#but actually making even the head looks like its beyond my skills and budget

[slimecpu]

I spent two hours watching fursuit head tutorials and it's giving me mixed feelings about if I could ever do it, hhhh

[banqdanfnfic]

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

© banqdanfnfic 2021, all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, or repost my works. modification, translations, and/or redistribution of my works on any platform is strictly prohibited.

[toovirgins]

September, 1965

Summary: During a press interview to promote Help!, an interviewer makes his feelings for Paul quite obvious. Some parties aren't too happy about it.

“Now, I’m sure the four of you have been celebrating upon the release of your new film, Help! which recently came out here in the U.K. just over a month ago. I wanted to speak with you all about the film, the process, and the potential impact it could have. Now, the reviews have been generally strong, but many are claiming that despite its substantially more extensive budget, it falls a bit short of last year’s A Hard Day’s Night. Would you mind sharing your feelings on those claims?”

“Well, I’d hate to take this question on account of I haven’t seen either film,” came John’s reply first, drawing a thrum of laughter from the audience.

The interviewer (whose name Paul had already forgotten) spoke through a toothy grin, laughter bright on his lips. “You haven’t seen the films, John?”

A playful smile tugged at John’s lips, contradicting his deadpan reply. “Haven’t gotten around to it, no. Been busy filming some things.”

Another round of laughter. Paul felt a grin rise to his own face, knowing that John had good and well seen the films, and had rather liked them. He always found it intriguing to watch the show that John put on for the public eye.

“What about you, Paul? How do you feel about them?”

Paul tore his gaze away from his friend and flashed a bright smile at the interviewer. “Oh, I don’t mind about them. It was good fun to make them, yeah.”

“Do you feel like they captured your personalities quite well?”

“I’d say, relatively so.” The answer came from George this time, who began interlocking his fingers around his crossed knee. “You know, the films are full of us really just playing around and having a game of it, even with the more structured plots. Filming Help! was good fun, indeed.”

“We lot are a big fan of playing around,” Ringo added helpfully.

“Now Ringo, you’re more or less the star of this new film—if we can discount The Exciting Adventure of Paul on the Floor, of course. Was there any unwanted pressure there?”

Paul felt his cheeks redden at the mention of his slightly racy scene. He had already been uncomfortable with it, and the fact that it was receiving so much publicity frankly embarrassed him. He silently cursed John, the bastard, for his stupid ideas and his stupid way of making Paul go along with them. He caught John’s eye, who hastily looked away, suppressing the teasing grin that twitched at the corner of his mouth.

“—nothing at all, really,” Ringo was saying with a shrug. “I suppose it was a bit more work, as last film I got to wander about while they filmed me for a while and this one I had real big scenes of human sacrifice and whatnot. But no, I never thought about it as being stressful or more pressure.”

“Well, that’s wonderful, Ringo, thank you. Now, I’d like to circle back to something mentioned a bit earlier. Let’s cut to the chase: Paul, that scene. I’d like to know how much was really going on under that wrapper.”

A blush crept up his neck and he absentmindedly reached up to scratch his cheek. He forced himself to smile bashfully, subconsciously crossing his legs at the knee. “Well, y-you know…” He trailed off, not wanting to explicitly answer but framing the sentence in such a way that it was still suggestive.

“Aw,” the reporter gushed, flashing him a wink. “Don’t be shy now, Paul. I’m sure the viewers are dying to know as well.” The crowd hummed in agreement.

Before Paul could open his mouth, John shot a quick reply. “Now, I feel a bit hurt that no one has wanted to ask me that question.” He turned to face the camera. “I, John Winston Lennon, confirm on Universal Broadcast Television that in that scene I was wearing absolutely nothing underneath my clothing and undergarments.” He feigned a gasp, then exaggerated a grandiose curtsy as he momentarily raised himself out of his armchair. This raised another collective laugh. John was an easy fan favourite.

Paul suppressed feelings of gratitude. He giggled at the prospect of John confessing that to a real universally-broadcasted program, which, for now (fortunately, unfortunately?), was a thing of the future.

The interviewer waited for the laughter and scattered applause to subside before he continued. “Thank you for that shocking revelation, John. Though I’m not quite sure that answered our question…” The suggestion trailed off, and Paul realized that it was meant for him to answer. He was busy watching John after accidentally catching a flash of something in his expression, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Paul put on his best puppy-dog pouty face and blinked up at the interviewer through his lashes. “I suppose,” he started, intentionally producing a voice thick and coy, “there wasn’t much going on at all.” His mind barely registered that John was now tapping is foot anxiously, a habit that arose only when the man was incredibly agitated or stressed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw George place an inquisitive hand on John’s, hidden enough from the cameras for him to subtly ask if his friend was all right. John gave a curt and almost unnoticeable nod, his eyes darting from George back to the interviewer. Though unsatisfied with the confirmation, George let his hand apprehensively fall back into his own lap.

Paul noticed every one of these ministrations between them, feeling his heart warm at the thought. He knew no one else, not even crazed fans, would pick up on the subtle movements. The four were just that close, having an entire language of their own, able to communicate without even making eye contact. It felt nice, performing a television interview with over half the country watching and knowing that there were still things they had for themselves. Still, despite his musings, worry seeped into his mind as the significance of the interaction hit him. Was John all right? Paul tried to beckon John’s gaze with his own, but his friend simply started at the ground where his foot was beginning to pose quite the distraction.

The interviewer let out a bright laugh and leaned closer to Paul, if unintentionally. “Well, I’m sure our viewers won’t be able to get that image out of their heads tonight. I know I won’t be able to.”

Paul flashed an amused grin at the insinuation, watching in his peripheral as John crossed his ankles to stop his shoe from tapping, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line. A flash of annoyance struck in Paul’s chest. What could John possibly be upset about? Didn’t he realize that they were on live television? What did he have such an… an attitude for? He still wouldn’t meet his stare.

“Now, I’d like to touch upon the impact of this film,” the interviewer was continuing. “An article in The Daily Mail characterized Help! as a pioneer in the genre of musical comedies, especially with its Technicolor production, magical realism, and rather organic integration of musical influence into the plot. George, do you think that this film is going to be as historically impactful as some are proclaiming?”

“Well, er… I wouldn’t say so, only because I can’t quite know what impact it could have, as I’m not so much involved in the world of cinema. Personally, I felt as if our previous film made no industrial impact, so it’s a bit difficult to foresee this one going in a different direction. It's just fun.”

“Wonderful insight, George,” the reporter praised. “I’ll be interested to see which one of us is correct.” He flashed a wink, causing George to chuckle and respond with a bemused, “Yes, we’ll see.”

“John, I’d be interested to see where your thoughts stand on the matter. Personally, I could see you continuing with an acting, or perhaps directing, career far beyond the musical films. Do you dabble in the world of art cinema at all?”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose?” The interviewer looked a bit thrown by the curt response.

“That’s all there is to it, really.”

Paul didn’t think much of John’s acting skills tonight. Whatever was bothering the man was now evident for every eye to see, a change in his demeanor so drastic that Paul almost felt a chill come over the room. What the hell was going on with him?

The interviewer chuckled nervously and switched subjects. “All right, I’d like to shift a bit and discuss some more of the actual content of the film. Now, the scene in the bathroom—how did you all manage that?”

Ringo broke into a wide grin, and Paul matched his energy at the memory. “Well,” Ringo started, “We had to have our clothing stitched apart just enough to where it would hold on for the beginning of the scene, but easily tear off. Like in Paul’s shirt sleeve, they had sewn a bit of fishing wire into the cuff and snaked it through the dryer opening, so when they gave a tug the whole sleeve came flying off at the shoulder.” Paul nodded for emphasis as Ringo demonstrated then, reaching for the cuff of his shirtsleeve and pulling at it.

“Oh,” the reporter mused, “and here I was hoping it would take a lot more with it.” He flashed Paul another charismatic grin.

Paul had almost—almost—missed the slight eye roll that John gave as he began to chew at his thumb nail, another nervous habit he had picked up. Paul’s heart jumped a bit at the sight, followed by a pull of confusion in his stomach. Another look flashed in John’s eyes, longer this time. It looked like… anger. Paul was almost certain he had identified it when the look passed, and a sudden calm came over John as he regained his composure.

“Well that makes a pair of us, then, doesn’t it, mate?”

Paul froze. The words were light, but there was nothing friendly about the sentence that John had just spat out—the tone was salacious and determined, leaving no room for misinterpretation. His eyes glinted in a frightening mixture of malice and amusement as an awkward silence settled over the 5 players. George shifted uncomfortably and Ringo eyed the blinking red dot across the room.

Fuck, Paul thought to himself. They were live.

It had only been about five seconds, but they ticked away at what felt like a painfully slow rate. Paul’s internal clock supplied each passing numeric as the interviewer opened and closed his mouth a few times before speaking once more. Someone in the audience coughed.

“All right, well, erm—it has been a pleasure hosting you boys on the show, and I wish you the utmost of luck on the film’s continuing success and your further aspirations with the band.”

George murmured a light, “Very well, thanks.” Ringo nodded with an, “All right, Louis, all the best.” John said nothing. Paul said nothing.

Louis. That was his name.

The red light ceased blinking across the room. The interviewer got up stiffly and stalked off, bewildered at the surprise ending of the televised event. George and Ringo quickly rose to their feet and muttered a quick, “goingtothedressingroom,” scurrying off.

Paul suddenly felt furious with John, a white-hot rage efflorescing in his chest. The attitude, the behaviour on live television and in front of a live audience, the lack of self-control—Paul bit back an outburst in response, willing himself not to create yet another scene. Not to mention the whole issue of what John had actually said, and what on earth had pushed him to do so. “We need to talk.”

John shrugged indifferently, letting Paul grab his wrist roughly and drag him away from the armchair. Paul made a break for the nearest hallway, desperately wanting to escape what felt like millions of nosy and inquisitive stares, pulling John behind him. Eventually, he tried the knob to a utility closet, and the door gave way as Paul shoved John inside. He could no longer contain his baffled anger as he slammed the door behind them.

It was dark in the closet save a sliver of blue moonlight that creeped through the small square window. The light bathed John in an angelic glow in front of him, and Paul wasn’t sure if it was the shadows playing tricks on him or if John actually looked sorry. Paul’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, but John’s was steady, near unmoving. The man was incredibly quiet and still as he waited for Paul to speak first.

“What the fuck was that?” He hissed.

John looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘What?’, Lennon? Y-you acted like a twat. On live television. What were you so twisted up about, anyway? You couldn’t have just held it in? The interview was like five fucking minutes. Why couldn’t you do that? For m–” Paul stopped himself. He suddenly felt stupid. For me, he wanted to say. John knew how important Paul thought their public perception was. John knew how anxious Paul got before interviews, desperation and fear of saying the wrong thing crowding his thoughts. John knew all of that stuff and had still gone and mucked it up, perhaps even intentionally.

“I didn’t like the way he was talking with you,” John said quietly. “I—it was for you.”

A hand came up to pinch the bridge of Paul’s nose. He sighed as he rubbed at his eyes, a frustrated perplexity tugging at his features. He was embarrassed more than anything. Embarrassed at the forwardness of the interviewer, embarrassed at the scenes of himself in the movie, embarrassed at his reaction to what was probably just John taking up for him. He shook his head.

“I don’t get it, John. Help me understand why you would say that, why you would say it like that—"

“It was, Paul.” John’s voice cut him off, insistent now, and he stepped closer to Paul against the door. It took him a moment to realize that John was still talking about his intent. There was something rather odd in his gaze now, something almost… needy?

The pair were now only inches away from each other. Paul felt his nerves singing as he took in the sight of his best friend. A twitch in his chest told him that something had changed in the shared space between them. John’s eyes were half-lidded, and not in the vision-starved squint that was familiar, the deep amber bearing down on him with a heated look. Paul gazed at the way the man’s lower lashes rested on his cheeks, which were flushed slightly, pink like the wet bottom lip he had nervously caught between his teeth. John’s soft brown locks fell against his forehead, brushing his eyebrows, and Paul felt the sudden urge to reach up and tangle his fingers in it.

Why had he never noticed how beautiful John was before?

There wasn’t a good reason for what happened next. Maybe it was the moment of emotional vulnerability. Maybe it was their proximity. Maybe it was the tension. Maybe it was the way that Paul came to the sudden realization that John hadn’t been angry before, but jealous.

Paul tilted his chin down and kissed him.

[good-rwbyaus]

honorable-asshole asked:

Au where Whitley has actually been running the bank accounts since he was young and keeping the group financially viable

#Rising Snow AU   - [ first ]  [ next ]- mod lilac

7. Red

The Schnee Dust Company was hemorrhaging money. He would’ve thought it absurd a couple days ago - couldn’t believe the profit margin graphs he saw at first demonstrating worsening debt every year. It was to the point where the company may very well collapse in just a few scant years if the trend continued.

His first thoughts were that the graphs must be all lies. How could the SDC be on the verge of going bankrupt? The Schnee Dust Company was practically a household name - because there was no one else people can turn to for their Dust needs. A monopoly in every sense of the word. They were successful both at home and abroad with branches everywhere, even in Vacuo where the populace outright hated them. Why were they losing money? 

Was this why Father meticulously scoured everything involving the budget? 

He tapped his finger against the table, the milkshake Klein had provided having turned soupy a long time ago. Those fingers moved to massage his temples, eyebags from lost sleep causing his vision to blur. He gritted his teeth and punched the table with a loud bang. 

Why was his father going off taking vacation when there was a very real chance his company was going to keel over and die?!

Why were they still having extravagant monthly banquets, costing millions of Lien when they were on the brink?

How could things have gotten to this point?

Wait, why don’t people know about this? 

Something like the Schnee Dust Company about to go under was big news.

He looked into the glowing computer monitor, gritting his teeth - knowing he’s probably not going to like what he’s going to find. 

____________________________  

8. Trust

“Klein. Is father reachable right now?” said a pale Whitley, breath smelling acrid from the dry retching he did earlier in the bathroom earlier.

“I’m sorry, young master,” Klein replied apologetically, “your father has always been out of contact when he’s on vacation.”

Damn it. He knew that, but he had hoped... It was a stupid hope. Even back when his sisters were around - even when his eldest sister got badly injured from training, his father had never left a method of contact during his vacation. What made him think that would change? He felt like he was going to explode from what he learned.

He needed to talk to someone. This was a problem too big for him to handle, but the only one who he can talk to...

He stared at Klein whose eyes changed to a bright blue, staring him with...concern. Something he’s never seen in his father’s eyes.

“Young master, are you feeling okay?” 

Even the man’s words of care, said frequently, were never said by his father even once. It...was honestly something he’s always taken for granted. Until now.

“Klein, I need to talk to someone.”

“If you nee-”

“You can’t let father know about what I’m about to tell you,” he cut Klein off, staring at him straight in the eyes.

Without skipping a beat, Klein replied, “Young master, so long as you say so, I will not relay a single word to your father without your permission.” 

“...There was never a test, was there?” he let it out there.

The butler hesitated for a moment before nodding his head.

Whitley took a deep breath.

____________________________

9. Downhill

“This company is a landmine with the amount of debt that’s been accumulating,” Whitley pinched the bridge of his nose, “And when it explodes, it’s not going to just affect our family. It’ll affect all of Atlas, maybe beyond that.”

“Tens of thousands of people are going to die when this company folds over. And I can’t figure out how to stop it.”

Whitley agitatedly stalked back and forth as he clenched his fists back and forth, his only audience of Klein quietly but attentively listening.

“And Father’s content on just ignoring the prob- No. He doesn’t care. He’s cooked the books enough to make it look like we’re only barely in the red - enough to demand subsidies from the government to help prop us up instead of causing the state of emergency that would happen if we were to reveal how badly in the red we are now.”

He stomped his foot.

“But that solution is not sustainable. We’re just pouring water into a sieve, and I cannot solve this problem. The only one who can solve it is intent on just getting what jollies he can from the company and leaving.”

He never thought he would say that about his father, but the evidence he perused through several days of scouring didn’t lie. His father, from the very start, only cared about making sure he had all the power but didn’t care about anything else beyond his fancy dinners, expensive vacations, and his appearance. 

Cautiously, Klein made his opinion known.

“Young master, have you ever thought...that this problem may not necessarily require you in particular to solve it? You could always repo-”

He shook his head vehemently at Klein’s suggestion.

“And then what? The Kingdom of Atlas has always been merciless to those that disturb its order - the Schnee’s are only tolerated because we have both the power and the resources to both help and contend with them,” he gritted his teeth, wiping away a dampness in his eyes with a sleeve.

Klein opened his mouth to say something, but he could only cut him off.

“Don’t argue with me on this point. You haven’t attended those high-class dinners. They’re all snakes maneuvering to get the biggest piece of the pie. If we report the SDC’s situation to the government, all those snakes - the government, the biggest of all - will just slice the SDC into bite-sized pieces under the guise of management, and we’ll be left with nothing.”

“Father will probably go to jail. Weiss will likely be asked to leave her school in disgrace. Maybe Winter will be left unscathed, but that’s only because Ironwood admires her skills; she won’t be able to protect us. Mother might even have to join Father in prison, even though all she’s been doing is drinking her days away and doesn’t care about anything anymore.”

He couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice at the last bit. Yeah, she’s a horrible mother, but she’s his mother. 

“Even if father is content to let this company go to ruin, I won’t let it. I can’t. Even if I have to fix every stupid problem from gross corruption to a leaking toilet myself, I will not let our only shield against the world break in my hands.”

“..But I just don’t know where to start,” Whitley finished bitterly, “Or who to trust. I’m smart enough to know when a problem’s too big for me to handle. I’m good at numbers. I’m good at reading people. But I’m not nearly experienced enough to fix the problems that need fixing all by myself. ” 

“I feel like we’re going to capsize and drown, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” 

[ next ]

[personalcoachingcenter]

Research Paper: The Importance of Purpose

New Post has been published on https://personalcoachingcenter.com/research-paper-the-importance-of-purpose/

Research Paper: The Importance of Purpose

Research Paper By Mark Bishop (Executive Coach, UNITED STATES)

Introduction

As I developed both my coaching model and power tool for the certified coaching program at ICA, I spent a good deal of time considering the importance of purpose in life and leadership.  In my experience, many people go through jobs, companies, and careers based merely on what opportunities; roles, companies, or assignments; come available and without sufficient consideration of what makes them happy.

I’ve seen many colleagues pursue opportunities because they felt it might be a good career move, without regard to what they enjoy doing and how they want to contribute.   We spend an inordinate amount of time in our working environment; it amounts to more than 13 years of the total lifespan for most adults.  With that much significance on our working environment, it pays to focus on what makes us happy at work and try to maximize that feeling as much as we can over those 13 years!

With this thought in mind, I set about to research the importance of having a purpose or understanding one’s purpose.  My thinking initially was that we each have one singular purpose in our lives.  My research led me to understand that our purpose can, and often does, change over the course of our life.  Circumstances in our lives, in our careers, or in the world, influence our purpose.  A world pandemic, for example, could certainly impact our thoughts on purpose.  My research is centered on the importance of purpose applied to the professional world as I develop my skills as a leadership coach.  Of course, much of the research can easily be applied to other aspects of our lives.

What is the purpose?

Merriam-Webster defines the word purpose as:

to propose as an aim to oneself

a subject under discussion or an action in course of execution

to propose as an aim to oneself

It includes the following synonyms:

Intention, resolution, determination, ambition, aspiration, dream, goal, objective

It is worth noting that missing from these definitions and synonyms are words like an opportunity, circumstance, good fortune, coincidence, or fate.  This implies that purpose is decided, directed, and intentional.  At Berkley’s, Greater Good Magazine, they remind us that “to psychologists, the purpose is an abiding intention to achieve a long-term goal that is both personally meaningful and makes a positive mark on the world.” Having a purpose is something that is meaningful to us and has a positive impact on others.  It is the accumulation of a series of actions and events that occur over time, an expedition across time with a point on the horizon as our compass.  For those with an identified purpose, that journey is in a specific direction and less subject to circumstance.

Why is purpose important?

Research suggests that having a sense of purpose, having a mission in life, having a reason behind your decisions and actions can actually lead to a longer, healthier life.

“Having a purpose in life has been cited consistently as an indicator of healthy aging for several reasons, including its potential for reducing mortality risk. In the current study, we sought to extend previous findings by examining whether purpose in life promotes longevity across the adult years, using data from the longitudinal Midlife in the United States (MIDUS) sample. Proportional-hazards models demonstrated that purposeful individuals lived longer than their counterparts did during the 14 years after the baseline assessment, even when controlling for other markers of psychological and affective well-being.

Moreover, these longevity benefits did not appear to be conditional on the participants’ age, how long they lived during the follow-up period, or whether they had retired from the workforce. In other words, having a purpose in life appears to widely buffer against mortality risk across the adult years.” (Hill &Turiano, 2014)

In addition to living longer, there is evidence to suggest that people with a high level of purpose are physically healthier, more likely to take care of themselves, and have lower stress levels than people without a strong sense of purpose.  (Berkley.edu)

If being healthier and living longer isn’t reason enough to seek out a clearer understanding of our purpose, there is evidence to suggest that knowing one’s purpose can lead to better financial success and decision making.

“This sense of purpose was also found to translate into greater financial success.  The study found that people with this clear sense of purpose in life were much more likely to make financial decisions that support these longer-term, downstream goals rather than squandering their resources on short-term and impulsive decisions.” (Krapivin, 2019)

If living longer, being healthier, and being more financially sound still fails to motivate us, maybe having a greater impact on our work environment will push us over the edge to pursue an understanding of our purpose.

“This is where purpose comes in. Simply put, having a sense of purpose in your job means that you feel that your work makes positive contributions to the world, beyond earning yourself a paycheck or improving your company’s bottom line—you feel a commitment to something bigger than yourself.” (Wolfe, 2015)

The significance of managers who have a sense of purpose goes beyond the manager and extends to the employees who work for them.

“The report quite clearly shows that employees tend to be both happier at work and more productive when they are being led by managers who have this clear sense of purpose, with those fortunate employees more likely to put in an extra effort and less likely to quit their jobs.” (Krapivin, 2019)

Having a sense of purpose makes us better leaders. Authentic leaders have a sense of purpose, knowing what they are about and where they are headed. “Purpose manifests itself as passion. Passionate people are interested in what they are doing, are inspired and intrinsically motivated, and care about the work they are doing.” (Northouse, 2017).

Understand their leadership purpose so they can align people around a common purpose. Purpose defines the unique gifts people bring to leadership challenges, through which they can align others with their purposes to create a positive impact. This is far more important than focusing entirely on achieving success in metrics like money, fame, and power, yet ultimately produces sustained success in those metrics as well. (George, 2011)

Burning Platform vs. Burning Ambition

So many of the people I have worked alongside over my career are running from one crisis to the next.  They are constantly putting out fires and fixing problems.  This behavior is all too often rewarded in the corporate world. These people are seen as heroes, as ‘go-getters,’ as problem solvers.  While the notion of a burning platform will tend to get people motivated to act, it is not a healthy or sustainable motivator.  Reacting to an emergency stimulates adrenalin and anxiety, neither of which are conducive to clear, rational, creative thinking.

“In the world of burning platforms, there are way too many pyromaniacs.” (Fuda, 2018)

Burning ambitions provide greater, more sustainable motivation.  If you are running away from something, you aren’t looking at a map.  If you are running towards something on the horizon, you are much more likely to use a map to guide your way. Jim Collins, in his book, Good to Great (2001), calls the ‘burning platform’ a myth of current management practice and further claims they are destructive behaviors, often leading to a pattern of failure he calls the doom loop. “Aspiration is a far more important motivator; sustainable change requires the fire of a burning ambition.” (Fuda, 2018)

Reflections

In leadership coaching, we are not only focused on the leader as an individual but on their effectiveness in leading others to successful outcomes.  Research shows that employees are happier and more productive when they are led by managers who have a clear sense of purpose. This research also reveals that only 20% of managers consider themselves purposeful leaders. (Krapivin, 2019)

In many organizations, there is a strong priority placed on positions of authority and influence.  These are often measured by the team’s size, the budget managed, and other visible gauges. The status of a leader is often incorrectly measured by these criteria.  The larger the group, budget, or office, the greater the leader is thought to be.  These are inaccurate measures of effective leadership.  It is this perception that often drives individuals to seek these positions, even though attaining these roles may not bring fulfillment.

I have seen this many times in my years in Human Resources; the desire for a job title, an office, or to manage more people, drives decisions and actions that are not necessarily consistent with the client’s purpose.  This tension begins to create dissatisfaction and discontent, which often leads to poor performance or disengagement.  As a coach, do not underestimate the drive for these trappings and how much this can influence the client’s decisions.  I have worked with many leaders that do not feel joy or excitement in dealing with large teams, yet they hold onto these teams with a fierce grip.

Bill George, former CEO of Medtronic and current professor at Harvard Business School, says

“Before anyone takes on a leadership role, they should ask themselves, ‘Why do I want to lead?’ and ‘What’s the purpose of my leadership?’”According to George, if the answer to those questions lies in power, prestige, and position, there is a risk that internal desires and purpose may go unsatisfied.  He believes that while these are not inherently wrong with these objectives so long as they are tied back to the individual’s inner purpose.  (George, 2011)

A helpful activity is to work with the client to define a purpose statement.  This is a brief written description of the client’s purpose that can be used for periodic reflection, for guiding decisions, and for grounding the client’s ambitions.  Keeping this nearby, your client can refer to this when making decisions.  It can also be revisited when circumstances change, or life events occur that might influence the client’s outlook on their purpose.  Explore with the client the meaningful moments in their lives that continue to inspire them, that fulfill them, that give them delight.

Getting to understand purpose can be done on a micro basis – exploring activities, accomplishments, and behaviors that the client enjoys and finds rewarding, then reflecting on why these activities bring joy and how to translate that into purpose.

It can also be done on a macro basis – exploring seminal moments in the client’s life that define who they are and what they enjoy.  Similarly, this can be translated into defining the client’s purpose.

The desire for a certain position in an organization can be a false trail to professional happiness and engagement.  However, for most clients, it can be a highly rewarding outcome to discover and define the client’s purpose to guide career ambitions.  The client may have the same career ambitions after clarifying their purpose; however, the basis for them becomes clearer.  In some cases, the client may recognize their ambitions have been misplaced.  In either case, knowing their purpose enables the client to begin translating it into excelling in their position.

While our purpose may evolve and change over time, having a clear understating of our purpose is likely to lead to a healthier, longer, more financially successful life where we are more satisfied with the work we do, and we make better leaders.

He who has a why to live can bear almost any how to live. Friedrich Nietzsche

References

Bill George, June 2011. “Why Leaders Lose Their Way”. Harvard Business Review.

Bill George, July 2016. “The Truth About Authentic Leaders.”Harvard Business Review.

Pavel Krapivin, January 2019. “The Financial Value Of Having A Purpose In Your Life”. Forbes

Brad Wolfe, March 2015. “Can Higher Purpose Help Your Team Survive and Thrive? A conversation with Twitter’s Niki Lustig about how the social media giant fosters a sense of purpose among their employees.” Midful.org

Neil Si-Jia Zhang, August 2014. “Can Purpose Keep You Alive?” Greater Good Magazine, Greatergood.berckley.edu

Patrick L. Hill, Nicholas A. Turiano, May 2014. “Purpose in Life as a Predictor of Mortality Across Adulthood.”Psychological Science.

Peter Northhouse, 2016. “Leadership: Theory and Practice.” Sage Publications.

Dr. Peter Fuda, 2018. “From Burning Platform to Burning Ambition.”www.peterfuda.com

Jon M. Jachimowicz, October 2019.”3 Reasons it’s So Hard to Follow Your Passion”. Harvard Business Review

Original source: https://coachcampus.com/coach-portfolios/research-papers/mark-bishop-importance-of-purpose/

[helahades]

James and the Siren

(Prewar!Bucky x Black/WOC!Siren)

Summary: There’s magic in Brooklyn before the war. She takes the form of an alluring Siren with an appetite for predatory men. While at the beach one day, Bucky gets involved in something that draws Her attention. Will he live to tell the tale?

A/N: This is the surprise project! If you’re dead set on Greek Mythology accuracy, this is not the fic for you. I’ve definitely taken some liberties.

Im not sure if I’m planning to do a part two, but if y’all show interest in this, I’ll consider it! Quick shoutout to @xbuchananbarnes for being a lovely angel and betaing this and encouraging me all the way. Also to @invisibleanonymousmonsters for being the sweetest and helping me put my scrambled ideas together. ♥️♥️♥️Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Two minor deaths. Creepy guy following someone. Injury. Blood mentions. Drafted, scared Bucky. Fighting. Drowning if you squint. Sad and confused Bucky. Overuse of cheesy water imagery. Me completely ignoring the reality of New York’s geography. I did what I wanted skskksk.

Word Count: 4.2k

—

Light.

Light like smooth honey.

Light like tree sap in glittering in the sun, spread across the sand in a broken mosaic, tumbling in waves to just barely provide the light Bucky needed to see his notebook.

The day feels so bright his eyes won’t open wide, and yet shaded in the trees, Bucky can’t see.

Shuffling with their branches, the leaves danced as the wind blew through them. Everything here seems to have its own rhythm, from the clouds stretching and inching across a leaden blue sky, to the filtered light leaping from one wave to the next.

These purities make Bucky feel like he can breathe, in a time that has been near suffocating.

He’s been sad.

Sergeant James. That’s all he is now. In a week or so, Uncle Sam will come to retrieve the body he is, and he will leave most things behind. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to serve—actually maybe he doesn’t. But is that so wrong?

He can’t understand why Steve wants it. He’s not foolish enough to think that punk has the same roots in Brooklyn anymore, not with Sarah gone, not with the way the guys around here treat him.. But Bucky can’t understand how Steve can be so…ready. He won’t say it to anyone, but he just doesn’t want to look Death in the eyes quite yet.

Bucky finds himself praying for some force to steal him away in the night. He dreams of things otherworldly.

Bucky finds himself trying not to think about how it will only be good news for his mother, who loves him, but whose wallet will breathe now that she’s not feeding a growing man along with her multiple daughters.

Bucky finds himself at the beach in Brooklyn, writing random things in a journal. He doesn’t know how to get the feelings out. He can’t write words on paper in a place his mother won’t eventually find and be heartbroken by them.

So he writes nonsensical things. He scribbles. He’s no artist like Steve, but it feels like it's enough. And he watches the glistening shores, waiting for what lies beyond—or at least what he hopes exists.

Jenny and Dot and Nancy and all the girls say there’s something big in these waters. Maybe it’s someone who swims. But maybe... it’s magic. Maybe it’s some sort of impossible magical creature that makes dreams come true.

That’s what they tell Bucky behind their giggles, but really they know She’s a protector.

—

One day, Jenny was walking home, and felt a strike of ominous energy in her heart. She had taken the long way, because she likes to see the clear waters of the ocean. Sometimes it feels like nothing else is clean in New York.

But as she came upon the beach she cursed herself for this choice, and hurried along the sidewalk that overlooked it all, for she felt someone walking towards her, and with intention. Hearing a chuckle from behind, that was closer than it should be, she realized the man must have noticed her change in body language and begun to advance upon her.

Step.

Step.

Step.

It took everything within her to refrain from breaking into a run, but she was wearing her fancy shoes, and wasn’t confident in her ability to run in them. She wonders if she’s out of normal step, and tries to walk to the beat of her heart, only to find that it’s racing. Clutching the sides of her skirts, she breathed in deep and let it out into the salty air. If he would hurt her, she certainly wouldn’t show him fear.

As if she could see into the time not yet passed, and knew all would be fine, she started to breathe again, tension beginning to unwind from her veins. Then a wave of it hit. It was power and reassurance, like a hug from a mother, like a proud smile from a teacher.

Jenny chanced a look behind her in the same moment. The man was frozen. He was desperately looking to the rocky shores in the distance below them, no longer pursuing her.

Somewhere inside was screaming to her that it was time to go home. But everything was heavy and light and fresh, and she was feeling the strange seduction of the waves too.

She took one—two scooping steps backwards in alarm when the man urgently began to move again. Only, he was stumbling down the bouldered bank in a rushed, yet somehow lethargic shuffle. As he finally got into the sand and clambered onto the rocks overlooking the ocean, a head breached the water!

Dark cascades of curly hair wrapped around and around in tight coils, and curtained the sides of her angelic face.

She was alluring, and glowing bright and faded, as living moonlight. Her skin was deep brown and cool, like driftwood or seashells, also washed by the sin she consumed.

Jenny would have been surprised at their breath holding skills, had her soul not already known the truth. For just a fraction of a moment, the being’s energy was focused on her, before the attraction released Jenny, and safety flowed through her and guided her home.

Then. They turned on the man, and he leaped into the depths.

No man bothered Jenny again after that day.

—

“—not a soul heard from that chump again!”

“It’s them canary lookers by the beach!”

Bucky sat and tried to process. The fellas that hung around the dance hall had all sorts of stories.

But he’s a smart kid. Smart enough to put two and two together.

When the girls all talked about this creature that supposedly lives in the beach waters, they speak of it—of her— as some sort of guardian angel, maybe a friend.

When the guys tell it, she’s a man eating broad that swims naked and eats innocent family men. Every guy knows another one who hasn’t come back after hearing a smooth song and wandering down to the beach like they were possessed with something wild.

A man of science, as Bucky believes himself, but a dreamer all the same, he wants to believe the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

—

Bucky can’t deny the beach has its magic.

He feels alone at school, at the diner, walking the streets, sometimes even with Steve.

At the beach though, things are alive and awake. He doesn’t understand why some guys can’t stand the place. Some guys, and Bucky sees no coincidence in it being the shadier ones, feel as though they’re being watched if they edge too close to the coarse sands.

To Bucky, there is energy, but it just feels like peace. Peace that is much needed as he reconciles maybe never returning home after shipping off. Notebook forgotten, Bucky looks out across the cerulean waters and tries to make out waves as far as he can before the blur of them mixes with the skyline. He’s already sweat out the gel in the front of his hair, and some of the growing strands are ruffling in the salty wind.

Just then, a couple guys from school waltz down the hillside behind him, and begin walking down the beach, laughing obnoxiously and making jokes all the way down.

Roy and Charles. Maybe the only two people Bucky's age in the city that match him for size and strength. They love to let the world know. They’ve given Steve one too many rough looks, and frazzled too many skirts for Bucky to be comfortable with them.

Roy has stick straight mahogany colored hair that never seems to be without a perfectly gelled style. He will abandon dates if he dances too long and fears he might have sweated it out. Standing just a bit taller than Bucky, he was stocky, blocky, and cocky. He will soon, like Bucky, outgrow the food budget of his parents.

Most kids from school think he’s been big since birth. He must have gone straight from baby to man, or been delivered here by a bone tired stork, some say. For all that muscle and size, there is not a bone of charm in him, or anything interesting about him. His skin is a dull beige. He tries to make up for all of this by being as loud and obnoxious as he can, filling up any room with his desperation.

Charles has all the charm. The whispers say that Roy follows him hoping to catch a personality. With loose blond curls and granny smith sweet eyes, he can turn on his games, and dames, in just an instant. He seems to have a permanent flush of the skin, enhancing the smattering of freckles across his nose. He is lean and lanky, and just as tall as Roy. Something about him unsettles Bucky. Charles seems to always be thinking something strange, and every girl who ever loved him has always regretted it.

They both thought it was a shame Bucky refused to hang with them, and held a strange reserved animosity towards him at the rejection. What are they doing here though?

They secretly feared the depths. It was only when Bucky noticed Roy’s sloshed stumbling that he felt dread wash over him. Once they reached the bottom of the hill, Charles patted Roy on the back and turned to leave, as if he had only come to escort his friend.

How strange, Bucky thinks.

In a moment of weakness, Bucky looked down, not caring to be caught watching the waves. He’s not sure why.

Bucky decides to leave the drunken Roy to his business. If he does something stupid wandering the beach, that is his own problem.

That is…until he saw Roy wasn't just relaxing or wandering. Jenny was further down the beach, standing just where the tide won’t touch her. Loose from her usual tight curls, her hair waved like a banner in the breeze as she stood watching every movement of the tide. She’s a liberated picture, like she found out how to breathe, like there’s nothing to fear, and Bucky would have kept admiring, had he not severely doubted the intentions of the meathead making his way closer to her.

He found himself on his feet, and followed after the young man. Now there were two suspicious gazes on Roy…and one on him.

Following carefully, he was slightly behind when Roy arrived at where Jenny was.

“Ya floozie,” Roy slurred before stepping closer, “think nobody knows what you did to my Uncle Kenny?”

Still watching the waves, Jenny made no indication she had heard him at all. Roy took a deep breath, like he was ready to yell. Before he did, she finally looked his way.

“What malarkey,” she spat, looking up into his eyes.

Stepping closer to the tide she kept her eyes on Roy, and noted Bucky looking at her just behind him, trying to decipher the intensity in her stare.

“No one did a thing to him that he didn’t already have comin’.”

Turning red, darkness bled into his stare as he lunged for Jenny. Running up just behind, Bucky tackles him into the water, falling in beside him.

Roy scrambles up into the sand and locks eyes with Bucky, standing bristled, like a cat given an unwanted bath.

“This ain’t your fight, Barnes! That tramp’s gonna learn!”

“Give it a rest Roy…”

“That lyin’ bat,” he continued to slur, “All these dames lie! Now somebody’s gotta pay, and it was this floozie who gave him up to—“

Roy vaguely gestured to the ocean and became distracted, considering something else for just a moment.

Then Roy turned to Bucky, who had put himself between him and Jenny. Shivering in the breeze that suddenly felt frigid, his eyes seemed to turn wild. Roy began to pat down his soaked slacks frantically, as if fearing he lost something in the gritty tide.

On alert now, Bucky prepared for a fight, moving himself in closer to block him from getting to Jenny. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Leave him be, Bucky,” she pleaded, only now stirred by the thought that Bucky could be hurt. She didn’t know if her protector could stop this.

Bucky couldn’t stop to consider why Jenny didn’t fear for her own safety, because with a brash guffaw, Roy’s desperation blew away as he found what he had been looking for. A glitter of a threat gleaned off Roy’s shiny blade, and he seemed to sober up, drunk on something else. Bloodlust.

“Walk away, Barnes.”

“You first.”

Bucky started to take a deep breath of the salty air in preparation, but had to cut it short when Roy lunged. Instinctively throwing one arm out behind him to shield Jenny, Bucky left himself open.

One free arm and a bad stance in the uneven sand wasn’t enough. A burst of pain and heat stretched across his chest in an instant.

Grunting, he pulled both arms forward and shoved Roy. Hard. Roy stumbled, but managed to keep on his feet, throwing a crossbody punch that Bucky knocked out of the way, using Roy’s momentum against him. Using that opening, Bucky swung a fist into Roy’s unguarded side just under his ribs. That took him down.

From the ground, Ray scooted back as Bucky advanced on him. A wet blob of chunky sand sailed through the air, and Bucky coolly side stepped, evading it. It would have directly hit his chest wound.

Looking like a cornered animal, Roy stopped scooting away, and when Bucky got close enough, he swung his foot up right into Bucky's groin.

Bucky was down too now, and after catching his breath, Roy was the first to get back on his feet.

Trying to fight the fire in his nerves, and the rough sand tearing at his chest wound, Bucky yelled with all his might as he writhed in the sand.

“Jenny, RUN!”

She backed up in a daze, from where she had been watching with worry, and the gravity dawned on her, just a moment too late. Turning abruptly, having no choice but to take her eyes off Roy, her chunky heels pounded sloshing wet splashes through the soaked sand.

Four of her strides were one and a half of Roy’s. But now Bucky was up, and he ran after them both, intending to tackle Roy and wrestle the knife away.

It began like a change in the air. A frequency finding itself, humming with the tune of the moon pulling the tide, and adjusting to its prey. It was like the evening cicadas, until it rounded into something lovelier. It had a sonorous resonance, like the cry of a damsel worn by a widow sneaking around her net, waiting for entanglement.

It was rich like a church choir and seductive like sin. Both Roy and Bucky were frozen upon hearing the melody. The familiar feeling of protected comfort washed through Jenny, but she immediately felt dread at realizing Bucky was also in a trance at the siren song.

“Not him,” she breathed.

Then, She appeared.

The melody grew into a spiked honey of sorts, warming with command. The men straightened from their tense stances, and inched ever so slowly toward the water.

Her song grew sharper, and she rose higher from the water, scales like gold scattered on her arms, sensuality running down Her neck and chest like flowing oil.

Finally, Jenny ran to Bucky and threw herself into his arms with a shriek, pressing her cool palms to either side of his face.

“Not him!”

The song swallowed her pleading. It had been seen. The girl. Two men after her.

First it was Roy. He took big steps forward, Her allure magnetic to sin, and the ocean swallowed him suddenly, as it does.

She flipped back then, slick abdomen curling over the surface before a long emerald tail followed, entering the water silently, sending ripples that Bucky reached out to touch. Still looking desperately at Bucky's greying eyes, and trying to hold him back, Jenny began to cry.

“Oh please, Bucky, please. I never would wish this on you. I'm not sure what you’re hearing, but don’t listen! You’re too good.”

Bucky wanted to breathe. He’s been so tired. The waves call him.

When She returned, Jenny felt it before seeing it. She studied Jenny. Torn lovers had, on occasion, tried to rescue bad men from the curse. For just a moment, she reserves judgement, wondering if this is that. She studies Bucky. Sees the gash across his chest. Puts it together. Then she’s gone.

Bucky falls to his knees and the clouds seem to wash out of his vision, his familiar diamond eyes blooming back to their shade. He lets out a shaky breath, and Jenny throws her arms around him. They stay there, on their knees, startled in the sand, before Jenny pulls herself up, a funny look on her face as she looks at his wound.

“Y-You stay. Stay right here, James! I’ll get somebody!”

When the tide washes in and back, the sand and shells part to reveal the knife. Bucky snatches it up and presses it into Jenny’s hand without thinking, looking at her intently.

She shivers at the silent message, but knows it's not her who needs the protection. Then she runs, hoping to find someone who will know what to do. She wonders as she leaves... what life will be with Roy dead and gone. She wonders what Becca Barnes will say if she sees her at school if life never returns to her brother. Will Bucky ever tell what happened today? She sure won’t.

As Jenny disappears into the distance, Bucky realizes the clouds have eaten up all the direct sunlight. He stares in the direction Jenny left, still there in the sand, trying to process what happened. Where’s Roy? Is Jenny alright? Can he die from this cut? Would that save him from the war?

He absentmindedly looks to the water, before gasping and freezing in place. The creature is back. It had saved Jenny… sure. That was good. Bucky never liked Roy, but now he’s dead, maybe, and that’s a lot to reconcile. Now it’s staring at him again. Will it—She—sing him into another spell? What does She want?

Her eyes melt from whiskey brown to honeyed gold in an instant as she assesses his pain. Twirling where she is, she lies on her back in the water, with the slow fanning of her multi gem colored tail propelling Her languidly across his field of vision. This allows Bucky to take in Her captivating form. Now that She doesn’t deem Bucky a threat, everything about Her is warm from Her eyes to the undertone of Her skin. He can’t believe what he’s witnessing, and considers the fact that he may have died already.

Stretching Her arms behind her head, she paddled both arms in full motions until She reached the cool, flat stone She had been searching for. It extended from the sand into the sea, and was littered with weeds and grit from the high tide. With a casual turn of Her wrist, the debris parted down the middle and slid off into the water.

Twisting towards the flat rock, She planted two surprisingly human hands onto it and pulled Herself gracefully and easily atop it. Lying flat on Her stomach, She curled her golden emerald tail up toward the sky, then further toward her body. Finally deciding she was comfortable, after lying her head on crossed arms, she regarded Bucky again.

He felt a pull towards Her, like a silk lasso on his heart, but it was softer than before. She wanted him to choose. It was, of course, impossible for him to resist Her, and he was up, walking the stretch of the beach it took to close the distance. Coming to kneel next to Her, he was closer than he had ever been, and was transfixed by Her beauty. He also noticed that she seemed to be wrapped up in the water's surface tension, for it seemed to glide over Her skin, even when She was out of it. It parted for a moment though, when Her eyes flickered up to meet his, and She, once again, grabbed ahold of his soul.

A wave of sedative-like calm overtook Bucky, and he only watched as She assessed him. Rising off of her arms, Bucky rose too as She reached for his chest and placed gentle, and surprisingly warm, hands on either side of the gash. With sweetly sure and surely piercing golden eyes still on him, She rolled her palms against his chest, pulling sand from him and his skin back together in just a moment. Then, with a final palm in the center, where the gash had previously been, Bucky’s face twisted into something comical as he felt something beneath the newly healed skin shift, and the pain disappeared.

Propping Herself on one sinewy arm, She reached for his face with the other, gently pressing a palm to his cheek, gently curling Her fingertips, and rubbing small motions with a gentle thumb. She appeared somber for a moment, then almost mournful as She looked into his baby blues, reading something he couldn’t see.

“Thanks,” Bucky said softly, wincing at how croaky he suddenly sounded.

She hummed a small confirmation and it flowed easily through the air, like the sound of bells or wind chimes. Pulling Her hand back from his face, She lowered Herself mostly into the water, crossing Her arms at the edge of the stone and gazing up at him.

He had so many things he wanted to say, but the surrealism of this moment was making abstractions of his thoughts. It hits him. There's magic in Brooklyn, and there had been all along. It feels right, but wanting to believe, and being made to see no other truth are two different frames of mind. He is still having trouble processing. Is Roy dead? Is Jenny okay?

Will Steve be okay without him? Bucky knows he’s strong, hell, Bucky would say Steve is stronger than him. Steve has got enough determination and courage in one finger to win several wars. Put him in a healthier body, and that punk would be unstoppable.

Actually, Bucky is sure everyone will be okay when he leaves. He’s glad about that in many ways, but in many others, it just makes him feel like a grain of sand, respective to the universe. He knows everyone will be okay. Bucky is just not sure about himself.

As if She could read the focus of the lines of stress etched into his face, Her gaze focused intently, and She began to think of how to word Her sentiments. She reached to hold his icy hands in Her warm ones, and Her eyes darkened to an amber brown as She grew less playful, gently somber.

“Everything changes, James,” his name was a lullaby from Her mouth, and he could not help but to listen, “that sort of…”—

—she paused thoughtfully, trying to find the word.

“That sort of fluctuation,” she continued, “is the only thing that is sure in anyone’s existence.

Some part of him was melting into ease, but he still was not sure what she meant.

“You will not be afraid. Not forever. Even once you have...left. Nothing will stay as it is.”

She looked, sort of at him, but more so beyond, as if there were some greater picture, as if she could see his soul.

“What is forever, is the gracious creature you are. And not a soul can take that from you, James. Not a soul.”

She raised one hand out of his gentle grip, straight to his heart, where his old wound once was. Now calm, and entirely transfixed, he realized, She has now healed him twice. Then She pulled away.

He feels the finality of the moment, he tries to rush and say something else.

“R-Right now they say it should only be a year...or two. But then I’ll be back.”

Eyes falling shut, She pulls in and releases a slow breath, and Bucky can't tell if it's the water of the sea gliding down Her cheeks.

“You will be back. And we will see each other again.”

Reaching a hand to his face, She presses a couple of fingers to his forehead, and his eyes flutter closed. He slumps into a sleep, and before he falls, She raises both hands, bending the energy behind him, and She slowly lies him down in the sand.

“Goodbye, for now, James,” she whispers, trying not to mourn the pain of his future lifetime, before disappearing into the depths.

—

“—ucky, Bucky, Bucky, JAMES!”

Jenny shook him with all her might, tears threatening to spill. When Bucky’s eyes open, he becomes distressed too.

“Heya doll, easy! I’m alright, I swear it.”

She gasps in a shaky breath before they pull each other into a long hug. A few seconds in, he looks over her shoulder and out to the depths. Trying to get a grasp on the events of today, he hopes it all wasn't a dream. Then, he remembers Her words.. He suddenly feels warm, emotions rushing back in a flurry.

He gets the sudden ache to see his family, to see Steve, to go dancing. After all...

Nothing will stay as it is.

—

lovely darlings who are very inspirational:

@xbuchananbarnes @threeminutesoflife @invisibleanonymousmonsters @honeychicanawrites @thorsthot @avintagekiss24 @sapphirescrolls @jtargaryen18 @propertyofpoeandbucky @papi-chulo-bucky @tropicalcap @smollest-soybean

[scope-dogg]

Super Beast Machine God Dancouga: Final Thoughts

“It’s complicated” can be a big of a copout when you’re weighing up whether to recommend something or not. In the case of this show and its trio of follow-up OVAs, it genuinely is kind of complicated. There was a lot I already liked about Dancouga even before I started watching - several of its soundtracks have had pride of place in my music playlists for years now, while the robot itself has been one of my favourite super robot designs for just as long, that being mostly fuelled by the machine’s status as a long-time Super Robot Wars stalwart. The same series made me a fan of the head pilot Shinobu Fujiwara and his trademark warcry of “YATTE YARUZE.” That said, I already went in with my expectations tempered by other opinions I’ve seen the generally weren’t quite so favourable as my expectations might have been.

Well, now I’ve seen it. In many ways, I really did enjoy it - the music is even better in its proper context, it’s cool to see where all the moves that Dancouga busts out in SRW came from, and Shinobu and the rest of the cast are as entertaining as I might have imagined in the primary material. Above all else, it surprised me by throwing in some ideas that were pretty original by the standards of its time, and some that are unique even compared to the rest of the genre as a whole. I really did enjoy a good amount of genuine enjoyment from the experience.

That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m going to recommend it. In fact, I just straight up don’t.

You see, there’s a lot of bad to go with the good in the show’s original anime run, to the degree that calling it “a mixed bag” would be too disingenuous. A promising start with some pretty great animation and production values quickly gives way to a level of quality that ranges from mediocre to shockingly poor, not only by today’s standards but those of the time. I don’t know the behind-the-scenes story of the show’s production, but it’s blatantly obvious that they found themselves out of money hilariously quickly, and they end up limping along on a shoestring budget. Stock footage abuse, animation errors, and just cheap and shoddy-looking artwork in general pile up until the result is a production that looks genuinely amateurish at times.

It’s a shame, because it’s a disservice to a show that’s actually fairly interesting in a lot of ways. The premise of Earth being invaded by an alien empire isn’t new, but typically shows of this setup from this era of anime follow a predictable pattern - a squad of hot-blooded youngsters is promptly assembled, thrown into the show’s resident giant robot, and sent off to fight off the aliens for as many formulaic monster-of-the-week style episodes as necessary. Here things aren’t so simple - there is the requisite squad of plucky youngsters, but it takes time for the team to properly assemble and to master their machine - in fact, they don’t even combine into Dancouga until the show’s halfway in. That’s actually more interesting than it sounds, because it means that the individual machines that make up Dancouga get a lot more screentime than they otherwise would in a show like Combattler V, for instance, which is cool because each of the four different ones has a vehicle form, a bestial animal form, and a humanoid configuration. 

It also allows for the setting to be more interesting - humanity’s war against the Muge Zorbados invaders is more interesting than conflicts of this nature tend to be in old super robot shows. Instead of sending one gimmicky monster or robot at a time, the invasion comes in force, and the enemy takes over much of the world while the heroes of the Cyber Beast Force are still building themselves up. The war ends up being more of an asymmetrical war of resistance involving all of mankind rather than hinging solely on duels between the protagonists and the monster of the week. The invaders themselves are more interesting than usual as well, as the egos of each of the invading generals clash with one another. By far the most interesting villain is Shapiro Keats, a fellow member of the academy that the leads Shinobu, Sara, Masato and Ryo attended, whose megalomania leads him to betray mankind and defect to the aliens in a bid to elevate his own power and prestige and fulfil his own delusions of godhood. A lot of the challenges that the CBF face in the early parts of the show come more from Shapiro’s treachery and clever planning rather than gimmicky alien technologies.

However, while it has interesting ideas, the show never seems to be able to pull them off to their full potential. Ironically it’s Dancouga’s long-awaited and heavily-hyped arrival that heralds the death of much of the interesting elements to the story. In addition to being the biggest casualty of the show’s animation budget, Dancouga’s not implemented in a very interesting way in the show’s original anime run - whereas before battles were a test of the protagonists’ skill and strategy, Dancouga’s overpowering nature trivialises much of the action. It doesn’t help that its repertoire is limited to punching, shooting lasers, and on special occasions shooting a really big laser. As a result, the show loses momentum as it enters its final stages, as Dancouga just bulldozes over Muge Zorbados’ armies. It’s also around this time that the writers lose touch with what makes Shapiro Keats an interesting villain. He was compelling because of his sheer lack of redeeming features and total megalomania, yet more and more focus gets pushed onto his past romance with Sara, the show’s female co-protagonist. It seems like we’re meant to sympathise with him and her because of this lovers-to-anime arc, but Shapiro never ends up being anything less than a vile piece of shit with no redeeming features that leaves you boggling at what Sara could have ever possibly seen in him, and rolling your eyes whenever she’s shown to be struggling with having to fight him. Ultimately, the plot culminates in what must have been an awfully unsatisfying cliffhanger at the time.

However, that wasn’t the show’s real end, because it went on to spawn several OVAs. The first is Requiem for Victims, which portrays the final confrontation with Muge Zorbados. This is an immediate improvement in many ways, getting many things right that the show got badly wrong. First of all, the animation is far superior, as you might expect from an OVA - the difference is beyond night and day. Furthermore, it gives Dancouga some more interesting weapons and attacks to work with, and explores more of what makes it special as a machine beyond just being big and powerful. In spite of this, it also features the most fraught and exciting fights that it ever takes part in. Overall, it’s a massive improvement.

The peak, however, is probably the next OVA in line, God Bless Dancouga - taking place some time after Requiem, it’s got the best production values of anything with the Dancouga named attached. The story isn’t anything to write home about if I’m being honest, but it’s not bad either - if all you want is to see the characters interact with one another, then it ticks all the boxes. The animation is absolutely superb the whole way through, and while Dancouga doesn’t actually have a great deal of screentime, it makes it count big time when it does - chances are if you saw it use a cool attack in an SRW game, it got used first in this OVA.

I was really hoping that the OVAs could go three for three and pull off a great conclusion that’d make the time spent worth it, but that sadly wasn’t the case. Blazing Epilogue is a 4-parter that starts off promisingly plot-wise, but the production values are for the most part not up to the standards set by God Bless Dancouga or even Requiem for Victims - it’s not as bad as the original series, but it’s not especially good by the standards of 1990 when it was released. Worse is the fact that while the plot’s pretty good in episodes 1 through 3, it lets itself down for the finale, wrapping things up in an abrupt way that ended up making the whole exercise feel fairly pointless. It’s a total anticlimax and a weak way to wrap things up.

Of course, that wasn’t the absolute end, as the show got a modern sequel in the shape of Dancouga Nova in the 2000s, but I’m saving that for another day - it features all-new characters and is by all accounts very different from the original. As for the original Dancouga saga, like I said to open - it’s complicated. Personally, I think I enjoyed myself more than I didn’t - but I also don’t think that’d hold true for most people. I came to this already endeared to the robot, characters, and certain aspects of its presentation to the degree, and that helped me to power through a lot of the rockier moments in this so that I could see them in their original incarnation. For other people who aren’t super robot addicts like me, I just think the lows are too low and the highs aren’t high or numerous enough to warrant it being worth most people’s time.

[gra-sonas]

Currently airing its second season and already renewed for its third, The CW’s Roswell, New Mexico continues to push the story of alien siblings attempting to live peacefully in the town of Roswell to new places even perhaps for fans of the original Roswell. MICHAEL VLAMIS discusses working on the show, the complexities of his character, Michael Guerin, the many (MANY) other projects on his plate and more!

watchtivist: To start off, congratulations on the success of the show! How cool that you’re heading into season three now!

MICHAEL VLAMIS: It’s crazy, I remember when I got the call that I was going to be on the show in the first place. It’s the role that changed my life and it really set me up for all the other things going on in my life. I remember getting that call, crying in a public place. So jacked up! And now all of a sudden, it’s like no big deal. I watched the episode last night (episode 207) on the TV and I get reminded it’s a big deal when I talk to my parents after every episode and hear their thoughts. Just the fact that they get to see their son miles away on television once a week. I appreciate you saying that because sometimes it feels like this is something we’re doing now, but definitely taking those moments to be grateful and the fact that we have season three is amazing.

W: It’s really great, especially in this landscape where shows don’t really get to dig into things. It’s gotta be exciting!

MV: Definitely.

W: One of the questions we received from Twitter was about if this role, that of Michael Guerin, has led you to acquire any particular skill set (or sets) for it.

MV: Oh wow, that’s interesting. Season one made me pull out my guitar again. Which was actually really cool because I got like not good at guitar, but decent where I could play a few songs. In college, I borrowed someone’s guitar and later got my own and played a bunch. Then for years, I got so focused on trying to make it as an actor, writing and auditions, that I stopped playing it. The show forced me to really go out of my comfort zone and even though it was easy things like songs with four chords or strumming patterns, sometimes depending on shooting schedules and if they got switched around, I’d learn something three hours before going to set. We’d wrap super late sometimes and I’d come home and dig in with my guitar. It’s definitely helped me brush up on that. I haven’t played the guitar on season two, so I’m probably back to where I was. [Laughs]

W: With the violent circumstances making up Michael’s background, he kind of starts out with that “looking out for number one” approach to things and season two we’re seeing Michael’s growth and him realizing when it’s perfectly ok for him to let people in and reprioritize based on that. What has that been like for you in terms of tackling the role? What would you say is the next phase of the growth for him?

MV: I think number one in tackling it was that I had no idea that the character was this complex in the beginning. I knew he was hiding his sexuality and who he really is, which is an alien. I knew that something had happened to him in the foster system growing up and he didn’t have the best upbringing. As the seasons have developed, everything has made a lot of sense. I’m sure Carina (Adly MacKenzie) knew from the moment she got the opportunity to do the new Roswell , so the way that it was written in the beginning, I was never surprised where it led me. And even with not being surprised, it’s been really cool to just see what they’ve given me to jump into. It’s kind of helped me deal with some of my trauma as a kid, and my trauma is not near what Michael Guerin’s was. I definitely had my moments, just as we all do with our families. Not feeling good enough or just hiding certain things about you because you’re afraid of who you are and people wouldn’t understand you. The complexities of the character have really helped me also look into who I am. Because I need to figure out a way into every script, every scene and the character. It helps me strip things away and boil down to “Ok, who was thirteen-year-old, chubby, Michael Vlamis and now I’m this way. What was that growth like?” Figuring out my own personal growth helps me elevate that character, Michael Guerin.

With where we’re going next, I can’t say too much because he already has some changes coming towards the end of the season. It’s very interesting to see everyone’s theories online, some are correct and some are way off.

I saw in last night’s episode they finally revealed the junkyard owner, Walt, was the little boy from the flashbacks and people were speculating that really early on! That was really cool to see people getting validation in their theories because I love seeing those online. When it comes down to it, I want the dude to be happy with one of these lovers. I don’t know who that’s going to be. Everyone always asks who I’d rather be with and I can’t really even say that, even if I had one, because they’re both so different. I think Maria (Heather Hemmens) and Alex (Tyler Blackburn) are both good for Michael at different times in his life. I know Tyler is going around telling people that that’s what he wants in season three and I let him run his mouth and hope that his new love interest in the show crashes and burns. [Laughs] I would like him to be in a good relationship, a happy relationship, but at the same time, I’m so excited to do the work on the days where my mother is dying, my brother is in a coma or I’m getting my heart ripped out. I love those scenes so much, as happy as I want and think Guerin deserves to be, I love the drama on the show. So, a little bit of heartbreak won’t hurt me.

W: Right, that makes sense. The question was going to be what would you want to see for Guerin in season three and beyond but you basically answered that! You want him happy. [Laughs]

MV: I’d love to see that. I would like to further expand his journey of putting that spaceship back together. I would love to see where that goes. I don’t even know if The CW has the budget to do that and take us to outer space or something but I think that’d be so cool. To find out about that and their home planet.

W: I mean, The CW has The 100 and DC Comics shows! Space isn’t a new place for The CW.

MV: That’s true! So maybe right now we’re willing it into existence. We’re manifesting it.

W: Actually, bringing up spaceships. Given that we live in the craziest of times and the Pentagon officially released videos of UFOs - Has that been something you’ve talked about with any cast or crew members?

MV: I haven’t talked to any of the cast or crew members about it but I’m pretty sure we’re all feeling the same way about it, we’re all excited for any new information. I’ve been interested in aliens since I found out Tom Delonge from Blink 182 was a major conspiracy theorist and loves everything about UFOs and alien artifacts, that search for if there’s life outside of our own. I always thought that was so cool, going back to fourth grade listening to “Aliens Exist” by Blink 182. I want that to be the case, I want that to be real. I think life would be far more interesting and I’m always trying to believe in the most interesting things because it just furthers the imagination. I haven’t talked about it with them but now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ll shoot off a text.

W: The show hasn’t shied away from increasingly difficult topics like the foster system, immigration, citizen’s rights, abortion, etc. Is there an area you’re hoping the show either continues to explore or adds going forward?

MV: I would’ve answered this question so differently two years ago but now I would say something with the LGBTQ community really responding well to the show has really furthered me as a human being and opened up my mind to what people who are made to feel “outside of the norm” go through. I personally don’t think or feel that they are. I think it’s ridiculous the taboo that society has placed on sexualities over the years. The fact that we give marginalized voices a platform to come forward and see that what they’re going through, other people are going through. That it’s ok, it’s love and that’s all that really matters at the end of the day. It’s so special to me. The more that we can tackle that, it really comes down to my character and Tyler’s character having a great relationship. That might mean that Lily Cowles’ character, Isobel, is still going to Planet 7 and seeing what’s out there. I think it’s cool how we normalize that, it’s not a big deal. I live in LA right now, and people, they experiment, they’re fluid. They’re interested and the more you find out about yourself, the more you know, the more comfortable you are with yourself. I think that’s a really important topic that I want to further.

I think we’ve done a really good job with the idea of what an immigrant is and what an immigrant looks like. I think we tackled the abortion scenes, I would’ve never thought that was something on our show. It’s very hard because the writers find a way to interweave everything in. I haven’t had the time to sit back and think “what else?” because every week has been something new.

W: That’s a great answer, it’s true. The show has covered a lot of topics and it’s doing very well.

MV: The abortion episode was insane, Carina fought for those shots of Lily’s legs bloody and she didn’t want to shy away from the graphicness of the scene. And I think that was important, to be really truthful to that.

W: Incredibly. This season resurrected Rosa (Amber Midthunder) from a pod years later, which is similar in a way to Captain America or Han Solo being unfrozen. With time having gone on, she’s having to adjust and in her own way, catch up to 2020. Let’s say you were able to suggest 1-2 things that someone should undoubtedly know about in 2020, what would it be? Is it a book, movie, show, certain type of food? What’s something you’d for sure put on that “must haves/dos” list of things or experiences?

MV: Oh wow, you’re really making me think about this! I can’t help but think about it as if it was me in that scenario and I would say something that I was really fortunate enough to do ten years ago, which was scuba dive The Great Barrier Reef. I think it’s so sad that it’s deteriorating at such a rapid rate because of pollution. I’m sure some natural causes. A lot of people fighting climate change will say natural causes and I can understand and see both sides to that, but I know that we definitely contribute to that. That was one of the most spectacular things I’ve ever seen. And if someone wasn’t able to see it the way I saw it, I haven’t been down there since so I don’t actually know what it looks or feels like now. But that was one of the first moments in my life where what I was experiencing…the world felt so big. Not in a way it felt just traveling. In a way it felt magical, that something like this can just exist and has existed much longer than we’ve ever been around. I’ve had that with hiking the second largest glacier in the world. All these feelings with nature have really expanded my mind and my horizon of the potential and possibilities. Realizing we’re very small, we’re here for a short amount of time. Let’s cherish it.

Traveling to these places that have just been so affected, I think that’s very important because of what it did to my mindset.

W: I loved that answer, you made it ecofriendly and everything. That was wonderful!

MV: My sister studied environmental science at the University of Illinois, so I gotta keep her mind. But I really do believe that. Maybe that’s something I want to see in the show too! Go into some climate change.  I don’t think we’ve touched that really, have we? Each side has arguments.

W: Each episode of Roswell, NM is titled after a famous ‘90s song. What’s your favorite or what would you consider the most iconic ‘90s song or band/musician?

MV: For me, it was Blink 182! In the ‘90s that was me. I’m a big Conor Oberst fan, the lead singer of Bright Eyes. The fact I’m in a scene, now multiple scenes that play that song. They did it in season one and in season two, they play “First Day of My Life,” that has been so surreal to me because music has been so important to me as a kid. I haven’t told many people this. As a kid I’d make short films with my friends, a lot of people know that, but what they don’t know is that I would rip so much music from all these platforms. As a little 11 year old kid, I’d get as much music as I could to have thousands of songs on my iTunes and iPod. Not that I was going to listen to them, but that one day when I was making my own big movies, I’d have this database of music to select from. Back then there wasn’t Spotify and it wasn’t as readily available, and also I was a kid and that was my thinking! Music has such an influence on my life, but Blink 182 specially. All that angst I was feeling at the time as a kid, it’s really in Guerin and me, even though I handle it in different ways in real life. Feeling a little different or not understood, that was that music that would give me a release without being too intense or too Screamo. If a Blink 182 song is ever in a scene that I’m in, I can die a happy man.

W: [Laughs] Amazing. Alongside acting, you’re also a talented writer, director and producer. A screenplay that you co-wrote earned a spot on the Black List which was one of the coolest things I’ve ever read. Congratulations! Are there other projects you’re currently working on or maybe topics you’re considering for future screenplays?

MV: Thank you! Yeah, definitely! The new Nicolas Cage/Tiger King series, the creator of that is actually the showrunner of a TV show my writing partner and I created as well. So, we’re all really stoked about that. Dan Lagana, showrunner of American Vandal is making such a splash with this Nicolas Cage project that it’s helping our TV show get put together too. We’ve got the Black List/Mac Miller script, we have a “Halloween comedy” feature film that’s set up at Seth MacFarlane’s company right now. Hopefully that gets made. We have an “old lady comedy” that’s being read, taking a lot of good meetings on that. We’re writing our next movie right now, we’re probably going to finish the beat sheet. We do a very detailed, intense outline of the movie, scene by scene as if we were actually writing the script. Exterior, interior, every single scene in order, everything we want out of characters in the scene, what we expect to happen, some dialogue that maybe came to mind as we’re banging out the outline. Once we get to writing, we could bang out eight pages in a day. We finish scripts very quickly, so we’re writing a “mob action comedy” right now. So yes, I became a writer out of desperation and found some success with writing. It’s been really good. As a kid making short films, it wasn’t actually in script form.

The last four years I’ve been writing a ton and now it’s starting to pop off a bit. I love it. I produce my own movies too and it looks like we’re about to lock down distribution for the first feature film I produced and starred in called Five Years Apart, it’s got a pretty cool cast in it and I’m really pumped for people to see it, we have a really cool distributor, I’m 99% sure that’ll be our distributor but I don’t want to jinx it. We’ll see if that’s going to be Hulu, Netflix, small theatrical release, I’m not sure yet. As a first time producer I’m learning all that. We’re gearing up on producing our next feature too, we were planning on filming in Wisconsin this summer but things have changed with the conditions of the world.

Acting, producing, writing, directing and releasing another merch line. I’ve been staying busy during the quarantine!

W: Seems so! I saw the line and love the pops of color!

MV: Thank you! It’s been really good, honestly the feedback, I was very surprised with how it’s done. Compared to last year and the multiple drops, this year, we’re nearing a certain point in orders and products that we’ll have to produce within three days of being out. It’s been really cool. Last year we gave 100% of profits to a charity called Random Acts started by Misha Collins of Supernatural. And this year, I unfortunately can’t do 100% again, I made the point but learned the lesson in that we had no money for this next launch. [Laughs] I had to dig into my own pockets, which was fun and it’s all good, it’s a big creative project. This year Carina created this thing called The Little Alien, a Roswell fund for the Roswell crew that’s out of work right now. She’s been raising money through t-shirts and I’m going to donate some of our proceeds to them as well. They’re the heartbeat of the show, they’re the reason we get to be there every day and things go smoothly. We’re trying to take care of them at this time.

W: Amazing, intentions matter so that’s really cool to hear. Lastly, anything you’d like to say to those reading and watching?

MV: To those reading and watching, thank you from the bottom of my heart that you’re tuning in and giving me a platform to do what I love the most. And what I set out to do felt like such a dream that from the age of 12 to 20, I wasn’t acting and making movies. Dreams are just dreams until you realize that they are very plausible, and most dreams, I think, can be achieved given the right circumstances, opportunities and work ethic. Thank you for allowing me follow my dreams and I hope that I’m able to inspire you to follow yours.

~ WatchTivist

[border-spam]

Leech Lord: Allies

Troy

Gar is about as native as a Pandoran can get, and has for years had a very soft spot for the bratty King.

He's old colonist, thinks his parents might have been with Atlas on one of the many failed corporate town setups that plagued Pandora 30-ish years ago. He was too young to remember who's banner they flew under when his family stepped out of the shuttle and onto the dust planes they’d been instructed to settle, just that things went wrong fast and anyone still alive 18 months later had needed to adapt quickly to what constitutes living on this planet.

He was drawn to the Holy City for the same reasons as most survivalists, it was an opportunity for safety and a roof over your head. Not needing to fight to eat or scrabble to stay alive is a blessing for most Pandorans, and he's one of the thousands who live within the walls who don't quite worship the twins as Gods, but praise them as holy... because the twins gave them a chance to have a home. Wether they are deities or not isn't a factor in the loyalty they've’ earned.

He's skilled with food. Knows how to spice spoiled flesh to hide the rot, pickle cactus root and delicate rock blossoms for long storage, or how long rakk wing needs to be slow roasted to turn from gamey string to meat that melts in the mouth.

Like most in the HC, he ended up where his skills have value and has ran the kitchens in the Grand Cathedral since its founding bricks were set.

It didn't take very long for him to find Troy in it one night - picking through ingredients and half finished dishes in the early AM.

While he'd expected to need to drop to his knees and grovel, the God King had seemed more embarrassed than anything, awkwardly explaining he hadn't eaten that day and asking if there was anything left from the after sermon banquet. 

His eager politeness had hit Gar hard, but his reaction to finding out the leftovers had been destroyed was what left a lasting impression.

Gar had thought the twins affluent spoiled little shits who'd hit things lucky on Pandora and been clever enough to know how to use their wealth to culture worship, so when Troy was genuinely upset to the point of disgust that food had been wasted like that? It changed his perception immediately.

This wasn't the reaction of some egotistical little shitbag from a wealthy background, this was the visceral panic and anger of someone who'd starved before, who understood the insult of food being destroyed when there were so many hungry... when he'd known hunger.

It took less than 24 hours for the kitchen policies to be changed and Gar's team to find out nothing was to be wasted. Uneaten and unused stock was to be transported at end of day to the Slums from now on, where it would "Bolster the flesh of the faithful."

Every time he finds Troy hunting through his kitchen at 4 am over the years, their chats grow a little longer.

By late COV, Gar's meals delivered to his sanctum are some of the only things God King Calypso still trusts enough to eat.

Tyreen

Xanshi Ur-Vendit is obsessed with the God Queen.

As her Saint of Marketing, he's got both her ear and a position of high authority within the organisation that he covets viciously, and takes great personal offense towards newer Saints he doesn't deem worthy of the title.

His pedigree speaks for itself, the man had quite a reputation on Promethea among the media departments of the high corporations. An expertly trained and cut-throat money maker that was the exact kind of egotistical, nasty piece of work that would be drawn to the God Queen's side.

Has direct tie in's with the esteemed Katagawa family, something he's used to his benefit throughout his career.

He fawns over her, she can do no wrong around him, and he spends as many hours of the day as he can trailing behind her heels like a lapdog, reaffirming her beauty and intelligence and infallibility with every breath he can manage between the underhanded threats he aims towards anyone possibly about to draw her attention away from him.

Hates Troy. Fucking hates him.

Too much of a hole-sucking little coward in his $60k three piece suit to actually do anything about it of course, but he takes plenty of his vitriol out on Troy's departments instead.

Marketing has such massive reach within the internal structure of the COV that he's able to throw his weight around far more than some of her other Saints, and regardless of if they actually like him, they tend to back Xan and his opinions automatically.

A huge amount of the conflict between departments and heads is driven by this imagined competitiveness, that Troy's people, Troy's chosen, must in some way be inferior to Tyreen's.

Xan is her right hand in his own mind, he's her holy knight. If she holds too much misplaced love for her brother to see how pathetic he is in comparison to her radiance, then it's up to Xan to keep Troy's people in place...

In reality? Tyreen isn't even invested in him enough to remember Xanshi's full name.

Seifa

Sei makes friends in low places far easier than higher ones, always has. People at the bottom of the ladder, folks who have struggled? They recognise each other. Doesn't matter where on the scales they currently stand, there's an unspoken nod, a side glance. You see your own - even if who you are has been lucky enough to change over time.

While she's never been in one place long enough to set up a friend network before that was tangible and not based on e-comms and data feeds, she's woven one since settling in the HC without really even noticing it was happening.

One-hand Jim in the King's Call, that high end rave bar near the cathedral grounds. Not so gruff now he's not drowning in debt, few more smiles while he's mixing cocktails.

Cleo in munitions stocks, breathing a bit easier since her son landed that underling role in the Mechanica, more food on the table with less worry.

Feliz and Irgo running deals in the western slum backstreets. Not competing against the HammerClaws for territory anymore since JK "got wind" of the shit they were cutting their gear with and had Vanguard waiting at their quarters for a polite discussion about unspoken laws. What Fe and Iggy are selling isn't exactly high quality but at least it won't rot your brain inside the skull.

Sei will tell you she's a lone wolf. She'll insist she’s a one woman show, runs shit on her own and doesn’t need others.

But watch closely when out with her in the city, check how often she buys a drink, how often it's not on an invisible tab the barstaff nod knowingly about as they hand her glass over with a smirk.

She's never asked to pay.

That should tell you plenty.

Seifa and Tyreen

- Early COV

"Ty, you ever wish you were born a guy?"

Of all the things Tyreen had expected to hear from Sei tonight, that... wasn’t it. She stopped reading the same piece of nonsensical math in the sheet she was holding to gawk at Seifa instead, staring at the other woman’s back as she continued to work on the data records they'd been passing between them all evening.

"No.. god. What, and look like Troy?" she snorted with a wince. "Nooooo thanks" Ty sighed as she leaned back and heard her stiff spine pop, waiting for a response that didn't come. She felt a pang of concern as Sei's shoulders sank a little lower in front of her, deflating.

This wasn’t normal, where was the bitchy retort, or joining in on insulting her brother? She shuffled together the files and stood, walking to her friend's side and sitting slowly next to her in the quiet of the twin's shared office. Sei still hadn’t responded, pretending to be completely absorbed by the notes she stared at. Ty cleared her throat with a cough.

"Uhhh.. why?"

Seifa silently reached to her side to take the offered files from Ty as she sat, pointedly not making eye contact, though the younger woman picked up on the redness in them easily enough.

"Sei, I need to have someone's hands cut off?" 

Ty pouted, hitting her mark as Seifa failed to completely hide a smirk in response.

"I need to have someone thrown into a pit? Huh? C'mon Sei, talk to me. You always tell me I need to talk more about things that me down, right?" she weedled, hands clasped over her heart as she faux whined, earning a quiet laugh from her companion.

"Oh god Tyreen SURE, if you'll shutup." Sei groaned, leaning back in her chair and running hands over her eyes. She was tired. Beyond tired, really. Always said she knew how to not outstay her welcome but had been wondering recently if that had ever been true. Day to day in the cult, managing people she’d never meet and holding the weight of more responsibility than she’d ever wanted was eating at her. Had been for some time. Nights like this helped, shooting shit with Tyreen, bitching, sometimes gently bullying Troy together if he’d decided to grace them with his janky presence, but still.. it was heavy, and Seifa was tired. 

"Ahh.. just the usual shit" she whispered, thumbing through the papers as Tyreen leaned a little closer, as much of a comforting presence as she could muster all things considered. An arm around the shoulder or gentle stroke of hair wasn’t an option. All Ty had was words and honestly, they weren’t exactly her forte.

“It's just like. Sometimes when I'm talking, and it's about something they think I shouldn't know shit about, like how Burgess is spending too much of your budget on expensive, low grade gear-assemblies when if we went off brand I can prove it would be better, they just zone out."

"It's like.. if they thought I had a cock, if I was 6'4, they'd be listening. " she added, eyes burning again.

She groaned, leaning over the table and resting her cheek across her folded arms.

"I got so angry. I'm used to dealing with it, it's always happened, but I just boiled over. This week has been.. long, I guess." she whispered, pinching the bridge of her nose as Tyreen watched quietly. "I ate into him in front of like, 6 other people Ty, couple of heads were there. That doesn't help my reputation does it.. that's just making shit worse. I'm sabotaging myself. They think I'm a bitch already without me starting a fight and stirring the pot."

Tyreen shifted in her seat, eyes thoughtful as she rested her chin in her hands, elbow propped on the table edge.

"Nah. "

"Just sounds like they're dumb. I keep telling Troy we need people with actual brains leading this shit Sei, if you're getting ignored cause you have tits? Haha. Wait till they meet me in person. " she grinned, a genuine act peeking through her usual haughty persona as Seifa chuckled.

"I mean my rack is way bigger than yours, you're flat as a fuckin' plank in comparison."

Asks are Open!

[honeymoonjin]

darlin’ - kim seokjin x reader

A/N: welcome to my favorite thing I’ve ever written. You are an actress that needs to learn how to ride a horse. Jin is the insanely hot cowboy that’s been tasked with teaching you. If this gets enough attention, I’ll be uploading the sequel (aka a pwp). 2.3k.

You sit gloomily on the rocking chair sitting on the front porch of the ranch. Less than a week ago you had been given the role of your lifetime; the leading lady in a period piece k-drama. Unfortunately for you, this job required horse-riding skills, something you very much lacked. You had begged for a stunt double, not wanting to go anywhere near those beasts, but there were too many scenes with actual dialogue that took place while the character was on a horse, and the budget had to be spent elsewhere.

So, here you were, waiting for the instructor to arrive and questioning if this was even worth it. Luckily it was warm enough to warrant your thin cotton leggings and workout tank, seeing as no one had really told you what to wear when coming here. The sun was high in the sky but there was enough cloud to ensure it wouldn’t be beating down on you. Beyond the ranch, there was an open expanse of fields and paddocks that slowly sloped up into hills at the horizon line. You reluctantly admitted it was a very beautiful place.

You hadn’t met the instructor yet; apparently, he wasn’t even a teacher, but he owned this place and was the only one qualified for miles. Shooting in the middle of nowhere did mean your options were limited.

“Ah, there you are, I’ve been lookin’ all over for you, missy.”

You start at the voice and look up to see a torso right in front of you. Incredibly worn and washed out jeans were cinched at his surprisingly delicate waist with a cut strip of leather, and a somewhat baggy white tank top was slightly tucked in, exposing his glorious arms and some of his collarbone. You had to admit that a life on a farm certainly looked good on him.

You glanced up, shielding your eyes slightly from the sun that was behind him, and just about choked on your own spit. With his hair lit up by the sun, glowing orange on the ends, and lips of an angel, he was possibly the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen, and that was including the actors you’d starred with before.

Belatedly, you remember he had spoken to you, and was now watching you drink up the view with an amused grin. “Oh, Jin, right? Uh, I thought if I got closer to the house, I might be able to get some Wi-Fi. Sorry.”

He chuckles, and your thighs clench together at the satiny sound. “Bless your heart. Darlin’, there’s no internet here. Old Marge down the road has her own cell tower or somethin’, but not me. Don’t need it.”

You gape at him. “What do you mean? What if, I don’t know, there was an emergency?”

He holds out a hand to help you stand, and you take it, marveling at the callouses on his palm and the effortless way he lifts you up out of the seat. “You don’t gotta worry a single hair on that pretty little head o’ yours, missy. I’ll take good care o’ you.”

You swallow hard at the double entendre, unsure if he even means it like that, and follow him down an uneven dirt path around the back of the ranch. Without letting go of your hand, which feels completely swallowed up by his, he leads you to a small stable beside a significantly larger barn.

“So, what animals do you have here?” you ask conversationally, looking to disperse the strange tension that had arisen.

“We got cows, we got some chickens, these horses o’ course. At some point you might meet Winston, he’s my farm dog. Keeps the livestock in line.” He comes to an abrupt stop, leaving you with a close-up view of the expanse of his back, just enough of his tanned shoulder blades visible to make you want to drool. “Now, darlin’, you ever ridden before?”

You shake your head. “I’m a little nervous, actually.”

He steps aside and swings an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in tight. “Don’t be, don’t be. The old girls‘ll love you, they’re absolute sweethearts.”

He kept his arm around you while he slid the lock across and let the wooden gate swing open. Slowly, two horses lumber out and look around curiously. You instinctively try to pull back, but the arm behind you prevents you from moving. “Shh, you’re okay,” he coos, rubbing the bare skin of your shoulder with the rough pad of his thumb. Jin reaches out with his other hand to let one of the horses, a tan one, nuzzle at his knuckles while the chesnut-brown one snuffles and stretches its legs. “They won’t hurt you. This here is Rosie, and the dark-haired beauty over there is Juliette. I took ‘em both out for a ride this morning, so they won’t be too energetic or bouncy, okay? Come on, I think Juliette wants to say hello.”

You jump in fright when a furry ridge is pressed against your arm, just below where Jin’s hand rests, and whirl your head around to see Juliette rubbing her long forehead against you. Jin continues to hush you and calm you down, and eventually you work up the courage to tentatively hover your hand in the air, fingers curled slightly inwards to present your knuckles.

Happily, Juliette pushes softly at your hand with her muzzle, until you get the idea and begin to run the flat of your hand up and down her forehead.

“You see, Juliette,” Jin calls out from beside you, “I told you she’d be sweet as a peach.”

You flush at the compliment and clear your throat. “Do we just get on them and go?”

“Darlin, they’re animals, not rollercoaster rides. They need to be comfortable with you just as you’re needin’ to be comfortable with them. Would you normally ride someone just after meetin’ ‘em? Come on, I’ll help you up.”

You bite your lip as Jin lifts his arm up off you, only to place both hands on your waist and gently push you forward until you’re standing at Juliette’s side, just beside the saddle.

“Now,” you suck in a breath when the hand on your right side slides down your thigh and cups the back of your knee, “you wanna lift this foot up and slip it into the stirrup facin’ forward. There you go. Next, you’re goin’ to hold on to the reins and grab some of Juliette’s mane, don’t worry, it won’t hurt her if you’re gentle, and lift yourself up and swing your leg over.” He takes his hands off of you and steps back, holding Juliette’s head steady.

You freeze and blink dumbly at him. Slowly, you reach up and grab the reigns, softly holding onto the thick hair of Juliette’s mane. He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling shut, and nods. Encouraged, you push off the ground and try to hoist yourself up, only to slip down again without enough momentum to get on. “I can’t do it,” you say, “I’m too short.”

“Nonsense,” he rebukes, “d’you think jockeys use a stepladder? You ain’t too short, you’re just too scared. Come on now, darlin’, one big jump is all you need.”

You take a steadying breath, squat slightly, and jump off, swinging your leg up. But again, your knee catches on the saddle instead of making it over, and you land heavily back on the ground, hopping around on one foot a bit to catch your balance. Juliette harrumphs and starts shifting back and forth impatiently. “Jin, I can’t do it.”

Jin lets go of Juliette’s head to come beside you again, reaching down to slip your right foot back out of the stirrup. You wince at the stretch in your hip muscle as you stand back on two feet. “Maybe you’re more of a beginner than I thought. That’s okay, I’ll tell you what; how’s about you and I ride the same horse together for now? I can handle the reigns and keep you steady and you can just get used to being on a horse?”

Reflexively, your eyes dip down to his crotch before returning to his face. “That sounds good, yeah. Let’s do that.”

He chuckles quietly to himself, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans. Wordlessly, you watch him unbuckle the saddle off Juliette and replace it with a longer one that has two sets of stirrups dangling from it. “Alright then, little lady, I’ll lift you up and get on right behind you, okay?” You step back up to Juliette and let him maneuver your hands to be gripping onto her mane, before he abruptly grabs your hips and lifts you up with an unprecedented strength. You squeak and jolt forward, pressing your chest against Juliette’s back to balance yourself as you lift your left leg over her and sit down on the saddle.

With your feet dangling, unable to locate the stirrups in your fright, and a death grip on the thick hair of Juliette’s mane, you feel your heart racing. “Jin,” you cry out, startled further when Juliette begins to shift beneath you.

You feel a weird tugging sensation on your right side, and then a pressure on your back. Two strong arms wrap around your middle, lifting you upright so your back is pressed against Jin’s solid chest. “Easy, easy,” he soothes, “you’re alright, I’ve got you.”

You let yourself calm down, going lax in his arms and tipping your head back so it rests on his shoulder. You feel his chest vibrate when he talks, and suddenly you become aware of just how much contact there is between you. “Fuck, that was freaky.”

“Language,” he scolds in a light tone, “don’t make me wash your mouth out with soap. There now, this isn’t so bad, is it? Should we go for a little wander?”

You sit upright and shake your head quickly. “I think I want to get off now.”

“Don’t be silly,” he retorts, “you’re doin’ just fine, missy. Come on, I’ll take it slow.”

Jin reaches down for the reigns and holds them taut but not tight, and he must have some secret command you don’t know about, because the horse begins to move forward slowly. Your heart jumps and one of your hands lets go of Juliette’s mane to latch onto his forearm, but he just shushes you and transfers one of the reigns to his other hand, holding his palm flat for you to grab a hold of. You place your hand in his and he interlocks your fingers, rotating his wrist slightly so that he can pick up the reign again with his thumb, pulling it in so that it is clasped between your joined hands. Jin turns his other palm up with the reign resting across it. His voice is low in your ear. “Your other one?”

More reluctantly this time, you let go of Juliette’s mane and hold Jin’s other hand. So focused on the feeling of his calloused palms against your much softer ones, you almost don’t realize Juliette has been picking up speed, the only indication being the way you begin to bounce a little in the saddle.

“That’s it,” Jin praises, “you’ve got the hang of it now, darlin’. Now, to make a horse speed up, you give her a little push with your heels, and to make her slow down, pull the reigns a little tighter. I want you to make her speed up a little bit, and then slow down again.”

You bite your lip and tentatively squeeze your feet inwards onto Juliette’s body. She immediately picks up speed and you gasp, letting her go at the quicker pace for a few moments before tugging the reigns back with the hands you have interlocked with Jin’s.

“Good, there you go, you’re a natural.” Jin shuffles a little, and you suck in a quiet breath when his new position leaves his crotch pressed right up to your ass. “We’re going to go faster now, I want you to try and push your pelvis down a little into the seat like I am, so that you don’t bounce around too much.”

Acquiescing, you shift your hips forward a little so that your core is flattened against the saddle. You shiver when you feel your clit press against the solid leather. This really wasn’t the time to be getting turned on, and so you cleared your throat. “Okay, let’s go.”

Jin squeezes your hands once. “There’s my brave girl. Hold on tight, now.”

You focus on doing just that as Juliette begins to gain some serious momentum, until eventually she’s just short of a full-blown gallop. Your stress-level is high and you’re trying to keep breathing, but every time Juliette lands, a jolt shoots up your core and Jin’s jeans rub against the tender skin of your ass underneath your leggings.

It takes you a while to realize with your senses already overwhelmed, but once Jin pulls your hands back to tighten the reigns and slow Juliette down, you can feel a hardness against you, and hear the sound of Jin’s heavy breathing in your ear.

You almost feel like panting yourself, knowing that by now your underwear is probably a mess. “Why are we stopping?” you ask with a shaky voice.

“Oh, darlin’,” Jin murmurs in your ear in a gravely tone, “you can feel what you do to me. Did you think a horse was the only thing you’d be riding today?”

[greenhanded-redthumbed]

I Have A Hero Whenever I Need One

Bruce watched his parents die when he was twelve. People said it was a tragedy - and it was. But that doesn’t mean his life was. He had Alfred, a man who cared for him more than any amount of money could compel someone to. Alfred drops him off at school, talks with him over meals and helps out with school projects last minute. Many blood parents of his school-mates do far less. 

It’s under his tutelage Bruce thrives. He teaches him languages, business skills, fighting styles. Everything Alfred learned in the secret service, and anything they can figure out together, they learn.

Bruce grows up loved and happy and successful.

It’s then, after delving deep into his parent’s company he learns of the limits they met - the ones that probably got them killed. A business - even one as large as Wayne Enterprises - can only do so much. They’re bound by laws and codes - ones put there for good reason, but still hindering any efforts to reform the city and take criminals off the streets.

At this point, Bruce only gets the first inklings of what he has to do - that he will need to move out of the public eye and fight Gotham’s crime in an arena outside of his company. He starts to get a reputation, not with the law, but with the papers. He needs Bruce Wayne to be completely open, his life spotlighted so that no one would ever believe he could be planning something more serious. And the best way to get the paper’s attention is a scandal. 

Sex is the easiest avenue, and while its pretty clear to Bruce that its not as enjoyable for him as it is for others - he feels no particular compulsion to seek it out beyond making the gossip pages. He has other things to keep his mind on. (Bruce makes sure none of the girls ever think he’ll love them. It’s just a basic courtesy, but also helps nourish the growth of his bad reputation.)

Wayne Enterprises makes the leap from successful to infallible due to what is arguably the biggest break in Bruce’s business career. He manages to hire the highly sought-after Lucius Fox - colloquially known in the upper-business circles as having the Midas Touch - who can make any business, no matter how small or how deep in remission, a resounding financial success. 

Bruce greets Mr. Fox in his office, eager to see the commerce wizard in person and glean his thoughts. Mr. Fox himself is rather humble looking, a small black man with silver wire-rimmed glasses and short-cropped black hair. He wears a tweed suit and red bow-tie: the kind of outfit one can only picture older British men and professors in. 

Bruce decided it must be the latter as the man said in a strong New Jersey accent, “Good to meet you, Mr Wayne.”

“Good to meet you too, Mr Fox,” Bruce replies as the man settles into the seat on the other side of Bruce’s desk.

“Now, Mr. Wayne,” Lucius starts, “I’m sure you’re aware I’ve got a few job offers at the moment. Why should I pick Wayne Enterprises?”

Bruce cracks a smile, “More than a few probably. And you should pick Wayne Enterprises because we’re doing a lot of good for this city-”

“How?” Lucius interrupts him, and at Bruce’s briefly startled face expands, “I apologise for my abruptness, but if I did detailed research into everyone contacting me at the moment I wouldn’t ever get to the actual interviews. I’ll look at the more intriguing offers in more detail after I’ve heard them out.”

“Seems efficient,” Bruce answers. And he supposes it is the only practical for someone that sought after. He’s reminded exactly how large a juggernaut he has in his office. 

“Well, for the city we have the Wayne scholarships, our homeless hiring initiative and consistent proposals for Gotham’s development to work with the mayor’s office to make the city more prosperous. And of course we offer fair pay and decent hours to all our employees. For you, I have a branch planned where you can head the development and testing of technological products. I’d be loosely supervising, but it would be you leading the team. It comes with a board membership and the salary of one. Any other questions?”

Mr. Fox smiles at his efficiency, “No, I think that’s enough for me to consider. If I need anything, I’ll be in touch.”

Two weeks later, Lucius Fox calls back to accept the offer. The board toasts champagne at the news. 

Mr. Fox and carefully selected staff members move into complex in the warehouse district filled with all the specialist equipment Mr. Fox can think of. It’s at this time Bruce makes a few purchases of his own - its out of his own pocket of course, but it’s a good excuse if anyone asks why a playboy billionaire needs kevlar body armour and workable leather. (Bruce decides not to simply order specialised pieces, but to learn how to make them. He wants to be untraceable.)

Alfred knows everything of course, and while he doesn’t fully understand why Bruce wants to dress up in a suit and fight criminals in person, he does everything he can to support him. (Except allow him to pull more than one-all nighter or skip one too many meals. “It’ll still be there in the morning, Master Bruce. And you’ll work faster if you’re not completely exhausted.”)

Bruce never really finishes the suit, he keeps finding different ways to upgrade it, to make this more pliable or that more sturdy, but he gets the first chance to use it when he hears that a partner in a rival company, Mr. Theodore Lambert, has been stabbed to death. 

It’s the secretaries that know first - it almost always is. There’s about a dozen of them in the Wayne’s main building and each knows at least three others from their many attempts to get their bosses talking at a convenient time. So when Lisa from Apex Chemical Corporation calls Rob from marketing to tell him about Lambert’s death it doesn’t take long for the whole building to know.

 Bruce leaves work early (one of the perks of being his own boss) and stops by the commissioner's office. Gordon’s an old friend, met when he failed to find the man who killed Bruce’s parents. (Bruce has long ago decided not to track him down himself. If he’s a criminal, he’ll come up against him eventually and put him behind bars. Bruce is a man of obsessions, and he doesn’t want to test how thick the line between justice and vengeance really is.) Tragic circumstances, good friend.

“You can’t tell the papers any of this yet,” Gordon says seated behind his desk, “Or god forbid use the information for a business deal. Not only will I stop telling you stuff, I’ll have you in a cell so fast…”

Bruce had ignored the other chairs in the office to sit on the edge of the desk itself. Relaxed, rascally, child-like bordering on disrespectful. It fit his image to any number of outsiders. And Gordon himself simply acted as if he was a slightly adventurous nephew.

The commissioner was an older man, with white hair streaking from his hairline back across his scalp. He wore a scratchy, budget suit and dull green tie, both pressed and clean, as perfectly in order as everything else Gordon did. 

“When have I ever?” Bruce asks innocently, “But in all seriousness, should I be worried about a serial killer targeting big company members?”

He says this with a smile that tells Gordon he’s anything but serious.

“No, you’re safe to live another day,” Gordon acquiesces, “The officers think its Lambert’s son - fingerprints on the knife. He claims different, so I’m having them check out the partners-”

“Crane, Stryker and Rogers,” Bruce remembers aloud. 

“Those are the ones.” There’s an edge to Gordon’s eyes now that Bruce believes are there to warn him against interfering. But the suit in the back of his car out front pushes him in another direction. 

Bruce gets back into the car out front and drives a few blocks away before he turns on his radio. He’s set it up to pick up police transmissions, which was one of the first skills Alfred had taught him. He sits and listens, not knowing if he’ll step in yet. It’ll be his first appearance as the Batman, he needs to keep it as clean-cut and efficient as he can. There’s some general chatter, dispatchers sending cops out for noise complaints and possible robberies. A nice reminder of Gotham’s crime. He doesn’t need to wait long. 

“Dispatch, we have a possible homicide. Send Alvarez out, pretty sure it���s Steven Crane. Looks like it’s part of the Lambert case.”

Bruce is driving  before they finish the report. He knows where each of their offices are, and Rogers is the closest. He parks a block away and considers whether or not to wear the costume. He could simply walk in as Bruce Wayne and inquire about Rogers. It’d cause the least suspicion. But if he walked in on a fight or a crime scene, he wouldn’t be able to step in without giving himself away. And of course, if word got back to Gordon he was here, he could lose the trust of one of his oldest friends and accidental informant. 

It’s that that decides it for him, more than anything. He pulls the suit on in the back of the car, fumbling with the confined space. Bruce supposes he’ll just have to get better at it. 

Rogers has an office in a new office building - glass walls stretching up with nowhere to hide. He could still climb it, but the windows would be sealed all the way up. The easiest way in would be the roof, which meant fourteen storeys would have watched him crawl past, belly bared to all inside. Ground floor, then. But at least he can take a back door. 

Bruce finds it slightly embarrassing, he imagines this must be what it feels like to be a teenager sneaking in drunk hoping not to be caught in a parent’s disapproving stare. He has no personal experience doing this, for a number of reasons. (Apart from the obvious, he tends to avoid drinking to get drunk and Alfred would rather he just uses the front door so he can ensure Bruce is safe. Even as a fully grown adult.)

He makes it up to Rogers’ floor unchallenged, although he does note a security he makes an appearance on. It doesn’t matter to him then, he’s in a mask, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Bruce makes a note to figure something out for next time. (He optimistically assumes there will be a next time.)

The door to Roger’s office is open, and Bruce can see its empty even from the shadowy corner by the door. Roger’s secretary, a tall brown-haired woman with thick black glasses and a stylish crimson shirt, is sitting at her desk in front of the empty office absorbed in her computer. The best source of information - secretaries hear about everything.

He’s standing right in front of her desk before she acknowledges his presence.

“Can I help you?” She asks, eyes raking over his suit with silent judgement.

“I’m looking for Paul Rogers,” Bruce growls out. It’s harsh and grating where his normal voice is warm and playful. Ideally unrecognisable.

“Ok,” she says, now ignoring the screen in front of her, “And you are..?”

Batman. He wants to say it. He’s been planning it since he was fourteen years old and bats were the scariest thing to him. It feels kind of childish, but still scarier than something like institutionalised-prejudice-man or dying-alone-and-being-eaten-by-cats-man. Still, maybe it would be a good idea if he actually solved a case before spreading the name.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” Bruce continues, “I just need to find Paul Rogers.”

“‘Kay,” she says in bewilderment, “He’s not here. He went to visit a business partner: Alfred Stryker.”

“Thank you,” he says, still growling. Not intimidating, he tells himself immediately. He’ll get the hang of it.

“‘Kay,” the secretary says again, turning back to her screen. He knows by the time he leaves the building secretaries all across the city are getting of the alerts of the strange costumed man looking for Paul Rogers.

He drives to Stryker’s office, cowl down and suit covered by a long coat. His cape is tied around his waist - a part of him thinks its childish, another, smarter part knows it masks some of his body type, movements and hides any special gadgets. If anyone stopped him now, it’d be extremely suspicious. He needs a vehicle, he realises, something that won’t link back to Bruce Wayne so he won’t have to change back and forth. 

Bruce pulls into an alley near Stryker’s office - this one is in a sprawling old building, with cut stone walls and only three storeys, so he doesn’t need to repeat the back stairwell routine. He remembers from his corporate briefings that this is because Stryker likes to keep a personal eye on the manufacturing of Apex’s heavy-duty industrial strength chemicals, primarily used as extreme sterilization or to be watered down to at-home cleaning solutions.

Cowl on, he climbs to the third storey window roughly where he remembers Stryker’s office being. As he jimmies open the lock, he hears voices yelling from the next room. 

“What the hell? What are you doing!” comes the first voice, and despite its panic, Bruce recognises it as Rogers.

“Just shut up,” hisses the second voice. Not Stryker, Bruce notes. 

 He (gracefully) crawls over the window into the deserted room beyond, staggering to his feet and darting into the building’s main corridor. He moves quickly and quietly along it, with all the grace of someone well-practiced in sneaking midnight snacks around an ex-MI6 agent, until he finds the right doorway. He pauses on the threshold and takes in the scene - not panicking, he’s learned, is far more important to remember than most of his learned skills. A second of recon can make or break his success. 

Inside the room, Rogers is taped to a chair, with another burlier man looming over him with more tape and a plastic bag attached to an air hose. Next to them is a canister of helium. 

“It won’t even hurt,” the larger man says, “Way more humane than being stabbed.”

This does not seem to reassure Rogers, who continues to struggle to keep the bag from being placed over his head. Bruce decides this is a good time to step in.

“Get away from Mr Rogers,” he says, crossing the threshold. The big man whirls to face him, abandoning Rogers.

He looks Bruce’s costume up and down, brow furrowing. “You’re that guy,” he says, and Bruce tenses, “The weirdo who was looking for Rogers.”

An assistant then, if he’d already heard about that.

“I’m here!” Rogers helpfully yells from behind the assistant.

Bruce pulls a pair of handcuffs from his belt, “Surrender yourself to the police.”

The assistant looks unconvinced, “I’m not going to hand myself in because some goth vampire dude-”

“Batman,” Bruce interrupts, purely because he would rather not have people call him Goth-vampire-man.

“Whatever,” the man says exasperated and then lunges forwards. Bruce sidesteps, bringing his elbow down hard against the assistant’s back and sending him crashing to the floor. Before he can get his bearings, Bruce has him pinned and is cuffing his hands behind his back. He drags the assistant to a radiator and uses a second pair of cuffs to lock him in place.

Rogers looks on in shock. “Batman,” he says testing it out, “Cool name. I like it. The whole thing: great-”

He’s interrupted by a voice from down the hallway, “Jennings? Is it done?”

Rogers looks over panicked at Bruce. “That’s Stryker,” he whispers frantically, “And it’s not done. I’m not done. Completely not done.”

Bruce raises a hand to quiet him, then slips behind the door. He’s not giving up the element of surprise.

“Jennings?” Stryker’s voice is closer this time, almost right outside. “What’s-”

Bruce can tell the moment Stryker reaches the doorway because he breaks off mid sentence. It’s then that Bruce launches himself at the place he knows Stryker will be standing. Bruce catches a glimpse of him before he makes impact, built more slender than Jennings and eyes wide with surprise. But where Jennings had confidence, Alfred Stryker has wit and wariness and speed. He launches himself down the hall, leaving Bruce clutching at the coat ripped from his shoulders. Bruce curses under his breath, abandoning the coat and racing after Stryker.

The man in question has reached a heavy looking door emblazoned with warning signs with phrases such as ‘Extreme Caution’ and ‘Chemical Storage’. Stryker’s frantically pushing his passcode into a security matrix beside the door and Bruce knows if Stryker gets the door closed behind him he’ll probably get away. 

The door opens and Stryker hurries inside. Bruce slams into the closing door, bracing himself on the carpeted hallway to keep it open. He knows he’s stronger than Stryker, and sure enough the door starts to inch further and further open. 

Stryker must know it too, because he abandons the door, using the Bruce’s stumble as the door unexpectedly gives way to get a headstart along the narrow metal catwalks that hang across this section. Beneath them, Bruce can see large open vats full of steaming liquids that slowly eddy and bubble as they continue mixing. 

The catwalk shakes as the two sprint across it, and a flash of fear runs through Bruce at the thought of it breaking. Who knows what raw chemicals would do to a man?

Stryker seems to be tiring, slowing slightly and failing to pick up speed again after a sudden ninety-degree turn. Bruce runs farther than this on a daily basis and shows absolutely no signs of fatigue. He gains quickly on Stryker until he’s within arms reach. Bruce launches forward grabbing firmly onto Stryker’s shoulder. Still desperate to escape, Stryker jerks violently to the right, hitting the narrow metal railing hard. 

For a moment he flails wildly. Arms in the air. His feet leave the catwalk. The swirling pale green vat beneath them bubbles invitingly.

Then Bruce’s instincts kick in. He grabs Stryker by the arm and pulls him back from the edge. By the time Stryker’s panicked breathing returns to normal, Bruce has already handcuffed both of hands to the railing.

“The police will be here shortly,” Bruce informs him, then heads back the way he came to release Rogers. 

Later that night, Bruce sits beside Alfred on a plush leather couch at Wayne Manor and watches a news report of the mysterious black-clad figure dubbed ‘The Batman’ who foiled a murder attempt. Paul Rogers raves praises for his actions to a reporter. It’s a good first step.

Strangely enough, Bruce isn’t the first person go sneaking through the city in black leather. As he continues his crime-fighting escapades he runs into a kindred spirit - albeit one that’s a little less into the law upholding aspect. 

He first sees the woman scaling up the side of an expensive apartment block. Gotham’s latest luxury living project for millionaires looking to downsize their older relatives. Bruce would usually be inclined to think this is another run-of-the-mill thief with a leather fetish, but the suit’s very similar to his. Ears on the cowl, utility belt - all its missing is a cape. He watches from a neighbouring building as she disables an alarm system and slips in a window - and yes, maybe he could report her, but he’s never seen anyone work with this level of efficiency and he’s new to patrolling rooftops so he’s pretty sure she’d easily outmaneuver him. She sees him as she’s slipping out the window again, probably a few thousand dollars better off than when she entered, and for a moment they both freeze. 

Bruce points to a neighbouring rooftop adjacent to both of them in what he hopes is a nonthreatening manner. I just want to talk, he tries to convey. Whatever he does with his arms somehow communicates enough to convince the woman to move towards the rooftop. Either because she’s curious too or to tell him to leave her the hell alone.

She’s a better climber than he is, he notes. Far more practiced. 

He can see her more clearly when she’s on the rooftop, her cowl covers all her main features and hair like his, and her suit’s clearly hand-stitched. It’s tight too, and Bruce realises that and the lack of cape probably allows her to better squeeze through tiny windows and openings to steal. She’s quite short, with a small build like that of an acrobat and scowling slightly.

“I suppose you’re this new Batman person,” she says by way of introduction.

“And you are?” Bruce asks.

“People call me Catwoman,” she answers, “But you don’t really need to call me anything. Just stay out of my way.”

“I just watched you steal from that apartment right there-”

“Yeah, steal,” she breaks in, “I’m not hurting anyone. The ultra-rich can live without a few pieces of jewellery Surely you’ve got better things to do. I don’t like getting into moral fights, go stop the people from raping and murdering in back-alleys. Then I’ll be able to focus on stealing rather than dropping into fights all the time.”

Bruce really can’t fault her logic too much. She does need to stop stealing stuff eventually, but he can’t stop every crime in the city. He doesn’t get the chance to tell her this though, as she darts off the side of the building and onto a fire-escape Bruce didn’t even know was there. 

An ally, Bruce thinks, albeit a reluctant one. If he ever gets out of his depth, he’s pretty sure this Catwoman would help him against someone truly evil. 

Two weeks later, Bruce hosts a Wayne Enterprises gala at his manor and among the guests he notices a small woman with curly brown hair he doesn’t remember inviting. He watches her as she slips through the crowd in a long purple dress and while he never sees her take anything, when he runs into her conversation partners they’re missing cuff-links and earrings and watches that they’re yet to notice have vanished. 

Bruce waits until she’s alone beside a table stacked with champagne before approaching. 

“Hey,” he says wearing the smile he reserves specifically for these events - it’s not quite the playboy on the front of magazines but also not an expression he’d ever use when it was just him and Alfred.

The woman looks over at him and smiles. It doesn’t show her teeth. Bruce notices her lips are painted the same shade of purple as her dress.

“So,” he continues, “Taking a break from theft?”

She laughs, light and short as if he’s just said something extraordinarily funny, “Theft? Let me guess; I’m stealing hearts.” She’s incredibly charming and for a moment Bruce thinks he might be wrong, and maybe this really isn’t the same woman he met on the roof at night. 

“Perhaps.” He offers her his hand to shake. “I’d stay out of your way,” a flicker of recognition flashes through her eyes, (they’re brown. He didn’t notice that in the dark.) “but I’m the host so I kind of have to greet everyone.”  

“So you’re the Batman,” she says, “Mr Wayne?”

He nods, “And you’re the Catwoman, Ms..?

“Kyle,” she answers, “Selina Kyle. I should probably give this back.” 

Selina hands him his own watch. (He’s suitably impressed.)

They spend the next thirty minutes gossiping about the other guests, with Bruce steering her clear of certain people - the Cobbs, who’ve just had their son die and should really be allowed to grieve, others like him who wear their dead father’s watch on their wrists like a catholic wears a cross - and which people just got found not-guilty of embezzlement on technicalities.

“This has been very educational Mr. Wayne,” she says. 

“Bruce,” he corrects immediately.

“Bruce,” she amends, “But I have to get back to meeting those guests you pointed out.”

She slips away into the crowd and Bruce thinks that maybe Gotham’s new vigilante now has a friend. (He finds Alfred later and tells him to invite one Selina Kyle to all Wayne events henceforth. She may be a thief, but Alfred’s just thrilled he has a friend.)

As Bruce keeps patrolling the city at night, his list of needed gadgets keeps growing. Some of them he and Alfred can figure out together in the old cavern beneath the manor where Bruce stores all of his Batman-related possessions. (Alfred’s setting up a computer system to combine the hacked files of different police departments and emergency services. A sort of overhaul database with all the information stored in one place.) Other things are beyond even them, but Bruce knows exactly where to turn. (At least after extensive background checks and many pros versus cons discussions with Alfred.)

Lucius Fox (graduated MIT, top of his class, wife: Tanya, four children in various stages of schooling) seems to have enjoyed his transition to Wayne Enterprises. The sprawling laboratory is filled with various gadgets and engineers of all kinds flitting from table to table talking of different ideas. 

“Mr Fox,” Bruce greets him, taking a seat opposite the man in his office, “I have another proposition for you.”

Lucius looks at Bruce over his glasses and says, “Go on.”

After a lengthy discussion ends in an optimistic, “I’ll consider it”, Alfred convinces Bruce to take the night off. 

“You’ve made excellent headway, Bruce,” Alfred says. They’ve long forgone the master, “Why not a night to celebrate?”

Bruce gives in, because it’s not just a night off for him, it’s one for Alfred too. And in between late nights preparing the new computer system for the cave and insisting Bruce get more sleep, Alfred’s read raving reviews about one Haly’s Circus that’s travelling around America. Alfred’s always harboured a soft spot for carnivals since his childhood novel heroes all talked about running away to join one.  

Bruce goes with him, with slightly less excitement but a willingness to relax. For the first half it’s as entertaining as Alfred promised, with aerial silks, a strongman, clowns. Then the trapezists are brought on. ‘The Flying Graysons’ the ringleader announces gesturing to a family of three. There’s a man and a woman and a young boy who sports the woman’s dark hair and the man’s bright blue eyes. 

They perform without a net, to raise the stakes. The audience holds its breath and wait to see if they’ll slip up, be off by a few centimetres and be sent plummeting to the floor far below. They don’t miss, they fly from one trapeze to the other with perfect flips that make them look as if they’re flying.

Then something above them snaps and they fall anyway. The man and the woman are both lying on the floor of the ring, limbs at wrong angles while the boy swings above, looking down on them in disbelief. 

It’s a while before someone remembers to convince him to come down. 

Bruce leaves with the rest of the crowd, but he doesn’t sleep at all that night. He keeps picturing the kid hanging onto the trapeze and looking down at the floor. At 3am, he can’t take it anymore and calls Gordon.

“Is it an emergency?” Gordon answers sleepily.

“No,” Bruce says, “It’s about the Haly’s Circus accident.”

“A 3am worthy question?”

Bruce sighs, “I was there, Jim.”

“Oh,” there’s a moment of rustling as Gordon presumably moves to a better location for a serious dead of night phone call, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Bruce answers him, “Just...what’s going to happen to the kid?”

“The circus can’t provide the right education, financial security or stability to officially adopt him, so he’s being sent to Gotham foster care so they can find him a home.”

Bruce remembers the feeling of not-knowing. But at least he’d had Alfred. This boy has no one. (Bruce asks himself who the greatest hero he knows is. The answer isn’t Batman, or Silena or Fox or Gordon. His biggest hero is Alfred, and he knows right now that the boy from the circus is in exactly the same position he was in. And he needs a hero.)

“I’ll take him.”

[v1ntagecassette]

As I’ll Ever Be (Chapter One)

Summary: Roman is a knight who serves beneath Thomas, the newly appointed (and, unfortunately, widely disliked) prince of a medieval kingdom. When he stumbles across a mysterious, yellow-eyed man who offers him a handful of roses and a shining kingdom of his own, he couldn't possibly refuse — but things are not always as wonderful as they seem. (A novelization of @thepastelpeach​‘s "Ready As I'll Ever Be" animatic.)

Warnings: N/A for this chapter

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality

Words: 2,600

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There was nothing quite like an October morning on the palace grounds.

Warm autumn sunlight filtered into the courtyard through red-orange leaves, casting dappled shadows over the knights who trained on the field. A gentle breeze carried with it both the clattering of blades and the crisp, cool scent of a brisk fall day. Booming laughter bounced off the weathered stone walls that enclosed the training grounds; most of these laughs, of course, came from one knight in particular, who was in the process of dominating a sparring match with this morning’s challenger.

He dodged and parried with expert skill, anticipating each flick of his opponent’s sword a millisecond before it came. One arm was tucked behind his back — partially to show off, partially because he was curious to find out if he could win that way. He couldn’t help the half-smile that pulled at his mouth as he swung down hard and knocked his opponent off balance.

“Nice one, Roman!” someone called out from the group of onlookers. The knight’s grin grew, and he struck with renewed passion.

Jab, dodge, swing. Watch your step, fake him out, duck, thrust, lunge —

A sharp clang rang across the courtyard, and the opponent’s blade found a new home on the cobbled stones beneath his feet. The onlookers roared in approval; Roman raised his arms in celebration of his victory, allowing himself a small bow in their direction before turning to shake his opponent’s hand.

“Maybe next time, friend,” Roman told him. The other knight scooped up his weapon and jogged back toward the crowd just as another figure — one clad all in black, with a leather satchel slung across his shoulders and a windswept look about him — emerged from behind it.

“Make way for the messenger,” a knight said, giving a mock tip of an imaginary hat as he passed.

“Ah, Virgil!” Roman waved him over. “Just the man I wanted to see. Up for a sparring match?”

The messenger arched an eyebrow. “You do realize I have a job, right? I don’t come out here every morning just to swing a knife with you.”

“Well, you’re much more skilled with a blade than these fellows. Quite frankly, I could use the competition.” Roman gestured vaguely at the other knights (and grimaced when he realized they were listening). He raised his sword in Virgil’s direction, pointing at it with his free hand. “Just one round?”

Virgil made a face like he was still deliberating, but he had already tightened the strap on his satchel. “One round,” he agreed. Roman beamed at him as he drew his dagger.

These morning sparring matches had gone on almost as long as Roman had had his knighthood, but they never failed to put a spring in his step. He lunged and dodged with expert precision; he revelled in each clang of blade against blade. A grin, even bigger than the last, graced his lips as he and the messenger danced around each other, laughing and ducking and spinning across the bright green grass, putting on a show for the onlooking knights.

Roman watched as Virgil swung at an opening, then intercepted him at the last possible second, catching their blades in a perfect X that flashed with refracted light.

“You’ll have to try harder than that!” Roman said, and Virgil smirked at him.

“I plan to,” he said. He leapt backward, and the fight resumed.

For nearly a minute, it was unclear who had the upper hand. These fights were always a toss up; they were almost perfectly matched. When Roman struck, Virgil parried. When Virgil jabbed, Roman jumped. It seemed as though this fight could go on for eternity without ever declaring a winner —

— and then Virgil’s dagger flew from his grasp, soaring in a perfect arc that caught the sun just right before it clattered to the ground some three yards away. He heaved a sigh, and Roman laughed.

“Well fought!” he said. He closed the space between them with two short strides and clapped Virgil on the shoulder.

“Likewise,” Virgil huffed, rolling his eyes and making the trek across the courtyard to where his dagger lay innocently on the stones. “Now if you don’t mind, your worship, I’ve got messages to deliver.”

“Any for me?”

“Always for you,” Virgil chuckled. He slipped the dagger back into its scabbard at his waist as he knelt to the ground, rummaging through his bag. “You should know by now that you’ve got a fan club.”

Roman placed his hands on his hips in what he hoped was a nonchalant gesture (but definitely wasn’t). “Oh, I wouldn’t call it that.”

“A small horde of admirers that send you love letters every day?” Virgil scoffed. “Yeah, fan club.”

“They’re not love letters!”

Virgil tugged one from his satchel with a flourish. “Sir Roman,” he read in the most theatrical tone he could muster. “Not a day goes by when I don’t send my thanks to the heavens for your rescuing me the week before last. At night, I dream only of your —” he paused to stifle a laugh “— your beautiful eyes, and —

“Okay, okay, maybe that one is a love letter,” Roman conceded, snatching it from the messenger’s hand to read the rest. “But can you blame them, really? I am very cool.” He swung his sword in an intricate circle around his right wrist for dramatic effect.

“So cool,” Virgil deadpanned. He peered up at the sky, shielding his face with the back of his hand, and squinted. “I should go. It’s already getting late.”

“Don’t have too much fun without me!” Roman said, sheathing his sword to take the rest of his letters.

“Oh, I plan to,” Virgil said. He walked backwards to face Roman as he pulled his cowl up over his head, giving a short, two-fingered salute before turning around and hopping the brick wall that led to the main castle grounds and the city beyond them.

Once Roman had finished waving at Virgil’s increasingly distant figure, he turned back to his fellow knights. “That seems like enough for this morning,” he said, “don’t you think?” The knights nodded in agreement, and he smiled. “It’s settled, then. Off to lunch!”

With a few dozen knights in tow, Roman led the charge back toward the stables, chatting blithely with his compatriots about the day’s upcoming patrols and humbly accepting congratulations on his expert sparring technique.

In the shadow of the trees that lined the training grounds, there was a quiet rustle and the glint of an eye. Nobody noticed it, of course.

They would soon wish they had.

For most of the castle staff, mornings meant sweeping the floors and laying out meals. The palace woke up with the rising sun, taking its time just as the rest of the kingdom did. The prince’s bed was made, the busts were dusted, the curtains were drawn open to let in the weak autumn light. Yes; for most, mornings meant peace and quiet.

For Logan, they meant work. (Patton often tried to convince him that the rest of the staff did hard work as well, but Logan didn’t buy it.)

“First off,” he was saying, bespectacled eyes turned down toward a scroll of parchment in his hands, “is the matter of All Hallow’s Eve. We must finalize decisions our on budget, itinerary, decorations, music, activities —”

It was at this point that Logan realized the prince wasn’t paying him the slightest semblance of attention. Instead, he stared out the window of the main hall, hands pressed against the sill, seemingly lost in thought. He gazed over the bustling city and the rolling hills beyond, looking far away into the sprawling forest that bordered the kingdom.

“My lord,” Logan said, to no response. He cleared his throat; still nothing. With a sigh, he set his scroll down on a nearby table and said, “Thomas.”

At long last, the prince turned, looking almost startled. “Sorry! Guess I was a little distracted.” If his demeanor hadn’t given that away, the state of his being certainly would have; his overcoat, usually crisp and pressed, was wrinkled all over. His cuffs weren’t buttoned at the wrists, and the top buckles of his right boot were done up entirely crooked.

“Distracted,” Logan muttered. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“What were you saying?”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “The All Hallow’s Eve festival, my lord. If you’ll pardon my candor, we’re coming down to the wire here.” With less than two weeks left before the festivities were set to start, this was something of a trivialization.

“Oh! Of course.” Thomas nodded slowly, biting his bottom lip as he let this sink in. “One question, though.”

“Ask away.”

“How much am I allowed to spend?”

Logan plucked the scroll off the table and went back to scanning its contents. “Considering a large portion of this kingdom’s gripe with your rule is your financial habits,” he said, “my best estimate would be not much.”

“But I — ugh.” Thomas pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and let a long, slow breath out through his mouth. “This is hard.” He began to walk toward the grand oak doors that led to the courtyard, and Logan followed.

“I understand that it’s difficult,” Logan assured him (even though he didn’t), “but you owe this festival to your people. Public opinion has not been very strongly in your favor since you took over the throne. The kingdom needs a distraction.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Thomas asked, a look of hurt in his eyes. “I’m trying so hard, Logan, but nothing I do is right. I feel like… like this isn’t meant to be my job, you know? Like I’m filling in for someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Logan opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, another voice came from an open window just behind them. “Don’t say that!”

They turned to find Patton, the castle’s odd-job man, leaning toward them over the stone sill with a cleaning rag in his hand. His round glasses glinted with morning sunlight, obscuring his eyes as he said, “You’re great at your job! Everyone loves you, I just know it.”

“To put it kindly,” Logan said, “that is a monumental overstatement. It is, however, a pleasant sentiment.”

“You really need to work on your definition of ‘kindly,’” Thomas said, burying his face in his hands yet again.

“My ‘kindness’ to you is having your best interests at heart, my lord,” Logan said. He failed to mask his disdain for the word but plowed on nevertheless. “I want nothing more than to see public opinion turn back in your favor, and this festival is the best way to bring about that change.”

“But… hmm.” Patton squinted like he was trying to puzzle something out. “If everyone’s upset about how he’s spending money already, why should he spend more money on a big festival?”

“Yeah,” Thomas said, nodding along. “What if we sent some support out to the border instead? Relief funds for the Dragon Witch’s attack last spring? Or —”

“If you spend vast amounts of money on the poor, the rich will complain,” Logan said. His tone was that of someone explaining simple math to a very small child for the fifteenth time. “If you spend nothing at all, the economy will dwindle. Your most promising option at the present moment is something that will engage the entire kingdom as we attempt to find a more long-term solution.”

“But —” Thomas began. He was cut off by the sound of hooves clattering up the walkway.

Roman approached from the stables at top speed, sitting astride his white stallion. “Thomas!” he called, slowing to a halt and jumping to the ground. He skidded up to the prince and gave a hasty little bow. “Er — sorry — my liege!”

“My name’s still Thomas, Ro,” Thomas sighed. He leaned heavily against the stone wall behind him and rubbed at his temple. “What do you need?”

Logan went back to scanning his scroll of parchment as Roman launched himself into speech. He could not for the life of him understand why Thomas was so averse to his princely title; it should have been an honor to ascend to such a position, after all. It was understandable that Thomas would give a friend he’d had for over a decade a little more slack on the royal title front, but Logan had only joined the staff a few years ago, and he got the same treatment — “You can cut back on the ‘my lord’ stuff.” “It’s not that big a deal.” “You don’t have to treat me any differently.” Of course Logan had to treat him differently; he was the prince! That was part of the job description. Putting his grievances aside, cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the conversation at hand.

“So, for this festival I’ve been hearing about,” Roman was saying. “I was thinking of a good, old-fashioned jousting match — with me as the star, of course, given my astounding track record.”

“Yep, yeah, sounds great,” Thomas said, eyes still downcast and brow still furrowed.

“And maybe a bit of sparring as well! I’ve gotten very good at this new disarming trick —”

“Okay, Ro. We’re kind of busy here.”

“But hear me out on this one: me, my stallion, and a jumping course. I’ve never jumped before, obviously, but I’m sure it would be a spectacle, and —”

“Roman, that’s enough, alright?”

“Oh, we could hang banners! ‘Epic joust today at noon’ —”

“Roman!”

At long last, the knight fell silent. A disoriented sort of look played across his face as Thomas grimaced at the ground.

“I’m really busy right now, okay? I don’t have time for this.”

“Well, I’m only trying to give my thoughts —”

“Then stop giving them,” Thomas said, finally looking Roman in the eye. He seemed, quite frankly, exhausted — his hair was tousled and his eyes were frazzled. “I — I’m sorry, but I’ve got a lot on my plate today, and as — as your prince, I’m asking you to put a pin in this until a… later date.”

Roman blanched. He opened and closed his mouth like a codfish before regaining his composure, giving his crisp white doublet a little adjusting tug. “Right,” he said, and it came out tight. “Of course… my lord.” His bright eyes hardened as he turned on his heel and remounted his horse. With a jerk of the reigns, he took off toward the city across the sprawling lawn.

Thomas waited until Roman was out of earshot, then thumped the back of his head against the wall. “Agh, that was mean,” he groaned.

Logan sniffed, unbothered; he and Roman got along well enough, but sometimes that boisterous knight simply needed to be told to shut up. “You asserted your authority over a knight who forgot his place,” he said. “I see nothing wrong with that.”

“He’s my friend, Logan.”

“Even friends must come to understand the balance of things. Now, would you like to discuss the festival?”

“I would!” Patton chimed in. Logan nodded fondly at him. “I can go pick apples for the bobbing contest!”

That managed to bring the ghost of a smile to Thomas’s face. “Sure,” he said. “Yeah. Let’s get to it.” He led the way back inside, blissfully unaware of the roiling rainclouds that were beginning to creep in along the horizon.

There was a storm coming, and it was going to be a big one.

____________________________

Next Chapter

Read it on Wattpad and AO3

Taglist (send me a message or an ask if you want to be added!):

A/N: I've been sitting on this fic for almost a year now, and after months of rereading what I'd written a million times over, I'm finally ready to post it. This story is lowkey my baby; I'm beyond pumped to send it out into the world. If you like what you see, I sincerely hope you'll stick around — I've got quite a bit planned for this bad boy.

[flopgoblins]

Ocelot Emperor

We emerge from the mists of Ireland - where we’re on retreat with next to no internet - to lay this offering at the feet of one of our favorite people and wish her a very happy birthday! @brazenbells we love you, thank you for two consecutive years of helping us write our boys, and for letting us throw them at your own.

Without further ado, the crossover smash the fans (us, mostly) have been clamoring for! Thanks, Ted. 

-

King Abran's throne was as vast and glorious as his kingdom. Made of teak, varnished until the wood seemed to glow with an inner fire, inlaid with gold and etched with scenes from myth and legend and the founding of his dynasty. 

And upon it, his wrists heavy with bangles, his fingers dripping rings, his eyes dark with kohl, lounged the crown prince, golden and glorious as a lion at rest. His eyes were lion-tawny too, and his neck was straight and proud, easily bearing the weight of the shining crown that rested upon his brow. 

“See,” said Matt, angling his phone so Nico could get a better look at himself. “You look way better in all this sparkly shit than I do.”

Nico slid off the throne with a gentle chinking and untangled the gold-ish polymer crown from his hair. Beneath the gilt, it was dark brown, but for the stark white streak Makeup had sprayed there two hours ago. “Yeah, the casting choices feel a little strange. I can see why everyone on Twitter was pulling up those fanart comps to complain about it. Still not as bad as the, uh - ”

“I know,” Matt said morosely, taking the crown back and putting it on wonky. “I don’t even tan.” They’d dyed his hair again but thankfully drawn the line at trying to make him any less pasty. Manufacturing sexual tension with someone who looks like a stretched out Oompa Loompa might be beyond even Nico’s prodigious talents. 

“I’m billed above you though. That’s progress.” Nico tried to get the crown to sit right but succeeded in tilting it drunkenly to the other side. “And, hey, it’s not every day you get a big-budget fantasy epic with a queer romance.”

“They cut out the incest. And most of the sex.” Around them, the studio walls yawned tall and green; the only solid things onset were them and the throne, and the throne was mostly resin. 

“There wasn’t that much sex in the book,” said Nico, who’d picked up the novel as soon as the casting call went out and gone through making characterization notes on every page. 

Matt, who’d read the first draft as it was posted on AO3, complete with thirteen chapters of kink that hadn’t made it into the published version, sniffed and forbore from commenting. Some hauteur was probably in keeping with playing Gael anyway. More in keeping with Tigris, though, which was further evidence Ted Nord couldn’t cast to save his life. 

“I mean, I love it, it’s a really interesting role, but I’m finding it hard to get to grips with,” Nico had said, on the first day of shooting. “Spending your whole life pretending to be being vain and shallow, because it’s not safe to be anything else. Wearing a mask so long you must start to wonder whether you’ve become it. What does that do to a person?”

“Dunno,” Matt had said. “Did you see Ray Lelacheur’s Vogue cover yet? Terrible shoes.”

Now that Nico had abandoned the regal warmth that had settled on him as if it was second nature while draped over the throne, he was stirring the pages of the script again, frowning at his lines. Tigris had been the most he’d had to stretch for a character to date, he’d told Matt, though he’d earnestly added he liked the character’s ‘chewiness.’ 

Matt, who’d struggled equally hard to locate the generosity of spirit and ease of power that was Gael, continued to think that Ted was just as bad at casting to type as he was to aesthetic. 

Nico tossed his white-streaked hair back from his forehead and dragged on his black velvet cloak. “Will you run this scene again with me? I keep not getting the timbre of his ambition right.” He mouthed a few lines, twisted a green gemstone on his finger, and cast an agonized, kohl-rimmed look at Matt. “How do I channel the appropriate volume of petulance, the feeling of a man deprived what by all rights should be his?”

Matt draped himself over his rightful throne, trying to arrange his limbs with the same boneless grace Nico had achieved so easily. “Remember when we were at that falafel truck last week and it took twenty minutes for your order to come and you started cursing god?”

“Suck my dick, Rose,” said Nico reflexively, but looked thoughtful.  

“Later,” murmured Matt, and closed his eyes to wait.

-

“Spy,” snarled the prince, rounding on his cousin. Tigris stood his ground, jaw set against the taller man’s fury, lip curling with defiant derision. “You intrude here, in my father’s house, not content to be left to your life of indulgent luxury, so desperate for attention -”

Tigris’s eyes flashed, enraged despite himself. “Attention? You think that is what I crave? Heavens forbid I seek a world beyond the gilded cage my uncle keeps me in, indulging me like a spoilt puppy and giving me just as much freedom. Attention? I would give my eyeteeth for less! If one could trade condescending oversight for actual knowledge of how our kingdom is run-”

“Our kingdom,” repeated Gael. He cocked his head to the side, curiosity warring with the outrage in his noble features. “You truly think it so, do you? But our father-”

“Uncle,” said Tigris, under his breath.

“Our uncle -”

“My uncle,” said Tigris helpfully. “Your father.”

“My - okay, your -” Matt stopped. “Gawd. This doesn’t work at all.”

“See? It doesn’t work half as well without the incest.” Nico flicked a gem-encrusted finger at Matt’s nose.

Matt wrinkled it and adjusted the hang of gold chains over his collarbones. “You say this like I’m the one who made the script changes. And for the record, Cindy was as cut up about it as you are.” Cindy, script doctor extraordinaire, had also lurked the story on AO3 as it sailed up the ‘Original Fiction’ rankings, and was as distressed as he was about the loss of the throne sex scene. “It’s not my fault transgressive familial kink hasn’t crossed over from the hets yet.”

“Kink shmink, it totally shifts the dynamic.” Nico flapped his cloak emphatically. “Adopted cousins isn’t close to the same sort of layers of resentment and entitlement being a bastard half-brother would be.”

“Right,” said Matt, who’d definitely only re-read chapter 12 seven times for the entitlement, and not the way Tigris hissed ‘brother’ while bound to a bedpost. “The morality groups would lose their shit, though. Probably it was the right call.” It was impressive enough his agency had let him sign the role at all; he’d already rocked the boat enough asking if his casting was whitewashing.

“The morality groups are gonna lose their shit over the gay factor anyway,” said Nico stubbornly. “In for a penny...”

“What about the negative associations of homosexuality with sexual taboos?” 

“What about double standards?”

“Sure, it’s a double standard and it sucks, but you gotta start somewhere. It’s a story about being an outcast and fighting for scraps of dignity, fighting to be seen as human by people who want you to be less than that, and that’s gonna resonate with a lot of kids. You gotta lay the groundwork then fuck your brother.”

Nico raised an eyebrow and Matt shut up quickly; he, or rather his agency, had made a point of never letting him be drawn into these kinds of debates. “And I think compromise robs art of its power. What does the author think?” They both glanced across the set to where a woman in a peacock-print dress watched as Ted struggled to coral the child actors for the carnival scene. Her expression, behind her glasses, was unreadable. 

“Dunno.” Matt ran his hand through his hair. The dye had dried it out and he winced at the brittle, dead-grass feel of it. “Only time we spoke, we both tried to get each other’s autographs and it was really awkward. Bet she’d have some notes for you, though.”

“D’you know, Rose, that’s not a bad idea.” Once resolved, Nico was all action and he stood, script pages fluttering to the floor, velvet cloak swirling around his ankles. The jut of his jaw said that nothing short of poor falafel truck service would defeat him. 

“Ask her to show you the predicament bondage scene,” Matt told him helpfully. “There were some really important character beats in that, I thought.”

-

“You think you’re too good for me, don’t you?”

“What?” Matt looked up, taken completely off guard. He was stretched out in Nico’s window seat, deeply absorbed in a thinkpiece on why Kai Bourke would have been a better casting choice for Gael, and thoroughly agreeing with it. Seeing his boyfriend prowling towards him with a look of cold fury and a bare chest was enough to stop him mid-anonymous comment.

Nico stalked across the room towards him, the taut anger etched in every muscle creating a frayed grace that was almost violence. “That’s the worst of you, your highness. It’s not that you hate me. It’s not that you think less of me. It’s that you think nothing of me at all!”

Finally cottoning on, Matt swung his legs around and tried to remember his lines; it was hard, he truly couldn’t remember what part of the script this was. That in itself was unusual. Matt would hardly claim himself a natural thespian or even a diligent professional, but memorizing lines had been a skill drilled into him since he was eight years old and it was a tough habit to shake. Still, while Nico’s words - Tigris’s words - sounded vaguely familiar, he couldn’t for the life of him place them in Ted and Cindy’s script. 

“But I’m going to make certain you don’t forget me, brother,” whispered Nico, and that was just it, Matt realized. It wasn’t the script at all. It wasn’t even the book. It was the original.

“You read it?” he mouthed, as Nico’s hand wrapped around his wrist. 

“Shocked to learn I’m literate?” spat Nico, but favored him with the shadow of a wink. No shadow around his eyes this time, no gold woven into his hair, but he was more Tigris than he’d been on the soundstage. 

It was, simultaneously, extremely Nico. 

Matt tried, experimentally, to free his wrist and found he couldn’t. He shivered, feeling his pulse jump, knowing Nico could feel it too. “Was that an attempt to dig deeper into the artistic truth of the work, or to mine it for weird, kinky shit?” 

“Yes,” said Nico, bearing him down onto the cushions, beautiful and vengeful and careful not to knock Matt’s laptop off the seat.

-

One of the advantages of shooting a gay film with your boyfriend - one Arose had certainly never intended - was that when Nico turned, grabbed Matt by the lapels, and kissed him on the red carpet, everyone laughed and smiled and Matt knew the gossip mag headlines would be jokes about dedication to the craft and not shock sexuality scandals. His father probably wouldn’t- okay he’d definitely mind but it’d probably be a side note in a meeting about how to capitalize on the film’s success. 

And it was a success; some desperately hot sex aside, reading the story - the real story - had apparently been what Nico had needed to pull it together. All the pride and fear and desperate clawing longing of a tiger caged that had risen like a heat haze from Tigris’s story, and Nico had captured it, had reveled in it, and put it on the screen for all to see. 

Matt straightened his tie and winked to the paps - just a joke between bros, nothing queer here - and resolved to fuck Nico senseless in the restrooms after the premier. Nico laughed and stuck his tongue out. He’d left the white streak in his hair for the red carpet, as stark as the collar of his suit, and Matt had to say, it was growing on him. 

[rose-of-pollux]

Inktober for Writers, Day 11

Prompt: Snow Fandom: Perfect Strangers Title: Snowball Fight Summary: [Season 3ish].  It’s the first snowstorm of the season, and Balki is considerably more enthusiastic about it than his companions.

Notes: Takes place around season 3.

Cross-posted to AO3 & FFN.

The first real snowfall of Chicago was usually the only one that the city residents appreciated; anything beyond that first snow usually was an annoyance once the tedium of winter set in.  and even then, the first snowfall was, more often than not, seen as a preview of things to come in the months ahead—a portent of the icy messes winter would bring.

Balki was the one, naturally, who appreciated the snow the most, having grown up with the mild, Mediterranean winters.  The others… not so much—having lived in the Midwest all their lives, snow had lost its novelty long, long ago.

Nevertheless, Balki managed to convince the others to accompany him for a walk in Grant Park, but it was still difficult for them to get enthused about it—even Mary Anne, who would always find Balki’s quirks endearing, was only just able to keep up, pulling her coat around her as tightly as she could.

“Oh, come on!” Balki said.  “When was the last time you three really took the time to appreciate the snow?”

“We did our time,” Larry insisted.  “Every winter of our lives, it’s been the same old story!”

Balki shrugged and walked onward, pausing to admire the icicles hanging from tree branches.  Mary Anne made a bit of an effort to accompany him, but even she was finding it hard to share his excitement and fell back with Larry and Jennifer.

“Does anything get him down?” Larry wondered aloud.

“Sometimes, I wonder that, too,” Mary Anne agreed.  

A cold breeze blew through the park, causing Larry and the girls to cringe.

Jennifer shuddered.

“Ugh…  If things are this bad now, I can only wonder what January will be like,” she stated.

“Don’t say it,” Larry pleaded.

“You know I don’t have to,” she pointed out.  “We’re in for quite a winter.  That means less money coming in for Mary Anne and me—flights will be getting grounded a lot, and a lot of them getting canceled…”

“And that means winter budgeting,” Mary Anne added, making a face.

“And I’ll probably be working from home a lot,” Larry sighed.  “…But Balki will probably have to go in to work still—can’t exactly bring the mailroom to him.  Ah well—at least he actually likes this weather.”

“That’s what he says now; wait until he has to walk in that wind chill…” Jennifer pointed out.

Mary Anne suddenly let out a yelp, dodging a snowball.

The three looked back at Balki, who was grinning at them.

“Come on, you three!” he called.  “I challenge you to a snowball fight!”

“Balki, please…” Larry said, shaking his head.  “I had my fill of snowball fights as a kid—you don’t know what it’s like, growing up with eight other siblings!  I had to throw snowballs to survive out there!”

“Ha! Well, then you must have dulled your skills if you are reluctant to face me, then!” Balki challenged.

“Nice try, Buddy, but you’re going to have to do better than that to drag me into a snowball fight!”

Larry looked back at the girls with an amused expression.

“He keeps forgetting that I’ve dealt with all of this before!  Eight siblings!”

“Well, maybe so, but you are the first brother he’s ever had,” Jennifer reminded him.  “Well, close enough, anyway.”

Larry considered this.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he mused.  “Still, I think we’re all a little old for this, don’t you?”

“I don’t know about that; Balki isn’t giving up,” Mary Anne noted.

Balki threw another snowball their way, and Larry casually sidestepped it.

“I just gotta use the same tactics I did back home,” Larry insisted.  “He’ll lose interest soon enough.  Standard trick; it worked on the youngest ones. Of course, Elaine was the one who took more than that to get dissuaded—”

He was cut off as Balki’s next snowball got him; snow covered his hair and the side of his face.

“…But, sometimes, you just have to teach them the hard way that you’re the better snowball thrower.  Excuse me, Ladies…”

Larry scooped up a snowball in each hand and charged.  Balki’s eyes widened; he had not expected Larry to be dual-wielding snowballs.  Quickly realizing that Larry had not been blowing smoke after all, Balki took off, with Larry in hot pursuit, trying to make snowballs on the run.

“Jennifer, do you see what I see?” Mary Anne asked.

“The two of them having fun out there?”

“Well, that…  But I also see two guys who are so focused on throwing snowballs at each other that they’d be wide-open to a few snowballs from us.”

She gave Jennifer a mischievous smirk, which she returned.

And soon, it was a four-way free-for-all, the cold and the impending winter temporarily forgotten as all cares vanished for a blissful hour.

[princess-sora]

Review: Phantasy Star IV

Some History

Phantasy Star's a series that's been near and dear to me for over half my life. I first got into it via the Phantasy Star Collection for Gameboy Advance, a 2002 collection of the first 3 out of the original 4 games. 1 and 2 were good games for their time, and while they were mechanically rather archaic, their aggressive combination of fantasy and sci-fi captured my 13-year-old imagination something fierce. I'd never seen a setting like it. 3, though... some of its ideas were interesting to me, but not only was it mostly fantasy and very little sci-fi for most of its story, it just plain wasn't very good. I largely left it alone. I never beat any of the games, but they left a massive impression on me.

It wasn't until several years later that I'd discover that I was missing something. They'd cut Phantasy Star 4 out of the collection, presumably for cartridge space/budget reasons... and in doing so, I've since learned, deprived my young self of an incredible experience. When I first learned about Phantasy Star 4, I no longer had the ability to focus on an RPG long enough to complete one. Over multiple tries at it, I only ever got about a third into the game before drifting away. But, now that I can focus on things again, I decided to give it another attempt.

The Review

At its core, Phantasy Star IV is a traditional JRPG, with random encounters, turn-based battles, and a storyline with essentially zero player choice or agency. But it's an exemplar of the genre. Scenario design is overall very well-paced and conveyed; at no point did I feel like I wasn't advancing, or didn't know what to do or where to go. Aside from one specific point near the end of the first third, I didn't feel like grinding was ever necessary--if I felt like I hit a wall, there was some sort of side content to check out that'd get me back on track.

On the subject of side content, Phantasy Star 4 has plenty. The Hunter's Guild has a list of sidequests that open up as the plot progresses, which are a source of money more than anything, as not all of them involve combat. The Hunter's Guild quests are probably one of my bigger quibbles, actually. Like in a lot of RPGs, money ends up being essentially meaningless near the end, so it can be a bit of a gamble to tell whether you'll get anything worthwhile (read: experience or equipment) from the experience.

On top of that, a few of them have remarkably unsatisfying conclusions--off the top of my head, one ends up costing you exactly the amount you later get paid as a reward, and another gives you no money at all, though it does involve a boss battle. I still recommend doing them, however; there's a story to every one, sometimes amusing, and it all serves to make the world feel more lived-in and real.

There are a fair few side dungeons, too, beyond the one or two you visit as part of guild quests. They're optional as well, but almost always worthwhile, giving lore, good equipment, new skills for your Android characters, and often, challenging and lucrative boss fights.

Dungeons, on the whole, are very well-designed. They're generally a bit mazeish, but dead-end branches generally have something interesting at the end of them, and they're never particularly long. Where they really shine, though, is in their structure. The way that they're built gives a sense of place, that despite their gameplay-oriented layouts, they are actually the sort of structure thy claim to be. Caves and some underground dungeons don't quite fit this as well, but for the most part, it's a very strong point. One of the midgame dungeons--an ancient castle built on crumbling, deteriorating foundations--is my favorite example of this. The winding halls feel, in some way, like they were once the grand halls of their ruler. There are dead ends that are simply overlooks from the castle walls, or areas that would present paths if not for the ground crumbling away. They don't have anything at the end, but they aren't long enough to be annoying; it feels like they're just there for versimilitude, to add to the idea that this is a place, something more than a construct for the sake of gameplay.

The game's presentation is top-notch, as well. Sprites on the overworld are clear and well-animated, with cute little touches like every character's walk cycle being a different speed based on height or bulk, and in battle, backgrounds and sprites are *beautifully* detailed, with both party members and enemies having various different animations depending on what they're doing.

The sound design is especially excellent. The sounds of battle are satisfying and impactful, and along with the animations, this gives fights a fantastic "game-feel" that helps keep encounters from becoming stale. That's to say nothing of the music. This is some of the best music to come out of the Genesis' sound hardware, hands-down. It's (mostly) a far cry from the "electro-farts" some people describe the Genesis' sound as, and when it is, it's with a very clear purpose. The compositions are musically complex and fun to listen to, particularly the dungeon and battle themes, whose catchy, interesting tunes do a lot to make up for the fact that you'll be hearing them a lot.

The battle system is presented in a fairly standard style--you see your party members from behind, facing down the enemies, you queue up all of your actions, and the turn progresses roughly in order of agility. Your characters have a wide variety of abilities available to them, divided into two categories, Techs and Skills, both learned as characters level up. Techs draw from a character's pool of TP (basically MP), and are essentially this game's version of magic. Skills are a bit different--with a couple of exceptions, each character's skills are unique, with their own effects or gimmicks, but with the caveat that each one only has a certain number of uses until your next visit to an inn. The game itself, regrettably, doesn’t tell you what techs/skills do what (I suspect that’s in the manual), so don’t be afraid to look them up online.

There's a "macro" system in place, too, allowing you to set up specific sequences of actions for your characters to carry out during a round of battle. At first blush, it'd seem like a more complex version of the genre-standard auto-battle system, but there's another purpose: combination attacks. Certain techs and skills, cast in the right order without enemy interruption, can combine into a more powerful move. As an example, three characters casting the basic fire, ice, and lightning techs together on the same turn will combine to cast "Tri-Blaster," which does higher damage to all enemies. They need to be cast together without being interrupted by enemies, however, meaning you need to keep your characters' agility stats in mind when building and sequencing your macros. There are 14 combo attacks, total, and the game doesn't tell you any of them, so don't be afraid to look those up, either.

The story is fantastic--probably one of the best out of any game I can think of. It was meant from the start to be the end of the story, and it's a tribute and a love letter to the franchise's legacy, while still managing to be accessible and engaging for an unfamiliar player. It deals with death in a way that's rarely been matched, and it raises the stakes from 'investigating monster attacks' at the start to 'destroying ultimate evil' by the end in a way that feels about as natural as you can make that kind of escalation. The protagonist grows visibly over the course of the story, and while most of his his companions are somewhat shallower, there was hardly anyone among the cast I didn't care about, by the ending. The setting feels lived-in and even a bit alive, thanks to guild quests, incidental dialogue that's actually interesting, and various other worldbuilding touches throughout.

The Conclusion

I'm not gonna give this a number. But I will say that Phantasy Star IV is the first RPG I've actually felt driven to beat in years, and I recommend it with absolutely no reservations. In fact, it's on Steam for $1 USD. Buy it. Play it. You won't regret it, I promise.

[ryuukia]

[Translation] Tsukiuta. -if- Black Rabbits Kingdom Booklet Novel: Morning

It’s that time of the year when I go back to Rabbits Kingdom (I know, I postponed this so much ;;;;). Ruby and me agreed to split the novels, I take black, she takes white (in theory...... we’ll see in the future if we stick to this)

Anyway, the booklet has three chapters: morning, noon and afternoon. So here we have ‘morning’ featuring Kakeru and Hajime~

Special thanks to @ryota-kunstranslations and @moonlit-manifesto for assistance and proofreading.

Please don’t repost/reuse my translations! Enjoy~

Slowly, I realized my consciousness was coming to the surface.

Passing from total darkness, and little by little, flowing towards a white light.

—— Ah, it’s morning.

As a bird’s chirps started to resound clearly in the background, I opened my eyes.

“Good morninggg!”

I left my chamber energetically and the soldier standing at the corridor returned my greetings with a “morning” just as he smiled.

It’s easy for me to think that something so trivial can make me feel a little more lucky.

While walking in high spirits down the corridor illuminated by the bright morning sun that passed through the large windows, I suddenly remembered my partner's words.

I prepared my outfit, and by the time I left my chamber it was still early.

The astonished pink haired male asked me, “How did you do it so fast!?” and even added “Have you properly washed your face?”. Such impolite words deserved the light step I dropped on his feet as an answer.

(Was I that quick? For me it felt like the usual though)

The time it takes for me to crawl out of bed and actually leave my chamber is around 15 minutes.

If that is quick, how long does it normally take for someone else to do it?

I continued walking while thinking to myself and before long, I reached a remarkably fine…... giant door, one that’s so huge it seemed to almost touch the ceiling.

This door adorned with black luster and reflecting the morning sun’s rays is made of magical morion (black quartz), and its curse prevents those who possess wicked hearts from opening it.

Fortunately, I’ve always been able to open it, and the maids, too, can open and shut it with even one hand despite it being made of stone, which only confirms there’s an unusual power flowing through it.

On the other side of this magical door, the master of this castle is in a deep slumber.

“......”

Unconsciously, I stretched my back and straightened my neck from the respect and fear that rises up inside me as if by instinct as soon as I feel the presence from beyond the door.

And yet, each morning is the same.

“...... haa……”

I took in one deep breath.

The moment my eyes gaze up at that black door, I see an expression of nervousness reflected on it. I slap my cheek because I think that I shouldn’t show that kind of face.

I have to smile, be lively, and face forward.

That’s always been my motto and something I desperately wished I could do right in that moment.

I try to compose myself again and place my hand on the door.

(——Well then, I’m going in!)

“Good morning! Hajime-san, it’s morning!!!”

No answer!

Nevertheless I step inside the room without concern. That is my job after all.

I approach the giant bed placed in the middle of the room and set my sights on the mountain of sheets by the window.

From that position, the morning sun hits my face directly. Maybe from the front the light is not that strong?

Whenever I think about that, it’s enough to merely see his pleased sleeping face and the answer is already obvious, thus I never question further.

He looks like a cat basking in the sun……While thinking of whether I was to commit a disrespectful sin, I reached out my hand towards the mountain of sheets and… gently placed it on the sleeping person’s shoulder.

“Hajime-san! It’s morning~?”

“...... nn……”

His ears twitched. The same ears that belong to this exceptional rabbit. Glossy, black, and covered by a splendid layer of fur. Yes, those very ears.

I’m a little jealous…… but I try not to think about it.

At the end of the day, my ears are renowned for being cute. Probably.

(...... Also, praising him is only natural)

Despite being somewhat of a cat person, this man…… the owner of this room, is the ‘king’ of this Kingdom of Black Rabbits.

This black rabbit ought to be praised more so than anyone else. That includes his fur too. And his figure.

As I huffed and puffed without even knowing why, I called out to the king that doesn’t want to be called king.

“Hajime-san, please wake u~p”

“...... Ka, keru……?”

“Yes, Hajime-san. It’s Kakeru, your personal attendant, and the one in charge of waking you up in the morning. I’m sorry to disturb you from what seemed like a pleasant sleep, but you have a meeting to attend this morning. Please wake up soon.”

“......”

“...... No, no, no, please don’t go under the……”

Sometimes, his sleeping is so vulgar…...No, even with his love for sleep, he’s a gentle yet strong king, and I love him.

There isn't anyone who could dislike such a person who rules over towns filled with smiles and liveliness, someone who makes the soil brim with life, among other things.

I heard a bird’s voice as if it were supporting the very idea I was thinking of.

It’s the same bird that woke me up in the morning, isn’t it?

The one who taught me that those chirps could only be heard in the spring when the birds are falling in love was the fearsome, and very wise, Prime Minister.

There’s no mistaking it, right now there must be piles of documents in his room.

I know I’m not supposed to be saying this, but seeing the king opposing resistance just like a child, I ended up smiling unwittingly.

“It’s useless to keep going on like this, Hajime-san. Today’s meeting will be all about the budget for the next fiscal year, remember? It’s the prime-minister’s…… Haru-san’s favourite topic. You cannot run away.”

“......”

I could hear a sigh coming from the mountain of sheets.

Hajime-san eventually gave in, thus I couldn’t help but smile again and smooth my chest with a hand as a reluctant expression made its way across his face.

I took a clean and fluffy pure-white towel from the top-most drawer and embedded some of my powers into it.

‘A small blessing’

That is my ability.

May this small fortune bless the busy you even just a little.

It’s a rare, and if I must say, cool ability that can tap into the Wheel of Fortune.

Realistically speaking, this ability’s effects don’t really stand out in daily life.

For instance, you could find your favourite flowers when you go in the courtyard.

Or the piece of pie you receive for lunch could be slightly bigger.

People say that just having this ability is lucky enough, but if it’s something that I can use for the king, I wish that it could’ve been a more practical or useful skill.

However, for some reason, the king seems to like it that way.

I can prove it now too, just look.

“If I may, I shall wipe your face now.”

“You’re going to place a good luck charm while you’re at it, aren’t you? Thank you, Kakeru.”

His amethyst-like eyes narrowed a bit.

I knew better than anyone that his eyes weren't such a big charm point, but somehow I still got embarrassed.

So I changed the topic as fast as I could.

“Haru-san is expected to rush in carrying official papers at any moment. I’m sure you know he’s extremely eager when it comes to these kinds of things. Today, during tax collection in the city, we got into a fight with some merchants since we found out they’ve been evading their taxes…… No, it was more like they got angry when we came to collect their taxes. That sort of huge commotion seemed like something that could only happen in dreams, but he seemed to be happy about it.”

“That guy is really…...well, good grief.”

It seems Hajime-san here, who is murmuring under his breath, and Prime Minister Haru-san have been acquaintances since childhood. During Hajime-san’s sixth birthday, it was revealed that Hajime-san was to become [King] and so, he was taken to the castle.

After that, on Haru-san’s 13th birthday it was revealed that Haru-san would be named prime-minister and soon enter the castle.

Although the two of them were already friends before they were taken to the castle, it appears that both of them moved around rather independently and rarely did anything together.

Actually, Hajime-san only knew Haru-san’s first name.

The moment they accepted their roles as [King] and [Prime Minister], what they knew to be their last names disappeared, and only their first names were retained. In any case, that seemed to be enough.

“When we heard a mysterious voice from Heaven, we lost our [individual selves] and in turn, we became [a part of the earth] and it seems that we were given special powers.”

The words Haru-san said one day in the middle of chatting with him have become strangely etched into my mind.

‘......Aren’t you lonely?”

I feel like I remember asking that question.

(......and what did Haru-san answer?)

Just as I was recalling the good old days, a warm hand stroked my head gently and I was suddenly brought back to reality.

“What happened to your lively partner? Is he oversleeping today?”

“Ahaha, no no. Koi’s been working hard since early this morning. Haru-san has entrusted him with the summons for the meeting I mentioned earlier. It’s an important task, so he was enthusiastic to meet the merchants face-to-face.”

“I see.”

He quickly withdrew his hand but, in its place was left a strange warmth, and I knew then that a calming power was flowing inside me.

‘Great Blessing’

It’s the higher-ranked version of the ability I possess. It’s a type of blessing with a higher range and effectiveness, similar to a goddess’s blessings that affects even the strings of fate itself as well as natural phenomena.

To think that I used my abilities on the King’s face while I received the same kind of blessing was enough to make my face light up.

It’s ‘cause I knew that this kind of ability I used on Hajime-san was the type that’s activated unconsciously.

The power that I use always seems to affect the people around me, albeit doing so unconsciously. Nevertheless, it appears they’re happily satisfied.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt this proudly happy before.

That's why, in order to support the king as best as I can, I take into consideration everything from everyday tasks to various other things……but that is not such a big deal.

I kept quiet and admired his profile as if I were in a daze.

“The weather is nice today.”

“Yes. According to the meteorologist, it’s going to be sunny the entire day. The sunshine is nice and warm, perfect for going outdoors.”

“Outdoors, huh? And here we are shutting ourselves inside because of a meeting.”

“That’s right…… Ah, but I’m certain there’s nothing scheduled in the afternoon. If that’s the case, let’s have a tea ceremony in the courtyard! I can ask Aoi-san to bake that delicious pie that Hajime-san like. With lots of fruits stuffed in it.

“Kakeru…… you can’t use the ‘prince’ as a replacement for the maids.”

Hajime-san smiled bitterly, and for a tiny moment his magnificent ears seemed to tighten up, something a capable personal attendant such as myself cannot miss.

In that moment I decided with all my heart to finish my morning duties as early as possible and persuade Aoi-san to bake that pie more than anything.

“However, Haru must be really serious if he dragged Koi out of his room in the morning for the sake of this meeting. Koi is a sleepyhead after all. He…… truly loves this kind of work, doesn’t he?”

“Indeed. To him, it seems like it’s a natural choice to force an unwilling person to give up what’s supposed to be… No, he’s told me that it’s quite a daunting task to collect the taxes but… from my perspective, it looks like he’s enjoying the process to the fullest.”

“...... I can’t…… disagree with that.”

“Right?”

Hajime-san and I smiled bitterly almost as if both of us were remembering the same image of a smiling Haru-san.

“U-um… I think him showing mercy is impo-- Has he always been the dependable type?”

“You don’t have to correct yourself all the time, you know? 'Has he always been…’ Huh…”

Hajime-san’s gaze looked distant for a while.

I don’t know what that gaze means, but it certainly must be from a gentle memory.

That was the kind of expression he was making.

“I wonder. I feel like he had a much more lovable nature back then… But, in any case, it was a memory from when we were kids. It might sound glorified but I’m not confident about it.”

“Ahaha, it’s strange for Hajime-san to be unsure about something.”

“When I look at him now, I lose my confidence.”

Hajime-san got off the bed and onto his feet.

As he stood there in a dignified manner, the glowing rays of the morning sun that illuminated his form made the king seem like he was part of a grandiose painting.

When you see that form of his, even if you don’t want to, you just end up sighing unconsciously.

Maybe that’s the reason why the king is the king.

I just showed an expression that makes it look like I’m not aware. And just like when I first entered the room, I unconsciously placed my hands on my hips.

“Well then, Hajime-san, please enter the next room before Haru-san comes in. Your change of clothes is prepared!”

“I get it, I get it. … … sigh……”

“Enough already, I asked you to wake up!”

The person that people will follow without hesitation is the strongest, noblest, and gentlest king this country has ever had.

I am the personal attendant of that person.

I reflect once more about the joys of being able to work for him today.

“I'm not good with mornings.”

“You always say that.”

All right, another day has begun.