#otp: you have unnerved me

[marlahey]

"sorry, is this alright?" "i don't see how else you'd fix it." aka dr. jack "dodger" dawkins touching belle (aka the love of his life) for purely medical reasons aka hands hands hands for @missgoalie75

Thomas Brodie-Sangster and Maia Mitchell The Artful Dodger (2023–)

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 15 - Not Without Obligation

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper gets a surprise visit from Christian... but are his intentions sincere?

Word Count: 2,800 (short for me, I know enjoy it while you can 😆)

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N: I know it's been more than a hot minute since I've updated this series! 😅 This is in part because I got sidetracked by Sleepless in New York also on my list to finish, I know, and then I took most of the summer off from writing. But also in part because I kinda got stuck on how to actually continue with this series... but, I now have a plan! *rubs hands together gleefully* and you ain't gonna like it, sorry, not sorry. So, with this long-awaited installment, I hope to be back in my usual groove and will be posting with some semblance of regularity again. Thanks so much for bearing with me!

A/N2: This is also my submission for @choicesseptemberchallenge2023 Day 25 Prompt - Secret, Surprise I’m only 2 days late

Chapter 15 - Not Without Obligation

Making my way back to my room, I try to push down the conflicting emotions that are roiling inside of me.

On one hand, I get where Drake is coming from, and why he shut the door in my face. We are no longer alone in Applewood and even the faintest whiff of impropriety could implode the carefully strategised work that the royal PR team has put in to try and resuscitate my public image.

And me getting caught outside of the room of a guy who not only is not Christian, but who I have no justifiable reason for seeking out at the butt-crack of dawn in the first place, would definitely scupper the assertion that I'm not a two-timing hussy. Especially since I rushed out of my room earlier wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and panties.

Mitigating factors, they are not.

But while the rational part of my brain knows that Drake is only trying to look out for me, I can't help but feel a pang of dejection at the abruptness with which he — very literally — shut me out, even though he promised yesterday that he wouldn't do something like that to me again.

Because God knows that it had been hard enough to get him to open up the first time!

And even though I'm not expecting him to have completely reversed his habitudes overnight, I guess I'd been hoping that our conversation in the barn would've prompted some kind of step in the desired direction.

Because it's clear that the bruises on my neck unnerved him. The turmoil on his face had made that clear. As the marks are not just some haphazard side-effect of our frantic love-making. They are a very real and visible reminder of the tangible strength of his feelings — and the fact that he lost control of them.

And as much as I understand the knee-jerk cause of his reaction, the last thing I want — or need — right now is for Drake to distance himself from me because he's scared of hurting me again.

That, I could not cope with.

"Demoiselle," nods Allard as I arrive back at my room.

I flash him a distracted smile on auto-pilot. He saw and heard what happened. There is no point rehashing anything. Especially since this isn't something he or Schweitzer can help with.

The weight of my Guard's concerned gaze flick over me as I shuffle past, but they both remain silent, no doubt sensing that I'm not in the mood for conversation.

Shutting the door behind me, I close my eyes as I lean back against the solidness of the wood.

Why are things never simple 'round here?

I really wish Drake and I could've taken a moment to talk things through. Because today's Apple Harvest Festival is expected to see hundreds of people descend onto Applewood to not only celebrate this year's bountiful crop of Cordonian Rubies, but to also catch a glimpse of the new King and his future Queen.

And if I thought that cornering Drake at the apple pick had been hard, the chances of being able to do so today are going to be slim to none.

But the rest of the week doesn't offer any better options because tomorrow we're off to Italy, where we'll likely have even less opportunity for privacy given the high-profile and international nature of the coming engagements.

My eyes snap open. I have to talk to him now.

As much as Drake may be concerned about protecting what's left of my image, I'm not going to let him use the inconvenience of our circumstances as an excuse to hide behind his insecurities or erect walls between us. Because the hard truth is that there's never going to be a good time to talk unless we make time.

Which is exactly what I am going to do, possible scandal be damned. I cannot let a tenuous fear borne out of a possible public backlash hold me back. My relationship with Drake is worth infinitely more to me than whatever garbage the paps may decide to print because some aristo decided to tattle on me if I get caught sneaking back into his room.

Because, let's face it. Even if I do end up on the front pages tomorrow (for all the wrong reasons), the fact of the matter is that any photo, any situation — no matter how sordid or innocent — can be spun any which way.

I've learnt that the hard way. So, I may as well use it to my own advantage for once.

Pushing myself away from the door, I march into my walk-in closet with renewed determination. Pulling the t-shirt that I'd slept in over my head, I quickly throw on a bra, some jean shorts and a black tank top.

Slotting my bare feet into my well-worn Sketchers, I make my way over to the French doors that lead out onto balcony so I can try to figure out the best way to scamper over to Drake's room without killing myself, given that I stand a better chance of slipping under the aristo's nosy radar via the balcony than going back through the corridor.

Hopefully, I can—

Tap, tap tap.

I stop mid-stride at the sound of knocking coming from the other side of my door.

Turning around, I contemplate whether I should respond, or pretend that I hadn't heard.

I have precious little time if I want to catch Drake before he disappears on me to do... whatever it is that he does in the mornings before the start of a royal event.

So, if I want to make it to his room, I need to go now before he finishes getting dressed.

But, then again, there is only a very small number of people at court who'd come directly to my room to talk to me. Especially at this time in the morning.

So, it could be important. It could be about Tariq...

...it could be Drake.

The latch clicks open.

I glance anxiously back towards the balcony, trying to decide if I should—

"May I come in?"

I whirl around in surprise at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Christian!"

He pokes his head 'round the door. "I... I didn't catch you in a state of undress, did I?"

"No! No... I was already dressed," I admit, trying to be as casual as possible as I quickly brush my hair over my shoulders in a haphazard attempt to try and cover up the bruises, given that I hadn't thought to slather any cover-up over myself yet.

Christian definitely doesn’t need to be asking questions about those!

"Ah, good!" he responds, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. "You're an early riser, like myself."

"You can thank the Beaumonts," I mutter under my breath, glancing guiltily back toward the balcony.

So much for stealing a much-needed moment with Drake...

"I apologise for the intrusion," Christian continues, crossing the space between us, "especially at such an early hour. But I was hoping to catch you alone before the start of the Apple Harvest Festival."

One word catches my attention. "A-Alone...?"

He comes to a stop in front of me. "Very much so."

Anxiety flares in the pit of my stomach as Drake's words from yesterday swirl through my mind.

...he's trying to win you back.

And it suddenly hits me that I haven't been alone — truly alone — with Christian since the day of the Jamboree. When he took me into the hedge maze and offered me a duchy.

My mind starts to whirl.

Had that been the start of this... crusade? The fact that I turned him down? Does he still think he can change my mind? Is he simply incapable of accepting 'no' as an answer?

I force my gaze up to meet his.

His emerald green eyes behold me calmly, with maybe a hint of excitement. But I cannot read his intention.

"Wh-why?" I finally blurt out.

A smile spreads across his face. "To bestow upon you your letters patent, of course!"

I gape at him. "My letters of what?"

He chuckles good-naturedly at my evident confusion. "Letters patent. Itis a type of royal decree that formally confers some manner of privilege onto the names designee — an office of state, a coat of arms, a commercial monopoly... or, in this case, your new title as Duchess of Valtoria."

With a flourish, he pulls out a small, leather-bound box that he's been hiding behind his back.

I stare at it mutely.

"It won't bite, I promise," he assures me wryly.

Reaching up with a tepid smile, I accept the box, which is a lot heavier than it looks.

Opening it up, I find a medieval-looking document nestled in the lid, complete with densely-packed Chancery script and and a historiated initial C embossed with the stylised image of the Cordonian royal crest.

Peering at the text — which I can only assume is an archaic form of French — I can just about make out the odd word, like my name, Christian's name, and Valtoria. But the rest remains completely incomprehensible.

Presumably some grand declarations about the bestowal...

In the bottom part of the box rests a cream-coloured envelope also bearing the Cordonian royal crest, along with my name, though this time written in delicate cursive lettering.

"What's this?" I ask Christian, lifting the letter up.

"Your papers of naturalisation," he informs me. "Along with your new passport and ID card."

I glance up at him in surprise. "I am now a Cordonian citizen?"

"It would not have been possible to issue the letters patent otherwise," he says. "Even a king must abide by the diktats of the law."

"I... don't need to sign anything?"

"The US Consulate was very accommodating, given the unique nature of the circumstances."

My stomach twists unexpectedly. "Oh..."

Dual citizenship is a good thing, right?

Returning my attention to the box, I see that the envelope has been concealing a large, intricate-looking seal bearing what appears to be the stylised outline of a rampant phoenix, next to which sits a signet ring with the same image.

"Does it meet expectations?" asks Christian.

"I'm not sure I know what I'd been expecting..." I admit, running a finger over the lines of the mythical bird, marvelling at the level of detail that's been put into creating such a realistic rendering, complete with individual licks of flame spouting from the tail feathers.

"Any egregious spelling errors?"

"Not that I can see," I admit, glancing up at him. "But—"

"Excellent!" he declares, reaching over the lid of the box to deftly pluck the signet ring out from its nest of blue silk.

Before I have a chance to react, he's clasped my hand in his to poise the heavy circlet of gold at the tip of my ring finger.

"Wait!" I gasp in the face of the unexpectedly intimate turn of events. "What are you—?"

"It would be remiss of me if I did not verify the correctness of the sizing," he advises, meeting my panicked gaze calmly.

"You don't need t—"

"It would be my pleasure," he insists, slipping the ring onto the digit before I can protest further.

As he withdraws his hand, my eyes fall onto the spot where the cool metal's unfamiliar weight now encircles the base of my finger.

"Perfect," Christian declares with a satisfied smile, brushing his thumb over the phoenix insignia.

I stare at the band with an uneasily mix of feelings swirling in my chest. "Christian, I—"

"Let's celebrate, shall we?" he announces, pulling back to click his fingers with a decisive snap.

On cue, the door behind Christian swings open to admit a veritable procession of servants bearing ice buckets, champagne, crystal flutes and tiny servings of finger food.

"Wait..." I stammer in the face of organised onslaught. "They were waiting outside this whole time?"

"I may have take a page out of your party planning book," he admits with a grin while the industrious staff set about transforming my bedroom into a first-class tea room. "Seeing the success you had with Drake on his birthday, I thought I would try my hand at surprising you on this important day."

"And that's great, but I never agreed—"

"Didn't you?" Christian asks with a level look as he nabs a miniature scone from the tray of a passing server.

I shake my head. "No, I—"

"Because I specifically recall you giving your unambiguous consent at yesterday's apple pick to proceed with finalising your new status," he states, taking a bite out of the pastry.

I open my mouth, but promptly shut it as the conversation from the orchard floats back into my consciousness.

"...having the paperwork squared away before our departure would grant significant boon for your image."

"Oh. Okay..."

"Oh, fuck..." I mutter as the cold hand of hindsight clamps down on the nape of my neck.

Christian had obviously mischaracterised my somewhat dazed reaction as some kind of explicit affirmation.

And since Drake's appearance yesterday had interrupted the conversation at that key moment, I never had a chance to correct the misunderstanding.

But I need to. Because once again, Christian has taken matters into his own hands and acted without my my prior agreement or approval t. Just like he had done when he decided to send me away during the Coronation Ball, only to then bring me back to court as his mistress, not to mention spring an actual duchy on me without any warning.

And while his heart's probably been in the right place each and every time, I'm not sure that I can cope with any more bolts from the blue.

Especially when they so drastically upend my life.

Heaving a breath, I look back up at the King of Cordonia again. "Look, Christian, I really appreciate all of this, but I think there's been a major—"

The loud bang! of the champagne bottle shooting its cork across the room makes me jump.

Turning around, I can see that the gold-coloured liquid is already in the process of being dispensed into a pair of waiting crystal flutes.

"I hope you like this Moët & Chandon Imperial Vintage 1946 that I had picked out," Christian murmurs, brushing a hand over the small of my back. "It is an exceptional cuvée with notes of citrus, apple and pear — an apt combination, I thought, given the occasion."

"Because of the pear trees in Valtoria..." I surmise heavily, watching a footman bring over a pair of freshly-filled champagne flutes with a foreboding note of finality.

"Exactly," confirms Christian, grabbing a glass from the tray. "A beautifully complimentary pairing. One that hope we can both enjoy for many years to come."

"Yes, but—"

"Let's toast, shall we?" prompts Christian, cutting me off yet again as the footman proffers me the other serving of expensive bubbly.

I stare at it like a poison pill.

This is what Drake had warned me about, isn't it? That Christian would seek to manoeuvre me into a corner like a chess piece... By giving with one hand, only to take with the other when the time came for the chips to fall due. Because what better way to create an unimpeachable sense of obligation than by making me into a duchess? A literal vassal to the Crown? Required to do the King's bidding, no matter the cost?

And if that really is his aim, then he has certainly been succeeding.

But at the same time, I am not sure I can trust my assessment. Christian has given no indication, one way or another, as to where his goals lay. And even if the misunderstanding had been genuine, to turn him down now would not only be inexplicably rude, but maybe also dangerous?

Would I be jeopardising Christian's support in the hunt for Tariq and my quest to set the record straight if I offend him by throwing all his heartfelt effort back in his face? Especially when I don't know for certain what Christian's motives are?

Because what if Drake is wrong? What if there is no hidden agenda and I'm just massively overthinking this entire thing because I've been burned once already and now everyone looks suspect... Even — and especially — when I'm being offered help?

"Harper?" queries Christian. "Everything alright?"

I shake myself out of my stupor and grab the crystal flute. "I'm fine. Just... Trying to come to grips with it all."

"There will be plenty of time for that," he assures me with a grin, raising his glass. "To the new Duchess of Valtoria!"

I clink the delicate crystal in my hand against his with a leaden feeling in my stomach.

There's no going back now...

For better or for worse, I have just become an aristo.

The story continues in Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

[sinisterexaggerator]

Genuinely curious: How did you get hooked on Banaka?

I have an enabler, that’s why. A few, but none so great as @allsystemsblue and I thank her every day for that. Not only do we have daily discussions about those two, but it makes the ideas run wild in my head. The more and more I think about them, the more ways I see them being good together, so much so I name them my OTP.

At first, like most Bane Stans, I was like, nah, he’d hate him. Hondo would annoy the fuck out of Bane, and while that may be true, that doesn’t account for things such as nuance, or growing to be obsessed with your “enemy” to the point it becomes homoerotic. >D

But I sell myself short. I have thought way too long and hard to give a simple explanation such as this, so let me delve a little more into the idea by explaining a bit of their canon backstories, and then my own takes on how they work well together and why.

Bane grew up on Duro, specifically in New Tayana, and lived in an area called the “Descent Ghetto.” It was not a nice place. Hondo was raised for a time on Sriluur, a not so nice place either, in Hutt Space where his mother taught him how to pick-pocket, among other things. Eventually, he was sold into slavery, but he knew deep down I am sure that it was for the money. He escaped, but we can determine they both have a rough start in life.

At this level we might say there could be an understanding. A mutual respect for a man who is self-made. In this they can relate, and while Hondo has his own set of problems commanding an entire crew, both could possibly confide in one another and discuss life’s ills.

As I mentioned in a previous post, Jango and Bane are an “item” if you will, for a period of time. I have yet to decide all the determining factors or all the things I want to cover in this part of my story, but based on what I know about Jango, he was not an affectionate sort. Gruff, surly, to the point, a man of few words, and with a short temper who has little patience for bullshit. If we take that and add to it a cunning, outspoken, brash, ill-tempered, sassy, aggressive Duros, to me that equates to an unhappy ending, or a clashing of personalities are they are both so similar. In this case, opposites attract.

If Jango and Bane were to part ways, Hondo being in the picture and observing their relationship, seeing the value in Cad, becoming fascinated and absorbed in him, regardless of if Bane knows or acknowledges that fact, should he give the Weequay a chance, all those things he has been denied through Jango easily come into fruition via Hondo Ohnaka.

This man needs love, support, a friend even, healing. He is traumatized in part due to his past (my story), and Jango is not that empathetic or concerned.

Hondo is attentive, charming, a deep thinker despite his clownish façade. If Bane can get past his petty grievances, if they were to share a moment or two alone, if they had a chance to talk, to linger in each other’s presence, if BANE ALLOWED HIM A SHOT, I think Ohnaka could sweep him off his feet. He would see there was more to him than just the flamboyant, foppish pirate.

Granted, Bane is untrusting. He sees the women; men; sentients, that Hondo brings to Florrum. He knows of his sexual escapades. He knows he’s a flirt and a scoundrel, so it is tough going in the beginning for Bane to accept what he is experiencing or receiving from him is genuine.

Perhaps they engage in something together, possibly among others, that is a sexual awakening in Bane. I see Hondo as giving to Bane things he has never felt before or even knew was possible.

He would hate it. It would unnerve him. He wouldn’t know what to think, to do, how to address this feeling inside himself, and it would soon devour him alive.

Maybe he needs more of it, despite wanting to inflict violence or damage against the person (Ohnaka) that made him feel this way. It becomes a need, a thirst so infuriatingly strong in him that it must be quenched.

This could develop in to a tentative, informal, even secretive relationship. It could go on for months, weeks, Hondo one of the few people who can bounce right back after one of Cad’s terrible mood swings. He doesn’t take offense to his words, or rarely if that, something more personal perhaps, but he is able to deal with this terrible, bratty boy and knows just how to placate him, how to soothe him.

Maybe casual sex “digresses," or “upgrades” to feelings being involved, real affection occurring, yet also hidden behind closed doors.  I foresee angst, drama, hurt, comfort, and a whole plethora of other tropes occurring between these two.

One is the concept of “sun” and “moon.” Hondo is the sun to Bane’s moon. He is the sunshine one, the happy one, the one who can get this bounty hunter out of his funk on more than one occasion, despite his jealous, possessive tendencies.

To me they are perfectly complimentary. That’s basically it. Not only that, Hondo knows when he needs his space, when not to crowd him, when to stand down, and even though Bane may raise his hand against him, Hondo would never afford him the same reaction. Not like Jango.

Though Hondo speaks many, many words, actions speak louder to Bane, and Hondo can read him, whereas many cannot.

Pair that with his almost obsessive interest in Bane, and the fact he is without a doubt attracted to him from the moment Fett brings him to Florrum, and we have for a most interesting potential ship, IMO.

[kitkatt0430]

6 and 7 for the salty asks?

6.) Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?

I can't really say I've been brought around from hating, though I've certainly been brought around to enjoying ships that I was neutral on or wasn't inclined towards.

Eobard/Barry is a ship that I was definitely not inclined to like at first, but it's grown on me in part due to fandom. And while I like it best as this one sided obsession on Eobard's part that would freak Barry out if he knew the full extent, there's something interesting about playing with their dynamics and asking what would need to change for that one-sided obsession to turn into a reciprocated (and healthier) relationship. They're both fascinating and nuanced characters, so delving into their interpersonal dynamics and tweaking it without losing the core of who they are (hopefully) is a lot of fun to do.

I think maybe sometimes I ship things solely for the challenge of making it believable and likable when it seems like the ship should not work.

7.) Is there anything you used to like but can’t stand now?

There's a significant part of the MCU I just can't stand anymore. The fandom used to be this happy place full of found family fics and I really miss the vibe it used to have there. In particular, I used to really enjoy the Steve/Bucky and Steve/Tony ships but Civil War kinda crashed both for me especially since it and the Ultron movie that preceded it shifted the tone of the MCU itself pretty hard.

The found family vibes were mostly lost from the franchise at that point and it was reflected heavily in fandom. Steve's treatment of both Tony and Bucky in the two movies was... bad. (Steve's possessiveness and obsession with Bucky kinda unnerved me, to be honest.) And the depiction of Wanda as being both a hero and an unrepentant Hydra volunteer was just... not something I could ever be comfortable with, so I struggle to enjoy fics that depict her or Pietro in a positive light because I can't forgive their movie canon Hydra origins or how insulting that change was considering their comics backstories.

I've been attempting to get back into some of the newer parts of the MCU, but I'm definitely reluctant to get invested again after feeling majorly burned by what happened with the Avengers in the movies.

[101flavoursofweird]

For the send a character meme, Randall Ascot. Because I have my own opinions on him and am curious about others.

Thank you for Randall! 

favorite thing about them: Despite his obsession with finding treasure, Randall doesn’t seem to care about wealth. He comes from a rich family, so it’s easy enough for him not worry. But even at the risk of losing his father’s approval— of losing access to that family wealth— he still wants to follow his own dreams of becoming an archaeologist. He goes after the treasure of Akbadain for the fame it will bring him, mainly. He’s not afraid to put in the hard work. And he doesn’t have any qualms about befriending a servant boy who could be seen as ‘below’ him. 

least favorite thing about them: Probably the least favourite thing for me is when Randall kidnapped Luke and put him on the high wire… I understand why Randall did it— to unnerve Layton and taunt him about ‘letting his friend fall’. I saw it as Randall being jealous that Hershel had ‘stolen’ his life, career and fame as an archaeologist… but that’s never addressed afterwards. In the grand scheme of the Masked Gentleman’s plans, Randall taking Luke just felt superunnecessary. 

favorite line: “No risk, no glory!” I actual heard the phrase, “No guts, no glory!” recently and it made me think of Randall. 

brOTP: Randall & Hershel

OTP: Randall/Henry/Angela (OT3)

nOTP: It’s not a super big nOTP, but Randall/Descole. I could see Randall/Desmond working after some development, but as they’re presented in Miracle Mask, I couldn’t really ship Randall/Descole.

random headcanon: Randall becomes a stay-at-home dad with 3 kids.

unpopular opinion: I’m not wild about his adult design shown in the credits pictures. 

song i associate with them: ‘How To Save a Life’, always 

favorite picture of them: The scene where he’s just hanging out with Angela and Hershel outside their school 

[serenscarlett-moved]

❝  i don’t have nightmares when you’re there.  ❞

from this prompt list: [source]

otp: jedi knight (f!oc) x Tau Idair.

A/N: hearing impaired jedi knight protag, canon divergence, two Jedi in a secret romantic relationship, wlw pairing.

Tagging those also interested: @gmkelz11 @sithy-tricks @lordviridis And @naaklasolus who also requested for this prompt and pairing.

It had been some time after the celebrations on the crushing defeat of Sith Emperor Tenebrae and driven Sith forces out of Corellia. It was getting late, Jazz went to search for Tau within the starship--it wasn't hard to find her, she knew Tau spent her free time tinkering weapons.

“Tau?” she called for the newly appointed Jedi Master's attention.

Tau glanced from the workstation to across the room, greeted by the sight of Jazz standing by the doorway. The RE unit chirped happily before hopping away to power down for the night, granting the two Jedi some space to themselves.

"Hey,"--Tau pulled the work goggles off and set the tools down to sign for Jazz--"You're back. How's your walk?"

Earlier, Jazz had taken a short walk through the garden for some fresh air and clear her head. There was a lot on her mind--discovering her parentage and her amnesia condition for starters, followed by ending the Sith Emperor's subordinates. And her ongoing feelings for Tau that she choose to go against the Jedi Code.

But neither Jazz nor Tau cared about the Jedi Code when their feelings surfaced.

"It was nice to get out for some air." Jazz replied with a warm smile.

"You had a lot on. I guess this 'amnesia' had thrown you off a bit?"

"You could say that."

Jazz fought hard to hold back a yawn that threatened to escape from her mouth. It wasn't that she was bored of the conversation, it was getting late as her tiredness started to creep in, she gazed upon her lover with half-lidded eyes.

Tau was quick to notice this and signed, "Do you need anything? You look like you're in desperate need of some shut eye."

Jazz had showered and sipped into a clean set of clothes--ready to tune in for an early night. She waved her hand dismissing the question.

“Where’s everyone?” she asked after the unusual absences of the twi’leks and Jawas.

The ship was quiet--for the past three years, she had gotten used to the noisy, lively atmosphere travelling with the crew members, and grown accustomed to their company adjusting to the extrovert lifestyles. It wasn’t unnerving to her in a way she found it oddly strange to reflect on the older days spent on the serene and peaceful Tython where she used to enjoy a stroll on the Temple grounds and meditating by the waterfall with Tau. 

Those days are long gone now she’s in the company of her friends, and her lover, to aid the Republic in desperate times. 

“They’ve gone out.” Tau informed her, rubbing the back of her neck, “I uh... kind of convinced them to take a couple of hours to wind down, you know, for some R&R.”

“Oh, I see.” Jazz sounded surprised, she would had thought they wouldn’t leave without her and Tau unless for a reason, “I trust this wouldn’t be caused by you pulling your Jedi Master card to get me alone?”

Tau made a snort out of jest at the latter, “That sounded too tempting without giving anything away, but no. I just thought they deserved some break, too.”

“...If you want, we can always go and join them?” Tau continued, suggesting the option while taking both the gloves and goggles off.

“I...”--her voice trailed off thinking for the moment--”Actually, I’m too tired right now.” Jazz admitted, the option to join the others on a fun night out was a nice offer but the introvert in her preferred to stay in unless for emergencies.

“That’s okay.” Tau reassured her with a smile, “I’m also tired, too. Saving the Galaxy can be exhausting at times.”

Jazz nodded in agreement, “You’re right about that. We barely had much time to ourselves.”

Speaking of tiredness...

Jazz, then, covered her mouth and let out a big yawn as she speak clearly, “Well, I’m going for an early night.”

“You and me both.” Tau hummed quietly, “Well, I’m not going anywhere. You know where to find me if you need anything.”

Jazz had almost said goodnight and leave for her quarters. She tilted her head, recalling on their past conversation they had a while ago--the time where neither of them couldn’t sleep while enroute to Belsavis and another where she caught Tau awake in the middle of the night while she was getting a drink on Voss.

Though, the conversation on Voss had stuck with Jazz for some time that made her feelings more open. 

Tau was about to resume to work on the weapon modifications, she ceased mid-way as she saw the Sith Hybrid stepped away from the doorway at the corner of her eyes and turned to view of Jazz’s extended hands.

Tau raised a brow upon this, “Jazz?”

“Will you stay with me?”

The first time had Tau indicated the offer to stay the night, now it was Jazz’s turn to ask with little more encouragement. They were no strangers to sleeping in the same beds during restless nights under circumstances, but now they’re together in a relationship--the two would need to check on the other’s boundaries and space.

“I thought I’d offered to share my bed with you.” Jazz explained her invitation, “I believe the exact words were ‘I don’t have any nightmares when you’re here’. I still remember it back on Voss.”

Tau breathed hard for a moment knowing that Jazz was aware of her sleep difficulties--the memory of seeing Jazz tortured and beaten by the hands of Darth Lachris and Lord Ziliss had scarred her into experiencing nightmares with worse scenarios outcomes--she shrugged the images out of her head with a shudder. She tried to forget about that particular memory.

Tau felt a hand cupped her face tenderly followed by a kiss to her forehead, she gazed her eyes upwards to stare into Jazz’s red eyes. Their Force Bond swayed with emotions and love, understanding each other’s fears and worry.

“You took care of me before,” Jazz said in a gentle tone, “Let me take care of you in return, please.”

Tau accepted the offer by taking the hybrid’s hand with her own, and took the other with a soft kiss into the palm of her hand.

“In that case, I’d love nothing more than to spend the night with you.”

Jazz’s face softened, she gently pulled Tau up from the seat and guided her to the quarters. The next, the two cuddled on the bed with Jazz preferred to lay on top before they drifted off to sleep together.

[bakersfilm]

Garraty. Favorite lineee

ray :( <3

favorite thing about him — omg 🥰🥰🥰 i love his determination. he keeps pushing forward no matter what. he never stops persisting and i love how genuine he is and how much he cares about the other walkers wellbeing... so many things i love about him…

least favorite thing about him — oh, probably the way he talks about women’s bodies like that’s so nasty to me but that’s just stephen king’s pervertedness bleeding through his character honestly

favorite line — “garraty thought that memories were like a line drawn in the dirt. the further back you went the scuffier and harder to see that line got. until finally there was nothing but smooth sand and the black hole of nothingness that you came out of. the memories were in a way like the road. here it was real and hard and tangible. but that early road, that nine in the morning road, was far back and meaningless.”

brotp — him and baker! they shared such a sweet bond and look how far they made it together. it’s just…i can’t explain but it’s just so heartfelt and beautiful

otp — GAVRIES GAVRIES GAVRIES THEY ARE THE ACTUAL DEFINITION OF SOULMATES ALWAYS MEANT TO END UP TOGETHER DESTINED TO DIE IN EACHOTHER’S ARMS BOUND TO EACHOTHER BY FATE

notp — don’t really have a notp, i mean i might not actively look for it and ship it but if the content is any good i’m eating whatever i can put into my mouth

random headcanon — he bites his lip when he’s nervous and then realizes and stops for a bit but then unconsciously does it again

unpopular opinion — not exactly about garraty specifically, but the ending wasn’t “bad” or “lazy”. i really really liked the way they left it ambiguous as to whether he died or not. it makes it so much more unnerving and uneasy than if they just did an aftermath and everyone lived happily ever after blah blah blah, you know what i mean?

song i associate with him — california dreamin’ cover by the beach boys

[zevlor]

"'' don't look at me with those judgy little eyes. '" for Faith and Stewy OTP!!!!

thank you so much this is all your fault!!!

-----

she can't remember ever letting him into her apartment or when he even got there in the first place, but she wakes to stewy sitting in the chair opposite the couch, feet propped on her coffee table and boredly looking at a magazine.

faith groans as she turns on the couch, her throat is dry and her head feels dizzy and heavy, but the action draws the attention of her unwanted company. he sits up and she notices the small smirk tugging his lips.

"good morning sleepy head."

another groan leaves her as she tries to sit up and ignores the way he nearly gets out of his seat. "fuck off. why are you here?"

stewy leans back in the chair and hums as he shrugs as if answering her question. "heard you were sick and thought I would check up on you. you let me in, but then you fell asleep."

"how did you hear i was sick?" faith's brows furrow as she stares at him, in disbelief about his source of information.

he's quick to dodge the question as he chuckles and his eyes wander to her hand, shaking slightly as she grips the blanket on her lap. "you don't have anyone to take care of you."

she meets his gaze and her heart jumps into her throat. "so you're going to take care of me?"

an awkward but strangely comfortable silence settles over them and she waits for an answer but it was never going to come. stewy only watches her with a gentle look and a small and barely noticeable smile.

it was unnerving to see him like this - he's usually berating her or acting like a complete jackass and it's exactly what she expected from him, but there's nothing in his expression that tells her he's only doing this for a laugh.

"what? it can't be that hard to take care of a sick person." he scoffs as he stands from his seat, dropping the magazine back onto the table.

there is was. the way he usually is around her, but its different somehow. light and casual. almost teasing in a flirtatious way.

"don't look at me with those judgy little eyes."

faith rolls her eyes but allows him to help her stand and the heat that rushes to her face is uncontrollable as he holds her hand in his, palm warm and grip gentle.

"i'm not judging, i just think i'll be dead before you can cure this cold." she laughs and its breathy and soft and causes him to laugh at her joke.

[shadamyheadcanons]

If you’re still doing the thing with the characters, I’d really like to know what your headcanons are regarding Silver? Also, canon be damned, Shadow being Silver’s dad is adorable.

I’m not really the type to put time limits on prompts like this, so anyone’s free to ask. Forever. Unless I specifically tell you to stop.

Send me the name of a character and I will tell you my:

1: sexuality headcanon

Bisexual. Have I ever felt he was flirting with a male character? No. Have I ever shipped him with a guy? No. But as I read in a YouTube comment once: “Bi silver is the least surprising thing in the world.”

2: otp

I’ve never seen him with anyone but Blaze. I like how they’re on the same deep, intense wavelength, but she still finds him endearing. I’m glad they completely broke all logic and put her with him in Sonic ’06.

3: brotp

Blaze again. They’re that good of a match.

4: notp

Never thought about it. I see him shipped with so few characters. I sometimes see him in polyships with Shadow, so I guess I’d say those two. I can’t help but see them as relatives, canon be damned. I’m less bothered by Silvamy, particularly as a one-sided crush, because the case for her being his ancestor is weaker.

5: first headcanon that pops into my head

Going along with my (canonically false) idea that he’s a Shadamy descendant and knows it, it’s weird and unnerving to him anytime he sees Amy fawn over Sonic. No matter how uncomfortable it makes him, though, he knows he has to let things play out on their own, so he kind of just hangs back and cringes.

6: one way in which I relate to this character

I’m easily swayed by others. Dedication to one’s ideals is a great trait to have, but it can lead to naivete, which can be dangerous, something I’m sure Silver would agree with. I’ve gotten better at resisting that as I’ve matured. Hopefully he will, too.

7: thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character

I’m sure a lot of people would talk about how he’s easily manipulated, but I’m more bothered by his ridiculous quill style. Does he do that on purpose? How much control do hedgehogs have over that? Are his just unruly? Is that the style hundreds of years in the future? Do you think he knows? Idk. The back is perfectly fine, but the front...god. It’s alright in shots where it’s more swept-back, but when he’s standing still and it sticks up? It’s been said that it looks like a face-palm. I don’t disagree with that analysis.

8: cinnamon roll or problematic fave?

He is the very embodiment of a cinnamon roll. Just...god. Watch this video. His dialogue; the way Sonic’s trash talking goes over his head because he’s just a genuine, sweet boy who’s spent too much time saving his future to learn how to talk to people; his clumsy, endearing attempts to plant a garden; the way he was absolutely floored by the “beauty” of a desert; how the poor guy flailed like he’d never been hugged before when Amy met him--he’s just such a cute, awkward, lovable character! Why don’t I write this guy more often...?

For those who need more context for the “Silver is a Shadamy descendant” thing, check out my SDS tag. You want to know what I think actually happened? Some of the writers sincerely thought Silver was or could have been descended from Shadow and acted accordingly. Some of the more convincing evidence for this: Ian Flynn flat-out said he thought Silver was a shadamy kid, tongue-in-cheek or not, and Shadow and Silver are Lancelot and Galahad (father and son) in SatBK. We know the writers cared about which knights were who: Gawain was particularly loyal to Arthur, mirroring Sonic and Knuckles’ close friendship; Percival was said to have spent some time dressed as a girl, aligning with Blaze’s gender; and Lancelot was Arthur’s biggest rival by which I mean he cucked Arthur by sleeping with his wife, an implication Sega had to dodge by conspicuously NOT making Amy the Guinevere to Sonic’s Arthur in the ONE game where she finally gets a date with him, and that’s absolutely hilarious to me. The sheer potential of shadamy is so strong that Shadow cockblocked Sonic in a game he’s not even technically in. They MUST HAVE known Galahad was his son. It was only after these things were said and done that ONE (1) person from Sega shut it down, and now we’re supposed to pretend there’s no credence for this. I refuse.

[frankierose]

oz for the character ask!!

HEHEHEHE YAYYY when i saw this ask i internally (and almost externally) YELLED. THANK YOU for the opportunity to talk about my fav guitar boy favorite thing about them i like the way he talks, he's all matter of fact and blunt and his sense of humor is so good. i mock u with my monkey pants! (said in french accent)

least favorite thing about them he is a perfect man. i cannot find anything to dislike about him

favorite line i have a LOT of fav oz quotes because he has a lot of good one liners, but a few of mine are 'we attack the mayor with hummus' 'hippos in tutus just don't unnerve me like they used to' and 'hootenanny? well, it's chock full of hoot and just a liiittle bit of nanny'

brOTP i think theoretically he and angel could have been pretty good friends!

OTP i do love willoz, but i also sort of ship him and angel??? in a 'first it was jokey, then it became real' way??? stoic autistic men loving stoic autistic men also possibly xander and oz. hijinks. also me and oz. /j but i adore him ok

nOTP i don't think i have a notp for him LOL

random headcanon he is autistic. and i think he would be the kind of person to like some sort of gross food combination, like peanut butter and pickles or something

unpopular opinion best character on the show /hj who CARES about important characters like buffyyyy or spiiiikeee!! oz is clearly better than them!!!!

song i associate with them anyone else but you by the moldy peaches! it mostly makes me think of willoz but it COUNTS

favorite picture of them

i like his blond-ish hair and this moment in earshot is also one of my favorite oz moments He is so GGRRRGGGHHH CUTE.

[marlahey]

it's an aortic aneurism, isn't it? yes. and when it bursts... this is all over. i don't want to leave this world without knowing love fully. you are loved. fully. Thomas Brodie-Sangstar and Maia Mitchell The Artful Dodger (2023–) 1.08: "Untapped Potential"

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 14 - Comedown

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale's problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Leaving the barn after the steamy confrontation with Drake, Harper has some uncomfortable conversations...

Word Count: 6,100

Rating/Warnings: M (multi-lingual swearing, angst, embarassment, a major left-hook)

A/N: Apologies in advance for all the French, but since Allard (and to a lesser extent Schweitzer) ended up featuring quite heavily in this chapter (and since they are both French — though technically Allard was born in Belgium), there was no way of avoiding this... But, as usual, you can find the list of translations at the end in the Author's Notes.

Chapter 14 - Comedown

"So, back to the Manor, I'm guessing?" I ask as I loop my fingers through Drake's. "So we can both get changed?"

"I'll drop you off," he corrects. "Allard and Schweitzer'll walk you back to the royal marquee afterwards."

I feel my shoulders drop. "You don't want to wait for me?"

"I want to," he assures me, pulling our entwined hands up to his lips to drop a kiss on my thumb. "But I can't. I need to get the rest of the crates put away and then head back to the apple pick for another load. Not to mention, you ridin' shotgun's gonna raise all sorts of eyebrows if we get spotted. We were lucky no one saw us on the way up here."

I heave a sigh. Damn it, he’s right.

But I still hate how we always have to be so careful about who sees us together and in what context...

"What about your shirt though?" I ask. "Won't you reappearing without it cause a stir? Not that I'm complaining, by the way..."

"Nah," he assures me as we step out of the barn. "In this heat, no one's gonna bat an eye at—"

"Ça va, Commandant?"

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaim, launching my bundle of ripped clothing into the air in shock at the unexpected interjection... and the unnerving speed at which Drake whips me behind him.

I grab onto Drake's arms to rebalance myself after the sudden, forceful relocation, the remnants of my dress fluttering down around us like party streamers.

My bedraggled bra lands at Allard's feet.

He glances at it with a raised brow before looking back up at Drake as he takes another drag of his cigarette. "Vous vous sentez mieux?"

I feel my face time ignite in ignominy. Oh, my God...! Someone kill me now!

It’s one thing for my Guard to bear witness to a snippy verbal exchange, but for them to catch us doing the walk of shame after we've just had sex — clothes-ripping, BDSM sex at that! — is not something that I think I’ll be able to ever recover from!

Even Drake has the good graces to flush inadvertently. "Nique ta mère, Allard."

Allard slants a knowing look in Schweitzer's direction, who is leaning against the side of the barn, cleaning his nails with his boot knife. "Évidemment pas."

Drake — to his credit — quickly shakes off whatever embarrassment he may have been feeling as a result of the meaningful glances his colleagues are casting between themselves and snaps almost instantaneously back into team leader mode. "Et au lieu d'être un putain de gros malin, pourquoi ne tais-tu, et te rends utiles?"

"Oui, Commandant," affirms Allard, dropping his cigarette butt as he snaps to over-exaggerated attention. "Certainement."

Drake rolls his eyes. "Allard, donnez-lui votre veste. Schweitzer, donnez-moi un coup de main."

Allard shrugs out of his uniform jacket without hesitation and offers it to me. "Demoiselle."

"Erm... Thanks?" I say, taking it uncertainly. "But what am I supposed to do with this? Especially considering that it's like 90 degrees out here?"

"Put it on," prompts Drake, hopping into the back of the pickup. "It'll raise fewer questions."

My eyes widen. "You want me to go back to the apple pick in this?"

"No," he corrects, throwing an apple-laden crate down to Schweitzer. "Back to the Manor. So you can get changed. These two smartasses'll drive you."

"What about you?" I ask. "Don't you need the truck to collect the apples?"

"I'll just walk down and get it after I've finished with this load." Turning to Schweitzer, he adds, "Laissez la clé dans le contact."

"Ouais, Commandant," comes the saluted affirmation.

Drake prays for deliverance under his breath as he drops another crate down.

"If you're sure," I concede, ducking back into the privacy of the barn to get changed into the slightly more decorous jacket that will at least cover my butt during the short trip back to my room.

Cleavage is another matter though...

But beggars can't be choosers, so I do what I can by buttoning the front and turning the lapels up.

Stepping back outside, I see that Drake and Schweitzer have nearly finished unloading the truck.

"Votre... brassiere, Demoiselle," proffers Allard, holding my bra out for me.

I snatch it from him, cheeks flaming. "Thanks!" I squeak out, looking everywhere but at him.

How the hell am I supposed to go back to self-defence training after this?

"De rien," he says with a wink, the corners of his mouth twitching as he pulls the passenger-side door open for me. "And we are glad that your mission ended in success."

I dive into the safety of the cab, every inch of me glowing hot rod red with mortification.

"Err... Demoiselle?"

I glance up hesitantly.

"Did you forget something... important?" he asks, holding up my dress.

I snag it from him, yanking the door shut with a bang!

"Just ignore them," advises Drake, appearing next to the cab to shoot a dirty look at his fellow Guard, who's trying his hardest not to crack up.

"Easy for you to say," I mutter. "You're not stuck with them on the ride back to the Manor."

"It's a five minute journey at most," he reassures me. "And if they give you any stick, show them that mean right hook of yours."

"Not sure that's fair on Allard," I whisper conspiratorially as the subject of our conversation climbs into the cab as well. "Seeing as he's still recovering for the last busted nose I gave him."

"Hopefully that'll motivate him to keep his mouth shut," declares Drake, shooting a pointed look across the cab.

Allard concentrates on starting up the wheezy engine, though I catch a flash of wry amusement in his otherwise stoic façade.

"I doubt it," I murmur. "Anyway, here's your shirt back."

"Thanks," he acknowledges, brushing his fingers against mine as he takes it from me. "Still think it looks better on you..."

"I'm sure you'll find a way to wrangle me into it again," I assure him with a coy smile.

Schweitzer clears his throat from the truck bed.

I pull away from Drake abashedly, realising that in the course of our flirty back-and-forth, we've ended up a mere hair's breadth apart again.

"You best get going," says Drake, rubbing the back of his neck as he steps away from the cab. "I'll catch you later."

"Okay," I sigh reluctantly, settling back against the seat. "Don't work too hard, Walker."

"Don't worry 'bout me, Gale," he smirks, pulling on his shirt. "This ain't my first rodeo."

"Even so," I say as Allard shoves the truck into gear. "Don't need you putting your back out... or your arm. Especially since you're all by yourself out here."

"I'll be fine," he assures me. "Now get goin', so you can get back."

He taps on the hood, and with a pump of the accelerator, we're trundling down the dirt track that leads back to the Manor, and Drake disappears from view ‘round the bend.

I let out a low breath as I watch the fruit-laden trees slide past, my fingers playing with the horseshoe charm at my wrist while I try to process everything that’s happened today... especially the revelation that Christian may not be as much of an ally as I thought him to be.

But, I don't have time to ponder the uncomfortable implications for long, because as Drake had promised, the ride is a short one, and Schweitzer is already opening the door for me.

"Thanks," I mutter, eyes fixed on my feet as he helps me out of the cab.

"Mon plaisir, Demoiselle," he responds gallantly, shutting the door behind me. "If I may...?"

I look up at his outstretched hand...

...and feel my face light up again as realisation dawns on me.

He meets my eye pointedly, so with a gulp, I hand over the mess of material that I've been holding.

And even though I know that he is just going to bury it, or incinerate it, or do whatever it is that the Guard do to get rid of incriminating evidence on behalf of their employers, I can't help but feel like a naughty child engaging in some kind of massive cover-up.

Just like Drake had done on our previous visit to Applewood...

I feel a sudden chill run through me as I find myself transported back to the afternoon in question.

The red wine stain...

...the blood on Drake's shirt...

...the thud of my bra hitting the bottom of the trash can...

...the—

"Are you alright, Demoiselle?"

Schweitzer's concern-laced voice, and the weight of his hand on my shoulder snaps me back into the present.

"Yeah..." I reply shakily. "I'm... I'm fine."

Even though the circumstances had been completely different, and I am nowhere near the room that Tariq attacked me in, it appears that my anxiety can still be triggered by something as simple as a vague similarity...

...though luckily, last night's unorthodox intervention seems to have helped lessen the emotional impact of the flashback, and apart from a slightly elevated heart-rate, I remain more-or-less unaffected.

"This way, Demoiselle," prompts Allard, extending an arm towards me.

"Sois prudent avec elle," cautions Schweitzer, still eyeing me warily as he moves off in the other direction, bundled clothes in hand.

"J'sais," nods Allard, laying a palm on the small of my back to guide me towards the inconspicuous door he's parked the truck in front of.

"I'm fine," I repeat, a bit more forcefully this time. "You don't need to treat me like I'm made of glass. I'm not going to break."

"The actualities indicate differently, Demoiselle," he counters, tapping an access code into the alphanumeric panel on the wall. "And even though the majority of the staff will be working in the orchard today, we still need to be cautious so as to avoid drawing attention to your... condition."

I heave a sigh as Allard opens the door and ushers me through. Motion-sensitive lights flicker to life overhead to illuminate a white-washed — and deserted — service corridor. "Yes. I had a moment just now. But it passed and—"

"—it could catch you again," he insists, pulling the door shut. "Especially as we approach the bedrooms. Like the previous time."

"But—"

"I am a former Commando Hubert, Demoiselle," he cuts in brusquely, giving me a meaningful push to get me moving. "I have seen every atrocity you can imagine... and even some that you cannot. And I know what those horrors can do to the mind. So, do not make the naive mistake of believing that you are in control of your fantasmes. For that is how they eat you alive."

I crane my neck around to look back at him. "You lost someone, didn't you? Someone close to you."

He meets my eye gruffly, the memories written on his face. "Yes. Because the bâtard refused to face his realities. Do not repeat his errors, Demoiselle."

Allard's dire warning gives me pause.

If a man who survived two tours of Afghanistan and who-knows-how-many other covert ops missions is worried about my mental state, then it’s definitely time to sit up and pay attention.

I nod in concurrence. "I'll get some help."

"You — and those who love you — will be grateful that you did, Demoiselle," acknowledges Allard as we arrive at another door.

Once again, he enters code in the wall-mounted panel and the automated deadbolt snaps back. Shunting me behind him, he checks that the coast is clear before indicating that I should follow him through.

While I’m not expecting us to get jumped in a royal residence — especially when everyone is out attending a high-profile event — I've made the mistake of letting my guard down once before, and had only narrowly escaped the blood curdling consequences. So, I’m more than happy for Allard to err on the side of caution, especially since I'd have a lot of explaining to do if someone catches me traipsing around in my rather risqué ensemble of high heels and Guard uniform jacket, with literally nothing on underneath.

Stepping through the entryway, I see that we have arrived in the bedroom wing.

My eyes are drawn inadvertently to the door of my old room, and I feel a shiver run down my spine.

It's just a room, Harper. You proved that to yourself last night.

Setting my jaw, I march determinedly down the corridor, focusing on drawing deep, calming breaths like Drake showed me... and make it to my new room only a tiny bit jittery.

Pausing by the doorway, I reach down beneath the hem of the jacket and extract the key from my garter.

But just as I'm about to slot it into the keyhole, it is intercepted by Allard's hand.

"Allow me, Demoiselle."

I relinquish my hold on the key. Allard really isn’t taking any chances...

He pushes the key into the lock and gives it a turn. "Wait here," he instructs, pressing the handle down.

I stand to the side while he does a quick sweep of the room... and notice that Drake's duffle is still on the floor where he left it this morning.

"Could I ask you to drop this off in the other room?" I ask as Allard returns from inspecting the bathroom. "It should still be unlocked."

"Certainement, Demoiselle," he confirms, taking the bag from me. "Would you be requiring anything else?"

"No, thanks," I assure him. "I'm just going to get changed and I should be back out."

"Bien sûr," he nods, stepping back out into the corridor. "Remember to lock the door."

He closes the door around, and with a soft click of the lock, I'm alone for the first time since our return to Applewood.

It's fine... I tell myself stoically. Allard checked the room. There's no one else in here...

Squaring my shoulders, I push down the latent hodgepodge of nerves bubbling in the pit of my stomach and make my way to the bathroom so I can have a quick shower to freshen myself up after first sweltering in the dress that Jonathan had picked out for me, and then working up a sweat with Drake back at the barn...

...and nearly die of shock when I catch sight of my reflection in the oversized, wall-to-wall mirror that sits above the vanity.

The elaborate up-do that three members of the Palace PR team had spent over thirty minutes creating has disintegrated into an unmitigated hot mess — frizzy locks of my hair have escaped their tightly pinned confines to stick up in all directions thanks to the liberal amounts of hairspray that had been dumped onto my head, while a large clump of braided hair sits listing sadly to one side like a tufty Leaning Tower of Pisa.

My make-up is even worse.

The mid-summer heat and the heavy physical exertion have caused my mascara and eyeliner to drool down my face, turning me into a goth-chick wannabe, while my dark red lipstick have been smudged all around my mouth by Drake's demanding kisses, resulting in a rather convincing impersonation of the Joker's trademark look.

No wonder Allard and Schweitzer struggled to keep their faces straight when they laid eyes on me!

Because even if they hadn't overheard Drake fucking me six ways to Sunday (God, I really hope not!), the mere sight of me evidences without a shadow of a doubt exactly what we'd been up to in that barn together!

I glance quickly away from my reflection, cheeks flaming.

My Guard may be under no illusions about the fact that my relationship with Drake went way beyond the mere professional — I mean, they basically live in my back pocket, so they'd have to be deaf, blind and completely brainless not to catch onto the secrets of my private life! — but that doesn’t mean they need to know all the raunchy details of how we got down and dirty!

Turning my back on the mirror, I move purposefully over to the shower and turn it on full blast so I can wash away the sweat, make-up, and post-coital mess that lingers stickily on my skin... and hopefully the residual embarrassment that came with it.

While I wait for the water to warm up, I get to work tackling the million-and-one bobby pins that are lodged in my unruly locks, so I can wash my hair and restyle it into something more comfortable, like a simple braid or high-ponytail.

The steam is rising with vigour from behind the shower glass by the time I've pulled the last pin from my head and dropped it triumphantly into the rather large pile I've amassed on the vanity.

Shrugging out of Allard's jacket, I reach down to slip my garter and stilettos off, letting out a relived sigh as my claves stretch themselves back out after having had to balance for so long in much higher heels than I'd normally wear.

Stepping under the spray, I let my head tip back as the hot jet of water hits my hair and face, instantly refreshing me and relaxing me in equal measure.

Turning around, I let the heat pummel my back, and end up hang out for several long, luxurious minutes, simply enjoying the creature comforts offered by the muscle-melting synergy of the Niagara-strength water pressure co-acting with the bayou-level humidity to wash away the stresses of my already long day.

Eventually though, I reach for the shampoo and conditioner and get to work untangling the knots from my tacky hair. After doing what I can without a brush, I proceed to lather and rinse myself from head-to-toe, before finally turning the water off and getting out.

Grabbing an Egyptian cotton towel, I quickly dry myself off before wrapping my hair into a turban to help pull the excess moisture out. Stepping back over to the vanity — which has now misted solidly over as a result of my soaking — I set about cleaning the remaining make-up off my face.

But by the time I've done the final pass with the wipes, the last thing on my mind is tarting myself up again so I can go back to a pretentious event that serves no purpose apart from stoking the aristo's already over-inflated egos... especially since I will more than likely need to deal with Bertrand, Christian, Madeleine (eugh!) and Kiara (double eugh!)... not to mention the press. And after everything that's already happened today, my energy is sapped.

So, instead of reaching for my make-up bag, or my hairdryer, I unfurl my hair to simply let it air-dry and make my way into the walk-in closet to grab my pyjama top and a pair of lounge shorts — not bothering with any underwear — before snagging Allard's jacket off the bathroom floor and walking over to the door.

Twisting the lock back, I pull it the open and peek out.

Allard — who'd been leaning against the wall, checking the finer workings of his side-arm — glances quizzically up at me. "Oui, Demoiselle? Are you ready to return to—?"

"Actually, I'm going to stay in," I tell him. "And catch an early night."

He nods in understanding. "Would Demoiselle like to eat something before retiring for the day?"

My stomach gurgles in response. "Some pasta would be great, actually."

"I will put your request through to the chefs in the kitchens," he advises, holstering his gun and reaching for his radio.

"Thank you," I acknowledge gratefully as he relays the order down the line. Heaving steadying breath, I add, "Also... umm... here's your jacket back."

He takes it with a curt nod. "Merci, Demoiselle."

"You... erm... might want to get it dry cleaned..." I advise, feeling myself flush again. "It was quite hot out there and—"

"Assurément," he confirms with a wink, slinging the jacket over his shoulder. "I will ensure that it receives the attention it deserves."

"Right!" I scirtch, my face glowing brighter than Rudolph's nose.

God, how do I get myself into these conversations!

Gulping down a breath, I force myself to stand my ground as I say, "And sorry about last night... I—"

Allard holds up a hand. "Aucune excuse n'est nécessaire, Demoiselle. You became frightened and reacted naturally. In fact, it is I who must apologise for not questioning the original room assignment."

I still. "You... You knew they put me in the same room as last time?"

"Commandant Walker briefed us about the incident that had occurred during the Jamboree," he confirms, putting a French twist on the final word. "Although we were not provided with details about which room it happened in. But that is not an acceptable excuse. We should have investigated more completely and—"

I lay a hand on his arm, stopping him mid-flow. "It's okay. You and Schweitzer basically haven't left my side since Ramsford. Heck, I don't even know when — or if! — the two of you ever sleep! So I'm not going to blame you for not knowing." I heave a rueful sigh. "And I probably should've given you guys a heads-up about how nervous I was feeling about coming back here, so you didn't get caught so off guard."

"Reacting to unexpected surprises is part of our job, Demoiselle," he assures me with a stoically. "Although, I have to admit that we are receiving more of these surprises than we anticipated when we were assigned to you..."

He fixes me a knowing look and I feel the heat shoot up to my hairline. "I like to keep things interesting!" I squeak.

He throws his head back with a hearty laugh. "Indubitablement, Demoiselle! Indubitablement!" Slanting me a conspiratorial glance, he adds, "It is little wonder why Commandant Walker is so... fou d'amour avec vous."

"Fou d'amour?" I ask with a frown. I know 'amour' means love, but—

"Crazy for you," he translates. "You have brought him to life in a way I haven't seen since his papa was alive. It is good for him."

Allard's words hit me in the chest with the force of their penetrating sincerity. "I... I know," I stammer with a blush. "He brings me to life, too."

"And that is why you are si parfait for each other," he surmises with a grin. Though turning serious, he adds, "And why His Majesty is envious of your connection."

I feel my shoulders slump. "Yeah... I just—"

Allard's radio crackles with an incoming message. "But do not trouble yourself about it now, Demoiselle. Use this rare opportunity to get some much required rest." Lifting the radio up, he exchanges some rapid-fire French with whoever is on the other end of the line. "As well as some proper nutrition."

"Was that the kitchen?" I ask, perking up slightly at the promise of food.

"It was," he nods. "I will request that Schweitzer collects your order on his way in."

"Thank you," I say sincerely. "Not just for the food, but for everything. I know I was initially resentful of the idea of having a pair of random guys follow me around all day, but you've saved my butt so many times already and we've been back at court for less than a week and—"

"It is our pleasure, Demoiselle," interjects Allard with a smile. "And you do not need to thank us. We enjoy working for you."

"Nevertheless, I'm glad Drake picked the two of you to look out for me," I insist sincerely, feeling the last vestiges of my previous discomfiture fade away as the full meaning of my Guard's words sink in.

Allard and Schweitzer have my back, no matter what.

Not just because they've been assigned to look out for me, but because they have a genuine soft spot for Drake and I. And even though they may discreetly rib us for finding the two of us in compromising situations, they have turned out to be the type of guys who'd help us bury a dead body without asking any questions... and would never betray our trust.

"Likewise, Demoiselle," affirms Allard. "I will notify you when your dîner has arrived."

"Thank you," I reply, closing the door softly back around.

Allard raises his index finger to his forehead in a jocund salute as the lock clicks into place.

I shake my head with a smile as I twist the deadbolt around.

Allard definitely is a character...

But, I’m glad he’s on my side.

Turning away from the door, I retrace my steps into the bathroom to collect my garter — which still held my phone and knife — off the floor, so I can heed my Guard's advice about looking into some options for online therapists while I wait for the food...

...but I must've fallen asleep at some point while scrolling through the search results, because the next thing I know, I'm being throttled awake by a relentless jackhammering.

Opening my eyes groggily, I glance towards the window, wondering who decided it would be a good idea to undertake such serious demolition work right outside of my room at... whatever time it is.

But I quickly realise that the noise isn’t being caused by an over-eager work crew, and is, in fact, coming from the other side of my door...

...and there is only one person in the world who announces their arrival to the beat of C+C Music Factory's Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now).

"Maxwell..." I sigh wearily as my groggy brain clicks two and two inevitably together.

Pushing myself up resignedly up from the chaise lounge that I passed out on, a low groan escapes me as I try to stand.

I must've slept in some kind of awkward position, because my body feels unusually achy and uncooperative.

I attempt to stretch out the worst of the kinks as I amble towards the doorway, so I can let in the pesky Beaumont, who seems to have an inimitable knack for always knowing to wake me smack-bang in the middle of my nREM sleep cycle.

Arriving at the door, I twist the deadbolt back with a yawn — briefly wondering whether the pasta that I asked for ever made an appearance — and pull the door open.

"Morning, sunshine!" greets Maxwell with an enthusiastic grin, lowering his upraised arm. "Hope you caught plenty of beauty sleep because t—"

He stops abruptly as his eyes widen.

"What?" I ask, my hand drifting self-consciously up to my head. "I didn't drool in my hair again, did I? Because I just washed—"

"It's... erm... worse than that..." he gulps, grabbing me by the shoulders to reverse me purposefully back into my room.

"Hey!" I exclaim. "What the h—!"

But my protest dies on my lips as Maxwell spins me around and I come face to face with a sight in the gilded mirror suspended above the marble and ormolu Rococo fireplace.

"Oh..."

No wonder I felt so strangely stiff when I woke up — my body is covered in bright green and purple bruises!

There is a set of finger-sized imprints around the base of my neck from where Drake snapped a hold ‘round my throat in a fit of impassioned truculence...

...next to which peeks a dark red hickey from beneath the collar of my t-shirt, courtesy of him sinking his teeth into my clavicle as he fought to hold out against the inevitable culmination of our fiery love-making...

...not to mention the twin-set of crescent-shaped contusions that circle my hips just below the hem of my top from where he grabbed onto me so he could forcefully impale himself into me again...and again...

...and even though I can’t see them, I’m sure that I have a matching pair of welts on my butt as well from where his fingers had dug onto my flesh in the course of keeping me suspended against him in the air.

And if his goal had been to stamp his proverbial claim on me, then he has very clearly succeeded... because the marks of his enterprise are branded into my very skin.

I feel myself flush from head to toe as I survey myself.

I knew the sex had been rough but—

"Did you fall out of a tree?" asks Maxwell from next to me, as he runs his eyes concernedly over my reflection. "Was that why—?"

"No..." I say, turning an even darker shade of scarlet, as I try to ineffectually cover up the bruises by simultaneously yanking the hem of my shirt down while throwing my other hand over my throat and collar bone.

"Did a tree fall onto you?" he presses.

"No," I reply, turning away from the incriminating image before me.

"Are you sure?" he insists, grabbing me by the arms and peering into my eyes. "Because if a tree did fall on you, then you could be concussed and—"

"It's got nothing to do with a tree!" I shout, the cringeworthy nature of the situation, combined with Maxwell's dogged — though strangely off-the-mark — questioning causing me to lose my cool.

"Then... what happened?" he asks anxiously.

"I..." A fresh wave of abashment sweeps over me and I drop my gaze. "It's not important."

"Not important?!" cries Maxwell, shaking me, as if attempting to rejig my marbles. "Harper! You look like you got caught in a scrum between the Springboks and the All Blacks! Twice!"

I gape at him. "Caught in a what between the what and the what now?”

He shakes me again. "Don't you watch rugby in the States?"

"No!"

"Oh." Scratching his head, he says, "Well, it's kind of like football, only the attacking team throws the ball — usually backwards — to work it across the try line while the defending team tries to stop them by tackling players to the ground."

I stare at him uncomprehendingly.

Throwing his hands up exasperatedly at my obvious lack of understanding, he adds, "Basically, think big burly guys in tight shirts and short shorts stampeding down a big grass field with a egg-shaped ball in hand."

"So... it's like a demented version of the NFL...?" I surmise.

Now it's Maxwell's turn to look confused. "What's the NFL?"

"The American football league," I explain.

"Is that like the American version of the Premiere League?"

I frown. "What's the Premiere League?"

Maxwell gapes at me like a horrified goldfish. "You don't know what the Premier League is? Where have you been living all this time!"

"New York," I reply in a deadpan manner. "And before that, Montana. Neither of which have these weird European sports you're trying to reference."

"Yes, I'm beginning to realise that..." he admits ruefully. "Anyway, point is, you look like you got caught on the losing side of a fight." His eyes widen in sudden realisation. "Did you get caught in a fight?"

"No!" I protest. "Well, not exactly..."

He sucks in a scandalised breath. "Did they make you punch yourself? Leo did that to me once, and let me tell you, it was—"

"There was no punching!"

"Then what the bloody hell happened!" he cries. "And don't say 'nothing' or 'it doesn't matter' because I'm going mental here imagining everything from you getting jumped by lasso-wielding ninjas to narrowly escaping being abducted by aliens in broad daylight!"

Despite his clear-cut agitation, I can't help but snort at the strangeness of Maxwell's worst-case mental scenarios.

"It's not funny!" he protests. "Drake already chewed me out for all the times I forgot to watch you during the social season—"

My eyes widen. "He... He did?"

"Big time! And if he finds out that I broke my pinky promise to 'watch you like a motherfuckin' hawk' — his words, not mine," he clarifies, catching my look of surprise, "here in Applewood, of all places, where you got set upon by Tariq last time, then—" He shudders visibly.

"Hey," I soothe, laying a hand on his arm. "Drake's not going to beat you up."

"Yes, he will!" he insists. "And I will deserve it because—"

"I was with him yesterday," I interject. "That's why I left the apple pick. Because I needed to talk to him about what happened at Valtoria. So, I went with him to the barn where he was taking a truck-load of apples and—"

"Oh, my God!" cries Maxwell in sudden realisation. "He accidentally ran you over!"

"What? No!"

"A crate of apples fell on you?"

"No." I heave a steadying breath. "We—"

"—only narrowly survived the roof caving in?"

"Had sex!"

Maxwell reels back in shock. "What?!"

I feel my face flare up again. "Yeah... We... umm... got into an argument — about Kiara, and Christian, and me becoming a duchess — and the whole thing got really heated and—"

"This..." he chokes out, gesturing at my body. "This is from sex?"

"Erm... yeah," I admit, blushing hard. "Like I said, the whole thing got very—"

He blinks at me — almost mechanically — as he tries to process this information, before turning abruptly and lurching towards the door like a malfunctioning android..

"Maxwell?" I query uncertainly. "Where are you—?"

...but he's already wrenched the door back open and staggered out into the corridor, knocking his brother out of the way just as he is about to step into my room.

Bertrand gasps in shock at the rude behaviour. "What the devil—?"

"Sorry!" I cry, shoving myself past him as well as I hurry after the younger Beaumont, wildly wondering whether he is going to throw up in the hallway — as he’s gone scarily pale — or worse, on Bertrand's hand-polished Oxford brogues as and when he inevitably decides to chase after us.

Skidding out into the hallway — to the sound of Bertrand's aghast spluttering rising up from behind me, in tandem with the eyebrows of my two Guards — I cast my head around, trying to see which direction Maxwell disappeared off in...

...and spot him standing stiffly in front of my old room, pounding loudly on the door.

"Open the bloody door, Drake!" he demands. "I know you're in here!"

"Maxwell!" I call, throwing myself after him. "Stop! You don't need t—"

His face tightens doggedly. "Yes, I do. He—"

"Maxwell!" hisses Bertrand, arriving as well to grab his brother by the arm. "What in the blazes do you think you're—?"

"I said I'm coming!" shouts Drake angry, yanking the door open with one hand, the other clutching the towel he has slung haphazardly ‘round his waist. His irate scowl lands on Maxwell. "What the fuckin' hell, Beaumont? Wh—?"

His head cracks to the side as Maxwell's fist connects forcefully with his jaw.

"Ohmygod!" I yawp, my hands flying to my mouth at the sudden and unexpected display of violence.

"Don't ever hurt her again!" spits Maxwell, before turning on his heel and stomping off.

I tear my slack-jawed gaze away from Maxwell's retreating back to glance mutely at Bertrand, and see that he is just as stunned as I am by what just happened.

"I...umm... I better..." He gulps audibly. "Excuse me."

As Bertrand scuttles hurriedly off, I turn back to Drake. "Are you... okay?"

"Just great," he grumbles, rubbing his jaw.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, peeking sheepishly up at him. "I tried to stop him but—"

"Who was he talking about?" he asks, glaring accusingly after the Beaumonts. "Because I haven't even seen Hana since she got back, let alone talked to her, so he better have one helluva explanation for—"

"Me," I say softly, shifting my feet guilty. "He was talking about me."

Drake does a double take. "You? Why does he think I —?" His face suddenly pales as he notices the bruises. "Shit..."

"Hey," I soothe, reaching out towards him. "It's—"

"Don't," he grits, the consternation in his voice palatable as he swallows visibly.

My hand freezes an inch away from his in confusion. "But—"

"You need to get back to your room," he clarifies tightly, glancing behind me as he steps back behind the door. "Before someone sees."

"Oh. Right..." I concede, dropping my hand to my side dejectedly.

"I'll find you later..."

"Okay. I love—"

But he's already closed and locked the door.

I stare at the barrier before turning away with a low huff.

Just when I thought we were making progress...

The story continues in Chapter 15 - Not Without Obligation

A/N: So, as promised, here is the rather lengthy list of translations in chronological order:

Convo at the barn

Allard: Ça va, Commandant? Vous vous sentez mieux? – 'Sup, Commander? Are you feeling better?

Drake: Nique ta mère – lit. 'fuck your mother,' though connotatively it has the same meaning as 'fuck off'.

Allard: Évidemment pas – Evidently not.

Drake: Et au lieu d'être un putain de gros malin, pourquoi ne tais-tu, et te rends utiles? – And instead of being a fucking wiseass, why don't you shut up and make yourself useful?

Allard: Oui, Commandant. Certainement – Yes, Commander. Absolutely.

Drake: Allard, donnez-lui votre veste. Schweitzer, donnez-moi un coup de main. – Allard, give her your jacket. Schweitzer, give me a hand.

Drake: Laissez la clé dans le contact – Leave the keys in the ignition.

Schweizter: Ouais, Commandant – Fo' sho, Commander ('ouais' is a very informal, sardonic way of saying 'yes' to mean 'duh, obviously')

Allard: Votre... brassiere, Demoiselle – Your... bra, m'lady.

Allard: De rien – lit. 'it is nothing', but basically means 'of course' / 'no problem'

Convo at the manor

Schweitzer: Mon plaisir, Demoiselle – My pleasure, m'lady.

Schweitzer: Sois prudent avec elle – Be careful with her.

Allard: J'sais – I know (contracted, slang version of 'je sais')

Other French terms that Allard drops in this chapter

Commando Hubert – I provided a more detailed explanation of this in Part I of Extraction (so I won't repeat here), but basically, Commando Hubert is another name for the Commandos marines (Allard and Schweitzer's former unit in the French navy).

Fantasmes – apparitions/ghosts

Bâtard – bastard

Certainement – certainly

Bien sûr – very well

Merci – thank you

Assurément – most assuredly

Aucune excuse n'est necessaire – no apology is required

Indubitablement – without a doubt

Fou d'amour – madly in love

Si parfait – so perfect

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

[adamsdice]

For the character ask meme: Charlie! :)

send me a character and i’ll list:

favorite thing about them : His existence. The mere existence of Charlie is my favorite thing about him. + HIS SINGING AND VARIOUS LAWYERINGS.

least favorite thing about them: Well i don't HATE hate it, but . . . That he actually got to bang the waitress. It was just so unnerving to me???

favorite line: that's so hard to pICK. SO I'LL JUST LIST A BUNCH OF THOSE. " Dude, I think I was a centaur in my past life." , " I am in love with a man. A man named god. Does that make me gay? Am I gay for god? You betcha. " , " He doesn't even, like, get us man." , " Don't put steak, put milksteak. She'll know what it is" , " WILDCARD BITCHES " , " I know a lot about the law and. . . various other lawyerings. " and finally, " I'm just the best goddamn bird lawyer in the world. So bottom line and, listen up numb-nuts 'cuz it blows a hole in your case, birds don't drink milk."

brOTP : Would've been torn between Chardee and Charmac but s13 happened so CHARMAC ALL THE WAY. I love these twO SO FRICKING MUCHHHHhhh.

OTP : I think everyone can see this coming a mile away but Charden . I would die for Charden

nOTP : Charlie/The waitress. 'nuff said!

random headcanon : Very random but, in my head, he self-taught himself how to sew/knit behind his mom's back. Mrs. Kelly being . . . herself, probably wouldn't let him near any needles 'n stuff. That alone might've motivated him to give it a shot anyways . ( And then later it comes in handy w/his clothes so he continues. )

unpopular opinion : I. . . have none??? Nothing that I can think of in ref to him is 'unpopular' tbh. I would say I think he's the most intelligent of the gang ( though that intelligence is more arts and IRL problem-solving based rather than literate/scientific/mathematical . . . etc ) but I'm p sure that's not unpopular???

song i associate with them: SO MANY SONGS. But since I'm listening to MCR rn, I'll go with " Hang 'Em High - MCR " IDEK WHY it just fits in a way.

favorite picture of them:

Hatchet Charlie supremacy

[projectdreamcatcher]

c!tubbo for the ask meme ofc

ITS GO TIME. /dsmp /rp

Why I like them: tubbo’s one of those characters who I like because he’s so fucked up. I find him really interesting because we can see Exactly what made tubbo the way he is through all of the streams we see of him. Also he’s just a select few I enjoy to watch while he’s on screen!

Why I don’t: honestly? I don’t think this is a matter of just dislike more of like. Something unnerving. He’s just kinda an asshole. But he’s a different kind of asshole than say, idk, ranboo. Ranboo is just a guy who’s pretentious in your history class. Tubbo is nice but not kind. Tubbo could very easily hurt people even on massive scales, and do it with a smile, because he’s already justified it in his head that it’s for the greater good, it’ll serve the collective many, even if it means he hurts the few. It’s not a matter of dislike it’s just something so Realistic in how disturbing it can be.

Favorite stream: basically all of his snowchester streams. My favorite has to be the interrogation stream he did with foolish. The atmosphere and later tubbo showing foolish pogtopia. It’s a real neat insight on tubbo as a character it’s a shame it’s not talked about moreZ

Favorite line: you expect me to choose 1? NOPE here’s all of them. (“You won’t die as long as you’re compliant.” / “You’ve undermined my authority from the get go!” / “hello minutes man” / “I don’t feel grief anymore, only anger.” / “I didn’t even get to say my goodbyes” / “do you know what ghandi does in civ 5?”)

Favorite outfit: the snowchester outfit is so cozy so. Being predictable and choosing that one.

OTP: nah

BROtp: I don’t really have one? I dont really go all GAGA at clingy or bee duo or bench trio or like, any duos at all really. I sorta just consider myself a tubbo main. by himself

Headcanon: he is developing little wooden or plastic toys to go with the kids meals at tubburger- but it’s less about quackity’s profits and more about something nice for Micheal.

Unpopular opinion: oh god if I were to list Every unpopular opinion here I would be here all day. But like. I feel like c! Tubbo gets so Much leniency compared to the other characters on the dream smp, if that makes sense? And because of that liency (which isn’t itself the problem- more like some of the other characters don’t get Any) - the excess of leniency means that people just. Refuse to look what c Tubbo does in the face because they’re too busy giving him benefit of the doubt. Bc they have to or else you could get accused of villainnizing him. So no nuance whatsoever. For some reason I’ve never had to fight this hard to have basic acts and flaws Acknowledged at all let alone analyzed. It’s kinda frustrating.

Wish: I would love for the Cold War plot to come back. I want to see my little boy (the nukes)

Oh god don’t ever happen: moving into the mansion /srs

5 words to describe them: the boy here he is my boy it’s him it’s the boy!!! (I went over the word limit. You get what I mean)

My nickname for them: radioactive superheated distant motherfucker

[linddzz]

Are you still doing the ask game? Can you possibly do Bilbo Baggins?

002 | Give me a character & I will tell you (this one got long i just love Bilbo so much hes the best tiny bastard)

How I feel about this character: The only reason I don’t get as emotional over Bilbo as I do Thorin is because Thorin just has that magnificent drama, but Bilbo is probably one of my favorite fictional characters. My favorite way to picture him is to imagine everyone else he meets reacting to this baffling little hobbit enigma. Bilbo first comes across as clever but overall uncomplicated. He’s a finely raised gentlehobbit who enjoys his pipe, food, fine clothes and books. You learn he has a gift for languages and poetry and that makes him more interesting to talk to, but it isn’t a surprise considering all the aforementioned books. He has a blustery temper and can be crabby, and seeing that come out just barely hidden under the veneer of hobbity manners starts revealing a little more backbone than you would expect from the little fella. You realize how many of his little comments are actually MEAN and wow he’s actually a bit of a snarly bastard huh??  Then this little sonofabitch who gets pale at the mention of danger goes and flings himself AT the danger. He can climb up trees like a squirrel, he kills a warg, he avoids detection by wood elves, he sees a bunch of giant spiders and hears them talk and then fucking toys with them. He plays word games with a dragon long enough for the dragon to actually have a conversation with him until he can escape! Now imagine you’re say, Thranduil. You heard about a halfling (which CANT be right) briefly spotted who was in your kingdom, who busted 13 heavily guarded dwarves out of the dungeons and then got them away while your immortal guards were running around. You meet this mysterious creature and stare at some 3 foot 2 twitchy little dude who awkwardly apologizes to you then yells at Mithrandir and what in the FUCK is this thing? Now you’re Mithrandir. Not much surprises you anymore and you’re more pleasantly surprised but also vindicated by Bilbo Baggins going around causing havoc and yelling at every king he comes across. Nothing can surprise you much. He has that magic ring that raises alarms but like, it cant related at all to THOSE rings because Bilbos cagey about it, but what isn’t he cagey about? Otherwise his behavior hasn’t changed at all. Then NO ACTUALLY. This little fucker has been carrying The One Ring, Isildurs Bane, Source of Pure Evil and Corruption, around in his POCKET for 50 some odd years. Bilbo Baggins has been using The Ring of Sauron to prank neighbors and avoid annoying relatives for DECADES. And then he gets possessive over it but is still able to just....drop it...and walk off....from the one ring that he has been carrying on his person for years. What in the FUCK.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Thorin and Bofur. Thorin never quite gets over how unnervingly unpredictable and batshit insane Bilbo and the more Bilbo fusses over manners and Doing Things Properly the more unnerved (in a very adoring way) Thorin is by him.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: I also like him being buddies with Bofur. And honestly Bilbos friendships with every powerful immortal who keeps him around for the delight of the “what in the fuck” factor is my favorite thing. Elrond and Thranduil probably have petty passive aggressive battles over who gets to have Bilbo over for what Elvish holiday. You always want Bilbo at the party because he’s the best weed hookup and he can drink a wood elf under the table, which is terrifying. Galadriel and Gandalf team up to snatch him while the two kings are busy arguing about it.

My unpopular opinion about this character: People forget that Smaug was very correct in calling him a thief and a liar.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I could have gone my whole ass life without hearing Martin Freeman of all people make the most heartbreaking keening sob of loss and pain I have heard in cinema

my OTP: *gestures up at Thorin*

my cross over ship: I would be happy with just a series of Bilbo meeting various overpowered ancient beings through various media to call them stupid to their face

a headcanon fact: Bilbo can’t swim, which he did not take into account before he flung everyone into a river and didn’t get his own barrel first. He is one of those people who is so smart that sometimes his brain overtakes his goddamn sense.

[justanisabelakinnie]

Senora Guzman /j

Mariano?

Sexuality Headcanon: Mariano is straight. Senora Guzman is a lesbian.

Gender Headcanon: Idk...Mariano is cis, Senora Guzman is trans I believe, she hasn't told me and I wouldn't dare ask.

OTP them with: Mariano with Dolores, he's the only one I ship with her. Senora with no one.

BROTP them with: Mariano with Mirabel and Camilo and Senora Guzman with Alma and Dolores(she's the type to help little old ladies.).

NOTP: Mariano with any Madrigal that isn't Dolores, especially Camilo(sorry, Camilo.), and Senora Guzman with anyone, especially Mariano.

Random headcanon: Mariano is best friends with Jose, the guy Camilo shapeshifted into to help put up the banner. Senora Guzman can sew and sometimes Mirabel and Dolores help her! She likes them but is unnerved by Camilo's shapeshifting and physical affection.

General Opinion: I like them! Wish we could see more! I love Mariano's hyperhimbo personality and essence, I just know that he will treat Dolores right and I ship them so hard and have since the very beginning! I love Senora Guzman, too, she seems like she has a good sense of humor or at least thinks she does(it's still better than Julieta's though.). I'd love to see more of her friendship and politeness battle with Alma! I also love her design(she's really pretty lol.), but apparently people are saying that she had a crush on Pedro and hates Alma for stealing him from her? Lmao no, can't you tell friendly rivals from...ugh...just...WHY are we pitting women against each other AGAIN?! We're even pitting old women against each other for a dead twenty-six-year old man? Just wtf do you even realize how absurd that shit is who holds a grudge like that for that long unless you're Fish Lady okay rant over.

Aaaaand that's just about it.