#but i’m significantly better at saying ‘no’ and also when it’s absolutely necessary ‘fuck off with your jesus pamphlets’

[fingertipsmp3]

Realising I maybe don’t actually like my supposed ‘best’ friend

[nebulaniggatry]

I’ve been wanting a breast reduction literally forever bc mfs are just so fucking HEAVY I got like constant back pain and other issues uuuuggghhhh.... but also like...I’m scared lol. Sorry to ask a personal question but is there anything u didnt know abt breast reduction going in that you wish you had? Like, any tips for somebody considering it?

I feel u 😭😭I was scared at first too but it literally went by so fast & the pain isn’t too bad. Just annoying. My doctors were very sweet and informative so I believe I was prepared for it. But I can tell you some things ahead of time if u ever get it ! Just a heads up tho not all doctors do it the same in terms of treatment. Mine didn’t wrap my chest afterwards (hes against dressing the breasts) and he doesn’t believe it’s necessary to give his patients drains/pumps to remove fluid for his procedures. So I’m basically just dealing with the pain and have gauzes taped to where some occasional blood leaks from

Gonna b a bit long so sorry abt that!

Here’s some tips/heads ups:

Ok I didn’t know this but 🤣 you will have to get naked and just stand there awkwardly (your gown is probs draped around your waist) while your doctor draws on your breasts with a sharpie. It lasts a good fifteen mins but it felt like an hour. At least some female nurses will be in there w/ you if your doctor is a man. So mentally prepare for that bc YES it’s very awkward 1/10 😭

You can’t eat at midnight before the surgery and you can’t eat the next day either before the surgery. This includes water - cant drink anything either, but they’ll most likely give you pills to take for that night and morning

You’ll have to give them a sample of your urine before surgery.

Surgery lasts like 2-3 hours. you’ll be awake in no time but you’ll be drowsy ofc. Might be talking nonsense as well lol but you will remember nothing

Buy button down gowns - plenty of cheap ones at Walmart. Waaay easier for you & raising your arms is an absolute no. No shirts unless they have buttons in the front (all the way down) and can be easily slid off. Can’t stress this enough: do not raise your arms

Buy wedged/reclined pillows and stack some regular pillows on top of it! You’ll have to sleep on your back so it’s important you are elevated + for your breathing. & trust me lmfao don’t try to sleep on your side. You will be doing a LOT of sleeping tho & get drained pretty quickly.

Don’t try and pick up anything you dropped. Get someone else to do it I promise it’s not worth it! In general do not pick up anything remotely heavy.

No running, jumping, etc. just stick to slow, casual walks. Take your time getting places

Your medicine might cause food to make you feel unbelievably nauseated with just one bite. I’d say invest in some graham crackers on the first day back to snack on if you can’t stomach anything yet

You might vomit depending on the medicine. Keep a vomit bag nearby.

Drink plenty of water + eat plenty vegetables. Some of these medicines cause constipation.

Your breasts might look strange at first but they’re just swollen so don’t worry about that & freak out lol

Your doctor will (most likely) shrink your areola, lift your breast, and possibly move your nipples to even them out.

(Edit) You might not be able to breast feed in the future depending on the procedure, BUT you now have a significantly lower chance of getting breast cancer bc you got the reduction !!

The pain isn’t unbearable. It feels incredibly sore, aches, and might have an occasional sharp sting from movement. You’ll feel this way more when you’re trying to reach for something or maybe adjusting yourself in bed.

Get some wipes and gauzes for any potential leaks. You most likely won’t be able to shower for 48 hours.

Using the bathroom sucks lol

It’s all worth it tho!! My back feels so much better & I think I can fit into my old shirts again. I can finally see my stomach 🤣 can’t wait to heal

[carminite-wyrm]

Running Onwards, To the Hope of a New Day (Part 3)

Part 1 | Part 2

(Thank you to everyone who's been reading this fic of mine so far! I've really appreciated all your comments! Also, this will eventually be up on AO3, just not yet because I haven't been able to get an account just yet.)

In which Nyx tries his best, realises a few things, learns a new skill, and commits a minor case of arson.

All in all, Nyx was feeling pretty good about his chances, on his ninth run. He’d learnt from his eighth run that, no, setting the black-market dealer’s place on fire, stealing both the explosives and the phoenix down, and quietly dumping the explosives into one of the rivers that ran through Insomnia wasn’t enough to stop the rebels from bombing the signing ceremony. Considering there was more than one cell, he was sadly unsurprised by this. He’d also figured out that whatever was attracting the daemons was attached to the tracker in the hairpin in a way that he couldn’t just remove, which was a shame.

He learned that he needed to give Crowe a phone in some sort of blast-proof container or casing, because while he’d managed to give Crowe the means to contact him and Libertus sooner, the phone would be severely damaged without one. And, because the phone would be broken, Crowe wouldn’t be able to get in contact with them soon enough to stop Libertus from joining the rebels and giving them the vital information that they needed to launch their attack on the Citadel.

He had also found out that if he told King Regis about the traitorous Glaives he knew would survive the Princess’ extraction, that the King would be able to sever their connection to his magic before they encountered them on either the bridge or the overpass.

Unfortunately, its effectiveness was limited by the fact that there were still Glaives that he hadn’t known were traitors, and so they still had ended up rocketing off the overpass when another Glaive, who Nyx belated recognised as Isra Solis (and Crowe had cursed her out even more viciously than Nyx had, because Isra was as talented with frost magic as Crowe was with fire, and the two had been close, before everything went down).

At this point, Nyx was pretty sure that as soon as they got to that first attempt to escape the city, it was almost guaranteed that they’d be crashing the car sooner or later.

At the very least, Nyx thought to himself, as he finally found an old camera case which he hoped would be enough to hide the phone, this should help with stopping Libertus from leaving. Hopefully.

A day later, he awkwardly held the box of Crowe’s things, waiting for Drautos to move out of earshot. As Libertus raged at Crowe’s apparent death, Nyx took a deep breath, and quickly grabbed Libertus, warping them into one of the nearby alcoves (why there were so many alcoves by the morgue, Nyx had no idea, but he’d take it).

“Nyx, what the hell?!” Libertus gasped, nearly losing his balance at the sudden movement if not for Nyx’s steady grip on his arm.

“Lib…I don’t think Crowe is dead,” Nyx said, mustering the most serious voice he could, which was actually pretty serious considering how much potentially hinged on him getting Libertus to listen. “Look, you know how I gave her some of my curatives, right? Well, I also gave her a phoenix down and an extra phone.”

“…Why? What has that got to do with any of this?”

Nyx rummaged through the box in his hands, searching through for any of the items in question. Thankfully (for the point he was making, at any rate), he could not find any of the things that he had given Crowe.

“They said they recovered everything, right?”

Libertus nodded slowly.

“The phone isn’t here. Not even parts of it.”

Nyx was gratified to see the dawning realisation on Libertus’ face, and silently congratulated himself for finally convincing him of Crowe’s continued survival. And hopefully now, Libertus wouldn’t have too many reasons to leave, or at the very least, no reason to give information to that rebel cell.

“So, what you’re saying,” Libertus said, slowly, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. “Is that Crowe could still be alive.”

“Yes, exactly!” Nyx internally was jumping up and down with joy, this was exactly the reaction he wanted.

“We need to go find her.”

Wait, shit. Celebrated too early.

Nyx wasn’t even certain that Libertus would be able to find Crowe, if he went haring off now. And if he lost track of Libertus, then he wouldn’t to be able to assure himself of Libertus or Crowe’s safety. And if Libertus went running off, then that would alert the traitors that their plan hadn’t gone exactly to plan, and Nyx…couldn’t risk them changing the script that drastically.

“With what resources, Lib?” Nyx hissed, holding back Libertus with a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t even know where she is! She still has the phone, presumedly. We should wait for her call.”

“But what if she can’t call? What if she’s been captured by the Niffs, or- or.”

“…Give it a day, Lib. 24 hours, and if we don’t hear anything, we’ll go find her. But don’t you dare leave without me.” Nyx scowled, hoping that his mild concession wouldn’t be necessary. He didn’t exactly want to show off the fact that he knew the approximate area that Crowe would end up in, two days from this point, but 24 hours would give him time to come up with a reasonable excuse. He hoped, at any rate.

“Fine,” Libertus nodded. “24 hours’ll give us time to prepare, either way.”

“And don’t you dare try and resign, we’re going to need the King’s magic for this. Probably.”

“Alright, alright, hero.” Libertus shook his head, patting Nyx on the shoulder. “Worry about Crowe, not me.”

“I am not going to risk losing you as well, Lib.” Nyx scowled.

Libertus’ expression softened, then, and he drew Nyx into a hug.

“You won’t, Nyx.”

But I have. So many times, Nyx didn’t say, basking in the warmth of his best friend’s embrace. So many times, Libertus. I wish I could tell you.

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

When Nyx’s phone rang early the next day, showing the contact for the phone that he had given Crowe, Nyx was unashamed to admit that he broke down sobbing. Frantically hitting the answer button, he listened to Crowe tell him that Luche had nearly killed her, that she’d been rescued in the nick of time by the combined efforts of the phoenix down and a pair of hunters, and that (this time), for some reason, she was actually all the way at Hammerhead.

Why she was all the way there, Nyx wasn’t quite certain, but Crowe had explained that the phone had actually been slightly damaged after the fight with Luche, but when Crowe had been trying to get it to actually make a call, one of the hunters had said that there was a mechanic over at Hammerhead, who could repair it.

Nyx wondered why Crowe hadn’t gone to the outpost last time, surely an outpost as well-established as Hammerhead would have been the ideal place to take an injured Glaive to contact her allies. Then he realised that in the last run, the phone had been completely toasted, and perhaps the hunters had not realised that Crowe was a member of the Kingsglaive, until they had spotted the Imperial dropships and Crowe had gone racing off after them.

Still, he did have some other questions to ask her.

“Wait, hold up, why couldn’t the hunters call us for you? Don’t they have phones of their own?”

“Batteries died.”

Are you fucking kidding me?! Nyx thought. What were the bloody chances of that happening?!

“What.” He said instead.

“Yeah, apparently they were going to head to one of the smaller, nearer outposts because there’s some spares there, but when I told them I needed to get in touch with a member of the Kingsglaive fast, I think they broke like four or five road rules to get me here as fast as they could.”

Nyx couldn’t help but laugh at the image, before slowly managing to calm himself down.

“Can you hold for a moment? I need to get Libertus here before he does something stupid and tries to rush after you.”

“Sure, Nyx. Get him in here, I bet the big guy’s worrying his ass off about me. I sure won’t be going anywhere, the hunters said it was risky enough bringing me all the way over here in the first place.”

Nyx sped down the hallway, and raced for the stairs, almost knocking Luche down the stairs (if only) in his haste to reach Libertus. He slammed open the door, having only wasted a few seconds fumbling with his own set of keys beforehand.

“LIB!” He yelled, as he shut the door behind him.

“What?!” Libertus yelled back, from inside the bathroom, where Nyx could hear the sounds of the shower running. “It better be important, I only just got the hot water running!”

Oh, whoops.

Three minutes later, Nyx was awkwardly sitting on Libertus’ couch whilst Libertus talked with Crowe, the other man significantly less irritated at Nyx’s interruption when Nyx had told him he had Crowe on the other end of his phone. He didn’t mention to Libertus later, when the man had finally re-entered the main area of his flat and put the phone on speaker, that he had definitely heard the sound of Libertus sobbing even with the continued sound of running water. Nyx was honestly just happy that Libertus was still here, still with him, and that Crowe was still alive.

“Shit, Nyx.” Libertus finally said, after Crowe had fully retold her story. “Luche’s a fucking traitor. We should…we should tell the Captain.”

Nyx froze, from where he was preparing to head off to be part of the Princess’ escort into Insomnia.

“I…I’m not sure we should.” Nyx admitted, trying not to make it apparent that he absolutely distrusted anything and everything Drautos said or did. “The details of Crowe’s mission should have been confidential, as soon as she left the city. But despite the precautions that were taken, Luche was still able to find her, and nearly kill her. If Luche’s a traitor, what’s to say there aren’t any other traitors in the Kingsglaive? What’s to say that the Captain’s office hasn’t already been compromised?”

“Shit, is there anywhere else we can take this?”

“What about the Crownsguard Marshal? The Crownsguard deal with internal affairs, right?” Crowe chipped in.

“We could…but I’m due in for Citadel duty in ten minutes, and we can’t afford any possible traitors knowing something’s up just yet.” Nyx scowled, frustrated at how things had lined up. ���Lib, can you see if you can talk to the Marshal?”

“Nyx, you know how I feel about the Crownsguard,” Libertus shook his head. “With my luck, I’d end up just pissing them off, and that’s the opposite of getting them to listen. Chances are, I’m not even going to make it anywhere close to the Marshal’s office.”

“Damn it.” Nyx sighed. “I’ll see if I can find him, when it gets to my lunch break.”

“I’ll see if I can think of any way to get Crowe back here soon, I’m certain Crowe showing up alive will lend support to our whole ‘Luche is a filthy traitor’ argument.” Libertus nodded. “Best of luck, hero.”

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

If one were to inquire as to why Nyx Ulric of the Kingsglaive was currently sitting with his head in his hands, barely an hour after his shift had ended, on the steps just outside the Kingsglaive barracks, he would tell them to politely ‘fuck off’.

It was, perhaps, not the most diplomatic of responses, but Nyx felt it easily summed up how he was presently feeling, after the utter shitshow that was his attempt to find the Marshal of the Crownsguard.

The actual searching and inquiry itself was quite fast. He’d only had to step into the Crownsguard building asking to see the Marshal, only to find out one little thing. One key thing he honestly wished he’d known far sooner, because it explained so many things.

The Marshal was not in the damn city.

Apparently, the man was off on some sort of confidential mission, due to return the bloody day before the signing ceremony for some Astrals-damned reason.

That was too late for any of Nyx’s current (and possibly future) plans.

And there was no way he, a single Kingsglaive, could even get the Marshal to return sooner, it simply wasn’t within the bounds of his current abilities.

So that avenue was closed to him, for the time being. Perhaps there were other people in the Marshal’s office he could approach, but Nyx simply did not know who would be a trustworthy, reliable person he could talk to in that branch of the military.

He briefly considered Fortis, before shaking his head. That man could be relied upon in a crisis, he had to admit, but…to most people, the only crisis happening at the moment was the political nightmare of the ceasefire. To most, it was a matter for diplomats and Kings, not foot soldiers and guardsmen.

Scowling off into the distance, he wondered whether it might have just been best to get Crowe back into the city, so that he could at least go to the King with direct evidence of Luche’s treachery. With any luck, Luche would have spilled everything, and then they could have killed Glauca when he inevitably fought back.

It seemed a bit late to try that this time around, though. Tomorrow, Insomnia would be invaded, after all.

Nyx sighed, before readying himself for his night shift guard duty, and the Princess’ inevitable kidnapping. Time to see if he could, at the very least, keep all his friends alive for longer this time around.

The next morning, he let himself back into Libertus’ room, to kick his plan of ‘Keep The King and My Friends Alive At Least’ into motion.

“Lib, I’m…I’m going to go talk to the King,” He said, and had a moment of amusement at Libertus nearly dropping his bowl of oatmeal in shock. “Crowe’s still at Hammerhead, yeah? Presumably heavily injured, but not injured enough to be unable to hold a call, right?”

“I would assume so,” Libertus nodded, after regaining his composure. “You sure you can get the King himself to listen? He’s a Lucian, and a noble to boot. You know how the combination of the two tend to treat folks like us.”

“…I think he’d listen. We have proof, now, and the next highest-ranked person isn’t even going to be here yet.”

“I still think we should tell the Captain-“

“No!”

Nyx winced as Libertus levelled a critical eye at him, the force of his disagreement clearly a bit…too much.

“Nyx.”

“Yes, Libertus?” Please don’t ask what I think you’re about to.

“Why are you so adamant about not telling the Captain?” Libertus put down his bowl, and crossed his arms, a pose familiar enough to Nyx that he knew Libertus wouldn’t take a vague answer. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I- I think the Captain is also a traitor.” There. He said it.

Nyx waited, as the seconds ticked by, as Libertus seemed to turn the thought over in his head. He waited, for the inevitable doubt, the claims of paranoia gone too far in the wake of Luche’s betrayal.

“I’m guessing you don’t have any evidence, do you.”

Nyx raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t a complete expression of doubt, even if Libertus did still seem highly sceptical of his not-theory.

“No. It’s just,” Nyx fished around for the right word that wouldn’t cause more suspicion, considering he still wasn’t sure he could just outright say ‘yeah I’ve watched Drautos murder King Regis like three times by now’. “A gut feeling. An instinct.”

“Well, your gut instinct hasn’t led us astray much at all, has it,” Libertus sighed, his stance loosening dramatically as he sat down heavily. “Astrals damn it. And considering Drautos is actually respected by the Lucians, they won’t be likely to take your word without actual evidence to back it up.”

“And obviously, I couldn’t exactly break into his house or office to look for evidence.”

“Well, you could, it’d just be difficult.”

“What.”

Libertus shrugged, before gesturing at himself and Nyx.

“We’ve both got magic, idiot.”

“Yes, and? It’s not exactly conducive to breaking and entering, you know. Security cameras exist, and I can’t exactly fireball my way into his office.”

Libertus blinked up at Nyx, before vanishing in the slightest glow of crystal-blue.

“Oh.”

Nyx sat down, on the floor of Libertus’ shoebox of a flat, and laughed into the palm of his hand. He laughed, until he registered Libertus (now visible again), shaking his shoulder.

“You good?”

“I. Yeah,” Nyx wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye. “I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me. Six, it was so obvious all along!”

He looked up at Libertus, and grinned. “Can you teach me?”

“What, now?!” Libertus looked around, before sighing once again. “You want to go searching whilst the Signing Ceremony happens, don’t you? Fuck, of course you are, you reckless piece of shit.”

“Well-“ Actually, I was more thinking it’d be good for a future loop.

“Fine. You’ve got forty minutes before your next citadel guard shift, you better be listening closely, hero. The others in my squad took at minimum three days to hold this for longer than a few seconds. You might be a warp-spammer, but this shit takes more focus than a shield, for all that it drains your magic slower.”

“I’m listening, Lib.”

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

By the time Nyx had to leave for the citadel, he could hold the invisibility for all of two seconds, a feat that Libertus had briefly praised, before going right back to fondly complaining about Nyx’s aptitude with all things magical. It wasn’t enough to be truly practical, but Nyx figured he’d have time to practice it more, next loop.

“You’ll call me, yeah, if anything goes south?” Libertus had asked, grabbing hold of Nyx before he could leave.

“Yeah,” Nyx nodded. “I will.”

An hour later, he was hastily calling Crowe with the coordinates he had by now memorised, as he made his way to the rest of the Kingsglaive with their orders to mobilise. As for Libertus, he’d updated him as to the situation, tasking Libertus with keeping an eye on the situation within the city, and calling him if anything happened.

Obviously, Nyx knew that things were definitely going to happen, but the point was that he wanted Libertus to not run off and potentially get himself killed. Nyx had a plan, this time around, or at least the makings of one, and he was fairly certain he’d be able to keep his friends, the Princess, and the King alive this time around.

First off though, he had to survive the Princess’ extraction.

With a deep breath, he launched himself up onto the Niflheim ship, experience allowing him to stick the landing instead of the awkward crash his first time around. With expert motions, he directed the Glaives through the ship, right up to the point where Pelna found the Princess.

“Pelna, get out of there, now. Don’t go down that corridor, I spotted a really nasty daemon that way.” Nyx said, hurriedly, as he sprinted down the hallway to meet them. He easily ducked under a traitor’s attack, ripping off their mask just before he slit their throat.

He’d forgotten to check their identities the first few times around, too busy with trying to survive and keeping his friends alive, and while he knew he wouldn’t be able to get all of them in one run, he sure could at least find out who a few of them were.

Distantly, as he expertly tripped another traitor and killed them before they could even try and attack Pelna from behind, he wondered how much he had changed, already, with how many times he’d already replayed the past five days. Before this hell week, before the ceasefire, before the time loops, these Glaives had been his fellow comrades-in-arms. He’d saved them, and been saved in turn, on countless missions, in countless fights. And yet here he was, barely batting an eye as sisters and brothers turned on them all, as he cut them down within seconds of them raising their blades and spells against their former friends and allies. Their movements were so familiar, so scripted, he knew exactly how to move to counter their attacks, how to slip under their guard and slice them apart. The only true dangers, it seemed, would be the daemons, Luche and his posse, and General Glauca.

He shoved Pelna back with one hand as they rounded the corner, tanking a fireball from Tredd with his own shield, before retaliating with his own rapid blasts of lightning. He could hear Tredd curse, ducking around his own corner just as a tentacle from the octopus daemon began to tear the ship they were on in two.

He quickly directed Pelna and Lunafreya onto the ship they would escape in, nodding to himself as Crowe suddenly warped onto the open deck with a gasp, mirroring the events of Loop 7. He quickly shoved a couple of hi-elixirs into her hand, before turning around and seeing if he could spot Luche’s escape ship. Sadly, he couldn’t, and resigned himself to seeing those assholes again later, during the overpass chase.

“Shit, Crowe!” Pelna called out. “You’re alive?!”

“Yeah, no thanks to fucking Luche.” Crowe spat, and Nyx mentally noted down that two hi-elixirs were so much better than just one single elixir. “Nyx, you need to call Libertus, let him know what a shitshow this has all turned out to be.”

“And it’s gotten worse.” Pelna agreed, pointing out the falling Wall.

“We need to return to the Citadel-“

“Yeah, I know. The King and the Ring, right?” Nyx sighed, already calling Libertus.

“Yes, exactly- Wait, how did you know that?” Lunafreya suddenly appeared in Nyx’s field of view, eyes bright with concern, just as Nyx had finished talking to Libertus.

“You’re talking to the Glaive who’s pulled the most Citadel duty out of everyone, I picked up a few things,” Nyx said, suddenly aware of the fact that the importance of the Ring was…probably not the most common of information around. He hastily changed the subject. “I let Lib know we were coming back, he’s going to be waiting for us in the Citadel garage.”

“You sure he’ll be alright? What with that leg of his?” Pelna inquired.

“He might not look like it, but Lib is a very good driver.” Nyx thought back to the past loops. In every single one where he’d actually made it to that plaza, Libertus had, without fail, successfully crashed a car into Glauca. And on top of that, he’d also successfully navigated his way through a city in the midst of getting razed, whilst Nyx and the Old Wall had been tearing up the city in their respective fights. Libertus was the best damn driver Nyx knew, broken leg or not.

The four of them made it to the Citadel in what felt like record time, running into the signing room just in time to once again see Ravus’ arm on fire. Pelna and Lunafreya quickly hustled the King out of the room, whilst Crowe and Nyx did their best to harry Glauca with alternating blasts of fire and lightning. As they ran out of the secret tunnel and into the garage, Nyx grinned as he Libertus waved at them all. As Crowe rushed to give Libertus a one-armed hug, Nyx quietly relayed the identities of the rest of the traitorous Glaives he could be certain of, as well as his suspicions about Captain Drautos, to the King, who nodded even as he paled considerably at Nyx’s revelations.

“Astrals, but am I glad to see you, Crowe!” Libertus called out.

“You too, Libertus! Better not have done anything stupid whilst I was out.”

“Cool catch-up, but we’ve got General Glauca right on our heels,” Nyx said, slamming down another shield over the tunnel that they had just left. “We’ll take two cars. Pelna, you’re driving that car over there. Crowe, you and King Regis can get into Lib’s car. Me and the Princess will be with Pelna. We’ll exit together, and Pelna will take the lead. Lib, I want you to stay as close as possible to us, me and Crowe will be taking charge of killing anything that gets in our way, but there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to clear a path, so stay vigilant. Make sure your comms stay open.”

“Got it.” They all nodded, Crowe even giving him a thumbs up as she slid into Libertus’ car.

The drive out of the Citadel went exactly as Nyx had expected, and he quietly cackled to himself even as he leaned out of the window to throw a handful of lightning at one of the MT Armours chasing them. As he spotted the ship carrying Luche, Tredd, and the rest of their group slowly coming into view, he threw a fireball at them, before ducking back down into the car. Hastily, he grabbed the Princess’ hairpin from her, the woman too shocked by the suddenness of his action to protest.

“Pelna, hand me the wheel.”

“Nyx what-“

“You’re still good at warping, yeah? I need you to warp the Princess to Lib’s car,” Nyx sighed as Lib predictably began to also protest. “Lib, get someone to hold that door open.”

“Nyx, you fucking-“

“Pelna, now!”

To his credit, the man didn’t hesitate even with his protests, throwing his dagger in a shower of blue as he tugged the Princess along, leaving Nyx alone in his car.

Not for much longer, of course, because just as Luche and Tredd leaned out of their ship to try and shoot at them all, and just as Petra Fortis in his armoured van appeared in Nyx’s rearview mirror, Nyx turned his car to face Luche and Tredd.

The look on their faces as he drove the car straight at them would be one Nyx would savour for a long, long time. Luche’s string of curses as Nyx warped out of the car just before impact, would also be on the list of things that gave Nyx so much joy.

He landed on the side of Fortis’ van with a quiet oomph, clinging onto the kukri now lodged into the metal. A few moments later, he’d managed to swing himself into the front seat, after Fortis had rolled down the window for him.

“You’re insane, Ulric. Actually insane.” Fortis said, staring at him with wide eyes even as they caught up with Libertus and the others.

“Best warper in the Kingsglaive.” Nyx replied smugly, and winced as the yelling over his comm reached an even louder level.

After that, they somehow made it all the way to within view of the West Gate, even with the occasional daemon or magitek soldier that they ran into. It seemed Nyx’s gambit with the crashed car and the hairpin had paid off, for now, and he quietly let himself relax a little, though he kept an eye out for anything else that might stop their escape.

It was that caution that had him spotting the glimmer of silver and purple before it hit the ground in front of Libertus’ car, his yell of alarm all that they needed to grind to a halt just in time to avoid General Glauca slicing their car in two.

“Shit, Fortis, you and Lib are gonna have to guard the King and Princess, we’ll try and hold him off. If you see an opening, get out of here.” Nyx said, as he chucked a kukri out of the window, and began doing his level best to once again kill Glauca.

As Crowe covered the King and Princess’ retreat to Fortis’ van, followed by a very worried Libertus, Nyx threw himself headlong into the fight, Pelna darting in and out where he could, the two of them trying to keep Glauca’s attention long enough for Crowe to be able to join in.

“Why do you fight, for a King who would abandon us all to save his throne and his son?” Glauca roared, as Nyx warped out of the way of his sword, flinging a blast of flame to hide Pelna’s approach. “Walk away, Glaives, and you will see another day in peace, the Empire has promised it!”

“The way I see it, whatever Niflheim promised you isn’t enough to justify the utter destruction laid in its wake, Drautos.”

Glauca actually froze, momentarily, as Nyx called him by his actual name. And then cursed, because Crowe had apparently figured out how to properly stash the King and the Princess away, and had now joined the fight as well with a blast of flame that Nyx could see had melted part of his helmet.

“So, you know, then.”

“Yeah, I do, you traitorous bastard.”

The three Glaives did their best to fight Glauca, a blast of lightning from Nyx actually causing the armoured man to stumble backwards a little. This…wasn’t going terribly, Nyx thought, warping past Glauca’s shoulder and swinging back down, Pelna trying to go for Glauca’s knees at the same time. They were both flung backwards for their efforts, but Crowe had used that opportunity to slam another two fireballs at Glauca, only one of which the man was able to deflect.

In the corner of his eye, he saw a daemon making its way to them, ambling towards Fortis’ van. Nyx cursed, and launched himself at Glauca, trying to herd him out of the way so that Fortis could make a break for it, before the daemon got to them.

“Crowe, Pelna, we need to get Glauca out of the way!”

Pelna nodded, grunting as he parried a punch, before warping away from Crowe’s attack. Nyx dove forward immediately after, hissing as Glauca’s sword drew a sharp cut across his cheek, but it was worth it as he managed to get close enough to unleash a pulse of lightning strong enough to send Glauca back a few vital steps. He warped out of the way of his retaliation, letting Pelna take over briefly as he cracked an elixir onto himself.

They just needed to get Glauca a little further away, and then Fortis could, hopefully, get out of the city.

But Pelna was tiring, and so was Nyx, the fighting from earlier having already taken its toll even though they had come out of that mess mostly unharmed.

Glauca, on the other hand, seemed to be fuelled by whatever cursed shit made up that armour of his, and probably a few other things as well.

At this rate, Nyx had the feeling he’d be needing to put that damn Ring back on his finger. Again.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Pelna yelled as he dodged several swings of the sword, managing to avoid getting skewered only for Glauca to catch him around the waist and fling him across the road.

“Pelna!” Nyx yelled, unable to check on his friend as Glauca was now attacking him, and thank the Astrals that Nyx had already seen some of these moves and knew how to counter them, because it should be illegal how fast Glauca could move, in armour like that.

Nyx managed to blast Glauca in the way of one of Crowe’s fire blasts, just as he heard the screeching of tires. He grinned, even as Glauca doubled his attacks at him, Nyx holding up a shield just as he felt the van fly past him, the vehicle close enough to almost him.

“You do realise that you will die here, that nothing will stop me from killing that coward King.” Glauca growled, as he batted Nyx away.

“Your armour’s looking real bad, you know that?” Nyx quipped back, nodding to Pelna as the two of the charged at Glauca, Nyx aiming a blast of frost at Glauca’s feet whilst Pelna tried for a headshot.

They both missed, Glauca almost managing to get a kick out at Nyx, but they both managed to distract him enough to take yet another gout of fire to the head.

“You. I knew I should’ve had you killed when I had the chance!” Glauca roared, charging suddenly at Crowe, a sliver of skin visible along his collarbone.

“No!” Nyx yelled, warping after him, only to get a fist straight to his chest, winding him as he crumpled to the ground.

He could see Crowe warping out of the way, but she’d never fought Glauca in melee combat before, and melee wasn’t even her specialty-

The axe that lodged itself in Glauca’s collarbone surprised them all.

Glauca’s yell of surprise and pain was nearly drowned out by Libertus’ warcry, as the man suddenly appeared, his axe in both hands as he braced himself and completed his swing, turning that sliver of collarbone into a bloody gash, although Nyx could see the silver of the armour already trying to repair itself.

“That’s my sister you nearly killed, you bastard.” Libertus spat, and ducked as Crowe tossed fireball after fireball at Glauca, before she turned and set the approaching daemon alight as well.

“How-“

Nyx didn’t give him time to finish, letting Pelna use him as a springboard to launch right at Glauca, the man plunging a dagger right into that open wound before he landed in front of Libertus and Crowe, ready to help defend them.

“Damn, he’s still going?” Pelna shook his head, flinging up a shield to briefly deflect Glauca’s next attack. “That should’ve at least slowed him down significantly.”

Nyx warped back into the fight, giving the three time to reposition themselves as he tried his best to carve out more of Glauca. This fight was just as frustrating as it had been all the times before, as even though he had his friends with him, it was balanced out by the fact he didn’t have the extra power from the Ring. For all of his experience, Glauca was the worst enemy he had to fight, and it showed.

Drautos had been their commander, their beloved Captain. He knewall of their moves, or at least most of them, their fighting styles, their habits and their weaknesses. And that meant that he could counteract them with more ease than he should have.

Which meant that Nyx had to do something unpredictable, something so utterly insane not even Drautos could predict it.

His gaze skittered over the road, looking for something he could maybe use to his advantage. He couldn’t see anything, just broken concrete and asphalt, Libertus’ by-now trashed car, the corpse of a daemon smouldering behind them-

He looked back at the car, where there was a puddle of fuel slowly leaking from its side.

His first thought was that it was a wonder it hadn’t caught alight, what with Crowe’s flames. His second thought was that surely Glauca wasn’t completely explosion-proof, even with that armour of his.

“Guys!” He yelled, sprinting back into the fight. “I’m going to try something, I need you to herd him backwards, to the car!”

“What are you going to do, trip me?” Glauca actually sounded a bit amused, even though he was, in fact, getting slowly pushed backwards by their combined assault.

“No, even better,” Nyx watched as Glauca was finally backed up to the car, and probably as far as he’d get before he’d clue into the petrol leaking from Libertus’ car. “Everyone, get back!”

Pelna’s eyes widened in understanding, as he warped away and grabbed Libertus with him, and Nyx tossed as large a fireball as he could at Glauca and the car.

The resulting inferno wasn’t quite as impressive as the explosion Nyx had been hoping for, but the screaming from within was.

“Do you…think that’d kill him?” Pelna asked, as they all stared at the flaming wreck, from a safe distance away.

“I’m…not actually sure,” Nyx admitted. “Actually, are cars supposed to catch on fire like that?”

“If they’re a good quality car, no.” Libertus growled. “Cheap piece of shit.”

“Eh, better safe than sorry.”

The three men looked at Crowe as she began to hurl more fireballs at the car (and presumably Glauca), her barrage only pausing when she had to crack an elixir, before continuing on. Nyx shrugged, and joined in, except with lightning bolts. Her logic was sound, in his opinion, even if Pelna and Libertus were staring at them with increasing amounts of fear.

There was one slightly harrowing moment as they watched Glauca actually stumble forwards a few moments later, but Nyx and Crowe’s panicked blasts of lightning and fire respectively quickly had him crumpling to the ground. They stayed where they were, for a few moments longer, to see if he would get back up, before Nyx sprayed the flaming wreck with a light blizzard, and they moved closer to see whether Glauca truly was dead.

“Oh, yikes.” Crowe muttered, staring at the body on the road.

“That’s a lot of- I don’t think a burned body is supposed to smell like that.” Pelna commented, holding a hand up to his nose.

“Must be the armour, that shit was magitek. Must’ve had a bad reaction to all that fire we were hurling at him at the end.” Libertus reasoned.

Nyx simply marched up to the body, and stabbed what he assumed was the head. Twice.

“Alright, he’s definitely dead.” Nyx concluded. “If he wasn’t before, by some miracle, he is now.”

Crowe cackled, a little hysterically.

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

A little later, Nyx trudged behind his three friends as they headed for the nearest haven, presumably to rest and recover before they tried to meet up with any other survivors of the Invasion.

Dawn was breaking on the horizon, and he was simultaneously relieved by the sight, and dreading its arrival.

On one hand, as far as he was aware, he’d managed to keep all of his friends, and the King and the Princess, alive. Even Fortis was alive, and that was something Nyx hadn’t expected. But on the other hand, Insomnia was still a smouldering ruin, the Empire had gotten away with that Crystal, and Nyx was pretty certain the fatality count was up in the hundreds of thousands.

Up until now, he hadn’t managed to live past the dawn, had always died as soon as the sun had fully risen above the horizon. What if his survival now meant that the loops were finished? The thought scared him, somehow. He’d gotten used to slowly inching his way to figuring out the multitude of things that had led up to the city’s fall, and the destruction that came with it. What if he could’ve had more chances to try and stop everything from happening in the first place, if only he figured out a way to die before the dawn? What if there were parts to this puzzle he didn’t yet know about, vital pieces that could ensure everyone’s survival without the destruction of the city?

But, if he looped back now, then wouldn’t all the fighting he had just done be for naught? He looked at his friends, at their tired, but cheerful, expressions. To them, they’d just survived one of the greatest tragedies since the Fall of Galahd, and had even managed to kill the legendary General Glauca, the man responsible for the destruction of not only Galahd, but also Tenebrae, and now Insomnia.

He couldn’t- He couldn’t take that away from them.

And so, Nyx Ulric watched as the sun rose above the horizon, Pelna cheering as one of the imps that had been about to approach them almost instantly melted away into daemonic miasma.

And stopped.

He shuddered, clutching his head as a sudden spell of dizziness overtook him. He vaguely heard Libertus’ cry of alarm, as he stumbled backwards, something tugging on his chest even as the world around him seemed to flicker in and out like a bad television signal. Nyx had the abrupt sensation of the ground beneath him giving way, before his vision fragmented, like a broken mosaic almost, and he fell, dragged along by an unseen force. The swirl of colours that his vision had devolved into was nauseating, and Nyx shut his eyes, the sensation of freefalling continuing until-

He sat upright with a shout, as the world snapped back into place, and he was greeted by the familiar sight of his dimly lit apartment, sunlight streaming through the cheap curtains.

[exhaustedfander]

Goddamn These Bite Marks, Deep in My Arteries

word count: 2,828

a03 link

Vampire!Logan in Analogical is something I’m so weak for, thusly, this oneshot exists. 

Virgil paces the floor, anxiety clouding every jumbled thought.  He’s been working himself up for weeks now, trying to find the best moment to brooch the subject. There were so many moments where things almost felt perfect, but then his nerves would kick in, or Logan would say something to completely change the subject.

Eventually, Virgil comes to the uncomfortable conclusion that no matter how much he wishes it worked otherwise they’ll never be a perfect time to say it. He’s just going to have to bite the bullet and spit it out. He can do that. Of course, he can do that…, right?

He has to do this, regardless of how terrified he is. And good lord, is he terrified.

It’s not as though Virgil thought this subject would never need to come up but dating a vampire doesn’t exactly come with an instruction pamphlet. He had no idea that he was going to meet Logan, like him more than he’s ever liked another person, and eventually fall so deeply in love that he can’t imagine himself with anyone else.

He’d gone into their relationship five years ago with very few expectations. Logan was cute, and he understood him, and they’d already been friends for some time and… and he was a vampire. Virgil supposes that would’ve been a deal-breaker for most people. Maybe it should’ve been for him too. Maybe it was the most logical way of thinking. But he couldn’t help it; he fell for Logan almost from the start, and he couldn’t stop if he tried.

Virgil’s learned a lot about vampirism in the last five years. For one thing, movies are usually a bunch of bullshit (Sexy, fun bullshit. But bullshit, nonetheless). Vampires don’t always have to drink human blood, though it is preferable, and they can eat some other foods, though it offers far less nutritional value than it would for humans. They aren’t strictly nocturnal, and the sunlight will not turn them to a pile of ashes the moment it makes contact with their skin (although Logan does get a wicked sunburn if he’s out too long without proper covering). Garlic does very little to ward off vampires, but garlic-breath does, unfortunately, ward off kisses.

Having one’s blood sucked isn’t nearly as painful as it’s often portrayed, nor as orgasmic. It’s just kind of… nice. Virgil’s always thought of it as a feeling of weightlessness, a kind of peace that’s hard to name, and even harder to find anyplace else. Honestly, he’s going to miss the feeling, if Logan agrees, that is.  

Logan isn’t home yet, but it isn’t uncommon for him to stay late at the lab. Virgil’s glad that Logan’s been able to find a profession that he’s happy in. He knows that Logan would be far more known in his field, were it not for the fact that he cannot stay forever. Vampires do not live forever, contrary to popular belief, but they do live for a very long time, and it looks quite suspicious if one works a job for decades and never really seems to age. Logan’s only been alive for about twenty more years than Virgil has, but he’s had several other jobs under other last names in the past, and this is by far the one he’s enjoyed the most.

His boyfriend is such a smart, competent scientist and he’s sure he’d be world-famous by now if he didn’t hold himself back at times in fear of his name and face becoming known. That would make running away and changing one’s identity all the more difficult.

Virgil knows this conversation won’t be an easy one. Logan has pointedly avoided the topic for some time. It’s not as though Virgil doesn’t know that this is a life-altering decision; or more of a life-ending decision, depending on how you look at it. He’s weighed the pros and cons time and time again, but in the end, he always comes to the same conclusion: Virgil wants this.

His determination doesn’t make him any less nervous when he hears the door to their apartment open as Logan unlocks it, his heart leaping in his chest.

“Hey. Sorry, I know I stayed late,” Logan says as he slips off his shoes and jacket, his voice thick with exhaustion, “It’s been a hell of a day.”

“It’s okay. Sorry you had a shitty day,” Virgil says, walking to the doorway and pulling him in for a kiss, but pulling away after a lack of response, “Hey, are you good?”

Logan doesn’t look good. His skin is always quite pale (a stereotype that holds up, but he also works in a lab most of the day), but it’s even more so now. The always-present bags under his eyes are far more severe than usual, rivaling the eye-shadow Virgil wears. Logan looks dead-tired, and god, that won’t do, will it?

“I’m…” Logan sways slightly where he stands, up-righted by Virgil, “…fine.”

“Bullshit,” Virgil says, eyeing him carefully, “When was the last time you had something to eat?”

“I’m – it hasn’t been too long,” Logan says, lying rather poorly, “Really, I’m okay. Just tired.”

“Alright. C’mere, you,” Virgil says assertively, grabbing Logan by the wrist and bringing him to the couch.

“Virgil, darling, this isn’t necessary. Besides, I’ve got a bit of research to do for…” Logan trails off, seeing the look of agitation on his boyfriend’s face.

“Nope. Absolutely not. You’re not bringing work home, and, you’re not skipping another meal. God, I haven’t even been paying attention lately; you’ve just been so busy lately. When was the last time you ate?”

“I…”

“Babe. This is serious. You need to tell me when you need something. And right now, you need to eat,” Virgil said, slipping off his hoodie and pulling at the collar of his T-shirt. “You look like you’re starving, L.”

“Virgil. We don’t need to do this right now. I just came home, I’m perfectly content with simply spending the evening with you. I promise I’ll be fine. There’s no need to fuss.”

“There’s a perfectly good reason to fuss,” Virgil huffs out, “You’re being so fucking stubborn for no reason. Besides, there’s... well, there’s kind of something I want to talk to you about.” Logan raises a quizzical eyebrow.

“Is anything the matter?” Logan asks, trying, and failing, to mask the quickly formed concern.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Virgil swears, “Now, c’mon, the quicker you sink your fangs in, the quicker I can satiate your curiosity.”

Logan sighs, defeated, but tired and very hungry.

“Fine.”

He gets up from the couch, going into the bathroom, and coming out with a first aid kit. Virgil’s always insisted that it’s okay and that he doesn’t need to go to all the trouble. For the most part, the bites stop bleeding almost immediately after he’s done feeding, but Logan has none of it.

“You’re the one who’s taking care of me. Please. Let me take care of you, too.”

It’s little rituals like this, pressing a bandage and a kiss to the wound when he’s finished that keeps Logan from feeling like a monster. That’s what he confessed to Virgil one night, years ago. That he felt like a monster sometimes.

Virgil’s always been clear to dispute this. Logan’s never killed, anyone. He’s never been unnecessarily cruel to anyone, and he’s always, always been so good to Virgil. His need to feed is not that of a monster, and Virgil’s assured him as much anytime he felt otherwise.

But that can’t stop doubt from creeping in, and Virgil understands that. So he lets Logan do things at his pace for the most part, and he lets him take care of him to his heart’s content (Virgil truly isn’t complaining about that. It’s nice, how eager Logan is to care for him).

“Are you alright? Are you comfortable?” Logan asks, just as he always does.

“Yeah, I’m all good,” Virgil assures. Logan nods, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He’s starving, Virgil knows he is. “Go on, baby. It’s okay.”

Logan nods, first kissing Virgil vehemently.

“I love you,” Logan whispers reverently against Virgil’s lips, his fangs brushing just so.

“I love you too.”

Logan pulls away, his eyes meeting Virgil’s, and ah, there it is. His boyfriend’s eyes turn from their usual-blue to a striking crimson, the change in color happening in a manner of seconds, like watching a drop of blood cloud a glass of water. It isn’t hypnotism, per se. Virgil isn’t under Logan’s ever-command, but his gaze certainly sends a sense of calm washing over him. Logan cups Virgil’s face for a moment, still looking at him intensely and lovingly all at once before he presses his lips to Virgil’s neck and sinks his fangs in.

The initial pinprick of pain has always made Virgil shudder a little, even now, but he’s far more prepared for it than he had been in the past. Quickly, though, the pain subsides to something stranger, more far-off. His back presses into the couch as Logan has a hand on either side of his neck, sucking and lapping the blood, Virgil lingering in the bliss.

When he’s finished, Logan removes his fangs, mouth only slightly bloodied.

“Thank you,” he says, whipping his lip and quickly reaching for the first aid kit on the coffee table.

“You’re welcome, Lo,” Virgil says, still a little lost in the feeling. He smiles faintly as a bandage is pressed to his neck. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” Logan says, his exhaustion seeming to have faded significantly. “I dare say you were right, I needed that more than I was aware. How about you? Are you alright, my love?” Virgil can’t help but smile dopily at that.

“I’m fine. Great. I love it when you call me that, you know that?” Logan chuckles, his eyes back to their normal blue, and fangs having receded.

“I do. Now, let me go get you something to eat.”

“You don’t have to,” Virgil says, only slightly light-headed, “I already had dinner.” Logan’s already on his feet.

“Now, I’ll have none of that,” he tuts, sounding as insistent as Virgil had moments prior, “You just gave blood – so to speak. It’s important to rehydrate and eat something rich in sugar to replenish your red blood cells.” Logan’s rummaging in the cupboard, looking for a snack.

It’s now or never, Virgil thinks to himself suddenly, realizing that if he doesn’t say something right this minute, he’s going to chicken out for the night and have to work himself up again later.

“Hey L?”

“Yes?”

“I…” God, this is harder than it should be! “I want…”

"What would you like? We have crackers, cookies –.”

“I want you to turn to me!” Virgil shudders at the sound of something clattering the floor in the kitchen. He turns around on the sofa, seeing the look of terror in his lover’s eyes.

“Dear Lord, did I take too much blood? Virgil, do you feel faint?” Logan asks, suddenly hovering over him, his eyes scanning over him.

“What? No – no, I’m fine. My head’s super clear. I’m being serious: I want you to turn me.”

“You… you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course I do!” Virgil says, zealousness bubbling with each word. He looks into Logan’s eyes, searching desperately for something, anything, that will further his argument. “Logan. Babe. I love you so, so much. I’m crazy about you, and I can’t see myself stopping anytime soon.” Logan swallows, the sound scared and tight.

“I- I love you, too. Virgil you know I love you, but –.”

“But what? You mean absolutely everything to me, and – and I can’t lose you. I want to keep being with you. Don’t you want to keep being with me?”

Virgil hates how desperate he sounds. A fear suddenly creeps into his mind, one he hadn’t yet considered: what if Logan doesn’t want this. He loves him now, but will he ten years from now? Twenty? A hundred? What if he hasn’t imagined a life with Virgil at all? What if he’s nothing more than a momentary distraction? What if –

A cold hand settles on top of his, their fingers lacing together.

“Yes,” says Logan, his voice tight and quiet, “I want to keep being with you. I adore being with you, dear. And I intend to do so for as long as I’m able.”

“But how long is that?” Virgil asks, the fear holding him in a death-grip, “How long until you need to leave this town and change your name?”

“I –.”

“I want to come with you when you go.”

“Virgil, you know how I feel about this subject.”

“No, I fucking don’t!” Virgil says, voice gaining in volume, hand still intertwined with Logan’s, grip tightening, “Because you never want to talk about it! Any time I’ve brought it up in the past you’ve just brushed it aside. Well, guess what? I’m not letting you do that right now. Why can’t you talk about it? What’re you so scared of?” Logan lets out a sigh, long and filled with frustration.

“Virgil… do you realize what you’re asking of me?” Virgil huffs out a breath, nodding.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Do you really? Do you understand how much you’d be asking me to take from you? You’re asking me to take your life away.”

“I want you, Logan. That’s all I want.”

“You’d need to go with me when I left town. We’d both need to change our identities often, to change occupations. We couldn’t let people grow suspicious.”

“I know.”

“And we’d both need to,” Logan squeezes his eyes shut, cringing at the word, “…hunt. Be it human or animal, I could not rely on you anymore, and you could not rely on me.”

“I know that too. I’ve already thought this all through, Logan. I mean it.”

“You could live such a different life, Virgil. There are so many possibilities that would disappear the moment I… if you were to regret this, there would be no going back. No reversing it.”

“What’ve you been planning for the future then, Logan. Were you just going to disappear one day?”

“I – well. This was your apartment before it was ours. I was considering –.”

“Leaving me,” Virgil finishes, and goddamn it, there are tears in his eyes.

“Sparing you,” Logan counters, “Of a very long existence with me.”

“Don’t you get it, Lo?” Virgil asks, letting go of Logan’s hand, his eyes landing on the floor. “I’ve thought through all of these variables a hundred times. You’re the best part of my life. Most of your friends are my friends too. And, newsflash, they’re vampires, too. I know that it’s a huge decision, a-and that it’s scary. I know it’s a lot. B-but I’ve never been as sure of something as I am about this. Never.”

Logan frowns, his thumb swiping over Virgil’s falling tears.

“You’re… you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” It hurts Virgil, how unworthy of this Logan clearly feels. He'll have a lifetime of proving him otherwise, and a long one at that.

“Of course I am,” Virgil sniffles. “I’ve been thinking about it forever I just – I didn’t know how to say it.”

“The thought of having to leave you has haunted me so much these last few years,” Logan admits after a moment of tense quiet, “I didn’t know how I was going to bring myself to do it. And, as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t ask you to do this. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Well, you don’t have to,” Virgil says firmly, hope flickering in his chest, “Because I’m asking you.”

“And you’re sure this is what you want?” Logan takes a shuddery breath, “You’re… you’re sure I’m what you want?”

“More than anything,” Virgil promises, grabbing hold of both of Logan’s hands.

“Okay,” Logan says after a long, agonizing moment. “I’ll give you a few days, to get anything in order that you feel you need to. And it’ll be just a little more time to back out if you so choose to.” Virgil nods quickly.

“I won’t need it, but okay. But, Logan, baby, do you really mean it?”

“If this is what you’re comfortable with, and it’s what you want then… yes. Yes, I want this too.”

Logan suddenly finds himself with a lapful of Virgil, a pair of lips enthusiastically pressed to his.

“I love you, Logan. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you, too, darling,” Logan says, a weight he wasn’t even aware of suddenly lifted from his shoulders.

The couple basks in the feeling, their shared enthusiasm and fulfilled desires, thinking of a long future together. Logan’s still scared and can’t be sure when or if those fears will ever entirely subside. But he didn’t need to ask this of Virgil; Virgil asked him. They know they can be together, and tonight, that’s more than enough.

=+=

General Taglist:

@nadiestar

@unoriginalgayboyalex 

@bella-in-a-bag

@igonnatalknothing

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[rotationalsymmetry]

A brief history of Unitarian Universalism (casual, with swears, have not fact checked as such but I think it’s correct): In New England back before US independence, there was Calvinism -- you know, that predestination thing, you’re already going to go to heaven or hell, but you should be good anyways so people will think you’re going to heaven, or something like that. Then there wasn’t. Then there was Congregationalism. Which was a lot more chill, but still very “fuck Catholicism”. And around this time, deism was on the rise: the idea that maybe God created the universe, then fucked off, and hasn’t been actively involved with anything since. Then, some people who were actually reading the Bible, because you can’t look down on Catholicism unless you actually read the Bible, were like... wait, maybe Jesus isn’t all that. You know -- the Savior, the Son of God, one third of the Trinity, all that. Maybe he was just, like... a prophet, or some guy who said some interesting things. A teacher. And other congregationalists were like: uh, what, no, Jesus has to be all that. If you don’t think Jesus is all that, how can you even call yourself a Christian? And they decided they couldn’t really be around each other any more. So the first group, which was mostly in Boston, started calling themselves Unitarians (because they rejected the doctrine of the Trinity and instead believed in a one part God), and incidentally at some point also stopped calling themselves Christians because the other guys had a point, and the others called themselves the United Church of Christ (UCC.) Emerson and Thorough -- sorry, Thoreau -- were both Unitarians, as were John Adams, John Quincy Adams, and pretty much everyone else from Boston in early US history. (We like to claim Jefferson, because his beliefs were kindasorta similar to Unitarian beliefs at the time, but as I understand it he was never actually part of a Unitarian congregation.) (Btw: if you’re lgbtq+ and Christian, they’re a pretty friendly denomination. If you’re lgbtq+ and Christian and you think the UCC is too liberal (in the religious sense) or you want a majority-lgbtq+ congregation, consider MCC, which is otherwise unconnected to all this. If you’re not Christian and are lgbtq+ -- atheist/agnostic, or maybe something else if you’re down with worshipping with people that aren’t specifically your thing -- Unitarian Universalism tends to be pretty good. As in: we have a bunch of gay/lesbian ministers and other religious leaders, and a few transgender ones. (Knowledge of less mainstream lgbtq+ identities can vary a lot between congregations and generations -- the younger generations tend to be more aware than the gen x’ers.) I’ve been involved with Church of the Larger Fellowship for most of the past year, which did zoom worship before it got cool and serves people around the world, and people like me who live a mile from a UU brick and mortar congregation but still can’t get their disabled ass over there anyways. Anyways, CLF has more POC on the worship team than most UU congregations (the denomination does tend to run pretty white), is very social justice oriented even by UU standards, and is somewhat more cool about general weirdness than most congregations, which again for UU congregations is saying something.) Then, at some point (sadly, I’m significantly more familiar with the history of the first U than the second) there was this other protestant denomination in the South (as in, the US South) where people decided that God was too nice to send people to hell for all eternity, so they started calling themselves the Universalists, as in Universal Salvation. All dogs go to heaven. Well, time passed, each denomination evolved in its own way. (In particular, Unitarianism caught humanism pretty hard -- the joke was the Unitarians believe in one God at most.) In the -- ok, I’ll look this one up -- in 1961, there was a big old merger, creating Unitarian Universalism, and in the process, everyone got together and was all...wait, so what are our official beliefs about God and stuff? Should we even have official beliefs about God? Maybe we can unify around some ideas around how people should treat each other instead. So they did: they drafted a set of Principles (broad-strokes guidelines on how people should act -- peace is good, truth is good, people have value, stuff like that) and a set of Sources (where UU’s get their ideas about God and morality and so on from, starting with direct experience) and left everything else up to the individual. And then a little while later, the tree-huggers got a seventh Principle and a sixth Source added in -- respect for the environment and Earth-centered religions, respectively -- so now the joke is that UU’s believe in one God, more or less. Currently there’s a movement on to add an 8th Principal that explicitly names racial equality and fighting oppression as something we value, since while the current Principles mention justice and equality, they don’t specifically name race, and the people of color who have stuck with the predominantly white denomination figure Unitarian Universalism can and should be doing better on that front. Unitarian Universalism runs religiously liberal (ie, decentralized, individualistic, non-authoritarian, non-dogmatic, inclined to believe science over the Bible) and politically progressive. Unitarian Universalist congregations tend to be very politically active and concerned with social justice, mostly in a well-educated middle class kind of way: committees, Robert’s Rules of Order, donating to non-profits, Get Out the Vote, inviting in speakers and asking “questions” that aren’t really questions, forming partnerships with other congregations and community organizations, etc. Many UU congregations have put a Black Lives Matter sign out (and when necessary keep putting it out when it gets torn down or vandalized), shown up for the protests, opposed the weird immigration BS that’s been going on in the US recently, etc. In addition to more charity style work, like food pantries and homeless shelters.

Point is: yeah it’s got flaws (don’t even get me started on Unitarian Universalism’s flaws) but if you’re a social justice person and want to meet other social justice people who are doing things, Unitarian Universalism can be a good place to look for that. You get more done in groups.

You’re less likely to burn out, too. With marginalization, it’s complicated, right? Again, for LGBTQ+ people, it’s going to be better than most religious organizations. For people a little bit on the autism spectrum, you probably won’t be the only one. (If you’re unmistakeably autistic, people might be weird/ableist; it might depend on the congregation.) If you’re from a working class background or are currently kinda broke, you might run into some frustrations or feel like you don’t fit in; if you’re a poc or if you’re disabled (or your kid is) or you want a lot of personal support, you might struggle more -- this really might vary a lot, but at least the congregations I’m used to tend to assume congregants can mostly stand on their own feet, metaphorically speaking, and have some extra time/money/skills/whatever that can be directed out into the wider world. It can be a good place for pagans and Buddhists and other people who don’t want a church but are having trouble finding a church-like religious community where you can hang out with people on the same spiritual path. (Uh, for a while UU congregations were emphatically not churches and some officially still aren’t; others gave up and were all “eh, it looks like a church, whatever, we’re just a weird church.) Some congregations are more atheist-dominated than others -- many avoid Jesus language most of the time, some avoid God language most of the time (UU’s who believe in God tend to believe in God in a relatively abstract/metaphorical way), some I hear are pagan-heavy, others do use Christian language a lot more. In all honesty you don’t have to go to Sunday worship if you don’t want to, and really a lot of UU’s don’t; if you want to be heavily involved in the congregation but don’t want to go to Sunday worship and don’t want to deal with pressure to, one way out is to teach RE (religious education -- basically “Sunday school”) the RE curricula are amazing, just absolutely astounding, and if you’re teaching it you get a ton of leeway with adjusting anything you don’t like. (Which could happen -- a lot of this stuff was developed before the idea that cultural appropriation is a big problem became mainstream in social justice circles.) What adult worship is like has basically zero correlation (perhaps negative correlation) to what RE is like. (Which sucks for young adults coming of age in a UU congregation, like I said don’t get me started on UU’s flaws.) Finally: for people who care about sex positivity and sex ed, Unitarian Universalists (in partnership with UCC) developed Our Whole Lives, a sex ed curriculum that, well, it’s not abstinence based education. You wouldn’t expect sex ed coming from a religious org to be better than the sex ed in schools, would you? And yet. Comprehensive sex ed that acknowledges gay bi and trans people and that disabled people have sex too and teaches about birth control and masturbation and abuse and consent and boundaries and bullying and internet safety and abortion. It’s good stuff. The course aimed at teens is most popular of course, but there’s actually (age-appropriate) OWL curricula for all stages of life: young kids, adults, older adults, everyone. And it’s versatile enough to be taught in secular contexts (after school programs etc). Given the direction that unfortunately a lot of school districts in the US have been going in in terms of sex ed, it’s a really important program.

[chalkrevelations]

Well. Episode 34 of Word of Honor, and, oh.

(Spoilers. Scroll on by and come back later if you want to watch it unspoiled.)

Oh. No. NO, show. Only A-Xiang is supposed to make me cry, so fuck you, Zhou Zishu, with your SAD LITTLE FACE, oh my god, why don’t you just pull my heart out of my chest, throw it down in the dirt and stomp on it? It would be kinder than having to watch you deal with the implications of whatever it is, precisely, you’ve done to yourself that means you’re expecting to drop dead any day and lose your chance at lifetime happiness with your soulmate but are hiding from everyone. (Well, I guess it’s your turn to be hiding something, because it looks like everyone in the jianghu except you was in on at least some part of Wen Kexing’s plan.)

So, the first thing that struck me in this ep is the way ZZS sits at the table at the post-Hero’s Conference meal drinking session, hunched over, like his bones are made of shattered glass, and here’s the thing: He’s absolutely just had a serious emotional blow. But also, this is a guy who’s terminally ill and in chronic pain, and we saw that repeatedly for about the first two-thirds of the show, and then the emphasis on it kind of slacked off. And I’m thinking now that maybe it wasn’t just slack writing or WKX playing his xiao in the rain through the nights at Four Seasons Manor like the worst emo kid ever that helped, that maybe some of the progression of the deadening of ZZS’s senses might have offered him some relief, but whatever it was, I’m wondering if whatever he’s done now – I presume pulled out those gd Nails - has exacerbated everything all over again. I cannot believe that at least Wu Xi can’t look at the way he’s moving and holding himself at the table and see that he’s not just stone-cold angry and emotionally hurt about being left out of the loop, he’s in physical pain. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a little like being stabbed in the chest when he gets confirmation that Chengling and WKX were in on WKX’s “death” together while he was in the dark and believed this asshole actually died on him. But I also think we’re getting physical pain ramped up again from him; there’s a hesitation and delicacy of movement that speaks of someone who’s judging their movements and maintaining a high level of control, because if they do make a wrong move, everything could just explode into agony. I also noticed the way he clutches his cup when A-Xiang starts explaining how WKX made a deal with Xie Wang in order to rescue ZZS from Tian Chuang, and I can’t for the life of me figure out if it’s having to hear about WKX finding himself in that position in order to save him, or if it’s A-Xiang calling him “Sick Dude” at a moment when that’s going to press right on one of the tenderest, most vulnerable places. Because, god, everyone else at this table who even knows about his terminal illness still thinks that Wu Xi is going to be able to fix him. And here’s where ZZS apparently is a better person than me, because I don’t know that I wouldn’t have an absolute breakdown and end up throwing it in WKX’s face that if he had just told me what was going on, maybe I wouldn’t be about to drop dead tomorrow and leave him alone for the rest of his life, asshole. But no! His zhiji’s happiness is so important to ZZS, that he’s not going to say a word about it! It’s more important than his own life, that his shidi has been able to avenge his parents while keeping his own hands (relatively) clean of any more sins. He’s going to continue to be there, to be whatever WKX needs him to be, for however few days he has left. I won’t fail you. (Even when you fail me). Here’s the thing though – at some point, you’re going to drop dead, Zhou Zishu. And apparently you’re going to leave WKX completely unprepared for it, so I don’t know that you’re doing him any favors being the one who’s hiding something, this time around. And oh my god, I just realized something – you made him drink three pots of liquor as a punishment – was that to get him so blind drunk he wouldn’t notice the Nails were gone? You realize you have to tell him at some point, right?

ANYWAY, WKX gets sloppy drunk and stumbles into their(? has everyone just given up any pretense at this point?) bedroom, and first of all, can I take a minute to flail over the way ZZS pushes drunk WKX’s hair back off of his shoulder? Can I? Because I rewound and re-watched that 2 seconds of the show three times. But then, then, WKX starts drunken rambling about how happy he is, and how scared he’d been that he wasn’t worthy of ZZS, and tears start welling up in ZZS’s stupid eyes, and WKX starts talking about how finding ZZS made him a whole new person, and ZZS’s stupid precious face gets SO SAD, and I start fucking welling up too, and then WKX talks about his parents and their shifu, and ZZS presses WKX’s head to his chest and gives us his stupid sad little smile, and I’m literally clutching my shirt hem in inarticulate pain and distress by this point, and then ZZS starts to break down as he holds WKX’s hand as WKX finally falls asleep, and he gives that stupid shaky sobbing little gasp, and just UGH. I’m DYING here, show. Also, how did you manage to do this to me with just your face, Zhang Zhehan? I’m not sure I can take the next couple of episodes, when the whole Nails dilemma is sure to come out.

Second big takeaway of this ep is that I just … oh my god. I cannot with you, Xie’er, holy shit. And I say this in a completely loving yet utterly aghast way. Was it absolutely necessary to literally sit on Awful Yifu’s lap? I’m reduced to a state of horrified laughter over the envelope pushing. The absolute fuckery of the power dynamic fluctuations of the Zhao Jing/Xie Wang relationship at this point … it’s something. It’s finally reached a point where it’s so fucky and complex that I may have to go looking for some fic, despite my general desire to punt Awful Yifu into the sun. I do have to say that the whole (one-sided) conversation when Xie’er finally let everything out was super-cathartic. Go off with your unfilial self, Xie’er. Li Daikun has been amazing all through this, and he’s continuing to maintain a perfect balance as we move toward the finish line. I’ve heard he was offered Wen Kexing and supposedly didn’t want to take the role because he didn’t think he was ready for it? And while I absolutely appreciate Gong Jun and the chemistry between ZZS and WKX that he built with Zhang Zhehan, I’m flabbergasted that Li Daikun was able to pull off Xie’er like this, yet thought he couldn’t manage WKX ... and I have to admit, I kind of would like to see what WKX would have been in his hands. I’ve also heard a rumor that they’re talking about maybe filming an origin story for Xie Wang? I … am torn, because on the one hand, more Xie’er, but on the other, more Awful Yifu. Anyway, I think we’re continuing to see a whole tangle of resonances between Xie’er, Wen Kexing, and Zhou Zishu, and the awful men in their lives who helped make them who they are today; there’s something of a contrast between Zhou Zishu, who, maybe significantly, was older and had some grounding from his Four Seasons shifu when he got tangled up with Prince Jin and Tian Chuang and who was willing to gnaw off his own leg to get out of the trap (and only finally struck back because he was forcibly taken back) and the other two, one of whom killed and … dismembered? flayed? his abuser before taking his literal throne, and the other of whom turned his abuser into a muted … piece of furniture? sex toy? before taking his figurative throne. Xie’er is about five steps behind Wen Kexing on a parallel path, and maybe there’s still time for him to untangle some of the fuckery in his head about his awful yifu. But meanwhile, there it is: You failed me. Xie’er, you’re breaking my heart, but I feel like I have to point out, again, this is the guy who is literally responsible for the existence of the Department of the Unfaithful. I did have a brief moment when I was convinced Xie’er was poisoning himself and Awful Yifu in a murder-suicide move, but then we got lap-sitting instead? Which could have made me think we were getting some kind of reversion to wanting to feel safe, like a kid able to (finally) sit in his father’s lap and play at comfort, but then he went and made it – let’s be honest – a little weird.

Last really big takeaway for me from this ep is that A-Xiang and I continue to be simpatico, because lady, I also have a very very bad feeling about Fan Shishu’s absence in this wedding “party” from the Gentle Wind Sword Sect, and watching your dawning realization at the end of the episode when he doesn’t show up and doesn’t show up and doesn’t show up as the group enters only confirmed my suspicions that something is UP. Am I supposed to expect a fakeout to Mo Huaiyang’s haranguing speech to Cao Weining, with a wrap-up of “But since you clearly love her so much and want to be a good influence …” Because I won’t believe it. And I’m not going to be happy or comfortable until we see the back of this asshole, because speaking of somebody who says everything with his face, Mo Huaiyang was NOT happy when Ye Baiyi called off the rest of the Heroes Conference, after his horse in the race had already been completely repudiated and he lost whatever chance he had at gaining power and influence on Zhao Jing’s back. Even if he did come all this way – bearing gifts – just to tell Cao Weining he’s an ungrateful brat and to never darken the door of Gentle Wind Sword Sect, it would still be a jerkass thing to do. But I don’t trust him as far as I could spit, and my only question at this point is whether all of Cao Weining’s shidi who came with him to the wedding are in on whatever bs Mo Huaiyang’s planning to pull.

A couple other random things:

Oh, so A-Xiang’s two moms are going to stay together for the rest of their lives, are they? And Liu Qianqiao is even like, “Loser Boyfriend? I don’t know him.” Followed by a cut to Luo Fumeng and her vaguely smug reaction. I’m dying.

No one’s going to say anything about this random body that Wen Kexing used for his plan? Just, you know, went to the store or something and picked out a random body? I realize it’s very late in the game to be getting moralistic about the adorable merciless killers, but come on, man. I also think we have once again overused the infodump. I realize we only have 35 episodes, but some of this explanation of WKX’s very complex plan should have been shown, not told. Anyway, cue series of flashbacks to finally explain how the whole Rube Goldberg plan was put in place, and ah-hah! WKX, himself, talked to Chengling ahead of time. I notice that in that flashback scene and the one when he talks to Ye Baiyi, he’s prominently still wearing That Hairpin, so we’ll realize this all got set into motion before ZZS was rescued and brought home.

Finally, why has everyone seem to have forgotten (still) about that KEY that WKX was waving around? No one’s going to mention it? Really?

And now, I think I’m going to fortify myself with some bourbon for the next ep.

[subjecta5newtella]

okay here’s another one: thoughts on teresa in the books vs the movies

oooh ok. first of all I’m answering these out of order because I’m still working on the other one. second of all this is interesting because they’re... very different? movie teresa is a more compelling character with a better arc, but I do have a fondness for book teresa, even in spite of the fact that she was written by a man with no idea how to write female characters. the things I like about each version of the character basically do not overlap, which I only realized now but is fascinating to think about. gonna slap this under a read more 4 fun and games

like, okay. if we’re gonna talk about book!teresa, just to get it out of the way, everything about her being jealous about brenda even, like, standing too close to thomas was bullshit. that’s literally just “I don’t know how girls act.” but moving on from that, a thing I like about book teresa that really stood out when I reread is that she refuses to downplay herself or be apologetic when it’s not necessary. i can see how it would come off as Strong Female Character™️ to people, I totally understand that, but I genuinely like the fact that from basically the time she arrives she’s like lmao guess what im smarter than you and you should listen to me. tbh I think movie teresa could’ve benefited from that willingness to say “fuck you, i know more about this than you do” because when it comes to the cure she absolutely does. again, the strong female character tm interpretation is probably valid, but I genuinely like that she won’t diminish herself to make other people, especially the male characters, feel more comfortable.

however, when it comes to interpretations I don’t really get, it’s odd to me that some people hate her for the betrayer arc in the book tbh. like... to me it’s very clear she doesn’t think she has a choice. wicked has already been mind controlling her and forcing her to do things so she knows the extent of their reach, and she has no reason to believe they Won’t kill thomas if she doesn’t do what they say, so of course she does it. maybe she could’ve hurt him less, but they told her it needed to be convincing, so it was better to have him injured and hating her but alive. it feels a little contrived how little of it is truly up to her, sure, giving her a lot less agency than i prefer for characters to have, but it makes it even more surprising to me that people just Hate Her for it. I also think at one point in tdc there’s a moment where she’s basically like “look I did what I thought I needed to do to keep you alive and I’ve apologized for that and I’m not going to keep doing it” which again plays into that aspect I talked about earlier that I really like.

movie teresa does have significantly more agency imo, which to me felt like an excellent change. she gets to make choices (influenced by wckd, sure, but no one makes choices in a vacuum), and she gets to have a distinct ideology that I think is sympathetic even if you don’t agree with it. like, do I love that wckd’s methodology involved torture and dead kids? no. but I don’t think she did either. she saw them as her best chance at success where working on a cure was concerned, with resources and access no one else was going to have, and she took it because she wanted to save as many people as she could. she clearly genuinely cares about her friends and it pains her to hurt them, but she’s made a choice as to what she thinks will be the greatest good. we see it from thomas’ perspective, of course it’s going to look bad, but I genuinely think it’s an understandable choice even if I hate some of the specific things she did. I think that with this more fleshed out ideology and her ability to make choices, she’s absolutely one of the characters who benefited the most from the adaptation, if not The one.

long story short, I think they’re almost entirely different people, and I think there are aspects of each version that would improve the other, which is interesting to me. I prefer the movie version as a character, but book teresa does have some traits I really like despite the Man Writing™️

[livlepretre]

Hey so this is something I meant to ask a while ago, but I totally forgot about it until like five minutes ago. A few chapters ago, Klaus told Elena he hadn’t slept with anyone in years. Is this a head canon you have about Klaus? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought I remembered you saying you thought he would have been sexually reckless in his very early vampire years. If you do think he’s been celibate more recently, is this because he was kind of a paranoid reclusive for a while there? I feel like what I’m asking has different responses based on which universe we are speaking about—whether that be canon, FE canon, or SWBS canon. Cuz like I could see you needing to add that in there so there’s no possibility Klaus has gotten other women pregnant recently in the SWBS narrative. Long story short, I guess I just want to know if there was a reason for this specific line and how you head canon Klaus’s sex life has been over the course of a thousand years.

oh my God YESSSS I love this ask haha

I think that Klaus lost his virginity to Tatia Petrova, and she was the only woman he ever slept with as a human. (She was also sleeping with Elijah, but I do think she was in love with both of them but Elijah was the one who offered that shot at getting married/having a better life, and Tatia was enough of a realist to try-- unsuccessfully-- to break it off with Klaus, but that’s a whole other headcanon.) 

Her death fucked him up pretty much permanently. I think his whole “love is a vampire’s greatest weakness” thing is a result of this tragedy-- this was him turning his heart to stone after having it utterly broken. And of course... also turning his heart to stone in the wake of not even knowing how Tatia felt about him in the end-- was she using him? Stringing him along? Did she really love him back? He’ll never know, because his parents murdered her in the most gruesome and terrifying way possible. 

This doesn’t mean he doesn’t indulge his appetites though. He and his siblings quickly descend into lusts of every sort-- their bloodlust and their sexual appetites intermingle, get confused-- Klaus dabbles with women, playing games with consent and seduction using compulsion, egged on by Kol, and even Elijah, and egging them on in turn. His lovers are often his victims, especially in those early days, when he had less control over his appetites and left a lot more bodies in his wake. It wouldn’t be very long before the list included men as well as women, and those early years would have been almost like a kind of frenzy-- a savagery fueled by the madness of the curse, the fact that their lives had been ripped apart by their parents whom they should have been able to trust, by the dark maw of his grief. 

I think he and Rebekah would have become lovers sometime around 10, 20 years into being vampires-- the subtext of the show supports their incest-- they’re just too weird together!-- and I headcanon that he would have been the one to take her virginity. It would have to be far enough into their curse that by then all of the social mores prohibiting various cruelties and abominations like sibling incest would have been stripped from them-- they were already delighting in murder, torture, rape, etc by then for some time, slaves to their own damnations-- but soon enough after the turn that Rebekah wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone/had the opportunity to have a lover. I could see this being something that would spur Klaus’s possessiveness-- and he’s very possessive of Rebekah. I don’t even see it as romantic in any way-- I think sex for Klaus is largely a mechanism of control and dominance, and he exerts it over Rebekah, his favorite sibling, his pet, the very most. Any hint that she’s going to stray from him, or give her heart, loyalties, and affection elsewhere, and he uses his sexual hold on her to keep her there, and kills the lover for good measure. (Why just Rebekah? Because I don’t actually think the incest extends elsewhere... except maaaybbeee Kol/Rebekah... well, because 1) she’s the only girl and Klaus is definitely misogynistic enough to view this as a weakness or something he can control 2) she’s younger, and her personality is easier to control than Kol, who is a wild child and bucks authority on top of being as suspicious and paranoid as Klaus, or Elijah, who is Klaus’s equal and whose wrath Klaus is always always wary of.) 

So, for a very long time, I think that Klaus sleeps around in a casually vicious way, with Rebekah as his only long-term, on again-off again lover (although, there are probably some mistresses here and there, and probably some witches too, who might last a bit longer, or who might make it out alive), until we get to Katerina. 

Katerina. The woman with Tatia’s face. A duplicate, body and soul. She’s the greatest danger Klaus has faced since his turning, because she’s the one girl his heart might be vulnerable to. So he shores himself up even more. Strengthens that wall of stone around his heart, and keeps himself cold to her. He can’t resist taking her as his lover, of course, or keeping her as his mistress while he gathers the resources necessary to sacrifice her. But all the while, even while he has her in his bed every night, even as he’s plotting her murder, he’s seething with fury and jealousy. He’s envious of Elijah, who falls in love with her, plain and simple; envious of Trevor, even, for the same reason... because she is the one woman he wants, but he’s also too selfish to ever contemplate doing anything other than murdering her for the sake of obtaining his power, so she is also the one woman he cannot have. And he cannot ever allow himself to love her, because he will definitely kill her. And he’s furious when Elijah comes up with a plan to save her, because Klaus is also afraid of Katerina. Afraid of that possibility that if he falls in love, it will be a weakness, just like his love for Tatia was a grave weakness. The thing that was his undoing oh so long ago. 

Of course, Katerina runs, and Klaus feels this proves him absolutely right about her. 

A few more centuries pass. I think with time we see his bloodlust slaked, and more and more of his bedmates survive the encounters. He grows bored, and restless. There’s no more hope for ever breaking the curse, and so his life feels very static. He has nothing to look forward to specifically. He takes lovers here and there, and he falls in and out of Rebekah’s bed, but nothing touches that stone heart of his. 

This changes pretty significantly in the 20s. By then he’s suffered a harrowing blow. The family is broken apart, and it’s just him and Rebekah-- really just him and Rebekah, indefinitely-- for the first time he can ever recall. 

This is when Stefan joins the picture... Stefan, whom Rebekah adores, but who can be something different than every other lover Rebekah has had-- he can be that missing brother for Klaus-- who is looking for someone to fill the void now that Elijah (and Kol, and Marcel, but honestly not Finn because he’s been daggered for eight centuries) is gone. And because Klaus’s ideas about sex and power and sibling love are all screwed up, and because Stefan is charming and handsome and fun, Rebekah and Stefan’s affair quickly becomes Rebekah and Stefan and Klaus’s affair-- the three of them all tangled up together. And it’s precarious but Rebekah will take whatever she can have and Klaus is greedy for emotional fulfillment and Stefan is high all the time and having a great time having great sex so he doesn’t take any of it as seriously as he definitely should. 

Then of course there is the separation. 

I think during this long time period Klaus probably continues his pattern of casual sexual flings, but I doubt he really gets close to anyone. In fact, other than Rebekah or Katerina, I have the feeling that Stefan is the only other person he was sexually involved with that he really cared about. That’s why he wanted him back in 2010 when he ran into him again and the timing seemed right. 

I guess this now gets into the present-- my feeling isn’t so much that Klaus has been celibate as a matter of choice or paranoia or anything (although, he is paranoid, which is why he hasn’t fallen in love again in a thousand years), just that he is simply so old that years might pass between flings and he doesn’t really notice. It doesn’t seem like that long for him necessarily-- years can feel like weeks at this point-- and he’s grown pickier as he’s gotten older-- someone has to interest him for him to pursue, and it takes more and more to interest him now than it did before. 

Like, the show does suggest to me that Klaus may have been sleeping with Greta Martin, and that would fall directly in line with his MO-- we’ve seen him sleep with witches before, and we know that power does interest him. He’s not exactly upset by her death though, even though he seemed to like her-- also in line with how he refuses to become emotionally invested in his lovers. 

I do think though that he was sleeping with Stefan in that summer they spent together-- again, Stefan is an exception to the rule, although he’s not in love with Stefan-- Stefan slides into that weird Klaus category of “brother,” which is a gray area muddled in with lover for him-- essentially the same place that Rebekah occupies, but without the same levels of (faint) protection that actually being Klaus’s blood sibling provides. It’s fascinating to me that Klaus would reinitiate the affair with Stefan without returning Stefan’s memories-- it implies that he wanted Stefan’s devotion pure and simple, like making him fall into his orbit again to see if it will happen again, but it also implies a selfishness and greed for Stefan’s devotion, because he wants it focused on himself and not at all to share with Rebekah. 

I’m sure there was a wild week or two where they all resumed their relationship when Rebekah was reawakened before Klaus discovered Stefan had been lying all summer about Elena. 

My last thought on all of this is to do with Klaus and Elena. I’ve pondered and pondered and pondered why Klaus would choose to kill Jenna when Elena had already promised to go along with him willingly, obviously for the sake of her loved ones, and I had to think he was angry with her and taking it out on her that he had to kill her at all-- because there was a part of Klaus that wanted her for himself, and he couldn’t have her because, once again, he’s way too selfish to ever consider doing anything other than securing his own power. 

I suppose this takes us up to the present.

I put that line in SWBS but left it intentionally easy to misconstrue-- Klaus says he hasn’t had a woman in years, which makes it clear that there’s been no one  he could have gotten pregnant, but there’s been some subtext with Stefan’s responses to Elena sleeping with Klaus that imply that he has that history with Klaus himself-- I think the only fic I have where I wrote it without assuming that Stefan and Klaus were sleeping together that summer was After the Fire, But Before the Flood, but that was only because I wrote most of it before season 3 aired/before that season 3 promo ignited the Klaus x Stefan alarm bells in my brain. So anyway, in SWBS, Klaus and Stefan have that recent sexual history, and Klaus was probably sleeping with Rebekah a bit before Mystic Falls too, but does Klaus even see her as a woman? Doubtful, honestly. There’s something else going on there. 

I’m pretty fluid though in terms of what I think Klaus’s recent sexual history is-- sometimes like in Just A Glimpse, he’s been sleeping with Greta, sometimes the affair with Rebekah and Stefan is full steam ahead like in Fairytale Ending, and sometimes it all fizzles on him like in SWBS. 

I do still think it’s hilarious and amazing that the only time Klaus canonically sleeps with someone in TVD it’s because Hayley negs him into oblivion with her (entirely fair and accurate) assessment of his artwork. 

[vampiresuns]

Manmarziyan | Haider x Anatole

✴︎ 5.3k words. The Earth has no option but to orbit the Sun, and Sun has no choice but to shine on Earth — only it is a choice, one that Haider and Anatole cannot keep pretending they do not make.

Haider belongs to @atypicalacademic. CWs: contains mentions of 🍋, though it’s not 🍋

Translations, courtesy of Kani: Priyo - darling, Amar shona - my love, Amar Jibon - love of my life.

Title song: Manmarziyan - from the Lootera OST.

Anatole had been learning about the different religions and belief systems of the world since he was little. From mythologies to now-a-days-religions, he found the subject fascinating, even if he didn’t have a personal sense of religious faith. He had done so with Amparo’s and her grandparents, with Milenko, his mothers and his uncle Blasio, and he had done so with his great grandfather’s one. 

The belief system Valerian had been raised in had common motifs with others, but it was a little different to what Anatole was used to. He didn’t quite understand this Death of theirs very much, even though Valerian had told him neither did he when he was his age. However, it made up for being the most confusing with having the best stories around it, in Anatole’s opinion. 

One of Anatole’s favourites was the story of the Sun and the Earth.

The Earth had become enchanted with how beautiful the Sun was. Though it understood the Sun could not always be around —that the object of its affections being gone was necessary so green could grow on Earth, for the Rain too was a blessing— being apart from it was unbearable. 

Thus, the Earth came up with a way to always be close to the Sun. The Earth shook itself and roared until from its flats it created mountain ranges all over the world, each of them competing with each other to see which one would be the tallest, and the closest to the Sun. The Mountains were divine and magnificent, beautiful and awe inspiring, commanders of great respect. 

And just like the Earth had aimed for, some of them had grown so high they could pierce the clouds. 

So the Earth told the Sun: “I did this so we could be together.”

To which the Sun told the Earth: “My foolish beloved! Doing all of this when I shine on you so we can be together. I nurture your plants and I shine on your oceans so I can be with you, and you with me. I have never left you.”

The Earth didn’t understand. It thought the Sun had not liked it’s gift. When the Earth said as much, the Sun laughed.

It told the Earth: “I do love your gift. Not loving your gift would mean I do not love you.”

The Sun cradled the Earth in its hands and with a kiss it said: “And you’ll find not loving you is something impossible to me.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

His knock on the door was answered with a distracted ‘come in’ from the other side. His uncle was barefoot, curled up in one of his sofas, reading a book, his reading glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. Anatole called for his attention, and he lifted his index. 

“I am almost done with this chapter, Aelius.” 

Anatole waited, trying not to fidget too much — his uncle always noticed his fidgeting. Other people could take it as talking with his hands, thinking, or impatience, but not Valeriy. Fooling his uncle was as difficult as his uncle fooling him. Instead, he occupied his hands looking at the volumes in his personal parlour’s library, until he heard Valerius close the book and fold his glasses away. 

“Sorry, Aelius, I did not want to lose my track, and this book is very interesting.” 

“Is it the one about the art smugglers you told me about last week?” 

“Very much so. I finally had time to put my hands on it again — wine, dear nephew? I want to see what your coffee-ruined taste buds have to say about my first experimental batch.” 

Anatole indulged him. When he was his private self, Anatole had a very hard time denying his uncle. Especially now that their relationship had improved significantly after it’s mishaps, and he was ever so eager to have his opinion on things. Like he did when he was young, and prepared to fight every Prakran and Balkovian political office to have his nephew working with him. 

“What is it?” He asked as he poured some wine into a glass. “We’ve both established I cannot lie to you, because you notice, and you cannot lie to me, because I notice. So better get out with it instead you pretend it’s nothing.” 

“I need a favour.” 

“Who in the Court do I need to have a chat with?” 

Anatole laughed, accepting the glass of wine when he was sure he wouldn’t spill it. “Nothing like that, this is personal.” 

“Go on. Don’t clam up now, sit with me and give me something I can tease you about.” 

He hesitated for a moment, exhaling slowly, biding his time to make up the courage to just say it. His uncle raised an eyebrow at him. “Out with it. Unless you poisoned someone, nothing you say can be worse than something I’ve done, so do go on.” 

“Val.” 

“Tsk, don’t worry about me, and don’t ‘Val’ me. What is it?” 

Right, better get on with it. “I wanted to know if you could help me find a painting by Thasveer Wazim.”

His uncle looked clearly surprised, putting his glass down, and curling his fingers against his own lips. “Wanting to start your own collection?” 

“It’s a gift for someone else.” 

“Why haven’t I met him? Or them?” 

Anatole made a non-committal gesture and Valerius actually laughed. 

“You began going out with your someone, who must either have a streak for Zadithi painters or is actually related to Wazim, and you didn’t plan to take it this far, but now you’re scarily fond of them”. 

Anatole tapped the side of his nose. “Like a fool.” 

“You’re a lot of things, but not a fool. Who is it then? I will spare myself the comments about his suitability for you, but I will not spare myself the remarks. If we’re going on a little hunt on auction houses and private collectors, at the very least tell me his or their name.” 

“His,” Anatole paused. “It’s his son.” 

“You fell in love with the line of an overthrown aristocrat,” Valerius laughed again, and Anatole threw a small cushion at him, which he caught. 

“How charming of you,” the comment made Anatole roll his eyes. “What’s his occupation now?” 

“He owns a restaurant.” 

“From riches to rags, but well, my great grandmother was a smuggler.” 

“And your grandmother, a partisan.” 

Valerius winced. “Don’t remind me.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Anatole had known Haider Wazim for around a year, they'd been sleeping together for 11 months, and they still hadn’t made anything official, even if they both had agreed that in a month, they’d do something for the year mark. Haider wanted to take Anatole to his studio in the Catclaw desert. Anatole has been in love with Haider Wazim for around 9 months and three weeks, and he still hasn’t told him.

He was already aware how much of a bad idea it was continuing to keep it to himself, as he was aware his ‘casual’ arrangement had absolutely backfired, and given how Haider was, it was questionable if it was ever meant to work. He knew. He lived with that knowledge every day, every time they touched with a little more meaning, every time the sentiments and intentions in Haider’s words drew past his barriers. Because yes, Anatole could use his magic to check on Haider’s feelings, but he felt like it would be an intromision. If Haider wanted him in any other way than sexual, with the added benefit of the pleasure of his company, he would’ve said something, right? 

What Anatole didn’t need right now was his friends and cousins questioning his logic. He knew. 

“My guy, listen,” Leonore said, clicking his mouth, “you are the smartest person I know but I also think you’re being purposefully daft, like proper, massive stupid.”

“I hate to agree with him—”

“Aw. Asra, you warm my heart.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, I know Haider, and I think there’s a chance you’re both acting the same way because no one has said anything. Anatole I’m not going to tell you what to do, but don’t you think it would be better to just say it?”

“He might not, but I will,” Amparo said, “so I compel you to say something. You both are pining, he is acting like your official date, and you’re the Consul. Don’t you think it’s better to clear that up?”

“There’s nothing to clear up, it’s not like I’m madly in love with him or whatever.”

“You know, you are amazing at redirecting topics when you don’t want to answer something, and you might be good at doing the Diplomatic vague statements at work,” Medea said, tenderness in her voice, tenderness that shifted into an accusation as she poked her finger at his chest, “but you suck at doing it with yourself.”

One of the Palazzo’s staff cleared their throat, telling Anatole Haider was looking for him. 

“I asked if there was anything I could do for him, and he asked about you, sir.”

“Right, right, I’ll be right back, I’ll find him, thank you.” 

Once he and his friends were alone again, he was met with no nonsense stares from all Leonore, Medea, Asra, Amparo and Milenko. The latter snorted. 

“I don’t remember your non-official affairs, the non presented to the public, the ‘oh, I’m doing this one for me’ deals to have the power to summon you through your staff. How was it Amparo?”

Amparo’s impression of Anatole had always been good. She cleared her throat. “‘Wait until everyone is gone, and then we’ll attend to each other, does that work for you?’”

“Oh, fuck off. Fine, fine, fine, I’ll tell him soon enough okay? Gods, you’re all terrible.”

“We love you, and we don’t want you to be hurt, or sad, especially by your own hand when there’s no reason.”

“You don’t know that, Amparo, I don’t know that.”

“May the moon hold me tenderly in the face of stubborn asses,” she said, “what happened to the brutally hopeful man I knew in my cousin?”

“Oh, I never said I didn’t hope, I said I didn’t know.”

“Smartass.”

“Oh, my, it might be that we are related, Amparo Elira.”

She stuck out her tongue at him as he straightened his clothes from imaginary wrinkles, finding a mirror to freshen himself up some, evaluating his look. 

“I can feel you all looking at me, and no, this isn’t because I’m about to see Haider.”

“Stop lying,” Leonore said, walking in circles and extending the final g. “I already have enough of your betrayals with you picking up his pronunciation on rasgullas.”

After Anatole was gone, they all stayed behind a bit longer. Amparo was the first to break the silence, asking if they all wanted to bet that Anatole would not actually have the conversation with Haider. As bets came and went, Milenko remained quiet. He disagreed: Anatole would have the conversation with Haider, because he was terrible at lying to himself. He was fairly sure Haider felt the same way about him, too.

However, they would have the conversation at the worst possible time. “Trust the Earth to be as stubborn as the Sun,” he said with a sarcastic snort.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

In his defence, Anatole did try to have the conversation with Haider. He didn’t try very hard, but he tried. It just so happened that he hated to admit it, because it meant he would have to deal with feelings he didn’t precisely want to deal with outside of himself — the possibility of being rejected if he wanted something more, twisted him up too much. He had tried battling with it, reasoning with it, and just letting it past and taking assertive action and it still loomed over him. 

His friends were aware, his family was aware. Haider had met his parents last November, for Anatole’s birthday. They both had mentioned how happy they were for Anatole, that he had found someone who loved him so transparently. When their son told them this wasn’t that kind of relationship, if it was a relationship at all, they both exchanged concerned looks.

His mother had said: “Oh, honey,” and gave him a pat on the cheek.

Anatole never introduced people he was ‘just sleeping with’ to his family. Ever. He didn’t let those people become part of his routine, he didn’t let them take care of him, he very specifically never subbed for them in sex, because while he did enjoy it from time to time, it required him to feel safe in order to even consider the possibility. Haider had done all of that without even being his boyfriend yet.

They were celebrating anniversaries without being boyfriends yet. Maybe he was a fool. 

In his defence, he had tried. He had tried during said not-anniversary trip and failed catastrophically. He had planned to say ‘Haider, I believe we need to talk’. He had said: “Haider, I want you” instead. When Haider grabbed him, lifting him by putting his hands under his thighs, Anatole had wrapped his legs around his waist instead of stopping any of them to have the dreaded conversation. 

In his defence, Haider was a very good kisser. In his defence, it was very hard not to be tangled in each other. They had begun seeing each other merely because they thought they were hot and flirting was nice and came easy between them. Anatole had a mental catalogue of looks he found positively indecent that Haider had thrown him — categorised alphabetically, by situation, and by date — and he knew he had thrown Haider some which were equally disrespectful.

He had also said Haider had an ass like those very thick and fluffy pancakes, and given a dreamy whistle about other bits of Haider more than once. Like his arms, or his lips. Or his dick if he was going to be honest. 

The first morning of their not-anniversary Catclaw trip, Haider had made him breakfast, Anatole had asked why he was always so good to him, Haider replied “Oh, you know why”. Anatole had gotten him a variety of art supplies and a couple of sketching notebooks as a present, when Haider asked, his reply was the same. It’s what they always said when any of them wanted to say ‘because I love you’ but back tracked on it. Both of them blissfully unaware they were doing the exact same thing. 

He had spent the weekend doing some short hikes and looking at the stars with him — or looking at his hand while Haider pointed at things. When they weren’t acting like a couple, Anatole was too busy putting Haider to his knees. So, once again, in his defence, he was distracted. 

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Anatole rolled around the bed finding a cold spot to put his feet against, bundling himself up in sheets that weren’t his own. He was still too asleep to register the hour, or the lack of Haider at the other side of the bed, let alone the smells or sounds coming from the kitchen. 

He almost registered it but sleep won, his mind going to his private, faraway dreamland as he slept naked in Haider’s bed, even if mornings like this were on themselves a dream. 

He would only fully open his eyes a quarter to ten, half complaining about Haider kneeling by the bed and giving him small, light kisses, and fully complaining when Haider tried to move again, dragging him back to the bed with him. 

“You’re my prisoner now,” he mumbled, groggy. 

“What about your willing captive?” 

Haider’s fingers had begun tracing figures over his spine. 

“Hm, you can’t say things like that so early in the morning, or I’ll end up saying very compromising things.” 

Haider chuckled, pressing a kiss to the crown of Anatole’s head. “Why?” 

“You know why.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

When he returned to work on Tuesday, Medea raised an eyebrow at him.

“I promise I will talk with him, alright?”

After that she dropped the topic, more interested in knowing if her friend had had a good trip rather than telling him what to do.

Anatole had always danced around people he wanted until he knew he could make a strategic move without stepping on false, prone to collapsing ground. Furthermore, this wasn’t the first time Medea has seen him do this dance where feelings were reciprocated but no one did anything. It had happened with Leonore’s older brother, Navneet, it had happened with Julian Devorak. Medea has known Anatole for 10 years. The preliminary dance wasn’t surprising. 

However, both those instances had their reasons not to prosper, finding friendship in the two men instead of a romantic relationship, and they didn’t last as long as the Haider dance was lasting. Granted, one could argue the Navneet one had lasted a couple of years, but once Anatole had become aware of it, it burned and crashed in three months, both parties moving on with their lives. 

This was an abnormally long dance. 

During the two months after their getaway, Anatole’s job got in the way. It seemed more busy than usual, giving him little respite for anything outside of it. When he did get some of those blissful moments, he preferred winding down rather than having emotionally charged and stressful conversations. He loved his job, but it was requiring a lot of his attention, and Anatole wasn’t sure if he would be able to be at his best capacity if everything went wrong with Haider now. 

Something inside him asked about the possibility it went right. Then, Anatole thought, it wouldn’t be a problem, but he would prefer to gamble with the scenario when he wasn’t about to leave on a diplomatic trip.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Along the same time Anatole was supposed to be on his diplomatic trip, Haider would be visiting his family for three weeks. Anatole would be close enough to make a detour and see Haider, if he wanted to; given both their travelling schedules, if Anatole took a week after his work trip was done, he could return to Vesuvia with Haider. 

He wanted Haider to want him to be a part of his life to that point, he wanted what they already had but without the weight of yearning and the domesticity between them. He wanted to hear stories from his childhood from his grandparents, and he wanted to have the option to wear one of his scarves or shirts to work, because they shared a room, because they shared all of them with each other. His issue was he had no excuse to shimmy himself into it, nor he felt he had a right to meet Haider’s family, even if he would love to. 

He’d do anything for Haider. He didn’t know how it made him feel.

Around two weeks before he left, Haider and him were standing close to each other, Haider hugging Anatole from behind, both of them swaying to imaginary music. Haider’s thumbs went back and forth over Anatole’s sides, making him want to feel them over his naked skin. 

When Haider began asking about his work trip, he didn’t expect him to ask what he himself had not dared to suggest, the words echoing in Anatole’s head and his heart on his throat. 

“If you wanted, you could make a detour and stay with us. I know it’s not wise, and out of place for me to ask, but I’d love you to meet—”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll go. I’d love to go.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Nadia’s green light was both a relief and a nightmare. The former because he would hate to make Haider hope for something and then take it back. Anatole wasn’t someone who took, he was someone who delivered and was proud of it. The latter because he would meet Haider’s family despite them being formally nothing. 

Natiqa didn’t miss a chance to tease him as soon as she was informed she would be delivering a written report on Anatole’s behalf to her sister. Also involved in the trip as a diplomatic envoy, Anatole’s old acquaintance took more than one chance to remind Anatole of the Vesuvian saying about Consuls and their spouses. 

“Don’t you say that ‘good Counts make their Consul their friend, while good Consuls keep a happy marriage in their beds’?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anatole said without looking up from the report he was writing. 

“Given that began with your family one would think you do.” 

“We’re not together, Tiqa.”

“Nana, you’re meeting his family.” 

“I know.” 

Though she made a few more jokes at his stake — which was fair, Anatole thought — all she said on the matter was she was there if he wanted to talk. “Even if I haven’t forgiven you for preferring the Vesuvian Court to working with me, but we are still friends, Radošević, because I’m gracious like that.”

Out of time crunches, they didn’t quite get around that chat but Anatole appreciated it all the same. Soon came the time they had to depart, Anatole handing her the full volume of his preliminary Diplomatic report to Nadia before hugging Natiqa good-bye. 

“You’re adorable, Radošević, I’ve never met anyone with more worries, and Nadia’s my sister.”

“I don’t know how to take that.”

“As a compliment.” 

As Natiqa embarked herself in a Vesuvian-bound ship, she turned away to yell at him: “You’re a great catch, Radošević, anyone who doesn’t see that is an idiot!”

Her cat-like, dastardly grin was all the confirmation he needed to know she had done that on purpose.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

The trip towards Haider and his family was uneventful. Anatole occupied most of his time reading for leisure, or finding things to occupy the passing hours with. It was an 8 hours ride, the distance too short to merit taking a ship there. He arrived past sunset but before the night fully settled in.

Haider was waiting for him, wearing a sky blue scarf that contrasted with his mahogany eyes and his black hair. Anatole didn’t think of it twice, running towards Haider on impulse. He caught him in his arms and spun them around while they hugged. He didn’t let Anatole go when they stopped spinning. 

“Can I kiss you hello?” 

“After not having seen you in so many weeks, I surely would hope you did.” 

Haider, as always, indulged him.

He offered to help carry his things inside, Anatole joking about how he should be thankful he was only carrying two trunks. His third one along with the rest of his things — except for his sword — had gone back to Vesuvia with Natiqa. Anatole accepted the offer, but not before taking a piece of chalk out of his bag and writing a series of glyphs over his luggage. He took a deep breath before putting his hands over each inscription and releasing, the words shimmering and disappearing into the material of the trunks, imbuing themselves in it. Haider couldn’t help staring, marvelling at this facet of  Anatole.

When they both lifted the trunks, they were almost weightless. 

“Comes in handy, doesn’t it?” 

Haider and him exchanged talk about their specific journeys, what the former had been up to with his family, and how Anatole’s work trip had gone, as well as his trip there. 

The closer they got to the house, the more nervous he got. 

“They will love you, I’m sure.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You always frown in the same way when you’re nervous.” 

“And how’s that?”

“As if someone had put some really atrocious ensemble together but you were obliged by politeness to not say anything. Something that’s awful in a non-charming way.” 

“That’s certainly one way of putting it. It’s just— it’s just I haven’t met anyone’s parents in a very long time, that’s all.” 

What he didn’t say was: What will be the use of them loving me, if there’s a possibility you might not. Not how I’d like. 

They were inside now; it was too late to turn back. 

“Everyone, this is Aelius Anatole, my— I mean, the Consul of Vesuvia.” 

“Hi,” Anatole said, with his most confident smile, “it’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

That might have become the most delightful week of Anatole’s life and he still hadn’t had the conversation with Haider, his excuse now being it was a terrible idea to have such a discussion during a trip. 

Haider’s family was lovely. Lively and colourful, a myriad of humbled aristocrats and bohemians who had preferred a life lived with others, for others and for art in its many forms, than a life of privilege. In so many ways it reminded him of his own, with its mismatched ends and its stories that seemed almost like legends of their own. 

There was also Haider. So much of him, under the sun and under the moonlight, clothed and unclothed, in the privacy of their bedroom and in furtive looks stolen when they thought no one else could see. There was Haider and the water, Haider and the kites, Haider and his hands on him, and his lips on his own.

There was him on the veranda, trying to do mehendi on Anatole’s hands and there was them ruining it on accident, too overtaken by craving each other. Most of the paste had ended up on Haider’s skin, but some had on his kurta too. No one had come to retrieve them, so they had no reason to stop. Wasn’t it always like that anyway? Once they began, they couldn’t stop, too much unsaid between them as always, too many things to act on?

Anatole did not regret missing dinner. He was too busy riding Haider in the veranda. He didn’t even mind when, later that night, they both were having dinner in the kitchen, wrapped around each other and looking like a mess of disheveled clothes and henna stains when Haider’s grandfather walked in. Haider had felt compelled to explain themselves, which ended up being more embarrassing than anything else, since Asghar clearly did not buy into Haider’s ‘I was showing him around and Anatole tripped’ excuse. 

His cousin Shaan had walked into the kitchen to get some water right when Haider was explaining, though he stayed until Asghar was gone to make any comments. 

He took a look at them, and gave them a sly, cheeky look. “Yeah, I’m sure there’s plenty to see.”

Haider’s blush intensified, but Anatole raised an eyebrow at him, a cat-like grin on his face. “I don’t know,” he said, nonchalant as could be, throwing a look at Haider’s chest, “I’ve seen that before, so not really.”

Shaan laughed, stating he liked Anatole and asking if they could keep him. Anatole didn’t say how, if Haider wanted to, he’d stay forever.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Anatole should’ve known his incapacity to say anything to Haider would come back to bite him on the ass. He had slept in — courtesy of not having had a vacation in a while and staying up until a little too late with Haider. Their pillow-talk had drawn out to the point of becoming another round, so they didn’t go to bed until two am. Haider was gone with Shaan and some of the others in the morning, having left a note and breakfast for him, telling him to enjoy a lay in as much as he wanted. 

Haider came back around lunchtime, walking into the kitchen to find Anatole helping prepare it, looking worried in the way he always did when he tried to pretend whatever which troubled him wasn’t important. He looked that way all over lunch, and he continued to do so when Anatole pulled him away into their shared bedroom to ask him if he was okay.

“I’m just tired, priyo, that’s all.”

“Seriously? You’re going to hit me with the I’m tired line?

“I thought you didn’t do the language magic thing with me,” Haider said, trying to joke.

Anatole pursed his lips. “You’re evading the topic. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but I’m here for you, if you do want to talk.”

Haider sat down on the bed, he sat up again, turning over himself to look at anywhere but at Anatole, until he was looking only at him. “Nana, why did you come?”

“What?”

“You took a purposeful deviation from a work trip. You skipped personally informing the Countess of a serious enough diplomatic trip to send her Consul to.”

“I don’t think Nadia minds me taking a couple of weeks off, since I’m always working, and I sent a full written report with Natiqa, so I don’t see where your question is going.”

“But you always say you don’t do those things.”

“Haider, I can’t even remember the last time I said such a thing. I’m here, isn’t that what matters?”

“Yes, but why, Nana?”

“Oh, Haider, you know why.”

“What if I don’t?”

If someone would’ve had access to Anatole’s mind in that moment, he would’ve heard high pitched screaming. A note so high it was only audible to dogs, never mind Anatole’s voice register wasn’t nearly as high as such a thing suggested. Dreads settled in his gut as they started one of the most stupid circular arguments Anatole has ever witnessed or been part of. It was like there was a duplicate of himself watching them fight, shaking his head at him, saying ‘I told you so’  while he realised that if this was it, if for some reason this was how it ended, as dramatic as it sounded, he didn’t know if he’d ever fully come back from it. 

The argument was too stupid for Anatole to let it fester any further. 

“How can you not know that I love you, Haider? How can you not realise that I’m in love with you?” 

Well, he said it. It was out. The only way to get out of this conversation was there was no way to get out of that conversation now. Unless, of course Anatole climbed out of the window without breaking a leg in the process. 

“Iloveyoutoo,” Haider blurted out without missing a beat. A somehow candid and terrified look on his face, which went away when he repeated the words, more slowly, more surely. “I love you too, amar shona.” 

The certainty in his words made Anatole forget how to breathe. “You— you love me too?”

“I do. More than anything.” 

Anatole barely let him finish that sentence. He made his way across the room in a flash, walking over the bed (thank the Gods he was barefoot) to close the distance between them as fast as he could. He climbed on Haider, pulling him into a kiss, and Haider caught him in his arms — Haider would always catch him, Haider would always be there, and he was a fool not to realise it sooner. 

“I love you,” Anatole said against his lips, “I’m so sorry I didn’t say it sooner.” 

Haider kissed him back, wrapping his arms around him like Anatole could evaporate in front of him at any moment. All his family had told him not to let him go, and now, now that he knew himself loved and Anatole knew he loved him, he would hold onto him until he had a chance to say it for all the months he wanted and didn’t. 

“I love you too,” he said between kisses. “Amar shona, Amar Jibon.” 

Anatole knew the language. He didn’t need Haider to translate to know he just called him both ‘my love’ and ‘love of my life’. Haider repeated it in every space between kisses where he could fit the words, over and over again.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

When he was around ten and Valerian had told him the story of the Earth and the Sun for the hundredth time, he said he wished someone loved him like that one day. 

Valerian had kissed his forehead. “You will find your Earth, I’m sure of it.”

Now that he was lying on top of Haider, spent and happier than he had ever been, he knew he had. 

[mcustorm]

45 M/M Gay Movies, Ranked

The other day I bit the bullet and decided to watch Brokeback Mountain for the first time. All I knew about that movie was that it was basically the CMBYN of yesteryear and somebody got killed with a tire iron. Anyways, so I finish the movie and realize that I’ve seen a *lot* of gay movies, especially in the last couple of years. So here are my rankings according to nothing but my personal preference. I won’t write about all of them, but you can ask about something if I leave it out.

I wish I could give you a rubric for this. The reality is, there are some radically different movies on this list with different tones and intentions. There’s buddy comedies, tearjerkers, small indie features, big theater releases. So trying to rank them all is TUFF.

The Way He Looks - Such a beautiful coming-of-age movie. Maybe the 2nd one I saw on this list? Perfect length, perfect characterization, simple yet compelling, clever. And nothing feels better than reaching a happy ending (for once, because some of these movies’ endings-- SHEESH) that’s been earned. It just hasn’t been topped.

2. God’s Own Country

3. Pride

4. Kanarie - Yea, we don’t talk about this movie enough. It’s one of the most recent that I’ve seen. Beautiful. The way that it references apartheid and the war to reflect the protagonist’s feelings? Flawless.

5. Jongens - The first movie that I saw on this list, gets many a bonus point for that.

6. Moonlight - Yes, I am black. Yes, I understand this movie may be too low. Moonlight kind of scares me. In general, there’s not nearly enough discourse surrounding this one for me. But while it’s not exactly a popcorn-muncher, to me it’s the most personal movie on the list. When I look at Chiron and all that he’s been through, I can’t help but draw parallels to my own story up to this point. It holds a mirror up to me in a way that no other movie on this list does. That makes me uncomfortable.

But it is so poetic. Have you guys seen the script for this? The directing, the SOUNDTRACK, the acting. Phenomenal. 

7. Weekend

8. Call Me By Your Name - Yes, I am aware of people’s beef with this one. Yes, I understand a lot of people may feel this one is overrated. While I do think this one gets worse on rewatch, the truth is, it’s not really *that* overrated because hot take: most (meaning over half) of the movies on this list range somewhere from “just okay” to “painstakingly bad”.

It’s the score, the cinematography, the subtext in most all of the dialogue, the acting, the way that you can smell the apricots through the fucking screen. People who say this movie is a vacation ad are fucking CORRECT. One of my biggest gripes however is that it’s too fucking long. And uh, that age difference...

And Armie Hammer’s a weirdo...

9. Dating Amber* - Dating Amber has one of those “Duh” premises that sounds like it could’ve been done like 30 times before yet I can’t think of any other examples of it. So what you’d think would be a wacky premise actually turns out to be a frankly poignant movie with an emotional story arc for the main two characters.

10. Hello Stranger: The Movie* - This movie, which is the first sequel (sorta) on the list, frankly had no business being as good as it was. Even though the web series is required viewing, I felt the movie fixed like all of the series’ issues: pacing, lack of compelling drama, the awkward quarantine format. The drama and stakes are there without us having to visit Angst City. And the theme and the ending reprise is HEAT.

11. Uncle Frank* -  Uncle Frank is like The Help of gay movies. Like The Help, it’s *overall* a short, sweet and fluffy movie set decades ago. Like The Help, you’ll still come out of it feeling pretty good even though it has some dark moments. Also like The Help, you’ll wonder after the fact if the central white girl absolutely needed to be so...well, central for this story to be told. Bonus points for Paul Bettany and Character Actress Margo Martindale.

12. Brokeback Mountain - Tragic.

13. Moffie - Set during the South African border war, same as Kanarie. You even hear the word “moffie” throughout Kanarie. Anyways, this is a war movie for the gays, and a very intense watch. I liked that it was a much more realistic view of what a soldier endured during that period, and of course on the flip side I thought it was more thorough in its depiction of the rampant racism. I gotta find a good book on this era.

14. A Moment In the Reeds

15. Get Real - Maybe the most out of place movie on the list. I need to rewatch it. I do recall absolutely loving the score, however. Like, I fucks with this:

16. Freier Fall - When I finished Brokeback I was like, “Wait, wasn’t that just Free Fall with extra steps?” And yea, it kinda is. But even discount Brokeback is still pretty good.

17. Beautiful Thing - There are few things to like about this one, the relationship between the two guys, the mother’s love for her son even though it’s not all rainbows, that nice little final scene. I did not care for the dark-skinned woman being portrayed as, you know, the drug abusing, school dropout, gossipy, butt of jokes neighbor. But that guy really looks like Tom Holland tho.

18. Love, Simon - It’s at this point that I move from “Yea, that movie is good, you should watch it!” to “Look, you may like it, you may not.”

19. The 10 Year Plan - This movie is so fucking cheesy that there was cheddar coming though my speakers. But when I think of “Hallmark/Lifetime, but for the gays” this is the crown jewel. There’s some other movies on this list that could’ve taken some notes.

20. The Christmas Setup* - The trend of fluffy-white-gay-cable-network-movie continues and in good form. It’s not deep. It’s not really thought provoking. It’s cute. Fran Drescher is there. You should watch it.

21. Giant Little Ones

22. Hidden Kisses

23. Alex Strangelove - In a unique twist, the emotional core of this one is arguably between Alex and his girlfriend. All that ends up happening, however, is we the viewer keep wanting more Alex/Elliott scenes; those are the most electric in the whole movie. The end result is a hot yet endearing mess.

24. Fair Haven

25. The Thing About Harry - Freeform’s attempt at making a cheesy rom-com for the gays. It’s...okay. I personally feel like the main character’s friend is highkey trifling but it’s whatever.

26. Your Name Engraved Herein* - So I guess I’ve decided I officially hate angst. I mean, I get how it’s often necessary to tell an effective story, but I’m just not here for 2 hour indie angst fests that get passed off as “high art” anymore. I cannot do it. Somehow this is Brokeback’s fault...there just has to be a better way to tell gay stories in the 2020′s. Anyways, the last song was fuego.

27. The Perfect Wedding - Easily the most bizarre movie on this list. It’s so bad, I liked it a lot.

28. Naz and Maalik - The first half of the movie with the two leads just riffing is some pretty great stuff. The back half starts throwing plot developments that are just less than interesting.

29. My Best Friend

30. The Curiosity of Chance

31. Being 17 - Boring. Angsty.

32. And Then We Danced

33. Center of My World - Has some of the most trifling characters EVER. I was so angry. This movie for me has *0* rewatchability.

34. Just Friends

35. 4th Man Out - This movie was basically “a bro/Hangover-style movie, but for the gays.” I absolutely love the intention, but the execution was a little shoddy. One day we’re gonna get a flawless movie that nails what this movie was going for. I hope we remember this movie whenever that day comes.

36. Latter Days - So fucking preachy. 

37. GBF - Another bizarre one, but at least this movie gets how wacky it is.

38. Beach Rats

39. Shelter - I’ve noticed a lot of people like this one. To that I say...yikes. Remember that scene from Family Guy where Peter says he doesn’t care for The Godfather? I did not care for Shelter. It insists upon itself (not really, but still).

40. Handsome Devil

41. Esteros - It’s at this point of the list that we shift from “Movies that are the definition of ‘ight’ “ to “These movies are bad. Bad. BAAAAAD.”

42. Monster Pies

43. Were the World Mine - I couldn’t even finish it. Wanna watch a better musical? Go watch Kanarie. Wanna watch a better Shakespeare adaptation? The Lion King is the movie for you, or even fucking She’s the Man.

44. North Sea Texas - So boring. I actually think this one may need a rewatch, because I swear it shouldn’t have been as terrible as it was.

45. Salvation Army - I have no idea what this movie was going for. I understand that it is autobiographical, however...it simultaneously barely has any plot or character developments. This one has shades of Beach Rats, but it’s significantly worse, and I didn’t even like Beach Rats that much.

So that’s it, thanks if you made it down this far. I guess I’ll update the list as I inevitably watch more of these. I would love movie recommendations! 

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x reader (A/n- I actually though this chapter wasn’t gonna happen. But I’m a procrastinator at heart here it is. The version of Crimson and Clover quoted is the original by Tommy James and the Shondells)

Summary Prologue  1   2   3  4  5  6 7

Warnings- Angst, sort of, I guess(?)

Chapter 8- Inescapable Bitterness

"Dad!" Y/n shrieked, everything blurring, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug as she stumbled to his path, in an effort to stop him from assaulting Keanu. Standing about a foot in front of him, with her arms outstretched defensively, she racked her brain for helpful words, quickly discarding the useless and desperately searching for anything that would make their situation better. Though, in the end, all she could come up with was a ridiculous, shaky, "This isn't what it looks like."

Vaguely, in the background, Y/n could hear Keanu's confused; "It's not?" But she quickly decided that that was an issue for much later. If there was even a later after everything was over.

"Yeah?" Roger folded his arms across his chest, his shoulders under his red and black flannel tightening and the veins at the side of his neck and on his forehead prominent, "So what the hell is it?" He gave her a couple minutes to scamper for an appropriate response. Though, when not as much as a peep left her mouth, he started moving around her to get to Keanu,  "Cause it looks like Keanu's been taking advantage of my kid."

Loudly, she scoffed in disbelief, grabbing Rogers's forearms to keep him here he was, "He's not taking advantage of me, I'm a grown woman, I can take care of myself."

"You're twenty-two," Roger managed, exasperated, shaking off Y/n's grip. Finally free, he approached Keanu and they stood head to head. Y/n could figure out if Keanu was just gonna take a punch or if they were going to have a full on fight, “And he’s fifty five. To him, you are a kid.”

“She’s not a kid,” Keanu managed through gritted teeth, standing tall. If he was phased by Roger, he was definitely good at hiding it.

“Yeah, you should know, right?” Neither of them made a move to get physical; her father was always more of a pacifist, getting loud if necessary but never violent, at least, not in any instance that she could recall. "You had no business."

"I didn't know she was your daughter-"

"It doesn't matter who's kid I am!" Y/n's hasty interjection was met with startled stares, "I'm an adult dad, and I'm gonna date whoever I want."

Before Y/n could speak again, Roger was interrupting, "You think I don't know that? But he's thirty years older than you. And you said it yourself; he doesn't want anything serious, so I'm not gonna stand back and let him hurt you."

She understood his point, well, she tried to; when you have kids, you want to protect them, make sure no harm came their way. But you also couldn't do it forever, there'd come a time when they'd have to make their own mistakes. And if Keanu was one of those mistakes, Y/n was willing to find out on her own. "I know," her tone softened empathically, "And I appreciate that dad, but I'm not sixteen anymore, you can't just yell at the guy I'm dating and ground me so we don't see each other again. I'm an adult and I can don’t need you to protect me all the time."

Tentatively, Keanu added, "She's right Rog-"

"No,” he turned, pointing warningly, his face still beet red with anger, “You stay out of this! God you’re-” Unable to find the words, Roger cut himself off, shaking his head, huffing so he could catch his breath. It was clear to Y/n that he was no longer willing to put up a verbal fight, though she knew that the next time they saw each other in private, all wouldn’t be as it typically was. She was definitely in for a lengthy lecture, the one she’d been duly avoiding. 

Sighing heavily, her father finally continued, his tone significantly softer that time, "Look, I get it, you're a grown up, you can do whatever you want," reluctantly, he shook his head, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair, "I can't stop you. But," at that, he turned to face Keanu, his expression hardening once again, and his pointer finger jammed into Keanu’s chest, "If you hurt her, and I mean this, I will destroy you."

"I…."

Before either of them could respond, Roger was already headed for the door, the thuds of his boots heavy on the floor, not even looking back as Y/n called after him, scurrying slowly so she wouldn't actually have to grab him. "Come on. Dad," she tried one final, fruitless time, before he was pulling the door shut behind him, sound of it closing enough to bring a chilly finality to their interaction.

Y/n stood, rooted the floor, staring at the white painted double doors hopelessly. Her heart thumped erratically against her chest as panic swoll up slowly. Y/n hadn't seen her father mad at anyone like that since he'd left her mother. Just like he'd left her a few minutes ago. It was absolutely irrational, she was an adult, and the situation was completely different, but Y/n couldn't help but worry that it would end the same. That really, she was like Elane. First it was Luke, and now her own father. She hurt people too, just like her.

Her glassy eyes stung and there was a lump caught in her throat that couldn't be remedied in time to respond to Keanu's calls. Y/n's lips quivered, though she didn't have the slightest clue on if it was due to words unsaid or her sheer, though unwarranted panic. She had to fix things, she couldn't lose her father again. And it couldn't be her fault. 

"Y/n," Keanu called out to her again, that time, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Jumping slightly, a little gasp escaped her parted lips as she turned, and her paled cheeks were enough to exaggerate the emotion in her eyes. Even as she looked at him, even if he'd drawn her attention, Keanu's words seemed to have failed him and he simply stood there with her, his touch not as intimate as the ones they'd shared over the past two months, but his eyes were sympathetic and dim.

Keanu couldn't have recalled a worse time to be rendered speechless. He knew that he should have said something, anything, but nothing seemed right. He couldn't believe that he hadn't put the pieces together; her name and the things he'd heard from Roger in the past. Hell, it was probably plastered all over the fucking internet. But ignorance is bliss. 

Would he have been with her if he knew who she was? If they'd met a few years before, when he and her father were frequent poker buddies, playing rounds with a slew of other bachelors at Chateau Marmont on Thursday nights? 

Sometimes, over the summer, Roger would skip poker or whatever else they'd planned, telling everyone that he was headed to spend some time with his daughter. "She's great," he'd say, a haughty, proud smile plastered on his features as he slapped Keanu on the back, "I've gotta bring her out to meet everyone some time."

He'd never brought her.

And now, Keanu knew her. Better than any of those other men surrounding the green felt ever would. It was funny, Keanu thought, back then, he'd envy Roger, wishing that he'd have someone waiting to spend vacation with him. Someone he could spend hours talking about, being proud of. Someone he loved. Maybe a kid, maybe a wife, just anyone really. But shortly after that, he'd aged out of it, the tingle of jealousy turning into disinterest; his time for those things had passed, and all that was left were fleeting pleasures.

Reverting to the present, Keanu tired to blink the guilt away, refocusing his attention on Y/n, who still seemed tragically bewildered, "Y/n-"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," she sunk into herself and Keanu couldn't help but be a little grateful. He didn't think he'd do a very good job at explaining things, and he could tell that their….. companionship had hit a new level of fragility, now easily shattered by whatever came next. 

"What do you want to do?" Desperately, Keanu needed her to tell him. He wanted to fix things for her, for them, but the situation was less than familiar, it wasn't everyday that he'd get caught with his hands up a friend's daughter's blouse, and really, Keanu didn't have the slightest clue on what would make things better. It would help if she'd let him in, but he'd learnt that Y/n wasn't the type of person that was quick to do something like that; he'd have to earn the privilege of hearing her thoughts. Though seeing her like that, so shaken and in need of comfort and an emotional band aid, he ached to do something, even if it meant she'd have to spell it out.

For a moment more, Y/n regarded him curiously, as if assessing to see whether or not his offer was a genuine one. "Have a drink with me," she finally determined, slipping out of his loose grasp and heading to the kitchen.

"Why don't we go out?" Keanu offered, he knew just the place he'd take her, it was secluded and not too popular, meaning that they wouldn't have been discovered, and they served almost every kind of liquor available. It was the perfect combination of trashy and classy. 

Her hand was already gripping the handle of the refrigerator, though, it wasn't open yet when she stopped to consider his offer. Going out would be good, at least she could forget the horridity of what had not too long ago happened. "For drinks?"

"Yeah," Keanu nodded slowly, slipping his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans, "If we leave soon, it shouldn't take us too long to get there."

A faint ghost of a smile brushed Y/n's lips, and she let her hand fall  to her side as she nodded, “Okay, let’s do it.”

Instead of taking the bike he’d gone to her place with, they’d taken Y/n’s car after she’d showered and changed into a simple pair of black ripped jeans and a leather jacket, with a loose, lace tank top on the inside. The drive had been an hour and a half longer than Y/n had expected it to be, and she and Keanu had spent most of it in tense silence. She couldn’t figure out if she was mad at him for not trying to break it off or if she wanted it to stay that way for a while. 

For the most part, she’d spent the ride propped on her arm, jammed against the passenger door, while Keanu manned the driver’s seat, maneuvering her sleek grey vehicle with ease; five fingers easily closed around the velvet wheel covering, his other hand stationed on his thigh, never reaching over console. At some point, she’d turned the stereo on, playing what she had saved there, but the soft hum of music wasn’t enough to cut the tension swirling around the enclosed vehicle, and at some point, Y/n had shifted her gaze, to out the window, staring blindly as glittering buildings grew sparse, replaced with houses, those eventually becoming infrequent too while periods where the headlights were the only source of light growing longer and longer. Desolate desert lined the street on both sides, and it was like that for a considerable chunk of the journey, until, out of nowhere really there a bar came into sight. 

It was at the helm of what looked like a small, scantily populated town and didn’t look very credible with beat up concrete walls and a gravel filled parking lot. When Keanu parked, her Tesla stood out impressively among the less eventful cars that were there, scattered about the large lot. There weren’t many though, and when Keanu led her through the door, Y/n found that there weren’t many patrons either. 

The nameless establishment was just as she suspected, a bit worn down from years of use; upholstery boasting hints of wear and tear while the heavy wooden interior constituting the lengthy bar, chair frames and floors told their age in surface scratches and a dulled color that was mostly hidden by the dim yellow lighting. A lone television hung over one end of the counter, the rerun of a football game on mute while rock music wafted softly from speakers stationed at the corners. It wasn’t at all the kind of place that Y/n usually ventured to, with her half a handful of friends; it had a sort of eighties biker feel that she found was charming. As far as she was concerned, the bar didn’t have a name, but it had one hell of a personality. 

With a gentle hand stationed at the center of her back, Keanu led Y/n to  a circled booth at one of the corners, leaving her for a handful of minutes to get them a couple of drinks- that definitely wasn't the kind of place with a wait staff. He returned not too long after, setting down a couple glasses of whiskey neat. “I figured you’d want something strong after…..”

“Yeah,” Y/n breathed, bringing the simple glass to her lips, wincing at the burn of the alcohol. It wasn’t as smooth as the ones she’d witnessed Keanu ordering before, he had exquisite taste when it came to spirits, but it was definitely from the top shelf. “That was…..” Embarrassing? Traumatizing? Confusing?

Even if she hadn’t finished, Keanu knew exactly what she was talking about. It really wasn’t up there with the moments of his life that he wanted on mental speed dial, but it was too late, forever, probably every time he saw that armchair at her place or wore that t-shirt, Keanu would remember, and probably cringe, at that memory. It was branded into his brain. “It was,” he followed suit when Y/n took another swing of her drink, quietly hissing at the tinge of the amber liquid

Y/n took several of those ‘almost’ breaths, the kind that people took before they said something important or asked a question that they weren’t too sure of. The type where you’d inhale, but only halfway and where your chest expanded, but not noticeably so. Those breaths. “How do you know him?” When Keanu glanced up at her, the darkness of his gaze was seemingly tripled by the shoddy lighting as dark strands curtained his ruggedness. He was so attractive, so sinfully perfect, it was hard to believe that he and her father could be the same age. Why’d he have to be so handsome? 

“Your dad?” He cleared his throat, staring at his drink, probably considering downing it in one go, before looking up at her again, “When I used to live at Chateau Marmont, about….” he thought on it for a minute, “Maybe twenty years ago, he’d stay there whenever he was in Los Angeles, we’d talk in passing but didn’t really know each other personally,” Y/n listened intently, her head tilted to the side, some of her loose hair cascading over her shoulder, her head propped up by her hand as she leaned into the lip of the table. She didn’t remember anything from the time Keanu was referring to, she couldn’t have been more than a couple years old anyway. “We only got to really know each other after I moved out,” he leaned into his side of the small booth, one fist still on the table, the other hand bringing his glass to his lips, moistening his lips before he continued, “I’d still go sometimes, and then Roger- your dad,” Keanu seemed unsure of how to refer him from them on, and Y/n was too intrigued to offer anything helpful, “He told me that he was living there, he and his wife were separated.”

Y/n gasped quietly; that must have been no more than a few months before her parents’, very messy,  divorce but definitely after he’d left their home. It wasn’t breaking news that he’d spent a few years at a hotel before finding himself the Malibu pad, but Y/n just hadn’t known what hotel he’d been living at. “That’s it?” Y/n probed, referring to Keanu's long pause.

He’d hoped it was enough to appease her, though Y/n could apparently see right through him, already knowing that he was holding back, “No,” he sighed heavily, “The two of us, and some of the other regulars started playing poker together on Thursday nights, drinking and whatever,” he waved it off, not going into much more detail. “He talked about you a lot,” Keanu quirked half smile, “How smart you are, how proud he was and how lucky he was to have such a great kid.”

Huffing quietly, Y/n took another sip of her whiskey, returning his faint smile. She always knew that her father was proud of her, Roger never made any attempt to hide it, but hearing it from someone else sparked a warmness in her chest. As upset as he’d been when he left her apartment that evening, Keanu’s words were enough to instill some level of reassurance, he was still her father, and he’d always love her. 

“Did you know?” Earlier, Y/n had heard Keanu tell her father, several times, that he didn’t know who she was, but Y/n had to hear it for herself. She needed the truth, desperately.

For the first time, since they’d left her building, Keanu reached out to touch her, easing her grip from the glass and taking hold of the tips of her fingers, “I promise you,” he leaned forward, his eyes pleading with hers to believe him, “I had no idea. I should have put together somehow. If I’d known……” Keanu let the words trail off, thinking better of hurting her like that.

But Y/n wasn’t so quick to let the issue go, “If you’d known?” Keanu just carried on with absently stroking her knuckles, turning his face towards the open space of the floor left for dancing. There was no one there, everyone seemed interested in drinking and quiet chatter, but nothing more. “If you’d known,” she repeated slowly, dragging his attention back to the moment, “What would you have done?”

He probably wouldn’t have fucked her.

Probably wouldn’t have cornered her in an empty pool.

He probably wouldn’t have asked her out, or whatever he’d done.

Keanu probably wouldn't have done a lot of things.

But he couldn’t tell her that and risk hurting her. Besides, that would have been a really awkward ride back. “Come on,” he polished off his drink, pulling Y/n off the seat, gently tugging her towards the makeshift dance floor. “Dance with me,” pretending to not hear her question, or rather, blatantly ignoring it was probably his safest, least emotionally taxing option. And Keanu was going to take it and run.

“I asked you a question,” Y/n urged, though, still letting Keanu pull her to his chest. An old song was playing, one from when he was a teenager, a slow rock ballad that had been covered several times since the original.

Ah, now I don’t hardly know her But I think I could love her.

"I know," Keanu held Y/n against him, looking down at her head against his chest, his arms wrapped around her middle and hers looped his neck. They swayed slowly in one place, not really in time with the beat but, unless his eyes had betrayed him, Keanu didn't think the other patrons were paying them any mind anyway. 

My, my such a sweet thing I want to do everything  What a beautiful feeling

Y/n shifted her head, casting her gaze to the glittering bottles adoring the oak shelves behind the bar, fixed on the skewed reflection of their forms of the reflective glass behind the stocks, bodies in sync though minds gravely troubled. "Aren't you going to answer me?" Her words were void of any urgency, a mere, husky whisper barely heard above the hypnotizing mantra of Tommy James.

Crimson and clover, over and over Crimson and clover, over and over Crimson and clover, over and over

"No," was all he offered, just as softly as her previous words, one of his hands sliding to the center of Y/n’s back. She didn’t look at him, apparently unaffected, but considering their position didn’t afford Keanu a ready view of her expression, he didn’t think he could actually determine anything. 

Keanu didn't need to tell her for either of them to know. He prided himself, well typically, on being the keeper of a strong moral compass. Infidelity wasn't something he took lightly, even if he'd proven himself wrong in recent months. But a friend's daughter? That was something else. 

Keanu didn't tell her, Y/n knew it anyway.

If he'd known, he'd have never slept with her. 

If he'd known, they wouldn't even be standing there.

It was a tumultuous thought. And the worst part? Neither of them knew if they'd preferred it that way or not.

********

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​  @paanchu786​  @thesadvampire​  @fanficsrusz​  @fickensteinn​  @ladyreapermc​  @babygirltaina​  @septimaseverina​  @snatchedbylele​  @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx​  @magnificentclodpiebanana  @allie1804-fan @keandrews  @greenmanalishi

[miss-choco-chips]

Twisted soulmates

BIG Thank you to @iphoenixrising who let me babble on chat about this idea, and to @the-sky-is-a-lie who is an awesome sweetheart and read and edited this for me (THANK YOU!)

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

Tim has three names on one wrist. His soulmates. Tim has one name on the other wrist. His nemesis.

...or are they?

Tim gets his first mark the night the Graysons fell, ‘Richard John Grayson’ forever tattooed on him, the otherwise unblemished white skin of his left wrist almost shining in contrast to the new addition.

Young, he might be, but not stupid; never stupid. Neither of his parents would approve of a circus artist, perfect as he may be in Tim’s wide opened eyes, so he had to be smart about this. His mind hasn’t stopped whirling since the little touch that burned Dick’s name on him and vice versa, all kind of plans on how to broach the subject with the adults, how to make Dick like him beyond the promised love of a soulmate, every possibility dancing through his eyes, while his parents look for their seats at the stands none the wiser.

He's planning on asking his mom to stay after the show, so he might properly introduce himself to this marvelous trapezist, maybe proclaim an interest in the training - anything that could improve his overall abilities was a good thing in Janet’s eyes, and having her on board would be enough to force his father to accept. He’s excited at the prospect, and a part of him thinks Dick, up the trapeze getting ready for his act, feels the same. That he could feel, through the bond that snapped in place when the other kid first touched him, an echo of his own happiness, a joy at finding, so soon in life, something as beautiful as this. 

He’s going to stay after the show. He’ll talk to Dick, introduce himself properly, be as mature as possible- Dick wouldn’t want a dumb kid as his soulmate. Maybe even make friends with this wonderful boy that can fly and is destined to love him.

(Love him, him, him. He can’t wrap his head around this strange concept of being on the receiving end of something strong and wonderful. He might cry.)

Then the tragedy occurs, and  Tim's too traumatized to think about doing anything about it. He can't pester a grieving boy with this. They are kids after all, and it’s not like their bond is going anywhere. 

(I don’t want to wait, please don’t forget about me, please love me.)

---.---

Dick has just been adopted, his entire worldview had changed, adding a soulmate to care about would be just too mean of him. Tim can take care of himself, even when sometimes, after his parents left for yet another trip, he yearns for someone to hold his hand after a nightmare. To brush his hair back and hug him.

But that’s just the child in him. He doesn’t need it to live, it’s just a silly comfort thing to wish for, like the baby blanket his mother had made the servants take away once Tim turned four. So he keeps quiet. He waits. 

Dick’s name is on his left wrist, after all. He is his soulmate.

----.----

He gets his second mark years later, when the Batcave’s security is breached and some strange men attack Bruce. The giant penny is too tall, but he still get a good look at the man below it, and something in his gut twists. It all makes sense a few minutes later, when Bruce is fighting someone else and the man in green robes pushes Tim aside, holding him hostage to get the Batman’s cooperation. 

The skin on his wrist, the one that doesn't have Dick's promised love tattooed on it, burns. He doesn’t dare look down, aware of how taking your eyes from the predator in the room could mean instant death. He doesn’t need to, anyway; he already knows.

Tim’s pretty sure this is his nemesis, because no way he'd be destined to hate Dick and love this criminal, and they are on opposite wrists. So… getting away is the first step on his ‘do not interact with this terrorist until I’m significantly better at defending myself’ plan. Easy peasy.

He catches the side glance the man shoots him, because of course he also felt the burn, and there’s curiosity there. Something akin to amusement, which, Tim can get behind, he’s also seeing the irony of this, the utterly ridiculousness of him being important enough in the grand scheme of things to warrant being tattooed on this man’s skin.

There’s also possessiveness there, which isn’t fun at all. Stranger danger, his mind screams at him.

His nemesis shouldn’t be possessive of him, unless he has a really fucked up view of his enemies, in a ‘their death is mine, and mine only’ way. Because this is his nemesis, there's no doubt in his mind of that. 

Dick is on his other wrist, after all, and he is his soulmate.

----.----

Bruce goes mental when he finds out later, and almost blows a gasket. Ra’s, as Tim later finds out his nemesis is called, is suddenly one upping the Joker on Batman’s high priority enemies list, which means only a glimpse of him anywhere near the city borders would warrant a call to Superman, Bruce’s ultimate last resort. That’s how big this is.

Young Justice has split feelings on the matter. Cissie and Cassie, ever the bloodthirsty ones in Tim’s humble opinion, suggest tracking the man down before he can get to their leader, and taking him out of the game. Probably permanently. Kon seems torn, half with the girls, half with Bart, who finds the whole thing amusing and exciting. Ra’s Al Ghul, one of the most dangerous enemies the Justice League ever faced, and little old Robin is his fated enemy. Not Superman, not Wonder Woman, not Batman himself; just their Rob. That, according to the speedster, is so, so, so crash. The rest of the team, if they have opinions, keep them to themselves. It takes a while to calm the room down and focus on their mission of the day, but he eventually succeeds.

Dick, on his part, comes back from where he was brooding with the Titans after a fight with his mentor to fret over Tim, and everything is right in the world. 

He isn't afraid of Ra's. He has his new family, new friends, and soulmate.

----.----

There’s something on his pillow when he gets back from the weekend with his friends. 

A perfect rose, white as snow, thorns so sharp Tim knows they would pierce skin if touched. Not that he would be so stupid as to do it, not when foes like Ivy existed.

But… there’s a ribbon, and it sends ice through his veins. A red ribbon, tied at the stem’s exact center. A flower with a ribbon, the universal symbol of soulmates.

He’s pretty sure Dick’s back in San Francisco. Which leaves...

No.

He squares his shoulders and searches in his bag for his Robin gauntlets, protecting his hands with them as he disposes of the rose.

His right hand stings a little through the entire process.

----.----

When he gets his third mark, he's honestly surprised. As well as on the edge of unconsciousness from blood loss.

The blood flooding his airways is his, and the building that he believed was his safe place would never feel like that again. His knocked out friends litter the hallways, the bo staff he tried to use to defend himself long lost to the fight, as this man, his hero, his Robin, his apparent Soulmate, tries to kill him.

(Their eyes meet and they feel it at the same time, the twist in their stomachs, which is what stops Jason's blade. Tim’s hand raises up, weakly, and carefully brushes against the one holding the knife. It burns, and everything goes black for a minute.) 

(Jason stops breathing. He has the Joker on one hand, and was markless on the other until now, so this runt has to be his soulmate. No way it's the deranged clown. Which means he almost....)

Jason runs away (this is Jason, his wrist claims, not the mysterious Red Hood any longer) and Tim patches himself up, does damage control with his friends, calls Batman. His heart is beating twice as fast as usual, but he tries to be logical; Jason is on the same wrist as Dick, who is his soulmate, and opposite to Ra's, who's most likely his nemesis. Ergo, Jason's gotta be his soulmate. 

His confused, probably traumatized, totally not in his right mind soulmate.

He's gotta be patient and wait. Jason surely will get better, will come back to Tim, will fix this mistake he almost made, will... will love him.

Dick is his soulmate, and calls him ‘little brother’, which hurts, but he says it with such warmth that it soothes the ache. Dick loves him. 

Jason will, too, someday.

----.----

A few weeks later, he wakes up in the middle of the night, conscious of the feeling of being watched from the shadows of his room. 

There’s the teddy bear Steph won for him at the fair some months ago, sitting on the chair near his bed where he last put it, but… odd. There’s something about it that’s not quite normal, something that wasn’t there when he went to sleep half an hour ago.

It took him less than a minute to spot it, which would still be shameful if Bruce ever found out, but he sees the unusual shine in the bear’s eye and groans, more tired than rightfully angry, feeling like the moody teenager he never actually was.

A hidden camera. This was the fifth of the year, what the hell?

Pissed off, he gets up and takes the scissors he leaves by his bedside (can’t exactly go to sleep with a birdarang there, his dad might check on him at night and freak out, but sleeping without a weapon in easy reach just makes him uncomfortable) and makes quick work of the bear, getting the device out with as minimal damage to the plushie as possible. He’ll fix it later.

Beyond done, one hand opens the window with more strength than absolutely necessary, the other flying back to gather momentum and throw the thing right at the supposedly empty shadow on the roof of the building across the street. He’s not surprised when a dark gloved hand catches it, the rest of the body still perfectly concealed by the night. Fucking ninja.

No words needed, he slams the window shut again and grumbles his way to his desk, turning on his lamp. He’s not falling asleep again tonight, so might as well work on some cases.

----.----

His fourth mark is both exciting and like a bucket of cold water. 

It's a fucking kid.

Is this how Dick felt when he first got Tim's mark? No wonder he avoided talking about the subject, this was uncomfortable as fuck. Granted, it didn't necessarily have to be a romantic soulmate, platonic soulmates were a thing too, but... still. Awkward.

Even worse because the kid didn't have another mark and, as Tim was his first, was convinced he had to be his fated nemesis. No matter how hard Tim tried to explain the opposite; after the heart stilling moment where he extended his hand for a shake and was slapped away, thus providing the skin to skin contact needed for the bond to form, the brat was sure it was nothing but a ruse to get him to lower his defenses or something. God this kid was fucked up. 

So. In short. There were two of his soulmates trying to kill him. Great. 

But... Dick was on the same wrist as them. Dick loved him. Dick was his soulmate. So Damian... Damian had to be, as well. Maybe he'd grow out if his hate, maybe it was just a phase. 

Maybe.

----.----

His mother and father were dead. Steph was dead. His two best friends were dead.

Tim was numb, going through the motions but not really feeling anything. His only source of emotion, nowadays, was his constant rage at Damian, and the adrenaline while fighting a bad guy. 

He barely slept. He couldn’t remember the last time he properly ate. The manor wasn’t comforting enough with the little assassin roaming around for him to get any shut eye, and how could Tim be sure he wasn’t going to poison his food?

Sleeping in safe houses seemed the smarter move, even when they weren’t really safe at all, judging by the ‘gifts’ that kept appearing every time he turned his back. Food - sealed and untempered with - files on whatever case he was working on, a brand of turkish coffee that he would gladly down even if it contained poison…

Flowers, hundreds of them, all white in color, tiny red ribbons tying their stems.

Tim shivered at the meaning, but no longer minded the feeling of eyes on him while he slept. Looking for hidden cameras was too much effort to be worth it, as long as there were none in the bathroom and his walk in closet. He couldn’t care less, these days. 

----.----

Jason tried to kill him. Again. In the middle of a Pit Episode, even after all Tim had done to help him, to mend their relationship.

Damian was even worse, abusing Tim any way he could, any time he got the chance to get away with it. And it was a startlingly large amount of times, considering their family should be more attentive to attempted murder. None of Tim's effort to bond ever bore fruit.

But he's still convinced they are his soulmates, so he's gotta be patient. They have to be. 

Because Dick is his soulmate, and they share a wrist.

Because Dick...

----.----

Dick betrayed him. In the worst possible way, in the most vulnerable moment of his life. When Tim needed him the most.

Jason tried to kill him. 

Damian tried to kill him.

Dick betrayed him (which was, arguably, worse).

Dick was his soulmate. Jason was his soulmate. Damian was his soulmate.

They had to be.

----.----

His quest for Batman would’ve been a lonely affair, if not for the honeyed voice whispering in his ear. The silent eyes he felt on his skin wherever he went, more heavy than his three assassin escorts’ stares.

What a crazy world it was, where Tim’s nemesis believed in him, while his first soulmate, the one he loved almost his entire life, claimed delusion. Where his nemesis sent his people to keep him alive, to keep others out of his way, while his other two sought his death.

What a crazy world indeed.

----.----

-I think we need to talk, Timothy. About this bond we share.

-I’m listening.

Timothy, he said, but it didn’t sound like his name at all. 

In his mind, it echoed something scary, something that made him shiver and tense. 

It sounded like Mine.

----.----

Ra's al Ghul was probably his soulmate. 

He's gotta be. Because there's no way Tim's fated to love three people that are just going to break his heart again and again and again.

When he goes to the League for help looking for Bruce, he steels himself in place when Ra's’ voice in his ear makes him want to flinch. He grits his teeth at the viper like words murmured in soft tones. Makes himself accept when Ra's offers to train him in the ninja arts after he successfully brought his mentor back. Clenches his fists when he's asked to dinner in a dimly lit French restaurant.

Ra's didn't retaliate when Tim blew up half his bases. He kept giving Tim pointers and praises. Seeking his company.

So he breathes in. 

He forgave Damian for being a killer, Jason for being one, too. He surely can find it in himself to forgive his actual soulmate for being a criminal. 

In time.

Right?

...Right?

----.----

Something dark and victorious twists in Ra’s chest when the Detective doesn’t flinch away from his touch, and silently accepts the white rose and red ribbon he presents before guiding him deep into the restaurant. There’s acceptance in Timothy’s eyes, reluctant but hopeful, even if he stirs away from any ‘dangerous’ topics of conversation and very firmly drops a drug test pill in his glass of water the second the waitress turns her back on them. 

Ra’s doesn’t comment on it, merely mirrors the act on his own wine (one could never be too sure, not when an enemy as interesting as this is seated across from him) before raising it for a toast. Not that the Detective was aware of the reason.

He’s got a lot to celebrate. 

Deceiving this one wasn’t easy, after all.

----.----

Later that night, alone in his room, Tim turns in the bed, his back to the cameras on the far end of the room. The movement is slow, lazy, following his usual sleeping patterns. A clumsy hand pats the mattress, blindly looking for a pillow and dragging it to his chest, face hidden by its softness. He goes lax again, peaceful and oblivious to the world around him to any lingering eye.

Once he’s sure there’s no way anyone could see him, Tim lets a slow, dangerous smile creep on his face, his heartbeat thundering in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins, feeling so alive it’s almost painful after all the numbness.

Ra’s was looking so smug, like the cat that got the canary. Oh, he tried to hide it, but Tim had made it his life's mission since he was twelve to understand the man to his truest essence, to be able to read him as one would a book, and practice had taught him how to play him like a cheap kazoo.

He probably shouldn’t smile, safe as he is in hiding his face in the pillow, but he can’t help it.

Deceiving Ra’s, soulmate or not, wasn’t easy.

[bigskydreaming]

The multiverse trip trope, with the canon Batfam ending up in a No Capes AU, where their counterparts, being equally hyper-competent but having no secret identities to hide or vigilantism as the primary focus for channeling their energies into....are equally ridiculous to all vigilante versions of the Batfam, but in vastly different ways.

With no need to hide his athletic abilities or to try and distance himself from immediate association with his past acrobatics, Dick focuses his time and efforts on gymnastics after Bruce takes him in. He’s an Olympic gold medalist before he’s twenty, hailed for practically reinventing the nature of high-bar routines thanks to his innovative ways of melding elements of his former acrobatics with his gymnastics regimens. 

Because of his many medals and natural charisma, he’s also a highly sought after brand face, asked to endorse or act as a spokesmodel for all kinds of things. He takes a particular savage joy in having his revenge on society as a whole, for the grief they gave him growing up, between the jokes about his circus background and ‘garish’ ensembles he patterns after his old costumes. Each year, he himself quietly seeks out talented designers who because of their backgrounds and the elitism of the high fashion world, are only able to advance so far in that industry. 

Acting as a silent investor for them with the funds from his endorsement deals, he charms his way through backroom deals and opens the necessary doors to get his designers into the high profile fashion shows that can make designers’ careers, allowing them the much needed opportunities to showcase their designs and get them out into the world and in front of potential buyers. 

But in addition to their own designs, Dick then commissions the designers he patrons, to design for him the most absurd things they can come up with. The kind of high fashion wtf’s that Ugly Betty’s wardrobe department could only dream of making, and then making into a punchline. Design for me an outfit you wouldn’t even inflict on your most hated enemy, Dick says to them.

And each year they do, and Dick models those looks personally. Then he sits back with his siblings and cackles with malevolent glee as the snobby ‘it crowds’ of his generation later turn out in droves to purchase his ‘signature looks.’ Strutting around town in imitation of the poise and charisma he pulls off effortlessly - but those, no amount of money can buy, and given they’re the only reason Dick Grayson alone can get away with wearing this stuff and still look as good as he does when doing so - well, the socialite circles inevitably end up looking utterly ridiculous. The harder they try and sell it with artificial confidence that Page Six and talk show hosts see right through, the more they get shredded to pieces with scathing jokes and headlines that put anything they ever managed to come up with to shame.

Meanwhile, the revenue from their frenzied purchases of these ‘must-have’ looks of the season? More than enough to launch the careers of Dick’s designers, right up to the A-List, where Dick leaves them to do what they want and make the most of it, with his eternal gratitude for humoring him and his rich kid eccentricities. (Not that his designers haven’t all since long figured out the joke and gotten vindication of their own out of it, as the designers and buyers who tried previously to shut them out because of their humble backgrounds, now all rush to try and rip off their more out there and high profile ‘Dick Grayson Looks’ with their own versions, over-saturating that particular market demographic just as people start catching on that these designs were always doomed to fizzle without Dick wearing them himself......leaving Dick’s designers with an open, uncluttered path right to the demographics they actually want to sell to, with the designs nobody’s attempted to imitate yet because they were too busy keeping eyes glued to Dick’s peacock ensembles).

Bruce has long since given up expecting he’ll ever understand his various children without them making an effort to translate first.....so the first time he walks in on Dick, Jason and Duke watching E! with a focus they’ve never displayed for sports, and with the coffee table covered in so many papers and flow charts and graphs, the den looks more like a War Room rather than just three of his boys watching Entertainment Tonight with frightening intensity. 

Bruce just waits in the doorway for them to notice him and arches one eyebrow when they do. Oh, there’s a point to all of this, he’s sure. But damned if he can figure out on his own just what the hell it might be.

His eldest just beams at him with his thousand watt smile.

“Love me or hate me, they all want to be me,” Dick sing-songs. Then he shrugs innocently, as though that explains it all.

It doesn’t, Bruce is fairly certain.

“Why?” He asks somewhat plaintively, after his struggle to select one of the many, many questions buzzing in his head glitches on that one syllable and refuses to budge until he at least voices that much.

“We’ve been over this, B. Its part of our Twenty Seven Step Plan to Destroy the Upper Class,” Jason says impatiently, still jotting notes in pen on one of the graphs, eyes still locked on the TV. “God, its like you never listen, I fucking swear.”

“That running joke you two had when you were in high school?” Bruce asks blankly, focusing on his two eldest. Duke is paying absolutely no attention to him any way, leaning over to cross something out on the same graph Jason’s working on, scrawling some kind of correction while Jason nods like that makes total sense in whatever bizarre arithmetic they’re all working off of.

Dick sighs in the fond manner of a parent whose child has just done something particularly endearing. “You gotta admit, its kinda cute he still thinks we’re joking when we talk about class warfare.”

“Eh,” Jason grunts noncommittally. “Benjamin Button he is not.”

“If you boys don’t mind, could you do me a favor and make sure to clarify when you’re making fun of me? I have trouble spotting the insults otherwise,” Bruce says dryly.

“But that’s what makes it fun!” Duke says, beaming with his own version of Dick’s thousand watt grin. Equal in intensity, but where Dick’s tends to burst into being all at once like a supernova, Duke’s tends to sneak up on you, slowly increasing the illumination until you realize you’re blinking spots out of your vision and it hits you that you haven’t been able to see anything but blinding luminescence for awhile now, and you don’t even know for sure how long.

“Well how about just this once, you boys take pity on me and cut your old man a break,” Bruce says, still in tones as parched as Saharan dunes. “Explain what I’m looking at here as though I’m five.”

“Christ, B, you’re not freaking geriatric,” Jason mutters. “You’re only in your forties, its way too soon for you to try and milk the senility angle.”

“We’re documenting record of public reactions to the latest fashion crimes of Gotham’s A-List,” Dick cuts off Jason, taking the aforementioned pity on his father as he provides an explanation that is in no way helpful.

Bruce squints at the screen. “But aren’t those the same outfits you wore during your Fashion Week thing last month?”

“Well yeah, but on me they look good,” Dick shrugs.

“Don’t gloat,” Jason says to his brother. “It’s tacky.”

“Facts are facts,” Dick says without a hint of apology. “Lying in the name of false modesty would be the true dishonesty.”

“Incredible. You even manage to put a pious-sounding spin on being an egotistical shit,” Jason marvels. “How do you do that?”

Dick shrugs again. “It’s a gift.”

Bruce clears his throat. “And what’s all this documentation for, anyway?”

“Dick’s book,” Duke says matter of factly. Bruce would be flattered by his children’s apparent belief he can intuitively leap from one esoteric comment straight to an epiphany like some kind of goddamn gazelle - if he weren’t still so lost.

“Dick has a book? Since when? I thought Jason was the writer in this family,” Bruce frowns. “And I’m quite certain there was a big to-do made when you were all much younger, where it was decided that each of you would focus yourself on distinct pursuits not overlapping with any other siblings’, so as not to kill each other in your inevitable quest to be number one.”

“Well first off, Dad, if you couldn’t handle a little competition between your children, you shouldn’t have adopted competitive children,” Dick lectures absently, still scribbling away at those damn pages.

“Its not like you all came labeled with future character traits,” Bruce says crankily. They ignore him.

“And secondly, upon discovering that the agreement we all signed was the end product of carefully dropped hints aimed at making us believe we all came to the table of our own volition, when in fact, they were merely the machinations of the mastermind known as our meddling father,” Jason intoned, finally looking up at Bruce to raise one eyebrow at him significantly, “the Treaty of Wayne Manor’s South Family Room circa 2012, was thus deemed by all signatories to be fruit of the poisonous tree, and subsequently rendered null and void.”

Bruce’s frown deepens. “How did you figure that out? And why are you suddenly talking like a Bond villain?”

“Well it was mostly more of a theory until just now,” Dick beams at him. Dammit. You’d think he’d know better than to walk right into things like that by now. “But Tim had a hunch pretty much from the start, except then we all ended up branching out towards different interests anyway so it didn’t seem to matter that much, and we figured why not let you keep thinking you got a win there, you know?”

“I have the most thoughtful children.” 

“We do try,” Jason hums.

“We try,” Duke snorts. “You add snarky commentary.”

“That was implied.”

Duke rolls his eyes and rolls right past that. “And Jason’s talking like that because he’s got that book tour coming up in a couple weeks, and he’s test driving new Eccentric Author Aesthetics.”

“Gotta give the people what they want,” Jason shrugs. “My fanbase expects the precociously grumpy darling of the New York literary circuit to be baffling and unpredictable, I give them baffling and unpredictable.”

“And here I thought you’d said you hated your fanbase. And rather then giving them anything, last I heard you were claiming to be withholding your sophomore manuscript just to spite them,” Bruce says. His voice is still lost and wandering in the desert, not a hint of precipitation to be found. “In fact, I distinctly recall wanting to take you out to celebrate the rave reviews of your debut novel, the week of its release. Only you were busy having a diatribe about how ridiculous the reviews were and how nobody had any business calling the barely coherent linguistic finger paintings of an emotionally stunted twenty-one year old the ‘next great American novel’ and it called the entire slate of reviews’ credibility into question as any brains capable of producing thoughts that erroneous should be required to display a count of their individual brain cells before anyone even considers viewing any thought produced by them as potentially being credible.”

“And you thought he never listens,” Duke snickers at his older brother. “Sounds like a direct quote to me.”

Jason just shrugs again, not remotely moved. “Yeah but I hate everything, so its not like that really means anything. Also, I’m full of shit. I thought everyone knew that.”

“He’s not subtle,” Dick informs Bruce.

“Subtlety’s for losers,” Jason defends himself. “Like tact.”

Bruce clears his throat again. “Back to the matter of Dick’s book?”

“Oh, right!” Dick chirps. “I have a book. Well, will have. This is research for it.”

“So you are taking up writing after all?” 

“Hah!” Jason barks out loudly. “Dick can’t write for shit. He can’t even write a thank you card, forget about a whole fucking novel.”

“Umm, I can write, I merely choose not to,” Dick sniffs pointedly. Then he rolls his eyes in disgust. “And Jesus Christ, chill, Prince Passive Aggressive. I can’t believe you’re still making such a big deal about that. Let it go already.”

He and Jason both shoot quick looks over at Duke about two seconds after Dick’s last sentence. Duke looks up just in time to catch their glances darting away again.

“Hang on, why did you both look at me, like you thought I was about to start singing that stupid song from Frozen?” Duke frowns at them suspiciously. “You guys do know that I’m not Stephanie, right?”

“Yeah but you have been hanging around her an awful lot lately, and she’s contagious,” Jason points out. Duke’s frown deepens for a moment, but then it wings out of sight and he shrugs, perfectly at ease again.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Anyway, its Dick’s tell-all book on Gotham high society,” Jason continues on. “I’ll be the one actually writing it of course. He’s just the pretty face getting slapped on the cover, but I mean, that’s the only reason people are gonna wanna buy it, so I’ll probably just phone it in anyway.”

Bruce focuses on the only part of that reveal he can handle at the moment. “Jay, you’re not remotely capable of ever phoning something in.”

“How dare you accuse me of having a work ethic. Rude and disrespectful. My reputation isn’t built to withstand that kind of slander.”

“And feel free to mock all you want, but my pretty face on that cover is what’s going to earn me my first SCPF,” Dick announces loftily.

Duke looks up. Opens his mouth. Shakes his head. Closes it. Looks back down. Sighs. Looks back up again. 

“Not that I don’t know better than to ask, but what the hell is an SCPF?”

“My version of an EGOT that I just made up while Jay was being offended by a compliment to his work ethic. Spokesmodel, cover model, print model, fashion model. The four cornerstones of the modeling world, which I will then have conquered, leaving me free to move on to other endeavors.”

Jason studies his older brother gravely. Then he shakes his head.

“Even as a complete and utter joke, that combination of words disgusts me. You make me physically nauseous sometimes, you know.”

“Another gift of mine, I suppose. I have so many,” Dick muses, leaning back and examining something on the chart he was scribbling on, as if trying to take in another angle for some no doubt ridiculous reason. Why were his children like this. 

“Before this migraine finishes settling in and pitches its tent for the night, anyone care to tell me just what exactly this tell-all will be telling?” Bruce sighs. It was never too early to start damage control when this particular combination of his kids were conspiring together.

“Oh, everything,” Dick says breezily. “Who had affairs, who embezzled from their companies, who bribed or blackmailed or bought off this or that. All kinds of juicy sordid stuff, real page turner stuff, you know? You’d think important people would do a better job of keeping high stake secrets all hush hush instead of dropping them all willy nilly at various galas over the years, but c’est la vie.”

“Its almost like there are potential hazards to condescendingly assuming the uneducated circus brat someone adopted as an obvious PR stunt, like, just can’t understand a lick of what people say around him, what with his thick foreign accent obviously conveying he just don’t know English words so good nope, nope, nopers,” Dick concludes merrily, a familiar sparkle in his eye. One that usually heralded social cataclysms to come.

“And so you’ve taken it upon yourself to warn the public of those potential hazards. Good for you, son,” Bruce says sardonically. Despite his best efforts, the corners of his lips keep tugging stubbornly upwards.

“Just trying my best to give back to the community that’s given me so much,” Dick shrugs in the closest approximation to an ‘aw shucks’ vibe that Bruce has ever seen his son manage in as long as he’s known him. Jason reaches over and smacks the back of Dick’s head.

“Hey!” The elder brother snaps back, rubbing the back of his head with wounded dignity. He glares at his smirking brother.

“My bad. I thought you were against false modesty. Just trying to help keep you honest, bro.”

Dick narrows his eyes at him. “Touche,” is all he says.

“Last question before I give up and admit defeat,” Bruce interjects before that escalates. As tends to happen in moments like the previous. With no limit to how long or how far that escalation might last. By his count, his two eldest boys were somehow still engaged in four entirely different extended, longterm feuds they seemed somehow able to treat as separate and distinct from each other, with one of those stretching all the way back a good ten years, and still no end in sight as far as anyone knew. 

How did they determine what fights would end in minutes and which warranted stretching out over a course of years? Bruce really couldn’t say. How did they manage to stop and start the same argument off and on for all that time, without letting the last-addressed state of the argument affect how they interacted when their fight was back on ‘pause’? No idea. How did they seem able to treat each different matter they fought about as its own distinct entity that had no bearing on anything outside that particular argument, with no overlap or cross-pollination as far as anyone else had ever been witness to, and why did they even bother doing so in the first place? God, Bruce dearly wishes he knew.

Unfortunately, for all that his entire horde of children often at times seem to exist on a wholly separate and private plane unreachable by the rest of humanity, Bruce’s first two children to fill the halls of Wayne Manor with laughs, screeches and occasional declarations of war and an intent to maim, dismember and murder - 

Well. They at times seemed to possess a language and extra senses unique just to them, and baffling to the entire rest of the world and their own siblings as well.

Oh well. At least Bruce could take some small comfort in Duke’s occasional glance of wary confusion, thrown towards one or both of his brothers when they weren’t looking.

“Yo, this is Planet Earth, hailing one eternally out of touch bachelor billionaire way up in the atmosphere,” Jason sharply cuts into Bruce’s distraction with a snap of his fingers. “Are you trying to milk the senility thing again? We’ve been over this. You need at least another decade of mileage before we’ll validate your senior citizen card.”

“Right.” Bruce rolls his eyes at his son, but shakes his head to clear it nevertheless. Ah, yes. “Yes. Indulge me, please. What exactly does what you’re watching have to do with Dick’s....tell-all, and how does whatever all of this is count as research?”

“Oh, we’re just keeping record of public shaming of every snobby rich jackass to buy one of the fashion monstrosities Dick wears at Fashion Week, only to then look utterly ridiculous and absurd when they try and wear it in public and everyone points and laughs,” Duke chimes in.

“I see,” Bruce says, his lips twitching again. “And this of course all ties back into class warfare and...what was it again...oh yes, the Twenty Seven Step Plan To Destroy The Upper Class?”

“That’s right,” Duke nods.

“I even know what the title is going to be already,” Dick smiles with bared teeth. “I’m going with: ‘Weapons of Choice.’“

“Of course, as I keep explaining to him, nobody gets final say on the title of their book, and there’s every chance the publisher will end up changing the title to something they pick,” Jason says with a pointed look at his brother. 

Dick’s willful obliviousness visibly deflects Jay’s arched gaze long before any point can hit and make an impact. “And as I keep explaining to him, if they try and change the title, I will simply explain to them that they are incorrect and it already has the perfect title and one can not improve upon perfection.”

Jason strangles a gutteral, incoherent growl before it can fully escape from his throat. “I want to throttle you.”

“I know,” Dick says sunnily.

“Well, as long as you’ve thought this through, which you clearly have, I have no doubt you’ll get the results you’re after,” Bruce says. Doubtfully. Though of what, he’s not entirely sure. His sanity, thinking that yes, half a dozen precocious, willful and utterly incomprehensible children, that’s the ticket, exactly what my life needs. Yes, that was probably the matter actually in doubt.

“Ugh, B, you’re not getting it,” Dick complains. He exchanges frustrated glances with his brothers. “He’s not getting it.”

“It’s not rocket science,” Jason says patiently. “Basic rule of street fighting....the most effective takedowns come from aiming at someone’s weakest point. Whenever possible, go for the throat. What’s the equivalent of the throat as far as Gotham’s upper class is considered? Public image.”

“Destroy their public image, destroy them,” Dick finishes cheerfully. “They crack, get egg on their face like the nursery rhyme says, and bam, Humpty Dumpty has a great fall and all the queen’s knights working as a team still can’t put them together again and while they’re distracted the pawns can slip past them and become queens!”

Jason stares at him. “I know what you’re doing and its not going to work.”

“What am I doing?”

“Deliberately mangling the fuck out of a bunch of different well known sayings that you know perfectly well how they really go, while doing that thing where you act like you’re the most airheaded ditz to ever live and have a brain that runs off of helium instead of oxygen like the rest of us. Because you know damn well how obnoxious that is to anyone who knows exactly how intelligent you really are and that you actually have a mind like a steel trap that remembers fucking everything, no matter how inane, which is fucking rude, because that’s wasted on you and also, stop it. I told you. Its not going to work.” 

“Oh Jay.” Dick tilts his head to the side and grins wider. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Uh huh,” Jason says, unconvinced. “Then what, pray tell, are you doing?”

“That thing where I trick you into believing I’m doing the more obvious seeming thing and then annoy you with my fake airhead routine until you end up flattering me and paying me compliments when pointing out why my airhead routine could never work on you and is thus just annoying,” Dick says brightly.

Jason’s eyebrows inch incrementally together with the slow, ominous scrape of stone grinding across stone. Dick is entirely undeterred, and simply shrugs again with a painfully fake display of innocence.

“Its dinner time and my ego needed feeding. Thanks for that bee tee dubs, it was getting hungry. Nom nom.”

“Yeah,” Jason says casually, after a good ten second pause. He nods decisively. “Okay, I’m going to murder you now.”

He lunges for his brother, but Dick’s resting pose is the equivalent of anyone else impatiently waiting at the starting block of a race. He’s up and on his feet, gracefully dancing out of range of his younger but bigger brother’s wider reach, and has darted halfway towards the other exit to the room by the time Jason finishes scrambling to his feet. Not that any of that delays the younger man from taking off in a dead sprint in pursuit of his laughing sprite of a brother the second he does. 

Bruce stares after them for a moment and then shifts his gaze down to Duke, who’s still seated contentedly on the floor, blithely unaffected by Dick and Jason’s mad dash out the room as he continues scribbling down notes.

“I will pay you all the money I have, not to grow up to be like them,” Bruce says in the gravest possible tone he can manage. “You don’t even have to wait til I’m dead.”

Duke sighs and shakes his head. “B, c’mon, man. I’m clearly on Team Class Warfare. I’m insulted you think I can be bought.”

Bruce frowns. “You all are way, way too fond of this trolling thing you do.”

“Mmm. Agree to disagree.”

[the-l-spacer]

Promise all you say is true - Chapter 2

(Ch 1) (ao3)

Summary: Lloyd wakes up one morning to discover that, on a whim, the Metaverse had decided to release him and Raven from the Lovers archetype they had been locked in for as long as either could remember.

In the process, however, reality became… just a little screwed up.

Now, Raven is gone, and in his place is David Adams. David Adams, who had never left Ashland, working middle-management at Justacorp. David Adams, who had never heard the anvils, never jumped off Warner's Peak.

But Lloyd remembers everything, and he makes it his personal quest to win back the love of his life.

...No matter how many 'strictly professional' coffee dates it took.

Chapter summary: Over carrot cake, the two hash some things out

Y’all… I seriously didn’t expect this scene to happen or get as long as it did but. Here we are. With this chapter, the setup for the fic is officially DONE and we can get into the stuff y’all came here for (aka Lloydven angst). In the meantime, enjoy Lloyd and Han getting in some awkward bonding time!

- 

“Feeling better?”

The man sat opposite her simply sighs. “Yes. Thank you, Han.”

Over a tray of tea, cakes and sweets (for Lloyd, his first meal of the day), the two go over, in painstaking detail, every narrative visited, every jaunt taken through the CU, every significant location in Raven’s life. As minutes, and then an hour ticks by, marked by the comings and goings of those around them (and the increasingly resigned expressions of the waitstaff as they drag out their meal as long as possible), they scrawl out possible places the missing Postie could be on a steadily depleting supply of napkins, provided generously by the small bakery in New Camden, a joint quickly becoming synonymous with Serious Talk Time.

When it comes to names and places, Han can’t be of much help, but that is to be expected, her having only known the man a scant year. Instead, she simply offers the obvious, locations Raven and Lloyd had spoken of the most around her; the first and second Playhouse, New Albion, even entertaining the idea that he was here, in this narrative.

“Impossible,” Lloyd insists for the second time, though Han notes that he’s sounding significantly less certain than before.

“How are you so sure?” Before Lloyd can respond, she quickly adds, “Waitwaitwait don’t tell me. The both of you have… a psychic link. From your weird wizard powers. Or something.”

“I remind you that you too have, as you so eloquently put it, weird wizard powers.” He replies, one hand spearing a forkful of carrot cake, the other forming air quotes. “But that aside, you’re not completely wrong.”

Han raises an eyebrow. “Huh. I was going out on a limb there. You two are seriously linked together?”

“That’s actually the other thing I have to talk through,” he says. “Have Ravey and I told you about the Lovers archetype yet?”

“Give me a second.” Han takes a long sip from her cup of Earl Grey, mentally sorting through everything her mentors-slash-great-grandparents had taught her about Posthumans and the Metaverse. “It’s… the thing where you and him are basically bound together, right? I thought that was metaphorical.”

Shaking his head, Lloyd says, “It’s very much not. After spending enough time in each others’ company -and back then, we had nothing but time to spare- we began embodying the Lovers archetype.

I shan’t bore you with the details, but you have the broad strokes of it. Essentially, we became irreversibly bound. As trite as it sounds, we had a sixth sense, of sorts, around the other. When we were apart, I would feel his absence like… a missing limb, so we always knew when the other was close by.”

Only half-listening to his explanation, Han lets Lloyd ramble. God knows he needed it. He was one of those people who absolutely had to talk through their problems, a tendency that annoyed her on any given day, except this one. Extenuating circumstances and all.

Huh. Deja vu.

Her mind wanders to the first time she had been here, it was just her and Raven back then, him having invited her out after the Singularity left New Albion. It really was a memory, a story for another time, but it had been surprisingly nice, even if her eyes were still red and puffy in a way that makeup just couldn’t conceal.

They had shared a slice of (what else) carrot cake, speaking of narratives and what she had learned of the art of finesse, and then, as they talked more, coping mechanisms, sacrifice, loss, and a rambling (but utterly sincere) apology from Raven.

It had ended with a hug, and granted, it was kind of awkward, Raven having to get up from the corner chair he was squeezed in to give her a half-embrace, as close as he could get to her side of the table (the bakery was as renowned for its carrot cake as it was infamous for its tight quarters). But Han still remembers the feeling of his arms around her shoulders, warm and almost reassuring.

And now he’s gone. Gone along with the rapport they were just starting to build after their disastrous first encounter. Just when she was finally beginning to see him as family.

The only questions on her mind are how and why.

She tunes back in as Lloyd finishes his explanation. “So you’re saying that because you’re locked into this archetype, if he was here, you’d know.”

What? She could multi-task just as good as anyone else!

Lloyd sighs tiredly. “Yes, but there’s the rub. I don’t think that him and I form the archetype any more.”

Well this raises more questions than answers. Still, Han pats his arm. “Drink your tea. You’ve been talking for way too long as is.”

She waves off Lloyd’s apologies over his loquaciousness, sweeping a hand as if swatting an imaginary fly, then realising this was a gesture she had ended up incorporating into her movements after seeing it time and time again from Raven.

Dammit. Even when absent he finds a way to worm into her head. The guy was just infectious like that. Is. Is infectious. She refuses to believe that he’s truly gone. Speaking of…

“If what you’re saying is true, I guess that answers the ‘why’ aspect of things, He’s gone because the Metaverse decided to release you from your archetype.”

Over the rim of his teacup, Lloyd’s mouth quirks into a half-smile, the first Han had seen from him all day. “You always find a way to make things sound so simple.”

“It’s why you keep me around,” Han jokes, feeling a responding grin spread across her face.

“Don’t put yourself down like that,” Lloyd says, leaning forward with sudden seriousness. “You do have a good head about you, and I… admire the speed at which you’re picking up your Posthuman abilities. You successfully mastered in a matter of months what took me decades to learn, and-”

Han can’t help the rush of pride that comes at his words. Lloyd was always the more critical of her two mentors, and nigh impossible to please (she was still rather sore over his snide comment over the tunnels). She almost misses what he says next, but catches it just in time.

“-and you’re a perfectly charming person. I had my doubts before, but it’s clear that you’re Isabel’s kin. You remind me a lot of her, you know.”

Han softens. “I had a great teacher. Two great teachers, as a matter of fact.”

He winces at the mention of his missing boyfriend, and she impulsively reaches a hand across the table to grasp his. “We’ll find the other one together, okay?”

Lloyd grips her hand, giving a tight nod, steely resolve in his eyes.

“Okay.”

- 

They exit the bakery as afternoon fades into evening, the gas lamps that line the pavements igniting one by one, illuminating the streets of New Camden.

“Just to go over the plan one more time,” Han says, “I’ll stay here and try to scout him out. If he isn’t here, I’ll try New Albion. Then, where the First Playhouse used to be.”

Lloyd hums in affirmation. “I’ll keep you updated on my whereabouts as well. If you find him, let me know.”

“Of course, and you do the same.”

“I will. Keep safe.”

“You too.”

They stand there, then, regarding each other in the lamplight. Finally, Lloyd reaches out a hand, as if to administer a firm handshake.

Nah, fuck that.

Han bypasses the hand, and wraps Lloyd in a tight hug. After a moment, she feels his arms wrap around her too.

“It’s going to be okay,” Han says once they break apart, gripping him by the shoulders.

“I… can’t thank you enough for your help, Han. I’ll make it up to you if- once he’s found.”

“Psssh, that’s not necessary,” she retorts with a smirk, already walking in the opposite direction. “Your acknowledgement that I’m more talented than you is more than enough payment.”

Lloyd bristles. “I was being nice. Don’t push it.”

“You said it! It’s been set in stone! I’m gonna tell everyone I know about this!” She calls over her shoulder, disappearing into an alleyway.

Determined not to let her have the last word, Lloyd yells, "Only if you admit to everyone that I'm a great teacher!”

"Never! Also, screw you!"

Shaking his head and chuckling, Lloyd begins making preparations of his own, mentally steeling himself to make the narrative jump, and going down the mental list of places he was going to search.

The hunt would begin in the Collective Unconscious. Then, the different narratives the lovers (now lowercase) had frequented. Finally, once all other options had been exhausted, he would return to Ravey’s home narrative. The one place the two had never been to, at the insistence of his missing half.

Ashland.

[softlygentlymine]

Compersion & Spirals

Compersion. I’ve understood its definition for a while, and even felt it at times. Being confronted with it at the happiest moment of a friend's life is absolutely wonderful. This weekend I attended a Birthday party for Shifter’s long-term partner, we’ll call her Macaron, who we haved played with in a foursome. It’s the first time we had been introduced to their respective families, which was really special. What was more significant, was the advance notice that this wouldn’t just be a Birthday party, it was also going to be a surprise wedding.

～

About a week ago, or so, I had been messaging Shifter, explaining that Firestorm and I had been discussing polyamory more seriously. I explained to Shifter about wanting to explore that option with him, to ask if the door was open. He did say it was, but I didn’t get the impression it was a discussion that he’d been able to fully explore with Macaron. Ethical Non-Monogamy is one thing, Polyamory - feelings - is a lot messier in its nature, which not everyone can understand. It didn’t come to much of a surprise to receive the following message:

“[Macaron] and I have been chatting on the poly subject again. And she has cold feet about it and would like to keep it just sexy time fun for the time being. I’m sorry to have gotten your hopes up. But when the reality of it set in to [Macaron]. She questioned her ability to manage it. And I will always side with what she says.  Again. I’m so sorry”

It’s more than disappointing, and I tried my best not to feel too let down by the outcome. I tried to explain the feelings I am processing to Firestorm, to keep communicating how I am feeling, and to help him understand my reaction to other relationships as the bloom and wither.

“That's perfectly fine, I totally respect her concerns and am happy to oblige. There's no issues from me on that ”

“Yay.

I feel bad.”

“It's more important to love your wife in a way that respects her. I enjoy our time, and am open if she changes her mind, but respect her decision and will treat it as final ”

I think I handled the rejection well, and although I was not in love, it still hurts to cut short any potential romantic relationship.*

～

Cut back to the surprise wedding, we arrived as per the invitation, which was quite early as far as the festivities went. This meant that we arrived and met the Bride and Groom before most of their own friends and family had a chance to turn up. Seeing him in person after 2 months apart, it was amazing how the electricity returned, I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. It’s odd, because objectively he isn’t the most handsome man around, neither is he the fittest. There is a sweetness to his smile, and a depth of honesty in his eyes.**

Knowing this was a special day for the happy couple, I had already resolved to be demure, polite, and interact in a way that suited their introduction of us. I did not want to bring dishonour to their union in front of their families, what we share as consenting adults is none of their business. Just because I would like to behave differently with those I build a relationship with, doesn’t mean they would.

The afternoon passed somewhat quietly, being isolated with Firestorm and his children from the rest of the attendees, it taught me a lot of lessons around guest seating and structure of the event for keeping their interest. I am extremely grateful for the privilege of attending, as it means there are key elements I will try harder to ensure are completed for our wedding.

Keeping with their intent to break tradition, the bride and groom pulled up to the seating area in the same car, a lot of sentimental value attached to the ‘chariot’. The happiness was evident on both their faces, and I felt support, cherishment and love towards them as they walked down the ‘aisle’ together.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was meaningful. Seeing the culmination of 15 years of life together, 14 years of engagement, was something so incredibly special to be a part of. It made me yearn for my own day later this year. It helped affirm my desire for meaningful connections, with my fiancé, and others who will come into my life.

Seeing Shifter and Macaron in their little bubble of disbelief that they actually completed their intention to marry from so many years ago was interesting. I’ve thought often about the significance of marriage, and that whilst it might not be necessary in the modern era to make the legal commitment, there is a declarative nature to it that I want to take part in. I also think through the injustice of the system itself, restricting the nature of marriage to only two people. The historical frame of monogamous culture restricting the rights and societal recognition of non-monogamous relationship structures is so wrong in my view, I wish there was more I could do to change this.

We left early due to Firestorm wanting to keep a regular bedtime for his children, but I dearly wish we had stayed longer, if only to gaze across the room and celebrate the happy couple. I am looking forward to the shoe being on the other foot, and shining as a bride in my own stead. Before my engagement, I had never fantasized about the big wedding scenario, and yet the closer I get to mine, the more I look forward to it.

～

We are looking at purchasing our first home together. I’ll skip the financial rabbit-hole, and instead focus on how weird it is that this might actually happen. Our personal debts are not perfect, but there is hope that we might be approved and can begin the purchasing process. I’ve been filled with such a nervous energy. Firestorm has been calling the people who can make this happen. Hoping that the outcome of judgement is favourable to making our future a reality.

The location is interesting, as we have chosen to purchase significantly far away from the locations at which we both work. For the compromise in location, we succeed in value of the actual property offering. Better conditions of building, land size and keeping the price well within our budget. There is also the benefit of being nearer to Shifter and Macaron, just the other side of town.

I’m a little conflicted, because I have such a strong attraction to Shifter, and whilst that makes me more comfortable with the decision to purchase a property so far away, it’s not a factor I can rely on to guide my rational decision making. I will enjoy their friendship, but am unable to expect more emotional commitment.

The property comes at a time where we need our own privacy, our own space. We have spoken about it for some time now, and I really think that in the next twelve months we will start trying to fall pregnant. That’s a super intimidating challenge, partially for the life altering, no take-backs consequence of bringing a child into the relationship, and partially because it’s been a discussion for a number of years that I wasn’t ready. I didn’t even know if I wanted children for such a long time. It has absolutely helped having a partner who is so domestically inclined, I feel a sense of safety, that I will have someone who cares enough to be completely hands on with child rearing.

～

*Spiral: This feels like all I’m good for some days, a quick lust, a fuck, and sent on my way because I’m not valuable enough to want more from. The difference between Shifter and Crowns (the married man who has pursued me at work) is that I can sense there is a reciprocal emotion with Shifter, and that he’s honouring the commitment to his wife, Macaron, to value her before all others. We still have an open door to playtime as well. I feel sad, but respectful of the decision he has made, and the promise he is keeping to her.

With Crowns...there has been a blatant sexual interest, a retraction and then lust that disobeyed his wife’s requests. I have reason to doubt that there was ever any discussion with her. I could never totally regret my interactions with Crown, as challenging monogamy with Firestorm has led to enough self-awareness and recognition that my desire for established romantic relationships is not unreasonable. It has led to more self-love and actually asking for the kinds of relationships I want, rather than taking the meager offering they wanted to give me. It doesn’t mean that I will accept his advances when honesty is not his first motivation.

Crowns has been frustrating to manage expectations with. A lot of the initial expectation was crushed quickly, and I had thought that would be the end of the discussion. Then, he didn’t let go so easily. I felt caught between leading him on, and genuinely enjoying the company he presented. Conversation always lulled if I didn’t continue the expectation of sexual interest. I felt disappointed that I didn’t warrant more respect. The shadow of interest hadn’t dissipated, but he never crossed the line between wanting me, and actually getting to know me. It left me sad after interactions, and devalued my self-worth. I have come through those emotions to recognize I am worth more than that. I want more than that.

～

**Spiral 2: Shifter is out of my reach emotionally, but the look I received from him at the wedding was so heated, I was filled with want. It was a promise of more, a promise of sexual satisfaction, and the honour of his genuine desire for my interaction. I may not be able to enjoy the significance of a romantic relationship, but there is a kindness, a caring and an ethical component to his non-monogamous practice. It also helps that he identifies as polyamorous, so I feel a kinship of understanding.

And even going through my own thoughts, there remains an undercurrent of sadness that he is removed from my potential romantic partners. I really thought there might be something there worth exploring. It’s scary putting yourself out there to people, hoping that they’ll be able to love you. It’s also difficult recognizing kin, and having the frame of romantic monogamy limit your natural inclination to fall in love. I want to fall in love and be loved. I don’t need to spend every day in their pocket, but to acknowledge that the time we spend together will be valuable and sacred.

[softforcal]

Wild One : Prince!Luke

Summary: Prince AU in a reality where it’s modern but there are lots royal families ruling over small kingdoms. Luke is a flamboyant Prince with a reputation for being wild and a dick to everyone he meets. you’re a Princess and your families want you and Prince Luke to pretend to be in a relationship to make his reputation better with his impending coronation. this is practically princess diaries 2 fam. (Harry Styles makes a cameo because im a slut)

Warnings: okay so there are 4 or 5 steamy scenes. they’re each different but this is smut so: choking, spanking, dom Luke, a tad breeding kink, that sort of thing. slow burn, angst. 

Word count: 14.5k

Note: this is a personal attack on @glitterprincelu. also, every link in this fic is for the same video because i am a hoe for it. 

Here’s a taste so you know what you’re getting into:

Luke forced a similar smile, “you’re right sweetheart, i might be, but i’m sure you’ve heard other things, havent you?” his eyes bore into yours and you fidgeted in your seat slightly, “yes darling you know exactly what i’m talking about.” his voice lowered to something near a growl, “well let me make things clear for you. i’m a sex god. i fuck who i want, when i want, and the girls are grateful to have even a moment of my attention. they beg for it. my room had to be sound proofed so my name wouldn't ring through the hallways every night. the girls who i haven’t fucked, would give anything to have a chance at me and the one’s who have? well they would kill to have me again because the rumours are true baby, i’m that good.” your smile faltered slightly and Luke’s widened, “so if you’re going to talk about what you’ve heard of me, don’t cherry pick darling, you’ll be sorry if you do.”

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

It was two in the afternoon by the time Luke entered the palace, waltzing past the security as he dropped his large fur jacket on the ground, taking off his sunglasses and throwing them, there were always more where that came from.

“Luke!” His mother called as he began walking up the stairs to his room, “I need to talk to you.”

Luke stopped and let out a loud groan, “can’t it wait till later?”

The look his mother gave him said no as he sighed and followed her into the large living room area, flopping his long body onto a couch so he could kick off his gold boots and rub at his eyes, hands coming back speckled in sparkles. 

splayed across the coffee table were tabloids. “this one’s new.” Luke grinned, picking up a magazine that showed him leaving the club with his arms around two models, a birthday hat on his head and his shirt missing, “they believed me when i said it was my birthday.”

“i’m sure that’s not true.” His mother sighed, eyes going down to the magazine covers as a look of distaste flashed across her face, “you’ve made quite a spectacle of yourself this month Luke.”

“been having fun.” he shrugged, tossing the magazine down as he studied the other covers.

The one from the month before when his buddy, ‘Prince Daddy Ashton’ as all the ladies call him, bought a yacht and proceeded to throw a week long rager on board. someone had leaked a picture of Luke wearing a captain’s hat and spraying two bottles of champagne all over a crowd of girls in bikinis.

then, of course, there was the cover that showed him in his beautiful golden crown and red cape getting a blowjob. that one had taught Luke that open windows were not a good idea when he had ladies over, it had also significantly tightened the on-ground security measures. it had been quite the scandal and no matter how many times Luke insisted that it was a one time thing and the girl had suggested it, people didn’t believe him.

Not that he cared at all. Luke was confident in himself and his life style. Being young, beautiful, filthy rich and royal had its perks.

“Do i need to worry about a new cover tomorrow? i’m sure your escapade last night was less than discrete.” his mother sighed.

Luke shrugged, “it was pretty tame.” he rubbed at his eyes again, more glitter transferring to his hand.

“your neck says otherwise my love.” 

Luke laughed, “shit, forgot about that.” a small sound of movement drew his blue eyes to the door as a maid walked in, “you, whiskey, neat.” he said, snapping his fingers.

“he’ll have coffee.” his mother interjected, smiling nicely at the maid who scurried away.

Luke groaned loudly, “what do you want with me mother.” he only ever called her mother when he was hung over, which had been happening more and more frequently as of late, “i’m tired.”

“Your father is stepping down at the end of the year.” she stated.

“pfff.” Luke rolled his eyes, “as if.”

“I’m not joking Luke.”

“well what does this have to do with me, i’m sure Ben is ecstatic, he’ll finally be king-” 

“Ben won’t be king, he did not score highest on the aptitude test.” Luke’s mother sighed.

the Aptitude Test. Luke hated it. some dumb test to see if a royal would be fit to rule. Every royal was forced to take the test at age eighteen. in families like Luke’s with multiple children under a King and Queen, whichever child scored highest would become ruler upon the parent’s retirement. upon initial retirement request by the king or queen, the test scores of the children would be revealed to the royal family to allow coronation preparation. 

“well, then Jack-” Luke began, eye brows furrowing in confusion.

“you scored the highest.” Luke’s mother interrupted.

Luke laughed, “that’s impossible. I can’t be king-”

“you will be king.” His mother stated.

Never in the history of the aptitude test had a child who scored highest not become ruler. the aptitude test was law, the most important royal law.

But Luke had lived his entire life knowing he would never be king. 

It was like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs as Luke doubled over, feet planting firmly on the ground as he ran his fingers through his hair, “fuck.”

“i wish this wasn’t the case, it’s less than ideal.” his mother began, “but we have to adapt. we have a few months to change your image so when the coronation is finally announced and it is revealed that you will be king, people won’t be as opposed to it.”

Luke began searching his pockets for his flask and he let out a sigh of relief when he found it, opening it to put it to his lips before his mother grabbed it and pulled it away, “for starters, no more drinking.”

“you’ve got to be fucking me.”

“no more swearing.”

“but-”

“no more but’s, Luke.” she said, reaching over and lifting the summoning bell she rang it twice and a group of people came with stacks of folders.

Luke recognized the Public Relations team, they’d tried to micromanage him when he turned the legal drinking age but had given up long ago.

“what the fuc-”

“Luke.”

“what the heck is going on?” Luke corrected himself with a groan as someone handed him the folders.

“we think it’s best if you’re seen with a steady woman. someone proper who can keep you on a tight leash.” his mother explained, “in these folders are details on all of the Princesses who would be suitable-”

“thought you were a Queen not a pimp.”

“Luke.” his mother said sternly.

“i can’t say pimp now?” Luke asked, opening one of the folders.

His mother stood, “just, look through the folders Luke. we need a decision by tonight.”

----

Luke groaned as he rolled around in his silk sheets, grabbing at the plush fur blanket before sitting up and feeling around for his phone. He messaged the kitchen staff, telling them what he wanted for dinner to be delivered to his room.

his eyes went to the stack of folders splayed out on the foot of his bed and he groaned, opening one. he recognized the first Princess, even met her once or twice but she was always looking down at him. he threw her folder on the ground, grabbing the next one.

the folders described basic information, likes, dislikes, that sort of thing. if they seemed okay, Luke would look the Princess up on instagram and scroll through their posts.

his dinner arrived and he ate it while looking through the rest of the folders. the last one he picked up said your name on it. he’d heard of you before and when he opened your folder he knew why, you were beautiful. he’d heard of you from a few of his buddies. Ashton was always trying to flirt with you and even Cal and Michael agreed that you were super cool but none of them had managed to woo you.

it was a no brainer for Luke in that moment. he threw on a long red silk robe and pulled his hair back into a messy bun, grabbing your folder and leaving his room.

Luke’s first stop was the kitchen where he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a glass, then he went off to find his mother. she was in her office, as usual.

her eyes went to his hands, the chipped red nail polish and the long, once pianist fingers, holding the glass of whiskey. but if there was anything Luke’s mother knew, it was when to pick her battles and this was not one worth picking.

he tossed the folder onto her desk and took a seat across from her, taking a sip of his drink and grinning at the burn that seared through his throat.  

his mother opened the folder and looked up at Luke, “good choice.” she said, “i’ll contact her family and see if we can make this work.”

---

It had been a long week for Luke. His mother had enforced a house arrest on Luke, especially after he made headlines yet again with a picture of a girl straddling him in the club and sucking on his neck. 

the PR team had extensively briefed him on all the rules of the ‘relationship’. what he could do and not do.

he was allowed one shot, no more than one, per two hours with a maximum of five shots a day spread out over ten hours if absolutely necessary.

one beer equals one shot, same restrictions applied.

no drugs. except cigarettes but only in specially designated areas on palace grounds where no one could get a picture, and only two per day.

the two of you would go on two public dates in the first week, three on the second, with a steady rate of two to four public appearances each week.

“what about sex?” Luke had asked.

“if you must, invite girls to the palace but there will be absolutely no interaction with any woman but Y/N in public. and any girl you bring over has to sign a confidentiality agreement upon entering the palace, through the back gate.” 

“brilliant, so you’re cock blocking me too.”

“just get them to sign the confidentiality form.” the PR head said, sliding Luke a folder full of official looking documents, each with their own area for a different signature.

“Y/N will be staying at the five star hotel down the street for the entirety of the relationship. prior to each date you will be given information on the restaurants or outings you two will be doing, as well as an itinerary. body guards will accompany you everywhere you go and they are instructed to keep you away from all the before mentioned vices that you are accustomed to.” 

“and one final thing Prince Luke, we have assigned you a stylist-”

“i can dress myself.” Luke stated.

“Prince Luke-”

“i said, i can freaking dress myself, thank you very much.” and with that, he left the room to go get ready for his ‘date.’

---

Luke’s black boot tapped against the white marble floor as he fidgeted with the legacy ring on his thumb before running a hand through his wild tangle of golden curls. dressed in black suit pants and a black silk button up, Luke didn’t feel entirely out of place with the five star restaurant he was sitting in. 

okay, maybe the choker was an extra, unnecessary touch, but if his mother was able to draw the line at glitter highlighter on the first date, then he’d be damned if he showed up without something to stand out with. 

the sound of heels on marble drew his attention up as you entered the restaurant, a waiter showing you over to the table. 

you looked ravishing. dressed in a beautiful silky dress that hugged all the right curves, Luke’s eyes immediately began undressing you. he stood abruptly, his awkwardly long legs almost knocking over the table as he muttered “fuck” but composed himself so he could open his arms for a hug.

you grinned brilliantly as you tucked into his arms, fitting perfectly. 

Luke allowed himself to relish in the feeling for a moment before pulling away and motioning for you to sit down.

he sat across from you, “if i didn’t know better, i would think you’re actually happy to be here.” he stated.

you smiled, “all for the pictures darling.”

“so i’m Luke.”

“Y/N. you signed the contract?”

“yeah. you?”

“yup.”

“what are you getting out of this?” he asked, lifting up a menu, eyes scanning over it.

“well, i can only assume that because of your need for a public imagine cleansing, it’s likely that when your father retires, which im guessing is soon... it seems like you won the aptitude test.” you answered, not looking up at him as you scanned the menu.

you had the whole thing figured out and Luke laughed, “you’re smart. your folder didn’t say you were smart.”

you let out a beautiful laugh that rang through the restaurant, drawing eyes as people admired the two beautiful royals at dinner. “bet there’s a lot of things my folder didn’t say.”

“good point.” Luke snapped his fingers which drew your attention as a waiter scurried over, “we’ll have your best bottle of wine.” he stated.

“very good sir, anything else?”

“the wine will be fine for now.” you answered before Luke could say anything else.

as the waiter scurried away Luke grinned sheepishly, “wine is something civilized people drink right?”

“oh definitely.” you said sarcastically, “your folder left out the part about you snapping your fingers to get people’s attention.”

“someone made a folder about me?” Luke burst out laughing, “what else did it say?”

“nothing good.” you answered, “now, if we’re going to be seen together, you can’t snap your fingers to get what you want anymore. i won’t have it.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed at you. one date in and you were already making rules. rules on top of the rules he already had. and Luke did not like it. not one bit. “fine. if you don’t want me to snap my fingers then you have to wave down the help.”

“wow, you really are the pompous, arrogant, mama’s boy everyone says you are.” your words cut like knives but the beautiful smile remained fixed on your face.

Luke forced a similar smile, “you’re right sweetheart, i might be, but i’m sure you’ve heard other things, havent you?” his eyes bore into yours and you fidgeted in your seat slightly, “yes darling you know exactly what i’m talking about.” his voice lowered to something near a growl, “well let me make things clear for you. i’m a sex god. i fuck who i want, when i want, and the girls are grateful to have even a moment of my attention. they beg for it. my room had to be sound proofed so my name wouldn't ring through the hallways every night. the girls who i haven’t fucked, would give anything to have a chance at me and the one’s who have? well they would kill to have me again because the rumours are true baby, i’m that good.” your smile faltered slightly and Luke’s widened, “so if you’re going to talk about what you’ve heard of me, don’t cherry pick darling, you’ll be sorry if you do.”

you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flickered over the gorgeous blondes face, you opened your mouth to say something when the waiter came back with the wine.

he showed you the bottle and poured you each a modest class before setting the bottle in the middle of the table, “have you two decided on dinner?”

Luke ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, specifying a bunch of different alterations on it before the waiter turned to you and accepted your order as well. 

meanwhile, Luke swirled his wine around before drinking the entire thing, setting his glass down and filling it again.

as the waiter left, you sighed, “i thought your contract specified your alcohol intake.”

“mentioned beer and shots but not wine.” he answered. great, so the whole ‘wine is what civilized people drink’ was fake. 

He swirled his wine around and you watched him, thinking about the way your heart was still beating in your chest like you’d just run a marathon.

He was right. You had heard about him. You’d heard about the orgies and the threesomes, his extravagant sexual antics that always somehow ended up in the news. you’d heard about the models and the movie stars, the songs written about him. 

One of the songs was a bop about ‘the golden haired diva’ and it had been obvious who it was about, especially when the artist won an award for it and thanked the Prince, who had been sitting in the audience with his arms around two different pop singers and just grinned when the camera panned to him.

he was the world’s favourite rich, bad boy.

and sitting there in that restaurant you saw the allure. part of you wanted to do something, anything, that would get him to speak to you in that low voice again. part of you wanted to see what would happen if you asked him to join you at your hotel later. but the part of you that grew up a Princess knew how to keep composure as you set your hands in front of you, interlocking your fingers.

“we should think of something to talk about.” you suggested, “after all, we have to be together for a few months.”

“tell me some secrets.” he suggested, sipping his wine.

“like what?” you laughed.

“dirty secrets.” he grinned at you over the rim of his glass, “a girl who looks like you can’t be as prim and proper as you seem, something tells me you’re into some dirty shit, aren't you babe?.”

you sighed, maintaining your smile, “wasn’t ‘no swearing’ on your contract?”

“didn’t answer the question darling.”

you reached out and grabbed your wine, taking a sip to hopefully loosen up a bit, “this is good,” you noted, setting it down, you rested your face on your hand, looking at the beautiful boy in front of you.

this was one of those moments. you could either choose to let loose and break the ice, answer all his dirty questions, or you could put up a wall and make life more difficult for both of you. 

“why don’t you tell me what you think I like?” you suggested, cocking your head at him with a grin.

he studied your red lips. the way they matched your beautiful red dress. hell, even your nails matched. you were an absolute vision. and there was this big expanse of space between the two of you: the table. 

Luke had never had to hold himself back before. girls were always throwing themselves at him, never keeping themselves at a distance. you were unattainable and part of it made him want you like nothing he’d ever wanted in his life. his eyes trailed down to your collarbones and the way the dress accentuated your cleavage, moving slightly up and down with each breath.

he set down his wine and leaned forward, voice dipping low again, “tell me when i’m getting close, Princess. you like a guy who can rough you up a little, someone not afraid to take charge, when you’re in the frisky mood, a little bit of choking, nothing too extreme, but i think that’s just because you’ve never met the right guy who could introduce you to the darker side of sex, the fun side.”

“and you’re that guy?”

Luke leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out so one of his feet brushed yours under the table, he shrugged, “i am, but something tells me you don’t have the guts to fully let loose and i’m not down to share control so unless you’re one hundred percent ready to submit completely, it’s not worth my time.”

what a fucking dick. he’s gorgeous, but wow.

“oh yeah? well how about i analyze you and we’ll see how much you like it?” you asked, “you like control because you have a constant need to prove yourself. you grew up the youngest of three children and you never thought you’d be good enough so you made sure you could be the best at things that are important to other people, so... sex. but you don’t want anyone to question you ever. you only go for girls who are submissive because they won’t talk back and hurt your fragile ego.”

Luke rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest but you continued.

“you’re a mama’s boy and everything has been handed to you your entire life. girls throw themselves and are easy because you’re cute and have money so you’ve never had to actually work for anything, which means, any girl who isn’t ‘one hundred percent ready to submit completely’ is probably effort and you don’t know what effort even is which scares the shit out of you. because you don’t think you’d actually be able to get a girl not already falling head over heals for you.” you grinned as he narrowed his eyes at you, “aw, was that too close to home for you baby?”

he was eerily still for a few moments before he downed his glass of wine and stood, “i’ll be back.” he stated, turning and heading off in the direction of the bathroom.

you had been harsh. but he had suggested you weren’t worth his time. And you had been warned that he was an asshole with no experience with female royals, no strong women to contend against him.

the waiter returned with your food and you realized Luke had been gone a while. you sighed, motioning the waiter over, “Hello, i’m so sorry, my friend was feeling a little sick, I’m just going to go check on him, I’ll be right back.”

“of course Princess Y/N.” the waiter smiled, “the bathroom is this way.”

he led you to the mens room and you thanked him before opening the door and peering in. it was a posh, five star restaurant, which meant that they had a full on couch and fireplace in the bathroom.

Luke was sitting on the couch with his phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “your food came out.” you stated, drawing his attention from his phone.

“men’s room darling, you can’t be in here.” He said absentmindedly.

“we can get the food to go but we need to be seen leaving together.” you explained.

he stood up abruptly and approached you as you stepped back and bumped into the closed door, you realized how tall he was. towering over you, even while you were in heals. his shoulders broad and the first few buttons of his black silk shirt undone, exposing the tiniest bit of chest hair that worked to make him more manly in an almost animalistic way. a choker wrapped around his neck that drew attention his chiseled jaw, just slightly covered in golden stubble. 

he stepped closer and you bit at your lip, wondering what he would do. he leaned in, and you held your breath, “you’re blocking the door.” he said, his breath brushing over your skin and causing goose bumps to appear as he stepped back and allowed you to move out of his way.

He opened the door and grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he pulled you out of the bathroom. everyone in the restaurant watched the two of you head back to your seats and you sighed, this was not a good start to his public image. 

Luke even pulled out your chair for you as you sat down before going back to his own. You both ate in silence and the waiter cleared your plates, “would you like a dessert menu tonight?”

“Yes.” Luke answered.

“thank you.” you said, eying Luke as the waiter left.

“dessert?” you asked.

“it will look good on camera if we share a dessert.” he stated.

even you couldn’t argue with that. The waiter brought back the menu and Luke handed it to you, “choose whatever you want.”

you sighed loudly as you looked at the menu, choosing something then handing the menu back to the waiter who left again.

your eyes went to Luke’s hands, fingers playing with the stem of his glass. “you should have a professional do your nails sometime. they won’t chip as easily.”

“i like it when they chip. it’s edgy. goes with my look.” 

he just sat there and stared at you and you met his gaze, refusing to back down or apologize. you both stayed like that until the dessert was placed between the two of you.

Luke picked up a spoon, taking a small piece and holding it out to you, “wanna taste?”

you forced a smile, leaning across the table (something that you were fully aware gave him a beautiful view of your cleavage that was practically popping out of your dress) your lips closed around the spoon as you accepted him feeding you. 

he watched your pretty lips on the spoon and he felt his already tight pants getting tighter as he grinned and pulled the spoon away.

Luke took a scoop for himself and put the spoon in his own mouth, sucking everything off while staring directly at you. there was something so oddly erotic about it. 

you felt your skin flush as you looked down, not wanting to meet his eyes anymore. 

you reached for your spoon but Luke grabbed it before you could, he made a tutting sound at you, “not a chance Princess.”

“seriously?” you asked, “you’re going to hand feed me this entire thing?”

“uh huh.” 

Luke knew it wasn't a good idea. he knew you were already driving him wild. he knew that if he continued down this path... well, blue balls were not on Luke’s list of top favourite things. but he could see the way it was affecting you too, and he’d be damned if he gave up on the satisfaction of that. 

-----

Luke leaned down and kissed the first girl as the second one finished signing the consent form. as she set down the pen, Luke turned to the second one, kissing her as well before ushering them out the door to where a guard would escort them off the property, he gave girl number one a final pat on the bum and a cheeky grin, ignoring his PR assistant’s disgusted face.

that’s when his phone rang. Luke padded down the marble hallway, answering the call, “sup?”

“have you seen the magazines?”

“no Ash, i just woke up.” Luke said, yawning loudly and putting his phone on speaker so he could hear better.

“you’re all over the cover.” Ashton stated, “you and Y/N. I didn’t know the two of you were seeing each other.”

Luke stopped walking, turning to look at his PR assistant who was following him like a puppy. in that moment, Luke could honestly not remember whether or not he was allowed to tell his friends.

the PR Assistant began to shake his head but Luke said: “yeah. i went out with Y/N yesterday.”

“and you fed her dessert.” Ashton interjected, “please tell me she put out for you.”

Luke’s gaze went to his assistant who was shaking his head vigorously, “uhhh... no?”

“you don’t sound too certain bro, how drunk were you?” Ashton laughed.

“uhhh....” Luke focused on reading his assistants lips but sighed, “wasn’t drunk. it was just a date.”

“there’s a picture of you leaving the bathroom together, i gotta be honest, i never pegged Y/N for a public sex kind of girl.”

“she’s not.” Luke answered immediately and his assistant let out a sigh of relief, at least he got that response correct, “Look, Ash, it’s not a big deal.”

“well when are you bringing her out for boys night?”

Luke opened his mouth when his assistant started vigorously shaking his head and making an ‘X’ sign with his arms and Luke sighed, remembering the ‘no partying’ part of the contract, “there’s a lot going on right now.” he said as his assistant typed out something for him to read, Luke’s eyes scanned the words as he read them out loud “and i’m trying to focus on this new relationship, so I might not see you for a while.” Luke rolled his eyes at his assistant. 

“pfff, lame, are you bringing her to the gala next month?”

Luke’s assistant nodded, “uh, yes.”

“cool, see you there mate. great job.” the line went dead.

“Prince Luke, the nature of this relationship being PR can only be known to those signing a contract but due to the nature of Prince Ashton’s place in society i find it unadvisable to tell him or anyone else of his stature due to the fact that a breach of contract lawsuit will mean nothing to another royal family if they choose to expose the relationship as PR to ruin your reputation.”

“it’s too early for so many big words.” Luke groaned, “i’m going back to sleep.”

“you have a date with Princess L/N in an hour.” his assistant called.

“of course i do, better wash the smell of pussy from my breath eh?” he grinned at his assistant who scowled, “something tells me Y/N would hate that.”

____

The dates continued two to four times a week as contractually stated. Mostly at five star restaurants or with the two of you going for walks in public places, flanked by body guards.

after your brutal analysis of him, Luke stayed away from sexual topics. opting to hold his tongue as best he could. 

You brought up political topics and part of Luke assumed that perhaps you had been told to do so, to get him ready to converse with other educated people about such topics. 

Between you, the PR briefings and the royal briefings Luke found himself with not much time on his hands. He missed partying. He missed drinking until he was numb. but most importantly, he missed the girls. 

or, parts of him did. but after the first two weeks of girls signing a consent form, the idea of it had left a sour taste in his mouth. 

especially when the girls brought you up in conversation. Delphi, one of his favourite usual shags had been curled against his chest in a post sex daze when she asked “does Princess Y/N know about this?”

his heart had lurched at the sound of her name and his jaw had set as he stood, putting on his robe and going to grab himself a shot before leaning against one of the bed posts, “get dressed.” he’d commanded.

“Luke, i’m sorry if-”

“Prince Luke.” he reminded her, “and I don’t want to hear it. you already signed the consent form last time you were here and you know your way out.” 

he’d gone onto the terrace without another word, swirling the whiskey in his glass. 

he didn’t know why it upset him so much. 

maybe it was because he’d never really had a girlfriend before, fake or otherwise. it had been two weeks and he’d spent a lot of his time with you. whether he considered you a friend or not, part of him cared about you in a way he’d never really experienced. 

it made his grip on the terrace railing tighten as his jaw clenched. you had power over him. and he didn’t like it one bit.

------ 

Luke tried not to pay much attention to the feeling of your small hand wrapped around his arm while the two of you looked at fabric. he was bored out of his mind, yes he liked fashion but usually his tailors would just send him a bunch of clothes every month and he’d wear what he felt like. 

but there he was, shopping with you. he didn’t get why you didn’t just do the same thing he did... but the smile on your face as you ran a hand through the fabrics, looking at everything, he guessed you just enjoyed shopping.

you pulled out a dress, removing your hand from his arm which suddenly felt cold from lack of contact, “what do you think?” you asked, showing it to him.

“it’s nice.” he stated.

“you’ve said that about the past four.” you sighed, handing the dress to the worker that hurried over to add it to your change room.

“they were all fine, gotta see what they look on your hot little bod.” he smirked.

you rolled your eyes, walking over to the change room with him trailing behind you. he leaned against the wall while you entered the changing room. his foot tapped while he waited as he began fiddling with his rings.

the door opened and he looked up, eyes eating up every inch of your body. the dress was stunning. it looked like it had been made for you. 

“i need help with the zipper.” you said, turning to show him your exposed back as your hands held up the dress in the front. 

he almost stumbled as he approached, flexing his fingers as they went down to the bottom of the zipper. he began to zip it up but your hair was in the way.

his fingers brushed against your skin lightly as he pushed the hair over your shoulder, his hot breath on the new exposed skin. he zipped up the dress and took his hands away, eyes looking up to meet yours through the mirror in front of you.

his heart leaped in his chest, having not realized you’d been watching him. 

the tension was so thick it could have been cut with a knife, his eyes devouring you through the mirror. 

“what do you think of the colour?” you asked, fingers skimming over the green material.

“looks-” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, “looks good.”

“i’m going to wear this gala next week, with a few alterations. is that okay?”

“sure.”

his eyes looked down and you knew he was checking out your ass so you immediately turned around, misjudging how close the tall blonde was standing next to you. your chest bumped against his and you took a hesitant step back, wobbling on your heals as his hands immediately went to your waist to steady you.

you looked up at him and he opened his mouth but you cut him off, “stop.”

“stop what?” he asked.

eye brows furrowing slightly and you marvelled at how beautiful he was. a slight brush of glitter across one of his cheekbones, those crystal blue eyes, and one rogue strand of curly golden hair.

it would have been the easiest thing in the world to close the distance and just kiss him. your breath caught in your throat and you licked at your lips, considering it for a moment.

his eyes looked down at your lips and it snapped you from your daze as you realized you weren’t the only one considering it.

you had to forcibly step back, pulling away from his hands, “just... unzip me please.” you said, turning around again and looking down, “and no funny business.”

“wouldn’t fucking dream of it.” he grumbled after an exasperated breath, zipping your dress down with one hand then turning and leaving the change room and closing the door behind him.

---

the week passed and you spent each date trying to ignore him the best you could. but he made it very difficult. you touched him only when necessary, when the photographers were around. you kept the conversations short, brief, and about non-sex related topics, which was not easy, but anytime the conversation started going that way you would redirect it.

Luke waited outside your hotel in the limo that would take you to the ball. the limo door opened and you got in across from him, eyes scanning over his outfit as the driver closed the door behind you.

“you got a shirt to match my dress.” you breathed, noticing the beautiful silky green fabric that fit perfectly over his shoulders.

“oh. yeah.” he said, looking down at himself, “that’s a thing people do right?”

“yeah. it is.” you found yourself smiling. really smiling at him.

and he noticed. because you smiled different when you were actually happy. he had thought your fake smile was gorgeous but looking at you in that moment he realized he hadn’t seen anything truly gorgeous until that moment.

“you look good.” you continued, “but... i think you’re missing one thing.”

“and what’s that darling?” he asked.

you opened your purse, pulling out a makeup palette and a brush, “a little bit of glitter. i figured your mom would not allow it but... it looks good on you, so i thought i’d bring highlighter in case you wanted some.”

Luke’s eyes searched your face, the way you were appearing so shy. the way you’d actually listened when he’d groaned about the sanctions on his wardrobe the week before.

“sure.” he said, moving slightly so you could come sit next to him.

you took the smallest amount of glitter and brushed it across his cheek, eyes focused on your work while he stared into yours, appreciating the colour.

his eyes moved to your lips. he often found himself staring at them. how soft and plump they looked.

if you were anyone else, he would pull you on top of him and have his way with you. he thought about the sounds you’d make as he slipped your panties to the side and teased-

“done.” you said, pulling away and going back to your seat across from him, “there, now you look perfect.”

Luke opened his mouth but the limo door opened, you’d arrived at the ball.

---

you’d been attached to his hip all night. his hand on the small of your back as you greeted all your peers. you kept his drinking to a minimum and oddly enough, he hadn’t minded.

you answered all of the hard questioned and smoothly navigated your way through all sorts of tough discussions on politics, deflecting any negative questions about Luke’s ‘social life.’

Luke found himself watching you effortlessly converse with other royals, how graceful you seemed. but he was getting sort of bored. “Darling, i’m going to grab a drink, want anything?” he asked.

you looked up at him, “maybe a glass of wine.”

“okay.” 

you watched him leave before turning back to the people you were talking too but a new group of people were approaching you. you recognized the gang, three of Luke’s friends. among the Royal Bunnies (the girls who made it their mission in life to sleep with royals) this group was called the Pussy Parade.

Calum Hood, Michael Clifford and Ashton Irwin.

“Princess Y/N,” Ashton said, holding out a hand, “pleasure to see you again.”

“where’d Luke run off to?” Calum asked.

“yeah, i wouldn’t leave you alone for a minute if i were him.” Michael piped in.

“matching outfits, quite a statement though.” Ashton pointed out.

you laughed at their eagerness, “nice to see you all again.” you’d met them all once or twice at different royal events but never really talked to any of them.

Luke watched from where he was leaning on the bar, jaw clenching as he tapped his ring clad fingers against the table, “can you hurry?” he snapped at the bar tender, throwing a bill on the counter in the hopes it would light a flame under the mans ass.

his eyes went back to you, surrounded by sharks. his sharks, but sharks none the less. 

he hated the way they were all looking you up and down. looking at you like a piece of meat. looking at you like... like he did. 

his teeth gritted, “also a shot.” he ordered, throwing another bill on the table.

the shot was placed in front of him and he downed it before grabbing the wine glasses and walking over to where you were standing. “here you go darling.” he said, handing you one.

his free hand immediately went to the small of your back again and you took a sip, eyes widening, “this is the wine from our first date.” you grinned up at him, “you remembered.”

he smiled down at you, a genuine smile that made all of his friends jaws drop, “of course i remembered.”

four sets of eyes widen at this statement. “you can’t even remember my birthday!” Ashton gasped.

Luke rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his wine and shrugging, “you always remind me the week before.”

“he’s got you there bud.” Calum grinned.

“so... how did you two meet?” Michael interrupted.

now was the hard part. Luke wasn’t a fan of lying to his friends but he knew he had to sell this relationship, his hand slipped from the small of your back to your waist, pulling you closer, “i saw her around, thought she was cute, slid into those DM’s, the usual.”

“very romantic.” Calum teased.

you turned your body in towards Luke, tucking your own arm around his waist. in this position, your bodies fit so perfectly and that fact was not lost on you as you stared down his friends, “it was a nice first date.” you insisted.

“yeah, looked like it.” Michael scoffed, “we saw the bathroom pictures.”

you opened your mouth but Luke spoke first, “piss off Michael.” 

his strong language drew the attention of the people surrounding your group. “woah, didn’t mean any offence.” Michael said, raising his hands in defence, “just looked like a good time is all i’m saying.” 

“this is my girlfriend, watch it.” Luke said, voice lowered as he looked down at Michael. you were once again reminded how big Luke was. his friends were all six foot, at least, but he was still taller. and he was intimidating.

and... he’d called you his girlfriend. which... you were, it even said that ‘girlfriend’ was the preferable term to use when he talked about you, but hearing him actually say it was different. it had been a month and he hadn’t once called you his girlfriend.

“Luke, i think we should take a breather.” you suggested, rubbing your hand up and down his back in an effort to sooth him. 

Luke looked down at you then at his friends, slamming the wine and handing the glass to Calum who took it without asking questions as Luke pulled away from you, grabbing your hand and leading you through the crowd outside to one of the terraces. 

it was just you and Luke, the air providing a slight but comfortable chill, not yet warm enough to signify the impending summer, but a welcome relief from the temperature inside. “are you okay?” you asked as he let go of your hand and went to lean against the railing, looking out at the city.

you’d been dating a month and part of you would call him a friend but it’s not like the two of you were close and yet something made you approach the tall boy. you began to rub at his tense shoulders, hoping to ease some of the stress. 

“they think you’re just a fuck.” he stated, knuckles turning white as he gripped the rail.

“it doesn’t matter what your friends think.” you stated, “in a few months this will be over and you can go back to being leader of the Pussy Party and they won’t even remember this whole thing.”

he remained silent but you felt his muscles tense underneath your hand.

you sighed, “do you want to leave?”

“no.”

“do you want to be alone?”

“no.”

“Luke, can you look at me?”

he remained still for a moment before turning his body to look down at you.

“do you want my wine?” you asked.

he laughed slightly, taking it from your hand and downing it just like the wine he’d drank earlier. before you could tell him to slow down on the alcohol he simply tossed the glass off the terrace, grabbing your face between his hands as he pressed his lips to yours.

he tasted like wine but it intoxicated you as you melted into the kiss, hands going up to wrap around his shoulders. his tongue teased your bottom lip and one of his hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer.

your fingers tangled in his hair, something you hadn’t consciously realized you’d wanted to ever do. the curls were soft and you pulled on them slightly, earning a soft groan that you ate up like you were starving. you’d thought his low voice was sexy but those moans were next level.

his teeth sunk into your bottom lip and now it was your turn to moan. the small sound made his heart jump as he let out a breathy “fuck.” his hand moving from your face to your neck where the cold of the rings pressed against your skin. you grabbed at his wrist, not stopping him,

but you pulled away, collecting your breath as you looked down, his heavy panting on your forehead as he struggled to steady his own breathing.

you focused on his green silk shirt. the way he always knew just the perfect amount of buttons to leave open, you wondered what his chest would look like fully exposed and on show for you. your fingers played with the fabric just above his belt, teasing the sensitive skin just above the band. he swore again and you pressed your face into his shirt as his arms wrapped around your body, pulling you against his chest.

his skin was warm and he smelt like expensive cologne.

you both just stood there for a few moments, the sound of your facing heart drowning out the noise of the city bellow. you could feel his own pulse fluttering in his chest.

“shit.” a voice made you pull away from Luke as you both turned to see Calum standing at the doorway to the terrace, “I uhhh... didn’t mean to interrupt, just needed a smoke.” he waved the cigarette as proof.  

“it’s fine.” you smiled, fixing your dress and hair, “i should go inside-”

“i’m going to stay out here.” Luke stated, voice deadpan.

you didn’t look at Luke, afraid what you would see in his eyes if you did, so you brushed past Calum and went inside. Calum watched you go before stepping further onto the terrace, lighting his cigarette and taking a large puff, “wasn’t sure if it was real or not.” he breathed, the smoke disappearing into the air as he handed Luke the cigarette.

Luke brought it to his lips, taking a long drag, “if whats real?”

“you and Y/N.” Calum answered, “i mean she’s cute but we both know you don’t do commitment.”

Luke couldn't argue with that. he couldn’t think much about anything as he stood there next to Calum, sharing the cigarette. 

maybe it was because you were a challenge. yeah, that had to be it. it had to be. he wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted. yeah. that was it.

he’d just have to fuck you. then he’d be fine. that was a good plan.

Calum finished the cigarette and threw it off the terrace then they both went back inside. you were at the bar with Ashton and Michael and once again Luke felt a surge of anger flow through his body. 

his hand went to the small of your back, “i think i’m ready to leave darling.”

you nodded, telling the boys it was nice to see them again before you allowed Luke to lead you to the elevator. he leaned against the wall and you were both silent until you reached the first floor. you stayed silent the entire limo ride, until it stopped in front of your hotel. and then you were gone and Luke remained numb because it was easier than acknowledging the feelings and the thoughts.

----

it had been four days since the gala and Luke hadn’t seen you. things kept popping up in your schedule which was understandable. but he needed to see you. 

he was already dressed when his PR assistant knocked on his door, “Y/N canceled.” 

“like fuck she did.” Luke muttered, pushing past the assistant. 

it was a short walk to your hotel and Luke realized he didn’t have a plan on what to do once he got there. but Luke had always been lucky and he showed up as you were leaving. “you canceled our plans to go do something else?” he asked, voice making you stop just outside your limo.

“i have something to do-” you began.

“cool, i’ll come with.” he said, brushing past you as he got into the limo. you sighed and followed, “are you mad?” he asked.

you were taken aback by his question. part of you had assumed he wouldn’t want to talk about the gala. you guessed he’d be one of those guys who avoided confrontation and refused to communicate. but there he was, blue eyes on yours.

“i’m not mad.” you assured him, “just busy, as i said, are you mad?”

“no.” he said, looking down and fiddling with his rings.

“do you want to talk about it?” you asked.

“not really.” 

there was the Prince you knew. you stayed silent the remainder of the limo ride until you arrived at the house, Luke looked around as you exited the limo, “where are we?”

“my cousins baby turned one year old today, i forgot about it if i’m being honest, a year goes by so fast.” you explained as the limo handed you the big pink present from the trunk of the limo.

“we’re at a babies birthday?” Luke asked.

“yeah, you like children right?” you grinned, walking past him towards the house.

there were children everywhere. 

Luke stayed glued to your side, letting you do most of the talking like he had at the Gala. but he also introduced himself to the guests which is when he realized, ‘im meeting her cousin. and her aunt. and her uncle.’

he’d never met a girls family before. 

you hadn’t asked him to come.

another realization that made his chest ache. what would he have done if you had? he probably would have bailed.

but there was that genuine smile again. the one he was already starting to adore. you were next to your cousin, holding the baby in your arms.

she tugged at your hair and you beamed down at the baby.

Luke found himself getting jealous of the baby who had all of your attention and all of your smiles.

and his chest continued to hurt but he didn’t know why.

your cousins husband approached, leaning next to Luke, “are you two thinking about kids?’ he asked.

Luke choked on his water, sputtering and coughing while your cousins husband patted him on the back until he could breath again, “um, we haven’t been dating long.” he answered.

“oh, sorry, i didn’t realize, i just assumed because well, you’re here and Y/N has never brought a guy to a family event like this. not that guys havent offered to come, we all know they have, but Y/N can be kind of private.”

Luke’s eyes went back to you holding the baby and he winced. now he was thinking about having a baby with you?! 

this had been a wild month for Luke, even by his standards. he was confused, and tired and maybe he had a brain tumour or something because if someone had told him two months earlier that he’d be fake dating a girl who is actually super chill and has a beautiful smile and is considering having babies with her he would have said they were fucking crazy. and yet there he was.

you made a particularly cute face at the baby and all the tension Luke had been holding in his shoulders released as he smiled, “babies wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” he muttered. and it was true.

he set down his water and approached you and your cousin, “um... do you mind if i hold her?” he asked.

your cousin smiled, “of course!” 

you eyed Luke but slowly handed over the baby and he looked down at her with a grin. the baby reached up, wrapping a hand in one of his golden curls and tugging but Luke allowed her to do so. 

he even laughed, an angelic sound that warmed your heart as you watched him. you’d never seen him so vulnerable. no walls up. no sassy or sexual remarks. just a beautiful boy holding an adorable baby.

your heart swelled in your chest and your eyes widened with realization that you probably had baby fever so you couldn’t be trusting yourself, but at the same time he looked so soft.

the baby grabbed at his finger, his chipping black nail polish contrasting the tiny baby hands.

“okay, i’ll give her back now.” he said, moving to hand the baby back to your cousin but the baby began to cry and Luke immediately began cooing, “oh no Sweetheart it’s okay, it’s okay baby,” as he rocked her back and forth.

she settled immediately and your cousin laughed, “looks like you’re a natural Luke.”

a blush crept over his skin and you watched in shock as he grinned at your cousin, “you think?”

this couldn’t be real. this couldn’t be the guy known for raunchy sex parties and having a different woman every night. it couldn’t be.

but it was.

he cooed the baby for a while until she fell asleep before he could give her back to her mama. by the time the baby was back in her mama’s arms you had been internally freaking out for thirty minutes about the absolute cuteness of the whole thing and how confused you were.

you grabbed his hand and took him to the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind you, “what’s going on?” he asked.

“we kissed.” you stated, “and i’m really confused about it.”

“me too.” he said, looking at you very seriously.

you almost laughed, “okay good i’m not the only one. so... what do you want from me?” you asked.

“what do you mean?” 

“i mean, we are on this contract for the next few months and if something goes wrong and we hate each other-”

“wouldn’t happen.”

“it could happen-”

“no.”

“and what makes you sure?”

“i couldn’t hate you.” he says, crossing his arms and leaning back against the sink counter.

“well i could hate you.” you pointed out, “if we make this thing real and you cheat-”

“if we made this real i wouldn’t cheat.” 

“just like that.” you asked in shock.

“yeah.”

you looked up at him, considering it, but you groaned, “fuck!” you began pacing in front of him, “being around babies always makes me too soft! i can’t think clearly!” Luke watched you pace and he had to admit he knew the feeling.

“then don’t.” he said, hands grabbing your waist and stopping you from pacing as he leaned down and his lips met yours. you were so distracted by kissing him back, fingers going into his hair, that you hadn’t noticed he’d moved you until he lifted you and set you on the sink counter.

standing between your legs he pulled your body flush against his, his lips moving from your lips to your neck as he sucked on the sensitive skin just below your ear.

you let out a moan and Luke grinned against your skin, “open your mouth.” he stated.

you followed his request as two of his fingers slipped into your mouth, he continued sucking on your neck while you began to suck on his fingers. one of the fingers in your mouth had his legacy ring and your tongue slipped around the cold metal, swirling and sucking it up and over Luke’s knuckle before pushing it down again.

“fuck, where’d a Princess like you learn how to use your mouth like that?” he groaned into your ear, slipping his fingers from your mouth.

his hands went to your hips as he pressed against you, you could feel him through his pants and you grinned, “can’t tell you all of my secrets can I?” you teased.

he grinned, pressing his lips against yours again. “fuck, you’re so hot.” he breathed.

“hmm, you like this?” you asked, reaching between the two of you to grab his dick through his pants as you bit down on his lip.

Luke’s fingers dug into your hips, “Fuck yeah.” he breathed.

“what do you want to do to me?” you asked, rubbing him harder as his head lolled back and his eyes closed.

“pump a fucking baby into you.” he stated.

you stopped your motions and his eyes snapped open, “fuck, I uh, i can explain-”

there was a loud knocking on the door, “almost done in there?!” 

you pushed Luke away from you, fixing your clothes and hopping off the counter, “just a second!” you called, looking in the mirror to see if you looked okay. you turned to Luke, “we will talk about this later.” you stated before you unlocked the door and went out, Luke following a few seconds later. 

“hey, i really gotta get out of here.” Luke stated, “being around all these children is messing with my head.”

“okay, that’s fine, i’ll see you in two days for our Sunday date-”

“come by for dinner.” he stated, “at the palace. i mean, i can’t cook for shit but i have a world class chef-”

“i’ll be there.”

“okay.” he smiled. you turned to go but he grabbed your arm, pulling you into a soft kiss. when he pulled away he smiled, “i’ll see you tonight.”

as soon as he was in the limo Luke swore, punching at the seat. had he seriously just asked you to be ‘exclusive’? had he seriously just promised not to cheat on you?

he began to naw at his lip, it all fairness, he hadn’t slept with another girl in a couple of weeks. the thought of even sleeping with someone else made him feel dirty and Luke had been in plenty dirty situations in his life, many of them self created.

and you were coming over for dinner at his place. he swore again. you hadn’t said yes or no to the whole dating thing and Luke had a few hours to sort himself out.

he rubbed at his temples, still considering that perhaps he just needed to fuck you and then the feelings would go away. well, he’d give that a try and see where it took him.

----

you expected a servant to open the door so when Luke opened it, standing there in that green shirt, you were a bit taken aback. he still looked amazing in it as he pulled you in for a hug. “so this is the palace.” he said, opening the door wider for you to come in.

you’d started the contract around a month ago but all the dates were high profile for publicity so you’d never actually seen where he lived. 

he showed you the main rooms and the tour ended in his large bedroom. bedroom wouldn’t even be the word most people would use to describe it. it was practically a studio apartment minus the kitchen. 

there was a small dinner table set up with silver platters covering the food. “so how was the rest of the birthday?” Luke asked as you both sat down.

“fine. i left after you did. babies always give me baby fever.” you admitted. 

Luke laughed, “me too. that was sort of wild.”

“yeah, i would have never guessed you’d like children.”

“why? because im a quote: pompous, mamas boy?” he teased.

“you forgot arrogant.”

“right, how could i ever forget arrogant?” he rolled his eyes at you.

“so what was the whole ‘pump a baby into you’ thing?” you asked.

“uhh... i don’t know.” he answered, “why, did you like it? would you be down for that?”

you laughed awkwardly, “Luke, these are the kind of questions you ask a real girlfriend.”

“don’t friends talk about this sort of thing?” he asked, “i mean, haven’t you talked to your girlfriends about this?”

“yeah but i mean... are we even friends?”

“earlier today i said you could be my girlfriend if you wanted so yeah, i’d consider us friends. also, you never really gave me an answer on that and it sort of hurts a guys feelings you know.”

“i am your girlfriend.” 

Luke rolled his eyes, “you know what i mean.”

you sighed, “i just don’t want things to get messy-”

“oh, you don’t like messy?” he asked.

“not really.” you answered.

all of the sudden he was on his feet, pushing the entire table to the ground while you let out a yelp of shock, jumping to your feet as the table and the food landed on the floor, “Lu-” you began to say but his lips were on yours.

as you relaxed he pulled away, bending down and grabbing you, tossing you onto his shoulder, “oh my god you’re such a Neanderthal!” you screamed, wiggling around in his grip. 

then you were falling, landing on plush fur, Luke grabbed your feet and dragged you to the edge of the bed, getting on top of you as his lips attached to yours. he ground his body down against you and you groaned, legs wrapping around his waist.

your fingers tangled into his curls before they moved to the buttons of his shirt, “fuck, this is such a nice shirt.” you groaned.

“knew you’d love it.” he grinned, helping you pull it off his body.

he went back in to kiss you but you stopped him and he pulled away, looking down at you with an odd look, “is this too fast?” he asked, shocked that those words were leaving his lips.

“no, i just want to appreciate you.” you said, fingers tracing his broad chest, “you’ve been teasing me with those button downs exposing just the right amount of chest all month.”

he grinned down at you, running a hand through his messy curls, “you almost done looking Princess?”

“five more seconds.” you smiled up at him.

he laughed but humoured you, waiting for you to finish looking at him, “okay, my turn.” you said, tearing off your shirt and bra as his lips attached to your chest.

his kisses went down your body and he worked on getting your jeans off until they joined the clothes on the ground. his hands went to your hips as his fingers slipped under the waist band of your panties, “are you okay with this?” he asked.

“i thought you were some big sex god, you going to devour me or what?” you laughed, running your fingers through your hair as you laughed.

“i am a sex god, but i like you and i want to make sure you want this as much as i do.” he grinned.

you looked down as he toyed with the last thing between him and you. 

“i want this.” you stated.

“hmmm, you don’t sound like you want this darling.” he said, removing his hands.

“no, wait, Luke, please.” you whined, “please.”

his hands returned to your hips, fingers drawing circles on the sensitive skin, “you sure baby?”

“yeah, i’m sure.”

“you’ve never begged a day in your life, have you sweetheart?” he laughed, looking up at you.

this fuck.

but there was truth in it. maybe you’d misjudged him on your first date. “Luke, i’m sorry if i’ve been a bitch, i’m sorry if i judged you at first and thought you were some sex crazed asshole, i’m sorry-”

there was a tearing sound as he ripped your panties in two and you stopped talking, looking down at him in shock. you were about to say something when he buried his face between your thighs. your fingers tingled in his curls and you moaned at the feeling of his tongue working absolute magic.

“oh my god.” you moaned.

“i prefer Sire.” he said, flashing you the cockiest grin you’d ever seen.

“i am not calling you sire.” you groaned as his lips attached to you once more. 

one of his hands moved from your hip and up to your face and you opened your mouth, accepting the two digits past your lips as you sucked on them. the silver ring in your mouth was driving you wild.

“suck it off babe.” he instructed.

you did as he asked, pulling the ring off as he slipped his fingers from your mouth, the ring caught between your teeth. you took it from your mouth and slipped it onto one of your own fingers.

his fingers that had been in your mouth curled into you and you moaned loudly, pulling at Luke’s hair as he laughed, “you like that kitten?”

“fuck, yes Luke.”

his fingers stopped, “yes what?”

“yes sir.” 

“close but not what i’m looking for babe.” his fingers moved slightly and you moaned.

“yes sire, i love it.”

he grinned, lips attaching to your clit as he pumped his fingers at an unbelievably fast pace, sending your spiralling over the edge as you grabbed the fur blanket, letting out the most sinful noises you’d ever heard in your life as he worked you through your orgasm.

as you came down from your high Luke pulled back, standing up and putting his two fingers in his mouth, “fuck, you even taste pretty babe.”

“please just fuck me.” you begged, unable to say much else as he pushed down his pants and got on top of you, “wait, condoms.”

“you sure you want condoms?”

“Luke!” you laughed, pushing at his chest.

he sighed and moved to his bedside table, pulling out a condom and rolling it on, “you’re no fun.” 

your legs wrapped around his waist again as he teased your entrance before pushing in fully. you both groaned at the feeling, his lips attacking yours again as he began to pound into you.

“fuck princess you’re so tight.” he groaned, one of his hands wrapping around your throat as you let out a loud moan, your hands going to grab his wrist, keeping his hand pressed against your skin.

he usually didn’t do missionary. it was too personal. but this just felt right. there was something about it that he couldn’t explain. his lips found yours and you moaned into his mouth.

“if you keep making sounds like that i’m not going to last too long baby.” he groaned, lips going to your neck.

“me neither.” you said, grabbing his ear lobe between your teeth.

his grip on your throat tightened and you moaned louder, the sounds driving him insane and throwing him over the edge. his quickened pace made you cum as well and you both gripped onto each other like your lives depended on it.

he slowed down and you both breathed heavily as he stayed inside of you for a moment, kissing you sweetly on the lips before pulling out and discarding the condom before falling back onto the bed with you and pulling you to his chest.

“wow.” you breathed.

he laughed, “yeah.”

you both stayed there, enjoying each others warmth as you came down from the post sex high. “you ruined the food.” you stated finally.

he laughed, “i’ll order pizza.”

“woah, since when does Prince Luke eat pizza like some commoner?” you giggled.

he grinned, “you’re right, i should get the chef to make lobster-”

“i’m joking Luke. Pizza sounds great.” you curled up in the blankets and by the time the pizza arrived at the door you were asleep. Luke looked at you, curled up in the middle of the bed like such a Princess. that was his spot. this was the reason he never let girls sleep over. 

part of him wanted to tell you to hit the road, after all, your hotel was a five minute walk away. but something stopped him and he let out a sigh of exasperation as he found a smoke and went onto the terrace, closing the door as to not wake you.

he’d been standing in this very spot a few weeks earlier, angry about the entire situation. angry about your power over him. and yet, here he was again, letting you sleep on his bed in his spot.

the sex had been... like nothing he’d ever had before. which was odd, because Luke had thought he’d tried just about everything in the book. but not that. not with someone he actually cared for. 

he took a long drag of his cigarette and blew out the smoke. he’d assumed this whole fake dating thing would last a few months and he could go back to partying, not giving the whole thing much thought.

but in a few months... he’d be king.

he realized, he’d never be able to go back. 

the thought terrified him.

----

Luke buried his face in his pillow, reaching out instinctively but he only grasped air. his eyes opened and he realized he was alone. part of him wondered if it had been a dream but the torn panties and table mess he’d made the night before were still littered on the ground.

and you weren’t there.

it hurt in an odd way. he’d expected you to be there, even half asleep, you’d been his first thought, his first goal of the day. 

he groaned and pulled out his phone.

----

Ashton sat in a floaty, Cal with his feet in the water and Michael in the shade as Luke paced back and forth. “when we started dating I didn’t expect to fall in love with her.” Luke explained, “is that even what this is?”

he looked at his friends who all laughed, “don’t look at me mate.” Cal grinned, “you know i think love is fake.”

“Ash?” Luke asked, turning to the eldest.

Ashton shrugged as he sipped his cocktail, “you’ve only been dating a month bud, seems fast to me.”

“also you’ve never had a relationship,” Michael pointed out, “so maybe you’re just in a honey moon phase.”

Luke flailed himself onto a floaty, running his fingers through his hair “this is such a mess!”

“when are you seeing her next?” Cal asked.

“i have no idea! last night wasn’t supposed to happen, the contract-”

“contract?!” Michael interrupted.

“fuck.” Luke cursed himself.

Ashton set down his drink, “you have a lot of explaining to do Hemmings.”

------

You had spent the past two days locked in your room, your phone off as you tried to sort out what had happened. it had been two days since you left before Luke could wake up. two days since he’d literally fucked his way into your heart. 

you’d hoped the whole thing had been baby fever but that would have worn off by now and you were starting to worry that something more serious was at play.

could you really like Luke Hemmings? of all the possible princes you could fall for, and you had to fall for the playboy asshole who snapped his fingers at waiters?!

you had no idea what he was feeling about it either because you hadn’t talked to him. he’d suggested being your real boyfriend at the party but its not like that conversation ever got fully explored so who even knew? not you, that’s for sure.

taking a deep breath you turned on your phone, ignoring everything and calling a friend. you’d be damned if you let this whole thing get to your head. 

your friend answered on the first ring “Y/N i’ve been trying to get a hold of you for ages! you think your Prince can give you up for the night so you can come party?”

you laughed at the term ‘your prince’ and sighed, “you know what, yeah, i’ll come out.”

-----

Luke’s knee bobbed up and down and his friends stared at him, “it’s bullshit that she doesn’t have a no partying section in her contract and I can’t believe she’d go out and not even answer my texts first.” Luke groaned.

“well she’s not technically your girlfriend-” Michael pointed out but Ashton punched his shoulder lightly.

“she’s probably just freaked out. like you are.” Ashton said, smiling warmly at his friend.

“and you can confront her yourself.” Cal pointed out as the limo pulled up in front of the club.

Luke took a deep breath, running a hand through his unruly curls, “how do i look?”

“you’re a fucking panty dropper mate. don’t worry.” Ashton said before the door opened and they all climbed out.

flashes started immediately and a few people screamed “Pussy Party!” which made Michael grin and scream “Pussy Party!” with the crowd as they were escorted through the VIP door.

Luke looked around the club. he’d missed the flashing lights and the feel of bass in his chest. as soon as they entered girls began approaching. Ashton grabbed two blondes right away and Michael likewise broke off from the pack with two girls. 

Cal is the only one who stayed, hand on Luke’s shoulder as they both looked around. “there.” Cal said, pointing towards the bar.

the last time Luke had seen you, you’d been sprawled out on his bed, your naked body only slightly covered by his fur blanket. 

and there you were, in yet another stunning dress, a drink in your hand as you talked to a few people. Luke immediately recognized one of them by his dark curly hair and cheeky grin.

Luke’s fists clenched at his sides and he took a step forward but Cal grabbed his arm, “you can’t just go in there guns blazing mate.”

“like fuck i can’t.” Luke said, pulling away from Cal and barreling towards you. a few girls tried to get in his way but he pushed past them.

Prince Harry saw Luke’s approach and smiled “hey Luke!” he grinned.

you froze as you felt Luke come to stand directly next to you, his hand going to the small of your back, “Harry.” he greeted before turning to you. you looked up at him hesitantly, “long time no see, babe.”

“yeah, um... haven’t been feeling well.” you answered.

“your phone’s been off.” Luke stated.

you sighed at his possessiveness, “how did you know i’d be here Luke?”

“the paps saw you come in.” he answered, “people were wondering why i wasn’t with you so my mentions blew up.”

“come to think of it, why didn’t you two arrive together?” Harry interjected, leaning on the bar and looking at the two of you with furrowed brows, “you’d be daft to leave a stunner like Y/N alone.”

Luke’s jaw feathered and you noticed immediately, recognizing his anger radiating off of him like it had at the Gala, and on that night you’d been talking to a friend of his, not a rival. this was not going to end well for anyone.

you felt the pull of your contractual duty as you set down your drink and wrapped your arms around Luke’s waist, leaning against his side before smiling sweetly at Harry, “i’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse my boyfriend, he can get jealous sometimes.”

Luke kept his mouth shut as he glared down at Harry. 

one of your hands pressed against his chest and you looked up at him, and finally he looked down at you. he could feel the anger still coursing through his veins. 

you were his.

his arm went over your shoulders, “excuse us.” he said to Harry, voice a growl as he began leading you through the crowd.

“where are we going?” you asked.

he didn’t answer as he pushed you in front of him and into one of the lavish, VIP club bathrooms, closing the door and locking it.

the last time you’d been in a bathroom he had been a soft boy but standing in front of you now was a very angry, sexy, man. 

his shoulders heaved as he looked down at you, taking a step forward as you stepped back until your back hit the wall. his hand came to rest next to your head as he leaned down to be eye level with you.

“you like seeing me jealous?” he asked, voice searing into you, “you like flirting with other men while you’re dating me?”

“i wasn't-” you began but then you realized, “this whole thing is PR-”

“not to me.” he growled, pressing his lips against yours.

you wanted to be mad but the whole situation was making your heart race. you were friends with Harry, nothing more. you hadn’t meant to make Luke jealous but you had to admit, jealous Luke was a panty dropper.

your fingers went up into his curls as he bent down lifting you up and wrapping your legs around your waist as he pressed you back against the wall. your fingers danced over his shoulders as he bit down at your bottom lip.

having your legs wrapped around his waist had pushed your dress up and you could feel him through the thin fabric of your panties as you groaned into his mouth.

“Luke.” you whimpered as his mouth moved to your neck, teeth grazing your skin. he sucked on the area for a few moments, fingers digging into your thighs as he held you up.

he finally pulled away from your neck and moved to set you down on the sink counter, his hands going to his belt as he undid it. your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, finally getting the button down open so your fingers could roam his chest, exploring the ridges of his abdomen and the beautiful V-line disappearing into his pants.

when his belt was undone he stopped, kissing you again as he reached between your bodies and once again tore your panties in half to get them off of you, “you have to stop doing that.” you laughed against his lips.

“i’ll buy you new ones.” he promised, nipping at your lower lip as your arms encircled his shoulders. his hand reached into his back pocket and he pulled out a condom.

you expected him to fuck you like that but he pulled you down off the sink, forcing you to turn so your back was to him as his hand pushed you down over the sink, ass in the air. his eyes met yours through the mirror as he lined himself up with your entrance, hands steadying on your hips in a grip that you knew would leave marks.

he slammed into you and you moaned, moving to press your cheek against the counter but a hand wrapped in your hair, pulling your head up, “watch me while i fuck you.” he growled, eyes still on yours through the mirror.

“you’re mine.” he stated as he continued to pound into you mercilessly, “say it.”

his grip tightened on your hair, “I’m yours.” you repeated.

he let go of your hair, a hand coming down to smack your bum, “Louder.” 

“I’m yours Luke.” you whined, moaning as he hit a new spot inside of you.

this answer seemed to satisfy him as his head tipped down to look at where he was entering you, both hands returning to your hips as he continued to pound in and out. 

“up.” he instructed.

you pushed yourself up a bit and his hand came around the front of your body to wrap around your throat, pulling you up flush against his chest but being taller than you wasn’t making the angle that easy. he swore under his breath, pulling out of you and easily man handling you to be sitting on the counter again as he easily slide back into you.

his lips captured yours as your legs went around his waist and one of his hands cupped your face. “mine.” he hissed against your lips.

“Luke i’m gonna-” you began but he cut you off with a kiss.

“me too.”

his other hand gripped your thigh as his pounding got faster, lips on yours as you both reached your highs, letting out sinful moaning and whimpering sounds as he stilled inside of you.

you both breathed heavily, foreheads touching as he stayed there for a few moments. 

he pulled out of you and discarded the condom and your ruined panties, fixing his pants then lifting you off the counter and setting you down. he pulled your dress down, running a hand through your messy hair to fix it as he looked you over, not quite sure what to say to you, his gaze lingered on your neck where you knew there was a hickie forming.

“I... uh...” he struggled.

you looked up at the Prince, the guy who always knew what to say and yet here he was, tongue tied. “that was amazing.” you said, hoping it would help him find the right words and ease whatever conflicted emotions he was obviously feeling.

he laughed, removing his hand from where it had been cupping your face to do his buttons, “i knew it from the first day i met you, you’d like the kinky stuff.”

“Luke!” you laughed at the return of his cockiness as he did up his shirt, moving to smack his chest but his hand caught yours and he pulled you to his front, looking down at you with a grin. 

“don’t play dumb kitten. we both know you’re a dirty girl.” his words made you let out a breath as you wondered if a round two was a possibility but knocking at the door interrupted your thoughts. someone was always interrupting you two. 

Luke put his arm over your shoulders as the two of you exited the bathroom. “do you want to stay for a bit?’ you asked.

“not really.” he answered, looking down at you and laughing at the shock in your face, “i usually used to go clubbing for women but that’s not a good reason anymore.” he explained, leaning down to press his lips to yours.

you beamed up at your boyfriend. the two of you left the club, he shielded you from the paparazzi waiting outside as he held open the limo door for you before getting in himself, sitting next to you with his hand on your thigh.

“so we’re actually dating.” you stated.

he laughed, “yeah, who would have fucking thought?” 

you pushed at him and he wrapped his arms around you, “either this is real or this is the worst case of baby fever ever.” 

----

two months later it was announced that Luke Hemmings would be the next king. people were okay with it. everyone remembered the way Luke had been just months earlier but since he met you, everyone had seen the change. 

it was something in his eyes. an emotion that no one had ever seen there before.

it was the way he always had to be touching you, or protecting you from cameras.

it was just the way he was with you.

preparations were made for his coronation. his parents set up to move to a palace in the country they’d always planned on going to after retirement. Luke was in meetings most days but he always arrived back at the palace to find you, adorned in a new set of lingerie he had bought for you. he had entered a new chapter of his life and it was obvious to everyone around.

he no longer snapped his fingers at servants and everyone who worked on the grounds noted the change. 

the coronation was a big deal and Luke was worried about the whole situation but throughout the ceremony, if he ever felt lost or scared, his eyes would just find yours as you’d offer an encouraging smile.

when the festivities had ended and everyone went home, you and Luke finally had the palace to yourselves. he’d sent all the servants home to celebrate. the only sound in the entire palace was the sound of you laughing as Luke chased you around the long hallways, ready to ‘christen’ every room with your love.

it was wild, as you ran through the palace, chased by the boy you loved, to think that he was king. 

you ran to the bedroom and expected him to chase you. when you jumped into the bed and turned to find he wasn’t there, you furrowed your eye brows, sitting up. “Luke!?” you called. 

he entered the room a short while later, “sorry, i was um... just grabbing something.” he said, holding whatever it was behind his back.

“do you have a present for me?” you teased as he took a few steps into the room.

he grinned sheepishly and your heart fluttered, wondering what it could possibly be. “so we’ve been dating for four months-”

“if you include the PR month.” you pointed out.

he rolled his eyes, “fine, we’ve been dating for three months. and...” his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed, then he got on a knee, “i’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.” he pulled out a small velvet box that he had been hiding behind his back, opening it to reveal a ring, “i’m sure about this. Princess Y/N, will you take me, a cocky, arrogant mama’s boy, to be your husband?” 

you laughed at his inclusion of ‘arrogant’ because he always seemed to forget it, but not this time. looking down at the beautiful boy in front of you, your heart felt like it was soaring out of your chest as you nodded, feeling your eyes begin to swell.

“yes.” you said.

his face lit up as he removed the ring, taking your hand softly and slipping it onto your finger. 

then he was on top of you, body pressing you into the bed as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and his lips pressed against yours. you were both smiling so much that it was hard to kiss so you pushed at him, rolling so you could be on top.

you laced your fingers with his, marvelling at the ring on your finger as you looked down at him. “how did i ever get so lucky?” you asked.

“well i was given a bunch of folders-” he began but stopped as you laughed and pushed at his chest, “you know i’m a king right. you can’t push me around anymore.”

“oh yeah?” you asked as he rolled his way on top of you again, lips finding yours.

“yeah.” he said, rubbing his nose against yours slightly to make you laugh. 

you smiled at each other, not a care in the world. “I love you Luke Hemmings.”

“i love you too Princess.