#also working shirtless in a forge- WHO SAID THAT

[rambheem-is-real]

jayvik. varadeva. do yall see the vision

[bokettochild]

nintendo rlly said that these peeps live right in the freakin sky and are white as hell huh. like bro?? why are they all(most of them) white?? wind lives on a tropical island, he’s at least an bit tan?? tbh i think the whitest of them would be legend, four and twi. they live in p shady areas and prob time too because he grew up in a forest

Right?

I think it would be something a bit less like Nintendo's take and a bit more like this-

Wind is the darkest skinned of them. I'm thinking Pacific Islander level of brown, well loved by the sun and much harder to burn than literally all of his brothers.

Twi is close to, if not darker than Wind, depending o how you feel about the Gerudo Twilight theory. He's got darker skin from his heritage, but also because he's a freaking farm boy! As a former farm-girl (man I miss that) I can say this- come summer you're either red as a hen's comb or you're brown as their eggs cause there isn't much in between!

Sky is tan. Not as much as most Skyloftians, because he's always been something of a sleepy remlit and tends to doze in shady places. He's tan though, a warm sun-kissed color, and definitely handles heat better than anyone blow him on this list.

Wild is nearly as tan as Sky. Kid runs around half clothed most of the time, his tan is everywhere and he is incapable of burning. Even without sun, I hc him as having a naturally darker skin shade, although I also have him dealing with vitiligo, so he does get selectively crispy in some spots, which is annoying as all get out.

When split, Red has a healthy tan from being out in the sun a lot, and Green's a got a softish one himself. Blue's inside of the forge a lot after their adventure, so he doesn't see the sun unless he's training, patrolling, or got dragged out by Zelda or his brothers. Vio though? Boy looks like he's burn if he stood in the sun for ten minutes, has to wear long sleeves or suffer throughout summer (and suffer he does) so he and Shadow have to share a sun umbrella in the warmer months when they go places.

Collectively of course, Four is only lightly tanned, hardly enough to be noticed, unless you stand him next to Legend or Wars.

Time is a healthy golden himself, I think. Like, again, farm life does that to you. Also he's got a wife he has no problem with him working shirtless, so this ain't no farmers tan, this is the legit thing. He burns easy-ish (Kolkiri ae essentially Irish), but he is capable of tanning.

Hyrule is pale. Like, the sun has been hiding behind clouds of malice for ages, you can't tell me he's tan. He's naturally of a darker skin tone, maybe slightly olive (I've seen hcs that Catalia is essentially Italy) but he just looks sick most of the time because he's never seen the sun since he started adventuring. (I have a friend who's a light olive, but tends to hide indoors, so they kinda look sickly when they don't get any sun, even when they're perfectly fine).

Wars is pale. Like, he can't tan. There's a double purpose for that scarf, and while he gets teased, it works well as a veil against harsh sunlight. He's kinda just- white. Like, not super pale, but the Gerudo desert would kill him without sun-block.

Legend could be mistaken for a porcelain doll. Like, he grew up in the shade of an orchard, and while, sure, he tanned when he was travelling abroad, he also spent a lot of time in Lorule, which has very poor lighting, and afterwards he was always galivanting around in big hats and weird clothes that covered most of him. Legend cannot tan well, and it always comes at the cost of a sunburn first.

And boy oh boy did I get carried away with that! But yes, anon, I agree. These boys ain't all white.

[kkeidawrites]

Castlevania spoilers!!!! If you don’t want to know how the show ends in season 4 please refrain from reading the rest of this post because I’m not holding back! Also I’m writing this as I watched so, this is my raw review!

Okay, so first off I want to say personally, I loved how season 4 brought heat to the finale of the show. Although I’m sad as hell that this is the last season for a great show.

Episode 1: Murder Wakes It Up- I thought that it was cool to see Trevor and Sypha fighting again after what happened in S3, obviously they are tired from the long four week journey of fighting night creatures, skeleton zombies, vampires from different countries, etc. but clearly the end game is that humans and vampires alike are working together to bring back Dracula. Like seriously, y’all might not know this but I hate, HATE when children become involved in stupid shit like human sacrifices like I can’t. Not the children. Please, not the babies. Sypha complaining she’s becoming like Trevor, and she’s so cute when she curses lol. Then when they arrive in Targoviste we have some new faces as potential enemies. I thought they were lame honestly lol I couldn’t take Barney-Larney whatever his dumbass was; he was mad annoying.

Then they shift over to Alucard…I have never seen a more broken beautiful drunk man in all my life. Like I had S3 flashbacks. He’s asked for help from a messenger who ended up dying on the way to the castle but his horse made sure he continued the journey and Alucard received the message for help in Danesti. Alucard fights with the horse, I thought that was funny. He was thoughtful enough to bury the rider, that was very sweet of him.

Also, shirtless Alucard will be engraved in my mind for life. Whew, chile that’s one fine man. He’s beginning to talk like Belmont and I can’t help how hilarious that is.

Episode 2: Having the World: Quite honestly this episode to me was meh. Hector talking with Lenore about how he needs this and that to create his hammer to continue forgemastering then Lenore talks with Carmilla and the white haired bat talks about how she is going to rule the world and what not, clearly losing her sanity.

Then it shifts over to Trevor and Sypha and they are fighting in a barn and new character Zamfir. Her character for me was also meh, but it’s nice to see more PoC in the show.

Episode 3: Walk Away: I liked this episode a lot. Issac altogether was nice enough to sit down and talk with a night creature and tell him/them that they were free of their original program, which was: eating humans, causing destruction, used as tools to forge masters. But man when he received that berry from Issac he realized that there is still some kind of humanity in them.

Issac is contacted by Varney to bring back Dracula but, Issac wants no business with that; he doing his own thing and seeing him being sassy again is so refreshing.

Morana and Striga scenes!!! I loved them, and then there was Striga’s day armor, man listen…I have never felt more closer to watching Berserk again than in that moment. They are hesitant to return back to Styria when Carmilla calls them, and it puts them in a bind to return home to continue through with Carmilla’s plans.

Sypha being annoyed by Zamfir was me the entire time. How you gone run a kingdom again with out a kingdom. Like girl, help the people instead of the royals, my god.

Episode 4: You Must Sacrifice: A cute little Trevor and Sypha scene. They decide to investigate Targoviste more before helping Zamfir. The scene shifts and Alucard is riding towards Danesti, donning a shield and a longer cape. Monsters are attacking the walls of the village, villagers are on the other side waiting to defend themselves. Some Castlevania popular screenshots appear here.

Then we meet Greta…Miss thang…that’s one beautiful woman okay. And she’s the chief of the village, cares for her people? Y’all I present. Her. And the fact that she is sassy too? I rock with her heavy as hell.

Saint Germain meets Alucard and I have a weird vibe coming from him. We see Saint Germain’s backstory or what little it will show us; he had a whole girlfriend, she a baddie too. Apparently she was like him? And she was the silhouette we saw in S3. Cool scene, inside the Infinite Corridor and I liked the library scene a lot too. Now he’s on a rampage trying to find access to the Infinite Corridor again to find his girl and he also wants to bring back Dracula? The fuck?

Refugees arrive at Danesti, and Saint Germain is acting very strange indeed. Like he’s desperate to go to the castle to help with the village “defenses”. Alucard agrees I guess? And he says another Belmont comment which I was happy to see again in the season.

Episode 5: Back in the World: Alucard leads Greta, Saint Germain and the villagers to his castle but, encounter a couple of night creatures on the way. Greta does Saint Germain y’all and I’m with her 100%. Alucard’s powers have definitely improved from last season. It was kind of interesting how Alucard willing told Greta what happened with him and you know who, kind of early in my opinion. Greta is bisexual?!!!! I love her 1000% now! I sense some chemistry between Greta and Alucard. I like that a lot.

Lenore really like annoys my soul, I do not like this mini bitch. I didn’t really care what Lenore and Hector talked about🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️sue me. Bruh Greta, beating that monster’s ass with just a hammer and a sword?! And Alucard impressed by it?! I’m here for it!! Some cute moments between Alucard and Greta got me gushing over here😝😝. Poor puppy😢😢. Alucard decides to “grow up” which I think is a nice step forward. Saint Germain is really making me mad.

They arrive at the castle and here goes Saint Germain acting like a fan boy, I mean who wouldn’t but you know…Greta killed me when she said the castle was ugly as hell lol. Another little cutesy scene between Alucard and Greta. Like I really like their chemistry y’all I’m sorry.

Trevor and Sypha demand that Zamfir take responsibility to help the people and I forgot what it was called but, before that they are attacked and Zamfir has something placed on her neck by a night creature.

Then Issac, he’s ready to fuck some shit up. And I’m here for it. Get em, bitch!

Episode 6: You Don’t Deserve My Blood: Carmilla’s castle is attacked by Issac’s night creatures. Lenore old punk ass running away does not surprise me in the slightest. Hector betrays Lenore and locks her in a cage. Hector has contact with Saint Germain like what? I don’t understand but, Issac comes in and it looks like Hector has given up, wanting to die honestly. Issac decides against killing him and Hector asks for his knife. This boy cuts his ring finger that the Lenore placed the ring, in front of her. That scene was meh, I thought he would get pissed at her for what she’s done to him in S3 but, I guess not.

Issac literally stole this episode, from his fight with the vampires and night creatures to Carmilla that shit was -chef’s kiss- magnifico! I loved the animation the fight scenes, yooo I was hyped the whole episode.

Morana and Striga make their decision to go their own way, living their own lives in the west so, bittersweet ending with them, I wanted to actually Striga fight the main trio but, whatever I guess.

Hector still has plans to bring back Dracula and asks Issac if he’s doing the same. Issac has other plans obviously, and tells Hector that they need to find their path in their lives. I feel Hector never knew where he was supposed to be placed in the world but Issacs words are very inspiring in my opinion. May have woke Hector’s dumbass up a bit.

Episode 7: The Great Work: Varney and the other guy, I really forgot his name found out about the catacombs and head there. Trevor and Sypha demand Zamfir take them underground, which to me I think it’s nothing there but her shit. Sypha gets mad at Zamfir and I’m with her, how you part of the royal guard when the people above need your help girl my god.

The cutest scene ever in this episode, was when the kids from Danesti wanting to play with Alucard and this boy jumps off the highest part of the castle just to show off. There should be more scenes of soft Alucard with children. Saint Germain is placing these weird stones it looks like in the castle walls. What is going on with him?

More Alucard and Greta moments please and thank you. The artwork in the castle is fucking phenomenal work. Saint Germain just gave the location to a vampire it looks like, from episode 4 maybe? He looks familiar.

There is a freaking army coming to the castle…lord Jesus. Like can they catch a break please? The kids just got settled.

Trevor and Sypha go to the catacombs and it’s just as bad as the people above grounds. New weapon acquired for Trevor, pretty dope. The king and Queen are dead and Zamfir is officially insane. She really thinks that the king and Queen will come back alive and protect their people like she’s done them. Sypha tries to talk to her, that puts her in a weird daze, Trevor is just being Trevor. Varney and his lackey, come to the catacombs looking to kill I really do not know that man’s name y’all so I apologize for not giving a damn about him lol.

The castle is about to be under siege, I’m not ready. Having a whole heart attack over here from nerves.

Episode 8: Death Magic: Varney and his partner attack the people in the catacombs, Varney is looking for a giant mirror? Why I don’t know. Poor Trevor and Sypha they are soooo tired, I feel so bad for them. Zamfir is actually not bad of a fighter, I like that. Sypha still the goat, no cap.

The castle is under attack, it’s actually nice to see how diverse the vampires are in this show, you can tell what countries their from and I think that’s dope as hell. And then every time a human dies their souls are transferred to Saint Germaine? So is this another S3 human sacrifice crap again? Omg…I’m so sick of that. Saint Germain uses the key he received from the woman in the Infinite Corridor and it creates the symbol of the corridor’s portal.

Here goes Alucard being a badass again, I never tire of him being one. Greta holding it down too is really cool, I don’t care what nobody say, she is that bitch. Her and that hammer, a force to be reckoned with.

Everyone is overwhelmed and have no choice but to evacuate to the castle, right before those doors closed Alucard nods to her to leave him out to fight and she looks at him like boy bye. Get yo ass in this castle. Greta pulling Alucard in just shows they are compatible for one another. Even the playful banter between them is cute.

The discovery of the stones in the walls leads Greta and Alucard to his childhood bedroom and they find Saint Germain where he reveals he’s opening the Infinite Corridor to bring back Dracula by using death magic. Petty Saint Germain, I do not like him bro.

They have to deal with him later though to fight off the night creatures that got into the castle. Greta still holding it down.

Trevor and the vampire guy is still fighting but, Trevor being so tired he’s slowing a bit, and honestly I don’t know how he’s still able to function at this point. Sypha shows off her powers like a G that she is and Zamfir is doing some great damage with the knives she’s got and that’s crazy how little knives can do to the body.

Did Sypha always have lightning powers? I don’t remember. If it’s new I love it! Trevor’s almost killed but a woman and child save him in time but, unfortunately Zamfir is stabbed in the stomach when the vampire moves to kill them both. I’m going to be honest I didn’t really care for Zamfir’s character she was just…there lol.

Then that scene with Sypha basically incinerating the rest of the monsters is fire!!! No pun intended lol. Varney finds the mirror and steps through it where Saint Germain is. Trevor and Sypha goes through the mirror as well but in a different location in the castle.

Episode 9: The Endings: This whole episode was literally the best of the best in any other seasons. The fight scenes, the banter, the main three…oh my God I loved it all. Noooooo, the dolls!!!!!! You bastards!!!! Trevor and Sypha’s entrance was perfect. Muah! Perfecto! The rock monsters really confused me on how they were killed but you know what who cares?

Alucard has wings?!!!!! What?!!!!!!!!! The general of the caravan have brought in the man woman thingy to Saint Germain. Death has appeared. His character design is dope af. Noooo not mom and dad!!! Nooo! Poor Alucard had to witness his parents literally in pain and of course Trevor ends it again, somehow Saint Germain redeemed himself almost?

The four vampires fighting the main trio had me running for my money. I liked the whole scene it was nice to see at least one or two vampires almost have the upper hand on the main trio.

That general vampire? His fight was wild, throwing his arm as it was about to explode and use it against Trevor was genius. And main trio…they don’t need to have a plan to fight they just work so well together that it works out in end.

Trevor vs. Death. Also was that the first time Trevor told Sypha he loved her? I can’t remember. Anyway, back to the final battle. The quality of the fight, the sheer power between both characters, and then he goes and sacrificed himself like Trevor are you deadass? You deadass died? Unacceptable. And then episode just ends.

Episode 10: It’s Been a Strange Ride: Lenore died so lame, and she was drunk as well when she died. I really won’t be missing her because she was just a character I very much disliked. Hector is finally free, little dumbass.

I wanna see what Issac is up to and Morana and Striga seems appropriate. But oh well, I hope they are happy wherever they are.

Tombstone for Trevor, it’s not real. He ain’t dead, I don’t believe that. Omg, Greta and Alucard are together?!!! Whoooooo!!! And the village kids are calling him father? Yasssssssssssss!!!!! I’m here for it. Alucard saying he’s not used to people is 100% me in public I don’t like being around a lot of people and it doesn’t help I have anxiety either. Sypha being pregnant was a given she looked a little thicker in the hips from episode one. She can’t leave…we need her. Really Castlevania creators? Y’all gone play with all our hearts? Thinking Trevor was dead and he gone pop up on a horse?

And look at this⤵️⤵️

He’s smiling, happy, soft, has a boo thang I’m….😭😭😭I’m so happy.

Y’all….all in all this was a great ending to the show…a great ending…

Oh wait…wait…wait wait wait, mom and dad are alive?!!! But how? You know what I don’t care their going to travel to England and their heart shaped embrace is everything. Oh no I’m crying again….

[rogue-durin-16]

THE FLOWER IN THE FORGE (part I/II)

Request: Thorin x fem human! reader please where they meet in Ered Luin during Thorin’s blacksmith days, she bonded with the rest of the Durins too especially Dis, so just cute & stuff until finally Thorin has to leave to reclaim Erebor, maybe a bit of an angsty bittersweet ending because the reader is not interested in being a queen

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x human!Reader

Genre: mostly fluff

Tags:

Requested by: @queenofmankind

Permanent taglist: @queenofmankind @randomparanoid

Warnings: none really

A/N: this is my first fanfic of the Hobbit so it might be a bit meh but I need practice so forgive me plz. Also for those who don't know, English is not my mother tongue so I have to get used to this. Now enjoy <3

Part II

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

Selling flowers in the town's market might not have been the most profitable business, but it was a beautiful one.

Each morning, I would leave my lowly home and walk all the way through the town square to the stall where colorful bouquets and delicate flower crowns were already waiting for me.

Though one day, as I made my way to my working place as always, I heard unusual metallic bang. Then another, and another, and another, it was almost rhythmic.

Out of curiosity I strayed from my path in order to discover what that sound was. It was early in the morning, not many places were open.

I gradually slowed down when I saw a raven-haired dwarf forging a sword at the end of the street, in what I thought was an abandoned blacksmith's shop.

I guessed it was no longer abandoned.

The dwarf looked up and his icy eyes fixed on mines with such an intensity that made me look away, almost ashamed of having stared at him for too long.

Just as I was about to make my way up the street again and retake my usual path, a deep, loud voice spoke. "Good morning."

I turned to meet his eyes once more. This time somehow they looked less intimidating than a couple of seconds before. "Good morning to you." I replied with a timid smile. "I apologize, I did not mean to stare."

"Do not apologize, m'lady." He responded leaving his hammer resting on the wooden table. "I understand it may be rare to see... Well, a-"

"Blacksmith in town." I finished his sentence with my words before he could finish with his. "We lacked from one for so long, I doubt I have ever listened to the hammering of the forge before." we stayed in silence for an instant before I spoke again. "May I know your name?"

"Only if I know yours."

"Y/n Y/l/n." I replied with a smile.

"Thorin Oakenshield." he presented himself, with a subtle bow of his head. "At your service."

"I will leave you now to your task, Thorin. I too have a job I must attend." I turned around once more while I waved goodbye at the handsome dwarf.

"Farewell, Y/n." as I got farther from him, I started hearing the hits of the hammer against the metal sword once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

What am I doing, I asked myself as I made my way to the blacksmith's with a portion of food I had bought in the market.

"Hey." Thorin looked up at me and almost instantly a half smile appeared on his lips. "happy to see me again?"

"Very." he replied, stopping his work. "I thought I might have scared you yesterday."

"Oh, you did." I spoke the truth, sitting on a free bench besides him. "But you have a pretty smile." he seemed shocked at my words, almost confused. "I brought you some food." I handed him the portion and he left the table he was working over to stand in front of me. "it occurred to me that you may be hungry."

"That's very thoughtful of you." Thorin sat besides and started eating. "but you don't have to look for excuses to come and see me." I widened my eyes and he let out a chuckle. "I was joking."

"I'm not paying you to court a human, dwarf! Work!" I burrowed my brows at the poor treatment, and, even though I could feel Thorin’s anger, he obliged and, after getting up, he gripped the hammer and the sword with such strength that his knuckles went white.

"I did not mean to distract you." He simply shook his head, dismissing me without any kind of eye contact. I could tell he was angry. "I'll leave you to it now." I smiled at him, though he wasn't looking, and I stood up and walked out.

Since he was now behind me, I couldn't acknowledge the way his eyes lingered on me; the longing they held.

"Y/n! Long time no see, kid." the bartender who worked in the same street as Thorin called my name. "What are you doing down here?"

"I came to see Thorin."

"Thorin?"

"The blacksmith." I detailed.

His face fell and a frown installed in his face. "That dwarf? What are your business with him?" before I could give a confused question for an answer, he spoke again. "Be careful, lass. Dwarves are not ones to trust."

"Uh... Sure."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day was close to the end when a pair of young dwarves appeared in my street, seemingly confused. "Excuse me, lady- Oh those are pretty." the dark-haired one spoke, visibly losing his trail of thoughts when his eyes got caught in the flower crowns.

"Kíli, focus." the blond one urged the other, nudging him. "Lady may I ask which way must we go in order to reach the blacksmith's shop?"

"You should walk to the end of this street, then take a left turn and go up, when you reach the square-"

"Could you guide us there?" The blond dwarf begged. "We have been lost for a couple of hours now."

"If you give me a moment, I will." I responded. I was going to leave soon anyway.

"Fíli, we should buy one of this crowns for mom." the brunet suggested, completely ignoring his brother distress. "She will love it."

With a sigh, Fíli took a look at the crown his brother was pointing at. "How much for this one, lady?"

Once they paid, I handed the crown to the brunet and closed the stall. "Alright lads, follow me." I guided them both all the way to the blacksmith's. I didn't need to ask if they knew Thorin, that was an obvious answer, though it was confirmed when, after hearing the noise both dwarves were causing behind me, he looked up with what I could tell was a scolding glare.

It softened considerably when his gaze was met with mine instead of with either of theirs.

"Y/n." A smile made its way to my face at the way my name rolled out of his tongue, which triggered a confident smirk on his. "I see you found my troublesome nephews." I let out a laugh, turning to meet two pair of curious eyes already staring at me. "Did they cause you any problems?"

"Not at all," I assured, taking a few steps more to reach the place where he was working. "they just could not find their way to here and requested my services as a guide."

"That was very kind of you," Thorin pointed out, his eyes fixed on mines with some kind of warmth "though I am not sure if I should thank you for bringing them to me." he then turned to both dwarves. "You should be at home."

"We came to keep your company." The blond one assured to his uncle.

"I do not need company." he sternly replied, to which the dark-haired one responded with a quiet murmur, causing his brother to nudge him scoldingly.

"What was it?" I questioned, curious, as I took a seat on a wooden stool near the forge.

"Nothing m'lady." the blond lied with an apologetic look.

"Kíli." Thorin called with tremendous authority in his voice. "What was it."

Kíli's lips formed a knowing, mischievous smile before any word left his mouth. "I said that we sure are poor company compared to the beautiful lady besides you, uncle." his brother pinched the bridge of his nose and I felt my cheeks burning.

"You are not wrong," Thorin replied with calmness and confidence in his voice. "Y/n is much better company than a couple of problematic dwarves." my cheeks only got redder, and though he was not looking at me, by the ghost of a smile in his gaze I could tell he somehow had noticed. "Now go home, it's late."

"Aren't you coming with us?" Fíli asked.

"I have too much work left to do." I was in that moment going to leave the blacksmith's to go home, but then I heard his words. "I'll spend the night here. Tell my sister not to worry." his nephews nodded and left us alone. "You should go home too." he commented, undoing the laces of his shirt after rekindling the fire.

"What did you mean with spending the night here?" I inquired, loosening my own laces.

It was way too hot in there.

"By the time I finish, it will be too late to go all the way back." he explained already back to the making of another sword.

"You can stay in my house." I suggested without giving a second thought to my words. "It's... Not much but there's enough room."

"You are too kind." he whispered, submerging the sword into water to cool it down. "It is alright, won't be the first time I do not have a bed to rest," he left the sword aside and proceeded to take off his shirt. "and it should won't be the last."

I didn't quite process the fact that he was shirtless until he started edging the sword, which made his muscles tense. His skin glistened with the sweat that the blacksmith's caused; his long raven hair fell in cascade partially covering his shoulders—

"Seems to me you like what you see." I was staring. Again. "It's alright." he assured with that that smug grin in his face. "You really should go home."

"I'll help you." I stated, using a lace on my wrist to tie up my hair. Once again I missed the way Thorin’s eyes fixed on my while I secured the hair; the way his jaw slightly dropped when, with my hair up, he was able to see my back. "That way you will finish earlier and we will go home together."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

THORIN'S P. O. V.

It was late night when I finally closed the blacksmith's shop and we went to Y/n's home.

We walked in silence —a comfortable one.

"Do you need a change of clothes?" she questioned, making her way to what I supposed was her bedchamber. "There's probably something in the chest."

"It won't be necessary." I spoke, sitting down to take off my boots. I looked up for an instant, and found Y/n's door not closed enough to shield her half naked body from me. I rapidly averted my eyes and turned around.

"If you change... your mind..." I could feel her gaze on my back as I took off both my shirts, so I looked over my shoulder to meet her eyes. "You can grab one." with a smile, she opened her bedchamber's door and motioned me to pass. "The bed is big enough so don't you dare to argue." she warned me, lying down under the blankets. "I'm tired."

"No wonder why," I listened to her, lying besides her over the bedding. "It was a long day." she hummed in response and, when I turned to her, she had her eyes closed already.

Ethereal was the only valid word to describe her. Damn my height, damn my race, damn my—

"like what you see?" she teased with a grin, her eyes still closed.

"I do." was I too forward? I had met her barely a week ago. Maybe her words and actions where misleading me, she was one of kind nature.

Her eyes opened and she stared into mines. "Do you?" I rolled to my side and gave her a discreet nod.

Before I could move towards her in order to test the waters, her lips where on mines, though as fast as they came, they left to be hidden behind the blankets.

"I apologize." she mumbled.

To which I replied, "Do not." I moved my hand to move the blanket away from her face so I could return the kiss to her.

[inkweaver22-blr]

HOLY. MOLY.

This has to be the Lóng-est chapter I’ve written so far! It took me almost two whole days to complete!

Please enjoy the fruits of my labor as we all see what Tang gets up to next!

AO3 Link

<Previous | First | Next>

Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Seven: Scaled Siblings

Tang wakes up in Mei's mansion.

----------

Tang woke from the usual dream signaling the start of a new cycle when his alarm went off. With a sigh he sat up and reflexively clapped his hands. He blinked a bit in surprise when the lights turned on in response. He quickly put on his glasses and looked around.

The room he was in was not one he recognized. It was much larger than he was accustomed too, being the same size as either of the apartments he usually lived in. The opulent decorations also screamed wealth and old money to Tang, something he certainly never had.

As he climbed out of the king sized bed, Tang began to suspect where he was. The amount of green accents and jade adornments everywhere made it fairly obvious.

He was in the Lóng family’s mansion.

Shivering a bit as he rubbed his bare arms, (apparently this version of himself slept shirtless), he quickly made his way over the huge mirror that was standing upright in between a fancy dresser and antique armoire. He needed to know what was going on.

Tang’s mouth hung open when he saw his reflection.

He was young.

He was buff.

Tang gaped at his own body for a few moments. Sure, the scholar had never technically been out of shape in most timelines, but dang he had never been this fit before either.

Blushing in embarrassment once he realized he had just been staring at himself for over a minute, Tang did his best to refocus.

(But damn did he look good.)

He was much younger than usual as well. If the scholar had to guess, he’d say he was only a few years older than MK and Mei now.

He really needed to find out what was happening.

Tang took a breath and began his remembering ritual.

“I am Lóng Tang. I am the current heir to the branch of the Lóng family descended from Huánglóng, the Yellow Dragon.”

What the hell?!

Tang rubbed his temples as he felt a headache coming on. He thought being Tripitaka had been confusing enough, but this was on an entirely different level of unexpected. He needed to keep going or he’d get stuck on this single fact for much too long.

“Every family descended from a dragon traditionally takes on the name Lóng. Even though we aren’t tied by blood, all the Lóng branches consider each other family and treat each other as distant relatives.”

Fascinating, but that didn’t really help ease his confusion much. Next detail.

“I’ve been living with my aunt, uncle, and cousin, who are descended from Ao Run, the Dragon King of the West Sea, for the last four years.”

Well that explained why he was in Mei’s mansion.

“I’ve done so at the request of my aunt and uncle, who are hoping that by setting a good example, Mei will learn from me, grow out of her childish pursuits, and become a proper heir.”

What. The. Hell.

Tang searched his memories thoroughly. There was no way Mei’s parents would have said such a horrible thing to him directly.

He came up with no concrete evidence of his aunt and uncle having ever implied that they found Mei lacking in any way. It seemed this version of himself had simply made that assumption himself.

Tang rolled his eyes. He certainly knew how dangerous making assumptions could be. He needed more information to get a better conclusion.

“Luckily for Mei, I find her to be fun and do my best to act as a buffer between her and her parents. She introduced me to her friend MK back in my first year living here, and he quickly befriended me once I began sharing stories about the Monkey King with him. We all like to hang out at MK’s adoptive father’s noodle shop whenever we all have some free time.”

Tang smiled in relief. At least some things never changed.

“Right now, I should be making my way to the mansion’s training room for my daily workout before heading to my job at the city library.”

Tang blinked as he finally checked the time. 5:17 AM. Eurgh. He should not be feeling this energetic this early.

With a resigned sigh, Tang pulled out a set of exercise clothes from the ridiculously nice dresser and got dressed.

He had always heard exercising was a good way to help clear your head when you had a lot to think about. At least, that’s what a lot of martial arts fiction implied. He hoped that it worked the same in practice.

----------

Tang had never felt so in control of his own body before. The way it seemed to flow from one movement to the next as he began some warm up sets was extremely satisfying.

Just as satisfying was the fact that he was trained in martial arts in this timeline. He never had a real desire to fight, but just knowing how to defend himself was a bit reassuring with what he knew would be coming in the future.

He let his mind wander a bit as he let his muscle memory lead him through his pre-workout routine.

This cycle had broken Tang’s previously held conventions on what he had come to expect within these timelines. He had originally categorized them into five types.

The ones where there were no changes to the original timeline.

The ones where there were only small, relatively insignificant changes.

The ones where new events outside of the ones in the original timeline occurred.

The ones where he was the immortal Tripitaka instead of just his reincarnation.

Finally, there were the ones that combined any number of changes from the previous three types.

Tang moved on to a second, more difficult set as he pondered on this shift in perspective. It was obvious this was a new, sixth type of cycle he simply hadn’t encountered before. This one had completely rewritten his and Mei’s background, making huge alterations to their past that would surely affect the coming future events.

Tang felt a shiver of fear creep down his spine but kept his form steady.

Now that his personal history was almost completely unrecognizable, what did that mean for the “No Interference” rule? It didn’t seem to apply whenever Tang himself didn’t know what the outcome of events could be. So with him having an altered life, did that mean the outcomes of the events he knew of would have been altered as well? Could he get more involved than before now as he never knew what those outcomes would have been? Perhaps he couldn’t directly affect the outcomes, but surely he wouldn’t be punished for offering a bit of backup and support now that he could provide it.

Right?

He smoothly moved onto his final warm up set as another complication occurred to him.

This wouldn’t be the only cycle that would drastically change his and his family’s past. Like the other variants, now that he had experienced one, more would begin to show up with increasing frequency as time went on.

What worried Tang was that they would also share the unpredictability of the others. The vast amount of probable changes were too numerous to even begin guessing what might happen until a cycle began and he could remind himself of his history within it.

He supposed that there was nothing he could do about that until those cycles actually happened, so there was no real point in fretting over it now. He let his worries go as he finished his warm up and took a deep breath.

Tang felt good.

Better than good, actually, he felt energized. Charged up, so to speak. It was exhilarating.

With a grin, Tang focused on the part of himself that was dragon in origin. The energy that swirled within him was powerful; a strange mix of wild strength and immovable sturdiness.

He let warm power fill him as he held out his hand. In a flash of golden-yellow light, the young scholar summoned his family’s own sacred weapon to him. Tang examined it in awe.

Dàdì Zhī Yá.

Fang of the Earth.

It was a masterful work of art.

The magical guandao had been a gift to his ancestors from Huánglóng himself and, just like Mei’s Dragon Blade, seemed to be made entirely out of jade.

It wasn’t the same green jade however. It was made up of three other types of the precious mineral.

The intricately designed blade was a bright yellow jade, matching the color of the scales of its creator. The shaft of the weapon was a rich brown jade, symbolizing the element of Earth Huánglóng was associated with. Finally, the connector for the shaft and blade and the counter-weighted capstone at the butt of the shaft were a deep black jade. It was said to represent the color of ink as Huánglóng had supposedly gifted the knowledge of writing to mankind.

The only part of the weapon that wasn’t made of jade was the royal purple silk tassel that hung from the connecting piece near the blade. It complimented the earthy colors of the rest of the guandao rather nicely.

Tang took the weapon in both hands and got into the proper stance to begin his drills.

He had earned the right to wield the Fang of the Earth roughly six years ago according to his memories and had practiced diligently with it ever since.

Being chosen to be worthy of possessing it had forged a sort of connection between him and the guandao. Normally, the weight alone should have made it impossible for him to lift it, but the connection allowed him to hold it with little difficulty. He had still struggled a bit with how heavy it was despite that, but the years of training had helped him gain the strength and muscle to wield it with incredible precision and control.

Simply being able to pick it up wasn’t the only benefit to being connected to his family’s sacred weapon. It seemed to bond with the dragon energy within him, allowing the scholar to summon it to his side at will. The only drawback was that his hands had to be completely free to do so.

He wondered if the Dragon Blade worked similarly for Mei back in his original timeline.

Tang swung the guandao around skillfully, thinking about his cousin in this cycle.

Lóng Xiǎojiāo. Mei.

The young woman was an endless fountain of optimism and positivity. She had a passion for life and its experiences. Riding her motorcycle was just one of the ways she connected to her innermost self and channeled her enthusiasm for existence.

She was fiercely loyal to her friends and family. She may not be formally trained in a fighting style, but if you hurt her precious people you’d face her wrath.

Mei was generally cheerful and outgoing in most aspects of her life. The single exception had been her relation with her family and their legacy.

Tang frowned as he continued his drills.

In the original timeline, Mei had constantly been under the pressure to behave properly. At least she had until the Dragon Blade had been stolen and she unlocked its power. By embracing being a part of her family despite their differences and by being herself, she had become a worthy successor to her clan’s lineage.

But that was still four months away according to the current date. This was certainly the earliest he’d even woken up before the original events.

His presence here wasn’t helping matters. While he and Mei had become good friends, he couldn’t help but feel that she thought she was constantly being compared to him by her parents.

Again, he had no strong proof about whether that was the case in this cycle. It was just a suspicion he had.

Tang hummed to himself, trying to think of some way to fix this problem while slashing downwards with the Fang of the Earth.

He couldn’t do anything overt that could change things so that she accepted her place in her family too early. He was sure that violated the “No Interference” rule despite the changed history.

Perhaps he could try subtly raising Mei’s self confidence? But how could he go about doing that?

Tang twirled the guandao around him before ending his first set.

As he looked down at his own family’s legacy and heritage, he couldn’t help but think that learning to use the weapon had made him more sure of himself over the years.

Tang blinked.

Huh.

Perhaps he could use that.

He started into his next set of drills, already brainstorming about what he would need to make his plan work.

----------

Tang was certain his earlier suspicions about Mei’s parents were, thankfully, completely wrong. The dinners they shared as a family proved to him that they loved their daughter completely. They just didn’t see eye-to-eye on some things.

He was also able to get their permission and help with the idea he had. That showed how much they actually cared considering the things he had asked for weren’t something people only obsessed with their image and wealth would agree to.

It took nearly three weeks to prepare but he was finally ready.

“Uncle, do you remember that issue we discussed a few weeks ago,” he asked at dinner that evening.

“Oh, is it ready?”

“Yes Uncle.”

“Wonderful! Mei darling,” his uncle addressed the young woman, who eyed him warily.

“Yeah dad?”

“Tang here has come up with a bit of a surprise for you. Would you be willing to join him in the training room after dinner so that he may share it with you?”

“Uhh… I guess so,” Mei agreed hesitantly, glancing over at her older cousin.

“Don’t worry. It’s a good surprise,” Tang reassured.

“It’s also one we support and gave our full permission for,” Mei’s mother added. “Listen to what your cousin has to say and try not to dismiss it right away, dear.”

Tang winced a little as Mei glared down at her plate.

He clamped down at the growl that wanted to roll from his throat at the slightly tactless comment. Dragon instincts had been interesting to deal with these past few weeks. Especially the protective ones.

Dinner finished soon after and Tang led Mei to the training room.

“So what’s this big surprise you’ve got for me,” Mei asked, slouching as she looked around the room.

“Don’t sound too excited now,” Tang drawled as he pulled out a wrapped package.

“I don’t know. Something that has my parents' full support sounds soooo cool,” Mei snarked, earning a snort from the scholar.

“Trust me on this. You’ll like it,” Tang said, slowly unwrapping the item. “How would you like to learn how to wield a sword?”

“Wait, what?” Mei straightened her posture in surprise. She gasped when Tang finally unveiled what he was holding.

A replica of the Dragon Blade.

“Wha- But- How?!” Mei gaped at the sword. It wasn’t an exact copy, but it had the same dimensions as the original.

“Your parents allowed me to commission a copy of the Dragon Blade so that I can begin teaching you how to use it.”

That had been a bit of a hard sell. He had to agree to only go through a smith of their choice and all schematics of the blade had to be destroyed afterwards. But they had gone through with it, at least once he explained it was for Mei’s benefit.

Mei’s expression flickered between several emotions before settling on anger.

Uh oh.

“Oh I get it! This is because I’m ‘undisciplined’ isn’t it,” she bit out, a growl rising in her voice. “I need to be reined in! Taught how to be a dignified heir to the clan like you, right?!”

“No! That’s not-” Tang took a breath. He wouldn’t get through to her if he started yelling too. “That’s not what’s going on here, Mei.”

“Oh? Well it sure looks like it is to me!”

“Will you please let me explain?”

“Ugh!” Mei threw her arms in the air before crossing them and looking away in a huff. “Fine! But once you’re done I’m out of here.”

“That’s okay. No one said you had to go through with this if you didn’t want to,” he reassured. That seemed to make some of the tension ease out of her.

“First, this was my idea, not your parents’. The only thing I needed permission from them was to make this replica.

“As for why... I just wanted to spend more time with you is all.”

“Huh?” Mei looked up at the nervous scholar. “But we hang out all the time!”

“Yes, but that’s usually with MK as well. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Tang hastily added at her sudden glare. “I love the kid, really I do!

“But we don’t really do anything that’s just for the two of us. Since I enjoy training with a weapon, I thought it could be something we could share?”

Mei had her brows furrowed in uncertainty.

“But… Why go through the trouble of making a copy of the Dragon Blade then? Couldn’t you just teach me how to wield a guandao as well? That is the weapon you actually know how to use.”

“I suppose that’s a fair point,” Tang conceded. “But what about when you claim the real Dragon Blade for yourself? Shouldn’t you know how to properly use it when that happens?”

“When I-” Mei’s breath caught. “You think I-! I’m not-! My parents would never-!”

“Mei, Mei!” Tang placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. “Take a breath. In and out.”

The young woman took a few deep breaths, calming herself. Then she stared into Tang’s eyes, looking for any deception.

“Do you really think mom and dad would ever let me use the blade?”

“I’m not sure what they might do.” That was a slight lie, but he couldn’t force her into a realization about her family too early. He was pushing it as it was just by telling her he thought she’d get the blade.

“But I do know you. You’re optimistic. You’re funny. You’re loyal. You’re incredibly brave. I’m sure that just by being yourself everything will turn out.” That was not a lie. His cousin was all those things and he admired her for it.

Mei, who had tears in her eyes, launched herself at him and pulled him into a hug. Her grip was powered by her dragon strength, but luckily for Tang this time, he had his own so he wasn’t crushed in the embrace.

“Thank you Tang.”

“No problem, Mei.” He held her for a moment before pulling away and asked, “So does this mean you want to learn swordplay?”

“Heck yeah it does!” Mei pumped her fists into the air. “This is going to be awesome!”

“Good.” Tang gave a mischievous smirk. “Then I expect you to be here bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Mei froze in her celebrations.

“Uh… How early, exactly” she asked nervously.

Tang’s grin was filled with too many fangs as his eyes sparkled with humor.

“5:30 sharp.”

“NOOOOOOOO!” Mei’s dramatic cry of horror and slump to the floor made Tang burst out in laughter.

Who knew teasing a younger relative could be so much fun?

----------

Tang grit his teeth as he slashed through another bull clone with Fang of the Earth.

It was finally the day of Demon Bull King’s invasion and the group had just returned from the volcanic ring where MK had seemed to perish. They were fighting their way through the army of bull clones in an attempt to get to the center of the city where Demon Bull King was.

What they were planning to do once they reached him, Tang still had no clue no matter how many timelines he lived through.

Tang dodged a strike from his left and countered with a quick sweep of his guandao.

There were definitely way more clones than there were originally. He supposed that this was whatever higher power that controlled the cycle's way of balancing out his ability to actually help out.

He dispatched the group of enemies surrounding him and looked around.

There was Pigsy who was beating away clones with a loose pipe. Sandy stood next to the chef, deflecting any attacks that came their way with two trash can lids. Where was-

Tang’s pulse quickened when he heard Mei scream.

He searched frantically, dodging or redirecting the strikes coming his way when-

There!

Mei was backed up against a building, surrounded by clones. She was holding a gash on her arm and the broken remains of her training sword lay at her feet.

She looked scared.

Tang could feel it as his eyes narrowed into slits and a menacing growl tore from his throat. With a roar of fury, he leapt into the air towards Mei.

He let his power loose, manifesting an avatar of his dragon form behind him as he filled the Fang of Earth with golden-yellow energy.

“STAY AWAY FROM MY SISTER!”

He landed in front of Mei and shouted in rage as he stabbed the ground with the guandao. A shock wave of power spread through the earth around them, causing it to spike up to stab any clone it passed.

The energy dissipated once all the bull clones in the area had been destroyed. Satisfied they were safe for the moment, Tang swiftly turned around and began checking over Mei.

“Are you alright Mei?! What am I saying, of course you aren't! You’re bleeding! Let me see that.” The dragon scholar fussed over the young woman, inspecting the wound before tearing off the hem of his robe to serve as a bandage.

“Did… Did you just call me your sister?” Mei’s eyes were wide as she stared at him.

Tang froze for a moment. Had he?

Oh. He supposed he had.

Well that explained where the fondness and protective feelings he had developed for her over the course of their daily training came from.

Tang finished tying off the bandage before looking at Mei.

“Is… Is that okay,” he asked nervously. “Because if you aren’t okay with it I won’t call you that again- oof!”

He was cut off by Mei launching herself at him and hugging him tightly.

“Of course it's okay you goof!” He could hear her sniffles as she fought back tears.

“Oh! Well… That’s, uh, good,” Tang relaxed into the hug as his nervousness melted away.

Mei snickered and pulled away, giving him a blinding smile.

“Come on, big bro. We’ve got a city to save!”

Tang felt his own face light up as he picked up Fang of the Earth and followed his sister to regroup with Pigsy and Sandy.

He knew they were no match for Demon Bull King and would have to wait for MK’s arrival to defeat him, but right now Tang felt like he could take on anything.

----------

Tang grew accustomed to being able to help in fights. They had all been scaled up in scope so that while his support was useful, it was never the tipping point that could change the outcome into something different.

The cycle moved on swiftly.

He celebrated with Mei and her parents when she obtained ownership of the real Dragon Blade.

He fought in their resistance when the Demon Bull King invaded a second time.

He did his best to be there for MK when the signs of his stress began to show.

All too soon, the day of training in the desert came.

Lady Bone Demon’s attack was just as brutal as ever.

However, when he and the rest of the group jumped to attack her once MK got caught, Tang instinctively dodged out of the way of her retaliation.

Before he could think of the potential consequences of attempting to change the outcome, he began to slash downwards with the Fang of the Earth.

Only to be stopped dead in the air when the Mayor grabbed the blade with no effort.

Tang felt dread crawl up his spine as the demon smiled nonchalantly at him. Flashbacks to that early cycle triggered in his mind, causing him to freeze up.

The Mayor casually ripped the guandao from Tang’s loose grasp, tossing it over his shoulder like a discarded piece of trash. Then he punched the dragon scholar with enough force to launch him back onto the ship.

Tang could only assume the events continued as normal from there.

He was too busy having a panic attack to notice.

Years of training and experience and still he was powerless against that man! He vaguely acknowledged he had started to cry at some point.

“Tang! Big brother! It’s okay. He’s gone. We got away.” Mei was holding him as he sobbed.

“M-mei?”

“I’m here, big brother. We’re safe.”

Tang began to breathe deeply in order to calm himself. He wanted to be composed when Wukong showed up with MK so as not to worry them too much.

He hugged Mei fiercely before pulling away.

“T-thanks, little sister,” he said with a shaky smile. She just smiled back and helped him to his feet.

As he leaned against the younger woman, Tang couldn’t help but feel extremely lucky to have gotten to know her like this.

She was fierce, loyal, brave, and kind.

She was the best sister someone could have ever asked for.

----------

Welcome to the Golden Dragon Tang AU!

This is my own personal creation, and most of the prominent details (minus Tang knowing the future from timeline jumping) are laid out in this chapter. If I got any of the details about the Yellow Dragon wrong I apologize! I'm not a mythology expert.

A guandao is basically the Chinese equivalent of a glaive; a short sword mounted on a 1-2 meter pole. I may get around to drawing Fang of the Earth at some point. Also please forgive me if the Chinese for the name is wrong for I am but a humble google translate user.

In case you haven’t noticed, a few of the chapters have been dedicated strictly to character studies of the other members of the Monkie Kid crew through Tang’s perspective. Mei’s just happened to occur at the same time as my really long debut of the cool AU I had made up! Also does anyone have some good fanon names for Mei’s parents? I was dying never referring to them by name.

And yes, Tang does still have some issues with the Mayor. I’m sure that won’t be too relevant in the future.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought and see you next time!

[kyndaris]

“Not Like Other Girls”

Despite sitting down and having a proper heartfelt discussion about the pressures of ‘continuing the family line’ and ‘finding a significant other,’ my mother is once again hoping that I will somehow befriend a man that I met only twice and exchanged about five minutes total of actual dialogue. Both she and my grandmother are worried about the ticking biological time bomb that is my reproductive system. And while they are also concerned that I’ll die alone, without family or friends, it’s more the former that seems to encompass their thoughts. Why? Well, it’s tradition. It’s the ‘normal’ way of life.

To be honest, I can see where they’re coming from. Yes, it’ll be nice to have a companion besides a body pillow or a strong protector to hold me in their arms...

But I would also like to think that if I decide to go it alone, it should be accepted. Why do I have to fit the mold? Be normal? 

My thoughts have turned back towards this because even at work, one of my colleagues is also hoping to help me ‘settle down.’ Nearing thirty, it’s the ‘expected’ thing to do. And as she strove to support me by offering possible love interests, she also, bless her heart, recounted the days of her youth when she had been a ‘tomboy,’ scarpering over roofs and fixing cars. It was only in her later years that she changed. In truth, it’s hard to envision the woman before me, with her mauve cardigan, loose white blouse, pencil skirt and perfectly coiffed hair as a rambunctious tomboy playing in the mud with scraped knees and elbows.

Growing up, I never could properly fit myself into the ‘girl’ stereotypes that were on TV or in films. There were times that I wondered if maybe I was actually a ‘boy’ trapped in the body of a ‘girl.’ After all, my interests always skewed towards the boyish: playing make-believe as knights, channeling my inner Saiyan and delving into the world of video games like the nerd I am. Lego, rather than Barbie, was what caught my eye. Chess instead of make-up. Pants instead of skirts and dresses. Of course, juxtaposed with these tendencies were my love for books and horses (my second favourite animal behind wolves). 

Unlike those that have taken the step to have their gender reassigned, undergone hormone treatment or have come out about their gender identity, I’ve never felt the intense body dysmorphia that often leads to this realisation. True, I’d prefer it if I had a thinner physique and the inherent ability to backflip or kip-up like those cool people in parkour or martial art videos, but there has never a vast disconnect between who I am and the face I see in the mirror each day.

I mean, what girl hasn’t bemoaned the periods that come every month? Or the discrimination that comes from trying to be the best at sport or hunting or computers or engineering. That’s not to say that dolls and frilly dresses and make-up is a bad thing. Some people are drawn to the prospect of raising a family, of wearing flowery dresses that have no pockets.  But others, such as myself, aren’t as inclined. In fact, my fashion sense is a little more conservative with collared shirts and scoop neck shirts that don’t plunge down to my non-existent cleavage (admittedly, throughout high school, I always hoped that my breasts would never develop and I’d be as flat as a washboard. Alas, it never happened. And the tradition of wearing bras has always chafed. As for the men that go around shirtless...WE DO NOT NEED TO SEE YOUR NIPPLES EITHER! TAPE THEM UP FOR GOODNESS SAKE! Or wear a man bra! Nobody needs to see those pecs. Abs yes. But you can wear a crop top for that).

Unfortunately, in the nearly three decades that I’ve been alive, the toy aisles are still gendered. Though women play video games on an equal level as men, it’s still considered a hobby relegated to angry white men that have the emotional range of a teaspoon. While there have been some strides in evening up the level playing field, I know quite a few people that still echo the sexist sentiments of the past. But, if you don’t want companies to have a quota of female staff, perhaps address the underlying perceptions in the society we live in. 

Being a man or a woman should have no impact on whether one is good at mathematics or the arts. There are plenty of men that would be great at nursing or serving as primary school teachers. Likewise, there are a whole host of women that would be excellent as video game programmers or construction workers.

That said, if a woman doesn’t feel the need to follow tradition and want to forge their own path, that should also be accepted. I’m so sick and tired of being hurried along the hetero-normative corridor, loaded down with the expectation that I should be married by twenty-five and have two children by the time I’m twenty-eight. All, of course, under the guise of love from a worried parent. It’s fine. I’m not lonely. And I’m certainly not something that needs to be pitied. 

There are times that I wonder if there’s something about me that intimidates the men around me. Or maybe they can sense something about me that I haven’t yet discovered. Alas, I can’t be sure. For now, I’ll just fantasise about all my good boys. The question is: do I get a body pillow of Riku (in his Kingdom Hearts 2 attire), Legoshi or best waifu Ignis.

In any case, I’m essentially ‘not like other girls.’ For one, I don’t know how to make-up. What even is shaving legs or armpits. And I like books and video games too much to ever ‘grow out of it.’ If that’s not what you’re looking for, well, please look elsewhere. As for any others that might be possibly interested in a person such as myself, and are looking to apply to be my SO, I have a form ready and waiting to be filled out.

I mean, is there any other way of separating the wheat from the chaff in this day and age? 

Fair warning: my standards are HIGH. And like I said, no nipples. Even Tumblr says ‘no.’

[bbrandy2002]

Two Men and a Baby Part 7

Not your typical Royal Romance series....crazier.

TRR/TRH gang.

Warning: Language

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5 Part 6

@carabeth @emceesynonymroll @katedrakeohd @sirbeepsalot @romanticatheart-posts @rafasgirl23415 @drakensword

[[MORE]]

Part 7

" 911, what's your emergency?"

"Yeah, um, I have a guy in the back of my carriage who got his trouser snake caught in his zipper."

"Sir, is this a joke?"

"No, but, this guy sure wishes it were"

"How serious is this?"

"Let's just say, it was the 'frank..and...beans', then something popped, now its just the frank."

Poor Bertrand, all he wanted was to give his sweet Savannah a wonderful birthday. Now he's stuck in the back of a carriage with his manhood on the line.

He is aware of the news reports of a wild boar attack on Contess Madeleine earlier tonight and that said boar is still holding itself hostage inside his estate. He has no idea if his son is okay, but, has no doubt his brother is somehow responsible for the carnage that has taken place this evening.

Hospital ER

Riley and Olivia sit in Maxwell's room, waiting for him to return from radiology. They had only seen him for a few seconds before he was taken for x-rays, but, he appeared in good spirits; then again, when is he not.

They were both intriqued to find out what he meant by "the demon pig", that supposedly caused his predicament. It was surprising to hear Maxwell describe any animal with such disdain, but, apparently he met one he wasn't prepared to describe as a "life changing experience" in fond terms.

Riley jumped up from her seat, "Maxwell, you're back!"

Maxwell was wheeled back into his room on a stretcher, but, he seemed to be uncharacteristically subdued now.

"How is he? Is it broken?" Riley asked the nurse.

"He has a hair line fracture and will be down for several weeks, but, we don't expect complications. Someone will be in shortly to put a cast on him. Also, congratulations on the baby your majesty", the nurse stated before exiting.

That was the fourth time today a random person congratulated her.

"Why does everyone keep congratulating me on a baby? I wonder if it was the bean burrito I ate for dinner last night?", she questioned while patting her bloated tummy.

"You do look a little puffy today." Olivia observed.

"Thanks", Riley said while rolling her eyes, "I have been trying to drink more water and..."

"HELLLLOO!!" Maxwell interrupted in an annoyed tone, "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm here."

"Oh, I'm sorry Maxwell, how're you feeling?", she asked with concern.

"Like a demon pig attacked me, without warning, without cause, out of no where...it was a sneak attack Riley." he began to shake his fist furiously and yelling, "damn you demon pig.....damn you to hell!"

Olivia and Riley tried to calm him down. "Maxwell, Maxwell, shhhh, you've got to calm down." Riley pleaded, "you're going to disturb the other patients."

"Yes you are", Madeleine chimed from a wheel chair at the door with an icy stare.

All three turned their heads in her direction simultaneously. To see Madeleine sitting there with a neck brace on, a black eye, messy blonde hair and a ripped green dress; it was shocking and amusing to say the least.

"What the hell happened to you? Olivia asked with her signature scowl.

"Oh, what happened to me?", Madeleine asked with a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes while patting her chest, "ask Maxwell and his quote 'damn demon pig'."

Olivia and Riley turned to Maxwell trying to make sense of what both were referring to as the demon pig.

"Maxwell, I'm two seconds away from breaking your other leg. What happened?", Olivia spat out.

Maxwell took in a deep breath and recalled the events of this evening.

"Okay...Okay, so, yesterday morning, I was attending Zeke and Penelope's outdoor animal exhibition in the capitol.  Zeke was giving me kind of a private tour before all the guest arrived. We came upon a stall that he said had a wild pig. I thought he meant it was a party animal, wild like me, which, would be an awesome addition to the next Beaumont Bash. I asked if I could have it and he said no, that it was just too wild for me. I thought, nonsense, nothing is too wild for me. I just had to have this pig. So, when I seen Penelope a little later, I offered to buy it from them. She was a little hesitant at first, but, she agreed after I forged a letter from Bastien saying Liam requested this particular pig at the next Beaumont Bash. In exchange for her cooperation, he would emcee her next Dog Fashion Show."

"Maxwell! That's sick", Riley blurted.

"Yeah Maxwell, what made you think she would just go along with that?" Asked Olivia.

"I wasn't sure she would, but, she does seem to respond well to requests from Bastien, so I assumed it would work this time too", he replied.

Madeleine spoke up, "so let me get this straight, Penelope, can't stop talking about her poodles, Penelope, just gave you a wild boar?"

"Oh, no, I had to pay for him", he said.

"How much?" Olivia asked.

"A box of dog treats", he replied.

Riley bent over in her chair, arms resting on her knees, covering her face while shaking her head, "Unbelievable....I'm afraid to ask, but, how did you get him out of there and to the estate?"

"Well, that part was tricky. Penelope told me I had to keep him enclosed or he would go wild. Well, I wanted to make sure I kept his wildness in until the Beaumont Bash. I figured it would just build up inside of him and he'd really let loose at the party",  he chuckled, "anyway, I saw Gladys there and thats when I got the idea for her to cause a disruption..."

"Hold up, Gladys...my majordomo, Gladys, helped you with this?" Riley asked stunned.

"Kind of, see I knew she had cleared the hallways when Anton and his minions kidnapped you and Olivia. I also knew she had the hot's for Bertrand, so, I told her if she would create a distraction for me, I would set her up with him".

"Maxwell, your brother is engaged", Riley stated.

"You are a lot more evil than I ever gave you credit for Maxwell; this is really elaborate for you", Olivia remarked with astonishment.

"Well, Im not proud of myself, but, greed causes people to do evil things" he replied.

"Hold up" Madeleine would interject, "So Penelope knew about this? That little....I just saw her not more than an hour ago at the Beaumont Estate, she interviewed me and everything, she never mentioned her hand in any of this".

Maxwell replied, "I would say not, Penelope's a master at keeping secrets while seemingly innocent of her involvement. She's a sweet girl though".

Riley just continued to shake her head.

"What happened next Maxwell?" Madeleine asked.

He took another deep breath, "Okay, well Gladys started screaming and running around the exhibits. Then she unlatched the pen holding the ducks. They started to scatter. Zeke and his assistants started to chase after the ducks and security went after Gladys. I grabbed a large cage and Gertrude ran right in. Penelope helped me carry him back to the limo and I took him home."

"Okay, how did you break your leg?" Riley asked.

"Welp, the driver helped me unload Gertrude and get him in the backyard. I knew I had to build an enclosure to keep his wildness in, so, I started building a small barn for him to live in until the bash. It didn't take very long to build at all. When it was finished, I opened the cage door to let him inside his new dwellings, but, he ran inside and immediately jumped out the window."

"You put a window in it?" Madeleine questioned.

"Yeah, but, I must've not built it high enough and I didn't put a covering over it. Jumped right out of it" he said while use his hand to motion the jump, "I started to run right after, I swear, I heard it say 'kill Maxwell'. It attacked so quickly, I never had a chance. I stepped on a rock and my foot went sideways, causing me to fall. It rammed me a few times, before running off. Then Drake came out to help me, but, it attacked him also. Let's just say, demon pig-2, Maxwell and Drake-0."

All three women sat in silence. There were no words they could think of in that moment to express what they just heard.

"Does Bertrand and Savannah know about this?" Riley asked.

"I don't think so", he replied.

Riley took out her phone and sent a text, letting them know Maxwell was in the hospital and Bartie was there with Drake.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom....

Drake and Liam were still locked in arms, literally, fighting over an ascot.

"Let go of my ascot Drake."

"Liam, he has to have something covering his bottom until we get a diaper."

"Then give him your denim shirt!"

"What?" Drake gasped, "take it back Liam."

Bartie, who was still lying on the changing table naked, took this opportunity to settle the issue once and for all.

"What the hell!" Drake shouted as his denim shirt was getting soaked.

"Sir Walker, I do believe you have a spot on your shirt", Liam said with a British accent and a laugh.

Drake looked at Liam, "I hope you're happy now. He just pissed all over my good denim shirt."

Liam raised an eyebrow, "Drake, that's the only denim shirt you have, or wear for that matter."

"Why do you think it's my favorite?" he remarked sadly.

Bastien cleared his throat, "Your majesty, need I remind you, we can't leave this bathroom with a naked baby. It may be in everyone's interest for you to hand over the ascot."

Liam thought about Bastien's words for a moment, then looked around to see if there was anything else that could be used as a diaper. Wadded up hand towels, too flimsy, Drakes white shirt, no, he would just be shirtless in a hospital, his own socks, no, too small. He let out a loud huff, reached up and removed his ascot.

Drake reached out to grab it, but, Liam continued to cling onto it. Drake pulled harder, Liam pulled back even more.

"Give me the fucking ascot Liam!"

Liam pouted then handed Drake the ascot.

Drake looked Liam in the eyes and said, "Dude, you need therapy."

Drake began fashioning a diaper out of Liam's ascot. "Aha, perfect fit".

"What do we do about that disgusting car seat?" Liam asked.

"After all this, just leave it in here. When Bastien opens the door, we make a run for it."

Drake picked up Bartie and he and Liam stood at the door, readying themselves for the getaway. The bathroom was absolutely disgusting, shit was on the floor, the walls, the trash can, not to mention, the sink had an exploded diaper full of diarrhea in it. Liam couldn't risk someone seeing the King of Cordonia coming out of that room.

"Alright, on my count, Bastien will open the door and we will run as fast as we can."

"Hang on", Liam said as he removed his suit jacket and covered the top of his head so no one would recognize him. "Okay, ready".

"There's no turning back now. 1...2...3...Go!"

What hijinx await in Part 8?

[yobaba30]

Soon after the sex criminal Jeffrey Epstein died in August, a mysterious man met with two prominent lawyers.

Towering, barrel-chested and wild-bearded, he was a prodigious drinker and often wore flip-flops. He went by a pseudonym, Patrick Kessler — a necessity, he said, given the shadowy, dangerous world that he inhabited.

He told the lawyers he had something incendiary: a vast archive of Mr. Epstein’s data, stored on encrypted servers overseas. He said he had years of the financier’s communications and financial records — as well as thousands of hours of footage from hidden cameras in the bedrooms of Mr. Epstein’s properties. The videos, Kessler said, captured some of the world’s richest, most powerful men in compromising sexual situations — even in the act of rape.

Kessler said he wanted to expose these men. If he was telling the truth, his trove could answer one of the Epstein saga’s most baffling questions: How did a college dropout and high school math teacher amass a purported nine-figure fortune? One persistent but unproven theory was that he ran a sprawling blackmail operation. That would explain why moguls, scientists, political leaders and a royal stayed loyal to him, in some cases even after he first went to jail.

Kessler’s tale was enough to hook the two lawyers, the famed litigator David Boies and his friend John Stanley Pottinger. If Kessler was authentic, his videos would arm them with immense leverage over some very important people.

Mr. Boies and Mr. Pottinger discussed a plan. They could use the supposed footage in litigation or to try to reach deals with men who appeared in it, with money flowing into a charitable foundation. In encrypted chats with Kessler, Mr. Pottinger referred to a roster of potential targets as the “hot list.” He described hypothetical plans in which the lawyers would pocket up to 40 percent of the settlements and could extract money from wealthy men by flipping from representing victims to representing their alleged abusers.

The possibilities were tantalizing — and extended beyond vindicating victims. Mr. Pottinger saw a chance to supercharge his law practice. For Mr. Boies, there was a shot at redemption, after years of criticism for his work on behalf of Theranos and Harvey Weinstein.

In the end, there would be no damning videos, no funds pouring into a new foundation. Mr. Boies and Mr. Pottinger would go from toasting Kessler as their “whistle-blower” and “informant” to torching him as a “fraudster” and a “spy.”

Kessler was a liar, and he wouldn’t expose any sexual abuse. But he would reveal something else: The extraordinary, at times deceitful measures elite lawyers deployed in an effort to get evidence that could be used to win lucrative settlements — and keep misconduct hidden, allowing perpetrators to abuse again.

Mr. Boies has publicly decried such secret deals as “rich man’s justice,” a way that powerful men buy their way out of legal and reputational jeopardy. This is how it works.

7 men and a headless parrot

The man who called himself Kessler first contacted a Florida lawyer, Bradley J. Edwards, who was in the news for representing women with claims against Mr. Epstein. It was late August, about two weeks after the financier killed himself in a jail cell while awaiting trial on federal sex-trafficking charges.

Mr. Edwards, who did not respond to interview requests, had a law firm called Edwards Pottinger, and he soon referred Kessler to his New York partner. Silver-haired and 79, Mr. Pottinger had been a senior civil-rights official in the Nixon and Ford administrations, but he also dabbled in investment banking and wrote best-selling medical thrillers. He was perhaps best known for having dated Gloria Steinem and Kathie Lee Gifford.

Mr. Pottinger recalled that Mr. Edwards warned him about Kessler, saying that he was “endearing,” “spooky” and “loves to drink like a fish.”

After an initial discussion with Kessler in Washington, Mr. Pottinger briefed Mr. Boies — whose firm was also active in representing accusers in the Epstein case — about the sensational claims. He then invited Kessler to his Manhattan apartment. Kessler admired a wall-mounted frame containing a headless stuffed parrot; on TV, the Philadelphia Eagles were mounting a comeback against the Washington Redskins. Mr. Pottinger poured Kessler a glass of WhistlePig whiskey, and the informant began to talk.

In his conversations with Mr. Pottinger and, later, Mr. Boies, Kessler said his videos featured numerous powerful men who were already linked to Mr. Epstein: Ehud Barak, the former Israeli prime minister; Alan Dershowitz, a constitutional lawyer; Prince Andrew; three billionaires; and a prominent chief executive.

All seven men, or their representatives, told The New York Times they never engaged in sexual activity on Mr. Epstein’s properties. The Times has no reason to believe Kessler’s supposed video footage is real.

In his apartment, Mr. Pottinger presented Kessler with a signed copy of “The Boss,” his 2005 novel. “One minute you’re bending the rules,” blares the cover of the paperback version. “The next minute you’re breaking the law.” On the title page, Mr. Pottinger wrote: “Here’s to the great work you are to do. Happy to be part of it.”

Mr. Pottinger also gave Kessler a draft contract to bring him on as a client, allowing him to use a fake name. “For reasons revealed to you, I prefer to proceed with this engagement under the name Patrick Kessler,” the agreement said.

Despite the enormities of the Epstein scandal, few of his accusers have gotten a sense of justice or resolution. Mr. Pottinger thought Kessler’s files could change everything. This strange man was theatrical and liked his alcohol, but if there was even a chance his claims were true, they were worth pursuing.

“Our clients are said to be liars and prostitutes,” Mr. Pottinger later said in an interview with The Times, “and we now have someone who says, ‘I can give you secret photographic proof of abuse that will completely change the entire fabric of your practice and get justice for these girls.’ And you think that we wouldn’t try to get that?”

A victim becomes a hacker

Mr. Pottinger and Mr. Boies have known each other for years, a friendship forged on bike trips in France and Italy. In legal circles, Mr. Boies was royalty: He was the one who fought for presidential candidate Al Gore before the Supreme Court, took on Microsoft in a landmark antitrust case, and helped obtain the right for gays and lesbians to get married in California.

But then Mr. Boies got involved with the blood-testing start-up Theranos. As the company was being revealed as a fraud, he tried to bully whistle-blowers into not speaking to a Wall Street Journal reporter, and he was criticized for possible conflicts of interest when he joined the company’s board in 2015.

Two years later, Mr. Boies helped his longtime client Harvey Weinstein hire private investigators who intimidated sources and trailed reporters for The Times and The New Yorker — even though Mr. Boies’s firm had worked for The Times on other matters. (The Times fired his firm.)

By 2019, Mr. Boies, 78, was representing a number of Mr. Epstein’s alleged victims. They got his services pro bono, and he got the chance to burnish his legacy. When Mr. Pottinger contacted him about Kessler, he was intrigued.

On Sept. 9, Mr. Boies greeted Kessler at the offices of his law firm, Boies Schiller Flexner, in a gleaming new skyscraper at Hudson Yards on Manhattan’s West Side. Kessler unfurled a fantastic story, one he would embroider and alter in later weeks, that began with him growing up somewhere within a three-hour radius of Washington. Kessler said he had been molested as a boy by a Bible school teacher and sought solace on the internet, where he fell in with a group of victims turned hackers, who used their skills to combat pedophilia.

Kessler claimed that a technology executive had introduced him to Mr. Epstein, who in 2012 hired Kessler to set up encrypted servers to preserve his extensive digital archives. With Mr. Epstein dead, Kessler boasted to the lawyers, he had unfettered access to the material. He said the volume of videos was overwhelming: more than a decade of round-the-clock footage from dozens of cameras.

Kessler displayed some pixelated video stills on his phone. In one, a bearded man with his mouth open appears to be having sex with a naked woman. Kessler said the man was Mr. Barak. In another, a man with black-framed glasses is seen shirtless with a woman on his lap, her breasts exposed. Kessler said it was Mr. Dershowitz. He also said that some of the supposed videos appeared to have been edited and cataloged for the purpose of blackmail.

“This was explosive information if true, for lots and lots of people,” Mr. Boies said in an interview.

Mr. Boies and Mr. Pottinger had decades of legal experience and considered themselves experts at assessing witnesses’ credibility. While they couldn’t be sure, they thought Kessler was probably legit.

A chance to sway the Israeli election

Within hours of the Hudson Yards meeting, Mr. Pottinger sent Kessler a series of texts over the encrypted messaging app Signal.

According to excerpts viewed by The Times, Mr. Pottinger and Kessler discussed a plan to disseminate some of the informant’s materials — starting with the supposed footage of Mr. Barak. The Israeli election was barely a week away, and Mr. Barak was challenging Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. The purported images of Mr. Barak might be able to sway the election — and fetch a high price. (“Total lie with no basis in reality,” Mr. Barak said when asked about the existence of such videos.)

“Can you review your visual evidence to be sure some or all is indisputably him? If so, we can make it work,” Mr. Pottinger wrote.

Kessler said he would do so. Mr. Pottinger sent a yellow smiley-face emoji with its tongue sticking out.

“Can you share your contact that would be purchasing,” Kessler asked.

“Sheldon Adelson,” Mr. Pottinger answered.

Mr. Adelson, a billionaire casino magnate in Las Vegas, had founded one of Israel’s largest newspapers, and it was an enthusiastic booster of Mr. Netanyahu. Mr. Pottinger wrote that he and Mr. Boies hoped to fly to Nevada to meet with Mr. Adelson to discuss the images.

“Do you believe that adelson has the pull to insure this will hurt his bid for election?” Kessler asked the next morning.

Mr. Pottinger reassured him. “There is no question that Adelson has the capacity to air the truth about EB if he wants to,” he said, using Mr. Barak’s initials. He said he planned to discuss the matter with Mr. Boies that evening.

Mr. Boies confirmed that they discussed sharing the photo with Mr. Adelson but said the plan was never executed. Boaz Bismuth, the editor in chief of the newspaper, Israel Hayom, said its journalists were approached by an Israeli source who pitched them supposed images of Mr. Barak, but that “we were not interested.”

‘These are wealthy wrongdoers’

The men whom Kessler claimed to have on tape were together worth many billions. Some of their public relations teams had spent months trying to tamp down media coverage of their connections to Mr. Epstein. Imagine how much they might pay to make incriminating videos vanish.

You might think that lawyers representing abuse victims would want to publicly expose such information to bolster their clients’ claims. But that is not how the legal industry always works. Often, keeping things quiet is good business.

One of the revelations of the #MeToo era has been that victims’ lawyers often brokered secret deals in which alleged abusers paid to keep their accusers quiet and the allegations out of the public sphere. Lawyers can pocket at least a third of such settlements, profiting off a system that masks misconduct and allows men to abuse again.

Mr. Boies and Mr. Pottinger said in interviews that they were looking into creating a charity to help victims of sexual abuse. It would be bankrolled by private legal settlements with the men on the videos.

Mr. Boies acknowledged that Kessler might get paid. “If we were able to use this to help our victims recover money, we would treat him generously,” he said in September. He said that his firm would not get a cut of any settlements.

Such agreements would have made it less likely that videos involving the men became public. “Generally what settlements are about is getting peace,” Mr. Boies said.

Mr. Pottinger told Kessler that the charity he was setting up would be called the Astria Foundation — a name he later said his girlfriend came up with, in a nod to Astraea, the Greek goddess of innocence and justice. “We need to get it funded by abusers,” Mr. Pottinger texted, noting in another message that “these are wealthy wrongdoers.”

Mr. Pottinger asked Kessler to start compiling incriminating materials on a specific group of men.

THERE IS A SHITLOAD MORE INFO - CLICK N THE LINK

[cianmars]

The Bookworms and the Library  Chapter 3: House Hunting AO3

James had never been so exhausted and so happy before. It was fall yet he stood in their new bookstore in a t-shirt: he was boiling- the heat in the place was malfunctioning so it felt like summer in there- despite this he was over the moon because they were nearly ready to open. He was shelving the first of the books as he waited for the guy to fix the heat.

He heard the bell above the shop door ring and he turned, expecting to see the heater-guy, but it was Belle. He placed the books on the shelf and crossed his arms over his chest, he looked at her with raised eyebrows, barely concealing his amusement. “Aren’t you meant to be finding your dream house, y’know not working here?”

Belle let out a loud sigh. She let her hand rest on the baby bump, which was protruding out from under her sweater. “I’ve been trying to but they all suck.”

“I’m sure they’re not that bad.” He was cut off by her thrusting flyers for the houses into his hand. He flicked through them, pulling a face as he did so. “Okay, you’re right these are shit, this one doesnt even have a roof!”

“I know!”

“Are these seriously the only ones around town? Davey said they saw nice ones when they were looking, and David may have grown up in a barn, but I know Snow at least has some standards - I doubt she would have looked at any of these.”

Belle let out another sigh and fell into a plastic covered armchair. “Most of the empty buildings around here belong to Rumple, the ones I know about anyway.” She explained.

James frowned. He moved to lean against a desk next to where Belle was sat. He looked down at her with the protective worry of a best friend. “He won’t sell one to you?”

“He probably would, but it’s awkward, and I want to find my own home, I want…”

She trailed off but he understood, she wanted to be in control, at least as much as she could while having to co-parent with him for the next 18 years. James nodded at her and stayed silent for a minute, in thought. “I could ask Snow if she still has the flyers for the other houses, if you like? I’m pretty sure that most of the places weren’t being sold by Rumple.”

Belle took a second to think before giving him a smile. “That would be good, thank you.” She reached over and squeezed his hand.

James had already been feeling hot, but having her hold his hand felt like a fire was starting inside of him, not necessarily dangerous more like a camp fire or the hearth of a home. He gave her a quick smile and pulled out his phone to text his sister in law, pulling his hand away from Belle as he did so.

He had a text from Snow within fifteen minutes, pictures of flyers for houses, all of which looked promising, all in different styles. He passed his phone over to Belle who grinned and started to show him houses she liked best, or pointing out some of the good features of the houses, he didn’t quite understand all of it but she seemed excited so he shared in it.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

James did a double take. “Where? Oh, to look at the houses?”

“Yeah, I might need some help judging them, or measuring things up- plus you can get out of this oven.”

James thought for a second, as of late he was constantly trying to evaluate his actions, trying desperately to not push too far, to stay friends without showing his crush, without her realising how much he truly cared for her…. But one look at her hopeful face and… “Okay. Just give me a couple of minutes to get ready.”

Without caring or thinking he took off his t-shirt.

Belle watched as he did so, she should look away, she should really look away. At the centre of his chest, among a litter of other scars, a large, harsh, jagged scar stood out   and was mirrored on his back: she winced at it without realising. She knew that he hadn’t been a good man when he died: he had spent money on dallances while his kingdom starved, he had killed giants, and left his ex girlfriend to die while he saved himself. But he had been the sword King George had forged through abuse when he was still a child. He had died for his crimes. Yet when he died he had chosen to work against Hades, he had seen the suffering of the dead people, he had chosen to become good. And when his niece led her family and friends to the underworld to save her love, Killian, he had helped them, and as a result he had later been rewarded a new life. Even now he was trying his best to be a good man.

And he was a good man, he had a couple of issues, she supposed, but he was working on them with Archie and on his own, he was kind, and caring, and funny, and although he tried to help her with my issues she had he also let her work on things on her own. He understood her need to be an individual. He understood her completely. And she understood him. He was her best friend in a way which she hadn’t had one before.  

Before she knew it he had a sweater on ready to go out to look at houses with her, for her, which somehow made her feel lonelier, it was just her and her unborn baby now.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Belle could hear her feet echoing on the tile as she walked around the house.

“This is, it’s big?” James offered trying to be upbeat. He watched Belle take some steps around the living area of the open plan first floor. “I know Neal has a lot of stuff and he’s four, Dave says he had even more stuff when he was a baby, you could do with this.”

“Yeah... yeah the space is good.” Belle agreed, she smiled at him but frowned when she looked back at the place. “There’s a lot of light too, which I guess is to be expected with the giant windows.”

James frowned. “Y’know, your fake happy voice needs a bit of work.” He smirked when she looked at him surprised that he had figured out she was faking it. “I know you Belle.” He explained with a shrug.

“Yeah… yeah I guess you do.” She sent him a small smile. She looked him over once again, sure he wasn’t shirtless now, and had a chunky sweater on hiding his abs and his scars… but he still looked nice, really nice in fact. He had a nice smile, a nice face in fact. It was weird because she had never looked at David like that, yet here James was looking so… and he was meant to be identical to David but Belle felt entirely different about him, his personality, his face, his body. Not that she was thinking about it, about him like that, she was pregnant, and everything with Rumple, plus her and James were friends and business partners ; she couldn’t chance screwing all that up.

“So, what do you want?”

“What?” Her eyes went wide. Shit, had she said it out loud? Shit, shit, shit.

“The… house… what type of house are you wanting? Are you feeling okay, Belle, you look a little pale?” He walked over to her, frowning in concern, should he feel her temperature or something?

“Sorry baby brain.” She lied.

“You get that before the baby is even born?!”

“Yeah, it’s erm, well, the human body’s weird.”

“Do you need to take a break or some air or, I don’t know, what helps?”

“I’m fine now, thanks James. I don’t know what sort of house.”

“Old or new?”

“Old, but not so old that it doesn’t have heat and electric and like a leaky roof.”

“Okay, so this one is out, there’s two other ones which are older but not too old. Keep your head up, we’re going to find you a new home today, I promise.”

Belle grinned at him. “I know you pretend to be all grumpy and serious and scary but you’re really sweet.”

James looked at her with laughter in his face and eyes. “Just don’t tell anyone else that, I have a reputation to keep.” The two shared a look and a smile.

They were both falling even though they had sworn to themselves that they wouldn’t.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The second place was a lot better suited to Belle. It was a cottage, not too small, it was nice, not falling down or a shack. It was on the edge of town, down a long dirt path in the woods.

“Hey, this place even has a proper fireplace, not like those ‘radiator’ things!” James called to her from the living room.

Belle beamed, running her hand along the top of the kitchen counter. “And the kitchen is amazing.” She stated when he came to see it. “And there’s plenty of room upstairs for me and the baby.”

James grinned and opened the backdoor to look at the yard. “The flyer said you get a lot of land, I think that means all the trees, and that big lake.”

“There’s a lake?!” Belle rushed over, squeezing into the doorway with him, she leant into his side.

James wrapped his arm around her to stop her from falling. “Yeah. I once went on an adventure of sorts, it was the first time I had to sail on my own. Did you know that it’s tiring to row a boat?”

Belle tried her best to hide her smile, but failed, quite spectacularly. “Yeah, I have some experience with rowing boats and adventures too.” She smiled when he looked impressed.

“Though you’ll have to fence it off within a year or so, with a little tyke being around here.”

Belle frowned. “Yeah you’re right. How much of the land is mine?” James shrugged so she brought out her phone to look at the plans online. “There’s no signal.”

James took out his phone. “Mine too.” He moved around a bit. “So, you remember that moving pic- movie, the one you forced me to watch, the erm, the horror one?” He asked slowly.

“Oh shit.” Belle looked around the place with new eyes. “I’ll be part of a horror movie.”

“I wouldn't be able to stop you from getting this place… but I’d rather you didn’t die; you’re kind of my only friend, my best friend in fact, and my partner- business partner.”

Belle’s heart skipped a beat until he quickly said business partner, then her heart, curiously, fell. She quickly regained her composure and smiled up at him. She lowered her hand, the back of her hand brushed against the back of his, as they stood side by side. Don’t, she had to remind herself. “Yeah, I think you’re right, I don’t know how you’d survive without me.”

James laughed, loudly and freely, as he could only around those he loved the most, and he always laughed louder and freer around Belle.

Belle watched him for a half second before laughing with him.

At their sides Belle took hold of his hand.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as Belle stepped foot into the front yard of the last place Belle knew it was the one. It was a contemporary beach house, or that’s what the flyer for it had said, and it wasn’t that far from the beach so she supposed it was fitting. It was grey stone at the bottom and white paneling on the rest of it. There were wooden troughs out the front one with flowers in and another with signs saying the vegetables which were busy growing under the soil. The garden was fenced in but it didn’t feel imprisoning like the first place they had looked at.

“Woah.”

Belle had almost forgotten that she was there with James. She looked up at him, taking in his face of complete wonder, Belle had grown up in a castle but it was nowhere near as splendid as the one James had grown up in she was wondering how he was so impressed by this. “You like this place?”

“Of course! I mean imagine this place a year or two in the future; you and the little one out making snow angels, or planting flowers and fruit and vegetables, teaching him the names of birds, or looking for bugs.”

Belle watched his eyes sparkling as he spoke, he was watching the house so intently she could almost see the scenes playing in his head, she remembered that this wasn’t the spoiled prince she heard her father speaking about in the Enchanted Forest, this was her James, he was a good and kind man, she wondered if he would ever settle down and start a family of his own. She looked at the garden and found that she could imagine what James had said to her. She placed her hands on her stomach. She couldn’t feel her baby but she knew he was safe in there, and he would be safe in this garden, even if she couldn’t imagine the baby being a month old, let alone two years old. “Let’s head inside.”

James led the way up the stairs to the porch and held the door open for Belle to walk through first. “My Lady.”

Belle smiled to herself and walked through the door. “Thank you, kind sir.”

James felt proud, he knew she’d understand his reference, she was the one who had made him watch all of Community after all. He noticed her eyes widening and her smile grow before he even looked inside of the house. He had to remind himself, again, to watch himself: he had a penance to serve, it was self imposed but as serious as any. He quickly turned his head to look at the house instead.

He understood why Belle was smiling, it really looked like the perfect family home. It was nearly open plan, there was a wall and a corner separating the areas of the living room and kitchen. The kitchen was modern and full, perfect for cooking and baking, there was a big table. James couldn’t help but imagining Belle sat there, with a book and her breakfast, the baby in a highchair, and James was there too. He subtly shook his head, he was being stupid, he was her friend, and that’s all he would be.

He walked after Belle, smiling as she happily pointed out all the different things she loved, and he added things which she knew she liked, there was a little conservatory bit which he wandered to.

“Hey Belle look at this.”

“Woah, I could see the sea from here!”

“You could fill it with bookcases and comfortable chairs and you could read while you look out at the sea.” He pointed out. “With your little one playing, or if he’s like you he’ll be reading.”

Belle’s smile brightened even more, if possible. She nudged her shoulder against his. “You’ll have to come around too, if you’re not too sick of seeing us at the bookstore all the time.”

James’ eyes met Belle’s. “I’d never get sick of you. Either of you.”

There was a pregnant pause. Belle went on her tiptoes, their faces were an inch away, Belle could see into his sparkling blue eyes, the way his tongue flickered out over his bottom lip…. No. No, she couldn’t.

She turned back into the main house. “Let’s look upstairs.”

James took a deep breath in. He had nearly bent his head down to kiss her… he had nearly…. Fuck. He needed to control himself better. He was clearly reading too much into Belle’s actions. She had just been trying to get a better look at things a little higher up. He ran his hand through his hair before allowing himself to smooth out his features and continue to follow Belle.

The looked at the bedrooms, of which there were four, there was a little office, and a family bathroom, along with an en-suite attached to the master bedroom. There was plenty of room, storage, and views from what would be the baby’s room of what James saw as the perfect garden.

“You’ve got to get this place.” He told her looking out of the window.

He turned around and saw Belle looking at her phone, she was frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“What? Erm, I’m just not sure. It might be a little too far from the bookstore.”

“It’s about a twenty minute drive, it’s not that far, and it’s not like you have certain hours to keep anyway.”

“Okay, but it’s, it’s too big.”

“You did say that you wanted a place you could stay in forever no matter how big your family grew.”

“But what if it’s too small?”

“Belle, what’s going on?”

“What? Nothing.”

“Something’s going on, you loved this house until you looked at your cell phone, did Gold say something? Or Moe?”

Belle let out a loud sigh.”It’s far from the centre of town… from you. I’ll see you in work but otherwise it’ll be hard to see you.”

James felt her words like a stab in his heart. “You think… You think that just because you’re moving further away I won’t be able to see you much anymore?”

“No. Well, yes, no- but you’re going to be far away, you’re not going to be able to easily walk here every day like you do while I’m living above the library. When I have the new baby I’m not going to be able to get to work and see you there every day, there are going to be times where I’ll probably be housebound maybe for a couple of weeks where I just won’t be able to see you-”

Belle’s rambling stopped as James’ calloused hands cupped her cheeks so gently that she wasn’t sure if he was actually touching her or not. His hands on her cheeks forced her to look straight into his stormy blue eyes. They were close enough that she could feel his breath caressing her skin.

“Do you really think that I would let a little distance stop me from seeing you?” He asked her, his voice was soft, and a little hurt by her even possibly thinking that. “I’ve been getting David to teach me how to drive, I have my test next week.” He admitted. “I figured that you might need some help being driven to places before and after you’ve had the baby. And if I’m in this realm for good, I should probably learn, I tried in the underworld but it wasn’t that successful- anyway,” he shook his head turning his attention back to what he had been meaning to say, “Belle, I’m going to be visiting you so much that you’re going to be bored and sick of me. You’re close enough to Davey’s house that I can just escape him being annoying when I visit by ducking out to see you instead.”

“You love your brother.”

“Yeah, I guess, but that doesn’t mean he’s not the most annoying person in the world.” He smiled at her, the smile only grew as she raised her hand and held onto his wrist as his hands were still on her face. “Belle this house is the most perfect house I’ve ever seen. You need to buy it.”

“As long as you promise that you’ll be around a lot.”

“I swear it.” His head ducked down a little.

Belle tilted her head back, moved it towards his, she went onto her tiptoes….

The jumped apart as the door to the baby’s room opened and the estate agent walked in. “So, what do you two think? This would make an amazing nursery, I’m sure you’ll be having even more as soon as possible, I can tell just from looking at you.”

James’ cheeks and ears flushed pink, his hand went to the back of his head, running his hand through his hair, a nervous tick he shared with his brother. He was about to open his mouth to explain, yet again, that they were just friends and he was just helping her, but he remembered Belle’s face as she explained again and again that she was a single mother, and how the estate agents always looked after she said so. He dropped his hand to his side and gently took Belle’s hand in his own, giving it a comradely squeeze

“Yes, this place is perfect. Though knowing Belle she’ll have several questions to ask you before she signs.” He gave the estate agent a dazzling smile, he watched he blush with pride, until he remembered how he had used that smile as a weapon in the Enchanted forest. He felt nauseous, the smile immediately disappeared from his face.  

He watched Belle follow the estate agent down to the kitchen to talk, and he trailed slowly behind them. The nausea he felt remembering his past deeds reminded him of his solemn promise to make amends. He couldn’t be selfish and chase after his own happiness after he had destroyed so many others’ lives and happy endings.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later, after Belle signed for the house and James treated her to dinner, James let on his back on his couch alone in his apartment- which just didn't seem like home after spending all day with Belle, he heard his phone chime, Snow asking how the house search went.

He frowned staring at Snow's comment 'Not what I meant', he didn't understand what she could possibly mean unless... unless... no, that's impossible, he was subtle about liking, loving, Belle, there was no way she could guess let alone know... No, Snow must have meant something else, he just didn't know what.

[justanotherwannabeclassic]

Ready, Set, Please Don’t Go

Killian Jones walks in on his daughter in a compromising position, leading to the realization that his little girl really is growing up.

Author’s Note: Here's another snippet set in the Finding Neverland universe. It's absolutely unnecessary to read Finding Neverland to understand this story, though readers of the original my remember a "library incident" mentioned in a chapter of this story. hat being said, this turned out way different than I expected it to go, which is the best/worst part of writing fic. I hope you all enjoy! Also, this story is dedicated to the wonderful @distant-rose, who is amazing and wonderful and a fantastic friend.

Rating: M (strong language and sexual situations)

[AO3]

XXXXXX

It starts with an admission of a high school tryst.

They’re back in Storybrooke, making the most of a long weekend away from work and research. There’s a festival going on, because somewhere over the near thirty years of the town’s existence, they’ve embraced celebrating. Juliet’s grandmother says it’s because everyone learned all too well how easy it is to lose everything. Whatever the reason, Juliet is fond of the fact that she gets to wander around various booths with his fingers twined around her boyfriend’s and enjoying the familiarity of coming home.

Juliet likes to think she’s come a long way since she was the girl who left Storybrooke for New York City four years ago. She has a degree and a license that actually says she’s twenty-one, but it’s more than that. She likes to think she’s matured, and though she has no inclinations of returning back to her hometown anytime soon, she now embraces the coziness of it all. And, well, the girl of four years ago never would have imagined holding hands with Gideon Gold as they traipsed down Main Street, happy and deliriously in love. 

They’d only been in the same school for a year, her a freshman and he a senior, but he Juliet Jones of Storybrooke High hadn’t been particularly kind to Gideon. She’d been a little too conscious of their respective places in the high school caste system. Even as a freshman, she’d been fawned over by her classmates as a member of the Charming family, The Savior’s daughter, and Henry’s sister. The son of the Dark One didn’t warrant the same favor. It was only once they were both in New York, she starting at Columbia and him finishing up his degree at NYU, that they’d begun to forge a closer relationship, and later, a romantic one.

She supposes his loner nature and her role as the school’s “princess” only furthers the cliche nature of their relationship. When they had made it public they were dating, Neal had monologued the opening lines of Romeo and Juliet.  (“Two families both alike in dignity, in fair Storybrooke we build our scene…” “I hope you realize this means you die too, asshole.”) They might as well add the damn John Hughes movie to the list.

But it doesn’t matter. They’re happy, in love, and openly together in Storybrooke.

They’re in line for cotton candy, Gideon whispering into her ear about the unhealthiness of eating pure sugar, when they bump into old friend hers from high school, Viola. It’s not unexpected. Most people don’t leave Storybrooke or choose to come back to Storybrooke, after all, and they exchange pleasantries.

“How are you liking the big city? I don’t think I could deal with that many people. The traffic alone…”

“That’s what the MTA is for,” Juliet replies with a laugh. To be honest, her friendship with Viola had been one that drifted after she left for Columbia. It was one that Juliet now realizes was born out of proximity and not very many common interests. “But, seriously, it’s great. We’re really happy.” She flashes a grin up Gideon.

He returns her grin with one of his own. God, she loves his smile. “I dunno, I’m pretty damn miserable.”

“A miserable liar, maybe.” Juliet turns her attention back to Viola, who is watching them with an incredulous expression. Maybe this isn’t what Viola expected of the Juliet of four years ago. Maybe it’s not what she would have expected either. Knowing the conversation will only grow more stitled from there, Juliet focuses on what Viola clearly wants her to notice. With exaggerated excitement she doesn’t feel, she asks, “Holy shit! Is that a ring?”

Viola waves her left hand, where a diamond sits. “Yes, Aidan proposed! You’ll have to come back up for the wedding. We’re thinking next April.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” To be honest, Juliet hadn’t known Viola was even dating Aidan.   Oh well. Thankfully, they’re saved from more conversation by the cotton candy. They bid their farewells, and go their separate ways.

“Are we seriously going to go her wedding?” Gideon asks once they’re far enough out of earshot. He steals a bite of her cotton candy -- the hypocritical bastard -- before saying, “I wouldn’t really mind, but I only have the vaguest idea of who she is.”

“God, no,” Juliet replies, instantly regretting how mean she sounds. But, she has a reason. “Honestly, even if we had said more than ten sentences to each since graduation, it would be a little awkward. The last time I saw Aidan, he’d just finished fingering me in sci-fi section of the library. It’s weird to go to the wedding of guys you hit third base with, right?” She shudders at the memory.

Gideon stops abruptly. “Wait, what?” He looks surprised, and honestly, a little annoyed.

“Oh, God, please don’t turn this into a thing.” Gideon unfortunately has a slight jealous streak when it comes to her. It’s not overbearing, thankfully, but it’s present enough to annoy her every now and then. She attributes it mostly to his low self-esteem brought by half the town assuming he’s turn evil as an adult coupled with the way she’d dated every guy but him the year leading up to them finally getting together. She understands where he is coming from, really, but she doesn’t have to like it.

“I’m not turning this into a thing. That’s not it, not entirely,” he amends. “But, seriously, the library?”

“Oh, this is about defiling books .”

He laughs, almost hysterically. “Not quite, no.”

“Then what is it?” She takes a bite of the cotton candy, and delights in the way his eyes track the movement of tongue as she traces her lips for any errant sugar.

He begins to lead her away from the crowd, and his voice lowers. “Remember that time we listed our fantasies?”

She hums in reply. She remembers it well, and still benefits from it too.

“Let’s just say teenage Gideon would have killed to be fingering a pretty girl in the library.” His cheeks are an enjoyable shade of red. He’s always a little embarrassed when talking publicly about sex. Back when they were ‘just friends’, his exploits were something that rarely ever came up, even though she’d been less discreet about hers.

“And what about adult Gideon?”

“What about adult Gideon?”

“It’s after six. The library is closed, and you have a pretty girl who is just about to finish her cotton candy and will soon be wondering just what she can be getting up to later.” She quirks her brow for emphasis. “So what would adult Gideon say we do?”

She’s always been a bit reckless. She enjoys the rush of adrenaline, and sees caution as a suggestion. Gideon’s her opposite in that regard, which is why she can’t contain her gleeful laugh as he more or less drags her to the library at a half-jog. She knows she could magic them there, but this gets her heart pounding in a way that magic does not.

In no time at all, they’re in the library — she bites back a laugh at his attempts to unlock the door — and her back is against the wall as Gideon’s mouth fuses to hers. It’s times like these where she wishes she had gotten over herself enough for them to come together sooner. As much as Gideon had been quiet about his sexploits, he’d picked up some skill. And where he lacked, he certainly made up by being a quick study. “You’re amazing,” he tells her. He lifts his hand, and brushes he strand of hair behind her ear. She leans into his palm.”Do I tell you that enough?”

“You do.” She runs her hands over the front of his shirt, and begins to toy with the buttons. With a teasing smirk, she adds, “Though, to be fair, you mostly tell me when I’m in a state of undress...or about to be.”

“I’ll be sure to rectify that...later.” She squeals when he pulls away from her, only to lift her into his arms. He quickly maneuvers them to the collections desk, and drops her on top of it. Goosebumps form over her skin as his hands span up her bare thighs, and she relishes in the way his warm breath fans across the skin of her face. “This okay?”

“It’s totally okay.” Any other quips she might think to say are lost when he lips close over the most sensitive spot on her neck, sendling shocks of pleasure down her spine. She gasps, her hands carding through his hair as she tilts her neck for easier access. His hands skate over her shorts and work their way under her shirt. Her skin burns hot as his palms burn over the smooth expanse, and she sighs.

They break apart long enough for both of them to remove their shirts. She thinks he breaks a button in his eagerness to remove his top, but she doesn’t mind in the slightest, enjoying the sight of shirtless male in front of her. He’s not incredibly muscular, but he’s toned enough -- and god, his collarbones. She pays particular attention to that part of his body first, eagerly nipping. As she leans forward, his hand slip over her ass, pulling her closer and squeezing as he goes. They move together, their pants dulling the sensation and doing nothing to hide his ardor for her.

She loves the power that comes with sex, the thrill of slowly making her partner come undone -- and that is what drives her next course of action. After all, she knows of know better way to make a man come undone. He groans when she pulls away, the brokeness bringing a smile to her face. She places a finger against his lips as she dismounts from the desk. He nips at the pad of her index finger as she reverses their positions. “What are you planning?”

“Something that will blow teenage Gideon’s mind.”

Juliet drops to her knees.

  -/-

  There are sacrifices one makes for their children.

Some are small, like the last piece of pie. Others are larger sacrifices, such as dedicating everything you can in you to ensuring your child has the best life. Killian Jones, of course, makes these sacrifices willingly, and most of the time, happily.  Ever since the day that the doctor placed a squawking infant -- his daughter -- into his arms, Killian Jones knew that he’d do everything in his power to make her smile. Decades later, he likes to think he’s done a decent enough job. Juliet is happy and healthy, and has the confidence to leave the comfort of Storybrooke and chart a course of her own. And, despite her being an adult, he’ll continue doing what he’s able to ensure her happiness.

However, there are some sacrifices that try his patience -- such as being friendly with the Crocodile.

Over the course of two decades, he and the Dark One have kept their distances. They’ll be cordial at functions that they’re both in attendance, and he’ll never disparage the man around Belle. He values his friendship with her too much for that. Truthfully speaking, over the years, no one has ever truly required them to go out of their way to be in the same place.  

Ah, but then his daughter fell in love with the Dark One’s son, and expectations had been formed.  

“I know you all have bad blood, but can you at least try? For me?” Juliet had asked him. He can’t blame her for doing such a thing. He’d shield her from much of his history with the Crocodile. She knows enough -- he remembers with stunning clarity the afternoon he’d explained to her, just five and infinitely curious, why the name ‘Milah’ was tattooed on his wrist -- but both he and Emma had intentionally agreed to leave out the gorier details of his life. Her basic knowledge cannot compared to the memories of living in the thick of it all.

Which is why, shortly after Juliet had made that request of him, he had mused to Emma in the comfort of their own bed, “Perhaps they’ll break up.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon. This one’s different,” Emma had replied, and that much they knew to be true. Killian had seen that boys that had captured Juliet’s interest over the years -- all of them unworthy of her, in his opinion -- and it’s true that this one felt different. “Besides, if things do go south, you don’t want that heartbreak for her.”

“No, you’re right,” he’d replied. He remembers pulling Emma closer to him, and whispering in her hair, “I’m beginning to understand your father’s perspective a bit more when you began courting me.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

And it is because he doesn’t want to make life harder for his daughter -- he knows well enough the benefits of a smooth relationship with the in-laws -- Killian puts on his best smile and acts even friendlier with the Crocodile. Though they’ve never explicitly discussed the matter, Killian suspects that Gideon had made the same request of his own father, as the Crocodile has not made one snide comment or appeared surprised at whatever warming relationships they might have.

Belle, at the very least, seems happy about the turn of events. And he can’t deny that Gideon is a good young man, a far cry from the tortured soul who had attempted to kill Emma decades ago. (Killian still has nightmares of their wedding night, of watching the sword drive into Emma’s gut.) But he can’t hold that against Belle’s son. He’d be hypocritical at best, especially considering the respectable person he’s since grown into. Besides, there’s no denying that Gideon looks at Juliet like she’s the moon and stars, and his daughter is quite happy with him.

Which, unfortunately, means he’s on a quest with the Crocodile to retrieve a box of books from the library for a booth at the festival. They library had been going through the process of culling its selection, weeding out extra copies of no longer popular tomes so there would be space for current interests. Belle had concocted a plan to set up a booth to give away the books, and had asked Killian and her husband to fetch a couple of boxes she’d left behind.

He honestly thinks this is a plan of Belle’s to get the two of them to talk more, to further bury the hatchet at the request of their children. The Dark One certainly has the power to poof the boxes. (He has made an effort to use magic less over the years, something Killian will not complain about.) She might have also asked Emma for help, but he’s pretty sure his wife is also in on the scheme.

In the effort of trying , he and the Dark One -- Gold -- exchange in small talk, but it is stilted and awkward. Which is possibly why the conversation dovetails into talking about their children, an easy topic for any proud parent.

“Gideon tells me that Juliet graduated cum laude? I’ll have to extend my congratulations to all of her hard work.”

“Aye. She did excellently. Emma and I are quite proud.” He already has a picture from her graduation day of the three of them sitting on the mantle -- Juliet clad in her regalia, smiling broadly while flanked by her parents. Gideon had been the one to take the picture. “I imagine you are too, with Gideon studying to be a doctor.”

“We are.” The Crocodile’s expression morphs into one that Killian knows all too well -- the sort of look one gets when they can’t quite believe they had a part in raising someone good. “It’s astounding to think that he’ll be completing medical school next year. It seems like yesterday he was just learning to walk.”

“I know the feeling all too well.” He hates how much he relates to Gold at the moment. Emma has occasionally commented how fatherhood has mellowed them both over the years, but Killian doesn’t want to bond over it. The things we do for our children.

But, at the same time, he cannot deny that Gold is wrong. Killian Jones has lived hundreds of years, but none have passed by as quickly as those since Juliet’s birth. In what feels like the blink of an eyes, she’s gone from being a wee babe to a child to a teenager and now an adult. Hadn’t it been just yesterday that she had been stumbling over her consonants as he taught her how to read?

“Those nights when she would keep Emma and I up all night, I remember wishing that time would pass quickly. Now I find myself wishing I could turn back the time and go back.”

“After what happened with my sorry excuse of a mother, I learned not to take any time with Gideon for granted,” Gold replies darkly.

Killian’s first reaction is to consider it a slight, an implication that he somehow has taken his daughter’s childhood for granted, but his cooler head prevails. He recalls how scarred Belle had been during the mess with the Black Fairy, and how even after Gideon back she had barely left him out of her sight. If the same thing had happened to Juliet…

It’s a thought that kept him awake many nights during Emma’s pregnancy. Storybrooke and normal pregnancies or childbirth rarely went hand-in-hand back in those days, and certainly not for their family. He’d be plagued by nightmares full of villains from his past -- men he’d crossed or wronged -- sneaking into his home and doing harm to his child with him unable to save her.

They’d been lucky, with Juliet. She’d been safe and sound. There had been villains since then, but she’d been mostly safe. Nothing like what Gold and Belle had gone through with Gideon, or David and Snow with Emma. For once, Killian Jones had been the blessed one. He tries not to let himself forget it.

He and the Crocodile don’t talk much after that, not until after they’ve worked their way through the crowd and arrive at the library.  

“Where did Belle say she left the boxes?”

“By the circulation desk.” Gold pulls the keys to the library out of his pocket before he suddenly stops. Killian glances over the other man’s shoulder to see why, before noticing the slightly ajar doors. By Killian’s estimation, it seems as someone had simply let the door close behind them, not realizing that they hadn’t shut completely. “I know I locked this earlier.”

“It’s not the first time someone has broken into the library. Probably some horny or drunk youths looking for a quiet space and a good time.” How many times had he or Emma busted people sneaking into the library for a good time over the years? It’s turned into almost a rite of passage amongst the teens. Though he understands the thrill of breaking-and-entering, Killian doesn’t quite understand why the library is the chosen location. He’s crossed Belle enough times to know that is a spectacularly bad idea. “They probably thought the festival would be a good distraction.”

“And now they’re about to find themselves caught by the Dark One and Captain Hook. I almost pity them.”

Killian highly doubts that this is what any of the women is his life hoped for when it came to bonding with Gold. This certainly isn’t what he envisioned, but he’ll take it. Terrible as it might be, he takes certain enjoyment in knowing just how terrified whomever is in there will be when they realize just who they’ve been caught by. Quietly, Gold pushes open the library door and they creep inside the building. Once inside, they can clearly hear low moans and the slick sound of--

“Oh fuck---ohmygod!”

  -/-

  Juliet is hiding. She’s admittedly doing a poor job of it, because her hiding place is the back porch swing of her childhood home. In her defense, no one had been home when she’d come back. Now, however, the lights are one and she can hear the obscured voices of her parents. (She can barely make out the words “shower” and “tired”, if she strains.) Thankfully, they haven’t come to look for her. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to look at her father in the eyes again. She’s already formulating a plan for sneaking out before breakfast -- or maybe pretending to sleep until after he leaves for work.

Until she is sure her parents have convalesced themselves upstairs, she’ll continue hiding outside on the back on the back porch swing -- how many summer nights did she spend out here growing up? She had attempted to distract herself from her complete and utter mortification by attempting to read, but the exploits of Natasha Rostova weren’t enough to ebb away her embarrassment. Now, she just sits and stews, swaying back and forth on the swing.

She wishes Gideon were here. After a minor freakout --

“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Worse than that time you got stabbed in Agrabah?”

“Yes! I got healed from being stabbed! My dad caught be going down on my boyfriend. How do you come back from this?”

-- she and Gideon had decided to go their separate ways for the rest of the night. The mood had effectively been killed, and they had already agreed to spend the night at their respective childhood homes . She now wishes he were here, however, if only to give her a hug and share the mortification together. The text messages from him, of which there are many, are hardly sufficient. Besides, she hardly even wants to look at her phone anymore, not since she made a mistake of telling Neal, who has sent her three texts that consist of “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” written over ad nauseum . Jerk.

Beyond embarrassment, she’s also incredibly disappointed in herself. The Juliet of four years ago had never been caught involved in illicit acts. Had she been caught vomiting into a bush after a night of underage drinking? Sure, but at least she’d been clothed and not hooking up with anyone. Has she fallen so far? Has living in New York eroded her sense in Storybrooke? The Juliet of four years ago would have insisted to sneak deeper into the library to fool around.

One thing’s for sure: I am never doing this in Storybrooke again.

She picks up her book again, and thumbs to the dog-eared page. Her adamant refusal to use a bookmark drives Gideon up the walls -- “Books are sacred, J.” The thought of him, and his exasperation, warms her heart and she makes a note to call him once she’s sure her parents are asleep. Slinking further into the swing, she attempts to read a bit more. It’s a mostly futile effort, and she’s about to give up when she is startled by the creak of the back door porch opening. She winces when she sees her father slide through.

“Hi.”

“Hullo, Cygnet.”

Juliet readjusts herself in the swing, swinging her legs to the ground so that he could sit beside her. She doesn’t meet his eyes when he sits down. She takes a deep breath, bracing for whatever lecture is bound to come, wishing he had somehow gotten the memo that this was something that they weren’t going to talk about. She had hoped that she and Gideon had gotten off the proverbial hook in that regard when her father and Mr. Gold had disappeared immediately after catching them, but apparently not.

“I’m guessing you’re not coming out here because you wanted to see the stars?”

“It’s a touch too overcast for that tonight, darling,” he replies, and there’s humor in his voice, but it is strained. God, this is the worst. “I wished for us to have a chat, not matter how awkward it might be.”

“Or we could pretend it never happened. I prefer that option.”

“When you were a toddler, you preferred to not wear clothes, so you stripped yourself in the middle of Granny’s, waving your dirty diaper as a victory flag. And yet your mother and I still dressed you,” her father replies, and he has the audacity to wink at her.

“Okay, that is so not fair.” It’s a story she’s heard maybe a hundred times by this point, but it makes her cringe every time. Why was she such an awkward child?

“I’ve learned from experience that life, unfortunately, isn’t fair.”

“Now you’re getting angsty,” she says. She’s being difficult. Juliet knows this, but she really doesn’t want to talk about whatever if on her father’s mind. She already feels terrible enough. “Dad, seriously, can we just forget today ever happened?”

“Trust me when I say I do, and after you and I have a chat, we can.”

“Dad, I’m an adult. We were just being dumb, okay?” Juliet feels like a teenager again, getting caught after staying out past curfew. But, to be fair, this is perfectly in character for her father. Years ago after a party, he’d caught her stumbling around clearly drunk. The next day he’d given her a lecture about the importance of staying safe while inebriated. “We’ll be more responsible from now on. Trust me when I say that no one involved wants a repeat of that. Ever.”

“That’s good. That’s good.” He runs his hand through his hair. “That’s not what I want to discuss.”

“Oh.” They sit like that for a moment, listening the sound of summer bugs and the creak of the swing swaying back and forth. When their respective awkward silence feels unbearable, Juliet asks, “So what did you want to talk about then?”

“As you’ve mentioned you’re an adult, and I have no bearing on telling you what you can and cannot do.” He takes a deep breath and looks up. “But now that you’re an adult, you are making adult choices and are finding yourself in adult situations.”

“Mom already gave me the sex talk in high school.” Her mother had been incredibly thorough with the sex talk, no doubt influenced by her own harrowing experience with teenage pregnancy. While she had done an excellent job discussing the different forms of birth control, Juliet had walked away so scarred by everything else that she’d done everything but penetrative sex until she had started college for fear of getting pregnant before her finishing her high school degree. “I know how to be safe. We’ve been tested. I have an IUD.”

Juliet winces at her explanation. Even though she’s veering into TMI territory -- her father knowing her current form of birth control does not top the ‘need to know’ list -- she wants to express to him that the earlier encounter had been a bit of fun and that she’s actually a responsible adult when it comes to these things.

“I’m glad you are aware of those things.” He runs his hand through his hair again. It’s also something Juliet does when she’s stressed. Both her mother and Gideon have commented on it. Unsure if it is a nature or nurture thing, she chalks it up to simply being Killian Jones’ daughter. “I just also want you to be aware that just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you have to if you. If you ever feel uncomfortable doing something, you can say no. You don’t need to...you don’t need to consent to an action simply because your partner--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Gideon didn’t force me into doing anything. Holyshit, he’s not that kind of guy. I’m the one-- it was my idea, okay? He’s not some creep who would force me into that. This is not the time for that PSA.” Juliet pushes herself from the swing, turning to face her father. She’s angry and hurt and how could he even imply…? “Is it because of what we were doing? Newsflash, Dad, women can like giving head. Women can like sex. And I know this might be hard to hear, but I like sex. What you walked in on? That was me doing what I enjoy doing with my partner.”

To call her furious would be an understatement. She wonders how her father could even think that about Gideon. Gideon, who is the nicest person she knows. Gideon, who is so afraid of everything thinking he’s just another villain because of his last name. The implication that he would be the one forcing her, or that she would be so easily coerced boils her blood. And for it to come from her father?

She turns to leave -- to where, she doesn’t know -- but her father is up in an instant and following her. He gently takes hold of her arm, stopping her at the door. “Juliet, sweetheart, wait.”

“What, so you can imply my boyfriend is some asshole who forces me into sex?”

“No, so I can better explain what I was trying to say,” he tells her. Juliet doesn’t move at first, but he gradually leads her back to the swing. “It was not my intention to imply at Gideon was that sort of man. I honestly don’t think he is. I was talking about relationships the in general and not him specifically.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m doing a train on the hockey team.” Her father winces. She thinks it serves him right. “I’m kind of a big believer in monogamy.”

“That’s...that’s something. But even with the people we love, it’s easy for us to feel like we should do things that we normally wouldn’t want to do. And I don’t mean this situation specifically, but in relationships as a whole. I want you to know that it’s okay to say no,” he says gently. “You don’t ever have to do something you don’t want.”

“Again, I wanted to.”

“So you said.” He bites his lip and looks down. “I also want you to know that if you want to do something that your partner doesn’t, you should respect their decision, as well.”

“I know.”

“It’s easy to say when you’re not in the situation. And if you think your desires outweigh their own. And I’m not simply talking about what one might get into in their bedchambers, or libraries as it were. It extends to hospitals, how you raise your children, end of life care…” He trails off, before shaking his head. He turns so he can fully face her. “Juliet, darling, you’re growing up and making so many decisions, and now you’re making them now with a partner. I love you, more than anything you can comprehend, which is why I’m telling you these things. Adulthood isn’t simple, and strong emotions makes it even more difficult. What I’m trying, rather poorly it seems, is to say that it’s okay to communicate your desires, just as it is for he to communicate his, but both of you can say no and the other needs to respect it, aye?”

She’s unprepared to deal with the intensity of his speech. She’s been unprepared for a lot that has happened today, and she wants to deal with none of it. So she nods her head. “Yeah. Okay. Communicate. Have adult conversations. Is that all?”

“Yeah, that’s all.” He looks taken aback at her response. She regrets her, but he’s already up and walking to the door. “I think I’m going to turn in for the night. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

And then he’s gone, and Juliet feels like the worst person ever.

“You aren’t the worst person ever,” Gideon tells her later that night, after she creeps into the house and back to her childhood bedroom. “Maybe a bit short. As much as I appreciate you defending my honor, based on what he said I don’t think he was meaning it that way. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part.”

“I don’t know, I think he was trying to do the ‘Dad’ thing and make it like a sitcom feel-good moment.” In the immediate aftermath, once she had cooled off and really registered what her father had been saying, she had realized that maybe he hadn’t been implying what she thought he had. “And I yelled at him and then blew him off. I mean, he was being a bit weird about it with the sex stuff, but...I don’t know.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“What do you think I should do about it?”

“That’s not my call, babe,” he says gently. She hears a rustle over the line as he shifts in the bed. She wishes she were there with him, if only so she could feel the comfort of his warmth around her. “You know your dad. Do what you think is best.”

She just has to figure out what that means.

  -/-

  Emma is waiting for him in bed when he clambers into their bedchamber. Her hair, now wet, is pulled into a braid and she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt, but she still looks stunning. She closes the book she had been reading, and gives him a sympathetic look. “I heard yelling.”

“You heard correctly.” He strips off his clothes and brace, for once not bothering to fold them neatly into the hamper. Deciding not to wear his pajama pants, he crawls into bed and takes his spot besides his wife. “I’m not sure how well that conversation went.”

“I told you wait until morning.” Emma pokes him in the chest. “She’s mortified now. Nothing you said was going to register.”

“I didn’t want the moment to pass.” He interlocks his fingers with hers, and kisses her knuckles. “I’m afraid if I had waited until the morning, she would have snuck out. I’m not convinced she still won’t.”

“That does sound like our daughter.” They re-adjust themselves under the blankets so that Emma is laying on his chest. Killian feels his heart rate, previously pounding, slow as he succumbs to the comfort of her presence. “Even if it didn’t go well, I’m proud of you. You pushed past any awkwardness to have a real conversation with your kid.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to say that. She accused me of implying her boyfriend was an abuser.”

“She also apparently likes sex,” Emma adds, humor evident in her tone.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You kinda of walked into that last one, buddy.” He feels Emma traces nonsense into his chest. It tickles, but he allows her to continue. She grounds him, that wife of his, keeping him afloat in the wild storm of his emotions.

“I walked into a lot of things today.” Things he would very much like to forget, regardless of what he told Juliet. He wonders if he might be able to convince Gold to whip them up a memory potion. He thinks the Dark One might agree.

“Yeah, I don’t envy you.”

“You are taking far too much joy in this situation.”

“What can I say, babe? It was a long time coming. Remember when mom walked in on us?”

“Which time?”

“Exactly.”

He laughs, but he doesn’t quite find the humor in the situation. He’s too caught up thinking about all the things he did wrong while talking to Juliet than right tonight. It had been easier when she was younger, far less prone to lash out. Back then, of course, the lessons hadn’t felt some complicated or embarrassing. Perhaps he misses that too, her willingness to listen and the faith that the advice he was imparting was done with her best interest at heart.

But that’s not how it works anymore, is it? She’s her own person. One who apparently likes sex and fools around with her partner in public spaces. And he doesn’t mind, not really, but today had been a stark reminder that she’s not his little girl anymore. He hadn’t been prepared for this part of fatherhood.

“Killian?” Emma says after a lifetime of silence. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. And you want to know how I know it is?” Emma moves that her chin is now resting on his chest. He catches a glint in her green eyes. “Because we’ve been down this road before, and everything turned out fine. Our daughter still comes home.”

“Why does it feel different than before?” he asks. Emma is correct, this isn’t the first time either of them have had a less than ideal encounter with their daughter. He still cringes when he thinks of the slammed doors and eye rolls from her teenage years.

“Because I think this is the first time it’s really sunk in for you that our baby isn’t a baby anymore.” Her words are a heavy weight on his chest as he considers them. Objectively, he recognizes that Juliet is an adult. She’s done well for herself living away from home and completing her studies. She hasn’t starved. But, Emma isn’t necessarily wrong either, and the incident earlier is a reminder of just how much she’s grown.

“You know, earlier I was telling the Crocodile I wished I could turn back time to when she was small. She used to be no longer than my forearm, do you remember that?” He’d been so delicate with her, so afraid of damaging something so small and precious to him.

“Of course I remember that.” Emma smiles fondly, the corner of her eyes crinkling. “Remember those bows my mom got her? The ones with flowers bigger than her face?”

“She would scream every time one of us tried to put it on.”

“You singing sea shanties was one of the only ways to get her to sleep.”

“Aye.” Tired as he had been, Killian cherished those moments he had with his infant daughter. She would be curled up on his chest as he rocked in a chair and hummed her his favorite songs. He felt special, being one of the only people who could calm her down. “I miss it.”

“I know, babe, but we’ve got a lot of new memories ahead of us.” Emma stretches up, leaving him feeling bereft, as she reaches to shut off the lamp. As his eyes attempt to adjust to the light, he feels her settle more firmly into her side of the bed. Unwilling to let her go quite yet, he turns to his side and wraps his arm around her waist.

“You were right about one thing, though.”

“Just one?”

“Hush,” he teases. “This one is different. Gideon, I mean.”

“And what makes you say that?”

Emma is goading him, but he doesn’t care. “You should have seen the fire in her eyes when she thought I was accusing him of being untoward. I’ve never seen her so defensive of anything or anyone in her life.”

“She’s in love.”

“Aye, she’s in love.”

Killian allows that sentiment to close out the night, and lets the evenness of Emma’s breaths slowly lull him to sleep. In the morning, he awakens to the sounds of someone rattling around the kitchen and the smell of pancakes wafting upstairs. He dresses quickly, pulling on the previously ignored pajama pants and a t-shirt before padding down the stairs. He expects to find Emma at the oven, but instead she is sitting at the table, drinking a mug of coffee. She casts him a knowing look and tilts her head to where their daughter is pouring batter into a sizzling skillet.

“Smells amazing, Cygnet.”

“Thanks, I made ‘em from scratch.” As the pancakes cook, she points with a spatula to a plate waiting for him. “You should get them while they’re hot.”

“As the lady insists.” He exchanges glances with Emma as he takes a plate of pancakes and settles into a chair. Rarely is Juliet ever awake this early on her own volition, let alone the one to making breakfast. After taking a few bites, he says, “These are excellent.”

“Thanks. I’ve been trying to learn how to cook, and ta-da.” Juliet flashes a wide smile -- Emma’s smile -- before turning back to her pancakes. Killian holds off on eating the rest, waiting until Juliet settles at the table with a plate of her own food and a glass of orange juice, extra pulp .

Emma excuses herself under the guise of needing to put on makeup, an obvious lie if he ever heard one. However, he can’t fault his wife for engineering an excuse for him and Juliet to be alone. His anxiety from the night before has slowly begun to ebb away knowing that his daughter did, in fact, not sneak out or intentionally sleep in to avoid him. She’s here and having breakfast. It’s the best he can ask for.

“What else are you learning how to cook?” he inquires, because he genuinely wants to know. This is a part of Juliet’s life he hadn’t initially been privy to with her living in New York. He’s eager to learn more.

“This and that. I make a mean pumpkin pasta sauce. If I’m up in the fall, maybe I can make it for you and Mom?”

“There’s nothing we would like more.” The hardest part of her growing older has been her absence. He’s proud that she has the confidence to leave home and forge a path of her own, but he misses her terribly. David had lucked out with both of his children living nearby. Killian has to settle for the occasional visit, mirror chats, or phone calls. The fact that she’s talking about visiting in a few months is a godsend.

She tells him more about the recipes she is learning how to cook -- caramel pie, enchiladas, various stews. He’s impressed, and he tells her as much.

“A girl’s gotta eat,” Juliet answers with a shrug. She pushes around some of the remaining pancakes on her plate. “Hey, Dad? About last night…”

He opens his mouth to apologize. Not for what he said, but instead for not yet coming to terms with her adulthood. Juliet, however, doesn’t allow him to finish. “Thanks for caring about me and everything.”

“You never need to thank me for that. I’m your father.”

“Yeah, but I want to,” she replies. He cheeks flush, and she pushes a few stray strands of hair behind her ears. “And, I didn’t say it last night, but I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Cygnet.”

Killian chooses not to press for any conversation surrounding last night anymore. He recognizes an olive branch when he sees one, and Emma’s advice about waiting is stilling lingering at the back of his mind. Instead, he asks his daughter her plans about the rest of weekend, and suggests that if they have time, her and Gideon should join he and Emma on the Jolly for a sunset cruise -- an olive branch of your own to say that he doesn’t actually hate her boyfriend.

“I’ll have to check, but that sounds fun,” she tells him.

Later, when they’re at station, Killian tells Emma all of this. He watches as her smile grows wider with each addition to the story, culminating on the tentative sailing excursion.

“I told you she would cool off.”

“To be honest, I’m a little surprised she did so quickly.” Since Juliet has inherited his temper, he had feared she would inherit his ability to hold a grudge. She certainly did when she was younger. As a teenager, she had perfected the silent treatment in a way that’s almost impressive. (For those not on the receiving end.”)

Emma simply gives him another one of her smiles and peck on the lips. “Well, yeah, our baby is growing up.”

He mutters something that sounds like agreement before giving his wife a kiss and returning to his work. He’s still not fond of his daughter being an adult, an absurd thought for something so inevitable and expected. But she’s happy. That’s what matters in the end.

[5thinvictus]

A Fan Review of Stan Lee’s Lucky Man

or ... A Gift That Should Have Never Been Given

I’ve had a ton of fun promoting this terrible show and now that it’s over, I thought I’ve give a quick review on what I thought of it overall. 

So, TL;DR:  Overall Score: D+

Character Consistency: C-

Narrative Strength: F

Acting: B

Re-watchability: Minimal.

For some reason, people think that if a show/movie is based on a comic book, that excuses it from the same scrutiny that other fictional works receive.  Sorry, but this is actually very far from the case.  In fact, comic readers are often used to dramatically higher standards for plot, narrative, character development than most of the subpar movies and TV shows that find their way into production these days.

In Short: Lucky Man, just because you were based on a comic, does not excuse you from the most basic plot holes which abounded within your meagerly meandering narrative.

Click below for my detailed review:

The Good:

Elizabeth Gray (Neve McIntosh):

I enjoyed this actress and her character’s arc.  At first, you’re not sure what to make of her, but she proves that she’s a human being and not just a caricature of a strong female or a beautiful female.  She makes mistakes and then she seeks to correct them.  I liked this character a lot.  She grew and it was consistent and believable.

Samuel Blake (Rupert Penry-Jones):

No, I’m not biased.  Rupert is an exceptional actor, otherwise he wouldn’t be one of my favorites and this role was no different.  Regardless of how terrible the writing was, he was splendid.  Charismatic and likeably sinister.  I started to root for the bad guy at some point mid-season, and no, not just because he’s Rupert (I never rooted for Clive reader ... not even once.  He was such a asshole.)

His sudden reversal in the last episode was more than disappointing though.  They’d set up the villain to be very, very principled.  In fact, that was his most important quality and then, in the final episode, they completely reversed that?  In the end though, Samuel Blake was one of the best things in this season.

The Cinematography:

The angles.  The shots.  The lighting.  The costumes.  They were all lovely.  Consistently so.  I enjoyed how good Lucky Man looked.  The crew is phenomenal.  They should have taken the writers’ salaries and divided it up to the cast & crew.  They deserved ALL of the success of Lucky Man.

The Locations:

They really made London look incredible, but something has been bothering me quite a bit.  Did they really need to fly to Hong Kong to film?  There were very few shots that even gave hints that they were there and honestly, they could have cgi’d in most of that stuff.  Clearly they were more focused on having fun filming than actually making a good show.

The Bad:

Suri Chohan (Amara Karan):

Good lord, this character was a brick.  I felt nothing for her and I usually relate quite a bit to spunky, nerdy little sidekicks.  She was dumb at every corner.  Everyone got the drop on her.  She was hyper emotional.  She tried to sleep with the tall detective ... randomly.

I’m sorry, but she didn’t seem like a real person at all to me.  She was a caricature of some ideal Mary Sue.  Everyone loves Chohan.  Chohan is morally and ethically perfect.  Yeah ... no.  I’ve better things to do than watch a character I cannot relate to in any way, shape, or form.

Harry Clayton (James Nesbitt):

James Nesbitt is an incredible actor, but Harry Clayton was such a miserable character that I didn’t care if he lived or died.  He killed so many people.  He was overly arrogant.  I didn’t care about this character at all.  In the later part of the season, I started to fast forward through most of his scenes.

The Narrative:

This was by far the worst aspect of the show.  Nothing ever really made sense.  Nothing.  It was a strange combination of scenes people wanted to shoot coupled together loosely with vague reasons and meandering dialogue and unbelievable character motivations.

The What-The-Fuck:

Eve Alexandri (Sienna Guillory):

I totally understand being pissed at Harry because he let you die.  I totally get that angle and they could have used that beautifully.  They could have built a narrative around her that reinforced her falling for Blake, but they didn’t.  They didn’t even bother.

She’d been brought up to protect the bracelets and it took Blake less than a day to tear her down?  Absolute bullshit.

Blake kidnaps her, after she said she would listen to him, and throws her off a bridge (which she nearly dies from), and she forgives him and not Harry?  Absolute bullshit.

So, she will forgive an hot stranger from trying to kill her, but she won’t forgive her best friend who did so to save another life?  Absolute bullshit.

And then, in a matter of days (or weeks?), Blake has turned her into a ruthless killer and she convinces him to kill his entire family in front of her?  Yeah, what?

She has no principles.  No loyalties.  No ethics.  She has a poorly fabricated fight with Harry and then runs to Blake.  After one fight.  One.  She can be turned away from her entire life’s goal because Blake winks at her?  And then, in the end, Blake says ONE mean thing to her and she tries to kill him.  And then, in the end, she turns on Blake suddenly.  “OH NO!  NOT THAT MUCH INNOCENT BLOOD!”

Absolute bullshit.

What a miserable and unbelievable character.

A scantly clad Samuel Blake:

Ok ok ok.  Yeah, this is absolutely a “what-the-fuck” topic.  As much as I enjoyed seeing him shirtless (and pants-less) ... over and over and over again, it was absolutely pointless and shouldn’t have been in the show.  EVEN THOUGH I FUCKING LOVED IT: That whole ... “I’m gonna walk through the morgue naked.” scene was unnecessary and it really did detract from the story.  Why didn’t he just take the doctor’s clothes?  Seriously.  He was heading out to meet Eve and he just happens across some pants ... he would have taken the Pathologist’s pants.  Anyone who argues otherwise is an idiot.

This was such blatant fan baiting / fan service.

A side rant here: As a fan of RPJ, this nudity really should have been fun, but the hardest part of it was the fact that there’s a small but very vocal minority of Rupert’s fan base which consider themselves his Morality Police.  It’s really just a handful of people using multiple accounts to fabricate dialogue, in an attempt to shame him (mind you, by directly tagging him on Twitter), on an almost daily basis, over his body.  They also shame fans for appreciating his body and no one better find him sexually attractive or you will be targeted.

Plot Holes:

I’m just gonna go over the holes in 3x08.  There are holes in EVERY episode, but I’ll focus on the last one because I want to push everything about this show out of my mind now.

Wasn’t Blake a drug addict?

At some point, I’m convinced the writers changed and they completely forgot about the most fundamental flaw that we’ve been given about Samuel.

In the last two episodes, that was just gone.  Since it was such an important aspect that they were setting up in the beginning, you’d think that it would come into play at some point in the finale.  Withdraw or making him entirely numb again (Like in Sam and Harry’s first fight).  It should have come full circle.  It should have played SOME part in his demise, but it didn’t.  In fact, there was no point to it at all.

It didn’t make him more or less evil.  It didn’t make him more or less relatable.  They didn’t use it in a way to explain anything.  Not his actions or his motivations.  It was complexity that was added as a superficial trait and then not used in the narrative at all.

Shameful writing.

ಠ_ಠ

Wasn’t Blake the head of a massive Chinese mafia?

At some point, they completely forgot about the Wu Chi.  His prison fight was fabricated ahead of time and the Snake Hands carried out his instructions, and then ... just vanished.  He is supposed to be the head of a massive Chinese mafia and yet, they all just vanished.

Any Wu Chi guards at his factory?  Nope.  Of course not, otherwise how would Harry just sneak in at the end.  Any Wu Chi guards helping him infiltrate Madame Cheng’s stronghold?  Nope.  I ... guess ... not?  Did they run out of money for asian extras?

Couldn’t they have scrubbed the unnecessary trip to Hong Kong to pay for more extras?

So, what was the point of him being a Dragon Head again? 

In the end, there was no point.

ಠ_ಠ

Blake was all about planning ahead and he didn’t steal the Uranium BEFORE he got himself purposefully arrested?

Don’t even get me started on the plot from 3x06.  Blake’s plan was to get arrested, fake his death, and break out?  Even the whole “waking up in the morgue” thing didn’t make sense.  Why didn’t Eve get his body out?  Why was she just waiting outside for him?!  Ugh, I digress ... focus on 3x08, focus on just 3x08 ...

So Blake’s been setting up this fission chamber for a while, right?  He brags about buying that factory years earlier in preparation.  In fact, he’s even got a handful of handy scientists to get it all up for him.  How clever, I guess?  But, he never bothered getting the Uranium before he purposefully got himself arrested?  His entire plan hinged on being able to get his hands on MOTHER FUCKING URANIUM ... and he didn’t plan ahead for that ... at all?  His entirely plan was to wait until his access was revoked and then find someone to torture the information out of?

That’s ... uh ... really, really weak.  This entire fission / nuclear thing seemed like an afterthought in the writing room when they realized they’d written themselves into a corner.

Writer 1:  Ah shit.  How is Blake even gonna destroy them?  It doesn’t make sense that the Torches would bring the forging weapons to London.  They had to have hidden them, right?

Writer 2: *having just watched The Strain*  I KNOW!  Let’s have him NUKE THEM!

ಠ_ಠ

Seriously, Harry basically killed that poor scientist.

This wasn’t a plot hole, but it seriously bothered me.  You know that man.  The one he strangely head butted.  The one messing with the fission machine.  Was the man even evil?  Did he know what he was hired to do?  Did he know that the controlled fission reaction was to destroy magical braclets and the chain reaction would melt down and likely kill him and thousands of people?  Doesn’t matter, he wasn’t useful to the plot, so Harry just ... killed him.

How did Harry know how to remove the Uranium?

He just walks over, reaching in to the machine, turns it and pulls it out.  He didn’t even know what it looked like.  I guess he was just ... lucky?  Pfffttt.  Whatever.  It’s just a little thing, but it’s still fucking lazy.

Why wasn’t Blake armed?  What the fuck was he doing?

There’s simply no way that Blake would have been walking around the factory without his gun.  He would have just shot Harry from above.  And before anyone says: He wouldn’t risk the fission machine!  He was wearing the bracelet.

This was so fabricated.  Was he pooping or something and that’s why he set his gun down on the desk?

And again, why didn’t he have Wu Chi guards ... or even a surveillance system set up?  There’s NO WAY that place didn’t have security if he had a fission machine INSTALLED in it.  And he already said he’d owned it from several years.

Seriously?  WTF Lucky Man.

ಠ_ಠ

Why didn’t Blake notice Eve had escaped?

She was tied to the fission machine and he didn’t even notice she was gone.  Ok then ... maybe it was because he was high?!  They didn’t even bother to address it at all.  Not to mention the fact that ... wasn’t it unlucky to Blake for Eve to have escaped?  Wasn’t he wearing the bracelet?

Also, wasn’t it unlucky for Eve to have put the other one on him?  Shouldn’t she have tripped or something?  Shouldn’t he have been able to stop her BECAUSE of the bracelet he was already wearing?!

Writers: Create the rules for your world and then stick to them.  Don’t change things because you want a scene to play out a specific way.  You make the rules, so stick to them.

ಠ_ಠ

Harry’s hiding in his brother’s flat.

The entire country is on the lookout for Harry and Blake.  He’s considered a domestic terrorist at this point and he’s hiding ... in his brother’s flat.

Where the fuck is Mi5?!  Seriously, no.  This is SO dumb.  FFS.

No one’s tracking his brother or his brother’s phone.  No one’s bothering with anything.  Harry keeps walking out into public.  He approaches the Security Guards in the URANIUM shipment (armed guards), and even tells them HIS NAME.  I find it unlikely that security professionals wouldn’t have been even MORE briefed on him than the general public (which already was).

ಠ_ಠ

Eve was pregnant.

I guess this was a poor attempt to explain away her sudden motivational shift, but it was so contrived.

So what?  Samuel forgot to wrap it?  Fucking unlikely, don’t you think?  Was he super, super high one night or something?  Because, you’ve shown us he’s incredibly pedantic and he plans everything TO A TEE.

I guess Eve forgot she wasn’t on birth control either?  Maybe she was super high too, I guess?

Maybe the condom broke and it just slipped Blake’s mind?  Given, unplanned pregnancies obviously occur, but I find it unbelievable that it would happen between these two characters as you’ve presented them to us.

Also, how long were they even together?  Was it days or was it weeks?

In the end, she was the character I felt should have gotten her just deserts MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE and yet, she lived.  She was inconsistent, without loyalty or morals or ethics, and she gets to live.  Thanks Lucky Man.

ಠ_ಠ

So ... To Summarize:

Lucky Man wasn’t a good show, but it was a hell of a guilty pleasure and I’m actually gutted it’s over, because I loved watching Rupert work again and hot damn, did Mr. Penry-Jones look smashing in it (as always).

Cheers.

[davidmann95]

I read your post about why Batman is great and I love how thoughtful that is. Can you do one for Superman? Thanks ^_^

Unsurprisingly, I’ve touched on a lot of the basic aspects of it before, so for a couple parts of this I’ll keep it restrained (speaking entirely relatively), but given I think about Superman more than most people think about their best friends, I feel qualified to state that yes: Superman is great. As I said with Batman, the reasons why on a mass cultural basis are much broader than ‘he’s a really well-written character’ - hell, too often that isn’t even the case, even if plenty *have* stepped up over the years - so I’ll start with the lizard hindbrain stuff and work my way down to the finer details.

Superman has iconic power by default

What it really comes down to, at least in terms of keeping him afloat in the public eye when actual public opinion on him has been shot completely to hell over the last couple decades, is that Superman is a Big Deal. He’s the founder of his own genre: literally every surface-level aspect of his mythology is shorthand for the concept he created as well as for plenty beyond superheroes, from the suit (trunks included) to Lois Lane to Lex Luthor to Clark Kent to flying to Kryptonite to Bizarro and Brainiac to super-pets and x-ray vision. A red cape fluttering in the breeze is itself an evocative image entirely sans context, because people know that means him, by which it really means all superheroes. That means he takes the hits of getting all the complaints other characters duck even as others write thinkpieces on his place in culture and how he represents everything from America to Jesus to conservative values to the immigrant experience, all from people who may well have never picked up a comic or watched a cartoon of his in their lives. Even when most people don’t know much about him as a character, he as a symbolic figure is too massive to not grapple with one way or another, even via shorthand such as ‘he’s dumb’ or ‘he stands for us at our best’; while many of his recent woes can be traced back to people telling stories solely about or defined by that iconography, it still has power. Kids on the other side of the world from wherever you’re sitting right now know he can leap a tall building in a single bound. There’s maybe two or three other fictional characters in the world with that level of exposure and impact, and the unconscious emotional connection that comes baked right into it.

Superman is a protector

When kids talk about loving him because he can do anything, and adults talk about how he brings back those memories of joy and comfort, I think this is what it really comes down to a lot of the time. Superman’s the one who looks out for us, the guy who cares about you. Yeah, there’s gotta be the odd story about how NOT EVEN SUPERMAN CAN SAVE EVERYONE! to keep him honest, but by and large, yes he can. He wears a fun flashy uniform and he can wrap you up in his cape and fly you away from whatever bad’s happening, and even if something can catch up, no bullet or bomb in the world is going to get through him to you, or even hurt him enough to at least be scary. Nothing’s so hard or so big or so scary he can’t help, not really; he naps on clouds and swims in the sun. He’s polite, and never aggressive towards the innocent (not even that often towards the guilty), and he doesn’t talk down to people even though he’s stronger and knows better. He’s as confident as a cool big brother, as supportive and sturdy as a good dad, as vaguely ethereal and perfectly impossible as Santa Claus. It’s not an act, it’s not impersonal - he wants you to be okay, he cares about you and he’ll do whatever he can to make sure you’ll be alright. When that’s done just right? That kind of unreserved, unconditional, powerful demonstration of kindness making a difference, even from a cartoon alien, can knock a lot of typically steely emotional walls down like balsa wood, especially when that can save the day just as much as quick wits or a fist, the way anyone here could too in the right circumstances when they try their best.

Superman is a romantic figure

Something overlooked or deliberately sidelined by many is that a huge, huge part of Superman’s appeal in lots of circles is that he can be a romantic ideal rather than (or as well as) a protective one. He’s a sweet, funny, confident, smart guy who’s built like Adonis and doesn’t think he’s better than everybody else even though he’s literally the best. He holds down a socially valuable job he’s successful and happy at, he’s gentle and considerate, and he’s entirely comfortable being second in his household to a commanding career woman who he’s instinctively protective of, but also willing to back off of when she feels smothered because he acknowledges her independence. He can fly her to the moon, he never lets her forget how happy he is that when he was left lost and alone on the other side of the universe he fell to the one place he could find her, and he wears tights. The comics may forget that, but Lois & Clark knew it. Smallville sure as hell knew it. So have the last couple movies, and Supergirl. Even Christopher Reeve, America’s Dad, got it on with Margot Kidder in that weird shiny Fortress hammock. You wanna talk about the aspects of Superman that go for…ahem��primal instincts, that he’s the member of the Justice League historically most likely to go shirtless* is worth bringing up. 

* Aside from maybe Batman, who’s usually beat to hell and too miserable to leverage any of that playboy charm, and Aquaman, who’s Aquaman.

Superman is an easy power fantasy

Obviously, superheroes are often power fantasies in general; they do stuff we can’t do but wish we could. And Superman’s near the top of that list not just because he’s iconic, and not even because of the scope of his power - Green Lantern and Thor are comparable in terms of raw ability, GL even has an honest-to-goodness wishing ring, but they don’t measure up in that regard. What is is, I think, is that Superman’s powers are rooted in physicality, and therefore easy to imagine yourself doing. Everything most people can do, he does best, from lifting to running to looking to hearing to punching. Even his non-physical powers have a connection to actual physical acts: to see through objects he focuses as if peering through a fog, he doesn’t shoot power blasts from his fists to light things on fire but instead burns them with a furious glare, he doesn’t dispassionately levitate through the air as a standard but takes off and holds his arms forward as if in a mighty never-ending leap. Batman may be ‘real’, but if you imagined suddenly being him, you wouldn’t be Batman, you’d be a rich dude with a weaponized theme park in his basement, because you have no training and no tangible point of reference for thinking of how anything works beyond “punch and throw things”. But it’s easy to imagine being Superman in a visceral, physical sense - just imagine everything you did worked optimally, even the way it only could in a dream.

Superman is fun

All of the above makes him grand and likable, but that’s not the same as being able to support decades of monthly adventure stories. The basis of that is that he lives in a universe-sized, Earth-shaped toybox. He doesn’t just have superpowers and a nifty suit, he’s got a cave at the North Pole right near Santa with a time machine, statues of all his friends, a space zoo, a gun that turns people into ghosts, and a bottle city full of real people, plus robots to keep it all tidy, and only he can get in because the key was forged in the heart of a star. His cousin, kid, dog, and a few of his best friends wear capes too, and his ‘brother’ with reverse-superpowers lives on a cube planet where it’s perpetually opposite day. His friends and wife often go on their own adventures and get temporary superpowers just by being in his vicinity, he dated a mermaid in college, his after-school club was in the future and he commutes to the moon for work, and his deadliest enemies include a crazed mad scientist, an evil robot with a death-heart, a mischievous imp in a derby hat, and brilliant alien computer literally named Brainiac. Superman lives in a sci-fi fantasy dreamland of childish archetypes that can exist on any scale from the microscopic to the galactic to the other-dimensional, and as a result of that he can go on any adventure imaginable, to any time and place, and as a super-man who doesn’t often have to worry for his own safety, he can survive and appreciate and care for it all.

Superman mythologizes the mundane

And it’s where the fun and the big, mythic aura Superman carries meet that the magic happens that makes him as versatile and effective a character as there is in fiction: everything he does is rooted in something incredibly normal and human. His wild super-suit of circus royalty is made to reconnect with his heritage the only way he has, and to try and make himself colorful and unthreatening to a world he needs to accept him. When he travels through time, it’s never just to save reality, it’s to go see family and friends. He walks his dog around the rings of Saturn, he looks at his city in a bottle and wonders if he’ll ever be able to get around to taking care of that, he walks on the bottom of the ocean to think things through privately, and spends an entire day saving the world to get away from a conversation he doesn’t want to have. Every mad, cosmic aspect of his world is something totally normal blown up to be as big as it feels, and even when he does interact with the truly ‘mundane’, his presence alone elevates it to myth in a way no other superhero can. That’s the true source of his ability to adapt, rarely tapped but always potent: he can do anything, because he’s us.

Superman’s an actual good, interesting character

I place this at the bottom because it’s the aspect that’s most rarely captured, especially in the public eye (though the handful of times it has been are why he’s my favorite). But when he’s handled properly, then even divorced from everything else, Superman is fascinating as a *person*. Raised knowing there’s something different about him even as his weird alienness lets him understand people and the world around them in ways no others can, he learned one day he was born of the most mind-shattering act of cosmic horror imaginable, with a place greater than Earth in every way destroyed by coincidence, a signpost by any measure that the universe is a chaotic, meaningless, cruel place that destroys the innocent with indifference…and he became a good man who treasures life over anything. He has power that lets him do literally anything he pleases, and he spends half his life among us at a desk job because he thinks we’re just swell and he wants to keep being part of it all. Even though he can never entirely, not really, divvying his life up into discrete, manageable chunks that let him interact with the world on his own terms and try to see through what he sees as his responsibility, until a woman sees through the deception and self-deception and gets the real him to tentatively come out. 

He has fun little hobbies, and unusual friendships, and a complex rivalry with the one man in the world who could’ve been his equal. He’s seen the best and worst of the world, and he accepts it all, but he still radiates a decency and innocence that can be mistaken for naivete by those who don’t know him. He’s clever but easy to catch off-guard in the right circumstances, always struggling to be the god people expect him to be rather than the inadequate fake his humility can make him look at himself as, he likes football and pretzels and pulp novels and Metallica, he gets a kick out of writing because it’s one of the few things he can do on an even playing field, he’s not sure how best to raise his kid, he worries that that one alien dictator is going to pop by again soon and he might not be ready to deal with it, he has to coordinate dates with his wife precisely because they both have such busy schedules, he counts dust particles in the air when he gets bored, and he believes in everybody. There’s so much going on with this guy, this identity-case, this brute, this pacifist, this establishment-man, this rebel and idealist and weirdo and a dozen other conflicting things. He’s been and done just about everything with charm and style over the decades, and it works, because it all adds up into one nice guy’s unusual, well-rounded life. And because it’s always anchored by an understanding: for all that he’s a unique freak of creation, he knows that in all the madness and uncertainty and horror, the one thing we have to rely on is each other. So he’ll put on his suit and throw himself out there against the only things in the universe that could kill him when he could be doing anything else, because he’s found a home with us little people when he lost his, and he knows we’re worth the fight; everyone is, aliens just like him in their own ways, waiting to be saved the way they saved him when he landed in a field. That’s why Superman’s great.

[alpaca-obsession]

Scars And Trust

Warning: None? Maybe talk of being stabbed? Idk Fluff?

Word Count: 1,525 

Paring: Gendrya (Gendry x Arya) 

A/N: Leave some feedback. My first try on some fluff. Also @burnedblueblossom hope you like it :3 (Also Tagging @delicatechaosdelusion because I can, and she wanted to know when it’s on)

Arya was done. Done for the day at least. She didn't have to put up with any people today, so she just wandered around the castle.

She hadn't been in Winterfell in a long time. But even though she hadn't seen any of it in that long time, she remembered it good. She still remembered how she used to shoot arrows, when Bran was training. How she threw stones at Sansa. Or how she once almost beat Jon at some swords fighting.

It were the good old times. The times when everything was fine. When her mother and father were still alive. When Robb and Rickon were still with them. When Bran was able to walk on his own. When there was no war.

She remembered her last day in Winterfell. The day her father became hand of the king. She hated Kings Landing all along. Hated how her sister loved that bastard Joffrey. And how she so stupidly did everything he wanted.

Arya remembered Syrio. How he sacrificed himself. She remembered how her father was beheaded. How she wanted to kill Joffrey in that moment. How much pain she felt, when Yoren pressed her to his chest.

She kind of missed the time when she was on her way to the wall. When she met Gendry. She really missed him. And now she didn't even know if he was still alive, or if he was dead, like so many other people Arya had loved and admired.

Arya felt the hot burning tears form behind her eyes, while she thought of all the nice times. Of the nice things she had had. Of the times when everything was fine.

"There is a horse coming!", screamed one of the man at the gate. Arya guessed that he was the man on watch this evening. But then she wondered. Who could possibly be mad enough to ride north? Ride to Winterfell?

Another man went to get Sansa out of the castle, before they would even think about letting the stranger in. Arya was faster than them. She stood on top of the wall in no time, to see who the stranger was.

When she looked down, she saw a man with a black hood over his head, sitting on a grey horse.

"Show yourself, and tell us what you want stranger!", said one of the man next to Arya.

"I'm looking for a place to sleep. And this was the first place I came across. Would you let me in?", asked the stranger.

Arya had a weird feeling in her stomach. She knew that voice, she just didn't know where to put that voice.

"Show yourself", commanded Sansa who just arrived. "If you do, we might let you in."

The man slowly lifted his hands to his hood and took it off.

Arya gasped. Now it clicked into place. The voice was so familiar to her, because she knew the man standing before their gate. She knew him fairly well.

"Let him in!", Arya ordered. The guards looked over at Sansa, to see if she had other orders.

"Didn't you hear my sister? Let him in", said Sansa.

One of the guards yelled something, so another one would open the gate. As soon as they started opening it, Arya ran down to be there, when the gate was open.

She still couldn't believe it. In front of her stood Gendry. He looked different, but so did Arya.

First Gendry didn't recognise her. But when he realized it was her, he couldn't belive his eyes. She looked older. More mature. He wondered what had happened when he was gone. Where she had been.

But that was a question for another time. For now Arya threw her arms around him and just pulled him close. When Gendry wrapped his arms around her, the world around them seemed to disappear. Unfortunately the moment didn't last long.

Behind the both of them stood Sansa, clearing her throat. After that sound. Arya let go of Gendry and just awkwardly stood there.

Sansa now looked at Gendry. "Can you work?", she wanted to know.

"Work? Of course I can work. I was a smith in Kings Landing", said Gendry.

"Are you a good smith?"

Gendry nodded.

"Great. You'll be of great use for us. Arya, show him the forge. He can start working right now."

Before anyone could protest, Sansa left. Arya just rolled her eyes. But she did as she was told. She showed Gendry his new work place, and introduced him to some people. But after he had some time to look at everything that the forge had to offer, she took him by the hand and lead him to her room.

As soon as they entered her room, she threw her arms around him again.

"I thought you were dead", Arya whispered.

"I thought the same about you", said Gendry.

They stood there for a long time. Just wrapped up in each others arms. Just enjoying each others warmth and the closeness.

"Shouldn't I be out there and work?", asked Gendry.

"No. You probably had a long way, so for now, you're going to enjoy a hot bath and some fresh clothes. And I'll get you some dinner. Don't worry. I'll take care of everything!" After that Arya already left the room.

She came across a maid, and told her to get a bath ready for Gendry. Then she went to Jons room, to steal some of his clothes. His clothes would probably fit the best. After that she went to the kitchen and got some of the bread.

When she returned to her room, the maid was done preparing the bath for Gendry, and was free to leave.

"Gendry?", Arya called. "I have some clothes. I will put them on the chair!"

Gendry replied something through the door and Arya decided to light up some candles and get something other than just boring bread. Arya got some cheese and some water to drink.

Arya returned with the stuff she got and found Gendry standing in her room. Shirtless.

"The shirt doesn't fit", said Gendry and scratched the back of his neck.

Arya was speechless. Of course she had seen Gendry without his shirt a few times on their journey. But now it was different. Gendry had weird markings on his chest. Arya didn't know where to put them. They didn't look like scars from when one is stabbed.

"What are those?", she finally asked.

Gendry sighed. "Those are from leeches."

"Leeches? What leeches? Who in the seven hell's did that to you?"

"Stannis. But that doesn't matter."

Arya was shocked. How could he say, that it didn't matter? It mattered to her! If Stannis wasn't dead already, Arya would've killed him herself. No one would ever hurt Gendry again, Arya would make sure of that.

"Of course it matters! You matter to me! If Stannis wasn't dead already, I'd kill him!", Arya al,ost yelled.

"Arya, it's okay, I promise. Now calm down", Gendry tried to soothe her.

"How can you say that? They hurt you! They can't-", she was interupted by Gendry grabbing her face and kissing her.

At first she struggled a bit, but then she slowly melted into the kiss. She gently put her hands on his chest, and felt the scars beneath her fingertips.

They're kiss got a little more heated throughout time. But when Gendrys hand wandered underneath her tunic, her breath hitched. She suddenly got nervous. What if he felt them? What if Gendry felt her scars? How would he react? Would he react the same way she did?

It was then, that Gendry broke the kiss. He broke the kiss and looked Arya in the eye. He had felt them. The scars.

Arya felt shy. She wasn't ashamed of the scars. She survived them after all. But it was the first time that she thought about her time in Braavos again. The first time someone was going to hear that story.

"Are those scars?", Gendry asked, a little out of breath.

Arya couldn't force any words out of her mouth, so she just nodded.

Gendry didn't know how to feel. He was confused. Shocked. And he couldn't think of how she got them.

"What happened? And don't say that it's a long story, because we got time." Gendry then took her hand and lead her to her bed. They sat down and Arya took a deep breath.

"I was stabbed", she finally said. It was the first time, that she actualy talked anout it. The first time these words left her lips.

She then explained to Gendry, how it happened. He couldn't believe what he heard. He couldn't believe what she went through in Braavos. But he was glad, that she survived. He was glad to have her back. To be with her again.

After Arya finished her story, there was silence. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. It was like they knew that neither of them would jugde the other. They both felt safe.

And then they spend the rest of the night, laying in her bed, cuddling, kissing and feeling safe.

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

The Forging of the Wolf, Chapter 9

Aedion’s backstory continues.  Mildly NSFW.  Trigger warning for attempted sexual assault and PTSD symptoms.  Read Chapter 1.  Chapter 2.  Chapter 3.  Chapter 4.  Chapter 5.  Chapter 6.  Chapter 7.  Chapter 8. 

Paget’s camp ran like a dream, Aedion decided a month into his tenure there.  The more experienced officers were eager to involve the newer ones, regardless of rank.  They, in turn, helped train the regulars and recruits, rather than that training being left to a couple of lower ranking officers as been protocol at Perrington’s.  As newly made lieutenants, he and his fellows were being taught how to manage large groups of men both in training and in battle, and how to foster obedience to their commanding officer.  Yet respectful debate was encouraged, and good points were listened to regardless of who made them.  

It reminded him of Terrasen.

His fellow officers were by and large good men, though there were a couple who seemed to delight too much in their newfound status.  He enjoyed whenever he was paired with them in training, as he got to knock them down a peg or two.  General Paget would ride out whenever it was horse work, and even though he was fifty five if he was a day he was still an outstanding horseman and intimidating opponent.  Those were Aedion’s favorite sessions, and Avenar proved her worth again and again.  Then there were the private sessions with Captain Paget.  It was remarkably satisfying to be able to punch something as hard as he could, and the captain had him hold weights to increase his speed even more.  Not to mention the fun of the constant bantering with innuendo that bordered on flirtatious.  Captain Paget - Mikkal - had also insisted that he eat more, so his plate was always loaded.  It still felt like he could never get enough.  

And once a week the officers had social time in town.  It was essentially glorified whoring, but Aedion wasn’t about to object.  The evenings off afforded him the time to grab a new book and eat an extra meal before satisfying other appetites.  

On one such night he lay on his back, panting, between two women in similar situations.  He had always wondered what one man could manage to do with two women, and it turned out the possibilities far exceeded his imagination.  It had never occurred to him that they might also enjoy each other’s skills; nor how much fun that would be for him to observe.  One of the women stirred, brushing her fingers over his chest, and he pulled her to him for a thorough kiss.  He just needed a few more minutes…

A faint scream hit his ear, and he was out of bed before anyone could blink.  Yanking his pants on, he ran out of the room shirtless and barefoot, the calls of the women he’d left echoing after him.  At the bottom of the stairs, he paused, listening; he could hear muffled sobbing now, coming from down the hall.  Tracking the sound, he burst through the door it came from, ripping the hinges straight off.  Lieutenant Harcourt was in there, pants down, tearing at the clothes of a terrified girl lying prone on the bed.  He froze as Aedion roared in rage and grabbed him by the throat.  As Aedion dragged him through the hallways and out onto the street, Harcourt made enough noise fighting his hold that doors slammed open throughout the inn.  

When they reached the open air, Aedion threw him down the front steps.  “What the hell is your problem?” Harcourt yelled as soon as he had breath.  

“My problem, you son of a bitch, is that you were about to rape an innocent girl!”

Harcourt tried to laugh derisively, though it came out as more of a squeak.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you stupid bastard,” he sneered.  “She wanted it, you had no right to interfere.”

“Her screams would suggest otherwise.”  Aedion could feel himself shifting into a cold rage.  All of his senses were heightened even more than typical; he could hear the heartbeats of the people clustered in the open doorway behind him, could still smell the salt of the girl’s tears, the acidity of her fear.  “You’re so weak you have to prove yourself by taking some poor child by force?”  He spat in the dirt at Harcourt’s feet.

Harcourt lunged at him, and Aedion struck him on the cheek, hard enough to knock him back a little but not enough to break anything.  Swearing, the man charged him again, and Aedion’s knuckles buried themselves in his gut.  Harcourt fell to his knees, retching.  When he’d finished he leaped up, wiping his mouth, and came at him a third time.  One more blow, this one to his ribs, hard enough to bruise bone, had Harcourt down on one knee, gasping out, “You don’t outrank me, you can’t do this!”

“I’ll take the censure if it comes, you fucking prick.”

“I don’t see how you can hold yourself up as some sort of..” he sputtered incoherently for a while, before spitting out, “You fucking killed a man for no good reason.”

“And you would do well to remember that,” Aedion snarled, and Harcourt blanched at the promise of death in his face.  Aedion prowled down the steps and bent low over his fellow lieutenant.  “You might think you’re some sort of stallion who can breed whatever filly he wants,” he murmured softly.  “But I wouldn’t even need a knife to geld you, if you ever touch a woman without her consent again.”  Grabbing the back of Harcourt’s shirt, he yanked him to his feet.  Turning back to the inn, someone tossed him Harcourt’s pants, and he threw them on the ground in front of him.  The crowd parted as he stalked through, but there were a few gentle pats on his back as he passed.  He went to the room where the girl was still clutching at the sheets, sobbing quietly, and knelt gently on the floor next to the bed.  

“Are you all right, honey?” he asked gently.  She nodded, then burst into a fresh round of tears.  He sighed, wanting to comfort her but could see his presence was only scaring her more.  The innkeeper’s wife bustled in with a basin of water and a washcloth, and he rose to let her help the girl.  Out in the hallway, the innkeeper was hovering, looking anxious.  Aedion apologized for damaging the door, but the man waved that off, thanking him for intervening.  Now that the situation was under control, he could feel the blackness pressing down on him and fought to retain consciousness.  He trailed back up the stairs to the room, leaning heavily on the bannister, everything around him going gray.  The women were gone, thank the gods.  He almost made it into the bathing room before his knees gave out and he vomited up his dinner.  There were spots in his vision and a buzzing in his ears, as wave after wave of nausea hit him.  Finally he became aware of a cool dry hand on his forehead.  Litton.  His face was grim as he helped Aedion to his feet and handed him his shirt.  He stayed with him while he put on his socks and tied his boots, not speaking, until Aedion stood up to leave.  Then, Litton pulled him into a quick embrace.  

“Thank you, my brother,” Aedion said, looking steadily into Litton’s face.  The two men clapped each other’s shoulders, and Aedion headed down to walk home alone.

*****

Mikkal had kept his vow to himself for a full month, which was about three times longer than he had expected to manage given his constant close contact with Lieutenant Ashryver.  Indeed, he was beginning to congratulate himself on his self-control when the man in question swaggered into the officer’s lounge, brushing past him on the way to the small bar.  Like most of the unmarried officers he had evidently spent the evening in town, and he reeked of sex and ladies’ perfume.  Mikkal had stayed at camp ostensibly to finish the week’s reports, taking advantage of everyone’s absence to spread his papers out all over the table in the lounge.  In reality, he wanted to avoid temptation.

It looked like temptation had found him.

No.  He would go back to his quarters and finish up there.  As he started to gather up his files, Ashryver flopped down in the chair opposite, sliding a glass across the table at him before propping his feet up and leaning back.  “Thought you could use a drink,” he said, smiling crookedly.  “I know I’d need one to get through all that shit.”

Mikkal huffed.  “Seems like you’ve had a few already.”  But he picked up the drink and took a sip, rolling it in his mouth before swallowing the burn.

“Not really.”

Mikkal looked at him more closely, at his glittering eyes and the aggression that seemed to be pouring off of him; usually he kept it more tightly leashed.  But he certainly didn’t seem intoxicated.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.  Sir,” Ashryver said, the honorific an afterthought; he got to his feet and prowled over to the bar.  Mikkal waited.  “It’s just…Nothing.”

“You know I’ll hear about it eventually,” Mikkal said evenly.  

“There are plenty of women who are ready and willing in town.  Plenty.”  He walked around the room, coming to a halt next to the table, looking down at Mikkal, who nodded, unsure where this was going.  “So why do I have to pull a fellow officer off a fourteen year old girl who’s not?”

That was when Mikkal noticed the bruised and cracked knuckles.  “Who.”

“Harcourt.  Don’t worry, I got there in time.  Barely.  And the bastard’s not going to try anything like that again, or I told him he’d lose the ability permanently.”  

At least it was another lieutenant and Ashryver hadn’t assaulted and threatened a superior officer.  Mikkal closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.  Technically, it should have been reported to a superior and they should have dealt with it, but realistically there probably hadn’t been time.  Also, technically, he was reporting it now.  “How badly did you hurt him?”

“He’ll have some good bruises but I didn’t break anything.  Except his sense of entitlement.”

Mikkal laughed; he couldn’t help it.  This camp had never held with taking women by force, though he was aware it was all too common elsewhere.  He would back Ashryver up, and more to the point so would his father.  He held out his hand.  “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Ashryver reached out with the injured hand.  It was his left, though Mikkal knew by now that he favored his right.  Inspecting the knuckles, Mikkal noticed that several of the fingers were crooked.  “How did you break these?”  He brushed them lightly with his thumb and pretended not to notice the shiver that followed.

“Umm.”  His voice cracked a little.  “They were broken in a fight a few months ago.”

“Why did you punch someone with a hand that’s been broken that recently?”  And how had he not known about this?  He’d been having the boy punch weighted bags for the past month.

“Because if I’d hit him with my right I probably would’ve done a lot more than I meant.”  

Mikkal brushed his thumb over the fingers again, then released his hand and looked up into those strange, beautiful eyes.  “How was the rest of your evening?” he asked quietly.

“Satisfactory,” Ashryver replied, that one corner of his mouth hitching up again.

Definitely time to leave.  Mikkal stood, tapped his files against the table a few times to get them to line up, and headed for the door.  Ashryver downed his drink, then turned out the lamp and followed him, reaching him just before he could turn the handle.  That bruised hand appeared over his shoulder to press on the door, holding it closed.  Mikkal turned around to find them inches apart.  His eyes focused on the other man’s mouth, the little dent in the upper lip.  Ashryver was the only man he’d ever met who made him feel small.  It wasn’t so much the few inches in height but the breadth of his frame.  Even though he was lean - too lean, despite all the work they’d been doing to build his body up - he was still utterly overwhelming.

His eyes flicked up and were caught by the intense expression in the lieutenant’s.  Holding his gaze, Ashryver leaned in and covered his mouth with his own.  Mikkal felt himself melting into the kiss, much as he had that first time all those weeks ago.  Ashryver’s tongue brushed his lips and he opened for him.  He reached up to cup his face, to drag him in even deeper, and ended up bashing him in the shoulder with his files.  Ashryver broke off abruptly and looked down at the papers in confusion.  

“Ignore it,” Mikkal said, and dropped them on the floor.  Ashryver chuckled and returned to the job at hand, pressing him back against the door, that long lean thigh between his own.  Their hands began roaming over each other’s clothes, and Mikkal couldn’t stop his body’s response, didn’t even want to.  Ashryver clearly felt it pressing into his hip and he gave a soft groan into his mouth.  He tugged harder at Mikkal’s shirt, sliding those callused fingers directly over heated skin as soon as he found a gap.  Mikkal let his own hand wander down, feeling the smooth ridges of the younger man’s muscles through the thin fabric, then down further to palm him gently through his pants.  Ashryver jerked slightly with a soft curse, then leaned into the touch, continuing to explore Mikkal’s back with his hand.  

Suddenly he froze, listening intently to something Mikkal couldn’t hear.  “Shit,” he whispered.  “The others are back.”  Mikkal wondered how he knew.  “What should we do?”

He heard it then, the faintest of voices.  “I don’t…” He couldn’t think over the roaring of blood through his veins.  Ashryver kissed him once more, softly, then pulled away.  Picking up the papers, he handed them to Mikkal, then moved him gently out of the way.  Opening the door, he sauntered casually into the night.  Mikkal could hear the other men calling out a drunken greeting, and Ashryver replying in kind.  He waited until the men had passed, then slipped out and headed to his quarters.  An hour later, he was laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, fighting an absurd urge to cry.

*****

A month had passed.  A month of living in relative luxury, delivering letters, and waiting.  In which Delaney had learned nothing of the message she had brought hundreds of miles to Terrasen.  In which there were whispers on the street of the resurrection of a prince thought dead, of rebellion, of the rousing of the Bane.  In which there were hushed meetings behind closed doors and people coming and going in the night.  In which nobody smiled, but everybody began to feel a tiny spark, smothered long ago, glowing deep in the ashes of Terrasen.

*****

The weeks continued to slip by.  The lieutenants were divided into pairs to start working with regulars, organizing drills and planning forays out into the field.  Aedion was paired with Amond.  He was a nice enough fellow; the third son of a minor lord, he had ended up in the military more or less by accident and seemed determined to make the best of it.  Together they schemed and organized and trained, and Aedion loved every second of it.  Loved finding the rhythm of the work, the new ways to challenge the men and keep them interested, breaking the monotony of routine while not disrupting the comfort that comes with familiarity.  And he loved the few stolen moments he found with Mikkal, their brief clashes of lips and breath that never went farther but somehow left him more sated than his trysts with women in town.

One afternoon, Major Ivry asked him to run into town to pick up something for his wife.  He liked Mrs. Ivry; she was cheerful and funny and so pregnant she looked like she was going to rupture at any moment.  Hopping on Avenar, who needed the exercise and made the first few moments of the ride interesting, he made it into town to the herbalist just moments before the skies opened in a summer squall.  While waiting out the worst of it, the innkeeper’s wife saw him and began making a fuss.  Naturally this drew the older generation of women out of the woodwork who all clustered around him, telling him how noble he was, how wonderful it was to have officers with such a sense of honor, and so handsome too.  Flushing beet red, he made his excuses and grabbed Avenar from her tie under the building’s overhang.  The rain had lightened some, but he and his horse were both soaked through before they passed through the gates.  At least the herbs were safe in their waxed paper in his satchel, and he handed them off to Mrs. Ivry.

“Oh, thank you, Lieutenant.  I’d have gone myself, but the major wouldn’t have any of that.  He told me he couldn’t have me be dropping the baby on the public street.  And here I’ve got another month to go!”  She laughed, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of men, and patted Aedion on the cheek.  He bowed and retreated, blushing fiercely again and cursing his complexion.  

Once safely in his room, he realized he was dripping all over the floor.  Stripping off his sodden clothes, he toweled off and then began digging through his wardrobe.  Shit.  He’d forgotten that he’d sent his spare shirt to the laundry for repair.  With a sigh, he pulled out a short-sleeved training shirt.  It wasn’t protocol to wear off the pitch, but he could get a fresh shirt from the laundry before dinner.

He was about the pull the shirt over his head when there was a token tap on the door and Mikkal entered, focused on a paper in his hand.  “Sorry to intrude, Ashryver, Litton said…” he trailed off as he looked up and realized he had just walked into a room with a very naked Aedion in it.

Aedion raised an eyebrow.  “What did Litton say?”  A grin began to spread across his face at Mikkal’s distraction, those amber eyes roving over his body.  

“He, umm.  He said you were, um, in here.”  He dragged his eyes up to meet Aedion’s, then reached behind him and closed the door.  

“So I am,” Aedion said, and closed the distance between them in two strides.  “What did you need?” he murmured in Mikkal’s ear.  

“It can wait,” he replied, dropping the paper on the small desk by the door and pulling Aedion down the couple inches to meet his lips.  

It was so easy, Aedion thought, slipping his tongue into Mikkal’s mouth, so easy to lose himself in this man.  He yanked Mikkal’s shirt free and pulled back to watch him tug it over his head.  Then they were chest to chest, and he savored the skin on skin contact, the feel of those hard muscles against his own.  Their hands roamed, and it was getting hard to tell where he ended and Mikkal began.  So easy to lose himself, and to love being lost.

Which was why he didn’t feel the wave of icy black coming until it crashed over him and dragged him under.

*****

Mikkal had never felt so helpless in all his life as he did when Aedion collapsed in his arms.  It was too sudden and Aedion too big for him to do more than control the fall.  At first he thought it was some sort of seizure, but Aedion’s eyes were open and staring, horror-filled, as if it were more of a waking nightmare.  Then the retching began, and he helped him onto his hands and knees as bile poured out of his mouth and nose.  This must be what Litton had told him about when he came to him the day after the incident with Harcourt.  No wonder Litton had been so shaken.

It seemed to last forever.  He thought about calling for help as more spasms of nausea wracked that huge frame, but he didn’t want to have to explain the lack of clothing.  And Litton had said he’d come out of it on his own eventually.  So he waited, crouched on the floor with one arm steadying his shoulders, using his body to stabilize them both until finally Aedion pulled away and sat down, back against the wall, arms resting on his knees.  There was an odd sort of defiance in the tear-bright eyes, and Mikkal sat back and waited quietly, not breaking eye contact.

He must be ill, somehow.  When he had burst in on Aedion he had been first struck by his sheer beauty, but it hadn’t escaped him that despite his muscle mass, those bones were far too clearly visible.  Holding him as he had been sick made it even more obvious.  Mikkal wondered how long it had been going on, how he had successfully hidden it.  He certainly ate plenty, more than any of the others, especially since they’d decided he was underweight, but if anything he seemed to be getting leaner.  “I want you to see the healer,” he finally said, little louder than a whisper.

“I’m fine,” Aedion replied.  He leaned his head back until it rested against the wall, closing his eyes and rubbing his face.

“You’re not fine.  You’re losing weight, you’re vomiting -”  

Aedion dropped his hands and glared at him.  “I don’t want to see the healer,” he snapped.  “There’s nothing wrong, this just…happens sometimes.”  

Mikkal thought for a moment.  Behind the flash of anger there was a glimmer of fear, and he supposed that having the official camp healer diagnose him with some sort of illness could impact his status.  “What if I took you to an outside healer?”

“What?”  

Mikkal stood and grabbed the paper he’d brought off the desk.  “I was coming to ask you if you were familiar at all with Oakwald.  I’ve been assigned to do a little scouting training there, and I wanted to visit beforehand to plan.  But I haven’t spent much time in the forest, and I thought perhaps you had.”

Aedion nodded warily.  “Yes, I know the forest well, at least on the Terrasen side.”

“So…what if we go together to plan the training exercise, and find a healer on the way?”

“I’m telling you, I don’t need a healer.”

Mikkal smiled, a slow, lazy smile that he knew would get under Aedion’s skin.  “Then it will be a short visit.”

Lurching to his feet, Aedion stalked to his bureau and pulled on some pants, then picked the shirt up from where he had discarded it and pulled it over his head.  “You’re not going to let this go, are you.”

“Would it help if I made it an order?”

Cursing, Aedion went to his washbasin, poured himself a glass of water, and rinsed his mouth several times.  Then he crossed back to Mikkal, pushing into his space, but Mikkal planted his feet.  They stared at each other, so close that details blurred.  “Fine,” he said, and his breath hitting Mikkal’s cheek almost made him shiver.  “I’ll see a healer, but only because I want to take this trip with you.”

Mikkal’s reply was not in words.

*****

Delaney came down to breakfast one morning to find a stranger sitting at the table.  Clery had still not descended, but the fair-haired man seemed quite at home despite his dusty clothes and pungent smell.  He looked up from happily slapping jam on a piece of toast.  “Good morning, miss,” he greeted her in a cheerful Adarlanian accent, slurping some coffee.  

“Good morning,” she murmured automatically, and sat down a bit dazedly in her usual chair.  Shaking her head to clear it, she pulled the silver teapot closer and poured herself a cup, adding her usual heaping teaspoon of sugar.  Clery burst into the room, making Delaney slosh her tea everywhere, and pulled the stranger into an enthusiastic hug.  

“Fulke!  I didn’t expect you back so soon.  When did you return?”

“About twenty minutes ago,” Fulke replied with a grin.  “I came straight here, as you can see.”  He gestured to his stained clothes.

“And what news from Paget’s camp?”

Delaney startled at the name and leaned forward, feeling her pulse all the way in her fingertips.  

Fulke settled back in his chair with the air of someone preparing to tell a good story.  “Well, it seems the new lieutenant class has made a bit of a splash.  All was pretty quiet in town when I arrived.  I was staying at the main inn, just like we talked about, trying to feel out if there might be some work available in the camp itself.  I’d only been there three days when I was wakened out of a sound sleep by a ruckus the likes of which I’ve never heard before.  Out on the front step was a half-naked giant of a man, beating the shit out of some fool lieutenant who’d evidently tried to take a young girl to bed against her will.  It was young Ashryver.”  He shook his head, chuckling.

“Ashryver tried to rape a young girl?” Clery asked, aghast.  Delaney almost laughed, the idea was so ludicrous, and Fulke looked contrite at the misunderstanding.

“No, no, he was doing the beating.  And let me tell you, there’s no doubt that boy was trained by Rhoe.  Dropped the man in three blows.  Nobody in that camp is ever going to force a woman as long as he’s around, not after that.”

Clery sagged in relief.  “And you’re sure it’s him.”

“No doubt.  He looks just the same, only bigger.  Could never mistake those eyes, anyway.”

“Aedion’s all right?” Delaney interjected, needing to hear the confirmation.  Fulke looked at her in some confusion.

“Sorry, this is Delaney, the girl who brought us the message,” Clery introduced her.  “Delaney, Fulke is one of my…associates.”

“I’m one of his spies, he means,” Fulke said, adding, “Come on, man, it’s gotta be obvious,” in response to Clery’s glare.

“But Aedion really is all right.”  She would not be deterred.

Fulke nodded.  “Yes, he certainly is.”  Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked furiously.  The fair-haired man smiled at her kindly.  “You must have been…close.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that, knowing what he was implying.  “He’s like my brother,” she said.  “As dear to me as my real one.”

Clery began questioning about more general matters then, and Delaney paid close attention even though her heart was singing.  Fulke answered in great detail about the layout of the town, the proximity to the camp, the frequency of visits from the officers, and the ease of traveling there from Terrasen.  Evidently despite Clery’s acquiescence to Darrow, he was still developing a contingency to get Aedion out of Adarlan altogether if necessary.

After breakfast, she was sent out with just one letter, but it was to a country house well away from the city.  Part of her wondered if it was to get her out of the way while Clery and Fulke plotted, but she didn’t mind.  It was a glorious day in high summer, and even Horse didn’t seem to object too much to being ridden out, though that may have been because of all the tall grass lining the road.  As the sun beat down on her and she could practically feel her smattering of freckles darkening, she thought about Fulke.  About the advantages Terrasen could find in having spies of Adarlanian descent.  About her own skill in getting around unnoticed, and her longing to do something other than eating all of Clery’s food and waiting, always waiting.  After delivering the letter and receiving her reply - and a delicious lunch, courtesy of the bustling cook - she returned to the city.  

Dropping the letter onto Clery’s desk, she stood straight and proud before him and announced, “I want to learn to be a spy.”

*****

Aedion shouldn’t have been surprised at the ease with which Mikkal arranged their trip, but he was.  They would travel due west to a small town that bordered Oakwald forest, then spend two or three days exploring the area to determine how best to set up the scout training.  The training itself would take place in a month or two, after the lieutenants were all made and had received their assignments.  Which meant it was possible neither Aedion nor Mikkal would be present for the actual training, so their notes would have to be meticulous.

Avenar seemed glad to be on the road again, or perhaps she was feeding off Aedion’s mood.  The weather was glorious, and the rich scents of baking earth and growing plants filled his nostrils.  He and Mikkal joked and laughed for most of the trip, interspersed with brief snatches of more serious talk about the challenges of training in the forest compared to on the plains.  It was well past noon and getting on towards evening when they reached the tiny town, little more than a village.  Mikkal asked a passing farmer if there was a town healer, and they were directed to a small cottage right on the outskirts, backing up against the woods.

The healer was a pleasant faced, pleasantly curved middle-aged woman who nonetheless made Aedion edgy.  She welcomed them into her cottage, directing him into a clean, bright room that smelled pungently of herbs.  As Mikkal followed him into the room, she glared at him.  “And who are you?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

“I’m his commanding officer,” Mikkal replied, drawing himself up to his full height.

She glanced at Aedion, comically unimpressed.  “Is it all right with you if he stays?”

“It’s fine, he’s the reason I’m here,” he said with a disarming smile, adding silently in his head, Because I’m incapable of saying no to him.

She closed the door and, gesturing Aedion onto a stool, sat on a small chair opposite him.  Mikkal hovered behind him.  “What brings you here today?”

Feeling a bit foolish, he replied, “I’m having trouble putting on weight.”

She looked him up and down with a knowing eye.  “Is that the sole complaint?”

Aedion started to say yes, but Mikkal spoke over him.  “And you’re having those episodes.”

Nearly growling, Aedion turned to Mikkal and snapped, “I’m not having episodes.”  Turning back to the healer, he added more gently, “I’m not.”

“You’ve had two that I know of,” Mikkal retorted, not backing down an inch.  “Yes,” he said in response to Aedion’s self-conscious look, “I got the full report of what happened with Harcourt, so don’t give me any bullshit about it.”

The healer was watching them with some amusement.  “Define episodes.”

“He collapses.”

She turned to Aedion for confirmation.  “If I get…upset, or emotional,” he said with a warning glare at Mikkal, “I vomit and get light-headed.”

Making a few notes on a small pad of paper, she asked, “How often does that happen?”

He shrugged.  “It varies.  I can go a month or more with nothing, then have two in a week.”

After asking a few more basic questions and jotting the answers down, she asked him to remove his shirt and examined him carefully, making more notes after examining his eyes and his mouth, then pressing an ear to his chest.  “How well do you sleep?” she asked, as she probed his abdomen.  

“It’s inconsistent.  Sometimes like the dead, other times I can’t settle, especially if I don’t fight or…” he trailed off, reluctant to say “fuck” to this motherly woman.

“Have relations?” she suppled drily.  He nodded, feeling the blood rise to his face.

“Well,” Mikkal muttered, “when it comes to that, I have the same problem.”

Finishing her examination, she pulled back and tapped her pen against her leg.  “Can you shift?”  He sat up straighter and eyed her warily, twisting his shirt in his hands.

“Shift?” Mikkal asked.  “What’s shift?”

Aedion ignored him, staring the healer right in the eye as she gazed back calmly.  He gave in first.  “No.”

“Could you…before?” She waved her hand in the air, and he knew she meant before magic vanished.  He shook his head, biting his cheek to keep from laughing at Mikkal’s baffled expression.

“Was it your mother or your father?”  

“It was,” he thought back to what he’d been told, “my mother’s…grandmother, I believe.”

She shook her head.  “That’s impossible.  It’s way too strong to be that distant.”

“What’s too strong?” Mikkal interjected.  “What are you talking about?”

“Mikkal. Shut. Up,” Aedion hissed.

“Commanding officer, you say?” the healer asked Mikkal sweetly, and he cursed under his breath.

“My cousin could shift, though my senses are better,” Aedion said, turning back to her.  “We shared the same amount of blood.  We were told it just bred true in our generation.”

“Hmm.”  The syllable was dripping with skepticism.  “Who was your father?”

His lips tightened slightly.  “Unknown; I’m a bastard.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Mikkal supplied quietly.  If Aedion could have cold-cocked him without upsetting the healer, he would have.

The woman studied her paper, then him, continuing to ignore Mikkal.  “How old are you?” she asked abruptly.

“Sixteen.”  

“And you?” she said, turning to Mikkal.  

“Twenty four,” he responded automatically.  She gave him a disapproving glare.  “What?” he asked defensively, but she just turned back to Aedion.  

“How often do you eat?”

Aedion’s brow furrowed.  “Uh, three times a day?  Sometimes four, if I can manage it.”

She stood with a derisive snort.  “Well, then, there’s your problem.  Don’t you know demi-fae have to eat at least six times a day during adolescence?  You’re burning up the food too fast to follow human eating habits.”  Mikkal looked so shocked Aedion thought a strong breeze would take him off his feet.  “Of course, if you settle, you’ll be able to eat far less often.”  She ushered him to his feet, then opened the door to the small room and swept into the hallway, saying over her shoulder “Now, I’ve got to be going, if you don’t mind; I need to collect some herbs before dark.”  The men followed her, Mikkal still looking like he’d been punched in the balls, Aedion feeling a bit the same.  They were nearly out the door when Mikkal stopped.

“Wait, what about the episodes?  Why is he collapsing?” he asked.  

The healer looked at Aedion for a long moment, expression unfathomably sad.  “A totally normal response to trauma,” she said quietly.  He looked at the ground, unable to hold her clear-eyed gaze.

“Trauma?”  Mikkal repeated in little more than a whisper.

Throwing a red cloak over her shoulders, she locked her door behind her and patted Aedion on the arm as she passed.  “Be honest with your lover,” she said.  “And eat more frequently.”  With that, she walked into the woods and disappeared.

*****

It was a quiet ride back into the town proper.  Once, a number of years ago, Mikkal had taken a colt out that was only just started under saddle.  The horse had shied at a bird and set off in a series of back-cracking bucks; on the fourth leap, Mikkal had sailed over the colt’s head and landed flat on his back.  He still remembered the feeling of being utterly unable to move air, of feeling the earth sway beneath him even though he was laying down, of the nauseating spinning of his head.  He felt somewhat like that now.

Not that it was really so shocking that Aedion had fae blood, when you considered his size, his speed, and his strength.  He wondered if his father knew. If the King knew.  Remembering his recent conversation with his father, he suspected they did.  The general had pulled him aside before this trip and warned him to be careful of the young lieutenant.

Mikkal had laughed.  “I don’t need to worry about Ashryver,” he’d assured his father.  “I’ve never raped a woman, and I don’t plan on starting now.”

The general had huffed.  “I certainly hope not, son, or you’d have more than Ashryver to worry about.  Just…don’t forget what he’s capable of.”  Mikkal had pointed out that Aedion had deliberately used his off hand when he had punished Harcourt, and the general had looked grim.  “I know, son, and that’s part of what worries me.  A man who can show that type of control when he’s in a rage like that?  It’s not just you who needs to be worried about Ashryver.  We all do.”

He was still a bit lost in his thoughts when they reached the inn and requested a room for the night.  “One room or two?” the innkeeper asked.  He hesitated, uncertain what to say.

“Do you have a room with two beds?” Aedion asked smoothly.  He turned to Mikkal.  “Might as well save the general the coin.”  

“Of course,” the innkeeper said, and showed the to a large, airy room on the  top floor.  Mikkal ordered food, and then stopped the man before he departed and asked for another meal to be sent up right before the kitchens closed.  Aedion flashed him a quick smile in appreciation, then dropped his pack on the floor and fell back on one of the beds, just staring at the ceiling.  Mikkal sat on the other bed and pulled off his boots, wiggling his toes in relief.  He needed new ones, he noted idly; these ones always seemed to pinch.

After several minutes of silence, Aedion sat up and pulled off his own boots, setting them neatly by the bed.  Then he met Mikkal’s eyes and just…waited.

Mikkal opened his mouth to ask some sort of brilliant question about the implications of being demi-fae, but what blurted out was, “Does the age difference bother you?”

Aedion gaped at him in disbelief, then started laughing.  “After all that came out during that examination, that’s what you got caught up on?” he asked once he was able to recover his breath.  There was a knock on the door before Mikkal could reply, and he opened it to allow in a man carrying a tray with two heaping plates on it.  After setting the food and silver on the small table, Mikkal gave him a copper and the man bowed and retreated.

Mikkal sat at the table and picked up his fork; Aedion sat opposite him and fell on the food as a man starving.  Which, Mikkal thought with a twinge of guilt, he was.  “Yes,” he answered the question asked several minutes ago.  “It’s been bothering me for a while, actually.”

Aedion came up for air and met his eyes.  “Really?”  He nodded.  “How long?”

“Since I read your file.”  He gave a short, humorless laugh and decided he might as well confess.  “Otherwise I probably would’ve invited you to my bed a while ago.”

Taking another bite, Aedion chewed thoughtfully for a moment.  “But I’ve bedded women your age and nobody thinks twice about it.”

That hadn’t actually occurred to him.  “Well, but…it’s different with women.”

“Why?”

That was an excellent question.  Mikkal searched his mind for a reason.  “They’re less predatory.”

Aedion choked.  When he had finished coughing, he said wryly, “You’re fucking different women than I am, then.”  They ate in silence for a while, and finally Aedion set down his silver and leaned back in the chair.  “Let me get this straight.  I’ve been raised for war, trained for it since I could lift a wooden sword.  I’ve killed a dozen men that I know about, most of them when I was fourteen.  Are you telling me I’m old enough to kill a man, but not old enough to love one?”

There was no answer to that.  Mikkal didn’t want to even consider the ramifications of that word, even as a wild joy flared through him.  He cast about for a different topic.  “And you’re fae.”

Those turquoise eyes showed no surprise from the abrupt change in subject.  “Only part.  It’s not a secret.”  Mikkal narrowed his own eyes at him, and that one corner of his mouth lifted slightly.  “I’m an Ashryver,” he said by way of explanation.  “All Ashryvers have fae blood,” he added at Mikkal’s blank look.  “It might not be common knowledge over here, but I’m sure the King knows.  Probably how the healer did, come to think of it.”  Finishing his food, he stood and stretched, then pulled a book out of his pack and sat on his bed, back against the headboard, long legs crossed at the ankles.  The book sat on his lap, unopened.  Mikkal rose and sat himself at the foot of the same bed, pulling Aedion’s feet into his lap and beginning to massage them.  

There was something intimate about it, some dropping of a barrier as Aedion gave a little moan of pleasure.  He peeled off the socks and dug his thumbs into the ball of one foot, enjoying the feel of the strong arch and the smooth calluses beneath his fingers. “I’ve been in war camps my whole life,” Mikkal said quietly, watching his hands work, “and I trained in Rifthold for a year.  I fought in Terrasen and then in Fenharrow.  I’ve seen almost every torture that can be devised for a man.”  He glanced briefly up at Aedion’s guarded face before returning to his task.  “You don’t have to tell me what happened to you, but you can.  It won’t change how I feel about you.”

Aedion was silent for so long Mikkal was sure he wasn’t going to answer.  Then, in a soft voice so cracked with pain it didn’t even belong to him, he began.  He told about the confrontation with the man who’d broken his fingers, about the ambush with the corporal.  About being brought around with smelling salts solely so he would feel the terror of being trapped, the pain of the repeated violations.  About the threats and mocking words that had been whispered in his ear, the pinches to his thighs and balls every time he threatened to lose consciousness again.  About the overwhelming smell of blood and sex and his own fear that had saturated the room.  Mikkal kept his eyes down, barely daring to breathe, just absorbing the pain and humiliation that poured off this man he knew now, in this moment, he loved.  Only when Aedion admitted that it was exhaustion alone that had kept him from throwing himself off the watchtower afterwards did Mikkal’s own tears start to fall.

“So you see,” he concluded so quietly Mikkal had to lean closer to hear him, “I want to…be with you, but I…” Aedion’s voice broke completely then and Mikkal all but lunged to gather him in his arms.  Pulling him to his chest, he rocked him gently while Aedion’s whole body strained to control his weeping.  Mikkal sang to him as he held him, just the nonsense songs his mother used to sing when he was upset, over and over until his voice was growing hoarse and Aedion finally began to cry himself out.  

As Aedion quieted, Mikkal still held him close, gently brushing back that golden hair with his fingers.  Slowly, he felt him relax, and he pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.  They lay pressed together, Aedion’s head on his shoulder, their legs tangled.  Mikkal felt grateful for the tranquil closeness that came from the purging of such pain.  Eventually he realized that Aedion had fallen asleep, and he smiled a little despite himself as he rested his cheek against the top of his head.

He himself was fully awake.  The sky outside the windows was finally darkening, a rich deep blue stained with orange and pink at the bottom.  The day’s revelations crawled through his brain.  It was hard not to be angry at himself for not picking up on what had happened to Aedion; now that he knew, it seemed obvious.  He thought of the note he had found in his pocket after leaving the healer.  Be patient, it had said in a beautiful flowing script.  Be kind.

Aedion shifted slightly in his sleep, tucking himself in closer.  Mikkal realized that he had lied earlier when he had told Aedion the story wouldn’t affect how he felt towards him.  Well, not so much lied as been wrong.  He had known, before Aedion started talking, that he was brave; yet the guts it took to sit there in the lamp light and lay bare those soul scars was something he had never seen.  He couldn’t even comprehend it, it was so different from his brand of hot-blooded courage that took soldiers into battle.  Until tonight, he had cared for Aedion, had been attracted by him, even to the point of distraction; but now, this draw he felt was something he didn’t dare name for fear of destroying it.  The arm trapped underneath the broad shoulders began to tingle and slowly go numb, but he didn’t move.  This was the first time since he met him that Aedion had ever actually seemed content, and he couldn’t risk ruining that. So he waited, grateful for this moment of peace, wishing it would never end.

[khunvegas]

Malec Goodies Part 2

As always, if you know the author and want to give me a hand, please tag them :)

Never Better by satonawall

Three times Alec offers to give Magnus a backrub + one time Magnus asks for one.

No matter what by @hufflebee

Alec often thought about kissing Magnus.

Whenever Magnus would casually touch him, a hand of his arm, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, Alec would be overcome with warmth, feeling each touch throughout his entire body. Each touch left him wondering how his body would even contain him if Magnus ever kissed him.

And whenever Alec thought about this, his mind barely registered the world around him, barely aware of anything existing but Magnus. Which was a wonderful thing, a beautiful world to have his mind focused on, a world consisting of only Magnus.

Still, their English teacher didn’t really appreciate it.

Now and Forever by EmilyRLightwood

Magnus and Alec like to get down and dirty, but they are also totally soft for each other, even in the throes of passion.

Nulla Salus Bello by Nia_dAstarte

Long after Magnus is back in his own body, long after he goes again suavely about his business as High Warlock of Brooklyn, he still wonders what Alec was thinking. Coda to 2x11.

Oblivion by  @heartsalmighty

Alec stood up, keeping a careful distance and being sure to move slowly as he approached. “Magnus, I am so sorry. For everything you had to go through.”

Magnus’ eyes never moved from the spot on the floor he was staring at. He shook his head slightly, eyebrows furrowed deeply. “That agony rune…” He paused, taking a moment to swallow. His face was drawn in so much pain that Alec had to look away for a moment. He immediately punished himself by digging his fingernails into his palm. It was selfish to worry about his pain. He had certainly inflicted more than enough on Magnus that he had to atone for. “Made me remember things that I spent…centuries trying to forget.”

Off Duty by KouriArashi 

“I’m talking about an actual day off,” Magnus says, and Alec’s blank expression doesn’t change. “Off duty. If something goes wrong, they call someone who isn’t you.”

“That’s . . . not really a thing that the Head of an Institute gets,” Alec says.

One Easy Answer by @ameliacgormley

Magnus warned Alec he wouldn’t ask again.

And he didn’t.

Alec called off his wedding, but the next day walked in on Magnus with Camille and hasn’t spoken to Magnus since.

Now, months later, relations between the Shadowhunters and the Downworld are growing increasingly turbulent as the Downworld blames Jace for Valentine’s massacre of dozens of Downworlders.

It’s up to Alec, as Head of the New York Institute, to forge a peace that could save thousands of Downworlder and Shadowhunter lives—even if it means re-evaluating everything he once thought mattered.

Our Battles Choose Us by @thepinescentedair

Alec shakes his head and rubs his palm over the white scar of the faded deflect rune permanently inscribed on the left side of his neck. He wishes he had his stele or his bow or even his sword. Anything would be better than facing an unknown foe nearly weaponless and certainly powerless. He wishes a lot of things. "Keep your head and don't get cocky, Izzy. We stick together, remember?"

Isabelle nods and stares at the door, weapon hanging loosely from her hand at her side. "You and me against the world, Alec."

--- Or, after the Downworlders rise up against the Shadowhunters, the United States is quarantined off. Downworlders capture Shadowhunters and force them to fight in arenas for entertainment. Alec and Isabelle do their best to stay alive in the ring despite everything that has happened in the year since they were captured, but what happens when they try to escape?

Please, believe me by @katychan666

After swapping bodies, Magnus needs to make Alec believe that he isn't really Valentine. Alec needs a bit of a push, but after hearing him out, he's prepared to believe him.

Please, tell me what I can do by Shipper_Soprano

Aftermath of 2x12 "You Are Not Your Own"

Public display by @simonlewhiss

He’s going to cuddle with his boyfriend if he wants to, because he just put his body through hell for these people. They can tolerate seeing Magnus’ fingers in his hair.

Rainy Morning or the One Where Magnus Checks Alec’s Phone by @mfika

"Alec sat up quickly, keeping Magnus in his lap as he closed his fingers around Magnus’ wrists, kissing his fingers in a lame attempt to hide the embarrassed blush that covered his cheeks. At that, Magnus relaxed. No, Alec wasn’t faltering in his trust, he was just embarrassed by something and Magnus was now making it his mission to find out what that /something/ was. “Alexander, you screeched. That’s highly unlike you,” he grinned, amused."

Ruin Me (Gently) by @thesorrowoflizards

It involves spells gone wrong, smutty smut, and a second virginity.

Scary Different, But Still Good by @lemonoclefox

Alec stumbles upon a shirtless Magnus for the first time

Slow Me Down for a Minute by @abloodneed

They stared at each other for a moment, each beat of Magnus’s heart seeming to thicken the air again, pulling them back to the charged space they had fallen into on all of their dates. They’d fallen into this feeling here in the loft, out in the world, so many places where everything suddenly just felt intense and present. They were in this charged space where their bodies were saying one thing, and one thing only.

I want you so badly.

So Bright by @lemonoclefox

"You want me," Magnus says, "to pretend to be your boyfriend." He sounds wholly unimpressed, and Alec has a moment of panic when he hears it out loud. "Yes," he says. "Temporarily." "You want me to fake date you," Magnus says flatly. It's not even a question, but more a way of really driving the point home about how dumb the idea is. "Pretty much.". Magnus narrows his eyes. "You do realize that this never works out well in movies, right?" he says. "Ever." Alec feels a distinct sense of embarrassment creep up now. "Look, I―" "Ever."

-

Alec has come out, but that doesn't stop his parents from their continuous attempts to set him up with a nice shadowhunter girl. So, what better way to finally get them off his back, than to say he has a boyfriend? Problem solved. Except they now apparently want to meet this guy, who doesn't exist. Thankfully, Magnus Bane -- who encouraged Alec to come out in the first place, and whose silent crush on Alec is just as bad as Alec's crush on him -- is more than happy to help. Even if the night doesn't end up going entirely as planned.

So Innocent by @oncethrown

"You're so...innocent" "In some ways"

Back in his own body, Magnus knows that Alec loves him. That Alec is inexperienced in relationships.

And that Alec is a Shadowhunter. Through and through.

2x12 Reaction Fic, Magnus POV

Someone said relationships take effort by drjekyllandmrhyde10

What happened to Malec after their 'sex step'.

Song Fic Series by  @jackpotato

Note: how both Alec and Magnus come together in a relationship that started as a secret

Spanish Theme by drjekyllandmrhyde10

What happened to Malec after their 'sex step'.

Spotter by @themagnusbane

After Jace drags him to the gym for an early morning workout, Alec finds himself taken by the very buff, very intriguing Magnus Bane.

Surprise by uniquecellest

Magnus has to go to Pandemonium, leaving Alec at home. What he doesn't expect is to see Alec in Pandemonium wearing clothes he normally doesn't and dancing with others. And then they get home. . .

Sweet Nothings by writteninstone

Magnus desperately needs every part of Alec. Alec give him what he wants, but he knows something is bothering Magnus.

Switching Around Still the Same by @sakurazukaseiru18

“Hey, I’m Magnus! Wanna go out with me?”

 It caught Alec off guard. He flushed as turned as red as tomato. He responded.

 “What?! N-no…”

Takes on any shape by @ohlafraise

Alec hesitated. He’d never lied to Magnus since his aborted wedding, and he wasn’t about to start now. “You’re probably wondering how you got here, right?”

Magnus shrugged. “Magic?”

Alec grinned. Now that Magnus seemed a little more settled, his cheekiness—apparently a biological trait—was rising up. “Yeah. We’re still figuring out exactly what it was, but. Something brought you to the future. You know how warlocks live forever?” Magnus nodded. “Well, as an adult you live here in the city. And you and I are best friends.”

Magnus wrinkled his nose. “I’m best friends with a white Shadowhunter?”

The color you can never quite see by @ohlafraise

He burns the jacket.

The devil went down to Brooklyn by takesmeunder

Lucifer stops by to visit his favorite nephew, Magnus Bane. Only, he's not alone.

OR

The one where Alec finds out Magnus' uncle is the literal Devil.

The joys of texting by rottnrotty

Magnus doesn't understand why texting is so popular.

Until Alec shows him how much fun it can be.

The Last Thing I Expected by KouriArashi

On every warlock's 25th birthday, there's a ritual to choose their perfect match. Normally it isn't a big deal, but for Magnus Bane - the son of Asmodeus, an Underworld crime lord - it's the party of the century. Everyone is more than a little surprised when Magnus' match turns out to be the bartender, Alec ... who's actually an undercover police officer. Alec's bosses want him to play along to get close to the organization, but Alec isn't sure he can mislead the man who's apparently his soulmate...

The leather jacket by @maghnvsbane

Tumblr prompt: Magnus wearing Alec's leather jacket

Alternatively titled: Alec is weak when it comes to Magnus' arms

The Right Kind Of Love by onyxmoon

It starts during their first fuck after “The Incident” as Magnus was calling it now. Alec had been hovering over him, effectively turning Magnus’ brain into mush when it happened. It wasn’t the sentence that Alec uttered out in the midst of the heat, but the way he looked at Magnus.

Like he was something invaluable.

Something worth saving.

It scares Magnus because Alec looked like he sincerely meant that. And even more he fears that he might actually believe it himself.

The Thing About Cakes... by theskyisblue

AU with Magnus as a doctor and Alec as a baker. When Alec's birthday comes up, and Magnus decides to bake a cake even though he's hopeless in the kitchen...oh dear.

Things get damaged, things get broken by @legendsofgaymorrow

Follow up to the final Malec scene of 2x12; Magnus is broken and Alec is guilty.

Three's A Crowd by GoldenDaydreams

“Two can play at this game.” Alec had the pleasure of watching Magnus go from confused, to a slow smirk, and understanding coming to his eyes. “I might not be able to kick him out, but I can make him want to leave.” 

A.K.A The story where Jace keeps interrupting Alec and Magnus's 'alone time,' and they're both super fed up.

Time To Fix This by @nerdbbks

“I want to be here for you. I want you to be able to rely on me in the same way I do you, Magnus.” Alec lifted his hand again, before allowing it to rest on his lap. “Tell me how to fix this.”

Magnus bit his lip. “I don’t think there is a way to fix this.” He admitted.

Time to move by @softmagnusbane

Alec is done. Having spent one too many days accidentally walking into something he shouldn’t have and needing brain bleach to get rid of, he has decided, he has got to move.

To begin with by misspamela

Missing scene, Alec and Magnus' first time.

 “Okay,” Magnus says gently, pushing him upright and putting a few inches of space between them. He’s got his hand fisted in Alec’s shirt and he’s not pulling away, but Alec’s heart still pounds harder. Please,don't let him back out now. “You need to take a couple of breaths.” He presses his forehead to Alec’s, stroking the back of his neck. “Hi,” he whispers, looking up at Alec through his lashes. He smiles, slow and gentle, and so beautiful.

Alec can feel himself smiling in return, helplessly. “Hi yourself,” he whispers back.

Try and try and try again by bayaningbituon

Magnus put his glass down on the bar and walked over to Ragnor's body. He took one of Ragnor's hands and held it to his chest as he gazed down at his friend. "I don't know what I was thinking, helping Jocelyn. Helping Shadowhunters." He looked up and met Alec's eyes with his own pained gaze. "You wanted to know what I would risk, falling for you? It's this," he said, looking back down and gesturing at his friend's body.

Missing scene from 1x12 Malec.

We'd only just begun by QueenCow

“This is… well, it’s in between life and death. Limbo, if you will.”

The cold grip on his heart got stronger, and Magnus licked his lips. “Am I dead?”

Alec shook his head. “No… not yet at least.”

We'll Fix This by thenovaksisters

In the wake of 2x12, Alec reflects on his and Magnus’ date to Tokyo. Magnus has asked Alec to give him time, and that is what he's done, though he didn't think of the apprehension that came along with it which hasn’t spared Alec one night’s sleep yet. Now, two weeks later, Magnus wants to see Alec. It’s going to take time but they’ll fix this, and maybe a walk through Central Park will set the wheels in motion.

What Drinking Games can do for you. By deanisbiandsoami

"Never have I ever wanted to marry someone." Izzy called out then and by now no one was surprised the Magnus drank. Alec took a sip to and Magnus sat up straight.

"What?" He asked.

"Well the easy answer would be that you literally crashed my wedding…" Alec said.

"The easy answer?" Magnus asked.

What's in a name? By rottnrotty

The 5 times Magnus tried (and failed) to give Alec a pet name, and the one time Alec gave Magnus the perfect one without even trying.

When I Called You In The Summer by formerlyknownasyay

Prompt: “Why are you/we whispering?”

Wrecked by @notcrypticbutcoy

A little fic set hours after 2x11.

With Magnus and Valentine having swapped bodies, Alec's visit to check on his boyfriend following Azazel's summoning doesn't quite go as planned.

(You're So) Overwhelming by thegaminebruise

"Magnus follows up the teeth with a wet, open mouthed drag and Alec struggles to keep his breathing even. He still cannot believe this is something allowed to happen outside of his own head, something that gets to happen with this man in particular.

Magnus brings the reality of the situation home when he blows a loud, damp raspberry in the spot he was just kissing."

---

A very slightly canon divergent take on Magnus and Alec's first time.

Malec Goodies Part 1

[theskyandsea]

Good King Eames-ceslas

Re-uping my first fanfic ever, a Christmas A/E crackfest

On the feast of Stephan, King Eames quietly slipped away to one of the balconies off the great hall for some air.

Inside, a cheer went up as the musicians launched into another song, and Eames could hear the scrape of benches against the stone floor as more partiers joined in the dancing. He knew they were probably missing him, or at least noting his absence with disapproval. His page had informed him many times that the courtiers expected to be given the honour of rubbing shoulders with him in exchange for the taxes they paid.

But Eames was exhausted by the stuffy rooms with their sputtering candles and brightly dressed nobles who fawned over him but didn’t care to actually get to know him. He’d always know it would be lonely to be king alone, but he wasn’t really prepared for how much lonelier it was when there were masses of people who wanted to talk to you about their own problems.

Outside, the wind bit at him, blowing straight through his formal robes. His shoes were already soaked from the snow that had settled in drifts across the balcony. Shivering, he stood and surveilled his kingdom. The full moon shone down on the trees, and the light reflected off the snow, turning the night from black to a sort of dream-like otherworld.

Another gust of wind almost knocked Eames over, and he was turning to go back inside when he saw him.

Trudging through the forest in front of the castle was a peasant, pulling a sled piled with logs and bundles of sticks for kindling. It was stacked a bit precariously, and the peasant had to stop every few feet to stabilise his load.

As he made his way directly below Eames, another few logs fell off this sled. Eames could almost see the peasant doing the mental math to fit them back on in a way that they wouldn’t just wind up back in the snow. The peasant let out a huff, breath forming a cloud in front of him, and bent down to gather the wood. Eames let out a breath of his own.

He had no hat, his hair slicked back by the wet night, and while the peasant’s clothes were not as fancy and well made as his, they were still tight enough to show off his rather fine ass. All of him was rather fine, really. He had a very nice profile, with an elegant air about him that made Eames want to unbutton him and turn him into a mess.

Once the logs were back on the sled, the peasant started a complicated looking process of gently shaking and picking out every piece of stray bark and decayed leaves that clung to his coat. Eames was warmed by the sheer ridiculousness of this peasant, with his fussy attention to detail and lovely elegance.

The peasant was now staring at his pile like he’d like to give it a good talking to and Eames thought that there was a non zero chance that this peasant could be the love of his life.

He watched the peasant begin to leave, pulling his sled full of wood that no longer dared to fall over, and was overcome with a deep and desperate desire to go and meet this strange and wonderful man and tell him just how ridiculous and endearing Eames found him.

He turned inside to run down and outside to catch the man and invite him in, but ran into Lord Cobb, who had been waiting just inside the door for him. Cobb immediately grasped his arm and launched into a very drunken spiel about the state of his land and how it would be such an honour if in the new year, my lord could visit us and maybe bring some of this brilliant wine and also possibly one of the ladies in waiting. Eames impatiently tried to extradite himself, and was saved his page, Ariadne, who came up to him bearing a plate of cakes. Eames seized upon her and muttered vague apologies to Cobb, pulling her outside, where the peasant was still just visible. They both flinched against the cold.

“Ari, that man there, pulling that sled, do you happen to know him?” He tried to say it nonchalantly, as if it was an everyday occurrence for a king to take particular interest in random peasants passing by.

Ariadne squinted out. “Well, yes, my lord. That’s Arthur. He’s from my village. Any reason why?” Her face fell. “You aren’t going to charge him with theft for stealing wood from your forest are you?”

Eames stared at her. “Wait— it’s illegal to steal wood from that forest?”

Ariadne nodded gravely. “Punishable by a week in the stocks.”

A plan started to form in Eames mind. “Well, if he needs to steal wood from me, then he can’t be that well off, can he?”

Ariadne hesitated. “No worse off than anyone else, I think. It’s been a tough winter. Colder than most.”

Eames smiled. “Well I must help him then. Bring him some warmth. Do you know where he lives?”

“He lives a good few miles from here, under the mountain. His house is next to the forest’s edge.”

“Right then, Ari. We are going to skip this feast, gather some food and wine and bring them to him.” With that, Eames set off toward the kitchen.

***

The kitchen was the warmest room of any castle and Eames always loved hiding in it as a child. Now, armed with a satchel and every bit of charm he could muster, he went in search of the cook. Around him, the servants ran about, carrying steaming dishes of roast venison swimming in thick gravy, massive pies carried by three men and colourful root vegetables. He swiped a few bottles of the wine Cobb had been so enthusiastic about, and a thermos of piping hot chocolate.

Mal, one of the french ladies in waiting, spied him stealing the food and slapped his hand. “My lord, everyone’s been looking for you. We can hardly start the next course without you.”

Eames sighed and put on his most angelic smile. “My lady,” he kissed her hand. “I’m afraid the court will have to do without me for this feast. I have just seen a poor peasant passing by, and I just must go help him. I’m gathering some food to take to his family now.”

Mal looked at him suspiciously. “And the fact that you always look bored during feasts has nothing to do with your leaving?”

“Is it not enough that I am being charitable? Must I always have a double motive?”

Mal sighed and looked at him. “Yes, but you have looked sad lately so I will help you with this charity.”

He beamed at her. Mal grabbed some cloths and started wrapping up what food she could. Eames piled it all haphazardly in the satchel, kissed her cheek and set out.

As he left the kitchen, he spied a vase of flowers grown in the greenhouse so that the court could enjoy fresh flowers all winter. Carefully, he took the flowers from the vase placed them in his bag, next to the hot chocolate.

He ran to his chambers, narrowly avoiding running into Cobb once again. The feast was still in full swing, and the halls of the castle were fairly empty. He grabbed his warmest cloak and boots and paused. Arthur would probably be cold too, and Eames had so many nice cloaks he rarely wore. Arthur might even prefer a cloak to flowers, which were pretty useless as gifts went. He reached into the bottom of his trunk and picked one that he hadn’t worn lately and shoved it down into the satchel.

***

He met Ari at the doors of the castle. She was holding two lit lanterns and wrapped up in the scarf that had been his Christmas gift to her. She handed him a lantern and together they went out into the night.

It had started snowing, and the wind blew it thick and fast around them. Eames pulled his cloak tighter as they passed into the forest. He turned to Ari. “Tell me about Arthur. I want to know everything.”

Ari smiled at him. “It’ll be nice for Arthur to get some company and holiday cheer. He’s plenty kind, but he’s also a bit of a stick in the mud, and I don’t think he has many friends here."

“He must be really strong if he can pull all those logs,” Eames said and remembered fondly the shape of him picking up wood.

She laughed. “He’s very strong. Rumour has it he was a soldier for hire, but now he mostly works with the blacksmith, making swords and horseshoes and whatever else people need.”

Eames immediately imagined Arthur in a smithy, shirtless and sweating from the heat of the forge. He liked the thought immensely.

The wind picked up again, harsher than before. It blew through Ariadne’s lantern, extinguishing it. The forest turned grey-green and haunting around them, with only the one lantern and the moon through the trees as a guide. Ari shivered next to Eames, and they huddled closer when they walked. They didn’t talk, just listened as the wind whistled.

Around a mile from the edge of the forest, Ari tripped on a root hidden by the snow and tumbled into a snowbank. She let out a soft oof as she hit the ground. Eames helped her up, and brushed as much snow as he could off her.

She shuddered, crusted in snow. “It’s all down my back, under my cloak, fuck that’s cold.”

They walked a bit further, and Ari shivered violently against the wind and falling snow. It was blowing into them now, flakes of snow landing on their faces. Eames could feel the bite of where the moisture of his breath had frozen onto his stubble. Ari shivered again, and Eames said, “Why don’t you walk behind me — I’m bigger than you and I can block out the worst of the wind.”

Ari shot him a grateful look and trudged along behind him. He turned, swinging the lantern around to make sure she was following.

He heard her gasp. “My god,” she whispered. “I think you’ve been blessed for helping Arthur.” He turned around fully, and she pointed at a trail of melted snow and flower petals that had followed them through the woods. Eames stated at it in shock. In some places there were petals scattered, but in others bits of green and brown soil sat like tiny oasis's of spring.

With a sinking feeling, Eames felt the bottom of the satchel. It was warm and wet, and there was a growing hole. He pulled his fingers away and found them covered in hot chocolate and a few crushed petals.

Ari was examining the nearest patch of melted snow, right behind Eames. “It’s incredible, my lord. It’s still slightly warm.”

He felt a pang of embarrassment. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake Ari. Let’s keep going, and please don’t mention this to anyone at court.” He tried to discreetly reach into the bag so he could fix the lid on the hot chocolate and move the flowers. It was one thing to go about being a kind king, charitably giving a peasant some food and drink, but bringing flowers to him would probably raise some eyebrows. Possibly more eyebrows than a blessing from God for doing a good deed.

Ari rolled her eyes. “God doesn’t make mistakes, my lord.” She took a closer look at one of the flowers. “That’s strange. These flowers are the same type that the gardeners grew for the feast.” She picked up a bit of semi-melted snow and gave if a good sniff. “Is — is this hot chocolate?”

Eames panicked. “No. Nope. It must be God. I’m a very good king, you know. Definitely deserving of divine blessings and all that.”

Ari gave him a look. “But—"

Eames cut her off. "Shall we continue then? You must be very cold, and I’ll bet Arthur will let you dry off by the fire he made out of all those logs.”

He set off, cloak billowing regally. He heard Ari shuffle to keep up, but didn’t look behind him.

***

Finally, they reached the edge of the forest. Arthur’s cottage was pressed right up against the fence, covered in a layer of snow. It was low and squat, with smoke cheerfully leaving the chimney. Eames knew it was Arthur’s because the sled was leaning against the wall next to the door. There was a very neatly shovelled path leading from the road to the door, lined with two precise banks of snow.

Eames, relieved that their journey was nearly over, practically skipped up the path. Ari, clearly very cold and much more subdued, followed him. He knocked on the door, and waited with bated breath.

Inside, there was a crash, and Arthur opened the door. He stared at Eames and Ariadne in shock.

“Hello Arthur,” Eames purred. “We were just in the neighbourhood, and Ari fell into some snow and has a dreadful chill. Is there any chance she could come in and warm up by your fire?”

Arthur blinked and looked out at them. Eames looked around as well. The garden, so immaculate when they came in, now had bits of flowers and hot chocolate melting the snow in random patches.

Arthur said, “Ari, of course you can come in. Take your coat off. I just lit the fire.” Then he turned to Eames. “Aren’t you the king?”

Eames beamed. “Why yes, darling, thank you for noticing.”

Arthur made no move to welcome him in. Eames heaved up his satchel and said, “Well shall we head in then?”

Arthur’s mouth moved around, in a way that if you were feeling optimistic, you might have thought that he was hiding a smile. Eames was feeling very optimistic.

“Of course, your highness. Come in.”

“Call me Eames, petal.”

Arthur made a face at him, but a faint blush rose on his cheeks.

Inside, Arthur’s house was utterly delightful in a very orderly way. The logs that he had just collected were stacked by the fire to dry, along with his coat. There were notebooks along the shelves, each labeled and dated. Blacksmithing bits and bobs were in careful piles with polish cloths folded beside them. Ari was sitting wrapped in a blanket in front of the fire, looking far less pale and cold. Eames poked around, being very charmed by everything.

Arthur brought the bag of food in and set it on the table. “You left this outside.”

Eames went over to help. He opened the bag and began pulling out things. First came the food, carefully packaged by Mal. “I thought we might have a bit of a feast, so I grabbed what I could. There’s some venison marinated in salt.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. Eames put the meat down next to the bag. “There’s also a leg of wild boar, mini peacock and pork pies, custard tarts, French cheese and grapes…”

With every new thing Eames piled on the table, Arthur’s eyebrows rose progressively higher. The pile wobbled and threatened to topple and Arthur lunged over to stop the grapes and tarts from rolling onto the floor. “Forgive me, your highness, but what exactly are you doing here?”

“Eames, darling. And what, a king can’t decide to be charitable at Christmas and bring food to his subjects?” Eames winked.

“A king can, but I’ve never heard of you doing anything like this before. And that doesn’t explain why you’re here, at my house, specifically. There are plenty people worse off.”

Eames pulled in close to Arthur and said, “Ah, yes, but they weren’t collecting wood in my forest looking at the logs as though they personally offended them.”

Arthur said, a little horrified, “This is far too much food for just the three of us, I can’t accept it.”

“Don’t worry, darling. We can give it to the locals in the morning. Now, Ari, if you’ve warmed up, do you mind helping me set this all out?”

Ari came over and started searching the cupboards for plates. Eames gave Arthur a look. “Now, there’s still a few things left in here, so bear with me.”

“Oh god,” said Arthur faintly.

Eames pulled out a rich red arcade cloak with gilt gold embroidery. He noted with a pang that part of it was wet and brown with hot chocolate.

Arthur looked at in alarm. “Do you always travel with extra cloaks?”

Eames smiled. “This is for you, petal. I thought you might like something a bit warmer and brighter.”

Arthur looked like he was about to protest, so Eames turned to the fireplace. “It’s a bit wet though, so I’ll leave it by the fire to dry, okay?”

The last things out of the satchel were the half empty hot chocolate and crushed flowers. He gave them to Arthur apologetically. Ari gave him A Look. “Definitely a Saint, then?”

“Shh, Ari.” To Arthur he said, “The flowers did look much better before we left. There’s still some cocoa though, so that’s good.”

Arthur seemed to have given up on talking altogether. He just looked around the table with a sort of shocked amusement.

Eames smiled at him, his dazzling smile, the one he used on stubborn dignitaries. “If you have cups, darling, I can pour the wine.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but went and grabbed three glasses. Eames produced a bottle of wine, finally emptying the satchel, and poured a healthy measure in each.

***

As Arthur and Eames were filling up their plates, Ari asked, “Is there somewhere I can crash? That walk really took it out of me, and I think I just need to sleep.”

“Yes, Ari, you can sleep here tonight. Thanks for asking. My bed’s in the other room. You can sleep there.”

Ari smiled at him and kissed the side of his head. “Thanks, Arthur. I’ll let you two have dinner and get properly acquainted.” She waggled her eyebrows and left.

Eames looked at Arthur. “That was kind of you. We’ve pretty much just barged in on your night.” He said, unapologetically.

Arthur shrugged. “I’ve known Ari since I moved here. She knows she’s welcome here whenever.” He looked at Eames sideways. “I’ve heard a lot of her stories about you, too. You seem to be unable to be stopped once you get an idea in your head.”

“That’s because I only have good ideas, and if I were to not follow through on one that would be very unjust.”

“So it was a good idea to drag Ari though miles of snow to come meet a random peasant late at night?”

Eames looked at him, mock outraged. “Of course it was! It was to meet you, that’s my best idea in ages.”

Arthur blushed and swallowed thickly. He studied his plate and stayed silent. Eames refilled both their wines. “What are you really doing here?”

Eames smiled. “I saw you, collecting wood, and I thought you were so delightful that I had to meet you immediately”

Arthur sighed. “I’m not delightful, I’m pretty boring really, I’m surprised Ari didn’t tell you not to bother.”

“Trust me, love, I know boring people and you were the most interesting thing at that feast.”

Arthur laughed. “I think that says more about the quality of the company you keep than it does me.”

Eames looked at him with more seriousness than he had all night. He pulled Arthur’s hand into his. “I’m here to woo you, darling. I saw you from that balcony, with your wood and your rather brilliant ass and I thought ‘I must know this strange and wonderful man’. And luckily, I’m the king, so I could collect supplies for a proper wooing and set out.”

Arthur turned away, but Eames could see the corner of his mouth turned up. He fingered the gilt embroidery of the cloak and Eames could see his gaze returning to it again and again as they ate. He smiled, covering his mouth with his goblet of wine.

He said, “you should try it on, it should be dry now.”

Arthur looked at him in horror. “I can’t wear that. It’s way too ostentatious. You get away with it because you’re a king and people expect you to wear strange clothing, but I have a coat that fits me fine.”

Eames waggled his eyebrows. “You like my strange clothes.”

Arthur turned red. “I do not.” He sniffed. “They’re very impractical.”

Eames laughed and laughed.

***

After dinner, as they tidied their plates, Eames moved behind Arthur and put his hands on his ass. It was just as nice as it looked from the balcony. He whispered in Arthur’s ear, “You really do have a fantastic bottom, by the way. I thought it might be, when I saw you in the forest, and I was very right.” He blew on his earlobe.

Arthur laughed and turned around. His dimples were fully out and he looked at Eames with a delightful happiness. “Kings probably shouldn’t be chasing commoners they think might be hot under their coat, that’s a pretty irresponsible way to run a kingdom.”

Eames smiled. “And you know what’s responsible, do you? Maybe I should hire you as my advisor to stop me from doing irresponsible things in the future. You could stand around in your delicious clothes and make disapproving faces at me all day.”

Arthur leaned into him. “Mmm, as tempting as that sounds, I think I would get bored of living in luxury and never doing anything myself."

"You could go down to the forge whenever you wanted, or go off on secret mercenary jobs and come back and tell me all about the incredibly hot things you did.” Eames was startled by how much he wanted that. How much he wanted to wake up and see Arthur every day, to be able to give him looks during boring meetings, wanted him in his bed at the end of the day.

“Did Ari tell you I was a mercenary?” Arthur pressed a kiss into his jaw.

Eames’s breath caught. “Is it true?”

Arthur laughed and pulled him down by the fire, so that he was kneeling on the ground with Eames straddling him. “This is the strangest courtship I’ve ever been a part of.”

His mouth was right in front of Eames’s and he could feel Arthur’s breath against his lips. "Is it working? Are you wooed yet?”

Arthur smiled broadly, and threaded his hands into Eames hair, kissing him gently. Eames brought his arms around his waist and leaned in, kissing him back with everything he had.

He pulled back to take a breath. “I could charge you with theft, you know. Stealing wood that belongs to the king, and all.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m using the kings wood to heat the king, so I hardly think that counts.”

Eames shoved him a little and Arthur let out a squeak as he lost his balance and fell flat on his back. Eames landed heavily on top of him. He rolled off to give Arthur a chance to catch his breath and they looked at each other and started laughing.

Arthur recovered enough to crawl over to Eames and pull him in for another kiss. Eames sat up and crushed Arthur to him, their chests pressed together. He pressed kisses along Arthur’s jaw while Arthur panted into his hair.

Arthur worked his fingers along the buttons of Eames’ shirt. "Fuck, you’re ridiculous in those fancy clothes, why is that so hot?”

“I defy logic, darling, it’s one of my favourite things about myself."

Arthur brought their mouths together again and kissed him until Eames was lightheaded.

He said, “You know, I think this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.” He moved to Arthur’s neck, trailing kisses down his neck.

“It’s the 27th. Christmas was 2 days ago, Eames,” Arthur said, gasping the words out a little as Eames nipped at his collarbone.

Eames pulled Arthur’s mouth to his. “Just kiss me darling.”

Arthur did, then pulled away. “I would take you to bed, but you’ve already put someone in mine.”

Eames grabbed the red cloak from where Arthur had left it on the chair. “Well, we’ll just have to improvise won’t we.”

Arthur pulled back. “Under no circumstances am I sleeping with you with your page right in the other room.”

“I hate to break it to you darling, but as king, I’m very rarely without at least one member of staff.” He spread the cloak out beside them.

“Oh god, is this what the future will look like? Never a shed of privacy? Should I just develop a voyeurism kink now, then?”

Eames, charmed by the idea of Arthur thinking of them having a future, turned and smiled into his neck. Arthur’s hair, loosened by Eames’s fingers, was curly and soft. “If you like. Develop any kinks you want, just let me know.”

Arthur let out a sigh. “I was planning on leaving in the spring. They don’t really need me at the forge and I was thinking I could go over to Saito’s kingdom and see if he has any work for a mercenary.”

Eames frowned. “Come back with me, to the castle. Join the smithy there. Or be a mercenary, if you need the excitement. Or you can just lounge around in my bed. Just come back to me, please darling.”

Arthur smiled shyly. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

Eames kissed him gently, then pushed him down on his back. “Now that that’s settled, darling, I’d really like to take you apart.”

And he did.