#also the free speech debate is a trap is a good one

[fallingbuthotthewholetime]

when there is an ad on the side of an article the model becomes the author to me. rihanna is telling me about the myth of the free speech crisis. breaking dishes.

[warningsine]

Teodoro Petkoff, one of the founders of Venezuela’s Movimiento Al Socialismo in the 1970s, once said to my family: “I didn’t divorce Stalin to marry Chavez.” Not all socialists followed his example. Today, part of the global debate about Venezuela illustrates one of the greatest ironies of the post-Cold War landscape: the international left has not evolved in their readings of Latin American politics since Henry Kissinger led the U.S. foreign policy and the South American dictatorships executed Plan Condor. 

A vast majority of advocates for human rights and decolonial struggles are convinced that the White House has a direct hand in the Venezuelan “situation,” trapped in an U.S.-centered tunnel vision as blinding and harmful as the American exceptionalism revered by conservatives.

The easy trick of 1960s jargon

Just like his mentor Fidel Castro, Hugo Chavez was intelligent at designing the international image of the Bolivarian regime. The famous 2006 UN speech where he calls George W. Bush “the devil,” dramatically referencing smells of sulfur on the United Nations’ podium, marked the international conscience. Still reposted today, that speech cemented the regime in the international left’s mind as “a lighthouse in the neoliberal night,” in the words of a Paris-based Venezuelan analyst. The international left (American in particular) has ignored a hard truth: even authoritarians can have good points. Especially when these good points are such an effective smokescreen. 

Let us dissipate the smoke then. The success of the Chavista manipulation is displayed in all its glory by the media outlet The People’s Forum, which garnered a worrying 90k views on X (formerly Twitter) after uploading a video on the 31st of July declaring that Maria Corina Machado is a “far-right fascist leader.” This hinges on two main pieces of evidence: she met once George W. Bush in Washington DC, and she pleaded in 2018 for Benjamin Netanyahu to carry out a military intervention in Venezuela. The video then moves on to say that the people in Venezuela are engaged in a “socialist people-first process, that stands for a free Palestine.” It finishes by stating that the Maduro government has sent “so much” aid to Palestine, without providing evidence other than the government’s word.

María Corina Machado is being demonized by the international left for doing what their revolutionary leaders have always done: compromise with international actors to achieve a domestic goal. 

The same people who are outraged at her meeting with Bush do not express outrage over Chavez calling Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the Iranian President who has openly denied the systematic extermination of the European Jews by the Nazi regime, his brother and comrade. The same international left that has, rightfully so, made the fight against negationism a pivotal aspect of their defense of Palestinian people. But all flies in fights when it comes to echoing someone who knows how to talk against American imperialism, as Chavez did by reframing the old tropes of the 1960s. 

What of the prolonged association of the Chavez and Maduro regimes with China? Xi Jinping also met with George W. Bush in 2008, before arriving to power, but he does not get the same level of scrutiny for having risen to prominence after meeting with the conservative president, and he has been denounced as responsible for the ongoing genocide of the Uyghurs, according to several human rights organizations. 

What of the unconditional support the Chavez and Maduro regimes have received from Vladimir Putin, who has been systematically called out for his instrumentalization of the suffering of what the left calls “the global majority” to disqualify the criticisms of his regime? Why are the associations with them morally acceptable? Hugo Chavez and Nicolas Maduro have successfully embarrassed the international left by trapping them in their own trap: US-centric analysis.

The decolonial bias

Falling into the same register as the decolonial left, why should the Venezuelan people who have suffered exodus, the return of eradicated diseases for lack of medicine (a threat to global health), energy cuts, controlled exits and entries, lack of consular services, as well as total erasure from the discourse on human rights violations, adapt to the American view of resistance? 

Why should the Venezuelan proletariat adapt to the international left’s (often privileged) view of global politics?

One of the central claims of the decolonial left in their support to Chavez is his insistence on indigenous rights. But legal and formal recognition of indigenous lands has not avoided the massive deforestation and the impact on native communities that the gold rush, led by the Maduro government, has caused on the Venezuelan Amazon, which would be a scandal to the international left if Bolsonaro’s Brazil was responsible for it. NGOs focused on social justice and the environment have extensively reported human rights abuses such as human slavery, human trafficking, and mass killings in the hands of soldiers and guerrillas or gangs allied with the Maduro regime. 

Venezuelan academics who remain in the country, such as Maria Eugenia Grillet, have said that “illegal gold mining seems to be promoted by a certain part of the state, by corruption, by unregulated illicit activities—and by the political, economic and social crisis of the country.” The case of the Mining Arc decreed by Maduro assembles everything the decolonial current craves to denounce: exploitation, pollution, expropriation of common goods for private and illegal profits, as well as corruption in government that exploits the poor and makes the rich richer, all while representing an “existential threat” to indigenous groups.

We are praised when we get tear-gassed in Paris for fighting for our social rights, but Venezuelan protesters are called agents of US-imperialism when they do it for our human rights. How can the international left claim to be behind a regime that embraced, since their 1999 constitutional project, military rule as default? How can the international left claim to be behind a regime whose only stance on the Palestinian issue has been to instrumentalize for appearance’s sake? Populations who today are falling prey to the once-eradicated diseases, in an eerily similar fashion to the Venezuelan’s population descent into a public health disaster. Common struggles of oppressed populations are a leitmotif of decolonial struggles, how can the international left continue to support a regime that has pushed its population to, as Paula Vasquez Lezama used to say “a war-like domestic situation without the war” ?

The international left claims to support a regime that deprived its people of basic resources such as a quality education, good quality public healthcare, and that stands behind criminalized abortion? There is no coherence in supporting a ruler that stands for the creation of special prisons for protestors, calling them “reeducation farms”. Does the international left have such poor standards for its leadership that it will accept foreign policy over domestic affairs? Note to authoritarians: one good enough speech at the UN buys you twenty years of good faith.

These questions are eating Venezuelans alive and are pushing them to reactionary politics, breeding movements that the same American left does not understand, such as why there are there MAGAzuelans in Florida. Because the Venezuelan population is left as prey to other authoritarianisms, who see their screams in the void as a political opportunity.

For the last time, the situation in Venezuela isn't a left vs. right thing, it's a dictatorship vs. democracy thing.

Maduro is responsible for more politically motivated murders than Pinochet ffs.

[toshootforthestars]

What everyone knows on some level, I think, is that speech has the power to incite action because speech itself is already a material act. Yes, anti-Zionism is an idea, not a rock; but if it were only an idea, without any practical potential, then there would be no point in throwing it. The difference right now is that, given the tremendous political and ideological instability introduced by the war, a number of powerful people in America currently believe that talking about freeing Palestine could actually end up freeing Palestine, and it is this cascade of actions that they are ultimately trying to suppress. This tells us something very important: They are afraid.

The question is not whether intifada, which means “uprising” in Arabic and invokes both civil disobedience and violent resistance, is a threatening term; if it were not threatening, the House would never have convened an entire hearing about it. The only question is whether threatened parties — the Israeli apartheid regime, American foreign-policy hawks, all the board members and lobbyists and donors and hedge-fund managers — deserve to be threatened. They do. For as often as pro-Palestine speech is described as an existential menace to Jews in Israel and across America, our major newspapers are saturated with equally plausible incitements to violence — for that, my friends, is what it means to support a war. The difference is that when the New York Times editorial board defends the bombardment of Gaza or urges lawmakers to send Israel more Hellfire missiles, this may not look like incitement because the violence in question is endorsed by the White House, funded by Congress, and normalized by the media. There is no denying that this is an American war, even if there are no American boots on the ground. The House recently approved a resolution declaring that all anti-Zionism is antisemitism. This was truly disturbing on First Amendment grounds: It suggested that the government really might try to abridge the freedom of speech on grounds of sedition, as wartime governments have been known to do — including Israel, whose occupying military forces have restricted the free-speech rights of Palestinians in the name of “public order” for decades. Now it so happens that the remarks which the 92nd Street Y originally commissioned me to deliver last week would have concerned the freedom of the press. I would have directed the Y’s patrons to a short essay published in 1784 by the philosopher Immanuel Kant called “What Is Enlightenment?” I believe it is one of the most important things ever written about freedom of speech. In the essay, Kant argues that the citizens of an enlightened society have an obligation to fulfill the duties of their civil posts (soldier, priest, tax man); yet as moral beings, they must also be free to engage in the “public use of reason,” above all by publishing their criticisms of that society. Accordingly, an enlightened despot will understand that “there is no danger to his legislation in allowing his subjects to use reason publicly and to set before the world their thoughts concerning better formulations of his laws.” For the enlightened citizen, Kant provides a curious slogan: “Argue as much as you want and about what you want, but obey!” There is a very simple, very potent idea here: Freedom of speech, when elevated to the status of a moral good, is just another name for thoughtful obedience. Under such a rule, the right of everyone to disagree is protected as long as the state’s authority to limit action is respected. This way, the state may ensure that conflicts of value never turn into contests of value; it blesses us with the freedom to argue about morality on the condition that we never decide who is right. Kant’s foremost goal, after all, was to minimize the possibility of what he called the “worst, most punishable crime in a community” — namely, revolution. This was his diagnosis of the French Revolution, which in his estimation had proceeded all too quickly from intellectual freedom to bloody action.

I am not advocating violence, though I understand why others on the pro-Palestine left might. What I am advocating is continued hostility. One cannot escape the irony that when the liberal begs us to stop shouting each other down and tolerate a diversity of viewpoints, he is essentially calling for a cease-fire in the culture war. This is as far as free speech gets us: It asks us to have greater moral concern for the sanctity of ideas than for the lives of the Palestinian people. Bomb a hospital, and you are making a calculated strike on a military target; but try to kill an idea, and you are betraying democracy. This is why seeking “higher ground,” as the champions of free speech urge us to do, will only perpetuate the illusion that we are in yet another empty argument that can be safely contained by liberal norms; we will become so preoccupied with the integrity of the forest that we forget about the actual trees. So let the left say that freedom of speech is a public good, like a health-care system: an essential element of a just society that is also regularly subject to abuse, fraud, corruption, and the private interests of the wealthy. When this abuse happens, as it is happening now, we oppose it because we believe that freedom of speech without justice is like a planet without air. We do not protest the war on Gaza because we have an abstract right to do so; we protest it because it is one of the great moral atrocities of our lifetimes and because the widespread refusal to admit this in America is an atrocity in its own right. We are not just speaking; we are fighting with words. And we are fighting to win.

Andrea Long Chu: The Free-Speech Debate Is a Trap

NY Magazine / 22 Dec 2023

[mariposasuelta]

So let the left say that freedom of speech is a public good, like a health-care system: an essential element of a just society that is also regularly subject to abuse, fraud, corruption, and the private interests of the wealthy. When this abuse happens, as it is happening now, we oppose it because we believe that freedom of speech without justice is like a planet without air. We do not protest the war on Gaza because we have an abstract right to do so; we protest it because it is one of the great moral atrocities of our lifetimes and because the widespread refusal to admit this in America is an atrocity in its own right. We are not just speaking; we are fighting with words. And we are fighting to win.

[gh0stk1ng-him]

The current main society in our world/reality seems to influence and be influenced mainly by using music, sound and the available frequency channels that us as (earth) humans understand and rely on in order to perceive and communicate with the universe - how many times has a song, words, a poem, or even a speech helped you understand something about life, your past, future and your present situations? - if the answer to this question for you is zero, then I’m curious about the kind of life you live, must be opposing the one I’ve lived (I’m open to speak about it if you are…), if not and you’ve attentively experienced this aspect of the universe and your life, then you definitely must have an idea of the power of beautiful sounds (lies by a a hunter, romantic songs that sweep us off our feet, the sad or angry songs that relate just how we’re feeling, and the pastor’s worship song when we just need an answer in life and our present situations)

If you’ve experienced this impact by the frequencies and are aware of the impact of the world unto you , then you must also know that there are people who, like you, also understand this and take advantage of their knowledge to profit their chosen purpose (course) in the universe and have influenced or thinks of influencing the frequencies/sounds that come to your ear. Songs, pastors or social media messages, even the jokes or humour you experience, the words the thirst traps have in them (just a snippet of a song? Pay attention to the words), we’re constantly influenced with these sounds that another human desire to use to impact the universe in his/her own way, whether good or bad (good and evil doesn’t exist in my opinion, just actions, their consequence, and the probability of random actions) are always out there.

Do you indulge and try to keep an handle on how you want your life to go, by limit your range of influence? Do you just enjoy the pastures and hope that you subconsciously make the right choice? Do you believe that your fate has already been decided so you just hope that whatever you’re exposed to is necessary for the life you need in this world, or did you grab fate by your hands and decided to play this game without any frequency distraction (as hard as life without music probably is, I love the incantations in songs and soothing poems and stories) ?

Let’s chat, listen to the podcast for some nice topics or feel free to suggest new ones (will add a link in the bio… this is The Ghost Hour blog by the Gh0STk!ng himself, I’ll be reposting enticing images and attach an opinionated new caption that I hope people can relate or debate with. Let’s get out of the norm🙃

[dystopiandilfs]

I love dsmp Tommy and his storyline but recently he's been pissing me off a bit. This is purely my opinion nobodies forcing you to agree or disagree. Please for the love of everything don't use him being a minor as an excuse unless you're going to also use it for Tubbo, Ranboo and Purpled (Also Sapnap, Niki and Jack who are still young as well).

DISCLAIMER: This is negative towards Tommy's DSMP character not Tommy as a person. It's all my opinion and you don't have to agree. This is just my thoughts that I decided to share after having multiple asks for a Tommy character analysis and my opinion on his character. (I put them together) If you disagree that's fine. If you want to debate some opinions that's fine (I know people are going to argue about the character growth) There's a TLDR at the end for those who want it

He's dismissive of everyone else's issues, he gets mad at people not asking if he's okay but the ones who do ask he gets mad at them for asking, he's started to act like he's the only one with the tramua and issues.

For example he's gone on rants about how nobody knows what it's like to die like Wilbur, Schlatt, Mexican Dream and Jack Manifold are right there. Also he literally dismissed Jack who was trying to sympathize with him as he'd also lost his canon lives and come back to life. But then later got mad that Jack was acting like Tommy hadn't died and nothing had changed even after he said he was sick of being treated differently.

He's always treated Tubbo like shit and when Tubbo exiled him to protect L'manberg he got mad saying he'd never do the same thing to Tubbo and he'd fight Dream over complying with him. Even after everyone told Tommy why he was being exiled he still said they were doing it because they're scared of Dream. Like that's not the one person he fears the most.

Tommy's disagreements and fights have always been him projecting his own issues onto other people then getting mad at said issues because they don't help him.

For example Tommy and Techno betrayed eachother but the only reason Tommy was mad was because he thought Techno used him even though he was the one who moved into Techno's, used his supplies and used his strength to get his confiscated items back from Tubbo and Fundy even though he had previously said he knows he can just ask Tubbo. From the start Techno made it clear his plan was to destroy L'manberg and said Tommy could leave when he wanted to. Yes Techno was also at fault especially with his whole "I'm a person" speech he said to the other people.

He got mad when Ranboo and Tubbo told him that he couldn't live in their mansion with them saying he couldn't be part of it because he was locked in prison. He basically said it was Tubbos fault that Tommy wasn't involved in the mansion because he didn't get Tommy out of prison.

In my honest opinion Tommy's lore and storyline dropped drastically in quality after the disc saga ended which is why I think it was such a long story purely because without the storyline Tommy has nothing to go off of. Nothing against Tommy but I don't think he could have his own storyline without having a big part being Dream, Techno or Wilbur. None of his arcs have ever been just him and he's the only character to not have a solo arc. If you watch anyone elses perspective at least once they've had this thing of Tommy being a "villain". He's not really had a character growth. He went from being obsessed with discs, to being obsessed with killing Dream. His biggest character trait is stealing and starting fights and it always has been. Where's the growth?

That's why in my opinion his storyline lack flavour compared to a lot of others. I'm not wanting him to have prerecorded bits or fancy overlays that's got nothing to do with it. I like Tommy's scuffed camera and soundboard music ambiance changer. But he's just not changed at much if at all as a character like we don't see Dream's perspective but you can still see a huge character shift and growth.

If I was to change anything for Tommy's character what would I change? First off Therapy to talk out his feelings, secondly I'd have him stop stealing everything but to ask instead or at least steal and replace or exchange (he's got 40+ diamond blocks he can use to exchange). Third I'd have him talk to Jack Manifold and Punz. Jack for the similarly of Death and because they're similar characters in terms of tramua and Punz because he "betrayed" Dream and was the one who was closest and knew him the best. Punz would know Dream's secrets which would be better ammo against Dream compared to running in swinging.

Like I said I like cc Tommy and I used to love dsmp Tommy but recently dsmp Tommy has done nothing but annoyed me.

Also to add on after the Ghostbur/Wilbur stream.

He blames Sam for Ghostbur being killed and Wilbur being revived even though he's the one that broke the rules, tried to sneak into the prison and used Ghostbur as a way to do it. Sam should have killed Tommy as that's literally what he's supposed to do but he let Tommy run free. Ghostbur died because Tommy tunnelvisioned Dream and prioritised his death over everything else including Sam's trust and everyone's safety.

Dream told Tommy that Wilbur was getting revived but for some reason still thought it was a good idea to bring a part of Wilbur within Dream's range. Like how do you think you got revived? He used your ghost that was trapped in prison to revive you he's going to obviously use Ghostbur to revive Wilbur.

Not forgetting that Tommy drank next to Sam and was messing with things making Sam suspicious then proceeded to pull out the axe where Sam could still very clearly see him. Like don't blame Sam for your stupid idea. You used Ghostbur and he died because of your actions and already your throwing the blame onto Sam who already feels like shit for your death, feels bad for Ranboo even though he doesn't know the whole story, probably feels a lot emotions about letting Quackity torture Dream. All Sam was doing is following prison rules. His only goal is to keep Dream alive and in prison and to stop anything or kill anyone that gets in his way.

TLDR: Dsmp Tommy is a bland character who has experienced little to no growth. He also struggles to have a good storyline on his own which I do think cc Tommy can do he just hasn't. I think his character is very hypocritical and often projects onto others. Give him some therapy please

[onlyfreds]

Blue Skies and Calm Waves | F.W.

Title: Blue Skies and Calm Waves

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: Fred and Y/N return to the beach where they first confessed their feelings. Fred will be trying his luck at something else.

Warning/s: alludes to sex, mention of crashing a car into a tree

A/N: This is basically part 2 for “Sand and Sea” because I couldn’t help myself

Part 1

“Well, with the holidays coming up, why don’t we go to the beach?” Ginny suggested as all of us nodded in agreement.

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Hermione said, “It’s been a while since we last went to the beach.”

“Is it the same beach we went to last time?” Fred asked, he and Ginny exchanging a look I couldn’t exactly read.

“Yep.” The youngest Weasley confirmed, “The exact same one.” She said, giving a subtle wink to her brother.

“So, when are we leaving?” George asked, clasping his hands together.

Ginny smiled, “The best time to go would be next week.”

--

“Is that everything we need?” I ask as Fred and I finish packing our stuff for the trip.

Fred nodded, “Yes, that’s everything.” Then he wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing his chest against my back, “Unless I can also stuff you into the suitcase.” He joked as I smacked his arm.

“Hey, just because you’re taller than me, doesn’t mean I’m that tiny.” I said.

I glanced at the clock that was in our room, we needed to be at the Burrow in ten minutes.

“Freddie,” I said, stepping out of his grasp, “as much as I want to keep on cuddling with you, we need to be at the Burrow in ten or else your sister will never let us hear the end of it.”

He pouted, “Fine.”

We then took our bags and immediately apparated to the Burrow.

“Thank goodness!” Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as she engulfed Fred and I into a hug, “I thought you two were going to be late.”

Fred chuckled, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world sis.”

“What are we waiting for then?” George asked, “Let’s go!”

As the boys loaded the bags into the Ford Anglia we were taking, Hermione asked, “Who’s driving?”

Ginny smiled as she threw the keys at me, “Y/N is! She’s the only one I can trust who won’t crash the car into a tree.”

I laughed, “Wow, thanks Gin!”

I then climbed into the driver’s seat, the rest of the group following suit, Fred sitting next to me.

Fred held my free hand the whole journey, rubbing his thumb along the back.

The beach was a bit far from the Burrow so it was a long hour drive.

It was around late afternoon, George and Ginny were debating about the latter’s latest Quidditch match, Hermione was reading a new book that she got while Ron and Harry were both asleep.

I noticed that Fred was a bit quieter than usual, I managed a quick glance at him, “Hey Freddie, is there anything wrong? You seem quiet.” I asked.

He shook his head, offering a reassuring smile, “Everything’s fine Princess.”

“You sure?” I said.

He nodded, leaning slightly and pressing a kiss on my cheek, “Positive.”

After few more long hours later, we arrived at the beach and were able to get settled into our rooms.

“You know what I just realized?” I said, as I sat down on the edge of the bed.

“What?” Fred asked, coming out of the kitchen.

I smiled, “This was the exact same room we slept in the last time we were here.”

His eyes widened before checking our hotel card, “You’re right.” He said with a small chuckle.

“Funny.” He said with a small smirk, resting his hands on the space by my side, trapping me in. “Since we are at the exact same beach where we first got together and we’re staying at the exact same room where we had to deal with the ‘one bed’ situation.”

I giggled, looking right into his eyes, “Yeah, I wonder if Ginny had anything to do with this.”

He licked his lips, “Who knows? Maybe Ginny isn’t the only one.” He said before leaning forward and capturing my lips into a hot kiss.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, laying back down onto the bed, bringing him down with me.

“Oh, you’re so in for it sweetheart.” He whispered as he trailed kisses down my neck, sucking on my sweet spot, “You might not be able to walk tomorrow once I’ve had my way with you.”

--

“Oh Merlin.” I groaned as I rubbed the remaining sleep out of my eyes, my body feeling a tad bit sore after last night’s adventure.

“Tired you out, didn’t I?” Fred asked, his morning voice laced with a bit of smugness as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer to his chest.

“Hm, A perfect ten out of ten.” I mumbled, burying my head into the crook of his neck.

He hummed, his fingers trailing down from my arms to my waist, “Ten out of ten? You always say that.”

I giggled, “That’s because you always manage to reach that and more.”

After cuddling for a bit longer, we went down to meet the others for breakfast.

The whole time we were walking, I was being careful with my legs and may or may not have a small limp in my step. To which Fred just smirked smugly at.

“Morning guys.” Fred and I greeted as we joined them at the table.

“Are you okay Y/N?” Hermione asked, looking a bit concerned.

Fred grinned, “She’s fine ‘Mione, she just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

George groaned, “That’s it, I don’t want to hear the rest of that story.”

The group bursted out into laughter, feeling my cheeks grow hot as I buried my head into Fred’s shoulder out of embarrassment.

After having breakfast and changing into our swimwear, we then headed down to the beach to go swimming.

Fred wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder, “You look absolutely sexy love.”

Ginny smacked Fred on the shoulder, “Hey! We came here to have fun. Not for you to seduce Y/N every single minute.”

She then looped her arm around mine, pulling me out of her brother’s gasp, “Now come on, let’s get away from that idiot.” She said with a small smile while George, Ron and Harry were laughing so hard as Fred glared daggers at them.

Ginny, Hermione and I were sitting in the sand, building a sand castle while the boys chased each other around in the water.

“So,” The youngest Weasley said, giving me a mischievous smile.

I looked at her, a bit confused, “So, what?”

She and Hermione exchanged silent message as the latter said, “Well, it’s been years since you and Fred first confessed your feelings, so, why not tie the knot already?”

I giggled, looking down, trying to hide a small smile, “Well, Fred hasn’t exactly proposed yet.”

“But, if he did, would you say ‘yes’?” Ginny asked.

‘Of course, I would.” I answered without hesitation, “Being with Fred has been the happiest memories of my life. I couldn’t imagine a future without him in it.”

I then raised a brow at the both of them, “Why suddenly the talk about a proposal?”

They laughed nervously, “Oh, nothing, we were just curious.”

I sensed that there was a lot more to the story than they were letting on. But I decided to let the matter drop.

--

“Princess, princess. Wake up.” Fred whispered, tapping my shoulder.

I pulled the covers higher, “What do you want Freddie? I’m still sleepy.”

“Please princess.” He pleaded, “I want to watch the sunrise.”

“Fred, we watch the sunrise almost all the time.”

“Yeah, but we rarely watch the sunrise at the beach.”

He kneeled down in front of me, giving me his best puppy dog eyes, “Please.”

I opened an eye to look at him, “Fine. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He sprang up from his position excitedly, stuffing me into one of his sweaters the moment I had got out of bed as he dragged me out of the room and down to the beach.

We sat down in the sand, while I rested my head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around my waist.

I am sure glad that Fred dragged me out to watch the sunrise, because it was the most beautiful one, I’ve ever seen.

As the brightest star in the Solar System painted to sky red and orange, Fred stood up as he gestured for me to do the same.

He smiled sheepishly, “I may or may not had a hidden agenda when I wanted to bring you out to watch the sunrise.”

I moistened my lips, “And that is?”

Fred pressed a kiss onto my forehead, before getting down on one knee, pulling out a small, velvet box and opening it to reveal a glimmering diamond ring.

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.

He started his speech, “Y/N L/N, you are the most amazing, the sexiest, the hottest, the kindest, the sweetest, and the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met. I have absolutely no idea how I manage to live my life before I met you. I messed up a lot of stuff in my life, but you were the one thing I got right. I’ve been indecisive a lot of times, but I am more than sure that I want to have my future with you, I want to grow old with you. I don’t ever want to let you go. I asked you to be my girlfriend on this exact spot years ago and you said yes. Now, I’m willing to try my luck again, will you give me this honor and marry me?”

The words died in my throat, I managed as small nod as Fred grinned, slipping the ring onto my ring finger before pulling me in for a kiss.

We pulled apart as Fred lifted me up and spun me around in a circle, “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

--

“You two are up early.” Harry said as we met the group at breakfast.

Fred then took a glass, dramatically tapping a spoon against it, causing everyone’s attention to be directed towards us.

“We have an announcement to make.” Fred said in a as a matter-of-fact tone.

“Will you hurry up because I’m hungry.” Ron said, causing Hermione to smack him on the arm.

“Y/N is no longer my girlfriend.” My fiancée said.

Everyone was stunned. Ginny was the first to break the silence, “You broke up with her? Why?”

Fred and I exchanged a look, trying hard not to smile, “That’s because,” he started to explain, “Y/N has been promoted to my fiancée.”

I grinned as I held up my left hand, the ring sitting proudly on my finger.

Everybody cheered as Ginny ran forward and engulfed me into a hug, the force enough to have me stumble backwards.

“I finally have a sister.” She said with a smile.

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@lumosandnoxwriting​ @wand3ringr0s3​ @famdomhideout​ @nova-darling @gaycatlord-stuff​  @pandaxnienke​ @escapingrealitybyreading​​ (If you are crossed out, that means I can’t tag you)

[mourntheantagonist]

Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone!! It’s Finally the Day to share my piece for the @harringroveheart-on !! (If you didn’t already see it posted on ao3 yesterday)I went with the prompt: secret admirer!! enjoy some flangst and have a wonderful day whether you celebrate the holiday or not!! ❤️

Fortunately

read on ao3

***

Billy needs a job.

He’s two months fresh out of the hospital but that doesn’t matter. The local pool was closed for the winter and Neil was adamant that he get out and find work as soon as he was able to walk, despite the fact that he could only do so for only short periods at a time.

And he’s forced to take what he can get. January wasn’t the best time of year to be looking for work in Hawkins. He told himself he’d apply at any place with a help wanted sign displayed in their window. And he did. Application after application. Stellar fucking resume. The only problem was that not many people were looking to hire on the guy who looked just minutes away from death each time they saw him. Didn’t want to put the guy with the hideous scars and the sickly frame in front of customers. Though, they’d usually let him off with the same similar speech about how he “just wasn’t what they were looking for.”

Luckily for Billy, there was one place that was just as desperate as he was. Li’s Kitchen. The local Chinese restaurant that had just needed to make several layoffs to keep themselves from closing. They quickly hired him on to wash dishes in the back because he was ready and willing to work for minimum wage. Making just $3.35 an hour, it was enough and at least it got Neil off of his back.

So he’d haul his ass into work every day on the dot. Walking the full half-mile distance through snowy paths to the restaurant since the Camaro was still out of commission. Trudging along, praying he didn’t slip because his ribs were still fragile and just a simple impact of a good fall could break them again. The walk was simply exhausting. By the time he’d enter through those double doors and set off the bell hung above, he’d be completely out of breath and exhausted and his shift hadn’t even started yet. But fortunately it was just washing dishes. How hard could it be?

Apparently. Pretty fucking hard for a guy who could hardly stand up straight. The heat radiating from the hot steam of the water making him lightheaded almost instantaneously. The boiling hot water against his arms and hands sending him back to those days flayed out in the sun as the ultraviolet rays burned through the skin. The liquid dripping from his face that he couldn’t differentiate from steam or sweat taking him back to the sauna. Feeling his insides heat up and burn like fire inside his gut. Trapped in a prison that was his own body. He just wanted to crawl into a bucket of ice.

His only saving grace was that this time it was winter, and he wasn’t actually flayed. Just overheated and weak. He'd take his breaks behind the restaurant digging his feet into deep snow and letting the chill breeze cool him down. Lighting up a cigarette to get his body to an equilibrium of hot and cold. But the good feeling only lasted as long as he stood outside, immediately getting the same sick to his stomach feeling as soon as he walked back in. Hunched over the sink in the kitchen just trying to move fast enough and stay standing.

He figured he was lucky enough to get the job, that he couldn’t afford to disappoint, because then he’d be entirely out of options. Unemployed and still stuck under his father’s roof on Cherry Lane, this time accompanied by a deeper rage. If Billy didn’t have a job to get to, Neil would have no reason to hold back anything. No reason not to leave bruises or cuts. But it was getting harder and harder as the days progressed. Never enough time in the day to rest and recover enough to brave the next one. He was running on borrowed energy and excessive amounts of caffeine.

There came a moment when he nearly passed out into the sink full of porcelain plates. His breathing became shallow as his vision got blurry and dark. His head spun and his balance faltered and he needed a fucking drink of water.

One of the servers caught him just before he was about to go down. A man older than him but not by much. Same build as him before the accident but easily with an additional five inches on him. Billy was probably at least ten pounds lighter now that a bulk of his muscle had wasted away in that hospital bed. Making him easy to catch.

“You look like shit hargrove.” is what the man says, but Billy barely registers it because everything is muffled. The sounds of running water into the metal sink being the loudest noise he can hear. The man tosses one of Billy's arms over his shoulder and hauls him into the break room. Billy’s doing exactly zero of the work. Letting his legs fall limp and his feet drag against the tile floor. He sits him down in one of the metal chairs and hands him a small cup of water from the jug. “Drink you’re dehydrated” he says, tilting the bottom of the cup upwards so that it’s forced into Billy's mouth and down his throat. “The dinner rush is almost out, I’ll take care of the rest of the dishes, you just stay in here and try not to pass out again, sound like a plan?”

Billy nods his head and drinks the rest of the water in the cup before letting his head fall into his hands and his eyes fall shut as he tries to regain his composure. Cool himself down and slow his heart rate.

By the time his coworker — Zachary, he remembers — comes back into the break room he’s better. Not quite ready to get back to the sink and the hot steam cloud that comes with his job, but better.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten kid?” Kid. Sounds really odd coming from someone who could be no older than thirty.

“I had toast this morning.” Billy hadn’t actually been eating much lately. Not finding the time in the day to sit down to have a meal in between work and recovering from said work. His hours conflicted with family dinner so he was left to fend for himself. Neil made it very clear that what was in the cupboards did not belong to him. So all he had to his name was a single loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter.

“Well guess what. It’s closing time and you’re not leaving here without a meal. So go sit down at one of the tables and pick anything you want from the menu.” Does Billy have pride? Yes. But is his stomach turning and his mouth watering at just the thought of some orange chicken? Also yes. So instead of arguing with him about how he can take care of himself, which is debatable at this point, he just says thank you and finds himself a table in the corner. He doesn’t expect Zachary to follow him all the way there and sit down right across from him.

“Don’t worry about paying. My dad will cook it up for free.”

Oh right. Zachary Li... The owner’s son.

And suddenly things went from awkward to outright uncomfortable for Billy. Because he was sitting here eating dinner with another man who would be footing the bill. Sure, Zachary was just his coworker and in his mind the exchange had absolutely no weight to it, but to billy it was so fucking heavy. The thought of Neil barging in to see the display and not giving two seconds to read the situation before he started throwing punches. Because it didn’t matter if it was a date or just dinner with a coworker. If it looked a certain way, then that’s how it was.

But the other thing was he couldn’t just get up now. Not without an explanation. So he sucked it up and said he’d have the orange chicken, earning a scowl followed by a laugh and a nod because of course he’d order that and none of the authentic chinese food dishes. But then he ordered the same thing because they both have fallen victim to american colonization.

And chef Li made a damn good orange chicken.

And this one did not disappoint. But it’s not like he really had the chance to taste it since he was too busy inhaling it. Finishing his entire plate before Zachary had even made a dent. And Billy was slightly embarrassed by it. But zachary said nothing. Just continued with his own meal without acknowledging that Billy had scarfed his own down in no time at all. Making other dry conversation with Billy and constantly refilling his water glass with the pitcher every time it got below half full.

When he’s just about finished is when chef Li brings out a small plate with fortune cookies sitting on top, one for each of them. They each take their own and crack them open.

“What’s it say? I got an inch of time is an inch of gold for the thousandth time. I swear elizabeth is getting lazy with these”

Billy looks down at his, and can’t help but laugh.

“A beautiful, smart, and loving person will be coming into your life.”

Hahaha. Hilarious.

“Well then we better hope that these things come true. Though I have a lot of time and have not seen any gold fall into my lap yet.” he laughs and pops the cookie into his mouth, Billy does the same. “Hey dad, you gonna open one?”

“Sure.” he says. Pulling one from the container in the back and breaking it open quite aggressively. “Allow compassion to guide your decisions. Boring.”

They both just laugh. But then Zachary gets this weird look in his eyes. “Hey dad? What if Billy made the fortune cookies instead?”

“Who would wash the dishes?”

Zachary just shot him a look. Yeah, Billy's medical condition and clear exhaustion didn’t go unnoticed by the staff. That must have been what that look meant.

“Read that fortune again, Dad.”

He looks down at the slip of the paper in his hand and almost instantly tosses it to the floor.

“You’re a pain in my ass Zach. alright then Billy, you available in the mornings? I can have Elizabeth show you the ropes tomorrow and if you’re any good you won’t have to wash dishes anymore. That will be my ungrateful son's job.”

“Hey-“

“No ‘hey’ nothing. Have compassion, remember?” he swats Zach with the towel that hung over his shoulder.

Billy just stayed silent for the whole exchange. Only nodding his head when asked if he was free in the mornings. He wanted to tell them to fuck off. To tell them he could do his job perfectly fine. A bold faced lie, but still. However, he also recognized that he couldn’t continue the way he was going. He was three shifts away from an ambulance ride to the emergency room, and that would just piss off Neil further.

So instead of speaking up, he silently agreed, and suddenly found himself walking the same distance he did every day, this time at seven in the morning when the rest of his house was still asleep. Another bonus. Less he had to see Neil, the better. And he’d be home in time for family dinner, the only meal he was welcome to join. And as much as he hated sitting across the table from his Dad, Susan's cooking served as a pleasant enough distraction.

Liz gladly showed him how to make the cookies. Constantly expressing how much she hated making them and is happily giving up the job to billy. That didn’t make him feel too great about it.

But then it really wasn’t bad. Just tedious. Slightly boring and mindless. Made his hands ache after a couple hours of folding the fortunes and squeezing out the batter, but it was ten times less painful than doing the dishes. He got to make them while sitting down at a table before the place even opened. No crowded kitchen or hot running water. The only heat he experienced came from opening and closing the oven, and that only happened for seconds at a time.

And the best part.

He got to make the fortunes.

Typing out several sheets of sample fortunes on a typewriter, cutting them into slips using the paper guillotine. It was definitely strange they never bothered to check his work. They had way too much trust in a guy like Billy to write fortunes. Free will to throw anything in there.

Did he ever veer away from the script posted to the wall? No. But the fact that he could was so funny to him.

He never once considered he would actually want to throw something else into those fortune cookies, until that first tuesday in the middle of his shift right as they opened for lunch and he saw a familiar figure enter through the glass doors into the restaurant. Bell chiming behind him. Craning his head upwards so he could get a closer look he recognizes Steve, picking up a to-go order still wearing the dark green family video vest. Steve didn’t even notice him. Just grabbed his white paper bag, dropped the bill on the counter, and walked out the door. Flashing a smile at Liz who was up running the counter.

But Billy, he saw Steve. He stared at Steve for the duration of his time in the store because he was totally and completely whipped. Totally entranced for long enough that the cookies he was folding had already hardened, and Zach was giving him a weird look when Billy visibly shook at the sound of the bell chiming for the second time, pulling him from the trance.

“So harrington, huh? He’s your fortune?”

Billy got all wide eyed and jerked his head to the right to look at him. Completely zoned out and unprepared to defend himself, instead just stuttering out a string of nonsensical “I”s and “no”s and “it’s not”s. Failing miserably to get the lies past his tongue.

“Relax dude. I don’t really give a shit. Elizabeth, however, might. Girl doesn’t stop talking my ear off about you.”

But that just goes in one ear and out the other. Billy still continues to stutter out as best of a denial he can but his heart is racing, his stomach is churning, his palms are sweating, and the cookies are burning!

“Shit.” it’s the first full sentence he’s been able to get out. Rushing over to the oven and pulling out the hot pan of nearly completely blackened circles.

And Zach is just standing there laughing. Waving the smoke out of his face as Billy tries to blow out the miniature fire he caused on one of the cookies.

“Still gonna try and deny it?” he says.

“Fuck off. Seriously.”

Zach just backs away. Hands in the air. “Okay, okay. I’ll mind my own business. Lover boy.”

Billy promptly tosses one of the finished cookies at his face. “Whatever you think you saw. Keep it to your fucking self, alright?”

“Got it. Loud and clear.” But he’s still fucking giggling and Billy is currently contemplating murder. Eyes darting to the array of knives in close reach. Shakes the feeling. Killing the boss's son probably wouldn’t look good on evaluation.

Did he tell anyone? No. Did he tease billy relentlessly about it every fucking day. Of course he fucking did. Especially on days Steve walked into the restaurant for a to-go order. Nudging him in the arm with a little “Guess who’s here?” in a sing-songy voice.

And to think Billy thought having someone know and not crucify him would be a good thing. He'd rather he just hate crime him behind the restaurant instead of the constant, and I mean constant, ribbing.

Eventually moving on from teasing behind the wall of the kitchen to suggesting he go out and take the payment to actually pushing him out the swinging doors to do it. “Talk him up Hargrove. Put on the moves.”

There were no moves. But there was a conversation. A good one. A nice one. They just talked about themselves and caught up. Not really seeing much of each other once he was out of the hospital. Only having seen Steve in passing on days he’d bring max by for visiting hours. But they never actually talked much during that time. He’d come up to the room with her saying “Thought it’d be nice to see another familiar face.”

And it was.

Billy was not paying much attention to this conversation. Answering Steve's questions and asking his own, but he was definitely distracted by how close their hands were to each other, both rested on the counter, supporting themselves. If you asked Billy after the conversation what they talked about, he could only recall two things. One; he works at family video, not really substantial. And two; he said he looked good.

“You look good Billy.”

Yup, Billy was completely gone.

So maybe the constant teasing wasn’t completely terrible. Especially now that he’s given him such a stupid stupid stupid idea that he’s one hundred percent going to go through with because it’s about fucking time he wrote some fortunes of his own. He had several typed out and ready to be placed into a cookie whenever they received another call for an order for ‘Harrington.’ The first one was innocent enough. Pulled straight off the list of sample fortunes.

“You always bring others happiness.”

Just something simple. He just saw it on the list and it made him smile. Thought it would be nice to see Steve smile too.

The next few were similar to that one. Pulled straight off of the list but tailored specifically toward Steve.

“You are working hard.”

“Have a beautiful day.”

“You look pretty.”

But that last one was different. Because on the back of the last one he wrote in ballpoint pen.

- The cookie maker ♡

And that’s when it became a thing that they were both aware of. Now it was a romantic gesture and not just an act of kindness or a series of coincidental fortunes. Now steve was on the lookout for who made the fortunes at Li’s kitchen, but at the same time trying to keep the mystery alive so that the fortunes would keep coming.

Billy started writing out his own.

“I like your hair.”

“You have a terrific ass.”

“Somebody’s got a crush on you.”

Zach wrote that last one.

Then they got deeper.

“You make me happy when I don’t think that’s possible.”

“You make the pain go away.”

Steve never failed to blush at each and every fortune with the signature heart on the back.

But it was dragging on. And Steve was getting impatient. Started to ask around, eventually learning that robin had seen Elizabeth Li making them one time.

Elizabeth Li is sixteen. Absolutely not.

And now he feels bad for letting it drag on this long. Taking himself to the restaurant to let her down gently. When he walks through, Billy is standing behind the counter. Confused because he didn’t usually order on Wednesdays, and especially not this late in the day.

Was that a weird thing to know?

“Do you have an order to pick up?” Billy asks.

“No. Not today. I was actually hoping I could talk to Elizabeth, is she around?”

And Billy's heart just sinks to the floor. The slight smile that was on his face now completely gone and shattered to pieces.

“Yeah. I’ll go get her.” he says, with a heavy heart, disappointment clear in his voice.

He sends her out to the front and lingers in the back, ear pressed to the door trying to listen in like some creep.

“Look, elizabeth. I’m really flattered and I appreciate the fortune cookies, but you’re way too young for me. I’m sorry.”

Shit.

Is Billy supposed to be worried or relieved?

He can’t even see her face but he knows she’d be giving him her death stare right about now.

He can hear her say it through clenched teeth and he shouldn’t find it so funny but it is.

“Yeah. Okay, sorry about that. I’ll definitely stop doing that. Have a good day Steve.” And she just walks away from the counter and Billy barely jumps backwards in time to not get a door slammed in his face.

“You better fucking fix this Hargrove. I am not going to go down for this for you.”

Zach had just walked into the kitchen from the break room. Chef Li and the rest of the staff are just minding their own business.

“What did I miss?”

Elizabeth is all up in Billy’s personal space. Inches away from his chest looking up at him from her height of just five feet and three inches.

“Steve fucking Harrington thinks I’m his little secret admirer.”

Her face is red in anger but Zach’s is red from laughing so hard.

“Now that’s fucking funny.”

“If you don’t tell Steve, I will. I covered for you out of the kindness of my heart, but I’m not that kind.”

“Isn’t that the truth.”

“Shut up Zach!”

Zach was laughing. Billy however, was suddenly not. Head now bowed, sighing heavily.

“I can’t do that.” It was a quiet and sudden change of tone that altered the mood of the situation entirely. The only people who could hear were just the three of them because the sound couldn’t overpower the noises of chopping vegetables and the clanking of pots and pans and the sizzle of cooking meat.

“Why not?”

“Fuck you. You know why.”

“Well what was your plan Romeo?! Were you just never going to tell him?” she threw her hands in the air like he was being ridiculous. The only thing that was ridiculous was that he ever went through with it in the first place.

“I don’t know. Okay? I don’t fucking know.”

Zach came up from behind him and offered a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “Look dude, my little sister is a bitch but she’s right. You have to tell him. I’ll have your back when you do.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?” Billy jerks his head back down to look at Liz.

“Tell him. Tomorrow.” Her arms were crossed and she clearly wasn’t taking a no for an answer.

“Fuck the both of you. My shift is over.” Billy pushed past her and out of the restaurant. Leaving his jacket behind and walking home through the cold weather. His converse getting wet from the slushy snow, soaking through to his socks making him even colder all over. He’s internally freaking out and his heart would be beating out of his chest if his nervous system wasn’t operating at a decreased rate due to potential hypothermia.

He can’t even think. Just kicking his feet against the wet pavement letting the breeze take him over. If he dies, he doesn’t have to tell him.

Headlights pass him by as he slowly walks the distance home, nobody caring about the guy who cheated death just months ago inching closer back to that point instead of further away. Nobody stops to offer him a ride or even check to see if he’s okay, and he’s not even sure if he even wants to make it home. It would be preferable to just fall asleep in one of the bushes outside than having to make his day even worse by introducing Neil into it. Sitting at a dinner table, making nice and pretending like everything that was going well for him won’t come to an end twenty four hours from now. All the joy of making those little fortune cookies and just imagining the look on Steve’s face every time. The look he knew for sure was one of happiness despite never seeing it because it wasn’t a coincidence Steve’s lunch orders became more and more frequent.

But in his peripheral a set of headlights did seem to slow. That was either a sign he was meeting his savior, or potentially his kidnapper. Honestly at this point they are the same thing.

“Billy?”

You have got to be kidding me.

“Hey Harrington.” His teeth are chattering and his voice is shaky as he says it. Is it the cold? Or are his nerves finally beginning to work at the worst time possible?

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Walking home.”

“You’ll die out here.”

“If only.” He says it under his breath but Steve still hears it. Letting the car come to a complete stop rather than the slow pacing he was doing before.

“Get in. I’ll take you home.”

Billy just waves him off. “I’ll be fine on my own.” And he continues walking at his slow pace.

“I wasn’t fucking asking. Get the hell in Hargrove. Before I drag you in here.”

Billy stops and sighs. Kicking more slush into the air. “Fine.”

He walks around to the passenger side and lowers himself into the seat. Groaning as his body aches from the motion. Steve doesn’t acknowledge it. Just puts the car back into drive and heads towards Cherry Lane. Silence in the car as Billy breathes into his hands trying to warm them up. He’s pale. Looks like he’s never seen the sun before. His face is flushed. Even in the state like this Steve carries the same sentiment from that first conversation at the restaurant.

“You look good, Billy.”

He doesn’t say that. But he’s thinking it.

They eventually pull up to the white house with the screened in porch, and Billy grows visibly tense in his seat. He’s not moving. Just darting his eyes from the clock in the car and back to the house with the lights on.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks. But Billy’s eyes continue to move back and forth as his breathing quickens slightly more as each second ticks by. Showing no sign that he heard the words that came out of Steve’s mouth. He reaches over the center console and grabs his hand. “Hey.”

Billy looks over like a deer in the headlights. Eyes ever so slightly glossy. Clearing his throat he tries to speak.

“Can you take me somewhere else?” He asks.

He doesn’t want to go home. Can’t begin to even think about seeing his Dad today. He just wants to crawl under his covers and go to sleep. Dream of a reality that isn’t his own. Not this fucked up shit show he’s stupidly gotten himself into.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere but here?”

Neither of them realize Steve is still holding his hand. Not until he squeezes it tighter, recognizing the pain in Billy’s voice. Not for what it meant but just that it was there. He didn’t need to nor want to know why Billy didn’t want to go home. Just wanted to make it so he didn’t have to.

“Is my house okay?”

Billy hesitates, but nods.

And they turn the car around.

- : -

Billy wakes up the next morning on Steve’s couch to the sound of a microwave’s hum followed by a loud ‘ding’ that echoes off the walls. He just remembers walking through the door of Steve’s house and immediately laying down on the first soft surface he could find. Remembers Steve saying he’d be upstairs if he needed anything before quickly drifting off into sleep without a care in the world.

He went to sleep without a pillow and a blanket, and woke up with both.

Billy rubs away at his eyes while Steve enters the living room from the kitchen with two plates in his hands.

“I made you a hot pocket if you want one.” He sets the plate onto the coffee table before he takes a seat in the chair beside the couch. Billy sits himself up and takes the plate, cooling it off with a quick blow of his breath before biting into it. “You have work today?”

“Yeah, at eight. What time is it?”

“Only seven fifteen. I have to be in at eight thirty so I can drop you off if you want.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s seriously not a problem man, and no offense but you don’t look like you’d make the walk from here to there.”

Billy laughs.

“I thought you said I looked good.”

Shit. It’s weird that he remembers that.

But Steve blushes. “Well yeah, just not ‘two mile hike’ good. But you’ll get there.”

“Thanks.”

“Why are you working anyway? Shouldn’t you still be recovering?”

Billy frowns. “My Dad is making me.”

Oh. That’s why he doesn’t want to go home.

The situation is awkward now. Silent as they finish their breakfasts and drive off in the Beemer. Pulling up outside the restaurant fifteen minutes before his shift starts. Billy suddenly reminded of what he’s supposed to do today as soon as he looks at the sign out front.

“Uh, hey. Listen. Come by the restaurant for to-go. On me y’know, as a thank you.”

“You don’t have to-“

Billy cuts him off.

“Yes. I do.”

- : -

When Billy walks into the kitchen in the same clothes as yesterday nobody says anything. Nothing about his undone hair or his or his early arrival to work. Instead he’s met with apologies exiting the mouths of the two Li children as they corner him in the break room.

“We’re sorry about yesterday. It wasn’t fair for us to do that to you. Elizabeth said she won’t tell Steve.”

They were waiting for him to yell, or at the very least get his anger out some way.

But instead Billy smiled. Barely there with just the slight upturn at the corners of his mouth but it was there, so distinct from his natural grimace. “It’s fine.” He says.

Zachary and Elizabeth are entirely confused. Looking in between each other like ‘did you just see what I just saw?’

“What has you so chipper?”

His smile just grew slightly wider.

“Spent the night at Steve’s last night.”

The two’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.

“You what!?” They both said in unison.

“Jesus! Not like that. I just slept on his couch.”

Billy could see the cogs turning in each of their heads. Trying to figure everything out like it was some complicated math problem. “I think I’m going to tell him. Today.”

“Really?”

Billy nodded, threw on his skull cap, and left the dumbfounded siblings where they stood. He had a fortune to write, and cookies to bake.

He was so meticulous this time. Making sure they were perfectly round circles, folded exactly in half. Throwing nonsense fortunes into each one. Avoiding the one sitting by itself on the table beside him. Too afraid to throw it into a cookie, each time he tossed in another basic off the list fortune was just Billy trying to talk himself out of it.

But he inches closer and closer to reaching the point of no return. First by putting in Steve’s lunch order. Next by finally slipping the fortune into a cookie. Next by slipping the cookie into Steve’s bag, and finally at the strike of noon, handing the bag to Steve, insisting he pay for it while Billy continuously denies him. Telling him to go enjoy his meal and stop arguing with him.

When Steve walked out the door Billy thought he could stop holding his breath. But he couldn’t let it out. Thought the anticipation lied with handing the meal to Steve, now feeling his breath caught even more now that he had. It was the anticipation of not knowing. He had to know.

But Steve left with the cookie still intact.

So he had to wait.

- : -

Steve brought his lunch into Family Video. The same thing he always ordered. Feeling a warm sensation in his chest at the knowledge that Billy knew his order. Fried rice and soup dumplings. Robin was there, waiting to mooch off of his food since she never bothered to bring her own lunch, but would also refuse to let Steve buy her anything.

If he didn’t know any better he’d think she liked him.

But he did know better not even to entertain that idea. She was just the girl who liked to eat Steve’s food because that’s just what she did. She’s standing there with her grabby hands, ready to start digging into his rice. She peruses through the contents of the bag and pulls out the plastic containers and the one fortune cookie that he always got.

“Did you let her down easy?” Robin asks, waving the cookie in his face.

“Yes. She was weird about it. But I guess she took it well.”

“Well that’s good. Can I have this one then?”

“Sure. Go for it. I don’t like them all that much anyway. I just like them for the fortunes.”

“Well then let’s see what Steve Harrington’s fortune is today, shall we?”

Robin cracks it open and gently pulls the slip of paper out from inside. Popping the cookie into her mouth as she pulls it taut so she can read it.

Her eyes squint. She pulls it closer to her face, just inches away like she can’t see what she’s reading. Like she’s confused.

“What’s it say?”

“Umm.” She just shakes her head. Mouth still full with the fortune cookie as she passes it along to Steve.

He takes it from her hesitantly, and a look of confusion washes over his face as he reads the words.

“I’m not Elizabeth Li.”

“What?” He says it mostly to himself, because what the fuck?

He turns it over and is expecting to see the same little signature. The vague ‘the cookie maker’ with the tiny heart.

Well the heart is still there.

But it says something else.

- Billy ♡

“Holy shit.”

- : -

It’s a painstakingly long rest of his shift. Doing the same old boring jobs like cleaning up, manning the front counter, and bussing tables when he’d finished the daily batch of cookies. It usually felt like a long five hours, but today it was excruciating. He could feel Zach and Liz’s eyes on him the whole time. Like they were watching intently so they didn’t miss the moment where he inevitably exploded from all the anxiety in his chest.

Billy’s constantly playing out different scenarios in his head. Steve barging into the store and punching him in the face being the one that’s the most prevalent. Occasionally letting himself get slightly hopeful and imagining the opposite.

But there was a third scenario he considered. That Steve just wouldn’t come back at all. Let him down by not even bringing him up. Robbing him of the closure he needs. He’d rather Steve just punch him in the face. That was a kind of rejection he could handle. One that gave him a reason to let go. Not one that left him hanging on by a single thread.

His shift is quickly coming to an end and he’s debating on how desperate he is to wait and linger around the restaurant with his small shred of hope that he comes back. His neck hurts from jerking his head towards the door every time the bell chimed. Hoping to see the boy with the chestnut hair walk through only to be greeted by another local he refused to learn the name of.

He’s losing his goddamn mind and he needs a fucking cigarette.

His shift comes to an end and he clocks out. Escaping to the back of the restaurant behind the dumpsters, lighting up a Marlboro Red and sinking his weight against the brick siding of the building. Feeling himself shiver when the heat of the flame warms the tip of his nose. Breathing in the smoke trying to regain some sense of calm that completely left his body as soon as he handed the bag to Steve. Too many hours on this high alert feeling that he can’t even recall what relaxation feels like anymore. Just accepts the burning in his lungs in the cold outside weather with just the hum of low traffic and the sound dripping gutters as the closest thing he’s going to get to that for the time being.

Finishing his cigarette, he tosses the bud into a puddle. Dragging a hand over his face as he prepares to walk back into the crowded restaurant that would feel completely empty because it was lacking the one fucking person he wanted to see.

He could go see him.

No he couldn’t. The ball already was in Steve’s court.

He opens the door and Zach is standing right there like he was waiting for him.

“What the fuck dude?”

“No. Shut up. Someone is in the break room waiting for you.”

Billy doesn’t get the chance to register his words before he’s being grabbed by the collar of his shirt and dragged and pushed into the room, where Steve is sitting at the table.

Just looking at him. Studying him.

“Look, Steve –“

“Stop.” He cuts him off. Continues to stare before hesitantly reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out what looks to be a ziplock plastic bag. Opening it and dumping the contents of it out on the table all while Billy is left standing there unable to speak, couldn’t even if Steve would let him. The ability to get words out being entirely suppressed by the sight of about ten slips of paper spread out on the table in front of Steve. Steve just looking back down at them and not looking back at Billy. Lost in another trance. He starts moving them around on the table. Moving them away from each other so that none are touching each other and they are all completely exposed. Steve smiles. Gets up from the chair.

Walks over to where Billy stands with his back pressed against the door, holding tightly to the handle for a quick escape. Steve moves so slowly, like he’s forging his plan with each step until their chests are just inches away from each other. Steve’s looking down, away from Billy’s gaze. Taking Billy’s hand in his, causing him to shudder. “You know I rushed over as soon as I could. Thanks for the lunch Billy.” Billy’s just silent and completely still against the door. Steve’s hold on him is loose yet he feels entirely restrained. “I can’t believe it was you.”

“I’m sorry.” Billy practically chokes on the words, prompting Steve to finally turn his eyes up toward him. Seeing how his eyes have grown glossy and his face has turned a pinkish color.

“What for?”

“That it was me.”

Steve squeezes his hand tighter, brings another to Billy’s cheek gently and Billy feels like he’s being suffocated under the touch. Like instead the hand is wrapped around his throat and pushing against his airway. But he leans into it. Steve’s touch is so soft and he lets his eyes fall shut to burn the sensation into his memory.

“Don’t apologize for that.”

His eyes are still closed when Steve moves forward and kisses him. Shooting open as soon as lips make contact and he suddenly stiffens like a board. It’s quick and chaste and he doesn’t get the opportunity to kiss back before it’s over.

“You can’t… you don’t –“

“But I do.”

“This isn’t a joke, Steve.”

“I agree.”

Billy’s left standing there. Rubbing at his lips that were just touching Steve with the pad of his thumb.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Steve smirks, moves back into Billy’s space so his breath is hot against his mouth.

“You could kiss me, asshole.”

Billy doesn’t need to be asked twice.

[inky-duchess]

21 History Ancedotes for my 21st Birthday

So today I celebrate my 21st birthday and I have decided to gift you all with 21 of my favourite historical Ancedotes. Some are funny, some are sad and some are plain bizarre but I hope the make your day 💜

Mary Maloney, an Irish-born suffragette in England followed Winston Churchill around while he was campaigning for a seat in Parliament, drowning out everything he said with a very large bell and calls for him to apologise for his comments on women's rights and suffrage movements.

Clodius Pulcher was a well born Roman noble during the last day's of the Republic. He gave up his Patrician status to become Tribune of the Plebs (an office in which one had to be a Pleb) by being adopted by a much younger Plebian man who became his "father". Clodius was a bit of a riot, sneaking into religious festivals dressed like a woman to sleep with Caesar's wife, building a shrine to Liberty in the ruins of the Conservative Cicero, vetoed the last speech of one of the Consuls (who basically did nothing all year and was apparently going to roast Caesar) and burned down the Senate House with his funeral pyre (the Plebs who loved him literally tearing up the furniture to build his pyre). He was honestly the best fun.

When laying on her deathbed, Queen Caroline of Ansbach turned to her husband George II of England and told him he should marry again. George refused to ever wed again... But added he would have mistresses. Caroline said , likely with a roll of her eyes, "oh my god that doesn't matter."

Florence was a pretty cool city in the Renaissance until Savanorola came to town. He disliked the loose living artists that crowded the city, with their naked pagan gods and rampant homosexuality. He expelled them all with help of the French hoping to make Florence Holy Again. When the Borgia Pope excommunicated him and sentenced him to death, one man in the crowd was reported to have said. "thank God, niw we can return to sodomy." One Floretine man in the 1490s said Gay Rights.

So this list couldn't be complete without an entry of the only American politician I love, Alexander Hamilton who was just a walking entity of sass. I could go on about his sharp sarcasm or his disaster bi vibes with John Lauren's but my all time favourite Alexander Hamilton ancedote has to be this exchange with Thomas Jefferson "There are approximately 1010300 words in the English language, but I could never string enough words together to properly explain how much I want to hit you with a chair."

Caterina Sforza was an Italian noble woman during the Renaissance. She was apart of the powerful Sforza family, which drew many enemies to her. One fateful day at Forli, Caterina's children were snatched as hostages. The besiegers threatened to kill her children if she did not cede the castle. Caterina refused, lifting her skirts and shouted to the besiegers that she had the means to make more children.

Hannibal Lecter's creator Thomas Harris was happy to end his great character's story with the original trilogy. However his publishers forced him to write an unneeded prequel explaining why Hannibal became Hannibal. Thomas Harris agreed lest he lose the rights to his character so he wrote Hannibal Rising, where Hannibal as a young man hunts down the Nazis who ate his sister with a katana.

Nell Gwyn is my favourite mistress of Charles II, mainly because of her sass. Once while trapped in the middle of a riot where Londoners swamped her carriage thinking she was Charles's Catholic mistress. She popped her head out the carriage and told the people "Pray good people be civil. I am the Protestant whore." She also dosed her rival Moll Davis with laxatives in order to free up some of Charles's time and she once flashed her underwear at the French ambassador after asking him why the Franch King did not pay her to spy on Charles because she was with him every night. A true Queen.

Emperor Ai of the Han Dynasty of China once rose from his bed to go do some ruling when he realised his lover, Dong Xian was sleeping on his sleeve. Rather than disturb his lover, the Emperor cut his sleeve off at the wrist to leave Dong Xian nap. Nothing has ever been more romantic than that. Y'all could never.

Princess Margaret the sister of current Queen Elizabeth II was a socialable Princess and often tasked to visit the up and coming music stars of the day on behalf of the Crown. When meeting the Beatles one evening, she noticed George Harrison was acting a little odd. When she asked what was the matter, he replied "We arent allowed eat until you go." Princess Margaret laughed and promptly left so the Beatles could get some dinner.

During the Siege of Jadotsville, Irish soldiers under the flag of the UN were attacked and besieged by local insurgents allied with the Katanga Regime. The insurgents numbered thousands while the Irish only had 158 soldiers, all who were lightly armed. They radioed to their allies assuring them that "we will hold out until our last bullet is spent. Could use some whiskey though".

Napoleon was famous for writing raunchy letters to his wife, the Empress Josephine while he was away. She used to reply with really mundane letters or not at all. She really just could not be bothered with him.

Josip Broz Tito was so fed up with Joseph Stalin sending assassins to kill him, he wrote to Stalin personally to say "If you don't stop sending assassins to kill me. I will send one to Moscow and I won't have to send another." It didn't work but Big Dick Energy.

Successful Roman soldiers returning from war often got to march along in parades known as Triumphs. During this, it was customary for them to sing bawdy songs about their commander. One surviving one about Caesar goes like this "Romans, lock up your wives. Here comes the bald adulterous whore. We pissed away your gold in Gaul and come to borrow more."

Matilda, Lady of the English was a woman so badass that history cannot handle her. She was the daughter of Henry I who left his throne to her after the death of her brother. She was away in France when her father died and her throne was snatched by her cousin Stephen. They battled back and forth for years with neither side ceding any ground. Matilda was once besieged in a castle during a snow storm, with Stephen's men all around her. Instead of fighting her way out. She simply donned a white cloak and walked out of the castle. Just walked out without any of Stephen's men seeing her.

Pedro of Portugal once fell in love with a beautiful lady in waiting called Inez de Castro. For years, they lived as man and mistress, popping out a few kinds. Pedro's dad really did not like Inez and wanted Pedro to find a legitimate wife so he had her killed. Pedro returned home to find the mother of his children dead. Pedro went a little crazy. He had all his father's assassins killed, ripping out their hearts as they had done to him. When Pedro ascended the throne, he demanded the Pope legitimize his children by Inez. The Pope not wanting to upset the King, said he couldn't because Inez was never crowned Queen. Pedro dug Inez up and crowned her as Queen, having all the nobility swear loyalty to her corpse. The Pope had no choice but to agree to his request.

A famously clever general once saved an entire city with an ingenious stragety to sit outside the city waiting for the attacking army to come. The attack had come to fast for the city to ready themselves for a Siege so, the general had to move quickly. He evacuated the city and took his place waiting for the army to come. The enemy forces stopped and took one look at him and bolted, thinking he meant to lure them in one of his famous traps.

Michaelangelo was really badly treated by the Vatican when he was painting the Sistine Chapel. He constantly fought with the Popes over the design and his work, which he was paid peanuts for. Michaelangelo got his revenge in his work, painting the gates of Hell behind the Papal Throne and an angel flipping the ol' fig (the Renaissance version of the bird) toward the Pope's chair.

Peter the Great was not a perfect guy. He kept serfdom as a practise in his kingdom, he had his son tortured to death and he could be an unpleasant guy. But Peter was a dreamer. He wanted nothing more to build a fleet for Russia and bring Russia beyond its borders. Peter took a gap year from ruling Russia to wander around Europe. When he stopped in England, he was granted Leicester House to chill in while he did his shipwright studies. It was here that Peter found a new passion. The wheelbarrow. Cue Peter and his new found English buddies drinking in Leicester House, punching the artwork and rolling each other around in barrels across the house's Great gardens.

Diogenes is hands down a walking shit post. He was a great thinker in Greece during the reign of Alexander but a rather dry, sarcastic wit. He lived in a pithos/a jar because he shunned all vanities and values of society. He trolled other philosophers, attending their debates to heckle them and eat loud foods through them. When Alexander the Great came to fan boy over him, saying that if he were not Alexander he would like to be Diogenes to which Diogenes just said "yeah me too, now get out of my sunlight."

Cosimo de Medici was the son of a Floretine banker with a great knowledge and love of art. Cosimo wished for Florence to release its potentially and join the Renaissance. He hired Filippo Brunelleschi to finsh the Great Dome of Santa Maria del Fiore which had láin unfinished for over a century, a symbol of a failure of ambition. The builders had lost the knowledge of creating a dome so large so it remained unfinished. Despite much opposition from the other nobility and denouncers of the Renaissance, Cosimo's dream of the completion of the dome was completed, making it the largest brick dome in creation at that time. There is nothing like achieving your dreams and certainly nothing like leaving a lasting reminder that screams 'I was right and you were wrong' to stand for centuries.

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 13

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

The twins find out!

First< Previous > Next

------

Ladybug lands on the building across from the city hall, where Marion had asked to meet up after patrol. She stretches out, enjoying the exercise after being cooped up in the hospital keeping Marion company. She looks over the city, with clear skies that Gotham simply didn't have. Then again she didn't mind so much Gotham has is own style that didn't want or need to change. Chat Noir lands in front of her a minute later, Dupain bakery box in hand.

“I don’t know how other people deal with homesickness,” Chat Noir drops down opening the box.

“Don’t let Kaalki know you're using her miraculous to eat cookies,” Ladybug sits next to him, legs dangling over the edge.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I also use them cause I look great in glasses,” Marion poses despite not wearing them as Chat Noir.

“Sure you do,” She turns back, looking over the city hall, “Thats why your most popular identity wears a mask,”

“Well all my identities- hey!” Ladybug snorts, not needing to look to know Chat Noir was pouting, “You’re just saying that cause your jealous how loveable and popular I am, especially Chat Noir,”

Yeah right. There was a little girl walking on the street below them right now wearing a Ladybug dress MDC had designed. She internally scolds herself for smiling.

“It’s not about popularity, we must take our jobs seriously to protect pari-”

“Do you dare me to steal the Mayor’s sash?” Chat Noir interrupts her speech, talking through a mouthful of cookies.

Ladybug releases a long suffered sigh.

“Yeah, I do,” She takes a cookie from the box.

“Good because I already did it,” She looks over, Chat Noir grinning ear to ear holding the Mayor’s sash, “Let's watch,”

He points towards a window where they have a clear view of the Mayor’s office. He was looking in the mirror and had only just realised it was missing. When Marion stole it she didn’t care to find out. He starts rooting around his office pulling out the contents of draws and cupboards haphazardly. Chat Noir laughs when he starts checking under furniture.

“So how are your ribs feeling,” She asks, noticing he wasn’t cringing at the movement.

“Purrfect,” He purrs, playing with the sash he was now wearing.

“I walked right into that one,” She doesn't tell him off, taking the last cookie instead,

“Yes you did,” Chat Nori reaches for another cookie.

Frowning at her Ladybug sticks out her tongue. Disgusting, covered with mushed up chocolate chips. Chat Noir blanches and turns away.

“Look he left to get help,” Chat Noir grins, both looking towards the window, “Just a sec,”

Chat Noir jumps over to the large window they've been watching through. Slipping inside he places it on top of the desk covered in wayward papers. Ladybug smiles, feeling her yo-yo buzz. They had synced their hero phones up to their normal ones long ago. She had just received a text from Aunt Selina that they were on their way with lawyers. Chat Noir jumps back to her side, grinning as the door opens. Officer Roger steps through instantly spotting the sash on the desk. Marinette can practically feel the officers disbelief as the Mayor tries to explain.

“Aunt Selina texted, we got to go,” Marinette tells him as Chat Noir starts cackling.

“Just a sec,” Chat Noir snaps a picture with his Baton, “Purrfect,”

“Two in a row? Really?” She raises her eyebrow, as he takes out the horse miraculous.

“If it ain’t broke,” Marion shrugs, slipping the glasses over his mask.

“It’s broke, it’s really, really broke,”

Marion only grins transforming and opening a portal back to Gotham.

“Why do I need to be here?” Jason asks, leaning against the wall next to Marion.

“Because the press have several pictures of you driving them away without helmets,” Bruce scowls, standing by the lawyer's seat next to Marion's bed.

“I haven't crashed my bike yet, so what's the issue?” Jason shrugs, grin on his face revealing he knew the exact issue. Marion couldn't help but mirror it.

“You’ve crashed it many times,” Bruce corrects, scowl deepening.

“What! Are you ok?!” Marion snaps towards Jason, scanning him for injury.

“Yeah I’m fine,” There's an amused curl to Jason's lips, “What about you?”

“Oh I’m fine, I heal pretty quickly,” Marion doesn't lean back on bed, forgetting he was meant to be injured.

“You realise your ribs are broken right?” Jason smirks down at him.

“I’ve had worse,” Marion smirks right back, meeting his challenge.

“What! When!” Oh right, their Aunt is here, sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Happens all the time in Paris,” Marion hopes he can pass it off, and avoid the wrath of his sister next to him, “The cure usually heals us pretty quick,”

“The cure?” Bruce prompts, frown lines deepening.

“Yeah Ladybugs cure, she beats the Akuma then releases a whole bunch of Ladybugs like whoosh, that come and fix everything,” From Marinette's face he can tell that he sounded crazy, and she knew what he was talking about.

“... where to start?” Jason looks confused down at him, Marion tries to avoid the same looks from everyone.

“Ladybug? Akuma?” Bruce apparently does know where to start.

“Auntie, don’t you remember last time you were in Paris?” Marinette steps in to save him, “We came home early because school was canceled because of an Akuma attack,”

“I thought you were just skipping!” She exclaims, both shocked and defensive.

“And you didn’t send us back?” Marion cracks a smile.

“Did you really think we’d skip?” Marinette frowns.

“Wouldn’t blame you for it,” Aunt Selina shrugs, Marinette looks like she's about to start a one sided argument. Marion was not about to back her up.

“Who’s Ladybug?” Bruce cuts in, whether he knew of the brewing argument or not is up for debate.

“Hero of Paris?” Marinette meets Marion's glance.

“Paris has no heroes,” Bruce says, with far too much confidence for someone completely wrong.

“Well you might want to let her and Chat Noir know that,” Marion smirks, he'd make sure to deliver the message.

“Not to mention the rest of the Guardians,” Marinette adds, perhaps a little more concerned they didn't know than he was.

“There's more than one?” Jason speaks up, Marion can’t help but feel he and Bruce are having their own secret conversation through glaring.

“Of course, Paris is attacked by super villains every other day,” Marion answers flippantly, doing nothing to dissolve the tension.

“Ok, no, I’ve been to Paris plenty and it’s never been attacked,” Their Aunt says, time for them to hold their own secret conversation.

“Um…” She was definitely privy to one attack, not that people in her position usually remember what happens, “Guess you must of just missed it,”

Smooth he can practically hear Marinette scoff. A silence traps them, likely shorter than it feels.

“Moving on,” The Lawyer, who had introduced herself as Emma, frees them,“I highly recommend there be a press statement released immediately,”

“That isn’t going to stop anyone,” Marion frowns, first hand experience teaching him well.

“No, but we can start pursuing legal action,” Emma agrees, bringing documents out of her briefcase.

“Several news sources can be sued for slander and endangerment,” She hands Marinette the documents, Marion resting his chin on her shoulder to see, “They also played a part in informing villains of your whereabouts, allowing the attack and making you vulnerable to another, I’m not saying this to scare you-”

“It’s fine, we know,” Marinette gives a friendly smile, “Please be honest, it’s more efficient to just be blunt,”

“Right... so several official news sources should be taken to court,” Emma takes on a more professional air, “There are many independent sources that can receive lawsuits, however the most prudent one would be those confirming your presence at the aquarium,”

“I don’t really think we need to go after regular people,” Marion looks over the file that includes pictures of the group he had scared off at the aquarium before the attack.

“It’s your choice, but I strongly encourage you to think over at least sending them charges,” Emma urges, Bruce nodding along, “If nothing else than to discourage others from doing the same,”

“Give us some time to think it over, please,” Marinette sifts through the documents, organising them, “We’re fine with any press release that we can look over first,”

“Very well,” Emma meets Marinette's smile, “Mr Wayne if I can discuss the press release with you?”

He nods, he and Jason leave the room with Emma. Leaving the twins with their Aunt.

“When did you become so cool?” She grins, moving up the bed.

“I’ve always been the coolest twin,” Marinette shrugs, Marion rolling his eyes.

“Nope I distinctly remember you running into the same pole three times in six minutes,” His smirk meets Marinette glare.

“How did you manage that?” Aunt Selina asks, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Clumsiness has always been a special talent of mine,” Marinette puts the papers down, not quite pulling off the overconfident air he carries, being a little too close to honesty.

“Sure has,” Marion sits back, pulling up his legs for their Aunt to move closer.

“So what do you think we should do?” Marinette questions, when she's seated just across from them.

“...I think it’s complicated,” Aunt Selina hesitates, looking towards the door, “More complicated than they realise,”

“What's wrong?” Marion follows her gaze, another hesitation thats so unlike her, “... Aunt Selina?”

“I’m not your Aunt,” They both go stiff, waiting for more in the silence that follows her not meeting their eyes.

Right now Marinette’s head is probably buzzing with ideas and theories on what that means.

Marion’s mind remains blank, waiting for an answer that she seems to be battling with.

“............ I’m your Mother,”

“Excuse me, what?” Marion’s voice is just as blank, words refusing to process.

“And Bruce is your Father,” She adds, jumpstarting them out of their shell shocked state.

“What!” They both shout, turning towards each other.

“Look, I was young when I had you, I didn’t know what to do,” Selina runs a hand through her hair, still not meeting their gazes as they snaps back towards her, “I knew I wasn’t good enough to raise you, and Bruce wasn’t exactly in the best place back then, at least not enough to raise a child, so I didn’t tell him,”

That is… that is information.

“But, there was Tom and Sabine who wanted kids so bad, I knew they would be amazing parents,” Well yes, “So I gave you up,”

Now Marion's thoughts were a storm. Whipping around his head too fast to get a hold of and actually understand.

“I’m not saying this to pressure you into anything,” Selina follows after a long silence,  “You don’t have to tell anyone, and if you like I can walk out of this room and we can never speak of this again, everything can go back to normal,”

“... do you think we can have a moment?” Marinette sounds just as blank as he had.

“Of course,” That slight fake smile clearly trying to hide the hurt allows Marion to grasp hold of one thought.

“Hey… no matter what we still love you,” The smile turns to a genuine one, Marinette agreeing.

She doesn't reply, leaving the room, door closing with a soft click.

“.... Oh my god,” Marion whispers, staring at the door.

“Oh my god,” Marinette says, Kwamis coming out of hiding, concerned looks going unnoticed.

“Oh my god!” Marion shouts, reality hitting all at once.

“OH MY GOD!” Marinette can surely be heard from outside.

“She’s our Mother!?” Marion turns to Marinette for confirmation.

“HOW is this possible!” So that's a yes.

“Why didn’t anyone tell us!” Marion feels himself getting hysterical.

“Hold on, let's think this through calmly and rationally,” Marinette takes a deep breath, hand on his shoulder.

“Screw that!” Marion pushes her hand off, standing “After something like this we’re allowed to freak out!”

“This is so weird!” Marinette groans, sliding back in bed.

“I know!” Marion starts to pace, latching onto random thoughts and memories, “And everything makes so much sense!”

“How did we not see this?!” Marinette asks the ceiling.

“It’s alright, it probably just never occurred to you to even think about it,” Tikki tries to placate.

“Did you know Tikki?!” Marinette asks, Kwami of creation.

“No I certainly didn’t,” She shakes her head, Marion turning to Plagg.

“I did think she’d make a good Black Cat,” Plagg shrugs, a little too casual compared to Marions current state, “Didn’t think it was because of this,”

“Not to worry, if you were to have any true lineage it is a privilege to be descended from a family such as the Waynes,” Kaalki declares, Marion taking a moment to dissect the sentence.

“Oh my- Bruce Wayne really is our Father!” Marion slams his hands down on the bed railing.

“Keep your voice down!” Marinette hisses, sitting up.

“That’s not important!” Marion throws his hand up, gesturing wildly to the general area, “We really are the Wayne twins!”

“The tabloids actually got it right,” Marinette muses softly, leaning back.

“That never happens!” Marion agrees, having spent plenty of time laughing at bad tabloids about themselves, “How could complete strangers be able to tell when we couldn’t!?”

“Now, now, it was a lucky guess, you had no reason to think it was true,” Tikki tries to bring order to the chaos.

“Other than the fact we’ve known her our whole lives and easily could have seen how similar she is to us,” Marinette mumbles out.

“And she’s really bad at pretending us calling her Aunt doesn't bother her,” It wasn’t until now he actually knew why.

“So I guess the first question is how do we feel about this?” Marinette tries to follow her Kwami’s lead.

“Too big a question,” Marion groans, flopping down onto the bed.

“What should we do?” Marinette asks, he turns his head to fix her with a glare.

“Way too big a question,” Marion feels Plagg curl up against his side, Kaalki also sitting near.

“What will this change?”

“Tikki! Take over!” Marion yells into the covers.

“I think you should start at the beginning,” Tikki says calmly, “How do you feel about being given up,”

“I don’t know,” Marion groans into the covers, another coming from Marinette.

“Angry, sad, betrayed?” Tikki prompts, making Marion frown.

“Not really, it’s kind of hard to,” He answers, turning away from the sheets, “It’s not like she just up and abandon us,”

“And we don’t know the full story,” Marinette adds, Kwami resting in her hands.

“Then maybe you can ask her,” Tikki suggests with a smile. “How do you feel about Bruce-”

“Nope, still processing, not touching that with a ten foot pole,” Marion refuses, causing the Kwami to giggle.

“Ok whatever you're comfortable with,” She smiles, giggles dying down.

“Tikki you have to realise I am so far outside of my comfort zone right now, that sitting in the middle of Hawk Moth's lair surrounded by every Akuma we’ve ever fought sounds more comfortable,” The sad thing is, he isn’t even exaggerating.

“Kid you do have an out,” Plagg flies into this field of vision, “You can ignore it and go back to normal, or confront it and see what happens, which do you want,”

Marion frowns, not at Plagg he’s right, for once. Neither of them speak. Every time Marion tries to think of the future, memories pull him back. Until one catches his attention. It was something he thought of often, usually when trying to avoid getting Akumatized, but sometimes just to smile. However, now it has a new meaning, he isn’t sure if it ruins the memory or improves it.

“... Hey, Nette, do you remember what happened when we found out we were adopted?” Marion breaks the silence, turning to the smartest person he knows, and that includes the person who created an AI at fourteen.

“We asked who our real Maman was?” Marinette watches as he sits up.

“Aun-she sat us down and told us off,” Marion scoots up the bed to sit next her, “Said that even if we didn’t have the same blood as Maman, no one in the world was closer to our Mother than her,”

“.... She always looks so in pain when we call her Aunt,” Marinette leans her head against his shoulder.

“.... I don’t want to ignore this,” Marion decides, enough time passing for them to relax against each other.

“... Neither,” Marinette eventually agrees.

“So what now?” Marion asks aloud, “We just change everything ?”

“I guess so,”

They share a soft smile, wouldn’t be the first time.

------------

Taglist:

@technicallyburninggarden @fusser90  @misslenamooney

[mallickshah]

A GATHERING

YEAR 2021 ; MAY 1ST

There was a gathering in a part of the club's faction that not many had ever been to. Behind the tavern that held the name of Yureif, Mallick’s brother, a name that not many knew of either. Mallick’s name had started to make its rounds through the faction though and not just on clubs' lands, but in the entirety of Kadeu. The main reason behind it, at first, had been his new gain of the title of Ace, of course. The manner in which it was obtained, who he had been associated with when it was obtained; the name of The Resistance muddled with the name of the Ace of clubs did not seem to please many, clubs included.

Despite all of that, the new Ace had kept quiet about his whereabouts for two entire weeks. The rumor mill might have enjoyed this absence, this lack of leadership, if it wasn’t for the small things that were also being done while he all but let himself be a simple whisper, or a harsh critic from the mouth of those who wanted this new impostor to reveal his cards. Mallick had learned many things from the man he’d been and the one he now was though, the most important rule he’d himself instilled in his own operations was to move in the shadows.

To many, this title would just be a power trip, something to hold onto while they barked orders and let the rest of the world see how much control they could exerce because of their rank. To many, this title would just be another way to subjugate an already overtaken faction. So Mallick had needed to think about the course of action to take before taking a different path. Because he would certainly not fall into the trap that had led him to fight the last Ace of clubs.

Things needed to be different; many conversations and consulting with his family afterwards had proven this fact correct. It didn’t matter how it was formulated, Mallick had a sense that even his parents had at one time dreamed of an opportunity as such. However, no matter how dire, how urgent it seemed to reveal what he had in his mind, what he knew would be better suited for clubs, without breaking the order of things in which they operated. Or rather, the disorder they thrived in. In order for him to do so, he had to mull, he had to think, to meditate on the matter, to play behind the curtains.

He’d let the rumor mill play its advocate, both for and against him, while Mallick simply let himself use connections he’d never known would find themselves useful for such a thing to tie himself further into this fate. It all brought it down to a statement plastered in clubs' streets, and only in clubs' streets. For one, they were not allowed in other factions, but even if they had been, Mallick would have still excluded all that were not part of this faction.

One sole goal ended up prevailing from the stapling of loose ends and the unifying of alliances needed to be of the same sound mind to better the lives of the people of his faction; their faction. Mallick was not alone in this, he had many other heads he could count, aside from the makeshift council that The Barbarians saw themselves create after the havoc they wrecked on the faction.

They had not been the easiest to reach, or to talk with, or to negotiate with, but Mallick had learned something about himself he’d always feared could rear itself back up. Something that had stayed dormant, and only manifested itself whenever Saiyah could not see him act upon them. Mallick had once been a very domineering young boy, and young man, but by the time he was all but embracing that step in his life, the woman he would never cease to love and adore waltzed in his life and shook the very core of that foundation.

During these two weeks, Mallick had admitted to himself that Saiyah was no longer and would never be again, so it was time for him to reconcile with the man he had been. The one who had been the cause of her death, for the foes that he’d gained along the way not forgetting his old ways. This man could now come at the forefront, and the ire he would instigate would be more than justified. It had once been unfair to try to coerce him out, but it was now the perfect fit for these gloves.

Or for this stand, among the clamoring of the crowd.

The sun was too high for it to be the beginning of May, but maybe this spoke to the urgency of the current situation. Mallick was aware of many things. One, the only reason why so many people were here was because of the allies he’d decided to take with him, his name only would not have been able to draw such a crowd. Two, the crowd was growing restless with the heat, their gaze too focused and their bodies would soon find themselves needing some type of action to relieve themselves of the heat they were enduring. Three, that release when it came to clubs would simply end up in a brawl rather than a quiet disapproving grumblings.

He knew these people, he was one of them. So it made him feel less and less apprehensive as he took his time to exit his brother’s tavern and walk up to the wooden stand. Yureif had taken some pride in his tavern being the place of the gathering, and Devjay had appointed himself as the man one would have to cross first before they could get to him. They were still debating on whether they should label him a right-hand, or a brother in arms. For now, he was simply all but Mallick’s shadow.

Mallick had only ever been a lover of the light, or rather, ever since a certain one slipped in uninvited and brought in even more than he’d ever thought could possibly be found. But he’d picked the black panther as his emblem for a good reason, Mallick had always been a man of the shadows.

It was commanding to see how the moment he stepped into view, the clamoring quieted, and when he rose behind the stand, the crowd took a stance. Mallick had made himself ready for what he knew of these people, his people. If a fight had to break while he was talking, or even before, he’d simply let it unfold and do this at another time.

However, a single line on the posters had advised them to not start a brawl if they wanted to be given anything they wished from the tavern, free of charge. Mallick had shamelessly bribed his way into making sure they behaved, or tried to at the very least. His brother might suffer a few losses for a bit, but it’d quickly come back compensated if this took flight the way Mallick hoped it would.

The heat of the day was now sitting atop his head, his shaved beard was no longer leaving him with a vulnerable feeling. He was long past that sensibility to the sight he was used to showing to his reflection.

Mallick started speaking and hoped to the gods that this would not derail in another civil war.

THE SPEECH (THE ACTIONS & REACTIONS)

I come to you with something we’ve never thought we could have, something none of us probably ever think of now, because we are not used to it being offered; peace. I do not mean peace by giving to others what we have and wishing that they treat us right, or giving up who we are and what we believe in to be the way they wish us to be. I mean peace in being ourselves, peace in giving to the people of this faction something better than the bloodshed they’ve been enduring, generation after generation. We are crumbling! But look at you, you are warriors, fighters, better than soldiers, some of you are the most fearless merchants! We have the power and we have the skills it takes to make us better together. That is where I want you to start, when you think about what can be done for the future.

(The crowd was still attentive, but some were slowly leaving their position, dispersing as Mallick stepped off the stand to walk among them; and as his voice grew louder, some did halt and turn around. Perhaps begrudgingly, perhaps simply to enjoy the spectacle, or who knows, get a pass in to take down this new Ace.)

I come in peace, because I realize I might not be the image of what you would think to be a strong representation of us, but I am not a weak man and no men in clubs are weak. None! WE are what WARRIORS were meant to be and WARRIORS do not fight dishonorably, nor do they kill for the thrill, we kill to feed our families, we FIGHT to show our strength. We can still do that and do it to have BETTER for all of US. Don’t you see it? The other factions do not care about us, they will jibe, they will insult, they will mock us and we let them do it by continuing to act like WE are NOTHING else but the WEAPONS WE CARRY.

(The crowd has not entirely dispersed, some newcomers have found themselves walking forward because of a sudden clamor of a lone man now carrying the hammer of another, Mallick is that lone man. He is all but arm wrapped around the shoulders of the weapon’s owner and somewhere, someone finally does something that shows less disinterest; a scream is heard.)

But first--I wish to say that it almost brought me to a path none wishes to carry. To work in the shadows of a rebellion that might have tainted my reputation for your eyes. But I did it for the union of this faction. Because I was a lost man, and for that, I will never use their name, because they should remain in the shadows, where they belong. WE do not belong in the shadow, we BELONG in a light that has long been shining on others because they casted us their clouds.

When I say WE, I mean all of us. The weak, the poor, the rich, and especially the STRONG.

(It has to come to this; Mallick walking among the crowd and the crowd walking with Mallick. They make rounds, they move with something akin to a trance. Maybe something has been sprayed in the air, maybe it is simply that the heat has finally gotten to them all. The Ace and the people, the ones that are left and the new ones, they might as well just mesh and become one.)

ARE YOU NOT TIRED OF BEING AT THE BOTTOM WHEN YOU ARE THE MIGHTIEST?

(Now the chaos is present; but it is not a chaos of weapons brandished against each other, it is of weapons held up and clinking, the way one would cheer with pints; not the delicate touch of a wine glass. Mallick was yanked somewhere in between; his brother all but wearing a disapproving scowl when all it did was make him laugh heartily. There’s this glee in his eyes that has Devjay letting him go then, there’s something more potent than anything else Mallick has ever felt in his life. It feels alive and like it will consume him, but if it comes to that, then he’ll let it be. The crowd quiets when the silence stretches for longer, without Mallick’s voice, without his words and suddenly as he’s back behind the stand, they all look confusedly for a second. Weapons are held, the tension seems to return. Mallick clears his throat and holds them with a steady gaze. He’s all but one man against a crowd, but there’s an undeniable power and confidence in him that tells them if he has to, he will fight every single one of them if they dared to challenge him. Mallick waits. The silence stretches. Then a grin pulls the corners of his lips.)

Well if you are TIRED, then rest assured that I’ll make sure to remind them they shouldn’t have underestimated you.

(The end might feel anticlimactic for many, but it is also the beginning of one promise being complied with. One promise that put them all right where they are needed, in the Panther’s den. As they gather in the tavern once it is made clear that they can by the owner of the tavern, Mallick follows suit; ready to put on his best suit; and gather all the information he can from the ones who he noticed stayed from the beginning to the end. It is not all the members of the faction that need convincing; it is the ones who could turn out to believe in him and in what he wants to do more than they would in anything else; those are the ones that he needs on his side. Mallick is aware of this and he will not lose this opportunity to build the threat that will lead him where he needs to get. Like his emblem of choice, The Black Panther prowls; stays quiet; strikes when it is ripe to do so.)

[fantasy2739]

A Douxie story where he appears in Trollhunters or 3Below with Archie and is just like, yeah, so I'm a wizard, this is my dragon-cat, you're the Trollhunter, you have shadow stuff, you have a big hammer and you two are from another planet, can we deal with the attack now?

Hi, thank you for the ask. I’m sorry I didn’t quite quite know where to go with this. I decided to go with Trollhunters and the battle against Morgana. So less 3Below, more Trollhunter gang. I hope that’s okay and you enjoy it.

Canon divergence/ slight AU:

Douxie just wanted to chill. Participate in battle of the bands. Maybe grab some food after. A nap. The sky turning a weird orange was not in the plan. Gumm-Gumms marching on the town was also not. After taking out the ones attacking Mary and Darci, he started to head through town. He passed Krel and Aja, who were with another couple of people that were distinctly blue. He just kept going, not particularly interested in the aliens. By the looks of it they were protecting Arcadia. He saw the girl in purple armour, Claire fighting with a shadow staff. Morgana’s shadow staff. He tried not to shiver at that. She was fighting the Gumm-Gumms, along with someone in orange armour. Toby, he thought his name was. He had a hammer that was covered in something. Made it lighter clearly given how it was being swung around like mad. He blasted a few Gumm-Gumms himself. Archie flew over to him, probably coming from the bookstore.

“Douxie, I see we’ve had an invasion.” He said with a wry look. “Judging by what it is. I’m guessing Morgana.”

“No doubt. Only she would summon up Eternal Night.” Douxie said. He remembered Morgana before all of this. She’d been nice. Caring. Then everything had changed, almost as if overnight. He hadn’t been privy to everything going on.

“If she’s awake, then someone must have gotten the Staff of Avalon.” Archie said. Douxie’s eyes widened.

“Merlin.” He breathed. “He could be awake.”

“900 years in that crystal tomb.” Archie said. “I wonder if it’s done anything for his sense of humour.” Douxie shot another blast of magic. As they made their way through the rubble of town, they saw the Trollhunter. He looked different.

“Is it just me, or is he half troll?” Douxie asked, hitting yet another Gumm-Gumm.

“Oh this has Merlin written all over it.” Archie said. “Excuse me, Trollhunter person.” The Trollhunter stared at Archie as if debating wether to eat the cat or just let him talk.

“Jim right?” Douxie greeted, making his way over. “We met at the cafe. Thanks for tipping by the way.” Jim stared at him. Toby and Claire joining them with two trolls.

“You have a talking cat.” Jim said.

“Actually I’m a dragon.” Archie corrected.

“Okay.” Toby said. “Maybe now isn’t the best time. The evil lady beat Merlin.” Douxie and Archie shared a look.

“This evil lady, gold armour. Green hand. Goes by Morgana?” Douxie asked.

“You know her?” Claire asked.

“We’ve... met.” Douxie said eventually. “Any idea where she is?”

“I’m guessing near the the big glowy thing in the sky.” Toby suggested.

“Good guess.” Archie said. “Shall we get on then?”

“Who even are you!?” Toby asked. “Like aren’t you a waiter?” Douxie blasted a Gumm-Gumm, smiling as their jaws dropped.

“Oh I’m a lot more than that.”

Morgana was at the bridge over the canal because where else would she be. The whirlwind of magic poured into the sky next to them. He floated down, smiling mockingly.

“Ah Little Douxie.” She said. He hated the way she said his name. It used to be an endearment, sweet. Now it was mocking. “Still trying time please Merlin?”

“Still pretending we didn’t kick your butt at Killahead?” Douxie replied. Morgana glared at him.

“Why don’t you drop dead?”

“You first!”

“Uh when you two are done could we maybe have the battle, stop the apocalypse?” Jim asked.

“Sorry.” Douxie winced, selecting a shield spell on his gauntlet. Just in time, as Morgana threw magic bolts at them. Douxie blocked while Jim charged towards her. He slashed daylight at her quickly but she managed to avoid each blow. The trollhunting team was good. Claire summoned portals quickly, keeping everyone out of danger. Toby swing his hammer hard. Jim moved with speed and accuracy. The two trolls slotted themselves in seamlessly. Distractions. Shields. Attackers. Whatever the kids needed. Claire opened a shadow portal, letting Douxie get behind Morgana.

“Your weak magics are nothing compared to mine.” She jeered at Claire and Douxie.

“Tenebris Exilium!” Douxie yelled, his own sky blue magic clashing violently with the gold of hers. He could feel himself being pushed back. She far outmatched him. “Nope.” He dropped the spell, nine hundred years of training kept him alive as he ducked and rolled. It was still a narrow miss as a jet of gold flew over his shoulder. He saw another troll appear. Duel fiercely with Morgana, grabbing her. The Trollhunter stabbed them both. And for a moment it looked like they won. And then Daylight vanished.

“Angor!” Toby yelled. Douxie watched the troll die.

“Arch, light me!” Douxie yelled, enchanting the flames to surrounded Morgana. It gave everyone time to get clear of her. Jim has managed to call daylight back. Douxie ended up near Claire.

“We need to stop her, seal her away or something.” Claire said, clutching her staff. “We can’t overpower her.”

“The shadow realm.” Toby suggested.

“Yes Toby! That’s a great idea.” Claire said. “And then we lock the staff away. Trap her forever.” Douxie thought that was a little idealistic. Morgana always seemed to find a way back. But at least they’d have a reprieve. And he’d probably still be around to enjoy Morgana trying to kill him again.

“Could you make another shield?” Jim asked, landing next to them. Douxie nodded, making one.

“It won’t hold for long.” Douxie warned. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it now.”

“Jim.” Claire said, sharing a look with her boyfriend. Jim nodded, running to Morgana. Claire opened a portal and instead of Jim going through, she and Toby pushed Morgana into it. Jim had been a distraction. And it worked. Briefly. Morgana had Claire in her grasp, pulling her in. Claire grabbed them edge of the portal. “Jim!”

“Don’t worry Claire.” Jim said, jumping and grabbing her. “I’ve got you.” Douxie cast a rope spell, tying it around Claire’s wrist.

“A little help here?” Douxie panted as he tugged on the magic rope. Toby grabbed his waist, while the two trolls grabbed him. They all pulled as hard as they could, yanking Claire free. She tumbled onto her boyfriend while Toby whacked the shadow staff into the portal. Morgana was gone. For now.

Merlin landed on the bridge after dispelling Morgana’s magic to a group of worn out teens. Douxie watched the wizard who was his mentor curiously as he approached.

“Well done young Trollhunter.” He said before pausing and staring at Douxie. “Hisirdoux what are you doing here?” Douxie rolled his eyes.

“Oh not much, just protecting the realm. Same as I have been for the past 900 years.” He said with a shrug.

“Ehehehe yes.” Merlin acknowledged.

“You’re name is Hisirdoux?” Jim asked with a frown.

“Wait did you say 900 years?” Claire asked.

“Give or take a century.” Archie added, jumping onto Douxie’s shoulder. Douxie shrugged again.

“Why didn’t you contact me?” He asked Merlin. “With the Queen of the Apocalypse turning up and all.”

“I didn’t know you were here.” Merlin said.

“So much for seeing the future.” Toby muttered.

“I heard that chatty.” Merlin said, turning to Toby before looking at Douxie. “There wasn’t enough time.”

“Enough time to turn Jim into a Troll and construct armour.” Douxie said bitterly. He was being a little petty but it had been 900 years. “Morgana was out here, where were you?”

“Morgana took my magic.” Merlin said with a sigh. “I couldn’t fight her without it.”

“We managed without you.” Jim said, crossing his arms.

“Yes I see that.” Merlin said, giving him an equally petulant look. “But I was right. You needed to be more.” Douxie didn’t roll his eyes. He didn’t. It was so like Merlin to do a his way or the highway speech.

“You could have called.” Douxie interrupted. “Smoke signal, texting, magic memo.”

“Hisirdoux, if I’d known you were around I would have said. But I didn’t so can we let it go.” Merlin said firmly, ending the conversation. “The heartstone is dead so we need to look for a new one...”

[dakotacrisis]

Hanging in the Stars

Soooo...I’m back at the Felinette again cause as we’ve established before I have no self control. Also @emzurl‘s art sparks a need to expand with fanfiction because I have fallen down the Felinette rabbit hole and I ain’t coming out!

Based off of this and this and this. I already wrote one based on one of these but I’m bringing it all together now!

War has broken out between Felix and Marinette. The only way to peace is through invasion of personal space.

---

It was Romeo and Juliet. Those that didn’t even read the play knew the Shakespearean tragedy.

Miss Bustier’s class had finished reading it and she opened the discussion for what her students thought an accurate interpretation of the play was. Little did anyone know the storm this question would unleash.

Marinette had raised her hand and gave her piece about how she thought it was a beautiful tragedy about a poisonous hatred conquered by love. Most of the class nodded along.

Then from the back of the classroom was a deep groan. Marinette went ramrod straight as she turned around to glare at the opposed.

“Felix, you have a different interpretation?” Miss Bustier asked.

“Yes.” He met Marinette’s glare, “To brand this tale a beautiful tragedy is to scrape the mere surface. When in actuality it is better suited as a cautionary tale about the stupidity of youth and trappings of shallow lust.”

“Thank you, Felix.” Miss Bustier nodded, “That was an interesting interpretation. Did anyone else have any ideas?”

“How can you say it is about the stupidity of youth?” Marinette countered, “The shallow lust you claim was actually real love. It only seemed rushed because it had to be introduced quickly to fit the run time of the play.”

“I am not surprised a hopeless romantic such as yourself would choose to believe in the delusion of love at first sight.” Felix rolled his eyes, “What Romeo and Juliet are experiencing is physical attraction that was further exacerbated by a juvenile sense of teenage rebellion brought on by their ancestor’s feud.”

“And I am not in the least surprised that a cynic such as yourself would take such a stance.” Marinette shot back, “Yes their feelings come on quickly but in the context of this story love at first sight does exist. It was a destiny written in the stars that they should love and their love should end in tragedy. Throughout the entire play there are references to the theme of the universe. They know the force that brought them together will inevitably drive them apart but still they beg the cosmos to let them be.”

“Or is it that destiny does not exist. There is no grand plan or greater meaning to the lives of others. We simply float through life experiencing hardships and pleasures. These two idiots were as made for each other as a fast food commercial saying that burgers and fries are a perfect pairing.” Felix stood out of his seat.

“I refuse to believe that everything is left to chance. There are some things in this world that are meant to be and Shakespeare understood that.” Marinette was out of her chair as well. “A feud started long ago that is buried with love. What better metaphor is there for destiny and tragedy and the delicate nature of life and love?”

“I can think of one.” Alya said with a knowing smile.

“Okay kids!” Miss Bustier called out. “I think that is enough for today. We will pick up on this tomorrow.”

The class cooled down from the debate. Marinette was seething but turned away to gather her things. Why was she getting so worked up about Felix’s opinion on a play anyway? That wasn’t like her. But to hear such a pessimistic outlook on one of the greatest love stories ever written had triggered her in a way. Should she have really thought more from the pessimist himself?

“Girl,” Alya slid closer to Marinette, “Things got a tad heated there. Any particular reason?”

“Felix just rubs me the wrong way. The pompous, cold hearted, little cynic that he is.” Marinette swung her bag onto her shoulders.

“Pompous? Yes. Cold hearted? Also yes.” Felix strode past their desk, “But I am a realist, Dupain-Cheng. Not a cynic. Get your facts right.”

“You arrogant son of a--”

“Whoa girl. Calm down.” Alya held her back. “Don’t let him get to you.”

---

Felix couldn’t deny that he didn’t enjoy some good conflict. He lived for debates. And debating with Dupain-Cheng had been interesting to say the least. She had already proved herself a spigot of emotion and thus her views and arguments were strongly driven by her own conviction.

As much as she tried to remain good natured and level headed there was an unquenchable fire within her. And Felix relished nothing more than fanning the flames when given the chance. Maybe it was the fact that she was one of the few genuinely intelligent people in his class. Maybe it was the fact that she was conniving under her fluffy persona. But Dupain-Cheng had a grace and composure that burned bright and made her tower high with confidence. It was...fascinating.

Not that he would ever admit such a thing. He knew exactly how she would respond if she ever found out Felix had been riling her up to glimpse the unwavering girl he quietly admired. Was his avoidance at her reaction born from shame or fear? Perhaps both.

The days went by and the debates he held with Dupain-Cheng grew. His pleasure hidden by an impassive mask he crafted over many years.

It wasn’t until she started ignoring him altogether did his behavior seem to catch up to him. In his head their debates and jabs had all been in good fun. A game of teasing or whatnot. But now she wouldn’t respond. The fire he loved to see had smouldered. She looked tired. Even when he targeted her directly she wouldn’t so much as meet his gaze. The most he could get out of her was a sharp word or a harsh glance.

Had he gone too far?

“Dupain-Cheng.” He walked up to her before class. “I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t feel like getting into another argument with you, Felix.” She continued to rifle through her locker. Her back to turned to him as she spoke.

“I’m not here to argue with you.”

“That’d be a first.” She muttered.

He reached past her and closed the locker. He kept his arm against the locker effectively pinning her in place so she couldn’t easily run off. “I mean it. There is something I need to tell you.”

She turned slowly so that she was facing him and it was at this point he realized exactly how close he had gotten. Her face was barely a breath away staring up at him. A mad blush rising hot up her neck as she clung tightly to her books.

“What do you want?” She asked.

“I...” Felix couldn’t remember. The speech he had carefully prepared and worded had erased itself from his memory. What is it he had wanted to say!

“Marinette, can I copy your homework? I completely forgot to finish that worksheet from chemistry last night.” Alya came around the corner and saw her best friend pinned against her locker by Felix. “Or should I give you two a minute to sort this out?”

“Alya!” Marinette slid out from Felix and joined her friend. “Good morning! What was this about your homework?”

Felix was still frozen in place by the lockers. What was that! He’s better than this! He’s more composed than this! A pair of bluebell eyes will not unhinge him again.

Not to worry. They had a free period today. Marinette had a habit of using that period to study by herself so he would get to her then. He just needed to keep a level head and not get distracted like he did this morning.

Free period came and everyone trickled out of the classroom. Marinette stayed seated. Now was his chance.

“Dupain-Cheng,” He stopped at the desk next to her. “Got a minute?”

“No.” She pulled out her textbook. “Can you leave? I’m trying to study.”

“And I will leave you to it in a moment. I need a quick word with you. That’s all.”

“No offense, Felix, but I really don’t care about what it is you have to say to me.” She stood up, “And since you won’t leave I guess I’ll have to.”

“Dupain-Cheng, wait.” He called out to her.

She stopped and turned back to look at him. “What?”

“Come here.” he gestured.

“Why should I?” she raised her chin defiantly.

“Fine then.” He crossed over to her. “I’ll just come to you.”

“Okay, you’re here. Now what?” She muttered. Her eyes still met his own but it was a struggle to do so. The warm glow on her cheeks didn’t escape his notice either.

His face was blank but his heart beat painfully loud in his chest. Say something. Say anything! You got her here and you probed this close into her personal space already you need to say something!

“Now I’m going to...” He pushed even closer. The subtle pink of her face exploding into a hot red as he inclined nearer.

Where was he going with this? This wasn’t the plan! Swerve, Felix! Swerve!

“Remove this from your hair.” He pulled a leaf that had been caught in her hair.

He turned towards the garbage can to throw it away. “You really must be more attentive miss Dupain-Cheng. Appearance is everything.”

She made a loud angry growling sort of noise before stomping out the door. Felix stared at the leaf in his hand with a growing sense of dread. What was wrong with him? Two times he lost his sense of direction trying to talk to her. Why was he getting so close to her in the first place? Before he was trying to keep her in place so she had to listen to him. But here she was already listening.

Whatever. This was stupid. Dupain-Cheng would be back to her usual spitfire self in no time. It wasn’t his fault.

He left to go clear his head in the library. There was a secluded spot away from the usual noise he loved to sit and study in. On his way he passed by Dupain-Cheng who glared at him. Her face still bright red from their earlier encounter.

He couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto his face as he walked past her. He settled down in his corner and pulled out the travel copy of Romeo and Juliet he had been reading. He had an essay to write and needed to find which quotes he wanted to include.

Romeo: Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.

Mercutio: If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.--

“HEY!”

The shout pulled Felix from his work. He gazed up just in time to see Dupain-Cheng descend upon him in a fury. Slamming her hand against the wall next to him trapping him in place much like he had done her this morning.

She was so small though. It would be only too easy to move her and escape to somewhere more secluded but her unwavering gaze kept him in place.

“Do you like it when I invade your personal space uninvited?” She snarled at him, “Huh, smart guy?”

“I do.” The words leapt past his lips without thought.

His eyes grew wide as he searched for something else to say. What was wrong with him? Before he couldn’t get out two words to her and now the two words he chose were damning to his unforeseen intentions. Why was he acting like this?

She backed away from him. Her face a mask of embarrassment and regret. Felix’s own visage was no better. His indifference peeled away to reveal his own embarrassment and excitement from the event.

“I’m--I’m sorry,” she stammered. Her mortification hidden behind her hands. “I don’t know what came over me. I just wanted to make you as uncomfortable as you made me.”

“I uh,” Felix cleared his throat, “I see.”

He took a deep breath to compose himself and set his book down. He inched a step closer towards her. He wouldn’t get up close again. His mind would surely short circuit once more.

“It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable. I only wished you to listen and I feared any other way you may have walked away.” He told her.

“What is it you have to say that I need to listen to?” she kept her eyes locked on the ground. “I already said once I don’t want to argue with you anymore, Felix.”

“I like it when you argue with me.” He answered truthfully. “Debating with you is some of the most and only fun I have in this school.”

“Why though? Why me?”

“Do you really believe that anyone else can hold such intelligent passion?” He asked. She met his eyes once again and he sighed. “You are clever and you have conviction. It is a rare treat to see you bring both to the surface in such an entertaining way. I suppose that it was greedy of me to probe you for my own amusement. You were such an optimist I didn’t think your well of patience and drive could run dry.”

“You constantly got into arguments with me because you wanted to see me get mad?” Her eyebrows knit together.

“The situation is more nuanced than that but to be black and white about it, yes. I guess I was making you angry for my pleasure.”

“That is rather selfish.” her gaze hardened, “Did you not once think of how it made me feel? Having to constantly battle your arrogant opinions? It was all rather exhausting.”

“You left me rather winded after a row as well.” Felix smirked. He crept another step closer. She watched him wearily but didn’t make a move to distance herself. “As firm as I believe it was hard to not get sucked into your point of view. You speak so passionately to stand against you is a chore in and of itself. One I both loathe and look forward to.”

“You are a real piece of work. You know that?”

“A masterpiece?” he quipped with a teasing smile.

She made a small snorting sound that struck Felix to the bone. She was laughing. Genuinely laughing because of him.

“If you say so.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

“From now on I’ll leave our debates strictly in the classroom. Agreed?” He held out a hand to her.

“Agreed.” She took his hand firmly and shook.

A bit of daring flooded his system and he pulled her forward bringing her hand up to his face and left a chaste kiss upon it. Her face was flushed that mad red again. “I look forward to our next bout, Dupain-Cheng.”

[dwellordream]

“One of the seductions of horn logic was its power to make short work of complex and contested narratives. When Thersites reduces the Trojan War to "All the argument is a whore and a cuckold" (Troilus and Cressida 2.3.72), he slyly mocks the spectators who flocked to play after play about precisely that argument. On the street and at the theater doors, ballads aired news of local and homely adulteries, while the stage offered plays about sexual betrayal in elevations low (Johan the Husband) to middling (Arden of Feversham) to lofty (King Lear), many of them preceded by a clown's homing gibes at the audience and capped with bawdy jigs about cuckoldry. 

If sated playgoers decided to pick up an Arthurian romance or a volume of English history, they would find more monitory examples of infidelity, male and female. In the Arthurian legends and in chronicles by Speed and Holinshed, "the king's adultery is an immediately familiar emblem for the defilement of the purity of the state and the abdication of responsible government." In accounts of Edward II's homing and murder, Henry VIII's fatal accusations against his queens, or the explosive rumor of Lord Darnley's horning and murder by Mary Stuart, chroniclers and popular authors warned princes to beware the love of women. 

As Phyllis Rackin observes, "the patrilineal genealogy" that organized both history and society "required the repression of women, and of heteroerotic passion as well, because the invisible, putative connection between fathers and sons that formed the basis of patriarchal authority was-as Shakespeare's cuckold jokes endlessly insist-always dubious, always vulnerable to subversion by an adulterous wife." Not even religion was free of the horn. During Queen Mary's reign, Catholics bewhored English nuns who had converted to Protestantism under Edward and married. In taking the veil, they had espoused themselves to Christ; wouldn't he be "stirred up to wrathe and indignation" like any other cuckold?

Pageant drama, too, had its share of horn jokes. In the "N-Town" Joseph's Doubt, spectators have a good laugh at the expense of Joseph, who moans that he'll be ridiculed back in Bethlehem as an "old cokwold" whose "howe is bent." When Mary explains that the Holy Spirit impregnated her, he angrily cuts her short: "It was sum boy began [th]is game." It takes a miracle for him to believe her: a cherry tree bows down to give Mary its fruit, finally satisfying him that he is not horned but holy. Like Joseph, many critics who have considered early modern cuckoldry suspect it was "sum boy began this game" and that the prime mover behind the age's obsession was intense male concern about "the other man." 

Relying on analyses of property transfer in marriage derived from the work of Marcel Mauss and Claude Levi-Strauss (theories that Gayle Rubin drew on in "The Traffic in Women"), critics as diverse as Coppelia Kahn, Katherine Eisaman Maus, and Eve Kosofsky Sedgiwick forward the proposition that cuckoldry narratives focus chielfy on the flow of homoerotic and political power "between men," in Sedgwick's famous phrase. Douglas Bruster asserts that only the male lover, never the wife, is "the one who cuckolds" and that women are "helpless counters" in a transfer between males.

While the cuckoldry paradigm is certainly about male-male economies of desire, it seems futile to deny that it is also about female pleasure and will. In some tales the "helpless counter" is not the wife at all but the lover, who is hidden, coached, and directed by the wife. Many tales name the wife as "the one who cuckolds," while the husband is the object. One lame jest puns on this relationship: Q. Why doth the man weare the hornes whereas the woman doth make them? A. Because the man is the head. More often than not, the merry books feature women who act on their desires for revenge, love, or sexual satisfaction using the weapons of allies, wit, daring, and timing. 

A surprising number of tales direct no criticism at the wife or lover but instead upbraid the husband and his faults: impotence, jealousy, brutality. Finally, some comic narratives give prominent play to a husband's lechery as the cause of his wife's infidelity or her threat to give him horns. The author of Jane Anger, her Protection for Women (1589) certainly thought her readers would enjoy hearing why skirt chasers so often became cuckolds: "some of them will follow the smocke as Tom Bull will runne after a town Cow. But, lest they should running slip and breake their pates, the Gods, provident of their welfare, set a paire of tooters on their foreheads, to keepe it from the ground."

To explain all such narratives by recourse to the theory that women are counters passed from male to male is to accept a monolithic, one-sex model of drama and social power. This is unwarranted in light of the abundant popular materials that dwell on women's abilities to manipulate and subvert, if only in fantasy, a sexual marketplace that urged them to be pliant commodities. Too many stories show the commodity striking back, besting husbands described as deserving cuckolds or proving them hypocrites. More important, the favored genres of the horn-ballad, jig, novella, and jest-often portray women as storytellers and performers, which is not so surprising given that real women engaged in precisely these forms of popular mimesis.

Why would women enjoy these tales? First, many tales assert that women possess a satiric weapon in a world that continually denies them agency and wit. They offer harsh judgment fitting to the harsh conditions of most women's lives, inviting readers to mock abusive, alcoholic, or philandering husbands, all of which were in ample supply. Second, within the jesting literature, poverty and beatings at home are cited as motives behind many extramarital encounters. The narrator in Cornu-Copiae (1612) reasons that, by taking lovers, women may be looking for something more than sexual pleasure: 

Sometimes the golden prey doth make the theife, And women yeeld for further maintenance: Sometimes short commons makes them seeke reliefe: And stubborn usage and sterne countenance, Perforce constraine a woman now and than To seeke for comfort of a kinder man; And sometimes want of heartes, when hands are married, Is one great cause, that many have miscarried. It is remarkable how often such passages occur in texts that are otherwise crudely antifeminist. (Cornu-Copiae goes on to show a man trapped into marriage, with her family's collusion, by a woman impregnated by another man.) 

Other jests and ballads target hard-handed husbands who drink to excess. Narratives about tavern-haunting, foul-mouthed husbands sometimes show a bias toward the female reader. These may function as ripostes to the more misogynist specimens of the gossips' literature, in which drunken shrews plot how to beat and cuckold their husbands. Pasquils Palinodia's "Muse of Sack" warns men that a husband's brutality can drive a wife to adultery: 

And blame her not for shee is not of steele, Nor made of iron, brasse, or such hard mettle, Neither so senseless that she cannot feele But she is us'd as tinker doe his kettle .... Then straight he calls her half a dozen whores, And to the Taverne gets him out of doores .... Then druncke, at midnight, home the knave doth creepe, And beats his wife, and spues, and falls asleep. Shall a vast unthrift with a false pretence Wrong his poore wife, and be exempt from blame? And shall a woman, who hath a just offence And forc'd by dogged usage to her shame, If she another friend doth entertaine, To give her some content, and ease her paine, Shall she be censur'd with disgraceful speeches, And he stand deere because he wares the breeches?

The answer goes without saying-she'll be censured, and he'll" stand cleere"-but at least the text identifies and questions the double standard, an example of the counterhegemonic articulation that is sometimes audible in popular texts. Such a passage does not offer up the ventriloquized voice of a female subject. Rather, it is a beckoning slot in discourse, an invitation to debate that may be taken up by multiple voices, including women's. Frances Dolan argues that popular representations of cuckoldry "constitute the wife as a subject only to the extent that they qualify [the] husband's claim to subject status by silencing and immobilizing him and casting doubt on his authority and potency."”

- Pamela Allen Brown, “Between Women, or All Is Fair at Horn Fair.” in Better a Shrew than a Sheep: Women, Drama, and the Culture of Jest in Early Modern England

[wordynerdygurl]

Lady In Waiting

Author Note:  Hiya everyone!  This one, man, I’ve thought about this for a long time!  I hope it entertains and delights you all!   Summary:  Loki calls you over for some fun with cuffs but an interruption leaves you a Lady In Waiting!

Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader Warnings:  So, SMUT.  Art House, Prose-y, SMUT... also restraints, in a committed relationship.

“Come over.  I need you.”

That was all it took for you to get yourself across town as quickly as your worn out canvas sneakers could carry you. Knocking on his door, breathless and heart racing, you bite into your bottom lip.  Already excited, you rocked on your heels, a bubble of giddiness rising inside you.

Hearing the locks turn, you’re expecting the door to open for you, Loki waiting on the other side but that doesn't happen.  Tentatively, twisting the knob, you push into the dimly lit room where your lover hides.  He is definitely here, you think in the clear moment before Loki’s hands find your shoulders, driving you into the solid wood of his front door.

Stopping his lips is not an option.  Cupping your chin, he has tipped your mouth into the perfect position, allowing him unchecked access to your soft, sweet mouth.  You’d moan, but Loki would just swallow it whole, so the sound you do make is a choked gasp of longing. His tongue is inside you, flicking over your teeth.  His tongue rubs against your own, tasting what you taste of.  

His tongue caresses your inner cheek, slick on slick, slipping further into the deep well of you.

His tongue traces the roof of your mouth, riding the ridges there, as if to conquer all of the flavors and words and songs that might be made in your carnal cave. Pulling away, dewy pink pout in place, “I came as soon as I could.” “It’s much appreciated.” Fingers grab his tight shoulders, enjoying the unbearable nearness of him, unwilling to break your embrace even if the kiss must end.  Searching his eyes for answers, “What’s your rush?” It’s innocent enough a question.  Loki’s call had sounded almost panicked.  But you knew nothing truly scared your God of Mischief.  No, there was something else at work here.   “I told you.  I need you.”  Pressing his hardening length against your belly, you could feel the agitation in him, the straight up desire that drove him to dial you up.  Still at the entryway, you flexed your hands, releasing your grip on him with great effort.  

But Loki didn’t yield an inch to you.  If anything he stepped closer, pinning you with his rigid body and his scorching gaze.  With a heaving sigh, “Loki…” “Go to the bedroom.  Take off these ridiculous pants… your silly sneakers… your stupid socks.”  

On you again, mumbling into your neck, mouth intent on marking you, “Kneel on the bed.  You know how I like to see you.  Feet tucked under you, head bowed, back straight… but with your knees spread, dove.  Wide open for only me to see.  Will you do this for me?” What could you say?  No?  Hardly.  

Loki pushed away from you then, leaving you behind as he moved further into his lair, his directions leaving your knees weak.  Inhaling a steadying breath, you moved quickly, struggling for calm.  Pulse racing, you throw your bag down with a thump once you're in Loki's room.  

Wasting no time, you shuck your clothes, heart pounding with anticipation.  You scramble onto the inky sheets, flushed with want, goosebumps breaking across your hypersensitive skin.  It seems like hours, but truthfully, in seconds you were waiting as requested, panting with pent up passion. 

You weren't left waiting long. Leaning into the door frame, Loki was without his shirt, a sight that made you writhe.  Black jeans, faded at the knee from wear, were unsnapped but hanging onto his hips in a way that made you salivate.  He was also barefoot, which probably shouldn’t be so sexy on a man like yours, but damn him… even his toes had the ability to excite.

And they did, actually, all of it did.  You couldn't recall a time when you had been so, so ready.  If Loki didn't touch you soon, you were certain your body would self ignite. “Put your hands behind your back, little one.”  Doling out commands in his honey hot voice had you complying without complaint. Forcing your chest out, bountiful bust barely contained by your flannel shirt, you felt the buttons tug tightly in your new position.  Lust lingered in Loki’s eyes at your shameless display.  “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun, darling.  So much fun.” Deep down, you knew that the cuffs were coming out.  He wouldn’t have been so specific with his directions otherwise.  Still, when the cool steel snapped closed, trapping your wrists behind you, you keened softly, “Is this really necessary?” “Definitely.  Because, you see, you look so damn fetching with your body bent in the way I want.”  Pulling down on the chain between your shackles, back bending to relieve the pressure, Loki asserted his dominion over you.  

Long fingers plucked your straining buttons open.  Greedy fingers circled your nipples, the coarse lace of your bra offering no protection from the fantastic friction Loki was creating.  His palms squeezed, rough, fingers finding a hold on each of your glorious globes.   Tugging the frilly cups down, your breasts now heavy and free, Loki lowers his full lips to your tender bud.  At first it’s a lick, tentative, soft.  Soon he is sucking, precious pain pulling you closer to his tightly sealed kiss, perfect teeth biting into the gentle flesh. “Oh fuck… oh fuck… Loki…”  Whines tumble out of you, unbidden, unrehearsed.  

“Hush, dearest.  If you can’t quiet down, I’ll have to make you.”  Folding your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding with understanding, you silently agree.  Returning to his work, Loki focused on your opposite breast with the same erotic enthusiasm. Since you can’t speak, you hum.  But then your humming grows in volume.  Soon you’re moaning, unable to do more than bounce your bottom, needing the fullness that Loki offers to bring you some level of satisfaction.  Feeling him over the flimsy fabric of your panties, head thrown back in delirious desire, you want Loki to push inside of you.  You’re desperate to have him stretch you, open you up for his own amusement.  That eagerness makes Loki chuckle darkly.   

His hands find your hips, dipping under the elastic waist of your underwear.  Expecting Loki's lingering touch, a whine slides out of you at the sound of shredding satin.  “No, please, Loki!  I’ll be quiet.  I promise!” “Ah, it’s a bit late for that, unfortunately.  Open up.”  Loki expects your complete submission, never doubting that you’ll do what he’s asked.  Reluctantly you part your lips.  Loki takes his time, thumb caressing your mouth, before setting the ruined garment on your tongue. Kissing along your jaw, Loki husks, “Now you’re wet cunt is ready for me.”  Your eyes roll at his lewd language, a wave of euphoria coasting through your throbbing cleft, your stuffed mouth unable to do more than mumble.   His wicked words are still hanging there, floating in the air around you both, when there’s a knock at his door.  Freezing in place, his hand on your spread thigh, Loki’s head cocks to one side as if unsure that he’s heard the beckoning.

"Loki?  Are you there?” “Thor.  Fuck.  He's early.”  Shocked, you watch Loki push himself off the bed, buttoning up his pants.  Words form but are blocked by the fancy cloth stunting your speech.  Grazing his lips over your forehead, “Don’t move, darling.  I’ll be back.” Anger replaces arousal.  Loki can tell by the look on your face that you’re more than pissed off at the interruption.  “I know.  Just be a good girl.  Be quiet.  Be still.  And I won’t show my brother how incredibly sexy you look bound and gagged in my bed.” With one last look at your livid figure, Loki shut his bedroom door, leaving you as he described.  Wet, willing and now, waiting. You can’t hear what they’re talking about, all you can make out is tones.  It sounds rather serious, but without context, who’s to say what brings Thor here, unannounced.  He must ask after you, because Loki’s voice rises just a bit in order to offer a vague, “She’s tied up at the moment.”  And you really could scream with frustration and fury.   Internally debating your options, you realized that they were few, and of poor quality.  You could risk rising, near naked with your hands locked behind you, but how would you open the door?  Grunting, you sit back on your heels, giving your sore knees a break.  How long would Thor stay? Shortly you heard Loki’s footsteps coming closer.  Suddenly alert, your reverie broke in a flash, focused solely on the door.  Blushing hot, you watched the knob turn and Loki, finally, was there. He didn’t come closer, rather, Loki pulled a clean shirt from a drawer.  Tipping into near panic, you started talking even though you knew it was pointless.  Sensing your anxiety, Loki brought your face to his, kissing your cheek.   “Thor is still here, not a sound, kitten.”  His voice is rough.  Coarse.  But it also sends shivers shooting through your system.

The bed dips as he sits beside you.  Loki parts your opened shirt, hands drawn to your satin skin, palms skating over your belly.  Shivering, you can't help tilting towards him.  If you weren't so tense with need maybe you could afford to be angry with Loki.  As it is, just being near him is enough to reignite your ardor.

Whispering softly, calming you between chaste kisses to your chin, cheeks, the bridge of your nose, Loki calls you darling, sweetness, dear. His hands never stop exploring your tethered form, relishing your responsive whines, enjoying your trusting helplessness.  Mirroring your posture, sitting up on his knees, Loki grabs one of the pillows from his headboard.

Still adrift in the attention he affords you, his changing tone of voice jars you, "I only have a minute, pet."  His hands, aggressive now, slap your thigh.  The intention is clear.  Spread 'em.

"My sweet little kitten, so greedy, so ready for me… I am unable to attend to all your needs just now.  Regrettably."  His voice is a ragged husk.  

Arousal evident as he scrunches the pillow, "Come on… up on your knees." 

Unsure of Loki's objective, you're surprised when he tucks the cozy rectangle between you and the mattress.  The foam, pressing against your swollen sex, provides friction but not the satisfying stretch your body craves.  Using only your mumbled mewls as confirmation to continue, toying with you, Loki circles your hypersensitive clitoris.  Your hips jerk, surprised spasms sending you into the softness Loki has stuffed underneath you.

"That's it… keep going.  Gods, you are so beautiful."  His praise speeds up in time with your climbing desire.  Gasping behind your gag, once more on the edge of ecstasy, your thighs tremble around the cushion cradling your center.  Between Loki's dancing digit and the unlikely excitement caused by riding the downy pillow, you're seconds away from succumbing to a glorious finale.

And as fast as he began, Loki withdraws, leaving you drenched in unquenchable need.  Crying in frustration, muffled and desperate, your body is beyond the limits of begging.  At the moment Loki could ask anything of you and he would have your complete cooperation, if it meant that you could clench around his hard length.

Standing, those long legs carry him to the bureau.  Rustling around, Loki finds what he needs and faces you with a devious grin.  Crossing the floor in two strides, looming over you now, your tear streaked face lifts toward the man you love.  His hand tangles in your hair, forcing your back to bow, pushing your pelvis forward.

A familiar buzz fills the room.  He gives you no further warning.  One second you're open, ripe and ready.  The next you are overfilled, grateful for the gag muffling your cry, squeezing the toy stuffing your center.

“Loki?  Are you ready?”  Thor’s voice boomed from the other room breaking through the cloud of your nearing climax. “Nearly there, brother!  Give me just another minute!’  Turning his bright blue eyes to you, Loki flashed his finest smile, “He needs me to go with him.  I won’t be long… so you must cum.  Right now."

And it's the physically lethal combination of Loki's flashing glare, his wicked whispers, and false phallus that fight to free your feminine frenzy.  Humping his toy into you, the pillow giving you resistance, you feel the speculative shuddering start in your center.  Cresting in a wave of wonderment, your pleasure crashed over you, cries cut off by your full mouth.

Loki, holding onto you, cooing softly, caresses you through your release.  The toy stills inside of you, still filling, but no longer shaking against your tender walls.  Swiping the gag free, Loki forces a deep kiss on you, absorbing your aftershocks with his able mouth.  "That, my sweet, was worth every second."

Stretching your jaw, sighing softly, "Loki… undo these cuffs?"

Thoughtful for a moment, Loki looked over your flustered form, "I don't think I will.  I rather like having you here.  Knowing that you’re naked and needy, waiting for me.  Gods… I’ve been hard this entire time, dove.” Wasting no time, Loki picked up where he’d left you before, his hand finding your center as his tongue plundered you once more.  Slow, painfully slow, Loki dragged his fingers through your soaked slit, pressing the vibrator firmly into your velvet tunnel.  Soon, too soon, you were a mewling mess.  Sobbing softly into Loki’s ear, “Please… more, please.”

Shaking against him, body taunt, so ready to let go again, Loki’s fingers left you.  “I’ll be back in half an hour.”, his normally stoic voice streaked with desire. In a worried whisper, “What?  You’re really leaving me?”   “I am.  But once I get back, I’m going to ravage you soundly, so I need you to be ready.”

“Loki!  You can’t!”  It’s the loudest you can be while still whispering.  And it isn’t nearly forceful enough to change your troublemaking lover’s mind. “I can and I will.”  Walking around you, facing you full on, Loki stroked over your tummy.  Grabbing your bottom, fingers digging into your yielding flesh, you groaned.  “Oh yes, you’re staying right here, my pretty pet.” “Loki?  Are you ready yet?”  Thor sounded impatient, and more alarmingly, right outside the bedroom.  “Almost, dear brother.  Meet me downstairs, ok?” “Fine… but hurry up!  Jane’s expecting me!” “Oh, we don’t like to keep our ladies waiting, do we brother?”  Thor moves on, you hear his boots on the stairs.  Loki on the other hand, his look is sinful as he licks his lips, hungry for you.  Leaning into your ear, “I can smell you, kitten.  And I can hardly wait to have you.”  You lean into his strength, silently begging him to stop this game, hot skin abraded by his clothing.  “Please!  Don’t leave me hanging, Loki!” Laughing coldly, “Hanging?  Oh no.  You have so much to do, darling.  There are rules, you see…” Gritting your teeth, already on edge, you wanted to snap at your lover.  “Rules?  Loki, you’re really…”  But the rest of your words were lost as he manipulated the massager using some form of magic.  Arching away from him, your overstimulated body wanted to fly over the cliff into your next completion.   “Are you listening, love?  Because this is important.  You are not allowed to cum without me.”  

Rational thought was fleeting.  With every second of sensual overload Loki forced on you, all you knew for certain was that you worshiped the God in front of you, and because of this, your agreement was undeniable.  Nodding, voice useless, you let Loki kiss you again, his rhythm matching that of his tormenting toy.

"Do not cum, kitten. I will be back shortly."  Slapping your ass, Loki laughed at your shriek, shutting the door on you.  Could you hold out?  God, the thrumming vibrations were radiating through you.  Rocking your hips, fighting against the tide of your tension, your fragile nerves were rapidly fraying.  He had told you, commanded you, ordered you not to climax.   But how long would it take before your body broke Loki’s rule?  And just what would The God of Mischief do if you failed him?  Pulling against the steel bracelets holding your arms, snuggled into the cushion cradled against you, you laughed as a fresh release rolled over you.

You were going to be here awhile.  Loki was going to need a new pillow.  And paying him back was going to be so much fun.   

Tagging Team:  @just-random-obsessions​ @iamverity​ @brokenthelovely​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @archy3001​ @mizfit2​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @jamielea81​ @jessiejunebug​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​

[kawaiikatchi]

My Thoughts on Case 4 for Great Pretender (Part 1 of 2)

SPOILERS FOR CASE 4(EPISODES 15-23) PLEASE GO WATCH BEFORE READING

-------------------------------------------------------

For some reason, I have a very complicated relationship with Case 4. Whenever I think about it, it feels like two parts of myself are having a debate with one another, and I can't decide who is winning because they're both right.

Let's just start from the beginning. Keep in mind that I've only watched this chunk of episodes once, so this will be my honest first impressions of how I think the show concluded (does anyone know if we're getting a season 2???).

THE GREAT

To start off with a lot of the positives for this case, I LOVED the heart to heart moment that Edamura and Laurent had at the beginning. It felt very necessary, considering that it was rare that these two would sit down and talk about something serious. It was nice, even if you're not looking at it through a shipping lense like I am (yes, I ship Laurent and Edamame, and no I will not feel ashamed) that Laurent could give him advice considering that they both fell into becoming con artists because they had no real path in life. As we learn more about Laurent's backstory through this arc, it becomes a lot more obvious that Laurent sees a bit of his younger self in Edamura, but his comment about doing what Edamura thinks is right shows that Laurent, at least on some level, recognizes the fact that Edamura isn't Laurent, and he has the freedom to be whatever person he wants to be despite what the blonde confidence man may want for him.

I also enjoyed this case when it explored Edamura's charcter (even though it kinda came at the expense of Laurent's character, but we'll get there). He definitely has been through the most highs and lows (actually mostly lows) of the series, making his decent to the darkside all the more interesting. I wasn't all that worried that he would betray the team or die when it was time to put the last phases of their plan into motion, (heck, we had two boat scenes where four people in total seemingly "died" yet they all turned out to be alright) but I was definitely worried as to how all this was going to affect Edamura's mental state. Throughout the series he has repeatedly gotten the short end of the stick, attempting to make his own life decisions only to find out Laurent was one step ahead of him. Then in one of the most crucial moments of the show, Edamura's good deed unintentionally gets two of his closest allies killed, making him go into a murderous rage and killing his own father. At least, that's what it looked like on the surface. Until he finds out that that too was a part of Laurent's plan, and once again it seems as if nothing Edamura does will ever be of his own free will. There is one line in particular that kinda hits different after now finishing the show, and it's what Edamura says to his father after finding out the truth of what's been going on behind the scenes.

"Everything Laurent had me do until now was a practice run for this, wasn't it?....I'll do it...Just like I'm told." (Episode 21)

At this point in the story, Edamura has completely given up control of his own life. He tried at one point to write his own destiny, but it got people hurt in the process. Even hearing the fact that the deaths were staged just reaffirmed the idea in his mind that nothing he ever does will truly mean anything. It's all just a game where someone else will always be the one pulling the strings. I think this is also one of the main reasons he stayed so close to Akemi Suzaku. He knew that all he could do is play the part they told him to play, because he had no more fight left to go against it. That and they'd probably kill him if he tried to leave again, and he may or may not have viewed her as a mother figure after his mother passed away. In the case of switching sides and betraying Suzaku Akemi, his life wouldn't really be that much different than what it already was. Sure he wouldn't be helping with illegal trafficking anymore, but he'd still be following someone else's plan for his life. It would just be a matter of which plan he's going to follow, Laurent's or Akemi's. Either way, he loses.

This is when I think the advice that Laurent gave Edamura at the beginning is the most applicable (funny how Laurent was giving him the solution to the problem that he started without even realizing it). The advice from earlier is also emphasized to a higher degree by Abby when she says:

"You're no longer trapped by gravity. Malice, envy...You can be free from everything. That's what you said. Who you decieve or betray is totally up to you. Do what you like. Just...forgive yourself. That's what saved me." (Episode 23)

This speech that Abby gives to Edamura is perfect in every sense of the word. Instead of saying something like "hey you better not betray us", she communicates to Edamura very eloquently that the problem isn't whether or not he'll betray Akemi, Laurent, Abby or Cynthia, but rather if he will choose to keep betraying himself. Will he keep giving up what he wants for the sake of others? He needs to decide that on his own, and once he finds his answer he needs to forgive himself.

At first glance, I thought "well Makoto ends up contributing to the success of Laurent's scheme, so what's the difference this time?" The difference: Makoto is in the perfect position to betray Laurent, plus he has every reason to do so, but he doesn't. Because that's not who he is. He's not Laurent. He's not his father. He's not Akemi. He's Makoto Edamura. For probably the first time in the series, Edamura is able to make Laurent follow his plan instead of the other way around, outsmarting him and showing everyone that he is the only one in charge of his destiny. He's not helping with the con for his allies, Akemi or Ozaki. He's doing it for himself.

Changing subjects completely to another thing that I liked about episodes 15-23, is that I did enjoy what we did get of Laurent's development. Despite the fact that later in my review, I'm gonna kinda complain about Laurent's story (more of just from a story structure perspective), Great Pretender KNOWS how to make a charcter's backstory engaging. They also seem well equipped to write romances, as I thought that Laurent and Dorothy had some definitive cute moments together. It was intriguing to see how the ever confident Laurent got his start as well, and how he grew to become who he is today. In addition to that, I loved how the show was able to bring us back to the first episode by showing the important events that led up to it (especially how Laurent met Abby and Cynthia). For some reason, I'm a sucker for when shows try to pull the "remember when it all began" nostalgia card for their own show. Very well executed.

Finally, the last great thing that I'll mention about the Great Pretender finale, was the ending. I wasn't sure how I felt about it upon first viewing, but after some deliberation, it just makes sense. The group ends up going their separate ways while still staying somewhat connected. Abby looks like she's become a bit of a traveler, while Edamura is journeying to taste a bunch of different coffee (fitting). Cynthia is taking care of a kid named Kawin, who looks like he might be considering becoming an artist (Cynthia will always be surrounded by artistic people, she has no choice lol), and Laurent is working for the president of the United States I guess???? All of these life decisions are just believable enough for me to buy it, so I won't complain. I guess I just have a bit of bittersweet emotions towards the ending, since the characters seem so content with where they are now, but I was kinda hoping for a another season of their shenanigans. I really need to stop getting attached to shows right before they are about to end. However, if this was truly the end of the Great Pretender series, I'm glad it ended in the way that it did. I feel conned.

Next time: the not so good, but still decent things about Great Pretender Case 4.

(Continued in Part 2 of 2 (Coming Soon))