. Not in a bad way though. “I told you. You look lovely.”

“Shut up,” Cat sniffed, sounding all stuffed up.

“I will. I was just about to be on my way. I was not sure what I would find here in Ul’dah, but I didn’t mind accidentally becoming your seneschal for the evening. Even if you did.” The miqo’te wiped at her eyes furiously. She suddenly felt sad that he was going to leave. But her pride be damned if she said anything now. So she didn’t. “Yeah well…” She still refused to look at him.

Ves understood though. He’d been through this song and dance before. And he smiled gently. “Likewise thank you for being my young maiden for the night.” It sounded a little awkward but Cat knew what he meant. He even stood at attention and offered a very formal and graceful bow.

“Ok ok… Just...fine, whatever…”

Ves knew there was a thank you in there somewhere. Like Mischa, it was probably physically killing her to say it. But he wasn’t cruel.

With one more nod, they parted ways. Or rather, the knight did. Cat stayed standing where she was for a while longer before meandering off towards an alleyway. The sky overhead looked dark and gloomy. The clouds had rolled in, and it started sprinkling.

Once she found a place to sit, she took off the crown and turned it over a few times, trying very hard not to cry again. Instead, she just buried her face into her knees as she hugged them tight, feeling very, very lonely.

#IN WHICH VES HAS A MOMENT with his daughter without knowing thats his daughter oops #Cat is dying by the end #i like writing lil things like this for holidays and what have you #gomen i'll edit later too tired

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lothirielswan · 5 years

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“Angry at Life, Smitten with You.” [8] [FINAL CHAPTER]

~The Veiled Stairs, Pandaria~

After handing over the evidence to Baine, Dezco returned me to Pandaria. I knew I shouldn't stay–now that Baine had reason to suspect Garrosh, the orc would be on the hunt for me soon. I needed to find a solution to that...but there was someone I needed to see first.

As I arrived at the top of the steps in the Veiled Stairs inn, I knocked on the side of the wall. “Hi.”

Anduin’s gaze was fixed on the pages in a book, and I caught a glimpse of his expression as he read with an eyebrow arched before looking up. When he saw me, his face brightened.

“Hello,” Andy struggled to sit up as I approached the table. The deep grimace on his face deeply bothered me as he did so, but he concealed it with another smile. “Did everything go alright? How’s Baine?”

I plopped myself down next to him and scooted the stool closer. I didn't want to tell him about returning to Orgrimmar. Anduin would never let me hear the end of it, and he was in enough pain without news of my reconnaissance. I regretted keeping another secret from him, so I would tell him...when it was no longer relevant and he forgot who Garrosh was.

“It went well. Baine believed my story, he’s alerting the troll resistance first because they’re closer...soon the entire Horde will know, and they’ll inform the Alliance.” I said. When Baine did receive the evidence, it did wonders to my image. My intervention with Theramore was forgotten and people saluted me as I passed. It was a little grandstanding for my taste, but I hopefully helped save the Horde from disaster.

“I'm glad, you did the right thing.” Andy’s hands vanished on the other side of his chair. “And I got you something to celebrate.”

Anduin set a golden box on the table in front of me. I politely held a hand over my gaping mouth to hide my shock at the intricate grooves in the design. Rubies and emeralds sparkled across the top.

“Anduin, you didn't have to do this,” I said, still awed by what I was in the presence of. “I won't let you spoil me.”

“You deserve it,” Andy replied, taking hold of my hand and bringing it to his lips. How did the son of Varian Wrynn become such a gentleman?

I smiled as I turned back to the gift. “What is this?”

“You told me earlier that you used to use crystals to record music when you were younger. It's not much, but I wanted to get you something you liked,” Anduin said.

“You’ve succeeded,” I murmured as my fingers traced the fine grooves of the box. I opened the golden chest and a soft tune played as a pink rose twisted in the center. I recognized the song as the exact one we danced to weeks ago.

This is beyond beautiful–it’s so thoughtful and sweet. And talk about expensive! Look at the jewels on this thing, did Andy sell half of Stormwind just to make this?

The gesture made me adore Anduin more (which I didn't think was possible), but it also reminded me of music on Outland. I had stayed away from instruments and singing since I arrived on Azeroth...perhaps I shouldn’t have turned my back on the musical arts.

“Is everything alright?” Anduin’s hand gently fell on my shoulder. “Do you like it?”

I swallowed a lump in my throat and moistened my lips. “I love it. It's perfect...just like you.”

I leaned forward on the edge of my stool and cupped Anduin’s face in my hands as I kissed him. The soft pressure of his lips against mine left me breathless. He leaned into my touch and I felt him shiver beneath my fingers. I paused and gently pulled away.

“Thank you,” Anduin replied with another fake cough to hide his burning cheeks. It was his new habit to thank me after every kiss we shared and it always left me in a giddy mood.

“That's my line, your majesty,” I mused as I straightened the collar of his diplomatic robes. When my thumb grazed his neck, I frowned at the icy temperature.

“Are you cold?” I asked as I studied Anduin’s pale features.

Andy shrugged, and I noticed another tremor run through his body. “A little. I'm alright.”

I keep secrets and he tells lies. We’re the perfect couple.

I glanced over my shoulder and found his guards out of sight; drunken laughter came from the bar downstairs. I stood from my stool and rolled my coat off my shoulders.

“Eona? What are you–oh,” Anduin sighed as I curled up on top of him and set my coat on top of us like a blanket. Being half dragon had its perks: I could eat all the spicy food I wanted, I could hoard a collection of things without shame, and I hardly ever got cold. Jaina took advantage of the latter and sat next to me whenever she was freezing at one of our meetings.

With my head on his chest, I asked, “Better?”

“Much. Thank you,” Andy replied, holding me close and setting his chin on the crown of my head.

I loved that single perfect moment, listening to Andy’s heartbeat as it throbbed in tune with the music box. The soft hymn mixed with the sound of his slow breaths. And then my mind had to ruin it.

No matter how much I want to stay, I can't. Garrosh will catch up with me, and I might even doom Andy if I remain here. But I feel like Anduin’s condition is getting worse...and I probably worsened it somehow by kissing him so much. Where could I remain safe from Garrosh, meanwhile helping Andy?

My eyes flew open. Wrathion’s going to kill me. And I might just let him.

~Wyrmrest Temple, Northrend~

“It makes sense, right?” I asked Kalec nervously as we ascended the many marble steps of Wyrmrest Temple. Even through the thick gray walls, the flapping of powerful wings and roaring flames could be heard.

Kalec nodded beside me. Kalecgos was one of the first to greet me when I arrived on Azeroth, so I had felt closer to him than others. His half elf, half human form squeezed in beside me on the stairs as we walked side by side. Sometimes he smelled like smoke (no big surprise there), other times like the ivory trees of Crystalsong Forest.

“An orc won't go near you with Alexstrasza upstairs,” Kalec agreed, his blue hair waving with his effortless climb up the stairs. “But last I checked, you two didn't have a...peaceful history.”

I bit my lip as we reached as high as the stairs would go. The temple extended into a sitting room overlooking the constant chaos outside. Three dragons turned to us in their humanoid forms, all frowning at my presence.

While I respected Alexstrasza for her former hardships, we had disagreements over the past–especially over Wrathion. But Alexstrasza was the perfect safety net I needed against Garrosh...and other reasons.

“I don't have a choice this time,” I muttered, keeping my voice low from the onlookers.

Kalec and I left the parlor behind as we came to a teleportation device to the upper levels. I shot him an apologetic glance–he didn't have to go through the stairs and cursed glares. But Kalec insisted on my behalf, like the big brother figure he portrayed.

“How is Jaina?” Kalec asked as his hands hovered over the gold teleportation mechanism.

“Angry at life, smitten with you.” I replied.

Kalec smiled, “Most sisters would hate the brother that is dating their best friend.”

“Well, you guys are still cute. Give it a month,” I teased.

Kalec chuckled and finally activated the teleporter. I was blinded by a white flash and then greeted by new surroundings.

The air was cooler at the top of Wyrmrest Temple. An oasis of snow could be seen at all sides at the top of the massive structure. Looming silhouettes awaited us.

“By the way, about your house…” Kalec trailed off.

My eyes widened. No. No–don’t tell me I'm that stupid.

“It smells like smoke–” Kalec said.

DAMMIT I'M THE BIGGEST IDIOT IN AZEROTH THAT BURNED DOWN HER OWN HOUSE–AND NOT IN THE COOL FIREBREATHING WAY.

“I turned off the stove, but I was too late to save your cookies.” Kalec said, amused at the look of fear in my eyes.

I heaved a sigh of relief that I’d been holding as long as I had traveled across Pandaria. I hugged Kalec and said with my voice muffled by his chest, “I love you.”

“I know.” I knew Kalec was smiling with his tone of voice, “You have many talents, Eona, but cooking is not one of them.”

“I always end up burning everything–don’t laugh at me!”

We broke apart, and I squared my shoulders as I approached my impending doom. Kalec placed a warm hand on my shoulder, and walked close behind me as I approached the tall figures at the end of the platform.

From the astounding view to the golden-trimmed pillars, it was obvious someone of high importance was here. And I greeted one of them in the strongest voice I could muster, “Grandma.”

Alexstrasza turned, and two fiery suns for eyes stared wide at me. “Eona? You returned.”

As I stepped closer, I saw others of great importance. I shared a smile with the bronze dragon Chromie in her gnome form. Ysera was dozing off where she stood, but her eyes focused on me during it and managed a nod.

“I have, with a proposition,” I said, willing my fingers to stay still as I stood straight. Alexstrasza would probably give me anything if I asked, but I knew better than to be in debt with a dragon–especially the Life Binder.

“Of course?” As Alexstrasza’s head dipped to the side, the gold embroidery on her horns jingled.

Kalec stood beside me now and we exchanged a look. He gave me a reassuring nod.

“I’ll return to you–to Wyrmrest Temple–on one condition.” I said. “To heal the Prince of Stormwind from his recent injuries.”

Kalec gaped at me from the sidelines. I caught his staring and squinted, “What? I'm allowed to date blond mortals too.”

“Dating?” Alexstrasza’s pinkish face lit up. “I'm getting great grandchildren…! You’re not pregnant now–”

“No! Of course not.” Chromie chuckled at my reddening face. “Just fix his condition and I’ll stay as long as you want.”

The hopeful grin on her face made me rethink my words. “–Or a year. A year is good.”

“Wonderful!” Alexstrasza closed the short distance between us and embraced me tight. Kalec gazed at the awkward hug with an arched eyebrow as I lightly patted her arm.

“Um…” I still had one last request. “Can I say goodbye first before my jail time starts?”

“Of course,” Alexstrasza broke away as Kalec conjured a portal to the Veiled Stairs. Chromie, Kalec, and Alexstrasza leaned in eagerly to catch a blurry image of Anduin. Ysera would’ve joined in if not for her soft snores.

“We never speak of this,” Kalec said, his eyes widening at the familiar blond hair and blue eyes. “Never again.”

“He looks like a good influence,” Alexstrasza cooed over my shoulder.

“He looks like your father,” Chromie’s comment was the most terrifying of all three.

I huffed as I stepped through the portal and the icy atmosphere melted away. My expression grew more grave as I thought of what I had to do. As I stared at Anduin reading at the table, his golden head bowed, my chest tightened.

I already told Wrath and he had a temper tantrum. This can't be any worse than that...but it feels like it.

“Andy?” Where I could muster strength to display to Alexstrasza, I cracked in the presence of the boy that traveled an entire continent with me. Anduin looked up at my pale expression.

I don't want to do this...I feel like I'm going to throw up. I pushed my feelings down, and sat down next to him. Anduin naturally took hold of my hands like it was a habit, “Are you alright, Eona?”

“No. Not really,” I admitted as his fingers traced calming circles over my hands. “I'm afraid...I have to leave Pandaria. The old people in my family are eating hearts again.”

Anduin froze. “That’s common among dragons?”

“No! No,” I said, silently cursing myself for using that metaphor.

“Oh.” Anduin’s shoulders sagged. “But you are leaving?”

“I am.” I studied at our intertwined fingers. “I wanted to help you because I owed you for traveling across the continent and putting up with me...and now I want to stay, because I really like you.”

I finally looked up when Anduin reached over to tuck my bangs behind my ear. I swallowed when I admitted, “I don't know when I'm going to see you again.”

“Neither do I.” Andy said. His hand remained behind to caress my cheek, “But when we do, we’ll pick up right where we left off.”

I stepped out on the other side of the portal and scowled. “Really?”

While Kalec and Chromie dotted their cheeks with tissues, Alexstrasza sobbed into a handful of them. “We’ve only known you two as a couple for like five minutes, but that was really heartbreaking to watch.”

Ysera finally jolted herself awake. “What did I miss?”

EONA STRIDER WILL RETURN.

Want to relive the journey? Check the Caverns of Time for previous chapters!

Have a different reading preference? Check Archive of Our Own for quicker updates here!

#holy crapface #its done #mists of pandaria #world of warcraft #anduin wrynn #eona strider #kalecgos #chromie #alexstrasza

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somethingspecialhq-blog · 5 years

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full name: katherine diana wilde age: 17 grade: junior. gender identity: cis female pronouns: she/her sexual & romantic orientation: bisexual, biromantic (closeted) family members of importance: cat named Dinah, 5 years. clubs/teams (if any): glee club, cheerios positive traits: confident, spiritual, intelligent, ambitious, talented negative traits: cutthroat, intimidating, vitriolic, judgmental, hot-headed

biography

Kitty Wilde came out of the womb rolling her eyes, her hands on her hips, and a lot of opinions already on the tip of her tongue. Okay, maybe she only came out screaming and crying like the rest of the population, but most people who know her would believe that the first scenario was the case. She got her start as a pageant girl, only four years old when her mother entered her in her first competition and only five when she earned her first crown. Kitty was coached like crazy in order to bring home crowns, prize money (even though her family was already loaded), and bragging rights. As she got older, it became exhausting, distracting from her schoolwork, and damn it, the dresses were just so itchy. There’s a vivid memory that Kitty has of being nine years old and telling her mother she was done with pageants and being told “Don’t be stupid.” The next morning, her expensive pageant dress was torn to shreds mysteriously, getting the message across to Mrs. Wilde that it was over.

Kitty grew up believing every single thing her parents told her. As an only child, she was sheltered and took everything they said as law. Being gay was wrong? Women belonged in the kitchen? You name it, she believed it until she reached an age where she began to question everything. If women belonged in the kitchen, why was her best friend’s mother a lawyer? If being gay was wrong, why did she see so many people coming out around her on television and even sometimes in her own school? She became critical of the way her parents and the church she attended taught her to think and burrowing out of the shell that she’d been trapped in, reading everything she could get her hands on. It turned out that her parents were…simply bigoted. She can’t say anything to her parents without it being turned into some big issue, so she sure as hell is never going to tell them about her bisexuality. As a result of all of this, she keeps her opinions to herself while she’s at home, plasters a smile on her face and hopes for the best. Though, she is as snarky as they come, so it’s only natural that she lets out a few cheap shots from time to time.

At her core, Kitty is very much “Do no harm, take no shit,” which to her, whether it’s correct or not, means that she isn’t a physical fighter. It’s all about using her words against those who’ve wronged her or those she thinks are just flat out wrong. She can seem stuck up or rude, and it wouldn’t be truthful to say that she wasn’t those things at all, but the part of her that loves her friends and her God are very soft. She’d do anything for the people she cares for most, including let her careful guard down when only her loved one is looking. If you hurt someone she loves, pardon the terrible pun, but the claws are going to come out immediately and without even a little restraint. Her words can bite, and her love can heal. It’s up to the people around her which side they want to be on. As a member of the cheerios, her social status at school is in high standing, and she plans to keep it that way by any means necessary. High school is a hierarchy whether people like it or not, so who is she to change up the status quo?

#sshqkitty #sshqbio

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unsettlingshortstories · 4 years

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The Bog Girl

Karen Russell (2016)

The young turf-cutter fell hard for his first girlfriend while operating heavy machinery in the peatlands. His name was Cillian Eddowis, he was fifteen years old, and he was illegally employed by Bos Ardee. He had celery-green eyes and a stutter that had been corrected at the state’s expense; it resurfaced whenever he got nervous. “Th-th-th,” he’d said, accepting the job. How did Cillian persuade Bos Ardee to hire him? The boy had lyingly laid claim to many qualities: strength, maturity, experience. When that didn’t work, he pointed to his bedroom window, a quarter mile away, on the misty periphery of the cutaway bog, where the undrained water still sparkled between the larch trees. The intimation was clear: what the thin, strange boy lacked in muscle power he made up for in proximity to the work site.

Peat is harvested from bogs, watery mires where the earth yawns open. The bottom is a breathless place—cold, acidic, anaerobic—with no oxygen to decompose the willow branches or the small, still faces of the foxes interred there. Sphagnum mosses wrap around fur, wood, skin, casting their spell of chemical protection, preserving them whole. Growth is impossible, and Death cannot complete her lean work. Once cut, the peat becomes turf, and many locals on this green island off the coast of northern Europe still heat their homes with this peculiar energy source. Nobody gives much thought to the fuel’s mortuary origins. Cillian, his mother, and several thousand others lived on the island, part of the archipelago known to older generations as the Four Horsemen. It’s unlikely that you’ve ever visited. It’s not really on the circuit.

Neolithic farmers were the first to clear the island’s woods. Two thousand years later, peat had swallowed the remains of their pastures. Bogs blanketed the hills. In the Iron Age, these bogs were portals to distant worlds, wilder realms. Gods travelled the bogs. Gods wore crowns of starry asphodels, floating above the purple heather.

Now industrial harvesters rode over the drained bogs, combing the earth into even geometries. On the summer morning that Cillian found the Bog Girl, he was driving the Peatmax toward a copse of trees at the bog’s western edge, pushing the dried peat into black ridges. True, it looked as if he was pleating shit, but Cill had a higher purpose. He was saving to buy his neighbor Pogo’s white hatchback. Once he had a car, it would be no great challenge to sleep with a girl or a woman. Cillian was open to either experience. Or both. But he was far too shy to have an eye-level crush on anyone in his grade. Not Deedee, not Stacia, not Vicki, not Yvonne. He had a crush, taboo and distressing, on his Aunt Cathy’s ankles in socks. He had a crush on the anonymous shoulders of a shampoo model.

He had just driven into the western cutaway bog when he looked over the side of the Peatmax and screamed. A hand was sticking out of the mud. Cillian’s first word to the Bog Girl required all the air in his lungs: “Ahhhhhhfuuuuuck!”

Here was a secret, flagging him down. A secret the world had kept for two thousand years and been unable to keep for two seconds longer. The bog had confessed her.

When the other men arrived, Cillian was on his knees, scratching up peat like a dog. Already he had dug out her head. She was whole and intact, cocooned in peat, curled like a sleeping child, with her head turned west of her pelvis. Thick, lustrous hair fanned over the tarp, the wild red-orange of an orangutan’s fur, dyed by the bog acids. Moving clouds caused her colors to change continuously: now they were a tawny bronze, now a mineral blue. It was a very young face.

Cradling her head, Cillian lost all feeling in his legs. A light rain began to fall, but he would not relinquish his position. Every man gathered was staring at them. Ordinarily, their pronged attention encircled him like a crown of thorns, making him self-conscious, causing red fear to leak into his inner vision. Today, he didn’t give a damn about the judgments of the mouth-breathers above him. Who had ever seen a face so beautiful, so perfectly serene?

“Mother of God!” one of the men screamed. He pointed to the noose. A rope, nearly black with peat, ran down the length of her back.

Murder. That was the men’s consensus. Bos Ardee called the police.

But Cillian barely heard the talk above him. If you saw the Bog Girl from one angle only, you would assume that she was a cherished daughter, laid to rest by hands that loved her. But she had been killed, and now her smile seemed even more impressive to him, and he wanted only to protect her from future harm. The men kept calling her “the body,” which baffled Cillian—the word seemed to blind them to the deep and flowing dream-life behind her smile. “There is so much more to you than what they see,” he reassured her in a whisper. “I am so sorry about what happened to you. I am going to keep you safe now.”

After this secret conversation, Cill fell rapidly in love.

Cillian was lucky that he met his girlfriend on such a remote island. When these bodies are discovered in Ireland, for example, or in the humid Florida bogs sprinkled between Disney World and Cape Canaveral, things proceed differently. The area is cordoned off. Teams of experts arrive to excavate the site. Then the bog people are carefully removed to laboratories, museums, where gloveless hands never touch them.

Cillian touched her hair, touched the rope. He was holding the reins of her life. Three policemen had arrived, and they conferred above Cillian, their black boots squeezing mud around the bog cotton. Once it had been determined that the girl was not a recent murder victim, the policemen relaxed. The chief asked Cillian a single question: “You’re going to keep her, then?”

Gillian Eddowis was on a party line with her three sisters. She tucked the phone under her chin and took the ruby kettle off the range, opening a window to shoo the blue steam free. In the living room, roars of studio laughter erupted from the television; Cillian and the Bog Girl were watching a sitcom about a Canadian trailer park. Their long silences unnerved her; surely they weren’t getting into trouble, ten feet away from her? She had never had cause to discipline her son. She wouldn’t know where to begin. He was so kind, so intelligent, so unusual, so sensitive—such an outlier in the Eddowis family that his aunts had paid him the modern compliment of assuming that he was gay.

Voices sieved into Gillian’s left ear:

“You want to warn them,” Sister Abby said.

“But, Virgin Mother, there is no way to warn them!” Sister Patty finished.

“We were all sixteen once,” Cathy growled. “We all survived it.”

“Cillian is fifteen,” Gillian corrected. “And the girlfriend is two thousand.”

Abby, who had seen a picture of the Bog Girl in the local newspaper, suggested that somebody was rounding down.

A university man had also read the story of the Bog Girl’s discovery. He’d taken a train and a ferry to find them. “I’ve come to make an Urgent Solicitation on Behalf of History,” he said. He wanted to acquire the Bog Girl for the national museum. The sum he offered them was half of Gillian’s salary at the post office.

In the end, what had happened? Christian feeling had muzzled her. How could she sell a girl to a stranger? Or pretend that she had any claim to her, this orphan from the Iron Age? Gillian told the university man that the Bog Girl was their house guest, and would be living with them until Social Services could locate her next of kin. At this, all the purple veins in the man’s neck stood out. His tone sank into petulant defeat. “Mark my words, you people do not have the knowledge to properly care for her,” he said. “She’ll fall apart on you.” The Bog Girl, propped up next to the ironing board, watched them argue with an implacable smile. The university man left empty-handed, and for a night and a day Gillian was a hero to her son.

“So she’s just freeloading, then? Living off your dime?” Cathy asked.

“Oh, yes. She’s quite shameless about it.”

How could she explain to her sisters what she could barely admit to herself? The boy was in love. It was a monstrous, misdirected love; nevertheless, it commanded her respect.

“The Bog Girl is a bad influence on him,” she told her sisters. “She doesn’t work, she doesn’t help. All day she lazes about the house.”

Patty coughed and said, “If you feel that way, then why—”

Cathy screamed, “Gillian! She cannot stay with you!”

It was gentle Abby who formulated the solution: “Put her back in the bog.”

“Gillian. Do it tonight.”

“Who’s going to miss her?”

“I can’t put her back in the bog. It would be . . .”

Silence drilled into her ears. Her family had a talent for emitting judgment without articulating words. When she was Cillian’s age and five months pregnant with him, everyone had quietly made clear that she was sacrificing her future. She’d run away to be with Cillian’s father, then returned to the boglands alone with a bug-eyed toddler.

“I’m afraid,” she confessed to her sisters. “If I put her out of the house, he’ll leave with her.”

“Oh!” they cried in unison. As if a needle had infected them all with her fear.

“Do something crazy, stupid . . .”

Silently adding, Like we did.

“Now, be honest, you little rat turd. You know nothing about her.” His uncle put a finger into his peach iced tea, stirred. They were seated on a swing in the darkest part of Cillian’s porch. Uncle Sean was as blandly ugly as a big toenail. Egg-bald and cheerfully unemployed, a third-helpings kind of guy. Once, Cillian had watched him eat the sticker on a green apple rather than peel it off. Sean was always over at the cottage, using Gillian’s computer to play Poker 3000. He smeared himself throughout their house, his beer rings ghosting over surfaces like fat thumbs on a photograph. His words hung around, too, leaving their brain stain on the air. Uncle Sean took a proprietary interest in anything loved by Cillian. It was no surprise, then, that he was infatuated with the Bog Girl.

“I know that I love her,” Cill said warily. He hated to be baited.

Uncle Sean was packing his brown, shakey weed into the rosy crotch of a glass mermaid. He passed his nephew the pipe. “Already, eh? You love her and you don’t know the first thing about her?”

What did he know about her?

What did he love about her?

Cillian shrugged, his body crowding with feelings. “And I know that she loves me,” he added, somewhat hastily.

Uncle Sean’s pink smirk seemed to paste him to the back of the wicker seat. “Oh?” His grin widened. “And how old is she?”

“Two thousand. But she was my age when they put her in the bog.”

“Most women I know lie freely about their age,” Uncle Sean warned. “She may well be eleven. Then again, she could be three thousand.”

Gillian, plump and starlit, appeared on the porch. A pleasant oniony smell followed her, mixing with the damp odor of Sean’s pot.

“Are you smoking?”

“No,” they lied in unison.

“Tell your . . . your friend that she is welcome to eat with us.” With a martyred air, Gillian lifted her kitten-print pot holders to the heavens. Cill smiled; the pot holders made it look as if she approved of the situation—two big thumbs-up! His poor mom. She was so nervous around new people, and the Bog Girl’s silence only intimidated her further. She was insecure about her cooking, and he knew she was going to take it very personally when the Bog Girl did not touch it.

Dinner was meat loaf with onions and, for Sean, a thousand beers. It was not a comfortable meal.

Gillian, stirring butter into the lima beans, beamed threats at her son’s new girlfriend: You little bitch. Crawl back into your hole. Stay away from my son.

“Biscuit?” Gillian asked. “Does she like biscuits, Cill?”

The Bog Girl smiled her gentle smile at the wall, her face reflected in the oval door of the washer-dryer. Against that sudsy turbulence, she looked especially still.

Three drinks in, Uncle Sean slung an arm around the Bog Girl’s thin blue shoulder, welcoming her into the family. “I’m proud of my nephew for going after an older woman, a mature woman . . . a cougar!”

Cillian fixed his uncle with a homicidal stare. Under the table, he touched his girlfriend’s foot with his foot; his eyebrows lifted in apology. His mother shot up with her steaming cauldron of beans, giving everyone another punitive lima ladle and removing the beer from the table. Their dog, returning from her dusk mouse hunt, came berserking into the kitchen, barking at a deranged pitch. She wanted to play tug-of-war with the Bog Girl’s noose. “Puddles—_no! _” Cillian’s vision was swimming, his whole body overheating with shame. He relaxed when he stared into the Bog Girl’s face, which was void of all judgment, smiling at him with its mysterious kindness. Once again, his embarrassment was soothed by her infinite calm. His eyes lowered from her smile to the noose. Of course, she’s seen far worse than us, he thought. Outside the window, insects millioned around the porch light. The bog crickets were doing a raspy ventriloquy of the stars; perhaps she recognized their tiny voices. Soon Uncle Sean was snoring lightly beside the pooling gravy, face down in his big arms. Cill sat slablike in the moonlight. The Bog Girl smiled blindly on.

For the first two weeks, the Bog Girl slept on the sofa, the television light flickering gently over her. That was fine by Gillian. She wasn’t about to turn an orphan from the Iron Age out on the street.

Then, on a rainy Monday night, without warning or apology, Cillian picked up the Bog Girl. He cradled her like a child, her frondy feet dangling in the air. Gillian, doing a jigsaw puzzle of a horse and colt in the kitchen, looked up in time to see them disappearing. She felt a purple welt rising in her mind, the revelatory pain called wonder. Underneath the shock, other feelings began to flow, among them a disturbed pride. Because hadn’t he looked exactly like his father? Confident, possessed. He didn’t ask for her permission. He did not lie to her about what he was doing, or hide it, or explain it. He simply rose with the Bog Girl in his arms, nuzzling her blue neck. The door shut, and he was gone from sight. Another milestone: she heard the click of the lock.

“Good night, son!” she cried after them, panicked.

She could not reconcile her knowledge of her sweet, awkward boy with this wayward, confident person. Was she supposed to go up there now? Pound on the door? Oh, who could she call? Nobody, not even her sisters, would take a call about this problem, she felt quite certain. Abby’s son, Kevin, met his girlfriend in church. Cathy’s son, Patrick, has a lovely fiancée who teaches kindergarten. Murry’s girlfriend is in jail for vehicular manslaughter—but at least she’s alive!

In the morning, she watched the mute, hitching muscles of his back as he fumbled with the coffeepot. So he was a coffee drinker now. More news. He kissed his mother’s forehead as he left for work, but he was whistling to himself, oblivious of her sadness, her fear, completely self-enclosed in his new happiness. It’s too soon for this, she thought. And: Not you, too. Please, please, please, she prayed, the incomplete prayer of mothers who cannot conceive of a solution.

That evening, she announced a new rule: “Everyone has to wear clothes. And no more locked doors.”

That Saturday, Cillian took the ferry three hours to a mainland museum. Twelve bog bodies were on display, part of a travelling exhibition called “Kings of the Iron Age.” The Bog Girl had met his family—the least he could do was return the favor. Cill sneaked into a tour in progress, following a docent from sepulchre to sepulchre. Under the glass, the Kings of the Iron Age lay like chewed taffy. One man was naked except for a fox-fur armband. Another was a giant. Another had two sets of thumbs.

Cillian learned that the bogs of the islands in the cold Atlantic were particularly acidic. Pickled bodies from the Iron Age had emerged from these deep vats. Their fetally scrolled bodies often doubled as the crumpled maps of murders. They might have been human sacrifices, the docent said. Left in the bog water for the harvest god. Kings, queens, scapegoats, victims—they might have been any of these things.

“From the contents of his stomach, we can surmise that he last dined on oat gruel. . . .”

“From the forensic analyses, we can surmise that she was killed by an arrow. . . . ”

“From the ornaments on this belt buckle, we can surmise that these were a wealthy people. . . . ”

What? No more than this could be surmised?

The docent pointed out the dots and stripes on the potsherds. Charcoal smudges that might be stars or animals. Evidence, she said, of “a robust culture.” Cillian took notes:

“they had time to kill. they liked art, too.”

Back on the ferry, he could admit to his relief: none of the other bog bodies stirred any feeling in him. He loved one specific person. He could see things about the Bog Girl to which this batty docent would be totally blind—for example, the secret depths her smile concealed. How badly misunderstood she had been by her own people. She was an alien from a planet that nobody alive could visit—the planet Earth, in the first century A.D. She felt soft in his arms, bonelessly soft, but she also seemed indestructible. According to the experts, a bog body should begin to decompose rapidly when exposed to air. Curiously enough, this Bog Girl had not. He told no one his theory but polished it inside his mind like an amulet: it was his love that was protecting her.

By August, their rapport had deepened immeasurably. They didn’t need to say a word, Cill was discovering, to perfectly understand each other. Falling in love with the Bog Girl was a wonderful thing—it was permission to ignore everyone else. When school started, in September, he made a bespoke sling and brought her with him. His girlfriend, propped like a broomstick against the rows of lockers, waited for him during Biology and Music II, as cool and impassive as the most popular girl the world has ever known.

Nobody in the school administration objected to the presence of the Bog Girl. Ancestral superstitions still hovered over the islanders’ minds, exerting their quiet influence, and nobody wanted to be the person responsible for angering a visitor from the past. Soon she was permitted to audit all of Cillian’s classes, smiling dreamlessly at the flustered, frightened teachers.

One afternoon, the vice-principal called her into his office and presented her with a red-and-gold badge to wear in the halls: “visiting student.”

“I don’t think that’s really accurate, sir,” Cillian said.

“Oh, no?”

“She’s not a visitor. She was born here.” In fact, the Bog Girl was the island’s oldest resident, by at least nineteen hundred years. Cillian paused. “Also, her eyes are shut, you see. So I don’t think she can really, ah, study. . . .”

“Well!” The vice-principal clapped his hands. He had a day to live, quotas to fulfill. “We will be studying her, then. She will give us all an exciting new perspective on our modern life and times—Oh my! Oh dear.” The Bog Girl had slumped into his aloe planter.

Cillian put the badge on her polyester blouse, a loaner from his mother that was vintage cool. Cillian—who never gave a thought to his own clothing—enjoyed dressing the Bog Girl for school in the morning. He raided his mother’s closet, resurrecting her baby-doll dresses. The eleventh-grade girls organized a clothing drive for the Bog Girl, collecting many shoplifted donations of fall tunics and on-trend boots.

Rumorsprawl. Word got around that the Bog Girl was actually a princess. A princess, or possibly a witch. Within a week, she was eating at the popular girls’ table. They’d kidnapped her from where Cillian had positioned her on a bench, propped between two book bags, and taken her to lunch. Already they had restyled her hair with rhinestone barrettes.

“You stole my girlfriend,” Cillian said.

“Something awful happened to her,” Vicki said reverently.

“So bad,” Georgette echoed.

“She doesn’t like to talk about it,” Priscilla said, looping a protective arm around the Bog Girl. The girls had matching lunches: lettuce salads, diet candy bars, diet shakes. They were all jealous of how little she ate.

How had Cill not foreseen this turn of events? The Bog Girl was diminutive, wounded, mysterious, a redhead. Best of all, she could never contradict any rumor the living girls distributed about her.

“She was too beautiful to live!” Priscilla gasped. “They killed her for her beauty.”

“I don’t th-th-think,” Cill said, “that it happened quite like that.”

The popular girls adjusted their leggings, annoyed. “No?”

Cillian was dimly aware that other tables were listening in, but the density of the attention in no way affected him. “I am hers, and she is mine,” he announced. “I have dedicated myself to learning everything about her.”

A sighing spasm of envy moved down the popular girls’ table—what boy alive would say this about them? A miracle: nobody mocked Cillian Eddowis. They were all starving to be loved like this. The popular girls watched him avidly as he ate a grilled cheese and waffle fries, his green irises burning. Between bites, his left hand rose to touch the Bog Girl’s red braid, tousling it like the pull-chain of a lamp.

Gillian couldn’t help it: she was heartbroken. The past that was most precious to her had filtered right through her son. The songs she’d sung to him when he was nursing? The care with which she’d cut the tiny moons of his fingernails? Their 4 a.m. feedings? Erased! Her son had matured into amnesia about his earliest years. Now her body was the only place where the memories were preserved. Cillian, like all sons, was blithe about this betrayal.

“There is so much about yourself that you do not recall,” Gillian accused him after dinner one night. Cillian, writing a paper about igneous rocks at the kitchen table, did not look up.

“When you were my boy, just a wee boy,” Gillian said in a voice of true agony, “you used to be terrified of the vacuum cleaner. You loved your froggy pajamas. You used so much glue on your art projects that your teachers—”

“Quit it with these dumb stories, Ma!”

“Oh, you find them dumb, do you? The stories about how I had to raise you alone, without a penny from your father—”

“You’re just trying to embarrass me in front of her!”

The Bog Girl smiled at them from the amber armchair. Her leather skirt was outrageously short, a donation from tall Bianca. Decorously, Cillian had draped the cable guide over her lap. Bugs spun in her water glass; mosquitoes and dragonflies were always diving into the Bog Girl’s food and drink, as if in strange solidarity with her.

Cillian drew himself up triumphantly, a foot taller than his mother. “You don’t want me to grow up.”

“What? Of course I do!”

But Cill was ready with his rebuttal: “You gave us rhyming names, Ma!”

This was true. Gillian and Cillian. She’d come up with that plan when she was a teen-ager herself, and pregnant with a nameless otter, some gyring little animal. A rhyming name had seemed just right then; she couldn’t have said why, at seventeen. Had Cillian been a girl, she would have named her Lillian.

“You’re so young, you can’t know . . . ” But what did she want to tell him?

Her body seemed to cave in on itself then, becoming smaller and smaller, so that even Cillian, fortressed behind the wall of his love, noticed and became alarmed. “Ma? What’s wrong?”

“It’s changing all the time,” she murmured ominously. “Just, please, wait, my love. Don’t . . . settle.” What a word! She pictured her son sinking up to his neck in the reddish bog water.

She was hiccupping now, unable to name her own feelings. Without thinking, she picked up the murky water glass, drank from it. “Your potential . . . all the teachers tell me you have great potential.”

Just come out and say it. “I don’t want you to throw your life away on some Bog Girl!”

“Oh, Ma.” Cill patted her back until the hiccups stopped. Her face looked crumpled and blue in the unlit room, hovering above the seated Bog Girl. For a second, they might have been sisters.

The Bog Girl floated, thin as a dress, on the mattress. Barrettes, pink and purple, were scattered all over the pillow. She smiled at Cillian, or beyond him, with her desiccated calm. Downstairs, Gillian was making breakfast, the buttery smells threading through his nostrils like an ox ring, tugging him toward them. But when she called up for him he was barely in the room. He was digging and digging into the peat-moss bog again, smoothing her blue cheeks with both hands, spading down into the kingdom that she comes from.

“Cillian! The bus is coming!” It should have taken him twenty seconds to put on pants. What was he doing in there? Probably jacking off to a “meme,” whatever that was, or buying perfume for the Bog Girl on her credit cards.

“Coming, Ma!”

Cillian was always learning new things about his girlfriend. The longer he looked at her, the more he saw. Her face grew silty with personality. Although she was young when she disappeared into the bog, her face was plowed with tiny wrinklings. Some dream or mood had recurred frequently enough to hammer lines across her brow. Here were the ridges and the gullies her mental weathers had worked into her skin.

Cill studied the infloresences on her cheeks. Her brain is in there, the university man had said. Her brain is intact, preserved by the bog acids. Cillian spent hours doing this forensic palmistry, trying to read her mind.

“Will you have a talk with him?” Gillian begged Sean. “Something is going really, really wrong with him!”

“First love, first love,” Sean murmured sadly, scratching his bubonic nose. “Who are we to intervene, eh? It will die of natural causes.”

“Natural causes!”

She was thinking that the poor girl had been garroted. Her bright-red hair racing the tail of the noose down her spine. You could not survive your death, could you? It survived with you.

In mid-October, a stretch limousine pulled up to the cottage to take Cillian and the Bog Girl to the annual school dance. A techno-reggae song called “Bump de Ass!” filled the back seat, where half a dozen teen-agers sat in churchlike silence. The Bog Girl’s reticence was contagious. Ambulance lights sparkled through the tinted windows, causing everyone to jump, with one exception: Cillian Eddowis’s date, the glamorous foreigner, or native—nobody was sure how to regard her.

Since acquiring his far older girlfriend, Cill had begun speaking to his classmates in the voice of a bachelor who merely tolerates children. “Carla,” he said, clearing his throat. “Would you mind exhaling a little closer to the window? Your smoke is blowing on us.”

Two girls started debating whether or not a friend should lose her virginity in a BMW that evening. What was the interior of the car like? This was a very important question. The girl’s boyfriend was a twenty-six-year-old cocaine dealer. Prior to the Bog Girl’s arrival on the scene, everyone had found his age very impressive. The dealer boyfriend had been unable to accompany the girl to the school dance, so she had taken poor Eoin, her sophomore cousin, who looked near fatally compressed by his green cummerbund. The twenty-six-year-old would be waiting for her in the BMW, post-festivities. Should she deflower him?

“Wait. Uh. I think he’s deflowering you, right? Or maybe you’re deflowering each other? Who’s got the flower?”

“Just do it, and then lie about it.” Carla shrugged. “That’s what I did.”

“My advice,” Cillian said, in the unfamiliar voice, “my advice is, wait. Wait until you find the person with whom you want to spend all your earthly time.” The Bog Girl leaned against his shoulder, aloof in her sparkly tiara. “Or until that person finds you. If that’s this guy, well, kudos. But, if not, wait. You will meet your soul mate. And you will want to give that person every molecule of your life.”

The attempted conversion of the high-school gymnasium into an Arabian-themed wonderland had not been a success. Cill and the Bog Girl stood under a palm tree that looked like an enormous toilet brush, made of cellophane and cardboard tubes. Three girls from the limo came up and asked to dance with Cillian, but he explained that his girlfriend hated to be left alone. All were sulkily respectful of her claim on him.

The after-party was held in an old car-parts warehouse on the west side of the island, where everything was shut or abandoned; the population of the island had been declining steadily for three decades. The music sounded like fists beating at the wall, and the floor was so sticky that Cillian had to lift and cradle the Bog Girl, looping her silver dress around one arm. Cillian had never attended an after-party before. Or a party, for that matter. He surveyed his former tormenters, the seniors, with their piggish faces and their plastic cups. Some were single, some had girlfriends, some were virgins, some were not, but not one of them, Cillian felt very certain, knew the first thing about love.

Eoin the sophomore came over, his date nowhere to be seen. He was breathless in the cummerbund, in visible danger of puking up Bacardi. He rolled a bloodshot eye in Cill’s direction, smiling wistfully.

“So,” he said, “I’m just wondering. Do you guys—”

Cillian preëmpted the question: “A gentleman never tells.”

It was a phrase he’d once read in a men’s magazine, while waiting to get a root canal. In fact, his mother needn’t have lost so much sleep to this particular fear. At night, Cillian lay beside the Bog Girl, barely touching her. A steady, happy calm radiated from her, which filled him with a parallel euphoria.

Cillian carried the Bog Girl onto the dance floor, her braided noose flung over his shoulder. And even Eoin, minutes from unconsciousness, could hear exactly who the older boy believed himself to be in this story: Cillian the Rescuer.

“Oh, damn! Wise up! She’ll make you wait forever, man!” The lonely laugh of Eoin died a terrible death, like a bird impaled on a spike.

At 3 a.m., the lights were still on. Uh-oh, Cill thought. Mom got into the gin again.

Drinking made her silences bubble volubly. He almost got the hiccups himself, listening to her silences. Oh, God. There was so much pain inside her, so much she wanted to share with him. Cillian and the Bog Girl tried to tiptoe past her to the staircase, but she sprang up like a jack-in-the-box.

“Cillian?” She looked child-small in the dark. Her voice was tremulous and young, and her slurring reminded him of his own stutter, that undead vestige of his early years. His mother sounded like a sleepy girl, four or five years old. Her feet were bare, and she rose onto her stubby toes to grip his arm. “Where are you coming from?”

“Nowhere. The dance. It was fun.”

“Where are you going?”

“Aw, Mom. Where do you th-th-think?”

“Good night!” she called after him desperately. “I hope you had a good time! You looked so handsome! So grown up!”

By early winter, the Bog Girl’s stillness had begun to provoke a restlessness in Cillian, a squeezed and throbbing feeling. He was failing three subjects. His mother had threatened to send him to live with Aunt Cathy until he “straightened out.” He didn’t care. Waiting for the bus in the freezing rain, he no longer dreamed about owning a car. He knew what he would do with the summer money he’d earned from Bos Ardee: run away with her.

He’d flunk out of school and take the Bog Girl with him to the mainland. She’d be homesick at first, maybe, but they’d go on trips to urban parks. It was the burr of peace, the burr of happiness, goading him on to new movement. Oh, he was frightened, too.

In his fantasy life, Cillian drew the noose tighter and tighter. He imagined, with a strange joy, the narrow life they would lead. No children, no sex, no messy nights vomiting outside bars, no unintended pregnancies, no fights in the street, no betrayals, no surprises, no broken promises, no promises.

Was the Bog Girl a co-signer to this fantasy? Cillian had every reason to believe so. When he described his plans to her, the smile never left her face. Was their love one-sided, as the concerned and unimaginative adults in his life kept insisting? No—but the proof of this surprised no one more terribly than Cillian.

One night in mid-December, lying in bed, he felt a cobwebby softness on his left cheek. It was her eyelashes, flicking over him. They glowed radish-red in the moonlight. Cillian swatted at his face, his own eyes never opening. Still sunk in his dreaming, he grunted and rolled over.

Cillian.

The Bog Girl sat up.

With fluttering effort, the muscles of her blue jaw yawned. One eye opened. It studied itself in the dresser mirror for a long instant, then turned calmly back toward Cillian. Very slowly, her left arm unhinged itself and dropped to the plaid bedspread. The fingers curled around the blanket’s edge, and drew it down. A blush of primal satisfaction colored the Bog Girl’s cheeks as the fabric moved. She tugged more forcefully, revealing Cillian curled on his side in his white undershirt. Groaning in his sleep, he jerked the covers back up.

“Cillian,” she said aloud.

Now Cillian was awake—he was irreversibly awake. He blinked up at her face, which was staring down at him. When they locked eyes, her frozen smile widened.

“Mom!” he couldn’t help screaming. “Help!”

The Bog Girl, imitating him, began to scream and scream. And he could see, radiating from her gaze, the same blind tenderness that he had directed at her. Now he was its object. Something truly terrifying had happened: she loved him back.

For months, Cillian had been decoding the Bog Girl’s silences. He’d peered into her dreams, her fears, her innermost thoughts. But her real voice was nothing like the voice that he’d imagined for her—a cross between Vicky Gilvarry and Patti LaBelle. Its high-pitched ululations hailed over him. In the kitchen, the dog began to bark. The language that she spoke was no longer spoken anywhere on earth.

He stumbled up, tugging at his boxers. The Bog Girl stood, too. The past, with its monstrous depth and span, reached toward him, demanding an understanding that he simply could not give it. His mind was too young and too narrow to withstand the onrush of her life. An invisible woods was in the bedroom with them, the scent of trees multiplying. Some mental earthquake inside the Bog Girl was casting up a world, green and unknown to him, or to anyone living: her homeland. Her gaze drove inward, carrying Cillian with it. For an instant, he thought he glimpsed her parents. Her brothers, her sisters, a nation of people. Their cheeks now beginning to redden, every one of them alive again inside her village. Pines rippling seaward. Gods, horned and faceless, walking the lakes that once covered Cillian’s home. Cillian was buried in water, in liquid images of her; he had to push through so many strata of her memories to reach the surface of her mind. Most of what he saw he shrank away from. His mind felt like a burned tongue, numbly touching her reality.

“W-w-who are you?”

“Heartbreak” is the universal diagnosis for the pain that accompanies the end of love. But this was an unusual breakup, in that Cillian’s mind shattered first. The love that had protected him began to fall away. Piece after piece of it clattered from his chest, an armor rusting off him. What are you?

The Bog Girl lurched toward him, her arms open. First she moved like a hopping chick, with an unexpected buoyancy. Then she seemed to remember how to step, heel to toe. She came for him like an astronaut, bouncing on the gray carpet. The only English word she knew was his name.

Almost weightlessly, she reached for him. For wasn’t she equally terrified? There was no buoy other than this boy, who had gripped her with his thin, freckled arms, bellying her out of the peat bog and into time.

Cillian hid behind the dresser.

Her fingers found his hand, threaded through his fingers.

He screamed again, even as he squeezed the hand back.

Her words rushed together, a thawing waterfall, moving intricately between octaves; still the only word he understood was his name. Perhaps nothing he had said to her, in their six months as a couple, had been comprehended. Cillian worked the levers in his brain, desperately trying to find the words that would release him.

“Unlock the door,” his mother’s beautiful voice called.

Cillian was frozen in the Bog Girl’s grip, unable even to call out. But a moment later he heard the key turning in the lock. Gillian stood in the doorway in her yellow pajamas. With a panoramic comprehension, she took in what had happened. She knew, too, what must now be done. If she could have freed these two from the embrace herself, she would have done so; but now she understood the challenge. The boy would have to make his own way out. “Take her home, Cillian. Make sure that she gets home safely.”

Cillian, his eyes round with panic, only nodded.

Gillian went to the Bog Girl, helping her into a sweater. “Put a hat on. And pants.”

His mother shepherded them downstairs and onto the porch, switching on every yellow bulb as they moved through the cottage. It was the warmest December on record, rain falling instead of snow, the drops disappearing into the rotted wood. Cillian carried the Bog Girl to the edge of the light before he understood that his mother was not coming with him.

“Let her down gently, son!” his mother called after them.

Well, she could do this for him, at least: she held a lantern steady across the rainy lawn, creating a gangplank of light that reached almost to the larches. She watched them moving toward the inky water. The Bog Girl was howling in her foreign tongue; at this distance, Gillian felt she could almost understand it.

Oh, she hoped their breakup would stick. She had divorced Cillian’s father, then briefly moved into his new house; it had taken years before their affair was truly over. You had to really cultivate an ending. To get it to last, you had to kneel and tend to the burial ground, continuously firming your resolution.

This was a bad breakup. A quarter mile from the cottage, under a bright moon, Cillian and the Bog Girl were rolling in the mud, each screaming in a different language. Their screams twined together, their hands reaching for each other; it was during this undoing that they were, at last, truly united as a couple. His flashlight rolled with them, plucking amphibious red and yellow eyes out of the reeds. “It’s over. It’s over. It’s over,” he kept babbling optimistically, out of his mind with fear. Her throat was vibrating against his skin. He could feel the echo of his own terror and sorrow, and again his mind felt overrun by the lapping waves of time. She clutched at the collar of his T-shirt, her body covered in dark mud and cracked stems of bog cotton, blue lichen. At last he felt her grip on him loosen. Her eyes, opaquely glinting in the moonlight, liquid and enormous, far larger than anyone could have guessed before their unlidding, regarded him with what he imagined was a soft surprise, and disappointment. He was not who she’d expected to find when she opened her eyes, either. Now neither teen-ager needed to tell the other that it was over. It simply was—and, without another sound, the Bog Girl let go of Cillian and slipped backward into the bog water. Did she sink? It looked almost as if the water were rising to cover her. Her cranberry hair waved away from her scalp. As he watched, her body itself began to break up.

Straightening from where he was kneeling on the ledge of mud, he brushed peat from his pants. His arms tingled where her grip had suddenly relaxed. The clear rain drenched his clothing. The bog was still bubbling, pieces of her sinking back into the black peat, when he turned on his heel and ran. For the next few days, he would be quakey with relief; he’d felt certain, watching her sink away, that he would never see the Bog Girl again in this life.

But here he was mistaken. In the weeks and years to come, Cillian would find himself alone with her memory, struggling to pay attention to his droning contemporaries in the cramped classroom. How often would he retrace his steps, wandering right back to the lip of the bog, peering in? Each dusk, with their primitive eloquence, the air-galloping insects continue to speak the million syllables of her name.

“Ma! Ma! Ma!” That night, Cillian came roaring out of the dark, pistoning his knees as he ran for the light, for his home at the edge of the boglands. “Who was that?”

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