#married boys are thoroughly and insufferably in love

[space-writes]

Please, Master

as a double treat for Valentines day and @ockissweek, I bring you a little Obedience bonus fic, ft Married!boys because im weak about them. Read on AO3 here.

Summary:

Ashenivir attempts a little role reversal.

—

Ashenivir would never tire of kissing like this—tangled on the couch, the evening belonging to nothing but indulgent lips and warm hands. Rizeth had proven distractible tonight, despite the Arcanum work he had piled up in his office, and Ashenivir intended to take full advantage. He bit at Rizeth’s lip, delighted by the quick, quiet moan the action conjured. Rizeth tugged his hair.

“Behave, Ra’soltha.”

Oh, as if he didn’t like it. Ashenivir bit him again, harder this time, then drew back, adoring the way Rizeth chased his mouth, just as hungry as he was. Emboldened by the sight of his Master’s desire, he caught Rizeth’s hands as they reached for him, and pinned them above his head to the arm of the couch. Rizeth eyed him coolly.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“If you want to kiss me again, you have to ask the way I do,” Ashenivir teased. “And you have to say please.”

He expected immediate consequences—this couch, he knew from experience, was perfect for over-the-knee spanking. Rizeth didn’t put him over his knee. Instead, he spoke in a low, soft voice Ashenivir had never heard him use before.

“Master, please will you kiss me?”

Heat lanced through him, a surge that went from low in his stomach to somewhere in the back of his throat, and Ashenivir found himself unable to move. Rizeth chuckled and, keeping that same soft tone, said, “Are you enjoying yourself, Master?”

“Oh, no, stop it!” Ashenivir pressed his hands to his face. “How can you sound like that? Is that how I sound to you? Master, I can’t breathe when you do that!”

He dove forwards to bury his face in Rizeth’s neck, cheeks blazing. Arousal burned between his legs, a confusion of want that stole all sense.

“I can sound like that because Lord Stillgleam taught me,” Rizeth said. “You recall I learned much of what I know from him? He rather insisted on my studying both roles before he let me play with anyone else—it’s how I know I do not enjoy serving with such certainty. And it seems you just discovered you do not enjoy playing my role.” His hand slid between Ashenivir’s legs. “Not mentally, at any rate.”

Ashenivir let out a soft whimper. Rizeth carefully unlaced his breeches, and wrapped slow, firm fingers around his cock. “Tell me which part you liked,” he murmured. Ashenivir shook his head. Rizeth squeezed. “Speak, xi’hum. Your Master wants to know.”

“I liked…I liked the way your voice was soft…”

“Like this?” Rizeth spoke right against his ear, again in that low tone without any edge to it, as though he’d do anything Ashenivir asked of him.

“Y-yes. And I liked it when you said please.” Rizeth’s hand worked faster at his cock, and he made a high, strangled sound. “But not you calling me Master, I still hate that, I’m not, you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re—” he fell off into a gasp, fisting both hands in Rizeth’s shirt. The fingers that stroked him were slick, smearing the evidence of his need along his achingly hard shaft. His mouth found Rizeth’s—or Rizeth’s found his, or maybe it was both at once—and he moaned into the kiss.

“Then please, Ra’soltha,” Rizeth whispered, “come for your Master.”

He tipped over the edge with an almost pained cry, and at once went scrambling down Rizeth’s body, fumbling with shaking hands at his laces, pleased beyond words to find his Master as hard as he’d been. Ashenivir took him in his mouth, whining as Rizeth caught his hair and directed his motions.

Oh, this was much better, this made much more sense, forced onto his Master’s cock until he couldn’t breathe.

“Please, Ra’soltha,” Rizeth said some minutes later, soft iron, a request that was not a request at all, “will you swallow?”

Ashenivir obeyed, awash with desire that had his head spinning every which way. Rizeth tugged him up, and swept a thumb over his lips.

“Did you find something new you like, Ra’soltha?” Ashenivir could only nod, utterly overwhelmed. “Do you want to play with it more later?”

“Yes,” Ashenivir managed. He put his face in his hands again. “Master, I love you.”

“I know you do, I love you too—come here.”

He settled half-atop Rizeth in the crook of his arm, curled against his chest.

“Such a reaction,” Rizeth said. “I should say it serves you right, misbehaving as you did.” Ashenivir burrowed closer to him and he laughed, the sound vibrating from his chest to Ashenivir’s. “Well, I shall not abuse this newfound knowledge, entertaining as it might be.”

“You’re going to say please in public, aren’t you?” Ashenivir grumbled.

“I am always polite in public, xi’hum.”

“If you do it in front of Keszriin or Lyzira at dinner, I’m not going to speak to you for a month.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, a tenday.”

“I see.”

“A whole day, at least.”

“Such conviction you have. How fortunate I should be to have you as my Master.”

“Stop it!”

“Oh, will you punish me, Ra’soltha? Shall I fetch the gag and paddle for you?”

Ashenivir hit at his shoulder—Rizeth caught his wrist tightly for a moment before relaxing and drawing him up into a kiss. Ashenivir huffed, though his heart wasn’t in it. Rizeth nipped his lip. “Now will you behave yourself?”

Ashenivir almost bit him back, then thought better of it. He settled down to lay his head on Rizeth’s chest instead, positioned so as to hear his heartbeat.

“Yes, Master.”

Obedience taglist: @foxboyclit @belovedviolence (ask to be +/-)

[justasparkwritings]

{Lie} I. So Sweet

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage AU

Rating: R

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Sex

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: Kim Seokjin asks his daily question but receives an answer he never expected. Why couldn’t you just lie?

Listen: Lie Again, Giveon

Tag List: @4ksj, @jagiya, @ot7nem, @knjkitten, @teamtardis-notdead​

Tag List

Master List

           Kim Seokjin was not a particularly romantic man. He wasn’t a particularly emotional man, either. He’d always been a rather dull boy, who turned into a leaden man in private. It wasn’t that he didn’t have charm, or energy to bedazzle and bewitch a group of people. He did, and he did it often, but when he was left alone or in the quiet stillness of his home, he preferred to keep to himself and exist in his own quiet bubble. Jin had always been this way, choosing solitary hobbies and ways to spend his time outside of school or dinners and events his parents dragged him to. In those instances that he was surrounded by other people, Seokjin was charming and full of life, which made his marriage to you… complicated.

          Your marriage had been planned and thoroughly detailed from the time you both turned 13. Seokjin had dreaded marriage since he knew what it was. It wasn’t because there was something wrong with you, or that you had the potential to be a horrible, insufferable wife. On the contrary, you had been raised to take good care of your home, to tend to the plants Seokjin always seemed to be bringing home and support him in his work. You went with him to all his business dinners and were always the talk of the party, making everyone jealous that he was the one with whom you spent your free time. Everyone adored you, but you knew in your heart the one person that mattered didn’t.

           There was nothing wrong with you – that should be clear. Seokjin never thought there was a problem with you, or that you weren’t a good wife. He dreaded the marriage because… well, Seokjin wasn’t sure he was cut out for marriage or intimate relationships with anyone. He enjoyed his isolated life, and was quite fulfilled by aiding his father and brother in running their company. Because you were engaged from 13, he didn’t date, not seeing the point when he was already betrothed. He didn’t have one-night stands or hook ups… again it seemed useless to him when he was going to be married to you. Not only did it seem redundant and useless, he felt like wetting his whistle with other women would only cheapened whatever stiff and unloving relationship you two were destined to have. He knew it wasn’t going to be a loving, doting relationship like either of your parents had because he felt in his bones, he was incapable of that. Sure he adored you, but love? That seemed like a stretch.

           The hallmark of your marriage, besides the weekly flowers that Seokjin had delivered to your office and home was the same question he asked you every day over dinner. Seokjin, though placid and even tempered at home, did all the right things to make everyone believe your marriage was passionate and loving. He sent the flowers, he bought the jewelry, he took you on surprise trips and gave you more than you could ever dream. But he was predictable, and the cornerstone of your marriage was in the nightly dinners you somehow managed to cook for him, and the same stale conversation you had every day.

           “How was your day?” Seokjin asked one Tuesday night, lifting chopsticks full of noodles to his lips.

           “Fine. How was yours?” You’d responded.

           Every day it was the same, at least for your first year of marriage.

           By year two, Seokjin had noticed you were changing. You were out more nights than in, wore more striking make up to work each day than you once had, and began to dress…. Differently. He felt it in the air, in the tension that didn’t used to exist in his home. Your home. The home you’d picked out together. Your answer to his daily question began to falter, too. Your typical “fine” drifted to “good” and further to “it was alright”.

           It wasn’t just that you were answering him in increasingly casual manners, but that it was bleeding into all aspects of your relationship. Even in bed, though your sex was procedural and predictable, when he’d ask if you were alright, you’d begun to lie. Your tone was shorter, your patience thinner, and he knew, unlike at the beginning of your sexual relationship when he truly was oblivious, Jin could tell you were lying to him about what you wanted and how you felt.

           Seokjin wasn’t naïve enough to think you hadn’t been with others, that you hadn’t been touched better than he touched you, that you had felt more than what he could give you… there was heat and passion that you experienced outside of your relationship with him, and he couldn’t blame you for wanting more of it. But he didn’t know how to ask or how to give it to you. He wanted to, but it didn’t matter when he tried, you were so uninterested in him that it twinged his insides whenever you lay together.

           “How was your day?” He asked sometime during your third year of marriage.

           “Seokjin, for fucks sake. My day was fucking fine. Do you ever want to know anything else about me? Or is the basic fact that my day was fine enough for you?” You snapped, slamming your chopsticks down and staring at him with fire in your eyes.

           He sat back and watched you, unsure what to do or say.

           “Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you wanted to talk to me. You’ve been distant lately.”

           You scoffed. “Distant? Seokjin if I’m distant you’re on the fucking moon.”

           “I – why are you swearing so much?” He asked.

           “This is passion, Seokjin! This is heat! This is anger! This is me angry Jin!”

           “I know that, but –

           “But what?”

           “But why are you yelling at me? You don’t talk to me either. I can’t read your mind!” He felt his temper prick and rise, responding deftly to your emotions.

           “You could fucking ask!”

           “I ask every day, is it my fault you never answer honestly?” He wondered, curiosity outweighing his anger.

           “How dare you.”

           “How dare me? You’re yelling at me over dinner. I ask every day how you are, and you never say anything other than fine. Why am I being yelled at when you don’t disclose how you feel?”

           “I hate this marriage.”

           “Oh, is this why you’ve been wearing more make up, not saying anything about the weekly flowers and staying out until one or two in the morning multiple nights a week?”

           You seethed, staring at him in disbelief and anger.

           You thought this marriage would be what you wanted. While Seokjin existed in a world where marriage was arranged and forced, you existed in a little bubble where it resulted in love. But marrying Kim Seokjin, tech billionaire, stunning features and personality that could dazzle anyone… wasn’t what you expected. He was the epitome of everything you’d ever wanted, and yet being married to him was like being married to a cardboard box. The connections were useful, but the rest? You were miserable. Miserable in your marriage, and miserable at work until your newest boss had stepped foot in the office and proven to be a perfect distraction. He was young and suave, brilliant Kim Namjoon, no relation. All you wanted was to do well for him, to show him your acumen and ability to succeed in spite of your husband’s clear success. It worked, and he took notice of you… what started with accidentally staying late a few nights to chat ended up with dinner in clandestine restaurants and private rooms. No one could see that the wife of Kim Seokjin was cheating with another man, specifically a man who was nearly as successful and well-loved as Seokjin.

           The sex? Seokjin couldn’t compare, and that was largely because Seokjin had only ever slept with one person, and only did so to procreate with you. Procreation was expected in an arranged marriage, but that didn’t stop you from fulfilling your needs outside of your relationship with Seokjin. Namjoon could fill you in ways Seokjin couldn’t, pleasure you in ways you’d dreamed of in your three-year loveless marriage. It was intellectually, emotionally and sexually fulfilling. Everything you had hoped your marriage would be, and it invigorated you. You looked forward to work, and the reality of coming home became a dark cloud over your days. Namjoon wanted you to leave Seokjin, to leave your marriage for him… but could you trust him? You saw the pale lines on his ring finger, you heard the gossip. He was no better than you were… stepping out on someone who easily could love him, unlike how Jin felt about you.

           “I –

           “You have nothing to say!” Seokjin yelled. “You’re cheating on me and acting like you aren’t. I know you are. I’m not stupid.”

           At some point you had stood, hands gripping the table until the color drained from your knuckles. You stared at the table and the food in front of you. Why you insisted on cooking when you had a maid and servants was beyond reasoning at this point. It was traditional, it was unexpected. No woman of your status cooked for her husband anymore, and that’s why you had wanted to. You had thought, in the beginning stages of your marriage, that Seokjin would love this, a meal waiting for him whenever he came home, to be eaten with you… but now it was a chore.

           Seokjin let the moment hang, watching you with a curious and precise eye. He watched as your breathing regulated, and the anger in your eyes diminished.

“My day was fine. How was yours?” You asked sitting down and resuming eating your dinner.

           Seokjin didn’t know what he wanted more, the truth behind the exchange you just had, or for you to continue lying to him. Did he want you to tell him what he wanted to hear? To detail that he was the only one? To weave together poetry about how no one had touched you like he did? To deny the double life you’ve been leading, ridding him of the thoughts that you’d been stepping out with someone new?

          As he stared at you, preparing his answer and adjusting to your rapid shift in mood, Jin was unsure what would be worse: another lie or the truth. He wasn’t coward enough to know that the largest part of him, the most decisive and desperate part of him, already knew what he wanted. So he answered your question with a, “My day was excellent. We fixed a bug in the production line that has been driving us mad for weeks. We have a dinner Thursday with the partners,”and waited patiently for you to lie, again.

Next: Lie II

[newtonsheffield]

I just read menace and girl you keep on drawing me into this universe more and more every week. I loved it so much!!!!!

I was wondering if you could give us a little snip IG of what their first kiss was like through Anthony’s POV.

Oh Anthonyyyyyyy. The poor Boy. He was feeling a lot of feelings and he had no idea how to process them. He was basically just throwing his heart at Kate every time she walked past. Like Hello Kate I love you would you like to marry me?!

So here's their (Very dramatic) first kiss from Anthony's POV

Anthony had been nervous to see Kate after the newspaper article, and is conversation with his mother, following which he'd resolved to be open to Kate, to show her how he felt, even if he couldn't bring himself to tell her just yet. He had no idea how Kate had even reacted to the article, though he'd typed a message to her probably a hundred times yesterday afternoon and then erased it Hi Kate, Do you want to get a drink and talk?

Whether through her design or not he didn't see her until after lunch, when he walked through the foyer, the sight of her talking with Gregory, her eyes rolling at whatever he was saying making his breath catch in his throat. And then her eyes flicked to his, his stomach churning uncomfortably, and she immediately spun on her heel and started marching back towards her office, her heels clicking on the floorboards. Anthony bit back a sigh, So she had been avoiding him. Anthony's chest ached.

"Miss Sheffield, might I see you in my office?" Anthony called out lightly to her retreating back. He could feel the curious eyes of their coworkers trained on him, his heart thundering. And perhaps, attempting to trap her in his office before he asked her to go to dinner with him wasn't the best idea, but it was the only one he had, cursing himself for the desperation burning in his chest. And she brushed him off. And he walked away from Lucy's desk and her curious eyes trying not to feel the sting of her rejection.

He'd stood in the sushi restaurant pouring over their menu for far too long wondering what Kate would like. God, what if she had food allergies and he accidentally killed her?! That would hardly endear him to her, death was rather final really. He'd nervously walked through the hall, relieved to see the light still on in her office. Practicing the speech he'd been rehearsing all day Kate, I know we got off too a very rocky start, but I was such an idiot, you're incredible, and so smart and beautiful and I would be very honoured if you would consider going out with me on a real date. He took a deep breath as he made his way through her door. And then he buggered it all up. Whatever he said just wasn't right her hackles raised and he just couldn't fucking say what he wanted too with her looking so... Kate. Suddenly they were chest to chest his own temper flaring, her rejection stinging at him as she finished her tirade

"Just stay away from me!"

“Well I’m sorry the thought of being around me is so absolutely repugnant to you Kate, I really am. I’m just trying to be civil but apparently that’s too much to expect from either of us. What do you want from me? When I engage with you I’m ‘insufferable’ and when I ignore your belligerence and disgust, I’m unbearable. You can’t have it both ways Kate!” His voice was shaking, his chest aching as the words ripped angrily from him, her eyes widening with surprise as he stepped closer, he back hitting the edge of the desk as he crowded her against her desk, their chests moving in time. And god, the heat of her body felt so good against his, her eyes staring into his, drawing him in again, her mouth slightly open as she fought to maintain her control, and she looked so wild and the scent of her was intoxicating, and Anthony couldn't stop himself from pulling her tight against him as his lips claimed hers.

And jesus if Anthony had died right then and there, he would have died a happy man. The monster in his chest was roaring in delight at the feel of his lips moving against hers, her hands finding his hair and tugging lightly as her tongue met his in a filthy tangle. A moan rose from her throat, a growl rising in his own chest, his heart fluttering manically in delight and god she felt like heaven as she started to relax against him. And then she was gone, pushing firmly against his chest, stepping around him, Anthony collapsing against the edge of her desk at the sudden loss of contact.

“No. No! I can’t- I have to go!” Kate said, looking thoroughly disheveled, her hair even wilder than usual, her already full lips even fuller, her eyes bright. And God she looked incredible. "Kate-" He started, his voice like gravel, intent on reaching across the room to pull her back to him, and beg her to stay with him. Whatever she wanted he would do, he would change anything about himself just to keep her. But before he could even take a step she'd frantically shaken her head at him, her eyes desperate, grabbed her bag and coat and practically sprinted from the room.

Anthony collapsed against her desk, his heart still beating frantically, anger and frustration at how poorly he'd handled everything burning in his chest, tears stinging at his eyes along with the rejection. "Fuck!" He hissed furiously, closing his eyes, the look in her eyes staring back at him as he did, and something deep inside him knew he'd never be able to stop thinking about how she'd felt against him, even if it was something he'd stolen from her. Something he didn't deserve.

Sorry! Got a little carried away!

[coldmorte]

Hi there!! For the ask meme— 💌 Uncle, Reverend Swanson, Pearson (lololol) and a nice one— 💌 John, Charles, Lenny and because I’m cruel 💌 Micah, Cleet, Joe and I can’t NOT ask—> 💌 Guarma Dutch, union suit nightwear Dutch, Saint Denis bank job Dutch

Hello to you as well!

OKAY, THESE WERE ALL SOOOO DIFFICULT TO DECIDE ON, BUT I THOROUGHLY LOVED THEM. THANKS FOR THE CHALLENGE 😘😘

~ Fuck, Marry, Kill ~

Round 1 - Uncle, Reverend Swanson, and Pearson (good grief)

Fuck - Uncle 

Marry - Reverend Swanson

Kill - Pearson

(I can only hope it’s over in less than a minute with Uncle and that it is EXTREMELY dark wherever we are. I don’t wanna see what’s happening. Also, I can manage to live with the cleaned up version of Swanson, but for Pearson? He’s a nice guy and all... but he can die lol 🤭)

Round 2 - John, Charles, and Lenny (nice, sure... but difficult)

Fuck - Lenny

Marry - Charles

Kill - John

(I feel like I just don’t know Lenny well enough - for shame, Rockstar - and Charles is just such a wholesome man. Tbh, John gets on my nerves too much. I’m sorry to make that choice, but goodbye, grease boy 😕)

Round 3 - Micah, Cleet, and Joe (YES, INDEED. YOU ARE CRUEL.)

Fuck - Joe

Marry - Cleet

Kill - Micah

(YIKES. I hope the Joe situation is the same as for Uncle... oh, my dignity. Also, Cleet didn’t seem too insufferable because at least he kind of had a conscience in the end. Micah, though? I feel as though I am legally obliged to put him in the kill category 😈)

Round 4 - Guarma Dutch, Nightwear Dutch, and Saint Denis Bank Job Dutch (Oof, if only the first two actions could apply to all three of them...)

Fuck - Guarma Dutch

Marry - Saint Denis Bank Job Dutch

Kill - Nightwear Dutch

(Damn, this one was TOUGH. But Nightwear Dutch is usually a little bitch to me, so he can go. Guarma Dutch is hot as hell, but I adore Saint Denis Dutch. He’s dressed so well, yet his fancy clothes are still stained and dirty before the mission even starts. That mix of opulence and contamination just fits his overall nature soooo well. I love it 😍😍)

Thank you again!!! Have a beautiful day, stay safe, and don’t lose faith!!! 💜

[gerec]

AU-gust 2020 Prompts

AUs 1-5 on Ao3 6. Hospital AU - Cherik 7. Childhood Friends AU - Cherik 8. Superheroes/Superpowers AU - Starles, past Cherik 9. Royalty AU - Cherik

10. Pirates AU

The past fifteen years have taught Erik more than a few life lessons, useful tips and tricks he garnered on the open sea, slowing rising through the ranks from lowly deckhand to Captain of the dreaded pirate vessel Genosha. His sharp instincts have saved him more times than he can count – in skirmishes against the Crown, as well as other pirates and lowlife scum – and helped cement his fortune while building a reputation as a man both ruthless and unafraid. And he’s never once been proven wrong with his keen judge of character, not with those he calls friends (a few) or those he calls enemies (the many). Even now, he can’t truly fathom how he could have been so utterly duped; so thoroughly outwitted and out maneuvered by a boy ten years his junior…
 Erik is certain his old crew would laugh themselves sick, if they knew the predicament he’s currently in, entirely of his own making. In hindsight, the clues about young Lord Xavier have always been there, clear as an ‘X’ on a treasure map if Erik had but taken a closer look, and not let that pretty face distract him, or let his libido do his thinking.
 With a King’s pardon and a trunk full of pirate gold, Erik had moved to bustling London six months ago, ready to enjoy the fruits of his labor. As it was not in his nature to sit idle in his new townhome, Erik sought a good marriage prospect from the various noble houses – someone with an impeccable reputation and the right last name. He found it in young Charles Francis Xavier, son of the late Lord Brian Xavier, and a distant relative to the King.  

Charles was everything that Erik could have asked for; pretty, frivolous but mannered and charming, and able to open doors to polite society that would otherwise have remained firmly shut. And he was eager to accept Erik’s offer of marriage, keen to get away from an insufferable family it seemed, and quite happy to stay out of his new husband’s affairs.

His first clue should have been the most obvious, as the Charles he met at Graymalkin – quiet, meek and firmly under his stepfather’s control – was a mere shadow of the man he actually married; intelligent, witty and full of life. He had numerous friends that visited frequently, an eclectic mix of scholars and tradesmen, nobles and soldiers, and spent many hours in the salon debating the merits of science and trading gossip for sport.

He knew everyone, and everyone knew Charles, and Erik - through his young husband – found himself duly welcomed into many wealthy and important homes.

His second clue was rather closely tied to the first, for he discovered on their wedding night, that the shy, inexperienced young Lord he expected was in fact, a carefully constructed façade. As soon as Erik led him in their bedroom and closed the door, Charles had promptly dropped to his knees and untied his breeches, and swallowed his entire length down his throat with an impish grin. And he spent the rest of their wedding night in much the same way, proving - very skillfully - that he wasn’t a virgin, and could very well do the despoiling.  

The third clue, Erik concedes, is a little more obscure, and only made obvious after suffering through Constable Summers’ interrogation. A rash of burglaries throughout London’s most prominent homes, and various expensive heirlooms purloined, all within a day or two after a visit from Mr. Lehnsherr and Lord Xavier. It must be the work of a notorious pirate, the man had accused, for who else had means, motive and ability to commit such daring and outrageous thievery?

Charles, apparently greatly offended on his behalf, railed passionately at the Constable for the accusations, insisting that Erik was innocent of such crimes, for he could vouch for his husband’s whereabouts during the times the acts had been committed. And because Charles was beloved and his reputation beyond reproach, Summers could only leave empty handed, with no leads and no better knowledge of who exactly was the culprit in question…

Erik himself would have no idea, if he hadn’t accidentally stumbled on the object of the latest and most valuable theft yet, stuffed in his husband’s desk drawer; a gem from the African continent, taken from General Stryker’s manor not two evenings before.

He finds that he’s rather angry with Charles, for using Erik’s own reputation as a decoy, to deflect attention from himself onto a more obvious suspect…

And he finds that he’s rather angry with himself, for being suitably impressed by the boy’s daring and his fearlessness, and for falling even more hopelessly in love.

[televinita]

Little Women (2019): Thoughts

REQUIRED READING: the prequel post about my background going in to this film.

SNAPSHOT VERSION: Though I have some casting qualms, and may adjust my opinions after I reread the book, mostly I think this is everything my heart has needed since the magic of the ‘94 movie was broken for me. My heart is very full.

FULL VERSION: Twice as long as the prequel post (a.k.a. 1800 words), starts below.

I did not expect LW to be the first Unexpected Comeback Fandom of 2020 (or a comeback fandom ever, really), but here I am, having spent every day since I saw this film mooning about this story and looking up different editions and supplemental books in the library catalog, so I'd better process how I feel about it while the memories are relatively fresh.

Most of my thoughts are on casting rather than specific scenes because like I said, I can’t remember the book super well, so I’d like to get my movie memories to fade so that the book can surprise me. Also because I think I will have a more in-depth post about them when I watch the film a 2nd time, whether that’s in theaters or on DVD. But here’s what I’ve got for now.

ON CASTING

In no particular order --

* Emma Watson is very pretty but it is so hard to take her seriously as an actress. She's just Emma Watson, Famous For Being In Harry Potter and Getting Hired For Other Big Name Projects. I feel like she's so consciously acting all the time. She made a not-terrible Meg, I guess? No worse than she made a Belle. But it was roughly as hilarious watching her try to be a mother now as it was watching her try to be a mother in the last Harry Potter movie. To the point that I just kept hearing the "Damn! I'm SO maternal!" song playing as her theme in the background at all times. * I realized 6 days prior to seeing the movie that Florence Pugh is recognizable because she's in Midsommar and honestly, that just ruined everything for me. I didn't even see that film, I just know it's gross and I would hate it and while she is not tainted forever like the 50 Shades actors, she is definitely too tainted for Little Women. Also I could not stop thinking about how I associate Amy with being very dainty and prim and Florence, while perfectly lovely, is not. * Laura Dern was kind of strangely modern and kooky for Marmee, but I love her as an actress and I loved that she was just like "HELLO STRANGE NEIGHBOR BOY, COME BE MY FIFTH CHILD." So I was OK with that. * ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH BOB ODENKIRK. What kind of anachronistic garbage. What crack were you on, because it was obviously not the good stuff. "Did I stumble into an SNL parody??" I wondered more than once. * Meryl Streep as Aunt March was AMAZING. Ten Oscars. * Beth consistently looked younger than Amy, so that was weird. She was okay but kind of childlike, and failed to make Beth my favorite like she is in the book. * JO! Saoirse Ronan is by far my favorite actress in this set, but I didn't think she was right for Jo going in. "Jo's not a redhead!" I said, indignantly stamping my foot, because my childhood-era love for this novel reigns defensively supreme like for no other classic besides Black Beauty. (another 1994 classic they should remake soon, even though I love that version. Just saying.)

But damned if she did not COMPLETELY embody every essence of Jo there is and make Jo my favorite character this time. Truly, nobody except Meryl Streep so thoroughly matched my expectations for their character. Ten Oscars, part II. Or at least the one she is actually nominated for. If Jo loses to ScarJo I will riot. * John was nice. I feel like he was exactly what he was supposed to be, which is to say kind of plain and milquetoast but perfect for Meg. I don't actually remember him existing in the novel, so that was an interesting game of "how important is this guy?" until suddenly Meg was getting married and I realized I did, in fact, have a very dim memory of a wedding from the book. I think I will like their romance more the second time around, though. * Mr. Laurence was VERY EXCELLENT. IDK why I know the actor, even after looking him up, but I liked him in this role a lot. His grandfatherly quasi-adoption of Beth was so sweet. * As for Professor Bhaer...UGH. I hated him on sight and my brain wouldn't even let me recognize who he was for like 3 scenes, I was just like, "who is this random boarding lodger and why are we focusing on that weirdo." I mean, he's objectively handsome? But he did not do it for me. He lacked the gravitas I expect from this character and his thick accent scraped my ears and drove me insane (update from the future: his accent is also driving me insane in the book, where I have peeked in at a few chapters as incentive to reread. whyyyyyyy). * LAURIE: maybe it's been too long since I read the book, but never could I ever have imagined I'd want to use the term "fuckboy" to describe Laurie. It wasn't even Ski Chalet's face so much as it was that in all present-day scenes (post-rejection), he is such an insufferable, melodramatic, pouting trash heap that I didn't want him to marry any of them at that point. (Also YOU STILL DIDN'T MAKE ME UNDERSTAND WHY HE GOES FOR AMY, so good job.**) However, I took especial delight in paying attention to all the cuddly platonic friend cuddling he heaped on Jo growing up, in focus or in the background, and I loved it...kind of a lot? The ship radar made noise. That noise is getting louder by the day, smoothing away his faults. He may have permanently taken up residence in my mind's eye as the new Laurie. ...this is the worst. Make it cease. (**update from the future, I am peeking at the book and it looks like it's a lot easier to understand both in text and when you're inside Laurie's head. He is still clearly sulking his way through Europe, but in a way it's easier to recover from. Also, I don’t have time to unpack this but as I finish the edits on this post I started 5 days ago, I’m starting to think I could not only ship Laurie/Amy, but believe in it from the start.) ACTUAL PLOT AND FILM QUALITY

+ The shifting between past and present was very jarring right off the bat, but after that I think it worked.

+ I loved the attic play rehearsals so much

+ I am so glad Jo’s shorn hair is both fleeting and as hideous as it should look, and not Pixie Cut Chic (Childhood Me wailed at that part reading the book)

+ I remember hardly anything about the book's Part II / Good Wives, so basically everything in their adult lives was news to me. Amy and Aunt March go to Europe? Jo goes to live by herself in New York? Meg marries a relative pauper? Any of this could be true to the book or just made up as an alternate idea to explore, and I would be none the wiser. That made it more fun. (NOBODY SPOIL ME ON WHAT'S TRUE)

+ It did not occur to me until just now that the part where Jo publishes her version of Little Women is not in the book (right?), but that was beautifully done.

+ The house interiors were breathtaking. It's not like I don't regularly watch period pieces, but this time there was just something about seeing an old house, like the ones I am often in for estate sales, decorated the way I always imagine seeing when I enter those homes, that kind of made me tear up. + The outside shots were pretty too + Jo made me cry with her I'm so LONELY! speech, rude. (I went into this movie thinking I was 100% on board to finally read Alcott’s sequels for their Jo/Professor content, and now I'm like 'ah damn it is gonna be the season for the Jo/Laurie AU novel, isn't it.')

+ A strike against Beth and/or the actress playing her: I did not cry about her death (in my defense I was busy crying about Jo's pain).

+ I did NOT remember precisely how Laurie & Amy got married, so even though I knew it happened eventually, I felt that sucker punch to the gut reveal just about as hard as Jo did. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOUR WIFE.

+ My mom said she’d heard this movie was lauded as being super feminist, which rarely goes well for me, but I thought it felt like really authentic "married women literally were not allowed to control their own income and it sucked" 19th century feminism, and not someone using their 21st century voice to claim this is how people would have REALLY talked if The Patriarchy Of Historical Record hadn't silenced/suppressed it. Nothing rankled me. I’m very confused by the people who think it says Jo is queer and/or didn’t end up with the Professor, but if that’s what you see then I guess it’s a win/win situation for all of us. + LOVED the closing montage. + Basically, at all times that I wasn't annoyed by the casting, I was feeling the same magic I did while reading the book and/or while watching the 1994 movie as a child. I can’t think of any parts I really hated.

IN CONCLUSION

Part of me is honestly kind of sad I didn't reread the book before watching this movie, because even though I usually prefer to go movie first and then get the Expanded Edition that is the book, in this case I wish I'd taken my last chance to properly visualize everything in my head on my own -- since I’ve mostly forgotten the ‘94 film -- before the new movie washed it away forever. This is one of the rare times I would have liked to hope and guess what would be shown vs. cut, and be able to anticipate the thrill of seeing the page come to life.

However, seeing it was the impetus I needed to finally take my childhood copy off the shelf (and thank heavens I have it, because the library request is backed up 3 or 4 deep for every copy), and it took all of 5 minutes to get instantly sucked into chapter 1 and feel such rapturous joy and familiarity that I consciously cut myself off and decided I am going to journal out my feelings after each chapter on this reread. So that’s something!

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [565]

“Ever since the two of you got together you’ve been insufferable,” Dorian says. “You like him. He likes you. I don’t understand why you’re acting like the world is about to end.”

“Oh, but now that we both know that we like each other I have so many things I want to do,” Ellana says, sprawled out on the long sofa that he really should have removed from his personal study. But it’s so comfortable and Kaaras fits it just perfectly and Dorian fits on top of Kaaras when he’s on it just marvelously. Dorian has fond memories of this sofa. He has fond memories he would like to make on this sofa. Those memories and planned memories have absolutely nothing to do with the Goddess of the Sun swanned over it like a mortal girl in some terrible dime store check out aisle paperback.

“Then do them,” Dorian suggests. “Do them somewhere that isn’t here.”

“He’s just so wonderful,” Ellana sighs. “I want to do nice things for him. But I don’t know how. I’m not good at nice gestures!”

“You’re plenty good at nice gestures,” Dorian says. “If you weren’t, then you and I would not be nearly as good friends as we are now. Why don’t you write him a poem?”

“A poem? What in the world would he do with a poem?” Ellana  sneers. “What use does that wonderful man have for a poem, Dorian? Ugh. I wish I was the Goddess of something useful. Like…jewelry or home cooked dinners or…or…I don’t know. Nice cars.”

Ellana frowns.

“Is there a god of cars yet?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” Dorian says. “Frankly, I don’t care to know, either.”

As nice as cars look there’s nothing like the wind in Dorian’s hair when he goes with his chariot. It’s old fashioned, but it screams of drama, theatricality, and stunning heart-stopping grandeur. He loves it. It’s a vice, really. But he’s allowed one or two of those when he’s managing the bureaucratic nightmare that’s managing the souls of the dead.

“What do you do for Kaaras?” Ellana asks. “How did you woo him?”

Dorian rolls his eyes, “This isn’t some mortal play, Ellana. I asked the god out, we had a few ambrosias together, watched a sunset or two, talked a lot, and then I invited him into my stygian lair to debauch him thoroughly. The last part is a joke.”

Dorian can’t believe he has to actually say that, but Ellana looked very contemplative.

“I did not do that, I do not have a stygian lair, and the debauchery happened much, much later and you do not get to know details,” Dorian continues. “Also. I’m the God of the Underworld, known for its riches and wealth.”

He holds out a hand, concentrating for a moment before a singe fist sized ruby drops into his palm, cold to the touch but glinting with warm light. Ellana stares at it in wonder, and Dorian quickly whisks it away with a flick of his wrist.

“I forgot that was a perk of the job,” Ellana admits.

“Most people do,” Dorian replies dryly. “And before you ask, Kaaras gives me flowers. Like a normal beau would do.”

“But he’s the god of flowers,” Ellana whines. “Of course he’s going to give you flowers. His flowers are divine. Literally divine. He’s got the best flowers on the entire planet.”

“And you’re the goddess of poetry and song and all of that artistic nonsense,” Dorian says. “Just write him a damned sonnet and get it over with. Besides, have you considered that he’s the god of manipulation and deceit? He probably likes things that have to do with words and prose and…all of that diction and syntax and what have you.”

Ellana perks up. “Oh. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right, I’m brilliant.” Dorian rolls his eyes. “Now get out. When you’re here worrying about how to romance your new god-friend I can’t do anything with my god-friend.”

-

“Hide me,” Ellana says, rushing into Mahanon’s room and diving underneath his bed.

Mahanon is unimpressed and he makes no effort to do anything other than turn a page in the book he’s reading.

“Ellana!” Just before his door can close again full it’s thrown open and Mahanon grimaces when he feels the near tangible outpouring of their mother’s divinity washing over them. “I know you’re in here. I gave birth to you over a period of seven days. I sheltered you from the eyes of the dark gods for thirteen years. Get out from underneath your brother’s bed.”

Ellana whimpers and slowly crawls out the other side she came in from, eyes barely peeping over the edge of Mahanon’s bed as she stares at their mother with absolute, pure and honest fear.

Mahanon considers pushing his foot against her face.

“You told the entire pantheon you were married to Dorian Pavus,” Mother says, standing on the other side of Mahanon’s bed. It’s a large bed. Perfect for many dogs and the occasional cat and every now and again a snake or two. It is still not large enough to give him breathing room when he has his sister and mother on either side having a conversation that’s being carried on in slightly too loud volumes.

“Care to take this outside?” Mahanon suggests.

“It wasn’t the entire pantheon, mother!” Ellana protests, shrinking down. “And it was a terrible lie, you know it isn’t true. And I made sure to clear it up afterwards! It didn’t even spread far! Most of the mortals didn’t even hear a single thing about it!”

“You cleared it up but now you’re saying you’re in a relationship with the Iron Bull,” Mother says. “Since when?”

Mahanon closes his book and tosses it to the side of the bed, crossing his arms as he watches the two go back and forth.

Ellana catches his eye and Mahanon was going to ask her about it later, but he’s not going to say anything in front of their mother.

Ellana and Mahanon are a united front. Sun and moon. Medicine and poison. Song and silence. Not even their own mother comes between that. So while Mahanon has questions and several comments he’d like to say right now, he doesn’t.

He looks his sister in the eyes and mentally thinks at her, do we like the Iron Bull?

Telepathic bonds between twins are probably fake, but Mahanon does know that he’s been able to read his sister like the back of his hand since they were little. Mahanon learned how to read body language and emotion off of his sister’s face, and she his.

Ellana’s fingertips tighten on the edge of his bed and her lips press together faintly.

They like the Iron Bull.

Mahanon turns towards their mother.

“They’re not a bad match. I’m sure Ellana was just nervous about telling you. You can be intimidating.”

Mother looks at him, surprised. “Me? Intimidating? If that boy is intimidated by me then Ellana needs a better one! Ellana, you will invite your boy for breakfast.”

“He’s not a boy, mother,” Ellana says. “He’s a fully grown god.”

“He dates my girl, then he is a boy,” Mother says. “Same as when you dated Herah. Also, I hope you apologized to Dorian for dragging him into your mess. He already has his hands full managing the entire realm of the dead without your boy troubles.”

“Dorian has plenty of those, too,” Mahanon muses moving his legs out of the way to avoid both Ellana and his mother going to pinch him. “I speak the truth.”

[hamiltimedaadadada]

I'll Love You No Matter How Insufferable You're Being

Alexander x Reader Word Count: 2132

“Now,” you said as you buttoned Alexander’s jacket, “You have to behave. I don’t care what Thomas says or does, you have to behave, alright?” You asked, looking up at your courter, seriously.

Alexander rolled his eyes, “I can’t believe you call him Thomas,” he sighed, “He’s called Jefferson!”

You sighed and shook your head, “Alexander,” you said, raising your eyebrows, “Do you understand?”

He nodded his head, solemnly, “I understand,” he pouted as he opened the front door for you; you grabbed his hand and pulled him out with you.

At Washington’s, Thomas, Thomas’ wife, James, John and Hercules were already awaiting your arrival, sitting with one another in the living room. They seemed to be getting along well enough. As soon as Alexander’s eyes met Thomas’s, though, he immediately began to scowl.

“Alexander,” you scolded, before hugging Martha in greeting, “I’d like to apologize for Alexander’s behaviour,” you said to Martha, who was smiling, “I know he hasn’t done anything, yet, but in case he does,” you continued, shrugging your shoulders.

“Thank you,” Martha laughed as she took yours and Alexander’s jackets. “Dinner is ready, if you’d all like to join us in the dining room,” she said to both you and the others in the living room.

Holding Alexander’s hand you rubbed it, gently, “Stop glaring,” you instructed, sternly, “He’s not even doing anything.”

“He looked at you,” Alex muttered, making your eyes roll.

You sighed, “He’s allowed to look at me, Alexander,” you groaned, “I’m not your property.”

“I know!” Alex exclaimed, “But he looked at you like he wanted to, you know… Do something.”

You sighed and shook your head, “Alexander, you need to get over this,” you sighed, “It’s becoming an issue.”

Alex pouted, looking down to his toes, “I’m sorry.”

You sighed gently as Alexander pulled out your chair for you. Sitting, you smiled up at him, and him at you. Unfortunately for your courter, Thomas sat across from you; fortunately for you, however, his wife, sat right beside him. Despite the tension and hatred between the two men, you and her found a great deal of things to talk about; ranging from politics, stories, and of course the two, often times, insufferable men you’ve chosen to love.

“Y/N,” she greeted you, grinning, “As beautiful as always,” she smiled, earning herself a smile in return.

“And you,” you began, beaming, “As charming as always.”

“And you,” Thomas cut in, staring at Alexander, “Still not married… As always,” he smirked, raising his eyebrows, challenging his foe to argue with him. Before Alexander could find it in himself to retort, however, Thomas continued, looking at you, pointedly; “Miss Y/L/N, please,” he began, “Grant me the finest sleep tonight and tell me, did Hamilton propose, only to be denied?”

Alexander huffed from beside you, “I’ll have you know,” he began, narrowing his eyes at the man across from you, “That we’re only waiting; we don’t want to rush into anything, since doing so, so commonly results in, not to foreshadow your own relationship, demolition.”

Your eyes widened in not only surprise, but embarrassment, “Alexander,” you warned, staring at him, your eyes narrowed.

He looked at you forging innocence, like he so often does, “He started it,” he pleaded, looking at you, hopefully.

You shook your head, but luckily George interrupted before you had the opportunity, “Gentlemen,” he sighed, something you imagined he’d gotten quite used to, “Let’s save this repartee for the cabinet, and not dinner, shall we?” He demanded, not asked, eyeing the two men in warning.

Begrudgingly, the two men nodded their heads, and you looked to Thomas’ wife, apologetically, “I’m so sorry,” you said grinning, pitifully. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

She nodded her head, knowingly, “I understand,” she said, “I have to deal with the exact same thing,” she shrugged, nodding to her husband, sitting by her side.

Obviously offended, Thomas furrowed his brows, “We’re not the same,” he and your courter spoke, nearly simultaneously.

Smirking, you and Thomas’ wife shared a look, before shaking your head in union; “Whatever you say,” you sighed, taking Alexander’s hand and holding it underneath the table.

Much of the dinner carried on this way; bickering between Thomas and Alexander, and Washington telling them off, while you and your friend chatted, ignoring the constantly arguing men. However, despite your obvious disinterest, aversion and detestation of the constant quarrelling, both yourself and Thomas’ wife found yourselves being brought up in their arguments more than enough.

“She’s a writer,” Alexander stated, proudly, “We have a lot in common.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, “I have yet to find a person incapable of writing, Hamilton,” he smirked, “I wouldn’t be too enthralled.”

Both you and your friend rolled your eyes, sighing; “Thomas,” she sighed, staring at him, clearly annoyed, “Stop it. Now.”

He smiled down at her, knowing well that although he’d have to pay for it later, that disparaging Hamilton was most definitely worth it.

“Alexander,” you said, raising your eyebrows.

He looked at you before nodding his head, “Of course, Darling,” he said, bashfully; when arguing, he often finds himself in his own little world, incapable of paying attention to anything other than winning. Not feelings, not repercussions. It doesn’t take a lot to take him out of his own world, but it’s rare and nearly impossible to keep him out.

You, Thomas’ wife and Martha all found relief when the meal was finally over and the three of you were allowed leaving the table. You grinned as you took yours and Alexander’s plate; off to the kitchen, you, the plates, and the other two women went.

“I don’t know why we even try,” Martha sighed, placing the dishes in the sink.

“I know,” you replied, thoroughly ashamed with Alexander’s behaviour tonight. For the past three dinner’s he and Thomas have shared, they had always argued, making both you and Thomas’ wife incredibly embarrassed, annoyed and ashamed. Despite the two men being fine, borderline amazing, on their own, in their respective jobs, together, they were nothing short of a disaster. "I’m so sorry Martha, for him ruining yet another one of your dinners.”

“Nonsense,” Thomas’ wife exclaimed, shaking her head, “Thomas always starts it; I can’t get it though his head, not to argue with Hamilton. He just doesn’t accept it.”

“Yes,” you agreed, for her words were true, “But Alexander only eggs him on… A child, nothing more,” you sighed, for your words, too, were true.

Thomas’ wife and Martha both nodded their heads in agreement, all three of you agreeing on the childish and immature nature of the two men.

“I can hardly believe they could behave so recklessly in public; in meetings, I understand, but in society? How stupid can two men be?” Martha shook her head, and you nodded in agreement. Had it been any other woman saying this, you may have disagreed out of arrogance, but you knew Martha well and respected her enough to see her truth. They were, indeed, stupid.

Thomas’ wife, too, nodded her head, for the three of you shared an alarmingly large amount of similar thoughts and beliefs, making you wonder whether or not men of this type, of this job, needed a specific type of partner to knock their ego’s down every now and again.

Returning back to the dining room, all of the men had left, instead finding comfort in the living room. Once the table was clean, you joined them.

Sitting down beside your courter, you looked at him, annoyed.

He sighed, knowing well what he had done. “Sorry,” he apologized, possibly the millionth time he’s apologized for the same thing, over and over again. Unfortunately, the poor boy just didn’t learn from it.

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” you said, looking at him pointedly, before turning your gaze to Jefferson, who was sitting on the couch adjacent to the two of you.

He followed your gaze, before rolling his eyes, “Not happening,” he whispered, annoyedly, “Never happening.”

“Then I don’t accept your apology,” you retorted, crossing your arms, stubbornly.

Alexander looked at you, helplessly, “You’re really asking me to do this?” He asked, as if he expected you to say otherwise.

“Of course I am,” you whispered, not trying to cause any commotion, especially after all of the commotion Alexander caused at the dinner table. “You need to apologize; to Thomas, for being inconsiderate and thoughtless, and for Mrs. Jefferson, for the same thing. And for Martha for ruining her dinner,” you continued, raising your eyebrows, just daring him to go against your command.

He sighed, shaking his head, “Martha, I can do,” he said, stubbornly, “Mrs. Jefferson, no problem; but Heaven help me if I apologize to that imbecile, slaver, francophile, no-good-“

“Alexander,” you cut him off with a swift bonk on his leg, “Now, Alexander.”

He sighed as he stood, off to the kitchen, where Martha was finishing up the dishes. “Martha,” he began, solemnly, gaining her attention, “I need to apologize for tonight. You offered a lovely dinner, and I’m afraid I’ve ruined it by arguing… Again. I’m truly sorry,” he apologized, and it was difficult to tell whether or not he was being genuine or not, it was often very hard to tell with that man; despite this, Martha accepted the possibly-genuine apology and continued with her own tasks.

Walking begrudgingly into the living room, Alexander, instead of sitting beside you, sat beside Mrs. Jefferson. “Mrs. Jefferson,” he began, “In the heat of arguing with your unfortunate husband-“

“Alexander,” you scolded, rolling your eyes. “That’s not how you deliver an apology.”

He nodded his head, knowingly, “I’m sorry,” he said, returning his eyes to Mrs. Jefferson’s, “I was being insensitive and thoughtless during dinner, and everything I said regarding you, even remotely, wasn’t my true beliefs. I hope you can forgive me,” he recited, and if he hadn’t been improvising his apology, you may have thought he had it written out and practiced it every night for weeks.

“Thank you for apologizing,” Mrs. Jefferson said, grinning, “That’s very mature of you,” she said, smiling sincerely to Alexander before moving her gaze past your courter and to her husband. Her face turned from sweet to stone, looking at Thomas, expectantly.

Alexander smirked, knowing well what was coming for him; turning to meet his foe, he grinned smugly. “Alexander,” Thomas said, frowning, his voice having no emotion other than distaste present, “Sorry.”

It wasn’t much; in fact, you weren’t even sure it was a full sentence, but it was certainly enough for Alexander, who was grinning obnoxiously; “Right back at ya,’” he smirked, earning an eye roll from both you and Mrs. Jefferson. It would have to do, for now.

***

That night, after you were cozied up in your nightgown, you and Alexander sat in your living room, drinking tea. “Are you proud of me?” Alexander asked, proudly.

You furrowed your brows, “Why would I be proud of you?” You asked, watching his smirk fall right off of his face, “You fought all throughout dinner; the one thing I asked you not to do!”

Alexander’s face of pride morphed into a face of distraught, “But I apologized,” he argued, taking your teacup out of your hands and placing it on your coffee table. “Just like you asked me to do…”

You rolled your eyes, “Alexander,” you said, “You had to apologize because you continuously ruin dinners and get togethers!” You exclaimed, “That doesn’t deserve any praise.”

Alexander pouted, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist, “M’sorry,” he said, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “But you have to admit,” he continued, “He does start it.”

You looked at him, completely unamused. “Sorry,” he repeated himself, resting his head on your shoulder, “I didn’t mean it, honestly,” he said, desperately.

“Then why do you keep doing it,” you questioned, resting your own head on top of his.

“I can’t help it,” he sighed, “He’s just so annoying!”

“Well, why can’t you at least stop it for a single hour while we’re at dinner!” You exclaimed, “Only a single hour, Alexander!”

He sighed, pouting, “I’m sorry!” He repeated himself for the sixth time that evening (more times than he usually does within an entire month). “It won’t happen again, Angel, I promise,” he assured you, making you sigh.

You held up your pinky, and he immediately linked his with yours, “Promise?” You asked, looking at him, expectantly.

“Promise,” he confirmed, unlinking your fingers and instead holding your hand, placing his lips to the back of it, “Thank you for loving me, even when I’m being insufferable,” he whispered, reaching up to kiss your cheek.

You nodded your head, “I’ll love you no matter how insufferable you’re being, Alexander.”