#However to be frankly honest you may also face many doubts when deciding to keep a Rottie in your home like we have. The first question I h

[carldgreene]

[plus-size-reader]

The Right Time

Newt x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2423 words

Warnings: none

Summary: The reader wants to be a runner but the boys decide she won’t be able to, and Newt doesn’t understand why.

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You couldn’t help but sigh as you watched Minho, heading into the maze for a full day of running and memorizing the ever changing labyrinth that surrounded you all.

More than anything in the world, you wanted to do that.

While most of the gladers were content to stay where they were most comfortable, you didn’t worry about the secrets or dangers that may lay beyond the threshold  of the fields you had grown so familiar with.

You wanted to see

From the moment you found out what it was, you wanted to experience what those stone walls kept hidden from you. It seemed like the most exciting job the glade had to offer, and frankly, you were desperate to experience it.

There had to be something there.

Whatever it was, you were sure that it would be more exciting than working in the kitchen, where you currently spent most of your time.

If only it was that easy.

The glade had rules, rules that you couldn’t just go around breaking willy-nilly if you didn’t want to face the consequences. One of those rules was that you had to get permission from the group before doing almost anything.

If you wanted a new job, especially, the rest of the group had to agree to it.

While it may have seemed ridiculous most of the time, that was how you all managed to maintain any semblance of order in this place. If you all just did what you wanted all the time, you wouldn’t have made it this three years.

You wouldn’t have made it a week.

As much as you wanted to just waltz right through those walls when the maze opened up, you couldn’t do it without permission, which you were having quite a hard time getting.

It seemed like it should have been easy.

Everyone here had a job to do and as long as you did the job you were assigned, it would all work out just fine. If you wanted to work somewhere else, you didn't see what the problem was, but clearly you were the only one who was blind to it.

As soon as you mentioned your intentions to Gally over serving breakfast, he’d all but laughed in your face.

“There’s no way that’s gonna happen” he scoffed, making it abundantly clear to you that he thought what you were suggesting was a bad idea. After all, there was a reason you were a cook. Frypan needed help, and you were pretty good at it.

There was no reason to mess with a system that already worked as it was supposed to. You all had your parts to play in this place surviving, and just because you were a little bored over the stove didn’t mean you could just stop playing that part.

...And, evidently, he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

At first, you decided not to give up hope.

There were plenty of people who got a say in this and just because Gally, the eternal pessimist, didn’t believe in you, that didn’t mean the decision was made. The chances that everyone in the glade felt the same way he did were slim.

Right?

You wanted to believe that but as soon as you brought it up with the others, you realized just how wrong you had been. To the best you could tell, not one of them was willing to take a chance on you.

As far as your dreams were concerned, the meeting they held was more or less a massacre.

The general consensus was that you didn’t have what it took to be a runner and they were very clear about that. Not one of the men present even attempted to spare your feelings, because they had no reason to.

To them, the reason for the refusal was clear as day.

You just weren’t runner material.

“Hey, you get why it isn’t a good idea, don’t you?” Alby hummed, his tone as gentle as it could have been given the circumstances as he did his best to bring the conversation to a close. The best place for you was the kitchen, and as much as he didn’t want to upset you, that was just what it was.

He, and all the others, had to look out for this place and they had to do what was best for it.

You nodded, turning to leave the hut as quickly as you could before anyone actually got a chance to see how upset you were. Rightfully, your feelings were hurt but letting them see how badly was only going to solidify what they were all thinking.

...and it wouldn't change anything.

As much as you appreciated Alby trying to be kind to you over it, his kind smile was hardly enough to actually make you feel better. At the end of the day, you understood exactly what they were trying to say in not so many words.

You weren’t good enough.

You couldn’t do this.

Ideally, you would have stayed until the end of the meeting, to save face if for nothing else but you just couldn’t. The whole room was poison for you now, full to the brim with how little faith they had in you.

That was just what it was.

No matter what you did, you knew that they were all thinking the same thing deep down and didn’t want to admit it.

You weren’t thin, you weren’t overly athletic, and you were a girl.

The only girl.

In that regard, at least Gally’d had the guts to just say what he was thinking to your face without patronizing you.  He may have been an asshold about it but he didn’t mince his words in a desperate attempt to pretend like he cared about you.

He just said what he wanted to say.

Though, as you walked into the glade, the sun creeping down behind the walls, you knew that it was partially your fault. All they could do was look at you from the outside, and if that was all they saw, of course it was easy for them to come to the conclusion they had.

You knew better than anyone what you looked like but you also knew that you could do this. All they had to do was give you a chance, and you would be able to prove it. You knew that you could do something to make a difference in this place, all they had to do was let you.

Though, had you been in their position, you weren’t sure you would have stuck your neck out for someone like you either.

The risk was just too great.

If they were right about you, but chose to send you out into the maze anyway, you would have gotten yourself killed, or even worse, you could get Minho killed.

That was hardly a risk you could ask them to take.

They didn’t trust you, and because of that doubt, you weren’t sure you trusted yourself either. At least in the kitchen, you couldn’t get anyone else hurt. It would just be easier for all of them if you kept your mouth shut and did as you were told.

They all seemed to think so.

Well, all but one.

“Where are you going?” he called, his heavy british accent meeting your ears from outside the hut, because of course he would be the one to chase after you.

You had been so focused on getting out of there that you didn’t even realize Newt was standing from the crowd. You were so in your own head, walking with your mind clouded in thought that you hadn't noticed him following you.

Unfortunately for you.

As much as you were sure he wanted to help, to soften the blow just as Alby had, there was nothing he could say that would make it any better.

He had always been kind to you, and if there was one among them who would feel bad for how things had gone down, it was Newt. However, you weren’t sure that even he would be able to do anything that would lift your spirits.

It was what it was.

...But Newt didn’t believe that.

As best you were doing to keep the truth from him, he could tell that you were upset. Though, you were really trying to hide it, a small smile on your face as he approached that was nearly good enough to convince him.

“Just walking, what’s up?” you asked, trying to be as casual as possible, though this was the farthest from casual you’d ever felt.

This morning, you’d had so much hope for this conversation, and now that it was over, you felt like an idiot. How could you have actually believed that they would let you out in the maze? You had no business being there.

All this time you’d spent thinking this was going to work out, days wasted planning just how you would ask, it was all for nothing. Not to mention that every guy in the glade thought you were a joke.

Normally, it wouldn’t have mattered but how were you not supposed to be taken seriously after that? Gally basically said all you were good for was serving dinner.

“I know you better than that” the blonde countered, a small smile on his face as he watched you, followed by a tiny nudge of his elbow.

You clearly weren’t just walking.

There was something going on, and the fact that you would even trying to hide the state you were in from him was enough to upset him. Newt thought you were closer than that, that you could be honest with him.

You sighed, turning to look at him, really look at him for the first time in this whole conversation. He couldn’t understand it, what it was like to have to fight just to have everyone else see you as their equal, which wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was that they had never seen you on their level, and what little progress you had made in that regard was all gone now.

You wanted something and it was just out of reach, no one understood that better than he did.

This was hard for you, and even if you were lying about it to him, that wasn’t going to change how much it hurt.

You didn’t have to lie to him.

“I’m sorry, I really am” he started, after a few moments of silence. The sun was going down, meaning as the minutes ticked by, he could see less and less of your face, but that didn’t matter. The moon gave enough of a glow for him to see what all he needed to.

Newt could see the way you tightened your jaw to keep the tears from coming, and how your eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

More than anything though, he could see the way you fiddled with your fingers to busy yourself. You had always done that, even when you first came up in the box.

It was easier than looking him in the eye.

You didn’t want his pity, or his sympathy for what you had done. You just wanted to be alone, or at least, you thought you did.

When you really stopped to consider what that would mean, you knew it was a lie.

As much as you thought crawling into a hole and never leaving would make you feel better, it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t change you, or what you’d done, or what they thought about you. Hiding from it wasn’t going to do anything.

All you could do was keep going, like you’d been doing all this time.

“I voted yes, if that helps” Newt tried, reaching out to take your right hand. Not only did it stop you from fidgeting, but it also startled you just enough. The last thing you’d been expecting was for him to do something like that.

...But it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice. What he was about to say was important, and he didn’t want you to miss it.

“I’ll talk to Minho, maybe you can start training with him and then we can ask again” he offered, giving your hand a small squeeze. It was far from what he wanted to do but it was a start.

Really, he was just shocked that they had all said no to begin with. From where he was sitting, you were just as capable of doing it as any of them, but he’d been voted out. That was just how things worked around here, but it wasn't the end.

Not if he had anything to say about it anyway.

At the very least, you could get a taste of what it would be like. Not to mention that would give him some time to wear down the others toward your cause.

“You don’t have to do that. I get it” you shrugged, sure that even if you were to let him do as he’d offered to, it wouldn't change anything. Still, it did force you to consider something you hadn’t thought about before.

No one had ever done anything like that for you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he was being so kind. You knew he cared about you but to go that far? It just seemed like a little much. “I want’ to” he smiled again, bumping you with his shoulder in the most endearing way he could, which was really his only way of communicating his fondness to you. It was something you both knew about, but chose to ignore.

It was complicated.

“Thank you-” you hummed, gingerly throwing your arms around his neck without even thinking about it. All things considered, it wasn’t that big of a deal, but it was the closest you two had ever been.

The way you felt for Newt seemed simple enough and as best you could tell, he felt the same way but you weren’t in a position to explore that with him now.

“Don’t mention it” Newt replied, his words nothing more than a small whisper in your ear, before you backed away.

Then, in the most awkward fashion of your life, you said goodbye.

It was the last thing you wanted to do, but this just didn’t seem like the right time for this. Just like maybe this wasn’t the right time for you to go into the maze.

[firstofficerwiggles]

Sending a Message

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Rating: T, there are sexy situations, i.e. touching, but no actual sex, one use of the f-word, but mostly fluff and some longing

Summary: Basically, you and Din are in a cantina and you need his help to get men to stop hitting on you. You have an established friendship with him but neither of you have expressed your true *romantic* feelings. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2900ish

Author’s note: I love fanfiction and have been reading it for a looong time now, but I finally decided to take the plunge and write one myself. What can I say? Din is very inspiring. It’s very self-indugent and I hope you like it. 

I wrote a Part 2 to this story (18+ version) (T version)

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The child is a sticky mess having eaten his way through a bag of ripe berries as you were trying to keep him occupied so the Mandalorian could suss out information for others of his kind who might know where to find the Jedi.

It’s been roughly three months since you joined the Mandalorian’s crew to help out with the child. You were enamored with the sweet little green baby the moment you saw him with Din in that marketplace back on Tatooine. Stressed and exhausted, Din let you pick up the child and entertain him while he loaded supplies on to a cart. You accompanied the two of them around on the rest of their errands that day, offering helpful advice and somehow gaining the Mandalorian’s trust fast enough to have him offer you a job as the child’s caretaker by the end of the day. You surprised yourself with how quickly you agreed to the arrangement, but in the end, you knew there was nothing left for you on Tatooine but memories and an empty house.

So now here you were, fairly content with your role as nanny to the child, although not quite prepared for how risky travelling with the Mandalorian could be. There were days when you could not believe the situations you found yourself in, yet through it all, you knew you had made the right decision. This was largely in part to the Mandalorian himself. There was just something so undeniably compelling about him. He was an execptional hunter and frankly, a deadly assassin, but he always seemed willing to put his violent skills towards a good cause, no matter how hopeless it may have seemed. But yet, no matter how lethal he could be, he was also so heartbreakingly soft and gentle with his small son, demonstrating a fierce protectiveness that had spread to you too. At first, the Mandalorian wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but little by little, you had begun to get to know him and had fallen into an easy friendship of sorts with him. All well and good, but, the more you knew about him, the more you started to feel an attraction to him. It started slow, and you played it off as just a weakness for his handsome armor and, let’s be honest, his strong, fit physique underneath all that beskar. But then, he started to share small jokes with you, ask you more about yourself, and reveal details about his own life, including his name, Din Djarin. After that, you really couldn’t deny your feelings, but you kept them to yourself not wanting to upset the contented balance you had achieved nor wanting to put him in the uncomfortable position of having to turn you down. Still though, the longing was there, even when you tried to distract yourself.

“Wow, look at you! I think we have a new record, kiddo.” Din has made his way back to you and is gently teasing his son. He scoops him up into his arms and the child coos with glee but also puts his berry-smeared hands all over his father’s shiny armor.

“Oh no! I thought I’d have a chance to clean him up before you returned.” You apologize a little embarassed.

“It’s not a big deal; we’ll take care of it.” Din has accepted the messiness of fatherhood in stride, “Let’s head over to that cantina. We’ll get cleaned up and you two can get some food while we’re there.”

As Din heads to the back of the cantina in search of a fresher to deal with the berry mess, you spy two seats at the bar and carefully make your way through the crowd. Several people, mostly men it seems, smile widely at you as you pass. It’s packed in here, but the warmth of so many bodies together is welcome after the blustery wind that had picked up outside. You shed your heavy cloak and drape it over the back of one of the barstools both so you can save the seat for Din and, you think eagerly, give him the chance to see the pretty dress you decided to wear today. It’s one of your favorites but he hasn’t seen it yet, however, with the cooler weather on this planet you were beginning to think you wouldn’t get a chance to show it off. Not that you should be thinking like that, you roll your eyes at yourself and your silly crush on the stoic Mandalorian. You’re just getting yourself settled at the bar when the bartender places a brightly colored drink in front of you. Confused you say, “I haven’t ordered yet.” as he just points behind you to a burly looking man with a scruffy beard. The man is grinning confidently at you,

“My treat, pretty lady! We rarely get strangers like you in here!”

“Thank you,” you demure, “but I really can’t accept.”

“Nonsense! You go ahead and enjoy and then we can get to know each other.” He winks at you.

“Maybe she’d prefer one of these,” another man has sauntered over, this one a lanky man with a bottle of something in his hand, “I think she might prefer something with more of a bite to it.” His entendre not lost on you, you hold up your hand and shake your head to fend him off when yet a third man tries to get your attention,

“Don’t let these bozos tell you what you want; I’ll get you whatever your heart desires!”

“I can buy my own drink, thanks,” you cut him off, turn back to the bartender, and manage to order your own drink and some food for you and the child, but this last guy is persistent and sleezy, coming over and perching himself on the barstool you were saving for Din. “Hey, I’m saving that for my…” what should you call him? “friend,” you finish lamely.

“Well, no problem, I’m looking forward to meeting her too.” he waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively. Giving him a sarcastic glare, you retort, “I don’t think he’d be interested.”

Things are starting to get out of hand, but thankfully, Din has spotted you amongst your crowd of admirers and with a small, rather amused tilt of his helmet and a bit of a shove, he’s now by your side with the child cooing happily from his satchel. “How about a booth?” he suggests, and you swear you can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Great idea” you reply, hopping down from your stool and snatching your cloak back from the other one.

“Oh c’mon baby, that tin can can’t make you happy like I can” the guy who rudely stole Din’s seat calls after you. Your face erupts in a blush and you hope to hell that Din didn’t hear him amidst the noise of the cantina. The other men voice their frustrations too at your departure. You put your hand on Din’s bicep steering him away from these guys just in case. You don’t need Din starting a bar fight over you. You’re still holding his arm and following Din closely when yet another man comes up to you,

“This Mandalorian isn’t bothering you, baby, is he?” this idiot dares to ask.

“No. He is not.” you grit out as Din says, “She’s fine.” in his best don’t-fuck-with-me voice. It’s lost on this drunk fool though as he just lets out “Woo hoo! She sure is!” and tries to slap your ass, but thankfully you dodge him just in time.

You’re starting to doubt the wisdom in coming into this cantina but now that you’re making it to a booth with Din, you figure you should be all right. The booth has a curved seat following the shape of its round table and as Din places the child in the middle of the seat, he sits down to his right. You slide into your side of the booth opposite Din but before you can get fully seated, a man from the booth right behind you leans over, grabs your wrist and leeringly says, “I got a much better seat for you, mama.” and gestures to his crotch. Repulsed, you slap his hand away and head over to Din’s side of the table. That creep was disgusting but he did give you an idea.

“Will you do me a huge favor?” you ask Din, “Always” he replies instantly. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you climb into his lap while sliding one arm around his neck and then bringing your other hand to rest on his cuirass. You can sense his surprise, yet his arm wraps around your waist instinctively.

“Play along, please?” you whisper to him.

“What are you doing, exactly?” he wants to know.

“Sending a message.” You tuck your head in closer to his in a clearly affectionate way and place a kiss on his helmet where his cheek would be.

“What message would that be?” Din asks still a bit stunned by your actions.

“That I’m yours.” You pause as he absorbs this and then you tell him quietly, “I need you to be a little handsy.”

“Handsy?” he tilts his helmet at you “This feels like a trap.”

“No, I want you to. Be handsy.” You tell him again.

“Ok” he drawls out, “but don’t punch me.”

“I won’t.” You flutter your lashes at him to give the impression to this room of horny strangers that you’re flirting with Din.

Din gives a tiny shrug that you can feel more than see but then brings his free hand up to your face. His gloved hand slowly strokes your cheek as he then lets his fingers trace over your jaw and then down your neck and chest, slowing down even more as he reaches your cleavage and then just gently ghosts his fingers between your breasts before resting his hand just beneath them. You feel your breath hitch and get caught in your throat at the intimacy of his touch and you have to remind yourself that this is just for show, just to get these losers to stop hitting on you. Reminding yourself of the message you want to send, you wonder if this is too subtle. You need to make this definitive.

“Be a little more obvious,” you tell Din, the blush returning to your cheeks, I can’t believe I’m doing this.

“More?” Din tries to confirm, “What do you have in mind?”

“Put your hand up my skirt.”

“Ok, now that is definitely a trap.” he chuckles lightly.

“Do it. Put your hand up my skirt,” you practically demand.

“Well, I’m not going to say no to that,” he responds appearing to be amused by this whole situation. He takes his hand, starts to play with the hem of your dress, and then slowly starts to slide his hand up your thigh under your skirt kneading gently as he goes. You feel like you are dying, it is so sensual and so exactly what you have been dreaming of for weeks now. You knew he would be good at this and it’s killing you that it’s just an act. You squirm a little in his lap unable to help yourself and you think you can feel his own arousal, but you tell yourself you must be imagining it.

Din cannot believe this is happening, how is he this lucky? When he caught sight of the men hitting on you at the bar, he figured it was inevitable that you’d be surrounded by would-be suitors and he cursed himself for leaving you alone in a place like this even for a few minutes. A quick scan of the room showed him that you were absolutely the most beautiful woman there. Not that he was surprised, as he’s rarely seen anyone as stunningly gorgeous as you in his opinion. Plus, given this sexy dress you have on, he’s lucky he didn’t have to pry one of them off you. He noticed it right away before you left the ship earlier and had to put on your cloak, but he was hoping to keep that sight to himself. He knows he shouldn’t think of you that way, but he has given up trying to ignore his feelings for you. It’s not just your beauty, but who you are as a person. He’s never met anyone who’s so easy to talk to and who treats him with such respect and kindness. It shocks him how strongly he trusts you and the way he’s let down his guard around you. You might not realize it but you are the best friend he’s ever had, and although he wants more, he’s not quite ready to risk your friendship. If he messes this up, you might see him as just another jerk hitting on you.

Speaking of, Din figured his intimidating presence would keep the jerks away once he got back over to you, but these fools had clearly never met a Mandalorian before because they didn’t have the good sense to leave you alone even when he was standing right next to you. He had been sure he was going to have to punch the creep that grabbed you but then you were sitting in his lap before he had a chance to stand up and defend you. And now, now, he was cuddling with you in the middle of this crowded cantina, touching you in ways he hadn’t let himself dare to think about. He didn’t need the child’s powers to feel the waves of sheer envy coming off of the men in the room. He smirked to himself under his helmet, letting his hand slide up even higher on your thigh than he would have dared but just because he could.

You are becoming entirely swept away by Din’s ministrations on your thigh, and you hear yourself sighing his name, making him smile even more unbeknownst to you.

“Hmm?” he responds gently

“I--,” but you’re cut off by the waiter finally bringing the food.

“Here’s your order, sir” the waiter gives Din a look that is both impressed and jealous as you hide your face in Din’s neck mortified that you have gotten so carried away with this charade.

“Thanks.” Din tells him, slowly removing his hand from under your dress. You slide off his lap into the booth next to him so you can eat. Din keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulders though and you’re still pressed up against his side. You turn away slightly towards the child who has been amusing himself somehow all this time. You give yourself a chance to regain your composure as you focus on giving him some food. You had started to forget the kid was even there and you feel your face flushing again at your shameless behavior. You take a deep breath and remind yourself that this was necessary, and as you glance around the cantina, you can see that no one is paying attention to you anymore. Your message was clearly received. You sigh to yourself and start to eat your dinner.

Din is relaxed and is enjoying the feel of his arm around you. Every so often, his other hand finds its way to your forearm and brushes over your wrist and hand, not quite trying to holding your hand but almost just to remind you that he’s there. It’s flirtatious and romantic in a way that you both love and can’t stand because you know you just want him to keep doing it. You finish your food slowly trying to find a way to prolong this interlude as much as you can, even if it’s not real. Din notices when you’re done though and says, “Ready to head back to the Crest?” You nod at him, knowing it’s for the best and figuring he must be hungry too. You pick up the child and slide out of the booth following Din. He takes the baby from you and secures him in his satchel before reaching back to take your hand. Din threads his fingers through yours and leads you out of the cantina before the jealous eyes of all the other men who tried to claim you for their own earlier. He holds your hand all the way back to the ship and you let yourself bask in the moment, imagining the two of you as a real couple.

Once you’re back on the ship, you busy yourself with putting the child to bed. He’s already drowsy and practically asleep when you get him secure in his hammock. When you turn back around, Din is just watching you, standing there. You can’t imagine what he’s thinking. You suppose you should give him some privacy, let him have a chance to eat his own dinner, but before you do, you figure you ought to say something after all that.

“Thank you, for doing… for helping me out,” you feel rather flustered and it’s making you babble, “back there.” “I just couldn’t get those guys to bug off.”

“It was my pleasure,” he responds rather cheekily, “I figured I was going to get into a bar brawl, but I liked your idea a hell of a lot better.” He tilts his helmet at you and you can swear that you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, thank you, again” you say softly. He steps closer to you and you’re practically touching him as he looks down at you and says with a chuckle, “Any time you need me to feel you up again, just let me know.”

And before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “I will.”

He laughs and tips his head down to you, “Message received.”

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[pink-jindallae]

At the hospital / Part 1

[Nathaniel/Candy] full angst / heavy mention of panic attack Hospital scene from episode 16 completely rewritten. I'm so slooow to write ;-; 

Words: 3464 Author note: Before starting this reading, I would like to highlight Candy's mental state of this episode. I personally felt a lack of investment as Nath's girlfriend. If he wasn't her LI, okay, sure. But as her boyfriend I don't agree. She saw him bleeding to death a few hours ago and she just leaves? Amber asking Candy to stay alone with Nath? Um, no? I'm not sorry to say that I have the fucking right to be with my boyfriend, as much as her.   As a writer and as Nath stan, I couldn't let it pass. I got so much frustrated that I had to rewrite the entire hospital scene because first; I can. Second; Beemov cannot get me away from my man like that. LET ME STAY. And third: I LOVE the angst.   Anyway, I hope you will enjoy the angst nonetheless ;) 

Candy P.O.V.

Nathaniel has been awake for over an hour now. A little while ago, Kim and I were interrogated separately by the police about Nath's assault before they got to question him. Kim assured me soon after that she had repeated word for word Nath's version. As for me, I did the same with a robotic voice, too tired mentally and physically to pretend to be fine in front of the policemen. They didn't ask me too much questions, perhaps discerning my torment. Just after the police left, a nurse came to report on Nathaniel's state. We were relieved to hear his wound wasn't too deep and his organs were untouched. However, she also informed us that Nath had a head injury, so they had to keep him under observation until tomorrow to see how his condition is evolving. My face had blanched during her whole speech, but I didn't interrupt, unlike Amber who peppered her with so many queries. She acted like a lion mama, nearly throwing a tantrum in the hallway, thankfully Kim was there to calm her down. The nurse only concluded by saying we could now visit Nathaniel, although not for too long since he was still recovering and probably exhausted by his prior interrogation. To my surprise, Amber requested to stay alone with him for an unknown reason. I initially didn't agree, because even if she is his sister, I'm his freaking girlfriend and there was no fucking way I would leave like that! Not without seeing him safe and sound. Besides, how she asked rubs me the wrong way, like I wasn't that much important. I acknowledge she has a special bond with her brother, still, it wasn't a good reason enough to push me aside. I know she has changed and I don't rightfully hate her anymore, but God, I just wanted to punch her face at that moment. Hopefully she agreed to let me stay in the end, thanks to Kim who interjected in my favor. However, Amber still demanded to see him by herself first and to avoid another outburst in the hospital, I let her do as she pleased despite my own wish to come along. Only because I would be alone with Nath after as she promised not to be too long. When Amber left, Kim kindly offered to stick around with me a little longer, to which I refused. While I'm grateful for her concern, I needed to be by myself for a moment. Moreover, I would have felt bad to monopolize her presence just for my sake, because she too, was tired after such a night. She despised the hospital anyway, so, she went home to rest without insisting. And now I'm on my own in the waiting room for what felt like eternity. I can't remember how long I've been counting the minutes. The hand of the clock is turning, and yet, time seems to have frozen. It ticks with an annoying sound as if to emphasize the surrounding silence of death, reminding me again and again this disastrous evening. That deafening noise is taunting me, resounding a little louder as soon as I lose the thread, just to have the pleasure to grab all my attention while I'm waiting to see Nathaniel. I watch it with a rather confusing obsession despite my annoyance. I hate myself for that, I can't help but check the seconds spinning through the clock face. Because that noisy thing represents the heartbreaking absence of Nath by my side. Even if I know that on the other side of the wall, he's alive... Slumped on my chair, I bring my legs against my chest, my forehead glued to my knees. I need to see him so much ... "Are you all right, Miss?" I raise my head sharply. Another worried middle-aged nurse is looking at me and I can see pity through her clear eyes. What a sorry sight am I. "Y-yes." Great, my voice is shaking. "I ... I'm just waiting to see my boyfriend ..." "Oh ... is it the boy who arrived at the emergency room earlier?" I only nod, unable to speak at the recall of the events. The nurse sits next to me, her clipboard pad resting on her lap. "Your boyfriend is safe now, don't worry." she begins in a benevolent tone that irks me. "His relative is by his side right now, but you can rest for a while." The nurse's compassion touches me deeply, or maybe it's tiredness that speaks for me, because I feel my eyes sting a little bit as I'm about to cry any time soon. "I have to see him first." "This evening must have been very hard for you too, you have the right to rest. I'm sure he won't be angry if you come back later." She still insists. "I can't!" I nearly scream. "I need to see him!" Unable to contain myself anymore, I hunker down, squeezing my arms so hard that a red mark is blemishing my skin. I can't go home. Not now, not like that! Not seeing him drives me crazy! I'm exhausted ... my whole body is sore. "Would you like to call someone? Family, friends?" I shake my head, eyes closed. Her insistence begins to pester me. Why is everyone is completely disregarding my feelings? Amber, the nurse, even Nath. I'm that much insignificant not to have anything to say. My voice, no matter how I yell, is unheard and my opinion not even an option. Amber had already asked me if she could see him first, alone, and I meekly agreed to make her happy. And yet, I had to fight so I wouldn't be sent away, still muffled and saved by someone else. The nurse now pushes me to go home for the sake of resting regardless my desire to stay. And Nath… Damn, he didn't even wanted to see me at the gym. Kim said she called me because he agreed to, but with the way he acted, I doubt that. He was so stubborn, not listening to anything and facing my lack of power, Kim decided to call the ambulance against his will. During the ride to the hospital I have wondered; if she hadn't phoned me, I would have been unaware of Nathaniel's state since brother and sister like to keep secrets as if I wasn't part of their life. As if … I was nothing. "Just leave me. Go away." I coldly mumble, chasing those memories away. The nurse doesn't insist anymore and walk away after reminding me to contact the medical staff if I needed anything. Like hell I would. I feel many eyes on me nonetheless, kept under surveillance from afar. My mental state seems to worry them, but I don't care. All my thoughts are turned to one person. I decided to get up after her departure though, to freshen up a bit, the need to walk and think about something else motivating me to move. Specially to avoid their insistent stares, almost too heavy with judgment. When I see myself in the mirror, I quickly comprehend their dismay. It is anything but glorious ... My hair is disheveled, my eyes are swollen from crying and consequently, my mascara has heavily dripped on my cheeks. My white-like face doesn't really help to improve my condition. I look a fright ... The most impressive thing is my clothes stained with blood – his blood –. No wonder the nurses were concerned. I hurry to make a coarse bun in order to hold my hair in place, then rinse my face, erasing below the neon light all traces of this morbid night. I still look exhausted but at least I'm more presentable. Once I'm satisfied with my reflection, I go back to my seat. Meanwhile Amber has appeared in my line of sight, coming out of the elevator with a sullen expression. My heart skips a beat and I run to join her. "Amber!" She glances up at my panicked face and smiles weakly to reassure me as best she could, although it looks more like a grimace. "I was looking for you. You can go see him." "How is he?" I ask, worried about her peaky look. "The doctors told me he could go home soon. Luckily, he can talk and move despite his head trauma." Upon hearing the news, all the pressure on my shoulders evaporates bit by bit. I'm so relieved he is fine… "Did he ..." The blonde cuts me off, shaking her head in negative. He didn't reveal anything to her either. I sigh, depressed. Of course, he's not the type to vent so easily. Even her twin sister doesn't know everything about him. The few times we spoke indicates that Nathaniel didn't confide to her as much as she believes to. "I'm sorry for earlier…" she suddenly resumes, changing the subject. "… for insisting to see my brother alone. But please understand that I needed to talk to him. Nothing against you." I'm taken off guard by her sudden apologies. I really didn't expect it at all to be honest… "I… It's fine. I guess." I articulate, dumbfounded. She averts her eyes, probably feeling too guilty to look at me directly. "I may have overreacted." "You did. And to tell you the truth, it hurt me."  I frankly blurt out. "So honest, as always. I like that about you." She lets out a small laugh and I smile in return. I'm glad she noticed her wrongdoing and asked for my forgiveness. She was as anxious as I was, so, I can understand in a sense. And to be fair, I'd probably request the same in her shoes if she wasn't her relative… "Thank you again for being there for him ... Thank you for everything. You saved his life." She sobs in a weak voice, taking my hands in hers. I lower my eyes at her statement, not sure to deserve gratitude. I didn't do anything. Kim saved Nathaniel while I was watching him, helpless. My conscience planting arrows in my heart keeps me quiet, not knowing what to answer. Amber's hand pulls me out of my thoughts by squeezing mine. She stares without saying anything, her message mute. I only notice now that her green eyes have lost their sparkle, filled with remorse too. "I'm going to his flat to bring some clothes and feed Blanche. I'll be back soon." she informs, gently releasing my hand. "Watch over him, please. He's waiting for you." I just agree in silence, the knot around my neck tightening slightly. I don't waste more time to watch her go and fly to the elevator. And damn the seconds feel like hours in the lift. I've waited so long to see Nath that I tremble like a leaf out of stress. My anxiety is only amplifying, trapped in this metallic box. The walls come off as an oppressive cage, shrinking around me. I feel like I'm suffocating ... It makes my mind runs wild, what I've striven to push back in my mind suddenly arises with brutality. My boyfriend is laying in a hospital bed after an attempted murder. The bloodcurdling realization I could have lost him forever tears me from inside. I remember too well watching him bleed to death. I can still smell the blood, see the light in his eyes weakening and his life being taken away slowly… I struggle in vain to hold back my suffering, but it's far beyond my strength. I can't help but dwell on the events, unable to think of anything but his twisted face of pain, the gaping wound and the pool of blood. It wasn't an accident. Someone tried to end his life. Stop! I must not panic. Do not panic! Nathaniel is fine, Nathaniel is fine ... I repeat these words like a mantra. Focusing on dominating my terror, I close my eyes for a moment and inhale deeply. My breath is shaking, but I keep taking deep breath to calm the frantic beat in my chest. My body is agitated with nervous spasms, I squeeze my hands hard to stop my tremors. Carefully ... slowly ... I'm breathing. At long last the elevator stops and after a soft "ding", slides open. The overwhelming gasp of air at the opening wakes me up from my horrifying trance, my lungs finally accepting some oxygen. After a gulp, I'm resolved to get out and stand right in front his room. I enter with a gentle push on the door which creaks faintly under the pressure of my fingers. What I see behind crushes my heart. Nathaniel seems to have fallen asleep, but his features are drawn, denoting extreme fatigue. His face is still a little pale, but slowly picks some colors up again. His left eye is slightly swollen, as are his knuckles. There was no doubt he tried to defend himself against his aggressors as much as he could. I pinched my lips so as not to break down again, shaken beyond word by his atypical vulnerability. I must be strong. I shed enough tears. At some point, I finally allow myself to approach with catlike stealth to avoid waking him up. My hand smooths his golden hair, brushing aside wet strands on his forehead. Softly … fearing of hurting him more. With the same care, I stroke his damaged hands in hope it would erase the marks of his fight. I wish I could take all of his pain… "You're here…" I jump, startled. Nathaniel is awake. He painfully opens his eyelids to gaze at me. I'd like to answer something, but on the verge of tears, words are strangled in my throat. "I'd have preferred to welcome you in some other way." he continues with a sheepish smile in an effort to relax the atmosphere. Except it provokes the opposite of the desired effect. He looks at me, his eyes filled with grief. His hand frees itself from mine to caress my cheek and I close my eyes to enjoy his touch full of tenderness. I barely notice him wiping a tear that has escaped against my will. And here I promised myself not to cry anymore. Damn it… "I ruined our date again." He feebly murmurs. "Forgive me." I shake my head, eyelids firmly closed. Other tears flood with me powerless to stop it. Nath remains silent, busy to dry all the sad pearls rolling on my skin. "Don't be ridiculous, you idiot ..." I end to whisper with a trembling voice. "We'll have other dates. I just want you to heal quickly." I swallow my tears somehow and finally open my eyes to offer him the best smile I could do. Nevertheless, he only observes me without saying anything, his look indecipherable. His eyes glint with a dark and melancholy glow, almost seeking to penetrate my thoughts. His face seems tortured, preoccupied, a frown on his forehead. A voice in my head hisses that pain is not the main cause. Anxiety, anger, guilt, maybe something else. I'm not sure what I can read. He carries my hand to his lips and kisses it with infinite love, contrasting with his painful expression. Nath, is there something you're not telling me? The rustling sound of sheets catches my attention all of sudden. My veiled eyes immediately fall on Nathaniel who's trying to get up, his face disfigured in pain. "Nath!" With an unsteady step, I try to lie him down but this obstinate man resists. "I just want to sit down, I'm tired of laying." He insists. "Don't be foolish, you have to rest! Imagine if your wound opens again!" I'm unsuccessfully trying to convince him, but he is too adamant and completely deaf to my protests. I shortly give up, helpless in front of his stubbornness, and put his cushion in a way he can lean on it without hurt. It takes him a few minutes to find the right position. "It doesn't hurt too much?" I ask as I sit on the mattress to get closer. "I'm fine ... I've experienced worse." Worse? What can be worse than being stabbed in the abdomen? Could it be related to the scar on his lips? To his father? My face runs out of blood just imagining it. Facing my frightened look, Nath takes my hand again squeezes it more firmly. "No wait! I mean ..." he resumes with difficulty. "... I'll be okay, you don't have to worry about that." "How could you ..." His thumb lays on my lower lip to keep me quiet, fondly brushing it. "I'm fine, okay? That's all you need to think about now." "But you nearly killed yourself, how could you expect me to stay calm after that? Nath, you could have died!" "What happened, happened. And I'm still alive." What the hell! I know he wants to be reassuring but he can't tell me that like that, as if it was something trivial! "Listen to me," He begins but I refuse to hear his nonsense. I drop and shake my head. The situation is so absurd, it makes me crazy! It's a nightmare. Breathing becomes difficult again, I feel like choking once more. Sensing my distress, Nath cups my face and forces me to look at him. "Listen to me!" He gives me time to calm myself before carrying on. I stare back with a look in which an unreasonable dread is reflected. I know I'm overreacting but … "You're afraid." I'm not. I'm terrified. "I understand, I really do. But look, I'm fine." He caresses my cheeks with lots affection and so much care to put me at peace, but I'm still shivering so much. However, my body is less stiff now, soothed by his voice. "I'm fine…" He calmly repeats again, insisting on this point until I stop shuddering. "All I need is my girlfriend by my side. This night has been painful enough for you and for me… We both need to rest. Just let me enjoy your company. Is it too much to ask?" I have to admit he's right. He is indeed fine. He survived and is certainly exhausted by his injury. I was so preoccupied by my own fear I forgot the most important; taking care of him. Ashamed, I lower my eyes. "I'm sorry…" "No don’t be, love." He murmurs, putting his forehead against mine. "I'm the one who should be. You deserve so much better than that." "Shut up." I sob. Our faces are so close, caressed by our breath, yet I feel so far away from him, an unbreakable wall between us. And I know… he is the one building it, pushing me away. Again. "Come." He simply finishes by opening his arms. He wants us to cuddle. "Your wound, it could open ..." I weakly protest, fighting against my own desire to snuggle against him. "My right side is fine." Nath persists. I don't want him to suffer ... My hesitation crumbles a little more when he softly pleads: "I need you in my arms ..." I don't want to start a quarrel, especially in these conditions. I'm too tired anyway. Besides, I'd lie if I said I don't want to be in his arms too ... Short of argument, I breathe: "Promise me to tell me if you're in pain." He simply nods, and I give up. With caution, I go around the right side of the bed where he's not injured. I'm careful not to lean too much upon him, my side propped against his cushion, but my head finds its way to the crook his neck. His right arm slides around my waist and presses me a little more against him despite my reluctance, yet I oppose no resistance. His soothing heartbeat under my palm relaxes me. He is still alive… Being in his arms drains all energies I had left, in other word, almost none. My eyes close when he brushes a warmth kiss full of comfort on the top of my head. I'm just so weak even though I should be the one who supports him. I can't help myself thinking I must do more than complaining and crying. He silences me when I word my thoughts and confesses that being here is more than enough. Actually, it is what he needs the most according to him so, I'm not arguing. After all, a nurse is coming soon to kick me out and I don't want to leave him with a pointless fight. Silence now surrounds us. Not a single word is shared anymore. We are just enjoying each other presence… … as if it would be the last time.

[hanalwayssolo]

Unspoken Definites

A/N: It is I, baptizing my new fictional husband with a one-shot. This is largely inspired by this light novel and a conversation that has spiraled into shenanigans with @blindedstarlight!

ETA: [Link on AO3]

“You have got to be kidding me.” You cup the phone between your ear and shoulder, glancing at the digital clock sitting at your desk. Three a.m. it glares mockingly as half the sheaf of test papers from your class remain ungraded. “You’re telling me, Yamada, that Aizawa is drunk?”

“Yes, and I’m not pulling your leg or anythiiiing!” Yamada cries, and the shrill static makes you wince away from your phone. Judging by the sound of his voice, you’re pretty sure he has also had a few too many. Somewhere in the background, you can hear a wild medley of raucous singing and screaming. “He went overboard with the drinks! Again! You have to go down here,” he pleads. “I need serious backup—“

“I’m in the middle of grading essays,” you say curtly. “All Might’s there, isn’t he? He should be more than enough.”

“He already left! Urgent business!”

“How about Kayama?”

“Midnight’s already wasted as fuck, my friend!”

“Then Sekijiro should—“

“Vlad King’s weeping at the bar counter!”

“And the others?”

“Either passed out or butchering another stupid pop song!”

“Fucking hell.” You sigh. A burst of maniacal laughter echoes from the other line, but is immediately drowned out by a chorus of off-key singing.

When the majority of the UA faculty decided earlier today to go karaoke as a grand culmination of a tiring work week, you had been wise enough to say no. You said no not because of the obvious workload you still had on your plate, nor was it because you didn’t feel like going out. It mostly had to do with the fact that you were precisely avoiding this kind of situation.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Because the fact of the matter is, the only situation you’re avoiding, if you were to be completely honest, is one that would ultimately involve seeing Aizawa.

“Look—“ Yamada clears his throat, the tone of his voice suddenly serious— “I don’t know what happened between you guys, but please? Make an exception? Just for tonight?”

A strained pause. Frankly, though you are more inclined to deny this absurd request, it’s not everyday you get to hear a pro-hero like Present Mic asking for help—let alone relying on a Quirkless teacher like you from the Department of Management to get this group of drunk heroes out of their shitty situation. But you have to hand it to him for taking you by surprise; he may seem like an excitable airhead most of the time, but for him to decipher the meaning of your hesitation with tact and thoughtfulness is, quite admittedly, the last thing you expected from him.

After careful consideration, you find yourself saying, “Fine.” You let out a defeated exhale. “You owe me big time here, Mic. I’ll be right over.”

The bar-slash-karaoke joint—Cantina, it is called, all decked out in flashing neon lights in the middle of Tatooine District—is already closing up shop by the time you arrive: a scrawny looking manager is barking orders on the phone, waiters busily cleaning tables, a couple of bartenders mopping up the vomit off the rainbow-striped linoleum floor. The stench of cigarettes is nauseating. There seems to be no other customers left. Most of the booths have been vacated, save for the last one down the hazy, fluorescent-lit hallway where a familiar voice belting out a rock song bellows like a cry for help.

You press onward. As soon as you open the door, it feels like you have stumbled upon an unsettling scene with the pro-heroes, all in their corporate attire and at the peak of their inebriation: Present Mic on the small dais, serenading an already sleeping Midnight; Cementoss snoring the night away over at the couch; Vlad King chugging on another whiskey bottle while in tears; Thirteen swimming on spilled vodka; and Eraserhead casually sitting on the corner, having a conversation with his empty mug of beer.

Yamada drops the microphone the moment he sees you by the doorway.

“You’re here!” He hurtles toward you and wraps you in a hug. He smells strongly of sweat and alcohol. “Thank fuck! Now we can go home! Please tell me you brought a car.”

You shrug his arms off of you. “No, Mic, I walked all the way from our UA dorms to get here.”

“Are you serious—“

“Of course I have a fucking car with me,” you sneer. “You know, I’m actually surprised to see that you’re the last man standing.”

Yamada grins proudly. “Well, I know I don’t look like it but I am actually really responsible and kind and amazing—“

“Okay, don’t push it.”

“Oh, fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Now I’ll help these idiots out. You take Shouta with you.”

“Uh, hold up—“ you raise a hand in protest, and you briefly scan the mess of a room— “how about I take Kayama with me while you take the rest of the guys? Aizawa can walk by himself.”

“You kidding me?” Yamada shakes his head. “Look at him. I know that’s his everyday bitch face but that bitch face of his is dead drunk. He’s been giving out compliments to everyone before you got here.”

You quirk a suspicious brow. “Really?”

“Yeah. Check this out.” He turns to Aizawa and says, “Yo Eraser, you think I can beat All Might as the top hero?”

Aizawa looks up at Yamada with a sluggish smile. “You can do anything, Mic. You’ve always been the best.” Then, he turns to you and his red-rimmed eyes widen. “Hi. You’re very beautiful.”

You blink. “Yup. He’s drunk.”

“See?” Yamada laughs. “But drunk words are sober thoughts, no? Besides—“ he nudges you by the elbow— “he’s been talking about you nonstop all night.”

You say nothing. The withering glare you cast in Yamada’s direction is more than enough for his cheeky grin to falter.

“Okay, fine, I get it!” He raises both hands in surrender. “None of my business! Let’s get outta here!”

The walk from the karaoke booth to your car becomes one effortful affair. Knowing he does not possess the physicality to carry his peers, Yamada wakes both Ishiyama and Sekijiro up by screeching on their ears. A questionably rude way to use his Quirk to wake someone up, but considering the situation at hand, courtesies be damned, you suppose. How Yamada manages to pacify their immediate irritation is beyond you; how he even manages to command them to carry both Kayama and Thirteen is much more bewildering at best.

Meanwhile, you pull Aizawa on his feet, sling his arm around over your shoulder, your one arm around his waist. He may possess such a lanky appearance, but he sure is heavy. And made out of sturdy materials. You know this. You know this because you have seen everything he is hiding beneath his usual ragged attire after many sleepless nights in his bed—

Not the time for that, self.

As you drag him out into the parking lot, he tries to lean his head on yours, but you shake him off. Still, despite your unreasonable annoyance, you find yourself looking up at him. A stray lock of his hair has fallen away from his sloppily tied half bun and over his face. You reach for it and tuck it behind his ear, and he looks at you as if it is the first time he is seeing you with a nameless awe and wonder. He smiles. Not his wry and mocking smile, the one he offers to his most aggressive students to teach them a lesson or two. Certainly not that. The smile he gives you is so foreign on his face, so exceptionally rare that your heart misses a beat.

Not the fucking time for this—

“You’re… so short,” he says with a hiccup. His breath reeks of alcohol, but his shirt smells strangely of fresh laundry.

You grimace. If he hadn’t been this hammered, you would have kicked him right in the shin. “Thanks for pointing out the obvious.”

He lets out a small laugh. “But you’re also soft and warm.”

A cold breeze drifts but your cheeks are warmer than ever. “Um, thanks?”

“And you smell really nice.”

“Right.”

With everyone squeezing themselves together in the backseat, dozing off and snoring in chorus, the rest of the drive heading back to the UA premises is almost preposterous in its silence. It is already five-thirty in the morning, and a hint of dawn is spreading like a rosy veil throughout the highway. Over the horizon, the city lights are unblinking witnesses to this misadventure. However, in the passenger seat, Aizawa is wide awake and spends the whole ride staring out the window.

As much as you want to start a conversation, a large part of you decides against it. Or, more accurately, your wounded pride is adamant to keep your mouth shut. The last time you spoke, he was sober and you demanded to define this nameless relationship the two of you had been tiptoeing for months. There should be a line—nay, a Great Wall of China—between being friends and lovers, but whatever boundaries that stood have already been demolished with all the secret dates, the secret gifts, the secret nights tangled up in your sheets.

Was any of it real? It all felt real to you, at the very least. No one would have suspected Aizawa to be capable of such generosity; he is quiet, reserved, extremely private. But within the four corners of his strict privacy, there is an abundance in his affections, a side of him you rarely see with the way he is with others. A side of him you wish you could keep to yourself.

But you suppose that doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t look like whatever this nebulous affair between the two of you mattered to him, anyway. He made that very clear when he walked out of your door just like that. You wish he had said something cruel to hurt your feelings instead. At least that is a pain you can bear better rather than him not saying anything at all.

“Everything okay?”

You almost miss the turn to Heights Alliance when Aizawa speaks up. No, not everything is a much more honest answer, but he is looking at you with tired eyes that you doubt if he could catch you lying through your teeth. Instead, you spare him a glance and with high-pitch brightness, you say, “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

After dropping the others off in their respective buildings—which, to your relief, is relatively easier compared from the struggle back in Cantina—you decide to accompany Aizawa back to his room. He is still a bit woozy, that’s obvious enough; he stops along the way to talk to the rose shrubs and tulips out on the lawn, calling them his students which, despite its sheer hilarity, makes the climb to the front steps of his dorm a monumental challenge.

“Wait—“ Aizawa untangles himself from you as you enter the building— “let me talk to Midoriya for a sec.”

You watch him unsteadily ambling his way to the potted plants by the entrance. “Huh, Midoriya isn’t here. Everyone is still asleep—“

“You should stop getting yourself injured,” he says to no one in particular. “Recovery Girl can’t keep healing you all the time.”

“Shouta, you’re talking to a cactus. C’mon.”

He turns to you with an impish grin. “Hi. You’re pretty. I like you.”

You groan in both exasperation and exhaustion. The lord is truly testing my patience. As you haul him back up, he holds your hand and presses a kiss on the back of your hand.

“My god, it makes me sick how you’re weirdly affectionate when you’re drunk. Who would’ve thought that a fuckton of drinks would warm up your cold-hearted ass?” you say, heaving his whole body by your side. “Now let’s go before one of the kids wake up—“

“Um, Sensei?”

A low voice that neither belongs to you or Aizawa startles you into a sudden panic. You turn, and you see a tall, muscular boy with glasses and in his pajamas staring at you as if he had seen a ghost. Then he looks at Aizawa. His face pales.

Fuck.

“Is… Sensei alright?” the boy worrily croaks. “And does he—you two are—“

“You’re Iida, right?” you ask carefully. You look around the living room and exhale a breath of relief to find that he is the only student in the room.

The boy nods. “Do you need, um, help—“

“No, we’re fine,” you answer quickly. “Can I ask you for something, though?”

Iida nods again, vigorously this time. “Yes, of course!”

“You never saw or heard anything. Is that understood?” There is a silent threat in your voice that makes Iida squirm in discomfort.

“Yes, uh—understood!” He salutes nervously. You spare him a small pat on the back as you shuffle past him, onto the stairs, and into Aizawa’s room.

The afternoon sun drags Aizawa awake in a throbbing daze. His head hurts as if he had been beaten with a thousand pinpricks, his mouth too coppery for his taste. The stream of sunlight filtering through his windows paints his barren room in a thin veil of gold that at first glance, he thinks he is somewhere else entirely. But there is no mistaking that this is really his room: the soulless furnishing of a simple bed, a desk, and a worn-out couch, and the startling emptiness of his space is easy enough to recognize as his own. Still, it does not make any sense. How did he manage to get here? As far as he can remember, he was at the Cantina with All Might and...

Holy shit.

A sharp panic jolts him out of the sheets. He looks down on his hands, his body. Okay. Thank god he is fully clothed. No injuries, too. As he ties his hair back into a pony, he scans the room for something out of the ordinary, something to jog his memory of last night. Nothing seems to be out of place until his attention falls to a figure lying on his couch.

Aizawa rubs his eyes. He is unsure if the sight of you sleeping on his couch is a product of his hangover, but the faint sound of your breaths only proves it otherwise.

As far as he is concerned, the last person he could ever expect to be in the same room as him is you, not after he left so callously after that last argument without saying another word. He knows you deserve better than the way he has treated you. He knows you deserve better than him. You have been patient enough to thaw his cold indifference, brave enough to see past through his sharp edges. He is not easy to like, but you made him believe that he is worth the time. And in the short time he has spent with you, he finds himself wanting more, and the more he tries to make sense out of it, the less he understands this gnawing, aching feeling that never fails to leave him gasping for air.

He walks over to you, sits on the edge of the couch. For a moment, he watches you sleep. He finds solitude in your peaceful face, in the tender rhythm of your breathing. You shift a little. And when he hears his name leave on your lips, his breath stops for a second. An unnameable feeling spreads over him with the warmth of a forest fire, with the ferocity of a storm.

God, you’re so beautiful.

Not a little longer and he sees you stir. When you open your eyes, the first that you see is him.

“Hi,” he says with a small smile.

You sit right up in a panic. “Hi. Fuck—I’m sorry.” You fix your hair and wipe the drool on the side of your mouth. “I, um—I hope you didn’t mind that I crashed here to sleep.”

He shrugs. “It’s okay. Yamada called you to pick us all up, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you. And sorry for the trouble.” He reaches for the back of his neck, looks away. Then, he asks: “I didn’t happen to do something stupid last night, did I?”

You laugh. “I don’t think you’d really want to know.” In a sudden hurry that startles him, you get up and begin to gather your things. “Anyway, there’s a bottle of painkillers in the bathroom, in case you still have your headaches. And please eat something decent. I should get going—“

“Wait.” The word leaves him sharply that it slices throughout the room.

You stare at him, eyes searching and urging for him to continue.

“I…” He falters. With a heavy breath, he braves through the silence and says, “I was hoping if you could stay.”

You purse your lips, shaking your head. “You know, since we’re here, I think it’s about time that we stop this… whatever this thing we have.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m tired of this. Besides, for a Quirkless like me, I’ll only be a liability to a pro-hero like you—“

“You were never a liability to me.”

“Then what am I to you?”

“The fucking love of my life.”

In long, steady strides, he closes the space between the two of you and he takes your face in his hands. He lifts your head and lets his lips graze your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose, as if this is the only way for him to memorize the warmth of your skin on his.

“May I?” he whispers under his breath. “I’m sorry if my breath stinks—“

“Just kiss me, you asshole.”

He smiles. And in this scorching tenderness, he presses his mouth on yours, kissing you as if this is the only time he has left, as if you are the only rational and logical thing that could ever matter in this life or the next.

[captnswilson]

Please could you do “Frankly, my dear, I do give a damn" for Charles/Erik! Thank you!

To be honest, that quote is just an excuse for me to post a fix-it fic that I really wanted to write. It’s longer than my one shots usually are and I’m kinda satisfied with the result. I hope you’ll like it as well!

Summary: Dark Phoenix fix-it. The blood on Jean’s shirt belongs to Charles and that revelation leads to a heated confrontation between Erik and Jean. However, when it turns out Charles is still alive but badly injured, Erik rushes to see him. Will he be able to leave him once again or maybe this time he’ll choose to stay?

You can also read it on AO3.

———————————————————————————————————–

There’s Still Hope

“Whose blood is that?”

Erik tried to restrain himself from thinking about the worst possible scenario. Keeping his nerves in check was difficult when he had no control over the situation. The blood on Jean’s shirt made him want to destroy everything that surrounded him. Including her.

“I didn’t want to hurt him.” Jean shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Charles… He shouldn’t have lied to me.”

She raised her head to look at him, and what she saw warned her of the impending danger. The whole tent began to shake. Erik raised his hands; every metal thing rose up. He hurled them towards Jean, but she stood up and stopped them without any effort.

Everything fell to the ground and before Erik could react, a powerful force threw him out of the tent. He lost his breath for a moment, but the pain he felt deep inside was much stronger. She could not hurt him more than she already had.

“I came here because I thought you would help me. Turns out you’re no better than him.”

The other mutants moved to his rescue, but Erik raised his hand, ordering them not to step up. It was personal. He stood up slowly, ready to risk his life in the fight for justice. He had nothing more to lose.

“Did you really expect me to praise you?” Erik spat out words with so much hatred that it was surprising even for him. “You took Charles away from me! You killed him and now I’m going to kill you.”

A metal balk tightened around Jean’s neck. Erik felt incredible satisfaction when he saw her fighting for another breath. However, it lasted only a moment. A sudden headache knocked Erik to his knees. He grabbed his hair, shouted and bent in pain. Then he involuntary levitated in the air, his eyes getting redder by the second. Having dealt with Erik’s attack, Jean stayed on the ground and focused on keeping her opponent as high as possible. Her face was distorted with rage.

“If you don’t want to help me then don’t. Just stay out of my way.” She threw him at a building. Erik hit it with his back and fell hard to the ground. Jean leaned over him and confessed, “I hurt Charles, but I didn’t kill him. You still have a reason to live, Erik. Don’t waste it.”

She looked at him one last time and flew away. Erik rolled over with a hysterical laugh. Tears flowed from his eyes, and blood trickled from his nose, but it barely caught his attention. Not all hope was lost, as Charles would say.

***

Fresh, cold air rushed into the room through the open window. Charles barely felt it. He was lying in his bed and staring blindly at the ceiling. There was nothing better to do. His whole body ached, at least those parts that still worked. He knew that Raven was right outside the door, ready to help him if he wanted to leave the room. At that moment, however, interacting with people was the last thing he wanted.

The physical damage was not so important. His chest wouldn’t hurt too long. The wound under his eye would heal as well. He was more worried about the mental damage. Jean had got into his head and made sure Charles would not find her. In fact, not only did Charles struggle with locating his former student. He couldn’t hear Raven’s thoughts even though she was approximately close. He had problems concentrating, and with every effort, his head ached. Eventually, he stopped trying. He became so emotionally numb that all he seemed capable of feeling was guilt.

And he was guilty without any doubt. Everyone blamed him for what had happened but attempted at not making it that oblivious when he was recovering. He’d been guilty many years ago, lying to Jean. He’d been guilty recently, risking the lives of his team. Now everyone doubted him and he began to doubt himself too. Maybe it would be best if he left. It was not his school anymore if he couldn’t provide his students with a sense of security. If they no longer believed in him.

The door opened abruptly, interrupting Charles’ train of thoughts. Raven peeked at him and hesitated for a fraction of a second before she announced, “There’s someone who would like to see you.”

His first thought was Jean. He pulled himself up on the pillows, wondering about the right words. If she changed her mind, if she decided to come back, he had to be persuasive enough to convince her to stay. But before he could think of anything worth saying, the last person he had expected to see came into the room.

It was as if his presence breathed life into Charles again.

“Erik?”

His old friend looked as if someone had thrown him against the wall several times. Despite this small detail, he had not really changed much in recent years. Charles hadn’t seen him for so long that he was clearly touched by his visit.

Meanwhile, Erik let out a sigh of relief at his sight. After the unpleasant encounter with Jean, he just had to make sure that Charles was truly alright. Slightly battered and exhausted, his friend seemed pretty much alive and that was all that mattered. The way in which he spoke his name made Erik feel as if they had split up just yesterday. Coming back to Charles was simple and difficult at the same time.

He wanted to say something brilliant, but he was so overwhelmed with emotion that he only managed to notice, “Charles. You look like shit.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Raven laughed.

When the door closed behind her, Erik put his hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do with them. Meanwhile, Charles brightened up and forgot about his dark thoughts for a moment.

“You’re as charming as usual, Erik,” he joked. “I suggest you take a sit and enlighten me about the very reason for your astonishing visit.”

“Do I need a reason to visit my old friend?”

“I’m afraid so. I’m also afraid that this has something to do with one of my students. Unfortunately, she has weakened me so much that I cannot read the truth from your mind, but your eyes say enough. She came to you, didn’t she?”

Erik sighed. It was cold in the room, so he closed the window and then sat down in a chair next to Charles’ bed. There was still a shadow of rage in his heart that he had felt when he had found out whose blood had been on Jean’s shirt. He was partly grateful that Charles could not see his memories. Erik would appear too exposed, too vulnerable.

“I thought she had killed you, Charles.” Erik raised his head and looked at the only person who he would not bear to lose. He was sure of that now. “She came to me for help with blood on her shirt…”

“My blood.” Charles guessed in what direction his speech was heading. “So you attacked her. Bloody hell, Erik, she could’ve killed you! You have no idea how strong she has become.”

“I experienced a foretaste of what she is capable of. She speared your life, and then she speared mine, but she won’t do it again. I may not be able to defeat her alone, but with you…”

Charles laughed, yet it was not a happy laugh that reminded Erik of training and playing chess together. Charles’ voice was devoid of joy. He didn’t seem angry or surprised, but rather disappointed.

“And to think that for a split second, I let myself hope that you came here because you were worried about me.” Charles shook his head, and Erik felt as if someone had hit him in the stomach. He’d rather face Jean again than get misunderstood by his best friend. “I won’t help you kill my student, Erik. It may be difficult for you to comprehend, but some of us give a damn about others and, despite everything, see a chance for them to return to the right path.”

Erik got up and went to the window just so that Charles could not see the expression on his face. Though his thoughts were safe, his entire attitude tried to get the truth to the surface. Erik took a deep breath, clenching his hands on the windowsill until his knuckles turned white.

“Frankly, my dear, I do give a damn,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “I don’t want to kill her because she kicked my ass or because she is a threat to us all, which you seem to blindly ignore. I want to kill her because she almost took away the only person I still care about.”

He couldn’t express it in a more obvious way. It left Charles speechless. His lips parted slightly, but they didn’t utter any word. None was appropriate. He stealthily wiped his watery eyes. It turned out there was someone who still cared for him, and it was the person he least expected but valued the most. Erik had a tendency to leave him, but now that Charles needed him like never before, he came.

“If what you say is true, then help me find her and bring her home. It’s my fault, Erik, not hers. Each of us goes astray sometimes. I will never stop believing in Jean, just like I’ve never stopped believing in you. I’m only asking you for a bit of faith. If not in her, then have some faith in me.”

Charles was too indulgent, but, after all, it was his goodness that attracted Erik so much to him. He was the only source of light in his world filled with suffering and tragic memories. Erik turned away from the window, looked at his friend, who was actually much more than that, deciding once and for all that he wouldn’t let them part ways again.

“Let us assume that we will succeed,” he said. “We bring her back, everyone is happy, no one dies. And then what? I have no intention of leaving you.”

This time Charles’s smile was more sincere and even overawed. Once he would have called himself a master in flirting, but now with Erik, things were a bit different. They were walking on thin ice and Charles didn’t want to fall into the icy water.

“Oh, Erik. It only took you almost losing me to realize we should be together. Well, better late than never. So what do you suggest? My guess is that you do not wish to stay here.”

“Not really. I mean, if it was just Raven, that quick kid Peter, Hank, you and me, then maybe I’d handle it, but all those kids?” Erik sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. “I was thinking about something calmer. There is such a place in Genosha. A beautiful, old house, away from the city. A lot of greenery suitable for picnics. Blue sky. No fights with people or mutants. Just the two of us.”

It was so easy to believe him. Charles did not answer. Instead, led by a force that was above him, he gently touched Erik’s temple with his fingers. His power returned as if it had never left. He saw it with his own eyes - a place which awaited him, tempted him with its beauty and the promise of peace.

Maybe he was tired. Maybe this constant struggle was beyond his strength. Maybe the only thing he needed was Erik. Maybe they fought with each other and with their own feelings for so many years just to cut themselves off from everything else and limit their worlds to one another. Was it selfish - to crave for this beautiful, peaceful life?

Charles dropped onto the pillows. Although the power returned, he was still very weak. Erik reached out and ran his hand over Charles’ cheek.

“You need a rest,” he concluded. “I’ll see you later and we’ll try to come up with a plan.”

Unable to resist, Erik leaned over and left a kiss on Charles’ forehead. That brief gesture was so intimate that it seemed more significant than if they kissed on the lips. Erik walked around the bed and headed for the door, but Charles managed to stop him by grabbing his hand.

“What was it?” He asked with a sparkle in his eyes.

“A promise that when you wake up, I’ll be here. Now that there’s hope for us, you won’t get rid of me too easily, Charles.”

Erik gave him a mysterious smile and gently let go of his hand. Charles felt his touch long after the door closed. He fell asleep wrapped in the comforting thought that Erik remained somewhere there, closer than ever before, and their happy ending was just around the corner.

[otomeshistarlight-blog]

We’re chugging right along with the enigmatic Dabi!

1. Sleep: Dabi probably sleeps in ‘the yearner’ position, an assumption I’m basing off the personality traits associated with this pose. People who sleep like this are a little complicated: they are open-minded, yet cynical; slow and suspicious when making a decision, but stick to it once their minds are made up. If that doesn’t sound like our favorite fire-based villain, then I don’t know what does. Essentially he always looks like he’s reaching out for something that isn’t there, maybe a person or even a moment in time he remembers fondly, and as such you can’t help but feel a little morose while you watch him snooze. Something about him lying there like that just strikes you as so sad but if you ask him about it in the morning, he’ll shrug you off with a smart remark. However if you decide to lie down with him, don’t be surprised when those stretched out arms snake their way around your body and pull you in tight against the front of his chest. He doesn’t look it, but he’s actually quite the cuddler - at least when he’s asleep anyway. In fact, you’ll be hard pressed to disengage from his embrace if you find yourself needing to pee in the middle of the night so you’d better use the bathroom before bedtime. I almost want to describe him as being a clingy bed partner but possessive might be a slightly more accurate term. He snores on occasion, softly and only for a few minutes at a time, and he’s a pretty solid sleeper so you wont have to worry about accidentally getting hit in the face. Definitely hogs the blankets though so be prepared for a game of tug-o-war.

2. Sad: Dabi is a pretty aloof individual anyway but I think you’d easily be able to tell when he was feeling a little down. Rather than simply looking sleepy like usual, his eyes would take on a more hollow expression and the corners of his mouth would pinch around his scarred flesh. He may not be able to hide his emotions well but he’d certainly be loathe to open up about it in an honest way, defensively guarding the truth until you either dropped the subject or he forced you to drop it. Rather than being cold, he’s simply a secretive person out of necessity and burying his emotions is pretty much second nature at this point. If you managed to break his walls down enough that he trusted you, implicitly and unequivocally, he would eventually choose the most inopportune time to come clean about what he was feeling. Maybe it would be something as domestic as when you were brushing your teeth before bed or maybe in the middle of dinner without any forewarning to the sudden topic change but, more than likely, I see it happening when the mood is decidedly inappropriate. Perhaps right in the middle of sex, his attempt at really startling you, or even in the middle of a heated argument that has absolutely nothing to do with his emotions and he’d likely take great pleasure in seeing you rattled at the sudden announcement. Any sort of confession in this regard would be used as leverage for him to get the upper hand rather than him actually wanting to talk about his feelings. 

3. Happy: Dabi is only truly happy when he’s the direct cause of chaos and mayhem, or when he inadvertently finds himself standing in the middle of such a scene. The negatively charged energy and bad vibes that radiate off a situation like this, whether that be a disorganized bar brawl or a burning building collapsing around him, makes his skin crawl in the best way imaginable. It feeds him, stoking him like an open air flame, and it just gets him more amped up with each passing second. He’s used to going about things as a lone wolf of sorts, and he’s more than content with this, but I think he’d be pleasantly surprised to find that having a partner in crime just makes the end results all the more satisfying. You’d need to be able to keep up with him without slowing him down, and it would also help if you were just as fearless as he was, but he’d truly enjoy having you along for the ride. After all, two pairs of hands are better than one and he absolutely lives for that moment where you can pull the metaphorical grenade pin together and watch everything come crashing down. The adrenaline fueled sex afterwards is nothing to shake your finger at either.

4. Angry/Violent: Dabi is, for the most part, a relatively laid back kind of guy. Rather than getting angry, he prefers to focus on spitting arsenic laced words and dripping thick sarcasm from every syllable but by no means is he immune to bouts of rage. Actually, his are some of the most explosive you’re likely to see any time soon and its best to stick clear when he finds himself in one of these moods. I can easily see him absolutely scorching a place to the ground during one of these blind meltdowns but, on a slightly more subdued note, I certainly don’t put basic property damage past him. Punching holes in the wall, throwing/breaking furniture, smashing windows, etc. However, it would take an awful lot to get him to this point and, although I don’t think he could be talked down after already going off the deep end, there is that possibility that you could potentially diffuse the situation before it got that far. It would be best to try and get him to walk away from whatever was upsetting him enough that he’d drop his smart mouthed attitude, but if you were the cause of his little temper tantrum ... may god help you.

5. Sex: Dabi strikes me as an experimental and fun partner whose not restricted by basic notions of what is and isn’t acceptable to do in the bedroom. Or an alleyway. Or in the bathroom of a seedy bar. Or anywhere really. The point is, he’s down for basically whatever, whenever the mood strikes him. He’s just living his life and trying to have a good time so I definitely think he’d need a lover with as few inhibitions as him. An innocent partner would be fun to tease and taking advantage of their naivety would be something he’d take great joy in, but eventually that would get old. He wants to be excited by the act and experience the rush and thrill of doing something decidedly bad with someone who enjoys it just as much as him. Perhaps this is simply an act of rebellion, lashing out against the society that tried to tame his spirit, or maybe he’s just a legitimate freak in the sack. Either way, I know I’m picking up whatever he’s putting down. He doesn’t have much interest in the slow and steady technique, much preferring to go to town with foundation shaking enthusiasm, but if the right moment called for it he could be persuaded to take it down a notch. Like, say, if he had you pinned to a pool table in the farthest corner of a crowded bar and he just ever so inconspicuously lifted your skirt up .... 

6. Living Quarters: Dabi is a controlled mess in every facet of his life. He strikes me as a mostly nomadic villain who doesn’t stay in one place for too long, jumping from abandoned building to backrooms in strip clubs and sometimes even landing on a couch in a veritable meth den. Its not glamorous and its not pretty, but its the life he’s chosen for himself. He likely does have a little nesting spot to call his own, one thats secluded and hard to find, perhaps an underground bunker of sorts that no one knows about, where he can keep what little personal belongings he owns. But he doesn’t go there very often, just when the mood strikes him, and he always half expects the place to be raided and empty every time he stops by. I’m very doubtful about Tomura giving him or any of the others a place to stay above the bar - I don’t know if that building would even necessarily be outfitted with bedrooms anyway, and that kind of generosity would ride on the implication that Tomura actually liked Dabi as a fellow person. Which, given their sassy back and forth banter, doesn’t exactly seem to be the case. I’m eagerly awaiting more details concerning this in canon and I do so hope that Horikoshi delivers.  

7. Romantic: Dabi doesn’t appear to have a romantic bone in his body, much preferring general displays of lust to communicate his attraction and also the occasional lewd gestures that are sure to raise a few eyebrows. Its not even that he isn’t aware of how these kinds of things work, its just that he has no interest and they, quite frankly, bore him. He appears to be a rebel without a cause and everything about him screams to me ‘fuck the man’ so of course he’s going to do the exact opposite of what he was always told to do. But more than that, if he wanted a normal relationship with normal parameters that didn’t feature high stakes then he wouldn’t have become a villain. I think its obvious that he doesn’t want ‘normal’ and in fact I’d be willing to bet that, if anything, he’d look for something as abnormal as you could possibly get. That being said, I could see him showing his affection by giving you gifts in the form of stolen trinkets or maybe taking you to get a piercing. Or maybe doing it himself. The closest he’d probably get to actual romanticism would be some of the pragmatic, obscurely prophetic nonsense I could easily see him spouting at random. The kind of stuff that makes you feel like the center of his world and like a speck of dust all at the same time. 

8. Family & Friends: Dabi is ... an enigma for good reason. I don’t necessarily feel comfortable even taking a stab at this one because, while I do subscribe to the theory that he’s a Todoroki, there are far too many different angles to approach that from for me to even begin making an accurate prediction. Based on the evidence, I do think that he’s Endeavor’s second oldest son and all of the coincidental pussyfooting around him and his real identity is suspicious as hell but the exact details are as good as anyones guess. Was he a failed experiment? Shoto version 1.0? Was he jealous that Shoto was the chosen one instead of him? Did he get burnt up trying to protect Shoto? Like, there are just way too many possibilities and not enough facts to base anything off of at this point. And thats not even mentioning the fact he not only could have been, but likely was, an entirely different person before becoming a villain, which only further muddles this topic. He’s not the same, unhinged psychopath that Toga is (and damn, do I love her) so that seems to imply that he wasn’t always this way. Anything I could say to answer this question would be pure conjecture unlike the rest of this post so I don’t even want to take a stab in the dark here. 

9. Hobbies: Dabi seems like the sort who’d enjoy playing pool and darts, typical leisure activities you’d find in a bar, and maybe some artistic outlets like painting. I doubt he has a lot of down time though so I see him being more of an ‘out looking for trouble’ kind of guy who somehow manages to find himself in increasingly improbably situations. I also think he’d be into gambling, even just on a basic level, but he’d no doubt be quite good at it with that poker face of his. 

10. Likes/Dislikes: Dabi likes chaos, whether causing it or simply being stuck in the middle of it, quiet places to wind down in after all the fun has been said and done, adrenaline fueled situations and interesting people/things. He dislikes those who look down on him for any reason, being bored or otherwise unstimulated and soap box preachers. 

11. Childhood: Again, this is something I just can’t make an educated guess about and I apologize for that.

12. Old Age: Dabi likely doesn’t see himself reaching old age given both his lifestyle and his penchant for trouble. I also view him as having the ‘live fast, die young’ sort of mindset that only exacerbates his thrill seeking nature and the only thing thats kept him alive this long are his goals ... whatever those may be. Revenge? Making a point? Again, conjecture! 

13. Cooking: Dabi isn’t much of a cook but after fending for himself for so long, he’s got the basics down. He can prep a cup of instant ramen like no ones business and he makes a mean grilled cheese. But thats about the extent of his culinary skills and he doesn’t get a chance to polish them all that often as I imagine he’d be more inclined to find someone (or a couple someones) who were willing to give him handouts for one reason or another. Regardless, he appears thin enough that food doesn’t seem to be a top priority and he likely takes scraps whenever he can get them. He looks like he’d be a fan of spicy food though. The hotter the better. 

14. Random: Dabi’s favorite positions are the Downward Dog, because he likes wrestling you underneath him and pinning you down in a prone position thats just perfect for hitting your g-spot. He does so love making you scream until your throat is hoarse, after all. 

The Pile Driver, for much of the same reasons

and of course the Reverse Cowgirl because he strikes me as an ass man and he loves nothing more than watching yours bounce on his dick.

Dabi is, almost without a doubt, a kinky little bastard and I could easily see him incorporating various forms of bondage and power play dynamics into a relationship. I think he’d find any kind of piercing play especially tantalizing and risky public sex seems like it would likewise be at the top of his list. Rather than having one angle he prefers to go in at, he’d actually enjoy trying out all kinds of different things to see what sticks, whats just kind of eeh, and what ends in disastrous failure. Never a dull moment with this one, be ready for the ride of your life if you choose to ignore all the warning signs and climb on board anyway.

[ryanmeft]

Puzzle Movie Review

Puzzle is a tiny wonder. It begins with modest ambitions. Agnes is a housewife in Bridgeport, Connecticut who has seen precious little of the world outside her family and church, and has spent her life seeing to the needs of others. Having reached her 40’s without knowing what her own needs are, she is not repressed. Rather, she simply knows no other life;  neither do the other women in her circle. We can guess it was simply the way of things that she would grow up and get married and have kids and devote herself to these things, and she did it because it was the way, because generations before her had made it the way, and on and on in a loop.

The film opens on a birthday party. Louis (David Denman) drinks and breaks a plate, which his wife Agnes (Kelly MacDonald) scrambles to clean up even as she also prepares the cake. She puts the candles on it, presents it to the guests, and then blows the candles out. That she is doing most of the work on her birthday is something that seems imprisoning, but also a state of affairs she herself would not likely question. She has cared for men and others since her immigrant father became ill, and not only is it second nature to her, it is also so to every woman she ever knows.

She eventually points this out to Robert (Irrfan Khan), a retired New York millionaire who once invented something and now competes in competitive jigsaw puzzle building. She received such a puzzle for her birthday, and found that 1000 pieces were not nearly enough to daunt her. Now they are puzzle partners, and soon they will be pushing towards more than that, but she is perplexed when he does not want kids: “It’s not weird, just different from me…and everyone else I’ve ever known.” Hers is a world of potlucks, Sunday Mass, and lots of children; you can see the old church steeple from her front porch. Her oldest son Ziggy (Buddy Weiler) had bad grades in school and is stuck. Her youngest son Gabe (Austin Abrams) is an overconfident young man with a vegan Buddhist girlfriend (Liv Hewson); he pens a college acceptance letter disparaging his mother’s lack of worldliness, demanding a life different from hers, that drips with irony. She accidentally finds it. She does not take it to him. She would never do that.

This might seem silly to those of you who grew up in a more modern environment. To me, it is recognizable, a pattern of lives spent in flyover country that I did not question until early adulthood. The scene in Alexander Payne’s Nebraska in which the men watch football while the women cook dinner comes to mind, as I recall it being derided as stereotypical of people in the middle of the country by a coastal critic; I never knew a household growing up where that did not happen. Why, you might ask, doesn’t Agnes simply go do what she wants, when she wants, how she wants? The crucial mistake here it to immediately assume this is not what she wants. As the movie goes on and Agnes discovers new things about herself, she also learns that there is much about her ordinary, dull, beautiful life she would actively choose if she’d made a choice. She would choose her children, and the greatest epiphany in her awakening is that she likes to spend time with them, rather than just raising them. She may have chosen her husband or one like him, who is not a lout or abusive or unfaithful. He is simply rather uninspired, but this is driven by the same wheel ‘o’ tradition that Agnes’s own life is.

I admit I found Louie an interesting person to see on screen, and want to spend a few minutes on David Denman before I return to the universally effusive praise for Kelly MacDonald. He has a thankless role. Many will simply regard him as unmemorable, and some will no doubt declare him an icon of patriarchy. He is neither. He loves a wife who never really got to decide if she loves him, and he does so in the only way many working class, non-metropolitan men are ever taught to do: by being the provider. His concerns are real. He worries about his weight and health, he strives to keep his garage’s financial struggles from burdening his family, he attempts to understand new ideas like Buddhism, and he it hurts him when his wife is unfaithful; he really doesn’t understand why she would do that. His failings are also real, from lamenting a lack of manliness in his oldest son’s desire to be a chef, to his inherent expectation that his wife needs nothing more than wife-dom to be happy, and finally to the rage from his abusive father that is almost never seen but lurks one too many drinks away. The point is he’s an entire, if unfinished, person, and that if he had been the focus of the film there would remain a story to tell.

Kelly MacDonald, however, is one of the underrated treasures of modern actors. She is plain-looking by the ridiculous standards of the Hollywood machine, and will never have so much as a co-starring role in a blockbuster, which is fine. She carries an inward light that could propel many more leading roles in films like this one. Stop for a moment and look at how she, as Agnes, argues with her husband, saying what’s on her mind, realizing it makes sense only to her, and refusing to explain. That is sometimes how real people are; disagreements in life aren’t written for the screen. Watching MacDonald’s face as Agnes builds a puzzle with frightening speed is more visually arresting than you might expect, even though I quite frankly think I’d find a jigsaw competition more spectator-worthy than people eating hot dogs. There is a key scene with Ziggy. He runs into her unexpectedly during a bad day, says an honest thing, and to his surprise gets an honest answer. This may be the exact moment when Agnes decides to be something like herself, and note that it comes not in an intimate moment with the attractive affair partner, or even with her husband, but with her son. How many parental relationships would be vastly improved if the parent just said “To hell with my image”?

I dearly love a film like this. It has been directed by Marc Turtletaub, who worked from a script by Oren Moverman and Polly Mann, who in turn adapted an Argentine film by Natalia Smirnoff which doesn’t seem to be available here. In moving the setting to just-outside-of-somewhere, U.S.A., the writers have shown what I consider to be deep knowledge of the way things work outside of coastally-produced sitcom worlds. Chris Norr’s camera encompasses familiar details of the sorts of scenes I am used to from “nothing towns”, and frames them in ways that give the mundane an odd beauty. All of this seems to fit Agnes. MacDonald’s likely-unheralded-at-Awards-time performance draw us into a woman whose thoughts are maybe deeper than she knows, and certainly deeper than we do.

Verdict: Highly Recommended

Note: I don’t use stars, but here are my possible verdicts. I suppose you could consider each one as adding a star.

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

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 Or his tweets here:

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 All images are property of the people what own the movie.

[ethospathoslogan]

heavy crown, heavy heart: part two; a royalty!logince/sanders sides fanfic

A/N: thank you all so much for reading!!! also, i’ve decided that this fic will be five parts w/ one addition side piece instead of four. the next update will be more of a side-story than an actual chapter. all the events in it are canon, but it doesn't pertain to the actual plot of the story and is, instead, more of a sibling-bonding part. so, it will be posted as a separate thing, so keep your eyes out for that!!!

also tbh i could replace this chapter with thomas’ “im gay” song from tweet tunes and it would, essentially, be the same thing

summary: But Logan was different. Logan was always different. Frankly, Logan did not care that Roman was the heir to the throne, and Roman liked that he did not care. As children, Logan was not intimidated by the grandeur of the castle. He did not stutter out proper titles for Roman, did not bow to him in a way that would have been comical for a child. As teenagers, Logan was there for him, truly there for him, when Roman felt like everyone else just saw a prince. Logan was there with Roman to peruse the library and pour over notebooks and paintings together; was there to help corral his brothers and be the standing support when his family became too much at times. Logan was there as the one to catch Roman’s eye in a youthful adoration, not the girls brought to him in hopes of a future marriage being arranged.

ships: logince

WC: 4,234

content (let me know if i missed anything!!!): wine drinking, roman being gay, oh no what’s going on with patton i guess we’ll have to wait to find out

previous chapter!!!

read on ao3!!!

tag list: @definentlynotjustanotherlemon , @peachie-keeen , @red-the-ruler , @syndianites , @mirror2thespirit , @ravenclawunicorn1, @urte1108 , @monikastec , @princeyssash

Roman would be lying if he said that he had not been waiting for the day the Clarks arrived. Despite his fear of the marriage that would follow their arrival, and of how Logan might know exactly why they would be finding wives together, Roman could not dull down his excitement of seeing an old friend. When Logan and his family still lived in the kingdom, in an estate not too far away from the castle, Roman believed that Logan spent more time playing with Roman in the garden and running through the castle halls than he was home.

Roman often was not allowed to play outside of the castle grounds. The Sanders were the royal family for generations and, inevitably, had enemies. For fear of what would happen if the young prince was let outside of the castle gates, his father had implemented a strict and strong rule that Roman, nor his brothers, would be allowed out without guards to watch them. After one journey out, surrounded by four guards, Roman had decided that it would be better to stay inside than have every eye in the city on him.

If it was not for Logan, Roman would not have had any friends outside of his brothers.

He remembered other noble families coming to the castle for meetings, bringing their young children along in hopes that a companionship would be formed between them and the young heir. Though, none of them had been Logan. These other children treated every meeting like business, even when Roman just wanted to show them the toys and trinkets gifted to him. Even at a young age, they knew that being friends with Roman could grant them power. Then, as they grew into adolescence, Roman could not escape people throwing themselves at him in hopes that they would declare them a future knight, a future adviser, a future wife. They always saw Roman as the Prince, a ticket to an elevated status, not as young boy in need of close companionship.

But Logan was different. Logan was always different. Frankly, Logan did not care that Roman was the heir to the throne, and Roman liked that he did not care. As children, Logan was not intimidated by the grandeur of the castle. He did not stutter out proper titles for Roman, did not bow to him in a way that would have been comical for a child. As teenagers, Logan was there for him, truly there for him, when Roman felt like everyone else just saw a prince. Logan was there with Roman to peruse the library and pour over notebooks and paintings together; was there to help corral his brothers and be the standing support when his family became too much at times. Logan was there as the one to catch Roman’s eye in a youthful adoration, not the girls brought to him in hopes of a future marriage being arranged.

And then, when they were fourteen, Logan’s parents took him away to a prestigious academy, and Roman was left to grow up alone. Alone while guiding his brothers, alone while nobles of all families threw themselves at him in hopes of gaining esteemed privileges. Alone while he walked the castle halls, growing older each day with his childhood companion hundreds of miles away.

Now, however, Roman and Logan were going to be reunited after eight long years, and reunited today.

Roman grinned at his reflection in the elegant, gold plated mirror that hung on his wall. If Roman was being completely honest, he believed he looked quite charming. His red hair was swooped to the side, no piece out of place. His white coat pinned and neat and his red sash draped perfectly and vibrantly. Of course, he believed that the childish crush on his old companion had faded; eight years is a sufficient time to overcome one’s feelings.

He still had to make a good impression, however.

Roman did not turn away from the mirror when there was a soft knock on his door. “You may come in,” he said, watching the reflection of the door swing open. His father’s adviser stood in the doorway and Roman raised an eyebrow.

“Your Highness, if you are quite finished admiring your reflection, your father wishes to see you in the parlor,” the other man said. “Duke and Duchess Clark, along with their son, are arriving shortly.”

Roman could not hold back his grin. He spun around on his heel and started to make his exit. “Very well,” he said. “But I will have you know that, when you have an appearance such as mine, it bodes well to admire it from time to time.”

The Adviser shook his head with a sigh but, nevertheless, followed Roman out. “Keep that charm about you, Your Highness. It does you well.” His words were only slightly dipped in sarcasm.

“I am well aware,” Roman smirked as he was lead into the parlor. Patton and Virgil sat on opposite ends of one of the many loveseats. Patton, adorning a light blue jacket, grinned at Roman as he entered, though something about it appeared off to Roman. Virgil wore a jacket that was deep purple and looked too big on him, despite it being tailored for him. His father stood in waiting, standing upright and rigid. He looked over his tardy, eldest son with a critical eye and Roman had to force himself not to fidget with the decor of his jacket as he sat in between his brothers. It was then that he noticed the dullness behind Patton’s eyes and the dark circles under Virgil’s, but he would not even attempt starting a conversation with his brothers if his father already had something to say.

“Kind of you to finally join us, Roman,” his father said. “It is good to know that you need a formal invitation to make an appearance when we have esteemed guests arriving.”

“It has been so long since we have seen the Clarks, I have to make the best second-first impression,” Roman defended with a grin, hoping it did not look nearly as sheepish as he felt.

“Which is exactly why I called you three here,” his father began. “We are the Clarks’ welcome back into the kingdom. Over the course of the next few weeks, they will be staying in our guest wing, as you all already know. I expect you three to be on your best behavior.” Despite the fact that the King was addressing all three of his sons, his eyes flicked between Roman and Virgil only. “By now, you should all know how important this will be. We do not need any more setbacks.”

Roman met his father’s eyes and knew exactly what he meant -whom he meant- with “any more setbacks”. Bad enough that Roman was against any marriages forced onto him; the kingdom might as well crumble if Virgil and Patton, too, voiced how unfair it was.

“We understand, Father,” Roman said for the three of them. “Everything will be perfect.”

“I pray it will be,” their father said, the doubt evident in this voice, when the doors were opened and his adviser walked in.

“Your Majesty,” the man said. “Duke Clark’s carriage is coming up the path right now.”

The King thanked him and followed him out, leaving the three brothers on their own.

“Took you long enough to finish pampering yourself,” Virgil said once the doors slammed shut behind their father. It was as if he had been waiting to say that since Roman arrived.

“Yes, it did, considering I do care about my appearance,” Roman sneered. “You should try it, Virgil. It might help with those eyebags.”

Virgil was halfway through saying an expletive to Roman when Patton cut in with an exasperated, “Stop it, we have to be on our best behavior, father said so.”

“Patton, he was quite clearly talking to me and Roman-”

“Roman and I,” Roman corrected, more for the sake of being able to shoot his brother a smirk than anything else.

Virgil slid Roman a glare. “He was clearly talking to Roman and I, Patton. You cannot do anything wrong in his eyes.”

Patton frowned. “That is not true,” he mumbled, adjusting his glasses though they had not shifted on his face.

“Of course it is,” Roman said. “You could spit in the Duke’s face and our father would ban him from the kingdom for offending you.”

Patton averted his eyes. “Roman-”

“Ask for anything and it is yours, that is the way it has always been,” Roman continued, looking over to Virgil. “Do you think that, if Patton asked our father to call off whatever marriage he had planned for me, he would do it?”

“Roman, stop,” Patton interjected. His tone was suddenly tense and pleading, and when Roman looked back at his brother, he saw that Patton was already staring at him with a hard look in his eyes.

Roman blinked but nodded slowly. Patton then sighed and looked away, worrying his bottom lip and shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Roman, unable to figure out how he offended Patton, looked to Virgil, who only wore the same confused expression and gave a small shrug. Their father’s blatant favoritism of Patton was not unknown to any of them, and the three had made a joke out of it instead of a sibling rivalry. How he suddenly upset Patton, Roman was unsure of. He did not have time to ponder, however, for the parlor doors were pushed open by two of their guards and in walked their father with Duke Clark at his side. The princes stood up as Duchess Clark and a man Roman did not recognize stepped out from behind his father and the Duke.

His father said something, something that he definitely should have been listening to, but he was too distracted by the young man. A strapping, muscular man that had to stand at least a few inches over Roman. Brown hair styled to perfection and a dark blue waistcoat over a white shirt, which was tucked into tan trousers. A cravat was knotted neatly around his neck, and hazel eyes shone brightly behind a pair of round glasses-

Round glasses.

He truly believed that he felt his heart skip a beat.

Roman suddenly had to will himself to remain composed, for this muscular man in front of him, with his chiseled features and bright eyes and perfect hair, this gorgeous man, was Logan Clark, his old childhood friend. His old friend who -last time Roman checked- was barely able to fill out any of his clothes properly and always hid behind round glasses and a book.

The years had definitely been kind to Logan. However, this situation was not being kind to Roman, for if he already felt a flutter in his heart just by seeing Logan, how would he handle living in the same vicinity for weeks?

“And, of course, you remember my eldest, Roman,” his father’s voice is what smacked Roman back into reality. Right. He had to be addressing their guests and being prince-like and not gaping at the friend he had not seen in eight years.

“Prince Roman,” Duke Clark said with a bow as his wife curtsied. He came up beaming. “My, look at you! You are a grown man now!”

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Duke Clark. It is good to see that you and your family has remained well these past few years,” Roman said with a grin. He then looked to Logan. “And that Marquess Logan has returned to us an educated man.”

Logan smiled at Roman, a small and sincere one that turned up into dimples, and issued a bow of his own as the Duke continued to say, “My old friend, we should leave these two to talk, just as we should, should we not? It has been so long since we have all last seen each other. I think we all deserve time to catch up.”

The King nodded in agreement and Roman watched as his father led the Duke and Duchess out. When the doors shut behind them, Roman turned to Logan with a grin.

“It seems that the years have been kind to you, Logan,” he commented.

“Thank you,” Logan said. “I can say the same for you, Prince Roman.”

Roman flinched at the use of his proper title. “Please, you do not have to be so formal with me,” he pleaded. “You never called me ‘Prince Roman’ when we were children, I certainly do not think you have to start now.”

A smile formed on Logan’s face. Roman could see the relief behind it. “I did not think it was going to stick either,” he said. “I have missed you, Roman. It is good to finally see you again.”

--

“It is pleasant to see that Patton and Virgil are doing well,” Logan said as he followed Roman through the castle halls. “They have both grown so much.”

Roman huffed out a sigh. “Oh, do not remind me,” he said. “I feel old just thinking about it. To think that eight years has passed already. I already know that I am beginning to wither away.”

When Roman looked to his companion, he could not help but laugh at Logan’s astonished, if slightly concerned, expression. “I do not know what is harder to believe,” Logan said with a shake of his head. “That you have somehow become more dramatic over the course of eight years, or you, with your regimen and your ego, think you are already aging.”

“I am quite offended,” Roman said, mockingly throwing his hand to his heart. “You have not seen me for eight years, and have only delivered sparse letters here or there, and yet you judge me for things out of my control?”

“You make it quite easy, Roman,” Logan smirked. “And do not act as if you were not the same way eight years ago.”

Roman nodded. “You do have a point, my friend,” he said. “Besides, what am I even saying? My beauty might as well never fade.”

Logan laughed, and Roman was pleased to hear no mockery in it and, instead, utter enjoyment. Roman was delighted, truly. Even after not seeing his friend for almost a decade, they still managed to fit together as if neither had ever left.

“But, Roman, where are we going? We have been walking for quite some time, and I remember the libraries being in the other direction,” Logan noted.

“That is because we are not going to the libraries,” Roman said. “You think I am letting you bury your face in a book? Absolutely not. We have eight years of reminiscing to do. I will make sure you do not get your hands on a book until I know everything.”

“Very totalitarian,” Logan said. “And, of course, it is not like we have weeks ahead of us where we will be living in the same vicinity and seeing each other every day. If only that was the case, it would make recounting the last eight years so much easier.”

“Oh, Logan, you are thinking far too much about this, and also far too wrong,” Roman said as they finally approached his first destination: the kitchen. He considered himself lucky that there was no one else loitering about; the cooks usually did not appreciate him getting in their way. “Yes, we do have many weeks ahead of us, but those weeks are for us to make new memories together. If we take this slow and learn something new day by day, you will leave here only remembering how you retold the past.”

“You make a fair point,” Logan said. “But you do realize that eight years is a long time, yes? There is no way we can tell each other everything in one day.”

“Well, we will just have to find a way then, will we not?” Roman asked as he snatched a wine bottle from where it sat on one of the counters. It had just been taken out of the wine cellar, the glass still cool to the touch. “You went to a prestigious academy, I am positive you can figure out a way.” He then took two wine glasses by the stems from where they hung on their rack and managed to hold them without them fumbling. “Speaking of your academy, please tell me you have not gone eight years without a drink. With all the stories we are about to tell, and all that is to come in the next weeks, I do not think I can do this sober.”

Logan raised an eyebrow and eyed the wine bottle. “Are you supposed to be taking that?”

“It will not be missed,” Roman said. “So, Logan, will you be joining me in my room for stolen drinks and eight years of storytelling? Or did that academy make you dull, and I will be left with no choice but sparking life back into you?”

Logan smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. “For a man who has not seen me in eight years, you are rather informal,” he said. “We might as well be strangers.”

“But we are not,” Roman replied. “If you truly thought so, you would not tease me like this. I can easily throw you out of here and back hundreds of miles away, yet I will not. Because eight years did not change a friendship, not truly.” A pause. “So, must I ask again? Will you be having a drink with me?”

Logan’s smirk then turned into a gentle smile and Roman tried to ignore the way his pulse quickened at seeing the genuine happiness on Logan’s face. “I guess I will be,” Logan said.

In Roman’s room, the pair took their places sitting in two of the chairs on Roman’s balcony. They looked out into the blooming garden, vibrant shades of reds and blues shining brightly below them. A warm breeze brushed past them, and Roman blew a strand of hair out of his eyes as he poured their wine.

“Being served by a Price,” Logan noted with a small smile. “That is not something you see everyday.”

“A privilege only you will get to experience,” Roman said, the words rolling easily off his tongue. He knew that he had to be cautious; it has been years since he had last seen Logan and absolutely did not want to cross any lines. They were reunited for the sake of finding wives together, not for Roman to reminisce on what he felt for Logan when they were younger. Still, however, Roman could flatter, and could flatter very well.

“Consider me honored,” Logan said, accepting a wine glass. He then stared out into the garden and across the kingdom. Even from here, they could see a minuscule version of the common hustle and bustle of their city. Roman watched as Logan studied what was before him, his eyes drifting over the city, the garden, and, finally, Roman.

“Something on your mind, Logan?” Romas asked before taking a sip of his own wine.

“I always wanted to come back here,” Logan said. “It was where I grew up, and where I had my closest friend.” Roman could not help but smile at that and, upon noticing, Logan beamed back at him before continuing, “I just… did not expect to return under these circumstances.”

The smile fell off of Roman’s face as quickly as it formed. When they were speaking with Virgil and Patton in the parlor, they had come to a silent agreement to not talk about the upcoming meetings and marriages. Perhaps Logan knew Roman’s disagreement with the situation, and understood that it would be better if they spoke in private about it, with no brothers, servants, or fathers to overhear.

As much as Roman wanted these next couple weeks to just be focused on him and Logan, he knew he would have to face the reality eventually. They were here to find wives, and then Logan would leave, and Roman would be alone again.

Roman sighed and tilted his head up to look at the blue sky. There was no cloud in sight but that did not stop storm clouds from brewing in Roman’s heart. “Ah, yes,” he said quietly. “I suspect we will be married men soon.”

“Are you… alright with that?” Logan asked. His tone was cautious, as if he was fearful of upsetting Roman. “I know that you did not enjoy the attention from possible suitors when we were younger.”

A bitter laugh escaped Roman’s lips and he downed more than half his wine before speaking, “Logan, I believe I have only grown more annoyed with all the suitors. Quite honestly, I think this scheme of my father’s is the one I disapprove of the most. He truly does not care whether or not I marry now or in ten years. He just fears that he cannot control me, and tying me down to a loveless marriage might be his only way to ensure that I do not continue to embarrass him.”

“I am sure you do not embarrass him,” Logan said softly. “You are his son, his first-born.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Yes, his first-born son who would rather be-” Roman then cut himself off abruptly. Logan had not been around for eight years and definitely did not know of Roman’s escapades. He did not know of Roman sneaking off with various men over the years, finding abandoned closets and rooms on the far side of the castle where he hoped nobody would find them. He did not know of the one time Roman was discovered, and how it nearly destroyed him in every way possible. Roman hoped, prayed, that Logan would be accepting, but even he could not risk it so soon in their trip. He waved his hand dismissively. “It is no matter. My father and I always had our issues, and always will.” He sighed and finished the rest of his wine before topping it off to the brim. “And your thoughts on our situation?”

Logan sipped his wine with a shrug. “It is what my parents want,” he said as if it was the obvious answer.

“You know you can be your own person, Logan,” Roman said. “With your own thoughts and opinions on how your life should turn out.”

“True, but I have an estate to inherit,” Logan said. “I have many cousins who would do whatever it took to inherit at least a fraction of what I am. I need to listen to my parents if I want to receive what is rightfully mine.”

“And I do not have a throne to inherit? I do not have brothers who could easily replace me?” Roman asked. Annoyance was clear in his tone but Roman hated himself for it nonetheless. He knew what his friend meant; for Logan to inherit his father’s estate meant that he would never have to worry about his financial situation for the rest of his life. It would be the key to a luxurious life. Logan, however, let his parents govern everything he did and Roman could not handle seeing him still choose to not make his own decisions, especially when he himself had been risking everything for years.

Logan flinched at Roman’s comment and frowned. “I apologize, I did not mean for that to-”

Roman shook his head and put a hand up to stop Logan. “No, I am sorry,” he said. “I should not have gotten defensive with you, as I completely understand what you mean. I just… I always wished that you would stand up for what you wanted, and I still do. You are an adult now, with an education and a degree. I think you could lead yourself in a great direction if you looked outside of what your parents expected.”

Logan sighed and looked down into whatever remained in his glass. “Perhaps you are right,” he said. “But I have barely ever stood up for what I wanted, I do not think I even know how to start now.”

Despite Roman having so much more to say on his friend and his confidence, Logan’s tone made it very clear to Roman that the conversation was over. He felt an awkwardness set over him; he had not meant to make his friend uncomfortable, and especially not in the first two hours of his return to the castle.

“Well, now that we have pushed aside the depressing, terribly uncomfortable conversation, let us move on to something better, yes?” Roman asked, topping off both of their glasses. “You were in the Academy until you were eighteen, and then studied at multiple universities, yes? I fully believe that you were not always the prim-and-proper Logan that I have always known, and as the Prince, I demand that you tell me.”

Logan laughed and traced his finger over the rim of his glass. “You might be correct on that,” he said. “What would you like to know?”

Roman looked out over the balcony with a grin as he wondered about what to interrogate his friend about first. He pushed the thought of their upcoming arranged marriages out of his mind; it was the last thing he wanted to think about when Logan was at his side.

[thenovelartist]

The Love of a Cat, Chapter 44

“You should have heard her, Adrien,” Nino said from his seat next to Adrien’s bed. “You would have been so proud of her.”

Adrien smiled fondly. “Why does everyone think she needs to make me proud? She’s already made me proud.”

“I know, buddy,” Nino said dismissively. “But…this was the type of speech that would have made your father reconsider his stance on her. She took complete command in that room. Honestly, she was stunning.”

His heart sped up in his chest at the reverent way Nino described Marinette. “I wish I could have been there.”

A knock sounded against the door before it opened to reveal Jalil. “May I come in?”

At Adrien’s nod, Jalil entered. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” As long as Adrien stayed still, the throbbing in his side was manageable. It was only if he moved that it stung. “How did the meeting go? Nino was telling me Marinette certainly made an impression.”

Jalil gave Adrien a firm nod. “I never would have guessed she had not been brought up a princess. She spoke with such grace and authority. I was extremely impressed.”

Again, Adrien’s heart did little flips at hearing such high praise for his wife.

“However, it is you who will have to complete her promises.”

“What did she promise?” Adrien asked, ready to sign off or seal whatever she needed him to.

“To end this war immediately should the guards surrender their loyalty to Hawkmoth, which they more or less did after she threatened them.”

Adrien wasn’t sure how many more times it could have been stated, but he loved that woman. “Done. Nino; a lap desk, ink, and paper, please.”

He looked a little torn. “Are you certain you don’t want to take it easy for the moment?”

“I’ve had my moment to rest,” he countered. “Now I have a promise to fulfill. So, can I please have the desk, ink, and paper?”

While Nino’s questioning look proved he wasn’t sure Adrien was fully up to the task, he relented with a sigh.

“Your wife,” Jalil continued once Nino had shut the door, “also promised that there would be open communication between Paris and France. Peace treaties, even.”

“I am in full agreement,” Adrien quickly said. “While I can’t speak for my father, I promise you that I will cooperate with you to end this war. I doubt that either kingdom knows what caused the fighting, anyway. Uniting the kingdoms would be in the best interest for everyone, at this point.”

Jalil gave a single, curt nod. “While a nuisance that I don’t want to bother with, I will have to ask for your assistance writing up a public peace treaty and making a show of signing it since, clearly, a marriage union is out of the question.”

Adrien smiled, rubbing the ring on his left finger. “Clearly. Besides, Alix would never agree to marry me even if I was single.”

“Yes. She has her sights locked on someone else; I’m fully aware.”

This surprised Adrien, who raised a brow in silent question.

Jalil smirked. “I believe I knew Alix was infatuated with Kim before even she knew she was. Those two were chaos together, but if I’m being honest, I’ve always respected Kim. Despite his penchant for trouble, he was very honorable and trustworthy. He was also a very talented knight, one who could become a strong leader with time.”

“And a bit of self-discipline,” Adrien added.

“Yes,” Jalil amusedly agreed. “A bit of that. Something I had hoped his trip would teach him. I have yet to see what affect the last few years have had on him, but they seem to have done him well.”

“He’s a good man,” Adrien said, “As well as a skilled fighter. He’s proven himself to be worthy of all my respect.”

Jalil studied Adrien for a moment. “So tell me,” he eventually said. “If you had a sister, would you entrust her to him?”

“Is that your way of asking if I think he’s good enough for Alix?”

Jalil shrugged, but Adrien could speculate the answer.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he loves her,” Adrien answered.

“That’s not good enough reason.”

“But surely you know Kim well enough to know how loyal and devoted he is to those he cares about.”

At that, Jalil was silent.

“That man took hits for me on the battlefield,” Adrien continued, “as well as a knife meant to kill me when an assassin broke into my own home. I trusted him to care for my house when I was away. He was respectable and kind with Marinette when she unexpectedly became my wife. He was there by Alix’s side, refusing to move, when she came to my home unconscious. He cared for her, running any errand she could think of, while she was on bedrest. And finally, when there was worry that this ring of mine would uproot you and Alix from the throne, he offered to marry her just so that he could ensure she would be safely taken care of. Frankly, Alix wasn’t happy when she learned that by remaining the Princess of France she wasn’t able to accept that proposal.”

Jalil mulled the words over, his gaze hitting the floor while he sank deeply into thought. Eventually, he lifted his gaze once again. “Your thoughts are noted. Thank you for your opinion. I wanted to know just what sort of man that Kim had become, and you’ve proven he’s grown into a good one.”

Adrien felt himself grin. “I hope that it means he is blessed with happiness after all. He was very jealous of my marriage as well as Plagg and Tikki’s.”

Before Jalil could answer, Kim burst through the door. “There you are,” he said, referring to Jalil. He then glanced over to Adrien before returning his attention to Jalil. “Perfect. I can tell both of you at once.”

Jalil’s eyes narrowed in worry. “What is it?”

“Plagg brought you two a present.”

It was Adrien’s turn to frown. “What sort of ‘present’?”

Kim’s smile was downright devious. “A brown-haired rat that goes by the name of Theo Barbot.”

It wouldn’t be for another few days that Adrien was well enough to stand so that Theo could face both him and King Jalil.

Theo himself limped from the injury that Adrien had given him. When the sentencing grew too long, Theo had to be supported by the two guards that had escorted him into the throne room.

By the end, Theo hung his head. Everyone in the room knew Theo was damned. The only reason for the deliberation was if Theo should be hung in France for his cooperation with “King” Hawkmoth as well as his aggressive intentions towards Princess Alix or if he should be dragged back to Paris in order to face King Gabriel. In the end, it was decided that his position as Lord Barbot meant that he had far more crimes against Paris than France, including treason, attempted murder of the prince, and attempted rape of the princess, just to name a few.

After the sentencing, Adrien had written a lengthy letter to his father describing that needed to be done about the prisoner that was being sent his way. While Adrien would have liked to return to Paris himself, he figured he would stay a few extra days to assist Jalil in establishing his new position as king as well as starting formal peaceful negotiations.

It had nothing to do with Marinette’s insistence that Adrien allow his injury to heal a while longer before embarking on their journey home.

“Nino.”

“Yes?”

Adrien held out the completed letter to his best friend. “I need you to escort Lord Barbot back to Paris. Give this to my father so that he knows what to do with that man.”

Hesitantly, Nino took the letter. “Are you certain?”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t trust you to take Theo?” Adrien sarcastically challenged.

“Not at all. I just thought you’d want to be there.”

Adrien sighed. “As much as I would like to, I can’t. There is business that still needs to be taken care of. Besides, I would feel safer if Theo traveled separately from the girls when they are escorted home.”

“That, I cannot argue with,” Nino said before a sly smile grew across his face. “But I’m not worried about Alya as long as she has a cooking pan.”

Adrien chuckled. “May I suggest you stay far away from any kitchen when you ask to court her.”

Nino grinned, but Adrien could tell he was nervous. “I will keep that in mind.”

A full week had passed by the time Adrien felt it was time to leave. He would admit that he was glad to have stayed as long as he did because he was proud to be present for the small ceremony for Kim.

“You never were officially knighted,” Jalil commented from his position on the dais. “But I believe it is far overdue. Kneel.”

Kim knelt before Jalil while Alix, who stood before her mother’s throne, watched with pride.

Jalil unsheathed the sword from his side. “Sir Kim Le Chien,” he stated loudly, tapping the sword on Kim’s shoulder. “I knight you the Noblest Knight,” he switched the sword to Kim’s other shoulder, “in all of France.”

It was very subtle, but Adrien noticed the way Kim stiffened under the title. Understandable considering that title was usually reserved for a member of the royal family.

Suddenly, Adrien was fighting to keep a straight face.

“You may stand.”

Kim did as asked, never wavering under Jalil’s firm gaze.

“Now,” Jalil said, sheathing the sword. “You possess the most honorable title a knight can hold. Do you understand the responsibility that comes with it?”

“Yes, sire,” he said. “I will uphold that title with the highest of honor.”

“Good. I will not stand for you doing anything less.”

“I will ensure you never regret such a decision,” Kim reverently swore, “and I will work my hardest to prove that to you.”

Jalil’s expression softened for a split second. “However, that title must also be proved to the kingdom,” he said, voice still as powerful as ever. “You must prove that you are honorable and steady. And that is most easily accomplished in the form of a marriage union.”

Alix tensed, her eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Sire?” Kim questioned, clearly confused and likely nervous himself.

Jalil was as stoic as ever when he nodded. “Yes. For that reason, I will arrange such a union that would be beneficial for you and the kingdom.”

Kim bowed his head, clearly ready to submit even though it was doubtful he wanted to. “Yes, sire. I am at your service.”

Even though she did a very good job at hiding it., Adrien could see evidence of Alix’s disappointment.

After glancing over at his sister, Jalil’s expression softened once again, this time permanently. “You are to marry Princess Alix Kubdel in order to ensure her safety and protection.”

The duo stiffened upon hearing Alix’s name, both wide-eyed as they shared a look.

“In such a turbulent time as this,” Jalil continued, “I want to ensure that the royal family is protected.”

Adrien couldn’t fight the smile that grew on his lips. It quickly earned him a gentle elbow in his ribs.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Marinette whispered.

“For about a week now,” Adrien returned just as quietly, albeit a bit smugly.

Marinette gave a quiet sigh, but didn’t say another word as she watched the scene unfold in front of her.

Instead of standing before Jalil, Kim was now kneeling before Alix, holding her hand in his as he asked for her hand in marriage.

It surprised no one when she gave him a bright smile and said yes.

“I’m sad to see you leave,” Jalil admitted. “I grew used to having you around.”

“We’ll keep in close enough touch that it will hardly feel as though I’m gone.” Adrien said, shaking Jalil’s outstretched hand. “Besides, we’ll be back to witness the wedding. I’m certain that it will be the only thing Marinette talks about for weeks.”

It earned him a jab in the ribs from his wife, but it only caused him to grin.

Jalil chuckled. “Well, I wish you all a safe, quick, and uneventful journey home.”

“Thank you,” Marinette said.

With one last bow good-bye, Adrien and Marinette made their way to the carriage Jalil had graciously loaned to them for the trip home. Plagg hopped out of the driver’s seat so as to hold the door open for Adrien and Marinette.  “Thank you, Plagg,” they both said.

He nodded in return.

Adrien assisted Marinette into the carriage before following himself. Plagg shut the door behind them, and Adrien took his seat beside Marinette facing forwards in the carriage. Tikki and Alya were already inside, the latter working on some sewing project while the former rested her head on the side of the carriage. Adrien frowned. Even in the warm morning light, Tikki looked pale.

With a snap of the reins, the carriage was off, and Adrien couldn’t deny just how good it felt to know that they were finally heading home. Marinette waved out of the window, garnering a wave from Alix in return. Adrien grinned at the friendship that had bloomed between those two as well as thanking the heavens that Alix had come into Marinette’s life to help shape her into the incredible woman she had become.

By the time the castle was out of sight, Adrien allowed his head to fall backwards and his eyes to drift shut. Marinette slipped her hand into his, and immediately he felt the wedding band on her hand.

Which reminded him…

“I believe I promised you a wedding when we got home.”

He cracked an eye open so he’d be able to see her reaction. The way her surprise turned to excitement was priceless. “That you did. And I eagerly await that.”

“Hold on,” Alya cried, her sewing hastily forgotten. “When what that decided?”

Marinette gave her friend a sheepish look. “Before Adrien left, he decided that we would have a public ceremony once he returned.”

Alya seemed to bubble over with excitement and in no time at all, the duo were engaged in excited chatter over the details of the event. Adrien had no problem allowing Marinette free reign on what she wanted. He was far too focused on how adorable her excited expressions were, anyway.

Suddenly, Marinette’s happiness fell. “Tikki, are you all right?”

All eyes turned to Tikki and the way she clutched her stomach.

“Tikki?” Adrien repeated.

When she placed a hand over her mouth, he smacked the roof. “Stop the carriage!” he hollered.

The second it came to a stop, Tikki threw open the door and bolted, only to empty the contents of her stomach behind one of the trees.

“Oh, poor Tikki,” Marinette cooed, watching Tikki from the window.

“I had hoped we would make it home before these symptoms started to show,” Alya commented.

“What symptoms?” Adrien asked as he watched Plagg walk over to Tikki. He rubbed her back as she finished her heaving, providing support for her to keep standing.

When the girls remained silent, Adrien turned to face them. “Girls?”

The girls each looked sheepish. “Well…”

“Marinette,” he warned.

“Tikki’s pregnant,” she admitted.

Adrien’s eyes widened. “She’s pregnant? You dragged a pregnant woman into a war zone?”

“It’s not like we knew when we started out!” Alya defended.

“She only realized it soon after we arrived,” Marinette completed. “We wanted to keep it secret until we got home because we were worried how Plagg would react.”

“Well, it’s a bit late for that now,” Adrien commented. He glanced out the window to where Plagg was somehow yelling at Tikki while cuddling her protectively. Clearly, she had told him, and Plagg was reacting about as well as Adrien suspected he would. Tikki would just have to be patient with the way Plagg couldn’t decide hold her at arm’s length or pull her close for hugs and kisses.

“They’re so sweet,” Alya commented.

“There really couldn’t be a better woman for Plagg,” Marinette agreed. “And Tikki couldn’t have found anyone who could rival how much Plagg cares about her.”

While Adrien wasn’t certain he would define the scene as sweet as much as it was Plagg flying in to a justified panic, he’d not ruin the girl’s opinions. After all, if it was Marinette who was the one pregnant, he’d likely be acting the same as Plagg.

Suddenly, his heart picked up its pace. “Marinette?”

Her brow furrowed at his tone. “Yes?”

He hesitated. “You…you would have told me if you were…”

Understanding his unfinished question, her posture relaxed, and she gave him a sweet smile. “Honestly, if I were in Tikki’s position, I probably would have done the same. Especially considering you were injured, you didn’t need to worry about me.” She squeezed his hand in reassurance. “But that’s a moot point for us.”

Adrien felt the next breath come a little easier.

Eventually, it seemed Plagg had settled for holding Tikki firmly against him, arms wrapped around her tight as he rocked her back and forth. Considering Plagg’s head was pressed against the side of Tikki’s, Adrien guessed that he was probably calm enough to be able to share a happy moment with his wife over what really was wonderful news. They stayed like that for a while before Plagg swooped Tikki up in his arms and returned her to the carriage.

“You listen to me,” he told Tikki, his tone somewhere between loving and warning. “The moment you begin feeling sick again, we stop. If you need us to slow down, we’ll slow down. If—”

“Plagg,” Tikki interrupted. “I’m fine. But if I need anything, I’ll say so, all right.”

His lips pursed in uncertainty as he gently put Tikki down in front of the carriage. “All right.”

Tikki gave him a smile and a brief kiss. “I love you,” she whispered.

Plagg lowered his head so their foreheads touched. His voice was barely audible, but Adrien still heard it. “I love you, too. I just want you and this little baby of ours to be safe.” Plagg’s hand lowered to touch Tikki’s abdomen, as if he could feel the baby there.

“We will be. You’ll see.” Tenderly, Tikki patted Plagg’s cheeks before she turned to enter the carriage. Plagg offered all the assistance he could before flashing Tikki one last smile as she took her seat.

Plagg shut the carriage door then hopped back up to the driver’s seat, shaking the carriage in the process. When he snapped the reins, starting the horses going again, Adrien gave Tikki a grin. “I hear that congratulations are in order.”

When Tikki smiled, it was as though she was glowing. “Thank you,” she said, her hands cradling her still flat stomach. “I didn’t expect to start a family so early, but I’m not complaining.”

“I am,” Marinette said, her tone and smile proving she was teasing. “It means you won’t be my lady’s maid for much longer.”

“I’m more than happy to fill that role,” Alya volunteered.

“I’m not invalid,” Tikki objected.

“We know that,” Marinette assured with a wave of her hand. “But deny that you want to settle down with Plagg in your own home so you can be fully devoted to your little one once it’s born.”

The carriage was silent as Tikki pressed her lips into a thin line.

Marinette only grinned. “See? So I just want to spend time with you while I can.”

The girls continued their conversation while Adrien soon grew lost in his thoughts. For all Plagg and Tikki had done for him, he wanted to ensure that they would have a home to call their own. While he had once had a spot picked out, it no longer seemed good enough. However, the idea that soon came to mind had him grinning, and it was definitely big enough for the five children Plagg had said Tikki wanted.

[marbresauvage]

Un, Deux, Trois // 🐻

tl;dr: okay, so here’s the sitch. we wanted to get enjolras drunk, and have snuggles between our three boys. thing is, they were like ‘yo we gotta confeSS OUR EMOTIONS’ and went 'ok no we’re not getting drunk we just gon snuggle’ so. uh. oops precursor to poly?

setting: 4th of april, aka the day when bahorel and grantaire got Cosy™ in the pub (as noted in the gossip mag apparently?), after they came back to the apartment

with: enjolras, grantaire ( @la-vie-dure ), and bahorel ( @ofscarletopinions )

content warnings: alcohol

Grantaire fought with the key. Bahorel and him had left the pub, both ​slightly​ drunk, so getting the key into the lock was hard. Once he opened the door, he just stumbled in. ​"We have returned home, mon amour."​

Bahorel leaned heavily on the door frame, he felt that everything he did was heavy. Why was he so big, honestly, if he fell on the others he was half worried he'd crush them. The door was nice and sturdy though, he felt less concerned. "I feel left out already. Mon amour! Love, a many splendor thing! Love lifts us up where we belong! All we need is love!"

Enjolras was still working, letting out a 'hm' noise as the cats stirred when the door opened, not noticing himself that his humans had returned. Indeed, he hadn't even known that Bahorel had come back, and the fellow had been returned for long enough that he really should have known, considering how, y'know, he lived with him. This was what happened when work. Utter Absorption™.

Grantaire flushed slightly at Bahorel's words and he tried to punch him against his arm but his strength was not really there so he just... did not. "Do not feel left out, there is room enough for you, too." He said as he patted his chest above where his heart was. Stumbling into the living room, he glanced at Enjolras. "You should take a break and bestow your lovely presence upon us."

Bahorel grinned at Grantaire and let himself bump into him as he walked, a chin tucked against his shoulder and a sloppy kiss brushed over what he could reach before he was quite literally invading Enjolras' personal space, sliding to half drape over the arm of the couch and half sprawl on the floor, limbs thrown to rest on Enjolras. "I've returned! I bring gifts! Gifts of good company and good drink. Join us, mon ami!" He slid slightly off the couch, his head now resting on Enjolras' shoulder against the end of his curls

Enjolras could smell alcohol, but frankly, that was nothing new and the smell didn't really bother him too much. So, when there was a presence on his shoulder and limbs across his person, he naturally assumed it was Grantaire and continued to work until he reached an appropriate stopping point, whereupon he finally closed the laptop and looked up. And stopped short, in surprise. "You're not Grantaire." He squinted, pulling back a little to consider the other, looking up at Grantaire, then back down at who he now realised to be Bahorel. "Oh. You're back."

Grantaire laughed at Enjolras' confusion. "Mon ami," he started, glancing at Bahorel before letting himself flop down next to Enjolras and letting his own head drop onto his other shoulder. "It seems as if we were both wrong. Enjolras has not simply forgotten to mention your return, he has not even realized it. Now that is a new level on the Enjolras-meter that I had not thought of yet." Reaching with his hand across of Enjolras, he patted whichever part he could reach of Bahorel, "But fret not, mon ami, I have noticed your return. Very much so."

Bahorel proceeded to pout nonetheless and pressed a tight lipped kiss to the small circle of skin behind Enjolras ear, one long arm reached around to fall on Grantaire. "Enjolras has no time for his roommate!" It's spoken very grandly, and also, very drunkenly, "--only work! Mon ami, I have missed you, your eagle eye concentration, for all that it leads to this. Worry not though, what pain you might have inflicted has been soothed by R, may your wine be plentiful and your laugh jolly."

Enjolras cocked his head, considering the two revolutionaries draped across him, and settled back, aware that this was his fate. They were both drunk. This was fine. "...I have missed you too?" He turned his head to kiss Grantaire's forehead, then turned to kiss Bahorel's also, his hands still upon his laptop due to having just been using it. "What's happening?"

Grantaire turned his head to press a kiss onto Enjolras' neck before grinning at him. "Drinking is happening. Join us. Take a break. Celebrate! For our lost ami has returned to us!"

Bahorel laughed at the other two, his head thrown back to press against Enjolras even as he moved to stand, he shook, barely and grinned down at the other two, suddenly, even more aware of his own height. "I have wine, I'll get the glasses and pour, put your work away, I doubt you'll get back to it tonight." With that he dropped a lingering kiss to both of their foreheads and moved to the kitchen.

Enjolras blinked, still somewhat confused, and obediently put his laptop beneath the coffee table, alongside the various notepads and work stuff before he sat back against Grantaire, taking his hand in his own due primarily to that being his natural state of being. "What ​day​ is it?"

Grantaire linked his fingers with Enjolras' and just fondly shook his head. "Wednesday. It has been a while since I saw your handsome face, you need to learn to not let yourself be completely absorbed with your work. I miss seeing you ​and​ having your attention."

Bahorel returned triumphant with drinks and kisses pressed to the top of their heads, blond and brunette, before he passed off the glasses. "Cherry wine, mon amis, I hear it's something of a delicacy." He pressed himself to Enjolras side, a leg kicked out to lay over Grantaire's own. "Together again."

Enjolras was sandwiched between the two, but found little in this circumstance to complain about. "I cannot say I know what is happening, but alright."

Grantaire took the glass with his free hand and tried to sit up slightly, all the while balancing the glass and not letting go of Enjolras' hand. "I am looking forward to trying this delicacy," he said as he raised his glass to not only look at the wine but also clink glasses with the other two. "Just join in. Drink to us being reunited."

Bahorel tapped his glass against Grantaires and grinned at Enjolras, loose limbed and warm, both from drink and the company of good friends. "Drink. Be merry. We have eachother and all is well, think, for tonight, on nothing but joy. What's happening mon ami, is friendship." He took a drink from his glass.

Enjolras sniffed at the wine, a little...not ​nervous​ or anything, just...nervous. What? He wasn't a drinker. "I'm not sure we have the same definitions of friendship. But, if that is what it is to you, very well. I suppose..." He took a little sip. Itty bitty. Teeny weenie. It was a very smol sip. It tasted weird. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Grantaire took a drink of his own glass, letting the liquid settle on his tongue before swallowing it. "This was a very good choice," he commented, deciding to merely hide his amusement about the 'friendship' commentary. "I like the full-fruit flavor of it." He turned to look at Enjolras. "This should not be considered a sip of the wine. Try more."

Bahorel laughed, "perhaps not friendship then, what's happening now is, camaraderie. Caring. Call it what you will, but we all know the feelings we have." He licked his lips and let the taste linger on his tongue, "drink Mon Ami, in time it will taste less like vinegar and more like the cherries we know it to be."

Enjolras exhaled, furrowing his brow as he smelled the wine again. "Life would be so much simpler if people just said what they thought and felt." Still, he did as bade, and tried a little more, this time actually lifting the glass to take an actual sip instead of just dipping his tongue into it. And yet, he made a face. Alcohol was weird.

Grantaire nodded and took another sip. "Being upfront would have saved us a few headaches, wouldn't it?" He commented before leaning over and nudging his nose against Enjolras' cheek. "You'll get used to the taste, just as Bahorel said."

Bahorel looked at Enjolras first, then leaned over to see R fully before he sat back, the tight line of his shoulders relaxing as he took another swallow of the wine. "I desire both of you romantically to be honest with you, as I mean, why not? Times have changed, the taboo is no longer a concern of mine." It was said casually, though he didn't quite look at either of them

Enjolras stopped. Then he placed his glass upon the coffee table, pressed a reassuring kiss to the back of Grantaire's hand, turned towards Bahorel, placed his newly-free hand upon the side of the bearded man's neck, and pressed a firm kiss to his lips as he squeezed Grantaire's hand.

Grantaire returned the squeeze of the hand and watched as Enjolras kissed Bahorel. It felt as if a weight that he had not been aware of was lifted off his shoulders. Setting his own glass down, he leaned over and let his hand run through Bahorel's hair. "It seems like Enjolras is not opposed and neither am I."

Bahorel lay his hand on Enjolras face and tilted his chin, deepening the kiss, letting the other taste the wine on his tongue. Still, he pressed forward, laid his hand on Grantaire's arm before withdrawing, "there is a circle here we must not let break. It's only fair to keep it even." He pressed a kiss to Grantaire's arm and smiled at the both. "No one opposes then?"

Enjolras was very pleased, yes. The wine tasted marginally better in the mouth of someone else. "Nobody opposes. We should still discuss this, however." A pause. "When you both have become sober. You're both drunk."

Grantaire shook his head. "Certainly not opposing." Glancing at Enjolras, he kissed him on the cheek before leaning over him to press a short kiss on Bahorel's lips. "I may be drunk but my mind is still functioning normally."

Bahorel hummed into the kiss before pulling back, "I'm very drunk. However, I've wanted this sober for weeks upon weeks, that has not changed in the last few hours." He pressed as close to the both of them as he comfortably could. "I have missed you both dearly."

Enjolras leaned upon Bahorel and pulled Grantaire close to his chest. "You're both still drunk. You may think this is a good idea now, but that does not mean you'll feel the same way when you sober up."

Grantaire easily leaned into Enjolras and shrugged. "I do not think that the feeling is going to change. For me, it also has been building up for a while. But if it makes you feel more at ease, we will speak about this tomorrow. After all, the feelings will not have changed, so we should not worry."

Bahorel smiled into the blond of Enjolras hair and reached past to lay a hand on Grantaire, "we shall speak of it tomorrow over breakfast, speaking for myself I'll say it's been too long a thing I've lived with for it to suddenly fade now that I might have it. It took a while but this, here, this is a proper homecoming."

Enjolras let out a little hum as he leaned into both of them. Yes. This was good. "Thank you, I appreciate this. Tomorrow, when sobriety is a thing. For now, however, I must ask...how long have you been back? Did you know about this? How did I not notice?"

Grantaire shook his head in amusement. "I found out about this when he decided to text me. I had not known before." While he spoke, he had leaned forward to try and reach his glass again.

Bahorel snorted, and shook his head, his eyes rolled and he took another swallow of his wine. "I've been back a week oh grand leader, a week in which I thought you'd told R I was back. Did you expect your dishes washed themselves?"

Enjolras blinked. A week? "...There are dishes?"

Grantaire laughed and took another sip of his wine. After all, they said they would be sober ​tomorrow​ . "You are unbelievable." He said with fondness.

Bahorel leaned forward to kiss his hair, voice almost unbearably fond, "were. There ​ were ​ dishes. And food to go on them. And drinks to go with them." He leaned to address Grantaire, "you see what I live with?"

Enjolras was kissed and pressed his thumb lightly against the back of Grantaire's hand, tracing absent patterns. "A lot has been happening. Dishes and food and drinks are secondary." Still, he held his humans closer, pleased at the proximity.

Grantaire chuckled. "At least he has someone to remind him to eat and stay hydrated," he said fondly. "I could think of worse people to share an apartment with." He let his own thumb trace along Enjolras' skin. "I do thank you for taking care of the dishes though. Eventually, I would have come by and done them but I have to admit, I, myself, have been a bit soaked into painting and drawing these days."

Bahorel he mock lamented to himself, head tilted toward the heavens, "why this? I care for two plants hiding as people, they must be watered and fed and given sunlight, one must be given a steady diet of alcohol the other must be reminded to drink at all."

Enjolras yawned a little, and wrapped himself around both of them. "You have become our responsible adult, petit croissant."

Grantaire smirked. "You still have the choice to get out of this. Think about it. If you agree to this, you will have to be the responsible one out of us." Which to be fair. Even if he would decide against it, he'd still have to deal with being the responsible one between them. "It will be a lot of work."

Bahorel rolled his eyes in the most obnoxious way possible, eyelids fluttering. "I am the responsible one regardless, I am also the oldest, I must look after mon petites. There is nothing to rethink."

Enjolras stretched, content in his wrappings of human. Good. "You are both good. I am very glad to have you both in my life."

Grantaire hummed. "Good. Same." Another sip of wine. Curling closer to the warmth. "This is good," he repeated.

Bahorel closed his eyes, "It's good to be back."

Enjolras nodded against his humans. "I can't say I'm too fond of the wine, though. It tasted like pickled cherries."

Grantaire growled lightly at that. "Heathen," he mumbled before drinking more of the wine. "I guess it means there is going to be more of it for the rest of us then."

Bahorel laughed, "don't let him lie to you. That's precisely what it is, old picked cherry juice."

Enjolras made a face. "Pickled cherry juice that has been left to go sour."

Grantaire huffed as he downed the rest of his glass. "More for me then." A small, traitorous smile curled his lips up before he set his now empty glass back down. "With that, you have just revoked your right to any more wine in my company, mon croissant."

Bahorel laughed, "a pity! Alas! What a shame, oh no, how will I ever live with the horror?...I prefer rum mon petit. Enjolras will find what he prefers one day. Leave him to his water for now."

Enjolras was unabashed at the reaction of Grantaire, not particularly minding how he was no longer allowed wine in his company (actually more pleased at the thought than anything else). "I knew there was a reason I liked you." He smushed his face between the two.

Grantaire dramatically gasped at the reactions. He turned to his, sadly, empty wine glass and spoke, "Do not fret, mon amour. They just do not understand our love but yet, I will keep loving you. If no one but us understands our love, then so be it."

Bahorel groaned, long and loud, head tilted back against the arm rest, eyes closed, "you were meant for the stage, clearly, such drama is befitting only of the theatre. You forget mon petit, I delivered your love to your arms, do I get no thanks?" He turned to Enjolras and smiled, "leave him to his glass, we have eachother."

Enjolras raised his head, frowning as he looked between the two. "I thought we had already discussed this."

Grantaire stayed in his made up personality and sighed just as dramatically. "This is it? You are not even going to fight for me? Oh, how I feel betrayed. My heart can not take it." He stopped himself, turning back to face Bahorel. "It is my arms that you love? What about the rest of me?" Okay. Okay. He needed to stop. He couldn't take the confusion on Enjolras' face. "I am joking. Mainly." He clarified as he brushed his lips against the blonde's cheek.

Bahorel rolled his eyes once again, something he'd do quite often he was sure, and smiled at them, something he was equally sure would happen just as often if not more so, "the man kids only we're around to see it, watch us come home to him holding a bottle of wine to his chest fast asleep."

Enjolras put his head back down, tracing circles on the back of Grantaire's hand. "Hm...thank you. Bahorel, would you believe Grantaire will not allow me to punch bigots?"

Grantaire chuckled and rolled his eyes. "It would not be for the first time," he shrugged, remembering the times that he had awoken with a bottle of wine in his arms. Turning to Enjolras, he raised his eyebrow. "Are you still complaining about this?"

Bahorel turned to look at R, shocked, "why would you stop him? Bigots deserve all that come to them by the way of a man's fist. Surely, if Enjolras were angry enough to strike the person than they must have done some heinous deed. Let him bruise his knuckles on the face of another, it only hurts the two. Are you not an artist? The rendering of such a moment must be a glorious thing, such an opportunty should not be passed up." He turned to Enjolras then, a smile on his face, "There will be other chances mon petit, and there will be times when I am there in his stead, not only will I allow you to but I shall endeaver to help you as best I can."

Enjolras pressed a kiss to Grantaire's cheek before putting his face on Bahorel. "Thank you. Bigots deserve to be punched. It's important and somebody has to do it."

Grantaire rolled his eyes and turned to his empty glass. "The one time I try to be responsible, it comes and bites me back." A heavy sigh escaped him. "I'm too drunk for this discussion. I'm not going to bail either of you out of jail if you punch the wrong person."

Bahorel passed his quarter full glass to Grantaire. "It's good then, that I have money in the coffee table for just such an occasion, laws have certainly changed. Enjolras is correct. It's a noble calling to punch bigots."

Enjolras yawned again, and wrapped himself around the others. "I would gladly go to jail with both of you. Situation willing, of course."

Grantaire smiled fondly at Enjolras. "I'd also go to jail with you two given the right circumstances." With a sigh, he let himself sink into the warmth. "I'm not going to have that discussion. Not now." And this is why he like wine. Wine was uncomplicated. Wine was just there. Wine was warm. Warm like these two. And warm was good.

Bahorel settled against them, the warmth lulling him into a state of relaxation, "I would make the same such assurances but I'm almost certain it'd be my fault we're in jail."

Enjolras was mumbling now, against the two. "What discussion?"

Grantaire shook his head. "Don't you worry. You should sleep."

Bahorel grumbled "we all should, the hangover will come swift tomrrow."

[writingmaniacnerdart]

Resurrected Repartee: A Hallowed Shapes AU Chapter 5 - Taphophobia

These are alternative scenes and/or snippets of a developing relationship between my OC and Loki from my original fiction, Hallowed Shapes, for any shippers out there.

Basic Concept: Terra Barloc is a member of Damage Control, an organization that cleans up super messes, and frankly, all of them are kind of tired of cliches and super bulls***t. She has abilities to see “life energy” as she calls it, in the forms of symbols, and through lies and facades. That means shape-shifting and tricking her can be well, tricky. Plus, she’s addicted to caffeine, painkillers don’t have much of an affect on her, and she can’t get drunk.

What happens the first time when she meets Loki, Prince of Asgard? Well, he was invading Earth and…She tackled him, insulted him, and uh, it’s best just to read. Let’s just say these two have issues, massive issues.

So getting them into a romance, is going to be a bit of an adventure.

Summary for this Chapter: Terra is willing to keep secrets of her own, but if one asks the right questions, she'll answer/tell the information someone needs about herself. 

Loki knows about what fates can await him, some he's more willing to tell than others.Still, both have problems they're not quite willing to confront, even if they can admit such things. Question is, will they let those burdens bury them alive?

“You fools, Ragnarok is near!” Loki growled.”If it comes to pass-!”

“You’ll be stuck underneath the Earth, chained by the intestines of one of your offspring that’s been changed into iron while the World Serpent drips venom onto you, thus making the Earth which is somehow the tether between the nine realms start tearing apart. And when you break free of your torment, everything falls apart, and we all die,” Terra summarized briefly. “Yes, I know I’m leaving out details, but that’s the basic idea, right? Then again, Earth myths and ideas about deities and Asgardians in general tend to be overly dramatic.”

As Loki gaped, Thor grunted, “This isn’t something to jest about.”

“No, I don’t think anyone being buried underground and being tortured for any amount of time for a number of years is funny at all, regardless of who they are or what they’ve done,” Terra stated, holding her arm. Her tone was off, her words shaking slightly, but not because of Thor. No, she still had that fire in her eyes, green or not. “What I’m trying to convey, and possibly failing at, is that we understand the stakes Loki. We’re not going to let it happen. I certainly won’t.”

There was a flash of something in her gaze, but her couldn’t identify what for it was gone as soon as it appeared. There was something in her tone that was familiar. Terra Barloc had always been sincere, careful with her words. Yet, in that moment while her words had been sincere, there was something else in them as well. It was the voice of experience, of knowledge gained not from a book or learning from others, but from trials and struggle. He was truly starting to wonder what this mortal had been through.

Loki could see Terry trembling underneath him as they hid, which was so unlike the fiery woman he had come to know. Her breathing was becoming erratic, eyes wide, and her scent contaminated with fear. Her pulse thundered against him and sweat began to glisten off her skin. She swallowed, pressing two fingers to her pulse as she shut her eyes and covered her mouth with the other hand.

“Barloc?" He whispered frantically. "Terra?!"

She shook her head, refusing to say anything until the immediate danger had passed. When it had, her shaking had grown worse, as had the rest of her physical condition. Her voice was hoarse, but cautiously quiet, the tone of it heart-tearing as she asked, “Please...Get off me.”

Never had the god heard her ask for something in such a manner, and he did not hesitate. “Are you alright?!”

Her breathing grew slightly easier as she swallowed, her expression marred by exhaustion and plagued by restlessness. One of her hands now dug into her arm, the nails biting into the flesh to the point where it started to break the skin. “No, but I’ll live. I uh, I have…” she breathed, smoothing down her hair as she fought to get the words out. “I have claustrophobia and a form of haphephobia. The first is a fear of closed spaces and the latter is physical contact with people. Some kinds of touching are okay but...I swear I’m trying to get better.”

She had hidden her face, obviously uncomfortable, and likely feeling ashamed not of the former, but more of the latter fear. Was it because claustrophobia was more common? Or because humans typically liked being touched? Loki wondered if she somehow felt inadequate due to it. After a moment, he shrugged, “I’ll try to be more cautious in the future. But, let me know if there’s something you’re not comfortable with, please?”

Terra hesitated, “Honestly, there are times where I’m sure your brother means well, but he can get a little more physical than I’d like sometimes.”

He grinned awkwardly, “I know. I can talk to him if you’d like?”

She opened the hatch, checking the area for any more danger, “No, it’s fine. Besides, I’m trying to get better, remember? There are many kinds of physical interactions that make me uncomfortable but few I really have bad reactions to. Sorry you had to see that one.”

He mentally noted she was still trembling. One of his instincts was to take her hand to comfort her when her realized, it may not be the best option. Seeing his confoundation, she snorted, taking his hand.

“This is fine. It’s full body contact and pressure like hugs or that sort that freak me out,” she said. “Handshakes, and small gestures can sometimes be a little weird, but they’re not bad. Don’t go changing around me just because you learned something you didn’t realize was there before. I’m still me, and this...It’s not new and it’s not that huge. Got it?”

Loki sorely doubted that from how much her hands were trembling. And though she may have believed herself to be honest, he was the God of Lies after all. He tried to process how something so important to her wasn’t 'huge' in her perspective, but decided to respect her decision as they ran to escape the stone prison. Still, he couldn’t help but ponder if there was a reason for those particular phobias?

This is a canon scene from my fanfiction, edited slightly for shipping purposes. It occurs in Hallowed Shapes: Wednesday, Chapter 19: Snowstorm's Lullaby.

In this version, Loki knows about his prophecy and his possible future. Terra is also aware of her own possible fates of something bigger.

So in a way I can kind of get why my Beta Reader might ship them. They have that major instance in common where they are afraid of being used for something devastating that they don't want to be involved in. Terra however, has already started her journey of redemption while Loki is struggling to find/start his.

PS  One of my Beta Readers really liked the idea of shipping Loki with my OC even though they’re not canon in my fanfiction, Hallowed Shapes.We’re friends and while I didn’t get it at first, I’m not against anyone shipping said character with other fictional characters as long as everything’s consensual and/or healthy relationship-wise. Heck, I’m a little supportive because Loki’s literally gender-fluid and both characters are LGBT (neither are straight) even if I don’t directly ship them.So, that being said, I originally wrote these alternative scenes of my story for their birthday.

[dorothydelgadillo]

It's Not Just About Numbers! The Unexpected Benefits of Event Sponsorship

If you’re reading this, I’m assuming you have been to a professional conference or event or two in your day.

There’s something exciting about a group of like-minded individuals coming together to gain new knowledge, network, and find that one little tip that can help the marketing or sales team hit their goals.

But what if I told you the conference may be that tip, all by itself?

I get it, sponsorships can be scary - especially for those on a budget or who have never done it before. Let’s be honest, that’s probably you reading this right now :)

I was in your exact place a few years ago before IMPACT sponsored HubSpot’s INBOUND conference for the first time, but for the upfront cost, the amount of return we saw was extreme -- both monetarily and beyond.

IMPACT Dives Into Sponsorships

We’ve been attending HubSpot’s INBOUND conference for a while, but two years ago, we decided to do more than attend and became a sponsor.

It’s something we had never considered doing before, but at that point and time, the potential benefits and ROI outweighed the risks.

Frankly, we didn’t really even know what to expect.

One thing we did know, however, was it had to be remarkable.

One of the Website Throwdown participants at INBOUND 2016

Chatting with booth visitors

I’ll preface this article with this, there’s no silver bullet to event sponsorships.

According to consumers surveyed at EventMarketer’s EventTrack, 65% said live events gave them a better understanding of a product or service, more so than digital efforts and other methods.

As an attendee, in-person professional events are great because they give you an opportunity to connect with people face-to-face. Sure you can meet and chat online, but there’s a lot to be said about being in the room when it happens. Similar things can be said about being an event sponsor.

Event sponsorships can help your users really connect with you on a human level.

For our INBOUND debut, our team put its heads together and decided a great way to register leads, and create some buzz, was to take our monthly webinar, Website Throwdown to Club INBOUND.

We were confident that, in 10-15 minutes, we could provide real tangible value to the show-goers, give people the opportunity to meet us, chat, and ultimately create real potential for ROI.

And let me tell you, it definitely paid off.

The Measurable Benefits of Event Sponsorships

Of course, the driving forces behind any initiative are the measurable benefits you can expect. That’s ultimately what will help you get early buy-in from the higher-ups and make everything “worth it,” right?

For event and conference sponsorships, there are a bunch of measurable results you may see, but I’m going to focus on two typical results companies want to get as a result of a sponsorship.

1. Lead Generation

Being at an event means tons of new eyes and ultimately new leads generated.

Which is why you’ve got that awesome, outside-of-the-box strategy for your booth, right?

Having a great offer, giveaway, or incentive for attendees (i.e. our free website critiques) to give you their information is for is super important. Once you have their information, you can send extremely targeted follow up campaigns to guide them through your funnel.

Some vendors will even share the attendee list with you, usually based on the level of involvement, which is a huge added value for you.

2. ROI

When planning your strategy for an event sponsorship, it’s critical to determine how you’ll track the ROI, both in the short term and long term.

When we first sponsored INBOUND we tracked very closely the leads we generated, knew what turned into customers, and could easily track the return from the event.

Our gut assumption was that out of the ~120 leads we could register, roughly 5-8 would turn into customers.

Then, we assumed that the value of each closed customer would be a minimum of $30,000 over 6 months, which made the investment in the sponsorship worthwhile. Closing 5 customers could potentially net us $150,000 revenue for the year, equating to a 9.3% potential ROI!

How could we lose?

If you have a product that you’re showcasing at an event, how many individual sales do you need to make for the sponsorship to be a success? Is that amount even realistic with the number of attendees? 

Understanding the results you’ll need to generate before going into your sponsorship is the only way to really ensure a solid ROI.

The Immeasurable Benefits of Event Sponsorships

Sure, we were seeing leads from the event, some of which turned into retainer clients that are still working with us,  but there were many intangible benefits.

While they may not be as “sexy” as the measurable benefits, the qualitative perks of event sponsorship can be just as valuable. They focus more around expanding your reach, emotional connections, and getting a bit of a leg up on the competition long term.

1. Vendor Relationships

While the way you approach a sponsorship is critical, knowing your vendor and their audience is just as important. Starting this partnership on the right foot can really help you long term, as the event may just be the launching point for larger initiatives and activities.

So, make sure to research the company and event to ensure the demographics and audience are exactly who you need to be in front of.

I mean, it doesn’t make sense to pay to be at an event when only 25% of people are a good fit for your solution.

Pay attention to how they present themselves in their marketing. The tone of a company’s voice usually directly relates to how their event or conference will be run.

Are they helpful and friendly in their marketing, or very “we” focused? The latter may be a sign that the relationship may not be as valuable as you initially thought.

You’ll also want to look for a good main point of contact. They’ll be the one ensuring you have a stellar experience and set you up to get the most out of your event sponsorship experience.

Working with someone who’s attentive, answers all of your questions, and makes sure you’re set up for success is crucial and helps you get the value you’re looking for.

For us, INBOUND was a no-brainer. We knew without a doubt that it was the right audience for us and as a Partner Agency, we were happy to have another opportunity to grow our relationship with HubSpot.

In terms of point of contact, we worked with Doug Stone, who made sure all of our questions were answered and anything we needed for our booth was secured quickly.

Relationships like that make sponsoring a little less stressful and easier to manage.

2. Block the Competition

One of the biggest intangible benefits, in my opinion, is the potential to “block” the competition. If your competitors haven’t started doing sponsoring events where your audience is, there’s a huge opportunity to be first in the space and get new eyes on your company that may have found their way to a competitor.

The last thing you want is to hold out on an event opportunity, have a competitor take your place, and miss out on a great chance to establish your presence there.

3. Emotional Connection

Don’t let the value of real human connections go under appreciated.

The ability to shake hands, share experiences and stories, and ultimately give the prospect an emotional connection to your brand in person can be a game changer.

Being able to look someone in the eye and tailor your messaging and value to their specific problem is an opportunity that normally doesn’t come from other marketing initiatives.

That’s how you turn people into raving evangelists; Affect them emotionally.

The real, human-to-human interactions you have is a major benefit that can yield results for months after your event.

We’ve heard many times in the sales process that the conversations people had at our booth at INBOUND were some of the most valuable ones they had at the entire conference.

That lasting impression that your brand is human, friendly, and willing to help is almost impossible to achieve through other mediums or marketing tactics.

4. Brand Awareness

Probably the biggest benefit of event sponsorship is brand awareness.

At INBOUND, we learned that doing something a little different at a sponsor booth, even if it seems crazy at the time, can have a huge impact on your success at an event.

Creating an experience is always better than the same old boring demo-swag setup everyone has learned to ignore -- just like they do with ads on websites.

As I mentioned earlier, we went into our first INBOUND with roughly 80 of our 120-130 Throwdown spots registered and needed to fill the rest to make sure it was a success.

After we got started, handed out some swag and started having a little bit of a crowd at the booth for our personalized throwdowns, the remaining spots quickly began filling up with people who were curious as to what we were doing and had never heard of IMPACT.

By the end of the second day, we had all of our throwdowns spoken for and even had to do overflow after the event.

Interesting offerings (or even swag) will bring attendees over to your booth and hopefully keep them there for some conversations.

Another perfect example of a great booth experience with great swag was Slope at WistiaFest last year. When I attended, I was drawn to their booth for one reason - foosball!

The Slope team had a table set up, and if you could beat them in a game, you got a better piece of swag than if you just had a quick conversation with them.

That strategy did a few things for their team.

It allows them to get deeper conversations with people over the foosball game, but it also created a lasting impression of the company.

Sad to say I got my butt kicked,  but I left with a really nice bottle opener (which is on my fridge to this day), and it constantly reminds me of Slope and the awesome value they bring to creative teams looking for project management tools.

Even if attendees don’t physically stop by your booth, having your logo associated with an amazing event can help position you to be the first logo that pops back into their head when the need arises.

For example, a few months after INBOUND, we were contacted by a prospect who mentioned that he didn’t have time to stop by the booth at INBOUND, but had wanted to, and remembered our logo and the experience we're giving attendees - so he reached out to us.

Imagine that - simply by being at the event and having a unique booth experience brought us a lead that never even stopped at the booth.

That’s what I call an invaluable benefit :).

Take a Chance!

There are plenty of potential benefits, both measurable and not, to be gained through event sponsorships. Creating a unique experience, fully showing the value you present the user, and ultimately making great connections can yield amazing results. What ideas do you have for your next sponsorship?

from Web Developers World https://www.impactbnd.com/blog/benefits-of-event-sponsorship

[inkstainedmadness]

:: wild thoughts

Crimson stained her lips: ruddy as a red rose blossomed for a venerated breed of paramour Juliets. A particularly befitting, bold colour to wear -- if not for the proverbial thorns inside of her mouth, then for her intentions. Lined and coloured immaculately, with balm slicked on before her favourite matte lipstick was applied. There was a meticulousness that Valentina required as a prerequisite for just about anything that she did---be it an indulgence, or an obligatory action---and this process of putting on her face, exchanging out all manner of nudes and pinks and rose-golds for hues of thunderstorms and spilt blood, was no different. Her ensemble may very well have been, after she was finished undressing herself out of the skirt, button-up and blazer from the day and donning a silken-textured tank-top and jeans as black as her hair and fitting like a second-skin, but not her preferences. Ultimately, she appeared precisely as she wished to, a vision.      

            With the addition of the signature string of pearls that settled at the base of her neck and spike-heeled boots that flashed a sliver of bronzed ankle each time she took a step, Valentina deemed herself ready to roll. Or rather, almost ready. After all, there was an unsettling squirming-sensation tucked beneath her breastbone, wriggling incessantly. And she was far too self-actualised a creature to not be aware of just what it wanted from her.

Her days were littered with constant movement for the cause of productivity, keeping her in-motion, leaving her absorbing information near constantly and regurgitating it with an extensive vocabulary and more effortless confidence than all of her peers combined ( though, of course, the imbeciles made a real go of faking it, without quite succeeding at it ). There was no doubt, not in the mind of anyone who deigned to spare her so much as a fleeting glance---and it was worth noting that the gazes of many lingered far longer than that---that she was a hard-working person. She was not just brilliant. She was also disciplined. And the two of them went hand-in-hand to make her the fearsome creature that she was, unstoppable and incredible and ruthless in every sense of the word.

It was, in fact, because she worked so damn hard all of the time that she thought it just fine to allow herself her indulgences. No, not all of them were wise. But when one was so entirely aware of her own ability to get herself out of the stickiest of situations, what did she really have to fear? Nothing. Which meant, in relation, that there was no reason to think twice about swiping her thumb over the screen to unlock her phone and let it tap out the message that it did. Did not think twice about who she was sending it to.

[ You → SENT : 11:17PM ] where do you live?

[ You → SENT : 11:18PM ] we’re going out

               In typical Valentina James fashion, there was no explanation offered. No mention of destination, itinerary, or who it was. The last of them, at least, would answer itself, since she had saved her number in Dane Wolff’s phone when she had picked it out of her pocket. She’d slid it back in without her noticing, after already calling her and saving the girl’s under GREAT DANE. The smirk on her face had given it away, of course -- and she figured that, had Dane deleted it after, then it was no one’s fault but her own. If she did not tell Valentina where she was, then she would find out on her own. She was, if nothing else, a girl with ample resources at her disposal. The fact only remained that she had an abundance of manners, as well, and thus it was only polite to extend the courtesy to her unlikely, pain-in-the-neck, mess of a companion of letting her make it an easier process.

There was a possibility that Dane would not make it easy. Because from what Valentina had gleaned of her character in their brief, utterly unforeseen encounter not a fortnight prior---and there had been plenty, some of which that had managed to intrigue her, much to her chagrin---Dane Wolff was a kind of atrocious being that would make things difficult just for the hell of it. And there wasn’t much that she could say about it, either, because she could not truthfully claim that she would not do the same. 

Though, that said, she would rather lick a sidewalk stained with piss and littered with discarded gum and cigarette-butts than admit it. She did not want to, and so she would not. Just as she did want to unravel Dane Wolff more, for some inexplicable fucking reason that was unbeknownst to herself, and which she did not have the stomach to contemplate in any extensively nuanced practice, and so she certainly would.

               “Any day now.” It was hissed to her screen, before locked the screen and tucked her phone into the back-pocket of her jeans, tucking the lipstick she wore into her front-pocket for any necessary touch-ups later. Valentina did not bother to take money, because she never actually spent any on one of her late-night excursions. There were, after all, so many other ways of getting things done without spending her own cash. She may not have been a pauper---gracias mi Dios---but she still did not take it as leave to be irresponsible with money. Besides, one did not need to be deprived of amenities to know that things were better when they were free. A corner of her mouth curled like a comma, nefarious and smug. Everything was free, one way or another. Or it could be made so.

With one more glance at the, frankly, splendid reflection splayed out in the gilded mirror atop her vanity, that doubled as her dressing-table, Valentina made sure that there was no a hair out of place before she turned away. The carpet in her bedroom was fuzzy enough a texture to properly muffle the sound of her footsteps, and so she tread without care. 

It was only upon shutting her bedroom-door behind herself that the young woman bothered to step forward with a touch more daintiness, dropping on the balls of her feet gingerly, slowly. When it came to a descent down the staircase, she opted to skip the step that creaked altogether, knowing better than to tempt fate. She could easily have taken one of the afternoons she came home early---when someone else had flaked off, and one of the meetings for the afterschool club activities that she partook in---and utilised the solitude to fix it, and her parents would probably be none the wiser, since neither regularly ventured upstairs, where only the guest-room, store-room and her own bedroom could be found. However, she chose not to. Not because it wouldn’t be easy to do, or convenient, but because there was a part of her that liked to let her father’s judgement remain clouded by the illusion that his little girl was a little girl. The two of them were both more content that way, were they not? That whole teenage rebellion and stereotypical stint of disrespect was so horribly unoriginal, it made her want to throw up a little, to be perfectly honest. She preferred to do things her way.

                                 And her way involved scooping up her leather jacket off of the hook next to the front-door, and shrug into the garment before she slipped out of the backdoor in the James’ kitchen. Her mother always left it open ( and reprimanded her Papi for it during breakfast ) and it was far less likely to cause ill-occurring ruckus than the front-door was. It was over time that she’d made these observations, and they did not fail her now. It was the Valentina James way of things, thus, to make fool-proof plans before any implementation came to pass -- with all nature of experimentation taking place where the occurrences would not seem out of place.

                                                                      & it worked.

Rather well, too, she would say. It was without hitch that she slinked out of her house and onto the tarmac of the driveway, akin to something serpentine. Valentina did not cautiously look around; she was far too sure of herself to be reduced to such amateur behaviour. If one could be a seasoned professional at such a thing, she would consider herself comfortable enough to call herself one. She had done this often enough -- almost often enough for it to have begun to lose her interest. Which, she decided in the moment, was why she was utilising Dane fucking Wolff as a companion, the graceless heathen that she was. At least she did not bore Valentina, in any way at all. It was more than could be said for most of the people who attempted to either compete with her---to no end but their own defeat, obviously---or fall into her good graces---which was nearly impossible to do, because those were a myth fabricated by the wishful-thinkers of the world---and that was something. 

           Nonetheless, she did not allow herself to reach into her pocket and extract her phone to check for replies. She would not be that pathetic. She was Valentina James, and she waited for no one. Besides -- she had to find a nice ride before she took off in the night, did she not? That would take a few minutes as well. 

Like a ghost, she haunted the sidewalks under the gossamer veil of midnight shadows. Her gaze perusing options parked right-and-left, and her stained mouth curved in a dagger of a smile.

[shitonionsays]

United We SONE – 8/16

From: https://seoulcomplex.com/united-we-sone-816/

For those of you who have been here for a while, you probably know me. Some of you may disagree with my how I conduct myself, but you know where my heart really is. You also know, whenever things are serious, whether you can or cannot believe what I write.

For those of you who are new, hello and welcome. Try to keep up with the rest of the pack because this patch of fandom is going to be a bumpy ride.

I’ve done a quick scan on twitter before writing this and I think most people have gotten the gist of my preliminary tweets, whether directly or via SONE hivemind. That’s encouraging since you’ll know where this post is headed.

  I’m cobbling this together as quickly as I can because I genuinely wasn’t prepared for how quickly SM would start the mediaplay. In hindsight, that was stupid and I should have been prepared so I want to apologize for that and will try to keep on top of things again – real life work commitments have been making investing time into fandom a hard task. The funniest part is I was just DM’ing a friend in Singapore about the “one week promo” situation at the time… so really caught with my trousers down.

I'm booting up my computer now. Funny thing is I was just DM'ing someone about this just before the mediaplay article broke. pic.twitter.com/SQRLBKWxay

— Changhwan Yoo

(@oniontaker) August 16, 2017

I will apologize in advance because the following text is not exhaustive account and summarizes/streamlines things. Details of deals that each member has or is negotiating won’t be talked about here: it’s a distraction. Please understand the position that I am in, like people used to understand back in the old days of fandom.

  Bringing you up to speed

SM’s contracts and negotiations were under wraps for the most part until I posted about how it worked, and luckily as it’s become common knowledge it makes my job easier.

SM usually start their idols off on a 5 year contract.

Idols are then usually offered 3 year extension deals with wholly different terms from their first contract (read: a lot better for them).

Idols are made to negotiate individually.

In SNSD’s case, like with almost all idols, their parents get involved with the negotiation (because Korean system of seniority and hierarchy makes negotiation between the agency and young adults very difficult).

Terms are loosely “renegotiated” at the beginning of every year of their employment, using the original contract as a framework.

Actual renewal negotiations are also done during the beginning of the year that it expires (so for SNSD, 2014 and 2017).

January is a pretty tense month for every idol under SM.

  Where the the timeline begins

Take yourself back to 2014. I think I was the first person to break the news at the time. SM usually likes to wrap up everything by the end of January but things went a few days over the deadline as SM were still finalizing terms with Jessica.

Here's to at least few more years of soshi. Glad everyome came to an agreement

— Changhwan Yoo

(@oniontaker) February 4, 2014

SNSD were doing great in January 2014. “I Got a Boy” had gotten them more critical praise and attention, they’d won all the awards, they were sweeping through with album sales, merchandise… More importantly they’d proven that they could divide themselves up to find successes in multiple fields.

I can’t go into any details on the terms but understand that SM gave them a very nice and cushy deal. Things went south towards the end of the year when things played out the way it did. I will still maintain to this day that no matter how many OT8 or Golden Stars will accuse someone or another, the fuller picture that I’ve been privileged enough to see has been that neither SNSD nor Jessica can be blamed for what happened in that time. I didn’t want to touch on it but I have to because it’s a relevant event on the timeline. Since I do, I need to stress that point as much as I can before moving on.

In the remaining contract period, SM got distracted with huge plans involving China and groups that were going to debut. Talk to anyone who claims to be an insider in SM and they will tell you that they are woefully understaffed and their leadership easily distracted by grand plans and ideas. It’s SM’s fault for not making full use of SNSD but try telling them that.

  The events of this year

Fastforward to the end of 2016 and January, yes the all important month of January, of 2017: SM want to average out what they had wanted from the previous three years with what they will be getting in 2017 to 2020. They want SNSD members to take the lowest possible deal.

SM are fielding several plays at once right now.

Carrot and stick the girls: Show the girls how much SM can give SNSD, and then snatch it away abruptly. You’ve probably seen enough gangster movie stereotypes to know a “play ball and things will stay nice.” when you see it in real life. I’m telling you as someone who’s been watching this play out for years from different companies… this is the entertainment industry version of it.

Carrot and stick the fans: Show the fans how much SNSD they could get, and then snatch it away abruptly. They want us to be worked up into a fever pitch and then beg for more, ignorantly, because we don’t know what’s going on under the surface. I’m telling you that begging SNSD members to “PLEASE STAY UNNIEEEE” is playing right into their hands.

Divide and conquer: they want to divide fandoms into pressuring individual members into doing what SM wants, since the public will be somewhat indifferent and fans will be the tastemakers in the community campaigning and complaining about the situation. I’m going to go deeper into this below.

I think they’ve already released to the media that some members have re-signed contracts and while that is “technically true”, “technically true” is dangerously misleading. Contracts are individually different and each member wants different solo activities (whether it’s acting, singing, variety shows) so all of the terms are different. The situation is intensely complicated and SM are taking advantage of that and trying to make sure that their misleading, simple narrative “some members signed but some members won’t”.

  When in doubt, SONEs, where do we look? We look to the girls.

During this comeback, when have the girls ever looked like they were singling anyone out? They don’t blame any of themselves for the choices they have made or the stance that they stand. You can feel how much they respect each other’s positions. You can feel how much trust the intentions of every other member in the group.

The picture of a divided group that SM wants to paint is a lie.

SM want there to be confusion and in-fighting, because we all know how in-fighting ends: we flock to our main biases and start pointing fingers at individual fandoms of other members to blame.

This cannot be allowed to happen because that is clearly not going to help the girls in any way.

They know each other better than anyone, and we trusted them before. Trust the girls again now, in trusting the other members.

  As much detail as I can share about “right now”

Do us all favor and keep hyping up Soshi They need you this month. Really. pic.twitter.com/8tCnv0Dbw7

— Changhwan Yoo

(@oniontaker) January 8, 2017

The member(s) who are still fighting SM at the negotiation table have refused to give in, even when SM issued an ultimatum to decide by January 31st (or else). To be quite honest, things didn’t look good in December when preliminary talks were coming out of SM to draw up the new extension contracts. It became rapidly clear as January started that things were not going to be easy.

I mean it’s crazy that they’ve been able to hold against SM for EIGHT MONTHS without giving in; our girls are strong women but I also don’t think you could do that without being able to believe in the support of the girls who had already re-signed. The crazier thing is that winning in small incrememtns right up until the comeback too; they were successful in negotiating SM to make changes to make the unfair contract fairer but quite frankly, it still is unfair.

It’s only now that SM are dangling a lot of different group projects in their face, hoping they’ll cave in for short-term things when the remainder of the three years .

  Going forward

There is no grand conspiracy from the K-Pop industry to dismantle SNSD. K-Pop is a business and if you’ll excuse the pun, you’re seeing the business end of it courtesy of SM Entertainment. This is brinksmanship at best and feels more like an inside job.

SM doesn’t always do this but when they do, things can get ugly.

This whole promo cycle. Being edited out of shows. Being excluded arbitrarily after those amazing teasers and a full week of epic promo. Drawing huge numbers to TV shows and album sales outpacing manufacturing speed.

  As fans, I don’t think we should, however passively, rush the girls, or pressure them into making decisions. SM is trying to use SONEs as a weapon against SNSD and we cannot allow this.

Trust in SNSD to make the right moves and continue to love and support them without picking sides.