#but i have always been able to de-escalate and look out for myself before it ever became a real problem

[uncle-fruity]

There's also an element of self-policing. If you're afraid that you're going to get assaulted every time you go out alone, the more likely you are to isolate yourself inside. The more likely you are to believe that you need an escort when you go out. It's harder to feel confident and self-reliant if you're afraid of strangers. It's harder to do things for yourself when you feel weak. And so a lot of women feel like they don't have autonomy to go out at night or go out alone & live in fear that something will happen to them. They don't live full & happy lives because someone/society has convinced them that not only are they a perpetual target, but also that they would not be able to fight for themselves if they needed to. And, in my opinion, this mindset opens those women up to a very real kind of manipulative, controlling domestic abuse which is far more common than random attackers on the street. So yeah... idk, women. I think it's good to take defense classes or do anything at all that you need to do to feel more confident to move about freely in the world. You don't have to accept the narrative that men are by default more powerful than you, that you have no control in an assault situation, or that you must keep yourself quiet and out of the way to be less of a target. You can be powerful and capable and that isn't to say you shouldn't stay aware of your surroundings or write off *any* potential threat as harmless, but rather to say that it is not as common as you are being led to believe and you have more options than to shrink back and let the fear take you.

Idk like I think there's a really misogynist way that women are expected to consider being murdered and assaulted as like 1000x worse than anything else that could happen and do everything possible to avoid it and like it's unarguably bad! But constantly whenever I mention going hiking or whatever people are like 'omg you're going camping alone as a woman??? what if you get murdered?????' Actually by far the way I am most likely to die doing that is... some sleep deprived or drunk driver crashing into me on the way there! But no one tells you to avoid driving, meanwhile there's so much pressure on women to like, always stay in other crowded super safe areas or at home to Protect Their Virtue and it's like lol I would actually rather live an interesting life doing things that I enjoy

[humanpurposes]

De Jure

In light of a recent scandal, she finds herself becoming part of Aemond's plan for the future- Part 2 to De Facto.

PM!Aemond x unnamed female character

Main Masterlist // AO3

Warnings: 18+, smut, politics (putting my degree to good use), questionable power dynamics, manipulation, dub con/non con elements, baby trapping

Words: 4121

A/n: He looked too good at the New York premiere and I couldn't help myself :)

A strange feeling seems to follow her around Hightower House, like there are eyes on her, like everyone around her is watching her, like they know something.

It’s plausible enough that Aemond likes to keep her behind late most nights because he trusts her, more so than the other staff. There’s always something they need to talk through, some crisis that needs solving, some issue they can form a preemptive strategy for. Mostly “crisis resolution” comes in the form of him bending her over the desk and tearing through her tights, or having her on her knees with his hands in her hair and his cock slipping between her lips.

Aemond is precise, attentive, relentless. He leaves her stunned and satisfied in a way that the wanting never satiates itself. 

Then there are the occasional glances, the sparse touches, his hand on her back when he walks into a room, his hand on her thigh under a desk, in the back of a car.

He’s careful to act inconspicuously around others, but there’s something about the way Maris glares at her, the way Alys watches her with her brows raised.

What if they know? How could they? How could they not?

Then she starts to get noticed by Otto Hightower. He’s a formidable figure in Hightower House, notorious for expecting the best from the staff, for his bluntness, his restrained but short temper, his intolerance for anything less than perfection– this is the man who made Aemond Targaryen the political force that he is after all.

After Aemond’s success in de-escalating the Aegon situation, Otto Hightower had personally pulled her aside and commended her. “Aemond said he wouldn’t have been able to pull it together if it weren’t for you.”

She’d been rather stunned that Aemond would mention her to his grandfather. 

“Just doing my bit for the party,” she’d said.

He nodded his head at that, mouth poised in something like a smile.

She never has plans on a Friday night these days. She’s working through some polls, anxiously waiting for Aemond to finish a meeting with the inner circle, Otto, Cole and Alicent.

Alys is watching her between glances at her laptop, the same red lipstick on her lips, an eerie white light illuminating her face from the screen. Her nails tap against the keys and the surface of the desk when she pauses to think, to stare.

“What?” she says sharply, weeks of patience wearing thin.

Alys smirks to herself before slowly closing the lid of her laptop. “It seems as though something’s bothering you.”

A panicked feeling hums in her chest. She was too harsh. Her reaction was too obvious. “No, I’m fine,” she mutters.

“I thought you might be tired, you know, with all the overtime Mr Taragryen has you doing.”

She tries to laugh it off, to smile and shake her head, but her mouth feels stiff.

“Maris thinks he likes you.” Alys leans back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers.

“No more than he likes anyone else, I’m sure.”

One of Alys’ eyebrows lifts. With a short humming sound in her throat her lips break into another smile that bares her teeth. “Between us, I think Maris has a crush on him. It was cute at first but now I think she looks a little desperate…”

Desperate. What does that make her?

“... I think he likes you because you’re good at your job, but then sometimes it’s like he goes out of his way to ignore you. I thought he might be doing it to make the rest of us feel better.”

They stare at each other, locked in a silent dare. She feels her chest moving with her breath, her heart drumming under her skin. 

“I think you’re reading into things,” she says, wincing at how dry her throat is.

Alys’ smile is gone now. She has this certain look, it can be unassuming and yet unnervingly intense. But they go back to their respective tasks. She looks like she has another thought brewing in her head, but she is interrupted by the ringing on the phone on her desk.

She picks it up instantly. “Hello, sir. Yes, sir. I’ll send her through now.”

The meeting isn’t over yet, the others would have passed the office on their way out. She tries not to stand too eagerly, taking her time as she collects the papers in front of her and picks up her phone– but what if Alys thinks she’s moving too slowly? She resists the urge to tut at herself or fiddle with the fabric of her skirt.

She has to walk by Alys’ desk to get to the door, and the thought fills her with dread, like she’ll be able to see right through her head and read every thought.

“Wait,” Alys calls as she hovers in the open doorway. 

She turns to face her.

“He’s sweet,” Alys says, “and too gorgeous for his own good, but the Hightowers are opportunists.”

She knows that. The whole country knows that. For a generation, Westerosi politics has been nothing but a game between the Greens and the Blacks, a rivalry that started when Otto Hightower’s daughter caught the eye of Viserys Targaryen.

“You’re a smart girl,” Alys says. “Be careful.”

The walk to Aemond’s office feels longer than usual. The closed door feels more daunting. She taps her knuckles against it three times and pauses for a moment, until she hears his voice telling her to enter. 

The days are growing shorter and the sun is already setting, a warm glow bleeding in through the tall windows. The light makes Aemond’s hair appear more golden than silver. He’s sitting on the sofa, suit jacket open, tie discarded, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, hair dishevelled, like he’s been running his hands through it.

Criston Cole is sat in an armchair and nods to her when she walks in. Otto Hightower sits with his back to the door, Alicent beside him.

They’ve been in here for hours, the table between them is covered in empty coffee cups and newspapers with bold headlines. Some have moved on from the Aegon scandal, others have not.

She looks to Aemond for an instruction.

He beckons her with a single finger, anticipation already pooling in her belly despite their company. She stands beside him, hovering by the arm of the sofa where Aemond leans against his elbow, clutching her papers close to her chest.

Otto greets her by name. She’s rather proud of how far she’s come since her first day, scared to even step foot in his office.

He and Cole continue to discuss the Duskendale by-election which will inevitably take place in light of Aegon’s removal. Otto says this will be an opportunity for the Blacks to capitalise on the scandal, win themselves another seat in Parliament and put pressure on the Greens, on Aemond. Alicent listens all the while, picking at her fingernails.

“Rhaenyra will pick someone close to her, someone charismatic,” Otto says, looking directly at her. 

Why would he do that, does he expect a note to be taken on the conversation?

Aemond’s hand appearing on her waist takes her by surprise. She stares down at him wide-eyed at his carelessness. He doesn’t seem worried as he gently pulls her down to sit on the arm of the sofa. His arm stays wrapped around her back, his hand slotting into the curve of her body, his thumb tracing circles against her shirt. 

She tries to look at Otto and Cole without drawing too much attention to herself, but they don’t seem surprised at Aemond’s little display of affection. Alicent stares at them passively.

“Who in the Black Party has any charisma?” Cole says dryly. “She’s hardly got any allies left.”

“Jacaerys,” Otto says.

Cole scoffs. “He’s fresh out of uni.”

“He’s young but he has appeal,” Alicent says. “Certainly more than Aegon ever did.” She says it so gently but with no hesitation.

“And a good speaker,” Aemond adds, “people respond to him, he’s likeable.”

One more question remains, a ceaseless itch in her brain, as distracting as Aemond’s hand clinging to her body. She clears her throat softly. “Who’s our candidate going to be?”

Aemond’s grip on her waist tightens and he looks up at her, dying sunlight beaming over his face, catching on the tip of his nose, the curve of his lip, the lines of his jaw. “We’ve been discussing that.”

She hates this, feeling like she’s a step behind everyone else in the room. She looks up at the faces of Otto and Cole. Aemond has a sister, Helaena, but she stays away from public life. His younger brother, Daeron, is still studying. There are also plenty of Hightower cousins, people already in their inner circle. 

“If we are all in agreement,” Otto says, fixing his suit jacket as he stands. “Come, Alicent.”

Aemond’s mother has always been a glamorous woman, younger than she appears. It’s not something she’s ever noticed before but she has such a solemn look about her, wide brown eyes and fallen lips. 

Aemond stands to kiss her on both cheeks. “Thank you,” he says, softly, still loud enough for her to hear it.

“I trust your judgement,” she says.

With that the three of them leave the room and Aemond closes the door behind her.

She’s still sitting unsurely on the arm of the sofa, resisting the urge to dig her fingernails into the leather.

Aemond turns to face her. He slips off his suit jacket and places it carefully on the coat hanger by the door. He takes measured steps towards the sofa. “I have something to tell you. Sit down.”

Her stomach drops at the sinisterly soft tone of his voice, but she does as he says, slipping from the arm to the sofa itself, only to find she cannot sit comfortably. The back isn’t quite in the right place, the seat is too soft, like she’s melting into it. She tries to sit with her back straight, her legs crossed, her hands in her lap and her head held high as he approaches her.

By now she thinks she has a good read of him, the subtleties in his expressions, the hints into his mind. She can’t read him now. He looks at her with excitement, with something softer, with a look of hunger and lust. But she can tell that he’s far too happy with himself.

“You look nervous. Are you nervous?” he says, undoing the buttons on his cuffs and pulling them up to bare his hands, the muscles and tendons of his forearms.

“Well, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s exciting, I promise.”

Exciting to him, clearly.

“Alright,” she says.

Aemond stands before her and smiles, only for a moment. Usually, in this position, he’d reach out for her cheek, maybe he’d lean down to kiss her.

He just looks at her, with amusement, wonder, curiosity, perhaps even pride. With a small hum to himself, Aemond says, “we need a candidate for Duskendale.”

“So I’ve heard,” she says, quietly but defiantly. 

“I want it to be you.”

She feels her eyes go wide. The room feels cold and close. She can hear Aemond breathing through his nose, slow and steady.

After a few moments of silence, Aemond says, “what do you think?” 

It takes her too long to find her breath. “You suggested it to Otto?”

“Yes. He and my mother agree, you’ll be perfect.”

Heat flushes in her face. She feels an urge to laugh, or cry, or grab him by the shoulders and ask him why in seven fucking hells he thinks this would be a good idea.

But then this is what she’s always wanted. This is why she studied so relentlessly, spent hours and hours in the library pouring over textbooks, why she gave up sleep to meet her deadlines, missed meals to afford rent in Sunspear, dedicated so much of herself to the extra work, all so she could have the very job Aemond is offering her on a silver platter.

It would be worth it, wouldn’t it? Knowing she could actually make a difference to the world that seemed determined to have her fail.

What if she asks him “why?” What if she gives him a reason to doubt her and he snatches that chance away?

She barely registers Aemond’s hands closing around hers before he pulls her up to stand. His forehead and his nose rest against hers, his breath warm over her skin. His lips are almost upon hers but he doesn’t move to kiss her, he keeps her waiting and restless.

“They’ve all agreed,” he mutters, “we need someone with no history, no scandals, nothing that could be held against us, not after the mess Aegon’s made.”

She pauses, pulling back a little so they can meet eye to eye. “You want me because I won’t embarrass you?”

Aemond tilts his head. “I want you because you’re the best option.” He leans in again, pressing a delicate kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek. “You’d be a perfect fit, you’re intelligent, you’re meticulous, you don’t miss details and you’re unafraid to speak your mind.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth but she turns her head. “I want to feel like I’ve earned it,” she utters.

Aemond’s mouth trails to her neck instead, kissing her firmly. “You have earned it,” he says, his hands moving to her waist, squeezing her, claiming her. His touch roams over the rest of her body while he kisses her neck, her thighs, her rear, anything he can reach. 

It’s dangerous how she responds when his hands are in the right place, and he knows it. But she reaches for his wrists to make him stop when he starts to tug on the waist of her skirt with his fingers.

“Is that what you think this is,” she says, “do you think I’m only trying to get a career out of you?”

Aemond frowns.

“Do you think I want to be remembered as some shallow opportunist? Is that all you think I deserve?”

When he hums it catches in the back of his throat. He makes a small pout with his lips, the way he often does when he’s thinking. 

“You have an opportunity to do something remarkable here,” he says, his voice low and chilling as he takes her chin in his fingertips. “Look at all the work you’ve done for me already, why deny yourself the chance to do more?”

It doesn’t have to be a denial, does it? Saying no to him would only mean she could take a different path, her own path, on her terms. Unless this is it. Unless she says no and this is the end of everything.

His fingertips press into her jaw, as if his patience is wearing thin with every passing moment.

She looks into his single violet eye and the sapphire prosthetic set in his left socket, determined to stand her ground. “Not like this,” she says.

Aemond tuts. “Are you worried you won’t get in? You’ll get the seat, I’ll make sure you do. You’ll get the career you’ve wanted for so long, you’ll get everything you’ve worked for.” There’s desperation in his voice, something familiar and yet primal. His thumb gently strokes over her cheek to her lower lip. “I’ll keep you with me. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Reason slips from her mind and something dangerous tightens in her gut. “What do you mean–”

Her question ends up muffled against his lips as Aemond kisses her, deeply and desperately, pulling her into him, closer and closer.

She holds her hands up and the only place for her palms to go is against his chest so she can feel his heat and his heartbeat through his shirt. She parts her lips, welcoming his tongue and his teeth, welcoming the way he consumes her.

“Once you’re in Parliament we can make things official,” he mutters between their kisses.

He goes in to kiss her again and she pulls back. “What?”

He huffs impatiently, taking her face in both his hands. “I need someone reliable by my side, someone like you. It’ll be good for my image, and for the party, to appeal to family values.”

She feels herself scowling. “Did your grandfather tell you that?”

“Don’t give me that look,” he says teasingly,

“What about all the work I’ve done already? I can’t give everything up?”

“What would you be giving up?”

Infuriatingly, her mind is suddenly blank.

Through the windows behind them, the sun is setting lower and lower in the sky, the golden rays only shining brighter as night creeps in. The world is as it was when they first met. Aemond’s eye burns in the light, his eye that has bored into hers as he’s pushed her over the threshold of bliss, that finds her across crowded rooms, that must have seen every inch of her skin. 

“We’ll announce an engagement before you’re confirmed as our candidate,” he says. He comes to kiss her gently. The moment could almost feel tender, if he were not seeking to uproot her entire life. “You’re perfect,” he whispers against her lips. “Say yes to me, please, I need you to say yes.”

It’s easy to get lost in Aemond Targaryen, in his intensity, in his rare offerings of praise and approval. Her arms find their way around his neck, pulling herself into him, absentmindedly rocking her hips against his. His promises excite her as much as they terrify her.

“Say it,” he purrs, his voice catching in his throat as he walks her back. “I need an answer from you.”

The backs of her knees hit the edge of the sofa. She takes a moment to breathe and find her bearings.

Aemond’s eye is hooded and dark, his lips pressed together. She can feel it all simmering under the surface, his hunger, his desperation.

He needs her. He cannot lose this seat to the Blacks, he can’t give them space to challenge him. He can’t let Aegon’s indiscretions overshadow everything he’s been working towards. The Greens need to purge themselves of this damning image, they need a clean slate, and they’re willing to put her in the centre of government to get it.

“I’ll do it,”

His kiss is harsh when he captures her lips again, needy and commanding as he grabs at her waist.

She lets out a breath of surprise when he positions her to lay back on the sofa without parting from her. He’s over her, pressing her into the plush leather, a firm hold trailing from her neck, her wrists, her sides, her breasts through her blouse.

He undoes the buttons slowly, kissing the exposed parts of her flesh of her chest and stomach. When he has the blouse off completely he makes quick work of undoing her bra, discarding that to move his attention to her breasts. He toys with her nipples with his thumbs, lips and tongue until she’s writhing beneath him. She can already picture the bruises that will bloom in his wake.

He’s slow with her skirt too, she can hardly stand it, feeling the fabric and his fingertips dragging down her legs. With her shoes removed, Aemond sits back on his haunches and wraps his hands around one of her ankles, smirking as he strokes small circles over a sensitive spot of her skin.

“Please,” she utters, reaching her fingers out to graze his stomach, still hidden underneath a perfectly white shirt.

“I know, I know,” he coos, hooking his fingers in her panties to pull them from her legs. “I just like seeing you like this.

He wastes no more time, placing her ankle over his shoulder, spreading her other knee with a wide palm and leaning down until his face is between her legs. He knows to start slowly, to tease her with slow drags through her folds. It’s an infuriating feeling but she savours it. It’s the burn she loves, being dragged towards pleasure like a continual tide lapping at the shore.

She craves these unhurried moments, and she supposes there will only be more once Aemond gets his way.

His motions increase in speed when her breath quickens and she starts to squirm, with whispered mumblings of “please… I’m so close… please.” He borders on frantic, hums of approval vibrating against her centre.

It builds and builds until it releases a bloom of warmth in her belly that soon fades back into need when Aemond untangles himself from her. She watches him undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt, as he unbuckles his belt and yanks it from the loops in his slacks. He bares himself to her. There’s no pride this time, just awe when he looks at her.

He positions himself above her, running the tip of his cock, already hard and leaking, against her, pushing against her clit with every gentle thrust.

She holds onto his arms for leverage, letting herself succumb to the sensation, the smell of his aftershave and his sweat, the heat and the sound of their breaths in unison.

“I mean it,” he says with a sigh, “I think you’re perfect.”

She smiles, planting a peck against his lips, before she slides a hand between their bodies and positions him at her entrance. She’s taken him enough times but the initial stretch has her gritting her teeth. 

Aemond stills. “We can–”

“I want to take it,” she utters, “I want to feel you,”

His resolve melts, but he doesn’t push further, waiting for a nod from her before he inches himself deeper inside her.

Their bodies mould against each other, her arms around his shoulders, his head nestled into her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he pants. She watches him thrusting into her, chasing his own pleasure as he nudges against a spot inside her that leaves her feeling weightless. 

He tries to increase his pace, but the back of the sofa hinders him somewhat. He grunts in frustration, gathering her in his arms and moving them both to the fur rug on the floor with ease. He brings her legs onto his shoulders and pushes into her once more, to the hilt, eliciting a gasp from her.

He chuckles to himself, showing his teeth and licking his lips. “You like that?”

“Yeah, fuck,” she breathes.

“Know you like it when I’m nice and deep,” he mutters, fucking her with swift snaps of his hips. With one hand on the floor he takes a gentle hold of her neck with the other, leaning in so her thighs are pressed against her chest. “My pretty girl, my perfect girl.”

Her second climax is within reach, she feels the heat rising inside of her, her hips trying to buck but she’s caged by him.

Aemond’s hold on her neck tightens. “You’re close,” he says with a wicked smile on his lips.

Her back arches from the floor, head thrown back in ecstasy. “Don’t stop,” she pleads, “please don’t fucking stop…”

She clings to him, each one of them at the other’s mercy.

“I’ve got you,” Aemond says, continuing to drive his hips against hers. He must be reaching his own end, his pace is starting to falter, his moans unrestrained. 

Usually he makes a habit of spilling himself over her body, her stomach or her thighs.

“Aemond?” she breathes.

“You’ll take what I give you, won’t you?” he says, “you’re mine now, we might as well get a head start.”

The realisation makes her stomach drop. “Wait–” she tries to murmur between her whines, “you can’t– not yet–”

He leans in to kiss her, to soothe her, to silence her.

He comes with a guttural groan, his hips stilling against her and a warmth spreading inside of her. Her own pleasure erupts after that, she can feel herself clenching around him, her body greedy for everything he has to offer her.

Aemond stays pressed against her for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. He withdraws from her slowly, bringing her legs down– she sees the way his eye lingers between her legs, something hot and wet dripping from within her. He gathers it with the tip of his cock, pushing himself into her again with short, shallow thrusts.

He takes her by her neck again, demanding her attention.

She gazes back at him, breathless, wide-eyed.

“There’s my good girl,” he coos. “With any luck we’ll have a due date to announce alongside your victory in Duskendale.”

[lets-break-free-from-our-chains]

Forever and Always My Truest: Chapter 1

A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for all the lovely comments for the prologue of this series. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. When writings this I really could stop imaging the reader with a haunting echo to her voice. Similar to the brides of Dracula in the Van Helsing 2004 movie, which I undyingly love. Anyways I hope you enjoy!

Summary: After yet another night of restless sleep the reader finds herself wandered the manor until Walter comes looking for her. Safe to say that things escalate in more ways than one. From a lovers’ quarrel, to making up, and breakfast being served, there is no denying that there is never a dull moment in the Master and his eternal bride’s marriage.

Word Count: 1,800-ish

WARNING: SMUT!!! No vaginal penetration yet! Dry Humping, Angst, Fluff, blood sharing, arguing, obsessive/possessive behavior, Yandere-ish? Walter De Ville, possible Stockholm Syndrome?, forced marriage, abuse of power, Walter playing favorites w/reader as usual, sucks for the other brides, DOM/sub Dynamics, reader being a brat and Walter is not having it. Warning to be added. LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING!

MINORS DNI!!!!

Disclaimers: I do not own The Invitation or any of the characters within the movie. You know what is and isn’t mine.

Walter de Ville x Wife!Reader

Chapter 1: Revelations Come to Light

~Current Day in 2022~

~(Y/N) P.O.V~

           Long ago there was a period in my life when I was a restless sleeper. I would wander the halls of my ancestor's grand castle. Even now over four and a half centuries later that has not changed as I now glide through the halls of the De Ville Manor whilst steering clear of the evenings’ sun lit areas. It never harmed me, but it didn’t mean it was any less agitating to my sensitive skin. Ordinarily, my restlessness would be quite vexing for me, however, that feeling couldn’t help but be trumped by the excitement of the fact that Walter and I’s anniversary party was just a week and a half away. It was sure to be grand in every way with my Lord Love sparing no expense for our cherished day. Allowing me free reign over the celebration as usual.

‘Nothing but the best for my truest.’ he had confidently stated to me one night as we lounged on a chaise in his study talking about the upcoming date. Though not much was said after that, as we had just devoured our dinner, and I was feeling in a playful and wanton mood. A mood my beloved Master was all too willing to indulge me in, if his sharp smile of adoration was anything to go by. Speaking of my Lord Love, he shall be rather displeased if he wakes in our tomb, and finds that I am not by his side. He insisted from our first night as newlyweds that he and I would share our sleeping place as any Lord husband and his Lady wife would. I was certain Victoria’s face would tear open from her burning ire, at hearing this information, knowing he never intended to share such things with her or any other brides for that matter.

I sighed wistfully and turned before letting out a haunting shriek. Walter stood there with sleep filled eyes and a raised brow. “My truest, what are you doing awake? You must have your rest!”

I leaned against the balcony railing as I gripped it in my left hand and placed my right hand over my permanently stilled heart.

“My love, you frightened me,” I exclaimed in breaths of haunting of exasperation. “You know I have never been one for restful sleep and with all the excitement to be had, I fear I am even more so restless, my Lord Love.”

His face settled into one of sympathy as he beckoned me to his side, never being able to remain agitated with me for long. I practically leapt from my spot and glided over to him without hesitation. My white negligée swept around my feet with my body movement, and he earnestly enveloped me into his arms as I hugged myself to his side and delicately caressed the side of his face and neck. He nuzzles and caresses my hair as his strong hands stroked my back before leaning back to look upon my face and speak, “Well, seeing as it is almost time to rise for the evening, why don’t I have breakfast brought to my study for us to eat?”

I gave out a haunting moan of frustration and lightly stomped my foot, “But Master, I been locked away in this manor for weeks!” He sighed as he goes to speak, but I interrupt him as my eyes light up in a glowing golden hue and I gasp out a brilliant idea, “Why do we not go out for a hunt together. You have always loved when you and I terrorize a few most unfortunate souls in the village!”

Despite his irritation already slightly spiked by my interruption and slight brattiness, Walter takes it in stride and seeks to placate me, “Because the wolves are growing more confident in coming closer to our territory and I would be absolutely devastated if a single hair on my cherished queen’s head was hurt.”

I only proceed to pout at my feet as he rubbed his hands up and down my arms waiting for me to look at him. Once I cast my gaze up to him through my lashes he leans in with a playful twinkle to his eyes and whispered against still pouting lips, “besides you always insist on playing with your food, my truest.”

I let out an indignant squeak of protest which only prompted a heartily chuckle and a sensational quick kiss to my lips from Walter. “But Master—”

“(Y/N)!” I immediately shrank under the sternness of Walter’s voice. I dared to look at him and my face morphed into a crestfallen look as he gazed unwaveringly at me. “DO NOT argue with me on this matter! It is currently not safe for you outside these walls and therefore you will not leave this castle until the problem is dealt with. I will hear NO MORE of this! Do you understand me?”

I gazed back at the floor as I backed away from him, my golden irises welled to the brim with fresh tears. “Yes Master, I understand.” My voice cracking against my will. At seeing my fragile state Walter gave a regretful sigh whilst closed his eyes. Upon hearing my small haunted weeping, always seeming to echo like screams in his ears, he looked upon me hugging myself.

“My truest…please, do not cry. I did not mean to scared you. Do not be frightened by me, my truest.” I hear him speak gently. I slowly look up at him and he gave me an imploring and loving look. Knowing my mind, after so many centuries together, he goes to speak once more, “I am not angry with you, my truest. I could never be angry with you.”

He held out his hand for me to take and I cautiously crept by to him as my weeping quieted but continued to give off a haunting echo. I had seen his true anger many times. It was never directed at me, but it was nevertheless absolutely terrifying. He really only ever yelled at Victoria and others in the walls and on rare occasions, he would yell at Lucy. He seemed to always have little to absolutely no patience with any of them. He never yelled at me though, which is why I would take the blame for most of the mistakes that Lucy made as they were few and far between. I had sneaking suspicion that he knew but allowed me to protect Lucy since I seemed to personally favor her. Nevertheless, he mostly only spoke with sternness to get his point across, when it came to me.

Once I was within reaching distance, he pulled me back into his arms and placed a loving kiss to my temple, “My perfect little wife. My beautiful queen.” He sweetly cooes me, as he sways us gently. Finally, my weeping stops completely, and Walter calls out for Renfield to whom responded promptly.

“Have the food brought to my study. My queen and I will break our fast in there tonight.”

Renfield swiftly nodded before giving a bow to us, “Right away, my Lord. My Lady.”

He left almost as quickly as he came, and Walter gently ushers me to his study. Once inside he guides me to the plush Victorian sofa and sits with me in his lap and begins to softly wipe the tear stains from my glowing cheeks. I look at him for a moment before shifting my seated position and straddling his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck and play with his hair.

I rest my forehead against his, “I am so sorry, my Lord Love. I didn’t mean to upset you in the slightest.” Shaking my head vehemently, as he gives a smile and pushes my hair from my face to see me better.

“I know, my truest. I am sorry I lose my temper. I hate to see you cry, more than anything, especially when I am the cause for such a crime.” He kisses me sensationally and I melt into his body with a satisfied wanton moan. Our kissing quickly grows more passionate, and I feel my hips begin to move of their own accord. My warm bare heat slide over his growing hardness trapped within the confines of his trousers. Walter breaks our kissing with a groan as his head leans back. I felt a moan release from my mouth in what can only be described as pornographic as I feel his hands grip my hips move them faster while lifting his hips to press harder against my heat.

“You’re so beautiful!” He moans, whilst looking at me with a heated heavy-lidded look. I keep eye contact with him as I feel my climax closing in, and I can tell by his moans his is closing in too. “My Lord!” I sighed. I could feel it, it was so close.

“Cum, my truest. Cum for your Master.” One of his hands sliding up my torso to caress my breasts before traveling up to my neck to grip it firmly but not too tight. I felt my core explode with heat as he did this. As he lets go of my neck and my head falls into his neck as I ride out my ecstasy. Once I come down, I then notice he hasn’t felt his release and so my hips pick up the pace and I whimper at the overstimulation of my clit. He shushes me soothingly and I move my head to begin licking his neck.

Receiving the hint, he gives a euphoric smirk and gives me more access to his neck. I place several open mouth kisses along the slope of his neck before finding the perfect spot. I slowly bite down and begin sucking as his body give a jerk and he lets loose a loud cry of pleasure. He quickly reaches his climax and hugs me tighter to his body before moving some of my hair and swiftly biting down. I release a muffled moan as he began drinking and closed my eyes in bliss.

All good things must come to an end though because not long after there is a sharp knock on the door of the study. Walter growls at the nuisance as I unlatch from his neck, and he releases mine. I sit up and give him a playful smile, my fangs coated with his blood. My mischievous eyes gleam as he gives me a loving look despite his annoyance at the interruption.

“Our food is here, my Lord Love.” I breathlessly gasped out with a haunting echo of excitement. He chuckled, and lightly spanked my bottom, before responding.

“Yes, just remember to not play with your food, my truest.”

I stand up on wobbly legs as I say, “You’ve been saying that for over four and a half centuries! I do not understand why you think tonight will be the night I give up my entertainment.”

He jokingly rolls his eyes before pulling me into a passionate kiss and summoning Renfield in.

‘Now the fun really begins.”

[heliads]

The Gala

Based on this request: “a Buck imagine where Nat drags you to Tony’s Party cause she knows you have a crush on him. Then you see him talking to some woman and you decide to get drunk. Later at night Buck is with you, helping you and trying to take care of you (he also has a crush on you). Then he carries you to his Apartment & you blurt out your Feelings for him. In the morning he tells you he feels the same :)”

masterlist

You fold your arms across your chest, staring at your best friend. She’s got many talents, that Natasha Romanoff; master spy, agent, killer, and most recently, a confidant dragging you to a party so you can embarrass yourself in front of the man you like.

Natasha looks cajolingly at you. “Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun, and Bucky will be there. You have to go.” “That’s exactly why I shouldn’t go. I’ll just end up making a fool of myself,” you argue, “There’s literally no good reason why I should be there at all.” Natasha rolls her eyes. “That’s nonsense, and you know that. I mean, how long have we been friends- five years? Six? And you’ve been working at S.H.I.E.L.D. for even longer. Y/N, you couldn’t embarrass yourself in public if you tried, you’re too well trained. No matter what you do, Bucky will end up smitten.”

You eye her hesitantly. So what if you’ve been trained in de-escalation and maintaining a cool face no matter what? That was in matters of pressing government business, not when you’re face to face with the man you’ve had a crush on for what feels like forever, the two of you packed close together by a room crowded with people, the slight flush of a drink on your cheeks and the sway of your hips as you dance. There’s no way you’re going to Stark’s latest gala, especially if Bucky is there. You have to maintain your proper agent decorum, no matter what it costs.

Natasha looks at you expectantly. “You’ll have me, and you’ll have your position as an agent guarding the place. You show up wearing a gorgeous outfit, look amazing as always, and he’ll be head over heels for you in a matter of seconds, if he wasn’t already. And I’m fairly sure he already is, he asks about you all the time. There’s no way this could go south.”

You sigh, feeling some part of yourself start to give in. “Even if I wanted to go, I still wouldn’t be able to. I’m not an Avenger or some important government official that Tony wants to wine and dine, I don’t have an invite.” Natasha grins at you, pulling out a creamy white envelope from behind her back. “About that… Well, Tony insisted that I give this to you myself. You’re one of the only agents he trusts as well as being someone he considers a friend. He insisted that you show up.”

You laugh in spite of yourself, reaching out to take the invitation from your friend. Sure enough, your name is printed in swirling black letters right in the center. You groan quietly. “Fine, I’ll go. Know that you owe me for forever if this doesn’t work out.” Natasha cheers. “Consider it done. We’re going to have such a good time!”

It’s nine o’clock, the shadows of night disappearing where they’re combated by the lights shining out from Avengers Tower. You arrive with Natasha, and the two of you are enveloped by the flashing lights of cameras as you walk up to the building. Once inside, you can’t help but smile. Tony certainly spares no expense when it comes to his parties, and this gala is no exception. There are chandeliers strung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow onto the throngs of people all dressed in the most expensive and dramatic of fashions. Waiters bustle around, offering beverages and appetizers that look like they cost about half of your rent. 

Natasha flashes you a grin, yelling to be heard over the din of the chatter and music. “Glad you came?” You smile back. “Absolutely!” Natasha is soon pulled away to discuss Avengers matters with Fury and a few other S.H.I.E.L.D. higher-ups, and you greet Tony before finally allowing yourself to circulate into the crowd of partygoers. You dance for a while, looking around in vain to see the metal-armed man you’d been hoping to meet. You see him in snatches and glimpses, just leaving the room or across that crowd of people. He makes eye contact with you a few times, looking like he’s just about to come talk to you when he gets dragged away by some important figure, glancing back at you with an apologetic smile every time.

Finally, you see him alone, walking out of the main room and down one of the hallways. You can hardly blame him- the noise of the party has reached a fever pitch and it’s hard to concentrate. You slip out of the multitude of gatherers, heading down that same hallway in the hopes of finally talking to Bucky. You’re not afraid of how this looks, you joining up with him with no one around- the two of you are actually quite good friends and work together frequently on missions for S.H.I.E.L.D.

You walk down the hallway for a while, peering into rooms but unable to spot him. You’re about to give up and turn around when you see a flicker of movement in one of the rooms at the very end of the hall. Assuming that must be him, you gather up your skirts and follow the sight. You are about to walk headlong into the room when you see something you weren’t expecting, and freeze in place.

Yes, Bucky is in the room. Yes, he was waiting for someone. No, that someone is not you. Bucky is wrapped around some woman, his hands on her hips and his lips on hers. He’s smiling into the kiss, leaning in further and eliciting a gasp from the woman. You find you have to stand there for a second, unable to move, then your senses finally return and you quickly turn around and leave. You’re grateful to your S.H.I.E.L.D. abilities in this moment, grateful that you can make a fast getaway and never be seen by any of the occupants of that room. Your heels don’t make a sound as you walk back down the hallway, the rustles of your skirts are quiet enough that they will go unnoticed, and the sound of your breaking hurt is muffled enough by your forever calm exterior that no one will ever notice that you’ve been damaged beyond repair.

When you find yourself back in the main room, you almost feel dizzy at the sudden onslaught of noise. Nothing’s changed here, even though everything has changed for you. Why did you ever think you had a chance with Bucky? Why would you ever be good enough for him? 

You slowly blend in with the other partygoers, watching the scenes around you with something that borders on apathy. Every man seems like he has the same shoulder length dark hair and charming smile, every woman that bloodred smirk of lipstick that was never quite your shade. Every pair just looks like them, a sick and twisted version that whispers in your ear, finding glee in saying that you will never be enough. They are here, everywhere. It’s all in your head, but that doesn’t make it any worse to bear.

You manage to make your way over to the bar, quietly asking for a drink. Once that one’s gone, you request another. Then another. This isn’t right, this isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing, but does it matter? Nobody’s looking for you. Nobody’s searching or pretending that you were ever their first choice. One more than slightly intoxicated woman in a sea of drunken revelers will always go unnoticed. You will go unnoticed. That is how it will always be.

Your drinks catch up with you about half an hour later, and you feel yourself stumble slightly when you walk. You grimace to yourself, deciding it’s time to head out. You’ve got a pretty good head when it comes to handling your liquor, and can put on a show so real it can seem like you never had a drop in the first place. 

So, you walk over to Natasha, smiling at her and telling her that you’re tired, that you’re just going to head out and no, there’s nothing wrong, no need to worry. She smiles at you, and despite all of her spy training she can’t read you this one time and assumes everything is fine, even if it most certainly is not. You wave a goodbye to Tony, then turn and walk out of Avengers Tower, leaving behind the party and the dancers and the hopes you had that now lie crushed on the floor of that hallway near the back.

Once you’re out of sight from the cameras and the onlookers, you finally let your guard down, just a little. You stumble once, twice, then grab onto the rusted metal of a sign to stop your fall. The metal is sharp, and cuts into your hand. You wince, watching as scarlet drops bead up in a thin line on your palm and then fall silently to the ground. You stand there for a long time, staring, so long that you almost think you’re imagining the voice shouting your name behind you until it finally manifests into someone a few feet away.

“Y/N! There you are!” You turn around, ready to tell Nat that you’re honestly fine and that she doesn’t need to leave, but your words die on your tongue when you realize the identity of the man behind you. “Bucky.” The name feels thick in your throat, barely making it past your lips before hanging there in the silence of the night.

Bucky nods. “I never got a chance to talk to you. You look amazing, by the way. I just kept getting stuck in never-ending conversations. I looked for you everywhere, then Nat told me you left.” He frowns at your hand. “Are you bleeding?” You glance back at your hand, dimly remembering the cut. You quickly close your hand, casually moving it to rest behind your back and out of sight. “No, no. It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

But Bucky refuses to believe you. “No, that was definitely blood.” He steps closer, taking your hand and forcing you to open it and reveal the cut slicing open your palm. He grabs a clean white cloth from his pocket, gently wrapping it around the wound. A small dot of blood starts to flower through the thin makeshift bandage, but other than that, it appears that the bleeding has stopped.

You mumble a thank you, and he just shakes his head dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Are you coming back to the party, or-” You cut him off. “I had too much to drink, and it’s catching up with me now. I figured it would be better to recover in my own apartment rather than in front of everyone and all their cameras.” Bucky grins. “I can understand that. Here, I’ll walk you back.”

You shake your head. “You don’t need to do that. They’re probably still expecting you back at the gala. I don’t want to waste your time.” Bucky just tilts his head at you, starting to walk in the same direction you had. “Trust me, the last thing I want to do right now is go back to that party. I felt like I was going to suffocate in there from all the false charity. And besides, any moment with you is never a waste of time.” 

You feel a blush start to rise in your cheeks at his words, but you manage to suppress it when you remember the sight of him entangled with that woman earlier that night. He’s just being a friend. That’s all there is to it, and all there will ever be. Don’t make more out of this just because he’s being cordial to a coworker.

By the time you make it back to your apartment, you’re fully, unadulteratedly drunk. Your words have started to slur, and your footsteps don’t seem nearly as even as the perfectly unaffected Bucky next to you. You reach the door of your apartment, fishing around for your key, and turn to him. “This is where it ends, I guess. Thanks for walking me. Sorry about all this.” You say, gesturing languidly at yourself.

Bucky frowns. “You mean getting drunk? Trust me, if I could I’d be even worse than you. Tony hates Steve and me because we try to get drunk at every one of his parties to stomach the politicians and end up drinking half his supply of alcohol.” You laugh, glancing away to turn the key in the lock. “I was talking about myself. You didn’t have to walk me home or go out of your way to help some coworker.” You open the door, ready to put the night behind you, but Bucky follows you in.

“What are you talking about? Y/N, you’re one of the kindest, funniest, and most clever women I’ve ever met. Spending time with you is nothing to apologize for, never has and never will be.” You let out a small laugh at that, quiet as it is acidic in its bittersweet edge. “I was never your first choice. Not for friendship, not for time spent on late nights when you could be at parties, not for-”

You cut yourself off, clapping a hand to your mouth like a child caught saying more than they should have. You shake your head tiredly. “I think I need to go to bed.” You grin, starting to walk away again. Bucky just stretches an arm out to block your path. “Y/N, where is this coming from?” He rakes a hand through his hair, mussing up what had previously been a perfectly gelled style. You like it better like that, you think, not quite perfect. Just like you.

Your words feel like they’re stuck in your throat. “Why do you think I got this drunk, Bucky? Because I felt like it? Because I was bored? No, I saw you talking to-” Bucky holds up his hands. “Wait, what? I was talking to someone and that’s why you started on this cycle of self-destruction?”

You laugh bitterly. “You’re always the reason, the motivator for why I show up or why I don’t. I just didn’t think you would ever know that because I would never let you know.” Bucky’s staring at you, and you feel a tidal wave of words starting to rush out of you. Not now, not here. Not in front of him. But it’s too late, and it’s already crossed your lips. “I love you, Bucky. I know you would never feel the same, and that’s why this whole thing hurts so much.”

Bucky’s silent, silent for far too long. You’ve done it now, really and truly messed things up. Then Bucky leans over, and kisses you softly. You gasp quietly, and he pulls away. “I love you too. You’ve always been the most important person to me. Now and forever.” He lets out a little laugh. “That’s why Steve convinced me to go to Stark’s stupid gala in the first place. God knows I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I wanted to see you.” You feel frozen in place. “Then why did you- why did you kiss that woman?”

Bucky’s head flies up. “You saw that?” You nod silently. “That’s why I got myself this drunk. I couldn’t take the sight of you with her, not when you looked so happy with her. I knew in that moment that there would never be a chance of you loving me back.” Bucky raises a hand to his head. “I didn’t feel a thing for her. I left the room because it was insufferably loud and I couldn’t stand it. She followed me out and into that room. I thought she was you, and I let her kiss me. After about a second, I realized my mistake and I left as soon as I could.”

You look at him with hopeful eyes. “So you actually love me?” Bucky grins. “Have loved you for a while now, but I’m glad you feel the same way.” You breath out quietly, feeling a smile break out across your face. This is what you’d always hoped for, this moment that’s finally happening. Bucky glances at the clock across the room, and curses softly.

“It’s getting late. I think we both need to head to bed, and you especially.” You groan, turning to walk towards your room. “My head’s going to kill me tomorrow, isn’t it?” Bucky walks with you to your room, pausing at the door. You turn back to face him, pulling softly at his hand. “Stay. Please. Just this one night. I don’t want to be alone.”

He hesitates for a moment, then lets a slow smile cross his lips. “Anything for you, love.” You fall asleep that night in his arms, head tucked just so under his. When you wake up that next morning, your first sight is of his eyes, and the way he smiles when he tells you he loves you one more time.

[firebrands]

the square root of infinity | stevetony

2.7k, established relationship, first fight angst | on ao3 | for @maguna-stxrk

***

Tony finds out with his hands deep in JARVIS’ code. Former-JARVIS, actual-JARVIS, he hasn’t really decided on what to refer to the mess of numbers of letters that formed his former AI, and now, well—Vision, too. It’s all a mess, really, and Tony wanted something simple to do with his hands, minimal focus, low-risk.

He should have known better, really. Nothing about him, his work, his life, has ever been low-risk.

It’s a command from Steve with a privacy protocol. Search, identify, and surveil Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, also known as The Winter Soldier. Missing, found, and missing again as of six months ago. Tony frowns at the monitor. He knows he hasn’t read it wrong, but can’t believe it; he reads it again.

Somehow, in the span of time of Steve coming back from Washington, of them settling in together, he’d done this. He’d asked JARVIS to do this for him, and keep it from Tony.

Tony leans back against his chair. “FRI,” he says.

His new AI chirps to life. “Boss?”

“Gimme everything JARVIS found on this.”

“It’s on your phone now, boss.” In front of him, a hologram materializes as well, displaying hundreds of photos, grainy and filtered, and copies of reports on sightings. Tony stands up, takes a step back and frowns some more. He opens his mouth a few times, borne of his need to verbalize even without anyone listening; he’s angry. He’s more shocked than angry, but the anger is there, low and simmering.

Beneath it, though, is a grain of doubt: Why? Why did he keep it hidden? Especially now—after all the truth came spilling out of them, crystallizing into something Tony held dear. And after all Steve had said, about keeping secrets, about trust. He briefly considers asking FRIDAY to print it all out, just so he can throw the sheaf of paper in front of Steve and demand: what the fuck, but he’s better now, more mature. Or so he likes to tell himself.

So instead, he walks to the penthouse and finds Steve reading.

Tony clears his throat.

Steve looks up. “Hey,” he says, setting his book down. “You done working?”

Tony smiles, pained and tight. “So,” he says, sitting at the foot of the bed. “Bucky.”

Steve’s eyebrows meet, looking concerned. “What about him?”

Tony shuts his eyes and counts backward from five. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Steve inches closer to him and rests his hand on Tony’s knee. Tony doesn’t open his eyes.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Steve says very quietly.

Tony’s eyes fly open, the anger now boiling over. “Oh is that it?” He asks sarcastically. “So you decided to use JARVIS—without my permission, to look for him?”

Steve’s mouth works, and he looks genuinely shocked. “You said I could talk to JARVIS.”

“That’s not the point!” He pushes Steve’s hand off him and stands. “Why would you keep that a secret?”

“I—I didn’t,” Steve says haltingly. “I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to know if JARVIS could find him, but I knew it was almost impossible anyway, so there was no real point—”

“If there was no point,” Tony says, voice lowering, “then why’d you do it?”

“Tony,” Steve stands now, too, tries to reach out and touch Tony’s elbow, to disentangle Tony’s arms that have crossed over his chest on their own volition. “He’s my best friend. I’m worried about him. I just thought it was something I should do myself.”

Tony nods, not really listening. His head is swimming with what he thinks could be actual reasons why Steve had kept this from him. A tangled mess of fear and insecurity, then shock at his ability to be aware of it. Is this maturity? He doesn’t like it much. Better if it stayed Steve’s fault—and it is Steve’s fault, it is. But maybe Tony doesn’t need to work himself up like this. But then again, Tony’s already worked up. “Stop,” Tony grinds out.

So Steve stops, a foot away from Tony, looking more scared than Tony’s ever seen him.

“I’m going to go.”

“Don’t.”

Tony looks up at Steve. He hadn’t even realized he’d looked away. Steve takes a deep breath, closes the space between them, and takes Tony’s hands in his.

Tony sighs.

Steve threads their fingers together, squeezes Tony’s palms. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Want to say more than one syllable, maybe?”

A joke? Now? Tony feels his frown deepen.

“No.”

“Is this a fight?”

Tony looks up at him. “A fight means you don’t think you should be sorry.”

“Now, hold on a second,” Steve says, a small frown beginning to form on his face. Barely perceptible, if you didn’t know the signs. “I already explained why—”

“And that’s supposed to make it okay?”

“Where is this coming from?” Steve asks, letting go of Tony’s hands, which means he’s mad too, which drives Tony insane.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“There’s no need to raise your tone—”

“Don’t fucking use your de-escalation tactics on me.” Tony hisses, turns on his heel, and walks out the door. He gives himself the satisfaction of slamming it shut.

***

The next few days are filled with small acts of penitence: a cup of coffee on the bedside table when Tony wakes, a sandwich in the workshop, a completed report for a day-old mishap. It’s on Thursday that Tony’s heart finally softens. Over nothing, really, just a small doodle on his desk. He realizes, in that moment, that of all his achievements, perhaps learning to understand Steve Rogers should rank highest. Right up there with being understood by him, too.

Tony’s lying in bed, reading a report on his tablet, when Steve peeks in.

“Hey.” He sounds tentative.

Tony sighs, sets his tablet aside, and takes off his glasses. “Well, come in.”

Steve’s barely able to hide his grin, and nearly bowls Tony over when he hugs him. “Hi,” Steve says, burying his nose against Tony’s neck.

“Hello to you too, you overgrown labrador,” Tony laughs, pushing Steve away a little lest he be crushed under all combined weight of supersoldier and three bowls of pasta that Clint prepared for dinner.

“I missed you,” Steve says, hugging Tony closer to him. He looks up at Tony, resting his chin right on Tony’s sternum. “Was that our first fight?”

Tony snorts. “Unlikely to be our last,” he says.

“Hey,” Steve chides, leaning up and brushing Tony’s nose with his. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. Anyway,” Tony leans closer, brushes their lips together. “Make it up to me.”

Steve arches an eyebrow.

“Don’t start,” Tony warns.

Steve huffs out a laugh, tips them over until they’re lying down, and makes it up to him.

***

As a man of science, it behooves Tony to conduct experiments and to test hypotheses.

First, identify the problem.

Second, conduct research.

Third, develop a hypothesis: follow if / then structure.

Fourth, test through experiments: ensure factors are varied one at a time.

Fifth and final, draw a conclusion.

Tony’s tapping the tip of a screwdriver against his bottom lip as he thinks, and then two strong arms wrap around his waist and just like that, the problem has identified itself.

(One frustrating blind spot in Tony’s life: relationships. Which isn’t to say he hasn’t tried to make sense of them, sped read through self-help books and trawled through Reddit. Unlike everything else, research pales in comparison to experience, and there’s only so much he can do to make sure this one precious thing in his life is perfect.)

“Busy?” Steve presses a small kiss on the back of Tony’s neck. Tony can barely suppress a shiver.

He wants to say, I was, until you showed up. It doesn’t just apply to this moment. That fact shouldn’t hurt.

Instead, Tony says: “Yeah, kinda.”

“Okay,” Steve says easily, pulling away. He comes back to press a quick kiss to Tony’s cheek. “See you later?”

“Yup,” Tony says, and okay. Maybe he needs to spend a day or two really figuring out who the problem is, here. (It’s him. He knows this. He’s always the problem.)

 Two days later, Tony settles on having to review related literature. In this case, this means sitting alone in the workshop as he relives every moment when Steve was distracted. Was that a sign? In a brief moment of clarity, Tony asks: “Fri, am I crazy?”

“Signs point to no, boss. But I can pull up recent results on the search engines?”

“I’d rather not hear what the general public thinks, thanks,” Tony says, sighing. He rests his face in his hands. It’s not like he meant to think of this—what is wrong with his brain, that the intrusive thoughts come in the form of the few moments he’d asked Steve what was on his mind, only to be brushed off?

What did that mean?

Did it matter?

Step three: if that was a sign, then there was a problem.

If that wasn’t a sign, then there wasn’t a problem.

If Tony didn’t figure this out, then there would definitely be a problem.

This isn’t how a hypothesis is meant to sound. Tony’s a terrible scientist.

“Fri, call Bruce.”

“Tony?” Bruce’s voice is rough. He sounds annoyed.

“Hey, seven PhDs, how do I form a proper hypothesis?”

“Fuck you, Stark.” The line clicks off.

Tony turns his wrist, checks his watch. Three AM? Figures.

He stretches out his back. “Friday,” he says, standing up. “The search functions for Barnes.”

“On it, boss.”

“Atta girl.”

***

Try as Tony might—and he’s trying, which in itself feels like a failure, because Tony stark does or does not and there is no need to attempt—he feels like something has shifted between them, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

Maybe he’s just making it all up in his head. That’s the easy solution, isn’t it? And that’s usually the answer: start with the easiest answer and work your way up. He can already see Natasha rolling her eyes at him. Maybe the solution is to stop treating your relationship like it’s quantum theory.

Steve’s hand is on his lower back, steering him inside a restaurant. He thinks only of what Steve said, all those weeks ago: I had to do it myself.

Tony wants to argue, right this moment. But how can he? It’s awful that they can be so alike. The only reason he keeps his mouth shut is because he knows that Tony’s used that argument before. Maybe this is growth, to know when to back down from a fight. Or to avoid one totally.

Steve reaches over the table, brushes his fingers over Tony’s wrist. “You okay?”

There are a lot of answers to that. Tony settles on the truth. “Not really.”

Steve’s brow creases with worry. “What’s wrong?”

Again: an infinite multiverse of answers to answer a question that simple. With this, Tony does struggle for a moment, and the next words are much harder to say—they almost feel caught in his throat, like a lump of meat. “I don’t know.”

“You can tell me anything, you know,” Steve says gently. So gentle, it almost breaks him; Tony doesn’t deserve this. Steve doesn’t deserve this.

“I know,” Tony says, and this is him lying through his teeth, and this is what he’s good at, and maybe this is why he’ll never know how relationships are. It’s a trust issue, probably. He doesn’t know if the issue is with Steve, or with himself. “Don’t worry about it.”

Tony tries harder, now: smiles more, eats with gusto. He knocks Steve’s thigh with his knee, looks up at him from under his lashes. This is what life is like for Tony Stark: it’s acting. He knows the approximations to get his point across. As their evening goes on, the small wrinkle on Steve’s forehead smooths out, and maybe Tony wishes he wasn’t so good at pretending.

Maybe he wishes that Steve read him better.

***

The moment of epiphany is often described as transcendental.

This one hits like a ton of bricks—literally, because Tony does know what that feels like, and the suit is shock proof, sure, but that shit still fucking hurts, and even in moments of epiphany, somehow he still manages to go off on a tangent. The point remains: Steve’s hand is on his hip, and they’re in bed, and epiphanies usually equate clarity, peace.

Tony freezes up.

“Tony?” Steve murmurs, sliding his hand up Tony’s side.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, sitting up. “I know I’m being difficult.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Steve sits up beside him, rests his hand on Tony’s shoulder, and turns Tony to look at him. “Who said you were being difficult?”

“Me, I’m saying it,” Tony says. Panic is beginning to bubble in his belly, slowly rising up his throat. Typical of him to mistake a eureka moment with a panic attack. Par for the fucking course for Tony Stark. “I’m being difficult right now.”

“No you’re not,” Steve says, rubbing up and down his arms. “Tony. Look at me.”

Tony breathes out through his mouth, then in through his nose. Steve tips his chin up and meets his gaze.

“Here are the variables,” Tony breathes out, is afraid of what he’ll say next, his brain is fogged over and full of static. “I love you, and I don’t know what to do with that.”

Steve takes a deep breath, takes Tony’s face in his hands. “Here’s a constant,” he whispers, breath warm on Tony’s cheek. “I love you. I love you. You, Tony Stark. I love you.” He kisses Tony, hard and close lipped, more aggressive reminder than affection.

“Okay,” Tony says, because there’s a wild part of him that still thinks—there was a problem, there was a problem and if this is love, then what comes next? If this is constant, then what variable will arrive to change all of that?

Steve kisses Tony again, almost desperate, this time. “Is this about Bucky?” Tony sucks in a breath at the question, horrified at being discovered. Steve hums, then he runs one hand down Tony’s back, up his arm, down his side. A reminder of his presence. Tony is suddenly grateful for it.

“And if it is?” he murmurs.

“Tony,” and somehow, Steve sounds fond, which throws a wrench in this whole debacle, and deep in the recesses of Tony’s brain, rationality begins to take root. “He’s my best friend. You’re the love of my life.”

Tony breathes.

“Did you hear me? You. You’re the love of my life. Please don’t make me compare,” Steve huffs out a small laugh, and it warms Tony all over, like sunshine peeking through the clouds after a strong rain. “And maybe you don’t believe me just yet,” Steve touches their foreheads together, then rubs his nose against Tony’s, the affection plain and chaste. It makes Tony feel more loved than he’s ever felt in his life—not that there were many moments to compare against, but still.

“I feel a little crazy,” Tony says, finding it in himself to smile up at Steve.

“A little crazy in love?” Steve asks, grinning.

“I can’t believe you just made a Beyonce reference. In the middle of my panic attack.”

Steve bites his bottom lip, a poor attempt at stopping himself from laughing. Tony flicks his forehead. “Say it again,” Tony says, and his smile still feels a little wobbly, but it’s a step.

“Crazy in Love?” Steve asks, pulling Tony close and wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist.

It’s an odd angle, and eventually Steve shifts to lift Tony up onto his lap. “Ass,” Tony says. “You know what I meant.”

Steve smiles again, right before pressing a kiss to Tony’s shoulder. “Step one,” he says. “The problem is you’re afraid I don’t love you. Step two: find out how to show you that I do.” He pauses, and Tony feels breathless as he presses another kiss to Tony’s bare skin. “Step three. Hypothesis? If I show Tony I love him all the time, then eventually he’ll believe me.”

“Sounds like a shaky hypothesis,” Tony says, but his voice quivers a little as he says it. He can’t explain how he feels, other than warm in Steve’s embrace.

Steve tuts. “Step four, experimentation. Small gestures, date nights.” Steve rubs Tony’s back as he speaks, and stops to tilt Tony’s head up to face him. “Am I getting this right?”

Tony smiles. “I don’t know, what’s the conclusion?”

Steve wraps his arms around Tony’s waist once more. “You’re here. I’m here. I love you.” He leans up, brushes their lips together. “Is that enough?”

[bytheangell]

Hanging By a Moment

Whumptober 2020 prompt: held at gunpoint (Read on AO3)

Magnus is standing alone outside the restaurant when, through the thin fabric of his shirt, he feels the distinct press of cold metal against his back. Every muscle in his body tenses at once - he doesn’t need to be able to see what it is to instinctively know what’s happening.

“Don’t move, don’t yell,” a deep voice orders, then waits a few seconds to make sure Magnus is going to comply. He does, remaining silent and still. “Now turn around, hands where I can see them. Don’t try anything stupid.”

Magnus does as he’s told, but very slowly, trying to buy himself time to think. A million thoughts rush through his mind, but two stand out more than the others. The first is that Alec is going to walk outside and see this, and that is not going to go well. The second is that he’s in real danger here. Actual, life-threatening danger, from something so goddamn mundane as a street robbery.

On any other day - hell, even on this day about four hours prior - Magnus could’ve used his magic to easily disarm a mundane man with a gun. But now, after using every last drop of his magic between a demanding spell for a client and a surprise demon attack he hadn’t expected to help the Shadowhunters with, Magnus is tapped out. That’s why he’s walking home with Alec instead of portaling, and why they’re buying food on the way instead of snapping it into the apartment, ready to go.

Magnus isn’t sure he'd be able to flick the weapon away if he tried, and he certainly couldn’t raise a solid enough barrier in front of him if the man shoots.

Apparently, Magnus isn’t turning fast enough: rough hands grab him by the shoulder and force Magnus around to face his assailant. It’s already difficult to see in the dark, with the neon of the restaurant sign the only light between distant streetlamps. Whoever it is only has their eyes visible, the rest of their face obscured by a hat and bandana tied over their nose and mouth - not that Magnus is paying much attention to aesthetics. His eyes are drawn to the barrel of the gun pointed at him instead, and he wonders if this is how his centuries of life will come to an end. Decades of war and battles and standing up against more injustices than he can list, facing down other warlocks, werewolves and vampires and Nephilim and literal demons… he survived all of that, and a mundane being hard-up for cash may be what finally ends the life of Magnus Bane.

“I don’t have much on me,” Magnus admits, which is true. “There’s some cash in my wallet. I can grab it for you-” Magnus lowers his hands to reach for his wallet, only to pull them back up by his head when the man takes a step closer.

“No! Hands up,” the robber says, just as the door behind Magnus opens and he tenses all over again, knowing exactly who walked out.

“Alexander, darling, I’m going to advise you to stay there, please.” It takes every last ounce of self-control for him to not turn back around and look at Alec.

Magnus hears Alec take a step forward anyway, and the gun shifts from Magnus to a spot over his shoulder, which is exactly what Magnus was afraid of. The gunman is jumpy now, outnumbered even though Magnus’ hands are empty and Alec’s are full of takeout bags.

“How about we all take a second and calm down,” Magnus advises, partially for his own benefit considering the fact that his heartbeat has doubled, if not tripled, in pace since Alec stepped outside. At least now the gun is trained back on him instead of Alec.

Magnus isn’t sure if Alec’s strength and speed runes are active from the fight still, or if he’d have time to activate them or be able to beat a bullet if he tries to make a move. What Magnus is sure of is that he’d rather not find out the answer.

He’s very aware that having a gun aimed at him being the best option is not saying much for the current situation.

“Magnus-” Alec’s voice is strained and frightened, and Magnus is actually glad he can’t see his face right now because he isn’t sure he could handle whatever expression he’d find there. He can probably count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Alec visibly ruffled, and every time was over an injured sibling. It’s a look he doesn’t think he could stomach seeing on Alec here and now, because of him, and especially not if Magnus being the cause of Alec’s worry makes him try something foolishly heroic.

“I’m fine,” Magnus cuts in, not wanting the attention back on Alec. “We’re all fine. Just take the goddamn wallet and go,” Magnus snaps, now also on edge in a way he wasn’t before Alec was in danger, too. Magnus nods toward his right side and the man, gun still in hand, steps forward to reach into Magnus’ pants pocket and pull out the wallet.

Magnus is conscious of the sound of bags crackling behind him, Alec’s grip on them likely tightening anxiously. He doesn’t turn around to confirm and instead keeps a neutral, placating expression that never leaves the masked man.

The robber eyes them both, maybe wondering what else he can get off the two of them, when the sound of voices at the other end of the street spook him, and he takes off instead.

Magnus watches him go until he’s certain the guy isn’t going to change his mind and turn back around, and then in a very undignified moment his knees go weak and Alec drops the takeout bags to the ground to catch Magnus before he falls.

“Magnus!” Alec says, supporting Magnus before moving them both to a bench a few feet away. “Are you alright?”

“Physically, yes. My pride, on the other hand-” Magnus tries to joke, but the tremor in his voice gives away how shaken up by the event he truly is.

“Let me call Cat, she can portal us home and-”

“No,” Magnus says, shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. I think that was just a moment of shock. I just… need a minute.”

“You’re shaking,” Alec points out as if Magnus isn’t aware. His hands are trembling as much as his legs even though he’s sitting down. “I should-”

“One fucking minute, Alexander, please,” Magnus snaps, and Alec falls silent and still beside him. Magnus takes a few deep breaths, willing his body to stop betraying him like this.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words he says once his voice is level again, his pulse no longer racing. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed,” Alec dismisses. “What do you need?”

They’ve had this talk before, when Magnus needs a moment to think something through before making an important decision, even if it’s an emergency, or when he’s upset and needs a moment to distance himself from whatever’s upsetting him before reacting. Having people toss out offers and suggestions is too overwhelming - asking him what he needs seems to work best, which is exactly what Alec does now.

They’re both going through an ordeal, and Magnus obviously doesn’t blame Alec for being a little too insistent in trying to help him.

“Nothing. I really just needed a moment,” Magnus promises. He’s fine. Alec’s fine. He won’t miss the wallet or the money inside (though he will miss several of the personal photos kept within). He’s safe, and Alec is safe, and that’s all that matters.

“I wouldn’t have let him hurt you, Magnus,” Alec says, bringing a hand up to cup Magnus’ cheek so he’s forced to look at him, to see the serious expression on his face and the weight of that promise. “I hung back because you said to, but if he made a move…” Alec takes a deep breath to keep himself from getting too worked up over what-ifs. “You know I’ll always protect you, Magnus.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Magnus mutters under his breath, not really meaning for Alec to hear him but the words come out a bit louder than he intends in his bitterness.

“Of course I should-” “I should be able to protect myself! Hell, I should be able to protect both of us, and instead, I was useless back there!” Magnus says, and though his tone is sharp it’s obviously not anger aimed at Alec, but at himself.

“You weren’t useless,” Alec insists. “You de-escalated a situation that could’ve ended with someone hurt, or dead. And the only reason your magic is tapped out is because you came to protect me earlier. I don’t know about you, but none of that seems particularly ‘useless’ to me.”

Magnus knows there’s truth to Alec’s words, even if he can’t bring himself to feel properly comforted by them - not while his fight-or-flight instincts are still on high alert on the city street, half-expecting the man to come back and prove Magnus right by finishing what he started.

Magnus’ eyes drift to the bags of takeout on the pavement, the contents of the broken containers soaking through the bag and spilling out onto the ground. “Looks like we need new food,” he frowns. “But…”

“What is it?” Alec asks.

It feels ridiculous to admit that he’s still shaken up enough that the idea of staying out longer without his magic is seriously distressing. He knows Alec won’t judge, but at this point, Magnus is judging himself. He’s better than this - he should be better than this. He’s been in situations like this before, situations much more dangerous than the one he was just in... but never without his magic, and that’s what makes all the difference. Sure, Alec probably could’ve taken the guy, but it’s the fact that Magnus couldn’t - that he froze in the moment - that bothers him.

“I don't particularly want to be out any longer than we have to right now,” Magnus confesses. “I don’t want a portal,” he adds quickly because as uncomfortable as he is, they're only a few blocks away at this point. Realistically, he knows that standing next to Alec makes the chance of anyone trying to get the jump on the both of them much more unlikely. “But I’d rather not make any detours.”

Alec hesitates slightly, and Magnus knows him well enough to know he’s debating suggesting they call Cat again despite Magnus’ insistence not to. It’d be endearing if Magnus’ nerves weren’t frayed to the point of snapping. 

“If that’s what you want,” Alec agrees at length, resigning himself to following Magnus’ lead whether he agrees with it or not. “We aren’t far from the Loft, let’s get back and order delivery?” Alec offers. He doesn’t stand to leave yet, waiting for Magnus to answer first before doing anything.

“Yeah, okay,” Magnus agrees, standing up from the bench. His legs still feel a little shaky, but he doesn’t wobble. “That sounds good.”

Alec wraps his arm around Magnus’ waist and pulls him in close, an action that’s equal parts protective and comforting. For a moment Magnus nearly pulls away, instinctively wanting to prove that he’s fine enough to handle himself again. And he is… except he doesn’t want to pull away.

Instead, Magnus allows himself to lean into the touch, embracing those feelings of support and safety and doing his best not to feel weak for needing them.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

May I have a scenario/imagine, whichever makes more sense, of Trey, Rook, and Crewel trying to tame some sort of wild, magical invasive species of Poison Ivy that has taken over the greenhouse?

Crewel gives me perpetually disappointed wine aunt father vibes. This piece also lowkey turned out to be Trey x Rook, but you didn’t read that from me.

This imagine’s longer than my usual 1k word self-imposed limit, since it goes out to a friend of mine that’s been supporting me through final projects and exams. I’m not sure if they’d want me tagging them so publicly, but they know who they are.

Imagine this...

To Professor Crewel’s chagrin, members of the Science Club had never had strong academic intent. In actuality, the club was a thinly veiled excuse to bake cakes (just to find the perfect ratio of leaveners and sweeteners!) and to stalk watch students in their natural habitats (nothing wrong with an impromptu observational study, right?). Instead of test tubes and beakers, the lab benches were littered with cake pans and photographs of unsuspecting Savanaclaw students.

“I do wish you two would take this club more seriously,” Crewel would often gripe, fingers massaging his temples. “Science is not a play thing, it is a powerful tool with which we can use to redefine and reshape the world around us.”

Such were the woes of an instructor--but today, he had no time to lament.

Crewel’s jaw tightened as he gazed upon a sprawling mess--the shattered glass panes of the Botanical Garden, with massive stalks of ivy reaching for the skies. Casualties lined the ground--plants and flowers drained dry of their life, all withered and decayed. The ivy writhed in glee.

(He shouldn’t have been surprised that the headmaster summoned him and the Science Club to resolve the issue instead of hiring a real exterminator.)

“How unseemly,” Crewel noted, clicking his tongue. “Running amok and ruining so many of the specimens we’ve carefully cultivated... This shall not go unpunished.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Clover.”

“Yes.” Trey stepped forward, his magical pen ready.

“Hunt.”

“Oui.” Rook followed suit, smoothly drawing forth his own pen.

“The time has come to prove your mettle,” Crewel announced, rapping his pointer against his palm. His onyx eyes seethed with a quiet, controlled rage. “Show this overgrown weed what the Science Club is truly capable of.”

At his command, the boys nodded and tore off toward the Botanical Garden.

Crewel held his ground. The corners of his mouth curled into a condescending smirk as he addressed the poison ivy. “Come here.”

An arm of ivy flew at him, so fast that it was but a blur.

An alive, but livid, blur.

“Heel!”

A column of fire erupted from Crewel’s pointer. His attack slammed against the plant, settings its leaves awash in embers. The rogue plant let out a sky-splitting roar.

The battle had just begun.

Trey ducked under an arc of burning ivy and threw open the door to the Botanical Garden. Tucking his limbs in, he barreled through right as more ivy snaked in to seal off the entrance once more.

He could feel the heat upon his back, the earth quaking under his feet, and Rook close behind him--yet he willed himself to keep his eyes glued ahead, even as he launched across the threshold and into a terrifying new realm.

The inside of the greenhouse now glistened with ivy--covering the glass panes, slowly strangling what few plants remained. The Botanical Garden had always been warm before, but it was unusually so today. Sweltering, and almost so humid that the floors and walls seem to eerily pulsate with life.

“Keep your wits about you, and don’t look back, boys,” Crewel had instructed them. “Just get in there, and cut it off at its source--at the heart.”

Trey’s eyes darted this way and that. Green, green, green. It all looked the same to him. Where in the world was the point of origin?

“Got any ideas?!” He glanced over his shoulder at his partner--and his protective goggles nearly went askew.

Rook had dropped to one knee, pressing a gloved hand against the floor--now a carpet of vines. “Hoooh! What a fascinating specimen!” he marveled. “Such destructive power, and yet it also sports this emerald sheen... Très manifique!”

“H-Hey... No offense, but I don’t think now’s the time to stop and sniff the roses. Or, well. I guess it would be ivy in this case.”

“Non, non! There is always time for beauty--even in dire situations!” Rook insisted, his hands continuing to grope around. His eyes suddenly creased, and his smile turned sly. “Ah, te voilà.”

“Even if you say that, that’s not going to help us fix this...!!”

“Calm yourself, Chevalier des Roses,” Rook advised with an airy laugh. He cupped a hand to his ear and beamed. “Listen closely! Surely even your own heart beckons you to still your worries.”

“Heart?” Trey straightened, adamant as he folded his arms. “Sorry, but I just don’t believe in stuff like that. Come on, Rook. We need to focus--Crewel-sensei’s trusting us with this task.”

He cast a concerned glance at the doorway, ensnared in vines. They’d have to blast their way through later--but if they stayed in this space for too long, they, too, would soon be drained of all their life force. “We can’t just mess around!”

“Ah--but you must put your faith in me as well, Chevalier des Roses!” Rook insisted, pointing to the patch of floor that he had been not-too-subtly groping earlier. “I implore you to lend me your strength!”

“You want me to attack the gr--?!” Trey froze mid-sentence. He had become vaguely aware of a gentle sensation creeping around his ankles.

In an instant, he was yanked into the air, dangling upside down like a useless rag doll. Blood rushed to his head, and his surroundings spun.

“Chevalier des Roses!!”

“I’m fine!! I-I’m fine!” Trey called--though he clearly wasn’t. “I can just--” He waved his magical pen, the air growing tense as a small ball of fire collected at his command.

“Non!” Rook warned, startling his classmate. “There is nothing to cushion your descent, mon amie! You will surely break a leg--and certainly not in the theatrical sense!”

He’s right. Trey’s fire extinguished itself, replaced by a chill crawling down his spine.

“A little help then?!”

Rook’s eyes widened. “You would give me your trust?”

“Not exactly like I have any other choice.” Trey would shrug, but it was a rather difficult motion to pull off while suspended midair--and far more troublesome, his veins ran cold. It was a sure sign of the ivy sapping his energy.

“Have no fear! Today, it shall be my turn to be the chevalier.” The hunter grinned from ear to ear, magical pen in hand.

“Please, Rook! Any day now--before I become plant food!” Trey’s voice was hoarse--from exasperation, or from the magical ivy, he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

“Just for today, I shall be your Chevalier D’amour.”

And with a confident wink, Rook plunged the ivy-covered floor into a sea of flames.

The accursed plant wailed as it shriveled to ash upon a backdrop of billowing smoke. Embers flickered and danced in the afternoon, the Botanical Garden set ablaze. Crewel took a step back, grimacing at the growing fire.

A figure emerged from the greenhouse, carrying another. The professor squinted into the smoke, pinpointing the familiar outline of his Science Club members--Rook, cradling a pale-looking Trey in his strong arms.

“Puppies.” Crewel pinched his temples.

“C’est chose faite--it is now done.” The brim of Rook’s hat eclipsed his eyes, making the typically cheery hunter appear dark to match his tone. Then he lifted his head, basking in the sunshine, and that somber moment was over. “All is well and good again, as it should be!”

“I... I thought I was going to die,” Trey groaned. “... And Rook, I appreciate you catching my fall, but you didn’t need to carry me out like you’re an action hero in a movie or something.”

“Are you able to still stand after an attack from that heinous plant?”

“Yeah. Just put me down.”

“Oui.”

Trey stood on shaky legs--and instinctively leaned on Rook’s shoulder.

“Well, boys. You’ve exterminated the ivy--as well as just about every other plant in the Botanical Garden. How exactly do you intend to atone for this?!” Crewel snapped, whipping his pointer at his students. “I believe my instructions were quite clear--destroy only the heart of the ivy.”

“The fault lies with me, Monsieur,” Rook declared, dipping into a bow. “We dallied for longer than was necessary, and in a moment of panic, I unleashed my magic.”

“Always one with a flair for the dramatic. Unfortunately, that will not serve you well in detention, Hunt.”

“Wait. Crewel-sensei, that’s not the whole story,” Trey interrupted. “Rook got me out of a pinch--and he deserves credit for that. He’s also the one that found out where the ivy’s heart was--buried in the floor itself. I didn’t realize until it was too late.”

The professor’s lips pursed into a straight line. “Clover, are you confessing to your own negligence?”

“I am.” He nodded firmly. “I’m the one that deserves the detention.”

“Trey-kun is not responsible!” Rook protested. “He is the one that attempted to set us on the right path. I refused to heed his advice, which led to events escalating.”

“I didn’t listen to Rook when he tried to tell me about what I needed to do.”

“I should have phrased it more concisely.”

“You--”

“Trey-kun--”

“Enough. It is clear to me that both of you contributed to this chaos.” Crewel sighed. “... Hunt, take Clover to the infirmary. I will put out the fire myself.

“... Are you letting us go?”

“Of course not. Once you’ve recovered, Clover... you boys will be restoring plants in the Botanical Garden for the remainder of the semester as punishment.”

“Ahhh, I should’ve known. Riddle’s not gonna like this at all.”

“Chin up, Chevalier des Roses! At the very least, we shall have each other’s company!” Rook laughs, smacking Trey on the back and sending his peer nearly doubling over.

Crewel sighed once more--he was disappointed, but not surprised.

His Science Club puppies still had a long way to go.

[the-melting-world]

Jezebel | Solo de la Vega

This exists because @lucigucci asked for it and I couldn't say no. Sorry it took me so long! It's basically a background/personality/daily life montage for Sascha's brother, Solo. I was trying to figure out how to work some of his experiences into Sascha's story, so this is exactly what he needed!

This fic pairs well with Sascha's "Don't Call Me Daughter" miniseries!

Music: "Jezebel" by Sade

cw: there is some nested lemony content 🍋 (some choking), emotional abuse, just very bad parenting in general

~ 2.6k words

***

~ Twenty-six years ago ~

Solo and Sascha hid. They were close enough to hear the screams and the dishes shattering.

“Get out of my house!”

“I want to see my children. Please–”

“I said, GET OUT!”

And on and on it went.

Shortly after Honore stopped making his infrequent trips to Casa Vega, the Vega twins learned to never ask about him. Instead, they protected the few mementos they had of Honore and remembered him quietly, out from under the eyes of their mother…

***

~ Present Day ~

“Nanang, why would I make any of this up?”

Solo had no more fire left in him to spat with Floribeth. He just wanted to close his eyes and become unconscious to the pain settling into his bones. But his mother wouldn’t leave. Despite her petite frame, she haunted the foot of his bed like an overfed wraith.

“You were in bed all day yesterday, Solomon. How is it that you had enough energy to traipse the town with your sister this morning, but you couldn’t even pull your weight in this negotiation? Do you plan to leave April without any assistance this afternoon as well?”

Solo’s eyes smarted as he rolled onto his side and tried to hide his head under the blankets.

“You were there. You saw how that man didn’t touch any of the swatches I brought. My charms were in those swatches.”

Beth’s response came out clipped and dismissive. “So what?”

Great, Solo groaned internally, today she wants to play dumb about how my magic works.

Solo had tried to explain this to Beth before. Why couldn’t her sharp mind sense his meaning? Why did she have to make every conversation about his magic so taboo?

“Nanang, please understand…it is… easier for me when the clients touch–”

But she cut him off. “Solo, stop. You’re whining about your condition again. For all of your devotion to our practice, you forget sometimes how spoiled you’ve become. I blame myself for that. Get your rest. I’ll fetch Sascha. But you’re to be present for April by this afternoon. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Part of him wished he hadn’t agreed, but it was the only way to get her to leave. When she finally did, Solo wanted nothing more than to blackout and let his body recover the old fashioned way until Sascha administered some relief for his pain. But all he could think about was Floribeth and how guilty she had made him feel over the years.

Even though he had nothing but devote his entire body and heart to her business.

Whenever Beth became upset or disappointed with him like this, it took him back to listening to her and Honore argue. For some reason, Solo couldn’t shake off the feeling that Beth had wanted those fights to escalate between herself and the father of her children.

“Beth. Look at what you’ve done to him. By the gods, look at his hands! Every time I come back, they’re swollen or bleeding. This isn’t right.”

“Stop being melodramatic, Honore. Solomon picked up sewing faster than Sascha and all of his cousins combined. We don’t let talent go unhoned in this family.”

"He is just a child!"

"He will heal! His hands will form calluses in time and then he won’t be able to feel it anymore. The pain is only temporary. You really are an idiot."

"Let me at least take Sascha with me. You’re always complaining about her. She’ll be cared for. Happy for once–"

"You’re not taking her anywhere. Now go away."

When Solo opened his eyes again, Sascha was at his side.

***

Later that week...

Solo was where he was the most comfortable – in his dressing room, sewing a project by hand. He was alone until someone walked in. Solo recognized the newcomer almost immediately. Basil Jebel-something or other. He was an usher for a friend from what sounded like a collegiate past. Today Basil was there for alteration, without the entourage of the rest of the groom’s party.

“You came alone this time, Mister…”

“Jebeles.” His delivery was tired, but not unkind.

Solo, who was stretched out on his divan, looked up briefly from his work. “Yes, now I remember. We didn’t have your size. And we still don't, unfortunately.”

Basil made a face as he slapped his gut. “Figures.” Then he mumbled something blunt and self-deprecating.

By now, Solo was rising to his feet and warming his pearls over his knuckles.

“Please. You have a nice figure, Mr. Jebeles.” He came around behind the man, who smelled a lot like the inside of a tavern, and eyeballed his measurements with the help of his long string of pearls.

“And not all is lost. We may not have your size, but that’s why I wanted you to come back. For a closer look at what we’re working with–” Solo let his pearls slide down Basil’s frame before pulling them a little taut under his abdomen. Then he whispered, “We can easily correct the garment for the occasion.”

Not long after Solo finished up and memorized all of Basil’s measurements, he checked to see how the client was responding to his charms.

By the way Basil had dropped his dry humor and focused more on the path Solo’s hands took, the seamstress would have to say that he was responding very well.

Better than he expected in fact.

So well that Basil stayed afterward. They talked. Solo had one of the attendants bring them something to drink. Basil, it turned out, was quite easy to keep talking to and getting to know.

Very soon Basil’s back was against the floral wallpaper, his hands above his head, grasping weakly at nothing. His wrists strained against a makeshift binding out of Solo’s seemingly endless yards of freshwater pearls.

“Solo.” The barhand breathed. His head only grew dizzier against the dressmaker’s slow, lingering touches. Solo’s lips found his again with a rough tenderness. His hands roamed, dragging his pearls with him under Basil’s tunic, past his fly. The barhand turned hard in Solo’s grasp.

“Solo — ngh.”

There were no words to describe the seamstress’ calloused, dimpled touch.

“Mr. Jebeles, please relax,” Solo said, sneaking his tongue along the seam of Basil’s mouth. “Excitement breeds excitement. Keep squirming and calling on me and I’ll soil my nice linens for sure.”

“Gods. Slow down then! Perhaps we could both last longer if you unwrap those fucking pearls from around my cock—“

The bindings drifted up around his neck. “Oh? You mean these pearls? Shall we do something else with them?”

Basil locked onto the uneven, iridescent orbs. “Do you take those with you everywhere?”

Solo’s smirk was as soft as his question. “What do you wish to know?”

Basil suddenly felt very stupid for trying to initiate a conversation right then. He wished he could take it back and just quietly let the seamstress take him apart.

Solo’s smirk deepened as he read the meaning in Basil’s hesitation.

“Fine. We don’t need to go into any details until afterwards. Just try not to choke while I’m sucking you off. Simple enough?” Solo dropped to his knees without waiting for an answer, pulling his pearls taut around the client’s neck on his descent.

It wasn’t that strange for Floribeth, head of Vega Bridal, to be passing by Solo’s dressing room as he escorted his latest client out. It was, however, not like her to pause and study the poorly concealed familiarity between her son and the client who smelled like cheap booze and was clean shaven all but for those ungodly sideburns.

Solo saw the man out and joined his mother for a debriefing while they traveled to the main house. She noticed how easily he kept up with her and the slight bounce in his step as he walked.

Solo. Sascha.

Her children always needed reminding of what was what. When and how. That life didn’t give them joy without a little sacrifice. That no goodness came without consequence.

Floribeth knew that it was her duty to consistently remind them.

“Solo, honey,” the matriarch began, depriving her voice of as much edge as she could bear, “you know I don’t care one way or the other of the company you keep in your space. In fact, I encourage it. It’s good for business.”

Solo managed a tight smile. “So you’ve told me in the past, nanay.”

Beth chose to ignore how Solo reverted to the more formal way to address her. The way Sascha always did unless she was throwing a tantrum.

“Well, listen closely to me because I’ve never told you what I’m about to tell you now.”

She felt better once the spirit left Solo’s gait. She finally had his attention.

Eyes forward and heels clacking briskly against the sandy tiles, Floribeth began, “You know I don’t expect you to dedicate any energy to finding a suitable partner or more to marry. Unless that’s what you want. But since you’re at that age, I’ll just say a few things.”

Solo honestly had no idea where this was going. It was true that Floribeth was very diligent about avoiding the topic of a potential marriage in Solo’s future. Thanks to his condition and the value of his magic to the business, he had been excused from much of the pressure that came down on young de la Vegas to grow and expand the family as quickly as possible.

Floribeth carried on. “Your father would have never so much as caught my eye if it hadn’t been for those damnable charms. Their existence made me question everything we had…”

Solo did not expect to hear the slip, if ever so slight, of sadness in his mother’s tone. She was quick to recover from it.

“So one can assume that even with all of your charisma, in the end, it could never yield a proper marriage. Perhaps you could get someone to love you, but it wouldn’t be true love, Solo. And it wouldn’t be fair to the other person. You can never forget that. Eventually your charms will wear off and they will suffer in some way or another. You’re smart, Solomon. I’m sure you’ve figured all this out by now.”

Solo’s lip quivered.

“Yes, nanang.”

He managed to keep his voice from shaking.

“That makes a lot of sense now that you point it out. Thank you.”

He didn’t know how much longer he could keep it up.

***

Solo felt stupid and selfish for running to Sascha’s room and collapsing onto her lap. In seconds, he was sobbing, his make-up running, his outbursts incoherent and shrill.

“That’s basically what she told me, Sascha!”

Solo was beside himself. He couldn’t believe the state of anger he had allowed Floribeth to work him into.

“I’m incapable of being loved in any natural way? Because of…” He lifted his pearls up over his head and shook them in his fist. “Because of these?”

Then the seamstress made a wretched sound as he hurled the ancestral pearls at the wall.

“Well I didn’t ask for them! I just do what she wants of me all the time, but sure, Sasch – no one can love me!”

Solo could feel Sascha trying to call her magic to the surface and soothe him with it. But that wouldn’t do any good. This was a different kind of pain.

“Solo, shhh. It’s okay. It’s not true. You know it isn’t true.”

Solo barely heard her. He sobbed until he couldn’t anymore.

Later, when Solo had gotten it all out of his system and he was leaning against Sascha while she played in his hair, he whispered, “Sasch. Can I tell you something?”

He had opened the question in broken Esmeraldi. Sascha answered in the same way, signaling that whatever he said would be kept safe and just between them.

“My charms have always behaved in strange ways, yet I’m the only one who’s ever understood them. I can’t explain it, but Sascha, I know what I know. They only work to flex people’s attitude about the material world. People are people – they internalize those feelings and sometimes what they feel has the potential to carry them beyond the object. Still, whatever feeling they project out into the world came from a foundation of something inanimate. It’s all in the dress, the garment, the pearls, whatever they’re wearing or touching.” He paused to take a breath. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s impossible to generate a charm through my own... self.”

Sascha remained silent, but Solo could feel her thinking.

The seamstress added, “It makes me think about tatang–uh. I mean Honore.”

“So,” Sascha said finally, “all those times Beth claimed our father tricked her into feeling things for him that were never there... you’re saying that she was full of it?”

Solo frowned. “I don’t think she lied on purpose, but I could see her needing something to justify her own decisions to herself. The charms are an easy thing to blame.”

Sascha helped her brother off of her and into an upright position so she could look him in the eye.

“Solo, if you were to ever tell nanay this, she would just deny it.”

His gaze drifted elsewhere. “…. I know.”

Sascha gave his shoulders a gentle shake. “I don’t say that to be harsh, Solo.”

Solo reached up to pry her hands from her shoulders and cradled them between his own scarred palms.

“Not at all, Sasch. I’m... relieved that I came to this realization. It means that no matter what nanang says about me, I know it can never be true.” He paused. “I don’t get to talk through these sorts of things very often. But it’s the only way I’m able to make sense of all of it… everything that you and I have been through.”

Sascha smiled, which gave Solo hope more than anything else. “If you ever need to talk again, I’m here.”

She got off her bed and made her way across the room. She came back with Solo’s pearls and placed them around his neck.

“I needed to hear that,” Solo whispered, his voice full of emotion. “Thank you.”

Sascha glanced down and noticed that Solo hadn’t gone to reassure himself by touching the pearls.

She said, “You know, something that I’ve noticed over the years is this. Whenever our family comes to visit from Esmeralda or even as far as Catclaw, they like to dump their old, creepy heirlooms on us.”

Sascha looked up at her brother and pushed aside the bang that always managed to cascade over the left side of his face.

“Cousins and great aunts and uncles whose names we never knew and probably won’t ever remember walk through here with artifacts that look like they should belong in a museum. And who do they bring them to? Not Beth. It’s never Beth. They bring them to you.”

Before Solo knew it, his scarred fingers were walking along the lace in his dress, seeking out the ancient voices, beaded and condensed in layers against his torso.

“You know the placement of each pearl by heart and the ancestor it belonged to. Our family members come to you to feel reassured, Solo. They leave our past with you because they know it’s safe in your hands. Clients come to you to feel beautiful and cherished. So the next time Floribeth tries to make you feel low...”

Sascha brushed a tear that had escaped Solo’s dark eyes.

“I want you to remember whose face comes to mind when people think of Vega Bridal… and who it is our ancestors have always looked to.”

[flightofaqrow]

YOUR CHARACTER IN FIVE QUOTES!

( repost, do not reblog. ) Tell us your favorite quotes from your character. Give us an idea of who they are by five things they’ve said.

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Alright, buckle up, I’m stealing this meme and repurposing it for my own use. Probably more than five, and including some quotes from others about him, though I’m going to try to keep it in groupings, and also not meant to be exhaustive of qrow’s character, but rather, to point out some very poignant lines that have effected my portrayal and... some possibly in an unpopular way compared to what I’ve seen in the fandom? I think Qrow Branwen is more complex than fitting the broody broken boi trope would give credit for (though he at least fits it as an overall stereotype).

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1) I’m absolutely sure Qrow had a rough start and transition from the tribe to ‘civilized society’, coupled with typical teenage hormones and mood swings, but generally, Beacon was a good time, and he sees himself as a good huntsman, and (though we may joke about it sometimes) he absolutely does not have an active nor passive death wish.

Yeah, yeah, I know he has a song all about how he self depreciates and carries shame, but that’s a theme of his attitude, not backed up to be every single aspect of his life by actual canon. Quite the contrary. 

I don’t know where fndm gets the idea that he constantly lost his battles (especially to Raven) or was perpetually looked down on or stayed an angsty, broody teenager (who could never possibly have ever even breathed a single happy breath on his own without Summer??) all four years. As if school was hell and he never came into his own until STRQ was a graduated unit or something? If ever?

Leo tells Raven she and her brother are evenly matched. Raven herself - who takes pride in being stronger and more clever than others - describes them as a pair: “we were good.”

“you're talking to a member of the coolest team that graduated Beacon! ...we were pretty well known back in the day. ...hey, we looked good! and I have a number of inappropriate stories to back that up!”

“let me tell ya, these kids are way better than we were at their age. ...well, not better than me, specifically...”

“a professional huntsman like myself is expected to get results as soon as possible.”

The way Qrow talks about his past, as well as carrying a memento of team STRQ around with him, it’s very nostalgic for better times. The way he talks about his work, if not himself, can actually be to the point of being self-aggrandizing, instead of depreciating. He’s even able to admit that his dreaded semblance, Misfortune, “comes in handy in a fight.”

“lots of us thought you were just layin' low. eventually, we just came to accept that you were probably dead. but the stories about you, i based my weapon off of yours. i wanted to be as good as the Grimm Reaper.”

Qrow talks about himself as striving to be better. It seems he never really sees himself as reaching that standard, but it certainly implies he knows he’s not at the bottom - he had an ideal he wanted to reach and likely worked towards. Notice the use of “us” and “we” as well - he talks about himself as part of a group of larger huntsfolk circles. Who knows if this refers to students or licensed professionals or both, but this heavily, heavily implies that he was more than just a sad, outside loner, at least for a time; he chatted with others and traded stories about goings-on and missions and idols.

Somewhat related and leading into...

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2)  At least around this blog, Qrow does not have an inferiority complex because of Raven.

Does he have some internalized shame about being soft that he can’t quite shake? A few insecurities about being unwanted compared to her natural leadership and competence? Yes. Does he consciously view himself as lesser than her? No. 

Also... he’s not co-dependent on her. To a degree, for while? Yeah, there was probably an unhealthy reliance going on there. But Qrow and Raven establish themselves with their own identities at some point, they’d have to, to chose different paths so stubbornly. There’s a rift there, eventually, if not always having been at odds in some ways and comfort in others.

“Raven's got an interesting way of looking at the world that I don't particularly agree with. [The weak die, the strong live. Those are the rules.]”

“...they were killers and thieves.”

We are shown that the twins were raised with this weak/strong dichotomy. Raven bought into it, but Qrow explicitly separates himself from that belief. Shown again when he mocks Raven with, “because that was your rule, right?”

He believes in true family, he believes in protecting the weak, he believes in doing good, he believes in standing up for what’s right. He may not like being emotionally vulnerable, but he shows softness and kindness to others, and for as much as he likes his flourish when fighting, he also isn’t afraid to look an absolute fool either.

He is shown de-escalating conflict time and again, even if he also falls back into violent, defensive patterns at times, too. He resents Raven for the choices she made, and as far as I interpret, thinks she’s the lesser one for running away and abandoning her family and her mission. (Meanwhile, she thinks the same of him for turning his back on the tribe.)

He all but spits on the tribe’s way of life, is willing to attack them outright to get the Spring Maiden. Why would he judge himself by those standards any longer? No, he lives by his own code, a huntsman’s code, and even has some pride in that. It’s why he can call Clover out on it. It’s why he folds when Robyn holds him to it.

It’s why it hurts when he finds out what gave him more meaning, aligned more with his own heart, than the tribe’s dogma may not actually have any purpose at all...

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3) There’s so much to unpack here:

“No one wanted me... I was cursed... I gave my life to you because you gave me a place in this world... I thought I was finally doing some good... Meeting you... was the worst luck of my life...”

No one wanted him? I believe this means the tribe, maybe even Raven, maybe trying to make friends, but no one until Oz? Does this include STRQ? I have trouble reconciling that one with everything else we’re shown. I still maintain he was part of bigger circles, but we get confirmation that these were probably fleeting or superficial. He knew people and was known, but no one stuck around.  Also more confirmation of his values. Gave me a place sounds like so much more than refocusing to me. It’s not gave me a direction, not told me what to do, it’s took who i am and gave that person a place to thrive - despite the bad that comes with - to work towards something better. Just like he always wanted.

But then he backtracks. What is it he regrets?  We do know how he likes to go into dramatic hyperbole about these things when he’s upset. [eg. “we’re not family anymore.” “i shouldn’t have come. i shouldn’t have let any of you come.” “we can kill the man who put us here.” “gone. like everybody else.”] (I love that crwby lets their characters do it. we all say things we don’t mean in the moment, give voice to those intrusive thoughts.)

I’ve talked before about how I picture him having flashes of all the lives he could have had instead. Would he have gone back with Raven and at least still had her? Would he just have been a normal huntsman defending people from Grimm without the crushing extra knowledge? Might he have been able to have a relationship or family of his own had he not signed up for the vagabond spy life? Does he just resent losing Summer and Raven because of how things went down? We don’t know, and I think the point is that he probably doesn’t either, but the weight of sacrificing all those alternatives and putting so much faith in Ozpin, stacking so much of his life’s work and identity on being part of the inner circle, comes crashing down on him all at once. 

also quite fitting...

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4) "Nice place to raise a family. ...If you're ...into that sort of thing."

This is from his World of Remnant narration, talking about Patch, but it hits so damn hard. The softness and warmth in the first half of the statement, followed by the harsh need to qualify it in regards to his own outlook... We learn all we need to know about his opinion of the subject. 

We see the conflict right there - the possibility of such a thing brings a wholesome lilt to his voice, yet he implies that it’s not something he personally intends to pursue. Is that because he doesn’t want it or because he thinks he can’t or shouldn’t have it? I don’t think that’s clear, and he may not know either. 

At the very least, I fall into the camp of him believing he doesn’t want it. Combine that with the fact that he does pick up that spy life, which makes keeping his distance a necessity, and makes settling down near impossible, and then he definitely knows it’s not in the cards for him. 

So I think it ultimately falls somewhere between. Why would he make the commitment to being a lone spy if he had dreams of love and a family? ...But then why would he resent making the sacrifice of that possibility later if he didn’t? 

Having his nieces around probably softened him up to the idea, but he’d already made his decision by that point. He’s also solid and generally happy with his choices at the point it would most matter. He’s married to his job. He’s fulfilling his missions well, in well-suited ways for his strengths and flaws. He has his nieces around as a balm on any sort of biological clock. He has his purpose with Oz.  Until he doesn’t.

This is an incredibly long-winded way of restating that one of the headcanon hills I do stand to die on is: Gray-romantic Qrow.

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5) “some people are just born unlucky... my semblance isn't like most - it's not exactly something i... do.”

I am constantly confused by the amount of people trying to do character analysis around Misfortune and Qrow based on standard semblance lore, when he has yet again stated explicitly to the contrary. We all have carte blanche ya’ll. We can do whatever we want with this, because he’s already told us his semblance breaks the rules. 

My full headcanon for it is here and my opinion about the direction I hope it takes is here but tl;dr

Unless we learn otherwise, there are very, very few ways I believe Misfortune is a reflection of Qrow’s soul, if at all. This is from the first headcanon, but it’s worth restating, because it’s important to me, aaand fits the theme of pulling in some quotes from other characters:

Everyone likes to quote Ren and his description of someone’s personality being incorporated into a semblance. I don’t buy it for qrow. Here’s the FULL quote: “A common philosophy is that a warrior’s Semblance is a part of who they are. Some say your personality and character can define your Semblance while some claim that it is the other way around. Of course, there are still many who don’t see a connection at all.”

So unless we find out otherwise I will also die on the hill that qrow is an example of the middle part. Qrow’s personality/soul has nothing to do with why his semblance is what it is, but being forced to grow up and live with Misfortune has defined him tremendously.

OKAY, there are some smaller quick ones, but I’ll stick to my five points like I promised at least, and maybe do a lesser version some other time. :]

[setaripendragon]

I don’t know if anyone remembers my silly little Narnia fic where the Pevensie kids all get meet-cutes with their future partners, but I’ve been working on a silly little sequel ever since, and I finally finished it. So, here’s the Pevensies finally getting together (sort of) with their partners, from the partner’s PoV, because I figured t hey deserved to get a say.

Jane had crushes before. A couple of really childish ones that were more her playing at mimicking the concept before the war forced her to grow up too fast, and then a few more serious ones after her little jaunt to Neverland as puberty dug its nasty little claws in. Peter was different.

Her Peter, not Peter Pan, even though Peter Pevensie wasn’t really her Peter at all. He was her best friend, sure, and had been since the day he’d let her flatten a couple of bullies by herself before he leapt in to de-escalate the situation, but he wasn’t hers. Not like she wanted him to be. Because not only was he kind of ridiculously handsome, and just carried himself with the sort of confidence and poise that could steal anyone’s breath, but he was also just an incredibly good person.

Which, Jane had found, was kind of rare, in boys. And maybe part of that was because Peter – her Peter, not- whatever – was a lot more grown up than the other boys her age, but she didn’t think so. He could be verygrown up when he wanted to be – which was awe-inspiring in it’s own way – but even when he was being silly and playful and ridiculously childish, he was still good. He was never horrid, never unkind, not even in jest. He never looked down on her, never held back if she instigated a bit of rough-housing, but he also never pushed her too hard, or gloated when he won, or sulked when he lost.

Jane had felt strangely alone after she got back from Neverland. She’d gained a new appreciation for the joys and wonders of childhood, but she hadn’t lost her understanding of responsibility and duty. She could get along with kids and adults, but she always felt so out of place. Like she was hiding half of herself just to fit in. That, and, she’d never been particularly lady-like to begin with, and living with the Lost Boys even for a few dayshad ruined her for any sort of delicate dignity and grace, so she didn’t really fit in with the girls her own age.

Peter – not-really-her Peter – was the same as her. Too grown-up for his age, but with a strong sense of whimsy and fantasy that would have most grown-ups giving him the same odd looks Jane got. He told the best stories, and her temper never seemed to throw him, and if he was sometimes a bit overbearing, like it didn’t even occur to him that she might, possibly, have a different opinion or a better idea, he never acted like she didn’t have a right to call him out on it. When they argued – and they did, fairly regularly, even – it was never with intent to wound, just with passion and ideas spilling out too fast and too loud and too important to hold back.

Jane was pretty sure she loved him. Her mother had warned her to be careful, not to hang all her hopes on one boy when she was still so young, and Jane tried, she really did, but she honestly couldn’t imagine a better man than Peter Pevensie.

Not that there was anything happening. Because the problem was that she and Peter had been best friends for years. Peter didn’t have quite her problems with his peers, he got on well enough with the boys in their year, but it was clear – to Jane, at least – that he was also holding a little of himself back, when he was with them. Not with her. And that was good, that was great – it was amazing, quite frankly – but it was also a little bit painful.

Because, of course, they got teased. A lot. A boy and a girl spending that much time together? Everyonejust assumed they were ‘together’. And Jane got flustered, and that made her angry, and that made her even more flustered. She yelled at the other girls who wouldn’t stop asking about her ‘boooyfriend’, and she punched the boys who wouldn’t stop making lewd commentaries, and blushed ridiculously at any mention of the notion.

Peter was phased at all. ‘Hey, Pevensie, is that your girlfriend?’ was invariably answered with the sort of stern-disappointed stare that would put any parent or teacher to shameand a bland ‘Jane is my friend’. Which, of course, Jane really did appreciate, because being Peter’s friend was just about the best thing that had happened to her since Neverland. It just… would have been nice to see even a hintthat he might possibly have even once thought of her as more than that.

Still, she’d thought, they were still young, they had plenty of time. Only they didn’t. Because then Jane found out that Peter had enlisted. He was too young, technically, but Jane wasn’t surprised that that hadn’t stopped him. He was pretty big on duty – a bit too much, sometimes, but Jane really kind of loved him for that, too – and on fighting bigotry anywhere and everywhere he found it, so it really, really wasn’t a surprise.

It wasscary, though. A little bit terrifying, because he might not come back. He might go out there to fight, and he might dieinstead. That would tear her apart no matter what, but it alsomade her think that she might not have another chance to ever tell him, to ever knowif maybe…

And if there was one thing Neverland had taught Jane, it was that sometimes the amazing things didn’t happen unless you believedthey would. Sometimes you had to jump off the damn cliff and just have faith that you would fly, instead of fall. She kind of wished she had a little pixie dust right now, though, just to give her that extra boost.

Because Peter was standing in front of her, and sometime while Jane had been fretting, they’d managed to walk all the way to the god damned train station, and he was literally minutes away from leaving. He looked kind of dashing in the uniform, but he also looked – hilariously – uncomfortable. She would have expected him to look at home in it, with how he was about duty and fighting and all, but no. He kept tugging at the sleeves and shifting his shoulders and grimacing.

And she loved the stupid face he pulled when he really just wanted to stick his tongue out in disgust but won’t because he was trying to be polite. She loved his stupid face no matter what expression he was wearing, and she needed him to know thatbefore he left. Just in case.

So she grabbed him by the front of his uniform – uncaring that she was interrupting whatever his little sister was saying, because if she cared, then she wouldn’t be able to go through with it, and then she’d neverget around to it – and told him “Don’t die.” in as stern a tone as she could manage before she yanked him down as she went up on tiptoes to press her mouth against his. Thatshould get the message across.

It wasn’t, exactly, the world’s best kiss. It wasn’t exactly even a proper kiss at all. Jane just held there for a long moment, not moving, eyes scrunched shut, her lips against his, until her courage faltered, and she dropped back down onto her heels and opened her eyes to stare up at him belligerently.

Peter looked… stunned. Which was at least better than disgusted. Or pitying. His eyes were unfocused, gazing off into nothingness somewhere a little above her head, and his jaw was slightly slack, lips just a tiny bit parted. “Oh.” He said, like it was a prelude to something, only that was it, he didn’t say anything else, just kept staring, and blinking, and staring some more.

Someone – probably Lucy – tried to pretend a snicker was actually a cough, and the noise seemed to knock Peter out of his trance. He shook himself, frowning for a brief moment before his gaze refocused on Jane, and- and everything just sort of stopped. Jane’s breath turned syrupy in her lungs and the rest of the platform just faded into fuzzy nothingness, because Peter was looking at her like he was really seeingher, like he was looking at something deeper than her damned bones, and was awed by what he saw. “Oh.” He said again, this time with a whole heap more emphasis and an entire world of meaning behind it.

It sounded infinitely better than the last one, so Jane tried for a smile. Peter grinned back, and Jane felt like she could possibly just float away without any helpful pixie dust at all. He reached up, curled a hand around the side of her neck – his hand was so warm – and leaned in. Then he hesitated, tilted his head, tried again, and finally managed to fit their mouths together. It was awkward, but also really endearing, and Jane didn’t care either way, because Peter’s – herPeter, and he really was hers– lips were on hers and moving and sliding and kissing, and her entire world narrowed down to that one sensation.

“I promise I will do my very best not to die.” Peter told her as he drew back.

“You’d better.” Jane snapped, letting go of his collar to poke him in the chest. “Because if that was all I getfrom you, Pevensie, I will drag you back from the land of the dead just to kill you myself.” Peter laughed, unfazed, and kissed her again.

---

The war was over, and Jack was finally home. Or, well, sort of home. He wouldn’t really feel like he’d made it home until he was back in America, but the Kingsley estate was close enough, the site of enough childhood misadventures to count. It was close enough, and if he was being honest with himself, he was putting off his return to the States, just a little. He could have been through the mirror and back home in a trice, without having to worry about boats or planes or travel time, but instead he was lingering about in London.

He made up excuse after excuse as to why he was staying, but the truth was, he was still hoping that he might run into Susan again. It was stupid, he knewit was stupid, she was a beautiful, clever, gentlewoman, and there was absolutely no guarantee that she’d even rememberhim, even if he did manage to find her again.

Everyone he’d asked from the pub where they’d met knew her, knew ofher, but no one knew any more about her than Jack did. Not even her last name. It was depressing, and made Jack feel like a stalker, so he’d stopped asking about her. He did not leave London, though, stupid hopeless romantic that he was.

Dwelling on it was even more stupid, he thought as he made his way back from a grocery run for Sunday lunch tomorrow that Lynn had forced him to go on to get him out of her hair for a while. He was being a pest, he should just go home, but the Underlandian in him insisted that home was where the heart was, and right now, his heart still hadn’t managed to let go of Susan.

Jack stopped dead on the sidewalk, staring, because there was no way- He was seeing things because he’d been thinking about her too much. Susan, walking with a younger girl at her side and arguing good naturedly with one of the boys a little ahead of them. “Susan?!” Jack called out before he could help himself, and jogged across the street towards her.

She looked up, eyes going wide with shock on spotting him. She looked so painfully youngin that moment, almost frightened, that Jack slowed uncertainly before he’d even reached her. Still, he pulled his most charming grin on, the one that she’d never been fooled by, but had seemed amused by, nonetheless, and swept her a gallant bow like he would if he unexpectedly ran into Lilibeth. “Jack.” Susan greeted, and that was definitely not the open, pleased greeting he’d been hoping for. She sounded reserved, wary, and worst of all, uncertain.

Jack let his smile dim a bit, and told himself it was ridiculous to feel disappointed. It wasn’t as if they had anything more than one evening of interesting conversation. But it had been the most genuineconversation Jack had managed in years, it had been so Underlandian, like a breath of fresh air in amongst the choking smog of the war.

“Su? Who’s this?” One of the boys asked, frowning at him.

“This is Sergeant Jack Manchester.” Susan introduced. “Jack, these are my brothers and sister, Peter, Edmund, and Lucy.”

Jack offered his hand to Peter, then to Edmund, and then to Lucy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” He said sincerely, and then returned his attention to Susan. “I was hoping I’d run into you again, maybe get your permission to buy you a drink, this time?” He asked, and it came out a little tentative, because she still didn’t look nearly as at ease as she had when they’d first met.

“You mean you didn’task permission the first time?” Peter demanded, glowering.

Definitely a big brother, that one, Jack thought with a grin. “I asked forgiveness, instead.” He replied cheerfully.

“Oh, thatJack.” Lucy said wickedly. “I should have known when you bowed.” She added, nudging Susan, who was going ever so slightly pink. “Mum went ballisticwhen she heard Susan talking about you, you know.”

Jack blinked. Would parental disapproval account for how wary Susan seemed right now? Not that he could imagine whythey wouldn’t like him, unless they were some of the people who hated Americans. He could whip out his ‘noble’ English lineage if that would help. “I’m not that scruffy, am I?” He asked, playfully looking down at himself as if checking for dirt or mis-buttoned clothes, and then peeking back up at Susan, looking for a proper answer.

“Not at all.” Susan assured him, and therewas that bright, sharp lady he’d met last time. She was trying to hide her smile, and the appreciative look she cast him, but she wasn’t trying that hard, and it made Jack beam at her in hope that maybe he hadn’t blown this before there even wasa ‘this’.

“No, I think she was more upset about your age.” Edmund interjected, earning himself a truly fierce glare from Susan. He smiled back innocently.

Jack blinked again. “My… age?” He asked. “I’m only twenty-eight.” He pointed out, cautious and bewildered. Susan might be a little younger than him, but not by more than four or five years. He’d thought as much in the pub, particularly when she laughed, that she was maybeon the wrong side of twenty, but he doubted it. Only, he realised, looking at her now, that she stilllooked like she was maybe on the wrong side of twenty.

Susan wasn’t quite meeting his gaze, and she looked… unhappy. Lips pressed into a thin line, and expression carefully neutral in a way that Jack didn’t believe for an instant. “Ten years.” Edmund murmured thoughtfully. “That’s not quite as bad as Mum was afraid of, I think.”

Ten years. That meant that when Jack had met her, when Jack had teased and flirted and fallen just a little bit in love with her, Susan had been fifteen. It made him feel dizzy. After all, he’d started fights with the sort of creeps who would leer after his little sister that way, and Susan was the same age as Ruth.

That brought Jack’s train of thought to a screeching halt. Because trying to put Susan and Ruth next to each other and thinking of them as the same age just… didn’t seem to want to workin his mind. Susan had notbehaved like a fifteen year old in that pub. Not even a little bit. He wondered, giving Susan a slightly closer look, just how old she’d be on the other side of a mirror.

“At least I’m not as bad as Great-Uncle Tarrant.” Jack said, and then snorted, because, wow, that was an understatement, even if it was hard to gauge the exact age difference when some days he was actually younger than Great-Aunt Alice.

“How bad is Great-Uncle Tarrant?” Lucy asked curiously.

It was a bit of a struggle to do the maths. Underland didn’t really agreewith things like maths. “I’m pretty sure that, chronologically, Great-Aunt Alice is more than twenty years younger than him.” Jack answered, because that was as exact as he could get, and then he brightened as an absolutely brilliant idea occurred to him. “If you wanted, you could come meet them? We’re doing Sunday roast tomorrow, and the whole family’ll be there.” He offered to Susan, who looked just as shocked as she had when he’d called out to her earlier.

“You want me to meet your family?” Susan asked cautiously.

Jack nodded, smiling warmly. “I think they’d love you.” He told her, entirely honestly, and didn’t add the follow up that was sitting on the tip of his tongue; I think I could love you, my gentle queen.

“That sounds like a great idea.” Peter said, which startled Jack a little, since Peter didn’t seem to like him very much. The clap on the shoulder Peter then gave him was a little too rough to be called friendly. “We’ll be there.”

Ah, Jack thought, amused. Not letting his sister go off with a strange man into foreign territory alone, that’swhat that was about. “The more the merrier.” Jack assured him, and only realised just how right he’d been to say it when Peter wasn’t the only one who relaxed. Besides, it was true. If he was bringing Susan, then a good portion of the guest list from Underland probably shouldn’t come, and that meant that Lynn was going to make far too much food for just the ordinary human-like people. Three more mouths to feed would barely make a dent.

He gave them his address, promised them again that everyone would be delighted to meet them, bowed again to Susan and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand in farewell, and jogged off home with a spring in his step that hadn’t been there before.

---

Tavan was finding it increasingly hard to sit still. Lynn reached across the table and put her hand over his, and it was only then that he realised he’d been fiddling with his cuff to the point of fraying it. Sheepishly, he tucked his hands out of sight under the table, and Lynn rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t know why you’re fretting so, Tavan. Edmund’s already proven he’s not going to baulk at a bit of Underlandish magic.” She pointed out, going back to doing the household accounts.

Edmund had done a lot more than that, Tavan thought. Edmund had proven to be brilliantly sharp-witted, curious, and adaptable. Tavan didn’t think he’d ever once heard the phrase ‘but that’s not how that works’ or any of the derivatives from him, and he’d thought up as many of the more shocking things about Underland that he could, just to make sure. Edmund had figured him out in a hot second, of course, because Edmund was brilliant, but he hadn’t been upset. He just looked sneakily amused in that way he had, and asked drolly if he’d passed the test.

Tavan had kissed him.

It was only after, when Edmund had crawled into his lap and quite thoroughly marked up his neck, and rumpled his shirt, that Tavan remembered that he was in Upland, and the belated panic hit. Edmund had taken one look at his poleaxed expression, and said, in a fond murmur; “You’re fine. I don’t think bigotry is the natural order of things, either.”

Tavan had beamed at him. “Yeah, ye passed the test.”

So now, Edmund had an invitation to Underland. Which would be fine, it would be great. Except. Except Tavan had thought he’d be taking Edmund to see Iplam, to see the flower fields and show him Tavan’s study. Maybe to meet Grandma. And sure, Grandma was scary, but she was still family. He hadn’t counted on Her Majesty The White Queen insisting, all wide-eyed innocence, that Edmund “simply mustcome to Marmoreal and meet the wholefamily.”

Which meant that Edmund was going to be subject to meeting the Queen of Underland on his very first trip there. And, yes, Queen Lilibeth was like an aunt to Tavan, but that didn’t change the fact that she was the very literal heart and soul of the land, and that was intimidating no matter how sweet and gentle she, of course, was.

The doorbell rang, and Tavan jumped to his feet, nearly knocking the chair over in his haste, and rushed to get the door. Edmund was, as always, a lovely sight, and his shy, sly little smile as he stepped over the threshold was as charming as ever. He was unfailingly polite to Lynn, and if Tavan didn’t know him, he would never have been able to tell that Edmund was actually quite eager to get on with things, he was so cordial and patient.

Still, he did know better. Quite a lot better, actually, so he gave his cousin an apologetic grin and said; “So sorry tae rush off, Lynn, but we’ve an appointment we just cannae be late for.” while dragging Edmund not too subtly towards the stairs. Edmund laughed, and Lynn waved them off with a roll of her eyes, calling after them that Lilibeth would never be so crass as to be impatient.

Which was true, but still, her disappointment if you caused her to considersomething as uncharitable as impatience could be crushing. “Lilibeth?” Edmund questioned as they made for the spare room.

“Ah…” Tavan grimaced. “The White Queen.”

Edmund flinched perceptibly, and Tavan faltered a little, concerned. “Sorry. Bad memories. Why is she the WhiteQueen?” He asked cautiously.

“Tha’d be because she’s the moral center o’ Underland. White for purity, open-mindedness, compassion.” Tavan replied thoughtfully, and then looked at Edmund again, checking on him, because his reaction had been unusual, to say the least.

Edmund was nodding, though, expression the same intense curiosity he always got about all things Underlandish. “Some cultures associate white with death and winter.” He pointed out.

Tavan laughed a little. “Well, don’t tell Lily that. Not that the Queen can be anything but hospitable tae any o’ the seasons, but I think she might do something un-queen-like if you suggested she was supposed tae represent winter. She loves her roses far too much for that.”

Edmund relaxed properly at that, and just in time, too, because they’d reached the mirror, and Tavan paused to take a bracing breath before stepping through. Lilibeth, of course, hadn’t listened to a single word of Tavan’s request for a modicum of privacy, and had invited what looked like half the court to come meet Tavan Hightopp’s beloved.

Exasperated, but not surprised, Tavan turned back and stuck his head and one arm through the mirror, holding out a hand in invitation. Edmund grinned as he took Tavan’s hand and allowed him to pull him gently through the mirror. But as he passed through the rippling surface, something strange happened. Edmund Pevensie stepped into the mirror, but the man who stepped out on the other side into the White Queen’s court was no London school boy.

Edmund was almost as tall as Tavan, now, with a touch of dark stubble over his jaw and a silver circlet gleaming in his dark hair. His clothes, too, were different. They looked like they belonged here, a fine tunic with a crest in the shape of a lion on his breast, and leather breeches tucked into high boots, and a sword on his hip that his other hand fell to perfectly naturally.

Tavan quite lost his breath at the sight of him.

Edmund’s breath caught a beat later, and he looked down at himself, even as his free hand left his sword to touch cautiously at the circlet – the crown, it was definitely a crown– on his head, and then ghost down over the corner of his jaw. And then he smiled, so beatifically that Tavan’s breath caught all over again, and he actually felt a little weak-kneed when Edmund turned that smile on him and offered him his arm. He took it, of course, and subtly guided Edmund over to where Lilibeth was rising to her feet. The crowd of familiar faces parted before them like they never would have if it had just been Tavan. Or if it had been Tavan and Edmund as he’d looked on the other side of the looking glass.

Lilibeth rose to the occasion magnificently, despite the confusion, and was all smiles as she greeted Edmund. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of a properintroduction.” She lilted curiously.

“Your Majesty.” Edmund greeted, inclining his head respectfully, but notably notbowing. “It seems I am, once again, King Edmund the Just, of Narnia.”

---

Benji loved it when Lucy came to stay at Pemberley. Somehow, she lit the place up, and made everything that was familiar to him new and exciting again. She ran barefoot through the woods and taunted him into going skinny-dipping in the lake with her and taught him new dances under the watchful gazes of his ancestor’s portraits in the gallery.

She never stayed for long. That wasn’t her way, and Benji didn’t mind. Sometimes, he went with her when she left, whether that was travelling to far-flung places to meet new people and learn new languages, or to meetings and charities and projects closer to home, watching her throw her considerable will against any and all problems she came across, but sometimes he didn’t. And they both liked it like that.

That, Benji thought, was the thing he loved best about Lucy. Loving her was never a trap, never a cage, never a duty. She was a wild thing and she would not be tamed, and in turn, never once tried to tame him, and never asked for more than he could give.

He got a little caught up in it, caught up in herand her way of life, riding the high of being known, so clearly and effortlessly, by someone who shared his feelings and values. Which is why it came as a complete shock to him when, on the first evening of Lucy’s third stay at Pemberley, when his father leaned forwards a little and said; “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Benji, what the hold up is.”

“With what?” Benji asked.

“The engagement, of course!” Father replied, and reality crashed back onto Benji with a feeling like being submerged in ice-water. At his elbow, Lucy went suddenly still. An alarming thing, given she was usually always so full of movement.

“What engagement?” Benji asked, half genuinely bewildered, although he had a creeping sense that his family had gotten the wrong idea, because they never had understood when he tried to explain what it was about the girls he stepped out with that put him off so badly every time, and half stalling for time.

“Benji, darling, please.” Mother said, fondly exasperated. “You haven’t exactly been subtle.”

“Don’t mistake us, we’re very happy you’ve found someone!” Father added. “But your mother is right, you’ve been very obvious about how much you like Miss Pevensie.” His lips pursed with something that was half way between amusement and disapproval. “A little tooobvious, sometimes. You’d better hurry up and make an honest woman out of her, or people will begin to gossip.”

“I beg your pardon,” Lucy said, before Benji could shake the feeling of a noose tightening around his neck and find the breath to speak for himself, “but I’m afraid you’ve all got rather the wrong idea.” She said it in her High Society Voice, which was a sure sign she was sharpening her metaphorical claws. “I’ve no intent to marry. At all. Ever.”

“You’re young yet, my dear.” Mother said, looking a little concerned. “I know marriage can seem intimidating. Lord knows you and Benji are very alike in that regard, but it’s a wonderful thing to find the right person to support you through life.” She shared a loving look with Father. “You shouldn’t let something like that, with someone who understands you, pass you by just because you’re nervous.”

Lucy closed her eyes for a moment. Benji suspected she was praying for patience. “I’m not letting anything pass me by.” She said sharply, a flash of fire in her eyes as she opened them again, the smile on her lips a challenge more than any sort of expression of happiness. “I appreciate having Benji in my life very much.”

Father chuckled, while Mother went a little pink at the rather salacious tone Lucy said the last two words in. Joan snorted, derisive, drawing everyone’s attention. It was a very unkind sound, and Benji startled, because he’d thought Joan and Lucy got on. They were of a similar age, and a similar temperament, and had had many a passionate argument about one subject or another, sparring with ideas in a way that Benji was entirely unsuited for. “He’s not the only person you’ve been appreciating, though, is he?” She asked pointedly.

The whole table went still. Benji’s other two sisters turned to stare at Lucy, suddenly resembling nothing so much as hyenas staring down prey. But Lucy couldn’t be preyif she tried, and met the sudden threatening stares with a complete lack of shame. In fact, her chin kicked up a little in stubborn, fierce pride. Benji almost smiled to see it, but the flicker of admiration was quickly dampened by the thick tension in the air. “Joan?” He asked carefully. “What’s this about?”

“You didn’t tell him?” She asked of Lucy. “You swore to me you would.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows, then smiled. “Benji?” She called, and Benji hummed an acknowledgement, wary of opening his mouth again lest he be talked over. Again. “Joan walked in on me kissing Viscount Cranbrook’s son at that wedding last weekend.”

Benji blinked, startled by that reminder and a little uncomfortable at having such things discussed at the dinner table, with all his family sitting nearby. Then, he began to realise why Joan was looking so very upset. Why everyonewas looking so very upset, actually. “Yes?” He said, deliberately playing obtuse. “You already told me about that.” He paused to smile faintly. “In vivid detail.”

Joan dropped her fork. Father choked on his wine.

“Benjamin Percival Fitzwilliam Darcy!” Mother snapped, putting her own wine glass down with a very inelegant thump. “Such things are notappropriate dinner conversation!”

Benji felt veryindignant about being scolded for something that wasn’t his fault. At all. “Why am Igetting scolded? Joanie’s the one who brought it up!” He paused, feeling a little guilty, because Joan had been trying to be a good sister, to protect him, even if she had been making assumptions., and it felt a little unfair to throw her under the bus after that. So before Mother could start scolding again, he turned to his sister. “Thanks for worrying about me, though, but it really is fine. Lucy did tell me what she was about. She always does.”

There was another one of those stunned silences. Benji was really getting tired of them, and this time he couldn’t even tell what had prompted it. “You mean she’s done this before?” Joan demanded, sounding more bewildered than scandalised, which at least cleared that up.

“Yes?” Benji offered, looking around the table. Everyone else looked significantly more scandalised, and a bit insulted, whether that was on his behalf or the family’s, he couldn’t tell, and it made him feel a stranger in his own home all of a sudden. “Why are you all so damn surprised?” He blurted out. “I told youhow trapped it all makes me feel, with girls who are all thinking of marriageand one and onlyand forever. I can’t even tell what I my favourite foodis going to be on any given day, never mind who my favourite personis going to end up being next year, or the year after that!”

Joan was the only one who had the decency to look a little shame-faced. The others just looked vaguely appalled.

Except Lucy, of course. Who washis favourite person, and might even stay that way for the rest of his life. But still, the idea of trapping her in that role, of binding her to him and him to her in any way more than a simple question asked every day they happened to be together – ‘do you want?’ with no demand upon the answer being yes – was abhorrent.

Lucy just giggled, and reached out to lace their fingers together. “Why not everyperson?” She suggested cheerfully.

“I haven’t met every person.” Benji pointed out as solemnly as he was able, with his lips persistently trying to twitch up into a smile.

“Yet.” Lucy countered brightly. “And on that subject!” She declared enthusiastically, banishing the weight of the previous conversation and his family’s judgement as easily as a spring breeze scattering morning mists. “I was thinking about going to help the relief efforts in Morocco, and I thought you might like to come this time?”

[mamabearcatfanfics]

A little Christmas Elf told me there was a delay on @lavendertwilight89‘s IYBC Secret Santa gift, so I decided to write just a little something. She already has the whole fic, but I’ll be releasing it here on tumblr in two parts. Just a little something soft and sweet, partially inspired by something that happened between myself and my husband when we were only just together and still working each other out, and also by one of her chosen prompts. So, without further ado, here’s Part One of Song and Dance Man.

Or read the entire story on AO3

🎵

Inuyasha walked out of his small kitchen, carrying a large mug of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and a plate of chocolate chip cookies on a tray. He put it down on the coffee table in front of his girlfriend, stooping to drop a kiss on the top of her head, then snorted as she tried to nudge him aside so she could see the show she was currently watching. He didn’t know which one it was – they all seemed to blend into one another, and he did his best to block out the singing. Why was there always singing?

“Another one?” he teased, blocking her view even more. “You mean you haven’t watched every single musical on Netflix already? What’s this one called?”

“Singing in the Rain”, Kagome said testily. “And it doesn’t matter how many times I watch them, they make me feel better”, she said, trying to lean sideways. “C’mon, Inuyasha, move!”

Finally relenting at the pouting face looking up at him, he moved out of the way.

“Alright little storm cloud, you win.”

Kagome huffed at him, and he chuckled at her as he walked over to his desk, and picked up his headphones, grateful that the swelling crescendo of violins would soon be drowned out by the much more soothing sounds of screaming and gunfire from his paused game. He glanced back over to the TV as he sat down in front of his monitor.

“That guy looks constipated”, he commented. “How do you even watch this tripe?”

Kagome turned to glare at him over the back of the sofa, a cushion hugged to her stomach to help keep the hot water bottle in place.

“This is not tripe, and Don isn’t constipated!” she hissed. “He’s feeling! He’s in love with Kathy, but he has to act like he’s in love with Lina on screen”.

“That doesn’t mean he needs to torture me by singing and dancing about it”, Inuyasha muttered. “How are you meant to take any of this seriously, when they suddenly just burst into song about their innermost feelings? It’s utterly ridiculous. I don’t get how you can love musicals so much.”

“Is that what you really think?” she said quietly, the tone of her voice sounding brittle in comparison to the cheerful music playing in the background.

Inuyasha lowered his headphones, ears suddenly twitching with trepidation. He wasn’t always the best at reading a room, but he could definitely feel the tension in this one.

Their relationship was only new, but already Kagome seemed like a permanent fixture in his life. She was bubbly and kind, her tiny frame usually draped in the brightest coloured clothing she could find, and she always seemed to be singing or laughing. She reminded him sometimes of a sweet little canary, his own bright eyed and inquisitive songbird, with her happy go lucky mentality and readiness to try new things. She was everything he wasn’t.

They’d only met by chance, both of them stuck waiting in the Emergency Room at the local hospital, him waiting for his friend Miroku to get patched up after coming off his bike, and her waiting to get her wrist x-rayed after an accident with a set at the theatre where she worked. They’d chatted, or rather Kagome had, and he’d watched her, somehow mesmerised by this tiny human that was unruffled by his obviously hanyou features.

When Sango had appeared to pick up her bruised and scraped boyfriend, he’d decided to stay with Kagome, not liking the idea of leaving her there to wait all alone. Eventually she’d been x-rayed, poked and prodded, with Inuyasha tagging along at her request, finally triumphantly emerging from the hospital with her wrist strapped for a sprain. By then, the idea of her travelling home alone on public transport in the dark was abhorrent to him, so he’d driven her home. Somehow, she’d managed to get his number from him, and added herself into the paltry number of contacts on his phone.

When she’d texted a few days later to invite him out for a drink to say thank you, to his own surprise he’d eagerly accepted, and before he’d known it, they were inseparable. Early morning texts and late night phone conversations progressed to in person talks and late night kisses, until one night instead of accepting his reluctant good night, she’d launched herself at him and asked him to stay and take her to bed.

He’d hardly been able to look Kagome’s flatmate Shiori in the eye the next morning at breakfast, because they hadn’t exactly been discreet with the noise levels, with Kagome delighted to discover that youkai stamina extended to the bedroom. Shiori had teasingly remarked that his second task as Kagome’s boyfriend should be to buy her flatmate some decent earplugs. Kagome had found it hilarious, him, not so much.

Kagome now had two drawers in his dresser for clothes, a makeup bag and toothbrush in his bathroom, and an extra hook on the back of his door for her jacket. She hardly ever slept at her apartment now, only going back to do washing and visit Shiori.

It still shook him that Kagome actually cared for him, showed an interest in what he did. And the sex. They were starting to ease off a little now, but for the first few weeks, they were at it like rabbits, christening every room in his apartment, nearly every flat surface, and even some of the vertical ones. The sex was fucking amazing; she was so passionate, so eager, so utterly beautiful. It was like going from starvation rations to an all you could eat buffet, and he took full advantage of their mutual eagerness to explore each other’s bodies. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her.

But their relationship wasn’t just built just on that. They laughed with each other, teased each other, helped each other. He hardly knew the person he was becoming since he’d met Kagome, but the change was…good.

Even though it was early in the relationship, she’d already told him she loved him. At three months, this was the longest time he’d ever been with anyone and even though he was pretty sure he loved her too, he wasn’t quite comfortable saying that to her out loud yet. She understood. At least he’d done his best to try and show her how he felt, and she seemed happy with that. Miroku and Sango loved her too, and she’d slotted into their lives like she’d always been there. He’d never felt so happy.

But right now, the look she was giving him was not a happy one. She seemed almost on the verge of tears. Kagome had warned him early on that she did get emotional just before her period and that some months were worse than others. He’d felt a little embarrassed by her candid remark, never having been in a relationship long enough for that kind of information to be shared. But so far everything had been okay.

Today hadn’t been great though. She had been out of sorts ever since she’d woken up this morning, feeling exhausted, achy and irritable, and he’d done his best to not take anything she said to heart and try and do little things to comfort her, knowing it wasn’t really her talking but her hormones. She’d smelt a little different, even though she wasn’t bleeding yet, but nothing concerning.

But right now, she was beginning to worry him – her heart rate was speeding up and her scent hinted at extreme agitation, similar to a fight or flight response. This was new. Should he remind her that she’d told him she got emotional just before her period and that she needed to calm down? Some deep seated sense of self-preservation made him realise that wasn’t a good idea.  

“Kagome”, he said uncertainly, trying to work out what the safest approach was, not wanting to upset her even more. “Are you okay?”

“What if we’ve been fooling ourselves Inuyasha.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, look at us,” she said, gesturing from Inuyasha’s faded Soundgarden t-shirt and ripped black jeans to her heart patterned leggings and hot pink t-shirt which proudly proclaimed she was Fuelled by Theatre and Coffee. “We couldn’t be more different.”

“But”, spluttered Inuyasha, his heart suddenly beating faster at the dangerous direction the conversation was taking. “Different is good! Yes, we like different things, but that shouldn’t matter!” Kagome’s bottom lip quivered.

“It might not matter tomorrow, or next week, or the week after that, but sooner or later, it would. That’s what you said last night.” Her breathing was picking up now, ragged gasps with a scent of tears.

“What?!”

“You said it’s important to find someone who shares your goals and your interests and fits into your life.”

“Kagome, I was talking about my asshole brother, and how he and Kagura aren’t on the same page about having kids! I wasn’t talking about us!”

“You just said musicals are utterly ridiculous”, she burst out, standing suddenly and letting the cushion and hot water bottle fall to the floor with a sad flop. “And just in case you’ve forgotten Inuyasha, I am a stage manager for a theatre company. Which means by default that you think I’m ridiculous.” A fat tear rolled down her cheek, quickly followed by another, and her distress was the only thing stopping him from snarling that the only thing ridiculous was this conversation. This wasn’t like her at all, and he needed to keep calm.

“Hey, hey, c’mon, I never meant that”, said Inuyasha softly as he stood, trying his best to de-escalate the situation. “I know your job is important to you, and just how much you love it.” Kagome continued on as if she hadn’t heard him, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“You’ve never once shown an interest in anything that I’ve done at work. Never come to any of the shows I’ve been involved in”, she sniffed, and Inuyasha’s heart sank, made heavy with sudden guilt.

That was true. Kagome had listened to him rant about his work as a software test analyst, had shown interest in the games he played when he relaxed, had even made a WOW character and tried going on a raid with him when it was clearly not her thing. But she’d thrown herself into it, just like everything else she did, laughing at herself when she made mistakes, just happy to spend time with him sharing something he loved. He hadn’t done anything like that for her, hadn’t even noticed. That needed to change.

Kagome began gathering her things in a haphazard fashion, stuffing them in her backpack.

“Baby, don’t”, he said, trying to reach out to hug her. “Don’t leave when you’re upset. I promise we’re going to be better – I’m going to get better. I’m still learning how to be good at this. Please?”

She dodged his outstretched arms. “Don’t baby me”, she hissed, her tone venomous. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re even trying to get to know me. Do you even care at all? Or are you just in this for the sex?”

Inuyasha looked stricken. “Kagome…” His arms dropped to his sides.

Her eyes widened at his broken expression, her hands shaking as she reached tentatively towards him, then pulled herself back.

“I... I can’t do this right now”, she sobbed, pushing herself away. “I’m going home!”

And then the door slammed, and Inuyasha was left standing in the middle of his apartment, the untouched plate of cookies, cooling hot chocolate and water bottle the only evidence that Kagome had been there.

A man danced happily on his TV in the background, splashing around in rain puddles like it was the best thing ever. He plonked himself down on his sofa and picked up the cushion that Kagome had been hugging only moments before, burying his nose in it.

“What the fuck?” he whispered into the pillow. “What the actual fuck?!”

He didn’t know how serious this was, but it felt bad. She’d only been gone for seconds and already his life felt emptier. He felt sick, like he was going to vomit. He needed to fix it and fast. Because there was no way that he was going to lose Kagome over something like this.

Part Two

[flightfoot]

Miraculous Ladybug and Conflict Resolution, especially when “what happened” is in doubt

So in Miraculous Ladybug, the episodes often showcase a particular method of conflict resolution and ways to defend yourself and others from attack, namely by trying to defuse troubling situations through talking things out, trying to get to the bottom of things but not jumping to conclusions, and de-escalating, which is usually what her canonical defenders like Adrien, Alya, and her parents, will do. They focus generally on defending and protecting Marinette from bad outcomes as well as they reasonably can, without being aggressive towards the people who’re going after her. 

In Rogercop, for instance, Chloe starts accusing people of stealing, and the mayor demands Marinette be searched. Something Tom’s having none of:

Scene: College. Mr. Dupain and the Mayor have a discussion.

Tom: Don’t even think about getting near my daughter or her bag!

Mr. Bourgeois: Do you know who I am?

Miss Bustier: Please, gentlemen! This is a school here! Think of the children! Surely the bracelet is around here someplace.

Marinette herself tends to favor a more aggressive approach, defending herself but also lashing out a bit:

Marinette: See, Chloé? I tripped on the bag, but Sabrina held the bracelet, Nathaniel sketched it, we are all suspects!

Nathaniel: Hey! What's that supposed to mean? I didn't swipe her bracelet!

Marinette: And neither did I! But when it comes down to it, Chloé can accuse anyone and everyone!

Chloé: Fine! Since you're a suspect, you'll have no problem letting me search your bag!

Marinette: Okay! As long as you also search everyone else's too!

Nathaniel: No one's searching my bag!

Tom: Marinette, let the adults handle this.

Marinette: Papa, she called me a thief! I'm just defending myself.

Tom: You're also accusing all of your friends like Chloé's doing to you!

Marinette makes some good points here about how she’s not the only suspect, but the way she does it makes it sound less like she’s just defending herself, and more like she’s dragging everyone else into this as well in order to provide some cover for herself.

Notice with Tom especially that he doesn’t actually interfere in the debate among the kids until Marinette pseudo-volunteers everyone else to have their bags searched, as well as her own. I don’t think that was her intent, but like Tom said, it DOES kinda sound like Marinette’s accusing her friends - something that could get her in trouble with them later if this escalates, since she’s putting them in the firing line of something that they weren’t originally the target of, even if it’s not fair that SHE’S in the firing line either.

Marinette has a strong sense of justice and fairness, and hates when someone - herself or someone else - is singled out when other people have done the same thing, and generally wants to be able to respond in turn, “turnabout’s fair play” and all.

You see Marinette’s defenders taking this sort of approach in Despair Bear as well, with concentrating on not jumping to conclusions or firing back or escalating a conflict when Marinette’s accused, but instead just focusing on defending Marinette herself, and discouraging going after her attacker directly.

Chloé: I saw a student leaving the classroom right before the alarm went off. It must have been her.

Mr. Damocles Really? Who was it?

Chloé: Let's see if she'll come clean. What do you say, Marinette Dupain-Cheng? (the students gasp in shock)

Mr. Damocles: Marinette, do you have something to tell the firefighter captain?

Adrien: Urgh, wait. Excuse me, sir! (Marinette pants) It couldn't possibly be Marinette. Why would she disrupt her own father's cooking class?

Alya: And I know for a fact that Marinette didn't even have her phone on her when she went out of the classroom.

Adrien and Alya just focused on defending Marinette herself, rather than going after the integrity of her attacker, which would’ve escalated the conflict quite a bit. They tried to keep it contained, and only interfered where they had to in order to protect their friend.

But Marinette has that strong sense of justice and fairness and DOES want to respond in kind, since she saw CHLOE on her phone before this, and if Chloe can make these accusations, so can she.

Marinette: I'm not gonna let her get away with this. I've gotta tell...

Adrien: Hang on, Marinette. We don't know for sure it was her. (He whispered to her ear)

Alya: He's right. Let's not stoop to her level.

(Chloé snickers.)

Adrien and Alya have a point. Chloe’s a jerk and is making this stuff up pointing the finger at Marinette, but she’d do that even if she WASN’T responsible just because she feels like bullying Marinette, and while it’s true that pulling the fire alarm is the kind of thing she would do, just because she WOULD do this, doesn’t mean she actually DID. Also, without solid proof accusing her is likely to go nowhere at best, and put a bigger target on Marinette’s back at worst. Alya herself experienced what happens when Chloe has half a chance to go after you, with a simple case of Alya photographing Chloe’s open locker, being escalated from something which would’ve gotten her an hour of detention at worst, to being suspended for a week because Chloe threatened the principal with sending the mayor after him.

Alya: I didn't break into her locker! It was open!

Mr. Damocles: And nothing was stolen?

Chloé: Only my very soul! My locker is my secret garden! He who enters uninvited burglarizes my inner being and steals my life force! (cries)

Mr. Damocles: Right. An hour of detention for you, Alya.

Chloé: Are my ears failing me? Did I hear you're giving one miserable hour of detention to a... a heinous criminal? Sabrina!

Sabrina: The school rules clearly state that any student guilty of theft should be suspended for one full week.

Mr. Damocles: Yes, but she's hardly stole anything.

Chloé: I'm not sure that my father would share your point of view. (prepares to call her father)

Mr. Damocles: Uhhh, well, now, Chloé, let's not bother your father, I mean, the honorable Mayor with a minor locker situation...

(Chloé starts calling her father.)

Mr. Damocles: Ehhh... what I mean is, you're suspended for a week, Alya.

Alya: What?! That is so unfair! I am so gonna protest this on the school blog!

Mr. Damocles: (looks at Chloé who's smugly shaking her phone, sighs) The school blog is hereby suspended as well.

Anyway, back to Despair Bear; when Chloe does outright admit, even brag to Adrien about what she did and with getting away scot-free, THEN he interferes, privately, now that he knows for sure what she did.

Chloé: (To Rose) Can't you see I'm trying to relax here? Go sweep somewhere else, Cinderella. (Rose whimpers and walks away and Adrien sees that Chloé made Rose cry while he was wiping the windows with a rag.)

(Adrien grunts and scolds Chloé by walking to her.)

Chloé: Adrikins!

(Marinette stares from a distance and grunts.)

Chloé: Of course it was me who called the fire department. So what?

Adrien: And it doesn't bother you that everyone's being punished because of you?

Chloé: No. Why would it? They all seem to enjoy getting dirty making cookies. How's it any different than getting dirty, cleaning floors? They should be thanking me if anything.

Adrien: (sighs) Chloé. How long have you and I been friends?

Chloé: Since we were adorable little tots, Adrikins. (Pouts)

Adrien: Well, I'm sorry Chloé, but I can't be friends with someone who treats other people like this. You've gotta be nice to people.

Chloé: N-nice?

Adrien: Yes, nice. It's not that hard.

Once he’s certain of the situation, knows that she doesn’t feel guilty at all and there doesn’t appear to be any deeper reason why she’s doing this, he puts his foot down and tries to get her to change her behavior as best he can - but not by attacking her directly, but by trying to give her a reason to change. And not by like, humiliating her or exposing her or whatever, but giving her a reason which minimizes the possibility of her lashing out and hurting others to try and “get back” at anyone.

You see this sort of thing in “Ladybug” as well. Again, Alya and Adrien concentrate on defending Marinette from accusations, while Marinette goes on the attack - for seemingly no reason for the people who don’t already KNOW that Lila’s a malicious liar who will deliberately try to hurt people, both physically and socially - something which only Adrien and Marinette have experienced with her so far.

Miss Bustier: Today, someone placed an anonymous note in my mailbox, claiming that you'd stolen the exam answers, and it looks like the anonymous person was right!

(Everyone gasps)

Marinette: But that's not true! Someone must've planted that piece of paper in my bag!

Miss Bustier: But you've answered all of the questions correctly.

Marinette: I did? Yes, but because I've studied.

Alya: Miss Bustier, Marinette always scores high on your tests.

Lila: This is so terribly unlike you, Marinette. You're usually so well-behaved.

Marinette: Of course! You put the answers in my bag! You're the "anonymous informer"!

Lila: (gasps) I'm coming to your defense and you're accusing me?!

Miss Bustier: You can't accuse someone without proof, Marinette.

Marinette: But I'm sure it's her! She stole the test answers!

Miss Bustier: That's impossible, Marinette. Lila got the worst grade in the class.

Marinette: Then... she flunked the exam on purpose!

Adrien: Excuse me, Miss Bustier, but everyone here knows it isn't like Marinette to cheat.

Alya: He's right!

Rose: It doesn't make sense!

Marinette’s sure it’s Lila because she’s the sort of person who would do this, but she and Adrien are the only people who’ve had the experience with Lila to KNOW that, and even then, she DOESN’T have any sort of evidence that Lila WAS responsible. The evidence incriminating herself may be planted, but it’s not like everyone else knows that.

Later on, after Scarletmoth’s failed akumatizations, Marinette talks with Alya about what happened and what to do next.

Alya: (on phone) So let's recap, right. You're accused of stealing the answers to the mock exam. Evidence 1: The paper with the answers was found in your schoolbag. You're also accused of pushing Lila down the stairs. No one witnessed the actual incident, but everyone did see Lila at the bottom of the staircase. You're also accused of stealing Lila's necklace, which was, Evidence 2, found inside your locker. And finally, you have a motive. I know for a fact that you've hated Lila from Day 1 because she hangs around Adrien.

Marinette: (sarcastically) I'm so glad I called you. Thanks for your support.

Alya: You're my best friend, Marinette. I totally believe you, but the evidence is stacked against you. The good thing is, the world's greatest reporters always seek the truth, so I'm gonna prove your innocence.

Marinette: (sighs in relief) Thanks, Al!

Alya: First off, a culprit always leaves clues. That's a given. And by following these clues, it will lead us...

Marinette: ...to Lila!

Alya: No, to the guilty party. If you're so quick to accuse Lila, you might just overlook another potential baddie!

Marinette: Oh. (laughing) Right.

Alya: Whoever it was had to have touched your locker when they put the necklace in there. I'm gonna go track down some fingerprints.

Alya goes through the evidence so they have a starting point, acknowledges how the situation works, but never actually doubts Marinette. She’s also very focused on proving Marinette’s innocence and trying to find the real culprit, but isn’t leaping to conclusions on what happened without solid evidence to back it up. Honestly? I think this is a good move. Even the bit of this that she gets a lot of flak for, with not wanting to jump to the conclusion that Lila must be lying about Marinette having pushed her, with it just being Marinette’s word against hers, makes some sense; from Alya’s point of view, it’s possible that someone or something else pushed Lila down the stairs, for instance, and she just jumped to the conclusion that Marinette did it because Marinette was near her.

Alya’s focusing solidly on defending Marinette and trying to identify the guilty party, but making sure she doesn’t leap to conclusions on what happened without doing some investigating first. First and foremost she wants to protect and defend Marinette. 

Adrien’s approach in Chameleon is somewhat similar, though he doesn’t even really know that Marinette’s being targeted specifically; he only saw the scene in the classroom, with Lila pushing to sit up front with him, and for Marinette to go to the back.

That’s another example of the conflict resolution in the series, especially Adrien’s approach: he sees that there’s strife, and tries to defuse it by offering a solution to solve both their problems - well, the problems that he’s aware of, with Marinette not wanting to switch seats, and Lila needing a seat in the front, even though that solution was detrimental to himself.

Marinette: Miss Bustier, why do I have to sit in the back now?

Miss Bustier: Do you have any trouble hearing or seeing, Marinette?

Marinette: Uh, I… I…

Adrien: My eyesight and hearing are good. I'll sit in the back of the class and you two can sit up front. I don't mind.

Marinette and Lila: No!

(Adrien looks at Marinette and Lila)

For the problems that have been stated, this WOULD have been a good solution. Pity those weren’t the ACTUAL reasons the two of them were fighting, but Adrien didn’t know that.

Like with Chloe in Despair Bear, he tries to talk with Lila privately later to try to get her to modify her behavior.

Adrien: Hey, Lila.

Lila: Adrien, we'll have to figure when you're gonna help me catch up on all the schoolwork I missed. I also heard you play piano, my uncle's the great pianist Chuch Boroughchuck. He wanted to teach me when I was little, but I had to stop playing because of arthritis. But when my wrist gets better, I'd love for you to give me some lessons.

Adrien: Lila, I'm perfectly happy being friends with you, and I'll gladly help you catch on your schoolwork, but please don't lie to me like you did last time with Ladybug.

Adrien: (in flashback) So I'm guessing you're not a descendant of a superhero, either.

Ladybug: (in flashback) She's more like a super liar.

Lila: Ladybug's the liar.

Adrien: I'm not judging you, Lila, but instead of making friends you're going to turn everyone against you. You can tell me if there's something bothering you. I can help. But you need to be honest with me.

Lila: Are you trying to be some superhero lecturing me just like Ladybug did? Well thanks, but no thanks. Ugh. (storms off)

Adrien: I'm still here if you need help catching up with your schoolwork. (walks away in a dejected manner)

Unlike with Chloe when he confronted HER about her behavior, he doesn’t know that Lila’s actively malicious here, even though she IS causing some strife. He’s honestly trying to reach out and resolve this conflict and try to change her behavior so she doesn’t cause problems, for herself and for everyone who gets caught in the cross-fire, like Marinette. At least trying to prevent more scenes like that morning. 

In the end, it doesn’t work. But he does at least TRY to talk to Lila first.

And then, there’s the infamous scene where he talks with Marinette about waht to do about Lila.

Marinette: (standing at a distance) Right ear?! Did she say right ear?! This morning she said that the ringing was in her left ear! I've got her this time! 

(prepares to walk up to the group but is stopped by Adrien)

Adrien: Are you going to tell everyone?

Marinette: 'Course I am. Lila is—

Adrien: (interrupting) A liar. Yes, I know. But do you really think exposing her will make things better? If you humiliate her, she'll just be hurt more. Making a bad guy suffer has never turned them into a good guy.

Lila: Ladybug and I are like two peas in a pod.

Marinette: So we just stand by and let her lie?

Adrien: As long as you and I both know the truth, does it really matter?

Marinette: You're right, maybe it's not such a big deal.

Adrien acknowledges her feelings and perspective, but is mainly trying to defuse the conflict between the two of them. He already tried to defuse things on Lila’s end and that failed, so now he’s trying to do it on Marinette’s end. 

The main goal here seems to be to de-escalate conflict - which all he knows of at this point, is that Lila’s an attention seeker and a liar and Marinette hates her because she hates liars, but hasn’t actually been “wronged” beyond being asked to go to the back of the classroom because of the seating rearrangement to accommodate Lila - an issue he tried to solve by changing seats himself, a solution that neither of them would accept for reasons that wouldn’t be clear to him. 

Exposing Lila at this point would just escalate the conflict, and with what HE knows, there’s not really a good reason to do so - she isn’t hurting anyone as far as he knows, and exposing her would likely cause her to lash out, causing harm to the people around her, and damaging the chances that she might change in the future - something which at this point, he still has reason to hope for, since he hasn’t seen or heard of her doing anything especially terrible.

He does continue trying to prevent as much harm and strife to Marinette as possible at least, changing seats to be with her so she doesn’t feel alone and so that the one “thing” that to his knowledge, Lila has actually DONE to Marinette (rather than simply existing within proximity to Marinette while telling lies) has as minimal a negative impact as possible.

(Everyone sits down in their seats; Adrien sits besides Marinette at the back of the class.)

Adrien: Good for you for taking the high road, Marinette. Hey, it's pretty cool back here. 

(Marinette giggles)

Notably, once he knows that Lila IS causing harm purposely and maliciously, with Oni-Chan, he changes his approach - still in ways that minimize conflict and the potential for things to spiral out of control with hugely negative consequences, but without extending as much benefit of the doubt and without trying to get her to modify her behavior so much, since he knows it’s useless. Instead, he gives her a warning:

Adrien: Nathalie and my bodyguard got reprimanded last time because of you.

Lila: I’m sorry, Adrien. Please, I didn’t mean to.

Adrien: Lila, you can always count on me. But not if you hurt the people I love. (walks away)

He changes his approach based on the new information he’s gotten on what she’s like, knowing now that she actually IS dangerous and harmful - which is good. He doesn’t want to start a fight, but he’s still trying to minimize the damage she causes.

Honestly? I think Miraculous Ladybug showcases some really GOOD methods of conflict resolution here, with focusing on not jumping to conclusions on who’s guilty without solid evidence (even if those assumptions are usually right in this case, it’s bad practice on the whole), focusing primarily on defending the person under attack, rather than lashing out at the attacker (that can escalate the conflict and prevent a good resolution that may otherwise have been reached, plus it can be dangerous to do if the attacker is more powerful/influential than the person being attacked), and when the guilty, harmful party IS identified, trying to modify their behavior so they don’t cause the problems in the future rather than trying to tear them to shreds, and shifting gears when they’ve crossed a threshold in the harm they’ve caused, or at least have proven that they aren’t willing to attempt to change.

The emphasis is on preventing harm first and foremost, rather than inflicting punishment.

[vidimillion]

Hc of jason and nico meeting pre HoO?

thank you for asking this. i hope you wanted something really long, because not only is this really long but it’s also only half coherent.

jason was freshly eleven when he met the ten-year-old nico di angelo. it was early in the morning when he'd heard a centurion of the third cohort mention a disturbance in the forest. it wasn't exactly eavesdropping, he swears. he was just passing by them, when he knew he should've been asleep.

years later, he didn't know why exactly he did it, but he supposed he was young. he wanted to prove himself.

or maybe more accurately, he wanted to break his unearned reputation of being a golden boy. what better way to do that then to do something he wasn't supposed to?

being the dumbass kid he was, he went out alone to the forest, bringing his sword and nothing else. he didn't know what to expect but when he saw a black mass in the forest, sucking up the light like death itself, he was expecting a monster.

then the mass turned around, eyes afraid and hands shaking as they gripped a long black sword. and jason saw that he was just a kid.

before jason could do anything, the boy turned away and disappeared into shadows. freaking out about whether or not he'd just seen a ghost, he ran into the barracks and told the first person he saw. whispers go around fast, and by that afternoon jason hears the theories of who he saw in the forest— a son of pluto.

jason convinces the senate not to send patrols to look for the boy. "You didn't see him, he looked so scared." he'd say. "A patrol would scare him away! I'll look for him myself, every day, I promise!"

he keeps the promise, even when the boy doesn't show up for weeks after that. he keeps it because he knows what it's like to be left confused and alone, forced to fight things you didn't know were real. and he knows it's normal, he knows that's just what happens to demigods, but it doesn't change how much he remembered wanting someone to save him.

he sees the boy again weeks later. and before the boy can run away again he yells after him, "We know what you are!"

the boy freezes, and it looks like jason made it even worse but at least he bought himself time. "No, I mean— you're a demigod right? I am too, we all are here."

jason smiles at him, "do you want me to show you in?"

(actual headcanons following)

jason decides this guy, who's name is nico di angelo, is his best friend now. before bringing him into camp, he felt weird about possibly having another child of the big three around. but when nico confirms the fact three days later, all jason feels is relief.

nico bunks next to jason in the fifth cohort but says he can't pick one to join. he says it's because he can't stay for long, and jason asks why but nico doesn't give him a straight answer. so instead, he takes nico shopping for bedsheets. jason wants to make sure the bunk nico's claimed as his stays his, even when he's gone.

the reputation they build for themselves is incredible. as the only kids of the big three in camp, they're powerful separated but unstoppable together. (this proves for fantastic entertainment when they spar, and a very tough fight for whoever they're going up against if they're a team.)

it's also a worthy mention that not only do they become more powerful when they're fighting together, when they're off the battlegrounds they also get a whole lot stupider. they've got wild spirits, and though they reign it in when they're on their own, they cause shitstorms of trouble when they're together.

(more under the cut)

nico's gone for weeks at a time but every time he comes back jason never gets less excited. he greets him when he arrives and waves him off when he leaves again. that becomes the norm soon— whenever nico's here, you can find jason right next to him.

the senate said nico couldn't stay unless he picked a cohort, and if he picked a cohort he couldn't leave. when he one day comes back with a report from pluto himself explaining why nico has to come and go sometimes, they find a way for him to stay. (they won't hesitate to admit the boy's grown on the community. they wouldn't wanna say goodbye to him either.) and thus, nico was freshly eleven when he's made the ambassador of pluto.

jason isn't allowed to leave camp jupiter, so sometimes nico sneaks him out with shadow travel. the first time they did it, jason actually puked because his twelve-year-old system is a little weak. it was worth it though, because nico bought him his first mcdonalds. jason doesn't think he could ever go back.

that's also how he found out that nico's dad gives him unlimited money to spend on whatever. he realizes nico has zero budgeting skills when he was nearly persuaded to buy a twenty dollar ice cream

when they were both thirteen years old, they were both officially allowed to go on minor quests. on the first one they take, it goes haywire but they meet a little puerto rican girl their age. after a little bit of explaining (and also a little bit of de-escalating, because wow this new demigod is good with a dagger), they find her name is reyna, and they take her back to camp jupiter

jason adopts her immediately, and thus so does nico, because they're a two-in-one deal. they become an iconic trio immediately— some people throw around rumours about love triangles between them, but none of them are ever the same. some say nico and jason argue over reyna's love, some say nico and reyna are fighting for jason's, some say jason and reyna are fighting for nico's.

reyna gets phantom crushes on both of them, mostly out of feeling like she needed to have a crush on them. they're the two people she loves most in the world, so it felt like proper procedure. it fades fast once she realizes they're very clearly in love with each other. she doesn't say anything about it, wanting them to realize on their own. she just hopes it's soon.

by the time nico comes back to camp with a curly-haired daughter of pluto, he's already told jason and reyna of who bianca was. he doesn't answer their looks of concerns for a long time. (but they fucking love hazel. new adoptee)

nico comes back from the war with kronos to be told jason lead the roman army and defeated krios by himself. he flips his shit.

(but he still congratulates jason on the praetorship by taking him on a small trip to gold coast, australia. after battling a monster in public, they appear in the news for allegedly fighting six feral red kangaroos in the street)

jason is diagnosed with ptsd soon after the war. nico finds that he can't bring himself to leave, not when he's one of the only people who know how to calm jason down from a panic attack. he can't leave him, not when jason has never left him.

one of the ways his ptsd manifests is through night terrors. and he doesn't want to ask for help. he's always telling people "there's no shame in asking for help" or "you can ask for help when you need it, we won't judge". yet he can't bring himself to follow his own advice. it's different for him, he often thinks. it's just different.

one day, he gets an especially bad one. it's so bad he almost can't breathe, and it takes him nearly two and a half hours until he's even able to move. when he can feel his legs again, he walks to nico's private quarters.

jason doesn't even have to say anything, and nico is pulling him inside and settling him in his white sheets. the same ones they bought together when they were little, relocated after they'd both moved from barrack bunks.

they don't say anything, but jason quietly asks if nico will hold him. there's something unreadable in his dark brown eyes, but he says yes with such certainty that jason knows he means it.

a few weeks later, jason wakes up in the back of a school bus, holding a pretty girl's hand but not knowing her name. the only thing he remembers is the name nico di angelo.

[nimsajlove]

Brothers (II)

Hey, finished the second part of my fanfic! Yay... I already hate it. Why do I do this to myself?

Brothers-AU  AO3

Part I , Part III

*~*

Rex stood in the hangar and coordinated the loading of the new supplies. At least, he tried to. Because after Ahsoka joined them, he'd actually given up. She had helped, that was true. But she quickly met Hardcase and threw all of her plans, to continue working, overboard, just like the clone. 

The captain saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and took a quick step to the side, laughing Hardcase ran just past him, Ahsoka perched on his shoulders. Rex looked at them, shaking his head, and was about to turn back to work, when he saw the accident happen. Cody stepped out of a door, followed by Waxer and Boil, and all three were knocked down. Hardacse stumbled and he and the padawan landed in the ball of troopers on the floor. "What is this supposed to be?", Skywalker asked, joining his captain. He shook his head, perplexed and tired, how could he keep these people under control? But then, he heard the laughter of everyone who was lying on the floor and actually seemed to enjoy themselves, it made him laugh a little too. Skywalker beside him looked at the whole thing a little longer, a smile tugging at his lips. “Snips, come on! If we get to be late again... “, he let the sentence unfinished and the togruta came quickly. "I'm here!" 

Rex watched them go for a moment. The girl was chaotic, had a tendency to overestimate herself and exuded such euphoria, that some of his men became increasingly involved in her jokes. But he had also called her his sister and that didn't feel wrong. She was with the clones almost every day, ate with them and had already left her quarters a few times to sneak into the ones of the troops. When Rex caught her doing it, her answer was simple, that it was too quiet in her quarters and that after all the noise on the battlefields, she just couldn't sleep. She didn't distinguished between herself and the clones. Besides, she was a child. And his brothers deserved someone to make them laugh. "Hey vod!", Cody said and his brother snapped his fingers in front of his nose.

*~*

At first she hated the camps, in which she had to hold on for weeks at some missions. In the jedi temple there had been at least thick walls that created some privacy and a level floor, and no sharp stones or hills that lay exactly under the mat! So it had become a tradition, that Ahsoka meticulously inspected everything when setting up the tents and chose the place with the levelest floor. It didn't matter to her, whether her tent was there or any other one. The floor there was level, so she would sleep there too! She also liked to complain loudly, when there was simply no good place to sleep. Since this grumbling subsided quickly, it was ignored with a smile and sometimes a chuckle.

But there was something else, she had come to love during these phases in the tents. There was no private place to wash and the compact showers in the large wash tent were open and difficult to regulate, but there was hot water. In the temple, she only had the pleasure of lukewarm water for washing, the younglings and padawans were to be taught abstinence and how they should be grateful for the simple things. And she was very grateful for simple things. For example for the collectors, with which the water was heated up and then came almost boiling hot out of the shower. In return, she had willingly given up every bit of privacy.

"Are you serious?", someone grumbled as a group of clones poured into the tent. It was foggy and Ahsoka just held her face in the hot water jet. She heard the men around her and could almost feel the movement of her neighbors, everyone was so crowded. But it didn't bother her... "Turn off the water, otherwise I'll turn off the collector outside!", Jesse threatened and Hardcase laughed uproariously, he was already under a jet of water, cold like always. He said it grounded him. Ahsoka turned and let the water slap on her shoulders, just a few more seconds... "You wouldn't dare to do that, would you?", she grinned at Jesse, who rolled his eyes and turned on his shower, there was still warm water left, but when the sun went down it would be gone quickly. After a few more seconds, Ahsoka turned off the water and grabbed her towel, one of the few belongings she had on missions. While still in the foggy and full tent, she dried herself off and slipped into her clothes before stepping outside and inhaling the cool air. She loved that, just being able to stand clean and warm. Because they were never really warm or clean in the battlefield. 

"Really Snips, I will never understand you.", her master muttered, who had probably been waiting for her next to the entrance. “Master, I refuse to wait to shower until all the warm water is used up. And it doesn't bother the men or me. If you would prefer a hot shower, you would definitely also not mind it.", she grinned and stretched. Skywalker smirked and then gestured her to follow him.

Her Master had joined them a little later than usual (his hunt for Grievous was not over yet), as had Rex and a few others. The clone captain was standing in the command tent with his helmet tucked under his arm. He looked a little tired, but relatively satisfied. "Rexter, good to see you.", Ahsoka grinned and lined up next to the clone, who actually had to smile and patted her lower back. "Will I still have the chance of a comfortable shower temperature?", he asked and Ahsoka grinned innocently up at him. "If Jesse doesn't uses it all.", she whispered and he rolled his eyes. "Sure.", he muttered, before drawing his and her attention to the news Skywalker had. Well, news for Ahsoka. She listened to the report of the incident at the rishi base and put her chin on her hand, looking strangely concerned. 

"That must be tough, as a first encounter...", she mumbled and Rex laughed next to her. "Since when are first ones easy?" She giggled, then looked up. “If it is okay, they can come into the tent I'm in. There is still plenty of space.", she offered, with the hope that the new men would make friends quickly with her help. At times, the clones could be surprisingly cool when they decided not to take someone in their midst. Even if it was one of theirs. Skywalker smiled. "Is Hardcase in that tent too?", he asked and Ahsoka was confused, but said no. "Then that should work, shouldn't it Rex?", asked her master and the captain agreed. Full of energy, Ahsoka wanted to storm away again, still with her towel over her shoulder, when Rex held her back. "Don't let them act up with you, vod'ika." His smile took on a loving trait and she returned it. "Hey, if I get my way, the complaint will end up on your desk, not mine!", she grinned broadly and was gone. 

She found the dominos quickly. “Oh Hevy, let it be! How about a good night's sleep before you mess with everyone here?", one of them asked, slightly annoyed, and Ahsoka immediately understood, why Skyguy and Rex didn't wanted Hevy and Hardcase in a tent. It would end in a fun, but for Kix exhausting, wrestling match. She came closer and quickly tried to grasp all the details that distinguished the men from one another. She could identify Hevy quite quickly, his tattoo wasn’t that hidden. It would make it easy for her. The one next to him also had a small mark of this kind on his face, but she could only identify it when she got closer. "What do you want, half pint?", asked one with a big grin on his face, his eyes sparkled jokingly but not maliciously. 

"I'm Ahsoka Tano.", she introduced herself and as if you had flipped a switch in the men, they stood at attention. Did Rex talk about her? “Sorry, sir. Commader Cody had told us about you.”, one of them rattled down, the joker still grinning, but it wasn’t as broad as before. "He just didn't mention that you are so tiny." She puffed her cheeks and was already wondering, if Rex would be mad at her, if one of the shinys ended up at Kix right at the beginning, even if it flattered her that Cody had talked about her. Then two others joined in, de-escalating. "Leave Cutup, he doesn't know when to stop.", said the one with the five on his temple. The two next to him nodded affirmatively. "Yep, just ignore him.", said another and introduced himself as Droidbait. She nodded and let go of her crazy idea, Kix would probably have suffered a nervous breakdown anyway. Hardcase had kept him busy and without Jesse, Kix would have tied and gagged him somewhere. On the way to the tent, she listened to the clones closely, to learn how they talked und acted. The one with the five was actually addressed as Fives and was grinning and having an exchange with the one he called Echo. Ahsoka turned her head briefly and looked at the two, they seemed to be close. Hevy, Cutup and Droidbait were walking behind them and Cutup was wedged in the middle, while the other two teased him. Oh dear, such behavior would drive Jesse mad. The clone had never learned, how to sleep unless everyone was calm and relatively silent.

They entered the tent. “Pick a mat. Except this one! ", she explained and pointed at a sleeping place in the back of the tent. Fives raised an eyebrow and in Echo's eyes she could read the question, even if he didn't ask it. "Why?", Fives asked, grinning. Ahsoka straightened to her full, small, height and crossed her arms. "Because that's the only mat without any pebble under it, and I'll defend it with my life.", she grinned back and Fives laughed. "Okay, understood.", he amused himself, but respected the padawan's claim to ownership and threw himself on a blank mat a few steps away.

*~*

It should turn out, that Fives wouldn't show her such respect often. She liked the new clones, had Hevy and Cutup describe the fight to her in great detail. How Heavy saved them all with his knowledge! When Hardcase heard the story from the new comrade's mouth for the first time, he laughed his ass off, shortly afterwards they were laughing on the floor and it seemed as if Hardcase would have won, until Rex intervened. That was the second, when she was tempted to tease him with his plan until she got him to the point, where she could finally get him to race her across the camp. But Ahsoka dumped the idea again, she liked it when Rex laughed and didn't want to wipe it off his face. 

The rest of the evening was quiet and Ahsoka almost clapped her hands in joy, when the food actually looked like something edible! The joy lasted only three seconds, Fives snapping a piece of her meal with astonishing elegance. "Never leave the food open for too long.", Echo muttered with a slight grin and Ahoska spun around to him. "And what manual was that in?", she hissed, before chasing after the fleeing Fives. The loud laughter of the rest of the group behind her. 

She also learned, that Echo was the actual leader out of the two. Sure, Fives was level-headed enough to make decisions and loud enough to be heard. But whenever something turned against his brother, Echo came to the fore and took the lead. He put up with criticism better than Fives, who sometimes stood behind his brother a little offset and apologized quietly. Once, Ahsoka had even stumbled upon a fight, a shiny and Echo. She and Rex separated them and it quickly became clear, who had started it. Even if she never thought, that Echo would resort to such means. He was surprisingly composed and calm and she couldn't feel any agitation, even in the force. "You just be done with it like that?", she asked softly, watching Rex send the younger clone away a few meters from them. Echo shrugged and grinned. “Fives didn't hear it and never will! That's what counts."

*~*

She sat there with her mouth open and eyes wide, before jumping hastily from her bunk in her quarters and hurrying to the door. "You made it! And, how does that feel?“, she asked with a broad grin and ran a finger over Echo’s new helmet. Unlike the rest of the armor, they looked no different, but were brand new. Echo smirked and Fives shrugged. "Maybe a little heavier.", he said, fastening his grab on the helmet under his arm and she shook her head. "I didn't mean that, idiot.", she mumbled and now Fives had to laugh, while Echo looked at her openly and she saw something in his eyes, a loss. Who fell on Kamino? "As if he had given it to me.", he said. She never dared to ask, who he was talking about.

*~*

She liked Hevy, he was loud and always ready for a fight. Just like Hardcase, it turned out to be fatal to Kix's nerves having them both train together.

She loved Droidbait, the clone with the little smile was surprisingly good at distracting others from what they were about to do. Instead, they ended up sitting together and playing with some cards, Ahsoka spent almost every quiet evening on the cruiser like that. She lost many desserts to him.

Without Cutup she couldn't imagine to trade barbs with somebody. They could throw many things in each others faces, only to see how desperation grew in the others when they wanted to stop this madness.

Fives was irreplaceable, outwardly he was a bit calmer and more relaxed than his brothers. But if he came around the corner with an idea, it was the best prank Ahsoka had ever seen. They had caught Rex, for the first time ever! He was also a good speaker, more than once she considered going to him before a discussion.

Echo was very much like Fives, they often moved around the camps together. But if Ahsoka ever spent time alone with the reserved clone, a quick-witted and funny comrade would emerge. And his ability to remember everything from the manual was… incredible!

Kix was so important to all of them, even if Ahsoka was sometimes ashamed to rob him of the last nerve. And yet, he received them all again and again with open arms and brotherly rebuke. Sometimes with anger, sometimes.

Jesse was always by her side when she felt a little lonely. He could crack jokes and make bets with her that ended up in her chasing him down the hallways, nagging and laughing. But he was also very careful to stay close to her during battles, without getting in her way. She found it somehow nice, that there was someone who looked after her and did not hold her back, as her master did in her opinion now and then.

Rex was her oldest brother, even if she had never called him that before. Whenever they were just among the clones or when the jedi were not listening, he would quietly call her vod'ika and she loved it. He could just sit next to her for hours and look at the chaos with her, that they had to clean up together. But then, there was also this fire with which he spurred her on in fights and trained with her. Whenever she complained about her bruises, she just got another one from him. He was like a big old rock, unbreakable.

She respected Cody, but kept herself out of the way when he and Rex fought in mando’a, in the end no one could win. It was quite amusing, to see the sly twinkle in his eyes, though.

She adored her master, her Skyguy. Who approached everything with such ease that, despite the death and the devastation around her, she stood beside him with a laugh in front of the droids and enjoyed measuring herself against him. She had worked hard for his trust, and she honored it every time she brought a mission to a successful conclusion on her own.

She needed Master Kenobi, even if she sometimes believed, that Anakin needed him even more. But still it could sometimes not be denied, that his infinite calm and patience did some good for her too.

She admired Padme Amidala for her courage; if she were to choose someone as second master, she might have chosen the Senator. Had they been even closer, Ahsoka might even have seen her as a mother of sorts.

They were all part of her adopted family. Some were closer to her than others, and few did not even know she was thinking that way. And yet they were all there, always.

*~*

She was different since they came back. Rex and Cody had first noticed it, when she immediately ran after her master as he left the jedi temple. The two looked at each other for a long second, they thought the same thing. It was unusual for the girl, to be so clingy. Hardcase noticed, when she turned down his invitation to a small trial of strength. "Who knows, where this would go.", she had said quickly and was gone. Fives noticed it, when they were working on a droid together. She wired it incorrectly and it pinched the clone's hand, before she hastily ripped the cable out again. Fives wasn't entirely untalented himself and was used to work with her on the droids, but nothing like that had ever happened! Echo noticed, when he tried to teach her about the next planet. She was distracted and when he touched her arm, she nealy jumped off the bunk.

Kix was the first, after all, to confirm that something was indeed wrong. General Skywalker had turned up one evening, he justified it by not wanting to burden the jedi with it. Even he knew, that the clones knew Ahsoka very well. He didn't really said what happened, but asked whether a near-death experience might stick for a long time. Kix reported it to Rex, Cody, and Jesse. That same evening, Cutup complained that Ahsoka consistently stayed out of the clone quarters for the first time in a long time. Echo threatened, that he would give the girl another week to tell them what was wrong, Rex silently agreed.

In the end, they didn't had to wait that long. One night the door slid open and Ahsoka carefully shook Kix awake.

"Commander, do you have any idea what time it is?", he scolded in a whisper, but got up anyway and accompanied her out into the hallway. He watched her try to smile. “No, I lost my watch. What time is it?“, she asked and the smile looked innocent, but her eyes looked everywhere, just not at him. He looked at her whole figure, she was drenched in sweat. "Isn't it a little late for training?", he asked seriously, knowing that the jedi were strange sometimes. But Ahsoka had never seemed THAT strange to him. "Actually, I can't sleep and I was wondering, if you might have something for me.", she mumbled now and deliberately lowered her eyes to her feet. Kix hesitated for a moment, forcing Ahsoka to sleep with sedatives was not the best way, to deal with her obvious problem. It would only postpone the nightmares she must have been having. There were better cures for anxiety, than numbing it...Then he remembered one of the plans Hardcase, Hevy, Echo and Fives had made in their desperation and slowly nodded. A much better way, to deal with fear.

"Actually, there is something.", he smiled, grabbed her and dragged her into the quarters. There, he threw her into Fives' bunk, they both knew that the clone would simply grab everything he could get a hold of in his sleep. Trapped, she looked up angrily at Kix, who was very pleased with himself. This way, he would be able to go back to sleep and Ahsoka had no chance to wander the hallways at night. He also hoped, that a little closeness to someone alive and warm would calm her down. Because, if he was honest, this was something the jedi would never do for her. "Good night, commander.", he grinned and layed down again.

The next morning started just before sunrise with a whimpering Ahsoka. Wet and cold she sat up and woke Fives, Jesse and Kix, who had slept worse than he expected the rest of the night. There was a patient nearby, whom he needed to keep an eye on. Panicked, she looked around and took in the sight of the quarter, so warm and calm. When was the last time it was so beautiful? "I'm dead, right?", she mumbled in panic and it alerted the clones that were awake. Fives pulled her into an embrace from behind, she was freezing. Jesse mentally made a note to speak to Rex, and maybe the general, and Kix got up and rummaged in his, always ready, backpack for a sedative. "Not as long, as I can hold a band-aid.", he announced with a gentle smile and let her slide back into a light slumber. 

He would learn, in a few hours, that her stomach couldn't take things like that at all. But what happened did not come out of her mouth, ever.

*~*

The day was beautiful, it had started sunny and with a couple of laughing younglings in the hallway. She dodged them grinningly and went to see her brothers, with a monthly ration of chocolate. She had lost, unfortunately. Fives or Echo alone had always lost the bets. But now, the two brothers had teamed up and her betting balance went straight down. The door to the quarters slid open and with a big grin she crept in, the clones were still asleep. It seemed liked it had been a long evening... With ease, like every jedi, she swung onto Kix's bunk. He was sound asleep, one hand clutching his datapad. By the force, this man was almost worse than Rex. However, the captain had developed the ability to live only on caf and dessert, something that Kix couldn't manage. Sighing, she let herself tilt back and dangled over her head in the lower bunk, Jesse. She grinned and stared at him, then started a small countdown in her head. 

"Five, four, three ..." Before she reached two, Jesse opened his eyes, saw the girl and grimaced, before he grabbed something nearby and threw it at her. She skilfully dodged and laughed, that woke the others up. "Is that how you greet your chocolate?", laughed Ahsoka and sank to the floor. "Finally!" Fives practically threw himself out of bed on top of her, Hardcase and Cutup followed immediately. Buried beneath them, Ahsoka clutched the chocolate as tightly as she could. "Help?", she asked muffled and someone seemed to have mercy, Echo and Droidbait laughingly grabbed their brothers and pulled them apart. 

The day was horrible. She crouched and massaged her temples, Master Plo glanced at her again, as did Wolffe next to him. "Are you okay, little Soka?", the jedi asked calmly and she forced a smile, her legs tingling as she stood up. How long had she been sitting in the hangar? “Yes, Master Plo. I'm just a little... tired.", she explained bluntly and clenched her hands into fists, she felt so endlessly tired and restless at the same time. As if she was waiting for something, she knew wouldn't happen. "I can understand, if the death of Master Piell is hard to deal with for you.", he started and she took a deep breath, that had also happened... God, her head hurted. "Yeah, exactly... I'll lie down a bit.", she mumbled and turned to leave. She heard Wolffe chasing after her. "Is there anything else, commander?", she asked, turning to face him. The clone was finally catching up, and although she could feel an unexpected affection, his face remained as cool as almost always. 

"Commander, could I come up with a suggestion for a solution to your problem.", he asked and Ahsoka shrugged her shoulders, then she looked at him directly and something inside of her seemed to let go and her calm facial features slipped away from her. She wanted to cry, scream, and blame someone. Wolffe let the second pass and then he smiled, it was a real smile. “Afterwards, my brothers and I drink so much together that we don't remember how to walk. And the next morning, it's somehow easier to carry on and remember the good things. ” She had to smile, somehow she liked the idea. But Echo deserved better. “Thank you Wolffe, but no. I don't think that will solve my problem.", she mumbled tiredly and left Commander Wolffe and his concerned gaze behind. 

At her privat quarters, she quickly closed the door, she didn't wanted to burden the other clones with her melancholy any more. It took exactly one second, before she had already grabbed her pillow and screamed into it. She screamed for a long time, until her voice was hoarse and low. Then she moved on to just sitting in the corner and staring at her feet. There was a knock, she didn't open. She didn't want to see anyone. Her comlink blinked and she accepted the request, it could have been someone important. Even though, it couldn't possibly be important enough to get her to stand up now. She had expected Master Skywalker or Kenobi. Maybe even Rex or Cody too. 

"Vod’ika, open the door.", he called to her. Her brother sounded tired and exhausted, even though he hadn't even been there... She switched off her comlink and clawed her hands into the sensitive lekku until it hurt. Why was all of this so hard? It wasn't the first clone she'd lost on the battlefield! There was another knock, more forcefully. This time she could hear the gruff voice in her dark quarters through the door. "Open up now, or we'll do it!", he growled, she did not move an inch. After a few seconds, her door actually opened. Jesse and Kix stood in front of it, of course the medic had access to everything, that was necessary to ensure the health of everyone. Also the codes for the personal quarters. Jesse's face was hardend and slyghtly worried, just like his voice. Kix, on the other hand, seemed to be in agony and was already preparing something while walking. A sedative, Ahsoka assumed. She throw herself violently against her brothers' hands. 

"No, stay away with that stuff!", she screamed and Kix paused, he knew exactly how she would react to such things and yet, he wanted to ease her for a few hours as well. She looked at him and suddenly, she was no longer angry, just sad. Everyone around her looked so sad and tired, that she had no right to be angry, right? Tears appeared in her eyes and she hastily wiped them away, only more came. "Where's Fives?", she muttered, the need to see him suddenly became overwhelming and she tried to get up. He had lost his closest brother and she felt bad, for not being with him. “Asleep, Hardcase and Hevy had to hold him down. He'll be okay.", Kix mumbled and suddenly more figures appeared behind Jesse, who turned his head back a little and let the other two clones pass. Hardcase looked so calm and she had never seen Rex so broken before. At that moment, something broke in her, something from which an unexpected seriousness and disenchantment would grow with her getting older. Now, she could no longer hold on and began to tremble, she realized why attachments where forbidden among the jedi. Rex leaned down and pulled her to her feet, Hardcase and Jesse grabbed her arms und hips and held her upright. "Come on, vod'ika.", Rex said and she took the first step.

[the-homicidediaries]

Issei Sagawa

“Sometimes I wonder why I did such a horrible thing. Maybe it’s because I come from another planet, or another dimension and accidentally fell to Earth like a meteorite, disguised as a baby crying on the street. My mother walked by and took pity on me. I must have come from a place of cannibals, and I’m the only one of my kind who exists on this planet.”

Good afternoon, everyone who takes the time to read this!

Today, I have the very displeasure of telling you about one of the most.. bizarre human beings I have ever read about.

I have been interested in true crime ever since I could remember. My father is really interested in it as well, so growing up there were always books laying around about the worst of the worst kind of people. Even to this day, my dad and I share stories we heard or a new podcast we listened to or swap books; it’s real fun.  And when you are heavily interested in true crime, you hear and see so many similar stories. This person had an abusive childhood and became a serial killer, this person was not longer interested in being a family man so he killed his whole family and moved away to start a new life, this person was strung out on drugs, this person caught her husband cheating on her and stabbed him as a crime of passion, etc. And while I am not downplaying or excusing these murders AT ALL, because no one should be murdered, I do find myself skipping stories like that. They don’t check my boxes.

Cannibals check my box.  And I have, admittedly, unconsciously, been surrounding myself with cannibalistic aspects. I just finished (another) three part podcast about Jeffrey Dahmer, I’m reading My Friend Dahmer, and watching Attack on Titan like my life depends on it. (Attack on Titan is a Japanese manga series turned into a long running anime about three conjoined towns who are constantly being attacked and eaten by the HUGE human-like zombie creatures, but that is for another day.)

Have I rambled enough? Yes. Yes, I think so. Let’s get into ittttt.

Issei Sagawa, known as Pang or The Kobe Cannibal, was born on April 26th, 1949 in Kobe, Japan to a very wealthy family. Issei has said himself that his childhood was the happiest time of his life and he was a carefree child. He said his parents love him deeply. One thing to note about Issei is that he was born prematurely (and he looks.. off) and doctors did not think he would survive. Issei said because of this, he has always seen himself as an undesirable person. So, instead of friends, Issei had books! Because his family was so wealthy, Issei was afforded an incredible education and was able to travel all over the world and learn about music, art, literature, etc.  He was very interested in art. This will come back around later.

So how does a rich, seemingly normal, intelligent child become a cannibal?  Issei contributes a few things to this: *Issei said his first cannibalistic urge happened when he was in first grade and saw a fellow classmate’s thighs. *Issei said sex was a taboo subject around his household. He said when he had reached a certain age, he began having erections, like all boys do, but he thought he was sick and was too embarrassed to tell anyone. He didn’t know how to relieve himself at this time.. soooo. He, uh, got help from his dog.  Yeah. Yeeeah. (I watched an interview he did with Vice about ten years ago, which I will link below, and watching him describe this so nonchalantly made me the most uncomfortable. Actually, he is nonchalant the entire interview and it’s so disturbing and uncomfy. At one point he says, “I think my sexual desires began to distort around that time.”  Yeah, I would say so, buddy.) *Issei said he would have a reoccurring dream where he and his brother were being boiled in a large pot to be eaten. Issei said he flipped the script and began to fantasize about what it would be like to eat someone. As with most premeditated killers, his fantasies escalated from curiosity to behavior. *Issei was obsessed with western women. He said they are tall and beautiful and he has described himself as a “weak, ugly, and small man”. In an interview after what he keeps calling an “incident”, Issei claimed one of the reasons he consumed human flesh was to “absorb her energy”. 

Issei said he did practice a good amount of restraint for his cannibalistic urges until his college years. While attending Wako University in Tokyo, Issei said he saw a beautiful, blonde, German woman walking by and he was “dazzled by her white thighs”.  One day, he broke into this woman’s apartment on the ground floor. He said his plan was to hit her in the head with an umbrella so he could get a knife from her kitchen and cut into her buttocks and eat it. He was extremely hesitant and his knees accidentally brushed against her stomach, waking her up. She screamed and Issei fled. Police charged him with attempted rape.  Issei said he did explain to psychiatrists about his sexual urges but they didn’t consider it cannibalism and let him go. 

After this, Akira (his father) sent Issei to study comparative literature at Sorbonne University in France in 1981. In the interview, as Issei is recalling this, he said his mother had the an extremely sad look on her face the day he was leaving, “like she knew something horrible was going to happen”. (I could think of a reason why.)

Issei had not forgotten about how close he had gotten to fulfilling his fantasy of eating a European woman back in Tokyo. He was convinced if he was more prepared he could follow through with it flawlessly. He said when he moved to France, he would bring home a sex worker almost every night, but everytime he tried to shoot her, his fingers would freeze. While studying at Sorbonne University, Issei set his eyes on 25-year old Dutch student, Renée Hartevelt. Issei said Renée was so beautiful and he had never seen anyone like her before. (She really was stunning and looked like such a sweet person.) He also said he didn’t want to get caught staring at her, so he began making sketches of her.  From what I read, and I do not know how accurate this is, the two started as friends and eventually Issei began to pursue Renée romantically. He would take her on dates to art museums and dinner. When he confessed his feelings for her, she insisted they just remain friends because she was not sexually attracted to him.  So Issei lied to Renée and told her his professor wanted him to record some German poetry. Renée didn’t think anything about helping out a fellow classmate, so she was happy to come over and help.  Issei said he picked out the poem she read, and as she was reading the poem out loud at his desk, he pulled a rifle out of a closet and shot her in the neck. He said she kept reciting the poem after he shot her, then she just.. stopped. Issei said he fainted after he shot her and when he came to he almost called an ambulance for her, but he knew he would regret it if he lost this opportunity to act out his fantasies.

I am going to quote Issei verbatim from his interview with Vice.

TRIGGER WARNING

“I lied to her that my professor wanted some German poetry recorded. That was the pretext. She didn’t doubt a thing. I chose the poetry. I reached for the gun while she was reading. I was talking to her with a smile on my face. I was really scared. Yet I did pull the trigger. She... kept on talking... until suddenly she fell silent. First she collapsed onto the desk, then fell to the ground with the chair. I laid a towel under her head then undressed her. I had everything planned out in my head from which part i would start feasting on and such. Starting with her ass. I thought it looked the most delicious. It had to be the right cheek, not the left. The left cheek is closer to the heart and I’m scared of blood. I abruptly bit into it, but it was too hard to bite into. It hurt my jaw. I tried cutting in with a fruit knife but it didn’t go through. I gave up and went to the market. I bought a curved meat knife. Finally it went through the flesh. I thought I’d see red meat right away, but there was a yellow corn-like substance, which I later found out was fat. I had to cut deeply to reach the red meat. I don’t remember if I sliced it off, or tore it off with my fingers. I put most of my favorite parts, like the thighs, in the fridge.”

My face right now.

He’s leaving out a lot of details on this.. right after he shot Renée, he had sex with her corpse. And, like I said before, he is so nonchalant about all of this. He ate a LOT of her. I saw a picture of eleven paper plates loaded with human flesh, muscles, and fat. Both of her breasts, her nose, her tongue, her bottom lip, and most of her lower half (her hips, middle of her stomach, and thighs) was missing. He did say he tried to eat her breast, but it was mostly fat and he didn’t enjoy it. Her buttocks, however, “(It) melted in my mouth like raw tuna in a sushi restaurant.” He continued to try different parts of Renée’s body. He would fry pieces of her and eat other parts with mustard. He even decapitated her. He took pictures of Renée’s mutilated body and would have sex with it while listening to the recording of her reading the German poem.

For four days.

He mentioned how June is the hottest month in Paris and he was worried the body would start to rot. So he took Renée’s body to the bathroom and cut her up so he could get rid of it. (He also mentioned after finishing his graduate program, he wanted to go to Greece. He said he took a big luxurious boat and actually shared a table with a butcher and his wife during dinner. He said the butcher was a fat, jolly man and told him how to butcher meat. Issei wrote a letter to the butcher after “the incident” thanking him. He said the butcher never wrote back.)

One he had cut the body up into pieces, he placed the pieces into two suitcases and, made plans to dump the body in a lake in Bois de Boulogne, called in a cab.  “It wasn’t easy getting the body into [the suitcases]. The torso is extremely heavy. It’s really hard to cut to begin with. It’s nothing like a horror movie.” When the cab driver picked up Issei’s suitcases to put them in the cab, he asked Issei if he had a dead body in them. (That tidbit made me really sad.)

Once Issei reached the lake, he pushed the suitcases down the slope. He vastly underestimated how light it still was outside at 8 pm. He said several people were sunbathing still. The sun was setting across the lake, and Issei said for the first time, he saw color. He was fascinated watching a young boy and his grandfather at the top of a hill and while he was distracted, another man came up, opened one of the suitcases, and saw a bloody bedsheet with legs wrapped in it. A woman screamed and someone else yelled, “Murderer!”  Issei said he just walked away.

Issei was, of course, arrested. He was interrogated by three psychiatrists who deemed him mentally insane. Issei was sent to a criminal psych ward, but before he could even begin treatment, he was deported back to Japan because the French people were very uncomfortable with him being there at their expense.  Once Issei arrived back in Japan, he mentioned the hospital he was staying at didn’t conclude that he was mentally ill, just that he had a personality disorder. Issei was forced to leave the hospital without undergoing any treatment. He did not serve any time in prison for ungodly crimes he had committed.  Actually, in a weird turn of events, he became a local celebrity. He became an author, had several interviews, has illustrated mangas (that’s why I mentioned he loves art), made porn, and was even a food critic. He even travelled to Canada, Mexico, and Iceland with two friends of him. I don’t have time to cover all of that because that in itself could be a whole other essay, but like I said, I will link the YouTube video I watched below.

And that is the gruesome, awful, gut wrenching story of Issei Sagawa.

Below are pictures of Issei Sagawa and his victim, Renée Hartevelt. I am also linking the Vice interview on YouTube as well as the crime scene photos. Please view at your own risk.

Thank you for reading. <3

Crime scene photos: https://murderpedia.org/male.S/s/sagawa-issei-photos-2.htm Vice Interview: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BosZxa1bYcE&t=336s

[kisskissbanggang]

Young Wings

[6.8K Words/20min. Read -- Pilot!Bang Chan x Female Reader -- Fluff, Smut, Developing Relationship, Nervous Situations, Pantyhose, Grounded Flights]

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For all intents and purposes, you were having a pretty great morning, considering it was starting at 9:00 p.m. local time. Sea-Tac was a nice airport; not quite as nice as PDX with its straightforward layout and proximity to the city, but infinitely nicer than anything south of there on this coast. The new spinner luggage your parents had sent you for Christmas was still working like a dream, gliding over pavement and not getting stuck in escalator platforms. It also expanded, would come in handy on the off-chance you used a voucher to Miami and got to peruse the duty-free and discount shops not far from the airport (or from the beach.) You wouldn’t have many more mornings like this. This was your last month in the skies. Next month, you were starting a sparkling new desk job in administration. The idea sort of scared you, but the idea of leaving behind 9:00 p.m. mornings did sound nice. Nevertheless, you couldn't shake this prematurely homesick feeling, that leaving the skies would weigh on you like you were literally grounded. 

You grabbed a latte in your reusable mug from the only business still open for the night near your gate, a lonely and frazzled barista smiling gratefully at your tip as she wished you a good flight. There was no reason to doubt her -- it was going to be a good flight. You relished your opportunities to lead your cabin crew, especially on smaller flights where it was more like being with three friends for six hours. Even adding two more flight attendants made it feel more like being a club president, and always added an extra percentage of pressure. A nice, easy-going red-eye, a low pressure nonstop from Sea-Tac to Newark: a perfect start to your week. 

The gate was easy to spot, not only from having been through this airport multiple times, but from being the only gate overflowing with sleepy yuppies and bored college students. You held a quick huddle on the jet bridge, your small crew bright-eyed and as awake as they could manage. Veronica from San Francisco and Brian from Virginia had flown with you before, but Tia from D.C. was a new face and apparently only on her third month in the skies. You did a quick run-down of tasks before leaving Ronnie and Brian to make announcements and take tickets, before leading Tia down the jet bridge to help you set up before seating began. 

You wheeled your bags all the way back to the galley, stowing your luggage in the crew’s storage and getting a lay of the land on your way back up the aisle. Obviously, you'd been on plenty of airplanes, and an A320 was your bread and butter but, regardless, eyeing the bathrooms and emergency exits as your hands brushed the seat backs on your walk up the single aisle felt good. Plenty of people had their rituals, and yours just helped reinforce that even though this was work and work was hard, that people depended on you to do your job well. Really, the little ritual helped you love your job more with each flight. All in all, you would miss every part of it, the great with the awful. 

The intense musk of Aqua Velva hit the top of your sinuses like you inhaled water at the pool when you entered the cockpit, but it was the edge of menthol cigarettes that let you know who your pilot was before he even turned around. 

“Hey, Jay,” you greeted. 

“Hiya, kid,” he grinned back. 

Jay was nice, almost too nice for New Jersey, and you should've guessed he’d be here for a medium-haul back to Newark. The co-pilot, however, was new. Incredibly new. The young pilot slipped his cap off as he settled in and shrugged his jacket off, brushing his fingers back through soft waves of bleached blonde. His half-smile more resembled a smirk, with a small dimple in his cheek to boot. You knew the type. He probably started telling girls he was a pilot the moment he got out of high school. Probably bought all his flight time and didn’t have to waste time teaching to get more. 

“First Officer,” you nodded cordially, and he gave a friendly wave. That was a good sign. Some of these guys liked to imagine that they were a celebrity, even sitting on the right side. 

“Chan here is a baby,” Jay heartily laughed and slapped him on the back, “he might as well  just got his hours in. Lucky this isn’t his first day.”

“Right?” Chan chuckled lightly. 

“No, I mean for us,” Jay erupted into laughter, his head leaned back as he slapped the poor guy on the back again, “Nah, kid, I'm just kidding. It’s gonna be a good flight.”

“You’re in really good hands,” you nodded reassuringly. It was true. Jay was from a dying breed, a veteran that got his wings flying in the Air Force -- only, when his breed was first introduced, they’d flown props in Germany, not jets in Vietnam like he did. Regardless of how you felt about his role in it, you had to admit it gave the older man some grit, and a cool head under pressure probably since he first started. 

“Let the kid greet the passengers with you,” Jay suggested, “we're looking at a fifteen minute delay while we finish de-icing, and we'll get the pre-flight done with plenty of time. I never get to greet passengers pre-flight. And can I please get a coffee before take-off? Last I tried getting it myself Ronnie damn near bit my head off. ”

You couldn't say no, right? Not without looking like an absolute jerk. Chan stood tall next to you, his cap back on because the couple of kids on the flight would love it. A few regulars greeted you by name, already half-asleep. More reasons to love red-eyes: almost the whole cabin is out cold, even more so in the winter, it seemed. Almost no one to demand colder soda with less ice or not-so-secretly pinch you as you passed by in the aisle. You looked back over at the First Officer. He really couldn't be much younger than you -- he could really even be older than you -- but Jay was right. He was a kid as far as career time went. 

Your crew was batty as you finished the safety spiel and joined them in the rear of the plane. 

“Who's the new guy?” Brian asked as he buckled himself into the jumpseat. 

“An actual fetus,” Ronnie rolled her eyes, “did he hit on you?”

“Is he nice?” Tia asked curiously. 

“First Officer Chan is nice,” you assured everyone, “and Jay is up there handling everything, anyhow.”

“The Captain called me Kid,” Tia raised an eyebrow as she quietly grabbed some snacks out of her bag. 

“He calls everyone Kid,” Ronnie waved her off, “he only stopped calling himself Papa Bear a couple years ago.”

“Weird call sign, right?” Brian asked as he carefully sipped from his coffee during taxi. 

“Sure,” you shrugged, “but I've heard worse. He swears he got the name after saving some kids.”

“Really?” Brian laughed, “he told me it was from keeping a grunt with a broken leg safe in the jungle for three days until help arrived.”

You all shared a hushed giggle fit during take-off. Once you hit altitude, you unbuckled, grabbing Tia and leading her with you to First Class to take drink orders while Ronnie and Brian handled Economy. You made a big show out of taking a vote on whether or not to turn the cabin lights off, and wished everyone a goodnight when a unanimous amount of hands shot up. You rounded up drink orders from the few passengers still awake and reconvened in the rear of the plane to grab everything. Drink service now, then snacks halfway through, then cleanup at the end. Tia was thankfully adept with the beverage cart, careful not to knock any ankles on her way up and down the aisle. Everything went by breezily, satisfying you to no end as you locked up the carts in the galley and buckled back in. Thankfully, you might even be able to catch a brief nap before snack service. You slipped off your low heels, stretching your toes as you closed your eyes and let the pitch and roll of the plane carry you to sleep. 

The sensation that awoke you was something you’d only been familiar with in bed -- the distinct feeling of surprising yourself awake. The plane was rumbling through some turbulence. You sighed as you checked your watch and nestled back into your seat, grumbling about being woken up as the plane rocked hard again. More grumbles sounded down the aisle as some other passengers were awakened. You quickly unbuckled, getting up to press the seatbelt sign and get a look around before you sat back down. The cabin jostled and shook, making it difficult to fall back asleep. This would be hard to miss, you decided. The moment you were finally able to close your eyes, you were rudely awakened once again by another distinct sensation -- this time of falling in a dream, the sheer drop in your stomach feeling eerily familiar. Only problem was, you were falling. 

You couldn’t be sure how exactly how long the plane dropped. It could've been three seconds, five seconds. It couldn’t have been ten seconds, but it still felt like an astonishing amount of time. Clear air turbulence, you’d heard in passing. Plenty of people told you that if you flew long enough, you’d get to experience it. Even Jay mentioned it to you once or twice, you were sure. Your ass thunked hard into the jumpseat, the skeleton of the plane groaning around you as it regained momentum. The moment had passed but was still incredibly present. Masks had dropped, overhead bins had popped open, luggage strewn all over passengers and the aisle. A few passengers who had slept through everything without buckling their lapbelts -- you could see one, halfway laying in the aisle and groggily cursing after having been bounced into the short ceiling. Of course this only happened a month before you were leaving. Thankfully, Jay seemed to have gotten the plane back on track, and you could focus on getting this sorted. 

Jay. 

You’d still gotten no word from the cockpit. The least Jay would’ve done by now is beep the telephone headset in the galley to ask if everyone was alright. He’d done it in lighter conditions. Now you carefully unbuckled, rallying your crew to get to work. Everyone followed you down the aisle, stopping to get the lights on and tend to passengers as you made your way into the cockpit. Thankfully the most damage for the moment appeared to be spilled coffee, but to your curiosity, balance still seemed off in the cabin. You pushed open the cockpit door and gasped, finding Jay slumped in his seat, a concerning drip of blood congealing under a deep bruise on his forehead. In the right-hand seat, First Officer Chan was attempting to hold it together. He shot you a concerned and crazed look. 

“What happened?!” You asked, suddenly distressed as you kicked the door closed behind you and tended to Jay. 

“Turbulence, then clear air turbulence, and the Captain cracked his head on the steering console. I’m thinking it was the air coming off the Rockies as we passed.”

“Are you alright?”

“Fine enough, despite how fubar this whole thing is. How is it out there?” He asked. 

“Fine enough,” you agreed, “what about the plane? We need to get Jay to a doctor and I promise he’s not the only one.”

“I agree. I’m just trying to figure this out. We can ask for a gate at Great Falls.”

“Awesome, let’s do that.”

“But my monitors are telling me a turbofan is beginning to fail from the fall.”

“What’s closer?”

“Helena, I think? I've heard of it but never flown into it.”

“It’s worth a try. Ask ATC for a gate and I'm sure they’ll get you in there.” You turned to leave, to scramble your team and get everyone prepared for landing before Chan desperately reached back and grabbed for you, only managing to get ahold of the hem of your skirt.

“Please don’t leave,” he sighed, “I’m a mess and landing still makes me anxious for some stupid reason.”

“Not stupid,” you reassured him with a hand on his shoulder, “that’s why you put in all this time as First Officer first before anyone expects you to.”

“Here,” he looked over his shoulder and handed you a headset and a flight manual, “can you page ATC for me while I do this? I'm on the brink of losing it if I'm being honest.”

“Of course.” You patted his shoulder again, now feeling bad for being so judgemental before. You didn't know this guy, and he was turning out to be perfectly capable and reasonable. The headset crackled to life, getting ATC and explaining your situation before asking for a gate at the smaller airport. Once you got clearance, you weren’t far off. You paged back to the rear of the plane, finally getting Ronnie to pick up and catching her up to speed. It was reassuring to hear her voice behind you out in the cabin, beginning to prep and organize everyone for landing. 

“I wasn't listening,” Chan sheepishly admitted, “how bad is it out there?”

“Of 198 souls on board, all are still alive,” you paused with a smile at the relieved sigh spilling out of Chan’s chest, “there’s three apparent injuries, a couple broken pairs of eyeglasses… And the Captain.”

Chan grit his teeth for a moment. “Fine,” he said, “If the Captain is the worst then that’s the best I could hope for right now.” 

You pulled down the jumpseat behind Chan and stayed during landing and taxi, keeping a soft but firm hand on his shoulder, but you couldn't help but wonder why: were you comforting him or yourself? Thankfully, your landing kept you from dwelling on it. Despite his trepidation, his landing was excellent. Outside, the blinking white and red lights of ambulances could be seen on the tarmac. Most of your regulars grumbled as they exited the plane, already hurrying to find new flights. You gave Chan one more comforting squeeze on the shoulder. 

“Good landing, First Officer,” you smiled. His returned smile was small as you opened the cockpit door and were instantly pulled into a hug by your crew. You all deplaned, luggage in hand and watching solemnly as Jay was carted off by EMT’s. An older man with a badge approached you. Thankfully, not NTSB. Just higher-ups from the airline. It wouldn’t be a huge deal, just a quick interview with each of you. You looked back to see Chan emerge from the cockpit, backpack slung over one shoulder and cap in his hands when he got intercepted by an investigator of his own. 

The interview was simple. You were sleeping, you woke up to turbulence, the plane fell, you went to check the cockpit and found the Captain out cold, you helped the First Officer decide on the smaller airport based on the factors at hand. Before too long you and your crew were all assembled at the front of the airport, huddled against the frigid winter air and climbing into your comped rental car to your comped motel. The city was still quiet, and none of you were ready to sleep. Thankfully, a small bar down the street from the motel was still open, its red sign a beacon in the still of the night. 

Ronnie carefully nudged Tia in your booth. “You alright?”

Tia nodded. “Sure. Just a little shaken up still. Dumb, right?”

“Not at all,” Brian shook his head as he sipped his beer, “that was fucking terrifying. Never dealt with that before.”

“Dealt with it once,” Ronnie shrugged, “hated it even more this time. You’re not being dumb.”

“How bad was it out there?” You asked. 

“The woman in 14 was having a fit,” Brian laughed, “She couldn’t understand, could not comprehend why we had to divert, and the dude next to her is, like, unconscious. He’s literally just out, he passed out from during the fall and she’s leaning over him and getting snippy with me.”

“Oh my god,” Tia laughed into her vodka cranberry, “what did you do?”

“What you always do,” Ronnie butted in, “Remember this sentence, Tia: I’m sorry you feel that way; if you’d like you can explain your issue to the ticket agent once we land.”

“That works?”

“They either drop it by then or the ticket agent has no patience for it. Just get it out of the damn cabin, you know? We’re already in a tuna can, the least you can do is be civil.”

The night went on like this, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to drink. It didn’t feel like you had anything to celebrate, like you didn’t do anything to warrant a reward. 

“Anyone want to head back to the room?” Ronnie finally relented. 

“Me!” Tia piped up. “I’m bushed and I would love to lie down.”

“Alright, alright,” Ronnie smiled. 

You gathered up your bag to join when you spied someone at the bar. 

Chan. 

How long had he been there? He just sat on the barstool, pensively nursing a hardly-touched beer and staring at his cap on the bar top. You let out a heavy sigh. 

“You guys go ahead,” you offered, “I’ll catch up.”

Brian raised an eyebrow as he closed the tab, his eyes catching the reason for your delay. “Are you sure about that?” Nonetheless, the three burst into laughter and still left, bundled up in their coats against the harsh cold outside. 

You casually approached the bar, taking the seat that Chan’s backpack resided in. You gently picked up the bag, making sure he was seeing you out of the corner of his eye as you set it on the bar top to sit down. A bright red fabric tag caught your eye, REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT emblazoned across it in bright white with CHAN embroidered on the end. Cute. When you flipped the tag over, more casual script was stitched on the back. Good on ya, Chris. 

“Chris?” You asked out loud, audibly puzzled. 

“Yeah?” Chan finally turned to fully look at you. He raised an eyebrow at your confused face. 

“Wait,” you laughed, “what’s your name?”

“Oh my god,” he smirked, “you thought Chan’s my real name?”

“Of course I did!” You smiled and buried your embarrassed face in your hands, “Jay introduced you that way!”

“Jay was razzing me for the worst call sign on the planet when you came in.”

“It’s your call sign?!” You idiot, you silently admonished. He didn’t buy his flight time. He traded service for half the hours. 

“Horrible, right?”

“I’ve heard worse,” you smiled gently. 

“You didn’t see my name on the itinerary?”

“It said FO C. Bang,” you shrugged helplessly. Chan -- or Chris, rather -- watched curiously as you pulled out your wallet and placed a bill on the bar. “You don’t need a beer,” you shook your head, “you need to talk. Did you get a room at the motel, too?”

Chris nodded, watching as you picked his cap up from the bar and taking it hostage as you turned to leave. He quickly grabbed his bag and followed you as you marched out the door and onto the sidewalk back to the motel. 

“So that explains your name, but I still don’t get the accent. Australia? How did that work with the military?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, almost impressed, “moved here when I was younger. Immigration wasn’t the worst thing in the world for me, but it took forever. Ever since I was a kid I wanted to fly planes, and I knew military service got you half your hours. Got out, went to school, and started teaching businessmen for their private licenses.”

“The real grind,” you smirked. 

“Yup. They always get these planes that look better than they fly.” He stopped you for a moment on the sidewalk, grabbing his cap from your hand and placing it on your head. He grinned with satisfaction, the little dimple it caused looking cuter than it did earlier. “What?” He asked. Your look must’ve given you away. 

“Nothing, I--” you floundered, “I feel bad. I had you pegged wrong. When I met you earlier I had you figured for a rich kid who bought his hours.”

“Oh yeah?” Chris laughed. “Can't say I would've passed an opportunity to. But is that what made you a little… Cold?”

“Yes,” you winced at your admission, “if anyone has ever tried to pinch my ass or pull on my pantyhose or grab my skirt, it's businessmen or young pilots who think they’re hot shit.”

“Your pantyhose?!” Chris stared, visibly disgusted for you when you nodded. “I get it,” he shrugged reassuringly, “better to keep your guard up. How long have you been flying? Any tips you can give me?”

“I’m done next month, to be honest. It’s only been a few years but I think I’m ready.”

“No! You’re kidding. You think we’ll fly together again?”

“Well,” you blushed, “where are you based?”

“New York. I was going to deadhead to LaGuardia after Newark.”

“Makes sense. I'm based out of Sea-Tac. That’s where I'm starting my new job.”

“No!” Chris exaggeratedly sighed, “I can't believe it. You’re not flying anymore?”

“Nope,” you smiled, “grounded as of next month.”

“Bummer,” he shook his head, “you’re a champ. By the way, were you just walking me back to my room?”

You were caught entirely off-guard as you noticed you had accompanied Chris right up to his door, just a few doors down from where you were staying with everyone else. “What? No. I wanted to talk. You looked so out of it back there.”

“Well, we can keep talking in here, then.” Chris smiled, digging his room key out of his pocket and opening the door. You truly considered this for a second. This was a pilot, you were a flight attendant. However, he somehow seemed so helpless in this moment, so at the mercy of this dumb day. Or were you seeing things? No, his voice asking you to stay in the cockpit was still fresh in your ears, his panic as clear in your mind as he was now. You followed him inside and he set his backpack on the floor as he flipped on the lights, apparently not even having been inside the room until now. You followed suit, setting down your purse as well. 

“Was the interview alright?” You asked, pulling up a chair from the small table in the corner as Chris sat himself on the edge of the bed. 

He nodded nonchalantly, stretching and massaging the bridge of his nose. “Sure. Pretty standard stuff. ‘What happened’, ‘what did you do according to procedure,’ all the fun stuff. I was just worried about the Captain the whole time.”

“I don’t blame you,” you offered with a small smile, “But I wouldn’t worry. Jay’s pretty tough.”

“Of course, but… I dunno,” Chris paused, his eyes downcast as he chewed on his lip in thought. “Everything happened so fast. Alarms are going off, the Captain’s out, and all I could think of was how I didn't feel ready. I wasn’t ready for this to happen.”

“When would you ever be? What surprised you the most?”

“I guess… All the people on board. The pressure of almost 200 people depending on you. This wasn’t even a giant disaster but I was on the brink of not being able to handle it that whole time and I just felt like such a failure.”

“But you landed safely,” you sat forward in your chair. You were tempted to place a comforting hand on his knee, but was that too much? “Everyone’s alive. Why would you be a failure?”

“Flying planes was supposed to be it. The thing I'm going to do forever and be happy doing and be great at, but the first real test comes and I almost crumble. What do I do with that?”

“This is it? This is the ‘thing’?” You asked. This time you did rest a hand on his knee, but just for a moment. He regarded it thoughtfully before he nodded. “Then try again,” you continued, “The terrifying thing no one told us growing up was that finding your ‘thing’ isn’t a finish line. It’s not like you find it and that’s it. A lot of times it’s more like goalposts. You have to keep passing them and sometimes there's never a finish line, but you love it and that’s what matters.”

Chris smirked, his shoulders softening. He shrugged his coat and jacket off, laying them next to him on the bed. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m glad,” you grinned, “I'm sort of making it up as I go along. I thought being a flight attendant was it, too, but one day I woke up and I didn't feel at home in the skies anymore. I wouldn't worry too much, by the way. You’re a good pilot.”

“And you're a really good flight attendant,” he smiled. “Was today worse than any businessman trying to pull on your pantyhose?”

“Yes,” you laughed, “but it would've been even worse if that happened, too. Besides, nobody flirts with you? That’s discrimination.”

“Of course they do! Last week a very friendly old man in Reno squeezed my arm for way too long when we were deplaning.” 

“What, like this?” You asked, playfully leaning forward and grabbing his bicep. 

“Not quite,” he wheezed out a laugh, “you’re not massaging it and leering at me.”

“This feels gross,” you wrinkled your nose as you tried it, “I feel like a perv.”

“Good, you’re really in the mindset then. It’s weird how old people think this is effective.” You both shared a laugh but you couldn't help but notice the restless look in his eye. 

“You’re still out of it?”

He shook his head. “Stupid, yeah?”

“Not stupid. Here,” you offered with a proactive clap, “an actual tip. Grab the pillow and bring it down here.” Chris eyed you curiously as he grabbed the pillow from behind him. Quickly, you got up and turned on the bedside lamp before flipping the ceiling light off. You took the pillow from him and shooed him off the bed for a second as you pulled aside the covers, laying the pillow on the foot of the bed. “I’m going to sound crazy, but just try it. Lay down now.”

“This way?”

You nodded seriously. Chris silently challenged you, only for a second as he rolled up his uniform sleeves before climbing into bed, his feet up where his head would've been. You took it upon yourself to sit beside him and untie the laces of his masterfully shined shoes. He stiffly looked down his nose, regarding his wiggling feet as you set the shoes together on the floor next to his bag. You reached over and pulled the covers over him, lightly tucking him in for full effect. 

“This feels weird.” He observed. 

“Right?”

“Absolutely bizarre.”

“But it feels new, right?”

“It does. But it’s just a bed,” Chris marveled. 

“Of course it’s just a bed, but 99% of the time you sleep in it one way. I sort of use this as a manual reset, like after a week of back-to-back nonstops and I'm in a different time zone and I don’t even feel like a person. Now how do you feel?”

Chris paused, considering it. “Weirdly enough… A little clarified. Almost a little reorganized. I think you’re right about the reset thing.”

“Glad you think so,” you clapped again as you arose, dusting yourself off. “And I'm glad I could help.”

You turned to gather your purse. Would asking for a phone number be too much? After all, what if you wanted to check on him? A tug pulled you out of your consideration -- literally -- Chris finding the first thing he could reach: the hem of your skirt once again. 

“Wait! You're leaving?”

You smiled down at his hand as he sheepishly let go. “Sure. You feel better now, right? We need some sleep. Want one more tip?”

“Please?”

You took the shabby comforter of the bed and tucked him back in, momentarily musing that you were restraining him from keeping you here longer. “Okay,” you smirked quietly at his careful attention, “one last tip: you actually can get your own coffee, but I would prefer if your pilot friends would ask before just taking over the galley.”

“No!” Chris let out with a surprised laugh, “That doesn’t count!” 

“Sure it does. You'll learn plenty more on your own. Sweet dreams, First Officer Chan.” You tucked him in just a little more, placing a playfully chaste kiss to his brow as a final touch, a final word and a closed door on the feelings you were telling yourself weren't there as you turned to grab your purse. 

Until yet another tug caught your attention. Only this time, it was a gentle pinch at the fabric of your pantyhose. You turned halfway around, the silence in the room crushing you as you locked eyes. Wordlessly, curiously, obviously, you sat back down on the bed and let Chris sit up to kiss you. You admired how his lips didn't waver on yours, even as they lingered. He meant it. 

“What's that for?” You whispered against him. 

“I didn’t want you to go yet,” he whispered back with a small smile, “And you're still wearing my hat.” 

You eyed him carefully despite your blushing face, weighing these heavy possibilities, all while tamping down the wild urge to ignore everything and kiss him again. However, maybe this was just a case of accepting everything… And kissing him again. 

So you did. First, you slipped off his cap from atop your head and set it on the bedside. Then, placing a hand on his shoulder, you attempted to match his confidence as you pushed him back onto the bed, following him down as you kissed him, your lips tight against his before you ultimately softened. Thoughts swam in your head as he slid your coat free from your arms, letting it fall off the side of the bed and onto the floor. 

“Is this alright? Chris asked softly against you, his hands already ahead of the curve and wrapping around your waist. He gently hauled you over to lay on his chest. The way he handled you made you feel weightless, only adding to the floating feeling in your stomach. You gave a short nod. Your fingers lightly brushed his fringe from his eyes, trailing down his cheek as if you were still confirming for yourself that this was real, and you were really making this decision that you had  never made in this situation before. There had been other pilots, other flight attendants, and even the occasional customer, but nothing had ever passed this barrier before. So you crossed it again with another kiss. 

Chris appeared satisfied with your affirmation as he rolled you both over in bed, his knee almost cautious as it parted your legs. The old mattress creaked beneath you, cradling your shoulders as Chris placed a tentative kiss to the nape of your neck. You reached down, lifting the hem of your skirt a little so his hips could settle between your thighs. On their way back up, your fingertips stopped at his belt, unbuckling him and sliding the leather free from the loops. Chris’ lips on your neck paused as he picked himself up from your chest. He watched intently as you pulled at his shirt, untucking it before he intervened. You waited a moment, catching your breath as he loosened his tie and pulled it away from the pressed collar of his shirt. This joined the belt you had dropped off the side of the bed. Both your hands reached for the top buttons of each other's shirts, making your ways down. You weren't sure if Chris was aware of how cutely and obviously he was staring at the slope of your breasts still concealed by your bra, until you took his hand and laid it on your chest. He got the hint quickly, his warm fingers firmly caressing and gently groping you. He seemed almost easily distracted, finding new things to be fixated on as you intermittently kissed and gasped. This time, it was him watching intently as you lifted your hips to reach behind you, unzipping your skirt and pushing it down. He eagerly took over, pulling your skirt off for you, also dropping it off the side of the bed. He sat back, taking a moment to slide off your low heels. A pang of affection thumped in your chest as he almost absent-mindedly massaged each foot before setting your shoes on the floor beside his. Next came your pantyhose. He leaned forward, softly kissing your bent knee as he nuzzled his way up your legs. Finally, his fingers dipped beneath the taut waistband and he watched, almost transfixed as he pulled the meager layer off of you. The sensation was so exposing that the panties that followed almost felt inconsequential. 

You sat up, wondering and watching as Chris kissed his way back up your legs once again, the light tickle of his lips making you smirk as you slipped off the remaining layers of your blouse and bra. He was almost caught off guard, the pause in his Adam’s apple giving away the deep breath he took at the sight of you before shedding his opened shirt as well. He swiftly shucked off his slacks and socks, barely giving you an equal opportunity to admire him before he leaned down to place a gentle introductory kiss just below your navel. Your breathless nod was all he needed to finally taste you. You gasped at the feel of him moaning against you, his tongue making you shiver as you grasped at the bedsheets. 

Too eager to wait, any amount of time he took savoring you between your legs seemed to fly by before he came up for air, running the back of his hand across his chin as he crawled up between your thighs. His hips rested heavy on yours once more, only this time the clear sensation of his erection against your damp entrance was only made more apparent by the thin layer of his briefs separating you both. He waited again for your approval before making another move, his hand poised at his hip until you nodded. The feel of the head of his rigid length was smooth against you, prodding shallowly into your soaked heat. The simultaneous moan that erupted from both of you was fuel on the fire. Your open legs wrapped around his hips, your fingers curled into his hair as you pulled him in for a hungry kiss. Chris slowly rocked his hips, working his way deeper into you until he bottomed out. His groan against your neck was so satisfied, almost as endearing as he was himself. 

You almost felt impatient as he gently fucked you. You wanted more -- more control, more pleasure, more of him. He was surprised as you pushed at his shoulder, feeling empty as he slid out of you and onto his back beside you. You sat up and brazenly pulled his underwear the rest of the way off, taking charge in straddling his hips. This time, however, it was your turn to wait for him. He gave a small, almost timid nod as he watched you. You humored the thought that maybe this was just as different of an experience for him as it was for you. Chris threw his head back on the pillow at the foot of the bed as you eased the walls of your pussy back down onto him, his hand clutching onto your hip and the other grabbing onto your thigh as you slowly began to ride him. Your hips firmly rocked on top of his, drawing more groans and soft curses made under his breath. It didn’t take long for him to get accustomed to you enough that his hands could wander. Now, one groped at your breast and the other traveled up your thigh to between your legs, allowing himself full access to caressing your clit with the pad of his thumb. His eyes lit up at your response, moaning louder than you meant to as your depths clenched around him. Soon enough, the set in his clenched jaw matched his furrowing brow and it was a sight to be enamored with. The stir between your legs started to build heat up your chest like a chimney, your head getting light the further along he pushed you. Chris’s hips bucked up against yours and bounced you harder onto his length. 

He took it upon himself to nod first this time, breathlessly warning you of how close he was and you shook your head, begging him to hold off as your nails lightly raked down his chest. The way he smirked, biting at his lip as he thrust even harder against you, his thumb rubbing faster circles on your clit -- no one had so playfully pushed you to cum before. And it was working. You could feel your toes curling at the unstoppable force at which you were approaching this orgasm, and the way Chris insistently watched only made it all the more intense as you finally locked up, hitting your peak and nearly going limp in the process. The way it hit you, the sound almost dropped out as if you were submerged underwater. He quickly took over, clutching onto your hips now as he fucked into your dripping pussy. You were practically a useless doll with how easily he handled you on top of him, but at the same time he was still so gently firm with you that it was as if you were precious to him. Maybe you were, with the eyes he made at you, at least for now. He watched your blissful face desperately until the moment he couldn't anymore, wrenching his eyes shut and letting his head fall back into the pillow with the force of his own orgasm. 

As his hands released your hips, you exhaustedly curled into yourself on his lap, leaning your head down to wrap around him. Chris held onto you, his trembling matching yours in the wake of your climaxes. His arms hugged strong around your waist nonetheless, embracing you closely as his length gradually softened inside of your sensitive walls. You stayed like that, listening to each other breathe in the quiet of the dimly lit room. As you rolled over to lay at his side, Chris followed you, nuzzling into your chest. You tipped a fingertip under his chin and he looked up at you, his sleepy eyes wrapped up in you and almost reminding you of a puppy. 

He closed his eyes as you kissed his forehead, your fingers lazily stroking his hair as you kissed his nose, his chin, and finally his lips again. 

“What was that for?” He quietly laughed. 

“Congratulations,” you chuckled, “I've never done this before.”

Chris pouted cutely, his eyes still closed, “You're not regretting this already, are you?”

“Of course not,” you soothed, “I'm just surprised it happened. But I'm not surprised it was you.”

He smiled warmly, even in his half-awake state. “What happens tomorrow?”

“You mean today.”

“Tomorrow is tomorrow until I fall asleep,” he laughed, “so what happens then?”

“I'm going to visit Jay if I can,” you decided thoughtfully, “and I'll buy you breakfast at a greasy diner before I put you on a plane to LaGuardia and never see you again.”

“You'll never see me again?” His pout renewed in spades, only with a touch more sincerity to it this time. 

“Sure,” you kissed him with a smile again, “it's hard to keep you pilots on the ground long enough.”

Chris hummed in thought, his grin returning as he caught you challenging him. “Hmm, no.”

“No?”

“No. I'll see you again,” he decided, “You have more tips to show me. I'll be useless without you.”

“Fine,” you laughed. You grabbed the shabby comforter of the bed, bundling up with him where you still laid the wrong way in bed. “I won't say no to that.”

Chris smiled contentedly as you kissed his forehead once more. Your eyes joined his in closing now, softly falling asleep in each other's arms even as a new day was forming outside. The hectic night you'd had finally hit you, gracefully knocking you out as you considered the way you weren't as nervous about being grounded next month. Maybe you wouldn't truly be leaving the skies if he was still up there.