#the Travelling Thief definitely gets an invite to their wedding

[unavenged-robin]

I absolutely adore your DamiJon work and couldn't help but wonder if you're up for an angsty fic where Dami and Jon are on a mission together but a mishap happened and it looked like Damian died to save Jon. Jon was devastated because he was actually planning to confess/propose to Dami after that. Though Dami is not actually dead. Would have been more heartbreaking if the song You're my sunshine was playing at the back

First of all, thank you very much! :D I played a bit with the prompt and I ended up with a very long, very mushy story. I hope it’s something similar to what you were expecting :D Jon’s 16 here and Damian’s 19 and they’re both huge dorks.

Read on AO3 

It’s a long, boring, frustrating mission. And Jon knows Damian’s hating it as much as he is, even if Robin’s never going to admit it out loud because he was the one who choose it, so complaining about it now in Damian’s brain would be like admitting to a mistake, and of course mistakes are a thing that only happens to others.

Jon sighs and flies around the decrepit building one more time, monitoring Damian’s position with his x-ray vision. Once established that the place was empty, Jon had let Damian explore the inside of the building by himself as a punishment for his pride, but now he’s getting bored with the wait.

From the outside the building is shabby just as much as its surroundings, and doesn’t reflect Jon’s expectations of a cool criminal lair at all. Then again, the guy to whom it belongs to is equally, if not more lame.

For a start, he calls himself the Travelling Thief, which is already flimsy enough on its own, in Jon’s humble opinion. Add to it a flashy glittery costume, a monocle and a top hat, and you have the most embarrassing Arsène Lupin copycat Jon’s ever seen in his life.

Worst thing is they’ve been chasing after this guy for almost three weeks now and discovering his hideout is their biggest accomplishment so far, even if Jon can’t begin to phantom how a loser like that had managed to play them for so long. And yet, here they are.

“I found the stolen goods”, Damian says over the comm - which are completely useless to someone with Jon’s powers, but Superman himself has told him not to bother with the Bats because there’s just no way to win some arguments with them.

“Any trace of your friend?”, Jon asks, lazily flying around to scan the neighborhood. There isn’t much to see there either, only abandoned warehouses and a playground that has probably seen his last child before Jon was even born.

“He’s not my friend”, Damian snaps at him. “He’s our case.”

“Whatever, Batboy.”

Damian grumbles some insults of choice, and then there is silence for a few minutes.

“Damn.”

Jon stops in midair and locates Damian again. He’s in the basement now, where the real headquarters of the Travelling Thief are supposed to be.

“Something wrong?”

“Silent alarm. Just activated it”, Damian explains through gritted teeth. “No way he’s coming back here now. We have to find another place to ambush him.”

“Great”, Jon sighs. “I’m going to get married and we will still be chasing after this guy, I know it. I’ll just go ahead and tell my mom to save a piece of cake for him. He’ll be a part of the family at that point.”

“Stop whining”, Damian snarls. “There are a lot of his preparatory files here, if we study them they’ll give us everything we need to catch him.”

That’s even worse news for Jon, and he groans internally.

“…are you telling me that this is how we are going to spend our weekend?”

Damian haughtily scoffs at him.

“Right, because you had better plans for it anyway.”

“As a matter of fact I have”, Jon retorts, glancing down at his phone as it starts beeping. Talk about timing, he thinks with a smile. “But since you obviously don’t, I suppose you can finish this one on your own? You know, call the police, make a copy of the files before they arrive and all of that? ‘Cause I’ve got a friend to meet.”

“Of course, I would never want to keep you from your social life, Kent”, Damian answers, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “I mean, it’s already lacking as it is.”

Jon rolls his eyes and simply ignores the bait. It’s a weak one anyway, compared to all the creative insults Damian’s thrown his way over the years.

“Sweet!”, he says instead, voice filled with not-so-fake cheerfulness. “See you later, Robin!”

“Whatever, Jonny boy.”

The last things he hears before sprinting towards the sky are Damian’s heavy sigh and the rustle of papers while he starts looking through the files.

-

He gets the call one hour later, while he’s in Metropolis, slurping down an ice cream and laughing with a bunch of school friends. He’s happy because his plans for the weekend are great and he just can’t wait to put them into practice.

Then his cellphone starts ringing and his father’s number comes up on the screen.

“Hey dad!”, Jon greets him, still in the middle of a laugh.

“Jonathan.”

That one word is enough to freeze Jon on his feet. He knows that tone, he knows that voice. Something’s wrong.

Really, really wrong.

The conversation lasts less than a minute, and Jon doesn’t understand his father’s words right away, but Clark says Damian and accident and you need to come back right now, so Jon runs and then he jumps and then he flies, and the whole time he feels like every inch of his insides is padded with cotton, and the only two words he can think about are Damian and accident. Damian. Accident.

Accident.

Damian.

Damian.

-

There’s nothing left of the building he and Damian were checking out a little more than one hour ago.

Not even debris under which they can dig. There’s nothing.

Jon stands in midair, clouds of dust and ashes swirling his cape around him as he stares down at the giant, big, black hole on the ground without understanding.

“The explosion wiped out the whole area”, his father explains. “We don’t know what provoked it or where Robin was when it happened but-”

Superman is not talking to him. He’s talking to Damian’s family. Jon’s pretty sure none of them has yet noticed him hovering above them, which is surprising, but not really, because if they’re all here it means that they’re assuming the worst, and the worst is-

Jon lands a few feet from them, and still no one acknowledges him.

Batman is silent. So very silent. Nightwing’s yelling. Red Hood’s yelling too. Jon doesn’t understand if they’re yelling at each other or at someone else. Red Robin is silent too, but now he’s looking right at Jon with an intensity that even the cowl can’t hide. Again, Jon doesn’t understand.

So he approaches them, walking on wobbly feet.

“Where is Damian?”, he asks, and he realizes there’s anger in his voice only after the words roll out of his mouth. But he’s angry, yes. Because it’s ridiculous for them to be all here. If Damian’s injured someone should be with him. Who cares about the Travelling Thief, about their mission or the burned things? He knows that the bats are one big, freaky, emotionally stunted lot, but he also knows that underneath all of that they care, so why are they all here? Why did they leave Damian alone?

“Where is Damian?”, he asks again, louder and angrier, and everybody finally turn towards him.

There’s something on their faces. Under their masks. Jon recognizes it as he recognized his father’s urgence when he called his name over the phone.

And still, he doesn’t understand.

Refuses to.

But his scream broke the spell, and now everyone’s moving, reacting, ready to answer his question. Red Robin is the first to speak.

“Where is Damian?”, Tim repeats, voice half choked by a growl.

Jon focusses on him and Tim looks back with burning eyes, and Jon finally figures out the emotion behind his glare. It’s hatred. Pure and simple. And this much, at least, he can understand. Because it’s nothing new. Because he knows that Tim looks at him, looks at Superboy and doesn’t see Jon. He sees Kon. He sees his absence.

“Where is Damian? Where the hell were you!”, Tim yells, taking a step towards him. “Why weren’t you with him? You were supposed to protect him!”

And Jon’s never thought of himself as Damian’s protector before, not really, but again, he understands what Tim means. If he’d been with Damian, he would’ve shielded him with his body. This entire thing would’ve been solved with a burned shirt and maybe a few cuts instead of… this.

Jon feels sick.

“Where the hell were you?”, Tim asks again, almost but not quite yelling, cold rage dripping from his every word, and then Batman reaches out and grabs him by his shoulder, pulling him back.

“Enough”, Bruce growls.

It is enough, Jon realizes as he falls on his knees. It is enough for his brain to click and provide an answer to his question. He tastes the acid flavor of vomit in the back of his throat for the first time in years, before buckling forwards and spill the inside of his stomach on the ground, splattering both Batman’s and Red Robin’s boots with what used to be a double vanilla and chocolate ice cream mixed up with the remains of his last lunch.

-

He’s not sure about what time it is when he finds himself stumbling along the corridors of the Watchtower. He’s exhausted, though. They’ve been interrogating him for hours - and of course they were as gentle as they could’ve been, and they never called it an interrogation in the first place, but things are what they are, and as gentle as Bruce Wayne can try to be, he is the goddamn Batman, and at some point Jon broke up and started to cry, and from that moment on he doesn’t really remember much.

He’s sure he’s given them everything he knew about the Travelling Thief, but Damian had all the files about the case and Damian is-

Well.

He keeps walking for another undefined amount of time, until he turns a corner and unexpectedly finds Tim sitting cross-legged against a wall, unfocused eyes looking out the panoramic windows.

He’s still wearing his costume, but his domino lies forgotten at his feet, alongside his bo staff. He’s bathed in a deep red halo, and it takes Jon a moment to figure out it’s the sunset light covering him with a sanguine layer, and not some freaky figment of his own imagination drowning everything in blood.

Tim notices him but doesn’t say anything, so Jon walks towards him with heavy steps, then he stops, reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and drops two tickets into his lap. Tim blinks up at him, then he glances down at the tickets and picks them up to examine them closer.

“I went to get these”, Jon starts explaining, voice soft and careful, refusing to look at anywhere else than the floor. “There’s a concert this saturday, it’s a band Damian and I like a lot. It went sold out before I even realized they were in town, but a kid at my school managed to snatch a couple of tickets and agreed to give them to me, but I had to hurry, you know? Because there were other people who wanted ‘em and I… what I wanted was to ask Damian… I thought it could be…”

Tim’s laugh interrupts his rambling. Surprised, startled out of a justification he doesn’t even know if he should try to give, Jon looks up at him with a quizzical glare, but Tim just keeps laughing, and it’s a wet, pained, humorless laugh.

He only stops when he realizes Jon’s staring at him, then he sniffles and looks at him with a smile so sad it looks like his face is breaking.

“Two days ago Damian asked me to find him a couple of tickets for the same concert”, Tim explains. “And, I suspect, for the same reason.”

“Oh”, Jon says. And then, before he has even the time to ponder on why the hell he should care about the answer, he asks: “And did you get them?”

“Yes”, Tim’s smile breaks with a sob, and then there are tears on his face, and Jon’s cheeks feel pretty wet too. “Of course I did. Gave him hell for it, though.”

The last sentence is more out of Jon’s interpretation than anything, because Tim’s crying too hard now to be intelligible. It doesn’t really matter anyway.

Jon slumps down on the ground beside him, and thinks about how Tim is the closest link he’s ever had to Kon, this amazing older brother he never got to meet. He wonders if Tim knows. Jon’s not sure he’ll ever care enough to tell him.

Right now he throws his arms around Tim’s neck, presses his face into Tim’s shoulder and cries as hard as he knows how, all of it while he pretends it’s his dead brother hugging him back instead of the very alive brother of his probably dead boyfriend.

-

No one uses the word dead.

Missing is how people refer to Damian in the following days, and Jon has a feeling that if anybody fucked up and accidentally used the word dead instead, they’d find themselves at the short end of one of the Bats’ temper.

No one uses the word boyfriend either, not to define Damian’s relationship to Jon when they talk about them. Which is kind of fair, since neither Damian or Jon ever got to use that word before. It’s all syntax anyway. Who cares.

To Jon is inconsequential.

He doesn’t speak of Damian at all.

-

He wakes up in the middle of the night to the almost forgotten but still familiar sounds of the countryside.

When he said he wanted to move back to their old house in Hamilton for a few days, his parents had begged him not to, but they didn’t really do anything to actually stop him from doing it anyway, probably because they understood more than anybody else the need of solitude for someone like him in a situation like this.

So his father had hugged his mother tight to his side and they both had kissed him on the forehead before letting him go. Jon was grateful to both of them.

He misses them now, while he lies in the dark of their old bedroom, but at the same time he’s glad to be alone, to not have to share his anger and his night terrors with anyone.

He gets up from the bed to open the window and let the cold air freeze the sweat running down his back, let it cool down his flushed face.

Outside only dark meadows already wet with dew, the rich smell of the earth in the summer, and a black sheet of sky dotted with stars.

He’s grown to love Metropolis for its own beauty, but nothing, nothing, can compare with this in eyes.

“Because this is home, Jonathan”, his father had said long time ago, when Jon was still heartbroken about the moving. “There’s never going to be something as beautiful as this is for you right now, and that’s okay. It’s good to have something beautiful to come back to.”

He was right, of course. Home is a beautiful thing. Even without your parents, and all your animals, and the smell of apple pie in the kitchen, and a once-upon-a-time little bat hanging upside down from the highest branch of the chestnut tree outside your bedroom. Home is good even when your head is empty of thoughts and your heart is heavy with regrets and you have run out of tears. Home is always home.

So Jon sits on the windowsill, bare feet dangling in the night, nose up to look at the stars, and he enjoys the emotions of feeling at home for a while.

It’s while he’s looking at the sky that he realizes: today is saturday. Today is the night of the concert.

Right now, in another universe, he’s standing in a large crowd, singing and jumping on his feet, Damian’s fingers wrapped around his own. They are both covered in sweat, and Damian’s pretending to be annoyed by all the people around them and complaining that the music’s too loud, but his lips taste of salt and illicit beer when Jon kisses him, and he’s smiling, he’s happy, they’re happy, and they have four tickets instead of two, since they were both too stubborn to ask first, so maybe Tim and Kon are with them, because why the hell not, honestly?

If there’s another universe, then let it be better than this one, let it be without mourning, without heartaches, without mistakes. Let it be without things left unsaid, without cowardice in the smallest things, without regrets. If there’s another universe, one that you can only see at night with closed eyes, then what the hell, let it be perfect.

-

“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you have food? Clean clothes? Toothpaste?”

Jon smiles into his pillow.

“Yes, mom, I promise I’m fine.”

He’s not fine, obviously. But Lois knows that. She’s just fussing a little bit without pushing too hard, just to remind Jon that she’s there, always.

“Bruce’s still looking”, she informs him gently. “So is your dad.”

Jon doesn’t say anything. Lois promptly cover the silence with news from his school. She’s not fretting about it because it will be over in less than a week anyway, and he’s not missing out on anything important, but Jon thinks she’s also trying to keep him grounded, to tell him without using those exact words that life goes on.

And Jon wants to say that he knows that. That he just wants to forget it for a little while.

Bruce’s still looking. So is your dad.

It’s been only three days.

Already three days.

After he closes the call he rolls on his side and goes right back to sleep.

-

He feels it coming, even in his sleep.

But it’s just that: a feeling, and Jon’s just too tired to actually care enough to get out of the bed.

The thing, however, doesn’t leave him much of a choice when it decides to come crashing down right into the living room’s windows. The sound of breaking glass is almost deafening in the silence of the night, and Jon’s on his feet before he even realizes to be awake.

Also, he knows he’s seen too many bad movies when he finds himself instinctively looking around the room for a baseball bat to wield against the intruders.

What the hell, Jonny boy, a voice that is not his own swears in his mind.

“What the hell indeed”, Jon mutters.

He doesn’t really need the lights more than he needs a baseball bat, but he turns them on anyway when he reaches the hallway. Whoever it is, be it a thief or a wandering animal, Jon doesn’t want to startle them, or give away too much about himself either, since he’s not wearing his costume. A nice growl should be enough to scare away anything or anyone in there anyway. Or so he thinks.

At first, it doesn’t make sense, maybe because he takes everything in in one instant: the crunching of the glass under his bare feet, the burning smell of something on fire, the cold wind coming in through the broken windows, the green glowing of a weird looking bike crashed into his couch, the two tangled figures in the middle of the room, the glimpses of red and purple under a black blanket, heavy breathing and two erratic heartbeats.

Then there is a short, choked moan, and one of the figures moves, propping themselves up on one elbow. The black and gold cape slips away and of course Jon already knew, he knew since the moment he heard his heartbeat, recognized it right away while he was still coming down the stairs because how could he not recognize it after all these years?, and yet his brain refused to formulate the thought, to lift the heavy fog of his mourning and allow him the hope, refused him the sheer reality of what he’s seeing right now until Damian raises his head and a green eye settles on Jon from behind the broken lens of his domino mask.

And he… smiles. He’s covered in blood and looks like he’s been dragged through hell and back, and yet, Damian looks at Jon and he smiles.

“Hey, Jonny boy.”

His voice is soft and scratchy and tired, but still somewhat amused, and Jon is at his side in less than an instant, pushing away the second figure from his back and barely realizing that it’s no other than their lame Traveling Thief, unconscious and showcasing a couple of bruises the size of Damian’s fists, but otherwise untouched. For now.

“Damian”, Jon allows himself to call his name while he helps him rolling on his back. His hands are shaking, his head is full of cotton again, and he doesn’t even have the time to realize he should be happy, because Damian is alive and here and alive, but Damian also doesn’t look good at all, and Jon needs to do something right now, and at the same time he’s thinking how and you bastard, and he doesn’t know what to do. “Just- just stay put, I’ll call my dad, our dads, or, or the hospital, I can carry you to the hospital right now, I can-”

A gloved hand encircles his wrist, but Jon barely feels the ruined rubber scratching against his skin. It’s the way Damian’s looking at him that makes him snap out of his ramblings.

“Don’t.”

Jon blinks, shifts on his knees and leans a little more towards Damian. His own heartbeat is frantic, compared to Damian’s slower one. It should be the other way around, Jon thinks, he should be the calm, collected one, he should be the one handling the situation better.

“Don’t what?”, he asks, and he feels stupid. He should just snatch Damian up and fly back to Gotham, he should scream for his father and he would be here in less than a minute, and he would know what to do, but Damian is here, Damian is alive, and his brain is still processing that information.

“Don’t call anyone. I’m fine, I’m-”, Damian coughs, and his face twists in pain and exhaustion. “I just need rest. Please. Don’t call anyone.”

Rest doesn’t fix cuts and dislocated shoulders on its own, that Jon knows of. But he looks over and over again and doesn’t find anything worse on Damian, nothing life-threatening, only dried off blood and little scratches.

He shifts again, and settles Damian’s head on his lap, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of his eyes.

How, Jon wants to ask. How are you here, why did it take so much for you to come back, where were you all this time.

(Where the hell were you?, Tim screams again into his mind, but now it’s not the moment for that.)

“They all believe you’re dead”, he tells him instead, because he has this funny feeling that Damian’s not understanding how serious this situation is. “Your father, your brothers, I can’t- Damian please, I need to call them, they need to know.”

The sound Damian makes in response is very similar to a scoff, but Jon can’t be sure of it. What he’s sure of, is that Damian’s relaxing into his arms, his expression softened, his eyelids already half-closed.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”, Jon repeats with a frown.

“Please?”

That’s always a weird word coming from Damian’s mouth. But it’s not the please, it’s the question mark at the end that really pulls at Jon’s heart. Because it sounds like begging, and Damian doesn’t beg. Ever.

“Okay”, he agrees mechanically. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

Batman is going to break his killing rule only for him, but okay. Because Damian asked. That’s what it matters right now. Damian is here, Damian is alive, and Damian is asking him for a favor that’s probably going to get Jon killed in at least four different ways by four different people, but okay. Tomorrow. Because apparently there’s going to be a tomorrow with Damian in it. Jon smiles.

Satisfied with his capitulation, Damian smiles back before his lashes flutter again and he starts falling down into a heavy slumber.

His face is covered in dust and sweat and blood crusts, his lips are dry and split, and yet that smile, as brief and tired and mocking as it is, still manages to be the most beautiful thing Jon’s ever seen. And that’s probably why he doesn’t even have the presence of mind to get angry at him like he maybe should. Instead he just tangles his fingers in Damian’s hair, presses their foreheads together, and keeps smiling.

-

The thought of moving Damian into a bed only occurs to him after half an hour or so, and only because he feels someone moving behind him. Incidentally, that’s also when Jon remembers that he and Damian are not alone in the room.

Careful not to disturb Damian, who’s still lying on the floor with his head settled on Jon’s lap, he turns towards the second figure and quickly assesses his conditions again. Everything considered, their thief is even in better shape than Damian is, which is not necessarily good for him at this point.

“If you are smart and you care about your well-being, then you’re going to be very quiet”, Jon says under his breath, as the man starts regain consciousness. “Try to run, try to attack us, and I’ll get mad. Very mad. You understand?”

Since the only two sources of light are the lamps in the hallway and the glowing bike currently crashed into his couch, the room is still dark enough for human eyes to be only barely able of distinguishing shapes from the shadows, so the man immediately turns towards them but he makes the mistake of not answering right away.

Jon’s eyes glow red and a hole the size of a finger appears just an inch to the right from the thief’s head.

“Do you understand?”, Jon repeats again.

This time the man is quick at nodding back.

“I’ll take him upstairs”, Jon explains without breaking eye contact, arms curling protectively around Damian’s body. “If you move even one finger, I’ll know. I’ll come back and I’ll hurt you.”

And despite Damian’s teasing, Jon’s apparently decent enough too at intimidating people, since the man looks like he’d stop breathing too, if he only could. Which is great. Because Jon means every word he’s just said.

“Good.”

Jon looks back at Damian’s face and sighs, knowing that he’s gonna pay for it one way or the other. Still, he moves one hand behind Damian’s back, the other under his knees, and he cradles Robin’s still form against his chest while he stands up.

Damian mutters something under his breath, but he doesn’t wake up, and out of some only-god-knows-for-how-long forgotten instinct, he mechanically moves to hook an arm around his neck, shifting until his face is pressed against Jon’s throat, so close that he can feel his breath warming up his cheek.

You were supposed to protect him, Tim had said, and it had taken Jon by surprise. Maybe because Damian had always been the oldest, the most confident, the one that usually knew (or was very good at pretending to know) what needed to be done to get them out of trouble, but whatever the reason, Jon had - stupidly enough - never thought of their partnership in terms of protecting one another. Helping, sure, supporting, of course, looking out for each other was such a given it never really needed to be spoken of, but protecting? It sounded weird back then.

But right now, while he climbs up the stairs to carry Damian into his bedroom, it also sounds very right.

-

Jon doesn’t know his way around the Robin’s suit very well, so he only removes the broken domino and the gauntlets before start working on Damian’s boots. It takes him ten minutes straight to undo the shoe laces alone, and then some time more to slip them off Damian’s feet. He has no idea on how Damian manages to change into his costume so fast when he has these traps to deal with on a daily basis.

Robin’s utility belt zaps him when Jon tries to untie it. Having run out of patience, he laser-eyes it back in retaliation. The entire costume is probably going into the trash anyway, so he doesn’t feel too guilty about it. And if Damian has his own opinion about it, he doesn’t let Jon know, just grunts and shifts a little more on his left side, lifting up some weight from his damaged shoulder.

Right, there’s also that.

With a heavy sigh, Jon sits on the bed next to Damian and cups both sides of his shoulder with his hands, locking his fingers just above it. He’s done it dozens of times by now, and Damian’s definitely had worse in his life, still he frowns and grits his teeth in sympathy when he pushes his palms together and settles the bone back into its socket with a loud pop.

As expected Damian jolts awake with a gasp, and his eyes snap open as he instinctively starts looking around for his attacker.

“Sssh, Damian it’s okay, it’s just me, don’t move”, Jon urges him, hands pushing lightly against his chest to keep him down on the bed.

Damian’s eyes flutter and he gives him a confused look.

“Jon?”

“Yeah”, Jon confirms, then he slips him some painkillers and a sip of water to swallow it down before Damian has the time to completely wake up and start complaining about not needing any drugs.

Truth to be told, even in his dizzy state of mind, Damian does manage to give him a dirty glare for his troubles, but he must also be quite tired of playing the superhero for the night, because he leaves it just at that.

He doesn’t even protest when Jon settles him more comfortably against the pillow. He just looks around the room with a confused stare.

“Where-”

“My old house in Hamilton”, Jon answers promptly. “You crashed through my window a little more than an hour ago, don’t you remember?”

“Hmn”, Damian answers non-committally. Then his hands twitch and he tries to push himself up again.

“Nope”, Jon says, keeping him easily pinned down.

“The Traveling Thief-”

“He’s downstairs and not going anywhere. Is that really your first concern?”, Jon asks, and he’d like to say he’s incredulous, but the truth is he knows his partner good enough not to be surprised in the slightest, not even about the almost offended look Damian gives him in response.

“I got him. Held on him for- what time is it?”

“Around midnight, I think”, and then, because he’s not sure if Damian’s been keeping up with the time at all, he adds: “It’s Sunday, by the way. Well, Monday, by now.”

And finally, finally, Damian seems to pause and actually try to focus on the matter at hand.

“I was gone almost five days?”, he asks, not bothering to hide his surprise.

Jon’s fingers dig a little bit harder into Damian’s skin as he bites his bottom lip.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

That’s all you have to say?, Jon wants to ask, but to be honest, he probably wouldn’t know what to say either if their role were reversed. Also it’s quite obvious that Damian’s not totally in his right mind yet - the painkillers mustn’t be helping in the slightest about that - and Jon really, really wants to go easy on him, but.

“Damian?”

“Mh?”

“How did you survive it?”, he asks, because he has to. “The explosion, I mean. Do you remember that?”

Damian blinks hazy, half-lidded eyes, then he clicks his tongue in what looks like equal parts anger and shame.

“Tripped on a booby-trapped wire”, he scoffs. “Stupid.”

Jon shakes his head.

“It wasn’t stupid.”

“Was too. I made one mistake after another. Activated both an alarm and a trap, like the worst amateur. Didn’t even noticed-”

“You didn’t make a mistake”, Jon interrupts him and Damian looks at him with a frown.

“I just told you I made several. I’m not-”

“I should’ve been there!”, Jon yells, cutting him off. “That was the only mistake! I should’ve been there with you!”

The high pitch of his voice makes the room ring around them. Damian’s eyes widen in bewilderment, and Jon immediately regrets his outburst. But the words had been stuck in his throat for so long, and hearing Damian accusing himself was just too much for him to keep them under control any longer.

“I’m sorry”, the words keep rolling out of his mouth and Jon just lets them. “It was my fault and I’m sorry. We thought you were dead, your family and my dad, and I just, I just should’ve been there to protect you and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But now you’re back and I- and I-”

And then, without meaning it in the slightest, he starts crying again. Because apparently he can’t do anything else these days. The most powerful boy on Earth, and all he can do is shake with sobs and bawl his eyes out. What a failure.

“Jon…”

Damian has really no idea on what to say, Jon knows that. Which is okay, because there’s nothing Jon really wants to listen to, right now. So he bows his head against Damian’s chest and tries to limit the sobs the best he can.

It’s weird, being so happy and so desperate at the same time. It gets even weirder when the palm of Damian’s hand hesitantly brushes against the crown of his head, fingers digging gently into Jon’s hair. And Jon may not feel comfortable with playing the protector in their relationship, but Damian sure as hell feels even less comfortable with being the comforting one. Which he shouldn’t be anyway, because once again Jon’s been selfish and letting him take care of the situation when it should be him the strong one right now. Useless, he’s useless.

But the strangest thing in all of this is that Damian doesn’t complain, doesn’t tell him to man up and stop acting like a baby, he just keeps… petting him. Like he would do with Titus, probably. The thought makes Jon laugh and he shakes harder against Damian’s chest, sobs and barks of laughter mixed up together into one wet, pathetic, childish mess.

“He was there, by the way”, Damian continues after a moment, voice soft and uncertain, because apparently he’s unwilling to let Jon’s sobs be the loudest sound in the room. Jon’s okay with that. “The Traveling Thief. Appeared the moment I activated the silent alarm. The glowing bicycle - it’s called the Garimard by the way, can you believe it? - that’s why we couldn’t catch him. The engine has a technology based on particles acceleration, so it travels almost at light speed. That’s also how I avoided blowing up, to answer your question. I grabbed onto it once I realized he’d set up a self-destruction device in the basement. He wasn’t too happy about it.”

Still in the middle of his breakdown, Jon chokes back a sob and snorts weakly into the fabric of the Robin’s costume.

“Can’t say I’m sorry for him.”

“Me neither”, Damian agrees. “Is he still downstairs by the way?”

“Yup”, Jon confirms with a sniff full of vindictive pleasure. “I told you, he will not move.”

Damian nods, then he continues his recount like he would with a patrol’s report at the end of a difficult night. “I knocked him out after the explosion pushed us away, then I tried putting some coordinates into the drive system, but it must’ve been damaged by the fire because after the first jump we kept ending up in the strangest places.”

It takes Jon a few second to elaborate what Damian’s just said.

“For five days? You kept jumping around the world for five days without stopping once?”, he asks, raising his head to look at him, and he’s so taken aback from the idea to stop crying at once. “Forget the explosion, how did you survive that?”

“With my superior training, of course”, Damian answers, and he’s only half sarcastic about it, of course. “Also, time was… weird. I think it worked differently on that thing. I couldn’t really feel it, if that makes sense.”

“Not really”, Jon answers honestly. He dries his face with the back of his hand, then slips an arm over Damian’s chest and rests his cheek on it. “How did you end up here anyway?”

Damian shrugs under him, then he yawns, and his eyes begin to close again.

“For the most of the time I was busy with trying to prevent the lame thief and myself from falling down the bike, but I also kept putting into the system various coordinates of places I knew. I guess for some reason these ones actually stuck.”

“For some reason”, Jon repeats.

“Mh.”

It’s comfortable where he is, Jon realizes. Well, not for his back, or his legs, and definitely not for his neck, but he feels good anyway, with his head on Damian’s chest and Damian’s hand between his hair. So he closes his eyes too and listens to Damian’s breath. He promises himself that once it evens out he’s gonna go downstair to have a chat with their- well, their hostage at this point, and then he will debate with himself if is really smart to keep the Batman in the dark about the return of his son for an entire night.

He falls asleep on top of Damian without even realizing it.

-

He sleeps until dawn, and he knows where and next to who he is the same instant he regains consciousness, and still his first instinct is to raise his head and look around to make sure that it wasn’t a dream, that Damian’s really here.

He finds him still in deep sleep, lying on the bed just next to him, his features completely relaxed for once, to the point he’s even drooling a little. The drugs and the five days exhaustion have definitely got the best of him, which is a good thing in Jon’s book, since in the daylight Damian looks a lot worse than he thought the night before.

It’s still fine, though. Damian’s alive, and that’s what really matters.

Jon gets out of the bed and for the first time in five days there isn’t the burden of a devastating grief weighing down on his chest. He can breathe just fine. For a moment it’s really confusing. Then he looks down at Damian and decides that the emotional mess can wait. Breakfast first.

-

It’s way past lunch time when Damian makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Jon’s okay with it. He’s spent the entire morning sitting on the porch, waiting, rethinking the last night as well as the last week in general, with the Traveling Thief, now tied to a rocking chair, awkwardly trying to keep him company. It was surreal.

Damian appears in the doorway smelling like Jon’s shampoo, hair still wet from a long and well deserved shower, and he gives them both an amused glare but doesn’t comment further.

So there’s this weird silence between all of them, and Jon looks at Damian while he clears his throat, struggling to find something to say, and he wonders if despite the drugs and the tiredness Damian’s remembering the night before too, if he’s embarrassed for it on Jon’s behalf. But if that was the case, he’d be coming up with a new insulting nickname at this point.

“Hey, Jonny boy”, Damian says instead after a few more moments, because apparently that’s the best he can do. But Jon shakes his head as he gets up on his feet and walks towards him.

“Nope”, he says. “Not this time.”

So he reaches out and he engulfs Damian in a hug almost strong enough to crush him. To his credit, Damian seemed to be already resigned for something like this to happen and he obviously braced himself in advance for it.

“Ribs”, Damian warns him anyway, but at the same time he wraps his arms around Jon with almost the same eagerness, if not with the same strength.

And it’s not the first hug they’ve ever shared, but there is some kind of awareness now in their touch, something that’s been there for some time now, but that was never acknowledged before. And Jon is tired too, happy and relieved, but so, so tired, and he’s not really thinking straight while he buries his face into Damian’s shoulder and sags into the embrace, welcoming the warmth in his stomach even as he feels the flush rising up to his face.

“I love you”, he whispers then into Damian’s neck.

And it wasn’t supposed to go like this. Before those words there should’ve been a first date, to see if things really worked out under that perspective, and then a second and a third and a fourth, and at least a kiss, maybe some touching, definitely more time spent together, a few tries, some good thinking, some doubts on the where and when to say something so important for the first time. No, it wasn’t supposed to come out of his mouth on its own, in the middle of an empty kitchen, with a lame thief as a witness, and seemingly so out of the blue.

And yet, even in forced retrospect, all those preparations sound like bullshit anyway. Because Jon knows already that he loves Damian, and the dates, the physical touches, the time, none of that would add anything to it. He loves him right now, he’ll love him tomorrow and for the times to come, so why hide it behind a maybe or a let’s see what happens?

And he’s not really waiting for an answer either, or a reaction, but he braces himself for it anyway when he feels Damian shifting his weight on his feet, and then his arms tightening around him.

“That’s not very smart of you”, Damian comments. Which is not a I love you too, but neither a what the hell, so Jon laughs against Damian’s neck and considers it a win because at least Damian knows, has probably known for some time too, the same way Jon knew, and that’s enough, at least for now.

It feels natural then, it feels just right, to pull himself back a bit to meet Damian’s eyes. It feels good to kiss him, to move one hand to the back of his head and the other around his waist to press their bodies closer together, hot skin against hot skin, tastes of blood and toothpaste on the tips of their tongues.

When Damian pulls back is only because he’s short of breath, and even then he doesn’t back off the whole way, but leans down to press his forehead against Jon’s, lips still brushing against the corner of Jon’s mouth.

“The lowlife is watching”, Damian whispers then, and he’s smiling, and Jon has to laugh because of course, why did he even bothered with imagining a normal first date for the two of them.

“Who cares”, he answers, still laughing. “Let him watch.”

[fanmoose12]

It's been a long, exhausting day, and Hange is happy to finally come home. She shrugs her jacket off, throwing it haphazardly somewhere in the vicinity of the clothes rack, kicks off her shoes and stumbles inside the living room.

Something lies on a coffee table - she doesn't remember putting anything, more than that, she's pretty sure she tried to clean up the apartment the other day, so the presence of an object is exciting. Hange skips to it, greedily snatching it in her arms.

It's a book - The Hobbit, or There and Back Again. Hange read it, of course, many, many times during her high school and university years. She has a copy somewhere on a bookshelf too, but this is copy is so much nicer. It's not exactly new, but the book is leather bound, and as Hange opens it, she lets a sign of reverence - inside there are plenty of illustrations - beautiful, majestic drawings that seem to come alive right underneath her fingertips.

One picture in particular, the one with Gandalf and Bilbo makes her chuckle in delight. She closes the book and holds it close to her chest for a second, and then she travels into her bedroom to put it on a shelf, on the most prominent place, where it would attract attention of anyone who comes in.

"Thank you!" she yells into the open window.

She doesn't know if anyone listens - she really hopes no one does (she possesses some preservation skills, thank you very much, Moblit) - but it never hurts to be polite. Especially to the one who showers her with so much gorgeous gifts.

This - the mysterious apparitions of new things inside her home - started recently, two months ago. A mysterious gifter started breaking into her apartment and leaving various gifts throughout her home. Sometimes they're endearing - like that book she just received and that geranium that now stands on a windowsill. Sometimes they're useful - like that time, for example, when she forgot to buy something for her cat and almost started running to the closest store only to find a can of cat food that was so much more expensive (and probably much more delicious) than she could ever afford. And sometimes the gifts are straight up weird. One time she came home and found an extremely detailed replica of a human's scull. If that was, indeed, a replica.

Nababa then joked that she's been targeted by a serial killer.

A secret admirer, Mike had cooed right after, with a dreamy smile hidden by his moustache.

A stalker, Moblit had grimly concluded, watching Hange with unconcealed worry.

He didn't stop there, too, and out of the kindness of his heart, offered Hange to help her find the identity of the mysterious gifter (or stalker, as Moblit was adamant to call him).

Of course, Hange, fueled by her endless curiousity and even bigger desire to thank that very kind person, agreed instantly. That agreement led to both of them, couped up in her apartment, lying on a couch with more takeout food that they could possibly eat and a lengthy marathon of Lord of The Rings and Harry Potter.

They spent two days not moving from that extremely comfy couch. And the only person who came to her apartment was the delivery guy.

Moblit didn't stop so easily, though. Hange was actually impressed and proud of his determination. When she first met Moblit, he was such a sweet, soft-spoken boy who sometimes got too shy to order at McDonald's. But now he grew up in a resolute, strong man with a big, caring heart.

It's his determination and overprotectiveness that Hange blames for that afternoon when he decided to set up cameras all over her apartment.

They disappeared the very next day.

Moblit didn't wish to give up even then, threatened to watch her apartment from the other side of the street, staring at her window with the help of binoculars, but Hange managed to convince him that it really wasn't that necessary.

After all, the mysterious gifter never tried to harm her. And, well, she's not quite the romantic that Nifa is, and certainly not as romantic as Mike, but- she finds it all extremely endearing. Every time she comes home, no matter how shitty her day has been, and finds a new gift waiting for her, her heart swells and her lips curl in a smile so wide, her face might just break one day.

Of course, she wishes to know the face and name of her admirer (if that indeed who they are, and she is the one who is right, and not Moblit), but she also admits that not knowing... is pretty exciting too. It's so unusual, so romantic, she feels like she lives through a fairytale or a shitty love story.

And it gives her something to munch on, except boring work stuff. Sometimes she indulges in that a little too much, trying to decipher who from her tight circle of acquaintances can be her secret admirer.

Moblit's candidature is the first one to go. Giving his apparent and very loud aversion to the mysterious gifter, he, of course, might just be the very first suspect. But Moblit is the worst liar Hange has ever seen, so she rules him out without a second thought.

Erwin is a definite no as well, he's too busy to indulge in something like that. Besides, he's too straightforward, and even if he wanted something to happen (and wouldn't that be so much fun!), he most probably would have just said so, without resorting to make Hange feel like she's a love interest from those books Mike always reads during his lunch breaks.

Speaking of Mike, he and Nanaba are out of equation too, since Hange has already received an invitation to their wedding.

Hange thinks (hopes) that it's Pieck, a girl she's been hopelessly crushing on since forever, but even she is not so much out of touch with reality to believe that Pieck Finger herself has deigned to shower her with so much affection. The girl is a sweetheart, just not when it comes to Hange, for some reason.

Then there's a matter of Zeke Yeager, who probably, maybe, kind of has a crush on her. At least, that's what he says every time they stumble upon each other. But Hange is not naive enough (thank you very much again, Moblit) to think that his feelings are genuine. Even if they were, Zeke is too arrogant and self-affected to pay so much attention to someone who isn't him.

Of course, there is also Onyakopon. Sweet, funny and very handsome Onyakopon, another one of her assistants. Hange doesn't think it's him either. He's too orderly and straightlaced to endeavor a stunt like that.

There is another suspect, though, one Hange doesn't even fully believe is real.

There was... a guy Hange met in the back alley. It was Friday night, and, as tradition had it, she, Erwin and Mike were having fun at the bar, drinking beer and trading stories about their work days. Hange had walked out to get some fresh air, when she spotted him - a guy probably her age, trembling on his hands and knees with a pool of blood already forming beneath him. Hange - as one should (as one crazy person should, Moblit would have corrected) - hurried to him.

His eyes were unfocused and his face was covered in bruises. He flinched from her touch, almost violently so, reminding Hange of a scared, wounded animal.

She raised up her hands and swore that she only had good intentions.

After a second of just staring at her, the guy relaxed, staggering into her arms.

He didn't tell her his name, didn't explain what happened, only kept repeating "no hospital". So Hange dragged him upwards, swinged his arm over her shoulder and together they stumbled in the direction of her apartment.

Their journey was accompanied by the man's pained gasps and hisses and Moblit's voice inside her head that kept chanting "what the hell are you doing Hange, this man can be a criminal, he can be a thief or a murderer, or a part of the mafia, which means that he's both".

Hange ignored it just as she always did. Moblit was a wise man with a sound mind, but, even though, she was the first to admit and praise his thoughtfulness, Hange never listened to him. It made their relationship more interesting, it made them unique.

Once they tumbled through her front door, Hange almost losing hold of her precious and very hurt charge, she deposited him on her very comfy couch and, making sure that the man stayed put (he didn't need much convincing, could barely turn his head in the direction of her voice), she ran to get the first aid kit.

She hurried back to him and, after taking off his shirt, she learnt that the covered in blood stranger was also extremely ripped.

And, more importantly (Hange, focus!) covered in blood, so much blood, Hange nearly threw up. But beat up or not, she guessed that the stranger wouldn't enjoy it if he suddenly became covered not only in blood, but in her vomit as well. He didn't seem to be that kind of freak.

So Hange tore her eyes away from those abs and focused them on the bruises that bloomed on the left side of his stomach, at the edge of his hip and up on his collarbone. The wide cut that ran down his right side made her doubt her own abilities, she almost reached out for the phone, but then a strong hand curled around her wrist, forcing her to shift her eyes up to his face.

"No hospital," he repeated, his voice raspy like two stones shifting against each other. "Please," he added, when the doubt refused to leave her features.

Hange faltered for a moment more, before surrendering with a heavy sigh. "You brought this on yourself then," she muttered, as she set out to work.

Her hands trembled and her lips quivered every time the man under her gasped or took an overly sharp intake of breath.

He didn't speak though, didn't even curse at her, so Hange decided to take this task upon herself and fill the silence with her own voice.

At first, she talked about herself and work, but then, as she moved from cleaning his wounds to stitching them, her ramblings came in in earnest. She talked and talked, sharing every interesting fact she had ever heard or read.

The man didn't answer, but whenever she looked in his eyes, he looked right back.

His gaze, even basked in pain, set her heart aflame.

But then Hange finished, put a blanket over her patient, gave him her favorite pillow and went to her own bed, exhausted beyond words.

And when she woke up, there was no sign of him. Nothing in her apartment was even able to hint that another person had spent the night there.

Even her couch, which, as she clearly remembered, the guy had bled out on, was now spotless.

Well, not completely spotless. There was a wet stain as though... as though somebody had tried to clean it.

The revelation drove her to laughter.

She wasn't sure how that man could have not only walk out of her apartment without bleeding out to death, but also clean her damn couch, but she was fairly sure he was relatively alright.

She hoped so, at least.

Writing the night's incident as nothing more than, well, a weird accident, she proceeded with her day.

And a week later - the first gift came.

And, maybe, just maybe, it is a coincidence (Hange doesn't believe in such thing, though, she's a scientist, goddamn it), but a part of her hopes the gifts come from that man. She also hopes, perhaps, foolishly so, that she would see him again.

***

It's been extremely long, but surprisingly - because Mike has been nagging her with his wedding preparations and wondering who she would bring as a plus one - unproductive shift. Hange enters her apartment with a tired sigh, wondering if there is a gift at her coffee table that will make it all better.

After kicking off her shoes, the first thing she does is check the coffee table. There is no gift there.

Instead - there is a girl sitting on top of it.

Hange blinks, beyond confused, lifts her glasses and rubs at her eyes. The girl doesn't disappear.

Instead she turns to her, squealing loudly.

"You finally came! We've been waiting here all day!"

Hange numbly nods, and when her brain that works at a sluggish pace registers that the girl said "we", her arm starts reaching out to the baseball bat she keeps in her closet.

"She's pretty," the girl says to someone, turning her head to the side. "Although, doesn't look like an angel with eyes deep as an ocean."

"You forget that he was on painkillers when he said that," that someone scoffs. "And he also said that the eyes looked like ocean of shit, so, really, Levi isn't the best poet."

Levi? An angel? Ocean of shit?

What the hell are those people talking about? And, more importantly, what the hell are they doing inside her apartment?

Hange touches the handle of a bat, her fingers are curled around the hilt when the girl turns back to her.

"Hi!" she waves and the outstretches her hand, tugging at someone's sleeve. A guy comes into Hange's view - tall and lanky, with short light hair. He waves at her too and curls up his lips, although his smile isn't nearly as bright as his friend's.

"Hello," Hange answers slowly, heart hammering in her chest. So this is it? She really is going to die? She wonders if the bat can save her. There are two of them and they got inside her apartment without any sign of forced entry. They're clearly very skillful. And, possibly, more deadly that her bat could ever hope to become.

"What are you doing in my apartment?" she asks it tentatively, careful not to provoke them.

"We came to say hi!" the girl's smile grows even wider. She bobs her head from side to side, her pigtails swinging in the air. If the situation had been at least a little bit different, Hange would have found her endearing. Maybe, even offered her the candies she always keeps in the pocket of her jacket.

"We won't harm you," the guy says, rising his hands to prove that he's unarmed. "We just want to talk."

"And ask you for a favor!" the girl adds in a singing voice.

"A f-favor?" Hange shifts her gaze from one intruder to another, thinking if maybe she should call the police? She will, she decides. But after she hears what favor they need from her.

Your curiosity will be the end of you, Hange, Moblit's voice chides in her head.

"You know about the gifts, right?" the guy wonders.

Hange nods. "The one that always appear on a coffee table."

The duo frown.

"You didn't check the closet?" the girl asks.

"And under your bed?" the guy adds.

"Um..." Hange scratches her neck, feeling it warm up under their confused stares. "I'll go check there right now."

"No!" the girl surges forward, seizing her hand. Hange tenses immediately, thoughts "they're going to kill me, this is it, I'm going to die" racing through her.

But then nothing happens, and the girl even steps back when she notes Hange's discomfort.

"We just want you to meet someone," she says, and her sweet voice coupled with those adorable puppy eyed look make Hange resolve crumble.

Your kindness and immense trust in people would get you killed someday too, Moblit scolds her again.

"We just need to take some precautions, if you don't mind," the guy speaks up. Hange's throat closes up when he takes out a white handkerchief. "But you will be safe, I promise."

You're going to get kidnapped and then killed, Moblit continues to nag, and then I'm going to come to your funeral, stand over your grave and say I told you so.

Hange ignores the voice in her head the same way she usually ignores Moblit's warnings at work. She nods again, and then the guy comes behind her and takes off her glasses, wrapping the handkerchief around her eyes.

"You guys are into really kinky stuff?" she jokes as he starts pushing her forward.

The girl at her side snickers. The guy groans, muttering, "God, you'll make a great pair."

***

Thankfully, they take the handkerchief off before pushing her through the door of some old, battered up building. The floors are creaky and the windows are shattered in some places, but the building is clean.

Exceptionally clean, much better than her apartment.

The gears in her head start turning, as Hange remembers a stranger who scrubbed out a blood stain from her couch while probably still bleeding. The suspicions continue to grow when the guy - Farlan, he introduced himself on their way there - leads her to a room upstairs.

Inside stands a couch, nearly not as comfy as hers, and an old, grainy TV. On a floor next to it sits a guy. He wears a grey t-shirt, so his abs are not on display this time, but Hange recognises the stranger she saved right off the bat.

She wants to exclaim "you!" and point a very accusing finger at him, but he beats her to it.

"Isabel," he narrows his eyes, staring the girl down. She stares back, unflinching, her smile sweet like a candy. "Farlan," he turns to him, his gaze even darker.

"Saw her standing at our entrance," Farlan explains, overly flippant. "Says she wanted to meet ya."

"We'll leave you to it!" Isabel chirps, giving Hange's hand a quick squeeze and then turning around.

"R-right," Farlan starts moving too. "Izzy and I forgot to buy groceries. Have fun, Levi!"

The door after them closes with a loud bang, and suddenly Hange is alone with a guy who possibly (she didn't prove it yet) spent the last months breaking into her apartment and leaving gifts not only on a coffee table, but inside a closet and under the bed as well.

"So," she begins, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. Perhaps, the tension wouldn't be so unbearable if the guy - Levi - stopped staring at her so intently. "You've been giving me all these gifts?"

"Kinda," he admits, and breathing comes a little bit easier when he turns his gaze downwards.

Although, Hange notes with a sort of sobering bewilderment, his eyes are really, really nice, and she really wants to see more of them.

"You know that's really creepy?" she asks, delighting in the way his shoulders tense. "You made my friend worry."

"That idiot?" Levi lets a tch sound. "The one with the shitty cameras? Almost got caught by that fucker."

"So why did you go through all that trouble?"

"Just wanted to thank you," he mumbles. "For saving my life back then."

"Could have just said so," Hange advises. She takes a pause - a long one - to prepare him for her next words. Truth be told, she needs to prepare for it too. "You could have asked me out on a date too."

He looks up so quickly, Hange wants to laugh. She wants to, but she can't, because there is a lump in her throat that would only disappear after Levi gives her an answer.

He holds her gaze for a long, long time. Hange feels like she can't breathe, and she thinks Levi is doing that on purpose. Maybe, it's a payback for her earlier teasing.

"There is a waffle house around the corner," he jerks his thumb in the general direction. "It's not as nice as the one next to your house, but if you want-"

"I do," Hange cuts him off, and then laughs at his surprised expression. "I wanted to ever since I found you that night," she admits softly.

"When I was bleeding out on a street?" he asks incredulously. "You're a freak, four-year."

"Oh please," Hange rolls her eyes, playfully punching his arm. "You're the one to talk. Eyes as deep as the ocean of shit?" she quotes.

Levi's ears catch fire. "I told them to never bring that up," he mutters, his fists clenching.

"It's kinda cute, if I'm being honest," Hange confesses, grinning at Levi. "Not exactly flattering, but certainly creative."

"God," he groans again. "Are you always that insufferable?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Good," Levi murmurs.

Hange's heart flutters and she reaches out for his hand, holding it in hers and intertwining their fingers. Levi - in a stark contrast to the their first meeting - lets her.

They start walking, still hand in hand, and Hange feels like the main character from the love stories Mike likes to read so much.

Levi looks up at her with a faint smile on his lips, and Hange feels like her grand romantic adventure has just began.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello Steph 😊 Do you have any BAMF Molly or just some good fics that feature Molly? I need some Molly love at the moment because I just read a fic where she "turns to the drak side" so to speak, and my heart 😭😭😭

Hey Nonny!

Ah I did a few comm. recs lists recently with Molly, but here are what I can offer you from memory, LOL. PLEASE add your fave Molly fics, guys! PLEASE NOTE these are fics I’ve read, and please check the sub-headings for a TONNE of stuff I haven’t read!! Big title so I can find it later LOL.

MOLLY PLAYS A ROLE

See also:

COMM RECS: Coming Out To Molly

COMM RECS: Molly with Women

COMM RECS: Molly and Greg Push John and Sherlock Together

COMM RECS: Molly as a Villain

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Matchmaking, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard's secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

What John Doesn't Know (Won't Hurt Him) by blueink3 (NR [T], 4,392 w., 1 Ch, || S3 Fix It, Pining Sherlock, Snippets of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Fluff and Angst, Five and One, Hopeful Ending, POV Sherlock) – Five people who see Sherlock's scars before John Watson. But Sherlock's secrets were never something he could keep from his blogger for long.

Thirty Three Hours Without John Watson by Bookaholic, mybrotherharry (M, 6,232 w. || First Kiss / Time, Pining Idiots, BG Mystrade, Crackish) – Sherlock can SO TOTALLY survive without John Watson. It should be a piece of cake. AKA the time when Sherlock braved grocery store lines for milk, purchased and gave away a box of tampons and figured out what the X-Factor is. Greg and Mycroft didn’t sign up for this shit. Next time, they are going to the Bahamas.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship, Different TRF, Sherlock’s Past, Victor Trevor is Past Boyfriend, Depression, Hallucination, Love Confessions, Christmas, First Kiss) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

Insanity in the Middle by DotyTakeThisDown (E, 28,010 w., 8 Ch. || Equestrian Sports AU || Alternate First Meeting, POV John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Clueless Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Passionate Kisses, Hand Holding, Caught Making Out, Bed Sharing, Spooning, Blow Job) – John is a world-class eventing rider with a gold medal and several four-star wins to his credit, but he's never won at Rolex. Sherlock is an up-and-coming rider taking the sport by storm.

Love or What You Will by miss_frankenstein (T, 31,987 w., 11 Ch. || College/Uni AU || Professor John, Ph.D Student Sherlock, Pining John, Poetry, Falling in Love / Slow Burn, Light Angst, Happy Ending) – John is an English professor who specializes in War and Post-War Literature and Sherlock is the brilliant yet impossible Ph.D. student assigned to be his TA because no one in the Chemistry Department is willing to put up with him. And - somewhere between Waugh and Plath, e-mails and takeaway, novels and villanelles - they fall in love.

The Wrong Wagon by DancingGrimm (E, 35,663 w., 20 Ch. || Alternating POV, Molly/  John [Molly pines for John], Public Sex, Casual Sex, Obliviousness, BAMF!John, Awkwardness, Angst & Humour, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) – Molly sees John in a new light and realises that she may have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon...or something like that. John pines for Sherlock and worries what he will think if he ever finds out. And Sherlock doesn't know what Molly's up to...but he knows he doesn't like it.

The Pieces That Fall to Earth by Itsallfine (M, 49,513 w., 84 Ch. || S4 Fix-It, Epistolary, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Parentlock, Past Abuse, Coming Out, Internalized Homophobia, Questioning Sexuality, Mental Health Issues / Therapy, Angst, Happy Ending) – John and Sherlock have hit rock bottom, but with all their armor stripped away, they can finally speak honestly, seek healing, and find the truths that matter most. An epistolary post-s4 fix-it fic. Now complete. (This fic is rated T except for one very clearly marked and easily skippable chapter, which is rated M.) Part 1 of The Pieces that Fall to Earth

floating through a dark blue sky by Lediona (M, 58,966 w., 15 Ch. || Notting Hill AU || POV John, Celebrity Sherlock, First Date / Time / Kiss, Past Drug Addiction, Angst with a Happy Ending) – Of course, I’d seen his films and always thought he was, well, brilliant -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in. Or, when John is the owner of a travel book shop and the famous Sherlock Holmes stops in one day.

This Thing All Things Devours by cypress_tree (E, 63,844 w., 15 Ch. || In Time AU || Science Fiction, Dystopian Universe, First Meetings, Action / Adventure, Romance) – In 2169, time is money—literally. Humans are genetically engineered to stop aging at 25, when the numbers on their arm start counting down from one year. When that time is up, they die. The only way to get more time is to earn it, borrow it, or steal it.John Watson lives day-to-day in the crowded slums of Zone 13. He never imagined living any differently—until he meets the practically-immortal Sherlock, and helps him on a case to track a local time-thief...

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Stars Move Still by BeautifulFiction (E, 96,022 w., 5 Ch. || Magical Realism, Demons, Slash to Pre-Slash, AU, Happy Ending, Souls) – "What could I want so desperately that would make me sell my soul? What could possibly compel me to surrender the part of myself that makes me who I am: the source of my magic, my self-control, everything?”

Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w., 12 of ? Ch. || Dev. Rel., Pining, Fluff and Romance, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Cuddles, Girl’s Night, Texting, Virgin Sherlock, Drunk Sherlock, Background Mollstrade, Hair Petting, Laying on Lap) – Sherlock’s journey in defining his flat mate and stumbling through the muddled world of emotion. {{This feels complete; the chapter count is listed as ? but I feel like it is done}}

between each beat are words unsaid by darcylindbergh, hudders-and-hiddles (T, 107,998 w., 215 Ch. || Epistolary, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending) – On their wedding night, John and Sherlock gift each other with the things they each said when the other could not hear, the things they each put down where the other could not see: a collection of writings that illustrate the way their love for one another has grown over the years. Part 1 of between each beat

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard (M, 119,150 w., 21 Ch. || Canon Divergence, Post-TRF, John’s Sexuality, S3 Rewrite, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV John Watson, John’s Gay) – When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Horse and his Doctor by khorazir (T, 129,003 w., 13 Ch. || Horse / Vet AU || Magical Realism, Horses, Vet John, Horse Sherlock, Implied Alcoholism) – Invalided after a run in with a poacher in Siberia, veterinary surgeon John Watson finds it difficult to acclimatise to the mundanity of London life. Things change when a friend invites him along to a local animal shelter and he meets their latest acquisition, a trouble-making Frisian with the strangest eyes and even stranger quirks John has ever encountered in a horse.

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori (E, 156,714 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Hollywood / Actor AU, Secret Relationship, Falling in Love, Slow Burn, Romance, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Pining) – Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world? Part 1 of Performance in a Leading Role

Mise en Place by azriona (M, 161,004 w., 28 Ch. || Restaurant (Kitchen Nightmares) AU || Sherlock is Gordon Ramsay / Celebrity Sherlock, Restauranteur John, Harry Plays Prominent Role, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, Cranky Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn) – John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn't have much choice. There's only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. Part 1 of Mise en Place

[marvels-writings]

Crown

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist

Prompt by: @ohboyitscringe​

Word Count: 13,998 

A/N: This is a long masterpiece and definitely worth your time

Weak sunlight shown through the window, illuminating the room in a dull orange light. The air of frustration was heavy in the air as your parents argued with you. Heels clicked on the floor as you paced the room angrily.

“Y/n, you need to wed,” Your father argued, voice heavy and determined.

“You expect me to wed some prince or princess who does not how to rule a kingdom,” You stopped pacing to face him, frustration lacing your tone. “let alone fix their hair.”

Your mother, who usually sympathized with you and let you get away with rejecting proposals, was also exasperated with you. The queen sat on the bed, posture hunched, her eyes tired and drooping low. The argument had been going on for over an hour. Multiple servants had entered and exited already. But after the king demanded they leave, none came back.

“The princess we met last was suitable,” The Queen commented.

“You truly think so?” You asked, raising a perfect eyebrow at the statement. Your mother sighed and looked down on the ground, aware of the talk which was about to follow.

“Y/n…” Your father trailed off, glancing from his wife to you. He knew better than anyone how much you’d despised your last suitor.

“No, the first time we met she seemed alright.” You scoffed, clenching your jaw, then threw your hands up in exasperation.

“But all she knows how to do is flirt and get her way no matter what. I’m not marrying a brat.” You stated malice in your tone. Your father was visibly frustrated with you, but you knew he couldn’t force you to do anything.

“Then don’t marry!” The king shouted, using his authoritative tone he used when dealing with infuriating politicians or citizens.

It was a tone you feared as a child, whenever he spoke to you this way your first reaction had been to obey. But you’d learned otherwise, you were under no obligation to take orders from him. It was this habit of yours which infuriated him the most.

“If only it was that simple.” You remarked, turning away from him.

Your mother opened her mouth to say something, probably to calm down your father like she usually did during these arguments. But a messenger opened the heavy door to the room, attracting the attention of your family.

It was a girl, about 20 years old, blonde hair tied up, she wore the uniform that all the messengers wore and held a thin roll of parchment. Her green eyes darted around nervously, taking in the scene in front of her as she bowed in respect. You’d never seen her before, you assumed she was new.

The new ones were more scared of your father than anyone else. You didn’t blame them, they were seeing the king for the first time. If they made the smallest mistake he could have them sent out of the castle. The golden crown glinting in the light on his head a constant reminder of his power.

“I said we must not be disturbed.” Your father sneered, brow furrowing in anger.

The messenger visibly cowered in the king's presence. Your mother rolled your eyes at the antics and beckoned her to hand over the parchment. The messenger bowed and handed the queen the parchment, backing away towards the door quickly after catching your father’s glare.

“This was an urgent message from a new kingdom east from us.” The messenger explained, gesturing weakly to the parchment in the queen’s hand.

You rolled your eyes at the statement. The most urgent message that could be was a thief or the most excitement in an urgent message was a wedding proposal. The latter seemed unlikely after the events with your last suitor.

“It’s a marriage proposal from the recently occupied valley.” Your mother stated, eyes widening as she read it.

“Another one?” You asked sarcastically.

The last message had been from a peasant valley just north of you. It had been a mistake to visit, the prince who had sent the proposal was no more than an uneducated soldier.

However, this message seemed to be more urgent. The queen didn’t hesitate to show your father the wedding proposal. When the king saw it, his eyes widened as he read the page, taking in every word. They whispered in rapid succession behind the large scroll. You crossed your arms at the scene unfolding in front of you.

When they were done conspiring, they turned to face you. Your mother seemed to be giddy with excitement, while your father was smiling seriously.

“You must get your things, you’re leaving in a few days.” Your father stated, leaving no room for argument.

Already exhausted from arguing, you decided not to object. Instead, you asked why you were going. Several proposals had already been rejected, you didn’t understand why this one was so special.

“To a valley?” You asked incredulously, your arms uncrossing in shock. “For what purpose?”

Your father handed you the unraveled parchment. You sighed and took it, skimming over it quickly. The messenger who was still standing at the door was unsure whether to leave or stay. Her feet shifted noisily under her, but she stopped when she caught your glare over the parchment.

The scroll was simple, it was from the leader of a group of warriors who had recently taken over a nearby valley. It was a marriage proposal from the leader of their group rather than the king or queen. But it was worded as more of an invitation.

They were inviting you to spend a month at their castle to settle marriage negotiations. Nowhere did it say who the marriage proposal was from.

There were other notes on the sides by politicians who had been shown this proposal. None of which objected to the invitation. Not that you were surprised, a powerful ally, a princess, what could go wrong?

“This seems overly familiar.” You commented, rolling up the parchment and handing it back to the messenger. The girl made a small bow and accepted it, fidgeting with the thin parchment noiselessly.

“You’re going tomorrow.” The queen commanded, her tone strict and assertive.

“But the valley is filled with burglars.” You argued, hoping she would see the risk.

But it didn’t seem like either of your parents was going to let this pass. Your mother sighed, knowing you were trying to get out of it. Your father refused to let this pass.

“We’ll send our best knight with you.” The king stated.

You opened your mouth to argue. Say anything, object these redundant proposals. But before you could, the nervous messenger girl interrupted you.

“Forgive me but,” She began, but stopped when the royal family turned to glare at her.

The messenger gulped loudly, you saw the hint of a smirk on your father’s face. He liked making people nervous, a trait you had gained from him.

“But the kingdom has already arranged for a knight to come for her safety.” The messenger finished.

Relief washed over your parent's faces. But this news darkened your features. It only secured your travel to this valley.

“Then that’s taken care of,” Your mother smiled. The messenger looked visibly relieved when the king’s features softened.

“When is this knight arriving?” He asked, tone softer as not to frighten the girl.

“Tonight,” She answered promptly. You bit back a groan at her answer.

“Have them sent to y/n’s room once they arrive.” The king instructed.

The messenger bowed and left as quickly as she had come, closing the door behind her with a dull clank. You turned to face your parents, both of them wore stern expressions. They had worn this expression before when you had tried to get out of another engagement. Even though you made your way out eventually, you weren’t sure you’d be able to this time.

Groaning, you left the room and slammed the door shut on the way to your room. Dinner was in two hours, you were expected to attend. Since you were leaving tomorrow, your father was going to throw an exquisite feast. Usually, you loved them, the endless scores of people giving you a distraction from the incessant whining of your parents.

But this time, you couldn’t feel less inclined to attend. You were assigned a knight to guard you all the time. Every move of yours was watched by someone. It was attention you were used to, but it wasn’t welcome when you wished to be alone.

The knight you were expecting was similar to the knights surrounding your mother and your father. Men and women who had nothing more to do than fight. More often than not, they had less intelligence than that of a squirrel.

It wouldn’t take much to impress you, but you had certain expectations from a knight assigned to protect you.

———————

Muffled footsteps sounded outside your door, the rushed taking of cooks and waitresses as well as the necessary chatter of messengers. The noise was a welcome distraction from the thoughts inside your head. Golden jewelry glinted in the candlelight in front of you as you slid the elegant earrings through your ear.

A familiar knock at your bedroom door cuts through the sound of voices. The knock was a code between one of your helpers, Mia and you. It was so you always knew who was outside your door. But lately, a few messengers had been copying the knock to gain access. You hadn’t had the time to change the code yet.

“Who is it?” You asked, not bothering to look away from the intricately decorated mirror in front of you.

“It’s me,” The voice confirmed it was Mia.

“The knight has arrived, your father had asked for her to be sent to your room,” Mia explained her disturbance.

“Her?” You muttered, setting down the earring and turning to face the door.

A light frown ghosted over your face. Female knights, or as they were addressed formally, Dames, were not uncommon. But they weren’t common either. Your expectations consisted of a knight who knew too little about how to conduct himself. Not of a woman who had worked to get where she was.

“Send her in,” You instructed.

The door opened, Mia entered, the tall, pale, brunette wore a simple gown, already prepared for the feast. She smiled at you warmly. You smiled back at her, gaze flickering to the knight behind her.

It wasn’t the usual armor the knights wore, rather a sleek, thick, black leather suit with heels and fingerless gloves. Skintight was out of the question for armor, so it wasn’t body-con, but it wasn’t exactly loose either.

The helmet was a heavily stylized variation of the normal armor, a vertical slit rather than the usual horizontal slits. There was a faded black widow mark near the side of it. On the arm, there was a small symbol, it looked like an A but with an arrow. It was a dark silver, barely showing over the black of the suit.

“Princess y/n, this is Dame Natasha Romanoff,” Mia gestured from you to the woman behind her.

The woman, Natasha, bowed, trying to hide her face for a reason you could not understand. Despite the woman’s efforts, you caught sight of tantalizing green eyes. Despite the unusual armor, her manners were impeccable, she didn’t stand up unless she was asked by you.

“Thank you, Mia,” You thanked, smiling at her.

You had been correct to assume she had other duties to attend to. Mia smiled at you gratefully and bowed, exiting the room and closing the door quietly behind her. Natasha stayed in her bow, you weren’t sure how to instruct her.

“You can sit down,” You remarked, gesturing to the ottoman in front of your bed.

The luxurious rugs and furs surrounding it seemed to intimidate her. But Natasha sat down on the ottoman after pushing away the few dresses you’d thrown on it before selecting. The dress you wore was an elegant blue and emerald green gown.

“Do you speak? Or did they send me a mute knight?” You asked, almost joking as to lighten the atmosphere which had suddenly become heavy and awkward. Turning around to face the mirror, you continued to put on jewelry, you still kept one eye on her.

“I speak,” Natasha answered. Her voice was raspy but softer than you had expected a woman of her stature to be. You raised your eyebrows slightly, thinking of a response when you noticed the clasp on your necklace won’t close.

Frustrated, you put it down before trying to put it on again. The knight sitting on your ottoman stared, much to your annoyance.

“Since you’re here, you might as well help,” You commented, exasperation seeping into your tone.

The knight nodded, standing up and walking behind you. You pulled your hair over your shoulder, giving the knight easy access to the necklace. The woman’s breath hitched behind you, indicating her nervousness. You couldn’t help the smirk on your face, you were too similar to your father.

Natasha tried desperately not to stare at you, but you made it almost impossible. The jewelry you wore glinted in the candlelight, illuminating your features and lighting up your eyes. Licking her lips, Natasha focused on the necklace rather than your eyes. Her fingers wandered dangerously close to your skin as she pulled the clasp on the necklace shut.

“Thank you,” You said, a smile on your face as you felt her fingers tremble as she pulled away. A vague memory of your father talking about how you liked to make people nervous, just like him, flies threw your head. Smiling at the memory, you got up from the dressing table.

“Of course,” The knight said, walking away from you and resuming her seat on the ottoman.

You looked at the armor, almost as if it was offending you somehow. It didn’t seem right for someone meant to protect you to wear something so horrid to dinner. No matter how stylish armor was, it was still armor.

Sighing, you gestured towards your closet and your bed, indicating for her to change into one of the dresses. But Natasha did not get the hint.

“There’s spare dresses in there you can change into,” You explained, smoothing out the invisible ruffles in your dress.

Natasha was confused about why you would want her to change into one of your dresses. But it was not her place to question it, so she chose not to.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” The knight refused. You raised an eyebrow as a playful smirk graced your face.

“Can’t or won’t?” You asked, chuckling at your joke.

To say Natasha was surprised was an understatement. The knight was stunned, she had never met someone, let alone a princess who had the kind of ethereal appearance and attitude you had. From what she had heard, you were a graceful, almost godlike. She couldn’t agree more.

But there was more to you than just stunning appearances and gracefulness. The rumors she had heard also told how headstrong you were. All of the rumors about you, no matter how unbelievable, were proving themselves true.

“Suit yourself,” You shrugged when Natasha didn’t respond.

“You’re welcome to stay here or join us at the feast,”

When she didn’t react, you walked past her, your dress barely brushing her armor. But the perfume you wore blasted into her nose, it smelled like rose petals, new candles. Natasha almost stumbled, she corrected herself before you could notice.

You opened the door, letting the smell of freshly baked bread and strong wine greet you as well as the loud talking of people downstairs greet you. All of the attention in the room turned to you, observing your every move. 

Smiling, you descended the stairs to the feast.

Feeling like you were being followed, you turned your head to see Natasha behind you, far enough not to step on your dress but close enough for you to catch another glimpse of her emerald eyes. Doubt filled you, you didn’t think you were ever going to get used to the feeling of being followed everywhere.

———————

The feast went far better than you had expected. Even though the green-eyed knight’s eyes were always on you, you tried to enjoy yourself. When you began to get bored of the usual talking and joking with your father’s friends, the daughter of one of the nobles began flirting with you.

The woman pretended not to know about the marriage proposal, and you didn’t bring it up. The rest of the night you spent talking to her, flirting, and eating the exquisite feast prepared for you.

Natasha wasn’t enjoying herself nearly as much as you were. Her position was near the back of the room, near the other knights. As the other knights ate and jested about the many tournaments they had won, Natasha stayed quiet, her eyes trained on you.

Green eyes burned with jealousy as she watched you flirt with the noble’s daughter. There was no reason for her to be jealous. Her job was to simply protect you from any harm, nothing more. The only reason she was here was because she needed to get away from her life for a few days. Natasha wasn’t here for any other reason.

Once the feast had ended, you politely excused yourself from the women surrounding you. The noble’s daughter seemed to be particularly insistent on staying with you. After catching sight of Natasha looming threateningly, she stopped.

You laughed at the interaction but paid no more heed to it. While walking up the long flights of stairs to your room, you noticed the knight behind you made little to no noise while walking. It was a welcome change from the clunky loudness of the armor of the other knights.

Entering your room, you saw there were three large trunks set in the corner of your room. The dresses which had previously been on your bed weren’t there anymore. Mia was cleaning your room when she noticed you standing in the open doorway.

“Dame Romanoff,” The woman smiled at the knight behind you. “We have arranged for you to sleep in the room adjacent to Princess y/n’s.”

Mia gestured to the wall on her right. Natasha turned and examined the door and nodded to her. There was a helper behind her to cater to her needs, but the knight waved her off.

“Thank you,” Natasha said. The knight bowed before leaving, closing the door to her room behind her with a heavy thud.

You observed her, standing in the empty doorway for some time. Mia knew you were observing her, as you always did with new arrivals into the palace. Seconds passed until you finally turned away from the closed door and entered your room.

“How long has she been a knight for?” You asked, closing the door to your room and going towards the dressing table to take off the endless amount of jewelry adorning you.

“All her life apparently,” Mia answered, taking a seat on the large bed behind you.

“There’s a rumor around that she was trained in the red room.” She said in a hushed tone, scared the secret would leave your room.

Your eyes widened at the implications. The red room was well known to anyone who knew a knight. It was an almost mythical place, only some of the best dames came from there. But you’d heard different rumors. The rumors said it was as ruthless as it was mythical. You found yourself pitying the knight in the adjacent room.

“That would explain the black widow mark on her helmet,” You remarked, recalling the faded black widow mark on the side of her helmet.

“She can’t be,” Mia muttered, her voice barely audible.

You frowned, starting to take off your earrings and tilting your head to look at her. The helper looked as scared as she was in awe. Her eyes wide, staring at the wall adjacent to the green-eyed knight’s.

“Can’t be who?” You asked, turning around to face her.

Rumors were more known to the maids and the helpers than to the nobles or the royal family themselves. A majority of the rumors you had heard had been conveyed through Mia or one of the other helpers.

But this was something new, you’d never seen Mia in such awe.

“There’s a myth about the black widow,” Mia began, fidgeting with her hands in her lap “She’s one of the most famous knights of the group called the Avengers.”

Now you were dumbfounded. The Avengers was a famed group of warriors who feared no one. They had been rumored to take over the valley you had just received a marriage proposal from. Perhaps this was why your parents were adamant about sending you there. A wedding to an Avenger would show how powerful their kingdom was.

“They sent an avenger to protect me?” You verified, surprised they had sent the Black Widow to protect you. Turning around to face the mirror, you continued taking off your jewelry.

“It’s impressive,”

“To say the least,” You remarked, struggling with the clasp on the necklace Natasha had tied for you. Mia chuckled behind you, moving to help you with the necklace. She took it off and placed it in one of the drawers of the table silently.

“We’ll find out how good their suitor is when we get there,” You stated, taking off all your jewelry and looking at yourself in the mirror. Licking your lips, you finished taking off the makeup and sat on the bed, staring at the wall joining your room to Natasha’s

You doubted you would ever understand why you were assigned an Avenger to protect you. All you had was hope that this would end better than you expected.

———————

Tomorrow came sooner than you had expected. You’d awoken to helpers surrounding you to help you get ready for the travel. A majority of your things were already in the large caravan for your travel. Natasha was in charge of security and had taken some of your father’s best knights with her.

The valley was a day’s travel from your kingdom, you were expected just after sunrise tomorrow. You dressed in a simple, rust-colored gown with a black cloak over it. The caravan in the middle was yours, it was driven by a knight you didn’t know.

Mia sat in your caravan to give you company, she talked about the rumors she had heard of the valley that had been occupied. It was said that their celebrations were often but spectacular each time. They were some of the richest and the most powerful.

The day had passed rather slowly, the only time travel had stopped was for meals which consisted of heavily spiced meat, wine, bread, and cheese. The bread was a little soggy, as a result of a water canister spilling into the bag.

Travel was the most despicable part of journeying to a suitor. The food was horrid, there was little to no privacy in the tents which were set up. You had your tent, which was near the circle of tents that had been arranged.

It felt like you were being watched by everyone in the camp, you found it almost impossible to fall asleep. Dark fantasies of being kidnapped in the night kept you well awake past midnight. Eventually, you fell asleep to the sounds of the forest you were camped in.

However, you were interrupted from your peaceful sleep by the loud yet familiar clanging of swords and shouting. Opening the flap to your tent, you looked outside to see moonlight glinting off of swords, creating a silver silhouette against the dark of the camp.

One of the men lit up a lantern, the dim light exposing three men fighting one knight. But the knight wasn’t one of your father’s knights.

It was Natasha.

The green-eyed knight called for the rest of the men to tie them up. Her voice left no room for argument. It was evident she was able to hold them off by herself. The rest of the men still pulled the men back and tied them up, carrying them off to an unforeseeable punishment.

Lighting up the lantern next to you, you let the light wash over your face, making your presence known. Natasha didn’t hesitate to bow, but stood up and tucked her sword back in the sheath.

“You are safe Princess y/n,” Natasha assured, waving the rest of the knights to return to their tents.

They did so promptly, but Mia came out of her tent to make sure you were alright. She watched the interaction between you and the green-eyed knight.

“I could tell,” You remarked, keeping your composure despite the slight tremble which threatened to take over. Your fears were beginning to come back to you, taking a calming breath, you noticed the men in the camp staring, waiting for your next move

“Mia,” You called out, turning to face her. The woman made a curt bow and waited for your command.

“Move her tent nearer to mine,” You ordered, your tone authoritative like your father’s. The few people left outside glanced nervously from you to Natasha. Though your tone demanded obedience, they weren’t sure of your reasoning behind this action.

“For safety,” You explained, and they got to work.

Natasha’s tent was placed promptly next to yours. She bowed and climbed inside her tent, unsure of what to make of this interaction.

You looked at the tent flap for a few moments after Natasha had left. The green-eyed knight had shown herself capable of protecting you at every point. Somehow, it made you feel safer as you tried to fall asleep.

The fantasies of being dragged away in the night were quelled, lulling you to sleep.

———————

The arrival to the valley was later than you had expected. Delays were caused by the constant demand for breakfast while seated instead of in caravans. As a result, your arrival was just past lunch. The sun had long since risen, but it seemed like it was about to set soon

The golden rays of the sun lit up the heavily decorated entrance to the kingdom. At the front, several crowds were cheering, trying to catch a glance of the famed princess. It seemed they had all heard about you, perhaps more than you had heard about yourself.

Once you’d reached the castle gates, the horses were stopped for you and your company to step down while the horses were parked. The caravan you were in was set in front of the main gates. At the gates, two blonde men wore a similar leather armor standing there. Behind him, there were several knights dressed in similar attire, all with their helmets on

The caravan stopped, the door was opened by Mia for you to step outside. Through the open doorway, you could see the crowds of people waiting for you to step outside. It was frightening and exhilarating.

Smiling curtly, you stepped out of the caravan, your posture perfect as you walked towards the blonde men.

One of them had shoulder-length blonde hair, some of it tied up, almost framing his green eyes. His armor looked heavier, almost like it was made of metal, but it too had the Avengers symbol in the same place.

The one with shorter hair had a large white star in the center of his chest, the Avengers symbol on the arm of his suit, signifying that he was an Avenger. His deep blue eyes flickered from caravan to caravan, focusing on you as you stepped out.

“Well, I didn’t expect such a welcome,” You smiled, stopping in front of the men.

Under the helmet, Natasha wore a smirk, she had known the Avengers would throw a large celebration for your arrival. But she hadn’t expected it to surprise you.

The one with short hair smirked and introduced himself as Steve Rogers. The man behind him introduced himself as Thor, making a show of taking one of your hands and kissing the back of it.

“Welcome to our kingdom Princess Y/n,” Thor greeted, his voice deep and thunderous. You smiled and took your hand out of his reach.

“Thank you,” You smiled.

Steve made a gesture for the knights behind him to clear a pathway into the castle. The ordered into lines, surrounding the edges of the pathway while you passed through them. Natasha walked behind you, watching the knights around her intently. Mia followed Natasha, unsure of where else to be.

“The twins will show you and Romanoff your rooms,” Steve said, walking you, Natasha and Mia into the castle.

“The twins?” Mia asked, moving so she was walking next to the green-eyed knight.

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff,” Steve explained as the five of you walked into the castle.

“Thank you,” You said, a courtesy rather than a genuine sentiment.

“And there is a feast tonight where you would meet your suitor,” His smile seemed to light up with a smile when he mentioned that. But he was quickly called away by someone. Excusing himself with a curt bow, he went to deal with different matters.

You led your company to where you assumed the twins would be. Mia followed you, confused as to where you were heading.

“Isn’t the suitor supposed to be Rogers?” Mia asked, moving past Natasha to walk next to you. The green eyes knight snorted but coughed to cover it up before you could ask. You turned to face the knight, a light frown on your face.

“That’s Captain Rogers, but no.” Natasha corrected, waving off the notion. “He’s married to Barnes.”

“Then whom am I here to wed?” You asked, confusion seeping into your tone.

“I wouldn’t say wed just yet,” Mia muttered.

You side-eyed the remark, not wanting to explain the severity of this marriage proposal. But the answer to your question interested you more than explaining.

“Carol Danvers,” Natasha answered, her voice tight and strained.

—————

Candlelight reflected off of the numerous mirrors and gold objects in the room, giving it a golden lighting. Mia sat on the ottoman, already prepared for the feast as she talked to you. Most of what she spoke of was pointless, but she was only doing it to fill the silence. It was one of the reasons you preferred her company. You never had to settle into an uncomfortable silence.

Though, uncomfortable silences came more often since Natasha was assigned to protect you. The knight barely spoke and never took off her helmet in your presence. It intrigued you, but it wasn’t your place to ask her to take it off.

Mia’s rambling filled the room while you put on your jewelry. Mia had already helped you with your makeup and putting on the dress. You still found jewelry the hardest and most annoying part about dressing up.

Unbeknownst to you, the knight in the corner of your room was staring at you, unable to take her eyes off of you. Natasha hadn’t ever met someone like you, someone who was gorgeous and carried it like a weapon. The green eyes knight was enamored with you, but she could never tell you.

When you finally got the clasp set, you sighed and got up. You turned around, giving a dazzling smile to them. Natasha took in a silent breath, admiring how the black and gold gown looked on you. The lighting flickered across your face, illuminating your eyes, and highlighting your features.

“Alright, how does this look for a dinner with the most famous warriors throughout the land?” You asked, a smile on your face as you asked the little company you had.

Mia immediately started fawning, as she usually did. Though you appreciate the barrage of compliments she was giving you, you would appreciate a change. You noticed Natasha hadn’t said anything and tilted your head to the side, spreading your arms away from your waist.

“Romanoff? Or can I call you Natasha?” You asked, addressing the knight in the corner of the room.

Natasha licked her lips under the helmet, unsure of what to say. You waited patiently, glancing down at Mia, who had turned around to face the knight.

“Natasha is alright, and you look beautiful,” Natasha finally said, the compliment not near enough to describe how you looked to her.

“Chivalry isn’t dead,” Mia remarked, standing up and brushing off her dress. You laughed and smoothed out the invisible ruffles in your dress.

“Now, let’s attend this feast I’ve heard so much about.” You smiled, turning from Mia to your knight.

Natasha nodded and opened the door for both of you, unable to take her eyes off of you. You pretended not to notice the staring, but you turned slightly to look at her when you caught sight of emerald green eyes under her helmet.

———————

The table was set lavishly. Different sorts of meats lay on the table, adorned with different types of ales and wines. Above it all, there were intricate decorations and candles set to illuminate the large dining hall.

The table was large enough to seat almost 20 people, but there were only twelve seated. You sat at the bottom end of the table, Mia on your left and Thor at your right. Thor wore a darker variant of his usual armor while Mia wore a delicately embroidered gown. The Maximoff twins sat across from each other, the girl, Wanda, wore a scarlet gown with dark velvet patterns. Pietro wore a light blue outfit, complimenting his bright eyes. Jarvis, or his nickname, Vision, sat next to Wanda wearing a similar outfit to Wanda.

There was an empty seat between them and the youngest members of the Avengers. Shuri, who was T’challa’s sister, wore a complex corset in white and black. She sat across from Peter Parker, who was said to be the youngest. Behind them, Sam was seated, he wore a dark outfit. Behind him, Steve and Bucky were seated on either side of your suitor.

Carol Danvers outshone the group surrounding her with ease. The blonde wore a peacock blue, floor-length gown, the back of which reached down to the middle of her back. It was unlike anything you had ever seen before, everything around you was like nothing you had ever seen before.

The feast was extravagant. During the first half an hour, you resorted to first names rather than listing their ranking and their full names.

Your knight and an archer you were told was Clint, had gone to a bar in the corner of town. You weren’t surprised by their absence, but you were confused by it. The rest of the group dismissed their behavior, speaking of their retirement, they were the oldest members alongside Steve and Tony who was retired.

Throughout the meal, you found the group to be friendlier towards you than you had expected. Past suitors only cared about your status and your appearance. Here, they seemed to care about what kind of person you were rather than superficial needs.

You found yourself enjoying yourself, laughing, and joking with the people surrounding you. The comfort which came from speaking with them was absent in speaking to the friends of your father. It was comforting in a way you weren’t used to yet.

“So y/n,” Wanda interrupted, turning to face you and resting her chin on her palm, blue-green eyes peering into yours.

“I’ve heard your parents are trying to find you a suitor,” Her voice dripped with suggestion towards the blonde at the head of the table.

Silence befell the table, they turned to look at you, stopping all conversations. You ran your tongue over your teeth, smirking and reaching forwards to take a sip of your drink. Every action you made carefully observed by the group around you.

“They are,” You answered, taking a sip of your drink as you pretended to be oblivious to the evident implication.

Conversations started again, the main topic was you and your kingdom. You smiled at the attention, far too used to it already. Looking across the table, you saw hazel eyes fixated on your every move. Tilting your head to the side, you sent a subtle wink towards her.

Carol beamed, raising her drink for a toast to you. Glasses clinked, voices sounded through the dining hall. The night was spent talking, Carol spoke to you often, asking you questions, slipping in flirtatious comments.

A week went by this way. Days were spent in the castle, talking to the group you were starting to become so familiar with. The nights were spent in lavish feasts which often lasted till late morning.

Letters were sent from your father to make up your mind under a month. The pressure was more imminent as days passed, but you paid no heed to it. But the letters were beginning to be more aggressive. He began to threaten you, his pressure on this marriage like an impending doom.

Carol spent most of her time with you, flirting, asking questions, talking to you. There were countless subtle touches, her hand brushing against yours, numerous cheek kisses. The attention bordered the line between overbearing and enjoyable.

By the end of the week, T’challa had arrived back to the castle from a battle. He wore a black cutaway coat with silver lines adorning the sleeves and the shoulders. The welcome for him was as, if not more, extravagant than the welcome for you.

On his return, a celebration was announced.

The nobles of the kingdom were expected to attend. More wine and ale than you had ever seen was imported into the castle for the famed celebration.

The night of the celebration was more extravagant than you could have ever dreamed of. Golden chandeliers were hanging from the rooftops, bathing the rooms in golden light. The main dining hall was set with lavish dishes from faraway lands.

The table was set for twenty. All of the Avengers were present, except for Natasha who had remained adamant about not attending the feast. However, you caught glances of her passing through the halls, watching you.

There were many new faces, a dark-haired woman named Valkyrie who seemed to be close friends with Thor and Carol. Valkyrie had chosen to wear a sort of leather armor with an elegant skirt flowing along her legs.

A few relatives of T’challa were present as well, celebrating his victory as well as his arrival. His mother had worn an elegant white ballgown, his sister, Shuri had chosen on a gown with vibrant colors and an elegant yet practical design. He had chosen an outfit similar to what he wore the day he arrived, minimalistic but regal.

Outfits for the party were all custom made, showing the design and taste of each person. Carol, on the other hand, had worn a peacock blue outfit, straight fit trousers, and a white and gold shirt underneath the blue jacket.

The rest of the Avengers had chosen their colors. Steve and Bucky had chosen matching outfits consisting of red, blue, and black. Sam had chosen a dark yet regal outfit with a red coat, similar to Steve’s.

Wanda and Vision had chosen a set of striking outfits with scarlet and a light yellow. The gown Wanda wore was the envy of most around you. But your entrance in the room had changed the attention in the room, all of it was directed towards you. Your gown was floor-length, a beautiful embroidery of golden roses on top of favorite/color.

Wine and beer were served, you drank more than usual. You got tipsy, more than the people surrounding you. Carol had already moved to your side of the table, sitting next to you, her thigh brushing yours.

Flirtatious comments subtly touch and bright smiles filled the night. Everyone around you saw how intoxicated you were. Many advised for you to leave the feast, but you refused the advice. Instead, sticking to Carol’s side as she spoke to you.

The blonde saw how intoxicated you were, but she wasn’t taking advantage of you. Carol was adamant about making sure you were alright, she took the drinks away from you to prevent any further accidents. You were leaning on her shoulder, laughing as you set your hand on her thigh.

Neither of you noticed the jealous green eyes which drifted in and out of the room. Natasha’s behavior during the recent feasts was found strange by many of the group. But none of them knew why they assumed she was retiring soon.

The mask was never taken off near you.

“Do you wanna go back to my room?” You whispered into her ear, voice raspy and low.

The act you were putting on, of being an overly intoxicated princess who couldn’t hold her drinks, seemed to be working on everyone around you. Most of the glasses of wine you had taken were water.

“Sure,” Carol agreed, smiling at you.

The blonde helped you up, your arm rested on her shoulders, Carol’s arm wrapped around your waist. You stumbled across the steps, laughing, trying to keep the little composure you had left. Never had you ever let yourself get this intoxicated, but you thought you could use the courage.

Behind you, the soft footsteps of Natasha were barely heard over your intoxicated laughter.

“Let’s get you into bed,” Carol said, leading you into your room and setting you down on your bed.

The door behind her shut with a soft click, locking Natasha out.

The green-eyed knight fidgeted outside your door, waiting for a sound, anything. Natasha assumed she knew why you brought Carol to your room, but she hoped she was wrong.

But Natasha’s assumptions were wrong.

Carol wasn’t going to take advantage of your drunken state. The blonde was gratuitous enough to help you into bed.

The blankets were laid on top of you, most of the candles snuffed out. The only light in the room consisted of the lamp by your bedside and the moonlight leaking through the windows.

“Why don’t you want me?” You asked, reaching out for the blonde by your side.

“I want you,” Carol answered, resting her arms on top of yours to tuck them into the heavy furs.

“But I don’t want to be your drunken mistake,”

A frown crossed your face, but you decided not to argue. Instead, pouting and setting your head onto the pillow. Carol’s hazel eyes looked into yours, she sighed and began to get up when you spoke again.

“Do you think we could get married someday?” You blurted, stopping the blonde in her tracks.

Carol stumbled but turned around to face you. Tilting her head to the side, she crossed the room in a few strides to get to you. Weighing the answer in her mind, she moved the hair out of your face.

“Maybe, ask me that when you aren’t drunk,” Carol answered, a smile on her face.

Accepting the answer, you stared up at her. Your composure was almost gone, you weren’t the ethereal princess who everyone knew about. Now, you were just a woman who wanted another woman.

“I think you’re really hot by the way,” You said, trying to pull her into bed with you using her sleeve.

“Feeling’s mutual,” She pulled the blanket up to your shoulder and smiled at you.

When you didn’t say anything else, she leaned down to kiss the top of your head. After wishing you a goodnight, she left your room. Glancing back at your form one more time, she smiled and opened the door.

A blast of heat, light, and the smell of alcohol hit her. In front of her, a dark figure stood there. Surprised, she closed the door, as she recognized the armor.

“Natasha?” Carol asked, confirming her suspicions when she noticed the black widow mark on the top of her head.

"What are you doing here?”

Natasha stumbled slightly, shifting her weight from foot to foot. The blonde frowned at the helmet, not knowing why the knight was adamant on keeping it on around you. Natasha usually avoided the suitors who came to the castle, for her to spend her time around you with the helmet on was a surprise to her.

“I, I’m supposed to protect y/n.” Natasha stuttered, clenching her jaw as she tried to hide her emotions.

Carol raised a perfect eyebrow at the reasoning. The blonde expected Natasha to correct herself, but she had no such intentions. Sighing, Carol patted her shoulder.

“She’s in the most heavily guarded castle in the kingdom, she’s safe,” Carol assured, rolling her eyes and returning to the party downstairs.

Natasha ignored Carol’s assurances and opened the door to your room, closing it behind her quickly. Unable to see in the dim lighting, she used a matchstick to light the lamp on the side of the door. The room was flooded with candlelight.

You were in the corner of the room, attempting to take off your dress but failing. The corset was near impossible to take off, you had needed Mia’s assistance to simply put it on. To take it off by yourself presented itself as a near-impossible task.

“Greetings,” You muttered when you noticed the green-eyed knight standing in your room.

Before Natasha could ask you if you needed anything, you interrupted her and thrust your back towards her so she could help you. Confused, the redhead took a step back, colliding with the heavy door behind her.

“Can you help me with this?” You pointed to the clasp of the corset you were unable to undo.

Clenching her jaw, Natasha undid the clasp. The corset and the rest of the dress fell off your back and pulled at your feet, revealing the thin garments you wore underneath it. They consisted of a sleeveless single silk slip on which ended just shy of your knees.

Around Natasha, you dropped the act of being an intoxicated princess. Changing back into the woman everyone knew to be an elegant princess. But you had too much alcohol in you to be yourself. Stumbling, you fell onto your bed as you pulled pins out of your hair.

Natasha was about to leave now that she had seen you were alright, but your voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Stay,”

“I’m not-” Natasha began, but you cut her off.

“It’s an order,” You commanded, using your authoritative tone, but softened it. “stay.”

Looking up at her with pleading eyes, the person you were right now was the opposite of the woman Natasha had grown used to. You were in no form elegant or poised, you were tired and drunk. But you still kept up your composure, almost as if clinging onto a pedestal.

“Looks like I don’t have a choice then,” Natasha turned around, sitting down on the leather ottoman on the side of the bed. She ran her fingers through the soft fur of the blankets, keeping her distance from you.

Laying down on the bed, you face the knight at your bedside. Sighing, you reached out for her arm and pulled her so she was seated next to you.

Natasha swallowed, licking her lips nervously under the helmet. Her gaze slipped to your face, you had taken off most of the makeup you had been wearing for the feast. But you looked ethereal, the moonlight reflecting in your eyes and softening your features. The candlelight illuminated the other side of your face, creating a soft gradient across your features.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You asked, voice soft and unsure as you drew Natasha out of her trance.

“Of course,” Natasha nodded, her voice muffled slightly by the mask on her face. She was adamant as to not take it off around you. Her fear of your judgment overriding her hatred of the helmet.

“I don’t want Carol,”

Your secret surprised Natasha, her eyes widened drastically. The knight leaned back on the ottoman, almost as if slapped. Opening and closing her mouth, she decided to ask why you are deciding to marry her.

“Then why-,”

“Because she’s the best option there is,” You cut her off, seeming more sober as the minutes passed.

Natasha was unable to respond, your response was something she had never even dreamed of. She assumed you always got what you wanted. It was the persona you always held up, a beautiful princess who knew what she wanted and how to get it. This contradicted your persona entirely.

“There are people that are worse than her,” You rambled into the silence, “She’s attractive, smart, strong and powerful,”

The green eyes knight pursed her lips under the mask. Reality began to set in, Natasha didn’t have nearly as much power or influence as Carol did. If you were to be with her, your father would not spare you. As it is, Natasha had seen the aggressive letters he kept sending you, you weren’t as careful to hide them.

Exhausted from the lack of response, you faced her with a furious glare.

“Say something,” You demanded, watching Natasha turn to face you, catching another glimpse of emerald eyes. They were glinting in the moonlight, they showed with a sadness you hadn’t seen in them before.

“What would you like me to say?” Natasha asked, her thinly veiled jealousy beginning to show. Flinching at her hard tone, you rolled your eyes and sighed.

“Anything,” You said exasperatedly, gesturing to her and chuckling groggily. “You’re supposed to be my knight in shining armor so to say,”

Natasha bit back a laugh, considering it rude to laugh at the princess she was supposed to protect. Unable to hold back a chuckle, she began to pull the blanket up to your shoulders for you to sleep.

“You’re drunk,” She stated, biting back another laugh at your state.

“Noticed that,” You muttered, yawning and turning to bury your face into the pillows.

Natasha observed you, your relaxed state as well as the thick furs laying above you. Seeing there was no reason for her to stay, she began to leave. Her soft footsteps caught your attention, you turned to face her.

“I thought I told you to stay,” You muttered sleepily, eyes half-closed as you looked at her. The green-eyed knight turned around, tilting her head to the side.

“And do what?” Natasha asked, gesturing around her. You shrugged, sighing, and burrowing yourself into the pillows around you.

“Protect me,” You muttered into your pillow, finally succumbing to the lullaby of sleep.

Natasha began to protest, but you were fast asleep. Sighing, she settled on the ottoman near your bed, watching you sleep as thoughts raced through her mind.

———————

Light from the morning sun flooded the room, reflecting off of the mirrors in your room, effectively waking you up. Groaning, you shoved the furs off of you and looked around. A headache presented itself, causing dizziness.

Almost falling back down on the bed, you glanced around the room for a glass of water. It seemed the few drinks you drank had affected you more than you had expected. Your door opened to reveal a certain green-eyed knight carrying a tray with a loaf of bread and a cup of tea.

Using her foot to nudge the ottoman next to your table, she set it down on top of it and handed you the cup of tea. You swirled the cup of tea, observing the sediment in the bottom. The smell was unfamiliar to you.

“What’s in it?” You asked, unable to identify what kind of tea it was.

“Chamomile,” Natasha answered. You winced, chamomile was one of your least favorite flavors of tea.

“It’s supposed to help.”

Taking a sip of the tea, you found it wasn’t as bad as you expected. Mint was mixed into it to give it a nicer flavor to it. It was the only reason you were able to drink it. The tea was also the perfect temperature.

Sipping the tea, you began to recall the events of yesterday. Carol had come to your room, but she had left. You’d spoken to Natasha about something, you weren’t sure what you had said. All you could remember was it was something you didn’t want to let anyone else know.

Your face paled, you didn’t know what you had told her.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asked, noticing your face turn pale as you stared at the wall in front of you. Clearing your throat, you turned to face her, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

“What, what did I say yesterday?” You stammered, fear seeping into you as your chest tightened.

“Nothing important,” Natasha waved it off, lying through her teeth.

A lifetime in court with lying nobles had taught you how to smell a lie from a mile off. The signs were clear now as ever.

“No, tell me, now,” You demanded, tone imposing and commanding.

“Still ordering me around, are we?” The knight joked, trying desperately to lighten the mood. What you had told her last night could potentially ruin you, she could understand your panic.

“No, I didn’t,” You stuttered, struggling to correct the situation.

Ordering people was what your father did, you did not want to be your father. Not now, not ever. Groaning, you rubbed your temples, unable to say anything without making the situation worse than it already was.

“Fine,” Natasha muttered, collecting her thoughts as you turned to face her.

“You, you said you didn’t want to marry Carol,” She stuttered, trying to word it in the best way. The sentence seemed not to offend you or surprise you. But you were intrigued by what else you had spoken in your intoxicated state.

“Did I say why?”

“Because she was the best option,” Natasha answered without hesitation. Perhaps too quickly, but you didn’t seem to notice.

Clenching your jaw, you leaned back to face the ceiling. Thoughts ran through your head faster than you could process. What you had told Natasha wasn’t false, but it wasn’t something you should have told her. Your words could ruin you, but the green-eyed knight proved herself trustworthy.

“I wasn’t lying for sure,” You chuckled, facing the rock ceiling above you.

You were aware of the emerald eyes fixed on you, but you chose to ignore it.

“I thought it was just a drunken mistake,” Natasha murmured, letting her thoughts slip into her words. Her eyes were fixed on you, watching every action. Your lips twitched up into a smile, a genuine smile.

“No, I don’t lie when I’m drunk apparently,” You smiled, looking at her.

Seconds passed, your smile faded as you turned your attention back to the cup of tea in your hands. The knight had been right, chamomile was perfect for your state. It had helped with your headache and the thirst.

But you felt suffocated. Everything was closing in on you. Your father’s demands for you to wed, Carol’s proposal, the attention. You could barely breathe.

“We can go get breakfast,” Natasha suggested, noticing how you were still sitting on your bed despite finishing the tea.

You groaned at the implications. Breakfast was around the group you were growing overly familiar to. Their company you could handle, but Carol was another matter. The blonde would want to discuss the proposal and other matters you didn’t want to deal with.

“Or we could go away from this for a little bit,” Natasha offered, seeing how you wanted to get out of the castle.

You snorted in laughter at the suggestion and turned to face her.

“With you looking like you just came out of Lancelot,” You gestured to her outfit sarcastically, “I’m fine thank you,”

Natasha rolled her eyes at your antics. She knew she needed to take off the helmet to get you out of here. Her fear of judgment was slowly dwindling when she saw how you were looking around the room for a way to get out undetected.

A loud sigh from the knight’s direction caused you to turn towards her. Two of her fingers were caught underneath the bottom of the helmet, indicating she was about to take it off. Her hand went in a sweeping motion up her face.

The motion slowly revealing milky white skin, full lips, and gorgeous emerald eyes you had grown used to being watched by. Rust hair fell from the helmet, framing her face and falling onto her shoulders.

Sunlight reflected off the mirrors and the gold and onto her face, giving it a golden lighting. The light illuminated her features, lighting up her emerald eyes. Her eyes fixated on you, gauging your reaction. Her fear of your judgment taking over as she stared at your face.

You licked your lips, admiring her features. Everything from her rust hair, to her flawless skin and emerald eyes, entranced you.

Looking at her, she was someone you wanted to run away with. Never had you ever thought about running away from this life. It was the only thing you knew, the politics, the complications, the attention, you’d made your home in it.

Something stirred inside you, you never thought you could feel this way. You never thought you could see someone who looks as tired, as lost as you do. Natasha wanted to get away, you could see it from her expression. It was the same expression you wore daily.

Emerald eyes flickered up to yours, finally looking you in the eyes. You swallowed, weighing your words inside your head.

“So,” You began, your voice higher than usual. Emotions were beginning to flicker across your face, you inhaled sharply to stop showing your emotions, adamant on keeping your composure.

Clearing your throat, you looked up at the redhead for guidance. You hardly ever looked up to anyone to tell you what to do. But you were out of your field, Natasha knew what she was doing better than you did. You guessed she had done this before.

“I have some commoner clothing you can change into,” Natasha said, lips twitching up into a smirk. The redhead was enjoying this exchange of power from you to her. You coughed and slid off of the bed.

“Right,”

———————

Natasha’s commoner clothing consisted of a simple tunic and loose pants. You picked endlessly at the discolored tunic, confused by the discolored garment they wore. The redhead had made sure you weren’t wearing any jewelry as not to attract attention.

Your clothes made little to no sense. Why must you wear such a drab garment just to get out of the castle? Natasha walked out of the bathroom wearing a similar outfit, her hair tied behind her head elegantly.

“What sort of abomination am I wearing?” You demanded, picking at the threads coming out of the tunic.

The green-eyed knight rolled her eyes and sighed.

“It’s a tunic and pants,” Natasha explained, gesturing to your outfit while heading towards the door.

“Exactly, abomination,” You muttered, following her out the door of your room and through a hallway which you assumed led out of the castle.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Natasha led you out of the castle.

The clothes you wore, the lack of makeup and jewelry, none of it was something you were used to. Sneaking out wasn’t something you had ever done before. It terrified you, but you weren’t willing to show Natasha that.

——————

Inside the castle, you were dignified and respected. Out here, where no one knew who you were, it was the opposite. They treated you as just another commoner. It shocked you.

What shocked you most was the filthy streets, the wonder of the street entertainers, the talent of the musicians, the smell of the food sold by the street vendors. Natasha had bought you some meat and bread from a nearby street vendor, it was spiced better than the meat in the castle. The bread was fresher and better tasting than anything you’d eaten before.

But the conditions they lived in were near disgusting. Waste and garbage lined the streets, puddles of water, and other liquids filled the potholes. It was disgusting.

Roaming around the streets, you watched everything in wonder. Never did you have the opportunity to roam the streets this way.

Natasha walked by your side, watching anyone who dared to give you a second glance. Even without the makeup, the gowns, and the jewelry, you were easily the most beautiful person Natasha had ever seen. It didn’t surprise her the few posters lining the walls with drawings of you.

The drawings emphasized the jewelry and the wealth surrounding you. It did little to enhance your features or show the sharpness of your eyes. The drawing made it impossible to relate you to the princess they had heard so much about.

When you went to look at a near street vendor selling handmade art and embroidery, Natasha noticed a few men who had been there at the last street vendor. They seemed not to be doing anything. Surrounded by the crowds of people, they stuck out by sitting still.

Natasha knew something was wrong when they began to walk towards you.

Eyes widening, she took your elbow and dragged you into a nearby valley despite your protests. The alley smelled of human waste as well as stale food. Your nose wrinkled, you opened your mouth to insult Natasha’s actions, but she interrupted you.

“There are people following us,” Natasha stated, eyes boring into yours as she pushed you further into the alley, “Unless you want to show them who you are, stay quiet.”

You raised an eyebrow at her actions. Even though you weren’t in control of what happened around you, you still had your dignity. Natasha could see her actions had been to command, it wasn’t her place to order you. The redhead doubted if anyone could tell you what to do.

“Princess,” Natasha smirked, using your title to push you against the wall.

You licked your lips nervously, watching the action tantalize Natasha as she glanced behind you to where she had seen the men. The redhead’s hands rested on your shoulders, ensuring you didn’t attempt to escape.

“Are they still there?” You asked, turning your head to see.

“Yes,” Natasha answered, using her thumb to guide your face back to look at her. Frowning at the action, you pursed your lips.

“How are you-”

Natasha cut you off by pressing her lips to yours, pushing you further into the wall. The stones on the brick wall hurt your back, but you barely noticed. Her lips moved over yours, her bottom lip driving into your mouth as your breaths mingled.

Eyes fluttered shut against each other as she moved to tilt her face against yours, lips moving in sync. Hands found their way to your neck, twining themselves into your hair, pulling you closer. Your hands rested on her hips, unsure to pull her closer or push her away.

It felt too euphoric to end, but it wasn’t right to do this. Your responsibilities the furthest thing in your mind as you kissed the green-eyed knight.

Natasha pulled away first, breathless as she turned around to see the men following you. Stunned, your eyes began to flutter open to look into emerald eyes. The situation finally striking you, your eyes widened as you tried to push her away.

“What on Earth was that?” You demanded, voice hushed.

You lifted your chin stubbornly, trying to hold onto some golden pedestal. The redhead smirked, licking her lips and looking around.

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable,” Natasha answered, a smirk on her face.

The smirk quickly dissipated when she noticed the men were closing in on her. They must have noticed the drawing and correlated you to it

Clenching your jaw as a blush began to creep up your face, you began to demand to go back to the castle. The stone walls guaranteed you security, here, you were out in the open.

“They are still around,” Natasha hissed, trying to get you to stop talking.

Glaring at her, you pushed her away, intending to go back to the castle. But before you could move, you saw Natasha get pulled away by one of the men following you.

A flash of red hair, she was on top of the man, hitting him on the head aggressively and taking him out. The motion attracted the attention of a few other men in the pungent alley. Natasha knew she couldn’t take all of them, she tried to drag you away from the alley.

But more men had recognized you blocking your path. They all seemed to know they could get rich just by kidnapping you.

Natasha stood in front of you, pulling you to stand behind her. You clenched your jaw, cowering behind her, trusting the green-eyed knight to protect you. Fear began to take over you, escape from this seemed a long lost prospect.

One of the men charged at you, Natasha pushed you aside and went to the other side, delivering a kick to his head. The other men began to charge towards her. You tumbled in the corner, scared, unsure of what was happening around you.

Almost five men were attacking Natasha, fear began to creep through you. If she died, you would be alone again. Never would you have the chance to experience something you never had.

Deciding to reveal your identity, you rushed out into the street and commanded one of the knights to help. They ignored you at first, but when you pushed towards them the little jewelry you’d worn around your neck, they finally began to obey.

A few of them rushed into it, pulling them apart. Many of them tried to run away, but few succeeded. They were pinned to the ground while knights shouted at them to stay down. You paid little heed

Blood covered the floor, your breath hitched as you ran towards the source. On the ground, there was a sight you hoped you wouldn’t see. A knife stuck out of Natasha’s side, dark, red blood pooled around it. Natasha was cradling the knife, demanding weakly that it not be pulled out.

You took charge of the situation, pushing their commander aside to help her. Ordering some of the knights to create a makeshift gurney, you instructed the commander to put Natasha on the gurney after wrapping the wound.

Panic began to seep through you. Blood was everywhere, on the ground in the alley, on the makeshift gurney. But all if it was on your hands. Every drop of blood Natasha lost was on your hands. If you hadn’t been adamant to escape, this wouldn’t be happening.

But now was not the time to pity yourself and your decisions, no matter how foolish they are in hindsight.

One of the street vendors knew how to deal with wounds, they applied pressure and bandaged it not to bleed out. No one around you dared question your orders or your authority. The tone of voice you used was only one they had heard from nobles or the Avengers themselves. It was feared and obeyed.

Angrily, you commanded the knights to speed up to get Natasha back to the castle. The redhead was twisting and turning in the gurney, trying to stop the bleeding. The cloth on the gurney was soaked in blood, it began to drip on the floor you passed, leaving a trail.

Knights pushed people aside to get to the doctors which occupied the left-wing of the castle. You followed them, instructing messengers to inform the Avengers of the situation and to get the doctors ready. Your voice shook despite the authority it exuberated.

After preparing everything, you went to the side of the gurney to speak with Natasha. But the redhead was unconscious, blood still leaking out of the wound. You might never get your chance.

Doctors pushed you out of the room, stating they needed to operate immediately. Despite your protests, your commands to be let in. They refused to let you stay. You finally let them push you out of the room.

There were a few leather couches for people to wait. It should have been comfortable, but it felt like needles.

Bright sunlight streamed through the windows, boots clicking sounded on the stone ground as you paced. No sounds were coming through the room, the blame of all of this was falling on you. You were sure everyone had been notified of this incident and were coming down immediately.

The first to see you was Carol, she ran into the room, furious. Her clothes the same she wore in court.

“Y/n, what the hell were you thinking?” Carol demanded, voice deep and furious.

You whirled around angrily, no one could speak to you in that tone. It made you feel small, controlled. The same way your father spoke to you. Never did you want to feel the same way.

“Don’t forget who you’re speaking to,” You shouted, expression, tone authoritative and angry.

The clothes you wore did little to compliment the famous princess. But you were still in control, not Carol, not your father, you.

The blonde flinched visibly, her features softening.

Biting your lip, you sighed and leaned against the wall. The way you spoke, everything about the way you were acting, it reminded you of your father. The mere idea of becoming like him was despised.

“My apologies,” You licked your lips and sighed, sitting down in the chair in front of the room. “I’m just worried,”

Carol sighed, you looked smaller, worried. You were the shell of the person she had grown to known. Natasha getting hurt, the idea of her not being there for you was ruining you. The blonde could never hope to get you to care for her this way.

But it wasn’t the time to talk to you about it.

“So am I,” Carol sat down next to you.

Sitting next to you, she kept enough distance as not to touch you. Her fear of angering you again prevented her from speaking. When she found out about Natasha leaving the castle, panic had set in. The same panic was consuming her now. But Carol knew Natasha would be alright, she had to be. The redhead couldn’t leave you alone like this.

Hours passed in silence, many members of the Avengers flitted in and out of the room. Their gazes held to blame and pity for you. The mixture infuriating, but there was nothing you could do. The blame was on you. A few gazes stayed for some time, but they left eventually. Carol was the only one staying with you while you waited for Natasha.

Carol made up her mind to convince you to rest for a few hours when she noticed the sun begin to go down. But before she could speak, Dr. Cho exited the room with a relieved smile on her face. She reassured both of you that Natasha would be okay. Her loss of blood had led to her unconsciousness, but she would wake in a matter of hours.

Until then, Cho advised both of you to rest.

You smiled and watched as Carol let her off of duty, her dazzling smile and calm composure assuring them everything was alright. The rest of the doctors, clearly exhausted from the operation, also left.

Relief flooded you, you leaned back in your seat, resting your head against the cold stone wall. Your eyes began to relax as you breathe deeper. Carol watched you relax, she could see the exhaustion in your features.

But she decided it was time she call this off and free you.

“You care for her,” Carol began, leaning against the wall. “don’t you?”

“I-,” You clenched your jaw to prevent snapping at her and lifted your head to face her.

“Yes I do,” You confessed quietly.

The blonde’s face morphed into a sad smile. You couldn’t understand why she was smiling. Afraid of saying something you shouldn’t have, you began diplomacy. Stating vague answers about how you care for each and every life, not just Natasha’s.

You had little trouble lying to her, lying had become like breathing for you. 

But you could see it wasn’t working.

“Y/n, it’s okay,” Carol chuckled sadly, sighing and sitting down beside you again. Her thigh brushed yours, but you moved away.

“That is supposed to have some meaning?” You asked, raising a perfect eyebrow.

Carol turned to face you, examining your features. Your features were hard, not showing any emotion. It was something you’d been taught as a child, you didn’t know better. The blonde chuckled sadly, you were someone she had wanted, badly, but she couldn’t keep you.

“It means you can stop pretending you want me,”

“I-I, I don’t,” You stuttered, eyes widening as you licked your lips. “I don’t understand what you are saying,”

Jaw clenching and unclenching, you tried to stop fidgeting with your fingers. The pressure was hanging over your head constantly affected you, but you were adamant not to show it.

“I’m saying you care more for her than I could ever hope you would care for me,” Carol said, her hazel eyes soft.

Your eyes widened, but you didn’t protest. The blonde wasn’t lying. You couldn’t see yourself being happy with Carol. Everything about her was perfect, too perfect. There would be more pressure on you to be perfect. 

It wouldn’t work.

“I’ll speak with your father and call this off.” Carol got up, brushing the dust off of her pants.

“You can stay here with Natasha as long as you wish, just don’t go outside without more protection again,” Carol warned, giving you a small, sad smile.

“Is that an order?” You asked, voice soft and nervous.

“I don’t think anyone gives you orders,” Carol smiled and shook her head before walking away, leaving you alone.

“I think you might be right,” You muttered, opening the heavy door into the operation room and closing it with a dull thud.

The redhead was paler than ever, her limbs at her sides as her unopened eyes facing the ceiling. She looked peaceful, eerily peaceful. Unused to seeing her without the mask, you couldn’t help but observe her features.

Natasha was easily one of the most gorgeous women you had ever seen. Her eyes were perfectly shaped, her lips looked soft, she was perfect. Being with her wouldn’t add pressure, it would relieve it. You wouldn’t need to worry about having to be perfect, you could just live in the shadows. It seemed more tempting than staying for the crown.

———————

Moonlight streamed through the small window in the side, hitting your eyes. But the light wasn’t what caused you to wake up, it was the voice speaking to you combined with the soft touch on your hands. Opening your eyes, you saw Natasha sitting up in bed, her hand protectively cradling her wound.

“Your highness, are you okay?” Natasha asked you, voice raspy as she reached towards your hand.

“You should sleep.”

Her words barely made their way past your ears. You smiled, eyes lighting up when you saw your knight alive, and healthy. Getting up from your seat, you leaned in towards the redhead quickly, giving her little to no time to react.

Your hands came up behind her neck, pulling her towards your lips. Her lips crashed into yours, they were chapped but soft. Smiling into the kiss, you reached up to twine your fingers into her hair. Natasha rested one hand on your hip, fingers playing with the end of your tunic.

It felt like euphoria like you were finally free. There was no pressure to do anything, no one’s metal hand above your head to do the right thing. There was only what you wanted, who you wanted.

Natasha couldn’t pull away, it was the calmest she had ever felt. Your lips on hers were intoxicating, you were like a drug she couldn’t get enough of.

But she couldn’t have you.

Reality came back to her, she pulled away, breathless, panting, trying to keep away from you. You tilted your head to the side curiously, eyes scanning her features. Her breath hit your face as she tried to move away from you.

“I, I can’t,” Natasha stuttered, confused by the feeling of your fingers running against her scalp.

You laughed, keeping yourself close to her. Moving to sit next to her on the bed, you ran your fingers through her hair before pulling away completely. Your laughter filled the room, Natasha found herself smiling at the sound.

“Why are you laughing?” Natasha asked, confusion lacing her tone.

Shaking your head, you faced her, a light smile on your face. You rested your hand on her thigh, watching her fluster.

“I spoke to Carol,” You began, tapping her thigh to bring her attention back to your face. “she left to speak with my father to call the proposal off.”

“You what?” Natasha blurted, eyes wide as she scanned your features for any sign of lying. “for me?”

You chuckled and nodded, watching her soft smile. But the more you ran this situation in your head, the worse it seemed. The knight assigned to protect you was the one falling for you rather than the suitor you were here to wed. Your father had been adamant about this wedding, more than any other suitor.

“I’m not entirely sure on how it’s going to go but-” You began, thinking of your father and his reaction.

Natasha leaned forwards and pressed her lips to yours, erasing any thoughts from your mind. Her lips moved in sync over yours, breaths mingling, hands holding each other closer. It was like a fantasy, a fantasy neither of you had ever dared to indulge in, too afraid of the fear of it becoming a dream. But your fantasy was a reality, what more could you 

ask for?

———————

Your life was supposed to be perfect, you had the only woman you wanted to marry, the life you were used to, people you cared about you. There was nothing more you could have wanted. But all of it was being denied to you from your father.

A letter had arrived, stating the entire idea of marrying the knight assigned to protect you was ridiculous. Your father denied the notion, demanding you get married to your suitor or he would disown you. Disowning was almost like banishing you from the only life you knew.

“How could he do this?” You demanded, pacing your room.

Heels clicked on the stone-cold floor as you walked from end to end. Mia sat on your bed, trying to console you. Natasha had not yet heard about the letter in your hands.

“He has never forced me to do something like this!” You shouted, angrily throwing the letter on the other side of the room and sitting on the bed. Taking your head into your hands, you groaned loudly.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad,” Mia tried to console you. But even her meager consolations weren’t helping, you didn’t know what would.

“You want to marry her more than I do,” You scoffed, beginning to come up with more insults for your situation when a knock at the door stopped you.

Angrily shouting for the person to come in, you lifted your head to look. Carol stood in the doorway, looking like she had just come out of court. She wore an elegant coat over a suit, the entire entourage was white and gold. Her hair styled elegantly.

“I’m assuming you heard about your father.” Carol began, she had gotten a version of the letter before. Your father tended to do these things, he sent an aggressively worded letter to you, a diplomatically worded letter to the nobles of the castle.

“Oh she did,” Mia muttered, cowering slightly when she caught your cold glare.

Turning to face the blonde, you crossed your arms expectantly.

“I have a way out,” Carol stated, your eyes widened slightly.

“How so?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.

“I know someone who could take your place as a princess,” Carol said, licking her lips nervously at the implications. “, you could still marry Natasha,”

“Who?” You asked Carol waved off your concerns.

“A friend,” The blonde bit her lip nervously. The catch to this way out would cost you everything you held dear.

“You would give up your life as a princess for her,” Carol stated, you opened your mouth to protest. “and in return, you get to be with Natasha,”

You stopped. This would change everything. The life you were used to consisted of being a princess, it consisted of holding power and being in control. If you did this, you would no longer be in control, you would live in the shadows as just another noble in Carol’s court.

Were you willing to give up everything you knew for Natasha?

Seeing your hesitation, Carol began to speak to end the silence.

“You have some time to-” She began, but you were quick to cut her off.

“I agree,” You stated, voice firm but Mia caught the slight waver in your voice.

Carol’s eyes widened, she didn’t think you were going to give up everything for the redhead. Your determination for the opportunity to love her was something she could never hope to gain.

“You’re sure?” Mia asked, her voice a low whisper as she leaned towards you.

You bit your lip and nodded. You’d never been more unsure of anything in your life. If Natasha wasn’t right for you, you’d still give everything up. But the chance to be with her, the chance to live in the shadows, without your father’s iron hand above your head, it was too much to let go.

“I’m sure,”

———————

Telling Natasha about this plan was more disastrous than anyone had hoped. Carol had been the first to tell Natasha, the redhead had objected strongly and rushed up to your room in an absolute panic. In the middle of your packing, Natasha had burst in and demanded to know the reason behind your choices. You were quick to explain to her why the green-eyed knight understood it better than you had hoped.

After all, it was the reason she had gone to your kingdom in the first place, to getaway.

Natasha had helped you move into the suite near hers. From then, you stayed near her.

The wedding was rather extravagant, a woman named Valkyrie whom you had seen earlier had agreed to take your place. It had been quick, as to avoid your father’s knowledge about the switch. But it was extravagantly decorated with the most exquisite feast you’d had.

Giving up your life had proved harder than you had originally thought. It had become the norm for all the attention in the room to be on you, to be in control. The change was harder than you had expected. The redhead by your side was the constant reminder of why you chose to change your life, why you chose her over everything you’d ever known.

To say your father had overreacted to the switch would be an understatement. The king had planned to send an army to the Avenger’s kingdom when he realized there was nothing he could do. You were in control of your life now, not him.

Your story was told throughout the land. It won you the respect of the crowd around you as well as anyone who had ever heard the story. 

For years to come, many people went through the kingdom and heard the story of the princess who fooled everyone to get who she wanted. Many wondered why she gave up everything she knew for a knight. But when they passed through the courts and caught sight of you beside Natasha, they understood why you gave up the crown.

A/N: I’ve spent hours on this so any and all feedback would be appreciated!

Tag List: @capcarolsdanver​, @versdan​, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught​, @lovebotlarson​, @dhengkt​, @hstoria​, @natasha-danvers​, @veryfunnyal​, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ , @ophelias-heart​  , @never-didbefore​ , @justarandomhumanhere​, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn​ , @lesbian-x-blackwidow​ , @wlw-imaginesss​ , @hcartbyheart​​ , @summergeezburr​​ , @imnotasuperhero​  , @thelastavenger-3000​ , @a-stressedstudent​ , @cybeleceto​ , @aaron-despair​  let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

[pawprintsmoon]

You and me, Part III

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30337365/chapters/74893146#workskin

The proposal

After a shower and clean pajamas, Alex finished packing his suitcase, tucking the ring safely inside. The next morning, he was so focused on not losing it again that he ended up misplacing his coffee filled travel mug. He had put it down for one second, and suddenly it was nowhere to be seen. Henry found it in minutes and they left for the airport. Distracted beyond reason, Alex had to hop out of the car to race back inside to grab his wallet. Then he had to hop out of the car again to run inside and get his phone.

After speeding to the JFK airport, they crossed the Atlantic and spent one night in Kensington recovering from jet lag. They spent their first full day at a trans* equity conference. The English press greeted their visiting prince with union jacks and rainbows. Naturally, they responded with charming comments and smiling photos. Alex took the opportunity to livestream a message to his followers: ‘of course transgender high schoolers should be allowed on the sports team that aligns with their gender, and here’s why…’

Privately, in the car back to the palace, Henry expressed the opinion that public schools ought to have polo teams, because it’s a coed sport and ideal for nonbinary teens who don’t like to rock the boat. Alex responded with similar sentiments about quidditch. The rest of the drive they shared a familiar rant about how Harry Potter belongs to the fans (including the trans* fans) and not only to JKR.

That night, just past 2am, Alex turned over in bed to ask, “You awake?”

“Always.”

“Good. We’re going on a fieldtrip. Come on.” Alex pulled them both out of bed, and they got dressed, Alex swinging on his Gucci jacket. He would have worn a hoodie, the incognito uniform of the internationally recognizable, but tonight he didn’t want to hide himself. It was worth the risk. Besides, they didn’t really need to sneak around anymore, did they? Old habits.

He led them out of the palace, down Prince Consort Road. He stopped for a selfie with the sign, because he really had wanted to last time. A second selfie included them both, looking goofy and not caring. When they reached the back entrance of the Victoria and Albert Museum, they kissed lazily against the wall. Once Henry’s lips melted Alex’s nerves, he drew back to take the next step.

“Thing about dating the prince,” he said, holding up keys, “is that you can borrow pretty much anything he owns. And he can get the keys to anywhere if he asks nicely.”

“You’re a thief,” snarked Henry, walking through the door that Alex held open for him. “And a knave, and a scoundrel.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Alex gave the security guard a wad of cash. “Thanks, Gavin. It’ll be Renaissance City.”

They walked past sculptures, artifacts, and paintings, surrounded by the history that they were a part of. They got to the piazza, Henry’s sacred place. Just like last time, the first statue, Samson Slaying a Philistine took away what little breath Alex had, and he had to lean on Henry for support. Like windswept magnets, their lips met, for no reason at all.

Most of the time, Alex had a strong sense of Henry and himself being part of the current moment of history, changing the world in the here and now. But right then, time seemed to melt, and they were surrounded by historical sculptures telling timeless stories. Zephyr the Greek god of the west wind, Proserpina in the underworld, and Jason and his golden fleece. Archetypical and expansive.

And then there was Henry: the national gay landmark, prince charming, an obtuse fucking asshole. Hopefully his future husband. Sticking with his plan, he pulled away from Henry and got out his phone to open Spotify. Taking a deep breath, he pressed play. “Your Song” came from the tinny speakers.

“It’s a little bit funny, these feelings inside. I’m not one of those who can easily hide.”

“Why am I getting deja vu?” Henry asked, as Alex wrapped his arms around Henry’s waist.

“No clue.”

They began to sway, slow and intimate, cheek to cheek. He recognized the swelling in his chest as the same ache he’d felt when Henry first played this song for him years ago in the music parlor. Back then, he’d been trying so hard to repress his love for Henry, gripping the settee and wondering how long they would fly across the world to touch each other without talking about it. Now they let love dance around them, unbridled and openly declared in front of the world.

Other memories stirred up unbidden. Henry ghosting him after their first kiss, leaving him out in the snow and questioning everything. And then again when Alex hinted at love, leaving him in the lake with his heart carved out. Twice is not a pattern though, is it. Ever since the last time they were in this museum together, Henry had given his entire self to Alex. He had decided to be with Alex for real that night. That had been when they decided to love each other on purpose.

“I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words. How wonderful life is, now you’re in the world.”

For several beats of silence, he just looked at Henry. And Henry looked at him, and the museum disappeared. The whole world faded away except Henry and himself. It was now. He knelt down to one knee slowly, never losing eye contact. Henry’s loving smile showed no surprise as Alex spoke.

“Henry George Edward James Fox-Mounchristen-Windsor,” he said, making Henry roll his eyes. “I have a question to ask you. You see, my mom asked me, back in our early days, if I felt forever about you. I knew it then, and I know it now. I want to spend my life with you. So... ”

He paused, reached into his jacket, and pulled out the bedazzled box, rhinestones spelling out ‘love.’ Henry had probably guessed that it was never intended for June’s earrings, because he laughed like the box was an inside joke. Despite knowing what was coming, he inhaled audibly when Alex opened the box to reveal a simple silver ring.

“Will you marry me?”

Henry laughed again, a laugh like the birds of sunrise. “Yes, Alex. I will marry you.”

The prince reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather box, the same size as the one Alex held. Then, he knelt down on one knee as well, mirroring his fiancé. He opened it to reveal a thick antique gold ring inlaid with a gem that Alex couldn’t identify. Beautiful. “Alex Claremont-Diaz, will you spend forever with me as your partner, confidant, and best friend?”

“I,” Alex choked, “yeah, fuck, of course-”

Henry cut him off with a swift and passionate kiss, both of them on their knees, fumbling the engagement rings onto their fingers. Alex felt like the deceased king that had probably worn his engagement ring. They kissed until their knees grew sore, and they collapsed on the tile.

“How did you think to bring a ring and everything?”

“Believe it or not, I somehow predicted that you might do this,” Henry teased.

Their buzzing bodies urged them to get back to the palace, to Henry’s room, to the bed. So they pulled each other to their feet, both dizzy and desperate. Before leaving the piazza they held each other for just a little longer.

“I love you,” whispered Henry.

“Fuck, I know you do.” It’s an amazing thing, to know completely and utterly that somebody loves you. “I love you too.”

“I know.” Henry held him around the waist and their foreheads pressed together. “Hey, so, I know we’re going to have to have a big, gay, traditional, royal wedding and all that -”

“Which we’ll make fun!” Alex said, with the positivity of a camp counselor. The world could really benefit from a big, gay, royal wedding. “There will be so many rainbows, even only if the crowd brings them.”

“And we’ll definitely have an adequate number of champagne fountains.” Henry winked at him. “But you interrupted-”

“Sorry!”

“-me. I was saying that I know we’re doing the public wedding for the audience, and the press, but...” Suddenly Henry looked nervous. “Well, would you maybe want to…”

“Spit it out babe,” Alex kissed Henry lightly on the lips before pulling back to show that Henry had his entire attention. “I’m listening, for real.”

“Would you, would you maybe want to elope first?”

“I… um. Would we, you know, still do the royal wedding afterwards?” Alex asked. “Keep it a secret?”

“Well, yes.” The words tumbled out. “But it would be a secret that we’re keeping for ourselves. We wouldn’t be keeping a secret for an election, or family expectations, or our god damned publicists. It would be ours, and we would keep it because we want to.

“Because I want to keep you to myself, just a little bit.” Henry shrugged, sheepish. “You give so much of yourself to your country, to the world, and I love that about you, but I want this to be just us. I’d be open to inviting Bea, Pez, June, and Nora, and our parents too, if you want.”

“And honestly, I don’t really want there to be a minister or priest… maybe Pez could do it?” Henry continued. “It doesn’t even have to be legal, so people don’t find out. I don’t know, I just thought, it could be just us, making a promise. Not with the crown, not with the church, not with all your adoring fans. Just the people that really matter.”

“I…” A grin spread slowly across Alex’s face. “I love it. Yes. Hell yes. Where? Not Vegas. Paris?”

“Paris.” Relief sweetened Henry’s smile. “And I could play my vows for you on the piano, if you’d like.”

“Yes I’d like! We could do it on a sailboat with a captain! Can you bring a piano on a sailboat?” Henry shook his head and kissed Alex’s grin, nuzzling their noses together. Alex whispered, “Okay, I’ll slow down and we can figure it out together. You and me.”

“You and me.” They fell into each other, a blissful act of entropy, all lips and hands.

“Besides,” Alex said as they stopped to catch their breath. “Secrets can be kind of hot if I remember correctly.”

AN: So, I thought I'd end with the proposal, but I feel like there's maybe more here? Like, this scene was kinda building up to some 'just got engaged' smut, or it could go on to show their elopement. I'm feeling a tinsy bit uninspired for their vows though, so if any of y'all feel like writing those, I could insert to the rest of the marriage scene that could be fun. If anyone feels like doing the post-proposal smut (or the wedding night smut lol) lemme know! Otherwise, thank you for reading! Check out my other rwrb fics, if you feel like it :)

[365days365movies]

March 8, 2021: The Thief of Bagdad (1940) (Part One)

ARABIAN NIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHTS

Aladdin is actually the first film I ever saw in theaters, according to my Mom, and I do adore this movie. In case you’re wondering, I thought the remake was...OK. Not great, not terrible, but...not bad, y’know? But yeah, I love this movie, even if it’s not exactly the most accurate to the original story of Aladdin presented in The Book of One Thousand and One Nights.

Interestingly enough, though, this movie instead takes from a much more recent, much newer source for a lot of its inspiration. And this is going to begin a chronologically-ordered foray into cinematic fantasy. So, back to 1940, in a time period where fantasy films began to explode in popularity, thanks to one film that came one year before.

Yup. The Wizard of Oz, considered one of the greatest films of all time, is still a classic that holds up today, as well as being arguably the most high-profile fantasy film in all of film history.  But a year later, Hungarian-British film director Alexander Korda came out with an often-forgotten film: The Thief of Bagdad. Which was ACTUALLY a remake of a silent film from 1924!

But I’m going with the 1940 British film instead! And honestly, I’m excited enough to just get started here! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

Before I get into all of this, I think I need to say this at the jump: this is a film from 1940. Most of the main actors are White. Yeah. Duh. Not ALL of the are, but the two love interests definitely are, alongside the villain. And NONE of the actors are from the region that the film takes place in, except for possibly the extras. So, yeah, thought I should bring that up before anything else. ANYWAY

A ship pulls into port somewhere in ancient Arabia, and before we start here...I can’t even SLIGHTLY comment on the authenticity of this film, costume wise. But in the meantime, I can at least enjoy the color of this film, which are beautifully bright and technicolor.

A mysterious man has come into port, seeking a sleeping princess and a blind beggar. I won’t say the name of the traveler yet, as I don’t know it from the film itself as of yet. He and a young woman named Halima (Mary Morris) go into town to find the blind man, named Ahmad (John Justin).

Speaking for the mysterious traveler, Halima invites Ahmad to a palace, alongside his trusty dog, Abu (a good boy). At said palace, a princess is afflicted with a ceaseless sleep. The man would appear to be an advisor of some kind, and also does not know how to end her sleep. She is apparently in love with the blind beggar.

Said blind beggar is being attended to by many maidens, and to them (and the advisor), he tells a story of his dog’s past life, a street thief also named Abu (Sabu), who’s stealing food, pursued by a group of angry salesman and citizens. He parkours away from them all, keeping one jump ahead of the bread line.

There will be MANY Disney puns, I’m warning you now.

From a rooftop, he sees the young Sultan of the kingdom, Ahmad’s past life, named...Ahmad. He is accompanied by his Grand Vizier: Jaffar (Conrad Veidt). Yup. Really. Also, he’s the same guy playing the advisor from earlier, meaning that this is also HIS past life. Neat!

Like a Vizier do, Jaffar whispers in Ahmad’s ear, trying to get him to do less-than-great things in order to show his power. Ahmad, however, is a kind man, who wishes to show such kindness to his citizens. He goes into the city that night, with Jaffar’s encouragement, in order to discover more about his people. He begins this by listening to a sermon, prophesying that the tyrant Ahmad will fall to Allah’s will. Awkward.

Not that it’s about to matter, since Jaffar tells his men to arrest Ahmad, as he’s now dressed as a citizen, and to claim that he’s a madman if he claims to be the Sultan. It works, and Jaffar is crowned Sultan as Ahmad is thrown in prison. It’s there that Ahmad meets Abu, who’s also been arrested. A madman and a thief.

The two plot to escape from the jail, and Ahmad learns that he’s presumed dead by the populus. After Ahmad realizes that Ahmad’s not mad, but the actual Sultan, they decide to flee to the kingdom of Basra by travelling down the river for three days. Time for a cruise!

We skip ahead quickly to the glorious city of Basra, which is...impressive. It’s genuinely gorgeous, and it was filmed in...THIS ENTIRE THING IS A SET? HOLY SHIT!!! That is legit impressive, goddamn. In Basra, Abu trains Ahmad in the way of subtle thievery and trickery, and they learn of the Sultan of Basra, who has the world’s largest collection of toys, like a proper nerd. He guards his toys more carefully...than he guards his daughter. Well, OK!

Speaking of the Sultan’s Daughter, a commotion clears the marketplace in order to clear a way for a procession, at the center of which is the beautiful Sultan’s daughter, Jasmine. No, not really. But considering that she’s only credited as The Princess (June Duprez)...I’ll be referring to her as Jade.

Attended to by Harlem Renaissance legend...the Singer (Adelaide Hall, who is one of the big figures from the early days of jazz), Jade would appear to be a somewhat bored young women, disaffected by her upper-class life. So, yeah, Jasmine. And Ahmad is, of course, wildly in love with her at first sight.

Ahmad has to see her again, and when Abu notes that they have tickets on a ship helmed by Sinbad the Sailor (trying to set up a 1001 Nights Cinematic Universe, nice), Ahmad insists that he has to see Jade again. Abu agrees, and helps him get into the palace garden.

There, he pretends to be a genie in a pond, using reflections while he hides in a tree. She falls for it (somehow), and he just simps all over her. She notes that she’s come to the pond to bathe, and he notes that he’s paid good money for his OnlyFans subscription, and wants some of that sweet, sweet bathwater. Which sounds like a semi-topical humorous exaggeration, but is BASICALLY THE TRUTH I SWEAR

He reveals himself to be a real live simp, and she responds by IMMEDIATELY kissing him. Goddamn, they’re fuckin’ perfect for each other. They agree, but her father will not be pleased. Still, they pledge to see each other again. Which pisses off Abu, because now he can’t go on that trip and set up this film franchise. He agrees to stay with Ahmad to help him get Jade.

Which is gonna be WAY goddamn harder, since Basra has a new visitor in the form of the usurper, Jaffar. He’s come to meet with the Sultan of Basra (Miles Malleson), a man who is absolutely obsessed with toys, big ol’ nerd that he is. Which, again, is SUPER used in Aladdin. To win over the Sultan’s favor, Jaffar brings in a mechanical horse. And that horse can FUCKING FLY WHAT THE SHIT

And this is when the GF (she says hello) informs me that this is ANOTHER REFERENCE to One Thousand and One Nights! Apparently, there’s a flying mechanical horse called the Ebony Horse, given to a King! It really IS a 1001CU! But back to the original story, and the Sultan WANTS the goddamn horse. In exchange, Jaffar wants only one thing: his daughter. And he immediately agrees.

She ain’t havin’ that shit, and she tells one of her handmaidens to find Ahmad in the garden, and tell him to meet her in Samarkand (another reference!), where she flees to avoid the forced wedding to Jaffar. However, that message doesn’t get to Ahmad soon enough, and he’s arrested in the garden by the palace guards, along with Ahmad.

Overjoyed to finally be able to stab the EVER-LOVING FUCK out of Jaffar, he tries to tell the truth to the Sultan. However, Jaffar uses his magic to...make Ahmad blind. Abu tries to tell the truth instead, only to be...turned into a dog. Wait...it’s not past lives? THEY’RE LITERALLY THE PRINCE AND ABU? Abu is a FUCKING DOG? Damn.

Back in the present day, Ahmad finishes his story, where the maidens tell him of Jade’s fate: she was caught by slave traders and brought back to Basra, where she quickly fell into a trance that she hasn’t awakened from. Although, she apparently still talks in her sleep about the Genie of the Pool.

They take him to see her, and she IMMEDIATELY wakes the fuck up! The two embrace, reunited at last, only for that reunion to be interrupted by Halima, sent by Jaffar to “end the masquerade”. That can’t be good. She takes Ahmad away under false pretenses, and she’s told that she can cure his lost sight by seeing a doctor. Ahmad leaves Abu with her, for protection.

However, this whole thing was just to get Ahmad to wake Jade up, so they could kidnap her and put her on a ship back to Basra. He throws Abu overboard (MOTHERFU-), and goes to speak with the Princess. As she notes that she was roised a cure to Ahmad’s blindness, he claims that the second the two of them embrace, Ahmad will see again. Damn...dude really wants a hug, huh?

AND IT WORKS! Not only is Ahmad able to see again, but Abu is a human again, as both of their curses are broken by a fucking hug. Um...somebody hug this man. Goddamn. The Hays Code is STRONG with this one, holy shit. And it’s ESPECIALLY weird, because Jaffar literally admits that he could MAKE her love him, but wants her true love instead. Um...fuckin’ YIKES, buddy.

As she runs away, he pursues her outside, and they look out to see that they’re being followed in a boat by Ahmad and Abu. And then Jaffar pulls an Elmer Fudd, and goes “NOWTH WINS BWOW”, and summons a storm after the two on the sea.

GREAT place to pause, I think! See you soon, in Part Two!

[hlmartinart]

I'd be totally remiss to not mention my fiance, Azther Blackwind, who is the man responsible for pulling me into the world of Guild Wars 2. Az and I have always been a odd pair even before we became a girl who plays a male guardian and a guy who plays a female thief. He's a tech nerd who likes to build computers, I'm an indie comic creator going to school for game design. I live in the USA and he is in the UK playing on American servers to be with me. So in many ways Guild Wars 2 is the only way we really get to interact with each other as more than just a voice. We've visited with each other in real life a few times over the years but it's hard to arrange due to money and scheduling issues. He started playing Guild Wars 2 about a month after launch and really liked it so when he came over to visit me in the states he bought it for me... Let's just put it this way, he'd been playing it longer than me but I blew past him in achievements and started obsessing over the lore and characters. Which ironically lead to me dragging him on to Guild Wars 1 at one point for HOM farming and and more lore nerding. I'm definitely more hardcore than he is but we're both very happy. We've made lots of wonderful friends and had many wonderful times playing together. There was even talk that we would invite guildies who are able to travel to our wedding and have an in-game wedding for those who can't. By the way, Fun fact: if I take his last name we'll be Heather and Michael Pollard...HP and MP!

#GW2FriendShips #GW2Giveaway

[gracewithducks]

Keep the Lights On (Luke 12:32-40; preached 8/11/19)

When I was in seminary, I found graduate school to be pretty intense. Don’t get me wrong; I loved my studies – how often do you get to put everything else on the back burner and spend a few years digging into the history of the church, and the languages of the bibles, and the nuances of theology? I got to read and study some of the greatest Christian works alongside some very passionate and fascinating people – while also getting to experience ministry in several different settings.

 There was one semester, however, that was a bit harder than the others. I thought that I was keeping up with everything just fine, until the week of final exams arrived. I arrived at the exam room, took out my blue essay book, turned over the exam paper – and realized that I couldn’t answer a single question. I looked at the top of the page again, and realized these were the test questions for the wrong class, a class I didn’t take.

 Of course I quickly told the professor about the mix-up, only to be told – to my horror – that I was enrolled in that class, and even though I’d never attended, I had to take the exam all the same.

 I still remember that feeling: my heart racing, tears in my eyes – I had always been a good student, a really good student, and now I sat in my seat knowing I was going to fail this surprise test, this test I wasn’t in any way prepared to take.

 It was like a bad dream.

 No, wait. Actually, it was a bad dream – a bad dream that I still have on a fairly regular basis these days, years and years after finishing school! I never failed an exam, never took a class without knowing it – but there are still many nights when I sit in that exam room, eyes full of tears, looking at a test paper full of utter nonsense.

 I’m not a psychologist, but it doesn’t take an expert to suggest that, in this one recurring dream, my subconscious is wrestling with my very real fear of being caught unprepared. When I was a student, I was the student with a detailed planner and checklists to make sure everything got done. I’m the kind of person who travels with rain ponchos and aspirin and Pepto Bismol, the mom who picks out my kid’s school clothes a week at a time, the person who makes schedules and lists for everything I can. I like to be ready. I want to be prepared.

 Which is why, when Jesus starts talking like he does today, my anxiety level goes through the roof. Jesus says, on the one hand, don’t worry: give your possessions and your money away, and God will make sure you have what you need. And then in the next breath, Jesus says, “Be dressed for action and keep your lamps lit, staying awake and alert, because you never know when your master will show up – the Son of Man comes like a thief in the night, so keep alert and be prepared.”

 Which is it, Jesus? Am I supposed to worry, or not? Am I supposed to make my lists and make sure the flashlights have extra batteries and the emergency kits are fully stocked? Or am I supposed to let go of my checklists and worry and trust that, when the day comes, you’ll give me what I need?

 Even when Jesus says, “Do not be afraid,” somehow he manages to ramp up my fear. He says, “The Son of Man comes like a thief in the night; be prepared.”

 I grew up in the age of Left Behind; I grew up as a part of a generation whose whole faith was built on anxiety and fear. If you died tonight, they asked us, if you died today, where would you go? If Jesus came today, would you go to heaven, or would you get left behind? The return of Christ was like an exam we were supposed to always be ready for – but it was a surprise test; Jesus always wanted to catch us off guard, so we had to always been alert and be prepared.

 We were trained to do “evangelism” – which literally means, to share the good news – but before we shared good news, we had to put the fear of God into people… literally. Have you ever sinned? we’d ask. Have you ever done the wrong thing, done something you’re not proud of? Told a lie? Cheated on a test? Stolen a pen? Hurt someone, or refused to help? The trick, you see, is to get people feeling terrible about themselves – to convince them they’re horrible, terrible, sinners, whether they realized it or not.

 And then you tell them what happens to sinners: terrible horrible sinners are cast by an angry God into the fires of hell, into eternal damnation, endless conscious torment, flames and pain forever and ever.

 And we called this “evangelism,” sharing the good news – the good news that you’re a terrible person who needs to be afraid of paying for your failures for all time. Jesus comes like a thief in the night, we said: God is out to get you, to catch you with your eyes closed – so stay alert, and don’t get left behind.

 Fear is a powerful motivator. A lot of us first came to faith because of fear: we were afraid of judgment, afraid of hell, afraid of death, so when those evangelists gave us the second part of their speech – the “good news” that Jesus died to buy your forgiveness from a vengeful God – we grabbed on to that good news with both hands.

 And we in turn went into the world to share the fear that we’d found. If Jesus comes like a thief in the night so he can catch us doing wrong, well, then following Jesus means catching others in their sins, condemning them, shaming them, scaring them into following Christ, too.

 This is a bizarre gospel. At the time, it made good sense to me. But now, looking deeper, I’m not convinced that fear and judgment are the best foundation for a life-long faith.

 For one thing, fear is a powerful motivator – but not for long. When our kids misbehave, there are definitely times when we put the “fear of God” in them… and they repent; they change their behavior – for about five minutes. But as soon as the fear fades, they revert to doing exactly what they did before. It’s the same way with grownups. Fear motivates us to come to church – after shootings and attacks, car accidents, fires, and nerve-wracking doctors’ visits, our fear drives us to look to God, for meaning, for healing, and for hope. We even make promises: God, just deliver us, and we will change our ways. Then the moment passes, the fear fades, and we go right back to being the same people we’ve always been.

 Fear is powerful – but only while it lasts. And it’s neither realistic nor healthy to imagine that we can or should sustain that kind of fear over a lifetime.

 In fact, fear can lead us to terrible, unthinkable things. When we fear sin, when we fear being contaminated by the sin of others, we spend our lives condemning them, and setting ourselves apart, and driving away the very people God is asking us to welcome and to love. When we live out of fear, and when we treasure the wrong things, it’s easy for us to get our priorities upside-down – to worry about preserving our earthly treasure from the strangers we fear, rather than sharing our blessings with the guests we welcome in the name of Christ. In fact, fear can often cause us to become that thief in the night – the one who steals from our neighbors the things they need to survive, the one whose selfishness causes others to suffer, the one who breaks in and tears families apart and leaves children weeping and bereft… because we are more afraid of the speck in some else’s eyes than the log in our own.

 And I’m not exactly convinced that this is what the bible means when it talks about the “fear of God.” God’s anger burns against sin and injustice… but that anger ultimately comes from love, from God’s love for us, God’s love that wants more for us and more for creation.

 The heart of God isn’t wrath; the heart of God is love.

 Maybe that’s why Jesus starts by saying, Do not be afraid.

 Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is God’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.

 Jesus starts, not with fear, but with grace: with a loving Parent who delights in caring for beloved children, not because they’re perfect, not because they’ve earned it, but just because they are loved.

 God isn’t out to get us with a pop-quiz, filled with impossible questions and unattainable standards. When we stand before God, it won’t be with a blue book in hand, writing essays about how we avoided all the right sins and condemned all the right people.

 No, when the day comes that we stand before God, we will discover that God doesn’t tower over us in judgment – but God embraces us with love. Listen again to what Jesus says:

 “Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks. Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when he comes; truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them.”

 Be ready: not as those who watch for a thief, but as those who eagerly anticipate the arrival of someone you love. Be ready: like the kids who watch at the window for grandma’s car, like the friend who waits at the arrivals gate to eagerly embrace after far too long. Be ready for joy; wait and watch for the face you love. And when the master arrives, he doesn’t come to criticize and condemn his household – but to embrace them, to serve them, to sit and feast with them.

 The kingdom of God doesn’t come like a thief in the night at all; the kingdom of God comes like a beloved friend, like a loved one who’s been away too long; the kingdom of God comes like a surprise party, unexpected in all the best ways, a kingdom where we are invited in, where we are welcome and all are fed.

 Christ absolutely catches us by surprise when he arrives – but that’s not because we don’t spend enough time staring into heaven, but because we miss the ways that kingdom is here, that Christ all around us here on earth. Elsewhere, when Jesus talks about the ways we will answer for our lives, he says, “This is what matters: I was hungry, and you fed me; I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink; I was naked and you clothed me; I was sick and in prison, and you cared for me; I was a stranger, and you welcomed me in.”[1]

 And maybe the real question we’ll have to answer, on that day when we are called to account for the way we lived our lives, is not – did you hate the right things? did you fear the right things? – but rather, did you love the people God loves? When Christ surprised you by knocking at your door, in the guise of a homeless neighbor, a hungry stranger, an immigrant, a refugee, a convict, an addict, a weeping child – when Christ surprised you, were you ready for action? Was your lamp lit, to shine light into the darkness? Did you sit at the table of grace and find hope together? Or did you hide the light, lock the door, and turn your Lord away?

 Do not be afraid, for it is God’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Be ready, therefore, to welcome the kingdom; be ready to welcome Christ. If you must be afraid, be afraid of your treasures, all the possessions that get in the way of loving others; if you must be afraid, be afraid of missing your chance to love and serve Christ in real ways.

 Christ is all around us today. Christ is in a detention center, weeping for his family. Christ spent the night in a school gym, wondering if she will ever see her parents again. Christ is in a refugee camp, losing hope as the years of his life pass by. Christ is on a boat in the Mediterranean, praying for safe harbor. Christ is in line at a food kitchen, hoping to be fed.

 Christ is waiting for us to receive him… but too often, our fear gets the way. This is why he tells us: Do not be afraid. Be dressed for action, and keep your lamps lit. The world needs your action, your compassion, your light and your love, now more than ever. May we move beyond fear, to a faith that is motivated by love, and may we find ways to live now in the upside-down kingdom of God.

  God, you offer us peace in the midst of a terrifying and uncertain world. We thank you for your grace: for meeting us where we are, for inviting us into your family, and offering us a seat at your table. You forgive us our failures; you set us free from our greed and from our fear. Set us free again today, so that we might love and care for others as you’ve loved and cared for us. Give us eyes to see your face in the world around us; give us ears to hear your voice in the cries of the needy; and give us hearts that are open, hearts that break for your people, hearts that are moved to action. Teach us to live with compassion and with courage; teach us to live not with fear but with grace. In the name of Christ we pray; amen.

  [1] Matthew 25:31-46

[themargaret66-blog]

Christmas this year - 14 November 2017

As usual, Christmas will be a non-event this year again - where I will go and have Christmas once again with strangers at the City Mission on Wynyard Quarter in Auckland City. Adrienne as per usual will spend Christmas with her friends and their families.  Desiree will spend Christmas with Siua’s parents in Otahuhu. Last year, Adrienne gushed about her visit to a family who is associated with the Rebel Gang in Auckland at Xmas time. She kept talking to me about the grandmother who is my age apparently - about her likes and dislikes. I don’t know this woman from a bar of soap - why Adrienne thought that I should be interested is a mystery to me! I was definitely not interested! And as for Desiree who has been best mates with her cousin Marie and her family for many years - I think she has finally seen Marie for what she really is! Marie is egotistical, self-centered and has a narcissistic personality disorder. On one occasion back in the 1990s - Marie cornered me at her house and then for the next hour I had to listen to her exaggerated sense of her own self-importance, her exaggerated achievements, and talents, her belief she is superior and can only associate with equally special people. She monopolizes conversations and belittles (such as myself) or looks down on people who she perceives as inferior. She takes advantage of her own family ( most won’t have anything to do with her) - on many occasions she has tried to get Jim (my ex) to go and paint her rental houses for nothing!  And of course, Jim can smell a rat and refuses to accommodate Marie - but whenever Marie sees Jim - she keeps inviting Jim to stay at her house. Something he will never do. Of course, Jim cannot do it now because of ill-health. About a month ago, her daughter Clarisse got married on the Cook Islands and she had eight bridesmaids. I was shocked that Desiree wasn’t asked to be one of the bridesmaids at her wedding, as Clarisse was a bridesmaid at Desiree’s wedding. Just quietly I think Desiree was quite miffed and annoyed that she wasn’t asked. I could see her look of resignation and acquiescence - what will be - will be! Desiree and Siua went on lots of trips and excursions on the Cook Islands and had little to do with Marie, Clarisse, and their entourage. I was surprised that Heather did not attend (Marie’s sister) - however, Heather’s two daughters and their partners attended the wedding. Apparently, Jules and her partner who was from Mexico - the partner completely annoyed everyone concerned with his incessant talking about himself!  Marie’s sons (who are Desiree’s age) threaten to drop him - they were so fed up with him! I also saw that Siua found this guy just a complete nuisance and a try-hard - a wannabe - but was a nobody! 

After Christmas, I thought I would find a house to look after (in the South Island preferably) through Kiwi House-sitters and may get people to look after this house.  I have to wait until after Christmas because of my garden. At the present time, I am raising the following plants in seed boxes - flox gloves, zinnias, capsicums, cornflowers, and hollyhocks. I started my seed boxes late this year because I just could not find any suitable packets of flower seeds. I went to Countdown, The Warehouse, The Clearance Shed several times and Mitre 10 on a couple of occasions - but Mitre 10 is difficult for me to get to as I have to catch two buses. Mitre 10 has the best selections of packets of flower seed. I only planted the packets of seed a few days ago - I am one month behind schedule. So will have to wait until the middle of January in order to be able to plant from the seed boxes. Last week I cleaned out all of the cupboards in the kitchen and threw out various plastic containers that I don’t use any more. At the moment I am cleaning out the spare room - where I have boxes of photos, boxes of mementos, one box of bills and accounts, two sewing boxes, folders of recipes and so forth. If you don’t keep throwing stuff out - the house will start to look like a hoarder’s house which I definitely don’t want. About a month ago - I decided to throw out the spare bed-base and mattress - it was brand new, but never got used. Desiree and I took it down to the Salvation Army shop late one night. There was a clothing bin situated behind the shop and there were a couple of Maori teenagers fossicking through it. We left the bed there with a box of books. When I visited the shop a few days later - I could not see one book that I had left behind in that particular box, behind the shop! Those teenagers must have taken the books home with them! I always look for autobiographies and biographies and always look at least once a week at the Salvation Army shop. On one of my last visits to the Salvation Army shop in Pukekohe - the Supervisor (who only looks about 25 years old) asked me about my pull-along- shopping trolley! She asked if I had bought the shopping trolley from my house to the Salvation Army Shop.(God knows what she was trying to insinuate - I haven't figured it out yet!) I said yes - but I always catch a bus into town. I also said I always take my pull-along-shopping-trolly because I have a ten-minute walk to the bus stop. If I don’t take the trolley - and try and carry everything - its hard work and very difficult! She then told me that they were going to ask people to leave their trolleys at the door - because of the amount of thieving that goes on. I then said - why would anyone steal from the Salvation Army shop when it is the cheapest place in town! She said there are a lot of people with trolleys who thieve. During the conservation, she told me that they have cameras in the shop and she said that she never forgets the faces of people who thieve. While all the time during this talk, I had the feeling of being scrutinized for suspicious behaviour. I then told this “silly girl” - I definitely would not be a good thief - as it would show all over my face - I would probably go red in the face and start sweating! I then said - I can’t see the point because everything is so cheap at the Salvation Army shop. Afterwards - I thought to myself, you have never caught me thieving - because I have never thieved from the Salvation Army! Amen. Up until I got my SLR digital camera three years ago - I would often steal film from The Warehouse. But that is all that I stole. Now I have about 40 rolls of film stashed away in my wardrobe - as I don’t have the money to get the film developed. I would go in the evenings to The Warehouse when it was really quiet and there was no one around. It was easy to do - just throw the film into my handbag and walk out to my car. I have decided to take my watch back to The Warehouse - I found the docket for the watch which I bought in May this year. Some people are just stupid (like this young girl who is the Supervisor at the Sallies) as they don’t think before opening their mouths, because on one occasion recently Claire my next door neighbour asked me why I had such a large handbag - when she herself - had only a small one!!! (My aunt Val had also asked me the same question at Desiree’s wedding - never mind the fact that large handbags are in fashion and are seen as being in vogue in the last few years)! Just such stupid and thoughtless remarks from women who should know better. I told Claire that I have a large bag for my gloves and scarf during the winter-time. I would leave the house at 2.00pm (you are allowed to only spend a maximum of three hours on the public computers) and by the time I want to catch the bus home again at 6.00pm - it is freezing standing around at the bus stop. I also take a spare pair of knickers and pads (for my irritable bowel syndrome) and a magazine and a book to read. It gets really tedious waiting around for buses especially in the bitter cold of winter-time. The worst occasion for me was when I had to wait for 30 minutes at the Puhinui Train Platform in Papatoetoe. I was desperate to go to the toilet and pass a bowel motion. I thought I could wait as it only takes 10 minutes on the train from Puhinui to Manukau. However, half-way to Manukau the train stalled on the tracks for several minutes. I just could not believe it - I was in absolute agony. I doubled over and said a prayer to God. I made it to Manukau without having an accident and practically ran to the toilet at the Manukau Train Station. These days I just don’t take any chances - if I am going to Manukau I will always take medication (called Loperamide) beforehand - so I don’t have to contend with another embarrassing situation as the time above - which was excruciating, harrowing and extremely embarrassing! Anyway must go and finish cleaning the spare room out. I have been on the computer practically all day - however I have decided to write my life story and write about my frustrations - so I don’t throw myself off a tall building out of frustration. I have to go into town tomorrow to buy a lotto ticket for the  $32,000, 000 draw. Winning it would mean freedom for me to travel overseas and complete my genealogy research. That would be absolute heaven!