#Duke: you're doomed...and I'm doomed...it's meant to be!!!

[amberedcorpse]

Their words should have come as a shock, or inspired in him mixed emotions over where they stood together, if he could even understand the full import of their confession. Yet all he felt was a strange and deep seeded jealousy. An urge to bite the sensitive crook of their neck as if he could clamp their soul to his canines, claim it for his own and not the tenebrous hands they had apparently sold it to. Alexander should be his entirely. To love, to spoil, and to scent like the territory of an animal in heat. His muscles tensed with the mere notion, wanting to lunge for every soft and delicate piece of that peerless body. In an act of defiance almost. Let the forces that govern the world watch as he took and gave, in equal measure, onto that which they meant to deprive him of. Let them watch on as he supped and drank from the fountain they planned to dry up to a desert.  

“I’m not blind, you know.” Duke gently lifted their gaze with a hand, reeling them away from that dark malaise. It pained him to see them fretting with their hands up to their temples, crumbling beneath a weight he was desperate to rid them of. 

“I’ve known that following you wouldn’t be a promised thing, or full of happy endings. Life before this– before you– wasn’t, so why should it be any different now? I don’t believe in mercy. I don’t believe in absolution or in good defeating evil. Not as much as you do, or as much as you try to with all the kindness you’ve sown in the world. And not after watching you reap less and less of it back… ” He stared into their eyes with a kind of stern expression. Stripped of judgement, but serious nonetheless, conveying all the certainty of his fists. That he would never let go of his precious lover no matter the tempestuous winds that followed. 

“But I believe in you.” Religiously and without question. Alexander was all the reason he needed to keep breathing, for his heart to pump blood and circulate it to his limbs. They were the rivers and the fields, the wild horses galloping to distant bluffs. All the beauty in the world, and all of it’s worth, coalesced and ambered into one person. One star. If pain should come hand in hand with his worship of them, then he would bear it to his own violent demise. 

“I believe in staying with you for as long as I can. For as long as we both breathe. So what if you’ve made mistakes in the past? I’m on the road to hell myself, and that wasn’t paved with good intentions at all. Yet you’ve never thought twice about that. You knew I wasn’t a good man, but you’ve let me in anyway. Alexander–” 

Duke drew their face closer, tucking his words to the purse of their lips, whispering what should only be heard by the person in full possession of his mind. 

“You accepted me as I am. Let me accept you.” Closer still, and he placed a tender kiss on their mouth. “I’m not afraid."

A shudder ran down his spine, hearing Duke's voice. Even if low in volume it reached so far, into him. Pricked his skin, slithered underneath. Sunk into his flesh where it met his bones. Nerves sprung to high alert in the intrusion, caused a trembling of his frame at the sensation that tickled and bit, softly. Shock and touched places of Alexander that felt unbearably raw. His entire body reacted. Unable to hold back the light spasm of excitement he breathed, slow and in deep. Only for the same breath to leave him shakily at the following misery.

Breathing in Duke's scent through his nose causes another involuntary shiver to shake him. He laughed. Tried to, with how breathy his voice came, how low in tone. A chuckle that was half-gasps. A weak shaking of his head that could as well have been him wanting to nuzzle further against the other man, to bury his face even further into that shoulder. Instead his back popped when he leaned back enough to straighten himself again, shifting his weight back to carry himself on his own feet. Hands that had gone slack slid back upwards, re-settling to the sides of the taller man. Only for a short moment, however. As one snuck its way upwards again. Settling exactly where the beating thing in question sat rooted beneath the muscle of a broast chest.

            „You have a lot of fate in me“, Alexander chuckled softly. On his face again that tell-tale smile that was half-heart half exhaustion. He understood. Of course. What the words had meant and why Duke had said them. He took it the only way he knew how to. With light laughs and gentle huffs. Took it the only way he could, if he did not want to melt into a puddle on the spot completely. If he did not want to turn into a mess of weak legs and a fretting heart. Or die a sudden myocardial infarction because it simply stopped from beating too violently too much, for too long.

Wordlessly his gaze sank to his hand, taking a moment to glance and eye the soft spot where Duke's heart must sit. With the pads of his fingers he carefully felt up the left to his sternum. The longer he stared, the heaviness returned and the softness of his expression slipped again. What if he broke it? What if it caught a bullet, because of him? Or worse, the kiss of a knife. Or worse than that. What if he would take it with him the moment he stopped being? What if him selfishly accepting this love would undo Duke too? An unthinkable sin.

            „Deucalión, I...“ Again he sighed. Finding it so unfairly hard to find the word words, let alone form sentences with them. Yet he felt the urgency and felt it bring back his resolve. At least some of it. Enough for Alexander to let his hand sink again and instead, look up. Raise his head to properly lock gazes.

            „Maybe you know, I am a lying man. I am not good at speaking truths—“ Despite the words, he looked serious.

            „My days are numbered, and when those days are over, I am gone. And I don't mean heaven high or to the depths below. There is no death for me. There is something that comes after.“ For a brief moment he paused. His own eyes darted from Duke's left eye back to his right, searching that gold glimmer that too told of something unnatural going on there.

            „I signed all of that away. Years ago. Before I even knew you were. If I had known—“ Stopping himself abruptly, his hands shot upwards. Covering his face with both of them, Alexander began rubbing the ridges of his brows, from where the tips of his gloves fingers traveled over his forehead, then to the side, massaging his temples with half-turns, before sinking again, rubbing briskly over closed eyes before his middle- and ring fingers draging down the bridge of his nose.

            „If... If I'd have known I'd find you, then—“ His head hurt. His breathing came unevenly. Clear signs of stress. Alexander did not even understand why he said what he did, why he talked so much in the first place. What was happening to him? Why did he suddenly regret everything that he had lived?

[aingeal98]

No one asked so feel free to ignore this, but I think it’s a little bit reductive to view Willis as an abuser when nothing really states that in pre-flashpoint comics.

Like Cathrine getting “drug abuser” pushed onto her while her introduction just called her sick, and Willis being a criminal (working illegal street gambling), and getting painted as an abusive father/husband, paints a ugly picture on people’s bias towards poor families.

It’s kinda how people assume Steph was dirt poor like Jason when she’s stated she’s from the suburbs multiple times. (And while there are suburban ghettos it doesn’t really seem like her financial situation was ever as dire as Duke and Jason’s growing up.)

Very true! I do agree with all of this tbh. There was classism involved in how Catherine's initial illness went from just "sick" to drug use, and same for Willis. When I knew nothing about Jason except from reading wikis, batfam fics and Cass comics, I just thought Willis had always been the way Lobdell wrote him, and then when I actually read Jason's Robin comics I was like hm. That's a bit odd, maybe there's something I'm missing because he seems pretty absent but that's like. It. Jason clearly cares about him! But he can't be around because Batman and Robin need to be a thing.

Since then I've read a lot of good meta from Jason fans on the topic, most of them were along the lines of what you're saying, pointing out the classism at play that's always damned Jason since he was first rebooted from a circus kid. However I've also seen good meta about Robin Jason's anger towards abusive men, and how bitter some of his speech is, that made me a bit more open minded towards the idea of bad dad Willis. I don't really mind when fans want to explore how Willis may have contributed to that mindset Jason had, but it crosses into ick territory for me when they use it as an excuse to prop up Bruce, who's canonically a much worse father. Ultimately I think what it comes down to for me is if the headcanon is done in a way to reinforce the classism at play in the narrative, or if it's aware of what Jason's up against and not trying to paint Willis as naturally abusive due to being poor and a criminal. YMMV on whether the person writing the meta/fic manages to land the headcanon well, but whereas before I used to have a "ew" gut reaction to seeing bad dad Willis, nowadays I'm willing to wait until I've read the full meta/fic to decide if I like it or not. In the comics though? Yeah fuck that, no thank you. I don't trust them to do it in a way that doesn't glorify Bruce for "saving" Jason from a doomed destiny.

It's interesting that you brought up Steph though because I do see her, Jason and Duke as three different perspectives of growing up Not Rich in Gotham. Jason obviously had it the worst, dirt poor. I do think Steph was meant to be in a bad financial state at the start of her appearances, despite living in the suburbs. But there was a clear progression in the comics of her and Crystal getting better and more stable, which is an interesting contradiction of Dixon's. He hated women and poor people and it showed in how he wrote Steph, but he also liked Steph, as much as he could like a female character while being so misogynistic. So she was given the rare opportunity to escape from the poverty he initially wrote her in, to be one of the 'good ones' who worked hard and got out. And then DC killed her, because even if she managed to make it out of poverty, she couldn't escape from being a girl.

And then there's Duke, who's from the Narrows and who's dad was a non union worker at one point (the monologue Duke gave about the shadow crews was so good PLEASE dc give me more of that Gotham worldbuilding from Duke's pov). There's so much there that still hasn't been fully explored and I'm hungry for more because despite everything going on during Zero Year, when we first meet him he and his family seem stable. It's almost like a reverse of Steph, where location wise he's in a poor area of the city but in terms of how his house looks like it seems fine! Whereas Steph is in the suburbs but her house initially looks... not great. So I'd put him at around the same level as Steph financially just based on living in the Tracy Towers and what we know of his parents careers, but with a much less toxic family situation, which meant that they were probably more secure in their finances even when the Riddler was around pulling some fuckshit. And obviously after the Joker attack he's in the foster system and then in the Manor and then living with a cousin. I need DC to give us more on the Thomas family like we don't even know if his dad is well or still Jokerized! And he stands to be such an interesting contrast to both Steph and Jason. Robins two four and six, three different ways of growing up in Gotham when you're not rich as hell, the similarities and differences between them... I don't trust DC to write it well but I want it all the same.

This turned into a big ramble lmao but thank you for the ask!

[simpforfandoms]

Sign of the Times

This is literally the song of Achilles, legit plagiarism. All respect to Madeline Miller. I reread it, still as good as the first time reading it.

pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: When you died, all things soft and beautiful would be buried with you.

warnings: ooc dick, plagiarism (all creds to Madeline Miller), does not follow canon

masterlist

“Name one hero who was happy.” He says, laying down in the field with you.

You considered it. “You can't.” He was sitting up now, leaning forward. “I can't.” You echoed. “I know. They never let you be famous AND happy.” He lifted an eyebrow. "I'll tell you a secret." "Tell me." You loved it when he was like this. "I'm going to be the first." He took your pinky and interlaced it with his. "Promise it." "Why me?" "Because you're the reason.” He said as a matter of factly, “promise it." "I promise," You said, lost in the high color of his cheeks, the flame in his eyes. "I know I’ll be happy as long as I’m with you," he stated. You and he sat like that for a moment, hands touching.

…

Joker was on the loose again. This time taking over Gotham. Bruce, Jason, Tim, Damian, Cassandra, Duke, and Stephanie were all in danger. Dick is their only hope now.

“Don’t let them die because of his madness. They have done nothing but love you.”

"Love me? Not one of them stood with me against Bruce. Not one of them defended me." The bitterness in his tone shocked you. "They stood by and let him insult me. As if he were right! I have been there for them for years and their repayment is to get rid of me." His eyes had gone dark and distant. "They have made their choice. I have made mine."

"They’re still our family!”

"They can save themselves." He would have walked away, had you not grabbed his arm.

"You are destroying yourself. Please, if you-"

"Y/n." The word was sharp, as he had never spoken it. His eyes looked down on you, "I will not do this. Do not ask again."

You try to find the words to get through to him. Maybe there was none. He would not fight. They would die with no mercy. You search your brain for anything at all that could reason with him.

“For me then,” you said, “Save them for me.”

He looked down at you. You saw what your words had meant to him. The struggle in his eyes. He swallowed.

“Anything else? Anything. But not this. I can’t”

You looked at his beautiful face, “if you love me-“

“No!” He yelled. “You do not get to do that. You don’t get to pick and choose what battles you want me to fight.”

“Fine then. Their blood will be on your hands.” You let out.

He huffs and then leaves for the bedroom. You watch him leave. Your stomach feels burned to cinders; your palms ache where your nails have cut into them. Your rage towards him is hot as blood. You will never forgive him, you think. You imagine locking yourself in the bathroom, smashing every picture you have together, then stabbing yourself in the stomach and bleeding to death. You want to see his face broken with grief and regret. You want to shatter the cold mask of stone that has sipped down over the boy you knew. You do not know this man. He is no one you have ever seen before. A once innocent boy is now consumed by an unexplainable rage. He has given up on them. His family. Deliberately sending them off to their doom. If he does not help them, then you will.

…

A series of events have led you to your current situation. Your hand lifted, holding a gun in threat. One thing led to another and now you're pointing a gun at Joker.

You imagine how Dick would do it, feet planted to the ground, back muscles twisting. He would throw the gun and take down Joker in a more reasonable way. Without death. But you are not Dick. What you do is something, your only chance at survival. His henchmen are almost there. You’re wasting time. You shoot the pistol.

It hits his head. You have killed the Clown Prince of Crime, the joker. You hear the shouts, men swarming around you. You had lost control. Killing a man with no remorse. Someone you never imagined doing. The worst part is that you do not feel regret. This is the man that for years has killed innocent people. For years had tortured your family. Your only med of survival now is to run.

You lunge on your feet. Through the haze of terror, you see a man firing a gun at you. You dodge the bullet, shocked you are not dead already. You have never been so fast in all your life. Wally would be proud.

Then, a bullet comes from behind. You do not see it, but you hear it. It pierces the skin of your back. You stumble, driven forward by the blow's force, by the shock of the tearing pain and the burning numbness in your stomach. The blood gushes out onto your shirt. You think you scream.

“She’s mine.” You hear a cold voice.

The blood runs through your hands onto the earth below. The henchmen part and you see a woman in purple walking toward you. You know her. Punchline. Alexis Kaye. Joker’s girlfriend. She does not look at the men who surround her; she walks as if she were alone on the battlefield. She is coming to kill you, as a reparation for your sin.

Your breaths are shallow gasps that feel like new wounds tearing. Desperately, you turn to the men around you and scrabble at their knees.

“Please,” you croak. “Please.”

She is close now, her gun raised. The only sound you hear is your own heavy lungs. Punchline's gun lifts over you. And then it fires towards you.

“No.” You scream, to no avail.

Your hands flurry in the air like startled birds, trying to stop the bullets' relentless movement toward your heart. It submerges in a sear of pain so great that your breath stops, a boil of agony that bursts over your whole body. Your head drops back against the ground, and the last image you see is her, leaning over you, smiling a sadistic smile, one that will haunt you. The last thing you think of is Dick. Oh, how you love him.

…

As soon as Dick realized you had left he rushed over to Gotham. He was so angry at himself for not listening to you. If he did, you wouldn’t be put in harm's way. He texted every member of his family to be on the lookout for you. Praying to the heavens above that you were safe. By the time he arrives, the people are celebrating. Joker is dead.  The battle is won, but the war is far from over.

He knows he should feel relieved and happy, but he cannot. There is a numbness in him. Something has happened. What? He does not know. You will be able to tell him. He’s sure of it. Still, the pit in his stomach lingers. He cannot help but feel worried.

Then he gets a text from Jason saying they found you and to go to the Batcave immediately.

So he does. The worry only grows as he rushes out of his car.

Then he sees it.

A blood-stained cloth on top of a body. The realization crashes upon him, making him lose his breath. He runs towards the body, throwing Jason and Bruce out of the way. He falls onto the body.

Your body.

He removes the cloth just to make sure his thoughts are not deceiving him. A scream erupts. And then another, and another. He hastily cradles your head in his hands. He says your name. Over and over again. Until it is the only sound.

Bruce urges him to let go of you. But he would not let go of you. He cannot. He holds you so tightly, your dead body can feel his heartbeat. He weeps. He cradles you. He can not speak another word other than your name. His tears fall but you cannot wipe them.

It’s all his fault. He should’ve just listened to you. He should have been there. He was selfish and arrogant.

Eventually, he utters something other than your name.

“Who did this?” His voice is a terrible thing, cracked and broken

“Punchline,” Damian says.

Dick’s gaze hardens. Fantasizing about all the ways he can exact his revenge. Bruce takes a step forward, placing his hand on Dick’s shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” Dick yells.

Bruce draws back, watching his grip grow tighter on you, “don’t kill her.”

Instead of replying Dick just looks at him with so much anger and regret.

“She’ll kill you, Dick.”

“Do you think I don’t want that?” He looks up to Bruce, blood, your blood all over him. A truly broken man sits before Bruce. A man that has lost everything.

He had lost you. His love. His soulmate. His world.

Gone.

Irrevocably and forever.

…

“Punchline!” he screams. “Punchline!”

He tears through the henchmen guarding her, shattering collar bones and faces, marking them with his fury.

Punchline calls attention to herself by running away. Any other day she would take him on, but this time he is consumed by a rage that she has never seen. It scares her. No one thinks that it is cowardly for her to run. She will not live if she is caught. She knows that. Chest heaving, she races towards the fire escape. Dick runs to follow. Then a figure emerges. Shaped like a man in a bat suit.

Nightwing’s face is consumed by rage, “you will not keep her from me.”

“Killing her won’t end your pain.” The dark knight says.

Dick steps closer to him and raises his fists. Batman swings his fist. Nightwing ducks then rolls forward over the returning whistle of a second swing. He gains his feet and strikes, whipping toward Batman’s chest. Easily, almost casually, the knight twists away.

Batman attacks. His punches force Dick backward. He must spring away at each punch. Dick eventually finds the space to counterattack. Batman catches every blow, forcing Dick to move faster and faster. Bruce is old, he knows every trick there is in the book, and there is nothing new to him. Nightwing begins to slow, worn out from the fighting. Batman seems to be relieved at how often he seems to duck rather than meet his blows. Dicks face is contorted with effect and focus. He is fighting at the edge, at the very edge of his power. He is not, after all, Batman.

He’s gathering himself, preparing one final blow, a desperate attack. He begins the pass, fists blaring toward Bruce’s head. For a second, Bruce must dodge to avoid it. That is the moment he needs. He grabs a discarded piece of rumple and strikes. A gash flowers in Bruce’s side. He will not die though. But he must limp away, weakened and weary.

Dick’s face is sweat-streaked, his breaths harsh, but he continues running.

“Punchline!” He screams.

The hunt begins again. It is only punchline he wants. Punchline, and Punchline alone. When she is dead, he will stop.

There is a roof on top of the building. Too tall to jump off of. Too late to turn back. It is there that Alexis stops running. Two people face each other. One of them is light. She wears a purple and black outfit with red cheeks painted red.

The other one’s face is twisted almost beyond recognition. His blood still pumping from his fight with his father figure. Alexis’ eyes are wide, but she will not run any longer.

She says, “Grant me this, bury me with Joker when you have killed me.”

Dick makes a choking sound, “There is no comprise. I will kill you then I will burn you to insure you can never come back.”

He leaps forward with a knife he has been holding and slices her throat. Letting her bleed out to death. Just like how she let you bleed to death.

…

Dick returns to the cave, where your body waits. His hands are bloody. His family is waiting for him. They know not to say anything. It is done. The war is over. But at what cost?

It is Alfred that breaks the silence, “go bathe and rest yourself, master Dick.”

Dick pushes through them and heads up to the manor.

…

Your eulogy was beautiful. Dick could not bring himself to do it, knowing your death was his fault. He made Jason do it. Knowing you were the closest with him. You had no biological family, but you often referred to them as your family. And they truly were. Everyone adored you and loved you. At the after-party, Dick just sits on the sofa staring off into space, now and then looking up and thanking people for their condolences.

“Master Richard” Alfred calls him, holding a plate, “will you not eat?”

“You know I won’t.”

Alfred touches his hand to his shoulder. He flinches.

“Stop”

Alfred’s face goes blank for a second.

When he speaks, his voice is hard, “You have killed her and taken your vengeance. It is enough. Stop punishing yourself.”

“It will never be enough,” Dick says.

“It is the greatest grief to be left on earth while the other one is gone. But let there be comfort in the fact that her memory will live on.” Alfred states.

Dick sighs. He knows that after this he must go home to an empty house. Pictures reminding him of you. He can’t do it anymore. He won’t. Life is unbearable without you. He was stupid to take you for granted. He had spent his whole life loving you. He has no idea how to live it without you. Perhaps he isn’t supposed to.

…

Word spread to Blüdhaven what Nightwing had done. Nightwing was now not a foe to death. Many villains, fearing for their life, escaped to neighboring cities where they know they will not be killed. But oh not Blockbuster. He’d kill Nightwing before he ever got the chance to kill him. Blockbuster aims. Then the bullet flies, straight and silently towards Dick’s back.

He hears the faint hum of its passage a second before it strikes. He turns his head a little, as to watch it come. He closes his eyes and feels it push through his skin, parting muscles, working its way past his ribs. Then, at last, it reaches his heart. Blood spills between his shoulder blades. Thick and crimson. Dick smiles as his face strikes the earth.

…

In the darkness, two shadows reached through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun

[teenidleadultgirl]

Birdie and Whiskey are two sides of the same coin: a white woman trying to exploit patriarchy to work in her benefit.

You're not supposed to like Whiskey because she is shown as self-aware of her actions AND the harm that she in engaging in by endorsing patriarchy BUT Birdie is shown as more "sympathetic" because the way she endorses patriarchy is through her interpersonal relationship to Miles and therefore her agency gets diminished because of her love for Miles.

However, Birdie is even more insidious of a character than Whiskey is because she justifies her actions to herself as being well-intentioned because she loves Miles. But she doesn't love Miles. She loved controlling Miles, she loved the power she felt when Miles told her "I can't believe I'm talking to you, you're on magazines." If I was in that situation, it would come off very strong to me but Birdie likes it because she interprets it as having power over Miles.

Miles is not as attractive as Birdie, but he has money. When she was young, she saw it as her beauty having power over him. But because she's used to her beauty doing all the work for her, she's never had to be intelligent. She's fed and believed this lie that beauty is the most important thing a woman has and her stupidity is her ultimate downfall because if she thought about what it meant to be beautiful in this society, she'd know she was dooming herself to fail because a woman is only beauty until her 30th birthday in America.

But here's the thing, Whiskey is young. She represents a different version of Birdie, a smarter version of Birdie who is more aware of feminist theory but is still blinded by her youth, race, and beauty. She's bought into the lie that beauty is all that matters but she doesn't like how that causes men like Duke to abuse her and basically sex traffick her. She's waking up to the harm that the "mandom" perpetuates and is shown to be conflicted over that versus pursuing a career in politics.

She knows that beauty can be used as a weapon but she is also aware of how rapidly she is aging out of that category and I think the difference between Birdie and Whiskey is really their intelligence. I love it.

[mind-reader1]

Queen of Hearts (Ch.9)

Drake x MC (Emma Barnes)

TRR AU: What would happen if Emma loved Drake but had to marry Liam?

Catch up here

Warnings: None. Pure Fluff 

Note: If you’d like to be added to the tag list let me know! Also I love talking with you guys about the chapters and story to please don’t be afraid to tell me what you thought! :) 

Word Count:  2735

Summary: The first stop on the engagement tour is Fydelia, Madeline’s home! Will she be able to recruit her as a press secretary and Madeleine’s family’s support? Emma and Drake find a moment to themselves and she tries her best to teach him the waltz.

Chapter 9: I don’t Dance (Lee Brice)

I’ll never settle down, That’s what I always thought Yeah, I was that kind of man, Just ask anyone

I don’t dance, but here I am Spinning you around and around in circles It ain’t my style, but I don’t care I’d do anything with you anywhere Yes, you got me in the palm of your hand girl 'Cause, I don’t dance

Love’s never come my way, I’ve never been this far 'Cause you took these two left feet And waltzed away with my heart

Once he cleared the hall she went back into her room and started packing, it was the first day of the unity tour. She had just finished packing when there was a knock on the door.

“Maxwe- Bertrand?” She was surprised to see the elder Beaumont at her door. Now she was really glad that she had made Drake leave.

“I'm glad to see you're already packed and ready. Today is a very important day, it's the first stop on the unity tour.”

“Where are we going exactly?”

“Fydelia.” Emma laughed and looked at Bertrand whose expression didn't change.

“Good one, where are we really going?”

“We're going to Fydelia. It's an important stop, even more important since it's the first. It shows that you, Madeleine and Liam can put aside your differences and get along, and we're going to be recruiting Madeleine as your new press secretary.” Emma felt like she had walked into a nightmare.

Later that day in the boutique with Bertrand and Maxwell, Emma still hadn't wrapped her head around the idea.

“Of all the press secretaries in Europe, why does it have to be Madeleine?” Emma was getting desperate, she was willing to beg and grovel if it meant she didn't have to recruit Madeleine, her least favorite person in Cordonia.

“As you know Justin isn't an option because he was injured and is still in the hospital, he recommended Madeleine though. He was impressed by the way she handled the press during her brief engagement to Liam.”

“You have to admit she did manage to spin everything in a favorable manner.” Emma shot Maxwell a look, he was not helping her case. Maxwell being Maxwell however, took it in stride, he'd rather have Emma be upset with him for a few minutes than have Bertrand lecturing him about the impending doom of House Beaumont.

“If I must. I suppose it will be good to have her evil, snake charming powers working for me rather than against me.”

“Yes! The unlikely hero-villain team up against a greater threat.” Maxwell grinned.

“Exactly. She still holds much influence at court and is frankly far greater an asset than enemy.” Emma really couldn't argue with that, even if she tried it would be futile, Bertrand had made up his mind.

“This is all assuming we can convince her to help me. We never exactly had a close relationship, especially after everything that happened.”

“Precisely why you will need every advantage you can get, and why we are here.”

“A dress with the color of Madeleine and Adelaide's house. A dress as green as her envy towards you and as black as her shriveled heart.” With a flourish Maxwell pulled a dress off the rack. Emma grabbed the dress and slipped into the changing room. It was a club style dress, tight fighting so it hugged her curves but a halter, so it wouldn't slip while she was dancing. It appeared to be black with a patterned green lace over it, some of which extended past the end, just long enough to be classy. It was beautiful, as always.

“Don't forget this isn't only about Madeleine, you also must convince Adelaide to attend the wedding.” Emma brushed off Bertrand's concern.

“Adelaide won't take any convincing, if there's a party she's there.”

“Yes, but you will also need the support of Adelaide's husband, Madeleine's father which will be far more difficult.” Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Adelaide is married?”

“Duke Godfrey doesn't reside in Cordonia. He spends most of his time in England at his duchy.”

“The rumors at court are that Adelaide and Godfrey don't exactly get along.” Maxwell whispered as if someone may overhear.

“Which means his attendance at your wedding will be so important and hold a lot of sway, further into this tour.”

“So, do the impossible. Sounds like a normal day at this point.”

That evening Emma approached Madeleine's estate with her friends, but she hung back as they gushed over it, not feeling in much of a party mood.

“What's on your mind Barnes?” Drake fell into step beside her.

“What do you know about Godfrey and his relationship with Adelaide?” Drake sighed.

“Not much. Married for political reasons, as far as nobles go, he's as uptight and pretentious as they come. All he cares about is titles. My least favorite kind of noble.”

“Well I guess I have my work cut out for me then.”

“If anyone can do it Barnes, it's you.” Emma reached over and squeezed his hand, releasing it before they entered the ballroom which was…surprisingly empty.

“Wow, this place is like a ghost town.”

“Father mentioned that there would be a lot turn out. Fear is still high along the nobles after the attack on the palace and more recently the video.”

“They're afraid to be seen supporting the monarchy.” Drake scowled. He hated the idea that his best friend and love of his life had to put their lives in danger while the other nobles hid like the cowards he always thought they were. Scanning the room, Emma saw Adelaide speaking with Constantine and Regina, and a man with white hair, a permanent scowl on his face who she assumed was Godfrey as he took a seat right next to Adelaide.

“You'll win then over though, you always do. It's like magic!” Maxwell inserted himself into the conversation.

“It'll be easier to talk to them alone though.” Emma noticed Madeleine on the other side of the room, clearly not interested in the party. She approached Madeleine who properly greeted her for the sake of tradition.

“You've been greeted, could you leave me alone now, for once?”

“Actually, I needed to speak to you about something, an opportunity for you.”

“I'm sure it's of no interest to me.” Madeleine tried to leave.

“I want you to be my press secretary on this upcoming tour.” Madeleine stopped and turned, a satisfied smirk on her face.

“I knew it. You've come crawling back to me, begging for help because you've dug yourself too deep into a hole. Good luck getting yourself out. I'll be sitting at the top watching.” Madeleine hissed, and this time didn't stop as she walked away from her. Emma explained what happened to her friends and they decided to take a break. While they were getting some food, Drake accidentally bumped into Neville. Emma couldn't help but roll her eyes as she approached, he was amongst her least favorite people. He droned on and on while still managing to find a way to insult them all. Drake stepped in to defend Emma, some part of her loved that Drake would defend her even if publicly she was with Liam, but another part wanted to be able to elevate Drakes status so people like Neville would leave him alone. When Neville had the audacity to compare Drake to a dog she could see him losing it, Emma almost lost control of her own temper, it took all of her will power not to.

“He's not worth it Drake.” She whispered in his ear. As much as he hated Neville, he couldn't make things more difficult for her or his best friend and so he backed off, Emma was right. Drake had a feeling that Neville would get what was coming to him, even if that day wasn't today.

“We still need his support though. We need all the nobles we can get.” Hana said. The idea that Drake would have to watch Emma get married to Liam, knowing Neville would be in the crowd to mock him made his anger spike again. He needed a moment to himself and so he made a beeline for outside, hoping he wouldn't be followed. He turned when he heard soft footsteps, relieved to see it was only Emma.

“I'm sorry, I just needed some fresh air. I couldn't let my anger get the best of me. He was right, if I do something rash it only hurts you and Liam.” Emma gave him a sympathetic smile.

“For the record, I want to punch him too.” Drake chuckled.

“I don't suppose there's a metaphorical way I could punch him.”

“Maybe if you knew what fork was for what purpose.” Drake smirked.

“Guy like him, he'd know all that stuff. I did have one idea though.” Emma raised her eyebrows at him.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, something you could help me with.”

“What would that be?”

“Don't make me say it Barnes. You know what I'm talking about.” Emma really had no idea though, she shrugged.

“Dancing. Maybe you could teach me some fancy court dances.” Emma grinned.

“The Drake Walker is asking for dancing lessons?”

“I know. Can you help me or not Barnes?” Emma smiled and grabbed Drake's hands.

“Let's start.” He led her to a secluded part of the gardens under an arch filled with twinkling lights.

“Why dancing?” Drake sighed.

“We'll be going to a lot of balls, dancing is usually involved.”

“Neville got to you. Fuck what he thinks Drake.”

“It's not just Neville. I want to do this for you! For Liam! You guys need all the support you can get, and I can't be just the commoner friend who sticks around, I need to show them that I'm an asset.”

“Drake you don't need to change. You don't need to earn their respect to be helpful. I could never ask you to change for me.” He lifted her chin gently.

“I want to Barnes.”

“I love you Drake. Despite what anyone else thinks.” Drake kissed her gently and smiled.

“Okay, where do we start?”

“What do you know?”

“You know me Barnes, I don't dance. I know the starting position and that's it.”

“Let's start there then!” Drake gently placed his hand on her waist and grabbed her other hand with his, holding it out. She put her hand on his shoulder and slowly began gliding him through box steps, as she sped up, he struggled to keep up with her. His footwork became sloppy, almost stomping on her toes. Drake sighed in frustration, breaking hold.

“This is hard. You always make it look so effortless.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“That's because I'm not stomping like I'm part of some military marching band, you need to glide. Your movements need to flow together rather than stiff, and individual.” Drake just stared at her like she was speaking another language.

“Imagine you're dancing on glasses of whiskey, every time you stomp you break a glass.” Drake gasped.

“That's a tragedy Barnes.”

“Then I guess you better learn to glide.” It only took Drake a few more steps to finally learn to glide.

“Am I good? A perfect dancer now?” Emma smiled and shook her head.

“You still need to correct your frame, you have to hold it at all times.” Emma waited for Drake to find the correct frame.

“When you hold your frame, it helps your partner react to your movements accordingly.”

“Like this?” Emma pretended to be checking over Drake's frame and snuck in for a kiss. Drake immediately broke hold, falling into the kiss before pulling away.

“That's not the next move.” Emma giggled.

“You don't know that. You said yourself you don't know anything about dancing.”

“I've been around court for years Barnes, nobles don't go around kissing each other. That was a cheap move.” She winked.

“You loved it though. Anyways, my point was that you need to be able to focus through distractions. Your partner is trusting you to lead them through the dance, especially this next step.” Emma demonstrated and explained the next step before Drake took his place with her. Drake glided forward, and Emma took a step back, spinning under Drake's arm.

“What's the last step?” Emma grinned and jumped into Drake's arms, catching him off guard. She wrapped her arms around his neck and enjoyed the quiet moment together.

“As much I love this, what's the real move?”

“A simple spin.” Drake began twirling and Emma giggled until he lost his balance and they tumbled into the bushes.

“Aah!” Drake hissed and grabbed his shoulder. Emma rolled off him and looked at him, worried.

“Drake I'm sorry! Are you okay?” He nodded and let out a deep breath.

“I'm fine.” He pulled Emma back on top of him who wasn't convinced.

“Your shoulder, Drake.” He silenced her by kissing her. Her protests immediately stopped as his tongue slipped into her mouth.

“Drake? Emma!” Maxwell's voice forced them apart just as Drake's hand began wandering up her dress.

“We've been gone too long.” She whispered. Drake sighed and helped her up.

“Right here Maxwell.” They brushed each other off and stepped out from the gardens.

“What were you doing out here?” He looked them up and down.

“I was teaching Drake to dance.” Maxwell clearly didn't buy it.

“She was Maxwell.” Everyone dropped the subject.

“Thanks Barnes. I never wanted to learn because I didn't want court to change me. You've done it all though, you're going to be queen, but you're still the New York waitress that I fell in love with. If you can do it, then so can I. For Liam, for Cordonia, for you.” He gave her a meaningful look and she returned it, walking back inside to the ball behind Maxwell.

“Lady Emma!”

“Bertrand!” She mocked his rushed tone and waited for him to explain.

“I've been looking everywhere for you. Adelaide and Godfrey are alone, you should talk to them now.” Emma made her way over to Adelaide and tried to recruit her with no luck, she also had no luck with Godfrey, but she was able to figure out why everyone was so tense. It was something at least, she needed to talk to Madeleine again though, Bertrand would be furious if she didn't recruit her.

“Any luck?” Hana asked. Emma shook her head.

“I need to talk to Madeleine again, I know what's bothering them all.”

“I think that's going to have to wait.” Emma followed Maxwell's gaze to where Neville was asking Madeleine to dance. Emma's lips curled into a smile, Liam was nowhere to been seen.

“Let's show them how it's done Drake.” He looked at her wide-eyed and shook his head. “You want to give him the courtly middle finger, this is how you do it. You've got this.” Emma grabbed his hand and dragged him on to the dance floor. Drake took one look at Neville and his demeanor changed, he deftly began guiding Emma through the steps. She looked over her shoulder and saw him scowling at them, Emma turned back to Drake and grinned.

“We're definitely getting to him.”

“Guess he can't handle a little competition.” Neville grew increasingly showy, twirling Madeleine and gliding her across the dance floor, his scowl never leaving them.

“I think he's going to do something big. Can you do a lift?” Emma looked at Drake and was genuinely concerned, she wasn't going to ask him to do something that would hurt him. He nodded and met her gaze, he could do it. As the music crested, Drake lifted Emma by her waist and spun her as she threw her arms back, he gently set her down as the music stopped.

“That was amazing Drake!” Emma wrapped her arms around him and laughed as their friends rushed over.

“I guess she really was teaching you to dance. Stop holding out on me Drake!”

“Where'd you learn to do that Drake?” Hana joined them as Neville stormed over. Again, he tried to pick a fight with Drake and the others.

“Just because you did one waltz doesn't mean you belong here with us.”

“Why are you so threatened by Drake? It it because you know that no matter what you do in your sniveling life you'll never be as good as the commoner who took a bullet for the future queen.” Emma got in Neville's face and he took a step back sneering.

“That's the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard.”

“Really? Then why are you running with your tail tucked between your legs?” Neville huffed and walked off, at a loss of words.

“Thanks Barnes.” Before Emma could say anymore, she heard a commotion and turned to see what it was. Madeleine and her parents had begun arguing in raised voices.

Tag List:  @notoriouscs @sleepwalkingelite @brightpinkpeppercorn @ooo-barff-ooo @princesstopgun @choicesyouplayandmore @leelee10898@roonarific @indigo39 @skyila @speedyoperarascalparty @andy-loves-corgis @furiousherringoperatortoad @blackwidow2721 @drakewalkerfics@findingdrake @sue9659 @smritysriv