#I loved drawing Anton’s face LOOK HOW SILLY HE LOOKS-

[whereismyhat5678]

✨Shitpost time✨

NOW I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU-…but they seem pretty gay 👀✨

[kriscme]

One Life To Live

Thanks as always to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take”.  You can find it on AO3 and Fanfiction.

Chapter 30 Haymitch alternates swigs of white liquor with large bites of pizza out of a takeaway box.  I’ve mistimed my visit again, catching the last five minutes of “One Life to Live.”   “What’s Celia doing in a therapy support group?” I ask as the credits roll. Haymitch clicks the off button on the remote and the screen goes black.  “Sex addiction,” he tells me, taking another gulp from his bottle.  “She can’t keep her knickers on after what Lance did to her.” “What did Lance do?” The last time I watched this silly show, she and Lance were having a threesome with the gardener. “Made her like sex too much.  And then Anton.  And Cecil.  And 11’s wrestling team.  They’re blaming psychological issues or some such rubbish.  Fear of emotional intimacy is one theory.   Or could be she’s just a slut.” “And what about Blake?  Is he married to Ginger yet?” “He would’ve been but the baby came a few weeks early and now he wants nothing to do with her.”  I wait for more but Haymitch just helps himself to another slice of pizza. “Why?”

He quirks an eyebrow at me.   “Two people with fair skin usually have a fair skinned baby.” “Oh.”  The guy from the punk band, and the real father of Ginger’s baby, is very dark. I rather wish I had seen that episode when Ginger’s baby popped out.  The look on Blake’s face must have been priceless.  “Well, anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about “One Life to Live.”  I wanted to ask you about Cressida.” “What about her?” “Do you think she can be trusted?” Haymitch shoots me an incredulous look and laughs.  “What do you think?  She works for Plutarch, doesn’t she?” I was afraid he’d say that.   My worry must show in my face.  “Why do you ask?  You haven’t done something stupid, have you?”  When I don’t answer, he snorts and takes another drink. “That’s why no one let you make the plans.” This gets my back up.  “Like you did such a good job of it.  If you’d involved Peeta and me in your so-called plans, we’d have known not to let ourselves be separated from each other in the first place. And then he wouldn’t have been captured, and he wouldn’t now – “ “Yeah, yeah, alright,” he says, raising a hand. “We’ve been over this before and I’m not in the mood to have my face gouged again. It’s bad enough that I had to go through it again with Peeta.” Johanna told me that Peeta got mad at Haymitch when those memories came back.  Preoccupied as I often am with my own guilt over Peeta, I sometimes forget that Haymitch is carrying his share of it too and my anger subsides.  Besides, my bitten down fingernails could barely impact a mosquito bite.  I should make time to visit the salon to have those fake things put on again.   “How is Peeta?” I ask.  “Have you talked to him?”  A week has passed since Peeta and I last spoke.  I’d called around the following day to thank him for the cake but he wasn’t home so I made do with a note under his door.   I haven’t seen him leave or return home from the bakery although I know from Johanna that he’s working regular hours. The only visible evidence I have that he’s still in the Village is that the primrose bushes have been pruned recently. Not through all our ups and downs has Peeta neglected the bushes.  Obviously, he did it when I wasn’t around to see it.   He seems to be avoiding me and I don’t know why.  I can’t think of anything I’ve done to upset him.   Before he answers, Haymitch takes a moment to toss the empty pizza box in the general vicinity of a pile of discarded food containers by the window.  Even from this distance, I can see a trail of ants making their way down the wall possibly in anticipation of yet another feast.  In less than an hour they’ll be swarming over the box, picking over the remnants and transporting them back to their nest.   Perhaps this is Haymitch’s idea of cleaning.  Have the ants do it.   “Saw him the day before yesterday.  Had dinner after watching the tape.  Johanna cooked.  I wish she’d let Peeta do it.   He’s a much better cook, but she insisted.  She fusses over him like a mother hen and I think it’s starting to get on his nerves.    But he’s fine, all things considered.  Just very down.  Stares into space when he thinks no one’s looking. But no flashbacks or signs of serious depression.  Keeping busy and sticking to a routine has helped.” I let this sink in.  My initial reaction is to feel hurt that I wasn’t invited to have dinner with them.  It’s irrational,of course.   I’m the one who distanced myself.  And I was busy this weekend anyway.  But I do miss it.  All of us together.   “He’s keeping up with the tapes, then?” “Yeah, although it’s going over old territory if you ask me.  Mostly it’s promotional footage, Capitol parties, various interviews.”  That could explain why I haven’t seen him.  Maybe it’s Cressida and media attention he wants to avoid.  The camera crew are everywhere.  I even saw one of them filming the Village, for no particular reason that I could make out, and paying extra attention to Peeta’s house and mine.   Haymitch drains the last of his bottle and reaches for another beside his chair and gives the top a twist.  “He showed interest in one of them.  The start of the Victory Tour – when you came running out of your house to push him into the snow.” “Ha ha.” I say caustically, giving Haymitch’s joke the response it deserves.   I think back to that day.  Making the most of my remaining hours of freedom: in the woods checking the snare lines; a change of clothes at my old house in the Seam; a visit to Hazelle; and lastly, calling in on Haymitch.    I’d promised to wake him an hour before the cameras came.  It seemed that he’d also asked Peeta, because he showed up at the same time.  To say it was chilly between us is putting it mildly.  Peeta barely looked at me.  When I got home President Snow was waiting for me with his threats.  Convince the districts, convince me that Peeta and I were madly in love, or Gale was dead, with others to follow.  There was no way to warn Peeta, but I was sure he’d perform well anyway.  And he did. Our first kiss in months and no one could have guessed that he was acting – not even me if I hadn’t known better. I ask “Did he remember it?” “Parts of it.  The cameras, falling in the snow, some of what we discussed before Effie and the prep teams arrived.” “You and Peeta?”  I feel a flash of resentment that they had had this discussion without me, but then remember that I walked out soon after Peeta got there. Haymitch probably wanted to talk to us both.  “What about?” “That he needed to change his attitude. Reminded him that the romance was his idea.  That you kept him alive and would’ve died with him, rather than take the victory for yourself.  How imperative it was to keep up the act or people would die.”

It fits.  On the train journey to 11, Peeta apologised to me, acknowledged my actions had kept us alive, and that we should try being friends.   

“That’s what he remembered,” continues Haymitch.  “What he forgot was what I said about you being in a different place than him.  That he had this crush long before the Games even started, whereas for you the romance was a strategy that the two of us cooked up.  And from where I was sitting, I saw a boy who was head-over-heels and a girl who was getting there.  That all she needed was time and patience but if he continued to sulk – “ A conversation between Haymitch and me just before Peeta and I reunited on stage after winning the Games.  About convincing everyone that the trick with the berries was motivated by love.   “Did you tell Peeta this?” “Don’t have to. He’s already there.”  “But you think I’m not?” So that’s what Haymitch meant.   He knew before I did.  Finnick too.   I interrupt. “What did he say?” “That he wished he had known.  That’s all.”  Haymitch gazes thoughtfully down at his bottle.  “It occurred to me that maybe, if this memory was distorted or erased – “ “He’d believe I hadn’t loved him but it was important for us to be friends,” I say, finishing the thought for him.  There’s some logic to it.  I can imagine the half-memory sticking up like a tree root waiting to trip Peeta up.  And then skewing every memory, and every thought he’s had about me since. “It’s a wild guess, but not impossible.  And it’s not like there’s any other ideas.  I should run it past Aurelius.  See what he thinks.” “Do it,” I say.  “At the very least, it can’t hurt.”   The more information Dr Aurelius has the better he can help Peeta. It won’t help me though.  Peeta wouldn’t be mourning the loss of Lace if he didn’t love her.  Or make him love me. Haymitch nods, takes a drink from his bottle, and then goes back to contemplating its depths as if somehow the answers can be found there.  I take this as a signal that the conversation is over and start to rise from the couch when his voice freezes me in place. “So, what’s the stupid thing you’ve done that’s made you worry about Cressida?” I hoped he’d forgotten about that.  Because the ��stupid thing” is something I definitely can’t confide in Haymitch about.   “I haven’t done anything,” I say, scowling at him.  “It’s just that I wanted your advice on whether I should be on my guard.  She tried to involve me in the interviews with Marcus. Like I’d be standing well to the side and then she’d ask me a question, and then the cameras would swing over to me. She says she won’t use it but after what happened to Johanna . . .” “If that’s all there is, you’ll be OK.   Even if they do use it and the public wants more, there’s nothing either Cressida or Plutarch can do about it.  No one could say you deliberately set out to draw attention to yourself.  You were just doing a job.   That’s where Johanna went wrong.  She was trying to attract publicity.  And there’s no scandal attached to you and Marcus either – that’s another way they can get around it.  They’ll say they’re reporting on him and you’re merely collateral damage.  So, unless you get caught with your pants down, you haven’t a thing to worry about.”  Haymitch regards me with amusement.  “Or have you? Been caught with your pants down, that is?” “Of course not!” I splutter indignantly. My face burns and it must surely be a bright shade of red.  “I’d never – “ “Calm down, sweetheart.  It was only a joke,” he says, shaking his head.  And then to show how funny he thinks he is; he breaks out laughing.  I judge it to be a good time to leave.   I wander around the Village for a little while.  I want to talk to Johanna.  She’d understand.  But Peeta might come to the door and then how to get Johanna alone without being rude. At home, Marcus has his own worry and I don’t want to add to it by talking about it.   Eventually, I take refuge in my favourite thinking spot; my front porch. And I then I try as hard as I can to reassure myself that I’m worrying over nothing but without much success.   How could we have been so careless? I hadn’t seen much of Cressida during the week.  She’d been busy working on a separate feature on 12’s recovery from the war. She even visited the school.  Mr Matson obligingly gave her a tour and allowed the cameras into the classrooms.  Max made sure to get his face on camera, of course.  When I saw them heading in the direction of my classroom, I locked the door and pulled down the blind.  “Shh,” I said to the kids, “let’s pretend we’re not here.” They thought it was a great game. For the new national park, she wanted to interview Marcus in a series of locations similar to what she did of Gale and me when we returned to bombed-out 12 for some unscripted interviews.   In this case, we’d be following the new trails Marcus had surveyed ending with the lake.  But, because it was unlikely that we would get back before nightfall, it was decided to camp at the lake overnight and return to town the next day.   I was hesitant to go.  I knew it was in my best interests to stay as far from the cameras as possible.  But Marcus said it didn’t feel right for me not to be there since I had played such a large part in it.  And because Marcus and I don’t have much time left together and Cressida had assured me that the attention would be on Marcus anyway, I allowed myself to be persuaded.    Marcus led the way.  Our first stop was at the top of a ridge which Marcus has designated for a lookout. It was a welcome relief to drop my heavy pack to the ground after the long climb and have a long cool drink while Cressida conducted the interview.  The blackberry bushes were heavy with fruit and I positioned myself in front of them.  From there I was away from the cameras but could still watch and gorge myself on berries at the same time.   “Katniss, close by is the very spot where I interviewed you and your hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne, as part of a feature we did on District 12 not long after it was destroyed by enemy bombs.  I got the impression that these woods are very special to you.   What are your feelings about it becoming a national park?” Suddenly all eyes and two camera lenses were on me.  I tried to hide by retreating backwards but was met by a wall of prickles from the blackberry bushes.  Cressida waited expectantly. “Ah, well, you know, times change. I guess from a personal standpoint it’s a big adjustment, but if it ensures that the woods will be protected it’s all worthwhile.” Cressida nodded and turned back to Marcus to continue her questions.  Messalina, her assistant, scribbled something in her notebook.   From there it was easy walking along the ridge and my mind wandered to other times I’d come this way - with my father, by myself, with Gale, and most recently with Marcus.  Before long many feet will trace these same steps and I was overcome by sadness that my beloved woods would no longer be mine.  Even with just these five people, it feels like a violation.   The woods have been my sanctuary.  Would I ever find another? “A coin for your thoughts.”  Startled, my head jerked towards the sound.  Cressida was beside me.  Last time I looked; she had been walking up front with Marcus.  She must have hung back and waited for me.   I didn’t really know what to make of Cressida.   In 13, I had admired her calmness under pressure and the pride she took in her work. It reminded me of Cinna and I thought that if she and I were in the arena together, I would pick her as an ally. But that was before Prim was killed. I can’t be sure, but I suspect she informed Plutarch of our whereabouts that day.  If Snow was telling the truth that Plutarch was behind the bombing that killed Prim, then that makes her complicit in some way.  Maybe not intentionally, but she played a part in much the same way as Gale did.   At the very least it proved to me that Cressida’s loyalty isn’t to me, but to Plutarch and the story she’s chasing.  And then there’s Johanna.  Was it really an accident that Plutarch got hold of that interview? “I was just thinking of how things have changed,” I answered.  There, honest but not too revealing.   Nothing that Cressida could take much from.  I was wrong. “Since we last came this way?” she asked, looking down at the ground. “This must be very difficult for you, more or less following the same route we did for the interviews that day – dredging up memories of times and people lost.” She hesitated for a moment, as if pondering the wisdom of her next words.   “I’m sorry if my relationship with Gale has added to that in any way.  I – “ “It doesn’t,” I interjected before she could say more.  “Gale and I weren’t meant to be together.  I’m happy for you both.  Truly.” Her face cleared.  “That’s what Gale said.  But I wondered . . .” I said nothing because there was nothing to say.   I was a little miffed that Gale had dismissed me so easily.  I thought he should at least have some regret for what could have been.  I was glad that I hadn’t wasted my time fretting over him. “Peeta, then?” “Huh?” The question took me by surprise. “I wasn’t actually thinking about him.” “It would be understandable if you were.  I know I can’t help thinking of that time and of our purpose here.  Do you remember the appeal you made to him from where his parents’ bakery once stood?  If I were asked to choose one propo above the rest, that would be it.   The carnage, the desolation, the utterly incomprehensible loss of life was encapsulated in that short piece.” “Yeah, I guess.”  Personally, I thought they were all awful but perhaps Cressida takes a film maker’s view of things and she judges the artistic merit.   “They still speak of you in the Districts, you know.  You and Peeta.  You haven’t been forgotten.” I shrugged in response.  How could we be forgotten when some of our fellow victors have pursued a life in the public gaze? Our very absence would give rise to speculation – rather like those shows you sometimes see on TV “where are they now?”  At least we’re spared media attention.  That’s something to be grateful for. Cressida went on.  “Your love story struck a chord with the public consciousness that shows no sign of abating.  It represents so many things to people.  How love and hope endure.  Rebirth instead of destruction.  The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses.  That it can be good again.  It – “ “Does it?” I asked, cutting her off. “Well, if they want to keep on believing in that nonsense, I can’t stop them.  I need to take a toilet break.  Excuse me.” Ignoring Cressida’s shocked expression I left her to go in search of a tree.  Why did she have to tell me that?  It’s everything that Peeta’s love would have meant to me too.   And I’m so tired of people and their expectations.  Peeta and I represent nothing.  Nothing! Except maybe that nothing lasts and hope is a stupid illusion for stupid people.   I went through the motions of relieving myself although I didn’t really need to, but it gave me time to calm myself before I rejoined the others.   When we stopped for lunch, I made sure to sit next to Pollux.  We exchanged smiles but that was the end of any kind of conversation.  An avox, Pollux can’t talk and that suited me just fine.  Marcus sent a smile my way and then went back to talking to Cressida.   Messalina was occupied with her notebook.  The remaining member of our party, Remus, was making adjustments to his insect shell – the name I gave the camera equipment that wraps around the bodies of the camera crew.  I disliked Remus on sight with his small shifting eyes that seem to take in everything.   He was the one I saw filming the Village. It was late afternoon when we arrived at the lake but there was still sufficient light for Cressida to do her interview.  I overheard her tell Pollux and Remus she’d like some additional film of the lake the following morning but otherwise we were done.  I would’ve liked to have taken a walk with Marcus around the lake but we were supposed to appear as if our relationship was strictly a working one. He didn’t want the same thing that happened with Johanna to happen to us.  So, when we gathered around the campfire that night for supper, we sat opposite each other.  And when we retired for the night in the concrete house our sleeping mats were as far apart as we could make them.  Not that there was any chance of us getting close – not with Cressida and Messalina there too. Pollux and Remus shared a tent just outside the house.  One of them snored like a chainsaw which Messalina complained about incessantly.   I don’t know who kept me awake the longest – Messalina or the snorer. When the first thin rays of sunlight fell across the concrete house, Cressida and Messalina were dead to the world.  Marcus was already up, dressed and putting on his boots.  He put his finger to his lips and pointed to the door.   I nodded and wiggled out of my sleeping bag.  It took only a minute to find my trousers, shirt and boots and join him outside.  It was my favorite time of the day: the sun just peeking over the horizon; birds caroling the new day; the air so fresh and clean.   The tent was zipped shut; loud snores rumbled from within.  Carefully, we walked past until we were out of earshot.  “Why don’t I search for firewood while you fetch water from the spring?” said Marcus.   “Ok,” I replied, intrigued.  There were logs stacked behind the house and we had brought water in with us.  Nevertheless, I took a couple of empty water bottles and started out for the spring.  It was familiar to us both as Marcus had noted it as a feature on one of the walking tracks and I had long used it as a water source.   It was only about six minutes’ walk away; five, if you don’t count the short stop behind a rhododendron bush to attend to nature.  The spring gushes from the side of a foothill into a brook that feeds into the lake. It’s the sweetest water imaginable and I helped myself to a long cool draught.   And then I waited . . . and waited.  I was about to give up when I caught a glimpse of his khaki shirt through the underbrush.

“What’s this about?  Aren’t we supposed – “ I began.   His answer was to pull me hard against him and capture my lips in a kiss.  It took me by surprise after everything he had said about the importance of maintaining appearances.    But after that first shock, I took fire and answered him in kind, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing into him, straining to get closer. His belt buckle dug painfully into my ribs.  It had to go.  While I struggled with it, he reached beneath my shirt with one hand to fondle my breast.  My feet started to lose traction and I realized he was pushing me backwards and upwards until I was elevated slightly, my back against a large oak, my feet resting precariously on a root flare.   The belt taken care of, I started on the button and zipper on his trousers.  He did the same with mine, pulling down trousers and underwear in one swift motion.  And then we were both free, his hardness nudging between my legs. “I’m sorry, I can’t – “I panted.  My feet were shackled by my clothes and I was unable to spread my legs wide enough to allow him entry.   Frantically, a boot was unlaced, tossed aside and a trouser leg pulled down over my foot.   Unhampered now, I hooked a leg around his waist and with one smooth powerful thrust he was all the way inside, one hand on my breast, the other braced against the tree, his mouth covering mine.   It felt so, so good.  I could have stayed impaled against that tree forever.  That is, until he started pounding his hips into me.  The rough bark of the oak stabbed into my lower back with each thrust.  It was lucky my shirt tail covered my naked behind or splinters might have been a problem too.  Marcus enjoyed himself though.  I could tell from his breathing that he was close.  But then it happened.   A loud snap.  It was unmistakable.  We both heard it.  Even Marcus, occupied as he was.  Our heads spun trying to locate the source of the sound.  But there was nothing to see; only trees and low bushes. “It was probably just a falling branch,” said Marcus.  He didn’t sound confident. “Yeah, probably,” I agreed, even though a falling branch would also have made a crashing sound as it hit the ground.       Neither of us were at ease and the moment was lost.  Marcus slipped out of me and we put our clothes back in order.  I retrieved the full water bottles and headed back to camp. Marcus returned separately with the bundle of firewood he’d collected before he joined me at the spring. Our fellow campers were as we had left them. Cressida, laid out like a starfish on her back.  Messalina, huddled under her sleeping bag.   The tent still zippered up, the snorer still snoring.  But by the lake, in full insect shell, was Remus with his camera trained on an ibis feeding in the shallows in the early light.  On my approach, he gave a small wave before he returned to his work.  But on his face, was a small, but undeniable smirk.  

[thekriseffect]

Alone Part 1 (Liam x MC)

[Note: It’s been way too long since I posted anything (inspiration wasn’t flowing for me at all). I know this doesn’t really fit in with The Royal Heir’s timeline very well but I always imagined Freya’s pregnancy to be a surprise rather than something that was planned (I’m also not a huge fan of the demanded pregnant angle in general. Plus angst is just too much fun to write… which sounds kinda sinister when I put it out there like that...) Anyways! I hope you enjoy it! TRH continues to be my writing muse at the moment so expect more of these two from me.]

[Summary: Freya, newly crowned queen with some unexpected news weighing down on her shoulders, struggles with the reality of their situation as her and Liam begin their honeymoon. Set in the first chapter of The Royal Heir. Part 2 can be found here.]

[Tag List: @lodberg, @cora-nova, @romanticatheart-posts @texaskitten30, @bbrandy2002]

It was a strange feeling, sitting across from Liam, eating our meal together in a comfortable silence with the sound of waves and the scent of salt, life, and wet sand surrounding us like everything was right in the world. So strange that I had no idea how to act, let alone what to say. You know your life defies normality when you aren’t sure how to act like an ordinary human being anymore.

What should I do with my eyes? Do I look at him while we eat or would that be weird? Do I look behind him or does that make it seem like I’m not paying enough attention? Maybe I should just look at the food? I think I’ll just look at the food…

It was the first evening of our honeymoon and I found myself more keyed up now than I did before our wedding. Shyly glancing down whenever our eyes would meet and exchanging uncertain, careful touches reserved for people who were still in stage one of their relationships. It was ridiculous, yet every time I looked at Liam I couldn’t hold back the wave of guilt that threatened to drown me. Because he still didn’t know.

It had been almost two weeks since I’d taken the test in that grungy, outdated bathroom with shaking fingers, one week since the attack at our wedding which threatened to take everything away from me, and eleven restless nights of seeing those two hair-raising pink lines every time I closed my eyes. And still I hadn’t told Liam that I was pregnant.

I’d exhausted every excuse imaginable for my reasoning's. The timing wasn’t right with the wedding coming up. Anton needed to be our main priority, not what was cooking in my stomach. Bertrand would go into mother hen mode which was exhausting to just think about. I didn’t want to stress Liam out more than he already was. Though the reality was much simpler; I was still floating blissfully in my own pool of denial and telling Liam would make it real, which was something that I wasn’t even close to being ready for. Call me selfish.

I studied him as he stared off into the horizon, the last of the day’s rays highlighting his cheeks and bronzing his hair before he turned to give me his private smile. The one that was so relaxed and so content that it made my ears burn like I was a bashful schoolgirl. The one that was reserved for me alone. I looked away.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“Hey.” The concern laced in his voice had me glancing up from my nearly full plate. “Everything alright?”

Taking a deep breath, I shook my head. “I still can’t believe that we’re actually here,” I dodged as I artistically rearranged the food with my fork for the hundredth time. “It doesn’t feel real.” It wasn’t a lie, not really.

“I know what you mean. I half expect the kingdom to be in chaos when we get back.”

“Their king is away on a remote island for a whole week, chaos is inevitable,” I teased.

“And their queen,” he corrected.

I blinked slowly as my mind came to a screeching halt at that reality. Oh, right. “It’ll never not be weird hearing that, will it?”

“You were always going to be my queen, Freya. From the moment you decided I was worth it.” He said it so nonchalantly, like he was making a simple comment about the weather, that I had to hide my smirk behind my hand. A silly grin lit up his face. “What?”

“You don’t even have to try, do you? You’re like a walking hallmark card.”

“I’m not sure what that means but it sounded like an insult,” Liam said while amusement made his eyes crinkle in the corners enduringly.

“Of the highest regard,” I shot back.

___

Time passed in a blur. We ate, laughed, and chatted about nothing in particular while the sun set behind us before seeing the staff off for the night, leaving us and the island to ourselves. Stars dotted the night sky as Liam and I walked the beach, my arm swinging his loosely with the rough grains of sand sticking to our bare feet. It felt so easy being here with him, just the two of us. I couldn’t remember the last time we were truly alone. I frowned. Have we ever been alone like this before?

His long fingers played with mine as we wandered. Brushing against the palm, tracing abstract patterns against its skin, tightly interlacing with my own. I loved Liam’s hands. Contrary to popular belief, they were hardened due to calluses with little perfect imperfections spotting his knuckles and thumbs. He had the hands of a man that worked hard which had come as a shock to me at first. You would think that a prince wouldn’t need to lift a finger for anything. Yet after getting to know him I decided it was perfectly in character for him, to be involved in the labor instead of watching from the sidelines. It was one of those characteristics that made Liam, Liam.

He was going to be a great dad.

The spontaneous thought had me stopping dead in my tracks with eyes the size of chargers. I tugged at his hand until he was standing at my side.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Everything’s going to change now.” It wasn’t a question.

He studied me for a moment before answering with a simple yet meaningful, “Yes.”

“What if I’m not ready? What if I ruin everything?”

“You won’t.”

It was meant to be comforting though instead it had anxiety creeping up my throat in the form of tiny little spiders. I broke away from him and squeezed the heel of my hand against my forehead so forcefully that I was sure it would leave a bruise. Maybe if I squeezed hard enough my problems would go away. “You can’t know that.”

I could feel when he stepped forward. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move to touch me, though he didn’t need to for me to know that he was there. I was constantly so aware of him that it sometimes drove me slightly insane. The commanding presence that followed him like a second skin wherever he went, the sound of his sleekly virile voice, that distinctive scent; fresh linens, mint, and something sharp that I couldn’t place. All attributes that I associated home with.

“Frey, I love you, but I also love my country.” Liam slid his palms down my shoulders to turn me around to face him. “If I didn’t think you could handle it we wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

“No, instead it would be Madeleine you’d be whispering sweet nothings to,” I murmured and his lips took a turn south. I sighed and pinched my eyes shut. What was I doing? This was supposed to be our honeymoon. It wasn’t his fault that I had the communication skills of a potato.

Drawing him closer, I circled my arms around his neck so our chests pressed together. My fingers twisted in the short hairs on his nape. “I’m sorry, it’s just a lot to take in at once.”

“Don’t apologize,” he told me. “Just tell me how I can help.”

You can’t help, not with this. Not right now. But I wasn’t going to tell him that, so instead I settled for something that I knew would defuse the attention from the topic. “Well… a kiss wouldn’t be unwelcomed.”

Liam smirked. “As you wish, my queen.” He leaned forward to bridge the space between our lips, his breath mingling deliciously with my own as he grew closer, and closer, and closer…

And just as his lips brushed mine, the anticipation so rich and solid that I could practically taste it, I pulled back smugly to meet his gaze. “That is if you can catch me first,” I said against his mouth before sprinting away with a giggle. He let out a shaky laugh before following me beyond the sands of the shore and into the cool, black water ahead.

[jovialyouthmusic]

Two’s Company, Three’s Allowed, a Royal Romance fanfic

Masterlist

@speedyoperarascalparty @brightpinkpeppercorn @sleepwalkingelite @zaffrenotes @ao719 @choicesfanatic86 @darley1101 @flowerpowell @gardeningourmet @kinkykingliam @livingthroughchoices @likethetailofacomet @andy-loves-corgis @silviasutton1989 @blackcatkita @flowerpowell @endlessly-searching-for-you @boneandfur

An Unusual Wedding Part 3

Warning; Mention of miscarriage and bereavement

Lucy and Brad were waiting outside the Chateau to greet them, along with Gladys. Brad opened the car door and Bianca got out, followed by Savannah while Drake got out of the other side of the car.

‘Mrs Walker, it’s wonderful to see you again.’ beamed Brad. ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate Drake’s friendship and loyalty. He’s a credit to you and your husband.’ He gently touched her upper arms by way of a token hug and leaned down to kiss her on either cheek.

‘Brad, you’ve grown into such a fine young man.’ she said fondly. ‘I was so sorry to hear of your father’s death. He was always good to us.’

Uncharacteristically, Lucy hung back, but only for a fraction of a second. Only Brad and Drake would have noticed her hesitation, but she held out her hand to Bianca, smiling sweetly.

‘Mrs Walker, so good to meet you. Drake has told me all about you.’ Drake knew that was a white lie as he found it hard to talk about his parents at the best of times. At least she hadn’t said ‘told me so much about you’. Bianca accepted her hand, and they leaned into each other for a kiss on the cheek. They parted, and Lucy looked hopeful, but her smile was beginning to wane as Bianca looked her over critically.

‘My my Drake, what a lovely pretty young wife you’ll be sharing with Brad.’ she said to him, then turned her attention back to Lucy. ‘You’re rather pale my dear, it must be tiring trying to keep two men happy.’ Lucy looked crestfallen for a moment before she plastered on a smile again.

‘Not at all Mrs Walker, they look after me very well. I’m hardly ever alone.’ Drake felt moved to defend Lucy and stood close to her facing his mother. He sneaked his hand into hers.

‘Lucy had an accident a week or so ago, Mom. She’s still getting over it.’

‘Oh don’t be silly Drake, I’m just fine.’ smiled Lucy. ‘Brad has been very attentive.’

‘Accident? What happened?’ Bianca asked. ‘Should you be putting so much pressure on her if she’s not well?’ By this time Savannah was standing next to her mother.

‘Mom, come in and let’s see if Bartie is awake.’ Bianca’s face lit up and the two women went off into the house chattering and smiling. Drake looked to Lucy, who was looking a little shocked at his mother’s comment.

‘Don’t mind her Lucy, she always says what she thinks. I’m sure she’ll be more relaxed after she’s seen Bartie.’ Lucy smiled wanly

‘I can see where you got your forthright nature from.’ Lucy said tartly.  Drake made a face, the corners of his mouth turning down.

‘You do look pale, are you okay?’

’I wish you would all stop fussing, I’m fine. I’m naturally fair skinned and I’ve not seen much sunlight lately.’ Lucy said testily.

‘In that case we cna have tea and cake on the terrace.’ said Drake ‘By the time we’ve had a stroll around the knot garden it will all be ready, and anyone who wants to can join us.’

‘That’s a good idea, it’s still warm and it will be a while before dinner is ready.’ Brad nodded to Drake.

‘I’ll go and arrange it and let folk know, you two catch up.’ he said, disappearing into the house, leaving Lucy to stroll arm in arm with Drake.

‘You must be excited to have your Mom here at last.’ she smiled.

‘Honestly, yes, but a part of me still remembers how she left me and Savannah here when Dad died, and you saw how she speaks her mind. I’m sure things will settle down when she gets to know you better but…’

‘It’s not going to be easy, is it?’ Lucy sighed. ‘In some ways – I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but she reminds me of…’

‘Olivia, I know.’ said Drake miserably. ‘There is a big difference though, Mom doesn’t mean to be unkind, she just doesn’t realise how saying what you think can be hurtful. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you.’

‘Well Drake, although you say what you mean too, you’re not cruel. That marshmallow centre of yours always keeps you in check. Whenever you’ve said anything hurtful, you’ve apologised as soon as you realised.’ Lucy assured him. ‘Luckily I find that a very attractive quality.’

‘And you always say exactly what you mean, but say it nicely – unless of course you’re talking to Olivia because harsh words are the only thing she understands, or someone like Neville who is an idiot.’ Drake grimaced ‘Your words are precise and well thought out’

‘Thanks Drake. I guess all that matters is that everything goes smoothly, then the three of us can at least have a little alone time before Anton’s trial.’

They saw that tea was ready on the terrace, so they went to sit in the afternoon sunshine. Gladys and Lily stood by to serve guests and Lucy went to wave them away, but Drake tutted at her.

‘You need to take a back seat Valois. Sometimes having servants is useful, so let them wait on you.’ He smiled at Gladys ‘Thank you, Lucy needs some spoiling, so go right ahead.’

The two of them sat companionably, sipping tea and eating cake for a while before the others started to drift out to join them. Brad was first, and Hana followed after, exclaiming in delight at the spread. By the time a fresh pot of tea was needed, Bianca and Savannah arrived with Bertie and Bertrand, closely followed by Maxwell.

Talk turned to arrangements for the wedding, which by now was due in two days’ time. Bianca was captivated by little Bartie, feeding him cake and ignoring Savannah’s pleas not to spoil him.

‘Nonsense, I’m his grandma, and who knows when Drake will be giving me another grandchild – I expect the first child you have will be an heir to the throne, won’t it, Lucy?’ Everyone stared at her, and Hana choked a little on her cake. Maxwell banged her on the back, which created a diversion, but the damage had been done. Lucy got up and excused herself, walking determinedly to the house. Bianca looked puzzled.

‘What on earth is wrong with the girl?’ she cried. ‘It’s true isn���t it?’ Drake turned on her.

‘Mom, you really should think before you speak.’ he growled and got up to run after Lucy. Hana was blushing by now, having been told all about the reasons for Lucy’s stay in hospital and Brad smiled uncomfortably. Savannah leaned forward to speak in a low voice.

‘I think you hit a nerve, Mom. Lucy was in hospital last week with a suspected miscarriage after taking a fall from her horse.’ Bianca looked stricken.

‘How was I to know? No wonder she was looking pale. Do none of you know how to look after someone after a shock like that?’ Brad cleared his throat.

‘I assure you Mrs Walker, Lucy has received the best medical care Cordonia has to offer.’

‘This little backwater?’ she cried. ‘you might as well have witchdoctors for all the good it’s done her. It’s not medical attention she needs.’ and she got up and all but ran after Drake and Lucy, who had reached the house and gone into the drawing room. Lucy was now flushed and looked angry.

‘Mom, not now.’ hissed Drake, but she was adamant.

‘Do you know how devastating a miscarriage is, Drake Walker?’ she scolded. Lucy’s expression changed to one of sorrow.

‘The doctors said she’d never been pregnant to start with.’ he protested.

‘But it’s enough if she thought she was!’ she cried and turned to Lucy to hold her in a fierce hug. Lucy froze at first, then suddenly softened and burst into tears. Bianca led her to a sofa and sat her down. ‘There there dear, nobody understands what it’s like. You go ahead and cry, you’re grieving for a lost life, whether there was anything there or not.’ Drake hovered by the two women, not sure what to do.

‘Don’t just stand there, Drake, at least get the poor girl a hanky’ she chided, holding her arm around Lucy’s shoulders ‘She’s suffering from grief and shock. Get some sweet tea too’ She sat and soothed the sobbing Lucy as Drake hurried off. She managed to pull herself together after a few minutes.

‘Th – thankyou Mrs Walker. I didn’t think it mattered.’ she hiccupped softly. ‘I only thought I was – and I went for a ride to think about it, then my horse threw me. Drake found me… at the bottom of a slope in the woods, and he stayed with me until the Air ambulance came. He was so brave and comforting. Don’t be hard on him. I love him so much – and Brad too.’

‘Shh darling, call me Bianca, and you settle yourself down. Doctors know nothing you know, you need to talk to someone who’s been through it themselves, they can tell you how to cope.’ Lucy looked at Bianca, realisation slowly dawning.

‘You mean – you…?’

‘Yes darling, me. Drake might have had an older sister or brother. I felt so bad afterwards, and the best tonic was being able to talk about it with someone who knew.  The next best cure is a successful pregnancy.’

‘I’m so sorry for you Mrs Walker- I mean Bianca. I – we weren’t even planning it for a while, we were going to wait, and we’d been careful. I was late, but I guess it was the shock of all the things that happened on my wedding day.’ Lucy did not tell Bianca that she wasn’t sure whose child it might have been, but she felt as if a huge weight had been lifted ‘Nobody wanted to talk about it, they were just glad that I was okay.’

‘And now you’ve got the pressure of another wedding. It’s not surprising you’re so run down.’

‘But I can’t call it all off. I want Drake to be part of our marriage.’

‘Well I don’t quite understand how you can have two men at once dear, but if that’s what you want, and it’s legal and above board in this little backwater, why shouldn’t you? Just leave all the arrangements to everyone else and give yourself some time to grieve. Talk to Brad and Drake about it and what it means to you, and then hopefully you’ll be able to enjoy your…’ she took a deep breath. ‘second wedding. Just let it happen.’

Drake reappeared with tissues and tea, and Brad came in with him. Bianca stood and gave the two men a stern look.

‘You need to listen to Lucy and support her. She’s not to have any work to do at all before the wedding, it’s all your responsibility. I’ll be watching and making sure she’s not stressed – do you boys understand?’ The two men nodded, and she walked out of the room to leave them to it.

Lucy patted the sofa beside her, and the two men sat either side of her. She leaned into Brad’s embrace and Drake put his hand on her back and held her hand.  She closed her eyes and felt their support. She drew a deep sigh. Her voice was small as she started to speak but grew stronger as she went on.

‘For a few hours, I thought I was pregnant. For those hours, I wasn’t only wondering whose it was – I was thinking about whether it was a boy or a girl – who it would look like and how I’d cope looking after it. I wondered if I’d make a good mother. I knew you would both be fantastic fathers, but I wondered if it would divide you when you knew whose it was. I didn’t even know if Drake was going to say yes to joining us.  I thought of little Bartie and pictured myself feeding the ducks with them or reading them bedtime stories. I thought of the sleepless nights and looking after him or her if they were sick. When the horse threw me I realised I hadn’t even been watching the track.  It all hit me again only a few hours ago.’ Brad held her tight, and Drake drew little circles on her hand, then lifted it to his lips to kiss it.

‘When I was told it hadn’t even been a possibility, I felt – so stupid, and so guilty for making you both worry so much. It was as if there had been – a little girl, or a little boy, and he or she had – just disappeared.  Before that, I’d never really thought about being a mother.  At all.’ She stopped, and Brad spoke instead.

‘I thought the same thing.’ he said quietly. ‘But I thought talking about it would only upset you. I’ve always seen myself as a father. It comes with the territory. I have to provide an heir.’

‘How could we be so stupid? ’Drake said bitterly ‘All feeling the same and saying nothing.’

‘Well, we’re talking now’ said Lucy ‘and we have plenty of time to think about starting a family for real after the doctor told me to wait a few months. That’s probably a good thing.’

‘We can call the wedding off for now.’ said Drake. ‘I only want you to be well and happy’ Lucy smiled and squeezed his hand.

‘What would make me happy is for everyone to acknowledge you as my partner.’ she said, reaching out to touch his cheek. ‘Everyone – nobles, and citizens, and the rest of the world. Calling the wedding off is not an option.’ Brad spoke up next.

‘I’m sorry - we’ve failed you, Lucy. I promise the wedding will be stress free. The only thing you have to do is choose your dress, we can take care of everything else.’

‘I was going to wear the one I already had.’

‘Well actually, you need to speak to Hana, she has an idea. I’ll go and get her.’ said Brad. Lucy cuddled up to Drake, who held her tight and stroked her hair.

‘You can tell me anything.’ he murmured. ‘any time, you know that.’

‘Thankyou. Let’s just enjoy being alone and quiet, that’s all I want right now.’ Before long Hana appeared, and Lucy smiled at her friend, untangling herself from Drake’s embrace.

‘Lucy, it was going to be a surprise, but I’ve designed a wedding dress for you.’ Hana said. ‘I was going to give it to you on the morning of the wedding, but if you’d like, I can show you now, and we can make any alterations we need to. It would be rather stressful doing it last minute like I’d planned.’

‘Hana, you are just amazing. I tell you what – I’ll try it on – blindfold – and you can fit it, and it will still be a surprise.’

‘That sounds as if it could work. Let’s get to it right now.’

[tessatechaitea]

Batman #87

James Tynion IV and Guillem March team up to make me stop buying Batman.

Part of me just wants to write "UGH!" and be done with reviewing this comic book. But another part of me is hungry. But still another part of me, the one that is against just typing "UGH!", is outraged that I just paid five dollars for a regular issue of Batman because of a stupid glossy and thick cover and that part of me demands that I vent more fully. And yet that's not even why I'm fucking livid! That's just my first and most shallow complaint! I'd prefer if DC Comics just gave me a regular issue of Batman with a regular comic book cover and simply printed on that cover, "We know this is the exact same quality comic book that we'd sell for $3.99 usually but it has Batman in it which means it will sell way more copies than the other issues we sell and we want that sweet, sweet extra dollar per issue windfall!"

Complaint #2: The Riddler believes that a riddle without a solution is the greatest riddle.

Never mind that Guillem March drew The Riddler naked while he's thinking about the greatest riddle ever while on weapons grade amphetamines and he has no visible erection. That's a minor side complaint that I simply assume was on everybody's list of things wrong with this issue. But the revelation that James Tynion IV doesn't understand the concept of riddles is beyond criticism. It's post-critical! The entire purpose of a riddle is that it has a fucking clever answer! A riddle with no answer is a mystery and The Riddler isn't called The Mysteryer! A riddle with no answer is something The Mad Hatter might be into but not The Riddler, Mr. Scott-Snyder-Lite IV! And before some Riddler-loving cuck nerd decides to argue that what Tynion meant was that The Riddler loves a super duper challenging riddle, let me say this: "Then he should have fucking wrote that in the dialogue, shouldn't he have? Not that a 'riddle with no solution' is 'a riddle befitting a riddler.' But 'a riddle with a fucking super tough and challenging solution' is 'a riddle befitting a riddler.' Now go jerk off to your tepid Riddler sex role play Tumblr blog." Just an aside about my use of the word 'cuck': it's just fucking funny to use! The only good thing the terrible incel Internet community (unless I mean the MRA community (unless I mean the PUA community (it probably doesn't matter. They probably mostly share the middle area in a Venn diagram))) has done for this world is to bring back the insult "cuck." I don't even care about using it in the historically accurate way! I don't actually care if Riddler fans' spouses have a little extra side of ass on the down low. It's just fun to say! Plus, if you say it to the kind of person who actually thinks "cuck" is a scathing insult, they get super fucking angry when called one! It's Goddamned hilarious.

Complaint #3: Guillem March's depiction of The Riddler.

Yes, yes. March fixes my whole "The Riddler doesn't have a visible erection" problem from the first scan by implying one with his Riddle Wand here. But the main problem is why did March think The Riddler suddenly needed to look like Bernie Wrightson's Anton Arcane? The Riddler has always just been a skinny creep who was so into getting punched in the face by a muscular man in a bat costume that he planted clues that would ensure it happened. But I guess March has decided that his obsession needed to be mirrored in his physical appearance? Or is it a kind of pervasive attitude that Batman is such a scary and serious fucking cartoon hero that his villainous gallery of rogues has to be just as wickedly serious and horrific? Sometimes it feels like fans still feel as if the Batman television show was some kind of pernicious poison that, to this day, needs continual application of anti-toxin. "Batman isn't silly and his villains shouldn't be either," scream the rabid base of comic book fans that take this shit way too seriously. Hey! Fuck you! I'm angry for valid reasons and not stupid comic book fan reasons! Don't try to use my own words against me!

Complaint #3: Guillem March's depiction of The Penguin.

See my previous argument for Complaint #2. Although there's a history of making The Penguin as creepy and fucked up as possible because nobody needs the image of Burgess Meredith playing The Penguin to already come to the conclusion that a short dapper fat man with a bird obsession isn't the most intimidating villain, even with the mob attitude and homicidal tendencies.

Complaint #4: Batman and Catwoman's banter.

My main complaint with this conversation is that Batman and Catwoman never once argue about whether they met on a boat or on the street. I thought that was how they always began conversations! Also, they don't call each other "Bat" and "Cat." I'm sure a lot of people are thrilled about this change. But to me, it's a slow reset to getting them back to a relationship that denies the strength of their love and commitment to each other. They're slipping back into professional modes of communication! Next thing you know, we'll find out that Alfred didn't really die! It was Clayface the entire time and Alfred simply let people believe he was dead so he could have a peaceful vacation for once in his long life of servitude to an obsessed man-boy with too much money. Okay, that's enough poking fun at Tom King and the people who hated Tom King. I'm sure I'll get my fill of the Bat/Cat relationship whenever King's Bat Loves Cat comic book comes out. Let me be serious about my complaint in this paragraph (although not the kind of serious where I'm a comic book fan taking shit too seriously! The kind of "serious" where I pretend to be in an apoplectic rage which convinces a number of casual readers into thinking things like "This fucking Lobo fanboy wants to fuck Lobo in the face" and "Why is this nerd so obsessed with Supergirl's butthole? Can't he get a real woman down at the real club where he probably dances like a fucking dreamboat?"). Batman is supposed to be the World's Greatest Detective and yet he engages in stupid retorts like "What makes you think I don't have that device?" You fucking imbecile! What makes her think that was expressly stated by Catwoman when she said you wouldn't have needed to ask her if she was still with the body! Also, even Batman can't have that technology because it would take magic to use that technology and Batman is against magic which is why he keeps Kryptonite on hand to defeat Superman instead of the Ace of Winchesters. Side Complaint #4: Guillem March draws asses in the uncanny valley. He wants you to know they're sexy asses that do more than poop and fart. But he tries too hard to make them sexy and they fall into the uncanny valley of sexy asses. Those are asses where you go, "No, no. I can see that that ass is sexy but I am not in any way going to put my tongue into it." Complaint #5: The villains' plan is so complex that it relies on things that couldn't have been planned for happening. This is a standard complaint of mine and such a comic book trope that I probably should have gotten over being upset by it twenty years ago. I suppose it's why I stopped reading comic books for ten of those twenty years though. A bunch of assassins planned to get caught so that one of them could escape so that Batman would be distracted by that one while the others escaped. Batman falls for it although this time there's a twist to a plan so well planned that it works no matter what the hero does: this plan was stolen! This plan was originally the Penguin's plan and he recognized it when the first part fell into place: five assassins came to Gotham and were caught by Batman. Yeah, see? That was part of this stupid plan! So at least The Penguin is going to interfere with this awesome plan. Although, being that the plan was so well planned, the person who stole the plan probably planned for The Penguin to recognize the plan and to interfere. So The Penguin interfering is probably now part of the overall plan.

Complaint #6: Batman builds a prison that even he can't get out of which means Deathstork gets out of it immediately.

Every time, right? Every time a hero does something that is super duper foolproof to the nth degree of foolproofness, they get fooled! Fool the DC villains once, shame on the DC villains. Fool the DC Villains twice, and, well, you know what? That's never actually happened because they've never actually been fooled once. They only get fooled in the ultimate issue of a story arc when the hero decides maybe they should redouble their efforts and buck up their willpower and believe in themselves slightly more than they did in the previous five issues.

Complaint #7: A Cheshire-sized clay body double was captured by Batman, hauled into custody by police, and locked up without anybody noticing.

Batman uses the word "clay" so I'm assuming we're supposed to believe this is some kind of non-Clayface clayface body double? Some kind of mindless automaton that walks and moves and blinks and breathes and acts exactly like a living person? Sure, it's not presented in that way. But the audience has to assume some level of intelligent trickery went down here or else they're going to read this and think, "Batman was fooled by a squishy, drippy sex doll? This is worse for the Batman mythos than when Kevin Smith had Batman confess to peeing his pants!" Complaint #8: Both Deathstork and Cheshire tell Batman they're "playing a game." Why do they call their terrible and vicious crimes a game? It's bullshit to make everything the villains do some kind of contest pitted against Batman. It inherently makes super hero comics less about trying to make the world a better place and more about how heroes are the cause of all of the trouble because the villains' only ever expressed motive is to best the heroes. It's lazy and ultimately damaging to the entire medium. Yes, I said the entire medium! That's not hyperbole! But that was facetiousness!

Complaint #9: Cheshire wears see-through undies and we never get to see them from the front.

Okay fine. Not all of March's asses are in the uncanny valley. That one is staunchly in the valley of cans. Sweet, sweet cans.

Complaint #10: Batman kills Cheshire.

Sure, sure. Cheshire is still talking after getting creamed by a semi truck so Batman didn't really kill her. But he should have killed her doing this and the only way we accept that she isn't dead after smashing her face into an advancing semi is because we, the reader, know Batman doesn't kill. Maybe Batman lovers would defend this as an accident brought on by Cheshire herself. But then what is Batman's defense in letting her get smashed by a truck instead of saving her from being smashed by a truck in the amount of time it takes him to smugly say, "Brace yourself"? This fits into my belief that Batman has killed dozens of people but they die later at the hospital after which he can pin the deaths on the doctors who failed to save them from the mortal injuries Batman gave them. Side Complaint #10: Cheshire's last words are asking Batman how he survived her poison. I mean, she's obviously dying here and that's all she cares about? I would think she'd be all, "Tell my daughter I love her! ACK!" Batman #87 Rating: C. I think I made my points. My main problem now is that I've declared I'm going to stop buying Batman but I'm not the sort of person who avoids staring at train wrecks.