#and this is also why I always prefer Paris being the one to kill him

[my-name-is-apollo]

I saw a Troilus post and that made me have Feels™ all over again. Something that particularly upsets me is the image of Troilus being dragged by his hair to Apollo's altar:

Like even putting aside the fact that Troilus, apart from being Apollo's son, is also a suppliant to Apollo here and to harm anyone in a god's temple is already an unforgivable violation of the sacredness of the place-

Troilus was a little boy or a youth at the most. His hair was most definitely sacred to him. It would have been cut and dedicated to Apollo, the protector of boys, if he had reached his adulthood. But he got dragged by his hair to his death, as if he was an animal being sacrificed to the god. Achilles didn't simply kill Troilus, he deliberately violated everything Troilus would have held sacred to him - his hair, his body, his god's temple...

Achilles had previously killed Tenes as well, another son of Apollo, despite Thetis very clearly warning him not to do so. So all of this was him knowingly spitting in Apollo's face, if you think about it.

[nalyra-dreaming]

I keep thinking of the line 'to crush what you cannot own' and how it describes Armand's actions too - if he really did mean for Louis to die in Paris, which seems likely atp. Sacrificing Louis would punish Lestat and stabilize the coven ofc, but do you think it was also Armand ending the relationship on his own terms, once he'd realized Louis couldn't be controlled or 'owned'? Bc killing him was preferable to being abandoned? I know many think it was Loustat's love Madeleine felt in 2.06 (& it probably was!) but IMHO it wouldn't change much even if it was about Loumand. However much Louis theoretically loved Armand, he'd always love Lestat & Claudia more. Armand could never own him completely or be 100% assured of his loyalty & that was the issue. I keep seeing fans ask things like 'why did Armand do X if he loved Louis?' or 'why would they stay together if they weren't in love?' and tbh…I think some got too sucked in by Armand's 'beige pillow' persona lol. Because it's a fully calculated performance designed to disarm & control - there's a grain of truth to it, but it's still v strategic. IMHO 2.05 did a good job of peeling back the romantic facade, and the finale twist further compounded the truth, but maybe I'm off base there. Do you have any thoughts on this? (sorry if you've discussed this before, I can't keep track of the asks you get lol!)

(I don't blame you lol, it's a LOT of asks by now^^)

No, I have not talked about that aspect of it all :).

Sooooo, that "crushed" statement is rather interesting, but let me get to Armand first.

I think wrt Armand betraying Louis and Claudia there (and the show did frame it as the big betrayal, the Judas' Kiss), it has a lot to do with Armand being beyond bitter about Louis not loving him ... as he loved him.

Armand literally says that, in 2x05. Spells it out, when he talks about Claudia's love for Louis - and that it was not the same (level) as Lestat's - or his - love for Louis.

Interesting there is the tense, because it is past tense. "Loved".

I do think, (and that I said before^^), that Armand loved Louis, fell for Louis, in Paris.

Unfortunately though, Louis did not love him back the same way, and thus the betrayal happened (very simplified, but still) - and (Lestat's behavior and) Lestat saving Louis at the trial... changed the game again. Louis became something else to Armand, namely leverage, and a vessel. Something he could own and form, built on history with both Louis and Lestat.

Now the "crushed line".

THAT is a really interesting one. Because "crush" is used thrice in the show. First, when Daniel is served a dish in s1, imho rather unimportantly.

Second, when Santiago describes Louis' kill (the Dreamstat-kiss-kill) in the park:

"A mutilated body found in a park three nights ago. Crushed skull, puncture wounds on neck, chest and shoulder blade."

And third, when Lestat talks about what he did to Louis with the drop.

"I couldn't... persuade... him to return my affections. I couldn't force him to love me and so... I broke him. What is worse than that? Crushing what you cannot own?"

Now.... I always felt this monologue was a bit off, not because Lestat owns up there, or because of the words, but... "forcing Louis to love him"? I don't think it was about that between them. Given we know Armand influenced the tale, this... is one of those things that will be interesting to see IF they were influenced, but that just as a note, because yes - it describes Armand's actions, too. Sam said he left hints and crumbs, and maybe that is one, too.

The word "crush" connects Louis' desire and need for Lestat with Lestat's need and desire for Louis.

It is "crushing" for them both, a strength of emotion that almost cripples them, and makes them behave violently. This is no excuse(!) for any in-story actions, but the writers on this show are playwrights and you can be sure that they know what they're doing :))

There is a quote in the later books, which encapsulates this love for Louis (from that side at least) quite well:

"It was the love of Louis which had at times crippled Lestat, and enslaved Armand. Louis need have no consciousness of his own beauty, of his own obvious and natural charm."

I agree that Armand's beige pillow persona is parts a facade... but then again not, because Armand... is not the hurricane that is Lestat. Armand is old, and jaded, and disciplined. He lives by a strong ruleset, and that little "metronomic, my Rashid" that Louis throws at him in 1x05 makes its comeback in 2x05 when when he spells it out that he finds it boring that everything is so predictable.

Book canonically it is Daniel who changes Armand a bit (at least), who makes him break some rules and principles. And... given what we've seen so far? I think that will stay just the same. Or has already happened in parts^^.

[00127am]

signed with love and forever yours, mark

postage. lee mark & gn! reader, mentions of death in the context of greek mythos cost to ship. 712 words

growing up, i never understood the tragedy of orpheus and eurydice. how, upon achieving the opportunity to bring back his beloved, orpheus squandered it all with a single look. it frustrated me, that after all that effort--every song he had written and preformed, compositions which moved all, even gods-- he abandoned all success with a single glimpse backwards. a second of a stare that only captured the whisper of eurydice's figure before she was dragged back to the depths of the underworld. i never understood why he looked back, why he had to fail when he was so close to the edge of triumph.

though i suppose that after meeting you, if i took the place of poor orpheus and you, my eurydice, i'm afraid that i would also lose you for a second time. that i would risk everything i had worked towards, everything that i had done just to see your face in that fraction of a second. to look at you, no matter the consequences. no matter what what i had sacrificed to get to you, no matter if i too would be punished for this singular stare. i would do so, even so close to escape, so close to having you in my arms again without a moment of hesitation. i, not only as orpheus but as mark--your mark--would do anything to spare even the slightest of glances in your direction. even if they would only forfeit half of a second of being captured in the reflection of your eyes and nothing more. for that half of a second, that split sliver in time, would be worth more to me than any hours of gazing upon anything else.

i find us to be more likened to paris and helen of troy. a story i've always understood, at any and all basic fundamentals of its core, though doubted. for how could anyone be so beautiful that others would begin wars over them? that their beauty would be more fair, more compelling than that of the gods? that men would be reduced to nothing more than spurned infatuation, fighting battles--killing-- for any brief moment spent within helen's gaze.

i wasn't sure that any such person could exist. but with you, i find myself to be playing the part of poor paris--destined, perhaps, to starting wars over the mere thought of you.

about mark's love letters.

mark's handwriting is rough and scribbled. oftentimes jotted down with whatever pen he has lying around, series of swirls and scratches at the top margins of the page where he attempts to get the ink to flow. his words, in a stark difference to the somewhat chaotic state of his slanted, all-caps writing, are carefully chosen. hand-picked with the utmost care, the upmost emphasis to ensure the quickening of your heartbeat. though short, his letters are poetic and always very true to himself. you can almost picture the look on his face when he writes them, a fantasy that does nothing but conjure heat into the full of your cheeks.

he first writes these down in his notes app of all places. thumbs frantically typing with every out of the blue strike of inspiration (something that happens rather often, both for songs and for you, though mark could argue that these two things are nearly synonymous). and when he does get the time (something he seems to be always running out of) he transfers these pretty proses to the whitened canvas of card stock. a firm choice, made to last. each one of his letters are signed with less-than-perfect stars and a drawing of whichever thing has recently caught of your fancy (usually him).

mark often sends them in the mail to you but prefers to give his letters to you in person. something he often finds himself regretting when you choose to read them outloud, burying his face in his hands as he begs you to stop. you don't and mark often finds himself begrudgingly thinking that you're much too like haechan for your own good (or his). it's not all bad though, not when the reward for withstanding such utter humiliation on his part is all of your affection. and mark would take anything in the world if it met just receiving one shred of your heart.

your mailbox

taglist. @evilsailorsenshi @222brainrot @chriscentric @trourevaille @firstdonutllamafarm @jenaisnte thank you for supporting me! ♡

🧾 © 00127am 2024

[queerofcups]

an August rec list

August Rec List

Why yes it is nearly the end of September and I’m just now posting my August Rec List. I’ve been busy!

Hockey RPF

come stitch me up

E | 10k | addandsubtract

Sometimes he wakes up sucking on his fingers, rutting his hips into the bed. He’ll be right on the edge of coming, the wet head of his dick trapped between his hips and the sheets, but he can’t, he can’t, not without – not without something pushed up inside, something stretching him open.

Hey man, I barely know who these players are. Is this kind of a horror story? Yes! Is it also very hot smut! Yuuuup. This is what I mean when I’m begging people not to try to explain away the dub in dubcon. Someone should be calling a doctor, an exorcist, a therapist etc. But instead, because this is fanfic, they whip their dicks out! It's great!

Interview with The Vampire

monstrous servant

Armand/Louis

E | 5k | inthebelltower

The old itch never goes away. It never feels less good to scratch.

inhuman taste

Armand/Louis

E | 1k | inthebelltower

Louis can’t help it; he wants to eat him up.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Louis as a dom as I’m writing my own WIP and this fic and the next were really instrumental in shaping my own ideas of how Louis is with Armand. I really think this and the next fic act as a great picture of the two sides of their relationship.

not a ruse, not heat

Armand/Louis

M | 872 | inthebelltower

Louis drinks from Armand’s neck. Somewhere in the compound a clock is ticking.

Let me tell you diary (islands)

Claudia/Madeline, Louis/Lestat 

T | 4k | anonymous

Basically, Claudeleine don't return to Paris, don't fall for the trap, and just travel to wherever the X leads them... until…

In Sickness and In Health

Louis/Lestat

M | 3k | anonymous

“Sure, okay,” Louis huffs softly, “one coffee, why not.”

They’re engaged again by November. Claudia calls Louis the moment she finds out and scolds him for fifteen minutes straight. Hear me out, Louis barely gets the words out before she hangs up on him. Five times he tries to call her back.

Of mercy, with choice 

Louis/Lestat

E | 6k | shavir_light

“I always thought that your victims were truly fortunate, to be gifted with such an exhilarating death,” Lestat says, tangled in the messy sheets. “What bliss it must have been, to be killed by one so beautiful.”

Louis and Lestat play at a fantasy. It gets a bit out of hand.

The Things We DId and Didn’t Do

M | 3k | @marbleflan (they are on tumblr, but I can't tag them)

“You are thinking of him, maybe.”

Louis looks up. It’s like Lestat is speaking in another language and Louis is reading the subtitles on a delay, or something. He can make out the words but not the meaning, for a moment.

“What?” Then it clicks.

“Armand. You are touching me. In bed,” Lestat says, casual. Maybe too casual. “But you are thinking of him.”

Louis doesn’t say anything. There’s not really anything he can say. It’s true, in a way. Not that he’s literally thinking about Armand. Not consciously. But he’s assuming Armand: Armand’s desires, Armand’s preferences, Armand’s reactions. He’s holding Lestat, he’s thinking of Lestat, he’s hard for Lestat. But he’s treating him like Armand.

Wow I sure am reccing a lot of fic about Louis and BDSM, huh? Wonder what thats about. Anyway, I think this and the fics by shavir_light work as lovely little complements to each other. More thinking about how domming wasn’t just a thing for Armand, but was something that Louis participated in, enjoys and carries with him. I also enjoy thinking about how Louis and Lestat might fall back together once Louis is back in New Orleans, but they might not settle together quite as easily. Eighty years is a long time to be apart and of course people are going to pick up quirks and require adjustments. 

the body, not in stasis

Daniel/Louis

E | 1k | shavir_light

“The need to cares for your body is, in part, what tethers you to it. It’s a reminder, Daniel—that you are flesh and blood. That you are a human being,” Louis insists, in his usual verbose fashion, and Daniel can’t help but laugh as he turns to leave.

��Well, you’re welcome to come watch, if it’s so magical to you,” he says.

I think this is such a short, sweet meditation on bodies. It does the exact kind of thing I love fanfic to do, take a single point an original work makes — vampires’ bodily functions fundamentally change when they’re turned — and just has a think and does a little smut about it. I love it.

Want and Swallow and Keep

Louis/Lestat

E | 10k | shavir_light

Love, sex, possession. To Lestat, they’re all the same thing.

So this could be perfect; Louis could decide what they do, control Lestat’s actions. He could make Lestat work for it, earn Louis’ trust again by way of obedience. Louis could restrain him from doing something—something bad.

So interesting to be in such disagreement about what a fic is and how we’re supposed to take it. I think this fic is a great example of the ways Lestat and Louis treat each other poorly, and get off on it! shavir_light makes it clear that they see one party clearly in the wrong and one not. I just think it's so fun that we’re able to have such different perspectives on the same work. 

Harry Potter

New Gods

Harry/Sirius 

E | 4k | @thecouchsofa

It rocks Sirius to his core every time he thinks about it, because they aren’t the same – Harry and James.

Sure, Harry pushes his glasses up with the knuckle of his pointer finger. James used to do the same thing when he had dirt or sugar or random potion essence on his hands. Other people do that too. Sirius has never seen it, but they do.

I like a fic where people are having relationships that are complicated, or they “shouldn’t” be having them for whatever reason. I like the ambiguity of this fic and how Sirius is trying to insist, to us and to himself, that the ambiguity doesn’t matter when it certainly does.

Wield Me

Harry/Draco, Pre-Harry/Draco/Teddy

E | 10k | @tackytigerfic

Draco Malfoy, blacksmith, is renowned through the magical world for his skill and exquisite creations. He could quite easily spend the rest of his days making pretty trinkets for the fae court, and being handsomely rewarded for the privilege. But why take the easy route when instead he could get involved in a dangerous mission with Unspeakable Harry Potter (who also happens to be Draco's... well, he's something, isn't he?)

A little story about learning to strike while the iron is hot.

Home Truths

E | 67k | @fantalfart, @skeptiquewrites

In the off-season Harry decided to fix up Grimmauld Place and found that Draco Malfoy was the only person who could help him. A demanding career and unrelenting press scrutiny were enough to deal with before Harry added a house with a mind of its own, family history, and a tense, flirty, complicated relationship with his childhood nemesis to the mix.

On professional Quidditch, magical houses, hard choices, Life Debts, and inconvenient truths.

Honestly, this fic, to me, is more of a lovely character study than a romance. There’s a good bit of fic that Draco barely appears in but we get to learn more about Harry’s job (y’all know i’m a sucker for any fic where Harry’s not an auror) and the whole world feels very lived in. 

Wonderful Anything

E | 24k |  harDEEhar / @dryrsheet

They were birds of a feather, he and Draco: the pathetic bastards in love and apart.

I can hardly believe this fic is only 24k. I read the next fic immediately after this one because they both manage to offer worlds that feel so full, just from what we learn while watching people fall in love. I also love an unconventional relationship timeline, stories where people build their own lives and families they way they want and second/third/fourth tries until something finally clicks. There are just so many lovely details in this story, it really was one of the standouts of the month. 

Grounds for Divorce

E | 122k | @tepre

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter.

A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

Oh God, I stayed up way too late reading this fic. Sometimes, I’ll just random think about this fic. I’ve reread it so many times. The writing is just gorgeous. The emotional character work is…is shocking in how wonderful and layered it is. It feels both so real and heightened at the same time. The whole story is cooking on high but once Harry and Draco get to the conference in Egypt? Baby, it's on flambé. I don’t know if this story is considered a classic in the Harry Potter fandom but it's quadruple platinum in my household. 

[littlesparklight]

As a sort of companion to the earlier post; I did write this one before that one but they touch on slightly different things.

One of the reasons, to me, that any version (ancient or modern) that cuts out the gods for realisms sake just isn't at all as satisfying, is the interplay of divine and human action that keep the war going.

(Another is the plain fact of how there are things especially in the Iliad that cannot happen as they do if you don't include the gods.)

The quarrel at the divine wedding causes the Judgment causes the start of the war, yes. And, again, my preferred version for the ultimate background for all this is definitely that Zeus has at least partially some cosmic reason; the overpopulation and/or the ending of the heroic era. But I could even take the "the war, by being centered around and because of Helen, is the only way he can give her kleos and this is why he planned it". I don't think I've ever seen that in an adaptation, but I think it'd be a very interesting angle to take!

But after Paris and Helen comes to Troy, you also have Aulis. The second muster, specifically. Agamemnon commits hubris, and if he wants to go to war, his payment will be his daughter (whether or not Artemis rescues her). It's the choice not just of Agamemnon, but all the men present, prompted by mortal failing (Agamemnon's) to take the action that will allow them to actually go to war.

Make no mistake, of course especially Hera and Athena would do everything to make sure the war happens. They would do so regardless of whether Zeus has an ulterior motive known only to him (~the plan of Zeus~ as it were).

But human action and intent matters.

Achilles "saves" the Achaean war effort a couple years in, after having gotten to see Helen and then stopping a mutiny.

Achilles is, again, the cause the late stage of the war (the Iliad) turns out as it does. It's his request of his mother that sparks the events in all their deadliness.

Again, of course, if Zeus has an ulterior plan this fits in well, but would he have needed this, as it happens in the Iliad? It's Achilles and for Achilles and because of Achilles, that it happens. Because of Achilles, the truce around Paris and Menelaos' duel, and the agreement predicated on its outcome, simply would never happen. Yes, it requires divine intervention to assure it's derailed, but it was human action that made sure the solution the truce might have offered becomes impossible.

Human action to murder sleeping men, more than once. Human action almost topples Troy 'before its time'; it requires divine intervention to keep at bay. And yes, that might be prolonging the war, but if men have a fated time of death apparently cities can too.

Divine intervention assures the cruelty of the trick with the Horse, certainly.

Human action assures the horror of the sack itself, of the murder of any male inhabitant who cannot get away, of the sexual assault of any women that, too, can't get away. The sack is of human make, and human design. That cruelty is mortal and human alone and frankly - what extra years of war is as horrifying as the sack itself is?

Would always be.

The gods, again and again, delays Troy's fall or makes sure the war continues, certainly. But they also grieve for favourites or sons killed, wanting to rescue them if they can (sometimes they can).

What compassion is there from the Achaeans for the Trojans, during or after the fall? Literally none. The gods, those not explicitly on the Achaean side, have more sympathy, even if they can't (or won't, especially for fate-related reasons) do anything at that point.

There's surely a balance to be struck, I feel, between "ohh helpless mortals stuck in a seemingly never-ending war of horror because of eldritch, uncaring gods have their own agendas" and the very human agency and action (and cruelty, so, so much cruelty) that also is present. Plus the genuine and honest caring and grief for at least some humans a number of the gods provably display in the story.

[katerinaaqu]

I believe there is a confusion here though. His "infidelity is not a later adittion to tarnish Odysseus" is not aplicable here. We talk of two different poets who write in a different essence. Hesiod implies that Odysseus was cheating on his wife, being a willing lover and he produced a bunch of sons with both goddesses. Homer on the other hand writes the coercion of Odysseus with Circe and his forcible hostage situation with Calypso and he speaks on Odysseus's line have only one son at a time.

We talk about two different traditions or interpretations here. Of course Telegonus was a thing given how both Homer and Hesiod write in a similar time period. But while Hesiod speaks on an Odysseus who had been willingly having affairs with goddesses and "joining in sweet love" with them, producing sons, then we have a Homer who says "not on my watch" so basically not only writes the whole hostage situation even more dramatically but also adds an elleged "curse" that speaks on how the line of Odysseus can produce only one son as if to say to people "yeah these traditions exist but NOT in my story"

So I am not sure how Telegonus being a Hesiodic tradition automatically makes the whole Telegony issue being homeric tradition. I have no doubt Homer was aware of the myths of Telegonus the same as he was aware of traditions of Iphigenia or others but at least as far as Telegonus is concerned, Homer not only doesn't hint his existence he even adds something to make sure that we WON'T make Telegonus as part of his tradition!

Now for epic cycle things being contradictory to each other is not unique. We have Little Ilias in which we have Neoptolemous killing Astyanax and Menelaus destroying the body of Paris and then we have Iliou Persis in which we have a totally different set of traditions such as Odysseus being the one to kill Astyanax. Likewise Telegony also speaks of a peaceful death (γήραι ὕπο λιπαρῷ ἀρημένον = taken over by ripe old age) and "surrounded by loved ones" (ἀμφὶ δὲ λαοὶ ὄλβιοι ἔσσονται) in fact the essence of being "surrounded by them" is very clear. This is not fulfilled completely from the verses we have on Telegony. Also it is said that the old age will have worned him out. No mention is made in a violent battle. Sure one can speak on the possibility of it but the whole Homeric passage is much more "optimistic" on that matter and we have the parallel of Achilles in that part that also says the wished he were alive and a slave than dead and king in one way hinting the end that Odysseus would have prefered for himself right after the whole issue with the prophecy. And as I said that is being paired by the "one son curse" thing we have from Homer. There is undoubtedly a set of contradictions between Homer's Odyssey and Telegony. The thing is that this is not new in regards to epic cycle. There is no need for Telegony to be recognized as valid continuation of Homer to be recognized as Epic Cycle. It is not like every part of Epic Cycle is seamless with each other. Most of the parts of Epic Cycle, written in different times by different writers have contradictions with each other. I fail to see why we absolutely MUST see Telegony as a seamless continuation of the Odyssey, because in my opinion it is not. It is one of the many parts of the Epic Cylce as noted by other writers of the past but still the contradictions always existed. The one tradition doesn't need to be linked with the other

Is not like Telegony is like the sequel of Odyssey. It is one poem that takes place after where Odyssey left things but it doesn't need to follow the same traditions or the same logic.

Mind you the actual contents of Telegony are unknown to us so we have no idea in regards to whether the text says that Odysseus does all that stuff mentioned in other sources or not. We have little to no clues on the contents of the real Telegony so we can never be sure on the exact conditions that has Odysseus marriage in Thesprotia or why he was left away from home etc. By the way information is given to us it is totally contradicting the spirit of Odyssey (again not a rare phenomenon in Epic Cycle) but then again we do not know what the ACTUAL Telegony was all about.

As for the "different writer" theory people who know me know my opinion. I definitely disagree. I am more with the Aristotle theory. That the considerable difference between the linguistics of one poem and the other (also proven by modern studies) as well as the thematic is that Odyssey was synthesized much later in Homer's life after his life's experiences shaped his artistic creation

I hope that helps. For more I had made some posts in regards to Telegony as answers. Telegony is definitely part of ancient tradition. I just do not understand why we expect all ancient traditions to stick to each other seamlessly. They usually don't. Is not the first time this happens. And there are also many random adittions or traditions one can add here and there. Of course one can like or dislike the potential of Telegony as a continuation of the Odyssey. I am just saying that the two poets are synthesizing two different stories based on two different traditions. Both are valid in their own right but one does not need to seamlessly stick with the other as it happens with many parts of epic cycle that bear contradictions with each other.

That's all here

The Telegony is overhated

I wanted to briefly share my thoughts on a particular topic. Ever since the musical Epic went viral, there has been more fans taking an interest in Greek mythology, which is fantastic! However, I’ve recently noticed many rants about a specific work of Greek mythology called the Telegony. While it’s perfectly fine for individuals to have a preferred interpretation of a story, insulting people, books, or films simply because they reference the Telegony seems excessive. It’s okay not to like a particular work, but dismissing its legitimacy just because it doesn’t align with personal preferences is problematic.

What is the Telegony?

The Telegony is a lost narrative that covers the final episode of the Epic Cycle and focuses on Telegonus, the son of Odysseus and Circe. We don’t know who wrote the Telegony or when it was composed. Possible authors include Eugammon of Cyrene (6th century BCE) and Cinaethon of Sparta (8th century BCE). Some ancient sources even claim that Eugammon stole the work from Musaeus, a mythological figure whose existence is uncertain. Additionally, the Telegony might consist of two separate poems—The Telegony and Thesprotis—that were later combined.

The claim that the Telegony is merely “Odyssey fanfiction” written centuries later is misleading. We have no definitive evidence of its age. Eugammon lived 100–200 years after Homer, while Cinaethon might have been older, contemporary with, or younger than Homer. It is difficult to tell since we don’t even know if Homer was a historical person, and if so, when he lived. Interestingly, even the ancient Greeks were uncertain about the authorship of the Telegony as well, and there’s a possibility it is as old as or even older than the Odyssey. Not to say that I find it likely, but as I said the claim that the Telegony is Odyssey fanfiction is very missleading.

Why Do People Dislike the Telegony?

Many people dislike the Telegony because it disrupts the happy ending of the Odyssey. In this narrative, Odysseus is visited by his illegitimate son, Telegonus, who accidentally kills him. Subsequently, Penelope marries her husband’s killer, and Circe marries Telemachus, the son of Odysseus and Penelope. Before that, Odysseus kinda ditches his wife and marries queen Callidice. Then he led the Thesprotians in a war with their neighbors the Brygoi and defeated in battle the neighboring peoples who attacked him. Only when Callidice died, Odysseus returned home to Ithaca and his wife, leaving their son, Polypoetes, to rule Thesprotia.This storyline upsets those whose personal interpretation, or “headcanon,” aligns with a more traditional resolution to the Odyssey.

However, it’s important to note that Homer is not the sole authority on Greek mythology. He did not invent the Trojan War, Odysseus as a character, or Greek mythology as a whole. His works are based on oral traditions, which likely served as the same source material for the Telegony. The reason Homer’s works are so prominent today is that many contemporaneous works did not survive into modern times.

The Telegony is also not the only source which makes Penelope/odysseus cheat and give them an unhappy ending. For example:

In early sources like Pindar, Apollo and Penelope are said to have fathered Pan together.

Herodotus, Cicero, Apollodorus, and Hyginus all claim that Hermes and Penelope were Pan’s parents.

Pausanias recounts a story where Penelope was unfaithful to Odysseus, leading him to banish her to Mantineia.

Other sources suggest Penelope had relations with all 108 suitors during Odysseus’ absence, resulting in Pan’s birth.

These accounts contradict Homer’s Odyssey but are still part of Greek mythology because it wasn’t a unified belief system. Greek mythology includes everything the ancient Greeks believed, regardless of age, author, or origin. Many Greeks believed in Telegonus and wrote about him, making his story a legitimate part of Greek mythology.

The Telegony and Homer’s Time

The Telegony narrative very likely existed even during Homer’s era, even if we exclude the possibility that its author was Homer’s contemporary. Hesiod, one of the most influential writers of ancient Greece and likely a contemporary of Homer, mentioned Telegonus:

“And Circe, the daughter of Helius, Hyperion's son, loved steadfast Odysseus and bore Agrius and Latinus, who were faultless and strong: also, she brought forth Telegonus by the will of golden Aphrodite. And they ruled over the famous Tyrrhenians, very far off in a recess of the holy islands. And the bright goddess Calypso was joined to Odysseus in sweet love, and bore him Nausithous and Nausinous” (Hesiod, Theogony, 1003–1015)

Odysseus’ infidelity to Penelope was not a later invention intended to tarnish his character.

Interestingly, the Odyssey could possibly itself hints at the existence of Telegonus. For example, Teiresias tells Odysseus that he must journey inland with an oar on his shoulder until he meets someone who doesn’t recognize it. While the purpose of this journey isn’t clear, it’s notable that Odysseus must make a sacrifice to Poseidon far from the sea—a theme that aligns with the Telegony. Apollodorus also describes Odysseus undertaking a mainland journey to Thesprotia, where he makes a sacrifice to Poseidon.

Teiresias further states that Odysseus will return to Ithaca, where he will die:

“And death far from the sea, gentle and painless, will come upon you in old age.” But the thing is, this sentenece and prophecy is higly ambigious. It could also mean: „And death to you from the sea, yourself, harmless– quitesuchlike– will come, which will slay you, by sleek old ageworn.“

This could be a reference to Telegonus, who comes from the sea and causes Odysseus’ death. The Odyssey ends abruptly before describing Odysseus’ final journey, leaving room for interpretations. After Odysseus recounts the “inland journey” to Penelope, he repeats Tiresias’ description of his death (Od. 23, 267–284). Though Odysseus predicted that Penelope would find the prophecy unpleasant (266), Penelope ignores the “inland journey” and focuses on the predicted old age of her husband (“if indeed the gods will bring about abetter old age at least,then there is hope that there will be for you an escape from evils”,286 287).

There is also the question of whether the Odyssey and the Iliad were written by the same author. What we do know is that the ancient Greeks attributed these works, along with many other poems, to a legendary figure named Homer. This attribution is why the Homeric Hymns bear his name, even though it is unlikely they were composed by the same author. In fact, many scholars argue that the Odyssey and the Iliad exhibit differences in vocabulary and style, suggesting they may not have been written by the same person. If so, than the Odyssey is probably the younger one of the two poets by a few decades.

[myclippings]

The Stranger - Albert Camus (Part 4)

>"Why did you fire five consecutive shots?" I thought for a bit; then explained that they weren't quite consecutive. I fired one at first, and the other four after a short interval. "Why did you pause between the first and second shot?" I seemed to see it hovering again before my eyes, the red glow of the beach, and to feel that fiery breath on my cheeks—and, this time, I made no answer. During the silence that followed, the magistrate kept fidgeting, running his fingers through his hair, half rising, then sitting down again. Finally, planting his elbows on the desk, he bent toward me with a queer expression.

uy what a scenario no, escaping reality with another, more recent reality also shows how good questions are good at letting feelings out and how when handling yet-to-be-processed emotions, people tend to prefer silence than showing vulnerability.

>My gaze fell on her shoulders, and I had a sudden longing to squeeze them, through the thin dress. Its silky texture fascinated me, and I had a feeling that the hope she spoke of centered on it, somehow.

>in the long run one gets used to anything.

>"It passed my understanding why I shouldn't be allowed even to smoke; it could have done no one any harm. Later on, I understood the idea behind it; this privation, too, was part of my punishment. But, by the time I understood, I'd lost the craving, so it had ceased to be a punishment."

>One of the villagers had left his home to try his luck abroad. After twenty-five years, having made a fortune, he returned to his country with his wife and child. Meanwhile his mother and sister had been running a small hotel in the village where he was born. He decided to give them a surprise and, leaving his wife and child in another inn, he went to stay at his mother's place, booking a room under an assumed name. His mother and sister completely failed to recognize him. At dinner that evening he showed them a large sum of money he had on him, and in the course of the night they slaughtered him with a hammer. After taking the money they flung the body into the river. Next morning his wife came and, without thinking, betrayed the guest's identity. His mother hanged herself. His sister threw herself into a well.

>"you're conscious of all the people on the opposite seat staring at you in the hope of finding something in your appearance to amuse them."

>"That fellow's the special correspondent of one of the Paris dailies. As a matter of fact, he didn't come on your account. He was sent for the parricide case, but they've asked him to cover yours as well." It was on the tip of my tongue to say, "That was very kind of them," but then I thought it would sound silly. With a friendly wave of his hand he left us, and for some minutes nothing happened.

>"I had a foolish desire to burst into tears. For the first time I'd realized how all these people loathed me."

Gloat - dwell on own success and or be smug about another's misfortune -- feel some kind of pleasure from it

clear - cogent (case)

>"IT is always interesting, even in the prisoner's dock, to hear oneself being talked about. And certainly in the speeches of my lawyer and the prosecuting counsel a great deal was said about me; more, in fact, about me personally than about my crime."

>We cannot blame a man for lacking what it was never in his power to acquire.

compunction - the guilt feeling after doing something bad

>At one moment, however, I pricked up my ears; it was when I heard him saying: "It is true I killed a man." He went on in the same strain, saying "I" when he referred to me. It seemed so queer that I bent toward the policeman on my right and asked him to explain. He told me to shut up; then, after a moment, whispered: "They all do that." It seemed to me that the idea behind it was still further to exclude me from the case, to put me off the map. so to speak, by substituting the lawyer for myself. Anyway, it hardly mattered; I already felt worlds away from this courtroom and its tedious "proceedings."

inexorable - impossible to stop or prevent

>Naturally, all that "hope" could come to was to be knocked down at the corner of a street or picked off by a bullet in my back. But, all things considered, even this luxury was forbidden me; I was caught in the rattrap irrevocably.

>>"For, the moment I'd pictured myself in freedom, standing behind a double rank of policemen—on the right side of the line, so to speak—the mere thought of being an onlooker who comes to see the show, and can go home and vomit afterward, flooded my mind with a wild, absurd exultation. It was a stupid thing to let my imagination run away with me like that; a moment later I had a shivering fit and had to wrap myself closely in my blanket. But my teeth went on chattering; nothing would stop them."

>>"One always has exaggerated ideas about what one doesn't know."

>"When something happens to me I want to be ready for it. That's why I got into the habit of sleeping off and on in the daytime and watching through the night for the first hint of daybreak in the dark dome above. The worst period of the night was that vague hour when, I knew, they usually come; once it was after midnight I waited, listening intently. Never before had my ears perceived so many noises, such tiny sounds. Still, I must say I was lucky in one respect; never during any of those periods did I hear footsteps. Mother used to say that however miserable one is, there's always something to be thankful for. And each morning, when the sky brightened and light began to flood my cell, I agreed with her. Because I might just as well have heard footsteps, and felt my heart shattered into bits. Even though the faintest rustle sent me hurrying to the door and, pressing an ear to the rough, cold wood, I listened so intently that I could hear my breathing, quick and hoarse like a dog's panting— even so there was an end; my heart hadn't split, and I knew I had another twenty-four hours' respite."

>"At this stage, but only at this stage, I had, so to speak, the right, and accordingly I gave myself leave, to consider the other alternative; that my appeal was successful. And then the trouble was to calm down that sudden rush of joy racing through my body and even bringing tears to my eyes. But it was up to me to bring my nerves to heel and steady my mind; for, even in considering this possibility, I had to keep some order in my thoughts, so as to make my consolations, as regards the first alternative, more plausible. When I'd succeeded, I had earned a good hour's peace of mind; and that, anyhow, was something."

>Then I did something I hadn't done for quite a while; I fell to thinking about Marie. She hadn't written for ages; probably, I surmised, she had grown tired of being the mistress of a man sentenced to death. Or she might be ill, or dead. After all, such things happen. How could I have known about it, since, apart from our two bodies, separated now, there was no link between us, nothing to remind us of each other? Supposing she were dead, her memory would mean nothing; I couldn't feel an interest in a dead girl. This seemed to me quite normal; just as I realized people would soon forget me once I was dead. I couldn't even say that this was hard to stomach; really, there's no idea to which one doesn't get acclimatized in time.

>"But, though I mightn't be so sure about what interested me, I was absolutely sure about what didn't interest me. And the question he had raised didn't interest me at all."

>"Maybe. Still, if you don't die soon, you'll die one day. And then the same question will arise. How will you face that terrible, final hour?"

>"What difference could they make to me, the deaths of others, or a mother's love, or his God; or the way a man decides to live, the fate he thinks he chooses, since one and the same fate was bound to "choose" not only me but thousands of millions of privileged people who, like him, called themselves my brothers. Surely, surely he must see that? Every man alive was privileged; there was only one class of men, the privileged class. All alike would be condemned to die one day; his turn, too, would come like the others'. And what difference could it make if, after being charged with murder, he were executed because he didn't weep at his mother's funeral, since it all came to the same thing in the end?"

>"As a condemned man himself, couldn't he grasp what I meant by that dark wind blowing from my future?"

----------Added on Wednesday, December 13, 2023 1:41:31 AM

[infernalodie]

Widowmaker x FEM!Reader? Preferably angsty fluff. Also your writing is incredible

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐃𝐨 || 𝐖𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

"𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘏𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘞𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘰"

Inspo: Hozier - Like Real People Do

Pairing: Widowmaker x Fem!reader

Summary: A night in Paris can bring out the softest side from a cold person.

Warnings: Just painfully fluffy

Words 1482

Rain droplets pelted against the window as you sat quietly on your bed with a blanket wrapped tightly around you. Eyes focused on the Eiffel Tower just in the distance, almost in arm's reach. Thunder shook you to your core as you battled with your self-will to stay awake until the lights on the historical piece would shut off. Thankfully, with it being Summer, you had until 2 AM to just sit and stare. A smile stays etched on your lips, enjoying this bit of time every night.

Coming to Paris had never been a goal of yours. Hell, you might’ve stayed in Hawaii and waited out the rest of your life there. But you weren’t that hard of a girl to convince to do something. Neither were your emotions so easily able to take the wheel sometimes. It was the latter that brought you here after all. Love charting your course after all that it’s done for you.

But, if you were going to be killed because of your past, might as well have it happen somewhere nice, right?

A soft hand ran up your thigh. Your eyes flicker down to spot the blue flesh of your lover running sensually up and down your skin. Turning your head over your shoulder, flashing your soft smile at Amélie, who seemed to have woken up from her sleep. Her eyes squinted as she stared up at you, lips curving into a lazy smile.

“Why are you up, mon amour?” She hummed, thumb tracing slow circles into your skin as you looked back towards the Eiffel Tower.

“I always love the way the lights look in the dark,” you answered. “I can’t help but just sit here and watch. It's one of the great things about moving here, you know?”

Amélie felt her heart warm at the sight of you looking back at her wearing that cute smile of yours. She met you a year ago when you were out shopping for baking ingredients. It was your Uncle’s birthday coming up and you were hoping to make something for him. Of course, she had been on a job at the time and she spotted you. Feeling some type of magical pull towards you. She got diverted from her mission, but it was the greatest screw-up she could’ve ever made.

Her eyes flickered down to your right shoulder and her smile slowly fell. Able to see the specks of red beginning to soak the blanket you had around you. “Y/n, your shoulder.”

You glanced down seeing the mess and groaned. Yanking the blanket of said shoulder and revealing the large wound where your arm was missing. You didn’t feel it from the constant numbing resolution Angela had been sending you. She said that it would eventually heal the wound to a point where it wasn’t needed to be treated all the time. It’s been a year since then and there have been no positives besides the pain that is drowned out.

Amélie slid out of bed, her bare body moving across the bedroom to the bathroom where she grabbed the medkit. Made her way over and placed the bag down in front of you as she quickly turned and grabbed a random shirt off the floor. Slipping that on, she walked over and took a seat beside you. Unzipping the bag and began to hum a little melody that made your lips slightly quirk up into a smile.

“Babe, you should go to bed,” you muttered. “We both know you have work in the morning. You should just enjoy this time to sleep, ‘kay?”

The woman pursed her lips, eyes flickering up to you but then going back down to the bag. “I can only sleep if you sleep.” The Assassin laughed- she actually laughed- and shook her head as she ran a hand through her luscious, dark navy locks. “I can’t do much without you by my side nowadays, aimer.” She confessed, glancing up at you shyly from the affectionate comment.

But you just smiled adoringly at the woman, feeling your heart grow 10 sizes just from the comment. “Do I make it hard for you to breathe when I am not around?” You asked teasingly.

“Well, I’ll say, in the bedroom, I think we both make it hard-”

You slapped her shoulder as she laughed in amusement as the woman grinned amusingly. Leaning forward with her hand cupping your cheek and pecking your lips. “But always, aimer. Je ne peux pas penser sans toi.” The way that anything french slid off her tongue sent shivers down your body. Thankfully, you’d gotten a hand on hiding the effect by giving a soft smile in return.

She carefully grabbed some tweezers and grabbed some cotton she’d dabbed in peroxide. Another great thing about the resolution was that you didn’t feel the stinging sensation of the peroxide on the slowly healing wound. You just watched as your girlfriend carefully work cleaning it up and rebandaging it.

“May I ask you something, amoureuse?” She muttered.

You sighed with pursed lips. “Can I stop you?” She sent you a tiny glare and you huffed. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“What happened?” The question was accompanied by her tucking the cut-off end of the bandage and placing her hands in her lap. Watching your lips part, trying to find the start of an explanation for your life-changing injury.

But the truth was, she was what happened. Widowmaker was what happened. You remember the day quite clearly. You’d been on a mission with Lena. It was your final mission with Overwatch before you were retiring to go live your life. The mission was in Ireland and the job was to escort the Prime Minister to a summit and back to his base.

You remember the crowd cheering and the Prime Minister preaching about the Ominic’s earning rights. The place was crowded, but you had noticed Widowmaker half a mile away - Not to mention the red dot on the Prime Minister’s chest. You don’t know what type of spirit possessed you, but you saved the Prime Minister at the cost of your arm.

So, at times, the fact that you were sleeping with (and in love) with the woman that took that piece of you did confuse you. But what surprised you the most was a whole year later that she ambushed you suddenly. Smiling at you and flirting in that annoyingly sexy french tone of hers. It was like her memories of that day had been wiped away.

And now, seeing what you and Amélie have created, you didn’t want to ruin that. Either way, you trusted her with your life now. Overwatch was behind you and you could care less what they did or what Talon did. All you wanted was insurance that no matter what, Amélie would stay forever. No matter how traumatizing it could be seeing her suit up before she goes out on a mission. The sight of the purple suit glinting in the sun has already been burned in your mind.

Giving a forced smile, you chuckled. “I was a Delta operator for 10 years. I was deployed during the Omnic Crisis,” you explained, feeling your girlfriend's eyes focused solely on you. You were internally hoping she didn’t call your bluff. Or she already remembered and was interested in what you would say. Maybe it was all some sort of game to her.

“It had been an evacuation of New York,” you continued. “I was going through the city with my squad searching for survivors. Somewhere Downtown, we got ambushed. I- I tried to save them, but an OR-15 bot shot my arm off. Overwatch showed up before it was too late to save my squad.”

You hated that you were lying to her. You wished to tell her the truth, but you knew what could come if you did. She could kill you if she thought you to be using her or worse. After all, this, if things did come around to her killing you, it would only be fate. But you didn’t want that to happen just yet. You wanted your time with her a little longer before she’d eventually find out about the truth.

“I’m so sorry, mon amour.” She placed a hand over yours, running her thumb over your knuckles. “I didn’t know- I-”

“Baby, it’s fine.” You kissed her softly. “It’s behind me. I have you to keep me safe now.”

She smiled, pulling you towards her until the both of you were laid out. Your head on her chest staring out the window with Amélie running figures up and down your back. Her nails sent shivers down your spine as she lulled you to sleep. This was where you wanted to be until fate would bust through the door. You wanted to live with this woman like real people do.

[mahimahi713]

Sone more DP content, this time, a fic idea. It’s DxS, of course. Danny and Sam have ever met They’re in their mid 20s roughly. Danny works as a bodyguard. It isn’t Danny’s main career. It’s what he’s doing while also doing grad school, he’s on his way to being an astronaut. Tucker and Jazz helped him get his grades up when he was a sophomore.

While in high school, Danny starts to workout. He figures that working out will strengthen both his human and ghost form. And it does. He finds he likes working out. It pays off super well. He also learns different forms of combat as well. While in college, there’s a gym he is part of, and while sparring with a partner there, one of the employees from the Body Guard company he winds up working for sees him and asks if he would be interested in a job. It’s good money and he can do it on the side so why not? It keeps him busy, it’s rewarding and he can actually do it since hunting ghosts is split between him, Val, Dani, and his parents. Things have also calmed down in terms of ghost activity. He goes into work one day and is told he’s gonna be a bodyguard for a Samantha Manson. An heiress who’s family is filthy rich. Not just from the toothpick machine thingy but because her dad is a talented businessman and so have previous Mansons been. Danny isn’t too excited about this case. He assumes it’s gonna be some Paris Hilton wannabe. And working with filthy rich clients hasn’t always been great but in those cases, it’s been middle aged businessmen. Protecting them from nothing or threats that a person should be able to deal with in their own. It was more to scare rivals.

In comes Sam. She’s filthy rich, yes. But she’s incredibly down to earth, charitable, and kind. She needs a bodyguard because she has called out and out crooked politicians, businessman, CEOs, cops. Etc. For doing illegal and terrible things. She’s pissed off a lot of people and she’s not gonna slow down. She is not happy that she has a bodyguard now, but she reluctantly accepts at Grandma Ida’s insistence.

So it starts that neither one of them really wants to have the other around. They’re still respectful though. Sam tries to pay Danny to leave her alone, but still have him assigned as her bodyguard so he can still get paid. He refuses.

It’s slow burn. They get to know each other and discover what they have in common (both love to play video games but have different preferences, similar taste in music, both love NY pizza, etc) and they enjoy each other’s company.

Of course, there will be a cliche scene where Sam goes off somewhere without him and she winds up getting hurt or is nearly killed or badly hurt. That’s when she finally understands “Oh, hey maybe I should have a bodyguard”

[aeoki]

SHINSEKAI - Magicians of ES: Chapter 12

Location: ES Idol Exclusive Inn  Characters: Mika, Natsume & Seiya

< At the same time in the ES idol exclusive inn. >

Mika: I’m sorry, Sora-kun… for makin’ you look after me while I’m feelin’ sick.

You didn’t want to be apart from your senpais in “Switch”, right?

Sora: HaHa~♪ Sora’s okay~ My senpais from “Switch” isn’t with me right now, but my senpai from “Ba-barrier” is.

Mika: Ahaha. “Ba-barrier” hasn’t been active at all, huh…

It was a temporary unit created durin’ the Saga project and “Lilith” is about the only unit that’s regularly active, right?

Sora: Yes. Everyone is busy so they tend to be super busy with their original units?

Besides, Sora is used to killing time by himself and Sora won’t get anxious if he’s always left on his own. It feels lonely but Sora can bear with it.

Mika: I knew someone like that back in my hometown. I was like that too.

On the other hand, people who get anxious unless they’re always communicatin’ with others might become dependent on that sorta thing.

They might become addicted to that pounding feelin’ they feel in their hearts whenever they talk to someone.

That’s the taste of somethin’ kids “like us”, who couldn’t get to experience that in our childhood, will never be able to enjoy.

Sora: HiHi~♪ Sora and Mika-chan-san are the same?

Mika: I don’t know if we’re the same but I think our preferences are similar… So that’s maybe why we feel anxious when we’re away from our senpais.

I’d understand that Oshi-san is in Paris but I’d still end up searchin’ for him around me.

Like when I wake up and find that Oshi-san isn’t nearby, I feel so anxious I wanna cry.

Sora: HuHu~♪ You’re like a baby~

Mika: It’s a secret, though. If Oshi-san finds out, he might feel sorry about the fact that he’s always gone overseas.

Oshi-san really wanted to immerse himself in the art he likes there.

I can’t make him change his life just because of how I feel.

Sora: Yes. Sora knows what you’re talking about. Sora is the same~ It doesn’t look like most people would understand, though.

Master~ and Senpai are always trying to do something for Sora, but Sora is fine so Sora wants them to do something more worthwhile.

Sora feels sorry that they have to use their time and feelings for Sora’s sake.

Mika: I know what you mean~ If we told them we’re used to being left alone, I’m sure they’d only get more worried, though.

Sora: Yes. No one can be happy by saying that~

What we can do is become strong enough for them to not worry about us. To grow up into an impressive person so that they’ll be convinced we’re really fine when we tell them.

That’s why we have to be grown-ups quickly, otherwise, they’ll never be able to let go of their children~♪

Mika: Ahaha. Yeah, it really makes you think how dotin’ a parent they can be… We’re not a bunch of kids and we’re certainly not so weak that we always need to be protected.

When will they come to realise that?

…Well, nothing I say right now has any weight to it ‘cause I’m here lyin’ here in bed, though.

Sora: It can’t be helped~ It seems “SSVRS” is too much for highly sensitive people?

When Sora also did the test play-through, Sora felt really dizzy and couldn’t walk properly for three days~

But there shouldn’t have been any issues if it was the device that was modified for Sora…

Mika-chan-san, if you also use one of the devices that’s exclusively made for you, then you probably won’t get sick~

Mika: Ahaha. I was dragged into it against my own will, so I couldn’t get those modifications done.

Sora: Yes. Sora is sorry you got sick because of us.

Mika: It’s fine. “SHINSEKAI” can be pretty fun once you get used to it and it was nice havin’ an opportunity to experience somethin’ special.

We’ll make good use of this experience and create even more glorious pieces of art.

Thanks to you, I also got to dabble in a bit of variety-styled stuff that I don’t usually get to do.

I’ve always been interested in it. Oshi-san doesn’t like it so it was difficult to find work like that, though.

It would be nice if Oshi-san started becomin’ interested in it through our experience of it this time.

It wouldn’t damage our art in any way. If anythin’, I hope it will broaden our horizons and heighten our understandin’.

Oshi-san can turn any negative emotion into a beautiful piece of art, so the concept of variety should be a piece of cake for him.

Seiya: Ahaha. How many times must you say “Oshi-san” for you to be satisfied? You’re violating your “order”.

You’re far too relaxed and “SS” has only just begun.

Mika: Woah, you gave me a fright! H-How long have you been there, Seiya Hidaka…-san?

Sora: S-Sora didn’t notice him, either~

Seiya: Your eyes aren’t as omnipotent as everyone makes them out to be, so you shouldn’t be too overconfident, Harukawa-kun. If you were a first-rate idol, I’m sure you would have no issues deceiving others.

Fufu. In any case, you don’t need to treat me like a stranger by calling me “Seiya Hidaka-san”. Just call me "Great Master" instead, Mika-kun ♪

Mika: My master is Oshi– Onii-chan and him only. Who are you? And why do you keep meddlin’ in my affairs?

Seiya: Well, it has something to do with both my hobby and practical benefits, but I suppose it’s just a little bit of fun. It’s true when I say I expect great things from you, Mika-kun.

You can become a super idol like me. You have the skills for it. Well, perhaps I’m simply mistaken on my end, though.

I’m a good judge of people, you see! The biggest “jackpot” I’ve landed is my wife, but I suppose it would be more accurate to say it was my wife who found me instead…♪

Mika: What’re you talkin’ about? Did you come here to talk about lovey-dovey stuff like that?

Seiya: No, no. I’ve come to ask you two for a favour.

Mika: A favour?

Seiya: Yes. There was some carelessness on our side, but a ghost of the past is trying to wake up.

It’s rather difficult for adults like us to handle it, so we’d like you children to use your young powers to cleanse it.

Adults who are abundant in both experience and wealth always tend to have the wrong idea about this, but in any era, it’s always the children who are stronger than the adults.

That’s because it’s you two – it’s the children who will shape the future.

Leave adults alone and they’ll fall to their deaths on their own, but it’s illogical to let them do as they please forever.

Mika: ………?

← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[phoebe-delia]

Has anyone asked for song #1 yet? I'm very curious which song you're listening to most.

I really enjoy your writing in combination with the song prompts! Thank you for sharing it with the world!

Hello darling! Thank you for this ask. As a matter of fact, no one has requested 1!

My number 1 song is the explicit version of "Potential Breakup Song" by Aly and AJ.

I know, I thought it would be a Taylor Swift song, too! I will say, this playlist was from Apple Music and I recently started using Spotify more so idk if this is still accurate for my current No. 1 song, but it's still a bop.

This is a bit of a challenge, but I figure if I can write a fic based on "Yeah!" by Usher, I can give this a try. This fic will be *mostly* funny and fluffy but there's some angst with a happy ending.

5 Times Draco Almost Broke Up With Harry

1.

"Tell me something," Draco said shyly, tracing patterns into Harry's bare arm. Sunlight streamed into the living room, dust motes dancing in the rays.

"What do you mean?"

"Something I don't already know about you."

"Like what?"

Draco's expression turned exasperated. "I don't know, Harry, that's rather the point."

"Right...er, okay, here's something you don't know about me. I don't like whipped cream."

Draco looked at him, startled. "You don't?"

"Er, no. I also don't like marshmallows or--"

"What?"

"Or avocado, or eggs."

Draco sputtered. "What is wrong with you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Merlin, here we go."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Every time I tell people the foods I don't like, they get all indignant and huffy," Harry waved a hand. "It's so weird. Like I've offended them by disliking meringue."

"You don't like meringue?! That's it, I'm breaking up with you."

Harry groaned. "I regret this. I regret everything. Just--forget it."

Draco sighed. "No, no I'm sorry. In my exaggerated teasing, I see how I might've struck a nerve."

"It's fine--I'm just tired of people taking my food preferences as a personal insult."

"I take everything you do as a personal insult."

Harry just chuckled. "That you do, Draco, that you do."

2.

"POTTER!!"

"WHAT?"

"GET IN HERE!"

"WHERE'S 'HERE'?"

"TAKE A WILD GUESS, AUROR POTTER!"

....

"Ah, good to see that your tracking skills aren't too hopeless. Now, care to tell me what's wrong with this picture?"

"Er...you're angry?"

"Yes, I am angry--and the reason for that is obvious if you merely look around the room and see if you can identify what might be bothering me."

"You get really formal when you're upset."

"Potter--"

"And you call me Potter."

"If only you would use your powers of observation for discovering the cause and not the symptoms of my frustration, this conversation would be over."

...

"Is it my socks?"

"Your socks, your pants, your shirt, your trousers--all in a heap in the closet."

"So? I haven't done laundry in a while."

"Potter, you do realize there are laundry spells, don't you? So that dirty clothes don't stink up one's closet?"

"...No?"

Sigh. "Alright, I suppose I won't move out this time."

"Oh, what a relief."

"Was that sarcasm?"

"Never. Especially not toward you, baby."

"I should hope not. Now, c'mere and let me teach you the spell."

3.

"I can't believe you'd betray me like this." Draco shook his head mournfully, bits of snow falling from the top of his warm hat. "I trusted you."

Harry scoffed. His breath fogged in the air. "I told you this was happening today. It's not my fault you weren't listening."

"Asking me post-coital if I'd like to attend the Weasley Family Brunch is Slytherin-level manipulation."

"Did I ever tell you the Sorting Hat almost put me in Slytherin?"

"What?" Draco stopped walking, turning to Harry in shock.

"Yeah. Told me I'd do well. But you'd been such an arse to Ron that I begged it to sort me anywhere else."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course. Honestly, I did you a favor. You were practically made for Gryffindor."

"Who knows? Maybe we'd have been friends back then."

Draco glared and Harry snickered.

"You know, Potter, between your little jokes and this stunt you pulled, I'm one insult away from Apparating on the spot and leaving you here."

Harry smiled fondly. Taking Draco's hand, he led them toward the Burrow, its warm light a welcome destination in the icy weather.

"Nah, you won't, you know why?"

"Why?"

Harry smirked. "Because then we won't get to be post-coital together."

Draco scowled. Harry laughed.

4.

"Don't say a word."

"Can I just--"

"Harry."

"But I--"

"Potter. Shut up.

...

"Draco I'm sorry--"

"Harry, what is the one thing I asked you to do when you became an Auror?"

"...Don't be stupid."

"Yes. I asked you not to do anything stupid. I asked you not to impulsively put yourself in harm's way."

"Draco it's my job to protect my partner, and--"

"You don't think I understand that? Of course I do! I can't fault you for being a loyal partner, Harry, but running into a hostage situation without calling for backup is the absolute dumbest thing you could've done! You nearly died!"

"But I didn't! And the case is over now."

"You were in St. Mungos for nearly a week! Do you know how agonizing it was to see you like that? Do you--" Draco's voice cracked and he cut himself off, turning away from Harry.

Harry's heart clenched. He walked up to Draco and wrapped strong arms around him from behind, expecting to be pushed away. Instead, Draco leaned into the touch.

"I know your job has its risks, Harry, but the least you can do is not create them for yourself. You said the Sorting Hat nearly put you in Slytherin; some self-preservation would be good for you."

Harry sighed, nuzzling Draco's neck. "Okay. I'll try."

Draco turned in his arms, looking at Harry with wet eyes. "Good. The last thing I want to do is break up with you, but I couldn't handle it if I lost you any other way, I--" The tears spilled at that. Draco's face flushed in embarrassment, in anguish.

Harry's chest constricted. He pulled Draco close to himself and stroked his hair, letting the other man cry his fears into his shirt.

"I won't let it happen, Draco. I promise."

Draco nodded, his cheek brushing Harry's shirt.

Harry smiled. They'd be okay.

5.

Draco was going to kill Harry.

He was going to break up with him, and then kill him, and then revive him just to break up with him once more.

He cast a Tempus. 8:20.

Over an hour. Over an hour he'd been waiting for Harry to return home. He was beginning to get hot in his tailored suit, despite the cooling charms.

He hadn't heard anything. No Owl, no Floo, no nothing. Either Harry had no respect for decorum or...

Nope. Draco couldn't go there, wouldn't. Harry promised and he always kept his promises.

Suddenly, the Floo roared to life, making Draco jump. Harry stumbled through with a panicked expression on his face, dusting the Floo powder from his formal robes.

"Draco! Merlin, I'm so sorry, I thought I had time and then everything got all screwed up and I got here as fast as I could."

Draco sighed. "It's fine, Harry, let's just order takeaway."

"Why?"

"Well, we missed our reservation. Cerise won't wait for more than thirty minutes."

Harry pursed his lips. "What if I had something else in mind?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

With a smirk, Harry tossed him a hairbrush, which Draco caught with Seeker instinct.

"Harry wh--" His eyes widened as he felt the pull of a portkey, the sound of Harry's amused laughter echoing behind him.

He landed with a thud on a balcony. After a crack, Harry appeared next to him, gasping to catch his breath for a moment.

"Potter, what the fuck?"

Harry chuckled. "Surprise! Look around, Draco."

Draco's breath caught as he finally took in his surroundings. They were standing on a balcony in Paris, confirmed by the sight of La Tour Eiffel in the distance. The lights of the city twinkled like stars below them. On the balcony were two chairs and a small table with hot food under a stasis charm. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat ready for them. Draco checked the label and confirmed with a gasp that it was a 1989 Chateau Lafleur.

"Harry, I--" Draco turned around but was startled into silence at the sight of Harry on his knee, a hopeful smile on his face and a small black box in his hand.

Draco's eyes went wide. "What?" He breathed.

Harry bit his lip. "Draco, I'm sorry I don't like whipped cream. I'm sorry I forget to do laundry, and that I dragged you to Sunday dinner. I'm sorry that I worry you sometimes because my job is dangerous. I'm sorry I run late to our dates sometimes.

But I promise to give you the avocado from my sandwich. I promise to try to remember the spells you taught me, and to use my manipulative powers for good and not evil. I promise I'll use better judgment in the field. And I promise I'll try to be on time for our dates.

And I promise to do all of this for as long as I can, as long as you let me. And if you do--if you promise to love me for the rest of our lives--I promise to do the same. Draco Malfoy, will you marry me?"

Draco let out a delighted, euphoric laugh. "Yes, yes of course I'll marry you!"

Harry grinned and rose from his knee to pull Draco into a nearly bruising kiss. When they pulled apart, they pressed their foreheads together and looked as Harry slid the ring, a simple silver band with tiny emeralds, onto Draco's finger.

As they ate dinner, looking out over the city, Harry gave him a cheeky grin. "So, tell me, how'd I do?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "With tonight? The proposal?"

"Yeah, what'd you think? I hope it made up for me being late. I'm sure you were about ten minutes from breaking up with me," Harry said with a chuckle.

Draco shook his head and smirked. "No, Harry," he raised the glass of wine to his lips. "I'd never do that."

Send me an ask about Harry Potter, broadway/musicals, The West Wing, and/or Taylor Swift! Or just about life in general :).

Also, I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Pick a number 1--99 and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on it!

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Chapter 6: Let’s Play a Game (Overprotection)

Prev

AO3

Marinette ended up not staying for dinner. She talked to Bruce for a little bit, but he had to leave for some WE emergency and Marinette wasn’t really up to bonding with the boys- her brothers- yet. But that was fine. It wasn’t like she was desperate to get to know the man and wouldn’t be able to after this trip because she had to stay in Paris because of Hawkmoth. No, she wasn’t upset. Not at all. It didn’t hurt her feelings. Nope.

---

Walking into Madame Soleil's Wax Museum with Adrien by her side, Marinette is hit with a major wave of deja vu. And not a good deja vu. No, the memories of the last time she was in a wax museum with Adrien were awful, humiliating and- feeling a hand wrap around hers pulls her from her spiraling thoughts. Glancing down, Marinette tries (and fails) to hide her grin. Adrien is holding her hand. Adrien is holding her hand!

“Hey Marinette!” A familiar voice calls, a hand squeezing her shoulder, making Marinette squeal and whirl around.

“Dick? What are you doing here?” She asks, frowning at the boy- her brother- as he stands there with a huge smile.

“Well I heard that a new wax figure is being revealed today, and I thought I might come and see it.” He says with a nonchalant shrug.

“Really? Who?” Adrien asks. Dick’s smile twitches slightly as he glances at Marinette, making her frown. Was he seriously about to play the overprotective big brother card? Really?

“Jagged Stone.” Dick finally says, glancing at their entwined hands. Marinette tries hard not to roll her eyes. Come on, her crush is finally holding her hand and her brother (who she’s known for a day!) is seriously trying to ruin that for her?

“Oh cool! Do you think he’ll come to Gotham to see it, Mari?” Adrien asks.

“I think he’s definitely scheduled to make an appearance in Gotham in the next couple days. He’s picking up his new suit in person.” She whispers, grinning at the idea of seeing her “Uncle” in person again. He’d been touring for several months and she hadn’t been able to see him for awhile, just the occasional video call.

“So! What figures did you guys want to check out first?” Dick asks, wedging himself between the two and forcing Adrien to drop her hand. Glaring at her brother, Marinette scoffs when Dick just smiles innocently.

“The hall of heroes and villains sounds cool.” Adrien suggests, looking around Dick to see Marinette.

“Hmm. Okay, but if the Nightwing figure is in his disco costume, I reserve the right to melt the statue.” She says, frowning at the choked noise Dick makes. “Are you okay?” She adds.

“Oh, uh, yeah, yeah I’m fine. What’s 1so bad about that costume?” He asks, a hurt expression on his face.

“Have you even seen it? The only worse costume is Riddler’s.” Marinette says, adding a shudder for dramatic effect. Walking past the local celebrities room and the pop stars room, Marinette’s eyes widen as their small group walks into the hall of heroes and villains. Walking away from Dick and Adrien, she’s almost instantly drawn to the Batman figure. She reads the little plaque about the artist and frowns, turning to Dick who had moved to stand next to her.

“I thought it’d be taller.” She says, scrunching her eyebrows in confusion when Dick starts choking on air, gasping for breath as broken chuckles flood out of him. “Ookay then.” She mutters, turning and walking back towards the villains. Nightwing was, luckily, depicted in his most recent costume. As was Robin. Which meant the only real fashion tragedy (besides the god awful helmet Red Hood wore) was the Riddler. Pulling her sketchbook out, Marinette circles the wax figure, occasionally making notes and sketching out slight adjustments to the man’s costume.

“His costume might be terrible, but it’s still better than half of the akumas.” Adrien whispers, leaning over her shoulder. Marinette looks up at him, eyes wide as her face heats up with a blush.

“I, uh, um, yes. Yeah.” She says, trying not to wince at her lack of speaking skills. “I mean, at least we can rule out any fashion designer in Paris as Hawkmoth. Because if Hawkmoth was a designer, that’d almost be a bigger crime.” She adds, smiling as Adrien laughs.

“Good to know you’re not moonlighting as Hawkmoth, m’lady.” He says with a mock bow. Marinette snorts, then covers her mouth, embarrassment rushing over her. Adrien just shakes his head, wrapping an arm over her shoulders.

“In case you forgot, we’ve definitely seen each other at our most embarrassing.” He says, making her groan.

“Oh god, no. I tied us up with my yoyo!” She moans, turning and burying her face into his chest so she doesn’t have to look at him anymore. Her face heats up more when she feels him chuckle and wrap his arms around her.

“I’ve always thought that was paw-sitively adorable.” He says, laughing when she groans again. She pulls away slightly, looking up at him with a timid smile. He smiles back, starts to lean forward and-

“Hey guys! I heard they’re about to unveil the Jagged Stone figure. Come on, let’s go! Don’t wanna miss it.” Dick says, grabbing each of their hands and pulling them towards the exist (and successfully separating them again). Marinette tries not to glare at Dick. She’s about to have one less brother.

---

Dick Grayson wasn’t used to having a little sister that he could protect. Sure, he had a little sister. Cas was awesome, but she could also kick his ass without breaking a sweat. No, he’d never had a little sister to protect. Someone he could watch out for and support. But now….now he has Marinette. And he’ll be damned if he lets some little punk take advantage of his little sister. Ignoring Marinette’s glare, he positions himself right between her and...the boy. He’d need to ask Timmy to do a background check on the kid later. Especially if he thought he was good enough for Marinette.

“So are you guys big Jagged fans?” He asks, trying to pull the two back into a conversation. He narrows his eyes at the smile the kid gives Marinette. It’s too...adoring. Too much. She’s only...what, fourteen? Much too young to date. Especially this kid.

“Mari’s a bit of a fan, I think. But, personally, I much prefer Jagged’s designer.” He says, and Dick turns to him, missing the way Marinette’s face turns bright red.

“Are you talking about MDC? I love them! Their work is amazing! And Jagged Stone says that he’ll never have another designer. I heard that there’s a possibility of them opening their commissions again. God, I hope they do. I’d do anything for something made by MDC.” Dick rambles with a wide smile, deciding to ignore the kid for a minute in order to ramble about his favorite designer. As the group walks into the pop star room, Dick steps back and glares at the kid. He’d stepped just behind Dick and was apparently trying to hold Marinette’s hand again. Not on his watch. No siree. No one’s gonna hurt his little sister.

---

Bruce sighs, running his hands through his hair. He’d been checking the street cameras in Paris, trying to figure out what time Ladybug and Chat Noir patrol so that he can set up a meeting. Try and offer help, or maybe even offer to take control of the situation. Anything to get rid of Hawkmoth. But instead, it was like the heroes didn’t exist. He’d read reports of the heroes patrolling before, so why were they so quiet this week? The only akuma from the past couple days wasn’t even taken care of by both of them. Ladybug did it alone, and seemed worse for the wear when she came out of the battle. Where was Chat Noir? And why did it seem as though they had gone into hiding?

---

Marinette was five seconds away from committing her first murder. Okay, probably her only murder, unless her other brothers decide to be as involved in her love life as Dick is. Because Dick won’t have the chance to be a problem for much longer. Because Marinette was honestly going to kill him. Right as she turned to finally yell at him, and tell him to knock it off, the lights flickered. She pauses her tirade, glancing to gauge Dick’s reaction to see if this is normal. And if his worried glances back at her are anything to go by, this is not normal.

“Let’s play a game! Solve my riddles and you all can leave freely, but make a mistake and someone will pay greatly! Take one out and scratch my head, I am now black but once was red. What am I?” A man’s voice asks, Marinette frowning as the Riddler walks in, a wide smile on his face. Ten goons walk in behind him, all of them carrying guns. She was used to the akuma attacks almost every day, but didn’t Gotham’s rogues have anything better to do than attack every place her class went? With guns? Come on. Riddler smirks and points at Adrien with his cane.

“A match.” She blurts out, ignoring Dick frantically shaking his head. If nothing else, she should be able to work with Adrien to get everyone out. But she knew his style. And riddles weren’t really his thing.

“Oh goody. We have a volunteer. Tell me, what has to be broken before you can use it?” Riddler asks, stalking towards her. Thinking for a second, Marinette tries to suppress a smile.

“An egg.” She says. Riddler narrows his eyes.

“I have 13 hearts, but no lungs or stomach. What am I?” He asks, Marinette frowns, running through possible answers in her head.

“A deck of cards.” She finally says.

“Buzzy, come over here and hold onto our friend.” Riddler says, gesturing to one of the goons. The man comes over and grabs Marinette’s arm roughly, she winces. That’ll definitely bruise.

“I answered your riddles.” Marinette says, deciding that now's as good a time as any to start distracting the man.

“And how did you answer them so quickly?” He asks, the frustration clear on his face.

“What do you mean? Were they supposed to be hard?” Marinette taunts, ignoring the choked sound Dick makes behind her. She knew what she was doing. She did. She had to.

“Why you-” Riddler starts, stepping forward and pulling his hand back as if to hit her. Squeezing her eyes shut, Marinette waits for the slap. The slap never comes. Opening her eyes, Marinette’s jaw drops when she sees the Riddler’s fist held tightly in Dick’s hand.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” He says lowly, a dark look on his face. Well that was unexpected. Riddler opens his mouth, probably to start spouting more riddles or other nonsense, when the goons blocking the exits drop. Noticing Red Robin and Red Hood picking off the other goons, Marinette throws her elbow back into the gut of the goon holding her. Not waiting for him to recover, Marinette stomps his foot and twists out of his grip. Grabbing his arm, Marinette manages to yank the man off balance and toss him to the ground. A hand on her shoulder makes her jump back and prepare to hit the person.

“Whoa, whoa, it’s okay ma’am.” The voice attached to the hand says. Marinette whirls around, ready to tell off the person, but immediately stops when she sees Red Robin.

“Sorry!” She yelps, jumping away from him. And she was too. She was determined to hit the person who grabbed her shoulder, so locked into battle mode, but she had managed to stop herself. Glancing around the room, Marinette notices Dick talking to Red Hood, his usual smile back on his face. That’s good. That’s normal, that’s right. The sudden blaring of the akuma alarm makes Marinette want to scream in frustration. Really, right now? It’s definitely already dark in Paris which means- Chat Noir. Ignoring everyone else, Marinette runs over to Adrien and grabs his hand.

“Akuma?” He asks, his voice low. She nods and tugs him towards the bathrooms, unaware of the eyes following them out.

Next

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @imarivers8 @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks

[themaribatpit]

Hanging by a Thread: Chapter 4

Rated M: DC canon-typical violence, suggestive threats, alcohol (drink responsibly)

Author’s Note: Thank you to @rebecarojas07 for calmly and patiently trying to explain American things to us in the comments of the last chapter.  

Content Warning: Adrien/Chat Noir salt, mostly references to his actions in Syren, there will also be some Chloe and Lila salt.   All for the purposes of making Marinette’s own self doubt and angst clear.  This is going to be a very angst-heavy chapter, you have been warned.  

Ships: Jason Todd/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Dick Grayson/Barbara Gordon (side ship).

Taglist:

@aespades​, @neakco, @ladybug-182, @seraphichana, @zalladane, @luminous-carrot, @jayjayspixiepop, @cap-noodles, @livelifeauthorstyle, @thepaceperson, @moongoddesskiana, @vroomtaka, @laurcad123,  @prettylittlebutterflie, @twsssmlmaa

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Chapter 4

On one of the nights she went out searching, Marinette found the Red Hood perched on a rooftop next to a gargoyle.  A gargoyle that was probably looking a lot less serious than he was at that moment.  There was no doubt as to how they found each other.  It was how they found each other at the warehouse, at the dockyards, and now here on a rooftop. She slowly approached him from behind. “I know you’re behind me.” spoke the Red Hood without turning his head to look behind him. Ladybug froze as the Red Hood addressed her, as if he had eyes on the back of his head.  Ladybug remained silent, unsure of how she should proceed, until Red Hood broke the ice. “Y’know I wonder, how you always seem to find me no matter what. It’s almost as if you have some kind of Me Detector.”  Ladybug stuttered, trying to think of an answer. She grew silent and looked down. He looked towards her ”You don't have to answer, I figured it out. You can see the red thread that ties us together as well, right?” she nodded her head.    “Only way you seem to find me each time. I’ve been able to see it for as long as I can remember, what about you?” He asked. 

“Me too, I was always able to see it, and it went grey when you...” Marinette said, as if she still found it hard to believe that such a thing could happen to someone.  “Did anyone ever tell you how I died?” he asked. Marinette looked away, as she tried to hide the look on her face.  “Yes,” she answered meekly.  She sighed and shook her head, trying to remember why she went looking for him at all.  She took a couple of steps closer towards him.  “What matters is I wanna help,” she said. “Why? You don’t even know half of what I’ve been through.”  he growled, he turned to face her.  His helmet was still on, but his low harsh voice made his emotions very clear at that moment.

“Then tell me,” she said calmly, “trust me I’ve dealt with people who gave into their negative emotions, I can help you.” She had come too far to give up now, and she wasn’t about to turn back over something that she could help him with.  “Not like this,” he said, “listen to me when I say the boy you got matched with died that night.  He died because he was an idiot, who got himself killed by a psychotic clown.”  Was she supposed to turn back and abandon him now? Should she have just settled for someone else back in Paris?  The answers were no and absolutely not.  The person who stood before her might not have been the person she had imagined her soulmate to be, but she didn’t have the heart to abandon him now.  She could help him, whatever it was she was sure that she could find a way to help him, maybe with Tikki and Plagg’s help.  If what she was told about him was true, then he surely understood what they both went through in the past.  They both became crime fighters at a young age, they were thrust into situations where the fate of their world rested on their shoulders.  They were alike in a lot of ways that neither of them realised.  

"Please tell me, let me help you Jason." she begged.

"Do. Not. Call. Me. That." He growled and stomped towards Ladybug, their faces mere centimetres apart. "So who was it that told you? Was it Dick? Babs? The old man?"

Jason knew it would take a lot more than that to push her away, but he had to.  Even as Robin was still inside him,  railing against the bars that kept that part of him caged.  But he was dead in every meaningful sense of the word, and in his place was a cursed monster.  For both their sakes, he was trying to keep Ladybug at arm’s length, he was nothing like the gaudy rogues gallery she dealt with back in Paris.  A part of him wanted her help, but he doubted that neither she nor her fairy pals had any idea what they were dealing with.  To top it off, she was probably already under the Bat clan’s protection.  They weren’t even on the same side, so that added another complication into their already tangled bond.  He looked up at her and there it was again, that wide eyed sad look on her face.  Jason tried not to look at it for too long, no matter how much it made his heart ache to do so.  “What would it take for you to leave me alone?” he asked, “Want me to cut my own foot off?”

“I’m not even sure it’s that easy,” she said “I was always told that it will stretch and tangle, but never break.  That and it goes grey if one of us dies, that’s all I know.” “Look, I don’t wanna hurt you, Pixie,” he told her, “even I have limits.”. “Oh yeah? And what are they?  Am I just small fry to you, is that it?” she asked, Ladybug looked away as tears began to form in her eyes.  “Are you just disappointed to find out that I’m your soulmate?”

Marinette had come too far only to be told no, and no one has given her a clear answer as to why she couldn’t help him.  It seemed to be something more than the fact that he was a crime boss.  What brought her here in the first place was the fact that their soulmate bond had reignited.  It was truly at that moment where the two sides of herself felt like they were merging.   Marinette was trying to make sense of what everyone was telling her.  There was a reason why even he was refusing to let her at least try to help him. Ladybug would have been able to fix this problem in no time at all, while Marinette was on a gargoyle adorned rooftop begging her soulmate to let her help him.  

She barely noticed that the Red Hood was suddenly standing very close to her, she felt a gloved hand tilt her chin up to look at him.  She was still looking into the two white lights in his helmet.  “Do yourself a favour, and get as far away from here as you can.” he told her in a low but gentler voice, “I’m telling you this because you’re my soulmate, I don’t want you getting hurt because of me. You got that?” he let go of her and turned away, going back to the spot he was perched on. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” she said whilst on the verge of tears, and with a twirl of her yo-yo she swung away into the night. Jason tried to ignore the ache in his chest, he was telling himself that he had to keep her away from him.  He was already used to not being trusted, but at that moment her sincerity and kindness were just too much for him.  There were other people out there who were far more deserving of it.  If she got too close to him, too close to the flame that was only stoked by the Lazarus pit, she would only get burned.  He already knew he would never forgive himself if she got hurt, their soulmate bond would probably just end up adding salt to that wound.  In a way he was starting to see why they were bound together, that’s what made it hurt even more.  They were very different people, that much was obvious. Maybe the divine being that bound them together thought it would be funny in a “opposites attract” kind of way.  Unfortunately for him, one of the things they had in common was that they were both very stubborn people.  That became clear when he realised it would take a whole lot more to get her to stay away from him. Over the next few days, Marinette threw herself into her design work, trying to take her mind off of her encounters with her soulmate.  Tikki was looking increasingly worried as she avoided talking about it, preferring to stay up all through the night working on her design projects.  Her designs tended towards soft fabrics and pastel colours. It was possible this was an attempt to avoid thinking about a certain someone who wore a red helmet and was dressed in Kevlar and leather. 

One night, Marinette got a text from Zoe, telling her that they were going out drinking with some friends.  She invited Marinete to join her, and she thought a night out would help take her mind off things.  As she looked through her wardrobe for something to wear, Tikki tried to approach her.  “Marinette, we need to talk,” she said, looking over at Plagg who was more interested in devouring the slice of camembert that Marinette had given him. ”You’ve been busy lately, and I just wanted to know if you were okay.” she said.

“I’m fine, what’s there to talk about?” Marinette said flippantly, holding the two different dresses up to her body as she decided which one to wear.  She didn’t want to talk about her soulmate, or even the mountain of work that she had just completed.  She wanted to go out and have some fun with her friends.  

“It’s just that you seemed distraught by what happened, we tried to warn you not to get your hopes up...” Tikki began. “I’m fine,” Marinette said in a harsher tone of voice, “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Marinette, it's probably for the best, we...”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it!” Marinette snapped, “I came all this way to find my soulmate, only to find that my soulmate doesn’t want anything to do with me.  You were right Tikki, I should have just stayed home in Paris, is that what you wanted to hear?” Tikki looked to Plagg for help, but Plagg didn’t say anything in response.  “Listen Marinette, maybe whoever tied you two together made a mistake. Maybe this Red Hood is right and it will only end in tragedy. ” “Choosing me to wield the Ladybug Miraculous, hell, choosing me as your Guardian could have also been a mistake. Did you think of that?” Marinette argued.

“That was different, you proved yourself to be worthy of the Miraculous.” Tikki piped up, “This boy...”

“What? I’m good enough to wield magic jewelry but I’m not good enough for a guy who isn’t Chat Noir?” Marinette argued. “No!” Tikki cried, “I meant that this person might not be worthy of you.  Our magic, it did something to him, Marinette.  I can sense it, I can’t quite put my finger on it but something is wrong here.”

“I know, I have spent my teenage years fighting people who have been turned into supervillains because of their negative emotions!  Why should this be any different?” Marinette yelled.  “I managed to do it mostly by myself, with a partner who would rather spend most of the battle joking around and getting in the way!”  Marinette was getting heated, but she had far too much pent up emotion to care at that moment.  “And the way he would go on and on about us being soulmates, I hated it. Now I hate it even more because now I know for certain that he was wrong.” Marinette recalled. If she was still in Paris, she might worry about an Akuma finding her in this state.  

“You became a hero to help those people! It’s why you were suited to become a Guardian.” Tikki said.  Marinette wondered what good those powers were to her now? What was the point in being a hero who couldn’t save people? “I wouldn’t know,” Marinette spat bitterly, “right now I just remember you telling me that I had to be the perfect Ladybug, and an even better Guardian.”  It was true in a way, she already knew that Ladybug was perfect while Marinette was not.  Ladybug was confident, strong, and smart, she was able to save the day with nothing but her wits and whatever tool Tikki gave her to improvise with.  Marinette was the one who got bullied by Chloe and Lila, and Adrien did nothing to stop them.  Their adoration for Ladybug added salt to the wound, at times it almost made Marinette despise her other persona.  “You don’t mean that,” Tikki said before she turned to Plagg, “Plagg, say something, please.” she begged. “I mean, she certainly took it a lot more seriously. One time Chat Noir threatened to take off his Miraculous if I didn’t tell him a secret Ladybug was keeping at the time.” he said flippantly, before devouring the last of the cheese.  “Only thing that stopped him was Master Fu showing up with a potion.” He recalled, there was a silence that followed.  Plagg looked up and saw the two of them staring back at him.  Tikki looked shocked by the revelation, while Marinette looked absolutely livid.  “So I couldn’t do anything, step one foot out of line without you,” she pointed at Tikki, “breathing down my neck about being perfect.” she said in a harsh voice that was seething with rage, “Meanwhile, Chat Noir threatened to just toss the Miraculous aside and Plagg drew the line at being blackmailed into revealing a secret that was not mine to tell?”  Marinette’s fists were clenched tightly, her knuckles were bone white, and Tikki was a little afraid of her. “Marinette, please...” Tikki begged. “No,” Marinette growled, as she took off the Ladybug earrings and slammed them into the Miracle Box. She didn’t want to hear what Tikki had to say to her at that moment.  She was going to go out and have a nice night with her friends, where she wouldn’t have to think about any of this.  She stuffed them back into the box, before she looked over at the pink and white polka dotted dress that was strewn over her bed.  

There were two kinds of people who went to bars that didn't card: college students and legally dead people.  Jason was in the latter group, and long before that, he knew the location of every bar in Gotham that wouldn't card him.   Right now, he was trying to enjoy a few cold beers by himself.   It was usually quiet, he could sit, drink and drown out the the memory of the sad look in his soulmate's eyes whenever it flashed in his mind.  It was probably for the best, at least that's what Jason told himself.  Even if she was a superhero herself, what worried him the most was showing her the full force of what the Lazarus pits turned him into.  He didn't even think her fairy friends knew about that, the League of Assassins certainly didn't see it coming.

A small group of college aged girls made their way into the bar.  Out of the corner of his eye, the group looked like they were about to form a rainbow.  He heard a mixture of English, French and Italian bubbling from their little group. He looked over to see that among them, there was a brunette dressed all in black and grey,  a blonde with dyed pink streaks in her hair, and a dark haired girl in a pink dress.  They were a colourful bunch of people, probably Gotham University students on a night out.  One of them went to go and get the first round of drinks while the others gathered round a table in a separate booth.   Sometimes Jason would look over and his eyes would fall on the girl in the pink dress, who was now holding a glass of wine in her hand.  He told himself it was because she happened to be facing towards him.  If he stared too long, the blonde next to her might notice and point it out to her.  So he looked away, taking a deep drink from his own bottle.  

Zoe’s invitation couldn't have come at a better time.  Marinette drank deeply from her wine glass, as she tried to enjoy herself and drown out the argument she had with Tikki.  She took her role as Ladybug and Guardian of the Miraculous seriously, it infuriated her that the person she considered her partner didn't feel the same way.   She tried to drown out the possibility that not only had Master Fu chosen wrong, but that whoever had chosen her soulmate had too.  At the very least, her soulmate seemed to think so too.  Maybe it would be easier to throw the Miracle Box into Gotham Bay and hope that it would take her memories with it.

By the time Marinette was a couple of glasses deep into her efforts, Zoe leaned in to whisper something to Marinette.  "That guy's been staring at you for the past 15 minutes now." Zoe told her.  Marinette was pulled from her thoughts, as she looked over at Zoe.  

"What guy?" Marinette asked.

"Okay don't look now, but he's literally right in front of you." Zoe told her, "I'm sure he'll buy you another glass of wine if you bat your eyelashes at him."  Marinette playfully pushed Zoe away.  As she took another sip of wine, she looked over the rim of her glass at the guy Zoe pointed out to her.  Across the room, she could see the guy had dark hair framing a very sharp and angular face.  He wore a leather jacket, dark jeans and a t-shirt, he was certainly handsome, she'll give him that.  She wasn't going to just walk right up to him and ask him to buy her a drink.  

"He looks all right," Marinette said, trying to ignore Zoe's raised eyebrow.

Just as the other guy was getting ready to buy another drink, Zoe saw her chance.  She grabbed Marinette by the shoulders and pushed her towards the guy staring at her.  As the two ploughed towards the bar, people stepped back to give them a clear path towards the man sitting by the counter. 

Jason turned back around, curious at the ruckus behind him. Both Marinette and Jason froze as their eyes met, the two looked down to see the red string of fate. Zoe took this as a good sign, maybe this was love at first sight. As the two remained silent, Zoe nudged Marinette. When that didn't work, she dragged Marinette by the wrist and sat her down on the nearby stool.  Zoe then gave Marinette a light tap on the shoulder, a wink and a thumbs up before going back to her group of friends.

[fridayfirefly]

Things Found in the Tampon Aisle

Read Things Found in the Tampon Aisle on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 2 - First Time

It was Dick's first time in the tampon aisle, and he was entirely lost. Cass had sent him to the store to buy chocolate and tampons, but he left his phone at home, which was the reason that he was standing in the middle of the tampon aisle, staring blankly at the wall of tampon boxes, with no clue in the world what kind to buy.

A girl pushing a cart walked down the aisle towards him, typing away at her phone. She was his age, probably also in college, and also probably with some knowledge of how tampons worked.

"Excuse me," Dick ventured.

She looked up at him, her stormy blue eyes focusing on him. "Yes?" Her accent was just slightly French, enough that Dick knew that she wasn't a native English speaker, but not enough that he could pinpoint exactly where she came from.

"My sister sent me to the store to buy tampons, but I left my phone at home and so I can't ask her what kind she wants. I thought I could just wing it but there are just way too many options. I was just wondering, would you have any idea...?"

The girl gave him a bemused look. "I wouldn't happen to know her exact tampon preference, but your best bet would probably be..." She scanned the wall for a moment before grabbing a box and handing it to him. "These."

"Thanks. I was worried that I'd buy something completely wrong, and I'd have to come all the way back to the store to get ones that would work."

"No problem."

"Question number two: why are there so many different types of tampons? How many different versions does a woman need?"

The girl shrugged, still smiling. "Every vagina is different. Different vaginas need different menstrual products."

"Okay, thank you for answering my weird and mildly invasive questions. Question number three: why are they so expensive, if they're a necessity?"

"Ugh. Don't get me started. It's so stupid, how expensive they are, especially since getting your period isn't a choice." Her face brightened up for a moment. "I just realized that we haven't even introduced ourselves yet. I'm Marinette."

"Dick, short for Richard. Or, if you're my brothers, it's short for 'quit being such a dick'."

Marinette laughed. "Your brothers sound interesting. How many do you have?"

Dick sighed. "Three. I love them, but they drive me crazy sometimes."

"I never had any siblings, but I had some crazy friends in high school. We would sneak out at night and roam the city - it's a miracle none of us got killed."

"So you have a dangerous side."

"I wouldn't call it a dangerous side," Marinette giggled. "It was just a little bit of teenage rebellion."

"How about I walk with you while you finish your shopping, and you can tell me more about your teenage rebellion antics."

Marinette smiled at him as they started to walk down the aisles. "Okay, so in middle school, I had this really tight group of friends. We hung out all the time. The only problem was that Adrien's Dad was kind of a bastard, so we had to be sneaky with our fun. That led to us sneaking out every night to mess around in the streets of Paris under the cover of darkness."

"That seems a little dangerous for middle schoolers."

Marinette laughed at Dick's comment. "Just you wait, it gets worse. When we were fourteen, Adrien got really into parkour, so we had the brilliant idea to practice parkour on the rooftops at night. I rolled my ankle three or four times and bruised a few ribs, but I came out of the experience mostly unscathed, with a newfound appreciation for the balconies of Paris."

Dick's eyes widened as she told her story. "I must admit, I expected something a little tamer. Like sneaking out to drink in the park, not parkour on the rooftops." Marinette's story sounded a lot like the kind of thing that his family would do, and that was really saying something.

Marinette blushed, grabbing a box of farfalle pasta off the shelf.  "We were thirteen and thought we were invincible. It was fun while it lasted. All I get out of it now is that I use it as my icebreaker when I have to tell people about myself. People are always impressed by extreme parkour."

"I'll bet." Dick and Marinette got to the checkout line. With his two purchases - tampons and dark chocolate - Dick went first.

Then went Marinette, with her cart full of groceries. One the cashier finished bagging them and Marinette finished paying, she glanced over the receipt. "Oh, I think you forgot to scan the milk." She handed the receipt over for the cashier to check, then paid for her milk, all the while the cashier thanked her.

"It's no problem," Marinette assured the cashier.

Dick was surprised. Most people got excited when the checkout clerk forgot to scan something, but Marinette instead checked herself to make sure she had paid for everything.

Once Marinette and Dick made it out the doors of the grocery store, Marinette turned to him. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Dick."

Dick saw his opportunity and took it. "Could I give you my number, and we could maybe meet up sometime?"

"Sure." Marinette smiled as she wrote her number down on the back of Dick's receipt. "I just moved into a new apartment last week, so I'm a little busy right now, but we should definitely meet up again."

"See you soon," said Dick as she went her separate way. He wasn't going to forget Marinette any time soon. Athletic, trained in jumping from rooftop to rooftop, strong moral compass - Marinette fit all the boxes of a bat. She even had the black hair and blue eyes that his family was known for. Now all I have to do is figure out a way to tell Bruce that he's adopting another daughter.

@maribatmarch-2k21

[mywrittenmind]

Welcome back

Pairing: Ivar x Reader 

WARNING: Nothing crazy (yet) 

Word count: 1325 

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I was cursing myself for saying yes to Liv’s plea to take over her shift for tonight, it was crazy busy and it seemed like everybody needed some kind of special treatment. On top of that in about 15 minutes a big group would arrive, I had heard rumours that it was going to be some kind of rich family so I was preparing for the snobby attitude I normally received while working at this 5 star restaurant.

The only reason I kept this job was for my three-year-old son, who was staying with my mum tonight, since I need to raise him without a dad by my side. It was a one time thing, but with a consequence, and before I even found out I was pregnant he was back in his hometown Kattegat, leaving me with no way to contact him. We were both young and stupid, and I couldn’t get it over my heart to do an abortion so nine months later Wolfe was born and although very-very-naughty he is the light of my life. 

‘Y/N, I’m leaving you in charge of the group that is coming in. Make sure they’re enjoying themselves, they are important to this restaurant.’ My boss told me, with a nervous twitch in his voice. That surprised me, this guy was known for how good he was at keeping his head cool.

‘Don’t worry, I’ve got this.’ I said trying to reassure him. With still 10 minutes to kill I decide to head out to the roof terrace, which has the most beautiful view over Paris, the Eiffel tower light up in the middle.

As I sit down I pull of my stiletto’s rubbing my painful feet, all the girls here walk around in classy black dresses and heels and the boys wear suits. Over the years I had worked myself up, and by now I was aloud to call myself assistant manager, which meant more money but also way more responsibility.

I glance back one last time before I head to the ‘oh so important group.’ Once inside I hear a lot of noise, men yelling and laughing. Not the way they like it here, but it’s nothing new. And I know straight away which group it is; I could have guessed it, I think to myself as I step into the room and sure enough there they all are, once again.

About four times a year the family of Novgorod come here and make a hell of a lot of noise, eat and drink crazy amounts and leave a huge mess behind. And although it is absolutely not how we run things around here, they are always welcome. You see, the family of Novgorod is a royal family and them coming round to our restaurant makes for great publication. And to be honest I like this fresh wind of craziness every now and then.

The family of Novgorod is known for having great genes, tonight confirming that once again. The whole family look smart (and handsome) as they take their places around the long table we set out the most expensive silverware and wine glasses however judging by their state they’d probably prefer jugging down beer.

‘Hi Dir,’ I say as I pass him, he looks up at me from the table smiling his warm smile. I was their host the first time they came here and always have been whenever they came back, so I had the privilege of being recognized.

‘I want to apologize up front for my family tonight,’ he says looking down the long table, with a somewhat embarrassed expression. It’s sweet how he can feel so responsible about his family even when they’re not in the public’s eye.

‘Don’t you worry, you all bring this place to life.’ I answer giving him a reassuring wink.

It seemed like they were all enjoying themselves as the drinks were flowing and when the food got brought out a roar of approval filled the room. And let me tell you, I was enjoying the annoyed faces of all the other guests.

Everything seemed to be going as planned until Ashley came walking into the kitchen with a weird expression on her face.

‘What is the matter?’ I say, looking around the corner into the room. I see a couple of more guests arrived and I don’t need to look twice to understand why Ashley was looking at me like that.  

There he was like nothing was going on, he just stood there smiling at his friends, and I guess for him nothing ‘was’ going on. He was just out for dinner, how should he have known that I would be here. Let alone that in my tiny flat our child was waiting for me. The same tiny flat where he once stayed the night.

‘Your face says it all.’ Ashley whispers, ‘So the rumours are true. You have slept with him?’ I couldn’t share the excitement she felt. As she opens her mouth to probably ask more questions I hand her a trey with drinks and point towards the room. Reluctantly she takes it and walks towards him, glancing back with suspicious eyes.

‘Y/N, their food is ready.’ I stare at the plates, with no one else around I have to bring it myself. What am I so worried about anyway, it was onetime thing he probably wont recognize me. I think as I grab the plate and try to walk as determined as possible towards prince Igor and the new guests he brought in with him.

‘Good evening,’ I manage to say as I quickly place the plates in front of them, they all seem to have more attention for the food and just as I think I can make an easy escape I see his bright blue eyes interlock with mine and all he needed was that one second to recognize me.

I turn on my heels and before he can say anything I nervously walk towards the kitchen.

The rest of the evening I manage to stay in the kitchen, out of sight of the youngest Lothbrok son. However as the evening progressed they al got more drunk and it seemed like he was getting more restless, limping around, looking for ‘someone’. And when I don’t pay attention for 5 minutes he suddenly stands behind me, in the kitchen, staring at me with that damn sexy grin of his.

‘I know you.’ He says, looking me up and down. No you don’t, I think, you don’t know me at all. You don’t know what I’ve been through the last three years because of that one night with you. My live has been turned up side down.

But all I manage to say is unimpressive ‘Yeah,’ He doesn’t seem to mind however, on the contrary he seemed pretty pleased with himself. I can see him relaxing leaning back against the table behind him. ‘So, what have you been up to? Have you finished your study?’

I choke on my own spit as I think about my study, which I quit for Wolfe, who makes it impossible for me to finish anything. ‘Eh, no. Things… changed.’ There was an awkward silence, as he tried to look me in the eye.

‘What are you doing after work?’ he suddenly asked, stepping forward his face close to mine.

‘Nothing,’ I snatched, and finally saw a way to escape this conversation. I quickly walked towards the cooks, grabbed some deserts for guessts who didn’t belong to the family of Novgorod and took off. When I came back he was gone, to my relief. This was my chance to escape the situation. I should confront him, give Wolfe a chance for a father figure in his life, but whenever I thought about it I could feel my guts turn. So I chose the easy way out and told my boss I was sick and took off.

[rein-ette]

If it hasn't been asked already, do you have any headcanons about France and England's relationship? 👀

Ah, and now we end where I always seem to end. These two cannot get rid of each other, and I cannot get rid of them.

*cracks knuckles* ok idk what you want to hear so I’m just gonna ramble here goes

So before I got my soul stolen by engport, fruk had been, like. Everything. Then I went through a crisis period where I was like 😱 how do I choose 😱 and now I’m like, ok, but why do I have to choose? I think Port and France fill very different roles in Arthur’s life, both of which are essential. Not only that, thinking about engport has helped me better understand Francis and Arthur’s dynamic, so I’ll be comparing a little throughout these hcs.

For me, fruk is a very — latent? — relationship. It’s ironic, bc engport are the ones who actually call themselves best friends and fruk prefer to be known as enemies/occasional lovers, but if you saw them on the street, you’d think France and England were close friends and England and Portugal, are, well, clearly gay for each other. They’re far more openly affectionate, whereas even for those who know them like Spain or Prussia, it can sometimes be hard to believe France and England are dating, let alone head over heels in love.

But they are. It’s just that they’ve been by each other’s side for so long, had those feelings for so long, that they’ve become a part of the background hum, a basic part of their lives. So usually the feelings Arthur or Francis actively feel for each other are mild, everyday things: annoyance, impatience, curiosity, worry. Especially in public/around other nations, they're not touchy or affectionate at all.

But if you know where and how to look, you'll see the signs. A napkin with scribbled math equations, something they argued over at a cafe. A cufflink here, a watch there, all gifts from each other from the hundreds of birthdays they've spent together. Arthur's number listed as an emergency contact on some inane government form. Francis' handwriting on the margins of Arthur's meeting minutes: remember to discuss this with Denmark, the address for a restaurant they're meeting at that night. Francis rereading various titles of english literature, trying to understand him better. Arthur paying for Francis' clothes with his own card without thinking about it. Their lives are intimately, mundanely intertwined in a way that's remarkably rare among nations.

This is actually a rather recent development in their relationship. In my hc Francis and England only started seriously seeing each other right before World War II, and began an "official" (or what passes for official) relationship right after. Then they broke it off for a while again when de Gaulle became president, then got back together shortly after he left office and have more or less gone pretty steady ever since. So that's like, what, a couple decades? A drop in the ocean for a nation. But this easy familiarity they've found doesn't feel new, to them or to anyone else, because in reality they've been building it up for centuries, albeit in unconventional ways. It's almost like through killing, conning, and tearing each other apart, they've lost their fear of each other. Nations have with their own kind a wariness, a constant stumbling block in the back of their mind reminding them no matter how deep their feelings, their interests can never truly align -- and this results in small awkwardnesses like pointedly locked office cabinets and walking away to take phone calls. But such things don't apply to Francis and Arthur. Part of it is the luxury of being allies now, but most of it is the fact that they've seen every side of each other, told every possible lie. Even if Francis did find some shit in Arthur's office, political secrets or otherwise -- what of it? They've planned enough conspiracies with and against each other that short of "I'm plotting a second invasion of Paris with Germany," there's really nothing they can't just scream at each other a little about and then brush off.

Basically what I'm saying is I like my fruk super domestic. But I also like my fruk highkey dramatic. One of the periods in their relationship I think about a lot is right before the American and French Revolutions (Louis XIV era), when I hc that they were in a nearly-entirely-committed, almost-honeymoon-like relationship. This comes from one fic i read that I can no longer find or remember, but where Arthur stays at Versailles for a couple years as the official English Ambassador and they begin a *clandestine* romance that's only half clandestine. This is a time when they were well and truly in love and not afraid to say it -- it was a time when they almost believed they could work out, fairy-tale style. But then the American revolution begins and Arthur is devastated, furious, accusing, betrayed -- they have an explosive fight and their relationship slides right back to hundred years war level hatred for the next century, culminating with Napoleon. The only difference from before is that now Arthur's anger is tinged with a desperate grief ("how could you do this again when you know i love you") and Francis' resentment now has a hint of despair ("I knew we couldn't last, the world is proving me right and i hate it.")

Their relationship slowly, glacially recovers after europe boots Napoleon. In fact, besides a couple proxy wars and shouting matches, the Napoleonic Wars was England and France's last major conflict to date. This coincides with the gradual worsening of Gabriel and Arthur's relationship in the 1900s. At this point Arthur wasn't actually trying to replace Gabriel, and in fact was still deep in denial about his feelings for Francis, but it certainly seemed to Gabriel as if he was being pushed out of Arthur's life and that Did Not Help Anything Whatsoever. Francis, for his part, was incredibly hesitant to push in part because of his lingering fear that they just weren't meant to be, and in part because he actually felt guilty that he was worsening Arthur's relationship with Gabriel, the loss of whom he knew would kill Arthur inside.

I realize I'm going on again so I'll end by saying that now, Francis and Arthur still sometimes have their dramatic moments of "oh shit I'm in love with him, the fuck?" even though the set-piece battles are over. When Francis delivers a particularly elegant speech, for example, or actually puts that mind and sharp tongue of his to work in a pitched negotiation. When Arthur surprises Francis with a weekend getaway, complete with a boat, flowers, and lots of cute blushing and blustering. Or when one of them is seriously ill, overworked, or hurt; when something just snaps one day and all their nightmares catch up to them -- the cold fear and sleepless worry are all reminders of how deep their feelings run, even if they don't constantly make themselves known.