#but i just think there's a way to talk about one person's snub without dragging down someone else's success

[emailsicantsnd]

The only reason olivia was nominated for anything was because he label has always paid for it to happen she's in no way talented enough to win a Grammy on her own

see like here's the thing to my point yesterday from my post ab sabrina not being grammy nominated, there's a way to support someone without tearing down someone else (i.e. the women supporting women concept)

i'll be honest and say im not a fan of olivia. her music just personally isn't something i care for, and only really like a handful of songs of hers that i dont really reach for to listen anyways. but with that said, just because i dont really gel with her music doesn't mean im gonna go off and say she's not talented, bc that's totally subjective and clearly she has to have talent if she's had the astronomical success that she's had, and that's great for her, but her music isn't for me so it's inconsequential to me if she's nominated or not and that's okay! good for her, but i am bummed as hell that sabrina didn't nominated and unfortunately, bc of the DL drama (that i am BEYOND over hearing about and have my own gripes about how that was handled), sabrina is always gonna be inextricably linked to olivia, so it's one thing to be bummed about sabrina, but we dont have to go after olivia for getting nominated because they're two separate people that deserve to be talked about individually

i have my own issues with the grammys/scammys as is but that's not something im blaming on olivia or saying she has any fault in in the slightest. for me, i didnt particularly care for sour or guts because im very particular about my pop music since my first love is rock/punk/screamo/metal etc (more aggressive music) so for me it doesn't matter if she got the grammy nom, that's not something im concerning myself with, i just want us to be able to support women without it being at the expense of someone else in the industry because we dont have to be fans of everyone and that's okay 💌

at the end of the day this is my sabrina side blog, and that's who i wanna focus on on here 💌

[astaroth1357]

The MC is a Valkyrie

Demigod MC Series: Intro

Greek: Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2, Poseidon, Ares, Hestia, Nyx

Norse: Valkyrie

A bit of a change of pace this time! No worries, I'm not done with the Greeks or anything. I just had this idea and wanted to get it out. 

Valkyries aren't really demigods, but are a part of Norse myth as the minor divinities that help choose and deliver fallen warriors to Valhalla to join the ranks of the einherjar (the souls who will fight when Ragnarok comes). Valkyries are depicted as women who are fierce warriors in their own right. Despite their place as the gatekeepers of the Chosen, they've been said to sometimes take heroes and mortals as lovers or take residence in Midgard posing as daughters of royals/nobility. 

Lucifer 

At first, they thought they grabbed an heiress - which would have been bad enough - but then the MC grew wings, drew a spear, and asked who among them wanted a glorious death...

How hard is it to find ONE damn human on Earth? Isn't that realm supposed to be full of them??

Diavolo was thankfully able to talk their winged friend down from skewering Asmo and accepting the exchange on behalf of the human wo-… Midgard. 

Living with a Valkyrie is different for sure. The MC is a proud woman who takes her role very seriously and she's seemingly deemed him and his brothers as candidates for einherjar (despite being demons).

He's tried many, many times to explain to her that they're not interested, but she's unconvinced. Now the MC watches his brothers like a hawk waiting to cart one of them off to Valhalla! Any mortal wound could be an excuse...

He's had to save Beel and Satan twice from getting dragged to that infernal palace… For whatever reason, she seems to have taken to them the most. Is it old Norse culture to favor the brash and strong? He has no idea...

At the very least, she knows better than to try to drag him into her little plans. Though he's sure he could qualify for the einherjar (obviously, why wouldn't he?) he has no interest in leaving his life here behind.

To think he'd actually have to put surveillance on his own brothers for their safety… But they're not going to get drafted into some ancient Norse war, not if he can help it.

Mammon 

She’s an heiress… An heiress!!

Well, her human world identity is an heiress to a well-respected (and rather magical) rich family but that still technically counts! She’s crazy loaded back there! He’s in love!!

The only problem is that in the Devildom she doesn’t have a cent.

… and the fact that she keeps trying to get him killed. That’s also a problem.

In a way, things are not as bad and exactly as bad as that sounds. The MC apparently wants him to go to Valhalla (dope) but she can’t just take him there… He technically has to die in some kind of “vallent battle” first.

Her solution? Pick fights with nearly anything that moves and drag him into it!

Honestly, it’s pretty annoying… Sometimes he just wants to have a fun night out without getting into a barfight, you know??

At least the MC can handle herself… Hell, he was her "babysitter" but she barely even needed him. A lesser demon once made the bad idea of trying to cup her ass and lost a hand for his trouble…

Though, what this amounts to is the MC starting something then fighting alongside him like back-to-back badasses while looking for any excuse to scoop him up and fly him to Asgard!

Why does he put up with this? Well for starters human world rich is still rich, all he has to do is get himself a portal then he's living the high life! And secondly, well… what's the harm?

Sure, she technically wants him dead but he's the secondborn! The list of people who can take him down is so slim that it's not like he's in any danger. She even fights with him so things are a piece of cake!

Is this a case where he's 100% more forgiving because she's rich? Yes. Absolutely. But a golddigger's gotta eat somehow, right?

Leviathan 

Is it weird to be jealous over someone not wanting you to die...?

Okay, that's an oversimplification but Levi can’t help but feel snubbed that the MC doesn’t have any interest in taking him to Asgard. Like, none! And why not??

He’s strong! He’s tough! He’s part snake too! Don’t the Nords have a thing about that? Like, there’s a giant snake they’re all worried about?? Maybe he could communicate with it!

Logically, Levi knows that he really shouldn’t press her on this… MC is pretty much a Grim Reaper with a Norse coat of paint and Asgard doesn’t really sound like his speed. No anime, no video games, not even cable! It’s just eat, train, and drink all day… Ew.

But still… What makes him an odd one out? 

At best, she just knows he wouldn't be happy there. At worst, she's underestimating his skill… or maybe she's gauged him just right? He's always known he was weak!! 😫

Oh well... at least she's not a bore to be around. Far from it. She treats EVERYTHING like a life or death trial - he's pretty sure that if he challenged her to rock, paper, scissors she'd commend him for his bravery and swear on her sisters that she won't lose.

He once made the mistake of inviting her and Simeon for a game of Devil Party and they both got so into it that they nearly had a duel to the death as a tiebreaker… 

Thank Devil that the game had a pre-programmed minigame for that kind of thing… It would have gotten messy otherwise.

Well, even if his other brothers go to Asgard, he can just chill out here with Lucifer and Asmo… right…? Actually, no, that sounds horrible! MC, he changes his mind!! Take him too!!! 😭

Satan 

How many times does he have to say that he doesn’t want to go to Asgard?!?

Well, okay that’s not entirely true. Out of scientific curiosity, seeing the godly realm of the old Nords would be fascinating but he doesn’t want to stay, which the MC seems to have trouble understanding…

He’s not even sure why she's singled him out for einherjar status… Any one of his brothers are powerful beings in their own right and he’s not particularly, uh, “even-tempered” himself...

His best guess is she saw him wipe out a handful of lesser demons at some point and declared him Ragnarok material. He always ends up throwing around at least three of those idiots a week so checks out… 

If he's being honest, her very existence raises so many questions… Does this mean that Ragnarok is real? Will the human world be swallowed up by the sea? Will the gods of Asgard fight and die as a new world is established? When??

Unfortunately, the MC won't tell him when it all will come to pass (he suspects even she doesn't know) just that Loki will trigger it… Someone keep tabs on that guy.

Until then, he just has to put up with her attempts to convince him but his patience is wearing thin… He's pretty sure he threw a bookshelf at her once but she caught it anyway so yeah...

He did challenge her to a proper duel too but… well let's say she's a Valkyrie for a reason and leave it at that. (Being saved by Lucifer was so humiliating… He's done here, move on already!!)

Asmodeus

First things first, she's gorgeous. Beautiful! Divine! (Literally 🤭)

Now that that's out of the way… She may also have a screw or two loose.

Like, he gets it. She's a Valkyrie and snapping up strong souls is her thing but come on… Mammon? Really? Why would he get into Valhalla instead of him, huh??

Why can't he get to go to the beautiful afterlife of the old Norse with all their strapping warriors, lovely maidens, and endless partying?? It's not fair!!

Ugh… and now she's got him sounding like LEVI! How frustrating…

Well, it may not be that bad. According to MC, he'd have to do battle training in Valhalla and that wouldn't really agree with his beauty routine. Like dirt, sweat, blood, and muscles? No thanks! Not for him.

He asked MC if he could get some kind of pass, but no dice… Maybe he could still convince her to let him vacation there… Or go for a visit? Just one? Surely that couldn't be so bad right?? He's heard that Thor looks NOTHING like people think he does and he's so curious!!

The closest he's ever gotten was challenging the MC to a fashion contest for a visit, but he dropped that idea quick when she proposed that they somehow include a wrestling match in the dressing room (and he knows she didn't mean the fun kind...)

As much as he'd love to get skin-to-skin with MC, the idea of getting locked in a chokehold was less appealing for some reason. 🤔

Ah well, he'll just have to make due admiring her wonderful body clothed for the time being… There's something to be said about muscular ladies, no?

Beelzebub 

So she’s almost convinced him to join the einherjar like twice now…

He’s not the best at making decisions when he’s hungry and the MC keeps hyping up the food… Apparently it’s really good up there and MC says that she’s never seen an empty platter... Just thinking about it makes his stomach do backflips.

Thankfully for him, Lucifer usually steps in before Beel can sign his soul away and reminds him that he can’t just abandon the family for a meal, even if it is a feast.

You'd think he'd be annoyed but Beel isn't really bothered by her habit of trying to bring everyone to Asgard. At least not on a personal level.

Like Lucifer, he doesn't want to see his family broken up so he'd rather she wouldn't… But she's a Valkyrie right? It's what she does. It's not like she can help it.

In a weird way, he also thinks she means well. She just respects them and wants them to have a good afterlife. It would be kind of sweet if they didn't have to die for it first…

If he's being honest, he's not that worried about it anyway. His family is pretty tough, not a lot in the Devildom can take them down. As long as they're careful, everybody should be alright. 🙂

Maybe he could get MC to make some Valhallan food for them in the Devildom… Or he could get one of those immortality apples?? Though those would extend his life wouldn't they…? Oh well...

Belphegor 

Belphie's attempt to kill the MC went something like this:

Belphie: *switches to his demon form* "I can't believe you actually trusted me!"

MC: *blinks* "Oh. So you want to challenge me then?"

Belphie: "What?"

MC: "Ah, now I see! You want to fight to prove your valor then die by my hand??"

Belphie: "What are yo-??"

MC: *summons wings and golden spear* "I like your spunk, demon!! Fight me with all you have and perhaps I'll take you to Valhalla! May you join us in our fight as a brother!!"

Belphie: "What the hell are you talking about!?!"

To his credit, he put up a good fight and probably would have gotten into Asgard if Lucifer hadn't intervened to save his life.

It can be said that the MC's Valkyrie-hood took Belphie completely by surprise. Sure, he thought she was a little weird for a "human" but challenging him to a duel to the death? That came out of nowhere!

His uneasiness about her only grew after he found out that she's been literally trying to get Beel killed! How in the world were his brothers so relaxed about this?? She's insane!!

So say what you will about the MC, but she's managed to do the impossible. She got Lucifer and Belphie to make up and work together on something! (i.e. making sure she doesn't send them all to their deaths)

Between Lucifer monitoring his brothers and Belphie watching the MC, they'll keep everybody in the Devildom where they belong. That's a promise!

[ladywhistleclown]

Benedict Bridgerton x M!Reader: Valentines Fools

Summary: Benedict does something special. Word Count: 3334 A/N: I read this post about Valentines in Regency England, and found it so interesting that I had to write about it. of course, I made it gay. duh. Also, I wrote the ‘poem’ later myself, but its inspired by many LGBT poets/writers from history who wrote poems like it, about hope for future LGBT folks, just very simplified. This is some of my best work, and I don’t want it to get snubbed just because its not f/m, so like, give it a chance! MLM fic is also fun :) Enjoy! Warnings: Fluff, Drinking, Giggly men doing giggly men things (being stupid) -- Valentines Day, in your mind, was a rather dreadful event. Ladies and Lords spent days agonizing over hand-made letters, writing disgusting poetry about love, or rejection. You had never partaken in the act, partly because you had never had anyone to write to, and partly because even if you had, you had neither the patience nor skill to craft such detailed notes of devotion. You thought it best to leave such things to artists and ladies, of which you were neither. This year was only slightly different. After having met Benedict at Lord Granville's, striking up conversations about art, women, and your places in society, you had developed a rather strange relationship, one that you would almost call a courtship, if it wasn’t so clearly an impossibility. Benedict simply wanted to explore something new, something outside the realm of society and expectations, and you, lovesick fool that you were, happily obliged him. It was nothing more than attraction and curiosity. Second son or not, Benedict could never marry a man. Even if he wanted to.

At least you could drown yourself in booze at Lord Granville's. He was a good listener, with even better advice, and you knew that he understood exactly your pain. It was here you found yourself, a day before Valentines, throwing down your sixth beer and lamenting to Granville, who sat patiently by your side. “Society is not kind to those like us.” You sighed, running the tip of your index finger along the outer edge of your glass, staring blankly at it, as though if you drank enough, the answers would appear in the liquor. “No, it isn’t. But we are kind to each other, and ourselves.” He replied, looking over you with pity. You had never been much of a drinker, not for as long as Granville had known you, but your infatuation with Benedict had brought it out in you, and he wondered if it was a mistake to invite the Bridgerton boy here, if it caused an old friend to suffer in a way that was very familiar and personal to him. He knew the pain of impossible love too well, and saw himself reflected in your morose state. “Of course. You’re too kind to me, Granville. I talk your ear off about my foolish troubles with Bridgerton, but never think to ask of yours.” “I am not nearly as troubled as you are. And as I said, we must look out for each other, as the ton certainly will not.” he lifted up his own drink, pausing just before it reached his lips to glance at you, “Perhaps I should dis-invite Bridgerton from future events?” “Oh hell, Granville, don’t torture the man on my account. He enjoys the art and the company, and besides that,  I’d rather him here than at some brothel.” you grimaced as soon as the words left your mouth, an embarrassing slip revealing just how deeply attached you were. “Apologies. The alcohol has loosened my tongue.” “No bother. I understand that jealousy quite well.” Granville said, his voice still light and amused, and you couldn't help but laugh as he took a sip, winking at you before putting his glass down. “What jealousy?” Came a loud voice from directly behind you. You jumped, Granville almost knocking his drink over in his shock. Of course, he would arrive now, when you were drunk and foolish. You breathed out quickly, praying that you would say nothing incriminating before turning to face Benedict. He looked confused, glancing from Granville's face to yours, before reiterating, “What jealousy, Granville?” “Merely of other artists. I’m sure you know it too.” He recovered, taking another drink before gesturing to the table, “Care to join us?” Benedict sat in the chair closest to you, and you shot Granville a look of pure spite. In your drunken haze, everything seemed too much. His voice was too smooth, his smile too large, and the way he draped an arm across your chair, caging you in, was entirely too casual. You promised to whatever God was listening that you would slaughter Granville for this. “Of course I do. You know better than anyone.” He agreed, sliding easily into the conversation. You remained silent, not trusting yourself in your inebriation to respond beyond a simple hum of agreement or a grunt of displeasure. If you allowed yourself to speak freely, no doubt you would be weeping in Benedict's arms like a little girl within minutes. “What do you think?” You started, retreating from your thoughts to find both Benedict and Granville looking at you. Benedict’s eyes shone with thinly veiled concern, tilting his head and gently shaking you by the shoulder, while Granville simply smiled in amusement. “I..was lost in thought. My apologies.” You said quickly, waving Benedict’s hands away and sitting up completely. You were drunker than you thought, and briefly you wondered if you would even be able to make it to your carriage without help. You figured if you couldn’t, you would force Granville to escort you. He certainly owed you, after pulling this little stunt. “You’re wasted. Perhaps you should head home.” Benedict said gently. You huffed, shaking your head. “Don’t concern yourself with me, I can take care of myself. Now. My opinion on what, exactly?” “Valentines,” Granville supplied, glancing into his empty cup, “we were talking about all the effort that goes into such cards and letters. Artistry, in a way. What do you think of it?” “I find the holiday wholly unnecessary. And it takes far too much time to make such delicate things. A canvas is much more secure.” you huffed. Benedict stiffened beside you, although in your semi-consciousness, you barely noticed, your eyes fluttering between shut and open. “So you wouldn’t make any?” Benedict asked. “No.” “Would you receive them?” “I suppose it would be rude to deny such labors of love. But I have never received one, and I doubt I will this year. Ladies don’t send cards to men like me.” you shrugged, drooping over the table. The longer you sat, the harder it was to hold yourself up. If you passed out, it would be a good escape from such intimate topics with Benedict, so you allowed yourself to slump on the table, sighing. “Alright, that's enough. I’ll help you home.” Benedict declared, standing up and taking you by the arm, heaving you up. You groaned in protest, but didn’t fight as he slung your arm over his shoulder and half dragged you away from the table, Granville following behind. “Apologies, Bridgerton. Next time I won’t allow him to indulge quite so much. You may end up getting more than 10 minutes with him that way.” He said cheerily. “I’m sober enough to know when I’m being mocked, Granville.” you opened your bleary eyes to glare at him, finding his eyes twinkling with amusement. He patted your shoulder. “It’s no trouble. I was about to head home, anyway.” Is all Benedict said as he helped you into the carriage, climbing in after you and seating himself on the same bench. Granville waved you both off as Benedict rapped his knuckles on the carriage, directing your footman to take you home. “Now you have me alone and vulnerable. Not very gentlemanly of you, Bridgerton. What would the ton think?” you teased, leaning lazily against the side of the carriage, away from him. You hoped it was subtle, that he thought you were just drunk and loose and tired. You couldn’t bear the thought of him finding out just how weak you were for him. Then he would leave, and you would be crushed. “They would think nothing, because we’re men.” He pointed out, leaning closer to you. You hummed, acknowledging his words, but didn’t reply beyond that. It was only then that you realized how precarious a situation you were in. Drunk, alone, with a man you loved, who seemed to be moving closer and closer by the minute, although maybe you were imagining that part. Anything was possible when you were this drunk. “They would be wrong, though.” Benedict finished softly. He reached over, brushing his fingers along your jaw, moving downward to loosen your cravat. You sighed, tilting your head back to allow him easier access, cursing yourself but unable to shove him away. You were such a fool. “Are you planning something?” You asked. He finally managed to pull your cravat away, revealing your neck to him. He laughed at your question. “With you this drunk? No. I only wanted you to be more comfortable.” He tossed the cloth onto the other bench, leaning safely away from you to stare out the window after. While you were partly disappointed, you were mostly relieved. You wouldn’t have been able to resist, and only would have brought yourself more shame and confusion in regards to him. But Benedict was a good man, and he would never take advantage of you in your current state. Your heart squeezed. Too good of a man. “I’m sorry to be such a burden tonight.” you blurted suddenly. Benedict looked at you, his head whipping away from the window so quickly it almost made you dizzy. “I shouldn’t have drank so much. It was foolish.” “You’re never a burden to me.” He said, his voice soft and indignant, almost as if he was offended by the mere idea that you had inconvenienced him. “You shouldn’t have to chaperone me home like a weak debutante.” “I’d rather you than a debutante. Trust me.” You chuckled, shaking your head and glancing out the carriage window. You could see the square, and your home, fast approaching. It appeared as though your time with Benedict was over for tonight. Relieved and downtrodden, you sat up and attempted to right your swirling vision as the carriage came to a stop. Benedict stood, helping you up and out of the carriage. After explaining the situation to your housekeeper, he hauled you all the way into your home and bedroom, even being kind enough to help you out of your boots as you lay back in your bed, arm over your eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. “I’ll be going, then.” He said quietly, standing up and brushing his hands together. You lifted your arm, making certain you weren’t going to puke before crooking one finger, beckoning him closer. “Come here.” You breathed. He obeyed, moving dutifully to your side, remaining silent despite the question in his eyes. You sat up slowly, ignoring your dizziness. Placing a hand on the back of his neck, you pulled him closer. Benedict, realizing what you were after, leaned down and forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You flopped back into your bed after he pulled away, grinning, although you couldn’t see it, having already rolled over and buried your face in the covers. “Goodnight. I hope you enjoy tomorrow.” He said ominously, the clicking of his heels against the marble floor the only indication you had that he had left. Before you could even think of the meaning of his strange farewell, you were dragged into rest. -- The first thing you registered after waking was the pounding behind your eyes. Moaning in pain, you lifted your arm over your face, blocking out the light that your butler had let in through the curtains. “My apologies, My Lord. Should we have a cure made?” He asked politely, noticing your haggard state. “Quickly.” You begged. He nodded, bowing before swiftly leaving the room to procure you a bit of relief. Sitting up, you turned away from the windows completely, opting to try and find your balance. After a moment, you were able to make your way to your wardrobe, pulling on your breeches and doublet. Today you had no need to dress formally. Valentines was a day you dedicated to staying completely shuttered away from the rest of the ton, tending to your estate and business ventures. It was easier than being bombarded with reminders of love, and much easier than running into any Bridgerton, although one, of course, you wanted to avoid above all else. It would only pain you to see him giving or receiving such intimate letters, especially with the women of the ton. Once your butler had delivered your cure, and you had thrown down the slimy, disgusting mixture, you were feeling much improved. You made your way to your study, smiling at your maids as they bowed before rushing off, no doubt in a hurry to finish their work and make off with their sweethearts for the day. You felt a twinge of jealousy, smiling sadly as you opened the door to your study. Oh. In your study sat piles and piles of cards, all handmade, some gilded with gold while others were trimmed with lace. You picked one up, in awe at its intricate gold-foil flowers, embossed on the front and lined with sharp swirls and embellishments, all clearly hand done with a calligraphy pen. You opened the card. The script inside was as lovely as the rest of the card, although it was the words that brought tears to your eyes. I sit and I look into your face And I see those before us, Who have loved as we do, And I see those after, And I pray that our impossibility Will become their reality. Yours. You choked on a sob, quickly closing the card and setting it down. The last thing you wanted was to ruin something so perfect with tears. It was not signed, and it didn’t have to be for you to know. Benedict. You looked around the room. There were at least 3 large piles of cards, enough to last an entire year, all handmade and intricate. You wondered how long this had taken him. It would take you days just to read them all. Surely, your servants thought you were either the biggest rake in the ton, with all these notes. You couldn’t care less. You gathered them all, handling them as gently as you would glass, slipping them into your desk cabinet and locking it. They were yours, no one else's. Benedict's words were just for you. Dazed, you leaned back into your office chair, holding the first card, running your fingers over the edges and rereading the lines over and over. It wasn't quite a poem, nor a letter, but a sentiment. A dream, a wish. You would be lying if you said that it wasn’t your dream too. A future where love like yours would be special, not sinful. Love. You jolted. And then laughed. How could you ever have doubted him? Surely, it was only love that would drive him to do this. Only love that would have him escort you home, make sure you were safe and comfortable. That would make him sit for what must have been weeks, if not months, working tirelessly on card after card just to take advantage of the one day where letters between unmarried men and women could be sent freely. Of course, he did so for a cover. But was that not also love? He wanted to protect you from ire, from harm, and so he delivered all the letters he felt he couldn’t today, just to keep from drawing unwanted eyes. Crying and laughing all at once, you pressed the note to your chest. How had you doubted his love for a second? His devotion? You truly were a fool, although not in the way you had expected. It took you half an hour to calm yourself, and by that time, your headache was back and worse than before, thanks to your emotional outburst. But another thing was back, too. Your butler, standing in the doorway with an impassive look on his face, glancing about the room, no doubt looking for the heaps of cards the servants had dropped off. “Do you know what card came from which maiden?” You asked, holding up the first card. It was the only card you had yet to put away, and though you were loathe to show it to him, you thought you should make it try and seem as though you had no idea who they had come from. “The cards were delivered mysteriously early this morning, My Lord. No names, no signatures.” “I see. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. None of them will be receiving a response.” You laughed, setting the card down. “What is it?” “A visitor, sir. The Second Bridgerton. Says he has something to discuss with you, about Lord Granville's gathering last night.” Your heart stuttered. “Send him up. No doubt he wants me to apologize for making such an ass of myself last night.” You joked, and he smiled back, giving a quick nod before rushing off to fetch Benedict. You quickly tucked the last letter into your desk drawer, pulling out a decanter of whiskey and pouring yourself a small glass. “No better cure for a hangover than more drink, right?” Benedict stepped into your study, shutting the door behind him even as he teased you. You laughed, pouring him a glass as well. He took it gratefully, sitting down in the chair across from yours, the desk between you two. “You may mock me if you wish, Benedict, but I am feeling positively delightful.” you said dramatically, lifting your cup in cheers. Benedict touched his glass to yours, and you took a sip. He did not. “Would that have anything to do with any deliveries?” He questioned, a secretive smile spreading across his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” “That’s why I asked.” You snorted, shaking your head quickly. “It would, if you must know.” Dropping all pretenses, he leaned forward, smiling even brighter now. “So you’ve got them. Do you like them?” “Of course I do,” you breathed, leaning in as well, dropping your voice to a whisper, “how long did they take you? They’re beautiful. True artistry.” “Much too long, as you said last night. But they were worth it, if you like them.” You nodded once. Smiling, he brought one hand to rest on your desk, palm up and spread open. You took it, intertwining your fingers. “Do you truly...love me? In that way?” you asked nervously, avoiding his gaze in favor of staring at your two hands. “No, I spent hours of my precious time making hand crafted love letters for a man I consider a friend.” He rolled his eyes. “If anyone would do such a thing, it would be you, Benedict.” “Certainly not. It would be Colin.” You laughed, and he grinned. Standing, he quickly rounded your desk and pulled you up by your still connected hands, pulling you against him and kissing you firmly. It was sudden, but not unpleasant, and you wrapped your arms around him, carding your fingers through his hair before resting your hands on the nape of his neck. After a long moment, he pulled away, eyes shining mischievously. “I do love you.” “And I you.” you said quickly, desperate to reciprocate. You had spent so long convinced that Benedict only saw you as good fun, that the revelation of love had left you reeling. But you would be damned if you passed up this opportunity to tell him of the affections you had kept secret since your first meeting. In response, he kissed your jaw once before pulling away, still smirking. “But you taste of garlic and egg. You truly should not have indulged so much. Now I can’t kiss you.” Groaning, you turned away from him, clamping your lips shut even as he wraps his arms around your middle, pressing kisses to your neck and cheek lovingly, cooing affections like a lovesick fool. You smiled at that passing thought, leaning into Benedict and returning his whispers in kind, leading him with purpose to your bed chamber. Perhaps you were both lovesick fools. You could live with that.

[panharmonium]

there is....so much going on in this scene.  

the fact that sasuke asks for kakashi!!!

and then, of course, the as-yet unaddressed resentment that starts festering after kakashi doesn’t appear, and the way it has now merged with other (equally untrue) grievances to manifest as embittered rage (i’ve been itching to kill you...)

i think it’s relevant to note, before getting into this further, that kakashi hasn’t actually done any of the things that sasuke starts to resent him for here.  kakashi did NOT send yamato and the kids to go and get sasuke.  this mission was not supposed to take them anywhere NEAR sasuke.  they were supposed to capture a spy in the woods and bring said spy back to the Leaf so that a real, fully-staffed rescue attempt could be planned for later, once kakashi got out of the hospital.  but yamato made an executive decision to mount this retrieval attempt after the original mission blew up in their faces, because he knew that if they didn’t follow orochimaru now, they would never have another chance at finding sasuke before the six-month deadline expired.  kakashi has no idea that team 7 is confronting sasuke right now.  and he didn’t come with them on the original mission because he’s currently lying incapacitated in a hospital bed!  he is literally incapable of standing up, never mind traveling anywhere.

but none of this information is available to sasuke, so all he internalizes is that he’s been DELEGATED.  

and i’ll tell you - that shocks him.

nothing else in this arc fazes him.  sasuke has always known, on some level, that his team cares enough about him to hunt him down, and so when they finally do appear, it’s no more than he’s been anticipating.  he doesn’t so much as roll over in bed when sai breaks into his room and attacks him.  he’s not surprised to see sakura.  he’s not surprised to see naruto.  he’s not surprised that his team has finally shown up to try and drag him home; he’s been expecting that for years.  

but he NEVER expected them to show up without kakashi.  

that was never on the table.  he never thought - it never even occurred to him.  the idea that kakashi wouldn’t even come for him - that he would just send some random substitute instead - that throws sasuke off his footing in a way that nothing else about this arc is able to do.  none of the scenarios he ever played out in his head over the last three years looked like this.  somehow, on some subconscious level, sasuke has always assumed that he was still priority #1 for everyone, and it’s a rude awakening now for him to realize that maybe he was mistaken.

it says a lot about who he perceives kakashi to be, for his assumptions to have been so certain.  despite everything, sasuke’s understanding of his teacher is still rooted in having heard him say “i’ll protect you with my life.”  sasuke expects kakashi to come running after him no matter what’s happened, no matter how long it’s been, no matter how vehemently sasuke protested previous attempts to bring him home or how many people he attacked while he was running away.  the idea that kakashi wouldn’t even bother to show up - that he would just hand sasuke off to some stranger - it throws sasuke for an entire loop.

and obviously, we as the audience know that sasuke’s original assumptions about kakashi were correct, and his perception of the current situation is completely misinformed, but there’s no way for us to tell him that.  and even if this weren’t the case - from a purely objective perspective, sasuke has no rational reason to feel snubbed!  he left the Leaf of his own volition, and he was very vehement (violently so!) about the fact that he did not want anybody to follow him.  but even so, there’s just no winning with this kid.  he resents people when they try to chase him, and he resents them just as much when they don’t.

the thing about sasuke at this point in the story is this: he can talk about breaking his bonds all he wants, but deep down, he wants to have it both ways.  he wants to reject the people who care about him, but he doesn't want them to be okay with it.  he wants to run away, but he doesn’t want them to just let him escape.  he's not planning on letting anybody save him, but he still wants somebody to try.  deep, deep down, where even he himself can’t consciously see it, he wants somebody to come for him.  

it’s not rational or reasonable, but sasuke isn’t in a rational or reasonable state of mind.  he isn’t well right now, and he hasn’t been for a long time.  when the person he unquestioningly expected to come and rescue him doesn’t appear (regardless of the fact that sasuke himself is the one who keeps telling people to stop chasing him!) - he doesn’t process that well at all.  “unfortunately, kakashi couldn’t make it” - like it’s some trivial get-together, like kakashi just didn’t feel like making the time…that completely flies in the face of everything sasuke has been expecting for years (convoluted and unreasonable as those expectations are).  he takes it as a personal insult.  it’s just one more thing for him to feel wronged about, and i guarantee you he is still stewing over it when kakashi finally does catch up with him in season 10.   

let’s be clear, also - it’s not like sasuke was going to just come home to the leaf village even if kakashi did show up!  sasuke would have fought tooth and nail to make kakashi leave him alone, and he would have gotten a kind of vicious satisfaction from rejecting his teacher’s attempts to reach him - but sasuke ALSO would have gotten another kind of satisfaction from knowing that kakashi was still trying to help him.  if kakashi keeps coming for him, then sasuke gets to keep slapping him away.  if kakashi keeps trying to save him, then sasuke has more people to keep fighting against, more bonds to break, more ways to keep making himself “stronger.”  if kakashi keeps warning sasuke about the fact that he’s heading down a self-destructive path, then sasuke has more reasons to continue feeling held back or misunderstood, and he has more reasons to retaliate, by committing himself more and more deeply to damaging choices.  

but if kakashi just takes him at his word and stops coming - if he decides to give sasuke what he “wants” and leave him alone - it means he doesn’t care what sasuke does to himself anymore.  he’s washed his hands of it.  there’s no bond there for sasuke to break, because kakashi has already abandoned the relationship.  he’s already uninterested enough in the situation to send a substitute to pick sasuke up - or that’s how sasuke understands it, at least.  

even though this is ostensibly what sasuke has been asking for the whole time, it’s not what he actually wants.  not “in his heart of hearts,” as kakashi would say.  sasuke wasn’t expecting this.  it takes him by surprise, and he’s still holding onto his bitter feelings about it many seasons later, when kakashi finally does catch up and attempt an intervention of his own.

[sincerelybluevase]

Careful, Madam Chapter Six

A/N Thank you all for being so patient! I didn’t think I’d ever finish this, but the final chapter has been written. You’ll have to wait a little bit for that, since the wonderful @thegirlisuedtobe is making a beautiful teaser for it, which I obviously want to post first. But rest assured; this fic is finished after chapter seven! The previous chapters can be read here.

All night I lay thinking as to what to do. Systematically, I went through every option I could think of until I arrived at the inevitable conclusion.  

The best I could hope for was for Maxim to be convicted of murder. I didn’t see that happen any time soon, though; everyone thought he and Rebecca had had the perfect marriage, so why should he have wanted to kill her? His identification of the wrong woman could easily be explained away as an honest mistake made when he was sick with grief and horror. That could not explain why Rebecca lay dead in her cabin, but then the authorities could hardly expect Maxim to know everything, now could they?

I could accuse Maxim of killing Rebecca and testify against him instead, but I rejected that idea just as I had done earlier that day when it first occurred to me. I did not think I would be believed, and even if I was, I didn’t think people would forgive me for betraying my husband. After all, he had lifted me up out of poverty and obscurity when he made me his wife. Many already believed I was after his money; if I repaid what they thought of as his kindness by seeing to it that he got hanged, they would think me a conniving little schemer who had murdered her husband to inherit his money. It would be all over the newspapers, and so everyone would know. Reporters would harass me, everyone else would snub me. I thought I might be able to bear that, but what life would that be for my child? For there was my little stranger to think of now.  

Perhaps it would be best for the baby if I did nothing. There’s a lot to say for being born in wealth and privilege, and few children would be more privileged than the ones born with the de Winter name. Manderley was a glorious place to grow up besides. In my mind’s eye I could see my child and I on the beach dragging driftwood from the surf, laughing as Jasper chased after seagulls. Afterwards we’d have tea under the chestnut tree, and I’d cut the crusts off a sandwich, because that was how they’d like their bread. Maxim would scold our child if he saw, because he had, no time for such puerile nonsense, but it would be all right, I would shield them from his moods, his madness. Yes, I could continue to be the second Mrs de Winter, shy and silent, a quiet little thing at my husband’s side. Rebecca had played at being a devoted wife really rather successfully, hadn’t she? And she had never even loved him. I had. Surely I could pretend I still did? For my child, I could go back to being the girl I had been just a few days ago… But no, I thought as I turned on my side, watching the form of my sleeping husband in his bed, I can never be that woman again. Not after finding out Maxim had murdered Rebecca. He had killed once; what was there to prevent him from killing me, too, if I shamed him?

And I had shamed him already, hadn’t I? He simply didn’t know it yet. What I had done with Mrs Danvers would ruin him and Manderley, should it ever come out. He’d kill me for that ten times over, and Mrs Danvers, too.

Mrs Danvers. Queer, loyal Mrs Danvers. What was she doing now? What I wouldn’t give to be with her, to try and alleviate her suffering! For she must suffer greatly now that she knew her beloved Rebecca’s death was murder, and she must seethe with rage and hatred for Maxim. That was perhaps my biggest fear: that she hungered for revenge and would harm herself to get it.

To keep her, my little stranger, and myself safe, there was only one thing to do: run away with Mrs Danvers. But how to accomplish it? I had no money, and there was no ready cash at Manderley; we had accounts at every store and company so that there was no need to pay with bills and coin. Maxim had given me no jewellery during our marriage, so that couldn’t be sold either. Still, I supposed I could find a way. The most important thing was to find Mrs Danvers before she could do anything harmful, and convince her to come away with me.

If she didn’t want to run away with me, I feared my heart would break.

*

Despite my sickening worries, I must have slept then, for the next time I opened my eyes, daylight had found its way into the room. It pooled onto the floorboards, heavy and hot. The bed beside me was empty. I fumbled for my watch, saw that the inquest was about to start. Maxim had left me behind, as he said he would. Two days ago, this would have broken my heart, but that morning, I found it a mercy.

I went to the bathroom, where I vomited. Perhaps it was the baby making me sick; perhaps just the great stress of the situation I had found myself in. I brushed my teeth,  dressed quickly, then went in search of Mrs Danvers. I kept wiping my hands on my dress. What if she had gone to the inquest? I should have stayed awake. But no, I found her where I expected her to be: in Rebecca’s room.

“Oh, Mrs Danvers,” I said. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching Rebecca’s crumpled nightgown. Her eyes had turned to slits, so swollen were they from crying. She smelled of sorrow, that strange salty scent that clings to the hands and face. My heavy heart had lifted at the sight of her; now, it began to ache. “Oh, Mrs Danvers,” I repeated, “how your eyes must hurt!” Like two embers burning in her sockets, I imagined. And so, before doing anything else, I went into the bathroom and turned on the tap. I wetted my handkerchief under the cold water, then took it to her and dabbed at her eyes. She made to fend me off, stiffened, then succumbed.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Danvers. I didn’t mean to leave you after what I said. I suppose you’ve a lot of questions. I wanted to come see you sooner so we might talk about it, truly I did, but I could not find you, and then Mr de Winter wouldn’t let me out of his sight.” A drop of water course down the inside of my wrist, making me shiver.

She stilled my hand. “I always suspected he killed her,” she croaked. “She wouldn’t drown, not even in that squall, not my mistress, not she. For a year, I’ve suspected. I just couldn’t prove it. Tell me, Madam: how did he kill her?”

My throat was tight and dry. I swallowed painfully. “He shot her.”

She bared her teeth, her lips curling back like that of a corpse. “I thought he would. He’s always been a coward. He wouldn’t dare kill her with his bare hands. She would have fend him off, had he tried. Did she suffer?”

“No. She died instantly.”

“Will her bones show that he murdered her?”

I shook my head. “He said the bullet went straight through.”

“So he shall be acquitted then, won’t he? Colonel Julyan, the doctor performing the autopsy, they’re all his friends. They’ll want to believe in his innocence, and even if they didn’t, they’ll want to avoid a scandal. There’ll be no justice for my mistress. Not unless we testify.”

“They wouldn’t believe us. They think me a slutty interloper and you queer and hateful.”

Her shoulders tensed, but only for a moment; then, she slumped. She took the handkerchief from me and pressed it to her eyes so forcefully drops fell down like tears. “Thank you, Madam, for telling me.”

I sat down next to her, dimpling the mattress. The stale scent of azaleas mixed with dust rose up to meet me. “I have thought our situation over. I’ve turned every option round and round in my mind, and there’s only one thing for us to do, Mrs Danvers. We must run far, far away from here.”

She lowered the handkerchief and stared at me with those sore, burning eyes. “Run away?”

I nodded. “We can’t testify, and we can’t remain here. Would you be able to work for him as nothing had happened? I can’t go on being his wife, at any rate, not now that I know he’s a murderer. What’s there to stop him from murdering again? And there’s my little stranger to think about now, too…” I pressed a hand against my belly. How long until it would swell?

“No,” she said in a low voice, “No, I can’t work for him anymore. You are right. But he wouldn’t let you go, Madam, especially now that you’re carrying his heir. And how would we live?”

We, I thought, and through the sickness and despair, my heart fluttered, she said ‘we’. We shall do this together, she and I. I placed my hand on hers. “Working girls like us can always find something, and I’ve saved a little money when I was Mrs van Hopper’s companion. Surely you’ve saved, too?”

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’ve always had little use for money. But I meant, do you want us to live together, Madam?”

“Yes, yes of course! I can’t imagine living without you anymore, Mrs Danvers. I think that, foolish as it may seem, I’ve come to love you deeply these past few days. It’s as if I’ve looked inside of you and seen you, really seen you, not the cold, efficient housekeeper, but the warm, feeling woman underneath.” Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I felt shy again, tortured by my anxieties. Perhaps I had been too eager, too forward. “Besides, it would be practical. To the outside world, I can be a widow and you my aunt. No one would question it.”

She sat still for a moment, then clasped my hands and brought them to her mouth, kissing them with dry lips. “No one has ever wanted to live with me like that. I’ve always been needed as a nanny, or a housekeeper. Never as a person. Thank you, Madam,” she murmured.

I rested my head against her shoulder. “When should we leave, do you reckon?” Every fibre of my being wished to never see Maxim again, but if we left too hastily, we might make mistakes that could lead Maxim to us. Better to suffer his presence for a little while longer if that meant I could be rid of him forever.

“Not quiet yet, Madam. In a month, perhaps. It gives you time to lull Mr de Winter into a false sense of security, and by then you won’t be so sick with child anymore. Besides, it will give me the time I need to prepare our journey.”

“Will it be hard for you, to leave Manderley? It has been your home for years.”

She stroked a line on the back of my hand. “It was my home because of my mistress. I’ve a new mistress now. Where she leads, I shall follow, and let her be my home.”

Tears pricked in my eyes. “And you shall be mine. My God, I can hardly wait. It shall be heaven, to be with you, to never have to see Mr de Winter again.”

“Well, well, well,” a voice said.

I got up and whipped around. My bowels turned to water and my knees were so weak I almost had to sit down again.

Maxim stood on the threshold, his face that strange waxen mask I had observed in him often when he was tired or angry. “Maxim,” I said stupidly. “I thought… the inquest…”

“That didn’t take more than an hour. A verdict of accidental death. I rushed straight home to tell you the good news, only I couldn’t find you. You can imagine my surprise when Frith told me he had seen you gone into Rebecca’s rooms. I almost didn’t follow you here, but then I thought, what power does that perverted slut hold over me now that I’ve killed her and gotten away with it? Only I didn’t expect to find that my devoted little wife has turned out to be a perverted little slut as well, scheming with a housekeeper twice her age to elope.”

“I didn’t… we weren’t…”

“You little bitch,” he hissed. He dashed through the room and struck me so quickly I barely saw his fist move. His knuckles connected with my cheekbone. The pain took a few seconds to arrive, hot and sharp.

Oh, I thought stupidly. I made to press a hand to my cheek, but he grabbed my wrists and pulled me to him. “You little bitch!” he roared, spittle flying from his mouth. “How dare you leave me?!”

He shook me so hard my teeth rattled. This, I thought with icy certainty, this is how I shall die: at the hands of my husband. Funny; he hadn’t dared kill Rebecca with his own hands, but then I had never quite measured up to his first wife, now had I?

“Stop!” I pleaded. “Maxim, please stop! You’re scaring me!”

He slapped my face with an open palm, bringing tears to my eyes. He raised his hand to strike again when Mrs Danvers said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sir.”

A metallic click sounded.

Maxim turned to look at her, his hand frozen in mid-air.

Mrs Danvers was pointing a gun at him.

Tagging: @solattea, @mlletina, @msmaryadmitrievna, @alice1nwond3rland, @need-not, @halewynslady

[arahul-abyssia]

Looks like it's September again (already, somehow), so that means that it's Nintember again, which means I'll be writing again! Same dealio as last time, one story per five prompts, up to six writings total. (And I'll be putting most of each under a cut, because mobile users can't skip posts)

And for my first entry for @starprincesshlc and @jklantern 's wonderful little event, I shall once again be attempting to twist some modicum of continuity, characterization, and canon-compliance out of a world that clearly cares scarcely for all three.

The Great Act

~~ Art, Green, Dizzy, Fire, Strength ~~

It was the loud buzzing of his phone’s alarm clock that dragged him from his slumber. He awoke to find himself sprawled across the couch, which was in no way long enough for his lanky body and spindly legs. As he blearily reached out and slapped at the coffee table, hoping to find the rude device by pure luck, he also blearily reached out and slapped at his memories, trying to figure out what series of events had led him there. For a moment, they floated just out of reach, and then suddenly flooded back to him all at once.

Oh. Right. It’s all over.

Another sporting event had come and gone, and as usual, in spite of all the effort he put into training and practice, he had ultimately lost to the same people he always did. No matter the sport, no matter the plan, no matter the time, they always won. And why shouldn’t they? The heroes always win in the end, always securing victory against the villains.

And he was one of them: the purple-clad counterpart, mirror, and supposed rival to one of the land’s most revered figures. Meant to oppose, and meant to lose.

He was Waluigi.

The name still sounded absurd to him. He had no idea how two men whose names were ‘Mario’ and ‘Wario’ and who naturally served as near-perfect foils of each other, had managed to meet and form such a publicizable rivalry without any deliberate effort, but such was the case. However, the notion that the brother of one had his own doppelganger in the brother of the other (or cousin, they never did manage to keep that story straight), with the same dichotomies of name, body, and personality? That was simply and utterly ridiculous, far beyond even the realm of ‘too good to be true’. And yet, if anyone had caught on, they hadn’t made it known to him.

Lost in thought and routine, he realized he had reached and opened his wardrobe, where numerous sets of that purple hat, shirt, and overalls were staring him in the face. In a sickening sense, they were the centerpiece of a great work of art, the fabrication that was his entire public existence, the character that he and Wario had constructed so that he might further be the ‘evil counterpart’ to everyone’s favorite red-clothed fire-throwing hero. Mario was stout and a bit fat, Wario was stouter and fatter; Luigi was tall and a bit thin, so Waluigi was taller and thinner. Mario had an M as his emblem, Wario had an inverted M; Luigi had an L, so Waluigi had an inverted L. To any casual outside observer, it was perfect.

But unlike Mario and Wario, whose rivalry had been formed in their youth, Waluigi had never even met Luigi until Wario had made him his sporting partner. The most he had known of the legendary Mario Brothers was just that: they were legends, for the countless adventures and quests they went on. In truth, despite how much he played it up during each and every game, he bore no true grudge against the man he was supposed to hate; Wario had, for a time, convinced him that Luigi’s presence in the public eye was somehow detracting from his own, but he had long since realized that that wasn’t the case; in fact, it often seemed like Luigi himself was being snubbed by the public, with the vast majority of the glory placed upon Mario, no matter how much Luigi contributed.

And yet, despite his existence being little more than a convenient story, despite the stress that constantly acting like a jerk brought, and despite always losing at the games no matter what, none of it brought him any sadness: for all its ups and downs, he felt himself to be rather good at keeping up the act, and the sports were, at the end of the day, still fun.

So why do I still feel so… bad?

Routine and thought had once more brought Waluigi elsewhere, and he found himself once more on his couch, now dressed in his usual outfit, with some sort of drink in his hands, probably coffee or tea; he didn’t care to determine which at that moment. His eyes casually wandered around the room as he brought the mug to his lips.

Then, just as the liquid touched his tongue--apparently he had managed to make tea out of coffee beans--the answer came to him. All across the room’s walls and shelves was sporting equipment of every sort--tennis racquets, shin-guards, helmets, golf clubs, old kart wheels, giant dice blocks, a probably excessive number of deflated balls--and absolutely no other sort of decoration. He leaned forward to place the mug on the table, and in doing so noticed his gloved hands and violet sleeves. Who wore the outfit of a character that they supposedly were not, every single day? Apparently, him.

He didn’t do anything else. He had let the character that was Waluigi consume his life to the point that had no idea who he was outside of it. He had nothing that he did when sports weren’t involved. Wario didn’t dedicate all his time to his rivalry; he owned an entire video game company--an unstable and poorly-run one, certainly, but it was nevertheless another use of his time. Mario and Luigi had their own grand adventures, of course, which is also what Peach, the Yoshis, Bowser, and his horde of minions were all typically involved in.

They all had lives outside of the games, and what did he do during the interim times? He either tried to practice, on his own, in the few suitable locations that he could find when the world was arranged for adventure, in a vain attempt to not lose as bad when the next game came around, or he wallowed in his home, doing absolutely nothing of any import.

But what could he do? Waluigi was never anything beyond a fabricated counterpart to both Wario and Luigi, but he could not remember, even slightly, what or who he was before he embraced that role. That nearly all of his memories prior to his first meeting with his partner were lost to him, was, he shuddered to admit, rather unsettling. Not even his old name--if he even had had one, he could not recall anymore--would reveal itself to him, and it was not as though he could simply find out through some external means: he was never the best at record-keeping, and to really sell their act, he had had his name legally changed to “Waluigi” and all references to his previous identity erased.

He shook his head, attempting to clear his mind of thoughts. There was little sense in worrying and fretting over who he was in that moment--the chance of any sort of useful epiphany emerging from it was even slimmer than he was.

Ugh… better just try to distract myself…

The first suitable option to catch his eye was the TV remote lying on the table. He quickly grabbed it and flicked on the set, and was immediately assaulted by the cheery enunciation of the Lakitu news anchors on the aptly-named Lakitu News Channel. He recalled that that was the channel he had left the set on last night, after he had gotten quite fed up with the incessant and inane blathering about the events of that day’s final matches, and it took only about five seconds to figure out that they were still on that topic. Scowling, he began flipping through the various channels available, hoping to find something interesting enough to block out the melancholic thoughts that were biting at his mind, like a hundred tiny Muncher and Nipper Plants.

After a painfully long series of more newsrooms--all talking about the exact same thing, of course--and unappealing shows--Half of these are for children and other half would just make me feel even worse!--he stumbled across some sort of advice segment hosted by a Birdo (was it the Birdo? He couldn’t tell). With absolutely no better options, he resigned himself to sit back and listen halfheartedly to whatever trite tips she tried to provide; maybe they’d be amusing enough to at least give him a small chuckle.

“I hope you all enjoyed our lovely guest! Now, before we move on to the submissions from all you wonderful viewers, I’d like to reiterate some old, but tried and true, advice, which I hold very close to my heart.”

Oh, here we go…

“Something which you probably hear very often is to always be yourself, or to always be true to yourself…”

Feh, I can think of several people who definitely shouldn’t do that…

“But it may be that you don’t like who ‘yourself’ is, or perhaps you don’t know what self you even have to be true to…”

Hah! As if… uh…

“And to that end, I’d like to say that there is always room for change. There’s always a way to make something new of yourself, to alter the parts of you that you want to, to become a different, better person. ‘Yourself’ can be whoever you want it to be; never are you locked along one unending bleak path. Try new things! Experiment! Don’t let yourself be trapped in an endless cycle.

“Believe me when I say I have personal experience with this: I’ve done so many different things over a rather short period of time, trying to find what I wanted to do with myself, who I wanted to be. Even now, I’m still not entirely sure if this is my supposed ‘calling’…! But I never got anywhere by doing nothing: it was on me to break out of my shell and search for myself, and now it’s on you to do the same.

“You don’t have to begin drastically, with a flying leap of faith--I think we’ve all walked over enough cliffs by now to know that!--but, if this is the sort of mindset you find yourself in, why not try taking some small steps today? It could be as simple as wearing a new outfit, or talking to someone new, or partaking in a new pastime.”

Birdo continued to elaborate on her point, but Waluigi--or, whoever he was beneath that--had stopped listening. He wanted to make some snark about what she said; he wanted to rationalize how what she described couldn’t ever apply to him; but, he found that he couldn’t. He had attempted to follow similar advice long in the past, and failed, but something about the way she phrased it, managed to affect him more deeply than he had thought possible. It was as though her words had dug beneath his shields and layers and pierced something somewhere in his core; pulled a lever, turned a handle, flipped a switch.

A strange sensation washed over him, one he could only describe as a blazing fire--nay, an inferno--igniting within him. He had felt the touch of flame countless times over the years, but not even the innumerable rage-fueled volleys he had endured, all combined into a single force, could compare to what now burned in his soul.

He leapt up from the sofa and ran to his bathroom. Staring at him from within the mirror was a character, a costume, a facade. It was not who he was. He grabbed a towel, dampened it, and proceeded to scrub away the pink paint on his nose; Wario and Waluigi’s noses were defined by that bright rosy color, but his was not. He then tore open a cabinet and grabbed his bottle of mustache product; normally, it was used to create the signature angular mustache of Waluigi, but today, it would shape the hairs into something softer and curlier. Whether that was what he would ultimately like did not matter: he was experimenting! He was changing himself!

Though the man that stared back at him from the glass now bore a much different visage, it was still framed by the purple cap and shirt, yellow emblem, and dark indigo overalls. He tore them off, then opened his wardrobe once more and threw all the copies of that same outfit to the ground. Hidden behind them were old clothes that he hadn’t worn for many, many years. He grabbed the first garments he saw--a casual dress shirt and gaudy neon-yellow shorts. Did those go well together? It didn’t matter. Without hesitating, he put them on.

He quickly glanced in the mirror again: the ensemble was nearly complete, but just missing one last touch. He thought on it for a moment, then stricken with brilliance, hurried to his modest backyard, where the roses he performed with in the games grew. He plucked one from its bush and affixed it to his hair, then ran back to the mirror to observe himself one more time.

His mismatched get-up would likely garner many stares from others, though he wouldn’t mind them at all; if he had anything in common with Waluigi, it was that they both loved being the center of attention. Even still, that’s not what mattered. A whole new day lay before him, a whole new day to be someone new, someone different; to move on from the cycle he had been stuck in, to take a whole new step forward.

He returned to the sitting room and turned off the television, then went to the front door. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle, threw it open, and marched into the daylight, the daylight which felt far fresher and warmer than it had in a long time, though even it held no candle to the flame that continued to blaze within him.

Ready or not, world; here I come!!

[calpalirwin]

Front Row of Last Resorts

Summary: Calum never got a reason why his girlfriend left him. So when they run into each other six months after the fact, he’s determined to both get an answer and the girl.

A/N: Got angsty vibes when I came across the line “but do you miss the way those lies tasted” thanks to @cxddlyash​. And here we are.

Content: Smoking, alleged infidelity, hitting, pissed off female reader, smug Calum

Word count: 1.2k

And away, and away we go!

__

“Fuck you!” Her scream bounced off the buildings as she kept walking away from me.

Even though she was halfway through calling me every name in the book, my hands reached out to steady her as the heel of her shoe caught on an uneven part of the sidewalk and she stumbled backwards. “Whoa, easy there.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ touch me!” she snarled, snatching her arms back before I could even touch her.

I held up my hands in fake surrender. “Fine. Fall on your ass. See if I care.”

“You!” She took a step forward, a finger pointing dangerously in my face. “You fuckin’ disgust me! I never wanna see your face again, you hear me?!”

I dug into the pocket of my jacket for my cigarettes and lighter. If I was gonna listen to her continue to berate me, I was at least gonna have a smoke. “This some new sort o’ game you’re playin’, sweetheart?” I drawled as I lit up, taking a long drag.

“The only one playing games here is you!”

“Am I at least winning?”

“Fuck you, Calum,” she spat one more time before turning her back on me.

It took me snuffing my smoked cigarette into the concrete with the tip of my shoe to realize she wasn’t coming back.

~6 Months Later~

“What’re you doin’?” My lips moved around the cigarette in my mouth as I eyed Ashton in suspicion.

The other man giggled as he grabbed a nearby traffic cone and placed it on my head like a hat. “Makin’ sure you don’t get run over!” He flashed a grin.

“Piss off,” I chuckled good naturedly, lightly kicking his leg with my foot as he started to take a picture.

The sidedoor beside us opened, and we snapped our heads to it, expecting to see Luke and Michael walking out in search of us. When we saw it was a gaggle of girls, we averted our attention. “You’re a shit photographer, mate. Don’t quit your day job.”

“Am I the shit photographer, or are you the shit model?” Ashton quipped.

“Wouldn’t be the only thing Cal’s shit at,” one of the women snorted.

“Hey, Ash, remind me to look up ‘never’ in the dictionary. I wonder if there’s a second definition where it says ‘is actually 183 days.’” I took the cone off my head and took one last pull of my cigarette before digging the snub into the ground and rising to my feet. “How’s it goin’, sweetheart?”

“Eat shit,” she told me.

“Oh, so we’re still playin’ that game.” I tapped at my lips in thought as I walked over closer to her, leaning a hand against the wall. “We ever figure out who won?”

She let out a small scream of frustration before her hand cracked against my cheek.

I rubbed where she had struck me, my entire cheek on fire, brushing off Ashton who took a step forward, ready to intervene on my behalf. “Now that you got that out of your system, you ready to talk to me like a big girl? Or you wanna cuss me out some more? Let’s see… you already told me to eat shit, so look’s like we’re right about where you say I disgust you, and that you never wanna see my face again.”

“Fuck you!” Her hand shoved hard against my shoulder but I barely budged. She turned around, ready to walk off just like last time. Jesus, it was like clockwork with her.

I opened my mouth to call out after her, but Ashton cut me off with a hissed, “Mate!” his eyes wide as they pleaded with me to just let her go. 

“No, fuck this,” I dismissed him, before whistling loudly to get her attention. “Go ahead, and walk away again, sweetheart. I’ll see ya in another six months. Lovely catchin’ up!” I waggled my fingers and smiled sweetly at her.

“You stupid, smug, son of a bitch!” she fired, stalking back over to me.

I grabbed her wrist before she could hit me again. “Well, there’s no reason to drag my mum into this…” She growled and I grabbed her other wrist, holding both of them in one of my hands. “Now, that’s not very nice, sweetheart. What happened to all those words you had last time?”

“You’re not worth the air.”

“Alright. You wanna do what you didn’t do last time, and actually tell me just why the fuck you’re so hellbent on ripping my head off? Maybe, I dunno, change the outcome?”

“Why don’t you ask the girl you fucked what happened?!”

“I am!”

“Oh, so you weren’t fucking some other girl when you were with me? So, you’re not even an honest cheat? You’re a fuckin’ lyin’ one!”

“A cheater?! You think I cheated on you?!”

“I don’t think you cheated. I know you cheated! And you’re gonna stand there, and continue to deny it?!”

“I’m not denying shit, Y/N! I didn’t do anything! The only person I was crazy enough to fuck when I was with you was you!”

“Then explain this!” She quickly pulled up a picture on her phone before flashing it in my face.

I took one look and howled with laughter. I laughed so hard my sides ached and I felt tears rolling down my cheeks. I slumped against the wall, bracing a hand on my knee and pointing at Ashton with the other. “She thinks I fucked your girl!” I wheezed. “Oh, my, God! That’s fuckin’ great! Here I am, counting the days and kicking myself in the ass over Y/N when apparently I’ve supposed to been fuckin’ my best mate’s girl the whole time. Shit, I wish someone would've told me. This celibacy shit blows...”

While I fought to regain my composure, and she sputtered, “I- I- I,” at me, Ashton pulled up the unedited version of the picture on his phone. The photo that had him in it, his girlfriend’s hand on his jaw as he kissed her cheek the same way she was kissing mine.

“Believe me now?” I asked as she looked back and forth between the picture, Ashton, and me, her cheeks scarlet with embarrassment.

“Cal, I’m-”

“Save it,” I cut her off with a shake of my head. “I can’t believe you thought I would cheat on you. I can’t believe you read so much out of a fuckin’ picture so quickly that you drew you a conclusion about what happened without even having the decency to talk to me about it first before going off. I fuckin’ loved you. You know that this is the first time in 183 days that I’ve been able to stomach going out? Do you know that you had me so fucked up, that I actually know it’s been 183 days? Do you know how pathetic that is? To have literally counted the fuckin’ days?”

“Calum…” her voice shook.

“Yeah, doesn’t feel so good to not get a word in, huh?” I shot her a wink before I broke out in a held back grin.

She opened her mouth in shock. “Oh! You little shit!” She swatted lightly at my chest.

“Oh, c’mon, you deserved that, and you know it,” I laughed, grabbing her hand and pulling her to me.

“So you didn’t cheat?” Her voice was small and muffled as she buried her face in my shirt, inhaling my scent the same way I was doing with her.

“God, no. I fuckin’ love you, you crazy ass woman.”

“Good. Cuz I’ve really fuckin’ missed you.”

“Well, next time don’t leave me.”

__

Tag List

@frontmanash​​ @goeatsomelife​​ @flameraine​​ @creator-appreciator​​ @cxddlyash​​ @1-irwin-94​​ @sparkling-calm​​ @tea4sykes​​ @youngblood199456​​ @5-seconds-of-obsession​​ @gosh-im-short​​ @aquarius-hood1996​​ @talkfastromance4​​ @itjustkindahappenedreally​​ @philthepegacorn​​ @boomerash​​ @teenwolfss24​​ @karajaynetoday​ @myfavfanficsever​ @stormrider505​ @cashtonisruiningmylife​

[slippinmickeys]

Fever

A lot of people know this by now, but: however improbable, I ended up drawing @admiralty-xfd‘s prompt in the recent Fluff Exchange. I had to convince her that I hadn’t written anything (I had), and that I was panicking (I was), and wrote something super last minute (I did). 

There were far better hurt/comfort fics in the exchange, but this is my Write It In A Day Wearing Your Panic Face So Your Beta Doesn’t Know You’re Lying  stab at fluffy hurt/comfort. But hey, she had something to beta, and my actual piece was a surprise. 

The old adage about doctors making the worst patients would have rung more true if the doctor in question would at least admit she was sick.

Her nose was red and running, she’d been dragging all afternoon no matter how much coffee she drank, and she kept sighing when she moved, like every part of her ached.

“You okay, Scully?”  he looked at her over the car’s console. She had her eyes closed and was resting her head against the passenger side window.

“Mm, yeah,” she said, sitting up.

She was definitely not okay. When they’d gotten to this podunk town three days ago to investigate this case (that was looking less and less like an X-File), she’d been practically vivacious compared to this grey, sniffling version of Scully that he was pretty sure had missed half of what the sheriff’s deputy had been telling them not fifteen minutes prior.

For a moment he thought of testing his hypothesis by asking her what she thought of the deputy’s theory, but when he glanced back over at her, she looked so miserable that he didn’t have the heart to.

“You don’t look okay,” he said instead.

“I’m fine,” she said.

She was decidedly not fine. Her complexion was wan, and her stare empty.

“You’re sick, Scully,” he said, trying to wring empathy out of irritation. If he let on that he was perturbed by her putting on a brave face--which he was--she would do all but climb out of her deathbed to prove him wrong.

He tried a different tack. Guilt.

“The last time I was sick, you told me it was my body’s way of saying ‘take a break, you need rest.’”

“Mulder, I’m fine,” she said, and in counterpoint, she huffed in a long, wet sniff.

“Scully,” he said, channeling patience, “take a break. You need rest.”

She looked at him, and then visibly deflated, giving in to sickness, to him.

“Okay,” she said, and her quick acquiesce startled him. She must really feel awful.

He looked at the road for a long moment before speaking.

“Okay,” he said, “how about I get you back to the motel. You get into bed and I’ll finish up with the Sheriff and circle back?”

She nodded and the gravel in the motel parking lot popped under the car’s tires as he pulled in.

She was slow to fish out her room key when he got her to her door, and he watched her with worry as she fumbled with the lock. He was thankful their rooms were adjoining.

“Scully?”

She looked over at him while he opened his own door.

“Get yourself changed and into bed and then open your side of the adjoining door, yeah? I’ll check on you once I get off the phone with the Sheriff.”

She nodded and tumbled into her room.

He gave a soft knock on the connecting door ten minutes later and stuck his head in.

She was already in bed in a ratty tee shirt, the blankets pulled up under her armpits. She was unrolling a bit of cheap one-ply toilet paper she’d brought in from the bathroom and blew her nose with it, making a face of distaste.

“Can I get you anything?” Mulder asked.

She winced.

“A bottle of water and I should be okay,” she said, her voice having the nasally, snubbed quality of a person with a head cold. And then, as if an afterthought, “thanks, Mulder.”

He smiled at her.

“It’s no problem.”

He tried to do her one better. He got three bottles of water from the vending machine in the motel’s lobby and then sweet talked the receptionist into a new box of Kleenex from the housekeeping closet. It was cheap, scratchy stuff, but it might treat her nose slightly better than the toilet paper.

He came into her room bearing his gifts. She smiled at him weakly. He sat meekly on the end of her bed.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” he asked, remembering her picking at scrambled eggs and dry toast in the one local diner that morning.

She shrugged.

“You should eat something,” he said, and felt a little emboldened, hoping for another chore.

“Food sounds terrible,” she said.

“Still,” he said, standing, “I’ll see what I can scrounge up. Will you be alright while I go out and see what I can find?”

She nodded, and let her head fall back on the pillow.

He suspected that she relented only because she knew he needed something to do and had refrained from pointing out that the tiny town they were in had very few options and that he was unlikely to find something open this time of day.

He only hoped he’d be able to deliver.

XxXxXxXxXxX

It had taken him far longer than he would have liked, though he was pretty pleased with his haul.

It was dark by the time he stumbled through his own room’s door, and tripped over a pair of shoes and a dirty towel on his way to the adjoining doorway.

“Mul…” he heard her as he was walking through it, laden with plastic bags.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said quietly, “sorry, I hoped you’d be asleep.”

“Mul… der…” she didn’t sound quite right. Her voice was mumbly and quiet.

“Scully, you okay?” he said, anxiety creeping into his voice.

“Muh…”

He quickly set the bags down and walked to the bed. She had the covers tucked up under her chin, and her eyes were closed. She was asleep, but fitfully. Thankful for that at least, he reached out to caress her face. When his hand touched her skin, he whipped it back. She was burning up.

He stood quickly, a little lost. The extent of his medical expertise was “starve a fever, feed a cold,” and he usually relied on the very person he was trying to help for any further guidance.

He made his way over to her suitcase, hoping to find the medical bag she usually kept there. After rifling a bit through her unmentionables, he found it. He dug around until he found the digital thermometer she kept inside, and brought it back to her bedside.

“Scully? Hey Scully, wake up,” he said, and fought a surge of panic when she didn’t respond.

He pulled the blanket down and pushed the neck of her shirt aside, sticking the thermometer into her armpit, and pushing her shoulder down. He had a vague recollection of Scully once holding the very same thermometer and saying primly “I could do this rectally, if you’d rather.” He shook off the memory.

The thermometer beeped and he pulled it out to look at the display. 103.8

Shit.  

He felt ill prepared for this, like a parent the first time their baby got sick--the reality of making a decision far different than the theory. He should take her to a doctor, he thought.  He racked his brain trying to remember the last hospital they’d passed on their way to this town and recalled that the last city of any size had been over an hour away.

He would have to handle this himself.

He quickly made his way to her bathroom and started running the water in the tub, cool but not cold.

When he got back to the bed, she was moaning a bit, and he had to pull the blankets out of her grip. He assessed her for a moment, biting his lip, considering the best way of doing this.

“Scully, I need you to wake up,” he said, putting some authority into his voice.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at him pathetically. She opened her mouth to speak, but her teeth started chattering.

“I don’t feel good,” she said, her voice sounding small and childlike. His heart clenched.

“You’ve got a really high fever, Scully,” he said, trying to keep his voice measured, “We need to get you undressed and into a cool tub, okay?”

To her credit, or at least to how lousy she obviously felt, all she did was nod and sit up, her head lolling forward a bit. However, she made no move to undress herself. It was up to him.

“I’m going to help you get your clothes off, okay?” he said, and she nodded, mutely.

He reached for her shirt, and thumbed the hem, hesitating a bit.

To hell with it , he thought.

He pulled at her shirt and her arms came up weakly next to her head, the only help she could offer. He tried not to notice that she wore nothing underneath.

He put his fingers at the waist of her pajama bottoms and considered a moment. He could afford her some modesty and leave her underwear on, but then he’d have to get her out of them before getting her back in bed, and he figured now was probably best.

“I’m going to help you out of your bottoms, can you lean back?” he said.

She complied without a word.

Once she was leaning back against the pillows, he peeled her pajama bottoms and panties off in one swoop, thinking briefly that this was not the romantic, sexy tableau he’d always envisioned. Her skin felt like a hot frying pan under his fingers and he snapped back to the situation at hand.

Her eyes were half-lidded and he didn’t even bother waiting for her to sit up under her own power--he scooped her up and carried her quickly to the bathroom, flashing on the one other time he’d done this, in Antarctica, when her skin had had the cold, clammy feel of a corpse.

The tub was shallow and had filled almost to the top--he had to kick the faucet with his foot to get it to turn off. He lowered her gingerly into the water, soaking his own shirt in the process.

When her body hit the water, her eyes flew open.

“Mulder!” she said, a look of panic on her face.

“I know,” he said, soothingly, “I know. It sucks. It’s just for a little bit, though. We need to get your fever down.”

She nodded and clenched her teeth, leaning her head against the plastic lip of the tub. He reached for a washcloth and wetted it, resting it gently on her brow.

He knelt beside the tub, turned away from her to give her a bit of privacy, ignoring the feeling of the cold tile on his knees. The silence was grating.

“Did I ever tell you?” he said, to break it, “Samantha used to get sick on every holiday.”

His eyes darted to her face. Scully’s lips went up in a fraction of a smile.

“Not like with a fever or anything,” he went on, “but she’d get so excited she’d puke. Especially Easter or Christmas. It got to the point that Mom started leaving a bucket in her room the night before, just in case.”

Scully’s chin slowed, her teeth no longer chattering. He kept talking.

“It finally became rote. Cookies and milk out for Santa, a bucket for Samantha. Talk about your weird family traditions.”

He took the washcloth off of her forehead and turned it over, putting the cool side down. He let his eyes rove briefly over her from head to toe, the water obscuring the lines of her lithe body, magnifying the rosy peaks of her nipples, the thatch of bright hair at her center.

His gaze rose to her face and he watched her lick cracked lips, then open her eyes to look at him. He turned away from her and his arms started to itch under the wet fabric of his shirt.

“Ibuprofen,” she said weakly, “in my bag. Can you bring me three?”

He jumped up immediately and dug through her bag until he found the small bottle. He shook out three into his palm and then grabbed one of the bottles of water he’d brought her earlier. When he handed them to her, he turned his back, giving her some privacy.

“Can you grab me a towel?” she said, “and some clothes?”

He laid a towel next to the tub where she could get to it and then went into her room to retrieve her pajamas. In his haste and panic, he’d dropped them to the grubby motel floor where they sat on the carpet in a heap. He’d heard her say “let me know when you need an antifungal” too many times while he traipsed around barefoot in a hotel to even think of letting her put them back on. He toed them aside and went into his own room and suitcase, pulling out an old Knicks shirt that had been washed into a pale blue, heavenly softness, and a pair of clean boxers. He halted at the bathroom door.

“I’ve got some clothes for you, Scully,” he said, “do you… need any help getting them on?”

She didn’t answer right away, and then he heard a resigned, weak, “...yes.”

He entered the bathroom and set the clothes down on the countertop, then knelt down next to the tub and put his hand to her forehead.

“You still feel pretty warm,” he said, keeping his eyes on her face.

“One more minute in here,” she said, “the ibuprofen should kick in soon.”

When the minute was up, she reached a hand out and he pulled her slowly to her feet, and then wrapped the towel around her shoulders. She started drying her arms in halting movements, and finally Mulder reached out and said gently, “here, let me.”

He rubbed her down efficiently, trying not to linger anywhere and make her uncomfortable. Then he grabbed the boxers and held them out for her to step into, and slipped the shirt over her head. He had to roll the tops of the boxers over three times so that they wouldn’t fall off of her hips, and the shirt fell to nearly her knees.

Her posture was not that of a sea captain’s daughter. She was bent over slightly, her face wearing a pinched expression.

He held out an arm, which she gratefully grabbed onto.

“Let’s get you back into bed,” he said.

The short walk seemed to exhaust her.

“I feel so weak,” she said, as he pulled the covers back up and over her lap.

“You should eat something,” he said, and she nodded.

“I probably should,” she said.

He walked over to where he’d dropped the bags on his way in and pulled out several containers and a couple of plastic utensils. He held them up to her.

“Soup?” he asked.

She nodded.

He handed her a small container and a spoon.

“How did you manage?” she asked as she took a small bite.

“I happened upon the waitress we had two days ago while she was closing up the diner. Convinced her to open it back up and get me a few ready-made things. What they say is true; flattery will get you everywhere.”

She gave him a small smile.

“I may or may not be engaged to her, now,” he went on, sitting on her bedside, “things got kind of weird.”

She huffed a laugh.

After a few bites, she lowered the soup and spoon to her lap.

“That’s all I can do for now,” she said, “thank you, Mulder.”

He moved them to her bedside table.

“You should get some sleep,” he said gently. She nodded and scootched down under the covers. “I’m going to stay here with you,” he went on, “if that’s okay? In case you need anything.”

“Mulder I don’t want you getting sick, too.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, settling onto the narrow bed next to her, propping himself up against the headboard, “I’ll Purell.”

She argued no more as sleep took her under. He pulled off his wet shirt and settled in for the night.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When she woke, it was to the smell of skin and cheap industrial detergent, a warm body in a scratchy bed. Her head was pressed against Mulder’s side, his arm above her as if to trap her heat. Her body felt overworked and her joints ached with the fatigue of fever, but she could tell the worst was over.

She tried feeling embarrassed about all that had transpired last night, but found she couldn’t. At the time she’d just felt too awful, and now she just felt grateful that she’d had help at all. The light in the room had a dull, early quality to it. She closed her eyes and let herself drift back to sleep.

When she woke again, there was bright sunlight leaking beneath the thin material of the room’s drapes, and the space next to her was empty. She could hear Mulder’s muffled monotone through the partially closed connecting door--he was on the phone and trying to be quiet.

He paced in front of the door and she took in what she could see of him through the crack. He was in dress pants and dark socks, his shirt halfway buttoned-up and his hair was damp.

A tickle in her nose brought her sitting up, and she reached for a tissue from the box Mulder had brought her last night. She blew her nose delicately and looked up to see Mulder looking in at her, his eyes a little anxious. He slipped his cell phone into his pocket.

“Hey,” he said, “how are you feeling?”

She was quiet for a moment and did a self-assessment. The blow had cleared out her sinuses and she could breathe fully through her nose for the first time in two days. She looked up to him.

“Hungry,” she said, and he smiled at her--a big beaming smile he only trotted out on rare occasions.

“That’s a good sign, huh?” he said, moving into her room.

“Definitely,” she answered, as he sat down on the foot of her bed, “Who was on the phone?”

“Skinner,” he said, “and the Sheriff. We’re off the hook. The Sheriff’s office got a tip last night that looks like it’s going to shake out and Skinner’s pulling us back to DC.”

“Not because of me, I hope,” she said. While she was happy to head back home, the thought of being pulled off the case because of some vulnerability--however universal--pulled at her.

“Not at all,” Mulder said, “I didn’t even mention you weren’t feeling well. The Sheriff’s office seems to have it well in hand now and Skinner doesn’t want any further expense.”

She nodded and looked down at the faded, worn tee shirt of his she was wearing and had a vague inclination to try to steal it.

“Thanks for last night,” she said, “for… everything.”

He brought a hand up as if brushing away her gratitude.

“You’d do the same for me,” he said.

She nodded and held his gaze for a moment, and then he stood.

“Are you feeling up to going out for breakfast?” he asked, “I’d bring you something back from the diner, but I’m afraid if I don’t take some backup with me, I’ll get out of there with more than just an omelette.”

“Such as?” she asked, swinging her legs out of the covers and over the side of the bed.

“A wife,” he said, “and for as helpful as Waitress Fern is, I’m not exactly in the market.”

Scully slid on the socks Mulder had thoughtfully placed on her bedside table.

“Ah, but think of the alliteration possibilities, Mulder,” she said, “‘Fox and Fern’ just rolls off the tongue.” She stood slowly, getting a feel for her legs under her. “You could have a woodland themed wedding. I’ll dress as a dryad and give you away.”

He made his way toward his room to give her a bit of privacy. He paused in the doorway, turned and said, “I’d pay money to see the former, but can’t abide the latter.”

With that, he closed the door.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Fern had seemed delighted that her charitable gifting of soup had cured Scully, so had forgotten about any promises Mulder may or may not have made to her the evening before. They escaped breakfast at the town’s only diner with their single statuses in check and two pieces of strawberry pie for the road (“for whatever else ails you,” said Fern).

Mulder leaned his head back against the headrest as they were about to begin the six hour drive back to DC and sighed tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Would you like me to drive, Mulder?” she asked, glad that her head seemed to clear more by the minute. Eating good, hot food had certainly seemed to help.

“No,” he said, squinting at her, “you should see if you can get some more shut-eye. I’ll be fine.”

And so she did, coming to consciousness 90 minutes later to the sound of Mulder sneezing four times in a row.

She stretched in the seat and turned to him.

“Everything all right?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said, with a small smile, “sorry if I woke you. Allergies.”

Spring had come to the West Virginia hills they were driving through--cottonwood seeds drifted thickly through the air and the ditches that lined the highway were filled with green water scummed with pollen and bursts of frogsong. Nevertheless, she eyed him skeptically.

“You’re sure you’re feeling all right?” she asked him.

“I feel great!” he said, and promptly sneezed again.

An hour later she was convinced he was coming down with whatever she’d had. His complexion had paled and he was trying to huff in little sniffs without her noticing, which of course she did.

A few miles later they stopped for gas, and when he went inside to pay, she slid into the driver’s seat and turned down his increasingly weak protestations that he was fine when he came back.

He slumped against the passenger side window an hour outside of DC.

When she pulled onto Hegal Place, he slowly lifted his head, surveying his surroundings in a confused, disjointed lethargy. She found a parking space right in front of his building and when she cut the engine, he turned to her with a hangdog expression, his cheeks tinged with pink against an otherwise pale face.

“Scully?” he said, his voice quiet, “I don’t feel good.”

“Oh, Mulder,” she said sweetly, and reached out to run her fingers through the flop of hair on his forehead. “Let’s get you into bed.”

[writerbyaccident]

Party Favors (Yandere Endeavor/Enji TodorokixReader)

If there was one part of his job that Enji could do without, it had to be the social functions. Those mandatory but not explicitly so get togethers were such a waste of time, time that could be spent far better, in his opinion. Every moment that Enji spent shaking hands and making small talk could be moments for catching villains, for cementing his place as the new Number One Hero. Although he had to admit, this particular gala was proving to be far more tolerable than usual.

Enji had never really understood it before when people said that it didn’t matter where you were, what mattered was who you were with. If an event was insufferable, Enji believed, there was nothing that could change that. But it appeared that he had been mistaken, for you were definitely improving his experience.

You had only started working at Enji’s hero agency about a month ago and already you had made quite an impression on him. Intelligent, hardworking, and efficient, you had so many of the qualities he admired. It was hard to impress Enji to say the least, but somehow you succeeded.

“Tell me again,” Enji murmured to you with a small smirk, “why do I need to be here?”

“Because,” you chuckled, “you being here will help the agency raise money for a good cause. Because being the Number One Hero is about more than just punching out bad guys.”

“Ah yes, that’s it.”

As the night passed by and he needed to replenish his energy, Enji made his way back to you several times. He would have been perfectly content spending the whole night with you, but unfortunately, a man in his position was expected to mingle.

“So what do you think of the newest hero school graduates?” some faceless executive was asking him.

“Well, it’s one thing to pass some tests and complete a few internships, but actually working as a full-time hero is a different experience. I suppose they might turn out to be fairly decent, but it truly is a matter of waiting and…” Enji trailed off, his attention captured the familiar sound of your laugh.

His eyes found you easily, but when they did, it was not easy for Enji to smother his flames. For rather than you standing close by and listening to him, by far the only person in the room worth listening to, you were yards away, talking with another man. No, you weren’t just talking with some other man, Enji realized sharply: you were flirting with him. You were laughing delightedly at something the man had said, practically beaming at him while you rested your hand on his arm. What on earth did you think you were doing, handing out your smiles and your laughs and your touch to some utterly worthless nonentity. He was the only one you ought to be paying attention to, Enji thought bitterly. Even beyond the fact that he was your employer, that you worked for him, he was the one person who had any right to your devotion, any right to you. But apparently you had yet to realize that.

           “Excuse me,” Enji barked once he reached you and your companion, “but I’m afraid that I have to discuss something important with my assistant for a moment.”

           “Of course,” the other man nodded, giving you a promising smile before walking away. You kept your eyes on him as he retreated, a snub simply too egregious for Enji to take. As he grabbed your wrist harshly, the hero pulled you away from the crowd, dragging you as easily as if you were a mere child. Knowing by this point in your employment that there was no use protesting when Endeavor was in a mood, you simply let him haul you into an empty hallway and waited to hear what the problem was. But as the seconds ticked by, Enji only glared at you with a hungrily possessive gaze, you decided to break the silence.

           “Yes, Mr. Todoroki? Is there something that you needed?”

           “Yes,” he growled to you. “I needed you to stop wasting your time and attention on hollow, inconsequential little nothings.”

           “Then it’s a good thing,” you answered coldly, “that who I spend my time and attention on is not up to you.”

           “Of course it’s up to me. I am your employer, everything you do is up to me. I own you.”

           “Are you out—”

“And it’s a good thing I do. Without me, you would have nothing. No job, no security, no purpose. I am the only one preventing you from becoming nothing. But if you insist on slighting me, I would be happy see you become so,” Enji hissed as he backed you against the wall.

Without another word, before you could even attempt to make another protest or to escape, Enji slammed his hands against the wall, trapping you on either side between his powerful arms. Doing your best to try to shrink into the wall, you had no choice but to stand there while he kissed you.

Please consider supporting me at my Ko-Fi account 

[nony314]

And They Were Roomates : chapter 1

(A/N: I have no idea if inserting a read-more is possible on mobile and I don't have a desktop at the moment so I truly apologize if this is just a wall of text. If you know how to do this, let me know? Thank you!)

This day had started out with so much promise, Kagome thought with a heavy heart. She was standing on her new balcony-- that is, the balcony of her new apartment-- with her cellphone pressed to her ear. 

"No, no… really, I understand!" She insisted again.

"I'm so sorry Kagome! I swear I would never even consider it, unless it was something incredible..."

"Stop apologizing, Sango! This is huge! You should be celebrating, not apologizing." Kagome pressed her lips to prevent a quiver. She was happy for Sango, but she couldn't help but be disappointed for herself. They were supposed to share this apartment together, until Sango landed her actual dream job. Taijiya Games had offered her a developer position on their newest title, and although Kagome barely knew what that meant, she knew Sango had all but given up on getting a job that good until now. There was no way in hell she'd make Sango feel guilty for taking the opportunity, even if she had to go to the UK for it. "You're going to be great! Even I'll play your game, I swear,"

Sango sniffed, and chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Thank you so much for understanding, Kagome. The second I get back to Tokyo we'll go--" the line cut out, and Kagome pulled her phone from her face to find the sign off logo filled the screen. The battery was dead. 

She stood alone on her balcony, watching the sun set over the city. This view was beyond gorgeous, which only made all of this harder. She'd saved up as much as she needed for her own half of the rent, but without Sango's half, she wouldn't be here long. It'd be faster to sub-lease it instead of finding another roommate, and that's what she'd start on tomorrow. For now, she just enjoyed the view, although it was a little blurred with tears. She wiped them away, but paused when a strange noise came from inside her empty apartment.

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<p/> Looking in, there was almost nothing but stacks of boxes against every wall. The sun had just dropped below the skyline, casting the entire room in eerie shades of blue and purple. The sound happened again, and this time she thought she knew what it was. The front door was being opened.

She held her breath as she watched through the sliding glass door, mentally retracing her steps back to when she definitely locked it, when she heard the door open, then slam shut. She jumped when a shout came from within, sounding something like a name, then just incomprehensible slurring as a pile of boxes tumbled over. She realized all at once that someone must have seen her moving, and broken in. First Sango, and now this.

She cursed to herself in a panic, whirling around to find something to defend herself with. Her panic only rose when she realized she had nothing except a few plastic plants and a folding lounge chair at hand. She shot a glance over the edge of the balcony in hopes of maybe escaping that way, but it was a straight drop ten stories down into the busy streets below. She looked to her phone, trying to turn it on for just a few seconds longer to call for help, but it was completely drained. She pinned her eyes back on the door when the person within made another noise, and appeared in the  entryway. Kagome was paralyzed in fear as she watched the stranger steady himself on the nearest wall, digging inside his jacket pockets for something. 

As she remained pinned in pure terror, she noticed how the stranger swayed, and grumbled to himself, and how frustrated he was with jacket pockets. He looked like he was constantly one second from stumbling over, but somehow managed to stay upright. There was a word for what he was. Drunk. Very very drunk. More importantly, he was totally oblivious to her presence. Hoping to keep it that way, she ducked down against the railing, sitting on her knees and keeping her head just high enough to watch him.

He called out that slurred name again and waited, but obviously there would be no answer. She realized with some relief that since he was calling for someone he thought lived here, he probably wasn't there to rob her, but in fact had chosen the wrong apartment due to being so drunk. He was most likely a neighbor, not a burglar. She jumped again when he suddenly barked out a laugh of triumph, having successfully pulled whatever he'd been looking for from his jacket. He sauntered over to the glass door of the balcony, and Kagome silently fell back on her butt, pulling her knees up to her chest in defense. That was when his eyes finally glanced up, pausing on none other than a horribly confused and frightened Kagome. 

“Oh… shit, erm… h’llo.” He mumbled, pushing off the door frame and swaying his way over to the railing, which he leaned on with some force. She gasped and reached out when it looked for a moment like he might tip over it, but he quickly steadied himself, sticking a slightly bent cigarette between his teeth. She eyed the crumpled pack in his hand and decided that must have been what he'd been searching for. Next she noticed his jacket-- red leather with something she couldn't quite see embroidered on the back. The pockets did not look all that complicated to her. His hair was very long, straight even though the rest of him looked a little disheveled, and even more interesting, it was snowy white. Her eyes froze when they raised higher, spotting what looked like animal ears on top of his head. 

Overall he was about as strange as any stranger could have been.

He looked down at her as he started a new search through his pockets, eventually pulling out a cheap plastic lighter. 

“Well… Fuck," His low voice rumbled as his amber colored eyes looked over her, sending a chill up her spine. "Ain't you a pretty ‘un.” He laughed once to himself as he flicked the lighter, once, twice, three times before getting it lit. He held it to the tip of his cigarette and took a long drag, the orange glow lighting his face. He was handsome, she realized then, although his habits were anything but attractive. He puffed out a plume of smoke and made a sound like a sigh before finally losing balance and dropping down to the ground beside her. If the movement hadn't been so sudden, it almost might have looked like it was on purpose. 

Kagome thought about asking if he was okay, but he didn't seem to be hurt as he propped his back against the railing, letting his head rest on the metal. He took another drag from the cigarette before turning his face to give her a very focused look. “You wit’ uh… Koga n’ them, or what?” He asked casually. Kagome blinked, lightly clearing her throat as she thought of how to respond to that.

“Um… I think… you may have the wrong apartment.” She said delicately, hoping this revelation wouldn't throw him into some kind of drunken rage. He turned to look around, seeming to weigh the likelihood of that statement before resolutely shaking his head. 

“Uh… no-pe. This’ where I live ‘m pretty sure.” He sorted another laugh, like she was the ridiculous one here. Kagome inched away a little further, wishing she hadn't talked to Sango quite so long.  

“Well… no, you see, this is actually my apartment, so… if you wouldn't mind…” She pursed her lips as he narrowed his eyes at her once again.

“What're you talkin’ about ya crazy broad? If this’ Your apartment, ha’come I got a… a, uh… where the fuck d’I put that damn thing…” He rummaged through his pockets again while Kagome waited. He bit the cigarette between his teeth to free up both hands, concentrating very hard on the task, before finally producing a keychain. “Ah! Uh key! Howcome I gotta key, huh?” As he spoke the cigarette fell from his lips, and he dropped the keys on the ground before her to pick it back up. Once it was retrieved, he took another drag, glancing between her and the keys with a raised brow. With an inward sigh, she decided she could at least direct him to the correct apartment if She knew what number he was in. Kagome hesitantly picked up the keychain, turning through the keys until she found the familiar one, labeled 5J, otherwise known as the very apartment they were both sitting in. 

“Seeee?” He sneered with a smile, “S’my apartment.” He leaned closer to point at the key in question. “Five-J.” He read aloud. Kagome was hit by the smell of liquor and inched away again, offering the keys back. 

“Well… that is a key to this apartment, but I assure you, I live here, not you. See?” Kagome produced her own keys, pulling up her own 5J key and holding it out. He glanced at it and rolled his eyes dramatically, heaving a loud groan.

“That fuckin’ Koga! I keep tellin ‘m not ta give out the damn key to every-fuckin-body, but here we ‘r. I don't give a fuck how fuckin sexy ya are, ya can't liv ‘ere… Gonna mess up th’ whole thing we got goin with the band 'n all them-- fuckin yoko-ono n’ shit, you know what I mean? Keh!” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand in her general direction. No, no she did not know what he meant. From what she could understand most of his vocabulary seemed to be the f-word. She could tell, however, that she wasn't going to get him to leave without calling the police, and her phone was dead. As she shifted her gaze towards the apartment, she realized she didn't have the faintest idea where a charger might be, either. The situation was looking bleak, and after all that had happened that day, it was just a tad too much. She sniffled once, then twice, and a couple small frustrated tears filled the corners of her eyes.

“Awe damn it, don't-- come on!” Protested the drunk stranger. “No crying!”

“Oh, should I laugh!?” She shot back, wiping her eyes for the second time that night. He didn't react, other than snubbing out on the concrete. She noticed through her teary gaze that there were several black marks there, and she absently felt annoyed she'd have to clean the marks off.

“No, you should shut up and…" He trailed off when she gave him a look like daggers. "Uh… go ‘t sleep with me?” He asked, giving her a daring smirk that was way too charming for someone so very intoxicated.

"I have pepper-spray, and I'm not afraid to use it." She threatened seriously. He barked out another laugh.

“Fine, s’wortha shot…” He fumbled onto his feet, adjusting his jacket before sauntering off towards the door. Before he made it all the way there, he half-stumbled into her lounge chair and tumbled into it. He looked like he might try to stand up again, but evidently found the cushion to be pretty comfortable. Instead of correcting his course, he sprawled out, mostly on his stomach, and promptly passed out. 

Kagome blinked, watching his chest rise and fall for a moment before pulling herself up on the railing. She moved as silently as a shadow across the balcony and darted through the glass door, carefully but quickly closing- and locking- it behind her.  <p/>

[radbeetle]

the past

Katherine slouched across the ancient sofa, staring at the ground as she tried to find the words she needed. "It's been on my mind a lot, but... I don't know, I guess it's just hard to talk to most people about. And with everything going on it's... things have been so busy and there's not been a chance to sit down and think. Not until now. And I realize no one's gonna get what I'm going through. I'm grieving the loss of a world they never knew." She sighed. "That sounds so... pretentious. But it's true."

Nick was quiet for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of opening up. "I knew," he said. "Or at least, I remember what he knew."

She furrowed her brow, thoughts stopped in her tracks by his statement. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, I told you about the prototype thing, didn’t I? Well, I didn't come standard with this shining personality." He twirled an unlit cigarette between his fingers, while his left hand fished around in his pocket, coming back up with a tarnished lighter. The clink it made was unmistakable as he lit up.

But he never took a drag. The cigarette smoldered between his fingers, hung on his lips, but...

Kate realized that as often as she had seen him with one, she had never seen him smoke. Not properly. And tonight, the realization had finally formed in her head.

He didn't have lungs. Hard to smoke without them. When he sighed, when he gasped - even whistling - it was all just convincingly simulated audio.

She said nothing about this, instead just watching the synth as he continued.

"They built me off brain scans of some pre-war detective. I got his memories, his personality, hell, his accent. I even took his name. Didn't know what else to do, really."

Katherine shifted in her seat, crossing one leg over the other and leaning forwards. "So, wait. You're saying there was another Valentine? Back in 2077?"

Another. Her choice of words struck him. She wasn't asking about the first Nick Valentine. Or the real one. Just... the other one.

"Yeah. It's not all crystal clear, but I got lots of his life in my head. Couldn't tell you if the missing bits are from faulty data, all the knocks I've taken, or just plain old age."

"That's... that's really something else, huh? Shit, I can't keep track of my own life. Gotta be hard with memories from someone else."

"I've gotten used to it, over the years." The cigarette he held had almost burned down to the filter - Nick took a moment to snub it out against the couch. The thing was already trashed, after all. What was one more mark? "Didn't mean to turn this whole talk around and make it about me, though."

Katherine shook her head. "No, no. Don't be. Really. It's... I like hearing about you, but this..." she shrugged. It was nice, she thought, that she wasn't the only one living a crazy life behind the scenes. Of course that struck her as not the most polite thing to say. She couldn't help but chuckle as she turned the words over in her head , trying to find a way to say it that wasn't quite so blunt. "I guess it's good to know at least someone else out there's gone through weird stuff. And that they're doing okay."

It was Nick's turn to smile. "Yeah, for the most part. It's not something I've brought up too often."

"Mmhm. I guess I can see why. So," Kate trailed off, twiddling her fingers. "Gotta admit you've got me curious now."

"I'm not surprised. I think you've got more questions in your head than there are answers in the world."

"Any chance I could ask you some of those questions?"

"Sure. Go for it." He gestured at her. "But you gotta let me ask you some too."

"Seems like a fair trade."

"So," Kate gestured at his trench coat, "did you borrow the other Nick's wardrobe, too?"

He couldn't help himself from laughing. "Nah, we just have the same tailor." He tugged at the coat's lapels. "Not that you could tell, after everything this one's been through. But it's all about dressing for the part. Makes people take you more seriously, most of the time. The clothes make the man, and all." The very slightest hint of a frown crossed his face. "Or synth, in this case."

[jacksonroseroth]

~Broken Glass~Chapter1~

A/N: Fueled by having anxiety over a shitty paycheck...I give you Broken Glass XD

Warnings: Weed usage, swearing, mentions of blood

Words:4,083

Moodboard made by me, none of the pictures are mine

~

It was the fast clicking of heels in a heated pace and urgent, hushed whispers that broke Colson’s concentration as he took a breather from the studio. Outside in the cool Ohio air, he leaned against the brick wall, finishing off a joint. Once his head cleared enough and he realized he wasn’t alone, he went investigating. Puffing on the dying bone, he inched his way closer to the corner and peeked around.

“Wait, wait, wait-Issac, you promised me...No, I’m not saying...Can you let me fucking talk?! I need this, Issac! I can’t live off 300 bucks every two weeks! I have bills! I need to pay rent! I don’t pay rent, I can’t come to work because I have no where to go!...Yes, I can go to a friend’s! That’s not the point, Issac!” All Colson saw was a blur of red curls flying around as she paced and screeched at whoever this Issac person was. He snubbed out the joint and listened as she continued. “You promised me I’d get this raise and this promotion. I’m out here busting my ass for this company and I don’t get anything in return! I need to survive too!...N-No, I…”

Her pacing suddenly stopped and she went silent. Colson’s brows drew together in concern as he began to hear sniffling. He risked another peek and saw her lift a hand to her face. Her back was to him, but as the sniffling continued, he could easily assume she was wiping her face. Finally, she let out a broken, “Yeah. Issac. I get it...Bye.”

As she brought her phone from her ear, Colson watched as her hand clenched around it, her arm shaking with the urge to throw her phone and scream. Instead, she turned, quickly, and cried out as she threw her fist at the window, shattering it. Colson jumped as she leaned against the wall and slid down it, sobbing into her hands.

“Hey, are-are you okay?” Colson finally asked, emerging from around the corner. She looked up at him, her curls flying over her shoulder as he had startled her. Trying to hide her injured and bleeding hand, she picked herself up and wiped her face.

“Y-Yeah. I-I’m fine. Um…” Both of them glanced at the broken studio window then back to each  other. “I-I-I can pay for that. I’m sorry, I-”

“What’s your name, hun?” Colson asked, going over to her and gently taking her hand. He gingerly picked out the bits of broken glass that had lodged themselves in her hand then ripped the bottom of his already ripped up shirt so he could wrap it around to stop the bleeding. She sniffled and said, “Rose.”

Colson glanced at her with a small smile. “Rose? I like that name. I’m Colson. Are you here with someone in the studio?” He asked as he tied the cloth in a tight knot.

“Yeah. Um, my friend Harlow. She-She’s a new artist. Working with Mod Sun.” Rose said. She wasn’t too upset that Colson had been eavesdropping, more embarrassed than anything. Colson lips lifted into a bigger smile as he said, “Harlow? Harlow Derry? Shit, I was the one who convinced Mod to work with her. She’s got some bangin’ talent.”

A bubbly, nervous giggle burst to the surface as Rose glanced up at him and smiled. She sniffed and covered her mouth, turning her head away. Colson chuckled and said, “We should get you to a hospital. You might need stitches.”

Rose shrugged and cradled her hand against her chest. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve stitched myself together more than once. If y’all have a first aid kit, I’ll be good. Lowey’s got a good rhythm going, I don’t want to mess it up.” She said. Colson laughed and nodded.

“Aight. Aight. Well, come on then. I’m sure we can find one.” Colson said, gesturing to the door. Rose gave him a half smile and nodded, taking a step toward the door. “Whoa. Wait…”

Rose stopped and looked up at him as he brought his hand to her cheek and swiped his thumb across it. She assumed it was just stray tears, but when he glanced at his thumb then her, she looked down to see his thumb covered in blood. Frantically, Rose dragged her uninjured hand over her face, trying to get rid of any other blood that was there. Colson caught her hand and chuckled.

“It’s all gone, baby. Don’t trip.” He said, gently. She let out a huff of a laugh as she looked away, her cheeks turning red. Without any other words between them, Colson opened the door and followed Rose inside. He took her to the front of the studio and inquired about a first aid kit, which the receptionist produced quickly. He took her to an empty conference room and sat with her, opening the kit. He looked over at Rose and smiled at her, holding out his hand to her. She slid her hand into his and he gently untied the cloth and pulled it off. Rose winced and hissed and the cloth was peeled off her skin.

“Damn, girl.” Colson chuckled, quickly grabbing some gauze to wipe away the extra blood. Rose pushed his hands away, gently, and said, “No, you have to use the alcohol wipes. Disinfects it.”

Colson dug through the box and pulled out a few, handing them to her. She took them from him with a soft ‘Thank you’ and wiped up the blood. Colson watched her face twitch as the alcohol was pressed to her cuts. She was able to bandage up the small cuts, but there were a few that were deep and probably needed stitches. Rose took a breath then said, “There wouldn’t happen to be a needle and thread in there?”

Colson raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “You’re not gonna stitch yourself up are you?” He asked, amused. Rose lifted her eyebrows as she gave him a look.

“What? You thought the ‘stitching myself together’ thing was a joke?” Rose asked. Colson laughed, leaning back in his chair. Rose rolled her eyes and let out a soft chuckle, scooting closer to him to reach for the first aid kit and pull it closer to her. As she dug through it, Colson’s laughter faded and he sat forward again, watching her rifle through the kit.

“Baby girl, you need to go to the hospital and get stitches.” Colson said, as Rose started pulling out gauze and a small pair of scissors. He chuckled softly, and added, “What are you doing?”

Rose glanced at him and smirked, lightly, then continued in what she was doing. She handed Colson a strip of gauze and said, “Can you hold this for me? I need smaller, thinner strips.”

Colson chuckled and scooted his chair closer, taking the gauze and holding it out to her. Rose snipped off smaller pieces and placed them on the table. Colson rested his knees on his elbows, holding up the gauze for her and chuckling to himself. Finally, his chuckles were too much and Rose stopped her snipping, sitting back, slightly, and looked at him with a smirk.

“What is so fucking funny?” She asked, her lips curling into a small smile as she chuckled softly. Colson shook his head and said, “Nothing. Nothing. Sorry.”

Rose gave him a look and half a smirk as she went back to snipping. Colson smirked at her and said, “I just don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“Well, you’re about to find out, aren’t you?” She asked, setting the scissors down on the table. Laying her cut up hand on the table, Rose closed her eyes and took a breath before opening them and picking up one of the strips and rolling it up. Colson’s eyes went wide as she worked the gauze into one of the cuts, wincing as she did.

“Jesus fuck.” Colson breathed with a chuckle. Their eyes met and Colson smirked as he added, “You’re a fucking badass.”

Rose chuckled and gave a shrug and turned her head back to the table, grabbing another strip and repeating her movements. “You learn things when you’re in a pinch.” She said through clenched teeth, wincing as she stuck the gauze into another cut. She hissed softly and sighed, sitting back in her chair. Her hands shook with a small tremor from the pain that she was fighting through.

“You want me to do it?” Colson asked, picking up another piece of gauze. Rose glanced at him and nodded, watching him roll up the strip and gently take her hand. She let out a soft whimper as Colson moved closer to her. Rose pressed her face into his shoulder and bit her lip while Colson tried to push the gauze into the wound as gently as possible. He felt a slight wetness on his shoulder and stole a glance at Rose. She rested her temple on his shoulder now, trying to remember to breathe, and through her closed eyes, silent tears trickled down her cheeks. Colson made quick work of the last strip before he sat back and said, “All done.”

Rose sniffled, softly, and blinked her eyes open, sitting up when Colson did as she wiped her face. She quickly glanced up at him then reached for more gauze as she said a soft, “Thanks.”

Wincing as she folded down her thumb to hold the gauze in place, she struggled to withstand the pain and wrap the gauze tight enough. Colson only let her struggle for a moment before he intervened.

“I got it.” He said, gently, taking the gauze from her and re-wrapping her hand. Rose smiled lightly at him and dropped her hand while he wrapped the other. They worked together to hold the gauze in place, once Colson was done, so he could cut it from the spool. Keeping his hand in place on the bandage, he reached for the tape and handed it to Rose. They fumbled a little with it and a few chuckles passed between them before they figured it out and got it taped down.

As Colson packed the kit back up, Rose sighed and sat back, cradling her hand as it throbbed in a dull, but persistent, pain. He looked at her with a small smirk and asked, “Better?”

Rose looked up at him and let out a light scoff. “If I had the good sense to have listened to Harlow and brought my pen, I’d be just peachy.” She said. A wicked smirk crossed Colson’s face.

“Shit. I’ve got a few extra joints. We can go back out and smoke.” He offered. Rose chuckled and said, “Well, I’m not gonna turn down the offer. It’s the least I can do after you helped me.”

With a chuckle, Colson said, “Nah, I’ll think of something else. This one’s on me.”

A genuine smile spread across her face and she chuckled. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” She said. Colson smiled and stood.

“Come on. I’ve gotta head back in there soon.” He said. Rose stood and followed him out, both of them stopping back at the front desk to return the first aid kit, then they made their way back out.

Leaning against the brick wall once they stepped out, Rose tipped her head back against it and took a deep breath. While she stood there, Colson took a moment to look her over as he lit the joint. Her copper curls tumbled down over her shoulders and framed her face. She wore a simple black leather jacket over a, now, bloodstained grey knit shit. Over her black jean clad legs, she also had on black suede thigh high boots. As he took a long drag, his gaze raked over her waist and legs again. She had nice curves and knew how to dress them.

“Here. Puff on that for a while.” Colson said, passing her the joint. As he spoke, the smoke billowed out of his mouth before the blew it all out. When he first spoke, Rose blinked her eyes open and took the joint he offered, smirking at the comment.

“Oh, trust me, I will.” She said as she brought the joint to her lips to take a hit. Colson chuckled then glanced around before he leaned against a nearby railing. He folded his arms across his chest as he watched her puff away. After a while, Colson asked, “So, who’s that Issac prick?”

Rose looked at him and blinked. His lips curved into a smirk and he explained, “You were yelling at the dude pretty bad. Kinda hard not to hear.”

A cloud of smoke burst from her mouth as she chuckled. With a light sniff, Rose looked down at the lit joint in her hand, ashing it as she said, “Yeah. He’s a massive prick. When I first started, he said by my first yearly eval, I’d probably get a raise, promotion by 2 years.”

Rose tossed her curls out of her face as she looked up and added, with a light chuckle, “Here I am, 5 years down the road, with fuck all to show for it.” She looked at Colson and tried to keep her emotions in check as she added, “He promoted an assistant, with zero experience, except on his dick. I’m the only one out of my hire group who’s still where we started.”

Colson let out a low whistle and shook his head. “Damn. What a prick.” He chuckled. “What do you do?”

“I write for a creative writing blog. Issac runs the company and we work during the week and post on Fridays and Saturdays.” She said. “Short stories, poems, advice, all that shit.”

The corners of his mouth turned down briefly then he smiled and said, “Shit. Are you any good? Not saying you aren’t, but why not start your own blog or something?”

Shaking her head, Rose shifted and took a step toward him to pass him the joint. Blowing out the smoke as she did, she said, “If I had the time I would. I think Issac keeps me busy at work because he knows if I had free time and did start my own blog? He knows I’m good enough to rival him.”

“No time for your own shit, but you only get paid 300 a paycheck?” Colson questioned.

Rose nodded back to the studio and said, “That’s why I’m here. Lowey’s got anxiety sometimes and it’s can be bad. I can always calm her down just by being there most times. But once she has a good rhythm going, she’s good. Plus, I help her write some of her lyrics when she’s stuck and she helps me with projects.”

“She doesn’t pay you?!” Colson teased with a chuckle. Rose smirked.

“I live with her and chip in with stuff for the house. She takes care of the rest; Car insurance, medical, rent. She does gigs every other week and it keeps us in the house. I’m just trying to help her get where she needs to be, then I’m gone. I took the job for her in the first place.” Rose said. A brief smile passed over her lips as she added, “She was in my position before. 5 years ago, she was happy and engaged...Dude was a Class A Cunt and broke her heart before the wedding. I had just lost my job and basically we both said fuck it and moved up to Cleveland. She was in really bad shape so I told her if she could use her wedding money for the house, I’d work however many jobs it took until she was back on her feet.”

“300? In Cleveland?” Colson chuckled. “Shit, I made almost twice that at fucking Chiptole.”

Rose chuckled as he passed her back the joint. She took a toke then said, “Nah. It dropped to 300. I was making good money before. He keeps me busy with projects when I’m in the office, but once he hired Perfect Tits he cut my hours. But he still expected me to churn out my usual content. And since he owns the company, there’s no HR to report to.”

“That’s fucked up. I’d quit and start my own shit just to piss him off.” Colson said, shaking his head. Rose nodded and passed the joint back to him.

“Nah, I’d rather ruin him.” Rose said as a wicked smirk crossed her face. “He’s been a fucking asshole since I started. I have 5 years worth of shit on him that would fucking ruin him. Harlow’s seen all of it. She was the only one I could talk to about it. She said once she makes it big, I can quit and she’ll help me sue his ass.”

“That’s fucking friendship right there!” Colson said, pointing the joint at her with a smirk. Rose chuckled and Colson took another hit. “That’s true fucking friendship and some damn good loyalty.”

They both chuckled and Colson took one last toke then flicked the butt away. It landed by Rose, who quickly stepped out to snub it with the toe of her boot.

“I’ll have a talk with Mod. We’ll get Harlow signed soon enough.” Colson said, pushing himself off the rail and going to the door and opening it. He smiled at her and glanced down at the hand she held cradled. “How’s your hand feel?”

“Like I put it through a window then stuffed gauze in it.” Rose quipped as she smirked and pushed herself off the wall and walked in.

“You’re funny.” Colsons chuckled, following her inside. Rose tossed her curls over her shoulder, looking back at him. As she wrinkled her nose at him, she remarked, “I know. I’m cute too.”

Colson chortled lightly and shook his head as they made their way through the halls, tossing a few comments at each other as they went. When they got back to the foyer, they found Mod waiting with a worried looking Harlow.

“No, she wouldn’t have just left. Let me try her again.” Harlow said, pulling her phone from her back pocket. Mod nodded and turned to her. Looking past her when he spotted movement, he smiled and called out, “Shit, Kells. Leave it to you to find the girls.”

Harlow turned and ended the call with a half relieved, half annoyed sigh. “There you are. Jesus, Rose, how long was that call?” Harlow asked with a chuckle, heading to meet them halfway.

“Babe, it’s after 10. My phone is on Do Not Disturb.” Rose said. Harlow rolled her eyes and chuckled, moving to link arms with her friend. She stopped and let out a soft gasp as she noticed the bandage around her hand and exclaimed, “Holy fuck! What did you do?!”

Rose held out her hand, turning it over for Harlow to examine, then shrugged and said, “You know how pissed Issac makes me.”

Harlow gave her a look and said, “Pissed enough to injure your hand? What did you do?”

“Put it through a window.” Colson answered for her, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets., prompting both girls to look at him; Harlow in shock and Rose in a mock offense, with Mod snickering behind them.

“Way to sell me out, Colson.” Rose chuckled. Colson smirked at her and gave her a wink while Harlow grabbed her shoulder and said, “A window?! What did he say to make you put your damn hand through a window?!”

Rose’s smile faltered, looking from Harlow to glance between Colson and Mod. “Um...We can talk at home.” Rose said, softly. Harlow’s brows drew together in concern, but she let it go as Mod spoke up.

“Alright, so, Harlow?” Mod started. Harlow turned to him and smiled. “We’ll see you back here next week. Now that I know your range, can you bring some new material?”

“Of course!” Harlow chuckled. “I have a shit ton of unfinished songs I can probably knock out.”

Mod smiled and said, “Perfect. Then I’ll see you next week.” He went to her and hugged her, then turned to Rose. “Will you be coming with her again?”

Rose smiled and chuckled. “Probably. We’re kind of a packaged deal.” She said. Mod laughed and said, “I’m good with that. As long as your don’t put your other hand through a window again.”

The group chuckled and Rose said, “I can’t promise anything.”

Mod chuckled then pulled Harlow aside to discuss something and Colson stepped up beside Rose. “I guess we’ll see each other again real soon.” He said. Rose glanced at him as she took a step forward, then turned to him.

“I guess we are.” She said with a chuckle. Colson took the hint and walked with her as both he and Mod walked the girls out and to their car.

“You guys gonna head to the hospital now? Get your hand sewn up?” He asked, motioning to it. Rose shrugged and said, “I dunno. We probably have the right needle and thread at home.”

Colson chuckled and asked, “Please tell me you are not serious?”

Rose laughed and shook her head, turning to him as they stopped at her car. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to find out next week. If we see you.” She teased. Colson smirked.

“Or you could text me a picture when you’re done...If you do it.” He teased back. Rose pursed her lips for a moment then chuckled.

Shaking her head slightly Rose said, “How do you know it won’t be one from a different time? There’s a reason I know what I’m doing.”

“You have an iPhone?” He questioned with a smirk. Rose licked her lips lightly and responded with a soft, ‘Of course’. He gave a soft chuckle, then said, “Maybe you should FaceTime me, then I’ll know you did it.”

“Oh, you’re so smooth.” She teased. “Do you use that line on all the girls? Or am I just special?” 

“You’re definitely special…” He said with an uncertain chuckle that made Rose’s smirk grow for a moment. Pulling out his phone with another chuckle, Colson asked, “Did it work, is the question.”

Rose gave a soft sigh then shook her head and chuckled as she pulled out her phone, both of them pulling up a new contact and swapping phones. Harlow watched as they exchanged numbers and smirked, prompting Mod to glance back as well. Rose handed his phone back to him, tossing her curls over her shoulder. She bit her lip lightly and smiled as he smiled at her and handed her phone to her. Before anything could be said, Harlow and Mod wrapped up their conversation and Harlow bounced over to the pair, taking Rose’s arm.

“So...You’re not driving with a fucked up hand. Give me your keys.” She said, holding out her hand. Rose looked at her and blinked.

“It’s my car. No one drives my car.” She said with a soft chuckle. Harlow shrugged and said, “Too bad. Give it here.”

Colson snickered as Rose dug into her pocket for her keys. She made a face, mocking Colson as she mock laughed with him. She giggled and dropped the key ring into Harlow’s hand as she said, “I’ll call you.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Colson said back. A smirk spread across his face as another, more excited smirk spread across Harlow’s. She let out a soft giggle while she gave Rose’s arm a small tug before moving behind her and getting into the driver’s side. Rose turned at the tug and rounded the car and opened the door. She took another glance up at Colson, the car starting as she got in. Mod stepped back, waving the girls off as he stood next to Colson.

“You’d better watch your ass with that one, Kells.” Mod chuckled. “She put her hand through the fucking window?”

Colson chuckled and glanced at him as he turned to head back into the studio. “Nah, I can handle her.” He said. Mod chuckled and shook his head as he followed the blonde back inside. “She seems intense, but shit, so am I.”

“You’re fucking crazy, bro.” Mod laughed, clapping a hand on his back. Colson chuckled and said, “Are you gonna come back in with me, Slim, and Baze?”

“Hell yeah.” Mod said with a smirk. Colson returned it and added, “Good. We need to talk about Harlow.”

~

Hope you guys liked it. If you want to be added to my taglist for this and/or future MGK/Colson stories, let me know! If you have any comments, feel free!

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[iwanthermidnightz]

“Not a shot. Not a single chance. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.”

Taylor Swift — who, at 30, has reached a Zen state of cheerful realism — laughs as she leans into a pillow she’s placed over her crossed legs inside her suite at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, leaning further still into her infinitesimal odds of winning a Golden Globe, which will zero out when she heads down to the televised ball in a few hours.

Never mind whether or not the tune she co-wrote, “Beautiful Ghosts,” might actually have been worthy of a trophy for best original song (or shortlisted for an Oscar, which it was not). Since the Globe nominations were revealed, voters could hardly have been immune to how quickly the film it’s a part of, “Cats,” in which she also co-stars, became a whipping boy for jokes about costly Hollywood miscalculations and creative disasters. Not that you’ll hear Swift utter a discouraging word about it all. “I’m happy to be here, happy to be nominated, and I had a really great time working on that weird-ass movie,” she declares. “I’m not gonna retroactively decide that it wasn’t the best experience. I never would have met Andrew Lloyd Webber or gotten to see how he works, and now he’s my buddy. I got to work with the sickest dancers and performers. No complaints.”

If this leads you to believe that the pop superstar is in the business of sugarcoating things, consider her other new movie — a vastly more significant documentary that presents Swift not just sans digital fur but without a whole lot of the varnish of the celebrity-industrial complex. The Netflix-produced “Taylor Swift: Miss Americana” has a prestige slot as the Jan. 23 opening night gala premiere of the Sundance Film Festival before it reaches the world as a day-and-date theatrical release and potential streaming monster on Jan. 31.

The doc spends much of its opening act juxtaposing the joys of creation with the aggravations of global stardom — the grist of many a pop doc, if rendered in especially intimate detail — before taking a more provocative turn in its last reel to focus more tightly on how and why Swift became a political animal. It’s the story of an earnest young woman with a self-described “good girl” fixation working through her last remaining fears of being shamed as she comes to embrace her claws, and her causes.

Given that the film portrays how gradually, and sometimes reluctantly, Swift came to place herself into service as a social commentator, “Miss Americana” is a portrait of the birth of an activist. Director Lana Wilson sets the movie up so that it pivots on a couple of big letdowns for its subject. The first comes early in the film, and early in the morning, when Swift’s publicist calls to update her on how many of the top three Grammy categories her 2017 album “Reputation” is nominated for: zilch. She’s clearly bummed about the record’s brushoff by the awards’ nominating committee, as just about anyone who’d previously won album of the year twice would be, and determinedly tells her rep that she’s just going to make a better record.

But she suffers what feels like a more meaningful blow toward the end of the film. In the fall of 2018, Swift finally comes out of the closet politically to intervene on behalf of Democrats in a midterm election in her home state of Tennessee. As the Washington Post put it, this announcement “fell like a hammer across the Trump-worshipping subforums of the far-right Internet, where people had convinced themselves… that the world-famous pop star was a secret MAGA fan.” Donald Trump goes on camera to smirk that he now likes Swift’s music a little less. The singer is successful in enlisting tens of thousands of young people to register to vote, but her senatorial candidate of choice, Democrat Phil Bredesen, loses to Republican Marsha Blackburn, whom she’d called out as a flagrant enemy of feminism and gay rights.

“Definitely, that was a bigger disappointment for me,” Swift says, pitting the midterm snub against the Grammy snub. “I think what’s going on out in the world is bigger than who gets a prize at the party.”

It was not always thus for Swift — as the detractors who dragged her for staying quiet during the last presidential election eagerly pointed out. If you had to pick the most embarrassing or regrettable moment in “Miss Americana,” it might be the TV clip from “The Late Show With David Letterman” in which the host brings up politics and gets Swift to essentially advocate the “Shut up and sing” mantra. As the studio audience roars approval of her vow to stay apolitical, Letterman gives her what now looks like history’s most dated fist bump.

Thinking back on it, Swift is incredulous. “Every time I didn’t speak up about politics as a young person, I was applauded for it,” she says. “It was wild. I said, ‘I’m a 22-year-old girl — people don’t want to hear what I have to say about politics.’ And people would just be like, ‘Yeahhhhh!’”

At that point, Swift was already starting to record isolated pop tracks, taking baby steps that would soon turn into full strides away from her initial genre. But whether she had designs on switching lanes or not, the lesson of the Dixie Chicks’ forced exile after Natalie Maines’ comment against then-President George W. Bush had branded itself onto her brain at an earlier age, when she’d just planted her young-teen flag in Nashville and overheard a lot of the lamentations of older Music Row songwriters about how the Chicks had thrown it all away.

“I saw how one comment ended such a powerful reign, and it terrified me,” says Swift. “These days, with social media, people can be so mad about something one day and then forget what they were mad about a couple weeks later. That’s fake outrage. But what happened to the Dixie Chicks was real outrage. I registered it — that you’re always one comment away from being done being able to make music.”

Maybe the most transfixing scene in “Miss Americana” is one where Swift argues with her father and other members of her team about the statement she’s about to release coming out against Blackburn and — it’s clear from her references to White House opposition to the Equality Act — Donald Trump too. The comments were so spontaneous that Wilson wasn’t there to film the moment, but the director had asked people to turn on the camera if anything interesting transpired, and here it most certainly did.

“For 12 years, we’ve not got involved in politics or religion,” an unnamed associate says to Swift, suggesting that going down the road of standing against a president as well as Republican gubernatorial and Senate candidates could have the effect of halving her audience on tour. Her father chimes in: “I’ve read the entire [statement] and … right now, I’m terrified. I’m the guy that went out and bought armored cars.”

“I needed to get to a point where I was ready, able and willing to call out bullshit rather than just smiling my way through it.” TAYLOR SWIFT

But Swift is adamant about pressing the button to send a nearly internet-breaking Instagram post, saying that Blackburn has voted against reauthorizing the Violence Against Women Act as well as LGBTQ-friendly bills: “I can’t see another commercial [with] her disguising these policies behind the words ‘Tennessee Christian values.’ I live in Tennessee. I am Christian. That’s not what we stand for.” Pushing back tears, she laments not having come out against Trump two years earlier, “but I can’t change that. … I need to be on the right side of history. … Dad, I need you to forgive me for doing it, because I’m doing it.”

Says Swift now, “This was a situation where, from a humanity perspective, and from what my moral compass was telling me I needed to do, I knew I was right, and I really didn’t care about repercussions.” She understands why she faced such heated opposition in the room: “My dad is terrified of threats against my safety and my life, and he has to see how many stalkers we deal with on a daily basis, and know that this is his kid. It’s where he comes from.”

Swift was recently announced as the recipient of a Vanguard Award from GLAAD, and she name-checked the org in her basher-bashing single “You Need to Calm Down,” which was released as one of the teaser tracks for last fall’s more outwardly directed and socially conscious “Lover” album. Part of her politicization, she says, is feeling it would be hypocritical to hang out with her gay friends while leaving them to their own devices politically. In the film, she says, “I think it is so frilly and spineless of me to stand onstage and go ‘Happy Pride Month, you guys,’ and then not say this, when someone’s literally coming for their neck.”

A year and a half later, she elaborates: “To celebrate but not advocate felt wrong for me. Using my voice to try to advocate was the only choice to make. Because I’ve talked about equality and sung about it in songs like ‘Welcome to New York,’ but we are at a point where human rights are being violated. When you’re saying that certain people can be kicked out of a restaurant because of who they love or how they identify, and these are actual policies that certain politicians vocally stand behind, and they disguise them as family values, that is sinister. So, so dark.”

Her increasing alignment with the LGBTQ community wasn’t the only thing raising her consciousness to a breaking — i.e., speaking — point. So did the sexual assault trial in which judgment was rendered that she had been groped by a DJ in a backstage photo op (for financial restitution, Swift had asked for $1).

Her experience with the trial was crucial, she says, in finding herself “needing to speak up about beliefs I’d always had, because it felt like an opportunity to shed light on what those trials are like. I experienced it as a person with extreme privilege, so I can only imagine what it’s like when you don’t have that. And I think one theme that ended up emerging in the film is what happens when you are not just a people pleaser but someone who’s always been respectful of authority figures, doing what you were supposed to do, being polite at all costs. I still think it’s important to be polite, but not at all costs,” she says. “Not when you’re being pushed beyond your limits, and not when people are walking all over you. I needed to get to a point where I was ready, able and willing to call out bulls— rather than just smiling my way through it.”

That came into play when Kanye West stepped into her life and publicly shamed her a second time. In the video Kim Kardashian released in 2016, you can hear the people-pleasing Swift on the other end of the line sheepishly thanking him for letting her know about the “Me and Taylor might still have sex” line he plans to include about her in a song — only to regret it later when the eventual track also includes the claim “Why? I made that bitch famous.” The boast, of course, referred back to the moment when he interrupted her and stole her spotlight at the MTV VMAs six years earlier as she was in the middle of an acceptance speech. West’s is not a name that ever publicly escapes Swift’s lips, so it might be surprising to fans that these events are recapped in “Miss Americana,” although Swift says the filmic decisions were all up to the director, who explains that Swift’s reaction to the episode was important to include.

“With the 2009 VMAs, it surprised me that when she talked about how the whole crowd was booing, she thought that they were booing her, and how devastating that was,” says Wilson. “That was something I hadn’t thought about or heard before, and made it much more relatable and understandable to anyone.”

“I see the movie as looking at the flip side of being America’s sweetheart.” LANA WILSON, DIRECTOR OF “TAYLOR SWIFT: MISS AMERICANA”

Swift acknowledges how formative both incidents have been in her life, for ill and good. “As a teenager who had only been in country music, attending my very first pop awards show,” she says now, “somebody stood up and sent me the message: ‘You are not respected here. You shouldn’t be here on this stage.’ That message was received, and it burrowed into my psyche more than anyone knew. … That can push you one of two ways: I could have just curled up and decided I’m never going to one of those events ever again, or it could make me work harder than anyone expects me to, and try things no one expected, and crave that respect — and hopefully one day get it.

“But then when that person who sparked all of those feelings comes back into your life, as he did in 2015, and I felt like I finally got that respect (from West), but then soon realized that for him it was about him creating some revisionist history where he was right all along, and it was correct, right and decent for him to get up and do that to a teenage girl…” She sighs. “I understand why Lana put it in.”

Adds the woman who started her recent “Lover” album with a West-allusive romp that’s pointedly called “I Forgot That You Existed”: “I don’t think too hard about this stuff now.”

What’s not in the film is any mention of her other most famous nemeses — Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta of Big Machine Records, with whom she’s scrapped publicly for several months. “The Big Machine stuff happened pretty late in our process,” says Wilson. “We weren’t that far from picture lock. But there’s also not much to say that isn’t publicly known. I feel like Taylor’s put the story out there in her own words already, and it’s been widely covered. I was interested in telling the story that hadn’t been told before, that would be surprising and emotionally powerful to audiences whether they were music industry people or not.”

Still, the way Swift has been willing to stand up politically for others parallels the manner in which she stood up for herself in regard to Braun, et al., at the recent Billboard Women in Music Awards, where she gave an altogether blistering speech, naming names and taking no prisoners, going after the men who now control her six-album Big Machine back catalog. Certainly Swift was aware that, along with supporters, there were many friends and business associates of Braun among the VIPs in the Hollywood Palladium who would not be pleased with what this very reformed people-pleaser had to say.

One thing everyone who was in the room agrees on is that you could hear a pin drop as Swift used the speech to get even bolder about the meat of these disputes. Some would say it’s because they were riveted by her boldness in speaking truth to power, others because they just felt uncomfortable. Says one fellow honoree who works in a high position in the industry (and who’s worked with some high-profile Braun clients): “People were excited for her at the beginning of the speech. But once she started going in a negative direction at an event that is supposed to be celebrating accomplishments and rah-rah for women, I felt it fell flat with a good portion of the room, because it wasn’t the appropriate place to be saying it.”

Wasn’t it intimidating for Swift, knowing she might be polarizing an auditorium full of the most powerful people in the business? “Well, I do sleep well at night knowing that I’m right,” she responds, “and knowing that in 10 years it will have been a good thing that I spoke about artists’ rights to their art, and that we bring up conversations like: Should record deals maybe be for a shorter term, or how are we really helping artists if we’re not giving them the first right of refusal to purchase their work if they want to?”

“Obviously, anytime you’re standing up against or for anything, you’re never going to receive unanimous praise. But that’s what forces you to be brave. And that’s what’s different about the way I live my life now.” (Braun’s camp did not respond to a request for comment.)

One thing Taylor Swift can’t bend to her determined will is her family’s health. She revealed a few years ago that her mother, Andrea, a beloved figure among the thousands of fans who’ve met her at road shows, is battling breast cancer. Swift addressed the uncertainty of that struggle in an anguished song on her latest album, “Soon You’ll Get Better.” Many who view “Miss Americana” will look for signs of how her mom is doing. The subject comes up in a section of the film that includes a relatively light-hearted scene in in which it’s shown that one of Andrea Swift’s ways of saying “eff you” to cancer recently was to break the mold and bring a canine — her “cancer dog” — into a famously feline-friendly family.

The real answer may come in Swift’s touring activity for “Lover.” Whereas typically she’d spend nine months in the year after an album release on the road, she plans to limit herself to four stadium dates in America this summer and a trip around the festival circuit in Europe. This may not be 100% for personal reasons: “I wanted to be able to perform in places that I hadn’t performed in as much, and to do things I hadn’t done before, like Glastonbury,” she says. “I feel like I haven’t done festivals, really, since early in my career — they’re fun and bring people together in a really cool way. But I also wanted to be able to work as much as I can handle right now, with everything that’s going on at home. And I wanted to figure out a way that I could do both those things.”

Is being able to be there for her mother the main concern? “Yeah, that’s it. That’s the reason,” she says. “I mean, we don’t know what is going to happen. We don’t know what treatment we’re going to choose. It just was the decision to make at the time, for right now, for what’s going on.”

In her case, it’s as if her manager had taken seriously ill as well as the person she’s always been closest to, all at once. “Everyone loves their mom; everyone’s got an important mom,” she allows. “But for me, she’s really the guiding force. Almost every decision I make, I talk to her about it first. So obviously it was a really big deal to ever speak about her illness.” During filming, when Andrea’s breast cancer had returned for a second time, “she was going through chemo, and that’s a hard enough thing for a person to go through.” Then it got harder. Speaking about this latest development publicly for the first time, Swift quietly reveals: “While she was going through treatment, they found a brain tumor. And the symptoms of what a person goes through when they have a brain tumor is nothing like what we’ve ever been through with her cancer before. So it’s just been a really hard time for us as a family.”

Compared with that, nearly any other topic the movie might address would pale. But it finds weightiness in addressing other kinds of unhealthiness, like the physical expectations that are placed on women in general and celebrity women specifically, Swift being no exception. In this department, she has her own heroines. “I love people like Jameela Jamil, because he way she speaks about body image, it’s almost like she speaks in a hook. Women are held to such a ridiculous standard of beauty, and we’re seeing so much on social media that makes us feel like we are less than, or we’re not what we should be, that you kind of need a mantra to repeat in your head when you start to have unhealthy thoughts. I swear the way Jameela speaks is like lyrics — it gets stuck in my head and it calms me down.”

Swift’s collaborator in this messaging, Wilson, was on a list of potential directors Netflix gave her when she expressed interest in possibly doing a documentary to follow the concert special that premiered on the service just over a year ago. You could discern a feminist message, if you chose to, in the fact that Swift chose a director most well known for a documentary about abortion providers, “After Tiller.” Swift says she was most impressed, though, that Wilson’s docs look for nuance and subtlety in addressing subjects that do lend themselves to soapboxes, and their first conversation was about their mutual desire to avoid “propaganda” in any form.

If there’s a feminist agenda in “Miss Americana,” Wilson and Swift wanted it to emerge naturally, although the director admits it was pretty blatant from the outset, given that she set up the film (which is co-produced by Morgan Neville, the director’s “sounding board”) with an all-female crew. Or nearly all-female, says Wilson, laughing, “I will say that we did always have male production assistants, because I like trying to show people that men can fetch coffee for women.”

Adds Wilson, “When I started filming, it was before she’d come out politically. She knew that she was coming out of a very dark period, and wanted collaborate on something that captured what she was going through and that was really raw and honest and emotionally intimate.” The political awakening, the director says, “was a profound decision for her to make. In that, I saw this feminist coming of age story that I personally connected with, and that I really think women and girls around the world will see themselves in.”

“The bigger your career gets, the more you struggle with the idea that a lot of people see you the same way they see an iPhone or a Starbucks.” TAYLOR SWIFT

The film borrows its title from a song on the “Lover” album, “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,” that’s maybe the one fully allegorical song Swift has ever released — and, in its fashion, is a great protest song. The entire lyric is a metaphor for how Swift grew up as an unblinking patriot and has had to reluctantly leave behind her naiveté in the age of Trump. Her partner on that track, as well as other message songs like “You Need to Calm Down” and “The Man,” was a co-writer and co-producer new to her stable of collaborators this time around, Joel Little.

With the song “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,” although the lyrics are cloaked in metaphor, “We like to think it was a very clear statement,” Little says. “There are lots of little hidden messages within that song that are all pointing toward the way that she thinks and feels about politics and the United States. I love that it uses a lot of classic Taylor Swift imagery, in terms of the songwriting topics of high school and cheerleaders, as a clever nod to what she’s done in the past, but tied in with a heavy political message.”

“Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince” doesn’t actually appear in the documentary, but the director says the film’s title is understood by fans as an obvious reference to political themes in the number. “Even if you don’t know the song,” Wilson says, “I see the movie as looking at the flip side of being America’s sweetheart, so I like how the title evokes that too.”

The doc doesn’t lack for its own protest songs though. In the wake of her midterm disappointment, Swift is seen writing an anthem for millennials who might have come away disillusioned with the political process. That previously unheard song, “Only the Young,” is seen being demo-ed before it plays in full over the end credits; it’ll be released as a digital single in conjunction with the doc. Key lyric: ““You did all that you could do / The game was rigged, the ref got tricked/ The wrong ones think they’re right / We were outnumbered — this time.”

“One thing I think is amazing about her,” says Wilson, “is that she goes to the studio and to songwriting as a place to process what she’s going through. I loved how, when she got the Grammy news (about “Reputation”), this isn’t someone who’s going to feel sorry for herself or say ‘That wasn’t right.’ She’s like, ‘Okay, I’m going to work even harder.’ You see her strength of character in that moment when she gets that news. And then with the election results, I loved how she channeled so many of her thoughts and feelings into ‘Only the Young.’ It was a great way to kind of show how stuff that happens in her life goes directly into the songs; you get to witness that in both cases.

So is the film aimed at satisfying the fan base or teasing the unconvinced hordes who might dial it up as a free stream? “I think it’s a little bit of both,” Swift says. “I chose Netflix because it’s a very vast, accessible medium to people who are just like, ‘Hey, what’s this? I’m bored.’ I love that, because I do so many things that cater specifically to fans that like my music, I think it’s important to put yourself out there to people who don’t care at all about you.”

In the wake of the last round of Kanye-gate, stung by the backlash of those who took his side, Swift took a three-year break from interviews. The mantra of her 2017 album “Reputation” and subsequent tour was “No explanations.” But her Beyoncé-style press blackout was a passing phase. With “Lover” and now, especially, the documentary, she could hardly be more about the explanations. Although this interview is the only one she currently plans to do about the documentary, it’s clear that she’s come back into a season of openness, and that she considers it her natural habitat.

“I really like the whole discussion around music. And during ‘Reputation,’ it never felt like it was ever going to be about music, no matter what I said or did,” she says. “I approach albums differently, in how I want to show them to the world or what I feel comfortable with at that time in my life.” Being more transparent “feels great with this album. I really feel like I could just keep making stuff — it’s that vibe right now. I don’t think I’ve ever written this much. That’s exhibited in ‘Lover’ having the most songs that I’ve ever had on an album” (18, to be exact). “But even after I made the album, I kept writing and going in the studio. That’s a new thing I’ve experienced this time around. That openness kind of feels like you finally got the lid off a jar you’ve been working at for years.”

Cipher-dom never could have stood for long for someone who’s established herself as one of the most accomplished confessional singer-songwriters in pop history. ��I don’t really operate very well as an enigma,” she says. “It’s not fulfilling to me. It works really well in a lot of pop careers, but I think that it makes me feel completely unable to do what I had gotten in this to do, which is to communicate to people. I live for the feeling of standing on a stage and saying, ‘I feel this way,’ and the crowd responding with ‘We do too!’ And me being like, ‘Really?’ And they’re like, ‘Yes!’”

Swift believes talking things up again isn’t a form of giving in to narcissism — it’s a way of warding off commodification.

“The bigger your career gets, the more you struggle with the idea that a lot of people see you the same way they see an iPhone or a Starbucks,” she muses. “They’ve been inundated with your name in the media, and you become a brand. That’s inevitable for me, but I do think that it’s really necessary to feel like I can still communicate with people. And as a songwriter, it’s really important to still feel human and process things in a human way. The through line of all that is humanity, and reaching out and talking to people and having them see things that aren’t cute.

[metalotaku-da]

GREATEST SHOWMAN VOLTRON

Keith is from a rich upbringing, his parents lotor and axca are of the upper class during the civil war in nyc.shiro is his childhood friend. Shiro’s father did various labor for keith’s family. After shiro’s father dies, he goes off to join the railroad. He meets up with keith whenever he can. Confessing his love to him in an abandoned house as he spins tales to entertain him like he did in their youth. However, Keith's parents try to forbid him from seeing him. Keith finally decided after a harsh evening of words that he has had enough. And runs away from home to be with shiro. The two move into together in the slums. Where they meet two young orphans shortly after named nadia and silvio. They take them in like their own children. When shiro loses his job and banks everything on an ill gotten loan for hsi oddities museum. Keith and th4 kids throw everything they have into helping him make it a success.

From the idea he got from the kids, shiro went to recruit the local conjoined twins matt and pidge holt. It took a lot of persuasion. Next he meets Allura, an albino freed slave and her friend and former master's daughter, Corana, a bearded and mustache red headed woman at the wash house. Then shiro and keith hold open auditions at the museum. 

One of the first acts they sign are lance also more often known as lucrecia and their sister veronica as trapeze artists. They are escaped former slaves from cuba. Lance/lucrecia and veronica tell their story to shiro and Keith over drinks. The two are twins and they choose to take their chances at escape after their former master sold off their other family members.  Lance disguised themself as a woman in their escape to America, and found that most days they prefered to be seen as a woman and choose the name lucrecia when dressed as a woman. Shiro and Keith respond with kindness and acceptance as do the rest of their troupe. Keith even asks Lance/Lucrecia how they’d like to be addressed. And they responded with a  shrug and a “i guess whatever i am perceived as, but i don’t think i care much really either way. I am used to being called many things, especially when people find out.” and Shiro and Keith respond with the others to do their best respect whatever choice lance makes with his appearance. And in front of the audience they will never be misgendered. 

They are also joined at the auditions by the very large and strongman Hunk. Who is a recently emancipated slave. He and Lance/Lucrecia hit it right off the bat, becoming quick friends. He is the first of the new acts they confide in. 

A troupe of four women also joined them, Zenthrid, a giant strong woman, Ezor the tumblist and fire eater, and Narti a blind fortune teller. 

Along with many others. 

After their first big windfall after the show opens shiro buys his family a huge new house. And enrolls Nadia in ballerina school like she has always wanted. Through the new experience of high society parties, keith introduces him to jame’s family. A rich upper class family who back the north and the abolitionists. James has returned recently with a friend from europe. A famous playwright, whose works are the talk of Europe and america. Many of the guests are shocked when they discover the man they thought to be his servant to be the famous playwright, a black man named Ryan kinkaide. James is drunk and over eager to introduce Ryan to more friendly faces at the party. In a bid to tease keith about his newly reclaimed status by a string or highwire. He drags Ryan over for introduction and eagerly throws him to shiro and keith when neither blanche nor snubs his friend. Speaking to him as equals. Though with a bit more politeness and manners from Keith than the other had been shooting james. Shiro asks the two to meet keith and him at a local bar later.

Once there they discuss the two of them joining their circus. With Ryan helping to right acts and shows. And James helping with behind the scenes things. With the upper class. It takes some haggling and James chooses to enter a business venture as a silent partner. but would like to look around the show before any papers are signed. Who knows he might change his mind after seeing the behind the scenes. 

The act performing when they arrive is the trapeze. And Ryan finds himself captivated by one of the twins in a pink wig he comes face to face with. “Who is that?” Ryan asks, still staring out the balcony he had come face to face with them in. Shiro gives a wicked grin knowing he has Ryan there. Keiht gives him a warning glance before he answers the playwright. “Lucrecia. One of our trapeze twins from the exotic cuban plantations of the southernmost ocean to touch this country.”

“Their act is truly captivating isn’t it?” Keith says with a smile. 

“Yes, she is.” Ryan responds, eyes still glued till the act is complete. James and Ryan sign on, splitting a 10 percent take. Ryan and James quickly work themselves into the group. The two are later on introduced to lance on day during the week. When he joins them at lunch. Learning he is Veronica's brother. “And lucrecia’s? Will she be joining us today too?” Ryan asked hopefully. Keith looked to the other quickly at Ryan's words. Lance responds with a sad smile. “Afraid not. Just me today. She had other things to do. Maybe another time.”

“Yes, maybe another time. It’s a pleasure to meet you lance. I’m sorry we haven't had a chance to be introduced yet. Hopefully we can get to know each more as we work together.”

“Maybe.” lance responds with a slightly more genuine smile. Taking his lunch to sit by veronica and hunk. The holts check James's shoulder as the other squints in judgment of lance as he sits. The two joining the others. 

“Why would you say that?” Keith asked Lance later. The other still dressed as a male. “They are part of the crew now. He’s going to figure it out eventually.”

Lance shrugged headed to his changing area. “Gives me sometime to see if he’s safe. Or if both are. It just gives me some time. When he figures it out it will show how he really feels about lucrecia. Helps to find out if he’s feelings are for me or for the act.”

“You are lucrecia. You are lance. They are the same person because they are you.” Shiro says kindly joining the two. A hand on Keith's shoulder in support. 

“The show is the act. Not you.” Keith says strongly. They give him a thankful smile before going behind the screen to change to more feminine clothing. Once again joining the others as Lucrecia. 

James and Ryan join the others a few days later with news. They got a response to their letter from the queen of England and they had been granted an audience with the queen. Lucrecia asks if it’s for all of them. James gives a nervous smile, but Ryan is quick to state it’s all of them or none. 

When they are leaving via ship Ryan asks where lance is having not seen him board. Lucrecia is quick to tell him not to worry. He is around. It leaves a pleasant smile on her lips as he excuses himself to other tasks. Lance makes a few appearances here or there on the trip. However once again is nowhere to be seen once they reach the shores of england. Which finally starts setting up questions in ryan and james. As they start to notice the two might just be one. 

At court they meet the queen and after a small flub that is quickly saved all goes well for the group. James introduces Shiro and Keith to Adam the swedish nightingale. A singer also there to see the queen who is known throughout europe for his amazing singing voice. Shiro is quick to make an offer for an american tour. Not even lying to Adam's question if he had ever heard him sing. 

Ryan introduces some of his royal court acquaintances to his friends in the circus. Lucrecia and Corana are quick to leave after some comments about their masculine features. That Ryan chooses not to address more than looking away. Veronica and Allura leave shortly after noticing their missing family.

Back in the states, Ryan James and Shiro work hard on the show for adam. 

Adam’s show in new york goes well. However Ryan's still budding feelings for Lucrecia cause a bit of anguish at the show as he chooses to hold Lucrecia's hand during the performance, but drops his hold once he is given a disapproving look from James and his parents from the audience. Who James had told his suspicions on Lance/Lucrecia to. She tries to keep her tears in check for the rest of the evening. Keith’s parents show up to the after party having been to see the show. Lotor and Axca finally meet Nadia and Silvio. Axca seems happy to see them but Lotor and Shiro get into an argument where Lotor before he throws them out. When shiro tries to block them from the after party leaving them in the back once more, sans Ryan, the rest of the group decides they are tired of being treated as background act only to be seen in a tent as an attraction only and not people. Crashing the party despites Shiro's words. After facing the upper class in their own party the group leaves the stares, headed back to the circus. The trip forced them to face an angry mob of protestors on the way. But they perform their evening show without a hitch to a sold out crowd cheering them. Lucrecia uses the opening act to throw shade at ryan. Doing the trapeze number as lance. 

 Shiro is quick to choose to leave with Adam to do more shows around the states. Which is confusing to James and ryan. As he didn’t consult either on the elaborate plan and the payout is poultry if any as it’s a very risky business venture. James even offers to go on tour in his stead Since he is the one without a family to be away from. His parents worry the least about his travel with the war going on. Where Shiro was leaving behind Keith and the kids. Keith was protesting loudly the choice when he was informed only a day before shiro was to leave But shiro was adamant that it needed to be him to go. Getting more into the day to day shows for when shiro left. Nadia and Silvio chase after the carriage carrying him and Adam as they leave.

Just before shiro left he did a favor for ryan leaving two tickets at the theatre for lucrecia and ryan. Telling lance as he got ready for practice he left one under the name lucrecia. Ryan in his excitement tells the others all about it. Which is good since he needed to be reminded as he was almost late to go meet her. 

Lucrecia is confused when the ticket master presents her with two tickets. At first thinking it was a mistake. But is surprised when Ryan shows up. Asking for her to go with him to the play. And he wasn’t sure if she’d have said yes had he asked her directly. Lucrecia is nervous at first, but when Ryan presents his hand, she does take it. He loops her hand in his arm and escorts her up the stairs through the coloreds only entrance. Commenting on always wanting to see the theatre and excitement to do so. As they ascend they run into James and his parents climbing the stairs next to them through the white entrance. Ryan is quick to introduce lucrecia to James's parents. Who snubs her, refusing to address her and ask Ryan if he has any shame. Being seen with something like that. Lucrecia is quick to excuse herself and run off back to the circus. Ryan stays behind to defend lucrecia. Telling James and his family they don’t even know her, before leaving to go after her. James follows grabbing his arm at the bottom of the stairs countering quickly, “do you even know her? Does she even exist? no matter who they are, they have been lying to us. To you this whole time ryan.”

“Lucrecia will tell me when they are ready to tell me.” he states pulling back his own arm. 

“And yet, you only keep your eyes for lucrecia. What will you do when they confirm they have been lying to you? Can you bring yourself to choose both if they are truly one in the same or will you choose to only care for them as lucrecia?” Ryan doesn’t respond but leaves James behind to return to the circus. 

He finds lucrecia there changed from her evening out wear to her practice outfit. Hair lightly pulled back but down. Ryan is quick to apologize, and says they are small minded people. He will drag James in himself to apologize for his rudeness. But she shouldn’t care what they think of her. And asks why she does. They don’t know her. Lucrecia is quick to inform him it’s not just James or his parents. It is from others too. Everyone outside these walls looks at them the same way. 

“They give me dirty looks too. I’ve learned to ignore them.” Ryan states bring himself closer to her.

“We may get the same looks for being of darker complexion ryan, but it’s not the look i’m talking about, and you know it. You're a rich black man from across the ocean who has never been a slave. Before you came here did anyone even look down on you? Treat you as less than an animal? As a freak in need of beating the devil from?” Lucrecia walks away from him to undo the ropes for her practice. “I didn’t think so.”

Ryan chooses to open himself up and lay out his heart. “You know I want you. It’s not a secret I try to hide. I know you want me.” The two go back and forth while lucrecia and him fight over the equipment and she still gets some practice in. Ryan even shows how much attention he has paid to the act, keeping up a little bit with her. 

“It doesn’t matter how we feel Ryan because it can not be. You are in love with an act not with me. I can not give you what you want.” lucrecia says in frustration. 

“How can you say that? While I stand before you telling you how my heart feels for you Lucrecia?” Ryan pleads, holding her close by the arms.

She jerks back away from him. Frustrated tears clinging to her eyes. As she wipes furiously at her face with her arm, and pulls off her wig in a dramatic fling. “Because Lucrecia is an act! And your heart is only for Lucrecia. You barely have words for me as Lance lest it is to ask of Lucrecia. As Lucrecia I can’t give you a family, a future.'' Lance's chest is heaving at his declaration and reveal. Taking in Ryan's shocked face and silence. “I can’t have you as Lance, I will not have you as Lucrecia.” with those parting words lance turned on his heels and left Ryan alone on the stage. 

Keith and the kids try to keep things normal while Shiro is gone. But his absence is noticeable at every recital and around the circus and their large empty house. The rest of the cast members notice and try to step up as much as they can.

On tour with Adam, Shiro is enjoying himself grandly. The same bright smile graces his face at each performance of adams. The two grow close as the tour continues. At around the 30th performance, Shiro gets a little more introspective. Feeling a bit of guilt at the gentle and casual touches between him and adam. Missing Keith and his kids. He tries to set up Adam to continue the tour alone. Bring it up to him in his room. Adam is taken aback and angry. Thinking the feelings he was acting on flirting with Shiro were mutual. Shiro apologizes for the misunderstanding, but shares that he deeply loves keith. Misses him and his kids. But he has everything taken care of for Adam to finish the tour alone without him as a distraction. Adam becomes even more angry at the words. Refusing to continue the tour. Shiro tells him he has ot. To not would ruin him. Adams informs him he ruined himself by playing with others like pawns. He did perform the show that was due to go in mere hours after their argument leaving shiro to think all is well.

Adams' performance is affected greatly by his emotional argument with Shiro prior. But Shiro still takes the stage with him for the final bow. Where Adam sneaks a kiss to his mouth for the camera’s to shiro’s horror. Adam tells him it’s his parting gift before saying goodbye. Leaving shiro to face the fallout alone.

Shiro returns home and  Nadia and Silvio come running down the stairs at the sight of him. Throwing their arms around him and asking why he came back early.  He tells them because he missed them. He asks them to come with him to see how the circus is doing.

The circus is facing a growing number of protestors. A few buy tickets to the show and stay after the closing act to address them. Led by a local man named sendak. The men throw insults and slurs at them demanding they leave town. James and Ryan confront them together and ask them to leave. James asks them to leave nicely one more time. When sendak throws the first punch zenthrid charges, followed by the others in the circus and the rest of sendak's gang. A fire is started by a brawler intentionally knocking over a lamp and smashing into a store of animal feed.

Once he reaches town they learn the circus is on fire. Shiro wastes no time jumping from the carriage to check on his friends. The fire department works as best they can. Ryarn and James are looking over everyone checking in when shiro joins them. And he asks about the animals looking around at the performers. Hunk informs him they let them out. It was all they could do. Ryan’s eyes go wide at the words. “Where’s lance? Where is lucrecia?” hunk looks back at the burning building. They had been the most adamant about getting all the animals. Without an answer Ryan runs back in the building. Veronica tries to follow but hunk and shiro hold her back. Right after Ryan enters the building Lance runs up from the alley beside the building having been chasing the animals away from the fire and trying to get them to circle back around. Just as Keith and kids break into the crowd. He is told Ryan went in after him and James and Veronica grab him next as he screams. Shiro looks at hias family before running off towards the burning building.

The building collapses with shiro and ryan inside. The crowd is in despair thinking they lost just as shiro comes out carrying an unconscious ryan. Ryan is taken by the paramedics to the hospital. Lance and James follow after them to stay by his side for his stay.

Shiro shows up to the burned circus the next day to see if anything could be salvaged. He is met on the steps by his newspaper critic iverson. They have a little chat. He shares first that the thugs who did this were arrested, and Iverson tells him he hopes he rebuilds. Even if he doesn’t personally enjoy it, he knows others do. And during these times where this very nation is fighting and many of their statesman dying trying to define for the future who is and not worthy of being seen as people and equals, that in this moment in history what shiro is doing portraying all of those performers as people and equals is important for the future. He says well at least we can borrow off the profits from Adam's tour. Iverson cringes, you haven’t heard? Heard what? Iverson shows him the day's paper. Front page is a picture of him and Adam kissing. The story is how Adam nor Shiro appeared at any of the other scheduled show stops. Shiro takes off running for home at the sight. Knowing Keith will have seen it.

Shiro runs into the house to see people removing items from the house. And Keith walked out with the kids in tow to a waiting carriage packed with their personal belongings. Shiro tries to stop them. Keith, wiat, please, just wait. Nothing happened. I swear to you. “Nothing happened shiro! We’ve hidden away our true relationship and you are on the cover of the newspaper kissing that man! For the whole world to see!” “ He set me up for that in a jealous rage. Nothing happened. i don’t love him keith! I love you!” “no shiro, you don’t. You only love yourself and your new found fame.” “please just tell me where you are going?” “home shiro. I’m taking the kids and going home.” “this is our home.” That's when Keith informs him he knows about the risky loan and the bank sent eviction papers over already. They already lost the house. And he was done listening to his excuse and lies. He never had to lie to him. Then he leaves Shiro standing on the stoop alone. 

Corana and the holts lead the others to Shiro's favorite bar. Where they find the man drunk and depressed laying half across it. Matt is the first to speak when shiro ignores their entrance. “Should’ve figured we’d find you here feeling sorry for yourself.” Shiro doesn’t even look at them as the others settle around him. Tell them he can’t pay them all the money's gone. They are over. Pidge is next telling him to shut up and taking his drink away. The others take the time to explain what shiro did for them with his show and how much the show means to them. How it didn't feel like work but a family. Family some of them never had the pleasure of having before the circus. He can’t give up because they all want their home back and that includes him and his family too. After a little more pep talk Shiro smiles at them before taking off to Keith's parents house to win the love of his life back.

Shiro is greeted by Lotor at the door, who refuses to give shiro information on his son’s whereabouts. But the kids make it down the stairs and are happy to see him when asked where Keith is. They happily tell him Keith is at the beach. Shiro smiles brightly at his kids, thanking them and takes off towards the beach. Where he apologizes to Keith and fesses up to his mistakes. Telling him he just wanted to do more for them and go bigger and bigger he didn’t mean to let it get to his head or to get so out of control. He loves him, he loves the kids. He loves the family they made with the circus crew. They all miss him  and the kids. Keith tells him he will give him another chance. That he always loved him. He didn’t need all the bells and whistles he just wanted shiro. 

Ryan wakes up to the sight of lance with his head draped across his chest half asleep and James passed out in a chair at the foot of the bed. His groaning wakes the two as rayn brings a hand up to the back of Lance's head. The other throws his arms around Ryan's neck in tears of joy at the sight of seeing him awake. He goes to pull back at the looks the nurses were giving him but is instead pulled forward by Ryan to meet him in a deep kiss. James just laughs and grabs his friend's leg, his own happy tears falling down his cheeks as Lance melts into ryans kiss easily with his own.

They all meet up at the steps of the circus. Shiro informs everyone that the bank wouldn’t give him a new loan. Nor any in the nearby towns. And he probably couldn't swindle any other banks in the world to give him a loan. He is sorry to disappoint everyone. Matt is quick to inform him not to worry. Pidge adds on that he was always a disappointment. Shiros gives a sarcastic thanks for that. Lucrecia, Ryan and James join them after being released from the hospital. The others have worked together to get them some clothes to be able to return to presenting as a woman when they so choose to do so. Having lost their own in the fire. James is quick to inform him he had once had an inheritance and connections that could have helped them but now all he had was his friendship with all of them. Oh and his and Ryan's 10 percent share of the door. Which he was smart enough to collect every week to prevent Shiro from causing a disaster with it and Ryan also stated he had some modest savings from his plays. As they were still doing well in Europe. 

Shiro tried to protest. Saying he couldn’t let them risk all they had left on him. Corana protesting loudly for him to not turn sensible on them now. James counters with asking them all three to be equal partners. With equal say in everything as they move forward. Shiro quickly agrees to their terms. They discuss logistics as even with their bit of funding they can’t afford to repair the building. Instead they get a tent and some cheap land on the outskirts of town by the docks. One big enough for their entire extended family to safely call home. The group salvaged all they could from the rubble together before leaving it behind. The tent gives them more room to bigger and better shows and bring in even more acts. 

[warofshadowstheorder]

Chapter 28

Tadeas led Bledsoe away from the seating area toward the refreshments.  There was a bit of a line by the time they got there, but neither of them minded.  The two of them were enjoying walking hand in hand, content to be together.  Nearby, two other people that felt similarly about each other were making their way over.

“Heck of a show so far, eh?” Odin asked Tadeas as he and Alicia, with the boys in tow, came up next to them.

“Absolutely,” Tadeas answered, “but my money’s still on Olcán, Connor, or Dieter to win this thing.”

“That’s what the smart money’s on anyway,” Odin answered, “what do you think miss?”

Surprised by Odin’s efforts to be friendly, Bledsoe was taken aback at first.  After a moment to get over the surprise, she decided the best thing to do was to return the gesture.

“I’m not sure what to think,” Bledsoe answered, “I’ve never seen anything like this.  So far I have to say that Connor’s been the most impressive as an all-around fighter.  But it was obvious that he was toying with his opponent.  Dieter is by far the most physically imposing, and he definitely knows how to throw his weight around.  I doubt there’s anyone in the world that can stand up with him as far as pure strength goes.”

“What about Olcán?” Odin asked.  “You can never count out my Irish mate.”

“He has a good right hook,” Bledsoe said, “but that’s all I can say for him.”

“From his performance so far,” Odin conceded, “that would be all you can tell about him.  But trust me, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

“Can I ask you something?” Bledsoe asked earning a nod from Odin and a knowing glance from both Tadeas and Alicia as Bledsoe and Odin moved out of the line.

“How were you able to do what you did back at the pavilion…at the Saunders Assignment?”

“I have to admit,” Odin said, “I didn’t think you’d be up for talking about that this soon.”  He took a look at Bledsoe and could tell that she still wasn’t over the experience, but that she sincerely wanted to know more.  “What do you want to know?”

“I know how you were able to fight me so well,” Bledsoe began, “but how could you dodge bullets?”

“Let me just say first,” Odin began, “that you’re the only outsider to ever give me a run for me money.  And we’re trained to listen for the sound of a firing weapon, and to instantly,” Odin emphasized the last word with a snap of his fingers “get out of the path of the barrel.”

“But,” Bledsoe responded, “you had your back to me.  How did you avoid my fire?”

“You’re a government agent,” Odin responded, “it’s common knowledge here that all of you are trained to aim for center mass.”

“Fair enough,” Bledsoe said as they sat down at a nearby table, “so how did you escape?”

“My ‘lawyer’” Odin made quotation mark symbols with his fingers, “was a Watcher who slipped me a piece of paper with the name and location of the nearest Watcher with a cauldron.  After that, it was just a matter of doing what I’m trained to.”

After he finished, Odin pulled up the left sleeve of the shirt he was wearing to reveal one of the tenet marks that adorned his body.

“Do you know what these are?” he asked as Bledsoe nodded in reply.  “Well this one’s for escape and concealment.”

“But how did you escape?” Bledsoe asked with a hint of desperation.

“Come on now,” Odin said with confidence, “a good magician never reveals his tricks.”

Bledsoe let out a frustrated and amused sigh.  She couldn’t help it, Odin had a natural charm and charisma about him that made him almost impossible to hate.  Remembering how he was with his wife and children only amplified it.  She still liked Tadeas and knew that Odin was taken, but she was finding that everyone at the Monastery, once she got to know them, was a model person and the type that she wanted to surround herself with.

“Besides,” Odin continued bringing Bledsoe back to the present, “Olcán would have my head if he found out that I’d told anything about how we accomplish missions to an outsider.”

“Why does he hate outsiders so much?” Bledsoe asked with restrained frustration.

“Did you notice when he was fighting,” Odin asked, “that long jagged scar up his side?”  Bledsoe nodded.  “He and I were on a mission in America several years ago.  An outsider led us to a meat locker where he said a particularly nasty demonic beast we were tracking was hiding out.  We split up to cover both ways out, Olcán went with the outsider.”

“After he told Olcán where it was, Olcán thanked him and told him to stay back.  He went in, and the guy dug a meathook into his side just above his hip and dragged it up to his ribcage.”  Bledsoe couldn’t help but wince at that.

“If I’d gotten to him a minute after I did,” Odin continued, “he probably would have died.  He keeps that scar, he says, to remind him to always trust his Order brothers and never an outsider.  He’s held that grudge ever since.  He only reluctantly acknowledges any usefulness of Watchers.”

Bledsoe saw more and more evidence of what Tadeas meant about a melting pot culture on steroids.  She didn’t know if Dieter and Olcán got along or not, but from what she now knew she had them pegged as complete opposites with regard to their personalities.

“How did you disappear at the pavilion?” Bledsoe asked.  “After you shot Saunders, you and Olcán literally vanished, right before my eyes.  How did you do that?”

“Let’s just say,” Odin answered with a sly tone, “that we have some amazing resources at our disposal.”

“Please,” Bledsoe said with equal parts pleading and frustration, “I have to know how you did that.”

“I’m afraid I can’t say,” Odin answered truthfully, “there are some things about this place and what we do that are very closely guarded.  In your jargon you’d call it top secret, double classified.”

“Fair enough,” Bledsoe said accepting defeat.  “Could I ask you one more thing about that night with Saunders?”  Odin nodded.  “I noticed you using my earpiece, and Taylor told me that they were getting messages from me.  How did you pull that off?”

“Well,” Odin said, “it was my job to plan the assignment and make sure things went off without a hitch.  After I chose my perch and Watcher Andrews told me who’d be stationed there, he gave me some samples of your voice and a list of phrases that would get us through the assignment.”

“After that, I took the samples to a Watcher of ours who’s an audio engineer and he recorded himself saying them.  Then, he altered them so they were in your voice.  At the assignment, I just had Olcán play the appropriate phrases.”

“That reminds me,” Bledsoe added, “something I’ve been wondering since I saw Saunders’ body at the coroner’s.  How did you do that to his head?”

“Has anyone told you about us Knights making our own weapons?” Odin asked.

“Tadeas mentioned something about that,” Bledsoe replied thinking back, “he was talking about Olcán teaching a recruit and mentioned that before anyone can become a Knight they make a weapon of their own and present it to the Apostle and some Shepherds.”

“He didn’t go into any more detail than that?” Odin asked leading to Bledsoe shaking her head in response.

“Well,” Odin began, “we’re encouraged to create a weapon that plays to our strengths.  I’m a marksman, but I’m already set on a particular kind of rifle.  So for my weapon I made a special kind of ammunition.  I call them Surefires.”

“They mushroom like hollow-points, and the shell is coated with liquid Decaelo.  When the round hits the target it disperses the metal into the bloodstream.  The result just inflicts a typical bullet wound to a normal person.  But for a Demon, or someone with one inside them, it causes a chain reaction that’ll make the bugger’s head explode.”

Bledsoe realized now what the shards from the round that no one could identify were.  And she couldn’t help but be impressed at what Odin described.

“What did Tadeas make for himself?” Bledsoe asked intrigued.

“He made a snub nose .38 caliber revolver.” Odin answered.  “Tadeas’s not much for combat.  His specialties are reconnaissance, detection, and strategy.  But his weapon suits his purposes.  It’s portable and very durable so he can carry it anywhere.  He also built several unique holsters for it.  He even made one that he straps to his wrist and extends the gun out into his hand with the push of a button.  Other than that, there’s nothing really unique about the weapon itself except for the engravings he put on it.”

“Odin darling,” Alicia’s voice broke up the conversation as the three Bruce boys and their mother approached Bledsoe and their Dad.  “It’s almost time for the next round.”  Alicia smiled seeing Bledsoe talking with her husband, she figured that Bledsoe was getting over the prejudices she’d rightly had toward Odin and the Order.

“Forgive me,” Alicia said with a smile to Bledsoe, “but I never introduced you to the boys.  These are Xander, Angus, and Malcolm Bruce.  What do you say to the nice lady sweethearts?”

The boys gave a collective hello that made Bledsoe’s heart melt inside at how cute and innocent they were.  They reminded her of her own nieces and nephews, and she marveled at how much like typical children they seemed.

“Hello,” Bledsoe said kindly as she knelt down to be at the boys’ level, “my name’s Alexis Bledsoe.  Now, which one of you is Xander?”

“Me,” Xander said bashfully as a smile came to his face.

“Well,” Bledsoe said extending her hand and taking his, “I’m very pleased to meet you.  And are you,” Bledsoe said moving to the next young Bruce, “Angus or Malcolm?”

“I’m Angus,” he said shaking Bledsoe’s hand and blushing slightly.

“It’s great to meet you too,” Bledsoe said in the same voice she used to talk to her young nieces and nephews.  Then, she moved on to Malcolm who was also smiling and giggling to himself.

“And that would make you Malcolm,” Bledsoe said taking his hand.  “You know,” she said in a slightly softer tone, “I also have big brothers, I can relate to your situation.”

“Are you an angel?” Malcolm asked surprising Bledsoe and the others present.

“What?” Bledsoe asked slightly embarrassed.

“Mom says that Angels are always with us, and that they’re very beautiful but only come around when we aren’t expecting them.  So we always have to be on the lookout.”

“Well,” Bledsoe answered, “I’m very flattered that you asked.  But I’m no angel.  But I can tell you that you’re Mom knows what she’s talking about.  You need to always be looking out for angels.  My Mom used to tell me that they’re always watching over you, that they’ll always protect you, and that if you do find one be sure to never let it go.”

As she talked to Odin and Alicia’s sons, Bledsoe noticed something else.  They were truly happy.  In her work, she’d encountered many unhappy children and families or products of a similar kind of home life and upbringing.  But she could tell by looking at the three boys in front of her that they were the product of a close, loving, and happy family.

“Ready to go,” Tadeas asked as he came in behind Bledsoe carrying their refreshments, “this is only going to get better as the rounds progress.”

Bledsoe nodded and kneeled before repeating to the boys how wonderful it was to meet them.  She then stood up and went with Tadeas.  They all took their respective seats, and a wave of anticipation came over the crowd as Master Lee again moved to the center of the cage.

[blancheludis]

@ironhusbandsweek @rhfenovemberbash Day 5: “Are you jealous?”

Fandom: MCU, Avengers, Iron Man Characters: Tony Stark/James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Clint Barton, Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts Tags: Secret Marriage, Fluff, Humor, Love Words: 2.592

Summary: "Are you jealous?" Tony asks as he downs the champagne Rhodey hands him automatically. "Why do I have the feeling you want me to say yes?" Because then they'd have a reason to leave the Avengers party and make the night much more enjoyable for themselves.

- Rhodey and Tony are secretly married - right up until Rhodey blurts out their secret in the middle of an Avengers party. Nobody wants to believe that someone managed to make Tony Stark settle down, but they are gkad to set the Avengers straight.

---

Tony is breathless. Every once in a while, the Avengers throw a party for friends and influential people to mingle with them. Well, Tony throws the party and makes sure it becomes a success because the only other person on the team who knows how to entertain people is Natasha. The rest are more or less only good at one-on-one talks or shuffling around in the corner failing at not looking overwhelmed.

These are, admittedly, grand affairs. Steve, at least, should be used to them. The USO threw parties where he was the glittering guest of honour, and propaganda does not work half as well when the mascot does not follow the tune.

Tony was even holding back. The Avengers parties are orderly and dignified. He has organized wilder things from his dorm room without the funds and influence he has available to him today.

It does not matter much. People are happy talking to their heroes even if they appear too shy to get dragged onto the dancing floor or get drunk just for the fun of it. Natasha surely uses the evening to gather intel on every important guest, and Tony has seen Bruce discussing business with several other scientists. Barton looks like he would prefer crawling around the air shafts, although he should be used to the attention as a former circus performer. Steve sits next to him, nursing his champagne as if he is in any danger of getting tipsy from it.

While he is leading the wife of one of his shareholders over the dance floor, Tony sees Rhodey sitting down at the Avengers table, looking satisfied enough that he must have found someone to tell his stories too.

When the song comes to an end, Tony bows with a dazzling smile and delivers the woman right back into her husband’s hands, exchanging the needed compliments before he excuses himself. He needs a break and a drink – and possibly an excuse to sneak out of here. Parties are nice, and his parties are the best, but there are places he would much rather be.

Not stopping on his way despite several people trying to get his attention, Tony makes a beeline for the Avengers table and lets himself fall into the seat next to Rhodey with a long-suffering sigh. Without comment, Rhodey hands his glass over, which Tony drains gratefully.

Already far more content, Tony sets the glass down and grins up at Rhodey. His mere presence has him more relaxed.

“Are you jealous, buttercup?” Tony asks, nodding at the dancing floor as if he has done a great feat out there.

Rhodey’s expression becomes playful as he leans closer. “I have the feeling you want me to say yes.”

In a way, that is exactly what Tony wants. Then, they could make up an excuse and he could show Rhodey just why he does not have to be jealous and why Tony thinks he is the luckiest man alive.

Tony is happy to continue the banter, but in his single-minded mission to get back to Rhodey, he forgot that Clint and Steve are still present too.

“Why would Rhodes be jealous of you?” Clint drawls, his frown contrasting with his smirk. Contrary to their dear Captain, he is well on his way to being drunk. “There’s plenty of good-looking women around. And some of them are even unmarried, unlike the ones Tony is apparently going for.”

Tony has been dancing with a never-ending line of women, but he has not yet seen one that would be desirable for him.

“Her?” he asks and shrugs dismissively. He has already forgotten what she looked like. “Never. She spent the whole dance telling me about some old lady’s society. I didn’t get a single word in.”

He has not actually tried to, mostly because his thoughts were elsewhere. Worse than simply nodding at the right places would be to offer a comment on a completely different ttopic than whatever she was droning on about. Tony has learnt that the hard way.

Clint guffaws in disbelief. “Because you’re so shy when it comes to talking up?”

Turning to look at Clint, Tony schools his impression into something very unimpressed. It does get tiresome to have his virtues doubted constantly, although he should take it as a compliment for his acting skills.

“Depends on who I’m talking to,” Tony says, almost a snub. “I definitely would’ve said something if she had wanted a second dance.”

It already feels like he has danced with everyone in the room except for the one he actually wants to. That is a thing he knows by heart, however.

Clint’s frown deepens. “Then why the jealousy thing?” he asks, almost like he thinks Rhodey needs someone to protect him. From Tony. That is hilarious in its own right.

Feeling his grin broaden, Tony throws a glance at Rhodey, silently asking for permission. Rhodey appears just as amused, just as ready to mess with the Avengers a bit.

“I was asking whether he was jealous of her,” Tony says slowly, carefully intoning each word to make sure his friends understand him correctly.

Thankfully, Clint takes the bait. Behind him, even Steve looks interested, taking his eyes off the party around them to watch the spectacle right here at their table.

“Of what?” Clint asks, and it would not have surprised anyone had he added full offense to it.

Tony opens his arms a bit, almost presenting himself up for inspection. “Getting her hands all over me,” he says like it should be obvious. “She definitely got a feel in.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Clint mutters, then turns towards Rhodey. “I don’t get how you can stand this guy.”

“We make do,” Rhodey says. He is still smiling, but there is a dangerous edge to it that neither Clint nor Steve seem to notice because they both nod like it is reasonable to do so. “For the record, I’m always jealous when someone’s touching my husband when I’m not.”

While Tony’s smile brightens immediately like it always does when Rhodey calls him his husband, their audience takes a little longer to realize what has been said.

“That’s not –” Clint starts before he breaks off abruptly, eyes bulging. “Wait, what?”

In turn, Steve leans forward, the mild amusement on his face replaced by puzzlement. “Husband?” he asks as if he has difficulties fitting his tongue around the word.

Never once taking his eyes completely off his friends, Tony turns towards Rhodey, just barely suppressing the urge to take his hand. “Way to spring the news, platypus,” he drawls, seemingly unaffected.

They do not need to know that his heart is beating wildly as he hopes this will go over well. A lot of people have disapproved of Tony in his life, but very few know of his relationship with Rhodey. Pepper, Happy, Rhodey’s family. Jarvis did. And now the Avengers. It is none of their business, but Tony values their opinion nonetheless.

“You didn’t tell them?” Rhodey asks mildly as if he did not know. This is mostly a ploy to give Clint and Steve some time to mull this over. And to subtly make it clear that Tony did not trust them with his secret.

Tony shrugs. “Don’t tell me I should have.”

That probably says all about how long Tony expects this whole hero thing to last. How secure he feels in his place among the Avengers. How much he allows himself to trust them off the battlefield.

Steve has the decency to look slightly ashamed, even though the confusion has not completely disappeared from his face.

“Can we go back to when Rhodes called you his husband?” Clint speaks up. He does not sound accusing but more like he has smelled blood and wants to make the most of it.

“What of it?” Tony asks, sounding a bit snappish. “It’s been some decades. The official timeline varies, since we’ve had several ceremonies.”

Rhodey takes initiative then and reaches out to take Tony’s hand. They are practiced in hiding this under tables, but for Clint and Steve it is a very obvious gesture.

“Tony is fond of vows,” Rhodey explains solemnly, eyes gleaming with amused fondness. “He’s cried every single time.”

That he has, and he is not ashamed of it. Family has always been what Tony longed for the most, and Rhodey gave him that despite all evidence that he would be better off without a trouble magnet like Tony in his life.

“As if you’ve been any better,” Tony shoots back, squeezing Rhodey’s hand where nobody can see. He has half a mind to relocate this age-old argument to somewhere they are not watched. Surely, they have been sociable enough for the evening.

Rhodey squeezes back, which Tony interprets as a call for patience. They cannot tell such news and then disappear to leave the Avengers to deal alone with the aftermath.

“I didn’t cry during the Vegas ceremony,” Rhodey argues, as if this one time could make up for all the others.

Turning to him, Tony raises his eyebrows, trying to keep in his laughter. “But only because you were too worried about someone barging in.”

“The police were chasing us,” Rhodey drawls as if Tony could ever forget that fact. “Of course, I was worried.”

That was a glorious day. The priest had been very disapproving, interpreting their undue hurry for youthful ignorance instead of the very real worry of getting arrested. Well, that and the fact that Tony paid a whole lot of money for him to ignore that they were two men.

“And nothing happened,” Tony shrugs, still feeling that same exhilarating relief whenever he thinks back to that night. “Apart from wedding number three.”

“Four,” Rhodey counters without missing a beat.

That startles Tony enough to wholly face Rhodey instead of watching Clint and Steve, still waiting for an unfavourably reaction. “What?”

With a small, devilish grin, Rhodey explains, “I totally count your emotional breakdown during finals when you were clinging to me and demanded I promise to never leave you.”

In Tony’s defence, that was a dark time. They were nearing the end of their college years, so Tony was naturally afraid that Rhodey would go off and forget all about him. The alcohol might have made him overreact a bit.

Tony thinks about arguing, but then he shrugs. “That’s probably fair,” he says, “but that was before the first wedding.”

Looking even more amused, Rhodey nods. “You made up for it with your vows.”

No one can say that alcohol steals Tony’s eloquence. What he remembers from that night is a very heartfelt speech and a never-ending litany of love confessions. He is a romantic at heart.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Steve says, keeping Tony from continuing the argument, although he has a dozen examples of Rhodey being even cheesier than him.

As one, they turn around to look at Steve, who is looking back like they are something fascinating, a never before seen species.

“We are married, Capsicle,” Tony says shortly, wondering whether he has miscalculated and this will be a problem. “Even officially by now. Did it as soon as it was legal. Been together since MIT.” Smiling back at Rhodey, he adds, “Best decision of my life.”

“But you’re –” Clint gestures at Tony like his hand is going to make his point for him. Well, you.”

That is always the argument people bring up once they are over the fact that Tony Stark is apparently bisexual. Who would settle down with him? Who would suffer his insanities and moods? Was there not someone better available, even with the money and the company?

“I know,” Tony replies sharply, tightening his hold on Rhodey’s hand. “I realize I’m very lucky Rhodey took me. That’s why we’re renewing our vows every year.”

Steve still looks lost, glancing at Rhodey. “And you’re –”

“What, Captain?” Rhodey straightens, his face losing its smile. He means business now. “What is your problem? That we’re both men?”

Tony would love to watch Rhodey tear into Steve, but they are still in public, still have a party going on around them. They do not have time for a scene.

“No, platypus,” Tony argues sweetly, shifting slightly to block the direct line of sight between Rhodey and Steve. “I think he can’t get his head around someone wanting me.”

That is the easiest way of diverting Rhodey’s attention back to him. Anyone doubting Tony or talking ill of him might land directly on Rhodey’s shit list, but his fist priority will always be Tony’s well-being.

“That’s very short-sighted of him,” Rhodey says with a definitive warning in his voice even while he looks only at Tony. “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

They are playing it up for their audience, the smiles and sickly sweet voices, but they also mean every word they say. Tony has given up on doubting Rhodey’s love at some point during their third year together. It is easier this way, and much more fulfilling.

“What about Pepper?” Steve asks, not yet done with making things worse for himself.

Sighing quietly, Tony turns around. “I asked her to marry me about a month after she started working for me,” he says and leaves it at that, knowing they will not hear anything beyond this for now.

“So you’re like –” Clint asks, pointing between the two of them and Pepper who is across the room, talking to some of the guests.

“We love her,” Tony says firmly. “Platonic soulmates and all that. Marrying her would’ve been a good alibi, but then buttercup and I could do the real thing instead of just promising our eternal love in the secrecy of our dorm room.”

Pepper had been very gracious about the whole thing. She does love them. They are all part of the same family. They are all much happier like this, however.

“Why does nobody know?” Steve questions, still a stranger to secrets.

This time, Clint looks at him with disbelief too. Naivety does not become the leader of the Avengers.

“Military, remember?” Rhodey replies with just a hint of an edge to his tone, almost as if this has not given them so much grief over the years. “It’s easier if nobody knows.”

There are more questions ready to fall from Steve’s lips, but Tony is done with the topic. There are advantages to getting the secret out there so that Rhodey and he do not have to hide in their own home anymore, but he could do without the interrogation.

“Anyway, good talk,” Tony exclaims, showing too many teeth with his smile. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take my husband for a spin.”

And they do dance. Wild enough and then close enough to turn heads, although nobody seems to interpret the love on their faces for what it is. This is just another normal night under Tony Stark’s roof. They have done this for years, hiding themselves in plain sight.

Since the Avengers know now, they might at least not have to be all secretive at home anymore. Tony is tired of sneaking around, and since Rhodey just clued them in, he probably is too.

It is a good thing because they have made a bet ages ago of how quickly they can make Captain America go red with embarrassment by making out in front of him. Their weekend plans just got all the more interesting.