#HE SET SHORT KING RIGHTS BACK BY DECADES

[alyssawritcs]

JUST  LUNCH  (  a  kelvin  harrison  jr.  fanfic  ) one  -  shot  .

love   interest   :   kelvin  harrison  jr. rating   :   m  as  shit  .  (  smut  ,  unprotected  sex  (  wrap  it  up  ) ,  plain  ol'  p  in  v  sex  ) wc   :   4.3k author's   note   :  i  have  no  idea  where  this  came  from  y'all,  just  wanted  to  show  love  to  my  little  leo  short  king  🤷🏽‍♀️

As much as Nevaeh sometimes missed her hometown, the beautiful and incomparable New Orleans, she had long since felt right at home in New York City. The move there had been almost on a whim, a decision made after her LSU graduation once the “far fetched” application she’d sent in to her dream gallery in Brooklyn was returned to her inbox with a link for a Zoom interview. Six weeks later, she was settled into a teeny tiny apartment in Bedstuy and working long hours at the gallery she’d grown to call her second home. However, it was while she was out with her newfound friends that she had spotted a familiar face in the crowd. 

Kelvin and her had been good friends in high school, nerdy kids and often the only black ones in the room. They had a love for the arts, though, and often paired off to work on projects. But the shy girl that he’d met in freshman year biology was not the one he’d run into that night at the bar. Now, little Nana had been ... blessed in high school and of course he’d noticed back then, he wasn’t blind but she was always hiding whatever she had going on under uniform, with big ol’ crewnecks or just the polos when the sweltering heat didn’t make sense for the former.

As he’d seen her there that day, head thrown back in laughter, that same pretty smile she’d always had, sitting on that - yeah, he’d have been a fool to not have approached her then and there.

The little reunion had gone better than even he had expected, with the two of them separating from their respective groups to catch up in some corner booth, where they had talked for hours. He told her about the roles he’d gotten and she talked about the exhibits she was helping to curate. Before they had known it, it was closing time and Kelvin, ever the southern gentleman, had offered to walk her home. She had thanked him on her doorstep with a soft kiss to his cheek. 

That had been 2017 and they went to date just until January of 2022. In that time, he’d gotten the roles of his lifetime. She’d been promoted to full time co-head curator at the gallery. Their schedules, which used to align perfectly, weren’t even in the same timezone most days. He needed to move to LA for his career’s sake and she surely wasn’t leaving New York because of hers. Though they had started the process of separating at each other’s throats, knowing exactly what buttons to push that only came with being together for half a decade, they’d both seemed to realize that it couldn’t end like that. So he got a little place in Venice Beach, she took over the lease on their shared loft in Brooklyn, and they amicably went their separate ways. 

Well, after one more incredible night that plagued Nevaeh’s every thought at that moment while she walked to Bredren, their old favorite Jamaican and soul food fusion spot not that far from the gallery. She tried to focus on the cute memories of them there, having little dates after he picked her up from work and he’d trek from his set in Harlem. That was cute, that was fun, that was appropriate. Thinking of the last time they’d slept together, when he’d made her cum four times in a row and then twice more the next morning before he left ... yeah, that was not very “let’s stay friends” of her, now was it?

Honestly, it had taken her months before she could even look at another picture of Kel, let alone even entertain the thought of being any type of friend to him. But of course, Chevalier had released in 2023 and she figured she needed to face the music, no pun intended. It was when she got through the whole film that she thought, ‘let me text this boy and tell him that shit was phenomenal’.

That had started a chain of sweet, light, and cutesy little exchanges between the both of them through texts and DMs. Swapping funny videos or tweets, him talking to her about filming for Mufasa or Genius, her talking about a new artist she was sourcing from all throughout the country. It felt like they were really friends, for real! That is until, the thirst edits had started popping up on her For You page and she found herself watching a couple of them a few too many times. She never liked or saved any of them, of course, but that didn’t stop her from occasionally typing his name into the little search bar. 

Now, as she rounded the corner and saw the back of his head sitting outside of the restaurant, she wanted nothing more than to run up on him and whoop his ass. How dare he bring these feelings back to her?! Matter of fact -

“Ow! What the he - girl, what is wrong with you?” He exclaimed as he turned, drawing the attention of the other patrons, rubbing the back of his head where she’d hit him lightly. God, he was such a drama king. “You ain’t got no couth?”

“Boy, shut up. Spell couth.” Nevaeh dropped her bright pink purse onto the table in front of him and walked over to the entrance, as the outside seating area was blocked off by a little fence. 

“C-o-u-t-h, you can’t spell it either.” He rapped once she slid into the seat opposite him, clicking his tongue at her while she rolled her eyes. “Nice purse.”

“Thanks, my annoying ass ex bought it for me.” 

His jaw fake-dropped and he placed a hand over his chest. “Annoying ass ex? You sure you didn’t mean handsome, talented, hilariously charming ex?”

“What I say?” She quirked an eyebrow at him and it was now his turn to roll his eyes, her favorite response sounding nice and familiar in his ears. She used to say that shit to him all the time, especially when he wanted to do something he found fun and that she kept saying no to. At the time, it’d been irksome but now, it felt like home. God, he was so fuckin’ corny.

She looked around on the table in front of them and then for the waiter. “Where are the menus?”

“Oh, I ordered already.”

“Little presumptuous, no?”

“No. I know what you’re gonna get.” Kelvin watched as she tilted her head and stuck her tongue to the roof of her mouth, a sign that she was trying to not cuss him out. He hid his smirk behind his glass of water as he took a sip from it.

“What if I changed my order?” She crossed her arms under chest. It was at this moment that he took in her outfit, a black summer dress that came down to her calves and pushed her boobs all the way up. Her wrists held her usual assortment of bracelets, clinking together as she moved. And she’d been wearing heels to match the purse, the pink sandals she knew he loved. Had she gotten dressed for him?

“You didn’t. Jerk chicken and waffles, pepper shrimp & grits on the side, a little plate of mac & cheese, and two beef patties to take home.” He sat back and crossed his arms to match her, even tilting his head too. Ooh, he pissed her off and even more now that he was right. “Plus a ginger beer and some sorrel, also for home. You look nice by the way.”

She didn’t respond at first, still eyeing him up and down. She never remembered to order the sorrel to take home, so he used to do it for her. In the two years since their breakup, every time she ordered from the restaurant, she still forgot. Fuck this nigga.

“Thanks, I was giving a tour to an investor.”

“Investor to help purchase the spot next door?”

“Fingers crossed.” To his credit, Kelvin had always been interested in her work. It was a museum that specifically highlighted pieces by all members of the African diaspora and every year, a new region became the focus. This year was Central African focused, with artists featured from Angola, Congo, Chad and many others. It was only halfway through the year at this point but they were already prepping for next year, when the focus would be on black artists from the Southern United States, of which she was extremely excited to 100% biasedly center folks from NOLA.

“I gotta pop in, see what y’all working with.” He was saying, just as the waiter arrived with their drinks as well as their plates, filled to the brim. He was the brother of the owner and they’d known him for years at that point so it should’ve come as no surprise when, after the plates were set before them, he wiggled his wrinkled finger at them.

“I like to see you two back together. Better this way.” He offered them no chance to respond, walking away briskly as they stared dumbly after him. Once their eyes met again, they both let out a little laugh and shook their heads, digging into the food. 

It was quiet for a minute, and then, “You too.” She mumbled, around bites.

“Me too, what?” Kelvin asked, cutting into his oxtail and cornbread. 

“You look good too.” Nevaeh smiled, because she knew his face was getting a bit hot even if she couldn’t see the blush. For a Leo, he was always quite shy when it came to her giving him compliments. She liked it though. She liked having that effect on him because he more than had it on her. “How long you in the city for?”

“Couple of weeks. I got a little place in Soho that I’m leasing for a month, just to do some auditions and shit.” He shrugged like it was nothing but to her, it felt like everything. He was going to be that close for a whole month? In the past, when he came to New York, they’d meet up almost by accident but not really. They would attend events knowing (hoping?) that the other would too, never ask, and then act surprised to run into each other at the bar or something. They’d spend damn near the whole night catching each other’s eye from across the room, maybe even attend the after party together, and then have a lot of lingering stares while she waited for her Uber. Because he always waited for her Uber with her. He’d stand damn near in the middle of the street watching it drive away. She never had to look back to know that he was doing it either.

This lunch, as it carried on and they chatted away, was the longest conversation they’d had in nearly two years. She had gotten a cat in his absence, a little black one that she had named Salem and he laughed because he knew she grew up obsessed with Sabrina the Teenage Witch. He talked about meeting Beyoncé, teasing her a little because he knew she was jealous as hell (hello, she’d been in Club Renaissance at MSG!), and showed her pictures he’d semi-creepily taken on his phone, which made her laugh. Which made him laugh. Then they were talking about their parents, their friends, the great movies he still wanted to do, the artists she still wanted to have a piece in the gallery.

It was reaching nearly six pm when they finally looked at the clock on their phones. Three hours they had sat there, like nothing had changed. He excused himself to go to the bathroom and she stared off into the distance, watching a couple walk down the street in each other’s arms and blinking back tears of the memories of them doing the same thing, on the same sidewalk, seemingly forever ago.

“Thanks for paying.” She smirked up at him once he returned. His eyes widened.

“How -”

“That’s what you always used to do, go to the bathroom and pay on your way back to the table, so I wouldn’t even offer.” He looked down at her for a beat and then smiled. 

“Of course, both our mommas would beat my ass if I didn’t pay.” Kelvin put his phone into his pocket, grabbed the to-go back with her items in it, and had to shove his other hand into his other pocket to keep from offering it to her. “C’mon, I’ll walk you back.”

She got up from the table and his hand hovered over the small of her back as he led her through the dinner crowd and to the sidewalk. They walked close, feeling the heat from each other’s bodies, her gifted purse held in both hands in front of her to keep from reaching for his too. Their laughter followed them down the streets.

“I got a new painting for above the couch. It looks gorgeous when the sun hits it as it’s setting.” She didn’t have to explicitly invite him up as they approached the door to the familiar building. He just followed her in, entering the elevator and pressing the button, like second nature. 

The apartment had not changed much since he had moved out. He’d been so in love with the loft when they’d moved in together, the floor to ceiling windows, the little spare bedroom that had worked as an office for them both, especially during COVID. They would get their work done, cook dinner together and often, sit on the balcony and talk for hours, just as they had done today. Eventually, after they finished eating, Nevaeh would round the table and sit on his lap, so they could watch the sunset together.

Now, he stood in the living room, admiring the gorgeous painting. It was a group black men and women, seemingly in heaven with halos on their heads, walking on the clouds. She’d been right, the sun hit the piece in a way that made the halos shine almost. It damn near brought a tear to his eye. She was standing to his right and that same setting sun gave her her own halo effect. He was suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

She could feel his eyes on her but she was hesitant to turn and look back at him. He was too good at that, looking deep into her eyes and making her weak in the knees. But she almost couldn’t help it, twisting her next so their eyes met. Then he leaned in, his hand coming up to her chin, and their lips connected.

Nevaeh let out a small whimper as the kiss grew. His hands moved to cover the sides of her face and her own landed on his back, her nails lightly digging into his shirt. There was such a sense of familiarity, of knowing how to move their heads and hands and lips. One of his hands slipped down her face and down the front of her throat, fingers ghosting over her cleavage and coming to wrap around her waist. Kelvin felt her shiver at his touch and smiled into the kiss, pulling away for a minute.

“Did you bring me up here to seduce me? Hmm?” He bent at the knees a bit to trail kisses along her jaw and down her neck, taking his time to suck at the skin along the side. She rolled her eyes, at first at his question and then in pleasure. She worked to speak without moaning.

“I barely had to even say or do anything to get you up here, sweetheart. It seems like you wanted to be seduced.” She brought her arms up to wrap them around his neck and sighed contentedly at the work he was doing on her neck.

He chuckled before running both of his hands down to her ass, massaging it for a couple of seconds. Oh, he missed this shit bad. “You are absolutely correct, babe, as per usual. I needed this shit.” Kelvin slipped his hands underneath both cheeks, onto her thighs, and lifted Nevaeh up which elicited a squeal from her. He walked them over to the couch, sitting himself down so she was sitting on his lap and could feel the bulge in his pants. He kept one hand on her ass as he slid the other up her dress, feeling the smooth skin of her thigh and tracing the line of the thong sitting on her hips. 

When he brought his hand over to her pelvis, he kept his eyes on her face as he gently felt the wet fabric. Nevaeh’s eyes glazed over and she closed them, moaning while biting her lip. He kept two of his fingers over her covered clit and let her rock her hips against them, the friction sending shockwaves of pleasure up her spine.

“That feel good, baby?” Kelvin asked. She nodded and made a breathy ‘mhm’ sound, beginning to breathe heavily. He did too, matching her and letting his mouth fall open, taking in every minute way her face changed. After another minute, he pushed the fabric to the side and used his thumb rub over her clit while his thick digits slid down her soaked slit to its entrance. There, he slipped them in and her moan this time was music to his ears. She let her head fall back, a hand gripping his shoulder tightly as she grinded down more on his hand, her chest heaving. Kelvin took his eyes off her face to watch her breasts straining against the cups of her dress. His other hand was on her hip now, helping her to rock down on his fingers so he had to make do.

His teeth pulled on one cup and then the other, watching her spill out of the dress and he pulled one of her nipples in his mouth. Sucking, nibbling, on the peak while still using his hands to guide her toward her climax, which he could feel was around the corner at this point. He knew her, knew that her thighs trying to close up on him, her fingers digging into his shoulder, her head tilting slightly to the right - she was minutes, if not seconds, away from cumming on his fingers. He picked up the pace.

“Kelvin, Kel - oh my God, Kel, please!” Nevaeh rolled her hips down, feeling the oh so familiar tightening in her stomach. She hadn’t cum like this in a long time, not without the help of a little toy in her bedside table. She began chanting, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Don’t stop, please don’t stop, Kelvin!”

“I ain’t stoppin’, don’t worry baby.” He moved his mouth over to her other nipple, using his thumb to alternate between rubbing her clit and pressing down on it. Then, he inserted a third finger into her and he knew he’d done it. She stopped bouncing and dug her nails in so hard he just knew he was gonna have marks in his skin. Her mouth dropped open as she rode out her orgasm, looking him in the eye as he continued to move his hand inside of her.

After she had finished twitching on top of him, he removed his hand from beneath her dress, the loss of contact making her whimper. He sucked his fingers into his mouth and she felt her clit jump. Kelvin carefully pulled her off of him and then stood up, pulling his shirt off while she unzipped her dress and threw on to the other side of the couch, along with her soaked panties.

“Unbuckle my pants, baby.” He commanded and Nevaeh immediately reached up to do as she was told. Once the belt was undone, she popped open the button and unzipped him, his hard member stretching at the fabric of his briefs underneath. “Pull them down, both of ‘em.” And she did, letting his dick jump out of his underwear and hang heavy in front of her face. She could literally feel her mouth watering, for the love of all that is good in this world, this shit was ridiculous. 

Taking back a bit of control, she gazed up at him, making direct eye contact as she wrapped her fingers around his thick base and guided him into her mouth. His mouth dropped open again, in pleasure, watching her take him all the way to the back of her throat and then back out again. She repeated this one, two, three times before she began to move faster on him, sucking him loudly like she knew he liked it. He was genuinely surprised his knees hadn’t buckled underneath him, her eyes still on his face as he moaned and groaned, watching his dick become covered in her spit. His hand had come to rest on her head and, eventually, when he felt his balls begin to tighten, he pulled on her ponytail to get her off of him.

“How do you want me, baby?” She asked, breathing heavy as her hand slipped up and down his length. He bit down on his lip before gently pushing her back on the couch, which was low enough to the ground that he could get on one knee and be able to line himself up with her sopping center. 

Kelvin held his dick at the base, as she had done, and tapped it against her clit a couple times, listening as she moaned quietly. “You need me baby?” He looked back up at her, watching her bite her lip, nod, and ‘mhm’ again. He shook his head. “Ask me nice.”

“Please, Kel, please fuck me.” She whimpered with no hesitation, bringing her hand to rest on his stomach, tracing the abs there. “Fuck me, baby, you the only one that can make me cum right?”

“Yeah?” His voice was low and gravely as he slid into her, both of them moaning immediately. She had forgotten how much he could fill her up, especially now as he slid in all the way so her clit was touching his pelvis. Her eyes rolled back at the sensation. “None of them other niggas filling you up like this, baby?” Hmm?”

She would’ve answered but he began to rock in and out of her, his hips taking on a rhythm that had her eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. His arm stretched out above her head to get a grip on the back of the couch and Nevaeh wrapped her legs around his hips. Her hands settled on his hips, feeling him push into her over and over again.

His name fell from her lips over and over and over again. He was groaning quietly, muttering about how tight she was, how wet she was, “fuck I missed this shit” and “I still fuckin’ love you baby”.

“I love you too, yes, please, faster.” She answered back and he picked up his pace, letting his arm fall as he pressed his forehead against hers. 

“You still love me, baby? Huh?” He pressed a long kiss to her lips, their tongues dancing for a moment before she let out another moan when his fingers reached down to rub her clit once more. “Say it again.”

“Yesss, I love you baby. I love you Kelvin, I love you so much.” There were tears in her eyes, both from pleasure and from whatever emotion he was drawing out of her with his words. This was not how she thought lunch was going to go today.

“I love you too.” He groaned out, kissing his way back down her neck as he began to rub her faster, piston his hips into her with more roughness. “Cum for me, baby, come on.”

She didn’t need much more encouragement, tightening her legs around him as she wailed out during her orgasm. She stars behind her closed eyes, pressing her hands tightly against his back. Kelvin followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he came in her, her name whispered from his lips into her neck.

He still moved inside of her, slowly, until he finally pulled out of her. They both moaned together again and Kelvin rolled over to lay half on the couch as she did, both of their chests heaving as they tried to catch their breaths. He eventually lifted himself up, picking up her still trembling legs and putting them on the couch as he walked over to the bathroom. Nevaeh listened as the water ran and then he walked over with a warm rag, wiping her down gently, something he had done hundreds of times before, just not in a very long time. She got up after he sat down and rushed to the bathroom while he waited for her, smirking at the wet spot on the cushion where they’d both been minutes ago.

“I just got this shit too.” He looked up at her as she sauntered over to him, bending over to pick up his discard shirt and slip it over her head.

“My bad. I’ll get you a new one.” His hand settled on her thigh as she stood between his bare legs, looking down at him with a small smile.

“We should talk about this.” She muttered. Kelvin nodded, standing up as he did so, before picking her up bridal style. 

“Oh definitely. We can do exactly that ... over breakfast. Tomorrow.” He carried them toward the stairs leading to the bedroom upstairs. “For now? I got some shit I gotta take care of. Make up for time lost. I’m thinking I gotta make you cum for every month we spent apart?”

Nevaeh’s jaw dropped. “Thirty orgasms, oh my God, are you trying to kill me?”

“Well twenty-eight now.” He laughed and through her shock, she couldn’t help but to laugh too. “What can I say, I missed you baby. I missed you bad.”

[biblicallyaccuratecrow]

in stars and time "method actor" au braindump

the people have spoken! welcome to the method actor au! in which i took the theatre themes of isat and stretched them to their absolute limit!

the premise is that instead of saving vaugarde, the party + major side characters (the king and euphrasie) are an acting troop! and they're telling the story of the saviors through a play. Siffrin is playing The Traveller, and over time in rehearsals has really grown to like his castmates (even the one playing the king- he's actually quite sweet!).

it's the opening night! they're more than prepared for the show!

... until they aren't.

All it takes is a faulty prop from the fly tower, and suddenly siffrin is right back where they started the day before, waking up from a nap in the greenroom before the last rehearsal.

they're back at the beginning. they get a second chance.

after all, you only get one opening night, and siffrin is determined to make it perfect.

...all they need to do is make sure the show goes smoothly!

no stage hazards,

no missed lines,

no injuries,

no deaths,

no mistakes.

and if they have to play the hero to do it?

if the lines between them and their character have to blur so that their parts are perfect?

so be it.

the show must go on.

[notes below the cut!]

[spoilers for isat below!]

so yeah, siffrin takes the term "method acting" way too seriously. out of necessity, though. this is a performance, after all! they have to keep it together for the show, and the best way to do that for them is to embrace their role.

setting

still takes place in vaugarde! except yknow. the king isn't actually happening (yet), so instead of a group of saviors we have the acting group playing the saviors! a bit meta, but it works.

craft and the island still are a thing, and play a major part in the overarching story! this is still a time loop, after all!

all of this is taking place on a stage within dormont's house of change! Euphrasie sponsors, and was more than happy to be included for her very short role! The theatre there has been out of use for decades, but Euphrasie sees it fit to resurrect it just for this show!

The party:

Mirabelle is the playwright, having dreamed up a story like the books she loves to read but for the longest time being too afraid to put it down. Euphrasie encouraged her to go through with it, and they've been building the show ever since! she thinks she isn't a good actor, but she's actually very empathetic as the heroine, since she (secretly) based it off herself.

Isabeau was actually the first to audition- and the only one, at least in the first round. He came in last-minute, and after delivering a solid monologue (with a few puns slipped in), Mirabelle was eager to cast him! He actually loves costume design, but he doesn't dare to reveal this to the party, even if he occasionally spends hours in the House's storage room looking through pieces from older performances.

Odile was a surprising addition to the cast. She was interested in Vaugardian tradition, and figured the best way to learn was through the epicenter of vaugardian culture, at a house. She reccomended some plays to mirabelle from her travels, and after giving some pointers on mirabelle's early scripts decided to join in for the hell of it. She likes horror productions in particular, and contributed a lot to the concept of the king's time craft.

Siffrin was visiting the house, and came to see one of the plays... but got the time wrong and came in during a live-reading of the scripts early draft. he stood and watched for a bit before mirabelle noticed, and after a LOT of fumbling and apologies admitted that he loves theatre. Mirabelle practically dragged him in after that. Given that he didn't have anything else to do, he agreed. Despite claiming he's not much of an actor, much preferring to work on the set design, he's actually uncannily good...

The King is... just a guy, actually! very quiet, very reclusive, but after seeing one of mirabelle's casting calls came in and absolutely smashed the audition. he's been with the group ever since! he's pretty busy outside of the production, but he puts his all into his work! He and siffrin have a kind of kinship, given their shared elusive background and... white hair, i guess.

Bonnie is the younger sister of Nille, who worked on trade classes at dormonts house after the two left Bambouche together. Mirabelle needed someone to help make the sets, and Nille volunteered early on in the production, so long as she could bring Bonnie along. Initially Bonnie wasn't all that interested, but after hanging around the cast a bit grew curious. Siffrin caught them reading through one of the scripts and acting out the various parts on their own. After that, Mirabelle made the time to write in The Kid for Bonnie to have a role thats easiest for them! Fun fact- a lot of The Kid's lines are actually ad libs from Bonnie throughout the production. Mirabelle kept writing them into the script as a sort of inside joke.

Euphrasie is mostly the same! As the head housemaiden, she's had a bit of experience with public speaking and acting, and after seeing Mirabelle having such fun she allowed herself to be roped into a small role as The Head Housemaiden in the production.

the story...

Siffrin's first death is actually to a prop rock falling on top of them. When they wake up, they're back in the green room, waking up from a nap. Isa is out by the favor tree as usual, odile is buying food for the cast party, mira is pouring over her dating profiles disguised as her script, and bonnie is hanging out in the auditorium.

Of course, at the favor tree after the first death is loop. They immediately cast siffrin as the "new director", and from there basically acts much the same as in canon, though a lot of the "memories" are slight improvements to siffrin's acting or the set props.

so, despite all their preparation, the performance keeps getting interrupted in increasingly more and more bizarre ways. A strange array of stage accidents, usually resulting in siffrin's death. They initially suspect that the show is cursed (theyre not that far off), and start to dig into how that could happen. this is where the idea of wishcraft gets introduced. The King seems the most likely to be highjacking the show, but siffrin doesn't want to believe it.

As siffrin performs show after show, things start to get... weirder, somehow. Like the performance is becoming more real with each passing loop. This doesn't just extend to the set, but also to siffrin themself. The line between them and the traveller blurs. As they learn more about wishcraft and the forgotten island, they project this into the story and their performances, and even off set will take mannerisms from the traveller role and use them to brush off the party's concerns.

in later acts, the rest of the cast begins to blur with their own respective characters, to the point that siffrin starts to become irrationally aggressive towards the king, somehow believing him to be responsible. Loop does their best to keep siffrin's handle on reality in tact, but by act 4 they're essentially living out the play. there is no distinction between reality and mirabelle's script- it's all one thing. And the wish makes that true during the performances as well, in ways that even the party can notice- ghosts on the stage, reality warping because of props, even randomly improved sets and staging. The further siffrin descends, the stronger the wish's influence over the performance and their reality grows. by act 5, the wishcraft has transformed the house to reflect that of the play, and everyone to be their characters- or be frozen, as a captive audience. the rest happens similarly to how it does in canon.

the real crux of the issue, like in canon, is that siffrin made a wish. They love their cast, and they love their performance. They want it to stay like that. They want to stay with them. And so they wish at Dormont's favor tree. And it comes true, in the best way the universe can manage- by making it so that the performance never ends. The actual hazards of the set are real- Dormont's theatre is borderline decrepit- but once the wish craft begins to influence things, they become more serious.

i initially had the idea that maybe during the first loop the story becomes real, like what we see in canon, and siffrin is reacting to the actual characters as a literal actor, but i like the idea of the party playing their SASASA counterparts as more base/easily digestible protagonist versions of themselves more. plus like, the idea of it all being literally on a stage is too fun for me

the hilarious thing is, in my mind... the audience wouldn't know that wasnt the intention for the play. in their pov they saw this shit being acted out and not the absolute wacked out acid trip the party saw while on stage. it's an instant success, though the entire party agrees to never put on the show again.

thats about all i got so far? dunno if i'll actually write anything for this, and if i do it'll probably be a one shot or two. but if youre interested in more info abt the au, or just wanna chat about it, feel free!

until next time!

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Swords in the Court: Desire

Secret Garden

Yandere Don John x Reader

Word Count: 6k+

Part 3

Warning: Allusions to sexual and physical violence against women, talks of execution, medieval misogyny, sexual encounters, talks of pregnancy and contraception, general cynicism and scheming, obsessive behaviour

Note: This story is set in a fictionalised historical setting. Though there are clear inspirations drawn from the real world and history, this tale in no way tries to explain, change or state any historical, political, communal, geographical or religious 'facts'. Kindly treat this short-series as it is, a fiction

Unedited and my poor attempt at a medieval world-building

“What are you doing here? I have been looking for you.” 

Two days before the much-anticipated feast and masquerade, you have received the dress and chosen a mask. But a final nod from your dearest friend is a necessity. You finally manage to catch her in the archives, reading.

“That’s an awfully heavy book. What are you reading?”

“The last words of people executed on royal orders. Quite a list for a King who has been ruling for only more than four decades years.” She does not take her eyes off the pages.

“What are looking for in such a morbid history?”

“I was curious what Geo—the Pretender’s last words were.”

“Maddy!” You hiss and look around, making sure that there is no one around “Are you keen on getting yourself killed? You know that you mustn’t even mention that name around.” You sit close to her and grip her arm

She only glances at you and puts a hand over yours “Who would know what I’m looking for?”

“Those who want us out of the court, or worse. And there are many.” 

She shakes her head dismissively before pointing at a section “Found it. Short but…”

“But what?” You peek in as well, growing curious.

“'Your children shall perish my fate as the Kingdom burns to the ground'.”

You whisper out.

“Even in his last moments, he has been vile.”  

“Seems more of a curse.” Maddy comments.

“He was not a witch, was he?”

“Will we ever know?” Maddy leans back, closing the heavy book.

“Do you think it will come true? What he said?”

“(Y/N), he was a stupid boy led by greed and delusion, who plundered villages and murdered innocents. He thought he could become the King? He was a puppet, a fool.”

You nod and smile nervously  “Right, I don’t know why I let such things get to me.”

She assesses you “Maybe it is not this, something else? Has something been troubling you?”

You remember your encounter with Lord John at the chapel and his offer to you.

“It’s nothing, you know, the court and all. Lord Beecham’s wife’s demise has left a void in the court that so many houses are eager to fill. I am required to give the Queen all I can gather.”

“That’s tiring, especially for you. You don’t like the court.”

You shake your head “No, but I need it. We need to remain relevant. Don’t we?”

She hums and leans it “I heard his daughter spends hours with the King.”

“Should we be discussing things here? Go wait in my room, I will join you after I put this away safely.”

Maddy nods and smiles before leaving you with the book—written evidence of all that it takes to keep a throne and a stable kingdom. Sighing, you pick up the heavy book and make your way towards one of the towering shelves. Picking up a chair and being as quiet as possible, you put it by the shelf and stand on it. The wood creaks with a warning but you focus on placing the book carefully. 

Just as you manage to slide the book in, making sure it seems untouched, you feel the wood creak a little harder, and the chair tilts slightly, making you almost lose your balance. But unexpectedly, the piece of furniture comes to firm stability, no tilting, no swinging. Relieved, you look down, only to tense up again at the sight of Lord John.

“Careful, my Lady, a broken ankle would not allow you to participate in the majestic ball.” 

The unmistakable mirth in his eyes and tone is not lost upon you. After successfully evading him in the past few days, you had to bump into him here, out of all the places. He holds the chair with one hand and offers you the other. 

Not wanting to be impolite, you reluctantly take his hand and let him help you get off the chair.

“Lord John, I thank you for your aid. It is quite late for a Prince to be out of his chamber.”

“On the contrary, I have come to love the night here, and the people. It is though odd to find a lady roaming the royal archives at this hour.”

You smile tightly and bend to greet him good night.

“(Y/N).” There is a barely concealed desperation, if you have not mistaken in his voice as you turn to walk away.

“I did not mean to insult you.”

What a lie!

“You offer me the position of your mistress.” You do not bother about keeping the garb of politeness anymore “What should I assume it is then?” 

You glare up at him as he stands in your way. 

“And I would suggest you move.”

“Not until you hear what I have to say.” 

He is composed now; the slight breathlessness in his voice now seems like a misinterpretation. He does not appear to be offended at the slightest by your glare or tone. 

“Very well….”

“I admit. I offer you to become my mistress—but your place shall be by my side, in the Spanish Court. I put that proposal in the chapel not to insult but to make the place a witness.”

“You think you flatter me, my Lord? You think you are doing me a favour?” You can barely keep the simmering rage in check.

“I believe that your place is with me. I yearn for your company; it is no lie.”

“You have my answer, I refuse to be a whore no matter how big of a crown you wish to put on my head.”

“You are not a whore.” His voice raises slightly as he moves to hinder your walk once more “The mistress is not a whore in the court there.”

“Well, she is, here. Good night,” you hiss and try to walk away, but his fingers wrap around your elbow “Have you not insulted me enough?”

“What would you have?” There, the fire under the surface rares its head as his sharp gaze pierces through you.

The question rattles you— you should answer ‘nothing’ instinctively, but you realise you would not mean that. But what are you hoping for? A marriage with a man who is a clear threat to the Princess’s position as the Empress of Spain? They are to be engaged

“Nothing, My Prince. I wish to have nothing to do with you.”

“You and I both know that is a plain lie. Why would the healer send you for any medication to my chamber? Why would you risk your life for me? I see it in your eyes, you do desire me”

“You are full of yourself.” You try pulling away, but it makes him jerk you closer. “You are no gentleman!”

“Oh, drop it! You are not living in fairytales like those sheltered young ladies of the court! You and I know what it is like. You and I have made our own place. We can do so much more!”

“You. Only you! You have no clue what it is like to be a woman in the court, that too one of no noble heritage. A blacksmith’s daughter’s miraculous rise in the court due to the Queen’s favour. But the people I walk among do not fail to ever remind me how I would never belong! You know how cautious I must be? They’re waiting for scandal. They all wait for me to fall from grace, back in the mud where I belong. I have no royal blood running through my veins; I have claim to nothing. I must earn it all!”

“And you think I did not earn my way up? Do you—” 

He stops, and his hold softens before his thumb comes to wipe the tears that have been on your cheeks without your permission or knowledge.

 “I offer you a ladder to rise. We could have so much together. Not only because you have the potential and power to do so but also because…Because I want you, I have wanted you since the day I saw you. You were burnt in my mind.” He exhales, fluttering his eyes closed for a moment before opening them again as if he has tasted something refreshing.

You know, at this moment, more than anything that you want him. You desire him not only physically but emotionally as well. You want to be by his side; listen to your heart. But you are well-acquainted with the fickle nature of men—you have seen many good women ruined with the promise of love and the position of a mistress.

“You must retire to your chamber. It would be no good if anyone sees us together, here, like this.”

Before he can react, you jerk away from him and rush out of the place, praying that he will not follow. He does not.

—-------

The next day, you find yourself in the Queen’s chamber. You find her reading one of her favourite classics by the fire. By this hour, the Ladies-in-Waiting are dismissed. 

“You summoned me, Your Grace?”

“Yes, I did. Have your dress for the ball arrived yet?”

“Yes, My Queen, it is stitched to perfection. I thank you for sponsoring all the Ladies’ dresses for the ball.”

“As the Queen, I ought to make sure that my Ladies stand out. It also helps in finding suitable matches, and other reasons are that feasts and balls are so beloved among ladies.”

“Indeed, Your Grace.”

“Have you thought of it?”

“Forgive me, Your Grace?”

“Marriage. Have you considered it?”

“No, Your Grace.” You frown, confused at the course of the conversation.

“Do you know what it is?”

“All I have heard of is one becomes another’s companion for life, partner is sorrow, happiness, pain and—”

“And so it goes.” She rolls her eyes and picks up her cup

“Let me.” You fill it with wine.

“Thank, dear. So, I say—yes, marriage. That is for the beauty of literature. Not life.  Life is beauty with pain and sorrow and the burdens we bear. Especially as women. For us, marriage is the safest and the best way to secure our position in society and wealth in our names.”

You nod, absorbing her words.

“Am I expected to marry, Your Grace?” Even the thought fills you with slight dread and much uncertainty.

“As a woman, it is never going to be easy, but you must endure in order to secure your position in society and its court and rise. Remember this before we go forward.”

“I will.”

She eyes you while finishing her wine. When you offer to refill it, she refuses, keeping her contemplative stare at you. “Sit here,” she pats on the chair beside her. 

Though you know she favours you, she has never asked you to sit by her. It is frowned upon, after all. Your social stature is much, much lower to her; no matter what position you take in the court, you will always be known as a blacksmith’s daughter. 

But you oblige, tentatively taking a seat.

“Do you know where the most difficult battles take place?”

“I do not think I do, my Queen.”

“It’s the court, child. The court is where the trickest and the longest battles take place. It is the most dangerous battle in any Kingdom or Empire. And I have been fighting this battle ever since the day I was crowned the Queen. I have been fighting to keep my crown until I gave birth to my son, and now for my children and my crown. And they are threatened by the vipers that sit right beside the King.”

“Has something happened, Your Grace?”

“Something might, Earl Beecham’s daughter is the King’s new mistress and he is a part of his council. His influence grows every day.”

The rivalry between the Queen and Earl Beecham is still subtle as it is relatively new. But if she has decided to share this with you, then you can surmise that he has become a considerable threat to her influence in the court. But you keep quiet, letting her continue.

“But with the death of his wife, we are presented with new opportunities.”

“You want me to find a suitable bride for him?”

She chuckles at that.

“No, that is slightly more complicated. I want you to be his bride.”

The silence that follows is a fusion of shock from your end and contemplation from hers. 

“Your Grace I—Lord Beecham is…”

“I know your concerns, and I do not dismiss them, child. I am not asking of you to make this a successful marriage, I need you to keep an eye on him until I have him by the neck. I will arrange a kitchen wench to work for you there, you will send me letters through her.”

“But what about me? What if he is a terrible husband?” You can barely keep your voice from cracking

“Lord Beecham will fall; I shall make sure of that. And once he does, we can arrange a divorce, or if he falls hard enough, you will inherit all the lands he ought to gift you after the wedding. It is a custom. Either way, I will see to it that a real and prestigious match is arranged for you.”

You say nothing. You do not know what to say. The Queen sighs and reaches for your hand.

 “I know what I ask for is not easy, but I need someone trustworthy in Beecham’s lair. And I trust you. If anyone can do this, it is you.” 

“You know that I am not prepared.”

“No one is ever prepared. But if you succeed in preventing his house from spreading its wings, you will prove your worth in this court. There is potential in you. You are old enough to truly learn the games we play at court. Hidden and patient. That would do for now.”

“And why would Lord Beecham take me as his wife?”

“Because he’s my husband’s lapdog. And I still hold influence over the King. Fools like him think they can challenge me.” She pauses for a moment and observes you “I know you are afraid. But know that Lord Beecham is a danger to this Kingdom, and it would be long before he is put in his place. Just make sure not to get pregnant. A child involved will complicate matters.”

She hands you a bottle of dried herbs.

“A pinch in a cup of warm water every morning and night would do. Are you intact?”

“You mean I—yes. I am.”

“It’s always better that way with them. However, in case you slip as we so often do in the flush of youth, remember to prick your skin right after the wedding night and make sure to put traces of blood on the sheets.”

“I will not slip, My Queen, I know I must save myself for marriage.”

“Learn to please him if you can; men are easily swayed by the thing between our legs and like to crow about love for virtuous women. Take the herbs with you now, in case you ‘slip’, you know what to do.”

You silently take the bottle, trying to absorb everything.

“There will be no need to oversee the flow of refreshments, be present in the celebration instead. Be charming, observe Beecham, if possible, strike a conversation.”

You nod, not trusting your voice anymore.

“May I leave, Your Grace?”

“Hm, sleep well.”

You somehow hold yourself until you reach your room. But once you do, the dam breaks.

—-----

The bed creaks with the force of their hips clapping against each other. Sweet sweat mingles with wanton moans and pleasured huffs and grunts. What they say about this lady—Katherine is indeed true; she is a lover men cannot forget. No wonder even the nobles yearn for bedding her. John’s mind, though, has another face. He throws his head back, gripping her hips as he feels the rush towards the edge, but he holds back, grunting and looking up, but not quite looking into Katherine’s eyes as she rides him. He feels her walls spasming and reaches for her clit to make the swing more lasting. She moans, coming on his swollen manhood before his grip on her hips tightens, and he flips her on her back. She lets out a light, startled yelp, followed by a laugh, earning a grin from John.

“Have you taken the herbs?”

“You know I always do. They work, always.” A part of him struggles to hold back as he holds onto the bedframe and looks up; your face flashes before him. 

It makes him chuckle—how come you have crept into his mind like a disease? He forces himself to pull out, dangling right on the edge. Instead, he grabs her supple thighs.

“Let me, my Lord.” Katherine chuckles and wraps her hands around his manhood. 

She has to be a priestess of desire and pleasure; how else does she know which vein to trace? How to rub and squeeze until he comes, staining her stomach with his release? John gasps and huffs, feeling her fingers still rubbing, letting him ride through the climax. It infuriates him how your eyes flash in his mind. Maybe he should have kissed you that night and deliberately let someone be the witness. Word of mouth is such a powerful tool.

But he cannot bring himself to do that—not yet, at least. He knows how gruelling it is to build everything from nothing, and he admires you for doing that. To John, you were initially a mystery who refused to leave his head, and the more he has come to know you, the more it grows on him. He knows passion and desire, and he has that for you, but he has rarely felt the empathy you possess and have shown him.

He grunts, closing his eyes as his hand grasps her breasts. Will your breasts feel something like this? Or even softer? Will you whimper first and look up at him, showing your vulnerability with no attempt to conceal it as you try? Or have there been other men? An uncharacteristic rage churns in his stomach at the mere thought of it.

“Ah! My Lord—” Katherine’s pained hiss brings him back. Eyes flying open, he frowns, looking into her surprised and slightly frightened gaze.

He has never done anything to hurt her or any other of the women here, but the reddened marks on her breast stare back at him.

“Oh, Katherine, forgive me, please?” He sighs with regret, her hand still gripping his girth but no longer moving. Lowering himself, he kisses her breast, tenderly tracing the redness. It will fade, but it has been unexpected, he can see it in her eyes, and he can feel it.

“Have you been well, My Lord?” Her hand begins to move again, but with a tenderness to coax out the answers.

John looks into her hooded eyes and smiles faintly. The moment is already spoiled; he is looking into her eyes, but they are not yours. It should not matter, but it does. He let himself be carried away and almost hurt her.

“I am well.”

He tries to pull away but her grip tightens, her thumb tracing a particular vein once more that makes him chuckle with the swift rebuilding of desire. He buries his head into the crook of her neck, she smells so different than you. But there are prominent traces of him. 

Will you smell like him as well? Will your petals bloom, flushed and dewy under his touch? He gulps, feeling parched as he envisions your fingers parting your nether lips for him to see, smell, taste and fill. Grunting into Katherine’s neck, he feels himself explode, spurting into he r hands, thighs and stomach and, to his surprise, wishing it were you.

This…this is not him. 

A snarling part of him wishes you had been just cruel and prideful; he could have thrown you out of his mind. But no, you occupy his thoughts not only in the tenderest moments but also in his schemes. How powerful he can be if he has someone like you by his side. You can empathise with him, navigate the court, and be ambitious. You do not stand out in features or possess any land to your name, but you are…John realises that it hardly matters. Even if he tries to deny this, it would be a boyish attempt. You completely take him and have not yet found a reason deep and firm enough. Maybe he would have found his heart drawn to you even if he had met you at the fish market. You are you. 

You do aim for something bigger and better, you admire the Queen and are fiercely loyal to her, but because she is your way up. He can be your way even higher once he strengthens his position. But he cannot afford to wait for another opportunity when he has to return to Spain while you are ripe for a wedding. The Queen surely has her plans. Even if it is lowly lord, you are to be married and remain a part of the court. He cannot risk it, even though asking your hand for companionship, not marriage, is a risk in itself he is willing to take that.

Cleaned up and dressed again, John puts down gold coins instead of silver this time.

“Are you not paying too little, my Lord?” she smirks

“I do not think so.” He replies, watching her as she dresses herself.

“Do you feel guilty? It won’t even bruise; I have seen worse noblemen.” He smirks sardonically.

“I’m not them.”

“No, you’re worse than them.”

“Worse? How so?” He raises his eyebrow, intrigued.

“You have reins over yourself. You do not lose yourself here, ever the guarded.” She eyes gold coins before her knowing gaze meets his once more “You do not intend to return, do you?”

“Rest, Katherine.” 

With that, he walks out of the chamber.

In his modest clothing, it is difficult to single out the bastard pricne from the rest of the patrons. John's keep eyes, though, catch the sight of Earl Beecham before he breezes past the older man without attracting any attention.

—-----

The day of celebration and the formal announcement regarding the upcoming marriage and a befitting alliance. The Emperor and the Empress align with their party and are given a grand welcome before the feast begins. Wine, pies, sweets, candied fruits, meat and the Emperor���s favourite– chocolates flow in with women, mostly Katherine’s girls. 

You get to enjoy Maddy’s company when you are not accompanying the Queen, as she demands your presence while she speaks with the nobles. It is tiring, but you know that she is trying to introduce you to the court for a more active participation. This comes as a blessing in disguise—you are able to evade Lord John—at least for most of the evening, until he walks up to the Queen himself

Maroon and gold are the shades he is made for, or perhaps they are, for him. He stands out from the royal family with the lack of emeralds in his clothing. As for pants, he has chosen befitting black, while the golden twines and flowers bloom over the maroon that fits perfectly over his torso, highlighted by the simple, white attire underneath, peeking out of the regal hues. He is indeed a sight for sore eyes.

“A grand celebration indeed by the graceful Queen.”

“Prince Juan, I earnestly hope that nothing has been amiss regarding your and your family's comfort.”

“You put me in shame, Your Grace; if anything, your hospitality has won our hearts and filled our bellies to the brim.” He chuckles, raising his cup of wine.

“If our hospitality brings you pleasure and a smile on your handsome face, my Lord, the gold and sweat are well-spent.” 

“Lady (L/N), I cannot thank you enough for your kindness and heroic act.”

“You have thanked me more enough, my Lord.” You are polite yet indifferent but let a cold smile slip.

Something akin to amusement twinkles in his brown eyes before he takes your hand—graceful and gentle, yet you flinch. You tell yourself that you are surprised, nothing more, but your heart hammers wildly against your chest as if ready to scream out your deepest desires.

“I do not believe it was enough.” His lips are soft, and you are afraid you will burn with the need to touch them again. 

His gaze has mirth, and the subtle burn you feel is only meant for you, and you are tempted to melt. You shiver, fighting to keep up an air of indifference, especially when the Queen stands right beside you.

“If you allow us, I have taken it upon myself to see to the prospects of my maiden Ladies-in-Waiting. She is yet to be introduced to many deserving members of the court.” The Queen smiles, but you cannot bring one to your lips.

Lord John’s smile remains, but the warmth sizzles out into a cold, hard stretch of lips and eyes that dim, which one might mistake as fury.

“Of course, Your Grace, it seems to be the right time indeed.”  His smile stretches wider as he moves out of your way in a smooth step, yet you do not dare to meet his gaze again.

—---

Evading the brooding half-prince had been relatively easy with the constant mingling and overall crowd in the hall. You have already decided that the masquerade would be a cakewalk at this point. You are not the most graceful on the dance floor, but you will take as many spins as you can if it means you avoid Lord John.

With a quarter of the candles and lamp blown out, the once brightly lit grand hall dims into a seductive glow. Now, meeting eyes and stolen kisses have the shadows to shield them from prying eyes. The swaying and lazy feet on the floor give away that there are more empty goblets than plates. Silk, gold, silver and pearls twirl around, matching with the varying masques held in front of their faces or tied with silk ribbons. Some feathered, some golden, some with pearls swen and hanging, intricate and delicate, the masquerade ball is a sight to behold, alluring yet with an edge of danger and secrets. Perhaps the most secrets do spill out here.

On the Queen’s insistence, you share your first dance with Lord Beecham. Despite the distinct stink of alcohol surrounding him, he is controlled and graceful; his noble mannerisms can charm an innocent onlooker into considering him an ideal man of honour, but you are all too aware of the foul schemes the court thrives on. You smile graciously, ignoring the prickling feeling of being watched. You make no attempts at dismissing it; you are all too familiar with the feel, and you have endured the scrutinising stares and scowls of the aristocrats for long enough. 

While your conversations with Lord Beecham remain shallow, you see his eyes assessing you—cold, calculative and hungry. In his prime, he would not have been too bad to look at, but knowing him, he would have been just as unappealing to you as tonight. But you wear a charming smile and put up with him, prying on his interests and scattering the right political or social perceptions that you know please men like him.

“Would you mind if I fetch us something to drink, My Lady? I am incredibly thirsty.”

“That is so kind of you, My Lord.” 

You adjust the silk ties of your mask behind your head instead of looking into his eyes and risking the sheer relief that courses through you, being exposed. That would not be in your favour, and you have to make him think favourably of you.

You try to follow him on his way out of the dance floor and find a more secluded part of the hall to steal a moment of solitude but your plans are foiled by the appearance of the familiar sight of maroon and gold, you look up and your fears take the shape of Don John’s handsome face now adored with dark mask.

“Would you grace me with a dance, My Lady?”

“I’m afraid I have grown tired, my Lord.” You try to excuse yourself, looking over to find Lord Beecham being dragged by Conrad towards the wine table.

“Once dance would not hurt.” His voice is as smooth as his movements, but his hold is firm, pulling you back towards the dance floor, hidden from the brighter spaces.

“I do not think it is appropriate!” You hiss out, glaring up at him as he holds you still with a hand on your back and another holding your palm over his shoulder.

“Shh, no need to attract unwanted attention. I simply wish to talk.”

“I did not know we had anything to talk about.”

“I will make it official. Your name shall be in the royal archives.” He jumps straight to the point, pulling you closer.

He is warm and firm, and you want to lean in, but your good sense holds you back.

“What are you saying?”

“I shall take no other mistress but you; you shall have to share the roof with me; you shall be a part of the court as my official mistresss.” His voice is hushed, but there is a desperate edge to it.

“No one can dispose you; your position would be secure—”

“Have you any good sense left?” You hiss at him, keeping your voice low.

“You are in my senses. Like a disease, you creep around and linger. You haunt me. I have my part to play, and yet I am here, risking everything for you because I must have a sane mind if I were to have my dukedom.”

“Do you think I will believe this? Men write poems of eternal love only to bed them for a night. They have nothing to lose here. So fickle in heart and cold in thoughts, while they weave poetry on women’s rejection.” You snarl, unable to hold your contempt,

You hope it wounds his ego–there is nothing to rival the fragility of a man’s pride. But his smile defies your expectations.

“I am not so poetic; I have been honest with you.”

“So have I. I am no whore.”

“I ask you—”

“You do not get to ask me of anything the Queen does, and she hall decide my fate, not you.”

“You like to think that you are free, but you are a slave to the Queen.”

“I am indebted to her.”

“Well, that’s a dangerous thing if you value your freedom and want power. Royals use you as they see fit, let your limbs grow as long as it serves them, but once they feel threatened, they will cut them off.”

“You speak as if you are no royal yourself. You have noble blood in you.”

“‘Half-blood’, that’s what they call me behind my back.”

 He raises your hand above your head, and you twirl around.

“I am not denying your truth—surely the Queen has been kind and generous. I am letting you know what lies on the other hand. When you are a thorn that pinches them with your existence.”

“Then being your mistress would be betraying my Queen.”

“Do you consider me a threat then? Me? Who has served the empire with my life at stake? I am to become a Duke.”

“You are not yet.”

“I will be, and I shall have everything I ever wanted.”

His hold tightens, and he leans close to your ear—he smells of cinnamon, wine and leather, you realise, forcing yourself to not inhale deeply. 

“And then I will have you, too.”

His lips touch yours like feathers playing, and you realise that your throat is parched.

“You can never have me. The Queen decides who gets my hand in marriage.”

“Oh, sweet bird…I will burn everything on my way to you for the peace you can provide me.”

“You have not known me only a fortnite.” You whisper back in disbelief.

“And yet I am taken by you.”

You scoff at that “How many young women have you lured into your bed by those words before?” 

Moving his head back, he smirks “Quite a few, but never offered them to be my official mistress.”

“Oh, I’m honoured.” You give him a wry smile before swiftly moving away from him ‘I’m parched.” 

You are quicker on your feet this time, heading straight to a more lit-up, crowded area, where you indeed take something to drink. You know it does you no good, but your eyes prick with unshed tears. His words have stung you. Lord Beecham is nowhere to be seen, and you are unsure of how long you can keep up this charade. 

How can you allow a man you barely know to break your composure?

Emptying your cup, you walk out of the ballroom. Perhaps the safety of your room can be your last refuge for the night that can no longer be redeemed, It’s ruined. You are forced to acknowledge the fact that for a moment, you have considered his proposal. That you want the brooding half-prince, that hearing him admit that he has lured other women to his bed using the same words has made your heart crack.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N), wait...”

Your steps quicken as you look for knights or guards. In the lit-up hallway. Why would they be here? It does not lead to any aristocratic chamber.

“You misunderstand my words.” He is quick on his strides, catching up to you sooner than expected.

“You will never have me! I am no whore!” It is an assurance to yourself more than anything.

“Who said you are?”

“You admitted there you used the same words to lure women to your bed.”

“I do not have to trick women to sleep with me, I admit it was a foolish attempt to stir your gall”

“Stir my gall? Pray tell me how this lowly servant has offended you to push his dignified lordship into playing cruel jests” You scoff and snatch your hand away from his reaching grasp.

“You do not understan—”

“What do I not understand?”

John’s face tightens. “Because you vex me.” he hisses “Day and night I have thought about you and this little fancy, and yet you haunt me. You are always there when I am in need, and it vexes me. It angers me how you prove my assumptions wrong; it angers me to see you, with potential, to swipe away every opportunity present. Why? Because you must be loyal to those who shall never care.”

“You say this because I refused your proposal. Of all the ladies in the court, you choose me, despite knowing that I am loyal to the Queen. I do not know what games you play, but I am not a pawn.”

“I chose you for you, I would have chosen you even if I met you in the fish market. And about being a pawn, you already are. You are the Queen’s pawn. If I manage to convince her, she can give you to me. You like to think that you belong to no one, but you already do. You belong to her. She would marry you to a peasant if it benefits her.”

“Careful there, Don Juan. Your words can be interpreted as an accusation against the Queen, the mother of the future Empress.”

“I'm merely showing you the closer possibilities. This has happened before. You cannot possibly be foolish enough to think that you hold a special place in her heart.” His smile is cold with a stare struggling to restrain a fire.

“She would do no such thing!” You cry out, despite Lord Beecham’s name flashing in your mind. 

“You and I both know that this future is closer to your dreams of being an integral part of the court here. You will never be one of them. You and I are not so different after all.”

“You are lying.” You growl, turning to leave, but his grasp is unrelenting this time.

“You are afraid to face the fact. This might be the greatest opportunity presented to you, woman!”

“Let go of me.”

“You are foolish to believe that any good will come out of serving her or that I cannot bend her will in my favour.” 

“You forget your manners. Let go.”

“You forget  who holds the power here—”

“You cannot have me as your mistress in a hundred years; I am to marry Lord Beech—”

You pull the reins a moment too late, as you watch the realisation dawning upon him with your subsiding rage. Your lips part. The damage is done

No use trying to cover this up. You breathe in, trying to compose yourself against his hardened gaze.

“I shall wed to a member of the court, man of Her Majesty's choice. And there is nothing left to bend or break!” 

At least you get to have the satisfaction of shutting his mouth, despite knowing that you will regret revealing the Queen’s plot. Sensing his hold loosening for a moment, you snatch the opportunity and your hand away before walking out of his sight and reach.

******

I don't know what I did with it, but yes, that was all I could come up with.

[badboydevotee]

Beneath the Glitter

"Today is my birthday, so you're dining in style. I'm not going to eat any though, so you can finish it off." -Fico's birthday voiceline.

The restaurant was as extravagant as it was exclusive—a gleaming beacon of opulence nestled among the glittering skyscrapers. Its walls were adorned with velvet drapes and the air was filled with the gentle hum of classical music, the subtle clink of silverware, and the rustle of hushed conversations. Outside, the city glittered under the fading light of dusk, but inside, it was a world of indulgence, where the rich and powerful gathered to feast, to gossip, to flaunt their successes. You sat across from him, your heart a tangled mess of confusion and hesitation, unsure of what to make of the invitation. Romeo Scorpius Lucci, the man who oozed wealth and arrogance with every step he took, had asked you to join him for dinner. On his birthday, no less. But there was something unsettling about it—something you couldn’t quite place. His gaze was sharp, his posture immaculate, but his lips were pressed into a thin, cruel line. 

You had known Romeo for a while now, ever since you had crossed paths at the casino. He was a man of sharp edges, a man whose temper could ignite the room with a mere glance. It wasn’t hard to hear the stories—the whispers about how he had once been the crowned king of the fashion world, only to watch it crumble down to dust, and how he had clawed his way back from that fall with a vengeance. Everything about him screamed ambition and control, but today… today, he was different. The usual fire in his magenta eyes was muted, replaced by something unreadable.

He took a sip from his glass of wine, his lips curling slightly as he glanced at you, still silent. His hair, perfectly styled with the right side falling slightly longer than the left, caught the light from the chandelier above. The tips of his short gray hair darkened almost imperceptibly as it cascaded over his earring—each one a solid gold hoop, gleaming as brightly as the man himself. Despite the tension in the air, he looked… untouchable. Beautiful, even, though you’d never admit that to his face.

“This is a fine dining experience, BB” he said, his voice low but sharp, like the edge of a well-honed blade. “They’ve prepared a special tasting menu just for us.”

His tone held a hint of something else—something strange, like a thin layer of ice coating his usual arrogance. As he looked down at the elegant table setting, his red eyes—darker now in the dim lighting—flashed with irritation. You knew better than to speak when he was in one of these moods, especially when his temper seemed so volatile.

“It’s too bad you don’t have any appetite for the finer things in life,” you said softly, hoping to ease the tension in the room, to break through the wall he’d built around himself.

Romeo chuckled darkly, his lips curling into a wry smile. His voice came out clipped and almost condescending, like he was humoring you—one of the few things he ever did with genuine attention.

“Today is my birthday,” he declared, the words sharp and almost bitter as they passed his lips. “So you’re dining in style. I’m not going to eat any of it, though,” he added, leaning back in his chair with a languid stretch. His fingers grazed his gold earring absentmindedly, a habitual gesture that you’d seen him do countless times before. It was almost like he needed it to remind him that he was still in control. “You can finish it off.”

A part of you wanted to protest. You knew how meticulously Romeo valued every detail, every ounce of luxury and decadence. To see him not even touch the food—food that had been specially prepared—felt… wrong. But it wasn’t your place to question him. Not now. Not when his presence was so overwhelming, like the dark storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

The waiter approached, setting down a series of dishes one after the other: delicate amuse-bouches, perfectly seared foie gras, intricately arranged seafood towers, and the main course—a tender cut of wagyu beef, its rich aroma drifting through the air. It was a meal fit for royalty, but Romeo, true to his word, didn't so much as glance at it.

You stared at the plate before you, the warm light of the candles reflecting off the fine porcelain. The aroma of the food was intoxicating. It was rich, indulgent, everything he loved. Yet, there he sat, staring at his glass of wine, as if lost in thought, as if the celebration wasn’t for him at all.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Romeo said, breaking the silence, his voice now sharp with a hint of something deeper. “I’m not here to enjoy this. I have no time for pleasure when I’ve got more important things to attend to.”

You raised an eyebrow, a fleeting moment of disbelief washing over you. His obsession with money and status had always been something you’d never fully understood. But this… this felt like more. There was something in his eyes now, a flicker of vulnerability that he desperately tried to mask with that familiar sharpness, with the cold indifference that kept everyone at arm’s length.

His fingers drummed impatiently on the table, the sound of his rings against the fine wood the only noise in the otherwise still room. It was then that you realized the truth: this wasn’t a simple birthday dinner. He was fighting something. Fighting it in a way that was both desperate and painfully obvious.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you said quietly, pushing aside the delicate silver fork, suddenly aware of how strange the situation was. You’d never seen Romeo act like this before. He was always so in control, so driven by his insatiable hunger for success and wealth.

Romeo’s eyes flicked to you, his magenta irises flashing dangerously. His hand shot out, his fingers tightening around your wrist as he leaned forward, his voice low and unyielding. “You think I’m doing this for you? For anyone?” He let out a short, derisive laugh. “No. I’m doing this because I can. Because I have to.”

You didn’t pull away from his grip. It was firm, a reminder of how tightly he held everything in his life—his empire, his ambitions, even his emotions. You could see the strain in his jaw, the barely concealed rage flickering in the depths of his gaze.

“You can’t outrun your past, Fico,” you said softly, using the nickname he’d always insisted on. “You can’t keep punishing yourself like this. You deserve to enjoy something—just once.”

Romeo’s expression faltered, just for a second. It was as though your words had pierced through that armor of pride and defiance. His grip on your wrist loosened, and for a brief, almost imperceptible moment, the walls around him seemed to crack.

“I’m not like you,” he muttered, a rare admission slipping from his lips. “I can’t afford to be.”

You reached out, gently taking his hand. The warmth of your touch seemed to ground him in a way that nothing else had been able to. His eyes met yours, and for once, he didn’t look away, didn’t snap, didn’t rage. He simply stared, as if weighing the unspoken connection between the two of you.

“Maybe you can,” you said quietly, your voice a soft whisper in the midst of all the grandeur and extravagance. “Maybe you just need to let someone in.”

The air between you seemed to hum with something unspoken. He exhaled sharply, as if the weight of everything was momentarily too much to bear. For the first time in ages, Romeo Scorpius Lucci didn’t seem like the cold, calculating man who’d clawed his way to the top.

For a fleeting moment, he simply looked… human. And in that moment, something shifted between you both.

With a slow, almost reluctant movement, he picked up his fork, piercing a delicate slice of wagyu, before setting it back down with a soft sigh.

“Fine,” he muttered, his usual arrogance slipping back into his voice. “I’ll have a bite. But only because it’s my damn birthday.”

And for the first time that evening, you both shared a genuine laugh.

You couldn’t help but smile as Romeo finally took a bite of the wagyu, his eyes momentarily closing in appreciation. It wasn’t much—a small victory—but it was something. It was a crack in the armor, a rare moment where the walls around him seemed to crumble, just a little. And as he chewed slowly, his usual sharp gaze softened ever so slightly.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” you said, teasing him gently as you picked up your own fork. You couldn’t resist—he might be insufferable at times, but there was something undeniably magnetic about him. His stubbornness, his pride, even his scornful nature—everything about him was a puzzle that you couldn’t seem to put down.

Romeo's lips curled into that familiar smirk, but it was different now—less biting, more amused, like he was letting you in on some private joke only he understood.

“I’m not the one who’s impossible here,” he shot back, his tone still sharp but with a hint of warmth underneath. He leaned back in his chair, looking at you as though he were sizing you up, like you were the most intriguing thing in the room, despite the luxury that surrounded you both. His gaze lingered longer than it should have, as though he were trying to figure out why you, of all people, had the ability to disarm him so effortlessly.

You tilted your head, studying him in return. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him so vulnerable, but it was the first time he’d let you see it without the walls of anger and pride. For all his bluster, Romeo was a man driven by a hunger that went deeper than money or power—it was something else. Something raw. Something broken.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Fico,” you said, leaning in slightly, your voice low and steady. “But you don’t have to keep pretending you’re some perfect machine, only running on fuel and ambition. You’re allowed to—”

“Stop.” He raised a hand, his voice firm but not hostile. There was a slight tremor in his fingers, a hint of something beneath the surface. "I don’t *need* anyone’s pity or concern."

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the defensiveness in his tone. “I’m not offering either of those. Just... maybe a little bit of understanding. Maybe I’m the one who’s trying to figure out the puzzle.”

Romeo stared at you, his magenta eyes gleaming in the low light, and for a moment, the world outside the restaurant seemed to fall away. It was just the two of you, in this little bubble of rich, warm air, surrounded by fine dining and too many untold stories.

“I don’t need understanding,” he muttered, though there was a softness to his words that didn’t match his usual fire. “I just need what’s mine. What’s owed to me.”

You nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in his words. His relentless pursuit of what he had lost was something you couldn’t ignore. The dreams of grandeur that haunted him. You could see it now, clearer than before—the weight that crushed him. It wasn’t just about money, not really. It was about power, control, and reclaiming something he had once thought was within his grasp, only to watch it slip away.

"Then I guess that makes two of us," you said quietly, and for a second, you wondered if he understood the subtle implication.

Romeo didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took another bite of the food, his lips pressing into a thin line as he chewed thoughtfully. His magenta eyes flicked up to meet yours once more, the tension between you thickening as the air seemed to charge with something unspoken.

“I’m not someone you should get close to, you know,” he finally said, his voice low and earnest, a trace of something vulnerable creeping into his tone. "I’m not the kind of person who lets anyone in."

You knew that already. You knew that better than anyone else. But you also knew something he didn’t seem to realize—that sometimes, letting someone in wasn’t about fixing the broken parts. Sometimes, it was just about *being* there, without the expectation of anything in return.

“And yet, here we are,” you said softly, offering him a wry smile. “Maybe you don’t have to let me in. Maybe I’m just here for the ride.”

For a moment, Romeo’s gaze flickered, like he was deciding whether to laugh or argue. Instead, he simply looked at you—really looked at you—and the tension between you seemed to soften, just a fraction. The walls that had always been so solid around him were starting to bend. You weren’t sure if they’d ever come down completely, but for now, this—this strange, tentative truce—was enough.

Romeo took another sip of wine, his posture returning to something more casual, almost like he was letting go of some of the weight that had been pressing down on him all evening. His magenta eyes softened, not in affection, but in a quiet understanding that he didn’t need to push you away. Not yet, at least.

“So,” he said, his voice returning to its usual cocky tone, “this is a fine meal, but I expect you to finish it all. It’s my birthday, after all. And I do have a reputation to maintain.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused despite yourself. "You *really* are impossible," you muttered, but there was a smile tugging at your lips that you couldn’t quite suppress.

Romeo’s lips quirked into a smirk, his eyes glinting mischievously. “You’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

And just like that, the moment passed, and the two of you fell back into the dance you knew all too well—his sharp remarks and your knowing smiles, the ever-present tension between you both. But now, there was something else there too. A hint of understanding. A crack in his façade. 

Maybe he didn’t need to admit it out loud. But for once, Romeo Scorpius Lucci wasn’t the terrifying, untouchable man he always tried to be. And maybe—just maybe—neither were you.

The rest of the evening passed in a strange, comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional teasing remark, the clinking of silverware, and the soft sound of laughter that lingered between you both. And for once, the glistening city outside didn’t feel so far away.

It felt, for the first time in a long time, like it was within reach.

Ao3 vers.

Please love Romi <3

[ligiawrites]

Your life as an alchemist has been safe and comfortable so far... but when your sister makes you one last wish before passing away, you'll embark on a dangerous journey that might change your life—and the lives of your two companions—forever.

game link || all about the dev

YOUR SISTER HAS CARRIED the mantle of "Peregrine" for more than two decades. Twelve years older than you, she saw and wrote about the lives of common people, the birth and fall of foreign noble houses, the discovery of plants and animals, and the complex politics of your home kingdom. She lived a life of dangers and excitement, of travels, passions, and experiences you can't even begin to imagine.

And now that she's dead, this mantle (and her newborn child) is yours. 

Ghosts, zombies, fantastic animals, arcanes, and criminals. Fool the monster hunting you, the bandits trying to kidnap you, and your own fears while you travel from South Safira to the very heart of Dead Water.

Thank Goddess, you won't be alone. But with a conniving liar at your left and a deluded "Knight" at your right, will you be able to fulfill your sister's last wish? Will you go back to your niece? And will you allow yourself to love for the first time?

Develop your personality, see how your choices build, and change your bond with Yulie and Tobias (and yourself).

Hopefully, you'll also learn to see the world in a new light after this Trek to Dead Water.

🍂 Full game release: Autumn 2025 🍂

If you want to support the development of this game and access exclusive rewards, please consider supporting me on ko-fi!

About the game:

This story is set 53 years before the beginning of Love the Guard, Be the King.

Experience the world of Five Kingdoms in a completely different way, learning the hidden lore of Opala and Safira as one of the most influential (and non-highborn) figures in their society.

This is a game about the power of story, the powers that *change* history, and the impact that fleeting relationships may have in our lives. Enjoy this mix of Visual Novel and text-based Interactive Fiction!

This short game will have three chapters, and I have almost half of it already. :) Right now, you can play one out of three chapters (~9k words), and they are only available for my supporters on ko-fi. 

So, if you're seeing this, thank you for being amazing and for believing in my career! :)

If you have any comments, suggestions, problems, or worries, please let me know on ko-fi or in this forum.

AGE SUGGESTED: 16+ for erotic nudity, non-explicit sexual scenes, and mild violence and gore.

Main Characters:

Yulie of No House - The deluded "Knight" - 27 - She / Her

Born in Safira to a Topazian ambassador and a Safiran barman, Yulie saw her world crumble when she was six and a half, and her mother dared to question the Safiran nobility's interference in Topazian politics. Queen Juliana of House Inara did her best to protect Yulie's life, but there was little the Queen could do for her parents.

Stripped of her family and her surname, she lived under the Queen's care in a secretive palacete in the South, but as soon as she turned fourteen, Yulie knew she needed to leave the care of the people who ruined her life.

Now, at twenty-seven, Yulie's dream and main objective is to become a Knight of the Opalean Dragon Order—but focusing on this might be way harder than she thought, mainly when she manages to hold certain Safiran Peregrine in her arms.

Tobias Cidreira Dasherner - The Conniving Liar- 29 - He / Him

Tobias is a trans man born and raised in the biggest capital of Safira. With an immense talent for the Arcane, Tobias was taken under the wing of Great Arcane Master Domingos of Safira when he was only five. 

The Arcane College of the Balanced Arts is an expensive place, though, and despite the Arcane's great fortune, Tobias changed over the years. Once studious and quiet, Tobias grew tired of the absurd rules in the Safiran College and the kingdom's abusive laws. He tried to do good. He tried to change things for the better. Still, thanks to a grave mistake on Tobias's part, the Great Domingos lost everything.

Now, the only thing Tobias wants is to make enough money for the greatest con of all: a nice tavern of his own, so he can recover at least part of the money his old master lost.

… And YOU! - The newest Peregrine in Safira

Child of a long line of alchemists who lived their whole lives in The Village, you never felt the need to travel. Your sister did, so it felt just and good (for you and for her) when she was chosen as the new Safiran Peregrine. But this happened twenty-three years ago, and now she's dead after giving birth to your first niece.

Your task (for more than one reason) is to travel to the dangerous Dead Water, so your sister's soul will finally rest and stop coming back to haunt you.

Build your Peregrine and your relationship with your companions, and discover the hidden history that brought you to this point.

[jbaileyfansite]

Review of Richard II by The Standard

Jonathan Bailey gives the best performance I’ve ever seen of Shakespeare’s flawed monarch, an erratic tyrant who gains dignity once deposed. This might sound like faint praise since major London productions of the play are rare. But the two other Richards I recall are David Tennant and Fiona Shaw, so props to the star of Bridgerton and Wicked.

Bailey inhabits and humanizes the king in a clean, clear, martial staging from Nicholas Hytner that feels right for our times. Altogether this is a winningly bold combination of casting, programming and cultural curation to follow the Bridge’s joyful post-Covid moneyspinner, Guys and Dolls.

There the actors rubbed shoulders with the audience. Here we make up a horseshoe of spectators around an oblong stage thrusting into the auditorium; at one point, we become witnesses at a show trial. Bailey swaggers on to Succession-style music, in a simple crown but with a bespoke frock coat and sockless feet in velvet slippers, setting him apart from courtiers in suits or jeans. A saturnine beard gives an impish frame to his imperious behavior.

In short order Richard exiles his troublesome cousin and potential rival Henry Bullingbrook (striking newcomer Royce Pierreson) and seizes Bullingbrook’s late father John of Gaunt’s estate to undertake a foolish war in Ireland. Where he loftily believes his divine right justifies any caprice, Bullingbrook is more plain-spoken and pragmatic in courting nobles’ favour.

Yet when he challenges Richard – in this case, by training a massive field gun on the theatre’s balcony where Bailey stands spotlit in a white shift – he becomes a traitor. Richard, meanwhile, is transformed through grief over the loss of his kingdom into a kind of Christ figure, a metamorphosis Bailey achieves with great skill. As Hytner has said, he speaks Shakespeare’s verse as if born to it.

The play has some of Shakespeare’s finest poetry (including Gaunt’s “This England” speech, delivered well by an understudy at the performance I attended due to the indisposition of Clive Wood). There are echoes of Hamlet in Richard’s reflective soliloquy on landing back in Wales, and of King Lear in his character arc. The ruthless plotting and politicking – opponents here are dispatched with a bullet to the back of the neck - spark associations with Shakespeare’s other Tudor history plays: it’s boggling to remember he wrote them in seemingly random order over two decades.

Still, Richard II, with its rigid structure and strict double-narrative about two different styles of kingship, is never going to be a crowd-pleaser unless it’s by star casting. Hence Bailey. He commands the stage and even allows a little camp to seep into the character (Richard’s marriage to his shopaholic wife may be transactional). He doesn’t sugar the king’s brattish reluctance to cede the crown but in later speeches attains a stricken grandeur.

Hytner’s production brims with top-notch character actors, including Michael Simkins as a dogged Duke of York and Christopher Osikanlu Colquhoun as a suave Duke of Northumberland. It also has a future star in Royce Pierreson. Bullingbrook is only his third professional stage role: he brings to it a great sense of command. At the end, Bailey quite rightly called him on stage to share his join his solo curtain call.

Source

[lonelyasawhisper]

Queen: A Night At The Garden

Kris Nicholson, Creem, 1st May 1977

Queen's music is like strong mouthwash. It takes my breath away but that initial rush is as temporary as it is abrupt. This probably has something to do with the discrepancy between what Queen is and what Queen would like to be. Queen IS a good studio band-cum-variety show with a flair for novelty, a patent on mock opera and Rock of Gibraltar guitar harmonies. What they would like to be is a good studio band and a great live act. Unfortunately they've mastered a studio perfection that does not lend itself to accurate live interpretation. Whether or not they choose to approach the two mediums separately, the fact remains: kids are amazed at Queen records and they expect to be doubly amazed by their concerts.

If Queen—without the assistance of tapes—could reproduce their studio sound live, they'd certainly be one of the most impressive bands on the rock scene. But they can't and they aren't and it's the vocals that cause most of the problem. They'd need at least five Freddie Mercurys [Aaargh!—Ed.] to do it right. (Imagine Mercury quints; five golden-throated, leotarded, stiffly posed fools.) If only Freddie Mercury could sing two notes at a time!

There is a gadget known as a harmonizer that provides a delayed echo and allows Freddie to harmonize with himself, but this effect has its limitations and is reserved for special occasions like "Killer Queen" and Freddie's spotlight solo in "White Man."

Lacking a consistently believable production of their music, the least Queen could do is compensate for aural imperfections with visual delights. Try as they might, their use of flash pots and strobe lights is old hat and the five basic postures in Freddie's crude ballet are amateur still life, pale in comparison to the volume and the ideas of the band's music.

Let us proceed to the actual scene of a Queen concert and see if we can discover just what keeps this band alive.

It is February 5th at Madison Square Garden. I see a sign bobbing and weaving through the upper aisles of the arena. At first it looks like it's moving of its own free will and then two heads become visible at either end of the banner. This is a familiar one. In three-foot high letters it boasts, "Queen is King." Behind and way above me, up in those seats in the clouds, (that us rock writers never get stuck in) there are two more signs held by fans. They read: "Queen A Night At The Garden" and "Queen Takes My Breath Away."

I wonder how many of these kids have seen Queen before. Will they be disappointed? Darkness sets in. The PA system blasts solo piano recital music that eventually fades into a tape of one of those majestic guitar intros Brian May likes to embroider around the beginning of his songs. The first chords of "Tie Your Mother Down," hit like thunder, maybe even induce butterflies in the stomach, temporarily.

The image of Freddie Mercury strikes. Decked in some kind of baggy white karate jump suit the singer looks sexier than he ever did in those ridiculous striped suspender shorts. For a moment Freddie has me believing that he's cut his overbearing physical exposure from the act. But by the third song he's stripped down to a second skin of white, commonly known as leotards. In Freddie's case they're pain in the ass leotards. Every five minutes he becomes distracted as a leotard strap shimmies down his shoulder. He searches for a moment when he can inconspicuously slide it back up before the whole damn thing falls off. Unfortunately Freddie is not cool about it. By the end of the set I'm almost more intent on calculating the next time a strap will drop and how he'll get it back up, than I am on hearing the music.

Freddie is a strange cookie on stage. He waves his magic wand (actually it's a mike stand but you can use your imagination) and the flashpots explode. No big deal. Personally I think the Wizard of Oz had better flashpots and that movie was filmed decades ago. Freddie addresses the audience, "Listen my darlings, let me do the talking for a change." Yecch! Too coy. I don't believe him.

"Somebody To Love" comes early in the set. This is what is called strategy. It comes early in the set because it's impossible to do justice to in concert. If everything else goes right, by the end of the show the kids will have forgotten how punchless the live version is in comparison to the lush production that stole thousands of AM hearts.

Deep down, underneath the black nail polish, there is some talent.

Besides Freddie, the only really visible member of Queen is Brian May. May is the exact opposite of Mercury— a real Yin-Yang combination. In the words of Chuan Tzu, "The perfect negative principle is majestically passive (May). The perfect positive (Mercury) is powerfully active...the interaction of the two results is that harmony by which all things are produced." Somehow it DOES work.

Wanna puck? Monreal Mercurys owner displays the franchise's new uniform. (Note the hand-tailored sleeves and custom-fitted mouthpiece).

May appears silent and serious. He plays guitar as if he were studying constellations. There is nothing silly about him. Even the starch in his Elizabethan white shirt fits. He looks elegant, contemplative, (a misplaced 18th century poet?) and yet he plays with all the erotic energy and guts of the heaviest and dirtiest of rock 'n' rollers. You could say he doesn't look like he sounds. But this inconsistency serves to make his character all the more enchanting.

During "Brighton Rock" Brian takes a long solo. With the use of two echoplex systems he manages to produce the sound of three guitars. It's a well-crafted solo with lots of showmanship and lots of clean, thoughtfully executed riffs. He hardly moves while he's playing. All the energy is flowing from head to fingers. It's one of the few moments in Queen's set where nothing threatens to cancel out the emotion of his playing. Looking back on this a moment later, it's easy to understand what Brian has in mind when he says, "I want to be good in the sense of being more expressive."

Queen dares to attempt May's Mccartneyish " '39." It doesn't fare too well. Freddie sings it. Freddie sings all the songs. Funny, on the record Brian sings " '39." Maybe he feels that singing would be too much of a diversion while he's playing guitar.

In introducing "You Take My Breath Away," Freddie announces, "Maybe next time we'll come back with an orchestra." (While he's at it I hope he remembers to bring a choir, too.) Freddie adds, "You are what we call our sophisticated rock audience." Is he laughing because he knows it's a joke or is he uneasy because that's what he'd like to believe?

Imagine (Freddie) Mercury quints; five golden-throated leotarded, stiffly-posed fools.

Meanwhile the set has been embellished with intermittent gimmicks; a roadie hands a triangle to bassist John Deacon to hit one solitary note. What drama! Brian May plays a ukelele for five seconds during the band's instrumental version of "Bring Back Leroy Brown," etc. etc.

Freddie's vocal exhibition in "White Man" is impressive. He manages to sound like a voice and an instrument at the same time. It offers substantial evidence that deep down, underneath the black nail polish, there is some talent. Too bad he has to mask it in such demeaning external distractions as his unsteady Ian Anderson pose and his off-time dances to the music.

"Bohemian Rhapsody" is the evening's anti-climax. When the song reaches the really ornate vocal rounds Freddie disappears from the stage and all twenty thousand of us are left sitting in the dark. It's like faking an orgasm (need I say that the real thing is so much better?). Of course this maneuver is done so that Freddie can change his costume but it doesn't sit too well with me, not to mention the fifteen-year-olds behind me who think they're being ripped off. After all, they can hear the record at home. They want to see Queen do the humanly impossible, and when they're slipped a fast one they know it. "This is unforgivable," says one kid. "Yeah, they're gonna haveta do somethin' big to make up for that," his friend replies. Hear that, boys? You can't fool Mother Nature.

Freddie returns in black tights. He looks much better in black, especially now that he's got one of those real slick short hairstyles. White is too feminine. Again, strategy saves the day. The kids have been screaming for "Stone Cold Crazy" all night and now, when they're feeling cheated, "Stone Cold Crazy" will pacify them.

"Stone Cold Crazy" is perhaps one of the most breathless hard rockers that Queen does (on record) but somehow it loses its bite when a series of strobe lights begin to flash to the beat and eventually wind up totally off-beat, turning the frenzied effect into gaudy confusion.

Freddie dedicates "Keep Yourself Alive" to the audience. "Liar" is followed by "In The Lap Of The Gods." There are two encores, so l'm told. I didn't stay for them. I came to see if Brian May still knew what he was doing—I didn't need any more Mercury shenanigans.

We turn now to the scene of the post-Queen party. It's held at Oh Ho So in So Ho and it's so-so. Freddie is reputed to have a fascination for the Oriental and that's as good a reason as any to jam 500 press people into a 250 capacity restaurant. The food in this joint is really good, I come here all the time. But food is not what I'm interested in. Standing well over six-feet-tall, Brian May is easy enough to spot but he's busy holding court. I can barely justify barging in on the ladies in waiting, the men in waiting, the fans in waiting...later.

"Yeah, I know Frampton sold millions of records, but I don't think you can capture the whole thing outside of a studio."

In the meantime my friend Liz and I have decided that we're going to corner Freddie and ask him what brand nail polish he wears. She sees someone she knows who knows who we want to meet (Freddie) and she manages to get introduced while I play voyeur. Alas, the best-laid plans of mice and women... Freddie's nails aren't black or white. They're just old plain old fingernails. But, we do manage to find out that Freddie has been asked to pose with Mr. Pumping Iron himself, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Whether or not the event will take place is still a mystery. Freddie wasn't giving any clues.

Queen poses at left, shortly after Brian May's guitar mysteriously exploded sending slivers of wood and steel into the eyeballs of the rest of the group, causing temporary blindness. The matter is under investigation by Scotland Yard. Below, Roger: "Aye likes to put me boogies in me pant cuff 'cause it keeps 'em clean...Wot about it?"

Freddy: "Aye think ee wants one on 'is lens, eh?"

After at least an hour of anxious waiting for parking space beside Brian I finally score. Yes, he remembers doing the interview last year, but he says I look different. Yes, it must be the glasses. I don't have them on tonight. I'm blind as a bat but you know what they say about girls who wear glasses.

Pulling no punches; I explain to Brian that I'm doing a Queen story for America's Only Rock 'n' Roll Magazine. I am totally understanding as he apologizes, "We haven't been doing interviews 'cause we're so busy. We're playing all big concert halls and we're in a different city every night. We travel about five hours every day. It's just too hectic." If he wasn't such a nice guy I'd be saying, bullshit, everyone else does it, but he is SUCH a nice guy and I sympathize with every word he says. Two points for the power of smooth talking.

I proceed to find out that the next album will NOT be named after a Marx Brothers movie, that Groucho owns an official Queen II jacket and that Queen will be meeting him in L.A. Rock on Groucho!

On the subject of the band's incessant use of gimmickry, Brian comments, "A Day At the Races can be seen as an extension of A Night At the Opera". Though last year Brian's favorite album was Queen II, this year he professes to like A Day At The Races despite its similarities to Opera. He had once expressed discontent with Opera due to the switch of emphasis from guitar riff-based rockers to experiments with instruments like the Toy Koto, the genuine aloha ukelele and "Good Company's" guitar jazz band, not to mention Freddie's obsession for music in the movie musical genre.

A Day At The Races is the first self-produced Queen album. Previous albums had been stamped with both the band's name and that of Roy Thomas Baker—the man who served as scapegoat for numerous accusations regarding overproduction. A Day At The Races bears a pattern of excess remarkably similar to that of A Night At the Opera. Of producer Baker, Brian said: "We grew together and now we've got our own things to do. We always had a lot to say about the production anyway," he added, hinting at the possibility that Queen's vices have long since been self-inflicted.

Considering the vast amount of time and money spent on studio technique it is not surprising to discover that even before May had heard the influential playing of guitarists like Page and Hendrix, he was fascinated by Phil Spector's productions. "They were very emotional and very slushy," he explains with a gleam in his eye. Strange combination this romanticism, this background in astronomy, this technician who built his own guitar from the wood of an antique fireplace, this man whose songs are to him "very personal." Strange that all these experiences convene in one brain and come out with a split vote, half in favor of the schmaltzy sentimentality of numbers like the Beatle-ish "Long Away," the other half thrashing out in malevolent waves of heavy sound and male chauvinism, witness "Tie Your Mother Down."

Getting back to the matter of production. Brian recognizes the discrepancy between the live and studio version of a song like "Somebody To Love." It doesn't seem to bother him. Being dead set against the possibility of a live album, why should he worry as long as he's so busy filling big arenas that he doesn't have time to do interviews. Still, his heart is into making good studio recordings. "If we did a live album, it would have to be really good, but I can't imagine it. I think live albums are a cop out." He pauses and smiles, "Yeah, I know Frampton sold millions of records, but I don't think you can capture the whole thing outside of a studio." This was all said with a degree of sincerity that I'd like to believe but a conflicting report challenges his position. Reliable sources seem to believe that Queen is considering the possibility of recording live in Japan this summer with the able assistance of none other than Roy Thomas Baker.

So Queen and success have met. So far the two are getting along. A year ago Brian May proudly announced that the only tape the band used was "God Save The Queen" at the beginning and ending of concerts. "We don't like the idea of using tapes as backing tracks," he explained. Considering the role tapes play in their current show, suffice to say times have changed.

A year ago Brian believed there were things Queen could do in a small theatre that they could never do in Madison Square Garden. "When you start playing those places you have to change your whole act. A group can become like a picture in a frame. Communication in arenas is much more difficult and needs to be approached carefully." Now that Queen is playing only big arenas Brian expresses a feeling of comfort within the new atmosphere, explaining that the band feels geared towards it now. Queen certainly manages to fill large halls with sound but whether they know it or not, they've not mastered a way of filling their new frame with a coinciding picture.

It's deadline day and devoted soul that I am I've taken it upon myself to listen to all the Queen albums in order. The first two are a breeze, Queen bouncing from melodic early Yes style to heavy Led Zep riffing and then on to the sledgehammer stance of Deep Purple at their most menacing.

By Sheer Heart Attack the seeds of gimmickry are planted and they begin to grow like a small malignant cancer. Freddie Mercury has stopped singing about mercury and biblical references are less frequent. The band's image becomes less majestic, more decadent, killer Queen, and then a complete turnaround with A Night At The Opera wherein the boys abandon guts for cutesy cleverness. It is by this album that Queen have become definitely Queen. Maybe the novelty twist is their only surefire approach to originality: heavy metal novelty? A Day At the Races, as accounted for earlier, is more of the same as Opera.

I can still hear Brian talking about Jimi Hendrix with a sense of awe: "He was the man." At the same time the image of Freddie comes into view. He is posing for pictures. He keeps an eye on his reflection in the mirror. He primps his jet black hair and snickers in a barely audible but intentional tone, "Got to keep up the image." It's hard to imagine a more diverse marriage of ideas. It's transient, it's experimental and it's confusing as hell.

Ever since their 1973 debut I've followed Queen. I've reviewed every album with enthusiasm and then somehow forgotten them until the next release reminded me that I like the last one. I get all excited when a Queen record comes out, but it doesn't last. What's the answer? Staying power? Preservatives? It's driving me stone cold crazy.

Retrieved from The Creem Archive

[roomba-mangga]

settled on a direction for Thistle Recovery ^_^ i think it'd be fun if he ends up "recovering" shockingly quickly (at least compared to mithrun's decade-long bedrot) and for the most part it's attributed to having an active team of caregivers both professional and personal tending to him at all times of the day for the next couple years post-canon (power of friendship and money!!! yay!!!) and even as he regains executive functioning it just seems like he's... weirdly doing okay? like for how severe his trauma is it hasn't really "broken" him and he's coming to terms with his new situation fairly well? and he's even managed to piece together his old sense of self which is nothing short of a fucking miracle, but considering he's THE dungeon lord who's broken every record there is to break as far as dungeon lords go i guess even this surprise should be par for the course! he's just built different. strong willed little guy ^_^

but then. then the other shoe drops. and it's only as he finally appears to settle that things get bloody. he's gone through this whole forced-acceptance "this is my life now, i guess this isn't terribly bad, anyway i don't have it in me to care" song and dance like a resigned prisoner of war, but there's a tipping point where the floor drops out from under him and he lands hard in the uncanny valley. there's an odd taste that lingers in his mouth, sweet like syrup and rusty as blood, and no amount of new desires or bonds can overpower it. there are still effigies to the Winged Lion around every corner; sometimes he catches himself praying. familiar old rules just don't make any damn sense anymore, look at all these strangers tracking their filth across his halls (here an elf acting like they're of the same blood, like they have any right to that ease of familiarity after a lifetime of indifference; there a tallman from foreign lands hardly minding his presence at all, lacking shame or fear or awe and what's left but the nauseating sense that he's little more than a discarded relic). he feels the wrong things for the wrong people, like that half-dragon girl he doesn't even recognize who leaves, stays, leaves again at a whim, and— is it wrong to think the new king reminds him so painfully of the old, but yaad just feels like a stranger, some half-person in a misused skin? how can he set his head straight when sometimes he can't even bring himself to remember what delgal was like?

and for the first time in his immortal life, he has the cognition to recognize that he actually feels like serious boundaries are being crossed here. and for the first time in his immortal life, he feels sufficiently justified in biting back.

[catsafarithewriter]

A/N: Many thanks goes out to the ever-wonderful @tcrmommabear for triggering the thought of the Cat King and Natori shipping Haru/Baron as hard as they'd once shipped Haru/Lune. Unfortunately for Haru, they only have one solution for romantic woes. So here's a very silly, very short ficlet.

.

Claudius Rex, the once Cat King (their most wise and magnificent ruler, the king of Cat Kingdom), and reason why Haru nearly spent the rest of her life with whiskers and a tail, sat on the windowsill and mulled over Haru's love life.

(She hadn't asked him to, hadn't even known he was coming until that fine spring morning, a decade after their first encounter, when she'd opened her curtains and nearly punted ex-royalty from a sixteenth-floor window.)

The once Cat King (Claudius, he'd insisted Haru call him) considered the dilemma of a mortal falling in love with a Creation with all its due gravitas, and finally said, "Do you think he doesn't love you because you're not a cat?"

"I – no??"

"Oh. Shame." The ex-king looked to Natori. "We could've fixed that."

"It appears not every love conundrum can be rectified with felinity," Natori said wisely.

"What other love conundrum did you fix this way?" Haru asked.

Both cats looked at her. Claudius leant over to Natori. "This is the babe we set up with my son?"

"It appears she is suffering from some kind of memory lapse," Natori stage-whispered back.

"Turning me into a cat helped with nothing!" Haru cried. "Lune married Yuki, remember?"

"Ah yes," Natori said, "but if you had been willing to marry the prince, then we simplified matters for you."

"Not being a cat was your main problem, you said."

Haru vaguely remembered saying a lot of things to get out of the unexpected marriage, and the different species had been only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. "You can't fix every problem by turning someone into a cat! And, anyway, the Creation part is the main problem."

Claudius was silent. Then, "So what I'm hearing is if we turned you into a cat Creation–"

"Nope. Stop that. Right now."

"What about the Creation?" Natori asked. "What if we changed him?"

"I... wait, you could do that?"

"We could turn him more into a cat."

"How would that help anything?!"

"If we then turned you into a cat—"

"Under no circumstances," Haru said slowly, "are you to try to help me by turning anyone into a cat." She hesitated, and then added, for good measure, "Or any species in general. Not even a cat Creation– wait, is that even possible?"

"Half of it is," Natori said cheerfully.

Haru groaned. "I don't know why I even asked."

[yesbutmakeitgay]

Lifelines Intertwined

Chapter 6

Valkyrie x Reader

Summary: It's not the end, but the beginning.

Word count: 1.2k

Soulmates, Slow burn, Angst.

A/N: Last chapter, let's go!

Masterlist | This Series Masterlist | AO3

When All The Stars Align

It’s late at night and The King is on her way back to her quarters after a long workday. As she’s walking down the hallway, she spots her favorite girl guarding the barracks from the window. She stutters on her feet trying to decide what to do, until she convinces herself to stop by.

You become aware of the footsteps coming behind you a mile away, but choose to ignore them and remain looking straight ahead. A few seconds later, your body grows rigid at the unmistakable sound of ten-inch, commanding boots.

Now you purposely ignore the steps as you brace yourself for whatever is about to come.

You hear the boots stop a few inches away, followed by soft cotton being draped over your back, "It’s cold," Valkyrie whispers, walking around you and sitting by your side. You only eye her quickly before going back to your job.

You sit in silence trying to ignore her presence and focus on your duties, unable to even bother to be angry at this point. It’s her Kingdom, if she wants to sit on the exact bench you’re sitting, you suppose she has every right to.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," she says after swallowing a lump in her throat, you don’t have the emotional energy to read into it.

"Me too." Her heartbeat races at the infinite possibilities and gestures for you to continue, "The General has been allowing the troops to let their guard down, I don’t know why, but it could be fatal for the Kingdom if they continue on this way," you finally look at her with a stern expression, "he completely disregarded me when I tried to bring it up." You don’t mean to rat him out, you just want The King to be aware of the danger.

Valkyrie’s look turns guilty as she clears her throat, thinking of the best way to tell you, "The Marvels stopped the attack before it left Hala."

"Oh," you respond involuntarily, irritation quickly setting into you as you start to analyze the timeline of events. "When?"

"Eight days ago," she admits after a beat.

"I could have been home this whole week? What the hell Val?" You aggressively stand up making the garment Valkyrie placed on you fall off of your back.

She stands up to meet you, ensuring to maintain a calm composure, "Princess, just listen."

Your whole body overheats, "No, if the threat is over then I don't work for you anymore, I don't have to listen. I'm calling Fury and I'm going back home right now."

"Will you stop for a moment!" she finally explodes.

"For what?" you almost plead in defeat, "What more could you possibly want from me?" As your gaze travels down, you spot Val’s Phantom of the Opera sweater on the bench, and when you look up again, your breath gets stuck in your throat.

Valkyrie is standing before you, her breathing labored and her left sleeve rolled up to her elbow, revealing the all too familiar mark. You are paralyzed for what feels like hours, and she remains unmoved as well.

"What is that?" you manage to choke out.

"It’s your soulmark," she replies flatly.

You shake your trembling head, "Asgardians don't have soulmarks." Something you learned during your extensive research to find out why you're the only person in the universe with a mark like yours.

"You’re right," she relaxes her muscles lightly, "it’s the Valkyrie symbol, branded onto us as we were sworn in to protect the Kingdom of Asgard."

You try to absorb her words as your brain threatens to short circuit, "What does this mean?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

You begin to approach her ever so slowly, "This symbol was put on you, and you shared it with all of your sisters." It makes no sense to you how that could still mean you have a matching soulmark.

"A few decades ago it changed, it developed texture," she carefully explains, "I thought I was dying, briefly."

You gesture towards it, "May I?" She nods and you grace your shaky fingers over it to find that it feels exactly like yours. You fear your heart might beat out of your chest, "My whole life I've spent being mocked and ridiculed for my odd mark, and it all could have been solved by you being branded on a different part of your body?" you ask, trying to mask your sadness in the humor.

"The Valkyrie symbol is reserved for only the fiercest of warriors, it represents strength, power, and loyalty, and what better place to have it," she smirks, "than on the very arm that's about to drive a sword through you?" she softly intertwines her fingers with yours, "We wear it with pride, and so should you."

A bittersweet tear escapes your eyes, "I don't get it, Valkyries don't need soulmates." You’re still struggling to understand the situation.

"Perhaps a King does," she murmurs as like an afterthought. Her anticipating eyes meet yours until you’re nodding in agreement, and almost you smile. "So, what happens now?" she follows unsure.

"I don't know, I never really thought this moment would come, I never thought I would ever find my soulmate."

She quickly thinks on her feet, a little too eager, "Do I arrange for a wedding? Are you staying to be my Queen now?"

"Whoa, hey, easy! We've literally just met." You try to hold her back.

She scoffs, "You've been here for months and you've been in love with me since the moment you arrived."

"Oh, please, that is…completely irrelevant."

"Am I wrong?"

You stutter, "You are a very imposing figure—"

"You were drooling."

"Whatever happened the day we met is insignificant as I didn't know you were my soulmate and you didn't know what a soulmate was," you object in an attempt to get her to stop teasing you.

"Very well, then," her features grow challenging, "thank you for your services, much obliged, you may return home now."

"Wait, I don't like that." You frown.

"See?"

"You're the one who chose to call me 'Princess,' you could have picked any other title!"

"But your eyes lit up so pretty when I suggested it," she taunts as her lips curl into a pout.

"Stop embarrassing me," you plead through gritted teeth.

She chuckles, looking around you, "There is no one here." You both feel so at ease with each other, you hadn’t realized how much you missed talking to her, somehow it all just feels right.

"Let me try this," she says as she grabs your hands, "I’m sorry for keeping you here longer than you needed to be, I’m sorry for overstepping, and I’m sorry for slashing your mark in half, it was an honest accident."

You nod slowly, "That's okay," you look at your mark, "I wouldn't be surprised if the same scar grew on yours."

"Let’s go home, Princess."

"Home?" you ask suspiciously as she can’t possibly be referring to the Avengers compound.

"I have a couch you can crash on while you tell me all about this soulmate situation," you look at her skeptically, prompting her to try again, "or, you know, my bed is large enough."

Thank you so much if you made it to the end of this story, I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it.

Let me know what you think :)

@mommywandas

[perseidlion]

How the Cat King Got His Groove Back (Ongoing, soft E)

The sky over Port Townsend was slate gray as it often was for weeks on end in the winter. The air was damp and heavy, with the ocean breeze cutting right through even the warmest jackets. Winter was usually free of snow in the Pacific Northwest, but the endless stretch of gray and drizzle was just as depressing as any deep blanket of snow. Perhaps moreso, because at least in snowy climes, the sun occasionally came out to play. 

The Cat King’s cannery was drafty and cold. Even his loyal subjects had abandoned him for spots beneath houses and under staircases where they huddled together for warmth.

It had been about a month since the Dead Boy Detectives had come to town and stirred up everything like a whirlwind. Cat had felt more energized than he had in decades, and not just because one of said detectives was curiously handsome and fascinating. 

But in their wake, they’d left an eerie calm. Their time in town had been short, but they had a reputation for a reason. They’d solved nearly a dozen cases, small and large in their short time. Some of the cases had been outstanding for decades. They’d also vanquished Esther Finch, the powerful and vain witch who had been causing trouble in town longer than the Cat King had ruled. 

Esther was a scourge who crossed lines even some of the darkest creatures would not. Plus, she’d beaten him to death with her cane, taking one of his precious lives in the process. Which was just…so rude.  Cat would be lying if he said he didn’t miss her a little - if only for the chaos she brought. She was a piece of shit, but she was a piece of shit who kept life interesting. 

And things were just so…quiet without her particular brand of chaos. 

And without him.

Cat stretched his toes out and off the edge of the stack of palettes that served as his throne. He was draped in a heavy black fur coat to try and hold back the chill. When he exhaled a deep-chested sigh, his breath condensed like cigarette smoke. 

He felt numb. He knew he should get up and at least use his magic to kindle a fire in an oil drum or envelop himself in a protective haze of magic. But the cold that pricked his skin and the draft that trickled between the fur of his coat at least let him feel something. He’d been considering the possibility of moving for a good long while, but couldn’t will his limbs to do more than shift a bit to make sure his body was covered by his coat. 

Cat would swear up and down that he was an independent creature, one who went where he pleased and made love to whoever he liked. But the truth was, he was a profoundly lonely creature who covered up that loneliness with tricks and flirtations. 

He wasn’t fully a cat. When he transformed into his feline form to join the feral colony of Port Townsend, they all knew it was him. They treated him with deference and respect, but they also othered him. He could be human whenever he wanted, which set him apart even more than his position.

Cat wasn’t fully human, either. To the residents of Port Townsend, he was known as the town’s slutty weirdo who was always followed by feral cats. They were used to him by now, but just because they didn’t hassle him didn’t mean he was one of them. His dual form meant he was trapped between two worlds, only really at home with other creatures who had a foot in both worlds. And most of them, he’d already alienated or had some sort of beef with - or were just not creatures whose company he found entertaining. The result was, he didn’t really have any friends in town to speak of, which only added to his loneliness. 

Finally, Cat got up the energy to drag himself to his feet. He took a series of lazy, heavy steps down off the platform, his fur coat dragging along the dirty ground. As he walked aimlessly through the warehouse, he chased echoes of memories. 

First, he passed the stain of blood on the ground where his previous body had been beaten to death by Esther. The reminder of that pain made him wince involuntarily. But then he saw echoes of Edwin when he caught the first hints of lust in his eyes, followed by the indignant British snark of him protesting his punishment. He closed his eyes and remembered what a pair of ghostly lips brushing his cheeks felt like when Edwin came to say goodbye. 

Cat turned and caught his reflection in an old, half-broken mirror propped against one wall and partially covered by a dropcloth. Slowly, he turned to face the mirror head-on. He lifted a hand to summon his magic, paused, rethinking it for half a moment, then he swirled his wrist.

The purple fog that accompanied his transformations with an affectation - a magician’s trick to make the whole thing seem more impressive. His magic in its natural state was subtle and quiet, as befitted a creature of stealth. The shift to his body happened in a blink. 

Edwin’s reflection stared back at him from the mirror, one hand still held delicately in the air, clad in a brown leather glove that matched his brown overcoat. He was a perfect copy, save golden, slitted eyes. He stepped up to the mirror and swept the gloved hand across the surface to clear it of some of the dust. Then he tugged off his glove and caressed his own cheek. He closed his eyes and let his fingertips creep over his lips. He nuzzled his own palm and exhaled warm breath against his fingertips.

When Cat opened his eyes, it was Edwin’s green eyes gazing back at him. Edwin’s face full of sadness and longing. Edwin’s face aching with loneliness. He pulled off the other glove and held his own hand, tracing knuckles and fingertips. He held his own hand and squeezed it. 

Keep reading on Ao3

(This fic was originally a short called Ennui that just consisted of the first chapter. Now it's an ongoing fic with shapeshifting shenanigans and some light Catcrow elements, though the shapeshifting/identity swap stuff is the focus over the ship.)

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Regina Mills x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hey bitchessss here's chapter 3!@#$%^ Don't expect a full come-back. I'm just high asf rn and wanted to write this small chapter for you pookies<33

Chapter 3: I’m a Troubled Teen (Going Up North to be a Lady-In-Waiting)

Many years ago

The Enchanted Forest

“Your highness, the King and Queen request your presence.”

Oh, God.

It was never good when your parents “requested your presence”. Most of the time it meant you had done something wrong. The last time this had happened, you had jumped off the side of a royal navy ship in your underclothes and satin slippers. 

You shut your book and set it down on the side table in the library, standing up and dragging your feet as you followed one of the advisors. When you approached the door to the “good parlor”, as your mother called it, he knocked three times. You thanked him and after he shut the door a tense air thickened around you.

Your brother, Eric, sat at a chess table with your father while your mother sat by herself in the loveseat practicing her embroidery. 

“What?” you said.

Your mother smiled. “We just wanted to know where you were.”

You looked around awkwardly. “I was in the library…Why did you ask for me?”

“We wanted to spend time with you,” your father said. “It feels like we haven’t seen you in ages!”

“What’s the real reason you asked me here?” you asked.

Still partaking in her embroidery, your mother smiled and looked up at you from the sofa. “We have some news…You remember King Leopold, right?” 

“Sort of.”

“Well,” your mother said, continuing, “his wife, Queen Regina, is looking for a new lady-in-waiting…and they’ve asked for you.”

Your stomach sank. “What?”

“It’ll give you a chance to observe how a kingdom runs,” your father said. “And, it forms an alliance between King Leopold and our kingdom.”

“But–But, Eric is next in line!” you protested. “Shouldn’t he be doing the observing? He’s going to be ruling this kingdom within the next few decades, but instead he’s out on a ship sailing a–”

“Enough!” your father shouted. “This decision is final! The ship sets sail in a fortnight. Queen Regina, King Leopold, and Princess Snow are already expecting your arrival. I won’t hear any more protests from you. It’s time you learn some responsibility and this is the best way to do it.”

__________

Present Day

Storybrooke

You knocked softly on the door to Regina’s home. Waiting a moment, you glanced over to see a sliver of her finger parting the fabric curtain in the front window, just in time to see it quickly close again.

The deadbolt in the door clicked and the door cracked open slowly.

“Hi,” you said quietly.

Regina seemed stand-offish. When the door opened further, you could see it in her eyes that she had been crying.

“Can I come in?” you asked.

She nodded and let you in. You had only been in her home a handful of times–mostly dropping off Henry after school–but it was still as beautiful as you remembered. Instead of admiring the dark hardwoods and the tall ceilings, you focused on her–and now you were admiring much more.

There were still tears in her eyes and wrinkles sat scattered over her navy pantsuit. Everything was becoming so clear in this short amount of time–every dream, every vision, the vague images of your parents in your head. A part of you wanted to yell at her. She took so much from you, but, god, it was hard to be mad at her.

“Um, Regina,” you murmured when she closed the door. “I just wanted to say–”

And there was that feeling–her lips. They encased yours so perfectly. You could feel her strong hands grasp your biceps as you leaned into the kiss. You took a few steps back, bracing yourself against the wall when Regina pulled away. “What?” she huffed. “You wanted to say what?”

You searched her eyes. “Nothing, it can wait for later,” you said, grasping at her shoulders as your lips met again for the first time in 28 years.

[crunchyapple33]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ— intro to my rupaul's drag race dr ㅤ! ㅤ

ㅤ- timeline of my dr;

it's early april 2024 here right now, about a month-ish until we go to film season 17 (the season that i'm on ^w^), i just wanted a bit of time to get to hang out with friends and do stuff before flying out to film hehe

ㅤ- about me;

my name is zachary orion shaikh, i was born in late 2001, i am a boy and use he / him pronouns. my drag name is eden elysian [(el - ee - see - an)]! i'm 5'5", a sagittarius, and i live in syracuse, new york <3

ㅤ- my out-of-drag aesthetic;

ㅤ- my in-drag aesthetic;

ㅤㅤㅤ"my drag persona is very . . . 'if a princess ran away from her kingdom, got lost in a forest and accidently drowned, and somehow became an undead deer-human hybrid along the way, who now stalks the forest protecting all the creatures inside it' type vibes. it's been so long since she went missing, that now she's just a folklore tale that the parents who reside in the kingdom will use as a ghost story to make their kids afraid of going into the forest, like she did. maybe a deer tried to save her, and the only way it could was to fuse their souls together. very that,"

ㅤ- my career;

after graduating high school, i moved to syracuse from [cr home town] when i was 19, and i have been working at the trexx nightclub for almost 3 years now as a full time drag performer

ㅤ- my family;

my dad is finn shaikh (née frost), he is a painter in his late 40s. his ex, sutan amrull (or aka raja gemini) is also my father. raja and finn dated in the late 90s, until they eventually broke up 2 months before finn found out he was pregnant with me. finn never told raja, and moved back to [cr home town] after the break up and before he found out he was pregnant.

[listen i have cr family issues and this is pretty similar to my cr i'm coping /silly]

when i was 6, finn met (my now other parent,) gabriel shaikh. he's in his mid 40s and is a teacher's assistant at an elementary school. he was in a previous marriage, but his wife divorced him after she had an epiphany; she decided life was too short to live in a small town her whole life, so she wanted to start fresh: without gabriel and kathryn.

kathryn is my older sister, and she is in her mid 20s. she is also a drag performer, and she lives in new york city. neither of us know that the other one is also a drag performer, (which is very awkward when we see each other on set during the 1st episode after everyone de-drags—)

ㅤ- my friends;

okay, i know this is a waste of space on the post, but i'm just adding it in case anyone thinks i forgot — my friends in my dr are the same as in my cr, and i don't wish to share much info about them for the respect of their privacy <3

due to that fact, i'll just share the names of 2 of my closest friends, who i might talk about from time to time: berry and pine :3 (code names i fear . So sorry not sorry)

ㅤ- my significant others;

my s/os are kori king and lydia b kollins :3 [listen im poly Dont attack me]

we meet on drag race!! ok i actually don't know what else i should add to this segment .. look at the sillies ... i had a dream that i was in a relationship with them and that Honestly is the reason why i was inspired to finally make a drag race dr :3

ㅤ- my house;

ㅤ- xtras;

i do not have a set in stone safe word to come back to my or, but i do have one to arrive to my waiting room, which is blueberry, hehehe . . . i do not have a time ratio either, to be honest.. really it's just a "i want to come to and from at the same time i left" type of vibe for me personally.

i saw someone's post earlier saying they were in their dr for 10 months, came back to their or, and it had only been 10 hours. that is bravery to me lmfao. i will be in my dr for a decade and come back and it'll be the same exact time as i left my or, thank you very much! /silly

format is inspired by @shiftingwithjaidyn's writer/fame dr intro

hearts dividers by @enchanthings-a, post is here

[echoeternally]

Echo’s Newer Bowsario Fanfics!

Lol, I was gonna use "latest" for the title, but "newer" got a giggle out of me, so, there we go.

Anyway! Hello to my selective few Bowsario (aka Bowser/Mario) shipping fans. I know there aren't very many of us out there, lol, but hey, we exist! And we have what fun we can.

It's been a few years since I made this kind of post, but I collected the fanfics that I've written in the past (found on this link and then also on this one too) for the pairing.

The content is easy enough to organize elsewhere, but I thought it'd be nice to put it in a convenient spot here too. And maybe some new readers will be delighted by the finds?

So, I figured I'd add a new one, since I've added a bit of new stories since the last post. And I'll share the old stories like I did before as well, because why not?

Presenting the list of the lesser-viewed Enemies-to-Lovers greats!

~~~~~

Amid the Roses - Set in an alternate universe where Mario and Bowser are removed from the Mushroom Kingdom conflicts, this stars the pair as a flower shop owner and tattoo parlor artist respectively. They end up meeting and bonding in a new way here!

Constellation Quelling - A much more traditional fare for the couple, this story has Bowser interrupt Mario while he's alone and relaxing. They bicker at first, but soon open up to one another in a way neither really expected, and the stars above certainly set a mood...

Distant Dawn - Based on a fanfic prompt from years ago on Tumblr, this is a short story to show some early morning musings from Bowser, who considers how his new relationship with Mario can develop, while a secretly not-slumbering Mario listens.

~~~~~

Along with those latest stories listed above, there were a couple of updates to my ongoing Bowsario fanfic, which started a decade ago.

That feels weird to post! But, with some new updates from earlier in the year and more since the last posts, I'll add that below here.

Eternally Never Yours - An ongoing fanfic that details a full affair between Bowser and Mario, as they try to make their seemingly impossible relationship a reality, while struggling to deal with the Mushroom Kingdom at large.

~~~~~

As for the rest, I'll be copying and pasting those below here, so that they can be included too. Makes it a little easier to find it all in one place, I think, right?

Mario’s Defender - A fanfic for Mar10 Day, it tells the story of Mario overhearing some unkind comments about himself, and then a certain someone (Bowser) going back against them. 

Time for Tea - Peach has a small tea party gathering between herself and her friends, the Mario Bros. She wanted the brothers to invite their partners, but didn’t realize who Mario would bring until it was too late. Daisy, however, wants to hear the story of how they got together! 

Red and Blue - In a slight change to the usual storytelling, this is a story that doesn’t use any dialogue to describe tender moments between Bowser and Mario while they explore a relationship together, going over their thoughts. 

Bowser’s Beard - For Bowser Day, a story where Mario and friends go to find out where Peach has been taken, but then find Bowser’s Castle mostly empty when they get there…save for one hairy Koopa King.

Quiet Life - In a “what if…?“ styled story, Bowser is essentially exiled in exchange for the Koopas finally being at peace with the Mushroom Kingdom. Mario is the one that brings comfort to him. 

Inn’s Covers - While going to an inn before a golf tournament, Mario ends up paired in a room with Bowser. They slowly learn to get along, and then some. 

Upon A Dream - After taking a mystical pendant, Bowser ends up in a dream where he’s married to Mario, and grows to not hate it. 

Heart of the Ancient Kingdom - Mario and Bowser are sent on a quest back to the oldest parts of the Mushroom Kingdom to retrieve a rare jewel. They go back to World 1-1 of their earliest adventures, and grow closer too. 

A Spirited Story - Based on Super Smash Bros., the spirits of Wolf and Fox get into a chase sequence of sorts. Mario and Bowser are among the couples they visit. Not quite from this year, but I’ve included it too. 

Wild Cards - A tennis story that focuses on Wario and Waluigi, but has a good deal of shipping support for Mario and Bowser. Also, Bowser wears his tennis outfit and Mario approves. 

Jolly Season - A Christmas special that features not only Bowser and Mario as a couple, but some fluff for Peach and Pauline as one too!

~~~~~

Actually, you know what? Speaking of Peach/Pauline, I may as well include those fanfics here too. What the heck, you know?

This group is a series of stories that I started, um...also a decade ago! But, I've only stirred up the latest fanfic recently, so, gotta get to work on that one again.

Nevertheless, if you're a fan of Mario and Bowser being gay, then I hope you might enjoy Peach and Pauline doing so too!

Toying With Her - The first in the series, where Pauline finds a new object of her affections in the famous princess of the Mushroom Kingdom. Set prior to Pauline's return as mayor in Mario Odyssey! (This story was from years before that even existed.)

Toying With Them - Sequel to the first, Pauline finds herself invited back to Peach's Castle, and finds several more lovely ladies to inspire her toys. Though she's only musing her crushes, that might not be the case forever...if one happens to read between the lines...

Toying With Peril - Finally set after Pauline's return in Odyssey, Miss Mayor comes back to the Mushroom Kingdom...only to find Peach kidnapped and Mario totally unavailable for the rescuing! Guess who gets to step up to the plate this time? Ongoing for now, but do you think Peach will finally learn of and return Pauline's feelings...?

~~~~~

Ha, I haven't done this for a few years. It's nice to see them all together again. Last time was in 2021, and now we've got this in 2024; I didn't think I'd have enough for another round.

Anyway, I know there are fewer fans of them, but for anyone that might be curious to try fanfics featuring Mario and Bowser as a couple, here's my current listing for them.

Meanwhile, if you want stories from other lovely authors, be sure to explore the tag link which I’ll be adding in right here for Bowser/Mario on AO3! It's grown a lot more since I last posted. There are even new regular posters for the pairing besides me!

Though I'm less practiced on Peach/Pauline (they're called Peachline, if I'm not mistaken), they've grown a bit more from my one-off notion of the ladies in love. (Started that back in 2014!) Find some authors that explore the pairing in better detail here. Hope you enjoy!

Part of me likes the idea of writing some more one-shots for Bowsario fanfics at least, and of course finishing that Peachline story in the future. ENY still has some ways to go, but it's moving towards its later stages finally. I wonder what this will look like next time...

Ah, neither here nor there.

For new readers, welcome, and if you've made it this far, thank you for reading and stroking your curiosity! Hope you enjoy.

For older readers, welcome back! If you find something new or want to revisit an older story, I hope you do so and enjoy too.

To everyone, thank you for reading this, and spending a little while with me! If you read any of the stories, please enjoy! Hope you all take care and have a wonderful day.

[zebrashavestripes]

Riddlebird Week Day 7: Legacy

To celebrate the final day of Riddlebird week I wanted to show some love to all the 40k+ wordcount fics that have been updated this year! All of these works must have taken hours of thought, dedication, writing and editing. Some authors started writing these years ago, others started just this year and have already accomplished so much!

The community we riddlebird enjoyers have cultivated both here and on ao3 has always been dear to me, so I also want to thank the people who have commented and left kudos on these fics. These fics are shared for your enjoyment, your curiosity, and you spamming unintelligible nonsense in that comment section. Thank you for doing your part 🫡

Here is the long, wonderful list:

(Always read the tags! Also, if I missed you, feel free to reblog with a link to your work, I promise I tried my best. And if you have a fic from this year that was less than 40k but you're super proud of it, please share a link! You deserve love too! I would link every single fic from this year if I could but then this would be ao3 page simulator so... yeah)

Bonded by corgiblud, liverliquid

A permanent bond. Edward glanced at Oswald. Gaze dropping back down to his own hand after a moment, as he wasn't sure he could bear looking at the other for long. Less out of fear of being hurt, and more out of actually being convinced that this was real.

This work is a creation from the two writers' rp and follows Ed discovering Oswald is a vampire after rescuing him outside his apartment.

Ed-ucation by Inkfowl

Edward has THE Penguin as both his roommate and teacher. He'll be learning from the best killer in Gotham, but Oswald has more than one lesson to impart on his eager student.

This work is a creation from a long-time Riddlebird/Nygmobblepot writer. After The killing of Mr. Leonard in Ed's apartment, it's clear that Oswald has a lot to teach him, and Ed has a lot to learn.

Flightless by ThatGaiaGirl

4 years after the tragic deaths of Thomas and Martha Wayne, two of the most dangerous men in Gotham have a chance encounter that may just change everything.

This work is part of a series that explores "anti-hero" versions of DC charcters. This fic in particular follows Ed and Oswald's journey to become the Penguin and the Riddler.

I Gave You My Heart and I Don't Want it Back by 221blackandwhitestripes

Oswald knows everything. And he loves him. He just doesn't like him.

This work is the third installment of a series set after Oswald wakes up in the hospital with memory loss. This final part follows the aftermath of Oswald regaining his memories and Ed's attempt to regain trust and mend their relationship. This one also happens to be written by me!

I Love You, Oswald Cobblepot by ratshark

After getting sent to Arkham, Ed is set on escaping and breaking Oswald out of Blackgate.

This work explores what may have happened in the ten years Oswald and Ed were separated in Arkham and Blackgate in Gotham TV. Ed joins forces with some familiar friends to try get Oswald out of Blackgate.

In The Good Old Days (When Times Were Bad) by Strewn_Limbs

Edward Nygma (once Edward Atticus Nashton who was born in Huxford, Alabama) had hated most of where he came from. Other than a couple nice cousins, there was nothing worthwhile of home to remember or think fondly of in the future that he made for himself. There was no need to dwell on silly things like past trauma when he now chooses the path he walks. Except, there's no real way to escape over a decade of abuse at the hands of his father, but maybe discovering his villain identity and repressing memories while he tangles in the lives of more evil beings will help as a distraction. Couldn't hurt, right?

This work is 50 chapters long! Each chapter is a short story that delves into Ed's life and his relationship with "The Riddler". This author has been writing for Riddlebird/Nygmobblepot since 2018!

The King Of Gotham by Esperata

The City of Gotham has been decimated by an earthquake and is days away from being cut off from the United States. The Penguin must make plans and ready himself to not only survive, but thrive through the year to come.

This work is written by an author with more than 150 Riddlebird fics under their belt! They have spent hours and years writing about this pairing, and has been an active participant in the community on ao3, tumblr, and elsewhere! This particular fic is inspried by the comic book arc: No Man's Land and follows Ed and Oswald trying to make the best out of a bad situation.

The Liberation Of Edward Nygma by marilyn4ever

Set during season one. Oswald holds Ed hostage in an attempt to get Jim Gordon off his back so he can run Gotham however he sees fit. Unfortunately for Oswald, no one at the GCPD wants Edward Nygma back. What does he do with the head of forensics now?. Having held the man captive for weeks, the two men have become quite close. Will Oswald let Ed go free?, or kill him?, now that he is of no further use to him. Edward has plans of his own.

Written by a longtime Riddlebird/Nygmobblepot author, this fic follows the unlikely relationship between a kinapper (Oswald) and his victim (Ed).

Martín and the Other World by whats_those

"Martín?" Martín turned back to see Oswald standing beside the chair, facing him. He was dressed down to his shirtsleeves with his vest unbuttoned, more casual than Martín was used to seeing him, but that was not what made him take a step back in shock. Oswald wasn't wearing an eye patch, and both of his eyes were big, black buttons. "I thought I heard you sneaking around." ~ One rainy day, Martín finds a strange little door in the drawing room of the Van Dahl mansion.

This work combines Gotham and Coraline together, with Martín as Coraline! You may have seen people talking about this fic on here before, so remember to give their posts about it some love!

Our Time Is Now by water_and_jellyfish

Having found each other, Oswald and Edward managed to sort out many misunderstanding between them that had piled up in their past life and decided to make a brave move and give their feelings for each other a chance for once. Now, in their early twenties, they are trying to take even braver step forward and reclaim their rightful place in Gotham society. Riddler and Penguin might've died over twenty years ago, but they are ready to make a comeback. The question is: is Gotham ready for them?

This work is a sequel to Once and Future, a fic that covers reincarnation as Oswald is born again. This sequel explores what happens when he and Ed grow to become real criminals in Gotham City.

The Penguin and The Peacock by Match_less

When he was a child living on The Falcone estate, Oswald saw a peacock. He thought it’s beautiful in the way strange things are, even if it bit him and made his hand bleed. Many years later, while plotting for the fall of Don Falcone, Oswald met a man who’s beautiful in the way strange things are, even if he kissed him and made his heart bleed.

This work features vivid imagery and explores both Ed and Oswald's psyche, their idea of love, and their relationship to each other. You may have seen the terrific art the author has posted for the fic here on tumblr. Remember to give it some love!

Phoenix Feather by BlueDancer9000

Oswald finds a child in "Everyone Has A Cobblepot," and it goes from there. There will be crying, Oswald simping over Edward, and more Victor Zsasz content because I loved his dynamic with Oswald.

This Author's first fic posted on ao3, it is all about found family and exploring multiple different familial relationships. A lot of sweetness and Dadwald!

Skin Hunger by slingbees

Only days after Oswald's miraculous return to the living world and a lukewarm public reception, Gotham loses track of its recently reinstated mayor once more. Without any witnesses, and with no reason to believe any attempts to locate him will be successful, Oswald is left to collaborate in the Pyg's magnum opus or face inhumane consequences.

This work has Oswald kidnapped by a familiar face after his return to Gotham. Jim and Ed will do their best to track him down. Also: Cannabilism! You may have seen Slingbees around here so remember to give them some love!

Strange Bedfellows by Philosopher_King

Jim and Oswald agree that the relationship between Edward Nygma and Lee Thompkins is a disaster waiting to happen, so they come up with a desperate plan: plant evidence that they're having a secret affair to spark jealousy in Ed and Lee and draw them away from each other. Their plan is both complicated and helped along by simultaneous crises involving the brothers Valeska…

This work has Jim and Oswald fake a relationship to make Lee and Ed jealous. To say that things get complicated would be an understatement. Inspired by this tumblr post! You may have seen the author posting on tumblr before so remember to give them some love!

time is a grenade (and you’re holding it the wrong way) by jupitersglow

Ed learns a lesson, but it takes a few tries.

This work has major time-loop shenanigans to make your headspin as you watch Ed make a fool of himself to fix his situation. You may have seen the author posting about the physics research they did while writing this! Major props to them!

When The Stars Turn Red by PsychosMarket

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙪𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙝, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩'𝙨 𝙨𝙤 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙄 𝙜𝙤 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙡 𝙞𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝘽𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙥𝙞𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚; "𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪" ---------- Edward Nygma is a nerdy, shy man who works in forensics at the local police station. A man who lived two lives, it seemed. He hadn't meant to, really. It was a sort of accident. But seeing as how he’s the notorious murderer that everyone seems to be talking about or looking for, it was hard to avoid that. It was at work when he saw him, a slight glance vaguely upward, wondering distantly about how to win the game he had waiting for him at home, and presently wondering who was yelling so loudly at a police officer. Then he saw him. A man who made his heart stop and the voice in his head stop its endless yammering. And he needed to know who this man was. The man, however, didn't seem to care. This man, was Oswald Cobblepot.

This work has strong imagery and explores Ed's obsessive tendencies, trauma, and internal conflict. 94 chapters, 488k words and counting, this fic is a tremendous feat!

you give yourself to him by enigmamorte

Edward tries to steal a mobster’s car and becomes his sugar baby. Somehow.

This work accidentally did The Penguin (HBO) before it even aired! Like the characters in its source material, the depictions of Ed and Oswald are a little rougher and more grounded and gritty. You may have seen the author hanging around on tumblr, talking about the show, and sharing their thoughts. Send them some love!

AND THAT'S IT, FOLKS!

Again, if I missed you, please reblog with a link! And if you've read any of the above fics, feel free to put them in the tags and tell everyone what you liked! Thanks everyone for an amazing riddlebirdweek and amazing year!!!

[bambiraptor9blog]

Courtly Love-A 'Sonic and the Black Knight' Oneshot

I had fun writing this one tonight. If you like it, let me know! :)

Don't want to scroll on Tumblr? Here's the whole story on AO3!

The King was married to the Lady of the Lake today. His Guinevere. Curvaceous, pink, short stature—she has to look up at him—and me!—and I would think that is how he prefers things. To always be looked up to.

I’ve seen him flirt with her incessantly since the moment they met in the courtyard a fortnight ago, and it makes me sick.

I stand by his side from sunup to sun down and he doesn’t even spare a glance my way. He is obsessed with keeping his blue quills in place, making sure the glint in his green eyes is just so when someone of import visits. He knows how to put on a good act, to play the nobleman, to be the King. But in his heart, I know he doesn’t want for any of this.

Being the King was thrust upon him. Caliburn insisted. Gawain, the fool, insisted. I refused. He was able to best me in one battle—one! That is not enough to prove your worth to the thousands you will serve, and lord over for decades to come. He knows nothing about war, loss, pain, death.

The King knows how to run. I’ve seen him exceed all of our steeds in the stable at their fittest. And in this, I deeply admire and envy him.

Good Kings do not run. They stand by their people. King Arthur is no such King.

He’s said numerous times he likes running. He even says that he’s “gotta go fast.” His dialect thrills and confuses me at the same time. As does his action, or rather, inaction, in the case of what happened this afternoon.

The King caught me without my armor plates on in the heat of the afternoon, hours before he was to be wed. And in those moments, when he saw all of me in full view—my black and red quills caught in the last rays of the mid-day Sun—when he saw me start to enter the lake to cool off—my soul was bared before him, not just my body. And his gaze lingered, I swore it did—I could hardly catch my breath in turning around to face him.

“My Liege,” I stammered, and he just stood there, a look of reverence on his face, perhaps a distant memory too. He refers to me at times as Shadow—though I do not know who that is. I know our King comes from a distant land, perhaps I resemble this Shadow the Hedgehog. But I am Lancelot, and Arthur—well. He responded:

“Lance—you’re—you’re not gonna wear your suit of armor to the wedding?”

King Arthur was blushing as red as the orchard apples, and at that point I had to smile.

“I am, my Liege. I was just…bathing. It’s too hot to wear the armor now. I was going to bathe alone but…if you’re keen to join me?”

And at that Arthur looked as if I had struck him with the pommel of my sword, right into his gut, knocking him senseless.

“Lance—you know I’m—I’m gonna be married, right?”

“Yes?” I asked. “Two men enjoying a bath does not make us adulterers, my Liege.”

“Uh, that depends on who sees us,” Arthur argued, rubbing the back of his neck now, feeling awkward. “I mean…yeah, it is hot out, but I’d…I’d rather prepare for the ceremony, you know? By myself?”

“Oh,” I responded, hurt. “I see.”

“Now look—I appreciate you for what you do and all,” Arthur fumbled his words. “You’re the greatest Knight of the Round Table, Lancelot. You’re awesome, and you’re—you’re—”

“Is what I am suggesting offensive to you, my Liege?” I asked, sitting down by the reeds that surrounded the mud of the lakebed. I tilted my head down, avoiding his gaze. Damn those beautiful eyes of his, like faceted emeralds in the dawn light…

“No—no!” Arthur tried really hard to make amends. He sat beside me—oh my heart twinged with an ache of longing at that!—and continued, “Lance. You’re a great guy and all. But my heart’s set on Guinevere. You know that.”

“Yes, I am well aware,” I gritted my teeth. I couldn’t help but get angry at the mention of her name. The thought of her in his embrace, her squeals of bliss drowning out his grunts and—

“Lance,” Arthur cut in at the right moment, the intensity of my anger subsiding with his voice. “I like you. A lot. But we can never be more than friends. You know this, right?”

“Right, my Liege,” and I stood. I wandered over, wanting to drown myself in the lake right then and there for the disgusting thoughts that wandered in my mind. How I wanted to be the one to pin Arthur to the bed, my grip like iron, making his body quiver and succumb to me like I always wanted, like I always craved…

Arthur grabbed my hand, stopping me from wading in. I let out a gasp, my lewd thoughts matching his gentle action.

He pulled me toward him, and then, in what felt like a dream, he stroked my cheek. It was such a tender gesture, my heart fluttered and ached like it would drop out of my chest and onto the forest floor.

“Lance,” Arthur whispered. He then stood on tip toe, and kissed my forehead, and I felt my whole body tremble like a leaf in the wind. “I will always love you like a brother. You are dear to me. And I am so glad you’re here to witness me marry the love of my life. No one can ever replace you in my heart. Know that.”

I felt the tears start, and instead of rage, I felt grief. A terrible, gnawing grief that pulled me down like quicksand, holding me there, making it impossible for me to feel a shred of joy ever again.

The King did what he did best after that—he ran.

He ran into her arms, and he never looked back.