#She's holding it together and is everything she ought to be and even dismissively still is loyal to the others

[starryeyed-seer]

Have been discussing the captivating princess and the royal family and red honey a lot lately with @toxick-e amd want to say: I now get why people are so wild for her. Wild for the fucked up tragic horror stuff, that is, though I respect the other reason are people go wild for her too.

[elysiades]

alcyone

in which sylus takes her out on a trip, while pondering over how much he was craving her presence and how hard patience was in practice.

tags; fluff, sylus pov i guess, sylus just being a little bit of a tease - 1.5k words - crossposted from my ao3

while sylus had been assertive when he made plans for her to join him for the fishing trip, sylus was still somewhat surprised that she had agreed. after all, he could sense that something was still holding her back. it bothered him, greatly so, but he wanted to be patient rather than scaring her away again. her affection, however tentative, was precious to him.

it was early when they’d left, the lake’s surface glittering in various colours as the sun slowly rose over the horizon. she’d sat on the bench, sipping her warm beverage while watching him set everything up. sylus found her adorable, just sitting there with both her hands wrapped around the steaming cup and smiling up at him. he loved the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, whenever her eyes widened ever so slightly when she laughed. the warmth that filled his chest was indescribable.

he whistled some familiar tune, visibly in a good mood as he sauntered back to the bench. it was a good morning indeed , he thought to himself as he listened to her talk about her week, the mundane things that she was up to, little joys that brightened up her day. even if he did meet her throughout the week, it never felt like it was enough. sylus needed her by his side at all times, so desperately and overwhelmingly, to make up for all the time that they’d lost. at least on this day, he'd have her undivided attention for the entire day.

despite her insisting that she wasn’t cold, sylus could tell otherwise. the way she trembled in the seat next to him, the warm beverage long gone and her hands rubbing together as puffs of warm air left her lips. he closed his eyes, holding back from leaning over and simply pulling her onto his lap and kiss her senseless. maybe that would warm her up some more , he mused as he shrugged his coat off his shoulders. “here.” sylus draped his coat around her shoulders to shield her from the cold and dismissed her protests with an eye roll. “i’m not cold if that’s what you’re worried about. though i can’t say the same about you - surely you’d be warmer on my lap?”

“i’m not that cold. i’ll be fine, you don’t need to w-” she protested, sending him a glare.

“what, are you scared?” sylus’ raised eyebrows and slightly mocking tone seemed to do it for her. it took a second before she was lying on his lap, her head firmly planted on his thighs. a compromise, he supposed, she’ll find her way onto his lap eventually. she regarded him with a defiant look but sylus simply met her with a triumphant grin. “wasn’t that easy, kitten?”

“i’m not doing this for you, i’m proving a point.”

“mhmm, sure. whatever you say, kitten,” he replied with a chuckle. she didn’t move when he reached down, slowly carding his fingers through her hair. instead, her eyes fluttered close, enjoying the pleasant, soothing feeling of it. sylus glanced down at her curled up form against him, her head subconsciously moving closer to his hand. content to just spend his morning like this, he looked out at the water’s surface and relaxed into the bench. they sat in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company before she turned onto her other side, wiggling against him to get more comfortable. she checked her phone briefly for any messages before carelessly chucking it into her bag. sylus couldn’t suppress the scowl on his face at the thought of her work still being at the forefront of her mind while being with him. he ought to just make it mysteriously disappear before any date and sneakily slip it back into her bag when dropping her off.

“are you bored?” sylus asked, but she shook her head ever so slightly. her eyelids fluttered as she looked up at him and he couldn’t suppress the small smile on his lips at the blissed out and somewhat sleepy look on her face. oh how tempting it was to kiss her silly, lavish her in affection until she was breathless. for now he was happy to show his infatuation through a simple, but effective forehead kiss. his chest rumbled with a chuckle as she scrunched up her nose at the gesture but didn’t make any movements to get away. the thought of her actually reciprocating this desire made his heart race a little faster.

“no, this is very comfortable. relaxing,” she replied and settled back down, her eyes closing. sylus hummed in agreement as his eyes flitted to the fishing pole to make sure it was still in place. before long, his gaze found its way back to her, gradually softening as he took in all the little details about her. he realized it was calming for both of them, just being and relaxing away from work and any stressful situations. he felt comforted knowing she was spending time with him, just being close to him. when he held her like this, her warmth felt so familiar and comforting. like sun rays warming his skin, like way back then when she was his.

his hand hovered over her face, fingers touching gently as he brushed some of her hair strands behind her ear. reaching down, sylus adjusted the coat that was draped over her and tucked it in at her sides. it almost swallowed her whole, leaving his mind reeling with images of her wearing his clothes, his button ups reaching down to her knees, the way the fabric would drape over her body- he had to stop himself before his thoughts derailed, had to put his energy elsewhere. not able to resist his urges, he pinched her cheeks gently. “my lap is that comfortable as a pillow, hm? you look like an adorable kitten right now.” 

sylus was amused when she huffed and swiped at him weakly before quickly changing the topic. “any fish yet?” 

“not yet. are you getting queasy? good things come to those who are patient.”

“sometimes, i don’t feel like you’re very patient either.”

“ if only you knew .” sylus paused, cursing under his breath. he knew he couldn’t hide his feelings for her much longer, the way his eyes softened when he regarded her with so much longing. it felt like torture having to wait so long, having to be patient, trying to win over instead of simply taking. he could swallow her whole, make her his, intertwine her being into his until they couldn’t tell where they started and ended.

“why are you looking at me like that?”

“i don't know what you mean” he smiled at her innocently.

“like… you’re going to eat me up?”

“and if i do? will you enjoy it?”

sylus enjoyed the way her cheeks heated up at the suggestive comment, the way her eyes quickly averted away from him in embarrassment. it filled him with satisfaction knowing he was the one that put this adorable expression on her face. even when she turned away, she couldn’t hide it and sylus needed more of it, more of her.

he leaned down to grasp her face, peppering kisses all over - slow at first, to test her reaction, each kiss lingering long enough to convey his feelings. when there was no resistance, he continued, unable to hide the smile that found its way onto his lips when she squirmed slightly but giggled at his advances. when she reached out to squish his cheeks, sylus moved his head as if trying to nip her hands. it made her laugh even more, trying to pull her hands away. sylus easily caught her wrists, pulling her closer to him.

he felt breathless as his gaze wandered down to her lips, envisioning them plump from kisses. such sweet, sweet temptation. “kiss me.”

“right here, right now?”

“yes. i asked politely, didn’t i?”

“well technically, you didn’t exactly-” she gasped in surprise when sylus simply leaned down to kiss her. maybe he should’ve waited for a reply, maybe he should’ve done this at another time but it felt so right and he felt oh so impatient. he needed a small treat, something to keep the beast inside him satisfied as it clawed at its confines to be closer to her. a thrill ran down his spine when she returned the kiss, hesitant at first but then firmer, as if trying to outdo him. sylus allowed her to, giving her a little moment of triumph as she pulled him down by his shirt, nipping his bottom lip.

“there is my fierce kitten,” he murmured against her lips as he pulled away slightly to catch his breath. before he could dive back in, sylus heard the water splashing, both of them freezing abruptly in their movements. sitting up slightly, he looked over to the fishing pole. whatever fish had taken the bait was long gone, probably took the bait along with it as well. she looked out to where the water was sloshing and rippling, pouting slightly. “aw man, we lost that fish,” she made a noise of disappointment but sylus shook his head with a grin.

“didn’t i tell you to be patient? we’ll find another one, and besides, you’re my biggest catch.”

inspired by warm water (snakehips remix) - banks alcyone is one of the brightest stars in the pleiades star cluster. thank you for reading!

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

I don't know if you're still doing the ask game, but how about 1, 22, and 25? For Jason, and Steph too if you're up for it :D

--Cologona

Because I could still find it: yes! Still doing this ask game :3 Sorry it took so long to answer!

1) Why do you like or dislike this character?

I spent like seventy years attempting to find the post with this meme on it so I could give credit lmao, but I could not for the life of me, so uh, just know that I'm remaking this thing from memory I guess???

Jason is the bee in my bonnet, the rock in my shoe, and I am chewing on him forever and ever - meanwhile I will enjoy pretty much any comic about Steph simply because I love watching her do her thing :3

But to go into more detail I really enjoy Steph's narration style and the way she navigates the world. She feels very refreshingly street level and hopeful. Also as someone who grew up as the only "girl" (trans man but egg) in my martial arts class which was taught by a detective with a very drill sargent/tough-love approach to teaching and got an extra helping of PTSD as a result... watching her struggle, get dismissed bc of her gender, and go on to become a great hero despite Batman and his bullshit feels really fucking good. Def love Batgirl 2009

Jason on the other hand is just so deliciously messy. He's hurt a lot of people, but at the same time his anger is super justified! He's intimately familiar with violence in a way that I think makes him unable to conceptualize trust and gauge what an 'appropriate' response is. There's been several times where he's expressed the idea that serious violence by him against others is just normal and forgivable and not a big deal. There's something so compelling to me about that bc I think he really does see it that way, and it comes from a place of him being extremely used to receiving violence and being expected to forgive and not hold it against them. That wall of text in the meme picture is a tiny fraction of one of my essays on him. He's got so many fascinating layers and I love peeling him apart and putting him back together like a robot performing surgery on a grape.

Sometime after I finish Chained, I really want to write Four and Twenty Blackbirds, which is a fic concept I've had for ages now that puts them together in a lesbian/gay man queer relationship. The premise is that somehow or other Steph comes back to Gotham secretly/early and Jason is the first one to find her and they end up building a weird organized crime/community support organization called The Blackbirds.

Not sure on the timeline. Maybe it'll start before Under the Red Hood? Maybe after a modified Hush plotline?? In any case: Jason offers to preform High Vengeance against Black Mask either for or with her. She does not want him killed! She would feel like that went completely against everything she died for. However, she does want that fucker taken down, and is touched that Jason clearly genuinely cares. Also I'm going to have Jason assume without question that she is fully competent and his equal. Unlike every other vigilante in town, she will never have to prove herself to him. So anyways she tells him that yeah, she wants her revenge, but it's gonna happen her way, and the plot moves on from there, as together they destroy and co-opt Black Mask's organization and establish a territory for themselves :3

22) If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to this character? Something you don't like?

Unless given a reading suggestion by someone else, I exclusively read JayTim fanfiction, which heavily skews what I look for and see in fic. I'm also pretty damned picky lol I write much more fic than I read these days

Even the most basic, stripped down version of Stephanie's core concepts and background ought to be enough to conclude that she would have very complex feelings about both Jason and Tim and them dating each other. She had a supervillain father and a character arc about learning to value the lives of even her worst enemies. Now her ex is dating a guy who had a henchman father and the same character arc in reverse, a guy who specifically targeted her killer in order to get back at the mentor who bears some responsibility for both her death and his own. They are so uniquely poised to understand each other from across this fascinating chasm, both in terms of approaches to vigilantism and dating Tim. You could not ask for a more fertile storytelling ground, regardless of if you want her to be supportive or not.

So yeah, for Stephanie I like it when she has a personality outside of cheerleading Tim while being vaguely sweet and quirky.

The bar is in Hell here folks, and out of the hundreds of fanfics I've read I've only ever seen it cleared twice. And that's only if we include my own goddamned writing. This goes beyond normal fandom simplification, especially when you factor in that Cass, famously against all killing Cass, gets similarly denuded of all internal motives and qualities in favor of being (sometimes literally) wordlessly supportive for no apparent reason, while in those same fics the male characters get to have opinions and internal viewpoints. JayTim nation, I am praying for us to learn how to write women, truly.

Now on to Jason!

I think of Jason as someone who is intense in every facet of himself. He can be cruel and mistrustful or tender and romantic, but no matter what he is I want him to be a little unhinged with it, a little too deep, a little too incapable of not giving a fuck. I want this man lost in the sauce, whatever that sauce may be.

I dislike him being overly apologetic, which practically translates to me disliking most fics in which he is apologetic at all lol I do think he would come to regret some of his actions, but I tend to think those would be different actions than the ones he's usually depicted apologizing for. For instance, I can absolutely see him apologizing to a victim of the Joker for not killing him when he got the chance, but I don't really think he'd have the framework to consider his fights with Tim to have been all that far out of line.

25) What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

Ohhhhhhh boy that was fuckin ages ago??? I'm not honestly sure I remember, though I do know that I read JayTim fanfics before anything else that involved these characters, so it had to have been based on that.

...Gah, I don't even remember how I found this ship lol! I mean I started with Boostle?? Maybe JayTim was in the background somewhere of one of those fics? idk

I suppose my first impressions were that Jason was a Big Mood deeply traumatized and lashing out bc of that, and Stephanie was gir waffles XD random rawr means I love you in dinosaur.

Anyhow, thank you very much for the ask @cologona! As per usual with these things I hope it was a fun read and you have a good day and all that jazz :3

[goodlucktai]

soft ground, claiming moon

no other place to go

@natsumeweek 2023 day 4; calling/answering read on ao3

(previous) (next) 

x

Shibata and Ogata arrive thirty minutes too late to witness the confrontation, juggling a ton of bags between them, but Shibata doesn’t even make it all the way out of the genkan before he’s scowling. 

“Okay, we’re anxious,” he says, staring into Tanuma’s face like he’s been personally wronged by it somehow. “Why are we anxious?”

Tanuma, who got up to politely greet them at the door, does about as well as he always does under scrutiny. Which is to say, very poorly. He starts twisting his hands together. Shibata is only halfway out of the entryway and he’s already gearing up for an interrogation. 

Ogata shoves her way past Shibata to meet Taki’s tackle-hug halfway, and beams at everyone else over Taki’s shoulder even as she spits out a mouthful of tawny brown hair.

Their presence isn’t exactly a calming factor, but it’s still a relief to see the two of them. 

“I brought presents!” Ogata says cheerfully. She parts from Taki and collapses on top of Kitamoto in greeting in a move reminiscent of annoying sisters everywhere. Kitamoto squawks and goes down under her weight. Since Nishimura is still attached to his side, he goes down with them. 

Takashi laughs at their tangle of limbs. He can feel Natori’s eyes on him, and glances over to find the exorcist watching the welcome committee with an incredulous expression. 

“When you said you had everything under control, I was expecting a little more decorum,” the man says with false brightness in his tone. “Your friends understand what’s going to happen, don’t they?”

“Natori-dono,” Hiiragi says evenly before Takashi can speak. 

He holds up his hands. “Right. I’m sorry.” 

He looks as convinced about all of this as he was when he got here, but at least he’s sitting quietly to the side for the most part. 

It’s not enough to keep Nishimura from avoiding eye contact with him at all costs. He looks very small and very sick and deeply uncomfortable to be sharing his first full moon with his favorite movie star. Which is fair, given that his favorite movie star showed up here to kill him. 

Kitamoto and Taki are probably going to carry a grudge against Natori into their next lives. As it is, Taki won’t dismiss her familiars as long as Natori won’t dismiss his. Her foxes are smiling, teeth bared. It will take very, very little to convince them that they ought to take a chunk out of someone’s arm. 

Sensei is back in his lucky cat form but his eyes are the deep vivid green that means trouble. He doesn’t quite manage to look menacing with the cake frosting on his whiskers but Takashi feels safer with him nearby anyway. 

Ogata tugs one of her bags closer and starts digging through it, producing a small pile of stuff she’s accumulated for her friends since she’s seen them last. 

“Wait, so you’re an exorcist?” Shibata says to Natori, his voice carrying skeptically across the room. “You can’t emote your way out of a paper bag, and you think you’re qualified to go hunting monsters?”

Nishimura flinches and studies the big frog stuffie Ogata gave him as if he’s going to be graded on it later. Kitamoto can’t sit any closer to him than he already is, but he looks willing to try.

Natori’s back straightens. He looks stunned. It’s a much better look on him than the grimly determined one he’s been wearing up until now. 

“Excuse me?”

“Satchan has made me suffer through about a hundred of your movies. I think I’m over -qualified to critique you at this point,” Shibata says in a scornful tone, folding himself onto the cushion on Nishimura’s free side. He’s proving a point two-fold with the nickname and his choice of seat. “So I’m going to say what everybody’s thinking: it’s bullshit that you won Best Actor last year for your role in Dusk when your co-star carried that whole film.”

Okay, so Shibata has chosen violence. Tanuma must have told him why Natori is here. Takashi knows from experience that trying to stop Shibata now would be like trying to stop a trainwreck from happening with his bare hands. It’s easiest to just allow things to play out and then do damage control. 

And also Takashi is still angry at Natori; letting him be bullied by a high schooler seems fair.

One of Taki’s foxes—the one called Chikao, Takashi thinks, but it’s indistinguishable from its twin Chimon, so he doesn’t actually have any idea—gives a high-pitched, yipping laugh and climbs into Shibata’s lap. He’s the only human in Taki’s circle who is anywhere near as catty as they are, which means he has their full approval. 

“Hi, Chimon,” Shibata says, clearly pleased as he strokes its velvety black ears. “I’m not a chair, you know,” he adds, so no one gets the idea that he has feelings. 

Natori seems to be wrestling with the clear and present urge to let himself be offended by the opinions of a teenager. Sensei is chuckling, a soft whuffling half-muffled by his dessert. 

“Okay,” the exorcist finally says. “I understand why none of you are happy to see me here. And maybe I could have done things a little differently. But I hope that you all understand that I acted in what I believed to be your best interest. You know—better than most people your age—how dangerous these things really are.”

“We were there,” Taki tells him. She’s holding Tanuma’s hand, maybe for her own benefit, but probably for Tanuma’s. “We do know. We’re ready.”

“They’ve done all their witchy stuff already,” Kitamoto says. “Circles and charms and whatever else. This is definitely the most fortified temple in Kumamoto.”

“Or, like, all of Kyushu,” Shibata says. 

“All of my friends on the mountain are keeping watch,” Takashi adds. “Nothing that happens is going to get past these walls.”

“It’s what happens in the walls that I’m concerned about,” Natori says through gritted teeth. “This is a stupid risk. You are half-human, you realize that? You can be hurt or killed just as easily as your friends can.”

“Not by him,” Takashi replies firmly. 

“You’re much nicer on T.V.,” Ogata informs Natori with a frown. 

“Natsume,” Nishimura pipes up suddenly. He’s looking past the tangle of their best friends right at Takashi. He’s still wearing Tanuma’s jacket but it’s not doing anything to stop him from shivering. 

He has steadily looked more and more ill throughout the day, but now he looks horrible. His brown eyes are stark and bright in his pale face. 

“I hear it,” he says very quietly. 

The atmosphere changes on a dime. Natori surges to his feet, but he’s blocked from making any forward movement by Nyanko-sensei, Chikao and Chimon. Hiiragi murmurs something that Takashi can’t make out, but whatever it is convinces Urihime and Sasago not to instigate anything. 

Ogata picks the frog stuffie back up from where Nishimura dropped it and pushes it gently back into his hands. Shibata starts grumbling about the tears in his sleeve from Chimon’s claws, left there from when the fox went tearing away with its twin, and how his wardrobe always gets ruined when he visits “you people.” When Tanuma waves him over to help with the charms, he gets up with great reluctance. Taki presses her hand flat against the floor and activates a few softly glowing circles. 

Kitamoto hasn’t budged from Nishimura’s side and won’t be budged come hail or high water. He looks as frightened now as he did that day in the hospital, waiting for someone to tell him that his best friend was going to be okay. 

Takashi kneels in front of Nishimura and offers his hands. Nishimura grabs them quickly and squeezes hard. 

“It’ll be okay,” Takashi whispers. 

“What if it’s not?” Nishimura’s voice is just as soft. 

Takashi remembers being a child, hated for something beyond his control. He was so often abandoned that he barely knew what it felt like not to be alone. Then he moved here, into the Fujiwaras’ bright, warm house, and now he has light and warmth to spare. 

But he’ll never forget how desperate he once was for any kind touch, any comforting word. He’ll never forget the difference it would have made. 

“Then it’s not,” Takashi says. “But we’ll still be here.”

“Natsume, move away,” Natori calls urgently. 

“Enough,” sensei shuts him down. 

“Wolfy-Satchan can’t be any more difficult than Shibata when he’s in one of his moods ,” Ogata says, smiling,“and we still love him somehow.”

“This isn’t my moment, so I’ll let you have that one,” Shibata snaps. “That one .”

Nishimura curls in on himself and breathes harshly. Kitamoto is near tears but he squeezes his friend tight against his side and presses his face against Nishimura’s russet-colored hair. 

“I can hear it, Acchan,” Nishimura manages between pants for air. 

“So answer it already.” Kitamoto hugs him harder. “Go wherever you have to. Just make sure to come back.”

Outside, the moon reaches its peak. Beneath their hands, Nishimura changes. 

[luckhissoul]

she's left him. she's moved past him and now stands at the center of the room. the lights play off of her in an array of colors, reds and golds. all brilliantly gathered together around her. her pale skin is still flushed from the drinking. had she drank a lot? he has to wonder. he has to consider. but it's hard to think when she's so blinding standing there in front of him. like a weight on his chest that just wants to crush. he tells himself to look away but then she's talking. the bottle is cold in his hands. but it's not the reason for the chill that seems to run through his whole body when she starts to talk again. soft, like a light prickling sensation through his whole being. he wishes she wouldn't.

she lifts her hand. he holds his breath. was he really that pathetic? but he seems all too aware of everything that she's doing. even if it's simply just her pushing her hand back through her hair. it doesn't do much, in fact it makes her curls fall a little looser in her face now. she looks a little undone, doesn't she? not at all all made up and proper like she usually is. he lets out the breath he took, shaky, feeling terribly unsteady. he wants to rage about it. but looking at her then his mind is completely blank.

what was he waiting for? had she really asked him that. the challenge in her tone probes at him. it could mean a million different things, couldn't it? could she really be asking him to do something that they both now he shouldn't? the image is vivid in his head, too vivid, too real. it's dangerous just sitting here suddenly. it wasn't supposed to be like that. coming here had felt like something if a reprieve. but now he felt like it was something that he ought to run from, something to hide from. only he doesn't do much by way of any of that. he simply looks up at her.

he feels the weight of all of it in his chest. he considers taking another drink. dismissing her as some foolish girl. that's what she's being, isn't it? a bloody foolish girl. and she might even hate him a little bit if he told her that. elayne didn't like hearing the truth about things like that. it would be the easiest thing in the world to brush it off, another pull on the bottle, a laugh. wouldn't that be the better thing to do anyways? and then he could just leave the room. maybe he wouldn't sleep very good tonight. tossing and turning and what - ? thinking of her?

blood and ashes, but that was the most mad thing that he had ever thought. he wants to shake himself of it. but she's looking down at him now, and he's looking back. she's right. the bet had been pretty amateur. there were a million other things that the two of them could get up to here. alone in this room together, sharing a bottle. his mind is restless, something he can't seem to control. burn it all what's the fun in controlling it anyways? and what did it matter? they always seemed to end up here anyways, alone, together. was that reason enough to throw caution to the wind?

well, he had never being a cautious person. that much was true. he had never done much of anything to keep a steady even path. he liked to try his hand at risks. he liked to jump in blindly. luck, that had always been something he was about tt o get his hands on. so why not now? see where the dice fell? see what laid n store for him in those wide blue eyes. they seemed to toy with him so effortlessly, probing him to do something stupid.

he had been different lately. the world had shifted and mat felt as if he had been forced to do the same. shift into something else, react differently, do differently. always bloody busy, preoccupied with building something he had never wanted to be apart of. it was all so much. elayne would go on about how it was all worth it. but light help him, it was exhausting. mat cauthon had never been cut out for saving the world. this was more his style. getting drunk with a pretty girl and forgetting about the world for a while.

elayne told him once or twice that she wasn't surprised that he was there to help. seemed like a bad joke, to think that she could change her mind about him. he remembered her begrudged thanks in ebou dar, sometimes that was an easier pill to swallow. sometimes he didn't know how to respond when she treated him like he was her friend. being on her good sign felt like it only caused him more trouble than it was worth. but what about this? what side was this? certainly one he had never seen before. one he's sure he might not see again. so where was the harm in making the most out of it?

he sets down the bottle. it feels like something final. just setting it down on the ground beside him. are her eyes on him still? he's looked away briefly, if only to try and get his wits about him again. only it seems to fail. because when he looks at her he's not thinking straight. burn it all, he doesn't seem to be thinking at all. he just moves to stand up. not feeling as unsteady as he thought he'd be. it'd be a lot easier to write off if he was a lot drunker than he knew he was right then. it all comes without plan, but too much thinking. only he's sure no one would be able to tell.

now that he's standing before he considers taking her in his arms. it's a startling thought. it's the first time any thinking got that far. landing him in trouble he hasn't gotten into just yet. he can see himself take her up in his arms, no thinking, no words. just her close to him. she had never been that close to him. but it seems that he can feel her almost, the soft lines of her body pressed against him. but he doesn't do it. he feels frozen suddenly. stuck. and it's as much of a disappointment as it is a relief. but he does reach for her, taking her hands in his. caution comes into play, but it's not as much as he's sure it should be. because he still lifts her hands, letting his lips brush over her knuckles. the contact of her soft skin grazing his lips is too much. is something he shouldn't know. "i think you'd regret it." but he doesn't let go of her hands.

Was there any boundaries between them right now? She almost hoped that maybe there weren't. That was a ridiculous thought. It was a betraying thought considering everything. Mat was someone who should be kept on one side of the line and she should linger on the other. That was the way of things, wasn't it? That was the way that things had been for a long time. She was somewhat uncertain if those spots even existed where she was standing. Could she when she was hte most bare that she had been in her entire life? What did he see when he saw her? That was a lingering question that she couldn't put into words.

His hand brushes her skirts and she feels it shiver up along her spine. She's not sure why she felt it when he hadn't even touched her. He had been closer to her before, far more than he was now. But that feeling had coursed through her and she hadn't contained it either. Maybe that should have been some kind of a sign considering everything that had happened. But what had happened except for boredom? This was because of boredom, wasn't it? Boredom and absolute loneliness. She had been lonely for far too long, it seemed like.

The room was too quiet, maybe that was why. Maybe the silence was something that was building between them, and making things far more tense than they should be. Were they tense, though? Could they be explained that way? She would have preferred to look into his eyes and feel like there weren't any burdens resting there on her shoulders, weighing her down until she could only see the ground beneath her. But what were the burdens called? What could she define them as? Were they written off as Mat Cauthon and nothing more?

The lull, as brief as it was, gave her a moment to study him more than she already had. The brown of his eyes, the glisten of the drink on his lips from the bottle that he had taken a couple of drinks from. She had to wonder if he was feeling the same things that she was or maybe he was just playing into the scheme of the game, laughing at her and her attempt at seeming entirely different than she actually was. That didn't seem to be something that he would do but he was mischievous, and Elayne found it interesting even if she shouldn't be allowing it.

There were a number of things that she shouldn't allow. The closeness of them standing there, the way that his hand intimately skimmed her skirts, that bloody look in his eyes. She shouldn't be allowing any of it. They shouldn't even be on the same level, not at all. He was The General of the Light, of course, but she was the Queen! The Queen! There was no way that something like that was just overlooked by him. And it wasn't something that she should just be overlooking either. Yet here she was, doing just that, rather shamelessly too.

A smile came across her lips and she looked at the bottle that he was holding and eventually a soft laugh came from her. "Is that what you're going to do?" She questioned with a lift of her brows, canting her head some to the side as she studied him, teasing him just as much as he was. Maybe she was laying it on far too thick. "Destroy me with that? Drinking as much as you are?" He was going to think that she was being foolish but she didn't much mind that.

Regretting the loss of his hand skimming her skirt, she brushed past him so that she could move to the center of the room, the soft midnight light coming in through the windows. She turned around to face him, her skirts flouncing just a little bit - maybe she did that on purpose simply so that the deep colors could catch the lights. She turned where she was standing and then faced him, smoothing her hand down over her bodice as she looked into his eyes. Light, but she reveled in the way that he was looking at her.

"That sounds a bit amateur, doesn't it?" She asked, stifling a soft laugh from coming from her. She lifted her hand and gestured towards the bottle there in his hand. "I just thought that maybe you would be able to do something without me getting to drink the way that you do." Now she injected her gaze with expectancy, biting down on her bottom lip as she looked between his eyes. "You always prided yourself on being something of gambling man, don't you?"

Lifting her hand, she pushed her fingers back through the curls of her hair, pushing it back over her shoulders as she held his eyes. He was somehow everything to her in this moment. This was the only feeling that existed. She wanted him to accept this challenge, she wanted him to come closer, she needed him to stay away. Her heart was racing in her chest, something like an ache filling her. He shouldn't accept it, but it was somehow the one thing that she needed from him. Would he know that? Would he give that to her where heart needed it, where her loneliness was eager for it?

"So, what are you waiting for?" She asked, dropping her hands to her sides as she waited on him. Something like bated breath filling her, uncertainty threading through her. She felt nervous, vulnerable even, and somehow she knew that he was the only one that she had ever let herself feel this way for. That should have created a knot of betrayal inside of her but it wouldn't come, no matter how much she willed it to. She simply held his gaze, straightened herself, and tipped her chin, filling herself with all of the composure that she needed. "Gamble."

[michimichim]

in-dee-ca | rosé

disclaimer: dom!fem!poc reader x sub!roseanne, substance use, semi exhibitionism, etc.

improved version

the church bells chime a brassy and insistent sound; an ear-splitting, melody you still struggle to get accustomed to as you leave the bustling building. your friends fall into step with you and together you trudge down the steps of assembly hall, hands in the pockets of your school blazer while they chortle with laughter.  

a shiver wracks over your body as the breeze drifts into your hair and frost your cheeks.

“honestly,” it’s one of your closest friends who speaks up, “what does ‘stricter regulations’ even mean? as if the school doesn’t already have a stick up its ass.”  

“it means open up your books for once, dipshit.” jennie, a senior and representative on the school board, snides as she brushes past you along some of her friends busy trailing after, hot on her heels.  

you bite back a laugh whilst a ruckus of guffaws resonate around your small crowd.  

“fuck off, kim.” your friend shouts after her, eyes rolling in nothing but annoyance, however their expression remain soft. they watch jennie’s retreating form before resting their eyes on something behind you. “here comes miss sunshine.” or rather, someone.

you spare a glance over your shoulder, an agitating feeling erupting in the pit of your stomach when your eyes fall on a familiar sight. she's surrounded by a total of three girls, all tittering as they saunter up the steps of the assembly hall. the dark red and blue of the school uniform brings out the peachy color of her skin, singling her out from the small crowd that’s assembled around. picture perfect she is with her plaid skirt hiked up. all pretty, pale thighs and slender legs. eyes naturally veer her way; she always seems to capture everyone’s attention, and it wasn’t solely due to her father being the headmaster, but rather the vivacious and nonpartisan aura she constantly carries around.  

roseanne is the epitome of natural beauty. some still whisper about her loose hair and ruddy cheeks, and stout red lips, and lithe slender body that never seems to walk but rather float through the walls. she's perfect in every sense, the type of perfect that draws in boys and girls alike, girls like yourself.  

as if sensing the heat of your gaze, her eyes flicker to yours and you stare back, eyes unwavering, challenging her to glance away first with a slight cock to your eyebrow. doe orbs scale down your body – syrupy and casual posture leaning against chilly stairs; it gives you an air of nonchalance – in such swift manner it might have never occurred, but attention from roseanne park could never be forgotten. dulce creamed, dreamy eyed with stars in her nebulas roseanne could never be forgotten. she averts her attention back to her friends.

“what’s it with you and the park girl?” it's someone else that speaks up near you, voice tinged with nothing but curiosity.  

you turn to face them; their eyes seem to trickle with a mix of wonder and apprehensiveness.

you shrug in a dismissal manner, “nothing.” you hate denying it, but you learned to be discreet even when the questioning comes from your friends. even when you despised their questioning. even when you despised them for attributing you a role – one that doesn’t include roseanne in it, the golden girl who knows everything, does everything right. you disdain it and so does she.

the conversation lapses into one of silence and your friends say nothing else, some assess you before emitting out a low hum and dropping the topic.  

you tune them out, distracted, as your attention returns to her, the latter’s laughing along to something – could be anything, really. it's not hard to get her laughing. you return your gaze to your friends and stand up. “i’ll text you.” you throw over your shoulder, willing an apologetic smile on your lips as you trade down the stoned stairs.

-

the sun’s seeping through the arched windows, a kaleidoscope of warm and golden light gushing out over your bodies, tangling with roseanne’s blonde locks. the room she pulled you in belongs to an abandoned and obsolete west wing of the school. no one actually comes here; it has been forgotten, gradually, by its founders until room 144 became nothing but a discarded memory. something close yet hidden.  

the furniture around you is covered with white silky material, gently flapping from the frigid breeze sipping through the cracked open window.  

your hand absently brushes up and down her smooth thigh, drawing arbitrary patterns; she's delicate under the pad of your fingers, a skin so silk angels would exchange for their wings. the hem of her blue plaid skirt is sitting higher than it ought to, her blouse unbuttoned lower than the hall surveillants would ever permit, and between her lithe fingers, something her father would pop a vein over – she’s at her best here with you. your rosie who plays the sweetest of melodies with your heartstrings.  

the sound of fluttering pages fills the cracks of the comfortable silence and she shifts, her legs twirling down over your lap, shoes swiftly thrown off and her gaze, unknown to you, flicks towards your face. she calls you by your nickname, head tilted, exposing the slim curve of her neck as she releases a blanket of smoke through the cherry glossed curve of her lips.  

“hm?” you hum in response and with one hand, the other effectively occupied with multitasking where they usually reside, turn the page of your book.  

a laugh escapes the sheen of her lips. “i'm sensing some sexual tension between you and that book, am i interrupting?”  

the side of your face ticks up into a half-grin, warmth infiltrating your ribcage and through your chest. you glance up from your novel, “kinda,” you tease, eyes softening into a warmer hue once they connect with pools of deep, hypnotizing browns. “mind giving us a moment?”    

“ha. ha." the corner of her lips curve upwards, sarcastic, as she removes the blunt from her parted lips. she sits up and slide over the wooden floor, much closer to you and the substantial, sweet floral aroma of her jasmine and basil fragrance mingles with the herbal scent of weed as she hands the joint over.  

“your mother was the one to assign this to me, you know.” you slump your weight against the soft beige wall, holding the blunt between your lips, before taking a drag out of it, inhaling, holding and releasing it through parted lips.  

“of course she did,” roseanne replies, vexation beneath the delicate pastel shade of her words. you abstain from calling attention to it because here, golden girls like roseanne shouldn't feel anything synonym to anguish. golden girls like roseanne have everything, so why would there ever be a fold between her brows? here, golden, beautiful girl roseanne never has anything but euphonious laughter.  

but the glint of sport in her eyes never wavers, so casting the book aside, you resort to laying a comforting hand on her thigh because you know the golden girl with saccharine smiles, the one who evoke tropical storms in your chest is solid bones and perfect imperfections in a sea of deceptive beings.    

“what’s it about?” she adds, her fingers stringing with yours as the syllables overflow on her smiling lips. her smile, all-too-familiar, whirs something up your spine and her touch seems to burn into your palm, through the cracks of your fingers.    

you take a drag, holding it until it burns, and pass it back to her, “charles duhigg,” your hands never part as you reply, a blanket of smoke slipping out. “the science behind habit, creation and reformation.”    

“so, tell me,” she quips, rustling, inching closer, all hot breath and intoxicating perfume, the tip of her ears crimsoning when you maintain eye contact, “would you rather kiss charles duhigg or, me?”    

"roseanne," you taunt good-naturedly, a laugh looming around to waver your lips. "are you jealous of a forty-something-year-old?"  

you follow her eyes fluttering down to your lips, sharp and wanton. she breathes in another hit then says, "can you blame me for wanting all the attention?"

she wraps her lips around the opaque blunt once more, the scene arbitrarily sinful but then, rather than inhaling it, she cradles your jaw and hovers your lips. exhaling her breath into your willing mouth; it's undoubtedly one of the hottest things you’ve ever witnessed, and if possible, it heightens the smoke wafting in your gut with a coiling warmth.  

“there’s no way i can blame you when you’re pulling shit like this.” you breathe out, slightly dazed from the smoke or her. you don’t really know. 

“i know,” she whispers, several beats too late, breath ghosting atop your lips until they’re meeting in a smooth plash of lips, fluttering lashes and warm breaths.  

the second roseanne’s tongue presses into your mouth, light and pliant and sweet-tasting of hot chocolate, imbued with the smoky aftertaste, you float through a state of euphoria. your hands linger down to the soft curve of her ass, squeezing. you can’t resist the urge, sticking a resounding slap on the round of her ass, loving the surprised moan that’s torn out of her.

she captures your bottom lip into her mouth, teeth toying with the flesh and something about that is thoroughly gratifying to you, as is her quiet pant against your mouth when you draw away – dizzy from lungs running out of air, she pecks your lips a final time before shifting back.  

she sinks herself comfortably between your legs again, perched on your lap while you continue passing the second joint back and forth. as it shortens in size, you grow more physical. your hand never leaves her ass, ghosting over the silken lace of her underwear. roseanne is not far off; she sighs under every single one of your touches, hands threading down through the collar of your shirt, nails roaming up and down your back, scratching lightly at the plains of your shoulder blades.  

you take two to four more hits, you think, you’re not too sure. you've lost count because now the haziness in your head is growing stronger, the sounds are softly intertwining with themselves that you have to haul her closer by the waist as to anchor yourself and think.  

“you think,” you clear your throat, trying to swallow down the dryness. “you think we could order something to eat?”  

roseanne turns her head languidly from the tiny spirals of smoke wafting in the air, her eyes fleeting to yours following a couple of seconds. she peeps at you, “mmhm," she utters. "i guess. well, yeah, it would make sense ... right?" and she titters.  

after holding a straight face and retaining the roach (that you still haven’t noticed has been extinguished) for a few moments, contemplating, “rosie,” you let out a stifled laugh suddenly, like a blend between a snort and a chortle. “you really think the delivery guy, like, the car … can get up here?”  

your bones feel weightless. like you’re soaring, there's nowhere else you'd rather be, and every bone in your body is at ease for the first time today. roseanne shakes with gentle laughter, cradling the scrap of the joint in her hands like religion and setting it aside, next to your knees. 

she clumsily knocks the ashtray over, cursing. it's too endearing, you can’t help but mirror her accent, giggling when she pouts and steady herself from falling as you dissolve into a weed-induced puddle of laughter, stomach shaking, fighting a new hurricane of giggles herself. you just have a way of imitating her accent that is almost uncanny.  

“asshole,” she leans her body into yours, pressing your chests together, feeling yours lift against hers. she then stretches her hand to descend the tip of her nail down your collar.    

“your one and only.” you drawl, drawing in a long, faint breath.  

the warmth hasn’t left your body still, it seems to be making its way from your chest to the rest of your being. you tip your head back so it’s resting on the back of the furniture, eyes lazily drifting over to the window. outside, the sky is clear, a stunning tone of cantaloupe, the sun about sitting so low in the sky it dazzles you through the clefts of the buildings and canopy of trees. this place has become your favorite; it’s all just so peaceful and beautiful here, away from the day-to-day activities.  

you're feeling the floor below you stir like you’re in one of those massage chairs at the mall, combating the inexpressible comfort of roseanne’s weight on you and the sudden mass of your eyes – it wouldn’t be the first time you fall asleep right after smoking. usually, you'd instantly pass out to the steadfast rise and fall of her heartbeat, and she’d follow suit, curling in on herself against your chest.  

“this weed is,” the sway of her voice brings you back from your daydream, “wow.”    

picking your head up and letting the blood rush back down your neck, your brow ridges and you shift, sitting upright and inching closer to gaze into her eyes – they’ve turned a reddish hue, heavy-lidded, but as breath-taking as ever with pools of deep, mesmerizing, mocha brown, and you say, “well, it’s definitely hitting.”

you're becoming increasingly conscious of her nail gliding lower between the top buttons of your white buttoned-up shirt – you don’t recollect exactly when they’ve been popped open, but you don’t have it in you to think long and hard about it. the finger’s tracing the dark bites that have been pressed against the soft mahogany flesh of your skin, progressive shivers creeping up your spine.  

“babe,” she whispers, and it’s the lilt of her voice that makes you glance up at her. when exactly did she pick the blunt back up? the shape her lips make to get those flawless smog rings remind you of the other instances when her mouth’s carved similarly – it’s when she first wraps her lips on your thumb and she teases, tongue swirling around the digit, just playing, taunting. she'd push it in and out of her mouth with suction and with her tongue, she’d bob her head, maintaining your eyes locked through the ordeal. knowing all too well that she's gorgeous with your fingers in her mouth.

“you’re okay to keep going?” she questions, moaning when you bunch her skirt up to press your hands back on the soft, small plump of her ass; they fill both of your hands, moulding back against your palms. you land a kiss on the sweet, red blossomed apple of her cheeks.  

“how can i refuse when i’ve been eyeing this ass all day long,” you murmur, running a hand up, snapping the waistband against her skin. 

that’s all she needs to press her lips against yours.  

you lose yourself completely in how thoroughly your lips effortlessly glide against each other, it turns sweeter, cotton candidly sweeter. then lustful and something entirely more celestial. it could just be the weed accentuating the brush of roseanne’s tongue against yours but you know it would feel almost as good when sober, or even better – you’re not quite sure, each time always feels different than the last.  

“rosie,” you ripple against her lips and she hums, moans mingling for a few moments, your hands gripping up the juts of her waist as she detaches from your lips to start mouthing at the junction of your neck and jaw, teeth scouring down your throat.  

she grips, getting a fistful of your shirt in one hand with the other curving within the heated skin at the base of your neck. your bodies are so close, warm, and she wants to look at you but she’s in some kind of stage where all she aches to do is let her lashes wave shut, so that’s what she does along driving her hips instinctively down against your thigh.  

even through all the layers of clothing between you, you can feel the wetness sliding through the flimsy fabric of her underwear on your bare thigh; the delicious friction of against each other. 

your hands part from her hips to shed your school blazer instead, and roseanne opens her eyes to unbutton her shirt as you grab at yours, unceremoniously yanking it out of your skirt and sliding your palm up the delicate valley of her stomach. hand sliding up further still, you’re cupping, kneading her breasts, bringing an exceptional churning in her gut when one of your thumbs stroke her nipple through the lace. it's off with a quick push of your fingers.  

she stretches out her stomach, feline-like, curves her back and chest out, granting you the sight of her petite breasts as she swivels back and forth back along the length of your thigh. “touch me,” she coos, “please, baby.”

“touch you,” you reiterate, finger tracing the outline of the damp spot lining up her labia. she pushes up her knees to raise herself only the slightest bit higher, “here?” she whines as your touch makes her nerves jump, stroking her lips slowly through the cloth, hoping to further drive her out of her mind.  

slipping your fingers into the hem of her panties, the cloth clings against her sex until you push back against it. you shuffle a little so that you could capture her nipples between your teeth, sucking on the bud. her entire body tenses above yours, arms wrapping around your neck, cradling your head closer to her chest.  

slick is smearing all over your panties, merely from relishing her like she’s a fucking gift from the gods, preening when her hands quaintly smooth over the back of your neck and your fingers play, lazily and easily through her lips.  

she gasps against your ear as your fingers run over her entrance, pressing and teasing, slow and calculated, sliding in the slightest so rose could feel the webbing of your fingers just barely inside of her.

a final tug on her reddened nipple, you withdraw your fingers.

without notice, roseanne’s vision tilts, and she finds herself yelping with her back on the polished, wooden floor with your body hovering hers and a dopey smile adorning your lips. her focus narrows into the manner your eyes dilate – lust and the effects of weed in them. “was that … indica?” you ask, a childlike nature to your voice while sliding her panties down her legs, then yours. you drop them near and kneel before her.  

“i don’t –” she cuts herself, contemplating the fleeting body-warming euphoria that expands through melting and blissful relaxation. “mhm.” she titters, letting the word draw itself out slowly.  

she gives you that look – peering up at you, heavy eyes open and telling as she spreads her legs, revealing parted, wet lips, swollen and pink from what feels like hours of teasing. you stare longingly, pupils blown, squirming and urging to get your mouth to taste her.  

you dip down. roseanne feels the warmth of your breath, and then the first hot touch of your tongue on sensitive skin. she breathes out, tilts her hips up against your mouth, so you move the muscle brusquely, forward at an angle that catches at every lap.  

you’re ridiculously skilled at this; seriously, no one, not even her fingers, knows her body as you do. no one else makes the pleasure overtake her mind as you do, as you flick your tongue and suck on her clit, thoroughly enjoying the way her sweet, even as a salty mix dribbles down your tongue. you're murmuring what sounds like appreciative, sugary words that roseanne can’t entirely make out, she succumbs in the soothing oscillations of it, punctuated by the intervals when you prob and poke with the tip of your tongue. she pushes back into it, chasing the feeling of that tongue gently opening her up, exploring for more.  

then, still feeling quite indolent and mellow, you're nonetheless agile to move, sliding roseanne’s long legs over your shoulders. and with a quick mewl and purr tumbling out of you, you grasp her skirt in the balls of your fist and shove it up her stomach, then gather yours to situate yourself over her glistening lips. the first thrust is everything. she had sealed her eyelids shut again, laid back down and gone docile, allowing you to rut freely against her like – contented with being handled however you like. but when her hips roll up to press back against yours, it startles a moan from you, the sensation of it making both of your bodies sigh.

there's a certain rush; like the one you get when you’re veering the wheels of your bike for the first time, or the one where you’re getting away with something you should not have. this rush is the one currently coursing through your veins, a rush of want that floods through you, feeling almost surreal, rendering you lightheaded. you're almost, almost worried something else was laced in the blunt, but roseanne’s pussy proves powerful for it gently coaxes you out of your anxiety-inducing thoughts.  

they're gone with each thrust sending her body forward. you can’t help speeding and hardening the rolls of your hips in quiet appreciation. each jolt makes her whine and thrill— you have to grit your teeth to not reach your high before hers, intent on coming at the same time. you grind harder onto her, make her feel each thrust— no area of her core left untouched.  

“you look so beautiful, rosie,” you lick your lips, the feeling jubilant. past rapturous you can hardly finish your sentence. "and warm, you’re so fucking warm.”  

chest heaving, her throat’s enticingly on display and you think of wrapping your hands around it to feel the pounding of her pulse – it beats against your fingers, singing in no particular rhythm. but it remains a sound you wouldn’t mind feeling and listening to, over and over again.  

you rub harder into the body lying beneath you, brutal and animalistic, carnal taking up your nature to feel more. the space between your bodies is so wet and she might be unbelievably tight, you regret not doing this at your place so you could fuck the living out of her with one of your straps.  

“—fuck,” you hear her gasping, her nails drilling into the hand wrapped around her neck, “keep going, don’t stop—”  

the wet sounds of your flesh meeting, the grip on her hipbone and your hand roaming all over her body every time you buck against her clit, hard and faster —the more you can’t take your eyes away from the jiggle of her breasts. you stroke your thumb up and down, feeling out the little lump of her thin nipple and her mouth opens in mid-gasp, grasping your ass when her hips give out, lazing prone on the cold wooden floor of the room as your body blankets over hers. your hips don't stop thrusting.  

you're rendered voiceless and utterly reckless, letting natural reactions taking over. the sparkle in your eyes burn for a split-second, then a gut-wrenching moan, cut from deep inside you. roseanne throws her head back, returns travelling on her series of heresies, combined with a bit of praise in the mix. “god, babe, right there … mmm—my fucking god,” she cuts herself off as you almost effortlessly pin her hips down, not enough to hurt, but more in a show of dominance.  

and the release that hits you just never fucking ends; it comes in waves. sober, you’d be surprised at how quick you’ve come, losing your thread altogether, but it only takes four long, premeditated but frantic rolls for you to send yourself in a complete state of a body awakening – it's almost too much to move any more than just the bare minimum – two more to enhance the sensations for both you and roseanne, the latter’s body reacting before her mind could race to a conclusion. her eyes flow open, hands scrambling to clutch your asscheeks tighter when she feels herself pulsing, thrumming and seeing white behind her lids.  

“holy -”  

“fuck.” you finish for her, elbows coming down on either side of her head, so close to collapsing if it wasn’t for the way roseanne’s staring up at you. it's the look of admiration she always gives you when you’ve fucked her just right.  

you kiss down her body – but not without a little slap on her ass. as you lay pecks on her thighs, kiss bruises and marks onto them, you bite and nibble on them, clit twitching at the familiar scent of her dripping heat. it just has that thing that makes you delirious, like alcohol. you give a tentative lick.  

she jerks from over-sensitivity, while her cunt throbs for what is to ensue. walls stretching to accommodate the length and thickness of your fingers slowly entering her, lewd sounds and heat licking deep through her chest. you dip the second digit in earnest, your burning touch only seems to make her core burn with greater need.  

then, in the spirit of simply breaking her, you find her g-spot easily, ramming your fingers into it repeatedly with faultless confidence before pulling away.  

roseanne clenches, whining at the emptiness. being filled just a few seconds ago to feeling friction, to her walls abruptly empty. the pressure inside of her gone, she squirms around trying to find your finger to sink back into her body. she moans, then tries again when all she receives is a giggle, hearing the teasing in your voice, but not possessing the patience to deal with it right now 

... “daddy, please.”  

it comes out breathy —imploring and wanton and you almost shake in rapture.  

“you know i love it when you call me that, rosie,” you come up to murmur against the shell of her ear, words dripping an avid rush of honey. it repels any form of weed-produced laziness that’s taken ahold of your limbs. 

roseanne guides your hand back towards her entrance, gripping down so you can’t move away from her – except, she knows it wouldn’t take much to overpower her, but she does it anyway. she feels the plush push against her walls, then you’re slowly filling her again, setting her nerves ablaze and she let herself cry your name, light curses, whatever comes through her mind out as you rub the spot that makes her toes curl.  

you're gradually lured into snapping your hand, just to wallow in the release of breathy sighs and cries of ‘daddy’ in the crook of your neck that leaves the blonde’s lips every time you force the sound out of her.  

you press your body flush against her form and writhe your fingers in a single-minded purpose inside her dripping entrance. you lick at her pounding pulse and plunge deeper in to make it soar higher and faster than weed ever could. she presses her hands into your shoulders, digging half-crescents into the fragile texture of your skin; clutching for more of your warmth against her.  

with the windows open, people could definitely hear the mundane debauchery taking place right up inside the building. but she simply can’t hold in her moans, despite her best attempts at deadening them. 

body unfurling, as your prodding fingers slides out at her entrance, pressing harder and harder until they slip back inside to hook deeper into her warmth — she sighs and throws her head back, body moving, torso arched, light nipples on opaque skin scrounging for your tongue. however, you’re pre-occupied with sliding in and out of her, kissing the pretty gasps out of her lips.  

your palm hits against her clit each time, her inner muscles beginning to contract and squeeze around your fingers. she's so fucking close, you know it, so before she can start thrashing, you get better leverage. you push one of her legs wider with your knee to get deeper and pump freely inside of her, and the increased volume of her moans send a wave of arousal through you.

the more stimulation to her body causes the buzz to alter in one way or another. her vision is fuzzy as lazy eyes squint up at yours, body like jello that could collapse into a puddle any second. for the briefest instant, it’s almost too much to wrap her head around. it's some sort of fucking extraterrestrial experience, her almost entirely useless brain offers, as it proceeds to liquefy completely, overwhelming orgasm burning down her abdomen like scalding lava, leaving her breathless.  

a while later, when the sun’s stopped blossoming in the sky and a blanket of stars have taken the grace of a breeze over your heads, you’re back in your original position – roseanne straddling your waist, buttermilk hair brushing over her breasts, lissome and comely body draped back in her bra and skimpy panties.  

she leans down and inches her chin forward so she can seal her lips and mouth over yours. she drags her tongue, asking for permission. the taste of your skin, your perfume and scent of your body is intoxicating. the high’s worn off, now she could get drunk from just having her thighs wrapped and caging around you, kissing you for hours on end.  

“hol’ up” then she’s pulling away, before leaning over the side to reach for your bag, procuring a small plastic bag.

you eye her with amusement, “while i don’t mind lighting up another one,” you start, the sweet, nonetheless imposing, concern in your voice is palpable, “grab my sweater first in there.” you nod towards the bag. you've closed the window but the weather is known to seep through bones once blankets of dark clouds had already rolled in.

roseanne smiles and rolls her eyes, dropping to kiss your cheek, then neck, then cheek once more. she has to tear herself away with a fit of laughter when you reach up and get a hand in her milky curls, directing her mouth to yours in a show of biting and toying with the sheen of her lips.

the wool blend of your sweater looks the best on her, it draws down to expose one finely boned shoulder and you wish to paint constellations on the exposed neckline, to dart hot kisses against the silky skin.

you watch, admirably as roseanne uses your abdomen as a workplace to pack the bits of weed into the blunt wrap she had also pulled from your bag. her nimble fingers work everything expertly into a rather attractive roll before bringing the blunt to her lips to lick down the length.  

“the joy of roleplay,” she mentions, quite pleased from the attention. “we should do it more often.” 

cocoa eyes peek at you from under long lashes before swiftly looking bavk down at her work. “daddy~” she adds.

“christ, rosie, don’t make me take you here again.” you deadpan, embarrassed, looking at her as though she’s meant to understand the gravity of your statement.

roseanne just laughs, conspicuously displaying how perfectly aware she was on the effect of her recurrent use of your ‘nickname’ in the most inappropriate choice of settings and moments.

you slide one hand up, rubbing and massaging the curve of her waist while she soothes down the edges with her fingertips, and grabs the discarded lighter from the floor to light the end up.  

“professional,” you chuckle, and wrap your arms around her. she blows smoke halos in your face, bubbled laugh when you playfully gust them away before bringing you into a kiss. she hums as she closes her eyes, and glides her tongue across your bottom lip. “we’re never getting out of here if you keep this up.” your words a breathy pant between grazes of tongues.

“good,” she whispers, connecting your foreheads, unfocused gaze of seductive, glassy-eyed squint burning as she flicks them down to look hungrily at you. “because i'm taking what’s mine until i'm satisfied.”  

and you wisely do not voice an objection. one of your last sober thoughts before your skirt’s tugged down your legs.  

[honeybeezx]

Armor - Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand - Part 4

Author’s Note: Sorry I’m getting this out so late, but It’s time for our girl Ellaria! I love her so much, but I don’t feel super confident with writing her. It might take me a while to find her voice, be patient with me guys lol. Anyways, hope you enjoy and as always, feedback is welcome!

Word Count: 4.0k

Warnings: crude language, mentions of sex

At this point, you weren’t even shooting to challenge or better yourself. You hit every target without fail, you weren’t even paying attention as you did so. Shooting helped you think, allowing you time to process your thoughts, you had a hard time doing so while being still. Well...sometimes it was hard sitting still in general.

“I always feel sorry for the unfortunate man that crosses one of your arrows.” Tyrion’s voice rang from behind you. You turned and gave a small smile before walking away a bit to retrieve said arrows.

“I’m surprised no one here has crossed them yet.” You joked, forcefully taking out the arrows from their targets and gathering them into your sling. “Was there something you needed?”

“Yes.” He replied, but still seemed hesitant to tell you.

“Tyrion?” You asked warily.

“You’re not going to like it. Oberyn is here again, but this time he brings his paramour, the Sand woman. But she insists on leaving the prince and I to our devices. However...Oberyn does not feel comfortable having her roam the palace alone. He asked if you might be able to accompany her?”

Bull fucking shit.

You were not stupid. Ellaria seemed like a capable woman who could more than defend herself. No, this was too deliberate, too planned. Ellaria wanted to get you alone. How convenient that she didn’t want to step on Oberyn and Tyrion’s toes when she was nearly attached to Oberyn at the hip the last time you saw the two of them together.

“I was paid to guard you, not the prince’s paramour.” You grumbled, but truthfully? After your talk with Oberyn, you were curious about the captivating Ellaria Sand. Equally as beautiful as her lover, and equally as passionate. If anything, you may be able to learn a bit more information about the guests from Dorne, and even more so, how to convince the prince not to kill the Lannisters.

“Fine. But next time Bronn gets babysitting duty.” You huffed. If you made it easy for Tyrion he might get suspicious.

It wasn’t as if you thought the prince’s lover was incredibly beautiful.

No, he wouldn’t guess that.

Right?

“They both asked for you specifically, but I will try to convince them next time.” Tyrion said, almost as a joke. “Tell me, why are they so taken with you? First Oberyn visits the palace only to converse with you, next Ellaria asks for you to keep her company.” Tyrion eyed you suspiciously. He was far too clever for his own good, and while it amused you most of the time, it was also extremely annoying.

“Now, are you going to tell me what really happened in that brothel?”

You punched Tyrion hard in the arm.

“Ow!!! You just punched me!! How dare you!! I ought to arrest you for treason!” Tyrion whined dramatically, but none of his words scared you.

“I didn’t sleep with either of them if that’s what you’re implying, you fucking bastard.” You spat. Tyrion often teased you, but this was a new low for him. “What I told you was true, I did as I was told.”

Tyrion was still holding his arm and wincing as he processed your words. “Oh come now, you must have done something for them to like you so much. Even I didn’t like you the first time I met you.” He teased.

“Fuck off.” You grumbled, holding back your urge to shove him. You knew Tyrion and you knew he would find out one way or another. And if he and Oberyn were going to meet today, Tyrion was sure to ask him about it. You’d rather tell him yourself than have him hear it from Oberyn. Only the gods knew what sort of version he’d give. “I gave them the girls, but they just weren’t as interested in them. They were...They were interested in me.” You tried to say as nonchalantly as you could, trying to keep your voice steady.

To say Tyrion was shocked was an understatement. “Really?” He asked, clearly amused.

This was not going to go well for you.

“And what did you say to that? A handsome prince and his beautiful woman want to fuck you, and you just said no?”

You punched him in the arm again, causing him to wince once more. “You she-devil! Will you please stop hitting me, you vile, terrifyingly strong woman!”

“Stop making jokes about this!! This is serious Tyrion!! They insulted me. I am a skilled assassin, known throughout Westeros and all they wanted to do was fuck me, thought I was another girl for purchase. And to make matters worse, I don’t think their feelings have changed on the matter.” You huffed, plopping down into the grass. You knew you would have to get back up soon, both of you couldn’t leave the Dornish waiting, but you wanted nothing more than to lie there forever and forget your troubles.

Tyrion softened and pulled you up into a sitting position to look at him as he sat across from you. “Is that why Oberyn visited you yesterday?”

You sighed but nodded. “We...have a better understanding now. They know why I was angry and they are smart enough to not press it any further, but they don’t hide their desire. I’m watching both him and Ellaria. I still don’t trust them. I think they want to use me to get to you and the rest of your family. It won’t work.” You promised confidently. Even Oberyn’s pretty words could not break you, and you planned on keeping it that way.

Tyrion looked sad and you could not, for the life of you, understand why. Surely keeping your guard was a good thing? Surely the fact that you were starting to get a hold of this little game was something he should be proud of. So why did he look so remorseful?

“We better get going. Don’t want Oberyn stabbing another Lannister while he waits for us.” Tyrion joked half-heartedly.

You eyed him suspiciously. He knew that you knew something was up with him, but he wasn’t going to relent. You decided to drop it. After all, you were keeping royalty waiting.

But before you could re-enter the palace, Tyrion grabbed your wrist. Your head snapped back to him at the sudden gesture. “Don’t let them in too much, but don’t dismiss them as an ally. They may be useful to us...and you need friends.”

This sort of sentiment didn’t suit either of you, but especially not Tyrion. You were confused by his words. “I have friends. I have Bronn, and Shae, and-“

“That’s different.” Tyrion cut off. “I hired you and we all became friends in the process. These people may want to befriend you just because they like you. I’m not telling you to bare your heart to them, I’m telling you to be open-minded.” He clarified. You weren’t used to seeing Tyrion so...serious, at least in this regard. He let go of your wrist and composed himself as if nothing happened.

You didn’t really know what to say to all of that, so you did the same and followed behind Tyrion into the palace.

“Prince Oberyn, Lady Ellaria, welcome to King’s Landing.” Tyrion smiled softly before giving a small bow.

The Dornish returned the favor. Both of them were once again adorned in the colors of their homeland. Warm tones of yellows, golds, and oranges draping loosely against their toned frames.

But when their heads came up from the small bow, both pairs of eyes settled on you.

“It is good to see you again, little hawk.” Ellaria cooed.

If her voice wasn’t so soft you might have been angry. You were not little.

“The pleasure is all mine, my lady.” You replied with ease, keeping your cool.

“As much as I would love to enjoy your company once more, I’m afraid Lord Tyrion and I have business to discuss.” Oberyn said sadly, but gave you a small smile anyways.

“Keep Lady Ellaria company. Shouldn’t be long.” Tyrion instructed, but his eyes still bore into yours. Remember what I said.

“Give me a tour?” Ellaria brought you back to the present, her mischievous eyes dancing over you. You had a feeling this was not just going to be a tour.

“Of course, Lady Ellaria.”

The Dornish woman cackled with laughter, as if to prove a point. “I am no lady. Ellaria is fine. I am not wed to Oberyn, therefore I have no royal status”

You quirked an eyebrow at her response. “Not married? But you two are so...close.” And the fact that they stayed together when they both preferred having several lovers was certainly saying something as well.

“We are wed in everything except name.” Ellaria explained. Oddly enough, it made sense. Dedicated to each other, but also able to seek pleasure with others. They could be attracted to several people, but love was another matter entirely. It went deeper than just fucking around. They were each other’s person.

You tried not to think about how easily you understood that.

“Oberyn is the love of my life. I love him, and he loves me, completely. There are no barriers with us. We take what gives us pleasure as long as it benefits both of us.” Ellaria smiled to herself. It was easy to see how much she loved him and vice versa.

What an incredible thing to know someone so completely.

“However,” she began, “Life in our homeland calls to us. Oberyn and I wish to see more of our children. We have seen enough of Westeros to last us a lifetime. We want to...settle down, to only leave Dorne on matters of business.” Ellaria explained. It seemed hard to imagine the two living a domestic life. They were so bold and free, and they possessed the power to go anywhere, do anything.

But you remembered your talk with Oberyn and about his eight daughters. So much was uncertain about the prince, but his love for his family was unquestionable. He was willing to kill Tywin Lannister, the most powerful man in all of Westeros because he believed him to be involved with his sister's murder. No one could fake that level of love and dedication. If you loved someone that much, you imagined you’d stay in one place for them too.

“Oberyn and I still love each other, very much, but we sometimes wonder if there is one another person who may join us. Someone more constant. Oberyn and I have been with each other for so long. To know someone else as well as we know each other could make things interesting.”

You really didn’t like that she was staring at you so intently.

Or maybe you did, and that was the problem.

“There are many people who I’m sure would be honored to receive the affections of Dornish royalty.” You replied easily, trying to draw the attention away from you.

“Not so many as we might have thought.” Ellaria teased before linking her arm with yours. How she had managed to do that so easily was beyond you. You looked around and were relieved to see that no one was around, but you were still on guard. Spies were everywhere in this palace. But when you thought about it, there was no way the queen could use this against you. She may tease you about it, sure, but she could not hurt Ellaria and start a war just because she didn’t like you.

So while you hated feeling your heart in your chest...this was safe.

“Don’t look so frightened.” Ellaria chided. “You are simply escorting me, yes?”

You eyed her disbelievingly. That was not all that was going on here, and you couldn't help but notice her choice of words. “I think we have different ideas on what makes a person an escort.”

Ellaria hummed and smirked. “Very different ideas.” She flirted.

You narrowed your eyes in warning and she got the hint...sort of. “I like a person in armor. Oberyn has dashing leather brown armor, but I very seldom see women with such attire, a shame really. It’s flattering in a different sort of way.”

You rolled your eyes. “My armor is not for appearances. It keeps me safe.”

“Safe and beautiful can coexist.” She smirked. “I know it was not your intention for the armor to be beautiful, but it is.” Ellaria used her other hand to trace the ornate design. There wasn’t much additional detail, just your crest, an arrow intertwined with a feather on your shoulder pieces. It was subtle enough for someone to notice at such close proximity, but otherwise, the crest was for you and no one else. You didn’t need people to know your crest, you kept it as a reminder of who you were.

“Your armor is a piece of you. I don’t pretend to understand what it is to be you, but I do understand what it is to be a woman. Not many women can say they are feared warriors or assassins, you’ve earned the stories they say about you, you’ve earned your reputation. You have every reason to wear it with pride.” Ellaria smiled at you before...seven hells was she cuddling into your arm????

You were glad Tyrion and Bronn were nowhere in sight.

But as quickly as she did it, she resumed her previous position, simply perched on your arm, as if nothing had happened.

“And it suits you because it does not hide your pretty face.”

You were sure the compliment was only meant to make you more flustered. “If you wish to catch me off guard, Ellaria, you will have to try much harder than that.” You snipped.

The striking woman chuckled and her laugh, her true laugh, was the sweetest noise in all the realms. Joy and life were in that laugh. Warmth. That was the feeling. You almost didn’t recognize it. It had been so long since you had felt anything close to it. It settled in your chest and forced you just...feel.

And you couldn’t run away from it, not with her arm locked around yours. You wondered if that had been her game all along.

“Do not tempt me, Silver Hawk. You forget that I stood before you in a brothel. I could very easily arrange for you to meet us there again.”

“No.” You replied before you could even stop yourself. Your mind reeled, trying to recover, to say anything that could give you at least some of your dignity back. “I only go where Tyrion tells me to. Otherwise, I am at his side or within reach.”

“And what if I ask Tyrion to just...have you visit a while?” She teased.

You rolled your eyes.

“Then I will acquiesce, but that doesn’t mean I have to do what you tell me.”

“Hmmm...We’ll just have to convince you then.”

You snorted. “It would be amusing to see you both try. I am paid to assist Tyrion, but even then some of his demands do not go without question. If I truly didn’t want to do something he asked of me there is not a man alive who could make me do it.”

Ellaria’s eyes darkened as she looked at you.

You didn’t know it, but she could have taken you right there on the palace floor.

“You are a fearsome thing to behold, do you know that?” Ellaria laughed. “Believe me when I say I would not do anything to push you away, not when I am enjoying your company so much. I believe my prince spoke to you of friendship, yes?”

“He did indeed.”

“That is what we both want. But at least let me compliment you. A pretty face as yours deserves at least that.” Ellaria grinned.

You sighed, but her deep brown eyes were impossible to deny.

“Only when we’re alone. I don’t need Tyrion or Bronn giving me any trouble over it.” You grumbled.

“Deal.” Ellaria agreed.

“Ellaria.” A familiar voice called from behind you. On instinct you pulled away from her, even though you were sure the Dornish prince did not mind. What you were worried about was the hand of the king that trailed behind him. You hoped he hadn’t seen you with Ellaria draped all over you.

“My prince.” Ellaria greeted, returning to her favorite place, at her lover’s side. “She is nice company when she’s not so defensive.”

“You should see her when she’s drunk.” Tyrion chipped in. “That’s the only time she seems to like me.”

Somehow you managed to glare at both of them.

“Oh stop now, just a bit of fun. The prince and I were actually just speaking fondly of you.” Tyrion had that familiar, mischievous glint in his eye that made your heart palpitate faster in your chest.

“Oh really?” You were not amused. Now the prince was the object of your glares. What did he tell Tyrion? Did he betray you? Tyrion knew the prince and his lover were enamored with you, but Oberyn didn’t know that Tyrion knew. Not to mention you told Tyrion nothing about your little threats you gave upon meeting them both. If he told Tyrion, you would never hear the end of it, and you would be even more on guard around the prince than you usually were.

“We were discussing the idea of a tournament.” Tyrion proposed. “The king is fond of...violent delights and your skill with a bow would most certainly amuse him. I made a bet against the prince here that you would beat any challenger.”

“I intend on losing.” Oberyn laughed. “That is why I did not bet a lot.”

“Still,” Tyrion smirked, “I would very much like to be in possession of more money that I have to do nothing for, so I was wondering if you could help me.”

How Tyrion thought he would be able to convince you so easily and propose this idea for his own benefit was beyond you.

“And what do I get from this?” You weren't one for showing off your skill. There was some sort of advantage to people underestimating you, you could always take them by surprise. But by now your reputation probably ruined any chance of surprising anyone. Not to mention you could change your mind if money or something of value were involved.

“The adoration of the king, the hand of the king, and the high society of Westeros.”

You snorted. “Forget it.”

“Fine! You can have the winnings too.” Tyrion huffed. “You rob me of my own winnings from my own bet. You wound me, my dear.”

“You’ll get over it.”

Both Oberyn and Ellaria laughed.

“Do you two always act like this?” Ellaria asked.

“Unfortunately her skill comes with a mouth and an attitude. She sometimes succeeds in making me question if that is worth the protection she provides.”

“If my protection wasn’t worth it, I would still be in the North right now.”

“Hmmm...yes sometimes I wish you still were.”

You gave Tyrion a playful nudge. “Don’t listen to him. He’d miss me.”

“I can tell.” Oberyn grinned. For a second you forgot all about keeping your guard up around the Dornish visitors. Tyrion always brought that out of you, the real, unguarded version of you. You supposed you could allow yourself some fun, just this once.

“This is so exciting! I’ve been dying to see the Silver Hawk in action.” Ellaria grinned something mischievous. In any other circumstance, it might have made you nervous, but the chance to actually get some shooting in was actually exciting.

Definitely didn’t have anything to do with showing off in front of Oberyn and Ellaria.

Definitely not.

“I hope to live up to your expectations, Ellaria.” You smiled, just a little.

“I’m sure you will exceed them.” She winked

Tyrion glanced between you and the Dornish. “It seems like she already has.”

If looks could kill, Tyrion would have dropped dead under the heat of your glare.

“She has been more than obligating in making us feel welcome here.” Your eyes widened at Oberyn, but you quickly concealed your shock. He hadn’t told Tyrion about your threats and less than warm welcome. But why? Why would he lose the opportunity to get back at you for insulting a prince, a prince who was an honored guest nonetheless? “You have a very loyal friend at your side, Lord Tyrion. You’re very lucky to have such friendship.”

Neither you nor Tyrion knew what to say to that. At least for a moment. Tyrion eventually had a response to everything.

“I choose my friends and allies well.”

No one could deny the double meaning in that. It was an offer to them more than it was a compliment to you.

“You do indeed.” Oberyn agreed.

Two more pieces to Tyrion’s game.

“You both are welcome to peruse the palace as you please, though I’m afraid I must steal away our Hawk. Please make yourselves welcome and do not hesitate to bother any of the servants should you need something.” Tyrion offered respectfully, ever the host to his new allies.

“Your hospitality is most appreciated, Lord Tyrion.” Both men have a small, respectful bow.

“We hope to see you soon.” Oberyn once again kissed your knuckles softly.

Tyrion had to do everything not to chuckle. That didn’t stop a stupid grin from forming on his face.

When the couple was out of earshot, you pointed a finger at Tyrion. “If I hear a single word about any of that I will be using you as target practice for the tournament.” You huffed.

Tyrion smirked. "Come now, my dear, having two incredibly attractive people want you like cats in heat is nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about."

You huffed and stormed away. If Tyrion actually did need you, you would punish him by making him wait until tomorrow for whatever it was.

Curse them. Curse them with their stupid charm, their incessant flirtations, their dumb, pretty faces, their kind words, their alluring charisma...

What the hell were they doing to you?

————————— Cersei waited patiently in her room. She had neglected a few royal duties all for this. Her nails tapped on the table, then quickly stopped when she heard the door to her chamber open.

“Well?” She asked sharply.

The blond-haired boy failed to control his nerves under the queen regent’s gaze. “The Silver Hawk has captured the interest of Prince Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria Sand. The assassin has not outwardly verbalized her affection towards the Dornish, but she was seen in the courtyard on Lady Ellaria’s arm.”

Cersei took a moment to consider this. You never showed any outward affection towards anyone except her brother, and she couldn’t do anything about that, not while her brother was being protected under Tywin. But she could do something to you. You were only under the protection of Tyrion, which meant very little to her. Her father she had to obey, her brother she did not.

“Keep track of her. They don’t call her the Silver Hawk for nothing. She has a sharp eye, make sure you stay out of sight while you spy on her. If she finds you, you run. If I find out she spotted you, you will be executed. Do I make myself clear?” Cersei asked, having no concern for the man who was her own blood, her cousin.

“Y-yes, my lady.” The boy gulped before taking his cue to leave.

The queen stirred about in her chamber, her thoughts were only composed of how best to take revenge on you.

—————————

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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Tag List (if I’m missing someone please let me know!)

@ilikechocolatemilkh @rpcvliz @janelongxox @evyiione @grogusmum

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: anything with Jiang Yanli, I’d love to see more of her PoV

part 2 of whumptober 20 (JYL/LXC field medicine)

ao3 link

-

It wasn’t that Jiang Yanli never thought about other men.

After all, she was a female cultivator, and her opinion was therefore one of the ones that was rather eagerly solicited when it came to naming the most attractive young masters in the cultivation world; it was only that it had never seemed to matter. After all, she was engaged, and always had been, to her mother’s dearest friend’s only son, and that, it had seemed at the time, was that.

Oh, her father spoke warmly about marrying for love and not for obligation, but Jiang Yanli had never quite understood what he meant. Even if she didn’t love Jin Zixuan, she loved her mother enough to want to respect her wishes, and it was easy enough to dismiss what negative things she’d heard about him – arrogant, self-centered, impetuous, but of course he was still young, and weren’t most teenage boys like that? – and instead daydream about the life she would have in the future.

When she was young, it was mostly daydreams of having some faceless man (she couldn’t imagine little Jin Zixuan, who at three years younger was barely more than a baby) bring her gifts and tease her and kiss her, then say she was the prettiest person he’d ever seen. The way she’d always heard was supposed to be how lovers talked, the way people said that a marriage ought to be like - the way her parents’ marriage had never been.

When she was a bit older, her thoughts drifted away from retreading romantic stories and to the actual work of being married, of being the mistress of Lanling Jin. In the beginning, her duty would be to first and foremost produce an heir and a spare, to remain healthy throughout the process, and to support her husband as he slowly began to take on the duties that would eventually become his, but later on it would get more interesting. A sect leader could not be everywhere, and his wife would often be left in charge when he was not at home – she would have to know everything about the sect, same as him, enough to make decisions in his absence; she would have to answer correspondence, make decisions, negotiate with traders, collect duties, enforce the peace, and she’d also have to manage the sect’s social scene on top of it all.

She probably wouldn’t have much time to cook, Jiang Yanli thought wistfully, thinking about how Lanling women prided themselves on never having to lift a finger for themselves, and threw herself into her favorite hobby now, while she still could. If she was clever about it, she might be able to get good enough at it that her future husband would find some dish of hers that he liked, something that only she could make, and then her cooking would be something done at his request – a charming idiosyncrasy, an indulgence of sweethearts.

When she got older still, and learned about Sect Leader Jin’s philandering and the iron grip of control Madame Jin imposed on Lanling in order to keep her position in the face of all the backstabbing and politics, she thought to herself that that sounded exhausting. But by that point, all of her childhood daydreams had Jin Zixuan’s name on them – although admittedly not his face, for all that he had grown up into one of the most handsome young men of his generation, and certainly not his mannerisms – and it was far too late to raise a fuss now. So Jiang Yanli studied willpower in addition to trade routes, learned how to exploit social norms in addition to how to manage a dinner party, taught herself how to play people just as well as she played the guqin, absorbed the lessons of both murder and mathematics, and above all figured out how to stand up for herself and what she believed in no matter what overwhelming pressure she might face.

Even though Jiang Yanli was pretty sure that Madame Jin wouldn’t appreciate that last part in a daughter-in-law, especially not one reputed to be as easygoing as her father.

(“Let her be upset,” her own mother had snorted when Jiang Yanli had tentatively raised the issue. “Are you supposed to ruin your own future because she’s a bitter old mother-in-law that’d rather not give up control so early? I may have agreed to marry you to her son, A-Li, but she agreed to marry him to my daughter. If she wanted easy and pliable, she should have thought again.”

“But she’s your friend,” Jiang Yanli had said, frowning a little. “Don’t you want her to be happy?”

Her mother had looked tired. “Once, more than anything,” she’d said. “But the chance for that passed long ago.”)

So it wasn’t that she didn’t notice other men. It was just that there was no point in allowing herself to look, and she knew enough of her parents’ marriage, and of Madame Jin’s, to not want to look.

And then, suddenly, there was.

Her engagement was broken. One could say that it happened at her own beloved brothers’ hands, at her father’s blind dislike of arrangements even when it was one his own daughter had long ago accepted and had even learned to long for, but in truth Jin Zixuan was a proper young master, old enough to make decisions for himself, to exercise some control over his own life, and the first bit of control he’d taken into his own hands was to decide that he didn’t want her.

It was – not fine, no. She spent some time crying over it, and yet more time comforting Wei Wuxian who was distraught at having caused her pain, and the most time of all quietly wondering what the point of her existence was now that she was no longer useful as a marriage tool. She’d never been much of a cultivator, never been especially pretty, never been anything more than average – what was the point of her?

Maybe that was when she’d decided to pick up medicine.

Field medicine was womanly enough to satisfy critics, and yet it was something useful in a practical sense: she could save people’s lives, if she only learned enough, and studying she could do.

Sometimes, she even got the chance to save the lives of very attractive people, like when the First Jade of Lan lay crumpled in the cot before her as she patched him up. So this is the one they ranked first, she thought, examining him with her eyes even as she kept her hands busy, and she was forced to admit that the other female cultivators of her generation had good taste. He was devastatingly handsome.

Kind, too, she soon learned; gentle and courteous in his mannerisms. He smiled often, which she appreciated in a person (if one interpreted Jiang Cheng’s scowls as smiles, he smiled nearly as much!), and he seemed to genuinely admire her efforts at medicine, however rudimentary. Over dinner, which he insisted on sharing with her even after he was well on his road to recovery, the conversation between them flowed easily and well: they both had brothers they loved, which was a conversation topic of which neither of them would ever tire, and they both enjoyed art and music. He didn’t know the first thing about cooking, but enjoyed asking questions (especially after she’d made him a meal he particularly enjoyed, which was often), while she enjoyed the way he blushed when she teased him.

She didn’t think much of it, of course. If she couldn’t keep the husband that had been promised to her since before she could walk – if she was too dull, too plain, too weak, too average to be worthy of an untried young man like him – then she definitely had no hope of catching the most attractive and capable young master of their generation, a dashing war hero and sect leader in his own right.

And then, when they were both laughing over an especially hair-brained scheme they’d concocted to try to get Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian to spend more time together – Jiang Yanli had noticed how much Wei Wuxian talked about Lan Wangji once he’d returned to the Lotus Pier, and Lan Xichen swore up and down that Lan Wangji had been no better – he turned to her and said, “If you were in Gusu, your brothers would be sure to come to visit you.”

“Me, in Gusu?” Jiang Yanli was startled into a laugh. “Why would I be in Gusu? As your guest?”

Lan Xichen coughed. “I had been hoping for something – a bit more permanent than that. If that would be something you would be open to.”

It actually took her a moment to understand, and then she had to raise her hands to cover her suddenly burning cheeks.

“You don’t have to say anything now,” he said hastily. “Just something to think about, if you’re interested…and of course, if your heart is elsewhere –”

“It isn’t,” she blurted out, and had to turn away.

“I’d hoped that was the case,” he said quietly, his voice warm. “I’ll take my leave, Mistress Jiang.”

Jiang Yanli had grown up thinking of herself as the future mistress of Lanling Jin, with its riches and its beauty and its poisonous heart, and then she’d assumed she’d be nothing at all, an old maid that helped Jiang Cheng manage his sect until he finally found a wife to suit him.

She’d never thought about being the mistress of Gusu Lan.

Gusu Lan, which was not as wealthy as Lanling Jin but just as complex – with its own trade routes and subordinate sects and business to manage – with its beautiful and serene landscape, its culture that emphasized harmony and unity rather than backstabbing – with no overbearing mother-in-law that would have barely been tolerable even when her own mother would have been there to hold her back, but would have been impossible without such protection –

She hadn’t dreamt of Lan Xichen as a child, or even as a teenager, but when she thought about all those dreams with a faceless man that she’d named Jin Zixuan regardless of any similarity to the real thing…

Lan Xichen fit in much better to the idea in her head than the real Jin Zixuan ever had.

“I won’t live separately,” she told him when he came over the next day, before he could even say a word; it had been just about the only problem she could see with his proposal. “In another house, certainly, but not an entirely different dwelling, and if I have any children, I would want them to live with me regardless of their gender.”

“I wouldn’t dream of having you so far away,” he said, and he was smiling again, broad and bright and – somehow, impossibly – hers. “Might I kiss you?”

“You may,” she said, and he did.

“Mistress Jiang,” Lan Xichen said a moment later, “you’re the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met.”

Remarkable, Jiang Yanli thought to herself, was better than pretty any day.

[cinaja]

Before the Wall Epilogue

Masterlist

----

Ten years after the Wall

 The crops have been coming along well this year, just the right balance of sun and rain and wind promising a rich harvest. It leads to a good mood throughout the human parts of the Continent. In the aftermath of the war, they have all made their experiences with food shortages, and so everyone is relieved that they seem to have moved past these times. All the bigger is the shock when, only a week before the grain was meant to be brough in, heavy thunderstorms with rain and hail ruin most of the harvest in one of Angolere’s northern provinces.

Andromache spends two mildly exhausting days visiting the region, travelling from city to city and offering reassurances that everything is under control, there are no risks of food shortages. Her presence has no practical purpose, the local authorities are more than capable of handling the situation, but everyone is nervous enough that they need someone to reassure them that all will be well.

By the time she reaches the last village, she is drained, although she is too well-trained to show it. As patiently as in the first village she visited yesterday, she listens to the town spokeswoman describe their situation, allows her to show her the village and the mostly-ruined regions.

“We will send grain from other regions,” she promises, as she did in every place she visited so far. The south of Angolere had rich harvests these years, and the other queens have already promised to send food as well should we not get by after all.”

She accepts an invitation for dinner and spends a few hours sitting in the townhall together with most of the village, making pleasant conversation, before she excuses herself. When she steps outside, she expected to be greeted by one of her guards. Instead, Yanis is waiting for her, leaning against a fence.

When he sees Andromache, he offers an exaggerated bow, grinning broadly as he straightens. “Good evening Your Majesty. May I be your escort for the evening?”

Andromache grins back. “I don’t know. You see, I have a husband who is waiting for me at home with our children.”

“I hear those children are sleeping already, and your husband missed you terribly these last few days and thought he’d pick you up.”

Andromache laughs and leans over to kiss him.

“How did it go?” he asks, wrapping an arm around her middle.

“All good,” Andromache says. “I barely needed to do anything, just reassure people a bit.”

These days, all problems she has to deal with seem easy. There is still a lot of work – drafting laws, dealing with arising problems, day-to-day governing work – but it only ever seems pleasant. What is a disagreement over a new law compared to the horror of war? Or to the initial years afterwards, when there were millions of displaced, traumatized people to deal with and they came close to starvation almost every year. Six years ago, a loss of harvest like this would have meant famine and deaths. Now, all she has to do is organize for food to be sent over from different provinces.

Things are good.

“I’m sure you were brilliant,” Yanis says with a broad smile. “Meanwhile, I have won a significant victory in the never-ending battle of convincing Leli that when her teachers tell her something, it is not a suggestion but an order, and I managed to keep Tano from breaking any priceless artifacts while running through the palace.”

Andromache laughs. “You’re my hero,” she says, half-teasing and half-sincere.

Yanis quit his work in the palace guard when Andromache got pregnant with Leli six years ago and has been staying at home to raise her and – three years later – Tano ever since. He could have kept his job had they hired someone to look after their children, but for Yanis, there was never even a question in that regard: He wanted to be there for their children as they grew up. It makes it easier for Andromache to know that even when she is busy at work, sometimes for days at a time, he is home with their children.

“My first meeting tomorrow is at eleven,” she says. “That ought to leave plenty of time for a nice family breakfast.”

----

Mor spends her days travelling the Continent, dealing with anyone her uncle currently wishes to improve relationships with. She has yet to decide whether she loves or hates her new position. Both, perhaps. She loves that it allows her to travel far and wide, to leave the Night Court and its restrictions behind, if only for a few weeks at a time. She loves the protection it gives her.

She hates the memories it brings up, though. For her, the Continent is full of memories of happier times. (No, that is not right. She shouldn’t think back to the years of war and wish herself back into that time. But then, to go back would mean getting Andromache back, and for that, she would accept a hundred years of war. But Andromache is on the other side of the Wall, married now and forever lost to her.)

Sometimes, Mor also hates the people she has to deal with. Today, it is Shey, who has been loosely allied with the Night Court ever since the war ended. Mor doesn’t know exactly how that came about, but her uncle exports iron for weapons and armour to Shey and he sends Mor to visit the emperor at least once a year.

Today is the first day of that annual visit and Shey is holding a welcome-celebration for her. It is a huge honour – Shey is easily the most important person on the Continent now, and him holding a celebration in honour of the emissary from a tiny Prythianian court is very unusual.

If Mor had been stupid enough to think it is for her sake, she might have actually felt honoured. But this celebration isn’t because of her, none of this is because of her at all. It’s all about Miryam and the fact that everyone knows that Mor was friends with her. That is why there are no doors locked to her on the Continent, why everyone so readily meets with her. Because Miryam and Drakon were her friends, and so to host her is to flaunt some sort of connection to them.

No, Mor does not enjoy the party at all, even if the music is brilliant, as is the food. She just makes conversation because it is what is expected of her and downs glass after glass of the clear, sparkling wine favoured here in the north to make it bearable.

She wonders what they would all say if they knew how things ended between Miryam and her, that she abandoned her before the end and left her to die. If they knew that she was so terrible that Andromache could no longer bear to so much as be around her anymore. If they knew about the charmed necklace that still lies unused at the bottom of some drawer in her rooms in Velaris.

No one knows about any of that, though. And no one ever will. Maybe one day, Mor will even be able to fool herself into believing that the sole reason her and Andromache split up was the Wall, that she never argued with Miryam and the only reason she isn’t visiting her is out of worry for her safety. It is not today, though, and so she downs another glass of wine and smiles at the nearest dignitary and allows him to pull her to the dance floor.

----

No one is coming for him.

Jurian fought against that truth for years, but he has given up on denying it for a while now. What use is it to lie to himself? No one is coming to save him. His allies, his friends, seem to have forgotten entirely about him. They moved on with their lives and likely never thought of him again, didn’t care enough to bother freeing him from that terrible nightmare his life turned into.

Jurian hates all of them. Andromache and Nakia and all the others for leaving him behind. Drakon for pretending to be his friend and then betraying him and making Miryam turn away from him. Miryam for turning against him. For not saving him. For dying. Her, he hates most of all.

----

Drakon puts down his quill and scans the contents of the text he just finished once more before putting the paper on the stack with the other usable results. That stack is the only tidy part of the table he was working on, the rest is a mess of books, most of them lying open on the relevant pages, and crumbled papers filled with ideas he dismissed as useless already. A few of those even ended up on the floor.

Well, that ought to be enough for now. He’s done with his edits on the draft for the new tax law they will be discussing later today. He still wants to show his edits to Miryam before then, but he still has plenty of time left for that.

Rising to his feet, he sets about cleaning up his mess. The papers he doesn’t need anymore go into the fire, he closes the books he used for reference and puts them on a second stack next to the one with the finished edits. He will be taking them with him, just to be sure.

Carrying the eight books as well as the stack of papers is a difficult task, given that he still doesn’t have proper use of his right arm. He has to carry the books with his left hand, the papers stuck between his useless right arm and his body. That movement alone hurts, but he is used to it by now. (There are magical prosthetics that function almost as well as an actual limb. But… well, Drakon hasn’t decided yet.)

A look at the clock reveals that it is almost seven. Drakon was in the library for the last four hours, and by now, Miryam should probably be awake. (Their sleeping schedules do not align very well lately. They usually go to bed together, but Miryam rarely manages to sleep more than half an hour before waking up again and then spends most of the night working, going to bed only in the early hour of the morning, while Drakon generally manages to sleep for a few hours but then cannot go back to sleeping when he wakes up. Miryam sometimes jokes that at least their inability to ever sleep through the night makes them both very productive rulers.)

Books balancing on his left hand, he walks through the halls of the library and out into the city. They founded their new capital nine years ago, and everything about the city still screams new. Many houses are only half-finished, as are all government buildings. Right now, their government meets in an improvised city hall and most of the high-ranking government members (including Miryam and Drakon) live in nearby houses. The council insisted that they start building a palace sometime, but that hasn’t been a priority yet.

The city Drakon is walking through now is nothing like Sajeo or any of the other cities in Erithia, all of whom were old, each building full of history. Drakon does miss Erithia, but he doesn’t think that difference is necessarily a bad thing, at least for their purposes. Not all history is good, after all, and in their situation, it certainly isn’t helpful. As it is, they all get a fresh start. There are human houses being build next to faerie ones, and all of them are equally new. They are all starting over together, and in a few centuries when this city has matured a bit, that will be the history the people living here will be able to look back upon. It will be one of unity, Drakon hopes.

----

Miryam frowns at her reflection in the mirror. Hair mussed from sleep and still wearing her long nightdress, she doesn’t look particularly dignified, but that is not what she has a problem with right now. No, the problem is that she looks young. It’s like she hasn’t aged at all in the last ten years. If she is being honest, the years of peace actually make her look far younger than she did at the end of the War. Then, at twenty-five, she looked more like thirty-five than she does now.

“Would you say,” she asks, turning to look over at Daín who is floating over her bed, “that I look my age?”

Daín is silent for a moment, cocking his head to the side to study her. “Now?” He asks. “You want to talk about that now?”

Miryam shrugs.

“Mortal ages are terribly hard to tell just by looks, really. There is no telling how old anyone truly is, as evidenced by you now looking younger than you did when we first met,” Daín says. When Miryam gives him a flat look, he quickly adds, “But in your case, I would say that you look twenty-five, for the simply reason that you haven’t aged a day since you were resurrected. Which is what you were getting at, isn’t it?”

Miryam glares at him, trying to ignore the sting of the words. “You knew the entire time,” she says, more statement than question. “And you never thought to tell us? Even when we spent the last five years trying to figure out if I was aging or not?”

“And yet, through all that time, you never thought to ask me,” Daín says with a sharp smile. He has been getting better at mimicking precise expressions lately. “You ask about everything – history, human culture, magic, the other worlds. Yet this one thing, you never brought up, not once in the four years since you decided to talk to me again. Neither did Drakon.” He shrugs. “I figured you didn’t want to know.”

Like it or not, he might have a point. Miryam didn’t want to know. If she is entirely honest, she still doesn’t. She never wanted to be immortal, not even in the not-actually-immortal way the Fae are. She always thought that having a limited number of years made those years more precious.

“Resurrections are a tricky matter,” Daín offers. He actually manages to sound comforting. “There is no telling what side-effects there might be. Even I still cannot tell exactly how it works.”

“Well.” Miryam wraps her arms around herself. “I suppose the alternative was to be dead.”

She doesn’t like the idea of being immortal. Not at all. But if there is one thing she knows for sure, it’s that she prefers it to having died and stayed dead at the end of the war. These last ten years certainly weren’t easy, but they were good. The best ones of Miryam’s life, probably. She wouldn’t have wanted to trade them for the world.

“So you’re alright with it?” Daín asks.

“I guess I’ll have to be,” Miryam says with a shrug. At least it doesn’t bother her as much as she thought it might. It isn’t ideal, but she would rather have a too-long life than a too-short one. She smiles at Daín in a way that is hopefully reassuring. “And now, I need to get dressed. So, you know.”

“I’m already gone,” Daín says, winks at her and vanishes.

Miryam glances at her reflection once more before turning to her wardrobe. She sincerely hopes that she is at least only “immortal” in the way the Fae are, which isn’t so immortal at all. But well, that is a question for later. For now, she has other things to worry about, and for those, she needs to dress.

Drakon barges into the room just as she buttons up her jacket. He doesn’t look at Miryam – cannot, because he is balancing a stack of books on his left hand, it swaying dangerously with each step.

Miryam picks up the four books at the top and stands up on her toes to kiss him over the now-smaller stack of books he is still holding. “Busy morning?” She asks, smiling softly.

Drakon smiles back and manages to place the rest of his books as well as the stack of papers he was holding under his right arm on the nightstand without any incidents.

“Yes,” he says, turning back to Miryam and wrapping an arm around her. “Very productive, though. I reviewed the new tax law we were drafting, and I think it should probably work out. Maybe you could read over it once more before the meeting later, though. And I brough along the books I used for reference, just to be sure.”

Miryam’s smile deepens. Of course be brought the books, as if there will be anyone but him at the meeting who read all of them.

“Sure,” she says, although she doesn’t think her reading over it will accomplish anything but making Drakon feel more secure about it. “I’ll read them right after breakfast.”

That way, they will still have time for small changes before the meeting, even if Miryam doubts she will find anything of note. She learned a lot about law-making in the last years and she would say that she is decent, but especially when it comes to the small details (which is what they are dealing with at this stage), she’s nowhere near as good as Drakon.

They go have breakfast on the small balcony belonging to the set of rooms they share. It is Miryam’s favourite place in the entire city, high enough that she can overlook the square below as well as some of the nearby streets. As her and Drakon eat and discuss the things they both worked on during the night (the tax laws for Drakon and a logistic issue with distributing food for Miryam), Miryam looks out over the city.

By now, the city has awoken and the square is full with people rushing about, going about their daily activities. Humans and faeries, all living together in peace. A woman is hurrying along, trailing two small children behind her. A young Seraphim girl and a human boy are playing together by the fountain. Next to them, a group of adults sits and eats a quick lunch, likely before going to work.

Miryam could spend hours watching them. On bad days, when her nightmares are worse than usual and the shadows of what happened chase her, she sometimes does. Watching the people down there go about their lives, happy and free and at peace, always makes the guilt and pain easier to bear. These people will have good lives, they and their children will be free, and that alone makes all that it took to get them here worth it. It makes everything worth it.

----

A/N: So, this is the final chapter. After over a year and 370k words written, I can't quite belive that this story is actually over. Writing this story has been lots of fun (and I might revisit it for a few oneshots sometime), and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

At this point, I'd also like to thank everyone who read this story and left comments or likes - all of you have really made my day every time. A special thanks goes (once again) to @croissantcitysucks for all the wonderful conversations we had about this story, for all the great feedback and help when I had problems, and, of course, for all of the backstory surrounding Daín and the Mother (also, I'm looking forward to you acotar rewrite so much and I can only recomment everyone read it when it comes out!) It's really been so much fun!

Tags: @femtopulsed @aileywrites

[justheretobreakthings]

Whumpmas in July: Day 9

@whumpmasinjuly

“Look at me.”

Read on AO3 My house, my rules, my ko-fi

Even through his paladin armor, the fire was far too hot. Shiro could swear he could feel the flames of the burning walls licking against his skin as he raced by them, and was certain he would be covered in blisters by the time he got back to the castle. His helmet – especially the crackling in his ear reminding him that the comm hadn’t been working since they’d entered Viuter’s atmosphere and would be no help to him now – was irritating him, making him feel trapped and claustrophobic and plastering his sweaty hair against his skull and preventing him from wiping his bangs out of his eyes. Still, it was protection, enough protection to keep him upright and moving, and even though smoke clouded his line of sight, the visor of his helmet kept it out of his eyes, and the oxygen actuator mostly kept him from breathing in the ash.

Which meant Keith’s armor was giving him that same protection. Which meant he was fine. Wherever he was.

Keith shouldn’t have been in the building in the first place. He’d been blocks away when the explosion had occurred, the paladins all having separated to confer with different members of the Viuteran council. It had made sense, getting more done in less time and everyone getting to stick to their specialties, and it had resulted in Keith being all the way in the infantry armory building at the time of the blast. Shiro, though, had been right near the explosion, in the next building over where he and Allura were meeting with a group of military strategists. As he’d been wearing armor and Allura hadn’t, it was only natural that Shiro was the one to take the initiative of running into the building and taking charge of evacuating as many Viuterans as he could.

Sure, it would have been better if the comms had been working and the paladins could all coordinate together, but that wasn’t really any more than a flickering and quickly dismissed thought in Shiro’s mind. He would focus on rescue now, find his teammates when he was done.

It took longer than he would have liked to reach the point when he could look for them, but it came eventually. Once the building was deeply engulfed in flames and there was too much risk of it collapsing in on itself for it to be safe for Shiro to go back in and keep up the rescue efforts. He handed off an unconscious Viuteran to an emergency worker and looked around to find himself in the midst of a dizzying scene. Sirens were wailing, soldiers and civilians alike were running amok, some trying to escape, some trying to help contain the spreading fire. And all of it cast in an eerie red, the thick smoke in the sky blocking out all light except for that of the fire.

Pidge was the paladin he spotted, her green armor sticking out boldly against all the red and gray, and her face flooded with relief when spotted him approaching. “Oh thank fuck!” she cried, rushing to meet him. “When Allura said you were in there I – I didn’t know if – God, kept hoping the comms would magically start working and I could make sure you were – ”

“Is Allura okay?” Shiro hated to interrupt, but now that he’d found one of his teammates, he was more than eager to find the rest, make sure everyone was okay.

“Right, right, follow me,” Pidge said, and she hurried to lead the way, winding through the chaos. “Allura’s this way, they’ve got first aid stuff going so that was the first place I looked, to see who was hurt. Lance and Coran – they left ages ago. Before this bomb, apparently a different one went off on the other side of the city. Like, one minute difference. My guess is they were planned to go off at the same time, but they weren’t coordinated quite right. Anyway, they went to get Blue and they were heading that way, so I don’t know when they’re gonna be – ”

“Shiro! Shiro, you’re okay!” A voice cut across Pidge’s rapid speech as they approached what appeared to be a makeshift triage center in the square, and Shiro turned to see Hunk clambering in their direction as fast as the armful of medical supplies he was carrying would allow. Behind him, Allura looked up from where she had been bent over an injured Viuteran, her glowing hands pressed against his leg. Relief washed over her face, and she started in their direction too the moment she had finished.

Shiro nodded in acknowledgment to Hunk. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Hunk asked. “You’re not hurt at all? Your armor’s looking kinda beat up, you might be hurt and not even realize it because of adrenaline! Do you feel dizzy at all? Do you need water? Do you need to sit down?”

“Hunk, I’m fine, really,” Shiro reassured him, turning his attention to Allura as she joined them. “How’s everything holding up here?”

“As well as we can hope for,” Allura said. “Everyone’s been too busy trying to get people to safety to investigate, so I don’t know where the bombs were, who may have been behind it, what the intent was – I take Keith was able to reach you? Where is he now?”

Shiro frowned. “What?”

“I thought – surely by now he would’ve – ”

“Allura,” Shiro said, voice tight. “What do you mean? Where’s Keith?”

“He was here, but he – I told him where you’d gone, and he took off, didn’t even let me finish the sentence. I thought he was going to help you with the evacuation.”

Keith had gone after him. Shiro had gone into the heart of the fire, and Keith had followed him in, and he hadn’t even realized. It hadn’t even occurred to him until Allura mentioned his name that he hadn’t yet seen Keith anywhere, but now…

Shit.

“I’m going after him,” he said, turning on his heel.

“What?” Pidge said. “Hang on, you think he’s still looking for you in there?”

“I know he is.”

“Wait, Shiro,” Allura said, “It’s certainly not safe! Surely Keith would have had the sense to get out of there by this point, we ought to – ”

“No.” Shiro shook his head. “No, he’s – I gotta get him. I’ll meet you all here when I’ve found him.”

One of them called his name again, as he took off running, but he ignored it. All his focus was on moving forward, his feet pounding the ground as he raced faster than he could ever remember having moved in his life, back toward the flames.

In any other circumstances, Shiro would agree that, yes, Keith had the sense to get out. He could be rash and stubborn and even foolish at times, but Shiro at least liked to think that Keith had been getting better about knowing when it was better to retreat than to dive headlong into danger. His failed battle with Zarkon, at least, had knocked that lesson into his head.

But he knew Keith, and more importantly, he knew Keith’s past. As little as Keith liked to open up about his life, he had at least let Shiro in on a bit about his dad. And how he’d lost him. Shiro had seen the look in Keith’s face whenever his dad had come up, the emptiness and desolation when he’d explained how that fire had taken him.

And he had seen the desperation and determination in his little brother’s eyes whenever Keith made it clear that he couldn’t go through a loss like that again. Whenever he insisted that he’d never have to take on the role of team leader because Shiro wasn’t going anywhere. He’d heard about Keith’s expulsion from the Garrison, the explosive lengths he went to in order to get Shiro out to his shack.

When it came to family – when it came to Shiro – all logic and reason was out the window.

And now Keith might very well meet his end because of it.

Making his way through the burning building required him to shut out all of his natural instincts pointing him to safety, screaming at him to get out of there before he wound up seriously hurt, or worse. He had to turn on the shade of his visor to keep the brightness of the flames from blinding him, and even then it was hard to be certain where he was going. Halls were blocked by burning debris, pieces of the building falling around him and some coming dangerously close to taking him out with them. Shiro jetpacked through a singed hole in the ceiling when the hall behind him folded in on itself, blocking his route to the main entrance, and every step on the second floor was accompanied by creaks and crackles that had him bracing himself to fall right through at any second.

Still, he kept going. Pushing through the heat and the sparks and the roar of the flames, yelling Keith’s name over the noise and through the billowing smoke. None of that was important. All that mattered was finding Keith.

He had to find Keith. Had to find him. Had to find him. Had to –

A crack sounded above him, and around the corner and along the hall, flaming shards of ceiling toppled down, and that’s when he spotted it: the distinct blue light that accompanied a shield activating from a paladin’s armor.

Keith. Ducked under his shield, fire and rubble tumbling around him, the red and white of his suit gray with ash. Alive, and moving, and okay.

He was okay.

Shiro dived into the wreck, knocking falling debris aside with his sword hand and, voice breaking in sheer release, shouting out, “Keith!”

Keith’s head shot up at the sound of his name, and although for a brief moment he stumbled from the battering against his shield, there was no mistaking the way his exhausted eyes widened the moment he spotted Shiro across the hall, as if he were seeing a ghost, only for his face to light up in stunned relief.

He may have shouted something in reply that was drowned out by the fire raging around them, or he may have sprung up from his crouch without a word. Either way, Shiro got no warning before Keith was practically flying across the hall to tackle him in a hug.

Shiro stumbled back, startled. It wasn’t as though hugging was completely out of Keith’s character – once he knew and trusted the person giving them, he practically reveled in them – but he was never the one to initiate the embrace. A means of preemptively shielding himself from being turned away, perhaps; a fear that the gesture may be misinterpreted, may be mistaken as something romantic or even sexual; maybe simply a matter of making sure he never set off any discomfort related to touch that Keith was often prone to himself. Shiro had never known for certain which was the case, but it all made Keith a distinctly non-touchy person. Even when they had first been reunited after Shiro’s disastrous return from Kerberos, Keith hadn’t hugged him with this much fervor.

It all spoke to just how terrified Keith had been, how desperately he’d been searching for Shiro. The embrace was a grounding one. He was pressing himself so firmly against Shiro, gripping his brother so tightly. As though reassuring himself that Shiro was really there. Like if he dared to let go, Shiro would vanish back into the smoke and flame.

“Hey,” Shiro said, trying to keep his voice soothing despite needing to practically shout to ensure he could be heard, arm wrapping around Keith’s trembling back. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“I thought – ” Keith choked out through his helmet’s speaker. “Allura said – she said you – you’d gone into – into – ”

“I know. I know.”

“You went into the fire. Shiro, you went into the fire, I thought you – I was going to lose you, I had to find you, I couldn’t – I couldn’t just let – ”

“It’s all right, Keith, I promise. I’m okay.”

“You could’ve died! You almost died, you almost burned up and never said goodbye, I thought you were dead, I – ”

“Hey. Keith. Look at me.” Keith kept his face buried in Shiro’s chest, so he pulled back to hold him by the shoulders. “Look at me, okay? I’m right here, see? I’m not dying on you yet. Swear it.”

“Y-yeah. I see you.” His voice shook, and this close up, Shiro could see the redness of his face, the way his eyes seemed to be struggling to stay focused. As hot-blooded as Keith ran, even he was susceptible to fire like this. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m – I was just…”

“Scared?” Shiro finished for him, and Keith nodded weakly. “That’s okay. I get it. And hey, you found me. You found me, I’m here, and we’re okay. And now – ” A crackling sounded from above, and Shiro yanked Keith aside without a second thought, throwing up a shield as a beam collapsed right where the latter had been standing, showering the two of them in sparks. “Now we gotta get outta here, okay? We gotta run.”

“Yeah.” Keith took a trembling breath and straightened as Shiro let his shield fizzle away. “Got it, let’s go. Just – ” Shiro looked down to see Keith’s gloved hand wrapping around the gauntlet of Shiro’s armor. “No splitting up. Please.”

Shiro smiled. “Deal. We won’t let each other out of our sights. Come on.”

He activated his sword hand, and beside him, Keith did the same with his shield. Ready to race back through the flames, side by side.

[gxccistyless]

Kiwi || Part Six.

So um HELLO. I’m aware it’s been a very long time, truth be told I had totally forgotten about this!! I wanted to however finish this series before starting on anything new and so after this there will be a part seven and then perhaps an epilogue. IN THE MEANTIME HOWEVER I AM TAKING REQUESTS FOR HARRY SHORTS — What I mean by this is, well give me a prompt or something you want written and I’ll try my best!

Hope you all enjoy part six of Kiwi!

If you’re new here, please subscribe/follow... If you’d like to catch up you can read Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four and Part Five . ENJOY!!

“Please give me another chance? I know we’ve been through a lot but i really do love you and want to at least try and make things work…” The two of you had sat in the room in undisturbed silence for a further five minutes before you nodded your head. When you realised he couldn’t hear you nodding, you finally spoke.”Yes” Harrys breath hitched in his throat and if you ask him, he’ll swear his heart skipped a few beats. “But i have a few conditions...” He nodded waiting for you to continue. “You have to stop drinking and get yourself straight. You need to start talking to someone about your problems... and i want us to go to therapy... together.” The thought of talking to someone else about everything going on in his life and explaining to them why he would drown himself in alcohol seemed rather daunting, but a small price to pay to get back the love of his life. He tries to argue with you but he knows that you hold all the cards and he holds none, so he agrees. “do you know the gender?” You shake your head “Would you like to know?” He shakes his head in response “I quite like the idea of a surprise, seems very on theme”  he lets out a small giggle, as do you. He moves closer to you and even though it feels a little awkward he reaches out for your hand and you give it to him, you both turn your attention back to the baby on the screen.

When Anne and Gemma return to the room that’s how they find the two of you, holding hands, looking at the child the two of you made together. Anne smirks a little, she’d been rooting for the two of you. Gemmas eyes go back and forth between your linked hands and both of your faces. “Thank Christ, I honestly thought I’d have to lock the two of you in the laundry room later, bloody as stubborn as each other” you roll your eyes, but you know she’s right.��

_______________________________________ On the drive back to the apartment Harry and Gemma had organised that they would take turns to babysit you over the coming weeks. Harry would of course move back in and stay at night, and Gemma would watch you whenever he needed to be out of the apartment.  Anne was adamant that she would come down every weekend to cook and help prepare a space for the baby... neither you or Harry could argue with her. 

You could no longer fit the bump behind the wheel of a car and quite frankly after all the ups and downs of the last few weeks everyone was a bit worried that you would go into labour prematurely, yourself included. Even though you had promised Harry another chance you still had boundaries and wanted to take things slowly, he respected your boundaries and reluctantly slept on the couch. He quickly realised after two nights on a more than uncomfortable couch that this arrangement wouldn’t work. Never mind the fact that he was sleeping on a terrible couch that there was hardly any space for in this shoebox sized apartment, where would this baby fit when it came, your bedroom barely fit your side tables and bed let alone a crib for the baby. 

“I think we ought to look at moving you to my place...” he broached the topic with you less than 48 hours after taking up residence on the couch. “Really? Why? I quite like it here” He shakes his head “I understand that, but where is this baby going to go? You know babies have stuff too... like a crib and a high chair, love you don’t even have room for a dining table in here let alone a high chair and your bedroom has absolutely zero room for a crib or a bassinet” 

Deep down you know he is right, this apartment is way too small to fit all three of you, heck it barely was enough space for you and now Harry is back in the picture and the bump is very rapidly approaching it’s due date. The thought of moving right now however really overwhelmed you, the thought of being seven months pregnant and then moving all the stuff that you had made you feel like you were drowning, so you told him that through sobs.

“I’ll pack this up, I’ll send you to Mums for a night or two.... you don’t have to lift a finger.. I promise you I’ll do all the hard work, but love if I have to sleep on this couch for a second longer than necessary I might go insane, my back is so sore you have no idea the pain that I’m —” he stops himself and looks up at you, your face had a less than impressed expression “you have barely slept on this couch for two nights, how about you try carrying a watermelon around on your pelvis for seven months, a watermelon WITH YOUR HEAD”  you let out a huff. He brings you to the couch and gives you two minutes to just sit alone undisturbed with a glass of cool water. When he returns you’ve had enough time to think about everything he’s said, you tell him that as long as he promises you don’t have to pack a single box, you agree to move. 

That night you demanded that he sleep in the bed next to you, he was given strict instructions to stay on his side of the bed and you thought for certain you’d have no trouble staying on yours, especially considering the large pregnancy pillow in the middle. Even though it went against all the boundaries you had set, god forbid you have to hear him complain about his back tomorrow. He didn’t think twice when the words came out of your mouth, making his way straight to the bed. The next morning you woke up to your pregnancy pillow on the floor your legs entangled with his, his hand on the bump. 

______________________________________

Two days later you are moved into his London house. It’s definitely bigger than your last place, a bedroom for you, a room for the baby and a room for Harry too and even then some to spare. Truth be told you didn’t use the room that was intended for you, telling Harry that the cooling system was much better in his room than yours. Both he and you know that this is a lie, but neither of you speak the truth. The two of you have started couples therapy, it’s really helped the two of you sort through issues and talk about old wounds. Harry even started solo sessions to help him cope with his drinking problem.   _______________________________________________ As the bump continued to increase in size and your due date got closer it became harder to leave the house. Not only because you were uncomfortable and large, but the tabloids  had caught onto the fact that you and Harry had moved back in together and so that meant that the paparazzi were camped out on your front door at all hours of the day. Harry tried to do as much work as he possibly could from home, but there were times where this was impossible and so true to her word Gemma came to keep you company, jumping any time you would move. 

________________________________________________

The days went on and on with no sign of baby. “Maybe they don’t want to come until we can decide on names” you’d both gone back and forth on names for a few weeks now.  “What do you think about James for the middle name?” He says whilst his head is in his morning paper. Truth be told you hadn’t been thinking of James for the middle name, you’ve had a boy middle name picked out for the longest time, but as for a first name... well you had nothing.

With a girl name however, well girl names came in an abundance, and it was a back and forth of name throwing, with a list longer than what your final thesis had been at uni. If this poor kid turned out to be a boy he would be lucky to even have a first name let alone a middle name.“It’s very British innit? and i was thinking it’s very gender neutral, so could work no matter what we have boy or girl” You roll your eyes at the thought, but just smile in agreement... He will forget about this in an hour and he’ll have mentioned another three names before the day is through. 

“I quite like the name Grayson” it’s been one of your top picks for the longest time, whilst other names have come and gone Grayson has stayed. But Harry, well he won’t have any of it, he is totally against the name. He says something about the name doesn’t scream success, and that he wants his son to have a strong name. “So what James is a strong name to you? Do you know how many James’ there are in the UK alone? It doesn’t exactly scream individual?!” The two of you had been playing this back and forth on names since the night you moved in to his house. It started over text whilst he was moving your boxes and then eventually just became something the two of you would discuss every day.

 “Ok... ok...  we don’t have to decided right now, but eventually we will. But Grayson is definitely off the table” You’re taken back by his authority and you’re a little mad that he’s dismissed your favourite name so easily without even thinking about it. “Well if Grayson is off the table, the James is too”  You stomp off toward the bathroom and run yourself a bath. Staying in there for what seems like an eternity. You think of how his face fell when you told him James was vetoed as a name. You’d like to think that he felt a little pang in his heart too when he realised your feelings were just as hurt. You intend to apologise to him, you intend to explain everything to him, you hope he’s still here when you get out of the bath.

When you reach the bedroom and slump onto the bed his back is facing you, you turn on your side trace your fingers over his torso tattoo. He tenses. You know he’s a little mad from earlier, he had really liked James for a middle name, and the way that you shot him down had hurt him, but in fairness he had hurt you too. “Harry.. Harry turn around... please?” He turns to face you, but doesn’t make eye contact with you.”It’s not that i don’t like your suggestion Harry, i do, but i’ve had a boy middle name picked since i first found out i was pregnant. And well, i’m sorry but James just doesn’t compare to it...i have a really strong name after a man who is so special to me, who i know this baby will admire and well.. James...  it just won’t do.. it does’t compare. And so if we have a boy I want his middle name to be Edward” 

The moment it rolls off your tongue his eyes light up, he finally makes eye contact with you. His breath hitches and his lips part, his eyes fill with tears. He brings you in close to him, hand back to the bump where it’s been at every moment possible.

[sprnklersplashes]

power of three

canon divergence where cady is not a plastic, and goes to janis’ art show instead (ao3)

It’s a strange feeling, all these eyes on her. 

The room is packed, people swirling around in all directions, conversations fading in and out of earshot. There’s a glass in her hand (lemonade, of course) and people she vaguely recognises coming up to shake her free one, congratulating her on getting this far. She blushes slightly, thanks them and takes a sip of her drink to keep herself from passing out. Rinse and repeat, over and over, for what feels like an hour, but when Damian grabs her by the elbow and pulls her out, it turns out it had been five minutes.

It’s not bad, all this attention, not when it’s praise rather than damnation. When people come up to her with admiration in their eyes, rather than scorn. She’s just not very used to it.

“Thank you,” she breathes into Damian’s ear. He chuckles and loops his arm so that her hand rests on it, like they’re a married couple at some gala far more pretentious than this. She chuckles, and what’s more she can lean on him now. Keeping herself upright is suddenly far less of a challenge.

“Well, it looked like you were either going to explode if one more person came up to you,” he explains as they weave in and out of the crowd. “And funny as that would be, I think you’d need to be in tact when they give you your prize.”

“Oh shush you,” she replies, hoping her feigned nonchalance covers the prickling insecurity in her gut. Maybe it would, if it was someone other than Damian. “Besides, I don’t need to win. Getting to the finals is more than enough for me.” The words feel false on her tongue, and even more so when Damian raises his eyebrow, a silent signal meaning you’re talking bullshit and you know it. She stands her ground for a total of three seconds before she sighs and looks into her half-finished glass. “I don’t want to get my hopes up, is all.”

“Well too bad,” Damian replies. “Because my hopes are all riled up.” He nudges her with his shoulder, and she manages a smile then. “I mean it. They’d be crazy not to pick you. If they do, I’m filing a lawsuit.”

“You do that.” She turns and takes in her surroundings, mainly the other paintings on the walls, and the confidence Damian instilled in her dips a little. When her art teacher told her to fill out the application, she did so mainly to please her. She’s never really been interested in putting her art up to be judged. For her, that would be like ripping a page out of her diary and publishing it in the school newsletter. But she did it anyway, not expecting to get past the application stage. But she did, evidently, and then she got past the second round and the third, each time feeling like there must have been some mistake. Because now she’s looking at the other works on the walls, mostly made by real artists who go to real art schools, and she’s not sure how she’s meant to compare here.  

“You seen Cady yet?” she asks, ripping her gaze away from the other paintings. Damian shakes his head and checks his watch before the two of them scan the room, searching for caramel coloured curls or a funky-coloured flannel. “She has the right address, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies. Janis nods and takes a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm. There could be a hundred reasons as to why Cady hasn’t showed up yet, right? After all, it’s a new city and she still doesn’t know it very well, or maybe she’s running late, maybe her tutoring Aaron went on longer than expected. Maybe she couldn’t get out of the thing with her parents after all. She did text ‘sorry, running late, be there as soon as I can’ about ten minutes ago, so that means she’s coming, right?

“Hey,” Damian’s voice whispers in her ear, his hand on her back as if she’s about to fall. “Don’t worry about it. She’ll be here. And if she isn’t, I’ll shove her into a locker myself, K?”

She nods, even though it’s shakier than it ought to be, and turns, her mouth open to reassure both him and herself, but something catches her eye. Something, or rather someone, coming through the door, with all the grace and care of a small hurricane. Someone smaller than her with wide eyes and caramel coloured curls and… a blue flannel.

She can breathe again.

“Caddy!” She waves her over, mindful of the drink in her hand and Damian beside her, and her friend hurries over to her, forgoing a handshake in favour of wrapping her in a brief but tight hug. “You made it.”

“I did,” they sigh. “Sorry, I’m late, I grossly misjudged how far away this place was and it was my first time taking the bus on my own.”

“It’s okay,” she replies. “I mean really, it’s fine.”

“Public transportation is a nightmare in this city,” Damian chimes in. “Glad you made it, little slice.” Cady squeals and hugs him too, stretching up on their toes and wrapping their arms around his shoulders. Damian grins, his joy so bright it’s hard to believe he was plotting their hypothetical revenge on Cady not seconds earlier.

She knows he’d have never gone through with it.

“Let’s go get you a drink,” Damian says. “Unfortunately, we can’t go up to the bar unless you managed to sneak in a fake ID.”

“I didn’t, sorry,” Cady laughs.

“Don’t worry about it,” Janis says as she hands her a lemonade. “Alcohol is far overrated anyway. We wanted to wait for you before we got food too.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”

“We know, we’re just awesome people,” Janis says as she and Damian lead Cady to the food table. It’s all little snacks mainly-tiny hot dogs, mini quiches, little finger sandwiches, and Cady is amazed by them. 

“They’re so cute!” they exclaim as they load another sandwich onto their already-sagging paper plate. “It’s like little doll food!” Janis and Damian’s eyes simultaneously grow wider as they watch; this tiny girl who can apparently wolf down more than they can combined. Cady just smiles, brighter than any lamp in the room, and Janis feels compelled to smile back.

Cady’s funny like that. 

“Okay, come on, kiddos,” Damian says, grabbing Cady by the hand and nodding for Janis to follow. The twinkle in his eye tells her everything she needs to know about what he plans and her cheeks grow warmer as she follows them. “We want to get a good seat for this.”

She ducks her head, her hair falling infront of her face like a curtain, but behind is one of the warmest smiles she’s ever known.

“I feel kind of underdressed,” Cady remarks, their eyes scanning the crowds. They pull on their shirt, the gesture seemingly subconscious. “I didn’t know how fancy this was going to be. Maybe I should have dressed up a little.”

“Oh you’re fine.” Janis waves her hand dismissively. “It’s not that fancy.” She feels a little hypocritical here, after all, she was the one who went out and bought herself a new jacket especially for this event, but she stands by what she said. Cady looks fine. “You clearly have your formal flannel on anyway.”

Cady bursts out laughing at that, earning a confused look from some passers-by. That only makes the two of them laugh harder, their snickers hidden behind their hands. It stings for a moment, because that gesture is so closely associated with Regina in Janis’ mind, but it’s brushed aside as Cady links their arms together. Janis breathes out. Regina isn’t even here, and she has no place in her friendships. Not anymore.

“Thanks so much for inviting me, Janis,” Cady says. 

“Hey, no problem, Caddy,” she says. “You’re one of us now. Which means you get dragged to my art shows and Damian’s drama club performances.” Cady giggles at that. “And then to make it fair, you get to drag us to your Mathlete contests and everyone wins.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Cady says. 

Something blossoms in Janis’ chest, something new and exciting. For so long it had just been her and Damian and she was fine with it. More than fine. But when she said what she said to Cady, you’re one of us now… she was saying that there was an us to be a part of. That they aren’t loners anymore. That… that she isn’t. That she can let people in now. 

She wonders how that little 12 year old girl would react if she told her.

“Are you okay?” Cady asks. Janis blinks, her breath coming out in a quick gasp, and she takes a drink to cool her warm cheeks. Cady stands beside her, not overly concerned, but not oblivious either. They squeeze Janis’ hand, their eyes gentle and kind, and Janis tries not to get emotional. Again.

“Fine,” she tells them. “Just nervous.” It’s not entirely a lie. Her eyes meet Damian’s over Cady’s head and he sees right through her, because of course he does. She doesn’t mind though, not one little bit. Because she knows he’s thinking the same thing.

Strange, she thinks, how quickly this little jungle freak infiltrated their tight-knit friendship. She smiles and lets Cady rest their head on her shoulder. Strange, and she loves it.

                                                                          ******

It’s way past dark when Damian’s scooter pulls up outside Janis’ house. Her hair is tangled from the ride home, her back aching a little after having spent the better part of 30 minutes leaning over Damian, but she’s far too happy to care. In fact, it’s one of those rare instances where she can’t find it in herself to care about anything; school, her friends, her future, or the weather. All that matters is her and Damian, and the jokes they’re sharing, and the painting sitting in the jazzy’s front basket. That’s her world right now, and it’s all she needs.

She’s still laughing as she jumps off the jazzy, the cheeks-hurt-can’t-breathe kind of laughter, and Damian follows, making sure to double check all the breaks before he hops off. She goes to lift her painting but he holds one hand in front of her face and grabs it with the other, tucking it beneath his arm instead. She rolls her eyes, but it’s for show. There’s a proud smile on his face, the twinkle in his eyes evident even in the dark, and he stops to grab her hand before they head inside.

“Have I told you how proud I am yet?” he asks her.

“Only a hundred times,” is her reply, and she gives his hand a grateful squeeze.

“Can I say I told you so yet?”

“Only if I can kick you in the shins afterwards,” she says firmly, only for the two to burst out laughing as she turns the key in the lock.

The hallway is far warmer than outside and Janis can’t not sigh in relief when she enters. She takes off her jacket and hangs it up and Damian does the same. Her mom told him back when they were twelve to “make himself at home” and he’s never stopped doing so. They head into the kitchen, following the sound of low chatter and the muted lights. It doesn’t surprise her that her parents beat them home; even if she hadn’t already seen the car parked in the drive, she knows that car beats jazzy every single time.

What does surprise her, however, is the sight of Cady sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea from her Eyeore mug, and making polite chithcat with her parents. 

They had offered Cady a ride on the jazzy, Janis even demonstrating how they would both fit on safely, but Cady had politely declined, insisting on riding their bike instead. Janis had relented, seeing there was no convincing them re: the scooter, and wrote down detailed instructions on how to get to her place and also telling them to call if they got lost. Even with those precautions, Janis wasn’t convinced Cady would make it, and was expecting her phone to vibrate on the way home.

But no. Here’s Cady. Sitting at her table like they’ve done it before. Like it isn’t the first time.

Their eyes find Janis’ as she walks in, and their face breaks out into a relieved smile. Janis hides a smile of her own, a small tug of sympathy in her chest. Cady is sweet, and she loves her parents, but she’s also sure there’s only so many conversation topics one can have.

“You’re back!” her dad announces, half-turning in his seat. “How was the scooter?”

“It was fun,” she says. “We got yelled at by these college kids.”

“Oh don’t tell me that,” her mom sighs. “Really, Damian, I’m surprised your mom let you ride that thing at night.”

“She said as long as I wear a helmet, everything’s fine.”

“I see. And did you?” her mom asks. Damian stops then, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and that’s enough of an answer. Her mom rolls her eyes, but it’s a fond gesture, and she chuckles warmly under her breath.

“At least Cady wore a helmet,” she says, gesturing across the table. “Maybe they’ll be a good influence on you.”

“Or we’ll corrupt them and turn them dark,” Janis jokes, winking over at them. Cady smiles softly, their cheeks turning pink. “One way to find out.” She heads over and pulls up a chair beside Cady, their elbows bumping on the table. “Sorry we left you hanging here on your own.”

“It’s fine,” they reply. “Got talking with your parents.”

“And I think that’s our cue to leave now,” her mom says. Her dad nods and finishes up his coffee before rising from the table, stretching his arms over his head. “You kids have fun, okay?”

“But not too much fun, I still want this kitchen intact when I get back.”

“No promises, Dad,” Janis grins. Her dad raises a playful eyebrow at her, meanwhile her mom counts on her fingers, ticking off her mental checklist. 

“Okay, so the pizza menu’s in the drawer, money’s on the counter, we’ve got the living room set up and we’re just upstairs if you need anything,” her mom says. 

“Thanks Mom.”

“Thanks Laura,” Damian adds, at the same time Cady says “Thanks Mrs Heron.” They shift slightly, only noticeable to those sitting next to them, and Janis threads her fingers through Cady’s, hopefully letting her know she’s just as welcome here as Damian is. Cady smiles softly in return and runs her thumb over Janis’ knuckles. 

“Alright, have a good night kids,” her dad says. “We’re off to watch boring nature documentaries on Netflix like adults.”

“Maybe you are,” her mom adds, tapping his chest. “I’m finishing my mystery novel.” Janis chuckles, warmth fluttering in her chest. Her parents might be, well, parents, but damn she loves them.

Even more so when her dad pokes his head around the door and says “Janis… I’m so proud of you.” Sure, her cheeks burn in front of her friends, but a grin spreads across her face at the same time. Her parents are the best, and she’ll fight anyone on that. 

Not twenty minutes later they’re sitting in the living room, all clad in their pyjamas, the room lit solely by lamps. Janis made sure to bring down as many extra blankets and pillows as she could, ensuring there could be no spot that wasn’t cosy. Three pizza boxes sit in the middle of the floor, each one a different level of demolished. Damian ordered Hawaiian, partially because he knew it would drive Janis crazy, and poor Cady got pulled into the ongoing ‘pineapple on pizza’ debate, something they had apparently missed out on while chasing lions in Kenya. Lucky they have them, then.

“It’s a fruit, and fruits do not belong on a pizza,” Janis says, standing on her couch for the full effect. “I will have pineapple on a lot of things. In a salad. In a cake. In my conditioner so that I always smell like a tropical paradise. But pizza is not one of those things.Thank you for coming to my TED talk.”

“Counter point,” Damian replies. “Tomato is a fruit, and there is tomato sauce on every pizza in existence.”

“Counter-counter point, tomato is an acceptable fruit for pizza, pineapple isn’t.”

“Coutner-counter-counter point, who are you to decide which fruits are acceptable?”

“Counter-counter-counter-counter point, I’m cute,” she says. 

“Cannot argue with that,” Damian replies, leaning back on the couch. “Caddy, be our tiebreaker please?” Janis pouts, suspecting he’s only relenting so he can eat more pizza instead, but it’s a victory and so she takes it.

“I’m amazed neither one of you have gone out for debate team,” Cady says, who had been watching the argument with their head bopping back and forth. They sit with one of the blankets wrapped around them, their chin resting on their knees. They scrunch their face up slightly, their gaze shifting from Janis to Damian and back again, and a mischievous grin forms on their lips. “But… I am ultimately sold on Janis’ point of view, sorry Damian.”

“I am flabbergasted,” Damian sighs, throwing himself back on the couch. He throws his hand against his forehead, the perfect picture of the fainting Victorian maiden. Suitably dramatic, of course. “Horrified. Betrayed. Ultimately humiliated. My honour has been squandered.”

“You never had honour to begin with,” Janis quips as she jumps off the couch. She settles herself beside Cady, pleasantly surprised when they open up the blanket and drape it around her shoulders. She scoots a little closer until their knees touch, and her smile widens.

“Okay losers, what movie are we making Caddy watch?” Damian asks. “I’ve got Sound of Music, Chicago, Cabaret and if we’re not feeling like a musical tonight, we have Heathers, The Bee Movie, Night at the Museum and Legally Blonde.” He takes out each movie and displays it on the floor, sitting in front of Cady like jewellery in a cabinet, and their eyes grow slowly wider.

“Is the Bee Movie just a movie about bees?” they ask, their nose scrunched up.

“Yes and it’s a masterpiece,” Janis replies. “It explores the depths and complexities of human sexuality, the insidious reality of our capitalist society and what it means to truly love someone.”

Cady nods slowly but skeptically, and their hand passes over the DVD. Janis makes a mental note to work on her Bee Movie pitch. Damian shrugs sympathetically, a silent well, you tried in his eyes.

“What about this one?” Cady asks, holding up Heathers.

“Hell yeah,” is her answer. It’s a personal favourite of Janis’, and yes a little bit of a fantasy, not that she’d ever go as far as Veronica did. She taps Cady’s shoulder and pulls herself up.  “I’ll go get the popcorn ready.”

“Why don’t I give you a hand?” Cady asks, already jumping to their feet. Janis jumps a little, taken aback by her new friend’s enthusiasm.

“Um… okay, sure,” she says. “Damian, can you set up the movie?” 

“On it, kids,” he replies. “Go make me a shitton of popcorn.” Janis leads Cady out of the living room, half holding their hand, and into the kitchen. If Cady feels the same awkwardness she does they do a good job of hiding it, caramel curls bouncing around their shoulders as they almost skip after Janis. 

“Hey can you grab some bowls for me?” she asks as she grabs popcorn out of the cupboards. “There’s some really big ones in the back of this cupboard here.” Cady nods and whisks around her kitchen, quick as the little lions they love so dearly, and emerges with three brightly coloured plastic bowls. Janis grins, especially at the size of them. “Amazing.”

“You know, back in Kenya, my mom would make popcorn for us sometimes, too,” Cady tells her.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But instead of watching movies at night we’d sit outside and watch the animals roaming around.” Janis turns and catches the wistful look in her new friend’s eye. She almost sees it in her own mind, the kitchen floor transforming into a quiet, moonlit jungle. “But we’d be wrapped up in our blankets and sitting in our chairs and we knew we’d be safe. They weren’t pets but were our animals. And it was different every time.”

They duck their head then, hair falling in front of their face as a quiet, shaky breath escapes them. Janis rests her hand on their shoulder, drawn closer to the little jungle kid. 

“You must miss it there,” she whispers. “Africa, I mean.”

“A bit,” Cady confesses. “Sometimes.” They don’t cry, but their voice is thin and strained, and it’s not unfamiliar to Janis. “But I wanted to come here for years. And I’m glad I did. So...” Their voice trails off and Janis can only wince in sympathy as she runs her hand in circles around Cady’s shoulder. They pause, taking the moment together, and Cady leans closer to her until their head rests on her shoulder. A smile graces their face, small but so bright. “Thanks.”

“No problemo,” she replies. Just in time, the microwave goes off and the two open the door to steaming warm popcorn. They shake it out amongst the three bowls, both secretly adding stragglers to their own even if they’ll share with Damian later. Cady balances two in their hands while Janis tidies up after them and switches off the light. They step into the dimly lit hall and are just about to head to the living room when Janis stops suddenly, a new sense of strength creeping in. The last time she felt like this was when she was twelve, and was looking over at Damian on a similar night. Like something is locking in her heart, and she’s deciding, yep, we’re definitely keeping her. 

“Hey, Caddy?” she asks in a low voice. Cady turns, her eyes wide, and Janis feels herself soften. “I’m really glad you came tonight too.”

Cady grins, a kind of breathless gratitude on their face and goes to hug Janis, only to laugh and remember the popcorn at the last minute.

Janis hugs them on the couch to make up for it. 

Damian doesn’t mind, especially not when Maxie decides he wants to join the party too and cuddles up with Damian on the chair. Janis mumbles something about a “traitor dog” before slipping right back into the movie, quoting it word for word like it’s a second language. Cady raises their eyebrows, seemingly impressed by her ability, and Janis simply shrugs.

“It’s a gift,” she tells them. “Wait and see kiddo, soon we’ll have you quoting this movie off by heart.”

“How very,” Cady replies, and the three of them burst into late night giggles.

They put on Legally Blonde next, another classic Cady hasn’t seen. Cady even talks about how excited they are for it, but before Warner has even broken up with Elle, Janis looks down to find Cady curled up in a ball next to her, fast asleep. Janis  pulls the blanket over her, a rush of protectiveness flowing through her as she does so. It makes sense, she supposes. Cady is one of them now after all. They protect their own.

“Hey,” Damian’s voice comes as a loud whisper from across the room. He’s almost asleep himself, his hand slowly running through Maxie’s fur. He lazily points over at Cady, a crooked smile on his face. “You were right.”

Janis blinks in tired confusion until she realises what he’s referring to; that first day in French class, where Cady had so desperately tried to think of their ‘French name’. When Janis had leaned back in her chair and dropped a note on Damian’s desk. 

“We’re adopting them. That’s our new child” it had read and they went into that bathroom that day and never looked back.

“Yeah.” She turns to say something else, but finds Damian asleep too, Maxie curled up in his lap. Unlike Cady, he had no problem pulling the blanket over himself. She chuckles softly, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. It’s his house too after all.

She gets up slowly, careful not to disturb Cady, and turns the movie off. They can watch it tomorrow morning after all. She settles down on the couch, right beside Cady again, and pretends that her eyes aren’t blurry. 

As she looks around the room, she finds her prize winning painting propped against the wall, and her cheeks flush at the sight. It had been a vague idea in her mind for a while, but when her teacher had told her to “draw from the heart”, it was the first contender. It’s silly and it’s cliche and it’s sappy; all the things she pretends she isn’t. But it’s also the most authentic piece she’s ever created, and that’s why she loves it so much. It’s all the bits of herself she used to be scared of, sitting on a canvas for all to see. The parts that are open and loving and unafraid. Creating it may have been scary, but the rewards go beyond the prize she won.

It occurs to her, in her fuzzy, half-asleep mind, that maybe that’s the reason it won. Maybe she should try it again sometime.

[witchcraftingboop]

Re: Jbird & RainS. (Briar) Discourse

Previously, I have spoken with the person who made very serious allegations against JBird, calling him a racist, that were then used by others to spread slander against him. They have since apologized and admitted that JBird isn't a racist, and I genuinely think there was a stark miscommunication that went on to prompt such a claim. I don't want to name them or involve them here, since I do believe they've already reflected enough on the situation at hand, and is still deeply considering the multi-faceted hornet's nest of problems they've stumbled upon.

However, in light of the blatant dismissal and refusal to submit actual proof against the two, I feel as if I should share the information I offered this person before.

If you are basing your arguments against Jbird and Briar off of the previous, separate Discord group discussions of Trio & co. - screenshots of which have been, and continue to be spread years later, by Prim - then I especially implore you to be open to what I have to say. As a third party to this continually and rapidly spiralling debacle, I feel like there's not much I can say or do to assist my friends in being heard, but I feel as if I ought to try. Prim's following is large and actively prepared to follow her "do not interact even to ask questions" policy, so I worry it may be too late already. But I am not without hope or faith.

Tumblr is, unfortunately, a place where hate spreads rapidly, and while I do love the broad community it fosters, I am also aware that, even with the best of folks, it is hard to see the side of someone you've already decided is guilty and not worth approaching for an explanation.

First and foremost, I believe in innocence until proven guilty.

Now then! Onto my offered commentary/input! (Sorry to prattle on so much.)

To start, thedesertgod, also known as Trio, did go through and look for her personal information, which is messed up. But that person has already apologized, if I'm remembering correctly, and left Tumblr. And the other main user who helped spread information about Prim being a race faker also admitted wrong and left. The others in the chat, particularly Mystic and Ronan appear to just be making jokes and stating factual informative summaries, respectively. E-muete also said "ok no" after the Dolezal comment, which is a common "no that's too far a comparison/joke/statement" substitute among their forums and chats and often means they don't actually agree with what they themselves said. Ruby also politely reminds Trio that it's impossible to tell someone's race off of their appearance alone. So what I see here is definitely problematic, but entirely on Trio's part. I'm not saying it's not screwed up to find pictures of someone's parents and debate their race, but the persons who did those things have already left the Tumblrsphere.

Unfortunately, the people you've pointed out don't have a good history with Prim even before the whole "Trio nitpicking her race" thing. Prim used to follow more than a few of them and use their posts to fuel her platform, oftentimes creating uninformed mish-mosh articles with a voice of authority that simply wasn't warranted. As I'm sure you're aware, it's hard enough dealing with people stealing your content word for word, but to attempt to steal your knowledge? Your initiations and rites of passage? And use them to sell yourself as a master of a breadth of practices? The tradcrafters of that particular circle decided to band together and block her from interacting with them directly for that very reason. And because of that, Prim started telling her followers that they are all racist and elitist and ableist and gatekeepers. These terms over the years have become almost like triggers in that once they're said, everyone seems to put on a blindfold and fall into a frenzied rage. And to be fair, Prim is far too quick, in my opinion, to bring up racism as the reason others disagree with her. Most times, I've noticed at least, that if she calls someone racist or says they're unsupportive of POC, she nearly immediately brings up BLM activism in her posts or reblogs. I'm not saying I necessarily support calling all of her activistic inclinations performative, but where the tradcradt group she calls racist is more than willing to talk of and show proof of their contribution, Prim never has and avoids it if asked. I can see both sides, really. But the fact remains that calling someone performative in their actions, does not a racist make. Neither, in my opinion, does interacting with people who are assumed (without real and concrete proof) to be racist.

I can appreciate where you're coming from; honestly, I can. People have grown accustomed to hearing the prefix trad- and preparing for the worst. Racism is a systematic and prevailing problem in the society all around us, so it makes sense to be on the lookout for it. You want to protect yourself and your community. I can understand your sentiments perfectly. But I cannot support "guilty by association" viewpoints. As a WOC who grew up in some rough areas, I have seen boys killed under that very same reasoning. Jbird is a good friend of mine, and I have never questioned his morals or ethics. I have seen no sign of my being looked down upon for the color of my skin, nor anyone else who runs in that very same circle.

What I see is what I see in a lot of faces on this hellsite: hurt. Before Trio and after Trio left, the tradcraft community has been slandered and ostracized. They have shut themselves off to outsiders for the very thing you've done to Jbird just yesterday. They hold their secrets closer than most other communities now because persecution is seemingly forever at their door. On Prim's end too, there has been struggle and pain and needless arguing and hurt. If those you approach seem prickly, it is often because the world has roughened their edges, not because they personally are against you.

I asked for a couple examples from the group and one person (I'll keep them anonymous because I didn't confirm they'd like their name here) said: she has talked about saint magic (trio), hadean pamphlet (trio), hubris (Ruby), fairies, trad craft shit (Mahigan among others), etc etc

From what I personally have seen, her most recent was the Witch Fire podcast. A few tradcraft blogs had a debate/discussion about Witch Fire and its traditional eurocentric foundations in witchcraft not that long ago, and then Prim decided to put out a podcast that was so uninformed, I'm still worried about how younger or newer witches might be hurt by it.

Unfortunately the tradcraft community is vulnerable to that kind of thing [being called names or falsely accused] and an easy target. That's why being called those kind of harsh words - like gatekeeping, elitist, racist, and ableist - are met with so much anger from them. I take it very seriously because I've seen the kind of whiplash it has, especially on such a closed off group.

[A Reply.] Yeah no, Prim "apologizes" by talking about how she's been previously given a hard time with interjections of "but please don't go around spreading hate" and never directly apologizes to the tradcrafter in such posts. Unfortunately, her "apology" did more harm than good. I was hoping she'd just ignore it but . . . This tends to happen too 🤦‍♀️

I think that if both sides were able to approach it as openmindedly as you have, there would be a lot less drama and in-fighting on this app 😩 I really did enjoy talking with you though!

That just about covers everything I'd like to say on the matter.

I do not condone spreading hate, just as I don't condone misinformation or blind allegiance to what one person says. So if you can respectfully and openmindedly address your questions/comments/concerns, I don't see why you can't interact with Briar, Jbird, or myself. I understand it's easy to get caught up in the first perspective you're given, but it is my hope that Witchblr as a whole can be more open to hearing both sides of the story. Blindly blocking and cancelling certain bloggers is something I don't support nor encourage. I understand Prim must be tired of addressing all of the drama that churns around her, so I won't speak as to what her reasoning could be for suggesting such a solution. I'm simply stating what I hope for the community as a whole.

| | Note: The statements above were written early (I think, my sense of time is off) yesterday, and as of yet, I have still seen no concrete evidence that Briar or Jbird have ever made racist comments. On Briar's part, I have seen her observation that activism on a performative platform such as Tumblr can come off as performative, but she never once said she doesn't know or see why Prim would support and promote BLM activism. Something I think was misconstrued and lumped all together to sound as if she thought Prim were faking her contributions altogether. | |

[smolbeandrabbles]

Hanging On - Emmett Dutton x Reader (Australia)

GIF Credit: X

@happyskywhale​ @wltz-bby​

A spiritual sequel to:  When She Says Baby / Starlight / Living Proof

Requested by @slurpin 

Author’s Note: Every single ride I mention existed in the 1940′s and honestly it’s not research that I ever thought I’d have to do but here we are!

Massive shout out to @saddadfanclub​ for the catalyst, truly an excellent suggestion 🙏

Also, Kathner is back - because of course he is. 😉

Also, just because the lyric video is set at a Theme Park, which is too good of a coincidence... Hangin On - Chris Young

It takes 2900 words to get to the smut, and no I will not apologise! 

Disclaimer: Australia & all associated pieces not mine / lyrics & gif neither.

Premise: Emmett takes you on a surprise date, and while you’re having the best time, there’s still no where you’d rather be than loving on him back at home...

Words: 7136

Warnings: Soft/Sweet Smut - it’s more emotional than it is Sinday/Sunday. / Emmett should always come with an insulin warning... he’s a little feistier this time though!

_______

I'm a few drinks in, but that ain't the reason I'm all tongue tied and my breath's leaving this fast I can't get past Those blue eyes shining They keep drawing me in to you Got me fallin' off track, you get me like that It's every smile coming off of your sweet lips That makes me wanna stay here No, this ain't a one night, one time thing You always light me up like a flame and it's clear Every time you're near Yeah, I'm hangin' on, hangin' on To every word you say, every move you make I'm hangin' on, hangin' on Wondering what's up next Girl, I can't wait Ain't nothing like spinning you around the room Where everyone can see You hangin' on, hangin' on to me So let me pull you a little closer Even when the music's over I'll be hangin' on, hangin' on To every word you say Every move you make I'm hangin' on, hangin' on Wondering what's up next I can't wait... ---

It was quite the view. Okay, fine, it wasn’t the most perfect view, but the man walking it sure as hell was. You were leaning on the wooden frame of your front porch awaiting the return of your other half, who had hurried off into town to get something that was clearly important for whatever date he was taking you on. As you would be leaving immanently when he arrived, you decided to stand out in the warm sunshine – luckily by the time you were outside he was already returning. Emmett was always easy on the eye – there couldn’t have been a woman in your little town who didn’t know that, and you often watched them call to him up and down the street as he walked by. The catch for all of them of course was that they could stare at him all they wanted, but they couldn’t be with him. (On second thought, maybe you ought to start charging them for looks). That had been your place for several years now, ever since he’d been stationed here for the first time. He’d moved up to Darwin during the war effort, and you’d made the trip a few times, but, now with the war over he was back with you. Still a Captain, of course, but today out of uniform. Emmett stopped just short of the steps, gentle smile on his face, “Ready to go?” “Mhmmm.” He tipped his head, “What’s that look for?” “Oh, nothing…” You sighed dreamily as you descended slowly, “You’re wearing my favourite shirt.” The dark blue was fairly faded and worn these days, but he still looked flawless in it. “Oh.” His smile became slightly shy, and those beautiful blue eyes lowered from yours, “I mean I could pretend I didn’t think about that, but I am taking you on a date.” That somehow managed to make you more overjoyed, “You wore it for me!?” “Uhm, yes.” “You’re gonna make me cry before you even take me on a date, you know that!?” But you were kidding as you wound your arm around his and Emmett linked your fingers, “May I kiss you for that?” His smile widened, “You may.” You pushed yourself up on your toes to brush your lips to his, and then pecked his cheek just for good measure. He gave you a knowing look, but said nothing more as he walked you to the car. “Is this a big surprise, Captain?” “You should know, you only mentioned it to me last week.” You mused for a second, “Well, we’re not going to see any Kathner reruns…” that was obvious by the time of day. “You need to stop with the Kathner fixation before it gets out of hand.” “Process of elimination! WAIT- The fair?!” Emmett only nodded, “That’ll be the one.” “OH MY-” you gasped, “You said it wasn’t your thing! I completely dismissed it!” “Yes, well.” That little smile was mysterious. “You said it was hard to get tickets!!!” After you’d practically begged him to humour you, he’d only presented you with that news. No way, Emmett didn’t have it in him to play you like that, did he?! He reached into his back pocket and slid the tickets apart, “Did I?” He was clearly very amused by this. “Did you lie to me!?! I can’t believe you!” “Well, I just wanted it to be a nice surprise, now get in or we won’t get there, will we.” You stood by the car door, arms folded and mouth slightly agape as he opened it for you, and couldn’t help but laugh, “Consider me surprised!” *** The drive was fairly short considering it’d been set up reasonably close to your little town. Emmett was already shaking his head at you as some of the larger structures came into view before you arrived, eyes wide as saucers. “If I’d known this was going to be your reaction, I’d have taken you right away!” Your voice was pitched in joy, “There’s a pleasure wheel and flying swings. This is already the best date ever!” “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment, considering.” You turned to him and batted your eyelashes, “Oh, but Emmett, any date with you is the best date ever!” He chuckled, holding his hand out for yours, kissing the back of it when offered, “Alright, stop.” Your intake of breath was sharp, “Oh, Captain, I’m not sure you can stop me now!” “Ha-! I’m not sure I ever could!” That much was probably true, had your relationship up until now been anything to go by.

 While at first your excitement got the better of you, and you almost literally dragged Emmett around from place to place trying to decide on what to do next, he – as ever – pulled you back to reality. “Y/N, Y/N- hold on!” He pulled you back to face him, not entirely sure what your long and extremely fast babble had been about, except every so often you exclaiming ‘Look Emmett they have-!’. With you now looking up at him, quiet for a moment, he framed your face delicately with his hands, “Sweetheart, calm down. We have all day – we’ll get everything done; I promise. I know you’re a firecracker, but you can… slow up every now and then too, y’know?” You placed your hands over his, interlocking your fingers, nodding gently, “I… I’m sorry I just, got over excited.” “Yes, I know that too.” Emmett pressed his lips to your forehead, “Give yourself a chance to think. Not everything needs to be a million miles an hour.” You giggled softly, accepting his kiss and squeezing his hands tighter, “That’s why I’m with you. You calm that chaos and I don’t even know… how. But you manage it.” “Well, nothing like a bit of order.” He let you fall back in step with him, and you wound your arm around his, still holding his hand. Emmett made sure that he was the one setting the pace, glad to see that you might actually settle, “Though I believe being proper about things will be out of the window today.” “I believe, Emmett, we’ve been together long enough for you not to have to worry about that one.” “Well, unmarried, still a bit-” “Now you can hush.” “As long as you know my objections.” You scoffed, “Objections!? Yes, I know all of those by now!” His face turned a little pink at that, “You know what I meant!” which only sent you into a fit of giggles, “You are far too easy to fluster for a man who has been with me as long as you have.” “Yes, well,” He sighed gently, “some things you never get used to.” That only made you hope he never would, it was far too cute. By the time midday arrived you were already on your 5th sugar rush of the day; Emmett was being a little more reserved and sat opposite you now shaking his head. “I can see you’ve never heard of the word moderation.” You pushed the box of candy towards him with big eyes, “You and I both know it is safer to snack between rides, and now I’m worried you don’t eat enough.” He studied the box carefully before selecting one, “You’d have me believing I had enough sugar.” “Well, you’re certainly sweet.” You leant on your hands to admire him, “So really I always get my sugar fix.” “Ah, well, then you certainly shouldn’t be eating it!” But he agreed with your ‘snacking’ point, “Now, you’ve been staring at the wheel since before we got here, so that’s my suggestion for what’s next.” “Awww…” You exhaled, “A man after my own heart.” “That’s certainly enough from you,” Emmett held his hand out to help you stand, “I believe I earned that a long time ago.” “You deserved it, I’m still unsure I was worthy of yours.” “You, my darling, should have no fear of that.” The pleasure wheel was at least slow, and you could admire the view for miles around; even though the best one was quite clearly sitting right next to you. Emmett - having done his fair share of travelling - was pointing out nearby points of interest, including what he affectionally termed ‘home’. Although you couldn’t say you were really listening to him, staring at him and nodding for sure, smiling where appropriate and focusing on the tones of his voice, but not the words themselves. In fact, you found yourself thinking on the conversation you’d just had – and interrupted his geography lesson to ask your burning question. “Has there ever been anyone else?” The change of track didn’t even faze him, and Emmett lowered his hands from pointing to his lap, looking into your eyes he blinked slow. “For me? No.” For you it was very nearly too sincere, and it struck your heart like a lightning bolt, “Oh, Emmett, you’re going to make me cry!!” You wailed, throwing your arms around him and burying your face in his shirt. His tense was enough to tell you how proper he thought that was, but Emmett kept his mouth closed, before running a hand through your hair, “If you’re going to cry I think I have a handkerchief and-” “No, no I-” You pulled back, fanning your face and sniffing, “I’m sorry. I just, even here I see the way they all look at you… but you’re here with me. You chose to be with me.” His eyes flicked to the fair below, yes of course Emmett noticed this, occasionally, but he didn’t really think anything of it. Most of the time he thought it was more to do with the uniform. He placed his hand over yours, and then enclosed it, focusing back on you, “You think I don’t notice how they look at you? Y/N, I would choose you every single time. Sometimes I think you forget that. How much you mean to me, I would have fought that war and won it just for you.” Now you really were crying. “Oh… Darling…” He pulled you back closer to him, “Come on, this isn’t like you.” You rubbed your tears away on the fabric square he handed to you, and almost looked at him angrily, “Will you stop being so perfect!?” He held his hands up promising not another word, but couldn’t stay too stoic for long before smiling – you were perfect to him too, he was certain you had a habit of forgetting these things; but Emmett liked reminding you, and often. After certainly vowing him to silence on any waterworks that were to occur today, you went back to the carousel. You’d already been on a few times but it always reminded you of your childhood and constantly begging your parents to go on any time you saw one anywhere. As a bonus, Emmett would also help you up onto the horses by lifting you, and you could sit with a smug little smirk at the women who wished they were you. Even more so as he took your hand as the ride went around. He pointed out how much you were thoroughly enjoying your ego trip and you only shrugged, you thought you deserved one of those once in a while too! Annoyingly you were too far away from each other on the flying swings to hold hands but that wasn’t for lack of trying (and you did try real hard.), but soon enough Emmett was the one dragging you onto something. “What are they?” “You’ve never seen these?!” “No, but the fact that you’re so excited is enough to get me curious.” “Well, they’re called flying scooters, but what do they look like to you?” “Aeroplanes.” “Exactly!” The excitement in his voice made you think of how often he must hear it in your own. “…I didn’t think you ever flew?” He nudged you gently, “No, but I have friends that did. I suppose the actual answer to your question would be… not officially.” “Oh my gosh, should you be telling me this?!” It was hard not to get concerned that he’d be the kind to get talked into flying a plane with no experience. “It’s very hard, most of the time I was passenger.” Emmett had to lift you up into this one too, which of course you were fine with. In fact, when you thought on it, he was getting as handsy with you as you usually got with him only to get scorned… usually. Not today, and already in the back of your mind you were wondering if you could play that to your advantage. As he sat up with you and started to explain things, you understood his excitement. Each car had a rudder and a control so you got to manipulate the direction of the ride, also if you were skilled enough you could get the cables to snap which made everything a little bit more out of control. “Why… would you want to do that?” “You’ll see if I manage it.” “…Why does this feel like something you’re gonna tell me you did with your Army friends?” He laughed, grinning back at you, “Because it was!” “Oh. No.” Soon you found out exactly what he meant by a snap. The sound was fairly distinctive, as the cables slacked at the rides top speed, and all he had to do was turn the rudder just the right way for everything to spin slightly crazy. You were alright holding onto the ride for the majority of the time but when Emmett managed to do that, you couldn’t help but shriek and throw your arms around his waist, gripping onto him super tight, to hold on. You supposed, with the way he smiled every time you did, that was the point. The day was starting to slow down, and you’d been on nearly everything you wanted to see, and probably eaten a little too much, but it was good comfort food so you didn’t mind that. Emmett however had other ideas and you caught up with him again leaning against a railing and nodding over to something else. You placed your hands on your hips, “And I thought we were about done.” “We were, but this one’s been put here just for you!” You turned, and then were stuck between the ‘aw’ that your heart felt and your brain wanting to punch him in the arm. “Is that a tunnel of love?” “Sure is.” “You old romantic.” You weren’t sure if you wholly meant your sarcasm “You’re the one who has relatively little regard for personal space and always wants her allotted public displays of affection.” “I believe we’d be going back to Victorian ways if you had your say.” “That’s real courting. There’s nothing wrong with it.” He folded his arms. “Emmett, darling, you’ll barely touch me at a party with a dancefloor, don’t give me that.” “Just a difference in how we were raised is all, my romantic values are… reminiscent of the class I grew up in. But that hardly matters. I already told you, I’d chose you every time.” “Well, it worked between Sarah and Drover so…” He gave a nod at your affirmation of his point, “Exactly, and it works between us. Indeed, I would be so bold as to say that’s why it works between us.” He pushed himself away from the railing and held his hand out for yours, “Now, if I may?” You shook your head at him with a small smile and took his offered hand, “You may, dear Captain.”  And as you walked over you gave a smirk, “Your mother would never approve of me, would she?” He chuckled, “She’s not here to disapprove either. And here I am staying.” Once through the queue and in the boat, you turned to him suspiciously, “This better be a romantic one, because if it’s scary I’m going to kill you!” Emmett raised an eyebrow, “Whatever someone took you on that’s scary… I don’t think that was a tunnel of love, and I don’t think you ought to have been on it with them.” He smiled, “Luckily you have me now. And I had been standing outside a while, I heard no screaming.” “Are you teasing me?” “Me?” His blue eyes shined innocently, “I would never!” Your eyes narrowed, but you still smiled, “I’m watching you, Emmett Dutton.” He was right though, the ride was romantic, the music setting just the right tone to cuddle up. You had read somewhere these were created when touching (especially when unmarried) was pretty much frowned upon. Right up Emmett’s alley then – ah, to be in Darwin again now. You wondered how some of those stuck up bigots were doing now. They certainly weren’t a fan of you, especially not with ‘their’ captain. Need you point out he was stationed in your town first. Emmett’s need to always defuse the situation and calm things, with you internally fuming at everyone… You shook your head, that was a while ago now, and you needed to focus on him. You wrapped yourself around him, head against his chest as he wound his arm around your shoulder, gathering your hands on his lap, stroking his thumb over them. Emmett instantly relaxed you, and you were no longer paying attention to the ride itself. All your focus was on his breathing, his heartbeat, his scent and how warm he was. The feel of his body this close, and under your fingertips; you knew what was happening to you. You were about to become a swooning mess and couldn’t give a damn about it. You snuggled further into him, making Emmett chuckle and kiss the top of your head. “You alright, darling?” “Mhm,” You nodded, burying you head in his chest and holding him a little tighter, “I just wanna get you home…” *** He was very good with you, even though he knew what was coming. Emmett let you hold his hand the whole way home. By this time your fidgety nervous energy was kicking in and your heart was letting you know that, by the way it continued to flutter as you looked at him. He wasn’t about to complain, even though your nails dug into his skin a little uncomfortably. You felt like a teenager with their first crush, just hoping to get noticed, as he rolled neatly into the driveway. And you thought for a moment that sugar rush was finally catching up with you. “Well,” He spoke was a voice as soft as his smile, “We’re home.” “We are.” You agreed, and Emmett took your hand to kiss it before he left the car and, like the gentleman he was, opened the door for you. You stepped out and it was all you could do not to melt into him instantly. “Lead on,” He let you take his hand back and run him up the front porch steps, you were happy that he didn’t say ‘I’m yours’ because you would have lost it right then and there. Once inside, with the door closed, everything slowed down but your heart. Your hands linked with his as you stood in the hallway, spinning with him for just a moment. Eyes locked on his, Emmett’s face held the same amusement that yours did. “What? What is it?” “I just…” you drew yourself a little closer, “I need a moment.” Your hands left his to run gently up his arms to his shoulders, then linking behind his back as you closed your eyes and leant into a kiss. His hands stilled on your waist, keeping your balance as he reciprocated your kiss, slow and gentle. You kept him against your lips running your fingertips into his hair, Emmett groaned softly as he allowed your body to push up against his, hands remaining respectful. Sometimes you wished he wouldn’t be. The movement of your tongue over his lips tentative, not begging; but he was forthcoming in the acceptance of your invitation, kiss still slow as you allowed yourself to focus on the taste of him. Emmett’s kiss and tongue were playful however, and every teasing attempt to pull away from you was only met with you gripping his collar tighter. Eventually you let him pull away as his hands reached for yours, “Come on…” his voice coaxed, “Let us not stay here, darling.” His fingers laced with yours as he led you upstairs leisurely.

He must have wanted this too, or else just so happy to play to your whims. No, surely he wanted this - you knew Emmett; if he didn’t want your hands all over him (or, indeed, to put his hands all over you) then he would have protested. He was very good at that. Instead he walked those stairs very nearly backwards to keep your hands in his and his eyes on you - you tried to ignore the flutter that remained in your heartbeat to no avail. The heat and excitement building in your body that culminated in your wide-eyed, lips parted look, complete with your deep, short breaths.

He knew what you were feeling, every meaning of that look on your face, and once at the top of the stairs Emmett bit his lips together as he drew your body closer to his, hands running through your hair to kiss you again. These kisses were sweet and meaningful. This would be a slow, delicate, love. And almost certainly love with the way he was touching you now. There was no room for any other emotion. Emmett continued to lead you backwards to the bedroom, and your hands only left his to close the door behind you. Winding your arms around his neck as he paused for a second, one last kiss to your lips before he took a little bit more notice of the room.

 You followed his eyeline; you’d always been very specific about how you wanted the colours in here. Everything cream or off-white gave it a purity and warmth. The sunshine through your balcony windows glinted on the polished wood floor, and of course, with him facing the sunlight it sparkled in his eyes too. “Emmett.” Your voice was soft, to draw him back to you, hands rising from your waist to the buttons on your blouse his head nudged yours, kisses a little lighter. Of course the sun was reflecting on you too, throwing a thousand shades into the colour of your eyes and hair.  That only made him chuckle, “No you’re right, the real view is here.” Blush covered your cheeks for a second, but you smiled, “On that one we might agree.”

You let him finish with your buttons, running his hands delicately over your collar bone, across your shoulders, brushing them down your arms as you let it fall to the floor behind you. His lips ghosted kisses across your face, and your eyes fluttered closed as he caressed your skin with his fingertips. Bowing your head forward you inhaled him, fresh air and sunshine and grass, clean sweat and sugar from your day out, lingering notes of aftershave, all over the familiar warmth of his own body. You opened your eyes, running your hands smoothly up his chest, and undid his own shirt buttons one by one. Your movements were just as slow as his had been, and after each one - as more of his skin was exposed to you - you placed a gentle kiss. Emmett hummed his delight, fingers now stroking your shoulders and tangling in your hair. You slipped his shirt from his shoulders as he had with your own and as it cascaded to the floor the sun illuminated his skin, which immediately had you smiling at the collection of freckles that blessed his face also kissed his shoulders and chest. You were already smiling too much to bite your lips and stop yourself. “What?” He chuckled, but you knew he already knew the answer. “They’re just so cute I can’t help it!” You shook your head slowly, still smiling, and leant up again to kiss him. Emmett gathered your face in his hands, guiding you gently backwards towards the bed. As he walked, you set to work relieving him of his belt and even as you pulled it through his belt loops slowly, it was still gone by the time he stopped moving. Drawing back from his kiss for a moment you looked back into those beautiful blue eyes. “Did I tell you how much I love you today, yet?” His next smile was a little shy, but he drew your waist back to his, unfastening the ties on your skirt before undoing the zip, “Trust me,” Emmett kissed you again, letting your skirt fall, “You don’t need to.” “Oh?” The look on your face was mischievous as you undid the button on his pants and teased the zip down slowly, “But I want to.” “It’s not like I can stop you, is it?” His hands ran back around your waist, fingertips grazing you relaxingly as he ran them down the small of your back - you couldn’t help a tiny shudder and a soft moan escaped your lips. “No.” You agreed, eyes shining, “Because I do, love you, so much.” “I love you too.” Emmett ran his hands a little lower, hoisting your body up for you to wrap your legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders, your lips met once more.

This kiss full of promises, perhaps a little more passionate than you’d both meant as he lay you back in the sheets, but every bit worth it, as his lips transferred to your jawline and down your throat as you tipped your head back for him. You sighed his name like a prayer as he planted them delicately across your shoulders, sliding your bra straps down your arms. You pulled yourself back to his lips if only so he could undo the clasp; although Emmett’s arms remained around you holding your body close to his. You couldn’t help but giggle a little, hands running back into his hair. Even under that uniform he didn’t always look it, but he was so strong, and he felt that way whenever he held you like this. But a bigger sweetheart than you thought you deserved. Emmett only pulled back from the warmth of you when your giggling became a little too much for him not to begin laughing himself, and you observed each other for a minute. The sunshine was still working wonders on those freckles of his, and your fingers attempted to neaten the curls that were already falling out of place. “I mean it,” you breathed, “I don’t deserve you…” “Oh,” He tsked, “don’t start that again.” His hands ran down your body gently, varying his pressure over where he knew would cause giggles to rise in your chest from being ticklish, or gentle sighs in places you found it calming to be touched before he coaxed your hips towards his, sliding his fingers into your underwear. Your eyes remained on his. “You okay?” “Yes, Captain, I’m fine.” The graze of his lips to yours was hardly enough, as he slid them down your legs and they joined the rest of your clothing on the floor. Emmett balanced himself on his elbows as he took his time to observe your body. You always got a little bashful about this, no matter how many times you might joke with him about bathing together, or his absolute refusal to be in the room if you were changing and your constant ‘Emmett! You’ve seen me before-!’, but you supposed it was the weight of his stare, the vulnerability of letting someone see you like this. Especially him; the first time you’d been intimate you’d worried that he wouldn’t like what he saw, and you still worried about that. But you discovered that he honestly didn’t care; to him you were flawless. And if there was one thing your Captain liked to do, it was affirm that - respectfully. He traced his index finger carefully from the hollow of your throat straight down to your navel, feeling every motion of your breathing and your body under his, the slight shake at his touch.

“You are so…” This time he didn’t finish, because he didn’t need to, “I just…” “I know.” “No… No, I don’t think you do…” This time his thumb traced your jawline and then ran gently over your lips, your own hand resting on his wrist, eyes still only beholding his. “You are my world. What do I have without you?” You thought of a thousand smart things to say, but realised that Emmett wanted to hear none of them, and before you knew it he was wiping a single tear from your cheek and replacing his thumb with his lips as he kissed you again. Your legs tangled with his, even though he wasn’t fully undressed yet, and the feel of his body against yours only made you moan into his kisses. “Emmett…” “Shhh, darling shhhh…” He helped you remove his final garment and this time as you threaded your legs together you made sure your hips were wide enough for him. Emmett was back to staring into your eyes, although yours kept flicking to those damn cute freckles of his and you were almost ready to start crying all over again. One of his hands framed your face, caressing your cheek and stroking your hair back, as the other held your own for just a moment, he squeezed your hand gently and you knew exactly what he was asking, giving a short nod back.

 Emmett’s caress moved to your thighs, and it was enough to have you tremble beneath him. His fingertips just felt so good over your skin, and he was always so gentle with you. He continued to draw a number of sighs from you as he inched towards the heat that was building in you, you couldn’t deny being needy for him now and your body was more than eager to betray that. Even with his touch being exploratory your hips couldn’t help but rock into his fingertips as you gasped. Damn, maybe you were more needy for him than you thought. It certainly got you flustered, Emmett, ever the gentleman, only chuckled and kissed your forehead. He seemed to be telling you it was okay, but it certainly didn’t leave you any less embarrassed. His fingertips were gentle and lazy - to tease you and please you - and from every sound emanating from you were certainly doing the trick. You were desperately aware of how wet you already were, and the gentle ache at being touched like this was quickly becoming a slow throb. “Emmett-!” You whined his name, greeted by a kiss, rewarded by his fingers moving to your entrance. You thought he might continue to tease you, but he didn’t, even though he only inserted one finger into you at first. When you were fine with that, he pushed in a second, this time making you moan; your arms back around him by this point meant your nails dug into his skin - Emmett gave a shudder of his own at that. His groan was quiet at the feel of your heat; you were certainly ready for him, and his fingers were still gentle as he stretched you a little wider. You shuddered again for him at the feeling, moan a little louder. He brushed his thumb over your clit in reward, body arching into his. “I love you.” You panted it again, and that confidently flashed smile Emmett gave you was nearly a smirk.

 His fingers withdrew from you slowly, and Emmett moved to arrange your body with his. He wanted as much contact as possible, to have you as close to him as you could be. Kiss to your stomach, then over your ribs as he travelled back to your lips. His hands travelled up with his kisses, and as his tongue darted out across one nipple, his fingertips caressed the other, hand kneading your breast. This time you cried out in pleasure, certainly hardly expecting that. “E-Emmett-!” You were breathless, voice shaking and hands in his hair as he switched sides. Brief maybe, but that shot of pleasure made you want to squeeze your thighs together for relief. You couldn’t, of course, because his body was between them. That only made him chuckle as he finally claimed your lips again, this time his hands slid back to yours. “You sure you’re fine?” “Yes…” You placed your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed again, “please, Emmett…” at the needy shake in your voice and the way you said his name, Emmett slowly pushed into you. This time his lips against yours swallowed your groans.

 You clung to him as you both settled, feeling his heartbeat against yours. Although so close, he was supporting all of his own weight and you were on the verge of pointing out all that army training again. Instead you stayed in that comfortable silence, gathering your hands to the middle of his chest for a moment. “Go slow…” you whispered, “Emmett, I want to savour you.” It was what he always wished for, but this time you wanted him to know that’s what you needed. He nodded, with another gentle smile, kissing you once more - a little too chaste for your liking. “As you wish, darling.” Making sure that your body was tightly wrapped around his, Emmett’s hands glided smoothly over your skin - leaving a pleasurable tingle in their wake - which made you hum in comfort and content. He moved in you, to a gentle sigh and your arms cuddled him closer. It was so easy to let his name spill from your lips, he wasn’t about to stop you - and you couldn’t stop yourself. You loved tangling yourself with his body, whether that be as you snuggled down to sleep for the night, or relaxing on the couch downstairs, radio or paper or book attempting to draw your focus from the way it felt to be in his arms, or he’d draw locks of your hair back and kiss your neck… or like this. With nothing between you but love. There was no other word for this than perfect - and yet even that didn’t seem to do the feeling or the moment justice. Emmett’s movements were slow and drawn out. It almost made things torturous. The heat in the room built slowly between the two of you and the suns warming rays - but it was a lovely thing to be wrapped up in. And you couldn’t help your smile; nor being so utterly taken with him. Emmett did nothing more than whisper his sweet ‘I love yous’ into your skin as he continued to kiss you. Every groan he drew from your body causing him to smirk into your skin. But it wasn’t long before you were pulling gentle moans and pants from him, which caused exactly the same reaction when you were able to kiss his lips once more. His rhythm built more comfortably; but your sex was still sweet and slow. He paid so much attention to every sign of your body, the gentle shake as your pleasure built, but your whine against it to not end yet, your insistence with your hands through his hair, over his skin, grazing your nails, pulling him back to you, that Emmett kiss you more. And more! But that his lips worshiping any part of you was not unwelcome, and if he got a little too excited and you ended up with bruises, you weren’t about to mind those either. You were as in tune with Emmett as he with you, though, and he was all of him beautiful. The feel of his muscles under your fingertips, of those silky dark locks under your touch. How his groan could almost become a growl if you ran your nails through them just so. The freckles you could count across his skin when your love was this slow. The ones across his back may have been out of sight, but they were certainly not out of mind. He was still so soft under your touch though, Army Captain though he may have been by profession. And the feel of Emmett’s body against yours was not one you could easily describe. Those eyes of his, that blue could be so gentle, yet so fierce, and when it was dark like this and he bit his lip when he looked at you… your heart leapt to counter that rush of heat that coursed through your body. And he moaned quietly again. But that look in his eyes was of nothing but pure adoration - and that’s how you stared right back. You pulled him into you, closer, deeper, body flush to yours. Emmett Dutton was all you ever wanted; he became the only thing you’d ever needed. You couldn’t imagine your life without him, you didn’t even want to think on the possibility of that ever happening again. After Darwin. After the war. Never again. He was yours, and you’d be damned that anyone or anything would take him from you now.

 This time he was the one to shake, and his breaths got a little shorter. You coaxed Emmett’s lips to yours, arms around him as it became much more of an embrace. “I love you.” He breathed between kisses, which almost had you giggling. You knew that, of course you knew that. It was about the one thing you really did know. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get over you saying that.” Your voice was still a whisper, the waver of delight raising a smile from Emmett. He almost managed a laugh then, “I don’t think I want you to.” “I’ll certainly not get bored-” You gasped suddenly; your body’s own reaction to his - brushing you in just the right place as he shook again, getting just a little harder. “Sorry.” “What are you---” your sentence was punctuated by another moan, “Apologising for!? God- Emmett!” Your voice pitched and this time the edge of your climax wouldn’t be ignored. Your body was just a little too greedy, and your wish to finish together, clenching around him was enough to have him calling out for you.

You needed him so badly, tangled in your arms like this, wrapped up in him. Your vocals were both pitching in unison even with the sex this slow. Somehow that made things more intense. You nearly wanted to beg him to stop, for just a second, to just let you savour this. Freeze the moment, let me catch it! No such luck, and that rush of heat hit you too hard; the constellation of freckles over his skin became a blur of stars that closing your eyes to only had you pouring tears. You triggered the same reaction in him, and his muffled moan of ecstasy into your skin was still the best sound you’d ever heard. Before Emmett blushed horribly (not to you - but he probably wouldn’t like how red his face got), as he wound back down, panting heavily. He still tried not to put too much of his weight on you, but the feel of his body on top of yours like this only added to your happiness, that feeling of protection, to have him so close that he almost faded into you. And yet more tears ran.

Emmett framed your face with his hands, “Hey… you’re crying again.” You sniffed, trying to hold them back, but only succeeded in giggling through another set of them: “Of happiness.” “As long as that’s what they are.” You continued to giggle as he attempted to wipe them away with his thumbs, and you reciprocated, cupping his face with your own hands - but Emmett wasn’t crying. “I love you, Emmett Dutton! I love you so much!” His eyebrows knitted, but he was still smiling, “I’ve known that a long while, don’t you listen to me?” “And I told you it wouldn’t stop me.” “Mhm. You did.” He kissed you once more, “But it’s not something you need to waste your words on. I know that in my heart and soul.” Emmett laced his fingers with yours once more, “I can feel your love, physically… and I can see it, observe it… in the way you look at me, in every smile on your face. And hear it in your voice, without the use of such words.”  He shifted his weight from you, pulling you closer into his embrace, running his hands over your skin to relax you once more, “I can feel your love even when you’re not there. That most important of all. That matters to me most of all. And yet I know that you would rather spend every waking moment you can affirming it.” “Would that I could.” You breathed gently, eyes looking between his. “And yet you think you are not worthy of all the love I can give you?” He didn’t let you protest, kissing you back into silence, “Just know, you are wrong.” This time you kept your mouth shut, but the little wiggle in his arms let him know that you’d only let him win this time. Next time that victory would be yours. You cuddled into his chest, closing your eyes with a smile, “To the end of the Earth, Emmett Dutton.” There was silence for a moment, and his lips grazed your forehead gently, “Forever.” Of course he would… you could only smile though as he continued to caress your bare skin with his free hand, as you kept his other between yours, kissing his knuckles gently. Forever - if he was prepared to let you love him for that long. Forever held a lot of promises, all of them you were sure he could keep.

 When did forever start though? You pondered: had it already? Did it start tomorrow? ...Did forever only really begin when he got down on one knee? ...Or only when you dressed in white and received a gold band?

 No… You could think on this all later, in his arms today was neither the time or place to focus on anything but this moment with him. You could think on forever, forever. You could only revel in this moment right now. That was what really mattered; after all, forever with him would still be lived one moment at a time. So - no matter when forever may begin - why waste them?

---

Thank you for reading! 🥰🥰

[shy-magpie]

RQG 156

live blog under the cut

Heads up about half way through I realized I go a bit further into analysis on where Zolf & the Kobolds are mentally than some people might be comfortable with. Just as they trust us to back off if the episode gets to real, I am trusting you to close the tab if my little live blog is hitting you wrong. If it makes a difference I have years between me and the reason I relate to this stuff.

"In Memorium" they are trying to kill us Ah they lampshaded the speed intros Yes Alex it is rather Paris Right to Azu & Zolf. Oh he's jumping right in. And there's my first pause of the episode. No “better” isn't a magic finish line you pass then never find yourself in that place again. No, knowing that doesn't mean you don't wonder if your back at square one every time you realize You Are In A Bad Place and Not Handling it Well. Gosh Azu is good at this. Yeah learning to walk away is hard. Learning to ignore the part of yourself that says "and never come back for their sake" is harder. Symbolic much Alex (Zolf is too small for the room, Azu is too large) Yeah it would be easier to not blame Zolf for last episode if I related to him a bit less. Okay they are talking about Hamid and their concerns for him directly. Yeah Hamid's relationship with power & privilege is an arc; and without the Doylist level of trusting Bryn & Alex, I can see where even if you trust/like him you'd be worried about it. With the best of intentions people misuse power. Azu quoted Grizzop at Zolf. Didn't name him, wonder if Zolf is ever going ask directly about his replacement in canon or if its best left to fic. Its easy to dismiss one's own successes. Okay fair and OW, Zolf isn't up to talking about Sasha; which is the part of this I was most prepared for. Hell yeah! He is coming down but not going to be attempting to lead so as to relieve pressure on himself. Maybe if he can let Hamid step up without making a Kew Garden thing he'll see how much he's grown. Hopefully without that setting off a "Hamid does better without me" thing. Yeah intellectual knowledge and it feeling real on an emotional level are very different things. Alex, why does it matter what order they are in? ALEX? The necklace? The Heart of Aphrodite shaped necklace? Azu got a Sign from Aphrodite approving of her reaching out to Zolf as an act of love. Yes! Blue Black no take backs! Yeah those two (players) know exactly what they are doing: breaking my heart in the best ways and not skipping over the actual work those two (characters) need to put into their relationship with OOC "its all fine now"s. Ok that settles the timeline, Azu went up same night, the device isn't made yet. Yeah Zolf wouldn't, probably best to back off while things are tender while being present enough to assure he isn't planning on leaving. Seriously bless Azu, this has to be at least as hard on her as Helen but she is letting the boys have room to work it out for themselves instead of "trying to help". The last thing either of them need right now is pressure especially on this point. Aw the Kobolds teach Cel draconic. Oh smart kid, not only is it just logical for the Kobolds to work with Cel directly, it might help them get over the "looking to see if the boss approves of how you breathe" stage. Especially if he is clear about not being threatened by them having advantage over him in this area. Heck of a relief this isn't hitting my rank issues. Ooh all the Kobolds are amazing engineers, wonder if its a Kobold thing or if Skraak recruited people with similar interests. Nice rework of the "Kobolds build traps" thing from pathfinder. I genuinely love how instead of pitching the original description of Kobolds out the window, Alex has backwards engineered it. Reputation for traps isn't a dishonorable approach to fighting, its a sign of their skill. They aren't minions, their trauma is interacting with a cultural attitude about rank in weird ways. Oh Cel! Cel is amazing. Under Shoin's orders they: made Magic Steroids, did maintenance (more towards the end as Shoin wasn't taking care of things), built the place initially, sourced ingredients, other Kobolds built the Mechkraken. Damn Shoin, they can't even be proud of all they were able to do in adverse circumstances because he tainted it. If they weren't forced to do it and have it used for ill ends, building the kraken would be impressive. A lot of that sounds like difficult work. Hamid stuff: yeah it is from a place of fear; and they would be hypersensitive and need to try to "defend him" so he doesn't react. Terrified of his anger? Handle anything that even annoys him to cut it off at the pass. And being a good person who doesn't like scaring them, Hamid is going to over do the very "Mary Sunshine" routine that makes Zolf think he doesn't appreciate the gravity of the situation. You'd think Mr "do a grief later" would get that Hamid doesn't have to walk the halls wailing to be aware of the end of the world. Not that the kid can win, if he cried and threw up it would be proof he hasn't grown from season one. Hopefully by taking a back seat Zolf will have a chance to see Hamid's actions and realize being chipper & wholesome doesn't mean stupid. Oh Alex has thought this through, one of these days I'll quit being surprised he actually gets this stuff. Not being able to read the person whose emotions feel like life & death is a Bad Thing. Thank Alex for Skraak. Weird seeing this stuff from this side, of course learning to focus on my end instead of being preoccupied with what was going on in the heads of people who were on Hamid's end of it was rather the point. Perfect balance, Hamid gives them enough space to realize he isn’t going to explode, Skraak "translates" into something clear enough not to stress them out. Like when Zolf snapped at Skraak when he pledged to Hamid; might not be pretty but not knowing what The Powers That Be want? Very bad place. Rank and clear orders are very important when appeasing those who outrank you is everything. Cel has dealt with a lot of young and unsure apprentices!?! Yeah well Cel isn't in their chain of command and gears don't get offended if you have an opinion on the right way to configure them. Cel is great Azu & Hamid talking about Zolf! Helen is wonderful! I thought this was going to be drawn out and indirect, instead they are actually facing things head on and dealing with them. Aw these two are so good for each other. Azu would set aside her own emotions. Hot damn Azu, getting right to it! Hamid can be amazingly open about his self awareness and it surprises me every time. It fits him and is a very good thing, but going from answering "how are you?" with "the Kobolds are doing well" to "I never knew how to help him" without it being jarring made me do quite the double take. Guess I was expecting more deflection. Yeah well you two are redefining your boundaries, entire relationship, and rank in specific, while being the perhaps the only people with enough of the picture to figure out how to save the world. Working out the balance between conflicting views on that, when neither of you knows what the end will look like was never going to be smooth. Oh yes and none of you have directly addressed that half of Zolf's rank & dick measuring stuff is because he doesn't know if he even has a role if he isn't The Boss or The Healer.* Oh the grin in Alex's voice as he tells them there is something else before the brorb interview. Whisky tumblers for each? Quite a sigh there Ben News? Big news? While they were in the institute? They ought to sit down. Wilde get to it. Ah Azu & Hamid are holding hands. Poor kid with his prop. Letter? Ancient Rome? Sasha? Are all the fics coming true? Their founder "Askingus"!?! Oh Sasha, oh Zolf! Lydia! Oh the kids! She named the kids after the party. She even found her faith. A break? How the hell are we only half way through the episode. Also hell yeah Lydia deserves all the awards, that was an amazing letter. XD Ben! Oh Hamid, we reacted that way to the epilogue that way too. It really is okay, it was a good end. Yeah he could use a drink. Poor Zolf. Hamid gives Wilde a hug. "technically I think that makes Sasha my boss". XP be cryptic Alex, The RSB will have it figured out by Friday. Ok Zolf got to read the letter on his own. Azu lit 3 candles, because Helen wants me to cry. Hamid is at Zolf's door with a bottle and two glasses. Lydia this is a compliment to your skill. More direct than I expected from Hamid. Oh these two! Okay he is drunk enough to go there (angry at Zolf for leaving but he gets it). About time someone told Zolf directly he's grown. Aw Zolf puts him to bed. Thank you Alex! Ben! (okay fair, if any of Hamid was left he'd cuddle). Sorry Cel! Lydia wanted to break/heal our hearts more than she wanted the plot to move forward ;) Good plan: take the orb to the anti magic field, only those who have already talked to it can talk directly. Info control. Hive mind/telepathy directly addressed. Finally what Shoin eats is addressed. Ok Cel has some teeth on them. Hasn't fed it, is using the vibration to threaten to explode his brain, (no English doesn't have enough pronouns we are working on it)... Oh good point better feed it. Aw Zolf is possessive of the kitchen. Shoin is still Shoin. Cel is not happy about not being recognized. Nice to hear the boys working together. The Infection might block him from being directly aware of  being infected. Bullsh$% he backed himself up. Good point Zolf even if he does, they are separate lives, this instance can still fear death. Oh all the party have teeth, nice they don't have the "good guys have to be sweet & gentle with the baddies" thing Yeah Cel isn't stupid, the brorbs arm isn't a threat. Oh auto painting that will make the people theorizing on the bio side of how the Brorb works happy. A circulatory diagram, and am ocean of faces. Paints like a printer. A creepy charcoal sketch of London staring at the artist. *I swear on Rusty Tower if they let him hurt himself any worse because he thinks his new role is "a brick wall on wheels" I am joining the line to fight Ben in a Whetherspoons parking lot. Yes it would be in character but so would healing. There are other hills. Although seriously its been great having a character that shows so many of the aspects of depression that usually get left out. That Zolf is also a three dimensional character with a full personality beyond just "the one with mental health issues" while not making it look like those issues are tacked on or easy to handle? Stunning work.  

[scattered-shadows]

8 Stories, 8 Movies from the Golden Age (1930s to 1960s).

It’s the golden age and 8 men are the most sought-after actors in Hollywood. Ateez, but make them Old Hollywood, basically. Lights, camera, action!

Member: Jongho

Genre: Murder mystery, a little bit of comedy, a little bit of romance

Warnings: Murder (as it is a murder mystery), mentions of it including suicide, death, blackmail

Things to note: Divorce then getting back together, infidelity (don’t cheat, it’s bad), horse racing, set in the 1930s.

Will have OCs

As with the rest of the stories in the AU, there will be other idols mentioned.

A/N: Here’s the third and last part of Jongho’s story. The third story in this series is Yunho and! It’s another murder mystery. 

Masterlist

Prominent surgeon Choi Jongho is forced to team up with his murder mystery author ex-wife to investigate a murder at a racetrack.

The Ex-Mrs. Choi

tag list: @minervaaaaaaaa , @closer-stars

Part 3 - Final

Jongho arrived at the address San told him about, but as he arrived, the door was open and the familiar figure of his ex-wife was in view. He sighed as he pushed the door open a little bit more to let himself in. 

“Is that you, Jongho? Come in, come in,” Miyoung whispered, looking over her shoulder at him. 

“Kim Miyoung, what are you doing here?” He asked, very gently closing the door behind him. 

“Oh, I read that telegram you sent yourself. I knew you wouldn’t let me come over here so I resealed the telegram and went down here,” She replied, moving ahead to look around the room. Everything appeared to be untouched, as if the person who occupied the room never left with how some of the decor looked a little haphazard. 

“How did you get in?” He watched her, stopping to take a look around where he was standing. 

“If you’re going to keep on house breaking, Dr. Choi, you should never be without a hairpin,” Miyoung pointed to the pin she was wearing before moving towards the shelves. “So, what are we here for?” 

“We’ll take a quick look around then we’ll get out of here.” 

“Hmm, I must say this place is very cozy,” Miyoung looked impressed. She opened her purse. “So far I only found this before you arrived,” She showed him a box of unusually large pills.

Jongho approached her, taking a closer look at the pills. “These are capsules.” 

“But they’re so big, I don’t know how a person can swallow a pill as big as this,” She said, looking astonished. 

“Hongjoong didn’t give medicine to people, Miyoungie,” He pointed out. “And horses have very big throats.” 

“But, Hongjoong never lived here,” Miyoung gestured to the rest of the room. 

“How do you know?” 

“I asked the janitor when I came here about this room, and he said the fellow who had this room had a mole under his eye.” 

“A mole under his eye?” Miyoung nodded. Jongho suddenly gaped, slowly piecing everything he knew. “Miyoung, I got it!” It was beginning to make sense. 

“Got what?” 

“Choi San claimed that Hongjoong made a bet on Wave, but he didn’t. Hongjoong didn’t rent this apartment either, it was the guy with the mole under his eye pretending to be Hongjoong, he had it all worked out,” Jongho said. “San was supposed to send the winnings to this address, and the guy with the mole could’ve gotten them but San messed up his plans by calling Hongjoong, the real Hongjoong, and giving the money to him instead. That’s how Hongjoong found out about this place, and-” He stopped to swat something small and black in the air. 

“What was that?” She was confused. 

“It’s a spider, it was a little above your head,” Jongho wiped the silky thread that was the web from his hands. 

“Thanks,” Miyoung sighed in relief. “Then, it was that guy pretending to be Hongjoong and called you earlier. It’s obvious.” 

“Miyoung, it must be obvious if even you noticed it, and now all we need to do is to find him and we’ve got the murderer,” Jongho felt more assured of what they needed to do again. 

She frowned. “Well, there’s no use staying down here, I already looked all over the place. There’s something funny about this apartment though, there isn’t any beds, can you imagine renting a room without a bed?” 

“My dear Kim Miyoung, have you heard of a wall bed?” Jongho said, immediately spotting the markings on the wall that indicated the concealed furniture. Miyoung nodded when she saw where he was standing. 

“Okay then, take it down for me, darling,” She said. 

“What for?” 

“I-I want to look under it,” Miyoung replied.

Jongho nodded. “Very well, my sweet, now you can look to your heart’s content-” He said, taking the small rope to pull down the blank wall revealing an already made bed but they paused at what they saw hidden, staring at it in horror. A suited man fell forward, face down and his head on the end of the bed. 

“It’s a man!” She squealed. “Who is it?” She asked, hiding her face behind her hands as Jongho bent down to inspect the body. 

“I-I don’t know,” He shook his head, checking for more details but pausing when he saw the mole under the man’s eye. “Judging from that mole under his eye, this must be our murderer.” 

“But Jongho, he’s dead,” She said. 

“And there’s not a mark on him from what I can see,” Jongho lifted the collars and the sleeves. “Miyoung, run down to the phone and call up Lt. Jeong and tell him to get here as fast as he can,” He glanced at her, immediately seeing her frozen and looking terrified. “What are you standing there for?” 

“Jongho, behind you, the window’s open, there’s a hand there with a gun,” Miyoung whispered, unable to move any further from fear. 

He gave her a look, shaking his head. “Miyoung, listen-” 

“Don’t get up, Jongho,” She said. “Jongho! Jongho!” A gunshot was heard. Jongho fell to the floor. 

~ 

Miyoung stood by the couch at their apartment the next morning, watching him sleep with a bandage covering the side of his head and a blanket covering most of his body to keep him warm. It was a miracle they escaped before the shooter fired more bullets at them. She gently pushed his hair back even more, smiling at how nice he looked even when wounded. Yeosang had already returned and was busy taking care of the dirty sheets and linens from the day before when they spilled gelatin over the table cloth. 

She bent down in front of him, smoothing his hair back again. “Goodbye Jongho,” She said softly. 

“Hmm?” He hummed, eyes slowly opening. “What’s the matter? What’s going on?”

“I just thought I’d say goodbye now,” She leaned over the edge of the couch, careful not to pull the blanket off, but Jongho pulled it off of himself anyway. 

“Where are you going?” 

“I don’t know. Oh, Jongho, I’m so sorry.” 

“Sorry for what?” 

“For this, it’s all my fault, I got you into it, I thought it was going to be fun but, when you got hurt,” Miyoung looked down. “Well, I’m wrong, that’s all. I’m getting out and you won’t be bothered with me anymore.” 

“Not even the alimony?” Jongho remembered. 

“Oh Jongho, that was just a gag to get near you again,” She admitted. 

“Well, I hate to say it worked, it worked,” Jongho looked into her eyes as he was slowly sitting up. “Will you marry me again, Miyoung?” 

“What- Jongho, you have to lie down, you’ve got a fever,” Miyoung gently pushed him back. “Getting shot, even if you were just grazed can be enough to get people delirious.” 

He waved a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. I mean it, Miyoung. I’ve been a chump. I found that out when I was going to let you go,  then you came back and then,” His gaze softened. “There it is, I want you to stay with me, what do you say? Will you marry me?” 

The biggest smile formed on Miyoung’s lips. “Dr. Choi, in a word, yes,” and she kissed him. 

~ 

Moments later, when Jongho was rested enough to get up from the bed he made on the couch, he saw Miyoung walking back and forth, carrying some small boxes into her room. There was a skip in her step and she was humming a tune. He smiled to himself, realizing that she wasn’t going away forever in the first place. “What in the world are you doing?” He asked, breaking the kind of silence between them. 

“Nothing, just packing for our wedding trip,” She called out from her room, coming back out with a larger box. 

“What’s all this on the floor?” There were random objects at his feet that he only realized was there. 

“Oh, just things I’m thinking of using for my murder mysteries,” Miyoung held up a crowbar. “This is for a crowbar mystery.” 

“There’s nothing more mysterious than that.” 

Miyoung held up the round life preserver on the side. “This one, is for a life preserver mystery.”

“That ought to drown a man very nicely. What are these?” Jongho noticed some building blocks and a toy horse. 

“Oh, that was the cutest idea I had, a mystery for children, murder with toys. I still think it would’ve worked because it was such a good idea.” 

“I see that,” Jongho felt slightly relieved. He wasn’t ready just yet, and it wasn’t as if they did anything yet. “What’s this?” He was holding up a plastic spider. 

“A toy spider, oh yeah, that’s in the wrong box,” Miyoung frowned slightly. “That was another story I had. Don’t lose that, I might use it.” 

Jongho gaped at her. “Wait a second, I killed a spider at Powell street last night,” He said. “What else did we find there again?” 

“A wall bed,” She recalled. 

“A wall bed. Oh well, that’s no good,” Jongho’s mind was racing again. The spider meant something more than having been there at the apartment they snooped in the night before. “Ah! I got it! The capsules! The capsules are gelatin,” He turned to her. “Miyoungie, I’ve been blind! How could I not have figured that out? It was right in front of me all this time. Can you get me those capsules we found?” 

“Got it,” She said, intrigued by what he was figuring out. 

“Lieutenant Jeong is here, sir,” Yeosang suddenly announced, the detective stepping inside. 

“Good morning, Dr. Choi,” Yunho greeted him right away upon seeing him appear. “You’re looking lively for a man who was almost dead.” 

“How are you, lieutenant?” Jongho asked. “Come in here and sit down,” He gestured to the couch. 

The officer nodded. “Oh, and this is Mr. Johnny Suh, president of the jockey club,” Yunho introduced them and they shook hands. 

“Here you are, Jongho! Oh, hello,” Miyoung stopped to greet them. 

“Good morning Mrs. Choi,” Yunho nodded and she sat near Jongho, handing him the capsules. “Well, Dr. Choi, we performed an autopsy on Jung Wooyoung, that’s the guy with the mole under his eye. Exactly the same symptoms as Lee Taeyong, the left ventricle collapsed. As soon as I saw there was some connection with his death and Taeyong’s, I notified Mr. Suh over here.” 

“This has been a shock to me, Dr. Choi, horse racing is a clean sport and we intend to keep it that way,” Johnny shook his head. 

“I’m sure you will, Mr. Suh,” Jongho said. “Now, I’ve got something very interesting to show you and the lieutenant,” He took out one of the capsules. “What’s this?” 

“A toy spider. Hidden in a capsule” Johnny replied.  

“No, but something a lot more dangerous than that,” Jongho shook his head. “Now, I’ll light a match,” He took the box from the side table and struck it, producing the flame and placing it under the capsule. “See?” The capsule was melting and the spider fell out. 

“A toy out of a capsule,” Miyoung said. 

“No you don’t, that is a weapon, the weapon used on Lee Taeyong and Jung Wooyoung,” Jongho explained. Yunho and Johnny looked confused. “That’s a black widow spider, lieutenant, Mr. Suh. The murderer put the spider into the capsule which was then placed on the victim’s body. I used a match to make it melt faster, but the body heat, especially during a time of excitement, would melt the capsule and leave the spider free to bite.” 

“A black widow spider,” Yunho looked amazed. 

“It explains everything, lieutenant,” Jongho nodded. “The collapse of the left ventricle, the symptoms of strangulation or drowning.”

“Well that’s a new one on me,” Yunho said. 

“Now all you need to do is to catch this spider breeder the next time he gets to work,” Jongho explained. 

“The next time? You mean this is going to be an epidemic?” Yunho stared at him. 

“No, but he has to attempt one more murder.” 

“Wait a minute, I don’t understand,” Confusion remained on Johnny’s face. 

“I beg your pardon, I thought the lieutenant had already explained to you,” Jongho said. “Mr. Suh, the murderer was working to get money, that’s why he bet on Wave, to get an outside chance-” 

“And then murdered Illusion’s jockey, Lee Taeyong,” Miyoung quipped. 

“Thank you, Miyoung,” Jongho patted her hand. “Kim Hongjoong was suspicious of the whole affair. He started investigating-” 

“But he got too close for comfort so the murderer killed him.” 

“Thank you Miyoung. Then Jung Wooyoung, who was working with murderer, knew too much-” 

“So he polished Wooyoung off just as he did Lee Taeyong.” 

Jongho side-eyed her. “Thank you Miyoung. Why don’t you go on, dear?” 

“That’s as far as I can go,” Miyoung pursed her lips. 

“Oh, well anyhow lieutenant, the only thing left is that he still needs money. Not only has he not won his bet, but he’s lost the 25 million won he put up the day before yesterday,” Jongho finished. 

“So the murderer will strike again, hmm?” Yunho asked. 

“Then that means the same thing is likely to happen again at the track at any time,” Johnny figured it out as well. 

“That’s what we’ve been explaining to you, Mr. Suh,” Miyoung spoke. 

“Lieutenant Jeong, you have to stop this thing, it might happen again today,” Johnny turned to the officer. “Illusion and Wave, they’re racing today at the track.” 

“There you have it gentlemen. You should get going, Lieutenant.” 

“Yeah I know that but where?” Yunho was confused this time. “Where would you suggest?”

“You’ll have to catch the murderer. I have other work to do,” Jongho said. 

“I should say he has. We’re going to get married,” Miyoung linked her arm with his. 

“Hmm? That might have to wait for now, Miyoung,” Jongho let go of her. “I’ve got to save the life of the jockey who will be racing today.” 

“You can be assured Dr. Choi, of my full cooperation,” Johnny said. “If there’s anything I can do to help you.” 

“Thank you and yes, I’ll need your help. One, I want eight to ten motion picture cameras to be placed at my disposal at the track. Two, I want to inoculate the jockey who will ride Illusion with antivenom. Three, this is for you, lieutenant,” Jongho turned to Yunho. “I’d like the following people in my living room this evening; Mr. and Mrs. Song, Mr. and Mrs. Park, and Choi San. Agreed?” 

“They’ll be here.” 

“Good, I’ve got to run,” Jongho rushed back into his room to change. 

“But-but Jongho, our wedding!” Miyoung called out, watching him button up his jacket and following the lieutenant and Mr. Suh out. 

“Bye Miyoungie,” He said. 

“Oh, this will make a very interesting lawsuit,” Miyoung called out to him by the door, frowning. “Non-payment of alimony and breach of promise.” 

~ 

Miyoung soon followed Jongho to the racetrack later that day. Crowds of people were attending, some buying popcorn and snacks from nearby vendors standing by. Empty fields by the race track were immediately occupied with cars. The sudden playing of the trumpet signaled that the race was about to begin. “Jongho! Jongho!” She called out to him, greeting him with a kiss on his cheek when she arrived. “Did you inoculate Illusion’s jockey?” 

“Yes, but with some difficulty,” Jongho replied, eyes still fixed at the crowds. 

“I always thought you used a hypodermic needle. What do we do now?” Miyoung figured to scan the crowds in front of them as well. 

“Nothing, I’ve done everything I can. The jockey won’t be killed,” He replied, linking her arm with his. 

“Do you think Yunho would be able to catch the murderer?” 

“I know he won’t.” 

The thunderous applause and cheers meant that the race had begun. The sounds of galloping horses soon filled the air, with Jongho and Miyoung keeping watch at the jockey riding Illusion. “Jongho, roll up your sleeve,” She patted his arm. 

“Illusion’s running sixth,” Jongho was still watching the race. “Wait, what?”

“Roll up your sleeve.” 

“What for?”

“I’m going to inoculate you,” She was worried. 

“Miyoung, what are you talking about?” 

“Use your head, Jongho, there have been attempts on your life already, what’s going to happen when the murderer discovers your plan?” 

“Well I haven’t thought of that.”

She tugged on his arm. “I don’t want you killed, Jongho. Believe me, when someone catches the murderer, and I don’t think they might today, you might not be free from danger because they know you’re now involved in looking for them.” 

“There’s really nothing I can do about that now, I brought only one dose of antitoxin and I gave it to the jockey,” He pointed out. 

“Oh,” She frowned. “In that case, let’s just enjoy the race.” 

“And coming down to the line towards the finish now is Wave and Illusion, Wave and Illusion running neck and neck and now Illusion is going away!” The announcer reported. “It’s Illusion and Wave! And Illusion is the winner by a head!” More cheers and applause erupted from the stands. 

“Well, Dr. Choi, there’s your race, nothing happened,” Yunho appeared nearby. “Everything’s fine.” 

“Then it’s a moral victory for you, lieutenant,” Jongho nodded. 

“Oh I don’t think so! Look! Look out there!” Miyoung pointed to the tracks. 

“It’s Illusion running away!” Yunho looked alarmed. 

“The jockey’s off! He’s lying on the ground!” She squealed. 

“Come on, lieutenant!” Jongho and Miyoung rushed down from their places, moving past the crowds and onto the track. Some of the track officials were also watching, shocked at what was happening. Jongho went ahead as the lieutenant told everyone else that was surrounding them to move back. “Get his shirt open,” He told Miyoung and she followed suit. 

As they had anticipated, the black widow spider was crawling on the jockey’s chest. “The spider! On his chest! Get it off!” Yunho took a newspaper to swipe the insect away. 

“Well, there’s the murderer,” Jongho said. “The black widow spider. I gave the jockey antitoxin before the race so he’ll be just fine.” 

“Oh I apologize, Dr. Choi,” Yunho sighed. “I’d give a month’s pay to know who put that on him.” 

“That won’t be hard to find out. Wait until tonight,” Jongho assured him. 

~ 

“Mr. Song Mingi? Mrs. Song Jihye? Choi San?” Miyoung announced the names in a roll call from a piece of paper. “Kim Miyoung? Oh, that’s me. Mr. Park Seonghwa? and Mrs. Park?” She gestured for Yeosang to serve the cocktails that evening. 

“Now, I hope you don’t mind lieutenant,” Mingi spoke, then turning to Jongho. “Dr. Choi, I’d like very much to know why we’re here.” 

“Well, the doctor here had an idea,” Yunho gestured to the shorter male. “We figured out that you’re all suspects so we invited you all here. The one that didn’t show up was our man, or woman.” 

“But unfortunately all of you did show up,” Jongho pointed out. “So that lets the police out of the party. Lt. Jeong, you can go now.” 

Yunho nodded, bidding them goodbye as he left the apartment. Yeosang stepped out of the way as soon as he set down the last of the drinks. “Well, I guess we can all go now,” San sat up.  

“Oh please don’t go now, we’re such a nice, cozy little group” Miyoung said. 

“I’ll tell you what, I’ve got something that would interest you, all of you,” Jongho suggested, eyeing each and every one of them. He immediately noticed some tension between Mrs. Park and San. “How would you like to see some pictures?” 

“Right here in the house?” San asked. 

“I think you might be interested. You’re all racing people and I’ve got some good track scenes. I think you’ll enjoy this a lot.” 

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Miyoung appeared with a tray of canapes to serve them. 

“Alright, Yeosang! Turn on the machine,” Jongho called out, switching off the lights in the living room. A whirring of the projector later and a video reel flashed on the space above the mantle. 

“That’s today’s race,” Mrs. Park pointed out. “In the paddock. There’s Illusion!” 

“And there’s Wave,” Seonghwa sat up, putting down his champagne glass. 

“Exactly. Which is what you’re really here to see,” Jongho observed their expressions. “I still think one of you is guilty and today one of you planned another coup. Again, one of you tried to murder Illusion’s jockey. We’ve proven that Lee Taeyong was murdered, and the same method was tried on Lee Jeno this afternoon. The murder was committed by placing a capsule on the jockey’s body, containing a black widow spider. The heat of his body melted the capsule, the spider was released to bite the jockey, and the murder was completed. In just a moment, you’ll see the murderer himself just before the race, putting the capsule on the jockey’s back” He looked back at the movie. “Isn’t that you up there, Mr. Song? Leaning against the wall.” 

“Yes, yes, I went in for a moment,” Mingi replied. 

“But he was nowhere near Jeno, isn’t he?” Miyoung was also watching the events. “Oh, Mr. Choi San,” She noticed the man shown near the jockey. “But he’s putting his hand on spike’s shoulder.” 

“Hey, hey, wait a minute, don’t try and pin anything on me,” San glared at them. “Mrs. Park has her hand on Jeno’s shoulder now!” He pointed. 

“I didn’t put anything!” Mrs. Park panicked. 

“Mrs. Park, you really didn’t, it’s alright!” Jongho said, noticing the commotion that was ensuing among their guests the more they watched. “Mr. Park! His hand is on Jeno’s shoulder and now on the back! Lights!” He called out as the movie was over. 

Miyoung quickly turned the lights back on and the whole room was silent. One seat was unoccupied. “Who’s out?” She asked. 

“I’m over here, doctor.” 

They turned, getting up when they saw Seonghwa standing by the door with a gun in his hand. “I was leaving but I noticed your friends were still outside. Now if you’ll all just move down to that end of the room please. I’ve got you covered, that’s fine.” 

Their hands were in the air. Jongho and Miyoung stood in their places. All of them were frozen. “So it was you, Mr. Park,” The doctor said quietly. 

“Yes. Congratulations, Dr. Choi, it’s very clever of you but you slipped up on one point, the motive,” Seonghwa said coldly. “I wanted to ruin you, Choi San, because I knew what you’ve done to me. You took away the only thing in the world I cared for, and I fixed every race there was until you lost every single won you owned.” 

“But I swear, Seonghwa! That was over!” Mrs. Park pleaded. 

Seonghwa aimed his gun at San. “I’m going to kill you, San, and you too, my dear wife, and you too, Dr. Choi, for your inquisitiveness.” 

“I don’t think you’re going to kill anyone with that, it’s loaded with blanks,” Jongho pointed at the gun. 

“Oh yeah? We’ll see, I hope that statue over there isn’t valuable,” Seonghwa aimed at the bust nearby and pulled the trigger. Jongho immediately jumped in to stop him, the doors opening as Yunho, including San and Mingi joined in the fray to take Seonghwa down. 

Miyoung reached for the nearest vase by the table in an attempt to knock Seonghwa out, only to get Jongho on the back of the head and making him fall over. “Oh, oh, I made a mistake, I’m so sorry Jongho” She frowned, patting the male’s unconscious form.. 

“What happened to him?” Yunho asked, as the other police officers escorted Seonghwa out of the room. 

“I was supposed to hit Seonghwa with the vase and I made a mistake,” She was on the verge of tears. “Jongho darling- oh no, look at the bump.” 

~ 

Miyoung carefully appeared in the living room later that evening as both of them had gotten dressed for bed. Jongho was still on the couch, with a bag of ice in one hand and the side of his head covered in bandages  “You look awfully cute, Jongho, I like the bandage,” She said, sitting down next to him. 

“Thanks,” He grumbled. 

“The bow looks wonderful.” 

“What bow?” Jongho could only look at her without moving his head too much. 

“On the bandage, on top of your head. It was my idea.” 

“Yes, I imagine it was. No one else would bother with it.” 

“Well, now what about us getting married?” She asked. 

He sighed, putting ice over the part of his head that had the bump. “Miyoung I wouldn’t walk across this room. Any other time I’d be glad to but tonight I wouldn’t walk across this room to marry you.” 

“Then would you walk halfway across this room?” Her expression turned hopeful. 

“Now you’re just kidding me.” 

“Yes or no, Jongho. Would you?” She gently smoothed his hair. “Halfway?” 

“Well, alright,” He shakily got up, Miyoung holding onto his arm to support him. “Just to prove that the age of gallantry isn’t dead. I’ll walk halfway.” 

“Alright, follow me,” She gently led him a few feet away from the couch. “Yeosang, start the movie!” 

“Very good, madam!” Yeosang called out from their little projection booth.

To Jongho’s surprise, the movie showed a judge. “That’s another idea of mine. He’s a real justice of the peace,” Miyoung smiled at him, linking their arms together as she held him up. 

“My friends, we are all gathered here today to celebrate this man and this woman in the state of matrimony,” The judge began. “Do you, Choi Miyoung, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

“I do,” Miyoung beamed. 

“And do you, Choi Jongho, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” 

“I do, and may heaven have mercy on my soul,” Jongho sighed and Miyoung kissed him.