#refusing to read between the lines. taking it face value. ah!!!!!

[lesbianraskolnikov]

I will always be happier that someone attempted to analyze what they're reading / watching to find deeper meanings rather than oversimplify it or take it surface level. Maybe their analysis is wrong or uneducated, maybe the anaylsis is also surface level. I am happy you are trying!! You will grow .....!!

[cascodedtech]

"Ah well, always did want to go his own way. Always asking damn fool questions, too."

Okay, I'm trying to get my thoughts together here, but let me see if I can verbalize why this line bothers me so much.

I generally take the final fifteen at face value (although I absolutely love reading any and all meta/theories about it). I think Aziraphale believes that he can make a difference, and I think he honestly thought making Crowley an angel again was a good thing, not because he doesn't think Crowley is good (he tells Crowley such on multiple occasions), but because I think there is a part of him that believes that Crowley doesn't like to cause misery for humanity and this would give him an out. I don't think he really considered how it would sound, and I think he was honestly surprised by Crowley's reaction. And I think that sometimes Aziraphale uses Crowley as a moral compass to some extent, not in the sense of Crowley knowing what is good, but Crowley knowing the shades of grey and what doesn't feel right, which, in part is why he was reconsidering going to heaven when The Metatron came back into the bookshop.

HOWEVER, this line from The Metatron always bothered me. We've already established that Crowley and The Metatron know each other, and are familiar enough that Crowley recognizes him right away (I don't think this is just because of the trial video he watched in heaven, because Saraqeal saw it too and didn't recognize him, and Michael and Uriel also interacted with him during the trial and neither recognized him).

I think that whatever rank Crowley was in heaven (I have my own theories), it involved close work or interaction with The Metatron on a fairly regular basis, and I sometimes wonder if The Metatron didn't have something to do with his fall (I acknowledge that Neil has told us Crowley is an unreliable narrator, so I don't think he fell by "accident"). From what I can remember about biblical lore, Lucifer (and his angels) fell, not because he questioned God, but because he refused to put humanity above his love for God. Crowley, from what I can tell, is the only angel who *questioned* God. He actually does love humanity more than God, so he actually really didn't go against God's will in heaven, per se.

So, when The Metatron tells Aziraphale that Crowley always did want to go his own way and how he was always asking questions, it implies some kind of familiarity, and I don't think it was necessarily just by reputation.

Consider that in 1x01, Gabriel didn't even really seem to know who Crowley was (which always struck me as a little weird), despite the fact that we know Crowley fought in the war in heaven, and logic would posit that "The Supreme Archangel" would have also fought in the war. And sure, there were probably hundreds or thousands of participants in the war, but Crowley is well-known enough that he is recognizable to both demons and angels that he hasn't interacted with for thousands of years.

...

I've lost the thread now. Uh, to sum up, I think Crowley was important and powerful in heaven. I don't think God is who made Crowley fall. I think The Metatron did it or played some role in it, and I think that he knew Crowley would never go back to heaven, but needed to sever the connection between Crowley and Aziraphale because he knew that Crowley would know something was going on in heaven, when Aziraphale might not (I think Aziraphale knows heaven is toxic, but I think he is willing to go back because he truly believes he can make a difference *for humanity* by being in charge, I just don't think he's actually going to be in charge, and Crowley knows that but Aziraphale doesn't).

Anyway, I have no idea if this stream of consciousness makes any sense to anyone else, but, I'm very interested to see if we will get more heaven flashbacks/minisodes in Season 3, particularly of The Battle and Crowley's fall.

[austenpoppy]

"Ron was not really worried for his family in the Goblin's revenge" - debunked with one quote...+ small analysis

It's an argument often made, you know. The idea behind that, of course, is that Ron simply used his family as an excuse to lash out at Harry, while his real motive was that he was jealous of Harry and Hermione's closeness.

Yet you see, here is the last line said by Ron before the fight, and just after the Trio spied on Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell, Dean and Gornuk and Griphook's conversation - Ron was in general very quiet and subdued after the trio stopped listening to the other's conversation, but he still could not help but react vehemently when Phineas Nigellus spoke ill of his sister :

'Ah', said Phineas Nigellus, now turning his head way and that in an effort to catch sight of Harry, 'yes. That silly girl acted most unwisely there -'

'Shut up about my sister,' said Ron roughly.

And then you don't hear from Ron again before the beginning of the fight, though we know that, unbeknownst to Harry and Hermione, he must have walked away from the discussion to lay on a lower bunk.

Yet unfortunately, in the meantime we had Harry saying :

'And Snape might've thought that was a punishment,' said Harry, 'but Ginny, Neville and Luna probably had a good laugh with Hagrid. The Forbidden Forrest...They've faced plenty worse than the Forbidden Forrest, big deal!'

The "Harry I've-Faced-Worse Potter" doesn't come out of nowhere.

The thing that people fail to grasp when they think about "The Goblin's Revenge", is that they should read the fight in light of what we learn during "The Silver Doe", but that they should not dismiss what happened in "The Goblin's Revenge" either, nor should they say that Ron's concerns are mere "justifications" or "excuses" to lash out at Harry.

You have to instead reread each of Ron's concerns as a mix between genuine worry, and a way to express other underlying, deeper factors - just like Harry's antagonizing and cruel comments are not to be read as face-value either (but you all know the only one I blame here is Voldemort).

Honestly, it was quite clever story-telling.

Here Ron is clearly worried for his family and his sister, and he knows that the Forbidden Forrest is very dangerous - after all, even Hagrid could not lay foot in certain areas of the Forrest, either because of the centaurs or the army of human-eating Acromentulas that became wild once Aragog died.

However, what angered Ron was the apparent lack of concern of Harry, who seemed to think that being punished in the Forbidden Forrest is nothing - "big deal".

And therefore, in light of 'The Silver Doe' chapter, you have to understand that the way Ron interpreted that comment from Harry goes beyond, and deeper, than simply worry for his family and anger at Harry for (apparently) not caring enough for them.

Ron was hurt that Harry didn't seem to care enough about the things that mattered to him. Ron was hurt that Harry didn't seem to care enough about the Weasleys - but Ron is a Weasley too. Ron was hurt that Harry didn't seem to care about things that were beneath him. So, in Ron's mind at that point, according to Harry's logic (which is understandable, don't get me wrong), when Ron saw Aragog and his family - (he mentions the "giant spiders" in the fight), it was "[no] big deal".

Ron was in fact accusing Harry of saying that what he and his family went/is going through was nothing. Ron was accusing Harry of not caring about people "beneath him", of thinking that the suffering of people like him can be forgotten and tossed aside because they're nothing next to him.

Both boys let slip some interesting elements during the fight that reveal part of their true motives. Harry, for example, revealed his trust issues and his desire to push back hard against people to see if they care enough when he refused to let Ron take off the locket and accused the other two of whispering behind his back.

Some of Ron's lines are really worth mentioning too. And one of the most revealing is when he barely took note of Harry's explanation as to why he had said the comment above.

'I was only saying - she was with the others, they were with Hagrid -'

'yeah, I get it, you don't care !'

Ron here did not listen to what Harry was saying. He simply insisted "you don't care" as if it was a fact. It implies that Ron believed that Harry didn't care/love him and the people he cared about because Harry viewed them as insignificant. Above all, it implies that Ron believed Harry thought his concerns were insignificant.

Frankly one day I'll be analyzing this fight in detail, but it can be summed up this way :

Harry : Please tell me you care enough about me to stay no matter what, despite my problems

Ron : Please tell me that you care enough about me to tell me I matter and that my concerns/issues are not insignificant.

The whole fight, somehow, is partly about two boys who love each other to death but are afraid the other doesn't care about them.

[thebiscuiteternal]

I had an evil thought on twitter and way too many people encouraged it, SO-

“Collecting the Pieces”

Mild Horror, Family Secrets, Mental Instability, Magical Fuckups, Sangyao-lite, Nie Huaisang Doesn’t Know Yet, Jin Guangyao Is About To Know More Than He Ever Wanted To

__________

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang.

It manifests in small signs at first.

Little things like how he would look at a person, but not at them, green eyes dull as if he wasn’t actually seeing who he was talking to. The unnaturally pale tint to his skin and the dark shadows under his eyes. The fact that his robes had gotten heavier over thr last several months, trying to hide that he was getting thinner.

The incident where he had lost consciousness in the middle of a discussion with Ouyang-furen and had only been saved from cracking his skull against the floor by the reflexes of his head disciple was… concerning. But like all of the other symptoms, it could easily be tallied up as exhaustion from lingering grief and having so much responsibility dumped onto an unprepared back.

But then...

Then there are the conversations none of them can hear. Those moments where he sits with his head slightly bowed, staring at nothing and lips moving silently.

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang, and for those not of his sect, his presence has gone from mildly concerning to downright unnerving.

Jin Guangyao has to point out to his father more than once that they have only just averted the conflict with the previous sect leader; to bar the new one from the discussion conferences just because he seems strange would be an insult tantamount to inviting war, even if Nie Hengbai does seem to be doing all the talking for the Nie at the moment, his sect leader a quiet little shadow at his side.

He finds it a unique opportunity to observe, in fact. Everyone is so unsettled by the mere fact that Nie Huaisang converses with empty air that no one has apparently thought to find out what he is saying when he does .

The seating arrangement isn’t ideal. The only person besides his own disciples who doesn’t seem to be scared off by Nie Huaisang’s unnatural behavior is Jiang-zongzhu, who pointedly settles himself on the opposite side from Nie Hengbai and scowls at all gossipers, their host included. His height half-blocks Nie Huaisang from view.

But still, Jin Guangyao can see.

And as he watches the words fall unheard from Nie Huaisang’s mouth, he feels a chill slowly creep up his spine.

‘Da-ge, come back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I'll be good. Please come back. Please, Da-ge…’

He is glad that his sleeves hide the involuntary clenching of his hands.

While he knows better than to completely dismiss a possibility, no matter how small the odds, his mind nonetheless rebels at the first idea to enter it. It cannot actually be Nie Mingjue's resentful ghost haunting his little brother. Even if it had been whole, if he and Xue Yang had not scattered it with the man's physical pieces, it is decidedly not Nie Huaisang that the man would be tormenting with his presence if he were capable.

Isn't it?

And yet, he cannot shake the cold in his bones.

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang, and he will seek out the source.

---

"San-ge?"

Nie Huaisang blinks at him, eyes glassy and confused. He tilts his head questioningly like the birds he is so fond of, then slowly regains awareness of his surroundings and smiles, looking more like himself.

Jin Guangyao forcibly clamps down on a shudder. "It's good to see you, Sang-er," he says, allowing himself to adopt the regional address since they are nowhere near the judging eyes of Koi Tower. He reaches out and sweeps the younger man's hair out of his eyes, then tuts in concern. "Are you still not sleeping well?"

"Ah-" Nie Huaisang flinches and looks embarrassed at the gentle chiding. "It's… nothing, really. Busy times and too much paperwork, that's all. Can I get you anything?"

"I just need to look over some map records, if you don't mind. A handful of small sects have brought a problem to my father, and I'm afraid our own records are… a bit lacking."

The younger man simply nods, accepting the excuse at face value, and Jin Guangyao isn't sure if that says something about Nie Huaisang's state of mind, or the Jin sect's reputation for ignoring anything that isn't expenditures or debts to be collected. Either way, when Nie Huaisang reaches out to tug his sleeve, he goes willingly and tries to ignore the slightly unsteady sway to his friend's pace.

Even though the poor end to his relationship with Nie Mingjue had been loud and public enough that the whole of the Unclean Realms knew about it before the day had even ended, he is apparently still a familiar enough face that barely anyone pays him mind.

Indeed, most of their worried glances are directed towards their sect leader.

He refuses to examine the possible reasons why that might be settling sour in his stomach.

They are still a few halls and turns away from the library when Nie Huaisang lets go of his sleeve and puts a hand to his head, looking even more pale than before. Jin Guangyao catches him before he can topple into the wall and then bites his tongue when green eyes slide over him, gaze unseeing.

“Sang-er?” he asks cautiously.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes don’t clear, but he seems to still be at least halfway lucid. “I’m sorry… I don’t feel well. I think I need to stay here. You remember the rest of the way, don’t you?”

“I do, but this is no proper place for you to rest.” He leans around the corner and waves over a passing servant. “Would you assist Nie-zongzhu to his room, please?”

“Of course, of course,” the woman says in a tone that conveys she is apparently -unfortunately- used to this. “Come along,” she says, taking hold of Nie Huaisang’s hand and wrapping a steadying arm around his waist, as if guiding a lost child, and he follows her lead without complaint.

Jin Guangyao watches them go and squashes that sour feeling when it threatens to churn.

Answers.

Answers first.

---

The library he needs, he has decided, is not the primary library, the one that Nie Huaisang had been taking him to. No, he seeks out the room buried so deep in the Unclean Realms that no daylight reaches it, that he had only stumbled upon by accident back when he had been employed here.

Lighting the only lantern in the room with a flame talisman, he finds that nothing has changed since the last time he was here other than a thickening of the layer of dust.

Swallowing hard, he straightens his back and starts with the family records.

---

‘After much deliberation and testimony from the physicians and healers involved in the care of the first young master, it is the advice of the sect elders that- ’

He has relit the lantern twice, and he’s fairly sure it’s long past dinner when he sinks into a chair and slaps the open scroll down onto the table, feeling lightheaded and shaky.

A spirit-tethering.

Until he had seen the books Lan Xichen carried from the library of the Cloud Recesses, such a thing had been the stuff of fantasy stories. Even in the vaunted Lan texts, it was only described in abstract theory.

And yet there was apparently enough foundation to it that a serious proposal had been made to cast such a thing between a pair of children to keep Nie Mingjue from being torn apart by the saber he’d bonded with far too young.

He forces himself to keep reading, feeling his stomach sink with every passage.

Nie Haoran had argued viciously against the idea for two years, even offering himself as the tether, only to be shot down due to his own unstable health. He had only given in when his son had experienced his first qi deviation at eleven years of age.

Eleven years old.

Nie Huaisang would have only been five.

Jin Guangyao bites his tongue again and presses the back of his hand to his mouth to forcibly swallow back the bile that bubbles up in his throat.

The mechanics of the matter only make the horror of it even more stark. The only ones who would have been able to undo the tether would have been the brothers themselves. He finds notes, plans, all written in Nie Mingjue’s sharp-edged calligraphy, of how he would set his brother free once his own health became too compromised but before his mind was too unstable…

But he hadn’t done it.

Hadn’t been able to do it.

He’d deteriorated too quickly.

Instead...

Nausea continuing to roil in his guts like a thunder cloud, Jin Guangyao rolls up the scroll and shoves it back into place with enough force that it crumples, practically fleeing the room even though there is no monster there to escape, just-

It is indeed dark outside as he traverses the hallways, barely able to restrain himself from running.

No one answers when he knocks at Nie Huaisang’s door. He sucks in a sharp breath to ground himself, then carefully pushes it open.

The room is as stark as he remembers from his last visit. Though he knows he Lan Xichen have both offered to help, Nie Huaisang has yet to start replacing any of the possessions that his brother had burnt. There is a tray of food on the table near the bed, untouched and probably long cold.

The person he’s seeking is curled up on the bed on top of the covers, still fully dressed. Fingers twitch and scratch at his own arms as he shivers, most likely in the throes of a nightmare.

His lips are moving.

Jin Guangyao doesn’t dare read them.

He closes the door behind him and crosses the room to the bed. Nie Huaisang doesn’t react to the dip in the mattress as he sits down, nor to being pulled and shifted until the younger man’s head rests in his lap. When he gently removes the guan from his hair and begins combing out the braids, however, the fit finally eases, the anxious lines of Nie Huaisang’s face smoothing out as he calms.

Jin Guangyao closes his eyes for a moment and sighs.

He now knows what is wrong with Nie Huaisang, and he knows he is at fault.

He could lay the blame elsewhere. He wants to. The elders who’d made the proposal... Nie Haoran for allowing it... the healers who’d carried it out… It is most tempting to blame Nie Mingjue for having not undone it as soon as they were both grown.

But no. The fact of the matter is that Nie Huaisang’s condition can be laid at his feet. Had he not hastened Nie Mingjue’s death… He doesn’t regret that.

He refuses to let himself regret that.

But this…

Grief could be moved past.

Missing pieces could not.

He opens his eyes to find Nie Huaisang has shifted to curl against him, and he allows himself a small, weak smile as he begins carding his fingers through silken hair again.

He knows what is wrong with Nie Huaisang, and perhaps he can’t fix the damage already done, but there are still things he can do. Information he can find, pieces he can move or remove. He can make things easier.

“It will be alright,” he murmurs, then leans down and gently presses a kiss to the sleeping young man’s temple. The gesture makes Nie Huaisang snuggle closer in his sleep, and his own smile gains strength.  “I took care of er-gongzi before, I will be happy to take care of zongzhu now. He is my responsibility, after all.”

[drivingsideways]

k-drama rec list

Prior to 2020 I’d maybe watched 2 k-dramas in my entire life, but this year I got sucked in, thanks to some great recs, and y’know, *gestures * everything.  

I think I’d held off watching kdramas because my impression of them was limited to romances that I didn’t enjoy at all. But this was the year I discovered the equivalent of “gen fic” kdrama- dramas that had wonderful ensemble casts, strong story lines that weren’t entirely romance focused and also a variety in terms of themes and styles. A big plus was that I found so many of these dramas had women leading the writers’ room, and seeing the effect of that in the story telling. (Notable exceptions: a certain “star” writer who should please stop inflicting her badly written, formulaic crap on the world, yes Kim Eun-Sook, I mean you, and whoever wrote that trashfire Flower of Evil)

So here I am with my own rec list! Caveat- these are mostly not the dramas released in 2020, I’m still playing catch up! :)

Under the cut for length

My Mister/ My Ahjussi  (2018, Written by Park Hae-Young, Directed by Kim Won-Seok, starring Lee Sun-kyun and Lee Ji-eun aka IU) 

This was definitely my absolute favourite of the shows I watched this year across western/ asian media. It’s a story about the thread that binds us all and the ineffability of human connection. It’s also a story that deconstructs ideas of masculinity and honour and shame in a non-western context, but with an extremely compassionate touch.  It’s a story that doesn’t shy away from showing the consequences of material and spiritual poverty; and how one can so easily feed into the other. It’s a love story that isn’t a romance, except that it’s a Romance. It’s about finding salvation in one another and in the kindness of strangers.  It’s about choosing life, and picking yourself up off the floor to take that one last step and then the next and then the next. The one quibble I have with the series is that it could have been better paced, it does get extremely slow after the half way mark. But god, do they land the ending. Both Lee Sun-kyun and IU turn in absolutely heartbreaking performances, and fair warning, be prepared to go through an entire box of tissues watching this series. 

Life  (2018,  written by Lee Soo-yeon  and directed by Hong Jong-chan, starring Lee Dong-wook, Cho Seung-woo, Won Jin-ah, Lee Kyu-hyung, Yoo Jae-myung and Moon So-ri.)

Medical dramas are very much not my thing, and I wouldn’t have taken a chance on it except that @michyeosseo said I should, and she was right! It’s a medical drama in the sense that it’s set in a hospital, but rather than a “case-fic” format, this is actually a sharp commentary on the corporatization of health care, and the business of mixing, well, money and what should be a fundamental human right. Writer Lee Soo-yeon was coming off the global success of Stranger/Secret Forest S1 when this aired, so I understand that expectations were probably sky-high, and people were disappointed when this show didn’t give them the adrenaline rush that they wanted. On the other hand, I thought that this outing was really much more nuanced in terms of the politics and also how the ending doesn’t allow you the luxury of easy-fixes. This show has a great ensemble cast, and while it took me a while to get used to Lee Dong-wook’s woodenness (i ended up calling him mr.cadaver after watching this and was surprised to learn that he’s very popular?), in the end I was quite sold on his version of angry angst-bucket elder-sibling Dr.Ye Jin-woo. His best scenes were with Lee Kyu-hyung who turns in a lovely, achy performance as the paraplegic Dr. Ye Seon-woo who just wants to live a normal life. The love story between the two brothers is actually the emotional backbone of the story, and I think they landed that perfectly. 

My one quibble with writer-nim is that she ended up writing in a forgettable and somewhat (for me at least) uncomfortable romance between the characters played by Won Jin-ah and Cho Seung-Woo. I think part of my uncomfortable-feeling was that I got the strong sense that the writer herself didn’t want to write this romance, it was as if she was being made to shoe-horn it in for Studio Reasons, and she basically grit her teeth and did the worst possible job of it.  I do wish we could have absolutely had the OT3 of my dreams: Moon So-ri/Cho Seung-woo/Yoo Jae-myung like, c’mon TV gods MAKE IT HAPPEN, just...look at them!!!! 

Anyway, that apart, I think this was a very engaging series, and by engaging, I also mean thirst-enabling, see below. 

 Stranger (aka Secret Forest  or Forest of Secrets) S1 & 2 : (2017-, Written by Lee Soo-yeon, directed by 

2017′s smash hit aired a much anticipated second season in 2020, and I managed to catch up just in time to watch that live, so that was thrilling :D . Writer Lee Soo-yeon  mixes up thriller/office comedy/political commentary in an ambitious series. I think S1 is more “exciting” than S2 in terms of the mystery and pacing,  but S2 is far more dense and interesting in terms of political commentary because it takes a long hard look at institutional corruption and in true writer-nim fashion doesn’t prescribe any easy solutions. Anyway, please enjoy public prosecutor Cho Seung-woo and police officer Bae Doona as partners/soulmates kicking ass and taking names in pursuit of Truth, Justice and just a goddamn peaceful meal, along with a stunningly competent ensemble cast. Also yes, Han Yeo Jin is a lesbian, sorry, I don’t make the rules. 

Search: WWW  (2019, Written by Kwon Do-Eun, directed by Jung Ji-hyun & Kwon Young-il, starring  Im Soo-jung, Lee Da-hee, Jeon Hye-jin)

GOD. Where do I start? +1000 for writer Kwon Do-Eun saying “fuck the patriarchy” in the most grandiose way possible, i.e. absolutely refusing to acknowledge that it exists. Yes, this is that power fantasy, and it’s also a fun, slice-of-life  tale about three women navigating their way through work, romance, national politics and everything in between. It’s true that I wasn’t entirely sold on the amount of time spent on the romance, and I really wish they’d actually had a textual wlw romance, though the subtext through the entire series is PRACTICALLY TEXT. But still, it maintains that veneer of plausible deniability and I think queer fans who are sick of that kind of treatment in media have a very valid grouse against the show. On the other hand, personally I felt that the queer-platonic vibe of the show is very wonderful and true to real life, and it was only reinforced by the ending. This is a show written by a woman for women (like me), and it shows. 

Hyena  (2020, Written by Kim Roo-Ri, directed by Jang Tae-yoo & Lee Chang Woo, starring  Kim Hye-soo and Ju Ji-hoon )

Those of you who’ve been watching hit zombie epic Kingdom are probably familiar with Ju Ji-hoon’s brand of sexiness already. I had not watched Kingdom and got hit in the face by Mr.Sexy McSexyPants’ turn as a brash, privileged-by-birth, up and coming lawyer who gets completely runover by the smoking hot and incredibly dangerous fellow lawyer/competitor from the other side of the tracks in the person of Kim Hye-Soo. When I say they set the room on fire, I mean it, ok. Every single scene between these two is an actual bonfire of sexual attraction and emotional hand grenades, and they’re both absolutely riveting to watch. “Flower of Evil” wishes they had what this show has- an actual grown up romance as opposed to a thirteen year old twilight fan’s idea of an adult romance. 

The “lawyer” shenanigans and the “cases” are hit or miss, and I think the occasional comedy fell flat for me. But that’s not why I mainlined like 6 episodes of this series overnight like a coke addict, and that’s not why you’re going to do it either. It’s so RARE, even in these enlightened days to find a female character like Jung Geum-ja: hard as nails, unapologetic about it, and not punished by the narrative for it. The best part for me is that she feels like a woman’s woman, not a man’s idea of what a Strong Female Character should be. Anyways, when I grow up I want to have what Kim Hye-soo has ok?

Other dramas that I watched this year, quickly rated:

The King: Eternal Monarch (3/10 and those 3 points are only for the combined goodness of second leads who deserved better- Jung Eun Chae, Woo Do Hwan and Kim Kyung Nam. Please head over to my AO3 and read my attempts to fix this garbage fire and rescue their characters from canon)

Flower of Evil (-10/100, dont @ me)

Tale of the Nine Tailed (5/10, I think it succeeds at what it set out to do, which is a light hearted, sweet fantasy-romance-melodrama, plus “second lead” Kim Beom will make you cry as the hot mess of a half human/ half fox spirit ALL TEARS character. I think if you’re into kdrama romances as a genre, this is probably a good bet?)

Signal  (7/10,  This was the first full kdrama I watched this year and would definitely recommend. It’s a police procedural with time travel shenanigans and has an engaging plot, good pacing, texture and compelling performances. My one disappointment with it was the way they wrote Kim Hye-soo’s character. As literally the only female character to survive in any way, she was given short shrift, and toward the end it really began to grate on me.)

Six Flying Dragons - (7/10, also would recommend if you’re interested in Korean historicals. It definitely already feels a bit dated in terms of styling and production values, and even scripting and acting choices. But it has a good balance of fantasy and history and political commentary. I was not a fan of Yoo In-Ah’s performance in this series, but it’s not anything that would make you want to nope out of the series. It’s GoT , if GoT was thoughtful about politics and characters and not the misogynist, racist trashfire that it became.)

My Country: The New Age - (3.5/10, and that’s 3 points to Jang Hyuk’s fan and 0.5.points to Woo Do Hwan’s heaving bosom. If you like your historical drama/fantasy with very pretty men, very gay subtext -seriously RIP to show makers who thought they could hetero it but didn’t account for Woo Do Hwan’s Tragic Face- lots of blood and tears and very nonsense plot, this is right up your alley. I probably would have enjoyed it more in other circumstances, I think? But this one just annoyed me too much at the time! 

I have a couple of more dramas to watch on my list, that’ll probably carry me over into 2021, so see ya on the other side! :D

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

Hospitality: A Shadowgast Fanfic

I saw a post on tumblr about what would happen if a vampire and a fairy met up for dinner and my brain went HEY HOW ABOUT THAT BUT SHADOWGAST. So, happy early Halloween! I hope you all enjoy!

Read on AO3

Preview:

“Where are you going?” Essek’s brother Verin asked of him. In the darkness and flickering candle light, music slipped through the cracks of the manor house. Women and men flitted between rooms like phantom, mouths dripping with jabs and laughter and gossip-obscured by masks and veils and whatever costumes had caught their fancy. There was the clink of glasses and the tap of shoes, as the normally mausoleum quiet home was filled with activity. Essek was dressed simply in black, having long ago tossed aside his mask. He had no such use for these things-and he had hoped to slip out of the party without someone noticing. He apparently had no such luck. 

“Does it matter?” Essek asked, dawning his cloak and fixing his satchel. 

“You always disappear at times like this,” Verin groaned, sounding resigned to his fate regardless. “You haven’t even fed tonight.” 

“Please, as if I could have much of an appetite watching Mother seduce her fifth husband in ten years,” Essek said, jabbing his thumb towards the ballroom. Verin cringed sympathetically and Essek sighed. “I am just going out to get some fresh air and actually enjoy my All Hallow’s Eve. I’ll be back before morning-no one will even miss me.” 

“What should I tell them if they ask where you went,” Verin asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I got eloped,” Essek said flatly, before leaving without allowing his brother to get another word in edgewise. He shook off the unpleasantness with a shudder as he quickly made his way down the path and past the line of carriages-quickly garbing himself in the shadows themselves to slip unseen past the footmen, and the servants, and the couples who had found dark corners for the clandestine meetings. He didn’t pay any of them any mind, after all, he had his own appointment to keep that night as he hurriedly found his path and headed into the woods. Essek didn’t enjoy the outdoors, but, it was worth the brief discomfort to make his appointment for that night. After all, there were only four times a year when he could. 

The forest was dark, its branches reaching up into the sky like long twisting fingers that grabbed onto the blanket of fog and refused to let it go. Brambles caught at the edges of Essek’s cloak as he delved deeper into it’s dark recesses-past the crumbling gravestones marked with the long forgotten dead, past the brook that bubbled with water that was pitch black in the deep night and the slick river-stones, past even the forgotten cottage that sagged into the earth like a long forgotten husk. None of that scared him, after all, how could he be scared if he was one of the horrors that haunted this forest? There was little threat to be had from a drifting shade or will o'wisp-not when Essek was walking willingly to one of the forest’s deepest secrets on the night of greatest danger. The danger was worth the reward in Essek’s eyes. 

Essek came to the fairy ring, the innocuous circle of mushrooms that sprouted between the hollow trunks of two dead trees. Essek barely paused before stepping foot into it. The moment he did, reality shifted and refracted like falling through a slightly cracked mirror. He almost lost balance but caught himself before he did. The forest was the same but even more vibrant-the shadows darker, the sounds louder, the sky pulsing with a violet hue. He heard the distant sound of merry-making and laughter-screams and howls-but the echoes didn’t quite carry weight. After all, those who were not invited could not enter the domain of another in the Feywild. Beyond was a line of trees-with light flickering from beyond. Essek quickly dusted himself off to the best of his ability, fixed the satchel on his shoulder before stepping through to the other side. 

Beyond the trees and the darkness was drenched in the colors of autumn, so bright that Essek needed to take a moment or two to allow his unaccustomed eyes time to focus. Jack-o-laterns glowed with their craggy faces open in grins-clearly having been carved with an astute attention to detail, while fat golden candles dripping with wax were affixed to the branches of trees set on fire with red and gold and yellow leaves. Clusters of dandelions and marigolds popped up from between twisting roots, and a stream bubbled a merry welcoming tune. Spiderwebs glimmered with dew and waved like drapes, and then appearing amongst the leaves and light a cat looked up at him and meowed in greeting. 

“Happy All Hallow’s Eve,” Essek greeted, knowing better than to be rude as he bent down and offered his hand to the cat. The cat moved in and pressed his head to his fingers, questing for attention and pets and happy to receive them. “Is your Master in?” 

The cat, who Essek knew was named Frumpkin, gave another meow before turning and trotting off beyond the trailing vines of a willow. Essek followed suit, pushing beyond that and seeing a banquet table set up in the clearing-filled with food that would have been irresistible for the senses...for a creature unlike him. Instead the more tantalizing thing was the books-the bookshelves carved into trunks of trees and into stones-magical crystals that buzzed and whirled caught by the wind. Crystal cases of scrolls and maps and other oddities that shimmered and shifted in their contents as you looked. Sitting at a smaller table, with a book open upon it was the one that Essek had been seeking. The Master of this domain was dressed finely, clad in robes of ember and ash. He looked up, eyes a dark blue-flitted with vibrant shocks of gold and violet as the light caught them. His features were strong and striking-ears long and hair curls of flame and braided through with leaves and blooming chrysanthemum. He smiled in pleasure at the sight of him, reaching out fingers darkened as if by soot and glowing with cracks of gold magic.  

“Happy All Hallow’s Eve,” the master of this slice of the feywild greeted. “I was wondering if I would see you again.” 

“I, of course, would never pass up the opportunity...so long as you’ll invite me in,” Essek said, remaining on the edge of the space. The barrier between him and the fae pulsed and stretched taut over Essek’s skin. The fae smiled a sharp knowing smile. 

“Of course,” he said. “You are welcome here, and are owed all of my hospitality.”  

Essek felt the barrier give, and allowed him into the space. Though, he knew better to think it came without strings. After all, hospitality was its own protection for something of his kind. Essek sat in the empty seat at the table-the one that had been clearly prepared for this visit. Essek didn’t touch the glass of mulled wine that had been poured and that filled the air with heady spice. 

“It has been months since our last talk,” Essek said, pulling out the three tomes that he had brought along. “And I couldn’t help but continue to think about our conversation from last time.”

“Ah, yes, about the use of transmutation magic to permanently change the form of another,” the fey said, eyes flashing excitedly. 

“I was wondering if you would like to look at these,” Essek said, offering the tomes. “As they could be a great aid to our discussion. I scoured libraries and many shops in search of them, they were quite a rare find.”

“Are you intending this as a gift?” His tone was curious, and he trailed his fingers along the edge of the closest spine with a gentle sweep. 

“Of course not,” Essek said. “Nor a favor. But instead, it is something I wish to share with you given freely.” 

“Very clever,” he laughed, tapping his fingers in rhythms of three. “I appreciate your diligence on such things.”

“These nights we share I hold close to my heart, I wouldn’t wish for you to feel obligated to pay back a favor,” Essek explained. 

“A gift for a gift I would repay,” he said, hand catching Essek’s. The heat of it nearly singed Essek’s cold flesh, and Essek was half sure he would pull his hand away and find it scorched. The fey turned his hand over though instead, thumb running along the veins of Essek’s wrist. “If you would allow me...if you would give me your name.” 

“You may not have my name, you may call me Essek,” he reminded him.  

“Stingy,” the fey hummed, sounding humored. “You are too brilliant by half, my friend.”  

“And what shall I call you tonight?” Essek asked him in turn. 

“You may call me Caleb,” he said, tilting his head to the side as if listening to the name for a moment. He appeared to be satisfied with the sound. “Yes, Caleb will suffice.” 

“Then, shall we Caleb?” Essek said, motioning to the books. 

The following time-though time was a strange slippery thing in the Feywild, was spent in deep conversation and sharing brilliant realizations. Every time he met Caleb like this, he wondered how he had gone on before. The first time he had stumbled upon this place and the master of it, he had been confused and defensive-but despite their differences they shared a kinship that Essek had never known among any of his kind. Others in his coven were hoarders of valuables, owing to centuries of gathering wealth. But he hadn’t ever met a person who valued knowledge as much as Caleb-who delighted in magic for magic’s sake. As they continued, Caleb spoke about his friends-other denizens of the Feywild or regular visitors. Essek only could make the trek to this place when the veil was the weakest four times a year, owing to his nature. But Caleb delighted in telling stories of his companions, the comings and goings of his adventures. Those seemed to just fuel his creativity, and he shared with Essek a host of spells he had created since their last meeting. Essek had met Caleb’s friends all at various points when he had visited Caleb, and somehow they were nearer and dearer to him than his coven who interacted daily with him. Caleb’s life was full of movement and activity, which was fitting for him. Essek supposed that was the difference of their immortality. Essek didn’t mind his undeath, nor did the particulars of his situation bother him. But despite having a coven, he was a solitary creature by nature as most of his sort were. After all, his kind could claim they were of high society, but there were no debates or agreements to resolve bad blood. Instead they would claw each other’s guts out at the slightest show of weakness.  

Finally though they came to a natural ebb where Caleb stretched much like a cat, and Essek watched the lines of his figure with a pang in his stomach. His body seemed determined to remind him that he, indeed, hadn’t fed yet that night. He, of course, could go a while without feeding. But it was difficult to remember that when looking at Caleb. 

“Is there anything I can get for you, I would hate to be neglectful of my duties as your host,” he said, nodding his head over to where the spread of food lay-piping hot soups and roasted duck with golden skin and cakes frosted with sumptuous frosting. “Perhaps something to eat?” 

Cheeky bastard, Essek thought as he resisted the urge to bite the inside of his own cheek. The taste of his own blood would do nothing but make it worse. Caleb had noticed. 

“As much as I appreciate the offer, I must decline,” Essek said stiffly. “Food like that doesn’t appeal to me.”

“The intricacies of your peculiar state,” Caleb said, with a knowing blink-much like a cat. 

“There is something you could offer me,” Essek said, standing up and throwing caution to the wind. He pressed his hands to the arms of Caleb’s chair, feeling a dark thrill at being taller than him for once, seeing the way that Caleb’s head turned up to give Essek a purposeful view of his neck. Essek could feel his fangs begin to ache at the sight of pale-freckled skin and blue-violet spider-web veins-the perfume of his scent like fragrant wood set to smoke and the charge of golden-honey magic. “If you were to give it freely, to nourish and sustain me. Certainly no one would doubt your capabilities as a host and I would be so very grateful.” 

“Ay, there’s the rub my dearest friend,” Caleb chuckled, eyes dark with longing and crinkling with humor, allowing Essek to move down and finally-finally begin pressing kisses to his neck-the taste of him nearly throwing him into a frenzy. But he held back, the dark hunger that boiled over in his body contained by the skin of his teeth. “This game we play would still be at a stand still.”

“How so,” Essek asked, kissing the junction of his jaw, pepping kisses as he slid his fingers along the edge of Caleb’s shirt.He wanted to feel more, taste more. After all he was a selfish creature not used to denying himself anything, but denying himself of this was the sweetest torture he could imagine. After all, it would make savoring it all the sweeter. 

 “If you feed from me, I belong to you and I would have to follow you. But by consuming within my domain, you belong to me and you would have to stay here forever,” Caleb said, catching Essek’s face between his hands. He brought their mouths together for a bruising hungry kiss, smoldering with desire that ran so hot that Essek couldn’t help the growl at the back of his throat. Neither of them needed to breathe-not really, but Essek pulled back so that he could settle his mind and thoughts on the matter. 

“I want you to come with me,” Essek said, his whole heart poured out for Caleb to see. 

“And I want you to stay,” Caleb told him with just as much conviction. “So it appears we are at an impasse.” 

“It appears we are, my friend,” Essek said, curling a lock of Caleb’s hair around his finger and then tucking it behind his ear. 

“And out of time,” Caleb said, standing up at full height. He kissed Essek again with a tenderness that Essek had only ever been given by him. Essek stood there and let it wash over him like the heat from a gently minded hearth. Caleb’s hands traced down his spine and settled at his hips, as if once again mapping him for his memories as Essek savored this moment for all it was worth. Eventually Caleb pulled away. “The veil begins to thicken, and the night draws to an end. I would not have you hurt, so I must bid you goodbye.” 

“And so we part...but only for a little while,” Essek said, taking Caleb’s hands again.  

“My friends and I will make flower crowns again for the winter,” Caleb said with a hum. Frumpkin twined at his feet purring with affection. “Lavender roses perhaps. Shall I expect you?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Essek said, kissing Caleb’s hands one last time before they parted. They shared one final look. I love you, Essek wanted to say. I love you, I would stay for you, I would remain here for you. But he knew better to lie to a fey. There was some part of his heart that was still selfish-and though he did want to stay and he did love him...he also couldn’t give up the world outside. Not with all the things he could continue to learn and discover there. One day he would figure out a way to have both, but until then, this would need to be enough. 

And so Essek left the grove with his books tucked safely in his satchel. He slipped back through the fairy ring. He didn’t once look back, knowing that if he spared a single look he would be bound to that place and run back into Caleb’s arms and stay there. He walked past the trees, past the graveyard, and all the way back to the manor he called home. He slipped down the stairs, down to the basement where the sun wouldn’t reach it’s clawing fingers to wrench him from his slumber. He still felt it though-the moment the sun began to rise above the horizon. With it, the chance of that beautiful and terrifying future faded away yet again. 

 And so Essek settled down in his coffin, slipping into the dark recesses of a dreamless breathless sleep-with the last thought in his mind being a kiss.

[ruthoakenshield]

Thorin Learns the Value of Patience

Warning: angst & smut

You could hear him all the way up in your chambers. Thorin’s throne room trade negotiations with Thranduril and his Mirkwood elves was NOT going well.

You decided he needed a better outlet for his anger and a break. They had been going at it all morning.

You got up from your bed, put your hair into an elaborate updo, then went to Thorin’s wardrobe. You took out his other royal robe and put it on. Then you wrapped the belt with Orchrist around your waist to hold the robe shut.

You put your white starlight gem & ruby hair jewels in your hair and your matching crown to Thorin’s. You headed down to the throne room and talked to each guard at each entrance to the throne room. You informed them what you were about to do and instructed that the doors be locked once your guests left the room and the doors were not to be opened until you or Thorin said so. They nodded and grinned.

The guard at the Throne Room’s main entrance nodded to you. You counted to three and drew Thorin’s sword then nodded to them. They threw the doors open loudly enough that they slammed against the walls. Everyone’s raised voices immediately silenced and all eyes turned to you.

You stood in the doorway wrapped in a fur lined robe of Durin blue velvet with silver embroidery holding Orchrist pointed straight ahead, looking royally pissed and menacing.

“That... is... ENOUGH!!!! This meeting is on hold until you ALL can calm down and unwind your knickers. I can hear you all the way up in the Royal Chambers and I’m sick of this!!! Shut your Yappers!!! EVERYONE... GET... OUT... NOW!!!” You bellowed as you stormed up the main walkway.

Balin’s and Dwalin eyes are HUGE as they see you standing at the doors and they know you are not to be messed with when in this mood. They quickly exit ‘stage left’ snickring, knowing Thorin is going to hear it from you.

The elves’ eyes got HUGE and they quickly departed to their chambers via the doors ‘stage right’ to cool off.

Thorin stood at the table to the side of his throne absolutely speechless when the doors flew open and he saw you standing there. Wait, are you in HIS ROBE?!? Why do you have HIS sword in hand?

But when he saw the elves’ reaction to your entrance and subsequent rant. Then he got a HUGE grin on his face as you approached. Halfway up the walkway the last elf left and the guard pulled the doors closed.

Thorin heard all four doors around the room lock one by one and he looked back at you eyes wide and a devilish grin grew on his face. He knew he was in for it and it was not going to be pleasant and was likely going to last for a while.

You immediately stopped and sheathed His sword, then you looked at him with a raised brow. He smirked and took off his crown setting it on the arm of the throne. He approached you and you let him get close, then pulled out the sword and pointed it at him. He grinned and realized he had nothing to defend himself with otherwise the two of you would end up dueling.

He continued his approach until he walked up to the tip of the sword.

“Ghivashel?” He asked. “What is the meaning of this. Why did you interrupt us and throw everyone out?” he rumbled an octave lower than his usual tone.

You stepped forward, pressing the tip into his chest gently. “Did you not hear what I said, mighty king?” You taunted. And took another step. He stepped back after wincing when you pressed the tip further against him to get him moving.

“The negotiations were going nowhere. You were getting more irate, and will have no voice by tonight if I let this continue as it was.” You informed him as you continued your advance, he, his retreat.

“Why the sword, my love?” He asked as he ran his finger along its spine.

You gave him a devilish grin. “To rub it in their arrogant faces that Elrond GAVE you this Famous Elvish Blade... and to get them to leave if I had to.”

Thorin smirked. “And how would my Queen have gotten them to leave if they refused?” He asked you.

“Turn around.” You said, your face deadpanned. He raised an eyebrow, but turned. You grinned and turned the sword so you’d use the flat of it instead of the edge. “I’d use it like this on That Pointy Eared Bastard of a King...” you replied as you swatted Thorin’s rear, as hard as you could, with the flat of the sword. He jumped in surprise, rubbing his rear from the sting of the impact and quickly turned to find it pointed once again at his chest.

His eyes were wide and full of fire. “Now, what will we do about you?” You said as you lowered the sword and worked your way to the throne slowly, eyeing your husband. “You have been a naughty king pitching a temper tantrum for four hours straight now!” Someone needs a ‘time out’ I think.

Thorin turned as you did following your every move, watching you work your way up to His throne. Angry you broke up the meeting, and puzzled at what you’re planning, yet turned on by your confidence and brashness.

You reached His throne and fluffed the fur cushion. Turning your back to him for a moment. You heard him take a step and said, “Take one more step, King Under The Mountain and you will regret it.”

Thorin froze with one boot on the bottom most step. You unhooked the belt to Orchrist’s sheath and set it aside. Then spun, revealing your nakedness as you shrugged off HIS robe onto the throne and made yourself comfortable.

You picked up HIS crown, placed it on your head so it encircled your own, then you swung your legs over the arm rest and reclined against the other armrest. Orchrist in your hand closest to Thorin.

He stood there frozen in place. His heart pounding as he realized you threw out the elves from his throne room wearing NOTHING but HIS ROBE, your crown and HIS sword. He looked up at you and marveled at his luck.

He feasted on the vision before him. You with BOTH crowns upon your head, naked in all your glory, sitting upon HIS throne, HIS furs, and HIS robe holding HIS sword. He went hard instantly. He wanted you immediately.

You sat there, watching Thorin. Amused by the different looks flitting across his face. You sat there reading him and his thoughts like an open book. You knew EXACTLY what this was doing to him.

“Now the question is, ‘what to do for your ‘time out’ my King?” You mused as you pretended to admire Orchrist. He took a step forward forgetting your warning. You pointed the sword at him, “Ah Ah Ahhhh... I told you not to take another step. Now I must add punishment to my plans... you said.

You grinned at him wickedly as he growled impatiently and you chuckled. “Such a naughty king!” You teased and pouted you’re lips.

Thorin growled again. You began to play with your breasts, distracting him. You could see his fingers itched to touch them. Then you slowly dragged your fingers down your body till you got to your pussy.

“Strip!” You suddenly said in a commanding tone.

Thorin looked up, confused for a moment. “What my Queen?” You grinned. “I said Strip!” You ordered, your voice echoing around the throne room. 

He grinned and continued to watch you play with your breasts and pussy as he stripped quickly out of his clothes.

“Come here!” You ordered. He stepped up to the Throne. He reached to touch you and you smacked his hand. “Ah Ah ahhhh! I didn’t give you permission for that!” You said sternly.

“What does my Queen wish for me to do? Thorin asks impatiently.

Stand here, and no matter what I do, you are NOT allowed to come, until I say so.

Thorin’s eyes get huge. “And what happens if I come before you say so?” He asks, growling.

You give him a wicked smirk. “We start over.”

His eyes narrowed and he growled again.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” You tutted. “Someone needs another lesson in the value of being patient in difficult circumstances!”

You turned to face him and sat at the edge of the throne’s seat. “Now, my pussy is in need of some attention.” You say. “Give it attention but do not touch my pearl!” You instruct, knowing its one of Thorin’s tricks for getting you off. “Make me come without touching my Pearl. You can not touch yourself or come until I say so. ” You instruct.

He looks at you grinning a wicked grin. You raise an eyebrow and wait. He kneels and begins to lick and nibble your favourite spots and was careful to avoid your nub. You moan as he licks and nips at your folds and tongue fucks your entrance. Then he inserts a finger and begins to thrust it in and out.

You moan at the pleasure and say, “More, my King, mooreee.” He grins and reaches down and rubs the little patch of skin between your cave and your asshole. Your eyes fly open and you bite your lip to keep from moaning loudly. Thorin begins to add fingers to your cave as he finger fucks you.

Your pants and moans are turning him on and driving him nuts. He wants nothing more than to turn you over and fuck you hard, but with Orchrist stil in your hand, he doesn’t dare.

Suddenly he feels your muscles start to tighten. He feverishly rubbed that little patch of skin behind your cave entrance and you came with a shout. “Do NOT stop!” You ordered between pants.

He kept the pace as you panted and moaned and grabbed your breasts. He moaned as he watched you play with and pinch your nipples as he worked your pussy with his fingers. God he ached from not having you yet. He was so hard right now.

You were panting. His fingers were no longer enough. “Enter me but DO NOT COME!” You demanded as you turned and presented your rear to him. He grinned and moved to enter you. Both of you kneeling on the seat of the throne him pinning you to the back of the throne.

He entered you in one thrust and began to feverishly fuck you. Your breasts rubbing against the cool marble contrasted with his body’s furnace at your back. He gripped your waist tightly and growled so low you could barely hear it, but felt it rumble through his chest and into yours.

“I will make you pay, my love, for interrupting my meeting.” He said between thrusts. You moaned and purposefully clenched around him on the next thrust. He growled again. “SO tight, my Queen!” You could feel his thrusts getting erratic. “Stop!” You ordered.

He froze and groaned, leaning his head against your shoulder blades. You waited till you could feel his orgasm subsiding. You waited a good minute. He began to grow impatient. “What does my Queen wish for now?” He asked.

“Stand up.” You ordered. He does so. You stand and move around to the table and bend over it. “You may continue.” You grin wickedly. He grins and mounts you, gripping your waist tightly. He begins to thrust at another feverish pace then leans down on top of you and says, “May I pleasure your breasts while I plunder you’re tight cave?”

You grin. “Since you asked nicely, yes, you may.” You say as you look back at him. He grins and reaches around you with both hands and begins to play with them as he fucks you. You’re moaning and calling out his name and he is growling and calling yours.

You feel him begin to have the signs of impending orgasm. “Stop!” You order. He growls and stops his thrusts and is squeezing your hips as he struggles to maintain control of his temper.

“Stand up.” You order. He does and pulls out of you. You walk around him dragging your nails along his skin making him shiver.

“How is it my King can be so composed with his wife denying him the one thing he wants right now, but he can not be so when an elven bastard king refuses to grant my king his wishes?”

You taunt him. He growls, understanding what you are saying.

“Because the King loves his wife and would do anything for her including denying his desires if she wishes it.”

“And why can he not do this for those he despises? Surely it’s a better show of strength and might to do this for enemies than for a wife?” You say as you continue to circle him, dragging your nails up and down his body, making him shiver in pleasure and desire. “Would you agree, my King.”

Thorin thinks about what you said. He realizes you’re right. If he can do this with you denying him and toying with him then he should be able to do this with his enemies as well when they are toying with him and infuriating him in diplomatic and verbal ways. It will make more of an impact because it would be a public display of control instead of a private one.

“My Queen is right as usual.” You stop in front of him and smile. You wrap your leg around his hip and grind against him making him moan. “Good. Now, let’s see how much control you have. Go sit on the throne, close your eyes and do not open them until I say so.

He looks at you as you drop your leg and caress his chest. You nod and he goes to sit on the throne. He closes his eyes and waits. He hears you moving, then feels you climb on top of him. He feels you place something heavy on his head then he feels you slide off him. Leaving trails of kisses as you go.

You kneel in front of his naked body once you climb off his lap and you look up at your king, sitting on the throne dressed in nothing but his crown on his head. “Glorious” you say. He puffs up his chest and grins.

You grin, drove him to the edge of coming... repeatedly... check. Taught lesson number one... check. Inflated ego... check. Now to test his control. You lean down and take him in your mouth. You hear him gasp and then begin to moan.

You torment him with your tongue, your sucks and your nips. He is quickly building and so you back off your pace and slow down. Over and over you do this. Deep throating him almost till he comes... then just barely take his tip parting your sweet lips. Taking him fast then oh so slow. For a good 30 minutes you torment him this way. He controls both his temper and his urge/need to come though the pain is becoming unbearable.

You look up and see his fingers are white they grip the arm rests so tightly. He is slowly cracking though. You know he won’t last much longer. It’s been close to an hour and a half already and he hasn’t been allowed to come despite your torments. You torment him once more then pull off just before bringing him over the edge. His eyes fly open and he growls. You look at him sternly. Then stand.

You lean down and say,” Has my King learned his lesson now? Or do we need to continue the time out’s punishment?”

“I have learned my lesson this time my Queen. I should have controlled my temper better and not given into my hatred.” He says as he looks up at you.

“Good. Now, as a reward, you may take me how you wish and come when you wish.” He grins and you have never seen him move so fast in your life. He is on you in an instant and picks you up and carries you around to the back of the throne. He pushes you up against the marble back and impales you on his member. He leans towards your ear and says, I’m going to make you come so hard they’ll hear your screams in Dale and Laketown!” He growls.

He fucks you hard and fast taking out all his frustrations on your pussy and he seems to go on forever. He marks your neck and shoulders with bites, nips and hickeys. He makes you come screaming his name at least three times or was it four? before he roars and fills you to overflowing with his pent up seed.

You feel this heat spread throughout you as he shoots load after pent up load into your cave. He fills you so full it begins to run down both of your legs. His throbbing matching yours as the two of you release all the pent up tension of the morning.

Thorin sinks to his knees with you still joined to him. He pulls you against his chest and he gently rocks the two of you, moving front to back as you come down off the orgasmic high, and stimulating each of you by him still slightly moving in and out of you.

He takes your face in his hands and puts his forehead to yours reverently. “Thank you Ghivashel! I will never ever forget the look on Thranduril’s face when you entered the throne room today!”

He laughs and nuzzles your neck. “Thank you for coming to save me and give me this lesson and reprieve.” He mumbles into your hair, enjoying its scent.

You giggle. “And what look was that?” You ask.

He laughs a big barrel laugh that resonates around the hall. “One that said he probably needed to go change his trousers or whatever those blasted elves wear under their dresses. He was terrified of you!” Thorin tells you.

You both laugh and he continues to rock you both. He moans and says, “My Love, let me show you how grateful I am for this gift you gave to me.” He asks.

“And what gift is that?” you ask.

“The lessons and also the knowledge that my wife displayed enough rage and terror to terrify and throw out the ENTIRE elven host AND King Thranduril from my throne room in naught but MY royal robe, with MY sword in her hand and her crown upon her head!”

You chuckle and nod and he picks you up, still joined, and lays you down on the furs at the foot of the Throne. He takes off his crown, and sets it on the seat of the throne, then removes yours, leaning it against his. Then he spends the next two hours making passionate love to you at the foot of His throne.

Later that afternoon, dressed in your finest clothes, a smirk on your faces and crowns upon your heads, you waved goodbye to the elves as Thorin held the signed trade agreement with the Woodland Realm, having gotten from Their King what he wanted... a fair deal.

[tarithenurse]

If I succeed - 13

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!Reader Content: Angst? Saltiness? Lore. Tension. Sarcasm. A/N: The mood most of us can relate to a lot these days: BLLLLEEEEAAAARRRGHHHH!! And as such: I didn’t proof read this *shrugs*. Want a tag? Send an ask or reblog! A strikethrough means I’m unable to tag you. I’d love comments and feedback – even if it’s corrections on language or whatever. I’m not picky as long as I know my work brings joy too. (No, the GIF has nothing to do with the story, but I thought it was hilarious)

13 – Reconstrucdead

...   Jaskier   ...

Whyyyy does my head hurt more than after the wedding of Lady Demavend? Careful not to move, the bard considers if the pain would increase by opening the eyes. Then he muses (still with eyes closed) over the reasoning behind the throbbing ache at the side of his skull – there is something thoroughly non-hangoverish about it. What’s the last I can remember? A moment later he tries to forget it is a memory, the figure unfurling from the darkness and straightening up to reveal skeletal limbs and a deformed face with thin, sharp fangs. Let it be a dream. It’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream...it IS a dream because a real vampire would have killed me rather than tugged me between blankets like a swathed child. The realization confuses Jaskier enough to open his eyes.

The wall he is nestled against in the cave where he finds himself is painted with peach and rose from the sun, warm hues that are not reflected in the temperature of the rays before the sun sinks beneath the layer of clouds and out of sight. The rest of the place is cast in cold shadows, only here and there broken by a bright flame or, further away where a jagged rift runs along the cavern, plumes of coloured smoke illuminated from below and surrounded by stark silhouettes in constant motion.

Trying to sit up, Jaskier’s motions are hampered by tight ropes but not enough to prevent him from looking for his friend. [Y/N]. May the Maiden keep you safe until Geralt finds us.

...  Geralt   ...

Oddly, Roach is standing by herself, ears flat and flanks shivering despite nosing through the few items scattered where the others should be until she hears the Witcher approach.

“Fuck.” Nothing else needs saying nor would it feel quite as satisfying.

Allowing the horse to nuzzle into his chest brings a certain calm to the chaos in the heart. Geralt knows what he must do. I’ve done it a thousand times. Somehow, it feels different. More...frightening.

“You know I’ve gotta go...leave you here, hmm?” The soft sound Roach responds with might or might not only be due to the scratches she is receiving between the ears. “Need to go save the day, kill some monsters. As usual.” Golden eyes do not see the world around him anymore but are tracing the lines of a figure in his memories. “As usual.” Then why does it feel nothing like before?

...

There are plenty of traces to follow. A drag of a heel through the dirt of the path. A downtrodden thicket that has managed to survive the heights until this day. A snatch of fabric with an intoxicatingly familiar scent. A blue, carved button.

Despite the cold of the air now that the sun is setting, Geralt sweats under his armour as he follows the invisible trail upwards. The pace is steady though rapid, ensuring a certain level of stealth because he can school his breathing and find sure footing for the large boots. Among his own weapons, sheathed against his back and in the belt, is the dagger belonging to [Y/N] which he had found on the ground with a few strand of hairs on the blade – not a colour belonging to either of his companions.

They’re alive. Every trace points to this conclusion, a knowledge resonating in his soul. Alive. Waiting.

A scratching sound alerts him of a presence on the other side of a nearby crest, and Geralt slides out the sword from the scabbard in a smooth whisper of steel and leather. Waiting time’s over for some.

...   Jaskier   ...

“...but they haven’t eaten us.”

“Vampires don’t eat people...they just drink the blood.”

“Charming,” Jaskier persists, “they haven’t done that either.”

[Y/N]’s sigh is barely audible. “No, we’re worth more alive now they know a Witcher’s coming.”

The grating chuckle coming from one of the creatures in question proves the woman right. How can she be so calm before that...gorgeous monster? It has taken a while for the bard to accept that vampires are not restricted to the gangly, animalistic creatures kept further back in the cave but also include the rather dazzling male standing ramrod-straight in front of the captives.

Alright, maybe not captive in the classical sense as neither of them are restrained anymore. As a matter of fact: Jaskier has been provided with an exquisite lute and asked to play whatever he feels like for the other noble-looking fang-owners. [Y/N]? She has refused everything offered so far.

“Your...companion is quite right,” the flint-voiced vampire admits, “we know the true value of life and death. That is why we don’t kill indiscriminately, despite what horrific tales are told among humans.”

“Ah, yes.” Jaskier winces at the sarcasm dripping from the woman’s reply. “Vampires are simply misunderstood.” She glances icily towards the dark recesses where glowing eyes are the only sign of the less sophisticated of the species.

A smile still remains on the vampire’s lips, now stretched thin in an attempt to still appear benevolent. “They’re what you may call...lesser. A cousin-breed with whom we acquaint ourselves merely due to their practical use as...well, as slaves.”

“Very cultivated indeed.”

Jaskier’s hands are gripping the instrument increasingly tighter as he follows the conversation. “[Y/N]! Mayb-maybe not piss off the neatly dressed leech?” One of her eyebrows arches and suddenly it makes sense why Geralt shuts up when met by that. “Pardon.”

“All is forgiven, young bard,” the leech in mention offers grandiosely, “I do prefer my drinks lively. However...I appreciate if it would call me by my name. Leif Nordbergar.”

As he turns the his attention to his bloodsucking comrades sitting around the fire, Jaskier catches the eye of his co-prisoner and wiggles his eyebrows at the flickering fire. Much to his dismay, he is answered by a subtle shake of the head. Why not? Any more attempts at communication could prove fatal, and only the plead from a ravishing young-looking, fanged woman to play a song distract him from falling into sombre misery.

...  Geralt   ...

It is astounding – or rather a sign of presumptuous arrogance – how few guards have been placed around the place. Several seem to be positioned at the far end of the gulch below from where the wyverns’ clamour rises, and the Witcher already reckons that they are of the same kind as the few straggling patrols he has encountered made up of an odd mix of Bruxae and Nosferats. Strange, the label is not often used by someone like him, they seem...enthralled. Their races are intelligent, capable of tactical fighting as well as disguising themselves to blend in in a community (thus creating a favourable hunting ground if they manage to show restraint). The ones that have met their – temporary – demise at Geralt’s sword showed no signs of brain activity other than the most basic.

Creeping onward, following the scent of tainted smoke, he slowly emerges through the cloud that have wrapped themselves around the mountain’s girth. Up here, the view to the waking stars is clear now and would undoubtedly hold a beauty worth admiring if only The White Wolf had the time.

“-ease! ...singi- ...” The words are broken by distance and obstacles, but the voice is easily recognizable due to the shrill tone Jaskier sports in stressed moment.

Never has such an annoying sound been so welcome, making Geralt smile as he slips into the shadows leading to the cave mouth the voice came from. Slowly. Carefully. Vampires have perfect senses and even the disturbingly lessened have shown no signs of exceptions to the rule – one wrong move, and the Witcher will not be able to orient himself enough to come up with a plan.

He leans against the cool stone, allowing the temperature to seep through the leather armour and into the tense muscles of his back. Breathing silently, the pressure against the natural wall grows and wanes. One. A calm seems to enter him along with the chill. Two. It spreads into strong limbs and hand that holds the silvered sword ready behind him Three!

A second is all it takes for yellow eyes to scan the scene around the fire – to see how closely noble-looking Higher Vampires are lounging around Jaskier whom they proffer a glass filled with a ruby liquid; and [Y/N], sitting poised with the hand of what must be the leader of the bloodsuckers resting on her bared shoulder.

After that second, Geralt finds himself short of air as hatred bubbles like bile in his guts.

[ikesenrambles]

Hi, if you're doing headcanons, how about this? The MC (and probably Sasuke) hand-draw memes to entertain themselves, but the warlords find them hidden in her room while MC is away. How do they react? Whichever warlords you want to do is fine. :)

Thank you so much for sending in a request! I love memes, and I absolutely loved doing this request. I’m sorry that it took so long to do - I wanted to make sure I did it justice~ I hope that you enjoy it and that I was able to deliver!

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi, ikesenrambles. I don’t have much spending money for Ikesen since I’m saving my paychecks to cover college. Supporting me on Ko-Fi would mean that I have pocket money for the little things that bring me joy, like Ikesen. I would be able to buy premium routes, which in turn means that I can learn more about the warlords & write even better stories for you to enjoy. ♡ It would really ~meme~ a lot to me.

MC’s Doodles: Nobunaga and Hideyoshi

Sitting on the dais, a thoughtful smile plays on Nobunaga’s lips as he carefully studies a lost page of your sketchbook. “Hideyoshi, come here,” he commands. Immediately, Hideyoshi rises to his feet and approaches.

“Our new chatelaine is rather entertaining, don’t you think?” Nobunaga muses. “She captures my likeness quite perfectly. Even the emotion behind some of my deepest desires and my most intimate whims…”

“If you would allow me to see…” Hideyoshi’s voice trails off. Nobunaga hands him the slip of paper only for Hideyoshi’s eyes to widen in flustered disbelief. “Is this… k-konpeito!?” he blurts in a panic, shaking his head furiously at your seemingly blatant disregard for Nobunaga’s health. “My sincerest apologies, my lord, but I will not allow this kind of provocative propaganda in the castle!”

“Stand down, Hideyoshi.” The simple command from his master is enough for Hideyoshi to bow deeply in apology. “It’s a rather tasteful portrait of me,” Nobunaga tells him. “I would like to see it displayed in the castle.”

With a hesitant sigh, Hideyoshi nods in reluctant resignation. “As you wish, my lord. I’ll see it done.”

MC’s Doodles: Ieyasu and Mitsunari

“Mitsunari–!” An astonished, overemphasized gasp penetrates thoughtful silence as Hideyoshi comes swooping in between Mitsunari, Ieyasu, and Masamune, who are snooping through your private sketchbook behind the closed doors of your chamber. “Don’t you know how rude it is to look through another person’s belongings without permission?” He scolds the three with a firm shake of his head, grabbing the book from Mitsunari. “I expected better from you two especially,” Hideyoshi puffs in frustration, turning a pointing finger toward Ieyasu and Masamune.

Ieyasu rolls his eyes sarcastically in response while Masamune chuckles softly to himself, shaking his head at Hideyoshi’s overreaction. Per usual, it takes a few moments for Mitsunari to fully return to reality, his eyes continuing to scan the space in front of him despite his hands being empty. When he finally does, he cocks his head to the side in curious consideration, mulling over the words written on the page he had just studied. “I don’t quite understand,” he admits with sheepish innocence. There is not an ounce of offense or annoyance in his voice.

“This is…” Hideyoshi stifles another sound of surprise as he allows himself a peek at the contents of your sketchbook. His face reddens at your unexpected profanity. At a loss for words, he quickly closes the book shut and tucks it back under your pillow. “Lord Mitsunari, please be assured that she was only joking–!”

“Don’t even bother,” Ieyasu interrupts Hideyoshi with a scoff as he attempts to explain the illustration to Mitsunari. “It’s a joke, Mitsunari. Someone as dense as you couldn’t possibly understand.”

Mitsunari’s face softens at what he interprets to be gentle reassurance from his close friend, Ieyasu. “Of course, Lord Ieyasu would never say something with the intention to harm,” Mitsunari says confidently, flashing an even wider smile at Ieyasu, much to Masamune’s amusement and Ieyasu’s utter disgust.

MC’s Doodles: Yukimura

It’s a hot, summer afternoon. You and Yukimura are lazing under the cool shade of a tall tree, enjoying the rare luxury of idle time, when inspiration for a new kimono design suddenly strikes you. You ask Yukimura if he would retrieve your sketchbook for you, which you left in his room.

Yukimura agrees, finding your sketchbook tossed on your futon. Curiously, he flips through a few pages of your designs to admire your artistic ability. Before long, however, a particular doodle of yours catches him off-guard and captures his attention.

The illustration seems to depict Yukimura himself. He spends a few moments just staring at it, trying to decipher what it could possibly mean. “I don’t get it…” he murmurs to himself, stumped.

“Of course you don’t.” Yukimura hears a soft sigh behind him as a hand clasps him gently on the shoulder. “Please tell me didn’t call her this right after you two…” Shingen’s voice trails off.

“Right after we…?” Yukimura repeats thoughtlessly, not quite sure of what Lord Shingen meant to ask him. Shingen only raises an eyebrow in response until the young vassal, finally understanding, cringes. Embarrassment appears all over Yukimura’s face as his cheeks flush bright pink.

“O-of course I wouldn’t!” he says defensively, shutting the sketchbook closed with a loud thud. “Anyway, it’s none of your business what we did–uh, or didn’t do–!”

Shingen can’t help but smirk at Yukimura’s denial. “Ah, so my little Yuki is now a man,” he muses teasingly. “Had you paid more attention to my habits, perhaps you would better understand how to please the second sex.”

“The what now–?” Yukimura groans at Lord Shingen’s unsolicited advice, marching out of the room. “It wouldn’t make sense to compare her to a summer’s day. They have nothing in common,” he grumbles under his breath on his way out.

“I really failed you, didn’t I?” Shingen mumbles with a disappointed sigh.

MC’s Doodles: Kennyo

“Looks like the Oda princess left behind her valued notebook… how foolish of her,” Kennyo speaks in a grim tone, a sinister smile appearing on his scarred face as he picks up your forgotten sketchbook. “Now…” The vengeful desire in his darkened voice is tinged with self-satisfaction. “What precious secrets could Nobunaga’s favorite woman be hiding?”

The man’s husky voice cracks slightly as he stammers out in confusion, “Is that… me?” He coughs loudly to counter the bewilderment - and even slight embarrassment - in his speech, forcing a frown to mask the sheepish expression on his face as a warmth begins to spread across his face. “As if the hatred in my heart could be distilled by such simple means,” he mutters with a bitter scoff as though offended by your uncanny ability to read him.

“Abbott, is everything alright?” One of the disciples peers into Kennyo’s shed, concern in his eyes. “We are all set for the ambush tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” Kennyo whispers, a sickeningly twisted grin appearing on his face. “Tomorrow, we will take back the dignity that was stolen from us at Honno-ji. We will purify our perished brethren with the spilled blood of the Oda.”

Once the disciple leaves, Kennyo turns his attention to the little weasel curled up in the corner. “Come here, Hozuki,” he calls to it in a soothing voice. It nuzzles into the palm of his hand, enjoying his gentle touch.

Suddenly coming to terms with his predictability, Kennyo sighs in frustration, crumpling your drawing and discarding it on the floor before continuing to pamper the tiny animal.

Sasuke’s Doodles: Kenshin

Yukimura and Shingen stand around Sasuke’s study table, completely in awe of a hidden treasure they’ve happened to stumble upon in Sasuke’s room: the ninja’s precious research journal.

Sasuke’s handwriting is hurried but clean: nothing less than they would have expected from the genius ninja. On lined pages are complicated mathematical formulas and comprehensive calculations that neither Yukimura nor Shingen know what to make of.

From behind the two, the sliding doors are roughly thrown open as Kenshin strides toward them impatiently. “What’s taking so long? I’m thirsting for the thrill of battle,” Kenshin mutters with a disgruntled sigh.

“Hold on just a moment,” Shingen orders, beckoning Kenshin to take a closer look at Sasuke’s notes.

Ever stubborn, Kenshin firmly refuses. “I will not.” Forcefully, he shakes the journal from Yukimura and Shingen’s prying hands. As the three tug on the notebook’s pages, the journal falls flat on the floor, opened to an even more perplexing illustration.

A doodle depicts Kenshin casually choking Sasuke, who, even in his precarious position, wears a mask of nonchalance. Written in bold text underneath the drawing are the words, “You’re weak Sasuke.”

Upon seeing the drawing, Shingen laughs softly. “It looks to be a friendly joke about the Dragon of Echigo’s peculiarities,” Shingen muses aloud.

“A joke?” Yukimura scoffs and shakes his head. “This happened for real. I would know. I was there!”

Kenshin’s frown soon softens into a smile that, though genuine, is somewhat terrifying given the context of the illustration. “Ah, yes,” he murmurs in a voice that almost carries with it a sense of nostalgia. “I remember Sasuke’s first days with us.” Picking up the journal, he reminisces fondly of the ninja. “There’s nothing like some good-natured sparring. I wonder, perhaps Sasuke is trying to tell me that he would like a rematch.”

Sasuke’s Doodles: Ieyasu

You are out shopping with Ieyasu when you catch Sasuke stealing glances at the two of you from behind a gingko tree. “Just a moment, okay?” you reassure your boyfriend, squeezing his hand softly as you let go to hurriedly rush to Sasuke’s side for a quick conversation.

When you don’t return soon enough, Ieyasu becomes suspicious. Both you and Sasuke can feel his hot gaze observing from where you left him, his fingers curled in a fist around the baskets of groceries that he’s been carrying for you.

“What were you talking to him about?” Ieyasu asks as he possessively wraps his arm around your waist in a show of territory in front of Sasuke. You can’t help but giggle at Ieyasu’s inability to hide his jealousy. His face flushes at your soft laughter, and he avoids your gaze, embarrassed.

“It’s not me that he’s interested in,” you tell him, retrieving a piece of paper from the sleeve of your kimono. “Here. He wanted me to give you this.”

Ieyasu snatches the note from your hand. The pink shade of his cheeks deepens as he reads over it “Ng–!” A quiet sound of surprise escapes his lips, followed by an uninterested scoff. “This… I…” He sighs, tucking the note away. “I don’t understand why you hang out with that weird ninja.”

“Yasu, he’s my friend. Be nice,” you scold him teasingly, tugging on the sleeve of his kimono. “Come on, I told you, didn’t I? There’s nothing to be jealous about.

“Who said I was jealous?” Ieyasu scoffs again only for the timid blush of his cheeks to betray the annoyance in his voice. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter who he’s interested in, anyway.” He pulls you even closer. “You’re mine and mine alone, okay?”

Bonus Meme:

All of the above memes were made by yours truly! The alignment chart above was found here & filled out by me!

If you want, tag yourself for the alignment chart~!

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧ 

A special shout out to @mythiica for reviewing my memes for quality! It gave me the confidence I needed to be myself with these! (＾▽＾)

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, ilovepeetaanddarcy-peemadarzy

Happy Birthday, @ilovepeetaanddarcy-peemadarzy​! We hope you’re having a lovely birthday today, and got exactly the presents you were hoping for! To kick your party into gear, the lovely @mega-aulover​ has written a story just for you!

For: Ilovepeetaanddarcy-peemadarzy

Prompt: So, Katniss is pregnant for the third time and OMG they are twins!

A/N sorry it’s late I wrote two drabbles and I just couldn’t decide which one to choose…. So I hope you enjoy both...not beta’d so al mistakes are woefully mine.

Both Rated: G

Title 1: Mel’s Wish

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

“Mommy,” Mel said her toothy grin caused Katniss to smile. They were in the meadow. Her daughter was dancing. Peeta was in the distance with their son playing patty-cake.

“Yes Mel?”

“I want a sister.”

Katniss smiled and hugged her daughter tighter. “But you have Jasper.”

“He’s alright but he smells funny and he doesn’t like playing dolls with me.”

The problems of a four year old were not exactly an earth shattering, but Katniss loved that her children could face such trivial things. They did not have to think about hunger, mutts, or cruel arenas with looming reapings. Her children had a chance at peace. Something she was slowly accepting that things would never be what they were again. There had been two presidents since Paylor took office. After four years she ran for the Presidency and won by a landside.

When her second term was nearly finished many expected her to run again. In a groundbreaking move she addressed the nation and put forth a two term policy like their ancestors had during the ancient days of democracy. Following her example many senators also vacated their seats allowing themselves two terms as well.

Power in Paylor’s own words corrupts absolutely without checks and balances. This ideal became was an established amendment to the original contract written by the Districts. It read; “In order for a fair and equitable establishment and to bring forth new and valued ideals no one should have more than eight years in any seat of power.”

These rules and many others eased Katniss sense of forboding about their future. The arenas were torn down and those that weren’t became an attraction to show people a past that we must never return.

“So I am guessing you want a sister.”

“Yes mommy a sister to play with and she can braid my hair and I can braid hers. Someone to play catch with.”

“But you can play catch with Jasper.”

“Mommy Jasper doesn’t understand how to play catch with Mermaids…”

“But certainly teach Jasper,” Katniss tried once more.

Her daughter put her tiny hand on top of hers and stared directly into Katniss eyes.  “No mommy, I need a sister.”

“MEL!” Peeta called.

“Go with dadd,” Katniss urged. She watched her daughter laugh and dance all the way to her father. Mel was practical and although she believed in Mermaids no thanks to Fin, Annie’s son. Her feet was firmly planted on the ground. For her to ask for another baby took Katniss by surprise.

So much so that the thought of another baby stayed with her throughout the day. Having Mel was hard. She had to overcome a lot of insecurities and fears. All of those voices died the moment she held Mel. For Jasper she suffered less knowing the moment in the end holding him was going to outweigh all of pitfalls she faced.

A quick look at the calender let her know she was not getting any younger.  She found her hand straying to her womb as she thought of what it felt like to hold her babies for the first time. The soft baby smell, the downey skin, the way they gripped your finger. The new baby pang hit her hard, but she kept her thoughts quiet. She would as she’d done with Mel and Jasper speak to Peeta about her desire.

Katniss smiled she was determined as Peeta, he waited a lifetime to be with Katniss and their daughter had that same grit. That night as she got ready to go to bed. Mel whispered, ‘Don’t forget mommy.”

“I won’t.” Katniss said getting up and tucking Mel in. She drifted to the bedroom where Peeta was quietly pulling down the bed for the night.

“What was that all about?” Peeta threw her a pillow.

“Mel wants a sister.”

Chuckled, “Of course she does. Jasper refused to put on one of her dresses yesterday.”

“What.”

“There’s been a private battle between them. Jasper wants to do things his way and Mel wants things her way. Jasper refused to play with her.”

Katniss sat down. “How did I miss all this.”

“I only found out about it yesterday,” Peeta said sitting next to her.

“You know what is so crazy?”

“No.” Peeta looked at me expectantly.

“I was considering having another baby before it’s to late for us.”

“You were?” His eyebrows shot up.

Katniss nodded. “This may be our last opportunity for another child, before it’s too late.” Katniss glanced at Peeta. “Crazy right?”

“No not so crazy, and you know me I’ve always wanted a gaggle of children. I only want what you want.”

“You do realize Mel will get an inflated head.”

Peeta laughed. “Well it is her idea.”

“How are we going to get them to get along?”

“Mel has to learn that she can’t have it her way all of the time,” Peeta said.

“Is that why you called her to play with you guys?”

“Yup.”

“I knew you would always be the better parent,” Katniss grumbled.

Peeta kissed her and her heart rate tripled. He pulled back and winked at her,  “Let’s make a baby Mrs. Mellark.”

Four months later Katniss found herself hugging the inside of a toilet bowl. “Did I ever tell you how much I hate this part.”

Peeta didn’t answer he put a cool compress to her forehead.

“You going to say anything?”  Katniss laid back against his chest.

“Nope, I’ve learned my lesson.” Peeta diligently wiped her face.

She grinned petting his leg. “Good boy.”

“So we have our appoint with Doc. Stevens  today, excited?”

“I am, there are a few things I would like to understand.” Katniss looked at her belly she’d already popped.  

“Well you’ve been hungry.” Peeta teased.

“Stop making me laugh,” Katniss chuckled.

“So let's get in the shower before Haymitch brings back the little ankle biters back.”

“We're going to be outnumbered after this one you know,” Katniss slowly got up heading for the shower.”

The doctor's office was shut down early so that Katniss could  get her appointment done in privacy.  To this day she was hounded by the pres. Despite fifteen years having passed since the end of the war.

Katniss was laying back on the table as the doctor did a sonogram. She paused momentarily. “Huh,” her doctor said once more moving the wand.

“Is there something wrong?” Peeta asked verbalizing the terror that gripped Katniss heart.

Suddenly they saw it on the small screen, a second baby.

“Looks like you guys are having twins.” The doctor said.

Katniss was shocked and that night as they prepared dinner.  They were all sitting at the table when Mel just came out and asked.

“So mommy are we having a baby?”

Katniss and Peeta looked at the other and said. “Two, but we don’t know if it will be a girl or boy.”

Mel jumped up, “Really! Jasper we’re getting more playmates.”

Jasper laughed.

Mel danced around she’d gotten her wish.

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

Title 2:  The Accidental Surprise

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

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to get pregnant not again. Peeta and I agreed that we were having two children. Yet here I am pregnant. The stick with the two bright pink permanent lines does not lie.

“Damit, Jo, why did I listen to you?” Katniss rubbed her face she’d casually mentioned how tired I had become recently.

Jo suggested I rule out a pregnancy.

I didn’t want to, in fact I got mad her suggestion and rebuffed her suggestion. But her words were like an annoying song that gets in your brain and you can’t help hum. I tried to ignore her words but after going down for a nap today I decided to give in and take the test.

The lines glare up at me.

How did I come to this moment I wonder, well actually I know how I got here. It was that weekend. Our anniversary, twenty years. Peeta and I well we acted like randy children. My reflection grins back at me. Getting your groove on with your husband and two kids wasn’t easy. Jo and Annie came down and took the kids on a magical weekend trip.

Peeta and I went at it like rabbits, we were barely functioning and walking straight when the kids came home. There are things that don’t work as right as you become older, Peeta’s back gave out on him on one occasion involving a table and on more than one occasion we did fall asleep. Ah the sleep so great to sleep in without an interruption.  

We did much more than sleep we made a baby.

This kid is an undercover agent because I don’t feel the normal signs, like the nausea, the feeling of being sick. The smelling. With both my kids I had a nose that was scientific. I could smell things from all the way in town. I splay my free hand over my belly and wonder if this real or could it be that this is a trick. I’m not exactly young anymore and because of the trauma I suffered in my youth my body is going through the early onset of menopause.

“Hey babe, you almost done in here?” Peeta opens the door and sees me holding the stick.

I smile, “Guess what…”

Peeta rushes in the bath room, he holds the stick. A riot of emotions filter through his face, shock, wonder, and disbelief. “Is this right?”

“The stick says it is.”

His eyes travel from my face to my stomach before traveling back up. “Why did you take the test?”

“Johanna.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have been tired, more so than normal and I told Jo and she said to take a test to rule it out. I did and I am afraid this is one of false positives.”

Peeta embraced me and I melt taking comfort in his arms. “We’ll make an appointment with doctor Whitcombe.”

I nod against his chest. Three weeks later I sit gripping Peeta’s hand waiting for the results. They had urine and enough of my blood to make my clone. Leaning into his chest I feel his reassurance. The paper gown crinkles as I sit there. I’ve never been good with nudity so Peeta always brings me a blanket to slip on top of the blanket and socks. I need socks like I need air. Peeta doesn’t understand my insistence on wearing socks to bed. If not for the kids he wouldn’t wear anything.

“Do you think they’re taking so long because I am not pregnant and it’s just a hormonal imbalance?” I whisper my unspoken fear. “Do you think there is something else wrong with me?”

“Whatever they find we’ll face it together,” Peeta brings my hand to his mouth.

The brush of his warm lips against the back of my hand.

Dr. Whitcombe comes into the room with her nurse, Many. “Well congratulations are in order.”

“Congratulations,” I parrot back to him.

“We are going to have a maybe, I mean another baby?” Peeta whispers.

“Another.” Dr. Whitcombe smiled looking at them both. “You’re going to have twins.”

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-04-02

Alright I’ll fix the broken images later right now lets goooooo read the updaaaate I’ve been only spoiled on the chapter title

I don’t even wanna guess.  Jake?  This makes me think of Jake for some reason, even though that doesn’t make much se-- oh right the Vriskas are locked in a school closet with a dead clown.

> CHAPTER 7. Distress Call From the Closet

Yep.

Also, this is how a car design looks when it was invented to have its first appearance be it flying with a human named Tavros looking out from an open side door.

(I’m not ENTIRELY against designing something for its immediate-art-use-purpose first and functional or historical-origination thought later, but usually when you make it that obvious that that’s what your doing it’s best to make that fact funny.  Like the Conveniently Shaped Lamp.)

Also I appreciate this using of Candy as kind of more lighthearted breaks in the action?

> (==>)

I thoguht that protruding fang (?) was drool for a second and wondered what the fuck they were up to in this closet all of a sudden.

Vriska, thriving on it, has not felt so decadently alive in a very long time. Tavros has never in his tragic existence felt so close to death, which is surprising to him.

Vrissy is trying her best not to grapple with any cosmic truths at the moment, since she’s getting a phone call in the middle of hiding for her life.

Vrissy’s implied to be somewhere in-between all that by this joke.  I bet she’ll be comparing herself to Vriska and Tavros alike throughout this mess, wondering where on the spectrum she lands and being ashamed of it AND both of them regardless.  Vriska Original had a ghost version who went on a fair bit of a Page dress-up thing and personality shift, so maybe we could expect Vrissy to struggle with being caught in the middle of the scales... or does that qualify as overthinking it classpectways?

VRISSY: Yeah Harry I would say we are Extremely Aware of the Situ8ion. VRISSY: As it Unfolded the fuck all around us.

Good Christ, Vrissy’s selectively-capitalized Kanaya-isms continue to be cute.

Oh, he’s on speakerphone.

> (==>)

Yep, telling Rose and Kanaya would be the smart thing to do, but it isn’t the Them thing to do.

--ROXY’S PLACE?!??  Hoo boy.  On the other hand, though, we get more Roxy, so it evens out.

Also, I like how Harry Anderson has to spell out Harry Anderson’s entire name for his Harry Anderson chat tag every single time.  Harry Anderson.

> (==>)

Part of the reason, Tavros thinks, that he’s been so game to continue on with the worst plan anyone has ever concocted, is that the more bullshit they endure, the longer they can put off actually doing anything that matters.

If he’s getting sprayed with a sprinkler and getting clown feet in his face, it’s a farce. It can’t hurt him. But if they get to the part where he’s shoving the uncooperative weight of his uncle’s corpse in an incinerator, he will stop floating in protective semi-consciousness above his body and it will all be real.

Ouch.

Can’t one of you assholes just captchalogue him?  Or did you leave all the appropriate-strength moduses at home?  Even you Vriska??

Oh, right.  Everyone knows and you can just leave him here.  Good call.  I mean you don’t really have to worry about forensic evidence with the pictures circulating.

> (==>)

VRISKA: 8ye 8itch.

Oooh!  That feels satisfying!  Yeah, tell off Gamzee’s corpse!

...Wait.

If they just leave Gamzee there, Jane can revive him, can’t she.

Fuck.  Maybe it’s up to Jake to try and stop that.

> (==>)

Karkat and Meenah resistance-time, then, with them presumably hearing about this development on the internet.  Wow, Meenah’s horns are getting long fast.  Plus a hint more of her grown-up self’s height.  I didn’t think she’d keep maturing so fast with her absurd lifespan ahead of her.

Oh shit, I didn’t see at first--

Right, Candy might still be lighthearted compared to the broader plot just due to lowered stakes, but it’s still the Carpet-Bombing-and-War-Filled Shituniverse.

Trolls are made for the battlefield.

From the moment a troll oozes out of the mother grub’s pulsating sphincter, through the trials of the brooding caverns, across the brutal day to day slog of Alternian society, all the way to their Ordeals, to the sucking void of space. They are bred for nothing but endless war.

But Commander Vantas...Commander Vantas is different.

Is... is Meenah narrating right now?  Because fuck.

Or so all the pamphlets say.

The actual Commander Vantas has blisters on his heel and has been taking pot-shots at scouting drones for the last six hours. He could use a bath, honestly.

Or is this one of the trolls on the side narrating who’s kind of internalized the stories of trolls’ prior warlike nature?

> (==>)

MEENAH: yo nubs is that u MEENAH: pretty rank KARKAT: OH MY GOD. KARKAT: I FLATLY REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT YOU CAN SMELL MY NATURAL MUSK OVER THE STENCH OF BLOOD AND BURNING FLESH.

I guess it probably was Meenah narrating, then.  Unless it’s a really biased alt!Callie doing the talking.

MEENAH: didnt i warn u bout thinking tho? KARKAT: GOD DAMMIT MEENAH, DON’T MEME AT ME.

I don’t know what meme this is and I really don’t want to know.

They have had this argument more than once. In fact, both of them could play either side of it. Karkat has done his time in the field, of course, leading small guerilla operations to free prisoners and sabotage Crocker’s supply chains, but Meenah and the rest of the council is right. Which is why he’s here, instead of at the front lines with his rebels, where he belongs.

His true value is his face. His symbology. At the end of the day, he is a fucking ad campaign.

...is KARKAT narrating here???

SWIFER: boss check the news!

Oh shit, right, Swifer is in the resistance in Candy instead of just a breeding assistant in Meat as the bonuses remind us.

KARKAT: OH FUCK. MEENAH: what KARKAT: JESUS CHRIST. MEENAH: nubs i swear 2 god KARKAT: IT’S GAMZEE. KARKAT: HE’S DEAD. MEENAH: oh MEENAH: well shit KARKAT: I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS. MEENAH: u okay KARKAT: NO!

Huh.  Them’s some complicated feelings that could fall in basically all directions at once.

Also, I can’t believe Karkat has hung around humans enough to fully internalize the full-throated exclamation “JESUS CHRIST”, which wouldn’t even really be a thing on Earth C with people who aren’t from Earths B or A.

MEENAH: u outlawed fishpuns i gotta make my own fun

How could you, Karkat.

KARKAT: AND I GUESS IF YOU CALL AN OBSCENELY PUBLIC PALE ACT, PERFORMED IN A FUGUE OF DESPERATE PANIC INTENDED TO PREVENT HIM FROM MURDERING ALL OF MY FRIENDS INSTEAD OF JUST HALF OF THEM “A THING”. KARKAT: THEN YES, I GUESS WE HAD A THING. KARKAT: BUT IF YOU’RE ASKING ME IF I’M SAD THAT HE’S DEAD? KARKAT: ABSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT.

Okay, I’d hoped not, good...

KARKAT: THAT’S NOT WHY I’M SAYING FUCK A BUNCH OF TIMES. MEENAH: u need a reason to say fuck a buncha times KARKAT: SHUT UP. KARKAT: LOOK AT THE PICTURE.

--Right!  That’s a good reason to not be okay.

KARKAT: I DON’T THINK SO? I CAN’T SEE HER EYES IN THIS PICTURE, BUT SHE’S COVERED IN BLOOD, AND SHE’S CARRYING GAMZEE, SO SHE’S CORPOREAL AT LEAST.

I love this form of analysis somehow.

KARKAT: OKAY...HERE. OH. OF COURSE. CROCKER IS CLAIMING HER SON WAS KIDNAPPED AND FORCED TO PARTICIPATE. KARKAT: AND THEY’VE NAMED ME AS THE MASTERMIND. MEENAH: well we woulda taken credit for it anyway so this saves us the time MEENAH: thanks jane owe u one

Meenah isn’t the “concerned” type.  Lemonade out of lemons.

> (==>)

That middle tweet is my favorite.

Oh dear, “#GamzeeAnon”...

KARKAT: SHIT. OF COURSE THIS WOULD HAVE TO DO WITH FUCKING SERKET. KARKAT: LITERAL MONTHS OF PLANNING, HOURS AND HOURS OF LOGISTICS, AND ALL OF IT GOES UP IN SMOKE BECAUSE OF ONE SPIDERY ASSHOLE. KARKAT: SHE *WOULD* FIND SOME WAY TO WRECK MY SHIT FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE.

indisputable

KARKAT: NOW? KARKAT: NOW WE PIVOT FROM THE SUBLIME TO THE RIDICULOUS.

Um...

What does that mean?

I’m having a lot of trouble not only understanding the basic meaning of what he’s saying, here, but understanding why KARKAT of all people would employ it.

......it’s a meme, isn’t it.  Gotta be.

> (==>)

(Ooh, an eyepatch designed to invoke a Strider-shade.  Nice.)

KARKAT: I NEED TO TALK TO EGBERT.

But....... why??

> (==>)

Oh right, cause his son’s girlfriend is involved.

> (==>)

Oh my goooood what a pair of John and Roxy caaaars! :D

He is too busy with these mental gymnastics to notice his father’s car parked outside.

Ah right.  John’s... not on the best terms with him, I recall that.

> (==>)

Ohhhh myyyy goooood what an image!!!

John, Roxy, and Harry Anderson proceed to have the tail end of a conversation they had before, in another medium.

What the fuck!?  Harry had that conversation WHILE this dead body situation was going on?!  Let me reread that linked bit...

(And she has such a somber smile on her face, but given the conversation content it’s not surprising.)

Harry Anderson looks at the two of them all teary and laughing and hikes his bag higher on his shoulder, shifting his weight. Roxy sees a muscle tighten in his jaw. Her beautiful, smart boy. She wants to run over and hug him, to protect him from the possibility of pain at talking to his father, but she doesn’t. She knows how much he’s wanted this, no matter how much he jokes about it.

She looks back at John, and sees her own awe mirrored in his face. She wills him not to cry, not to fall back on his self-imposed suffering and blame loop. Something about the last hour must have done the trick, though. John stands up, brushes his hands on his jeans, and walks, back straight, toward his son.

JOHN: hey harry anderson. JOHN: it’s really, really good to see you. JOHN: do you wanna go for a drive?

The muscle in Harry Anderson’s jaw clenches a few more times, but when he smiles, it is genuine.

HARRY ANDERSON: yeah, dad. HARRY ANDERSON: that could be cool.

Oh son of a bitch.  Well isn’t that entertaining.  Harry you’re just going to ditch your friends for I’m kidding, this is life fulfillment you’re aiming for, of COURSE you’re going to agree.  (Too bad bringing the current situation in is gonna throw a wrench in things.)

> (==>)

Oh right, that means more of THIS Vriska and THIS John.  They’ve had a good start talking already, I wonder what more they can learn from each other.

HARRY ANDERSON: but no worries, i asked my mom to pick me up some snacks so she’ll leave to go to the store in a sec. HARRY ANDERSON: just sneak in after she leaves and hide in my room, and i’ll be back in a bit.

Harry you enormous shortsighted asshole.  And John’s about to learn all this from Karkat over the phone to blow his cover.

> (==>)

aaaaa roxy art i cannot :D

Wonder if her stealthiness attunement is gonna catch them in the act?

> (==>)

From this jealousy bit, I wonder to what degree Earth C humans are used to Troll quadrants and their various interplay mores.

> (Room: Examine yourself.)

Oh, a proper room introduction for Harry Anderson!  Very fashion-focused, very liking the spotlight--

Oh wait, shit.  This is traditionally where classpect associations are hinted more obviously than anywhere else.  Time to stop holding back on the classpect stuff and take in every fucking word with capital-C Classpect fully in mind.

A bedroom stands empty. There is no boy standing in this bedroom, or indeed anyone else. However, if the boy whose bedroom it was were here, one might remark that his name was HARRY ANDERSON.

And FUCK, one might say, does he like MUSICAL THEATER.

Spotlight, definitely.  But is it for the attention? The possibilities? The acting?

He has been in his fair share of school plays, but he has LOFTY ASPIRATIONS to STAR in bigger and better productions. He especially appreciates modern MUSICAL REMAKES of classic OLD EARTH MOVIES. It's a craze that not everyone is happy about, but in the absent boy they have found a DEVOTED FAN. There is also just enough overlap between his taste and his father’s to allow for SOMEWHAT STILTED CONVERSATIONAL BONDING from time to time.

Hmmmm.  Is it about the majesty of important works of media (I see “Pokémon” and “Alien vs Predator” up there...), or is it about the fact that they’re remakes of past works?  Those are a lot of awards and stage lights now that I zoom in to look... and hats... hats could be important......

The boy who is not yet here has also been known to dabble in ACCESSORIZATION. He could be described as a COBBLER ASPIRANT, a NEOPHYTE MILLINER, or even a BIT OF A WHIZZ WITH A NEEDLE AND THREAD.

Oh, interesting!  Not just putting out different outfits, but making them?  And Milliner is hat-specific creation...

His mother got him his first SEWING MACHINE when he was 10, to keep him from using hers all the time. His looks are HAND-CRAFTED, often IMITATED, but never DUPLICATED.

Space is obviously possible from sewing, but-- A focus on uniqueness!!!  The broader theme is getting VERY specific.  You might feel where I’m leaning already.

His COSTUMES appear in various AMATEUR PRODUCTIONS, the devising of which takes up most of his FREE TIME. His friends are usually LESS APPRECIATIVE of his attempts to dress them up than he would like, though.

Holy fucking shit.  He dresses up and makes unique HATS for his friends and others.  Specifically so they can use them as COSTUMES to act parts!!!!

And the other unique thing mentioned about him here took the time aside to note how he appreciated the intersection in personal interests between him and his father for it.

So you all know what I’m thinking, right?  HATS???  It’s got to be Heart, isn’t it.  Maybe even a Page of Heart, with his long-off aspirations and talent for arming others with it.  Any other additive/giving class might do the trick, too, like Sylph or possibly Maid.  Knight could technically still fit pretty well, but I feel Page is better given what little we know so far, what with so much outward focus bleeding out.

(You can comb through the saga on my infamous hats tag or the summary on the Aspect Duality post, but the gist is that hats (and others’ clothes, but especially the hats. even shoes -- SO many shoes in that picture!) represent the gist of an expressed identity, personal uniqueness whether innate or affected ala a costume.  Nepeta, Dirk, Terezi, and even Stitch have given us examples, some of them deeper than we realized, MOST of them probably overthought bullshit like I thought when I first created the hats tag and started tracking the wonderful importance of hats. ¬_¬)

I’d like to see anyone else’s interpretation. (EDIT: One more potential Nep-allusion in this room.)

> (==>)

Oh nooooooo!!!!  Tavros’s sprite is the saddest looking thing I’ve ever seen!! D:  Like a mix of Jane and Jake that thoroughly regrets his entire existence!  Which he practically does!  D:  Why the Caliborn-like clothes though?

(Some hint at “how different alt!Callie’s Caliborn must have been” like the commentary suggested exploring in fanfiction?  Was the suggestion meant to divert attention from the idea that it’d be addressed in the plot?  Andrew pulled that trick a time or two, why not these authors?)

Also:

Pffff.  Vriska just accessorizing immediately--  Oh, wait.  That might just be a bandana she had at some point coated in Gamzee’s blood. 

Tavros is looking at the news on a borrowed phone -- nice call on disabling the tracking on yours, Tavros.

> (==>)

TAVROS: It’s getting a bit surreal to see my, uh,, frozen mask of horror on every news site,, TAVROS: It’s a good shot of you,,, though, Vrissy, VRISSY: It really is Shockingly well composed.

Heheheh.  It’s fun that Tavros knows exactly what Vrissy/ka would care about.

And yes, Vriska is over there trying out ALL the bandanas.

> (==>)

VRISSY: Oh, is trying on all my 8oyfriend’s accessories not passing the time well enough for you? VRISKA: Desper8 times call for desper8 measures, Vrissy. VRISKA: And this is some dire shit.

They stare each other down. Did she mean the fugitive situation, or Harry Anderson’s fashion choices? Vrissy feels silly wondering this, but despite the situation they’re in, she can’t help but feel more acutely anxious about Vriska’s presence.

She likes her life, and she trusts her own choices. But now, looking at everything from Vriska’s vantage point, it all feels silly. Unimportant. Childish.

She can’t tell if she wants Vriska to rip in to Harry Anderson or if she wants her to stay silent. To put off the moment where she has to defend him or join in.

Real interesting.  Like she’s caught between these worlds after all.

> (==>)

They say it was a long drive, but...?

...WOW.  What a chill, disinterested-looking affect his sprite makes for.  Huh.

He kisses Vrissy’s temple and she leans in to the warmth of him.

HARRY ANDERSON: aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. HARRY ANDERSON: so sorry it took so long. HARRY ANDERSON: can’t rush a heart to heart, you know how it is.

Stop making me deliberate whether you’re trying to drop teasing Heart-aspect hints.  You already know I’m going to be obsessively scrutinizing every word of dialogue around Harry to see if it fits, story. No need to rub it in.

VRISSY: You actually had a Heart to Heart with your dad? How many times did he Cry?

I DIDN’T EVEN READ THE NEXT LINE QUIT SAYING HEART TO HEART YOU EVEN GAVE IT PROPER CAPS THAT TIME

HARRY ANDERSON: but god, it was a mess. i had to keep talking to keep him from looking at his phone or turning on the radio. HARRY ANDERSON: i may have told him more about my deep passions and emotions in the last hour than the whole rest of my life combined, just to keep him from hearing the fucking news.

Holy shit.  You exploited conversation about your deep passions and interests for a separate goal???

Aaargh!  Classpect everywhere!  I’ve relapsed!!!  D:

> (==>)

JOHN IS SO HAPPY

John Egbert has not had a day like this in a very long time. He can barely keep track of this series of epiphanies he’s having. He stretches out on his couch to relax and process the gifts of advice and connection his friends and family and ex-family have just given him.

OH RIGHT TIME TO RUIN IT WITH MAXIMUM SHENANIGANS

JOHN: hey karkat! great timing! JOHN: so much just happened and im kind of reeling about it. KARKAT: YEAH NO SHIT.

Ohhhh.  Much of the time I hate dramatic irony, but those moments before someone is about to be let in on the discrepancy... oh man I love that.

JOHN: is something going on? i just spent the afternoon with my son, and i think he would have told me if something was up with his friends? KARKAT: OH MY LUSCIOUS SHITTING CHRIST JOHN LISTEN TO ME. JOHN: listening!

"Luscious”??  Did they try to type “Lusus” and get autocorrected?

Who’s writing Homestuck on their phone???

> (==>)

J...John?? Are you okay?? XD

This picture.  These two paragraphs.  I fucking love them.

(Wow, being closer to the “canon” story due to ridiculous shenanigans right after his back-to-back self-insights and outlook changes have really been healthy for him huh.  He can probably sense HS^2 reaching him out here.  And you can see the helpless comedian his probably-still-depressed ass became on Earth B in his reaction here. EDIT: Also, how appropriate that even by DYING, the Bard of Rage managed to fulfill his role and shatter the last vestiges of John's narrow-outlooked despair?)

John can’t answer. He can’t speak. His body has given itself over to the long-lost feeling of manic euphoria. It had felt like Harry Anderson was holding something back on the drive earlier, but he had already told John so much. He hadn’t wanted to press for more.

Yeah... after what John’s gone through across his life and session, finding out Harry managed to hide THIS for a whole car-ride is the best sort of punch-line for him.

John can’t breathe. Something is happening. Something is finally fucking happening, and he’s finally awake enough to appreciate it.

--yep.  I was just guessing earlier, but this kind of confirms it’s in part a closer-to-relevance, closer-to-canon feeling bleeding in.  Something is happening that’s important enough to SHOW onscreen and not skip over.  I guess he really does like being anchored in Light after all.

> (==>)

John wheezes himself into relative calm. He has to get Karkat to understand. He clears his throat and breathes.

JOHN: karkat, this can be how we win. JOHN: i know what we need to do.

...holy SHIT.

Karkat, how did you know calling JOHN about this would work out this well??

John actually taking confident action to solve a problem, in a way that isn’t going to end up depressing like his attempt to provide Tavros escape in the Epilogues... this should be interesting.

See you next time.  (I had to image-fix some stupid linked hat posts for this blogpost and I’m out of energy, so I’ll fix the other old post I promised that asker to fix in like, a day or two; I’ll post when I do.)

[artificialqueens]

Follow Every Rainbow ('Til You Find Your Dream), Chapter 7: 16 Going on 17 (Branjie) - Writworm42

A/N: LAST CHAPTER: Vanessa took a risk and set out for her new job as a nanny, only to find out that she’ll be working for Brooke.

THIS CHAPTER: Vanessa definitely bit off more than she can chew with the Hytes family, but she just might be up to the challenge the kids present to her.

I made a few changes to the events of the movie that this chapter is based on, but I hope you all love it nonetheless. And bonus points if you can spot the references I put in! ;)

P.S. the Zackey in the story is Zackey Lime, a Toronto drag king who is legit amazing and I highly recommend you check out ASAP.

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to Holtzmanns for beta-ing this chapter, Ilysm <3 <3

“… And that’s about everything there is to see.” Brooke brought Vanessa back into the foyer from the east hallway, smiling with satisfaction. “Any questions?”

So many, Vanessa thought, but she just shook her head, smiling faintly. They’d just finished a forty-five-minute long tour of the entire house, and Vanessa’s head was still spinning trying to recall all the details and directions, every room and what it was for and how to get in and when not to enter it. It almost made Vanessa feel like she was back at the convent, trying to make sense of the grounds on her very first day there and cataloguing every room and where it was. Chapel, cell, rec room, kitchen, so on.

Here, though, the sheer amount of rooms blew the convent out of the water. oldest girl’s room, middle girls’ rooms, oldest boy’s room, living room, music room, kitchen, first bathroom, second bathroom, guest bathroom, guest rooms, servant quarters, servant kitchen, living room, mud room, dining room….the list went on and on endlessly, and it was dizzying, having to remember all the places and pathways in the house.

And then there were all the rules and routines, which were so numerous it was enough to absolutely shock Vanessa. Don’t knock on the master bedroom past 7 PM. Lights off at 9 PM. Take the children out for a brisk walk around the grounds on a set, groomed and paved path after they’ve woken up and had their uniforms inspected at 6 AM. Drill them in their studies before they go for tutoring, in order to make sure they’re in the right set of mind to pay attention. If the children step out of line, notify Brooke immediately in order for them to be punished. Dine with the family and provide a healthy sandwich lunch to the children at exactly 12 o’clock, but have breakfast during their tutoring hours. Never eat fish or drink coffee, the smells are too unpleasant. The only books the children can read are classic literature and the King James Bible, of which they’re to memorize a verse a day; if they don’t get it right, drill them until they do. Model perfect behaviour, posture, and language at all times. Absolutely no riding in cars; if the children want to go somewhere, they can bicycle with a chaperone. And don’t ever enter the art room unless it’s with Brooke’s supervision, and never take in the youngest.

No, this was worse than the convent. Definitely worse. Still, how could Vanessa say that? Brooke was looking at her with satisfaction and approval, but there was still a note of scrutinizing skepticism in her eyes that Vanessa hated to see. She couldn’t blame Brooke–Vanessa was about to be responsible for her children, after all–but it still hurt, somehow. Maybe because she was used to seeing it; used to not fitting in, used to people deciding she’d mess something up before even giving her a chance to try. It had been that way ever since she was little, after all. This was finally a fresh start–someone who didn’t know her or her reputation. Someone who had been told about how good she was. Someone who was undecided about her, rather than already filled with images of Vanessa’s childhood and youth and many attempts at success that had ended in disaster.

She couldn’t break it. She just couldn’t.

So instead, she changed the subject.

“I know the kids will still be in their lessons for a half hour, may I go and change?”

Brooke turned back to Vanessa taken aback, a faint note of surprise in her eyes, and for a minute, Vanessa doubted the question, wondering if she’d made a mistake. Brooke did want a nun, after all; was changing out of her uniform coming across as being too comfortable too soon?

But then Brooke’s face smoothed over, and though she didn’t smile, she nodded. “Of course. It’s quite respectful of you to want to change into a fresh uniform after being in what I imagine was a very dirty train station and a crammed train all day.”

This time, it was Vanessa’s turn to be surprised at the way Brooke had brushed her off, the logic she’d strained to stretch towards. The expectations she was refusing to yield from, clearly spoken in the message she was sending. And Vanessa would be happy to play along, if it weren’t for one small problem.

“Actually, um…” Vanessa chewed her lip, watching as that surprised look crept back into Brooke’s eyes.

Come on, speak up, don’t make it worse.

“This is the only convent uniform I brought, I thought it’d be better to dress casually other times. You know, so the kids feel easy with me.”

From the look in Brooke’s eyes, it was clear that her kids’ comfort wasn’t on her mind when she had requested a nun come to watch them, and she was more than likely feeling sore about it now. But just like before, the look disappeared almost as fast as it had come, and her face is—well, happy isn’t the word, but calm again.

“Of course. Please, go change.”

Vanessa hightailed it out of there almost as soon as the words were out of Brooke’s mouth, and it was only when she was out of her new boss’s view that her heart started beating again.

It was okay; it would be okay. Maybe it was a shock for Brooke, but surely it wasn’t that big a deal—it wasn’t like she would be fired for wearing a regular dress, right?

As the clocks in the hallway ticked closer to Vanessa’s deadline while she weaved her way in and out, trying to find her room, she suddenly found it hard to be sure.

—

Vanessa hadn’t kept many “regular” clothes at the convent, but she liked to think that the ones she did have were pretty. They weren’t silk or satin, sure, but she’d sewn them herself, and that fact alone made them beautiful in her mind. There was something about the reds and blacks and floral prints she liked to wear that made Vanessa feel special, alive, almost like she was someone else. Not Vanessa the postulant, but Vanessa the dancer in fringe and lace. Vanessa the teacher in rough, stiff linens. Vanessa the girl at the beach in flowing, light cotton, or Vanessa the sleeping beauty in plaid button-up flannel.

It was a strange feeling, but nice at the moment, to be Vanessa the nanny, confident and motivated and ready to meet her tiny new bosses.

When she emerged from her room, though, that confidence dried up when she noticed Brooke looking sour-faced at her, then looked up at the clock.

Oh, fridge. She was two minutes late.

“That’s a… colourful outfit.” Brooke’s eyebrows rose practically to her hairline as she watched Vanessa rush down the stairs to meet her in the foyer, lifting up the yellow skirt of her dress and showing off the convent’s classic white tights in the process of trying not to fall.

“Yellow’s not my favourite, but I didn’t bring much.” Vanessa shrugged. “We, ah, donate most of our clothes to the poor when we enter the convent.”

“You didn’t donate this?” Brooke frowned, and Vanessa felt her face grow hot as she looked down at the ground.

“The poor didn’t really… want it.” she admitted. “Oh, but I made the rest! Before I came, ‘cause I didn’t want to look too stiff, y’know? They’re kids, after all.” It was the truth, and it must have been satisfactory, because even though Brooke didn’t seem impressed by the answer, she didn’t say anything else.

“So…” Vanessa broke the awkward silence that had begun to force its way between them, “Are we going to meet the kids?”

“The children will be right out.” Brooke said matter-of-factly. She turned away from Vanessa and dug in her skirt pocket, striking Vanessa’s curiosity until she saw what the blonde was pulling out.

Brooke blew hard on her whistle, its high-pitched, tinny sound reverberating off the walls before it was followed by the sound of a teenage voice announcing, “ COMPANY, HUP! ”

Vanessa had to fight hard to keep her jaw from dropping as seven children decked out in identical gray uniforms came–no, marched –down the stairs, feet stomping in perfect unison before they lined up by what she assumed was age and stood tall and straight, then gave her and Brooke a quick, proud salute.

Jesus, Mary, and fudging Joseph. She’d become a nanny to a military cult.

“Children, this is your new nanny, Miss Mateo. She was a postulant at the local convent, and she came highly recommended by the reverend mother as someone who will provide you with a good example of traditional Catholic values and behaviour.”

Now that’s a laugh, Vanessa thought, but kept her lip from twitching as Brooke continued.

“Introduce yourselves, please.”

What happened next was no less than terrifying.

Brooke brought the whistle to her lips again and blew one long, particularly high-pitched note, only for a tall, teenage girl to respond by marching a step forward and coming to stand straight and tall, saluting rigidly. She didn’t introduce herself, only stepped back quickly before Brooke blew her whistle again, two short bursts. This time, a muscular boy stepped forward and saluted in the same way as his sister before stepping back.

“Are you–” Vanessa started as the realization of what Brooke was doing sunk in, but she was cut off by another whistle, three long, low tones. A girl who looked around the same age as the boy next to her stomps forward, repeated the movements of her siblings, then stepped back.

“Excuse me, Brooke–”

“Captain Hytes,” Brooke corrected, and before Vanessa could so much as gawk at the sudden coldness, Brooke had turned away and resumed her ritual. Four blows in a long-short-long-short pattern came next, and another boy with a lean, fresh face stepped forward.

“Captain–”

“Please listen to their signals, you’ll need them.” Brooke shook her head sternly, but Vanessa had had enough. This time, when Brooke brought the whistle to her lips, Vanessa snatched it straight from her hand, sliding it into her own pocket before the blonde woman could grab it back.

“I don’t need a signal.” Vanessa protested stubbornly, her heart beating fast despite the firm, even tone she forced her voice to stay in. “I’ll use the kids’ names.”

“No, you won’t,” Brooke challenged, “You’ll use this whistle right here.” she handed a second whistle to Vanessa, who held onto it tightly, squeezing it so hard her knuckles went visibly white. “I won’t have shouting in my house.”

“But you’ll have a shrill, unignorable call that gives your poor nanny and everyone else a headache?” Probably yourself too, maybe that’s why you’re always in such a bad mood , Vanessa thought, but she bit her tongue. In any case, Brooke didn’t argue this time, because she couldn’t—from the way her eyes twitched, she clearly knew that Vanessa had a point.

“Okay, kids.” Vanessa turned back to the line of children before Brooke got a chance to. “Start again, please, but can you tell me your names and ages this time? And for the love of Saint Peter, please don’t do a salute. We ain’t sailors.”

Brooke’s eyes twitched again, and Vanessa had to bite down on her lip just to suppress a smile.

“You heard Miss Mateo,” Brooke directed, “Step forward, names and ages.” she clapped her hands, and the routine began again.

“Monet, sixteen.” The first girl marched forward, her voice clear and confident.

“Landon, fourteen.” The second boy stepped forward next before marching back, not breaking his stride.

“Kameron.” The third girl stepped forward. There was a beat, Brooke opening her mouth to say something, but Vanessa cut her off, putting out an arm to signal for her to hold back.

“No, you’re not.” Vanessa shook her head, but smiled nonetheless. “I see your sister looking all shocked at you. Tell me your real name and age.”

“I’m Kameron,” A red-headed girl, the one who had cast not-Kameron a dirty look, spoke up, “I’m ten. And I like you, you’re smart.”

“So’s your sister.” Vanessa winked, and the first girl blushed.

“Asia, thirteen.” She muttered, and Vanessa was almost glad that in her embarrassment, Asia didn’t march.

“Zackey, eleven.” A fresh-faced boy stepped forward next, resuming the marching orders.

“You already know me.” Kameron shrugged, and this time, Brooke only sighed, a little bit defeated.

“Crystal.” A small girl with curly hair stepped forward next, “I’ll be seven on Tuesday.”

There was another pause before Crystal nudged the last girl in line, a small, shy little girl who held a frog in her hands.

“I’m Plastique, I’m five, and this is Bertha.”

“It’s nice to meet you all.” Vanessa smiled. “I’m Vanessa.”

The children looked at her, surprised, and Vanessa’s heart sank as she realized they’d probably never had an adult invite them to use their first name before.

“Yes, well, now that the introductions are finished, I have work to do.” Brooke nodded curtly, the tension breaking in the room as she began to walk away. But before she could disappear out of sight, a high-pitched whistle caused her to jump.

“You haven’t shown me your signal yet, Captain .” Vanessa batted her eyelashes innocently as Brooke whipped  around angrily to glare at her. The blonde reddened, but ignored the bait, instead turning right back around and continuing to retreat from the hall.

It was incredibly satisfying to note that Brooke couldn’t hide the furious stomp with which she traveled as she went.

“Alright, see y’all later.” Vanessa shrugged, “I think it’s leisure time for you anyway.”

“You’re not going to lead an activity?” Kameron frowned, but Vanessa just shook her head.

“Nah. You guys can go play.”

It hurt Vanessa’s heart to see how the children hesitated, but they marched away at last, and Vanessa was left alone to think about what she’d gotten herself into.

–

The first place Vanessa went after seeing the children off was the bathroom. She let the water in the sink run until it was freezing, the cold stream making her fingers red the minute it hit her skin. But she could barely feel it; could barely feel anything. It wasn’t until she’d bent down and splashed the water in her face, gasped for air and wiped the droplets from her eyes, that she truly grasped what she was dealing with, why she had been sent here.

She was in Hell; she was in a nightmare. A place where no one like her was supposed to be able to thrive. Probably could survive. And Nina had known Brooke for ages–she probably knew her parenting style. So why would she send Vanessa all people to live with seven little soldiers and their cold, overly-strict, barely-motherly mother?

She was out of her depth, completely in over her head. These kids were nothing like she had been when she was growing up; Hell, they weren’t like any kids Vanessa had ever met in her entire life. They weren’t kids at all; just tin sailors, robots following their mother’s commands.

She closed her eyes, leaned against the sink and breathed in deeply. No; she couldn’t get this overwhelmed this fast. She had to think about her surroundings, break it down and tackle it like Nina and that man on the train and said she was capable of doing. There was hope; the mischief in Kam and Asia’s shenanigans. Plastique holding Bertha and forgetting to step back. Crystal announcing when her birthday was. The small chuckle she could swear she had heard from Landon when she’d sassed back at Brooke. The way the children walked hesitantly, but quickly out of the foyer when she’d told them to go play, as if they couldn’t wait but were afraid she’d take it back.

She opened her eyes, stared herself straight in the face, watched as a glimmer of determination grew in her reflection’s eyes. She could do this; she had to do this, whether Brooke liked her or not.

She opened the bathroom door and charged towards her room, ready to spend some time there in quiet thought, maybe get changed into something a little nicer for dinner. Maybe dance like no one was watching, just like she used to in her cell at the convent on days she needed to loosen up.

She stopped dead in her tracks, though, when she saw the door to her room.

“Shhh!” she heard giggles from around the corner, but refused to acknowledge them; she didn’t look at all, didn’t change her face from the passive, relaxed smile that had been on it before. In fact, she didn’t blink at all. Only opened the door and walked into the room, bypassing the large, dripping bright-red pentagram painted on her door.

–

“ ALL OF YOU OUT HERE, NOW!”  

Vanessa hurried out of her room with a pounding heart, her breath already catching in her throat. As soon as she swung open the door, though, she was met with a furious, red-faced Brooke, who she could tell was foaming at the mouth to yell at someone for what she had found on the door.

“Who drew this?” Brooke hissed as the children rushed out of their room, lining up by age and standing at attention. But barely a second passed before the fear in the children’s wide eyes turned to shock, then to relief.

“I did.” Vanessa looked back at the red rose she’d painted the door over with, courtesy of the paints the butler, Mr Lurchenstein, had lent her ( “your methods certainly are unorthodox, Miss Mateo, but sure, take what you need.” ). The pentagram was completely hidden behind the flower’s red hue, the black lines outlining its petals taking care of any stray marks or drips she hadn’t been able to cover up. “I wanted to make a mark so that the children could remember where to find me.”

“You couldn’t put up a temporary sign?” Brooke snarled, but Vanessa refused to crack, only shook her head as she turned back to look at the lined-up little devils still staring at her in surprise.

“It wouldn’t speak to who I am as well as this would. Especially since a permanent reminder certainly couldn’t help.” Vanessa winked, and thank God Brooke was still so distracted being angry at her, because the way Landon and Crystal especially crumpled at the words would have been a dead giveaway otherwise.

“This isn’t your property!” Brooke spat, “You can’t just ruin things because you want to express yourself! I won’t–I can’t– Miss Mateo, you will fix this right now, or I swear to the Lord–”

“Captain!” Vanessa gasped, cutting the blonde off at the pass as she feigned shock, “Please don’t tell me that a good Catholic such as yourself is taking the good Lord’s name in vain? After you’ve chastised your children for not following the holy example our Saviour has set for us?”

“I–Well–” Brooke sputtered, deflating a bit, her tone lowering as she realized what she’d just said, what she’d been called out on. Once again, Vanessa had caught Brooke in her own trap, and once again, she couldn’t escape.

“Now, I understand that this is your door, and I’ve done a disrespectful thing by painting it,” Vanessa acquiesced, “But I really do think that becoming this enraged is teaching an unholy reverence of property that a Catholic certainly shouldn’t be espos–expos–trying to model to her children. After all, it’s not exactly unsightly, is it?”

“No, it’s pretty!” Zackey cut in, trembling a bit when Vanessa and Brooke turned to look at him in surprise.

“Me too.” Monet nodded eagerly, “It really does say exactly who Vanessa is.”

“Completely!” Landon and Asia agreed in unison. “And you know how much mama loved–”

“That’s enough.” Brooke’s face stoned over again quickly, the ride from anger to defeat to some unreadable expression practically giving Vanessa whiplash. She kept her observation quiet, though; from the way Brooke’s eyes had taken up yet another wall of defensiveness, Vanessa could tell that she didn’t want anyone to notice, or at least, to say that they had.

“Alright, Miss Mateo,” Brooke sighed, turning back to Vanessa, “Have it your way. The painting can stay. But before you do any other… modifications , you will come to me for approval first, do you understand?”

“Absolutely.” Vanessa smiled, and Brooke only nodded before turning on her heels and stomping away, leaving Vanessa and the others to breathe out a sigh of relief. The temporary peace erupted as quickly as it came, though, when the kids looked back up at Vanessa, their eyes narrowing.

“Just because you covered for us doesn’t mean we like you.” Asia warned, but Vanessa just shrugged.

“I didn’t say it did.”

–

After another brief stare-down, Vanessa led the children into the kitchen for their mid-afternoon snack, peeking into the fridge to see what the cook had left and immediately recoiling.

Raw broccoli. Yuck .

“Y’all want something other than these dry little trees?” Vanessa dangled one of the stalks from her fingers, wrinkling her face, and was relieved when a couple of the children laughed, all of them nodding eagerly. It was a little glimmer of hope amidst everything, seeing how they had reacted; the fastest way to the heart was through the stomach, after all. Maybe she was finally earning some brownie points with her seven little monsters.

Then she noticed the way the kids were looking at each other, and that hope dried right back up.

“Can we have peanut butter and jelly?” Plastique clapped her hands eagerly, bouncing a little in her seat. “That’s our absolute favourite, but mother–”

“Which one of you is allergic?” Vanessa crossed her arms over her chest, and Plastique’s bouncing stopped dead in its tracks as her siblings’ jaws dropped open.

“I was a kid too, once.” Vanessa rolled her eyes. “I know all the tricks in the book.”

“It’s me.” Kam sniffed, her eyes cast down at the floor. “I’m the allergic one, so mother doesn’t let us have it.”

“Mhm.” Vanessa nodded, though she couldn’t help the smile that curled at the corners of her mouth. “So we not gonna do that, then. Any other suggestions?”

The children were silent, but Vanessa didn’t expect them to say anything, anyway; imagination was hard when people tried to stamp it out of you, she knew that. No matter; she already had an idea forming in her head.

–

“ Why does this house smell like–”

“It’s broccoli.” Vanessa shrugged as Brooke stormed into the room, her nostrils flaring. “You did say the kids should have broccoli.”

“Yes, but not–”

“It was in the fridge.” Vanessa popped another cheese-coated stalk in her mouth, grinning when Brooke’s face took on a stricken look, as if Vanessa had just hit her in the face with a block of cheese. Which, in a way, she supposed she had.

“I said no pungent foods –”

“It was in the fridge.” Vanessa repeated, “I assumed that it would have passed your inspection if it was?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“The Lord doesn’t approve of hypocrisy, Captain, and eating cheese that your children are not allowed to indulge in really wouldn’t fall in the category of fairness, would it?”

Brooke took a deep inhale, pinching the bridge of her nose as she sighed out impatiently. “No, it doesn’t. I’ll throw the rest of it out.”

“No need to.” Vanessa shook her head. “It’s already all finished, and now I’ll spray some freshener and the children can brush their teeth. Problem solved.”

Brooke could only stare in shock as Vanessa stood up and waved for the children to follow, all of them looking like deer in headlights as they walked past their speechless mother out into the hallway.

“Okay, that was cool, but it doesn’t mean we want you here.” Monet huffed under her breath, but Vanessa wasn’t bothered; she understood, after all, so why would she have tried to tell the kids not to feel upset that yet another nanny had arrived to put even more distance between themselves and their mother?

“I wouldn’t want me here, either.” Vanessa threw up her hands in mock-surrender, “But here I am.”

She didn’t bother looking back as she flounced off to the servants’ quarters, ready to get a full list of the children’s allergies and intolerances from the cook.

–

Dinner in the Hytes household was at nineteen-hundred hours sharp. Brooke had made that very clear during her tour, and though throughout the day, her brood of goblins made a strong effort to confuse Vanessa by saying that it was at five o’clock, six o’clock, seven thirty, Vanessa had made sure to double-check with the other staff that nineteen-hundred was correct. So sure, in fact, that she had written it on her arm in thick permanent marker.

There was just one problem–Vanessa had no idea when nineteen-hundred hours actually was , and she certainly wasn’t about to ask the demon squad for clarification. So instead, she tried to remember the twenty-four hour clock lessons from the seventh grade, wracking her brain to remember the trick she was taught, whether it was to subtract ten, eleven, or twelve hours. And then there was the matter of actually doing that math herself…

“You’re still here?”

Vanessa looked up from her book to see Lurchenstein standing in the doorway of the servants’ quarters kitchen, looking aghast. Looking up at the clock, it blinked 6:55 PM, and suddenly, she realized her mistake.

“Nineteen-hundred hours isn’t eight?” she kept her voice calm despite the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks. She already knew the answer–if dinner was at eight, then the butler’s shock wouldn’t have been reasonable. But if it was at seven…

“And your dress is covered in paint, too…” Lurchenstein groaned, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “You need to change, quickly! If you’re even a minute late, the captain…”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence; Vanessa was already booking it through the house in a frantic attempt to get to her room, praying to God she wouldn’t get lost on the way.

She arrived in the dining room at 7:05 PM, panting and gasping as she stared at a sea of very pleased faces and one enraged one. Brooke’s expression was so grim, her lips pursed together in such a thin, resolute line that Vanessa thought the captain might implode. She needed to say something, and needed to do it fast.

“I’m sorry,” Vanessa admitted breathlessly, her heart seizing as she spoke, “It’s my fault. I haven’t used the twenty-four hour clock in a very long time, and miscalculated. If it weren’t for Mr Lurchenstein, I would have missed it entirely. I should have double-checked, and that’s on me.”

It was strange–instead of making a snippy comment or taking her to task, Brooke relaxed a little.

“I’m sorry for assuming you knew.” Brooke shook her head. “Thank you for being accountable. I don’t tolerate much imperfection, but not knowing isn’t quite the same…”

So the captain did have a heart. Thank God.

“It’s subtracting twelve.” Vanessa was unable to suppress a little smile as she began to take her seat, her heartbeat evening out and relief washing through her body. “I got it n– Oh! ”

She rocketed back up as her rear hit something soft, springy, something that jumped right back at her.

“Miss Mateo?” Brooke shot her a questioning look, but Vanessa hardly heard her; she was too busy glancing out of the corner of her eye, watching as something fat and green bounced away…

“Rheumatism.” Vanessa coughed, taking her seat.

“Right.” Brooke looked doubtful, but said nothing else. A double blessing.

“So, shall I say grace?” Vanessa changed the subject before anything else could be said, before the rude brood had a chance to call Vanessa out on her lie–not that they would, really, because what could they say that wouldn’t give them away? In fact, Plastique and Crystal were already shrinking back a little, looking awfully guilty…

“Yes, please do.” Brooke confirmed, and as if on signal, every member of the Hytes family made the sign of the cross and bowed their heads in such perfect unison that for some reason, it once again took Vanessa by surprise. Still, the alarm quickly dried up, because even though she’d been at the house for only nine hours, she already knew that if she expected anything less than this, it was her fault. She’d made her bed, that was for sure.

But that didn’t mean she had to lie in it, not necessarily. Not without a fight.

“Actually, before we pray, I thought I’d say something.”

Immediately, every child’s head snapped up, their faces seized with terror. It was pretty satisfying, Vanessa had to admit, and it was tempting not to play to their fears, to snitch or to pretend she was going to. But that wouldn’t get her anywhere, she already knew that. She had to catch these flies with honey, or she could expect something much worse than a frog on her chair next time.

“I wanted to thank all of you for making me feel so welcome here. All those precious games we played and gifts you gave me, knowing how scared and worried I must be, coming into a new place all on my own. How important it was for me to feel accepted and welcome—really, you guys have made me feel at home, and I can’t thank you enough. Now, shall we pray?”

Unfortunately, they never got to grace–because the kids had started sniffling, and then broken into tears.

“Don’t worry,” Vanessa shook her head at Brooke, who was looking around the table in confusion. “They’re just happy.”

They ate the rest of their dinner in relative silence, but towards the end, Vanessa couldn’t help but notice that the dirty looks from the kids had ceased, and every request to pass the salt or for more mashed potatoes was accompanied by a shy smile and a please . And when they finally filed out of the dining room, children first and adults following after, Brooke’s eyes didn’t carry quite the hard, furious look that Vanessa had gotten used to seeing in them.

It was about an hour later, though, that Vanessa really knew that things were turning around in her favour. Vanessa had finished her prayers, finished laying staring at the ceiling without much but passing, overlapping thoughts rushing through her head, and had decided it was time to tuck in for the night. Even if it was only around nine o’clock, she was used to early bedtimes at the convent, and from the schedule Brooke had laid out, it seemed like this house would be no different. The house was already silent, too, everyone else having gone to bed and either fallen asleep or having been smart enough to keep their late-night shenanigans very quiet.

Everyone, apparently, except for the oldest Hytes daughter, who Vanessa could see and hear out of the corner of her window scaling the wall to climb down and meet a very strapping young woman in a military uniform waiting for her on the ground below.

Oh, this was too good not to listen in on.

“Are you sure your mom–”

“I’m sixteen, going on seventeen in a month,” Monet hissed, “And you’re almost eighteen, which means you’re basically an adult. I don’t care if she treats me like a kid. Mama never used to. So mother can grow up and realize I can take care of myself.”

Vanessa had to resist letting out a snort at that, but held back, moving a little closer to the window so she could hear better.

“I don’t like sneaking around–”

“Once you’re nineteen and I’m eighteen, we won’t have to. Anyway, I have this new nanny, she’s…she’s not like the others. She’s actually kind of…well, she’s pretty chill, not like mother at all. As long as she’s around, mother won’t assume I’m up to anything bad, and if she catches us, it’ll be Vanessa’s fault.”

Oh, Hell no. Vanessa had half a mind to call out, pop her head out the window to let Monet and this other kid know who they were dealing with. But before she could, something stopped her–a tiny voice, sweet and scared, one that she wasn’t used to hearing from Monet.

“I–I love you, Monique. I wanna be with you. And I know mother would approve of you, just…you’re in the military, and…you know how that’s a sore thing here. It’s too complicated. So if we have to sneak around for now…”

“I get it.” Monique sighs. “Well, at the very least, can we stay on the property? Your garden’s so big and so nice, and it’s a lot safer than going around at night. We can still spend time together, and I’ll be gone before your mom wakes up.”

Vanessa sighed out, her heart growing warm at the confession, at how responsibly and gently this Monique had responded. It was cute, how vulnerable Monet was being, how Monique was so willing to meet her halfway. Heck, when Vanessa was that age, she certainly wasn’t that thoughtful, and definitely not nearly as careful of her parents or what other people thought as these two. She had always believed in kicking her way across boundaries, not tip-toeing around them, on making messes if she had to, not planning things out to avoid them.

Maybe, just maybe, the kids would be alright after all.

“ Shit .”

Vanessa’s head snapped up at Monique’s voice, the teen’s tone suddenly changing from gentle to fearful.

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Vanessa had left her window open, and the two love-birds had spotted her.

“Shit, is that your mom’s–”

“No, just the nanny. Maybe she’s asleep–”

Vanessa had two options. Pretend to be asleep, never mention it, keep Monet feeling like her secret was safe.

Or, she could pop her head out, flash a thumbs up or something, let Monet and Monique know that she was on their side.

Fridge it–she might as well take a chance and do the latter.

“I won’t tell.” Vanessa whispered, popping her head out just enough so that the girls could see her, hopefully hear her enough to put their minds at ease. From the way their eyes became wide as saucers, she guessed they could.

“Seriously,” Vanessa crossed over her heart, making a crucifix, because that was how serious she was, how badly she wanted them to know she was telling the truth. “You seem like a lovely girl, Monique. Just…be careful, and don’t leave the property.”

The two teens didn’t waste any time–they scrambled away, huffing and hurrying and knotting their hands together. Good; they trusted her.

Vanessa was about to close her window, go to bed for real, when the scuff of footsteps running back under her brought her back to look outside again.

“Um,” Monet looked at her feet, chewing her lip and shifting from foot to foot. “I just wanted to say–Thanks. And, um…I like you. You’re cool. And I’m gonna tell the others to stop messing with you, ‘cause…I think I want you to stay.”

Vanessa felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart soaring as a grin spread over her face.

Monet wanted her to stay. She was going to stay. Finally, finally, she’d done something right.

“Don’t worry about it.” Vanessa shook her head, forcing a relieved breath out with the words. “I want to stay, too.”

[botaniia]

128

Good chapter, all in all! My thoughts will be much shorter on this one than on 127 because I really hadn’t a clue what to expect from this chapter as opposed to 127. I also read some discussion before writing this so that may influence this, I dunno

Jumping right into things with the airships and answering a question the fandom had since 127: why didn’t the Yaegerists destroy the airships? To push it even further, not only was the question answered, but this fact became a plot-relevant detail as well.

Random thought, but it’s interesting to see Hanji talk about the future prospects of recapturing the uninhabited rumbled lands once this is all over

It’s absolutely divine to see Hanji and Magath strategising and working together

Love love LOVE the panel of everyone getting equipped for battle. I’m dead at Reiner’s “Ah shit here we go again” expression. Very cool to see Annie holding a blade handle again after so long! Jean and Mikasa looking like models as usual, and I love Pieck floating in the background there

So at first I thought the steam was the colossals entering the water on Paradis’ shores. Apparently it’s all the way over at Marley and the rumbling already reached the north. That’s fast! And the fact that the steam can be seen all the way over on Paradis, does that mean that Marley really isn’t all too far away from Paradis?

Falco and Gabi on the lookout are the cutest ever. Glad we get to see my son this chapter! 

Annie: “Hey y’all ‘s okay if I’m armed right?” Everyone: “....”

Every chapter needs a random panel of Levi sleeping because Yams didn’t know what else to put there

Very interesting to see Annie talk using revenge as a frame of reference. It does show how long she’s been under. Pieck explaining the situation to her made me realise we need more interactions between these two

These panels make it obvious how much weight Reiner has lost. Jesus, look at his torso, his neck. He could rival Berthoto in his post-depression  height to weight ratio

I hadn’t even considered that the Yaegerists consisted of their comrades, not the way it’s presented by Jean anyway. It makes a lot of sense that they don’t want to fight and kill their old friends

Annie is to Jean this chapter what Jean was to Hanji the last chapter. Asking the really hard questions in response to a pacifist mindset.

Armin has gotten thick, wow

If I still shipped aruani I’d consider this a strong moment but now it just feels less impactful bhjvk

The dam finally broke for Connie! All these past chapters, he’s been off looking stoic and determined, but it looks like his emotions are finally showing outwardly as well. Poor fucking kid, he’s really seen too much

And he does raise a very important moral question there. With the realisation we see him make later in the chapter, it’s also a very fitting thing for him to wonder about. He’s just not ready to start killing, even if it’s the best option for their cause, and I can respect that he has issues with such a plan.

Annie’s expression... hurts me soul, man

I don’t think I follow yet how she came to the conclusion that JCAM wouldn’t have destroyed the walls if it were them. I don’t agree nor disagree, because I don’t think that it’s possible to estimate that. The JCAM of today definitely wouldn’t have done it, but the JCAM of today are adults who didn’t grow up as child soldiers under heavy propaganda and who were used as disposable weapons. It’s impossible to compare the two with each other. Is Annie saying this because she as the adult she is today would do it all again, as she stated a few chapters back? I’m sure discussion in the next few days will clear this line up.

It’s gonna take me a few days of thinking to understand what exactly that callback to Eren saying he’s just like Reiner means, and how it connects to Annie’s words. Does he think back of it because he likens himself to Eren, or because he likens Eren to himself? It feels like Eren’s saying that he would’ve broken the wall, which is exactly what he’s doing right now with the rumbling, but what do I know? I’m usually dead wrong about things like this. 

I can admire Reiner giving JCAM a choice to not fight the ones they hold dear. After all this time and despite everything, he still holds his old comrades dear enough to spare them from this battle

Hanji’s ready to kill, and I understand it. People are already dying in Marley and there’s no more time left to be humane about things. It’s just like the decision to torture Sannes, like the decision to kill RB given the chance. In an ideal world they’d be able to talk and take their time, but right now they unfortunately don’t have that luxury.

Poor fucking Pieck, Annie, and Reiner. Learning they may already be too late and the worst can have already happened. And Connie’s face. This is the most emotion we’ve seen out of him in a long time that wasn’t just flat out bitterness. He looks destroyed.

Magath shoving Onyankopon had me gigglin’, ngl

It was something else seeing Yelena so emotional and pained. Have we seen her like this before? In a situation where she’s not her usual confident, in control self but she’s genuinely in pain or scared? And then her crying... She’s growing on me more and more the more I see her, now I’m sorta hoping she survives this story

Magath’s confession... I’m gonna be honest, when I first read this it felt like it came out of nowhere and felt forced. Rereading it, I can see where it came from. It’s been on his mind for quite some time since it happened and the fact that they suddenly, just like that, ran out of time probably got him to decide that if there’s ever a time to say this, it’s now

It also proves the idea that right before someone is about to crack, they double down in their ideals. It’s a type of stubbornness all humans have and it often leads to conflict. Doubling down didn’t work, so he finally allowed himself to accept something he didn’t want to be true but somewhere knew was true anyway. That’s growth. I did think Magath would end up coming through in the end

Good on him, a Marleyan, to tell Eldians that the one truth Eldians had always been taught, that they are responsible for their ancestors’ sins, isn’t true at all and that they do not deserve the blame. It just doesn’t hold the same relieving value if an Eldian says it. That was sorely needed, and for Magath specifically to say that is a good thing!

And to tell it to Pieck, Annie, and Reiner as well? That’s a very important detail as well. Done are the days of only absolving the 104th when the warriors deserve it just as much

‘Forgive but don’t forget, teach our children what happened without pointing the finger’ is such an important key idea and I’m glad it’s been put into words. Maybe the school kids from the s4 preview are the outcome of that?

I’m gonna wait for the official translation to look at Armin’s refusal because I don’t believe I fully grasp what he means there

Floch implying that the death of Kiyomi’s nation is a good thing, that she no longer has to worry, shows just how wrong his entire school of thought is. He’s literally “can’t worry about your homeland if your homeland doesn’t exist anymore”. 

Kiyomi’s words as parallel to Erwin’s? Love it

“But what’s most important is for you to know your place” WOW, guy really is on a power trip where he wants to establish a rigid hierarchy, huh?

He does look absolutely terrifying in those panels. Congrats, Yams, you made me intimidated by Floch for reasons other than “he might shoot anyone at any time”

Armin’s strategy bkhjvgjh use the chaos and confusion to get the edge on him, I like it

Absolutely love the dynamic between Connie and Armin. Armin, you lying shit, you’re fake crying again

He knew from the start it hadn’t worked though

Samuel! DAZ!!!! Finally! They’re back! The memes are no longer just dreams!

Kiyomi charging Floch and proceeding to wipe the floor with him will be the subject of my dreams for years to come

When Armin and Connie first realised that the plan failed, I was sure they were surrounded by Yaegerists on all sides and they’d stand no chance. That’s also the moment I accepted that one of them was gonna get KO’d. I honestly expected Connie to bite the dust

When Mikasa first crashed through the window, I thought that she was Levi. Look at that face! It’s such an Ackerman face! It took me a few pages to determine whether that was Mikasa or Levi, even if I knew Levi definitely wouldn’t have been a possibility.

God, how good it feels to see Floch so desperate and distressed! That panel where he’s on his stomach and shoots his anchor out of the window is hilarious

Floch thinks Jean is dead, so he didn’t call for the Yaegerists to attack him. I wonder if that’ll play out somehow. But it does show that he believed that Armin spoke the truth when he said that Jean and Onyankopon were killed. So does he still think the warriors are not on their side (until he’s obv proven wrong, ofc)?

Magath in a SC jacket is 😩👌

Armin being shot had me bamboozled. If he still were my fav character I would’ve definitely had a heart attack, but even now that fucking HURT and caught me completely off-guard. Especially since it’s not just one shot, but three, all of which hit a major artery in one way or another. I was sure Armin was out for a good moment here

Oh wow. I didn’t realise it the first time reading, but the second time? God damn, the parallels between SC and warriors in that particular scene. Just like how Jean and Connie talked to Bertholdt and Reiner about how they’d grow old together and share a good drink once this was all over but their betrayal destroyed that possibility and nullified their camaraderie, Samuel is talking to Connie and Armin about how they’d retake the lands and raise as much cattle as they wanted once this was all over but their betrayal made that impossible. Connie got it. Connie understood in that moment and that’s currently emotionally fucking me over

Reiner and Annie shooting up behind Floch... 😩👌

THEIR TRANSFORMATION POSES, HOT DAMN They’re ready to wipe the floor with some Yaegerists

At first I thought we’d gotten nakey Reiner (ain’t his ass plates missing?) but his face gave me renewed hope. The unhardening thing was a one-time thing only, so it looks like his titan does get armour!

I wonder how convincing it would’ve sounded if in 2016 we heard that in 2020 we’d be overjoyed to see the armoured titan and the female titan wrecking some Survey Corps shit but look where we are now

Zombie Armin looked TERRIFYING, holy fuck

And then there’s those last two pages. Wow. I didn’t even know what I was reading when I first read them, I hadn’t a clue that I was reading the exact narrative I’d been begging to see for many many years. And when I realised it, fuck, that felt good

Connie is betraying comrades, dearly beloved people whom he shared good times with, whom he made promises to, but who unfortunately ended up being on the opposite side of the conflict as he is, because it’s what his goal requires of him. 

The way Samuel words it, it’s even a direct parallel to the way the 104th worded their grievances to Bertholdt and Reiner when they were running away with Eren and Ymir. And when Connie finally answers “You are our comrades, but...” it just clicks. They’re his comrades, they are valued, and yet they still have to die. Just like they did in Clash. Just like they did in RtS. He’s in the exact same situation as RB were years ago, and he’s 100% aware of how this is what’s happening

And it’s the fact that Connie doesn’t use this memory to back down to prove to himself that he’s ‘better’, letting Armin and possibly himself get killed in the process, but instead reevaluates his stance and recontextualises what he knew back then, that’s exactly what I’ve been wishing for for so long

I intend to make a separate post on this because I have so many thoughts on this subject. This tiny detail changes so much for me, clears up so many of the doubts I had, and gives me so much hope that I’m sure will be shattered over the next few weeks but let me DREAM

In fact, I made the post right here

[quicksilversquared]

Crash and Burn: Chapter 3: From the Ashes

Everyone in Paris had always assumed that if Hawkmoth were to die, it would be mid-battle with the superheroes, or maybe in a jail cell years down the road, after being defeated. No one expected him to die suddenly in a car crash on a sunny afternoon.

Least of all, his son.

links in the reblog

                                                                 oi staff where’s the page break line

Adrien's day started with a media fuss about the fact that Gabriel Agreste wasn't getting a funeral, just a private burial. Adrien would have ignored it- after all, he had other things to deal with- but one article was suggesting that perhaps Gabriel Agreste had been Hawkmoth and that was why there was no funeral.

Groaning, Adrien rolled his way out of bed and headed downstairs to prepare a media statement saying that the reasoning behind having no funeral was because his father hadn't been a good parent in years, if ever, always putting work before family; that Adrien had been planning on cutting off contact with his father anyway once he was through university and on his own because he didn't need a toxic presence like that in his life; and that despite what the press wanted to believe, the decision to not hold a funeral for his father was entirely based on that. There was no point in him dedicating the time and effort to put together a funeral to celebrate the life of his father when his father had never spared any time for him, and besides, Adrien had exams and the rest of his life to think about.

Either he would come off heartless and cold to the media, or he would make a good chip in his father's reputation. Considering that a number of people already had an inkling about what his father was like- there had been articles commenting about the lack of Gabriel Agreste at Adrien's assorted sporting events before and more than a few reports about how he blew people off and regularly insulted his designers- the claim that father and son hadn't been at all close was hardly coming out of nowhere.

By the time lunch rolled around, new articles had been posted with Adrien's official statement. They all seemed to take the statement at face value, thankfully, and it was a much more relaxed Adrien who slouched down in front of his TV after he finished his lunch. That was one crisis averted, at least for now.

And then Nadia Chamack popped up on the TV screen, announcing that she was going to be interviewing people around the Louvre about their responses to Ladybug and Chat Noir's unwillingness to release Hawkmoth's identity to the police and to the public.

"Oh, not this again," Adrien groaned, muting the TV before pressing his hands to his face. Ladybug had said that it would probably take a bit for the interest to die down, but couldn't they give it a break for even a little while? "I don't really want to listen to a bunch of people talk about how apparently they have the right to screw up my life even more-"

"Kid." Plagg's voice cut Adrien off mid-complaint. When he looked up, his kwami was staring at the TV. "Look."

Adrien looked. Onscreen, Rose and Juleka were talking to Madam Chamack. On a small banner across the bottom of the screen, text read In Favor of Ladybug Keeping Hawkmoth's Secret.

Adrien managed a smile at that. At least there would be a couple people in Madam Chamack's piece that weren't clamoring for the release of Hawkmoth's name. They would be in the minority, surely, but at least they were there. People would have to admit that not everyone in Paris shared the same point of view. It wasn't much, but it was something.

And then the familiar faces kept coming.

Mylène and Ivan made an appearance, apparently out and about in the area for a picnic. Adrien turned the sound on long enough to catch Mylène decrying both the pressure on Ladybug and Chat Noir to change their mind and reporters' attempts to figure it out independently, pointing out that the search would involve harassing people who just suffered a loss in their family no matter how the reporters did it and that was just plain cruel. One dissenter followed them, but they sounded less than certain about their opinion after hearing Mylène's words.

Madam Chamack approached a group of roller skaters next, and Adrien spotted Alix's distinctive spiky pink hair among the skaters as they told the camera that they supported Ladybug and Chat Noir's decision, too. A group of university students told her the same thing, chattering with each other how having the information out could impact the remainder of Hawkmoth's family even though they had been declared innocent, and a flash of familiar teal hair in the back of the group made Adrien do a double-take.

That was Luka among the group. Adrien had thought that his university was on the far side of the city.

The next two passer-byes were strangers, who admitted that they were curious but that they could see everyone else's points about why making Hawkmoth's identity public would be a bad idea. They were followed by Aurore and Mireille- seriously, how were all of these people that Adrien knew just happening to be passing by?- then another dissenting stranger before Jagged Stone, Fang, and Penny all showed up to tell Madam Chamack that they stood by the superheroes' stance, too.

"What on earth," Adrien said, leaning forward with a bit of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. "Where did Jagged Stone come from? How did he just happen to show up when Madam Chamack was interviewing people? That's so- oh. Of course. Of course she would."

The answer to his question had just appeared on the screen. Madam Chamack had approached Marinette as she headed across the square to join Rose and Juleka in their impromptu picnic, and everything fell into place at once.

Marinette had been talking to a lot of people over the course of the morning and also spending a lot of time tapping at her phone. Adrien had thought at the time that it was a little strange- normally Marinette didn't spend that much time talking to people and she definitely didn't spend that much time on her phone- but he had written it off. As class representative, Marinette was in charge of the end-of-year picnic and could have easily been collecting suggestions for what people wanted to do before exams were on top of them. It was obvious now that that wasn't the case at all. She must have been recruiting people to show up at the Louvre.

As for how Marinette knew about the live interviews in the first place, well- her mom knew Madam Chamack, so Marinette could have overheard when and where they would be taking place. And considering how irritated she had been with Alya earlier with the 'Hawkmoth identity debate', it was just like Marinette to organize as many people as she could to be in the area so that she could control the narrative being presented.

He was being protected by two incredible girls, it seemed. Ladybug stood between Chat Noir and reporters, and Marinette was providing a civilian intervention.

"I like her," Plagg said approvingly, watching as Marinette launched into an impassioned explanation of why she supported Ladybug and Chat Noir's decision, pointing out that Hawkmoth's family had been very brave in going to the superheroes when they could have just hidden the Miraculous and let the akuma attacks come to an unexplained end. "Very clever. Underhanded, maybe, and manipulative, but used for all the right reasons."

On screen, Madam Chamack was looking as though this interview thing wasn't quite going the way that she had planned. She had clearly tried asking Marinette a few follow-up questions and gotten completely flattened by Marinette's thought-out answers, and now she wasn't quite sure what to do.

"So that's the, uh, lycée and university population pretty well covered," Madam Chamack told the camera. "And, uh, a couple adults shared their views as well. Let's approach some of our more seasoned Paris residents! Sir, do you have a moment?"

The camera panned out to show an elderly man lugging a bag of flour across the plaza. He looked irritated at the sight of the camera, muttering something under his breath, but he came over to join Madam Chamack anyway. He seemed oddly familiar, too, and Adrien furrowed his brow, trying to place him. Was he a former akuma, maybe? Perhaps a recent one? For some reason, that didn't seem quite right.

Plagg cackled. "Oh, this one should be good."

"Today's hot news is that Ladybug and Chat Noir refuse to release Hawkmoth's identity to the public now that he has died," Madam Chamack told the man. "The police and the public want to know who Hawkmoth was. What are your thoughts?"

"In my day, people respected the opinion of the experts!" the man said in a half-bellow straight into the microphone that had Adrien scrambling for the remote to turn the volume down. "And Ladybug and Chat Noir are the experts here, because they're the one who know how the Miraculous work and have been the ones fighting all of the akumas." He scowled at the cameras. "All of these petitions and ignoring experts' opinions and acting as though the public's opinion should be the final judgment- that's not how you're supposed to do it!"

The familiar line had Adrien practically choking on his laughter as he finally placed the face with a memory. "Marinette's grandpa! No wonder I remember him! He's a character, that's for sure."

"All this push for scoops and hits and views- that's not how you're supposed to do it!" Roland Dupain continued, slinging his bag of flour over his shoulder so that he could punch his fist into the palm of his opposite hand. Madam Chamack was starting to look like she rather wanted to sink into the pavement. "In my day, we had responsible reporting! News reporters considered the consequences of information going public before smearing it across the headlines! We called this kind of shameless digging and pushing no-good, trashy tabloid reporting!"

Plagg was howling with laughter. "Oh, I love him, too!"

"Ah, thank you," Madam Chamack managed, and Roland Dupain nodded shortly before stomping off back across the plaza. "I think that's all we have time for right now. Uh, there were a lot of interesting and at times unexpected opinions and a lot for Paris to consider. Back to you, Alec!"

Adrien grinned as he shut the TV off, catching sight of a baffled Alec before the screen went dark. "Oh, Marinette is my favorite. I do worry a little bit, though- most of Paris won't notice the theme there, but Alya will, if she watches it. And she might call out the planting people on the scene on the Ladyblog."

Plagg made a face. "That's true, but all it would take is people saying that they were there together for some completely normal reason- like, all of your classmates except skater girl had picnic stuff with them- and Madam Chamack just happened to pick them all to interview because they were easy to approach or something. It's not like they were approaching the reporter lady, she was approaching them. And does Alya know Marinette's grandpa? You only know of him because of when he got akumatized."

"I'll have to ask Marinette." Adrien pushed himself up off of the couch. "But right now, I have homework to do. And I'll get you more cheese."

Plagg cheered, following Adrien at once.

                                                                                            @staff why’d you get rid of page breaks

 Marinette looked rather like the cat that got the cream when Adrien entered the classroom. Alya wasn't there yet, so Adrien sat himself down next to Marinette and grinned at her when she looked up. "Someone had a busy lunch hour."

"Shhh. Don't let anyone hear." Marinette leaned closer to him, though, clearly not at all upset. A small smile was playing at the corners of her lips. "So you saw the interviews?"

"And all of the people you planted? Sneaky, sneaky." Adrien snorted at Marinette's preening grin. "But what if Madam Chamack does more interviews or Alya picks up on the fact that most of those people know you?"

Marinette snorted. "What do you take me for, an amateur? I have backup plants, those weren't all of them. I'm actually surprised that as many of them were picked as there were this time around. And I have an ear in the Kidz Plus studio who can give me a heads-up about what's going on there. If they do another round of interviews, I have the plants that weren't interviewed this time ready for the next round. And there are a lot of them who Alya won't recognize- friends of friends and coworkers of people I know and friends of my parents' and their bakery staff. And Alya doesn't know my grandpa. He was the last person that Madam Chamack interviewed, by the way. I don't know think you've met him, either."

Adrien grinned at the memory. "How did you persuade him to come out and do that, by the way? Wasn't he that old-timey akuma that didn't like new stuff?"

The giggle that Marinette let out was absolutely adorable. It was also a little devious. Actually, scratch that, a lot bit devious. "Oh, it wasn't hard. I just had to agree to go bake with him this summer and learn how to make some of our bakery's items the old-fashioned way. He's been dying to get the chance to teach me. It's not that I didn't want to before, but I just haven't had the time during the school year."

Adrien could relate to that. Still, he couldn't resist the urge to tease Marinette, just a little bit. "Should I be concerned about how good you are at this whole deception thing?"

"I only use my powers for good, I promise!" Marinette grinned at him. "Would you like to join me for the baking lessons? I know you've enjoyed watching my dad make stuff."

Adrien perked up immediately. Learning how to do Dupain-Cheng- or, he supposed, just Dupain- baking? Yes, please! "Ooh, yeah, I'd love to!"

Even though most of the interviewees had been planted, it seemed like the general attitude at school was more split now than it had been before. People had heard normal civilians like themselves admitting that their curiosity about Hawkmoth's identity wasn't worth destroying Hawkmoth's family's relationships and job prospects by creating a bias about them, and they were actually starting to listen.

There were still dissenters, though. And it didn't help that the Ladyblog was one of them. Alya had moved on to claiming censorship, which was actually ridiculous and was very much not likely to help her secure a reporter job in the future.

(Adrien had to wonder how many articles on the Ladyblog were going to end up getting edited or deleted entirely as Alya went through her journalism program in university and she realized that they were in bad taste or weren't good examples of reporting. He had noticed that Lila's video and the subsequent article follow-ups had quietly vanished as soon as Lila's lies came to light, and there were a couple earlier articles that had been edited to sound a little more professional and not so fangirl-y. Some of her earlier mistakes could be written off as inexperience and excitement, but the later ones?

Alya should have known better by now.)

It didn't escape Adrien's notice that Marinette was talking about literally anything other than Hawkmoth as they went through their afternoon classes. She told him about her parents' plans for trying to make some new treats for the summer, and about some of the designs that she was working on, and mentioned some of her own plans for summer break. It was surprisingly normal conversation, especially considering that Adrien had kind of expected that she would be fired up from her success with the interviews and eager to talk about the planning that had gone into them, and he had to wonder why.

Was it because Hawkmoth's death was sudden and recent and Mr. Agreste's death had been the same, so she didn't want to inadvertently poke at any sore spots? Did she suspect who Hawkmoth had been? Maybe it was just because she picked up on the fact that he needed something normal right now.

Or maybe it was because of the fight that Marinette had gotten with Alya over Hawkmoth's identity and she was sick of the topic. According to Nino, the two girls still weren't on speaking terms by the end of the school day.

"Alya's actually even more ticked off now, because she thinks that Marinette set up a bunch of those interviews near the Louvre," Nino told him after school, once both Marinette and Alya had gone their separate ways. "And she confronted Mylène and Rose about it, but they said that they just happened to be in the area with their picnic and Marinette got invited last-minute, which is why Alya hadn't been told. Which is still kinda strange- like, how likely is it that they would go to the Louvre for a picnic? And Alix was there, too- but I guess it's possible?"

Adrien tried not to laugh. Marinette's team clearly had their excuses lined up. "I guess. And it's not like it's a bad location."

Nino made a face. "It's crazy busy there, though. I'd much rather just go to a park. And it's also weird- like, I know that Alix was super-curious about Hawkmoth's identity before, and the rest of them were, too. I mean, they weren't so intense about it that they would join the people following Ladybug and Chat Noir around to yell at them about it or anything, but they weren't exactly supporters of Ladybug and Chat Noir not telling Paris until Marinette got to them."

Adrien could only shrug. "Well, Marinette made good points. She's persuasive."

"Oh, not you, too!" Nino exclaimed. "I think that people are exaggerating the potential effects on Hawkmoth's family, if they actually didn't know about him before. It couldn't possibly be that bad."

"See, that right there is why it would be bad," Adrien shot back, pointing at Nino. "People assuming that his family actually did know. Ladybug and Chat Noir said that they didn't, so why don't people trust that?"

"Uh, maybe because Ladybug and Chat Noir are two teenagers, not trained professionals, and people lie?" Nino suggested. "And the police are trained to pick up on lies, so they should be the ones doing the interviewing. Not Ladybug and Chat Noir, who are just trained to fight akumas."

Oh, for... "Didn't Chloe once say something about a little creature giving her her powers as Queen Bee?" Adrien pointed out, remembering one of Chloe's superhero vlogs. It had been super annoying at the time to have her sharing Miraculous secrets with the world, but now? It was positively useful. "Isn't it likely that Ladybug and Chat Noir interviewed Hawkmoth's little creature? Like, if I were in their shoes, that would be the first thing that I would do."

Nino paused, mouth half-open as he struggled to find an argument. After several seconds, he frowned, his mouth closing fully. "...huh. I guess, yeah." He groaned. "There goes the last of Alya's decent justifications for them needing to share Hawkmoth's identity."

Adrien didn't say anything to that. It sounded like Nino was still on Alya's side, even though he didn't have a good reason, and that was frustrating.

"Dunno if I'm going to say that, though," Nino added, running one hand over his hair. "She's already not super-happy about so many of our classmates changing their minds, and I'd like to actually finish the year with a girlfriend, thanks. And I can't deny that I'd really like to know, too."

"Right," Adrien managed, feeling more disappointed than he was willing to let on. He had been hoping that his friends wouldn't be in a fight right now because the timing was obviously less than ideal, but clearly no one was going to budge on their position. Not that he wanted Marinette to budge, because obviously she was right, but Nino and Alya? Couldn't they see that they were wrong?

He didn't know who he was kidding. Alya could be stubborn as a mule. She wasn't going to change her mind.

At least he had Marinette, Adrien thought as Nino bid him good-bye and headed off. Even if Alya got angry at him about the Hawkmoth thing, he wouldn't be the odd one out in the classroom.

                                                                                           @staff let me tag you you cowards

 He got a message from Ladybug after school on Friday that she wanted to meet up at midnight. Adrien groaned- that was late- but he couldn't deny that the late time made sense. Despite the fact that Marinette's interview plants were helping change some people's opinions about finding out Hawkmoth's identity- clearly she had ears in more than just the Kids Plus studio, because several of the main TV stations had done the interviews and come up with similar results- he and Ladybug still hadn't been able to go out and about without people bugging them, yelling after them as they ran across the rooftops. The portion of the population that still wasn't agreeing with their decision was very vocal about it. The only way that they could was by going out so late that people wouldn't be able to see them. Still- midnight?

Even though it was nearly summer and days were longer than ever, that seemed late. Maybe she was just being extra-careful because of recent events.

Chat Noir didn't know what to expect when he met up with Ladybug on top of an abandoned warehouse, one that was large enough that no one would be able to see them from the street. Maybe she just wanted to check in on him, but they couldn't exactly spend a lot of time hanging out with it so late. Even though it was the weekend, he couldn't just screw up his sleeping schedule by staying up long past his usual bedtime. He had studying to take into account, and he had his normal activities still to consider.

His stomach dropped when he spotted the nervous look on Ladybug's face as he approached her. In a flash, he started thinking of what that might mean. Had the police or the mayor made some sort of order that they had to comply with? Had Master Fu told her that they had to share Hawkmoth's identity with Paris? Was there something wrong with the Miraculous? Had Nooroo revealed that another household member had been working with Hawkmoth, or maybe he had reconsidered Nathalie's culpability?

"You look like you're about to panic," Ladybug commented, nerves vanishing into a frown as he joined her. "Did something happen?"

Just like that, the rising terror vanished. "I- no? It just- it looked like you had bad news to share, maybe, and I just- I was trying to think of what it might be, and-"

"Oh! Oh, no, nothing bad," Ladybug assured him hastily, reaching out to take his hands. "Just- something I was nervous about. I was talking to Master Fu today, and he suggested that we be less visible for a bit, because we keep getting harassed whenever we go out and people aren't going to forget about Hawkmoth and move on if they're seeing us every day."

Chat Noir's stomach dropped. Out of all of the possibilities that he had thought up, the possibility of losing Ladybug as his support system hadn't been one of them. Of course, they could still transform and talk via their communicators, or meet up late at night so that no one would see them- it would be summer soon, he could stay up then- but it wouldn't be the same. He- he needed Ladybug. She knew everything that he was going through, and could help him more than anyone else could, and, and-

"And I didn't want to have to stop seeing you," Ladybug continued, and suddenly he could breathe again. "I know- I know that you haven't told anyone in your civilian life about everything, and that it's good for you to be able to talk about it if you want to, and you're probably not getting enough hugs, and I would miss you too, obviously, and-"

Chat Noir couldn't help but grin. Ladybug was babbling, which meant that she was nervous about something but not something bad. He knew her well enough by now to know that if it were bad, her words would be punctuated by long silences and nervous lip-biting. "Uh-oh. Here comes the word vomit."

"-it's not fair that- hey! It's not- I'm not-"

Ladybug spluttered as Chat Noir laughed. "You are babbling. I'm not going to bite, my Lady. You can spit it out."

Ladybug let out a huff, her tensed shoulders finally relaxing. "Ugh. Okay. Fine. So anyway, I didn't want you to lose any support or not be able to talk, so I got- I got permission from Tikki and Master Fu to reveal my identity to you so that we can still see each other. I don't want you to feel any pressure to reveal your identity," she added hastily as Chat Noir's jaw fell open. "Like, if you want to come over to my house in a trench coat and sunglasses and a hat to hide your costume, that's fine. But I want you to know where to find me if you want to talk about anything, or just hang out, or- or anything, really."

Chat Noir nodded, swallowing. He hadn't been expecting a reveal tonight, but this- he had been hoping to learn Ladybug's identity for a while now, but he had all but given up hope that it would happen any time soon. "O-okay."

"I'm just a bit nervous about it," Ladybug admitted, giving herself a little shake. "Give me a minute."

"It's just me, my Lady," Chat Noir reminded her, stepping forward to give her a quick hug. "Nothing to be nervous about here."

"I know, it's just- no one besides Master Fu and my kwami knows my identity, and I'm not used to transforming in front of people." Ladybug squared her shoulders, then closed her eyes. "Okay. Tikki, spots off!"

Chat Noir shielded his eyes as a pink flash lit up the rooftop. As soon as it faded, he lowered his arm and then a grin split his face.

"Oh, of course you're Ladybug," Chat Noir chuckled, reached forward to scoop his detransformed partner up into a hug. "Of course you are. Who else could it be? You're perfect."

Marinette's cheeks flushed pink in the moonlight. "I- I'm-"

"I saw you on TV, working to persuade people not to dig about Hawkmoth's identity," Chat Noir told her, burying his face in her hair for a long moment. Of course Marinette was Ladybug. She had been protecting him in and out of the mask, throwing absolutely all of her energy into it and going above and beyond to keep him safe. "And I heard rumor that you were in charge of organizing to have people who support us in the area to get interviewed for TV."

"Lies and slander," Marinette said primly, sticking her nose up in the air. She gave up the charade after a second. "I had help from Pollen and Trixx and Wayzz. They staked out at the main TV stations and let Tikki know if they heard anything about interviews, and then I sent out mass emails to my contacts with the where and when and which station, so people knew what to look for."

Chat Noir grinned. That was his Ladybug, always the planner.

"You know where I live, right?" Marinette asked, snuggling back into his hug. Her arms twined around his waist. "If you want to come at night, you can just come in via the balcony. I can hide a key for you up there. And I could give you my phone number, too, so I can know if you're coming over. Or Plagg could probably look it up, too, on your communicator."

"Right," Chat Noir agreed happily, instead of telling her that he already had her number. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he wanted his secret for just a little bit longer. He hadn't come to their meeting expecting to reveal his identity, and he just wanted a little time for the idea to sink in. "I know where you are. I've visited you before, princess."

"Of course you have. Your kitty nose came sniffing around for treats." Marinette grinned up at him, and how had he not made the connection before? That look was pure Ladybug. "Now you can come 'round for the treats and the company."

"I came for the company before, too!" Chat Noir protested, knowing full well that she was kidding. Marinette knew that he enjoyed her company. "And to be your model, too, on more than one occasion."

Marinette giggled again, squeezing him in a hug, and the two of them ended up sinking down to sit on the rooftop together. Chat Noir pulled Marinette into his lap- after all, his suit protected him from the cold, rough rooftop and she wasn't transformed- and the two of them spent nearly an hour there on the rooftop, talking and just hanging out before finally deciding that they had to go home.

Chat Noir was practically bubbling with happy energy as he headed home, slipping through the window back into his room. Detransforming, he spun around the room before flopping down on his bed. "Ladybug is Marinette!"

"Surprise," Plagg drawled, landing next to him. "No wonder she was willing to get into a fight with Alya over the whole Hawkmoth identity thing."

"Right, because she personally knows me." Adrien rolled over to look at Plagg as a thought hit him. While most of Paris had only found out about Hawkmoth's death several days after Mr. Agreste died, Ladybug- Marinette- had learned about it less than 36 hours later, and knew for a fact that she had found out about it within that timeframe because they had just met up the day before everything happened. "Plagg- she knows that Chat Noir lost his father at the same time as Adrien did. There- there's no way that she doesn't suspect that I'm Chat Noir, is there?"

Plagg snorted. "Yeah, I bet she has her suspicions already. There were too many similarities there for Ladybug to ignore. But I'll also bet that she's been doing her best to ignore them until you decide to reveal yourself, so you can at least feel like you're in control of that information."

Adrien could only grin helplessly, still over the moon about- about everything. Marinette was so thoughtful, and kind, and gorgeous, and of course she was Ladybug. How did he get so lucky?

Even with as late as it was, it took him a while to settle down enough to fall asleep, too caught up in thoughts about Ladybug. Once he finally did drop off, Adrien slept well for the first time since his father's death, dreaming about ladybugs and going on a picnic in the park with Marinette at his side. He woke up late, rolling out of bed with a smile and a leisurely stretch, one goal in mind.

"I think I'm going to go over to Marinette's house today," Adrien told Plagg as he got ready for the day. "I just- how could I possibly stay away?"

Plagg considered him. "Are you going over as Adrien or as Chat Noir?"

Adrien just smiled, checking his reflection in the bathroom mirror before heading out into his room. "I'm both, aren't I?"

"That's not an answer!"

Half an hour later, with breakfast eaten and his school things packed up in his bag so that they could at least pretend to study, Adrien headed out the door with a wave to the Gorilla. He headed through the streets on the familiar route to Marinette's house, going around the park instead of through, avoiding all of the families hanging out and enjoying the sunlight. Lazing in the sun sounded fun, of course, but he had a bit of a different place to relax and enjoy the sun in mind, up on top of a certain bakery with a lovely dark-haired girl by his side. It didn't take long to reach the bakery, and Mrs. Cheng let him in at once. With a fresh croissant in hand, Adrien headed upstairs, excitement replacing the last bits of lingering anxiety with every step.

They were Ladybug and Chat Noir. They had closed one chapter of their life now with Hawkmoth's death, and now they could move forward together. Maybe there would be bumps in their road and times when things got tough, but they could handle anything together.

With a smile on his face, Adrien rounded the last set of stairs and came face-to-face with the door. With one last deep breath, Adrien moved Plagg to his shoulder, raised his hand-

And knocked.

Fin.

[this-sapphic-paradise]

The One With the Massage

Kara and Nia talk about Kara and Diana’s relationship

A commission for @rookie009 and beta’d by @lena-lipbite-luthor

rated E 

ko-fi // commission info

“One more?” Kara asked Nia as she got up from the couch to refill her glass with more wine.

“Yes, please,” Nia replied, following Kara into the kitchen. “So…” She drifted off, leaning on the marble island counter; a small, teasing smile tugging at her lips, “Wonder Woman, huh?”

Opening the fridge, Kara grabbed the bottle of wine and poured them some, rolling her eyes playfully at the question. “Yes. Diana and I are friends.”

“Diana…” Nia drifted off again as if the name meant something more than itself. “I bet Zeus also told Hera all his lovers were only his friends,” she quipped, raising an eyebrow at Kara.

Handing Nia her glass, Kara headed back to the couch speaking over her shoulder, “I-I never said we’re only friends.”

“Ah-ha!” Nia squealed, pretending not to be embarrassed about how excited she was to hear the news. “Tell me, tell me!!” she asked, joining Kara in the living room.

Kara bit the inside of her cheek to try and contain the smile threatening to make itself known as thoughts of Diana filled her mind. “Well,” she started, “as she put it, we are friends with benefits.”

“That must’ve been an interesting conversation to have,” Nia chuckled. “Isn’t she like, hundreds of years old?”

“Thousands of years old,” Kara nodded. “And it was an interesting conversation.”

The main thing Kara remembered about that night was the feeling of butterflies in her stomach from sharing her bed with Diana for the first time. There’s no other option, Kara mentally told herself, I don’t have another bed here, and Diana refuses to let me sleep on the couch… She maintained a chivalrous distance between the two, telling herself it was the right thing to do since Diana did not know about her feelings for her.

But Diana could hear how Kara’s breathing was fast and shallow, and she was painfully aware of how stiff Kara’s body was. Shaking her head good-naturedly, Diana turned on her side and began telling Kara about the first night she spent on the boat with Steve on their way to London, and how reluctant he had been to sleep next to her. “He got so flustered by my asking him if he did not sleep with women,” she chuckled; the sound making Kara’s heart skip a beat. “He told me about men’s idea of marriage, and I told him of Clio’s twelve-volume treatises on bodily pleasure.”

“Twelve??”

Diana laughed once more, “Steve was equally impressed.”

“Twelve volumes,” Kara marveled, looking up at the ceiling. “You must have learned a lot from them.”

“I did,” Diana replied truthfully. Her eyes traced each line and curve of Kara’s profile, studying them attentively in the darkened room. When she spoke again, her voice was slightly lower and raspier, “I learned a lot from my people’s books. They provided me with bountiful knowledge, but wisdom came from experience.”

Diana had been talking broadly about all the years of experience she had had walking among Amazons and mankind, but Kara did not follow her line of thought; she was still thinking about ‘bodily pleasure’ which turned Diana’s heartfelt statement into a spicy admission.

“Uh…” Kara mumbled, her cheeks turning bright red. “We never studied anything of the kind in Krypton, and I, uh… I don’t have tons of experience…” she confessed, thinking they were opening up to each other.

The color creeping from Kara’s cheeks down her neck had Diana confused for a second, but it did not take her long after tracing her own words back to realize what Kara was talking about. Smiling and shaking her head once more, Diana asked playfully, “No teaching how to please oneself and others on Krypton?”

Stuttering and making unintelligible noises, Kara shook her head vehemently, “No! No, no, no, no! We used a birth matrix, for crying out loud!”

As much as it was endearing to see Kara pretending to not be affected by the subject of their talk, Diana became concerned with the answer she got. “Was physical intimacy not important to your people?”

Kara shook her head without taking her eyes off the ceiling. “Being academically versed in your area of expertise was the most attractive thing to us. I mean, I guess attractive isn’t even the right word… I guess desirable fits better.” Kara chanced a look at Diana. “My mother was the equivalent of a judge, and my father was the head of the science council… They wanted their daughter to be smart, level-headed, and thoughtful with her words and decisions, but physical intimacy was not something we concerned ourselves with.”

“Must have been difficult to adjust to men’s world,” Diana offered to which Kara snorted, whole-heartedly agreeing with her.

“You could say that!” Kara laughed, turning to fully face Diana. “Everything on Earth is about sex! Everything you say can be turned into an innuendo with the right—or wrong—tone. Every touch means something... It was hard for me to learn all the social cues. Sometimes I’m still not good at it.”

“I understand,” Diana said softly. “I, too, had to learn all those cues when I left home. You have seen firsthand how different our values are in Themyscira.”

“You’re all straightforward about everything,” Kara chuckled again. “It’d be refreshing if more people started acting like that.”

The words caused Diana’s features to change; she became more focused, more serious, and for a fleeting second Kara wondered if she had said anything offensive.

“Then if I may be true to my upbringing,” Diana started, looking intently into dark blue eyes, “why are you not honest with me about your feelings?” Even in the dimly lit room, Diana could see Kara’s eyes widening in shock. She watched as the younger hero struggled, opening and closing her mouth multiple times without a single word making its way past her lips. “It is not my intention to put you in an uncomfortable position,” Diana continued, and Kara mentally thanked Rao for the small mercy of not having to talk just yet. “It is just… people like you and I, we experience time differently. I know you are still very young, but if you keep postponing making decisions—especially when it comes to your feelings—millennia might go by before you notice it, and you will have lost your chance of living something beautiful.”

Kara knew Diana was right. She knew she hid behind her crest as much as she hid behind her glasses; that being Supergirl gave her the perfect excuse to shut herself off in the name of keeping others safe, but… it came with a price. At times her loneliness felt as vast and as cold as the far reaches of space. “A-Are you… Are you saying you’d want to be in a relationship with me?” Kara asked timidly, trying to get past her embarrassment in favor of fully understanding what Diana was telling her.

Diana’s features softened once more. Kara’s ingenuity reminded her so much of herself, it became almost painful at times. Reaching with a calloused hand, Diana gently cupped Kara’s cheek, saying, “I am asking you to not hide your feelings from me. I am saying that I adore you, Kara, and that I think we will be friends for as long as we live. But you are still so young; your idea of what love is will probably change time and time again.”

“Then,” Kara began; her brows furrowing with confusion. “What does that mean for us?”

“To me, it means knowing that you might want to live a grand romance, and that I cannot be that for you, because I do not wish to tie you to me for eternity without you having enough experience in life to know without a shadow of doubt that I am what you want. It means,” Diana sighed softly, “it means I want you to be happy regardless if I am the one you are seeing at the moment.”

Frowning, Kara sat up on her bed and held Diana’s hand to maintain the physical connection between them. “So… you’re telling me, I can date you and other people at the same time?”

Diana sat as well; her eyes firmly on Kara’s. “I would not be opposed to that,” she replied with a nod. Diana’s free hand combed through her hair, and she muttered in a chuckle, “Explaining this is harder than I thought it would be.” Kara waited patiently for Diana to gather her thoughts. “I guess all I meant to say is: if you do have romantic feelings for me, we can explore them without expectations, and we can do it at your pace. No need to rush.”

“Oh…” Kara said, diverging her eyes to the pillow beside Diana—it was her turn to gather her thoughts. “So, we can be more than friends, but with no strings attached?” She asked, wanting to be a hundred percent sure she understood Diana.

Grinning sheepishly, Diana nodded once again. “What is it that Americans say? Friends with benefits?”

Kara threw her head back, laughing in that contagious manner that was so genuinely her. “I never thought a demi-goddess would ask to be friends with benefits with me.”

Diana laughed with Kara, but her laughter came with a faint blush as she waited for Kara’s response.

“I would actually love to,” Kara finally said, squeezing Diana’s hand reassuringly.

“Then we snuggled and went to sleep,” Kara told Nia who was drinking up every word from the story.

“That was a lot to take in,” Nia said, taking a sip of her wine, “but it was insanely cute.”

“Right??” Kara chuckled. “She was super cute, and I’m glad she could read me so well, ‘cause I’m sure I’d never, ever have mentioned my feelings for her otherwise.”

“I’d be terrified too,” Nia confessed. However, her curiosity was far from sated, and the little smirk she gave Kara warned the hero of that.

“What?” Kara asked, feigning being scared of what Nia would ask next.

“You can’t stop now, Kara!” Nia exclaimed. “Tell me more! Have you guys kissed? Gone to second base?” Nia dramatically raised an eyebrow and stage-whispered, “Third base?”

Snorting at her friend’s antics, Kara teased, “You sound like a high school jock!”

“You can’t blame a girl for being curious!!” she replied, laughing along with Kara.

As their laughter died down, Kara fidgeted with her wine glass. “We’ve done things…” she finally admitted, blushing hard as memories of her last encounter with Diana filled her mind.

“Remember what I told you, beloved,” Diana said, kneeling on the bed next to Kara who was laying on her stomach, a white sheet covering her naked body. “This does not need to lead to anything else.”

“I know,” Kara said, looking at Diana over her shoulder, noticing her lover had changed into a lilac silk robe that did very little to hide her curves. Swallowing hard, Kara proceeded, “It’s ‘an exercise to connect our bodies’,” she repeated the words Diana had said a few nights prior when she had presented the idea to Kara.

Smiling softly, Diana nodded. “Exactly. It can simply be a massage, and nothing more.”

Kara was not one to feel comfortable getting naked in front of anyone, not even her significant others, but her relationship with Diana had started in such an unconventional way, it spurred Kara to try to be more open-minded, to take a few more calculated risks, to dare a little more. So, when Diana proposed they give each other tantric massages, Kara controlled her knee-jerk reaction to immediately say no, and asked instead if they could stop in case it became too much for her. Of course, Diana had promptly said yes.

“All right, beloved,” Diana’s raspy voice caught Kara’s attention once more, and she felt her lover straddling her butt. “Are you ready?”

Kara closed her eyes, an excited little ragged breath escaping her lips. She could feel Diana’s warmth sipping through the thin layer between their bodies; it was soothing and thrilling at the same time, as if Diana was her own personal yellow sun. “Yes,” Kara breathed out shakily.

The lightest of touches brushed Kara’s golden hair away from her neck. It had been the simplest and most innocent of touches, but it still managed to send a shiver down her spine. The reaction was not lost on Diana, making her smile even as she chose not to comment on it. “I will work my way down,” Diana explained, wanting to keep their moment as “surprise-free” as possible in order for Kara to feel safe. True to her word, Diana began by massaging the base of Kara’s neck and ever so slowly worked her way through the Kryptonian’s chiseled upper back, kneading, pressing, and squeezing all the knots and tense spots she found. Kara groaned and whimpered in response to pleasure and pain, writhing involuntarily between Diana’s thighs.

It felt good, too good, to have Kara squirming under her, accidently applying pressure to the perfect place on Diana’s body. It would have been easy to stop the massage in favor of scratching the itch that was slowly turning into a wildfire between Diana’s thighs, but that was not the type of person she was; Kara still wasn’t ready. They still weren’t ready as a couple. So, suppressing her own desires, Diana peppered kisses along the well-defined lines of Kara’s back muscles, and whispered, “This type of massage can elicit very powerful emotions.” She slowly pulled the sheet completely off Kara, exposing her entire body to her for the first time. Licking her lips, Diana continued, “Not from sore pressure-points, but from letting yourself be vulnerable…” she drifted off, respectfully placing her hands on the small of Kara’s back, and asked, “Do you wish me to keep going, beloved?”

Diana was giving her a way out; if she wanted it to stop, all she had to do was say so. If Kara was being honest, a small part of her still felt embarrassed and wanted nothing more than to cover herself up again, but a bigger part of her was ecstatic to become so intimate with someone as caring and loving as Diana; a bigger part of her could not deal with the thought of Diana’s hands leaving her; a bigger part of her was focused on the wetness coating her skin where Diana was straddling her. “Please,” Kara moaned lowly, “don’t stop.”

The way Kara spoke instantly dried up Diana’s mouth while making other parts of her body even wetter. “Anything you wish, beloved.” Her voice was lower and raspier than before, with no effort to hide how Kara affected her.

Shedding her robe and dropping it right by Kara’s head to let her know of her state of undress, Diana scooted lower down Kara’s legs and began massaging her buttocks. Rough, calloused hands were still gentle and precise, touching Kara sensually, making her feel sexier than she had ever felt before.

“Diana…” Her name had never sounded so sweet, Diana thought, licking her lips as the scent of Kara’s arousal assaulted her senses. With a silent prayer to Hera to keep her resolve, Diana continued moving her hands lower, kneading the muscles on the back of Kara’s thighs, calves, and feet.

“Sit up for me, beloved.” Diana commanded softly, readjusting herself until she was sitting with her legs crossed in the middle of the bed.

The moment Kara turned around and saw Diana in all her naked glory was the moment Kara forgot how to breathe. She stared motionless for a while, making Diana duck her head and chuckle. The melodic sound woke Kara from her stupor, and she said sheepishly, “Sorry. You’re just… wow…”

With a faint blush coloring her cheeks, Diana bit her lip and said playfully, “You flatter me.” Kara had forgotten her own state of undress, being reminded of it when she noticed Diana’s warm brown eyes traveling down the front of her body. Then it was her turn to blush. “Do you wish to continue, beloved?” Diana checked in once more.

Smiling shyly, Kara nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.” She had come so far, Kara did not want to give up halfway through it, especially when the moment she was sharing with Diana was more intimate and satisfying than ninety-eight percent of the dates she had had in her life; and if there was more Diana and Kara could do together, she did not wish to shy away from it.

Grinning, Diana held her hand invitingly. “Come sit on my lap,” she said as if it was the most ordinary request in the world, but it caused Kara to swallow hard. It took her a moment to gather her courage, but Kara slowly crawled to Diana, letting the older woman adjust her legs behind her own lithe figure. “Hi,” she said; her breath tickling Kara’s lips.

“Hi,” Kara sighed softly, leaning in to rest her forehead against Diana’s.

“Thank you for trusting me this far, beloved,” Diana said, gently running her hands up and down Kara’s thighs. “I know it is not easy, and I want you to know how much I appreciate this moment with you.”

“How do you always seem to know what to say to make me feel better?” Kara asked with a small, playful smile on her lips, letting her thumbs caress her lover’s sides where her hands were resting.

“Magic,” Diana replied just as playfully, making Kara chuckle.

Brushing her nose against Diana’s, Kara confessed, “I don’t know if I’ll ever not be nervous when it comes to… me… being, um, naked.” She blushed. “But… even with all my nervousness, you make me feel better. A-And…” Kara averted her gaze for a second, before she rushed to get the words out, “And I want to keep going. I trust you.”

The kiss that followed was not their first kiss, but it was slow, and soft; it was patient, and curious; it spoke a thousand words without uttering a sound. That kiss was not their first, but they made it feel that way. Their lips moved languidly, following in perfect sync to a tune they were creating in their hearts, and slowly Diana lowered Kara back on the mattress without breaking the kiss.

Pulling back before her desire grew too wild to handle, Diana poured more oil on her hands, and gently settled them on Kara’s collarbones, checking in one more time before moving her hands lower, cupping Kara’s breasts in the gentlest of ways. The sweet gasp that escaped Kara’s lips, and the way she involuntarily ground her hips against Diana’s and arched her chest into her lover’s hands made a cocky little smile appear on the Amazon’s lips. “Does it feel good, beloved?” Diana asked, already knowing the answer she would get.

Kara nodded frantically, licking her lips as they had suddenly become dry. “Harder, please,” she begged shamelessly, moaning when she heard a low growl coming from Diana.

“Anything for you,” Diana purred, delighted to see Kara feeling so much pleasure. She squeezed harder, changing angles every now and then, trying to figure out what Kara liked the most. Diana was enjoying the sweet little mewling noises she was getting in response, but nothing could have prepared her for the sinful, guttural moan that fell from Kara’s lips as she pinched her nipples. “Gods…” Diana breathed out, feeling Kara’s arousal coating her pelvis as she writhed in delight against her.

“R-Rao,” Kara stuttered, looking at Diana with her pupils blown out with unbridled desire. “I didn’t- I didn’t know it could feel t-this good,” she panted. “Please… a-again.”

“How can I say no to you, beloved?” Diana smirked, but instead of doing exactly what Kara had asked for, she lowered her head and took Kara’s right nipple into her mouth, sucking it hard before flicking it fast with her tongue. The sound of bedsheets being torn did not give Diana any pause, and she moved to Kara’s other nipple, lavishing it with just as much attention.

Expletives in Kryptonian flew out of Kara’s mouth, and somewhere in the back of her mind she was cursing all her ex-boyfriends for never making her feel this way. “A-Are you using extra strength?” she asked, needing to know if that was a reason why Diana was so good at this.

Pulling back and returning her hands to Kara’s breasts, Diana shook her head. “No. It’s the anticipation and the build up that makes it feel this way,” she replied to Kara’s unspoken question. “Plus,” Diana arched her eyebrow and smirked, “it helps if you are not in a hurry…” she pinched Kara’s nipples again, maintaining eye contact, “if you are doing this to truly please your partner…” A harder twist of her fingers, and Kara was crying out again. “Instead of doing it out of a perceived obligation…” Pouring more oil on her hands, Diana moved along to Kara’s taut stomach muscles so the younger hero could regain her breath, and by the way Kara closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing heart, Diana figured she appreciated the decision.

Fingers softly traced the lines of Kara’s abs at a lazy pace as Diana took her sweet time savoring the feeling of her lover’s muscles contracting beneath her fingertips. She was lost in her thoughts when she heard Kara giggling, “That tickles,” she said with her trademark charming smile that had won Diana’s heart almost instantly.

“My apologies, darling,” Diana grinned, scooting backwards so she could lean down to pepper kisses all over Kara’s torso. “Better?” she asked between kisses as her hands worked on Kara’s strong thighs.

“Yeah,” Kara breathed out; her eyes fluttering closed at the multitude of sensations washing over her body.

Moving at a leisurely pace, Diana massaged all the way down to Kara’s ankles before making her way back up, stopping at the apex of Kara’s thighs. “Beloved,” she called out, making Kara prop herself up on her elbows. “May I?” she asked, letting Kara feel how close her thumbs were to her folds.

Blushing up a storm, Kara remembered Diana explaining to her what tantric massages were when she proposed they tried it. Kara knew this part was coming, and she had been both terrified of it and excited for it. She looked into her lover’s eye, knowing that once again Diana was giving her the chance to put an end to their little adventure, that Diana would be okay if Kara had had enough stimuli for one day; but the smell of their arousal—both Kara’s and Diana’s—filled the room, making Kara’s head swim with desire. There was no denying how much she craved the other heroine’s affection and touch; so Kara nodded, giving Diana her eager consent, “Yes, please.”

Grinning wide enough to make small dimples appear below her eyes, Diana poured more oil on her hands and said in a sultry, raspy voice, “Keep your eyes on me, beloved. I want to see you.” As soon as she got a small, dumbfounded nod from Kara, Diana cupped her sex firmly, fully expecting the way Kara bucked her hips in response. Using her free hand to rub small circles on Kara’s lower stomach, Diana cooed, “It is okay, sunshine. That’s it… just breathe for me.”

Kara could not wrap her head around the fact that Diana managed be so soothing and sexy at the same time. Her heart skipped a beat at the words, but she did her best to do as she was told.

Once Diana was fairly certain Kara had relaxed enough, she let herself explore; running her fingers along Kara’s outer lips a few times, then switching to the inner ones, marveling at how warm and wet her lover was.

Kara had never had anyone so eager, so curious to touch her, and it felt so much fucking better than she had ever dreamed of! Moaning lowly and doing her best to keep her eyes on Diana’s, Kara gave her a shy little smile, and discreetly opened her legs wider.

Emboldened by her lover’s reaction, Diana said in a dreamy sigh, “You feel so good… so perfect…” And with her left thumb, Diana rubbed small circles on Kara’s clit, teasing the tip of her right middle finger into Kara’s opening.

Words that Diana figured could only be Kryptonian curses tumbled out of Kara’s mouth. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and Diana watched as Kara balled the torn sheets in her hands in a desperate attempt to keep herself still. “You are doing so well, beloved,” Diana drawled, getting high on the pleasure she was seeing on Kara. She slowly and carefully pushed her finger all the way inside, relishing at how easy it was to do so. “Gods, Kara,” she moaned, “You’re so turned on for me…”

Nodding frantically, Kara reached out to Diana, begging, “kiss me, please!”

Diana was more than happy to oblige, kissing Kara at the same lazy pace she had begun pumping her finger in and out of her, moving her digit from side to side, exploring her lover as much as she could before adding a second finger and continuing her delicious torment.

“Diana,” Kara called out, her brows furrowing as she desperately tried to keep control over her body; but Diana was pushing her fingers in all the right ways. “I-I’m close… I c-can’t hold-” Kara tried to warn, but she was cut off by Diana’s lips on hers.

“Don’t hold back, beloved. I got you,” Diana promised, curling her fingers up in just the right angle, and with a few more thrusts Kara screamed out in pleasure as her orgasm washed over her, sending jolts of electricity to every single nerve ending in her body.

Diana suspected Kara could go again (and again, and again…) but she did not wish to overwhelm her, so she slowed her movements until her fingers were laying still inside her lover. “You are so incredibly beautiful, Kara Danvers,” Diana smiled brightly, nuzzling Kara’s nose with her own.

Kara’s heart fluttered at Diana’s sweet words, giggling at the Eskimo kisses she got. “Thank you,” she whispered back, wrapping her arms around Diana’s neck. “This… This was incredible.”

“Earth to Kara!” Nia said, waving her hand in front of her friend’s face. “Can you hear me??”

“Huh?” Kara blinked, looking around her and realizing she had completely immersed herself in her memories.

“You were thinking about something naughty, weren’t you????” Nia teased, noticing the blush on Kara’s cheeks.

“Uh… not naughty, no!” She protested weakly. “I was just thinking how to answer your question! And, um…” her blush got deeper, “we have gone all the way. I mean… she has gone all the way with me, I haven’t- I haven’t… you know… reciprocated yet…”

Nia chuckled at how sweet her friend was, and she was about to say something about it when a knock came from the door.

Looking at it and squinting her eyes to use her x-ray vision, Kara squealed, “It’s Diana!”

Nia shook her head playfully, loving how Kara instantly perked up. “Well, that’s my cue to go,” she said, getting up from the couch and grabbing her purse.

“No, Nia, stay,” Kara argued, pouting slightly.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’m gonna go over to Brainy’s.” With a devilish little smirk, Nia hugged her friend and whispered to her, “Besides, this is your chance to reciprocate.”

[elareine]

Night falling softly and without mercy

Rating: Mature Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Characters: Bruce Wayne Tags: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, well sort-of, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Marriage Proposal, Assassination Attempt(s), Frottage, Fluff Batfam Bingo Square: AU: Royalty AO3: /19132123

Prince Tim receives a proposal he can ill afford to turn down. To save his son from an unhappy marriage, King Bruce has an idea—an idea that forces Jason and Tim to confront the truth they have avoided for three years.

Perhaps the marriage proposal had been inevitable. After all, Tim was third in line to the Midnight Throne. A cynical man might speculate on his brother’s death. A tactical man might consider that he would have the ear of the current and any future king either way. With Tim’s twenty-first birthday quickly approaching, the time seemed ripe for him to make a good match. 

This particular proposal would be a hard one to turn down, Tim thought. The girl in question was charming and intelligent—an ideal companion for someone like him. More importantly from a diplomatic point of view, she was a daughter of Bane, the ruler of the Snake’s Head kingdom. 

A gentle knock at the door pulled him out from his thoughts. Tim frowned and called out: “Yes?” 

Jason was already moving, though. Opening the door cautiously and at an angle as always, he smiled at whoever was on the other side. “Ah, thank you, Maisie.” 

When Jason turned back to Tim, the door clicking shut behind him, he held a steaming cup in his hand. Tim perked up as Jason carried it over to the writing desk the prince was sitting at. “Is that coffee?” 

At Jason’s nod, Tim grabbed the cup unceremoniously and inhaled the scent deeply. Ever since they had begun to trade with Metropolis again two years ago and the precious beans had become available in Gotham again for the first time in his lifetime, he had been devoted to hot, bracing drink. The only reason he did not take a sip right away was that Jason did not like it.

“Don’t burn yourself,” his guard warned anyway. 

Tim smiled at him. “Thank you.” 

“You looked like you needed it. Difficult night?”

“Correspondence with Snake’s Head, from Bane himself.” 

“That’s a ‘yes’, then.” Jason frowned. “He wrote to you directly? I was under the impression he refused to communicate with anyone but King Bruce.” 

Tim considered his answer carefully. 

There was nothing you could keep secret from your personal guard. From other servants, maybe— though Tim had no doubt that every single member of the household staff could reveal the most riveting gossip about the royal family to the world if they chose to do so. 

Your personal guard, however? Bar when they traded places with another soldier to rest and have some free time, they were with you twenty-four hours of the day. Tim had given up on keeping secrets from Jason years ago. 

Well. Except for the one. 

“He wrote to Father, yes,” Tim answered slowly. “As it concerns me, I believe Father has left it on my desk so I could acknowledge it… or not.” 

He could feel his back muscles tense at the thought of it. Seconds later, he felt a huge, warm hand land on his neck, gently massaging where it hurt the most. “And will you?” 

“I should, considering it is a proposal for me to marry his oldest daughter.” 

The hand stilled for a brief second. Jason’s voice was even as he asked again: “And will you?” 

For a second, Tim considered confronting Jason over his reticence. Shake him. Yell, maybe. Anything to finally get a reaction. He was tired of this.

Instead he said: “It might be a way to influence Bane on certain issues. Guarantee the peace.”

“If you think he values his daughter that much.”  

Tim sighed and finished his coffee. “Still, it’s a possibility, and a ‘no’ a definite political calamity. I need to speak to Father.” 

“At least we can be sure he’ll still be awake, as well.” Jason sighed, too, but it sounded almost fond. 

“Will you accompany me there? I know it is past your shift change already.” 

Jason chuckled. “When has that ever stopped me?” 

That was true. Tim was fully aware that he slept less than most people. He had a tendency to get lost in whatever matter of state he was currently working on and surface at about the time most righteous people would wake up. Jason had never seemed to mind, though, beyond gently (and persistently - one could even say annoyingly) reminding Tim that he should go to sleep. If he considered the matter Tim was working on important enough, he would stay up with him, either reading a book or joining in on the discussion. 

At first, Tim had only tolerated his input on sufferance. As it turned out, however, his bulking mountain of muscle of a guard was smarter and spoke more languages than he’d let on in the beginning. The issue of drug smuggling in the harbour and border districts and the resulting unrest seemed to be the one that interested Jason the most. Tim figured it had been that particular group of outlaws that had sent Jason to kill him. 

Oh, yes, he knew about that. 

It had become laughingly obvious that Jason wasn’t exactly a regular bodyguard the first time an assassin had tried to take Tim out. 

Now, Tim had always been perfectly able to take care of these would-be assassins himself, thank you. It was the reason he’d gotten away without having a personal guard until he turned 18. So he’d been prepared to jump out of the way of the knife and acquaint the assassin with the handy staff he carried under his overcoat— when Jason had moved his body between his attacker and him, made the man crumple to the ground, and turned to fire two arrows from a crossbow Tim hadn’t even known he was carrying. 

Two thumps behind them had signalled the arrows had found their targets. 

“Couldn’t you have left one alive?” Tim had asked. 

Before his eyes the crossbow had vanished again. He’d need to remember that trick. “Oh, this one,” Jason had nudged the first attacker casually with his foot, “is only unconscious.” He’d paused. “And will be for some time.” 

“Then there is no need to stay. We are late already.” Tim had turned and walked away.  

Behind him, he’d heard Jason laugh, then fall into step. He was fairly certain that had been the day they had become friends. 

Now Jason was walking closely behind him again, though he fell back once they’d reached the door to Bruce’s private chambers. He knew there was no safer place in the whole palace. Here, it was alright for him to wait outside. 

Bruce called him in as soon as Tim knocked on the heavy door. His king was sitting at his desk, clad in his sleeping clothes and a silk robe. He turned to greet Tim.

“Tim. You have read the letter?” 

Tim nodded, settling down on the edge of the desk. There was no one else here; no need for a good posture. 

“What do you think?” Bruce asked.

“There are certainly advantages to his offer.” 

Bruce nodded for him to continue. 

“It would give us political leverage over Snake’s Head. Maybe give the king an incentive to stop shipping their poison into our kingdom,” Tim listed. “Considering he only has one son, any… offspring would tie us closer to them.” 

Bruce’s face became grave. Tim readied himself for the worst. 

“Tim, what about me adopting three children and having one son out of wedlock gave you the impression I cared about royal lineages or alliances through marriage?” 

Tim didn’t know what to say to that. 

His father continued: “Your reasons honour you— but I haven’t heard that you want to marry her.” 

“I don’t. I…” Tim swallowed. To his humiliation, he felt his eyes grow wet. 

They weren’t physically demonstrative with each other often. Now, Bruce stood up and pulled Tim into a hug. “Oh, son. You do so much already. So much. You don’t need to do this.” 

Tim pressed his face into his father’s neck and tried to breathe. Times like these, he could still hear his mother telling him he was useless but for his birth status. Bruce had never been like that. Some nights, that was easier to remember than others. 

Slowly, his breathing returned to normal. 

“Bane will not appreciate a rejection,” was all Tim said when Bruce let him go.

“Yes, that could be a difficulty… Of course, if you were to, say, acquire an engagement we could proclaim tomorrow, we could always pretend to have received the letter too late.” 

Tim couldn’t help it— his jaw dropped. “Father! Are you suggesting…” 

Bruce held up a placatory hand, but Tim could see his eyes laughing. “Just a suggestion.”  

Somehow, Tim had the distinct feeling he was being played. If his older brother weren’t currently away on a mission, he would have suspected him behind it. As it was, Tim looked at his father suspiciously but granted: “It would help.” 

“Something to talk about, maybe.” Bruce was smiling way too innocently now, his face closer to the one he presented at court than his private one. “A different sort of alliance, so to speak.” 

“Please don’t continue with that thought,” Tim groaned. Then, despite himself: “You wouldn’t mind?” 

Bruce’s answer was a gentle push toward the door. “Let me know how you decide in the morning. And Tim— try to sleep.” 

“Pot, kettle. Good night, father.”

 Outside, Jason turned towards him immediately. His face was visibly tense. Tim smiled at him and started walking towards his quarters. 

Still, Jason must have seen the remnants of tears in his face. He walked closer to Tim than on their way here, gently touching his elbow and asking: “Are you alright?” 

Tim felt his cheeks heat up. 

Damn his father. Now he was thinking about it. 

“Yes,” he reassured Jason. Not wanting to have this discussion in the corridor, he tilted his head towards his rooms. Jason nodded and followed him quietly for the rest of the way. His hand stayed on Tim’s arm. 

Once they were behind closed doors, Tim sat down. Unlike before, Jason did not avail himself of the setteé behind him, nor took up guard at the door or the balcony. Instead he stood a few feet away from Tim, waiting. 

It felt tense, somehow. Like a precipice. As if they both knew their lives would change, now, but neither could guess which direction it would take. 

“You know, I’ve been wondering,” Tim told Jason casually—as if he hadn’t wanted to ask this question for almost three years now—, “why you didn’t kill me.” 

He kind of expected Jason to deny it. Jason was talker, always mouthing off to whoever it was that managed to annoy him right now. Tim enjoyed that quality; he never tired of the murmured running commentary Jason kept up during state functions. Tim had seen him talking himself out of situations where anyone else would have done well to keep quiet. 

But Jason didn’t deny it. His tone was matter-of-fact. 

“If it had been purely an assassination attempt, you’d be dead. I don’t need to come near you to kill you.” Jason paused. “In fact, we had already decided it would only be possible to get any of you from a distance. Take that as a compliment.” 

Tim did, actually. 

Then he asked again: “Why did you not kill me?” 

Jason seemed to think for a moment; then he stepped closer. When Tim didn’t flinch, he sank to his knees and knelt right in front of his chair. With Jason’s height, he remained almost eye-level with Tim; still the meaning of the gesture was not lost on Tim. 

“We became convinced you are doing everything you think you can to stop the influx of Bane’s poison into our home. Eliminating you would not have served our purpose.” 

There were nuances to that statement. Tim wanted to ask about the ‘we’, about ‘everything you think you can’t; he forced himself to concentrate on Jason. 

There was something crooked in Jason’s mouth now, as if he was on the verge of smiling— but not quite. “You’re asking the wrong question.” 

Tim thought about it. 

“Why did you stay?” 

Plenty of people had tried to kill him before. Plenty of others hadn’t. Few had ever stayed, especially once they knew him as well as Jason did. 

“Because I wanted to.” Jason paused, seemed to consider his words. “To stay with you, that is, as lovely as having a roof over my head and regular income is.” 

Something was forming in the back of Tim’s throat (laughter, maybe, or a sob) and for a moment he couldn’t speak. Jason was moving closer, a hand on Tim’s thigh—gently spreading it to make room for himself—, the other on Tim’s neck. Tim could smell him, leather and incense. He hadn’t realized he had leaned forward but was glad that it had put him into easy touching distance. 

Finally, Tim said: “So if I were to say that I want to marry no-one but you…” 

The smile finally unfurled on Jason’s face. “Then I would gladly agree—but also point out that we seem to have done this backwards, and that it is customary to at least share a kiss before a marriage proposal.”

“Please,” Tim whispered. 

Jason surged up, his mouth firmly pressing against Tim’s. 

For a second, it was as if either neither of them knew what to do now that they were finally here. Then Jason adjusted the angle a bit, and Tim looped his arms around his neck, and it was everything he’d ever wanted. 

After a long, long moment, Jason broke away—but barely, staying so close he was whispering into Tim’s mouth as if he couldn’t bear to be parted any farther. “Is this alright?” 

Tim kissed him in answer, a bit more heat behind it now, parting his lips. His eyes fell shut at the first touch of Jason’s tongue.  

Suddenly Tim was intensely aware of Jason’s hand on his thigh. It wasn’t doing much, just gently gripping, the thumb rubbing slow circles; Tim couldn’t help but buck into it, something close to a whimper escaping into Jason’s mouth. 

Tim didn’t know how long they stayed like that, kissing and kissing and kissing, before he felt Jason’s muscles tense. He kept his own relaxed enough to make it easy for his partner to pick him up in a bridal carry as Jason stood up. Their lips never parted even as Jason carried him towards the bed. 

Distantly, Tim thought that he probably liked that feeling a bit too much. Also that he would likely need to forbid Jason from doing the same thing in front of everyone on their wedding day. 

Their wedding day. 

Because this was Jason agreeing to marry him. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Tim gasped as his back hit the mattress on his bed. 

Jason followed him half-way, though he seemed to remember that unlike Tim—who was in his night clothes and had lost his slippers on the way—, he was still fully clothed in his uniform and boots at the last second. “Excuse me, which one of us is a prince? I was waiting for you. I wasn’t sure you—” He stopped.  

Tim considered that for a moment before slipping past Jason and off the bed. 

Now it was Tim who knelt on the ground before Jason; Tim who took off Jason’s boots with quick fingers; who gently peeled off his breeches and worshipped his skin with light kisses. Finally, he looked up again; whispered: “I’m sure.” 

The expression on Jason’s face made him smile. 

Strong hands pulled him up and into a kiss again. Tim happily lost himself in it, settling into Jason’s lap as the other divested them both of their remaining clothes. God, he thought a bit deliriously, he could live on those kisses alone. Though, oh, that was Jason’s stomach and cock rubbing against his own; that was nice, too.

Heat was building up around them, now, and it had nothing to with the fire smouldering in the fireplace. Their bodies had found a rhythm, aided by the fluids gathering between them. Tim knew he was close, that Jason was, too; could feel it in the delicate trembles of the body under his, in the way Jason had to separate their mouths to groan and pant for air. 

But they returned to kissing, every time, as if they needed it more than breathing. 

Jason was the first to tense, coming against Tim’s stomach with a low groan Tim wanted to engrave into his brain.  He followed suit with a shudder that felt like it would never stop, and the feeling of letting go of something. 

After, Tim considered moving, sure he was crushing Jason. He dismissed the thought from his mind. His guard (his lover) hadn’t ever shied away from complaining about inconveniences; he wouldn’t start now. Indeed, all Jason did once he had caught his breath was gently lift them both up and under the cover, Tim still half-way on top of him. 

(And shielded from both the door and the balcony by Jason’s body, Tim noted with some amusement.)  

“Think you can sleep now?” Jason asked gently. 

“Hmm.” Tim cuddled closer. “I shouldn’t. There are things we should talk—” He interrupted himself with a yawn.  

A heavy arm wrapped around his waist. It felt good. Safe. “Sleep for a bit, and I will wake you up early.” 

Tim wanted to nod, but before he knew it, sleep had claimed him. 

When he woke up the next morning to Jason’s gentle shaking, they were still closely entwined. The dim grey light filtering through the curtains told him that Jason had kept his word. It was still early. No need to hurry. 

Jason gave him another minute to wake up, then he gently tilted Tim’s head up to kiss him good morning.  Tim was sure that he couldn’t taste good and he felt distinctly sticky where they had failed to clean up last night. 

Jason didn’t seem to care; his kiss was gentle and light and loving. When he pulled away, he whispered: “I would say we spend an appropriately romantic morning after together, but knowing you, you have questions to ask and plans to make.” 

Tim snorted in a most unprincely way. “As if you don’t.” Jason was spontaneous, sure, but he liked being in control of the circumstances in the exact same way Tim did. 

Jason grinned at him. “Of course. You want to start with the questions?” 

“What will your… group say?” Tim settled down Jason’s chest again, resting his right arm on it and hooking his chin over his wrist to look at him. 

“‘Congratulations.’” Jason smiled. “I’ve been here for three years, Tim. The writing has been on the wall. The worst that could happen is that they’ll insist on showing up for the wedding.” 

“I’d like that,” Tim told him, and Jason dropped a kiss on his forehead. 

“There won’t be any interference with this court. There hasn’t been for years.” He paused. “I cannot and will not promise the same for the Court of Snake’s Head.” 

“I’m shocked.”

To be fair, neither could Tim about the Midnight forces. He suspected the reason behind Bruce sending Dick to infiltrate Jason’s group of Outlaws was to prepare for exactly that. A possible joint manoeuvre, so to speak. 

As if Jason sensed the direction his thoughts had taken, he asked: “And your father?” 

“Gave us his blessing.” Tim grimaced, thinking of the smile on Bruce’s face. “His encouragement, even.” 

Gratifyingly, Jason looked surprised at that, too. Then he turned thoughtful. “Huh. I knew he was letting me off the hook—but that sounds like he is considering an alliance.” 

Tim raised his eyebrow at him. “Are you saying my father might have other motives besides my personal happiness?” 

Jason raised his right back. “Are you saying your father doesn’t have three motives for everything he does and loves killing two birds with one stone?”  

“He does—” 

“Also, I got a letter from my best friend telling me about this pretty young man that recently tried to join our group. Funnily enough, his description sounded a lot like a certain brother of yours. Now I’m sure that’s a coincidence?” 

So Dick had gone to join the outlaws, not fight them. Tim loved being right. “How is he?” 

“I assume well, seeing how he has managed to join said best friend and his wife in their bed.” Jason laughed at Tim’s grimace. “I was trying to think of a way of telling your father that his son is fine and only blew his cover to me by apparently being pretty enough to warrant a detailed description.”  

“How about we don’t.” 

“And to think, the detailed description was probably Roy’s revenge for chewing his ear off about you.” 

“Then we should definitely invite them to the wedding—which the Crown Prince will be expected to attend. See how Dick explains that.”  

Jason laughed and Tim felt his smile soften. He thought that Jason would likely always feel some loyalty to the group that had sent him and the mission he so obviously believed in. He also believed that the two of them, together, had a found a middle ground where they could handle that. 

Now that they had been so open with their bodies, it felt natural to let the words follow. 

There was a reason they were discussing this now, however. Bruce was likely impatiently waiting for an answer. Tim needed to stay on topic. 

“What do you want? I realize that this,” Tim made a sweeping gesture that seemed to include all the trappings of royalty, “isn’t what you signed up for.” 

Jason had the gall to roll his eyes a that. “Not to press the point too much, but what I signed up for was a suicide mission.” 

Tim pinched him.

“Ow. It would be weird seeing someone else follow you around,” Jason admitted. “I like protecting you. I don’t think I can pass that on to someone else that easily… that’s probably not an appropriate occupation for a husband, is it, though?”

Tim considered that. “I would not like anyone else around, either. However, I don’t see the need for it. As long as we’re together, I’m sure even Bruce would agree we won’t need anyone else. With some extra guards for official functions and for when one of us is gone.” 

He laughed at the expression on Jason’s face. Clearly he hadn’t thought about the fact that as the spouse of a prince, he would become a target, too.  

Just to poke the bear a bit more, Tim added: “You know Father will likely insist on bestowing you with at least a few titles.” Then he resolved into giggles, fueled by relief.

They could do this. Declaring their engagement would save the kingdom from a diplomatic slight to Bane—not to mention Tim from a loveless marriage—and help them on their way to a far more promising political alliance with the Outlaws. More importantly, Tim wouldn’t have to spend any more evenings wondering if Jason would be gone in the morning, returned to the mission he had never completely abandoned. 

With a contented sigh, he slid his arm down to hug Jason closer, resting his face on the other’s shoulder instead. For some long minutes, they lay there, Jason’s hand rubbing gentle circles on Tim’s back. 

Then the reality of what laid ahead returned. 

“This week is going to be hellish,” Tim groaned into Jason’s neck. 

“I don’t think it will be as much of a problem as you think. You’re barely in the public eye as it is. Marrying a commoner might cause a scandal, sure, but no more than the king adopting two.” 

Jason’s voice was soothing; still, he wasn’t helping matters. “Everyone will have something to say about it, Jason. Everyone. Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“Can’t be worse than that one ball where Stephanie decided to annoy your admirer by asking you to every dance and I had to keep said admiring lady from killing her. Or that time you had to mediate between Ra’s and Damian. Or that time—” 

“Alright, alright,” Tim laughed. “Still. Are you sure?” 

Jason didn’t answer him directly. “Is that everything that’s on your mind?” 

When Tim nodded, Jason gently pushed him off a bit and shifted over to where his discarded uniform jacket lay on the floor, twisting his upper body to take something out of an inner pocket. 

When he turned back to Tim, a simple golden band rested in the middle of his palm.  

For the first time this morning Tim was speechless. Somehow, for all their talk of getting married, he couldn’t fathom that he was being presented with a ring, in his bed, by Jason. 

“I’ve been carrying this with me for months now, Tim. I started saving up years ago.” Jason’s voice was low, earnest. “I’ve watched you when you’re cranky in the morning and feverishly working at night. I know you work too much, worry too much, drink way too much coffee. I’ve seen the council meetings and dances and diplomatic travels. I know you think you’re responsible for everything and everyone— I love you for it. I know what I’m getting into and I want it. Want you,” he corrected himself. “So. Your Highness, Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne, Prince of Gotham, Fifth Duke of Otisburg, Lord Blackgate, Knight of the Narrows, will you do me the honour of marrying me?” 

Tim had to haul him in by hand on the back of his neck for that; had to kiss him breathless before he said: “Yes.” 

Unsurprisingly the ring fit perfectly. Even more so, it looked right. 

It took them a long time to separate again. Eventually, though, unwilling to be caught in bed, they rose, washing up and getting ready to face the day.

Too quickly, there was a knock on the door. Tim suspected that it to be Alfred, sent by his king, or maybe his father himself. 

The outside world was calling for them. 

Tim looked at Jason, who was trying to smooth the creases out of his uniform jacket with remarkably little success. Finally, he gave up and pulled it on, calling out “Yes?” as he moved to open the door. 

Tim smiled. They would do just fine. 

A/N: Bruce knew about the ring. He’s been watching these fools pine for years now.