#MY FIRST FIC OH MY GOD

[ittyybittybaker]

Rating: Not Rated

Relationship: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard

Characters: Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard, Betsy Dobson

Tags: POV Andrew Minyard, Andrew Minyard Has Feelings, Andrew Minyard Loves Neil Josten, Established Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Soft Neil Josten Andrew Minyard

Summary:

The problem was, Andrew didn’t know what he wanted. Wanting something was such a foreign concept to him. His whole childhood, he just wished he would disappear. The only thing he wanted was for his next foster home to not be as bad as his current one, and that never happened. When he finally found his family, all he really wanted was to keep them there with him at all costs. And if he was being really honest with himself, he had dug his claws in so deep that he had almost pushed them away entirely in the process.

He had wanted hookups, but only on his terms, and it was always just a means to an end. He wanted Neil. He wanted him so bad Andrew had thought it was a side effect of the drugs. But after Easthaven, Neil was still there and Andrew still wanted him. Getting to have Neil and his family should be enough, he never thought about wanting anything beyond that. But ever since their conversation on the roof, it was all Andrew could think about and it was driving him crazy.

or, Andrew thinks about Wanting and has a (very Mild) crisis about it.

My entry for @aftg-mixtape is a gift for Vievie_333 and also my very first fic! I hope y'all enjoy!!

Inspired by This Boy by Franz Ferdinand

Title from Guilty Pleasure by Chappell Roan

(See also: a mix of songs I listened to while writing!)

[cryptid-cave]

Currently thinking about a reader who, while having a full-time job and playing the part of a “real adult” pretty well for the most part, is still kind of lost and pathetic. It feels less like they’re living and more like they’re surviving, getting by on their own with just a cat for company.

Enter John Price, who’s currently on medical leave and just itching for a project. Maybe reader works at a store near his home that he shops at almost every other day, or works at the library where he goes when he needs to get out of the house. Either way, he spots this pretty little thing who clearly needs some love and guidance, preferably from a strong, gentle hand - and who better to do that than him?

Anyways, save me bossy and demanding Price with a savior complex, save me

[feathercreates]

"Old friend... I miss you so much. I'm so sorry."

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[p4nishers]

no but actually imagine being immortal and meeting THE LOVE OF UR FUCKING ENDLESS LIFE and spending SIX THOUSAND MFING YEARS imagining an ETERNAL future with them and fucking knowing that you want to spend ACTUAL FOREVER with them like dude im gonna fucking choke and die how can love like that exist even in fucking fiction?? HOW??? this is making me so emotional imagine someone wanting to spend actual fucking eternity with you i would die at the mere fucking possibility. "and we spend our EXISTENCE pretending that we aren't (...) and i would like to spend–" are u fucking kidding me rn man??? fuck off fuck u shut up

[sophiphi]

Guys. GUYS. listen to me- kate carter is a natural brunette. no i’m not just saying that because daisy edgar jones has brown hair naturally, there’s a picture of young kate and her mom that is shown in the scene where she comes back home. I caught it on my second rewatch. I mean ofc you could chalk up her darker roots to it just being a dirty blonde but no, she really is a brunette.

Which brings me to this thought- I wonder what Tyler’s reaction (along with the others ofc) would be when they see Kate with brown hair. Let’s say her blonde dye was growing out enough for her to decide to dye it back. Maybe she does it when she went back to NY for a bit before going back to Oklahoma. Will there be chaos? Definitely. Will Tyler Owens get a heart attack? Duh. Like, imagine the possibilities guys, hellooo

[lbhslefttiddie]

youve heard of sex flowers get ready for the flower that makes you into a celestial shoujo herione complete with particle effects you cannot turn the fuck off and creates a wifebeam so powerful it can incapacitate and maim and keeps making you burst into tears and fall on your ass which makes the wifebeam More Powerful and you also cannot turn this off either. and is also still, sort of, a sex flower

from one of my favorite fanfictions, Celestial Afterglow by elanor_pam, a fic that defies description in the best possible way

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[paradoxbeta]

What are your alien ocs thoughts on eating corn?

here's all my opinionated aliens! thank you for the question, it was very fun :) text transcript under the cut

YIEL: Um... I can't eat <nervous> but I wish I could. Apparently GAR'S old enough to have eaten before, he says it's nothing special but I think he's just never had anything good <skeptical>

LADY: I had corn once and, um... clogged the toilet. I'm sure your Earth exports are lovely, I just can't handle so much fiber.

GUNNELL: Ho-ho, corn? That's exotic exotic. I've had it before and I like the taste but I wouldn't eat it as part of a home meal.

THE PIRATE: Well maybe I'd have an answer for you if I could get my talons on anything other than NUTRIENT PASTE

CIPRIAN: Man, you can eat people for all I care, just clean up after yourself and we're cool.

STELLA: ...Bro

IUWAU: I HATE CORN. I don't even have anything against the taste, but the sound of someone eating it makes me want to leap out of my skin.

MOLLIMAR: Tastes okay, but pretty much everything tastes similar to me. I'll shamelessly piggyback off of Devon's opinion and say it's great.

BYZOW: It is unlike anything on my home planet! I like it. The taste is not good to me but the appearance is so funny.

PHIER-KEL: I love corn. I'm #1 corn warrior. Corn fears me. I'm the bane of corn. I love it so much, I have a t-shirt about it. The day I die is the day 70% more corn becomes available on the market. Corn. 4. Life. (He talks like this about all food he likes.)

DEVON: I'm no alien, but I'm out here for team corn.

[gossippool]

i was gonna make a personal poolverine headcanons list because other people were doing it too but i realised my fics already have most of them so. here are some of my headcanons in fic snippet form. some contradict with others and some i don't even think are necessarily true but it's fun to experiment

people have said this before but logan fights wade because he sees himself in him (or because he realises that he actually doesn't and he hates that)

wade knows about and feels the (emotional and psychological) effects of all his other variant selves (and everything else if he tries)

logan's heightened senses gives him synesthesia

logan doesn't actually like violence/fighting/blood during sex or like ever. it's just an unhealthy addiction that started from him killing all those people that he snuffed with alcohol but revived with wade, and a way to take his anger out on (someone like) himself

with regard to wade's chronic pain slight p pressure on his skin hurts more and in a worse way than sharp pains like getting stabbed

[idyllcy]

heard the risk is drowning, but i'm gonna take it

word count: 10k || banner art by @wr0wn

warnings: mild violence, mentions of blood

summary: it is just admiration. it should get you nowhere (surely?)

It’s a bright day in summer when you first meet Leon Scott Kennedy.

Titled one of the best knights in the academy with an unparalleled aura, you can only observe from the distance during the few times you stop by for the crown prince. Sir Leon Scott Kennedy, knight of the royal legion, best knight that the academy had to offer. You seemed to pale in comparison to him. What use is it to excel in multiple talents when you love none? You find the passion that bleeds from every cell of his body to be far more attractive then the thousand accomplishments you have achieved. If you are honest, not many of them are even accomplished by you. Most of the accomplishments hooked under your name have been done by those around you, other that of the title of Grandmaster. Nobles will never have to work as hard as the commoners when it comes to receiving titles.

When you pass him in the hallway, he does not stop. You do, however.

You stop to stare, watching as he walks off, the aura from his swordsmanship breathtaking, your eyes brimming with excitement as you pass him. Had you been completely honest, you would have let your father know that you do not wish to be crown princess. Rather, you'd like to be the duke on its own, and you would like the liberty of marrying whomever you wish.

And truthfully? You would have told your father you'd wish to marry Sir Leon.

How childish of you, though.

So you turn on your heel, stepping away from Leon, sure that even if you were to proclaim your admiration for him, it would end up nowhere. So, you bury your beating heart, footsteps battering against the marble as you rush to make your next class. Sir Leon could stay a childish crush. You have no time to entertain such thoughts of infidelity. You belong to the nation — to the crown prince. That is your role as the future duke, so that is the role you shall keep.

Your friends dream of marrying knights, they dream of getting whisked away into the sunset on a horse, and you are stuck listening and not joining as they do, a smile that holds everything back, holding everything back from breaking a dam of emotion, knowing that even if you were to entertain such thoughts, you would not get to experience it. You are not in a position where the luxury of marriage is something you can hope and cling to.

"And the princess?"

"I have not the luxury."

"Surely you have considered a candidate."

You look down at the tea which you hold up perfectly, and you close your eyes. "A knight as well, perhaps."

"She talks of Sir Luis!"

"Surely she talks of Sir Leon!"

"I beg to disagree. The crown prince is a knight."

The other two girls groan, and you offer them none else but a smile.

You wonder if it is a choice to just bring it up to your father — that you wish not to be wed to the crown prince. The role of crown princess is not an easy position to hold, and there is none else in the nation that is more suited for the role than you. You are told that from start to finish, and you are more certain of it than anyone. Yet, yet the opportunity arises when a new scholarship student stumbles right into the crown prince's arms at coronation, and a hypothetical shot is wedged into the crevices of the crown prince's heart. You know that look of adoration more than anyone. The crown prince has fallen.

He may not be aware of it, but you keep it in the back of your mind.

The rumors floating around only seem to further solidify your point.

"Princess."

"My fiancé is out frolicking in the field with some commoner girl, I am aware." You hum happily at the taste of the tea, and the girls at your table fret.

"Do you not worry?"

"What if that witch steals her from you!"

"There is none else more suitable for the position of crown princess than you, your highness."

"Mm." You hum. "Well, if push comes to shove, there is nothing I can do about it. I shall only see how it unfolds with time."

It unfolds messily with time. The crown prince keeps you as the crown princess yet declares that he would have none else but his pretty commoner lover as his queen, and you hear left and right all about how foolish the prince has become. You care not for their words, and even when you are slandered for not being a proper crown princess. They would never understand the weight of the title, so you don't take any of their words to heart. See no evil, hear no evil, do no evil.

You listen to the crown prince on the mandatory dates from the emperor, doing your assignments as he brings along the commoner girl to flirt back and forth, and when the crown prince is told to leave the girl immediately, the crown prince fights and argues that he loves not you, but the woman in his arms at all times. You give not a reaction, opting to watch the expressions of the commoner instead, watching as he chews on her thumb when the emperor turns to ask of your opinion.

"Your royal majesty, with all due respect, I too would appreciate the breaking of the engagement. It is damaging to the reputation of the duchy for me to wed with a man who commits adultery." You argue. "My duchy has been known for purity. It would anger the gods."

You believe in no god, but the emperor does, and you are told he will consider it.

"What sick ploy are you playing this time, woman!" The crown prince accuses you, finger pointed in your direction, and you raise a brow.

"Ploy? Your highness, you know better than anyone that the white of my duchy represents purity. How am I to still be the heir if my own fiancé can not stay pure? You want the commoner to be a princess, do you not?"

"I know your lackeys have been targeting her behind my back!"

You blink at the crown prince, trying to recall all of the news that you had heard.

"She fell down the stairs herself."

"Your lackey poisoned her tea!"

"The tea was simply hot? You are to blow or stir before you drink." You blink. "And bring up not the deal of her dress being ruined. That was because she had angered a girl from the gardening club by ruining her precious daisies to pick them for you, Your Highness. She is a student with a scholarship, she is not stupid."

"You are simply jealous."

You raise a brow incredulously.

"Your Highness, I wish not to marry you." You turn on your heel, door to the throne room opening, your heart lodging into your throat as you stare up at the one who had the displeasure of pulling the door the same time you push.

"Sir Leon." You nod.

"Princess."

You leave him behind you, embarrassed that the knight had to see you in such an agitated state.

Good heavens.

Instead, you are caught by the wrist, Leon's breath slightly heavier as you blink at him.

"Are you... alright, princess?"

"Yes." You force.

"Positive?"

"Yes, Sir Leon." You muster up a smile.

"I... may not know you, but I assure you I am here if you are in need of assistance."

"Y..es." You nod, rushing off, fighting the embarrassment that has replaced your agitation. Oh, god. Oh, goodness. Leon? Sir Leon the knight himself? Telling you that he is there if you are in need of assistance? Is this what it feels to be a maiden who is free of the burden of a betrothed? You must be dreaming. There is no way the knight would know of you or even develop such strong feelings for you. Yes, this must be a dream. After all, there is no way the knight could know of you.

You receive the news that someone new has joined the ranks of the dukedom's knighthood, and your heart soars at the news that it's none other than Sir Leon. It makes your heart full, and you blink back every ounce of foolery as you report to your father, notifying him of the new knight in the knighthood, watching as he furrows his brows and hums. Your excitement is hardly concealable, a sparkle present in your eye not there previously.

"Sure it is not for a chance to court you?"

"With full certainty." You assure him. There's no way he would join a rank just to approach you. "Has the emperor responded?"

"That old bastard is still thinking." Your father grumbles. "At this rate, you might as well start looking."

Yet, you stop by the training grounds in the academy, arguing with the general that it is for "moral support" as though the moral support you were offering was not simply just to get a peek at Sir Leon. Surely it is not a sin? Your engagement may not have been broken off yet, but it stops you not from starting to eyeball people. It just so happens that the people you eyeball include a certain knight, and it just so happens that said knight would make a great personal knight. Perhaps it is a little selfish, but you are in the right. Who knows what the royal family will do in order to tarnish your reputation now that you have requested the breaking of your engagement?

"Sir Leon, was it?" You greet the knight in the hall, and he bows.

"Young duke."

"Dare I make a suggestion?"

"If not you, then who?"

"Then, please excuse my rudeness." You dare not to look anywhere but his eyes when you ask. "May I propose that you become my personal knight?"

You watch as Leon goes quiet, and you panic.

"Are you opposed to it?"

"Is there a reason it is me, princess?"

"Is it wrong to appoint the best knight in the rank as my personal guard? I fear the only one who rivals your swordsmanship is me." You reason. Surely he would not turn you down?

You find that he thinks of another way out.

"Perhaps a recommendation from the general himself? A recommendation from anyone that is not you, princess. With all due respect. I have vowed to protect your purity until it is time, for it is my duty as one of your knights."

"I see." You tap your cheek. "Then, from my father would suffice?"

"Perhaps."

"I shall let the duke know of my idea." You bow. "If the duke appoints it, you shall listen?"

"Of course, your highness."

You turn on your heel, nodding at him before sprinting down the hall. You shall attain this. You shall make Leon your personal knight, even if it tarnishes your name. There is none else you trust as much as you do with the knight, and his loyalty lies with you, even if he may claim the opposite. You shall convince the duke to let you have the young knight, and you shall stay by your knight's side, foolishly enamored with him. Your role in the narrative is shifting, so it is only fair that you take advantage of such a point.

"Father."

You make a convincing argument, and it takes only one incident in which you are stabbing through the jugular of an assassin for your father to agree to let you take in a personal guard, one that would stick close and act as a ghost. In the academy, they would be a friend, and at night, a ghost to haunt your room, clearing out any and all threats. You suggest Sir Leon just for reference, and your father takes your word. You do not expect him to take you so seriously, but you are sure your father has his reasons.

"He excels in stealth." The duke agrees. "We may use him for the time being. The crown prince is wary to be on his bad side as well, quite fortunately for you."

You hide the giddiness that you can only describe as an enthusiasm previously unknown to you. How exciting. To be in the vicinity of the man you admire? The man who deserved the title of Grandmaster just as you did? You swoon at the thought, barely catching any sleep in your dorm as a result, rubbing your eyes in the morning when you get ready. The seems to be brighter, and the blue of the sky shines brilliantly. Even when the door to your dorm is knocked on, it only adds to your anticipation.

You let Leon in while adjusting your tie. It is not indecent for you to do so, you believe.

"Princess."

"Good morning, sir." You smile. "Has the duke summoned you?"

"Yes."

Leon pauses, and you take it as a chance to explain why you had needed a knight. It was relatively well known that you were a capable knight, but the recent attempts on your life was not out yet. It would be damaging to the royal family, so the emperor had your father keep it on the low. You found it pointless, but it was not your place to question. You were simply wishing that your engagement would be broken off quicker.

"I got ambushed two nights ago, you see." You pause to think about it. Perhaps that was a little blunt of you.

"...Pardon?"

"An assassin had tried throwing a potion at me." You sigh. "It wasn't much, but it was annoying as is since I had bloodied my nightgown, so I was moved to a single rather than my old room. I miss my roommate terribly, you see."

"I trust you miss Princess Ashley very much."

"I do."

"Perhaps you should go visit her in the morning?"

"I cannot, you see... It would put her in danger. Until I am no longer the crown princess, I can not risk anyone... other than you, of course. But then again, you have become a knight of the house, so you are... to be used?" You frown at yourself in the vanity mirror. "That does not sound quite right."

"My body is to serve you, princess."

You purse your lips in amusement, holding back a laugh.

"Oh... your words are easy to misunderstand, Sir Leon." You laugh, hitting the loose powder off.

"I... did not mean that kind of use. My apologies, princess."

"It is nothing. Worry not." You finish up, smiling at Leon as you start towards the door.

You find it interesting to have a personal knight. Leon sticks by you at all times, watching you even when he is not next to you, and it feels a lot like having an overgrown puppy by you at all times. You're sure the duke would disagree, but you can't help but think that it doesn't feel nearly as invasive as you thought it would be. You tell Ashley about it, to which she whispers back that she is sure that granted you are allowed the engagement to break, you should pursue the knight (it earns her a light smack on her arm to which she fakes a whine over). Ada offers you the same advice, lip quirked up in amusement when you flush impossibly warm and fan your face, telling them both that it would be impossible. You dare not dream of it until you are in a position to do so.

"Surely you find him attractive, though?" Ashley tries. "I have not the luxury of looking at others, but it is not infidelity to call someone else attractive."

"I suppose he is." You mumble.

"You'll be single soon. There is not a soul in the academy that does not know you wish to break the engagement." Ada hums. "It will be fun."

"I am sure it will." You mumble. "It'll be—"

Ada grabs the back of your chair and pulls, sending you back as you watch water splash and steam where you had been sitting. You don't react much to what happens next, Ada's sword out and Leon's name called as the girl is tackled to the ground by your knight, all of which happens too quickly. When you turn to glance at Ashley, she's got a visible frown on her face, which you can only assume has to do with the commoner girl her brother's decided to covet.

"Princess?"

Leon's voice breaks you from your thoughts, and you sigh. This girl was by no means foolish, so why did she insist on playing the role of the antagonist all for a crown prince that would not hold the crown once your engagement would be broken off? It mattered not to you anymore. It is not your problem to consider. This girl was losing herself all over a man — one that was not even worth the time.

"She tried pouring hot water on me." You place a hand on Ada's shoulder, stepping past her and next to Leon as you smile at the girl. "What would the crown prince think? If he were to find out that his beloved was out bullying the crown princess?"

You place a hand on Leon's shoulder, and he listens, stepping off of the girl as she coughs and sputters excuses.

"It was an accident!"

"Quite the opposite." Ashley raises a brow from the table. "Both Dame Ada and I saw you sneak up behind her to pour the water. Perhaps be more discreet if you decide you do not value your life."

"P-princess—"

"Save it. If my foolish brother wishes to squander his position for some commoner girl, then so be it. It is not as though we do not have other siblings." She waves her hand, and the girl rushes off. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." You smile. "Ada reacted quite efficiently. Perhaps you should be my personal knight instead?"

Ada shakes her head. "Unfortunately, I am tied to my current house. I have taken the oath already."

"I see." You feign your disappointment. "I forget that you are our senior oftentimes. You will be gone soon."

"You make it sound as though I will pass." Ada rolls her eyes. "Sir Leon, thank you. You're free to return to dine."

"Princess?"

"Please dine, kind knight." You smile. "I must as well."

"Then, with pleasure."

You settle into dodging traps and Leon standing in front of you for the next period of your life. The attempts only rack up with each time that your knight protects you, and you find it quite cowardish that the crown prince would resort to such tactics to have you tell your father you no longer wish to break off your engagement with the crown prince. It seemed the duke was starting to reconsider his decision of which prince to support. You wonder if you should tell your father that you'd much rather have another prince sit on the throne. He seemed to be listening to you much more.

"How have you been, princess?"

"The crown prince seems adamant of keeping me as his crown princess despite his beloved's pleas." You blow on the tea. "Quite selfish of him, if I dare say."

"Who would not want you as their betrothed? A duke's heir with the education of a crown princess. There is no one else quite near your standing."

"Except the princess." You smile, winking at Ashley as she shakes her head.

"An education for an empress is still different from that of a princess." Ashley shakes her head. "We all await the news of the breaking of your engagement."

"I do hope the emperor makes up his mind soon."

"As do I." Ashley presses the tea to her lips, and your eye twitches in annoyance as she spits it out, blood fresh on her tongue. "Good god."

You sigh, pushing your chair back as you call for Leon to take her to the infirmary, your knight furrowing his brows slightly before following your order. You have the rest of the ladies follow him since they serve both the princess and you, and you're left alone in the garden. You understand that it's for that exact reason Ashley was poisoned and not you, and so, by leaving you alone without a knight, it would make you a visible target. After all, what can a poor, frail princess do without her knight? Surely not much. Which is what would happen to every other noblewoman, but your father had the decency to hide your accomplishment as Grandmaster from the general public, so one could only imagine the surprise on the assassin's faces when you had casually unsheathed a blade from your thigh and stabbed one in the face.

Mother may be absent, but Father didn't raise no bitch.

You steal the blade of the original assassin before turning to face the other three, and you wonder when the last time you had gotten to let off some steam was. Well, you better thank that useless crown prince for sending you free stress relief during one of the worst months of your life, no doubt. You think the only situation that could put the month in second was when you first started posture training. Your first tutor was hell on earth to you. The thought of her alone is enough to make you sick. Had you known some girl would come and ruin all of your education for the crown, then you would have cared far less of how you carried yourself.

You take the third assassin down before Leon returns and takes care of the final one.

"You got blood on your clothes, princess." Leon fishes out a handkerchief for you, and you try wiping it from your face before you just huff and tell him to do it for you.

His hand is rough against your skin as one cups your cheek and the other wipes, and you relish in the attention your knight gives you. You hum happily as you blink up at him, smiling as he clicks his tongue and wipes you clean. His fingers may be rough, but his tough is gentle, and when he finishes and pockets his handkerchief, you give him a polite nod to thank him for his help.

"Are you alright?"

"I am quite alright. Nothing a little knight training could not handle." You grin. "Dare I say, it was cartharic."

"My apologies for leaving, princess. I shall stay next time."

"Those ladies in waiting could not have taken care of the princess in the time that it took for you to carry her over. I sent you off. It was not your fault." You huff.

The princess getting poisoned is enough to cause the emperor a migraine, and the crown prince's engagement with you is broken that very night. Your father had made a very convincing point or something, and the emperor had signed a contract to break it in public once the knighting competition was complete. To the public, you are still the crown princess, but to the private, you are free. Sure, you are expecting the assassination attempts to slow, but much like the annual knight competition of the best knights in the empire, it never quite stops. That very night, you awake to a bloody Leon at the foot of your bed, catching his breath as the room reeks of blood, and you blink slowly.

He looks as though he is praying to a saint — as though he is praying to you.

"Did I wake you?"

Even now, your heart flutters at how he insists on making sure you are well.

"Knight, are you alright?" You reach for your handkerchief on your bedside, motioning for the knight to look up at you, wiping the blood and sweat from his face as he exhales, nuzzling into your hand. Your heart races at his affection, daring not to move.

"My duty is to guard, princess. It matters not whether or not I am alright. Though, I thank you for cleaning my face. I can not leave you even for a moment."

"Perhaps I shall assign a second knight? It is exhausting to be like this, no?"

"Just let me rest my eyes once the magicians arrive. I will be alright."

"Rest on the couch, my knight." You whisper, stepping out of bed and through the blood to help him lay down, sitting on the one next to it, watching both the window and the door until the magicians come in. Your knight seemed to have taken care of all of them, so you thank the magicians that come in and repair the broken forcefield that should have been activated in your room. You warn them not to make the same mistake, calling in a maid to help clean up the knight without moving him, watching the prince as you settle for sleeping on the couch opposite to his, the two of you out until the morning.

"Princess, you'll be late to class."

Your knight's voice wakes you from your slumber, and you roll to face the wall of cushion rather than your knight, who leans above you and forces you to open your eyes to get a full view of him. That wakes you. Perhaps it is the information that you are no longer betrothed to anyone, or the fact that something awakened in you after seeing your very own knight bloody with the red of the people after you, but that causes you to jolt up in the couch, pulling at your nightgown to cover yourself, startling Leon as your forehead nearly knocks his chin. Your knight is attractive. You can't believe you forgot and it took him being bathed in literal blood for you to remember.

"My apologies, princess. You were not stirring."

"..." You stare down at yourself and then at Leon, groaning. "I need to change."

"Of course."

You need to see Sir Leon naked— who said that. What in heaven's name were you saying? That's preposterous. You're the heir of a dukedom, not some teenage girl who's got some crush on her own knight... well, you take those words back. You are. The whole reason you had wanted Sir Leon to guard you was because you looked up to him, after all. You may be the same age as him, but it did not mean that you were as mature as him. Surely you need to go back to training over such preposterous thoughts.

Yet, you act not upon it. Your father tells you he'll have you select your own betrothed this time, under the circumstance that he is of a noble family. You wonder if your father seems to have understood that you found Sir Leon attractive, but it was not as if you would ever act upon those feelings. You have a role to uphold, and it just so happens that Leon would not fit into the narrative that you are left in. Perhaps he would be titled as a noble if he were to reach the title of grandmaster like the other knights. It would be a worthy effort if he decides to do so.

The death of twelve assassins by the hand of your knight is more than enough to scare the rest of the threats. You're grateful you get to go back into a relatively normal life, and you're even more grateful to get to return home rather than stay in that awful dorm. The freedom to go in and out at will was preferred to your education in the academy. You wish you had the luxury of graduating with Ada, but you have not the choice. If you graduate early, it only means you would have to start taking over the matters of the dukedom, and you preferred a boring education to that.

"Are you all packed, princess?"

"Yes." You take one final look at the room, tilting your head at Leon. "And you?"

"I have not many belongings." He nods.

You nod slowly, thanking the maids for their service as the butler brings everything to your carriage.

"You graduate the incoming year, correct?" You try to make conversation with Leon. You have a feeling that he had been trying to keep a distance from you since that night. Was he tired? Maybe he found that it was too hard to guard you after taking out so many assassins. You chew on your bottom lip, waiting for Leon to give you an answer. Perhaps you should let him go? He might not want to guard you specifically, but moreso the duchy. "Sir Leon, if you'd like, I can—"

"Yes, princess." He smiles. "My apologies. I've been lost in thought more and more often lately. You were saying?"

"I was just going to say that if you no longer wish to guard me, I can let the duke know to return you to the knight's quarters. I imagine it must be hard guarding me at all times." You scratch your cheek.

"I... it's quite alright, princess. I do nto find that it is a burden. Rather, you make it so that I am comfortable guarding you." Leon assures you. "Though, if you wish to change guards, I am not against such a change."

"I would not dream of it, Sir Leon. I am glad that you do not find me a nuisance. I was worried that night had made you change your mind, you see."

"That would not happen with such ease."

You take his hand and step into the carriage with a nod of gratitude.

"You would not rid of me that easily."

"Oh, how romantic." You laugh, sure that your cheeks are warm, heart warmer in your chest at how sweet he is.

You wonder if he is like this with everyone.

Yet, you afford not the luxury of romance, stuck staring out the window as you brainstorm over which nobleman to be engaged to instead. Not many people would covet you, yet it would be a shame for the bloodline to end with you. Your father had not been fortunate to have a son, and your mother had passed before she could give him one. You wonder if it truly would have worked out if you had become crown princess. Perhaps the dukedom would be given to a distant relative, and your father's bloodline would have faded.

Does nobility truly matter to your father? Or was he only saying such a thing to keep up appearances? You wonder. Your father had married your mother for love, so you find it strange that he would force you to marry for legitimacy. A blood daughter is never worth as much as a son, huh? You're not legitimate enough, so it only was fair for you to wed and become someone even more powerful. Had your father wanted a son, you wonder why he had not just decided to marry again and have his son.

Maybe if he had a son, you'd be able to run off and marry Sir Leon. Well, not that your knight would have let you do such a foolish thing.

It seemed like child's play to him, after all.

He follows you around the mansion for the most part, stuck by you whenever you are to finish certain tasks, management of the mansion something you're responsible for while your father lies in the capital by the academy. It isn't too much to handle, but it sucks the majority of your free day during the day away. You find no complaints. You prefer this a little more to teatime on the daily with the ladies. You wonder how your friends are doing. It's a shame that both Ada and Ashley are still in the capital. You can not even wander without an excuse now that they are gone.

Instead, you are cooped up in the duke's office, stuck signing papers and checking supplies, learning of the maids and hearing all about the latest gossip in the capital. The commoner girl was undergoing the crown princess training, and you have the privilege of hearing all about it when the maids dress you in the morning. It matters not to you. You no longer care all that much. The title of crown princess is no longer something that you must carry around when you are in private.

Though, the title of Young Duke is another tale.

"Princess." Leon nods, delivering the papers your father's aide had told you needed double-checking. The stack seems as though it could swallow you whole. Truly, there seems to be no end to your work.

You grumble into your hands, starting at the top of the pile. "Will you go out with me tomorrow?"

"What for?"

"I need to take a walk before I become a pile of paperwork myself." You sigh. "It would be a nice change of pace."

"And not in the garden which you so willfully manage?"

"I want not a breath of air down in the streets while I can still afford it. One day I will be cursed to stay inside at all times." You sigh. "I can go alone if you do not wish to."

"Princess, are you planning on sneaking out?"

"Perhaps..." You try and change the subject. "Is there a reason you insist on calling me princess? I am the young duke, you are aware?"

"I am, but it changes not that you are a princess until the official title of duke is given to you."

You raise a brow. "Am I your princess, my knight?"

"Who else would be?"

You pause to consider. "Perhaps your lover? You are getting to that age, after all. Have any of the knights caught your eye?"

"It would be improper to court anyone in the same house as I, but it would be concerning to court someone from a house that is not mine. Time will tell."

You sigh, going back to the paperwork. "I find Dame Ada quite attractive."

"It changes not that she has no interest in anything other than her blade."

"Reasonable." You sigh. "Ugh, I must start considering the noblemen again. Father sent letter to make haste."

"Princess, what would make a man a nobleman?"

"Noble blood, or someone who holds a title of Grand so and so. Grandmaster knights and Grandmaster mages are both considered nobility under the law." You pause. "Perhaps you should go become the new Grandmaster in the knight competition later in summer. I'd let you go for that reason."

"And for what reason would I have to become a grandmaster?"

"Oh, my apologies." You laugh, scratching your cheek. "It was just a suggestion. It would be nice to tell my father that I'll decide after the knighting competition, after all. You made it quite far last time."

"You have the title of Grandmaster as well, no?"

"I do." You hum. "Which is why it would be nice to be guarded by one."

"I see."

You dare not tell Sir Leon that you'd like to get betrothed to him.

The thought alone is foolish, and it would occur only in your dreams. You admire the knight, but you are not selfish to the point that you would force the knight to become a grandmaster in order to betroth yourself to him. You're not that desperate, and you yearn not that much. Though, you find that you have already forced him to become your knight in a way, so maybe you are desperate enough. How saddening. Perhaps he found you annoying.

"Will you reward me if I win?"

You blink up at him in surprise, tilting your head as you pause. "If there is something I can give, then of course. It would only be fair for me to reward my loyal knight, no? Then, I shall arrange for someone to take over your role after tomorrow."

You run errands with Leon the next day, a quick upgrade to his sword given, and a change in dagger for you. The shop owner doesn't question anything much to your gratefulness, and you tell him to put it all on the family ledger. You know Sir Leon's gotten close to the title of grandmaster multiple times. It wouldn't be out of the question for him to win with a stroke of luck by fighting one of the weaker grandmasters, but you refuse to rely on luck when you feel as though you're tossing your future into the tournament.

If Leon doesn't come out victorious, then you'd have to find someone to actually get betrothed to.

The thought occurs when you are out, biting into your skewer as your knight scans the area for potential dangers. You could train him since you are a grandmaster, and it was not out of the question for grandmasters to have disciples and followers. If he were to come out victorious, it would be a boost to your name as well— oh, but goodness, this skewer was good. Oh, right, the issue of who he would train with.

The thought of your knight all sweaty tempts you, blue eyes under a sun-kissed back, hair glowing gold under the rays of light.

How dare you have such improper thoughts.

"Have you considered who to train with?" You tilt your head, tossing your skewer into a bin.

"I have not, princess." Leon shakes his head.

"Shall I train you?"

You find that Leon doesn't have enough endurance... or whatnot. You find that he tires easily after swinging his sword unless adrenaline-fueled, and it would come to haunt him. If he fought Krauser or you, neither of you would be able to go easy on him. You're sure that Krauser might even go harder on your knight, so there was no such thing as overpreparation. You would simply prepare Leon to the best of your ability so that he would be able to fight with or without his ability.

You still wonder what it is occasionally.

"Princess, do—" He heaves. "do you not tire after the runs?"

"Nothing is as unbearable as the endurance training I received for the title of crown princess." You hand the paper to your father's aide, and he rushes off with the last of the paperwork. "Now, shall we do another lap?"

"Princess. Please let your knight rest."

"One might get the wrong notion at your words, Sir Leon." You hum. "Take a break. Would you like something to drink?"

"Just air." He mumbles, and you watch as he collapses onto the stone ground, heaving.

You glance down at Leon, blinking slowly as you wonder what has him so motivated. It should not matter that you must get engaged to a nobleman if he is only your knight, but perhaps something more? Perhaps he has cravings of the flesh. You would not care. Your purity had only mattered in the context of a successor so that you would not have bastard children, but if you have no engagement, then perhaps you would only have children that lack legitimacy.

You wonder if Sir Leon likes you with the same heart that you love him with. You are clear with yourself, but he is not clear with himself. Perhaps, you will be stuck waiting if you take too long, but you care not. If your knight wishes to hold a title, then so be it.

Krauser asked to be captain of the royal knights.

You wonder what Leon would ask for.

The two of you step onto the carriage, and your blade is carried with you, your paperwork done in advance so you can take a small break. You mention that your father was rushing you for marriage, shaking your head when Leon asks if you will give him a response. You talk to Leon after it, pondering over whether or not your training would truly help Leon at all. He had been busy with the commander of the duchy's knight as well, but you still worried. If you fight him, he would not last. Even if he fought Krauser, you wonder whether or not he would be able to hold him off.

Yet, it matters not to you, much of your early days in the arena made up of resting and discussing with the rest of the grandmasters. You watch from the seating area, tea served and dessert on your table alone, tossing biscuits to the rest of the knights as you watch people fight. It's always a thrill, but you find that there isn't much to look forward to this year. Leon takes out the vast majority of the early battles with ease, a knight's set of skills drilled into his body through the exhaustion of your training.

"Your pupil is one of them this year, no?"

"Sir Albert, I heard yours is as well."

"Well, it is a shame. He is not my pupil, but rather my comrade. It is always amusing when I remember that I work with regular knights."

"Do you believe he will be able to win?"

"He lacks the desperation your knight carries." He hums.

You look up as Krauser takes a cookie from your plate, glancing down at the knights in battle.

"Dame Ada did not participate?"

"She'll return next year." You hum. "She wanted a break from her duties."

"It is not easy to be a master, nonetheless. Most knights are satisfied with such a title."

"I heard your engagement will be broken in public after the tournament."

"Correct." You hum, staring down at another one of the family knights. "Oh, that one's made it quite far."

"And who will you wed with next?"

Your lip quirks upwards on one side, clicking your tongue as you smile and wave down at the knights. Ideally, you'd get betrothed to Leon once he wins the tournament, but you were not guaranteed that luxury, so you had already backlogged who would let you get away with the most as a noblewoman. You wonder if Sir Albert would consider you someone worthy.

"Sir Albert, perhaps?"

"I would not be against it."

You glance back down as Leon is declared as victor.

"I do not appreciate being a second choice, grandmaster."

You smile back at him. "Then pray my knight would win."

The remaining grandmasters join the three of you the next day, table much more lively when you grin and wave at everyone, dessert on the table finally shared. You're spared no questions regarding your knight, and you manage to avoid the majority of them. Leon had joined because you suggested it. There was truly no more to it. The topic of your removal from the title of crown princess was far more entertaining to the table. You don't mind it. If anything, it's a welcome topic.

"The emperor made the mistake of removing you after the ceremony and not before." Jill hums. "What if your knight wins? Swearing loyalty to you would imply that he is not swearing loyalty to the royal family."

"I'm surprised the royal family did not amend such an issue even after your knight had done the same." You hum.

"Well, they are always slow." She hums. "Especially with the crown prince."

"Thoughts on the new crown princess?"

"I did not understand why she had to take the role of antagonist in my life. I would have given her the title had she asked. Though, I understand her need to seduce the prince first. Truly, there is no other way."

"WIthout support from the ducal family, surely it shall become a battle for the crown once more."

"That is not to do with me. The crown prince had simply gotten too bold." You click your tongue.

"Your knight as progressed once more."

You stare down at Leon, smiling as you do.

"How long did he last against you?"

"Forty." You hum. "His longest was forty minutes of continuous fighting. Though, I have confidence that he will last longer if his opponent is also on the offensive."

"You are always the agitating one." Krauser clicks his tongue. "You exhaust and then feast."

"It is the thrill of the kill." You smile. "It is also for entertainment. I dare not to do so on the battlefield."

"Your loyalty lies with the princess, correct?"

"Yes." You nod. "I am fortunate to have chosen her. I fear, had I chosen the crown prince, I would have lost my life long ago."

"Well, it is always a welcome change."

By the latter half of the tournament, you have started warming up with the grandmasters in the training ground, clashes of blade loud as your body thaws the reflexes that you have honed over the years. You can not win against Sir Albert regardless of your own skill, so you settle for dodging his attacks until you can not, his exhaustion never visible. You're sure that if Leon were to fight him, he would have to break the blade rather than fight with endurance. Your title was received because you had defeated Krauser. You would not have received your title had your luck been on the lower side.

"You've improved."

You gasp for air, resting on your knees as you glance at the knight. "Sir Albert, you do not feel exhaustion from your ability. I dare not guarantee that anyone could win against you."

"Your knight's ability is blood, no?"

"I am not aware. I have never seen him use it."

"It does not work if there is no fresh blood. His ability is a final counter while fighting." Krauser mentions, bowing at Jill as she fetches water. "He has never been that desperate, though. I doubt he will use his ability. Focus on exhausting him."

"And your pupil?"

"My pupil must be exhausted."

"It seems that the goal is always to exhaust." You sigh. "Jill?"

"I am sure the knights are all hoping to fight you."

"Well, they better be ready to fight." You huff. "They'll be more exhausted than us when they finally compete for the title itself."

You spend the final day watching semifinals, learning all of the knights' moves and calculating how you would have to fight each one. You are automatically voided from people that Leon would have to fight to avoid bias and going easy, so you settle with drawing sticks with the rest of the team, drawing again when you pick up Leon's stick on accident. To the vast majority of the arena, it would seem that you all are discussing, but you knew better. There was no discussion if it was truly just pulling out sticks to determine who would fight who.

The title of grandmaster was truly a title of luck oftentimes.

When you draw a knight from another ducal house, you find that you'll be fine. You have warmed up to your blade, and it has become an extension of your body, moving with you naturally as you prepare for your fight. You were last, so it would be understandable that your opponent would have plenty of recovery time from the battles of the previous day, but you understand that it would still be harder than usual. You hope to make it quicker than the previous times.

Your goal is to simply exhaust the knight.

Your battle is last, a gentle nod is all you give before your opponent charges at you, the knight swinging his blade and kicking for your legs as you swing over him, ducking as he thrust his blade, kicking upwards from the ground to force him backward and retrieve your blade. You take two steps back to avoid the next swing, blade meeting his on the third, holding the sword up as the knight stumbles back from your strength.

Was Leon watching? You hope he was. You had spared no effort to fight him, but you had overwhelmed him by the end of it. You do not feel that same exhaustion yet, but you keep an eye on the time. Under an hour was perfectly fine. Even when you feel your wrist crack from the strength, you just shake it back into place, taking two steps back and to the side, spinning and forcing the blade to twist. You land on the ground with a thud, aiming to split the blade to end the fight, but your opponent manages to take it at the last minute.

You check the time.

Fifty minutes.

You take a further two steps back, heart hammering in your chest as you flip backward, forced into the wall.

You have to recover. You must start fighting.

The wall is hard against your sole as you boost over the knight, taking the chance to kick at his helmet, forcing it into the wall as you take the moment to breathe.

Two.

Three.

The next swing is blocked out of instinct, and you breathe, ability causing the knight to blink twice.

Finally.

Your blade loses its visibility, and you change to the offensive. You must wear down your opponent, swing after swing after swing as you feel the knight's knees weaken, no longer able to hold his ground against your swings. His knees give out and he falls to the ground, blade dug into the dirt as he heaves, eyes wide and then closed, breathing labored as he struggles to get back up. You glance up at the timer to read the time aloud like you are to. The knight has made it impressively far.

"You have made it to the fifty mark." You hum. "You are too exhausted to continue. The journey to knighthood is not done overnight. Congratulations on reaching so far."

The knight takes your hand as you help him up, and he bows.

You step to the back, tended by the medics before you must make a return to the stage. You sit still as your wounds are tended to, gentle glow of green on your skin as the soreness is cast out from your body. It's still something you aren't used to, but you don't have much of a choice when this is the role you play. You're let go of only when you are free of all wounds and scratches, and you join the remaining grandmasters on the podium, standing near the back as you wait for the announcement.

Well, you already know who won.

You glance at the noted times for each knight, and you visibly brighten at the news that Leon has lasted the longest and broken a sword. No one brings it up, but the atmosphere visibly lightens as you hum and chatter with the remaining grandmasters. The mental exhaustion from fighting may still be present in many of them, but it is not present in you. There is a certain air of giddiness that you emit, inadvertently soothing the remaining grandmasters of the exhaustion.

"Congratulations."

"Sir Albert, did you even try?" You tilt your head, glancing at the envelope in his hand.

"I did. Your knight outsmarted me. That is all." He hums. "Your knight has won by default. He may have barely scraped by with his time, but he had broken my blade. That is an automatic title according to the rules of the tournament."

"How nice." You smile. "Looks like our engagement will not be happening."

"Arguably for the better." He hums.

"Agreed." You sigh. "I am sure your disciple will win the following year."

"And you have the boldness to say this because?"

"He seems to have found that desperation that my knight carried this year."

"Grandmasters! Positions!"

You step back to where you are to be, staring at the knights as you smile, humming as you close your eyes to smile with that also. You are sure Leon is aware that he can no longer do anything. What else is there to do but wait? Surely not grow excited over nothing. So, you wait for his name to be announced, watching as he collapses to his knees and stare up at you. You smile and wave, watching as he falls to his knees into the position of a prayer.

One step closer, one leap bolder.

You watch as he mouths words at you, your own heart rattling in your chest.

You deliver the final speech, congratulating all of the knights for their efforts, titles of master handed by each grandmaster with a wreath. You participate, well aware that you'd be with the royal family the next morning as someone who was... still the crown princess... or whatnot. You no longer cared. Quite frankly, you care so little that you could break a couple rules at night.

"Did you visit your knight at night?"

Jill raises a brow at you in amusement, and she nods. "Take the hidden corridors."

You wink at her in response, blowing a kiss in thanks.

It's fairly simple to sneak to your knight's room. If anything, it is all the more obvious, the blade of the victor on his door, and you wait behind the statues in the corridors to knock on his door, rocking on your feet as you grin. You're sure you'll give him quite a fright, but it matters not anymore. You've been patient, and well, your knight has been too.

The door to his room swings open, and you watch as he blinks twice before pulling you into the room, panic all over his face as you blink slowly at his lips.

Oh, who cares anymore.

You pull Leon in by the collar, lips crashing against his as he winces, confidence faltering as you start to pull away, worried you might have read the knight wrong—

You're left with no space as Leon chases your lips back into the kiss, hand flying to the back of your head, eyes half-lidded as he forces you against the bed instead, tongue desperate against yours as he drinks up every single one of your movements, lips leaving yours only for quick gasps for air before he's back on you again. It overwhelms you. Your head spins deliciously with the lack of air, body turning lax against the sheets and chest pressed to his, nails digging into the cloth still, fingers clinging onto whatever you can of him, the knight practically engulfing you as you finally throw your head back for air, letting him rest his head on your collar.

"I'm sorry."

You have to be honest. Honesty. You have to be honest.

You're tired of denying yourself.

God, you love your knight to no end.

"Don't be." You gasp, eyes closing to focus on catching your breath back.

The silence that ensues is something that you could only dream of experiencing.

The moon paints your skin pale, and you stare back at him, breathing labored as you whisper.

"Who will you swear your loyalty to tomorrow?"

Grandmasters' loyalties lie with the royal family, yet Leon forms a sword from his wounds, hand red from the ability, handing it to you as you blink at him.

"My knight." You mumble.

"Knight me, so that the emperor may not do so tomorrow. My loyalties lie with you, not with the king."

"My knight, I cannot—"

"I beg of you. If you knight me now, the king can not knight me in the morning. You need not to get up, just... please."

You comply, red of his blade staining your hand as you stare, eyes closing as you whisper a prayer to the stars.

You close your eyes to start the chant, gold engulfing the blade of red as you hold it out to one shoulder, moving it to the other after, the gold swallowing the room whole as you close your eyes from the brightness. When it subsides, the red of his blade has puddled at your feet, and your knight rests his head in your lap, eyes closed as you hesitate to touch him. You worry that he would be called a traitor by the people.

"Thank you."

"What will you tell the emperor?" You whisper, heart racing in your chest at the thought of him being executed.

"I need not anything else. This was my request." He mutters back. "Stay the night."

"I cannot do that." You push his hair back, and Leon closes his eyes.

"I know."

"The emperor will have you executed for this."

"I'll run off with you. Divine intervention. Bribe a priest."

"I can not do that, my knight." You laugh. "And the regulations?"

"I will survive." He hums. "Clause twelve states that they are to swear their loyalty to anyone in the royal family. Considering the knowledge that you are still crown princess until the end of the competition, I have sworn my loyalty to the royal family by proxy."

"Ever the sly one, aren't you." Your fingers scratch at his scalp gently, and he hums.

"I have to. It is for you, after all."

"Then, will you have me?" Your voice shakes.

"Only if you would have me in exchange."

You watch as Leon requests of you to knight him, and you hide the amusement on your face as the emperor's face twitches and frowns at the request to be knighted by the crown princess. You are not the crown princess after Leon receives his title, but you do so anyway, his actual blade in your hand as you press it from one shoulder to the other, same golden haze erupting in the colosseum. You fear what it would have been if Leon had not requested for you to knight him, and when he is asked what he wishes to receive, the title of Marquis was only fitting.

You bow to the citizens as the emperor announces your removal from the title of crown princess, and you watch as the commoner girl who had wanted to be the crown princess receive the title she had longed for for so long. You try to ignore the way Leon's eyes stay stuck to you the whole speech, and you also ignore the way the crown prince glares at you when you finally get to exit the stage for the emperor to make a final speech. There's a certain excitement that you allow yourself now that you are no longer the crown princess to the public.

You're given no time to feel it, Leon lifting you into his arms as you yelp, eyes wide as he beams at you. Your heart rings in your ears, sure that your embarrassment is spelled out on your face, but you ignore it all. Your knight looked elated to finally have you in his arms, smiling ear to ear as his blue eyes soften at you. You find that he looks enamored with you. Perhaps you are risking it, but it seems to be fine. You find that this is a tale of devotion, not purity or whatnot.

"You smile so brightly, my knight." You mumble, fingers reaching for his cheek.

"You are free from the shackles of the crown, princess." He whispers, forehead pressed to yours. "I am yours at last."

"And if I would not have you?"

"I am at your disposal regardless."

"What will the people think?" You close your eyes as Leon hums. You can still hear his smile.

"Do you care? Must you care? What is there to consider when I am by your side?"

"You are right, my knight."

You glance down at Leon, sun in his face as he brushes noses with you, your own heart full in your chest. You've waited long enough, and you wonder if you would have known so long ago, but without the title of crown princess on your shoulder and knowing that your knight was yours, you cherish the knowledge. He was yours to use, but you would be his to cherish. The knighting ceremony was more than a testimony that he was yours. And now, you would know peace.

You could finally be his.

[elbdot]

So, you and white haired boys, huh?

Oh don't even get me sTARTED...

Somehow they just keep getting worse and worse EACH TIME, I DON'T KNOW H O W

[osalotte]

taking modern au bf laios to a ren faire. that’s it that’s the post

[escapingarchives]

Consider:

Nureyev’s going undercover as a hypnotist for a show at a grand party of the wealthy (somewhere in the estate is a safe with some very important schematics he'd like to get his hands on).

He researches extensively, first pouring over books and then spending hours choosing outfits, rehearsing flourishes and precise movements. He’s also researching the heist itself, of course. But this time, Juno seems more annoyed with all the time he spends on his research. Juno lounges on the bed watching his boyfriend practicing his entrance over and over, only interrupted by occasional dives to double check his books.

Juno huffs and breaks the silence.

“What a bunch of bullshit, can you believe people actually think this hypnosis shit works? Controlling other people with your voice, my ass.” He rolls his shoulders, they've been tense for days, and the pain is worsening his mood.

“Oh now, it’s a performance like any other,” Nureyev replies, “but my research shows people can be put in a trance, can be hypnotized, provided they want it themselves. One cannot make someone do something against their will. They must want to be hypnotized, to let go and be open and obedient. It's quite interesting."

“Can’t see why anyone would want that at all.” Juno says in a snappy retort, but he considers it in his head. Being in a trance, mind blank, just floating and being open to... whoever’s in control. He’d hate it, of course, he’d feel way too vulnerable. Even more so in front of a crowd, at a show of all things. He needs to always be alert.

But…

Sometimes he just wants a break from it all, even his own head. Especially his own head. To relax and leave himself in the hands of... well. Maybe he can see the appeal, just a little.

He doesn’t say any of this out loud, of course. Nureyev just hums, practising how he'll pick his pendant out of his front pocket.

“Juno,” he says after a while, “since you’re not receptive to actually being hypnotized, can I test the act on you? Then you can tell me how it looks, without being distracted.” He smiles, one of his canines peeking out.

“Yeah, alright,” Juno replies, trying to sound nonchalant. He sits up at the edge of the bed, stretching a little, ignoring the little jump of excitement he feels for a brief moment. “But I’m still gonna tell you whenever you sound way too ridiculous.”

Nureyev's smile widens, and Juno's eye focus on his sharp teeth. “Wonderful, Juno.”

Nureyev starts with his grand entrance, speaking to the imaginary audience. Juno’s both in awe at his confidence and ability to glide seamlessly into the role, through the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

He resists the temptation to make a snide remark when Nureyev adresses an invisible audience member with the tales of his past deeds.

“… and I shall do it all, with this!” Nureyev reveals the crystal pendant he’s fastened to a chain in a dramatic flourish. “Now, esteemed audience, please quiet down so I can demonstrate my abilities on this lovely lady.”

He sits on a chair in front of Juno. “Now please Juno, focus on the crystal. Let your thoughts clear. All that matters is to keep your eye on the crystal, and listen to my voice…”

Juno rolls his eye, but still leans forward. Nureyev holds the crystal up by the chain so it catches the light, and starts swinging it slowly back and forth.

"That looks really stupid," Juno remarks.

Nureyev shushes him.

It’s a pretty jewel, probably worth quite a lot. Juno wonders where Nureyev stole it. It’s a deep violet that shifts from a sparkling, deep blue, into a gold-speckled pink. It naturally grabs his attention, swinging back and forth. The swinging part still looks stupid. But maybe it would be nice to...

The pendant swings, and Nureyev keeps talking in his smooth voice. This might not be so bad, after all. Juno doesn’t feel vulnerable, there’s nothing to be worried about, he knows he’s safe with Nureyev. Who’s currently speaking, but Juno can’t recall what he’s been saying. He focuses on Nureyev’s steady voice again; he loves listening to that melodic voice.

“You feel the tension leave your jaw, your neck, your chest, arms, that’s it, relax…”

It’s surprisingly easy, Juno thinks, to relax. Usually it’s hard to let go of all the tension that sits in his body. It's such a constant part of him that it almost feels strange how easy it melts from his limbs.

“… your stomach, your legs..."

He's breathing more deeply now, he notices. It's comfortable where he sits on the bed, letting his eye follow the pretty pendant that catches the light. He's safe here.

"...very good, relax for me, you're doing so well."

Juno feels warm at that. He's glad he's doing well. Nureyev's voice really suits this kind of thing, he thinks. Smooth and low and inviting. Juno wants to tell him he sounds nice, but he's so relaxed. It can wait. He struggles to keep his eye open.

"... even more relaxed and sleepy, and you'll only let go on my count - wait, Juno?"

The pendant stops for a moment. Juno lets out a low, protesting sound. It's very hard, but Juno lifts his heavy eye to Nureyev's face. He was doing well, wasn't he?

"Are you really -?" Nureyev says softly.

Juno's so relaxed and comfortable, he felt so close to letting go and now he's confused about what Nureyev's even talking about. He manages a questioning "hmm?"

Nureyev stares at him for a long moment, considering, and then he smiles again, showing his sharp teeth. He cups Juno's face, and it feels nice, so Juno leans into it.

"Oh Juno, you are too lovely, " Nureyev says and holds up the pendant again, swinging the beautiful crystal. "Look back at the crystal and keep listening. That's it, well done, and you feel yourself gliding back into the comfortable feeling. Just focus on my voice and how good it feels."

Juno's eye is following the jewel again, how it catches the light, his breathing evening out. He feels like he's enveloped in a soft blanket.

"When I count down, you will feel even more relaxed at every step. When I reach zero, you will sleep for me. You'll be fully under, open, and relaxed. No need to be distracted, just be in the moment, no need to think of anything else..."

Distantly, Juno hears Nureyev speak for another minute, then he starts to count down from ten. For every number, he feels heavier, and more and more comfortable. It's so easy to let go. He wants to let go, to let Nureyev take care of him. Vaguely, he realizes he's wanted it ever since Nureyev introduced him to his newest con. Blank, soft, mindless. Quiet. Juno wants that, and he trusts Nureyev. Of course he does.

"Zero. Sleep for me, Juno."

Juno does.

[kittycatcorner]

shows up to give you the coffinchain challenge

Please be more careful when you cross the road You’re a perfect arrangement of rickety bones

Stray cats.

Peter had always likened the apprentices to a group of stray cats, in his mind.

At first it was out of distaste. They were a nuisance; a band of drifters slinking around the alleyways, catching their quarries unaware. The quick, sharp jab of a hypodermic needle might as well have been the efficient killing bite that a cat might deliver to the throat of its prey. They worked in the shadows, occupying all of those lonely abandoned buildings and reworking them for a new, twisted purpose. 

Then, begrudgingly, he’d found himself wrapped up in Mark Hoffman. Chasing him, hunting him, hellbent on bringing him to justice, then on killing him, then on understanding him, then…

Well, Peter didn’t know what he was doing now. 

All he knew was that sitting in his apartment, in varying states of composure, were three of Jigsaw’s disciples. 

Dr. Gordon sat on his couch, eyes trained down as his hands worked on bandaging a fresh wound on the arm of his younger accomplice. Stanheight sat quietly and allowed for the medical attention with little fight. Hoffman himself sat on the floor, back leaned against the couch close to the other two. 

Peter remained standing, trying not to buckle at the absurdity of his situation. In true stray-animal nature, he had made the mistake of allowing Hoffman into his home once, twice, thrice, and now he’d come back with friends. 

‘Don’t feed the strays’, indeed. 

Accept that he did know the other two, at this point. The polite Dr. Gordon was well-spoken and direct; Peter had found him infuriating in the beginning. He was a hard man to interrogate and an even harder man to intimidate, as level and unflinching as he was. Unlike Peter, he never seemed to let his anger get the best of him, and he seemed to know that. Dr. Gordon was a man who always seemed very aware of how much more control he had in the conversation. It was enviable. 

Then there was Adam Faulkner-Stanheight. Mouthful of a name. It was strange enough for Peter to wrap his head around the fact that the kid was alive, let alone working with Jigsaw. He was angry- had more rage in his scrawny little body than what felt possible. Stupid and impulsive, Peter had found him annoying. Just a petulant adolescent who had gotten himself into bigger trouble than he yet realized. 

They’ve come a long way since then. Both apprentices had grown on him, maybe because they reminded him of himself in their amalgamate qualities. The cold, callous bluntness of the doctor. The white-hot temper of the kid. The way he had never seen the former so gentle nor the latter so complacent until now, as they patched themselves together on his bloodied furniture. 

Peter had been reluctant to welcome them all inside. It was bad enough to shelter one serial killer, but now three? It reminded him that everything he’s been doing as of late is against what he once stood for. Fuck, it would solve a hell of a lot of his own problems if he didn't care. If he’d let them all rot, make them regret thinking that Peter would risk his own hide just because he's been friendly with them. Dr. Gordon and Stanheight had seemed to understand this too. Their expressions had been apprehensive, looking ready to flee like the animals they were. Peter wonders how long ago he would have given chase. 

Hoffman had spoken, then. 

“I didn’t-” His voice was shot and exhausted. “I didn’t know where else to go, Strahm.” 

And just like that, Peter took them in. Those words were all it took. Hoffman limped inside on a bad leg and described some sort of police-raid, premature. John Kramer and Amanda Young hadn’t even been there, so it had just been the trio, and they were forced to flee. Unable to go far on foot in their current state, Hoffman had brought his injured companions here. To Peter. 

Why did that make something strange stir within him? 

The three of them were soaked to the bone from the rain. Peter watched Hoffman sluggishly attempt to remain alert, but every so often his head would lull and come to rest against the soft thigh of Dr. Gordon. If the doctor noticed it, he didn't say a word as he continued to diligently work. He looked tired. Stanheight was putting on the best brave face he could manage, but Peter’s keen eyes caught his shoulders trembling, only eased when Gordon’s hand came to rest on one and rubbed gently. They all looked so tired. 

Unable to watch any longer, Peter finally broke the silence. 

“So why are you still doing this?” It took everything in him to not fidget idly as he spoke, brows furrowed at the three men. 

All eyes were on him quite suddenly, sharp as they regarded him. Three clever pairs of observant eyes that all screamed out ‘I know more than I’m letting on' to Peter. He held their gazes, muscled arms crossed over his chest. 

“You know what I’m talking about.” He scoffed, lip curling. “What’s the point of doing the old man's dirty work when he just lets things like this happen to you?” 

Silence.

Hoffman broke first. He laughed, eyes closing as he rested more fully against the couch. It was good-natured but ultimately dismissive. 

Dr. Gordon frowned at Peter, one brow quirked as if he had asked them something incredibly naive. Like he expected Peter to know already. 

Stanheight didn't react. Not outwardly, anyways. He only stared, something new and strange glittering in his eyes that Peter couldn't place.

“What,” Peter grit his teeth, an edge to his voice. Less of a question and more of a prompt. 

“Nothing, nothing. Apologies, Mr. Strahm.” Gordon sighed, turning his attention back to his handiwork. He appeared to nearly be done with the worst of Stanheight’s injuries now. “It’s just… not that simple.”

“Not exactly the kinda job you can put your two weeks in for.” Hoffman corroborated, a smirk tugging at his full lips. 

Peter felt his face burn hot, and he huffed in frustration. “You fucking- Don’t play dumb. Don’t act like it’s a stupid question. I’ll throw you back out onto the fucking curb.” He jabbed a finger at Hoffman in particular, who for his part did indeed shut his mouth. “You listening? Good. What I’m saying is that John Kramer is one demented old man. What is actually stopping you?” 

This time, the quiet was punctuated by Hoffman and Gordon exchanging an uncomfortable glance. After a moment, Hoffman shrugged and ran one hand through his damp, messy hair. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of, uh, checks ‘n balances.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow skeptically. Hoffman continued. 

“Information is power, etcetera. Kramer keeps basically everything on a need-to-know basis. Including, I dunno, who you’re workin’ with half the time. Hell,” He rolled his eyes, and lazily raised a hand behind his head to pat Gordon’s arm. The doctor made an annoyed noise in response, shifting away from him. “He only told me about these lovebirds when he needed help lookin’ after ‘em.” 

“I’m still mad about missing out on a trip to Mexico.” Stanheight quipped. His voice was softer than normal, but Peter supposed it was a good sign that he was speaking at all. He wasn’t used to the younger man being so quiet. 

Gordon straightened up a moment later, gently patting down the new bandages and brushing some of the hair from Stanheight’s face. “There you go.” He sighed. The warmth in his tone was so palpable that Peter had the distinct feeling it wasn’t meant for his ears. Despite being in his own apartment, he somehow felt he was intruding. “Get comfortable, alright?” 

Peter watched as Stanheight pulled himself to his feet, stopping short just a little ways away from him with an awkward shuffle. Gordon patted his thigh and spoke his next words like they took all of his energy to say. 

“Your turn.” He didn’t even bother to look at Hoffman. The detective grinned anyways, wasting no time in clamoring up into Gordon’s personal space and slinging his leg across the man’s lap. Gordon shook his head disdainfully, but carefully began rolling back Hoffman’s torn pant leg anyways. 

Peter guessed he wasn’t the only one that Hoffman lived to irritate.

“Christ, Mark.” Gordon sucked in a sharp breath, and Peter’s shoulders stiffened as he took a step forward to look. His stomach sank despite himself; from where he was standing Hoffman’s calf looked like a bloody mess. Peter’s a man who’s seen more gore in his line of work than anyone should hope to see in their lifetime, and yet here he is, staring in alarm. It was unlike him, and woefully he could only attribute his own uneasiness to the owner of the calf. 

As if he could read his mind, Hoffman looked up towards Peter. “Hey, it’s just-” He winced, hissing in pain as Gordon began to clean the wound. “It’s no big deal- no bullet inside. Just grazed me.” 

“You were shot?” Peter balked.

“Grazed,” Hoffman corrected. 

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose in a quick-rising frustration. Hoffman was impossible. 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Gordon’s voice was little more than a growl as he spoke through gritted teeth. “You took an unnecessary risk. Do you think I enjoy patching you back together? Honestly, if I didn't know any better I’d assume you were trying to get your sorry self killed.” 

Dr. Gordon’s tone left the detective bristling. “Don’t tell me how to do my job.” He scoffed. “Hell, I don’t bother you when you’re workin’ in the sickbay. Why don't you just- fuck!” 

Hoffman yelped at the unceremonious splash of disinfectant. Gordon gave him the sort of well-practiced fake smile that only a doctor could.

“My bad,” he murmured, unapologetic. 

Peter decided he’d seen enough. He turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen, telling himself that he was just stepping aside to get ice in case the doctor needed some. He knew it wasn't the truth, though; he scolded himself quietly as he leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his graying hair. 

The truth was that he couldn't keep standing there, staring at Hoffman’s leg injury. 

It’s ironic, because it feels like not too long ago that Peter would have done anything to put a bullet in Hoffman. Now the thought makes him feel… queasy. And a bit confused. 

Peter found himself comparing the apprentices to strays again.

He couldn’t get the image of roadkill splattered on the side of the highway out of his head. 

From what he knew of John Kramer and his cult, the apprentices were expendable parts. It doesn't even sound like they can trust each other half the time. One wrong move or fatal mistake would be all it took. Peter wasn't even sure how long it would take him to know something had happened. 

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps so quiet that he knew exactly who they belonged to before turning around. Stanheight stood at the entryway of his bare-bones kitchen, watching him. He’s probably spent the least amount of time alone with him. 

“What is it?” Peter’s frown deepened.

The kid didn't answer immediately, instead coming to lean against the wall beside him. He was quiet for a moment, and then shrugged. 

“Wanted to check on you, I guess.” He answered simply. 

“Check on me? In what way do I need checking on?” Raising a brow, Peter gestured towards the living room. “Look at you three, for fuck’s sake.” 

Stanheight held his hands up defensively. “Hey, hey, I just- I get it, alright?”

Peter didn't know what that meant. He stared down at the shorter man, scowl ever-present, silently prodding him to elaborate. Stanheight’s expression was… almost sympathetic, but his eyes had that same strange look from before: the one that Peter couldn't place. 

The kid was easy to underestimate, Peter knew it from his file and from his current involvement. He wasn't about to make that mistake with him. 

“Sucks, doesn't it?” Stanheight finally said. He was muttering now, glancing once over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone. “One thing to know what they're doing and another to see them come back with blood and bits of their skin hanging off.”

Peter felt his stomach turn. “No,” he lied. “If Hoffman’s gonna be reckless and get himself killed then so be it.” 

“No matter what you or anyone else thinks, I’m not stupid.” Stanheight laughed dryly. “You don't gotta lie to me, okay? I’m on team Peter here.” 

“Are we forgetting that you’re one of ‘them’ too?” Peter steeled his gaze, unamused. 

Stanheight grimaced. “I mean- kind of. Not really.”

“‘Not really?’ What’s that mean?” 

“I- like- like I’m with them but I’m not one of them. Old Johnny-boy has never and will never give a shit about me. Not exactly in the running to be his heir or whatever the others think will happen.” Stanheight huffed, rolling his eyes as he explained. “Pretty sure he wouldn't even notice if I went missing if it weren't for the pictures ‘n schedules I go and get for him.”

Peter is quiet for a moment. 

“Why stick around?” He asked softly, already knowing the answer. 

The kid just snorted in lieu of answering, and the two fell into silence once more for a couple of seconds. 

“Glad that Mark has you.” Stanheight suddenly murmured, thoughtful. 

“He does not ‘have me’.” 

“Maybe you can knock some sense into him.” 

Peter scoffed, looking elsewhere. “You’re frustrating, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” Stanheight laughed, “I’m not kidding, though. It always freaks me out how Mark gets when he’s like…” 

Raising a brow, Peter waited for him to sort out his thoughts. 

“Like, when he gets hurt, right? He just- just runs off. Or he’ll go and get hammered on the other side of town and when we find him he’s a mess.” 

At that, Peter’s shoulders went rigid. He was aware of Mark’s habits, his unhealthy coping mechanism. He hadn't thought about who else might know, how deeply it might run. He hadn't thought about how often Mark must be alone. 

When he looked back at Stanheight, he realized the kid was staring at him intently. There was concern in his expression, but also something fierce. 

“John’s really messed him up. Worse than he was before all of this.” His voice was low, almost cautious. “All of them. Lawrence, Mark, Mandy, none of them deserve this. You know that, right?”

Peter’s mouth felt dry. “I…” 

Straightening up again, Stanheight stepped closer to Peter. Before he could see it coming, a smaller hand took his own and held it, inspecting it. “I think Mark needs you.” He said, “maybe all of us do. So you gotta take care of yourself too.” 

Something confused seemed to bloom in his chest then, an uncertain warmth that he could feel rise up to his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he couldn't decide on anything to say. 

“Just think about it, ‘kay?” Stanheight let go of his hand again and started to leave the kitchen, pausing for just a moment to look back at him. “Oh, one more thing.” 

“What is it?” Peter’s voice was hoarse. 

Stanheight gave him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. “Welcome to the family.” 

Then he was gone, Peter’s protest to that statement dying on his lips, and Peter was left to think on everything he said. 

Hoffman needing him. Hoffman hiding himself away in dark corners to nurse his wounds. Improperly set bones and too much bandage. 

Stray cats.

Peter’s family used to have cats. His sister’s cat had been an old, white, raggedy thing that she named Alfredo. When Alfredo passed away, he had hidden under the bed and refused to come out. Peter thinks he remembers reading somewhere that pets do that on purpose, so their humans don't have to see them die, but it's been years and his animal knowledge is limited. 

Peter wondered how hard it is to socialize a stray cat. To reintroduce it to domesticity. 

He stepped out of the kitchen, lingering at the entryway, and watched the apprentices from where he stood. Gordon seemed to have finished with Hoffman’s leg, speaking to him in a quieter tone than before. To his surprise, Hoffman looked like he was listening. Stanheight was on the couch with them now, leaning his head onto Gordon’s shoulder. 

Peter found that he wished he could freeze this moment with the three of them in it. The bubble of safety that was his living room felt far away from everything Jigsaw. Maybe they were always meant to be here, on soft furniture, and not crouching amongst rusted pipes and jagged metal. 

Tamed. Domesticated. 

He sighed through his nose and walked around the couch, three sets of clever eyes on him again as he caught their attention. Now that he was there, he could see that Dr. Gordon had just begun to wrap up Hoffman’s leg and he silently motioned to ask for the gauze, kneeling down between them.

Understanding the gesture, Gordon handed it over, smiling at Peter warmly enough to raise his body temperature by a degree. 

“Strahm-” Hoffman started, bewildered, but Peter simply began wrapping his leg neatly. 

“Shut up.” He grunted. “Let me help you, stupid.”

[kk1smet]

“He’s getting distracted, he realises. It’s Malfoy, he thinks—the smell of him, so near—and he inches even closer and lets his head drop onto Malfoy’s shoulder. It’s good here—the curling ends of Malfoy’s hair are close enough that they stir every time Harry breathes out, and he watches the slide and quiver of the glossy strands with fascination. And better yet, when he blows gently, the hair moves off Malfoy’s neck, and then Harry can see the whole creamy stretch of it and more: the sharp tensing line of Malfoy’s jaw; the three beauty spots like a constellation on Malfoy’s cheek; the silvered line of a scar that runs from below Malfoy’s collar to just behind his ear. He’s noticed all these things before, of course, but he can’t remember why he hasn’t ever really looked at them before, or told Malfoy how lovely they are.” — If It Takes All Night by tackytiger | Read here

This is for @tackytigerfic whose fic didn’t stop running in my mind after reading it, mostly this scene, or, scratch it—all of it hunts me, especially tacky’s approach and style of writing.

This is easily my favorite portrayal of Harry who finds his friendship with Draco after the war conflicting. His yearning, his hesitation, and good lord his undeniable attraction were conveyed with raw intensity that was both sensual and captivating. I enjoyed how there’s not much dialogue and instead it took me inside Harry’s mind. It was so sensory that it made my skin tingle.

Tacky, the writer that you are. I’m in awe of your ability to craft such compelling stories. Please marry me.

PS. I just need to mention again that the scene with Draco’s beauty spots and scar killed me. I am forever including that every time I draw him.