#“methinks the woman doth protest too much”

[kiradical]

I've never tried poppi but their commercials just feel like "it's soda. I promise. Please believe me. It's absolutely soda and definitely not poison. Please drink it? Please?!"

Like just feels a bit like they are trying too hard to convince me...

[snailsandpuppy-dogtails]

The Heat The Night Brings

Garvez wc:3,261 Fit for all consumption

Wrapping up a spring break case in Florida, the team joins the Miami-Dade CSIs for some after work drinks and dancing.

JJ and Tara banter, Penelope dances with Eric, Luke doesn't like it.

It smells of salt, ripe fruit, and overly ripe bodies, heat hanging in the air oppressively clings to skin, that same oppressive heat prompting the night’s outing. 

The teams, spread out across tables under the Miami stars, rejoice when fresh pitchers of white, fluffy, frozen daiquiri are laid out in front of them. 

It’s been 6 hours since they caught the guy responsible for so many spring break murders- murders spanning years, some jealous cameraman working for a show dependent on exploiting drunk college girls. They were lucky to have caught the guy when they did, narrowly saving the woman who would have been his fourth victim this season. They were all glad that one of the production crew had been following the cases, remembered those poor girls, and that he had spine enough to come to the cops about their connection. Because of him it was finally over. 

With the suspect apprehended, normally they’d be back on the jet headed straight for home, but there was a hurricane threatening the coastal Carolinas, so instead of altering the jet’s flight path and hoping for the best, the team of agents agreed to wait one more night and spend some time with the team of crime scene investigators who they were able to assist in closing the case. 

~~~

“It’s uncanny”

“It’s unreal”

“It’s disgusting!” 

The two women turn to Penelope, waiting to hear what gauze of refusal she’d come up with this time.

“They look nothing alike! Alvez? Uck!” her face twists up expressing her displeasure, the same protest she’d made each time someone brought it up during their stay here. “Eric? Eric is…delicious. An Adonis with dimples and the most succulent, cherubic lips…” she bites hers and pulls the straw of the icy concoction up to her mouth as she, JJ, and Tara compare the features of Luke Alvez and Eric Delko, the two men completely unaware and immersed in their own conversation three tables away.  “You really don’t see it?” 

“I really see the finest hunk of Miami’s finest talking with SSA Blandsome, Wonderboy, and the delightful Natalia, if that’s what you mean by ‘it’.”    “Penelope, they could be twins.”

“Pft, as much as Arnold and Devito, but definitely not in that sexy sandwiched and mirrored type of way.” “Hmm the lady doth protest too much, methinks”

“Can it, Gertrude.” 

Tara and JJ share significant glances and stifled smirks. She could deny it all she wanted, but they were trained profilers, and Penelope was terrible with secrets even when she wasn’t talking. The fact that the whole team, save her and Luke, saw it, was only additional fodder.   

The trio watched as Luke’s doppelganger looked over, catching their appraisal, and grinned. Eric, saying something to the group, downed the remaining rum and lime slush in his glass and left the table, sauntering to theirs.

What’s a little fun between departments? Penelope, she’s quick, and witty, and cute and if her body language, her banter, has been any indication, she’s on the same page. 

Pretending to continue conversation with Spencer and Natalia, Luke repositions himself, tracking Delko, watching as their Tech Goddess beams up at Eric, placing her hand in his and follows him from the tables to the string-light clearing in the middle already filled with people enthusiastically dancing off the day’s humidity.

Women like macaws in brightly colored dresses and partners in light guayabera as their uplifting skies crowd the dance floor, but there’s only one couple Luke cares about, only one bird his watchful hunter’s eye stays on. 

As Spencer continues to talk about whatever it is they were talking about- Luke isn’t really sure anymore- somewhere in the mushy distant part of his brain he detects the upturn of a question, a finalizing statement. “Yeah, no, absolutely” he agrees, trying to keep up the charade, pretend that his whole focus hasn’t been drawn to the interaction between Penelope and Delko. 

“You think the orcas are somehow harnessing the signal put out by their location tags to track and attack specific yachts?” Spencer asks, oblivious to Luke’s preoccupation, confused by the response. 

Covering her mouth, Natalia breaks into a fit of giggles which breaks the spell for Luke, attention snapping back to the people across from him. “What?” He feels the back of his neck flame against the already sweltering heat, embarrassed, hoping he hadn’t been caught, and somewhat ashamed at his own behavior. Normally he would have been listening with rapt attention, soaking up every bit of information Spencer could throw at him, but tonight he’s finding himself…troublingly distracted.

“Luke, I was joking-” Spencer says, looking from Natalia to his friend. 

“Yeah, no, obviously, Spence” he says lightly, as if he’d been joking too, because obviously orcas reworking technology to their advantage would be an insane theory. The orcas that had been attacking yachts, right, that’s what they’d been talking about. “I think these drinks are stronger than I thought. I should go burn off some of this alcohol.” Luke claps a hand to Spencer’s shoulder, “I’m gonna take a walk, check in with the rest of the team.”

Getting up, Luke barely registers the parting words trailing after him and casually weaves around the tables, eyes never leaving the dance floor for long. Joining Tara and JJ at their table, he fills Penelope’s abandoned seat, closer to the dancing couple.

~~~

“That was mighty quick work confirming, and tracking down the camera man, I’ve never seen fingerprints come back so fast except on my own computers.” Penelope changes the subject. It’s not that she doesn’t find him attractive, she very much does and gives zero cookies who knows, but as much as she wants to…something’s tugging her back. 

What was that?! What is wrong with you? 

“Yeah, it’s a miracle how our janky old system just perked right up the second you walked into it’s life,” Eric lowers his forehead to hers, eyes flashing as he murmurs, “don’t worry, I won’t rat you out.” 

A goofy smile spreads on her face at the contact, the shared secret, but she plays at a haughty tone, sniffing, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I guess I just have that effect on computers.” 

“Mmm, computers aren’t the only thing you have that effect on…” his fingers sweep from left to right across her back landing at her waist, “Some coincidence though that it started to show it’s fondness when we were all out in the field and you were alone inside…”

Penelope mockingly gasps and hits his shoulder, “That is a pretty serious accusation- Tampering with another office’s equipment, especially if it happens to be with code that isn’t on the market… I would never risk my job like that.”

Eric tilts his head, fingers curling and brushing down her sides, hands slipping lower as his hips continue to swing and guide her through the dance floor, "If I borrow Speed's bike, it'd only take us 20 minutes to get there..." He switches back to the original conversation, an art installation someone built under a freeway in Ft. Lauderdale, about 30 miles from where they are. “You’d love it, a woman prying herself apart, exploding with nature’s beauty, exposing a little hideaway of plants. Paradise in paradise big enough for two…” 

Penelope laughs pulling back, eyes glittering up at him, the daiquiris working their way to her head, but still she feels some shadowy cause for refusal, “That’s gonna be a no for three reasons, Officer Delko; one, this hair does not go under a helmet. Two,” her fingers tap his chest as she counts off, “it certainly doesn’t go 90 miles an hour, even for art, even for a sculpture as finely constructed as you. And three,” He captures her fingers, kissing them, Penelope quickly pulls them out of his grasp, continuing, “AND THREE, we are not stealing your best friend's motorcycle.” Despite the part of her saying she can’t, she’s enjoyed flirting with him throughout the case, is enjoying the feeling she has right now… It’s been a while since she’s let herself act like this with someone, been receptive to someone chasing her like this, openly, honestly… maybe it’s because she knows it’s nothing serious…unlike…

“Officer? What happened to Eric, Penelope?” The stroke of his thumb as he purrs her name breaks her train of though, the humm of her skin under his, the pounding of the drums beneath the soles of her feet traveling up her legs. “Just leave Speed to me…unless there’s another reason you haven’t mentioned, give me half an hour and I bet I can strip those three reasons down to none…” 

She smiles again, her cheeks smarting, her hand sliding from chest to flexing bicep, a week of playful toying volleyed back and forth coming to a head. She thinks of Emily, of HR…of Tara and JJ…and Luke…No, no other reason…no 6-foot, broad muscled, soft spoken… completely endearing trap of a reason. “I’m sure you’ve had lots of success stripping a lot of things down to none given very little time, Eric.” 

He laughs, grinning at the blonde, a woman who, in spite of their myriad of differences, reminds him of someone else, someone he’s been waiting on to catch up to him, maybe in the same way he suspects Alvez to be waiting for her. Peering back at the tables, his eyes briefly connect with a piercing stare, Eric shakes his head and twirls Penelope in time with the music. If there really was nothing between them, he was definitely continuing tonight’s crusade, but maybe tonight would unearth something different. 

~~~

“Not dancing, Alvez?” Luke gives a dismissive glance to the group in the middle of the tables “Floor looks a bit crowded…figure I’d cool off here with you two.” “Conversation with Reid heating up?” Tara questions. Luke smirks thinking about his slip, “Only if you’re a sailor.” 

JJ leans forward planting her elbow in a clear spot on the table, chin in hand, “What about pirates? You’re not going to step in? I mean, there’s professional courtesy…and then there’s that,” she says as she points a finger toward the dance floor. The trio look over, finding Penelope and Delko not far from them, not that Luke isn’t already acutely aware of what’s happening to his left. Delko’s playbook is par for the course, though he can’t object to his taste. Still, sour irritation shadows his face at the sight, the reply coming out more terse than he intends, “Garcia knows what she’s doing, she doesn’t need saving, and she definitely wouldn’t appreciate it from me.” 

Delko isn’t a bad guy, she doesn’t need protecting. Besides, she isn’t his to protect. Not by a long shot. Not even in his wildest dreams…And yet, something about him touching her, dancing with her…the way he leans in to whisper in her ear and she throws her head back laughing, blushing, touching him…how her hands rest on his chest, her focus immobile, singular, his hands dangerously close to…

Nothing- he reminds himself, ‘dangerously’ nothing. Penelope’s allowing this. 

Still, the obvious assumption that her body is free rein to him, something about the whole thing makes his blood boil and fingers tense. Makes him simmer animalistic for reasons he knows he can’t legitimize.

Luke thinks about pulling anyone on to the dance floor, swaying and grinding, but it wouldn’t draw from her half of what she’s doing to him, possibly even reignite that bullshit macho player tag she loved to pin him with, and in the end it would only highlight his desperation to those who knew them best.

“Do you think she has a thing for bald, muscular guys, or is it just a coincidence?” Tara muses.

“Mmm, not sure…” JJ says thoughtfully, “What was it she said about Jason Statham…?”

“Oooh, that his voice grated on her.” 

“Derek…Eric…Maybe it’s the names.” Tara and JJ trade teases back and forth, “Luke just doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it?” 

Tara’s words weasel their way through his thoughts in the way he wished someone would weasel their way between a particular pair of bodies. Chuckling, Luke turns his attention back to them, determined to let the situation roll away with the tide, “I know what you’re doing. You can stop, we’re teammates, friends, nothing more.”

“And here I heard the heart wants what the heart wants-” 

At that his eyes snap to Tara, recklessly unaware of how close she is to voicing the truth he’d discovered about himself only so long ago. 

“Thoughts, Luke?...No. Maybe the heart doesn’t want it bad enough-” 

He’s well aware of JJ watching the exchange, his reaction, hopes he’s kept his cool, his looks neutral, like every time they’ve teased him before. But his mind can’t help but yell. The heart does want…the heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care. 

Emily Dickinson, you aren’t a man in the specific situation of respecting the boundaries of work-friends-maybe-more relationships with a woman in the 21st century. 

Thoughts race and images flood, feelings welling, churning. Between Penelope dancing with Delko, and Tara and JJ twisting the knife, his brain nearly doesn’t care.

Is Delko really that much more charming? Likable? Genuine? Could she never entertain the thought of seeing him as more? Admitting that she did? Even after all this time? See through her rash judgment? Or is it something else altogether?

She steps in and steps out, arm flying, tucking, being tugged and twirled, out like an unraveled cinnamon roll, and back in, her body with his, hips dipping and swaying wildly, Penelope whipped up. It’s a dizzying mix of daiquiri and gravity forming a delightful kind of vertigo, her body moves like the ocean, like it knows the steps before she does, his hands a magnificent guide drifting lower, lower, lower

Fuck it, ‘yo-ho’ Feet slapping brick, side stepping hips, dodging legs and skirts and errant hands, unable to stop the draw or contain the carefully boxed need, Luke parts the throng, led by the yearning to crash into her, the deep sense of knowing all would be right if she was just- 

He could say there was no premeditation in the move, no planned action, that it was a case of catatonic automation, his hand reaching out as if not his own, snatching her away, but the force he uses to tandemly push Delko away is perhaps too much, and the fuzzing relief he feels as she rolls into him, giggling softly and grinning up at him is telling. He knew what he was doing, he simply didn’t care anymore. 

Eric stumbles back, shoulders jostling as he regains balance from being propelled into those dancing around them and watches dazed for a second, mouth breaking into a lopsided grin, knowing. He watches Luke, watches Penelope, sees her expression and the way she relaxes- he hadn’t been the only one to know, the teasing was blatant, the lovesick look the agent gave to just one member of the visiting team, but her denial was so adamant he was willing to put aside his suspicions.

Penelope, tottering, can’t help but notice something’s different, she just can’t put her finger on it- The….hair? The build? No...maybe something around his eyes…it’s definitely in the eyes. Did he suddenly look older? -Those eyes, they put her at ease, the warmth suddenly flooding her, not at all connected to the heat of the day. 

Luke doesn’t give a single glance in the direction of the friendly cop, no apology, no acknowledgement, all thought, all attention, devoted to the woman now at home in his arms. Penelope, right where he’s needed her for months now. 

Lost in her eyes, he can feel that dumb smile creeping across his face, feel it even as the music stops and changes time, feels it as she stops, but the grin doesn’t break, and neither does her study.  

That smile…those eyes…his hold is different now too. She’s still working out the change she can’t put her finger on when the song ends and the band, in a change of pace, opts for the first slow dance of the night. It’s a sultry bolero-son, slow, whining horns and guitar. She’s about to back off, but his hands hold her firm. 

“Of all the things to scare Penelope Garcia, I didn’t think slow dancing would be one of them...” The smile shrinks to a small, lopsided teasing thing, eyes narrowing. 

Breath catching at the accusation, at his hold, her eyes flicker across his face, sure that the key was just there… “Ha! Death, sure, dancing? Pft!” 

Unwillingly her feet move, Luke turning them both, guiding them away from the tables, out of the vision of prying agents, closer to the music as he slowly dips and sways in time with the beat, “Prove it. Come on, dance with me, Penelope.” If she really didn’t want to, if she let go, he’d walk away…

Her eyes narrow in return, body pressing closer, leaning up to his ear when the light crisp smell hits her, warm eyes and teasing smile flashing through her mind, snapping into place, Alvez. Tara and JJ. 

She jerks back, body freezing for a split second, the confirmation flitting and disappearing, Penelope quickly realizing she’s proven them right. Staying like this with him would only be further ammo…But then, while he’s here, she might as well mess with him. Leaning back in, Penelope’s lips brush his ear whispering, “Is dancing the only thing you want me to come on…and do tonight?” It’s bolder than anything she’s said to him before, possibly more telling, but the only one hearing it this time is him.

Reflexively Luke coughs a laugh, flustered, and ducks his chin away and to his shoulder, stepping back, putting space between them, acutely aware of the effect her proximity was having on him, how all of her melded in contact with all of him, the images thrust at him from the suggestive question. He shakes off the deliberate riling, the purpose behind it, then steps back into her space, determined to keep moving forward, “You’re not getting out of this that easy. Dance with me”

It’s insistent, but a question. One she makes the mistake of looking up at, looking at him, at the deep brown looking back at her, the soft pleading…and lets him hold her there, hold her in the same way she feels his arms, his hands holding her, soft, and warm, and steady and strong…and gives in. “ONE. One dance,” she agrees, though she isn’t sure why. “Call it your prize for today’s daring heroics.-NOT that I approve of heroics-” That damned smile spreads into those eyes at her edict and she hates it, but not as much as she likes that she knows it’s just for her…

Work, friends, maybe more…Maybe one day they’d figure it out for real…Maybe one day she’d let him. Maybe one day he’d give up. But tonight they’re dancing. Tonight the stars are shining above them and the waves are crashing in the distance and the band is playing loud and clear and everyone else is miles away and it’s just them, just him, just one dance…and who’s to say if neither of them notice when one song blends into the next, when night blends into day, when nothing blends into something…

[skaruresonic]

Out of curiosity, could you make an example of a character that, in your opinion, was forcibly woobiefied by the narrative? In what instance(s) did you feel "cool motive still murder" or "I do not care enough about their plight, stop manipulating me"? It is a fine line to cross, so I find it hard to pinpoint where it is.

Scourge is one example. Archie really flip-flopped on what it wanted him to be. The new kid on the block? A pathetic nobody? Woobie, destroyer of worlds? Outside of that one side story, Scourge's daddy issues are not brought up again, begging questions of why they were introduced to begin with. They don't particularly do anything to flesh him out since they don't gel with his previous characterization (hailing from a world where everyone is "born evil") and his tears at Jules' mean words feel manufactured; if he really cared about his father, maybe he shouldn't have killed him.

Also like what the fuck, dude, your father achieved world peace and your response is to off him? At least when Creoda offs his dad, it's because his dad forces him to in replacement of his brother's punishment, and he's clearly horrified. 😤

Another example would be how the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy treats Christian Grey's trauma. Grey is a billionaire at age 27 by essentially doing nothing other than being adopted into the right family. Furthermore, he is an abuser who uses his kinky predilections as an excuse to "whip little brown-haired girls" who resemble his mother, whom he calls "the crack whore."

He used to go hungry sometimes as a toddler and this is stated to be the reason he does humanitarian aid now that he's #ultrarich. His lover Ana makes such a huge fuss about the trauma he sustained at the age of four, to the point where she infantilizes him as her "lost boy" during the most random moments, despite the fact that he's a grown man with more money and power than brains. Like sometimes she will cry over this shit for no apparent reason. It doesn't occur to her that he is financially abusing her by showering her with expensive gifts she doesn't want and forcing her to sell her old car.

Although it's not impossible for childhood hunger to impact one's psyche well into adulthood... those issues usually stem from having been poor and food-insecure for a long time. Grey would have well forgotten his hunger after having been adopted because the threat was no longer hanging over his head. So it comes across as "methinks the lady doth protest too much" whenever Ana yammers on about how little Grey had, especially when she goes all "uwu my poor Christian" in order to gloss over her own abuse at Grey's hands.

The more plot-relevant trauma Grey sustained is having been assaulted as a teen by an older woman. Even that is loaded with unfortunate implications, as it suggests an interest in kink must be the result of sexual trauma. However, the narrative treats the matter with such heavy-handed and juvenile clumsiness anyway that you just wind up feeling irritated with everyone involved.

Ana gives his abuser the nickname "Mrs. Robinson," and it's like. Reducing Grey's assaulter to a cougar psychically distances us from the gravitas of the situation. The book only pays the barest lip service to the fact that it's wrong for grown women to assault male minors (and even that feels perfunctory), and worse still, Grey remains friends with his assaulter, citing her as an inspiration and the reason for his empire. Like, what the fuck?

E.L. James could have built a more substantial story with these elements. Perhaps Grey is being financially abused by his assaulter long after the sexual assault stops, but he cannot escape the relationship due to being entangled in emotional and financial thorns. Perhaps his assaulter blackmails him, threatening to tank his reputation if he comes forward on the basis that people still believe the "female predators are just cougars doing young boys a favor" myth. Perhaps it takes him falling in love with an "unwashed peasant" Ana to realize that love isn't supposed to hurt, and he gives up his billionaire lifestyle for her despite poverty-related fears brought on by his childhood hunger.

This was probably close to the story 50 Shades wanted to tell, but it fails at that due to the fact that Grey is a massive douchenozzle who abuses his power and the fact that Ana has the IQ of a mollusk.

Imo woobification is a matter of whether the trauma remains relevant to the character and narrative in question. Scourge doesn't give a shit about his dead dad after issue 192, and neither does the rest of the comic; ergo,

Likewise, why should we care about the time Grey had nothing to eat at age four when he now commands the wealth of a small nation and can afford to feed a second?

The impact has to be proportional. Nobody lives to adulthood without accruing some baggage along the way, and it ought to be the same for fictional characters (generally speaking; there are, as always, exceptions).

I think the solution entails trying to consider characters holistically: where they've been, what they've seen, their beliefs, their culture, their environment, their relationships. Each impacts the next. Not to keep tooting my own horn by using my work as a counterexample, but Creoda suffers from the trauma of dehumanization at the hands of his family, which would be bad enough on its own. But it is exacerbated by his brother's abuse, the fatalism of Saxon culture, the strife in his relationships with those who ought to love him and who he ought to love, and "reinforced" through his continuous and painful resurrections.

His brother Cynric is the cause of the curse that echoes through every chamber of his life, so it's little wonder, then, that Creoda's goal is ultimately to destroy Cynric in the vain hopes of becoming a normal man. But it will not be enough to replace the emptiness, for death, like vengeance, always craves more.

It is not a drastic or singular trauma like the more overt 'nam flashbacks Arthur suffers of Camlan, but his beliefs have calcified in his bones like a misshapen sheath, protecting a more vulnerable marrow within.

Creoda does not base his beliefs on nebulous notions of faith; the curse is indeed real and ontologically proven as far as he's concerned. It is real because it proves itself to be real. And every implication that comes saddled with it is, therefore, just as unshakably real. He cannot be reasoned with because this is how he knows the world works. Nothing is more frightening than the implacability of a zealot who believes reality proves him right.

Yet knowing his mindset does not excuse his cruelty. If anything, his piety to a vindictive god makes his actions even more fucked-up, because he could say "my god has said that I must take your firstborn son to prevent a blight" and it's like what are you going to do? Kill him? The guy who can't die?

[queermania]

I don't really think it was played this way... But the only way I can make sense of Dean's fifth base comment is in the same context as things like the cucumber water. Big "the lady doth protest too much, methinks" vibes. Because when Dean thinks of anal he thinks about being the bottom and has to immediately front that he's never thought about this a single time in his life (without even a second of consideration that other people might not also immediately associate anal with a dude bottoming). To which Sam is like "why tf are you being so weird, (straight, bottom!woman) anal is super common in porn and we all know how much you're into porn" without it ever once occurring to Sam that Dean would even know other sorts of anal sex exist. This has the bonus of being one of my favorite kinds of Dean and Sam misunderstandings: Dean trying to deny something that didn't even occur to Sam with Sam being incredibly confused why Dean is denying something incredibly obvious while simultaneously totally oblivious to what Dean is actually denying.

the battle of dean "so very queer but must perform the Heterosexuality for my little brother" winchester vs sam "accidental homophobic oblivion" winchester strikes again

[autogeneratedkahootnickname]

Hamlet quotes I geek over and now you have to as well: part 2

'The lady doth protest too much methinks' (Gertrude)

'I will, my lord. I beg you, pardon me' (Gertrude)

Gertrude is an interesting character in Hamlet, mostly because we don't really know her. She's Hamlet's mum, and married Claudius almost immediately after her husband died. As far as textual evidence, that's basically it.

And, throughout history, critics have hated her for this. She further represents their frustration with a play that seems to define itself by being as indecipherable and enigmatic as possible. Looking at you, TS Eliot.

But if we scrape beneath the surface, we see there's so much more to her than we allow ourselves to think.

From the beginning of the play, we're mostly seeing the world through Hamlet's eyes, because he's the only character who isn't so mired in courtly politics that they literally never say what they really think. Even Claudius' soliloquies feel rehearsed. And so, it is Hamlet's interpretation of Gertrude that intially shapes our perceptions.

And Hamlet HATES his mother at the start of the play. In a weirdly Freudian way. Which is already a rough starting point. Hamlet is the textbook definition of someone so misogynistic it swings all the way around again to being queer, and his disgust with his mother's sexuality manifests in the original interpretation of a woman so outrageously horny that she basically commits incest, betraying her oh so virtuous and noble dearly departed husband in the process, by marrying her husband's brother.

Hamlet has control over the narrative, and uses this power to attempt to make his interpretation a reality: the play within a play. The Mousetrap is designed to reflect the conscience of the corrupted court back at itself in a grand exposé, confirming Hamlet's suspicions.

Credit where credit is due, it works: Claudius is so distraught he physically calls off the play in a panic. But Gertrude's response to Hamlet's caricature of herself, someone emotionally crippled by grief and guilt, is far less affirming: 'the lady doth protest too much, methinks.'

In a theme that gets reinforced in the bedroom confrontation, Hamlet is wrong about Gertrude. About her course of action. Her husband had just died in a 13th or 14th century setting, a society where she was completely unprotected, her son was completely unprotected. Claudius would seize the throne, and if he thought the alternative succession of Gertrude and Hamlet posed any threat to his royal legitimacy, he would have had them both killed, without hesitation. So she acted. She took the only course of action available to her to keep her family safe.

Gertrude is enigmatic, but in that way she's a parent, viewed by a child who can never really fully understand her.

[alexthefly]

WIP Ask Memre:

Parker Gets Sidelined

Hi! Thankyou so much for the ask! (And thankyou to @tikatu and @myladykayo , who also requested this one.)

This one-shot is a response to @tracybirds One Prompt Challenge , although I haven't actually gotten to the prompt bit yet. (I swear, I 100% intend to finish it... someday...) As it stands though, it's still very fragmented and piecemeal.

That said, here's a little snippet:

Lady Penelope is away on a very special solo mission, and so poor Parker is left alone with only his thoughts - and a concerned Alan - for company...

“She’ll be alright, Parker.”

Mister Alan's words broke through his thoughts like a cricket ball through glass, sending unwelcome splinters of worry shooting into his heart.

“Well of course she’ll be alright! Soft lad. Why on earth would you think she wouldn’t be alright?”

Methinks the chauffeur doth protest too much.

Because that was the fear, wasn’t it? Her Ladyship was as fierce and as strong as any woman - any person - he’d ever met, but you never knew, did you? These things happened, after all…

He brushed the thought off with a shake of his head. Of course she’d be alright! As if her Ladyship would tolerate anything less. Honestly, if she were here right now she'd give him what-for and no mistake. He could hear her in his head now: “Do stop worrying and try to get on with something useful, would you Parker?”

“She’ll be fine,” he said again, ignoring the slight croak in his voice. “Right as rain. You mark my words.” The wind whistled through the alleyway, calling him out.

…God, he wanted a cigarette. Of course, Her Ladyship had put a stop to all that almost as soon as she’d met him.

Or at least she thought she had. The Grey Ninja still had a few secrets.

The day she discovered all of FAB1’s secret hidey-holes was the day he’d finally retire.

He shuddered at the very thought. Not needed anymore. Perhaps he would take up golf instead. He shuddered again.

Of course, she didn’t really need his protection any more now; hadn’t for a long time. Plenty’s the time she’d been the one to save him from disaster, be that from violent gangsters or the wrong side of Lil’s sharp tongue, but even so…

Back in the beginning, when she was a young slip of a thing and he was only just removed from that old, dirty life of his, he’d felt deeply - viscerally - the enormous responsibility he’d been given by His Lordship; guardianship of his most precious treasure. Anything even slightly untoward happened, and he was to protect her no matter what; that was the deal.

He turned his collar up at the chill that chose that moment to creep up his back.

If he really couldn’t be beside her during this, perhaps her most perilous mission to date, then he would just have to make do with being as close as he could. Cold weather be damned.

Because he felt the weight of it even now, deep in his marrow.

The promise he'd made.

No. Matter. What.

[pecygrimangry]

Shakespeare’s Most Famous Quotes

1. ‘To be, or not to be: that is the question’

(Hamlet Act 3, Scene 1)

2. ‘All the world ‘s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.’

(As You Like it Act 2, Scene 7)

3. ‘Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?’

(Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2)

4. ‘Now is the winter of our discontent’

(Richard III Act 1, Scene 1)

5. ‘Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?’

(Macbeth Act 2, Scene 1)

6. ‘Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.’

(Twelfth Night Act 2, Scene 5)

7. ‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.’

(Julius Caesar Act 2, Scene 2)

8. ‘Full fathom five thy father lies, of his bones are coral made. Those are pearls that were his eyes. Nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a sea-change into something rich and strange.’

(The Tempest Act 1, Scene 2)

9. ‘A man can die but once.’

(Henry IV, Part 2 Act 3, Part 2)

10. ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child!’

(King Lear Act 1, Scene 4)

11. ‘Frailty, thy name is woman.’

(Hamlet Act 1, Scene 2)

12. ‘If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?’

(The Merchant of Venice Act 3, Scene 1)

13. ‘I am one who loved not wisely but too well.’

(Othello Act 5, Scene 2)

14. ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks’

(Hamlet Act 3, Scene 2)

15. ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.’

(The Tempest Act 4, Scene 1)

16. ‘Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.’

(Macbeth Act 5, Scene 5)

17. ‘Beware the Ides of March.‘

(Julius Caesar Act 1, Scene 2)

18. ‘Get thee to a nunnery.’

(Hamlet Act 3, Scene 1)

19. ‘If music be the food of love play on.‘

(Twelfth Night Act 1, Scene 1)

20. ‘What’s in a name? A rose by any name would smell as sweet.’

(Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2)

21. ‘The better part of valor is discretion’

(Henry IV, Part 1 Act 5, Scene 4)

22. ‘To thine own self be true.‘

(Hamlet Act 1, Scene 3)

23. ‘All that glisters is not gold.’

(The Merchant of Venice Act 2, Scene 7)

24. ‘Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears: I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.’

(Julius Caesar Act 3, Scene 2)

25. ‘Nothing will come of nothing.’

(King Lear Act 1, Scene 1)

26. ‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’

(A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 1, Scene 1)

27. ‘Lord, what fools these mortals be!’

(A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 1, Scene 1)

28. ‘Cry “havoc!” and let slip the dogs of war‘

(Julius Caesar Act 3, Scene 1)

29. ‘There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.’

(Hamlet Act 2, Scene 2)

30. ‘A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!‘

(Richard III Act 5, Scene 4)

31. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’

(Hamlet Act 1, Scene 5)

32. ‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.’

(A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 1, Scene 1)

33. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, lies not within the stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.’

(Julius Caesar Act 1, Scene 2)

34. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’

(Sonnet 18)

35. ‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.’

(Sonnet 116)

36. ‘The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interrèd with their bones.’

(Julius Caesar Act 3, Scene 2)

37. ‘But, for my own part, it was Greek to me.’

(Julius Caesar Act 1, Scene 2)

38. ‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be; for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.’

(Hamlet Act 1, Scene 3)

39. ‘We know what we are, but know not what we may be.’

(Hamlet Act 4, Scene 5)

40. ‘Off with his head!’

(Richard III Act 3, Scene 4)

41. ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.’

(Henry IV, Part 2 Act 3, Scene 1)

42. ‘Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.’

(The Tempest Act 2, Scene 2)

43. ‘This is very midsummer madness.’

(Twelfth Night Act 3, Scene 4)

44. ‘Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.’

(Much Ado about Nothing Act 3, Scene 1)

45. ‘I cannot tell what the dickens his name is.’

(The Merry Wives of Windsor Act 3, Scene 2)

46. ‘We have seen better days.’

(Timon of Athens Act 4, Scene 2)

47. ‘I am a man more sinned against than sinning.’

(King Lear Act 3, Scene 2)

48. ‘Brevity is the soul of wit.‘

(Hamlet Act 2, Scene 2)

49. ‘This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle… This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.’

(Richard II Act 2, Scene 1)

50. ‘What light through yonder window breaks.’

Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2)

[kikenhanna17world]

Shakespeare’s Most Famous Quotes

1. ‘To be, or not to be: that is the question’

(Hamlet Act 3, Scene 1)

2. ‘All the world ‘s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.’(As You Like it Act 2, Scene 7)

3. ‘Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?’

(Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2)

4. ‘Now is the winter of our discontent’

(Richard III Act 1, Scene 1)

5. ‘Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?’(Macbeth Act 2, Scene 1)

6. ‘Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.’

(Twelfth Night Act 2, Scene 5)

7. ‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.’

(Julius Caesar Act 2, Scene 2)

8. ‘Full fathom five thy father lies, of his bones are coral made. Those are pearls that were his eyes. Nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a sea-change into something rich and strange.’

(The Tempest Act 1, Scene 2)

9. ‘A man can die but once.’

(Henry IV, Part 2 Act 3, Part 2)

10. ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child!’

(King Lear Act 1, Scene 4)

11. ‘Frailty, thy name is woman.’

(Hamlet Act 1, Scene 2)

12. ‘If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?’

(The Merchant of Venice Act 3, Scene 1)

13. ‘I am one who loved not wisely but too well.’

(Othello Act 5, Scene 2)

14. ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks’

(Hamlet Act 3, Scene 2)

15. ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.’

(The Tempest Act 4, Scene 1)

16. ‘Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.’

(Macbeth Act 5, Scene 5)

17. ‘Beware the Ides of March.‘

(Julius Caesar Act 1, Scene 2)

18. ‘Get thee to a nunnery.’

(Hamlet Act 3, Scene 1)

19. ‘If music be the food of love play on.‘

(Twelfth Night Act 1, Scene 1)

20. ‘What’s in a name? A rose by any name would smell as sweet.’

(Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2)

21. ‘The better part of valor is discretion’

(Henry IV, Part 1 Act 5, Scene 4)

22. ‘To thine own self be true.‘

(Hamlet Act 1, Scene 3)

23. ‘All that glisters is not gold.’

(The Merchant of Venice Act 2, Scene 7)

24. ‘Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears: I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.’

(Julius Caesar Act 3, Scene 2)

25. ‘Nothing will come of nothing.’

(King Lear Act 1, Scene 1)

26. ‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’

(A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 1, Scene 1)

27. ‘Lord, what fools these mortals be!’

(A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 1, Scene 1)

28. ‘Cry “havoc!” and let slip the dogs of war‘

(Julius Caesar Act 3, Scene 1)

29. ‘There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.’

(Hamlet Act 2, Scene 2)

30. ‘A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!‘

(Richard III Act 5, Scene 4)

31. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’

(Hamlet Act 1, Scene 5)

32. ‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.’

(A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 1, Scene 1)

33. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, lies not within the stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.’

(Julius Caesar Act 1, Scene 2)

34. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’

(Sonnet 18)

35. ‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.’

(Sonnet 116)

36. ‘The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interrèd with their bones.’

(Julius Caesar Act 3, Scene 2)

37. ‘But, for my own part, it was Greek to me.’

(Julius Caesar Act 1, Scene 2)

38. ‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be; for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.’

(Hamlet Act 1, Scene 3)

39. ‘We know what we are, but know not what we may be.’

(Hamlet Act 4, Scene 5)

40. ‘Off with his head!’

(Richard III Act 3, Scene 4)

41. ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.’

(Henry IV, Part 2 Act 3, Scene 1)

42. ‘Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.’

(The Tempest Act 2, Scene 2)

43. ‘This is very midsummer madness.’

(Twelfth Night Act 3, Scene 4)

44. ‘Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.’

(Much Ado about Nothing Act 3, Scene 1)

45. ‘I cannot tell what the dickens his name is.’

(The Merry Wives of Windsor Act 3, Scene 2)

46. ‘We have seen better days.’

(Timon of Athens Act 4, Scene 2)

47. ‘I am a man more sinned against than sinning.’

(King Lear Act 3, Scene 2)

48. ‘Brevity is the soul of wit.‘

(Hamlet Act 2, Scene 2)

49. ‘This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle… This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.’

(Richard II Act 2, Scene 1)

50. ‘What light through yonder window breaks.’

Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2)

[desiree-harding-fic]

This lovely gal really out here living the advice of “don’t miss out on things if you don’t have any friends” by going to her second concert in 3 months all alone

[gender-snatched]

the funniest fucking thing to me is that we have so many saying that come from hamlet except we are using them absoltely wrong

To thine own self be true - generic advice Polonius gives Laertes that’s supposed to sound full of himself

Brevity is the soul of wit - Polonius being not at all brief and instead talking for hours before the point

Methinks the lady doth protest too much - Gertrude being rude about a woman that’s supposed to be a portrayal of her in the play who’s vowing to never love anyone but her husband, basically “if she loved her husband she wouldn’t be promising this much”

Sweets for the sweet - Gertrude putting flowers on Ophelia’s grave

[berrydoodleoo]

prepare to live again

So much to do today: kill memory, kill pain, turn heart into a stone, and yet prepare to live again.

In her teenage years, Luna had a rare row with Gentiana. Although it wasn’t quite accurate to call it a row; Luna had yelled, and the Goddess had listened. The Goddess always listened.

She was frustrated with the constant invasions of her privacy, a fifteen-year-old girl living under the Empire’s thumb. Ravus treated her like a child, full of scorn and ugly sarcasm when he was home. Her tutors were cold and demanding, and threatened to beat her if they caught her praying. The MTs stared at her constantly, their heads turning to follow her if she so much as crossed the room. When she and Ravus fought, they pointed their weapons at her when she raised her voice, no matter how often he ordered them not to. She was tired of it all.

Gentiana smiled sympathetically, eyes peacefully closed. She promised to come only when Luna called her: “But say Our name,” she said, soothing and soft, “and We shall be with you. Will this ease the girl’s troubled heart?”

“Yes,” Luna said, and felt the MTs staring, and really meant no. She wished her mother was there. She would have understood.

~

Luna summons Leviathan prepared to die, but she does not. A year-and-a-half after she closed her eyes for what she thought was the final time, she awakens to a dying world. Her first thought is what did I do wrong?

When she  is coherent enough to recognize her surroundings and has breath enough to speak and strength to sit, she calls for Gentiana. Even before Ravus, she calls for Gentiana. But Gentiana does not head her call. Ravus does -- yanked away from some mission, disbelieving the sight before his eyes -- and Pryna and Umbra have been at her side all along. An assortment of nurses have tended her through her long sleep, and people have sent her tokens and letters from around there. But there is nothing from Gentiana.

The dogs whine and tilt their heads when she asks where the Goddess is. Divine though they may be, they are still dogs, and some things are beyond them.

Ravus, who wept when he saw her and held her for hours, is clearly frustrated by her questions about the Astrals. He would clearly prefer that she forget all about them, or even learn to hate them as he does. But he can’t bring himself to wound or deny her in any way. After putting her off for as long as he can, he gives in and shares the photos that he has collected of Gentiana -- most of them sent to him by Prompto, or a handful of others who know what to look for.

“I did not tell them to,” Ravus says, crisp and annoyed. “They assumed I would want to know. I didn’t. I don’t.” He scowls.

“Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much," Luna murmured. He turned his glare on her, but there was no heat behind it. He had kept the photos, after all.

They are surprisingly numerous. The Goddess appears as she always has, overlooked in the background, beautifully garbed and deceptively serene, even as her surroundings grow darker and more chaotic. The most recent is just a week or so old.

Luna has been awake for nearly a month. Bitter, she puts that photo aside.

One was clipped by Ravus’ own hand. It’s from what passes for a newspaper in this blighted world, a handful of papers with rushed stories and black-and-white photos, stapled together and passed from hand to hand, outpost to outpost, till they traveled around the world. It shows a riot in Lestallum in the first few months after the night began. On one side, a blurry Gentiana -- a ‘well-dressed woman’ according to the caption -- stands over a frightened family, one arm casually raised, catching a blow from a greatsword larger than her entire body. Where the metal edge touches her arm, a soft glow emits, and there is no sign of blood or injury.

Across the street, another huddled family is being mowed down by a man with a gun. The photo, a rare color snapshot, captured the bloom of their blood, their desperate scramble to shield one another, but not the carnage of their death. For a small mercy. Luna supposed it wouldn’t have been published otherwise.

Luna stares at the photo until her vision blurs. Why did you make that choice? she asks her old friend. Why save this family and not that one? Why not everyone? Is it all just random to you? Why do you do any of it at all?

And still the Goddess does not reply.

~

Ignis writes her a letter, asking about the vision she passed to him through Pryna. Luna holds the note and wonders if that was where she went wrong. She caught a glimpse of the future, and pushed through from the other side to pass it along to the first soul she recognized.

A bit of unplanned defiance. She was always prepared to die, but she hadn’t realized that Noctis would be required to sacrifice himself as well. It had staggered her, the sight of it, horror ringing like a bell. He was so young, so handsome, so beloved -- he deserved to live, surely he deserved to live. She had reacted instinctively, in full defiance of the Astrals.

Only the Oracle was permitted the prophecies, the visions, the voices of the gods. And yet they had lied even to her, about this most important of truths. About the destination of the path she had set Noctis upon.

Is this why you’re avoiding me, Gentiana? she wonders darkly. Are you too ashamed to look me in the eye?

Noctis is far away, locked in crystal, but he isn’t dead yet. And for some reason, neither is she.

~

From the day she awoke, flowers began arriving. Like the newspapers, they travel from outpost to outpost, charting a circuitous route to the humble ruins of Fenestala Manor. Ravus reads the cards with her, sharing anecdotes and observations about the ruined world.

“It can’t be that bad, if there are still flowers blooming,” Luna says, burying her nose in the blossoms.

Ravus shrugs, one-shouldered, and changes the subject.

“Oh, no, milady,” her young nurse says, when Luna asks later if they can visit where the flowers are growing. “None of them survived. These blooms come from the greenhouses used for food -- even in Lestallum, the most crowded greenhouses have a few sylleblossoms growing. For you.” She curtsies.

She means it kindly. Luna, horrified, stammers out her thanks, and retreats to the safe world beneath her blankets.

~

Why does she live, when so many have perished? How dare she accept these gifts -- they might as well be food snatched from starving children. How many fruits or vegetables could have been grown in their place? How dare she live, when others have died, when Noctis is imprisoned in stone? Why is she not dead yet?

She cries and cries, turning away food, unnerving her nurses. She never notices that -- in her presence -- the flowers do not wither, as if nurtured by some secret light.

~

Her recovery falters. She is too weak and listless to finish the exercises the doctors give her. She passes out, falling into a seizure, and a panicked Ravus is rushed to her side.

He flounders and fumbles in the presence of her deathly, bitter rage. She wonders aloud if she should be left to die -- if that would help bring the dawn back -- and he weeps again. Shocked and quiet, like a scolded child, she apologizes, but can’t find the strength or insight to make things right.

Ravus leaves, but ensures that someone stays with her, as if he worries that she will hurt herself. If only she could summon the energy, she might.

He returns quickly, still issuing orders to their band of loyal hunters. Luna lets herself be loaded into a wheelchair, and then a truck, and asks no questions. Everyone avoids her eyes.

They make a journey to the former sylleblossom fields, now full of desiccated, rotting husks. The smell is horrendous. They disembark, and halfway to their destination, Luna realizes she knows where they are going. Something in her expression must give her away: “Demons avoid the area,” Ravus explains. “The fading magic from Oracle’s tombs creates a haven of sorts. But it’s weak. We haven’t much time."

The hunters escorting them glare into the darkness watchfully. Luna’s wheelchair rolls and bumps along, rattling her from side to side like a pile of bones. She thinks she might fall to the earth and starve to death alongside the sylleblossoms’ remains. Surely even that monstrous fate that would be kinder that this pointless lingering.

~

Their mother’s beautiful resting place is desolate and dying now, washed in endless greenish darkness. Like everything else. Luna’s stoicism fades at the sight of the dying trees, and she is already weeping when they reach the monument.

She sinks to her knees before the grave without prompting, and Ravus kneels at her side. She is crying too hard to speak, so he recites the prayer for peace and rest, a duty that had always fallen to her before. She hadn’t realized he knew the words.

For a moment of silence, Luna sits with her hands clasped, head bowed. For once, she asks not for divine truth or grand understanding, but simple mortal facts. Did you know? she asks her mother. Did you know I was supposed to die? Did you know about Noctis? Did you accept it all? And then, weeping again, how could you let this happen? Why aren’t you here? Why did you die and leave me here? And then, a secret she’s kept even from herself: I thought I would see you again. I thought I would be done. I would die and everything would be made right -- everyone would be saved -- Ravus would be healed and Noctis would think of me fondly, close our journal, and step into the sun, and no one would miss me at all--

Her tears have run out, finally, leaving her empty and cold. What do I do now? she asks, pitiful and small, just like a child. Why am I not dead yet? I was never supposed to live this long. What do I do now?

The dead do not answer her -- they never have -- and for once, neither do the gods. For the first time in her life, Luna is like everyone else, screaming her questions into the void and receiving nothing in return. But then a breeze touches her face, cold, sweet, and clean like the air in the high mountains, and Luna knows she is not alone.

She turns, but Gentiana is already gone.

~

Is there a message in this? Luna has spent her life parsing the messages of the gods, sometimes aloud to the Goddess, who hummed supportively when Luna was on the right track. So what is this supposed to mean, if anything? That her questions and prayers are heard, but ignored? Or is it just Gentiana, making a personal statement? Is such a thing even permitted?

What must they look like, to the gods, in their agony and their passion? Aimless children, or something more? Something growing?

Something in her lightens. Perhaps it simply means that she hasn’t been abandoned. That she isn’t here by mistake. That there is something she can still do.

Perhaps it means that there is someone she can still save.

~

Situated again in her room, Luna forces herself to eat the prepared meal, and completes her prescribed exercises. Ravus praises her awkwardly, but sincerely, and rests his hand on her head before departing on another mission into the darkness.

Luna finds vases for her flowers, arranges them. She ties a ribbon around the photos of Gentiana and tucks them away. She imagines pressing a kiss to the Goddess’ forehead as the Goddess once did for her.

She takes out the letter from Ignis, and begins to write her reply.

[writingwhimsey]

Lady of Azuchi Ch.14

Chapter 14

After leaving Ava and her sister, Sasuke snuck through the ceilings of Azuchi castle until he found the room he was looking for. Once he was certain there was no one else there, he knocked on the ceiling tile.

"Huh?" Said the voice of a woman he had yet to meet.

Sasuke was then moving the ceiling panel aside and then leaping into the room.

"What the..." The woman was about to raise alarm, when Sasuke held up a finger to his lips.

"I am Sasuke Sarutobi. I work for Lord Kenshin."

Understanding flickered in the woman's green eyes and she nodded. "Lord Shingen warned me you might be stopping by."

"Did he tell you why?" Sasuke asked.

"Only that Kenshin wasn't content to not have his own spy in Azuchi." She replied. "Though I am guessing you have some other reason?"

"I just need to know one thing." Sasuke answered. "Would you cause any harm to Lady Ava?"

"I am her midwife. I would never do anything that would lead to her coming to harm." Asuna answered. "Why do you care?"

"She is my friend." Sasuke answered. "I promised to protect her when we both ended up here...no matter what."

"Even though she is married to your lord's enemy?" Asuna asked.

Sasuke nodded. "So, if you mean to cause her any harm..."

Asuna raised a hand. "I swear to you, I mean no harm to her. Am I willing to help bring an end to her husband...for everything he put my lord through? Yes, but I swear, I would never harm a patient."

Sasuke could see something in Asuna's eyes. An emotion that seemed to be wavering. "Are you starting to think that Nobunaga might not be that bad?" Sasuke asked.

Asuna's eyes widened and her mouth hung open ever so slightly. "No of course that's not it."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much." Sasuke muttered under his breath.

"What?" Asuna asked.

"It is nothing." Sasuke replied. "Just know that I will be watching and if I even have any doubts...I will make sure that you're forced away from Ava."

Asuna nodded. "I swear on my life I would never cause her or her baby harm."

The pair stared at each other a moment before Sasuke nodded. He was then pulling his mask back up and vaulting up into the ceiling replacing the panel and leaving without a trace.

Asuna stared up at the ceiling panel for a moment. Her thoughts were a tangled mess. It was already confusing enough for her how different the Oda forces seemed compared to what she had expected. She was already surrounded by enemies and the one person who should have been an ally...he was there for Ava.

Just then there was a knock on her door. "Asuna, are you busy?" Ava called from the other side.

Asuna quickly composed herself. "No, I'm just fine. Come in, my lady."

Ava walked in, a woman who looked quite a bit like her was beside her. Ah, this must be her sister that has caused such an uproar. Asuna thought as they walked in.

"Asuna, I thought we were past the point of you calling me, my lady and all that." Ava said with a smile.

Asuna returned the smile. No matter what her feelings were about Nobunaga, she definitely like Ava. She could easily see why so many people cared about her. "Right, Ava. Is there something wrong?" She asked.

Ava shook her head. "No, I just thought that I should introduce you to my sister, Suki." She replied, gesturing to the woman at her side.

Asuna bowed. "It is an honor to meet you, Lady Suki."

"Just Suki...nothing formal about me at all." Suki replied, giving a polite bow in return.

"Suki is currently visiting from our hometown." Ava began to explain. "And being the concerned big sister she is, she was wondering about my care here. I thought maybe if you two met and had the chance to talk, it would ease her fears."

"Especially since the medical care back home is much better than here." Suki said.

Ava elbowed her sister in the ribs. "Come on, keep an open mind."

"As soon as you have that baby, I am so paying you back for all these elbows to the ribs and such." Suki replied.

"So, then you are planning on staying here and not going back home?" Ava asked.

"I haven't decided yet." Suki replied. "But I am trying to convince you to come home with me."

"I already told you, I am home." Ava insisted. She then turned back to Asuna. "Anyways, I thought you could talk to Suki here about your plan for my care and go over everything with her."

Asuna smiled. "Of course, I would be happy to help put your mind at ease."

The three women spent the next few hours together, talking. Suki asking a myriad of questions, firing them off one right after the other. Asuna spent time giving many details of her experience and her plan for Ava's care. Asuna felt like she was being re-interviewed...possibly interrogated by Suki. But she took it all in stride and answered every single question.

"Thank you for taking the time to talk with us, Asuna." Ava said.

Asuna smiled. "Of course, I am more than happy to help and if you have any other questions, Suki, feel free to stop by and ask them. I want everyone to be comfortable and know that I'm here to help Ava and provide her with the best care possible."

"I am glad...still not sure how I feel about everything, but I am glad to know that you are here for my sister." Suki had said.

Ava...

After we had finished our chat with Asuna, Suki and I were making our way out to the garden. "So, what did you think?" I asked her.

"She seems good a knowledgeable." Suki admitted.

"But?" I asked, knowing my sister.

"But our care back home is so much better and you know it." Suki reminded me. "Better pain management for your birth. And if there are any complications, hospitals are much better equipped to look after you and keep you from you know dying."

I gave my sister a look. "And yet there are also still many women who choose home birth."

"But more choose to give birth in a hospital." Suki countered.

"I already told you, I'm not going back."

"You should at least consider it."

"You intend to try and take my lucky charm from me."

Suki and I both turned at the sound of Nobunaga's deep voice. He approached us and I reached my hand out to take his. "No one is taking me anywhere." I assured him.

"If I can help it, I am taking you back home." Suki replied.

I sighed. "I AM home."

Nobunaga looked at the two of us and that cocky grin I knew and loved so well came to his face. "So, you have learned when you can potentially return to your home?" He asked.

"Yes, in three months and I intend to spend that time convincing Ava to come back with me." Suki answered.

"What she is leaving out is that I am not planning on going anywhere and if I can help it, I will hopefully convince her to stay...or at least give up and enjoy the time here together." I added.

Nobunaga seemed to think for a moment. "It seems we are in for a fun evening then." He said. "Come, let us all go where we can speak freely and we will have dinner together."

It wasn't long after that, we were all sitting in the tenshu. I was sitting beside Nobunaga and Suki was sitting across from us. "So, you want Ava to return with you to the future?" Nobunaga asked.

Suki nodded. "Yes. It's peaceful and much safer...and we have much better medical care. And being married to you has definitely put her in danger. I just learned about the almost poisoning...and the actual poisoning before that."

"You do not believe I can protect Ava properly." It was a statement and not a question.

"I believe you're doing your best, but some day...I can see something or someone slipping through the cracks." Suki replied.

"I won't allow anyone to ever get close to harming Ava again." Nobunaga declared.

I reached my hand over to Nobunaga, lacing my fingers in his and giving a squeeze. I knew he would always protect our baby and me. There was nowhere I felt safer than with him. "Suki, you act as if there aren't dangers in our time...I mean, Dad died in a train accident and Mom got sick because of chemicals she was exposed to at work."

Suki sighed. "I know...but still." She was then looking back at Nobunaga.

"You know, this dinner should be more about you two getting to know each other." I said. "And you know Suki, you maybe trying to get along with Nobunaga. He is my husband, love of my life, and the father of your niece of nephew."

Nobunaga smiled at me, lifting our joined hands to his lips. "Love of your life?"

"Oh, like you hadn't figured that part out already." I replied, my cheeks reddening.

"Ugh, you two I'm going to throw up this nice meal." Suki said. "But you know what, Ava you are right. I should get to know Nobunaga better."

I grinned at my sister. "Can you say that again?"

"That I should get to know Nobunaga better?"

"No before that."

"You mean the part where I said I was going to throw up this nice meal?" Suki replied, a teasing grin on her face.

"After that. You said that I'm...what was that word again?" I replied, giving her my own teasing smile.

Suki rolled her eyes. "Right, sheesh. You are right. There are ya happy now?"

"Yeah, I think so." I replied.

Suki was then turning her gaze back to Nobunaga. "Alright, Ava has told me a lot about the two of you and how your relationship started. So, I want to know from you, what is it you love about my sister? What is it that made you want to try and win her in a few games of Go?"

[chipsandcoffee]

Hello Chips! If twelve and Clara were very much in love (and maybe had a physical relationship) in season 9 why do you think he still referred to Clara as a “friend” to Me in Hell Bent?

Hey there, Anon! Hmm, fair question! Okay, let's start by looking at the context of when Twelve says this.

ASHILDR: What if the Hybrid wasn't one person, but two?

DOCTOR: Two?

ASHILDR: A dangerous combination of a passionate and powerful Time Lord and a young woman so very similar to him. Companions who are willing to push each other to extremes.

DOCTOR: She's my friend. She's just my friend.

Let's remember the point that Twelve is making here - when he says "she's just my friend," it's not in the sense of "we're just friends, not lovers" - it's in the sense of “she’s someone with whom I have a personal relationship just like anyone else might have, we’re not some crazy legend like the hybrid." Twelve may have chosen the relatively neutral term “friend” because he thinks it's none of Ashildr’s business what the exact nature of his relationship with Clara is - he and Ashildr aren't exactly bosom buddies after all.

I also think it's possible that Twelve never actually defined his relationship with Clara as being something other than a "friend" because he never had the vocabulary for what else to call her. We have to remember that Twelve isn't human - he thinks and feels differently from us. Time Lords might believe that the human concept of "love" isn't something they themselves experience. So when Twelve experiences an intense feeling of attachment, affection, and devotion to someone, he may not be intellectually or emotionally prepared to call it what we would call it: love.

And in the context of Hell Bent, it might be especially important for Twelve to believe that Clara is nothing more than a friend to him. For most of this episode, we have a slightly unhinged Twelve doing some pretty crazy and ill-considered things, all for Clara. As long as Twelve keeps telling himself that Clara is just a friend, he can keep believing that he's acting normally and rationally - he does stuff to help his friends all the time! But if he acknowledges to himself that he's in love with Clara, he'd have to accept the possibility that he's behaving irrationally and dangerously (which he kind of is), because he knows that love can make you do some extreme things.

Twelve repeats the phrase "Clara's my friend" later in this scene, in the context of a discussion of Missy's role in bringing Twelve & Clara together. Again, Twelve's use of the word "friend" could simply be a distinction between an ordinary personal relationship and the wicked result of some evil plan. But at this point, I'm not sure even Twelve himself fully buys into his use of the word "friend," given his fairly weak assertion. Indeed, his repetition of the friend thing in this scene brings to mind "methinks he doth protest too much." And Ashildr isn't buying it at all, judging by her Olympic-level sarcasm...

And, well, it's certainly fair to say that I don't buy it either!

[cheesyficwriter]

hey there! I cannot express my love for your work (Isolated and lost in translation were *chef's kiss). Could you please write #75 for Romione? Thank you so much, I hope you have tons of cheese:)

Hi @shybrunettepainter! Thank you so much for reading and for your kind words 💜 what a fun prompt that definitely challenged me a bit! Just to preface, I am not well-versed in Shakespearean language, but I figured neither is Ron, so I definitely channeled him here 😉 hope you enjoy!

Prompt #75 - Speaks in a terrible Shakespearean/Elizabethan style to woo/make the other laugh.

Thee Maketh Me Happy

Hermione closed and locked her trunk, just as a knock on her bedroom door sounded. Hermione grinned and practically ran to open the door, revealing a beaming Ron on the other side. He had just arrived at her parents' home, with his father, to pick her up for a visit to the Burrow. They were two weeks away from starting their sixth year at Hogwarts and Hermione would be staying with the Weasleys for the remainder of the summer. 

“Hiya, Hermione!” Her stomach flipped wildly as she took in Ron's appearance. How was it possible that he had grown even taller in the last month or so since she had seen him? Despite the fact that he towered over her, he seemed to be filling out a bit more and she could make out his increasingly muscular frame under his tight shirt. 

They stood there awkwardly in the doorway for a mo, both unsure of what to do next, until Ron finally let out a strangled chuckle and opened his arms, inviting her in for a hug. She eagerly wrapped her arms around him tight and sighed. 

"I've missed you," she heard him muffle into her hair. 

"I've missed you, too."

Ron released his grip on her, but Hermione noticed he didn't step back. "Well, are you all packed and ready to go? Wait...it's you. Of course you are," Ron teased. 

Hermione swatted at him but gestured him inside her room. "Yes, I could probably use some help with my trunk."

When she turned around, she found that Ron wasn't listening, instead his eyes were raking curiously across the shelves of books she had lined up against the wall. 

"What is Shaks-spar?" Ron inquired as he retrieved a dusty and tattered hardbound book from the shelf.

"It's pronounced Shakespeare."

"Fine, then. What is it?"

"Not what, who. William Shakespeare was an extraordinary muggle playwright and poet, who has written some of the most beautiful works of English literature out there. I mean Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth…"

"Who's Romeo? Who's Juliet?" Ron asked, confused. 

"They’re characters from one of his plays. A tragic love story…" 

“Hold on a second, tragic? What’re you doing reading this depressing shite?” Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust, holding out the book at arm's length. 

“It’s a work of art, Ron!” Hermione responded, exasperated. 

"Yeah, well, not interested if it's intent is to crush my soul."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his theatrics. "I didn't realize you were interested in books."

"Ha, bloody, ha," he stuck out his tongue at her playfully. Hermione couldn't help but smile before pointing to the cover,

“That book contains a list of Shakespeare's most timeless quotes, as well as provides English translation.”

"It's in another language?" 

“Shakespearean -- otherwise known as early modern English. Most of the words are still used today in standard English.”

"I bet you a galleon that I can make you laugh with this rubbish." He sent her a challenging smirk that made her weak in the knees. Yet, she firmly held her stance, not willing to give in to the blasphemous retorts spewing out of his mouth. 

"It is not rubbish, Ron! It's a work of art!" She repeated, almost stomping her foot in irritation.

"Let's see, then!" Ron cleared his throat dramatically, as he flipped to a random page. He planted his finger on a quote and began reading, "Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate." He squinted his eyes at the page he just read from. "What the bloody fuck is that supposed to mean?"  

Hermione sighed heavily. Her visit with Ron was going well so far. Sarcasm intended. "It signifies long-lasting love, that goes beyond a single season."

"Then why doesn't he just say that?"

Because it's poetry," Hermione responded curtly through gritted teeth. 

He only hummed in response and kept reading. "All that blisters is not gold."

"Glitters. All that glitters is not gold."

"What? That's not what it says!"

"Yes it does. You read it wrong." 

Ron pursed his lips as he reviewed the text. "Oh, well, bugger me. Here's another -- what's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet...Rose. That's a pretty name, I guess."

Hermione smiled. "Yes, it is." 

They locked eyes for a moment before Ron shook his head and returned to his reading. "Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown...if I had a crown, I'm not sure I would feel uneasy but that's just me…"

Hermione exhaled loudly, clearly fed up with his sarcastic comments. "It's simply saying that being royal comes with a lot of responsibilities and having those responsibilities can be daunting." 

"Off with his head!" Ron shouted with vigor. 

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" 

"Oh Hermione, I know I am. And just to prove my point further, let's see if I can make you blush, yeah?" He flipped to the section with word translations and spent a few moments deciphering, his eyebrows scrunched up adorably. 

"Okay, here's one to start with. I like thy...curly hair?" Ron kinked an eyebrow up at her expectantly. 

"Acceptable." Hermione remained neutral with her face but secretly gushed inside at how Ron has just outwardly admitted he liked her hair. 

Ron's eyes lit up. "Brilliant!" He went on to search for more. 

"Uh...thy eyes art like chocolate…do I detect a smidge of color on your face, Miss Granger?" Ron's blue eyes sparkled back at her as he studied her face. 

"What? N-no...just keep going!" 

"Thee art...the smartest...wench...in the whole land." Ron paused in between words as he checked the book. 

"Wench?"

"That's what it says right here!" He pointed to the translation of woman on the page. 

Hermione crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, almost daring Ron to try again. 

He obviously took the bait as he offered one more, leaning in close, "Thee maketh me happy." Ron smiled brilliantly at her and Hermione thought her heart might possibly explode. 

"What are you saying, exactly?" Hermione breathily whispered, not able to contain the flush of pink that crept onto her cheeks.

"Aha!" Ron pointed a finger in her face to triumphantly show victory. He clearly had forgotten her question, so Hermione brushed him off.

"You did not win, you were just standing so ridiculously close to me…"

He looked down at the book one last time before cheekily stating, "The lady doth protests too much, methinks."

"Oh, honestly!"

 

[zumpietoo]

For a happily free woman, the lady doth protest too much, methinks.

Ohhh….also a hardddd same. Thus far her stans seem to be largely trying to pretend it didn’t happen, I see

[capaldifiction]

Graham Norton Show - Lewis Capaldi x Reader

I apologize for how long these have been taking me to get to, but I hope you like your request 💙

Paring: Lewis Capaldi x Actress Reader

Word Count: 2,014

Description:  Based on this request: “Where the reader and him are doing the interview on Graham Norton show and being funny as hell and everyone knows they are dating even if they didn't say it. Can you also add then having long cute stares at each other.”

Warnings: Some swearing

“And welcome our next two guests, Y/N and Chris Pratt!” Graham Norton calls out as the two enter the set to applause. Waving to audience quickly, Y/N smiles before turning to shake the hands of Graham, Jared Leto, and Tom Ellis before taking her place next to Tom, with Chris sitting to her left.

“How are the two of you doing? Enjoy your trip back home to the U.K. Y/N?” Graham asks.

“Real good,” she respond with a small smile, relaxing back into the couch. “Long flights suck, but being back home is always great. Haven’t gotten to get back to my actual house yet, but what can ya do?”

“I’m doing great,” Chris nods in response. “Got to film and now promote this film with this fantastic woman right here. She’s hilarious, and gives me a run for my money as set prankster.”

“Oh?” Graham asks noticeably intrigued. “And what kind of pranks is Y/N pulling?”

“Oh nothing that great,” Y/N insists, her cheeks reddening as she tries to talk it down.

“How long do we have?” Chris asks with a grin toward the audience that cheers in response.

“Give us one good one,” Graham insists.

“Hmmm,” he says as his gaze drifts to the ceiling of the set. “Probably the prosthetic zombie finger she stuck to the bottom of my coffee cup, then filled it with my coffee and brought it to me. Took me an hour to finally see that sucker. We’re standing there discussing the next scene, I take a sip and seeing a freakin’ finger coming up out of my coffee and chucked it.”

“He screamed like a little girl,” Y/N grins cheerfully to the audience’s laughter. “It was fantastic.”

“Well we can’t expect anything less… from the one rumored to be dating our hilarious musical guest of the day,” Graham teases.

“No clue what you’re talking about,” she insists, her eyes immediately leaving Graham’s.

“Oh? So you’re denying the rumors of you and Lewis Capaldi?”

“Absolutely.”

“I mean,” Chris butts in with a shrug. “He was on set an awful lot for someone who lives in Scotland when we were filming in Canada.”

“Well yeah, we are friends, I never said we weren’t friends and he never visited me, we live near each other and see each other all the time and he had some concerts in North America so he dropped by a few times to hang out and see the set,” she rambles quickly as she tugs at the bottom of her shirt in embarrassment.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Tom Ellis throws in, raising his eyebrows.

Jared and Graham laugh as Y/N sinks further in the couch and reaches for her drink on the table.

“Bit thirsty there Y/N?” Jared teases.

“Parched,” she quips back with narrowed brows to her former costar.

“So the film you two are starring in is ‘End Of The Living,’ care to give us a taste of what it’ll be about?” Graham asks looking at Y/N and Chris.

“Well my and Chris’ characters are neighbors in an apartment building that don’t really get along. They deal with seeing each other on an occasional basis, but generally avoid each other. Then all hell breaks loose as the zombie apocalypse basically breaks out, and they have to work together to survive.”

“Annnnd then they fall in love,” Chris adds with a chuckle.

“Naturally, nothing says love like zombie guts and certain death,” Y/N nods with a carefree smile.

“And here on the couch we have a vampire, two zombie hunters, and Satan himself,” Graham summarizes as he looks at his guests who laugh in response. “It’s a nice light promotional day isn’t it?”

“Zombie hunters are no match for Morbius though,” Jared jokes looking over to Chris and Y/N.

“Says you,” Chris throws back. “But if we can’t Star Lord will wipe the floor with him since he’s in his world.”

“In all due respect,” Tom jumps in, “None of them can take on Lucifer.”

“And with that, we should go to a break, when we get back we’ll see our musical performance from Lewis Capaldi!” Graham shouts as the cameras shut off.

Giving pointed looks to the men around her, and sticking her tongue out at Jared, Y/N’s attention is finally caught by the instruments being brought in for Lewis’ performance.

She nods at his piano player Aiden as he gets settled, then smiles as Lewis himself comes out onto the set. The typical nervous expression always etched on his face before a performance there. He looks up to see her gaze on him, and smiles wide before sending a wave her way.

Smiling in turn she waves back at him as she watches them finish setting up, ignoring the scoffed laughed from Chris beside her.

As the lights brighten again, the cameras come back to life as Graham steps in front of the camera, “And here to perform his newest hit, two-time Brit winner and Grammy nominated singer Lewis Capaldi!”

The cameras turn toward Lewis as he begins the song, and Y/N leans forward with her chin in her hands as she watches the performance intently, standing up and applauding loudly as Lewis hits the last note.

Finishing up the song, Lewis sets his guitar down and gives a wave to the audience before heading over to the couches. Shaking each person’s hand down the line, he stops to pull Y/N into a side hug, whispering something in her ear causing a smile to spread across her face.

After all shaking hands, all the guests take their seats once again. As Chris sits back down, he places his arm on the couch behind Y/N, while Lewis takes his seat on the other side of him. Lewis’ gaze lingers on Chris’ arm for a moment with a frown before forcing it away and looking to Graham.

“Fantastic performance Lewis!” Graham says looking over at him. “Now where do we start? The new album you have coming out or the triple platinum on your last one and the two Brits you’ve gotten since you were last here?”

“The new album Graham,” Y/N says before Lewis can respond, throwing him a look. “You’ll give him a bigger head if you go on about the other things.”

“And that’d be a bad thing Y/N?” he asks with a teasing tone.

“There’d be no living with you if it got any bigger,” she sighs dramatically.

“Living with him?” Jared asks as he looks between the two, noticing Lewis’ gaze lingering on her a moment too long.

“W-well yeah,” she answers hastily. “We live pretty close, I see him pretty often.”

“Speaking of you two living close, do you also go on some of his tours Y/N?” Graham asks. “You appear on quite a few of his social media posts from Instagram to Tik Tok, and everyone’s loving seeing that side of you when you usually play such serious roles.”

“Well we just always have a good time. I have gone on some of his tours when I’m not working, get to see some cool places with a good friend of mine. And we’re both a little weird, so it makes for some interesting videos I guess,” she shrugs.

“Let’s take a look at one of them now,” Graham says, gesturing to the screen beside him.

The screen changes to a clip of Y/N wearing a Lewis Capaldi merch t-shirt and a pair of black sunglasses as she stands atop a large table singing the lyrics to ‘Grace.’ Throwing her head back, she starts dancing to the music, when the camera pans over to Lewis also doing the dance from his music video and singing the song at the top of his lungs.

“I’m not ready to be just another of your mistakes!” she yells out as the camera follows Lewis moving in front of the table she’s dancing on. As she finishes the line, she launches herself onto his back, a look of panic on his face as they both crash to the ground in front of the camera, followed by a chorus of obscenities.

As the clip fades out, Lewis and Y/N have equally red cheeks as they make eye contact and look down at their drinks while the audience and other guests laugh.

“And what were you two doing there?” Graham asks with a grin.

Lewis runs his hand through his hair breaking his gaze from Y/N back over to Graham, “That, that was a less than sober rendition of my song and Y/N trying to kill the both of us as my piano player filmed us.”

“Ok but we were on his tour and had too much to drink and it seemed like a good idea at the time,” she defends.

“Alcohol would do that,” Tom teases.

She smiles at him sheepishly before taking a drink, “Alright we don’t always make the best choices, but we do make the fun choices.”

“Fuck yeah,” Lewis agrees with a grin, his eyes quickly widening before muttering a quiet apology.

“So about this new album, what should we be expecting from it and when?” Graham asks.

“Well there are the artists that really want to reinvent themselves for their next album, really try something new and push the boundaries of music,” he replies. “And that’s not me. It’s gonna be more sad shit, and hopefully if you liked the first album you’ll like the second. We’re looking at it coming out in May of this year.”

“No inspirations for happy love songs in your life huh?” Chris asks with a knowing smile, glancing at Y/N next to him who quickly looks away from Lewis.

“Nope, I’m sad and alone,” Lewis confirms, his gaze once again drifting to Chris’ arm behind Y/N on the couch, then to her eyes as a content smile spreads across both their faces.

“Right then,” Graham chuckles as he stands up from his seat. “That’s all we have time for tonight. Give a big round of applause for my guests tonight, Lewis Capaldi, Chris Pratt, Y/N, Tom Ellis, and Jared Leto! I’ll see you next week everyone!”

Once the cameras have shut off, the guests all stand up to bid their goodbyes to one another.

“It was great seeing you again,” Jared says, pulling Y/N into a quick hug over the table. “We really need to work together again some time.”

“I get pranked enough in my personal life to go up against you again,” she chuckles setting her empty glass down on the table. “You take it to a whole new level Leto.”

“Oh you know you loved it,” he teases patting her shoulder.

“Of course, snake in my dressing room was the best,” she says while rolling her eyes but smiling. “It was good talking again. Hit me up sometime again sometimes. And it was great meeting you,” she says turning to Tom.

“You as well,” he responds with his own smile. “That goes for all of you, I had a great time.”

“Same here bud,” Chris says throwing an arm over Y/N’s shoulder and extending it for a fist bump at Tom who bumps it with a smirk, his gaze going to a very obviously uncomfortable Lewis behind Chris.

“It was fucking fantastic meeting you all,” Lewis interrupts after a moment. “All of you are amazing. But if you don’t mind…” he reaches around Chris to snag Y/N’s hand, who he quickly pulls out of his grasp and to his own side.

Placing a quick kiss on her cheek, he mumbles, “Let’s get out of here.”

Y/N nodding in agreement, follows Lewis off the set hand in hand with shy smiles on their faces as the last few remaining people in the audience cheer.

Turning to look at the other two men, Chris smirks and crosses his arms in victory, “Fuckin knew it.”

-----

Extra Notes: As to why I chose Jared Leto, Tom Ellis and Chris Pratt. Chris Pratt I thought would be a good funny guy that would mess with Lewis and Y/N a bit (and I’m a big Marvel fan so I’ve seen some of his interviews lol). Jared Leto just because I’ve been a fan of him and his band for a really long time and just thought he was someone I could write alright. And Tom Ellis because I felt like the Lucifer show fit the vibe of this, and I had the chance to see a live panel of him at a Comic Con I went to where he was just a really cool guy.

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