#dear ed; i long for queue

[lala1267]

In love with a white boy.

Warnings: kissing, almost sex? Body insecurities, ED, big age gap, mentions of racism.

Notes: black female reader. Decade it the 60s, so there is some mentions of racism (no slurs). And if u don't like age gaps don't read.

I was just a shy girl named Mina Marie. I was so shy yet so beautiful, it's a shame that I didn't know how to communicate without going bright red. I was tall, dark, and I had the cutest dough eyes. My figure was a slim hourglass, only because I did everything to stay skinny. Even if it meant not eating for days. I was a chubby girl until the age of 13, that was when I started to hate my body. I changed my body so much that if you looked at a picture of me four years ago, you wouldn't recognise me. I wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, and would always work out. Even if I was on the verge of passing out. Beauty is pain, after all. Even with all of the mental struggles that I was fighting through, I was faced with racism. I was a black girl living in the late 60's what did you expect. I was only seventeen, and I was already model worthy. I had always wanted to be a model, but no one wanted me to model for their companies since I was black. If I walked around the white area, I would get insults thrown at me like I was a bullseye. It was horrible, I spent many nights crying. Just to feel a sense of happiness, I would sleep all day, my dreams were amazing. Until I woke up, back in this cruel world. I would sit down and stare at the girls on the magazines, the beautiful girls. They were petite and white. I was tall and dark. I would feel a sense of relief as I wrote in my diary about my life, my struggles, my pains, and my ills.

"Dear diary, today I cried until I couldn't anymore."

"Dear diary, today I almost passed out. But I'm not hungry."

I had already finished two thick diaries, filled with my emotions and thoughts. I was stunning but I didn't see it. As I looked in the mirror, I would see a hideous goblin rather than the gorgeous girl that actually stood there.

It was a Sunday, and had saw a poster. There was a movie that was looking for background actresses. I was used to being a side character in people's lives, so why not? Besides, I needed the money. Its probably going to be a short, shitty movie anyway. The auditions were open from 10am to 3pm.

"Perfect!" I whisper yelled whilst smiling. I skipped home happily.

Once I was home, I instantly began to get dolled up. I put a small pink dress on, some white flat shoes (in hopes that I wouldn't look to tall), I had also relaxed my hair and put it into a sixties updo. I placed a white headband in my hair as i looked at my reflection In the mirror.

"Oh god." I said in disgust to myself.

"Whatever, suck it up." I snapped angrily at the reflection. I put a peachy-pink lipstick that glossed my plump lips. My eyeshadow was a pastel pink, and my eyelashes were long and curled. I was ready to go, I grabbed my bag and headed out of the door.

As I was walking to the auditions I had to check my watch.

"Two thirty, what the hell!" I yelled to myself as I began to run. I ran fast until I got to the building. It was like a hall. I tried to ignore the white people staring at me as I walked through the door. When I was inside, I looked around in awe. It was large and luxurious. I couldn't afford this in a million years! I walked passed a sign that read,

"AUDITOINS THIS WAY ->"

I got to a queue, it was pretty big. I looked at the girls who were all looking forward. I couldn't seem to find who they were looking at. The queue moved gradually. Some girls walked out crying, and some walked out cheering. What was happening in there? Why are girls crying over a damn audition?

I was next in line, I had a full view of the audition room. It had a white wallpaper and a chair in the middle.

"I thought this was an audition, not a photoshoot." I whispered to myself. I scanned the room, and I layed eyes on all of the men. They were old and ugly. Except for one of them. I knew who this was. Everyone knew who this was. He was tanned and handsome. His hair was jet-black and kind of messy, but in a sexy way. It was...

"Elvis Presley!" I heard a girl scream behind me. That was when I had a reality check. I was doing an audition in front of the king, Elvis! I felt my blood rush through my body as my heart pounded against my ribcage. I was not fit for this, I didn't want to do this anymore, I wanted out. But it was too late to turn back now.

"Mina Marie next please!" I heard a man's voice shout from inside the room. I had to stop being a pussy and just do it. I hesitantly walked into the room as I felt the eyes shift onto me. I twiddled my thumbs and looked everywhere else but Elvis until I heard a man's voice.

"So, we don't care if ya got talent or not. We just need a pretty face for our background. So just sit yourself down and look pretty." One old man said. I stepped back and sat on the wooden stool. I placed my butt onto the cold wood as a camera was brought up to myself. I had a job to do, so no matter how nervous I was, I needed to get it over with. I posed like a goddes as the camera flashed and clicked. I was still posing ten minutes later. Surely it shouldn't take this long. I sneakily looked at Elvis, who had a big smile plastered on his face. He looked at my face, then my body. I felt my cheeks turn hot. When will this be over?

"Ok, you've got the spot. Be back tomorrow at 8 am, sweetie." I heard Elvis say before licking his lips. His blue eyes were now stuck on my brown ones. I shyly smiled as I walked out of the room.

THE NEXT DAY:

I woke up at 7 am. I had instantly begun to get ready. I wore pink flare jeans and a white crop top that showed just the right amount of cleavage. I had left my hair down. My makeup was flawless, pink eyeshadow, black eyeliner, and glossy lips. I was beautiful.

It was soon time to go. I grabbed my bag before walking out onto the street. I was dreading going to that place again. I took out a pen and my diary out of my bag. I wrote in it as I walked.

"Dear diary, as you know, yesterday I got the job of a side actor or something. I am now heading to the building to do my scenes. I am so scared. What if I mess up?!" I carried on writing until I arrived at the grande place again. This time, as I walked in, I was led into another area of the hall. I was escorted into a room full of side actors, and the main actors. I sat on the only empty seat left. Stood infront of us was the director.

"Hello and welcome. Today, we will be doing a couple of scenes. Your trailers are outside, right through that door. You can have time to get settled in. You all must return here at 10am for the first scene." He stated confidently. Everyone got up and walked out of the door into their trailers. I looked around and attempted to find my trailer wich was nowhere to be seen. I stood there awkwardly biting my nails.

"Ya alright darlin?" I heard a deep voice from behind me say. I turned around just to be met with the one and only, Elvis. I stood there for a second before replying.

"Oh, uh I just c-can't seem t-to find my trailer." I said quietly whilst stuttering. I looked to the floor, awaiting his response.

"You can share with me." He said as he smiled. My head instantly jolted up to look at his kind eyes. I looked at him, confused, before quietly replying.

"Really?"

"Of course, honey." He said. I just smiled. He held his hand out for me to hold. I was hesitant but did it anyway. He then led me inside the trailer. He let go of my hand and sat down. He patted the empty area next to him, urging me to sit next to him. I shyly walked over to him and sat down. He turned to look at my big eyes.

"So, what's your name, darlin?"

"Mina." I quietly said as I tried to look somewhere other than his hypnotising eyes.

"That's a real pretty name for a pretty girl." He said. I was surprised that he thought I was pretty. I just smiled in response. The awkward silence was cut short when the director called us to start the scene. I instantly got up. Elvis got up after me. His hand glided alond my hip as we walked out.

The scene had started, and I was seated in the background with another girl. I had to pretend to talk to the girl whilst Elvis was doing his main character shit. I couldn't help but look at him. He was wearing a black button-up and black blue flares. His outfit wasn't the best, I didn't mind looking at him though. I felt a deep jealousy rise in me as I saw him acting with another girl. She was blonde and white, of course.

I can't be getting jealous over a man I wasn't dating.

I thought to myself. The scene was over, and many more were yet to come. This was going to be a long day.

8pm- After all the scenes were done.

I walked out into the trailer park. It was a cold, wet night. I felt a gust of fresh breeze on my face. I walked over to the trailer that me and Elvis shared. I slowly opened the door. I stepped into the trailer, kicking off my shoes as I did so. I walked over to the bathroom area and began to brush my relaxed hair and remove my makeup. I felt the energy shift as I saw Elvis through the mirror. He was leaning against the doorframe, admiring me.

"Ya look real pretty without makeup." He complemented me as he smirked. I shyly smiled before quietly saying,

"Thankyou, Elvis." He stood up properly and furrowed his brows.

"Why are ya always so quiet, doll?" He asked, genuinely interested. I struggled to get my words out.

"I've always been quiet, I never had anyone to talk to anyway." I stated in an even quieter tone. He stepped closer to my body. I knew I was tall, but he somehow still towered over me. I could feel his hot breath on my face as I looked up into his eyes.

"I could make you loud. Fifteen minutes with me and ya would be screaming real loud." He flirtatiously whispered with a cheeky smile forming on his face. I could feel the heat in my cheeks. He leaned down, in hopes that our lips would meet. That didn't go as planned since I pussied out. I backed away and began to fiddle with my fingers.

"I'm, s-so sorry Elvis." I whispered silently before running off into the bedroom. Elvis was flabbergasted. Once I was in the bedroom, my eyes filled with tears. I had always been a crybaby. At any minor inconvenience, I would just bawl my eyes out. I sat on the edge of the bed, head in my hands as I cried.

Why would I screw up a moment like this?

I thought to myself. Just then, I felt Elvis's hand on my back as he sat down next to me. He began to frantically apologise.

"I'm sorry, did I scare you or something?" He asked very concerned. I lifted my head up to look at the man. His facial expression grew worried as he wiped away my tears with his big hands.

"What's wrong? Talk to me, doll." He said as he cupped my cheek. My shaky breath calmed before I opened my mouth to speak.

"I ain't never kissed anybody before. No one's ever talked to me like that before either." I said as I attempted to regain my breath. His face was now confused.

"You've never kissed anybody before? How old are ya?" He asked curiously. I hesitated to reply.

"Seventeen." I nervously stated."Is that bad? How old are you?" I asked.

"36" that was a shock, but it kind of turned me on. I crossed my legs as I attempted to ease my arousal. He noticed this.

"Ya getting excited already?" He asked sarcastically.

"What, no!" I raised my voice in hopes that he would believe me. Instead, he just shook his head and laughed. He was so nice to look at and I couldn't hold it in anymore, I needed him. I didn't know what kind of devil took over me. I grabbed his face and planted my lips onto his. I swirled my tongue around his and playfully bit his lips. His hands traced down my body as mine were playing with his now messy hair. I was in heaven. I straddled him like a horse and began to swirl my hips and kiss him until I couldn't anymore. Our high quickly came to an end when we heard a voice from the other trailer call,

"Can you two keep it down? The world doesn't need to know that you're getting it on!" We just giggled cheekily. Elvis looked up at me, who was on top of him.

"I really like you, and your moves." He said whilst laughing. I just rolled my eyes before replying.

"I really like you too, baby" I said flirtatiously.

From that day forward, we were inseparable

[chelzone]

Todayborday's Plans (07/30/23)

draw more-detailed and full-body designs for my webcomic characters Ede and Rosa. doing this for the sake of setting up Toyhouse characters pages for the two. these designs will NOT be reflected in the webcomic itself though!!

continue work on writing my next SFW short story, Scorched Leftovers. today i gotta write out scenes 5 and 6

record part 3 of my Euro Truck Simulator 2 playthru, w/my PNGtuber lass Luminous

try to finalize writing plans for my next art queue (Aug 02 - Aug 06) and then set up their project files for each upcoming drawing in MediBang

dear lord if i have the time and energy, i'll draw page 0007 of my webcomic ..Just Another Day!

i'll prob pull back on my busy busy business lately starting tomorrow, just need to get to bed earlier and get up earlier so i can spread stuff out more reasonable. also maintaining a good focus during all these can for sure go a long long way for my sake

[through-the-untempered-schism]

Dear Taylor

Dear Taylor:

I'm so sorry that you had to watch a lot of us suffer trying (and mostly failing) to get tickets, unable to do anything to stop it and make it better. Truly. But 2.4 million FANS did not get tickets. You're a smart, talented business woman who loves us, and we wouldn't be selling such a high volume of tickets on the secondary market ALREADY at such a huge mark-up. If you don't know yet, I'm sure you'll know soon, TM works with scalpers, goes to their conferences, and works real hard to get them tickets because that's how TM makes money - off their resale fees (which are percentage based, so higher resale = higher cut). And I hate to say this, really truly because I've been with you since the beginning, gone to Target when my store did a midnight release (time, not the album), purchased music videos on iTunes (I feel old), filled notebooks with decoded lyrics...you know, nothing special, just the normal fan things that unite all of us. But because I've been around so long and admired you as an artist and business woman, I find it really hard to believe that you didn’t know TM operated like this. That you didn’t know other, smaller artists (and big ones) have limited resell prices to face value. But if you didn’t, then I guess you didn’t. 

Going forward though, maybe you can change that. Maybe you can somehow be a part of a movement that works to eliminate some of the predatory means that TM uses to make money. You’ve done it before when people thought it couldn’t be done. You’ve gone toe to toe with some of the biggest names in the industry and come out on top. We’ve cheered you on every time. I want to keep cheering you on as you do it again and again. Here are just a few things you could maybe think about in terms of TM:

Unlimited accounts. TM has been caught saying to scalpers that they have no desire to limit the number of accounts they have.

No identification on the resale market. The process is anonymous,  allowing scalpers to sell numerous tickets to their name without buyers knowing they’re selling numerous other tickets. Making sure that accounts are tied to real ID’s and that people can’t have multiple of them would eliminate people trying to get around non-anonymous sales by making different accounts with different names.

Dynamic/Platinum pricing. I’m sure you’ve already heard of this. It was announced for Ed Sheeran that he was turning it off for his concert. We didn’t get that announcement. Fans reported ticket prices changing as they added them to their account, lost it from site glitches, then tried adding it again.

There’s also a rumor (I have literally no evidence for this beyond anecdotal from being on the discord servers, reddit, and twitter two days in a row) that not only did the boosts we received do nothing, they might’ve even ‘boosted’ us to the back of the line. Even though the queue ticker doesn’t show you your exact place in line above 2,000 people in front of you, there’s a way to go into the source code of the page and see your exact place. Many boosted people were somewhere from 15,000-25,000 in line. Non-boosted might’ve been closer. Not a universal experience, but enough to show that they truly were worthless, if not outright hurtful.

Another thing to consider - a lot of us didn’t appreciate how VIP packages were tied to specificrandomseats. I don’t have any objection to a lot of front row stage/lower bowl seats being VIP (though I think it would be nice to have some that aren’t to allow fans with less economical means but equally dedicated to have that experience). But it was insulting and a hard pill to swallow when seats 4-19 rows back in all tiers (lower and way up high bowls) were also marked up by hundreds of dollars because they were VIP. And by the time most of us got in, that’s all that was left (until even those were gone). 

No matter what, I’ll always be in your corner rooting for you to succeed and celebrating when you do. I can also make space for the fact that a failure occurred here, likely intentionally on TM’s part, and at least with culpable ignorance on yours. That doesn’t erode my faith that you’ll still try to do something to make this right. I believe you still have that power. When you lost the opportunity to buy your masters, you mourned, but you also found a solution in re-recording your albums that’s turned into being the most amazing gift for us (and hopefully you as well). You’ve gone to court to fight harassment for one dollar to show that it’s the behavior, not the money that matters. You’ve dropped albums without telling your record company until the last hour in order to deliver your vision of a finished product. You went to war with Apple Music and won. And if you really can’t do anything in this situation, if you’re bound by some ironclad contract that you regret signing now, then I hope you can at least acknowledge why a lot of us are still feeling so duped after this statement that fails to lay out any precautionary measures you could’ve taken, a claim that 2.4 million fans have tickets, and no plan or intention to try rectifying this somehow. Or even a proclamation that you wish you could, but your hands are tied for reasons you cannot disclose. Honor us and our intelligence and our dedication to you, that we will stand with you through the good and bad, the tribulations and [Roman] triumphs. We’re all human, none of us are perfect, we all mess up. That’s okay. Just please don’t leave us drowning in the pouring rain <3

[supes9]

“Face the truth.”

[thesculptedflower]

A Firecracker

May I request a Riddler x reader, where they meet during a heist, and after taking hostages and what not, the Riddler nabs the reader as a prize too.

@craftyjellyfishcat​

Note: I have to push the S1 Ed fic to tomorrow, I’m so sorry! Things came up at home, but it’ll be posted asap! Love you guys!

A Firecracker

’’Number 357!’’ The banker shouted, the queue moving painstakingly slowly. You glanced down at the number on your paper. 401. You sighed, prepping yourself for the next few hours you’d have to spend at the Gotham City Bank. You had fought your way up the cruel path of being a small business owner in Gotham, where basically anyone was a rival to you. People only look after their own gain, rarely wanting to see the neighboring business succeeding. You had faced many threats from businesses that were run by big and important families, but you didn’t lower your head. You fought back, even when they tried to burn down your place. It was a sloppy job, and they were quickly caught and brought to justice. Which was exactly why you were now queueing at the bank, the court had granted you a small fund to help you re-build. It felt good to be aided, but it also painted a huge target to your back. 

It didn’t make you scared or paranoid, but it sure made you even more courageous to push back those who tried to bring you down. You knew you had it in you.

You had lost the track of time, when a small explosion pulled you from your thoughts. People were screaming and running all over the place, but nobody saw anything or anyone. The heavy safety doors sealed all the exits and people were starting to panic more and more. Suddenly all the lights went out, except for one. The light shined above the staircase to the second floor, and under it was a tall man in a green suit. The Riddler.

You tried to find a way out of the room, but the darkness around you made it impossible.

’’Fear not, dear citizens of Gotham!’’ Riddler announced extravagantly. ’’I’d like to play a game.’’ 

Some of the people screamed, causing even more fear in the others. ’’SILENCE!’’ Riddler shouted, clearly agitated that his speech was disturbed. His deep voice quickly filled the whole space. ’’If any of you try to run, I’ll press this trigger, that will let out a toxic smoke. If you get all three questions right, I’ll let you live.’’He explained, showcasing the trigger inside his jacket. You stayed as low as you could, trying to slowly make your way closer to him. You weren’t the strongest, but you thought you could distract him long enough for the police to arrive. 

’’None of you shall be harmed, but only if you answer correctly to these three simple questions.’’ He was smiling like a maniac, walking down the stairs step by step, holding a gun in his hand. If you only could get that gun. ’’Let’s begin!’’ He shouted, the people below him shaking from the pressure. ’’I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?’’ 

There was a short silence, before people started whispering to each other, trying to come up with the correct answer. You were quick with your thinking, but you didn’t want him to notice you were getting closer to him. ’’An echo.’’ You whispered to a person next to you and kept walking.

’’An echo!’’ The person shouted, lowering his head afterwards to avoid being seen properly.

’’Excellent!’’ Riddler exclaimed joyously. ’’You see a boat filled with people. It has not sunk, but when you look again, you don’t see a single person on the boat. Why?’’

Whispering began once again, accompanied with a few desperate cries. This one was harder, but you came up with the answer in time, once again whispering it to the person nearest to you. ’’They’re all married!’’ They answered.

’’Correct once again. Maybe I chose the wrong bank.’’ His smile wasn’t faltering, he was so sure of himself, so confident. 

You were almost at the base of the stairs, ready to jump for his gun any point now. You knew he had the higher ground, but you had to take the chance. 

’’I have keys, but no locks and space, and no rooms. You can enter, but you-.’’ He started, but was interrupted by your sudden attack. You jumped out of the crowd aiming for his gun, but unfortunately for you, he had seen it coming miles away. He was surprisingly quick with his moves, ceasing you by the arm before you could even lay your hands on him. Now that you were forced to face him, you noticed how dark and dangerous his features were. The black bowler hat casted a sinister shadow on his face, making the already dark brown eyes seem even darker. The strong glasses framed his face perfectly, highlighting the strong jaw and high cheekbones. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were taken aback by how good he looked. And he was so intelligent, he saw right through you. 

’’Like what you see?’’ He teased, a cocky grin playing on his lips. You could feel a blush rising to your cheeks, but thanks to the poor lightning, it wasn’t too obvious. 

’’A little firecracker I see, daring to interrupt me in the middle of the last riddle, tsk tsk.’’

He was menacing, but you weren’t scared yet. You knew he loved his riddles, and he wanted to know if this poor audience could get away from him. 

’’Now if you please, let’s rise our bets a little, shall we.’’ 

He made you stand perfectly still on one of the steps and aimed the gun at your head. It made few people shriek, but you tried to motion them to be calm with your hands. The Riddler watched you silently communicating with them and let out a quick laughter. ’’Now would you look at that, what a heroine we have in our midst.’’ He said moving to stand behind you, and you swore you could feel his eyes on you. 

’’I’ll ask this one final riddle, and if you get it right, you’ll all get to go home.’’ He continued. ’’But, if you get it wrong.. Bang.’’ He pretended to shoot you in the back of the head. ’’She goes first.’’

People were crying and getting more panicked, but you remained calm. 

’’Only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain, doing no harm and feeling no pain. What am I?’’ He almost whispered, him being so close to your ear send goosebumps down your arms. You concentrated, forcing yourself to think of an answer. 

’’Is this too hard for our savior?’’ The Riddler teased, moving to speak to the other side of your head. ’’Time’s running out, and I’m right here, shadowing you.’’

That’s it.

’’A shadow.’’ You said almost too quickly.

You could feel the grin he had on his lips. ’’Well done, but unfortunately I can’t leave with empty hands.’’ 

You didn’t have time to comprehend his words before you were muffled with a cloth that smelled like, chloroform. 

* * * * * * *

When you woke up, you felt like you were hit by a truck. The room was small and dimly lit, and you sure as hell didn’t recognize it. You panicked a little and tried to sprung up from the bed, only to realize that you were tied down, only one hand free. 

’’Easy there, we don’t want you breaking anything.’’ A familiar, though more soft, voice said from somewhere in the room. Your eyes darted around, trying to find the source. A tall figure stood next to a kitchen counter, pouring two cups of coffee. He was wearing an ordinary flannel, and didn’t seem threatening at all. You had your guesses, which were proven right as he turned around. For some reason, you didn’t feel scared anymore.

’’Coffee?’’ He asked, setting the cup on the night stand next to the bed. You followed his every move with your eyes as he sat down to the end of the bed, carefully sipping his own coffee. Neither of you said a word for a while. 

’’You told me the answer.’’ You said first. Riddler lifted his brown eyes to yours, smiling genuinely this time. ’’That I did.’’

’’Why?’’ 

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head a little.

’’You were telling the right answers to the others, trying to distract me from following you in the crowd. I wanted you to survive. You’re, different.’’ He explained, stirring his coffee with a spoon. The smell was delicious, and it was harder to protest the growing need for the coffee. 

’’It’s my own blend, a little chocolatey and not too dark.’’ He said suddenly, reading you like an open book. You could feel yourself blushing again as you carefully reached for the cup. The aroma was heavenly, and so was the taste. In a different situation, you would have loved to spend time with a guy like him. ’’It tastes amazing.’’ You whispered, hesitant to compliment him. He smiled in return before standing up slowly, careful not to frighten you. He pulled out a key from his pocket and freed your other hand. Your eyes were looking for an answer, even if your mouth didn’t ask.

’’You trusted me enough to drink the coffee, I’ll trust you enough to let you go.’’ 

Almost immediately you jumped out of the bed, but the effects of the chloroform were still pretty heavy on you, causing you to almost fall to the floor. You weren’t sure if you were lucky or not, but you were caught by the arms of your capturer. He held you so gently, it really felt like he didn’t want to harm you at all. You stared up at his brown eyes, trying to find a reason why you felt this way. Why were you so okay with being in his arms, this close to him. You could smell his cologne, and you liked it. You knew it was wrong, so why did it feel so right. 

He helped you back to the bed, where you took the coffee cup to your hands again. It was still warm. ’’Why are you being like this?’’ You asked carefully. He sat down next to you, now closer than before, but you didn’t move away.

’’I don’t really know, having you here brings out parts in me that I thought I had lost.’’ He answered quietly, showing a more vulnerable side of him. You turned to look at him and for a moment you could see a totally different person looking back at you. 

’’But I do understand if you want to leave.’’ He continued, turning to look down at his cup.

’’I think I’ll stay, for a while at least.’’

You were totally out of your comfort zone, but you weren’t afraid of it. Maybe all those fights and struggles were preparing you for this moment. This moment you shared with one of the most dangerous man in Gotham. And you were okay with it. He wasn’t dangerous, not to you anymore.

[kachinnate]

tank u for the tag echooo<33 @neverheardnothing 

why did you choose your url? 

name’s kayla.... thought of the first word that also started with a ‘k’, added an ‘ed’ at the end and an extra ‘k’ at the front and called it a day tbh :pensive: i’ve probably been due for a new one for a while but at this point i feel like it’s too iconic to Me and i’ve had it for so long anyway sdjkngjkg

any side blogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them

i have a cringe vent sideblog that i use very very rarely when i have an overwhelming urge to Speak but it’s either 1. really horribly heinous and i feel like it would cause undue concern if anyone important saw it 2. won’t be deep in a few hours and don’t want to be forced to explain it once i’m over it ESJDHGNIJSDKG .. otherwise no we post All our interests on our main blog in a huge clusterfuck like men 

how long have you been on tumblr? 

since 2013-2014 i think? i had a different account but i think This one was made like january of 2016 

do you have a queue tag? 

yep! ‘#good for queue queue queue!’ which is naturally a reference to the iconic song good for you from dear evan hansen (2016)

why did you start your blog in the first place? 

i was switching from deviantArt to tumblr because fandom was more active here i believe?? :00 

why did you choose your icon/pfp? 

tis a drawing i made isdjkngskdg though i am due to make a new one here soon

why did you choose your header? 

windows / rain / evening aesthetic good 

what’s your post with the most notes? 

this lowkey garbo deh comic referencing the ‘alexa play despacito’ meme back when that was popular

how many followers do you have? 

870!

how many people do you follow? 

313.. which is a lot less than i expected huh 

have you made a shitpost? 

i have a tag called ‘shitposting’ on my blog so i do believe so 

how do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ post?

they make me feel a weird mix of guilt and spite so i typically just immediately Don’t reblog them dsngksjdgnsjkfdg.... especially because a lot of them just feel weirdly performative anyway >:’//?? 

do you like tag games?

yeh!! :3 even if i dont respond to them always, i do enjoy talkin about myself a lil lmao dsjkgnkjdsgnk 

do you like ask games? 

^^^^!! same deal dskjngkjsdg though even more often i’ll reblog them and then not actually post them bc i lose motivation pensive....

which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous? 

as tumblr famous as one can be in the fandoms we be in, i do likewise think it’s @nothingunrealistic & @unproduciblesmackdown ... and for good reason :relieved: good content lads thank u for ur service 

do you have a crush on a tumblr mutual? 

a requited one on my qpp, yeth <3 

UHHHH i shall tag....... @antpelts , @insanelycooljk , @bandtrees , @thatfriendlyanon , @dauntless-dragayn , @ocdranboo , @fakeblondeabigailhobbs , @lonelyroommp3 and whomst ever else would like toooooooo

[svrssnp]

Tag-Along🃏 - Joker x Reader [H.L.]

Summary: You convince the Joker to bring you along for a small heist operation, yet nothing is ever so easy, is it?

Rating: T / violence, light swearing, death / it’s the joker bby

Word Count: ~3,400 (oof)

Comments: if you wanna be updated for future joker fics, lemme know and i’ll create a tag list. also!! requests are open, so stop in! i have just been so grateful and overwhelmed from such a positive response regarding the first fic, so thank you all :,)

Joker didn’t have rules for you, or him, or anyone. But he did have principles—those trains of thought that wrecked their way into his mind—the little obsessions that he clung to, his own personal philosophy.

One of them, the one that you always heard, was his most serious: never cross business and pleasure.

But Joker had been aggravated as of late.

Coming home early, while you didn’t mind at all, flew up red flags. His private musings were longer than usual, as he hastily hung up phone much more aggressive lately. And every so often, while you were making breakfast or getting ready for bed, he’d come up from behind and rest his head on your shoulder, saying nothing but deeply sighing in discontent—the way a bored toddler would.

While appreciated, the gesture made you nervous. All in all, the Joker was bored, and if he didn’t have a decent enough distraction soon, you worried that his men—or you, even—would pay for it.

Grumbling in the hallway or stomping his feet too loudly accompanied him everywhere in the last few days, so when you’d seen him sitting at the vanity later in the day smearing on the white greasepaint across his forehead, you decided to take a gamble.

“So... what exactly are you doing tonight?” you asked with a knock on the door, looking in the mirror’s reflection to gauge his reaction.

His hand never stopped applying the paint, now reaching up to craft the haphazard black circles around his eyes. “Simple inventory restock. Need a few bazookas—Gotham’s armory should have a few to, ah, borrow.” The words were so nonchalant as he moved his head to see if there were any missing spots.

You walked into the room, innocent as could be. “Sounds a bit boring for you, isn’t it?”

He turned around with a grin, looking like a skeleton with only the white and black—eyes seeped into his skull.

“You’re beginning to know me so well, doll. Now,” he leaned against the vanity and offered up the red tube, “come over here and put a smile on my face, hmm?”

You raised your eyebrows, plucking the tube from his hand as you performed the little intimacy between the two of you. His lips puckered up mockingly as you traced them.

As you carved out the red smile, you couldn’t help but mimic it. Touching his scars had seemed so daunting of a task at first, but now... it was nice of him, you guessed, to allow one vulnerable aspect to show.

Joker seemed to enjoy the moment also, slowly closing his eyes at the familiarity, leaning his head back in relaxation.

He looked content. Almost.

The good atmosphere gave you the courage you needed. Clutching the lipstick a tad bit harder than necessary, you let slip, “Why don’t you bring me along, then?”

Immediately, his brows furrowed in confusion, and an eye popped open to look at you. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” you hesitated, taking a shaky breath while your hand curled to form the wide smile, “you’ve been restless lately... Something has obviously been bothering you! So I just thought—“

“No, no, no, no, no,” he shook his head and grabbed your wrist in hand, halting you. “Tell me, doll, have you been planning out this argument in your head all day, or did you just think up this terrible question now?”

“All day,” you said, pulling your hand away roughly, but Joker held tight, unyielding. “Because you’ve been so obviously upset all week.”

“And explain to me—no, really, go on,” he hissed, lunging down, “how you accompanying me to a heist would fix this?”

You huffed, throwing the lipstick down. “God forbid I try to cheer you up with something different.”

His other hand looped around your waist, pulling you in between his legs as he held you between them, then taking both his hands to grab your face, he pulled you close, as if your heads closer would transfer his exact thoughts.

“I do forbid it,” he whispered, lips almost touching your own, “and you know perfectly well why. I like you here, safe and untouchable—from all except me, of course—because you risking your neck is a liability, and I protect what’s mine.”

“Liar,” you said quickly, as you started going cross-eyed by looking him directly in the eyes so closely. “You let your men die all the time.”

He tsked, disregarding them quickly. “They aren’t, they’re aren’t mine. They’re their own mistakes. And I don’t clean up mistakes, I just direct them.”

“Oh, so what? I’m pure to you?”

“The purest,” Joker mumbled, voice growing dangerously deep as he leaned in to finally connect you two.

It was a shock—both physically and mentally. Every interaction with him was mental gymnastics. Every kiss was like an electric charge. It exhausted you, excited you.

You reached a hand up then to deepen the kiss, but that had been his queue to stop.

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t get so hot on me when I have to leave,” he said, leaning away with a smack of his lips.

“But—“

“Hush,” Joker insisted, redirecting your head to press against his chest in an attempt to keep you quiet. His one hand looped around to pat your hair down. “I only want you to understand my point of view. Business and pleasure don’t mix.”

“But you said the business was simple!” you retorted, lifting your head up. “And you haven’t been very pleasant lately!”

“Doll, I am fine. In fact,” he licked his lips, already cracking the paint, “a smile never leaves my face!”

You didn’t think it possible, but when he smiled he managed to look even more unhappy.

“This isn’t just about you, you know... Maybe I want to accompany you because I’d like to,” you said, trying an entirely different approach to hopefully speak to his ego. “Maybe I’d like to see the your working side—the side that everyone else sees.”

At that, Joker grinned, already playing out all the fantasies in his mind. A laugh sounded from him until he waved a finger at you. “Hmph, you’re trying. You’re tempting me.”

“Come on,” you whined. “I know heists aren’t anything new for you—they’re boring!—but maybe with me it will be?”

You were grasping at straws, but you could see him cracking. A final push was all that was needed.

“Let’s say you go,” Joker pushed away, leaving you behind at the vanity while he threw on his dusty trench coat over top. “What will happen? You distract me in front of the men? You trip over a live wire? What?”

You started at him blankly while he began fitting on his gloves with a hard slap of the skin.

“Because the way I see it—the right way—is that you’ll distract me, get me going, make me...” he rolled his eyes at the thought of even saying the word, “emotional.”

And with that case of his, all your arguments flew out the window. Your mind struggled to come up with something that might appeal to him.

“Don’t you... um, want?” you cleared your throat, knowing this was a long shot. “To, well, show me off?“

“And have their eyes have the fortune of seeing you?” he purred, opening up the door to leave. “Never.”

“What if—“ you were going to argue, going to call him a name or throw a tantrum, but the more you thought, it just wasn’t worth it. The original goal was to make him feel better, after all, not worse. So you cut yourself off, arms falling to your side in defeat. “Fine.”

“You’re not going,” Joker said pointedly as he straightened his tie. “I’ll be back in a few hours where you will be asleep and not waiting up for me. Do you understand?”

You bit down on your tongue to prevent anything other than “Yes” to slip out.

“Good,” Joker replied, ruffling his hair up last-minute while he glanced at himself in a mirror. “You surprised us all and proven you can follow orders given—that’s important,” he mocked.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, turning your back to go get a shower. “Have fun stealing your bazookas.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, mimicking that of an old 1950s sitcom husband. “Oh, and one more thing?” You were about to leave the room, but stopped. “Get your shoes on—I’ve decided you’re coming along and that’s an order.”

Your mouth dropped, and frantically you slipped on a pair of shoes before you followed his laugh out the door.

——————————

To your surprise, you kept silent the entire drive. Joker proved himself to be a truly terrible driver—speeding in all the wrong places and swerving when completely unnecessary—but you had a feeling he was only showing off his failed skills to scare you.

Even he seemed impressed when the van finally parked outside in an alley two blocks down and not a word was uttered.

Without warning, he got out, flinging open the back van doors to get some bags. After throwing two over his shoulder, he tossed something at you.

“A mask?” your nose scrunched up at the painted clown face staring up at you. It was all chipped off too, as if someone else had worn it.

Joker threw you a look, grabbing various guns and dropping them into multiple pockets. “Put it on. Last thing I need is for your face to be dripping in greasepaint too.”

“Would I be able to get a fancy alter-ego then?” you laughed as you slipped it on and began to match his stride down the alley. “Though not a clown. Definitely not. I like you and all, but the idea of couple crime costumes is—hmph!”

His hand flew against your mouth, arms caging around you and throwing both of you towards the brick wall. Your eyes widened, but you didn’t necessarily feel him tense up. Joker was just on guard.

“Now,” he hissed in your ear, and you could feel the heat of his breath against your cheak, “there is a camera right around there,” he waved in a general direction ahead. “I am going to dismantle it and you,” he squeezed tighter, “are going to keep quiet and follow dutifully behind. Alright?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t let go. “Mm, mm, mm, no words! Nod.”

After nodding yes, he let go, stalking forward with a pistol in one hand and a bouncy step in his foot.

His eyes scanned the area around you two, and he must have found what he was looking for because quickly, he raised the pistol and shot, shattering some little black orb on the side of the building.

“And there goes... our... audience,” he hummed, arm hanging back down to his side.

“How did you even see that?” you muffled against the mask, eyes squinting to find what he apparently had.

“With my two eyes, doll, with my two eyes,” he muttered, slipping the gun back in his pocket. “Now, climb that ladder instead of stalking me.”

“Admiring. Observing,” you insisted. “And... why me first? There could be someone at the top waiting.”

“There could be,” he conceded, but didn’t shy away from placing your hand on the first rung, “and if there is, that’d certainly mean that they’d learn from their mistakes. But,” he clicked his tongue, “they’re not as smart as that.”

You sighed, “It’d make me feel better if you had your gun out... all the same.”

“How can I say no to that?” Joker smiled, pulling out a short shotgun and resting it over his shoulder. “Now scat.”

He poked you in the back with the nose of the gun, and with a grumble you began climbing.

The building wasn’t too tall—only a few stories high —but the wind nipped with it being so late in the night, and you kept having to push the too-big mask back on your face.

Before you climbed the last few rungs to look over, you hesitated, knuckles turning white from your cold grip.

You looked down at Joker. A toothy smile with crinkling eyes meet you while he lazily held on with a hand, rocking back ‘n forth on his heels. Hair and jacket billowing in the air, he didn’t look the least bit worried.

“Promise me there’s no one up here waiting for us?” you whispered.

“Cross my heart and hope to die~” he sang, gun swinging in his hand, “though, that’s how I always am.”

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, your hands grabbed the rooftop, hoisting yourself up to throw a leg over, and—

He was right, of course.

Feeling like a baby once he made it up also, Joker couldn’t not take the opportunity to tease.

“No one here. See?” he said, ruffling your hair obnoxiously. “Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time with me. You’re starting to get a little, ah, dramatic.”

“It’s not funny,” you muttered as he shot the door lock off with a silencer.

“Relax, doll. Aren’t you here to entertain me on this bring-your-kid-to-work day experience?” he clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Bad manners...”

“I’m a kid?” you scoffed, following him down the stairwell the door opened to. “I think not enough people know the truth.”

“Of?”

“Just how young you look underneath all that war paint. We almost look like a proper couple.”

Joker stopped immediately, holding out his hand to throw you a nasty look. “Talk like that again and we won’t be anything for much longer.”

Repressing a smile, you held up a hand to show him zipping your lips shut and throwing away the key. That seemed to appease him as you both continued on.

Though the further down you got, the more serious he seemed to become. Joker took greater care with his steps and turned back every few seconds to assure that you were doing the same. Several flights later, and the two of you exited the stairwell, working your way into a hallway. After a confusing amount of turns, you found yourself at a foyer with an opening looking down to the main floor of the building.

Two guards were down there, as far as you could tell, at least. One posted at the door, and another sat behind the main desk. Either way, their backs were turned from each other and they seemed like easy targets from an objective point of view.

Except that they had automatics strapped against their back.

Joker looked at them uncaring, as if he were a god looking down on mere mortals.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be this quiet,” you whispered after a few seconds of silence and him patting down his pockets to find something.

“I’m usually not,” he said with a hint of a whine in his voice. “If I were with my men, we’d have just gone through the front door—play a game of shoot out. But with you, I thought it best that we be the only ones in attendance.”

“That’s considerate,” and you had to hold back a laugh at his look of disgust. “Though we aren’t the only ones. There’s also these two guards.”

At that, Joker found what he was looking for and pulled out yet another gun, flipping a lock and pulling the trigger before you even had a chance to comprehend what was happening.

“One,” he corrected, as the guard sitting behind the desk slumped back in his chair, Joker’s bullet firing right through his head silently. You gasped, but Joker just had a bemused look on his face. “Learn to count.”

Your mouth fell open upon seeing the man lie completely still, a faint trail of red running down his white shirt. Joker grabbed your arm, leading you around the foyer to a new angle where you could both better see the other guard by the door. He was totally calm.

“I know, I know,” Joker said upon seeing your shocked state. “Shooting people’s the dull way, and all work and no play makes me a dull boy, but we’re not here for a thrill. Just goods.”

You shook your head, not quite expecting everything to move so quickly. “Can I ask a question?”

“My face is an open book.”

You reached out your hand to him, needing something to hold onto with all the terrifying possibilities of what exactly could happen tonight racing in your mind. “Were you ever like me, at one point?” you whispered, feeling so much dread pool in your stomach. “Did you ever feel like I do right now?”

“Look at me,” Joker kneeled down to be eye-level with you. A gloved hand came up to lay against your cheek as he hummed, licking his lips once. “How do you feel?”

Your eyes flicked down to the dead man. “Guilty.”

“At me, not him,” and he turned your head to his. “Life is, ah, subjective. The codes that people live by—they made them, doll. Not anything else. So the definitions of good and bad?” His fist tightened before flexing, showing an empty hand. “They vanish.”

“Joker, I know this already,” you murmured, pulling your cheek away. “You’ve said this all before. There’s just a difference between hearing and actually seeing it.”

He frowned at you, and you tried your best not to feel bad at how frustrated he was, fists coiling up once more. “Look, look there,” he spit harshly, pointing a finger at the guard standing by the door. “That man right there, with the automatic strapped to his back. Would you kill him?”

“Joker...”

“If I asked you to, would you do it?”

You looked over the balcony, mouth set in a frown to see how young and healthy the guy looked. “He seems like a nice family guy,” was all you said.

But Joker didn’t care, snapping his fingers. “Yes or no?”

“Yes, alright?” you hissed at him, stalking away from the balcony. “What kind of question is that? If it was between you and him shooting at each other or something, then obviously I’d try to save you.”

“But would you kill him?” Joker pressed on, following you regardless of the glared you fixed him with. His eyes looked darker than usual, pupils blown wide. He circled you, looking up and down. “Because I’d kill them all—you know that. That family man that you feel bad about? If he even so much as glanced—BANG!“

“You’d do that on any day.”

Joker made a noise, pinching the back of your neck to make you jump into him. His eyes narrowed in on your scared form, holding an amused expression. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, releasing with a loud pop of the lips. An apology.

“Stay here then, doll. I’ll finish off our, ah, family man,” he cleared his throat and only smiled at your sad face, “then grab what we came for.”

Then he was walking away, opening the door to the stairwell and ready to slip out until you stopped him.

“You’ll be right back?”

“Ten minutes,” he announced, crossing his fingers in a promise and holding them up for you to see before he kicked shut the door and left you alone. “Ten minutes.”

So you waited, a chill seeping its way down your spine at the silence around you. The feeling of being watched threatened all comfort that you had when Joker was around, and it eventually got to the point where you almost dared to get up and pace. You couldn’t sit still.

After a few minutes, you took a deep breath and peaked over the balcony. Sure enough, family man was dead, laying on his stomach.

More minutes passed, and although you didn’t get the exact count right, you knew it had to be longer than ten minutes by now. Yes, your nerves were jumpy, and even then short minutes felt like an hour, but you just knew.

But you sat still, because you also knew that he’d be back, and the last thing you needed was to take one false step and set off anything.

Until you heard a gunshot. Heard it. You never heard Joker. He didn’t work like that.

Again, you waited for a few seconds to see if any sound followed, but it was silent.

So you ran, struggling to carry yourself with shaky legs. Your hand clutched the gun as you trudged down stories of stairs trying to find any indication of where he might be, but there was none.

You made your way down to the main floor, trying your best to avoid the sight of the two dead men. Finally, as you roamed, you found another set of stairs leading downward. The door was hanging open, so you walked slowly, gun out in front. You barely knew how to use it, but you figured the last thing Joker would do is have the safety lock on.

So you’d just have to point and pull, right?

You crept, winding your way to the basement component. Here, the lights were neon bright, illuminating everything in a sick glow reminding you of a hospital. You felt light-headed suddenly, wondering where Joker had gone.

Your sights narrowed in to another room, one looking like an entrance to a safe due to all of the fancy gadgets surrounding it.

God, you just wanted to run, to get in the van and keep driving. It was probably best to leave Gotham all together.

But he could be hurt. What if he was hurt?

Much less suave than you would have liked, you crept into the safe. You saw another dead man. It looked like he was stabbed in the neck also, as his one hand, now frozen, was on his throat, as if trying to do the bleeding.

You glanced down at his other hand and saw a gun lying right next to it, his finger still practically on the trigger.

It happened in slow-motion—seeing him. All the events seemed to stall in your brain, struggling to make sense of what you saw. You only turned your head a quarter of the way when you saw another crumbled body on the ground.

And there lie Joker.

Red painted the floor around him, blood going this way and that. The bags, filled with those stupid, stupid bazookas, were right next to them near his forgotten trench coat, revealing all the knives he’d loved like children.

His eyes were shut—thank God—because you’d scream if you had to see his eyes like... that, devoid of everything.

Everything of him was gone.

Your mind went into a frenzy, running after him. But it wasn’t fast enough, nothing you did was enough now.

His name spilled from your lips a thousand times as you kneeled down, hands going to his hair, his face, his arms, and tie—anything to anchor him to you. You shook his frantically, begging him to get up, to have any consciousness left. But all that did was cause even more of his poorly dyed green hair to fall in the red puddle coming out from him.

“Joker...” you gasped, bringing you head down to rest on his chest, straining to hear a heartbeat.

Nothing.

“Joker, please. Please, please, please...” Cries escaped your lips as you looked down upon him. His lips were parted, and you had to hold back a sob at how broken he looked. The scars stretched his face so unnaturally then, making his corpse look inhuman.

He looked like a monster, laying in blood with knives and scars surrounding him.

“This is all my fault,” you choked out, giving into gravity and falling into him completely. Burying your face into his dress shirt, you breathed in the awful smokey scent that always accompanied his suits. That you’d always complained about. “I shouldn’t have been here... You shouldn’t be here! We should be home! We should be... be...

“We should have done more. Should have left this stupid, stupid city. You—you weren’t supposed to die here, damn it! DAMN IT, JOKER, COME BACK!” Your hands started shaking, and you had to pull away at how angry you felt, how... how beaten down.

But you couldn’t move far. Those hands had always managed to find a way to pull you in. That face had always managed to convince you to stay. That voice...

“This can’t be the end. It can’t. You can’t die like this—like, like some person.” Then suddenly your hands were in his hair, wiping it away from his forehead to view him again, to remember those smile lines and forehead wrinkles.

Panic started to rise once you thought of what to do next. You couldn’t carry him to the van, and even if you did, what then? Did you contact his men, telling them what happened? Did you leave him here?

But you didn’t want to give up, to walk away from everything he’d shown you. He wouldn’t leave.

“You’re better than them. You said you were. And I thought so too… so don’t die like them.”

Leaning down, you pressed your lips to his forehead—so painfully similar like he’d done to you only twenty minutes before—and had to hold back yet another sob.

“Say it’s just a bad joke,” you whispered into his hairline, not daring to open your eyes to face the truth once again. “Say it.”

Until a voice filled with so much offense replied back, sending a bolt of electricity through your being, sending feeling back into you.

“I’ve never told a bad joke in my life, doll.”

That deep and perfect and raspy and infuriating voice.

“Wha—JOKER! Joker, oh my god. Oh my god!” you screamed, tears flowing even more at the whirlwind of emotion.

He chuckled then, throwing his head to the side while pure, unadulterated glee filled his eyes. Immediately, you threw your arms around his neck, crawling into his lap with such urgency that he barely made it sitting up.

“Ooh, doll, calm down,” he teased, finally getting the laughs under control enough to examine you. “I’ve only been gone, ah, twenty minutes at most, and you’ve been crying all this time?”

“You asshole!” you yelled, slapping him in the arm that he’d wrapped around you. But you still leaned in, never daring to leave. “You absolute bastard—I thought, I really thought that you’d—“

But you couldn’t even get the words out without collapsing against him in tears again and again.

“Shhh, shhh, shhhhh,” he murmured, resting his chin atop your head. “You were right in your cute little euology—I am better than that.”

He giggled once more, and you couldn’t help but smile a little upon feeling the rumble of his chest. It was moving again. It was alive, and you felt yourself beginning to grow hysterical.

“You weren’t breathing.”

“Yeah?” he replied in a tone so obvious that it threatened your sanity.

You sat up in his lap, still never letting his tie go, but enough to get a look at him.

“You were... you were dead, Joker.”

“Mmm, no. Death doesn’t have as many possibilities as this.”

Suddenly, he surged forward, tongue immediately finding its way into your mouth as you moaned deeply into the kiss. He growled, bending you in half as he sat up more also, squishing you fully in his lap.

It was so backwards—everything that he did to you. Tears were still wet on your face, but you couldn’t stop giving in to him. You thought you’d lost him, for God’s sake.

“I—I can’t believe you did that to me,” you said, barely even knowing what to say as you broke for air and stuffed your face into his shoulder.

“Please... It wasn’t even that bad. I debated on making it much gorier,” he said so casually, still finding the situation amusing. “Did you really expect to go on a field trip with me and not have any, ha, education?”

Your head shook, commonly disagreeing with him. “You’re terrible. You’re terrible and I’m never coming with you again in my entire life if you act like this.”

“I warned you,~” he lulled you back into false security. And you suddenly felt nauseous understanding that this was probably his thought process for letting you come in the first place. It was all meant to terrify you, to scare.

And it worked.

“Just take me home,” you sniffed in his shoulder, and tried your best to maintain dignity and eye contact at the same time. “Please.”

Joker reached up, wiping a tear from your eye. His bottom lip was puckered out, mimicking your pouting. “Doll, I’d want nothing more.”

And with that, he stood, pulling you up alongside him while he collected his jacket and bags. You felt like a child, but insisted on holding his hand the entire way up the steps of that basement, and probably all the way home too.

“Oh, heh, actually, almost forgot.” He stopped once the two of you reached the main floor, and reached into your pocket to take out a playing card.

It was a simple black and white Joker, complete with two Js on each corner.

“When did you put that in my pocket?” you asked as he pulled out a red marker, doodling something on the glass before pocketing it.

He simply shrugged, licking the back of the card before sticking it to the front door of the building. For a finishing touch, he took the mask you’d been wearing and hung it right above.

“Tricks of the trade.”

[a--world--apart--fic]

A World Apart - Chapter Five

Notes: Grab a drink, this is a long chapter! We hope your loving it so far. Next week we head to the Beaumont Ball! Tagged long post for mobile readers.

Rating: M

Word Count: 6349

Musical Accompaniment: Ed Sheeran - Kiss Me

Tag List: @writtenbycandy, @hopefulmoonobject, @heatherfilliez, @theroyalweisme, @indiacater, @tmarie82, @enmchoices, @the-everlasting-dream, @diamond-dreamland, @lizeboredom, @drakewalkerwhipped, @youwontlikewherewewillgo, @mfackenthal, @kingliamthirst, @snyggflicka, @debramcg1106, @choicessa, @drakelover78, @starstruckzonkoperatorbat, @blackcatkita, @drakewalkerfantasy, @jadedpixiescribbles​, @walkerismychoice, @walkerduchess​, @hamulau​, @simplyaiden-blog​, @hhiggs​, @drivenbyfantasy

Chapter Five ~ Written In the Stars May 1914

Olivia sits crossed at the ankles in her private box, enthralled by the tragedy unfolding on the stage below. The music swells, the dancers floating across the stage with grace as the swan princess takes her last breath in the arms of her lover, his failure to let her go, in spite of his betrayal of choosing another, killing them both. She’s always been fond of this particular ending to Swan Lake, for she has not believed in the foolish notion that love always endures since she was a child. Losing one’s self in love leaves you vulnerable; a victim blinded, like unwitting prey.

“What a lovely performance. Don’t you agree, Lady Olivia?” the irksome voice of Lord Henry breaks her from her trance as the curtain call begins.

“Lovely indeed,” she mutters, flicking his wandering hand off her thigh. Despite his unusually squirrelly voice, Lord Henry was one of the better suitors she had courted since her arrival in Paris in the winter. None so far were men she would entertain marrying, much to the dismay of dear Aunt Lucretia who surmised Olivia was driving away these noble men on purpose. Perhaps she was. Truthfully, she had no desire to marry. Still and all, she would, and without love, for after disgracing the house of Nevrakis in the spring of 1908, Aunt Lucretia decreed Olivia was not fit to choose a husband of her own free will.

Her aunt had no shortage of foreign suitors at her disposal, each ostensibly worse than the last. At Yuletide, Olivia kept company with Duke Moritz, a handsome man with an ego the size of all of France to compensate for his small cock. Aunt Lucretia was certain she had found her a match worthy of a Nevrakis, but Olivia would not stand for him. Horst from Düsseldorf followed, who lasted just an evening with those repulsive damp hands. In February, the Vicomte, a promising prospect lasting three weeks until Olivia tired of how unfailingly polite he was.

In March, Aunt Lucretia returned from America with David, a railway tycoon and an uncouth man who never put down his pipe and talked only of his business dealings. He lasted three dinners before Olivia poured her wine over his pipe and waltzed out unaccompanied. Days later, the tawdry Canadian emerged, a man who made his fortune in the Klondike and promised her weight in gold -- as if Olivia would deign to marry new money.

Lucretia’s quest for a gentleman for her to wed returned to Europe then, finding Markus Von Groot, a Dutchman she called “eccentric.” That was complete nonsense. He could only be described as mad, spending their afternoon at Musée du Louvre describing in immense detail how in his years as an artist he would fuck his muses and come into his paint so he could express a physical manifestation of the passion between artist and muse in his creations.

Olivia was so desperate to get away from him she walked willingly into the arms of Lord Henry of Cambridge, and has tolerated him since, not wanting to see what other dreadful men Aunt Lucretia had in the queue.

“Shall I have the car pulled around, or would you prefer we go for a stroll? It’s a delightful evening,” he suggests timidly. “The best view of the Eiffel Tower at night is nearby, if you wish, I could show it to you?”

Olivia visibly cringes at the thought of extending this night any longer than she has to. She notices him frown slightly and sighs, taking pity on him. “Very well, we’ll see the tower and then I really must return home.”

She begrudgingly accepts his arm as they leave the theatre, offering him a half smile that does not meet her eyes. “I’m having a wonderful time, Olivia. Paris has been kind to us on this fine spring night, don’t you agree?” No, you dull oaf -- She holds her tongue, reminding herself not to be rude, and nods briefly at him with pursed lips. She supposes he takes note of her sour mood, as he remains silent while they weave their way through the narrow streets, the only sound the echo of her heels on the cobblestone.

There is a crowd about when they arrive at the base of the Eiffel Tower, all tourists admiring the great structure. She has never understood what the appeal is, finding it ironic that a landmark made of cold, unforgiving steel remains the symbol for the city of love. Henry fumbles reaching for her hand and gingerly takes it in his own -- she leaves it limp in his grasp. She looks up at him from beneath her painted lashes and grimaces. He is nervous about something, sweating like a sinner in church.

“Olivia, if I may be so bold,” he begins and her eyes widen, not in surprise, but in horror as she notices a small box twirling about in his left hand. “I realize we have kept company for only a short time. Yet, I knew from the moment I gazed upon your breathtaking beauty that one day soon we would wed. You are a remarkable woman, and after seeking the permission of your Aunt Lucretia, there is something I would very much like to ask you.” Henry begins to lower himself to one knee and Olivia flushes in embarrassment -- her cheeks must be the colour of her crimson hair. “Get up, you idiot! Get up this instant,” she hisses through gritted teeth. “You’re embarrassing me, you lovesick halfwit! People are staring.”

“Darling,” he starts, but Olivia has hooked onto his coat and pulled him from the ground herself. “I thought this is what you wanted, Lady Olivia!”

“What possibly gave you the impression this is what I wanted? A distasteful, public proposal at the tackiest place in all Paris; this is preposterous, Lord Henry. I’m offended you think so little of me to believe that I would accept the proposal of a man I met just weeks ago. I insist you take me home. Consider it a kindness that I will forget this catastrophe ever happened.”

“Oh no no, this is all wrong,” Henry pouts, his bottom lip stuck out much like a toddler about to throw a tantrum. “Lucretia assured me if I proposed you would accept. You must accept, Lady Olivia! Please, accept.”

“Cease this wretched behavior immediately, Lord Henry. I’ve had quite enough for tonight. Take me home,” she snaps, losing her patience.

“You don’t understand, Lady Olivia! I must return to Lythikos with you. I can’t go back to mummy in England! She’ll be so disappointed if I return without a bride again. Save me from mummy, m’lady, I beg you!”

“You sniveling, pathetic sap,” another one bites the dust, “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth. I’ll see myself home,” Olivia sneers in disgust and stalks away from him, leaving him calling after her.

She knows without doubt when she returns to her apartment she will be berated for her dismissal of yet another suitor. She grumbles grievances under her breath all the way back through Paris, raging at the circumstance of her noble birth and her blasted aunt’s insistence to find her a suitable match.

The streets are emptying when she finds herself passing the Opéra Garnier once more, and she stops, deciding she better hail a taxi if she is to get back before the riff raff come out in spades. She is standing waiting for a taxi to pass when two young dancers approach, lingering on the steps of the theatre. “Beautiful sky for stargazing, non? Cygnus shines bright tonight, fitting for the show,” the girl passes her colleague a cigarette, a cloud of smoke floating above their slim frames.

Olivia looks up and admires the stars glittering in the night sky, illuminating the darkness as the city begins to sleep. Cygnus, the swan -- how fitting indeed. She traces the constellation with her eyes, feeling a trace of nostalgia for simpler days when she would lie in the forests of Lythikos with Liam and he would tell her the great stories of the sky. After years of being away, she tires of Paris, and longs for the comforts of home.

A taxi finally passes, and just as she is about to climb in, she catches sight of a vaguely familiar face leaving the theatre. A petite brunette woman carefully perches a tutu on one arm, a bag of feathers thrown over her shoulder. She is dressed all in black like a Parisian, but carries herself far too meekly to be a true French woman. She descends the stairs and Olivia tilts her neck down to get a closer look -- Savannah? -- but it couldn’t be. She shakes the idea off as a trick of the light.

•••

Drake pretends not to notice the farmer’s daughters giggle and bat their eyelashes as he passes by. The eldest, Sarah, a short, pretty blonde with wavy hair and brown eyes, stands in the middle of her sisters, subtly pointing in his direction, undoubtedly bragging about their evening trysts. Sarah is a nice girl, and lovely company to allay the sting of lonely nights, but she is just another warm body; a surrogate for the only woman he wishes to fill his bed.

Sophia.

He has not seen her in a fortnight; not since she called upon him in the midnight hour drunk and inconsolable. He held her close in his arms that night, humming the lullaby his mother used to sing to him in her ear until her trembling body stilled and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. He did not dare press why she came the next morning, not after she uttered the names of the king and queen and twisted her face in an angry scowl, eyes brimming with resentment, her tears coming again like a raging river, drowning her in despair.

Thoughts of what may have occurred between her, the king and queen that night have plagued his mind since. Today especially, for not more than an hour earlier he saw her and Liam behind the stables, away from prying eyes, kissing fervently. Whatever rotten thing it was that caused her to come running so readily into his waiting arms, it appeared Liam was forgiven, and all as was it should be again.

But it isn't.

Drake breathes in the comforting scent of baled hay upon entering the stalls, finding a hint of relief from his soured mood. He has only the fondest memories of this place, learning his father’s trade and how to tame a mare or stallion as a young boy. If he closes his eyes he can still hear his father’s voice clear as day. Horses are spirits of the wind, Drake. Respect them, or they will not respect you. Heed their calls and you can tame even the wildest stallion. It was Drake’s honor to accept the job as head of the royal stables after the untimely death of his father in a royal hunting accident, as all Jackson Walker ever wanted was for his beloved son to follow in his footsteps.

The memories of his father stir something in him, and Drake sighs heavily as he prepares the saddles, unable to keep his worries from weighing on him even in his happy place. If my father could see the mess I’ve made, he thinks, frowning.

A stunning silver Arabian called Ash gently nudges the side of his face. She is his favourite horse, long since retired having been at the stables since Drake was a boy. Ash nickers at him, and stomps her hooves at the apple bucket at his feet. “Here you go old girl,” he chuckles, offering her a Cordonian Ruby. “We’ve seen a lot together, haven’t we Ash? First, mother left. Now Savannah is gone, and Sophia is slipping through my fingers. You’re about the only girl I’ve got left,” he laughs mirthlessly, resting his head against her. “I have loved that girl for six long years, and still I don’t have the strength to tell her, even in spite of all that’s happened.”

The horse whinnies at him, frightened by the sound of a stranger clearing their throat. Startled, he looks up and sees Maxwell Beaumont standing in the archway, awkwardly shifting his feet.

“Lord Maxwell… can I help you?”

Maxwell looks terrified, like he wants to be swallowed up by the ground beneath him. There is a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, and he won’t stop fiddling with his gloves.

“My lord,” Drake repeats stiffly, trying to suppress his irritation. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh... well… you see, Drake… I can call you Drake, right?”

“What else would you call me?” He snorts, then presses his lips together in a thin line to keep him from saying more. It would not do well for him to be rude to a gentleman of House Beaumont, even if Maxwell is practically the court jester.

“I don’t mean to impose upon your work, Drake. It’s just… I have had something on mind these past few months that I feel I must get off my chest.”

“My lord, if there is an issue with your horse you needn’t come all the way down to the stables yourself to correct it. A simple messenger would have sufficed,” Drake cannot help but roll his eyes. He just wants Maxwell gone from his sight so he can continue his work. He has never had much patience for Maxwell Beaumont’s nonsense antics; not when they were children who played together before circumstance drew a proverbial line in the sand, and certainly not now.

“Oh! No, it’s not about Lucky. He’s a wonderful horse. My compliments to you for your care of him. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve called him Lucky. I know it’s not his given name but --”

“Maxwell!” Drake starts, his tone dangerously sharp. “What the hell do you want?”

Maxwell’s eyes pop out at Drake’s loutish address. He is hardly equipped to broach such a sensitive subject with a man so intimidating. But he must. For Savannah. “It’s about your sister.” Maxwell swallows hard, gathering his courage. He makes eye contact with Drake, who stares at him resolutely with a clenched jaw, now towering over him with his ample chest puffed out. Max’s instinct is to cower, but he thinks of the pretty, wounded girl with dove grey eyes, and presses on. “I understand she fled from the palace, and I was just… I was hoping… do you know anything about where she’s gone?”

“With all due respect, that is a private matter,” Drake growls.

“Please, I don’t mean offend you or to impose on matters that are none of my business, but I must ask. If you know something, anything, maybe I could help bring her home,” Maxwell’s voice wavers, thick with emotion.

“It’s none of your goddamn business, Beaumont, but Savannah isn’t coming home. Wherever she is, she ran off a thief,” Drake’s eyes have darkened to an ink black, and his breathing is shallow. “If that’s all, my lord,” he spits, “I politely ask that you leave at once before I do something we’ll both regret.”

Maxwell feels a lump rising in his throat -- a thief? Savannah Walker is no thief, of that he is sure. He wants to give Drake a piece of his mind for believing the accusations made against his own sister, but sees Drake balling his fists, ready to strike. He hangs his head, defeated, knowing it’s time to retreat. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Good day, Drake.”

Drake curses under his breath while Maxwell scurries out of the stalls. “Goddamn nosy nobles,” he mutters. Ash nuzzles her wet nose into his shoulder, just as she used to do to Savannah and his eyes soften. “I miss her too old girl,” he whispers, fending off the sting of tears. He has not yet cried for her, and he will not. If he does, he fears he may never recover from the crushing reality: that his own sister has abandoned him without a word, just like her mother before her.

•••

Sophia’s hand lingers low on her rumbling belly as she stands unshielded in the sweltering sun with the other maids, waiting for the queen to finish her address so the Royal Horse Guard can lead the parade. She tunes out Madeline’s commentary on the importance of the Apple Jubilee, distracted by the sweet aroma of apple cake wafting through the air that’s driving her mad. Her appetite has been voracious as of late, and nothing seems to slake her unending desire for apples.

The queen drawls on, and Sophia’s eyes wander across the lawn to the men of the Royal Horse Guard guiding their steeds to formation. A wistful smile forms on her lips watching them. They remind her of Savannah, standing in this very spot on a warm May Day a year past, dreamily whispering to Sophia how she wished a fine gentleman, dashing in his red coat, would whisk her away and make her his lady. What became of my sister? she wonders, That innocent, gentle soul, too pure for this world.

She is brought back by the sound of the trumpet call, signalling the outset of the parade. Her gaze follows a chubby Maxwell Beaumont, looking out of place in his spot among the regal men of the Royal Horse Guard. His horse is clearly restive as the parade begins, and the other maids giggle as he desperately tries to control the gaits.

It all happens very quickly -- Maxwell fails miserably at keeping his horse in formation. The panicked steed takes off running through the tents, but not before bucking Maxwell off its back and into the queen’s dessert display (her pride and joy each Jubilee) with a harsh thud heard across the lawns.

There is mayhem in every direction, Lord Rashad yelling to his men, noble ladies shrieking under the collapsed tents, servants rushing to their aid. Madeline stands next to her celebrated dessert display, now completely destroyed, shooting daggers at a beet red Maxwell who is covered head to toe in apple cake.

In the ensuing chaos, Sophia drifts to the sidelines, mistakenly placing herself in the direct path of a spooked horse galloping toward her at warp speed. She panics, but there is nowhere to run, so she closes her eyes tightly and braces for impact. She intakes a sharp breath, anticipating the collision but instead feels a quick tug on her arm and the whoosh of the horse barreling past. She loses her balance and stumbles off the edge of the lawn into the apple orchard with her rescuer, toppling together onto the ground.

“Are you alright?” Sophia opens her eyes to find Drake under her, rubbing his head from hitting it off the base of an apple tree.

“I’m not the one who almost got run over by a rogue horse,” he laughs, “It’s lucky I was here to rescue you, James.”

“My knight in shining armor,” she jests, helping him to his feet.

Their hands remain laced after he’s been pulled from the ground, words unspoken shared in his lingering gaze. Sophia’s heart is thundering in her chest; her feet unsteady beneath her despite being firmly rooted in the grass. The amorous look in his eyes is making her knees tremble.

“Drake,” she whispers, feeling his fingers slip from hers. He opens his mouth, about to say something, then shuts it with an exhale, stepping back to put distance between them.

“There’s something I want to show you. Could you get away for an hour or two? I doubt they would miss you with all the madness happening.”

“I’m not sure I should...” She tilts her chin upward and sees the same doleful, wounded look Savannah wore the last few days before disappearing without a trace. Her resolve crumbles, “...Just an hour?”

Drake’s expression turns instantly, the corners of his mouth lifting into a big, goofy grin. His infectious smile is brighter than the blazing sun, and she can’t help but smile back, knowing he seldom lets his guard down enough for anyone to see him this way.

•••

The river is still, like smooth glass reflecting the bright blue of the sky above, sparkling radiant as a diamond in the midday sun. Yet Drake barely notices the striking view, for he is captivated by her beauty. Sophia skips just ahead of him, softly humming along with the song of the larks trilling in the trees, her gentle, dulcet voice relaxing him. I love you, he longs to say, but will not allow himself the pleasure of sharing the three words that burn on the tip of his tongue. He cannot risk it, lest she flit away once more into the arms of the king -- for the only fate worse than loving her, is losing her.

“So serious,” she playfully swats his arm, imitating him. “Let’s bring back that elusive smile, shall we?”

“For you, anything,” he promises, his smile returning. Her cheeks pink. “We’re here.”

She beams when she sees them, entranced by their ethereal beauty. There, in the clearing, a bevy of white swans and their cygnets float like soft clouds on the water. “Drake, they’re beautiful. It’s like being in a dream.”

She is his dream. He is pulled to her, the way pieces of magnetite naturally draw together. There is constant static in the air when she is near, and when she brushes him with her delicate hands, the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention, a steady current coursing through his veins.

They walk in silence toward the willows along the bog where the swans nest each spring. His mother brought him here as a child, many moons ago, in a happier time long since past. Without a word, he encases her small hand in his, guiding her to kneel in the tall grass at the edge of the nesting marsh when he hears a low hiss, almost like a cry. Sophia gasps and scrambles back into Drake in fright, away from the menacing black cob craning its her neck to her, fiercely whipping its great wings. In the reeds, there is a nest of cracked eggs sitting just above the decaying carcass of a white swan in the muddy waters below.

“He’s grieving,” she says solemnly, “for his soul mate, and his hatchlings. Swans mate for life, you know. He’ll never love another.”

“No, he won’t,” he replies, clutching her back to his chest. He does not mean the swan.

“Do you believe in soul mates?” she asks, laying herself down in the grass away from the water's edge. “I was so sure I had found mine in Liam, until…” Sophia stops herself, her lower lip wobbling. Drake lays next to her, brushing away the stray tears falling from her eyes with his thumb.

“My mother believed in them. When I was six, just before Savannah was born she brought me here to see the newborn cygnets. She wanted me to understand what it meant to have a sister. Her and my father were written in the stars, she’d said, soul mates destined to find each other like swans do, meant to bring Sav and I into the world. When my father died she was never the same, like a piece of her died with him. She wasted away without him.”

Sophia places her palm over his beating heart. “You were lucky to have had them. I have never known love like that.” There is pain in her amber eyes, deep unsettling pain, rooted in the very core of her being. “I don’t know what become of my mother or father. When I was a girl I would make up stories about how they died,” she scoffs, pitifully, “It was a better fate than believing they abandoned me as just a babe. I was deliriously happy when Kane took me from the orphanage, until I grew older and understood what for. The whorehouse is no place for children.”

Drake is stricken by her harrowing tale, suddenly understanding what he saw in her eyes when they first met. “Sophia, I --” but she silences him with her finger over his lips.

“You don’t have to say a word. I’m not lonely anymore, Drake. I have a family now. You’re my family.”

His heart swells, and then, before he can consider consequence, his warm mouth is on hers, tasting her, caressing her tongue with his tongue. She parts her lips willingly for him, and time stops -- the world slowly dissolving around them as he loses himself in her embrace, all his secrets laid bare with one kiss. He wraps his hands through her golden hair and deepens the kiss, wanting to hold on to this moment. Sophia moans softly against him, and he is drunk on the sound, electrified by her. She is his soul mate.

When they part, their breathing is shallow, her eyes still shut as Drake brushes his lips across her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, wanting, needing, to feel all of her. He runs his calloused hands over her pert breasts, her nipples forming stiff peaks under her dress as he pushes his thumbs over them. She lets out a strangled, harsh sound somewhere between a moan and a wail.

“Stop. You have to stop.”

“Oh gods, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sophia. I didn’t mean… please don’t cry,” his heart breaks feeling her recoil from him.

“No! It’s not that. I want to, my god I want to. It’s just…” she wraps her arms tightly around her stomach.

“Liam. It’s Liam,” he whispers, accepting his worst fears being realized. This is the consequence.

“I have to go. I’m sorry, Drake. I’m so, incredibly sorry.”

•••

"See, Lucky? Just a leaf," Maxwell soothes the spooked gelding. He has been ordered out to put Lucky through his paces: galloping up and down steep embankments, going to the slaughterhouse yard, and to desensitize him to dangers, whether real or imagined. A horse’s mind is a funny thing. A falling leaf can terrify an untrained horse, or a balloon popping, or the laughter of children.

Laughter. Carefree and excited. Maxwell hears the giggling of children at play, and leans over the side of the bridge to watch them, three boys with fishing poles and a dark haired little girl, pretending to stir a pot over a pile of rocks. A swan drifts on the pool, black plumed, apple blossoms eddying down the current, surrounding it for a moment, then drifting on. And then, he hears it. A strange song, like a mermaid lured from the deep, without human words, a haunting lullaby.

Casually, he dismounts, and strolls down the causeway, hands thrust deep into his pockets. The children turn as one, looking upon him in mingled anxiety and horror, and they throw themselves head first onto the grass, fishing poles forgotten in their terror.

The leader of the little band, Maxwell would guess, raises his head, and gasps out, "Please, sir! We didna know!" he turns and looks at the others, who bob their heads. The little girl has begun to cry, silently, and Maxwell tosses off his imposing hat, bowing to their leader.

"Well met, young sir!" he says in the common tongue, and they sit up, studying him thoughtfully and not without a little trepidation.

Their leader rises, he is a sturdy child of about nine, dark haired and olive skinned. He could be the natural son of any noble lord... But Maxwell pushes that thought away. The boy bows in return, and his companions huddle together, heads bent in the shadow of the willows that line the riverbank. "Sir!" he salutes a small burnished hand, and clicks his heels together. "Yes, we were fishing in the King's river, sir! Please don't let the queen cut off our hands."

The little girl lets out a moan, clutching her rag doll to her chest, and is silenced with a glare from the boy. The other two boys dash to the river's edge, grab their fishing poles and run into the thicket, without a look behind. The little girl goes on shaking, like a leaf in the wind, clutching her dolly and holding her head in fright.

Maxwell kneels in the long grass beside the little girl, raising her hand in a courtly gesture and kissing it soundly. "Never, mademoiselle. Now, tell me, what's all this about? Are you poaching your dinner, or...?"

The boy crosses his arms. "There's a magic fish in the pool, in't there?"

"A magic fish?"

"Granny says 'twill grant three wishes. One fer me, one fer her, an' one fer all Cordonia."

What do common children dream of? In this instant, he would not be able to say, and what does he know, beyond his own world, of the dreams of children? Only of a glittering white palace, half in shadow, beside the wine dark sea. "And what did you wish for, lad?"

The boy swallows, and he gestures Maxwell closer. "Found it, didna she?" he points.

Maxwell kneels in the muck beside the shimmering waters, scanning the shallows where the boy points with a trembling finger. And he sees, as though in a dream, the body of a white swan floating under the water, half turned to bone. Beneath the swan's great wing, something glitters in the silt. Maxwell plunges his hands in, near up to his elbows, fingers scrabbling for purchase in the slimy reeds.

The boy's terrified shout is his only warning. A dark shape rises above him, wings spread, blocking out the sun. He grabs the glittering box and scrambles back, pulling the child roughly away from the shore. The swan arches its neck menacingly, and swirls around the corpse. It does not make a sound.

Maxwell stares at the box in his hands. It is gold, inlaid with pearls, jet, and carnelian. The clasp has broken. He opens it up, revealing a ballerina, a dual figure: black swan on one side, white swan on the other. The mechanism is thick with rust, and yet, when he winds it up, a discordant melody begins to play. At once, Maxwell knows what this is, knows beyond the shadow of a doubt. She stole the queen's jeweled music box… His heart is thundering, and he has to take a moment, to close his burning eyes. Savannah. The river...

The river flows calmly on, tranquil as the summer sky.

A deep shudder runs through him, and he picks the box up, tucking it under one arm. He doesn't trust himself to speak, and instead reaches into his pocket, drawing out a handful of gold and silver coins, showering the riverbank. The children scrabble in the muck for the coin, and let him pass on by, head bowed; like a man headed to the gallows, his heavy heart pulling him into the depths of an old sorrow; where he too will sink beneath the eddies of the pool, and drift like a dream in the current, all the way to the sunless sea.

•••

"Cygnus is bright tonight," Rashad says thoughtfully, his hands laced behind his back. Maxwell has been invited to Rashad's office for cigars and brandy. He knows what that means. After his embarrassing display at the Apple Jubilee, he had been sure his junior officer commission would be stripped from him, and that he would be turned from the Royal Horse Guard in shame. But perhaps Bertrand's influence greased more than one palm, for as of this morning, he is still as entrenched as ever.

For now.

Rashad looks at Maxwell questioningly, holding out the box of cigars, and he realizes he's been tapping the arms of the chair to a ragtime beat in his nervousness. "Help yourself, Lord Maxwell."

Maxwell takes a cigar, but turns it over and over in his palm as though he does not quite know what to do with it. He is surprised when Lord Rashad hands him a glass of brandy and a wooden match. Maxwell strikes the match on his boot, as he has seen the senior officers do, and they both puff in silence for a long stretch of time.

He is damnably nervous now, and yearns to go for a walk to clear his head. A long walk, he could take out the music box... But he pushes that thought away. He nearly drops the cool glass of brandy when Rashad speaks.

"I was a young man too once, Lord Maxwell." Rashad has returned to his place at the window, staring out at the guttering stars in the falling night.

Maxwell smothers a grin at that, Rashad cannot be more than six or seven years his senior. "Oh?"

"Indeed. I had more ambition than I knew what to do with, and a thirst for anything with a prettily turned ankle." Or anyone, perhaps. "Lord Maxwell," Rashad says, turning suddenly. His dark eyes burn in his shadowed face for a moment, and Maxwell shifts uncomfortably in his chair, taken aback. "The Royal Horse Guard is the backbone of the Imperial Cavalry, and as such, it is a storied appointment. It is not for the dilettante, nor the fool."

Maxwell squirms. The fool. All he has ever been, and all he will ever be. "I --"

"Hush. I am not yet done." Rashad tents his fingers. "Perhaps I was rash in allowing you to buy a commission. But I thought to myself, here is a second son, burning with the ambition to make something of his life. He wants to impress his brother... Or a woman. Was I wrong?"

Maxwell can't seem to stop jiggling his foot. He wonders where this is going. A pretty girl. Gone to him now, lost forever in the night, without even a trail of shining pebbles to mark her path out of the wilderness. "Um..."

"Mmm," Rashad swirls his brandy in the glass. "Perhaps you need to become a man before you can impress a woman." The tone of his voice verges just on the edge of mocking, and Maxwell feels distinctly uncomfortable with the implication in his tone. This isn't the gentlemanly chat he'd envisioned (to be fair, he'd envisioned being thrown out of the Royal Horse Guard in shame, and that hasn't happened yet, but he doesn't for one moment imagine he's in the clear).

Our world rests on a fine interlocking web of favors granted and earned, Maxwell, he can hear Bertrand instruct in his head. It is perhaps too complicated for your dim intellect, but remember this: when a man owes you something, you own his soul. "Lord Rashad," Maxwell clears his throat, but he is struck by indecision, not knowing if it is a wanted thing. He thinks, running his finger along the glass. Rashad is eyeing him expectantly. "With all the recent... you know... I haven't had the time to, well..."

"Out with it, man!" Rashad's eyes glint with vicious mirth. "Slake your lust on a farmer's daughter? I assure you, they're more than willing when it comes to a man in the Guard's colors!"

Maxwell thinks suddenly of the little boy by the river, dark haired, with skin like a bronze coin. "No, this is about the Ball. I would ask for your assistance." A man who owes another has sold his soul. And, what of it? Rashad is ambitious, he has all but admitted it in so many words. And Maxwell needs the help.

"Well, then... I accept." Rashad rubs his hands together. "A gentleman's bargain, very shrewd. I will put in my recommendation for you to commence officer training in Krona, starting in June. Ensign, I think, will suit."

"In Krona? Officer training?" Maxwell's head is spinning, stunned by the currents that are swirling around him.

"Don't ask too many questions, Lord Maxwell. Some things are better left unsaid." Rashad fixes Maxwell with a stern look. "Do you understand?"

Maxwell gulps. He thinks of the box in his saddle bag, golden and gleaming, of the watery music of the lake, of the lone swan, drifting hauntingly upon the water beside its dead mate, black plumed and mute forever more. He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Thoughts of the revels to come spiral through Maxwell's head, and he stands to go. The floor is spinning. He picks up the saddlebags -- they did not seem half so heavy when he came in -- and falls down in an ungainly heap, unused to so much brandy in such a short time.

Rashad does not move, until suddenly he is on his feet, his face drawn and pale, unrecognizable. "What is that?" he asks in a hoarse whisper, pointing.

The music box has rolled from the saddlebags and is sitting inconspicuously on the floor. Maxwell picks it up, gently, intending to put it away. "It's broken," he says. He winds it up, and the music begins to play, discordant strains filling the tiny room.

Rashad lunges forward and snaps it shut. "Where did you get this?!" he demands in a choked rasp.

"I found it in the river," Maxwell gulps. Rashad's face slowly regains color, turning from gray to a dull, furious red.

"I will take that," he says stiffly. "You may go."

"But --" Maxwell thinks of Savannah, but something in Rashad's face stays his protests, and he is outside, gulping down the sweet night air in record time. From within the office, he hears the sound of the music box, and then the sound of glass breaking, and as he spurs Sir Lucky towards the barracks, he chances to look up towards the inky sky, where Cygnus shines bright and the sad strains of the music follow him as he rides on, into the night.

[swanslovequeens-blog]

Can I ask which fics are in your queue? I have tons of fics saved but there's so many I don't know which are the best, lol. :3

i actually have a list of all the swen fan fiction i’ve read, and then i have ones that i’m going to read, so i’ll give you both lists: 

read/finished:

Adventures with Cora Mills by WitchyLove14✔️ (i actually laughed out loud so hard so many times to the point where i was crying; it’s a really great story and it’s hilarious, a swan queen classic MUST READ)

Incoming Messages by hunnyfresh✔️  (absolutely LOVED this story, pretty sure i cried several times, a swan queen classic MUST READ)

A Fine Line by hunnyfresh✔️ (angst angst angst)

Henry’s Gift by hunnyfresh✔️ (ANGSTY AND SWANMILLS FAMILY AND SAD BUT BEAUTIFUL)

Roughin’ It by hunnyfresh✔️ (one-shot, so cute)

Falling in my Lemonade by exquisiteliltart✔️ (hot af, great story)

Letters from War by hunnyfresh✔️ (the very first swan queen fan fiction i ever read, ABSOLUTELY ONE OF MY ALL TIME FAVORITES AND WILL BREAK YOUR HEART AND MAKE YOU HAPPY ALL AT THE SAME TIME ALSO WATCH MISSLANE1981′S VIDEOS ON IT, a swan queen classic MUST READ)

Mirrors by shanesvoice ✔️ (tbh i don’t actually remember that much about it but if it’s on my list it must’ve been good)

Rubbers by hunnyfresh ✔️ (super cute awe)

Black Lace by Standbackufools ✔️ (whoaaaaa hotttttt)

How a Dress Changed Everything by hope2x ✔️ (i remember crying a lot at the end and loving it

Accidental Stimulation by MsCrazybird ✔️ (smutty smut)

Free Falling by hunnyfresh ✔️ (cute one-shot)

Wallpaper by hunnyfresh ✔️ (cute swan queen fluff one-shot)

Perfect Gift ✔️ ( i don’t actually remember this one?? oops)

Of Love and Loathing by sapphiresmoke ✔️ (super angsty and suuupperr smutty)

Transgressions of the Heart by sapphiresmoke ✔️ (sequel to of love and loathing and i’m pretty sure it was never finished but still super angsty and super smutty)

Popcorn Love by chrmedpoet ✔️ (OHMYGOD ONE OF MY OTHER FIRST SWEN FAN FICS LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS SOOO MUCH AND NOW IT’S BEEN PUBLISHED AS A REAL BOOK AND IT’S THE BEST THING EVER, and of course, a swan queen classic MUST READ)

Magic Understood by hunnyfresh ✔️ (i don’t remember much, just that it’s set in neverland and it’s a one-shot)

Meet Me Halfway by hunnyfresh ✔️ (DEAR GODDDDDDD LOVVVVEEEEEEE MY HEARTTTTT ITS SO FUCKING GOOODDD, a swan queen classic MUST READ)

Silk and Cotton ✔️ (idk who wrote this, and whoever they are they must’ve deleted it, but i remember it was a smut fic)

Dance Lessons by hunnyfresh ✔️ (fuCKING ADORABLE SET IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST REGINA HELPS PRINCESS EMMA PREPARE FOR HER BALL AHHH)

Growing Up: Mama by hunnyfresh ✔️ (angsty and beautiful and all about regina reminiscing about the first time henry called her mama, one-shot)

It’s in the Genes by hunnyfresh ✔️ (set in the future where Neal who’s grown up a little has a huge crush on Regina, which leads to Emma acting on her feelings, one-shot)

Growing Up: First Haircut by hunnyfresh ✔️ (henry’s first haircut, one-shot, regal believer cuteness)

Breaking Boundaries by hunnyfresh ✔️ (takes place after A Fine Line, should probably read that before this)

Once More With Feeling by hunnyfresh ✔️ (angsty and sad, emma uses regina’s tear in order to find her and ends up feeling everything regina has ever felt; set during season 2, one-shot)

Super Trouper by hunnyfresh ✔️ (au where regina is a singer/celebrity and get’s a moment with emma and henry, one-shot, pretty cute)

Loving You Easy by hunnyfresh ✔️ (beautiful, i cried. one-shot)

A Swan’s Unrequited Guide to Love by misscanteloupe ✔️ ( i remember this being cute, one-shot) 

I’ve Got a Feeling by hunnyfresh ✔️ (hahahaha this was pretty funny ok so snow is feeling aftereffects of the tear from regina in season two and she sees some pretty.. compromising images of regina and emma together, one-shot)

Family Ties with Springer by hunnyfresh ✔️ (funny af if you’re familar with springer, one-shot) 

Growing Up: Drivers’ Ed by hunnyfresh ✔️ (henry asks regina to teach him how to drive, cute af, regal believer, one-shot)

Sharing Souls by hunnyfresh ✔️ (angsty and sad but good, short fic)

For the First Time by hunnyfresh ✔️ (one-shot, regina and emma find each other on the jolly roger before arriving at neverland)

Holiday Worlds by hunnyfresh ✔️ (lol this was kinda weird tbh, don’t remember much except jack skellington being there haha, like i said, kinda weird. also i think this was like eight chapters? maybe im wrong tho)

Being the Hero by hunnyfresh ✔️ (FUCKING SAD AND TORE MY HEART OUT AND ASJFAS;KADSF BEAUTIFUL ANGST AND IT’S A ONE-SHOT)

Flight SQAU16 by CurvyPragmatist ✔️ (so this has also been made into a book and fucking WOW. made me cry my eyes out. so fucking beautiful. a great story and a wonderful read. but idk if you can find at as a swan queen fan fic anymore sadly. you might have to look really hard for it, but it’s fucking worth it, i’m telling you. a swan queen classic MUST READ)

Reset by SkinnyProcrastinator✔️ (i remember this being long but it was really, really good and worth it)

The Art of Being Extraordinary by purplehershey ✔️ (the writing is kind of quirky, but i absolutely love this story. i cried so much. it’s definitely worth the read. and it’s a swan queen classic. i started and finished this on sunday, a swan queen classic MUST READ)

A Trail of Destruction by starsthatburn ✔️ (FUCKING WOW BEAUTIFUL AND ANGSTY AND SAD BUT ROMANTIC AND REALISTIC AND TRUE AND WOW. I CRIED. ALSO REALLY WELL-WRITTEN SMUT, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND IT. also, started this sunday and finished it about an hour ago. its the length of the fourth harry potter book haha no regrets, a swan queen classic MUST READ) 

Coveted by I.heart.mean.girls ✔️ (really, really great smut, super hot. a really good fic altogether)

lol so the first list is mostly hunnyfresh, if you couldn’t tell. i was obsessed with her for a while bc everything she writes is so fucking good 

i also recommend anything by exquisiteliltart

here’s my queued list to read: 

Miles to Go by RhysMerilot

Love Undefined by hummingbirdswords

Send Up a Signal (That Everything’s Fine) by coalitiongirl (a swan queen classic)

The Trouble with Emma by LoosleyBound

To Protect and Serve by janemac24

[ourheartscondemnus]

OOC: Hobbit comments Smaug part 3- final-

 The look in the dwarves eyes as the remember the city as it was, the nostalgia and longing in their hearts. It’s so beautiful. 

‘Weed...’  My mind instantly turns to this dwarf (I can’t keep up with who is who) is a stoner.  

Bilbo is in too deep. Literally, he’s going too deep down in the mountain. 

Do orcs wear undercloth on those loin cloths? Is it for hiding their shame? is it aesthetic? easier not to have cocks and balls flopping about? I literally don’t know. 

You shall not pass before you shall not pass became Gandalf's thing

 Sauron looks like a female with that outline, but I know it’s likely a dude 

Bilbo should have just used the ring from the start. -If he has it on him? I lost track of the ring o-o

Dear dwarfs, give me your gold. Not even a large portion. Only like a handful of it could pay for my college and give me a life of luxury. 

And here John meets Sherlock all over again. In confused awe and with an awkward boner. Added fear. 

I wonder who came up with the idea that dragons like hoards. Is a dragon just an interpretation of selfish assholes who refuse to assist anyone? 

I totally can’t tell this is Benedict from the voice, I love it. 

Smaug is everything I want in a dragon. 

Bard trying to tell his kids they won't die, not believing it himself, determined to finish the job and kill the dragon=heartbreaking 

‘His name is Bilbo’ -Ballad of Bilbo Baggins begins to play- 

Gandalf ‘I’m too old for this shit’ The Grey 

Orcs-always come at the worst moment 

NOOOOO DON’T KILL THE BABIES -FUCK YEAH TAU IS THERE, legolas too 

I bet these kids have never seen an orc or an elf, and here all the sudden they are being attacked and defended by them while housing dwarves which they may never have seen before either

Seriously, WHAT IS WITH LEGOLAS’S EYES IN THIS MOVIE 

Tau loves Kili, love at first sight, can’t convince me otherwise. 

thorin looks 10x older and i dont like how he is acting. madness....

dwarves-rush out like kids at a school play who missed their queue 

Was Tau’s only purpose,other than looking badass, being created as an add in just for romantic subplot? I mean, I like it, but that is also kind of shitty???

THESE MOVIES ARE TOO LONG BUT ALSO REALLY GOOD AND I HAVE 30 MINUTES LEFT AND I JUST BLARGH

What trouble could have been saved if Bilbo had lost the ring in Smaug’s hoard? 

‘if this is to end in fire, then we will all burn together’ SO THAT’S WHERE THOSE LYRICS COME FROM  ( I’m not a fan of Ed Shereen, but I love the song he did for this movie)

Thinking on how EVERYTHING has porn, LOTR porn has got to be some weird shit with all these orcs, goblins, trolls, etc. 

Has legolas never bled? He just looked like Nelson on the simpsons the one time someone-bart?- made him bleed ‘Hey, you made me bleed my own blood!’ 

Holy hell I would not want to be on a dragons snout -this isn’t dragontales after all

Okay but like, Asgardians coming to Middle-earth -hell yeah 

 After 60 years Smaug must be starving. Too bad he will die before getting a nice snack. 

HOW IS SMAUG SO PSYCHIC LIKE?! 

okay but like, I need an au where smaug kills EVEYRONE but bilbo and keeps bilbo as part of his hoard -get as kinky and hentai levelish as you want with it idgaf 

‘we will have our revenge’ -BUUUUUT if you keep that gold ANOTHER DRAGON could come to claim your hoard. 

Golden Smaug is beautiful. I love him. 

‘I am fire. I am death.’ -Every girl when pissed off. 

IT CUT OFF THERE?! HOW DID YOU PEOPLE LIVE WITH THIS SERIES AS IT CAME OUT?!  THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!?

Ed Shereen’s song for this is honestly one of my favorite songs.  Play this at my funeral mum and dad.