#It's behind the scenes gossip rag talk about a game I will never play

[theglizzardwizard]

The toontown fandom is full of dumb niggas that think fentanyl is smoke-able and that 20$/hr is a lot of money.

[xerxia31]

the Big Bang - an Everlark ficlet

Inspired by a story I read on CNN, that I couldn’t get out of my head. A warning - there are shades of dub-con here that may be disturbing to some readers. Rated M.

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Peeta Mellark was fit to be tied.

“I don’t know what you want me to say here, boy,” Haymitch drawled. “You knew where these characters were heading when you signed on.”

“Come on, Haymitch,” Peeta growled. He was standing in Haymitch Abernathy’s office, holding the week’s script while Haymitch, head writer and executive producer of the hit series The Arena, in which Peeta starred, stared at him from under a mop of greasy, overlong hair. Until now, Peeta had loved working on the show, loved the ensemble cast, loved the interesting storylines and well-written scripts.

But not today.

“They’ve been growing together slowly for three damned seasons and now, this week, bam!” Peeta clapped his hands for emphasis, “out of nowhere you have three fucking sex scenes in the script.” For three seasons the show had been teasing a relationship between the character Peeta played, macho FBI agent Barley St James, and his shy, brainy colleague, Allium Winterland. It was a fantastic story, well paced, the dialogue between them always fun. Nearly three years they’d been teasing the audience with it.

And now this week’s script turned everything on it’s head. “You’re just screwing with us.” There was no way the timing was coincidental. Because the actress who played Allium, the actress he’d be stripping down to his skivvies and dry-humping with on national television? She was none other than his now-ex-girlfriend.

Haymitch glanced away. Peeta thought it was in shame until Haymitch spoke.

“You might as well come in, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said, and Peeta spun to look behind him. “We were talking about you.”

Katniss Everdeen was standing just outside Haymitch’s open door. It was the first time Peeta had laid eyes on her in the flesh in two weeks. Two fucking weeks! He hadn’t seen her since the night she walked out of their house.

He knew where she’d gone though, the whole fucking world did. All of the gossip rags, and even the more reputable news sites, were reporting how her on again off again affair with one Gale Hawthorne, star of multiple movie franchises and People magazine’s sexiest man alive 2018, was definitely on again. 

“Story of my life,” Katniss muttered as she walked the rest of the way through the door, schooling her expression into a dispassionate scowl as she did. Peeta had no idea why she went into acting, he could read her every emotion through the impassive mask. He always could. Today was no exception, her mask might be in place, but her eyes were flashing with fury, and something that looked suspiciously like hurt.

She didn’t acknowledge Peeta at all, striding into the room on silent feet and stopping a solid six feet away. Her arms were crossed protectively over her chest, but her copy of the script was clenched in one fist. No doubt she’d been planning on storming in here to blast Haymitch. But Peeta beat her to it.

“Save your breath, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said. “Like I told the boy, you knew this was coming.”

“It’s fine,” she said, shooting a cool look in Peeta’s direction. “I’m a professional.” Then she turned, and strutted back out the door, back straight, long, black braid swinging. He could only watch, jaw clenched.

“Brrr,” Haymitch said. “You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime.” He was right, of course, and Peeta knew it. The audience would be expecting a pair of lovebirds. Not two people who could barely look each other in the eye.

“Whatever,” Peeta grunted. She wanted to play it that way? He could be cold too.

o-o-o

The table read went smooth as silk. Katniss sat on one side of the room, chatting lightly with their costar Delly Cartwright between scenes, Peeta sat on the other, joking with Cressida Faulkner, who was directing that week’s episode. Most of the cast had no clue Peeta and Katniss had broken up, because most of them never knew they’d been an item at all. Haymitch had figured it out somehow, clearly, but none of the other cast noticed anything was amiss. 

The following day’s rehearsal, not so much. Rehearsals were always in costume and filmed, so that the production team could splice in any good bits that came out of them. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in TV, especially in a weekly series where time was tight. Peeta was used to it.

His first few scenes were fine, his lines came easily, he hit every mark. Then came the first scene he and Katniss shared that week, the one that led up to the first of the three fucking sex scenes. 

She walked onto the set, and Peeta’s heart did a slow tumble in his chest. She was utterly beautiful, her hair loose and flowing, and wearing a dress patterned with autumn leaves. Soft orange, his favourite colour.

The colour of heartbreak.

They both stumbled through their lines, avoiding each other's eyes, interacting stiffing and unnaturally. Cressida halted the scene over and over again. It was a huge drag on the rest of the cast, slowing down everything.

Peeta’s only solace was that Katniss looked as miserable as he felt.

Peeta left as soon as rehearsal ended and headed for the gym. The call sheet had them both in an evening meeting at the studio, and he was going to need to work off some steam before he faced her again.

He should have asked, though, what the meeting was about. Because when he got back to the studio he found Katniss, dressed in leggings and a tiny little tank top, her face bare and so pretty, sitting cross-legged on a gym mat and chatting with a willowy brunette who gave off crunchy granola vibes. “Did I miss the memo about mandatory yoga?” he drawled. 

Katniss scowled, but the brunette smiled beatifically. “Hello Mr. Mellark,” she said softly, her voice like windchimes, musical and irritating. “I’m Annie Cresta, your intimacy coordinator.”

Peeta was too confused to make a joke. “My what now?”

Annie laughed. “Intimacy coordinator,” she repeated. “It’s my job to choreograph simulated sex scenes for actors.”

“I think we know how sex works,” Peeta grumbled, and Katniss flushed, obvious without the stage makeup caked on her skin, then looked down at her lap. But Annie was undeterred.

“Of course,” she said gently. “But it’s about more than just choreography. It’s about helping you both to be comfortable, about navigating respect and consent and keeping the set safe.”

Peeta had heard about this, once before maybe, in the wake of the #metoo movement. But he’d never worked with one before. Katniss must have requested it. Figured she couldn’t even trust him to be a professional on the set. “With all due respect, Ms. Cresta,” Peeta said. “I don’t think we need this. We’ve both filmed scenes like this before.” Not with each other, but that was a minor point.

Katniss, to his surprise, looked inclined to agree. Annie just smiled.

“Not negotiable, I’m afraid,” she said. “All of Panem Entertainment’s productions must have an intimacy coordinator on set.” Peeta frowned, they were in the third season of filming, he’d never seen Annie before. As if reading his mind, she nodded. “I worked with Thresh Watts and Rue Lamonte last year.” That scene had been filmed on a closed set, Peeta had seen the finished product, but not any of the lead-up, and it hadn’t occurred to him at the time to ask about it.

Peeta sighed, and resigned himself to having a stranger teach him how to have fake sex with his real ex-girlfriend.

“Have a seat,” Annie said, indicating the mat beside Katniss. Peeta gritted his teeth, but he sat, his knee brushing hers.

She didn’t react.

“Now,” Annie said. “Communication is key.” Peeta snorted, and Katniss scowled at him. Communication. With the woman who had spoken a single word to him in the past 15 days. Sure. "The most important thing is that the people involved feel safe.”

“Why would we feel unsafe?” Peeta interrupted. There was a Cubs game on TV tonight, he’d rather be watching that.

Annie was unperturbed. “You're revealing a lot in a scene, you're going to places where you're vulnerable, and that requires an awful lot of trust," she said, looking pointedly between Peeta and Katniss. He wondered with some annoyance just how much Katniss had revealed to Annie about their situation before he’d walked in. “I have the script, and an outline of how your director wants it to look. But you two will need to talk with each other and with me and say, 'What are you comfortable with? What are you not comfortable with?'”

“I don’t want kissing,” Katniss blurted, then flushed again. “I mean,” she amended, “I’m not sure I can concentrate on both that and lines and choreography.” Peeta knew that was bullshit, in three seasons he could count on one hand the number of times Katniss had forgotten a line or missed a mark. 

She just didn’t want to kiss him. And it stung. 

Annie nodded. “We can work around that,” she said. “There will need to be some close up shots of you kissing, but they can be filmed separately from the simulated sex.”

Great, Peeta thought. Their characters had kissed a lot over the past three seasons, but that had been easy. They were both professionals, and kissing Katniss for the camera had been no big deal. Fun, even, in a comfortable, familiar way. Never sexual, there was always too much lipstick and stage makeup to worry about for there ever to be more than a peck. But steady, and comforting.

He doubted it’d be like that now. Or ever again.

“Let’s start with directorial expectations,” Annie began. “I’ve been given a timeline for the scenes and an outline of the specific angles that are expected. The most challenging part, from an intimacy perspective, is likely to be the third, which will be shot side angle with you, Peeta, on top of Katniss and no sheets to shield anything. We’ll have to block arms and leg placements carefully, and it’s likely you’ll both feel very vulnerable.”

Peeta didn’t see how that would be difficult, yet when Annie positioned him kneeling between Katniss’s thighs, a ridiculous little brocade cushion between their bodies, it was incredibly awkward. Katniss couldn’t hide in this position, with their faces only inches apart, and he couldn’t ignore, looking into her silver eyes, just how much he’d lost.

Two hours of rolling around on the floor, blocking arm and hand and leg movements sucked any sexy out of the scene. It felt robotic and contrived and awkward as hell. Katniss, for her part, looked fucking miserable. “Well,” Annie said finally. “I’m sensing some discomfort, so I think we should close for the evening.”

Peeta rolled onto his back on the mat and stared at the ceiling. Why was this so fucking hard? He was an actor, for god’s sake. He’d filmed sex scenes before, and none of them felt this shitty.

“I think we could do with a couple more rehearsals,” Annie said. “I’ll ask Cressida to schedule some.” Just fucking great, Peeta thought.

Annie floated away like an ethereal being. Katniss hung back, maybe to talk with him, maybe just to avoid Annie. But he wasn’t in the mood. He’d been subjected to her stony silences for two days, his heart hurt and his pride was dented and he just needed to get out and lick his wounds.

“Peeta,” Katniss said softly. Peeta held up his hand.

“Not now,” was all he said.

She scowled. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Peeta almost leapt to his feet, his exhaustion morphing into rage. “Look, you haven’t said a damned word to me in weeks, you haven’t even come home for your things, and now you want to talk?” Peeta spat, cringing internally at his use of the word home to describe the house where they’d been living together until two weeks ago.

Katniss looked puzzled, under all of that anger. “Jo said you threw everything away.” Johanna Mason was a mutual… well... not quite friend. Peeta had often accompanied her to awards shows, in the early days of her career when she was concerned that if it got out that she preferred women, it would stop her from getting leading lady roles. She didn’t need to worry about that anymore, she was a bonafide A-lister these days, and her relationship with an adorably bubbly talk show host was in every magazine. But Jo generally had her own unknowable agenda and sometimes she liked to stir up shit just for fun. 

“You think I’d do that?” he asked, voice deceptively soft. He might have thought about it, fantasized about it really, when he found out who she was staying with. But he had more dignity than that, and she damned well should know it.

In fact, everything was exactly as she’d left it when she stomped out of their home, out of his life, 15 days ago. Her toothbrush was beside the bathroom sink, her favourite sweater on her favourite chair. A shabby silver-framed picture of her parents nestled between their awards. All of the homey pieces of her life, all of her simple treasures, abandoned. 

Katniss shrugged, like she didn’t care, like his worth, his honour, the life they’d built together, was inconsequential, and it just pissed Peeta off more. He hated her ice princess routine, hated how fucking above it all she was. She’d always been good at freezing him out, at making him chase her, but no more. He didn’t have to put up with her stone cold shit.

“Get you crap or I will toss it,” he seethed, walking away. She didn’t call after him, but then she never did.

o-o-o

Haymitch dropped two of the three sex scenes from the script. Peeta should have been relieved, he was relieved. But he also felt sick about it. Like he was destroying his career.

The tension on set was obvious and palpable now, and he knew it looked like he was the cause. Katniss, always quiet, remained quiet. But Peeta couldn’t fake it, once the cameras stopped. Cold didn’t come naturally to him, and too often he veered into mean and snappish. 

He had to figure out a way to get past this, to get past his anger, his hurt, and work with Katniss again. But he had no idea how.

Peeta leaned back in his favourite club chair, in the cozy den at the back of his house, and allowed himself to relive that day, the day it had all come crashing down. Until then, he’d thought he had it all, had the world in the palm of his hand. A great job, a comfortable home and the most radiant woman in the world in his bed every night. 

Katniss Everdeen had been a child star on a hugely popular sitcom. He knew her only by name when she showed up to screen test with him. He’d been expecting a cute little moppet. Instead, she was a silver-eyed stunner. And right off the bat, he was a goner.

They clicked, in almost every way. Working together was a joy, chatting together between takes a delight. He loved her intelligence and wry sense of humour. They moved from friends to more at breakneck speed, but it never felt too fast.

She was insistent that they keep a lid on their relationship, even when they eventually moved in together. He understood it, her previous relationship, also with a costar, had been documented to death, she’d been hounded and harassed by the paparazzi constantly, even now they followed her everywhere. He didn’t love keeping them a secret, but he loved Katniss, so he acquiesced. 

And that day, the day it all fell apart? It was supposed to be a good day, a great day. The first day of their two-week mid-season filming break. They had grand plans to do nothing but each other. Peeta had run a few errands, then stopped by his agent’s office to sign a couple of endorsement contracts.

That’s when the shit started.

“I figured you’d want to hear it from me first,” Finnick Odair, the best agent in the business, said with a grimace. He handed Peeta a tablet. Loaded up was the National Enquirer, his mother’s smirking face beside a promotional shot of Peeta and Katniss, and the headline, ‘It’s Real’. His fucking mother had struck again. It wasn’t the first time she’d sold Peeta out to the tabloids.

“Shit,” Peeta murmured. Not because the headline wasn’t true, it was. But Katniss guarded her privacy with clenched fists, and for two years, they’d barely let anyone in on their secret. Finn knew, but he was very discreet and like he’d said when Peeta had first hired him, he couldn’t protect Peeta unless he knew all of his secrets.

“She’s going to be pissed, huh?” Finn said sympathetically.

He didn’t know the half of it.

Peeta was in a foul temper and all he wanted was his quiet house and a couple of fingers of scotch before he had to deal with Katniss, who was sure to be furious. But no, he wouldn’t even get that. Because Rye was standing at his front door when he arrived home. Peeta groaned, and parked in front of the house, instead of pulling into the garage, where the door he generally entered by was. They’d chosen this place because the gated community was supposed to offer them more privacy and security. He was going to have to talk with the guard at the gate again. Just because Rye looked like his brother didn’t mean Peeta wanted him here. 

“Peet,” Rye said genially as Peeta unlocked the seldom-used front door. 

“What do you want, Rye?” Peeta really had no time for his brother’s bullshit, not that day of all days, and he hadn’t bothered hiding his annoyance.

“I can’t just pop by to see my little brother?” Rye never came by unless he wanted something. Often it was money. Rye seldom worked, preferring to live off his association with Peeta There were a lot of people in LA who would wine and dine the families of celebrities, looking for an in. Rye had brought him a few abominable scripts over the years from people who’d promised him a big finders fee if he could get Peeta to sign on.

“Cut to the chase, Rye,” Peeta said impatiently. There was a small liquor cabinet in the living room closest to the front door. Not that they ever lived in this room. It was only for show, the place where outsiders were held, away from the parts of the house where they actually did their living.

“Fine,” Rye laughed. “Tell me it isn’t true, little brother,” he said. There was no point pretending Peeta didn’t know what he was talking about. Rye was a terrible gossip hound. Peeta shook his head. “Thank god,” Rye said. “You can do so much better than that. She’s not very big, and definitely not hot.” 

Peeta sighed. Rye’s taste in women only included girls who fawned all over him. Katniss would never make that list. 

“Where did Mom come up with that idea anyway?” Rye asked, eyeing the single glass Peeta poured with interest. Peeta was not going to offer him a drink. He wasn’t going to do anything that suggested Rye was welcome to stay. “It’s pretty fucking crazy, even for her.”

“I don’t know,” Peeta grumbled. He knew exactly where. She must have listened in on one of Peeta’s calls with his father. His dad was his best friend, Peeta just couldn’t keep secrets from him. But the old man wasn’t always careful when he talked to Peeta.

“Katniss Everdeen. As fucking if. You have much better taste than that,” Rye laughed. “Remember that chick you were with a couple of years ago? The one who was in Playboy?”

“Cashmere Solomon,” Peeta muttered half under his breath. He’s gone out with her twice, and she’d been a nightmare, only interested in what he could do for her celebrity.

“She was hot,” Rye nodded. “I hooked up with her, after.” That was more than Peeta needed to know.

“Look,” Peeta started, an attempt to get rid of Rye, to get back to his plans for a few quiet minutes before Katniss got home and he’d have to have another, very different conversation on this topic.

“Mom’s a mental case,” Rye interrupted. “Like you’d ever stoop low enough to fuck that Everdeen chick. Stuck up little bitch like that? You’ve got more pride.”

“Are we done?” Peeta was bone weary, and not at all in the mood to listen to one of his brother’s diatribes. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do tonight.”

“Right, right,” Rye said. Peeta didn’t give a damn whether his brother believed him or not. He started to guide Rye back to the entryway. “I don’t know how Hawthorne puts up with her, “ Rye said. “Rumour has it she’s completely frigid.”

Peeta laughed, he couldn’t help it. Katniss was the furthest thing in the world from frigid, she was a live wire in bed, far and away the best sex of his life. And she had broken up with Gale Hawthorne some four years earlier, but the media still wrote about them as if they were just taking a break.

“Listen,” Rye said, though Peeta was already shepherding him towards the door. “I know this girl, Glimmer her name is. Tits for miles! She’s working on a pilot.” Working on a pilot was LA code for unemployed. “She’s so hot,” Rye continued, oblivious to Peeta’s irritation, “spend a little time with her, I’ll get my pap friend to follow you. That’ll make the Enquirer story go away. Kill any hint of association with that little piece of work.”

“Bye, Rye, Peeta said, pushing his brother through the door.

“Call me,” Rye said, and Peeta slammed the door in his face, flipping the bolt. Idiot. He exhaled slowly, then turned.

Katniss was standing behind him. Shit. How much of Rye’s crap had she heard?

“How could you let him talk about me that way,” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

Peeta cringed. Evidently most of it. “What was I supposed to say? You don’t want him to know we’re together.”

“We have to be together for you to defend me?” Katniss asked, incredulous. “Women are only worth defending if you’re fucking them?”

Peeta rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit,” he said. “You know I’m not like that.”

“Do I?” Katniss was pacing, little mincing steps that would fit on a pie plate. “Sure as hell didn’t sound like it.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Peeta was yelling. He flung his arms wide, expensive scotch sloshed over the edge of his glass, splashed his watch. Just great.

“How about ‘Katniss isn’t a stuck up little bitch’ for starters?”

“Jesus, Katniss, why do you even care? You know he’s an asshole.”

“He said awful things about me, in my own home, and you just stood there and nodded, like you agreed,” Katniss snapped. “That was a total dick move.”

“Well excuse-fucking-me,” Peeta said, “but it’s not even your house.” She lived there, but the lease was in his name. Her official address was an empty condo in Van Nuys, so that people wouldn’t figure out they were shacked up together. He hated the cloak and dagger bullshit, but she’d insisted.

Katniss froze, face twisted in disgust. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “It’s not.”

Before Peeta even had a chance to respond, the door was slamming behind her.

Peeta knew, even before she’d gotten to her car, that he was wrong. But he was angry, angry with his mother, angry with his brother, and pissed as hell that Katniss insisted on hiding, like he was some dirty secret instead of the man she’d been dating for two years.

She didn’t come home that evening. Peeta wasn’t completely surprised. It wasn’t the first time she’d frozen him out. He’d give her the night, then apologize in the morning.

But when morning came, his phone had blown up with texts. TMZ was running a spread of pictures, grainy and obviously through a long lens. Katniss, standing on a balcony, and not alone. With her was Gale-fucking-Hawthorne, her ex. She was locked in his embrace wearing only a robe, while he was in boxers. The gossip sites were having a field day, former lovers reunited.

Peeta, still in bed, dialed his phone. She answered on the second ring, voice hoarse. “Are you with Gale?” Peeta asked with no preamble.

There was the slightest of pauses. “Yes,” Katniss said.

“You couldn’t fucking wait to go rushing back to his bed?” Peeta yelled. “Or maybe you never really left?”

The line died in his hand. It was the last time they’d spoken, until now.

o-o-o

Katniss made no further attempt to talk to Peeta, outside of what they said on the soundstage. She’d doubled down on the ice princess routine, speaking to him in cold, overly formal tones when the cameras weren’t rolling.

 Working with Annie Cresta hadn’t gotten any better either, but at least they’d managed to memorise a routine—hand here, thigh there, twist this way, arch like that. Annie insisted it would look a lot more natural than it felt. Peeta wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t care. He just wanted the thing done.

The scene was set for late afternoon, after the rest of principal photography was done for the episode and the lion’s share of cast and crew had left. “Saving the best for last,” Cressida chirped, but no one really believed that.

Katniss had a rider in her contract specifying no nudity, Peeta knew that. He hadn’t bothered with one himself, he didn’t care who saw him, but Katniss had always been uncomfortable baring everything. In other scenes, the production sometimes used a body double for Katniss. But this scene, the scene, would be her and him, on a bed, doing choreographed dry humping. It had to be her, there wasn’t any other choice.

Haymitch wasn’t on set, something Peeta suspected was Katniss’s doing, but he appreciated it. The crew was at a bare minimum, to make it easier for the actors, but it was still a lot of people. Cressida was directing, busily setting up the scene. Two female grips he’d never met before were behind the stationary cameras, two of his favourite camera guys—Castor and Pollox—had the handhelds. Two more grips had the boom mics, a gaffer adjusted the lights, and a set designer, Octavia, was fussing over the bedding, rumpling it in an artistic way that Peeta knew from rehearsal would last about twelve seconds before they destroyed it. Annie, strangely, was nowhere to be seen. He’d thought that, as their intimacy coordinator, she’d be there to coach when they actually filmed. Apparently not.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Cressida called out, affecting a carefree tone. Peeta knew it was an act, an attempt to get all of them to relax. The antagonism and animosity between the two leads wasn’t exactly a secret, not anymore, and the mood on the small soundstage was tense. No one was looking forward to this.

Katniss had seen him naked a thousand times, had touched and stroked and tasted every inch of his body. Still, it was strange, even on a closed set, to be standing in front of her wearing nothing but a sock tied to his dick. She was clutching the edges of her pink silk robe so tightly her knuckles were white, and looking everywhere but at him.

Cinna approached and helped Katniss out of her robe, careful not to disrupt the cascade of windblown curls Peeta knew had likely taken an hour and several cans of product to achieve. Katniss’s hair was naturally pin straight, yet they were always curling it in the show, and she hated it. So focussed was Peeta on her hair that he didn’t notice what she was wearing until Cinna stepped away, leaving Katniss standing beside the bed in a pair of pasties and an adhesive pad that covered her pubic hair and not much else. Peeta couldn’t help but stare. It was far less than he was expecting, Annie had told him Katniss would be wearing a pair of flesh coloured panties and a little tube top over her boobs. “The sides of her underwear showed in the test shots,” Castor muttered in his ear. “Haymitch insisted on that instead.”

For half a minute, Peeta felt really bad for Katniss, knowing her discomfort, knowing what it was costing her to stand under the lights and in front of so many people wearing little more than three bandaids. But then she sighed, and barked, “can we just get this over with?” and any sympathy Peeta felt for her evaporated like spring snow.

The scene opened with them both on the bed. They’d practiced the routine, both on floor mats and on a set bed. But in rehearsal, they’d been clothed, pillows between them to minimise contact.

No longer.

Now, they were essentially naked, skin pressed to skin, staring wide-eyed at each other. She was so soft under him, fit him so perfectly. Her breath—sharp, nervous little pants—caressed his jaw, his throat. Her hands, small but so much stronger than they looked, clutched at this back.

His dick twitched and hardened, he couldn’t fucking help it. They’d fucked a thousand times over the previous two years, he’d always been insanely attracted to her. His dick didn’t know that this time it wasn’t real. He clenched his teeth and kept going. There was no way, positioned as they were, to prevent her from feeling it. 

Katniss smirked at him, just a fleeting little hint of amusement, but coupled with his embarrassment at getting turned on when the ice fucking queen clearly felt nothing it was too much. Rage flooded his veins like venom. He sneered down at Katniss, uncaring if the handycam caught his expression. Then he deliberately rocked against her, rubbing his hard cock against her core, only a little strip of fabric and a glorified sock between them. 

Her breath caught, a choked little sound. 

“Like that, princess?” he spat, lowering his mouth to her ear. “You like knowing that you can still get me hot?”

She moaned softly. It just made him angrier. Was she acting, or actually responding? Was she thinking about Gale while he was grinding against her? Had she always been thinking about him?

The few lines he was supposed to say flew out of his head. “Does your boyfriend get you hot like this?” he groaned instead, anger and lust combining. “Do you moan for him like you did for me?” Her hands, which had been moving through the choreography much more fluidly than in rehearsal suddenly froze. “Does he fill you up as good as I did?”

“Peeta,” Katniss whispered, a hint of warning in her tone. But he was too mad. Mad and heartsick and wildly turned on, it was a potent brew. He couldn’t stop. He ground harder against her, his chest rasping against her breasts, bare but for a pair of stickers. He nipped at her earlobe with sharp teeth, and her gasp was loud over his harsh breaths.

“Do you melt for him, ice princess?” She said nothing, but he didn’t care. He angled his hips and thrust hard, the way he knew she liked. He rocked over and over again, forgetting about the others in the room, lost in Katniss, however fake it might be.

“Do you want to give them a show,” he growled against her throat. “Take off the guard? One last fuck, for old times sake?”

“Stop,” she said, so faintly it was barely a breath. “Please.” Peeta pulled back. Beneath him, Katniss’s eyes were screwed tightly shut, tears leaking from the corners. The anger rushed away, leaving him horrified and utterly ashamed. 

He rolled away and climbed off the bed. “Need a break,” he grunted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Katniss had curled onto her side, facing away, naked and vulnerable. The need to comfort her battled with the sick feeling in his gut over how cruel he’d been. How completely unlike himself.

Cressida called out to him, but he didn’t want to hear whatever she was going to say. Couldn’t stay another minute on that set.

He pushed past Castor who was staring open-mouthed, the camera on his shoulder still blinking as it ran, and stomped to his dressing room. There, he sank into a chair, the leather sticking to his bare ass. He pulled the modesty bag off his now-deflated cock and dropped his head into his hands.

How had it gotten to this?

How had he gotten to the point where he was tormenting the woman he loved more than life with fake sex on their job site? Bullying her to tears in front of their crew. 

He was disgusted with himself. That wasn’t who he was.

He needed to go to Katniss and apologise, for more than just the scene. 

Fifteen minutes later, he’d calmed down and thrown on sweats. Katniss’s dressing room door was closed, but he knew she wasn’t in there. He walked past the small set and the little office Annie had used, but he knew she wouldn’t be there either.

Down the hall, past craft services stood the door to the electrical room. It was never locked. Peeta pushed inside. Past all of the clutter and detritus of broken light stands and boxes of cables was another door, narrow and unmarked. A steep set of metal stairs lay beyond it, and at the top a door he had to duck to walk through.

Then he was standing on the roof, a soft Burbank breeze ruffling his hair.

It wasn’t anything special, this part of the roof, gravel-topped and housing the building’s HVAC system. But it was their spot, a place no one else ever went. A place they could find some measure of solitude in the midst of a busy studio. No one ever disturbed them up here.

Katniss was sitting on the low ledge that bisected the roof, wrapped in a robe, her pink silk clad back to him. He knew she must have heard his approach, the gravel beneath him crunched with every step. But she didn’t move, didn’t react as he straddled the cement to lower himself beside her.

She didn’t turn towards him, but she didn’t need to. Her profile said everything: smudged makeup, red nose, puffy eyes. The breeze caught loose tendrils of her hair, blowing them around her face but she was still and silent save for her uneven breaths. An island in a tempest. Her eyes remained fixed on the horizon, past the endless parking lots and low studio buildings to where the sun was sinking low, bathing the sky in soft orange. Her silence wasn’t icy tonight. Pain radiated from every line, every curve.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta started. Katniss nodded, her posture otherwise unchanged. “I was a complete dick in there, and you didn’t deserve any of that. It was inexcusable.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I don’t want to go on like this. Making out for the cameras, then ignoring each other when they’re off. I was hoping that if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at being friends?” It would certainly make their jobs a lot easier.

“I’ve never slept with Gale,” she said softly, and Peeta startled. That wasn’t even possible. She’d run right back to him, was living with him again.

As if reading his mind, Katniss continued. “He’s been a good friend to me, a brother in some ways. But we’ve never had a physical relationship.”

“Bullshit,” Peeta sputtered, conciliatory tone gone. “You were with him for years.”

Katniss glanced at him then, a half smirk twisting her lips. “You were with Johanna for years too,” she said.

“You know that wasn’t real. And Gale isn’t gay.”

Katniss shrugged, and turned back to the horizon. 

Peeta continued to watch her. He knew all of her expressions, her every tell. She wasn’t lying.

“Why,” he started, then stopped. That wasn’t the question he really needed an answer to. “You let me think you were together.”

“Maybe I wanted to hurt you,” she whispered. “Like you hurt me.”

Mission accomplished, he thought. He’d been in fucking agony since he saw the TMZ pictures, and the ones that followed; Katniss and Gale riding in his convertible, Katniss and Gale leaving a trendy LA cafe, Katniss and Gale sipping wine on the balcony of his oceanfront estate. It had been a form of masochism, adding her name to his news alerts and reading the day's gossip about her blossoming relationship with Gale Hawthorne.

Could it really have all been fake?

Katniss and Gale had been on the same sitcom as children, had played cousins. So when, years later, they moved in together, of course everyone assumed they were together. They’d certainly never done anything to contradict it.

“You never mentioned that before,” Peeta said quietly. Not that Gale’s name had come up often in their time together, but they’d talked about past relationships, and she’d never said that Gale had been nothing more than a friend. She’d really never said anything about her years with Gale, and that had always made Peeta insecure, wondering if she’d still harboured feelings for him. If she kept their relationship a secret not from the world, but from Gale Hawthorne. Katniss shrugged.

“I didn’t think it would matter. You’re in the business, you know how often dating is just for show.”

He did. But he’d been upfront with Katniss about Jo, he’d never let her think there was anything there. That she hadn’t given him the same respect, hadn’t trusted him, was gutting.

“He kissed me, once,” Katniss said, and Peeta’s stomach clenched in inappropriate jealousy. “I was seventeen. It was the summer after we’d both finished filming Seam Street, but before he got his big break on that superhero movie. Back when we thought we might still be normal.” She was smiling sadly, lost in the moment. “We both gagged,” she continued, and Peeta’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Katniss laughed softly, but it wasn’t at Peeta. It was at whatever she was remembering. “All of those childhood friends to lovers tropes, it definitely wasn’t like that for me and Gale. Kissing him was…” Katniss trailed off, shuddering. “I love Gale, he’s mine, I’m his. But not like that.

“But it didn’t matter. Once the media decided we were together, they invented stories. Every time we went anywhere together, they took pictures and manipulated them to fit whatever story they’d decided to write about us that week.” Katniss sighed, and rubbed her eyes. “We couldn’t have a life, outside of each other. Anytime either of us was seen with another person, the tabloids went crazy. I got my own place, tried to put some distance there. But it didn’t stop.

“And after he started dating Claudia, it all got worse,” she said. “The media, and fans who decided that he and I belonged together, they couldn’t let it go. They hounded her incessantly, called her a homewrecker and things far worse. Trolled her on social media, harassed her family, and anything either of us tried to get them to back off only made things worse. When she finally broke things off with him, he blamed me, at least a bit.” She paused, and sniffled. “It’s why we’ve barely talked over the past few years. First because it bothered Claudia, and then because Gale was so pissed off. It came close to destroying our friendship.”

Peeta sat in stunned silence as realisation washed over him. “That’s why you wanted to keep us a secret,” he said. “You were protecting me.” 

“Private,” she said. “Not secret. And that’s what you and I do, protect each other. Or did,” she added softly. 

But he hadn’t protected her. Not on the set, and not from his brother’s vitriol.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta said. “I shouldn’t have let Rye talk shit about you. And I shouldn’t have been all defensive when you rightly called me on it.”

She nodded again, but didn’t turn towards him. And he didn’t know how to bridge the gulf. He’d been wrong, on so many levels. But she hadn’t trusted him, and still didn’t. She could have eased so many of his insecurities just by being honest. But she hadn’t.

He wanted to fix things. He wanted to be with her again, this time with more openness and honesty. To build a better relationship, one they both deserved. He wasn’t sure if it was possible with so much hurt between them. But he wanted to try. He just needed to get Katniss on the same page, and he knew from experience that wasn’t likely to be easy. 

“We should go back,” Peeta said what felt like an hour later. The sun was almost gone, and though the air still held the perpetual California heat, Katniss was shivering in the breeze. “I’m done being a wounded prick, I promise.”

Katniss turned to him, finally. She still looked so sad, with her red eyes and ruined makeup. His heart clenched. “Cressida called shooting for the day,” she said. “Didn’t think either of us was in a good place to continue.” Haymitch would doubtless be pissed, any disruption in the schedule was tens of thousands of dollars wasted. Peeta sighed, but he knew it was the right call. 

“Probably for the best,” Peeta said. “We’re a mess.”

Katniss laughed, just slightly, and Peeta grinned at her. When he extended his hand to help her up, she took it, and it felt so good to feel her fingers entwined with his again, not for show but in actual friendship.

They walked back to the dressing rooms together. “Do you maybe want to get dinner together?” Peeta asked, and he knew he sounded small and uncertain. But to his surprise, Katniss nodded.

“I’d like that,” she said.

They walked out to the lot thirty minutes later, and Peeta led her to his car. She was wearing jeans and a little tank top, her hair pulled back in a no-fuss braid and a pair of sunglasses shielding eyes that still bore traces of the evening’s emotions. She was in every way Katniss, the woman he loved. But he could feel her holding back, feel the stiffness and uncertainty in the way she looked at him, spoke to him. Not intentional, simply reflexive, like she was trying to keep her heart safe. From him. The wall between them loomed large. It was going to take a Herculean effort to break it down.

There was a restaurant, Sae’s, not too far from the house they’d shared. It catered to people like them. The front was nothing so much as a shabby little diner, but in the back were private, windowless rooms where they could have a meal without prying eyes.

Peeta ordered pasta and Katniss got her favourite goat cheese and apple panini. But the way she pushed the food around on her plate spoke to how distressed she still was. Katniss typically ate with gusto, like she was afraid she’d never see food again. 

He left her be, keeping conversation light, trying to ease her back into being comfortable with him. Joking with her, the way he always had. She smiled, but it felt hollow. If anything, she seemed to get more sad as the meal wore on. Peeta’s spirits flagged.

He paid the bill, and they headed out the back door. There, he stopped, and pulled Katniss to stand in front of him. 

“Talk to me,” Peeta said, voice gruff with guilt.

“About what?” She wasn’t being flippant, if anything, she sounded defeated.

“Katniss,” he sighed. She looked up at him, eyes unfathomable, dark pools in the lamplight. He could tell she was trying to psych herself up to talk. So he leaned against the restaurant wall and waited.

“I’m sorry, okay,” she said finally, and it wasn’t what he was expecting. “I’m sorry that keeping us a secret hurt you. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

Peeta opened his mouth, to say he understood better now, but she pushed on.

“And it didn’t mean I loved you any less.”

“Loved?” Her use of past tense gutted him. “Not anymore?”

In the deep shadows of the single street light, he could see her face crumple. She wrapped her arms around her body, as if shielding herself from another blow. “Does it matter?” Her words were choked, he could hear she was fighting tears again. “I know what you think of me.”

“Katniss,” he said, the word regret-soaked. 

“Frigid little ice princess,” she parroted, but there was no anger. Only pain. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Peeta said. “I know that’s not you.” She played at being cold sometimes. But underneath, she was a flame, burning bright.

“Everyone thinks that about me. They always have.”

“I don’t,” Peeta said, and he let the pleading come through in his voice, let her hear his own pain. “I know you’re not cold. You’re the girl on fire.” Katniss’s lips twitched at the old nickname, one she’d gotten as a teenager in an action movie. But her heartbroken expression didn’t change. “I was angry, and wounded, and I lashed out. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said, then she was wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Peeta pulled her in close and buried his face in her hair. It was the first time he’d felt whole in more than two weeks, like the broken piece of his soul had returned. 

Her little body shook against him, he knew she was crying. “Shhh,” he said, stroking her back. “Shhh. It’s going to be okay.” It was. He’d make sure of it.

“Just missed you so much,” she muttered. His heart soared.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Please come home.” 

She didn’t say anything. But he felt her nod against his chest. And it was enough.

He took her back to his place, to their place. They were both exhausted, emotions raw, and had an early morning call, to redo the evening’s ruined scene. But she climbed into bed beside him, and he held her all night.

They were quiet the next morning, tentative and uncertain around each other, but they were together, and Peeta was committed to making things better, for both of them. He’d be patient. He’d communicate better. He’d lost the love of his life once, he wouldn’t let it happen again. 

They climbed back into his car, since hers was at the studio, but as soon as the garage door opened Peeta saw Rye there, waving his phone. Beside him, Katniss tensed, and shrank down into her seat. He could almost smell her pain. Just fucking great. The moron had to show up now, when they had barely started patching things together. 

“I’ve been calling you all morning,” Rye said as soon as Peeta stepped out of the car. It was just past eight, Rye didn’t typically get up before noon. Peeta suspected he hadn’t yet been to bed.

“Go home, Rye,” Peeta said. “This isn’t the time.”

“They’re saying this is you and that Everdeen chick,” Rye insisted, shaking his phone in Peeta’s face. Sure enough, on the screen was a dark and blurry shot of him, holding Katniss in his arms. Her face wasn’t visible, but her long black braid and sweet little ass were perfectly recognisable. Fuck. He thought they’d be safe at Sae’s. But he’d been wrong. Again. “I already told the Hollywood Reporter it was fake, that you wouldn’t slum with the likes of that—”

“Shut up!” Peeta roared, and for once, Rye stopped talking. “Katniss is the woman I love, and I won’t listen to you disparage her anymore,” Peeta said. “Now get the fuck out of here and stop fucking talking to the media about me.” Peeta was seething. He was going to make sure that security guard was fired. Maybe his boss too. And his boss’s boss.

Rye backed away, hands held up in supplication. “Sure, yeah,” he said quickly. “I’ll just get out of your hair. We’ll talk more later, yeah?”

Peeta didn’t dignify that with an answer. He spun on his heel, to head back to the car. But Katniss was there already, standing just behind him. She must have heard everything they’d said, and worse, Rye would have seen her there. He flinched, but she just smiled at him, then walked straight into his arms.

“Thank you,” she said. 

Fuck. She didn’t need to thank him for defending her, it’s what any decent person would do. “I should have said that last time,” he admitted, tightening his hold on her.

“You said it this time,” she said. Then she stretched up onto her toes, and kissed him.

Relief and disbelief and so much love flooded Peeta. He cupped her ass in his hands and hoisted her into his arms, his lips never leaving hers.

He knew Rye was watching. Knew that some of their neighbours could see them too. “We should go back to the garage,” he whispered between kisses that were growing too hot for the street. “People are watching.”

“Let them,” she gasped. “I don't want to hide how I feel about you. Not anymore.”

He laughed against her lips, and kissed her more.

o-o-o

She was sitting in her favourite chair, a mug of camomile tea forgotten beside her, when Peeta got home. He glanced at the television glowing on the wall and groaned. “Access Hollywood? Really?” Katniss, his Katniss, was watching the creme de la creme of shitty tabloid TV. 

Their relationship had been dissected endlessly by the gossip shows in the four months since they’d been outed, first by his attention-seeking mother, then by a slightly risqué public display of affection in front of their house that had been captured on cellphone video by multiple sources. Peeta understood so much better now why Katniss had tried so hard to avoid unwanted exposure. He was sick to death of the coverage.

But they were handling it together. 

“Shhh,” she said, grinning. “They’re discussing whether we really did the deed while shooting Allium and Barley’s big scene.” Peeta glanced back at the television. The banner read 15 Times 'Love' Scenes On Screen Were Real.

“Oh my god,” Peeta groaned, and sank into the chair beside Katniss’s, covering his face with his hands.

The day after their disastrous first attempt at filming, they’d gone back to the set and found Haymitch waiting for them. The crusty old bastard had actually apologised for putting them in such a shitty position, and told them he’d take the scene out, make it a fade to black.

“No,” Katniss had said, silver eyes brighter than they’d been all week. “The script needs the scene. Our fans need it. And we’re ready this time.”

The second attempt had been so much better. It was still awkward, the choreography still felt strange. One of her pasties came unstuck and ended up caught in his chest hair. Twice they had to cut filming when Katniss started giggling. 

Peeta had been loath to watch it, once it’d been edited. Afraid to reopen the barely healing wounds. But the end result, just as Annie promised, looked real. The cameras caught their very real joy at being reunited, their very real love for one another. And those things made the very fake sex look like something more.

They’d filmed several more sex scenes over the course of finishing the season, each easier than the last. Communication, it turned out, did make the scenes less awkward. And it helped with their real relationship too.

But the first scene, the one that Peeta still cringed thinking about, that episode had aired just days ago.

The television sound cut off abruptly and Katniss burst into laughter. Peeta peeked out from between his fingers. Frozen on the big screen was a shot of Peeta’s ass in all of its hi-def glory, and Mario Lopez was pointing to a spot just between his thighs where apparently a hint of nutsack had been caught by the camera. 

Well that brought unwanted exposure to a whole new level. 

Peeta groaned. “I’m putting a nudity rider in my next contract,” he mumbled.

[heyitsani]

When You Move, I Move

DCU Big Bang submission

Word Count: 28,907

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of past non-con/rape (as written in canon), Major character death (temporary and as mentioned in canon as well), Threats of abortion, AU-ish?  Mentions of past lives.

Pairing: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd

Summary: “I am Fate.” The voice seemed to echo in the room and the two men looked at the being. Jason frowned, but lowered his gun to point down at the ground. Though he was ready to lift and fire the instant he felt something off. “This is an interesting development.”

“What is?” Jason grabbed Dick’s arm to keep him from moving closer to the being as Dick questioned it.

“N, stay back.”

“Very interesting, indeed.” Fate slowly dropped to the ground and the ethereal glow that had been surrounding them previously faded so they could see them more clearly. “There is only one person who could spell so beautifully, so intricately.”

Notes: Here it is! My addition for the DCU Big Bang.  And it’s a monster of a fic.

Okay this story completely ran away from the original outline. The POV jumps between Jason and Dick so you can get the complete picture, but if you need to know more to understand, go to the notes at the end where there be spoilers.

Dates and locations listed only when it's significant to know the time jump or place of the scene.

Two absolutely gorgeous art pieces for this story by @harishe-art here and by Vivi here. Both are somewhat spoilers, so proceed with caution.  

You can also read this on AO3 here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                                         CURRENT DAY

GOTHAM CITY

“Hood, wait!”  Jason could hear Dick’s voice through his synced comm link, but he wasn’t sure where exactly the other man was.  Not until blue and black flashed in his peripheral vision.  “They’re not hostile.” 

Jason looked up at the being who was hovering about six feet above the cold ground of the warehouse that was housing a coven of magic users who had been manipulating citizens to attack their lovers in order to make a sacrifice.  He kept his gun raised but moved his finger off the trigger, trusting Dick’s assessment of the situation more than his own.  Dick had done all the research after all.  Jason had been called in as last minute back up and only given the bare minimal details.  None of which included information on flying beings.  All Jason had known was there was a group of men who were sacrificing Gothamites for some unbecoming reason or another.  It was all he had needed to know.

Or so he thought.

“So?  Who the fuck is it?”

“I am Fate.”  The voice seemed to echo in the room and the two men looked at the being.  Jason frowned, but lowered his gun to point down at the ground.  Though he was ready to lift and fire the instant he felt something off.  “This is an interesting development.”

“What is?”  Jason grabbed Dick’s arm to keep him from moving closer to the being as Dick questioned it. 

“N, stay back.”

“Very interesting, indeed.”  Fate slowly dropped to the ground and the ethereal glow that had been surrounding them previously faded so they could see them more clearly.  “There is only one person who could spell so beautifully, so intricately.”  The being took a step toward them and Jason immediately pulled Dick back and slightly behind.

“What are you doing?”  Dick hissed, trying to tug his arm out of Jason’s grip.

“Keeping you from being an idiot.  We don’t know anything about this person outside of the fact that they were summoned through human fucking sacrifices!”  He could tell Dick wanted to snap something back, but instead Jason watched him take a deep breath and give him a nod.  He was trusting Jason’s judgement on this one.  And that was a little more startling than Jason wanted to ever admit.

“What a delight this will be.  It has been so long since I have encountered so much…history.”

“What do you mean by that?  Why did those warlocks summon you?”

“For something inconsequential and petty.”  The being waved a hand, looking bored.  Then in a split second, hands were clasped and an almost child-like, giddy expression overtook the boredom.  “You have eliminated their presence.  But I am here, and I am feeling particularly generous,” the being spoke, moving to the table where each of the seven sacrifices had taken place.  Jason watched them run a finger along the blood of the sigils.  The touch seemed delicate and reverent, but Jason found himself tensing.  “I have a gift for the two of you.”

The fuck?

“Say what now?”  Jason questioned, feeling Dick’s hand fist in the material of his armored leather jacket.

“Jay…”  He whispered, shifting his body closer but Jason couldn’t focus on the warm line of body heat he was providing.  He didn’t have time to dwell on that.  He also didn’t have time to rebuke him for the use of real names in the field.  He had to figure out if he would be able to get him and Dick out of there alive. 

“Hood.  Nightwing.  Report.”

“Those won’t be necessary where you’re going.”  And with a snap of the man’s fingers, Dick was hissing in pain and digging his comm unit out of his ear.  It fell to the ground, blackened as though it had been set on fire.  A moment later, Jason heard an audible pop in his helmet and knew his link was officially down.

“What do you mean?  Where are we going?”  Dick spoke up but remained behind Jason.

“To where you have already been.  Something beautiful was stolen from you both and I wish to show you what it was before you ruin the final chance of having it.”  In a blink of an eye, Fate was standing directly in front of them and pressing two fingers to each of their foreheads.  The last thing Jason could recall before he fell was reaching for Dick when he let out a strangled Jay.

200 AD

GOTHAM KINGDOM CAPITAL

“Come now, Ser Todd.  Surely you can do better than that,” a joyful voice sounded to his right and Jason looked over to see Richard standing there with his arms folded over his chest and an amused expression on his beautiful, golden features.  He looked perfectly at ease in his gold and white royal robes among the commoners meandering around.  The single blue gem inset in the gold circlet catching the sunlight just enough to twinkle the same way his sapphire eyes did.

He looked regal, as always.  But he could be in rags and still look stunning. 

“Of course, I can.  The question is whether or not I desire to.”  And Jason can’t help but smile at the laughter that spills from the lips he is far too familiar with.

“Hmmm, yes.  I do suppose desire does play a good part in this sort of game.”  Richard raised one of his hands and tapped his lower lip, circling behind Jason to come and stand on his other side.  “The desire to impress.  Or perhaps the desire to entertain.”

“Perhaps my desire is to leave this foolishness behind and entertain myself in…other ways,” Jason offered, turning his body so he could face Richard more fully.

“Are you not enjoying yourself, Ser Jason?”

“King Bruce,” Jason greeted with a formal bow.  The older man made his way over from another booth set up, with his guards in tow.  He cut an imposing figure, dressed in all black and just the slightest hint of the royal gold and blue.  He was quite the contrast to Richard’s white and gold, but there was no denying the power and confidence in either of them.

“Father…”  Richard’s sigh was long suffering, but fond and it made Jason’s heart ache with longing.  How he wished he had had his own father to feel that way about.

“Son.  I was simply inquiring as to whether or not our fearsome dragon slayer was enjoying his time at the festival in his honor.”  Jason watched Richard roll his eyes and look at Jason with the put-upon look only the King could pull from him.

“It is not in his honor, Father.  It honors all our country’s brave slayers.  Just because Jason is the only one now does not mean those who came before him are to be forgotten,” Richard commented, looking at his father.  The man looked amused for a moment before his face went back to the stoic mask the kingdom knew.

“Hmm, yes.  I do suppose you make a good point.  But I do as well.  Our Slayer should enjoy himself at a festival raised to honor him and those like him.”

“I am very much enjoying myself, Your Majesty.”  Jason spoke to the king, but his eyes were on the prince who was smiling brightly at him.

“Indeed.  I will leave you two to it, then.  Richard,” the king called as he walked away from the pair, pulling his son’s eyes away from Jason’s.  “Do remember what we talked about this morning.”  The smile fell from Richard’s lips immediately, but the king had already turned to continue on his way with his faithful guards following closely.

The shift in Richards mood was almost tangible.  Jason felt as though he’d probably be able to touch it, if he tried.  While Jason had seen plenty of mood shifts with Richard through the years of knowing him, he rarely did so in such an abrupt manner and never in a location like this.  Not when a subject could see them and gossip.

“Richard?  My Prince?”  Jason placed a hand on Richard’s upper arm and tried to pull his attention back to him.  What had they discussed this morning that would put such a scowl on the other man’s face?  “My love?”  The words were spoken softly, an attempt to keep them between just the two men as well as to try and get the other’s attention.

“It’s nothing of consequence.  Let us carry on.”  The smile was back on the other’s lips and to most it would see just as bright as before, but not to someone who knew Richard as well as Jason did.  This smile was brittle around the edges and pain was clear in his crystal blue eyes.

“It is clearly not nothing, but I will follow your lead as I always do.”  Richard turned thankful eyes on Jason and other man smiled gently. 

“Tonight.  I will tell you about it tonight.  I do not wish to ruin this day.”

“Then lead the way, My Prince.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you to all the many visitors who have come to partake in our festival this day.  Please join me in raising a glass to the one standing dragon slayer of Gotham Kingdom!  Ser Jason Todd, may your sword always strike its final blow before you fall!” 

Jason smiled up at Richard as he stood in front of the table at the head of the room, body turned side facing so he could look at the other man as he proposed the traditional toast.  Jason raised his own glass in acknowledgement, a secret smile shared between the two, before pressing the rim of the glass to his lips for a drink.

The hall broke out in cheers as they all took drinks of their own and servants milled about to refill cups and plates.  It was always a sight to see, the hall filled with nobles and commoners there to celebrate one thing.  One of the only things that could pull the entire country together was honoring the dragon slayers of now and old. 

The tradition was deeply rooted in their culture, to the point that Jason was sure that it would remain long after the last dragon had fallen or the slayer line had.  Which wouldn’t be too long off considering he was the final of his family bloodline and had no intention of siring an heir to continue it.  So few dragons remained, he was certain it was safe to have the line die when he took his final breath.  But that was neither here nor there at the moment.

No, Jason only had eyes for Richard as he spoke to his stepmother, Queen Selina, who had stopped him on his way back around the table to retake his seat.  Though the conversation looked private, Jason still tried to get the gist of it over the noise of the hall.  But he was failing terribly and the knot that had been in his chest since the festival earlier that day.  The look on the queen’s face just cemented the concern.

“She is offering sympathy.”  Jason turned to find Richard’s only sister, Cassandra, standing by his chair.  “She does not agree with what Father spoke to him about this morning.”  The look on Cass’ face when she looked down at Jason told the older man he was correct in assuming he was not going to enjoy hearing about that conversation.  “Ah, Brother,” Cass smiled, lifting her glass to the approaching prince.  “I have orders to tell you that Timothy is quite displeased with being seated next to Conner of Kent.”

Richard snickered as he slipped into his chair.  “Well then perhaps he should simply tell the boy how he feels.  Then I would be less inclined to force the issue.”  Cass laughed, likely more amused at her brother’s meddling in the affairs of the young men than the young prince’s discomfort.  “At least one of us should get to have what our heart desires.”  Jason’s brows furrowed at that and he could see Cass tense out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes, well.”  Cass let out a cough and Jason glanced over at the young woman.  With a sharp nod and sympathetic eyes, she made her way away from the pair.

“I should like to know what that was about,” Jason commented, leaning back in his chair and watching Richard closely.  The other man gave little away, tearing a piece of bread off from the loaf near his plate and taking a bite before washing it down with the wine in his glass.

“You already know Cass is to be betrothed by the end of the year to someone of the Narrows.”

“Yes, but you said only one of you would get to have what your heart desires.  What of your heart, My Prince?”

“You are my heart.”

“And you mine.”  Dread was beginning to fill his chest and Jason was quite sure this was not the place to be having this conversation.  He watched the other man as he continued to consume the piece of bread he had broken, sapphire eyes drifting over the room.  “Richard?”  The name was spoken softly, aware of the people around him that would expect them to maintain propriety.

“Come, Ser Jason.  Take a turn about the gardens with me,” Richard said suddenly, standing from his seat and tossing the last of his bread onto his plate.  He didn’t, however, leave behind the wine glass and even allowed one of the servants to fill it before he stepped away from his chair and looked over at Jason.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Jason muttered, pushing to his own feet and moving to stand beside him.  Shaking his head at the offered wine from the same servant who had just filled Richard’s glass, Jason looked at Richard and waited for him to lead the way.

The exit was silent between them, Richard pausing a few times to speak with another member of court or greet a small child who wished to place a flower in his hair.  Jason remained silent and stoic beside him, hands clasped behind him so no one would see the tremors that had overtaken them.  He was starting to have a guess as to what this conversation was going to reveal and he was not certain he should have turned down that glass of wine after all.  It might have done his nerves well.

“Do you ever regret?”

“I try not to.  I find that it would make me far too similar to those who left me behind.”  Richard looked over at Jason and the younger couldn’t help but frown at the solemn look on Richard’s face.  “Are you facing regrets?”

“No, but I fear I will be forced to regret.”

“And what is it that you fear you will come to regret?”

He was met with silence as Richard turned away and continued to lead them down the path and into the rows of flowers and hedges, hiding them from the party they could still hear from where they were.

“My love, please,” Jason reached for Richard, grasping his upper arm lightly to make him stop walking and face him.  Once he was certain the elder would not walk away, Jason released his arm and placed his palm against Richard’s cheek instead.  “Please share your burden with me.”  Jason searched the other man’s face for any sort of answer, worry growing as he felt Richard take a shuttering breath.

“Father has decided that it is time for me to marry.”

Oh.

“And you cannot marry me because of the laws of old.”  Jason dropped his hands from Richard and took a step back, breathing deeply as the news washed over him.  He wasn’t a fool; he had known this would be coming one day.  But he had foolishly hoped they might be able to put it off a while longer.

“I do not…Jason,” Richard pleaded, dropping his chin to his chest and letting out a choked noise that did nothing but tighten the vice around Jason’s heart.

“Did he say when?”  The words, though whispered, sounded loud in his ears and must have to Richard as well given the flinch they invoked.

“Before the Winter Solstice.”  Less than half a year then.  Jason could see the wine glass trembling in Richard’s hand and knew he should take it from the older man, but his body felt frozen, lethargic from the pain in his chest.  “I do not want anyone else.”

“But you love your people, and you are too good a man to walk away from your duty to them.”

“And you are too good to ask that of me.”

And that would be the crux of their issue from this point on.  Jason could never ask Richard to be what he isn’t.  And though Jason felt selfish in his desire to have the man standing before him, he was not so selfish to sacrifice the sake of an entire kingdom just so he could have him.  Not when he had spent the entirety of his life thus far protecting that very kingdom. 

Richard had his duty and Jason had his.

And they would always be two men bound by that duty.  Neither willing to give it up or betray the people they protected and served.

“Brother?”  The sound of Prince Timothy’s voice filtered through the hedges of the maze and Jason watched as Richard took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  “Brother are you out here?”

“I am here,” Richard called out, voice steady and trembling under control.  A feat that Jason could only marvel at.  He still felt shaken to his very core and knew he probably looked it. 

The sound of footsteps on gravel pulled both their eyes as they spotted the young man turning the corner to find them.  “Oh!  Ser Jason!  I didn’t realize,” Timothy fumbled, and Jason just gave a bow of his head in respect.  And he tried not to cringe at the look of regret the man gave them both.  “Father is looking for you, brother.”

“Yes, of course.  I will head right in.”

“I could hold him off for the evening.  I could tell him you retired for the night.”  Jason looked at Richard just as he waved a hand. 

“Nonsense.  I will go see him shortly.”  Jason kept his eyes on Richard, but the older man kept his eyes on his brother.  “I promise.  I will be there in a few moments.”  There was no verbal response from Timothy, but Jason heard his footsteps heading away from them moments later.  “Will you retire with me tonight?”

“I will wait for you in your room,” Jason automatically said, even though he had a deep desire to run to his own home and hide away.  To deal with the pain of knowing he would lose this man in front of him.  Richard’s only response was to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before hurrying past him to find his father.

Without bothering to watch the other man leave, Jason stood and raised his eyes to the dark sky.  The stars scattered in their various clusters blinking naively and promising more than they could ever provide.  Hopes and Dreams, his mother had called them before she had passed.  Hopes and Dreams of all those who came before them.  She had told him stories of great men and women who had wished upon their stars and gotten their wishes granted.  The child within his heart wanted to make his own wish, but he knew it would be folly.  He would not be granted that particular wish.

Not in this lifetime.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason spent the next week drifting in a state of uncertainty.  Did he leave now so it wouldn’t hurt as much when Richard was finally wed?  Or did he take as much for as long as he was allowed?  How was he supposed to make this kind of decision?

Not that Richard had asked that of him.

No, the fool had begged him to help him find a way around this in the darkness of his room while they lay in bed together.  To stay with him because he was in love with him.  And Jason was tempted.  He was tempted to steal away the man and run without looking back.  Let one of his siblings shoulder the responsibility that Richard had never asked for but had been born into.

But he could never do that.  Not to Gotham and certainly not to Richard.

Not when Cassandra was not a blood heir and Richard wanted nothing more for Timothy than for him to marry the man he had been in love with since their introduction a short year ago.  No, Richard had too much love for those around him.  He would never allow them to bear the weight of his responsibilities.  And Jason could not watch the light fade from his eyes should he attempt to do just that.  No one loved Gotham the way Richard did.  The kingdom would remember him for the ages because he was bound to be the most benevolent of kings.

“My lord, there is someone here to see you,” the voice of his one servant called through the door.  Jason looked up when the sound of it opening filled the quiet of the room, not bothering to stand from his slouched position in the chair nearest to the window overlooking his modest grounds.  At least until he saw who it was who had entered the room.

“Your Majesty,” Jason shot to his feet and gave a hasty bow.  He silently cursed the manservant for not stating who it was he was allowing in.  But perhaps he didn’t realize, given the dark cloak he wore with the hood pulled over his head, shadowing his features.  But Jason had seen the man in the darkness of a hunt and knew all too well what he looked like in the shadows.

“Please, Ser Jason.  This is not a formal calling.”  Nodding when the king gestured to the two chairs, one of which Jason had just been occupying, he sat back down.  This time he remained rigid though.  The king pushed the hood off his head and adjusted the cloak to reveal his plain clothes hidden underneath.  Clothes Jason hadn’t known the King to even have.  “I know Richard has spoken with you in regard to what I have asked of him.”

Dropping his gaze to his lap, Jason nodded his head.  King Bruce had been somewhat of a surrogate father to him when he had taken up the mantle of dragon slayer after his father had fallen when Jason was just ten years of age.  He held great respect for the king, but he was still just a subject in the end.

“He did, Your Majesty.”

“He mentioned he has not since seen you.”

“I am struggling and do not want him to carry that burden.  I could never be the cause of that weight,” Jason admitted, glancing up at the king before turning his eyes back to the window he had been staring out before.

“Yes, I assumed as much.”  Silence stretched between them and Jason found himself looking over at the older man, wondering what the point of the visit was.  “I know you and my son love each other very much.  Much more than I ever loved the mother of my children.”  Jason had known the arranged marriage of King Bruce to Talia of the Al Ghul kingdom had been strained.  And when she had died, Richard had told Jason they were all secretly relieved to not have that animosity in the castle anymore.

“Why are you here, my King?”

“I have a possible solution that will appease both of you, as well as me.”  Frowning, Jason watched the other man closely.  “You cannot sit on the throne with him.  Not only can you not produce an heir, but a ruler cannot be wed to a dragon slayer.”

“So say the law of old,” Jason quoted the Scrolls of Oath that they all lived by.

“So say the law of old.”  The king sighed and leaned back in the chair, slouching in a way Jason had never seen of the older man.  “But you can warm his bed.”  The thought of that, of being an object, made Jason bristle with anger.  Richard would never lower him to that standard.

“I am not a trophy and he would not want that of me.”

“No, not a trophy.  But a beloved.”

“So, he should marry a woman of your choosing and then bed me on the side?  That is not a solution.”

“No, we find him a bride who knows she will never have his heart.  A marriage of convenience.  Perhaps a woman too many have passed over, someone who is looking maidenhood in the eye.”  And wasn’t that a thought?  A woman who would potentially be forced into the status of permanent maidenhood would accept just about anything in order to be wed.  The laws of the kingdom were just, but they did no favors to women who were unwed.  A woman facing that predicament would be desperate.  And what better solution than becoming a future queen? 

“Do you have such a woman in mind, then?”  The king nodded.

“There is a woman I might have spoken to from the late Queen’s home country.  Catalina of House Flores.”  Jason shook his head, not knowing anything of that particular family or woman.  “She has been deemed too headstrong by the men of her home and none have found her worthy of marriage.  I have drawn up papers that would give her the title that comes with marrying Richard, but none of the power or other benefits outside of the title and the heir.  He would be the sole ruler when he takes the crown, unlike those who came before him.”

“So, it would be as though he were widowed, without having been so?”

“Precisely.”

“And this lady is willing to accept that fate?  Did you tell her of me?”

“I did and though she hesitated, she said she could come to accept a loveless marriage if it would not doom her to The Church.”  Because that is where the Kingdom of Parbat sent their husbandless women.  The Church of Ra’s.  He had heard it a cruel and dangerous cult of followers to the king of the kingdom.  The king who always wore the title Ra’s Al Guhl no matter what his birth name was.

Jason looked away from the king and back out the window, considering the idea.  “What of Richard?  What does he have to say about this arrangement?”

“I have not spoken to him yet.  I did not wish to give him hope only to have you turn the idea down.”

“That is fair,” Jason admitted.  Of the two, it would have been him that would say no.  But his love was just as strong as his beloved’s and he would do anything to keep that light in his life.  “Tell him I am his so long as he would have me.”  Looking back over to the king, Jason found the older man smiling.

“You are like a son to me, Jason and had you not so clearly loved my son from a young age, I would have taken you in like I did Cassandra.  I only wish I could call you my son through marriage, but at least I can call you one in private.”

Bowing his head, Jason silently took to compliment and adoration.  He wasn’t sure how to react to it, so graciousness seemed to be the best option.  It was a strange sensation to have someone think of him as a son after so many years of being fatherless.  But it would be a lie if he, too, hadn’t always thought of the king as a kind of father. 

“Someone will send for you when I have Richard’s answer,” the king stood from his chair and pulled the hood back over his head.  “My son is a good man, better than I could ever be, and he will be all that I was never able to be.  That will only be enhanced with you at his side, no matter the capacity.”  Standing so he was level with he older man, Jason nodded.

“Richard is the best of all of us.  It is an honor to say that I have his heart.  It always will be.”  The king placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze before he slipped back out of the room to head back toward the palace, leaving Jason to fully consider what exactly he just agreed to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fidgeting with the sleeve of his cloak, Richard walked briskly down the hallway that would lead him to the sitting room where the woman who had agreed to his terms of marriage was currently waiting.  His father’s manservant and the closest thing Richard had known to a grandfather, Alfred, had come and informed him that the King, Queen, and Lady Catalina were waiting his arrival.

When he had questioned Alfred on the state of the lady, the older man had simply pressed his lips together and gestured for him to hurry.  It was more telling than the man actually speaking.

She was not going to be a warm addition to the Wayne family then.

“Your Highness,” his personal guard, Victor, greeted him with a bow.  “Shall I announce you?”

“In a moment,” Richard said, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly.  He repeated the action a few times before he gave a nod to the other man, who immediately opened the doors and stepped in.

“His Highness Crown Prince Richard.” 

Stepping into the room, he let his sapphire eyes take in the stiff posture of his father and the politely relaxed posture of his stepmother before he looked at the woman sitting across from them.  He made his way over but took mental stock of his future wife as he did.  Chocolate brown hair and deep brown eyes that were almost black from his distance.  Her skin was caramel colored as was typical for those from the country of Nanda Parbat.  But her features were not as sharp as his mother’s had been, not as harsh.  She could have been mistaken as almost warm if she hadn’t had an almost calculating look on her face.

And the smile that spread across her lips was probably meant to be friendly but was entirely too frightening.  She almost looked at him as if she had won a coveted prize.

“Father, Mother,” Richard gave the customary bow of his head before stopping before the chair Catalina remained seated in.  He wasn’t sure how to respond to that.  He was fairly certain that standing for the royal family was something traditional in her home country just as it was in Gotham.  “Lady Catalina, it is wonderful to finally meet you.”  The woman watched him with that creepy smile before she almost looked surprised.

“I apologize,” she exclaimed as she shot to her feet and rushed into a curtsy.  Richard might have believed her apology if he hadn’t already been set on edge by the look in her eyes when he had come into the room.

Glancing back at his father, Richard raised a brow before looking back to Catalina as she rose out of the curtsy.  “Quite alright, My Lady.  Will not be long before such formalities will be meaningless between us,” he appeased, gesturing for her to sit back down.  Once she had taken her place, Richard eyed the chair next to her but decided to remain standing with his hands behind his back.  It was more formal than he normally would have acted, but his instincts were screaming at him to remain formal for some reason.  And his instincts had never been wrong in the past.

“Richard, we were just discussing how much more pleasant the weather is here in Gotham when compared to Nanda Parbat,” Selina spoke up before taking a sip of her tea and sending him a knowing look over her cup. 

Richard hummed and nodded, looking down at Catalina.  “Yes, from what I remember the few summers I visited Grandfather, it is quite balmy and hot there.”

“Suffocatingly so,” Catalina laughed lightly.  “And the customs of modesty are much stricter than here in Gotham so you can imagine how much us women suffer in the heat.”  Her words caught him by surprise, but he did his best to contain an outward reaction like his father had always taught him to do.

“I’m sure it is…a struggle,” he replied, looking at his father again.  And he wasn’t surprised to find the guarded look on his face as he watched Catalina.  Richard wondered if the woman had any idea just what kind of impression she was obviously making.  “Have you seen the grounds yet?  I was told you arrived early this morning while I was in the lower city levels.”

“I have not.  I would not mind a tour, if you are offering Your Highness.”  He hadn’t been but he supposed he would have to act like he had been now.  Nodding his head, he unclasped his hands and offered his arm to the woman as she stood and rearranged her skirts.  She gave him that creepy smile again as she took it, and Richard suppressed another reaction before looking down at his parents. 

“Father, Mother,” he bowed his head again.

“Richard, before you go,” his father spoke up, standing and setting his teacup down on the tray next to his chair.  “We need to discuss that treaty with Central Kingdom before dinner.  So, when you are done with your tour, please find me in my study.”  There was a knowing look in the older man’s eyes and Richard could have hugged him right then in thanks.  He knew he was only bringing it up to allow Richard the chance to get away.

Nodding his head, he simply sent his gratitude through his eyes.  “Of course, Father.  I will come find you shortly.”  Glancing back to Catalina, he found her watching him with calculating eyes.  “Shall we, My Lady?”  Her features smoothed back into what he was beginning to realize was her neutral expression as she nodded.  Guiding her toward the door, he thanked the servant who held the door open for them so they could leave the room.  “Come, Victor,” Richard called as he walked down the hallway.  He didn’t really need his guard but having someone else around seemed like a good idea at the moment.

He walked the halls of the castle with Catalina on his arm, showing her various rooms and introducing her to the servants as they passed.  And while she seemed interested in the places, he couldn’t help but notice the barely contained disgust when greeting the servants.  The tone she used was strained and even the servants seemed surprised by the reaction she had to them.  It wasn’t like the Wayne family to be anything other than completely respectful to the people working for them.

“Do you like gardens, My Lady,” Richard asked as they stepped out of the castle and headed down the steps in the back.  He could hear his brother and sister laughing from somewhere beyond the stables and while he wanted to go see them, his instincts once again told him not to.

“I suppose,” came the bland response.  He could feel her shoulder shift upward in a shrug, but he continued onto the gardens that his grandmother had taken great pride in.  His father had worked hard to keep them pristine and they were definitely one of Richard’s favorite places to go to when he needed peace.  “It is too hot to grow much of anything back home, but I see that is not the case here.  How lovely.”  The words were expected and proper, but the tone rubbed him the wrong way.

“Your Highness,” Victor’s voice came from a few paces behind them.  Richard paused their walk and glanced at the guard.  “Do not forget you are to discuss the treaty.”  A reminder to Catalina, but an out for Richard.

Nodding, Richard turned back to Catalina and slipped his arm away from hers.  “The hours have gotten away from us and I do need to attend to my duties.  Victor will show you back to your rooms and your lady’s maids will help you relax and freshen up for dinner.  Thank you for the conversation, My Lady.” 

“I shall miss the company,” she responded, tone sickly sweet and Richard cringed inwardly.  And though he wanted to just turn and leave, he instead stuck to tradition and gave a respectful bow before hurriedly walking past Victor and back into the castle.  He didn’t bother looking back until he was about to enter into the stone building and found Catalina watching him.  The look on her face shuddered, but the narrowed eyes told him enough that her observance was anything but kind.

“Your Highness,” came a familiar voice to his left the moment he had slipped into the building and out of sight of the woman he was to marry, catching him off guard.

“Ser Jason!” 

“I see the future queen arrived,” Jason said as he remained leaning against a pillar in the entry way.  At the mention of Catalina, Richard glanced over his shoulder again and frowned before looking back to Jason.  “That is not a good look, My Prince.”

Sighing, Richard waved for Jason to walk with him because he did actually need to speak about the treaty with his father.  “She is…I’m not certain what word to use,” he admitted as they walked.  “Cold.  Calculating, perhaps?”  He thought about her reaction to the servants she met and the indifference to the stories of the family he had told her during the tour.  “I’m not certain this is a good idea, Jason,” Richard stopped and looked at the other man, worry clouding his features.  Jason frowned and placed a hand on Richard’s elbow.

“We don’t have to do this, Richard.  It does not have to be her.”  And though he knew Jason was right, Richard closed his eyes and sighed.

“I don’t have the time to search out another.  The crown is mine in less than a year.  Father wants me married before then.  The council will not accept backing out of the agreement with Nanda Parbat.”  But part of him didn’t care about any of that.  Part of him knew that this was a mistake.  That Lady Catalina would be a mistake.

“Is all that worth bringing in someone who is not a good fit for our country?” 

Shrugging, Richard opened his eyes and looked at Jason.  “Father would say it is not like she will have any power.  Even if I were to die before an heir were produced, the contract does not allow her to be a ruler.  Or even a Queen Mother if an heir is too young.  Selina would take the position or Timothy would be called up.  So, can I not just deal with the situation when she is nothing but a name on paper?”

“You can do what you feel is best, My Prince.  You always do,” Jason commented.  There was a but coming, Richard knew it.  “But your instincts have never been wrong when it comes to people.  And if you feel like this could be a mistake, then do not make it.”

Richard looked at Jason but remained silent.  There didn’t need to be any words because he could see Jason’s intent clearly written on his face.  And he knew Jason could see Richard’s resolve.  Both men knew this conversation was pointless because even if Catalina were the vilest of people, Richard would still stick to his word and go through with the wedding.  Because that was who he was.

He was a man of his word.

“Brother!”  Cassandra’s voice snapped the two men out of their silent conversation, causing them both to look as she came hurrying down the hallway.  “Father just told me to tell you he was waiting if I saw you.  Hello, Ser Jason,” she smiled at the two men.

“Thank you, Sister.  I am heading that way now.  Will you show Ser Jason the new equipment we got for the guards?  I wanted his opinion on the craftsmanship.”  Cassandra bounced in place and nodded before grabbing Jason’s arm and dragging him off to the storeroom where the new items were currently stashed.  “I’ll see you both at dinner,” he called out before they turned a corner.  Once they were out of sight, he took a deep breath and continued on his way to his father’s study.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

201 AD

GOTHAM CATHEDRAL

Standing before the looking glass, Richard looked over the royal marriage garments with a twinge of distain and disgust.  They were exactly what he would have worn to his hand fasting ceremony with anyone.  It didn’t matter who would be meeting him at the end of the aisle, this is what he would have worn. 

Except the small splash of orange and black in the jewel adorning his clasp.  The colors of House Flores.  Colors that clashed so horribly with the black, gold, and blue of House Wayne.

Colors that weren’t red and black.

Which was the real issue, and Richard knew that.  He hated the garments and the colors because he was marrying the wrong person.  He was marrying someone because he had to, not because he wanted to.  Because he couldn’t marry the person he wanted to marry.

“Brother,” the soft sound of his sister’s voice broke through his daze, pulling sapphire eyes to her rich chocolate ones. 

Turning to face her directly, he slipped a smile on.  The smile.  The one he wore in uncomfortable situations he had to be in despite the fact.  A smile his family had called him out on plenty of times.  “Is it time?”

“No, but I have someone who would like to speak with you,” she said, stepping into the room and letting the door slip shut behind her.  He frowned and looked over her shoulder before looking back to Cassandra with a raised brow.  “You can still put a stop to this.”

“I cannot.”

“You can.  You won’t.”  And maybe she was right.  But he was to be king and if he didn’t follow the laws, how could he expect his future subjects to do the same.  “You can rule without a queen.”

“And an heir?”  He watched her scoff and yeah, he deserved that.  There were laws in place to get around that issue.  He wouldn’t have been the first heirless king.  “I cannot go back on my word, Sister.  If I cannot keep my promises, what kind of King would I be?”

“On this, the people would understand.”

“But Father would not.”

“He could come to.”  Richard shook his head and let out a humorless laugh.  Their father was many things, but understanding was rarely one of them.  He was too by the book and too rigid in his ways.  Even Richard knew this arrangement was pushing the limits he had.  “You are making a mistake.  Only death lies down this path.  Death, loss, and pain.  So much pain.”

She sounded so sure, so certain of her words and it surprised him.  When Cassandra had joined their family, she had been mute.  They eventually learned that her biological father had deemed it unnecessary to have her speak at all, as she was just a woman.  It had taken years to teach the child to speak.  Now, whenever she did, it was with purpose.  She rarely said anything frivolous or untrue.  So, when she spoke, he listened.  But on this he couldn’t afford to follow.

“Who is here to see me?”

Her shoulders dropped in defeat as she stepped back to the door and pulled it open, revealing a nervous looking Jason.  And if Richard didn’t already feel like a mess, he would have certainly felt like one at the sight of the man he actually wanted to marry.

“I will knock when Father is coming to collect you,” Cassandra said quietly as she slipped out of the room after Jason stepped in.  Neither man acknowledged her words, but both heard them, and she knew it. 

When the door clicked shut behind her, Richard closed the remaining space between him and Jason and pulled him in for a kiss.  A kiss that spoke of so much more than he could say.  Of promises he wished he could be making to the other man.  Promises he would never be allowed to say outside of their small circle of family who knew and cared about their happiness.

“Richard…” Jason whispered against his lips, but the older man ignored them and pressed closer.  He was in danger of ruining his clothes, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  Not when this was all he wanted.  “Richard, please My Love.”

And despite his desperate need to be close to the other man, Richard let Jason push him back a small space so they could look at each other.  And he hated what he saw in the other man’s eyes.  “You’re leaving.”  He had seen that look in Jason’s eyes every time he rode away from the capital to protect their lands.  Too many times had Richard had to say goodbye to the other man without knowing if he would ever see him return on his own volition. 

“I am.”

“Why now?”

The question looked like it pained Jason to hear it and Richard wanted to take it back, but he also wanted to know what would make Jason leave at a time when he was going to want him.

“They’ve reached Central.  The rider came early this morning and he and I have been in consul ever since.  They’re heading straight here.”

Then there was no way to delay.  The kingdom’s safety came first for both of them.  Richard would never be selfish enough to ask him to delay his trip.

“And…”  Jason cleared his throat and Richard took a step back, frowning.  Jason’s hands slipped from around his waist to fall lifelessly at his sides.  “You have a duty to attend to the next few weeks.  My presence would get in the way of that.”  And whether or not the other man meant it to, the words were like a sword in his back.  Twisting into the depths of his heart from behind and poisoning him slowly.  “I am not strong enough to see that.”

“So what?”  Richard’s voice came out low, controlled just enough to hide the tremors he could feel in his body.  “You remain gone until word of an heir reaches you wherever it is you go?”  The words were said out of spite, but the bowing of Jason’s head told him he wasn’t wrong.  “Jason…”

“I am weak,” Jason admitted softly, eyes trained on the ground and shoulders hunched as if he were trying to make himself seem smaller.  A sight Richard had never seen of the other man.  It was wrong.  All of this was so wrong.  This conversation, this farce of a wedding, his contract with a woman he couldn’t even find common ground with.  All of it was simply wrong. 

And Richard wondered if this was the start of the pain his sister had been warning him of.

“So, you just came here to say goodbye for an undetermined amount of time.”  Jason nodded and Richard turned his eyes upward to try and ward off the tears he could feel building in the corners of his eyes.  He wasn’t sure what else to say right then.  Did he wish Jason well?  Did he tell the other man he would be anxiously awaiting his return?  Did he wish ill upon him?

But Richard knew he would never do that last one.  Not to Jason.  Not for this.  Or for anything, honestly.

“Will you send word?  I understand and accept that you cannot be here for your own wellbeing, but please do not leave me with nothing,” he asked, lowering his gaze to find Jason staring at him with his own tear-filled eyes.

“I will send you so many letters you will be sick of me,” Jason promised, pulling Richard close again.

“Never.  I will never be sick of you.”  Closing the remaining space, he pressed his mouth to the corner of Jason’s mouth before resting his forehead to the other man’s temple.  “I will miss you more than words will be able to convey.  But I wish you safe travels.  Do not forget you take my heart with you.”

“As mine stays here.”  A sharp knock on the door alerted the men to the approaching king and they stepped away from each other.  With a sad smile, Richard pressed his fist over his heart and bowed just as the door to the room was opening, revealing his father in his formal robes.

“Ser Jason,” King Bruce greeted the man before looking at Richard, frowning for a moment before smoothing out his features.  “You ride?”  He turned to fully face the Slayer.  Richard knew the bow his father witness told him all he needed to know.

“I do.  King Barry sent word that a pod has reached Central.  I am leaving now.  Just…” Richard watched Jason glance to him before looking back to the king.  “I just needed to say my farewells.”

Bruce nodded and Richard smoothed out his robes.  “Safe travels, Ser Jason.  We will look forward to celebrating your inevitable victory.”  It was formal and tight, but Richard could hear the fondness and understanding.  It was almost as if the older man knew Jason would not be returning immediately.  “Richard, my son, it is time.”

“Of course,” he sighed.  “Safe return, Ser Jason.  I’ll await word.”  Richard tried to smile at the man he loved but could only manage a pained half smile while the other man gave a bow of his own.  Without another word, Richard hurried out of the room and past his sister who had been standing there frowning the entire exchange.  He hated that frown, that gleam in her eyes.  It made him fear the future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He heard them before he saw them.  The familiar voices of Alfred, King Bruce’s manservant, and Timothy floating to him well before the pair had even reached the spot he always met Alfred for the exchange of letters. 

It had been over two months since the wedding of his nightmares and Jason had kept his word to Richard.  Once he had returned to Gotham a month prior, he had called upon Alfred to give the other man the first of many letters. 

And soon enough a routine developed.

Every three days Alfred came to the outer walls of the city and Jason gave the man a letter for Richard.  After the very first, Alfred gave him a letter of his own in return.  It had been the first splash of warmth he had felt since the morning of the wedding when Richard had left him to begin the preparations so he could marry someone else.

Jason had laid there in their bed for a long time after Richard had been swept away and wondered if any of it would be worth it.  It hurt.  More than any wound he had ever endured over his years and yet, he willingly went back for more each and every day.  He just kept throwing himself at the feet of the one man in the kingdom that he couldn’t have.  There was only one written law about marriage in the old laws.  Only one commandment about who could never marry.  A ruler, King or Queen, could never marry a Slayer.  Jason could marry any other member of the Royal Family except for the one person he wanted to marry. 

But after Richard had left the morning of his wedding, Jason had doubted.  He had doubted that their love for one another was enough to outlive a marriage of convenience.  He doubted it was strong enough to stand the tests that laid ahead of them.  And when he got the letter about the dragon pod reaching Central, he thanked whoever had been listening to his turmoil.

It had been cowardly of him to leave immediately but he had been hoping for some excuse to get out of watching Richard marry Catalina.  And the gods had listened.  They had given him an out and he had taken it.

He didn’t regret it though.

As much as he missed Richard’s face and laying next to him every night, he did not regret missing the wedding or the past two months.  He knew he would never had survived it.  And if Richard’s words were anything to go by, he understood.  And how lucky was that?  How lucky was Jason to have someone who understood him so thoroughly?

“Ser Jason,” Timothy greeted with a wide smile as he and Alfred rounded the building he was currently sitting in front of with a waiting pot of tea and finger foods.

“Your Highness,” Jason said out of habit, standing to give him a small bow even though the kid would never expect it of him.  But out where anyone could see them, Jason knew to keep up appearances.  “Alfred,” he turned to the elderly man with a smile.  The aging man who had been with the family for longer than King Bruce had been alive returned the smile before taking his seat.

“I do hope you don’t mind that Prince Timothy joined me today.  He was quite insistent.”  That made Jason’s eyebrows jump as he looked back to the prince who was pulling up an extra chair and taking his seat.  Jason dropped back down into his once both men were seated.

Timothy gave Jason a wry smile before snatching a cookie off the tray.  “I overheard Alfred talking with Richard about coming to do the letter exchange.”  His tone was unapologetic, and the shrug cemented that fact.  “Alfred is reserved and I thought you might like to hear how my brother is doing without his filter or Richard’s influence.”

“I would,” Jason agreed, nodding his head.  “I would like that very much.”

“He is stressed,” Timothy commented before pausing when a server hurried out and produced a third tea cup with an apology.  The young prince smiled his thanks.  “Nonsense, you didn’t know I would be here.  Thank you very much, miss.”  The young girl blushed and asked if they needed anything else, but the three men shook their heads and she hurried off.  “Catalina is…”  Timothy stares off in the distance for a moment and Jason frowns before looking over at Alfred who just looks resigned.  “She is going to be a problem down the road.”

Jason leaned back into his chair and remained silent as Alfred poured the tea into their cups and took a cookie for himself, placing it on his saucer.  “The future queen is quite particular.  About a great many things.”  Alfred’s words cause his frown to deepen.

“Father and Richard have had some very private arguments about the situation, and I think it only aides in the situation.”

“What do they fight about?”

“Catalina is rude to the staff.”  Jason nods, that he had already been made aware of.  “And you know how Richard and Father are when it comes to respecting those who work for you.”  Jason also knew that.  There was too much honor between the two of them to not treat everyone with the respect they deserve.  “Father thinks Richard is not handling it properly, but we’ve all heard him rebuke her.  She is just…”

“Unkind.”

“That’s a strong word from you, Alfred,” Jason commented.  The elderly man hummed and took another sip of his tea.  “What else is stressing him out?”

“Your absence.”  It was blunt and Jason tried to not take offense because that was just the way Timothy spoke.  He didn’t sugar coat anything.  “There are also some state matters.  And the impending coronation.  But he and Cassandra have had some hushed conversations that neither is willing to share.  Though I’m pretty sure Alfred knows.”  The young prince turned amused eyes onto the other man and Jason just chuckled when a white eyebrow raised in response.

“What did you wish to accomplish with this conversation, Your Highness?”

“Nothing, really,” Timothy shrugged and took a sip of his tea before snagging another cookie.  “If I’m completely honest, I am here for Richard as much as I’m here for you.  The letters are nice, but I do believe he’d like to hear more than the fact that you are simply ‘well’, as Alfred relays.”

And that was fair.  He did appreciate hearing the truth about the state Richard was in.  And he knew that Richard would probably appreciate the same.  He might be able to see the other man at a distance, but the other hadn’t seen him since the day Jason had left.  He couldn’t imagine how hard that would be.

“Thank you, brother,” Jason said warmly.  The young man smiled brightly at the rarely used moniker before launching into a report of how the other people in the family were currently doing.  The conversation wasn’t the usual one he and Alfred would share, but he had to admit that it was a nice change of pace. 

So he just leaned back and enjoyed the company for the short amount of time he got it.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

202 AD

GOTHAM CASTLE

There was something going on. 

The air of the city had changed over the past week, and Jason could hear whispers among the gossipers.  The women from the brothel who he let stay in his spare rooms were all a titter and it concerned him.  Enough that he avoided the kitchen where there were three of them giggling.

“Oh Ser Jason!”  Artemis called in greeting as he stepped out of his front door.  She stood from the chair where she was mending one of her dresses.  “An elderly man dropped this off for you very early this morning,” she said as she pulled a letter with a familiar seal on it from her apron.

Rushing forward, Jason snatched the letter and Artemis chuckled as she sat back down.  But he ignored her and tore through the blue wax seal.  Alfred wouldn’t drop off a letter out of schedule unless something had happened.  Bad or good.  There was news.  His eyes scanned the familiar script of Richard’s hand until he found it.

Catalina is pregnant.

My Love, come home.  I miss waking up to your face every morning.  I hate this cold bed that you have left me to lie in alone.  I return to it every night and lament that we are apart.  My task is done.  Please, my love.  Please come home.

Letting out a huff of breath, Jason dropped into the other chair in front of his house and felt all the stress drain out of him.

“Good news then, Ser?”

Glancing over at Artemis, he blinked before a wide smile spread across his face.  “The best news.”

“I take it your home will be empty for the unforeseen future?”  Raising an eyebrow at her, he shook his head as she cackled.  “You think the city doesn’t already know the future Queen is pregnant?  You think those of us who love you don’t know why you have been staying here versus sharing your Prince’s bed?”

“You assume much.”

“Do I?”

Jason wanted to say yes, but instead he pursed his lips and looked out to the distance where the sun was barely lighting the sky.  She wasn’t wrong, he knew that.  He also knew how much of Crime Alley knew just who he was to the future king.

“Will you let the others know there’s a spare room now?  Raven mentioned a new girl.  Make sure she has a place to stay.”

“We always do.  And I know,” she held up a hand to stop him from saying anything more.  “If we need something, tell Ser Roy and he will see that it gets done or that you are made aware.  Go to your prince, Ser Jason.  We both know this has been a long few months for you.  I do not wonder if it has been the same for him.”  Jason paused for a moment longer before Artemis sent him an unimpressed look and he shot out of his chair, rushing back inside to gather the things he would immediately need.  He could come back for his armor and other gear. 

Slinging the leather bag over his shoulder, he took one last glance around the room before he hurried back down the stairs and out the front door.  He decidedly ignored the catcalls from the women in his house as he gathered up his horse and mounted her.  He also ignored the words called out to him as he carefully rode through the city levels toward the palace.  He didn’t need to think about just how many people knew exactly what it was he was doing.  And how so many people knew about the pregnancy before he did. 

He wondered if Richard had done that on purpose.

“Ser Jason,” Victor, Richard’s personal guard greeted him in the courtyard.  “Shall I send your horse to the groom?  Richard is having breakfast in your rooms.”

Their rooms.

Because he got to have that honor with Richard and Catalina did not.  The doubts he had continued to be plagued with over the months melted away at the simple statement.  Victor hadn’t even thought about it.  It had been natural, and Jason felt more at home then he had since the day he rode to Central on Richard’s wedding day.

“Yes, the groom would be good,” Jason nodded, patting the flank of his horse before he headed up the steps.  He made sure to keep his gait steady and calm, giving an air of relaxation despite the desperation he felt. 

He smiled and returned greetings sent his way.  He paused to speak with a few servants who he had grown up with.  With each step he felt more and more at home. 

“Ser Jason, you have returned,” Cassandra appeared in the hallway just as he was getting ready to round the corner to the hall where Richard’s rooms were.  Pausing he smiled at the woman and nodded.  Her gaze was concerned but friendly.  “He has missed you.  But he waited a week before he sent word about the baby, to be sure no one thought poorly of your return.  But she has been pregnant for three months now.  The doctors say the pregnancy should stick.”

“That’s good.  I am…”  He paused, thinking of the right way to phrase his thoughts.  “I am glad for the parents to be.”  Cassandra let out a huff of air and he could see her holding back a smile.  “I shall see you at dinner, if not sooner.”

“Hmm, something tells me no one shall see either of you until tomorrow at the earliest,” she said teasingly before turning to walk the opposite direction.  Jason watched her go with a chuckle before he continued on his path. 

The deep oak of the door was so familiar and for a moment Jason stood there with is forehead resting against the cool grain of the wood.  The happiness he had been missing for over half a year now was right on the other side of the door and it was almost overwhelming to think about how close it was.  The familiar scent of Richard and the warmth of his skin.  The sapphire blue of his eyes that no painter ever seemed to be able to get exactly right.  The glint he got in his eyes when he laughed one of those deep belly laughs at something stupid someone said.  The way his jet-black hair curled just so over the tops of his ears. 

It was all finally within his reach and though his heart ached with the need to see the other man, he suddenly felt nervous.  Despite the letters, despite Richard writing out his feelings for Jason, he couldn’t help but wonder if things had changed.  Despite the fact that Richard had begged him to return home in the letter that was still in his pocket right then. 

“How long are you going to stand there like a fool?”  Jason whirled around to find Roy, one of the guards and his best friend, leaning against the opposite wall with a wide grin on his face.  “I know what you’re thinking, and you need to stop.  You need shut that brain off and just go in there.  You have not had to deal with him while you have been gone.  You got to avoid all of this, but he has been in the thick of it.  And he has been stuck with a woman who is manipulative.”  That made Jason frown, but Roy ignored him and pushed away from the wall.  “So, you are going to suck up whatever you’re feeling and you’re going to go in there and make him smile again.  A real smile.  Not the fake one we have had to see since you left.  Got it?”

“Roy, what did she do?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow out on the sparring fields.”  Glancing back at the door, Jason considered pressing the issue.  “Go,” Roy said before he could question it, moving forward to land a hard knock on the door before pushing it open.  “Ser Jason Todd,” Roy announced him as he shoved him into the doorway with a firm hand on his back.

The door was shut behind him before Jason could say or do anything, but once he caught sight of Richard half risen from the chair near the balcony in their main sitting room, he didn’t care.  It had been too long since he had been in the same room as the man he loved more than his own life and he couldn’t be bothered to think about anything else.

“You came.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”  Richard straightened and took a few steps toward him before stopping and shaking his head.  “Did you really think I would break my word?”

“I didn’t want to hope.  There…”  Richard looked off just beyond Jason’s shoulder and the younger man frowned at the look on his face.  He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but he could see what Roy had been hinting at.  He could see the stress lining the elder’s eyes just as Timothy had mentioned.  And he could see the way his clothes hung off him in an unnatural way.

“My Prince?”

“Hope has not been my friend as of late, My Heart.”  And if Jason’s heart hadn’t already ached for the other man, it certainly would have started to then.  But he didn’t want to dwell on that right then.  No, there would be time to hear what things the prince had placed his hopes on only to be let down.  Right then there were more important things.

So instead of questioning, Jason closed the space between them with nearly silent footsteps and gathered the other man in his arms.  And perhaps everything up to this point had felt like coming home.  The greeting in the courtyard, the conversation with the servants, seeing Roy, it all had felt so familiar.  But this?  This was the moment when he was really coming home.  With his arms securely wrapped around Richard, his face buried in Richard’s hair while Richard pressed his to the spot where Jason’s neck met shoulder.  This was home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

203 AD

GOTHAM CASTLE

“He is beautiful, my lady,” Richard said softly, taking the bundle from his wife’s nurse.  The words held more warmth than he had ever spoken to her and while he felt some guilt at that, she had known what she was signing up for.

“What shall you name him, my lord?”  Glancing over at his wife, not at all surprised to find her already proper and looking as though she wasn’t giving birth just an hour earlier, Richard furrowed his brow.

“I do believe I like him as Prince Damian.”

“The tamer,” Catalina muttered, huffing a breath.  She obviously didn’t approve but thankfully tradition didn’t cater to her feelings on the matter.

“Powerful man of the people,” Richard corrected.  Though, she was not technically wrong.  The name did mean both.  But he had liked it for the meaning of being a man of the people.  He prided himself as the people’s king and he wanted to raise his heir to be the same.  His wife sighed and leaned further into the pillows propping her up.  “Do you need anything, my lady?”

“Quiet and sleep.  Take him to the wet nurse or keep hold of him, I care not.  Just remove yourselves from my rooms so I might rest.”  There was coldness in her words and though Richard had never known her to be a particularly warm woman, he hadn’t thought she would be the same with her child.

Glancing down at the sleeping baby, he frowned.  “You don’t wish to nurse him yourself?” 

“No.  Now leave.”

And he did, with one last glance at his wife before he exited her room and found himself in an empty hallway unsure of what to do next.  He had never been left alone with a baby who had just been born and he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Shall I call the nurses, Your Majesty?”  Glancing over at his guard, Victor, Richard considered it.  Did he want to hand off the child and just be done with it?  Or did he want to keep his son for a bit longer.  Damian had fallen asleep in his arms when he had taken him from the nurse initially, but he wasn’t certain how long he would go before he needed to eat.  And Richard knew he certainly couldn’t handle that.

Looking back to his son, he ran a finger along the chubby cheek.  “Send the nurse to my study.  I will speak with her in there,” he said.  The other man looked surprised but gave a bow and headed in the opposite direction of where Richard himself would be going. 

It wasn’t until Victor turned the corner that Richard headed toward the room where he had asked the guard to send the nurse.  And through the silent halls, usually bustling with servants or other members of the household, Richard kept his eyes on the sleeping boy in his arms.  This perfect creation from a situation that was anything but. 

His silver lining.

“Richard!”  The surprised shout of his name caused him to stop short as he pushed his way into his study.  “I thought…”  Jason’s voice trailed off as he took in the small bundle in Richard’s arms.  “Is that…?”  Nodding, Richard fully entered the room and let the door shut behind him as Jason rounded the couch he had been seated on.  Richard could see a book lying face down, open on the cushion next to where he had been seated.

“This is Damian,” he told the younger man when Jason came to a stop in front of him.  “My son.”  Looking down that the boy in his arms again, Richard could feel the same warmth of love he felt when he was around the people he cared about the most. 

“He is beautiful, My King,” Jason commented quietly.  “How is his mother?”  And though he said it without inflection, Richard could tell it pained Jason to do so.  It pained him to see the man he loved have what they had always wanted together with another person, a woman at that.

“Resting,” Richard replied, watching Jason as he watched Damian.  “Indifferent, it seems.”  That caused Jason to look up at the other man and Richard pressed his lips together.

“You are concerned?”

“I don’t want him to wonder if he was loved.”

“No, Richard,” Jason raised his hands and gripped Richard’s face.  “She is not Talia and you are not your father.  He will never doubt your love.  I cannot speak for Her Majesty, but I can speak for you.  And you will never let him think he is anything other than cherished.”  But Richard wasn’t certain that what Jason was saying was true.  How could he be?  He was newly crowned and he knew that was when the dynamic between he and his own father had changed.  Would it be the same with him and his own son?  “Stop, My Love.  Stop.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because I am certain of who you are.  And I am right here to remind you of the fact, should I ever notice the need.”  A knock on the door was the only thing that stopped Richard from leaning in and stealing a kiss at that moment.

Instead of calling out like he usually would, not wanting to risk waking Damian, he stepped away from Jason and let the other man walk over to the door and pull it open.  The nurse Victor had retrieved stood on the other side, visibly surprised to find Jason answering the door.  But she gathered herself quickly when her eyes landed on Richard and Damian in his arms.

“Your Majesty,” the nurse said softly, bowing after she had entered the room.  “I am Stephanie and am to be your son’s nurse.  I was informed that Her Majesty does not intend to nurse him herself, so I will handle that.  I can care for him throughout the day so you can go about your duties as usual.” 

“I would like him close.”  The woman tilted her head in question and Richard looked at Jason, who gave him a nod, before steeling himself.  “You may care for him and nurse him as he needs, but I would like him with me.  Which means we will need to have you briefed on security and the other things you will encounter while working in close proximity.”

“I will have Victor prepare the necessary procedures,” Jason said before he slipped out of the room. 

There was silence between the nurse and himself for a moment before the woman seemed to relax a little.  “I was worried how much you would want to be involved in the baby’s life at this stage.  So many fathers want nothing to do with their children until they are well behaved and polite.”

“I never want him to doubt my place in his life or his in mine.  He is my heir, but he is my child.  And I want to be sure he knows he is my child before he is my heir.”  The smile he got in response was blinding and surprising.  “But there are some things you will be made privy to working this close to me and I need your word and bond that what you witness will remain between us and other parties involved.”

“You refer to your relationship with the Slayer?  The entire kingdom knows you love each other.”  Richard smiled and nodded his head toward the couches before he moved to sit in one of the armchairs.  Stephanie followed and took up the place Jason had previously been occupying.  He watched her glance at the book before looking back to him.  “There are plenty of speculations about a possible treaty of sorts between you and the queen regarding Ser Jason.  I take it I am to learn of what is the truth?”

Glancing down when Damian shifted in his arms, Richard rocked himself gently to make sure he didn’t wake up, before looking back to the young woman.  “There is a treaty of sorts.  She is my wife in name alone.  And now that she has provided me with an heir, she is only a name on paper.  She will never have power and she will never have my heart.”

“That does not seem fair to her.”

“It is nothing that wasn’t made perfectly clear to her before she even traveled across our borders.”  He knew it wasn’t traditional among the citizens of the city.  They married for love and rarely was there any purpose to do anything other than that.  But Richard had not been in the position where he could have done the same.  Looking down at the baby in his arms, Richard sighed.  “I cannot marry the one I want.  Not because I couldn’t find a way around the laws, but because I cannot ask my kingdom to follow the laws when I am willing to break them for my own desires.  I want my people to follow me because I am fair and just.  Because I love them and do not rule by fear.  So, I had to marry someone who could provide an heir, at least in theory.  And I needed to marry someone who the law allowed.” 

Looking back to Stephanie, he gave her a sad smile.  “The laws of old may be old, but they are fair.  And a ruler cannot marry a slayer.  It is one of the only laws about marriage.”

“And what of your brother?  Could he not rule so you could marry for love?”

“He could, but he loves someone who will never be able to provide him with an heir.  And I could never ask him to give up what I would not.  Love is…”  He sighed and looked away, trying to think of the right term for what he felt.

“I understand.  Maybe not about love, but I understand why you found the compromise that you did.”  Richard looked back to her and nodded.  “Your people paint you in a light that is most flattering.  They sing songs about the great king you will become.  I never thought they were right.  Your father is just, but he is not one of us.”

“Neither am I,” Richard laughed, and Stephanie let out a chuckle of her own, nodding in agreement.

“No, you are not.  But you are kind and selfless.  You would give up the greatest gift us commoners could get just so your brother would not have it taken away.  That is why the gods have blessed you in abundance.  You have the man you love, a beautiful son, and the love of your people.”  It was an interesting perspective and he supposed she might be right.  “There was great celebration when you were crowned.  There will be more celebration for many years to come, mark my words.”

Silence fell between them and Richard thought about the faith that this woman, and the other citizens of Gotham, had placed in him.  He could only hope they would not be proven foolish to do so.  He had been raised to take the crown and it had been a struggle to keep his heart warm through all he had seen under his father’s rule.  He was a good man, but he ruled with a rigidness that had never been Richard’s.  No matter how much the elder and the council had tried to make it.  He would never been without his emotion and his heart.

“Now, may I relieve you of your son and feed him?” 

“Oh, I didn’t realize that even if he wasn’t crying he was hungry.”

“Being born is quite exhausting, but it has been hours and I doubt he has been fed as of yet.”  With wide eyes, Richard handed over the small bundle and bit down on the guilt that they could have held off on this conversation until after Damian had been fed.  “Don’t fret, Your Majesty, not even mothers realize this at first.  Now, as far as feeding.  I can do it in your presence or in another room.  Whatever your comfort level.”

“Um,” he hesitated, trying to think of the right answer to that particular situation.  He wasn’t sure if it was proper, but he wasn’t sure if it wasn’t either.  If it had been Catalina, he would have probably left the room, but that was out of awkwardness more than propriety.

Stephanie laughed and moved toward the door.  “I will go to the room next door and return once I am finished.  You consider what your comfort level is and let me know once you decide.”  He could only nod as she slipped out of the room and Jason came back in after holding the door for her.  Victor followed him in and the pair raised their brows at the slight flush on Richard’s cheeks.

“Do we want to know?”

“Likely not,” he breathed, waving a hand as he slouched in the chair a bit.  “I have filled her in on the situation but Victor, if you could draw up the contract and go over the formalities, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“My King,” the other man nodded, giving a bow before he exited the room as quickly as he had entered.

Richard watched Jason make his way over to the spot he had been sitting in earlier, leaning down to pick up the book, mark his place, and set closed on the table next to the couch.  He looked preoccupied and deep in thought, and Richard wasn’t sure how to ease whatever worries plagued him.

“My Heart?”  Jason hummed and looked over at him as he lowered himself onto the couch.  “Where are your thoughts?” 

“Everywhere, if I am to be honest,” the other man said, drawing one knee to rest with his foot hanging off the couch while his other foot remained on the ground.  He leaned into the corner and rested an arm along the back of the couch, looking the very picture of relaxed.  But Richard knew better.  “I wonder how the interactions between you and your wife will be now that Damian is here.  I wonder where the little prince will rest at night.  I wonder if things will change between us now that another occupies part of your heart.”

“Never.”  Richard leaned forward and rested his arms on his legs, looking at Jason seriously.  “There is plenty of room for my love and my son.  And nothing changes between Catalina and me.  She is still just a name and a title.  She feels much the same, given the dismissal I received earlier.  And Damian will sleep with Stephanie for the time being, I suppose.  At least until he can sleep through the nights on his own and doesn’t require feedings the moment he wakes.”

“You have thought about this?”

“I do not need to think about this.  I do not need to consider things when it comes to you,” Richard told him honestly.  Pushing to his feet, he closed the space between them and slipped right into the lap of the other man with practiced ease.  “You are like breathing.  You are natural.  I do not need to think about this because my place is by your side and yours is by mine.  To make a decision without you already considered in the outcome would be unnatural, abominable even.”  Taking Jason’s face in his hands, he searched the man’s sea green eyes for understanding.  “You could leave me tomorrow and I would still have no room for another lover in my heart.  You will always have the space by my side and the cavern in my heart.  The entire kingdom knows of my love for you despite me having married another.  And if either of us were less honorable, I would have had your hand instead of hers.  I do not know how I can make it clearer that my heart, my world, will always be yours.”

Jason shook his head and placed his own hands on Richard’s face, drawing him a hairsbreadth away.  “You don’t need to do anything else.  I know.  It is never you I doubt.  Never you.”

“Then what is it you doubt?  What can I do to ease it?”  Richard stared down into Jason’s eyes and waited, observed the other man observing him.

But instead of answering, Jason slipped one of his hands from Richard’s cheek to the back of his neck and pulled the older man the remainder of the way in for a kiss.  It wasn’t an answer, but at the same time it was all the answer that Richard needed.  Whatever brought the doubt to Jason’s mind wasn’t important.  Or at least it wasn’t more important than Richard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

208 AD

GOTHAM CASTLE

There was peace in the air and though Jason enjoyed it, it also put him on edge.  Nothing good lasted forever, in his experience, and that meant they were due for some kind of event.  Be it in the family or the country, he knew something was coming.

“Who do you think will tire first?”  Jason looked up and shielded his eyes to see Richard’s brother, Timothy, standing near him.  The young prince was speaking to him, he had no doubt, but his eyes were on his older brother running around in the open field with his five-year-old son.  The child had been gifted his first sparring sword for his birthday two weeks prior and the pair had done nothing but spar in Richard’s spare time ever since.

“Damian, of that I have no doubt,” Jason retorted, chuckling as he lowered his eyes back to the pair that were circling each other now with their swords ready to strike or defend.

Timothy chuckled and dropped into the grass next to Jason.  “I do suppose my brother has an unnatural amount of energy for a man in his late twenties and an entire kingdom to run.”  And Jason knew that all too well.  Just the night before Richard had been up until the early hours of the morning, working on ironing out details for a treaty with another kingdom.  And not to mention helping in the preparation for Timothy’s upcoming handfasting ceremony.

“Where is the other groom today?”

“With his family, wandering the city streets.  There was mentions of wanting to support some of the local businesses.”  Jason glanced over at the other man and raised an eyebrow.  Timothy waved a hand and rolled his eyes.  “They’re searching for a gift for Richard.  King Clark was appalled that no one told him that the visiting king is supposed to gift the hosting king something for holding the ceremony in his kingdom.  I told him it was foolish, and that Richard is the last to care, but Father was there, and we all know how he can be.”

Jason snorted.  “Yes, we all know how he can be when it comes to tradition.”

Silence passed between them as they sat there and watched father and son continue to clash with the wooden swords in their hands, their laughter and the clack noise the wood made when their swords came into contact with one another the only noise save the birds and slight rustling of leaves.  It was comfortable and familiar; the pair having known each other for most of their lives.  It was the kind of silence that only came from being family.

But Jason knew there was a reason Timothy had chosen to sit with him, he just had to wait.

“Did he marry her for me?”  But that was not what he had been expecting the younger to ask.  With a furrowed brow Jason looked over at Timothy and waited for more.  “He could have stepped away from the crown.  He could have relinquished his claim to it so he could marry you.  Asked me to take the crown instead.  Did he do it so I could marry Kon?”

Pursing his lips, Jason looked back out to Richard just as he dropped to the ground and let Damian “win” by stabbing him in the leg with his dull sword.  “That might have been part of it, but mostly I think he married Catalina because he loves the people of Gotham.  And because he is honorable down to his very core.”

“And you?  Would you have allowed him to step down so you two could have your life together?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he would regret it.  Maybe not immediately and maybe not for years to come, but once I had fallen and he was alone, he would certainly regret it.”  Looking back at the young man sitting beside him, he considered him carefully.  “And your brother is the least selfish person any of us will ever have the pleasure of knowing.  Your happiness will always come before his own.”

Timothy sighed and shook his head as he gazed out at his brother and nephew.  “But what of your happiness?”

“We talked about our situation many times over the years,” Jason admitted.  “We both knew eventually he would need to marry someone who was not a Slayer and someone who could provide him with an heir.  Or at least attempt to do so.  We knew what was coming.”  It hadn’t made it any easier to watch the man he loved promise himself to another, especially not someone as cold as Catalina, but they had known.  “The night he told me that the time had come, he told your sister that he wanted you to get what your heart desired.  He knew she had her soon-to-be betrothed and that he would have his wife, but at least you could be with someone of your choosing.”

“I don’t know that I could ever be so selfless.”

“No one could.  Not even your father, I don’t think.  But Richard loves with every fiber of his being but it means there is no room for him to love himself in the same capacity.”  There was more to say, but Jason paused when Damian came running over as Richard chased with.

“Uncle Timothy!  Come fight with me!  Father is too foolish,” Damian reached out and tugged on Timothy’s hand, prompting the man to stand.  “You must come!  Tomorrow you marry and I won’t be able to fight you without Prince Kon stepping in to fight for your honor.”

“Dames!”  Richard laughed loudly despite the admonishment.  Jason laughed just as loudly, but Timothy chuckled and took the sword from Richard’s hand.  “No bruises!  Your uncle has to look perfect tomorrow.”

Damian responded with a hard tug on Timothy, pulling him out into the field where he and his father had just been sparring.

Dropping down in the spot that Timothy had previously occupied, Richard leaned sideways into Jason’s side.  “That child is too headstrong.  Are we certain you are not his sire?”  It was a frequent joke amongst the family and Jason took a bit of pride in the fact that even if Damian wasn’t his, he still had traits attributed to Jason.

“Oh no, My King, that is all Richard of House Wayne.  He is your child through and through.”  The point was punctuated with Damian helping Timothy back to his feet after having swept them out from under him.

“Perhaps, but there is no doubting your influence on him.”  Jason looked over to Richard and found the other man smiling softly at him.  It was a look that Jason had seen many times over the years, but one he would never tire of seeing aimed at him.  The open adoration and fondness on Richard’s face was one he only showed a small handful of people.  Jason and Damian being at the top of that list.  “What were you and Timothy discussing before Dami interrupted?  Anything important?”

Jason waved a hand, “Important but not urgent.”  It was as close to the truth that Jason was willing to get.  No reason to get Richard concerned.  “He was also telling me that King Clark is in the village in search of a gift.”

“Oh goodness,” Richard laughed, leaning back onto the tree behind them.  “I’m sure that is Father’s doing?”  Jason nodded and smiled at the laughter that fell from the other man’s life.  “Honestly, what a foolish tradition to uphold.  But I’m sure the shop he spends his money in will surely appreciate it.  Perhaps I can find a worthy person to take whatever it is he gives me.”

Jason kept his eyes on Richard and felt his chest warm as the other man spoke.  So selfless, just as he was saying to the younger Wayne, that he would take an unwanted gift just because someone’s business benefited from its purchase.  Most people knew of the King’s heart, it was a favorite subject of the songs sung about him, but Jason often wondered if they really knew how deep that love went.  He had never met another person who loved other as much as Richard did.  Not even a mother and her kids.  There were limits to how much they could give, but Richard seemed to have his love in endless amounts. 

And Gotham was all the richer for it.

“What?”  Richard’s voice snapped Jason out of his thoughts, and he found the older man looking at him curiously.  “Is there some dirt on my face?  I told Damian throwing dirt was fighting dirty, literally and figuratively.”

Reaching out to brush a streak of dirt from the other man’s cheek, Jason just smiled when Richard laughed again.  He opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut again when he saw movement just beyond the field.  His eyes shifted to see who was coming their way and Jason felt his smile fade away at the sight of the Queen.

“What…?”  Richard questioned, noticing the shift in Jason’s demeanor.  But Jason saw him glance over his own shoulder and knew when his body went tense that he saw who had caught Jason’s eye.  “My Lady,” Richard greeted, stiff but not unkind.

“I have come to collect our son for his lessons.  That is quite enough foolishness for the day,” the woman commented, coming to a stop near Jason and Richard’s spot under the tree and folding her arms over her chest.  It was a challenge and Jason knew Richard would tell her to back down if he felt she was out of line, but he also took Damian’s learning seriously.

So, he wasn’t surprised when Richard pushed to his feet and brushed himself free of the dirt.  “Of course, his lessons are important.  But do not forget that as his father and King, I am more than capable of deciding which lessons take precedence at the moment.”  And Jason so desperately wanted to smirk at the scowl that now covered the woman’s face.  It was no secret she was becoming increasingly hostile toward Richard (and Jason), sometimes taking that hostility out on Damian.  The entire staff and family were aware of the arguments Richard had had with her in his study or her rooms, berating her for treating anyone other than himself poorly.  He always told her she was welcome to be that way with him because he could not give her the relationship she wanted, but he wouldn’t stand for her treating others that way.

She always acted remorseful after, but Jason was never fooled.

“Damian, my son,” Richard called to the boy, moving into the field to retrieved him.  Jason kept his eyes on Catalina as she turned her golden eyes onto him, distain clearly written all over her posture.  And while he wanted to return the look, he instead kept his face neutral and his posture relaxed. 

“Hello Mother,” the boy called as he walked up to the woman.  Jason hated to formal tone his voice took while speaking with the woman.  “Father says it is time for my lessons.  Is it to be History or Mathematics today?”

Catalina’s eyes went from Jason and turned to Damian, the distain melting to indifference.  Something a mother should never feel for her child, but not surprising in this case.  The woman had been indifferent from day one and Richard had been right to worry about it, considering it hadn’t changed at all.  But instead of dwelling on it, he did what Jason had always known he would.  He threw his entire being into raising the child to be just as good and open as he was.

“History for now.  Your tutor shall decide if you can handle anything else this afternoon.  Now come,” the woman turned and walked away briskly, Damian following quickly but not without throwing a wave over his shoulder to the three men who remained behind.

“My King!”  A servant called from the direction of the stables and Jason frowned as he watched Richard slip into his role of king before heading over to the man who had called for him.

“I do not know about you, but I am ready for afternoon tea.  Would you like to come?  I believe King Clark and Kon will probably be returning any moment now.”  Jason considered Timothy’s offer while he watched Richard speak with the stable boy for a moment before he glanced over and sent Jason and Timothy an apologetic look. 

Standing up as Richard followed the servant to the stables for whatever reason, Jason looked over at the younger man.  “Tea sounds good.  Perhaps we can persuade Alfred to give us some of the wedding cookies he has been preparing.”  Timothy chuckled as the pair of them headed back to the castle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

216 AD

CRIME ALLEY

LEVEL 3 GOTHAM CITY

Handing over a few gold pieces, Jason accepted the wrapped package and thanked the woman before turning and continuing his trip down the street.  Once a week he walked the levels of Gotham, when he was in the area at least, to be sure none of the people were in dire need of anything.  If he noticed something off that he could handle himself, he would.  If it required more than he could provide, then he took the matter to Richard and the King did as he always did: he provided for his people. 

He was currently on his final walk and was glad to say he would not need to be setting anything at the feet of the king later that evening when they retired.  Outside of a few small stalls needing some business, which he had happily provided, the city seemed to be flourishing.

“Hello Ser Jason!”  A few kids called as they scrambled past, chasing a ball that he had fashioned for them a few months prior.

“Careful, you hellions!”  A vicious voice called out before Jason could call back his greeting and it was one he was surprised to hear this far from the castle.  Turning to look in the direction the voice had come from, Jason spotted the rich orange cloak the Queen had chosen to wear.  He wondered if she was trying to be subtle and just failing miserably or if she was here for reasons that didn’t require her to hide.

“My Queen,” Jason greeted when the woman came to a stop before him.  While the villagers all gave a bow and called her ‘Your Majesty’ as was proper, Jason had never been required to address the pretender as anything in particular.  “What is it that finds you in Crime Alley?”

“You,” she said, her face shifting to hide her emotions as best as she could.  And though the villagers would not notice anything, Jason was well versed in the woman before him.  He knew how she functioned and who she really was.  After all these years, how could he not?

Glancing around, Jason found some people openly gawking at the Queen but most had gone back to their business.

“Shall we discuss this here or…?”

“Of course not,” she snapped and Jason only raised a brow.  “Some place private.”  He was not liking the direction this conversation was taking, but he said nothing and simply walked away.  Either she would follow or she wouldn’t and he could get on with his scouting.  But a glance over his shoulder showed she was right behind him, so he cut into the first quiet alley he found and turned to face her.

“What can I do for you?”

“That is how you address your Queen around the commoners?”

Jason laughed and crossed his arms over his broad chest.  “You are not my queen, Catalina.  You are a place holder and nothing more.  You knew it long before you traveled from your dusty hell hole of a country to Gotham.  You are powerless here.”  Catalina snarled at him and took a step forward but Jason didn’t back away.  He did glance over her shoulder to be sure no one was watching them.  “Now,” he said, tone pleasant, “what can I do for you?”

“I want you to leave Gotham.  I want you to ride out tomorrow and hunt the dragons beyond the kingdom.”  Jason frowned and wondered how she knew about the pod near Ethiopia.  And why she wanted him to go.  They were further out than he usually bothered so he had held off on the journey when word had come.

“Why would I do what you’re asking?”

“Because I can play a very dangerous game with the heart of the man you love,” she smirked.  He narrowed his eyes.  “You know he visits my bed once a year to appease the council.”  And Jason did know that.  He remembered just weeks ago when he had joined Richard in a bath after he had returned and did everything he could to get the other man to forget the act he hated so much.  “I have not bled as I should have the last week.”  Jason felt his heart stutter.  Another child.  Another person to love.  But he was caught off guard by the vial she produced.  The liquid was cloudy and greenish, all together unappealing.  “This will steal the life within me.  It will extinguish the child before they even have a chance.”

“You witch,” Jason growled, taking a step toward her.  But he paused when she uncapped the vial and lifted it to her lips.  “You would destroy your husband and son just to best me?  What good would me leaving when I would just return.”

The smile that curled her lips told him enough.

“Because you won’t be returning.  You will fall and he will build you a pyre for your return.” 

“How could you possibly know that?  How could you possibly think I would agree to break his heart like that?”  But wouldn’t the other do the same?  Richard loved Damian so much and the prospect of having another child would thrill him.  The loss of that child before they even got a chance to live would break his heart and Jason isn’t sure even he would be able to fix that.

“I have my ways.  But the choice is yours, Dragon Slayer.  Either you or the child.”  He took a step back and watched as she put the cap back on the vial and placed it back into the folds of her cloak.  “I have had enough of your presence poisoning my husband against me.  He will be mine and Damian will love me over you.  Your death will ensure that.”

He didn’t bother telling her that it wouldn’t work.  That her plan would fail her and neither of them would love her the way she wanted.  But he knew what he needed to do.

“I will go.”  It was sooner than he had planned, but he had always known Richard would be the one to bury him.  It was just a fact of the life of a Slayer. 

“You will act as if nothing is different.  You will not warn him, and you will not treat this voyage any differently than all your previous ones,” she instructed, and Jason nodded, shoulders dropping slightly in resignation.  She stood tall, radiating victory. 

He hated her more in that moment than he ever had.

And as he watched her walk away, he swore to whatever god was listening that he would do anything if it meant she would not get away with this act.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

216 AD

GOTHAM CASTLE STEPS

It was a sight Richard didn’t think he would ever get used to, honestly.  The gold of Jason’s armor and the crimson of his cloaks were always so stunning.  And it suited the man just perfectly.  So many of the previous slayers had worn the house colors of the King of the time, but since the Wayne line had taken the crown the slayers had worn what they pleased.  A small handful had worn the blue and black of the family, but most had gone with what they had deemed best. 

“My King,” Jason bowed deeply with a smirk on his face as Richard finally made his way down the steps with Damian trailing behind him.  “My Prince,” he greeted the younger man much more softly.  It made Richard’s heart clench.

“I received word that you are to ride.”

Jason hummed and straightened.  “There have been sightings coming through of a pod of three out near the Ethiopia boarders.”

“That is a far ride,” Damian spoke up, moving to stand next to Jason as Richard moved to run a hand along the nose of Jason’s most precious mare.  Hood greeted him with a familiar snort and nudge to his side, questioning if Richard had treats for him.  Instead of responding, he just rubbed his neck.

“It is, but I would rather them not get closer to our lands.  Not whilst we approach the dry season.”  Richard understood his reasoning, but he didn’t like it.  Since the messenger had come and told him Jason would be riding out, there had been something heavy in the pit of his stomach.  A feeling that was getting worse by the moment.

“You go alone?”

“I do, for now,” Jason answered him.  Richard considered the answer with a narrowing of his eyes, causing Jason to laugh.  “I have allies within the lands and can call upon them if the need arises.”  That was all the comfort that the slayer would give the king, Richard knew that.  If Jason were staying within their lands, he would have his choice of soldiers to aide him.  But outside of their borders, it could be considered aggressive to have members of another king’s army ride through.

“Will you bring the scale like you promised?” 

Reaching forward, Jason ruffled Damian’s hair and laughed.  “I shall do my very best.”  The young man let out an excited noise before he smiled at his father and headed back up the stairs to continue his studies for the day.  “My King.”

“I know you don’t wish to risk them coming closer, but must you go when they are already so far away?”  It was a selfish request, and he had no right to ask it of Jason.  And more than that, Richard knew Jason would deny him the silent request he was making.  “Can you not wait for them to come closer?”

“You know that I cannot.”

Dropping his gaze and sighing, Richard nodded.  “I know you cannot.”  But it wouldn’t stop him from wishing he could.  Because the feeling in his core was getting worse and Richard knew he was moments away from ordering Jason to stay and that would only cause strife between them.  He had promised the other man that he would never stand in the way of his work so long as he was king.  His father had been too controlling when he had been king, Richard refused to be.

“I will return, Richard.  I always do,” Jason spoke softly, and Richard felt him slip closer.  In the courtyard they were exposed and not away from prying eyes.  But they were also among people who were well aware of what the two men were to each other.  And no one, not even a citizen of the city, would try to tell a king who he could love.

So Richard reached out and wrapped his arms around the hard armor and rich material of the cloaks, burying his face in the crook of Jason’s neck.  “I know you always do.  But it will never be easy to say our goodbyes and watch you ride off to certain danger,” he muttered into the skin of Jason’s throat.  Jason’s only response was to wrap his own arms around the older man and hold on just as tightly.  “I love you,” he said after a moment.  “I love you and I shall be here when you return.”

“And I love you, My King.”  Stepping back, Richard gave his best attempt at a smile and watched Jason mount his horse with practiced ease.  “I shall return before you even have the chance to miss me.  Mark my words.”

Instead of replying, Richard simply held his fist to his heart and gave a bow.  A motion usually reserved for servant to king, but to the man getting ready to ride off to keep their kingdom safe, Richard had never been just a king.  And to Richard the man riding away was so much more than a dragon slayer.

He was everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

217 AD

GOTHAM KINGDOM SEPT

LEVEL 2 DIAMOND DISTRICT

Richard could hear the footsteps behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up with from the body lying in the middle of the holy temple.  He couldn’t bring himself to do much of anything since word had come in that Jason had fallen in battle and was coming home to be buried. 

“Father,” a soft voice called from just behind him.  Turning, Richard looked at Damian briefly before he turned back to Jason.  The rich red of the shroud they had dressed him in for the pyre was the late slayer’s color of choice and it suited him well, even in death.  “Father, I am so sorry.”

And though he adored his son more than anything in the world, Richard could not find it in him to say anything in response.  Instead, he held out his hand and waited for the young man to take it.  It was a comfort to have him there.  Even if part of him wanted to send his son away so he didn’t have to witness his father’s moment of weakness.  But Jason had loved Damian and Richard knew Damian had loved Jason.

“Do you think he knew I thought of him as another father?”  Looking down at the boy abruptly, Richard felt his brows pinch in the middle.  He hadn’t known his son had felt so strongly for the man he had loved for so long.  Yes, obviously there was love but paternal love?  But then Jason and Damian had had a different relationship to the one he shared with his son.  One that had been a bit more candid at times, so he supposed it was possible Jason knew how Damian had felt.  Jason had certainly felt that way.  “You love him so I, too, love him.  He always had words of wisdom and tales of his travels.  I will cherish those.”

Dry eyes blurred with tears at his son’s words and Richard had to clench his jaw so not to sob.  Once he was sure he could speak, he took a deep breath and released it slowly.  “He felt the same for you.  He…”  Swallowing hard, Richard looked back to Jason and reached forward with his free hand to take Jason’s cold one.  “I do not know that I will recover from this loss.  I feel as though the world has been stripped of all its color, all its joy.”

Though Richard knew he would go on because what choice did he have?  He had a kingdom he to run and he had to care for a son who was barely thirteen years of age who depended on him since his mother was hardly a mother at all.  No.  He would press on because it was required of him and it was what Jason would have wanted him to do.

“Your Majesty,” the call of one of the guards stationed near the door called out, drawing Richard’s attention.  “Your father is on his way.  His manservant thought you would like the warning.”  Nodding his head, Richard took the moments he had to gather and compose himself.  He saw Damian frowning at him, but a small smile from Richard settled the boy for the moment.

“Would you like me to leave?”

“No, my son.  I feel I would be much better should you be willing to remain at my side.”  Damian gave Richard a nod and the elder man sighed in relief, squeezing the hand he held tightly in his own.  “Father,” he greeted weakly when the doors opened, and former king appeared.  The man wasted no time in taking the steps that led him down to the center of the temple where his son and grandson stood.

“Richard, I am so sorry,” was all that was spoken before he found himself wrapped up in the arms of his father.  And then, in that moment with his father holding him and his son clutching his hand, Richard allowed himself to cave to the tears that had been threatening him since the word of Jason’s demise had come in the early hours of the morning.

In that moment, he allowed himself to fist his father’s cloak and stain the material at his shoulder with his silent tears.  He allowed himself to be weak.  To take the comfort being offered to him.  Because in that room he wasn’t a King.  He was just a boy who had lost someone he loved more than his own life and didn’t know how he was going to recover.

He could feel Damian’s other hand clenching the material of his tunic and Richard tried to focus on that.  He tried to pull himself back in, gather his emotions and lock them away again.  There was much to do, and he knew he could not hide within these walls indefinitely.  There was a ceremony that he had to be a part of in just a matter of hours and he was expected to give a speech.  But how could they expect him to stand tall and speak of the man they all saw as brave and he saw as the entire world?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

217 AD

GOTHAM CITY CENTER

“It is no secret that House Wayne has always held the highest respect for those of the Dragon Slayer occupation, but Ser Jason always held a special place in our lives due to the fact that he was the last remaining slayer.  The last of his line and the last of a profession of bravery and strength.”  Richard sat tall in his chair as his father stood before the kingdom who had come to witness the pyre of Jason.  He held his head high and back straight, hiding the pain in his heart as best he could.  He tried to draw strength from his son standing on one side of him while ignoring his wife on the other.  The woman had worn the customary black gown of mourning and placed a veil over her face, but Richard was not fooled.  She was not mourning Jason’s death. 

He couldn’t say why, but she had almost seemed unsurprised when he had informed her of Jason’s death.  And that worried him.  But he didn’t have time to focus on that.  He had to remain strong for the others in the kingdom.

He did, however, wonder if he should even bother.  It wasn’t as if most of the land didn’t know that the late slayer and their current king had been in love with one another.  Even after his marriage to the Queen, villagers constantly spoke of Jason to him when he walked the lower streets to listen to the people.  Catalina had rebuked them when she had come with Richard and he had never allowed her to join him again.

They had known of his love and had to know he was in pain.

But would they draw comfort in the sight of their king suffering?  Or would they see his weakness and think poorly of him?

“We will honor Ser Jason Todd with the Feast of Seven Days as we do for members of the royal family because he is one of ours.  The doors to the palace and sept will be open to each and every citizen of Gotham to pay their respects and to join us in our grief.”

The murmurs of surprise amongst the crowd didn’t surprise Richard in the least.  When Damian had suggested the celebration extending to the Slayer, Richard had immediately agreed.  The rest of the council had mentioned the people would probably appreciate the gesture but would likely be surprised.  Never had the Feast of Seven been held for anyone other than that of Royal blood or marriage.

With a glance from his father, Richard stood to his feet and moved forward to accept the burning torch from Roy, one of the guards who had been close to Jason.  The two men stared at each other for a moment before Roy bowed his head and Richard took a deep breath, stepping forward to the pyre that Jason’s shroud covered body laid upon.

He raised the torch.  “To the last of the Dragon Slayers, to the greatest of the line, to the fallen soldier, and to the man behind the sword.  The world is a colder, darker place without the splash of crimson from your cloaks and your sea colored eyes.  May those of us who have been left behind honor your legacy and never forget your bravery.  May we never forget your strength and your character.  May we never forget your love and kindness to those who surrounded you.”  There were cheers and some clapping in agreement from the citizens who had gathered, and it made Richard’s throat tighten.  Too many people who had loved the man he had been in love with.  Too many souls left without him keeping an eye on them anymore.  But Richard had already promised protection to those who Jason had always protected.

Tipping the torch forward, he let the fire catch on the kindling that had been laid out.  Turning to his right, Richard was surprised to find Damian waiting to take the torch to light another patch but handed it over with minimal hesitation.  He watched his son do the part he had expected his father to do, as tradition usually dictated.  Kings and former kings to honor the fallen.

“He asked if he could,” the deep rumble of his father’s voice sounded to his left after he had stepped back from the pyre.  “I felt a break in tradition was acceptable in this instance.”

Richard nodded and turned his eyes from the sight of his son’s face, glowing in the fire light, and looked to the body slowly being consumed by the same fire.  With a shaky hand, he placed his fist over his heart and bowed one final goodbye to the man he had spent most of his life loving.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

217 AD

GOTHAM CASTLE

“Your Majesty?”  Richard looked up from the scrolls he had been going over and found one of his most favored guards standing in his doorway.  Waving the man in, he quickly signed his name at the bottom of the page and rolled it up, sealing it carefully and placing it with the previously completely ones.  His work had become back logged due to the days of feasting for Jason and his focus being on the people of Gotham during the time.  But the seven days were over, and his duties could not be put off any longer.

“Yes, Victor?”

“There is a crone here to see you.”  Richard frowned at that, wondering why a crone would want to see him.  “She said she has some information about our late Dragon Slayer and that she would only speak with you.”

Pushing to his feet, he pressed his hands to the top of his desk and leaned heavily on them.  “Send her in and remain close.”  Victor nodded and walked back out of the room before returning with a weathered woman who looked old enough to have birthed Richard, but not to have earned the title of crone. 

“My King,” the woman gave a bow, her voice speaking more of age than her physical appearance.  “I am Madame Xanadu.”

“The healer from the lower levels.  The servants speak of you fondly.  They tell me you have great power.”  The woman made no move to confirm or deny the claim and Richard found that curious.  Those with power usually wanted others to know it.  It was a rare thing for someone to simply let others form their judgments.  “What can I do for you, Madame?”

“There has been a betrayal in your House, and I want to make you aware of it.  I cannot keep silent on the matter and I have done what I can to help for future’s sake, but what has happened cannot be undone.”  Furrowing his brows, he sat back down in the chair he had previously been in and waved to the one opposite him for Xanadu to sit as well.

“Who is the betrayer and what did they do?”

“The woman who calls herself Queen and mother of your son.”  The blood in his veins froze.  He didn’t know whether or not to believe this woman, but the idea of Catalina betraying him was not one that he would struggle with.  “She came to me two years prior and asked me to help her with a problem.  She weaved a story of a husband so in love with a man he couldn’t have that he was failing as a husband.  She told me of how this husband had stolen her child’s affections from her and given them to his lover.”  Xanadu paused and Richard forced himself to hold her gaze.  She wasn’t far off from the truth, but he could see how his actions could be viewed as heartless.

“Did she tell you who she was?”

“No, but she did not need to.  Her aura is incredibly unique.”

“And what did she ask of you?”  With that, Xanadu remained silent and considered him.  “What?”

“You do not try to defend yourself.  It is curious.”

“Is it?  Though not fully accurate in her description, she is also not entirely wrong.  I did love a man that I was unable to be with for crown and duty.  She was made aware of this long before I accepted the contract that would bind her to me.  And that man did love her son and her son loved that man, because he was present and because I loved him.”

“It is a good thing for a king and a man to admit that he is not perfect.  The people love you very much for that attribute.”  Richard nodded.  It had been a fault of his father’s, unable to admit when he was in the wrong.  But he had never struggled to accept his wrongs and make amends.  “She wanted your lover out of the way.  She wanted to be sure neither of you would find happiness with the other.  Now and in all future lives.  But she also wanted to be sure that you would always be close enough to hurt over that fact.”

So, she was to be cruel.  That surprised Richard.  Catalina had never been particularly kind, but she had never shown cruelty as a personality trait.  “And your response?”

“I will tell you what I told her word for word.  But I want to know I will not be punished for my actions.  And I have something for you to help ease the future.”  Considering the words, Richard leaned back in the chair.  Did he trust this woman to promise that?  Was she just as at fault as Catalina at this point?  But did it matter?  Jason had fallen at the hand of a dragon and Richard could not blame them for that.  It was always meant to be his fate.

“You have my word on my honor as King of Gotham.”  Xanadu nodded once and placed a small vial on the desk.

Richard watched her slightly weathered hand wave between them and then a voice filled the room without her opening her mouth.  “I will do this thing you ask of me.  I will lay the curse to keep their souls tethered to one another, but never to belong to the other.  But as I feel for you in your darkened marriage bed, I feel for the love they are unable to proclaim due to duty and country.  So, heed this: should one fall before the age of eight and ten, the curse shall lift, and they shall be reunited to share the life you have denied them.”

Closing his eyes, he tried to hold at bay the pain the truth filled him with.

“You have many lifetimes of pain ahead of you, my King,” Xanadu’s voice pulled him out of his head and pain.  “I am sorry for my part in this.  I cannot take back the curse now that it has taken hold of you both.  But this vial will promise you that Catalina will only have a presence in your life once the curse has come to an end.  It is a small comfort that I can offer you.”

He stared at the vial for a moment before reaching forward and taking it into his hand.  Such a small thing with such big promises.  “Thank you for this small comfort.”

“It is far less than I wish I could give.  You are destined to be a great leader in each life you live and your Slayer will be a great protector in each of his,” she told him, and Richard closed his eyes.  He knew his Jason could be nothing but a protector.  His very soul was created to look after those who could not look after themselves.  He was just too good deep in his heart.  “Might I give a piece of advice though, My King?”

Blinking open his eyes, he gave a nod of his head for her to continue.

“Put your Queen on trial.  I will testify before the council if I must, but you do not want your son to be influenced by her darkness.  He has great potential, but evil women will poison his mind if you do not intervene.”

“Women?” 

“Hmm?”

“You said ‘women’, not woman.  Is there another I should be cautious of?”  The woman frowned at him and Richard could see the considering look in her eyes.

“Not in this lifetime.  But you will get to him in time in the other.”  He wanted to know more.  He wanted details so he could be prepared, but he knew she wouldn’t give them.  And he knew there was a good chance he wouldn’t remember the information any way.  He didn’t believe people took their memories of previous life with them past the grave.  “I must take my leave.  But you can find me in my shop should you need me to speak to the council.”

Pushing to his feet, Richard rounded the desk and walked with her to the door.  “Thank you for coming forward with this information.  I will come for you if I require your words,” he said as he pulled open the door for her.  The elderly woman looked up at him and gave him a sad smile.

“Your time with him shall come.  It may seem as if it will never come, but I promise it will.  I will leave you with that comfort.”  Unable to say anything in return, he simply bowed his head in respect, and she gave a soft laugh of surprise before bustling out of the room. 

Lifting his head, Richard looked directly at Victor who gave him a nod confirming the question unspoken.  He had heard every word.

“Send for my father and prepare the calling cards for the council.”  Victor pressed a fist over his heart and gave a nod before turning to walk briskly down the hallway. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

217 AD

GOTHAM CITY CENTER

“Her former Majesty Queen Catalina is hereby sentenced to death for conspiring to murder the great Dragon Slayer Ser Jason Todd,” the head guard read off the scroll in his hands.  Richard stood there, chin held high and back straight, listening to the murmurs of the crowd below as the rumors were confirmed.  It was one of the few days where the crown he wore on his head felt heavy.  For so many years he had enjoyed his duties and he had managed to go through most of his rule thus far without sentencing anyone to death.  But the council would not let this betrayal stand.  Though his father, Head of the Council, and himself had said the dungeons would be enough, the rest of the state heads had demanded her head.  Quite literally. 

Jason had been loved almost as much as Richard himself.  He had been important to their traditions and had protected the kingdom since he was young.  He had been the last of the Slayers and the people deserved to see his legacy protected by putting his murderer, however indirectly, to death.  Richard knew they were right, but he still felt wrong for it. 

This was his son’s mother.

He could feel Damian behind him, hand clenching the deep blue of his father’s tunic, and Richard’s heart went out to the boy.  He couldn’t imagine having to hear his mother would be executed. 

With a deep breath, Richard stepped forward and looked at the woman who had been his wife for near 15 years now.  “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Catalina of House Flores?”  The sneer at the lack of title was not surprising to Richard but she had been stripped of her titles the instant the courts had found her guilty of her part in the death of Jason.  Richard felt no pity.

“I don’t regret it for a single moment.  I look forward to witnessing your lifetimes of pain,” she spat out, standing tall with her hands bound behind her back. 

Without responding to her or the gasps amongst the crowd, Richard looked to his guard and nodded.  The man looked furious as he turned at the woman who had been his queen.  Stepping back, Richard held his hand behind him so Damian could cling to it as they watched the woman who had such an important role in both of their lives be moved to the chopping block. 

“You can leave, my son.  You do not need to watch,” Richard said softly, glancing down at Damian.  But the young man shook his head and looked at his father with wide eyes.

“I must watch justice be delivered.  I must stand by your side.”  And though he wanted to argue that a young man of his age did not need to see such violence, there were younger in the city who had seen worse.  And he himself had seen his first execution much younger.  Despite the facts, Richard wished he could spare his son from seeing such cruelties.  Even if he was to be king one day.

Glancing over to the other side of Damian, Richard found his father watching him as he stood with Selina, Timothy, and Cassandra, frown deep on his features.  When their eyes connected, he could see the sympathy in the older man’s eyes.

“Out of respect for our King and Prince, we behead you for your crimes against crown and country.  There is honor in your punishment, but do not be fooled, there is no peace for those who take the innocent from our world,” the executioner said, unsheathing his sword as the guards pushed Catalina to a kneeling position at the chopping block.  The man was right.  Beheading was usually reserved for those who deserved an honorable death, the former queen did not. 

“I shall see you in the next lifetime, my love,” she managed to call out just as the sword was raised and fell in a precise arch, slicing through flesh and bone.  There were cheers from the crowd and when Richard looked out at it, he found Madame Xanadu considering him with her all-knowing eyes.  And he was reminded of the promise and the vial she had given him, the one he had consumed the very same day she had given it to him.  He wasn’t going to chance that he took it too late and it would no longer work.

With a smile and a bow of her head, she vanished into the crowd and Richard’s focus was pulled back to his duties as father and King.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PRESENT DAY

GOTHAM CITY

Dick snapped to the present almost violently to the point where he came to and immediately pulled himself onto his hands and knees to empty the contents of his stomach.  He briefly registered Jason groaning next to him before he felt hands gripping his shoulders as he continued to heave.

He couldn’t pinpoint what it was that was affecting him so much.  Was it the fact that he and Jason shared so much history with one another?  Or was it that she had done more damage than just what he could remember from the current life? 

Or maybe it was Damian.

The mere thought of it brought tears to his eyes.  The son he had bore with someone who had ruined every chance of real happiness in his life.  Or lives, however you wanted to look at it.  The boy that should have been his in each and every lifetime but wasn’t in this one.

“Dick?  Dick, come on answer me,” Jason’s frantic voice finally broke through his haze.  And that’s when he realized he wasn’t just puking his guts out, he was gasping for breath with tears streaming down his face. 

But Jason couldn’t see the tears, not with the way his head was bowed at the moment.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he gasped out, trying and failing to take a deep breath.  He felt Jason’s hands squeeze his arms as the man helped Dick fall back to a seated position.

“That was not quite the reaction I was expecting from either of you at the revelation.”

Dick flinched at the sound of the entity that had sent them back in the first place and he felt Jason do the same.  Reaching up, Dick wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and scrubbed his face with his hands before looking over at Jason.  The younger man didn’t look any better than Dick felt.

“What the fuck was all of that?”

“A glimpse of what was.  Only some of what was.  You two have fate threads so intricately entwined that I can barely see where one starts and the other ends.  But they always end on separate paths.” Fate came to a stop a few feet from the pair on the floor and Dick felt Jason pulling him up to his feet despite Dick not really being in any state to stand just yet.  “It was a cruelty serviced to you those years ago.  But the veil has been lifted and now you may finally find each other.”

“Why…”  Dick gasped out, coughing taking his breath for a moment before he straightened himself up again.  “Why would you interfere like this?”  He tried again once he could breathe.

“I told you, I was feeling generous.”

“Bullshit.”

“Mind your tongue.  I have the power to strip the memories from you so that you continue this legacy of near misses.”  Fate looked at Jason, anger burning in their eyes at the disrespect.

“But why were you feeling generous?”

“I was gifted these sacrifices and yet you eliminated those who did it.  Someone had to take it.”  Dick rubbed at his forehead and sighed.  It made as much sense as it was going to.  Magic and gods and whatnot never made sense to him.  He’d have Zatanna explain it to him later.  “But now I must go.  You have company coming and I would rather not be trapped in that battle.” 

Before either of them knew what was happening, the entity was gone, and Dick felt like his breath had been knocked out of his chest.

“I got you,” Jason whispered, arms wrapped around him and backing him up away from the spot he had emptied his stomach out at.  Before he knew it, Jason was helping him settle on a nearby crate.

He had just knelt in front of Dick when the doors to the area were kicked open and Batman, Red Robin and Robin were storming into the room.  But neither Dick nor Jason looked over at the three, they just looked at each other as the truth of what they saw settled between them.

“Nightwing.”  No response.  “Hood.”  Batman’s growl was getting annoyed but neither man looked his way.  It was enough for Damian to push past the other two men and go straight to his brothers’ sides.

“What happened?”  He demanded, trying to get a look at Dick, but Jason held his ground and unlatched his helmet.  “What is going on?  We couldn’t get in the room for almost thirty minutes and neither of you were responding on the comms.”

“Thirty minutes?”  Dick looked at Damian with a frown before looking back to Jason.  “Felt longer,” he said softly.

“Like a couple of lifetimes,” Jason added with a snort.

“That’s enough.  What happened?”  Dick looked at Bruce and frowned, shaking his head.

“Let’s get back to the cave, we’ll give you a rundown there.  ‘Wing could probably use some fluids.”  Dick gave Jason an annoyed look and the other man just raised an eyebrow as if daring him to fight him.  Sighing, Dick nodded and let Jason and Damian help him to his feet.

“Destroy the alter.  It’s worthless as is, but don’t tempt anyone who might come across it,” Dick told Bruce and Tim.  He saw Bruce look at Tim and the younger nod before he set to work at destroying the thing.

“The car is outside; Red Robin and I will bring your bikes back for you.”  It was a testament for how uprooted he and Jason both felt that neither of them argued the order. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason paced in front of the gurney as Alfred hooked Dick up to the IV line that older man had agreed would probably be a good idea.  His mind was scattered, and he was desperately trying to get it back in line before Bruce came back.  There would need to be explanations, but he and Dick needed to talk first.

“Thanks Alfred,” Dick said, leaning back into the pillows as he watched Alfred work.  Jason could see his gaze bouncing from Jason then back to Alfred, but he didn’t say anything to the younger man, so Jason kept his focus on figuring his shit out.

“Of course, Master Richard.”  Jason looked over at Alfred and saw the man already watching him.  “I feel as though you two need to speak so I will take my leave and make sure Master Damian does not bother you.”

“Thanks, Alf.”  Alfred simply nodded at Jason as he walked out of the room, shutting the door to the med bay behind him.  Looking back to Dick, Jason stopped at the foot of the bed and sighed.  “There’s a lot we need to talk about.”  Dick hummed and gave Jason a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and Jason wasn’t sure how to take that.  “But right now we need to decide what we’re going to tell Bruce.”

“We’ll give him an abridged version.  Just tell him about the curse the she put on us and that we had a trip down memory lane.  It might be his past too, but he doesn’t need to know the details of it all.”  It was clinical and detached.  Jason could tell Dick was trying not to feel the emotion of it all and he honestly couldn’t blame him.  But it did worry him a little.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?”

“No, fuck no.  I don’t care if he tries to shackle me down, we are not staying here.  I can’t.”  That made Jason raise a brow.

“Is that something he’s done in the past?”  Dick let out a laugh and let his head fall back into the pillows as his eyes slid shut.

“He’s threatened.”

“Well damn.”  Jason wasn’t sure how he felt about that. 

“We can stay at my place unless you’d rather one of yours?”  That surprised Jason a bit.  He knew that he and Dick would be in for a long talk, but he figured the other man would want some space to figure things out before they did.  “Why do you look so surprised?”  Jason blinked, a little shook that he hadn’t noticed Dick was looking at him again.

“I just…”  How did he word this without making an ass of himself?

“You thought I wouldn’t want you there?”

“No, I just thought you’d need some space.”  He watched Dick shake his head before holding out the hand that didn’t have the IV hooked into it.

“This is an us thing, we do it together.”  And the relief Jason felt at that was more than enough.  So, he took Dick’s hand and finally dropped into the chair next to Dick’s bed.

“We can go back to yours.  Roy’s at the only one of mine that is stocked for living currently.”  And while Jason could have easily kicked Roy out, he knew his best friend was trying to hide out.

“Doesn’t Roy have a house…?” 

“You know he does.  He told me you were there to hang out last week,” Jason snorted.  “He’s avoiding Artemis for some undisclosed reason so he and Lian are hiding.”

“That must be why she called me earlier today.  I haven’t listened to the message yet.”  Jason shrugged and looked down at their clasped hands.  “Hey Jay?”  Shifting his eyes to look back to Dick, Jason raised his eyebrows in question.  “This is okay, yeah?  We’re good?”

“Yeah, Dickie.  We’re good.  We’ll get it sorted.”  And that included whatever the hell it was that kept bringing those lines of sadness around Dick’s eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you going to tell me what else is bothering you?”  Jason’s voice was soft in the darkness of Dick’s room and it made Dick’s heart ache more than it already did.

“More than all these lifetimes of happiness that were stripped from us because of one jealous woman?”

“Yes.”

Dick sighed and closed his eyes, though in the darkness it didn’t really matter.  He opened them as soon as the image of him holding an infant flashed through his mind.  The image that he couldn’t get out of his head any more than he could get Jason’s cold body ready for the pyre.  Or the bloody mess of a man he held as he took his last shuddering breaths.  Or the letter he had received from the British Army in their most recent past life.  Flashes and lives that were slowly piecing themselves back together the longer time passed from Fate opening the floodgates.

But no, he knew that wasn’t what Jason was referring to and it would be disrespectful to what they were to lie about it now.

“He was mine, Jay.  He was mine and not only did she take you, but she took him.”

“Damian.”

“I knew it the instant I met him that something wasn’t right and now I know and I don’t know if I can face him or B until I get my head back to where it’s supposed to be.”  Dick could see Jason turning his head to look at him as he stared at the ceiling.  It was a short moment later when Dick felt Jason’s hand slip into his own.  Turning to look at Jason’s face only lit by the moonlight flooding in the room from his open windows, Dick shifted onto his side to fully face him.  “And because I took that potion that kept Catalina from being in our lives until this one, I lost him too.”

“I remember feeling like he was mine.  It’s strange, given our relationship now,” Jason admitted.  Dick could understand that.  Catalina had been a distant mother.  She hadn’t cared beyond what providing the heir and marrying the crown prince would do for her.  And that selfishness had only grown into what she expected from him, which in the end was what got Jason killed and the two of them miserable and not together.

“He thought of you as a father as well.  He told me…told me when he found me mourning you.”  As if having the memory of Jason dying once wasn’t enough, he now had multiple lifetimes worth of memories of his death.

“I know it sucks having to have buried me so many times, but I gotta say it’s pretty badass to say I killed fucking dragons for a living in one of my lives.  I mean, I was the shit,” Jason laughed, and Dick couldn’t help but smile in response.

“I guess that’s one upside.”

“There’s a lot of upsides, Dickie.  We might have had too many almosts to count, but there was still so much love.”  Jason shifted to his side so he was fully facing Dick and it made Dick’s chest ache.  Who knew all this time that emotion he felt whenever he saw Jason was so much more than just affection?  “It’s hard to separate how I felt all those years and how I feel now, but maybe that’s because I know what it is I’ve been feeling all these years.”

“I know what you mean.”  Squeezing the hand Dick was still holding onto, he let out a soft breath.  “Do you think if Fate hadn’t shown us, we would have missed the opportunity?”

“I think we would have wasted some more time, but we would have figured it out eventually.”

“So much time lost.”

“Not anymore, though.  From this lifetime on, she can’t touch us.”

“No, she’s done her damage.  She lost.”  Jason smile turned sad at that, but Dick knows he’s happy more than sad.  “For all the shit we’ve pulled on each other in this life, I’m glad it’s you Jay.  I just want you to know that.”

“I’m glad it’s you too, Dickie.”  Dick frowned when Jason released his hand but closed his eyes when the warm palm was placed on his cheek instead.  “And this thing with Damian and Bruce, we’ll figure it out.  Okay?”  Dick nodded, but kept his eyes closed.  “It’s okay to not be okay.  You told me that countless times over countless lives, remember?”

“I remember knowing I wasn’t going to see you again that first time.  At least not alive.  I had no idea how I knew it, but I knew.”  That fear that had gripped his heart, he had felt it too many times to count now.  “I had that feeling before I left for that Titans mission.  When I was saying goodbye, I wanted to ask B if I could bring you with.  I couldn’t explain it.”

“If I hadn’t died, we would still be stuck in that loop.”  And that was a good point.  It didn’t really make him feel any better, but he could acknowledge that Jason’s too young death had ended another lifetime of almost and so close.  “And at least Madame Xanadu kept her word about Catalina not being in your life until this one.  Though, I wouldn’t have expected her to be quite what she was in this lifetime.”

“A rapist.”  The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and the dread the filled his chest at the thought of Jason knowing that particular truth was almost suffocating.

“Dickie?”  He felt Jason shift and the bed dip in a way that told Dick that the other man had sat up.  Shaking his head, Dick sat up and swung around so his back was to Jason and his legs were hanging over the edge of the bed.  “Dick.  What happened?”

With a sigh he ran a hand through his hair and scrubbed at his face.  “You know what happened with Blockbuster and what she did.  You know all the shit that had happened back then, but only Donna knows what happened right after she shot Desmond.”  And telling Donna had been hard.  Much harder than this, mostly because it was fresh, and he was a mess.  But he had moved on and he had gotten his head sorted. 

“What.  Happened.”

“I was having a panic attack, thinking I might as well have pulled the trigger since I stepped aside and let her do it for me.  So, I went up to the roof to try and get some air, hoping to just be able to breathe.  She followed me and…well she took advantage of the attack.  And she didn’t listen when I told her no.”  There was silence and Dick knew Jason was processing what he had said.  He knew how Jason felt about sexual assault, which was part of the reason why he had never mentioned it to him or any of the others in the family.  Especially not Jason though.  They might not have been on good terms when it happened, but Dick didn’t doubt that Jason wouldn’t have tried to take action once they had gotten there.

“Only Donna knows?”

“Yeah.”

“Is she dead?”

“What?”  Dick twisted to look at Jason, not surprised at all to see the control fury on his face.  The brilliant green of the Pit edging in on his turquoise eyes.

“Is Catalina dead?”  Nodding his head, Dick frowned when Jason seemed to relax a bit.  “How?”

With a furrow of his brow, Dick tried to remember what exactly had happened according to the reports he had read.  “An inmate at Blackgate was someone she had helped put away, albeit reluctantly given her tendency to kill.  I don’t know much more than that.  I’m sure B had the account on the computers.”

Dick just watched Jason nod and take a few deep breaths, relaxing even further.  

“You really should tell Babs about that.  She’s still strongly convinced you cheated on her with the bitch,” Jason told him.  And yeah, Dick knew that, but it was easier to deal with her thinking lowly of him in that regard versus having to tell her that she basically opened the door for Catalina to take advantage of him.  That their breakup had just been another thing to push him toward his breakdown.  “But you won’t tell her, will you?” 

Shaking his head, Dick laid back down and stared up at the ceiling, hands gripping his hair.  “I’ve thought about it, but it doesn’t change anything.  She and I are still friends and work together just fine.  It’d only make her feel bad.  I don’t want to be the cause of that.”  Jason let out a laugh that was sharp and made Dick clench his jaw a little.

“You’re too fucking good for this world, Dick.  I have said that in every single lifetime, but it will never stop being true.”

“I’m not too good for the world.  I’m just what I need to be to deserve you.”

Jason snorted and Dick sighed when the warm length of his body laid back down next to him.  “Fucking sap.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Todd, I swear on all that is good in this world if you do not move I will gut you where you stand,” Damian glared at the older man and Jason just frowned and shook his head.  And while he wanted to default to his usual annoyance with the kid, he knew this was a delicate situation and Dick would appreciate it if he could handle it as such.

“Damian, look I get it okay.  I know you’re worried,” Jason said, and Damian scoffed.  “You are and we both know it.  But the thing with Fate brought some tough stuff to light for both Dick and me.  And he’s having a hard time coming to terms with some of it.  You need to give him time.  He needs, deserves, that much.”

Jason watched as Damian looked from Jason to the door the other man was blocking with a deep frown etched on his face.  And Jason wished he could tell Damian it would all be all right, but he didn’t know.  Dick was pretty messed up and in the darkness of the previous night he had spilled that pain to Jason. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

“God, no kid.  No.”  Jason said it firmly, gripping Damian’s upper arms and crouching just slightly (when had he gotten taller?) to look him in the eye.  “I won’t lie and say it’s not about you, but it is absolutely nothing you did.  And it’s nothing Dick or anyone in the family did.  It just…it just is.  And he’s having to reconcile with it.”  Straightening, Jason gave his upper arms a light squeeze before letting go.  “Why don’t you come hang out with me in the kitchen.  I was going to make him some food before you stormed the gates.”

“That would be acceptable,” Damian said, his default mask of indifference falling back into place.  But Jason could still see the worry lining his eyes.

They had been assembling the fixings for omelets for about twenty minutes when the bedroom door finally opened, and Jason could see Dick running a hand through wet hair.  He paused midway when he spotted Damian sitting on one of the stools at his island.  The boy had definitely heard the door open, but Jason could see he was intentionally allowing his brother the chance to decide if he was ready to face him or not.  Dick stood frozen and while Jason wasn’t sure how to handle the look of pain on his face, he did put the knife down and headed to where Dick stood, pausing briefly to squeeze Damian’s shoulder on his way past.

“He showed up thirty minutes ago demanding to see you.  I told him no, but he’s convinced that it’s something he did.  So, I let him stay for a bit.”  Jason kept his voice low and Dick didn’t bother looking from the back of Damian’s head to Jason.  “He’ll leave if you want him to.  He doesn’t understand, but he will.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“That’s okay, too.”  He watched Dick take a deep breath before closing his eyes and rubbing at his forehead.  “You can try and if it’s too much then you can go back to the bedroom and I can get him out.”  Sapphire eyes met his finally and Dick nodded.

“Yeah, okay.”  Jason ignored the new and yet deeply engrained desire to grab Dick’s hand and let the other man lead the way back to the kitchen.  “Hey Dames,” Dick said softly when he reached the stool, slipping onto the one next to his.  The younger turned his green eyes onto his oldest brother and gave a tentative smile, which grew when Dick opened his arms for the hug he always demanded when he saw the kid.

Jason just huffed a laugh and went back to making breakfast.  He dutifully ignored the silence behind him and just let the two have their moment.  He wasn’t sure if Dick would be able to handle much, but he also knew that Dick tended to allow himself unlimited amounts of pain in order to make his siblings feel better.

This was different though, the voice in the back of his mind whispered.

“Father is quite beside himself with worry about what happened.  Will you come talk to him?”  The request made Jason tense up and turn to look at the exchange.  There was a flash of pain on Dick’s face before he schooled his features again and shook his head.

“I don’t think so, Dames.  Not yet.  It’s hard to explain, but I just need some time.”  Damian looked like he wanted to argue but simply nodded his head instead.  And Jason was glad for the impact Dick had had on the kid because when he had first arrived there was no way he would have taken no for an answer.

“Is there anything I can tell him for you then?”

“You can tell him I’m not mad at him.  That is not the reason I’m staying away right now.  He knows what the overall meaning of what Fate showed Jay and I, but there were some other things revolving around you and him and I just need to get my head back in order.”  Jason watched Damian frown but remain silent.  This wasn’t any different than what Jason had told the kid earlier, but he had probably still needed to hear it from Dick himself.  “You understand, right Little D?  I’m not upset with you.  I’m just coming to terms.”

“Will you tell me one day?”  Jason watched Dick now, closely.  He had been curious about that too, but he hadn’t known how to ask that question last night when Dick had admitted to what was really messing with him.

“I don’t know.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to open that wound back up once I’m able to close it up enough to handle.”  Jason knew Dick well enough that if Damian pushed, he would cave and tell him the truth right then.  But he also knew Damian enough to know the kid loved Dick too much to upset him so purposefully.

“Will you tell Father one day?”

“No.”  Jason could have guessed that much too.  “If anyone is going to know, it’ll be you.”  Damian seemed pleased to hear that and Jason deemed it safe to go back to actually making breakfast.  The words between the pair behind him fell into a static like state, letting them have their conversation.  Because despite the unresolved issues, this moment felt like peace.  The man he had loved for centuries and the kid who was supposed to be theirs.  This was what was supposed to be his all along and he was so glad he was finally able to have it.  Even if he had to die at the age of 15 in order to get it, at least he had it now.

EPILOGUE

SIX MONTHS LATER

ORIGINAL GOTHAM KINGDOM, UK

Dick looked down at the vast amount of green from the balcony of the room of the castle.  The sight was familiar, distantly so, and yet not at the same time.  The village below was much quieter than it had been in his memory and the castle was much too loud.  The tourists exploring where they could caused voices to echo without the items that had once made this castle his home.

“You have found your way back,” a voice came behind him, causing Dick to turn and smile at a familiar face.

“Madame,” he greeted with a softness.  Besides the manner of dress, the woman looked exactly the same as she had in the memories he had of her.  Memories that Jason hadn’t had because she did not have direct interactions with the other man.

The woman smiled back at him and moved to stand next to him, looking out at the grounds.  “I am glad things have come to a close.  I am glad my actions have been made right.”  Dick looked at her, leaning his hip along the stone railing of the balcony and considered her close.

“You promised it would be made right.  That it would feel as though it would never happen, but that we would get our time.”  The woman nodded but kept her eyes on the landscape.  “But neither of us remembered anything from the previous lives.  Another gift?”

“A parting one I granted over your pyre at the request of your son.”  That made Dick frown.  As far as he had known, Damian had never known about what Catalina had done.  He had made sure the boy had only known his mother had conspired to kill Jason and nothing more.  “He came to me days before your death, the evening before he was to be crowned, and asked me to tell him the story.”  She turned wise eyes onto Dick, and he remained silent.  “I told him what his mother did and what you did for him.  He asked if there was any way to spare you both the pain of remembering how many times you came close only to have the curse pull you apart.  He wished to spare you the pain of the loss each and every time.”

No one had witnessed his pain as closely as Damian had, when Jason had died.  His son had stood by his side through all of the public mourning, the private grief, and had even witnessed moments where Dick had thought he had been alone in his pain.  He supposed it shouldn’t surprise him that he wanted to spare his father the pain of remembering all of those times he had lost Jason before.  Just one time was enough to burden his heart.  Now in this lifetime, he was slowly remembering each of the times, but he had the comfort of knowing he had Jason for good from here on out.  The curse would no longer take him.

“His heart is bigger than most want to believe,” Dick commented, thinking of the boy that Damian had been when Talia had given him to Bruce those years ago.  Now at the age of sixteen, he was kind and empathetic.  He was the son Dick had raised him to be centuries ago.  “Was Talia the other woman you had mentioned?”

Xanadu nodded.  “She was.  But you got to him in time.  And Bruce being away for that year was by fate’s design so you could turn the tide.”  A year that had been one of the hardest Dick had ever endured, but one that had made him stronger and had opened the door for Jason to return to the fold.  “I am sorry he had to be stripped from your blood, but without Catalina he could not be yours.”

And yeah, Dick had eventually come to that conclusion after they had learned the truth.  He had put the puzzle together and saw the bigger picture.  Though there had been times Damian had still been his son, though not by blood.  And that had been enough.  It was still enough.  He just wished it weren’t Bruce he was fighting for the role of father with. 

“I can help,” Xanadu commented, and Dick looked over at her curiously.  “I know you do not wish to tell him of the past and undermine the relationship he has with his blood father now, but I do believe he deserves to know just as you and your Slayer.”  But Dick wasn’t sure about that.  What good would it do to muddy those waters even more?  “This will open his mind just as Fate opened yours.”  She held out a vial with a rich blue liquid in it.  “Give it to him or do not, the choice is yours.  But it will not do the damage you believe it will.”

With only slight hesitation, Dick reached out and took the vial.  It looked just like the one he had gotten from her the first time he had spoken to her and it made him smile.  “Thank you,” he said softly, sapphire eyes locked on the vial in his hand.  He didn’t know if he would give it to Damian, but it was nice to know he had the choice to without having to tell the story himself.

“I must be on my way.  I am glad, Richard of House Wayne, that you have found yourself again.  I look forward to seeing the good you and your Slayer do together in this life and in all the ones to follow.”  Straightening his posture, Dick closed his fist around the vial, pressed it to his chest and bowed in respect.

“Until we see each other again,” he smiled as he straightened, finding the all too familiar amused surprise on her face before she was gone in a blink of an eye.  Huffing out a laugh, Dick took another moment to appreciate the view from the balcony of his room from all those lifetimes ago before turning to head out and back down to where he had parked his car in the parking lot.

The drive back to the village where he had booked his and Jason’s hotel room was just outside of what would have been the lower city levels and though he had only a small handful of memories of the place, it had filled him with nostalgia as soon as they had hit the city limits. 

“How was it?”  Jason’s voice called out the moment he pushed open the door to their room, stone walls and rich clay giving everything a comforting, old-world feel.

“Very much the same,” he replied, dropping the car keys on the table near the door before moving further into the suite and finding Jason sitting near the open French doors that led to the balcony, glass of wine in hand.  There was some sort of soft, instrumental music floating in from the live band in the courtyard below.  “But different too.  So much of the grounds have been redone for obvious reasons, but the infrastructure is probably just as it was.  I could almost hear Tim and Cass sword fighting in the halls and Bruce scolding them about propriety.” 

Jason smiled at him from his spot and held out a hand, which Dick moved close enough to take in his own.  “Thank you for finding this.  It was good to remember that there was so much love in those rooms, despite the loss.”

“I will find each of the homes if that’s what it takes to take that frown away.”

Slipping his free hand into his pocket, Dick felt the vial Xanadu had given him and wondered if that would be the final piece he needed to finally feel at peace with all the years of pain.  But he figured that was a decision for another time, not wanting to sour the mood between him and Jason right then.

“Is there any wine left for me?”  Dick asked, leaning down to press a kiss to Jason’s mouth before he released his hand and moved over to the small table that held the bottle and a waiting glass along with the remaining bits of a cheese platter Dick was sure Jason had ordered with it.  “I was thinking we could walk into the square and find a place to eat outside, watch the sunset.”  Jason didn’t answer, but Dick could hear him moving as he poured the wine into his glass, so he wasn’t surprised when the other man’s arm wrapped around his waist and Jason’s chin ended up propped up on his shoulder.

“We can do whatever you want, My King,” the younger man whispered into Dick’s ear and though he was trying to be sweet, Dick couldn’t help but chuckle at the endearment.  They had been trying out previous names but this one seemed to be Jason’s favorite.

Leaning back into Jason’s firm chest, he let the other man sway them to the music still drifting in.  He took a drink from his wine glass and sighed softly.  It reminded him so much of moments that were now memories that seemed so familiar and old.  Moments where the world faded away and only the two of them remained.  Moments where Dick had been certain would be his forever.  Memories that would get him through any trial, so long as he had Jason at his side.  But that hadn’t been the case.  He had lost it time and time again. 

But not this time.

No, he knew Jason wouldn’t be stolen away from him this time despite the deep-seated fear that all the previous losses had instilled in him.  Even though he had technically already been stolen away when Jason was just fifteen years old, but that had been the moment everything had been made right.  “Let’s get married,” he said without thought. 

“What?”

Turning to look at Jason, the other man’s arm falling from his waist as he did.  “Let’s get married,” he repeated.  “How many lifetimes did we want to do just that but couldn’t because of duty or law or prejudice?  But none of that is stopping us anymore.”  The look on Jason’s face told Dick he was considering it.

“So what?  We get married tomorrow?”  Dick’s mind was racing with the possibilities and he shrugged.

“Maybe?”  He scrambled to gather his thoughts and shook his head.  “Or we go home and do it so the family can be involved.  I don’t care.  I just know that being here and remembering everything, I don’t want to wait anymore.  We have been waiting for so long.  And I’m just as certain that you are the one I want as I was the very first time.”

Jason’s smile was warm, and it made Dick melt as he was pulled in close with the arm returning to his waist.  “Then let’s get married.  We can do something for the family when we get back home, but let’s find somewhere that will do it for us before we leave.  It’s only right that we do it where it all began.”  Dick just smiled and slid a hand up Jason’s chest, around his neck, and up into the hair at the back of his head.  “Think we have time for a little celebration before we head out?”

Instead of answering, Dick just pulled Jason’s head down so their lips could meet.  Yeah, there was definitely time to celebrate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Richard?  Aren’t you and Todd on some soul-searching event?  Father said not to expect contact from you both for a few weeks,” Damian’s confused voice came through with a slight crackle that spoke of spotty reception.  But his comment made Dick laugh as he walked the street with his fingers entwined with Jason’s.

“Yeah, about that…” He began, glancing up at Jason who smiled down him and pressed a kiss to his temple before looking back out at the people milling about around them.  “How would you feel about taking a spontaneous trip for a few days?”

“I would feel compelled to ask why you two suddenly want company on your voyage.”

“Would you accept me saying I’ll tell you when you get here?”  There was silence and Dick knew Damian was contemplating whether or not he could handle not knowing until he arrived.  Because Dick also knew that Damian would come.  Not out of curiosity but because it was Dick who was asking.

“Should I fly commercial or can I take the WE jet?”

“Take the jet.  There’s a private airstrip you can land on and we’re here as Richard Grayson and Jason Peters, so the locals are already aware of Bruce Wayne’s eldest being here.”  He could hear Damian moving around and muttering to himself as Jason pointed out a small café that had a few empty tables outside.  Dick nodded and let the other man’s hand slip out of his own as Jason headed inside to request a table.  “Hey Dames?”

“Hmm,” the younger hummed through the phone.

“I’m glad you’re coming.  I really want you here for this.”

His brother was quiet for a moment before a soft, “Whatever it is, I’m honored that you wanted me with you.  Even if I have to fly across the globe without knowing exactly why.”  Dick snorted out a laugh and rubbed at his chest where he could feel a warmth spreading from the affection he could hear in Damian’s voice.

“I’ll explain everything when you get here.”  He paused as he slipped his hand into his pocket and felt the vial Madame Xanadu had given him.  “Everything.”

“Everything?”  He could tell Damian was trying to quell the hope at the implications of that word and it made it clear that Dick was going to make the right decision by allowing Damian the choice to know or not.

“Everything.”

“Hey, we got a table Dickie,” Jason called out as he came back out of the café and waved Dick over to one of the tables tucked under the canopy.  Dick nodded and signaled he be just a minute.

“I gotta go Dames but send me your ETA and Jay and I will be there waiting for your arrival.  I’ll get you a room at the place we’re staying.”

“That is an acceptable plan.  I will inform you as soon as I have the details.”

“Safe travels,” Dick said before they said goodbye and he hung up on the phone.  Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Dick nodded to himself as he slipped his phone into his pocket and walked over to where Jason was already seated.

[sugar-petals]

02 | Cinder → pjm

↳ sequel to cygnet (m). 

SUMMARY: You have rescued Prince Jimin from the lair of robbers. But your carriage encounters a group of Prussian knights on the way back to Bavaria.

¬ PAIRING: jimin × reader ¬ GENRE: smut, angst, historical au  ¬ WORD COUNT: 8.7k

¬ WARNINGS: rated m | fingering | oral sex | sub!jimin | femdom | brat taming | cum play | ruined orgasms | punishments | assault mention | brief scene with gore

¬ A/N: The last part! That means it gets sexy 💛 Cygnet & Cinder pt.1 linked in m.list.

Some curious peasants gather behind them, trying to see past their heavy armors. The brigade kneels when you exit the carriage and beckon the tall soldier Meinhard, heading the group, to lend Anna a hand when she steps down from the coachwoman’s seat. She still limps. He has recognized her riding into the courtyard from afar already.

“It’s a pleasure,” Meinhard bows, “to see you back at Hohenzollern castle, Y/N. We will contact Queen Luise to send the doctors.”

You shake hands, both grips firm. 

“I wish we would have met under different circumstances. Is the brigade well?”

“They are,” Meinhard affirms, patting his chest armament. Polished and sturdy as ever. You miss wearing it.

“And the Queen? I hope we don’t disturb her.”

Meinhard looks pale now. In the background, other members of the brigade gather at the other end of the carriage and usher out the Prince.

“It hasn’t been easy since the King is dead. But now that you’re here. It might really cheer her up. Come, we will have something to eat and drink.”

The hall is clad in jet black banners. So is the silhouette on the throne at the other end of the room. It is so unlike Palace Linderhof. Everything, just about everything. You approach with hastened steps, passing the royal guard and Baronesses who seem to recognize you. Bowing to the Queen on the black carpet, thick and ample with the Prussian eagle imprinted on it, feels like a trip to the past. Luise emerges from the throne to step down for a greeting.

“It seems like neither of us is in good condition, Milady,” she says.

“We meet unlike the way we parted,” you stop before the throne. 

The nodding Queen’s garments are heavy on the carpet. Being eye-to-eye now, you see her tired eyes waver. Her hair has greyed almost entirely.

“I can’t believe the entire kidnapping scenario, it, just repeated itself!”

“Your doctors are skilled. I am sure they can do something for the Prince. Thank you for welcoming us so courteously.”

It had been a risk. The path to Hohenzollern was long enough, too.

“The brigade will take care of your carriage.”

“Thank you, my Queen. I hope we do not burden you. Meinhard said there are problems with the relations to Austria, too.”

“This room should not be black as it is for months. The King has passed away when the New Year began. I’m glad you’re here. The feeling is different.”

You remember. It was a long period of illness that had haunted the King ever since.

“There’s nothing wrong about grieving for as long as needed, your Majesty.”

“All the Counts and Margraves and Baronesses, everyone is telling me, Queen, you should do something enjoyable! Maybe they’re right. But I still never felt well since New Year’s Eve. And Austria is a lost game.”

“There’s a reason why you’re Queen and they are margraves,” you shrug. “Their advice might be well-natured, but I think— you need more time, Luise. Don’t pressure yourself too much. Or let yourself be pressured.”

You squint down the hall where the royal guard and nobility of Hohenzollern stand and converse.

“That is very true,” the Queen looks down on the rings adorning her hands. “All this tragedy is taking away my common sense.”

You shake your head right away.

“No ruler is perfect. Even the Duke Leopold.”

“You’ve been at Altfried Castle, Y/N?”

“Mostly for archery.”

Now, the Queen looks genuinely surprised.

“I’ve never seen you touch an arrow in the years you were here.”

“I know. The entire stay was very, I guess, unlike myself.”

She hums, thinking. The Queen’s gaze wanders over Cygnet at your belt.

“You did take up sword fighting again, did you. This blade is familiar.”

Almost by instinct, your fingers graze over the hilt.

“If it lightens up your mood, I can ask one of the margraves to test his fencing skill against Cygnet.”

“Maybe another time,” she wipes a grey strand out of her face. “I’m rather concerned that the King of Bavaria is currently falling into the same state as I am since his son is gone.”

“Meinhard has been smart enough to send a knight out to spread the word that the Prince is safe here.”

“Not a herald straight to Castle Linderhof?”

Again, you shake your head.

“Rumors and chatter travel faster than horses, your Majesty.”

The eyes of the Prussian nobles in your back feel all too palpable now. Luise seems to notice.

“I will lend you my best stallions regardless. For you, Anna, the Prince. Three of the fastest I have. You’ll be back with Albrecht in four days.”

“One stallion is enough. Only the Prince needs one. We have two horses already.”

The Queen crosses her arms. 

“Friedrich and Gretchen are slow, swordmaster.”

“They are the horses Anna and I cherish. They might be scaredy-cats, but we stick with them. They always bounce back.”

“At least a fourth horse for other things you have to carry, Y/N.”

“Good idea, my Queen.”

Because there is something of utmost importance to transport. Your barrel. 

“The Palace must be worried sick about Jimin.”

“I will take care of it, Luise,” you adjust your cuffs. “We depart to Bavaria as soon as the Prince feels capable.”

A large gathering of nobles and locals blocks the entrance of the Palace. You have to use your bow to keep some handsy peasant boys jeering at bay.

“Oh look, the Prince’s babysitter! Back in town! Saving her reputation!”

Shooing them away draws even more derision in the crowd. Other people, more enthused, throw bouquets that you wish they would rather lay down at the gate. Gretchen becomes all jittery already, flicking her ears back and forth with every pack of flowers or hats tossed by. 

You gaze across your shoulder about every five seconds to see whether Anna and Jimin manage to get through the cheering masses. Some people tug at the Prince’s clothes and laugh. You even see some servants from the Palace kitchen doing it. One of them, wearing an apron, even tries to smack Jimin’s butt from an odd angle, and almost hits the horse instead. Others, concerned, try to touch his bruises. He spurs his horse, but even more citizens flock to him.

“Prince, Prince! What happened!”

Nothing hardly moves forward until you whistle, making both Friedrich and Jimin’s horse go faster, parting the people. Even the fourth horse with the supplies and cargo finds its way, and you can be glad having secured everything in place twice. In the distance, the hysterical nobility in their best gowns comes down the center alley of the Palace garden.

The throne room is more packed than the coronation and opera ball were combined. Blue and white banners are pulled up on all sides. Murmurs oscillate from all sides. The jester cackles, sizing Jimin up.

“Why is the Prince wearing rags? Has he turned scatty? Where are his muscles?”

“Those aren’t rags. This is clothing that fulfills what it must do,” you grit at the jester. “The Duke of Altfried has let me customize them for fights. I passed them on in good honor. He was cold.”

Jimin brushes off the doctors and servants gathering around him trying to put him into a heavy purple coat with fur and pearls.

“And I’m not a Prince who’s only there to look good.”

A guilty silence spreads in the room.

“I want to wear these things,” he points at his trousers. “It doesn’t take me two hours to arrange back and forth. All that sewing and buttoning and draping and stuffing and lacing. I don’t want it.”

The servants look disoriented.

“Fine, but we’re having a festival—”

“I don’t care about your celebrations! We just arrived here! Didn’t you want to know what happened?”

The anger in Jimin’s voice makes Anna, close behind you, almost gasp out, alongside the nearby Princess.

“You have to care,” Albrecht makes his way through the mob, comes to take the Prince aside. You are close enough to hear what he says to Jimin in a low voice. “Play along. The entire palace is here.”

“Dad...”

“We’ve heard the stories of what occurred days ago. They only want to see you and talk about it. What do you think being a monarch is like. ”

“Walking around on heels and indulging gossip?”

“Very wrong,” Albrecht’s face goes into a deep frown. “Being King comes with responsibility and keeping your head up high.”

“It’s all I see you do. Heels and cake. Heels and fucking cake! And gathering people just to laugh at me. Everyone here looks dressed up like you’ve been enjoying your time while I was gone!”

The King, more and more disgruntled, lowers his voice even more, all while the Prince grows increasingly red in the face.

“Jimin. I am rather worried about our alliances if you approach the throne this way after my death. You’re not making a good impression to the people as a rag Crown Prince already. The jester... has a point.”

You can feel your heart drop just by watching Jimin react.

“Didn’t you just say it’s not about looks? All you think about is that since I came back. What’s wrong with you, father!”

“I was worried. You’ve seen how I cried when we came down the alley. And I am happy to have you back. I sent every soldier I had to get you.”

Jimin points at you, fuming.

“Then why did Y/N find me first? She didn’t even know about most of the things that happened!”

Albrecht looks defensive now.

“There is a reason why I had selected her as your personal guard. She feels when you’re in danger even kilometers away.”

The entire room is in chaos. Jimin is boiling with blank fury. 

“She left me, she left the Palace, she went to Baden-Württemberg! She wasn’t my guard anymore. And still cared more than you did, father!”

Alarm on the King’s face. His gaze shifts to you now, too.

“What has Y/N accomplished other than plunging you into misery and bragging about being first in line?”

Loud discussions in the crowd. Anna growls something behind you, now almost as angry as Jimin. Before she can speak up, you lean back towards her, stern.

“We’ll open it. Get the cargo, Anna.”

You take off the lid, displaying the content of the barrel for the masses to see. The people closest to you give immediate way, screaming. The throne room crowd becomes dense at the edges when the nobles at the center stumble backward.

When the King and Queen look at you incredulous, you turn the vessel upside down to let its content slump down on the marble ground. Two heads with two arrows each in them roll out first. And then, Steinburg’s chopped off hands. Terrified shrieks in the audience. The jester cowers behind the musicians.

You place the empty barrel firmly on the floor. 

“I’ve sullied my blade for scum like this, my King and Queen.”

“It reeks, put it back!” the jester squeals. 

Instead of doing so, you scan the rows of onlookers.

“Kitchen assistant! Come here.”

A blonde young man steps forth. Hesitant, and hunched over. He wears an apron with mittens stuffed inside the front pocket. He is the boy from the handsy crowd at the gate.

“Me?”

“Preserve these in your beer. Of the mediocre kind.”

“What!”

“I want to keep a daily reminder that nobody will lay their hands on the Prince. Now pick this shit up. Do it fast before I add you to the collection.”

Natasha plays the flute with ease so enviable that apart from the audience, even some musicians peer with intent. They find it quite outrageous and fascinating at once how the young lady taps her feet. The festival guests dance around the maypole chanting to the rhythm of the waving flags, wielded by the clarion players who seem quite content with their new task. A string quartet under an oak tree engages in a bubbly tune, with young boys from Linden town letting tambourines jingle for the finale of each song. Only few clouds in the sky.

The czarina, settled at a swan-shaped statue fountain and comely as ever in her light blue gown, watches some villagers hand out pastry and drinks. She hardly gifts you a glance, which comes as no surprise, and rather seems to have spare gazes for King Albrecht’s storytelling at the other end of the garden that constantly sends claps and cheers over. Enthused as always. The same stories, as always.

Opposite to you, Jimin sits at the pond on a blanket. With a simple beige tunic on, he chews up every bit, you stuffing him with apple dumplings and plenty of currants. May weather. A few pigeons already strut around the alley hunting for leftovers. It’s almost as if all springs and summers of Bavaria converge in one place. Manifold flowers gleam in full bloom between trees and marble statues. Jimin’s mouth is already sticky with crumbs and apple juice. 

He looks more vibrant. Fresh. The bags under his eyes have faded. He licks off your fingers and can’t help loosening the tunic around his collar bones so you can have a look at his newly gained pounds, and a muscle, trained from fencing, here and there. You indulge in ogling without much second thought, and in feeding him until—

The Queen Therese, clad in poufy vestments that resemble much of what she had worn at the last coronation, approaches. The dancers have dispersed on the field and in the forest behind the Palace already. Time passes fast at Castle Linderhof. Only the czarina still rests at the fountain while the King sits close. Natasha is nowhere to be seen. 

“Your father needs to have a talk about some things,” the Queen addresses Jimin. To your surprise, she not only turns to him. “Y/N, you will join in, too.”

Only reluctantly does the Prince rise from the blanket and pat his tunic, removing crumbs. The alley seems less bright and sunny with its roses when you walk across, eventually reaching the fountain. Too sunny.

Albrecht seems to struggle with the words when he addresses you. His beard looks more deformed than usual. He’s been twirling away at it for the entire festival despite being engaged in telling stories.

“Now that, well. Yekaterina is here,” he begins. “And we had a good time celebrating.”

Jimin shifts from one foot to the other. Not a good sign. Battle stance. The czarina looks at either of you from the corner of her eye in the meantime. The Prince keeps his head down.

“Dad, just say what you want to say. It’s about the marriage, isn’t it.”

A sigh. The King folds his elaborate blue coat to one side where it cascades down his shoulder.

“The situation is. With you, Y/N. We have to stick to either the royal lineage. Or make a political arrangement. You don’t, see, fulfill either case.”

And there it is.

“My King,” you try to cut his sermon short. Jimin ruffles his hair, frustrated already. But Albrecht continues.

“The Princess has chosen the former. The lineage. She married in the same rank, the Prince of Saxony. It is a favorable union. He’s a nice person, too. For Jimin, as you know, the Queen and I thought about the alliance with Russia. And Yekaterina is still interested.”

Jimin raises his glance to meet the King’s. He’s trying hard not to glower.

“But I am not.”

You step closer toward the King.

“Does the Prince have to marry in the first place?”

Diplomacy. 

“Geez! He will inherit the crown of Bavaria,” Albrecht says, earning another scorn from Jimin.

“Not if my sister becomes Crown Princess instead.”

Stillness at the fountain. The Queen is the first one to react.

“You reject the throne, Jimin?”

The answer is more than a firm yes seeing how hardened the Prince’s face has become.

“It’s gotten me in nothing but trouble. My sister wants it more than I do. Isn’t it!”

“The Princess is an ideal heir,” you agree. “I have no doubts she can rule Bavaria just as well. She’s said so many times that she wishes she could do it. Saxony is not a bad alliance.”

The King twirls at his beard again.

Now, the Czarina speaks.

“What trouble, my Prince?”

Accent-free German. You feel a cold tingle run down your spine at how sultry her voice is. Jimin, however, doesn’t respond. Instead, he shoves back both sleeves of his linen garment, revealing scabs and dark blue spots. Both the King and Queen wail out at the sight.

“That trouble,” Jimin says. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Is this from the ambush?” Yekaterina rises from her seat as if to inspect Jimin’s wounds up close. But he tugs down his sleeves just in time.

“It was worse than that. They did unspeakable things.”

You can see how the czarina’s curiosity in his scabs slowly changes into a realization.

“The robbers did what?!”

“Exactly what you think,” Jimin steps back from the fountain.

Yekaterina, on the other hand, turns to the king.

“Why didn’t you tell me? That’s disgusting! I’m not touching him.”

“Czarina, please,” the Queen takes her by the arm, as gentle as a feather, but to no avail. Yekaterina brushes off Therese’s hand.

“He’s weak. He even left his jewelry with the robbers. He’s walking around like this!”

She points at the Prince’s vestment as if it were a potato sack left in the kitchen corner. Albrecht seems all the more indignant.

“Czarina!”

“Look at his nanny having to take care of him like a baby. Sitting around on a blanket having a picnic. Pathetic. It was a mistake to believe the letter. I thought he was a valiant Prince.”

“Jimin is a valiant Prince!” the Queen stutters, tries to appease the Czarina Romanova anew. “You have seen him slice the apple!”

“He left his own family. That is treason in Russia.”

“Yes. I did,” Jimin gestures, “but I’ve changed my mind.”

Yekaterina rolls her eyes so blatantly, you have to suppress an all-too-familiar puking reflex.

“I saw that,” she taunts.

The King butts in with his most pacifying tone.

“Well, see it like that. This isn’t Russia, czarina. We have different standards.”

“But if we marry, it might be. Our empire is growing. Bavaria has good resources. It has the strength that Russia embodies, too.”

You tap your foot twice.

“That hubris is concerning. The czarina is beautiful. But foul-mouthed toward the Prince! Do you think he will be happy? You think Bavaria will last as it did with an alliance like that, my King?”

Albrecht strokes the back of his neck. Yekaterina gathers all of her bouffant dress and pushes Jimin and the Queen aside. Judging by her direction, she’s headed toward her chambers in the North wing.

“Wait!” Therese exclaims and tries to follow, but the Czarina is adamant in her walk.

“I see I’m still not welcome. Forget your alliance, this is war. I want a carriage to Moscow in two hours.”

The orange tint of dawn spreads on the valley like the blanket both of you share. Cinder leans close to the oven next to Cygnet, both sheathed. Jimin lies at your chest. Warm and cozy in the light of the oil lamp. You rake through his hair with your fingers, then, a wooden comb from the nightstand. Between its tender strokes through his locks — the Prince's kisses are blissful. He's hooked at your bottom lip.

The hooting owl at the window settles with her family in a tree nest close by when you hear the last servants leave the corridor. Your chamber is silent until he finally speaks.

“I never thought you’d go to Altfried Castle in those two years.”

“We had a lucky streak. The Duke was kind enough to shelter Anna and me.”

“I hope they treated you well there,” the Prince caresses your arms.

“He’s taught me a lot about when to play fair.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I was so angry at you.”

“I didn’t behave,” Jimin sighs out, “like the most reliable either.”

“Don’t say that,” you put aside the comb. “I was in the wrong about that.”

“Should have put more pressure on mom and dad,” he speaks in a sunken voice. “With cancelling the wedding, and such.”

“You did now. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“I get why you had something against me going to Saint Petersburg. The people aren’t so nice there as I thought.”

“Bavaria values honor. Russia is about power. You’ve heard her.”

The owls are bustling outside.

“I wish I hadn’t. She will resent us so much.”

“The feeling is mutual. But let her sulk forever. You see what happens when someone tries to appease the Romanovs. It’s better to be straightforward. I wish she would respect you, too.”

“And you?” Jimin looks up now. “She called you names as well.”

“That’s part of a swordmaster’s life. Steinburg did, too.”

“The disgusting—”

“He had his schtick to call me your harlot.”

“He said that?”

“His moment of glee was rather short.”

Jimin grumbles.

“I’ve heard that he was behind the conspiracy at Hohenzollern as well. When the Duchess Walthilde was kidnapped.”

“It was an ambush back then, too,” you nod. “I’m not surprised. Steinburg has been notorious. He must have been filthy rich as well. Sold Cinder on the market. Probably other weapons, too.”

“Couldn’t hate him more.”

“The merchant who bought the sword from him was a lousy fighter.”

He sits up, arms crossed.

“Did you see him use it?!”

“Yes, against me. Was the first and last time he would wield it.”

“Oh, right. Anna said you had a duel at the castle. You won it back just like this?”

“As I said,” you laugh. “He was lousy. An easy defeat. I was stupid enough to pay him 210 mark even after I won.”

“210! I will ask the King to reimburse this!”

“Not necessary,” you shake your head. “Can’t complain about my earnings since I’m part of the royal defense again.”

“Part of the family, you mean.”

“If you think I am—

“You are,” Jimin leans back down to kiss your cheek. “They can say what they want.”

“Then that, too.”

Jimin lies down completely again. You pick up the comb once more. And continue brushing.

“There’s a specific reason I ran away from here before the robbers caught me.”

“I figured. Your parents.”

The Princes’ eyes are downcast in the lamp’s shine now.

“I didn’t think my family felt whole after you left.”

“It wasn’t really leaving,” you bring the comb down the sides of his hair. “Leaving means dignity. I climbed down the tower and got shelter in Linden town. I sent a herald to Anna, she came with the two horses, we rode to Altfried Castle. It was the least appropriate goodbye.”

“That sounds graceful compared to what I did.”

“What happened, my Prince?”

Again, you cease to comb.

“It was with an empty food carriage. We had a banquet the day before. I didn’t feel well.”

“Oh...”

“They had delivered bread and potatoes. I sneaked into the vehicle at dawn. I didn’t even know where it was going. I didn’t say goodbye to anyone. We had a huge fight, dad and I. During the banquet.”

“What was the fight about?”

His tone sounds stern enough to be alarming.

“You.”

The comb slips from your fingers and lands on the mattress.

“I don’t... want to stay here, Jimin. This place is not good for us.”

“I know. Me neither. But I don’t think they’ll let us go.”

“They can’t force us. And the King already knows that I don’t like being at the Palace.”

“But where should we go to? Saxony? I don’t know a place where they will accept us when we split with mom and dad like that. The fight at the banquet drove us apart enough already.”

“It’s not a split,” you exhale. “We just have to get away from all of this for some time. I left the Palace, then you did. Actions speak volumes about where your priority is.”

A sentence from the Golden Lesson. He had still memorized it.

“Yeah. It’s not here.”

The Palace is the last place where you want to linger.

“Now we have a chance to leave together before they start with their marriage thing again. I don’t want it. I’m not a Crown Princess. Much less a Queen. It’s not me.”

“Me neither. Crown Prince. King, I mean.”

“They probably try to kick me out anyways. You’ve heard what Albrecht said.”

“The lineage or alliance thing.”

Annoyance flashes across his features at the mere words.

“Yes. They’ll try to get rid of me soon enough. Anna overheard a conversation of the equerry this morning. The Queen is packing for a journey to Austria.”

“Really, what? Austria?” 

Jimin looks panicked.

“She is looking for ‘suitors’. I didn’t understand it at first, either.”

“They want me to marry Austrian royalty now!”

“Not too loud, my Prince!”

“I loathe them.”

“I don’t like the Austrian nobles either.”

They had plunged Queen Luise into more grief than necessary with their endless claims to Hohenzollern.

“My parents, I mean. Don’t care about what goes on in Vienna. I need to get away from Albrecht, he’s behind this. I hate him.”

The oil lamp flickers much like the eyes of the Prince.

“We can’t go to Saxony. But maybe, back to Hohenzollern. They have treated us the kindest. I thought we were welcome there.”

“I never thought about this.”

“We can— keep her good company. Luise”

Jimin negates fast. His voice is fragile.

“Therese... will want to get me back.”

“Then she will fail trying.”

Applause from the small round. Luise signs the document with a telling smile. One servant comes to pick up the scroll on swift feet after the seal wax has dried, leaving the throne room empty except the three of you. You catch Jimin mustering your brigade armor about every other second while Luise rises from the table.

“Off to Saint Petersburg it goes,” the Queen remarks, and screws tight her ink cartridge.

“You’re a blessing, Luise. Really.”

“I’ve been friends with Prime Minister Dmitriy for almost two decades,” she shrugs, assorting her writing feathers with lenience on the table. “He will understand.”

“He will?”

“According to him, the Czarina is having a lot of tantrums since the question of an arranged marriage came up.”

“Well, I can understand that,” you reply. All too well, in fact. “Just hoping that she didn’t really mean war when she said it.”

“Let that be my worry, Y/N. Hohenzollern has always had better ties to Russia than Bavaria.”

Jimin’s exasperated look only affirms the Queen’s statement.

“And— what do we do about my parents?” he brings forth while you turn toward the end of the throne room that opens into the royal garden. A bit languid, and Luise follows. You still feel a bit stiff in the armor, but you can feel how it melts onto your body already like it used to do.

“They’ll show up here,” Luise says. And you know it. Sooner or later. "But they won't complain when they see that you've found a purpose here."

"A purpose?" Jimin asks, catching up on the way outside.

"The brigade, Y/N will be busy recruiting soldiers again. It's like when she started. And we have more good news."

"Oh?"

"Natasha will spend half the summer here. I heard you're fond of her."

The youngest in House Romanov. You haven’t heard of her in ages. But the image of her dancing at the maypole festival is vivid in your mind.

"Natasha!"

"Yes. She wants to familiarize herself with Germany. A very inquisitive, headstrong girl."

"She really persuaded her parents, didn't she."

"Quite so. Well. The Premier minister does have, you see, interest in stronger ties to our county."

Jimin looks completely caught off guard. You're not surprised. Bavaria's relationship to the czar family had been dealt far too many blows.

"The entire House of Romanov?"

"Yes. Natasha had an easy time requesting to stay here."

"I like her," you reply. The garden terraces open up around you now, and Jimin steps into the pathways between apple trees framing the area. He is off to pick up some of the fruit in no time, while you walk toward the main terrace of the garden with the Queen. 

"Don't teach her archery all too soon," Luise twinkles from the corner of her eye. "You can do the melee with the Prussian Barons first. There are some Margraves who want to challenge you for fencing, I heard."

"Cheers, I take that one. It will be entertaining, surely."

In the distance, Jimin wanders about collecting apples, and you complement Luise on her new bright yellow gowns that blend into the garden landscape almost seamlessly. 

The onset of a late afternoon brings two knocks on your chamber’s door. Still feet. And waiting.

"Come on in!"

A second later, Jimin's head peeks through the frame. His hair is neatly led out. Natasha, prancing around as always, had teased him until he let her brush it in the morning. 

Jimin coos.

"Not climbing today.”

You beckon him across the room from your seat. He sways over in his far-too-long night blue gown, giving him the semblance of the water nymphs in childhood fairy tale books.

It catches his eye almost instantly— the weaving loom. Not too large, just wide enough to fill one corner of your chamber with it. Jimin seems to already guess what you're doing.

"I'd weave it," you let your digits glide through the nimble threads, "for your birthday if it wasn't in October."

The Prince, however, is hypnotized. He didn't hear.

"That looks complicated."

You tilt your head from side to side. Chuckling a little.

"Anna showed me. And nothing is more intricate than fencing anyways."

He keeps on pacing around the loom, eyeing its frame and the colorful yarns splayed out before you. The freshly polished brigade armor perched at the other side of the room doesn't seem to faze him just one bit for once.

"Is it something like a banner?"

"Almost."

"Hm. That pattern looks familiar. Coat of arms there?"

He points two digits at the loom's end where an outline begins to form, made from suave yarn.

"Similar to the neckerchief, you see. It's like a scarf."

Frozen. Jimin seems to be struck by lightning.

"Oh!"

"It's just... Made with the Hohenzollern emblem. New home, new coat of arms."

You twirl the threads anew for the next row, striking a flaxen tone in the pattern. A step on the pedal of the loom lifts the frame for you to glide the sliding shuttle through. It doesn't come very far. The Prince puts his hands around your torso from behind.

First, you can only hear him sniffle, however silent, and you think he might have a cold. But then, he starts to tremble. 

The Prince is crying.

"I don't deserve this," Jimin sobs, making your shirts’ collar feel damp already by rubbing his eyes against it. "Why do you do all this for me!"

The sliding shuttle goes back to its former place among the resting bowl of yarn. You turn, facing the Prince with earnestness.

"Hey. Cause I want to. Simple as that."

Jimin sniffles.

"Really?"

"Swordmaster's promise. Okay."

"But—"

"I don't care if you feel undeserving. I do what I do. With all due respect, my Prince."

The loom chair creaks a little when you lift from it. Jimin doesn't let go from his hug for a minute, or more. You take time rearranging his gown crease by crease so he can walk properly despite the long hem. Most of the chamber servants still aren't used to finding clothes for him each morning. The overly decorated ones he rejects, while the casual gowns in stock don't really fit his small build. Therese has already requested a tailor.

"It's just. I still can't grasp these things. That we're here."

"Believe it or not. We have a spot to settle."

"I, I like it here."

He eases into your touch more than ever now.

"Do you remember our first meeting?"

"'Course I do."

The Prince's feet are slack while walking, so you guide him up-close toward the bed to sit at the soft edge.

"I don't think we ever had a better mock duel than that one," you say, sitting down just an inch next to him.

"True."

You do recall the second time at the ball, where the Czarina would cast the fateful apple. Looking back, this duel seems far away compared to the first one, even if you had met at Hohenzollern half a decade ago. 

"That was back when I enjoyed tournaments."

"I was a little hellbent," Jimin wipes his nose, descending into your lap. 

"Oh, you wouldn't believe how much prejudice I had myself."

"Yeah, I know."

"Haughty Prince Bavaria coming all the way just to prove his fencing skill."

"I wasn't that bad!"

"You weren't."

He wasn't.

In fact, the Prince had won your favors in the duel under Queen Luise's watchful eye. You had led the brigade since years of earlier adolescence. Plenty of hands-on experience. Nevertheless, Prince Jimin had been a passionate opponent trying to claim his spot first in line. He had been daring. Rebellious. Things turned out different. He lost, but you had gifted him a mentorship. It surely wasn't the dire consequence he had feared when you pinned him to the ground at the unrelenting tip of Cygnet. King Albrecht approved. A guard for the Prince was an ideal compensation for his loss. 

"Was it the footwork?"

"Yes. That impressed me."

It really did. You had to make him your disciple. Even Luise agreed that it was almost inevitable given how eager Jimin was. The Prince's blade, Cinder, forged in the Alps, had been compelling, his stance elegant, his face a refreshing sight. Almost rare. His body sculpted and so unlike everyone at the brigade.

And so, you left Hohenzollern Castle, and headed toward the bustling heart of Bavaria. Linderhof Palace had been too beautiful not to stay. The Prince's parents had been kind.

"We both had better reputations back then, I guess."

"Sure did. But we weren't as happy."

The glance you level at him conveys more than just a simple 'Don't you think?'. Jimin, albeit still teary-eyed, looks more determined.

"I want to be as happy as when we first crossed blades."

You shake your head right away.

"Don't be a square, my Prince."

And he's incredulous.

"What do you mean?"

"We will be much happier than that."

Now, the Prince looks so bashful that even the red light of dusk from the windows feels like a faded color by comparison.

"A lot of promises tonight, Y/N."

"Yes, that's my second one."

"Did you drink wine today, eh?"

"Don't you tease. Bodyguards don't chug booze. Always alert."

"Who knows. Luise has one of the best vineyards and vintners of the county."

"If you don't believe me, you can have a taste and judge for yourself."

You fondle at the sides of his garment, delighting in the blush.

"A... test?"

"Yes, a test."

"Fair enough. Let me see how drunk you are, swordmaster."

Pressing his torso against yours elicits a soft curve to his spine. Your grip is tight on his waist. Jimin doesn't spend much time just exploring your lips with his. His nervous tongue dares a much steeper dip the more you lean in. He does twirl around, as if searching, probing. Jimin is needy. 

Your bodies calibrate already. They're used to it, from training. Your hands preoccupy themselves with massaging his upper arms. To release the last bit of tension. To soften them up. Jimin keeps on circling his tongue against yours, not leaving out an inch to send a gentle tingle down your neck. He knows how to please. You explore his mouth with your tongue all the more fervent and look him in the eye. You’re yearning, too. 

When he withdraws to catch a breath, you have to take several seconds not to stumble over your own words. 

"Is the test over?"

"A kiss is not enough, my honorable dame. If you allow."

“Indeed?”

“I want to do more than just prove myself.”

His tone piques your interest all the more now.

"I'm listening."

"Cinder... is not the only proper sword I have. I'm applying for lessons, Y/N."

His eyes are like gleaming coals in the rays of sunlight from the horizon.

"Sounds like a nice blade to fit my taste."

"You can claim it yours if you want, Master."

"Not spending a single mark on it, I tell you that."

Jimin laughs with his whole body. You are glad to see him relaxed.

"Gotta be thrifty now that you blew out the entire budget."

"Hey, you brat. That was more than worth it," you recline into the mattress. The silky pillows give you a warm greeting. Jimin makes sure that his blue robe doesn't tangle any more than it already does around his ankles when he slides toward the center of the bed himself.

"What are you in the mood for, then?"

He scoots even closer, settling on a pillow himself. His profile is stark against the sun.

"I've heard you crook a finger nowadays, my Prince."

"You want to see if that's true, don't you. Might be a little awkward, still."

"Hence the lessons."

"Right."

“Then prepare yourself, disciple.”

After loosening its cord just enough, you shove down the hem of your pants a little. Jimin rebalances on the pillow, now leaning toward your face. Another kiss. The test is indeed not over. And gladly so.

His right hand, and of course, he takes the more trained one, snakes down your belly. Nowhere near as nonchalant as it would during practice with sabers, gripping handles and blocking attacks. Jimin couldn’t be more on edge. 

"First part of the lesson is dancing."

"Dance?"

"Keep on moving. Stay fluid."

"Yes, Milady."

Jimin loosens his wrist before tracing around. He finds the right spot between your labia waiting for him, continues the movement. The touch of his fingers comes as a sentiment of deep, pleasing relief to your abdomen.

"You dance well, Prince."

"Just following the instructions."

"You want a second trick, hm."

He doesn't have to answer. The stimulation between your legs is just enough to reply.

"The clo—Agh! So good."

"Could it be removing some garment?"

"Yes, Jimin."

The night blue gown soon hangs off the edge of the bed, grazing the floor. It almost looks like a waterfall bumbling from the mattress. Your own pants soon join. Jimin is careful to remove them without doing away with the cord, or crumpling up the underwear.

"Alright."

"That was elegant."

"Stop flattering me, master."

"Have all the reasons to."

Jimin knows what you mean given that your gaze has wandered south on his body's delicate map.

"I, uh," he fumbles around your loins again, resuming what he started, mumbling along.

"Shh."

You reach where the sun tangents his hips yourself now, weighing and stroking. It is easy to pump up and down given how subtly curved and much like a saber's handle his cock is. Jimin didn't lie about proper.

He's whimpering.

"Do you... like how it feels?"

"You're in good form, Prince."

He's candid in the dusk illuminating the window. You stroke him more.

"I was— worried."

"I know, Prince. No more need to. We take it easy."

He emanates a sweet scent for you to take in. Since your joint arrival at Hohenzollern, he has found and frequented the bath behind the garden chapel a lot after training when most of the regulars were busy having a meal. Maybe it’s the smell of apples, too. 

"Sword's got stable grip."

Shifting close, you begin rubbing his shaft between either of your legs. He's warm. Flustered. And pliant under your guidance. The arousal peaks with him fondling across your pubes. But Jimin, after a series of rubs, gently brushes off your hand from his cock.

"Y/N. The last thing I want is knock you up. Your armor can’t fit a baby bump."

You have to catch yourself.

"Goodness. Jeez. Y—yes. Yes, right."

"That's not for us."

“Sorry. I got carried away. Your dick is so pretty.”

“It belongs to you now.”

His hands linger at your thighs. Jimin’s cheeks are tinted with deep blush.

"Maybe another kiss is for us," you say, spreading your legs further and slowly tugging him in by the neck. 

"Oh yes, my dame. Oh yes."

Prior to kneeling between your legs, Jimin pushes his hair back. It obstructs his eyes yet again when he leans down, putting either lip tightly around your clit. He's sucking and licking against it, calmer now. You take it as your task to hold Jimin's bangs out of his face yourself in the meantime. The waves of heat sparking from his mouth couldn't be any more soothing.

"Tastes like apple," Jimin mumbles into you.

"Oh, really?"

"Apples in May. Something like that."

There it is. The infamous eyebrow play again. You’ve missed it.

He goes on licking. Never ceases to lift his bottom lips from your labia. You exhale from what feels like beyond your diaphragm.

"Not, not too much, Jimin. Slow down."

"Am I doing it wrong?"

"No, no, I just... We haven't even started. Don't do the eyebrow thing. You drive me fucking wild."

"What, my eyebrows? Don't get it."

"You never noticed?"

"What's up with them?"

"They do this, this sexy thing when they go up."

"Um, like that?"

He's wiggling and cocking them up.

"Don't! Jesus Christ!"

He really is a brat.

"Maybe you can let my hair fall down again."

You deem that a very good idea. Especially since Jimin has more space to thrust his head in reverse. Your brain turns mushier by the minute Jimin's tongue starts to dip, leaving wet traces wherever it ventures. You pull him in further at the nape of his neck. 

"You're beautiful, Prince," is the only coherent phrase that your mind barely constructs. The way he bobs his head is like a perpetual nod. “I love it when you serve me.”

"Too good," he murmurs between sucks, fully taking in your taste, your warmth.

"You are too good. Who are you kidding. Fuck, Jimin."

His hands are slowly roaming around your abdomen.

"I've lost two and a half years with you," the Prince nips alongside your inner thighs now. "Got no chance to mess around. You can't imagine how many times I need to do this to make up for that."

"We took mighty long."

"I thought about this every night."

"Tell me."

He stops, props himself up. With a wet chin. And still, a high-strung voice.

"It was— So indecent. Dirty, almost."

"Huh? Loud sex in the barn?"

Jimin laughs.

"Not that indecent!"

"Not?"

"Filthy in a way, ah, it was really... fucking like rabbits. You were rough with me, and. And I liked it."

His tone is exasperated from going down on you, but still laced with tempting.

"You call that dirty? I've heard stories at Castle Altfried, nothing compares."

"I can imagine."

"Someone admitted to masturbating underneath a banquet arrangement. Hidden by just the tablecloth."

Jimin huffs out.

"Yikes! Perverted."

"One maiden said she had sex with one of the local knights in the church. They could hear the priests rehearse while he came inside."

The Prince scratches his head.

"That'll be a, uh, holy baby."

"The Duke himself was rumored to own something like a torture chamber where he could be strapped to furniture."

Jimin almost stumbles over his own words.

"To, torture chamber!"

You shake your head with vehemence.

"Not exactly one with spikes and gadgets. I asked the Duchess about it. She said it's just for playing around."

"What playing around could that have been?"

"Something," you twirl at his bangs, "like we did during training. Making you sweat a little more for a lesson."

The Prince understands almost immediately.

"Endurance training? Didn't do that in a whole while."

"Many things to catch up with."

"Is it that endurance gives me your favors, Milady? You were liking it when I was hanging off your window."

Oh well. You really did.

"I like it when you're honest about what you want."

And he does have your favors.

"Tell me yours, I tell you mine."

"I want just one thing served on a silver plate."

The Prince seems to ponder for one second more after he opens his mouth to speak.

"Commitment?" he thus asks, and makes sure to meet your eye even through the curls in his face.

"That's the golden plate, not the silver one. The silver plate is for your cute ass."

Jimin can't help but flush again.

"You can pinch it."

"I'll make an entire picnic out of that. That's not going to be just pinching."

"Are you sure you aren't the perverted one, Y/N?"

Jimin twinkles.

"I admit to it," you reply.

"So is there a bronze plate also? You sound like you have many of those."

"Bronze plate's for your cum."

"Freshly served?"

"All milked out. Mixed with my spit."

"You want to—"

Yes, you do.

"Lay down, my Prince. Keep your hands above your head."

Swift, Jimin reclines. You can see how bulging his neck veins are.

"Fresh out the bath," he says, splaying his hands against the bed frame.

"You smell good."

Once Jimin holds onto frame properly, you level above his crotch. His stiffening cock responds to your hands working the base and perineum, and your mouth propping at its tip after carefully aiming to take him in at the right angle.

"Oh shit—"

The Prince almost jolts up. Not only does he smell good. Jimin tastes just as nice. Panting, making his hands tug against the frame where he holds onto it, all you hear is his blissed out sighing.

“Keep your hips still, Jimin,” you scold, cock half in your mouth. “Naughty Princes get punished for moving.”

Slicking your lips down his perky shaft comes with an overly sloppy, awkward noise. You look up to meet his eyes seeing if you haven't thoroughly embarrassed yourself, but his lids are shut.

You figure sloppy isn't a bad thing. Making use of the saliva pooling between your lips, you suck in Jimin's cock a bit deeper. Letting it rest on your tongue for a moment makes the Prince fidget. Hollowing your cheeks out only fortifies your suction on him, and make the tremble of his legs palpable under your torso. He fights hard not to move his hips. 

The throbbing between your legs is still heated. You reach with one hand to stimulate, the other pumping Jimin's bubbly dick hard. Rubbing him comes with more sighs and commentary until your tongue becomes sticky at its back. Pre-cum. You can't blame him for being the early bird.

Little curses.

Outside, the sun melts into the horizon line.

Much as if Cygnet would call you to find a good manual hold, the jerking hand eventually transfers into a smoother rhythm than before. You have to be careful not to bite down on him given how unpredictable your jaw has become, so loose. Knowing that Jimin is all too close, you decide to have some fun edging him through it.

"How's it going over there, disciple," you pop off. And let your nails dig into his balls. 

"Ah!"

"I've seen and heard a lot of things in life but a Prince without proper grammar?"

Delivering another firm squeeze brings back a spike of pleasure jolting through his limbs.

"Nnh—!"

You keep on squeezing. He's whiny. His hips buck. You can feel that he's on edge, too far, with steep highs and lows of his ribcage. 

Bit after bit, after a final firm caress stopping short just before his peak, Jimin's cock eventually spurts out a milky thread over his stomach. Almost like a fountain. The rest of his cum only leaks out ruined in scarce bits, making Jimin beg, and whine, and groan his soul out. 

“Look at you, brat,” you flick against his balls grinning, and go on milking out his jizz. “How do you like that. Your hips moved.”

“Shit...! Oh god...”

Licking off parts of it from his stomach gives you the satisfaction of tasting him once again. Hot, and even stickier. He's left such an adorable mess. You leave gentle strokes alongside his torso.

"My wonderful Prince," you smile, watching Jimin in his afterglow. Exhausted, faint, but happy. “You like punishments, do you.”

A nod. He drools. Your gaze is fiery.

"We have to— work on endurance," he says. "So much about you defeating me."

"Got the elegance down already. We're only getting started."

"Can you," he brings his hands down toward your arms. "Kiss me hard, please."

You lean over, letting a trickling bit of semen melt into Jimin's mouth. Letting it smother all over his lips is twice the delight feeling how plush they are. Jimin's fingers sneaking, then dipping into your core comes at the guidance of your own hands, making the kisses even sweeter to taste.

The wave of heat following his soft rubs opens your mouth wider for Jimin to twirl his tongue in until your shivering body fades into the pillows where he hugs you. The last bit of stimulation brings you over the edge devouring the taste of his mouth and biting down on his lips hard until your orgasm subsides with slower contractions. Jimin has licked your mouth clean now. He is jittery at your chest. Clinging. You pull the bed’s yellow blanket over and whisper to him. Ruffle his hair. Cling back tight, and breathe in the apple scent of his skin. 

"That was delicious," you kiss his forehead. “You royals astound me every day.”

The little treats are spiked with bright decor, almonds, and cream. Jimin balances four of them on his porcelain plate, maneuvering through the queue at the buffet. The people step aside wondering how the Prince of Bavaria could walk around with just a simple ensemble of gauze and strangely ruffled hair.

"You're not wearing the armor?" he asks, settling back at the table next to you and Natasha. "The entire brigade does!"

Indeed— your belt is empty, too. Cygnet's missing weight at it makes you fond, but maybe, a bit uneasy. You're still getting used to it.

The people around carry plates to their own tables set up in the chapel's yard while you cast the Prince a gaze a little smug, tempting him to guess. He sits down on the swirly metal chair confounded enough not to put his meal down, staring at you, then the treats with a bland expression.

"Well, uh."

In the meantime, Luise converses with the Russian Prime Minister and Duke Leopold at the adjacent table. A few maidens pass by, carrying giant baskets with flowers and mugs with juice. Jimin is still guessing until Natasha wildly gestures toward the yard where a few violin players rehearse.

"Y/N dance with Prince!" she points. Now, Jimin seems to realize.

"Right!"

"Have you ever seen the brigade dance in full gear? That looks hilarious."

"Oh yeah. I figure they'd be slower and bump into everybody," the Prince finally puts his plate down. But before he can take a bite, Natasha slips from her own seat and starts teasing him. The Prince ends up with even more ruffled hair, attracting the confused stares of the musicians.

Natasha builds herself up and proclaims: "Look! Prince is fluffy puppy!"

In the meantime, you cut the quarter loaf of bread on your plate into generous pieces, then butter them up.

"I'm afraid we got ourselves a bully, my Prince," you chuckle, and make sure to end with a wink toward Natasha.

"Happens," the Prince says, and eventually indulges himself eating. "I'm rather worried about my dancing steps."

"Might be a little rusty, you mean?"

"The last celebration was two months ago. Might need some time."

Natasha plops down on her seat, playing with the new woven scarf she had so nonchalantly removed from Jimin's neck.

"I mean, that’s fair,” you say. “I like fair!"

"Me, too.” 

“And hey, we can just do fencing steps anyway."

Thank you for reading! 🍎

Do not repost, translate, or modify my works. © submissive-bangtan 2017-2019. All rights reserved. 

[kaz3313]

Hell is in the Ink Machine

A new chapter? More likely then you think! 

Last Chapter https://kaz3313.tumblr.com/post/184813355633/hell-is-the-ink-machine

Inspired by @a-rae-of-sunshine

Susie Campbell knew she saw just the end of it but it was enough to get her legs running and her bare feet thumping the hardwood floor. It wasn’t long before she was yelling but who could blame her? She just saw Sammy being murdered by…Henry, was that his name?

It doesn’t matter what the murderer’s name is- what matters is the police are called and they stop him. Whoever it was he’d killed Sammy with out any show of emotion at all; remembering his deadpan expression Susie felt her body shiver again.

 Remembering that just sent the whole scene to replay in her brain again but it is only in fragments despite having happened only minutes ago. The axe connected with Sammy’s body multiple times before he dropped to the ground. Blood had begun to pool around him and seep in the floor like the ink that would often times leak from the pipes. She knew the guy had hit him more times while on the ground but her mind already began to block the memories for her own sanity. So the dark spaces filled whatever was between Sammy falling to the ground and her throwing her heels off and running away.

She holds a hand over her mouth as she feels the vomit creep up from her stomach. It’s pushed down as she continues her sprinting and lets up on her screaming.

Though not for long because before Susie comprehends the situation she feels a hand grab her shoulder. Lifting her purse and spinning around she slams it into the attacker expecting to see the large dark haired man that killed Sammy behind. Instead the Irish toy maker raises his arms in defense.

“Woah lass! Just tryin’ ta help,” he gave a small patient smile as he saw her distressed look “ I heard your screamin’ decided to investigate. Did a somethin’ happen? Any body try somethin’ nasty? Cause if any of ‘em work down here under me they’ll have some hell to pay!” Susie wasn’t sure if Shawn raises his voice so the other toy makers could hear him or if his voice was just getting louder naturally. Sammy always called Shawn a walking crescendo after all the nickname must have some sort of meaning.

Sammy…

Her adrenaline had taken over earlier that she never even had a chance to cry. So not on her accord her body convulses with sobs. Susie has to sit down for fear of falling over;Shawn sits next to her offering a hand she takes and squeezes.

“Alright, give me a name or description or whatever you can muster- I’ll teach him, or her, a few lessons on manners,” even with his voice softening he’s as loud as ever.

She meant to explain the situation but her voice wavers and is quiet; the only thing she could make out is a soft “Sa-Sammy,”

“Sammy, the cunt,” Shawn curses.

“N-no he got h-hurt, while he- When the-” now that was an understatement but her lips refuses to form the words died.

“Sammy, the brave idiot bastard,” Shawn corrects himself. “Ya need a handkerchief lass ‘cause the best I got is an old rag used fer paint but it should work well enough,” she nods taking the rag in her hand. The two sit there Susie continue to cry until her throat is scratched, eyes are desserts, mouth tastes like the saltiest ocean, and her nose has more snot dripping from it then a sick toddler .

“He got more then hurt Shawn. He’s- well he’s gone,” the word of gone falters and is no more than a whisper.

“What do ya mean- wait, he-” Shawn’s face turns from concern to horrified. “And you saw- oh god Susie! No wonder ya more of a reck then the Titanic!” He wraps his arm around Susie and she ends up burying her face in his shoulder. His jacket smells of alcohol and hotdogs but she doesn’t care; she just needs to be by someone.

“He was killed…. He was killed by someone that works here,” She feels Shawn’s body go stiff from the new found fear.

Wally does his best to keep Henry at bay, which in all honesty is much simpler than he thought it would be. All Henry wants to do is play cards in Toy Department break room, which he refers to as a safe house which coming from the one who’s been murdering people has a layer of irony, and Wally complies to the games. It’s odd that Henry has been referring to him as Boris but he hadn’t attacked Wally…yet. He couldn’t help but have his wits up so Wally kept his tool box near him.

Thomas always told him some tools could be used in multiple ways.

 After a few games of cards Henry gets up and states he’s going to bed (people pass out from exhaustion from time to time so Shawn brought in a few old hammocks). Wally nods but Henry takes a detour over to the door out and rips the switch off the wall without warning. Wally brought out a wrench out and held it behind his back. He’d rather Henry underestimate him so maybe he’ll have a chance of escape. Then Henry’s shoulders slump and he walks over to the room with the hammock.

“So, Henry, I uh…fixed that switch you broke and uh-“

“Hey buddy. Have you seen that lever handle around here? Or are you keeping it hostage until I make you something to eat?”

Now Wally should know better, Henry is an unhinged man that has been on a murder spree, but food is his weakness; and how bad can a murderers food be?

The little voice in the back of his head yelled Henry was going to poison him and an even quieter voice told him if Henry wants him dead he doesn’t need to use poison.

 Shawn guides the mourning voice actress to one of the storage rooms so she can get her bearings; it wasn’t safe in the middle of the hall with no sort of means of defense at least the storage room had shelves to push against the door if need be.

Susie squeezes his hand again and he peers back over at her. The under of her eyes still held a pink-red tinge but the puffiness of the initial tears had already begun to fade. Her expression was a range of emotions that ended up looking, at least from an outsider’s perspective, like one of a confused child.

“ Now here’s a nice stuffy place where we store all the toys and such. Actually pretty empty right now ‘cause we sent a new shipment out to stores- maybe a few plush here and there. The shelves can be used well ta keep us in safety. If ya can help me push ‘em against the doors I’d be appreciative but if ya need to sit down I don’t mind it none-“ He would’ve rambled on if she didn’t interpret him.

“What happened to the rest of my department? Jack, Johnny, Alison..? What about other animators? What about Wally?” She absently asks.

“Well I’m sure that- did ya say Wally?” Shawn feels a new sense of dread overcome him. Sure he didn’t like to hear about anyone getting hurt or being part of the possibly dead but…Wally especially.

“Yes, he tends to work downsword. So he starts cleaning in the animation department,” He already knew all this, Wally told him the even most droll parts of his day, but putting it in the context of a murder walking around it gave a whole new perspective.

“Well Susie, I’m gonna go see how everyone else is managing and try to get a proper…proper idea of the situation,” He states “You’re strong enough to get the shelves down,”.

“Shawn you can’t-“

“Susie, ya mean well you really do but I gotta go see if Wally’s alright. If I see others good but he’s just a trustin’ kind of person and,” Shawn shakes his head “ I gotta go save him,”

“I know you care about your friends but we have to keep ourselves alive or…we just have to trust they can survive too. And shouldn’t the police come here soon?” Her tears began to flow again and Shawn remembers that he found them talking to each other on more than one occasion, sharing stories and gossip.

“Susie…” he took a deep breath the two of them were going to keep it on the down low until next week but “Me and Wally are more than friends,”

“What do you me-“ She stops herself her eyes widening in realization “Shawn, I get it…if Sammy was in trouble I’d- I understand but…just…be safe please,” and with that she gives a last squeeze to his hand.

Henry and Wally were navigating the perfectly lit room with a flashlight. Wally just gives a hopefully-genuine-looking smile and follows. The machinery around them clunks and clanks but Wally barely noticies the noises having blocked them out a long time ago while working with Thomas. Wait, if he’s with Henry right now perhaps Tom and Alison are all right.

 A different sound interrupts; it’s one of following footsteps and it stops them both. Wally looks behind him and sees only a flash of a person; at least the person has the sense to leave in a hurry.

“You hear that?” A second passes Henry already walking away “me neither,”. It sounds so odd, Wally can’t help noticing, he talks so calmly for having killed most of his coworkers. He expected at some point to hear a hint of anger maybe, or sadness, but nothing was ever shown. He squints his eyes as if he truly is looking into the dark.

“Henry, where are you?” Maybe the reason Wally wasn’t attacked was so he could help? He didn’t really believe in that destiny stuff but maybe he could snap Henry out of this.

But Henry doesn’t reply; he just keeps chugging along his deadpan expression never changing.

“First the kid went and ran off ,the pipes are flooding again, and now this whole building is coming apart! And not only that but this time somebody snapped and is going around being the next Lizzie Borden,” Thomas says while kicking a few fallen boards away. Sweat drips off his face and he huffs and puffs.He feels Alison rub his shoulders and he closes his eyes.

“Tom, everything is gonna be alright. We’re going to find Wally, get ahold of some authority, and we’re going to leave,” she says continuing the massage.

“Dear, I love your optimism but…this is not a good situation and people are already dead and-“

“Henry is only one man, if we got everyone together we could easily overpower him if need be,” she states then adds “it’s a little hope but mostly facts,”

“If we get everyone together…hey that’s not a bad idea!” Tom exclaims and Alison giggles from his sudden enthusiasm. The two cheer and exclaim;they are lucky to have each other and forget about their dubious situation even for a minute.

Not everyone is so lucky.

No one would believe Norman Polk if he told the, about the mass murder in the previous departments; why would they? Henry was always the civil one, a little plain but he balanced Joey’s strangeness well. At least until he snapped and started killing all of the band with an already bloody axe; Norman would rather not think of whom he tested the axe on first.

All Norman needs to do is get away from that place, go as far down this elevator will take him. If it was any other day Norman would admire the quality of the elevator as he often did, Thomas did a good job installing it, but at the moment he just needed a minute to calm down. He couldn’t hide away on Level 14 forever but it could by him time while everyone else is fixing the situation. Seems a little cold but Norman is a little too old to be going after murderers. Though he reasons that he needs to work either way, how else was anything going to get done in this place, and Level 14 has projectors he needs to do upkeep on.

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply; just focus on work and not the bodies piled in the band room.

Upon leaving and getting a ways away from the storage space Shawn realizes he never got a proper description of the killer. He assumes covered in blood would be a telling sign but if the lad (or lass, did Susie ever specify?) is even a little smart he’ll change his clothes. Though anyone to just start attacking people out of the blue isn’t necessarily the brightest of the bunch.

“Great job Flynn; tryin’ to stay away from a killer who could look like anything,” He berets himself sighing “just keep focused and find Wally; sure by the time I find him this whole thing has passed over. And he probably wouldn’t even know anything happened,” he tries to chuckle at his partners obliviousness but a feeling that Wally was in trouble refuses to leave him.

Shawn continues to walk through his department hoping he’ll be able to pick out the murder if he sees him.

 Susie keeps trying to tell herself this is the stupidest theory she’s ever conjured up before. She keeps trying to ignore the thoughts whirling In her mind. She tells herself that she saw Sammy die.

“Or did you?” A little voice in the back of her cracks with hope. “You never went over and checked, perhaps he didn’t die, she thought but the realistic voice in her head retorts back,”

“He was hit with an axe at least three times; if he didn’t die from the blows surely from the blood loss. And when you left him he wasn’t moving. He’s dead. Now is the time to move on, one of the stages of grief is denial,” Her inner realist argues. She’s reminded of how his body fell to the floor and he was bleeding and the axe kept hitting him and his eyes were closed and he yelled and-

“So he wasn’t moving, Sammy is a smart man. If he acted dead he would stop being attacked. Let’s go find him,” Susie can’t help but listen to what little hope was in her heart and presses foreword. She didn’t need to stay in that stuffy storage room anyway.

Susie, in the span of less than ten minutes, is lost. She isn’t very familiar with the layout of the lower levels of the studio; actually until today she had only ever traveled as far as the Toy Department’s break room. Now she was wandering around looking for a likely dead man.

How hopeless is this mission? She asks herself feeling her eyes water once again. When would the tears ever sto-

She’s interrupted as a song plays, her own voice filling the empty room. Susie can’t help but whisper the lyrics under her breath, they were truly catchy; Jack is as good as a lyricist as Sammy is a music director.

A sudden click lights the room enough to reveals the contents of the it. A few pieces of Alice merchandise is scattered through the room and there is a large dusty window in the center of it where the light is emanating from; otherwise it’s as void as any other storage room down here. Maybe she could peer through the window up in the front, see if she recognizes anything. It’s a long shot but it can’t hurt to look.

For a unknown reason Susie’s stomachs twists into a knot and a chill passes her spine. She continues to whisper the lyrics; now her mind is just playing tricks on her. Certainly just another worker turned on the light, looking for a tool or supplies or

Her breath catches, mid-inhale, in her throat at the sight before her. It’s the man who murdered Sammy, staring directly at her.His visage still holds the same deadpan look, his mouth turned in a slight pout accompanied by half lidded eyes. It is a usual expression that fills the halls of the studio but with the added blood stains that cover him reveal a new depth. Susie steps back not even able to give a fake smile to the murder. His head tilts his dark hair falling to the side before he raises both his fists. She wishes to run but her legs stick to the floor like glue and her face twists to a horrified expression as the window is pounded to oblivion. The glass, the only thing separating the two rooms, shatters to the floor along with dripping blood. Susie fills her lungs and shrieks the highest pitch she’s ever reached; the last note of Alice’s song following right behind.

Her sudden screech doesn’t unfreeze her legs; that’s saved for when the bloody man attempts to walk but he trips on the glass covering the floor. Her body kicks into hard drive as she leaves to run from this man from the second time. Susie swears she heard him calling the name Alice after her but He doesn’t follow her.

At least not that she noticies.

[acsversace-news]

Step-touching his way through the halls of the fictional Dalton High School—the hair perfectly parted, the navy blazer impeccably tailored, and amplifying an a capella rendition of a Katy Perry song through the sheer wattage of his all-American smile—a then-22-year-old Darren Criss, fresh out of college and making his debut as Blaine Anderson on a 2010 episode of Glee, was the epitome of the teenage dream.

Now, he’s the 30-year-old stuff of nightmares.

Well, he isn’t, exactly, but the serial killer he plays on The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story certainly is.

In many ways, Criss’ revelatory performance as Andrew Cunanan, the 27-year-old gay man who, after murdering five people including the famed fashion designer, became one of the most wanted serial killers in American history, is all the more unsettling because of its stark contrast to the genial crooner we were introduced to on Fox’s burned-fast-and-bright musical dramedy.

But then again, the surprise of a certain clean-cut progressiveness has been the hallmark of Criss’ still-young career.

“I think it’s really given me an alley-oop,” Criss says, referring to the initial shock a Glee fan might have to watching the actor as Cunanan, say, bind a rich john who hires him as an escort with duct tape and then gauge him with a hammer. “I’d like to think [audiences] would be interested and compelled anyway,” without this lingering image of Criss as Blaine, the consummate Nice Guy. “But I think it’s an extra nudge when you have that to juxtapose against.”

When we first met Darren Criss several years ago, he was wearing a thigh-length kimono and tending to his favorite blonde wig, remnants of sweat-sticky glitter smudging just about everything in sight—aided and abetted in its mission by the runoff from his sparkling go-go boots. We were in his dressing room backstage at the Belasco Theatre, high off the energy of his stage-scorching performance in as the titular transgender rocker in the 2015 musical revival Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

It was Criss’ first major gig after wrapping his run on Glee, and a thundering opening salvo in proving the breadth of his talents, let alone taste in projects.

Things are decidedly bleaker, or at the very least chillier, when we reunite two-and-a-half years later at a café in the Chelsea neighborhood of New York to talk Versace, inarguably the biggest and certainly darkest project of his career thus far. Still, Criss’ fashion choice is doing its part to dial up the fabulousness of the morning: a knee-length, forest green mohair overcoat he pets with pride when we compliment it. “One of the kids from Boy Band on Good Morning America this morning was like, ‘Yo bro, it looks like you skinned the Grinch!’” Criss laughs. “I’m like, that is indeed an apt observation.”

Just as when we talked before, Criss bubbles over with the kind of giddiness, but also navel-gazing introspection, that one might expect from a lifelong theater kid—which the 30-year-old actor absolutely is, having grown up attending performance arts schools and raised in the San Francisco theater scene he joined at a young age.

And so there’s a certain amount of objectivity and pragmatism as we discuss the arc of his career, not to mention a pinch-me enthusiasm in promoting a leading role in Ryan Murphy’s follow-up to the blockbuster The People v. O.J. Simpson series. There’s also a refreshing eagerness to engage thoughtfully in conversations about his sexuality and sex appeal—oh yeah, we talked about those nude photos—especially in relation to the coincidence that, though he identifies as straight, the three defining roles of his career have been gay characters.

For all the talk of teenage dreams and historical crime nightmares, Darren Criss is nothing if not woke.

The fact of the matter is that, while Versace’s 1997 murder is the catalyst for the series and crucial in instigating the conversations about sexuality and fame in ’90s America that it explores, Versace (played by Edgar Ramirez), his longtime boyfriend (played by Ricky Martin), and sister, Donatella (Penelope Cruz), are all minor characters. This is almost exclusively a showcase for Criss as Andrew Cunanan, the highly intelligent sociopath with tortured feelings about his own sexuality, driven to murder.

“The thing I keep saying is I feel like I made varsity,” Criss says, about leading the starry ensemble. “I feel like I’ve been lucky enough to be invited into the school, into the program. I put in enough games on J.V. Now they’re like, alright kid, it’s your shot.”

Murphy first floated the idea of playing Cunanan to Criss three years ago. Their working relationship on Glee only bolstered a purely superficial argument for the casting: Criss and Cunanan look uncannily similar, and share almost identical Filipino-American backgrounds. “I would have been happy to audition,” Criss stresses, grinning sheepishly. “I masochistically relish that process.”

He’s fully aware that people are fascinated by the idea of the Tiger Beat cover boy thwarting that image playing the sociopathic serial killer, just as they were by the idea of the straight cisgender teen idol actively pursuing the role of a transgender rock star when he booked meetings for Hedwig when Glee was ending.

“I keep telling reporters that I’m curious what the conversation would be if I started with Versace and then three years later I do this musical comedy,” he says. “And I do think the questions would be the same: ‘Darren you’re sort of this dark brooding dramatic guy and that’s what you’re known for. It must be such a departure to be playing this happy go lucky. When I was watching Versace I never thought I’d be watching this guy singing and dancing on Broadway.’ But we have to categorize. It’s how we keep ourselves sane.”

He chuckles. “My goal in life in all respects is to keep people as off-kilter as possible.”

Well, speaking of throwing fans for a loop, let’s talk about that naked Instagram photo.

While Blaine on Glee was certainly made out to be a handsome, crush-worthy romantic lead—all the more groundbreaking, of course, because the romance was a same-sex teenage one—there was something chaste and sort of juvenile about it. Not anymore. Now, Darren Criss exudes sex.

He’s damn hot, too, and clearly leaning into it. Ryan Murphy, god bless him, is nothing if not the Patron Saint of Sexualizing Male TV Stars, and thus had Criss shooting in nothing but a red Speedo very early on in the Versace shoot. One particular day ended with a sunburned Criss as red as his skimpy wardrobe. So, after getting the blessing of his girlfriend of seven years, Mia, Criss thought it would be funny to post a nude selfie, covering his naughty bits with the crumpled up bathing suit, on his Instagram.

The gay community collectively gasped in unison.

“I learned what the word ‘thirsty’ meant after that,” Criss laughs.

“My favorite part of the post was the caption, which was completely upstaged,” he says.

Uh, there was a caption?

“Exactly! That’s what’s so funny about these things. When something goes viral, all context gets thrown out the window.” (For the record, the caption mocked his sunburn: “So what’s more red? My sunburn, my Speedo, or YOUR FACE???”)

Criss takes it all in good humor, of course. “It tickles me, and I think it’s, in a weird, twisted way, endearing,” he says when we mention that his nude scene from the Versace premiere—a lingering look at his naked body and butt from behind—has already leaked and is circulating on gay porn sites. But he gets a little weary when all that becomes the focus of discussion around Cunanan. At the premiere in Los Angeles, for example, gossip rags bombarded him with questions about how he got into shape for the show, the usual tired questions about an actor’s exercise regimen. “I freaked out,” he says. “Like, no, no, no. Andrew’s not supposed to be a sexual object.”

You can take sex appeal out of the conversation, of course, but you can’t take sexuality out of it. And it’s an interesting, if complicated, conversation in relation to Criss’ career. As we mentioned earlier, Andrew Cunanan marks the third time Criss has played a LGBTQ character, after Blaine on Glee and Hedwig.

At a time when the visibility and normalization of gay characters is trumpeted in tandem with a cry for opportunity for LGBTQ performers and creators, it’s a coincidence that invites a certain amount of scrutiny for a straight actor whose career has benefited from these characters.

“I’ve been really fortunate in that, while I almost bizarrely invite that, there hasn’t really been any scrutiny,” Criss says. “As a straight, cisgender white guy, I can definitely see how people in the LGBTQ community could be a little weirded out about the consistency of these roles. But it��s not conscious. I’m not going, ooh, I’m going to go after all these queer roles. It’s sort of no different than a gay actor only doing straight roles. I think in our political climate those things are important to talk about and important to notice.”

“Especially for a community who’s had to fight for its voice to be heard and recognized for so fucking long, I completely understand the sensitivity to what my approach or reasonings are,” he continues. “But I think hopefully the art transcends the politics in that I’m an actor. Just plain and simple. Maybe that sounds pandering, or maybe it sounds like I’m trying to put that curiosity down. I’ve been thrilled that no one’s ever really given me grief for this. Because I think we all agree the stories are more important than the pieces that make them.”

Rather than shy away from questions about this, skittish that something he says might be deemed controversial, Criss actually continues to elaborate, saying “there’s so much to unpack here.”

“I like talking about it,” he says. “Because I feel like the gay community has embraced me when it really didn’t have to. I am aware that I’m an outsider. I didn’t grow up gay. I didn’t go through the same journey that a lot of gay men and women went through. That is something that binds the gay community together in a very real way. I would never deign to say that I deserve to be included, but I’ve been so touched and privileged to be a voice and connected to a part personally and professionally that I’m just thrilled there hasn’t really been any visible or audible backlash.”

Plus, he reaps the benefits of being a satellite member of the community, such as trusting whoever encouraged him to wear that fabulous—and hardly heteronormative—green overcoat.

“That’s true!” he laughs.

It reminds him of a joke that was in Hedwig at the expense of an actor, whom he’d rather not name now, talking about how he enjoyed “all the privileges of homosexuality and none of the responsibilities.” It always got a big laugh, to the point that when co-star Lena Hall filled in for him as Hedwig, he suggested that she make the same joke but using his name instead.

“I tend to step outside my body and look at this all from the back seat. I was like that is a really, really funny joke,” he says. “Because it’s true. I’ve been really lucky to have all the privileges, all the fun things of the gay community without all the responsibilities and burdens that come with it. And I’m so aware of that.”

He then launches into a story that he apologizes several times for having told before to other media outlets, but which seems to so genuinely reflect his attitude about his place in the gay community as an outsider who plays these characters.

“This is the nerdiest analogy,” he starts, before likening the experience to being given the Green Lantern ring from some LGBTQ powers-that-be and being told to be a symbol for the community, thinking in response: “Me? Are you sure?”

“But I’m glad it was me,” he says. “I’m glad that these things have fallen on my plate, and that things have happened in my life that I think actually make me a good candidate for being put in the position that I was put in, having grown up like I did in San Francisco, being raised basically by gay twentysomethings in theater. These are people who I looked up to. These are people who I wanted to be around. These are people who raised my adult consciousness without them even being aware of it. So later in life, yeah, fuck yeah, those are the people I want to be connected with. It is really cool. I really lucked out.”

Teenage dreams grow up, and even become realities. Darren Criss is in the midst of his.

[susan-gampre]

Squandered Rumors

This is a collaboration piece between @ophelia-gampre , @gwynepainelacrux , @ralleigh-breakridge , and myself!

When word reached her of Ophelia's attacker the Madam was absolutely murderous. True she loathed her sister for having pulled the stunt she did just a day prior, but despite how much she hated the woman... She loved her. Ophelia was still Susan's sister, still the woman she grew up with -- loved with, cried with, fought with. And fought for. still the woman she grew up with -- loved with, cried with, fought with. And fought for.

A coward... On the cusp of doing his worst to her sister had their oldest brother not arrived upon the scene. She heard the full story from a more beloved servant, a woman so soft spoken and meek she was too naive to even attempt to play tricks on the Madam. So instead they formed a type of bond that gave Susan a necessary in with the servants.

Lilian was Susan's eyes and ears of the manor. And the story wasn't at all what Susan was expecting to acquire when having asked Lilian how the day was looking for Snowdrift.

Viewer discretion is advised --- Beyond this line is a story detailing suggestion toward rape, abuse, nudity, and death -- NSFW

Upon rounding the corner, Ophelia nearly bumped right into one of the guards, "Ah-- shit, excuse me." She apologized, her tone as drained as she, sleepy from having just awoken. 

He eyed her, very obviously.

"Aha! Hey! Should watch where your goin'." The man joked, and she just forced a short exhale of air that could classify as a laugh, she started to move past him but he lifted a hand to her shoulder, stopping her.

Ophelia did not want to be touched right now, so she just glared upward.

"Hey, where you going?" He asked.

"To the kitchen." She replied.

"Oh, I can take you."

Ophie tugged - and he didn't release her all the way at first, but she did get free, straightening her thing sleeve.

"That's alright. I can find it myself." She scowled so mean, irritation in her tone.

"Awe, come on - you can take a minute to please a poor fella', can'tcha? Heard you tried to kill yourself yesterday, girly.  It really shook me up, I wanted to pay for a piece of ass before you got crazy." He reached to grab a handful of her rear but she moved back and smacked his hand away, just hurting her own against his material -- but she didn't show that.

"What the fuck?  Lay a hand on me again and see if I don't split your thick skull in two." 

He grew irritated at that, narrowing his eyes, "Last I checked whores don't get a choice. What is it, your pussy still sore from gettn' fucked by your brother?"

Ophelia's eyes widened, ringing with a deadliness that was right in his path. How dare he think that. How fucking dare he. Ralleigh was a saint for keeping his sister company in her darkest time, and they were turning it all around  into something so sickening. She clenched her jaw and slammed her fist right into his throat.

"You fucking cunt!" He choked but reached out and grabbed her by the waist, slinging her onto the floor like a rag doll.  Ophelia groaned, having landed funny and rolled a bit when she was thrown.

The guard kept a hand to his throat, "You're a godsdamn insane bitch. I don't stick my dick in crazy - even if it is for free."

Ralleigh was making his way for the room when he saw what was happening and, setting Eleanor down, he tackled the man into the wall, yelling in rage as his fist repeatedly flew into his face. If nobody stopped him, he was liable to kill the man.

Eleanor's eyes widened, hugging onto her colors and paper frozen.

The first thing Ophelia did was roll up and dart the short distance past Ralleigh and the guard, who was slumping against the wall, his face constantly slammed into. He had hands tight on Ralleigh's bicep but had delayed reaction  - that first hit got him good, so unexpected. Ophelia leaned down, cupping Eleanor's face and hurridly saying: "Shh - shh, it's okay. It's okay, stand right around this corner," She pushed her lightly around the wall so she at least wouldn't have to see any of this.

Whether or not she stayed, Ophelia couldn't control.

Ophie got up, Ralleigh must have hit him at least five times now, he broke the guards nose, knocked teeth out, blood meshing between rough knuckles and a messed up face.

"RALLEIGH," Ophelia shouted, like she was trying to get him out of the trance. 

"Ralleigh - Ralleigh stop it--" Ophie hooked fingers against the waist of his pants and tried tugging him back, begging her brother, "Ralleigh she's watching  -- stop it, she's watching."

He turned, a wild, enraged look about him. But seeing her face, and the way she looked at him...he clenched his jaw and looked down to the prone man. Releasing him, Ral flexed his hand, the knuckles cut on his teeth, "Im taking this fockin' pig t'susan's pussyboy. Needs ta get his damn people under control. "

Ophelia was panting slightly, lifting her fingers to push back her hair.

"Uh, yeah." She said obviously, "Are you okay?" She asked and then looked back at Eleanor, who had one eye peeking around the corner.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" Ophelia moved to Eleanor, running a hand over the top of her head. The guard slummped down. She said nothing, just stared at Ophelia llike a doe caught in tramlights.

"Let's go." She muttered, "Time to face more than one demon."

Whispered words, plaguing gossip which infected the staff’s ability to mind their own fucking business. It was all horrendous bullshit:

‘The youngest Gampre was as bad as the others, a whore, willing to fuck anyone without requesting pay.’

‘Ophelia and Ralleigh bedded eachother in secret, and not because they were in love but because they liked it.’

‘The Gampre’s molest Ralleigh’s only child.’

‘Susan Gampre manipulates her siblings and forces them to fuck and fall in love to control them.’

The rumors had been circulating for some time since Ophie's initial arrival. Now with the entire Gampre family mingling in the same Manor, it was no surprise to the Madam how the rumors now included all four of her siblings-- she was quite aware how the servants talked and gossiped about them behind all of their backs.

It was only appropriate.

The world would always make jokes at the expense of those who were raised differently, and it just so happened it was the Gampres this time around.

She was only surprised by how swiftly Gwynepaine singled out the people who had been the most callous and offensive. It was said gentleman who was found not minutes later calling for all the servants as well as the family to come to the main hall, thinking to resolve this problem once and for all.

The look on Susan's face is what hurt Ophelia most in all of this. Or so that was the Madam’s plan, she knew her sister well enough to determine which buttons functioned better in her favor to win arguments or fights against her kin. But still... She could feel Ophelia's eyes on her, soft, sad. Pity where it was not due nor appreciated.

It only pissed Susan off even more.

"I'm sorry, Susan,” Opehie’s voice was heard, murmuring softly, “I... I know that's a shitty thing to say but there isn't much else I can." 

Susan was unamused. Stalwart. She bore no emotion, fearful that the slightest break would cause her to revert back into a sobbing mess. So Susan just stared forward, never looked at her family and especially refused to acknowledge Ophelia.

It's like she truly was dead to Susan -- thats exactly what Ophie wanted, wasn't it? That's exactly what she was going to get.

Once most of the people were gathered, including the family, and the rumor spreaders, Gwyn had an appropriate number of stools brought out. Beneath them were nooses. The women began to sob, thinking this was their end.

Gwyn smiled and spoke up, "Ah good. You're all here. Now, can anyone tell me why it is that in my own home, ill is being spoken of my love's family? Of my family? These guests of mine are being harassed, both physically and verbally, and for what? For your amusement? For your entertainment. Well now, I think it is your turn to entertain them."

Ophelia muttered soft - not to draw attention, she knew she could at least hear her.  "I didn't mean to hurt anyone, I just needed it to stop."  She ended it there, not wanting to fully detract from Gwynepaine's purpose here.

As the guards brought the offenders forward, they were put on the stools, nooses around their necks, "Well, you all seem so knowledgeable about the art of whoring and dancing. Why don't you dance for us then? Give us a show! Make sure not to slip!"  He had a look of carefully contained rage about him.

The guilty persons were all shocked and begging for forgiveness. Gwyn rolled his eyes, and walked over to the stools, raising his leg, "I better see some dancing, or I’m going to start kicking."

Ralleigh looked uncomfortable and moved to take Eleanor back to the room so she didn't have to see this.Ophelia looked up at what was happening -- holy fuck, who was this man. A blond brow rose, lips parting. What the fuck? She frowned slow.

Ophelia inhaled sharply, she was conflicted and this was such a strange time for this family. They disrespected them -- so they deserved to be humiliated. But to die? That was questionable. "I want an apology." She said. "And I want to believe it."

The different people began to apologize, and also dancing. Gwyn grinned  and looked to the guard who's nose was broken. He apologized as well.

"Mm...what do you think, Gampres?" Lord LaCrux mused, clearly amused by the going ons.

Ophelia's nose scrunched in slight disgust. "I've no doubt he would have raped me if he'd gotten the chance. His verbal attacks alone were disgusting and brutal." She glared, "Cut out his tongue."

The guard begged for forgiveness, but Gwyn was now in no mood for games.

"Someone get him down. Take him outside, and do as she has asked. Make sure he doesn't pass out. I'll be out to deal with him shortly. He looked to the others, all women.

Ophelia inhaled sharply, arms still crossed. She had this severe frown on her face, turning and moving out of the main hallway to return to the room in which she stayed.

Walking past them each, who were now all dancing carefully, so as not to fall, and sobbing, Gwyn mused out, "Now then, if I hear any more of these rumors in my home? I'll make sure the last thing any of you remembers is being used as a fucktoy, and that you're remembered for how many cocks were in you. Am i clear?"

The women all nodded through tears, and he had them letdown and sent away. He came to Susan with a clenched jaw, "Bring Anthrel outside. She could use some sport."

The Madam's calling to Anthrel would be met with a startling, fierce roar. The tigress unfurled from her state of rest, fur bristling whilst claws unsheathed from her fluffy paws, slowly stretching out each leg whilst approaching the woman's extended palm. True to any feline the beast would rub her cheek and chin against Susan's hand, nuzzling her fingers with a throaty gurgle to acknowledge her.

Next, Susan leers toward Gwynepaine. Still her mask had yet to waver.

Gwyn motioned for them to follow, going outside, and whispering to Susan, " Do what you want to him, but leave him alive for Anthrel to play with."

The Madam's fingers fiddled and toyed with the grip of her hunting knife, tugging the steel blade from it's sheath along her hip simply to marvel it's beauty in the glittering of the snow and sunlight.

A cruel smile had coiled its way across her lips in this moment, unforgiving eyes lowering to inspect her sister's attacker -- and the fear in the guard's eyes was just the cherry upon her fucked up sundae.

"The safe word is 'Mercy'," she teases the man, her tone harsh and venomous, "Just say it when things get *too* rough for you."

Muffled cries and mumbled begs for “Murphy! Murphy!” was heard, the man nearly choking on his words as he sobbed so blatantly at the woman’s feet.

With that the Madam would begin to cut and shred the man's clothes from his body -- Shirt, pants, underwear -- and threw it all to the ground, marveling his nude form against the cold snowy grounds just a moment longer, aiming to make the man feel as small as possible.

“Get up,” she commands, the bark met with a swift reaction as the man struggled to scrape his sorry self from off the cold grounds, hunching over immediately to cover himself up, as well as warm himself as the cold nipped and bit into his bare flesh.

Slowly the Madam walked around him, getting a view of the guardsman at every angle, her twisted smile only darkening as she stopped behind him.

WIthout warning the Madam slashed her knife into his exposed back causing the man to jerk backward and upright with a cry. Blood would begin to dribble down his arm and drip into the snow. He’d fall to his hands and knees, flinching at the pain of the snow nipping at his skin -- but the pain of Susan’s knife carving into his back was even more horrendous.

She made it a point to carve the words “PIG” so deep she nearly cut to the bone.

With that the Madam would point North with her knife, not even giving the gentleman a moment to breathe before her icy tone would mingle in the air, breathing out a single command: “Run.”

And off he went, barreling toward the distant tree lines as the flight motion overcame him. He had no will to fight, no strength to do anything but run for his life.

It was just as the man reached the tree line that Susan leered down toward the tigress. Her bright golden eyes had yet to remove from the retreating figure. THe moment the beast licked her chops had the Madam thrust her hand outward and in the direction of the man, her final command resonating in the air: “Kill.”

And off was Anthrel, a vicious roar ripping through the beast's throat as she rushed across the open plain like a bullet.

It took only mere moments before the tigress pounced forth and raked her claws down the exposed back of her prey. A howl of pain and fear lifted into the air, and it seemed to be music to the Madam’s ears as she’d give forth a bought of maniacal laughter, clapping her hands together before gathering her dress skirts in her palms and beginning to cross the open plains to approach the scene.

The man hadn’t even made it to the trees to hide from the world his brutal death, the tigress was much too fast and the surrounding environment had significantly slowed the man down. He didn’t even have a chance, and the morbid thing was... He was thankful for the cold of the snow. The tigress had proven so heavy that she partially buried him into the soft frozen waters and it effectively numbed a good portion of his nerves, thus he did not feel a significant amount of pain as fangs tore into the flesh of his shoulder.

With a smug Susan leering on Anthrel ate in semi-peace, the haunting howls and cries of the man had yet to stifle. Not until the tigress clamped down on the man’s neck and bit so hard he’d begin to choke on, both, his own blood and the crushed windpipe.

[jstanley1998-blog]

Holding All the Roses – A Thorn to Mainstream Music Too country to be rock? Yet too rock to be country? This is the definition commonly used to describe Blackberry Smoke, arguably Southern Rock’s hottest act since Lynyrd Skynyrd emerged in the early 1970’s. They’ve toured with the likes of Skynyrd and ZZ Top, as well as other huge names in country and southern rock to boot. Prior to the release of ‘Holding All the Roses’ in early 2015, Blackberry Smoke had made a name for themselves by touring almost constantly, as well as releasing 3 albums and an EP. To kick this off, it is worth noting that this album is most ‘produced’ of all Blackberry Smoke albums at the time of release. The band hired legendary producer Brendan O’ Brien (AC/DC, Bruce Springsteen etc), and this led to the album having a heavily, almost overproduced sound; there was less emphasis on the instruments individually, and it generally remixed in a more ‘pop rock’ style. Fans were split about this, as previous Blackberry Smoke albums have had a somewhat ‘raw’ quality, notably 2012’s ‘The Whippoorwill’. However, I, as the writer here, am a big fan of the likes of Meat Loaf, and Def Leppard, so I dig heavy production. I believe it makes for a better sonic experience, and with the case of Blackberry Smoke, THE LOUDER THE BETTER! The album artwork is also worth discussing. ‘Holding All the Roses’ is an analogy meaning ‘you’re the winner’. Just listening to the album, you may assume this is a reference from the band to the fact they finally are starting to hit the big top. However, the album cover and rear tell a different story. The front cover is a donkey adorned with roses; it has just won an event. But the background exhibits near empty stands, and nobody is looking; does anybody really care? And the rear cover of the album shows two unkempt, older hillbillies waving their roses in the air. These two are seemingly the only fans and supporters of the donkey, leading us to question whether it’s worth celebrating the donkey’s victory. This sarcastic display is a perfect set up for the album, particularly once you start digging into the lyrics. The first track off ‘Holding All the Roses’, ‘Let Me Help You Find the Door’ is the best example of straight up, loud anger on the album. Dripping with sarcasm and loaded with a guitar riff that could cause an earthquake, singer Charlie Starr belts out a protest to the music industry of today. He’s not gonna take any shit from anyone. ‘Why’s it got to be the same damn thing? Same damn song that everybody wants to sing… Same Sons of Bitches still rigging the game, they sell the same old faces with a brand-new name’. Admittedly, this is a rarity for Blackberry Smoke. They’ve managed to remain neutral and politically correct for their entire career, so a sudden outburst is, if anything, slightly out of character. Nevertheless, if they felt the need to write it, then something must be going on behind the scenes to encourage it. If anyone can find a more damning view on today’s chart music than this, then I owe them a drink. I challenge you. Continuing down the hard rockers aisle, we come to ‘Rock and Roll Again’. This is completely different to ‘Let Me Help You Find the Door’, though it retains the punch and attack from the first song. ‘Rock and Roll Again’ is a classic ‘man loves girl’ rock song, characterised by its thumping shuffle feel. Play this song, and close your eyes. It is almost as though you’re in 1977 watching Status Quo bash through their 3 most iconic chords. Yet open your eyes to the music video and you’re in a Southern American strip club. The music video caused a large amount of controversy among fans due to its heavy reliance upon nudity. Whilst Blackberry Smoke play on the stage of the club, nude cowgirls play with snakes and swings. Through all of this though, the video does have an element of humour, as we see when [insert spoiler alert here] the protagonist, a tattooed cowboy of about 35, tries to slap one of the strippers’ bum. This results in a bar fight (what American music video is complete without one?) during which he makes an escape. All in all, everything about this song is good fun, whatever your outlook. For those of you who are interested (as I’m sure you all are…), be sure to check it via the link provided link. ‘Wish in One Hand’ is one of my personal favourite tracks. Lyrically it is another brash dig at society. Its written about those among us who are loud, obnoxious and just want to be the centre of attention. Yeah, we all like a degree of attention, but this is about the kind of people you see on the front of gossip magazines. ‘You wish you could be everybody’s best friend, know the whole story from beginning to end’. Let’s be honest, we ALL know somebody like this! Musically this song is also a stand out on ‘Holding all the Roses’. The solo section features some beautiful twin guitar work, very reminiscent of the Allman Brothers Band with Duane Allman and Dickey Betts on guitar. The actual improvised solo part is equally mind-blowing. It almost feels like a different song. It doesn’t feel like a conventional solo section, with odd chords and notes regarding the original key. Throughout it though, Blackberry Smoke manage to keep their thrashing mood, and whilst it may feel a bit out of place, it works, and that’s Blackberry Smoke for ya. In my opinion, the most un-Blackberry Smoke song on the album must be the title track. ‘Holding All the Roses’ is a loud, relentless track. To the date the album was released, this was the heaviest track the band had ever laid down. Though saying this, it is tinged with a few bluegrass inspired licks. ‘Holding All the Roses’ is a bit of a musical oxymoron. The chorus is heavy and loud, yet the ‘middle 8’ is based on some chicken pickin’ acoustic guitar and a violin trading licks, and the actual guitar solo is huge. It sounds like Charlie is setting the fretboard on fire, and this is why I love the heavy production. If you haven’t played this song on full volume, then you may need to rethink your life. One of the most memorable tracks on ‘Holding All the Roses’ is a standalone on the album. It’s a short instrumental played on solo acoustic guitar called ‘Randolph County Farewell’. Clocking in at just 1:17, it is by a large stretch the shortest piece on the album. Played by lead singer and co lead guitarist Charlie Starr, ‘Randolph County Farewell’ is a welcome break from the rollicking rockers. It’s also a nice nod to Charlie’s influences with guitar, as its clear that he’s a Merle Travis fan. That ‘Travis Picking’ style is unmistakeable in bluegrass, and we almost expect to hear ‘Cannonball Rag’ in the same piece! Blackberry Smoke may typically be a southern rock outlet, but there’s no denying their roots in country music. The EP they released in 2003 entitled ‘New Honky Tonk Bootlegs’ consisted of 5 songs which are undeniably country infused. Considering that and the fact they managed to record the iconic ‘Yesterday’s Wine’ with Jamey Johnson and the late, great, George Jones, Blackberry Smoke really haven’t done too bad for themselves. There’s a couple of very country infused songs on the album. The first I will talk about is one of my personal favourite tracks, ‘Lay It All on Me’. It’s a predominantly acoustic track which appears towards the end of the album. In my opinion, the lyrics are incredible. Just the opening verse with the continuous rhymes ‘Ruby’s got a brother, her brother’s got a lover, his lover’s got another on the side’. What a way to open a song. Again, this song also shows off Blackberry Smoke’s musical prowess, as the chords make heavy use of chromaticism. Now, most people who know music will think of Stravinsky and Schoenberg when someone says chromaticism, but Blackberry Smoke aren’t like that. Not even close. ‘Lay It All on Me’ is full of interesting turnarounds, most notably the unexpected chord progression at the end of each section. Behind all this is some beautiful electric guitar playing. We’re hearing tasty country licks that sound like something straight out of a Merle Haggard track. Beautiful stuff. The other country laced track is also the only other track with a supporting music video. ‘Too High’ is a stunning track. It’s clearly very bluegrass inspired, as we can hear notably in the chorus. Co-guitarist and backing singer Paul Jackson’s high harmonies take us right back to the times of Hank Williams. It’s enough to bring a tear to a grown man’s eye. It is said that the song is written about Charlie Starr’s first experience away from home, where (unbeknownst to him), his housemates were cooking meth in the basement. ‘Too High’ is a story about trying to get away, but struggling in the process. ‘That mountain is too high for me to climb, the river is too deep and it’s too wide’. Its something that a lot of people these days can connect with, not necessarily directly, but with the basic premise. And that’s the true beauty of this song, we’re all the same deep inside. Preach. ‘Living in The Song’ is southern rocker. No other way about it. If there’s any song on ‘Holding All the Roses’ that wouldn’t be out of place on a Lynyrd Skynyrd album, it’s this one. Despite it’s moderate upbeat tempo, this is lyrically one of the saddest songs on the album. It’s about the protagonist struggling to get by post-relationship. ‘Tell me that the darkest hour is just before the dawn… Whoever said that never spent so many nights alone’. To read the lyrics alone would make for a very stark and moving poem, but set it against loud guitars, a moderate tempo and the key of A major, oh and have Charlie Starr sing it, and you get southern blues. The guitar solo has a sense of melodic prettiness, whilst still having the bite of Charlie’s single p90 pickup, and again, Paul Jackson’s high harmony backing vocals remind us of when country music was good, before the times of so called ‘bro country’ and ‘country rap’. Who even likes Luke Bryan and Florida Georgia Line anyway? I’d far rather crack open a cold one, and listen to Blackberry Smoke, like a real man (as internet sensation Uncle Rob might say). ‘Payback’s a Bitch’. It’s all in the title, straight there in front of you. Everything you need to know about this musical opus. It’s the complete opposite of ‘Living in The Song’ in that the subject matter is the same, but its taken completely differently. ‘Living in The Song’ is the protagonist lamenting about the past complaining about the fact ‘lonesome finds me everywhere I try to hide’. ‘Paybacks a Bitch’ is a protagonist post-relationship vowing to get their back on their not-so-significant other. ‘Don’t think you wrecked it, I’ll get you when you least expect it. And tear down that old tangled web you weave’. It even contains my favourite line on the whole album ‘Karma is about a step behind me’. ‘Payback’ is quite a scary song. Not the kind of scary you associate children’s music boxes and dolls with, I mean it has a presence. You don’t mess with Blackberry Smoke in this one. Easily my favourite part of the song though is at the end. The final time around the chorus. Charlie starts belting out the chorus, but with new lyrics, and there’s extra added instrumental parts to REALLY fill out the texture. To listen to this bit on full volume is an experience, and I really recommend you do it. Right now. ‘Woman in the Moon’ is the slowest song on ‘Holding All the Roses’. I particularly like the production on this song because everything has been given a respectable amount of reverb, and it sounds almost as though we’re listening to it through a tunnel. But it works. It’s also very bass heavy, particularly in the guitar solo. Listening to the guitar solo is quite an experience, as there’s quite a lot going on. Keyboardist Brandon Still is playing something very haunting, and I’m sure there’s an orchestral bass drum thrown in there too. Here we (again) hear a beautiful, melodic solo played by Charlie Starr over the top of it all. ‘Woman in the Moon’ is also in a calm waltz time, which adds perfectly to the haunting feel of it. Despite the reservations you may have after reading that it’s kinda haunting, it’s incredibly laid back, and the lyrics appear to me to be about being different. ‘A Little off kilter, just left of centre, bent just a little out of round’. Charlie Starr has stated that the woman he sees in the moon is Marilyn Monroe, which he states was the ‘weird’ that inspired this song. Further down ‘laid back lane’ we come to ‘No Way Back to Eden’. Generally considered a fan favourite, this is the only ALL acoustic song on ‘Holding All the Roses’. It’s also the calmest song on the album, and has its own little corner on my ‘Relaxed’ playlist. The two most standout things (to me) on this track are the percussion and the backing vocals. From the outset we hear that this track makes use of more traditional sounding percussion over the standard drumkit. I don’t know exactly what was used the recording, but there’s no doubt that drummer Brit Turner’s ‘Shitar’ came into it somewhere! (those who are unaware, the shitar is Brit’s percussive guitar, adorned with all sorts of bells and noisy articles. He usually plays it during acoustic sessions). I also love the backing vocals in this as I feel they’ve been used to brilliant effect. Notably on the first and third lines of each verse, they really seem to bring out the mood of the song. And in the final chorus, the high harmonies really fill the space left in every previous chorus, it builds up to something truly incredible. The final song on ‘Holding All the Roses’ is an upbeat track named ‘Fire in The Hole’. Everything about this track screams Blackberry Smoke. And yet you can still hear the influence of some hard rock bands. The opening chords and verse riff sound like every AC/DC song ever released (coming from a huge AC/DC fan, no offence intended), yet with enough Southern blood to keep it Blackberry Smoke. Lyrically the song is fantastic. It’s quite obscure, I had to really think to understand them, but it seems to me that the song is about people in the world who just go out of their way to f**k things up. People who lie. Its about the kind of people we could do without. ‘It’s a bitter pill, it’s a hard old row to hoe. You’re standing in the way, fucking up the ebb and the flow’. ‘You cross your fingers when you look me in the eye’. Its right there in front of you once the idea hits. That’s one of the beautiful things about Charlie Starr’s song writing, the songs are often obscure until you listen in depth. All in all, ‘Holding All the Roses’ scores a solid 10/10. It’s the perfect blend of country and rock, and never strays too far from the original southern rock formula. It’s like they say, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’.