#he has to ‘say his line’ before the trial and then dressing him up so he looks semi conscious

[slaygentford]

the “your beloved ringleader” promo makes so much sense now that armand gave claudia his freaky fucking little handmade automaton flea circus…… his i could not prevent it ass is not beating the could have prevented it allegations

[damian-lil-babybat]

DAMIAN WAYNE IS A GREEK TRAGEDY

When I say Damian al Ghul Wayne has almost all the ingredients of a classical Greek Tragedy, it is not an empty claim.

1. Tragic Hero: The hero facing his destiny with dignity. His virtuous character forms a bond with the audience, while his tragic flaw results in the audience’s fear for him, and his terrible punishment reveals a sense of pity.

Damian is the hero of his own story. In his mind, he was given a destiny, a standard to live up to. It came from his grandfather, as Hafid al Ghul, son of the Demon. It came from his mother, as her Alexander, with Talia deluding herself as Olympias. It came from his father, as the son of Batman.

He thought himself perfect on all those role, mighty ones they might be, heavy and overwhelming even, but he persevered in ways that should be impossible and ultimately achieved the pinnacle of a perfect heir for all of them.

2. Tragic Flaw: The human limitations of the hero or an error in judgement leading to the downfall. He attempts to escape from his destiny; however, he unknowingly runs toward it. His attempt leads him to his “damnation”.

But what he thought was perfection, was his downfall. For even if he was designed and raised to be perfect, those roles are fashioned by imperfect mortals. As the son of the Batman, he was all too much of a monster to even be treated as child, let alone a son. As the son of the Demon, he was too soft, kind, and all too human, to sit upon the al Ghul's immortal throne. As the great Alexander, he was deemed as a mere pawn, a victim of circumstance, and not a victor of his own fate.

He was set up for failure before his story even began.

3. Catastrophe: The horrible ending of the play: death, suicide, ruin etc. Upon the truth being revealed about Oedipus’ origin, Queen Jocasta commits suicide by hanging herself, Oedipus stabs his eyes with the pin on Jocasta’s dress and pleads to be exiled from the city.

And just like all tragedies, it ends up in death...so many deaths and sacrifices. Repeat and rinse, the cycle continues with each redeeming arc punctuated by his death or ruin.

And just like Sisyphus, one must imagine him to be happy. For how else could he endure these unending trials?

4. Central Belief of Destiny: The belief of the fact that the actions were preordained by the gods and the flaw was inevitable. Even though Oedipus attempts to flee from his preordained destiny, the belief in inevitable destiny becomes the reason for his destruction.

How else could he keep harking on to his destiny? Desperately clinging to it like a promise gold once he touched it like Midas' cursed hands? But no, everything he touches turns to dust, every height he scale would be pushed down reverting him back to his old bare bones of an unwanted worthless child from both side of his parents, even how much he tries to make things right. Every person or thing he treasured is another ammunition for plot purposes to make him more tragic than he already was.

Damian had tried to flee before, but fate always brings him back. Because Batman needs a Robin. But Bruce already has a Robin, doesn't he? Because Damian needs to be Robin? Just cause, who would he be then? When all those titles he earned has been discarded and thrashed in the light of Batman's justice?

And the only one title he could be proud of is always threatened to be taken away if he just as much cross an invisible line that keep on changing depending on whims of the doomed narrative.

5. The Chorus: Approximately twelve masked men, forming a specific group, make comments on the ongoing play by singing and dancing.

Due to its form of media, Damian has no twelve singing and dancing masked men. XD

BUT If I have a say on this, I'll give Damian his own set of bardic troupe narrating his life story, and maybe somehow DC writers would finally admit he was loved and wanted, and was never alone and actually have family, companions and friends along the way!

https://www.byarcadia.org/post/ancient-greek-tragedy-101-the-introduction

AND THAT IS WHY it makes more sense for writers to like and, or dare I say, even love Damian's character.

A lot of great fanfictioners in AO3 actually root for this little guy. So it's nice ✌️

[delicrieux]

…TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS ! ⋆｡°✩

⋆⭒˚.⋆ chapter summary. spending a week taking care of fushiguro... how bad could that be?

pairing. gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader warnings for this chapter. swearing wc. 5.2k author’s note. in this story, we use first names in text when reader feels emotionally connected to the person xoxo and that's on stylistics

ੈ ✩‧₊˚

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CHAPTER 10: fushiguro megumi's week-long suspension

“i can’t believe it has come to this…” you utter, squint, and try seeing past the unrelenting glare of the july sun. gojo, always nearby, kicks a pebble, looking much more like an elementary kid rather than the one you are going to pick up.

moody, blushing, shoulders slouched and head hung; he says nothing because he tried saying something five minutes ago when you repeated yourself, but a sharp look and a displeased pinch of your lips made him promptly shut up. where was this deference when he was making your life a living hell while you begged him to leave you alone? at this point, you might tell him to jump and he’d land on pluto, if only you weren’t glaring at him anymore.

you shake your head and tut, “absolutely unbelievable.”

“oh god, please, spare me,” he grumbles, shoving a hand out of his pocket only to offer it to you.

you examine it. unappealing, “sweaty.”

the way he instantly scowls at you could be adorable, if you weren’t so irked. your bingo list for the summer, or ever, really, didn’t include attending a parent-teacher conference about an unruly seven year old that’s not even yours. fushiguro megumi keeps breaking toys and beating up his classmates – detention, teacher’s notes (which gojo did not read), extra homework, and a one on one with the parent (which gojo did not attend) did not work. a public trial is all that’s left, and even this would have slipped through gojo’s fingers. the notice arrived a week ago, but gojo neglected to check his email, and he missed the whole of 5 calls before yaga-sensei was informed of his outstanding failure as fushiguro’s legal guardian.

you shake your head again, almost closing your eyes – it’s too bright and too hot, and you think you hear the sidewalk sizzling, and maybe this is one of those days you shouldn’t be outside at all, “still can’t believe it…”

you wouldn’t be doing your duty as a concerned citizen if you weren’t even attempting to guilt-trip him into oblivion. you had plans today anyway, namely melting into your mattress or heaving by the conditioner, but he has ruined them all by asking you to come along. why didn’t you just say no? maybe because he looked especially miserable.

maybe because…

*

"here, give me that," your fingers curl over his tie, straightening the knot and smoothing it out. the inside of fushiguro’s school is thankfully cool, "is this really necessary though?"

"how do i look?"

"well...good?" your answer doesn't satisfy him much because he reaches for his hair and runs a hand, as if that will do him any favors. it doesn't. you wince and adjust the strands.

"like a respectable adult?" he is still wearing his shades, a necessary evil in the afternoon sun, even within these pale walls.

"that's a stretch."

he frowns, "not helping. the hell, i dressed nicely and everything,"

"not sure how a tie and an untucked shirt is 'nice' exactly, but okay,"

"you are so bossy," gojo has a small, pitiable expression on his face, and he's got it bad. he'd better; there's a ton of disgruntled parents lining the corridor of the conference room, and though this doesn't involve you in the least, they stare a little too hard as if you're the problem. you find you can't meet anyone's gaze directly.

"anyway," you squeeze his forearm, which feels nice – soft, his muscles yielding under the fabric – "keep it together,"

he doesn't, really, "this blows.”

"will you keep it together?"

"you're going in with me," his knuckles rap a rapid, anxious beat over his knee. he is seated and not happy, and you can't help noticing how big he is compared to the other men milling in the room, but most of all, how stupid and incompetent. it makes your heart patter in your chest.

"didn't agree to that. why do i have to?"

"because," he glares, "i'll tell them you're the mom."

he's lost it. your arms cross and your brow flattens. you take a few seconds to regard him before giving your answer.

"satoru, don’t they know you're, like, a step-dad?"

"i'm the dad that stepped up."

"seriously?"

"technicality."

"you pay the utility bills," you whisper back, annoyed.

"i'll tell them it's your biological child if you don't go in with me," he threatens.

the tips of his ears have turned a telltale pink, and even he notices, ducking his head and leaning further against the wall. when his leg won't stop bobbing, and he keeps the nervous tapping going, your heart sinks, "satoru," he really has you hook, line, and sinker, because you falter faced with his obvious distress. you didn't expect him to be this nervous, since he's always so carefree, "you..." he looks so very uncomfortable and unhappy in his white button up, which is a bit crumped, mind you, "oh, what the hell. fine."

"thank god."

the faculty makes an appearance, but not one person recognizes him. a brief discussion and introductions later, the room is emptied save the offended parents, the teacher, you, and gojo.

adults can be scary, but your job involves cursed spirits, and those are much scarier than a disgruntled salaryman will ever be.

what is more terrifying than a cursed spirit or a perturbed father trying to lynch gojo with his glare is a scorned mother. you try to not shrink into yourself as she points an accusing finger, as if you've committed the crime alongside fushiguro, "explain yourselves! what kind of parenting is this!?"

if you were sweating before, well, now you're really sweating. you and gojo share a quick, worried glance before the faculty intervenes to give an account of fushiguro. she must have some kind of hearing impairment because she yells, "young parents these days, treating their children so dismissively!"

it would be highly unadvisable and probably a very bad idea to mention the circumstances by which gojo is legally fushiguro's ward, or the fact that he's neither your biological son nor your son at all, and luckily, gojo is smart enough not to disclose any of that. no, what he says is so much worse, "i can assure you that we provide all the attention and care in the world for our son!"

it takes your mind a second to fully comprehend that, yes, he has, in fact, said 'we' and 'son' in the same sentence, and then his hand comes to clutch and yank you painfully over so that you're sitting half on the edge of his chair, "tell her!"

and the room falls deadly quiet for a few moments, which you use wisely to consider: first, kicking gojo right where it counts, and second, bolting for the nearest exit.

the silence is stifling, "err... yes, we take care of him."

"are you even out of college?!" the woman is flaring red with anger.

this isn't exactly your proudest moment, or his, and you can feel your legs shake, and how is it possible that gojo's arm, slung around your waist, is steady and strong, "we're not, but we're, we’re doing the best we can."

when the hell did you become so willing to dive into danger for a man? you'd never met such a troublemaker, and yet, here you are, listening to gojo tell the concerned parent in a voice far more confident than it had been just seconds ago, "you need not concern yourself, ma'am. we take care of megumi every single day and provide a nurturing, homey, and responsible environment for him. and we also love him very much. he and his sister. which we love. right, dear?"

and that’s your cue, “yes. my children. very well behaved.”

"he broke my son's nose!"

"did he deserve it?" gojo quips.

"no!"

he sighs. you eye the door longingly.

"i'll pay the medical bills."

*

the heat's less severe when you leave. a suspension.

with fushiguro safe and collected from his classes, the three of you stroll back to jujutsu technical. gojo lets him lead and you lag, half embarrassed, a third disinterested, and two thirds disheartened that you're now seriously involved with someone like gojo satoru, that this is your life. god, that whole experience was so bad, and his word vomit was the cherry on the shittiest cake you've had in a long time.

you are still, quite frankly, mortified. you know that gojo was talking out of his ass because explaining the real situation would actually make it look even worse than a case of young and stupid parents, but it somehow unnerved you greatly.

this is none of your concern. or it shouldn't be, at the very least. but it's making you consider the distant future and wrangle with the question of – do you want to get married? do you want to have children? such a line of thinking is unacceptable for many reasons, namely that you don't, and you're young, and you'd rather not die with any false hopes in place, because it's likely you'll never reach past your mid-20s and be with someone you actually would want to start a family with.

the city is hazy and humid, the people around appear sluggish. a vendor sells a bunch of sweet watermelons by the street. gojo stops to buy some slices for the three of you, and fushiguro accepts his reluctantly.

then, he marches onward, gloomy as always.

"megumiiiin," and gojo is right on his tail, wiggling his fingers in what's supposed to be an invitation, "let's hold hands."

"no."

"come on, i got you a week-long vacation," he insists.

"it's a suspension!" you hiss, chewing.

gojo glances back. shrugs, "eh."

fushiguro drags his feet, his chin tucked into the front of his uniform's collar, black bangs shifting messily and sticking over his eyes, "m'not apologizing."

"don't, you got good aim," gojo says wisely.

fushiguro offers gojo nothing else to say. the awkward and mortifying experience is, for him, nonexistent. he doesn't know what happened behind those doors, and he shouldn't to preserve his innocence.

for the remainder of the walk, he trudges forward without uttering another word, or without once turning back. the way he's sulking and putting distance between you, however, makes the unpleasant feeling linger a bit longer than it should, though there's really nothing you can do.

once he's already making his way to his temporary lodging, you call out, "ne, megumi," and his footsteps cease immediately. he turns about and stares expectantly, "do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

"...no."

gojo watches you with sharp interest as you try not to bend under the pressure of both of their gazes, "well," you try, sounding a bit shy, "in that case, would you like to go shopping with me? i could use the company."

silence. the awkwardness from the earlier meeting hangs heavy, until fushiguro seems to recover and crosses his arms, mouth set a little firmly, "i have to finish my homework."

what a horrible excuse.

"we could visit the arcade and get slushies," you say, feeling a bit more confident since he seems to be cracking.

he narrows his eyes, considering his options. then, with a very pronounced scowl, "is he going?"

gojo perks, having been slouching listlessly with a grimace, "oh! me? sure, i'll be there," he even beams, the prick, while fushiguro gives him a deadpan stare.

"oh, no no," you try to rectify quickly, "satoru isn't going," and you jab your elbow into his side, sunny smile and all, "you're busy tomorrow, remember?"

gojo frowns. then he pouts. then, he looks annoyed. but finally, he looks away and says, "yeah, right. i am. totally forgot. so busy."

"figured," fushiguro hums, shrugs a little and says, "sure."

"awesome," you grin, feeling somehow very lucky, "it's a date!"

"not a date!" gojo declares.

fushiguro stomps through the door, his entire demeanor shifting entirely from apathetic to downright irritated, muttering, "you two are weird."

and then he's gone. the door creaks shut behind his small frame.

"it's a date?" gojo parrots, giving you a look.

"oh, don't be mad. it's just fun teasing him," you smile a little sheepishly, tugging him along to the direction of your dorm room.

he matches your pace, steps becoming slower. his arm is warm around your back.

*

“you don’t offer to hang out often,” coming from fushiguro, it sounds less of an observation and more like a thinly veiled accusation. you give pause.

true to your word, you have taken him to get slushies and some light shopping after a stop at the aquarium, which he enjoyed the most because it was quiet and the room felt never-ending.

for a kid, fushiguro is too perceptive, too grumpy, too. you hadn't expected that your presence could be missed, or even desired, since it was so rare to see him when he wasn’t on college grounds. with his sister still at summer camp, he doesn’t have anywhere else to stay. the two of them living alone with semi-regular visits from gojo is already wildly weird and unsafe, and leaving him by himself in the apartment was out of the question.

maybe you should have invited him earlier. he must be so lonely.

"mm. s'always busy with jujutsu studies," you tell him a bit shamefully.

a tic twitches underneath his eye. he finishes his cherry-red drink in two long gulps before taking you up the escalator to his favorite candy store.

you hold his palm. he grips tight but releases hastily as though embarrassed the second the mom and pops duo in their late fifties make a aaaw sound at you two. you almost throw your electric blue slushie at them – the workup to this very moment had been nothing short of arduous. the old man and woman look absolutely infatuated.

you will have to try to sneakily hold his hand again, under the pretenses of safety or whatever, even if you’re fairly certain fushiguro would beat up a kidnapper if it ever came down to it.

he dives straight for the large jar that has the 'bullet gums' printed on the container. he holds it up, and somehow, he's more of a little kid than the angry gremlin he usually is in gojo's presence. you have to battle with yourself to not fish out your phone and snap a million pictures.

"so cute..." you mutter under your breath.

you don't think it reaches his ears until his forehead wrinkles into an offended scowl, but he doesn't say anything as he goes on picking and tossing the good ones in his basket.

"how much money do you have?" fushiguro looks at your purse suspiciously.

you’re a bit affronted – maybe he and gojo do have a lot more in common than anyone would suspect, because this child has just called you poor.

"ehh, don't worry,” maybe you should be worried for the future generation and their manners, “satoru gave me his card, so you can buy anything you want.”

fushiguro scowls. he sets down the bulging bag on the floor beside him, and looks away from you, "...i don't want anything."

you blink and peer at the selection of items. it will likely be a hefty sum, but nothing too egregious. fushiguro picked his candy with care, and you note that it’s mostly sour things.

“but it looks tasty,” you say, and you mean it, even if you prefer sugar on sugar atop liquid sugar.

“no.”

you ponder for a second what might have made him so upset so suddenly. you hum. time for some mathematics. fushiguro hates gojo, gojo is sponsoring this outing, which, maybe, somehow equals fushiguro wanting to spend time with gojo, hence, fushiguro is grumpy and probably wants to go home.

you feel like 2 + 2 = 5 since you’ve uncovered one more piece of information.

well, this is a problem. you raise an eyebrow. how does one deal with an upset seven year old? you think you’ve been doing good so far, but it’s only because fushiguro was in a good mood and somehow tolerable of your presence. suppose you'll have to play by his rules. suppose you can do that, or at the very least try.

slowly, you take the bag. then, you extend your hand to him, "we could try maxing out satoru's card – doesn't that sound fun?"

he furrows his brow and looks like he's having a bad idea. slowly, hesitantly, his tiny palm comes to land in yours, fingers slotting, and then you are both making your way to the counter.

the next spot you visit is a bookstore.

"do you like reading?" you inquire curiously.

a shrug. you assume he's shy, so you let it pass, instead picking up a few manga. they seem popular these days, and maybe you’ll actually have some free time to read it before missions swamp you and you’re off to battle curses in the muggy heat.

meanwhile, fushiguro chooses a coloring book and a plethora of new, shiny markers.

"looks cool," you say.

"yeah," he agrees, and he seems happy. you would really like to take a picture right about now, but you swipe gojo’s credit card instead. you and fushiguro share a pleased look.

when you visit the food court, it’s already buzzing.

"let's get something to eat," you suggest. he nods, "pizza?"

"yes please."

you notice him getting a bit anxious when a large group of people move in front of the two of you, and without a word, your push him closer to your body as you shield him. he stiffens, but doesn't ask you to let go, and leans his head into the comfort.

that's sweet. too sweet. you resist the urge to melt down. god, this kid is growing on you like fungus. you can't believe how happy you are to be spending time with him. that this is actually happening, and you're not imagining any of it. you almost regret not doing this sooner. you feel stupid for being scared and skipping out before.

you might even, and this you find startling, put yourself through the whole ordeal with the parent-teacher conference again. only this time, you might be the one screaming and pointing fingers. what a cute kid.

when the person in front of you finally vacates a table, you squeeze into the tight space, but not before flagging down the server.

"is it just me, or does today feel like a celebration?" you ask him in the attempt of stirring conversation.

his bored eyes wander around, perhaps not finding the occasion anything special or remarkable. but then, with a nod, he says, "i guess."

that's as much enthusiasm as he's going to allow himself to show, and that is completely fine, you decide. you don't need him to pretend for the sake of pleasing you. you're just happy to be here, and you can't wait to tell gojo all about this in great detail. he'll be so jealous.

*

yes, gojo can get any michelin star meal delivered within the hour if he’s persistent and snooty enough. he might also be able to import something from korea in the timeframe it took you to decide on what to eat if fushiguro so much as implored he wanted anything. the real problem is that fushiguro does not want to eat anything touched by gojo’s hands or credit card – the outing being the only exception, as that was done with malicious intent to scam gojo out of more money than was necessary – and you think it’s not healthy to have a growing kid survive on the instant noodles and snacks you purchase from the convenience store.

the cafeteria food is alright, but it, too, lacks the nutrition needed for strong bones and a healthy immune system. you also were unable to find the allergens or a basic ingredients list on the food served there, and the cooks you inquired were suspiciously tight-lipped about it, which only left you pondering about what exactly you have been eating for the past three years.

that, and fushiguro seems to be missing his sister lately, who, apparently, made him food, or made food alongside him, but your newfound big sister instincts send you into a frenzy even imagining this child next to a sharp knife. he is way too independent. when you think of yourself being his age, you think your childhood was much more carefree.

a homecooked meal it is. only problem is that you’re not a great cook, and whatever you made you could only serve yourself because it was just mediocre enough to teeter on the scale of enjoyment, if it could be called that.

still, you were wrestled into an apron by a pest named gojo satoru, who dons a matching one but avoids the pots and pans and stays by the television with fushiguro, as he was made aware that whatever he touches will be promptly thrown into the trash.

you chop, and stir, and haughtily avoid the counter where you were propped up to be devoured by the same man throwing his head back and cackling at some painfully unfunny late night tv show. you catch your reflection in the sharp blade of a knife and pause for a moment.

so this is my life now, huh?

as expected, neither the presentation nor the actual food is up to fushiguro’s standards. it’s evident by the way he skeptically pokes the mess on his plate with his fork. the noodles are too crisp, the broccoli – burned. you might’ve gone overboard with the seasoning, and yes, you can wrangle a curse into submission, but you cannot prepare a decent dinner.

you wait for the verdict with your hands curled into your apron, like some maid about to be scolded by a temperamental prince.

when a minute passes of just examination, you thread carefully, “ne,” fix your best smile, tilt your head to the side even – this is beyond humiliating. nothing gojo has put you through could ever amount to the small curl of queasiness on fushiguro’s mouth, “how about we order food in?”

“i’ll pay!” comes gojo’s enthusiastic agreement. he even waves the remote around, like it’ll summon something delicious on the coffee table just like that.

fushiguro, faced with this unprecedented cheerfulness, stabs his dinner and eats without a word spared.

you stare. no, this can’t be good, you might give him food poisoning, “no, really. let’s order something edible.”

fushiguro chews thoughtfully before he answers, “…it’s edible.”

“liar!” gojo accuses.

“shut up!”

well. it doesn't go too badly, and after a while, gojo puts on a nature documentary as a peace offering, while you wash the dirty dishes and keep sending worried glances to a now placid fushiguro who dutifully finished his meal and has moved on to polishing the bowl clean.

and you can't help the sudden onslaught of fondness that fills you up as the warm water from the sink hits your fingers. this is oddly nice and comforting. it reminds you of the dinners you had back home, only they never were this late and you always pouted when having to wash your plate and utensils.

"eh," you almost drop the soapy spatula; your head ticks to the entrance of the dorm kitchen, and you see shoko leaning by the doorway before the smell of cigarette smoke reaches you. her eyes jump from your apron, to gojo sprawled on the couch, to fushiguro neatly folding a small towel, "feeling a bit left out. what's going on here?"

oh no. you feel your face heat all the way to your forehead. how incriminating, how do you even begin to explain this strange and off-putting development of your relationship with gojo?

maybe you should have told her as soon as it happened, but you didn't know how.

you wanted to, though. each time you meet shoko’s gaze, you had the overwhelming urge to come clean. you can’t phantom how criminals can lie to the police with a straight face, because you’re having significant trouble. what’s worse, it always felt like shoko knew anyway, somehow; that that information breached the kawakami-gojo bubble and bled into the common knowledge pool.

shoko always seemed so suspicious, and in this case, for good reason. now, suppose you don't have to explain anything at all.

gojo points at you with this thumb, "she can't cook for shit, you know that?"

"oh, yes," shoko hums, pleased, "know it too well. i won't need to use reverse on you, will i?"

"nah," he drawls, "think i'd eat that drivel? i'm not suicidal."

"hey!" you bristle.

fushiguro frowns and glares at the tuff of white hair peaking over the back of the couch, "it wasn't so bad."

and your anger vanishes, just like that. your honor has been defended by an seven year old, and now it's just a matter of having to bear with shoko's probing look and the telltale curve in her smile.

"ah, well, if megumi vouches for you, then maybe you've improved," shoko says sagely.

gojo snorts in clear disagreement. fushiguro scrunches his brow and purses his lips.

*

there’s definitely something somewhere written about proper bedtime, but being with fushiguro has made you sentimental about your childhood, and you recalled sneaking around at night to watch tv and having too much energy to sleep, even when you were tucked into your favorite blanket with your favorite stuffed toy under your armpit and read your favorite story.

so you take him to a pastry shop at near closing time, and smile particularly sweetly at the disgruntled cashier who just finished cleaning up. you feel a bit bad, but alas – a tasty treat is a tasty treat, and what is more, everything’s on discount, so you spend a generous amount to make sure fushiguro and you have enough to snack on all the way back to jujutsu tech and then some.

you also got some for gojo, despite how brattish he can be. the only reason he didn’t follow you here is because fushiguro had forbidden it, but even now, you’re not sure if you aren’t being monitored.

fushiguro bites into his colorful fish cookie and chews. the sky is already dimming, but there’s still plenty of people out and about, enjoying their summer. he keeps close, but doesn’t reach for your hand. you hadn’t been able to achieve your initial victory at the start of the week, but maybe you still have some time.

“you’re leaving for a mission,” he says after a pleasant silence, blunt as always. you try remembering if you were this honest when you were his age. certainly, you must’ve been more tactful. when your gaze flits to fushiguro, you find him disgruntled, an expression reminiscent of gojo when he doesn’t get something he wants.

it’s starkly similar, actually. a father that stepped up…

“it’s only for a few days,” you tell him, keeping your voice light in an effort to appease him, “i’ll be back before you know it. with souvenirs, too.”

a tic creases his brow as he seems to give the offer some serious contemplation. a couple of moments pass before, with a sharp huff, he mumbles a sour, "do as you like."

you manage a patient, "look forward to the present, hm?"

he is very stubborn and says nothing but chews with a little more fervor.

"maybe you want something specific? or would surprise be best?"

you hear a short sound of exasperation at that, and a shake of his head.

"no... you can choose, nee-san."

you nearly collapse. fushiguro, no, megumi, megumi hasn't ever been so malleable before; the things this boy has been doing to your heart must be against the law. it’s too precious, and so sweet it makes the glazed cinnamon bun grasped so tightly between your fingers taste bland. how could you ever recover? is it even worth bringing it up? just how much does megumi truly care about you to call you something so tender?

you have to swallow a disgusting ball of coo for the sake of everyone, namely megumi, who seems especially irritated, “…how about a plushy? or a phone accessory? satoru said he bought you a nice new model.”

your efforts do not go unnoticed. there is a gleam in his eyes, and his cheeks flush in pleasure.

"can..." his tone lowers, quiet, almost timid, "can i choose when you're back?"

there isn't a bone in your body strong enough to decline that.

"of course," you smile, "tell me when i should come back and i will."

a pair of small fingers come to grip your sleeve, hesitantly, shyly.

"the sooner, the better," he mumbles, glaring at the sidewalk, "so... be quick."

*

“’s stupid,” gojo grumbles, making himself comfortable on your bed instead of helping you pack your suitcase, “why you needa go, anyway?”

not him, too. christ, why are they ganging up on you?

you sigh, folding a sweater. it’ll likely be too warm to wear it, but you’ll take it just in case, “cuz yaga-sensei told me to?”

“coulda said no,” he answers stubbornly. you pause to stare him down.

if not for the sunglasses, he would be giving you the same look as megumi; a bit less angry, more passive aggressive.

he presses, the smirk fading, a sharp edge to his voice, not quite biting, not yet, "wanna stay and fuck a bit instead?"

god. the word makes your spine crawl with something familiar, or rather, a mix of emotions that is indescribable and difficult to disentangle; something close to exasperated fondness, perhaps.

but you shake your head, the weak protests die out on your lips, and he rolls over, sated, like a cat that had gotten its cream, "...you sure?"

"stop trying to seduce me," you snort, ignoring the lingering glance directed at your back.

"then you'd really miss your train."

"satoru."

"right, right..."

"go be annoying somewhere else."

a heavy exhale. you don't dare to turn because you hear the mattress creak and his footsteps drawing nearer.

the warmth envelops you easily, his hold is lazy, his mouth is by your ear, hot breath sending a shiver up your nape, "mean. and here i am, all ready and eager."

but his fingers linger on the waist of your shorts, just above the material. it's a small touch. noninvasive. you can feel him holding himself back.

"...'s gonna be too cold," gojo continues, quietly. he isn't helping, his nose nudging your hair, a soft kiss pressed below your earlobe, "in bed without you. who will i cuddle now?"

oh, damn him and the things he does and says. and that honey sweet voice of his, teasing you.

but you won't fall for his tricks, "well, it won't be forever. you won't even notice i'm gone."

and he laughs. like he's telling himself not to show his irritation at you dismissing him so easily, "always notice," he mumbles, or maybe he doesn't, because he kisses your cheek one more time before he disentangles and plops down onto the mattress again, "anyway, megumi wants to escort you to the train station, so expect an entourage."

you ponder who would be more clingy: gojo or megumi.

*

it's gojo.

tags (couldn’t tag in bold!). @shokosbunny , @jotarohat , @alygator77 , @fortunatelyfurrygiver , @finnydraws , @mastermasterlist1p1 , @eolivy , @letsmyy , @staruus , @k0z3me , @damnshorty , @kaeyakaikai , @n4melesspers0n , @midnightwriter21 , @sillymercury , @byakuya61085 , @stillnotherapy , @mydearchoso , @plutoisaghoul , @byerno6 , @bqvz , @harryzcherry , @noira-l ,

[minyard-05]

thinking about nicky and erik back home in germany and it's christmas and this year it just didn't work out– they didn't try and plan travelling until it was too late, nobody's schedules worked out quite right, so this is the first christmas nicky spends in germany without the twins. and it's fine, really, it is, nicky knows where they are, andrew and neil have settled into their apartment in colorado, just adopted their second cat, aaron and katelyn are in chicago, their residences have just started, last time katelyn texted she said she was thinking about getting aaron a dog and nicky made her promise to get a pug. it's a quieter Christmas to ones nicky might be used to, but it's all fine, really, it is. but he's got this weird nagging feeling at the back of his mind, his 'mom instinct', erik jokes, and nicky laughs but he really can't shake it. a call to andrew goes unanswered with a text a few hours later "at practice." neil texts just after "did you need something?"

aaron picks up, but it only lasts five minutes. he's driving, because they called him in for night shift again, on christmas, nicky complains, and aaron maybe even laughs down the line but it's still a thousand miles away. "they're sick, nicky, they can't help it."

"alright, doctor man, go save the world or whatever."

aaron laughs again, and says merry christmas before he hangs up. nicky drops the phone in his lap and sighs. erik puts a mug of hot chocolate in his hands and kisses his head, and nicky remembers he meant to send more of the german stuff from the market to andrew, knowing he's probably grown up by now.

"something on your mind?" erik asks, shifting so that nicky can sit sideways against him. he settles his hands into nicky's hair, combing through curls and tangles, and nicky sighs, not sure he could put it into words if he tried.

"it's just so quiet, you know?"

erik nods, reaching for the remote. he flicks on the tv but nicky barely notices, too caught up in his thoughts.

"i mean there's stuff i don't miss. when they wouldn't talk to each other for weeks wouldn't even stay in the same room as each other. i don't miss aaron trying to get as far away as he could from us, or andrew's meds, or when they couldn't communicate outside of therapy. it's just–"

"you miss when they were only a door down."

nicky nods, and he can feel tears pricking at his eyes now. he never cried over the twins when they were anywhere to see, knowing they'd only hate it, but erik knew him better than that by now. erik had listened to nicky break down over both trials he'd been brought in to testify in, had stayed on the phone for hours when aaron was in holding, when andrew was in easthaven, even flown all the way from germany when nicky himself was in hospital. erik had listened and erik had reassured and nicky was certain he didn't deserve him by now, but he twisted his ring around his finger and let erik press another kiss to his forehead.

the volume turns up, and nicky finally looks up at the screen. it's an exy match. nicky frowns– erik has never been much of a sports person, but then he catches half a familiar name on the commentary.

"–Minyard's recent transfer has definitely turned this team around since the start of the season. We're looking forward to seeing a lot more from the Chicago Kings this year."

nicky laughs, because it's like it's been years since he's seen andrew walk out onto the court, helmet under his arm, to crowds of screaming fans dressed in white and blue, and nicky laughs and he's really crying now, but it's like andrew can see him through the camera, because he pulls his helmet on and sends a two-fingered salute to the crowd. nicky lets erik pull him close and wipe tears away from his eyes.

"i'm so proud of them."

"you should be."

[minispidey]

03: Barbie and the Giftshopist.

Steven Grant x f!bimbo!reader. previous part. series masterlist. next part.

03. Everyday she wears pink.

(A/n: your feedback on the last chapter about me writing the moon knight system is so amazing tysm! i referenced mpgis here and more legally blonde. i wanna note that reader has been a lawyer for a couple years now and amazing at it 🤸‍♀️ btw update tags are open!)

warnings: mention of cock, swearing and cursing, mention of blood.

the cock line is from my bubs @ominoose ily

"This isn't just a date. This is a date!" You told yourself as you threw random articles of clothing behind you as you hunted for a specific dress.

You thought maybe you shouldn't wear pink. Maybe you have a pretty dress he hasn't seen you in.

You barely slept due to excitement.

The way he talked and looked at you made you swoon over him. Just thinking about makes you-

You squealed as your leg involuntarily kicked up. You blinked twice in confusion "That is so weird..."

Maybe you were horny.

"Oh gosh, not again. Bad leg!" you scolded your beautiful leg as it kicks up again "Down girl, down! No nasty thoughts about... about... about the hot neighbor across us- no!"

You almost moaned at the though of his lips against yours... You shuddered as you kept remembering the way he looked at you. You laid down in the pool of clothing as you imagined how your little lunch date will go.

As usual, you two walked out of your flat at the same time, discussing where the two of you were going for lunch.

"Wetherspoons..." you parked your pink corvette outside, looking at the flowers decorating the place. Your high heels clicked on the pavement as you walked inside, still in your pink work suit despite planning on changing.

It was a busier day than you thought, but of course lunch time is important.

Your eyes lit up as you spotted Steven, sitting up rather stiff "Stevie!" you smiled as you walked over to his table "Hi, so sorry I'm a bit late. Traffic and all."

But Steven looked back at you with such a loving look in his eyes "It's alright, love. I haven't been waiting long."

The truth is, he thought you weren't gonna show up.

"Have you ordered yet? Gosh, you must be starved." you opened the menu and browsed.

"I haven't." he shook his head, opening his menu as well.

"Cross examination was a success." you smiled "Next week's the next trial with the witness."

Steven didn't know what you were talking about, it was out of context "That's great!" he responded.

"So then he was like no and I was like, you are. Then he was like no but then I was like you are! And he was like, I kinda am. So long story short he's like, totally gay." you said as you looked at your compact mirror.

"Thank gosh I figured it out, because no way can he say my Chanel is so last season when his shirt is so last year. My client was totally bugging, but we figured it out and I, like, totally won that. How about you, Stevie? How's your day?"

Steven smiled back at you "T'was alright, love. Just the usual." he says sarcastically "Donna's been a real-"

"Excuse my language— Bitch? Cunt? Pain in the ass?"

He chuckles "Yes. A pain in the arse, love."

"She always sounds like she's giving you a hard time. You sure you don't want me to talk to her?"

"I don't think it's lawyer-worthy. It's really alright, love." Steven shakes his head "Just another typical day."

"Yeah, which can be classified as workplace abuse."

"Really. I'm fine."

You press your glossy lips into a thin line before sighing "Alright. But if you need someone to represent you in court, I'm your girl." you playfully winked at him.

Steven blushed before nodding "I'll keep you in mind then." a waiter comes up to the two of you and he began to order "-and a cocktail. Uh, how about you?"

"Um, I'll have the Soup of the Day with half a baguette, and Pasta Pomodoro with salmon. And— wait did you say a cocktail?" you blinked twice at Steven "I'll have a cocktail too, thank you."

You smiled at the waiter as he repeated the order to you two before walking away.

"Jeez, Stevie. It's only lunchtime." you giggled at him.

"I-I just wanted something strong."

"Work's really stressful, huh?"

"It really is." he sighed "Working late again tonight. But this uh lunch date is really cheering me up."

Your cheeks felt hot, making you smile "That's so sweet... tell you what, I'll pick you up from work tonight again. I'm working late too anyways."

It was Steven's turn to blush. His hand shakes with his head "You're way too nice. I don't wanna bother you. It's quite overwhelming too." even his ears turned red.

"Steven, you shouldn't turn away blessings." you winked as you giggled. Your cocktails were served just a few minutes later.

"I haven't had a cock in a while."

Steven felt his drink rush to his nose and he quickly grabbed a napkin. He coughs a few times before looking up at you.

"Oopsies, I meant a cocktail." you covered your mouth, smiling "Well, I mean... I haven't had that in a while either."

You took a sip of the drink and Steven stared at the lipstick mark left on the edge of the glass. You always wore a certain shade of lipstick, and it always drove him crazy.

There were times he'd imagine smudging your lipstick... in more ways than one.

After lunch, the two of you laughed as you drove to the museum. Steven just kept falling more and more into your wonderland of pink and diamonds. He stared at you with half-lidded eyes, listening to every word you said.

The thing about Steven is that he loves to ramble and talk a lot, and so do you. He knew you were perfect.

"-and I was like, thank gosh I talked her out of buying an orange chiffon scarf. It doesn't suit her spring tones at all! There's a fine line between terracotta and brown."

That evening, your pink corvette was parked outside of the museum, waiting patiently for Steven after a long day of reading case papers. You puckered out your lips to reapply some lipstick before popping and smiling at your reflection.

Your freshly manicured nails tapped on the steering wheel while humming a small tune.

Then suddenly someone knocks on your window.

"Steven?"

He looked like he was roughed up, red staining his clothes, but it's not his blood. It didn't even look like the same clothes he was wearing during your lunch date.

"Oh my gosh, Steven-"

...but that's actually not your main concern.

"-I told you, blue and black as a combo is a total crime against fashion. If it were me, I'd make it law." you groaned, opening the locks of your car "Get in."

His eyes widened but he doesn't respond, only taking the passenger's seat like you commanded.

"Oh, you have a little stain there." you pat the patch of blood using a pink handkerchief with lace trim and your name embroidered on the corner.

He continued to stare at you as you took his hand and placing your handkerchief on his palm "Here. You can give it back to me some other time because I seriously I need to take you shopping this weekend."

You thought maybe he's always tired after work, that's why he's so quiet, like yesterday.

"Maybe I can figure out your color palette so I know what looks best on you. Your shirts are cute, I'd have to admit, but some of them are... meh. No offense but some prints are worse than the last. OH! I know, we'll do a whole shopping day on the weekend. An hour or so won't cut it. I know it's your weekend off, but trust me when I say when your pretty neighbor's a fashionista, your life is gonna change."

Steven looks at you from the mirror's reflection before shifting his eyes towards the body— Jake. Unlike Marc's creepy silent behavior from the night before, Jake actually looks at you as you went on and on.

He even responds with small nods.

"Can we not make this a habit? First it's Marc pretending to be me in front of her, now it's you. I don't need your help with her. Can I please go in my own pace?" Steven tells Jake, but Jake shook his head in a not now kind of motion.

As Jake entered the apartment after waving goodnight to you, he's met with a poor attempt of a glare from Steven "Don't look at me like that, you wanted the girl so I gave it a push."

"I want to do this on my own. Marc doesn't want me to, I don't know about you, but I don't need help. Can I please do it my way? It's all I ask."

"Can you ask her out?"

Steven pressed his lips into a line before letting out a sigh "Give me the body. I'll... try."

"Alright, alright. You go on ahead."

Steven, now in control of the body, swung open the door and he sees you struggling to find your keys. You blinked twice before smiling at him "Hi again, Stevie. My keys are just- ugh, a lot." your keychains jingle as you tried to find the right key.

"Can we go on a date after shopping this weekend?" he blurts out quickly. Steven was red as a tomato "D-Dinner date."

Your eyes lit up and you felt the butterflies in your stomach again "I'd love that! I'll just- oh! I found my key!"

And you also found the key to your locked-up heart.

UP NEXT: the best weekend ever! a date with steven and a little breaking and entering 💅

tags: @red-hydra @monsterroonio @pastelpinkpilatesprincess @letmehavemyfictionalmen @uncle-eggy @superduckmilkshake @3zae-zae3

[bullet-prooflove]

Straight From The Heart: Tim Gutterson x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @noxytopy @baconeggndcheez @ladygrey03 @smiley-asylum

Companion piece to:

Bad Timing

Tim keeps a polaroid of the two of you in his wallet, tucked in front of a ticket stub from a gig he took you to when he first got back got stateside.

In the picture you’re wearing a red floral country dress, your hair is loose, falling in soft waves across your shoulders. He’s standing right beside you in that blue plaid shirt he knows you like to sleep in these days. You’re face is tilted up towards him, his thumb trailing along your jaw as he kisses you. The two of you look happy, in love.

His fingertips traces over the image as he sits at his desk studying it by the light from the lamp. It’s well past midnight and everyone else has taken off home. He’s supposed to be writing a statement his role in the raid tonight and about how he ‘lost’ you but all he can think about is the look in your eyes when you’d had to pull away, say goodbye.

You’re getting tired, he thinks and he doesn’t blame you. You’ve worked Intelligence for a long time now, throwing yourself head first into all sorts of crazy shit. He came back from war with PTSD so he understands how that shit erodes you, how it claws at your soul. Better than anyone Tim knows when the fall is coming and he wants you to have a safe place to land when it does.

He doesn’t look at his phone when it starts to ring, he already knows it’s you. He doesn’t say anything, he just listens to the sound of your breathing for a second.

“You shouldn’t have to wait a year.” You say finally.

“Breaking up with me isn’t going to change how I feel about you.” He responds as he sets the picture up against the base of his lamp. “Just like it’s not going to change the way you feel about me.”

There’s silence for a second before you sigh.

“Yea I know… I just…”

“You don’t want me waiting around with my dick in my hand for something that might never happen.” He summarises, straightening the photograph.

You both know the odds of coming out of this alive, the longer it goes on the more dangerous this gets and that’s not including the shit that comes after. There’s going to be multiple trials that will depend on your testimony and the type of men you’re dealing with aren’t going to sit there idly while they’re awaiting their fate.

“Lucky.” He says firmly. “I would wait a thousand lifetimes if it means I get the chance to be with you.”

“Is that a line from one of your Middle Earth books?” You ask him and he can hear the smile in your voice.

“No honey.” He promises you, the edges of his mouth tipping up. “That one’s straight from the heart.”

Love Tim? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

and also just to add one thing my last point:

i think the toxic canon thing really forms a basis for the foundational problems of the series - narrative. its one of the reasons i believe feyre often gets dubbed an 'unreliable narrator.

because in theory - feyre is not made purposely to be unreliable. honestly - the problem is that the story makes feyre's thoughts declarative for the series as whole. feyre tells us one thing, and the story shows us another.

for example: when the story tells us 'tamlin didn't fight for me,' - its implying that tamlin has the tools to do so. bc the story establishes an entirely difference scenario. we learn that (1) amarantha is madly obsessed with tamlin, so she keeps him next to her every night and (2) tamlin doesn't really have skills to navigate utm. what im saying is - feyre says these things about tamlin which are dubbed 'canon' but they don't actually reflect the reality of the situation. the story gives us to no solutions as to how tamlin could have actually helped feyre under the mountain. and i should also add that feyre couldnt have left ANYWAY -- she made a bargain. had she not did her part, the trials, her life would have just been forfeit.

and then on the flip side - we get told that rhys had to bring feyre to those parties and drug her so would forget (which is dubbed canon) but the reality of the scenario doesn't reflect that. rhysand never had to make feyre dance or embarrass her infront of everybody.

why? let's look at the established information:

rhysand disables the guards through his daemati abilities, so feyre is safe in her cell:

“No more household chores, no more tasks,” he said, his voice an erotic caress. Their yellow eyes went glazed and dull, their sharp teeth gleaming as their mouths slackened. “Tell the others, too. Stay out of her cell, and don’t touch her. If you do, you’re to take your own daggers and gut yourselves. Understood?”Dazed, numb nods, then they blinked and straightened. I hid my trembling. Glamour, mind control—whatever it was he had done, it worked. They beckoned—but didn’t dare touch me. Rhysand smiled at me. “You’re welcome,” he purred as I walked out.”

2. feyre is given a hot meal in her cell everyday - which again, establishes her cell as a relatively safe place:

“From that point on, each morning and evening, a fresh, hot meal appeared in my cell. I gobbled it down but cursed Rhysand’s name anyway. Stuck in the cell, I had nothing to do but ponder Amarantha’s riddle—usually only to wind up with a pounding headache. I recited it again and again and again, but to no avail.”

and even after she has to dance every night, this does not change:

“I awoke ill and exhausted each morning, and though Rhysand’s order to the guards had indeed held, the nightly activities left me thoroughly drained.”

so - the whole point of taking feyre out of cell is instantly negated, as her cell was never a place of torture. if anything - the only person actually making her cell a place of horror was rhysand. when he drugs her, she becomes so sick that she can't keep the food down; he leaves her essentially naked in her cell, so she's cold and shivering, and her leaves her so exhausted that she can't even think about the solving the riddle.

3. nuala and cerridwen have the ability to walk through walls and actually usher feyre through utm without ever being seen or caught:

“a tapestry that hadn’t been there a moment before falling over us, the shadows deepening, solidifying. I had a feeling that if someone pulled back that tapestry, they would see only darkness and stone.”

so when we get this line in maf:

“So we endured it. I made you dress like that so Amarantha wouldn’t suspect, and made you drink the wine so you would not remember the nightly horrors in that mountain.”

or his explanation in tar:

“Working Tamlin into a senseless fury is the best weapon we have against her. Seeing you enter into a fool’s bargain with Amarantha was one thing, but when Tamlin saw my tattoo on your arm … Oh, you should have been born with my abilities, if only to have felt the rage that seeped from him.” I didn’t want to think much about his abilities. “Who’s to say he won’t splatter you as well?” “Perhaps he’ll try—but I have a feeling he’ll kill Amarantha first. That’s what it all boils down to, anyway: even your servitude to me can be blamed on her. So he’ll kill her tomorrow,”

none it actually make sense. we are offered several solutions to how rhys could have respectively helped feyre without sexually assaulting her. like for (1) if he wanted her to forget, he could have given her the wine in her cell (2) he didn't have to bring feyre to those parties. amarantha doesn't even remember feyre is there until rhys brings her, and she never finds out about the food or the guards. (3) nuala and cerridwen can actually walk through walls and veil feyre, so whose to say they couldn't have sneaked feyre from utm (4) rhys can mindspeak which means he could have always just talked to feyre without visiting her cell. (3) his plan of 'making tamlin angry makes no sense as the book already established that amarantha was warded against physical attacks, hence why it makes no sense for the story to demonize tamlin for not fighting back as there's no established canon way he could have. it also makes rhysand's display of fighting amarantha pretty much pointless as if he could have just killed her, he would have just done it earlier. its also why i don't forgive the kiss bc the only valid motivation was rhysand's jealousy which literally is why i can never forgive the kiss. he (and tam) put her in the situation by bringing her there in the first place and putting the paint all over her body (and he literally prove that he could altered the paint at any time so it served no benefit but to dehumanize feyre.

soooooo that's what i mean when i say people take canon without factoring into the story as a whole. if the story doesn't actually have things that back up declarative 'canon' statements, its not useful.

[feyhunter78]

Trials of a Tribute pt. 5

Description: You have a chat with the Dowager Queen, and Aemond fears you regret marrying a monster such as him, unknowing that you are still unaware the two of you have been married.

Previous part here, Next part here

You sat across from the Dowager Queen Alicent, clutching your teacup for dear life as she inspected you. Her brown eyes filled with sorrow swept over you, as she sipped her own tea.

“I do feel for you, dear girl. Being traded like an object is a cruel fate that we as women often find ourselves suffering.” She said, giving you a sympathetic smile.

You nodded, unsure of what to truly say, Aemond hadn’t been cruel to you, nor had he forced himself upon you. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it could’ve been far, far worse.

“Drink up, lest you fall pregnant within your first moon here.” The Dowager Queen urged; her lips pressed into a tight line.

Your eyes widened as you realized exactly what kind of tea this was. “Your Grace, King Aemond has not bedded me.”

Her entire body relaxed. “Thank the Seven, he is still my son.”

You assumed she feared Aemond had taken on the traits of his father and brother now that he had become king, and couldn’t blame her for it. You yourself still feared he would one day soon act upon the Targaryen need for depravity.

“His Majesty, has been very respectful, a true gentleman.” You don’t tell her of how you woke up today with your body half atop Aemond’s, his fingers splayed on your lower back possessively, the smell of parchment and eucalyptus surrounding you.

Dowager Queen Alicent nodded, a small smile on her face. “My Aemond has always been a man of honor.” Then her eyes go to your hand and her eyebrows furrow. “Did you injure yourself?”

You had worn a gown with extra long sleeves, more of a winter dress than was appropriate for the season, with the intention to hide your injury, but obviously your efforts have failed.

You held your hand close to your chest. “No, Your Grace, it’s from the Valyrian ritual.” At her look of confusion, you continued. “With the septon, and the dagger? King Aemond and I mixed our blood together. He said it was common ritual in House Targaryen.”

 The dowager queen was silent for a moment, then she nodded, plastering a smile on her face. “Ah, yes, there are so many rituals, I forget them from time to time.” She glanced at Sir Criston who avoided her frantic eyes. "Sir Cole, escort Lady y/n back to her chambers, then fetch Aemond and tell him I wish to speak to him.”

You stood and took Sir Criston’s arm. “A pleasure to speak with you, Queen Alicent.”

“You as well, dear.” She called as Sir Criston all but strong-armed you from the room.

“Sir Criston, did I do something to upset the dowager queen?” You asked, as he led you down an unfamiliar hallway.

“Why do you ask that?”

“She ended our tea so abruptly, and she simply seemed to be troubled by something.”

He stopped you in front of a door you didn’t recognize. “The queen mother has many things on her mind, but I can assure you her anger sits not with you.”

 You followed him into a barren room. “These are your quarters; I’d advise you to stay out of sight. We had many noblemen attempting to bring their daughters as tribute, and they are quite angry at being turned away.”

Dowager Queen Alicent had pulled you away from Aemond, leaving him to accept tributes alone, as she kindly but thoroughly interrogated you on every aspect of your life.

You bid the night a farewell and looked around the room. It wasn’t much to look at, but it had a lovely view of the gardens.

 Pushing open the window, you carefully sat on the windowsill, breathing in the fresh air. You gazed down at the meticulously planted flowers, imagining how happy your sisters would be to see such a sight.

You didn’t know how long you sat there before the door slammed open, and you jumped, scooting backward, further into the room, suddenly afraid of the distance between you and the ground.

Two strong arms pulled you from the windowsill, caging you against a hard chest, the silver hair that brushed your shoulders made you relax.

“Aemond? Is everything alright?” You asked, turning your head to look at him.

His shoulders were tense, his eye filled with a frantic fear and rage. “What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” You said, letting out a small noise of surprise when he threw you onto the nearby bed and quickly hovered over you. Caging you in with his arms, his hair falling forward and shielding your faces.

“You were going to jump, because you couldn’t stand to be married to such a monster, but your life is mine, prūmia. No one, not even the Stranger himself, will take you from me. I care not if you call him yourself, or another attempts to, no one will separate us.” He seethed, his eye burning into yours, his voice was low and rolled across your skin like a storm, the hairs on your skin standing upright in response.

“I wasn’t trying to take my own life; I was merely admiring the gardens.” You explained, before your mind fully processed his words. “Wait, married?”

“I’m aware that my mother informed you of the true nature of what occurred last night.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “No, she said nothing. Aemond, are we married? You shouldn’t have—” You were cut off by Aemond’s warm lips brushing down your neck, stopping at your pulse point when you let out a small whimper.

 His acknowledging hum vibrated against the sensitive skin. “You’re mine, I told you that. As of last night it was made true, the septon bore witness to our union, so did Sir Criston.”

“But I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have done it if I knew.” You protested lightly, still afraid to upset Aemond.

“Because you don’t wish to be married to a monster, I know.” He snapped, pulling back to glare at you.

You shook your head. “It’s not that at all, I don’t think you’re a monster, nor do I have any personal qualms about marrying you but, it’s not truly up to me.”

“You’re correct, it’s not up to you, it’s up to me, and I wished to marry you.” He spoke his words into your skin before he attached his lips to your sensitive spot, nipping and sucking until a red mark bloomed, its sting soothed by his tongue.

“But you shouldn’t have, I’m from a small house, there are much better options and oh…” Your voice dissolved into nothing as Aemond continued his ministrations, his fingers running through your hair, his lips latched onto every bit of exposed skin they can find.

“I’m king of the Seven Realms, I will marry who I wish.” He said firmly, his eye flickering up to yours as his lips made their way to the swell of your breasts.

Your face burned once more, and you attempted to push him away. “Aemond, please, this is not proper.”

He stopped and sat up, a distant look on his face. “You’re right.”

You sat up as well, smoothing down your hair. “Thank you, now we really must get this marriage business straightened out.”

He frowned. “Do you not wish to be queen?”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t think I have the education to be a good queen.”

This series masterlist here!!!

Tag list: @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhhaa, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon

Strikethrough means I couldn't tag you for some reason!

[tomorrowusa]

Donald Trump has a gag order placed on him by the judge in his Stormy Daniels hush money trial. So to get around the gag order various Trump lickspittles make pilgrimages to the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse to say stuff to the media which Trump himself is not allowed to say. Past Trump mouthpieces have included pseudo-hillbilly fascist Sen. J.D. Vance and House Speaker "MAGA Mike" Johnson.

Monday's Trump mouthpieces were a quintet of MAGA C-listers: Rep. Andrew Clyde (R-GA-09), ex-NYC police commissioner Bernie Kerik, South Carolina Attorney General Alan Wilson, Trump campaign aide Jason Miller (not related to Stephen Miller), and Kash Patel - a onetime deputy director of the Office of the Director of National Intelligence.

While Trump has been beseeching his followers to show up outside the courthouse to demonstrate support for their Dear Leader, on Monday it was pro-democracy Trump opponents who were there in greater numbers.

A cadre of MAGA loyalists who had gathered to show their support for Donald Trump during his hush-money trial was shouted down by a bevy of cowbell-clanging anti-Trump protesters on Monday when they tried to speak outside of a lower Manhattan courthouse. [ ... ] The group that flanked the twice-impeached ex-president this time around included South Carolina Attorney General Alan Wilson, former New York police commissioner Bernie Kerik, ex-Trump administration official Kash Patel, Trump senior advisor Jason Miller, and Rep. Andrew Clyde (R-GA). All but Patel, meanwhile, were customarily decked out in Trump’s standard red tie and navy suit combo.

Yep, four of the five designated Trump lickspittles were dressed in Trump uniforms. Did he dress them himself over at Trump Tower?

Alan Wilson got an earful when he tried to spew the Trump line.

With boos raining down on Wilson, one demonstrator could be heard shouting “go home you carpetbagging fools.” Another protester who camped out behind the pro-Trump speakers with a large “Bootlickers” sign relentlessly blew a whistle while ringing a cowbell. According to independent reporter Jacqueline Sweet, the man was given a citation by law enforcement for “too much cowbell.” Patel, who is expected to take a senior White House role if Trump returns to power, portrayed the ex-president as a victim of an “unconstitutional weaponization of justice.” It was difficult to hear what he had to say as the crowd chanted: “Kash Patel, Go To Hell!” Kerik was also subjected to targeted insults when he spoke, with protesters calling him a “bald-headed bigot” throughout his comments. According to New York Magazine correspondent Oliva Nuzzi, the Trump-hating crowd also took aim at the speakers for dressing just like the former president, prompting them to call the MAGA group “red tie terrorists.” She added that the demonstrators even got a laugh from Miller, who chuckled when one protester wondered if they had bought their suits at “Dictators R Us.”

To use a favorite Trump word, Monday's Trump mouthpieces were real losers.

Rep. Andrew Clyde's rise to fame in Georgia was as a prominent gun store owner. One wonders how many of his guns make it up to NYC to be used illegally.

Bernie Kerik is a convicted felon for tax fraud who was later pardoned by Trump. He served several years behind bars for his crimes.

Alan Wilson has made false election fraud claims even before the Trump presidency and is a serial litigator for far right causes.

Kash Patel once served as an aide to Devin Nunes – the former House member who unsuccessfully sued a cartoon cow.

Jason Miller admitted to hiring prostitutes and having extramarital affairs with two campaign staffers. Republican family values – just like Trump.

Meidas Touch has a video report on Monday's scene outside the courthouse. (never mind the plant commercial in the middle).

If you're anywhere near NYC, visit the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse area on a day that the hush money trial is in session. There's a lunch break starting roughly at 11:30 AM and court is recessed for the day in the afternoon before the building closes at 5:00 PM. Bring your own cow bell and sign.

Court is in session this week on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. Next Monday court is closed for Memorial Day but should be in session on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. The case may go to the jury sometime late next week.

The Manhattan courthouse is at 100 Centre Street; take the 4, 5, or 6 subway trains to the Brooklyn Bridge-City Hall station and walk about four blocks north. The crowds and the Trump bootlickers seem to be directly across the street from the courthouse at Collect Pond Park.

EDIT: If Trump toadies had a bad day outside the courtroom, the one and only defense witness for Trump seems to have had an even worse one in court.

[lunar-years]

How’s the arm?

Tentative footsteps patter over the hardwood floor, inching closer; but it’s Jamie’s voice that reaches him first: “How’s the arm?”

Roy immediately bristles, unable to stop his voice from rising several decibels as he snaps, “I’ve already told you half a fucking dozen times in the past hour, Jamie, it’s the exact fucking same as it was twenty minutes ago, and yes I’m fucking fine, and I’ll kindly remind you again that you fucking promised me you’d stop fucking asking—” he stops mid-sentence, registering what exactly Jamie said at the same time the man crosses into his line of vision, letting Roy spot the shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He blinks, momentarily thrown. Arm?

Jamie shrugs, and even that small motion is somehow made exuberant under his determinedly bright demeanor. His face breaks into a gleeful smile, ear-to-ear, right pleased with himself. 

Fucking hell. Roy has no idea how the prick has managed to stay this damn cheerful all day, considering he’s spent the whole of it waiting on his temporarily useless, opposite-of-cheerful boyfriend hand and foot. Keeping him confined to the miserable prison of his living room sofa, flipping through the sport channels with a commendable level of steady enthusiasm—even though the best they’ve had on offer were the bloody table tennis Olympic trials that ended an hour again—and fretting, every single second of every blasted minute, over Roy and his knee. Whether the pillow under Roy’s knee is fluffed enough, and whether Roy's morning brew has gone cold and could do for urgent replacement, and whether Roy needs help getting to the toilet before he pisses down his own leg. Jamie’s there all right, for all of it, and he’s bloody relentless. 

Roy appreciates it. Truly, he does. It’s also driving him completely up the fucking wall, just a little. Two things can be true. 

Jamie keeps right on smiling. “What?” he says innocently, sitting down next to Roy and handing over his latest freshly-warmed mug of tea, “I’m not having you on, it was a real question. Since you’re going to be a bit out of commission on the really agile shit for a while and all,” here he nods sympathetically in the direction of Roy’s mangled up, patchworked knee, the frankensteinish surgery scar thankfully covered up by fresh dressings (also courtesy of Jamie) and tucked atop Keeley’s fluffiest pillow. “Sorry,” he continues in a stage-whisper, hands going up like Roy's a feral cat he's trying not to set off, “know you want me to pretend like this ain’t happening, and I’m trying, swear down! But, well. Me point is, so long as your arm’s still in working form...we can at least exchange handies!” He beams at him again with great pride, like mutual handjobs are the certifiable cure to Roy’s every ailment, and Jamie’s the dutiful nurse who gets to present the good news and administer the necessary dosage.

(And well, a wank’s a wank, so. Roy’s willing to give it a shot.)

Instead of saying that, he chucks the pillow behind his back at his boyfriend's head and rolls his eyes in Jamie's direction, faking a pout. “All you care about is my cock,” he accuses half-heartedly. 

“Yes, poor, hard-done Roy, with a dead sexy boyfriend who wants him for his body as much as his mind,” Jamie grins, leaning in to give him a kiss. With lips practically still brushing Roy’s own, he adds, gentler, “I also thought, um. It might help, you know? With what you were saying earlier. I’m really sorry I made you feel like that.” 

Roy brow furrows. He wades back amongst all the day's many horrors to figure out which one in particular Jamie could be referring to. It must’ve been the last time, when he was snapping at the pair of them to stop bloody asking about his knee all the time. You’re both making me feel like a fucking pensioner. Then, to Jamie specifically, I’m not actually your fucking grandad, you know. You don’t have to treat me like I’m two steps from the care home. It was around that time Keeley excused herself for a drive to the pharmacy, bristling at him with intense displeasure and that familiar get yourself together look in her eyes on her way out. Soon after, after an comfortable stretch of moody silence, Jamie muttered something about more tea, and disappeared into the kitchen for far longer than it took to whip up a new brew. 

So yeah, he owes them both an apology, clearly. Again.

He looks at his boyfriend, now aching with guilt on top of everything else, most pressingly the persistent sting that seems to extend his whole leg, making it very hard to focus on anything good, even his very good boyfriend. His very good boyfriend who’s only trying to help him. Fuck. 

Jamie’s still got his eyes locked on his, searching his face for reassurance. Hesitant, like he’s half expecting Roy to get angry and snap at him again for bringing it up. It’s so sincere it slices Roy smoothly in half.

“I,” he starts. Shuts his mouth. Starts again, “I’m sorry for that, babe. Look, I won't pretend I didn't mean some of it. I do feel…I dunno. Not even old, just…useless? I guess. But you’re not the one making me feel like that, it’s my own shit. I never should have said that to you, or to Keeley. I likehow you take care of me.” He threads his fingers through Jamie’s and gives them a squeeze. “It’s just…hard for me to let you.” He chokes over the last part a bit, from the clumsy embarrassment of his own feelings. Immediately redirects his gaze onto their locked palms.

But Jamie responds without hesitation, his shoulders already relaxing as he says briskly, “You’re forgiven.” Like it’s simple. Like Roy’s someone easy to forgive. Fuck, he still doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this. Jamie leans back, smile softer now, more natural. It takes on a cheeky edge as he adds, “And I know a way you can make it up to me, yeah?” with a wink and a crude hand gesture. Right back around to where they started.

Roy rolls his eyes again, filled with adoration for this ridiculous man. “We can’t fix everything with sex.” 

“We can make a brave go of trying, though," he offers solemnly, lips quirked.

Roy laughs despite himself, but it’s cut off by a sharp sting to his knee, making him wince before he can help it. His boyfriend’s face droops immediately. This time though, Jamie keeps his hands forcibly pinned to his sides, trying so hard not to hover, not to be too much. It makes Roy crack open even further. He really fucked this up.

“Can we wait for Keeley to get back first?” he suggests carefully, eyes meeting Jamie’s as his fingers brush circles on the back of his hand. “Ought to apologize to her, too.” 

“Definitely. Also, she’ll definitely enjoy this. Vulnerability really does it for her.” Jamie waggles his eyebrows playfully, seemingly resigned to brushing over the moment of tension, but Roy doesn’t miss the way his eyes linger for a second too long over Roy’s features, as if trying to catch the slightest grimace that could help him suss out Roy's pain level. Jamie needs him to be honest here; Roy forces himself to let him in. 

“I think I need my meds, first,” he admits. “Knee really fucking hurts. Got worse just now. And maybe, um…you could, with the pillow?” 

Jamie, perfect as he is, needs no further instruction. His hands fly towards the cushion, readjusting it carefully into a more supportive position. “Anything else, babe?” he asks as he fluffs, focus entirely on the pillow. 

“Jay.” 

His boyfriend’s head snaps up again, and Roy gestures him to slow down, and sit back. As soon as Jamie’s back’s against the sofa cushion again, Roy tosses his arm around him and tugs him in as close as possible. “I just want you,” he whispers. Then he lets himself shut his eyes and sink into the calm, knowing Jamie's got him. 

[drconstellation]

Chiastic Structure of S2

The post preceding this is Chiastic Structure of S1.

S1 was neat, tidy and simple compared to S2.

S2 was...difficult. I have a feeling this is because of the missing minisodes. There felt like there were "holes" in places, where there was a strong scene with no corresponding pair, and yet in others there were single lines matching up.

You will also notice its quite...skewed? The hinging midpoint is right at the end of Ep4, which means the last two episodes mirror the preceding the four! So there are gaps. For example, the conversation in the pub in Ep2 doesn't match with anything specific.

One of the things I hoped it might shed some light on was the purpose of the trip to Edinburgh, which seems like a bit of a dead end. It does, in a way - I will discuss it a bit further below, along with some other parallels that didn't fit the structure.

A: Before the Beginning B: Aziraphale meets Crowley C: "How much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions?"  D: "I'm very good at forgiveness. It's one of my favourite things." E: Gabriel: "I love you, you're funny" F: Argument about helping the other G: Crowley offered Duke of Hell position H: Crowley apologizes to Aziraphale I: Hiding of Gabriel - 25 Lazurii miracle J: Shax threatens Crowley K: Jobs children are turned into geckos M: Aziraphale's Trial by Temptation N: Aziracrow see God talking to Job: AZIRAPHALE: I don't suppose he's getting any answers. O: AZIRAPHALE: That sounds, um…CRAWLEY: Lonely? P: An angel asks permission for entry to the bookshop Q: Aziraphale makes unauthorized changes to the Bentley R: CROWLEY: Oh, come on, Mr. Dalrymple, it's not brain surgery! S: BARTENDER: You'll be one of those investigative reporters, no doubt? T: Aziraphale goes back to offer assistance to Elspeth and wee Morag U: Aziraphale stalls on saving wee Morag, says he doesn't have permission V: The laudanum toast to wee Morag W: AZIRAPHALE: Will you get into trouble? X: Crowley does Operation Lovebirds - Calls tempest Y: CROWLEY: "What are we talking about now?" GABRIEL: "Who am I? What's happened to me?" Z: Crowley confronts Gabriel about Aziraphale - Its always too late AA: Shax saying to Aziraphale she heard Aziracrow were an item 90 years ago BB: Zombies kill - 1st brain eaten CC: Crowley talks Aziraphale into performing a bigger magic act DD: Aziracrow shake on deal to do more miracles if needed EE: Zombies kill - 2nd Brain Eaten FF: The Staging of the Bullet Catch GG: Aziraphale gives permission for Furfur to enter the dressing room HH: Furfur says to expect a legion to come for Crowley in the morning II: Furfur's audience with the Dark Council, is treated condescendingly 

● SHADES OF GREY  - you said "TRUST ME."

II: Shax is stopped by Demon Josh, is treated condescendingly HH: Shax wants a legion to storm the bookshop GG: Beez asks if Shax has permission to enter the bookshop FF: AZIRAPHALE: I can guarantee you it will be a night to remember! EE: Shax wants killers, 10,000 demons DD: Deal for Dr Who Annual with Mr Arnold CC: AZIRAPHALE: Maggie and Nina are depending on me BB: 70 demons and a malignant and creeping sense of unease AA: Nina asks Crowley about how long he and Aziraphale have been together Z: Crowley confronts Gabriel about Aziraphale - stops him before its too late Y: Nina: "I’m going mad" - is spoken to by all the people at the Ball X: Aziraphale does Operation Lovebirds - Maggie asks Nina to dance W: AZIRAPHALE: I think you're overestimating how much trouble we're actually in. V: SHAX:… they are toast. T-O-S-T E. Toast. Now! U: Crowley stalls Shax on attacking humans, asks if she has permission T: Crowley says he's coming back, won't leave Aziraphale on his own. S: CROWLEY: Officer, I need to report a crime. R: Aziraphale: It all looks so simple in Jane Austen… the brains behind the 1810 Clerkenwell diamond robbery. Q: An unauthorized demon enters Heaven, changes P: Maggie gives permission for the demons to enter the bookshop O: MURIEL: It's a bit lonely. N: Aziraphale opens the portal to Heaven: GABRIEL: I told you you could ask. However, I am the only First-Order archangel in the room, or, you know, the Universe, so I'm not gonna answer so much. M: Gabriel's Trial K: Gabriel puts himself into the fly J: Aziraphale declares war on Hell I: Reveal of Gabriel - memories restored H: Gabriel apologizes to Beelzebub G: Aziraphale offered Supreme Archangel position F: Argument about helping the other E: The Big Damn Kiss D: "I forgive you" C: "Always asking damn fool questions, too."  B: Aziraphale leaves Crowley A: Beginning of  the End – Learn of Second Coming

Discussion on parallels that didn't fit the structure:

1. Crowley is given permission to destroy all of Job's possessions /  Gabriel refuses to give permission to destroy the Earth aka Armageddon II

There is a repeat emphasis on licenses, permits and authority throughout S2, so I really thought Crowley's permit to destroy of Job's possessions would have a match. It did, but it didn't fit the structure! If you look closely some of the other permits and authority lines do slot in. I'm planning some metas on these topics in the near future, as the use of language around these concepts is quite interesting, and there is some history to throw into the mix as well.

2. Crowley deceives the archangels with the help of an angel

This pair is a reference to Crowley and Aziraphale teaming up in the Job minisode to restore Job's children, and then Muriel aiding Crowley to sneak into Heaven. I'd just like to point out that Crowley could have gone to Heaven on his own - remember Eric went up with the hellfire in S1E6 - but he doesn't know where to go and get Gabriel's file, that is what he needs Muriel for.

3.  Popping up to Edinburgh

Ah, the trip to Edinburgh! Why? WHY!!! Why go all that way for ... nothing?

Guess what - it's a parallel sequence to Crowley popping up to Heaven.

I was going to write a companion piece to this but...my to do list is getting a bit long at the moment. Let me know if you want me to expand on it.

4. Ignoring messages

So this one started as "Nina gets txt messages from Lindsay, Mrs Sandwich says not to look at them," at the start of Ep3, then during the Ball Crowley is trying to lead the humans out of the bookshop and Shax confronts him with another bundle of mail. Crowley is succeeding in ignoring his messages from Hell, but Nina isn't.

5. Muriel and The Interrupted Tea Ceremony

In S2 it noticeable that everyone except Crowley needs permission to enter the bookshop, whereas in S1 they could just walk in. Originally I made a comment elsewhere that I thought this part matched with a sub-story to the Ball, the story of Sodom and Gomorrah and hospitality to angels, but then I came back and had another look and saw that there was a surface match - but I'm still going to do another post about the "cupperty" because it keeps getting lost in all the noise!

6. Threats and Declarations of War

Shax makes a number of threats throughout the series, to hunt Crowley down and to declare war on Aziraphale. So when Aziraphale inadvertently declares war on Hell with the halo toss, you'd think there would be a matching pair. There is, but not with a declaration of war, just a threat to Crowley. This is probably one of the weaker pairs.

7. Mysteriosity, audacity, ferocity and dangerocity

The Marvelous Mr Fell and his Mysteriosity has a pair with Shax's speech to her fellow demons about the unprecedented audacity of the attack on the bookshop, and how their lack of numbers will be made up for with their ferocity and...dangerocity. It should have fit, but it didn't.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

President Biden is not playing. He came out Friday and delivered what even the awful NY Times dubbed a “fiery” speech before a boisterous crowd in Michigan where thousands cheered: “Don’t you quit!” and “We’ve got your back!” The audience laughed at Biden’s barbs about Trump’s failed businesses, declaring Trump “even went bankrupt running a casino – I didn’t think that was even possible. Doesn’t the house always win in a casino?!” And when Biden touched on Trump being a convicted felon, the crowd organically chanted, “Lock him up!” But it was Biden’s line rightfully calling Trump a “rapist” that needs to be repeated by Democrats to force the media to cover this fact so that it becomes a visible part of the 2024 election. And that was Biden’s very point, as he called out the corporate media’s failure to cover so much about Trump while instead dissecting every syllable uttered by the President.

As Biden correctly told the excited crowd, the media has been holding him to a different standard by ignoring Trump’s crimes, etc. But Biden defiantly declared that was going to end now: “No more free passes!” Biden continued, “Today we’re going to shine a spotlight on Donald Trump. We’re going to do what the press so far hasn’t” adding, “We’re going to say who he is.” That is when Biden leaned into Trump being found liable for rape in the civil case brought by journalist E. Jean Carroll.  Biden told his throngs of supporters: “Donald Trump was found liable for sexual assault by a judge, who told us not to be fooled by Trump brushing it off.” The President continued, “Here’s what the judge wrote. Quote, the judge in that case wrote, quote, ‘Mr. Trump attempted to minimize sexual abuse, finding it frivolous. Mr. Trump raped her.’ That’s the judge’s language, not mine.” Adding, “Raped her, as many people understand the word rape.” That is correct and it deserves far more coverage. Donald Trump is a rapist as a federal judge determined after reviewing the evidence and jury verdict.

As a quick reminder, E. Jean Carroll had stated that Trump had sexually assaulted her in 1996 while she was in a dressing room in an upscale department store.  Carroll sued Trump in this case for both the attack and for defamation because he called her a liar, publicly ridiculed her as making up the story to sell books and more causing damage to her reputation and inflicting emotional distress. In May 2023, a federal jury unanimously found that Trump—who was represented by well-known lawyers in the trial—had “sexually abused” Carroll and did defame her, thus, awarding her $5 million. The jury did not, however, find that Trump had “raped” her in the narrow definition of the NY Penal law, but this was not a criminal trial, only a civil one seeking damages. (You can read the actual jury verdict form here.)

What Biden was referring to as Trump being adjudicated a rapist comes from what the federal judge presiding over the case, Lewis A. Kaplan, ruled in July 2023 in response to Trump’s motion to set aside the verdict. Judge Kaplan wrote in his decision (which you can read here) that what Trump did was in fact rape, as commonly understood. As the judge explained, “Carroll failed to prove that she was “raped” within the meaning of the New York Penal Law does not mean that she failed to prove that Mr. Trump “raped” her as many people commonly understand the word “rape.” Indeed, as the evidence at trial recounted below makes clear, the jury found that Mr. Trump in fact did exactly that.”

President Biden is right to call Donald Trump a rapist.

[kiwikipedia]

I decided that I better post the first and second ascensions before I went insane and did the third fully. Circe’s staff is a placeholder, but once I have all three I’ll post this again lol

Anyways, did you know that there’s almost zero muscular guys with their legs showing fully? I worked with Caligula but it was still a bit of a trial. There’s a lot more of guys who wear armor and leg coverings than you’d think!

I used and edited assets from Summer Robin Hood, Summer Blackbeard, and Waver (shirt), Rider Da Vinci (ponytail... hair not uh, horse tail), Summer Marie, Kiara, and Kiyohime (hat and flowers) , Caligula (as stated above), Summer Costume and Alter Emiya (Torso and cooler), and Lancer Arturia Alter (horse ears). Saddle bag and towel were hand done and everything else was taken and edited from Chiron’s own assets.

Not including the Draft Layers, Two Ascensions end up close to 400 Layers which seems like a lot but when you factor in the combination of color, lineart, shading and the shirt’s texturing, its a lot. Fate’s sprites are all cut up so you gotta make sure it all fits, yeah?

Anyways (again), I have a general plot line for the Summer Event with Caster Summer Chiron (tentatively called Eternal Summer Stage / Lost Summer Stage) and also the individual sets below the cut as well as the taglist

In general, I’m thinking that kinda like the Hawai’i event, this one takes place in Greece, but things are really different — either the nation’s been condensed or it’s impossible to tell where you are in Greece, even for the Greeks.

The premise is that something or someone is creating an influx of energy there, causing an unbalance or some shit but while the threat level is low, allowing for you to take your time (as all Summer events do), it still needs to be dealt with.

Chiron is your main companion Servant though he’s not the welfare one. He, alongside of a rather enthusiastic Li Shuwen and unmasked Berserker Lancelot— both of which are also Summer Servants for the first half wave (Li being either Saber or Berserker) and Lancelot being a Lancer but still Berserker’s more mellowed and gloomy character.

(Costume dress Servants are still up in the air but I’m weighing more on Hans Christian Biggerson and Geronimo, with the long overdue Hawai’i Cu, and Medusa)

Upon arrival, there’s all sorts of plays and performances going on up and down the coast and further inland where there’s a large village up against a Mountain. Both myth and man are mingling, to which Medusa and Chiron both note to be something much out of an ancient sort of tale (hence why Chiron can take his true form and no one cares).

The first half of the event is mostly solving the mystery of what this influx of energy even is— which is where you meet the second Summer Servants for the first half. Technically not Summer in terms of Class change, Ching Shih is the first you meet, dressed in that event’s other Costume Dress for her summer look. She’s happy to help, though there seems to be something a bit off about how easily things start to pop up after that. Plays pertaining to [    ] and other tales, along with even more heroic legends being spun and told. At night, you often run into an unknown woman who sits and chats with you about things as well.

All the while, Chiron seems to become more and more troubled as time goes on.

One night, however, you wander outside the inn because you can’t sleep only to get attacked by rouge Servants. This is when the second meeting happens— and it’s the “Dark fellow” that Ching Shih has been talking about. None other than Sir Agravain of Iron is here.

Though he recognizes you, he doesn’t say much on the matter, simply defeating the rouge Servants and sending them back to the Throne mercilessly. Post fight, Chiron arrives with Ching Shih and Li Shuwen and Agravain is formally introduced.

(There’s an entire thing about him wearing black armor and then you get his costume dress for free)

After that, the reveal that there’s all sorts of half-phantom-half-servants or rouge servants hiding about is finally confirmed though you’ve been fighting shadows and monsters before, the real task is at hand.

In general throughout the farming periods, the Servants will state that they are splitting up to investigate the area, kinda like the very first summer event where each location is a little bit of a sub story (Lancer-lot and Cu are at the shore investigating traces of magical energy with Geronimo, Li Shuwen and Medusa are investigating the plays and performances with Ching Shih, Biggerson and Agravain are in the town investigating there) so that’s there to get the rest of the costume dresses in the shop (Ching Shih, Cu, Medusa, Biggerson, Gero, etc)

The second half has much more to do with Chiron than the first, though he’s your companion for the first half.

Achilles joins the group, though like Ching Shih, he seems a bit odd, but he arrives and arrives with startling news which kicks off the second half of the event— the mountain against the town is Mount Pelion, the Birthplace of Greek Heroes.

This, of Course, has Chiron absolutely of kilter because suddenly he’s home. Ching Shih admits that she feels like a majority of the Singularity’s power is coming from the Mountain but didn’t want to risk going there because it’s crawling with phantom-servants— which only spurs Chiron to restate that he should still go to investigate there.

Everyone decides to go after that, because Chiron clearly isnt about to just up and let it go.

As you go through the mountain you learn a bit more about it from Chiron and Achilles, and Medusa inputs some that she knows. Agravain and Lancelot get into a minor fight, but it’s settled by Hans mostly, the usually in-between stuff.

Oh and did I mention that during this time there’s also cutscenes and non battle story from an unknown person’s POV within another space? Because there is.

In general, I’m still working out the middle chunks, but the ending is pretty much the arrival at Chiron’s Cave, only to be met by the mysterious woman who you’ve been talking to at night. It turns out that she’s Chariclo and she admits— or seems to admit— that she’s been summoning Servants from between the lines of history and Servants that normally have been gotten overlooked for some reason or another due to either being seen as not heroic enough, prejudiced factors, or they’ve simply been forgotten.

Some other stuff happens, and right when she’s about to say something pretty important you’re interrupted... by you.

Another version of you has arrived and it turns out that while Chariclo has been summoning and maintaining Servants, it wasn’t her choice. The other You has been having her do so in order to find [     ] and you know who that is— how could you not?

An argument breaks out, the other You is convinced that Chariclo has already summoned That Man, and while she doesn’t deny it, she states she can’t let the Other You into the Cave because it’ll ruin things. the Other You is determined, and perhaps a bit irrational with obsession to see That Man again and orders the Shadows to attack.

While almost every Servant is there for support, Achilles is not, and when the battles are done you realize why as Achilles stands by the Other You.

Chariclo is firm, continuing to refuse entry into the cave, and the Other You has had enough. Achilles is revealed to have not been Chaldea’s Achilles and apologizes before he’s ordered to kill Chariclo. Obviously, Chiron’s not about that, and takes the blow, severely wounding him.

Of course, this causes a chain reaction, as Li Shuwen and Agravain immoderately go for the kill on Achilles— the Other You makes a move for the Cave, you intercept Yourself because even though Chariclo might not have been a full alley, she had protected the Cave vehemently, Medusa and the others hold off the others are still fighting the shadows, before the mountain shakes.

While not dead, Chiron’s blood on Chariclo’s hands is enough to pull her from her passive state and forge a temporary contract with you. In combination, you and Chariclo stop the Other You and there’s a long conversation about grief and letting go before You and the shadows leave— either fading away or just leaving.

Once gone, Chariclo immediately has you bring Chiron into the cave so she can start healing him.

This is where you meet your welfare— none other than Romani Archaman himself. He’s weak, of course, but there and its a big reunion moment only to be interrupted by the Singularity destabilizing now that the Other You is gone.

There’s conflict, of course. Chariclo wasn’t lying when she said that Romani was too unstable to bring back. Similarly, the only reason she was able to appear, that she knows of, is because they are at Mount Pelion meaning she too is too unstable to follow a Rayshift. Unless a Holy Grail is used.

A choice is presented that you have to make, but all your choices are Romani, no matter how much you or Chiron want to bring Chariclo back as well. When you make your choice, Chariclo will present you a Grail and admit she didn’t use it on Romani at first because she was terrified what the Other You would do when Romani was stable.

With Romani Stabilized, everyone moves to head back down the Mountain for a rayshift back, but Chiron lingers. There’s grief, of course, but the two must say goodbye once more.

... Only, upon arriving in Chaldea, it turns out to not be the case.

Upon Chiron’s injury, Chariclo’s Noble Phantasm, “Lifeblood of Pelion”, quite literally used Chiron’s blood as fuel upon it being soaked into the ground. While they’re not the same as Ryoma and Oryou, as they’re separate Servants, Chiron and Chariclo’s origins linked and allowed for her to exist in Chaldea as another Caster. it’s a bittersweet ending, as Ching Shih and Agravain did not follow— but it’s no worry. Ching Shih stated that she’d see you again, and Agravain, while he didn’t say so, simply nodded in response.

( * Basically Ching Shih and Agravain are added to the permanent summon pool with Ching Shih being a 5* Rider and Agravain a 3* Assassin )

Chaldea Achilles remains extremely put out that he had been the one to harm Chariclo in the Singularity— and also annoyed he couldn’t go because he was busy making sure that Herc didn’t go off the rails.

Post event, the usual collection of the other 4 copies for the np5 welfare are unlocked along with a costume dress for Romani. Who is a Shielder class Servant.

So yeah. That’s basically the bare-bones of the idea. I don’t quite remember where the Shielder Romani idea came from but I saw a post on it and filed it away in my brain forever. The only reason Medusa, Cu, and Gero aren’t full servants is because I really couldn’t think of good classes for them. The only ones I can really think of for Gero is Avenger, and Medusa has alts for lancer and avenger, and Cu has alts for saber caster and berseker... also there’s the Servant pool of Ching Shih, Agravain, Chariclo, Chiron, and Li Shuwen, which is a hefty number even if the first two are perma summon.

If Third Asc Chiron doesn’t obliterate my soul then I’m probably going to work on Summer Li Shuwen next, or the Costume Dress trio of Gero, Medusa, and Cu. Then we’ll see about making those sprites where there’s no character base to use at all.. I might die (jk)

But when I do post the third ascension I’m going to include hatless Chiron because he’s got a lil bow hair tie and the horse ears are CUTE as hell

Anyways, Tag list below. Good god if you made it this far congratulations I know I ramble and make zero sense half the time

Taglist Form or feel free to ask me to get tagged (just DM!):

@jedifisto​​ @spaceydragons​​ @purgetrooperfox​​ @spacerocksarethebestrocks​ @insanelytomato @babygirljoelmiller​ @certified-anakinfucker​ @d3epfriedanger​ @genifer-championofpaldea​​ @thecodyagenda​ @babygirl-leon-kennedy​ @txtalnyx​ @jawajawas​

Please tell me if you want to be taken off of the list as this is no longer just Star Wars art

Additional Tags for those who have been interested in Summer Chiron the past few days (i hope you dont mind):

@300iqprower​ @bitterrosebrokenspear​ @random-senpai​

[sailtomarina]

We're roommates

Of all the weekends to be sent on a remote assignment, it had to be the weekend of Hermione’s birthday.

There wasn’t any particular reason why she wanted to stay home. Previous years hadn’t included anything special other than the hastily planned dinners while she and Ron had dated, a brief and truthfully forgettable period of time. Harry and Ginny were too wrapped up in the chaos of raising their children, a task she did not at all begrudge them. Hell, if she were a mother, Hermione was sure she’d need to hire Hagrid to control the little beasts who would no doubt inherit her hair.

No, what Hermione dreaded this year was that she’d be spending her birthday weekend with Draco Malfoy.

She had to admit after working with the wizard that he was a natural at slithering his way around outdated Ministry policies. She hadn’t really appreciated his brains when they were students, but now in a department rife with imbeciles hired by connections rather than abilities, she was thankful for him. It felt odd saying that, knowing that in another reality Malfoy could have easily bought his way into any department and position—that is, if he would have even deigned to enter the workforce, much less work for the government. Instead, he was her subordinate at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures thanks to the Wizengamot’s ruling after his trial and had been for several years. He might roll his eyes at her ongoing support for magical beings, but he nevertheless did the thorough research she needed.

They worked so well together that the head of their department deemed them a necessary unit for this job. Hermione had inwardly fumed despite taking on the task without protest. If Malfoy immediately accepted, then she certainly could and would…except the git had gone and made a huge mistake.

“Excuse me, what did you say?”

The front desk clerk of the hotel didn’t even bat an eyelash at her sharp tone. Staring Hermione back dead in the eye, she repeated herself, “You have one room. There are no other available rooms for the rest of the weekend.”

“C’mon Granger, it can’t be that bad. Let’s at least go take a look.” He had the audacity to swipe the hair back from his eyes without a care in the world, completely ignoring the glare she sent him.

She grumbled the entire way from the walk to the lift, up eight floors, and down to their doorway at the end of the hall. She stamped her foot in frustration as the ward accepted Malfoy’s wand. She shoved her way in first and proceeded to let loose a string of profanities that would have made the Weasley boys proud. Finally, she pointed her wand threateningly from Malfoy to the nearby couch.

“You will sleep on the couch.”

“I will not sleep on the couch.”

“Well, I certainly won’t. This was your mistake!”

“You won’t have to. We can share the bed like the self-controlled adults that we are.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s a king-sized bed. It’s large enough to line the middle with pillows if you’re that terrified of assaulting me in my sleep.” He smirked at her in his usual infuriating way, before plopping down on the side closest to the door with his arms cushioning his head.

“Me assault you?” Hermione barked out a laugh in disbelief. She refused to tell him that he was lying on her usual side of the bed.

“Of course. I know how irresistible I look, especially when I’m dressed down for the evening.” The muscles in his biceps flexed as if agreeing with the ridiculous claim.

She couldn’t even dignify that with a response, mouth gaping then snapping shut multiple times as words failed her. She had to deal with this for three whole days? She wasn’t even sure he’d survive until the end of the night if things continued as they currently were.

“Come now, Granger, let’s see if this sad excuse for a town has anything resembling good food.”

He bounced up from the mattress and swatted her on the arse with a pillow.

“Malfoy!”

Where had this playful side even come from? He grinned down at her with a strangely relaxed drape to his frame she wasn’t used to seeing. Was this how he always was outside of the workplace?

“We’re roommates now, so we might as well make the best of it.” With a casual flick of his wand in a blatant display of silent magic, he popped open his luggage and sent its interiors soaring into the closet and nearby drawers. His toiletries zipped over the bathroom with another swivel of his wrist.

“I will sleep with you—no, not like that—on one condition.”

“Name your price, witch.” He waggled his eyebrows at the slip of her tongue.

“Teach me that spell you just used.”

He repeated his earlier movements on her own luggage.

“Wait, Malfoy, that’s not what I asked—” Her voice cut off as one particular item stopped mid-flight and flew into his hand.

“Granger, care to tell me why you not only have a Falmouth jersey,” he paused to turn the offending item around before continuing, “but one with Flint’s name on it?”

She could not, would not, look at him. The jersey was one of the softest shirts she owned and her favorite to sleep in. She coughed delicately into her fist and tried to shuffle around him towards the exit.

“We might have…dated…a bit.”

He caught her on the arm before she could completely pass him.

“How did you two even meet?” The curious tone to his voice, not at all judgmental as she had initially expected, encouraged her to finally look up at him. He held her gaze, completely earnest in his question. Hermione was tempted to brush the hair that had fallen into his eyes back into place.

“He, um, had his teeth fixed a while ago by my parents.”

Understanding dawned on his face as he recalled the last time he’d seen Marcus. “So that’s what happened. I wondered who he went to.”

Glancing back down at the jersey, he finally let go and allowed it to join the rest of her shirts in the drawer.

“I’ll show you the details of the spell after dinner as long as you join me.”

He remained serious, smirk nowhere in sight and one hand still warm where it wrapped around her upper arm. She had a feeling she could say no and that he’d accept without a protest. She didn’t need to know the spell—Hermione was fairly certain she could suss out the incantations given enough time and practice. There was just something particularly intriguing about the way that he was looking at her and the entire scenario in which they’d found themselves.

He’d accepted their assignment immediately and booked their accommodation before she’d asked him to. He hadn’t corrected the desk clerk when she announced their rooming situation. Instead, he insisted they share the bed. Now, he was withholding knowledge, which he knew she passionately pursued, with dinner as a requirement.

Hermione was intelligent, but sometimes she had to admit she could be a little dense at times.

“Okay, Malfoy. Let’s go eat.”

Any doubts she might have had about accepting his offer were banished at the sight of the smile that lit up his entire face. The slight squeeze on her arm before he let go and rushed for the door sent a pulse through her body she recognized as want. She hadn’t felt that since…well, since Marcus, which was over a year ago.

Maybe this birthday wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

WC 1283

Even though this is obviously a Dramione, I've revealed a bit of my Flintmione interests. What can I say? I can't resist Slytherin boys in Quidditch uniforms.

My parents are in town driving me batty with usual parent things. Someone HELP ME!

Twitter prompt from DramionePrompts

[givemeanaccountalready]

Haruka Sakurai: Breakdown of a Soggy, Blue Blorbo (2/2)

On the previous post, I did a play by play of “Weakness” and highlighting what I thought was important. Then, I introduced my theory that the girl in the pink dress that we see in “Weakness” is Haruka’s younger sister, and that something happened to her during the night of the fireworks.

So, I gave my theory, but what else proves my theory because it is built on the straws I grasped. I mean, in the Trial 1, (written) Interrogation Question 7, Haruka states that his family only includes his father, his mother, and himself. There is no mention of a little sister. If his sister didn’t die the night of the fireworks (and I’m leaning towards she survived that night), then I think she is the person who Haruka killed before he went to Milgram. And when you have a deceased family member, especially an immediate family member, there is the rather painful question of whether or not to include them in your list of family members.

The reason I’m still so dang hung up on the idea of the Girl being Haruka’s sister? Haruka’s jealousy. There’s your parent comparing you to the neighbor’s kid who eats all their vegetables and does their homework without complaint, and then there’s Haruka going “you would get angry with me and say ‘You’re hopeless’ / … / It’s fine, it’s all my fault right? It’s enough, I am a disappointment” like there’s a golden child-scapegoat situation and Haruka is the scapegoat. He isn’t a reliable narrator, but he’s what we got. And it’s easier to hold the scapegoat stay down if their golden child sibling is ‘perfect’ and doesn’t have the same issues as them despite having the same parent(s). “All-Knowing All Agony” kicks off Haruka stealing his mother’s necklace to these lines, which imply that he is competing with someone:

“You were always comparing me to someone else / You were always so generous, except to me / I will definitely make you love me again”

It’s probably not his dad. Haruka’s dad is absent. I can say that much with certainty. We are two music videos in, and haven’t seen hide nor hair of his father. In Trial 1, Interrogation Question 5, Haruka states that, “I disappointed him,” and in Trial 2, Interrogation Question 6, Haruka writes that, “He’s not that interested in me. I guess?” His father isn’t one of the people he wants to see, and he placed Es as his mother figure, not father or the more gender neutral parental figure. Any daddy issues about not having an involved dad pale in comparison to the Norman Bates level mommy issues that Haruka has due to her revoking her love for him.

Then there are the damn flowers. If I was right about the yellow flowers in “Weakness” being yellow camellia in my previous post, we know Haruka is longing for (unconditional) love. Haruka is looking at the girl, not his mom when the flowers first appear. Was his sister the first person to unconditionally love him? Does he long for the happy days they used to have when they were kids, back before the night of fireworks happened?

In the odd chance that they were yellow carnations, then the meaning is rejection. Haruka was rejected by his mother in favor of his sister. There’s the disappointment undertone, highlighted by the remarks that he’s hopeless and crazy and a disappointment. In “All Knowing All Agony” one line in the chorus was “If with one click, and I can reset everything / Can I be your favorite next?” And then that line changes at the end to be “I want to be your favorite next” These lyrics could be directed towards the audience, but if I’m right or have half a point with my theory here, he could be asking his mother if he can be her favorite child next. And I just want to say, in his Trial 2, Interrogation Question 20, (Do you hate the person you killed?) Haruka writes, “I wonder… I think I was envious of them.”

And here’s the girl we see him choking:

Does that hairstyle look familiar?

You gotta love animation. People may get haircuts but they need to keep their identifiable features present when they change their looks. It is hard to tell, but the Girl from “Weakness” has a face-framing hair just off of her temple. It’s hard to see on the ground of “All-Knowing All Agony” but it looks like the girl Haruka is strangling has a thick braid, just like the young girl from “Weakness”.

Interestingly, despite all his talk in his first trial song about wanting to be weak and pitiable so he can be loved again, in the Trial 2, Interrogation Question 15, Haruka states that if he had one wish, “[he’d] want to become a strong, smart, and interesting person.” I think the reason why he was obsessed with being perceived as weak and pitiable goes a bit deeper than him remembering being loved as a weak, little boy. This is speculation, but if your younger sibling gets hurt when you were supposed to be watching them, there’s a good chance your parents will come down hard on you for letting it happen. Because they were your responsibility, why didn’t you take care of them? Kazui pointed it out in his interrogation question. A part of growing up is taking up responsibility (something kids can get away with ignoring) and that can be terrifying. If Haruka’s first taste of what happens when you neglect your responsibility (watch your sister) is his sister being seriously injured and the consequences go beyond just disappointing your father to now causing your mother to take back her love, and you’d be a wreck over growing up too. As an older brother, Haruka is supposed to play the protector role. You need to be stronger and smarter than the threat but you weren’t and now everyone hates you. But you were loved when you were still seen as too weak to protect yourself, let alone your younger sibling. Can’t you go back to that?

I could see that being twisted into Haruka loathing his sister as the mental wounds fester. He can’t go back in time and change the past. But if his sister never existed, or ceased to exist, then his mother would have to love him again right? Everything would be reset. Look, his mother certainly wasn’t taking him to therapy and now he has an appointment scheduled at Arkham when Milgram is done with him.

Another reason he could be obsessed with being weak and pitiable is that a chronically unwell sibling tends to attract the caregivers’ attention. Haruka probably saw his mother dote on his sister while rejecting the strong, healthy him and made the conclusion that only the weak are loved.

To summarize:

To sum up what I’ve written so far: I think that the Girl from “Weakness” is Haruka’s younger sister and first human kill. I don’t think he killed her on the night of the fireworks, but I do think he either saw someone hurt her and blamed himself for it (which his mother and father possibly confirmed in their actions to him), or he was the one to (accidentally) hurt her and he wasn’t allowed or able to forgive himself for it, regardless of what his sister thought. Haruka’s obsession with being weak and pitiable so he can be loved probably stemmed from the attention and care his sister received from their parent(a) while recuperating from her injuries. Or his jealousy led him to think that he needed to be the weakest by default and he killed his sister.

Side note: I think there might also be a chance of Muu being his second chance at being a ‘better’ big brother and ‘protecting’ her. She’s around the estimated age for Haruka’s sister, and would not do well a physical encounter with injured Mahiru, let alone survive Kotoko and her steel-toed boots.

Tell me, what do y’all think?

[bullet-prooflove]

19. So whatcha say we cancel our plans?

Tonight I'm only gonna be your man

With Nicholas Baxter 💕 please

Tagging: @kmc1989@burningpeachpuppy@est1887 @wabi-sabi1090 @mini-bee-bee

The Romantic - Nick has always been a romantic when it comes to you.

Distraction - You distract Nick from work.

Symphony (NSFW) - Nick welcomes you home in his own special way.

Come Back To Bed - Nick tries to coax you back to bed.

How High - You say jump, Nick asks how high.

Nick doesn’t tell you he’s tired. In fact he actively tries to hide it because he’s promised to take you out tonight to make up for the other two dinners he had to cancel and he doesn’t want to disappoint you.

“I just need a quick shower.” He tells you as he hurtles through the front door an hour late because his trial overran. He slips off his shoes and hangs up his coat on the rack before he pokes his head into the living room.

You’re already dressed up in a pretty black dress with purple irises embroidered into it and your hair pinned back with a silver hairclip. You look stunning, and an ache hits him in the chest because lately you always seem to be waiting on him.

“I promise I’ll be fifteen minutes, max.” He tells you and you smile and pick up your book, folding your legs underneath you on the couch.

It’s forty five minutes later that you realise that you haven’t heard any movement from upstairs. You sigh picking up the phone to cancel your reservation before ordering take out instead. When you enter the bedroom, you find Nick still clad in his court clothes sleep on the bed.

He wakes up to the feel of your lips brushing over his forehead and he opens his eyes to see you standing over him, your hair falling loose across your features, your face freshly scrubbed of makeup. The dress is gone and you’re clad in leggings and your old bobbled t-shirt from Julliard.

“Fuck what time…” He checks the watch on this wrist and his heart just sinks because the reservation you had that was over an hour ago.  “Rosie I…”

You silence him with a kiss, it’s nothing more than a tender brush of the lips but to Nick it’s everything because he understands that he’s forgiven, that you’re not mad at him for this.

“I’ve cancelled our plans for the night, ordered dinner.” You tell him as you draw away, your fingertips ghosting along the line of his jaw. “You’re wearing yourself out Nick, you need to stop and take a breath.”

“It’s this case…” He tells as he shuffles into a sitting position, his back coming to rest against the headboard. “…it’s taking up all my time, all my energy.”

“I know.” You say, climbing into his lap and cradling his face between his hands. “That’s why you’ve got to communicate with me, tell me if you’re struggling.”

He sighs then because acknowledging his own limitations, it doesn’t come easily to him. His job doesn’t allow him to show weakness and it’s hard to take off that armour sometimes when he steps through the door.

“I’ll try Rosie.” He tells you, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. “I promise you’ll try.”

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